The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 1
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
The Devil’s Bastion
The Jared Chronicles - Book Four
Rick Tippins
Contents
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Also by Rick Tippins
Copyright ©2021 Rick Tippins
Published by: Doomsday Press, a division of Beyond The Fray, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All rights reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-953462-13-8
Doomsday Press, a division of Beyond The Fray, LLC, San Diego, CA
www.doomsdaybooks.com
Dedicated to
The American Veteran 1775 to Present
Prologue
Josh Talley, former Special Missions Unit operator, before the solar flare wiped the earth clean of most anything with an electronic component, walked into Colonel Carnegie’s office, a look of consternation etched across his hardened features. Carnegie was poring over aerial photographs, taken by a drone he no longer possessed, when Josh entered without knocking. Carnegie flipped through a few more photographs before looking up. He knew why his top dog was paying him an uninvited visit, and wasn’t in the mood to explain himself.
“You killed the fucking pilot?” Talley started.
Carnegie waved a hand dismissively. “Accident, a fucking accident for which I am not sorry. All I asked was for him to fly that bucket of bolts into the house, and he couldn’t do it.”
Josh studied Carnegie suspiciously for a moment. “Troops ain’t all that cool with it.” He added, trying to help Carnegie understand the gravity of his act.
Carnegie set the photographs on his desktop and stood. “I need you to go and shut that bitch up. Make sure she understands the importance of keeping her mouth shut.”
Josh knew the drone pilot had been augmented by an inexperienced female assistant, whom Carnegie was referring to. He was also aware the woman was probably talking to anyone who would listen about the crazed actions of their murderous commander.
Earlier in the day, Carnegie had stood over the drone pilot and ordered the man to fly the aircraft into a house he hoped his adversary John Buckley would be inside. The drone was well past several of its safety and maintenance inspections and was experiencing several system failures as the pilot struggled to adhere to his commander’s order. In the end the drone fell short of the target house, crashing and burning in a field. In a fit of rage, Carnegie had plucked the pilot from his seat and thrown him into a corner, where the man fell awkwardly, breaking his neck.
Josh was silent for a moment before speaking. “I’ll talk to her, but we gotta be careful here, Colonel.”
Carnegie’s lips curled slightly, reminiscent of a snarling jackal. “You take care of her, and don’t lecture me on the finer points of leadership.”
Carnegie’s tone told Josh two things: it was time to go, and not to question the old man on this particular matter. For a split second, Josh was jealous of John and the SEALs who’d escaped and were doing their own thing, together, as teammates. Josh missed the brotherhood his former unit marinated its operators in. Being around all the soldiers here at the Stockton base was beginning to depress Josh. The lack of professionalism, along with the outright absence of anything even closely resembling the mettle Josh was made of, caused him a mélange of sadness and anger. This unhealthy combination manifested itself into depression, which would eventually metastasize into violence.
With a quick shake of his head, Josh pushed the thoughts back and retreated from Carnegie’s office to seek out the female soldier and stop her from spreading any further information about the incident involving the drone pilot. He breezed through the corridor leading from the offices of Colonel Carnegie to the inside of the hangar. The offices were built inside the hangar and had been stuffed in a far corner. They’d likely been used by the air command at the time the base was still functioning normally.
Outside the hangar, Josh strode toward the barracks, hoping to find the woman alone. Josh made his way through the barracks, but didn’t see the woman. At the back door, he stopped and asked two young soldiers where he could find one Sonya Ramirez.
“She’s out on post 2 echo,” one of the soldiers offered, tossing a thumb in the direction of the post located to the east.
Josh didn’t acknowledge the man as he turned and set out on foot for the post not more than five hundred yards from the hangar. During the day, all the posts except the front gate were manned by a single soldier. At night, Carnegie ordered two soldiers to each post; he didn’t want the base being overrun while some twenty-year-old wannabe soldier slept soundly in their sandbagged post.
As Josh approached post 2 echo, Sonya turned and saw Josh closing on her. He could see in her face she was scared the second she recognized who was paying her an unscheduled visit. Josh gave her a toothless flat smile that told her clearly he hadn’t stopped by to chop it up; he was here on business.
Sonya attempted to head off being overpowered by this man’s presence by addressing him first. “Hey, Master Sergeant Talley, what’s up?” she greeted him, wishing her voice had come across stronger.
“I don’t know, Ramirez, you tell me,” Josh countered, his smile flattening further as if somehow it had received a stroke from an invisible iron.
Sonya feigned ignorance, shrugging her slender shoulders. “You’re obviously out here for something.”
Josh stopped outside post 2 echo, resting the palms of his hands on the tops of the sandbags. The post was built using plywood and two-by-four studs. The exterior of the post was surrounded by stacked sandbags. The top of the sandbags ended at about the four-foot mark, giving the soldier standing guard plenty of cover should they come under fire.
“I’ll put it to you straight, Ramirez. Keep running your mouth about what happened or what you think happened over at the drone hut, and I’ll cut your fucking throat. We are all adjusting to this new normal, so you get a pass for gossiping—this time,” Josh reprimanded, his voice dripping with menace.
Sonya looked stunned as her lips parted slightly. Now that she was hearing Josh’s words, Sonya realized she hadn’t considered this could even be one of Carnegie’s reactions, and this upset her the most. She’d seen the man murder the drone pilot and then walk out, leaving her to deal with the dead man. Her life being in danger should have been a foregone conclusion, but the denial gene could be strong when a person lacked the means to defend themselves against an impending evil.
Josh smiled now, showing his straight white teeth as if sincerely trying to add levity to Sonya’s situation; it did nothing. It was as if a great white shark were smiling at her before feasting on her flesh. Josh lifted his hands from the sandbags and held out his right hand as if to shake on their one-sided deal.
Sonya hesitated, eyes locked on the rough hand hanging in the air, beckoning her to it much like the fruit had probably beckoned Eve back in the Garden of Eden. Sonya steeled herself, grabbed Josh’s hand, and shook it. There, she’d done it, and now she would keep her mouth shut until she could figure out what in the hell she was going to do. Right now was not the time to sort it all out, with things happening far too quickly for her brain to process with any level of effectiveness.
Just as Sonya was about to release her grip, Josh yanked her forward with such force, she felt like she’d leave her feet. In a flash, Josh had a knife pressed to her throat with enough pressure she could feel the sting as the blade began to make its way through the micro layers of her flesh.
Josh drew close to Sonya’s face, his breath a surprising miasma of coffee and halitosis. “I’m not fucking around with you here, missy. Shut your fucking mouth, and if you do open it for some reason, it’d better be to explain to people that you shit-talked the colonel and that you made an emotional mistake in judging his actions. I don’t care how you do it, but you’d better make things good around this Goddamn base. You fucked ’em up; now you’re gonna fix ’em.”
When Josh pulled the knife from Sonya’s throat, a small rivulet of blood trickled down her neck, running into her uniform. Her chest heaved, but she held her tongue. It was apparent this
As Josh backed away, he pointed at Sonya, a wide grin on his face. “You’re a fucking wildcat.” Josh laughed out loud, dropping his hand. “We really should get together sometime.”
Sonya didn’t react in any fashion, the whole affair being too surreal for her to not only comprehend, but know how to respond. As Josh turned and strode confidently away from post 2 echo, Sonya felt a shiver wiggle its way through her body. She suddenly felt very dirty and wished she could soak in a steaming hot bath for an hour to wash away everything that had just happened. Her lips quivered, and she thought she might cry, but fought hard to stop her rising emotions on the off chance that son of a bitch Talley returned.
The next few months were ones of intense work for the base personnel. Carnegie constantly sent out scavenging parties, directing them south on Highway 5, where the colonel knew a fairly large distribution center sat near Patterson, California. The missions hadn’t garnered much in the way of food, but had hit pay dirt when it came to useless electronic gear. The upside was the CVS distribution center had added to the base’s stores in the way of hygiene products for both men and women, along with first aid and other daily essentials.
Initially, the soldiers ran afoul of a group of locals who’d taken up residency in the distribution center, but this was easily overcome through superior firepower, after which the soldiers took what they wanted. Carnegie’s soldiers also raided the nearby defense depot San Joaquin Sharpe. This raid netted a treasure trove of food stored at the depot by the FEMA people. The soldiers also brought back additional weapons they relieved from the depot’s armory along with what Carnegie viewed as a disappointing amount of ammunition.
Before Josh initiated a boot camp of any sort, he ran a one-week selection process. The future would be one dominated by the warrior class, which he and Carnegie made clear to everyone on the base. The warrior class did not automatically include all the personnel wearing uniforms, and Carnegie made a point of making everyone abundantly clear on this point. There were a surprisingly higher number of survivors in the lands that surrounded the Stockton base, and Carnegie used this to his advantage.
Josh oversaw the operation to contact and recruit survivors into their ranks. He found many of them more suited for soldiering than many of the men and women already wearing the uniform. The area was home to mostly farmers, who were by nature serious, tough, hard-working people. Josh’s sales pitch was short and struck a chord everyone toiling in a field would want to hear. Join us, and you can lay down your shovel, carry a rifle, and oversee those growing the crops—no more backbreaking days in the fields.
Those farms still able to grow produce were struggling mightily with the lack of mechanized equipment formerly used to prepare the soil. Water was the next monumental hurdle they struggled to surmount. Farms not near a natural, year-round water source were simply unable to continue. The few survivors in the area seemed to have come together, reduced the sizes of their crops, and began working together in order to grow food.
Josh targeted younger military-aged males for the most part, enjoying better than expected success in his recruitment endeavors. He was careful to leave enough men and women behind so that the small farms didn’t fail. Carnegie’s instructions had been to leave the farms functioning and make no enemies while recruiting. Once the base had strengthened its ranks, Carnegie could go out and commence ruling the region in the manner he saw fit.
Josh’s first batch of recruits were mostly Mexican and other South Americans with a smattering of white males who either were sons of the farmers or just found themselves in the Central Valley when everything came crumbling down. Josh watched the group closely through the weeklong selection process and saw the white males assumed they would be placed in leadership roles based on a prior social stratification.
This ill-conceived notion of social class based solely on a past and very dead life didn’t last long after Josh started their training. He broke the men down, first stripping them of anything from their previous lives, clothes, hair, jewelry, everything; it was how soldiers were made. If a man wore his hair long, you cut it off, if a man liked to talk, there was no talking and so on and so forth. It was much like restoring an old car or truck, you removed layer after layer until all that was left was the rawness of originality. Only then could Josh begin building the warriors he and Carnegie so badly needed.
At the end of the first training cycle, Josh had thirty trained and loyal men ready to do Carnegie’s bidding. The loyalty was born of respect for Josh, and he knew their loyalties lay to him more than Carnegie. After watching Josh perform in physical combat with every single man in the training program and win almost effortlessly, the recruits began to look at Josh through different lenses.
When the recruits went to the range and watched Josh run through complicated firing drills with five times the speed and accuracy as the best of the recruits, they nearly worshipped him.
Josh had started with forty-three men during the selection course and shitcanned thirteen. During selection, everyone was treated like dogs. Josh physically abused the men, starved them, and deprived them of sorely needed sleep. Once he had his thirty men, this changed, and the recruits who made it were treated with more respect, fed better, and usually got enough sleep although that was hit and miss based on the training schedule.
Carnegie hadn’t for one second forgot about John Buckley, the Navy SEALs, and what they’d done to his ability to control the region. He currently had zero air assets and only one Humvee. Before he’d clashed with the SEALs, the colonel had operated two Black Hawks and several Humvees. The men who worked as Carnegie’s mechanics were tirelessly working on old vehicles and had amassed several Weed eaters, a motorcycle, and two older Ford pickup trucks they were able to coax back to life.
Slowly, Carnegie was forming an army large enough with the mobile capabilities to begin his grab of power in the region. Controlling the food would come first. After he controlled the food sources, he would have a death grip on the entire population. Anyone who opposed him would be starved out. Carnegie planned by year’s end to have the numbers to control movement within a fifty-mile radius of the base. Once this control was established, he would continue to grow the number of soldiers in his ranks, and with that growth would come the expansion of his empire.
When Josh finished training the men, Carnegie immediately had him select the ten best burgeoning soldiers for operations against Carnegie’s old adversary, one John Buckley. Within a week, Josh was running two- and four-man scouting operations into the area of the Thacker ranch. He led the first several, but the workload was too much for a single man, and he was forced to relent, trusting the men he’d trained to conduct the operations on their own.
It took Josh’s teams nearly six weeks to put together a detailed intelligence report on the Thackers’ ranch, complete with photographs, sketches of the property’s layout, and a head count that did not include the SEALs. The report also included the fact that the ranch supported a sizable herd of cattle, which meant meat, milk, butter and other food items the base was currently going without.
Finally, after several long months, Carnegie’s prescient vision of what needed to be developed, created, and hammered into submission would enable him to rain violence on his enemies. It was nearly time to bring this rabid dog to heel, along with the rest of those John Buckley consorted with.
