Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (60 page)

He turned onto another side street and continued east, trying to cut across the southern part of the little town of Ticonderoga. Winding through the trees, they found more evidence of a recent snowfall where the ground was still sheltered underneath the boughs of the pines.
 

At last they came to a suitable spot on the eastern edge of town that had a decent number of cars visible but not too many buildings.
 

"I don't think this thing's going to last much longer…" observed Brin.

The van sputtered and coughed in response, then the transmission slipped. The van lurched forward, causing a cascade of noise from the tools in back.

Erik grunted. "I think you might be right.
 
Let's try right here.” Erik pulled the van off the road and stopped. Before he could shift into park, the engine died.
 

He looked at Brin.
 
"Well, that's that. At least we're here. If we have to walk, it's only maybe two miles."

Ted glanced out the window down the street. "Something doesn't feel right. We need to get out, get gas, and get out of here."

Erik agreed and stepped outside. "Brin you stay inside for this one, I'm only gonna check a couple cars—we don't need much."

For once Brin didn't argue. Erik wasn't sure what Ted sensed, but he understood. It felt like they were being watched. He turned and looked up and down the street.
 

"I don't see anything out there, do you?"

Ted opened his door looked around, holding his rifle at the ready.
 
"Nope—I got nothing. I'll keep the rifle and provide cover. Hurry up and go find us some gas."

Erik nodded and took a gas can from Brin along with a screwdriver and one of the hammers from the tool bins in the back of the van.
 
Her hand lingered for a second and she smiled.
 
He winked.

"I'll be right back."

“You better.”

Erik trotted forward, the uneasy feeling intensifying the farther he got away from the van. The air felt cold—more bracing than chilly like it had felt back in Pennsylvania. Winter was definitely just around the corner.
 
He glanced up at the clouds hanging low in the sky.
 

Snow clouds.

Erik approached the first car and cautiously peered around. No one was in the car, nor was there anything sitting out in plain sight. The doors were locked.

His radio crackled.
 
"
Hurry up.
"
 
Ted sounded nervous.

Erik hit the transmit button. "Okay, okay." He dropped to the pavement, put the screwdriver's tip against the gas tank, and smacked it with the hammer, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He ripped the screwdriver out and began collecting gas.
 

He stood up and dusted off his knees as the fuel streamed into the gas can at a fairly decent flow. He clicked the transmit button on his radio again. "We might've gotten lucky, guys—I think this one has
 
enough gas to give us a quarter tank."

"
Good
," Ted replied. "
Stay frosty.
"

Erik examined the town around him. Across the street up ahead a small subdivision full of cookie-cutter nouveau-colonial houses sat in complete silence. Only one in five had a thin tendril of smoke drifting up from a chimney. The first couple houses closest to the road had burned to the ground.

It was a new neighborhood and hadn't been here in Erik's youth. He’d known most of these roads like the back of his hand.
 
While he hadn’t been in the area for the past few years, everything was coming back to him now,
 
especially the smells.

Everywhere he turned, memories washed over him: riding his bike down the road, watching the trees change colors, smelling the spices in the air from people burning firewood, roasting meat, or cooking savory harvest treats. He remembered the festivals the community reveled in around the lake each weekend leading up to Thanksgiving.
 

He remembered the flocks of tourists that came up from the south to visit the picturesque fort on the lake, a relic of the Revolution. Ticonderoga sat in the middle of New England's historical heartland. Memories swirled around him and he was only snapped from his reverie when he heard the radio crackle.
 

"All good?"

Erik blinked and realized he'd been staring down the road. He tore his eyes away and glanced at the dripping gas tank. "I think so.
 
I've got at least a two, maybe three gallons here. Hopefully that'll be enough."

Erik picked up the gas can and froze in his tracks. Ten yards behind the van, a figure stood in the middle the road. He stared at Ted. Erik slowly tilted his head to his shoulder and nudged the radio with his chin. "Check your six—you got somebody in the road behind the van."

Chapter 63

Annihilation

M
ALCOLM
STARED
AT
THE
smoking, ruined houses that used to populate the neighborhood. The Russians had completely surprised him and hidden far more troops than he’d imagined in the neighborhood. His people stood no chance against armored vehicles—not to mention rockets raining from the sky.
 

Malcolm watched in horror as wave after wave of his fighters poured in from the north only to disintegrate amid the seemingly never-ending hail of gunfire and horrific explosions.
 
His people had been slaughtered wholesale—they had no body armor to speak of and even less training, relying on sheer numbers to carry them to victory.

"It was a trap!" screamed Samir as bits of debris fell from the surrounding sky.
 
He dragged Malcolm out of the street between two houses as the Russians began another wave of counterattacks with groups of 15 to 20 soldiers backed up by their eight-wheeled monsters.
 

The first two waves of Malcolm's dawn attack had maintained discipline as long as he could have hoped before being completely obliterated.
 
But then his army exhibited
 
a mind of its own: as word spread further down the line that the Russians were mounting stiff resistance, even Malcolm's grasp on the reins of power evaporated.
 

Kill everything, destroy everything, burn everything—that was order of the day. His people poured through the streets and died in droves, heaped into piles alongside the roads or blown into the sky with houses and bits of asphalt as the bombs rained out of the sky.

Malcolm had no idea the Russians had so many aircraft. He glanced up as a flight of jets streaked overhead, heading north.

Those look different…

"We have to get out of here!" shouted Samir, ducking as an explosion nearby shook the walls of the house they used for cover. "Malcolm! We
have
to retreat!"

An explosion ripped apart several houses in the next block over, ejecting a huge billowing mushroom cloud of orange and black up in the air. The over-pressure shattered windows and knocked Malcolm to the ground next to Samir.
 

Malcolm sat up, his ears ringing, while he watched a drone fly through the stubby mushroom cloud reaching into the sky.
 
Curled tendrils of smoke trailed from the drone’s wingtips. A missile dropped off one of its long, slender wings, broke into four segments, and scattered over the rooftops.
 

A group of his fighters attempting to rush across the street disappeared in a hail of fire and screams.

"Malcolm! We have to
leave!
" cried Samir. He grabbed Malcolm's shoulder and shook him, attempting to pull him to his feet.

"Where?" Malcolm whispered. He knew Stapleton was continuing his relentless pursuit from the north. Once the American caught sight of the explosions and smoke, he'd increase his speed to join in the fray. By nightfall his people would be trapped between two opposing armies.
 

Part of him almost hoped for the swift annihilation that would soon occur. They could be no other outcome. His entire rebellion, trapped between an American sledgehammer and a Russian anvil.

How could I have misread Allah's will so?

His only hope lay in defeating the Russians and slipping south. But how?

"We have to flee!" screamed Samir. He grunted and fell against the house, screaming as he dropped to the ground. He rolled into Malcolm, clutching his right arm. "I've been shot!"

Bodyguards emerged around the back of the house and pulled Malcolm to his feet, urging him to hurry. Malcolm tried to resist, but they were stronger.
 
They yelled over the din of battle about making sure he was safe. Malcolm refused to leave until one of them grabbed Samir and hauled him off the ground as well.

"Now's our only chance—we have to leave!" one shouted in his ear.

"What has happened?" called out Malcolm over the noise.

One of the bodyguards pointed at the sky. A Russian jet streaked overhead and abruptly disappeared into a ball of fire.

The Americans. They're attacking the Russians. It's already started. We'll be locked between the two of them and wiped out before anyone can escape.
 
I was too slow.
 
Allah forgive me—I was too slow!

"Hurry!" called out one of the bodyguards as he struggled to get Malcolm to move faster.
 
"Some soldiers found us. They're from the army! They're trying to help us evacuate."

"What?" asked Malcolm, incredulous. It was impossible—it was a trap. "No! Don't trust them! It's a trick!" He struggled against the bodyguards. "Let me go! We have to save our people!"

"Malcolm! It's true—the soldiers saved me! I was pinned down by the Russians over there," he said pointing down the street toward a smoking house. "Some soldiers popped up behind us and shot the Russians, then protected us while we retreated. They said the Russian forces were a lot bigger than anyone expected. The only way we're going to survive is if we all work together!"

"Was that a message from General Stapleton?" asked Malcolm as he allowed himself to be led further north.
 
He shook his head.
 
"We cannot trust them!" he cried, struggling against the guards.

"We don't have a choice!" yelled one of the man on his left. "If we stay here, the Russians will kill us all!"

"If we go with the Americans,
they
will kill us all!" retorted Malcolm.

Samir leaned against the closest house, gripping his bloodstained shoulder. "Malcolm…" he muttered weakly. "We don't have a choice anymore."

"He needs a doctor," observed one of the guards as if he were something more than a bouncer.

"What do you want us to do?" asked the other, finally relenting.

Malcolm stood there, listening to his radio squawk about reinforcements and Russian attacks and people dying. The chaos surrounding him was too much.
 

"What are you doing standing out there in the open! Get the fuck behind some cover!" a voice shouted from the left.

Malcolm watched as his bodyguards produced weapons.
 
American soldiers crouched behind the corner of the house. "If you're gonna shoot, shoot—otherwise get your asses over here before the Russians kill you all!" one of them shouted as he urged them forward.

“Look out!” A second soldier raised his rifle and fired a shot, causing Malcolm to flinch.

Malcolm spun and saw a Russian writhing on the ground across the street. Two more took his place and charged, laying down fire from AK-47s. Bullets peppered the ground and walls around them. One of the guards went down, clutching his chest in a spray of blood.
 

Malcolm turned and helped get Samir around the corner where they were joined by not one, but four soldiers.

"Thank you," Malcolm said breathlessly. "What do we do now?"

"We'll lay down suppressing fire. You get your wounded man out of here. It's clear that way," the soldier in charge said, signaling with his hand to the northwest.
 
"I've got reinforcements coming in from the north on the eastern flank. Our armored division should be here within 20—we just have to hold out until the armored cav shows up."
 
He peered around the corner.
 
"Go!"

Malcolm reached out his bloodstained hand. "Thank you. Thank you, Sergeant.…Miller," he said reading the man's blood-stained name tag.

The handshake was firm.
 
"No problem…?"

"I am Malcolm."

The soldier's eyes widened. "No shit."

Chapter 64

Welcome Home

E
RIK
WATCHED
AS
T
ED
spun and aimed his weapon at the guy behind their van. The man didn't move.

"Freeze!" shouted Ted.
 
He dropped behind the driver’s door. "Get on the ground or I'll shoot!"

"We don't want any trouble," a gravelly voice said off to Erik's right.

Erik turned and saw two older men step out from the shoe repair shop across the street.
 

"That's right, we just want to stop you—”

Erik dropped into a crouch as he reached the van while Ted continued to scream at the man behind the van.
 

"Stop us? Why?" asked Brin from inside.

"Brin, keep the kids down!" Erik hissed.

"Because you don't want to go any further up the road," a woman said behind him.

"What the hell is going on?" Erik said as he spun to face yet another person. She was older, like the two men from the shoe store.
 
She stepped out from behind one of the trees alongside of the road, her hands in front of her, empty.
 

"You just hanging out up there waiting for us?" asked Ted, shifting his rifle between the targets.

The old woman nodded, brushing a lock of white hair from her face. She wore a sad look. "It's our job. We warn people away."