Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (49 page)

"That would be Memorial Hall," said Roger.
 
"During the Civil War, a couple students supporting each side got into a fistfight which turned into a knife fight.
 
One of them was actually killed on the steps of that building."

Erik blinked.
 
"The Civil War? How old is this place?"

"The school first opened as a private academy in 1743.
 
It was up in PA at the time, but in 1769 they moved it here and called it the Academy of Newark."

Erik whistled.
 
"I had no idea this place was that old, but it sure fits with all the colonial buildings you got here."

"Hey," said Ted snapping his fingers in front of Erik's face.
 
"Focus, bro!
 
We got a big problem.
 
The Jocks are getting ready for a fight and we just turned in our weapons."

"Oh, they're not going to fight us, Ted.
 
It's probably just another raiding party.
 
They're looking for more girls."

Erik stared at Roger, aghast at the sheer callousness of his words.
 
"How can you sit there and not care?
 
You got a bunch of guys getting ready to kidnap—”
 

"Yeah, whatever you're thinking, that's exactly what they do.
 
I've seen it."

"Then why are you so okay with this?" growled Erik.
 
Just the thought of someone
thinking
about doing that to Brin made Erik ready to break something.

"Because how are we gonna stop it?
 
It's not our way, man.
 
Violence begets more violence.
 
The Professor always says that.
 
Look, when the signal’s given, we all go underground and scatter.
 
The Jocks roll through here and roam around, probably find a few things, maybe some food, then leave.
 
They know if they push too hard or take too many people, the Professor will shut off negotiations and they won't ever get any more medicine.
 
They'll just start dying."
 
Roger shrugged.
 
"It's kind of a symbiotic relationship, I guess."

Erik put his hands on his hips.
 
"Symbiotic?
 
What the fuck do
you
get out of it?"

"Well, they don't
kill
us, so that’s like, cool I guess."

Ted threw his hands up.
 
"Whatever.
 
Look, we can’t go anywhere—Lindsay's trapped upstairs.
 
We're going to have to defend this building."

"With what?"
 
Erik asked.
 
He didn’t want to say out loud in front of Roger that they still had a working pistol.

Ted rolled his shoulder.
 
"With our bare fists, and knives if we have to.”

“No way man.
 
The sun goes down, they come out like vampires and we hide.
 
It’s the only way.”

Erik glared at Roger before he checked his watch.
 
He looked at Ted.
 
"The storm's on us.
 
If that buys us some time, maybe we can come up with some expedient weapons."

“Let’s start looking in the basement.
 
But, I don’t think there’s much in this place other than broken furniture,” replied Ted.

Roger sat at the table and opened a bottle of water.
 
“Whatevs, man.”

Chapter 49

Divide and Conquer

S
TROGOLEV
SMILED
,
PERCHED
AS
he was on the turret of his BTR and stared through field binoculars. He had marched his scout division north at a leisurely pace, preserving the strength of his troops.
 
They had averaged a mere 30 miles a day, but his strike force was in excellent condition.
 

He made sure to allow his troops free run of the land as they moved north.
 
Towns or cities they encountered that offered any resistance whatsoever were completely destroyed.
 
General Doskoy, upon being appraised of Strogolev’s new orders from Moscow had stressed the importance of stamping out any rebellion in the north while he dealt with the Bigby insurrection in the south.

Strogolev was only too happy to oblige. His men were like locusts as they moved north through Florida. They took everything they needed and left nothing but charred ruins behind. Of those places that decided to fight back, they left scores of bodies in their wake as well.

And so Strogolev deployed his best troops, including a company of
spetsnaz
on loan from Doskoy into houses and buildings of the small border town of Hale's Corners. He had a small scout detachment roaming wide in southern Georgia and had seen the aerial reconnaissance footage from their handheld drones.
 

The lead elements of Malcolm's army rushed south along the interstate.
 
Any moment now, the Rebels would appear directly in front of his position.
 

He could hardly wait.
 
This time, there would be no one else to swoop in and claim the lion’s share of the glory.
 

Strogolev scanned the off-ramp, looking for the first signs of movement. "Is everything ready?" he asked into his helmet mic. "It will only be a few minutes before he arrives."
 

"Yes, comrade major."

Strogolev grinned. Gregor was right on time as usual.
 

A beat up four-door sedan rattled over the top of the ramp and stopped when it saw Gregor’s unarmed negotiating group standing by the side of the road.
 
Of the seven men Gregor took with him, four were
spetsnaz
and held no fear of fighting without weapons. The other two were medics, with a decent amount of supplies and water on hand.
 
Strogolev shifted his binoculars to focus in on his executive officer. Gregor played the part perfectly, standing at ease with his hands behind his back.
 
His men stood neatly ordered behind him, guarding their peace offering.

"That's him, Gregor."

"Yes, comrade major."

The vehicle stopped about 20 yards away, and the doors opened. Strogolev watched, fascinated, as four heavily armed black men stepped out, using the car doors as shields to cover the Russians with rifles. A fifth man emerged, impeccably dressed with a suit and…Strogolev adjusted his binoculars.
 

A bow tie.
 
How quaint.
 
Malcolm buttoned his suit coat and strolled confidently up to Gregor.

"Squads one through four await your disposal, comrade major,
" squawked the radio next to him.
 

Strogolev took one hand from the binoculars and picked up the radio.
 
"Confirm."

"Squads six through ten, awaiting orders."

Strogolev smiled. "Confirm."

"
Teegr
, waiting for orders."

"Confirm," replied Strogolev. He smiled.
 
Teegr
.
 
His spetsnaz had all the ferocity of a Siberian tiger that much was certain.
 
All of his men were in place. The
spetsnaz
held the middle of the line, waiting in some of the houses closest to where the meeting took place.

After a few minutes of simple gestures between Gregor and Malcolm, it was over.
 
The Rebels relaxed. They loaded up the supplies and drove back to the top of the off-ramp.

Strogolev watched as Gregor collected his men and walked casually back to the Russian lines. "
He agreed,
" said Gregor.

Strogolev keyed his mic.
 
"That easy?"

"It did not take much convincing. His men look half-starved and exhausted. I do not expect the supplies we gave them to make it to any other people.
"

"What did Malcolm say?"

"Very little,"
Gregor related as he took his position inside one of the northern houses.
"He will lead his people through the town to our main position."

Strogolev smiled and put the binoculars down. He leaned back against the warm ring of the turret and laughed. The ‘main position’ Gregor had conveyed to Malcolm was actually nothing but a phantom. When Malcolm brought his people straight down through the streets of Hale's Corners, the houses and buildings would explode around him in a hail of missiles and gunfire.
 

Though outnumbered almost 5 to 1, Strogolev was counting on the strength and skill of his troops—on top of overwhelming firepower—to not only decapitate but eradicate the rebellion.
 
The only unknown was the American army.
 

Moscow was unable to give him any information on how close the rogue general was to catching Malcolm. If he was at least a day or so away that would give Doskoy enough time to arrive with the bulk of the Russian forces. The replacement divisions should be arriving about the same time on the Atlantic coast. If need be, Strogolev figured he and Doskoy would be able to hold off whatever the
nekulturny
Americans could throw at them until reinforcements arrived from Canaveral.

Strogolev smiled, thinking of the glory soon to be his. Not only would he single-handedly wipe out the rebellion, he would hold off the American advance until the rogue general himself could be destroyed. With no resistance and no Rebellion, Russia would have total control over not only Florida but most of the American South.

I'll be a general by the end of the year.

Chapter 50

Allah's Will

M
ALCOLM
WATCHED
DESPONDENTLY
AS
the Russian envoy returned to his vehicle and drove back through Hale’s Corners. Any hopes he had of sneaking across the Florida-Georgia line and into their promised land unseen had been dashed almost 24 hours ago—if the Russians could be believed.

"Do you believe him?" asked Samir around a mouthful of protein bar.

Malcolm clasped his hands behind his back and ignored the sounds of his bodyguards as they gorged themselves on the food provided by the Russians as a good faith gesture.
 
He watched in silence as the ugly Russian truck rumbled between two houses and disappeared down a side street.
 

"I trust them not at all," he said when the truck finally disappeared. "I believe he tells us the truth when he speaks of their army waiting on the other side of this town, but I do not believe they are willing to join us."

"You think he would lie under a flag of truce?"

Malcolm turned to look at Samir. "Just because he is Russian and not American does not make him any less the Man. To him we are little more than exotic slaves."

Externally, Malcolm fought harder than normal to project an image of serenity and absolute conviction. For certain he preached about inclusiveness to combat the Man's hate and bigotry—most assuredly present in the town of Dunham. But had he not been the one to give the order destroy the Dunham?
 

How many innocents were killed by his command? That thought had weighed heavily on his soul the rest of the trip south. He had lost a dozen good people and would likely lose many more to grievous injuries suffered at the hands of the racists on that cursed bridge.
 

And in return? I exacted an awful vengeance.
 

When his army moved south to the border, they left behind them smoldering ruins where a town had once stood.
 
They left behind more than a thousand bodies. Enraged by the unnecessary provocation, his exhausted and hungry army of followers had finally reached their limit. They'd waited for one simple order and when given, unleashed the fury of Hell upon Dunham.
 

Malcolm had watched as entire blocks of the town had been razed by his marauding horde. Anything that moved was shot down and killed—women raped, entire families eradicated. His people showed no mercy as they’d been shown none at the bridge.
 

The pent-up frustration of having been shunned and feared the entire trip south had finally manifested itself in unadulterated violence. He knew his people to be truly peaceful and wanting nothing more than to be left alone, to live their lives with the same opportunities and freedoms that the Man gave to first-class citizens. He knew by allowing his people to run roughshod over Dunham, he'd fed into the stereotypes that enabled them.

In doing so, Malcolm feared he had betrayed his people worse than even the Man.

There was no turning back—the only thing he had left was the deal made with President Jones. Get to Florida, remove the invaders, and take control of the state. It would be their promised land, a haven for all those who'd been oppressed. He envisioned a raceless utopia, populated by all who wanted safety. He wanted to build a place where equal opportunity meant just that.

The only thing standing in his way was the Russian army who’s commander now claimed he wanted peace.
 
The Russian major wanted his help in defeating Stapleton.
 
He wanted help putting down the Bigby uprising before it spread too far across the state to contain.

Americans were rising up in rebellion against the invaders. Americans who might otherwise have risen up in rebellion and joined his own people. The Russians had no knowledge of his pact with President Jones, of course, but Malcolm's suspicions had been raised, nonetheless.
 

He found it a little too convenient the Russians would come to him so readily with offers of truce and partnership. But if the Americans outside the town of Bigby were having that much of an impact, would it not be wise to take up their offer?
 

"I think we should agree," said Samir once more, adjusting his glasses. "The more we can kill with the help of the Russians, the less we will have to face when we're on our own."