Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series (3 page)

Agents arrived with a rack of M4 carbines, setting them where Sanger had instructed. She took a rifle from the rack and inspected it. She grabbed a magazine from a nearby stack, slapped it into the receiver, charged the weapon and leveled it at Hank. “I only
expect
one thing from you, Sheriff.”

“What might that be?”

“Complete and total obedience.”

Hank glanced down at the M4 aimed at his chest. “You’re going to be very disappointed.” He turned and walked away.

2

COLE

Fort Campbell, Kentucky

Fifty Miles North of Nashville

The members of Cole’s battalion were dead men walking as they went about their duties. Weapons were cleaned, vehicles maintained, latrines scrubbed. But not a word was spoken. Not a tune was hummed. No smiles. No life. No humanity. Their role in the Nashville Massacre, as it was now called, reduced these hardened veterans to husks of their former selves—automatons following familiar programming without thought or will.

Even the reports of more fellow soldiers being arrested for no reason did not elicit a spark in them. The few men who did speak did so in secret, in small groups, passing along whispers of labor camps and extermination facilities operating across the country.

One such group met in Cole’s quarters, at his request, as the sun sought refuge below the horizon. The lights were off and the windows covered in spite of the growing darkness outside. Unapproved assemblages were considered treasonous under the new regime. Cole stationed his two most trusted soldiers, Private Hicks and Sergeant Reyes, to stand lookout from far enough away as to give the participants time to scatter if Piven’s men came around.

Special Agent Piven was the political officer assigned to Cole’s outfit by the Department of Homeland Security. Every unit from battalion up had one.

“Piven killed the Governor,” Cole said to the gathered leaders of his battalion—what remained of them. The majority of the battalion’s senior officers and NCOs were killed, arrested, or had simply disappeared in the last week.

“That’s a serious charge. If it’s true, we have some tough choices to make,” said Lieutenant Young, now the unit’s senior officer. He asked, “Are you one hundred percent sure Piven fired the shot?”

“I saw the muzzle flash from his vehicle. The Governor went down, then all hell broke loose.” Cole relived the scene as he spoke. The thump of heavy machine guns, the screams of wounded civilians, the acrid smell of cordite. “The street ran red with blood. American blood. And every drop of it is on Piven’s hands.”

“We all heard him on the radio,” another sergeant added, “Even that wasn’t good enough. He wanted us to finish off the survivors.”

“He’s a criminal,” Cole said, “He has to be brought to justice.”

“He’s also a senior agent with the Department of Homeland Security and the battalion political adviser. He has more command over this battalion that I do.”

“You signed your death warrant the second you defied his order to finish off those civilians. And we signed ours the moment we followed your lead.” Cole looked around the room, meeting each man’s eyes. “We all swore an oath. Not to a person, not to to the government, not even the President. We swore to protect the Constitution and the American people. We violated that oath when we allowed ourselves to be manipulated into firing on American citizens. We are now faced with a choice. We can keep our mouths shut and follow orders to arrest and kill more innocent people or we can take a stand now. One choice makes us monsters, the other makes us men.”

His fellow soldiers nodded in agreement.

Cole pointed to the American flag on the shoulder of his uniform. “This still means something.” He held up another patch, the recently issued replacement in the new flag’s ‘globe and stripes’ design. “As for this…” He tossed it to the floor and stomped on it.

Every man in the room followed Cole’s lead by standing and symbolically tramping the new flag underfoot.

A junior lieutenant asked, “So what do we do?”

Young replied. “We get the rest of the division with us. We all have friends in other battalions. Once we are strong enough, we strike. Until then, keep your heads down. Gather ammo and supplies. Build support.”

“What about Piven?” Cole asked. “He won’t let our disobedience stand. We can’t arrest him. We can’t kill him without dooming ourselves.”

“I’ll take responsibility,” Young relied, “I’ll tell him that I contradicted his orders out of shock and that it won’t happen again. Maybe he’ll buy it. If not, it should at least give the rest of you some time to build the resistance.”

A cough sounded from outside.

“Somebody’s coming.”Cole said.

“Everybody out,” Young ordered.

Cole opened the door. Four armed Homeland Security agents stood waiting on the other side.

The agents ordered the room’s occupants outside, hands clasped behind their heads, and put in file side by side on the parade field next to the barracks.

“On your knees!” an agent yelled as he kicked Cole in the back. He and the other soldiers complied. Their hands were then zip tied behind them.

Agent Piven stood in front of the kneeling men. Two agents stood beside him, holding Hicks and Reyes at gunpoint.

Piven looked at Cole. “You should have chosen your lookouts more carefully.” He motioned to his agents. “Put him with the others.”

The agents bound Hicks, then dragged him to the end of the line of soldiers and put him on his knees by jamming a rifle muzzle into his stomach.

Reyes stood next to Piven, unguarded. Cole looked at his friend with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Reyes said, his voice shaking, “He threatened my family. They were going to kill Maria and the kids.”

Cole kept silent.

“I’m sorry!” Reyes repeated.

Piven waved his hand. “Get him out of here.” Agents seized Reyes by the arms and stuffed him into a waiting vehicle. He turned back to the kneeling troopers. “You are all in big trouble.”

“They acted on my orders.” Lieutenant Young interjected.

Piven walked over to the officer. “You are a very brave man.” He drew his pistol and put it to Young’s temple.

Pop!

Young flopped to the ground. Gore gushed from the horrid wound in arterial spurts as the lieutenant’s heart futilely clung to life.

“No!” Hicks screamed. A rifle butt crashed into the back of his head.

Young’s comrades watched in helpless rage as the hemorrhaging slowed to a stop. The officer lay in a steaming pool of his own blood, his dead eyes staring into oblivion.

“The rest of you won’t get off so easy.” Piven called over a subordinate. “You take it from here.” He walked away, disappearing into the gathering gloom. “I have bigger fish to fry.”

Hoods were pulled over the prisoners’ faces.

Cole’s hot breath echoed in the smothering darkness of the sack that covered his head. He was still on his knees, waiting. He didn’t know what for. He just wanted to get on with it, whatever
it
was.

He felt someone standing behind him. His breathing came harder. His heart pounded in his ears. Sudden splitting pain thundered across the back of his head, then darkness.

3

HANK

Freeport, Tennessee

Hank’s Office

5:09 PM

Hank sat across his desk from his chief deputy as Maggie did her homework at a table on the opposite side of the room.

“You were right, Gunny. They’re taking over. Sanger isn’t even pretending anymore.” Hank’s face looked old and tired in the dim light of the desk lamp.

“I knew it.” Gunny sighed. “Everything happened so fast. Too fast. The economy, the President, the attacks, the grid. It all lined up too neatly to be a coincidence. Then they put the blame on anybody with the guts to stand up to ’em and started workin’ their way down the list, eliminating them one by one.”

“Where do you think we fall on that list?”

“Sooner than later.”

“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Question is, what do we do?”

“Papaw,” Maggie called softly, “can you please help me with my homework?”

“Of course, sweet-pea. What are you working on?”

“Social studies.”

He waved her to him. “Bring it here and let’s have a look.”

The girl climbed into her grandfather’s lap and handed him a worksheet. “It’s about the Constitution.”

Hank examined the paper. The heading of the sheet read, ‘The Founding Frauds.’ He read on…

Question 1
. George Washington has been called the father of our country, but he was a rich, white, male, slave owner who presided over the creation of a constitution that excluded women, minorities and the poor. Does this sound fair to you? How can America’s Second Founding avoid the mistakes of the past?

Hank’s hand trembled as he read the rest of the questions in disbelief. Words like bigot, racist, sexist and obsolete caught his eye more than once. Stunned by what he read, he said simply, “This is a bunch of lies. George Washington was a great man.”

“I guess he used to be good, but now he’s not.” Maggie shrugged. “I looked all through our text book and couldn’t find any of the answers.”

“Where is your text book?”

She held up the little green book her teacher gave her. “Ms. Dawkins says we have to keep this with us everywhere we go, even when we sleep. She says we are in the Green Guard now.”

“What is the Green Guard?”

“I guess it’s kinda like a secret club. It’s our job to help America by telling on bad people.”

“What kind of bad people?”

She pointed to a picture of George Washington on her worksheet. “People like him.”

Hank tossed the piece of paper onto his desk and took the green booklet. He flipped through the thing. It was mostly a compilation of sayings and mottos, all of which had the same ideas as the homework questions.

Hank’s heart pounded in his ears. The stress clinching in his jaw made him feel physically ill. He calmed himself and put his arm gently around Maggie’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about doing the homework. You’re not going back to that school.”

Gunny picked the paper up to see it for himself. He seemed to deflate as he read. He finally wadded it up and hurled it across the room.

“If you think that’s bad, wait till you see this.” Hank tossed the booklet to Gunny.

There was a knock. Hank looked to see a kindly woman standing in the doorway holding a plastic grocery bag. It was Edith.

“I didn’t think you would be able to watch Maggie today. What with your husband…”

“I just went to see him at the drive-in,” The woman gave Hank a pleading, confused look. “Did they really arrest Ray just for being a preacher? Hank, you’ve been a member of our church for twenty years. He baptized you. You know he’s not a terrorist. Isn’t there anything you can do?” Her eyes began to tear up.

Hank shook his head. “I’ve tried. The FEMA people don’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” She took a breath and wiped her eyes, then put her hand on Hank’s. “I know you’re doing all you can. He’s doing alright. His faith is strong.” She looked at Maggie. “Caring for her will help keep my mind off of things.”

“Thank you,” Hank walked Maggie to the preacher’s wife. “I’ll pick her up soon. I won’t be much longer.”

“Take your time.” Edith held up the plastic bag. “I made you and Gunny some supper.”

“Thank you again.” Hank accepted the food and set it on this desk. “We’re going to get Ray out of there. Him and everybody else. That’s a promise.”

“I know you’re doing all you can, but don’t forget to pray. That’s the most important thing we can do.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hank hugged Maggie and kissed her goodbye before she left.

When Maggie and the preacher’s wife were gone Gunny walked to a wall cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and two cups. “Let’s start with this.” He poured each of them a drink and settled back into his chair. “The way I see it, we have three choices.”

“Okay, Gunny. Let’s hear ‘em.”

“Option one: We can team up with Sanger and do our part in the Second Founding.”

Hank shook his head. “Fat chance.”

“Option two: We could stand aside. Keep our heads down. Let ‘em do their thing.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Well, that just leaves option number three…”

“Yup. The only question is how.”

Gunny smiled. “I have some ideas.”

The men sat quietly, calculating the consequences of what they knew they had just decided to do.

Hank raised his cup. “To America.”

Gunny met his toast. “Liberty or death.”

The dispatch radio crackled to life. “701, this is 229, over.” It was a deputy calling for Hank. “701, this is 229, over.”

Hank grabbed the hand-mic and replied, “This is 701, go ahead.”

“We just arrested Chloe Duncan.”

Shit.

Finbarr Duncan’s daughter, Chloe, had been on the run since robbing a pharmacy in town, killing several people in the process. This was the last thing Hank needed. He had enough on his plate dealing with Agent Sanger. Now he would have to butt heads with Finbarr over his precious pill-popping princess.

“Where was she?”

“She was trying to steal drugs from the stockpiles at Food City. A deputy caught her trying to pry the back door open with a crowbar.”

Hank keyed the radio. “Good work. Bring her in and we’ll put her in a cell until we can figure out what to do with her.”

“Roger that. We’re on the way.”

“I’ll meet you at the jail.”

Gunny shook his head. “When it rains, it pours.”

Hank took a swig of his drink. “I guess that makes me Noah.”

Hank took some of the food Edith brought and walked across the street to the jail. He had a few minutes before the deputy arrived with Chloe, so he decided to check on one of his inmates.

“Hello, Brandon.” Hank said as he reached the teenager’s cell.