Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (27 page)

Before Hughes could answer, a faint
ping
echoed just outside the cockpit.
 

His XO flinched.
 
"They're shooting at us!"

No shit, Sherlock.
 
"All right Seekers, listen up!
 
The LZ's going to be hot, so get ready!
 
The rebels may have left us some surprises, so I want any foot mobiles you encounter considered hostile until confirmed friendly."

The somber nods were all the confirmation he needed.
 
They had gone in twice now to find the missing pilot.
 
General Stapleton told him the rebels had transferred her into the president's custody in exchange for support as the horde moved through Washington.
 
He didn't think President Jones had the balls to execute her, but he might use her in other ways to slow down Stapleton.

A gray jet screamed over the phalanx of helicopters.
 
Three more followed, all of them loaded for combat.
 
He spotted missiles under the wings on the Hornets.
 
The others—Lightnings, if his guess was right—had external fuel pods instead.

"That's the Navy!" his XO called out, pointing to one of the jets as it streaked ahead.
 
"They're softening up the LZ for us."

"Hooah!" the men cheered as the first thunderous boom sounded.

The pilot banked the Black Hawk in formation with three others and Hughes found himself staring at the ground as they circled over The Mall.
 

"There's the LZ!" he shouted over the noise of the rotors.
 
Plumes of red, green, and orange smoke set up in repeating patterns littered the wide, green space between the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building.
 
Explosions rocked the structures around The Mall as fighters circled overhead and delivered their ordinance.

"Jesus God," muttered his XO.
 
"What the hell are we doing?"

Hughes stared at the bubbles of over-pressure rippling the air around the explosions below.
 
Debris and smoke sailed blossomed over each one.

"Taking back our country," Hughes muttered as the Black Hawk flared for a combat landing.

I hope.

Chapter 30

All in the Family

E
VANS
STOOD
AT
THE
top of the driveway, staring at the house. The mailbox next to him read
Larsson
. From this position, he saw the house next door, where the mysterious ‘colonel’ lived, was much closer than the Holden house.
 

Have to deal with him today, too.
 

He'd let this cluster of houses alone for far too long, occupied as he was with more lucrative playthings across the lake.
 
But today all that was going to change.
 

He had the fort now, a secure base of operations and it was time to take complete control over the lake. He was doing a fine job spreading his reign of terror out from Fort Ticonderoga but this was the final loose end he needed to tie up before he could turn all of his men loose on the town of Ticonderoga itself.

"You know what to do," he said to his new XO.
 
Carl wasn't as smart as Bondo had been, but he got the job done without questions.
 
"Get to it."

His greasy-haired second-in-command mumbled confirmation of the order, then grabbed three big brutes. They boldly walked up to the front door without bothering to be discreet.

"You in the house!" Evans called out from the driveway, his voice echoing off the snow-muffled landscape.
 
"Come on out with your hands up and nobody gets hurt."

He had two men stationed at the rear of the house and two more to his right with armed guns they’d taken from mansions across the lake.
 
A third pair watched over the colonel's house. Evans opened his mouth to repeat his warning when the door to the Larsson house cracked open and a face appeared.
 

"Get the hell out of here! We don't want any trouble!"

Evans chuckled. "Well, trouble's found you! So come on out or—”

The face in the door disappeared, replaced by a shotgun barrel. There was no time for a warning—the gun went off, shattering the silence of the early afternoon.
 
One of his men crumpled to the snow in a spray of red.

Then all hell broke loose.

Carl charged forward, screaming as his own shotgun blasted a hole in the front door.
 
He stepped aside as one his brutes rushed forward.
   

The homeowner fired once more, taking off the side of the poor bastard's head and some of his shoulder with it. The brute’s body toppled back in the snow spraying blood. Then Carl signaled his last remaining man to the front door. He smashed into it, knocking the old man back and disappeared inside the house.
 
Carl whooped and followed his lackey inside, the blast of his shotgun lighting up the foyer.

Evans stood there with his hands in his pockets, waiting at the top of the driveway. He watched as gunfire flashed back and forth inside the house, expecting to see his men emerge triumphant any second.

He then saw his men exit the house limping—without their weapons. Evans' eyebrows came together as he frowned. He walked forward, stepping over the bodies of the fallen and approached the front door as Carl made to run past.
 

The barrel of the shotgun emerged again from the ruined front door, but before the homeowner could fire, Evans reached out and ripped it free in one savage twisting motion. He turned and tossed the weapon to Carl.

Reaching back into the doorway, he grabbed a handful of flannel robe and dragged the sputtering old man out into the snow. His wife screamed from the doorway and begged for mercy.

A sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the neighbor’s house on his right as the colonel shouted defiance and fired. The men around him dove for cover, but Evans ignored it. He had snipers up by the road that would take care of the cantankerous neighbor soon enough. He had other issues to worry about.
 

He smelled smoke.

Forcing Larsson to his knees in his own front yard, Evans stared into the house and saw the glowing flicker of fire.
 
Shadows danced on the walls.
 
The house was doomed.

Dammit, I told those assholes not to burn anything.
 
It's going to send a helluva smoke signal on a calm day like this.
He glanced up at the cloudless blue sky.
 

"You got anything in there worth saving?"

"Screw you!" the old man spat.

"Any food? Weapons? Liquor?" Evans asked, ignoring the outburst.

"Please! Don't hurt him—” the old lady whimpered from the porch.

One of his crew backhanded her and sent her reeling in the snow, but it didn't stop her crying.

"Leave her alone, you animals!" the old man growled.

"Fine!" Evans replied.
 
He slammed his fist into the side of Larsson's head.
 
The old man grunted and kissed the snow.

A rifle cracked and Evans heard something buzz past his head.
 

"You'll never take us alive!" called out a strong voice from the colonel’s house.
 
A rifle cracked and another chunk of snow erupted at Carl's feet.

"Will you morons take care that old bastard already?" Evans roared. His men finally returned fire.
 
Evans knew he had to move quick, or they’d lose everything inside—the Larsson house was already engulfed in flames.
 

"Find anything?" he hollered at the men inside.

"Nothing! It's too hot in here—we gotta get out!"

"My house!" the old woman wailed.

"You son of a bitch," said Larsson through clenched teeth as he tried to rise up from the snow.

Evans pulled out his crampon. The old man looked at the spike in his hand and glanced up at Evans. Recognition dawned in his eyes. He knew his time was up.

"I would ask if you want to say any last words…" Evans said.
 

The old woman screamed again. Evans took the crampon and slammed it into the side of Larsson's head. He sputtered a wet cough and collapsed into the snow.
 

"…but I don't really give a fuck what you’ve got to say."

Carl swung his shotgun at Larsson's wife, catching her on the side of the head.
 
She fell into the snow, silent at last. Evans turned and watched the flames eat at their house.
 

One of his men jogged up through the snow, bloody but grinning.

"You get him?" Evans called through the smoke.

"I think so—I’m sure I winged ‘im!
 
He stopped firing at us," was the shouted reply.

Evans looked up at the thick black smoke soaring up in the sky.
So much for doing this quick and quiet.

He put his hands to his face and bellowed, "Change of plan! Let's head into town. People will see this smoke for miles around. If we don't hurry, we'll miss out on all the fun."

"What about that one?
 
Should we make sure he’s dead?" one of his men said, pointing his rifle at the neighbor’s house.

"Naw, it ain’t worth it.
 
Set it on fire—we gotta go. Let the old fucker burn if he's still alive."

"And her?" asked Carl, pointing his shotgun at Larsson's wife.

"Why?
 
You want her?" Evans asked, his mouth curled up in a crooked grin.

Carl licked his lips.
 
"Maybe."

Evans shrugged.
 
"Bring her with us.
 
But she's your responsibility now."

Carl grinned.
 
"She may be old, but I like the way she moved."
 

"Whatever."
 
Evans turned and marched up the driveway, his men falling in behind him. Ashes drifted down on top of them as they passed under the smoke cloud of the dying house.
 

Glancing over his shoulder, Evans saw the flames already licked at the front door of the colonel's place. Before long, both houses would be reduced to nothing but piles of soot and ash.

Evans smiled. "Let's go boys, it's time for us to hike into town."

Chapter 31

Run

"W
E
HAVE
TO
LEAVE
—right now!" barked a Secret Service agent.

Daniel stood from his desk and stuffed his latest treaty proposal in his briefcase. "Fine, fine! Let's go."

The instant he stepped out into the hallway, two more agents grabbed his arms and rushed him toward the far exit. A third ran ahead of them, clearing staffers on the way, physically shoving them back as they stepped up to join the panicked stampede.

Washington, D.C. was about to fall.

After a swirl of corridors, shouts and screams, Daniel was passed off from agent to agent until dumped in the back of a black Secret Service Suburban.
 
He struggled to retain some dignity, but felt like a sack of potatoes.

"Foxtrot is mobile!
 
Repeat, Foxtrot is mobile! Let's roll!" one of the agents said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Foxtrot?
 
Good grief, is that what you've been calling me?

The Suburban lurched into gear and peeled out of the underground parking garage, led by two other identical vehicles. Daniel, in the third vehicle, gawked out the bulletproof windows. Two more Suburbans followed, their headlights dim and murky through the heavily tinted glass.

"Sir, please stay down!" the agent next to him said, forcing the president to lay down. "We waited as long as possible, but we have reports there's widespread looting and violence already taking place in the northern suburbs."

"It's not safe anymore, sir. Just listen to us, and we'll get you out of here," said the agent from the front seat.

Daniel heard the telltale clatter of weapons being prepped for battle.
 
The driver cursed, and the vehicle lurched left, tires chirping.
 

"Ow!" he complained as his head smacked the door frame.
 
He listened to the agents talk amongst themselves as he rubbed the sore spot.
 
The dash radio crackled constantly, relaying positions back and forth between the other vehicles.
 

"I'll take Two with me—turning left…now!"

Daniel peered through the windshield in time to see the first black Suburban disappear around the corner to the left as they passed a major intersection. Police cars blocked the road with flashing lights as mobs of civilians streamed across sidewalks. Daniel was shocked to see how many carried bags and suitcases.
 

They looked thin and hungry. They looked completely panicked.
 
It's another evacuation.

"Two going left…"
said another voice over the radio.
"…now!"
 

Daniel watched the second Suburban cross the street under a hail of objects thrown from the civilians.

"Three going straight. Four and five, you're with me," said Daniel's driver. They barreled forward, smashing through a police barricade as frightened citizens jumped out of the way. Rocks and bottles smashed against the armored sides of the SUV.
 

"They're throwing—keep your eyes open for weapons," called out the man in the front seat.

Confirmations crackled over the radio, along with status updates from the other vehicles. Daniel heard squealing tires behind them and spotted one of the other Suburbans turn down a side street.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"Decoys, sir. The number of unsubstantiated threats we have against your person have been skyrocketing over the past week. And with Stapleton breathing down our necks, this is the safest way to get you out. We don't have air superiority, so we can't risk flying out on Marine One. We spotted drones in the air too—at least this way they won't know which one you're in," the agent said, gesturing at one of the trucks that disappeared down the last side street.