Lawson Holland Thrillers Books 1-3: Lawson Holland Thrillers

By M. P. MacDougall

Books One Through Three in the electrifying Lawson Holland Thriller Series!

 

The Blood of Tyrants – A freak accident puts Lawson Holland face to face with the man he holds responsible for an unimaginable personal loss - the President of the United States.

 

The Blood of Patriots – Holland finds himself chasing a ghost, daring to hope that a lost family member can somehow be found.

 

The Tree of Liberty – Holland has returned from a daring rescue in Afghanistan, hoping to finally retire to a normal life. But when war breaks out close to home, Holland and company are caught up in it. The resulting fight will decide the future of their country, but it may cost them everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dysfunctional Dozen Press
• Release date: Dec 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781962138086

M. P. MacDougall

M.P. MacDougall is an American historian, voice actor and author of political/military thrillers, humorous satire and fantasy. The youngest of twelve children, he grew up on a suburban farm, spending much of his free time chasing cows, perfecting bicycle stunts and playing in the dirt, and he never had to wear a helmet or use anti-bacterial soap. He was a professional air traffic controller for more than 26 years, serving in the US Air Force, Oregon Air National Guard, Department of Defense, and finally the Federal Aviation Administration. He controlled traffic in eleven different control tower and radar approach control facilities in three different countries on three continents, as well as in four different US states. He retired in 2017 to pursue his lifelong dream of writing. MP lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and three children.

Book preview

Lawson Holland Thrillers

LAWSON HOLLAND THRILLERS

BOOKS 1-3

M. P. MACDOUGALL

Dysfunctional Dozen Press

CONTENTS

The Blood of Tyrants

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 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Afterword

The Blood of Patriots

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 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Afterword

The Tree of Liberty

Prologue

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 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Afterword

About the Author

Also By M.P. MacDougall

THE BLOOD OF TYRANTS

The Blood of Tyrants

A Lawson Holland Thriller

M.P. MacDougall

DYSFUNCTIONAL DOZEN PRESS

Subsidiary of

DTwelve Media, LLC

For Mom and Dad

Thanks for not stopping at eleven

Recreari aliquando lignum libertatem patriae sanguinis tyranni.

Est sua naturalia stercore.

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is it’s natural manure.

- Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to William Stephens Smith

November 13, 1787

1

PRAEDICTIO

Salmon, Idaho

Two Years Ago

I don’t care what you say, Lawson Holland said, laughing. There’s no way Elvis is still alive and kicking, living in Afghanistan as a goat herder!

I’m not kidding, Dad, Tony Holland said, his image flickering on his dad’s computer screen. We did a village sweep the other day, and the guy invited us in for tea. He looked just like Elvis, if you add a big beard.

And about fifty years.

And subtract all the sequins.

I bet he offered you peanut butter and banana sandwiches, too.

Nah - peanut butter’s too hard to come by out here. Besides, that’s too obvious. He probably didn’t want to blow his cover.

Right - makes perfect sense. Both men were laughing now. Lawson caught his breath. I’m missing you, kid.

I know, Dad. Miss you too. ’Nother couple of months, and I’ll rotate back stateside. You’ll have to show me around your new home town. What’s the population up to this week? Is it six yet, or did somebody die?

Actually, two people died, but the sheriff’s cat had kittens, so it sort of evens out.

Ha - how many cats does it take to replace a person in that town?

Depends on the person.

Or the cat, right?

You got it. Holland couldn’t quit smiling. He loved goofing around with his son, even if they had to goof around from halfway across the world on a grainy Facetime connection.

Seriously, though, Dad, Tony continued. What did you move there for? I’m guessing it wasn’t for the night life.

Whaddaya mean? I just got my polyester disco suit back from the cleaners.

You know what I mean. What made you want to move to a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere?

"This is not the middle of nowhere, Tony. This place is flat out beautiful, and it’s got plenty of breathing room. You’d like it here. Lots of hunting and fishing, and five minutes outside of town in any direction, you’ve got tons of peace and quiet."

Is that helping?

Helping what?

Don’t play dumb, Dad. You know I’m talking about Mom.

What about her?

I’m wondering if you moved to Salmon to forget her.

"This is your Mom we’re talking about, remember? I wouldn’t want to forget her - even if I could. This town just seemed like a good place to clear my head after she died. I want to remember her, but it felt like with her gone and you out of the house, there wasn’t much home left. So I figured I’d come here and build a new one."

You not telling me something? Tony was grinning again.

What?

It sounds like you’re planning on getting domestic. You meet somebody?

Lawson chuckled. Nah. I’m too old and too lazy for that. ‘Sides - nobody could ever replace your Mom. She was one in a million.

I know that. But I’m not talking about replacing anybody. I’m just talking about maybe adding somebody to your life. Even a cranky old man like you might get lonely now and then.

Maybe I’ll get a cat.

Ha! Get a dozen of ‘em. Then you can have the whole town to yourself!

Wise guy. If you’re afraid of me getting lonely, you could always move here and keep an eye on me. You decide whether you’re gonna re-enlist or not?

Yeah, I did. Actually, I was looking forward to talking to you about that.

Shoot.

My enlistment’s up in six months. I’m thinking about getting out.

Good for you! Me and the cats’ll worry a lot less.

Then I’m going to enlist in the Navy, and try out for the teams.

Lawson’s heart skipped a beat. He looked down at his hands, inadvertently gripping the edge of the desk.

Dad? Can you hear me?

I hear you, son. He looked up at the computer screen. You know I’m proud of you no matter what you do, right?

I’m not doing it for your approval, Dad.

Really? I thought kids did everything for their parents’ approval.

If that’s true, that means you approve, right?

"I don’t care what you do, son. It’s who you are that matters to me. You wanna try out for the teams, go for it; I know you’ll be great. Just promise me you’ll be careful. SEALs do the hard stuff because too many soft folks can’t - or won’t. Problem is, most of the people whose orders you’ll end up following are the softest of the soft. Those are the ones you have to watch out for. Weak men in positions of power tend to think the military is their personal brute squad. They have no problem sending troops into impossible situations, then blaming ‘em when things go south. Lotta good people get killed because some idiot politicians want to play war."

I know, Dad. I’ll be careful. I always am.

Good man. Just don’t expect much right away. Especially with this latest chucklehead that We the Sheeple voted into office. He’s no friend of the military.

I know, Dad. Maybe by the time I get through all the training, he’ll already have been impeached.

There’s a bright thought.

Hey, Dad?

Yeah?

"I might be doing this just a little bit for your approval."

I thought you might.

Just don’t let it go to your head. I’d hate to see one of the best SEALs ever end up with an overinflated ego.

Lawson smiled. Perish the thought.

I gotta go now, Dad - my time’s almost up.

Love you, son. More’n you’ll ever know.

I know.

Don’t argue, kid. SEALs don’t like people that argue.

Tony laughed. You’re a nut. Love you Dad.

You too. Talk soon. Keep your head down.

You got it.

The call switched off, and Lawson blew out a breath.

God, please take care of my boy.

2

TIMIDUS IN PRINCIPIBUS

James S. Brady Press Briefing Room

The White House, Washington D.C.

Three Weeks Later

President Galen Tolliver walked to the podium, a large smile covering his face. He rested his hands on the lectern and took a moment to enjoy the staccato tune of multiple cameras capturing his image for history. He was ready for them. He was going to make sure that his name was remembered first among U.S. Presidents, and today was the first step. He looked around the room, making eye contact with all his favorite members of the press corps, especially those who had given him the proper amount of attention during the recent election. They knew who they really worked for, and it was only right for him to give them a small thrill by noticing them in public. Let them think they matter, Tolliver thought. He cleared his throat.

"Good morning, everyone. It’s good of you all to come this morning, and I think that the subject of this briefing will make it well worth your valuable time. As you all know, my predecessor entered office with two unpopular wars in progress, both started by his predecessor, against the better judgment of most of the government, and against the popular will of the people. My predecessor managed to extract United States forces from the quagmire in Iraq, but in spite of heroic efforts on his part, the war in Afghanistan has been much more difficult to conclude. The rise of global terrorism, exacerbated and instigated by a century of intrusive American foreign policy, has turned the once peaceful country of Afghanistan into a nest of terror cells which breed and multiply, sending more and more terrorists abroad and threatening U.S. interests and security, both abroad and at home. It is time for that process to stop.

One of the promises of my recent campaign was that my administration would end U.S. involvement in foreign wars. Today, I am very pleased to announce that I am keeping that promise. This morning, I met with the Chiefs of Staff of all branches of the U.S. military, along with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and Secretary of Defense Coleridge. During that meeting, I outlined my plan for the total American military withdrawal from Afghanistan, to be put in motion immediately and to be completed no later than one month from today.

Several members of the press corps leapt from their chairs and started firing questions all at once. Tolliver stood impatiently, waiting for them to settle down again.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have no intention of being shouted at. This is not an auction house. Please hold your questions until the end of my statement. He glared around the room, waiting to see if anyone wanted to try shouting again. No one did.

Thank you. One of the hallmarks of a civil society, as I have always said, is civil discourse, and civil discourse begins with letting me finish. Tolliver smiled. There were a few polite chuckles from the press, but most just sat, staring at him.

Yes, well, Tolliver said, clearing his throat and looking down at his notes. As I was saying, as Commander in Chief, I have ordered all American forces to be immediately withdrawn from Afghanistan. Because of the sheer size and logistics involved, this type of withdrawal cannot be accomplished overnight, but I have made it clear to my military commanders that I want all American forces out of Afghanistan in thirty days or less.

There was a growing mutter going around the room, but Tolliver pressed on.

"Once the redeployment from Afghanistan is completed, I have issued additional orders to begin working on contingency plans for withdrawing all additional forces from overseas bases on foreign soil. This withdrawal will begin with bases in Europe, followed by Africa and the Middle East, South America, and finally Asia. South Korea will be our final overseas occupation to end, but I assure you, it too will end before my first term does."

The muttering had faded to complete silence.

As you are all aware, American foreign intervention is not only counterproductive to healthy foreign relations, but it is also costly, as well as dangerous to those who serve. Bringing our troops home will bring dividends both financial and diplomatic. Our relations with allies will improve when our actions demonstrate our intention to stay out of their affairs, and our antipathy toward our present enemies will be replaced by warm relations with newfound friends. American imperialism will be relegated to a dark time in our history, as we look toward a brighter future and take our rightful place among the peaceful community of nations. Tolliver looked around expectantly, but still no one said anything.

And finally, our military will be reduced in size and reach. By drawing down and bringing home our troops, we will enjoy an immense savings that can be put to better use on social programs within our own borders. I have tasked the Director of Homeland Security to work alongside the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs in crafting a new role for our former war fighters. Our military will transition from an aggressive role to a defensive one, focused not on foreign conquest, but on domestic security. They will be the tip of the spear in a new battle - ensuring that safety and equality exist here at home. More details will follow in the coming months. And now, I’m sure you all have some questions for me. Tolliver smiled, expecting the room to erupt again, but there was still an uneasy silence. Finally a reporter in the back row raised his hand.

Tolliver grinned broadly. I knew you all couldn’t stand waiting much longer, he said as he pointed to the reporter. I’m sorry I haven’t learned all your names yet; sir, you are?

Charley Carter, Net News Daily, Mr. President. The reporter said.

Yes, Charley, what was your question?

Sir, what sort of impact will this have on our troops currently in Afghanistan, not to mention all around the world? Aren’t you concerned that an announcement of this, uh, magnitude, will become an encouragement for our enemies to attack as we withdraw? You said yourself that this type of withdrawal can’t be completed overnight - aren’t you concerned that you just showed your hand to every terrorist out there?

"I’m sorry, Mr. Carter, but you obviously misunderstand. It was my explicit intent to show my hand - to the entire world. I am showing that the United States of America no longer has imperialistic designs on any nation, anywhere. We are entering a new era of peace and international cooperation, and America will be the first nation to beat its swords into plowshares."

Another reporter stood in the front row. With respect, Mr. President, did you run this policy past our enemies first?

Tolliver glared down at him. Tom Waltham was one of his favorites, and had been a not-so-subtle supporter during his presidential campaign. This was unexpected.

Tolliver forced a smile. Good Morning Tom, and thank you for the question. I can only imagine how difficult it was to ask it with your tongue planted so firmly in your cheek. He grinned, looking around the room for support. No one laughed.

It was a serious question, sir, Waltham continued. Our enemies in the Middle East and Afghanistan do not see withdrawal as a sign of strength. The pullout from Iraq several years ago showed that terrorists, like nature, abhor a vacuum. When we pulled out and left a weak local government behind us, the Iraqi people were unable to defend their own country from the influx of extremists, which contributed to the rise of ISIS and the spread of Islamic extremism to surrounding nations, and forced us to renew operations in Iraq to prevent its complete collapse.

"That is a matter of opinion."

It’s a matter of fact, Mr. President. Operations in Iraq were reinstated under the previous administration in response to the spread of ISIS. The group has been on the upsurge ever since, and they’re spreading further every day.

I fail to see what that has to do with your original question. Are you suggesting that I’m negotiating with terrorists?

No, sir. I’m simply asking how you think our enemies will respond to wholesale American withdrawal on a global scale. If history is any guide, they’ll see this as an unprecedented opportunity for expansion.

"We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Tom. The reason groups such as ISIS and al-Qaeda hate us is because almost since the founding of this nation, America has pursued imperialistic goals in their homelands. They have been oppressed by this policy for more than two centuries, and the rise of global terrorism we struggle against today is a direct result of that misguided foreign policy. Ending American overseas deployments will remove the casus belli, leaving the terrorists with no more reason to fight."

That’s assuming they really need much reason, sir. Charley Carter said, standing up. They’ve openly sworn that they’re justified in killing any and all infidels. Whether our military is in Afghanistan or on the moon, as long as we don’t submit to their caliphate, we’re on their list.

That is a bit paranoid, don’t you think?

Waltham was about to jump in when the reporter next to him spoke up. Cameron North had a reputation for not pulling punches with politicians. She was definitely not one of Tolliver’s favorites. Mr. President, could you describe for us exactly how the Joint Chiefs of Staff responded to your plan?

Tolliver tried to avoid her eyes. They responded as I expect all of my soldiers to respond. They saluted smartly and obeyed. Next question.

North wasn’t giving up. Mr. President, I have it on good authority that at least three of the service chiefs, as well as the Chairman of the JCS, tendered their resignations on the spot. Now, I don’t know what your definition of saluting smartly and obeying is, but that response strikes me as something altogether different.

Tolliver clenched his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure as the chatter in the room started growing. "JCS Chairman Admiral Naismith took the opportunity of this morning’s meeting to announce his retirement. He did not resign."

Seems to me that under the circumstances, retirement is a handy euphemism for resignation. Don’t you agree, Mr. President?

"No, Ms. North, I do not. You are assigning significance to an insignificant event. In the future, you should check your facts before asking such specious questions."

I did check my facts, sir. And the fact is that you just instituted a policy that resulted in the immediate resignation - oh, excuse me - ‘retirement’, of four out of five members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. That’s eighty percent of the highest echelon of the military command structure.

Who were the other three service chiefs, Mr. President? Charley Carter asked. Is it true they also ‘took the opportunity’ of this morning’s meeting to ‘retire’?

I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, Tolliver said, becoming visibly exasperated. This is a circular argument and a waste of all our valuable time. Time and action will be the judge of the merits of this policy. Goodwill goes a long way, and I intend to show the world that the United States is entering a new era of goodwill toward all. Our enemies will not be able to deny the truth of that, and I look forward to the day when they are no longer our enemies, but our friends. Thank you all, and good day. He turned and stalked out of the room as the reporters shouted questions en masse.

The Oval Office

"You mind explaining to me what the hell that was?" President Tolliver burst into the Oval Office, throwing his suit jacket on a chair.

The president’s Chief of Staff, Preston Herriman, closed the door behind them and stood near it, ill at ease. It could have been a bit smoother, but all things considered, it could have been worse.

Worse? How could it have been worse, exactly? Maybe if I’d sprouted horns and started clucking like a chicken? That was a disaster, Preston! What was Waltham thinking? The arrogance of that man, acting the impartial newsman! Everybody knows he supported my campaign, so why come out guns blazing in my first press conference?

Actually, sir, that may have helped more than it seems…

Are you insane? THOMAS!! Herriman flinched at the president’s sudden shout.

Where is that worthless steward? What good is being president if you can’t get somebody to pour you a drink?

I’ll do it, Herriman said, moving toward the liquor cabinet.

The door to the adjacent pantry opened and the steward stepped inside. What can I get for you, Mr. President?

You could get me a steward who knows his job, but right now I’ll settle for a glass of vodka. No ice. Tolliver turned his back on the man.

Yes, sir. Thomas filled a glass and turned to the Chief of Staff. Anything for you, Mr. Herriman? he asked, expressionless.

Mineral water, Herriman said. None of that cheap swill, either.

Yes, sir. The steward handed the President his drink and poured Herriman’s mineral water into a glass. Here you are, sir.

Herriman didn’t look at him as he took the glass. Get out.

Yes, sir. Just call if you need anything else.

As Thomas left, Tolliver flopped down in a large chair. "And the gall of that woman! Where did she get her information? I hadn’t been out of that meeting for even an hour, and somebody already leaked to the press that those idiots all but mutinied on me! We need to do something about her, Preston. I will not be disrespected like that again."

What are you suggesting we do, sir?

I don’t know, take away her press card, charge her with tax fraud. Whatever it takes to get her off my back. Make an example of her.

It doesn’t exactly work that way, Mr. President.

Don’t be an idiot. Of course it works that way. Show them who’s in charge; make them realize the cost of getting in our way. The press is a tool - we just have to make it work in our favor.

I’ll see what I can do, sir, but if Cameron North has an inside source, she’ll see it coming. She’s no fool.

Of course she’s a fool. She picked the wrong fight today, Preston.

Yes, sir.

Stop ‘yes, sirring’ me! We need to do something about those generals, and fast. Find me some reliable replacements.

One of them was an admiral.

What?

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was an admiral, not a general. Herriman sipped his drink.

I don’t care, Preston! You think it matters what those Neanderthals call themselves? Just get me a list of names!

You’re going to need to a new Defense Secretary eventually, too. Coleridge is slipping.

He’s never been quite all there, anyway. The man’s a simpleton.

Nevertheless, keeping him on as a holdover from the last administration may be turning into a liability. If the press gets him in a corner, he’s liable to make us look bad. He’s never shown much grace under pressure, and I don’t think he’ll hold up.

You could pluck a bum off the street outside the White House, give him a suit and put him in Coleridge’s chair, and nobody would notice.

The press notices everything.

Yes, but they have selective attention, Preston. The last administration is proof of that. They got a pass on just about everything. So why is it that the press is after me all of a sudden?

One press conference isn’t a good measure of anybody being ‘after’ you. You picked a huge issue for your first major announcement, and they jumped on it. Maybe we should have soft-balled a few domestic things at them first to give them a feel for you. Dropping a complete reversal of U.S. foreign policy this early in your term is a little like passing gas in a crowded elevator.

Don’t be vulgar, Preston. Tolliver huffed. If Cameron North does have an inside source, she could completely undermine us. He paused, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. We’re going to need to move things up, Preston.

Herriman grimaced. I was just thinking we might want to consider paring them back, sir.

Tolliver shot him a look of contempt. I will not ‘pare them back’! This country has been little more than an international bully for more than a hundred years, Preston. I intended to turn that around in a phased pullback over the course of the next several years, but I will not sit by and watch while the press second guesses my every move. If we give them time to think, they’ll parse every decision I make, and we’ll lose the moral high ground.

Well… then, how fast did you want to get it done, sir?

Tolliver drummed his fingers again. Six months.

Herriman had to stop his jaw from dropping. Mister President, ah…

Don’t start sniveling at me about how hard that will be, Preston. It’s going to get done. We’ll start with Afghanistan, just as we told the press today, but I’m going to pull us out of NATO in two weeks.

Herriman’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

At the same time, we’re going to pull out of every other collective defense treaty we have left. Tolliver watched Herriman, enjoying making him squirm.

Sir, doing it all in one fell swoop is going to cause an uproar. The economic repercussions alone could be…

I don’t care, Preston! Tolliver hissed, leaning forward in his chair. The web of treaties and mutual defense pacts this country has gotten tied up in is no less complicated than the mess of entanglements that led Europe into World War I. We’ve obligated ourselves to police more than half the world! That is not only unsustainable, it’s downright suicidal! Any one of those treaties could drag us into another war, or two, or three - we do NOT need to be running all over the planet, keeping a bunch of backward countries from each cutting other’s throats!

I don’t disagree, sir, it’s just that the abbreviated timeline may be more aggressive than…

Stop whining about it, Preston, Tolliver cut him off. We’re not going to wait for the Afghanistan redeployment to be completed. I want us out of NATO two weeks from today, as well as the ANZUS agreement with Australia and New Zealand. After that, we’ll pull out of the Philippine, Japan and Southeast Asia treaties and start getting our people home. Once all that’s in motion, we’ll withdraw from the Rio Pact with the Americas, and save the ROK Treaty with South Korea for last.

Herriman took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. What about the Nassau Agreement with the UK?

Tolliver scowled. That’s a top priority, he muttered. ‘Special Relationship’, my eye. The Brits have been hanging onto our coattails ever since the War of 1812. They’re more to blame for getting us wrapped up in this imperialistic mess than anyone. We’ll abrogate the Nassau Agreement at the same time we withdraw from NATO.

We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us, Herriman said.

Tolliver leaned back in his chair. It’s not going to be as monumental as you think, Preston. For starters, just get me some help on the press corps, and get me some people to replace Coleridge and those others. I’m sure there’re people in the military who’ll see things our way.

Yes, sir, Herriman said, putting down his glass and moving to the door. I’ll start making some calls.

Salmon, Idaho

Lawson Holland’s phone chirped in his pocket. He didn’t get many calls when his son was overseas. Since Tony was still in Afghanistan, Lawson was pretty sure it wasn’t anybody he wanted to talk to. Slightly annoyed, he pulled the phone out and looked at the caller ID.

Ballroom.

Lawson’s best friend and former SEAL ‘swim buddy’, ‘Ballroom’ Boone MacAulay got his call sign after he made the mistake of admitting to his teammates that his parents put him in ballroom dance lessons as a teenager. Laugh all you want, he’d said at the time. It was a great way to meet girls.

Lawson smiled as he put the phone to his ear. Hey, Ballroom. Win any dance-offs lately?

Hey, Tulip, Boone said, using Holland’s own least favorite nickname. I don’t have time for dancing much these days. Grandkids are keeping me too busy.

You teaching ‘em to crush other kids’ windpipes?

Never too early to learn self-defense.

"Too bad your idea of self defense is ‘Do unto the enemy before he even thinks of doing unto you.’"

Helps me sleep better at night.

Can’t argue with that. What’s up?

You seen the news this morning?

I quit watching the news ten years ago. Too depressing.

You might want to start paying attention, brother. You near a TV?

I can get near one. I’m in the hardware store at the moment, but there’s a cafe around the corner. You want to wait?

No. Call me back after you watch it.

What am I looking for?

You can’t miss it. Bad news, man. Stupid politician tricks.

All right, I’ll call you back. Lawson switched off and headed out the door. The cafe around the corner was a Starbucks knock-off that served really good sandwiches and pretty good coffee, if you didn’t mind paying several bucks to drink something that you could make at home for a few cents. Holland only went there when he was in a hurry and didn’t feel like making his own lunch. There were several customers lined up at the counter, which gave him time to watch the TV hanging in the corner of the room. It was tuned to a news program with the sound off, but a ticker across the bottom of the screen showed what Boone was talking about.

PRESIDENT TOLLIVER ANNOUNCES TOTAL U.S. MILITARY WITHDRAWAL FROM ALL OVERSEAS LOCATIONS / RE-DEPLOYMENT FROM AFGHANISTAN TO BE COMPLETED WITHIN THE MONTH / QUESTIONS RAISED ABOUT THREAT TO TROOPS IN PLACE / NORTH KOREAN PREMIER KIM JONG UN THREATENS MILITARY ACTION AGAINST SOUTH KOREA

Damn, Lawson said under his breath.

Idiot, if you ask me. Lawson turned to see an elderly man standing behind him, looking up at the TV. Gonna get us hit again.

I’m afraid you’re right, Lawson said. Don’t know how these fools keep getting elected.

Too many like ‘em in all the big cities, which means our votes don’t count for much out here. This reminds me of when we cut and run from Vietnam.

Lawson looked at him. Were you there?

I was. Marine embassy detachment in Saigon. I was on the last helicopter out.

That must have been hairy.

It was. The old man’s face went dark. But you know what the worst thing was? It wasn’t the fighting in the streets, or even the idea that we were quitting. It was the idea that we were breaking a promise to the South Vietnamese. We were leaving them to the wolves, and our leaders didn’t give a damn. This feels like that all over again.

My son’s over there.

The old man looked at Holland, who was staring at the ticker again. Afghanistan?

Yeah.

Sorry to hear that. Hope he stays safe. He turned to leave. Sorry for what I said - sometimes I let my mouth get ahead of my brain.

No problem, Holland said. Besides, I agree with you.

The old man paused at the door. I’ll tell my wife, if you don’t mind, and we’ll pray for your boy.

Thank you, sir - that’s kind of you.

Not a problem. Not good for much any more, but I can still talk the Lord’s ear off when I need to! Had plenty of practice those last few weeks in Saigon. You take care, son.

I will. Lawson watched the man go, then took out his phone and called Boone.

You saw it? Boone asked as he picked up.

I did. Stupid SOB is gonna get a lot of people killed.

You hear from Tony lately?

Couple days ago. He’s been talking about getting out of the Corps and enlisting in the Navy.

Trying for the teams?

Yeah. Not sure if there’ll even be a SEAL program any more by the time he gets back. Tolliver’s really playing with fire. That blowhard in North Korea might just throw gas on it.

More likely it’ll be ISIS or Al Qaeda. They don’t need any provocation to begin with.

Too right - and this’ll be too good for ‘em to pass up.

How long til he rotates home?

Less than a month, apparently. His original armed nature hike was scheduled to go another two months at least, but according to the pinhead-in-chief, now he’s coming home early.

Good news/bad news sort of thing.

Yeah. Good news, Tony’s deployment was cut short. Bad news, it was cut short by a wholesale retreat, and he’ll probably be under fire 24/7 until his flight leaves.

3

SANGUINEM SACRIFICII

Badakhshan Province, Afghanistan

18 Miles Northwest of the Pakistan Border

One Week Later

Staff Sergeant Tony Holland ran through a cloud of falling dust to the comm shack. ‘Shack’ was a slightly optimistic appellation - the shelter was little more than some hastily stacked rocks covered with old brush for camouflage. Tony ducked into the low entrance, cursing as another round hit close enough to make him stagger. The mortar fire from the surrounding hills was nearly constant now. The Marines in Tony’s rifle squad had barely found a moment to rest for the past three days. Worse than that, the fire was getting more accurate.

Hey, Ell-Tee! Tony shouted over the noise. You find us a ride yet?

Lieutenant Kenny Burdin looked up from the tactical radio and shook his head. We got nothin’. Friggin’ battalion XO claims all the air assets are tied up downrange.

What the hell? Tony said. There isn’t anybody further downrange than we are! We’re gonna get overrun if we have to sit here much longer, Lieutenant! Tony’s argument was punctuated by a loud explosion just yards downhill that threw dust and debris up into their position.

I know, Sergeant, but they don’t give us much choice.

So what are we supposed to do? Click our heels together and chant ‘there’s no place like home’?

At this point, I’m willing to try anything. You see any new movement from the OP?

Tony had just come from their Observation Post, which was behind and uphill from the main defensive perimeter the Marines had set up in front of their position. It had a commanding view of the valley below them as well as the mountain on the other side, and had the added advantage that the approach to the OP was hidden in a narrow defile behind the forward positions, so the Marines could come and go without drawing fire. Tony shook his head as he took a long drink of water from his CamelBak. I haven’t seen so much as a turban stick up in three days. I don’t know how they’re getting their mortars so close without us seeing them, but they’re definitely closer than yesterday. We need to catch a break here, sir - or with all due respect, we need to bug the hell out.

I hear you. Burdin paused and looked out over the valley, suddenly cautious.

The shelling had stopped.

EYES UP, MARINES! Burdin yelled at the nine men scattered along the front of the defensive perimeter. Tony, get back up to the OP and see what’s happening. They may be making a move here.

On my way. Tony sprinted out the back entrance of the shack. Five yards out, he turned right and disappeared behind a finger of rock that jutted out from the mountain proper. Behind the finger was a narrow, steep path that led fifty yards back and up to the OP. Tony could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he ran. No matter how many times he ran that path, he never seemed to get used to it. The thin mountain air in this remote part of northeastern Afghanistan made him feel like he was always out of breath, even when he was sitting still. Even light physical exertion sapped his strength almost instantly. Adrenaline from the constant shelling made up for it slightly - but Tony longed to be able to take a normal breath - without gasping.

Comin’ in, he rasped as he approached the OP.

Lance Corporal Clay Bagley glanced up from his spotting scope as Tony ducked inside. Have a nice jog?

Lovely. Any movement? Ell-Tee’s worried the Talis might try to rush us.

Ell-Tee’s always worried about something. He shoulda stayed at West Point.

Marines don’t go to West Point, Bagley, Tony said. That’s for Army pukes.

My point exactly. Bagley had his cheek pressed tight to the stock of his rifle as he methodically swept his scope over the face of the mountain across the canyon. Ain’t nobody gonna rush us from across that friggin’ gorge, anyway. You’re in great shape, and you almost puke running from here to the comm shack. I’m more worried about those damned mortars.

I know, Tony said. But let’s stay sharp anyway. These guys climb better than mountain goats. You never know - they might try something. He leaned back against the rock face at the back of their hide. The OP was set up under a natural overhang of rock that jutted out about two feet from the mountainside, leaving them a small measure of overhead cover. They had piled stones and dirt up around the downhill side of the overhang, making a small, almost invisible enclosed area about five feet by five feet to stand in. They had a spotting scope, an M40A7 sniper rifle, a box of Meals, Ready to Eat, and very little else. Tony was the squad’s sniper, but Bagley was almost as good with the M40A7. They rotated some of the other guys in the squad through as spotters, so when Tony was on a break, Bagley manned the rifle and another Marine would work the spotting scope.

They had seen very little for the past three days. They assumed the Taliban fighters who had found their position were advancing under cover of darkness, and because the Marines had been dropped up here with no night vision equipment, they had no way of knowing for sure. They very seldom saw movement during the day any more.

Tony stared out at the immense panorama of mountains in front of their position. The western arm of the Hindu Kush reached out to his front and seemed to go on forever. The view was nothing short of spectacular; serrated snow-covered ridges and high peaks marched rank after rank to the distant horizon. His vantage point from two-thirds of the way up this lesser ridge overlooking the Sanglich River Valley and the village of Zebak below was chosen for its proximity to a well-used trail into Pakistan. The Taliban was known to transport weapons and fighters into Afghanistan by this route, so Tony and his squad had been sent here to observe and report on movement, and to call in fire support if necessary. They’d spent two weeks on the mountain before the Taliban found them and started walking mortars closer to their position with each new day. The Talib mortar men weren’t particularly skilled, but they were persistent, and they seemed to have plenty of ammunition.

Got a reflection, Bagley said, fixing his scope on a dark mass of rocks on the other side of the valley. Tony jumped up and settled in behind the M40A7.

Where away?

About one o’clock, maybe five degrees low, next to the boulder that looks like a pig.

Here, pig, pig, pig… Tony mumbled as he scanned the area. I don’t see any pig. Do you mean the reddish looking rock with the dead bush in front?

No, just to the right of that and ten yards downhill. Something reflected the sunlight.

Tony shifted his aim to the right. For a moment, all he saw was gray-brown dirt and rocks. Then, just on the right edge of his view, he saw something out of place. It was the same color as the rest of the mountain, and mostly hidden in shadow… but the shadow had hair. Tony tried to control his breathing as he looked for some other identifying feature. He didn’t want to be the guy who got trigger happy and shot somebody’s goat - he had to be sure before he fired. I can see something with hair on it, behind that boulder, but I can’t verify.

Standby, Bagley said. He swept the spot again with the powerful scope. Okay, left side of the boulder, I see wood. Looks like the butt of an AK-47. There’s at least one guy behind that rock, Sergeant.

Got it. Definitely an AK stock. Good eye. I…

Right side of the boulder! Dude just stuck his hand into the light - he’s got a mirror or something.

Crap, Tony thought as he moved his aim right again. He’s signaling somebody. Then the man’s hand came into view, just the fingers and thumb holding a small signal mirror, rotating it back and forth to reflect the sun. Tony fixed on the base of the mirror and exhaled. As his lungs emptied, his body became almost perfectly still, and he squeezed the trigger.

Then the world exploded.

As Tony squeezed off his shot, a sudden roar engulfed the OP from above and behind. Bagley swore as a shoulder fired missile ripped past over their heads and detonated on the base of the rear wall of the comm shack. The back corner of the brush roof collapsed, and Tony could hear Lt. Burdin shouting orders. Somebody inside was screaming in agony. Bagley was picking himself up off the ground, grabbing for his M4 carbine. Another missile screamed overhead, this one going high and missing the comm shack entirely before it streaked off downhill and out of sight.

They’re behind us! Bagley shouted. Tony had forgotten about the man with the signal mirror and was already swinging the M40A7 around to defend against the sudden threat above them on the hill. Several voices floated down from above, screaming out an eerie sort of war cry.

Wait a minute, Clay! Tony rasped, grabbing Bagley’s shoulder as he moved to leave the OP. I don’t think they know we’re here. Let ‘em charge downhill past us, then we’ll take ‘em from behind!

Bagley nodded and hunkered down against the back wall of their little cavern. If they have any more of those missiles, the rest of the squad is screwed! How long we gonna wait?

Hold tight, they’re coming.

He’d barely finished speaking when three men charged downhill past the right side of their position, dropping into the narrow defile that led to the comm shack without even looking to the side. As the third man passed, Bagley yanked a grenade from his vest and lobbed it down the path after them. Two men passed the OP on the left as Bagley’s grenade detonated in the defile on the right, drawing their attention. Tony shot the second man as he pulled up short. The first man looked surprised, trying frantically to bring his AK-47 around. He had not expected Marines coming out of a hole in the ground. He panicked and started shooting before his weapon was on target, and sprayed bullets across the front of the OP’s rock and rubble barricade. Tony cycled the bolt on the M40A7 as the man turned, and shot him once in the chest, knocking him backward off his feet. He collapsed against a large rock and lay still.

Tony turned to see Bagley grappling with another Taliban fighter who had been several strides behind the first group. He’d almost run right into Bagley as he stepped out to toss his grenade, and now they were rolling around on the ground, each trying to throttle the other. As the Talib man rolled on top of Bagley, Tony kicked him hard in the side of the head, knocking him senseless. Bagley scrambled clear, yanked his sidearm and put two bullets in the man’s head. Under normal circumstances, Tony would never have condoned shooting a man who was arguably out of the fight, but this was different. They were being overrun, and if they left this guy alive and turned their back on him, he might get back in the fight.

No prisoners today.

Tony went down on one knee as several more fighters streamed past the left side of the OP. He shot two as fast as he could work the bolt, and was aiming at a third when Bagley shouted.

GRENADE!

Tony heard the metallic click of the grenade bouncing off the stone wall inside the OP behind him. On instinct, he threw himself flat. The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space, and the cloud of dust and smoke completely filled the OP. Tony couldn’t hear anything but a loud, high pitched ringing in his ears. He called out to Bagley, but couldn’t hear his own voice. He groped around in the dust, his hand coming to rest on an arm. Tony pulled himself closer, and as the smoke cleared, he could make out Bagley’s head, face down and covered in dust, his helmet missing. Tony grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him over. Bagley had thrown himself on the grenade, and now his chest looked like it had been stomped by a huge boot. His standard issue body armor had absorbed most of the shock, but still failed to protect him. Although he was mostly in one piece, the blunt force of the explosion had crushed his internal organs and killed him instantly. His eyes were wide open - staring away at nothing.

Tony dragged himself to his feet just as another rocket went by, this one going straight through the back entrance to the comm shack. There was a thunderous explosion, followed by a few weak moans and cries for help, amid a staccato chorus of clattering debris falling back to earth. Tony grabbed Bagley’s M4 and stood up. His knees were weak and he had several large shrapnel wounds to the backs of his legs, but he pushed himself to the right side of the OP, where the defile led away downhill toward the remains of the comm shack.

He saw several Talib fighters, climbing around the rubble and looking for survivors. One of them dragged a wounded Marine free, dumping him roughly on the ground before thrusting his AK-47 at a second injured Marine and firing off a full magazine. The Marine’s body jerked and convulsed as he fell backward down the slope. Tony looked at the first wounded man and recognized Lt. Burdin’s red Mohawk. Desperate, he aimed the M4 at the Talib with the AK and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Tony lowered the rifle and tried to cycle the charging handle to clear the jam, but he couldn’t find the strength. He was so tired. The pain in his legs was turning to a dull ache, and he was getting lightheaded.

You should not have come here, Marine.

The voice had a distinct British accent, which Tony couldn’t rationalize at the moment. He lowered the M4 and half-turned, finding a pleasant looking bearded Afghan man standing behind him. The man had an AK-47, but otherwise looked like he was out for a stroll. "This is my country, you see, the man went on. And the time has finally come for you foreigners to stop your incessant meddling… in my country."

Blood was running freely down Tony’s legs now, and he was getting really tired. "Your country? he gasped, struggling now just to keep his eyes open. I thought most of you Talibs were foreigners. Like me."

Just like an American, the man said, as Tony’s legs buckled and he sat down heavily. Always the assumption of understanding, yet never a shred of insight. He shook his head. "I am most certainly not Taliban."

Tony blinked, fighting to stay awake, trying and failing to keep his chin from sagging onto his chest. "Then… who are you?"

The man looked at him, as if noticing him fully for the first time. Why, isn’t it obvious? He smiled. I am the hand of God.

Then he raised his rifle and shot Tony three times in the chest.

4

PURGATORIUM

Village of Ziak

Badakhshan Province, Afghanistan

12 Miles Northwest of the Pakistan Border

Two Days Later

Tahir stepped out of his small stable and into the fading evening light, almost running into his uncle Ahmad, who was waiting outside.

You should not have brought him here. Ahmad leaned in close, his voice low and urgent.

Tahir moved around the older man and started walking toward the village well. I had no choice, uncle. He was dying.

So let him die, Ahmad grumbled, following in Tahir’s wake. What is he to you?

Tahir turned, his expression an accusation. "And what is your faith to you? What does nanawatai mean to you?"

Ahmad spread his arms. "Tahir, the man was unconscious when you found him. Tell me, how is it possible that he made a claim of nanawatai upon you when he was unable to speak?"

Tahir turned and kept walking, Ahmad trailing behind. "I do not believe a person must make such a claim for themselves, uncle. Especially if they are incapacitated. Why are you arguing this point? You taught me the value of Pashtunwali when I was a boy. You impressed its importance upon me. Now you mean to tell me you were not serious?"

Ahmad scoffed. You know I was serious. I am only saying that this American will bring nothing but trouble here.

"And you know that makes no difference, Tahir said, stopping at the communal well. He hung a plastic jug on the ancient pump nozzle and started to work the handle. I am obligated to help those in need, to provide sanctuary if requested, and to defend those who request it with my life, if need be. "

Ahmad watched his nephew straining at the pump. "It may well come to that, Tahir. If they find out he’s here, they will stop at nothing to recover him. You may have called destruction down on our entire village."

So be it. I will not bow to those animals. Nor should you.

It is not a question of bowing, Ahmad said. It is a question of surviving.

And we have an opportunity - no, an obligation - to help a man survive. This American was unconscious, wounded and left for dead. He was unable to ask for help. Do you expect me to turn my back? What if it had been you on the mountain, and not him? Have you forgotten the treatment the Americans gave you, at no cost?

Of course not, Ahmad said. A U.S. Marine corpsman had treated Ahmad for a painfully abscessed tooth years before, saving his tooth and preventing a bad infection from becoming life threatening. He rubbed his jaw, remembering the excruciating pain.

Then why do you resist the idea of helping one of them, now that we have the opportunity?

Ahmad shook his head. "Because they will hear of it, Tahir. He shot a glance down the steep valley, toward the larger village of Zebak. No matter how careful you are, they will hear, and they will come. He looked hard at his nephew. They will not hold to Pashtunwali, nor will they care that you do. You should look to your family, nephew. Consider them."

Tahir stopped pumping. "I am considering them, he said. They are the reason this is so important. If I ignore my obligations, what will my children do with theirs when the time comes? What kind of honor will that bring to them?"

Honor is no good to a dead man, Ahmad said softly. "The men responsible for killing the Americans on the mountain care nothing for your honor, and they will kill everyone in this village to get at your… guest."

If they wanted him dead, why didn’t they finish him up on the mountain? We heard the battle two days ago - he must have been injured and left to die. What use is he to them now?

That should not be your concern! Ahmad had to fight to keep his voice down. He reached out and gripped Tahir’s shoulder. Nephew. Listen to me. It is one thing to give shelter to a helpless person. It is another thing entirely when that person is an American soldier, and there is a new warlord not fifteen kilometers down the valley who would do anything to kill Americans. Do you not see? These people moving into Zebak from the Panjshir, they are the ones who killed these Americans! They are the ones who will come here if they learn you are sheltering one of them! You put us all at risk, Tahir!

Again, Tahir argued, if they wanted him dead, they would have killed him in the battle two days ago.

You don’t know that, Tahir! Ahmad hissed. How do you know they didn’t simply overlook him during the battle? How do you know that they knew he was still alive? They might have believed he was dead and left him there, but if they had known he wasn’t, they would have finished it! Think of what you’re risking, Tahir!

Tahir looked at his uncle, considering. When he had found the American earlier that afternoon, the man was a complete mess, with multiple gunshot and shrapnel wounds, as well as a huge bloody gash on the back of his head. Tahir had left his goats behind and carried the man to his village, depositing him in the stable behind the home he shared with his family and his uncle. His wife and two children were down at the river half a klick away when Tahir returned, so when he approached the compound from behind the stable, his uncle had been the only one to see him come in. Now he was giving Tahir ample reason to question his decision to help the American.

He thought about it for a moment longer. Looking up, he saw his wife and children coming up the hill on the path from the river. He plucked his jug off the pump nozzle and turned to his uncle.

I have made my decision, uncle. If you will not help me, then perhaps it would be best if you leave my home. Ahmad’s eyes widened in disbelief. I would prefer you stay, however, Tahir continued. The children love you. I may be able to explain to them why a foreigner is bleeding to death in our stable, but they would never understand why that would compel their favorite uncle to suddenly leave.

Ahmad smiled sadly. I will stay, nephew, and I will do what I can to help you. But know that the path you are on will only end in bloodshed. It will break my heart if that bloodshed comes to you, Fawzia, or the little ones, but if my staying can prevent it, then stay I must.

Tahir nodded his thanks. Then he hefted the water jug to his shoulder and walked down the path to greet his family.

5

LIBERTATEM INFORMATIONIS

Arlington National Cemetery

Washington, D.C.

One Year Ago

Tetsuo Nakamura paused at the entrance to the Arlington Memorial Amphitheater and looked around. There were no services scheduled for today, but there were still about twenty-five tourists milling around, taking pictures or just sitting on the benches, soaking in the solemn quiet of the place.

Nakamura made his way to section C, in the lower part of the seating area left of the central apse. He paused at the fourth row from the top of the section and looked around again, then finally walked into the row and sat down on the marble bench halfway from the aisle.

Then he waited.

He knew he’d arrived a bit earlier than his contact had agreed, but he’d been too curious about the potential lead he might get from the meeting to wait. The man’s almost contagious paranoia over the phone had been intriguing, too. He’d called the office shortly after sending Nakamura an email claiming that he had information on American POWs abandoned overseas, but the phone conversation was little more than the man demanding a meeting someplace public where they wouldn’t look suspicious talking.

Tetsuo had suggested the amphitheater at Arlington, since it was fairly open and non-threatening, and it would be easy to have a conversation with a total stranger and not look out of place doing it. The man had agreed - reluctantly - and they’d set the meet for today.

Nakamura had wanted to be a journalist since he was a kid, and meetings like this one gave him the feeling that he was involved in a high-stakes game of exposing society’s dark lies for the greater good of the people. It was an idealistic view he held for his profession; more than just writing pointless copy with an eye toward driving advertising revenue, Tetsuo wanted to write about the things that really mattered, the injustices and triumphs of everyday life that made doing this job worthwhile.

He’d had to remind himself of that ideal more than once since he’d joined the staff of Net News Daily earlier that year. NND was probably the least respected non-tabloid news outlet in the country. Its bread and butter was anti-government conspiracy theories, apocalyptic predictions and whistleblower forums. NND did manage to break several legitimate stories every year, but those were the exception rather than the rule. Nakamura’s degree in Journalism was a curiosity in his office - most of his co-workers cut their teeth on the internet, running independent blogs and op-ed sites. They all called Nakamura The Serious Journalist to his face, but behind his back, they agreed he was nothing but a throwback and a joke. Nakamura hoped to change all that, and soon.

I have family buried here. Nakamura had to fight not to jump up at the sudden voice coming from right behind him.

Thank you for, uh, thank you for their service, he replied, trying to cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

The man scoffed. That phrase is just about the emptiest platitude in the history of the spoken word. Makes people who couldn’t be bothered to serve feel like they earned the sacrifice of the people who did.

"That’s not what I meant; I, uh, I am really grateful. My dad was in the Army."

Hmph, the man snorted. "In that case, thank you for his service."

Nakamura sat silently for a moment. Now that you mention it, that does sound pretty empty. Sorry about that.

Doesn’t matter. You’re Nakamura?

Yes, I -

Prove it.

Nakamura frowned. Prove it? You want to see my driver’s license or something?

Friggin’ reporters, the man muttered under his breath. He said it just like someone might say friggin’ mosquitos, or friggin’ diarrhea.

No, genius, he said. I want you to tell me what the subject line was of the email I sent you.

Nakamura’s mind raced, trying to recall. He’d read the body of the email a dozen times, but he hadn’t paid much attention to the subject line. It - it was Latin, he said.

I’m leaving, the man said.

Wait! Nakamura pleaded, turning more to his right. "It was ‘Semper’ something, if I remember correctly. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t remember the exact wording.