Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series (11 page)

“Remember,” Gunny said in a barely audible voice, “We get into the headquarters, capture Sanger alive if possible, then we burn the sumbitch down.” He patted a sack of incendiary grenades hanging at his side.

“I hate the thought of burnin’ down a church,” a young deputy said, his breath puffing as he spoke.

“It ain’t God’s house no more, son.” Gunny looked to each of his men. “Everybody knows what to do, right?”

The men nodded.

“Any last questions?”

“No, Gunny.”

“Good. Remember, if things go sideways on us, get to the safe house and stay there.” Gunny looked at each man, committing their faces and this moment to memory as he’d done before every mission he ran in Vietnam. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of each and every one of you.” He nodded. “Let’s do this.”

The team padded slowly, silently through the darkness of the narrow brick passage. The headquarters loomed closer with each careful step.

The sound of diesel engines starting echoed down the brick walls to Gunny and his men. They froze.

The men hunkered down, gluing themselves to the cold brick as the throaty baritone of heavy trucks filled the moonlit landscape.

The deputies looked to Gunny for guidance.

He waved an arm and hissed, “Stay down!”

The trucks grew louder. Their rumbling noise bounced from every wall, making it impossible to know which direction they came from.

Gunny’s mind raced, analyzing the new situation, deciding what to do.

The trucks were almost on top of them now.

“Abort!” He waved to his team. “Abort!”

The deputies jumped up and raced along the alley, away from their objective.

A tractor trailer appeared in front of them. It squealed to a halt, it’s trailer blocking their escape. Gunny turned to see a second trailer block the other end of the alley. His eyes darted in all directions, frantically searching for escape.

Silhouettes appeared on the rooftops above them. Spotlights flashed to life, casting their cold eyes down upon the men in the kill sack.

A beam of predatory light settled on the deputy nearest Gunny. The roof line above flashed and popped. Red mist plumed from the young man’s body as he was cut to pieces in front of Gunny’s eyes.

“This way!” Gunny bellowed as he pulled the pin on a grenade and threw the whole satchel at the nearest truck. The trailer lurched. Sheet metal shrieked. A gap appeared. The hellish blast blinded their attackers as the trapped men dashed toward their only hope of escape.

“Go! Go! Go!” Gunny fired at anything moving above as his loyal deputies raced by him. He glanced at the breach. A few made it out. He couldn’t tell how many. More deputies lay wounded on the cold asphalt.

Gunny’s leg dropped from under him, sending him to the ground. He tried to stand, but the throbbing limb refused to obey. Something small landed next to him with a clang and a clunk. He looked to see what it was. A grenade. It exploded. Gunny ears rang. He was blind and dazed, but alive. It was a flash-bang. More bombs rained down on the wounded men.

An unsettling realization cut through the disorientation clouding his mind.

They want us alive.

After what seemed an eternity, the explosions stopped. Gunny’s vision returned to reveal the muzzles of three M4s aimed at his face. He tried to sit up. One of DHS agents said something. Gunny couldn’t understand the muffled words through the ringing in his ears, but he got the gist and lay back down.

Another agent appeared. It was Sanger. A subordinate said something to her. She shook her head, then leaned in close so Gunny could hear her.

“Take a few of them alive. If you want to catch a rat, you need some cheese to bait the trap.”

*****

05:45 AM

Freeport

It was still dark, but Hank couldn’t wait any longer. The police radio had been silent all night. Not so much as a jaywalker was reported. That never happened. There was no word from Gunny either. Something was wrong. Hank felt it in is gut. He drove by FEMA headquarters. Two greenies guarded the entrance. Government vehicles sat parked outside. The mega-screen still televised Tophet regime propaganda. The new flag still waved. Business as usual. Not good.

Hank drove on to the courthouse. He parked by his office door and walked toward the entrance. Two Green Guardsmen armed with hunting rifles blocked the door. He recognized both of them. The first, a pretty young girl, was an honor student at the high school. He searched his memory for her name. Chandy. That was it. Good girl. Good family.

The other was a boy a few years older. He was no honor student. His name was Austin. Hank knew him right away. The kid was barely nineteen and already had four drug arrests on his record.

“Courthouse is closed,” Austin sneered as Hank approached.

Hank didn’t slow down. “The sheriff is the only person authorized to close this building and I say it’s open. Step aside.”

The guards closed ranks, blocking the entrance.

“Where are Gunny and the other deputies?” Hank demanded.

Chandy poked her rifle at his chest. “We said the courthouse is closed, Sheriff.”

“Who do you little shits think you are?”

“You took the words right outta my mouth, old man.”Austin gloated, “Check the news if you wanna know where your buddy, Gunny, is.”

Hank returned to his squad car in time to hear the morning news update.

First came a rehash of the same national stories he saw at the theater the night before. His gut wrenched again at the report of soldiers being arrested. Then the local news made his blood run cold.

“A terrorist attack was foiled in the early morning hours,” the report began, “by joint forces of FEMA and our local Green Guard militia.”

Hank turned the radio up, his stomach knotting tighter with each word.

“The cowardly assault targeted the district FEMA headquarters at just after three o’clock this morning. Two extremists were killed. Three traitors were apprehended, including the ringleader, Chief Deputy Arvine “Gunny” Burchette. He and the other two captured outlaws are being held at the temporary detention center outside of town. Homeland Security authorities will arrive to take the trio into custody before noon today.”

“The drive-in,” Hank said to himself.

The report concluded. “Two of the attackers escaped and remain at large, but Special Agent Sanger gives her solemn word to the people of Freeport that these criminals will be caught and brought to justice. It is unknown at this time if Sheriff Sexton was involved in this act of senseless violence.”

Hank left the city limits and sped toward the detention center.

He stopped his car several hundred yards away from the old drive-in and grabbed a pair of binoculars from the trunk. He steadied his arm on the top of the cruiser as he studied the facility. Two guards stood watch at the entrance. Gunny and two deputies were visible, shivering on the frosty ground inside the chain link fence. All three were wounded. The yard was empty but for them. The place held at least thirty detainees the day before. They were gone now. Hank guessed the midnight train had made its rounds again.

Only two guards, high-profile prisoners in plain sight, and all of it conveniently announced on the radio.

“Yup.” Hank nodded to himself. “Definitely a trap.”

He scanned the surroundings, searching the darkness for the reaction force that was surely standing by to nab him as soon as he came near the fence. He spotted something at the edge of a tree line across the highway. The unmistakable glow of a cigarette, bright as a beacon in the darkness of a world without electric light. Hank focused the binoculars, straining to see what was hiding in the woods. Slivers of moonlight reached into the trees to reveal silhouettes of armored vehicles. At least four of them. Shadows darted between the waiting beasts. A thin ribbon of exhaust fumes trailed into the air from one of them. They were idling. Eager to pounce on their unwitting prey.

Not today.

Hank got back into the cruiser, raced to his neighbor’s house and knocked on the door. His preacher’s wife answered, Maggie by her side.

“You okay, Hank?” Edith asked.

“Can I come in, please?”

“Of course. Want some breakfast? I was just going to cook some eggs and grits.”

“No thank you. I don’t have much time.”

The kindly woman said to Maggie, “Go on back to bed, sweet girl. I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

Maggie nodded, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She hugged Hank’s neck. “I love you Papaw.”

He hugged her back. “I love you, too.”

Maggie trotted upstairs.

“At least have some coffee.” Edith handed Hank a steaming cup.

“Thank you.” He took a sip of the hot beverage. It was watered down. Coffee was becoming a rare delicacy. Grounds were reused until the last drop of flavor was squeezed from them these days. That is unless you registered. Then you got an instant coffee ration twice a week.

“Have you found out where they took my husband?”

“All I know is that they put him on a train in the middle of the night. More people are being taken every day. I don’t know where the train goes.”

The preacher’s wife sat across from Hank, her face grave, her hands clasped in her lap.

“They got Gunny last night.” Hank sighed.

“I know. I heard it on the radio.”

“We have to stop them.”

“How can I help?” She gave the faintest of smiles. “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

Hank’s eyes dropped to his coffee. “Yes ma'am.”

“Then stop beatin’ ‘round the bush and tell me what you need.”

“If you help me, your life will be in danger.”

“We’re all in danger with these wicked people. They already took my husband. The way I see it, I can either sit here and do nothing while I wait for them to come for me, or I can do something useful and stand up to them while I can.”

“If something happens to me, I need you to take care of Maggie. That would mean hiding from Sanger and her thugs. Is there someplace you can go?”

“Yes. My nephew…”

“Don’t tell me,” Hank cut her off, “It’s best if I don’t know where you are. Just so long as both of you are safe.”

“We will be.”

Hank checked his watch. “If I’m not back here by nine o’clock, go there and stay there. You’ll know when it’s safe to come out. Maggie…” Hank’s voice cracked. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. “She’s all that’s left of us.”

“Don’t worry, Hank. You’ll be back for her. Till then, I’ll care for her like my own.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m in your debt.”

“You can repay me by stopping these monsters.”

“I’ll do my best.” Hank placed his steaming beverage on the coffee table. “I need one more favor.”

“Name it.”

“Can I borrow your husband’s truck?”

*****

Hank parked the old Ford F150 on a darkened side street a block from FEMA headquarters and walked to the courthouse. Chandy and Austin still stood guard. They pointed their rifles at Hank as he marched toward them in the misty predawn gloom.

“You don’t listen do you, old man?” Austin jabbed his gun into the sheriff’s chest.

Hank snatched the weapon from the Austin’s hands, swung it around, and cracked the butt against the side of the young man’s head.

“Ooww!” Austin cried as he fell to the ground. “You’ll pay for that!” he spat and started to stand.

“Stay down.” Hank ordered. “And shut up.”

The youth sank back to the ground, quietly rubbing the knot already rising on his head.

Hank turned to Chandy. “Go home.”

She let the rifle slip from her hands, then ran off across the courthouse lawn, passing Brandon’s frozen corpse which still dangled from the end of Sanger’s noose.

Hank pulled a key ring from his pocket, opened the door, and entered his office. He unlocked a wall cabinet and retrieved two more sets of keys, then hurried to the basement, where the arms room lay behind a six-inch-thick steel door. He unlocked the massive door with one of the cabinet keys and heaved it toward him. Old hinges squealed as the massive metal slab glided upon them, revealing the sheriff department’s weapons storage room.

Hank was relieved to see that Sanger hadn’t thought to clean it out yet. He grabbed a duffel bag full of cleaning rags from the corner and dumped its contents onto the floor. He thought a moment before grabbing a few rags and shoving them into his pocket. He then began stuffing the duffel with anything useful. Flash bang grenades, plastic explosive, ammunition, night vision goggles, flashlights, batteries. He also tossed in some pistols and slung as many M4s over his shoulder as he could carry.

He locked the room up again and dragged the overstuffed bag up the stairs to the main level. He peeked out the door for any sign of Austin. The punk was gone, but Hank was sure he would be back with plenty of friends.

Hank lugged the heavy sack to a nearby patrol car and fished the second set of keys from the cabinet out of his pocket. He popped the trunk, hefted the bag into the back of the vehicle, and drove to where the preacher’s truck was parked.

He took several boxes of ammunition, grenades, and C-4 explosives from the duffel, piled them into the patrol car’s floorboard, and tossed the bag with its remaining contents into the cab of the truck along with the M4s. He took half full gas can, some rope, and a cinder block from the truck bed, setting the gas on top of the ammo and explosives. He opened the ash tray. Empty. He rifled through the glove box. Nothing.

Come on, preacher. Were did you hide them?

The pastor swore off smoking three years earlier, but Hank caught the telltale scent of tobacco ash on him after services every so often.

Hank looked under the driver’s seat.

Bingo.

He pulled a zip-locked pouch of cigars rolled in paper towels from narrow space, taking one out before stashing the rest in his jacket pocket.

Waste not want not.

Hank took the rags from his pocket and soaked them with gasoline. He stuffed the first halfway into the gas can. He removed the car’s gas cap and left a second rag hanging from the hole.