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  “It’s on,” Virdin said.

  “All right, what’s our first move?” Rick Adams, Virdin’s one-time XO asked.

  “We’ll wait until they start their afternoon prayers, then we’ll lock them in the wardroom. After that, we make certain that everyone is with us . . .”

  “What if we find some who aren’t?” Adams asked.

  “As you know, Rick, most of these men served with us in the before time. I have absolute confidence in them. If we have to be wary of any of the others, I think they’ll let us know. And even if they do resist us, we’ll have them significantly outnumbered.”

  “You’re right, I don’t think we’ll really have a problem.”

  “Now, here’s the drill. We’ll take control of the ship, and I’ll contact the people who are going to take the tanker. As soon as we get word they’re coming, we’ll put ourselves between the tanker and the Jamaran. We will then inform the Jamaran that we have taken the ship, and have guns and missiles trained on them. More than likely, they’ll stand down.”

  “If they don’t?”

  “If they engage us, we’ll sink them,” Virdin said.

  “I’ll make certain we have the target acquired,” Adams promised.

  “Okay, men, let’s take this ship.”

  “Aarrgh!” one of the sailors said, laughing. “It’s just like the Mutiny on the Bounty.”

  “Hah. I saw all three films of Mutiny on the Bounty, and I didn’t see either Clark Gable, Marlon Brando, or Mel Gibson say ‘aarrgh’!” one of the others said.

  “I’m saying it. Aarrgh.”

  The men laughed, and Virdin was glad to see that they seemed to be loose, and in good spirits.

  “All right, those of you I’ve chosen to come with me, come now. The rest of you, go to your assigned stations. Man the guns and the missiles.”

  With all tasks assigned, Virdin and ten men proceeded to the wardroom. There were two entrances to the wardroom, and Virdin made certain that both were covered before he opened the door and stepped inside.

  “I have taken command of this vessel!” he shouted.

  “How dare you interrupt prayers!” the Captain said angrily.

  “Oh, go ahead with your prayers,” Virdin said. “I’m just here to tell you that I have taken the ship, and you six men will be confined here in the wardroom until further notice. So as far as I’m concerned, you rag-headed bastards can pray all you want.”

  Virdin stepped back outside, and the doors were secured. He called Tom Jack.

  “The John Paul Jones is standing by,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Sir, we’re getting a blinker signal from the Jamaran,” a signalman reported.

  Rick Adams picked up a phone. “Captain, blinker signal from the Jamaran.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Virdin replied.

  Virdin was on the bridge in less than half a minute. “Still getting the signal?”

  “Yes, sir,” the signalman replied. “They want us to come up on channel thirteen—156.650 megahertz.”

  “Go to the frequency and bring it up,” Virdin said.

  The radioman responded, and all on the bridge could hear the hail in Iranian-accented English.

  “Shapur 1, I wish to speak with Captain Najib. Please respond.”

  Virdin picked up a microphone and looked at his signalman.

  “Your mic is hot, sir,” the signalman said.

  “This is Captain Stan Virdin, commanding the John Paul Jones. Go ahead, Jamaran.”

  “Where is Captain Najib?”

  “He is in our custody. I have taken the ship,” Virdin said. “Out,” he concluded.

  “Now let’s see what he does next. Lieutenant Adams, what kind of activity do you see?” Virdin asked.

  Adams was looking at the other destroyer through his binoculars. “Cap’n, they’re clearing away their missile tubes.”

  “All right, gentlemen, it looks like we’ve come to the ‘show,’ and the Jamaran is about to throw the first pitch,” Virdin said.

  The tension increased as the others on the bridge looked at each other.

  “I have the con. Sound general quarters,” Virdin ordered.

  Hitting a button that sounded a Klaxon throughout the ship, the boatswain’s mate of the watch brought the silver call, cupped in his right hand, to his lips and let fly a long shrill whistle. His voice then barked over the 1MC.

  “Now general quarters! Now general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations, surface action!”

  Again, the Klaxon sounded, and again the boatswain’s mate’s whistle rose in pitch, then fell.

  “Now general quarters! Now general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations, surface action!”

  From bow to stern, the clatter of ladders resounded under their footfalls as sailors grabbed vests and helmets and rushed to their stations.

  “Rick, I’ll be in CIC,” Virdin said as he headed for the Combat Information Center.

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Adams responded.

  The CIC, located belowdecks just under the bridge, bristled with radar screens, infrared imaging screens, computer monitors, and an array of switches and dials. Virdin picked up the phone as soon as he reached his battle station. “Weapons!” he barked.

  “This is Langley, sir. Weapons manned and ready!”

  “The Phalanx guns?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Missiles incoming, sir!” one of the CIC operators called out.

  Up on the bridge, Adams stepped up to the window and watched as two anti-ship missiles were launched from the Jamaran. They were wicked looking, leaving a long trail of fire behind them as they streaked through the gray sky toward the John Paul Jones.

  Everyone on the bridge braced themselves for the impact, then the ship echoed with the sound of the four Phalanx weapons firing. Long streams of fire, representing several thousand rounds per minute of forty-millimeter shells, lashed out toward the two incoming missiles. Both missiles were destroyed, and cheers could be heard throughout the ship.

  “Look like any more activity?” Virdin asked, down in CIC.

  “I’m not reading anything, sir. If you ask me, they’ve shot their wad.”

  “I’m going back to the bridge.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Virdin hurried through a short companionway, then up a ladder.

  “Cap’n’s on the bridge,” the boatswain’s mate reported.

  Virdin picked up the phone.

  “Weapons?”

  “Weapons, aye. This is Langley, sir.”

  “Well done, Mr. Langley, well done,” Virdin said. “Now, run out the five inch guns and bracket the son of a bitch.”

  “Fire for effect, sir?”

  “No. Just bracket the bastard. Let’s see what he does.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Let me have the glasses, Rick.”

  Adams handed the binoculars to Virdin and he lifted them to his eyes and watched as the massive guns of the John Paul Jones fired toward the Jamaran. The Iranian destroyer lay helpless in the water as it was bracketed by a barrage of five-inch shells, falling on either side. This was the recognized signal to the captain that the ship was bracketed, and the next barrage would be on target.

  “Okay, let’s see what he does now,” Virdin said. “He knows we have his range, and he knows that we know he can’t stop us.”

  Virdin could see into the bridge of the Jamaran, and he saw someone standing at the window, looking back toward him. He knew that it was the captain, and he knew that the captain of the Jamaran knew that he had been beaten.

  The Iranian destroyer made a wide turn, then left at flank speed.

  “Stand down, Mr. Langley,” Virdin said into the bridge phone. “Our friend is leaving now.”

  Fort Morgan

  “Major Lantz,” Willie called.

  “Don’t you mean General Lantz?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah, General Lantz. I’ve got Captain Vird
in on the horn.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said reaching for the phone. “This is Jake Lantz.”

  “I’d feel better if I could talk to Tom Jack.”

  “No sweat, I don’t blame you,” Jake said. “Just a moment.” Jake lowered the phone, then called out. “Tom! He wants to talk to you.”

  Tom trotted over to take the phone. “What’s the matter, Stan? Does talking to a general intimidate you?”

  “I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t stepping into something,” Virdin said. “Tell your general I have the ship.”

  “What about the other destroyer?”

  “It ran off with its tail tucked between its legs.”

  “Any sign of any activity on board the tanker?”

  “I’ve called them, but they haven’t responded. They have to know that something is up, though. How long before you can get here?”

  “How far off coast are you?”

  “According to our GPS we’re exactly 42.7 miles off coast.”

  “We’ll be there within half an hour,” Tom said.

  Tom shut down the phone and handed it to Jake.

  “All right, Bob, let’s spool up. Gentlemen, climb aboard!”

  Just under twenty minutes later the UH-1D and the Hughes 500 approached the Khoramashur. The tanker ship was 1,300 feet long, with the superstructure on the after deck taking up 200 feet. That left 1,100 feet of deck, as flat as the deck of an aircraft carrier, which would make an easy landing platform.

  There was a gun mounted in the door of the Hughes 500, and the plan was for Jake, who was flying the Hughes, to come to a hover just in front of the bridge, providing cover for Bob to land the Huey.

  Deon was manning the door gun, and when he pointed it at the bridge, the helmsman and the officers all ducked below the windows.

  Two men appeared on top of the superstructure, armed with AK-47s. Deon opened fire and both of them went down.

  “Deon, throw a few rounds into the bridge, just to get their attention,” Jake said.

  Deon fired a short burst, and bits of shattered glass flew from the windows. Then a stick came up with a white flag attached to it.

  “Ha! They just surrendered!” Deon said.

  “All right, Bob, make your insertion,” Jake said.

  Fort Morgan

  Willie punched a few keys on the computer, then adjusted the video camera.

  “All right, Mr. Gregoire,” he said. “We’ll be up on the bird in five, four, three, two, one.”

  Jake and the others were watching the TV monitor and they saw the intro come up, the Stars and Stripes waving on the screen, with the national anthem behind.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Bob said, providing the voiceover. “From the Capital of United Free America, we bring you George Gregoire.”

  Gregoire’s familiar figure filled the screen then.

  “Hello, America.

  “Yes, I’m still here, thanks to the bravery of a real hero. And now, I am among real heroes, men and women who have not given up, men and women who have started a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the principles of personal freedom, self-determination, and sacred honor.

  “This week, the brave soldiers of United Free America captured a fully armed destroyer which will keep the gulf open so we can enter into commercial trade with other nations of the world. We have also acquired a tanker full of refined fuels, gasoline, diesel, and jet fuel.

  “In addition to an army and navy, we also have an air force, consisting of the very latest in jet fighter aircraft, as well as a functioning industry to build more ships, aircraft, and wheeled vehicles.

  “In short, ladies and gentleman, United Free America is a fully armed and totally self-contained nation of free men and women. We welcome anyone who wants to come join us, to help us attain our ultimate goal.

  “What is our ultimate goal?

  “First, I want you to see some of my friends here, the brave men and women who, by their courage, determination, and dedication to the principles of honor and duty, guarantee that we will reach that goal.”

  The camera showed Jake Lantz, Karin Dawes, Deon Pratt, Julie Norton, Marcus and Becky Warner, Bob and Ellen Varney, Willie Stark, Tom and Sheri Jack, Chris Carmack, Kathy York, James and Cille Laney, Jerry and Gaye Cornett, Mike Moran, and Sam and Sarah Gelbman.

  All twenty smiled, and raised their fists as they shouted the motto of the UFA.

  “Take Back America!”

  THE BEGINNING

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2012 William W. Johnstone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3062-0

  Notes

  1 From Phoenix Rising.

  2 Phoenix Rising

  3 Phoenix Rising