Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1)

by Andre Roberts

  Maria folded her arms. “General, I’m here to help you, I’m the angel sent here to help you.” She glanced back at the four uniformed men with rifles trained on her.

  The general’s mouth fell open as his grip faltered on the weapon. He tucked the big gun into his waistband, maneuvered around the desk and fell to his knees. Maria gazed down on him.

  “Please forgive me, ma’am.”

  Maria’s face turned crimson. She grabbed the general by his forearm and helped the silver haired man to his feet. The gunshots resembled gentle pokes to her belly. The burnt odor bothered her most and her ears still rung from the shots. “Come now, Peter. We all make mistakes once in awhile,” she said. “Besides, we need to deal with a bigger problem than you shooting me.”

  The general rose to his feet as the Delta Force soldiers lowered their weapons and placed their hands behind their backs. He gestured towards a chair. “Take a seat please.”

  Maria sat. “Are you leaving for Denver, general?” Her eyes flirted over the numerous decorations hung on his office walls.

  General Peter Orlando sat behind his desk. “We’re preparing the troops now. By tonight, we will load up on the C130 transports and head for the San Jose airport to gather some National Guard people, and we’re off to Denver. Did the enemy leave Los Angeles?”

  “Some parts of their army left with intentions to slow down the Marines. Another company left to take San Francisco. The company heading to San Francisco may take longer to get to the city, so we must do what we can to stop their advance north.”

  “What are they trying to do to San Francisco?” Peter Orlando folded his heavy hands on the desk.

  “They need more recruits, general. They plan to recruit while moving north. Those who refuse their offer are going to die.” She shook her head. “When we land in San Jose, we need to send a portion of your regiment to stop Lord Goth.”

  “You’re asking me to go off mission?”

  “No, general. Denver is still your mission, our mission. We need to divert enough troops to stop Goth from reaching San Francisco. Understood?”

  General Orlando nodded. “I understand.”

  “They are being led by a demon named Lord Goth, he’s one of General Temeculus’s heralds,” Maria said. She smiled as the man’s intelligent green eyes clouded over.

  “He’s the white skeleton thing they showed on CNN?”

  “No, he’s Lord Wrath. Wrath is a heavy hitter.”

  “I received a call from the president about an angel arriving, but you’re wearing Wrangler jeans, a jean vest, and holding a cowboy hat in your hands.” His eyebrows knitted. “Do angels dress the way you do?”

  Maria laughed. “I can be terrible, general, but I’m trying to make you more comfortable.”

  “You also speak with a Spanish accent.”

  Maria gave the general a warm smile. “I’m from Mexico. But that’s a long story,” she said and waved her hand. She wanted to go home. She missed her mother, father, and grandmother.

  The general nodded. “The day will be long, ma’am. You can stay here for the night in my office. I will be busy. If you want chow I’ll bring the food to you, otherwise the base is all yours.”

  “Thank you, General Orlando.”

  The general stood from his seat and outstretched a strong hand lined with scars. She stood and they shook, one warrior to another. The general left his office with the soldiers in tow.

  Maria remained alone in the office. Her eyes studied the many awards the general earned. She approached the window and focused on the organized activity below. Her mind drifted to her next battle. With each breath she shoved her fear further and further away.

  36

  Sergeant Tobias Green poured over his maps when the Hummer radio crackled with frantic activity. Static filled voices blared over the speakers. Staccato gunfire reached his ears. He pulled himself from his uncomfortable seat and realized the convoy rolled to a halt. Marines from the lead vehicles charged pass his Hummer and headed for the firefight to his rear.

  “Charlie Romeo. Charlie Romeo,” a voice said over his radio speaker.

  Tobias picked up the press to talk handset. “Go for Charlie Romeo.”

  “Charlie Romeo, we need your element back here ASAP, we need to slow the OPFOR down to get the colonel out, how copy over?”

  “That’s a good copy, Alpha Tree.”

  Green stepped out the Hummer and waved his right hand over his head, his men gathered around him. “Listen up, Marines, trouble is here. So we’re turning around to slow their advance. Mount up and head out.” His men dashed back to their Hummers. He mounted his own and ordered his driver to head for the fight.

  Green rechecked his weapon as the private performed a U-turn. The other convoy vehicles pulled out to continue their journey to Denver. Ahead, gunfire cracked and popped. Smoke rose in thick black plumes. Vehicles burned. Green and red tracer rounds crisscrossed between both groups as they fought each other.

  Sergeant Green stepped from his vehicle. He gave clear orders to his Marines as shouts and explosions filled the air. His men ran forward to take up positions. Bullets buzzed by his head like giant wasps. He found cover behind an abandoned yellow van and scanned the battlefield covered with deserted cars left parked along the freeway. He didn’t pay attention to the vehicles when they drove by them minutes ago, his thoughts delved deep into his new angelic role in the universe.

  Tobias aimed his weapon and peered through his A.C.O.G scope. He set the scope crosshairs on men dressed in black military uniforms who shot at the Marines. He squeezed the trigger and dropped a few to the dirt. Blood burst from enemy wounds in red geysers.

  A hard explosion shook the ground underneath Tobias’s feet. From his right, an Abrams tank lumbered around the enemy fighters. The gunner atop the heavy tank worked the fifty-caliber machinegun. Enemy bodies fell or popped off the ground like rag dolls. Some exploded into red mist once hit by the large caliber rounds.

  The convoy, six hours out from Camp Pendleton, moved too fast for any enemy to catch up. The logistics did not make sense to the Marine who stared his enemy in their black clad faces.

  Tobias ordered his men back. Another behemoth tank rolled into view, this one’s turret swung towards the enemy and fired a round. If the tanks wanted to battle, he would give them all the space they needed. A bang came from his right. The attacking enemy troops fell back as a black dot burst from the dust and smoke.

  The rocket struck a Marine tank in the flank and destroyed its tracks. More gunfire erupted from his front.

  Controlled chaos, those words filled Gunnery Sergeant Tobias Green’s head. Explosions and gunfire cracked the air. He kept his head on a constant swivel and fought to remain focused. He fired into the dust, smoke, and enemy bodies across from him. He decided to use the skills he managed to become comfortable with. He decided to become an angel of war.

  A scream came from his right. A Marine went down, bright red sprayed from the wounded man’s neck. He leaped forward to help as a medic appeared. The medic pulled bandages from his bulky pockets and dropped to his knees to aid his wounded comrade. More explosions erupted on the Marine side.

  The tank nearest to him with the destroyed track exploded. The blast along with the shockwave hurtled his body into the hot air.

  Sergeant Green came to a violent stop atop a wrecked car. Dazed, his ears rung and vision blurred. Above him, Marine souls fled into the air like white vapors. Black smoke roiled into the sky where the medic and the fallen troop once been. The hit tank burned, small secondary explosions popped off from the twisted black metal consumed in flames.

  He checked to find his uniform singed black and in tatters. Shrapnel, jagged and white-hot, peppered his muscled thighs and chest, blood streamed from the multiple wounds.

  Green’s eyes widened. He yanked the hot shrapnel from his chest and legs. He tossed the jagged pieces aside, steam curled up from his bloody wounds. He reached for his M4 rifle and found the weapon
shattered with a bent barrel. The plastic rifle butt and hand guard rendered to slithers. Another blast ripped through the air, this time a tank round flashed by his head.

  A hot trail seared his face. His skin turned red, crisped to black.

  Anger filled Sergeant Green. His shredded digital uniform evaporated, replaced by plain silver armor etched with muscle. A silver metal tunic wrapped around his slender waist followed by silver greaves over his shins and forearms. Leather sandals adorned his feet. He drew his sword from its sheath, sunlight played off its bright edge.

  Tobias lifted his head and gave a war cry. His military crew cut grew out into long brown hair. The burn on his face and the wounds on his body healed. His hard eyes fell upon the enemy soldiers clad in black jumpsuits.

  Juggernaut rose to his feet and plunged his angelic body into the smoke and dust. His muscles hardened throughout his body as if Leonardo Divinci chiseled away at him. With sword in hand, he raced between the Marines to meet head on the enemy soldiers General Temeculus recruited. He drove and hacked his silver edged blade into mortal flesh. Red anger unfurled in his mind. The enemy’s death screams graced his ears.

  He unleashed his killer instinct. To him, the slaughter gave him freedom. The enemy shrieks filled the heated air as blood and body parts splashed to the ground.

  A black M60 tank rumbled forward and swung its long turret towards the angel lost in butchery. The dark muzzle exploded red flames. A concussive shock wave buffeted the air. A round rocketed toward Juggernaut and slammed into his chest.

  The angel grunted once the round drove into his body. His sword flipped away from his hand, his ribs crunched in his chest. His strong hands seized the superhot metal. The skin on his palms sizzled as the round hurtled him back at a terrific speed. He outstretched his powerful wings, slowed his momentum, twisted in midair, and hurtled the round into a building.

  The shell exploded. Masonry and glass crashed to the ground, the blast turned the building into rubble.

  Juggernaut landed on his feet enraged. He staggered forward a few steps and charged the huge black tank. The gunner perched atop the tank fired his fifty-caliber machine gun. Red tracers raced by the angel, a few rounds struck and glanced off his silver armor. He leaned forward and drove his muscled shoulder into the sixty-ton tank.

  With gritted teeth, he shouldered the black tank off its tracked wheels. He pushed with all his might until the armor flipped over upon its top like a giant turtle.

  Juggernaut spun as two black tanks headed for him. He reached out with his right hand. His fingers splayed as his sword hurtled across the air towards him. The dangerous blade spun through gritty dust and black smoke, gleamed pass a Marine’s begrimed face and landed in the angel’s strong grasp.

  “Get back,” he shouted towards the Marines who scattered to cover. Juggernaut’s powerful wings spread out behind him. He took to the air for several seconds and landed between the massive machines. He sliced the turrets off both tanks with two clean strokes. Heavy gunfire continued to crack around him.

  Bullets struck his armor as he leaped upon one tank and sliced off the gunner’s head. He snatched up the decapitated head and flung the dead object like a rock to kill the second gunner. Juggernaut leaped from the tank. The enemy troops fled, followed by the two damaged tanks. The Marine Abrams fired at each enemy tank, blasting them into flames and mangled metal.

  Juggernaut surveyed the damage as the enemy vanished like ghosts. He glimpsed a pale rider in the skies who pointed a rusty sword at the angel. Juggernaut raised his sword into the air and aimed its tip toward the angel from Hell. He realized how the enemy traveled so fast, Lord Wrath. He turned around. The Marines fell silent, awe struck at his transformation.

  They stood confused at why their gunnery sergeant wore ancient silver armor and held a bright sword in one powerful hand. Even the tankers atop their armor stared down upon him in astonishment. Their grime smeared faces wore wide eyes and jaw dropped mouths. Harsh black smoke continued to curl around them.

  One young Marine found the courage to step forward. “Gunny Green. Who are you?”

  Juggernaut placed a hand on his shoulder. “My other name is Juggernaut, private. I’m an angel,” he said and patted the young man’s face. “Let’s collect our dead and head to Denver. We need not worry about the enemy for a while.”

  Juggernaut took a glance over his shoulder. His heart told him the next battle would not be so easy.

  37

  Lord Goth broke from the bleak gray clouds as his small company traveled north on Highway 101 towards San Francisco. From his vantage point above, the convoy stretched along the highway like a black snake. He witnessed those who tried to escape California and his two hundred soldiers.

  People bolted from their cars and ran at their approach. Others gave up, throwing their hands into the air and falling to their knees. Several trucks and busses waited to take the converts back to Los Angeles for the sixty-six to be burned into their foreheads. Those who refused to join the Black Army found themselves gunned down where they stood or knelt.

  Goth settled atop a church campanile and wrapped his large bat wings around his powerful body. His red eyes poured over the sights spread out beneath him. His men gathered entire families together and killed them if they denied Satan. Blood ran thick in the streets and gutters. A few firefights erupted between his men and the locals who decided to take up arms and defend themselves.

  His men slaughtered their fellow mortals without mercy.

  Goth’s red eyes gleamed in delight as his soldiers tortured both men and women. He howled with laughter. His deep voice laid a dark blanket over all below. Pride swelled his hairy chest as his troops conducted their bloody work. His men erected crude crucifixes along the freeway, to both punish those who denied Satan, and to spread fear among those who wished to escape.

  The soldiers nailed both the dead and dying upon the torturous rigs. The crucified screamed and begged for mercy. His soldiers laughed at their horror. Goth savored the chaos below, and loved how the madness spread rampant like a disease.

  People ran from them in droves.

  His troops, methodical and black hearted, worked under his strict orders to kill and crucify. He wanted to take San Francisco, and sit atop the Trans America building like a conqueror as the city burned around him.

  Lord Goth leaped from the campanile. His bat wings spread out. He drew his sword from its human skin sheath and landed amongst the madness. Screams filled his ears. People continued their mad run, both to escape his men, and his nightmarish visage.

  One man pulled a gun and shot himself in the head. Others stretched out before him in prostration. They trembled like tiny dogs and spoke the words he savored. They gave their souls to Lucifer. These he walked by, his men hauled their worthless souls away.

  To the south crucifixes lined the highway. Victims slumped and died while others struggled like maggots against the railroad ties driven into their wrists and feet. In the distance, thick clouds broke long enough to show the sun dip below the western hills. The sky turned a blood orange. Shadows fell and stretched over his men and the tortured alike and threw their twisted shadows against the earth like the damned in Hell.

  Goth nodded his approval at the horrors. Northbound, deserted cars and people clogged the highway to escape the hungry madness in pursuit. He lighted next to a man nailed upon a crude crucifix made from telephone poles. He lifted his serrated blade and in one stroke, slit open his belly. The victim’s guttural screams hit the air as the monster swallowed the hot wet innards.

  The demon, whose muzzle now washed in red gore, wallowed in the terror. He enjoyed the death he delivered upon the land created by God. Goth recognized one savior of humanity. He dwelled below in his mansion in Hell, where souls lived and served the universe one true creator forever. His eyes locked on the souls who screamed along the roads and ran from their homes.

  Goth considered all humans worms. God’s creation, and a rampant pestilence
like lice upon the earth.

  Goth lifted his head. “Why run from your doom? Embrace my father in Hell and relish true glory. Stop and kneel to save yourselves, for when you kneel later, your heads will roll upon the ground.”

  Still they ran in all directions. In the west, the sky turned a dark purple as the unnatural darkness spread towards the army lost in bloodlust.

  Lord Goth replaced his bloodstained sword and licked the gore from his gruesome face with a long black tongue. His men removed the derelict cars left stranded on the road and siphoned gas from their tanks. Another group lined the Hummers and trucks in a neat convoy. Above his head sat a green signpost with directions to San Jose. Two hundred miles, stenciled in white bold letters along its front with arrows pointing north.

  The demon bared his hideous blood stained teeth. He hoped the next towns would supply him with enough souls to thicken his ranks. The last few cities and towns disappointment him, he killed more than he kept.

  “My lord,” a voice rose from behind Lord Goth’s wide back.

  “Speak,” he said.

  “The convoy is ready, sir. Transport trucks are also ready.”

  Goth studied the captain’s work. Stolen commuter buses packed with converts headed south to Los Angeles. “Good, Captain Stolatii. Now give the order to move out.”

  Captain Stolatii walked away and barked his orders. The demon nodded his horned head and turned his gaze north. Once he conquered San Francisco, his ultimate dream to invade Heaven would draw closer.

  38

  When Daisy Lane escaped Los Angeles, she never took a good long stare at Hell’s Cathedral. At two thousand feet high, the cathedral towered above the city like a middle finger thrown at both Heaven and humanity. The blood red sky brought an extra gloom to Hell’s Cathedral.