Sons of Abraham: Pawns of Terror

by Ray, Joseph

  Son

  Of

  Abraham

  Vol 2

  Pawns

  Of

  Terror

  Joseph Ray

  Copyright © 2015 Joseph Ray

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 152327476X

  ISBN-13: 978-1523274765

  DEDICATION

  Grandpa James Ray: I never understood what you meant to me until long after you left this Earth. I know I’ll see you again someday so we can go fishing. I can bait my own hook now, but I’ll let you do it anyway

  1 CHAPTER one

  Warning……….Warning………Warning………..

  “I fucking know there’s a warning,” Bear shouted back at the recorded female voice echoing throughout the city. “Can’t somebody shut that bitch up already?”

  The alarm had started ten minutes prior, seeing Roland ‘Bear’ Bearden fall from his bunk during the wee hours of the night/morning. The Sargent didn’t bother to throw on his jacket, the summer night had been the hottest of the season thus far. Two ham sized hands clutched the vest hanging from the back of the metal chair, throwing it over the naked chest of the tattooed Sargent just before squeezing two trunk sized legs into the gray and black, camouflaged pants. The vest was pre-loaded with all the riot gear the Sargent never needed, his war experience kept him in the habit of keeping the pockets and clasps loaded with his equipment. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror as he checked the clip of his pistol before shoving it into the holster on the belt he hadn’t bothered to remove from the previous day’s pants.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” he asked himself before leaning in to examine his freshly bruised face.

  Two dark, ocean eyes gazed back at him through the mirror, his squared jaw in desperate need of shaving, his dark red flattop mashed down from the pillow, and a slit just under his right eye. Three hours ago, he’d broken up a brawl at the bar. Two docks men felt the need to vent their frustration after hours of drinking failed to yield the desired the results. Bear had just finished his shift, hoping to take a booth at Tammy’s Pub to wash away the worst week the year had the balls to offer him. As the dark blue eyes peered back at him, his attention returned to the rolling yellow light above his bunk, the same one that’d woke him from his well-deserved slumber. He hadn’t got his first pint down his throat when the fight broke out, forcing him to call it an early night. Now, given the loudness of the recorded voice over the intercom, he was glad that he hadn’t drunk his fill.

  He fumbled at the top of the desk, his hands brushing twice against the com that his mind recalled he would need. It was a thick black collar that snapped magnetically around the front. In the old days, they’d used buckles to secure the com devices. A few soldiers accidentally choking themselves when the loop snagged on something as they passed, leading to the new safety feature. Just another example of the fine people at Divinity doing their job to allow for Bear to continue doing his. The fit was getting a little slack, a sign of his weight loss over the summer. He reminded himself last Saturday to bring the collar in for adjustment, but the lack of the device’s use grayed his memory the following Monday.

  The rifle leaned in the corner, just behind the front door to his dwelling. The vast majority of the security detail for Divinity went with the shorter assault rifles, but his size made it difficult to jam the rest against his shoulder and contort his thick neck to look down the weapon’s sites. The long rifle suited him fine, though calling it a rifle was like calling a sledgehammer useful for tapping in penny nails. The monstrous weapon had three options: single, semi-auto, and ‘we won’t need to dig this grave very deep.’ It kicked harder than a mule, but the Sargent weighed nearly three hundred pounds, making the weapon’s recoil little more than a twig blowing in a gentle breeze. He slung the strap of the weapon over his right shoulder, then snapped the belt loaded with extra mags around his gut. In his younger years, the belt would have rested over his navel. Now, many years later, he had to lay his stomach over the belt, the many pockets of the belt looped in his pants the only thing holding the ammo belt in place.

  Sargent Bearden slammed his fist on the red button protruding from the wall and waited for the metal door to slide into the unseen pocket. It screeched, welcoming him with the sound of metal on metal. He’d pounded on the door of the maintenance tech, not three nights prior, but his efforts yielded him little results. One heavy, black-booted foot cleared the lip to the door’s frame as he heaved his body through the doorway. He was about to pull the second foot across when a body slammed into his right shoulder. The massive man barely felt his center shift, though he knew from past experience that whoever had the unfortunate pleasure of slamming into him would not be able to say the same. He pulled his foot over the lip, his sole catching the edge and nearly causing him to trip over his own legs. The large man stumbled, his feet taking evasive maneuvers to avoid stepping on the thin legs sprawled on the floor below him. He shook his head and extended out a meaty paw. A long, slender, freckled hand slipped into his as he clasped the grip shut and yanked the poor girl to her feet.

  “The hell is going on Sarge?” Janys James muttered, her free hand rubbing the back of her head as she struggled to maintain her balance.

  “How the hell would I know?” he asked, his deep, gruff voice barely audible over the alarm.

  He looked at the soldier staggering to her feet. She was tall, for a woman, knees and elbows like a farmer’s daughter, but with wiry muscles hiding beneath the black t-shirt and camouflaged pants. Her pale blue eyes looked up to his, the yellow strobe lights flowing over the whites of her eyes. The strobes left a pointed shadow across her narrow cheek, her pointy nose leaving an arrow shaped reflection that came and went like a sundial on a merry-go-round. A cluster of freckles surrounded her eyes, trailing down her cheeks like tears. Her thin lips hung open, waiting for her boss to give her an order.

  “Get down to Central and find out what’s going on,” he snapped. “Call me back when you do, no matter what they say.”

  “You got it,” she replied, bending over to pick up the short AR that’d slipped from her bony shoulder.

  Bear looked to the ceiling, not wishing to be caught staring at the Corporal’s backside by some on-looker. He made it a habit of slapping around guys that couldn’t mind their eyes when a fellow soldier happened to be of the opposite sex. In Janys’ case, it was hard to practice what he’d preached. Finding a woman that stood to his chest was impossible, let alone to his chin as the trailing Corporal before him. He shook off the thought and turned to head towards the exterior doors.

  “Sargent Bearden, come in,” a voice crackled over his neck-com.

  His thick fingers fumbled to find the switch on the right side of the collar. There were only two to press, but the collars were designed for hands much smaller than his were. The wrong button would scan for frequencies that were receiving the broadcast. He already had his desired frequency, his finger carefully finding the button nearest the front after brushing over the back button.

  “This is Bear,” he sighed.

  “Bear, this is Ilda over at the Tower,” the woman’s voice replied. “Do you know the situation yet? We’re all getting a little jumpy over here.”

  “Not yet,” he answered. “You got everyone accounted for over there?”

  “Not quite. Missing one tech and one doctor.”

  “Yeah, lemme guess which two. I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

  “Thanks, Bear, knew we could count on you.”

  The heavy boots struck hard against the concrete floor, echoing off the metallic walls in between the warnings from the recorded voice over the speakers. He was half-tempted to reach up
and knock each speaker off its bracket as he passed, as his ears begged his hands to give them relief. He found the crossroads, knowing to turn left to make his way towards the exterior doors. He stopped dead in his tracks, recalling the missing workers from the lab. One foot leaned back, the other circling over the top of it as he went back through the crossroad, passed the hall from which he came, and then to the first door on his left. He didn’t bother knocking, instead choosing to tap in the five-digit code that would override the lock and open the door.

  Unlike his door, the one before him opened quietly across the guide. As he’d suspected, the technician and the doctor were naked on the bed, an empty bottle of tequila lying on top of a red bra and two tiny, black, dress shoes. The other clothes were strung about, making it impossible to tell whose was whose in the cluster. Like many lab techs, the speaker to the room had been disconnected. The techs didn’t care to be bothered during what little downtime they were permitted. The buzzing and recording from the hallway scarcely roused the couple, one leg shifting out from under a white sheet, one meaty arm draping over a slender back.

  The Sargent sighed and broke for the refrigerator. He flung the door open, his eyes searching for the proper aid to an abrupt awakening. A blue pitcher filled with clear water seemed like the logical choice. His fingers poked through the handle, his thumb and hand closing in around the base as he pivoted and heaved the liquid across the room. His aim was true as the cold water crashed into two unsuspecting faces. The two women shot up in unison, the blanket falling from their naked bodies.

  “You two lovebird’s best get yourselves dressed and down to the lab,” he yelled, placing the empty container onto the kitchen counter.

  The two naked women grasped their heads as the sound penetrated their ears. Two sets of hateful eyes watched the large man leave the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. The sheet was thrown angrily at the floor as the two women fumbled with their clothing.

  “Come in Doc,” Bear called into his neckpiece. “Found your two missing women. They’re headin’ your way now.”

  “Thanks, Bear!” Ilda replied. “Next one is on me.”

  The Sargent let off the button, retracing his steps and making for the exterior door. He could already make out the two guards at the end of the hallway, their short AR’s pulled tightly against their shoulders. Two hands shot up in a salute as the man approached. His meaty paw touched his forehead, a half-assed return of the gesture.

  “Anyone in or out?” he asked.

  “None Sir,” the man on the left replied. “As per protocol.”

  “Open it,” he ordered.

  The two looked at one another, each set of eyes pleading for the other to counter the order from their larger superior. Two mouths fell open, but only the taller man on the left managed to speak.

  “Sir,” he started, turning back to the Sargent. “Protocol states no one in or out during a time of…..”

  “Just can it and open the fuckin’ door,” he interrupted.

  “I can’t sir, it’d be my ass,” the man replied, clutching his rifle tightly.

  The Bear sidestepped, placing his hulking frame in front of the smaller Corporal’s body. The tanned man looked up into the dark blue eyes, his mind wildly searching for an excuse to allow the larger man to pass through.

  “It’s your ass now, boy!” he snapped, his voice booming off the surrounding walls.

  The door opened as the second guard had turned and punched the override sequence into the digital panel. The warm summer air rushed into the corridor as the metal parted down the middle and slid open. The Sargent stepped forward, scanning the night sky for signs of disturbance. Every window showed the same scene of a strobing yellow light, shadows scurrying in front of the beams as they passed the warning devices. The two guards slid in behind Bear, taking a look at the scenery for themselves.

  “That ain't right,” one of them muttered. “Those harriers flying a little too close, ain't they?”

  Bear scanned the sky, searching for the Corporal’s bundled aircraft. His dark blue eyes found the target, directly right of the highest tower in the facility. He didn’t think too much of it at first as harriers often clustered together when they prepared to land. His fingers lifted the snap on his left breast pocket, pulling out a pair of binoculars. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the bar between the two lenses slid wide, maximizing the size to match his head. He pulled them to his eyes, trying to find the lights on the tips of the harriers. He had to pull left, then up to find the cluster in the magnified view. The digital device drew a yellow circle around the first harrier, then proceeded to find other targets as it scaled back to a wider viewpoint. The Sargent quit counting after five yellow circles lit up in his viewer.

  “Sarge?” Janys’ voice came through his neck com. “Sarge, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” he replied, pulling the binoculars from his face. “What you got?”

  “Unidentified vessels approaching from the north and south, Sarge,” her voice cracked. “Central’s trying to hail them, but no response.”

  “They’re military harriers. I see five on the north side, maybe more. Order them to identify themselves or we’ll pick up the pieces at daybreak. You copy?”

  Static filled the air. Bear assumed she relayed the message. He waited five seconds for them to broadcast the threat.

  “Did you copy?” he repeated.

  “No response Sir.”

  “Then light em up!”

  “We don’t have authorization.”

  “Then fire a warning shot first.”

  “No go, Sir.”

  “Patch me in direct!”

  “This is Central,” a young man’s voice came across the neck com. “We can’t fire without the Major’s authorization Sargent. Protocol dictates that….”

  “Fuck protocol,” he said for the second time in the same night. “Just fire a shot twenty yards in front of the lead harrier. If they don’t back off or reply to the hail, then shoot em down. You got that, boy?”

  There was a moment of silence as Bear assumed they were arguing amongst themselves. He knew without the Major on the planet that the Lieutenant was the next in command, but that little shit had never seen battle before. Now was not the time to be waiting for an instructional manual to dictate a hostile situation.

  “We’re firing now, Sir,” Janys replied.

  Bear watched the tower, knowing that the nearest aerial assault cannons lied to the north of the building. He expected to see a shot launch into the night sky. What he got, instead, was more verbiage on his neck com.

  “The towers aren’t responding Sir,” Janys offered. “I’ve tried twice, but there is no return call.”

  “Damn it!” Bear snapped, slapping his palm into the frame of the open door. “Can you override the system from Central, Janys?”

  “Negative Sargent,” the male’s voice replied. “We don’t have network control over the defensive grid from here. The same goes with…..”

  The lights from the upper half of the walls, as well as the annoying yellow strobe lights, all went dark at the same time. Sargent Bearden took one last look through the binoculars before shoving them back into his vest.

  “…..the power grid,” the man finished.

  “Yeah, so someone shut it down manually?” Bear replied.

  “They’d have to Sarge,” Janys interrupted. “No way anyone could gain remote access the system. It would have to be done manually as well.”

  The Sargent took a second to size up the two guards at the opened door, weighing his options. The loss of power, as well as the non-compliance of the defensive systems, meant there was either saboteur within the compound or a traitor in the mix. Protocol dictated that Lieutenant Harris would be in charge with the Major off-world, but the lack of the Lieutenant’s voice on the com system meant that Bearden had to take the lead.

  “Watch this door,” he snapped at the guards. “Get someone from maintenance here
with a magnetic clamp and get the doors shut. I don’t care if you have to cut the lines, shut em, and then weld them. If I come back here and these doors are open, I’ll start a barricade with your carcasses as the base. Got me?”

  “Yes, Sir!” one of them replied.

  Bearden watched the other guard pull out his com and start the scanning process. There were only five channels on the system, but the coms were designed for sixty. It could take hours to get on the correct channel. As much as technology had advanced, it was sad that coms without direct channel selection were still considered an option from those who crunched the budget.

  Heavy boots smashed into the concrete surface as Bear double-timed it to Central. The last time he’d checked, there was over a mile of halls between Central and his current location. He hadn’t timed himself lately, but he suspected he wouldn’t cover the distance as quickly as he’d used to. The massive man was pushing forty now, his prime years behind him. The emergency lights lit his path as he pushed and dodged the stragglers in the halls. He stopped twice to usher civilians to shelters and once to ask a platoon if they’d seen the Lieutenant. Harris was less than capable in his view, but it wasn’t like the Lieutenant to be absent when needed. In fact, Harris was quite the opposite. He was usually the first to enter a meeting room, the first to eat, and the first to arrive for his shift. Bear had been quietly waiting for his dull voice to come over the neck com, asking where the Sargent was taking a dump instead of being at his post.

  It took the man eight minutes to reach the Central hub of the facility. He estimated he lost no more than thirty seconds dealing with the traffic in the halls, thus meaning he was a full minute slower than his last physical. He made a mental note to cut back on the beer after his shift was over.

  “Sarge,” Janys shouted as she waved a long, pale arm in his direction.