Future History

Copyright © 2011 - 2022 - This is an original work by Zeb Carter and is protected under copyright by U.S. copyright law. It is only submitted at Literotica.Com and any submission to any other site has not been authorized by the Author.

Author's Note: This is a conglomeration of several stories that I have written over the years that were going to be put together. I was going to call it Future History - The Downfall Saga. Here it is, it includes Downfall, Chicom 1 & 2 and several other short stories to bring things together. Any and all errors are mine. You post a comment about the errors and I will delete them. I have also changed the POV of Downfall to 3rd Person as the rest are all 3rd Person.

Chapter 1

Western Kentucky Free Militia

Sliding down the embankment, the supersonic crack of bullets whizzing past his head, John started to wonder how long he had to live. Towards the bottom, he slammed into a rock as big as a house, which brought him up short of the gully bottom. With his breath knocked out of him, John scrambled around the rock to get out of the line of fire. Sitting for a moment to catch his breath, he listened, trying to hear past the thunderous beat of his heart, for anyone coming down after him.

Distant yells from different voices and John knew where his enemies were. Finally able to breathe John slowly looked over the rock. There were five that he could see, one officer and four grunts. Turning to his left, John scrambled over to a slightly smaller bolder and peeked over the top, yep, there were five of them. Looking at his rifle, John shook his head knowing he would be unable to shoot the mud-encrusted weapon. Slinging it over his shoulder, John unholsters his sidearm. It was clean and ready to use. Not really wanting them to get close enough to use his sidearm, John looked down the shallow gully in which he found himself.

Nodding, John took off running toward the tree line. When he was halfway there, shouts and yells let him know they had him spotted. Hunching over John raced for the thick forest growth. Tweets and zips following him. John even felt one or two tugs at his jacket. Once in the forest, John kept running changing directions so he was now running directly away from those chasing him. He could still hear the pops and cracks of their weapons as they blindly fire at him through the trees. Slowing, John looked over his shoulder. Not one of them followed him into the dense forest growth.

Stopping, John dropped to his knees, as he gulped air to soothe his burning lungs. He thought to himself that he was way too old to be doing this but if he didn't who would? Soon his heart slowed and he could hear the sound of running water, close by. Struggling to his feet, John headed toward the sound. It turned out to be more of a brook than a stream, but it was wet and cool. After drinking his fill, he dropped his rifle in, letting it fall to the gravel bottom, watching the mud and dirt wash away. Picking it up, John pulled the magazine from the receiver dunking both into the water once more. He then ejected the round in the chamber and repeated the dunking. Picking the rifle up, John pulled the bolt open and dunked it again.

Shaking the rifle, he inserted the free round into the magazine, then carefully inserted the magazine into the receiver. Releasing the bolt, John slammed home a round. He was now ready to defend himself. Filling his canteen, he watched all around him. Not a leaf stirs. Smiling, he rose and head back the way he came. It was time to even the score.

Three days later, John is sitting around a small fire in one of the Militia camps, sipping what passes for coffee nowadays. It has been five years since the collapse of the U.S. Not six months after that, the Chinese landed troops on U.S. soil, and since then Americans have waged a guerrilla war against them. John was what you might call a freelancer. He operated by himself, his objective, to kill as many Chi-Coms as he could before they killed him. To date, John had no idea how many he has killed, but it was a lot.

They, the Western Region Kentucky Free Militia, had tried to give him a squad at the least, a platoon at the most. John always refused. He liked what he did, he liked hitting the enemy when and where they least expected. Near, far, it made no difference to John; his weapons of choice were three, an M-24, an M-4, and an automatic handgun. With the M-24, he sat back and at a thousand meters, killed three before they knew he was shooting at them. With the M-4, he could take out two, at a hundred meters out before the rest scramble for cover. The handgun was for close-in fighting. He could do it, but John preferred killing at a distance.

Finishing his coffee, he goes and draws the ammo he would need to do his job.

The next morning John is on a ridge overlooking a well-traveled road, hidden in the brush just below the top of the ridge, down the face far enough so he wouldn't be silhouetted. As he watched, a fast-moving convoy rounded the bend and careened into view. Leading the driver in the first vehicle, John squeezed the trigger. The driver slumped over and the truck turned sharply, tipping over and blocking the road.

The second and third trucks slammed into the first, spilling their loads onto the roadway. The other six trucks stopped in time. The last two disgorged ten troops each. Squinting through his scope, John found an officer. Squeezing the trigger, the officer was down, and confusion ran through the rest of the men. Scanning the rank insignias, John found a non-com who seemed to be shouting orders. The non-com was then down on the road bleeding from the wound in his head. He doesn't move. John started scanning the cargo spread across the road. A barrel appears in his sights. Smiling John pulls the trigger. Lining up his sights, he again pulled the trigger. A thunderous explosion erupted as the barrel next to it exploded. Soon all the trucks and most of the men were covered in flames. Sliding his rifle into its case, John packed up and left the area.

Chapter 2

Crouching in the brush beside a well-used trail, John waited for them to pass, six of them in this patrol. Standing as the last man passed him, John fires into the man's back, then the back of the next man, three were dead, the other three wounded as John turned to leave.

All through western Kentucky, John roams, plying his trade... death. When he wandered into camp the next day, John was told the commander wanted to see him. Shrugging, John headed for the fire and a cup of coffee first. Then over to the commander's tent.

"Private Johnson, reporting as ordered, sir."

"John, sit and you haven't been a private for a very long time."

"Yes, sir," John replied sitting.

"John, I want to assign two... "

"I work alone Ed, you know that."

"I do, but these two are good, but need a little hand-holding, just for a couple of weeks, John."

"I don't know. The last time we tried this... he was killed the second day out because he wouldn't listen."

"I know John," Ed said, staring at John.

"Shit, fine, who are they?"

"Bajek, Wilfinger, get in here," Ed shouted, two women, scramble into the tent to stand at attention.

"What the fuck?" John yelled.

"Now John," said Ed.

"Ed, what the hell is this?" John yelled, pointing at the two women.

"This is Captain Susan Bajek and Captain Michelle Wilfinger, both are excellent marksmen, better than you in some respects and both are... doctors."

"What?"

"You heard me. Your mission is changing John. You will escort the Doctors on missions of mercy throughout the region. There are people out there who need their help."

"Oh come on Ed... "

"That's an order Major," yelled Ed.

Gulping, John snapped to attention and saluted Ed.

"John, there's no reason to insult me now."

"Wanna bet?"

"Go eat and get a good night's rest, you leave in the morning. Dismissed."

Turning, John almost ran into the women.

"Captains," he said gesturing for them to go first.

"Major," the tall brunette replies, ducking out of the tent.

"Major," the slim redhead, said turning to follow the brunette.

Turning back to Ed, "Ed please... "

"No. You have been out there, alone, too long."

Shoulders slumping, John turned and left the tent. Outside both women wait for him.

"Major, I think we have to talk... "

John turned, walking away towards the fire and food. Both women hurried to catch up.

"Major," the brunette called out.

Ignoring her, John grabbed a plate from the stack on the table and filled it from the pot on the fire. The stew in camp was always good, always hot, and always filling. The women do the same, loading their plates with stew. Grabbing a seat on a log close to the fire, John starts to eat. The women do also.

"Major," the brunette starts again.

"Captain," John replied. She sighs exasperated. "Eat first, then we'll talk."

Nodding, she starts spooning stew into her mouth, as does the redhead. Fifteen minutes later, coffee in hand John nodded at the Captain.

"Okay out with it," he told her.

Sir... "

"It's John, don't sir me please."

"Fine, John... damn," she swore.

"What?"

"I had this long speech all laid out and now it just seems ridiculous."

John laughed, "What's your name, Captain?"

"Susan Bajek."

"So you must be Michelle?" he said turning to the redhead.

"Yes, sir... I mean yes John."

"So, you two want to visit the sick and needy?"

"Yes," said Susan.

"While along the way killing any of the enemy we can?"

"Yes," said Michelle firmly.

"Problem Susan?" John ask.

"No, not at all," she said.

"Good. Who taught you how to shoot?"

"My father when I was young. Then an instructor when I joined the militia, a Victor 'Vic' Stanley."

"Vic taught you how to shoot?"

"Yes, both of us," said Susan.

"Good, then you at least know which end the bullet comes out, don't you?" John asked sarcastically.

"We do," answered Michelle.

"Good. What's your route going to be?"

"Well," said Susan pulling a map from her pocket, "we start," she continued to smooth the map out on the ground, "here. Then work our way west, stopping in Marion, then on to Salem, over to Lola, and up to Tulu and back here. On the way, we help Americans and kill Chinese."

"You know that's a healthy hike through some rough hill country?"

"So?" Susan retorted.

"The round trip could take up to a month," I told her.

"Yes. Is that a problem for you Major?"

"Nope, and call me John."

"Good. You know we're not new to this?"

"Really?" John asked.

"We have been doing this in Central Illinois for a couple of years now."

"Great, why don't we get some shut-eye so we're all fresh in the morning?"

"Of course," said Susan folding her map.

Chapter 3

"Shit," Susan spat as they watch a column of Chi-Com's roll into Marion.

"Yep, that about does it," John quipped.

"We could still... "

"Not as long as they are here," he said.

"Shit!" she whispered under her breath. John just chuckled.

Pulling on her shoulder, they faded back into the woods by the roadside.

"Can we visit some of the outlying homes and farms at least?" she asked.

"We'll see, for now, we have to get away from here or we will cause trouble for them."

"Of course," she replied as they crept through the woods.

Both women were good soldiers. Both knew their way around a rifle and the woods. So far, John hadn't had to tell them much.

"Well, what do you think Major," asked Susan as they watch the goings-on at the farm below them in the valley.

"Pretty active, a lot of things going on down there, I think we need to get closer," John told her.

"Me too, I can't see who's who down there," she said.

"Yeah, me either."

Working their way to the right into the brush, the three of them crept down the hill toward the farm. After traveling about a hundred meters, John suddenly felt a tingling on the back of his neck. Raising his hand, John halted taking a knee. Both women did the same. Then John sees them. Three uniformed Chinese soldiers sitting in a blind facing away from them.

Getting up, John slowly crept backward keeping an eye on the men in the blind. When he was next to Susan, he pointed to where the men were. Nodding she points them out to Michelle who nods she has seen them.

"You and me, knives, leave your rifle and pack here with Michelle," John whispered in her ear.

Crawling over to Michelle, "You stay here. You have our backs," John whispered to her, laying his rifles and pack next to her. Looking at him, she nods.

Susan and John make their way as quietly as possible to the blind. Then they each jumped a soldier. John's knife is through the soldier's throat, windpipe cut in no time. He then swung, striking the third man in the chest so hard it knocks the wind from him. Susan has her hand over her man's mouth and her knife in his heart. He kicked once and was still. Looking around the blind, John sees a set of long-distance binoculars. Looking through them, he can see the valley floor clearly. Swinging the binoculars, John looked at several of the people down at the farm. They were all Chinese.

"Well, what do you know," he gasped.

"What?" asked Susan.

"They set a trap," he said.

"They did? How?"

"Never mind, we have to go now," John said pointing to the three soldiers making their way up the hill.

"Damn right," replies Susan starting back up the hill.

They collect their weapons, and packs, then headed out before the three dead soldiers they left behind were discovered.

Salem was abandoned. There was no one in town. They stopped at several farms, helped those in need, and gathered some intel on the goings-on in those parts. One family took them in for the night, served them breakfast, and then bid them goodbye with a "y'all come back now, ya hear."

Several klicks on, they came upon another farm. The doctors helped them with a sick child. Michelle takes care of her. Susan examines everyone else. Michelle left some antibiotics and we were off.

At the next farm, everyone is healthy. The father hands John three boxes of .308 shells.

"For your long rifle," he said, "the Chi-Coms took mine, but didn't find these."

"Thank you, I'll put them to good use."

"Please do."

That night they bivouac on top of a wooded hill, without a fire.

"Looks quiet," said Susan.

"Maybe too quiet," Michelle whispered.

So far, Michelle has been the quiet one of the two. As John scanned the town, he suddenly started laughing.

"What?" asked Susan.

"You'll see, let's go," he said standing and walking toward town.

As they crossed the small bridge, leading into town, both Susan and Michelle started laughing. On the bridge, there's a sign. It reads, "No Chinese allowed, only death awaits you here." It was just so American. For the next two days, Susan and Michelle see patients in the funeral home. After leaving Lola, the trek to Tulu is a breeze. The Chinese had also left this small town alone. They spend two days seeing patients in the schoolhouse. As they were leaving, a Chi-Com patrol surprised them. John was on point, it's too close to use his M-4. His pistol was in his hand spitting fire and lead within a fraction of a second.

As he fired, bullets whiz past his ear to punch holes into the chest of the man in front of him. Dropping to his stomach, John glanced behind him and watched Michelle take out the whole patrol. Six bodies lay on the ground in front of him. Climbing to his feet, John stared at Michelle.

Looking at him she said, "What?"

"It's always the quiet ones," John whispered stepping over to the dead bodies to search them. "Perimeter," he whispered to them.

Susan and Michelle take up positions ahead and behind the pile of bodies, while John searched them for any intel. Two minutes later, they're on the move again.

"That won't cause any problems for Tulu, will it?" asks Susan.

"Shouldn't, it's pretty clear they were shot with military weapons and we're far enough away from town."

They trudged on through the woods. Along the way, they stopped at several farms and houses. They were now on the long trail back to camp. There were several places along the way, where they could hurt the Chi-Coms. It was time to exact revenge. Sliding the suppressor onto the barrel of his M-24, John pulled the bipod legs down until they lock. Slipping the rifle forward, he gazed through the scope at an overabundance of targets. A column of Chi-Coms were headed away from them at about three hundred meters.

"What are you doing?" asked Susan.

"My job," he told her.

Lining up his sights, John squeezed the trigger. The last man in the column drops to the ground silently. One after another, the last man falls. For five minutes, John fires and reloads. The last man he shoots falls forward into the man in front of him. The whole column disappears into the woods.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted," John whispered. "Time to go, ladies."

Tearing down his rifle, he slipped it into its case slinging it over his back. They were heading away from the column within seconds. As they hiked through the woods, John noticed Michelle talking silently to herself. Stepping up next to her, John touched her arm.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Yes," she hisses.

"With me?"

"No, with me and I don't want to talk about it." She hurried on, leaving me walking alone again.

"Just leave her be John. I'll explain when we get back to camp."

"Sure, Sue, sure."

Chapter 4

Back in camp, John sat in Ed's tent sipping a twelve-year-old scotch. It was good too.

"How did it go?" asked Ed pouring him another.

"It went well. The Chi-Com are in Marion."

"Yeah, I figured they would be."

"Lola is clear as is Tulu. Salem is abandoned."

"Really? Salem?"

"Yep, I also found the Chi-Com are going farm to farm and confiscating weapons."

"Standard practice," Ed said.

"Michelle is a hell of a soldier, but she has a... she's conflicted."

"How so?" asks Ed.

"She is having a problem resolving the killing with her Hippocratic Oath.

"As she should," Ed muttered.

"It's driving her nuts, Ed."

"So I've been told."

"When?" John asked surprised.

"When they transferred down here, it's in her file."

"Huh, how about Susan?" John ask.

"She seems able to resolve her actions in her mind. Is she any good?"

"Yes very good. If I didn't know better I'd say they were both long-time Marines."

"Nope, homegrown militia, Gunny," Ed told me smiling.

Two days later the three of them are trudging up a hill where they would be able to overlook a good portion of Marion. As they approached the top of the rise, John heard voices speaking English. Raising his hand, he signaled for them to halt. Taking a knee, John listened to what they were saying.

"... then the gook just flopped around on the ground, so I shot him again."

"Too bad they killed all those people down in town trying to flush us out, fucking gooks."

"How's your leg, Denny?"

"It hurts... bad."

Rising, John slowly walked to where the trio sat. They were so intent on what is happening in the valley, that they didn't even hear him approach.

"Gentlemen," John said softly.

The three turned rifles ready.

"Geez, who the fuck are you?" one of them asked.

"Lower your weapons," John said not moving.

They lower their rifles.

"I'm Major Johnson of the Kentucky Free Militia. Captains, you have a patient up here," John called over his shoulder.