“Get the fuck out of here. You don’t know that. Just leave us. I’ll bring him back,” Bradley said.
“You won’t, but I can help you get a little retribution on the men who did this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They went into a house. The guys who carried automatic weapons into the protesters and opened fire on the Guard. They did this. You can lay the death of your son at their feet,” Chris said.
Bradley pumped his son’s chest. Blood poured out of Junior’s chest each time he pressed. A spreading pool gathered underneath the body.
“Brad, he's gone. Go home to your wife. She's going to need you.”
Bradley sat back and looked skyward. So many deaths over the last week. So many lost, and for what? Was God really this vengeful? Had his country really devolved into this?
Bradley squinted as four men dressed in BDUs came into view. They walked slowly and carried guns. Chris wasn’t making sense. The only gunfire he cared about had come from the soldiers, and one of them had killed his son.
He reached into his jacket and pulled the Kimber in one smooth motion. Before he could level it and blow the head off the man in the lead, Chris knocked the gun to the side.
“Do you want them to kill us?”
Bradley didn't care. He fought Chris’s grip on his wrist.
“Put it down!” One of the soldiers shouted.
Chris pulled his hand down and cranked Bradley's hand hard to the right, forcing his wrist to bend until it screamed I pain. Then he yanked hard, and the gun came free.
“On the ground, now, or we waste you,” another of the squad yelled as they closed.
Bradley yanked his hand free and got to his feet. Why didn't he bring his smaller gun? That was right, Monica had it. He had no backup, not even his knife. That was on the bedside because he'd been in such a rush to leave his house.
“Don't do it,” Chris said and pulled Bradley back down.
“Get off me, you son of a bitch,” Bradley howled.
One of the soldiers moved quickly, lowing his weapon, and jabbing Bradley in the chest with the butt of his rifle. The breath left his body as he keeled over. He dropped the Kimber, and stupidly reached for it again. That earned him another blow. This time, he sprawled on the ground. Another soldier, just a tall skinny kid no older than Junior loomed over Bradley, putting the barrel of a gun in his face.
Bradley grabbed the barrel and pointed it away from his body. He used the kid’s grip to heave himself to his feet, pushing the assault rifle to the side, then yanking hard. The gun fired, and the other three soldiers swarmed him, striking Bradley with the butt of their guns until he let go and dropped one more time.
He took a blow to the head and saw stars.
One of the soldiers shouted for the squad to stand down. He loomed into view, and Bradley was sure he was hallucinating.
“Bradley?” A man he hadn't seen in at least five years said.
“You know this asshole?” The shorter soldier with dark skin said.
“Yeah,” the familiar faced man said. “He’s my brother.”
Bradley rolled onto his back, and with tears of sadness, laughed at the sky.
Chapter Forty-Four
James Briggs had not seen his older brother, Bradley, in a number of years. When they were younger, James, six, and Bradley, fifteen, the boys had been separated by divorce. James had gone with his mother, who married a lawyer, and moved to Joliet. Bradley, and their father, had stayed in Vicksburg, and Bradley hadn’t left since.
When they were growing up, separated from each other, their father had been so bitter he rarely let Bradley visit their mother. They had grown up practically strangers. With the exception of a few phone calls a year, and occasional interaction on social media, they had barely spoken over the last four or five years.
James was so shocked that his brother was here, it wasn’t until he made the connection between the boy on the ground and Bradley.
“Is that…”
“It’s Junior. You bastards killed him.”
“I didn’t kill anyone. Someone opened fire from your side and killed a bunch of our guys. You fired first,” James said.
He still hadn’t taken the barrel off James.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself. I didn’t shoot at anyone, I was there to get Junior, I had no side in that fight. Now he’s dead.”
“Brad, I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. When some of the protesters started shooting at us, it became chaos,” James argued.
“Why don’t you go to my house and explain that to Junior’s mother,” Bradley spat. “You remember her, right? Monica. Tell me you remember Monica!”
“Guys, I’m going to reach into my jacket and extract my identification. I’ll do it nice and slow. I need to tell you all something before this escalates any farther,” Chris interrupted the bickering.
Cooper shifted his aim to cover the older man.
“Nice and slow,” James said.
The man pulled a slim black wallet out very slowly, then he offered it to James.
James leaned over and grabbed the wallet. He flipped it open, and then his eyes went wide.
“Who is this guy?”
James read it again, and then held it up for Cooper, Skip, and Sprouts to take turns leaning over to inspect the contents of the fold out wallet.
“Mind if I get up?” the man said.
“Of course, sir,” James said.
“Call me Chris,” the man said.
“Listen, the people who perpetrated this heinous act fled. I was on assignment to track them down. We’ve suspected that the shootings taking place might have been motivated by a fringe group of white supremacists intent on destabilizing the government,” Chris said.
“Heavy shit,” Sprouts muttered.
“The men who did this went into a home just south of here. You want some payback, you come with me, and we can bring them to justice,” Chris said.
“Those are the guys we saw. I dug out an assault rifle one of them stashed under one bushes,” Cooper offered Chris, then he turned to show the piece.
“Sig Sauer 553. The folding stock makes it easier to conceal.”
“Let me radio for support,” James said.
“Do it on the way there. We don’t have any time. They’ve already loaded a transport,” Chris urged.
“What should we do?” Cooper asked.
Gunfire erupted from the direction Chris had pointed out.
“We go take care of that,” James said.
James’ head swirled. Fringe groups, an NSA agent, and mass shootings. It was like he was stuck in a bad episode of the show 24.
“Hooah,” Sprouts, Cooper, and Skip echoed.
“What about him?” Cooper said.
“I’ll call for a medic on the way. Also, I’ll get our backup here as soon as possible,” James said.
“We don’t have much time, gentlemen,” Chris said.
James leaned over and put his hand on Bradley’s shoulder. “We’ll be back. We can talk. This wasn’t us, man. I swear to you.”
Bradley didn’t meet James’ eyes. He simply sat back against a silver Bronco and pulled his son into his lap and cradled his head.
James sighed and, with Chris in the lead, they moved out.
Chapter Forty-Five
Chris had to be fast on his feet. The fake ID he’d stashed had saved his ass this time. If they attempted to check his credentials, there would be questions. But for now, the kids had bought his half-truths. He would use them to help extract one of the men from the four person team.
Then he’d get some answers. Why had he and his team been hunted down and eliminated and, if nothing else, he could take down Lawson.
Overhead, helicopters arrived in droves. He glanced skyward but there weren’t any news choppers to be seen, a far cry from the way things were a few weeks ago. Information was being very quietly disseminated to the public, and most of that was heavily edited. He had watched
enough on the extra TV at Bradley’s to see that.
They raced toward the home he’d seen the team enter. As they neared, another blast of automatic gunfire sounded from that direction.
Faces peeked out from behind curtains, then withdrew when the home’s occupants got a look at the soldiers.
It was only a couple of blocks, and it was probably going to be a complete waste of time. The team would have moved on by now, or the gunshots meant they were dead. If nothing else, maybe he could grab one of the shooters this time.
But it wasn’t purely about information, or beating the shit out of Lawson to find out why he had been targeted, it was also about some good old fashioned revenge.
* * *
They had donned new clothing, and now there were four of them. Chris pointed out the team as they tossed bags into a large black SUV.
Briggs, the young fire team leader, issued orders, and his men responded quickly. They went defensive, with Briggs in the lead, the others behind, weapons pointed in a way that covered their approach. They might be young, but they had excellent grouping.
Chris reached into his waistband and tugged out the .357.
The black ops team took cover behind the white SUV, missing his approach. Chris took the opportunity to fade behind a pile of garbage next to a full trash can. Someone had tossed out a bunch of furniture as well, and it all smelled like shit.
Before he could pop up and take out one of the men in black, they opened fire. Briggs fired back and his team took shelter behind a blue Hyundai sedan.
Chris moved left and kept low, using a row of rhododendrons to hide his shape. The soldiers fired their M4s, and the black ops team shot back, blowing holes in the side of the Hyundai.
He went flat and crawled under more plants until he had a decent view of the field of battle. One of the men, an Asian guy who looked vaguely familiar, fell under his sights. Chris lined up a shot, cocked the hammer, let out a breath, and splattered the guy’s brains all over the side of the SUV.
He pulled back as bullets sprayed over his head.
Chris took his time and did it right. He rolled ten feet to the right, and then found another target. This guy wasn’t familiar but he had a dragon tattoo running up his neck. One of the men turned his gun on Chris’s position and opened fire. Bullets ripped over his head. He aimed and fired, but his shot went wide because the man moved back around the side of the SUV.
Chris’s position was compromised. He scrambled back while Briggs’ team laid down a hail of fire that shredded the side of the SUV and made the black ops team drop into cover.
Chris pushed himself out of the brush and rolled again, this time toward the house. He was exposed for a split second and almost paid for it with his life with a bullet. Instead, it ripped into the ground he had just occupied.
He used the gunfire to make a run for it. This wasn’t going how he had planned, and the chance to snatch one of the shooters was fading by the second.
Then the large man loomed into view and fired on Chris’s position. He managed to slide behind a large landscaping rock and make his body small.
Lawson was still alive. Now he really wanted to kill them all, and he’d be happy if that asshole was last, begging for his life before Chris put two just left of center mass, and one to the head.
Then something crashed into his shoulder, and Chris knew he was in trouble.
Chapter Forty-Six
Bradley loaded his son’s body into the back of the Bronco, ignoring the blood that continued to leak from Junior’s body. He closed his son’s eye lids and stared down at his innocent face.
Grief gave way to anger. Anger gave way to rage.
He leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead, then closed the Bronco’s door.
Bradley went prone and felt under the car tire. His fingers closed on the Kimber.
Gunfire rose into the morning air. His mind flashed back to a short time ago when he had come under fire in the crowd and his son had dropped like a rock.
His brother had turned up and, for all he knew, had been the one that pulled the trigger and killed Junior.
Bradley rose on shaking knees, looked back at his son’s face in through the window of his Bronco. Junior looked like he was asleep. His mouth was parted and his eyes closed.
Bradley’s features hardened as he did something stupid. He ran toward the sound of gunfire.
* * *
James ducked as a dozen rounds struck the Hyundai he and Cooper used for cover.
Skip provided cover fire, while skinny Sprouts ran across the street and ducked behind a white compact.
Chris was completely pinned down and unable to get out from behind a large rock someone had used as landscaping. Rounds smacked into his cover, broke pieces off, and sent them flying.
Cooper dropped with a groan.
“You hit?”
“Son of a bitch. Right in the chest plate again,” Cooper said.
“Gonna live?”
“Probably not. Those assholes are packing some serious heat,” Cooper groaned.
“Catch your breath before one of them flanks us.”
“On the right, three o’clock, movement,” Cooper said and pressed himself against the rear door.
Cooper pushed his hand under his breastplate and rubbed.
“I see him,” James said.
He ejected his spent magazine, pulled one from his belt, and slapped it home.
James crawled next to the bumper and fired off three quick rounds. They pelted the back window of the black SUV and sent glass flying.
Sprouts ran to the next car while skip provided covering fire again. This brought the new guy into nearly perfect firing position to take out the assailants.
One of the men must have partially crawled under the SUV. Muzzle flashes lit, and then Sprouts screamed in pain. Skip laid down a burst of fire, then ran into the open before diving next to Sprouts.
A large caliber handgun spoke, and a bullet punched into the side view mirror of the SUV.
James wanted to run to Sprouts side, but they were suddenly hit with rounds from two guns. He ducked back down, and when he peeked around the corner, the team was on the move, about to flank the house. One of them spun and emptied an entire magazine at them.
* * *
Chris should have known the National Guard soldiers would be outclassed by a tactically superior team. Now they were getting away, and all he wanted to do was put a round in Lawson.
He touched his shoulder and winced. Blood stained his hand. He looked, and found that a small caliber round had taken off a chunk of his deltoid. He rotated his arm in its socket, noted his limited range of motion, and sucked it up.
Chris rolled out from the cover of the large rock and pulled his smaller 9mm, and checked his pockets. He had enough to reload the revolver a few times but no time to do it. He had one round left in the .357. He ran toward the two guardsmen and shouted for the darker skinny kid.
“Hand me that Sig Sauer, I’m going to follow them,” Chris said.
The kid held his chest, but turned and shrugged his back around so Chris could get at the spare weapon.
Chris unslung it from his shoulder and ejected the magazine. Shit, only about half full. He guessed there were fifteen, maybe sixteen rounds. He unfolded the stock and pressed it to his shoulder.
“You’re bleeding,” Briggs said.
“Yep. Not the first time either,” Chris said.
“Dude’s a badass,” a guy named Koslowski said.
“They’re going to try to flank us. Two will go in one direction, while another goes in the opposite direction as they draw a team after them,” Chris said.
“Yeah,” Briggs said.
“Look at me,” Chris ordered.
“You do whatever the hell you’re doing out here, one of my men is down,” James said.
“You’re all going to be down if you don’t listen to me. That SUV is their only way out of here unless they drag one of these families out and tak
e the keys. They probably have equipment, more guns, maybe explosives. You want them coming back? We stop them now or we’re dead.”
James shook Chris off and ran to Sprouts.
* * *
Bradley had rounded the block, and then ducked behind the side of a house while the firefight took place. He waited as guns blasting back and forth.
He couldn’t see Chris, but the National Guard soldiers were pinned down as four men in black shot at them. Then one of them opened up in full auto, surprising the soldiers who dropped out of sight. Then the men were on the move as they dashed around the side of the home they had been using as cover.
He moved in the opposite direction and rounded a two-story home that had a brick accented double car garage. There was a six feet tall wooden privacy fence that would be a bitch to scale. A garage door opened, and a Prius backed up. A terrified woman with three kids packed in the vehicle, roared backward into the road, slammed on the brakes, and then accelerated in the opposite direction of the shooting.
Bradley thought fast. He dove under the garage door as it started to slide shut. He made for the inside of the house and tore through a messy dining room. He found the back, but it was raised five feet off the ground by a deck. He unlocked the sliding glass door and ran onto the wooden slats, then down a short set of stairs. He stopped at a back gate, then did a quick scan of the yard. Thank God there wasn’t a crazy dog that wanted to kill him.
When he eyed the lock, found the combination fastener on the door, but it wasn’t even locked. He lifted the padlock and tossed it on the ground. Then he leaned over and took a couple of breaths. His ribs ached like the Dickens. One of the soldiers had hit him pretty hard. His arms and midsection also hurt from the beating they had administered. He touched his face and found a line of blood from a rapidly swelling bruise below his left eye.
At least they hadn’t broken any bones. He sucked it up, pushed the pain away, and then opened the large wooden back door.
* * *
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 22
