Shots rang out in the street. It was absolute chaos. Randy and Dermot surveyed the scene. Bodies strewn across the street. Men were fighting each other. An all-out gang war between young men who appeared to be Arabic. Randy rolled his eyes. Dermot turned to Randy. “You seen stuff like this, Randy?” “Yeah,” replied Randy. “All the damn time.” Dermot looked around. “If you would kindly give me back my gun, then maybe….,” Dermot trailed off. Randy immediately responded with a firm “hold on!” Dermot looked back at him. “Let me guess, Dermot. What mob were you a part of anyway, the Aryan Brotherhood?” he asked. “Hell no!” thundered Dermot.
“I was part of an Irish mob, not some white supremacy group. Those freakin’ idiots want me dead!”
“Did you kill any of them in the past?”
“Lots of ‘em. You’ve got to understand, Randy. Lots o’ people want my arse annihilated.”
Suddenly, the two men caught the eye of one of the Arabs. He shouted over to another in what both Dermot and Randy perceived to be Urdu. The group immediately pointed their guns at them. And one muscular looking Arab came out from the crowd with a machete. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Randy said to himself. He handed Dermot his Sig Sauer. And they raised their arms. Randy shouted, “Police! Drop your weapons now!” Nothing. “I said, DROP THEM!” he screamed. The machete wielder pointed his machete at Dermot and Randy. “Allahu Akbar!” he screamed, amid of chorus of chants. “Hey, freaks!” came a voice from a couple of blocks down.
An older gentleman walked onto the scene, carrying his assault rifle. He had a gray beard and gray hair. His face had been beaten from the weather. He was chomping hard on a cigar. There was death in his eyes. There was a muscular build too him as well. He must have been military or something. He pointed his rifle at the gang members. “Now do what the cop said, damn it!” The gang members did not yield. “Allahu Akbar!” the machete wielder screamed again. The fight broke out almost immediately. Dermot and Randy started firing into the crowd, taking out a good number of the gang members. The old man took out a good number too. At the end, the only one left standing was the machete wielder. It would take at least three men to bring this guy down. So Randy, Dermot, and the old man went for it. They put their rifles and went to face him empty handed. Randy winced in pain as the machete man grabbed him by the ear. The machete man let go and threw Randy against one of the cars of the gang members. Dermot had gotten badly bruised in the attack. The old man picked up his gun and shot the machete wielder twice in the stomach. The machete man fell to his knees in pain. Dermot picked up the machete and came up next to the wielder, who shot one last menacing grimace before he faced the ground. Dermot brought the machete down and decapitated the man with a heavy stroke. The man’s head rolled up to the curb. Randy almost had to vomit.
The three men started piling up the bodies. The old man took a match from his pocket and lit up the pile. Randy turned to the old man. “Thanks, pal. We’d have been dead right now if not for you. My name’s Randy Batista and this is….”
“Dermot Weaver. I know who that guy is. The name’s Joe Hackett. I served in the Marine Corps in Afghanistan.”
“Honored to meet you.”
“Guys, something’s very wrong here. Right now, every branch of the United States Armed Forces is being targeted by the government. And an enormous number has already been killed systematically.”
Randy’s eyes opened wide. “What are you saying, man?”
“I’m saying that we’re being wiped out. The government wants a new breed of soldier.”
Randy could see in Joe’s that he was not kidding.
“So far, only me and three other men have survived. For now. One of them being my daughter’s husband.”
“Do you know where they are now?” asked Dermot.
“No freaking idea,” replied Joe.
Little did the three men know that they were being watched. And every move that they made had been monitored.