Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (59 page)

"There's a lot of Russians down there,
" muttered Jonesy.
 
"Where are the fighters?"

"Don't know, but it means more mud for us to move.
 
Hawk Lead to Hawk flight," he said.
 
"Let's get to work—this is a target rich environment, folks. I don't want any wasted shots.
 
We're on our own here, so fly tight.
 
I want a few solid runs before Hammer get here, then we transition to CAP."
 
He paused to flip the fire selector switch and arm his missiles.
 

"Weapons free, gentlemen."

"Fox three!"
someone called out as soon as Riggs stopped speaking.
 
Two more announced missile launches on top of the first.
 

"
Hawk Lead, Hammer Lead,
" crackled over his radio.

Riggs answered, "Go ahead, Sledgehammer."

"We're five minutes behind you—you guys cheated with that VTOL shit.
 
There better be some Russians left when we get there or you're buying the beer."

"Copy that," Riggs laughed.
 
He scanned his tactical screen.
 
There were a
lot
of red blips.
 
How the hell did they sneak so many over here?
 

"There's plenty of targets—we'll both get our share."

"Fox two!"

"There's a SAM site—Three, take it out—I'm coming around for another run."

"Roger, I'm on it.
 
Guns, guns, guns!"

Riggs smiled.
 
His Hawks were angry and eager, just the way he liked it.
 
He switched frequencies to contact the ground-pounders.
 
"Lighthouse Actual, Hawk Lead," he called.

After a moment of listening to shrill warning alarms, a gruff voice answered through the static.
 
"
Hawk Lead this is Actual, go ahead."

"My fighters are engaging the enemy south of your position.
 
They're lighting us up like a Christmas tree with AA radar.
 
If anyone down there could take them out, I'd be much obliged.
 
Otherwise, please pass on the warning of danger close.
 
You've got a wave of F-18s hot on my ass with itchy trigger fingers."

"Actual copies all, Hawk Lead.
 
Thanks for the assist—we'll handle that radar.
 
Good hunting.”

"I say, shall we join the fun?"
called Jonesy in a terrible British accent.
 
"
Talley Ho and fox two, old boy?"
he added.
 

"Oh yes, let's do." Riggs snorted, watching a missile streak from under his wingman's plane.
 
His own targeting computer offered a lock on a Russian APC trying to maneuver around a building to get a better shot at the American eastern flank.
 
He selected a GBU 12 Paveway II self-guided bomb and his F-35C shuddered with the release.

 
Riggs and Jonesy angled down in a steep curve to join the fray.
 
He smiled as the targeting computer removed his target from the tactical map.
   

"Hawk Lead, Longbow."

"Go ahead, Longbow," Riggs said, curious as to why JNAS control had hailed him.
 

"Be advised, we've established contact with surviving Florida ANG units and have directed them to your location.
 
You'll have some F-15s coming to assist in about ten.
 
The uplinks have been sent."

Riggs smiled.
 
The Russians were about to have a very bad day.
 
"Roger that, Longbow, I'll play Air Boss."

He fired off a missile and pulled back on the stick, climbing up over two thousand feet.
 
With so many fighters entering the battlefield airspace, someone was going to have to provide air traffic control—someone who could see what was happening.

"Jonesy, I'll need some cover.
 
We're about to open up a big ol' can of whoop ass on Ivan."

Chapter 61

What Have We Done?

P
O
S
IN
PASSED
THE
tray of sweets across his desk to Shin Ho.
 
They had been gathered in his office all this rainy afternoon, pouring over reports and attempting to come up with a viable exit strategy that hopefully would both satisfy the Supreme Leader and allow them to delay the withdrawal. If they held out long enough, the second wave might actually make a difference.

So far they had come up with nothing except a sullen appetite.

Po Sin’s phone chirped.
 
He activated the key with a knuckle, trying to keep the red bean bun in his hand from smearing the phone.
 
“What is it?”

“Intelligence just intercepted an encrypted message, honorable minister.”

“Well?” asked Po Sin around a mouthful of bun.
 
“That's their job.
 
What is it?”

“The American President is dead.
 
Killed in an exchange with rogue army units while he was attempting to flee Washington.”

Po Sin stared at Shin Ho.
 
Shin Ho looked at the plate in his hands and closed his eyes.
 

He knows.
 
He knows this is the final nail in his coffin.
 
His treaty is out the window—no protection from the Americans means no delay and a swift withdrawal.
 
The Expedition is doomed and so are you, old friend.

Shin Ho swallowed and placed his tray on the desk.
 
He stood slowly and straightened his suit, dusting crumbs off with deliberation.
 
“I need to speak with the Supreme Leader.”

Po Sin nodded and watched his onetime friend.
 
“Most likely.”

“Thank you for the repast.
 
It was lovely.”

Po Sin waved it off.
 
“Think nothing of it.
 
I wish there was something I could do.”

Shin Ho smiled, a tired, thin smile.
 
“Thank you.”

After the door closed, Po Sin silently clapped.
 
He gorged himself on buns and dumplings.
 
Suddenly, he was ravenous.
 
Things were looking up for the first time since Shin Ho claimed credit for the expedition.
 
Po Sin smiled as he dabbed a napkin at his lips.
 
Shin Ho was about to go before the Supreme Leader and fall on his sword.
 

Po Sin rolled his eyes as he savored the delicate sweetness of another bun.
 
The chef had outdone himself.
 
He laughed and took another bite.
 

Chapter 62

Ticonderoga

E
RIK
SLOWED
THE
SPUTTERING
van to a stop. He sat there in the predawn light staring at the simple green sign illuminated in their headlights.
 

Ticonderoga—population 5,042.
 

He listened to the engine cough and struggle. It felt like the poor van didn't have much left to give.
 
Erik sat there, his hands gripping the wheel. All the fatigue of the last 360
 
long miles quickly evaporated from his system.
 

We made it.

He let the memories roll over him. From that first moment back at the Freehold when he and Ted put their heads together and decided it was time to leave, through all the fighting against the White Hand people and Henry Grimes to meeting Archie and Maddie Sinclair on the
Flying Piper
.
 
He remembered rescuing the Guardsmen at the Sarasota Marina, then becoming one of them, fighting for Captain Winters against the Russians. The battle of Orlando, the long retreat, their captivity…

Erik did not smell the oil and grease-coated tools in the back of the van, but instead imagined the slightly burnt odor of the prison camp's dirt floor he and the others had shared while guests of Stepanovich. He pushed those memories aside and focused on their escape and his reunion with Brin. Then came the crushing sadness of Mark and Susan's deaths.

He sighed. The long march north through Florida, avoiding towns and thousands of people begging for help as they escaped in their stolen M-ATV. Rolling through the blockade at the Georgia line, coming across that crazy town of Dunham out of supplies and gas and being pulled into a small scale civil war.

Erik forced himself not think of the death and misery they had been a part of during the fight at the jail. He focused instead on the long walk out of town. Remembering when Lindsay got hurt brought out a wave of guilt in his chest but he couldn't ignore the facts. His relentless drive to bring them to Ticonderoga had almost cost Lindsay her life—and everyone else—after the Professor’s fanatics had attacked.

Yet only two days ago he and Brin had patched things together. They'd been inseparable since her revelation about the pregnancy. Every time they stopped to hunt for gas or supplies, Erik and Brin walked off hand-in-hand and now were never more than a few feet away from each other.
 

They talked constantly, sharing fears and worries for the future along with hopes and dreams. Would it be a boy or a girl? When should they worry about names? They stepped carefully around looming specter of childbirth without modern medical facilities—there was nothing they could do about it and worrying would only make things worse.
 

They'd had enough worry over past few weeks and months—it was time to share in something joyful. For now, they decided to keep the news to themselves, excited to have something so special just between them. They decided when Brin was a little further along and they were all safely ensconced at his parents' place, then—and only then—would they break the news. Hopefully by Christmas.

Erik fought hard not to let the emotions get the better of him. He rubbed angrily at the wetness on his cheeks as he stared at that beautiful green sign that proclaimed the end of their long journey.

We made it.
 

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Without turning his head, he knew Brin reached out to him.

"You did it."

He closed his eyes and relished the whisper of her voice.
 

"
We
did it," he replied just as quietly.

Her hand squeezed gently. "I wish there was a way to let your parents know we were here, so we didn't just show up at the crack of dawn…"

Erik nodded and rubbed his face again under the pretense of waking up. "My parents won't care.
 
Besides, we're not there yet. We still have to wind through town and get down to the lake. As slow as we've been going, I wouldn't be surprised if it was sunset by the time we pulled into the driveway."

Brin smiled at him in the semi-darkness, the whites of her teeth brilliant against the pale hues of her skin. "Then let's get going."

Erik let his foot off the brake, and the van crept forward, gurgling and coughing. His eyes swept the dash. They had less than an eighth of a tank left.
 
More than enough to get them to his folks’ place down by the lake on a normal day.
 

He frowned.
 
Erik didn't like showing up with an empty tank. If there were some medical emergency in the near future, he wanted to make sure they had enough gas to get them out of harm’s way.

As they came through the trees on the back way into town and the first buildings appeared, Erik spoke. "I think we should stop and see if we can find some gas before we get too close. We're coming in on fumes."

"But we’re here…?" asked Brin. "Wouldn't you rather just get home?"

Erik grimaced. "You have no idea—I can almost taste mom's homemade bread. But we have to remember—if something happens and we need to leave in a hurry, we won't get far without gas."

Tools
clinked
in the back as Ted stirred. "Erik's right," he said, stifling a yawn. "We should at least get half a tank before we arrive.
 
Just as a safety measure. Remember, we don't know what we'll find when we get there."

"This is Ticonderoga, Ted, not Orlando," Erik chuckled softly. "I'm sure they haven't had any drama in these parts.
 
This place was boring as hell when I was growing up."

"Well, it certainly seems like it's in good shape," Brin said cheerfully as she observed the first few buildings came into view through the trees.
 

Erik was relieved to see the vet's office still looked the same, with the same old purple paint.
 
Across the street was one of the three feed stores in town. A lot of dairy farmers in the area used to come into town to get supplies. Erik remembered seeing loads of horse trailers and big dualie pickups rumble through town when he spent his summers here.

He turned at the first stop sign and everything suddenly changed. All the interspersed buildings and shops including the houses appeared to have suffered severe damage.
 
Erik slowed and took a long look at the buildings lining the street.
 

"You know, now that I look at it, this place has seen better times."

"Somebody had a shoot out in here…" observed Brin.

"Don't stop," Ted urged.
 
"Let's see if we can find a little cover before we try to get some fuel. I definitely think it's a good idea to gas up before we get to your parents place now, but we need to be
real
careful. Something went down around here and I don't like the looks of it."

Erik shrugged off Ted's pessimism. "I'm sure it’ll be much better closer to the lake. It's a lot more secluded out there. Let's just keep going and see what we find."