Sic Semper Tyrannis (13 page)

“Grab those feelings by the balls and shove ‘em deep down and
bury
‘em, Erik.  I’m telling you, man, that’s the only way you’re going to have a clear head.  And the only way you’re going to survive this is if you have a clear head.”

Erik swallowed.  “Okay,” he said weakly.  The constant nervous chatter on the radio didn’t help Erik’s mood.  The other scouts were starting to report Russian sightings and were spreading the word about the large force advancing toward Orlando.

Ted frowned.  “Don’t give me that ‘okay’ shit.  They called you the
Duke
back at the Freehold—and for good reason, too!  I watched you walk right into a horde of drugged-out gang-bangers with nothing but a fucking
sword.
  And you cut a path through them like death itself.  There is
no
difference between those gang-bangers and these Russians—except the weapons and training.  But don’t forget,” Ted said with a smile.  “You got better weapons this time, too.”

Erik mulled this over doubtfully and glanced down at the trash-strewn street ten floors below.  The bricked cul-de-sac in front of the apartment building they were perched on top of was lined with the garbage of those who had remained in their dwellings since the summer began.

“Don’t you think we need to warn the people around here that the war is coming?”

Ted was quiet for a second.  “Dude, there’s no time.  There’s only a handful of us out here anyway.  You heard the Captain…”

The radio broke squelch as if on cue: “
Chisel 2-1, this is Actual, over.
”

Ted picked up the radio and said, “2
-1, Actual, go ahead.
”

“
Toolchest reports reinforcements on site in ten, repeat, back-up will be on site in ten
.”

“Chisel 2-1, copies all,” replied Ted.  The radio began to squawk through other call signs as word spread through the American line.

“Still,” said Erik.  “Feels like we ought to do
something
to warn anyone who might be left…”

Ted glassed the incoming Russian host.  “If anyone is still here, it’s too late, man.”  He pointed.  “Missiles in the air.”  He grabbed the radio again.  “Osceola, we got inbound missiles—keep your head down.”

“
Roger that
,” was Pinner’s terse reply.

Erik felt his heart quicken, the hammering in his chest was almost audible—at least that’s what it felt like.  A cold sweat trickled down his spine despite the warm and humid Florida autumn afternoon.  A thought from another life trickled through his brain:
We
haven’t had a hurricane yet this year…that’s odd…

Then he saw the white trails snake up into the sky from close to the horizon.   Off to the north and south of the Holland, the Russians had set up missile launchers.  Erik watched in silence, through shaking binoculars as the missiles reached the peak of their arc and began to curve down toward the ground.  Toward them.

“Ted…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know…”

“Those things are getting real close, man…”

When Ted didn’t reply, Erik tore his gaze from the incoming missiles and looked over his shoulder.  Ted was staring up at the sky, mouth set in a grim line, as if he were daring the incoming munitions to mess with him.  He looked like a recruiting poster, the defiant American, ready to defend his country and face death with a smile.

“Shouldn’t we get off the roof—I mean, we know where they are now…”

Ted still said nothing.  He just stared at the sky.  “They’re going over us.”  He looked down at Erik.   The radio squealed.  Someone from HQ screamed orders for units to help put counter-fire into the Russian flanks or some such nonsense.  Erik ignored it.  Now that there were honest-to-God missiles flying in the air, orders and commands didn’t mean much to him.  Getting off the damn roof was everything.

“What are we doing just standing here?” he asked in a shaky voice.

A handful of jets—fighters Erik assumed—roared overhead coming from the south.  For a heartbeat Erik thought they were American.  Maybe the Florida Air National Guard had survived the mauling he’d heard about down south.  But when they fired missiles into areas to the north that he knew were occupied by other scout units, he realized they were Russian jets.

“
They’re targeting Toolchest!
” the radio squawked.  “
All units this net, get to your
—”

The transmission cut out in time with an explosion in the distance.  A skyscraper was on fire, pouring black smoke into the sun-kissed sky.  More and more plumes of smoke began to add to the darkness forming over Orlando as the Russian missiles found their targets.

“
Toolchest is down, repeat, Toolchest is
—” another voice said before it too was silenced.  More explosions boomed in the distance as the jets appeared to turn, the sound of their engines circling all around Erik.  It was maddening.

“Yeah, we need to move.  I didn’t count on them having mobile missile launchers—or close air support.  This is getting nastier by the second.  HQ is gone, man.  Let’s roll.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice!” said Erik.   He jumped up and grabbed his pack and rifle.  He made sure that his
gladius
was strapped securely to the pack, then followed Ted across the baking hot rooftop.  Overhead, he began to hear a whine-whistle as the first missiles streaked across the sky and disappeared into downtown Orlando behind them. 

As Erik skidded to a stop by the emergency roof access hatch, he heard the first thudding booms echo around the buildings clustered at their corner of the Eola Lake park.  A few car alarms wailed in the distance.  Someone screamed from the ground.  More missiles tore through the sky overhead.

“Come on!” said Ted from inside the hatch.  “They’re getting closer!  We got to move!  It’s
over
, man.  We need to get to the girls and get the hell out of Dodge!”

Erik tossed his pack into the hatch opening and began to climb down.  His last look east found the Russian forces still streaming towards town across the Holland.  They were much closer now.  He could see dozens of vehicles and civilian trucks all rumbling along at a sedate speed.  More missiles took flight behind them in the distance.

“Jesus,” cried Ted from below.  “They’ll run right over us when that main force from Miami gets here.”

“What about our reinforcements?” asked Erik as he dropped to the floor inside the darkened hallway.  He stood up and waited for his eyes to adjust to the near pitch blackness.  Ted thrust a bundle at him and urged him to keep up. 

“Get your shit together, man.  We got to get out of this place.  Our reinforcements are going to get here too late to do any damn good.  These Russians mean business.  We’d need a fucking
division
to hold this place, now—not the battalion that we’ve got.”

The building shook as they ran through deserted hallways littered with the refuse of a panicked population that had fled weeks ago.  Erik tripped and fell headlong into the rotting garbage and discarded possessions that became land mines in the dark.  With each roar of the jets they heard through broken windows, another explosion threatened to throw them to the floor in teeth-jarring violence.

At last, gasping for breath and staggering from near-blindness, Erik and Ted stumbled into the daylight on the ground floor at the rear the apartment building.  Ted braced himself against the side of the building in the shade and spoke into his radio: “Osceola, get your ass over here on the double—bring the wheels, we are Oscar Mike!”

“Copy that, Devil Dog.”

“Come on, we got to get the hell away from this building—it’s got a big bull’s-eye on it—though they might find us by the smell.  You reek, dude.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Erik gathered his gear and raced off, ducking involuntarily every time a jet roared overhead or he heard that eerie whistle-whine of the Russian missiles.  The explosions were getting louder and closer.  Bits of brick and mortar, plaster, and glass rained down on them when a building across the street took a direct hit.  The explosion nearly deafened Erik, but it was high enough up, about six floors, that he remained on his feet and kept running after Ted.

The Marine ducked and twisted into an alley heading down towards the lake, so Erik followed.  As they exited the trash-strewn alley, Erik froze.  Across the lake on the northern shore, one of the ugly BTRs emerged from the foliage and accelerated west, followed by a three pickups full of soldiers.

The unmuffled roar of a diesel engine announced Pinner’s arrival with their M-ATV.  He came to a stop a few feet away and yelled out the window, “Hurry up, sirs!  Ivan’s on my ass!”

Erik shrugged out of his pack and tossed it through the suicide door before he climbed aboard.  Incoming rounds kicked up dust and pebbles around them.  One ricocheted off the tan armor of the M-ATV.  Erik cursed and jumped in.  Pinner hit the gas before the passenger doors closed and they rumbled west.  Erik strapped himself into the seat with some difficulty as Pinner juked and weaved through the trees on a walking path, trying to stay under cover as long as possible.

“HQ got whacked—” Ted said.  He slammed into his door as Pinner jerked the wheel.  A tree ahead of them exploded into countless toothpicks.  The roar was tremendous.

“Christ!” screamed Erik.

“BTR’s got a bead on us,” said Pinner.  “Almost waited too long,” he said.  The Indian shot a disapproving glance at his CO before focusing on the driving again.

“Just get us the hell out of here!” replied Ted, one hand on his helmet, the other braced against his door.

“Hang on, here’s the edge of the park,” Pinner called out as the M-ATV hit a curb and jumped into the air at 30 MPH.  Erik noticed absently how the engine roared as the wheels came off the ground.  He could almost hear ‘Dixie’ as the big truck soared over the ground.

He adjusted his helmet after the bone-jarring landing and tried to keep himself upright in his jump-seat while Pinner put the heavy vehicle into a slide around a hairpin corner.  Suddenly, they were on a street and gaining speed.

“Where to?” asked Pinner.  A building a few blocks away erupted into a giant fireball.

“Holy shit,” Erik whispered as he watched the debris fly through the air.  He could see desks and office furniture—on fire—soaring through the space between buildings.

“North—we need to get to the civilian camps—”

“Watch out!” Erik screamed.  A civilian had run into the road—staggered more like it—right into their path.  Pinner cursed and torqued the steering wheel to the right.  The big truck swerved, but the left rear tire clipped the stunned man and sent him flying back onto the sidewalk with a shriek of pain.

“Oops,” said Pinner.

Erik gaped out his tiny, armored window.  “I think we killed him!”

“Maybe it’s a blessing,” Ted replied.  “Can’t help that now.”

Pinner took another corner and narrowly avoided a man and woman scurrying across the road.  More and more civilians were emerging from the buildings as the Russians poured fire into eastern Orlando.  Explosions tore the air and smoke was beginning to make the afternoon look more like dusk.

“Damn civvies…” muttered Pinner.  “Get the hell out of the way!” he yelled as a woman, dressed in ragged red clothes staggered into the street with wild eyes.  As they flew past Erik got a better glimpse of her: she wasn’t wearing red, she was covered in blood.

He looked behind them and watched her fall in the middle of the street.  Four more people rushed past, screaming at their bumper for help.  There was a crowd growing in the distance, heading everywhere but east.  A chilling thought occurred to him.

“They’re driving the civilians like cattle.”

“What?” asked Pinner as he swerved to avoid more people.  “We’re losing speed here.”

Ted sighed and rubbed his face.  “Shit, Erik’s right. They’re attacking soft targets, driving any survivors right into our lines.  Those reinforcements will never get through this mess coming from the west.  We’re more screwed than I thought.” 

More and more desperate, starving people began streaming from the buildings all around them.  The growing noise of the panicked civilians began to seriously compete against the scream of the missiles and roar of the jets overhead.  Only the explosions—temporarily—silenced the river of humanity that was beginning to flow down Orlando's streets.

Pinner cursed again and the M-ATV shuddered as they ran into another pedestrian.  Erik closed his eyes at the heart-stopping sound and prayed that he would live to see Brin again.  He gritted his teeth and swore he would do everything in his power to reach her and see her to safety, if only God would do everything in His power to clear a path through the civilians.

CHAPTER 8

Quagmire

ROB REMOVED HIS STETSON and took a knee in the hard-baked dirt outside the burned home.  He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced at the noon-day sun in the azure sky.  Another scorcher of an early-autumn Arizona day.

He sorely wished that the heat was the only problem he had to worry about.  He, Lance, and a hand-picked group of Regulators were standing on the outskirts of town.  It was the nearest town to the mountain fortress the Regulators now called home. 

Reports had come in the previous day that military units of some kind were moving through town ransacking the place.  Some civilians had been killed.  At first, Rob had discounted the rumors as an attempt by the Chinese to draw his men out in force and trap them.

Rob knew the Regulators who had survived the early days defending Nogales were a hard group of veterans who wouldn’t hesitate at the opportunity to get some payback with the invaders.  Now that the Regulators had been forced to retreat into the mountains in order to escape the Chinese army, every single man was a precious commodity. 

Rob sighed and brushed the soot from his hands as he stood.  Before all the trouble had started, before the Mexicans had crossed the border
en masse
, before those terrorists they’d captured and executed had told them about the coming invasion…everything had been so easy.  When a Regulator had needed to move on to other pursuits, they just let Rob know, then up and left.  New blood was always joining up to help patrol the border.  Back when the power was on, back before the invasion.  Back when things were normal and all they had to worry about were a few border-jumpers.

Now, hidden in the alpine forest of the high country, the Regulators acted more like guerrillas.  It made them infinitely harder for the Chinese to find—but on the other hand, Rob soon had realized it made it equally hard for new recruits to find them.  Every man who went down with an injury was another man lost.  The men that Lance and his team—indeed all the Rapid Action Force teams—had lost…those men could not be replaced so easily any longer.

Rob sighed.  He had been sucked into a war of attrition.  The Chinese, despite having to ship everything halfway across the planet, seemed to have a never ending flow of soldiers and supplies.  Yet the Regulators slowly dwindled in their own country.   Every engagement cost Rob and the Regulators more than they could afford in supplies and ammunition.  Without the bountiful loot they were collecting from the Chinese, Rob had come to the conclusion the Regulators would be out of commission in a month.

What good is all the guns and ammo and gear we’re collecting if there’s no one left to use it against the Chinese?

“Same thing at the other houses…”  Lance’s quiet voice startled Rob back to the unpleasant task at hand. 

Rob picked up some of the red, crusty dirt that held a thin layer of ash and soot.  He rubbed the fine granules between his fingers and felt the silky-smoothness of the superfine ash.

What a waste.

“How many were in this one?” he asked.  Rob sighed as he brushed his hands on his jeans.

Lance looked down at the notebook in his hand.  “Family of seven.  Surviving family lives over yonder,” he said, gesturing down the street towards another charred pile of rubble that was once a family’s home.  “Said they buried these ones already.”

Rob shook his head.  “These people are paying a high price…”

“Because of us,” said Lance.

“Yeah,” whispered Rob.  Guilt washed over him.  “Because of us.”

A commotion behind them caused both men to turn and look.  The rest of the Regulators were standing around a woman with two children who was screaming and waving her arms.  Some locals were behind her, trying unsuccessfully to calm her down.  Rob noticed they weren’t trying too hard—they all wore angry expressions on their faces.

As Rob and Lance approached, the locals began to express themselves even louder:

“—hadn’t come here, they’d still be alive!”

“He’s right,” shrieked the hysterical woman.  “My husband would still be here to hug his children if you survivalist assholes hadn’t taken up shop in the mountains and led the Chinese straight to us!”

“Ma’am,” said Nate, reaching out a hand to try and keep her from slapping him.  “I sympathize with your loss—hell, we’ve lost a lot of good people lately—but—”

“You sympathize with my loss?  My husband of twelve years is
dead
because the Chinese came through here looking for
you!
”

“Yeah!” said a man behind the screaming woman who looked to Rob like he could have been her older brother.  “You boys come in here with all your guns and horses and cowboy hats and the damn Chinese came in with
tanks!”

“Did they tell you they were looking for us?” asked Rob in a measured tone.

That put the locals back on their heels.  They glanced at each other.  One man shrugged.  “Does it matter?  You show up and then less than a month later, the damn Chinese army shows up and starts to burn down the town.  It’s obvious they were looking for you!”

A shorter man at the back of the crowd pushed his way forward.  His face was a mess of bruises and cuts.  It looked like someone had used his face for a hockey puck in the Stanley Cup Finals. “You’re damn right they were looking for you—look what they did to me!  Tried to beat it out of me.  If I knew where you were at, I’d have drawn them a map!”  He spat into the dirt.

“You folks hear about Nogales?” asked Lance.  “We used to live there.  Protected the border.  When all this mess started,” said Lance.  He put his hands on his hips, brashly displaying the six-shooter holstered low on his hip.  “We were fighting illegal aliens.  Then we ran across some terrorists that were using the Mexicans to break down the border—for their own reasons.  When the dust settled, we saw the Chinese comin’ up out of the desert like a damn snake.  We knew we couldn’t fight them by ourselves—”

“Because let me tell you, there ain’t no one else out there anymore that gives a damn about Arizona.  We used to work pretty close with Border Patrol—even they got left out to dry by Washington,” added Rob.

“And we left Nogales before the Chinese even knew we were there.  They didn’t
follow
us—they were coming north on their own,” added Lance.  “Only thing
we
did was delay the inevitable.  They would’a been here two weeks ago if we hadn’t slowed ‘em down some.”

“Yeah, well, they may not have followed you, but you sure pissed ‘em off!  They were asking everyone about the location of the ‘local extremists’.  Yeah, they asked if we knew any gun nuts around here,” one of the locals said.  He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

The woman glanced at the Regulators, all sporting ARs or AK-47s liberated from the Chinese they’d killed.  “You guys sure fit that bill pretty well,” she spat.

Rob glanced at his camo-clad men and took in the rifles, pistols, day packs, ammo pouches, tactical vests… 
She’s right
, he told himself. 
If anyone fits that bill, it’s us.
  He looked down the dusty street at the destroyed homes.  Most were burned to the ground, but some had walls blown in and were only partially collapsed.  The entire town only had maybe a hundred homes.  Rob could count upwards of seventy right in front of him that had been reduced to charred rubble.  The sight sickened him and left a foul taste in his mouth, but he forced himself to look.

“You get off on killing their men, and now they’re getting off on killing
us
.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” asked the woman, clutching her children close.  “My house is gone, my husband—” her voice faltered.  “We have no place to go, no food, no…no
nothing
.”  A fresh wave of tears left water-tracks on her soot-smeared face.  She hunched over the sad faces of her young boys, her body shaking with silent sobs.  The stone-faced man Rob figured for her brother stepped up behind her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“She’s right.  The hell you think you can do—beat all those Chinese guys on your own?  Shoot,” he said, his voice filled with contempt.  “If I’d known where you jackasses were hiding, I’d have told the Chinks what they wanted to know in a heartbeat.” He crossed his arms, as if daring Rob to offer a rebuttal.

Rob looked at his own scuffed, dusty boots.  He had no answer.  They were right.  He had led the Regulators out of the forest and down the mountain to attack the Chinese.  The Chinese had then started hunting the Regulators, tracked them up into the forest.  Lance and his team had struck the first blow and wiped out a few Chinese patrols—which were then increased in size.  Rob had responded by creating the RAFs and countering the larger Chinese patrols.  More skirmishes, more death.  The Chinese sent even larger groups of men—the Regulators countered again, always hitting hard and fast and disappearing into the trees and up the mountains.

Now it was clear the Chinese were adopting an age-old strategy to flush out insurgents.  Destroy the communities the insurgents needed to survive, turn the local population against the ‘freedom fighters’ and just plan outlast them.

Rob continued to think, his mind racing in many directions at once as the locals continued to berate him and the other Regulators.  He glanced back at the burned house and saw a charred crib.  A small bundle of black soot was in the crib.  Rob nearly lost his breakfast at the pathetic sight of the dead child’s burned body.  Just a shape really—he couldn’t see the actual body, but he knew what that black lump in the burned, half-collapsed crib was.

My fault.  All this…my pride led me to think the Regulators were…what…?  An army of patriots?
He tasted bile in his mouth again.
That poor child…dying alone and likely scared out of its mind…

“—leave and get the hell out of here!  All of you!  Maybe if you just
go
the other towns around here wont’ suffer as bad as we have…” said the distraught woman.

“I am so sorry,” said Rob softly.

“You can take your apology and stuff it up your ass!” said big brother.

“All of you are welcome to…”  Rob looked at the hard faces arrayed against him.  They’d never come to the Regulator camp, if nothing else than out of spite.  There was nothing but hatred, loss, and grief left in this little town.  He sighed and took one last glance at the burned crib and it’s tiny, pathetic occupant.  “If there’s anything—”

“Shut up!” screamed the woman.  She lunged for Rob and was caught by Nate and Lance.  “Let me go!” she hissed, struggling like a wet cat.  When she realized she’d never break free, she screamed in frustration.  “Just
leave!
  Get out of here! 
Now!
”

Defeated and utterly sick to his stomach, Rob nodded and gave the signal to the rest of the Regulators to saddle up.  He walked back to his truck, trying to ignore the shouts and jeers hurled at him from the locals.  Where once he and the Regulators were hailed as patriots and even saviors back in Nogales, now they were traitors, criminals.  Baby-killers.

Safe in the cab of his truck, Rob looked over at Lance as he climbed aboard and shut the door.  The noise of the locals was muffled, but still there.  They began approaching the Regulator vehicles.  A rock bounced off Lance’s door.

“Let’s roll, boys,” said Lance into his radio.

Rob started the truck and led the sad procession out of the shriveled, burned husk that was once known as Pine Bluff, Arizona.

THIS REPORT IS UNACCEPTABLE Minister Po,” said Shin Ho formally.  He looked at the report in his hands and slammed it down on the expensive wooden desk.  “These Americans are resisting more than we thought possible.”

Po Sin spread his hands in a wide gesture that was meant to convey a shrug.  “How could we have
possibly
known that these cowboys would decide to fight an army?  An army!  It’s ludicrous!”

“This resistance is costing us soldiers and supplies that we can ill afford to lose—”

“We have plenty of everything—including men,” said Po Sin with a confidence that he wasn’t sure he felt anymore.  “It is more an irritation than anything.  They are as so many mosquitoes biting a rhinoceros.”

“Whatever you want to call it, they are slowing down progress—and
that
,” said Shin Ho pointing a finger into the face of his subordinate, “is patently unacceptable to the Supreme Leader.”

“You think I do not know this?” shouted Po Sin, taking his argumentative former friend off-guard.  “My neck is on the line as much as yours,
Mr. Undersecretary
.”  Po Sin shook his head in disgust.  “These Americans—they don’t know when to give up!  Anyone one else would have surrendered and been happy to receive our mercy, our food, water, and medical supplies.  But no!  They must fight us tooth and nail over land that is little better than desert.  It makes no sense.”

Shin Ho, the nominal regional leader of the Communist Party of the People’s Republic, looked down at his manicured hands.  He was quiet for a moment.  Po Sin studied the slightly overweight man whom he had counted as a dear friend just some months ago.  They had been good-natured rivals when the conquest had started.  Now, Shin Ho had begun to climb the political ladder and was just a few heartbeats away from becoming Supreme Leader in his own right.