Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (28 page)

"Hang on, making a turn!" called out the driver. "Three, going left…now!" The big vehicle swerved around another police barricade, tires squealing. He heard screams and shrieks a split second before something impacted the side of the vehicle and made his teeth rattle.

"Jesus! You
hit
somebody!" he called out.

"That's their problem," replied the driver. "My job is to get you to safety, sir—no matter the cost."

"Mr. President, please stay down," begged his minder.

A high-pitched
ping
sounded from the rear the vehicle.
 

"Taking incoming small arms fire," warned the driver.

The radio crackled as other drivers reported coming under attack.
 

"They're shooting at us?" asked Daniel.

"It's got to be Stapleton's advance elements. They snuck in among the civilians!" replied the agent in the passenger seat.

My God, all those people out there will be trapped in the middle.
"Wait—where's that pilot?"

"Sir?" asked the agent next to him.

"Edwards!
 
The prisoner transfer?"

The agent in the passenger seat up front turned and looked over the rim of his sunglasses. "She's in vehicle six, sir—following us along a parallel street."

"No!
 
She needs to be with us! Get that vehicle in line with us, right now!"
 

"Sir, I don't advise—”

"I don't give a
damn
what you advise! I'm the President of the United States!" Daniel exploded. "I
order
you to bring that vehicle in line with us right now! She's too high value to lose—we have to have her—she has to be with me!"

The agent held the president's gaze for a split-second longer than necessary, then slowly faced forward. He reached out for the radio. "Six, what's your status?"

"Heading west on Arlington."

"Divert to the main route—Foxtrot wants the HVT with us."

"You're kidding me!"

"Negative, this is a direct order. Get the HVT on the main route. We'll meet you at…" Daniel watched the agent pull up the GPS in the center console, he flicked through some screens with his fingers and tapped location. "Here. You got the location?"

After a brief pause, the reply came through, filled with static.
"Yeah. I got it. Gimme 5 minutes."

"We're not waiting, so fall in line pronto and try to keep up."

Almost five minutes to the second later, Daniel heard squealing tires behind them.
 
He looked over his shoulder as they merged onto the Custis Memorial Parkway to see a second black Suburban,
 
decorated with busted headlights and bullet holes in the front quarter pane.

He slumped back into his seat, filled somewhat with relief. At least now if something happened, he'd have his get-out-of-jail-free card with him.

"Oh my God," said the driver. The vehicle slowed.

"What are you doing?" said the other agent. "Floor it!"

"There's too many of them," replied the driver.

Daniel leaned around the passenger seat and stared in horror through the windshield as the highway before them materialized through the smoke of the burning city. It was wall-to-wall people. He recognized a big banner held in the front ranks—a black flag, unfurled and flapping through the smoke with a crude white hand painted on it.

"The Rebels!" he exclaimed

“We’ve got weapons!" announced the agent in the passenger seat.
 
"AKs and M4s! Get us out of here!"

"No, we have a truce—" Daniel argued.

"Six, stay on me," the driver called out as he spun the wheel hard to the left.
 
They took the exit for North Glebe Road, narrowly avoiding the wave of humanity heading toward them. Bullets peppered the side of the vehicle.
 

Daniel screamed and covered his head. The agent next to him shoved him to the floorboards and dove on top of him.

"Stay
down
, sir!"

Daniel felt every pothole and every turn as the heavily armored SUV plowed its way through abandoned streets, the driver swerving back and forth like a drunken fool.

Daniel began to pray.

"Hang on! They’ve set up a barricade! We’re going through!
 
Stay with me, Six!" yelled the driver

Daniel felt the impact before he heard it—all 17,000 pounds of armored car slammed into whatever it was the rebels had thrown up to block the road.

Time slowed.
 
For a moment, Daniel thought he was going to throw up as he went seemingly weightless. His briefcase hit the door, smashing open and scattering papers everywhere.
 
He was only able to get a quick glimpse of the chaos as he and the agent on top of him bounced around the back seat.
 
Then it seemed like he was plucked away—as if by some giant’s hand—as he felt himself float up from the floor.

Oh my God, we're in the air.

It happened quicker than he could process the screams from the driver and the other agents in the vehicle. Smashing glass, screeching metal, the pull of gravity slamming him onto the door at a painful angle.
 
A stab of pain shot through his neck and shoulders. The weight of the agent landing on top of him knocked the air out of his lungs.
 
Something in his chest cracked, flashing pain through his system.
 

Daniel felt the SUV skid and roll, spinning his world around before it careened into something solid. He threw up.
 
When it was finally over, he heard someone moan from the front.
 
An obscene mixture of gasoline and vomit burned his nose.

The dead agent that landed on top of him had effectively pinned his legs. Daniel was trapped.

So this is how it ends…

Chapter 32

The Pentagon

C
APTAIN
D
AVIS
AND
A
DMIRAL
Nella looked out the Sea King's porthole window.
 
The Pentagon filled his view as the helicopter lowered.
 

"I almost forgot how big that thing is."

The Admiral grunted, wearing his bulbous headphones.
 
"Don't expect this to be as easy as Oceana.
 
The new SecDef swore allegiance to Suthby.
 
He'll have packed the Pentagon full of loyal troops."

Davis watched as the main parking lot in front of the massive edifice to the American Military began to fill with people in orderly ranks.
 
Soldiers.

"Well, they haven't shot us down yet, I guess that's something," he said into the mic attached to his own headset.

Nella nodded in agreement.
 
"That's something."

"
Admiral
," said the pilot over the command frequency.
 

Davis and Nella looked at each other.
 
"Yes," barked the old man.

"We're not getting anything on comms, sir.
 
I know they see us—the parking lot is filling up with looky-loos, but I can't raise anyone."

"Understood.
 
Carry on."

"Aye, sir.
 
We'll be on the deck in two."

Davis half-expected the helicopter to explode around him any second.
 
When the big dual-engined beast touched down, the slight bump of its wheels hitting the ground came as a pleasant surprise.
 
A squad of marines opened the rear hatch and streamed out, taking up defensive positions at the rear of the helicopter.

Nella calmly stared straight ahead, waiting.
 
Davis however, wanted to scream.
 
He’d never felt so out of his element as he did at that moment.
 
He was born for commanding a ship, feeling the thrum of the hull as it smashed through waves.
 
He was used to being surrounded by thousands of tons of steel and might.
 
The thin aluminum skin of the Sea King wouldn't stop a .45, let alone project strength and power.

He glanced out the open hatch on the other side of the admiral.
 
A squad of marines in full battle rattle went a long way toward establishing power, but how many soldiers waited in the parking lot?
 
How many hundreds more could be waiting inside?
 

Without warning, Nella stood.
 
"Let's go see what's waiting for us, shall we?"

Davis got to his feet and followed his CO down the ramp through the prop wash.
 
The pilot kept the rotors spinning in the event they needed to beat a hasty retreat.
 
As Davis stepped out into the light and swept his eyes over the marines protecting their helicopter, he paused.
 
There had to be at least a hundred servicemen and women out there, from all branches, all standing at attention.

Davis and Nella shared a look again.
 
Davis leaned in next to one of the Marines.
 
"I think we can have the pilot spin down now."

"Yes, sir—I'll let her know."

Davis stepped back next to Nella as the marine relayed the message to his commander and on to the pilot.
 
After a few seconds, the drone of the engines faded, and the whine disappeared.
 
Another minute and silence descended on the parking lot as the rotors slowed to a stop and hung limp from the Chinook.

"Who's in command here?" asked the old man.

A two-star general stepped forward in Air Force blues.
 
He saluted Nella and smiled.
 
"Major General Oliver Ross.
 
As for who's in command, well…you are, Admiral Nella.
 
But I can't guarantee for how long."

The two men shook hands.
 
"What's the situation?"

Ross turned and walked toward the Pentagon's main entrance.
 
The marines visibly relaxed and lowered their weapons as the sea of bodies in front of them parted to allow the officers room.
 
Nella and Ross moved forward, followed by Davis and most of the marines.
 
A few remained at the rear of the helicopter, warily watching the crowd.

"Where's SecDef Masterson?" Nella asked.
 

Ross shook his head.
 
"He's in A ring.
 
They all are—the loyalists."

Nella stopped to look at the exterior of the massive building as they reached the front door.
 
"Damn, that's a lot of holes.
 
What happened?"

Ross stood with his hands behind his back as he surveyed the damage.
 
"When Suthby took power, some of us didn't agree with his decisions.
 
I'm ashamed to say there was some fighting, but nothing serious.
 
The more outspoken dissenters left and tried to retake the building from the loyalists by force of arms.
 
They failed."

Nella waited for him to continue.

"When Jones took over, the rest of us finally saw the light of day.
 
We captured the building from the inside—that's why SecDef Masterson is in A Ring with his supporters.
 
They called in outside help, but we fought them off and took the Courtyard to prevent escape and resupply."

Nella put his hand in a hole in the door the size of his fist.
 
"They brought some serious hardware."

Ross nodded.
 
"They did.
 
But after 9-11, we really did turn this place into a fortress."
 
He held the door open.
 
"We've been tracking what's going on out there and things appear to be getting ugly."

"Getting?" asked Nella as he and Davis stepped in to the dark interior of the world's largest office building.
 
The air was cooler and held far less moisture than outside.

"No power, sir?" asked Davis.

"Yes and no," replied they general as they moved past a guard post built of sand bags and sheet metal, manned by a squad of soldiers in digital camo.
 
They snapped to attention as the officers approached.
 
Nella returned the salute and spent a minute shaking hands and slapping shoulders, thanking them for their bravery and loyalty to the Constitution.

"We have our own power supply here—besides a direct feed to the local nuke plant—plus emergency backup that can last a long time.
 
We've simply shut down all non-essential areas to conserve power.
 
This way, Admiral."

They walked through what felt like miles of corridors, many lined with cots and personnel going about their daily lives as if the E ring of the Pentagon was one giant barracks.
 
As they descended deeper and deeper into the building, lighting became more prevalent.
 

By the time they reached C ring, Davis had to do a double take.
 
The lights were on, the air conditioning was on, the servicemen and women wore clean, pressed uniforms.
 
It looked like they'd stepped out of time and into a world where none of the insanity of the past six months had taken place.
 
It was business as usual at the core of America’s military heart.

"Welcome to the War Room."
 
The general opened a final door leading into B Ring guarded by two saluting Air Force security officers.
 
Inside, a wall of noise pushed out like a stream flooding its banks.
 

Everywhere Davis looked, screens depicted unit locations and enemy positions with blinking lights.
 
People shouted information across the room and hunched over terminals.
 
Some had radios to their ears and dispatched orders.
 
Organized chaos was an understatement—it was like the CIC back aboard
Roosevelt
, only an order of magnitude bigger.