Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Stay cool,” Antonio told his brother.

  They got out and waited for Rush and his CO to walk over.

  “Welcome to Los Alamitos,” said the taller man. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Marten.”

  “Antonio Moretti.”

  “Christopher Moretti.”

  “Brothers?” Marten asked.

  “Yes,” Antonio said.

  After shaking hands, Marten looked them over with the gaze of a commanding officer. Then he grinned and said, “You got balls coming here to try and make a deal, I’ll give you that.”

  Rush stood as stiff as a board.

  “So, the question is, why should I trust you?” Marten asked.

  “Because we know where one of your stolen Humvees is, and the men behind the ambush that claimed the lives of several of your men,” Antonio said. “And because we’re not a gang; we’re a professional organization that follows a strict code of honor.”

  Marten ran his fingers over his mustache, just a quick swipe, as he considered the words. “Okay, give me the address, and if you’re right, then maybe we can do business.”

  “Follow us,” Antonio said.

  He turned to get into the Mercedes, but Marten called out after them. “No, you two are coming with me.”

  Antonio and Christopher got into the command Humvee with Marten, Rush, and a young man who got behind the wheel. It took only a few minutes for a dozen men decked out in body armor and night-vision goggles to emerge from the barracks.

  Half of them climbed into the back of two sand-colored M-ATVs, while the rest piled into another armored Humvee. The convoy rolled out and headed toward the address in Compton that housed the leadership of one of the biggest Sureño crews in the city. The location was only about three miles from their warehouse, and it was a hot spot for gang activity—so dangerous that Antonio and his men hadn’t driven through there in months.

  Taking them out would be a huge win for the Morettis, but it would cost him too many men. That was why he needed AMP.

  Behind armored doors, Antonio rode with the foreign soldiers he had deceived into thinking he was their friend, when in reality they were customers, nothing more. A marriage of convenience.

  The vehicles roared down the streets, speeding past cars that were still out before the curfew took effect. Marten pulled the radio handset while they drove, paying scant attention to Antonio and Christopher. It wasn’t until they entered Compton that he spoke to them.

  “How’d you guys hear one those Humvees is here?” he asked.

  “I have ears all over this part of the city,” Antonio replied.

  Marten glanced back to meet Antonio’s gaze, scrutinizing him again. Antonio had an impenetrable poker face.

  “Two blocks away, sir,” said the driver.

  Marten turned away and grabbed his radio to give orders.

  They raced past the fenced-off houses, many of them in disrepair. Civilians out on the sidewalk yelled at the convoy as it drove by, and someone threw a beer can that hit the side of the truck.

  “Assholes,” Marten grumbled.

  “Here we go,” said the driver.

  The trucks came to a stop, and Marten looked to the back seat. “Stay here.”

  AMP soldiers filed out onto the road, shouldering their weapons and fanning out in combat intervals.

  Two men sitting on the porch of the house reached for weapons. Neither succeeded.

  Night-vision goggles in place, the AMP team stormed the building. Muzzle flashes behind windows lit up the house, like pulsating lights, and return fire cracked.

  One gangster broke a window and dived onto the lawn, only to be shot in the back as he sprinted for the fence between the house and the street.

  He crumpled just shy of the fence.

  On the other side sat the formerly tan Humvee, now painted in matte black, that the Moretti men had parked there an hour earlier. Two of Marten’s soldiers found it a moment later while clearing the property.

  Down on the street, Antonio saw the Escalade with his men sitting inside. It pulled away, heading to the warehouse, where he would meet them shortly.

  First, though, Antonio had a deal to finish.

  Marten gave orders, and his men set up a perimeter as the advance team finished clearing the house. The soldiers in the Humvee turrets aimed their machine guns at approaching civilians, who threw trash and shouted profanities. One woman threw a rock that dinged off the Humvee where Antonio sat.

  “The shit is about to break loose,” Christopher said.

  Marten must have known it, and raised two fingers in the air. One of his men fired up the Humvee in the garage and backed it out.

  “Let’s move out!” he shouted.

  He opened the door to the command vehicle and got back inside, wearing a sly smile. The silver mustache curled around his lips as he turned to the back seat.

  “Yes,” he said, “I think we can do business, Antonio Moretti. I think we can do a lot of business together.”

  Antonio held back his smile. In one night, he had gotten rid of some of his biggest competition and made a deal with a man who would help the Morettis sell all the product he could get his hands on.

  -6-

  Dom left the house at sunrise. A week had passed since the attack on the Palo Verde nuclear plant in Arizona. So far, reports of victims with acute radiation poisoning tallied in the tens of thousands, and that number would continue to grow as the wind spread the airborne isotopes east.

  He pulled the bill of his Dodgers cap farther down over his face and smiled when he saw Moose waiting for him on the corner. They set off for the Downey Police Department headquarters.

  “Man, I’m starving,” Moose said. “We finally finished off the rest of our reserves, so I guess it’s all rations from here on out.”

  “Same here. I’m going with my mom and sister this afternoon to try and get some FEMA handouts.”

  Moose put his hand on his stomach as it growled loud enough that Dom could hear it.

  “Whoa,” Moose said. “God, what I would do for a Big Mac, baby.”

  The McDonald’s across the street was boarded up, along with every other food joint in the area. Down the street, boards covered the broken windows of Trader Joe’s, making the storefront look like a smile of wooden teeth.

  Pedestrians slogged like zombies down the sidewalks. The occasional car sped by, but there were more cyclists now that gasoline had skyrocketed in price and, in many cases, was not even available.

  Everyone looked hungry, tired, and in need of a bath and a change of clothes.

  He wasn’t sure what his family was going to do, but he knew he had to do something, whether it was joining the police or perhaps even enlisting in AMP. His dad was out there, getting exposed to radiation, and Dom was sick of sitting on his ass at home with his shotgun, watching for robbers.

  “How’s the family?” Moose asked. “Talked to your dad lately?”

  “Mom and sis seem okay, but my dad was moved from Atlanta to somewhere east of Phoenix.”

  Moose stared. “Phoenix? As in the radioactive hot zone?”

  “He said he’s fine, and he has one of those CBRN suits to protect him from contamination, but I’m still pretty worried.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Thanks, but my old man knows what he’s doing.”

  “Indeed, he does,” Moose said. “But I don’t know about them AMP guys. That’s why I decided on joining the police and not the new Corps.”

  “I’ve heard a lot of bad shit, but I don’t think it’s former National Guardsmen that are responsible. In most cases, it’s mercenaries, and some former soldiers discharged from other branches who were never vetted properly.”

  “They do take pretty much anyone that’s not a convicted felon,” Moose said. “That’s another r
eason not to join.”

  A bus full of people passed. The draft of air rustled Dom’s sweatshirt with the logo of his MMA training gym, Saints’ Row.

  “We might not have a choice,” Dom said over the rumble of the bus.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last time my mom talked to my dad, which was about a week ago, he said the administration is talking about conscripting any able bodies between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.”

  Ah, hell no!” Moose said, shaking his head.

  They continued their walk in fretful silence. It was the first time Dom had left his neighborhood in several days, but his mom had assured him she and Monica would be okay for a few hours.

  The grim sight of boarded-up shops, half-stripped cars, and military presence served as a distraction from worrying about his mom and sis. In less than a year, the city had transformed dramatically, and not for the better. Troops in the black and green uniforms of AMP stood at every major intersection, their faces covered with black masks, automatic weapons cradled.

  When they finally arrived at Downey High School, Moose stopped in midstride.

  “Holy shit,” he murmured.

  Chain-link fences topped with razor wire had been raised around the perimeter of the school, which now served as AMP barracks and base of operations.

  The parking lot, once filled with the cars of high schoolers, was now full of military vehicles. Dom had already seen the fences surrounding the football field, but seeing the people caged inside startled and saddened him. Herded into separate pens and forced to drink from community troughs, they weren’t being treated much better than livestock.

  “Don’t think we’ll be playing soccer there again anytime soon,” Moose said, looking at the hundreds of people detained inside the makeshift jail.

  Some of them no doubt belonged there, but Dom knew that many were in for offenses as trivial as graffiti or littering. Seeing their alma mater turned into a military base and prison was hard to get his head around.

  The Downey Police HQ was only half a block away. A warm breeze fluttered the clothing of passersby. People walked with their heads down, hoping not to attract any attention. The riots hadn’t hit this area of town, but robberies were commonplace, and people didn’t like to leave their houses even during the day.

  Moose walked around the next corner and halted.

  “That’s great,” he said. “Just freaking great.”

  The line snaking away from a tarp awning set up outside the police department was almost a hundred people long and didn’t appear to be moving at all. Dom and Moose stood in the queue for almost three hours, drenched in sweat, waiting to talk to the two recruiters sitting in the shade.

  The sound of diesel engines broke through the afternoon. Several six-wheeler military troop carriers pulled down the street, their canvas-covered beds full of AMP soldiers. Most of them looked not much older than Dom and Moose.

  Gauging by their tired faces, they must be coming back from a patrol. One of the guys, however, still had some pep. He stood up in the back of the truck and pulled down his mask, shouting, “Screw the pigs! Join AMP! Better pay and better food!”

  Moose chuckled. “Look at this dumb shit. Basically, the poster boy for AMP.”

  Another soldier in the back of the truck yanked the kid back down to his seat, but the damage was already done. Hearing the talk of better food and pay, several civilians peeled off from the police recruitment line and headed across the street to the high school. The recruiting center was on the other side, past the football field.

  Moose hurried forward to close the gap, but Dom didn’t move. His eyes were on the flatbed trucks disgorging soldiers into a parking lot behind the gates.

  “Hey, Dom, I didn’t see you back there,” said a familiar woman’s voice.

  He turned toward the front of the line and saw his friend Camilla Santiago. She had cut her almost waist-length hair to just above her shoulders.

  “Oh, hey, Cam.” Dom smiled and walked over. He wasn’t all that surprised to see her here. She had always been a bit of a firecracker.

  “It’s a sign of the end times!” Moose said. “You cut your hair!”

  She struck a pose and batted her long lashes. “What do you think?”

  “Looks good from here,” Dom said.

  “A bit shorter and you could pass as a guy,” Moose said.

  She frowned, then gestured toward the guy beside her.

  “You know my brother, right?” she said.

  The young man was half a foot taller and a few years older than she, but Dom couldn’t recall his name.

  “How’s it going, Dom?” he said.

  “’Sup, Joaquín?” Moose said, saving Dom from an awkward moment.

  “Good to see you, bro,” Dom said. “So, you and Cam are joining the PD?”

  Camilla gave a noncommittal smile as she pulled the neck of her sweat-stained T-shirt to fan air under it.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a marine,” said Joaquín. “But with AMP taking over, I don’t think that’s happening.”

  “From the sounds of it, the marines are done,” Camilla said. “Looks like the American Military Patriots is the future of the American armed forces.”

  Dom furrowed his brow—something his mom was always telling him not to do. “Who said that?” he asked.

  Camilla’s freckled cheeks flared as she apparently realized she had touched on a sensitive subject. “The news … and—”

  “The marines are far from over. My dad is currently at a refugee camp outside Palo Verde, helping survivors, and there are marines all over the country looking for the terrorists responsible.”

  “Sorry, I just meant—”

  The entire recruitment queue turned as more military vehicles drove up the street. Not trucks this time, but two M1 Abrams tanks.

  They drove slowly down the center of the street to avoid clipping any cars parked near the shoulders. Both tanks had their turrets open. The gunners were looking the crowd over but kept the barrels of their M240s pointed up, away from the civilians.

  Dom felt a surge of pride when he didn’t see the black raven’s head of the AMP insignia on the side of either tank. These men were marines.

  “Speak of the Devil Dogs,” he said. “Here they come.”

  “Sweet, but what the hell are they doing at an AMP base?” Camilla asked, stepping up beside him to watch.

  A convoy of sand-colored marine Humvees rolled around the corner, following the tanks. They stopped in the street, and men jumped out, moving quickly.

  Moose grabbed Dom and pulled him back.

  “We best get out of here,” he said. “Something’s off.”

  Joaquín looked over at Dom. “Your dad say anything was going down in LA?”

  Dom shook his head.

  Four marines ran over to the crowd. One of them, a man about Ronaldo’s age, told everyone to leave.

  “What’s going on?” Dom asked.

  The hardened fighter focused on him for a split second, then dismissed him with a wave. “Go home, kid.”

  “Not until you tell us what’s going on,” Dom said. “My dad’s a marine, and I want to know what’s happening.”

  The guy looked back at him. “Then he would tell you to follow orders. Now, get out of here before shit gets bad.”

  The police officers outside retreated into their building, and the marine jogged back to his platoon.

  There was no doubt in Dom’s mind now.

  A second civil war was coming. He could feel it as clearly as his thumping heart.

  * * *

  The city was melting down, but that didn’t stop the rich kids from going to Alamitos Beach. Some of them were rich enough that their parents had hired security to accompany them.

  Entitled little pricks, Vinny thought as h
e scanned the beach.

  For a Saturday, the place wasn’t as busy as usual, but there were plenty of kids out, and even some families trying to get a brief mental escape from the depressing reality that dogged them every day.

  Vinny walked on the path looking out over the ocean. The breeze in his hair felt good. He only wished he were here to enjoy the weather, the water, and the American babes.

  But today he was here to do something that had him conflicted.

  Stopping on the path, he pulled out his phone and brought up the social media apps he used to follow Carly Sarcone. A new picture popped onto her feed, and he scanned the beach, trying to match the background in the image.

  So far, nothing looked familiar.

  He tucked his phone away and continued walking back to the bench where the other men were camped out.

  Yellowtail was smoking a cigarette, his yellow button-down shirt open and the gold chain sparkling in the sun over his hairy chest. Doberman sat with his earbuds in, mouthing the words to whatever he was listening to.

  The young wannabe Moretti soldier was just shy of his eighteenth birthday, a milestone Vinny had passed six months ago. But his friend sure didn’t act like an adult. Half the time, Doberman was more interested in his electronics than the conversation going on around him.

  Forget the millennials, Vinny mused. It’s Generation Y that’s really in trouble. Then again, if America didn’t get its act together, all the generations were screwed.

  “Looks like tensions are ramped up today,” Yellowtail said as another convoy of military vehicles rolled down the road behind the beach.

  Doberman took his earbuds out. “What’s that all about?”

  “I don’t know,” Vinny said, “but maybe we should get back to the warehouse.”

  Yellowtail shook his head. “Shut up, pussies. We’re not going anywhere until we find Carly.”

  “What does Don Antonio want with this girl, anyway?” Vinny asked. He thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the mouth of a made man.

  Yellowtail glanced over and shrugged. “Does it matter? He says do something, you do it. Jump off a bridge, you jump. Drink a gallon of rat poison, you start chugging.”