Demon Riders

By Paul Sinor

A gang of motorcyclists rob two banks in a small town within hours and escape to hide in an abandoned town.  A National Guard unit is on a training exercise in the area and thinks the robbers are an aggressor force in the exercise until live rounds wound one of the Soldiers. It then becomes blanks, artillery simulators, handmade explosives and tactics against live rounds.  An over-zealous FBI agent working the bank robbery doesn't help. There are no Purple Hearts in this war, just murder, confusion, jealousy and gut-wrenching bravery.

 

Editorial Review

Paul Sinor is uniquely qualified to tell this intriguing story of bikers, cops and the National Guard. A police procedural that will definitely keep you turning the pages.  James O. Born, New York Times Bestseller

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228626534

Book preview

Demon Riders

Paul Sinor

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228626534

Amazon 9780228626541

PDF 9780228626558

Print ISBNs

Amazon print 9780228626565

Ingram Spark 9780228626572

Barnes & Noble 9780228626589

Copyright 2023 by Paul Sinor

Cover art by Pandora Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Acknowledgement

Writing a book, whether it is fiction or non-fiction is not an isolated act conducted in front of a computer screen, an old-fashioned typewriter or on a stack of yellow legal pads while sitting in a coffee shop.  It is a collaboration of any number of people who help bring the words to life.  Many of the people may never know of their contributions by way of a small snippet of dialog, a favorite phrase, or some other act or omission they may not even realize they contributed.  In my own case, my fascination with story began when my grandmother, whom we called Mama Waller told me stories of what she referred to as the old days.  If she was not the one telling the stories, it was my Daddy, a member of America’s Greatest Generation, who rode the rails on freight trains looking for work, survived the great depression and WWII and loved to talk about it.  To them, I owe my ability, if there is one, to tell a story.

To bring this book to life I have had the pleasure to work with the incredible team at BWL Publishing. To my very special beta reader and editor, Annette Adler who finds, and corrects, things I never saw no matter how many times I read my manuscript, I am eternally grateful. For their continued advice, encouragement and suggestions, some of which I actually take, my daughters Colleen and Victoria.Mistakes, errors, omissions and other things you don’t like, or agree with, that you may find in this work are mine and mine alone.

Dedication

To Master Sergeant John Melville, a personal and professional ally and one of the finest Sergeants the US Army ever produced. He made a terrible situation almost bearable.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 1

FRIDAY AFTERNOONS WERE always a busy time for the people who lived and worked in Live Oak. People were moving about in the small area that made up the actual town. About five miles outside the city limits a two-hundred-acre farm had been turned into an outlet mall that drew shoppers from all over the state. There were still working farms in the area so, with the opening of the outlet mall, a few more support businesses opened. Before the mall, there were only two gas stations in town. Now there were four and they were combination gas and convenience stores. A new bank was being constructed to compete with the old-line Farmers and Merchants Bank that had been the only one in town for as long as most of the residents could remember. The permanent location for the new Citizens National Bank was still under construction, so it was operating from a building that had once been a drug store. The lunch crowd had already been in the Hard Times Café and were now back at work or getting ready for the weekend.

The county was about to vote on a bond to construct a new high school. The existing one had seen most of the residents, who hadn’t abandoned the city, walk down the center aisle of the gymnasium, and get their diploma. That was sufficient education for a long time, but now about two thirds of the senior class went on to a college or trade school. The two existing buildings held all the school children from grades one through twelve. Once they finished what was locally called, grammar school in the seventh grade, they moved to the next building and stayed until they graduated, moved away or simply dropped out.

School busses transported most of the children, no matter their age from home to school and back every day.

When the yellow lights on the bus slowing to make a stop and drop off several children flashed, it was an indication to traffic in front and behind the bus that the red lights were coming on and everyone was to stop for the safety of the children.

The bus was making its regular route and the kids were ready for a weekend with no school. On the bus, the red lights glowed, a sign on the driver’s side of the bus was extended with the word STOP in bold letters. There was no mistaking the fact that it was time to wait until the bus began to move again. In front of the bus, several cars and one pick-up truck in the opposite lane waited patiently.

The driver reached over and pulled the handle to open the door for the children standing in the doorway about to leave when he glanced over to check traffic. That was when he noticed the group of motorcycles behind the bus. They were the only vehicles on the road and from their speed it appeared they did not plan to, or were unable to stop. He stopped in mid action and pulled the handle toward him, closing the door just as the first motorcycle passed the bus on the right side.

There was no doubt that any child who had been let off the bus would have been in mortal danger. Two more machines passed the bus on the left side, weaving around the bus and then back into the lane heading toward town. The bus and all the cars blew their horns as if the cyclists would pay any attention and stop.

One of the senior class boys who was about to leave the bus, watched them disappear down the road. Holy shit! Did you see that? He asked to no one in particular. A little girl, perhaps six years old was on the verge of tears. She wasn’t certain what had just happened but she knew from the driver’s actions, it was not good.

Are we okay? she managed to finally ask between sobs.

The driver, who had been driving the route since the senior boy had been in first grade, and was called Mister Herb, by all the children, left his seat and came to the little girl. It’s okay. You know Mister Herb ain’t gonna let nothing happen to any of his kids.

The last thing he saw that he could remember of the gang of bikers was that each of them had a leather jacket on with a drawing of the devil on a motorcycle and the words Demon Riders beneath it. About half of them had two people on them. He assumed that the person in back was probably a women. He had never ridden a motorcycle by himself, but he knew that most of the riders he read about or saw on television or the movies always had a woman with them.

The lead cycle in the group that passed the bus on the right, continued on the edge of the road, occasionally stopping by a rural mailbox, and kicking it over, then riding on. The group joined together and formed a mass of fifteen motorcycles with over twenty-five people on them as they continued into town.

* * *

LIKE MANY SMALL TOWNS, there was a large National Guard Armory a mile outside the city limits. The armory was the site of numerous non-military functions. Sitting next to a large open field, it was a part of the annual county fair, hosting the flower, craft, and homemade food exhibits. One weekend a month it was the place where the men and women who were the back up for the active Army met to train. The unit had been deployed several times in the past to both Iraq and Afghanistan. With no active war, they were still required to train as if a call-up and deployment were imminent.

Three times a year, they had a three-day exercise which required them to be there from Friday through Sunday. This was one of those times.

The unit was assembled in the middle of the armory. It was designated as Military Police company; however, it had gone through a re-organization after returning from the last deployment to Afghanistan. It went from a Headquarters Company for an Infantry Battalion to a Military Police company. The members were given a choice to get cross trained as MP’s or transfer to another unit. As a result, the company was a mixture of all types of men and women trained in a variety of military specialties.

They were in a loose formation when the company commander called the formation to attention. They quickly stopped talking and stood, awaiting their next order. The Captain turned and saluted Lieutenant Colonel Ed Melville, a decorated veteran and chief detective with the city police when he was not in a military uniform.

At ease, the senior officer called out, allowing the formation to relax.

I’m sure most of you know why you’re here. Melville hesitated as he walked across the front of the formation. This is an experimental Field Training Exercise or FTX. I don’t think there is any imminent danger of us being deployed to an active combat zone in the near future but we’ve got to be ready. For those of us who’ve been there, I think we’ll agree that the US picks some pretty shitty places to fight their wars. He watched as many of the members nodded in agreement.

In Afghanistan, we didn’t know where the hell we were half the time. Our radios didn’t work and we couldn’t get in touch with anyone above or below us to find out what was going on. We were operating like an independent unit with no real directions. Kinda make it up as we go. He stopped and looked at the group. Show of hands. How many of you know what I’m talking about?

Numerous hands went into the air and several men made comments.

Damn, right, Colonel.

It was nice to be away from the flagpole, one man said which was followed by some clapping.

If you like being away from the flagpole, you’re gonna love this little FTX...let’s get serious. Here’s the deal. For the next two nights and three days, you’re going to be basically on your own. When you leave here, you will not be allowed to have any electronic devices. That means a radio, cell phones, GPS...

As soon as he said there would be no cell phones, a roar of discontent passed through the unit.

Let me finish. This is to see how we can operate with the bare necessities. You’ll be airlifted and inserted into an area where there are known insurgents. It’s as if you were cut off from your support. You’re operating almost like a guerrilla force yourself.

He stopped to let his instructions sink in. There will be aggressors out there as well. I can only tell you that I heard a rumor that most of them are from a Special Forces unit. Your objective is to find and retrieve several maps and other intelligence material the aggressor unit has in their possession. Since you are leaving with only three MRE meals for each of you, they have several cases, so find them, find your food. You won’t be able to call back to a higher unit to get intel or support. The team leaders are your higher headquarters. He noticed the look of concern on some of the soldiers faces. You’ll have a red smoke grenade. If you get in a situation you can’t handle or have a genuine emergency, pop the smoke. There’s a fire tower not far from where you’re going that can see the smoke and let us know. We can get to you at that time.

He stopped walking and pulled out a map from his rear pocket. I want to see the two patrol leaders up here.

He prepared to leave, then stopped to face the formation. Just so you know, we’re operating as much in the blind here as you will be. We will not have phone or internet connections outside the building. No television and no radios. I know some of you have been in Afghanistan, so just think of this as an isolated village for the weekend.

He turned to the First Sergeant. Top, get some of your senior NCOs and check to make certain everyone knows what they’re supposed to have and nobody tries to bring a sleeping bag or a television or something.

The First Sergeant, a twenty-year veteran of active and National Guard duty went to the formation. Roger that, sir. I’ll make sure they don’t have anything like that, he joked.

The First Sergeant was talking to the teams when Sergeant Harold Fitzgerald rushed up to the formation.

Sorry, I’m late First Sergeant. I traded shifts with one of the other assistant managers and he was late getting to the restaurant. Fitzgerald was married with two children. He, like many of the others had been in Afghanistan. Unlike the others, he had been wounded by an IED when the convoy he was in was caught in an ambush. Only four people in the entire group of men and women in the unit wore a Purple Heart on their dress uniform.

Too bad you didn’t take time to pack a box of hamburgers before you left. They’d come in mighty handy about this time tomorrow, Specialist Nunez joked.

Next to him Private First Class Miller nudged him in the ribs. I’ll bet they would taste better than those MRE’s.

Specialist Nunez, you and Private Miller need to be more concerned about what’s going to happen out there than worrying about your stomach. The First Sergeant said, as he watched Fitzgerald take his place in the formation. Nunez smiled and waited for the First Sergeant to continue his briefing.

The two patrol leaders came to where Melville stood next to a table where he spread out his map. Once they were assembled around the table, he pointed to a spot on the map. That is what’s left of an old crossroads town that was abandoned years ago. This is your objective.

Chapter 2

THE GANG OF CYCLISTS continued to the city limits. Once there, they stopped and watched as one man at the head of the pack, spun his bike around to face the others. He waved his hand in a circle overhead and watched as they broke into two groups. The two groups sped through town ignoring any type of traffic signals or signs. One motorcycle did a donut in the middle of main street and immediately attracted the attention of several bystanders and shoppers. The watchers couldn’t call the action in to the local police fast enough on cell phones.

At the city police office, Steve Bryant, the radio operator and dispatcher, was reading a novel when the first call came in. Live Oak Police. How can I help you? He listened for a second. Slow down...slow down. He spoke to the caller. How many motorcycles? You sure? Okay, I’ll get a cruiser to check it out. Bryant replaced the handset and picked up the microphone to contact one of the two patrol cars the city had on the streets. Green Two Five, this in Green Base." He waited for a response.

Go ahead, Steve. What’s up?

I just got a report of a bunch of motorcycles running through town. Doin’ donuts on Main Streets. One of them even flipped off one of the city councilmen when he tried to tell them to stop.

Okay, I’ll check it out. Where did you say they were?

The dispatcher’s phone console was lighting up. I got half a dozen calls coming in. Let me take some and I’ll get back with you. All I know right now is someplace on Main Street.

The next three calls were much like the first one. Each person had a new report of one of the motorcyclists making too much noise, running stop lights and signs, and generally disrupting an otherwise quiet Friday afternoon.

It was late September. Leaves were turning, and a few homes and businesses were decorating with pumpkins, corn stalks and other indications of fall. A football game was scheduled between the local high school team and one from the adjoining county. There was enough of a chill in the evening air that attendees to the game all either wore or planned to carry a light jacket. Dealing with a bunch of assholes on motorcycles was not on anyone’s radar.

The police cruiser with the call sign of Green Two Five was behind two of the cycles when he hit his light bar and tapped the siren. As soon as he did, the bikes split, one taking the next street to the right and the other continuing on until it disappeared down an alley behind the hardware store. With a choice of two directions to take to follow one of the bikes, he chose to follow the one behind the hardware store. He knew the alley opened onto a large parking lot that was used on Sunday by the Baptist Church.

At the communications center for the police, Bryant was busy answering phone calls. He hit the flashing red button on his phone console again. Police, Officer Bryant.

Steve, this is Herb Crane. Some damn fool on a motorcycle almost hit some of my kids today. There’s a whole bunch of them heading toward town.

I’m on top of it, Mister Herb. We’re doing all we can to round them up. The console lit up again. I gotta run. If none of the kids were hurt, stop by the office later this afternoon or on Monday and fill out a report. He ended that call and took another one.

* * *

MELVILLE FINISHED BRIEFING the patrol leaders. You know who’s in your teams and what your mission is. Any questions? When no one raised a hand, he went back to the formation. I’ve selected the patrol leaders for the two teams that will be participating in the exercise. The rest of you were given your team assignments by the First Sergeant. The patrol leaders are in complete control in the field.

He heard a laugh coming from the troops.

Something funny? he said to Specialist Conroy, the medic and one of two females on the team.

Not really funny, sir. I was just thinking that if you’re the higher headquarters you’ll be back here with hot showers, flush toilets, and real food.

Good point. Not everyone in a combat situation lives in a hole and eats from a can or a bag. Someday, I’m sure you’ll get that opportunity. He looked at her. In the meantime, I’ll be back here with hot water and flush toilets. Any other questions?

PFC Nunez raised his hand. How will we know the aggressors, sir?

Good question. You’re gonna be so far off the beaten path that you can assume anyone you see is one of the bad guys.

Nunez reached over and gave a good-natured punch on the arm to Private First Class Andy Morgan. Stick with me, newbie and I’ll show you how to live in the field. Watch and learn. You’re mine for the weekend.

How ‘bout if you just write down what I need to know and I’ll study it while you go live like an animal for the next three days.

In your dreams, newbie.

"More like in my nightmares, I’m beginning to think.’

The patrol leaders gathered their personnel and left the armory to await the arrival of the helicopters.

The two Blackhawk helicopters made a low-level approach over part of the town to the pick-up location. Below them on the city streets, it was chaos.

Both groups of bikers consolidated their riders. One group headed down to the end of Main Street and pulled into the parking lot of the Farmer’s and Merchant’s Bank. Each biker wore a leather jacket with the Demon Riders patch on it. Above each patch was a wide strip of black tape.

Five blocks away, the second group entered the parking lot to the side of the former drug store now functioning as the temporary location for the second bank in the small town. There was a scattering of cars in each parking lot. Banking business on Friday afternoon consisted of locals coming in to make deposits or cash payroll checks. Some of the merchants came in to pick up operating funds for the weekend, knowing both banks would be closed for the next two days.

The police cruiser that followed the rider down the alley, watched as he sped across the parking lot, jumped the curb, and headed down a sidewalk. He passed the hardware store and knocked over a reader board advertising an upcoming sale. Two young women coming out of the store had to jump back inside to keep from being hit.

The second city police cruiser saw the action and joined in the chase as they were led to the edge of town.

At the Farmers and Merchants Bank, the obvious leader of the group checked his watch. When he was satisfied with the time, he and three other riders entered the bank. All were armed. One pointed a sawed-off shotgun at the customers in line.

Don’t nobody do nothing stupid and this will be over in two minutes.

The leader waved a large handgun at the tellers as he handed them a set of leather saddle bags. Put all your cash in there and if you put a dye pack or a tracker in with it, I have people in the parking lot who will come back and kill you...very slowly.

Nobody noticed an old man, Joe Williams in a blue security guards uniform standing off to the side when they entered. As soon as he saw them, instinct kicked in and he unholstered his pistol. The third biker saw him and called out to the biker with the shotgun.

The old man. He’s got a gun.

Before Williams could clear leather he was cut down by an almost point-blank blast