The Slave Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  The Slave Warrior

  By Marilyn Donnellan

  ©2018,

  ISBN 978-1-5323-6768-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1986343046 CreateSpace

  ISBN 10: 1986343049 CreateSpace

  Cover art by Robin E. Vuchnich

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  Quote on page 244 is from The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, translated by Lucia Graves, published by Penguin Books, ©2001, Carlos Ruiz Zafon

  Prologue

  The White Warrior leads a band of rebels struggling to restore the lost freedoms of writing, reading and religion. Now ruled by a psychotic emperor, the American Empire is falling apart with its citizens starving and gangs of lawless hobos roaming the land. The rebel army of Book Liberators is outgunned but refuses to accept defeat, even after the first White Warrior disappears into a brutal slave camp.

  The Book Liberators Series

  The Book Liberators: The White Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Slave Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Mother Warrior

  The Book Liberators: The Daughter Warrior

  The Warrior

  By Marilyn L. Donnellan

  I struggle each day

  To win all the battles

  And still I will fight

  Regardless the shackles

  I am a warrior

  A warrior at heart

  I am a warrior

  A warrior at heart

  For my parents, Fred and Fern Hawkins, who always fought for me

  Chapter One

  The White Warrior Revealed

  Juan knew the rumor mill worked overtime, but even so he was curious where and how the rumor started. Everyone talked about someone called the “White Warrior.” The person seemed to be an avenging angel, flitting in and out of battles with the empire’s soldiers, all dressed in white. Some said it was a woman, others weren’t sure. But whoever it was, she was a killing machine. Wherever she went, death followed.

  It started a couple of months ago, in Chicago province. A BL member arrived from there shortly after the ferocious battle for the Anton estate, north of Chicago. He infiltrated the imperial army and reported a hundred soldiers were assigned to occupy the estate, capture everyone inside and burn the building to the ground. Apparently, Priest believed Marco’s dad was involved in supplying rebels with arms and ammunition. He was, as Marco told Juan via an encrypted message, but Priest had no proof. Rather than wait for proof Priest decided to act anyway.

  What the soldiers did not know, Marco said, Allison and Brogan were hiding out at the estate, recovering from their prison escape. There was no indication they had been captured in the skirmish and no sign of bodies, either, per all the reports. This turned out to be the first reported sighting of the White Warrior. The BL spy said soldiers were so focused on repelling whoever was firing at them from inside the mansion, they were oblivious when the White Warrior seemed to come out of nowhere behind them, killing everybody except the rebel spy and one soldier.

  The soldier was discovered a few hours after the firefight, huddled inside the mansion. His leg was amputated from a laser gun and he had some frost bite. Soldiers who found him believed he was delirious, at first. The rebel overheard him saying, “The White Warrior said I must give a message to the emperor and his consort.” He refused to say what it was.

  He repeated the message enough times so word of it went up the command chain and they finally sent him to Boston. He received a private audience with the emperor and his consort. Marines stood nearby to make sure he didn’t assassinate them. Whatever the message was, once he gave it to them, Priest became so angry he killed the trooper himself.

  Since the skirmish at the Anton estate, the White Warrior reportedly showed up at several other rebel battles between Chicago City and Austin City. A talented and ferocious fighter, if all reports were to be believed, but impossible to identify. The warrior appeared and disappeared like a ghost. Even direct hits from a laser gun did not faze the warrior.

  Juan sat in his usual spot in a cave near Nava, mulling over the most recent reports from rebels scattered across Texas Province. He heard a commotion outside the cave. He stood up and moved toward the entrance.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there,” a sentry hollered.

  “Just watch me,” he heard a familiar voice say.

  A tall woman dressed in white pushed the brush aside and strode confidently toward him. The daylight was behind her, making her face indistinguishable until she stood within a few feet.

  “What’s the matter, Juan, don’t you recognize an old friend?”

  “Oh, my God. Brogan!” He jumped up and threw his arms around her. “Everyone believed you were dead. Killed in the attack in Chicago.”

  Brogan face broke into a cruel smile. “Yeah, so did a lot of people.”

  He stepped back to get a good look at her. Her hair had started to turn white last time he saw her, but now it was totally white, providing a vivid contrast to her emerald green eyes. A tight white jumpsuit showed off a muscular but trim body. She looked fantastic. But she had a disconcerting, cruel and hard look to her.

  “Are you done looking?” she asked him.

  Juan flushed, “Sorry, I just can’t believe how great you look. Marco said you and Allison had a very rough time in the prison in Boston. I saw news reports about your escape.”

  They spent the next hour catching up on things. Brogan told him about her stop in Austin City to give news to Janice’s parents about her death but refusing to discuss her time in prison.

  “It was one of the most difficult things I ever did, talking to Janice’s parents,” she said. “But they suspected something happened to her, since they hadn’t heard anything from her in almost a year. They said you contacted them and told them she was probably dead. We had a little memorial service for her. It was sad, but I believe it helped them. By the way, does Bryan’s dad know about his death?”

  “Yes,” Juan replied sadly. “I stopped in Cosala after I escaped from Mazatlán. At the time, I didn’t know if anyone survived other than me. That’s when Stephen decided to go to Laredo to help my dad train fighters. He said he needed to do something to avenge Bryan’s death. He’s around here somewhere; I’ll make sure you have a chance to see him. But how did you manage to avoid the imperial soldiers? Your face has been plastered all over the media since your escape?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” she said, shrugging off his concern. “Most of the time, on my cycle with my helmet on, no one could see my face or my hair. If I removed it, I kept the Book Liberators’ mask on and tried to travel at night. Besides, this time of the year, up north with all the blizzards, all my white gear helped me to disappear easily.”

  He found the cold, unemotional tone to her voice unnerving. She asked him about her dad and Emily.

  “There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think about them, but I know I can’t go see them for fear of exposing them to danger.”

  “They are doing very well. I left my son, Mateo, with Frank. He is a wonderful grandfather for both. I send encrypted messages to Frank periodically.”

  “Next message you send, please let them know I am well, and I love them and miss them?”

  “Certainly.” He was puzzled. She says it like she’s reciting a grocery list. What’s happened to the warm, caring Brogan?

  Brogan continu
ed her story of what happened in Chicago City. He was stunned at the news she sent Marco and Allison to Canada by submarine to look for military help in the fight against the emperor. But he was even more shocked when she sheepishly admitted she was the White Warrior.

  “No way!” he said in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” she said with a shrug, “It just kinda happened. I decided to use a remark Allison made to scare a soldier and it just stuck. Now I can’t shake it. So far, I have had no problem appearing and disappearing anonymously. Playing the part seems to terrorize soldiers and encourage rebels, so I figure it can’t do any harm.

  “And, it doesn’t hurt the equipment the Canadians gave me has given me a phenomenal advantage over soldiers in a battle. All the outerwear works like a chameleon, changing color to match whatever background I’m in. I just wish we could figure out a way to replicate their equipment.”

  “Tell me more about the equipment. Our engineers are great and might be able to replicate it. We need all the help we can get. We’re running out of old-style ammunition.”

  Brogan pulled down the zipper on her white jumpsuit, allowing Juan to look more closely at the body suit she wore under it. He stared in awe as she put the helmet on and the faceplate slid across her face when she pushed a button on the side. She explained to him what she could see through the faceplate.

  “I have no idea how it works, but it is apparently solar powered. It is also tied to the laser pulse gun I use, which is in the sidesaddle of my bike. The gun is small enough to fit into the side saddle and it is somehow connected to my DNA. Even though the Canadians gave me some additional clips, the charge on it lasts an extremely long time and is rechargeable.

  “I’ve been in several hand-to-hand battles where someone shot a laser rifle at me and the laser just bounced right off me. Singed the jumpsuit but didn’t even leave a burn mark on my body armor. The Canadians are so far advanced in their weaponry; it is scary great. Now you can see how important it is for Allison and Marco to enlist their help.”

  Brogan suddenly swayed where she stood, groping for a chair to sit down.

  Juan slapped his hand against his forehead. “Where are my manners? You must be starved and exhausted. How about something to eat? We can talk more later.”

  He called one of the sergeants over and asked them to scrounge up something for Brogan to eat and find her a spot to bunk for the night. After Brogan left, Juan sat in stunned silence, trying to absorb everything she him. This could really make a huge difference to the rebels.

  The attack on the Ft. Sam Houston airfield was a huge success, but at a cost of several dozens of his best fighters, including First Lieutenant Wann. The fuel depot was blown up, as well as the airfield. Since there was no airfield close enough to Laredo to refuel the jets, the bombings stopped for now.

  Rebel forces in Chicago and New York provinces continued to use hit and run guerrilla tactics to harass the enemy wherever they located them, but Juan knew, come spring and the weather cleared, things might turn in the government’s favor. During bad weather, rebels had the advantage because of how quickly they moved in familiar territory, but in good weather, the superior equipment of government soldiers often led to devastating losses for rebels.

  Max trained rebels at a furious pace, aided by Bryan’s dad. Stephen proved to be an invaluable aide. He had military training and was an excellent strategist, just like his son, Bryan, had been. But it took time to turn out rebel soldiers prepared to fight. And, they were getting low on ammunition, with no way yet to make more. They must figure out a source for more ammunition or the fight would be over for the rebels. Brogan’s gun might be the answer.

  He went out to Brogan’s motorcycle and brought her gun back into the cave. He called one of his mechanical engineers away from his work in the cycle repair cave. For a couple of hours, they tried to break the odd-looking gun apart, but every time they tried all they got was an electrical shock. Apparently, the fact it was somehow tuned to Brogan’s DNA meant only she could mess with it. They needed to wait until she was rested.

  About four hours after Brogan’s arrival, one of Juan’s lieutenants entered the cave with an encrypted message from his father. As Juan read it, his heart sank. Apparently, Priest was massing soldiers a few miles outside Laredo for an assault on the rebel base camp. Jumping to his feet, Juan shouted for his troops to mount up. Brogan stumbled out of a recess where she had been sleeping, rubbing her eyes.

  “What’s going on, Juan?”

  “The enemy is getting ready to mount an assault on the base camp in Laredo. We need to move out and head that direction to give the rebels our support. Why don’t you stay here and rest up? You can follow whenever you are ready.”

  “Are you kidding? I can rest later.” She glanced to the side and saw her rifle on a table. She grinned with an uncharacteristic and unsettling cruel smile. “I’ll bet you tried to tear it down, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, we did, and got nowhere.”

  “I’ll show you later, but for now, let’s ride.” She grabbed her rifle and headed out the cave to her bike.

  “Well, come on, cowboy,” she called over her shoulder to Juan. “We have enemy soldiers to kill.”

  Juan commanded a battalion of 1,000 rebels: 500 motorcycles and two rebels on each cycle; one driving and one manning the grenade launcher or machine gun on the side car. After every battle the number diminished, but Max replaced killed rebels with unseasoned soldiers, allowing newbies to continue to be trained onsite. The battalion divided into four squadrons with a captain in charge of each.

  Brogan mounted up and drove her cycle to where Juan finished checking his cycle. He swung his leg up and gave the signal to mount up to the captains. The roar of engines became deafening, so Brogan flipped down her faceplate to lessen the noise.

  As Juan looked at her, he understood for the first time why her appearance struck terror in anyone who saw her. When she put her faceplate down she looked like an alien. An idea lurked in the back of his mind. What if they figured out a way to build an entire battalion of White Warriors? But the idea could wait. They needed to get to Laredo first, about two hours of hard driving, since their current base camp was located northwest of Laredo.

  He wondered if the empire had somehow opened the old Laughlin Airbase at Del Rio. That could be how they managed to move soldiers into the area without them knowing about it. They had BL rebel spies in the San Antonio area. They should have known of any troop buildup. Most of their skirmishes were in the Eagle Pass area, Cotulla and all the way east to Corpus Christi, drawing soldiers south from San Antonio to avoid as many civilian deaths as possible. Pockmarked with caves, the rebels used the area as their base between battles.

  Brogan looked behind her and the dust from what she guessed were hundreds of motorcycles. It was quite a sight. She’d never seen a cycle battalion in action, but she’d heard from other rebels they were one of the elites and the most effective weapons the rebels had. She pulled up beside Juan and, using hand signals, motioned she would proceed ahead. He trusted her judgement, nodded and she sped off. As it started to get dark, she knew her augmented helmet made it easier for her to see than the battalion behind her. She could count the numbers of imperial soldiers and report back to Juan. Fortunately, there was no moon. Even so, pushing a button, her camouflage jumpsuit switched from white to black, making her practically invisible.

  She revved up the old cycle. She did not need to turn on the headlamp, since the night vision of her helmet supplied all the light she needed. The Kawasaki bike was much quieter than the Harley Davidson Juan drove. She could get closer than anyone in his battalion. She wished there was some way to put camouflage paint on the cycle. Then she could totally disappear.

  After about an hour, she began to see specks of light ahead of her, spread out across the desert. Thousands of them. As she got closer, she slowed down. Her helmet indicated about a mile to the military camp, so she stopped, turned off the bike, slammed the kick stand down
and got off. She kept her faceplate down and pulled out her rifle, swinging the strap across her body so the rifle sat across her back. She pulled two combat knives out of her boots, one for each hand and quietly strode forward.

  The first sentry never knew what hit him. She slit his throat from behind and silently lowered him to the ground. Her helmet saw sentries every 50 yards, so she methodically circled the camp, killing each one before the trooper saw her. Her arm began to ache from the killing and she was only half way around the camp. But that was probably enough to get the rebels inside. She retraced her steps, calmly walking back to the motorcycle. She drove back to where Juan lay on his stomach, looking down with his binoculars from a small hill at the camp. The rebels behind him stopped their cycles and awaited orders. Brogan tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Jesus,” Juan cursed as he jumped. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. And since when did you curse?”

  “Since you scared the bajeezes out of me!” He still tried to catch his breath.

  “What did you find?”

  “It’s not what I found, but what you’ll find if you move now and move quickly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The enemy camp is asleep. Per calculations on my helmet, there are about 5000 soldiers in the camp, with sentries every 60-feet. I killed all sentries on this side of the camp, so if you attack now you will have the advantage. If you start launching grenades at about 100-feet out, you’ll have a devastating impact. And I can give you the range when you get close. In fact, someone can follow me, and I will give the attack signal. And you can close your mouth now,” she said with the same unsettling grin.

  Juan stood in front of her now, his mouth opened in awe at what she said. Even in the dark, he could see her uniform was covered in blood. He cleared his throat and motioned for one of his signal corpsmen. Her matter of fact statements chilled him to the bone. Brogan had become a cold-blooded killer.