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

by Long, Timothy W.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, you remember seeing the old Dirty Harry movies? I used to love them,” Clarence said. “Except the black partner always seemed to die. Anyway, I loved his gun, and I have one.”

  “A .44?”

  “.44 automag. It’s a beast.” Clarence smiled. “Ever read the old pulp men’s books, Mack Bolan? That was his gun.”

  “Damn. Take a man’s head clean off,” Bradley said with a grin. “I read a few Bolan books back in the day. I think I still have a box of them in the garage.”

  “The Executioner. Mind if I hit you up to see the collection some day?” Clarence asked.

  “Happy to, but they aren’t really a collection. I forgot I had them until you brought the series up. Might make some good reading if the lights go out,” Bradley said.

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. Anyway, that gun is my baby. I take it to the range a couple of times a year. Kicks like a mule.” Clarence grinned. “If those jerks come back looking to take you out, they don’t want to meet me if I’m packing that monster.”

  Monica came out with some paper plates, napkins, and buns. She’d made potato salad and set a glass bowl on the table.

  For the next twenty minutes, they ate, joked, laughed, and forgot about the shootings, the explosions, the fact that cities were now under the control of the military, and tried to focus on friends and family.

  Bradley noted that Chris did not try to join them. He didn’t intrude on the man and left him to his own devices.

  Junior came out and got a burger, put it on a plate, and then added some potato chips. He turned to head back into the house.

  “How’s it going, Junior?” Bradley asked him.

  “Good. Just got a lot of homework to catch up on. No school again tomorrow but they are offering, I mean they were offering, things we could work on at home so we don’t fall too far behind the curriculum.”

  “That’s a pretty good deal. We should talk about Chicago. It’s been a few days,” Bradley said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now, Dad. I saw what happened. I don’t care what Andy says. It was real.”

  “I said I believe you. I’m more interested in what made you think it was okay to go up there in the first place.”

  “We had to, dad. The constitution guarantees us the right to protest. I wanted to be a part of it all.”

  “Does the constitution allow me to put my foot up your ass? Because that’s what I felt like doing. It was stupid not to tell us, son. That’s all you had to do, tell us you wanted to go. I would have figured out how to take you,” Bradley said. “It’s the sneaking that I don’t like.”

  “You wouldn’t have taken me because you don’t agree with the politics. You can’t see what’s happening in the country. They’ve built prisons that look like concentration camps. That stuff used to be joked about, but now it’s real. Immigrants are being tossed out of the country. Families have been separated. And the worst thing is all the fighting. Two parties in this country and they can’t get along, Dad. It’s one battle after another, and now the battles are bloody.”

  “That’s the American way. We disagree about stuff, and then figure it out,” Bradley argued. “You can do that when you have your own place to live. Your own family. Your own responsibilities. Going to join a protest didn’t make a damn bit of difference, did it? You could have been killed up there.”

  “But I wasn’t, I was fine. We would have made it home.”

  “You didn’t feel that way when I drove up there and got you. You were scared. How would you have liked to spend the night on the streets if I couldn’t have made it up there?”

  “But it was starting to become real fighting. Now we’re about to be locked down, and it’s being blamed on anarchists as if they could get organized long enough to pull something like that off.

  “Stop changing the subject. You need to tell me before you take off. You’ll be eighteen soon, and then you can make your own hours, get a car, and hopefully, a job.”

  “I’d love to get a job, Dad, but the market is dry right now. Adults have taken all the jobs I was qualified for. Even McDonalds isn’t hiring right now,” Junior said sarcastically.

  “It can’t be that bad,” Bradley said. “You just have to keep applying. You give up too easily.”

  “I haven’t given up,” Junior said.

  “Good. Persistence pays off.”

  “Things would be different if that man wasn’t the president. He’s the worst, and you can’t see it. He’s a cheating, lying sack of shit.”

  “Watch your mouth, and don’t talk about the president that way. He’s our commander in chief. He’s going to finally turn this country around.”

  “Yeah. Right around to the dark ages.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. After you’ve lived through a few more presidents, you’ll understand that.”

  “I will, but unemployment has skyrocketed over the last nine months.”

  “Just keep plugging away, son. And don’t think about running off like that again.”

  “Okay.” His son’s face dropped, and he had that mopey look teenagers get once again.

  “Thanks for talking with me,” Bradley said.

  “Sure. Good talk,” Junior said, turned, and went back inside the house with his dinner.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Stop and back out of the store. Failure to comply may result in lethal force!” James Briggs yelled for the second time.

  He was hot and tired. Their body armor had arrived a few days ago, and they had started wearing it on patrol after a squad in the 178th had come under direct fire. None of them were injured, but they had been forced to kill a man who shot at them from his house with an AR-15.

  His own interceptor body armor (IBA) had seen better days. It was typical of the Guard to receive hand me downs from the regular Army who had started to phase theirs out in favor of the lighter Gen III IOTV. The army, being pragmatic about gear, had probably boxed the stuff up after it was replaced and shipped it to the Guard armories, and it showed because it smelled like old sweat, and the ceramic plate in his front vest had a crack in one corner where it may have been dropped. He didn’t want to think that it had come from a bullet.

  The looters had struck again, but this time they had been caught. Alpha and Bravo squads had compared notes and noticed a pattern. The looters were timing the Guardsmen, then causing havoc when the streets were clear of patrols. It had started as a simple robbery at a small convenience store. The store had been closed for a couple of days because, as far as James could figure, the employees had stopped showing up. If it was a chain, then the owners probably couldn’t do a damn thing about it if they were in another state. This was happening more and more, stores closing because no one wanted to go to work, especially those who had shifts that butted up against the demands of martial law. Getting a work, or hardship permit, could take days.

  But more and more, stores closed because people were sick of dealing with the new way of life. He wished he could assure civilians that things would be back to normal in no time. Just wait it out. But there was now a shortage of food underway. It wasn’t that the Guard and Army had intentionally screwed up the road blocks, it was that companies who delivered in bulk were sick and tired of dealing with the delays. So, eighteen wheelers diverted to cities that were able to fulfill the seller’s need to move product.

  Citizens complained, loudly. He knew because he had to listen to it.

  Skip was sick of it, too, and had started telling pissed off people to go home. He didn’t wave his gun at them, not exactly. With tensions starting to run high on both sides, it was only a matter of time before someone did something supremely stupid.

  Cooper hadn’t said anything to James, but James was worried that his rifleman was hiding something from them. He would have to take Cooper aside later and confront him. Sergeant Wells had told him to keep his men motivated and on mission. If Cooper had an issue wit
h the way things were being handled, he would have to talk to James about it.

  Charlie squad backed them up.

  James took bravo in close. They didn’t hide their approach, they simply spread out and covered the storefront.

  The glass door had been forced open and hung on its hinges. Something clattered inside, and James raised his gun.

  “This is your last warning. Come out of the store with your hands up,” James yelled, sounding like every cop in an action movie.

  More banging from inside. He quickly realized the perpetrators were most likely attempting to force their way out of a back door.

  Sanders knelt next to a light gray Honda and covered James’ approach.

  He poked his head around the open doorway and didn’t see anyone so he moved in.

  There was a tremendous bang and the glass door next to him shattered. He dropped like a rock to land on his butt, back against the broken door, causing safety glass to cascade off his combat helmet. He must have scratched his right upper arm when he fell because a line of fire opened up there.

  James’ heart raced as adrenaline kicked in.

  “Shots! Shots!” Sanders yelled.

  Then she was next to him in the doorway. She sprayed the inside of the store with her M4. The spent shells clattering across the ground. James lifted his M4, pressed the stock to his shoulder, pivoted, and fired as well.

  Rounds punched into shelves, blew boxes off, and struck the coolers in the back. Smoke rose as they fired, and James’ hearing took a beating.

  Sanders grabbed him by the collar and, while still staying low, dragged him out and around the corner.

  “Where are you hit!” She leaned over and patted his chest.

  “I don’t think I got shot,” he said, more to convince himself than her. “I fell down when they started shooting.”

  She peered into his eyes, probably looking for shock and probably finding it.

  Cooper moved to their side and looked James over. Then he, with Skip covering, went into the store. They didn’t waste any time. Shots sounded, were returned, and then someone screamed in pain. A couple more retorts, and then the sound of M4’s firing.

  James pushed himself to his feet. What kind of a fire team leader was he going to be if he sat out an engagement?

  “Clear!” Skip yelled.

  “Clear here,” Cooper said.

  James kept low with Sanders right next to him. Skip and Cooper knelt next to a shelf and pointed their guns at the back of the store. A figure lay unmoving on the ground.

  “Let’s clear that back area. Check the perp for wounds,” James said.

  With Sanders covering him, he advanced across the darkened store. He pushed the button on his rail mounted tactical light and an illuminated circle appeared ahead. James stayed low and advanced. They stepped over the figure while Sanders kept her gun trained on the corners of the room. The man on the floor was dressed in jeans and a White Sox jacket. He had black hair and was face down.

  There was a revolver still clutched in his right hand so Sanders kicked it free. The man still hadn’t moved.

  Cooper knelt next to the body and checked him by feeling his neck.

  “Shit. This guy is gone,” he said.

  James’ heart sank. This was an authorized action, but he didn’t want to see anyone get killed, especially not a citizen of the city whose biggest crime was probably being hungry. He pushed aside his guilt and took a couple of cautious steps.

  Movement in the back of the storage room. Crates, boxes, cases of soda, all made an intricate battleground. If multiple assailants were hiding in there, they would have good cover.

  “Come out with your hands above your head and no harm will come to you,” he called into the dark room.

  Something shifted.

  “Is Marco dead?” A female voice asked.

  “Ma’am, this is your last warning,” James said.

  “Did you kill him? Did you, you monsters? We were just hungry,” she said with a sob.

  “Comply immediately, or you will be shot!” James yelled fiercely.

  A gun banged from the corner of the room. James dropped low, shifted the barrel to the left, and fired several rounds. The tactical light caught her face, a ghoulish white in the bright light as her eyes went wide. She looked down and, then, without a sound, dropped to her knees.

  Then she fell backward and didn’t move.

  James shined the light around the room, but there was no further movement. He took a few steps to the side.

  “Sanders, cover the right flank,” he said.

  He took another step and then stopped. Why hadn’t she answered him?

  “Briggs!” Skip shouted.

  James spun and found Sanders down. She had her hands to her neck and a look of complete shock on her face.

  Cooper moved in and swept the rest of the room before calling the all clear.

  “Get a medic,” James said and tossed his radio to Skip.

  He opened a pouch on his belt, ripped out hemostatic gauze, and tore the package open with his teeth.

  “Sanders, look at me,” James leaned in and pulled Sanders’ hand away from her neck.

  He put the gauze there and held it tight. She touched his hand with hers, and then wrapped her fingers around his.

  “I should go home. John’s got the kids this week. I hope Billy remember to take his allergy medicine,” Sanders muttered.

  “Medic’s on the way,” Cooper said. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “Sanders, look at me,” James said and gently smacked her cheek to get her attention.

  “It’s like that time we were at the zoo,” she said, then her eyes fixed on the corpse across from them.

  “Yeah,” James said as he looked into her eyes. “She’s going to be just fine, right, Sanders?”

  Sanders didn’t move again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bradley woke to gunfire.

  Instincts kicked in. He rolled over, grabbed Monica around the waist, and shifted to protect her body. She sat up, shrugged his arms off. He grabbed her again and tried to pull her back down on the bed.

  “Brad, what are you doing?” She said.

  The room was dark. He blinked a couple of times to moisten his eyes, but they felt like sand paper.

  Silhouettes in the dark. Shapes that were indistinct. He grabbed the Kimber off his bedside nightstand and flung the holster to the side. Bradley thumbed off the safety and raised it to eye level. Another shot in the near distance.

  “Bradley, put that gun down,” Monica urged.

  His vision narrowed and he dropped out of bed, knelt by its side. Someone moved in the living room. No, in the kitchen. There were people here for him and Monica. They would take Jenny and Bradley Junior. He would kill them all before they got near any member of his family.

  Another pair of pops, this time closer.

  “Bradley, you awake?”

  A voice from the hallway. His door was partially closed but the nightlight spilled in a soft beam of illumination. He waited for a shadow to come into view so he could kill its owner.

  “It’s cool, Brad. It’s me, Chris,” Chris called from the other room. “Don’t start unloading on me, pal.”

  Outside? He shook his head and pressed a hand to his temple. Dizziness. Displacement. Was he at home? Was he in Afghanistan? Where was the dry heat and the smell of his squad? Men who showered but were immediately drenched in sweat that soaked into their uniforms and body armor.

  Monica’s face came into view as his vision came back. She was an ethereal figure in the pool of moonlight that managed to sneak past his blinds and curtains.

  More banging.

  Bradley rose and found his jeans on the floor. He dropped the Kimber on the bed after thumbing the safety on and tugged his pants up.

  “Just a minute, Chris,” he said quietly.

  “Take your time,” Chris responded from the hallway.

  “Please, don’t go out there,” Moni
ca begged.

  She got out of bed and retrieved a light blue robe he had purchased for her at Costco about a year ago, then she switched on the nightstand light.

  “Kill that. We don’t want anyone to know we’re home,” Bradley said.

  Monica let out an exasperated sigh and turned the light off.

  “I just wanted to see your face. Make sure you weren’t about to do something stupid.”

  “Just need to check on things. Get Jenny and Junior. Go to the basement and wait. You have the little 9mm?”

  “Yes. It’s right here,” she said and opened her nightstand drawer to pull out the holster.

  “Keep it on you. Please. If we have intruders, something happens to me, don’t hesitate to use it.”

  “You’re overreacting, baby. It’s just some kids out there,” Monica said.

  “I pray you’re right, Monica.”

  He leaned over the bed and planted a kiss on her lips. She returned it, but she was hesitant. Monica had kept pressing him to talk about the shooting at work. She wanted him to discuss it with her for his sake. She also advised seeing a professional. He said he would when this all blew over, but she did not look convinced.

  “Chris, I’m coming out,” Bradley said.

  Bradley found Chris in the living room with the curtains over the main window pulled a few inches to the side so he could peer outside.

  “I see you. Did you hear the shots?”

  “Yeah. Woke me up. I thought we were under attack.”

  “We’re not, but someone is,” Chris said. “I’m going to go take a look.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Probably safer to stay inside.

  “Probably, but I know what I’m doing,” Chris said.

  Once again, Bradley wanted to probe Chris for information. He was good with a gun, with his hands in a fight situation, and he was spooky, the way he moved. Everything about him spoke of special ops training. Bradley had run into a few guys like him when he was overseas, and they were some of the most dangerous men he had ever met.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “Just go out and take a look. I heard shooting from two different locations but both were, I think, west of here. Do you have a dark jacket I can wear?” Chris asked.