Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “You better get those guns out of my face!” the LT screamed.

  “We have orders, and the authority, to take your weapons, Lieutenant,” said Cronin. “The Marine Corps has been disbanded and replaced by the American Military Patriots. You’re all relieved of duty.”

  Castle laughed, then grew serious when Cronin remained stone-faced.

  “You got to be fucking kidding me,” Castle said.

  “Orders from Vice President Elliot,” Cronin said.

  “President Coleman would never authorize that,” Castle said.

  This time, Cronin was the one to laugh. “So you haven’t heard the news.”

  Castle stood staring.

  “President Coleman was assassinated a few hours ago by a death squad,” Cronin said. “Jarheads, all of ’em.”

  That can’t be, Ronaldo thought, keeping his M4 trained on the AMP colonel’s head.

  “The marines and army have attacked several AMP outposts in states that have declared their sovereignty,” Cronin said.

  “What’s he talking about, LT?” Tooth asked.

  “I have no clue,” Castle said.

  “It’s true,” Lance Corporal Timmy said. The marine stepped out of another tent, rifle up. “I just heard the news. President Coleman was killed.”

  “Marines in California and Illinois have surrounded multiple AMP FOBs,” Cronin said.

  Ronaldo flinched as a gun barrel pressed against the back of his helmet.

  “Drop it, man,” said the guy behind him. “I don’t want to blow your brains out.”

  “Maybe I just drop Colonel Badass over there,” Ronaldo said. “Just try me, motherfucker.”

  “Please, just lower your weapon,” the AMP soldier entreated.

  Ronaldo sensed weakness, but that weakness also posed danger if the guy got too jumpy.

  “Want me to cap him?” Ronaldo said. “’Cause I’ll happily blow that shiny dome right off him. Just try me. I’m the best shot in my platoon. I once shot a dick hair off an insurgent’s nut sack. Might have taken one of his balls with it, though, come to think of it.”

  After a brief pause, the pressure from the gun barrel on his helmet eased. He blinked away the sweat streaming down his brow and tried to govern down his racing heart.

  “You’re outnumbered, Castle,” said Cronin. “Better to lay down your arms. You’ve got thirty seconds to decide.”

  Castle’s response was to spit on the ground, and Ronaldo prepared for the imminent shit storm. If it came down to it, he would have no problem blowing the asshole colonel’s head off.

  “You don’t all have to pay for what a few marines did at that church,” Cronin said. “Those who aren’t responsible will have an opportunity to join the ranks of AMP.”

  Ronaldo narrowed his gaze.

  “Church?” Castle said.

  “We know it was a group of Devil Dogs that locked those people in there,” Cronin said. “And those responsible will pay for it with their lives. The rest of you, well, it’s your choice. Fifteen seconds.”

  Tooth roved his rifle to Cronin. “LT, what the hell is this guy talking about?” he asked.

  “He’s a lying sack of shit,” Castle said. “Nice try, Colonel. We know it was AMP, and I’m willing to guess it was also AMP that killed Coleman when he refused to order the bombing of American cities that Elliot considered rebellious. This is all Elliot. Has been all along, and you’re ass-deep in it.”

  Ronaldo swallowed hard as the realization set in. The atrocities across the country—maybe even the terrorist attacks too—all orchestrated by shadowy forces led by a four-star general who wanted …

  A reset. Marks was right.

  Now AMP was framing the marines so they could take control as the new face of America’s armed forces. President Coleman was out of the way, and Elliot could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

  But why ruin what was left of the country?

  A crunch and the sound of a body slumping to the ground came from behind Ronaldo, but he kept his gun pointed at Cronin.

  “That you, Marks?” he asked.

  “You know it, brother,” Marks replied. He had sneaked up on the AMP soldier and taken him down. It helped even the odds a bit, but it didn’t help Bettis, who still had a gun muzzle at his back.

  “How you wanna do this?” Marks asked, crouching down beside Ronaldo.

  “Remember that time in Kandahar?” Ronaldo whispered.

  “Like yesterday,” Marks replied. “But there weren’t civilians there. Zones here are all fucked with cross fire, and the moment we start shooting, it changes everything.”

  Marks was right. As soon as they started firing, there was no coming back from it. The country they had sworn an oath to defend would slide toward a civil war, between AMP and the remaining branches of the military.

  “You take down the guy on Bettis first; you’re the better shot,” Marks ordered. “I’ll cause the distraction. On three, okay?”

  Ronaldo nodded again and swallowed. He had the AMP soldier behind Bettis in his sights.

  Marks counted quietly, and on three, he yelled, “Hey, Colonel Buttfuck!”

  A squeeze of the trigger took out the AMP soldier who had Bettis. Ronaldo quickly moved his sight picture back to the scene by the tent. Castle had brought up his pistol and shot the Colonel in the face, but this time the distraction didn’t work the way it had in Afghanistan.

  A bullet punched into Castle’s gut, and he sagged to the ground.

  Another marine hit the ground, shot multiple times. Marks and Ronaldo picked their targets carefully, taking down half the AMP soldiers before any of them could figure out where the shots were coming from.

  When the remaining AMP soldiers darted for cover, Tooth and the other marines ran them down, squeezing off shots that dropped them to the oily pavement of the motor pool.

  In less than a minute, it was over.

  Two marines lay on the concrete, and a dozen AMP soldiers were bleeding out. Ronaldo hurried over, disarming the injured men before crouching beside Castle. He lay on his back, looking up with blue eyes that matched the clear sky.

  Ronaldo put a hand on his gut and pressed down on the wound. “You’re going to be okay, sir.”

  Castle clenched his jaw and looked at Marks, who joined them.

  “Sir, hold on,” Marks said. “We’ll get you right. Just don’t move.”

  Castle coughed, and his face twisted in a mask of confusion, then horror. His gaze met Ronaldo’s. He reached up and grabbed Ronaldo hard on his biceps

  “I can’t feel my legs, Salvatore,” he said. “I can’t feel anything at all.”

  -8-

  The president of the United States was dead, killed by marines sworn to protect him. While American soldiers across the country geared up for war, Antonio and his men did too.

  Most of the AMP soldiers had already been at war for the past few weeks, in a brutal struggle to eradicate the gangs under the umbrella of the Norteño Mafia.

  Antonio hadn’t exactly started the war, but he had helped escalate it by throwing fuel on the fire. Now he was getting rich off it, selling his product to AMP soldiers across the city.

  He could have been celebrating tonight, but before he could enjoy the fruits of his labors and look to the future, he had one last bit of his past to deal with.

  The Moretti warehouse in Compton bustled with the precombat sounds Antonio remembered from his days in wartime. Magazines clicking into carbines, straps and boot laces tightening, whispered prayers, and a stereo playing in the background. The rap music was different from the rock they used to listen to, but in a way, it seemed more suited to the violence about to unfold.

  Tonight, he welcomed the sounds.

  He grabbed one of the M4A1 carbines from a crate and raised it at the ceiling, checking the scope.<
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  A fine weapon.

  All around him, his most trusted soldiers, Christopher, Yellowtail, Raff, Lino, Carmine, and Frankie, prepared for their next mission.

  For the older Italian men, this wasn’t a new experience. But it was for Vinny, who would soon get his cherry popped. Christopher had finally given his son his first kill order.

  “This is an honor,” Antonio told his nephew.

  A curtain of hair hung down over one of Vinny’s eyes as he cinched down his Kevlar vest. He brushed it back and nodded at Antonio.

  “I’m good to go, Don Antonio,” he said.

  Christopher looked at his watch and then went over to the radio.

  “That presidential address is coming on in a few minutes,” he said.

  The men huddled up to listen.

  “Here we go,” Christopher said. He turned up the dial. The gravelly voice of the new president of the United States filled the room.

  “Good evening, my fellow Americans,” President Elliot said. “Tonight, it pains me deeply to address you about the state of our country. I must report that our great nation has suffered a terrible blow at the hands of those sworn to protect us. President Nicholas Coleman was gunned down by a group of marines at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, where he was visiting troops. This coup was meant to divide us further, but I assure you, it will not.”

  Christopher, chewing on a toothpick to fight the urge for a cigar, glanced over at Antonio.

  “President Coleman was more than a great leader; he was a friend. And I promise to bring all those responsible to justice. Now we know that the source of the domestic terrorist attacks is a sector of our own military hell-bent on destroying the very fabric of our republic. Sadly, they have done an effective job in crushing our already devastated economy and poisoning our farmland and several of our cities with radiation.”

  Antonio wasn’t sure what to make of the news. He had never considered that the attacks might be coming from the military, but why kill President Coleman?

  Elliot continued. “I have charged the American Military Patriots to hunt down all rebel soldiers. Any states harboring them will be considered enemies of the republic, and I will not hesitate in ordering devastating attacks to bring them to heel. If you are a civilian in an area under rebel control, I highly recommend you leave the area. There will be no mercy on the enemies of the United States.”

  The newly sworn-in president paused again, clearly for dramatic effect.

  “I know that many of you are afraid. I know that many of you are hurting. And I promise you that as your leader, by the power vested in me, I will bring our divided country together when this is all over. But first, I must rid our country of those who wish to destroy it. God bless the United States of America.”

  Christopher turned off the radio, and all the men looked to Antonio. He was a bit concerned by the president’s warning to civilians in areas controlled by rebels or non-AMP loyalists, but he was more concerned about what the fighting would do to his operation.

  He had made almost three hundred thousand dollars from his deal with the AMP soldiers at Los Alamitos, and their dealing spots were bringing in thousands each day. The demand for cocaine and opioids was so great that he was having a hard time keeping up.

  “This doesn’t change anything for us tonight,” Antonio said.

  The Moretti soldiers, dressed in AMP uniforms, piled into the remaining Humvee they had stolen from the first AMP ambush. The rest got into the Escalade and pulled out of the garage, into the blazing afternoon.

  Civilians were already heeding the call of the new president. People loaded their cars with belongings and spent the rest of their cash on gasoline to get out of the city.

  While the people ran, Antonio prepared for his next move. Cars clogged the road on the drive through Compton. Civilians were losing their minds, some even coming up to cars and pounding on the windows for help.

  Antonio unholstered his new Beretta M9, but most of the people screaming on the streets kept a respectable distance from the Humvee.

  Even better, he didn’t see a single cop or soldier in the area. They all were busy trying to direct traffic and deal with the standoff between those loyal to the new president and those standing with Governor Jim McGehee of California.

  Smoke drifted away from the eastern horizon, where a standoff between marines and a base of AMP soldiers stationed at Downey High School had ended in bloodshed.

  Before they left Compton, Yellowtail pulled over to one of the Morettis’ new dealing spots, an apartment complex. The parking lot, usually clogged with vehicles, was down to barely a third full. A mass exodus was under way from the City of Angels.

  Antonio could see that his brother was on edge. Christopher’s son also seemed unusually quiet, and Antonio was interested to see how he reacted when he discovered what they had used him to do.

  The Humvee and the Escalade pulled up to one of the back stairwells. Two Moretti soldiers brought a young girl outside.

  “Is that … Carly?” Vinny looked down as the realization set in.

  “We’re not going to hurt her,” Antonio said as the two men put her into the back of the Escalade. “Don’t worry. She is a means to an end.”

  Vinny nodded at that.

  With their package secured, Antonio directed Yellowtail to the next location. They took several back roads, avoiding the interstate, but it didn’t matter which path they took. Every road in and out of the city was congested with cars that had wrecked or run out of gas.

  Just ahead, a pickup had T-boned a car, blocking both lanes. Several men tried to push the car out of the way, but a fight broke out.

  “Pull onto the curb,” Antonio said.

  Yellowtail drove up onto the sidewalk, and the Escalade followed. Pedestrians jumped out of the way, some of them screaming, others throwing rocks and bottles.

  The drive to Los Cerritos took another two hours, and by the time they reached the neighborhood, anarchy reigned. Hundreds of thousands of people were leaving, some of them even on foot or bicycle.

  But not everyone was participating in the mass exodus.

  As Antonio expected, the man he sought had fortified his estate. Dozens of armed guards patrolled the sidewalks, and the people who had stayed were safely protected behind roadblocks.

  Another reason Antonio had decided to use the Humvee despite the risk. If Marten saw him in this, he was going to have some explaining to do, but the dirty AMP colonel had bigger problems on his hands. The Marine Corps was knocking at AMP’s door, and Antonio was starting to worry that his new allies could lose the fight.

  Here and now, Antonio reminded himself.

  They pulled up to the first of the roadblocks, where two men in black fatigues stood guard, holding AR-15s. They both looked well trained and tough—these were not some cheap rent-a-cops.

  “What do you want?” one of them asked.

  “Let us through,” Yellowtail said.

  “This area is a priv—”

  Yellowtail pulled out his pistol. “I wasn’t asking.”

  The man looked at his partner, who hesitated and then shrugged.

  It seemed these men weren’t being paid enough to put their lives on the line. Enzo’s mistake.

  “Go on through,” said the guard standing by the driver’s door.

  Yellowtail pulled through the opening in the gates.

  The Humvee continued to the end of the block, but the Escalade stopped halfway, out of view. Yellowtail parked outside the Sarcone villa, nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac.

  Antonio pulled the slide back on the M9, decocked the hammer, and holstered the weapon. Then he grabbed his M4.

  Four armed men stood in the driveway of the Sarcone house, guarding the six-figure vehicles parked outside the open garage.

  “Vinny, you stay here,” Christopher said.<
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  Antonio got out of the truck with his brother.

  The armed guards walked down the driveway, weapons angled at the ground—clearly not stupid enough to point them at soldiers.

  “We’re here on behalf of the American Military Patriots, to see Enzo Sarcone,” Antonio said.

  The four men seemed unsure what to do, and all exchanged glances.

  “Tell him to come outside. We just want to talk with him.”

  A window opened on the second floor of the mansion, and a head poked out.

  “What the fuck you want?” a man yelled.

  The voice was rough, like that of a smoker, and while Antonio couldn’t see his face, he knew that it was Enzo.

  “To talk to you,” Christopher said.

  “Do you know where my daughter is?” he shouted. After a pause, he said, “Then I got nothing to say to you.”

  Enzo yelled at his guards, “Get ’em the fuck out of here!”

  The armed men walked forward, and Antonio sighed. If the old bastard wouldn’t come out willingly, he must bring out something to motivate him.

  Turning, he motioned for the Escalade.

  Frankie drove it down the street and parked behind the Humvee.

  Carmine stepped out with the girl, and Lino emerged in the turret of the Humvee, pointing the M249 at the driveway.

  More of Sarcone’s men emerged from the backyard, carrying pistols and rifles.

  Antonio counted nine of them, but he wasn’t worried.

  “We have your daughter!” he yelled. “Why don’t you come down and take a ride with us.”

  Enzo returned to the window.

  “Carly?” he said.

  Carmine ripped the tape off her mouth.

  “Dad!” she shouted.

  The frightened girl cried out and tried vainly to pull out of Carmine’s grip.

  Vinny got out of the truck and looked at his dad.

  “Get back in the Humvee, Vin,” Christopher said.

  Carly looked at Vinny, and her eyes widened.

  Antonio thought he saw him mouth the word sorry.