Liberty Brigade by Evan Graver

Author:Evan Graver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Third Reef Publishing, LLC

Moran was standing in the barn as Steve Jackson pulled his Chevrolet Tahoe to a stop, raising stone dust that drifted in the stillness of the late afternoon. The two men walked down the stairs to the bunker where Dragomirov remained hunched over the computer, streams of code passing across the screen. Music from the Russian rock band Night Snipers blasted from his earphones, loud enough for Moran and Jackson to listen along with ease.

“He’s probably deaf if he has to listen to it that loud,” Jackson shouted.

“What?” Moran replied.

“I said, he’s probably … Oh, never mind.” Jackson waved off his friend when he saw Moran’s mischievous grin.

Moran tapped the Russian engineer on the shoulder, startling Dragomirov enough to cause him to spin around in the chair and shout in incoherent Russian. The cord attaching his earphones to the computer snapped taut, and the earphones flew off his head.

Both Jackson and Moran laughed at Dragomirov’s reaction.

“Not funny!” the Russian said, turning down the music.

“Are you ready for the password?” Moran asked.

“Ten more minutes,” the engineer replied.

The two militia leaders waited impatiently, staring over Dragomirov’s shoulder.

Finally, Dragomirov completed his task and stood from the desk. “It is all yours, my supreme leader.”

Moran smiled. It was better than being called comrade.

He motioned for Jackson to take Dragomirov’s place at the computer console and the man sat in the chair and spread his fingers across the keyboard. Moran laid a sheet of paper on the desk and, slowly, the mega-farmer input the GPS coordinates for their intended targets with Moran looking over his shoulder and double-checking his work.

Missile One was targeted at the NSA Data Center in Saratoga Springs, Utah; missile Two, the U.S. Capitol Building; missile Three, the United Nations complex in New York City; and missile Four took aim at FEMA’s Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center in Bluemont, Virginia.

The two men had discussed these targets at length. One of the first suggestions had been to target the White House, but neither man wanted to destroy such a symbol of American pride and heritage. The only other time the White House had been set ablaze was by the British in 1814, during their twenty-six-hour siege of the city.

The day after they set it on fire, a hurricane stormed ashore, bringing heavy rains and driving winds that had lifted houses and swirled cannons around in the air. The spooked British soldiers had rapidly abandoned their occupation of the capital amid the chaos.

Moran didn’t know whether it had been a coincidence or the hand of God protecting a young nation, but neither he nor Jackson had any desire to repeat the disastrous steps of the British, and so they’d decided one missile should target the U.S. Capitol Building instead, hopefully while it was in full session.

Once Jackson had entered the coordinates into the computer and it was password-protected by a code that only Moran and Jackson knew, Jackson stood and tucked the paper marked with the coordinates into his pocket. “Where’s our mad Russian?”

“Probably

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