The Court Martial Read online

  Final Dawn

  Book 16:

  The Court Martial

  By Darrell Maloney

  This is a work of fiction. All persons depicted in this book are fictional characters. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright 2019 by Darrell Maloney

  This book is dedicated to:

  Wendy Shoffner

  Rhvonda Lee Launsby

  Sharon Roop

  Brynda Willis Porter

  Mary Hornsby

  Janie Ramos Salazar

  Cathy Missinne

  Janet Gateley

  Donna McDonald Finley-Friedrich

  Without loyal readers an author is merely a guy with a lot of stories rolling around in his head and no one to tell them to. Thank you all…

  Previously…

  On the face of it, it was incredible news.

  At least for those who were aware of it.

  Most people weren’t.

  Oh, it wasn’t their fault; no one is ignorant on purpose.

  Perhaps “ignorant” is too strong a word.

  Newer generations consider the term a slam; they believe that to call someone “ignorant” is the same as calling them dumb or stupid.

  Somehow the term has been bastardized to mean something harsh and insulting. The dictionary says ignorance is nothing more than a lack of knowledge. A young child unable to count or write might be ignorant not because he is dumb or stupid, but rather simply because he has yet to be exposed to his numbers or the alphabet.

  In the same manner, someone who wasn’t aware the snow pack was receding, because he wasn’t aware that temperatures had crept above the freezing point, was neither dumb nor stupid.

  He was merely ignorant.

  And that, in today’s society, does indeed sound too harsh a term.

  Let’s use a different word, then.

  Let’s use “unaware.”

  The people in the mine in Junction, Texas were aware the thaw had started. They’d been witness to it, having seen the evidence first hand on one of their surveillance monitors.

  That particular monitor was assigned to the camera aimed directly at the thermometer mounted on a pole outside the mine’s main entrance.

  They’d watched as the thermometer peaked out at thirty four degrees. They’d seen water drip from the cliff face.

  The temperature dropped not long after that as nightfall came, and the water refroze.

  But it was a start, and everyone in the mine was in a joyous mood.

  Those few drops of water signified the light at the end of the tunnel, and affirmation the world had turned a corner. Things would be normal again.

  In Plainview only Frank and Josie knew, and they weren’t sharing the information with anyone.

  They were the only ones who ever took a look outside the sprawling building once owned by the Food World Corporation before it went out of business.

  Now it was under the control of Josie’s family, the Dykes clan, and they were fat, dumb and happy in the building’s interior. They had all the food, water and supplies they needed to ride out the freeze, whether it lasted one more year or twenty.

  They had, therefore, no real need to look outside.

  In that regard, the Dykes family as a whole was still ignorant to that fact; only Josie and Frank had been enlightened. And Josie and Frank intended to keep it that way as long as possible.

  It would make their escape plans much easier.

  In the tiny town of Eden, Texas, the entire base populace huddled together in an abandoned state prison.

  They were safe.

  At least in relation to most other survivors, who were left in the cold and struggling to find the food and water they needed to survive day to day.

  Yet they were afraid, for their sanctuary had been violated once by very bad men. They’d repelled the invaders and killed them all, but some of their own met the same fate.

  Now they were struggling to improve their security processes in an effort to prevent another attack.

  Marty Haskins was a truck driver by trade.

  He didn’t know beans about security.

  But he was also the closest thing Eden South had to a natural leader, and the others were counting on him to make them feel safe again.

  The one thing Marty had to help him through was a wide circle of friends.

  The people in the mine had gotten quite good at developing passwords, duress codes, sentry procedures, faux entrances and booby traps.

  They’d been under attack on no less than three occasions themselves, and had learned through trial and error what worked and what didn’t.

  Although Frank, a law enforcement veteran and security specialist, had gone missing, they still had the notes he left behind.

  A “security Bible,” if you will.

  They were willing to share everything they knew about security with their friends at Eden South.

  Together, they’d survive until breakout, the day when they could finally venture out into the world again and start the difficult process of getting back to normal.

  At Joint Base Lackland in south San Antonio, two colonels sat in the brig awaiting their fate.

  They were victims of circumstance, strongly believing they’d been righting a wrong.

  They’d gotten wind a secret bunker was being built on the far reaches of the sprawling base. They hadn’t been privy to the knowledge the top-secret bunker was intended to house a cadre of military experts who would reconstitute the Department of Defense when the thaw came.

  Instead they were told it was occupied by mutinous men; rogue officers who were stealing food and water from the citizens of San Antonio, and socking it away for their own use.

  The colonels were doctors by trade, not well versed in the intricacies of running a military, nor of its requirements for continuity and reconstitution after a natural disaster as large as the one they were facing.

  They took the information they were provided and acted on it.

  They breached the bunker and forced its occupants out, thereby enraging a four-star general hunkered inside.

  General Lester Mannix was the Air Force Chief of Staff.

  Their boss, and the highest ranking man in the Air Force.

  He listened to their explanation and discounted it out of hand.

  And he’d settle for nothing less than trying the colonels for treason.

  And seeing them put to death.

  Colonel Tim Wilcox and Colonel Morris Medley had ties to the people hidden in the mine beneath Salt Mountain.

  They were both surgeons who treated Hannah Snyder after her helicopter crash.

  It was the same crash which killed Colonel Travis Montgomery.

  Colonel Montgomery was a rather odd man. He was a man of many faces. On the one hand he was a devoted Army officer; one who was fiercely loyal to his country.

  The Salt Mountain group first saw him as a heartless aggressor when he swooped in with a detachment of soldiers bent on seizing their land and livestock.

  It was for the good of the survivors in San Antonio, the colonel told them. They were starving and in desperate need.

  Mark and Hannah agreed to help the people of the Alamo City but didn’t trust the colonel completely. They surrendered half of everything, but not all.

  Later, they discovered their reservations were justified. The people of San Antonio, they learned, were receiving no aid from the United States Army.

  They also learned that Colonel Montgomery was running a massive top-secret growing operation on a restricted part of the huge base, and was able to keep it a secret because airspace was now restricted to all aircraft except those under his direct control.

  It was Hannah who jumped to
conclusions and cast a disparaging light on Colonel Montgomery. It was Hannah who reported his activities to colonels Wilcox and Medley.

  Now it was Hannah who could save them.

  But she was a hundred miles away and couldn’t get to them.

  And General Mannix was in no mood to wait until the thaw would melt the icy roads and allow her to make the trip.

  And now the story continues

  with Final Dawn, Book 16:

  The Court Martial

  -1-

  John Dykes leaned against a pallet rack on the east side of the warehouse. He was watching Frank Woodard using an old fashioned hand saw to cut a piece of plywood.

  Surrounding both of them on the warehouse floor was an assortment of pieces of wood, metal brackets, boxes of nails and woodcutting and shaping tools.

  John was half amused, half puzzled.

  “Well,” he said to Frank. “I suppose I should be impressed by something you’re working so hard on. But it’s hard to be impressed if I can’t figure out what it is.”

  He had a point.

  All he had to go on, after all, was a pile of pieces of…something… sprawled across the floor in front of him.

  It was a lot like seeing a pile of jigsaw puzzle pieces and not having a photo of the completed puzzle to provide a hint of what the puzzle was supposed to look like.

  Or trying to assemble a complicated piece of equipment without a guide.

  Frank just smiled but didn’t answer.

  Josie, sitting on a box not far away, jumped in to help.

  “For God’s sake, John. It’s as obvious as the nose upon your face.”

  “Maybe to you, but you already know what it is.”

  “Here, big brother. Let me give you a clue.”

  She hopped down to the floor and grabbed the skateboard she’d been sitting next to.

  She dropped it on the floor, placed her left foot upon the board and got it rolling, passing her brother at a moderate speed and brushing him back in the same manner a big league pitcher backs up a batter.

  Once past him she performed a perfect tre flip, then came back at him.

  He flinched and started to dive out of the way, but it wasn’t necessary.

  She brought the board to a hard stop mere inches away from him, kicked the board into the air, deftly caught it and tucked it under her arm.

  Frank chuckled.

  John was impressed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, little sis. How did you learn to do that? And where in the world did you get that skateboard?”

  Josie smiled.

  “I’m pretty rusty. I haven’t even been on a board in a long time. I was surprised to find how easy it came back. It’s a lot like riding a bicycle.”

  “But when did you learn to ride that thing?”

  “When I left Plainview to go to Dallas I was exposed to all kinds of new things. A nightlife. Big city traffic. Professional sports.

  “Some things I liked about the big city, and some I hated.

  “When I took the job as a paramedic I had to live at the fire station with four other medics and seven firemen. They were all great people and I loved it. I mean, what young woman wouldn’t like hanging out with a bunch of handsome firemen?”

  This time it was John’s turn to chuckle. He looked at Frank from the corner of his eye.

  Frank raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Josie went on.

  “Anyway, at a fire station there’s a lot of down time waiting for something to happen. I worked seventy two straight hours, then took forty eight off.

  “Those seventy two hours seemed like forever if you didn’t have something to do to occupy your time.

  “So we tended to share each other’s hobbies. I was into yoga at the time, and some of the others asked me to teach it to them.

  “A couple of the guys were skaters, so one day I asked one to hand me his board and I tried it.”

  “How do you just pick up a skateboard and start skating?”

  “Pretty much like everything else you take up, John. You weren’t very good the first time you rode a bicycle. You fell off several times and skinned your knees and hands a few times, but the more you did it the better you got.

  “After awhile you stopped falling off and were able to ride long distances without losing your balance.

  “Well, skateboarding is like that. The more you do it, the better you get.

  “If you want I can teach you.”

  John shook his head and said, “No thanks. I’m way too old to learn new tricks. I’ve managed to go for thirty four years without getting on a damn skateboard. I’m pretty sure I can go the next thirty four without getting on one too.

  “And that don’t answer my question. What, exactly, is Frank building?”

  “You can’t figure that out, even with my hint?”

  “Don’t make fun of me, little girly. Just answer my damn question, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. Man, you’re the grouchiest big brother ever, in the history of big brothers. You should ride my board for a bit. It’ll relax you and take away some of your stress so you won’t be so damn grouchy, Mister Bossy Pants.”

  John was getting nowhere with Josie and remembered why he’d always considered her a bratty sister.

  Perhaps he’d have better luck with Frank.

  “Frank, what exactly are you building?”

  Frank, without a bit of hesitation, answered, “A skateboard ramp.”

  John suddenly felt sheepish.

  And perhaps a little bit stupid.

  Of course. What else could it be?

  And how could he not figure it out when Josie produced a skateboard as a “hint?”

  He was sufficiently embarrassed to just shake his head and walk away.

  Josie looked at Frank and smiled, then walked over and kissed him.

  She watched her brother disappear around a corner and said softly, “What a sucker.”

  “Has he always been so gullible?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Even when we were kids and he was my protector from bullies I sometimes had him beat up innocent boys just because I didn’t like them.”

  Frank was a bit intrigued and stopped sawing long enough to ask her, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if a boy was bothering one of my friends, or did something in class to piss me off, I used to tell John he made a pass at me or tried to kiss me or put his hand on my leg or something.

  “He’d wait for them after school and beat the tar out of them.

  “They’d ask what the beating was all about or what they were supposed to have done and he’d tell them to shut up or he’d beat them even more.

  “They usually crawled home, bloody and bruised, not even knowing what they were beaten for.”

  “Wow, that was pretty mean of you.”

  “Oh, it only happened a few times. I quit doing it because all the boys I liked wouldn’t even talk to me. Word got around the school that if anybody talked or even looked at Josie Dykes her brother would beat them senseless.

  “So I stopped so the boys would talk to me again.”

  “Remind me never to piss you off, okay?”

  “Oh, hush, baby cakes. You were a Marine. You’re the only one within fifty miles John can’t beat up.”

  Frank smiled.

  Like most older men married to or dating younger women he occasionally felt inadequate or threatened.

  Her words helped a lot.

  Such words made him feel virile and needed.

  If she’d left it at that his feelings of inadequacy would have faded away.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  “You know, honey, the only thing sexier than an old Marine is an old Marine who knows how to ride a skateboard.”

  He laughed out loud.

  “That, my dear, will never happen. Not in this lifetime or the next will you see me get on that thing and break my fool neck. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  -2-

  The tr
uth was they had, as Josie so eloquently put it, “suckered” her brother.

  John had fallen for Josie’s cover story hook, line and sinker. For the project Frank was working on was not a skateboard ramp.

  It wouldn’t even resemble one, not really.

  Maybe to someone like John who hadn’t a clue what a real skateboard ramp looked like.

  A skateboard ramp, even a poorly designed one, has no sharp angles or edges, for such things can be very dangerous. It has curves and slopes and soft angles. It’s not designed to harm skaters, but rather to allow them to ply their trade in relative safety.

  Skateboarding is dangerous enough as it is without using ramps with sharp angles.

  No, what Frank was building was something to attach to the front of their Hummer when they finally decided to break out of the massive storage facility and to get away from Josie’s family.

  A week before Josie woke up in the middle of the night and caught Frank staring at the ceiling.

  That was unusual for him. He was normally an all-night sleeper.

  She’d whispered to him, “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  He’d placed his mouth very close to her ear and said, “I have a great idea. But I can’t tell you here. Too many little ears nearby. Remind me tomorrow.”

  To be sure, it was hard to keep any secrets in the tents at night.

  When Frank arrived a few months before the Dykes clan slept in tents scattered haphazardly around the common area of the warehouse.

  All were within a few yards of a burn barrel, but none were close enough to get any direct benefit from it.

  That being the case, the fire burning within the barrel was allowed to burn itself out each night.

  Simply put, the Dykes clan wasn’t very smart.

  When Frank arrived the brothers were quite hostile toward him. They took it for granted he would try to escape if given half a chance.

  And he would have.

  They were also afraid of him and what he might be capable of.

  It was easy to see that Frank carried himself in the manner of a former United States Marine.