oyce was standing there with a mask on, the plastic distorting his face into a hideous grin. "My guess is you're one of Williams' men. I knew he was a tough character when I first met him. And which one are you?"
"The time for chit chat is over Royce. You wanna drop that piece and come with me?" Beau said sternly.
"Naw, that ain't gonna happen. If you take me out of here, it will be toes pointing up. I have too much riding on this last deal of the Generals. With his landholdings, I will become a mega-billionaire. So, I will either do or die." He pulled his pistol up and felt something stinging his chest. Confused, he took a quick glance down and saw a little spot on his chest turn red and began to blossom.
He knew he was done for and raised his gun one more time. Before it even came level, he was dead and falling heavily to the ground. Beau only had about a minute on his mask, and took a quick spin to look around the complex, into a few rooms, and a couple of halls to see what was there. The place only had two more men in it, and they were on the ground turning blue.
Royce had been given his chance. But he chose wrong. His was the last death the Grim Reaper would get that night. William had lost four good men, Royce lost six including himself. It was not known where his other men were. He would get a message back to William in report of the situation. He would sleep outside tonight and allow the Fentanyl to dissipate then begin the cleanup in the morning.
William was waiting when the DeHavalind landed with his crew, or at least, what was left. This mission had taken a very heavy toll. He was heavy with the deaths of Curt and Hazard. Both good men, no, the best of men. They were the final men of the original Four besides himself. No doubt he probably would have been wounded or killed had he been on the mission.
He hated the very thought of sending men into danger. He figured he would lose a man or so, but, not his two most trusted comrades. But they had signed up of their own free will with the intent of dying for their country. No, their graves wouldn't be marked with a white cross in Arlington with their names on it. No, they wouldn't be recognized as Purple Heart recipients, or perhaps their names ever mentioned in a history book or honorable mentions.
But, these men were extremely close to him. He would toast them tomorrow . . . alone. They died bravely and as heros.
But he had no intention of falling short of his original goal: take out the President of the United States. He sought it, he longed for it. Never had he had such an hatred for any man. This man had caused to fall, an already weakened, hurting nation. She wasn't like what he wanted her to be. But, she was HIS country. Just like she was the country of millions and millions of Americans. And he knew what she COULD be.
He hated the man sitting in Oval office with his feet on the furniture. He hated him because of his deliberate acts, his cockiness, his destroying of the black race by leading them into racial hatred. Especially since America had afforded them a chance to make a life for themselves.
But, nowadays, as a result of this mens' leading, they seemed to want to welch off the white man, then cry racial hatred when they mentioned any kind of deference to their languishing in the slums, most of the time the cause of themselves. Usually, they destroyed everything including the already low quality housing. Investors simply would not put money into something which would soon be destroyed in such a fashion.
He hated the fact that most of the young blacks were raised with only one parent, and that, because of their parents. They'd rather lay around and collect welfare checks than to work. They'd rather abuse drugs, women, guns and then, if one of their thugs were shot down by a white policeman, burn their own city down around their ears.
Heck, that was not a problem. But going to another city and do the same, that was a problem. They would just loot everything they could, set fire to it then move to another city to start the cycle all over again.
But this sleazebag president was doing everything he could to destroy the country in the little time he had. Because he KNEW they were coming after him. But he was not afraid. He had protection, he had the military like he wanted it, he had his Mulsim czars under him, and, he had escape routes out of the White House via tunnels dug by 'white crackers' as he called them. He then could fly saely out of the country under military protection.
"When I go out, I'll go out with a bang! Just let them try to find all I've done and renounce it" he thought. But there were some extenuating factors that he had not counted on because he had not experienced them. He had never experienced Patriotism. He had no idea how deep and hot that fire burned in the veins of millions of self-armed Americans.
Yes, blood would be spilled on the streets of America. Blood would run down the streets like water. Patriots would be willingly dying, for their families and their heirs rights; for America . . . and for Freedom. Yes! The Tree of Liberty would be watered by the blood of Patriots all over America. But, tyrants, zealots and traitors would also be watering her as well.
William had sworn to his men, to his nation and to God that he would take that president down personally. Even if it cost him his last breath. And, he would do it with weapons contaminated heavily with the blood of real swine, not the named swine . . . the lowly Muslims called anyone who was not sympathetic to their Mohammed, himself a thief, a robber, a rapist, a pedophile, a coward, a liar . . .
The report from Beau last evening had cut his heart out of his chest. He sat up most of the night reading and studying the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence again and again. He was about to retire when a set of blue prints setting out in the open caught his eye. In the legend at the bottom right of the page marked 'Pennsylvania.' But that wasn't the part that caught his breath.
The thing that made him sit up and look again was the number of the facility. It was marked II. Beau was at Pen I right now. Where was Pen II? As his curiosity peaked, he searched for some kind of location. Then, he found it. But what he saw in a document attached to the back infuriated him to no end. That piece of property had been transferred to the Clintons.
So, Royce had it all figured out from the get-go. He would con the Clintons, gaining means and strings to many of their properties, use the Generals name to be the front and make it all look legit and clean, then when he had the General taken out, all the property would revert to him. Then, all he had to do was wait for the Clintons to die and all their properties would revert to him as well. And that's where the Gentleman's Patriot Club came in. What a diabolical plan! And, it would have worked had Beau not taken him out.
Well, the way was clear to the president now. William would make sure he was taken alive and would swing at the end of a pig greased rope along with all his lowlife cowardly Muslim swine czars, and . . . the bloody Clintons.
He would toast Curt and Hazard when Beau returned with them. The General should be back by then. William retired, shaken, stirred, grief heavy and sad for his friends. But the road to the White House was wide open now. The blood of president sleazebag Obama would be avenged for the blood of his good friends. All of them who had died in the retaking of America. They all had died in their Last Mission Accepted.
By noon the next day the remains of Curt Stallings and Leonard Hazart Diamond were cremated. William had their ashes in a small box on his desk. He had put their pictures up on the wall, framed and high, close to the ceiling. Their names and dates were underneath as well as their status as original members of the Four. And, their Fancy Rugers under their picts.
All of those original members were gone now with the exception of himself. All had realized their dreams of dying for their country in their old age. What an honor it was for them, and, a distinct honor to have known them, work with them, stand shoulder to shoulder with them as they fought for the betterment of their country. Tomorrow would return from the bunker leaving there a small crew to guard it. Ginger had come in late last evening with Curt and Haz. The planes they'd secured from Royce were left in place with the exception of the 210.
He would personally spread the ashes of Curt and Hazard the next morning when they be toasted. "Rest in peace men. You've earned it."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beau was amazed at what he found in the Bunker where Royce died. Royce had secured an incredible list of toys, had storeroom after storeroom of rifles and ammunition stacked to the ceiling, every kind of ordinance one could think of, and some which Beau had never even seen. He had rolling stock, (small trailers carrying large guns, small cannon. He found two rooms filled with bales of marijuana and one room stacked with cases of cocaine.
There were two Learjet's, two DeHavalind twins, three Cessna one seventy twos, a Cessna 210 twin, and the most important of all, a C130 transport. This was all kept in a monstrous chasm from which salt had been mined taking years and years to carve out. The hangar door was made to look like the sheer side of a mountain of rock, but it was just paint and Styrofoam with plastic plants 'growing' from it.
All of this would be exceptionally useful in their missions. And especially, "The Big One . . ." He also found something else of interest. A crate of pistols; identical to the one Royce was holding when Beau met him. They were German lugers, silver and black ornate with gold trim. Beautiful! So, the Lugers Of Freedom had been the group Royce had created for the Clintons. Interesting. He pocketed one to take back to William.
He buried Royce and all the men that died there with him there in the forest in an unmarked mass grave. He then returned with the backhoe that was stored inside the hangar, piling some huge rocks around the door they'd blown through to access the bunker. He had no doubt that some of Royce's men were off on a mission.
When the Cessna 210 was rolled out and the door of the hangar secured, Beau climbed in and began going down his checklist. He hoped he could get enough speed out of her to get him into the hangar in Texas before dark.
When the Cessna pulled up to the hangar in Texas, men swarmed the plane and began unloading it. They cleaned it, fueled it and had it put it away in less than an hour. William began his debrief while they walked back to the bunker. They decided they would toast this evening at seventeen thirty one. He expected the entire Club to be there. He was incredulous as to the pistol. It made a total of eleven pistols he had in his possession. The General had hung his on the wall preferring to carry his XD 45.
William had hung a pistol on the wall of each of the Four. That evening, as he toasted by himself out of the original bottle whose seal was broken that night when the Four were formed, a tear ran down his face. Not only of grief. But of gladness, of respect, of honor, appreciation and yes, love. It was a love containing all of the preceding adjectives. They had performed admirably, and laid their lives down in their Last Mission Accepted. Theirs was a life of valor.
Then, William instructed that when he died, all who were of the Four at that time were to toast him from that same bottle. When they nodded they understood the assignment, he broke the seal on a new bottle, poured a shot in six other glasses from a different bottle, then poured for the General, Sung Wu, Joe Orozco, Beau Adams, Doc Wilson, Gaylon Hamlin and Ginger who now were the Four. They raised their shot glasses, and when William said "Salude," clinked them together, and tossed the stiff whiskey back.
They inducted into the Four two more that evening: Randal Weatherford and Willie Bates. Willie was the youngest and the only black man to be a proud member of the Four. One of them would give his life for his country within a week.
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