The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) Page 3

  Sarah rose from the water, holding Eric’s free hand as she did so.

  “Rick, Judah—Eric’s trapped!”

  “Where?” Rick shouted back.

  “His hand is stuck under the vehicle. You have to…you have to somehow shift the SUV.”

  “Elizabeth, you get Judi to the side of the pool,” Rick quickly said. “Kids, you’re with me. We’re all going to rock the vehicle and shout on the count of three. Okay, Sarah, pull when you hear us yell!”

  Sarah took a deep breath and ducked under the water, pulling herself down toward Eric. His gaze had grown tired and his struggle seemed to have lessened. She moved in close and wrapped her lips around his mouth—breathing air into his lungs as the vehicle began to slightly rock back and forth. She grabbed his arm, gave him a nod, and pulled just as soon as she heard everyone shout from outside.

  How had it come to this?

  Tracers pierced the wide window to the left, snapping above as they snapped Gene Smith back to reality. He dove to the ground as the red-hot lead struck both polished stone and American soldiers behind him. The battle-tested General raised his magnetically enhanced shotty pack and fired at the sudden onset of retrofitted FODs that darted about the airport’s terminal, happy to see he was not the only one who had maintained discipline. The twenty-something carbon fiber birds melted before the onslaught of both incendiary rounds and concentrated electromagnetic pulses. But to Gene Smith, their destruction was nothing more than another insignificant victory. As they fell from the skies, Gene saw the countless other shadows that raced through the distant, dark skies over Washington DC—the burning capital of a fallen nation.

  “Lev! Do we have comms back up?”

  “No sir,” Lev replied as he worked furiously. “I left an encrypted transmitter plugged into the terminal. I can work remotely if we need to move.”

  “Just get it done and radio Bond. Tell him he’s got to book it! I want the Capitol Building brought down on Lukas’ head. If Bond wants to take his time then it’s his own damn fault!”

  Five warthogs passed overhead, shaking the glass walls and screaming through the night as they raced toward the heart of the battle.

  “General!” Marc yelled as he ran up to Gene.

  “What is it, Marc?”

  “We can finally see Mobile,” Marc said.

  “Where the hell are they?”

  “Scouts upstairs said they’re off the Potomac now and spearheading—”

  A rush of abnormally bright blasts raced across the horizon—illuminating the silhouettes of DC’s stone carved buildings in front of what Gene knew had to be the National Mall and Mobile’s column of advancing armor. At least twenty MIG fighter jets screeched through the night at full afterburner—splitting formation and parting ways as they passed the Washington Monument—a stone spire well-lit by the fires that engulfed Gene’s main advance.

  No, Gene thought as the fireballs grew and an eerie silence reigned. Please, God. No!

  Lev—oblivious to what had just happened as he began swiping through the air in front of him, guiding the unseen virtual control map on his nVision display—broke the odd silence.

  “Comms up in three, two, one…we’re live!”

  Gene grabbed his radio and began barking his orders.

  “All units, this is General Gene Smith requesting an immediate SITREP from anyone near Mobile HQ.” Gene paused, staring blankly at the glowing horizon as he inwardly begged for a response. However, all he heard in return was the unorganized chatter from the rapidly crumbling attacking force that was scattered about Washington. “I repeat, this is General Gene Smith. Please, someone tell me we have Lukas in custody.”

  “Damn it,” Lev said. “Something’s not right. They must be jamming us from somewhere else.”

  “Then how the hell can we hear them?”

  “How the hell should I know? This is all one big fiery shit-storm and we’re the only ones without an umbrella!”

  “Can they hear me?”

  “Not sure,” Lev replied as he began moving his hands about the air again. “Keep talking, I’ll see if I can locate—”

  Static broke through the radio and a familiar voice began to speak.

  “This is Bravo team leader William Bond. HQ and the main advance is gone. All units, be advised. Crimson Fall. I say again, Crimson Fall.”

  Gene paused, staring at the burning city as the silence dominated the blown out terminal at Reagan International once more. Even Lev paused from his absorbing work, shock filling his eyes.

  Crimson Fall.

  It was the call sign meant to symbolize their defeat and immediate retreat. Gene tried to suppress the pain that rose within—an anguish that threatened to dissolve his sanity. A few minutes ago, he had dared to dream he was at the end of his long quest for vengeance and wrapping a noose around Lukas’ neck. Now, he wondered how many of his friends had died for nothing more than America’s defeat.

  No, he thought. My defeat.

  Gene thought about their families, now defenseless widows and orphans alone in a land full of chaos and war. He wanted to weep for them all; he wanted to cry and beg them to forgive his failure to protect the nation he had guarded for three decades.

  Instead of letting remorse seize his lucidity in those brief moments, he fed the raging inferno of fury that grew inside. His inner chest pocket that held the poem he had penned years ago suddenly felt hot and heavy, like burning steel grounding him upon a sea of molten rock. He stoked the flames by concentrating on Lukas Chambers, the Patriarchs, and every other traitor that had brought death upon his men. He had used his foreign contacts to covertly beg for support, but even they had failed to give him much more than Marc’s Commandos and Lev’s expertise. It was almost as though the entire world had already declared America unsalvageable during the final months she struggled for breath. As a young man, Gene had been told that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph was for good men to do nothing. Gene, however, had since discovered the real truth.

  He had seen war—lived it and breathed it for much of his adult life—yet he had foolishly believed this war would be different. It wasn’t a struggle for oil or an overthrow of a foreign dictator that marched to the strange beat of a different life. It was the war for America’s soul. He had believed he could fight this battle as the upright hero, struggling on the side of good as he sought a secret vengeance. Their defeat, however, only solidified the hard truth he had discovered years ago. In order to defeat evil, he must become colder and darker than the blackness that now encircled him. The time for siding with the righteous had passed.

  The time to unleash the deadly dragons within had come.

  “You heard the man,” Gene said as he abruptly broke the silence. “Everyone pack up and rendezvous at the fallback positions. Wilson, Diego, and Medina—you’re on Chopper Six. I want you in the air ahead of us. Scan all nearby frequencies for Bond’s location. If he’s transmitting, then we might be able to locate them. Lev, Marc—you’re coming with me. We’re going to need every man we have when we hit these bastards again.”

  “Their main advance is destroyed and the remaining combatants are retreating,” Lieutenant Roy said, turning to Jacob. “The MIGs defeated the Raptors to the south, though we lost nearly all our fast movers. Sir, DC is secured. We’ve done it. We’ve won.”

  Jacob suppressed the overwhelming urge to smile, knowing full well they hadn’t won just yet. He might have finished the first half of his mission in one night, but now would come the war to crown a worthy vessel.

  “We’re not yet done, chap,” Jacob said. “What about those who fled the Capitol Building?”

  “Last we heard, Adam Reinhart, a detachment of soldiers, and a handful of others were heading toward the National Mall.”

  “Then let us hope that they made it there before our MIGs did,” Jacob replied. “And what of Lukas?”

  “Our men managed to get him out of there before the building was bombed,” James replied. �
�He’s safe below ground now, though he’s definitely not happy with the night’s events.”

  “Let the man fuss,” Jacob replied. “He’ll have his Imperium soon and much to do afterward. In the meantime, send word for our men on the ground to detain anyone trying to flee the city—civilian and military. Deploy every Yellow Jacket we have in close proximity to pursue those who have fled. I want you to grind them into the dirt. And keep an eye out for Adam Reinhart. Lukas may seem upset now, but he will be well beyond furious if we lose Adam.” Jacob turned to the woman on his left. “What’s the status at Reagan International?”

  “Whoever had taken the terminal is dead or running,” Jamie replied. “They destroyed the militarized FODs we deployed, but not before we thinned their ranks and set fire to the airport. They’re scattering like roaches now.”

  “Good,” Jacob replied. “Reroute the MIGs from JFK and program them to join the Yellow Jackets and target anyone leaving the city. Any word yet on just who was there trying to hack through the Graystone device?”

  “No, sir. Whoever it was, they were good. I knew I couldn’t block them forever, so instead I waited for them to break through the firewalls. As soon as they did, I lifted the jamming signal and I sent out a shortwave pulse to all communication devices within a few hundred meters of the airport to disable their transmitters. They’ll think whatever they did failed to restore communications and, with a bit of luck, they’ll keep trying to fix a problem that doesn’t exist.”

  “Very good,” Jacob said. “What of Fort Bragg, Jamie?”

  “The bombers completed their run,” Jamie replied. “Our tanks have broken through and those who were defending the base are falling as we speak.”

  “So Fort Bragg is destroyed, the battle for DC is won, and the East Coast annexation is underway. All without losing more than a handful of men at the Capitol Building.” Jacob finally broke his cool, letting his joy find its way to his face as he struck his hands together with one loud clap. “My friends, remember this night. Remember what a small group of devoted men and women can achieve from a distance.”

  As those around the room began to smile triumphantly, a voice blared out over an emergency channel.

  “Eagle Eye, this is agent Grimes; target located!” The rapid succession of muffled popping reverberated through the speakers like the wild clapping of rhythm-less percussionist.

  “Grimes, this is Eagle Eye, have you found Adam Reinhart?”

  “Eagle Eye, I say again. Target located! They’re in a blue truck on Indepe—”

  A crackling bang followed by shrill static cut the agent off mid-sentence, causing Jacob to wince.

  “Isolate their location!” Jacob shouted. “Where was he?”

  “At the intersection of Independence and Fourth Street. Sir, I’m also tracking an inbound chopper.”

  “Reroute one of the MIGs from the north,” Jacob roared. “Hit the helicopter first and circle around. If Lukas wants Adam Reinhart dead or alive, then let us not disappoint!”

  Eric cried out in pain as his arm pulled free, a cloud of crimson billowing in the darkness. Sarah hauled him to the surface and he quickly gasped for air. She supported him as they made their way out of the vehicle and to the side of the pool.

  Sarah helped Eric down beside Judi—the older woman finally conscious and clearly not liking that fact as she held her head and groaned. Sarah looked up to shout for Judah, but the words caught in her throat as her mind registered the hellish destruction that surrounded them.

  Fire and devastation were everywhere. None of the other cars were in sight, though she figured no one would have stopped to help them if they had made it through that upsurge of rolling death. The bombs had stopped falling and the jet engines that preceded them now disappeared into the distant horizon. Battle still filled the air from the distant gates—hollow thuds compared to the booming thunder it had been earlier. She looked down at Eric as he held out his shaky arm. Blood flowed from the gash on his forearm, though with the darkness, she couldn’t tell if the veins had been sliced. Eric bent over to the side and retched, his bile splashing across the concrete and filling the broken cracks that now crisscrossed its surface.

  “Rick, Elizabeth, I need something to stitch him up,” Sarah said quickly.

  “The left pocket on my pant leg,” Eric said quietly. “Grab the silver pouch. Judah, you stand guard. Rick…hold me down.”

  Sarah flipped open the pocket and pulled out a small, silver bandage with a thin pouch on one side and a blue tab on the other.

  “You’ll need to wrap it on the cut as tightly as possible and pull the tab.”

  “What does it do?” Sarah asked nervously.

  “It’ll fill the cut with a chemical compound and three seconds later that compound will ignite. It’ll cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding.” He pulled himself up closer, looking her in the eyes. “You’re going to need to make it out of here on foot unless you can find another car. I might still have friends at Moody Air Force Base in Georgia. They will help you out if they’re still alive. Go there and don’t stop for more than a few hours until you’ve arrived.”

  “Eric, I—”

  “And trust no one on the road,” Eric cut in. “I gave your husband my word that I would protect you. If I stay awake, hit me with the adrenaline I have in my bag. But if I go unconscious, don’t wait for me.” He glanced over to the two young girls before leaning in close to Sarah. “You can’t afford to wait.”

  Eric nodded his head as if convincing himself of his own words before lying back down, more composed than everyone else. Sarah wiped the blood off his wrist and removed what glass she could find, though more blood quickly oozed from the jagged cut. She wrapped the silver bandage tightly on the wound and pressed it hard against his skin, Eric wincing with pain as she did so. Sarah took a deep breath and mumbled a silent prayer, counting to three with tears in her eyes as she pulled the tab.

  “Chopper Six, can you hear me?” Silence filled Gene’s earpiece and he bellowed a curse. “Damn it, Lev, I need my radio!”

  “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Lev moved his right hand around the air in front of him, frantically utilizing both his nVision display and a cracked tablet he had taken off a dead Russian—wielding both like a mad symphony conductor trying to decide which tool allowed him to control the chaos best.

  Their massive stealth Humvee raced over the Potomac, passing the half ruined Jefferson Memorial. As the heavy thudding of the Blackhawk’s blades passed overhead, Gene’s radio blared out again.

  “General, this is Chopper Six. I see you below but you’re not pinging back on radio. Don’t know if you’re getting this, but be advised: I just got off the horn with Captain Bond. He said he’s wounded and needs an EVAC. We’re heading to Fourth and Virginia for pickup.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” Gene said, unsure if they heard him. “Marc, stay on the freeway and exit on Fourth.” Marc cut the steering wheel right and raced onto the off ramp as they passed under L’Enfant Plaza. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Fourth passes under the freeway,” Marc replied coolly. “There is no off-ramp there. I’ll take G Street and cut over.”

  “So you’re now an expert on DC’s roads?”

  “When years of training as a French Commando includes knowing the best possible routes to get state officials in and out of foreign cities, then I suppose—”

  “Just get us there, Marc.”

  They quickly passed by rows of old brick townhomes, Gene scanning the air for drones. They crossed the intersection at Seventh, swerving around two abandoned vehicles as Lev began shouting from the back cab.

  “I’m tracking one fast moving bird coming in from the north. Comms are still dark. Can you see Chopper Six?”

  Gene jumped into the back and threw open the turret well. He stood next to the massive Pulsar weapon mounted on the roof and peered into the darkness ahead, the freezing wind washing over his grim face as the night
sky filled his vision. Gene could vaguely hear the helicopter as it hovered somewhere ahead to their left. He searched for the incoming plane—hoping it was one of his Raptors that had failed to show earlier—but the two-story homes to the left obstructed his view. He checked the charge on the mounted Pulsar weapon before ducking back into the cab.

  “I can’t see—”

  A fiery light followed shortly by a loud explosion echoed back and forth between the low brick buildings. The screeching of a MIG fighter jet passed overhead, banking wide. Gene fired the mounted weapon. The electrical arch traveled at least three thousand feet into the sky before dissipating into a sizzling dance of sparks. Gene cursed as he missed completely and quickly began to charge the weapon again. The jet completed its circle, kicking on the afterburners as it did so. It let loose another missile just as the Humvee veered left onto Fourth.

  The missile struck the road far ahead and debris bounced around a low-lying overpass as the MIG drew closer. This time, Gene waited, taking aim and whispering one foul curse after another under his breath as the jet neared. He let loose a defiant roar and fired at the rapidly approaching plane. The concentrated arc of electricity—like a serrated bolt of lightning with electrical shoots branching off toward the heavens—enveloped the plane and the MIG’s afterburners behind it quickly shut off. The unmanned jet swayed briefly before tumbling lifelessly overhead, crashing into the buildings far out of sight to the right. Gene lowered back into the cab and looked forward as they rapidly approached the overpass.

  “I’ve heard of that new weapon,” Marc said as he looked back at Gene, “but I’d never thought—”