A Nation's Keeper: An Alamo Novel

By James L. L. Howard

The United States is collapsing into ruin. Several states have aligned themselves with Texas to form a new nation, the Republic of United Libertarians. The US acts immediately to destabilize and recover the rogue states through espionage and subversion. The RUL answers back by enlisting the service of a select few citizen-soldiers, men who can operate beyond the rule of law to protect the foundling republic from such threats. Of these enforcers, Alamo is unsurpassed and serves as the governor's right hand. He travels the republic dispensing justice, often from the barrel of a gun. His notoriety is legend as is the bounty on his head. The US will stop at nothing to finish him, targeting friends, loved ones, and associates in an effort to hurt or compromise him, so his strict policy is to not let anyone close. A chance encounter with Anna, a beautiful rancher in the Texas Hill country, soon has Alamo reconsidering his staunch beliefs. He has much in common with her as well as the ranch hands who protect her interests, hard men and former soldiers who can recognize a little of themselves in the lone gunman who protects the RUL. A top operative, Alan Combs, has been ordered to put an end to the continued hindrance of the United States' schemes. He's entered the RUL to locate Alamo and either capture or kill him. A game of hunter versus hunter commences, a game that Alamo must win before the woman he's invited into his life becomes yet another victim of his profession.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645844105

Book preview

1

When did it all go to hell? he asked himself for the countless time as he rode through the morning chill of the Texas hill country. It had been a long ride from Oklahoma to Austin, but he wanted to ensure the remaining biker was transferred from the sheriff’s custody to the detention facility without incident. Now that his latest assignment was complete, he was leisurely riding for home and contemplating life.

At least, it wasn’t raining. Riding in the rain could be miserable, especially in the early mornings at this time of year. It wasn’t cold yet, but the blistering Texas heat had gone and wouldn’t return until early next year. If he was still working for the governor then, and the republic was more stable, he would consider moving farther north. The boss always had assignments for him up that way.

The northern areas of the republic were already experiencing snow, and it would remain until at least late March or early April. He loved snow, but he loved riding more. Motorcycles and icy roads didn’t mix. He was looking forward to getting to the Fort, cleaning up, and relaxing a little.

The highways in this part of Texas were nearly deserted this time of year and didn’t require all his attention, allowing time for reflection. Since the secession, there wasn’t the amount of traffic there’d once been. His steed, a 2009 Harley-Davidson Fatboy, a leftover from better times, before the push to make everything environmentally friendly (what a joke that turned out to be…going green, global warming, carbon footprints, and all that bullshit), growled and pulsated between his legs, allowing a numbness to creep into his body, mind, and soul. It was essentially induced meditation, like the chiming of a bell or a repeated incantation.

It was a feeling he could never explain to nonriders—the ones bikers referred to as cagers because they imprisoned themselves inside four-wheeled steel coffins. Those who still lived according to the code fundamentally understood; no explanation was necessary. Most times, riding allowed him to let go of his mundane problems and just exist. Other times, it amplified the din in his head to deafening levels, forcing him to dissect, evaluate, and second-guess the choices he had made in his life.

Pondering the recurring question, he came to the same conclusion as always. It wasn’t any one thing that had destroyed the United States. It was so many little things.

*****

He was of average height, never described as tall, but taller than most. His body was a soldier’s that had suffered through many years of abuse. He was broad through the shoulders, with a muscular upper body, and had thick hips and legs, not the dancer’s waist and spindly legs seen on most athletic types in the latter part of the era before everything went to hell. Decades of humping heavy rucksacks, weapons, ammo, water, and rations had kept his muscles strong but had damaged his lower joints, mainly his knees, which caused a slight limp in his right leg, becoming more pronounced when the weather was bad or when he was tired. He couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, the pain from being in one position too long forcing him to wake, shift, and stretch several times a night. He’d undergone several corrective surgeries over the years, but the life he led tended to use up body parts. Thank God for tequila.

He wore a dirty black oilskin duster that kept out the wind and most of the rain. There were times when nothing could keep you warm and dry except getting off the road, finding some shelter, and waiting the weather out. Underneath the duster was a worn denim shirt, blue jeans that were stiff with road grime, and worn but comfortable leather boots. He always carried at least one weapon on him, and lately, that weapon was a Colt 1911 .45 ACP. It rested in a cross-draw shoulder rig under his left arm. He was left-handed but fired right-handed as he was right-eye dominant.

He felt naked without a firearm within reach and always adhered to the old adage, You will never need a gun until you need one desperately. If on that day you don’t have one, you will never need one again. In that same spirit, he carried a backup, a Springfield XD .40 tucked in his belt in the small of his back. Ammunition should have been getting scarce by now, but Texas and her sister states had seen the direction in which the United States was heading and had been stocking their armories to capacity for years prior to the secession. All were prepared when the shit hit the fan. Not to mention, his personal stockpile at the Fort hadn’t been touched yet.

He hadn’t shaved, much less showered, in days. His dark-brown hair and beard, kept short out of necessity and starting to show a little gray at the temples and on his chin, could’ve used a good shampoo. That was one of the many benefits of being on a bike: you couldn’t smell yourself as long as you were moving, which for him was most of the time.

Hell, there wasn’t anyone around to offend anyway, but the importance of personal hygiene had been driven into him from the time he was a private in the army, so he still made an effort to wash and stay clean enough for it not to become a health issue. Facial hair could become a problem if not cared for, but he felt it was worth the trouble. He thought he looked damn good in a beard. He kept it trimmed and close. It became a nuisance when it got scraggly and nasty-looking. He had often thought about going clean-shaven, but after so many years in the military and not having a choice in the matter, wearing a beard was like thumbing his nose at authority. I’m such an outlaw, he thought, rolling his eyes and chuckling to himself.

His body was permanently marked with both tattoos and scars. They served a purpose, as constant reminders of the past. He hadn’t gotten his first tat until he was thirty-five, a tribal design on his right shoulder with three kanji symbols along the top. The tribal design had been stolen from a popular celebrity athlete of the time, though modified. The center kanji symbol stood for yin and yang, reminding him to always maintain balance in his life. The right symbol was for strength, and the symbol to the left stood for honor. To be honest, although this was his first professional tat, it wasn’t the first he’d ever received.

He’d gotten a small tattoo when he was eighteen, given to him by his best friend while sitting at the kitchen table in his house, using a sewing needle wrapped in thread, a bottle of India ink, and a case of beer to help pass the time. It took the better part of a day.

One would think the finished product would have been something elaborate or at least ambitious, but it was just a pair of nunchakus on his left forearm. People often asked if it was an unfinished bunny rabbit or, for the more imaginative observer, a paint roller. He wore it proudly for over twenty years, out of loyalty and friendship to the few other close friends who also wore the image.

They all had joined the army after high school. Each was going his own way, but ultimately, all were traveling the same path. Of them all, he was the only one who had made the military his life; the rest had gotten out after their first or second hitches were up and returned to the small town they’d grown up in. Eventually, all had fallen out with one another until none spoke except to say hello as they passed each other in the local Walmart on payday.

After that, the ink on his forearm didn’t hold the value it once had, so he had it covered with something new. While browsing in a local tattoo parlor, he saw something on the wall that spoke to him. It was an outline of the shape of Texas with a hooded Grim Reaper inside, the demon’s teeth gleaming from under his hood.

Texas was one of the few states left in the crumbling union that could sustain itself. Most of the other states had descended into financial and political chaos. Texas had always been a strong land, with strong people who were willing to sacrifice anything, including their lives, for freedom. He didn’t know if the tattoo was a prophecy or a talisman, but whatever the reason, he was proud to wear it, and looking at it every day gave him strength.

He also had a heart-shaped tat on the left side of his chest, over his heart, inked to look like the skin was cut and ripped away, revealing three names underneath: his wife’s and his two daughters’. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d looked at it, but knowing it was there ensured he would never forget them—not that he’d ever need a tattoo for that, but having it made him feel more at peace.

As for scars, damn, where to begin? He had several, and like the tats, they told his story and reminded him of when life had tried to break him but failed. The sizes of the scars didn’t matter unless he was trying to win a bar bet, but the circumstances in which he’d earned them did. The locations seemed more relevant, but even that wasn’t the most important thing. Hell, if a man is still alive, then it doesn’t matter where the scar’s located, just that he survived, he healed, and he’s still kicking ass. The most important thing about the scars were the stories that came with them. They were constant reminders of past mistakes and monumentally bad decisions.

There had been a time when he’d thought he had it all. Although his life hadn’t been like most, it had been good, and he’d been happy. He’d had a loving wife, two beautiful daughters, an exciting and rewarding job, and lived in a country he’d pledged his life to serving and protecting. Then, quietly, almost in a whisper, everything began to crumble, gaining momentum until it all cascaded into ruin.

If you weren’t watching and listening, as most weren’t, you couldn’t hear the sound of the tree falling in the woods until crushed by it. By then, it no longer mattered; it was too late to do anything about it.

2

Sometimes, he missed the good ol’ days, but looking back, he realized he’d never been enjoying his life. He was always looking forward, waiting for something either to be finished or to begin, never living in the present. He was always away from home and family, counting the days until he could get back, just to begin counting the days until he had to leave again.

Soldiering sucks, always has, and not many are made for it. He’d always taken pride in his ability to endure not just the physical hardship but the loneliness that comes with service to a greater good. As they say—and by the way, who the fuck are they anyhow?—you can’t escape what you are, and until you can accept that, you’ll never be happy or content. He’d always thought they were full of shit. But then again, maybe that’s why he was still wandering, looking for peace, looking for contentment.

He’d joined the military right out of high school, and it was all he’d ever known. It seemed that in a blink, twenty-plus years had passed. In that same blink, everything he had grown to love about serving in the military had changed. Somewhere along the way, politicians, the majority never having served anything other than themselves, were dictating policy, directing actions, and waging wars the soldiers had to fight. The rest of the country couldn’t be bothered. As far as the average citizen was concerned, the country wasn’t at war; only its military was.

The government grew beyond control, promising entitlement after entitlement to a parasitic society that had learned the value of voting instead of working. Foreign policy deteriorated to the point that the country’s leaders were bowing down to terrorist organizations, providing them with weapons and monetary aid, then feigning shock and surprise when the proverbial mongrel bit the hand that fed it.

The disciplined and regimented lifestyle needed to mold and hone successful warriors was deemed too harsh and offensive by leaders who had never fought anything tougher than a stubborn lid on a pickle jar. Training and tactics, although time-tested and combat-proven, were changed to be more politically correct and socially acceptable to the masses, most of whom had no idea what it took to make a soldier.

After years of trying to preserve and protect his profession, he’d reached the limits of his patience and retired. He wasn’t through soldiering, just through with his country’s ignorant perspective of how it should be conducted.

He became a mercenary, traveling the world and fighting wherever wars were waged. He had no interest in working in the United States, among people who had an abundance of opinions on any number of topics but couldn’t be bothered to learn the facts of those topics. He still had to provide for his family, and although many would say differently, a soldier has no place in civil settings. He’s more comfortable in the company of like-minded men and women who understand and appreciate his mentality and abilities. The money wasn’t just good; it was great, and he was able to do well for his family, even during the declining years when the shit began falling through the cracks at an increased rate. He was aware of the fact that he was being paid by governments he no longer believed in. He could see the hypocrisy; he wasn’t ignorant. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it though, considering almost 40 percent of his income went to taxes. Also, he had earned his broken and battered body while protecting the very government that was leeching half his pay.

Thinking back, he guessed his watershed moment had been when that son of a bitch got reelected. He was pretty sure that was when he’d lost any hope for the future of his country. Sure, there were some strong leaders in strong states, but the vast majority who worked in the governmental sector just wanted to line their pockets, to milk the cow until it was dry and then piss on it after it keeled over dead.

The president delivered on his promises of having everyone pay their fair share. It didn’t matter that his net worth had increased from…well, no one really knew what his net worth was when he was first elected because everything about the man had been sealed from public scrutiny. But it got bumped up to over $12 million in just four years as president.

Through executive orders, bypassing the judicial and legislative branches and shitting all over the Constitution in the process, he allowed illegal immigrants to flood the country, crippling state economies and health services to the point of financial collapse. All money illegal immigrants earned was funneled into Mexico and other countries instead of being pumped back into local economies.

The president granted amnesty to all illegals in the country and pardons to illegals in the penal system, releasing dangerous and violent criminals back into cities’ welfare programs that were already stretched beyond the breaking point. Anyone who stood against these presidential decrees seemed to mysteriously disappear or to suffer suspicious deaths.

A prominent sheriff in Arizona, known for an unyielding stance against illegal immigration within his state, was assassinated at a local restaurant by a ruthless and bloody international gang, well-known for importing drugs and overseeing human trafficking rings from Central and South America in partnership with Mexican drug cartels. It was also known that a popular comedian who used his fame and media access as an avenue to criticize the sheriff’s policies had financed the assassination. Hollywood’s monetary and political ties to the White House ensured the investigation went nowhere.

Eventually, he realized that as a soldier, he was off fighting wars in distant lands for an ungrateful government and country when he was desperately needed to fight the inevitable revolution that was brewing in his own country.

*****

He shook his head, snapping his mind back into the present. As much as he enjoyed and needed the time on the road to allow his mind to wander, he also needed to stay engaged in what was happening around him. Riding required constant vigilance, and even though the roadway was deserted, it didn’t mean that the unexpected couldn’t occur at any time. As if on cue, a deer leaped out of the underbrush and raced across the highway. Veering hard to the right side of the lane, he felt the animal’s rear hoof brush against his left leg as he barely avoided colliding with it. Straightening the wheels and settling back into the saddle, he allowed the surge of adrenaline to seep out of him.

Damned deer, they’re going to be the death of me! With his focus back in the here and now, he realized he was hungry. Looking down, he also saw that his tank was getting low. It was time for a rest stop.

3

As he sat in the corner booth of a little roadside café, chewing on a burger and fries, his mind drifted back to his earlier reverie.

The country had destroyed itself at an unbelievable rate, all orchestrated by the administration occupying the White House at the time as well as other influential individuals whose identities were never uncovered. The president had been a true Manchurian candidate, selected, primed, and then placed into power by large corporations of the banking and energy industries. Many had seen through the smoke screen but just couldn’t fight the herds of sheep who grazed in front of their televisions, believing everything the media fed them.

How could a virtual unknown, a city alderman, become the most powerful leader in the world? By virtue of his charm and speaking ability, as well as with financial backing from certain anonymous foreign entities, he managed to get elected as a senator for his state. It didn’t matter to the people that he had no business experience, had never served in the military, and had never held any job other than local government positions with no real responsibility and therefore had no accountability. The media did what they were paid to do by plastering the man’s name and face everywhere, to the point that you couldn’t look at a magazine, newspaper, or any other news outlet without seeing him.

He convinced the downtrodden and disenfranchised they weren’t prosperous and happy because of the influence and control of radical, conservative Christian zealots who hoarded the world’s wealth and would never relinquish it, thus keeping all Americans living as slaves. He also convinced them he was the answer to all their prayers, using the same party line so many other dictators and cult leaders in history had used. Unfortunately for America, an entitlement mentality prevailed, pushing out the patriotism, senses of family and community, and personal responsibility that had always seen our country through tough times in the past.

As poverty and unemployment rose, the mainstream media stoked the fires of the many long-standing social issues, driving a wedge between the people with regard to race, religion, and wealth. Americans turned against one another. Instead of a constitutional republic, the principle on which the country had been founded, the principle of democracy began to prevail, with the majority rules mentality overwhelming individual rights and freedoms.

Under the color of public safety, the administration was soon able to pass total gun-control legislation. But again, many states and like-minded individuals had anticipated and prepared for this eventuality. New militias formed throughout the country, and existing militias grew stronger by leaps and bounds. States like Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, Arkansas, Montana, Wyoming, the Dakotas, Alaska, and a few others began to stockpile weapons and ammunition in their National Guard armories, knowing they would need these supplies sooner rather than later. State governments began coordinating, keeping communications secret by using the most extreme measures to seize the military bases and federal property within their respective territories. The majority of military personnel were already members of local militias, which helped when the time came to execute those measures. Some states also began negotiations to form new alliances with one another, laying the framework to forge new nations.

After years of undercutting individual freedoms a small portion at a time, the US government made its move and declared martial law. The sheeple saw it as the singular answer to all their problems. Too many Americans subscribed to the belief that giving up individual freedom was worth receiving guaranteed security and safety.

The government used an old pig-hunting technique to indoctrinate the masses. Pig hunters would place a pile of slop on the ground in a field. The piggies would come every night and gorge themselves. Why forage through the swamps and forests when they could come and eat for free? Soon, the hunters would place a section of fence near the mound of food. At first, the piggies would be wary, but once they realized the fence wasn’t an immediate danger, they would waddle around it and continue feasting. It was just a minor inconvenience.

A few days later, the hunters would emplace a second side to the fence. Once again, the piggies were wary but much less so than before; it was the same as the first section and just an extension of the existing obstacle, and they would continue partaking of the bounty. A few nights later, the hunters would emplace the third side, yet the piggies still preferred the easy handout, so they ventured into the confined space night after night until one evening, while they were chowing down, the hunters would sneak up and block the only exit, forming a cage around the surprised animals.

Recognizing the danger at last, they bolted, running around in circles, often over each other, squealing and shrieking, but unable to free themselves. After the initial temper tantrum, they accepted their fate and waited every day for someone to come feed them.

In this case, the people acted more like sheep than pigs, sheep being much worse, just following the ass that’s in front of their noses. The pig-trapping technique works even better on sheep—just build a cage with a gate and lead them through it.

The government offered additional benefits and entitlements, such as monthly welfare checks, food stamps, tax refunds, subsidized housing, and free health care. It was mandated that all business owners would provide employee health insurance, although many businesses were too small to afford to do so. Those that didn’t close their businesses outright were forced into bankruptcy by the astronomical federal fines levied against them.

Many companies slashed their employees’ work schedules so they couldn’t work enough hours to qualify for health care, relieving the corporations of the obligation. This forced many people to take second and, in most cases, third jobs to keep their households afloat. The majority of recently unemployed sheep were content to sit on their asses and collect government checks. Hell, everyone else is getting a free ride, why shouldn’t I? Baa, baa, lazy sheep, hope you just get sheared and not skinned. Enjoy your cage, piggy, as long as the grub holds out. Don’t worry that your friends are disappearing one by one.

Soon, many of the states began to resist, and the federal government collapsed. The last straw was when the administration pulled one of its government shutdowns to bully the legislative branch into passing another spending increase. It had worked before, but what they hadn’t considered was that this time, America was tired of all the politics and had reached the limits of its patience. States recalled their federal representatives and then seceded from the union. The United States was powerless to stop them; there were so many simultaneous secessions that the US military wasn’t large enough to quell the growing revolution.

The states that didn’t secede were soon drowning in economic crisis and, without monetary assistance from the federal government, which was broken and bankrupt, couldn’t sustain themselves. Americans began to close ranks. People formed colonies again, gathering into communities for survival and protection. The new currency was gold and silver. Mammoth corporations and banking conglomerates descended into utter chaos.

It was like pushing a reset button on the United States. To survive, you had to work your ass off and possess skills that were in demand, such as welding, mechanics, carpentry, farming, medicine, and so forth. A college degree wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. You provided for your family by trading your skills to others who possessed the skills you needed. Bartering services became the commerce of the country. Above all else, you had to be able to protect what was yours or, at least, be able to hire someone to do so.

This was where being a mercenary and a soldier came in handy. Not many civilians possessed the skill set needed to protect their interests, so they sought out those who did. Traditional law enforcement was no longer effective. It fell to those with the ability, experience, and intestinal fortitude to ensure justice.

*****

Although the feds had run the country into the ground and lost control, they were determined to regain their power and reform the union. It didn’t matter to them that a vast number of people didn’t want them back, didn’t want to live under the dictatorship the government had become. Most in the federal system had never done anything in their lives except work in government. They soon realized they had no skills except for lying and stealing, and no one was buying their shit anymore.

They still controlled the Department of Homeland Security, minus the Border Patrol, the Department of Justice, the FBI, the CIA, and the Secret Service. They also had the IRS, which had been armed some years back, but other than having weapons and ammunition, its agents were useless bureaucrats.

Most law enforcement agencies threw in with the states in which they served, falling in line with the National Guard and under the direction of their state governors. The Border Patrol, the majority of which was located in Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico, fell in with its respective states. These states, along with Oklahoma and Arkansas, formed a coalition and secured a border around the outer edges of their territories, something the US government had claimed for years was impossible to accomplish. It had never been a question of whether or not it could be done but whether or not the administration wanted it done. Illegals moving into the country and being granted amnesty meant more voters for the administration and, they thought, tighter control of the country.

This newly formed republic would be governed by a council comprised of the governor of each former state and chaired by the Texas governor. Every governor on the board had an equal vote in all matters concerning the coalition. The former members of Congress and senators, those who were allowed back into the republic after the secession, acted as advisors to the governors of their respective states but were given no legislative authority. Most citizens felt they had been part of the problem while in Washington and were therefore not trustworthy enough to run the new government.

The new coalition named itself the Republic of United Libertarians or the RUL. The colors of the RUL flag were red, gold, dark blue, sky blue, and white. It was rectangular in shape, with an outside three-inch red border and an inner three-inch gold border, honoring New Mexico and Arizona, and then a centered blue rectangle to honor Texas. The sky-blue silhouette of an eagle, wings and talons spread out as if landing, was centered over the white silhouette of two crossed flintlock muskets, the sky blue honoring Oklahoma and the white of the muskets honoring Arkansas. Five white stars were spread out in an arch over the top of the eagle and rifles, one star for each state. The symbolism evoked a combination of remembrance, pride, patriotism, and hope.

Each state was entrusted to run its own territory but within the regulations set forth by the governing council. Certain laws and regulations had to be in place so the states could work together as one entity while still maintaining their individual freedoms. The US Constitution was adopted, with strict adherence to the Bill of Rights. There would have to be a few minor exceptions to some of the ideals of the forefathers, such as the three branches of government. The responsibilities and duties of the executive and legislative branches would now be combined and executed by the republic’s council. The judicial branch would now be overseen by a council made up of the former states’ Supreme Court justices and would still serve the same purpose it had when operating individually.

A new currency was printed and issued, using printing presses liberated from the Denver Mint soon after the collapse of Colorado’s government and infrastructure. An incredible amount of supplies, including paper, ink, and plates were also acquired, transported back to the republic, and housed in Austin, Texas.

Each state maintained its own gold and silver reserve within its borders but guaranteed the worth of the currency throughout the republic. Coins were no longer used. Bills were in the same denominations the United States used, but a fifty-cent bill was designed to replace the use of metal currency. Keeping the US bill designs, with only a few minor changes, the RUL was able to get the new currency into circulation almost immediately following the secession. The only changes made right away were to the color of the paper, from green to blue, and to remove any mention of the United States of America, replacing it with the Republic of United Libertarians.

Before closing its borders, the RUL was able to collect all the old currency from its citizens and reissue new currency, then lay off the old currency for gold and silver throughout the states in the United States that still clung to the hope of a reunification.

A flat-rate income tax was levied to fund the RUL. Eight percent was assessed for all citizens. If you made nothing, you paid nothing, but whatever your income, you paid 8 percent to the republic. Without the complex system of equitable taxation, as endorsed by the former US government, there was no need to employ thousands of bureaucrats to ensure everyone paid their so-called fair share. Tax collection was one of many menial duties assigned to the former Washington politicians, under close supervision, of course.

There was no central law enforcement agency. State agencies worked with each other when necessary to enforce interstate matters, but within their respective areas of responsibility, they were obliged to enforce their individual state’s laws according to their constitutions.

The Border Patrol answered to the Texas governor since the state had the closest working relationship with the agency, given the history between Texas and Mexico. The threat included the borders of the entire republic since the United States was now as serious a threat to the republic as Mexico ever was.

Needless to say, the United States did not embrace the secession of so many states from the union at once. The RUL was the most despised, having organized into a self-sustaining government so quickly. Other states had done well also, but none was as large and as powerful as the RUL. If it were possible to join the republic, other states would have jumped at the chance, but geographically, it was impossible to fold them into the new union due to US interference. The United States was doing everything possible to undermine the new union and prevent it from gaining economic power and world influence, in much the same way countries have done to each other since the beginning of civilization.

The United States engaged in the type of warfare it had perfected throughout history. By using the mainstream media and smear tactics, the administration accused the seceding states of being power hungry and attempting to ruin all the country’s Founding Fathers had built and destroying the progress the current administration had made. They preached such hate and lies to the masses that eventually, the RUL had to seal its borders and cease all trade and dealings with the United States.

The US government also sought to destabilize the RUL by slipping insurgents into the territory to assassinate persons in positions of power. It sent raiding parties, under the guise of US federal authority, into vulnerable areas and kidnapped law enforcement, judicial, and government employees, extradited them back into the United States, and tried them for treason and worse. It was dangerous to serve in any part of government in the RUL, especially in the law enforcement arena.

To combat these attempts at undermining the new republic, certain men were pressed into service of the nation. Men who had the ability to find and deal with such insurrections and lawlessness, men who could work alone with little guidance but still accomplish their mission, men who could shoulder the responsibility of deciding if and when to kill, men upon whom a new country could be built. Among the chosen few, one was the best, the Texas governor’s right hand, the steel in the republic’s spine.

Slipping out of the booth and walking over to the register to pay his bill, he concluded that if all these events were analyzed individually, the average citizen would never have predicted the current condition of the United States, but a person had only to take a step away from the daily grind and look at the big picture to see where it was all going to end up.

4

His name was Alamo. At least, that was the name the governor bestowed upon him in reverence because of his knack for often finding himself in situations where the odds against success seemed insurmountable. In contrast to his namesake, however, he always managed to achieve his objective, to beat the odds, and to make it home alive. He had long ago given up his real identity out of necessity.

He was well-known among all US law enforcement agencies, but specifically, the Justice Department, the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security, and the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency sought him out. Hell, the Internal Revenue Service had warrants out for him. He was considered a high-value target and carried a significant bounty on his head. He worked independently, no chain of command to answer to or be directed by, which was the way he liked it. He answered only to the Texas governor and carried out his orders in the name of Texas and the RUL. He didn’t carry a badge; a chunk of metal didn’t mean much when conducting the kind of business he was usually involved in. He enforced his authority with an appointment from the governor, a word to the wise, and, when the situation called for it, a gun.

He moved throughout the territories, crossing into the other states when necessary to get the job done. He never stayed in one place for long while operating, always pursued by insurgents from the United States and subversives working within the RUL. Just as the United States had been destroyed by dividing the people, there were some within the who that would see the fledgling nation suffer the same fate.

Each subversive had his or her own reasons for wanting to see the RUL fail, but almost without exception, it eventually came down to money. Someone paid them for information or support in sabotaging the territories. Alamo didn’t know who that was, but it was always in the back of his mind. He was always gathering information as to who may be involved and where he could find them and envisioning what would happen when he did.

It’s been said a person can be an artist at anything. Whatever the talent, a person can become known for it. Though he wasn’t easily identified—Alamo preferred working in the shadows—his reputation was legendary throughout the border country of the RUL. He spent much of his time extinguishing the flames of uprisings intended to destabilize the new country. Whenever things started to go sideways, Alamo would be dispatched to quell the resistance. He would use the