Chapter 1

A reminder to readers, ‘Story Codes’ are applied for the entire book, not just the Chapters.

Thomas Jefferson Gunn. Age 35. 5’8” tall. Thick but muscular 200 pound build. Dark brown hair. Hazel eyes. His heritage was Choctaw Indian & South Louisiana “coon ass” Cajun. An eclectic mix that yielded some interesting personality traits and preferences. Current occupation: Special Agent, tracker, and scout for a interdiction task force, assigned to locate and report on movement of humans and drugs by the cartels.

Tommy was not actually a Native Texan. His parents moved here when he was 2 years old. His father, Thomas R., had always been a self-proclaimed ‘Patriot’, and huge fan of the American founding fathers. Thomas Jefferson in particular, due to his outspoken and often fanatical beliefs about our fledgling Nation. The senior Gunn could almost quote the former Presidents’ writings and antics as if he himself penned the words and was eyewitness to the deeds.

After returning to the States from “the Nam”, he developed a serious mistrust of Government, politicians in particular. And that dislike fueled his passion for Survivalism. What 21st Century survivalists prefer to call “prepping” in order to escape the critical eye of liberals who counted survivalist the same as the words ‘militia’ or ‘weirdo’.

Thomas Senior was drawn to this area by the cheap land and high paying oil jobs during the Carter oil crisis.

Tommy lived a simple life on the land his parents left him when they died. Nothing flashy or extravagant. Maybe some expensive toys and hobbies, but to the untrained eye he was just another local yokel redneck working stiff.

The nondescript 1970’s 3-bedroom ranch style house sits on 5 acres. The nearest neighbor is almost 5 miles down the road.

A solar system with backup battery banks provides 100% off-grid power to the house. and a 30’ X 40’ metal shop building, and a 25kw diesel generator is on standby for any glitches that may require it.

Water is provided by a 1500’ well that taps into a sweet-water aquifer. The sewerage collected in a 1000 gallon septic system.

The long driveway passes between Two barbed wire fences, and over Three cattle guards that can be raised so that they become draw-gates, and each fence post is color coded on the top 12 inches to also serve as a range distance marker.

A steel automatic gate at the main road serves to let anyone know they are not welcome unless invited.

In the “back yard”, if you can call it that, is his pistol and sub-gun range. Targets of all sizes and at distances from 15 to 60 yards are spread and scattered all about.

Looking 1000 yards out beyond the back of the property, across his fence and on neighboring land that has been owned for generations by some family that has likely forgotten all about it, sits a target array for his rifle shooting practice.

Underneath the metal shop building is a 20’ X 20’ underground shelter, fully stocked with 1 year of supplies for Six people. With only Five of the originally intended occupants still living, it would be a comfortable stay.

TV and Internet arrive through satellite, and phones are Cellular/Satellite hybrids courtesy of the government. An antenna array on a 75’ tower helps with some of the more eccentric radio traffic and monitoring. In the house’s carport sits a white nondescript 2013 KIA Soul.

Stored inside the metal shop are his other toys. A 1990 Jeep YJ, completely rebuilt and customized, that has a 150 HP Turbo-Diesel engine. A Honda VTX1800 Motorcycle. An ultralight airplane folded nicely against the back wall. And even an air boat powered by a 300 Continental aircraft engine.

Along with these toys are a various assortment of tools and sundries he has picked up or inherited through the years, as well as his mowers and a 1965 Ford tractor he rebuilt with the senior Gunn as a teenager. The well insulated and air-conditioned shop makes puttering with his toys and hobbies a real joy.

“Off-site” Tommy maintains a 12’ X 12’ locker at a secure storage facility, which itself is coincidentally located inside the boundary fences of a military installation. And he rents Two stalls at a local Horse Boarding facility. Here his 2-horse trailer is parked and his appaloosa gelding, and a paint gelding, enjoy being pampered and spoiled on a daily basis by two of the cutest little 12-year-old Latina sweethearts that have ever existed ... and who also ride and shoot like little Annie Oakley’s courtesy of their late father.

He was taken from Mia and Tia, and their mother “Shasta”, during a late night shift as a Border Patrol officer. Killed in cold blood by the coyote as he passed out energy bars and ice cold bottles of sports-ade to the people he had just apprehended.

Kenneth Granados died with his head in the lap of a 40-year-old Mexican woman, as her brother tried to stop his bleeding. Tended to by the same people he had been there to take into custody and send back to Mexico.

Their efforts failed, and at the same time the coyote was fleeing in his patrol vehicle. With, of course, the over 400 pounds of methamphetamine which the Illegal Aliens were forced at gunpoint to carry across the river which made up the border.

The good Samaritans tending to him knew Ken well, it was their 2nd time to be apprehended by him in as many years, and he had treated them very well each time.

Ken had a well-known reputation along this part of the border as a “Good Man” who cared for people as much as he did the law. He was always kind and understanding, and never allowed any of his apprehensions to be mistreated or denied help if needed. Once he had even come to blows with an overzealous BP officer that was on loan from another State because the guy had bashed an IA for no good reason. It ‘cost’ him a reprimand and 2 weeks at home with his family. A good trade in reality.

But the story had spread like wildfire, and Ken was the BP who the IA’s hoped would catch them, if they had to be caught.

But the worthless coyote didn’t care about human life.

Ken left behind his wife Shastain “Shasta” Granados, and twin 9 year old Daughters. Mariana “Mia” Granados, and Tiara “Tia” Granados. And among the many co-workers and other friends, a man named Thomas “Tommy” Gunn.

Kenneth’s funeral procession had almost 200 law enforcement officers, 300+ motorcycle club riders wearing several dozen different “patches”, and over 12 miles of Civilian attendee vehicles. Mostly Mexican Americans who respected him.