M.I.A: Military Industrial Apocalypse

© 2012 by Alberto Trevin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/27/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4563-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4559-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4564-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012913126

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Prologue

SEPTEMBER 2008

It has finally caught up to us, thought Mr. Johnson. The worst part about it was that he and his cohorts had allowed it to happen. Their investors and tragically, the American people, would never forgive the company he ran ever again, but that was the least of Mr. Johnson’s concerns. The damage made already was beyond irreparable, the economic doomsday was just a matter of time and he knew it the minute he received his copy of the Company’s economic outlook months earlier and for some time before that. His company would spiral down a bottomless barrel. He knew that the fall would be hard, yes, but the landing would be catastrophic. Raymond Johnson knew what this meant not only to his company, but to the lending banks and the American economy, but perhaps more importantly, to the global economy once the last domino fell. Much was riding on their bonds, from investments made by the government of China to the retirement funds of millions of people in America. It was a horrifying thought, but he knew those investments would eventually go down to zero and beyond and then there would be no other alternative but to file for bankruptcy, it would be the end of the company, yes, but the company would not be the only one to be affected, many others would, persons and companies alike. It did not matter how strong the company was, once investors in and around Wall Street, as well as stockholders around the world got word of the freefall, most would panic and scramble to withdraw their investments. Some banks had started to smash ATMs as a preventative measure. Initially there would be panic throughout Wall Street. The panic then would spread throughout the nation and eventually throughout the world. If America had once been known as the Sleeping Giant, it would now be known as the Falling Giant, he thought. He had studied the company’s numbers and had looked at them over and over from every possible economic perspective there was, but there was no way around it, it was a time bomb and it would explode right in their faces. America was indeed a Falling Giant and it’s economy was hanging by a thread, a thread on a rolling spindle, that is. Eventually the spindle would reach its end and the thread that looped around the spool would snap just as hard and easily as his neck would once a criminal court hung him and his cohorts for knowingly contributing to the demise of the American economy and not give any advanced warning. This economic disaster would rewrite the books on Economics and its principles. He wished it was just a nightmare, but it was not, he knew that an economic apocalypse was looming. As CEO and President of the company, he knew full well that he would be the first to go when it all went down. A nightmare of epic proportions, he thought, as he stared into a blurring computer screen which slowly comes into focus to slowly reveal a screen saver which read: FEDERAL MORTGAGE AND SECURITIES.

QUETTA, PAKISTAN

2009

This way, please spoke in Farsi a young Pakistani man as two well dressed Iranians walked behind him. Both Iranians followed him into a big room which had Muslim praying mats at the center. Once all three were inside, the Farsi interpreter, a young Pakistani student from Lahore University, offered them tea while their hosts arrived. One of the Iranians looked at the other and gave him a nod as if instructing him to proceed. The second Iranian opened a brief case he was holding and took out a USB device from within and handed it to the Farsi interpreter as he said to him, guard this with your life. The interpreter, confused, turned and headed to the exit as one of the Iranians told him, we’ll be waiting here for a response. The young Pakistani exited the small dwelling located within a small compound and met two bearded men brandishing AK47s or Russian made Kalashnikov assault weapons, both had finger on trigger. Quickly the bearded men escorted the young interpreter inside an old crew cab pickup which had 2 other bearded guards inside. All four, however, were not Pakistani or Arab, but rather Chechen. Chechens had gained notoriety for their fierceness as they fought off the Russians during both Russian invasions into Chechnya in the 90s, but more so for their infamous attacks against Russian civilians during the Nord-Ost Siege and the Beslan school massacre. The driver, Ahmed Kotorov, sped away and looked to the interpreter, Moustaffa Mahmoud, a kidnapped college student and more. Moustaffa knew that as much as he wanted to get away from these beasts, it was futile. Even if he could, his whole family would be slaughtered by other Chechens and Uzbekis waiting for the go ahead if Moustaffa refused an order or escaped. The co-passenger Chechen also looked at him through the rearview mirror and said to him, quit staring at me like that or I will cut out your eyes and deliver them to your family, do I make myself clear? Ahmed turned to him, What’s with you and eyes, Abdel? Tell him, Bakram, said one of the Chechens sitting in the back with Moustaffa. Bakram, yet another Chechen riding in the back and a veteran of both Russian invasions reveals to Ahmed, the youngest and least experienced of the Chechens, Abdel’s story, the co-passenger and leader of the Chechen contingency in Pakistan. Moustaffa wearily watched Abdel and the eye patch he sported as Bakram told them the story of Ahmed. Abdel was captured by the Russians, Bakram started telling Moustaffa.

THE STORY OF ABDEL

CHECHNYA

1999

An intense firefight raged outside Grozny, the Capital of Chechnya and a group of Chechen mujahedeen exchanged fierce fire with a Russian paratrooper unit from the 98thAirborne Division. Abdel Abdallah was sitting high on a mountainside cutting down Russian paratroopers, taking advantage of his strategic position. Several of the paratroopers pinpointed him and two of them made a dash toward him. Once one of the paratroopers got within 40 meters of Abdel, he lifted his AK-74 and shot Abdel in his chest. Abdel, surprised, went down, but luckily he had his bullet vest on and soon the paratrooper was on top of him about to finish him off with his sidearm. Abdel then grabbed the paratrooper’s left ankle and yanked him hard enough to bring the young paratrooper down. Abdel, in a quick motion, put his right forearm on top of the paratrooper’s chest and pushed down to get the rest of his body on top of him. Abdel took out his knife and buried it deep in the paratrooper’s neck. The second paratrooper now seeing that his comrade was in danger, lunged at the Chechen. Evenly matched, both started to fight to the death. The paratrooper was excellently trained in offensive and defensive techniques, but so was the Chechen. The paratrooper had Abdel in a headlock and was squeezing to cut off Abdel’s oxygen supply, but not before Abdel took out yet another dagger hidden in his boot as he turned the sharp wedge towards him and backstabbed at the Russian right through the heart. The Russian fell down flimsily as Abel looked him into his eyes and saw his life slip away. As fierce a warrior as Abdel was, he was not invincible, as an explosion knocked Abdel unconscious from an incoming Russian mortar round.

As Abdel slowly regained consciousness, he thought he was back at home with his grandfather as a small child. Both of Abdel’s parents worked in Russia for seasons and his grandfather took up the roll of mother and father during Abdel’s parents’ absence. But as Abdel’s vision came into focus, he realized he was not in the comfort of his grandfather’s cottage, but rather in quite a predicament. Abel was in the back of a Russian army truck and around him were five Russian commandos, bald, dirty and rugged looking, one of them was smoking a Cuban cigar. Hey Andrei, look, our sleeping beauty has awakened, yelled out in a heavy Russian accent one of the commandos. Abdel looked at their arm batches and recognized their emblem immediately; he knew who they were alright, but he had only heard of them and never seen them. Frankly, he was beginning to think of them as nothing more than myth. If he was correct, however, this unit was the stuff of legend in Russia, these men were considered the elite of the elite, merciless assassins. Even more revered than the legendary Spetsnaz of Alpha Team. These commandos were part of a detachment from the hyper elite unit known as the Vympel Unit. It is said within the ranks of the Spetsnaz that those of its members that fail to perform the will of mother Russia, will be paid a visit by the Vympel or the Black Demons as they are known to other Spetsnaz units because of the unit’s preference to wear all black. It is said that the Russian Spetsnaz are such a successful special