DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1)

by Long, Timothy W.

  The truck bounced up and down at the hint of a pot hole. James had been shocked when they had been required to pick up their guns before deploying. He clutched the M4 and wondered if he would be required to use it.

  “Paid protesters? They get benefits?” Skip said.

  “Yeah, is the pay better than the Guard? I only have a year left, career change,” James chimed in.

  “You guys laugh it up. We don’t know what we’re heading into,” Cooper said. She sat back, and then regretted it as they hit a genuine pot hole and her back slammed into the bench, and she nearly dropped her M4.

  “Don’t mess around, Cooper. Shoot me in the face, and I will come back and fucking haunt you,” Skip said.

  “Your face has been haunting me since I met you. Sometimes I wake up screaming in the middle of the night,” Cooper said.

  “I have that effect on women,” Skip said.

  “Yeah, because you look like someone hit you with a fucking pizza and left all the toppings.”

  Skip frowned and shot her the finger. She cocked her head, fake grinned, and returned the gesture.

  “Get a room, you two,” Sergeant Wells said.

  “Hey, any update on the situation, Sarge?” Skip asked the Sergeant.

  “I don’t have any more info than when we left. But there’s something else coming down the wire. Something big,” he said.

  “Bigger than an ISIS attack?” Skip asked.

  “Right now, we don’t know if it was terrorists. Could be home grown terror. The rumor it was anarchists.”

  That was just great. They’d been rushed out here, with barely a full load out, and their mission was still unclear. Were they supposed to hang out and fight if more attacks happened? Were they just here to help the police sort things out? A show of force?

  “So, what’s the big thing, Sarge?” Skip asked.

  “More info when we arrive. Hang tight,” Seargent Wells said.

  The convoy of military vehicles joined another even larger line of green and brown trucks that moved into the city. The police had already started setting up road blocks, and they only had to stop a few times while the path was cleared.

  Half an hour later, they came to a stop near the UIC pavilion.

  They grew silent as they came within range of the area of operations. James had never seen so many ambulances in his life. Every fire truck in the city must have joined the mass. Police were everywhere, and there were already some Guard on the streets as well. They carried a range of weapons from shotguns to assault rifles. A truck came to a stop at an intersection, and men and women in BDU’s poured out.

  The wind cut inside the back of the MTV, and James was sure he could taste gunpowder. Probably just a trick of his imagination, but it gave him a chill.

  Then he got a look at what looked like a war zone. People clumped in groups and were tended by medics. The middle of the street, though, bore human figures draped in white cloth. Some were soaked with blood while others, unmoving, were strangely unblemished. James counted to twenty and stopped. It was too shocking to see so many bodies on the ground.

  Ambulances were being loaded, and sirens screamed. People moved out of the way while some reached out and touched the vehicles as they pulled away.

  The UIC pavilion occupied the Northwestern corner of the University of Illinois. College students gathered near the site, standing in clumps, and presumably tweeting everything they saw. People cried and held onto each other. A force of Guard had already formed a wall to keep civilians from the scene.

  A clump of reporters stood to the side and tried to fight through the mass of police and National Guard, but they were held back.

  James and his squad deployed from the back of the truck and hit the ground. He clutched his M4 in both hands and kept his finger well away from the trigger, leaving it flat across the trigger guard.

  Sergeant Wells scanned the area. He turned to the Guardsmen, “Stay on site. I’ll return in two.”

  He trotted off and saluted a first lieutenant, then spoke with him.

  “How many are there?” Skip said as he scanned the bodies.

  “I don’t know. A hundred? More?” James said.

  He felt sickened. Whoever had perpetrated this madness would have to be brought to justice. Hell, point him and his squad in the right direction, and they would take care of it. He was so mad, he ground his teeth together.

  Staff Sergeant Miller strode toward the men with Wells in tow. They formed up into squads as he approached even though they were short three of their members. Wells returned and met with Miller. They spoke together for a few seconds, then the Staff Sergeant motioned for the squad, “Form up. I got something to say.”

  James joined Skip Kowalski and Cooper.

  “Briggs, I’d like to speak with you,” Miller said.

  James wondered if he had already fucked up. Was it his hair? Surely they wouldn’t chew him out for being rushed out here on such short notice.

  They stepped a few paces away from the group and Sergeant Miller looked him up and down. Miller was in his thirties and a career man. He often met with the other guys in the squad outside of work and tore it up like he was ten years younger. Everyone liked Miller, but they also recognized his authority without question. He was a man James trusted with his life.

  “I’ve heard good things about you, PFC Briggs. I know you just got here six months ago but the rest of the squad trusts you, at least that’s what Sergeant Wells tells me,” Miller said.

  He wore thin-rimmed glasses and a brown mustache, but he kept his head shaved. He had lines on his face that made him look older than his years.

  “Glad to hear that, Staff sergeant.”

  “Well, I didn’t pull you aside to stroke your ego. Specialist Danes won’t be here for hours, maybe not until tomorrow. He was on vacation in Seattle with his family. In the meantime, I’m making you fire squad leader. You have Bravo. You run into any problems, you come to Wells or you come to me.”

  James gulped. Him in charge of three or four of his squad mates?

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” James said. He didn’t mean to make it sound like a question.

  “You’ll do fine. Just use common sense and stay on mission.”

  “What is the mission?”

  “Well, your mission is to patrol Racine,” the Staff Sergeant pointed at a cross street, “down to West Taylor street. You’ll then come back up South Morgan. It borders the college, and we need to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. The cops would be better for this sort of thing but they are overwhelmed right now. Plus, word is, they lost some of their own.”

  “Christ, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Just Staff Sergeant. Don’t give me a messiah complex with all that Christ stuff.” Miller smiled.

  James laughed once, then the gravity of what they were here for set in.

  “Got it, Sergeant.” He said, and then repeated his orders just for good measure.

  “Like I said, you’ll do fine. This is a great way to prove yourself. I’m sure you won’t let me down.”

  “I won’t. Thank you for the opportunity,” James said.

  “Right, gather your squad and move out.”

  Staff Sergeant Miller’s radio buzzed. He pulled out the beat up Kenwood UFC radio and nodded at James before walking off as he spoke into the radio.

  “We heard, kiss ass,” Skip said when he rejoined the squad.

  “Better keep that attitude in check, soldier. I’ll have you on KP duty,” James warned.

  Cooper and Sanders offered up a chuckle.

  “Wait, can you do that?” Skip asked.

  “Probably not. All right, people, we’re going out on patrol. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Cars, trucks, or abandoned vans. If the kids on the college campus ask us what’s going on, we should play it cool. We’re here to help, not intimidate,” James said, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was doing.

  “Can I intimidate any hot chicks into a date?” Coop
er said.

  “You’re so gross.” Sanders punched his arm.

  “Ow. Shit, you don’t punch like a girl,” Cooper said.

  “Keep it up and I’ll show you where my foot can go,” Sanders threatened.

  “Didn’t know you were into the kinky stuff.”

  Sanders scowled at Cooper.

  They moved out and approached Racine. James kept his eyes moving, looking at cars, hoping none of them were some kind of threat. The people who had perpetrated the attack were still unidentified as far as he knew. The sidewalk was lined with pedestrians, all gawking at the site of the shooting while keeping their faces simultaneously plastered to their smart phones.

  They reached the street and James pointed left to indicate which direction they were heading.

  “You’re good at this. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a street guide,” Skip teased.

  James was about to come back with a retort when the ground shook. The explosion was deafening, and he went to his knees. When he looked up, he found a mushroom cloud rolling into the air near the pavilion.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bradley rounded a corner, found the Subway straight ahead, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was nearly two o’clock. The old Timex had kept him on point and kept him jogging. His legs burned, but he had made it. Now all he had to do was get Junior and Kirk home.

  The Subway was next to a liquor store, and he seriously considered stopping in for a couple of airline bottles.

  The streets weren’t exactly packed, but there were still a lot of people on the move. He has seen a number of people get out of cars that were stuck in traffic, lock the doors, and then quickly walk towards whatever destination they had in mind. Streets were now blocked at major intersections, allowing a steady stream of military and police vehicles into the heart of Chicago.

  A mother held her little girl, who couldn’t have been more than six years old, and urged the child to keep up as they passed Bradley.

  “It’s just a little farther, sweetheart. Daddy will be there when we get home, and we’ll have ice cream. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  “I’m tired, mommy and my feet hurt. Can’t you carry me some more?”

  “I wish I could but I might pass out. Phew, you wouldn’t want to see that, now would you?”

  Then they were out of hearing distance.

  He crossed the street, walking between stuck cars that were nearly bumper to bumper. He glanced in the windshield and saw a couple arguing.

  He ran to the Subway and yanked the door open. He didn’t see Junior so he went back outside and double checked his phone. Was he at the right place? He went back into the restaurant. The person manning the counter looked up and nodded at him.

  Bradley did a full turn in the Subway, but there were only a few people. One was an older man sitting in a booth alone. He sipped on a soda and nibbled on a sandwich. The other occupant was a figure dressed in an “I Heart Chicago” hoodie. The guy had his face down as if in deep thought. He pulled a potato chip out of a bag and chewed it.

  “Have you seen a couple of teenage boys? They’re supposed to be here,” Bradley said.

  A door at the rear of the store opened and out came Kirk and Bradley’s son, Brad Junior. He let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Dad,” his son said and gave him a quick hug.

  Bradley put his arms around his son. They weren’t really huggers, but he was so relieved to see Brad Junior, he couldn’t help but put his hands on him.

  “Hi, Mr. Adams,” Kirk said.

  Bradley didn’t really like Kirk. He appeared to only wash his hair about once a month. It was a brown mop that was stringy and hung over his eyes. Bradley was surprised he didn’t constantly walk into walls with that curtain.

  Maybe he was being an old fart. He couldn’t really tell Kirk to leave his son alone. They got along well and had been friends since the fifth grade.

  Brad Jr. looked haggard. His glasses were dirty and his hair hadn’t been brushed. Kirk must be rubbing off on him.

  “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah. It was crazy, dad. Crazy. They came out of nowhere and just started shooting.”

  Brad caught the man in the hoodie watching them. His eyes roamed over Bradley. Then he looked down again and concentrated on what must have been the best potato chip in the world from the way he studied it.

  “I need to sit down for a minute. Kirk, would you do me a favor and get me a soda?” Bradley took out a couple of bucks and handed them to Kirk.

  “Sure, no problem.” Kirk took the money and went to the counter.

  “Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. We’re going to high tail it to the car, and then get our butts back home. There’s a lot of trouble brewing. I don’t even want to talk about you skipping school to go to a protest right now. I’m too mad, but mainly, I just want us out of the city.”

  “Dad, I can explain.”

  “I’m sure you can, but do you know how stupid that was?”

  “It’s not stupid to stand up for what you believe in. The president is not taking our country in the right direction, anyone can see that.”

  “He’s doing fine. Just fine. And joining a protest doesn’t help matters one damn bit, son. You’re seventeen. You don’t know how things work yet. Talk to me in five years, and you’ll understand a little better.”

  “I can be a teenager and still read the news, Dad. The economy is in the toilet. We’ve had millions of immigrants deported over the last year. He’s blowing money on the military like he’s printing it. And he’s such an idiot. Henderson should get a Darwin Award for stupidity. His approval rating stinks. I don’t know why you and Mom love him so much,” Junior said, face filled with conviction.

  “Half of that isn’t even true and you know it. None of this changes the fact that you skipped school and went to Chicago without our permission.” Bradley gripped the side of the table because he was so mad. He wanted to reach across and slap some sense into his son. But his father’s way had always been to use a heavy hand with his sons, and he resented the old man until the day he died.

  “Dad, I can explain,” Junior offered.

  “Save it. Do you know if Kirk’s dad is coming to get him?” Bradley asked, trying to change the subject.

  He hadn’t seen Kirk’s father more than a few times, mainly at school functions. Mr. Rosen seemed nice enough, although he drank too much, according to Junior. He was also an occasionally mean drunk, which made Kirk likely to stay at friends’ houses a lot. Over the last year, Kirk had rarely been to Bradley’s house. Junior had told his father that Kirk’s father had been in treatment and had become a better man for it.

  A pair of men walked into the subway. They both glanced over their shoulders. One had on a Chicago Cubs ball cap, and the other wore a Levi jean jacket with a bunch of heavy metal band logos stitched across the back. They approached the counter and spoke to the clerk.

  “I don’t think he’s coming to get him. His cell phone died, and he wasn’t able to find a charger. We asked a few customers here, but everyone is acting so weird.”

  “Fine. He rides with us then. I’ll take him home after you’re safe. Now let’s get out of here,” Bradley said.

  “Sure. Let me clean up our table,” Junior collected a couple of empty sandwich wrappers and took them to the trash.

  Kirk returned with a drink for Bradley, which he kindly accepted. He slurped half of it down in one long draw. He should have asked for water, but he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

  The pair at the counter weren’t happy with whatever the guy told them and voices rose in protest. Bradley wanted to get out of the place immediately.

  “ATM’s aren’t working. I’ll buy something, just let me get some cash out, okay? Come on, brother. Help us out here,” The guy in the jean jacket said.

  Bradley motioned for Junior to join him so they could leave before any trouble started. People were starting to act crazy, and he’d had enough crazy to
last a life time over the last two days.

  “I can’t, sir. We’re not set up for those kind of transactions. Why don’t you try one of our specialty sandwiches? They’re only five bucks right now,” the clerk offered a smile.

  “Why don’t you try sucking my fucking dick,” ball cap said.

  The man in the hoodie rose from his seat. He kept his head down and made for the door.

  Jean jacket rubbed his hand over his head. “Dude, we just want to get a little money out. Why are you being such a jerk?”

  “I need to ask you both to leave. There are customers here, and that kind of language is unacceptable,” the clerk warned. “Don’t make me call the police.”

  “The police? Do you even know what’s going on out there, bro? There isn’t a cop within miles of this place,” Jean jacket said. He reached into his pocket.

  “Let’s just go,” ball cap said and put his hand on his friend’s arm.

  He kept rubbing his arms and, when he turned to look around the restaurant, it was clear he was some kind of junkie. His eyes were hollow, and there were dark around his eye sockets.

  Jean jacket was having none of that. He pulled out a huge knife and showed it to the clerk. “Fine, we’ll do it the hard way. Give me everything in the cash register. All of it.”

  “Don’t you fucking leave, any of you,” Ball cap spun around and yelled, backing his friend’s move.

  The man in the hoodie stopped and lifted his hands in the air.

  “Guys. I have some money. Just take it and go, okay? We can all part as friends. How’s that sound?” The large guy said and reached into his pants pocket. He came out with a wad of cash with a hundred dollar bill on top.

  Jean jacket stepped in front of Bradley. “How much do you have? Come on, man. The other guy is being smart. You should be a smart guy, too.”

  “Nothing. I don’t have a penny on me,” Bradley said.

  He shifted one foot back. He could have the Kimber in his hand in a split second, but with Kirk and Junior in the store, it wasn’t worth possibly discharging the gun. What if he panicked and a shot went in the wrong direction?