Liberty's Last Stand by Stephen Coonts Page B

to represent me at every little meeting from city council to Congress and the White House; they can worry about the public’s business, about filling the potholes in the streets, the state of the sewage treatment plants, and how much, if any, foreign aid we should give to Egypt: I vote for them because I don’t want to do that stuff, and they say they do.
    And yet, they need to stay within certain boundaries. I don’t want them messing with me any more than they absolutely must. I am choosing my path through life: I want to be responsible for my choices and the results.
    Just like most people.
    I sat there driving through America wondering about Barry Soetoro and his disciples. I have never trusted people who think they know how everyone else should live, and demand those other people obey. I am not a good follower.
    Aaugh!
    The highway spun along toward the horizon and the sky got lighter. Another day in America!

    When Jack Hays woke up on his couch that Friday morning, Nadine was leaning over, brushing her lips on his. She liked to wake him with a kiss.
    â€œThe coffee is on,” she said, and went back toward the kitchen, where the cook reigned. Jack padded along behind and found the cook wasn’t in yet.
    With both of them sipping coffee, Nadine said, “You are going to have a hell of a day.”
    He nodded. “I think it’ll come to a boil today, or tonight.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do, Jack?”
    â€œAsk God for the wisdom to make the right decision and for the courage to see it through.”
    She rested her head on his shoulder and they stood holding each other, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies.

    JR put his Beretta 9-mm in his belt and went for a tour of the ranch in the pickup. He wanted to see the terrain again, to refresh his memory, to see how it had changed through the years. Joe Bob had built some shooting stands here and there, boxes for hunters to stand in fifteen or twenty feet above the ground. The sports would climb up there with their rifles, hunker down, drink beer, and wait for something wonderful to wander into range, where they would assassinate it.
    JR climbed up into several of the stands just to look at the terrain. Shooting at people from one of these things, with people shooting back, would be suicidal.
    So what were the possibilities? Ambush the bad guys as they exited their vans in Mexico, or on the trail to the river, or as they crossed the river, or cutting the Hays fence, or somewhere on the Hays land, or out near the highway as they threw the backpacks over the fence, or anywhere along the return journey.
    He saw no people during his tour, but he did spot two kudu. Gorgeous creatures.
    Any ambush site would have to allow him to shoot, move, and survive. The shooting would be easier with his state-of-the-art night-vision equipment.
    What if he got two or three of them? Or five or six? Those who escaped would tell their bosses back in Mexico, and next time he would be facing a company of hired killers, perhaps as many as fifteen or twenty heavily armed gunmen with automatic weapons.
    Late in the afternoon, JR got out his new AR-15, cleaned it thoroughly, and mounted a scope on it, a regular 3 by 9 variable. He suspected the battle might drag on into the morning, and he should be well armed if it did.
    After fifty shots he was sure of the scope’s zero and comfortable with the trigger. He took the rifle into the house and opened all the windows to let the breeze air out some of the heat. He cleaned his rifle thoroughly again. Then he got busy fixing dinner. Poured some bourbon and drank it as he ate out on the ramada with the sun setting.

    While JR was scouting the ranch, Jack Hays was under political siege in Austin. The Texas independence crowd was getting really worked up, especially after they saw copies of the directives—there were four directives, so far—about life in an America ruled by martial law under Barry