Sacrificing in a way that made Terry Henry proud.
“Listen up!” Terry interjected, seizing control from his daughter-in-law. “This is how it will be. If you have issues with it, you bring it up with me, but be warned, everything that needs to be said has already been said. One weekend a month, you train like warriors! Two weeks a year, you train, weapons and tactics. Like warriors! If you’re needed, we’ll call. But we can’t maintain a full-time force with no recognizable enemy.”
“Who says we don’t get picked to be on the tactical teams?” the sergeant said gruffly. Terry bristled. He didn’t appreciate belligerence. When he first started the FDG, he would have beat the man senseless and then asked if anyone else disagreed.
Terry had not thought he’d gotten soft. He still wanted to beat the man to a bloody pulp. Maybe Terry had matured. He contemplated that aspect of his personality.
The man took Terry’s hesitation as weakness.
“Fuck this!” the sergeant shouted, looking to the others for support.
Terry’s hand seemed to rocket toward the man’s face of its own accord. The punch connected, cracking the man’s jaw. Terry watched him fall, unconscious. The colonel looked at his fist as if it were a bad dog.
He missed having a dog. He’d have to find another one. He added that to his to-do list, right behind taking out the trash.
“Anyone else care to make an ass of themselves? What part of follow your motherfucking orders did you not understand? This was the only way to maintain the Force de Guerre. You can be proud members, serving in a limited capacity, or you can be former members. There are no other options. The very best of the best have already been selected, and I’m fucking sorry that wasn’t any of you. This conversation is over. Now get this piece of shit out of my sight.”
A couple men glared at Terry for a moment too long. He started moving toward them and they made a hasty exit. Terry stopped and turned toward Marcie. He snarled at her. “This is your fucking idea of self-discipline? These ‘people’ are going to fight in a war? They would all fucking die and take us with them.”
He turned back to those remaining. “Decide whether you want to be warriors or not. Now get the fuck out of here!” Terry bellowed, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The muscles in the side of his head flexed as he worked his jaw, looking like he was chewing on shoe leather.
“GET. THE. FUCK. OUT!” Marcie screamed. Five seconds later, the sergeants dragged the unconscious man from the room as they raced out. Kim, Kae, and Ramses remained still. Terry looked at them, wondering if they were trying to be chameleons and blend into the wall behind them. He chuckled.
“I’m not angry, believe it or not,” he said calmly, hiking one cheek onto a desk as he half-sat to converse with his senior leaders, his family. “It reminds me of the French. No one suffered more than they did in World War One. They build a huge static defense to protect themselves from a resurgent Germany, but with new technology, the Third Reich drove around the Maginot Line. The French hadn’t kept up with the times and were defeated in days. It is inevitable that when you don’t have an enemy, you fight the last war. With imagination, you fight the next one. We are transitioning. Tomorrow, I want all twelve tac teams standing tall and ready to start a new training regimen. It seems that we have a base completely to ourselves and a whole world that needs our attention.”
“Ooh-fucking-rah,” Marcie said in a low voice. The others nodded.
Terry turned to Ramses. “And bring Sarah. I know she’s young, but she’s ready. There are certain people who were meant to be on the front lines of a war. I was that person, as a teenager, about a million years ago. I couldn’t wait to join the Corps. As soon as I stepped off those god-forsaken yellow footprints, I knew I was home. It smelled like home.
“Nowhere was I more comfortable than in combat. I know that sounds all kinds of crazy, but that’s how it was. I left the Corps because they couldn’t keep me in combat. I became a mercenary. Nonstop action. Infiltrating, sizing up the enemy, direct action missions. You can run, but you can’t hide!”
The others watched as Terry shared something he’d kept private. No one pried into his life, because he didn’t let people get that close and those who were already that close, knew not to ask.
“I used to be really good at killing people,” Terry said softly, looking down under a furled brow.
“You still are, Dad, but only those that need killin’,” Kaeden offered. Terry looked up. His son wasn’t afraid, nor his daughter. Marcie was more like Terry than any of them, except for Sarah. She had the look. Her eyes would strike fear into her enemies far into the future. She would freeze them with her gaze and beat them without mercy.
Her only weakness would be overconfidence, and that was why Terry had schooled her to the nth degree. She needed to be taught respect, be put in her place before being turned loose.
Terry could see her development unfold over the years. She would have to be with the strongest of them. He decided to put her with the Forsaken. She needed to be with Joseph, Petricia, and Andrew.
Marcie closed her eyes and reached into the etheric, pulling power from it to look. The three Forsaken were not far away. The Were pack was even closer. She opened her eyes and the gray mists faded. She’d been practicing over the years, but without anyone to help her, she wasn’t able to refine and improve her skills.
With the pack back in town and the Forsaken awake, there was no limit to what she could learn.
***
Terry led the four out of the conference room and were met by a group of sergeants. They were carrying pipes and clubs. One had a rifle.
Terry became furious and his eyes glowed a faint red. Marcie joined him in his anger. Her eyes started to glow, too. Kim, Kae, and Ramses walked to the side, creating a line, five across.
The man with the rifle held the trump card. The silver magazine was inserted and he was aiming at Terry Henry Walton’s head.
“We don’t like getting dumped like yesterday’s trash,” the group’s spokesman said. The man with the broken jaw stood next to him and nodded slightly, grimacing with the movement and renewed pain.
“I didn’t think you were finished, and I’m not either,” Terry said softly.
He smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of mirth. He never thought of his own people as the enemy, but these men had crossed the line. Terry Henry Walton’s pulse calmed, putting him at peace. He was home.
Faster than the eye could follow, Terry dodged out of the line of fire. Marcie replicated his movements to the other side. She was first to the man with the rifle, while Terry put the spokesman between him and the gunman.
When Terry saw Marcie grab the rifle and yank it backward across the man’s throat, Terry attacked.
None of the sergeants had yet moved when big-mouth’s neck cracked, and his body was flung into two others. The man with the broken jaw had his head caved in with the next punch.
Marcie crushed the man’s throat, dropped him, and sent three rounds skyward as she yanked the trigger and yelled her war cry.
The fight ended as quickly as it began. The remaining men knew they couldn’t outrun the leadership. The men dropped to their knees and covered their heads.
Terry took another step closer, but the men had surrendered. One man still held his pipe.
“You gonna use that thing?” Terry growled.
The pipe rolled from the man’s fingers as he released his grip.
“Get up!” Marcie growled. “Collect these traitors and dump them in the ocean.”
Terry raised a hand. “Stop. See that these men get a proper burial. They served in the FDG. They were sergeants and for whatever reason that led them astray, they were still ours, and we take care of our own.”
TH sighed and stood up straight, running his hand through his longer hair. Despite the heat, he’d gotten used to his mop that he tied behind his head.
Not a man-bun. Never a man-bun. He shivered from the thought before returning to th
e matter at hand.
“Can one of you give them a hand, please? They’ll need shovels.” Kim, Kae, and Ramses all nodded.
“We’ll take care of it, Dad,” Kaeden said, sounding very young. He didn’t like seeing the dead men. That morning, they had been FDG sergeants in good standing. There was no honor in their deaths and all five of the leaders knew that.
“We have a backhoe that we can use,” Kim suggested.
“I said, they’ll need shovels.” Terry enunciated each word, but he wasn’t looking at Kimber. He glared at the men who had forced his hand. “And then I don’t ever want to see these men again. Do you fucking assholes understand that?”
“Yes, sir!” one exclaimed. The others looked away as they nodded. One of them started sobbing.
Ramses was the first to act to clean up the mess and move the bodies to the FDG graveyard on Treasure Island.
Terry and Marcie walked away. Marcie was still angry, though the red glow in her eyes was fading as she tried to relax.
“They are fucking traitors!” she snarled.
“Yes, they are. How did they get that way? It’s on us. You and I are responsible for everything our people do, everything they fail to do. In some way, this is our fault. I’m not asking that we pity each other. This sucks. We dealt with it, and now we move on. The Force was too big and people lost their way. I hope we never need an FDG of that size and it wasn’t necessary. We’re not a social program. Join the FDG, get a job for life! Fuck no. Not everyone gets a career. I guess they didn’t understand that, which comes back to being our fault. I saw this in the before time. The boom-bust cycles were hard on people. I should have been more ready for it. That’s on me. So there we are.”
Terry gripped Marcie’s shoulder and shook her slightly to make her look at him. When their eyes met, the glow was gone.
“Your speed has improved. I think you might be as fast as me,” Terry told her.
“It’s been happening slowly but steadily. I think I’m drawing more power from the etheric, but I don’t know. I need somebody to teach me, help me understand what’s possible.”
“I know just the person,” Terry replied.
CHAPTER EIGHT
North Chicago
“All aboard who’s coming aboard!” Terry called from the back of the pod. Ted looked uncomfortable as Felicity smiled and glad-handed with a small crowd. Terry thought he saw their kids, but couldn’t be certain as he hadn’t met them.
“Shall we see who there is to see?” Char didn’t wait for an answer. She strolled down the ramp, heading for the group.
Terry knew that was the right thing to do. Terry and Char were legends in North Chicago and they knew people, like Mayor Camilla, also chief of the tribe. She kept herself fit and looked far younger than her eighty years. She looked past Terry and Char to see if anyone else had come, disappointed when Kaeden wasn’t there.
She turned her attention to Terry and Char. “You two and your damn youthful good looks. May Metaguas never find you and Mother Earth continue to smile upon you,” she told them.
“I don’t think we can ask for a better greeting than that,” Char replied, hugging the old woman, before turning her over to Terry.
“I hear you are doing a great job as mayor,” Terry said.
“I don’t know who you heard that from because it sucks to suck as the mayor, and believe me, after decades of Felicity, I am having a hell of a time keeping up. I suck a whole lot!”
Terry and Char chuckled. “Why do you sound like me?” Terry asked.
“I wonder,” Camilla replied. “If you have time, I’m sure Ayashe would love to see you.”
Terry winced slightly, and Char squeezed his hand, letting him know what they were going to do.
“Of course there’s time,” Char said smoothly. “Hey! Is there time to run to the diner and say hi to our old friends?”
Ted threw his hands up, shook his head, and stormed off. Felicity scowled as she watched him go.
“Maybe there isn’t time,” Char corrected herself. “Give her our best, would you, please?”
“Of course,” Camilla agreed. They shook hands one last time before joining Felicity in saying good-bye to the rest from the group, none of whom Terry or Char recognized.
“Terrence, Charlita, Billy. Say hello to Terry and Char,” Felicity said to a group of young Werewolves in human form.
“What’s up?” young Terry asked. Young Char slapped him on the arm.
Char’s purple eyes watched the younger Weres closely, not getting upset at their irreverence. “This is your opportunity to excel,” she told them. “Will you help these people or will you help yourselves? That is the question that only you can answer. When we check in from time to time, I look forward to hearing how you are doing.”
Terry let Char continue her conversation with the youngsters, Werewolves who were over sixty years old.
“Ted!” Terry yelled as he walked away. “Come on back, my man. We’re leaving!”
Ted perked up and walked quickly toward the pod. Felicity intercepted him as Char finished talking with the Weres, shaking each of their hands warmly. She gripped their shoulders and pulled them close, one by one, to whisper into their ears. Whatever she said made them smile.
She turned toward Terry and grinned as she approached.
“What was that all about?” Terry asked while watching Felicity give Ted an earful while Ted dutifully ignored her and tried to escape to the pod.
“Just me, winning friends and influencing people. I think those three have a great future ahead.” Char took Terry’s hand, and together, they sauntered toward the ramp. Felicity grabbed Ted around the neck and planted a firm kiss on his lips, holding on until he hugged her to him. They continued to hold each other for a few more seconds before walking, arm-in-arm, to join Terry and Char. The four turned and waved to the crowd.
Somebody signaled that they needed to wait. Vehicles approached, their engines revving. Smoke rose in the direction of the sound.
Terry and Char both frowned. “They need to fix that. We can’t be polluting like that just because there’s no one watching over us.”
Ted nodded. “It’s the diesel engines that we’ve gone to. It’s not as dirty as the smoke looks. They are pretty efficient, lasting longer and going farther with that fuel. It was difficult to refine the oil to gasoline. So much better keeping it as close to the original product as possible.”
“Sure,” Terry said. He wasn’t sure of anything as two jeeps hauling trailers drove into view, trailing huge clouds of black smoke.
They pulled past, and in a display of driving excellence, backed the trailers up side by side right to the bottom of the ramp. The vehicles coughed and belched one last cloud before turning off.
“The Weathers Family send their compliments and hope that this sample of their finest beef is a way to say thank you to the people who helped the family thrive. And Auburn said if they didn’t send a good sample, he’d come back here and kick their young asses,” a darker-skinned man said as he climbed out the back of the jeep and signaled for those present to start moving the packaged meats into the pod.
Felicity raised her eyebrows before walking inside and taking a seat. Char carried a massive bundle, but only one. She joined Felicity in the forward jump seats.
“Which one are you?” Terry asked.
“They call me Pennsta,” the man said.
“Penn State? But they weren’t SEC,” Terry replied.
“There is no SEC anymore, so anything goes. Grandpa, god rest his soul, left a long list of names for the kids. Most of us pick from the list, some of the upstarts don’t, but it’s not going to matter soon. We’re running out of names on that list.”
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of kids!” Terry was more surprised than he should have been. He shook his head.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Pennsta said, offering his hand.
“And you, too, my man. I couldn’t be more proud of what Claire and Antioch
have done for North Chicago.”
“I never knew them,” the man said. Gray was creeping into his dark, curly hair.
The pain of living a long life was that you got to see your friends die, reinforcing why Terry had not wanted to see Ayashe or anyone else. He didn’t want people to get too close.
Or dogs. He was happy that Ted didn’t try to bring a wolf pack on board. Not with the meat. They would have had a field day.
Terry saw the humor in it. Without saying a word, he waved to Pennsta and the other three who were in the jeeps, probably all from clan Weathers, turned, and walked into the pod. Char closed the ramp and the pod took off. The load stayed steady as they increased speed, setting the aircraft for a forty-five-minute flight to San Francisco.
Ted sat close to the touch screen and watched the flight data scroll by. Char turned it over to him and joined Terry and Felicity.
“I have to say that I will not know what to do with myself,” Felicity drawled.
“I think Sue can put in a good word for you and get you into the rotation to join the city council. You’ll help them to stay grounded. They won’t know that you have a hundred years of experience,” Terry replied.
“We’ll leave any references to my age out of the conversation, if you don’t mind. I’m twenty-nine.” Felicity smiled, beautiful as always, looking like her claimed age and not her real age, of which Terry wasn’t sure.
He had the good manners not to ask.
“I think you’ll like San Francisco,” Char said. Felicity looked at Ted, fully engrossed in the touchscreen. “Will he have anything to do?”
“We have a special project for him. Dirigibles. We’d like to put anti-gravitic propulsion systems on them, gravitic drives, I believe they are called. If anyone can do it, it’ll be Ted. He’ll have a massive manufacturing facility at his beck and call. We happen to know the owners and they are going to invest heavily in the project, assuming it gets off the ground.”
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