Around the Campfire

By Dwayne MacInnes

It had taken quite a while and a lot of planning for our camping trip to come together. My work schedule only had me off every other weekend. Wes had black out dates from his job that he could not take off and Doug was scrambling to finish remodeling his kitchen. So by the time we all finally got together it was late October.

The one thing that worked for us was the weather. The days were warm, the mornings and evenings were cool. Only the nights were cold. It was actually quite beautiful to be camping in the fall as the leaves turned. Another plus was that we were secluded in our campground as most campers had packed it in for the season long ago.

We made sure that we stayed at a public campground especially with hunting season in full swing. Nothing invited getting an unwelcome bullet in the body more than running through the woods during deer season. Most hunters were cautious and made sure of their target. However, there were always a couple of first-timers usually from the big cities. They tended to shoot anything that moves, whether it is wearing hunter's blaze or not.

So it was on one of the last nights of our stay we were sitting around the fire. Wes had placed a pot of water on the flames to heat so that we could enjoy some cocoa before we turned in. We were telling tales of past camping adventures/mishaps as well as ghost stories and having rather good time.

Doug was again regaling us with the story of being attacked by a gull while in his canoe when he approached its chicks he thought were albino beavers. We were all laughing pretty hard when we were surprised by the "Excuse me" spoken by a stranger standing next to us.

None of us noticed the man approach us. He was in his mid-fifties and wearing an old red and black checkered jacket, a hat with earflaps, and laced black boots. Needless to say, we were all pretty dumbstruck as we fought to put our hearts back into our chests.

"Sorry," the man apologized, "I did not mean to startle you. I only wanted to warm myself by your fire."

"Sure," I said as I offered a vacant log he could use as a chair.

"I just don't see many people out here this late in the year," the stranger continued.

"Well, one thing led to another and by the time we got out here it was nearly winter," Wes replied.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" Doug asked already pouring some hot water into a metal cup.

"Mmmm, I can't rightly say the last time I had cocoa. I would love some," the stranger said accepting the cup offered by Doug.

"Well, my name is Jason Bitner," the man said.

We all exchanged our names and shook hands as the firelight flickered upon our faces.

"So what brings you out here?" Doug asked.

"I like to walk these woods this time of year," Jason replied. "I have been doing it for many years. I guess it is a habit seeing as how I used to hunt around here many years ago."

"Really," I said. "I thought you couldn't hunt in this area."

"Oh, this was a long time ago. Before this became a campground. In fact, it was about this time of year the last time I hunted here," Jason stated as he stared fixedly into the fire.

It felt like there was something in the air that compelled us to sit there and listen. Afterwards we all realized that we were entranced by Jason's story and we could do little but listen as he told it.

"I was doing some deer hunting. I had my pack and rifle and I have always had good luck in this area. Of course, back then you had to be wary of the mountain lions. They could sneak up on you that would be that.

"I had started early in the morning so I could get the most of the daylight to use for my hunt. My initial optimism was starting to fail when by afternoon I still had not found anything. No tracks whatsoever. Nothing.

"Now, not many people know this, but over in that direction," we all looked over to where Jason pointed, "there is a wonderful clearing. It has a small waterfall that cascades down into this chasm.

"I figured I would head over there eat a small lunch before I circled back and called it day. That is what I did. I set my rifle against a tree and I ate my sandwich. Afterwards I decided I'd take a look into the chasm. The sheer drop is about fifty yards into a shallow river. If you ever lost you balance and fell in...Well, that would be the end of you."

The firelight bathed Jason's face in an eerie orange glow as he stared into the snapping flames. The three of us waited, barely breathing for our guest to continue his narrative.

"That's when it happened," Jason finally said. "I was looking down into the chasm when I heard the sound of soft footpads behind me. I slowly turned and there a few yards in front of me was a mountain lion. I stood there frozen with fright; I fought to get my mind to function again.

"I glanced around and I finally remembered I had a rifle. However, it stood resting against the tree I ate my lunch under. Unfortunately, the lion was between me and it. The lion gave a most bone chilling cry you can ever experience. I frantically looked for an escape.

"The chasm was behind me and the lion blocked any escape into the woods. I had to do something. The lion then began to slowly creep near me. I knew I only had moments left if I were to escape. I had to do something."

Jason again stopped his story and stared hard into the flames. His eyes were not focused on the flames but instead on an incident years past. The seconds past slowly and finally I could stand it no longer.

"What happened?" I asked.

Jason snapped back to the present and smiled as he looked at us. "Well, I died," he said with a laugh.

"Thanks for the cocoa. I better head back. Good night," and with that he retreated back into the shadows from where he came.

"Well, he got us pretty good," Doug finally said.

The next morning we thought we would locate that clearing Jason mentioned. There weren't any trails and there was a lot of underbrush, but by noon we thought we located it. There was a small waterfall that fell into a deep chasm. We looked down at the small river Jason told us about and were about to head back when I noticed something.

"What's that?" I said pointing to a tree.

We ran over and there on the ground at the base of the tree lay a rusty rifle and tattered backpack. We quickly rushed back to the chasm and stared down.

"I think I see something down there on a ledge," Wes said excitedly.

Doug quickly pulled out his cell phone and called the Park Service.

It was not long before the place was a buzz with deputies, rangers, and rescue teams. We stood back from the action and watched from a distant as some rangers finally hauled up the skeletal remains that Wes saw on the ledge.

A ranger finally approached us. "Good work guys. It looks like you did find a body. According to his driver's license his name was Jason Bitner. He must have fell down there sometime around 1949."

A Bottle of Elixir

By Dwayne MacInnes

I remember as a child, when visiting Grandma and Grandpa O'Brien's, there was this old bottle that sat over the mantle piece of their fireplace. It was made of clear glass in the shape of many bottles of supposed medicinal purpose from an earlier part of the 20th century. It was a quarter full of some brownish liquid. It had a cork stopper which prevented the liquid from escaping. The simple paper label on the bottle proclaimed the liquid as "Dr. Harrison's Elixir".

This was an odd item to be found in my grandparent's home. Especially since Grandma O' was a devout teetotaler and alcohol was forbidden in the house. Whenever I asked about it, grandma would mention that it was a reminder to Grandpa O' of his past. Grandpa O' was just as elusive when I queried him. He responded to my questions that it "had changed his life forever".

So, there the story stood for decades, a mysterious bottle sitting on a fireplace's mantle full of unanswered questions. However, I noticed that not once in all those years did the contents of the bottle change. It was always a quarter full.

It was about a year after Grandma O's passing that my grandpa caught me unawares one day by saying, "Jimmy, my boy, do you want to hear the story about that bottle of elixir?"

I of course nodded my head. I was sure the story was not all that great. But the fact of it remaining a tantalizing mystery all these years only added to its aura. I sat down on the couch as grandpa reclined in his chair. He looked up at the bottle and pointed at it as he began speaking.

"There was a time in my life when I was out of control," he said as his eyes took on a glassy look. "I was a slave to anything that would get me drunk."

He glanced over at me and smiled, "Now this was before I met your grandmother. She would not tolerate any drinking as you well know. But over the years in trying to mask my drinking problem I turned to elixirs. It was easy to say I had a scratchy throat or some pain in my shoulder.

"It is well known, that elixirs were just a gimmick to help a man sneak a drink. That bottle there represents my favorite choice, Dr. Harrison's Elixir. It had a nice smooth quality and tasted a bit like cherry brandy. Well, to be truthful it probably was just cherry brandy," Grandpa O' chuckled to himself. "Sometimes I miss that taste, but my love of your grandmother was one of the two reasons why I never went back to drinking."

I was now leaning forward on the couch trying to catch every word that grandpa spoke. He looked over at me again and smiled.

"I will now tell you the second reason why I gave up alcohol. It was back in the forties and I used to stay out late visiting all the bars in town. Now for me to get home to my place outside of town, I had to pass by the cemetery on Rosehill. You know by the old Picken's place, right?"

I nodded my head. The old Picken's place had been this old abandoned mansion on top of Rosehill. It was abandoned even when my grandparents were children and it -- of course -- was said to be haunted. I suppose it didn't help that it was directly across the street from the Rosehill Memorial Cemetery.

"So, I was stumbling home one fall night. The wind was blowing the leaves around my feet and the full moon lit my path down the broken road. I had my coat pulled close to my body to help keep in the heat. I would occasionally take a slug from that bottle to help fortify me against the elements and then I would shove it back into my coat pocket. My sole purpose was to get home and to bed.

"That was when I heard a large crack emanating from the cemetery. I figured it was a tree branch breaking but as I turned I saw this coffin sticking out of the ground. It was standing upwards as if the caretakers left it there leaning against the headstone.

"The wind blew the lid open to reveal that it was in fact empty. I was about to turn and continue my trek home when suddenly the coffin 'hopped' towards me. In surprise, I stumbled backwards and fell on to my rear. What I saw could not be real. I have seen many things in my drunken state including a pink elephant or two but never a hopping casket.

"With a bang, bang, bang the death box hopped towards me. I jumped up to my feet and ran. The box continued to follow with its bang, bang, bang. I unconsciously ran through the old gate leading to the Picken's place. I figured that I would be able to secure myself inside the house. The casket never gave up its pursuit. I would look over my shoulder and see the box hopping after me. Its lid flapping as if the welcome me into its interior.

"Soon I had pushed myself through the old door, its rusty hinges protesting against being open. I quickly shut the door and secured it with the old chain-lock. I could still hear the bang, bang, bang of the casket hopping up the walkway. I looked across the musty and abandoned room for anything to reinforce the door. However, before I could find anything the front door exploded in a cloud of splinters. The coffin was in the doorway, again its lid opened to reveal its empty interior.

"With a scream that would put any of those horror movie girls to shame, I bolted up the old rotted staircase. Occasionally, my foot would break through the steps, but I was moving so fast that I am almost certain I was flying. When I reached the top of the landing I looked down and watched as the death box hopped up the stairs with a bang, bang, bang. It was destroying those steps that remained intact after my ascent.

"I was completely frightened and my mind raced through a cloud of horror and alcohol for a way to escape or stop this supernatural monstrosity. I grabbed the newel post and tossed it at the coffin. It bounced harmlessly off the lid not even leaving a dent on the wooden surface.

"I ran down the hallway and into a large room. I again quickly shut the door. However, there was nothing to secure it. I frantically, looked around the room for anything that I could use to stop the box. However, it continued its hopping with a bang, bang, bang, down the hall towards me. All I found was some rocks on the floor that kids over the years had thrown through the windows. The moonlight filtered in through the broken windows and a quick glance out them revealed a sheer drop of over twenty feet to a stone strewn ground below.

"With another crash the unholy sarcophagus had exploded through the door. In a frantic state I began to throw the rocks at the box as it now slowly slid towards me. The lid creeping open as it relentlessly approached. I retreated back to the window and continued to throw rocks. They only bounced harmlessly off the casket.

"As the box was a mere five feet away I ran out of rocks. I was now faced with the choice of jumping out the window or being consumed by the casket. I unconsciously retrieved the bottle from my coat. The box was now almost upon me. In desperation I threw the bottle at the death box it flew past the lid and landed inside the casket. Suddenly it stopped.

"I must have fainted because when I came to in the morning I was on the floor of the old bedroom. There were rocks all on the opposite side of the room and my bottle of elixir on the floor where the coffin was before I past out. However, there was no sign of that evil death box.

"The first person I ran into when I left the Picken's place was your grandmother coming home from church. I can tell you honestly that I have never let a drop of alcohol past my lips since that night."

I was a little shocked by my grandpa's story. It was too much to believe. He must have noticed the look on my face because he got up from his chair and walked over to the fireplace. He grabbed the bottle of elixir and looked at it for a minute.

"But, how did your bottle stop the coffin from getting you?" I finally asked.

Grandpa tossed the bottle to me and I caught it. "Read the label," he stated.

The label simply said, "Dr. Harrisons' Elixir: a Coff Re-med-die." The words were written phonetically. In finer print below, with a folksy type of grammar, it proclaimed: "Gar-un-teed to stop you a coffin."

Abraham Lincoln: President, Statesman, Action-Hero

By Dwayne MacInnes

The silver moon hung low in the night sky above the canopy of trees surrounding the inky black lake. The lunar reflection upon the glassy surface of the lake began to ripple as a long black cylindrical object slowly emerged from its icy depths.

Making a minimum amount of noise, a gaunt face framed by a black beard and large ears that supported the dripping stovepipe hat soon emerged from the lake's depths. A cold, hard look of determination set in the eyes of the man as he slowly walked towards the shore. A long black coat sat upon his lanky frame. A large oilskin bag was over his left shoulder; an old steel axe was in his right hand.

Once out of the lake, the dripping man crept into the woods as he made his way stealthily towards an old mill. It stood by the river that fed the lake. The mill sat upon four large wooden beams that kept it about four feet above the ground. A large water wheel turned by the river creaked nonstop as it powered unseen machinations inside the building.

A well-worn dirt path ran through the woods and ended at the mill's wooden steps. Those steps led up to the mill's entrance. The man stealthily slipped from tree to tree; his soggy boots squishing softly in the still night. He could not hear or see any sentry as he neared the mill. However, he remained cautious.

Suddenly, a small light flashed brilliantly into existence as a guard outside the mill lit a match. He put its burning flame into the bowl of his corncob pipe, which illuminated his middle-aged face. The butternut colored uniform reminded the man sneaking through the woods that he was in enemy territory. A slip up here could mean the end of the war for his country.

The man tightened his grip upon the ash handle of his axe before he set the oilskin bag down. He untied the knot that secured the opening and reached into the bag. From within he withdrew 2 Colt M1861 Navy pistols and one large black six barrel Gatling gun. This gun, instead of a carriage, had a leather sling attached to its frame. He set the large Gatling against a tree and stuffed the pistols into his coat pockets.

Picking up the axe the man left the woods and approached the guard outside the mill's entrance. The guard, too occupied with his late night pipe, at first did not catch the movement of the shadow creeping slowly towards him. However, the snap of small branch under the boot of the man sneaking towards the sentry quickly brought the guard to attention. The guard in a smooth motion picked up his old musket and cocked the hammer as he pointed it towards the man approaching him.

"Who goes thar?" the guard demanded.

"I do," the man stated plainly, as he stepped further into the moonlight.

"My God! Yer, yer, Abe Lincoln!"

"Yes," Lincoln replied as he hefted his axe.

Two more sentries unnoticed by Lincoln crept up behind the president, their rifles aimed squarely at his back.

"Suh, I must ask you to surrender," the sentry ordered.

"Son, that I cannot do."

"We have you surrounded and you are only armed with an old axe."

"Everyone desires to live long, but no one would be old," Lincoln stated as kept the axe head in front of his face with the blade aimed toward the sentry.

"What?" the sentry replied as Lincoln took a step closer.

"I will help with the latter," Lincoln said taking another step closely eying the barrel of the musket.

"Not if I can help it," the sentry replied firing his old musket aimed at the president's head. As if in slow motion, Lincoln watched as fire and smoke erupted from the musket's barrel. He watched as a ball flew towards him. He felt the impact of the led projectile as it made contact with the edge of the steel blade of his axe. The ball split in two, the angle of the axe's edge sent the two halves flying past Lincoln's ears, and into the men behind the president.

Before the bodies of the slain rebel soldiers slumped to the ground, Lincoln with a swift motion tossed the axe forward. The stunned sentry watched in fascination as the blade tumbled through the air end over end before it split his head.

The echoing report of the musket alerted every Johnny Reb in the area that there was danger afoot. Lincoln retreated into the woods and waited. Soon some soldiers in a mixture of gray and butternut uniforms came jogging up the trail. Lincoln picked up the Gatling gun. He placed the frame in the crook of his left arm and slung the sling over his shoulder. His wiry muscles were like steel cables as they strained under the weight. With his right hand, he grabbed the crank.

As the soldiers approached the bodies of their slain comrades, they looked around alert and confused. Before they could determine their next course of action, Lincoln turned the crank. Fire spit from the six black barrels as lead bullets slammed into the bodies of the rebel soldiers. Some soldiers managed to raise their rifles. However, before they could fire, the Gatling gun cut them down. In a matter of half a minute, the bodies of over twenty men lay still upon the ground.

Lincoln next turned the Gatling gun upon the mill. He aimed the weapon at the roof of the structure and slowly lowered his aim as bullets ripped into the wooden frame. The president continued to fire until the hopper was empty and only white smoke emanated from the hot barrels. When he was finished a ragged line of chewed up wood ran down the mill from top to bottom.

Some frightened men ran out of the building in a mad rush. Lincoln, now armed with the two Navy Colts, approached the mill and systematically fired into any man who posed a threat. Most of the men simply ran into the woods fleeing for their lives.

Lincoln calmly climbed the steps and peered into the mill. Inside the building and amongst a number of machines and slain bodies of workers he noticed a large steel monstrosity. It was the feared steam-powered land ironclad. If the rebels ever made any of these in great numbers the tide of war would greatly turn in favor of the Confederacy.

As moonlight filtered through the bullet riddled mill a man in a leather apron stood upon the land ironclad. It was Dr. Higby, a man of great imagination for war vehicles and a threat to the Union cause.

"You will never get away with this," Higby bellowed as he aimed the cannon of the land ironclad at Lincoln. The weakened timbers of the mill's floor creaked and moaned in protest to the strain of supporting the weight of metal war machine.

With a wry smile, Lincoln calmly replied, "A house divided against itself cannot stand." Then Lincoln raised a booted foot and slammed it down hard upon the crack that ran the length of the mill. The Gatling gun's bullets created the crack, which weakened the structure's frame. The weakened building moaned in protest as Lincoln jumped backwards the same instance Higby fired the cannon. A large iron ball flew past Lincoln barely missing him and exploded deep in the woods as the mill finally collapsed under the strain of the cannon fire and the weight of the land ironclad.

Soon fire erupted amongst the wooden timbers of the mill and quickly began to consume the wreckage. Lincoln smiling in the firelight repacked the Gatling gun into the oilskin bag and began the journey back to his hot air balloon on the other side of the lake. If the wind was right, he could be back in D.C. as morning broke and none would know he had left the city.

"Texas Wildfire" - Epilogue

Texas Wildfire

Epilogue

By Dwayne MacInnes

Terrorist Attack Kills President and 132 others

AP: Santa Fe - The terrorist attack at the Ridgedale Elementary school in Santa Fe, New Mexico yesterday killed President Ramirez, and 132 others. Included in the list of the dead are the first lady, Amanda and their 5-year-old daughter, Renee. The president and his family were in New Mexico to commemorate the victims of the Littleton bomb raid and to celebrate the victory over the New Republic of Texas. The activities included attending a school play in Santa Fe. The exact nature of the attack is still under investigation by the FBI. However, the Secret Service reported that they had completed a thorough search of the school building before the president's arrival and did not turn up any bombs or guns.

What investigators know is that shortly before the chlorine gas attack inside the building, a taxicab exploded in the streets outside the school. It is unknown at this time if there were multiple people involved in the attack or if it was the result of a lone operator. There is speculation that a dissident group from Texas may have been behind the attack.

An investigator who asked to remain anonymous due to the ongoing investigation believes that the chlorine gas originated in the boiler room in the basement. In the basement, investigators found the body of the janitor, Roger Pyle near the boiler. The FBI is looking to the cause of death and as to whether Mr. Pyle may have been a terrorist. A garbage can with a mixture of bleach and ammonia was located underneath the main air intake for the boiler. According to experts, the fans of the boiler would have been sufficient to pump the deadly gas throughout the school

Experts also state that there was enough chlorine gas produced to cover the three stories of the school building and to incapacitate everyone inside before anyone could escape or open a window. Rescue workers had to enter the building using breathing apparatus to pull the bodies of the victims out of the school. The only survivors so far have been three Secret Service agents who were near the front door when the taxi exploded. Two are stable condition and a third is in critical condition at Community Hospital.

Vice President Alexander Lloyd was in Canada for an economic summit meeting with the Prime Minister. On his flight back to Washington, D.C., the vice president underwent a quick swearing in ceremony as the new president. When asked if he would seek reprisals against Texas for the attack if there were a link he commented, "It is too early at this time to start talking about retaliation. It appears at this time that the attack was the action of a single person or a small group. As it stands, President Ramirez did not want any further actions taken against Texas so as to allow its readmission into the United States as smoothly as possible and I intend to follow the same policy."

In the aftermath of the bombings in Littleton last month, President Ramirez's approval rating soared from a dismal 19% to 95% with a 3-point margin of error. There were polls still being conducted gauging the public's opinion of the victory over Texas when the attack took place at Ridgedale Elementary.

The president and the first family will lie in state in the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. and already huge crowds of people are lining the streets mourning their deaths. Thousands have been holding vigils outside the White House and leaving cards, small gifts, and burning candles outside the White House gates.

In New Mexico, the victims have been also receiving a similar reaction. People from across the nation have been pouring into the state to attend the funeral services planned for later in the week.

The nation already emotionally tormented by the attacks in Littleton and the war against Texas are now mourning the deaths in the recent school attack. Many people have likened Ramirez's death to those of Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy. Some have pointed out that he had successfully concluded a war and will be the first to have a 52 star flag draped over his casket.

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 35

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 35

By Dwayne MacInnes

President Ramirez had aged significantly since he took office about a half year before. His hair was now almost completely gray, wrinkles now lined his eyes and brow. Not to mention, he must have lost a good fifty pounds.

Despite all this, Ramirez was happy. The war was finally over. Most people felt that he had handled the war correctly. The United States military was reestablishing order inside Texas. Once the situation stabilized, work would begin on reconstruction. Ramirez stressed that the work be done by the local Texans, especially since most were now unemployed. He also stressed that the military would not harass the locals but instead work with them.

The president had flown into New Mexico to tour the bombed sites in Littleton. The citizens hailed him as a hero and the president, under extremely heavy guard by the Secret Service, mingled and shook many hands. The Secret Service finally convinced Ramirez that it was for his own safety that he should return to the armored limo after touring the sites.

Inside the limo, Ramirez sat next to his old friend and chief of staff, Todd Schneider. "Did you enjoy yourself?" Todd queried as he took some notes on an electronic notebook.

"Yeah, you know what? I did," Ramirez said waving to the crowd outside the limo. "I feel like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that the war is over."

"The war may be over, but we still have to pay for it," Todd replied as he looked up from the notebook.

"Yes, I know that, but for now let's enjoy the victory."

"Humph," was all Todd replied as he looked down at the notebook again. "Okay, you have a school play to attend in Santa Fe. You will meet your wife and daughter there tonight."

"Ah, yes, the domestic life. How sweet it is to enjoy it again," Ramirez smiled.

* * * * *

Cobb rode in the back of the taxicab on his way to work. With his new name of Roger Pyle, he found work as a janitor. It was of the utmost importance that he arrive on time.

As the cabby weaved through traffic, Cobb reached into his satchel and pulled out a small ball of plastic. He placed the plastic ball underneath the front seat of the cab. He then pulled out some wet hand wipes and proceeded to wash his hands. Then he slid the bag with the wipes under the driver's seat.

"Did ya hear the president is going to be in town today?" the cabby said making small talk.

"Yeah," Cobb said as the cab pulled up in front of the school. "Say, I would like to have a cab available when I'm done with work." Cobb slipped the cabby an extra $50.

"Yes sir, I will be in the area all night. I will do my best to respond. You can reach me at this number," the cabby replied giving Cobb a business card. "Call me when you are ready."

"Thanks," Cobb said as he entered the school's rear entrance. A Secret Service agent searched Cobb and checked his ID before allowing him to enter. Once inside Cobb headed towards the basement boiler room.

* * * * *

Ramirez sat in the balcony seat with his family enjoying the school play. The children often missed their lines or delivered them in a stilted voice. Still, the president enjoyed every minute of it. He almost forgot that the Secret Service surrounded him and that they were constantly monitoring the halls.

In the basement, Cobb tended the boiler. A Secret Service agent would enter and occasionally watch him work. However, the agent would soon leave and patrol another area of the school.

The Secret Service had gone over the school with a fine-tooth comb looking for explosives and guns. Having found none, they determined that the school was sufficiently safe for the president. They also searched every person who entered the building.

Cobb went over to an old metal washbasin, pulled out some bottles of bleach, and poured them into a mop bucket. He placed an old dirty mop into the bucket and proceeded to mop the floor around the boiler.

A Secret Service agent checked in and watched Cobb mop the floor for a few minutes before returning to his patrol. The smell of bleach was not out of the ordinary for cleaning a school.

Once the agent left, Cobb rummaged through his tool kit and found his small remote. Cobb then reached into his pocket, pulled out his compu-phone, and dialed the cabby's number. After a quick conversation, Cobb disconnected and waited.

It was five minutes later that the cabby called Cobb to let him know that he was waiting outside the school. Cobb picked up the remote and smiled as he pushed the button. Immediately after he depressed the button, the school shook as the cab exploded outside.

Secret Service agents immediately sprung into action and sprinted either outside to the wreckage of the cab burning in the streets or to the defense of the president. In either event, they left Cobb alone in the basement by the boiler.

Cobb then walked over to a large gray plastic garbage can next to the boiler's intake vents and removed the lid. A strong odor of bleach wafted into the air as he poured the contents of the mop bucket into the garbage can that was now half-full of bleach. Next Cobb grabbed several yellow bottles from his cleaning supplies and walked over to the large mop bucket. Putting a wet rag to his mouth and nose Cobb proceeded to pour the bottles of ammonia into the garbage can and watched the fumes as the heating vent hungrily sucked them up.

* * * * *

Secret Service agents instantly surrounded Ramirez and his family once the explosion rocked the building. People in the audience were screaming in fear and the children on stage ran back and forth as teachers and parents tried to reestablish order to the chaos breaking out.

No one notice the strange vapor pouring out of the vents until people started to cough. The balcony above the auditorium soon had the noxious fumes of chlorine gas enveloping it as the heating vent in the balcony blew the deadly gas out.

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 34

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 34

By Dwayne MacInnes

General Davis was in his command vehicle when he got word that General West of the New Republic of Texas wanted to seek terms for surrender. He immediately called a cease-fire. Within minutes, the constant crack of rifle fire and the deep thud from the artillery and tanks with the resulting explosions came to a sudden end. The silence was almost deafening.

It was less than an hour later when an old Humvee carrying a white flag escorted by a U.S. light armored scout vehicle drove into General Davis's camp. The vehicles stopped short. The U.S. soldiers exited the scout vehicle and stood at-ease until General West with his entourage exited the Humvee.

General West followed the U.S. soldiers toward the command tent where Davis stood in anticipation. The U.S. soldiers stopped at the door as did General West's aides. General Davis extended his hand towards West.

"General if you would join me inside," Davis offered as West returned the handshake.

The two men entered the command building followed by one soldier from each side and the door closed behind them. Inside there was a small folding table with a holographic computer built in. Right now, the computer was off. There were two chairs around the table.

"General," Davis said offering General West the chair opposite of him.

The soldiers from both sides stood off to the side.

"If you do not mind I have been recording the event with the mini-cam," Davis stated motioning to the small camera in the corner of the command tent.

A tech had placed it there only a few minutes before. General West solemnly nodded his head, "Sir, I thank you for your kindness."

"Think nothing of it. So, let's get down to brass tacks."

"First, if I may beg a question," said General West.

Davis nodded his head.

"Is it true that President Tucker and most of his cabinet have been captured?" asked the general.

"Yes, it is. If you need confirmation I can get you a direct line to the president who is currently under guard behind our lines."

"I believe you," West stated. "It is not becoming for two old war dogs like us to lie to each other."

"No, it is not," agreed General Davis.

"Well, sir what are your terms?" West asked General Davis in a matter-of-fact voice.

"President Ramirez has instructed me to be very lenient," General Davis said as he turned on the tabletop computer.

Both parties could read the terms on the holographic screen. "All enlisted personnel in your army are to be paroled. They may return to their homes, but they must surrender their arms accept any personal arms allowed under the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution. All officers are to face a military tribunal to determine the extent of their role in the rebellion. Most will end up with the same terms as the enlisted personnel."

The two generals continued to read the terms laid-out on the holographic tabletop computer screen. After another hour of haggling over the finer points, General West finally accept the terms offered by General Davis.

The two men stood and shook hands again before they departed the command center.

"Sir," said General West. "I will address my men and we will begin to disarm immediately."

"Thank you, General," Davis replied. "I am glad that this unfortunate event has finally ended."

West turned and saluted Davis, "Unfortunate event indeed. Where did the dialogue end?"

"I don't really know," General Davis replied pensively. "If people were quicker to use dialogue than guns, we could have spared a countless number of lives and an unknown amount of damage."

General West nodded and exited the command tent. His aides stepped in line behind him as they approached the Humvee. One soldier from the United States army started to sing The Yellow Rose of Texas. Soon another joined him and then another until all the assembled United States soldiers joined in. General West with tears in his eyes stopped and saluted the soldiers before he entered the Humvee.

* * * * *

Cobb had made his way to Sante Fe when he heard of the defeat of Texas. He found a secluded alley and broke down in tears. His dreams and the country he loved instantly vanished. Now, at best, he was a drifter -- at worst, a war criminal.

He still had his Colt .45 Peacemaker tucked inside his light jacket. He also had a small amount of plastic explosives that he carried in his leather satchel. Inside were a blasting cap, a timer, and a remote detonator.

After a few minutes, Cobb recovered himself. He looked at his reflection in a dirty window. The face that stared back at him was sunken, sporting a small growth of facial hair, and a goodly amount of dirt. He realized he looked more like a homeless man than a soldier from Texas.

Cobb finger-combed his greasy black hair and put his dirty cowboy hat on his head. The first order of business, Cobb determined, was to clean himself up. He did not have any money -- at least, nothing that would be of use in Santa Fe or any where for that matter. So, he walked around until he located a homeless mission.

Cobb had little problem gaining admittance. He could spin a pretty good tale when he needed to. So before long, the mission accept a Roger A. Pyle into their roster, a recovering alcoholic and roving homeless person. Cobb shared a room with another man, a man that kept to himself, which suited Cobb just fine.

Cobb needed time to think, a job to find, and a plan. Texas may have surrender, but Cobb had not. He knew that he could still deliver one last blow for Texas independence.

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 33

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 33

By Dwayne MacInnes

Mayor Warren Locke and Officer Amanda Hughes walked hand in hand through the ruins of Fort Hood. If one were to look at the military base from the air, it looked like one giant pockmarked debris field. There was not a building undamaged and several burned out tanks, cars, helicopters, and trucks littered the grounds.

However, the base was still firmly within the United States Army's hands. All personnel, not on guard duty, were hunkered within the underground bunkers around the perimeter. For every day since they seceded, the Texans had fired artillery rounds and missiles into the base. They also made a few direct attacks -- all to no avail. LTG Groves refused to give in to the Texas rabble, and his expertly laid defenses were able to keep even the most fanatical attackers outside the perimeter.

However, today a new turn of events happened. There were no artillery or missile attacks. There were no snipers or suicide bombers. In fact, for the first time in months, one could hear the sounds of birds singing in the morning air.

The only other noise was that of tanks, U.S. tanks, rumbling into the base which were followed by trucks and other vehicles. Soldiers were also marching in through the battered gates in a seemingly endless number.

Locke knew that the tide of the siege was starting to shift when an element of Airborne Rangers parachuted in the previous night. A night drop was a dangerous thing; however, from the news Locke received, these drops were going on all over Texas.

When the sun rose in the morning, the rebels had pulled out of their defenses and by all accounts had left Killeen. Many had left their arms, uniforms, and vehicles strewn across the broken landscape.

Locke and Hughes, both wearing borrowed military fatigues, walked over toward General Groves who was speaking to another general. Groves noticed the two people approaching him, and he motioned for them to come over.

"These, General Burns, are our lovebirds from Killeen," LTG Groves said as he introduced the two. "They have been a guest here since the whole situation began. Locke here was the mayor of the city and if I remember right, a sworn bachelor."

Mayor Locke smiled, "Well, I guess the stress of combat brings people together. Plus, I owe Amanda my life. She brought me here and managed to get herself shot."

General Burns looked at the young police officer and smiled, "I'm amazed that everyone hasn't been shot here."

"Sir, I was wearing riot gear at the time," Hughes offered.

"So is the war over?" Warren asked.

"We have three different armies sweeping through Texas. Most are experiencing very light resistance. A fourth army in the north has the reb army pretty much tied down," stated Burns.

General Burns looked around at the wreckage strewn across the base. He noticed a lot of tanks and military vehicles from the previous century blackened and burned dotting the landscape.

"What the hell!" he said. "It looks like the rebs emptied every museum to arm their army."

LTG Groves laughed, "That is exactly what they did."

* * * * *

Flash Limbeck frantically looked for some way out of Austin like most of the military and civilians. The streets were more chaotic than when the riots took place a couple of weeks before. Cars were stuck in gridlock, people were carrying what few possessions they could carry, and a few fights were breaking out.

Limbeck knew that when the United States military entered into the city they would begin looking for collaborators. Being an escaped prisoner from the United States as well as a propaganda tool (many were calling him Texas Rose) he would be lucky if he was not shot on sight. Limbeck did not know where he would go, but he knew he could not stay in Austin.

Rumor had it that President Tucker had fled earlier in the day leaving his staff behind. What little military and law enforcement that remained in the city were completely overwhelmed with the task of restoring order in Austin. Fires broke out around the city and this time they were burning unchecked.

A man ran into Limbeck, and in the process, lost an armload loot. He had rings of gold, bracelets of silver, and pearl necklaces. The man had obviously looted a jewelry store.

"Watch where you are going!" yelled the man as he scrambled to pick up his ill-gotten gains.

Horns, shouts, and gunfire punctuated the air as the social order of Austin continued to break down. A man ran into the crowded streets with panic plastered on his face. Another man soon followed and proceeded to gun the first man down in front of everyone.

"Dirty bastard!" the gunman shouted. "He tried to steal my suitcase."

The gunman then realized that he was no longer carrying his suitcase and must have dropped it in the chase. The man spun around and tried to retrace his steps as he disappeared into the crowd of humanity jostling on the sidewalk.

Flash had to get off the street. It was more dangerous out here than in a building. Even with the risks of fire, Limbeck realized he prefered the relative safety of some department store or apartment building to the anarchy in the streets.

Flash ducked into a recently looted electronics store. The mesh grating over the windows lay bent on the sidewalk. The shattered glass window offered Flash the means to enter the building.

Limbeck walked into the store. The lights flickered above and revealed empty and overturned shelves. The cash register lay on its side on the floor. The till was empty save the Oil Dollars that remained untouched inside the tray.

Flash cautiously wove his way through the debris and found a back door. Limbeck tried the knob. It turned freely in his hand and the door opened to reveal a set of stairs leading down into a basement.

As Limbeck descended the stairs, he realized the cacophony of the streets receded. He flipped a light switch and a single light above offered him some illumination. The basement had not escaped the notice of the looters. Again, overturned shelves and broken electronics littered the floor.

There was a door in the far wall of the basement. Limbeck crawled over the broken shelving and made his way to the door. He tried the knob, but it did not turn. Flash noticed the keyhole in the door. He tried the knob again this time shaking the door as if he could unlock it with force.

"Go away!" shouted a voice from the other side of the door.

"You have to let me in," pleaded Limbeck.

Two gunshots burst through the wooden door and the bullets penetrated Limbeck's chest. As Flash slumped onto the floor trying futilely to staunch his spurting blood the voice on the other side of door replied, "The hell I do!"

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 32

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 32

By Dwayne MacInnes

The night sky was pitch-black as the heavy rain clouds still obscured the moon. The cargo planes continued to make their runs to resupply the U.S. forces still garrisoned in Texas. Fighters, as well as radar jamming planes, always escorted the cargo planes. The Texans learned long ago never to try to shoot down the crafts. They never could hit any planes with their antiaircraft guns and rockets. Furthermore, the projectiles from the guns and launchers tended to fall back to earth inflicting more damage to the Texans than the U.S. forces.

So, it was without the knowledge of the Texans that these planes were actually dropping off paratroopers. These soldiers were sent to reinforce the garrisons at the military bases as well as those guarding the oilfields. All night long airborne troops parachuted into Texas in the black of night. They were carrying some arms and ammunition, but little else.

The next morning General West witnessed another of his venerable M1A1 Abrams tanks go up in flames as an M-3 Schwarzkopf fired upon it with the plasma Gatling gun atop its turret. The main gauss-gun fired its projectile at an armored vehicle. The solid shot from the gauss-gun penetrated the light armor of the vehicle and proceeded to exit out the other side. The vehicle, other than two gaping holes in its side, was relatively undamaged.

Some sappers from the New Republic of Texas managed to disable the M-3 by knocking off one of its tread with an old RPG-29 Vampir. However, the tank could still fire its guns and it did. At least, until another round from the Vampir penetrated the reactive armor near the tanks fuel tank. Soon smoke and flames were now billowing from the M-3 Schwarzkopf.

West adjusted his field glasses and surveyed the carnage around him. Trees were felled and burning amongst the wreckage of vehicles, homes, and bodies. Much of San Angelo was burning and there was little either side could do to contain the conflagration. Fortunately, the wiser inhabitants had left the city before the battle began.

"Sir," interrupted a major. "Our left flank is starting to falter. Do you think we should send in some reserves?"

General West frowned as he shook his head. He had committed all the reserves he could spare earlier that day to strengthen his center. Only his right so far seemed to be holding its own. He did not dare ask for more forces from the garrisons remaining in the south.

The general cursed when he thought about it; he had lost all of the remaining combat aircraft that Texas had in the air battle the previous day. He was down to a handful of helicopters, and his tank forces were dwindling rapidly. The only bright spot was that the U.S. forces were not trying to outflank his troops and instead opted to fight the final battle here.

West turned towards the major, "See if General Howe can spare some troops on the right flank to help out the left. We will need the remaining reserves to plug any holes or to use in a break out if the enemy surrounds us."

The major saluted and hurried off. The officers did not dare use their radios with the U.S. forces so close. Thus, they had to resort to couriers. West yearned for an old-fashioned telephone -- or better -- military grade radios.

But, he knew he had to make due with what he had. San Angelo was at the hub of U.S. Highways 67, 87, and 277 as well as State Highway 208, the Houston Harte Expressway, Loop 306 and FM 2288. This strategic significance alone determined San Angelo as the place of the battle.

It was important that the Texans did not lose 87 southern route so that if worse came to worse they could pull back and set up another defensive position. Another point of fortune was that the U.S. forces were either not mindful of this or just did not care.

An aide ran up the stairs and arrived into President Tucker's office winded. The man took a few deep breaths before he began to speak. However, even with those breaths the man still huffed and wheezed before he could make his report.

"Calm down, lad," said the president from behind his desk.

He was pleased that the tech-boys had finally fixed his desk computer. A few others were now functioning as well. Nevertheless, the process was taking longer than anyone would have liked -- except the United States of course.

"Sir, the Americans are headed towards us," the aide finally said between deep breaths.

"What?" exclaimed Tucker. "I just got off the radio with General West and he claims that he has them tied up in San Angelo. In fact, I've ordered some more troops and materiel to San Angelo to offer assistance."

The man shook his head as he finally brought his breathing under control. "No sir, these troops are flowing in from West Texas. There are also rumors that the United States is moving troops in from the occupied port cities as well as Louisiana."

Tucker put his head in his hands. This was always a possibility that they considered, but they figured that the United States would like to minimize their impact in Texas and only send one force. "We better get West on the line," Tucker said in a demoralized voice.

"Sir, all of our radio signals are being jammed," the aide continued with his bad news.

"What about that superstation that we have Limbeck broadcasting from. Certainly the megawatts that are coming out of there could blast through anything."

"I'm sorry sir, we are completely cut-off."

"Do we have any eyewitness accounts of these armies moving through Texas?" asked the president.

"Yes sir, but we don't know which ones to believe. We are getting hundreds of accounts. Some say the forces will be here in an hour, and some say in a day."

"How about our garrisons? Are they not putting up a fight?"

"Some are. But they are easily overwhelmed. The sad thing is that most are simply surrendering their entire forces."

Tucker did not know if he could take any more bad news. He would have to hurry if he wanted to get out of Austin before the United States military entered the city.

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 31

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 31

By Dwayne MacInnes

George Murdock entered the sterile hospital room. There were guards outside guarding the room as well as some inside. The man in the bed with I.V. tubes in his arm was barely recognizable. The gaunt and unshaven man in the bed vaguely resembled his son.

George would not have known his son was at the hospital if it was not for Staff Sergeant Murphy. The sergeant stood near the bed where T.J. lay recovering from his excursions.

Murphy nodded towards George and stepped away from the bed. "We were close to losing him to some Venezuelan assassins."

"Thank you," George responded sincerely as he approached the bed.

T.J. looked up at his father with hollow, haunted eyes. Although the hospital staff had cleaned him up, T.J. still showed the effects of being on the run for days. He was a lot thinner than the last time the two had met and he sported a four-day scruff of beard on his face.

"Father," T.J. smiled when he recognized his dad standing next to him.

"Take it easy, son," George gently assured his son. "You have had quite an adventure I hear."

T.J. chuckled a bit before replying, "More like a damned fool of a mistake. You are too kind."

"Well, some of life's lessons we have to learn the hard way."

"It looks like I'll have plenty of time to continue my education," T.J. smirked as he nodded his head towards the soldiers.

"Did you talk to the lawyer I sent down here?" George inquired.

"Yeah, if I cooperate with the feds on Venezuela's involvement in arming the Texans, they'll cut me a sweet deal. Probably only have to do a year or two."

"I pray you took the deal."

"Maybe a couple of weeks ago I would have laughed the man out of the room, but not today. The past week really drove home some harsh lessons. You'll find me a changed man from now on. I'm sure you'll even say I've grown up.

George smiled again as he squeezed T.J's shoulder, "You'll have your old job back when you get out."

"Wow, it must be my lucky day," T.J. joked. "I am rescued in the nick of time, I may get off lightly for my stupid mistakes, and now I'm reinstated back in the family and the business."

"Well, we've both learned a couple of things," George acknowledged. "Hopefully, this madness will end soon. There are some nut-jobs out there who are bombing the properties of any business they think is cooperating with the United States. That is what happened to our headquarters. Thank God, no one was there."

"I was," T.J. said frowning as he remembered the suicide pilot plunging his aircraft into the building.

George Murdock looked down at his son with a puzzled expression on his face.

"I'll tell you about it later," T.J. said. "But right now I need some sleep. I haven't been in a real bed for nearly a week."

* * * * *

Military vehicles rushed by the armored command vehicle where General Davis made his headquarters. Around the cramped compartment, officers stood staring at a 3D holographic image of Texas.

"Okay, it looks like the Republican forces are gathering here near San Angelo," Davis stated as he pointed at the city with his laser pointer. "If our intel is correct they have rushed nearly every piece of equipment and personnel they could spare to stop us at this location."

A colonel spoke up, "Sir, if we know that they are there, certainly, we could move around them leaving a token force to tie them down."

"No, colonel. We are going to hit them with everything we have with us."

Several officers broke into small conversations. They could not believe what they were hearing.

"Sir,"a major broke in. "We need to move swiftly to get to Austin. We should not tie ourselves down with a battle that could last for days or even weeks."

General Davis smiled, "I can personally assure that it won't last quite that long."

* * * * *

The scouts came back to announce that the U.S. military were taking the bait. It would not be long now before battle commenced between the United States and the New Republic of Texas. General West only prayed that the ancient museum pieces they were using would be enough to slow down and even defeat the U.S. military.

Soon small arms fire broke out in the distance. That would be the advance guards firing on the advanced elements of the U.S. forces. Shortly there after, artillery pieces from both forces started firing at each other.

General West was in a reinforced command post dug into the ground a few miles back from the front lines. He had his officers assembled and ready to relay any orders that they needed to send. Malware from the United States still infected most of the computers in Texas. Therefore, the Texans relied on ancient radios for most of their communications. Very few of these had scramblers.

"The air units from the United States are headed towards us," the communications officer stated.

"It's now or never," West sighed. "Send in all of our air units."

* * * * *

In the air above the battlefield outside San Angelo, old Cobras, Apaches, Little Birds and UH-1 Hueys battled against the more modern U.S. helicopters. Missiles streaked across the air as the choppers dove and jinked to gain an advantage over their opponents. Soon, the sky was ablaze with helicopters and missiles exploding sending the burning debris crashing into the ground below.

Higher in the sky the F-104s and 105s battled the U.S. F-22s and 35s. The older jets were no match for their more nimble and modern adversaries. However, they did not go down with out taking a few of the newer fighters with them. Fire, scrap metal and bodies rained down from the heavens into San Angelo and the surrounding area.

On the ground, the infantry fought each other. The defenders were greatly outnumbered. However, they had laid down some stout defenses and they took a heavy toll on the invading U.S. forces. Both sides brought in support vehicles, tanks, and artillery fire.

The final battle for Texas independence had begun.

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 30

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 30

By Dwayne MacInnes

T.J. ran from one ruined building to another. A heavy rain fell from the night sky The clouds obstructed any moonlight that normally would have filtered down onto Houston. This was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing because the city had a strict curfew and anyone found outside after 9:00 P.M. would be arrested. It was a curse because T.J. could not see much in the darkness.

To make matters worse, all lights had to be blacked-out by nightfall as well. The military was not taking any chances in allowing the rebels any aid in assaulting the city. The city was now completely cut-off from the surrounding countryside.

T.J's foot splashed into a large puddle. The former oil executive cursed under his breath. He dearly needed stealth. The U.S. military were not the only ones after his hide. The Venezuelans were also interested in him. He owed them a lot of money and now he was sure that they were tracking him.

The soaked man dressed only in a dirty and torn business suit shivered as he finally huddled inside an old overturned dumpster. The U.S. military and local law enforcement were able to reestablish law and order only a few days ago. However, by that time, many buildings had been set ablaze. It was in these ruins that T.J. had stayed. He was hiding amongst the debris and constantly on the move. He had to stay ahead of the Venezuelan hit squad that Mr. Vargas had after him.

T.J. buried himself inside the garbage that was still partially inside the dumpster. He shoved wads of paper down his wet shirt to help towel himself off. Then he wrapped himself inside a mysterious fabric. It could have been a tablecloth or even a bed sheet at one time. It mattered little to T.J. he only wanted to use it to help keep warm.

Sleep did not come easy anymore. Between the shivering cold, the fear of a hit squad shooting him, and the U.S. armed forces arresting him, T.J. could only close his eyes after extreme exhaustion finally overcame him.

In a fitful dream, T.J. could hear voices speaking in Spanish. T.J. awoke shuddering in fear. He listened intently praying it was only his mind messing with him. Then he heard something fall over and crash onto the ground.

"Maldita sea!" a voice swore above a whisper.

"Cállate!" a second voice whispered harshly.

A third man's voice whispered, "Dónde esta el hombre?"

"No sé"

T.J. cautiously poked his head out of the dumpster. He could see three men in the early dawn light working their way through the burned-out building. They were carefully walking towards his hiding spot.

Fright overtook T.J. and he bolted from the dumpster. He ran through the soggy charcoal littering the street. He did not have any idea of where he was going to go, but he needed to flee before the three men captured him.

"Allí!" one man shouted as he pointed towards the fleeing oilman.

T.J. did not waste time to look over his shoulder. He let the adrenaline in his system carry him onward. He heard a pistol fire behind him. The bullet slammed into a steel girder near T.J's head with a metallic clank.

Another shot whistled past T.J's head as he ducked behind a brick building. T.J. gained the street and wasted no time in crossing it. He could hear the footsteps of the men pursuing him. T.J. ran down an alley.

As he passed broken wooden crates and dented garbage cans, T.J. found himself in a dead-end alley. A tall brick wall prevented him from exiting the far end. Another shot flew past and lodged itself into the brick wall. Chips of broken brick pelted T.J. as he stopped in his tracks.

T.J. raised his hands and quickly turned towards his pursuers. The three men laughed as they slowly walked towards the younger Murdock.

"Señor Murdock," one of the assassins spoke with a heavy accent. "You owe our employer a lot of money. I do not suppose you have it on you. Because if you do and you hand it over to us we might let you go for another day."

The assassin's companions laughed at this. T.J. slumped to the ground on his knees. His hands shook in fear above his head.

"Please," Murdock begged. "I do not have the money. It is utter chaos out there. Once things return to normal, I'll get the money."

"That is enough Señor Murdock," the man said with a sneer as he took another slow step towards T.J. "Your begging only sickens us. However, I suppose Señor Vargas would enjoy it."

The man turned towards a companion and spoke in rapid Spanish. The companion laughed and pulled out his compu-phone. Then he proceeded to record T.J. on his knees shaking.

"One more time with the begging, por favor, for the camera."

T.J's mind went blank. A cold dread seized his heart. He knew that he had finally reached the end. These men would finally kill him and he was utterly helpless to prevent it. Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

"Sirs," T.J. sobbed. "Show some mercy. If you let me go I'll give you more money than you can imagine."

The leader laughed, "I do not know. Señor Vargas, you see, has paid us a lot of dinero. This we have, you have nothing to offer us in exchange. Muy triste, Señor Murdock," the assassins raised and pointed their pistols towards T.J's head.

T.J. was thankful that his clothes were still soaked as he wet his pants. He closed his eyes and turned his head away with his hands shaking uncontrollably above his head. He flinched as three shots rang out in the alley.

It took a few seconds for T.J. to realize that he did not feel any pain. His brain raced for an answer and the only one that came to mind was that the assassins were toying with him.

"Mr. Thomas Jefferson Murdock?" a voice asked in an American accent.

T.J. opened his eyes and looked up at a squad of soldiers with smoking rifles. A sergeant walked forward and stepped over the bodies of the dead assassins.

"I am Staff Sergeant Murphy," the man said. "I am here to place you under arrest."

T.J. smiled and then he laughed as he lowered his hands. "Sergeant, those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard."

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 29

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 29

By Dwayne MacInnes

The U.S. army pushed its way south through the panhandle region now known as the state of North Texas. Many bridges were sabotaged and demolition teams had to work constantly to disarm the IEDs. The New Republic of Texas soldiers had left these as they retreated back across their new border.

This caused the U.S. military to move at a snail's pace. There were some opportunities for the U.S. forces to rush forward, but General Davis always ordered the military to continue its slower rate. Many officers doubted if Davis really wanted to win this war because the slower advance was allowing the Texans to reform and gain more reinforcements.

The combat tended to be one sided with the better-trained and equipped U.S. forces easily pushing aside the Texans. Davis also warned against the harsh treatment of civilians. Only if there was solid proof that a civilian was aiding and abetting the enemy could the military make an arrest

There were a few partisan forces; however, most of the citizens of North Texas looked upon the U.S. as liberators. It meant a return to stability, something that Texas lacked every since it seceded.

At night when most of the combatants on both side opted to rest, many U.S. G.I.s would listen to some old radios that they found along their trek south. The music was a mixture of rock and country, the popular hits from the last half a century. It originated from Austin.

The voice of Flash Limbeck played on the radios as he introduced the music. Limbeck knew that the U.S. forces listened to his broadcasts so he always tried to make it something personal for them.

"Hello there, to our aggressors from the north," Limbeck broadcast. "It appears that your government is forcing you to fight in a futile war against the peace-loving people of Texas. We are not your foes but your friends. I have a special song here for you. It's that old classic tune from last decade called, 'A Soldier's Dear John' performed by Billy Jackson. As you enjoy the music, please listen to the lyrics and remember that your sweetheart could right now be in the arms of another man."

No one really paid much heed to Limbeck's propaganda. In fact, the music selection was so good that many soldiers looked forward to the nightly broadcast. The officers allowed the men and women to listen to it because it actually raised morale instead of lowering it.

The old governor's office again was crowded with aides, top military advisors, and fellow politicians. President Tucker looked at an old highway map laid out on his desk. It was irritating that they had to resort to using old style maps because there was not a single computer available in Texas that could project the usual 3D holographic ones everyone knew.

"General," Tucker asked as he pointed to the new border of the New Republic and North Texas with an unlit cigar. "How are the reinforcements coming along?"

"As best as could be expected, sir," General West replied. "We are still forced to use old radios for communication. Plus, there are still some pockets of rioters and protesters that we are dealing with.

"We are damn lucky that General Davis appears to be in no great hurry to head into Texas. That may be our one advantage. It is allowing us to mass our forces for one climatic battle."

"General, I want all the stops out," Tucker said in a stern voice. "I want every available piece of military hardware that can be spare thrown into the fray. I want anything that may offer us an advantage available. This will be the last showdown and we have to win." Tucker emphasized his last point by slamming a fist onto the map.

"Do we have any aircraft left at all?" Tucker asked.

"Yes sir," an aide replied. "We have a handful of F-105 Thunderchiefs and F-104 Starfighters. They weren't ready for combat when we assaulted the military bases. However, they are ready now and hidden away for the moment we need them."

"Good," Tucker said. "I want any volunteers to fly anything that can get airborne across the country. Be it a civilian plane, a blimp, a flipping kite -- I don't care. I just want the U.S. Air Force distracted so that those fighters have a chance to aid in the final assault."

General West nodded his head, "We will start recruiting immediately."

"General, I will leave the timetable to the assault in your hands," Tucker gravely stated. "However, General, do not wait too long or all is lost. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," West replied.

"Do we have any intelligence on what the U.S. is planning?" Tucker turned to an aide who was holding a briefcase.

"I'm sorry sir. But, the U.S. military has closed down all borders and with the loss of the computers we can’t get any reliable information. However, it appears that from our spies in North Texas that General Davis is going to continue his drive south towards Austin."

"Well, let's hope he continues to move slowly and predictably. If we can continue to lull them into a false sense of invulnerability they will let there guard down. That, gentlemen, may be the chance we need to end this war once and for all."

General West did not want to correct the president about his forces lulling the U.S. military into a false sense of invulnerability. The truth of the matter was that the United States simply outclassed them in military hardware and experienced soldiers.

However, there was a chance that Davis may become careless and that would be the best time to strike. General West knew that as soon as this meeting was over, he would need to head north and prepare his troops for the last assault President Tucker wanted.

"Rebellion and Cognac" - A Halloween Tale

Rebellion and Cognac

A Halloween Tale

By Dwayne MacInnes

Robert Blythe walked along the meticulously manicured lawn on his uncle's estate. The neatly trimmed hedges stood at attention like the soldiers the Colonel led during the Crimean War -- or as his uncle, Colonel Belmount, called it -- The Russian War. Robert chafed under his uncle's domineering guardianship. The old man never let Robert enjoy any of the money that came with his uncle's estate.

If his parents had not died in a tragic shipwreck three years previous, it was a good chance that they would be running the estate instead of his uncle. However, his parent's will firmly established Colonel Belmount as Robert's legal guardian until his eighteenth birthday, which was still two long years away. Robert would not see his inheritance until then.

The Colonel ran a tight ship. He was very frugal with his funds and the allowance he gave Robert was barely enough for Robert to survive in a manner befit his tastes. It did not comfort Robert much when the Colonel reminded him that his monthly stipend was more than most Britons made in a year. The Colonel also did not approve of Robert's pastimes. Hanging out with Lord Westbrooke and partaking in games of chance. The Colonel felt these activities were a waste of time and were not becoming of a gentlemen.

Robert tried to argue that the Lord Westbrooke was a cousin to the queen. However, Robert was unable to persuade the Colonel to the contrary.

"The doings of Lords are above our station," the Colonel replied. "You should join a regiment, become an officer, and distinguish yourself in battle as I and our forefathers before us had done."

So far, the only battle Robert was waging was against the throbbing pain in his head. The night before Robert joined Lord Westbrooke in a game of cards. The only thing Robert won was a raging hangover. The lecture from the Colonel when Robert awakened that morning did not help things out. Therefore, Robert decided to take a walk around the grounds in hope that some fresh air would alleviate some of his discomfort.

Robert had no longer established himself under the shade of a venerable oak tree when a lone rider came galloping down the lane. With a groan, Robert stood back up and squinted to make out the man riding towards the estate.

The rider noticed Robert and steered his mount towards the young man.

Still suffering the after-effects of last night," laughed the voice of Lord Westbrooke.

Robert more grimaced than smiled when he saw the man sitting upon the horse. After all, the young Lord was not much older than he himself.

"You took my last penny and left me with a painful reminder," Robert replied rubbing his head.

"You need to learn to hold your liquor," Lord Westbrooke continued. "I suppose Sir Belmount was not pleased."

Queen Victoria for his gallantry during the Crimean War had knighted the Colonel. However, the old soldier still preferred to go by the title Colonel. The Colonel lived in semi-retirement on the estate recovering from a terrible wound he suffered in battle. It was his superiors' idea that he recuperates at home; however, the Colonel felt fit again and constantly petitioned his superiors to allow him back into active service.

"Yes, Once more into the breach my friends," Robert stated with a pained smile. "It normally would be bearable if I was not suffering the after-effects of that pub-swill you call liquor."

"I am sorry you do not like a good port. I suppose you have sampled some of your uncle's rumored fine cognac. Therefore, any other type of refreshment would pale in comparison."

"Alas, I have not. I know he keeps the barrel well hidden -- for I have looked. But, it is supposed to be one of the treasures he secured from his campaigns."

"Well fear not my friend, Sir Belmount will not live forever, and you will then have this estate and all that comes with it -- including your uncle's prized cognac," Lord Westbrooke replied.

"He'll probably outlive us all, the old bird. He is quite the specimen of physical fitness. If only the military would accept him back and send him off on some campaign. Then perhaps, I will indeed come into my inheritance."

"Ah yes!" exclaimed Lord Westbrooke. "I almost forgot why I came here. There appears to be a revolt in India. I rode here knowing Sir Belmount would appreciate such news."

"Yes he would, and he would chafe at not being able to partake in putting down the revolt," Robert replied dryly.

Military and politically matters did not interest Robert at all.

"You know," Lord Westbrooke said thinking aloud. "I have some pull with court. I may be able to make you and Sir Belmount happy by having him reinstated. They could very well send him over to India to put down the Muhammadans."

"Oh that would be grand," Robert smiled his headache now forgotten.

* * * * *

It had been months since the Colonel went off to India to put down the rebellion. Robert had the estate to himself; however, he still only received his monthly allowance that the solicitors allowed him. This would have been bearable if it was not for the fact that his uncle took with him his prized cognac. The Colonel evidently did not trust his nephew with his spoils from the Crimean.

Robert reclined in a chair upon the lawn trying to enjoy a glass of sherry. He had sent the servants away, because Robert was in no mood to have anyone bother him. To make matters worse, Robert had already lost his allowance to Lord Westbrooke, so there was little chance his friend would show up to entertain him.

No sooner had Robert finished this thought than the sound of hooves clacked down the wooded lane leading to the estate. At first, Robert thought Lord Westbrooke might have been responding to some subconscious summons. However, Robert soon distinguished the sound of a pair of horses pulling a cart. The horses turned onto the road of the estate.

Curiosity compelled Robert to leave his wooden chair and meet the cart on the road. The driver pulled on the reigns bringing the horses to a halt.

"Ye be Robert Blythe?" the teamster asked in a thick Scottish accent.

"Yes, I am he," Robert replied.

"This came for ye by ship from India, laddy," the Scotsman replied pointing back to a barrel in the back of the cart. "It is said a relative of yours died in the campaign and this was to be sent to ye."

Robert's eyes lit up in excitement. Uncle Belmount was dead! The barrel of cognac was his!

* * * * *

Lord Westbrooke wasted no time when he received the summons to come over to Robert Blythe's estate. A servant opened the door for the lord when he approached the manor.

"I'm sorry your lordship," the servant began as Lord Westbrooke entered the manor, "Master Blythe has taken ill. However, he has asked that you visit him in the study."

Lord Westbrooke entered the study where Robert sat upon a couch wrapped in a blanket. The young man obviously was in the grip of a fever. He rose upon shaky legs as Lord Westbrooke entered the room.

"Robert!" exclaimed Lord Westbrooke, "you do not look well. What has befallen you?"

"Never mind that," Robert said with a weak smile on his pale face. "It had happened as you predicted. My uncle died in India and he left me his treasure."

Robert pointed to a corner of the room where a barrel rested upon two chairs. A spigot already placed in the bunghole.

"I could not wait so I sampled some last night. It is divine."

Robert staggered over to the barrel and filled a glass offering it to Lord Westbrooke. The lord took the proffered glass looking at the brandy.

"What has happened to you?" the lord continued.

"I was in a mood yesterday, and I probably sat too long in the outdoors. I caught some damned cold. However, this will restore my strength." Robert stated as he grabbed his glass and consumed the cognac.

The Lord Westbrooke lifted his glass towards Robert, "To your health," before drinking his glass.

The brandy was indeed of exquisite quality, he could understand why Sir Belmount went to great lengths to protect it.

"Would you care for another glass?" Robert asked.

"I do not mind if I do," smiled Lord Westbrooke giving Robert his glass. "So how did your uncle meet his demise?"

"There's a letter there on the desk that came with the cognac if you care to read it. I do not really care, all I know is it is finally all mine."

Lord Westbrooke took the now refilled glass and sipping it went over to the desk. There a letter lay still unopened and addressed to Robert Blythe.

"You sure you do not mind if I read this?" Lord Westbrooke asked Robert who was now on his third glass of cognac.

"No not at all. I think I will sit down for a bit," Robert said as shivers ran through his body. He returned to the couch and looked over towards Lord Westbrooke.

Lord Westbrooke opened the letter and began to read. "It appears your uncle and his regiment were ambushed by some sepoys. Rather ghastly business." The lord continued to read, "Dear God! It appears it was a week before a relief column was able to retrieve the bodies of the fallen. They had been out in the hot sun the whole time." The lord took a sip of cognac before he continued to read. However, soon Lord Westbrooke exclaimed, "DEAR GOD!" and he dropped his glass spilling the precious liquid on the ground.

"Hey, careful with that!" shouted Robert on seeing the cognac spill onto the carpet.

Lord Westbrooke did not hear him. He looked over towards Robert and slowly stated, "They put the body of your uncle in the only preservative they had on hand, his barrel of cognac."

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 28

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 28

By Dwayne MacInnes

The sun was nearly behind the western horizon when Cobb lowered his binoculars. The small town was quiet. His men spread out several yards behind him in the rocky hills. They sat waiting for him to give them the go signal.

Cobb made his way back towards where his men hid. The horses stamped and neighed in anticipation as the raiders comforted their mounts. Cobb swung up into his saddle.

"It looks like they won't be expecting a thing," Cobb stated as he checked his .45 Peacemaker. "We'll wait until sundown and then we'll give them hell."

The men started to prepare themselves for the raid. They checked their rifles, pistols, grenades, and bombs. They would raze this town. They felt that this action would force the United States to spend some precious resources. Resources in trying to pin them down. If they were lucky, they could keep the U.S. off balance long enough for the New Republic of Texas to defeat the U.S. armed forces now gathering in North Texas.

"Remember we ride in, raise hell and ride out the other side," Cobb reminded his raiders. "We'll try to hit another town across country. That should keep the New Mexican law enforcement and the military scrambling."

"Did you see anything that should give us concern?" asked one of the raiders.

"Nothing," Cobb replied. "It looks like everyone went to bed early tonight. Well, we'll give them a wake up call soon enough."

"What about loot and women?" another raider asked.

"Not in this town," Cobb cautioned. "We want to draw whatever cops and soldiers in the area here -- to this town. In that way, the next town should be that more vulnerable. We can take some time there, but not too long."

"Shouldn't take Charlie long," one man joked.

Everyone started to laugh except Charlie.

"Okay, one last weapons check," Cobb said. "I want you to use those Molotov cocktails to lighten up the town. Throw a couple of hand grenades in a house and shoot anybody who gets in our way. We stay off the roads and head out overland. That should hinder pursuit.

"Remember to keep an eye out for barbed wire and fences. This is mostly open land but there is always the danger. I believe everyone has a buddy so keep tight."

The sun's final dim rays vanished over the horizon. Cobb stood up in his saddle and raised his pistol in the air. "Okay boys, let's go!"

The men behind him screamed like a horde of wild banshees released from Hell. They rode their horses hard as they neared the sleepy town. There was not a car even on the road as the men rode into the outskirts. The raiders started to shoot their weapons in the air.

However, the air above them soon took on a whoop-whoop sound. Cobb wheeled his horse around and glared into the night sky. It was still dimly blue with the vanishing light of the sun. The waning light still allowed him to see the forms of several Blackfoot attack helicopters bearing down on him.

Cobb cursed aloud and shouted towards his men, "It's a trap! Scatter!"

Several men broke off in different directions. Their elation had quickly evaporated and now fear took hold. Some of the raiders tried to fire their guns at the hovering helicopters. However, their bullets merely ricocheted off the armored hide.

Soon, the helicopters aided with infrared optics opened up on the scattering raiders. Machineguns spat steel bullets and chewed man and beast alike into a bloody pulp. Cobb's horse reared up dumping the cowboy onto the ground. Normally Cobb would not have lost his balance, but with all the chaos breaking out around him, he ended up on the concrete road.

It turned out to be a mixed blessing. As Cobb's mount tore off for the surrounding hills, a rocket exploded and scattered the poor beast's carcass across the New Mexican landscape. Cobb wasted no time in seeking cover behind a building.

The firefight between the raiders and the helicopters was one sided and short. The helicopters broke out of formation to attack the fleeing raiders. Cobb realized he only had a few moments before one of them found him. He frantically searched for a place to hide.

Cobb noticed that there was a nearby manhole cover in the road. As the helicopters finished their grim business of gunning down every last raider, Cobb ran to the steel cover and was able to get his fingers under it. The pure adrenaline racing through his veins granted him the strength he needed to lift the cover and jump down the hole. The steel disc slid back into position the same time Cobb's feet landed into the wet muck in the storm sewer.

He could still hear the occasional scream of a dying man or horse above him. The constant staccato of machinegun fire and the explosions of missiles rocked the subterranean tunnel. Chunks of concrete fell around Cobb's head and dust infiltrated his eyes. The cowboy in the dark tunnel started to run as fast as he safely could. He managed to find his small keychain flashlight to help aid him in his escape.

General Davis looked over a map inside his base in North Texas. Several officers joined the general and were in the midst of discussing their attack into the New Republic of Texas when an aide walked in and handed a sheet of paper to the general.

"Sir, you said you wanted to sign this personally," the aide stated.

Davis looked at the paper; it was the military tribunal's verdict against Lieutenant White, court-martial and a death sentence. "Well," Powell Davis said to those within earshot as he signed the paper, "he should have stayed at the Army Reserve Center when the bombs fell. At least then, he would have died with his rank and honor."

Davis looked up at the gathered officers, "I don't enjoy signing the death sentence for a soldier. However, this White really put us on to him when first, he miraculously survived a raid on his convoy and then he happens not to attend an officers gathering at the Reserve Center. I lost a lot of good men in that bombing run and his hands are red with theirs and every citizen who died in that raid."

General Davis handed the paper back to the aide and returned to the map. He looked it over and finally asked one of his officers, "Major Owens, how is Operation Whiteout working?"

"Very well, sir," the major replied. "The Texans have been reduced to using radio. We can easily listen to their transmission. I don't think there is a working computer in their country."

"Great," Davis said. "Okay, I want every occupied town -- like Houston -- closed off. I don't know why we did not impose a curfew or why people were allowed to leave and enter it so freely. I'll find out later. But now all occupied areas will be closed off. Is that clear?"

The officers nodded their understanding. General Davis looked again down at the map. "I don't want the enemy getting wind of Operation Back Burn."

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 27

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 27

By Dwayne MacInnes

Flash Limbeck was surprised when a small squad of soldiers arrived at his apartment. Flash decided it was best to stay indoors on a day such as this. The streets were dangerous and unless his building ended up torched, there was little reason to go out.

However, according to the soldiers, the government still had uses for him. Limbeck puzzled over how they could use him. He could not make his usual webcasts because all the computers and communications devices were inoperable. Naturally, they did not work because of the viruses implanted by the United States. However, the armed men convinced him it was in his best interest to follow them. They promised him a safe and secure journey. Flash worried about how much he could trust them.

As the men left the building, Flash witnessed firsthand the chaos overrunning Austin. Smoke and flames filled the horizon. The smell of teargas and smoke permeated the air and the sound of gunfire, sirens and voices echoed off the buildings. As the soldiers escorted Limbeck to an armored vehicle, something caught Flash's eye. The pundit halted and focused on the object, or rather objects.

The squad stopped a few seconds and looked to see what it was that had brought Limbeck up short. A slight breeze had cleared the air enough that the men could see the bodies of four people swinging from a lamppost. Flash dropped to his knees when he noticed that it was a Hispanic man, woman, and two girls hanging by their necks. Pinned to the dead man's chest was a note that read simply, "Spics".

Flash vomited into the street as tears ran down his cheeks. Even though he had railed against minorities and illegals in the past, he never wanted any to come to harm. He could not help that maybe his own broadcasts may have influenced the maniacs responsible for this atrocity.

"Come on," a major said softly to Flash. "We have work to do."

Flash regained his feet and entered the vehicle. The soldiers started to pile in next to Limbeck. However, before the last men could climb in, the major stopped them.

"For God's sake. Cut them down," the major ordered.

The soldiers spent less than five minutes in lowering the murdered family. They laid them on the sidewalk, removed the rope from their necks and the sign from the father's chest. When that was done, they reverently covered their bodies with a blanket from the back of the armored vehicle.

No one said a word as the vehicle wound its way away from the building and through the debris-laden streets. It was a good twenty minutes later that the vehicle pulled up to a building with a large red and white tower on its roof.

The soldiers silently escorted Limbeck into the building. A man obviously waiting for them hurriedly approached.

"Damn, you guys are late," he cursed.

"Sorry, we had some important business to attend to first," the major replied tersely. "We have delivered Limbeck as ordered."

The man looked at Flash and extended a hand. Flash returned the handshake although the image of the hanging family still played through his mind and robbed his grip of any strength.

"My name is Brian Wilson," the man stated. "I will be your production manager."

Flash looked at Brian dumbly. "I assume you expect me to broadcast. But how? There probably isn't a working computer in all of Texas."

Wilson smiled, "We still have radio. The citizens of Texas are rummaging through their attics as we speak and are finding those long forgotten appliances from decades past. They are waiting to hear word of how we are fairing."

"Not very well," Flash said flatly.

"Wrong!" Brian smiled. "We are coming together as a nation to oppose our aggressors the United States of America and we will stand strong."

"Are you crazy?" Flash yelled. "We are falling apart. Have you looked outside lately? Have you seen the flames? Have you seen the bodies?" Flash choked as he spat out the last word.

"We must not let people smell fear or panic or all is lost," Brian said in a firm voice. "Your job is to say what the government tells you to say. After all, facts have never concerned you before."

The barb from Wilson's last remark caused Flash to flinch. "I will not do it," Flash said stubbornly.

"I'm afraid you will do it," Brian stated as he nodded towards the major. The major pulled an automatic pistol out of his holster and chambered a round. Then he pointed the gun towards Limbeck.

Flash, already pale from his experience with the lynched family turned even whiter. He merely nodded his head and followed Brian into the recording studio. The pundit sat in a chair and put on an old headset as Wilson worked on an archaic broadcasting board.

"We are on the air in three…two…" Brian pointed towards Flash.

"Hello loyal listeners," Flash began. "The U.S. has tried to silence our voice but they have failed."

* * * * *

Cobb surveyed the men he had gathered for his next raid. There were over one hundred of them and all were armed and mounted on horses. They had discussed using vehicles but given the terrain, the raiders wanted horses.

Cobb checked his compu-phone again. The damn thing still did not work. He had heard a rumor that a few minutes after the vice president ordered Plan Stampede she had died. Even worse was the fact that none of the raiders' compu-phones worked.

The cowboy swung into the saddle of his horse and looked back towards the men all mounted. "Okay boys," Cobb shouted. "Today's the day you have been waiting for."

The men screamed in excitement as Cobb continued to speak. "We do not go against military convoys; we are not rescuing fat web-jockies. Today we will strike terror into the heart of the citizens of New Mexico and the United States. There are no rules today. We have been working hard for the New Republic of Texas and today we have been given a furlough. You will find the women across the border there very…ah, accommodating."

Rough and coarse laughter broke through the ranks of the raiders. Some passed a few crude jokes amongst each other.

"When we are done," Cobb continued. "We will burn those towns to the ground. Those citizens will come to know true fear."

"Texas Wildfire" - Chapter 26

Texas Wildfire

Chapter 26

By Dwayne MacInnes

T.J. Murdock's head was pounding when he awoke inside his Corvette the next day. T.J. sat up and blinked his eyes as the bright afternoon sun shone through his windshield. He did not know how he wound up at the Texicorp headquarters building in Houston. In fact, he vaguely remembered something about an Easter egg while in Austin.

T.J. groaned as his scrambled brain started to reassemble the previous day. Then as the memory of his meeting with Vargas materialized, T.J. jumped up. He needed money and he needed it fast.

Cursing himself T.J. stepped out of the car. Why did he return to Houston? The U.S. government would surely be looking for him. Vargas's men would be looking for him. In fact, in all of Texas, Houston was the worse place for him to be. T.J. remembered that it all made sense when he was drunk. Now, in the light of day, with a raging hangover, things appeared the complete opposite.

For the first time, T.J. realized that the parking lot was empty. Only his blue Corvette occupied the huge lot. Slowly T.J. realized that he was alone at the building and that he still had an access key. If his father had not changed the security code, there was still a chance T.J. could get inside. Moreover, maybe he could find something of value to exchange to Vargas for his life.

Hope started to rekindle itself in his heart as T.J. started to walk briskly across the asphalt to the building's entrance. He was only a hundred yards away from the building when he heard the sound of an airplane's engine. It was growing louder. T.J's curiosity got the better of him. He stopped and looked in the sky behind him.

Shielding his eyes with a hand, T.J. watched as a civilian propeller driven private plane grew larger.

"Damn, fool!" T.J. grumbled, "he's flying too low."

The airplane continued to grow in size as it approached closer to where T.J. stood. The plane did not relent in its descent. Cursing loudly, T.J. dove to the ground as the plane flew over him. As quickly as that it collided with the building. A great fireball mushroomed into the air as the Texicorp building began to burn.

Showered in debris T.J. stood up and brushed off his clothes. The explosion did not help his splitting headache. Perhaps that was the reason why he at first did not hear the jubilant cries of the crowd marching down the street.

A large group of people holding signs (and guns) marched down the street towards the building. T.J. realized that the pilot was not aiming for him but instead the Texicorp building. Panic seized his heart. If the angry mob recognized him as a Texicorp executive, albeit a former one, he could be in serious danger. Without a second thought, T.J. sprinted in the opposite direction.

Running down the street, T.J. found that a few other people were running away as other mobs converged on the burning building. Chaos was now the rule in Houston. Fear compelled T.J. to run even faster.

Ducking down a side street, T.J. noticed police in riot gear approaching him. T.J. stepped into a doorway of a shop to let the police pass. A couple of officers stopped momentarily to look at him. They obviously did not see him as a threat, so they continued on their way.

T.J. moved more cautiously through the downtown area of Houston. More rioters were torching buildings and more police and soldiers marched to meet the new threat. Tear gas permeated the air. Furthermore, the smell of burning alcohol and gasoline from homemade Molotov Cocktails came to T.J's nose. The bottles were shattered against walls and spread their fiery fuel all over.

Soon gunfire could be heard in the distance. T.J's panic renewed itself and he desperately looked for some place to hide. Buildings were being torched, cars were being overturned, and even dumpsters were set ablaze. None of these could offer any security so T.J. just kept running.

* * * * *

Tucker looked out the window of his office. The protesting mob was now a chaotic mix of rioters and looters. Law enforcement personnel and soldiers fought desperately to restore order. The fact that all communication systems were down hindered the efforts of the various parties to coordinate their efforts.

President Tucker sighed as he noticed more flames and smoke lick the horizon. More sounds of gunfire and sirens filled the air. It had been a long day. It started with the U.S. bombers flying over nearly every city in Texas and delivering an ominous message. That, in turn, led to the antigovernment protests that now were a full riot. In addition, the breakaway nation lost some of the northern counties. These counties became the new state of North Texas. In addition, the United States Congress officially declared war on the New Republic of Texas. Finally, in between these events, the vice president had an unfortunate accident. She was fatally stung by a bumblebee.

"Tell me again why we lost communication?" Tucker said as he turned towards his staff.

"Sir, in an effort to hack into the U.S. military's computers, we stumbled upon some dummy accounts," began an aide. "We thought they were legit, but it was a ruse so that the U.S. hackers could backtrack to us. They managed to infest our network with every type of malware you can think of. The various viruses have shutdown all our computers, including compu-phones."

"How long before we can fix it?" the president pressed.

"We don't know."

"How about the old phone lines? Surely we can use those."

"Sir, the computers that operate the phone lines are also out of service. We are down to sending messages through radio or good old-fashioned couriers."

"Radio?" snorted the president. "You gotta be kidding me."

"No, we have some old radios, walkie talkies, CBs and the like that we are distributing to our government and military forces."

"Radios," President Tucker said derisively under his breath as he returned to his vigil at the window.

He flicked at a fly with a finger and watched it buzz away.

"Might as well send smoke signals. We seemed to have plenty of that on hand."