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also please forgive me I am still in the process of editing.
The Great Satan Falls:
The Collapse of America
The Constitution shall never be construed... to prevent the people of the United States who are peaceable citizens from keeping their own arms.
The security six cradled in the leather inside the waistband holster bumped into his slightly middle-aged love handles and he would swear once again the need to lose some weight. He had wanted to stop at home before going to the mall because he knew he was not supposed to carry in the mall. If they saw and made a fuss, he would leave. Besides the windbreaker covered the gun almost completely and only someone very observant would take notice.
Even though Kentucky is a very gun friendly state, some parts were still less than friendly. It was only a trespassing violation if he did not leave, but he wanted to get in and out so he could get home to his wife. Of course, he had forgot to get her the godiva and teddy bear a day earlier, so had to get it today before he went back home. He was walking into the mall and watched as a van parked. Four men exited the van, three from the side and one who was riding shotgun. The van pulled quickly away and towards the back of the mall.
Seemed a little odd, but he was just being paranoid as usual. His wife would just harrumph and say "not everyone is a bad guy". He laughed to himself.
As he was moving toward the same entrance, he saw a reflection in the window that turned his blood to ice. He could have sworn that one man had an AK under his coat. He was caught in between steps and he continued, so as not to draw attention, and hoped he did not gasp out loud. He looked closer and just maybe he could make out the butt of a gun sticking out the bottom of another coat.
His mind whirled. What should he do? What could he do? He had six rounds against who knows how many and what if he was wrong? He could try and call 911, but they would not get there in time. This could not be allowed to happen; how many times had he harped that if only an honest gun owner was someplace at the right time.
They were closer to the doors now and he had to make a choice, follow them in or peel off and call the authorities. He reached back for the feel of the target grip and felt the firm wood and the familiar steel. IDPA and target shooting with his son was nothing like how he was feeling now. Could he shoot someone, would he hit if he shot?
If he drew down on these guys and they had AK, he would be at a serious disadvantage and had to make the shots count. He had a good size knife and six rounds of 357 golden saber. They would take them down, but he had to hit center mass. Or should he try a head shot? He shook his head; no, same as always, center mass and one for each left to right. Then see where we are. He was starting to understand how Schwarzenegger felt when he played Conan going against that army. He knew that 30 rounds of x39 were far deadlier.
They had entered the outer doors and then the inner doors. He had moved to one side so he would come in two doors down from them, so as to slip in unannounced, if possible. He had stayed back and could see them standing just inside the doors. His hand tried not to squeeze the grip too tight. If this happens, these shots need to count or this will be for nothing. He will be shot and they will go on a killing spree, the likes not seen in America. He saw they were speaking to each other and then it seems time was slowed. The first man closest to him allowed his coat to open; there was no denying they were armed. The men all seemed to produce guns at once and leveled them at the crowds in front of them going about their daily lives. The next sounds rang in his ears as he pushed through the inner door.
His hand pulled from his right side and leveled at the closest terrorist. The loud shot rang out and one of the men dropped. The 357 traversed the distance between him and the man and tore from side to side, in the process hitting the aorta. He was dead before he hit the ground. The other men were astounded by the shot from behind and all looked at him.
The loud commotion in the mall of people running and screaming almost covered the second shot from the revolver. It hit the second man and he fell backwards. As the men began to fire back, he got one more shot off and another hit, but this man remained standing. He ducked behind one of the pillars as rounds began to shred the fake stone and shatter the glass storefront behind. He could see their reflection in what remained of the glass as one man turned to fire on the mobs of people. The other dropped his magazine and fished for another one. He stood up and took aim and pulled the trigger. It broke as it always did with two lbs of pressure and the bullet was away. The tall dark man with an unkempt beard was beginning to pull the trigger on the AK. His finger never received the rest of the command; the bullet struck just below the hairline above the ear and left a neat clean hole and tore most of the left side of his head off.
What was one of the most important rules of a gun fight?
Never stand still!
As he felt the pain he looked down. The second man he had shot had produced a small revolver and was firing at him. The bullet must have hit the AK and torn through his shoulder, but he seemed pretty good with his left hand.
He cursed as he slid back to the limited security of the pillar. Great job there; stand like a deer caught in the headlights and get shot in the side for it. Fortunately, it looked like a clean through and through. It was somewhat a mute point. Two bad guys and three bullets and now he was bleeding.
He could see the man on the floor was unable to get up and the other terrorist was still fiddling with the AK magazine. Something was said between them in quick Arabic and the last standing terrorist moved to grab one of his downed comrades' guns. A quick glace and more bullets ripped the pillar to smaller rubble. Then his attention turned.
There were crowds behind benches and trash cans. They were there and he was going towards them. It was now a matter of how many they were going to kill. The blood drooled out of the wound in his side as he stood up. He saw the last walking terrorist moving further into the mall to complete his mission.
With three bullets left, he made a decision and accepted this was more than likely going to be his last act. He came from behind the pillar and fired at the terrorist on the ground and hit him again in the chest, but as a second round was fired he was spun around and missed. His left shoulder hurt and he was feeling new pain as he squeezed his last shot. It caught the man about the collar and tore through his neck. He was no longer a concern, but now no more bullets. He walked over to the headshot man, searching for a handgun and was awarded with nothing. He walked over to the man who had just shot him for the second time and pried the small 38 from his tight grip. He turned and fired, hitting the walking terrorist in the middle of the back, causing him to collapse. As more and more blood flowed from his shoulder and side, he made his way toward the last terrorist who was trying desperately to get the AK just out of reach.
With his remaining strength he pushed the man over onto his back with his boot. The pain from the back wound made him wince. "We are but the first. The great satan will fall," he gasped out.
He remembered a line from some movie he could not place now; his mind growing fuzzy with the loss of blood.
Not in your lifetime.
The gun bucked as he fired the last shot into the middle of the man's forehead and then collapsed.
How strangely will the Tools of a Tyrant pervert the plain Meaning of Words!
The scene was one of chaos. After securing the area, the police and paramedics attended to the fallen. There was little to do for the four men in long coats with beards and a Koran in each jacket pocket. Jerome Tanner had done the job well and all of them were dead.
JT, as his friends knew him, was not quite ready to pass over that threshold. He was stat-flighted to the regional medical center, University of Louisville hospital. Room 7 was always ready for a trauma victim and with the blood losses and the two bullet wounds, he classified. He was going in and out of consciousness as the doctors started to work on him, a guard standing nearby in scrubs since no one still knew exactly what happened at the mall and whom the bad guys were.
"A little stick," the pretty blond nurse said through her mask. The pain of the IV being inserted seemed very far away as he was lapsing back to unconsciousness. He wondered if his family would make it before he went to surgery or if he would come back from the darkness this time. A crackle from the radio in the office brought him back up from the depths.
The doctor, none to pleased with the noise….. “turn that off! We are trying to save a man's life,” he growled.
The officer was just reaching up for the mic when……..
"Be advised... this is not a drill... We are on high alert...Terrorist’s attacks have been reported across the United State. The Mall of America was attacked, as well as several others. All personnel are to report to shift commanders immediately."
The darkness came and washed over him like a warm flood. The nurse had gotten the IV started. The anesthesiologist began a push of the milky drug and he was out.
The surgery went on for several hours. The hole in his side was easy enough, but the one in the shoulder had nicked a small artery that proved to be tricky to find and sew up. After that and four pints of blood, he was in recovery and the doctors informed his wife and kids that the next few hours would tell. They said he might lose the use of the left arm or it might just show some stiffness. It was hard to tell at this time.
Anne and his two children waited as the time passed. At some point the police and FBI arrived. Since this looked like a part of a grand attack ,the feds... well, they were concerned. Most of the questions she had no answer to. She was unsure why he was there. Yes, he had a CCW, but he rarely carried, except on their ten acres outside of the city. Only half way through the conversation did she suddenly think that tomorrow was her birthday and he would have been getting Godiva and maybe a bear. She sobbed as she told the officer that was more than likely the reason for the trip. He was not one to head to a mall without good reason. He did not like the crowds and frankly... well, he was not a people person. The two kids smiled. Dan, 18, and Nora, 20, thought "yeah, not really a people person". Anne felt she should explain that although he was not violent or mean he just preferred his time with family and a few close friends.
"Ma'am, I have to ask, was he involved in some religious … well you know"
She smiled. “Yes he was. He was born and raised a Southern Baptist, but did not attend church for some petty disagreement. He had talked about getting back into it. We had gone to Catholic Masses over the last years….” She trailed off.
The officer was taking notes and asked slowly could he have been involved with these… terrorists.
Dan took exception and stood up, his 6'2" wiry frame standing next to his mother.
“my father just did your ******* job and you have the ***** to ask if he was involved?!”
Nora grabbed her brother and pulled him away before more than harsh words were exchanged. Her brother was not on the road to ingratiating himself to the local cops.
His mother took over …” no, he would not have been. He was not a fan of Islam or the PC crap that allowed it to flourish unchecked in the US,” she said with more than a touch of condescension.
The officer said he was sorry if he offended and had to pursue all lines of questions. He walked away.
Anne called her mother and told her of the prognosis; she also told of the questions and asked if they could come out there to rotate from the hospital instead of home.
Her mom told her…”do not say another word to those jack offs, call a lawyer and tell them to talk to him. “
Anne did not feel the need for counsel but knew her mom was taking the same tact her husband would. What was it he always chided “can be used against you, not for you, not to clear you, not to show you did nothing wrong, but can be used against you” she smirked as he said, his voice always raising a bit when he would get on a role with talking about the government. He was not really against the government, but then he was not really a fan of it either. The scariest phrase known to man, "we are from the government and we are here to help". A soft giggle escaped her lips as she sobbed and waited.
The phone rang in the home of Louisville ADA, Arthur Kurns. He was an up-and-comer in the district attorney's office. He bent down and picked up the phone.
“Brother” …a hushed voice whispered.
Kurns looked around to make sure his wife was not close by. “I told you not to call this number”
"It has started, brother, but a dog of a man stopped our brothers in your city. Only the driver escaped after he heard the commotion. The man must be punished. There can be no one that stands in the way of the Jihad."
“It will not be easy,” Kurns said. "There is nothing I can do that will not raise more suspicion then I am already under. Since the case where we won the right for sharia in the divorce courts, I have been under scrutiny. My boss did not approve that and he let me know it was not a case he supported. But with the help of our people at city hall, they kept me here. If I step that far out again, my cover here may be up."
"Allah will protect us. We have begun the downfall of this decadent country and Allah willing, we shall see it fall and a new caliphate will arise with sharia governing this land."
"He must be charged, brother, and convicted. We must use their own laws against them."
The wheels had already started to turn in his head. He could charge the trespass and then charge with murder. The men had shot no one, and by everything that was seen on the tapes, he had heard through the grapevine that one of the men was shot in the back. Yes. He opened his home office door and stepped in, slowly closing and locking the door. He unrolled the rug handed down from his mother's grandfather and placed the prayer cap on his head. Facing Mecca, he prayed for strength and for the day when he would let these swine know his true self.
“Mohammed Salem” he whispered, Allah protect your humble servant.
We cannot make events. Our business is wisely to improve them
As he woke in recovery, JT was greeted with a pretty nurse asking him to wake up. With green eyes like that, he would do his best. He tried to focus and come from the depths of the drug-induced fog. His left arm ached and he could not move it, later to find out mostly because of the neural block they did, but also it was sore. He spent minutes, maybe more, coming out of the fog. At some point the nurse asked of he wanted some ice chips, and he gladly accepted, enjoying the cool feeling on his parched throat. As he slipped into consciousness, he noticed no other patients in the recovery room. What time of day was it, he wondered? The shooting had happened around 1, but he had no idea now.
The nurse asked if he wanted his glasses and he slowly nodded. His eyes adjusted. H e looked around and asked if his family was nearby. His nurse motioned to one of the other nurses sitting at their station and they went out the door. He caught a glimpse of a clock above the door; it was now 2300 he mused, 11 pm. What else had happened? His mind was clearing and he remembered the radio message before he went out.
The nurse gathered the Tanner family and took them back to see Jerome. He was more awake as his wife and kids came through the door. They hugged and wept. He held back tears, knowing what could have been lost today. He asked his wife what had happened today and told her of the message he had overheard as he was going out. She looked over her shoulder, as if expecting an officer to have followed her into the recovery room. His eyes met hers as she came back to his face and touched his check with her finger. "They do not want us to go into detail, but the same attack was carried out in 20 malls across the country at almost the same time. The death toll was upwards of 1000 and untold injured."
Dan spoke up and said, "it is a bunch of PC crap. They are not calling it a terrorist action and some, like the MSNBC stooges, are saying it could have been a domestic attack from rightwing militia. They even suggested you killed innocent Arabs going shopping."
His mother touched his hand and Dan calmed some, but the anger simmered below the surface.
He had wondered how it would play out, but now it was too late to worry.
The nurse informed him they were going to move him now. Everyone left with kisses to his cheek and a squeeze of the hand from his wife as they unhooked the bags of fluids and began to move the bed out of recovery. He was wheeled into room 3-5. It was at the end of a hallway. He noticed a chair already in place and a security guard outside the door. He wondered if that was to protect him or to make sure he did not go anywhere. He thought back to his son sying that they were already claiming that he overreacted.
As soon as he was settled he reached for the phone and began to dial… the phone was dead. He pushed the button for the nurse and and when the bubbly young aide walked in, she said they had asked that the phone be turned off.
“Who had asked?” he said as calmly as possible.
“Oh, it was the men from the FBI,” she said.
She went on to explain they had said they were sure he would want some peace and quiet and confided in her that all sorts of people might try and call to get a story.
It made him feel so warm and fuzzy; them looking out for his best interests and peace and quiet. More likely, they did not want me to call anyone before they got to ask me questions. Maybe they thought he was Ron White, “I had the right to remain silent but not the ability”.
Ok, no more redneck humor, he thought. He was in no mood to be bullied by the Feds, but then again, he thought it might be advantageous for them to come and interrogate a man a couple of hours out of surgery. If this went down badly, he would need all the sympathy he could get. He dismissed the aide with a polite and smiling "thank you" and laid back into the bed feeling the need to rest. The meds and trauma were overtaking his body and he drifted to sleep.