Holding Their Own XIII: Renegade

Prologue

They rose as one, four whispers of distortion in the grey, pre-dawn light.

Making no more noise than a bank of fog rolling over cool earth, they flowed down the ridge with fluid, coordinated movements. There was power in the advance, a subtle grace that projected a predator's confidence in its ability to unleash irresistible violence upon its prey.

Black muzzles swept in precise, effortless arcs while gloved fingers hovered above triggers, coiled for work. They performed as one being, a single entity that promised havoc.

To their front was a remote farmhouse, a featureless home isolated in the arid plain of the Lone Star nation’s panhandle. The objective. The target. The victims.

Their choreographed timing gave evidence to years of training, the unit’s meticulous spacing and swift execution indicating skill, practice, experience and leadership. But it was their eyes, empty and fearless, that announced the brotherhood of combat and the cohesion of men who trusted their lives only to each other.

At 300 meters from the objective, the tight formation dispersed, each of the four assaulters taking a unique vector on the target.

Only a few minutes had passed before the desired positions were achieved. There was no pause, no hesitation or doubt, and absolutely no presumption of mercy. In unison, the crisp Texas morning was disrupted by the sound of four soft clicks as safeties were disengaged.

There was no warning, no request for surrender, no demand or negotiation, and no escape.

The solitary sentry posted on the far side of the driveway never heard the first shot. At 2300 feet per second, the 30-caliber bullet easily outpaced the sound waves generated by the expanding gasses that sent it roaring down the barrel.

Less than a second passed before the round impacted the target with painstaking precision, the shot nearly decapitating the ill-fated guard. Before his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, an avalanche of pure hell slammed into the ranch house.

The brick exterior of the home was no match for the volume of deadly lead that shredded the façade. Dozens of bullets ripped through the structure, expertly aimed at a height to find anyone sleeping on beds or couches.

The interior was instantly transformed into a blizzard of choking, blinding chaos. A cloud of exploding gypsum board, splintered wood, and powdered mortar greeted the few occupants who survived the first moments. The incoming fire was relentless and inescapable.

Within seconds of the initial volley, the four attackers began working their aim lower, eventually spraying the inside at just a few inches above the foundation. Any occupant who did manage to hug the floor found no refuge.

In a well-practiced maneuver, the team approached the doors, two at the front, two at the back. A moment later, they were inside.

The attackers knew the home’s layout and fanned left and right without pause or overlap. For the first time, they spoke, shouts of Clear! echoing through the interior, punctuated by single discharges from secondary weapons as each body they encountered received one shot to the head. No prisoners. No witnesses. No survivors.

Less than 30 seconds after breaching the household, a calm voice drifted through the unit’s earpieces. Objective identified. Garage.

Acknowledged. On our way, the responding transmission acknowledged.

The four-man unit regrouped in the garage, standing over five large, plastic tubs. The leader took a knee, opening each and quickly scanning the contents.

Just as their intel had predicted, the containers were brimming with cash.

Captain, is this all of it? asked one of the nearby men.

Yes, it looks like they kept all of their eggs in one basket. Let’s get it loaded.

Another minute passed before the loot was secured in the back of the late model Chevy pickup parked in the driveway. The operation’s timeline was further accelerated when the key to the stolen vehicle was spotted in the ignition.

For drug dealers, they sure were a trusting bunch, commented one of the men.

And I was looking forward to practicing my hot-wiring skills, mumbled another of the team, seemingly disappointed by the discovery.

How much do you think is in those tubs? asked the youngest.

Shrugging his shoulders, the captain replied, The boss said there was at least two million. Could be more.

Evidently, marketing homemade meth pays better than working for the Alliance, chuckled the sniper.

For today, responded the captain, then quickly followed by. Now, stop chatting like a bunch of school girls and get loaded up.

Chapter 1

Diana toyed with her food, building small designs with the kernels of corn using the tip of her fork.

Nick, sitting across the table, knew the Alliance's highest elected official well enough to sit quietly and let her think.

Finally, she completed her maize architectural wonder, positioned her cutlery on her napkin, sighed deeply and peered up at him with sad eyes. I can't believe it's been four years already, she began. It seems like just a few weeks ago, we were struggling to develop a plan where every citizen ate a square meal and had a roof over his head. I thought we would be so much further along the road to recovery by now.

Nick, having already guessed the upcoming election was governing her thoughts, tried to be supportive. You and that wonderful intellect of yours have done more for the people of the Alliance than anyone else. We’ve come a long way … made great progress. You should be proud of your achievements.

His words brought a slight upturn to the corners of her mouth, but the smile was obviously forced. Don't you think you're a little prejudiced when it comes to assessing the results of my term in office?

Grunting, the big man nodded his agreement. Heck yes, I'm prejudiced. There's no doubt about that. That being said, no one understands the issues facing this fledgling Republic better than you, and no one is better equipped to further the recovery. The people know how you have championed their causes and how much you have sacrificed to serve them. I'm absolutely, without a doubt positive you’ll be reelected if you decide to run.

Diana stood abruptly, flattening the folds of her skirt as a subconscious reaction to the compliment. Flattery will get you everywhere, she cooed.

Nick understood instantly that she was trying to change the subject. Shaking his head, he said, We have to talk about this eventually. It's a very important decision for both of our futures. We can't keep putting off this discussion.

Picking up her plate, Diana made for the kitchen sink, mumbling sarcastically, No pressure, as she rose.

I'm sorry, Nick replied, softening his tone. Yet, you've been avoiding this topic for weeks, young lady. There is a whole host of prominent citizens waiting for you to announce your candidacy for reelection. It's become difficult for me to focus on the Republic's security issues when the perpetual topic of discussion is what you're going to do. SAINT logistics protocol reviews and scheduling team exercises pale in comparison. All eyes are on you, Diana.

I've made a list of positives and negatives, she countered, spreading her arms in frustration. I've tried to approach this choice in an analytical manner. It sure doesn't seem to be helping me commit to a decision, though.

Standing, Nick pushed the chair back and moved to her side. Gently, with a hand on each shoulder, he turned Diana to face him.

Gazing deeply into her eyes, he said, You know I will support you … 100 percent – no matter what you decide.

His words seemed to warm her, but only slightly. The smile that crossed her lips was genuine and fleeting.

And what would you and I do if I chose to go back to private life? she asked. The day the new leader transitioned into this position, what would we do? How would we make a living? Could we just walk away from a project we have been so invested in? Building the Alliance has become our lives.

Sighing, Nick responded, Oh, there will still be opportunities for us to support the recovery. As for our employment prospects, I don’t think we will have to worry about not having food on our table. There's always work for a man who is willing to stand ready behind the business end of a gun. You could restart your father's church ... or find work as a lobbyist with the new government. You have a lot more friends than you think, Diana. Hell, we might even form a joint venture with Bishop and Terri and see if we can make a go of his ranch. I think you'd look hot in chaps and a 10-gallon hat, by the way.

His humor was well-timed, again bringing a smile to her face. Toying with the buttons on his shirt, she met his gaze and provocatively answered, I have some things in my closet that I think you would find far more attractive than a dusty, old pair of leather chaps and a sweat-soaked hat.

While it was Diana who was known far and wide for her deft, political maneuvers and diplomatic skills, Nick wasn't exactly an amateur. Realizing that yet again, she was trying to divert the conversation, he decided to let her off the hook and play along.

Pulling her close in a gentle embrace, he lowered his head to inhale deeply of her hair's sweet scent. You know, if you weren’t in office, we would have a lot more time to explore the contents of that closet of yours.

Diana instantly relaxed in his arms, apparently more comfortable with the conversation’s new direction. Yes, you're right. We could also go ahead and execute these wedding plans that I've been working on for months now. As a matter of fact, we've been threatening to get hitched for so long I'm afraid that when the wedding invitations finally arrive, all of our friends are going to think it's a practical joke.

Let's run off to Vegas, he joked, glad to see her perking up.

Vegas doesn't exist anymore, she bantered.

We could book a cruise and have the captain marry us.

There aren't any cruise ships, she responded, hands moving to her hips in mock frustration.

Seriously, he countered, Every time we’ve started to tie the knot, something critical has interfered. You know I want to marry you as much as anything. Besides, if I recall correctly, the last time our special day was delayed, it was your decision.

How could we have a wedding when Bishop and Terri were off in Indian territory trying to save the Alliance? She protested. "In fact, I'd say you were intentionally sending Bishop off on all of those assignments just to avoid getting hitched."

Me? he replied, trying to feign an offended expression and failing badly as an actor. "As I recall, it was you and Terri who cooked up that scheme for those two to run off to Mexico. Bishop and I didn't want anything to do with it."

They both broke out in laughter, both well aware that neither was truly at fault. As soon as the comic relief had bled off, Diana became serious again.

Staring deeply into Nick’s eyes, she placed a hand on each of his cheeks and declared, I do love you, Big Guy. You know that, don’t you?

Yes, he whispered. And you know that I truly love you more than anything, right?

Yes, she responded in a hush. And you’re being honest with me … that you’re okay with my job. The pressure? The responsibility? The interference in our lives?

I am, he answered truthfully. I think the Alliance needs a leader like you. You’ve proven that to me. Sometimes the job sucks. Sometimes the responsibility pulls us apart. But in the end, I love you more for the reliability and integrity you personify with each passing day.

Then I’m going to throw my hat in the ring tomorrow, she answered with a passionate  intensity. I just don’t feel like my job is done. I pray that you’ll stay by my side and help me see this through.

I’ve got your back, he grinned. Together, we’re an unbeatable team.

I hope so, she whispered, pulling him tight. I truly do hope so.

There were still a few hours of daylight left as Sheriff Watts steered his cruiser along the dirt lane.

Parking next to the other two law enforcement vehicles already in the driveway, the lawman was greeted by one of the local deputies.

How many? Watts asked without any pleasantries.

Eight dead, sir.

Wounded?

No survivors, replied the deputy with a slight grimace.

Who found them? the senior officer asked.

I did, sir. I was driving down County Road 412 and spotted a large group of buzzards circling in the distance. That’s never a good sign. This is the only home for miles around, and it has been abandoned since before everything went to hell – or so we thought. The birds struck me as odd, so I drove over to check it out and found the deceased.

Marching toward the crime scene, Watts continued his inquiry, Do we know who the victims are?

The deputy shook his head, Only one of them. Burt Irvin, 34 years of age, multiple arrests for various narcotics related charges before the collapse. Served two sentences at Huntsville. I knew Mr. Irvin well. He was a pretty hardcore character, not the type to shy away from a confrontation with anyone. The other seven are John Does at this point in time, sir.

Watts stopped to examine the dead sentry, the cadaver’s face expressionless despite the dead man’s head being split nearly in half. It took the experienced sheriff less than two seconds to gaze into the surrounding scrub along the bullet’s likely path. Pointing with an extended finger, he directed, Have one of your boys search that area to look for a shell casing, deputy. There’s no sign of powder burns on the deceased, and the trajectory indicates that the shooter was some distance away.

The sheriff’s attention was then drawn to another deputy who was placing small, numbered plaques on the ground.

Your report? Watts asked.

So far, we’ve discovered four clusters of shell casings, the junior officer stated. Two in front of the residence, two in back. It looks like they hit the home from four different angles and then executed a breach at both entrances.

Caliber?

Three of the shooters were using 5.56 NATO cartridges. One was armed with a .308 Winchester, sir. In addition, we’ve found seven .45-caliber pistol casings inside the residence. It appears as though each of the deceased inside received a coup de grace in the head once the perpetrators had entered the structure.

Rubbing his chin, Watts responded, Excellent report, Deputy. Thank you.

Pivoting smartly, the Alliance’s top law enforcement officer headed for the front door. Once inside, he spent several minutes investigating each body and room.

Of special interest to the sheriff were the victim’s weapons, assorted rifles, shotguns, and pistols strewn throughout the interior. While he was examining one such example, another deputy approached carrying a large, metal box.

We just found this, sir. There must be 15 pounds of crystal meth inside, Sheriff, the man announced.

Where was it? Watts asked, his eyebrows moving towards his hairline.

It was sitting on the kitchen counter, sir. Just out in the open.

With a scowl forming on his lips, Watts nodded toward one of the long guns lying nearby. That is a Colt M16, full automatic, military issue, battle rifle, he said. The magazine is full, just like every other weapon I’ve studied so far. These guys never had a chance. Not one of them got off a shot. This was a very professional hit job.

Do you think a rival drug gang is responsible, sir?

Shaking his head, Watts said, No. A rival gang would have taken the weapons and the personal effects from the victims. That man over there has a 20-carat gold Rolex watch on his wrist. All of them have significant amounts of money in their pockets. This rifle alone is worth a small fortune in some markets. No, whoever chopped these guys to pieces was after something else. Either that, or they were really, really pissed off.

Concurring, the local added, There’s one more thing, sir. It’s in the garage.

Watts followed the officer to the other end of the house and out into the garage. See the outline on the floor? There were five large containers here when the shooting began. You can see where the dust fell, and then the tubs were moved after things had started to settle.

Any clear footprints?

Yes, sir, they are all around this area. The only distinct image we’ve found so far appears to be that of a military issued, combat boot.

The deputy’s response again caused Watts’ eyebrows to rise. Was this an Army operation that we weren’t informed of? Did Alpha send up one of their SAINT teams and somehow leave us out of the loop? That would certainly explain the professional nature of this hit.

I’ve contacted Fort Hood, sir, and they say that there were no authorized ops in this area. Same with the capital; no SAINT teams have been deployed anywhere near this site.

The deputy’s report didn’t improve Watts’ mood, the sage, old sheriff now more troubled than before. After thanking his men for their excellent work, he returned to his cruiser and began the long journey back to Alpha.

If there was a paramilitary unit operating within Alliance territory, Nick needed to be aware. If the various drug operations were upping their game, his department was going to need help. It was obvious from the crime scene that highly skilled individuals with significant firepower had perpetrated the massacre. While his men were brave, loyal keepers of the peace, SWAT teams and quick reaction forces had yet to be reestablished. Watts’ officers were scattered, few in number, and generally patrolled and enforced solo. Going up against an organized, professional fighting force was beyond their capabilities.

The other concern weighing on the good sheriff involved the drug trade. The availability of homemade and homegrown narcotics appeared to be on the rise. At first, the occasional event involving these substances had been ignored. After all, drug abuse had been thwarted by the apocalypse, having suffered a serious ding in its supply chain. And in the grand scheme of survival, the drug dealers’ revival was a problem that could be addressed later while other, critical priorities consumed Alliance resources. And if folks wanted to smoke a little marijuana to offset the horrors of the apocalypse, who could blame them? Bathtub gin, moonshine liquor, and a variety of homebrewed beers were not only accepted but often embraced by the population at large. There were no taxes to be collected, no quality control apparatus in place. Government and law enforcement had simply looked the other way.

Now, however, Watts and his officers were seeing more and more hardcore drugs and substances. Crystal Meth was easy to make. Somehow, the cocaine family of products was making its way into Texas. There had been more than a few incidents of poisoning from bad moonshine. Apparently, the libations seemed to settle a population stressed by day to day survival. When the relatively peaceful status quo of the early 21st century had been replaced with a society more like the wild, wild west than a modern, civilized society, alcohol and drugs seemed to keep anxiety at bay. 

President Diana Brown had put it best, The people may be fed and sheltered, but that doesn’t mean they are happy.

Now, Watts had a mass murder on his hands and no idea as to the motive. The concept of the nefarious cartels possibly reestablishing themselves on his turf made the veteran law dog cringe. I’m going to bring Nick and the military on board with this. We have to nip this in the bud, and do so right now, he mumbled as his cruiser sped south toward Alpha.     

Chapter 2

Bishop eyed the sofa’s corner with unblinking intensity, his ears seeking any sign of the foe’s advance. When there was no movement, he carefully crept around and again waited for a telltale sign.

In a flash, he sprang to the back of the couch, weapon high and ready to engage. There was no target there, and that was troubling. Where did you go? he pondered. Where are you hiding?

Still on his hands and knees, and crouching low, Bishop stalked along the back, ready to engage at the far edge. With his finger tightening on the trigger, he rounded the corner in a burst of speed, only to find his firearm pointed at nothing but empty space. What the hell? he thought.

Deciding to change tactics, the Texan rushed forward. Crawling along the furniture’s perimeter, he sought the illusive target. As before, no one was there.

He’s getting way too sneaky for his own good, Bishop thought, deciding to make one more lap around the sofa before changing tactics. He was surely faster than his nemesis, positive he held the advantage in tactical awareness and combat experience.

Bishop skulked along the front of the couch to no avail. Pausing again to listen intently, the Texan was disappointed by the absolute silence.

Just as he made the far end, movement drew his eye. From behind a pile of cushions, Hunter’s blonde head darted quickly, followed immediately by the green plastic of a squirt gun. Before the warrior dad could react, a stream of cold water erupted from his son’s weapon, striking Bishop behind the ear with a chilling strike.

Faking an agonizing death, Bishop melodramatically dropped to the floor and rolled to his back while moaning in distress. A moment later, his wounded legs shot straight toward the heavens, dropped to the floor with a thud, and then flopped several times in his final throes.

Despite his eyes being closed, Bishop could detect Hunter climbing down from the couch. Are you really dead, Dad?

Yeah, you got me, the make-believe corpse responded, even then maintaining the position of his demise. 

Obviously still suspicious, Hunter approached his prone father with great caution. Bishop was again surprised to feel his son bend and remove the water gun from the would-be cadaver’s limp hand. Are you sure you’re not faking it, Dad?

You got me, Hunter. You win. Fair and square, he answered, only his lips moving.

I won. I won! The child squealed, his outburst loud enough to bring Terri rushing from the kitchen in time to witness Hunter’s victory dance around his dad’s still body.

I thought I told you two boys not to use squirt guns in the house? she snapped, immediately understanding the situation and pretending to be upset. When neither male member of the household replied, she continued to scold. And besides, I was led to believe that you gentlemen were coming in here to read a book, not practice war games. This little firefight has soaked half of my furniture and left a puddle on the floor.

Rolling up on one elbow Bishop responded, We were reading a book about cowboys and Indians, he replied with blinking innocence. We just got a little caught up in the story, he continued.

Terri glanced down at her son and instructed, You go empty those guns in the tub, young man. And then I want you ready for bed. Understand?

Nodding to accept at his mother’s wishes, Hunter rushed toward the bathroom leaving his parents alone.

That was amazing, Bishop sighed. He’s not even four years old and he is already beginning to understand advanced tactical elements. He took the high ground and waited for me to expose myself. I think I was about 20 years old before my thick skull allowed that concept to finally sink in.

Terri wasn’t impressed. He needs to learn arithmetic and how to read, Bishop. We both agreed that those skills are more important than learning about combat. I know you love to play with him, but let’s not forget the priorities.

Bishop nodded and grinned at his wife’s motherly instincts. Yes, my love, you are absolutely correct. I’ll hide the squirt guns, and we’ll work on our cyphering skills tomorrow.

Hunter returned just then, his pajama shirt on backward. Bending to scoop up her son, Terri carried him to the couch and helped straighten his wardrobe. Give me a kiss, and then your dad will tuck you in for the night. Cindy is coming over in a bit to babysit while your father and I go to Aunt Diana and Uncle Nick’s house.

Love you, the boy cooed, kissing his mom on the cheek before reaching for his dad’s arms.

Ten minutes later, there was a light rap at the door. Terri answered, greeting the waiting teenager with a warm smile. He’s already in bed, so you should have an easy evening.

He’s never any trouble, Miss Terri. In a way, I’m a little disappointed that we won’t get to play, replied the young girl.

I think Bishop wore him out, Terri grinned. They’ve been romping around all afternoon. Anyway, we won’t be late. Just dinner and a little conversation over at Miss Brown’s. If you have any trouble, just ask the neighbors to send their son with a message.

Is it true that the Alliance is trying to get the cell towers working again? I barely remember smartphones but would love to be able to talk to my cousins back in Austin, asked the babysitter.

I know they’ve tried to get the network up and running, but I haven’t heard an update in a few months. I’ll ask Diana this evening and let you know.

A moment later, Bishop appeared. After nodding at Cindy and saying hello, the Texan turned to his wife, Ready?

And able, Terri replied, opening the front door. See you in a bit, she said to sitter as they couple headed onto the front porch.

It was the first cool night in Alpha, the fall months finally bringing relief to what had been a brutally hot summer. This is nice, Terri noted, her arms spread wide to take in the air. The temperature is perfect.

Bishop, nodding his agreement, said, Yes, it’s great snuggling weather. C’mere.

Accepting the invitation, Terri moved in under his arm as the couple continued to stroll toward Diana’s official residence.

A few blocks later, after exchanging pleasantries with the security men posted around the yard, Bishop knocked on the door and grinned at his wife. I hope Nick has grilled up some of his famous steaks. I’m hungry.

I don’t think dinner is the primary reason they invited us over tonight. I think Diana is going to announce that she’s running for reelection, Terri responded.

You think? I didn’t know she’d made up her mind.

I’m just guessing.

Grunting, Bishop said, Your guesses are generally spot-on.

Nick opened the door just then, the big man smiling widely at his guests. Come in, come in, he greeted. You’re right on time.

Before they could step through the threshold, Diana’s head appeared around Nick’s shoulder, the Alliance honcho obviously happy to see their guests.

There was a quick exchange of hugs and kisses at the doorway before Bishop and Terri were ushered into the dining room. The visitors were shocked to see the impressive, mahogany table set with fine china, formal dinnerware normally reserved for official state occasions.

Glancing down at his blue jeans and flannel shirt, Bishop flushed, Did I miss something? I’m not really dressed for a fancy affair.

Oh, don’t be silly, Diana laughed. We have some important news and decided at the last minute to go all out and make it a special evening. It’s just us four.

Has the wedding been rescheduled? Terri teased, moving to admire the place settings and throwing her husband an, I told you so, look.

"No, nothing that important, Diana laughed. I would have had the meal catered by a private chef if that were the case."

They all enjoyed her jest, and then Diana went about getting everyone seated. Glancing at Nick and Bishop, she lamented, Now, before you two bottomless pits start paying more attention to what’s on your plates than the conversation at hand, I want to make my announcement. I’ve finally decided to run for reelection and wanted to let our dearest friends know first.

Bishop and Terri both acted completely surprised, the couple rising quickly and coming around the table for another exchange of hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

That is great news, Bishop announced. The Alliance needs you now more than ever.

Terri agreed, With everything that’s going on in Mexico and the US, we need a steady hand at the wheel.