Mac and I

 One of the things the Army Command and Staff College taught me about being a shoeclerk (a USAF nickname for a Fighter Pilot stuck in a desk job) was to have the "Bottom Line Up Front" (AKA BLUF) on any staff paperwork.  That would allow the decision maker to know what the issue was and what the recommended action to take was, without having to spend a lot of time reading through reams of paper to find those issues.

So, here's the BLUF for this post.  Mrs J's PET Scan came back clean.  No residual cancer seen.  She'll have to repeat the scan a couple of times a year for the near term future, but... Good News!  Thank You, Lord!

Thank All Y'all for the prayers for her also,  VERY much appreciated.

This past couple of weeks, I got a chance to get familiar with the MOHS procedure for dealing with skin cancer.  Dr Mohs was a German physician in the 1930's who developed this procedure.  It involves scraping skin off the site, looking at it to see if it contained cancer cells.  If so, scrape off more. Repeat until the bastiges are all gone.  Worst part about it is the numbing shots.  And the stares in the supermarket.  I just mumble something about my wife and her steak knife. They tend to leave me alone at that point. Other than that, I'm past round three. While you're reading this, I'm seeing him for round 4 which I hope begins with "We don't see no stinking cancer, juvat, you're free to go!"  

Hey! A man can dream, can't he?

Now, on with the show!  I think I mentioned a while ago that I was unhappy with Microsoft's decision to make Windows 11 store all data in the cloud, and that I was changing platforms.  Well, I said it, I meant it.  My MacBook Pro arrived and is pretty much all set up with the usual suspect programs, albeit Apple's version thereof.  This posting is my first attempt at actually using the new computer.  We'll see if I make it through.  

So far, so good though.  

 First Attempt at embedding a video on a Mac.  That would be Leon' and MG playing hide and go seek in the kitchen.  If that doesn't get you chuckling, well....

In an attempt to keep myself busy, I've been working on a relatively easy project for Miss B, Little J and LJW's daughter, also one of my GrandDaughters.  Seems when a child is born in Texas, a certificate certifying that the Child is a "Native Texan" is produced.  It's kinda cool, so I thought I'd build a frame for it to be hung on her wall in Jolly Old England.  Just in case the Brit's get uppity about who's who  and what's what.

 

Bit of Walnut, some very careful angle cutting to make the corners come together, a bit of sanding and staining and Voila'.

Hey, it keeps me off the streets at night.

And...finally, as I was out in the workshop this morning (Sunday), working on her project, I heard a large metallic screeching sound.  Opened up the door to the shop (yes, it's still summer, the door was closed and the AC was running) and saw this.

 

Awww, nuts!  The gate was laying on the ground, the top hinge was broken off, the arm on the gate opener was broken off also and the gate itself was bent on the hinge side.  Guess I'll be discussing things with my "Gate Guy" today.  It's always somethin' ain't it?

So, lot's of things going on round here, but it helps keep me off the streets at night, so can't be all bad.

And, as promised the after action report on the new computer...Using the MacBook wasn't too bad, but getting photos inserted may take a little bit of figuring out.  (I did that from the PC.  Blogger doesn't seem to like HEIC formatted pictures which is the format that comes out of my iPhone when I hook it up to the Mac.and I haven't figured out how to import them to Blogger in HEIC format or transform them to JPG on the Mac.  Any hints from readers out there would be very appreciated.)

Other than that....

Peace Out, Y'all!

 

 

The Morning After

Source

The President's security team was on edge, they'd tried to convince him that walking around the Mall wasn't a great idea. There were still people who didn't like the idea of him being President.

"So what do I do, Bill? Sit in the White House all day, hide out at Camp David? I'm tired of this routine. Besides which, it's so cold today that I doubt there will be many people out there."

Bill Aspinall was walking with the President, he'd been right about one thing, the Mall was practically deserted. It also had to be close to ten degrees below zero as well. At least the wind wasn't blowing.

The sky was clear, a washed out blue which hurt the eyes it was so bright. Aspinall stopped when the President did. John Nakagawa was standing absolutely still, staring at the Washington Monument.

"Did you know Bill, that back in 2022, I think it was, there was a guy who threw paint all over one spot on the Monument? Wrote an obscene message as well, but I don't remember what it was. Red paint I think it was."

"Isn't it always red paint, Sir? Someone making a statement about one thing or another. I recall that out at Udvar-Hazy, at Dulles, they had to put a plexiglas shield to protect the nose of the Enola Gay after someone threw paint on the aircraft."

Right after saying that, Aspinall bit his lip, he had no idea how the President felt about that moment in time. After all, John Nakagawa was of Japanese descent. He held his breath.

The President turned to look at Aspinall, "Really Bill, you're worried about offending me? I'm an American damn it. Truman did the right thing with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, do you know how many would have died had he not done that? An invasion would have cost the lives of tens of thousands of Americans, I have no doubt. It would have cost the Japanese millions of lives. There's a good chance that Japan would have been completely destroyed. Huh, my wife wouldn't be here, that's for sure."

"I wasn't thinking, boss. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, do you think I'm any different from Truman? At least he bombed an enemy combatant, I sicced the United States military on an American state. I feel like shit about that, but it had to be done. Had to. Full stop."

Aspinall held his tongue as the President sighed and turned to walk back to the car. A small crowd had gathered nearby, no more than twenty people. They had recognized the President. Before Nakagawa got in the car, he heard a shout. He turned.

"God Bless you, Mr. President! Good luck in November!"

The small group began to applaud, Nakagawa waved to them, then bowed slightly. Entering the car he turned to Aspinall and said, "See, I told you the fresh air would do me good."

Major General Cameron was sitting in an office on Mather Field reading a message which had come in not two minutes before.

He grunted and handed the paper to MSGT McKellar, "Read that, Don. Has DC lost their minds? Or are they smarter than we give them credit for?"

McKellar read the message, then set it down on the desk. "It's the smart move, Sir. The state is in chaos, the governor is dead, the lieutenant governor is nowhere to be found, and we've got the state legislature locked up awaiting trial I guess."

"But appoint me as the military governor? Place the state under martial law? Is that wise?"

"Who else, Sir? You're the man on the spot. San Francisco and L.A. are virtually under siege, the Navy is blockading the state, martial law is a fact, whether anyone declares it or not."

Cameron looked up as Benny Wilcox and Rob Kasparovich came into the office.

"I thought you two had left already?"

Wilcox spoke, "Midnight flight, General. C-17 to ...," he turned to look at Kasparovich, "Where are we going?"

Kasparovich grinned, "JBAB, Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. No doubt the boss wants us in the office first thing in the morning."

"Yes, JBAB. We just wanted to stop by and say our farewells. Good luck trying to get California back up and running." Wilcox held his hand out.

Cameron stood and shook Wilcox's hand, then Kasparovich's, "Thanks for helping out, it's not often that the government shows up and does something useful."

"Ouch." Wilcox said with a grin.

"Master Sergeant." Wilcox nodded to McKellar, who held out his hand.

"Gentlemen, you're welcome on my team any day. Thanks for the assist. Now get your asses out of the General's office, we've got work to do."

"Roger that. Good luck with this mess."

"We're going to need it, I'm sure."

Sly Whispers

Source

As McKellar left his neighborhood he noticed how quiet the streets seemed, hardly any traffic, no pedestrians, he didn't notice any police either. He supposed that with military helicopters over the city and with Navy jets shooting up Mather Field, rational people were staying at home.

General Cameron was in the back with Wilcox. Kasparovich was up front with McKellar, riding shotgun with McKellar's M4 ready to rock and roll. Cameron had been on the phone since leaving the house, from what little he overheard, the General was getting reports from around the state. It struck McKellar, perhaps only Winsome knew of the General's resignation, based on that Cameron might still be the Adjutant General.

"Heads up, Rob. Those guys up ahead, gangbangers from the looks of it.

The Humvee rolled to a stop some 75 yards from an impromptu roadblock. McKellar put his field glasses on them, yup, local hoods.

"How good a shot are you?" McKellar asked.

"Qualified marksmen in the Corps and with the Agency." Kasparovich answered.

"Sergeant McKellar, what's the problem?" General Cameron asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Gangbangers, blocking the road."

"What's your plan?"

"Have Rob drop a couple of them, send a message."

"Hold that thought." The General dialed a number on his phone.

"Whiskey Four-Two copies. Inbound in five mikes."

Chief Warrant Officer 2 Hercules Bardot grinned as he brought his AH-64 Apache around in response to the call from his ground controller.

"Heads up, Willis, we're inbound to a gangbanger roadblock on the road to Mather, El Dorado Freeway, eastbound lanes."

Staff Sergeant Willis Jefferson, sitting in the front cockpit, called back, "Gangbanger roadblock? What do they want us to do?"

"Light 'em up, discourage them from interrupting traffic."

"We're cleared weapons hot?" Jefferson tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He hated gangbangers, two of his cousins back in the old neighborhood had been killed in drive-bys.

"Roger that."

"Don, I recall you had a thumper in this vehicle back in the day." Cameron said.

"Still do, Sir, it's behind Wilcox's seat. Grenades are in that ammo can in the back."

"Grenades?" Wilcox was really wondering what he'd gotten himself in to.

"Ah, that's what I want!" the General exclaimed as he found a smoke grenade.

Cautiously he stepped out of the Humvee, he couldn't be seen from the roadblock. He loaded a yellow smoke round. "Cover me, Kasparovich."

McKellar said, "Drop that c**ksucker next to the red Ford."

Kasparovich nodded and stepped onto the pavement, staying behind the door of the Humvee until everyone was ready. He saw the guy McKellar had called out, whispered, "sucks to be you, buddy" then stepped around the door, got his sight picture and squeezed off a single round.

As the target crumpled to the street, he heard the distinctive "cough" of the M79 grenade launcher from the General's side of the vehicle. As the gangbangers milled around, still puzzled as to what had happened to their guy, Kasparovich heard Cameron's phone squawk, "I see yellow smoke."

Cameron spoke, "Copy that, yellow smoke."

"Heads down boys, Hellfire inbound."

Seconds later the roadblock disappeared in a searing flash.

The rest of the trip to Mather was uneventful. Cameron was indeed still regarded as the Adjutant General and had been in contact with the Nevada Army National Guard, it was their helicopters that were over the city. He'd also issued orders to every unit in the state to stand down and cooperate with the Federal units on alert throughout California.

After they'd passed through the gate and made contact with the on-scene commander, Cameron and McKellar changed into their "battle rattle."

"Seems you guys were prepared for anything," Wilcox noted.

McKellar had also scrounged uniforms for Kasparovich and Wilcox, they looked out of place in their suit pants and hoodies. Now they fit in better, at least the Guardsmen had stopped giving them evil looks.

"So Mac, what's the situation right now?"

Colonel Mackenzie Bain, originally from Aberdeen, Scotland, commander of the Nevada Guard units in Sacramento answered in his faint Scottish burr.

"Well, Sir, the main body of bandits was in yon hangar, rather than send my lads in on foot, I mortared the bastards. Them that came oot into the open, armed, we shot. Those who surrendered, we've got that lot over at the motor pool, the only place with an intact chain link fence, wasn't many o' them."

"What about the local tenant units?" Cameron asked.

"Och, those lads and lassies kept their heads down, smart lot that bunch."

"VA Hospital?"

"Untouched General, that's about a klick and a half from where all the action was. I sent a platoon over to secure it, my lads say the hospital is fine. One place that isn't fine though, and that's the Capitol building."

"What happened there?" Cameron asked.

"Bad things, General darling, really bad things."

Most of the conservative politicians, as few as they were, had not reported when the House and Senate had convened per Governor Winsome's orders. Most of those assembled were true fanatics, they were determined to have California go it's own way. Many felt betrayed when their Chinese "friends" had severed contact with the secessionists.

"I swear, that new bitch they've got in charge wants to turn back the clock. Damned counter-revolutionary."

The speaker had been a rather scruffy looking, overweight, representative from San Francisco. He was wearing an old beret, fatigue pants. and a filthy fatigue jacket over a stained Che Guevara t-shirt.

"Jesus Manny, we don't know the situation over there. Premier Liu hasn't consolidated her power yet. Gotta take care of the home front first, then assist the worldwide movement. You know that."

State Senator Gladys Thorpe from Compton knew her dialectic, or thought she did. She was prepared to go all the way, she envisioned California as a socialist paradise and was ready to die for that.

At least she was until an Abrams tank parked itself across 10th Street on the Capitol Mall. Someone shouted that there were more tanks following that one.

"I see at least six Bradleys out there!" a man shouted from the front of the building.

State Senator Thorpe was headed for the rear entrance when she heard someone on a loudspeaker yelling for the politicians to come out and surrender. She heard gunshots then, she ran harder. A loud explosion followed and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Cameron, McKellar, Wilcox, and Kasparovich were in a Blackhawk, about to land, when they saw a number of people stumbling out of the smoking capitol building, hands in the air, many waving a white article of clothing as a sign of surrender.

By the time they'd made their way from the Blackhawk to the front of the building, the Guardsmen had most of the state legislators kneeling on the concrete, hands zip tied behind their backs. Not a few were bloodied, either from being knocked down by an angry Guardsmen or from flying glass.

Off to one side were a number of bodies, covered in tarps and blankets. Cameron counted at least ten. One of the Guardsmen told him that an Abrams had put a high explosive round into the building when a number of people inside had opened fire on the tank's supporting infantry. Two Guardsmen had been wounded, one was killed.

A major in combat gear came over to the group, "You must be Cameron."

"That's Major General Cameron, Sir." McKellar barked at the Nevada Guardsman.

"Until I can figure out who's a traitor and who ain't, anyone wearing that f**king patch is the enemy."

Source

Cameron and McKellar were both wearing that patch, neither made a move to take them off.

Benny Wilcox stepped forward, holding out his DHS credentials and a sheet of paper, "You need to read that paper, Major."

The soldier took the letter, grumbled something about "Feds," but read the letter. Turning to his radio operator, he said, "Get on the horn to headquarters, we've got a guy from Homeland with a letter from President Nakagawa directing that we're to cooperate with the man with the letter."

The radioman walked away, he was in conversation with someone for a bit, then he returned. "That letter is legit, Sir."

"Well then, I guess the war's over. Apologies General, I ..."

"Don't sweat it, Major, can't be too careful these days."

"Guess not, begging your pardon, Sir, I need to get these people into custody."

"Your boss has a spot at Mather where he's got those rebels that seized the base under guard."

"Roger that."

Turning, the Major started bellowing orders, he decided that he'd march these bastards to Mather, he didn't care if they liked it or not.

As Cameron and his party returned to "their" Blackhawk, McKellar heard the Major yelling, "Anybody runs, shoot 'em. Goddamn it but I hope they all make a break for it. F**king traitors, all of 'em. Let's get this circus moving, Sarn't Major!"

As the Blackhawk lifted off, Cameron saw the long, sad-looking line of the wannabe Politburo types lined up, surrounded by U.S. infantrymen. Yeah, he hoped some of them tried to run as well. Bastards made his state hated across the rest of the U.S.

They were indeed, traitors.

A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.

- Marcus Tullius Cicero

Sacramento Burns

Source

Kasparovich held out his free hand, "Just reaching for my ID, Sarge ..."

McKellar's aim went from Wilcox to Kasparovich, "Thumb and forefinger, slowly, I  swear if you so much as sneeze I will ventilate your head."

Wilcox started to speak, then he realized that Cameron was just down the short hall leading to the living room, his M1911 pointed at him. Wilcox elected to remain silent.

"See we're Feds, just like I said." Kasparovich was holding his DHS ID open so that McKellar could see it.

Before McKellar could say anything, two UH-60 Blackhawks roared down the street at very low altitude. The two Feds looked up, neither soldier did. After the helicopters had passed, Cameron said, "Sergeant McKellar, why don't we invite these two in? No need to put on a show for the neighbors."

"You heard the man," McKellar said, "slow and easy, come on in."

Sitting in McKellar's living room, Wilcox was beginning to question his decision to talk to these men directly. His orders hadn't been very specific, not much more than "Find out what the hell is going on with the California Guard." Now he thought maybe this was a bit too direct.

Cameron holstered his weapon, knowing full well that McKellar would shoot both of these Feds in less time than it took for his first expended shell to hit the floor. From the looks on their faces, the Feds knew that as well.

"So gentlemen, what brings you to California from Langley?"

Kasparovich said, "What makes you think we're ..."

Wilcox interrupted him, "That's right General, we're with the Agency, the DHS creds are to preserve our dignity, if you will. The Director of Ops sent us out here a month ago when rumors began to pop up about California seceding."

"Winsome sent me the OPLAN for that last week." Cameron offered. "I thought it was an insane plan. Winsome had an inflated sense of what our Guard units could do. Not to mention that since the troubles began, a lot of our Guardsmen don't bother to report in for drill. Most of our people are prior service, a lot of Yemen vets, they don't think much of our Governor. Neither do I. I wasn't sure of what I was going to do, I decided that resigning was my only course of action."

Before anyone could speak, the General's phone chimed.

"I need to take this."

The California Highway Patrol had set up roadblocks all around the Governor's private office complex. The Governor had ordered this done as a precautionary measure. He had issued a bulletin earlier that day advising California residents to remain calm in the event of a "Federal invasion" as the Governor's spokesperson had called it.

Word spread quickly that the Navy had sortied a number of its ships out of San Diego. Federal installations had been shut down, their gates closed with heavily armed troops guarding the perimeters. Many people were questioning who was doing the invading.

"Sir?" Winsome's aide was standing in the doorway to the office.

"What now, David?" Winsome's phone had been ringing all morning and into the afternoon, every media outlet in the state, and not a few, outside of the state, were asking what was going on.

"The mayors of L.A. and San Francisco have called, the Navy has ships patrolling off the coast. They're saying that they're not letting anything in or out of port."

"What? What do you mean?"

"No ships are coming in, no ships are going out."

"Are you telling me that the United States Navy is blockading the state of California?" the Governor was out of his chair, pacing across the office. His voice was getting louder with each word.

"Yes Sir. Uh, and another thing ..."

"What?"

"The FAA has grounded all flights coming into and going out of California."

"What are the airlines doing about that?"

"They're screaming to their representatives in DC. But they're been told that if they do get airborne and leave the state, the aircraft will be seized at their destination."

"Aren't the passengers up in arms ..."

"Rental car and bus companies are doing a booming business. Folks are hopping a bus or renting a car and heading across the line to Nevada. The airport in Las Vegas is as busy as O'Hare these days."

"Is this legal?" Winsome whined.

David Hopkins just looked at his boss, shook his head, then said, "Governor, the Feds hold all the cards. Nakagawa's a tough bastard, did you think he was like his predecessor?"

Winsome looked up at his aide, "Don't get cocky with me, you little twerp."

Hopkins pulled out a small revolver, Winsome shook his head, 'You don't have the balls, you simpering ..."

Winsome jumped when Hopkins fired the pistol, he felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen. He looked down, blood was staining his khaki slacks and the fabric of his office chair. Pressing his hands against the wound, he groaned, man, that hurt.

Hopkins wondered why the Governor just sat there staring at him, in the movies, the guy who got shot always immediately died, he shook his head. Maybe the pistol is too small. So he fired again.

And again.

And again.

When the CHP troopers burst into the office, David Hopkins was still pulling the trigger, but the pistol was empty. As two troopers wrested the gun from him, one other went to the Governor.

"Check his pulse!" a sergeant yelled out as he came into the office.

Trooper Juan Jimenez looked back at his sergeant in amazement, couldn't he tell from the hole in the Governor's forehead that there would be no pulse?

Cameron put his phone away, he looked ashen. He looked at the other men in the room.

"That was a contact of mine in the Governor's office. Winsome is dead. Shot by an aide apparently."

"Sir, the business at hand?" McKellar tried to push things along. He was a little nervous sitting in his own living room holding two Feds at gunpoint.

"So, the President sent you?" General Cameron had trouble believing that. He had trouble believing anything at the moment.

Wilcox shrugged, "Well, not directly, he ordered our agency to determine the threat level out here. Once we thought that it was manageable with the Federal forces already in place, our boss, the DO, Ephraim Johansen, ordered us to contact you. He had a hunch you might still be loyal."

"Johansen, Ephraim Johansen is the Director of Operations at the CIA? Jesus, I always assumed he'd get gunned down in some Third World shithole or shanked in a Federal prison." Don McKellar scoffed.

Everyone turned to look at him, Cameron spoke first, "You know Ephraim Johansen? How do you know him?"

"Afghanistan, clandestine op there in 2023. While that clown we had for a President was vacationing at the beach, we went in to try and destabilize those bastards." McKellar explained.

"Did you?" Kasparovich asked that, he'd done some time in that benighted country.

"They mostly destabilized themselves, without an external enemy they went back to fighting each other. Like they always do."

"But all that equipment we left behind ..." Wilcox said.

"Most of it was inoperable after a few years, we made sure of that."

"How?" Cameron asked, though he had a good idea.

"Kill one or two foreign 'advisors' and after that, no one is real keen to go there. Other than the incompetents trying to climb the political ladder back home."

"Foreign advisors?" Kasparovich had often wondered about that.

"Chinese, Kazakhs, the odd Iranian here and there, and then the Russians. Some of those f**kers wanted payback for what happened to their daddies back in the day."

Wilcox noticed that McKellar hadn't really lowered his weapons, if need be, he and Kasparovich could be shot down at will. He was about to ask a question when the unmistakable roar of an F/A-18N went by overhead, very low. Followed by an explosion not too far away.

"What the Hell?" Cameron said, he'd caught a glimpse of the aircraft as it had gone by, from the tail code, he guessed USS John F. Kennedy (CVN 79).

"We're only 90 miles from the ocean off San Francisco, we have a carrier battle group off the coast. We're blockading California." Wilcox was impatient to get moving.

"Guys, are we going to sit here all day and shoot the shit? We need to get the hell outta Dodge." Kasparovich chimed in.

"Yeah, but not in that 'look at us we're Feds' Suburban out there. We can take my ride. It's parked out back, in the alley." McKellar had made a decision, he'd holstered his weapon and headed to get his keys.

"Lose the ties and the f**king suit coats. I've got a couple of sweatshirts you can wear." McKellar went into his bedroom and grabbed those items. He also took the time to head back down to the basement where he grabbed his M4 carbine and his Mossberg 590S Compact shotgun. Wilcox and Kasparovich, looking a little less like Feds now, helped him load a gym bag with ammunition for those weapons.

While they were loading the car, two more Super Hornets roared over.

"What's near here?" Wilcox asked McKellar. Cameron answered.

"Mather Field, used to be an Air Force Base, there's an Intel squadron there now, the 149th. But a bunch of hard heads occupied the place three days ago. They've managed to procure a number of armored personnel carriers. They've sworn to defend the state from the U.S. government."

Kasparovich shook his head, "I'm guessing they're dying for their state right now."

From their position they could see large columns of black smoke boiling into the air, not that far away.

"Mather?" Kasparovich nodded at the smoke.

Cameron nodded, he knew the CO of the 149th, a good kid. "What's left of it."

"Come on people, move your asses!" McKellar shouted from the driver's seat of an old surplus Humvee.

Cameron nodded then looked at the two Feds, "You heard the man, let's get out of this place. Things might get hotter than that." He pointed towards Mather, it seemed the Navy was determined to wipe it off the map. Another pair of Super Hornets was over the base, the roar of their 20mm cannons was audible, even at this distance.

California Dreaming ...

Source

Gil Winsome, Governor of California, sat in the small private office he preferred using and watched people coming and going from the nearby parking lot. He liked the peace and quiet of this smaller office complex. He only used his official office for public appearances and public ceremonies. He liked being away from the hustle and bustle of politics. He often thought that he would have made a great king back in medieval times.

He looked up as his aide knocked on the door and peeked in.

""What is it, David?"

"The Adjutant General is here, as you requested."

"Send him in."

Winsome stayed seated as Major General Del Cameron came into the office. The general wasn't in uniform.

"Not in uniform today, Del?"

"Uh, no Sir, didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to my visit."

The Governor thought that odd, but didn't pursue it. "What did you think of my plan, Del?"

It grated on the combat veteran to be addressed by his first name but he simply sat down and said, "I don't like it, Sir."

"And why not?"

"First of all, Sir, we're understaffed. Only a couple of my units are at anything close to being 100% manned. And those are non-combat units. Secondly, I think that if we institute a full recall to get those we have on base and in uniform, ready to go, a lot of my unit commanders have told me that they don't expect a lot of their people to report."

"Well, then they're AWOL, we can bring them up on charges."

The General shook his head and looked at the Governor for a moment before reaching into his suit jacket.

Winsome couldn't help but jump a little, perhaps he watched too much TV, but he always associated that sort of movement with someone about to draw a weapon. Of course, it wasn't a pistol but an envelope, which the General handed to the Governor.

"What's this, Del?" Winsome made no move to open the envelope.

"My resignation. My first oath was and always will be to the Constitution of the United States. I have no desire to serve a wannabe dictator."

General Cameron stood and without another word turned his back on Winsome and left.

Bill Aspinall walked into the Oval Office after checking that the President wasn't on the phone. "Sir, you need to see this."

Nakagawa looked up from his computer terminal, "What do you have, Bill?"

Aspinall handed the President a sheet of paper, Nakagawa thought it looked like one of the old message forms he was used to seeing in the Air Force back in the day, almost the same format. Then he noticed the header, Central Intelligence Agency.

"Hhmm, Mr. Johansen's been busy has he?"

Quickly scanning the message, the President sighed. "Has it come to this?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir."

"Send out the warning message for Operation Western Lightning. Do you think that there's any chance of of the locals taking action on their own?"

"It's possible, maybe we could tip them off as to what the Governor did."

"Would they believe us?"

"Some will, some won't, but I think it's worth a shot."

"Okay, give it a go."

Cameron had the distinct sense that he was being followed. He'd noticed the same car make the same turns as he did for the last five miles. Perhaps it was coincidence, perhaps not. He activated his phone.

"Call McKellar."

"Call Master Sergeant Don McKellar?" his car responded.

"Yes."

Two rings, then "McKellar." a pause until McKellar recognized the caller, "What do you need, Sir?"

"Mind if I stop by?"

"Come on over, anything you need?"

"Nah, I'm writing my memoirs and I wanted to pick your brain about the gas station to the northeast of Al Habilayn."

On his end, McKellar's eyebrows shot up, the General was in the shit. He answered, "I remember that very well. Hope you've got something to record with?"

"I was kinda hoping you had a spare." Cameron said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"I got you covered General."

"See you in ten mikes."

"Roger that, Sir."

McKellar went down into the basement and got into his gun safe. He knew the General preferred the M1911 so he pulled that plus the ammo, he thought for a moment, then pulled out another M1911. He loaded up eight magazines for the two pistols, then decided to bring two spare boxes of ammo, just to be on the safe side.

He donned his shoulder harness, holstered his pistol along with his spare mags. He set up a similar rig for the General, then went upstairs. The General was just pulling into McKellar's driveway.

McKellar looked up and down his street, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't see anything, but you never knew, didn't hurt to look.

McKellar opened the door as Cameron approached, "Morning, General."

"Good morning, Don. See anything unusual out there?" He had noticed McKellar glancing out the window.

"Nah, so what's up, Sir?"

"I resigned as Adjutant General earlier today. When I left the Governor's private office, I got the sense that I was being followed. Just gut instinct but you know how it is."

McKellar thought back to Yemen, Del Cameron's instincts had saved their asses more than once. When he sensed something, you'd better pay attention.

McKellar handed the General the shoulder harness he'd rigged for him. "Might need a little adjusting ..."

"Are you saying I'm fat, Don?"

McKellar laughed, "Well, sitting on your ass in Sacramento ..."

Cameron laughed as well, "Yeah, I think I need to hit the gym more."

As the two men chatted, a black SUV drove down the street, slowing briefly in front of McKellar's house.

"Damn, it's like they want you to know they're watching." McKellar said.

Benny Wilcox pulled the black Chevy Suburban over to the curb and stopped. His partner, Rob Kasparovich gave him a questioning look.

"So DC wants us to contact this guy, right?" Wilcox asked.

Kasparovich nodded, "But something's bugging you."

"Yeah, guy's a combat vet, the guy he's visiting is also a combat vet. They served together in Yemen. Cameron shows up at the Governor's office in civvies, leaves within minutes and drives to this guy's house. Aren't we supposed to be investigating California possibly seceding from the Union and seizing Federal installations at the same time?"

Kasparovich nodded, then it was as a light had come on. "If you're going to seize Federal property, you're probably not going to rely on the police."

Wilcox nodded, "They'd be outgunned by the gate guards at most bases."

Kasparovich continued, "So you call up the National Guard, have your combat troops show up loaded for bear and the gate guards probably will fold." Cameron is the Adjutant General of the California Guard, so the Governor calls him in and orders him to do this thing, but ..."

"It takes more than fifteen minutes to brief the General, explain what you want, and then get the wheels in motion, Cameron's outta that office in minutes ..." Wilcox continued Kasparovich's thought.

Kasparovich nodded, "I'm betting Cameron told the Governor to f**k off. He may have resigned his position as well, which is why he went in wearing civilian clothes."

Wilcox nodded in agreement, "I need to call Langley."

McKellar had checked his street again, the black SUV was parked down the street a ways.

"I'm going to get my field glasses, Sir. Keep an eye on that black SUV."

As Cameron looked out the window, McKellar pointed the vehicle out, then went back to the bedroom to get his binoculars. He was back in seconds.

"That's a Fed, or I'm a f**king Houthi." McKellar handed the glasses to Cameron.

After a few minutes, Cameron lowered the glasses, "I agree, do you think the Feds are on to Winsome's little scheme?"

"Dollars to donuts, General. My money is on just that."

"Son of a ..."

Kasparovich and Wilcox drove off, made a U-turn then parked in front of McKellar's house.

"Bold move, Benny."

"Go big or stay home, Rob. I figure if we're not sneaky, they might not shoot us when we knock on the door."

Kasparovich shook his head and dismounted, he straightened his tie and buttoned his suit jacket. As Wilcox rounded the front of the vehicle, Kasparovich shook his head.

"If they shoot me, you're off the Christmas card list, Benny."

Wilcox grinned, "Pussy."

McKellar looked at Cameron, "They're coming to the f**king front door?"

"Heck, Don, maybe they just want to talk. Shouldn't we, ya know, cover up or something?" Cameron gestured at the weapons they were both carrying.

"Nah, f**k 'em."

The doorbell rang.

McKellar opened the door, "Help you fellows?"

Wilcox spoke, "Good afternoon, Master Sergeant McKellar, I'm Benjamin Wilcox and this is my partner," he nodded in Kasparovich's direction, "Robert Kasparovich. We work for the Department of Homeland Security. We'd like to ask you and the General a few questions, if at all possible?"

McKellar looked at the man standing in his doorway, he suspected that he was not being completely honest with him. As he thought about it, he heard the second man speak and begin to reach inside his jacket.

"Jesus Benny, just tell him we're with ..."

Kasparovich froze as he noticed his partner was now staring down the barrel of what appeared to be a very well-maintained M1911 pistol.

"Move another inch pal and your partner's brains are going to decorate my front yard." 

McKellar's voice was as cold as an Arctic wind.