Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (68 page)

He stepped away from Brin, breathing hard and yelling, venting all his fears and frustrations, his anger and his worry.
 
"This whole world has been nothing but one fucking nightmare after the next since that day back in June when all hell broke loose.
 
We've fought our neighbors and defended our homes against gang-bangers and the White Hand people, we joined the Army and fought the Russians and got sent to that fucking hellhole after Orlando.
 
For God's sake we were bombed by Russian planes!
 
After surviving the insanity back in Dunham and," he looked at Lucy with wide, frantic eyes, "that bullshit in Delaware and…and—"

Brin stepped forward, one hand out as if she were trying to calm an injured dog.
 
"Erik, take it easy—"

"I will
not
take it easy!" he screamed.
 
"This whole fucking world is insane, my parents are dead, murdered by the sick bastards who came through here last month—"

The punch came out of nowhere, caught him completely by surprise, and sent him reeling.
 
Erik blinked back the pain as he put a hand to his jaw.
 
His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Ted from the floor.
 
The marine looked calm as ever, but a dangerous glint in his eye gave Erik pause.

"Stay down."

Erik stayed down.
 
He worked his jaw and tried to calm his breathing.
 
Brin rushed forward but Ted put a thick arm out and blocked her.

"Better now?" he asked.

Erik took internal inventory and felt the anger fading.
 
He nodded.
 
Ted held his eyes for a moment before releasing Brin and nodding.
 
"I didn't want to do that, but
someone
had to."
 
A smile cracked his face.
 
"Jesus Christ, man.
 
You need to learn how to decompress.
 
Get a hobby."

"I didn't know you were so wound up…" Brin murmured as she touched his face where Ted struck him.

Erik looked past Brin and smiled at Ted.
 
He let her help him to his feet and stuck out a hand.
 
"Thanks for the wake up call."

Ted shook his hand, the grip firm and steady, but he didn't return the smile.
 
"No worries.
 
But I was serious about the running off on your own.
 
That shit would get you in front of a firing squad right now."
 
He flashed a grin.
 
"You're lucky I don't want to waste the ammunition."

"So," said Maggie, drawing all eyes to her.
 
She lit a candle and set it on the table to fight the encroaching night.
 
"Can we agree to worry about blaming each other later?
 
What do we do now?"

Ted stepped over to the table and looked down at the Colonel's maps.
 
He picked up one and examined the area outside the fort.
 
"These elevations would be a lot of fun to work with if I still had my M40.
 
I mean, from here," he said, indicating Mt. Defiance, "I could empty that fort.
 
It's a good thing they only had muskets back in the day…"

"Great idea.
 
But what can you do with this?" asked Erik, placing their lone M4 on the table.
 
"We've also got the captured shotguns and the pistols."

"You'll have whatever help you need from us," Maggie said simply.
 
"I know Dillon and Norm both have hunting rifles, but I'm afraid I don't know who else is armed besides Dan."

"Much appreciated ma'am," replied Ted.
 
"Do you have a ballpark number on how many people are left with
 
weapons in town?"

She shook her head, the thick silver braid tumbling over her shoulder.
 
"Maybe ten?"

Ted rubbed his chin in thought.
 
"You said most of the survivors here in town are…"

"Old farts, like me.
 
Not much use in a fight, I know.
 
I'm sorry."

"Don't sell yourself short so quick," said Erik.

Maggie laughed.
 
"I don't think you'll be able to convince us to charge that fort.
 
Most of us can hardly walk."

Erik examined the map on the table.
 
"Just because you can't run and fight like someone twenty years younger—"

"Try forty," Maggie interjected.

"—doesn't mean you can't play a part in bringing these sick bastards down."

Maggie hugged herself.
 
"I'm sorry about your parents, Erik, I really am.
 
And all the folks in town who’ve been murdered.
 
We've all seen too much of death lately—I'm not so sure going off looking for revenge is the best option.
 
Not with winter on us."

"No one said anything about
revenge
," Erik said, glowering at the map of the centuries-old fort.
 
"We’re talking about good old fashioned, cold, hard retribution."

"Call it whatever you want, but we still can't just walk in guns blazing.
 
They outnumber us four to one."

"We have a fully automatic M4.
 
We have hunters," Erik offered.

"Two old men hardly count as hunters—no offense," Ted added for Maggie.

"None taken," she replied quickly, her tone casting the truth of her words into serious doubt.

"What we need is for everyone down here," Erik said tapping his finger on the map at Shanty Town, "to rise up and join us."

Ted grunted.
 
"That would go a long way to evening the odds.
 
But none of them are armed and they're probably half-starved if what your friend the Colonel says is true.
 
Not exactly fighting material."

"They don't have to fight, just confuse those bastards."

Ted stared at the map for a long moment.
 
"Maybe."

"We can do this, I know it."

Ted looked at Erik.
 
"I know you want this real bad, man.
 
I would too.
 
But you got to step back and look at this objectively.
 
They killed your dad and mom.
 
I get it—they killed a
lot
of people in this town and took a lot more.
 
The sooner you get that out of your system, the quicker you can start thinking with a clear head."

"Being mad is what made me think of this in the first place," muttered Erik.

"And you being mad is something I'm counting on.
 
We need more of that berserker you got squirreled away in there," Ted said pointing at Erik's chest.
 
"But if we don't think about this and do it right—do it
my
way—we're going to get ourselves killed."
   

Ted glanced over at the door on the other side of the room, behind which Lindsay and Teddy slept.
 
"I will
not
deprive my children of both their parents—not now.
 
They'll never survive out there alone."

Erik watched as Ted stared at the map.
 
"I need to see this for myself."

"Well, whatever we do, we need to do it quick.
 
Those two we captured this morning are sure to be missed by tomorrow," added Brin, hugging herself.
 
"The younger one gives me the creeps, the way he looks at me."

"He looks like the ones at school," said Lucy, speaking up for the first time.
 
When everyone looked at her, she blushed and cleared her throat.
 
"I mean, back at the university.
 
They looked like him.
 
I mean they looked at me the way
he
looks at me."

"We understand," said Brin, reaching out a hand to the younger girl.

"Yeah," Lucy said, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear and looking down.

"Speaking of our visitors," Ted said with one final look at the maps.
 
"I think it's time we go have a chat."

"The old guy sounded like he wanted to talk earlier," said Brin hopefully.
 
"He keeps saying he'll tell us whatever we want for some food."

"We'll see."
 
Ted moved to the door.
 
"If he can give us some reliable intel—if he can confirm what Erik found out—if we can trust him…"

"That's a lot of ifs," added Erik.
 
"But I trust him a lot more than that other guy."

Ted grimaced.
 
"Yeah, well…never trust a prisoner."

Chapter 73

Presents

M
AJOR
H
UGHES
CROUCHED
BY
the body bag, waiting for the Black Hawks to dust off. He kept his eyes shut and his hand on the tough plastic sheeting that covering his prize.
 
Soon enough, the pilot hit the throttle and the big brown helicopter lifted up, taking most of the wind and dust with it. After a few more seconds, it was clear enough for him to open his eyes and stand.
 

He grabbed one end of the white body bag and his XO took the other. They marched off with the rest of his squad toward the command Stryker, where General Stapleton stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the aftermath of the battle.

My God, that magnificent bastard looks like Patton.

"Well, Major Hughes, what did you bring me?" growled the general around the cigar in his mouth.

Hughes dropped the body bag at the feet of the conqueror and saluted.

"This is the HVT I told you about." He gestured with his right hand for Albertson to take a knee and unzip the body bag.

"The radioactive material?" asked Stapleton.

Hughes grunted.
 
"It wasn't much.
 
Already in decon and under lock and key.
 
Would have been more psychological than destructive."
 
He rolled his neck.
 
"That's what they told me when an E3 from demo took it off my hands."
 
He peeled back the body bag, revealing a bloodied, disfigured face.

"Jesus," Stapleton grunted, switching his stub of a cigar to the other side of his mouth. "I bet he's seen better days. Who is it?"

Hughes reached behind him and accepted the tablet from one of his men, turned it counterclockwise and handed it to the general. "CIC photo ID'd him for us on the ride back. Hakim Sharif Hassan. He's been wanted for several bombings throughout the Middle East from Israel to Turkey. They had a possible ID on him in Arizona when everything fell apart back during the collapse—"

"Arizona?" asked the general.

"Yes sir, looks like this son of a bitch and his buddies were somehow linked to the wildfires.
 
Makes him responsible for L.A., too."

"Says here he had a partner," Stapleton said using his finger to scroll down the information on the tablet. He looked up. "You find him?"

Hughes shook his head. "That's a big negative, sir.
 
Me and my squad had just entered an abandoned house to set up an LP/OP when this dumbass kicks in the front door, screaming about
Allah
." He shrugged.
 

"It was pretty much reactive fire. He didn't stand a chance. However, we did find he was loaded with enough C4 to leave a 30 foot crater where the house was."
 

Hughes reached behind his Dragon skin armor and pulled out a packet of grungy, blood-stained papers. He handed the folded stack to the general and took the tablet back.

"What's this?" asked Stapleton flipping through the pages.

"Unknown, sir. Most of it is in Arabic and the rest seems to be ramblings about imperialist America—the usual terrorist bullshit propaganda. The last page though, you got complete scheduling for several trans-Pacific shipments. Notice the embarkation point?"

Stapleton looked up. "Ningbo, China. Son of a
bitch
. I need to get this to Washington." Stapleton turned to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. "Damn fine job, son." He held up the stack of papers. "This might give us the political ammunition we need to take care of the Chinese out west."

"Yes, sir," Hughes said as he saluted.

After the general slammed the hatch on the command Stryker, the big vehicle roared to life and headed north.
 
Hughes relaxed. He was never comfortable standing around the brass. Not that he had anything to be nervous about with Stapleton.
 
He—like most all the soldiers under Stapleton's command—had nothing but respect for America's premier fighting general.

Hughes shook his head.
Stapleton was the only general Hughes had ever known or heard about leading from the front lines.
 
General's just didn't do that anymore.

"Good Lord, would you look at that?" asked his XO, pointing off in the distance.

Hughes looked around him for the first time since jumping off the Black Hawk and took in the scenery. Everywhere to the south—in a ragged line going southwest to southeast—lay the smoldering hulks of destroyed Russian tanks, troops transports, and mobile missile launchers. Bodies and parts of bodies lay everywhere in piles and scattered bits and pieces.
 

Likewise behind him, to the north—a number of American vehicles and wounded lay across the ghastly battlefield.
 
Death and destruction surrounded Hughes in a horrific 360-degree panorama.
 
The Americans and Russians had poured everything they had at each other and Malcolm’s people had been in the crossfire.
 

Albertson pointed to a gaggle of weapon-toting civilians surrounded by a cordon of guards.
 
But none of the soldiers paid much attention to them. In fact, a few of them shared canteens and food packages among their prisoners.