“I’m a pilot,” Marix said with a belittling tone. “We need to return to the base.”
The reception he got from the cold blue stare quieted even Marix as Beau spoke between clenched teeth. His muscles quivered on the sides of his face. “Fine, then come with me and I’ll drop ya off at the nearest airport. If ya don’t like that, find one yourself. You won’t last an hour once you’re gone.” With a bit of disgust he stared at Marix’s uniform. “I also suggest you discard your uniform as soon as possible.”
“I’m a soldier and I will not bring shame on my uniform.”
“Shame has nothing to do with comfort — and common sense, which you seem to be sadly lacking. When ya get in the foothills and those dress shoes rub blisters on your feet, and ya can’t walk around or bend over in that uniform, just remember I warned you,” Beau said sarcastically.
For once the normally boisterous Mike Marix had no answer. He was so taken back at the bluntness of the attack on him he simply didn’t know what to say.
With the buggies readied, Garrett led the rest of the group to the vans to organize their plans and make preparations.
Krysti walked to the dune buggy and stood beside Beau as he dressed for the trip. She watched in awe as he stripped to his shorts in the chilled winter air and replaced his uniform with loose fitting fatigues. Then he buckled a series of thin belts over his shoulders, and in a sheath behind his neck inserted a long, slim, and wicked looking knife. Over this, he slipped a heavy shirt lined with pockets. The knife disappeared from sight. Another knife, like the one under his shirt, was inserted in his left boot. Next, he unrolled a belt, revealing a deadly revolver: a 357 magnum with an extended barrel locked in a holster. Hastily he wrapped it about his waist, slipping the gun into the holster. The flap was snapped securely, locking the gun within. He threw his hat to the side, revealing thick blond locks. After tying the heavy boots, he took the crossbow and the quiver filled with deadly steel shafts and placed them in the dune buggy. He stuffed the pockets of his jacket with ammo, and then grabbed his rifle.
The change was swift and complete. In mere seconds, his appearance transformed from an everyday person to that of a war-hardened fighter.
Krysti watched in astonishment and horror at the truth of the situation as the transition took place before her eyes. “I’m afraid,” she said to the man standing before her. She no longer recognized him.
He turned toward her with a smile, and the soft blue eyes let her know the gentle man she knew still lay beneath this new, deadly facade.
“You’ll be fine.” Then he took her face gently in his powerful hands and kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ll be back.”
Justin, who had remained quiet, ran swiftly to the side of the buggy. “I wanna go.”
Beau turned to Justin and smiled.
“Not this time,” he said. Then, like it depended on Justin, he added, “I need you to help Ruben and take care of your mother for me till I get back. Promise?”
“Yes sir,” said Justin, snapping to attention and giving a mock salute.
Beau returned the salute then jumped in the dune buggy and buckled in. With his left hand he grabbed the overhead bar to the buggy’s pipe frame and with his right hand held the side rail. The two dune buggies roared off on their mission: destination Corpus Christi.
Krysti watched in silence.
Larry James moved in to take advantage of the situation. He walked behind her and acted almost apologetic. “You’ll be better off now. We won’t be seeing him again. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe Beau is the renegade he is, having killed all those children.”
Krysti spun at the horror the words generated. Defensively she said, “You’re a liar!”
“Don’t you know who he is? Haven’t you heard about the mercenary for Israel? Beau Gex is that man. Hell, he’s probably gone so he could save his own skin.”
“You’re wrong!” she yelled at James’s revelation. Her thoughts returned to Beau. How could he be the same man? Yet the pieces were beginning to fall together. In the newspaper and on CNN she had read and heard about the Israeli mercenary that had been described as a murderer and killer of children. After his transformation before her only moments before and now with the doubts James had created, she wondered how Beau could just leave them alone as he did. “It doesn’t matter!” she snapped in a controlled voice.
“I really am sorry; I thought you knew,” said Larry his voice sounding sincere.
“Go away!” she demanded. “Leave me alone.”
As he walked away, she failed to see the sadistic grin of success on his face. He accomplished what Marix had requested with no great effort on his part. He had succeeded regardless of what she said, and he knew it.
The words staggered Krysti. Although she showed no outward signs, the pain of James’s admission tormented her in both mind and body. She leaned against a large rock, locked in her own reflections of the current events, as a tear rolled down her cheek. But she refused to cry.
Justin came to her side and put his arm around her. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “Everything will be all right when Beau gets back.”
The F-14 landed unhindered at the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. Everything seemed as it was, only the military base was no longer under control of American troops. Invaders had total and complete control of the base. Their new leader, Rasht Sharafan, landed uncontested at his new conquest.
Zahir and Ortega met him. Both men briefed Sharafan on the situation. Ortega told him how he was making offers of power and security in exchange for help. The most enticing offer was for life. When Ortega finished, he departed to continue his work.
“Do you think Ortega will succeed?” Zahir asked.
“The Americans prey on each other like a terminal cancer on its host. As the Americans say, ‘a house united, we stand, a house divided, we fall.’ Within their houses are black, white, and brown: all divided, each fighting the others just as fiercely within as without. Even now they fight with themselves while we continue to move and conquer uncontested. Their house is divided. Yes, they will fall,” said Sharafan reassuringly.
“Can we count on the Americans for help?”
“Yes. The common workers will turn to our side. After all, where else will they go? What will they do? Do not detain those who leave. They will return. We can give the working American more than his own country leaves him. The rich, the executives, and the leaders will be removed. They are non-producers and can either work or be killed. For the men who will dedicate themselves to our cause, give them a taste of the better things life can offer. Let them live in the finest places.” Sharafan smirked. “After you have picked the finest for yourself and your officers.”
Sharafan continued. “Now brief me on how our attacks have gone.”
They entered one of the finer offices. It belonged to Admiral Garrett. They poured a drink, and Zahir detailed the progress of the attack. Sharafan settled into Garrett’s old and comfortable leather chair.
“We lost more than we expected. The Americans retaliated faster than we had anticipated. But we captured more aircraft than we first estimated. Our advance has stalled, but we control a line from Los Angeles through southern Oklahoma to South Carolina. We control the southern part of the United States.
“The American president is dead,” Zahir laughed. “Killed while watching football.”
The information about the president only confirmed what Sharafan had heard. The American president was attending the Orange Bowl when a commercial airliner made a suicide dive and crashed into the stadium during the game. The same thing happened in the Sugar Bowl. Their intention was to make an impression on the Americans. The football games and military bases were hit simultaneously. National coverage of the invasion only aided their cause and showed the feeble efforts of the Americans to defend their own country. Sharafan snickered. “America is as defenseless as the Pentagon was in 2001.”