G Hopf - The Long Road

“Hunter? Hunter?” Gordon called out. He had drawn his pistol and held it out but didn’t shoot because he couldn’t identify anyone.

Then gunshots rang out. He didn’t know who was shooting, and he still had no idea where his son was.

“Hunter? Where are you?”

From what he could see, there were at least a dozen people around him and the truck. They probably had the same limitations as he did, and from the sounds of only one rifle, Gordon assumed it was Holloway.

“Hunter? Where are you?”

Gordon stepped toward the truck and saw a figure too big to be Holloway. He shot it. He turned and shot another one and another. The next thing he knew he was on the ground again. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been down, but the back of his head hurt badly. The sound of gunfire had ceased. He started to grasp around him for his gun, but all he touched was sand.

“Search him for the keys,” a man’s voice said, hovering above him.

Gordon tried to scramble away but was stopped when he was hit in the head again. He could still make out some noises, but he couldn’t do anything.

“We found the keys on this one,” another unknown voice said after going through Gordon’s pants pockets.

“Toss him and the boy in the back of the truck,” the first voice said.

“What about the other one?”

“He’s dead. Samson bashed his head in,” a third voice said.

“Two will be fine, Brother Rahab will want to see them.”

The men tied up Gordon and Hunter and placed them in the bed of the truck. The last thing Gordon saw before he passed out was his son’s bloodied face. With all of his strength, he inched close to Hunter. He placed his forehead against Hunter’s head. Just being able to touch his son made him feel a bit better. He kept struggling to stay conscious, but the effort was too much and he passed out again.

USS Makin Island off the coast of Southern California

Barone had thought his plan was working up until they began sending in teams of Marines to gather their families. The number who weren’t returning was staggering to him. When he’d executed his mutiny, he believed that he could convince many to come with thoughts of treasure and land. On the surface it appeared to have worked, but what was happening now showed that a good number of Marines and sailors were just saying one thing to their commanders and senior NCOs and doing another when they had the chance. All along he knew it would be difficult to convince 100 percent to join him, but now his ranks were decreasing. They had been able to make up for some of the loss by finding Marines at Camp Pendleton and convincing them to join. His men hadn’t really known what life was like but would find out; those who had been stateside did and now were eager to come with him.

The thing that troubled him the most was the attempt on his life two days before. When he’d decided to go against all that he had promised to uphold and protect, he knew there were bound to be those who would try to stop him. Taking an entire ARG and then attacking a U.S. military installation was a lot for some of the men to stomach, but this new world they were in was different. His military training and experience went deep, and when he was first briefed on the EMP strikes and the nuclear attack on Washington, D.C., he knew without a doubt his country was gone. Those who kept the faith were like those who believed in awakening a corpse that had been dead for days. It was easy to think that their government could tackle the situation, but only a few understood the enormity of the problem. He understood and knew that to survive he would have to shift his priorities quickly, so he did. The plan was quickly laid out and executed. He felt sorry for those who had decided not to come back; their ignorance would be their undoing. Only when they were face-to-face with the realities on the ground would they know why he’d done what he’d done.

Today would be another new experience for him. The Marine who had attempted to kill him had been taken alive. His court-martial had been swift, and so would the execution of the sentence. The tribunal had found him guilty, and his sentence was death by firing squad. Barone would do something different: Instead of gathering a group of Marines to carry out the act, he himself would do it. If the sentence was to be carried out, he felt the one in command should be the one to do it.

He looked down at his watch; the hour was getting close. His thoughts had been all-consuming; so much had been happening. His stateroom was his sanctuary, and he took advantage of it more now than in the past. Even though he had found his wife and daughter safe, he still could not get over the loss of his son. Guilt racked him. There were moments he regretted his decision, knowing that if he had gone back east, Billy would still be alive. His pragmatic side, though, would not let him sit in this guilt because the conditions in which he’d found his wife and daughter were perilous. It was as if God had made it one or the other. Had he gone back east like a good Marine, he had no doubt his wife and daughter would have starved to death.

He wiped the last bit of oil from his nickel-plated Model 1911 and placed it in his holster. He stood and walked to the mirror to make sure everything was in place on his uniform. He grabbed his belt and holster, put it on snugly, and left the stateroom. Each person he came upon in the passageways of the ship quickly stood next to the bulkhead and acknowledged him. Everyone knew where he was going and what was about to happen on the flight deck.

When he exited the last hatch and stepped onto the black deck, the sun’s rays warmed his face. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, but when they did, he saw everyone gathered already. He approached Master Sergeant Simpson and returned his salute. Simpson handed him a piece of paper. He glanced down to see it was the Marine’s execution order, and at the bottom of the page it was signed by him. Barone looked around at the group that had been gathered for the execution; every senior NCO and officer had been commanded to attend. Barone did this for two reasons, to show them how violating their laws ended in real consequences and to strike fear into his men. He approached the convicted Marine.

“Lance Corporal Cartwell, you have been found guilty by a military tribunal of attempting to kill a superior officer. The sentence for this is death by firing squad,” Barone bellowed.

The young Marine stood firmly at attention with his hands bound behind his back and his legs tied together. The expression on his face did showed not a man afraid of death but one defiant as he stared at Barone squarely, not even allowing a blink to interrupt his stare.

“This sentence will be carried out now, but the firing squad is not needed.” Barone looked around at all his senior staff and continued, “I will be the one to carry out this sentence. I am the one sentencing this man to die, so it is only right that I be the one to do it. Before I carry out this order, do you have anything to say, Lance Corporal Cartwell?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” the man said defiantly.

“Go ahead,” Barone responded. He lowered the paper so he could look the man in the eyes.

“I’m not sorry for what I did, no way! This man is a traitor and murderer! You hear me out there, you are following a traitor! Our country needed us and we let them down, we abandoned our people! We are Marines and we have not fulfilled our oath! I only wish I could have been successful. You can kill me today, but I’m not the only one! You will pay for what you did to our country!” the man screamed out.

“Is that it?” Barone asked. He didn’t show an ounce of emotion and didn’t change his expression the entire time the man shouted at him.