Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  "I wasn't—I was careful, like you taught me."

  "But if I had been there watching, we could be sure." Ted folded his arms. "Even I wouldn't have gone off alone like that. If you'd gotten hurt in the forest—"

  "I didn't," said Erik with a little more heat in his voice than he'd wanted. "Look—I appreciate you all are pissed at me. I'd probably be mad too. But I had to know, okay?"

  "No, it is not okay!" yelled Ted.

  "I had to know!" Erik shouted back. "And," he said, raising a hand to forestall Ted's argument, "I came back with more knowledge than we had this morning. Invaluable knowledge."

  "Irrelevant—you put all of us at risk. If we were in the Corps—"

  "We're not!" screamed Erik. "I'm not a marine, I'm not a soldier, I'm just me—a post-grad who wanted to be a God damn teacher but keeps getting dragged into shit that shouldn't even be happening!" Erik felt the urge to put a lid on his emotions but something gave inside him and the volcano erupted.

  He stepped away from Brin, breathing hard and yelling, venting all his fears and frustrations, his anger and his worry. "This whole world has been nothing but one fucking nightmare after the next since that day back in June when all hell broke loose. We've fought our neighbors and defended our homes against gang-bangers and the White Hand people, we joined the Army and fought the Russians and got sent to that fucking hellhole after Orlando. For God's sake we were bombed by Russian planes! After surviving the insanity back in Dunham and," he looked at Lucy with wide, frantic eyes, "that bullshit in Delaware and…and—"

  Brin stepped forward, one hand out as if she were trying to calm an injured dog. "Erik, take it easy—"

  "I will not take it easy!" he screamed. "This whole fucking world is insane, my parents are dead, murdered by the sick bastards who came through here last month—"

  The punch came out of nowhere, caught him completely by surprise, and sent him reeling. Erik blinked back the pain as he put a hand to his jaw. His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Ted from the floor. The marine looked calm as ever, but a dangerous glint in his eye gave Erik pause.

  "Stay down."

  Erik stayed down. He worked his jaw and tried to calm his breathing. Brin rushed forward but Ted put a thick arm out and blocked her.

  "Better now?" he asked.

  Erik took internal inventory and felt the anger fading. He nodded. Ted held his eyes for a moment before releasing Brin and nodding. "I didn't want to do that, but someone had to." A smile cracked his face. "Jesus Christ, man. You need to learn how to decompress. Get a hobby."

  "I didn't know you were so wound up…" Brin murmured as she touched his face where Ted struck him.

  Erik looked past Brin and smiled at Ted. He let her help him to his feet and stuck out a hand. "Thanks for the wake up call."

  Ted shook his hand, the grip firm and steady, but he didn't return the smile. "No worries. But I was serious about the running off on your own. That shit would get you in front of a firing squad right now." He flashed a grin. "You're lucky I don't want to waste the ammunition."

  "So," said Maggie, drawing all eyes to her. She lit a candle and set it on the table to fight the encroaching night. "Can we agree to worry about blaming each other later? What do we do now?"

  Ted stepped over to the table and looked down at the Colonel's maps. He picked up one and examined the area outside the fort. "These elevations would be a lot of fun to work with if I still had my M40. I mean, from here," he said, indicating Mt. Defiance, "I could empty that fort. It's a good thing they only had muskets back in the day…"

  "Great idea. But what can you do with this?" asked Erik, placing their lone M4 on the table. "We've also got the captured shotguns and the pistols."

  "You'll have whatever help you need from us," Maggie said simply. "I know Dillon and Norm both have hunting rifles, but I'm afraid I don't know who else is armed besides Dan."

  "Much appreciated ma'am," replied Ted. "Do you have a ballpark number on how many people are left with weapons in town?"

  She shook her head, the thick silver braid tumbling over her shoulder. "Maybe ten?"

  Ted rubbed his chin in thought. "You said most of the survivors here in town are…"

  "Old farts, like me. Not much use in a fight, I know. I'm sorry."

  "Don't sell yourself short so quick," said Erik.

  Maggie laughed. "I don't think you'll be able to convince us to charge that fort. Most of us can hardly walk."

  Erik examined the map on the table. "Just because you can't run and fight like someone twenty years younger—"

  "Try forty," Maggie interjected.

  "—doesn't mean you can't play a part in bringing these sick bastards down."

  Maggie hugged herself. "I'm sorry about your parents, Erik, I really am. And all the folks in town who’ve been murdered. We've all seen too much of death lately—I'm not so sure going off looking for revenge is the best option. Not with winter on us."

  "No one said anything about revenge," Erik said, glowering at the map of the centuries-old fort. "We’re talking about good old fashioned, cold, hard retribution."

  "Call it whatever you want, but we still can't just walk in guns blazing. They outnumber us four to one."

  "We have a fully automatic M4. We have hunters," Erik offered.

  "Two old men hardly count as hunters—no offense," Ted added for Maggie.

  "None taken," she replied quickly, her tone casting the truth of her words into serious doubt.

  "What we need is for everyone down here," Erik said tapping his finger on the map at Shanty Town, "to rise up and join us."

  Ted grunted. "That would go a long way to evening the odds. But none of them are armed and they're probably half-starved if what your friend the Colonel says is true. Not exactly fighting material."

  "They don't have to fight, just confuse those bastards."

  Ted stared at the map for a long moment. "Maybe."

  "We can do this, I know it."

  Ted looked at Erik. "I know you want this real bad, man. I would too. But you got to step back and look at this objectively. They killed your dad and mom. I get it—they killed a lot of people in this town and took a lot more. The sooner you get that out of your system, the quicker you can start thinking with a clear head."

  "Being mad is what made me think of this in the first place," muttered Erik.

  "And you being mad is something I'm counting on. We need more of that berserker you got squirreled away in there," Ted said pointing at Erik's chest. "But if we don't think about this and do it right—do it my way—we're going to get ourselves killed."

  Ted glanced over at the door on the other side of the room, behind which Lindsay and Teddy slept. "I will not deprive my children of both their parents—not now. They'll never survive out there alone."

  Erik watched as Ted stared at the map. "I need to see this for myself."

  "Well, whatever we do, we need to do it quick. Those two we captured this morning are sure to be missed by tomorrow," added Brin, hugging herself. "The younger one gives me the creeps, the way he looks at me."

  "He looks like the ones at school," said Lucy, speaking up for the first time. When everyone looked at her, she blushed and cleared her throat. "I mean, back at the university. They looked like him. I mean they looked at me the way he looks at me."

  "We understand," said Brin, reaching out a hand to the younger girl.

  "Yeah," Lucy said, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear and looking down.

  "Speaking of our visitors," Ted said with one final look at the maps. "I think it's time we go have a chat."

  "The old guy sounded like he wanted to talk earlier," said Brin hopefully. "He keeps saying he'll tell us whatever we want for some food."

  "We'll see." Ted moved to the door. "If he can give us some reliable intel—if he can confirm what Erik found out—if we can trust him…"

  "That's a lot of ifs," added Erik. "But I trust him a lot more than that other guy."

 
Ted grimaced. "Yeah, well…never trust a prisoner."

  Chapter 73

  Presents

  MAJOR HUGHES CROUCHED BY the body bag, waiting for the Black Hawks to dust off. He kept his eyes shut and his hand on the tough plastic sheeting that covering his prize. Soon enough, the pilot hit the throttle and the big brown helicopter lifted up, taking most of the wind and dust with it. After a few more seconds, it was clear enough for him to open his eyes and stand.

  He grabbed one end of the white body bag and his XO took the other. They marched off with the rest of his squad toward the command Stryker, where General Stapleton stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the aftermath of the battle.

  My God, that magnificent bastard looks like Patton.

  "Well, Major Hughes, what did you bring me?" growled the general around the cigar in his mouth.

  Hughes dropped the body bag at the feet of the conqueror and saluted.

  "This is the HVT I told you about." He gestured with his right hand for Albertson to take a knee and unzip the body bag.

  "The radioactive material?" asked Stapleton.

  Hughes grunted. "It wasn't much. Already in decon and under lock and key. Would have been more psychological than destructive." He rolled his neck. "That's what they told me when an E3 from demo took it off my hands." He peeled back the body bag, revealing a bloodied, disfigured face.

  "Jesus," Stapleton grunted, switching his stub of a cigar to the other side of his mouth. "I bet he's seen better days. Who is it?"

  Hughes reached behind him and accepted the tablet from one of his men, turned it counterclockwise and handed it to the general. "CIC photo ID'd him for us on the ride back. Hakim Sharif Hassan. He's been wanted for several bombings throughout the Middle East from Israel to Turkey. They had a possible ID on him in Arizona when everything fell apart back during the collapse—"

  "Arizona?" asked the general.

  "Yes sir, looks like this son of a bitch and his buddies were somehow linked to the wildfires. Makes him responsible for L.A., too."

  "Says here he had a partner," Stapleton said using his finger to scroll down the information on the tablet. He looked up. "You find him?"

  Hughes shook his head. "That's a big negative, sir. Me and my squad had just entered an abandoned house to set up an LP/OP when this dumbass kicks in the front door, screaming about Allah." He shrugged.

  "It was pretty much reactive fire. He didn't stand a chance. However, we did find he was loaded with enough C4 to leave a 30 foot crater where the house was."

  Hughes reached behind his Dragon skin armor and pulled out a packet of grungy, blood-stained papers. He handed the folded stack to the general and took the tablet back.

  "What's this?" asked Stapleton flipping through the pages.

  "Unknown, sir. Most of it is in Arabic and the rest seems to be ramblings about imperialist America—the usual terrorist bullshit propaganda. The last page though, you got complete scheduling for several trans-Pacific shipments. Notice the embarkation point?"

  Stapleton looked up. "Ningbo, China. Son of a bitch. I need to get this to Washington." Stapleton turned to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. "Damn fine job, son." He held up the stack of papers. "This might give us the political ammunition we need to take care of the Chinese out west."

  "Yes, sir," Hughes said as he saluted.

  After the general slammed the hatch on the command Stryker, the big vehicle roared to life and headed north. Hughes relaxed. He was never comfortable standing around the brass. Not that he had anything to be nervous about with Stapleton. He—like most all the soldiers under Stapleton's command—had nothing but respect for America's premier fighting general.

  Hughes shook his head. Stapleton was the only general Hughes had ever known or heard about leading from the front lines. General's just didn't do that anymore.

  "Good Lord, would you look at that?" asked his XO, pointing off in the distance.

  Hughes looked around him for the first time since jumping off the Black Hawk and took in the scenery. Everywhere to the south—in a ragged line going southwest to southeast—lay the smoldering hulks of destroyed Russian tanks, troops transports, and mobile missile launchers. Bodies and parts of bodies lay everywhere in piles and scattered bits and pieces.

  Likewise behind him, to the north—a number of American vehicles and wounded lay across the ghastly battlefield. Death and destruction surrounded Hughes in a horrific 360-degree panorama. The Americans and Russians had poured everything they had at each other and Malcolm’s people had been in the crossfire.

  Albertson pointed to a gaggle of weapon-toting civilians surrounded by a cordon of guards. But none of the soldiers paid much attention to them. In fact, a few of them shared canteens and food packages among their prisoners.

  Hughes noted the civilians—mostly minorities but with a sprinkling of just about every race he could imagine thrown in—received treatment from a group of medics as they worked their way through the injured.

  In the opposite direction, a line of soldiers kept their weapons trained on a small group of Russians. They looked beat to hell, exhausted, and bloodied. Not a single medic was near them.

  Hughes looked back at the collection of rebels. There had to be a story behind this. He just finished fighting for his life against these bastards in New York, chased them a thousand miles down the eastern seaboard and nearly had his ass blown out of the air by them. Now they'd just shared the battlefield with the American army against the Russians and were being treated surprisingly then they deserved.

  Hughes shook his head. He would never understand generals.

  One thing he did understand was that the Russians were finished. Their invasion of America had come to nothing. If he knew Stapleton, the general would resupply and regroup the Division as fast as possible then march straight into the heart of occupied Florida.

  His XO adjusted the bloody bandage on his right leg. He stretched his leg out in the sun and groaned. "Well, that was fun. Now what do we do?"

  Hughes turned and looked south. Through the smoke obscuring the horizon, past the pine trees and a few scattered, charred palms along the road, he stared toward the remaining Russian army.

  "Now we take our country back."

  Chapter 74

  Strategy

  ERIK LOOKED AT THE ragtag group of seven senior citizens gathered around the table in front of him. Five old men, a woman he didn't know, and Maggie. All that was left of the town of Ticonderoga still willing to fight.

  "I'm all for going in there as the underdog," Erik whispered to Ted, "but…I mean, is this really gonna work?"

  Ted regarded the recruits with a dubious eye. "I don't know. Whatever happens—”

  "It's got to work," said Maggie, silencing the others. "We don't have a choice."

  "She's right," added Dan, in his usual gruff voice. "Those of us still living here don't have much of a chance to make it through winter without electricity and heat. That group over in the fort damn well knows that, too. They can sit back and let us die. Come spring, they can pick through the whole town without risking anything."

  "In fact, if they decide to attack now," said one of the newcomers, "there's not enough of us left to make much of a difference. They probably know that, too—i's got to be the only reason why they haven't attacked again."

  "These are the only weapons left in town?" asked Ted.

  Erik looked over the assortment of hunting rifles and shotguns. Here and there a pistol worn on a shrunken hip rounded out the bulk of their hardware. Erik looked at Ted and noticed the marine looked genuinely worried. It was not comforting sight.

  "That we know of," said Maggie. "After the last attack, they took pretty much everything."

  Ted nodded. "I want to make sure you all understand the risk that you're going to be taking."

  "Some of us have lost everything: our homes, even our families. Not everyone has lost loved ones, but we've all lost something. We understand the risks, Mr. Jensen. Time
is running out for us to do something—in more ways than one."

  "I ain't gettin' any younger, that's for sure," muttered one of the men.

  "I appreciate you all volunteering to help, I really do," said Erik. All eyes shifted to him. His voice caught in his still-sore throat. Instead of a group of hardened soldiers—or even a bunch of average citizens banded together to defend the Freehold—grandparents with wrinkled hands and emaciated arms stared back at him.

  "Let me guess, you want to warn us that this is a suicide mission, right?" asked Dan.

  Erik cleared his throat and glanced at Ted. "Well, that's not exactly how I would put it, but yes something along those lines."

  "Son," the old man said, his voice softening, "when you make it to our age, sometimes just going to check the mail can be considered a suicide mission." He waited for the others to stop laughing.

  "In all seriousness, if we don't do something now, we're as good as dead come spring. And I don't know about all of you, but I don't intend for my story to be over yet."

  "That settles it then," said Ted. "Let's go over the plan one more time."

  "Right," agreed Maggie.

  "Tonight, the nine of us will—”

  "You mean ten of us," said Brin from the background.

  Erik turned and faced his wife. "No way—you can't—”

  "I can and I will. I have just as much at stake in this as you."

  Erik stared at her, trying to communicate his fears and worries through his eyes. "Brin," he said stepping closer. "This is going to be rough. You should—”

  "Don't treat me like I'm some sort of glass rose," she said. A frown creased her brow. "You're the one walking in there unarmed. At least I'll have a shotgun."

  "But, you're—"

  "I know," she said quickly, cutting him off before he could make the announcement inadvertently to the entire group. "That doesn't change anything. It's not a guarantee, anyway. What is guaranteed is that if we fail, then we're all doomed."

  She lowered her voice and stepped close to him, looking up at him with her big dark eyes. "This new world is scary, Erik," she whispered. "If you don't come back, I won't either."