Libertas: Prime

By Allison Tanner

Bailey Loveland is nothing but a small county sheriff’s deputy trying to make her own way in life… a woman who could have been any one of us. Called to a duty bigger than she could have ever imagined, and at first one she was skeptical to accept, she becomes a phoenix, rising from the ashes of her shattered homeland to stand beside her people in a fight for freedom…

An ancient, sinister enemy overthrows her country’s government, toppling its infrastructure, severing its communications, freezing its wealth and commerce, and forcing its culture into a ghost of what it once was. To accomplish this, they use nothing more than sophisticated computer commands and a lot of planning, man-power…and the complacency of the American people.

Loveland, and a handful of others, take a stand, and just when their strategy seems to be working, a frightening shadow looms over their Resistance. A shadow that had always been there, but one Loveland and her comrades mistakenly attempt to either understand or ignore…until now. The shadow is a high-ranking second-in-command of this mysterious brotherhood, and the invasion was more than doing the world a favor in this man’s eyes; it is also a personal endeavor to avenge the death of his family.

Attempting the route of diplomacy with him soon fizzles on Loveland, so she resorts to drastic measures. From one perspective, her choice to do so is seen by millions as a liberating turning point, vaulting her into the position of leader of the entire group of freedom fighters. His perspective, however, is vastly different: unforgivable, as devastating as the death of his family, and the only position it offers her is someone to be eliminated. From the moment she made her choice, he vows to hunt her without mercy, careening them both toward a fate intertwined from the beginning.

The General is a very fierce and intelligent man who will stop at nothing in his attempt to crush a rebellion, prevent the rebirth of a nation…and destroy the very soul of a woman whom he has come to regard as his equal, a woman that nation calls ‘Libertas’.

Lives are threatened and lost in his pursuit. When push comes to shove, Bailey recognizes a man whose hatred for her country develops into an even more dangerous personal hatred for her, forcing her to come to terms with who she is, who he is, and who they are as players on opposite sides of an enormous chess board…leading to a sacrifice she might not be able to escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716085970

Book preview

Libertas

Prime

Allison Tanner

Copyright © 2021 Allison Tanner. All Rights Reserved

Published by Allison Tanner/Tee Three Holdings, LLC

ISBN 978-1-716-08597-0

Dedicated to dear friends of mine, who helped me further expand this idea and edit it all those long, late nights.  You know who you are!  Thank you!

Prologue

I

Gusts of sand-laced winds whipped over the broken ground, disappearing into the rippling heat waves on the horizon.  The vast golden sea expanded outward in every direction, and no vegetation dared challenge the water-parched earth of this dead region.

In the distance, a large encampment was bustling with activity despite the intense heat.  Men were dressed in the old-style desert camouflage and shouted orders back and forth to each other. Crate after crate of unknown cargo were loaded onto trucks awaiting in a convoy on a barely visible two-track road.

At the very northern tip of the encampment was a grand, reinforced officer tent.  There, a young recruit ran through the flap of a front door carrying a piece of paper.  Inside was comfortable, with two large fans plugged into generators in the corners to keep the place cool. Three men stood around a large table overlooking the map of a country, speaking softly to each other, dressed in the same tawny camouflage as their comrades.

The leader stood over the map on the table.  A tall, well-built man in his late thirties, he shouted at the boy who just entered without looking up.  The boy flinched at the man’s deep voice and made his way nervously toward the table.  Two other officers glanced up uninterested, stepping away politely to offer their leader some privacy.

Sir, the boy began timidly in his native tongue, and it was only then that the leader looked up with obsidian eyes.  This was just faxed in, sir.  Our intelligence is in place on target, sir.

The leader, a general given the five golden lapel pin stars on each of his broad shoulders, straightened to his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height and clasped his hands behind his back, grinning.  The poor young fellow trembled pathetically in fear, or perhaps reverence, of the powerful man in front of him. 

The big man reached forward and gently snatched the paper from the boy.  "Shukran."  Thank you, the baritone voice answered as the General dismissed the young man with the wave of a hand.  Swiftly, the boy turned and darted from the tent.

The General glanced down at the paper in his massive hands, a small grin crossing his face.  Turning back to his colleagues, he gave them the good news.

Everything is in place, my friends.  He started in his native language.  Our brothers overseas have just informed us that we can commence with Phase One.  With a nod, he handed the two other ranking officials the paper; both read it quickly and with just as much enthusiasm.

General, with your go-ahead, we can begin in five days.  The older of the two officers announced proudly, placing the precious piece of paper on the table in front of them over the map of the United States of America.

The General inhaled and exhaled, his big chest relaxing as he nodded.  Very well, gentlemen.  Inform the brotherhood.  Prepare for war.

***

Later that same day, he stood in a room in an ancient stone building, years of sand and wind having decimated the arabesque paintings on the wall.  He had traveled by truck to this forgotten settlement in the middle of the desert to tell his superior the good news.

We have a go ahead, sir. 

Excellent, General.  The old man answered quietly, his age obvious in his shallow, but calm voice.  The General allowed himself a quick moment of pride as a swell of anticipation made his heart race.

For a moment, neither man spoke.  The General looked at his mentor, his black eyes calculating carefully.  The elder man glanced impassively up at his pupil, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his wrinkled lips.

"Is something the matter, sibi?"  Anwar al-Jabhah spoke softly as he stood shakily.  He used his affectionate pet name for his second-in-command only when the younger man seemed on edge.

The General felt his fists relax. He lowered his head for a moment, shaking off whatever thought had wedged itself into his mind, and looked back over at his superior.

Sir, I have been waiting so long to honor you.  This will be all that I have worked for, the pinnacle of all that we have accomplished in the last fifteen years.  It will be my highest privilege to bring this infidel nation to its knees, once and for all.  With that, the General locked eyes with his leader. 

To bring a nation to its knees, General?  Or* destroy the culture and ideology of the people who murdered your wife and child?  His Excellency Supreme Premier Anwar al-Jabhah asked softly, putting a thin, delicate hand on the younger man’s massive shoulder.

His Honor the High General Yasir Um’jancar gritted his teeth, fighting off memories of that horrible day just over ten years ago.  The General’s eyes shot open and became glazed and detached.   

…The sun was hot during midday and the markets were teeming with people…  A distant explosion rocked the streets, that very market ripped apart by a US airstrike.  Two Air Force UAV drones fly over the wreckage a few minutes later, scanning for survivors and ascertaining the amount of damage to the area…

General?  A tired, calm voice brought Um’jancar out of the past.  General, I command you to answer me.

The General swallowed a knot in his throat as he remembered finding the charred remains of his wife and toddler girl only hours after the attack.  He remembered the hatred that swelled in his chest becoming so unbearable it felt like a monster inside him, clawing at his organs. 

General Um’jancar!  The hand on his arm shook him gently.  Um’jancar looked curiously over at al-Jabhah, only to glance away shamefully as he felt his eyes grow hot.

My apologies, sir.  Yes, my mission is to honor you, obey Allah, and rid the globe of the most blasphemous nation, obliterating it from the inside out.  That includes its culture.  The blackness in his deep voice was evident and it showed in his dark eyes when he turned around again.

"Granted, sibi.  But please keep the personal vendetta aside until your duties are complete.  Failing to do so would dishonor you, me, and the memory of your family.  Al-Jabhah reasoned with his subordinate, giving him a look of affectionate understanding.  I understand your anger, son, but retribution will have to wait.  We must be punishers before we can be teachers."

At once, Um’jancar straightened his back and squared his shoulders.  As you wish, sir.  With your permission, we begin the strike in five days.

Proceed, General.  The old man grinned as he turned his back on his General, failing to notice the insatiable glint in Yasir’s black eyes and the proud smile on his face.

Very soon, indeed.

***

Al-Jahsim, meaning ‘Ready’ or ‘The Ready’ in modern Arabic, was vast, and very old.  It is thought to trace its origins to as far back as the early Byzantine Empire, circa 400 AD.  Though they flew under the radar in modern times, their younger cousins in al-Qaeda and the Islamic State became targets of the powerful US military and took the blame for many of the resistance fighting in the post-September 11 Middle East.  However, most of those coordinated military attacks and operations were led by covert agents of al-Jahsim.

The oldest known written records of al-Jahsim date back to Christendom’s First Crusade in the early middle ages.  Names of important commanders and leaders, and their victories in battles, have been found all around what was once the ancient Arabian world on animal skins, clay tablets, and parchment.

Their members, both men and women, fought under powerful kings and tribal sheikhs alike, and later within government parliaments, congresses, and other democratic forms of leadership.  Al-Jahsim saw themselves as servants only, and at their pre-Islamic roots, aided those of the highest righteousness and integrity, and later those who followed the hadiths or teachings and writings of the prophet Muhammad. 

As the western power nations grew, bringing with them an ideology that spat in the face of Islam, honor, and God, al-Jahsim withdrew all foreign allegiances.  Instead, they began taking up arms against those they saw as enemies of the pure, untainted laws of God and of the land.

Over the years, al-Jahsim became very selective of those they wished to make members of their esteemed society.  After several dishonest leaders and impure commanders, the vast brotherhood began only accepting children from the most prestigious of families, preferably lines that could trace their very blood back to the Blessed Prophet.  Often this included sons and daughters of current al-Jahsim members.

After confirmation of their family’s ancestry through their father’s house, the children were then placed under a rigorous combat training, educational, and language program.  Boys were trained on the militaristic and leadership side, girls in the diplomatic or services side.  Combat training evolved with the modern world to include firearms, explosives, and automobiles, but the brotherhood never lost touch with its foundations of Sassanid or early Persian form of brutal hand-to-hand combat.  Diplomacy and services included accepting western medicine, mastering western forms of speech and politics, and looking for weakness in those process to be exploited.

Education began at the children’s’ initiation, and continued until they were twenty-two years of age, and included everything from history and science, to culture and war.  The boys in particular were required to master any three languages of their own selection other than their native tongue by age fifteen, and in modern times, most chose English (both the British and American dialects) as one of their languages.

Ranks were bestowed on the youngsters based on the accomplishments of their learning, achievements, and, occasionally, their victories in a battle.  In modern terms, the enlisted and officer ranks were simple and ordered in much similar fashion as contemporary armies, and each was honored with his specific duties and rights.  Women were forbidden from outranking men, so they never held any position within the officer corps, and rarely were high on the scale on the enlisted side unless it was over other women only.

Thus, a lieutenant, the lowest of the officer ranks, commanded and taught new recruits, and as he accomplished more and more in the training of his men, the higher his rank became.  A recruit could gain commission as an officer after at least six years of loyal service, plus recommendations from his superiors, and any notable accomplishments.  Following lieutenant was captain and major, then colonel and finally general and varying degrees of authority within each.  The ranking system tapered off toward the top of the triangle, ending with only a dozen or so men out of thousands holding the respected rank of general.

Yasir al-Hassan bin Omar ibn al-Sharif Um’jancar was one of those selected boys.  His father had held the distinguished rank of colonel in the al-Jahsim brotherhood and when his only son, eldest of five children, reached the proper age of six, young Um’jancar was put through the same rigorous education and training his proud father had endured.  His father had not elected to send his sisters into al-Jahsim, a common choice among more traditional brotherhood members.

At the age of fifteen, the young warrior was noted to have outstanding intelligence and was commissioned with the rank of lieutenant. Within a few years, he had been a key member of several battles against the American forces in his part of the world.  By eighteen, he was a captain, twenty-two a colonel, and by twenty-seven, he was promoted to the rank of general.

During his education and training years, Um’jancar won the favor of the al-Jahsim premier Anwar al-Jabhah. At thirty years of age, al-Jabhah gave him command of all his troops, second only to the Premier himself.  In the event of al-Jabhah’s death, as stated in one of the many ancient al-Jahsim articles concerning leadership control, General Yasir Um’jancar would be elevated to the status of supreme leader of the brotherhood.

Um’jancar mastered the English, Spanish, and French languages, knowing full well their importance for the near future.  He immersed himself in western culture, learning about every aspect of American life.  A brilliant military strategist, his combat training and skill outmatched every single one of his peers.  On that note, he led a flawless raid on a small American outpost in his region of the globe and was able to see his father’s proud smile before the elder Um’jancar was laid to rest.

The very same year he was titled General did he meet his then-future wife while making his weekly trip to the local marketplace.  Though Islamic law stated that a man could have up to four wives, this became expensive and often only those of wealth exercised that right.  So, he was one of most men who would only set their sights on one. 

Amirah Najibah al-Nafisah was barely in her twenties when she first made eye contact with him, and for the next several months Um’jancar courted her in respectful accordance with strict Islamic law.  Only later, when the dowry was presented to him, did Um’jancar discover she was descendant from nobility, as her mother was a second cousin to the Saudi crown prince.  Though his family never wanted for money due to fossil fuel investments, and ownership rights his new bride’s worth was greater than anything he could have imagined.

They were wed simply and privately, and a year later their family was blessed with the birth of a beautiful baby girl.  Her name was Nadia because she rivaled her mother’s exquisite beauty and, upon later discovery, her strong-willed temperament.  The family’s happiness was short-lived however, when the War on Terror claimed the lives of more than one innocent that day at the Iraqi market…

***

General Um’jancar sat staring at the air in front of his face in the dark on an overstuffed armchair.  He had gotten little sleep the last couple nights, and tonight he found himself with the image of his wife’s face in his head…again. 

He remembered her big golden eyes and her long dark brown hair a stark contrast to his short cut raven waves and nearly black eyes.  He recalled her smile and her laugh…and clenched his teeth.  The way she held little Nadia and the way the little girl was just learning to call him abi or papa; at two, Nadia was already so beautiful, just like her mother.  She would have grown up to be a fine young woman and bring honor to her family, make her old man proud.

He remembered the way Amirah would slap his hand away from the food she was preparing as he attempted to snag a quick bite, or the way her eyes would light up at the sight of a new trinket at the market.  Her childlike love of anything mysterious was what he missed the most about her, and it was her self-sufficient nature that had kept him coming back to her for more!  She complimented his quiet reserve, his extremely protective, possessive nature, and gentle giant personality.  And she was a buffer to the demonic temper with which he wrestled on a daily basis.

Um’jancar closed his eyes and held back a groan.  Up on the darkened wall behind him was the remains of Amirah’s charred hijab or head scarf.  He had placed it on a coat hanger to remind him every day of his place in all this bloodshed.

Then, he spoke softly in Arabic to only the memory of his late, young family, They will be brought to their knees, beloved, and there is nothing they can do to stop it.

II

The dawn came cool and quiet over the nation’s capital in early autumn. 

Traffic lights blinked green to yellow then red, and somewhere a bus honked at a bicyclist stalled in the middle of a crosswalk.  An Old Glory was being raised at a municipal building, and an elderly couple out for a morning stroll waved at a friendly passer-by.  The trees rustled in the wind at a street corner, sending fire-colored leaves in all directions.

Further west, a farmer in his combine harvested the first crop of grain, having begun his duties well before the sun poked its face over the eastern horizon.  In the Pacific Northwest, a woman in business dress kissed her sleeping children good-bye, thanking the nanny prepping breakfast in the kitchen on her way out the door.

An early morning jogger, braving a coming snowstorm, adjusted the volume on her smartphone as she wove in and around the buildings of a small Rocky Mountain town.  The meadows just beyond the city limits were a colorful palette of late summer columbines and other wildflowers.  The mountains are a majestic array of green pine and reds, oranges, and yellows of aspen, oak, and cottonwood, and in a deep-frozen canyon untouched by man, the scream of an eagle is answered by the lonely squawk of a raven. 

Just east of this small town rested the Mile-High City, where police sirens and several languages could be heard on the suburban streets.  A shop owner removes the chairs down from the tables where they were stacked the night before and walks over to the door to click on the open sign.  A jackhammer just down the street jostles a group of tourists climbing onto a charter bus, and echoes off the steel-and-concrete jungle of the city buildings.

The pre-dawn surf crashes onto the shores of the west coast, and far off in the distance an orca song can be heard by crab fisherman as the breeze sends the smells of a pine forest down to the waterline.  South along the Sierra Nevada and east along the desert southwest to the Bible-belt states, people began stirring out of their dreams to start a new day of work and progress, earning another dollar toward their individual ideas of the American Dream.  School children in their respective time-zones rush to begin another six or eight hours of learning, from kindergarten to high school, from undergrads in college to post-doctoral students at both large and small universities.

A baby is born in a Chicago hospital; a family says good-bye to a loved one in a palliative care facility in Billings; a police officer conducts a routine traffic stop in Alamogordo; a salesclerk checks out a super-market shopper in Tallahassee.  This day is just another in the overly routine and hum-drum life of an average American.  Each one could look around and see nothing out of the ordinary, no signs pointing to the fact that a day from now in the span of an hour, in sixty whole minutes, their lives would be changed forever.

***

  Tell me again, Major, General Um’jancar commanded one of his subordinates.  It was nearing midnight, but the final details had yet to be discussed.  The major explained again briefly to his superior officer and several other men in the room the intricate plans for the next 24 hours.

Sir, we start with communications, the internet, phones, television.  Independent computers will corrupt each part of the country, beginning with the east coast, sending the entire nation into total darkness and silence.  Then, their economy and financial power will be struck down, which will in part be accomplished by the communications disruption. 

The major fidgeted nervously.

The nation’s banking system, like its communications, is almost entirely controlled electronically, thus turning off the switch will do nearly irreversible damage.  After, the president and his cabinet must be eliminated, along with the immobilization of all the major defense and law enforcement agencies.  Then, destroying other symbolic articles, implementing new laws, and imposing a new government should be met with minimal resistance.

And what of the vastness of the land?  How are we expected to maintain complete control?  One of the other generals in the room questioned.  Um’jancar turned to look at him expectantly, and the major answered abruptly.

We will divide our power and concentrate it in only the major cities throughout the nation, while the Premier travels among them simply to check that things are running smoothly.  I’m afraid that logistically, unoccupied lands and whatever Americans they may harbor, will not be so easily monitored, but they should be small enough to not warrant any worry.

The major finished his speech then and the General could not help but smile.  Well done, Major.  You may retire for the night.

With a courteous nod, the General watched the younger man turn and exit the room silently.  Um’jancar, deep in thought, averted his gaze out the window to the starry desert night beyond.  Having almost entirely forgotten about the other men in the room, he turned and addressed them accordingly.

Go with Allah, my brothers.  The future is in our hands now. 

After they had departed, Yasir made his way to one of the chairs and sat heavily.  He put two fingers to his forehead and messaged the headache that had been a close companion for several days.  That he had gotten very little sleep lately was an understatement, but he also knew a component of it was a troublesome suspicion that had crept into his conscious.

General Um’jancar was a calculating man, untrusting of most around him, and a brilliant military leader.  And he had always been so secure and so convinced in the knowledge that his assignments and duties reflected Allah’s own pure heart, and that he was committed to righteousness always added to his doubt.  There was something about this endeavor, the invasion and occupation of the world’s most powerful nation, which if successful would be the greatest achievement of his career and of the brotherhood, that was screaming disaster and gave him considerable pause.

No matter how hard he tried to persuade his mind to the contrary, instinctively he knew something was wrong.  Indeed, it was an opportunity to force a superpower to release its stranglehold on the world, and to eliminate its laissez-faire and progressive worldview.  It was a chance to bring justice to those innocent victims who had no voice as this global giant sought to be rid of those it saw as threats to its own sovereignty.

Certainly, this invasion could thrust the world into a less violent and turbulent state of existence.  But something is bound to fail, nothing ever goes one hundred percent according to plan, and he brooded about it to himself as he stood to make his way to his quarters for the night.  Out in the darkness, alone with nothing but his thoughts and the sounds of the desert to accompany him, the General came to an appalling conclusion, one that he hoped would be eliminated with a night of solid rest.

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win, he recalled from Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War.’ 

And at that moment, he knew there was one contingency that would be entirely unpredictable: the American people.  Um’jancar had heard stories and seen first-hand the powerful bonds of camaraderie the American people shared, not only with each other but with their country, its symbols, its ideologies…its very existence.

The American people placed pride and patriotism on certain objects and ideas, symbols that were meaningless if taken out of the picture, he thought conclusively.  Their idea of freedom came at the expense of another’s as they pursued a xenophobic dream of wealth, mobility, and happiness.  In this vast expanse of empty idolatry and greed, the sanctity of God and the modesty of humanity were lost to the concept of self-expansion, individualism, and materialism.

It was right then that Um’jancar vowed to defeat the bonds that linked the American people together, no matter what the cost.  As he finally drifted off to sleep that night after his long walk home, he knew he and his brothers’ aim would have to be true, right for the heart of the American citizenry, so that in the end, they would have nothing left to hold on to and nothing left to fight for.

Yet a small voice in the back of his mind told him he was seriously mistaken…

***

Despite the flurries, the forest was alive with curious grey jays and squawking magpies.  Squirrels milled about, scrambling to bury any last-minute pine nuts or acorns into their winter caches.

An attractive woman in her late twenties adjusted the volume on her noise cancelling headphones before lifting the binoculars to her eyes.  Just in front of her, seated at a chair and leaning forward on a shooting bench with a scope to one eye, was her student.  She was one of a handful of new students in the women’s-only firearm safety class, and presently, the .22 long rifle was aimed at a target one hundred yards away.

A private certified firearms instructor on the side, a veteran sheriff’s deputy full time, and a lifelong handler and collector of all thing’s guns, Bailey Marie Loveland and her student were the only occupants at the small shooting range up in the mountains.  The weather had likely stalled any plans others may have had to put some lead downrange that day, but the test for her current class gave Bailey little choice to coach her student on one of her days off.  The woman was struggling, Bailey knew, having failed the last two practice range tests due to a tendency to jerk the trigger in anticipation of the nearly non-existent recoil of the small rifle. 

Alright, lady.  Your grouping is getting much better, but you’re still pulling low and to the right.  Lowering the binoculars revealed two intense blue eyes ringed in long black eye lashes and crowned in shapely black eyebrows.  Accompanied by long black wavy hair, the firearms instructor was completed as a package that included a taller-than-average height, athletic physique and a cunning, focused, and swift mind. 

Deep voiced but quiet, Bailey Loveland had grown up in a ‘prepper’ household.  Her father, an unfortunate casualty of the war in Afghanistan some years prior, had been a security forces officer in the US Air Force, and he had trained his wife and daughters well.  Ever since, she and her younger sister and mother kept a close eye on both domestic and international politics and actions, and recently had begun to hone their skills even further. 

They were not paranoid, however, just acutely aware that the tumultuous first term of the current president, and his controversial reelection even after under impeachment inquiry, had stirred the pot on more than the home front.

Her student, a long-time friend by the name of Lira Taylor Davinporte, removed her protective clear shooting glasses and gazed up at her mentor.  The black woman’s dark eyes were inquisitive, but uncertain.

Smiling, Bailey stepped toward her and knelt down next to the bench.  Before she could speak, the on-duty range master stepped out of the large shack behind them.  He waved a hand toward them and said, I’m outta here, Bailey.  Jefferson County Public Schools just shut down for the remainder of the day because of the white stuff falling from the sky, and the ex-wife can’t get the boys.  Lock up when you’re done, please?  Later!

Bailey lifted her hand and nodded.  Sure thing, Ben.  Be safe out there.  Have a good night!

The range master nodded and stepped toward the dirt parking lot, where Bailey’s two-door Blazer, a tan outfit of the sporty special edition variety, and the range master’s big red Dodge pickup sat parked.  Only after the gate was shut and the exceedingly noisy diesel was started did she turn back to her student.

Sorry.  Anyway.

It’s fine.  I’m just not sure how to not anticipate the recoil, is all, Bailey.  Lira’s voice was slightly irritated, and Bailey knew she was getting cold and tired.  I’ve never shot a gun until recently.

Nodding, Bailey understood.  It was getting on toward evening as it were, and her friend was probably just as exhausted as she.  Gunpowder clung to their hands and clothing, and the air around them smelled acrid with it.  At that moment, a small silver SUV pulled into the parking behind them and both only glanced at it briefly.

Let’s call it a day, Leers.  We will come out here before the test next week.  You’ll pass; I have a feeling, as long as you stop overthinking it.  Standing, Bailey stood and watched carefully as Lira properly unloaded and rendered safe the firearm.  Taking it expertly in her hands, the mentor checked it thoroughly, slammed the bolt home, and shouldered the rifle.