Read Online Sic Semper Tyrannis by Marcus Richardson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marcus Richardson
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hear the amiable chatter of the work crew as they gathered weapons and prepared to hike back up slope to HQ. He followed them for about a hundred feet then turned around to examine their work. From up here, the wall looked sturdy and strong as hell. He nodded again. Anyone approaching their mountain stronghold from the south, east, or west, would be funneled by the landscape through this area. Redoubt #3 was directly opposite #4 on the next ridge. Through the pines he could clearly see the wooden structure they had finished the day before yesterday.
“Yup,” he said to himself. “Ol’ Charlie comes after us up here, he’s gonna be in for a world of hurt.”
Rob turned and headed back up the mountain, his Winchester slung over his right shoulder. He was just starting to enjoy the serenity of the alpine woods and his brief solitude—the others had already crested the ridge and disappeared from his view—when his radio broke squelch.
“ One, this is HQ. What’s your twenty? ”
Rob paused and leaned against a pine tree as he fished the radio off his belt. He casually looked back down slope through the pines toward the redoubts. “Almost back to the ranch. What’s up?”
“Two spotted some strangers on the south 40. Descriptions match our friends from last week.”
Rob turned and started up the hill with a renewed strength. Strangers. It had been Lance’s idea to come up with a code name for the Chinese army that was making its way deeper into Arizona. Strangers seemed as good as any and wouldn’t necessarily tip anyone listening in as to who the Regulators were referring to in their radio transmissions.
“Numbers?” he asked, trying hard not to gasp for breath as he finally reached the top of the ridge. Before him stretched a broad flat piece of mountain side, where he and Lance had built a hunting cabin in their mis-spent youth. That cabin, in the past month, had been transformed into the Regulators new base of operations—a fortress. The Redoubts downslope were just another layer of defenses he had set up to secure HQ from the Chinese.
“Unit Two reports there are at least ten. Maybe twelve. I have RAF-3 standing by …”
“Do it—I’ll be at HQ in a second.” He jogged over toward the main entrance to HQ and thought about who was on the Rapid Action Force. No weak links that he could think of—good men, all of them.
He pushed open the main door and rushed to the rear of the cabin in order to find the radio room. Inside, Jerry Baersfeld was sitting at the terminal, one hand cupped the large earphones on his head, the other resting on the transmit button of a desk microphone. Rob got a nod and moved over toward the map tacked to the unfinished pine wall.
The location of the Regulators’ HQ was marked by a red dot on the broken northern face of the Red Rock Mountain. Defensive zones were penciled in where the landscape would force anyone approaching into certain areas. The Redoubts were marked at intersections of natural paths with those funnels, making convenient choke-points. The Regulators had created a network of deer-paths that crisscrossed the mountain for the Rapid Action Forces to use. They could reach just about any spot in the area the Regulators controlled in a matter of minutes on foot.
The South 40 was also penciled in on the map, the buffer zone Rob had created as a catchall for describing the dense woodland wilderness just outside the first line of defense at the base of the valley.
Jerry glanced at Rob and put his finger on the map. “Roger that, RAF-3, you are clear to the border,” he said into the mic.
Rob nodded. He leaned the Winchester against the desk and sat on the edge. He twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s hear it.”
After Jerry flipped a switch and the speakers in the room piped the words of the leader of RAF-3 into the air. Jerry removed his headset and rubbed his ears.
“Okay,
“Yup,” he said to himself. “Ol’ Charlie comes after us up here, he’s gonna be in for a world of hurt.”
Rob turned and headed back up the mountain, his Winchester slung over his right shoulder. He was just starting to enjoy the serenity of the alpine woods and his brief solitude—the others had already crested the ridge and disappeared from his view—when his radio broke squelch.
“ One, this is HQ. What’s your twenty? ”
Rob paused and leaned against a pine tree as he fished the radio off his belt. He casually looked back down slope through the pines toward the redoubts. “Almost back to the ranch. What’s up?”
“Two spotted some strangers on the south 40. Descriptions match our friends from last week.”
Rob turned and started up the hill with a renewed strength. Strangers. It had been Lance’s idea to come up with a code name for the Chinese army that was making its way deeper into Arizona. Strangers seemed as good as any and wouldn’t necessarily tip anyone listening in as to who the Regulators were referring to in their radio transmissions.
“Numbers?” he asked, trying hard not to gasp for breath as he finally reached the top of the ridge. Before him stretched a broad flat piece of mountain side, where he and Lance had built a hunting cabin in their mis-spent youth. That cabin, in the past month, had been transformed into the Regulators new base of operations—a fortress. The Redoubts downslope were just another layer of defenses he had set up to secure HQ from the Chinese.
“Unit Two reports there are at least ten. Maybe twelve. I have RAF-3 standing by …”
“Do it—I’ll be at HQ in a second.” He jogged over toward the main entrance to HQ and thought about who was on the Rapid Action Force. No weak links that he could think of—good men, all of them.
He pushed open the main door and rushed to the rear of the cabin in order to find the radio room. Inside, Jerry Baersfeld was sitting at the terminal, one hand cupped the large earphones on his head, the other resting on the transmit button of a desk microphone. Rob got a nod and moved over toward the map tacked to the unfinished pine wall.
The location of the Regulators’ HQ was marked by a red dot on the broken northern face of the Red Rock Mountain. Defensive zones were penciled in where the landscape would force anyone approaching into certain areas. The Redoubts were marked at intersections of natural paths with those funnels, making convenient choke-points. The Regulators had created a network of deer-paths that crisscrossed the mountain for the Rapid Action Forces to use. They could reach just about any spot in the area the Regulators controlled in a matter of minutes on foot.
The South 40 was also penciled in on the map, the buffer zone Rob had created as a catchall for describing the dense woodland wilderness just outside the first line of defense at the base of the valley.
Jerry glanced at Rob and put his finger on the map. “Roger that, RAF-3, you are clear to the border,” he said into the mic.
Rob nodded. He leaned the Winchester against the desk and sat on the edge. He twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s hear it.”
After Jerry flipped a switch and the speakers in the room piped the words of the leader of RAF-3 into the air. Jerry removed his headset and rubbed his ears.
“Okay,
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