American Vigilante

By CW Nelson

RogueOps deploy high tech specialists into the killing fields of international intrigue. Military assassins and snipers airlift across the globe on Hawke's Gulfstream jets, Sikorsky helicopters and PBY amphibians. Intercept teams set sail on his 214-foot weaponized, tactical sailing yachts.

 

Target 1 ///

Hunt down a lost Nazi bunker. RogueOps received Intel that it contains financial 'blueprints' that can take down every banking institution on the planet. 

 

Target 2 ///

Intercept a key player in international narcotics, mercenary deployment and White sex trafficking. RogueOps must rescue fourteen innocent Aryan girls 12 to 14 years old. 

Itinerary: Finance a military invasion.

Target: United States of America.

 

RogueOps deploy seven specialists, two MilSpec helicopters and a PBY amphibian on a two-prong mission.

Prong 1 ///-Rescue the kidnapped girls before they fly out with the terrorists and face short, bloody lives brutally raped until dead. 

Prong 2 ///-Destroy Alfonso Urraca's international headquarters and intercept 74.6 billion U.S. dollar in wire transfers. 

 

Target 3 ///

Mission/// Engage air strikes against five Mexican Cartel headquarters from Tijuana to Oaxaca. Destroy the world's largest joint military firearms and narcotics trafficking operation. 

Cartel Objective: Create mass chaos in U.S. law enforcement and government to collapse Anglo-American culture and its economy.

RogueOps leave trails of blood and destruction from the South Pacific to the Azores. From the jungles of Paraguay, Venezuela and into Mexico.  Trails collide when RogueOps discover they all lead to the same regime staging a covert military invasion of the United States.

Armed convoys were already moving north.

 

American joint operation: Bought-off federal judges subvert and nullify U.S. Constitutional Law. Political treason and violent anarchy explode state-to-state and nationwide.

 

///-Vigilante justice, bullets and guts worked in the Old West. It works in this bloodstained war against America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CW Nelson
• Release date: Apr 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393101536

CW Nelson

CW Nelson – Author Military wolves raised CW Nelson The ‘Old Man’ flew frontline paratroopers in WW2 and Korea. B-47 Stratojet nuclear bombers during the Cold War. NRO B-47s on soviet espionage missions.   Cold War Intel advisor for CIA Director MACV Aerial Recon USAF Liaison, Office of Naval Intelligence Liaison, MACV US Army Chief of Staff Director, undisclosed USAF NASA projects Colonel Nelson retired from the Pentagon Additional author resources- CW Nelson worked material logistics for several federal agencies. Criminal activity support for State, County and Local Law. An old school FBI Regional Director. Security & Intelligence Agencies. Director DHS-Services Counter Terror Group. Military personnel. US Marine Corp. Snipers. Military Sigint, which plays a large role in RogueOps TajTel operations. —Identities private  C.W. joined the US Navy. Then wrecked a 435hp SS 396 Chevelle... and his military career. He was successful in large family ranching operations and AG land development. A builder, developer. He lives with his lovely wife Vicki in Sun Valley, Idaho. Snow capped Sawtooth Mountains & pristine river valleys are home where he writes about what he loves most. The Land of the Free - Because of the Brave Thanks to all First responders, Police & Military personnel. Apologies to those that find my characters far-fetched. Excuse literary license to make a damned point.

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NOTES

Copyright Notice

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved. United States and International Law Prohibit Reproduction in Whole or in Part, in any form whatsoever – written, electronic or otherwise without the Author’s Notarized Written Permission. Any person or persons in violation are subject to those laws and financial restitution for damages or loses to the author's legal, professional or personal interests.

ISBN-10 9781393101536

ISBN-13 9781393995685

Copyright © 1990-2021

Published by CW Nelson

Nelson & Nelson Publishing

W/O Prejudice UCC 1-308

Cover Art by Vicki Nelson

For information, contact the author through his websites.

CWNelsonAuthor.com

RogueOpsNovels.com

For Vicki

Brilliant, elegant and strong spirited. Vicki’s keen insight into the brutal truths of Marxist subversion destroying America is spot on. Her patriotism, encouragement, great plot ideas and ruthless editing keep me focused.

Vicki is the Editor and Director of Nelson & Nelson Publishing. Vicki makes RogueOps Novels possible.

Special thanks to an ex-Spook from the US Intelligence Community for his hard line tactical insight. Thanks to an old school FBI regional director and a ‘Security and Intelligence’ agent for strategic and tactical insight. Thanks to the ‘Old Man’ and his pilots that directed my life onto a blunt and powerful path. In due course, it provoked this author’s conservative newspaper commentary and RogueOps Novels.

Novels by CW Nelson

Book Zero

American Vigilante

HardStrike

Law of War

See Addendum

Articles by CW Nelson

Anglo-Saxon Culture Warriors

American Bolshevik Revolution

Covid-19 – WW III

Read American Vigilante.

Then HardStrike ... and then Law of War.

Although not necessary, as they are stand-alone reads. However, you will benefit greatly knowing the military background of select sniper assassins that become RogueOps. In addition to national security threats they take out and launch this epic chronicle about America under siege from hostile enemies Foreign and Domestic. America’s existence as a sovereign nation is at stake, more than ever before in U.S. history.

American Vigilante shows how RogueOps came about when Lachlan Hawke retired from US Navy SEALs special operations and took over his father’s San Diego real estate business. As a rite of passage from military to civilian life, this disciplined, deadly yet down to earth wealthy man charted a transoceanic excursion on his 114-foot sailing yacht. The brutal high seas murder of his brother, his wife and beautiful children catapulted Hawke into the civilian world of intrigue, murder, narcotics and White sex slave trafficking.

—RogueOps was born.

Legend— RogueOps Characters

Lachlan Hawke: Commander, IOSX TajTel Operations

Garrett McChafin: Director, TajTel Operations

TajTel  – IOSX NSA level CRAY computer system

IOSX   – Private Military Sniper Assassins

IOS   – Island of Snow, Tuamotu Islands

Inga – Maddox  //  Kristjen – Rikkar

TajTel Level - Sniper Assassin Teams

SECDEF – Griffin Dunn: Secretary of Defense

Chief Executive Officer, United States Department of Defense (DoD). SECDEF has authority over the U.S. military and is second only to the U.S. President.

DNI – Davis MacLand: Director National Intelligence

FBI – Jack Rollins: Director,  Federal Bureau of Investigation

ONI – Office of Naval Intelligence

CIA – Central Intelligence Agency

NSA – National Security Agency

DoD – Department of Defense

DoE – Department of Energy Q Level Intel Clearance

NRO – National Reconnaissance Office

– Lachlan Hawke //LaK-lan

– Davis MacLand //MaK-lund

– Garrett McChafin //Mak-chAfin

Author’s Note

American Vigilante includes the novella RogueOps Book Zero so skip to Part 2 Chapter 22

1 — Anarchy Park

Washington, DC

Black thunderheads billowed high on the eastern horizon. Lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder rumbled. Bolts of blue plasma flashed through thick bulletproof windows. A violent storm advanced on the corrupt stronghold of U.S. government.

Griffin Dunn sat quiet at his desk, thinking. The aroma of his cigar, the scent of waxed walnut furniture, new leather upholstery and two walls of leather bound books defined the lair of a powerful man. Even so, thick gray eyebrows set off a troubled look in Dunn’s piercing, steel blue eyes. He leaned back in his overstuffed leather executive chair and looked out his windows on the top floor of the old War and Navy Office Building.

AntiFa crowded Lafayette Park directly across from the White House grounds. The violent vanguard of radical communist street thugs. Traitors.

National Guard soldiers, Secret Service sharpshooters and the steel perimeter fence were the only defenses separating Secretary of Defense Griffin Dunn from their violent rebellion. The wind blew harder. The anarchists pulled their black hoods tighter, turned up their collars and braced against slashing rain.

A hard rap rattled the heavy double doors. Dunn lowered the leather wrapped binoculars and took a draw on his cigar. Davis MacLand walked in and shut the doors louder than necessary. He went straight to the credenza.

Griffin Dunn turned back to the windows and lifted his binoculars. A gift from a friend. Navy admiral Billings. Hawke served with him off the coast of Kuwait during Desert Shield in 1990.

Damn it MacLand! Call before stomping in like this. What the hell is so damned important?

MacLand was Director of National Intelligence, DNI. He turned over two cut crystal tumblers and sloshed them half-full of scotch from a matching decanter.

MacLand let out a nervous sigh and sat in front of Dunn’s seven-foot wide desk. He took a drink and leaned back. Lightning streaked across the sky. A blinding flash. A loud crack shook the bulletproof windows. A tall oak in Lafayette Park exploded in a flash of light.

Griffin Dunn dropped his binoculars. MacLand bolted out of his chair and spilled his scotch.

Flaming wood shrapnel and large branches smashed into protesters. Gusting wind hurled burning leaves and set other trees on fire. AntiFa radicals and Black Lives Matter anarchists stopped disrupting traffic and smashing baseball bats into windshields.

Two hundred radical anarchists panicked and ran. Many held hands over their ears. Blood ran from blown eardrums and down their necks as they stumbled and fell over each other in the streets. Dunn estimated three dozen anarchists lay dead at the base of the shattered and blackened tree.

They watched for a minute until Dunn shrugged it off. Serves those damned Commi bastards right. What’s so damned important, MacLand?

MacLand picked up his glass and refilled it. You better brace yourself, Mr. Secretary.

Dunn looked at the glass on his desk. Scotch at seven in the morning? The pressure getting to you?

MacLand took a slug to calm his nerves. The SecDef was one thing. The heavy, leather bound memorandum he carried was another. They stared at one another. Dunn’s chiseled Nordic face and graying military buzz cut hardened his commanding presence to a sharp edge.

Bill Konouski delivered an ‘Eyes Only’ memorandum to my office an hour ago. It’s from Jack Rollins. MacLand took another drink, leaned back and looked at the names printed on the cover. Mr. Secretary. MacLand let out a faint whistle. We have Helmit Zellick, National Reconnaissance Office... He took another slug of scotch.

MacLand, get to the damned point!

Davis dropped a thick red folder on his desk. Intel says a cabal of South American mercenaries plans to assassinate several of our key people. They’re recruiting leaders of violent gangs and radical anarchists to serve as ground forces. The spear point in an overthrow of the United States.

Dunn squared his broad shoulders and glared at the National Intelligence director. You better be straight on this because I’m not in the mood for bullshit. He looked at the dead anarchists. He noted that several were still alive, struggling under large oak branches.

We should shoot all those AntiFa bastards. They riot, smash windows and burn business districts from coast to coast. They target and kill cops. They bludgeon and maim citizens.

It’s out of control and no one does a damned thing about it. Corrupt governors and mayors order law enforcement to stand down.

Dunn slammed a meaty fist on his desk. Damn it. Let’s give them the war they called for. Let’s be done with all of these traitorous bastards.

MacLand opened the memorandum to section B-1 and pushed it across the desk. Like I said, I got this from Jack Rollins an hour ago. Read it.

Dunn was uneasy with the DNI’s deadpan face. It didn’t fit. He was on shaky ground with him, but that wasn’t apparent since he charged in.

Dunn set the aromatic cigar on a brass tray at his elbow, took a slug of scotch and picked up the memorandum. The first page targeted Helmit Zellick. SecDef Dunn scanned the sheet. Zellick is NRO. This has nothing to do with us. They have their own people.

Turn to section A-1.

Section A-1 listed US President Alastair Scott, Griffin Dunn, Davis MacLand and FBI Director, Jack Rollins. The next page listed three columns of political, agency and military leaders. Ninety people designated for assassination.

Dunn turned to Section A-2 and slid out a dozen high-resolution satellite images. He leaned back and shuffled through photos of ground troops and other photos of air movements. Each had a label affixed at the top.

Tri-Border region: Argentina- Brazil- Paraguay-

Dunn thumbed through Zellick’s National Reconnaissance Office satellite imaging. Smoke curled from his cigar as he quickly assessed the Intel. Convoys of trucks snaking around mountain roads. Cargo planes hopping to airfields in Venezuela, Honduras, Guatemala and central Mexico.

Dunn turned to Section A-3 and pulled out NRO statistics folder. He thumbed through them and slammed them on his desk.

Christ, MacLand! This identifies 72,000 revolutionaries spread across seven nations to avoid detection. Military weapons vehicles. Personnel carriers. Fuel and supply trucks.

Dunn pulled a photo off his desk and held it up. This photo shows white tarps with UN insignias draped over 18-wheelers. Looks like every other asylum seeker caravan but it isn’t. Dunn tapped the photo with the bit of his cigar. And this UN truck. It’s towing a fucking howitzer!

Yes sir.

I’m looking at active Intel on a military invasion.

Yes sir! Against the United States of America.

Dunn leaned forward. "USMCA agreements my ass. Mexico is part of this. How the hell did anyone miss that? They joined the UN Migration Compact that mandates the ‘Right to Freedom of Movement’ across any border."

Griffin Dunn stood at the windows. Davis MacLand walked up beside him.

Mexico wants all out war.

Right. Escalating caravans over the past five years were also a smoke screen for armored troops right behind them. Who would know with UN 18-wheelers rolling with them? Food trucks. Medical. Clothing. Shelters and other support vehicles.

SecDef Dunn flipped his chair around. Get Jack Rollins over here!

Dunn pressed the intercom to his front office. Heather. Send up a barrel of coffee. Plenty of sandwiches and donuts.

Dunn pulled out a SatPhone. It clicked and buzzed as the call connected. This is Zellick. Do you have Davis MacLand with you?

How the hell would you know that?

I received a wire from Jack Rollins. Said MacLand was on his way to your office with the memorandum.

Yeah. He’s here.

A lot of our Intel is in there. Did you read it?

Jack is on his way over. Griffin looked at his watch. 07:30 hours.

After he debriefs us, I’ll call you back. It’s +6 for you in Berlin. Give us another three hours. 13:30 hours your time.

2 — Title 18 Codes

Authorizations, DC

Loud thuds shook the door. Jack Rollins stomped in. Six foot two, 240 pounds of athletic muscle. A thick shock of black hair and angry gray eyes darted around the room. He made a quick assessment of everyone and everything. Doors ajar, ways in ways out.

Rollins walked to the windows and chuckled. I heard about that on the way up. Other than the shitstorm at hand, how is everyone doing this dandy morning?

Rollins didn’t expect an answer and got none. By now you talked with Zellick. They nodded.

Good, we can move on with this.

Rollins grabbed a plate of assorted donuts and a large mug of coffee. He took a chair at the conference table and opened a large leather satchel.

Okay, on point. We bring in USCE. The United States Constitution and Code Enforcement. The Regular and Irregular Militia. The good guys with guns. America’s last line of defense. And, we bring in RogueOps to oversee all this.

SecDef Dunn stabbed an icy glare at the FBI director and lit a fresh cigar. Where did you hear about RogueOps?

Rollins hunched his shoulders and took a slug of hot coffee. Look, I know Lachlan Hawke has done special operations for the government since he retired from Navy SEALs and ONI.

Dunn’s eyes narrowed. His brow wrinkled. You know his name?

"What the hell, Griffin. I am director of the FBI for Christ’s sake. I’m the guy still cleaning out bad actors that Kenyan entrenched in the department."

So yes, I have heard of RogueOps and Lachlan Hawke. He does black bag stuff for the president. I don’t know specifics and I don’t want to know. It’s above my pay grade by 20,000 feet. Besides, I like my life the way it is. Alive and breathing.

Dunn leaned back and nodded. Ah hell, Rollins. It’s good you brought it up. You’re right. RogueOps tracks down and intercepts bad guys for us. Some of your bad actors were on their list.

Hawke oversees USCE although they have their own rank and file. A ragtag bunch of ex-military malcontents. Guys and gals not happy with how things took a dive after that Kenyan faggot hijacked the presidency.

The damned toughest soldiers and civilians this nation ever produced. Ex- generals and admirals. Officers, noncoms and the best enlisted men and women ever.

SecDef Dunn grinned, something rare.

A bunch of damned cowboy vigilantes is what they are. Their only legitimacy is operating under Hawke’s RogueOps umbrella.

Yes sir. I’m sure they share the same warm and glowing affections for you.

Yes, I’m sure they do. What do you have?

The author recommends reading this to know what the United States Militia and USCE does and why. You can skip forward but USCE’s agenda may be sketchy.

Rollins met their hard eyes. "USCE men and women knew this day would come. They have been ready to take point against these players for years. That Kenyan’s military purges jacked them sky high on U.S. Title 18 Codes in Chapter 115. As you know, it covers Treason, Sedition and Subversive Activities.

USCE focuses on Section 2381 for Treason.

You know all this but let’s review it. Let’s be damned clear on what the hell we are doing and what authority we have."

Here is what it says.

"Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death...

They dismiss the remainder that calls for a fine and a prison term. No. We’re way beyond that. They engage multiple coup d’états to overthrow the United States government.

"Second to that, they enforce Title 18 Section 2384 on Seditious Conspiracy. Here it is:

"If two or more persons in any State or Territory, or in any place subject to the jurisdiction of the United States, conspire to overthrow, put down, or to destroy by force the Government of the United States,

Or to levy war against them, or to oppose by force the authority thereof, or by force to prevent, hinder, or delay the execution of any law of the United States, or by force to seize, take, or possess any property of the United States contrary to the authority thereof.

They shall each be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than twenty years, or both.

And for now, they enforce Title 18 2385, Advocating overthrow of Government.

"Look it up and refresh your memory. USCE believes those codes are all they need to eliminate bad actors with deadly force. Code 2385 targets violent black and brown radicals that influence acts of violence against government. They have broadcast their Kill Whitey message for over a decade. Corrupt politicians support them and media covers up their actions every damned day."

Why does 2385 target black and brown radicals?

Well, there is AntiFa. Marxist white trash and Jews. Trotskyite neo-Bolshevik communists already top our list so it isn’t just black and brown. We’re taking down radical feminist, BLM, SPLC, ADL, AIPAC, CAIR and so on.

What about the KKK and Skinheads?

You mean all fifty of them that no one has seen on the streets for decades. That KKK and so-called Nazis?

Hell, they label anyone a Nazi that doesn’t bow at the altar of leftist communism. The media calls it Democratic Socialism.

Anyhow, when they engage violence against anyone, or resist arrest by USCE troops... well, that gives them valid reason to kill them.

Dunn raised his brows. Does it?

Does it what?

Give them authority to kill them.

On the surface, yes. The courts, however—

MacLand cut him off. Leftist courts are complicit in this damned mess. The Marxist bastards will not enforce the law. That, my friends, is the highest form of anarchy. Their rulings are invalid because they’re unconstitutional. They know that but enforce them anyway. Subversive media covers it up with bullshit.

Rollins nodded. At any rate, USCE will work with the National Guards. Stateside, we need crack military and law enforcement personnel in the loop as soon as possible! USCE fits the bill. They are man hunters. Snipers. Intel officers. Recon. USAF Commandos. SEALs, Marines, Navy, Army and Coast Guard. Did I miss anyone?

Dunn picked up the heavy dossier and dropped it with a sharp smack on his desk. How many copies of this?

I have one in my satchel, Zellick and you.

Is that it? You damned sure?

NRO has the sat imaging and a mountain of other images. That’s what they do, Griffin.

What about the assassination Intel?

"That’s not their department. NSA and DHS have that, a ton of other assassination threats and all the other things they deal with. That’s what they do."

Dunn walked over and grabbed a donut off Rollins’ plate, glanced out the windows and sat back at his desk. Well, Jack. What should we do?

Things are out of control. The best way to stop the escalating riots and mayhem—

Rollins looked passed Dunn for a moment. There is one way to stop them from murdering cops. Stop them from beating and murdering civilians. The Muslim niggers... yes, I said niggers. Gangs of them in the tens of thousands rape our young girls and no one does a damned thing. They only rape White girls.

Think hard on that.

Dunn relit his cigar and blew a stream of smoke.

Jack. You said there is one way to stop this.

Right. Like I said. When they show intent to harm or assault the innocent we shoot and kill them.

SecDef Dunn and MacLand leaned back and looked at their FBI director.

Look. You can’t fix three generations of Cultural Marxist indoctrination. Not radicalized drones that are this fucked in the head.

The president must declare a national emergency, martial law if necessary. He must recall troops from abroad and deploy them in the streets. University campuses. Media centers and congressional offices.

They declared war on American soil. The only solution is to engage their war and kill them.

Or have we forgotten how?

3 — By The Numbers

United States Militias, DC

SecDef Dunn stabbed a donut with his letter opener.

What are the numbers, Jack?

Rollins pulled another folder from his worn leather satchel and opened it on the table.

"Today, 70 million citizens own 325 million handguns, rifles and plenty of ammo thanks to that Kenyan traitor that tried to disarm America.

Sixteen million are hunters. Naturals for guerilla warfare. Hell, they already do that against more wary and harder target.

What target, Jack? They’re civilians.

Wild game in wild terrain.

Dunn and MacLand nodded at the obvious.

We have 22 million veterans from young to old. If a veteran can shoot a weapon, they will. So can their wives and kids. That means we have seventy million patriots the president can call to arms.

Rollins leafed to another page.

Anyone know what the US Militia is? Not the Michigan, Idaho or Arizona militia. Although they are part of it. I’m talking about the US Militia.

Dunn looked at the ceiling twenty feet up. Well, it means the president can call every able bodied man over the age of sixteen into service in a declared emergency. However, I am sure there is more to it than that.

"Right. He can do that. He can also federalize the USCE so they can work without a glitch with the National Guards and US Military. That means he can rescind Posse Comitatus and put soldiers on American soil. He will because a corrupt congress will not act in good faith to this crisis. Hell, they’re part of it.

The president also hints at taking out the top four Techs giants.

Take them out? Meaning what.

"Anarchists use social media to organize civil chaos across the nation. Eighty percent are illegal alien invaders. We have an estimated fifty million already here. Twenty million actively wage war against the United States in one manner or another. Their handlers systematically destroy law and order. They already took metro California. Chicago, Portland, Seattle, Baltimore, Philadelphia and other major cities. Islam and AntiFa now hit Midwest patriot country.

Now pay attention. Mexico has over 400,000 active soldiers and 96,000 on reserve. However, they will not deploy their military right now. They know US military would annihilate them within hours.

That brings us to Central and South America staging 72,000 troops for an invasion. The Mexican army will deploy behind the armored convoys. As soon as they cross our borders. Right behind them, millions of Mexican, Guatemalan, Honduran and Venezuelans illegal invaders to cinch the overthrow by sheer numbers.

The principal player in all this is the most organized and largest anti-White organization on the planet. Its non-White members comprise over eighty percent of them. Jew handlers and their lackey controllers make up the rest.

SecDef stood up. Who the hell is that?

The United Nations.

Rollins took a slug of coffee. Here is the killer. Armed black and brown gangland will join the anarchists, take over leadership and tear Anglo society to shreds.

Dunn and MacLand leaned back. They called him to the office so they listened.

"White society.... Damn it. Let’s quit fucking around and call it what we are, and have been for millennia. Well, before their phony holocaust dogma appeared out of nowhere in the New York Times a year after WWII. Since their media and revised textbooks desecrated the term."

You mean Aryans?

"Yes. Aryan culture. Aryan society. White is a fucking color. Aryan is our race. The White Anglo Saxon, Germanic, Scandinavian and Teutonic people. We are the Whitey in their Kill Whitey mantras.

"Democrats and their media. Let’s call them what they are while we’re at it. Bolshevik communists leading their overthrow of America."

Rollins walked to the windows. Trees still smoldered in rain turning to freezing sleet.

"AntiFa has a long history in Bolshevik and Soviet Russia. And across Europe. Even before WWII, they were the frontline communist opposition against Italian and German nationalists. They’ve been at it for over a century. Wrecking one Anglo nation after another.

Globalists replaced Trotsky with Soros, Alinsky, Ayers and that Kenyan as their mentors. We are dealing with four generations of anti-White, anti-American, Marxist communist indoctrination. Think hard on that because you cannot fix it. You can only eliminate it!

Dunn stood in front of Rollins. Do you have a consensus from the Intelligence Agencies? No one else could sanction this on a nationwide scale. Dunn glanced at MacLand. He nodded.

Yes sir. President Scott, DNI MacLand and your military intelligence departments see the only way we can handle this escalating coup.

I’m listening.

"MacLand knows more on that, but here is the FBI’s rundown. The endless talk is over. We must disregard unconstitutional horseshit that got us into this mess. Unlawful committees. Reviews. Special counsels... the diversionary crap going nowhere.

That means Deep State politicians that support enemies like AntiFa and other communist factions. They are traitors. They go down.

Dunn raised his brows. The numbers, Jack.

Rollins shuffled through another folder.

"Okay. You wanted numbers. We have 450,000 troops deployed overseas. Two days before the president rolls out the US Militia, he declares a national emergency and recalls most of our troops. Except for Italy, Hungary, Poland, Denmark, Sweden and Finland. We stay and help stop globalist takeovers.

"Our troops come home. They deploy into Washington DC. Into metro city streets. Universities and media broadcasting centers. Anyone that pulls a weapon, we shoot on sight.

I’ll say it again. They declared war.

"Christ, look at Sweden. Does the ‘Swedish Ski Team’ still exist? Those beautiful Nordic women."

...silence

Well, do they still exist or have those savage bastards raped them to death? The same savages raping our young girls.

Dunn blew out a cloud of smoke and narrowed his eyes. The Anglo cultural genocide was coming into sharper focus.

All right. Get back to the NRO data. What are we looking at in manpower and weapons with these bandit convoys staging in Mexico?

Rollins pulled out three spreadsheets, handed one to MacLand and one to Dunn. He read from the third.

Stats show we have over two million active gang members, not including 7 million followers that will join them. When is that? Today, tomorrow?

Dunn didn’t answer. He walked to the windows and read the stats. Rollins continued.

"Thirty seven thousand gangs spread across America, all with ties to Mexican cartels and over  60% are involved in drug trafficking. They dope up their ranks as third world dictators do. Heroin makes them feel invulnerable and fearless. It makes them harder to kill and you will dump a half dozen pistol rounds into them before they hit dirt. Forget ‘one shot one kill’ unless you hit them in the head or the heart. They will keep coming. They will keep shooting and they will kill you even as their bloody body collapses on top of you.

Pay attention to this. These savages make up the most powerful and most violent, well armed third-world nation on earth... right here inside the US.

Rollins took out another data sheet. "Forty percent of those gangs traffic in light and heavy weapons. From handguns to 7.62mm Miniguns, RPGs and grenades. Everything a well-stocked National Guard armory has except MRAPs APCs and tanks.

"This makes it worse. Over thirty percent are experts at motor vehicle theft. Intel says they can steal tens of thousands of cars and trucks within days. First on their list are police cars that have the latest communications.

They kill the officers, storm police stations nationwide and use them as command centers. Then take over banks. Pharmacies. Large shopping malls and major food distribution centers. They are too stupid to figure out all this. So again, enter the United Nations.

Rollins took a slug of coffee. Intel says major gang leaders have staked out middle and upper class neighborhoods for their own taking. Kill all the males, their wives and keep young White girls as sex slaves, cooks and whatever. We have to kill these fucking animals before that happens!

Rollins flipped to another page.

Thirty one percent of gangs are black. Thirteen percent are Anglo. Mexican cartels dominate crime more than black and white combined. They hit over forty-seven percent of the totals.

Griffin Dunn drummed his fingers on his desk again.

Okay Jack. What’s the extended analysis?

Okay. This goes much deeper than we expected.

Dunn leaned back. We’re listening.

"Okay, La Triple Frontera, the northern borders where Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil converge. I mentioned this earlier. Anyhow, it is a large training and staging camp for North American insurgencies. We knew about them, but they expanded far beyond what we expected. Again, they include guerrilla troops from Mexico, Cuba, Venezuela, Guatemala and Honduras. But this goes further than that.

It includes Islamic players from Iran, Sudan, Saudi Arabia, Syria and Yemen. That’s the foot soldiers. Their upper echelons have infiltrated the highest levels of US government for decades. For openers, look at all the damned rag heads in congress.

MacLand leaned forward, stole a cigar from the walnut box on Dunn’s desk and lit it. Griffin Dunn held his hand up for quiet and looked out the windows through freezing sleet. Lafayette Park was ugly, charred tree trunks, splintered branches and dead bodies still lying under the tree and in the mud.

Bright red and blue lights from police cruisers and ambulances broke that picture and raced down the flooded boulevard.

Rollins collected his folders, put them in his leather satchel and sat back. We are waiting for an Executive Order from President Scott to pull the trigger. Marxists in congress won’t like it. Those that squawk the loudest will expose themselves. We take them out quietly. Maybe not so quietly.

SecDef Dunn hit a button on his SatPhone and put it on speaker.

This is Zellick. What do you have?

Rollins reviewed his immediate Intel. These bastards embedded themselves everywhere in American government and society. We have to do this right and we have to act fast.

Define, fast.

Extra judicial. We have to cut them out of this. By the time those lockstep idiots do anything it will be over.

Define, fast.

MacLand and Rollins looked at Dunn and nodded.

Keep your NRO Intel coming. We need to know when these fucks eat breakfast. We’re hitting them at lunchtime.

Minutes of the meeting?

Rollins nodded.

Yes sir. Check your account. Jack sent you an encrypted recording.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance. SecDef Dunn watched the flashing red and blue lights. He put the heels of his cowboy boots on the marble windowsill and opened the memorandum. He said nothing more. None of them did. They knew that many people would soon die.

4 — Two Years Prior

Island of Snow—

Atlantic Storm’s masthead towered 270 feet above the onrushing sea. A stiff breeze stretched her black sails tight. A bright tropic sun shimmered off the water as she cut a crisp tack and moved silent, graceful. A gray silhouette on the white coral sand fifty feet below. On shore and on decks of other boats, curious onlookers watched her sleek 214 feet with respectful awe and excited admiration.

Atlantic Storm doused her sails and entered Moorea Yacht Harbor in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The delivery crew stood proud on the aft deck with broad smiles and white teeth set behind tanned faces. The ships standard flew proud on the aft rail. A red, blue and white ensign, the Confederate battle flag overlaid on a gray Knights Templar Jolly Roger.

Sunlight glinted off steel blue eyes that stabbed fear into his enemies. Lachlan Hawke stood on top of a windswept craggy ridge 4,000 feet above the harbor. He bent his six-foot-four frame to the telescope and watched the excited flotilla escort Atlantic Storm to her docking berth. A shock of brown hair with hints of gray blew forward around his hands and shaded the bright sun from the telescope lens. He worked his balance in the wind, swiveled the telescope to another compass heading and focused on a distant curiosity. The reason he climbed the citadel.

For the first time, he looked at the remote isle's dazzling white beaches that struck a vivid contrast against tropical green flora. It reminded him of high mountain snow against frozen evergreens in Norway.

Reflected sunlight streamed upward from her silver strands of coral sand. Arid desert heat waves rising toward a sun-blistered sky. The mystery of an aurora borealis erupting into the inky blue of an Arctic night. But it wasn’t night. It was daylight. The shimmer of colors mesmerized Hawke until a sharp gust knocked him off balance.

He packed up the telescope in a worn leather tube, slung it over his shoulder and walked a quick pace down the winding trail.

An hour later, he drove his Jeep into the marina and parked near his old yacht, Confederate. She had served him well and sat proud at her dock with the delivery crew ready to take her to a new owner.

"Hey, guys. How did Atlantic Storm handle on the way down here?" Hawke’s bright smile and feeble attempt to throttle his excitement didn’t work.

Captain Brady beamed. Let me put it this way, sir. She handled better than any wheel I ever helmed. And that says something.

Hawke looked at the cold beers held tight in sun weathered fists and forced a frown. They looked at their beers and stole uncertain glances at each other. One turned slowly and set his on a nearby dock piling. Hawke held their attention a bit longer.

Well. One of you seadogs toss the old man a cold brew!

Hawke signed Confederate's release papers for the yacht brokerage. Captain Brady put them in his satchel. A crewman handed him a two-foot square, Black Malayalam Teak box. It had a brass, matte finish hawk with spread wings on the top. Legs dropped and talons barred for a strike. Brady opened it and turned it toward Hawke.

Affixed on inside of the lid were two Civil War era, Colt Model 1861 Navy Revolvers. The brass wasn’t polished and they looked authentic. In the bottom, under a plate of Lexan, was the framed original. Clear title to Atlantic Storm.

Hawke smiled and nodded. He didn’t say anything. He faced the crew, snapped off a crisp salute and shook hands with each of them.

Hawke watched with fond memories as Confederate slipped from view below the northern horizon.

Captain Hawke stepped over the gunwale and boarded Atlantic Storm for the first time. He ran a critical eye along the dark-dark red, black Malayalam teak. An acre of decking reflected clouds from high above her towering mast. Her cabin decks were the same black Malayalam. Her hull was black. Her sails were black except the first headsail. A bright red triangular slash that ran half way up the mast.

Atlantic Storm’s hull and cabins were a technological marvel of fiberglass, honeycomb titanium and layered Kevlar composites. Cabin windows were half-inch thick Lexan. The yacht was bulletproof up to 7.62mm military rounds.

Hawke let out a low whistle, turned and met his reflection on gold-tint Lexan doors. He pressed on the heavy brass handles. The latch opened with a solid metallic click. Hawke stepped across the threshold.

Hawke recalled the shipyard blueprints and went straight to the main helm station two levels up.

Hawke walked into a technological marvel of SatLink navigation systems. Weather and collision radar screens. Digital depth plotters. Telex and SSB marine radios and a dozen computer displays flickering with bright colors and streaming data. Two Satellite Phones and four ComPhones sat in hand-scalloped slots next to the helm stations main computer terminal.

A companionway ran down to the engine room. Royal burgundy carpeting reflected a metallic hue off polished stainless-steel walls. Three 1550 horsepower MAN 1550 V12 Turbo Diesels dominated the engine room. They cross-linked through a hydrostatic transmission that powered three folding screws 40 inches in diameter. The German engineered MANs sat two engines forward and flanked a third that sat aft and center. The ship operated on the single engine or the two independently when needed for maneuvering. Or all three for maximum power, thrust and speed. They powered two 440 kW generators, the battery banks and the arrays of high-tech electrical and computer systems throughout the ship.

The flat white engine blocks struck a vivid contrast to the matte black alloy components and other elements polished to a high chromium nickel luster. The MilSpec engineered floor, walls and ceiling had SCIF grade sound insulation and vibration mitigation.

Hawke turned slowly in the silence and took it all in. He could hear the engines power Atlantic Storm