“I got your back,” Cooper said.
“Yeah? Who’s got your back?” Chris Miller responded.
“Honestly, I’m hoping the rest of my squad does,” Cooper said. “Ammo’s almost in the black.”
Damn. This kid would have to do.
“Stay close and do what I say,” Chris said.
“Sure, boss.”
Chris jogged between the houses. He motioned for Cooper to follow, and the pair raced around the house on the right, a nice little home with a low fence and manicured yard. The front of the house was surrounded by trees that had been sculpted to look like little animals. Across from it, a half-completed duplex with missing walls stood like a skeleton.
About fifteen feet separated the homes from each other. One was in shade, and the other received partial light.
“Stay on that side, use the shade. Move slowly. One or two of them will be lurking behind this house. One will probably be prone. Be very careful when picking out targets. If you see a gun wave in your direction, don’t try to beat them to the trigger, you get low or get behind cover right way.”
“Wish I had time to get on a roof for overwatch,” Cooper said.
“Me too.”
Chris nodded at the home across from him, then crept toward the backyard. Cooper took the queue and planted his back against the wooden structure.
Shots sounded from the direction of the rest of Cooper’s squad. Chris didn’t waste time. If they were in any way distracted, he had a shot.
Chris turned to face the building, stuck the Sig into the open, and fired several rounds.
“Go,” Chris said.
Cooper moved to the edge and aimed his gun. Someone moved, and the kid panic fired.
Chris used the distraction to round the corner, but he kept hunched over. His shoulder wound throbbed and blood spread into his shirt.
The backyard had been overrun with weeds and whoever lived here, before renovations had begun, had dragged some old furniture out and tossed it. There was a large desk, a bookshelf, a mattress, and a dresser that had succumbed to rain. Anyone of those obstacles could be hiding one of the shooters. He fired three rounds, two striking the bookshelf, and one through the mattress, and then ducked back around into cover.
No one returned fire.
Cooper popped his head around and surveyed the other yard. “I think they’re gone.”
“Doubt it,” Chris muttered.
Then a large caliber handgun sounded. Someone screamed and hit the ground.
It was probably a mistake, but Chris dove around the side of the house and took cover behind the desk.
Then all hell broke loose.
* * *
Bradley opened the door slowly and was grateful for quiet hinges. He poked his head out and found one of the men in black hiding behind a toolshed. Bradley lifted his gun and shot the man in the back. Then he fired again as the man spun. The guy had a neck tattoo and short black hair clipped close to his head.
Bradley walked into the open and took cover behind the shed. He leaned over and picked up the man’s rifle and put his Kimber back in its holster. It was a Taran Tactical with a pmag that featured a small window to show how many rounds were left, and it was fully loaded.
He swung the gun around the side of the shed and waited for someone to move.
Bullets exploded around him, making him duck down. The shots had come from somewhere to the left. Bradley stayed low and considered his options. If there were two shooters, they would have his number very soon. He returned fire in the general direction the shots had come from, then dashed behind the home, taking shelter behind the raised deck. It wasn’t much in the way of cover, but the shooter didn’t know that. The dirt was wet from recent rains, and he had to pull his foot free from the suctioning mess.
At least two other shooters were out there, and he hoped they were on his side.
A flash, and he tracked them with the gun, but they took cover behind an old wooden desk. Bradley laid down a few rounds just to keep their heads down.
A gun appeared over the desk and returned fire. He ducked and rolled behind the home’s east wall. Five rounds. Did the pmag hold twenty five or thirty?
Wood exploded as rounds struck the corner of the house.
He moved quickly, skirting the wall, until he reached the front of the home. Bradley kept the Taran Tactical locked against his shoulder, and fired as he ran.
He scanned the area and found the National Guard team in disarray. Bradley hoped they wouldn’t fire on him. He ran for the front porch and slammed into the front door. It gave with a crash and he fell into the living room.
Bradley stalked through the home, making his way through the kitchen until he found a back sliding door.
The shooter didn’t even see him. He was wedged between an old refrigerator that had been tossed on its side and a thick, dark wood desk. Bradley fired a burst. The sliding glass door blew apart and the man yelled in pain. He tried to crawl out of cover, and away from Bradley’s gun, but a shot from the south cut him off. The guy’s throat erupted with blood. He reached for it and gurgled before he started twitching.
Fuck that guy, too.
Then Bradley was hit. Someone had waited in the cover of a small copse of trees. Bradley had been moving, or the round would have taken his skull apart. Instead, pain blossomed along the side of his head. He leaped for cover and pressed his hand to the side of his face, coming away with blood.
* * *
Chris barely avoided getting his head blown off. The desk wasn’t thick and rounds punched through it like paper.
Then one of the shooters fell out of cover as gunfire erupted from inside the house. Chris snapped the gun up, aimed, and shot him through the throat. The man looked shocked, then his legs kicked as he fell on his side.
The last figure dove out of cover, snapping off shots toward the back of the house. Chris fired but missed. He pulled the trigger again and it clicked on empty.
“Shit!”
Chris pushed himself up and surprised Lawson by tackling him to the ground.
Lawson was stronger than Chris, and used his weight to roll on top.
Chris got his hands up and avoided a fist to the head, the second caught him around the temple, and he saw stars. He drove his knee into the man’s midsection and pushed him off. Then he rolled to the side and shook his head.
Lawson was fast. He swung a leg around and delivered a punishing blow to Chris’s upper thigh. Leg useless for now, Chris punched Lawson in the side, going for the kidneys. The blow was fast and sharp and drew a cry of pain.
Then Bradley was there. He strode out of the house, tossing an automatic weapon on the ground and pulling the Kimber. He aimed it at them, and Chris was afraid Bradley intended to kill them both.
Something seared his midsection. A burning line of pain that made him gasp. Then a stab as the blade sank into his gut and twisted.
Chris kept his hand wrapped around Lawson and managed to roll over one more time even though he felt like he had been cut in half. His shirt was sticky and wet as blood bubbled out. He went for the little 9mm Nano with his free hand, thinking he could get his backup magazine in time, but Lawson elbowed him in the face.
The Kimber boomed and Lawson folded up. He screamed in agony, and then went flat.
Chris rolled over and pushed himself to a sitting position.
“You dead?”
“You’re an asshole,” Lawson said.
“Why did they kill my team?” Chris said through gritted teeth.
“Telling you nothing,” Lawson said, then gasped as pain racked his body.
Lawson attempted to push himself away from Chris, his feet scrabbling at the ground.
Chris got his 9mm, fumbled for his backup magazine, and managed to reload. He lifted the gun and pressed it to Lawson’s head. “Want me to end it quickly?”
“Fuck you.”
“Move, Chris. I’ll finish him,” Bradley said.
His friend sto
od over them with the gun barrel pointed at Lawson’s head.
“Wait. Make him tell you what happened, how these attacks were planned and executed by our own government. I’m not going to last much longer so it doesn’t matter,” Chris said. “Fuck it.”
“I don’t care,” Bradley said.
“Tell him why you did it, why you fired at the soldiers,” Chris said and choked, tasting his own blood. “Tell me why my team was eliminated!”
“Liability, plain and simple. I told them you would be a problem, and I guess I was right,” Lawson said.
“So, we do the dirty work, and then they had us killed. Just a simple coverup?”
“Something like that. Neither one of us will see how our actions played out, but the end goal has been achieved.”
“What, power? It was all about power?”
“What’s it ever about? Never figured you for a Boy Scout,” Lawson said as blood bubbled over this lip.
Chris’s grip on the gun slipped as pain raced through his body. He’d been shot before, but this pain was nothing like that. It felt like he had been chopped in half. Blood pumped out of his wound hot and fast, making him blink rapidly because he saw static white.
Cooper rounded the corner and kept his gun trained around the area.
“Why don’t you tell him. You were on the first team,” Lawson said. “Not so fucking innocent.”
Chris wanted to say more but consciousness slipped away.
* * *
Bradley squatted next to the shooter and pointed his gun at the man’s head. Chris’s eyes closed, and he didn’t move with the exception of his chest rising and falling in slower patterns.
“Bunch of sheep. You don’t understand what’s going on, and you won’t ever get it. It’s all about control,” the man said.
“Control, huh? How’s this for control?” Bradley said and shot the man in the face.
Chris had called him Lawson. Well, Bradley now called him dead. Lawson’s head bounced off the ground, and he didn’t move again. Cooper came out from cover. He looked scared, and like Bradley, probably felt like events had spiraled out of control.
Cooper knelt next to Chris and checked his pulse while keeping his eyes up and scanning the yard for more threats.
“You okay?”
“Why do you care?” Bradley said.
“Wasn’t me, man. I swear to you. We didn’t shoot into the crowd. They shot at us, well, these guys did. There were no targets so I didn’t fire back. I’m not a fucking monster.”
“Go before I do something stupid,” Bradley said.
“You should wait here. We have backup on the way,” Copper urged.
“I don’t care,” Bradley said.
“They’ll go easy on you. We’ll back your story, man. Just put the gun down. Whole town’s going to be locked down soon anyway and you’ll have to surrender them.”
“Take that one,” Bradley pointed at the Taran.
Bradley dropped to the ground next to Chris and leaned over. He slapped the man’s face hard and got a flicker as a response.
“This is such a cluster, I can’t even,” Cooper said. “I’m going to get Briggs. He has some medical supplies.”
“Too late for me,” Chris said. “It’s hard to see. That you, Bradley?”
“It’s me. I don’t understand what’s happening here. You knew this guy?”
“Just say these words. Echelon, Delta, 1939. Birthday. The last is numerical. Caps on the first two words. Punch them in together,” Chris said.
“What are you talking about?”
“My jacket. There’s a secure phone and a half dozen SIM cards. Take them. Don’t use the phone at your house. Use a new SIM card if you need to connect. Without that password, you won’t be able to access my notes. Everything is there,” Chris said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Say it. Echelon, Delta, 1939. Birthday. The pin is numeric. The rest of the words start with a capital letter. Say it,” Chris said.
“Echelon, Delta, 1939, Birthday.”
“Good,” Chris said, and his eyes rolled back, then he focused on Chris again. “I’ve never been a good man. Not even a decent man. The things I’ve done for this country are going to send me straight to Hell.”
“Chris, I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“My real name is Roger. Sorry I lied to you, and doubly sorry about your boy. You want revenge? Use the phone. Don’t show it to anyone until the time is right. Don’t trust any government agency. They will take the device, and then kill you and everyone you know and love. Just use it…” Chris muttered, then he stopped moving.
Bradley took out the man’s phone and the SIM cards. They were packed in a tiny plastic case, and they rattled around as he examined it.
The phone wasn’t on, and he didn’t turn it on.
“Echelon, Delta, 1939, Birthday,” Chris muttered to himself.
He tucked the device away, and then sat back on his rear end. Bradley touched his ear and winced in pain. He probed anyway and found a chunk had been shot off.
Bradley wanted to sleep for a very long time, but he had to get his son home. Had to tell Monica what happened to Junior.
By the time his brother and the other men in James’ squad got there, Bradley was long gone.
THE END
Broken Patriot continues in
MARCH TO WAR
Check out the next novel in the series on Amazon:
MARCH TO WAR
A Broken Patriot Novel
Thank you so much for reading DRUMS OF WAR. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the book, and that you are looking forward to future novels in the series.
I’m a full time author, and pay my mortgage with my writing. If you could take a spare moments to leave a review for DRUMS OF WAR on Amazon, I would be extremely gratefully, and sing the praises of your name. Badly. And only in the shower.
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-Timothy W. Long
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Impact Earth sample
Looking for a new read? Check out Impact Earth by Timothy W. Long. Can a band of regular people who can suddenly manifest superpowers stop an alien invasion over the skies of Seattle?
Prologue
International Space Station
Yuri Novitskiy awoke to pounding.
He tried to roll over but remembered he was stuck in a cocoon that was Velcroed to a wall. Or, as Sheppard liked to call it, being mummified for eight hours. One of the hardest parts about living in zero-g was that it didn't matter which direction you faced. There was no gravity to tell you which way was up and which way was down.
The familiar machine shop smell of the space station came back to him: a combination of oil, recycled air, and plastics. Then there were the constant noises of moving air and machinery humming away as the space station kept its occupants alive.
His thin door threatened to buckle as someone beat on it.
"Go away, zombie. I just closed my eyes," he muttered and tried to bury his face in the confines of his sleeping bag.
"Yuri. We need you, man, there's an emergency."
"Tell Oleg to take care of it. I am sleeping."
The pounding ceased, and the door pushed open. Light flooded into his tiny space, illuminating his laptop, the floati
ng paperback of a Tolstoy classic, and a package that had contained a Snickers—the greatest invention in the known world, as far as Yuri was concerned.
He looked at his watch, which was set to UTC, and shook his head. Why couldn't the Americans take care of their own problem? It was always Yuri, we need this. Yuri, we need that. Yuri, you're the only one who knows this system.
"Sheppard, what is so important that you must have Russia's greatest mind awoken at…" He looked at his watch again. "It's not even eleven. I've had less than an hour of sleep."
"I'd tell you, bud, but you wouldn't believe me. Trust me, Yuri, if this weren't an emergency I'd be sound asleep too. You just gotta see this shit.” Sheppard’s lined face was split by a cocky smile.
"If this is another spore breakthrough, I am going to be very angry. You know what happened last time I got angry?"
"It's not like that, Yuri. I promise. No prank this time."
The prank war had begun with Sheppard appearing naked—with the exception of a well-placed cowboy hat over his genitals—riding an imaginary bull through the science pod.
Yuri had come back by playing a female voice that described how to perform a breast inspection for cancer into Sheppard’s radio while the man was on a space walk.
Ever the over-achiever, Sheppard had retaliated by breaking into a call Yuri made to his family back on earth, and had piped in a recording of how to do a proper testicle inspection.
There were the usual pranks after that, like switching the liquid salt with liquid pepper. One thing that wasn’t allowed in space was little particles of spice.
Yuri had ended the escalating war by crafting a little alien head out of PVC and a chunk of freeze-dried steak that hadn't properly sealed before the trip to the space station. A few minutes with a knife had given it shape.
With liberal use of ketchup, he'd scared Sheppard half to death with his Alien movie imitation. The only downside had been cleaning up the little red drops that had drifted in zero gravity.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 23
