The Vagabonds (The Code of War Book 4)
Page 3
Walsh fumed under his collar. The General preferred the battlefield to these appropriation hearings. At least one could always step on a landmine and end the pain of it all. That wasn’t an option in this stuffy room.
“Senator, I’m not at liberty to discuss ongoing missions in my Unit’s oeuvre.”
Chairman Atkins decided to take over from her committee associate, “What my colleague is asking, General, in his own way, is why this Unit of yours deserves such an increase if, as you say, it has had so many successes in the past.”
“Big changes require big money, ma’am. It’s a simple fact of economics. Our enemy gets bigger, we need to get bigger.”
Atkins narrowed those ice-blue eyes, “I didn’t realize we were at war with Olympus, General.”
Walsh thought for a brief moment. “There’s an old phrase I’ve grown fond of these past years, Madam Chairman: ‘when at peace, prepare for war.’ I’ve served the military for fifty years, one scrap after another.” He gestured to his own marled left eye and the hideous scar that stretched through it. “I’ve given my own body and soul to this country and I can tell you with more certainty than I have in anything—Olympus is a threat, plain and simple. We’ve witnessed their openness to affect change in nations around the world. I’m sure you’ve heard by now about their new contract with the Venezuelan government. Olympus has shown a pattern of cruelty over the years that cannot be underemphasized. Whether you want to be caught flatfooted or prepared for whatever they attempt, well, I guess that’s up to you.”
Gotcha.
If Walsh wasn’t wrong, he could almost see the Senator smile beneath her large rimmed glasses.
After a moment of deliberation with her colleagues, Atkins spoke into her mic, “No one here is questioning your faithfulness to protecting this great nation, General. You need to excuse us if we prefer to have all our T’s crossed in these matters.”
Walsh smiled, “Of course, Madam Chairman. As do I.”
THE DOOR to the Committee chambers opened wide, as the meeting attendees streamed into the bright hallway of the Russell Senate office. Walsh, leaning heavily on his cane, strode out of the stuffy room, glad to be done with that fracas. Brick followed closely behind, rivulets of sweat beading around the dark skin of his forehead. It hadn’t been particularly hot in the room, what with the AC and all, but this had been Brick’s first official function in his new role as Walsh’s second in command. A battleground was one thing, but being sweated out by the upper echelons of power in DC—that was something else.
The two dozen or so other audience members of the hearing moved by, on their way to the next meeting of the day. All except two, who hung back to join Walsh and Brick.
The first was Clive Rourke, one-time Navy SEAL, who looked less than happy to be dressed in anything that wasn’t his own combat gear. Instead, he wore a spiffy navy suit that clashed severely with his tight mohawk haircut.
Beside him stood Krieger, the Russian-Arab man-tank of the Peacemakers. With his masses of unkempt hair pulled into an equally unkempt ponytail, the Russian looked completely out of place in this official setting.
Krieger spoke first, his frivolous attitude getting the better of him, as usual.
“Congratulations, General! More money for us, yes?”
Walsh sighed, “That’s right, Krieger. It’s time to take this Unit to the next level.”
Krieger let out a whoop that made several onlookers turn their heads.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Walsh said, keeping his voice low. He turned and walked with his small crew toward the exit from the Senate Office. It was a half-hour drive to the Cottage—the Peacemaker’s primary HQ—in Rosaryville, Maryland and he wanted to get there as soon as possible. The Peacemaker Unit had been desperately underfunded for the past year, even with the boon given to them by the CIA last year. Now, with this new funding, a renewed effort could be made to keep up with their enemy.
Krieger asked, “Colonel…I mean General, should we not tell Joe of these doings? I am sure he would want to know.”
Walsh’s manner became brittle. As they reached the glass doors of the exit, he turned to look at the hulking Russian.
“Braddock is on medical leave, Krieger. We’ll let him be for now. Besides, his role in all of this is far from over.”
With that, Walsh exited the building. Krieger and Brick shared a confused look before they followed him.
Chapter 3
Road Trip
Scott City, Kansas, September 30th
THE INDIAN Chief Classic purred underneath Joe Braddock’s thighs as he coaxed his beloved motorcycle onto Route 96. On either side of the road, for miles on end, was nothing but farmland. The corn harvests having already come and gone, there was little to see for one looking for beauty. Only the post-harvest desolation.
I can’t believe I’m back here.
Joe felt a pair of arms grasp him across the chest, adjusting their hold on his body.
Jade.
His co-rider held on tight as he steered the motorcycle toward what had once been the home he’d tried so desperately to leave.
“It’s not long now, ladybird!” He had to shout through the helmet and the engine of the bike to be heard by his girlfriend. He felt a comforting squeeze from Jade, warming him to his core.
This trip had not been Joe’s idea. At first, he’d knee-jerked at the idea of leaving the Cottage at all. But after the events of last July, it was plainly obvious he had to escape the world of the Peacemakers, at least for a while.
As they passed by the familiar poplar tree that led to the turnoff to his adopted parent’s farm, the memories surfaced within him. The horrors he’d faced during his trek to Syria to find the defecting Olympus Centurion had scarred him for life, physically and mentally. His arm, savaged by napalm in his battle against the super-soldier Brutus, still ached daily. His many broken ribs had mostly healed, but there were still remnants of shrapnel in his left arm that the doctors back in D.C. could not remove. There was a good chance he would be setting off airport metal detectors for the rest of his life.
But at the end of the day, he could handle the physical scars.
It was the emotional wounds that were the heaviest to bear.
Since joining the Peacemakers, Joe Braddock had given up the idea of visiting his home in Kansas. The Colonel, or rather General, had ordered Joe and his mates to make no contact with family or friends while serving in the Unit. Braddock knew it was all in an effort to protect them, in case Olympus decided to exact revenge through them. But it was a hard thing, for soldiers to cut ties with loved ones. A week after Joe had returned from Syria, and a month before Olympus invaded Ascension Island, the General rescinded the order.
After the hell that was his mission to Syria, Joe gratefully accepted a leave of absence from the Unit, pending a medical evaluation. The team’s head doctor diagnosed Joe with acute post-traumatic stress disorder. The doc had prescribed a tricyclic antidepressant, but Joe, stubborn as he was, avoided taking them. He’d thought a simple week’s rest would soon see him right. Joe felt that he would return to the fray like he always did in the past.
Not this time. This time, everything was worse.
Nightmares like he’d never known forced him awake, screaming in the night. The horrors of his battle with Brutus amidst a sea of bodies in the darkness of that Syrian well rushed back to him tenfold in his nightmares. He could see the faces of the dead, clear as day, bloated and festering. Nothing in his years as a Ranger, as a soldier taught to be fearless on the battlefield, could have prepared him for what he witnessed. He would wake in the night, his covers drenched in sweat. Jade would hold him in her arms as if to protect him from his demons until they faded away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
And all through it, there was the knowledge that his battle brother, Danny Callbeck, was gone forever. Each day, Danny’s loss cut Joe like a razor across the heart.
No matter what anyone else said, no matter how many times Jade or Krieger told him he’d tried everything a normal man could, Joe Braddock knew he’d failed Danny. Now all he had left was a simple bauble to honor the memory of his gallant friend.
Taking a long breath to clear his mind, Joe squinted at the highway ahead of them. Coming toward the two travelers was a beat up looking mailbox before a turnoff onto a gravel road. Scrawled on the side of the box in dark letters was the name BRADDOCK. Joe eased his foot off the gas and turned onto the road. It was a good half a klick before they would reach his parents farm.
Joe had to admit he was nervous—it was almost six years to the day since he’d been home.
Sensing his unease, Jade moved her hand up, placing it on his shoulder, reassuringly. It eased the storm in his body knowing this woman—a tower of strength and probably the sole reason he was still alive—was here with him on this trip.
There was something odd, however, with his lady love. Jade could be hard to read. Taciturn by nature, she held her emotions in check most of the time. But Joe had noticed subtle changes in her in the past month. He promised himself to broach the subject as soon as he had the opportunity.
Aside from that, he was beyond glad to have her by his side.
Jade Masters had asked for a week’s leave from the Unit to accompany Joe on his return trip to Kansas, to the General’s strong hesitation. Jade was Walsh’s aide-de-camp and had become near indispensable to the old man. But she’d made the case to the General that Joe needed her more than Walsh, at least for the immediate future. At last, after much insistence on Jade’s part, the General had relented. Joe had a hunch that Walsh’s ulterior motive for allowing her to accompany him was to make sure he stayed on his meds. Whatever the reason was, the two had set off on Braddock’s new ride—traveling across the States to Joe’s childhood home outside of Scott City. Jade had spent most of her life on either the west coast or abroad in other countries; she’d never visited the heartlands before.
It took two minutes from the turnoff to arrive at the Braddock homestead. Located square in the middle of nowhere, amidst a sea of desolate farmland, was the home where Joe had grown up. Consisting of a simple two-story house built sometime in the early forties, it was handed down to Joe’s father after his great grandfather had built it after World War I. Still sturdy after all these years, it stood out like a monument of history. An old chicken coop and cow pen stood off to the side, along with several grain silos, rusted and ancient looking. A large barn colored a faded orange stood behind the house, forlorn and dilapidated.
Just as I remembered it.
Joe eased the bike toward the front of the house before killing the engine. Instantly the world was plunged into an aching silence, as the barren plain around them seemed to suck all of the noise into itself.
Home again.
Joe sat for a moment, his body unsure how to react. He felt Jade get off the bike behind him.
What will I say? he thought. Facing an army of Olympus Centurions was easier than this. Jade removed her helmet and pushed her silky black hair away from her sweaty brow.
“So this is it, huh?” she said, taking a long look around the homestead, “It’s so quiet.”
“I know,” Joe dropped the kickstand and stood up, removing his own helmet, “You get used to it.” His brown hair—growing longer now that he was on leave—clung to his forehead. His face was marked with various scars from his many battles, the largest being the wicked one that carved through his left eyebrow. He knew his Ma would pitch a fit over that one.
He was no longer the wide-eyed boy that had left almost thirteen years ago to chase his lifelong dream of becoming a soldier. He’d seen things that no one in the tiny community of Scott City would ever believe. If it didn’t have something to do with the latest John Deere tractor or weather report, the folks there wouldn’t even care.
As the two companions made their way toward the farmhouse, the screen door on the raised porch opened. Out stepped a woman in her mid-sixties, with long dark hair heavily streaked with gray. A thousand-watt smile broke across her face.
“Joe! Oh, welcome home!”
Liza Braddock rushed down off the porch and swept Joe into a hug.
Joe hugged his mother close. “It’s good to see you too, Ma.”
Stepping back, her eyes filled with tears, Liza Braddock wiped her face on her sleeve. “I just…I never thought I would see you again.”
“I know Ma, I’m sorry.” Joe looked around the homestead before asking, “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s around. Tom was fixing the chicken coop last I checked.”
A gruff sounding voice came from the side of the house, “Well there’s a sight!”
Thomas Braddock came marching toward the trio. Joe’s face lit up at the sight of his burly adopted father. In his left hand was a pair of pliers. His other arm, merely a stump after being lost in the later days of Vietnam, was held pinned inside his corduroy shirtsleeve. On his bald dome, he wore an old battered Kansas City Scouts hockey cap.
Joe took a deep breath, not sure what to say to his father. “Hey Dad,” was all he could muster.
Thomas dropped the pliers onto the porch before joining his wife. Without a single word, his Pa threw his arm around his son.
“I missed you, Joe. Dammit, boy we missed you!”
Joe felt tears of his own welling in his eyes. He returned the hug, clasping the old man tight. At length, Joe let go of his father and turned to introduce his lady.
“Ma, Dad, this is Jade Masters.”
Jade smiled and held out her hand, “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”
“Oh my dear, let’s not stand on manners.” Liza gathered Jade into a huge hug, surprising the Peacemaker. Letting Jade go, Liza turned to her son, “Joseph, why didn’t you tell me she was gorgeous?”
“Ma!” Joe stammered.
“Oh shush. Tell me, Jade, how did this grim boy of mine snag a lovely thing like you?”
Jade blushed. “It’s…a really long story.”
Thomas looked over at the Indian Chief Classic. “Hell of a ride, Joe. Where do you keep your luggage?”
“Oh, we ah, packed kind of light.” Joe removed the small set of duffle bags on the back of the bike.
“Here, boy, let me.” Before Joe could refuse, Thomas had snatched the bags with his single hand and was hauling them into the house. “Your Mama has lunch ready. Maybe after you can help me with that chicken coop, huh?”
Liza followed Thomas up the porch and into the house. “Oh Tom, leave him alone. They’ve had a long trip, let the two lovebirds have a break…”
Joe smiled.
Chicken coop.
Right.
“They’re lovely,” Jade said as she slid up beside him, “And you were worried about coming here.”
“I’m still worried,” Joe said, his voice hushed, “Don’t let my Ma get you alone; she’ll move heaven and earth to get you in a game of Scrabble.”
“Admit it,” Jade said, disregarding the jibe, “You’re glad you came.”
“Fine. I admit it. But as soon as my dad starts talking about the consistency of chicken droppings, I’m gone.”
“You’re such a dope. Don’t ever change, huh?” Jade kissed him on the cheek as they entered the Braddock farmhouse, the scent of fresh bread and corn filling their noses.
* * *
“Can you hand me the carving knife there, hun?”
Jade looked over at the set of black hilted knives hanging on the kitchen wall. She passed the largest one to Liza Braddock, who set about chopping a bunch of carrots for dinner. Jade set herself to the task of peeling the potatoes with a small paring knife. It was a refreshing change to handle and prepare fresh food like this. Back at the Cottage, she would probably be sitting down to whatever so-called fo
od the cooks had whipped up in the café. To be honest, Jade couldn’t remember the last home cooked meal she’d had. “Lunch was amazing,” she said, dropping a potato into a sink full of clean water, “We don’t really get meals like that in the forces.”
“Lunches here are always the bigger meal, Jade. You’re so thin, it’s a wonder they feed you at all…wherever you and Joe have been staying.”
Jade didn’t answer, not wanting to bring up the fact that her slender frame was a result of living in destitute Africa for several years while she helped command the rebel forces of Donald Muzenda. That life seemed like an eon ago to Jade. She shoved the hard memories aside and focused on her simple task of preparing dinner.
She’d only been on the farm for a few hours, but Jade had loved every minute of it. This was just the getaway she’d hoped for. Some women would have wanted to go to some tropical paradise somewhere, surrounded by people they didn’t know. But here, in the heartland of America, she found true relaxation. Liza and Thomas had made her feel instantly at home. They were without a doubt the two kindest people Jade had met in ages.
Jade especially liked Liza Braddock. Still young and spritely for her age, she moved around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, knowing every inch like it was second nature. She would hum to herself as she worked, baking this or chopping that.
“Do you get many visitors out here?” Jade asked, dropping another potato into the sink.
“Not so much these days, hun. Most of the neighbors have either moved away or into town. When Tom retired—what, four years ago now—we rented out the land to another farmer some miles away. It was getting too hard for Tom to keep up with the yields required to maintain a farm, so we cashed in early and…here we are. He stays busy with Legion friends and I run an online crafting business.”