Return of Victory

by Justin Sloan

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Legal

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - Justin Sloan

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Social Links

  Justin Sloan Book List

  Michael Anderle Series List

  DEDICATION

  From Justin

  To Ugulay, Verona and Brendan Sloan

  From Michael

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  RETURN OF VICTORY

  Reclaiming Honor Team

  JIT Beta Readers

  Kelly ODonnell

  Peter Manis

  Joshua Ahles

  Kimberly Boyer

  Paul Westman

  If we missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  Thank you to the following Special Consultants

  Jeff Morris - US Army - Asst Professor Cyber-Warfare, Nuclear Munitions (Active)

  W.W.D.E

  RETURN OF VICTORY (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2017 Justin Sloan and Michael T. Anderle

  Cover by Mario Wibisono

  https://www.artstation.com/artist/mario_wibisono

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact info@kurtherianbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, October, 2017

  The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Over the Atlantic

  Valerie had never realized that being alone with her thoughts would be so cathartic, but sailing across the Atlantic by herself certainly provided that opportunity. After her comm device went on the fritz halfway across, she was left staring out at the darkness to the west. She just wished the airship would hurry the hell up so she could get to New York before war broke out.

  A part of her still believed there would be a way to mitigate this fire that her friends had started, but the rest of her thought that a final war to end it all wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Pull out all the rats and cut off their heads, so that they and the disease they had brought upon the lands would be gone once and for all.

  That wasn’t all she thought about, though, as she sailed. She thought about how she had almost returned to the military compound where she was raised, how she could have very easily touched down in Old Paris and visited her old haunts, searching out clues to her life before she was turned into a vampire. Now that those thoughts were in the past, she realized what a trap such actions would have been. Could she ever have escaped? Even if she had physically departed, she was certain she wouldn’t have left mentally.

  It was time to accept that she was a new person, that she had moved on.

  Michael’s Justice Enforcer wouldn’t meander about in her old life. She’d be on the front edge making a difference. For now, that meant defending New York for what she hoped was the final time. After that? She had no idea.

  Two thoughts occurred to her, though, as she sailed back. The first was the question of how she would explain the whole situation with faking her own death in New York, if she had to do so. She supposed simply telling the truth would work. The second was about Robin and having left her up north in Toronto. She wasn’t regretting that, but she wondered about her, about how they had become romantically involved to begin with. Here she was, this super-powerful vampire, taking a younger, less-experience vampire under her wing, and they had become somewhat involved. Nothing too serious, though it had been glorious. She would never forget the way the woman had kissed her after taking down Slaver’s Peak, but they hadn’t even gone as far as her and Jackson, and even that wasn’t much. Still, had it been wrong of her?

  She tried to put herself in Robin’s shoes, and wanted to hit herself. A powerful older vampire comes along and gives you oogly-eyes? It would be pretty damned hard to resist. Imagine if Michael, after helping her take down Donovan, had swept her up in his arms and pressed his lips against hers. There was no way she would’ve been able to refuse. In fact, she thought about it now, imagining the strength, how it would’ve felt, his tongue—NO! She laid back in the one-woman airship, closing her eyes and sighing.

  Promise Number One to herself was never have thoughts like that again. He was with Bethany Anne, in a sense. Two vampires that, as far as Valerie knew, could read minds. Best to figure out how to picture Michael as her grandfather or something, so she didn’t get her head ripped off by a jealous lover. Ah, shit, best not to think of Bethany Anne as a jealous lover, either, Valerie thought. Another way to likely get her head torn off.

  For a moment she pondered the idea of the infamous Bethany Anne, wondering if she really was the type to tear heads off or if Valerie was letting the old rumors of her vampire days with the Forsaken get the best of her.

  Promise Number Two time. She swore to herself right then and there to not let romance stuff get in the way of her duty, and to not let herself get in a position where her power might influence someone to go for her.

  Promise Number Three. She was going to kick so much ass here that no motherfuckers would ever consider attacking her, her people, or anyplace in this hemisphere ever again. The sound of her feet hitting asses would reverberate across the world, she decided, so that even those back in Europe, Asia, and everywhere else would think twice.

  It seemed like she had been sailing for an eternity. But as a gust of wind rocked the ship, she thought she saw something in the distance. Land! She jumped up and whooped, unable to contain her excitement.

  “Did you miss me?” she asked as the ‘something’ grew larger and she could make out the tall buildings and city lights of New York.

  She was back, and ready for action.

  ***

  The comm device buzzed at Sandra’s side and she leaped up, reaching for it, annoyed that Diego wasn’t there to grab it for her. They had agreed, however, that it was best to take turns at HQ, being ready and making plans for this war that was supposedly going to happen.

  All they had so far was the threat Diego had returned with. An army of nomads, wackos, Forsaken and Weres was out there and had teamed up to declare war on New York. While Sandra and the other members of the New York Council were taking every possible precaution—i
ncluding recalling Valerie and even reaching out to Colonel Walton—they didn’t really know how large a force they were up against.

  “Valerie?” Sandra asked, having seen the name on the device but still too excited to really believe it.

  “It’s me, yeah.”

  “What the hell? I’ve been trying to get through to you.”

  “No need, I’m here.”

  Sandra held the comm device out and stared at it, then pulled it back and said, “Wait…here? You made it? Like, ‘in New York’ here?”

  “As in ‘I flew straight back from Europe and am landing in New York as we speak,’ yes. That ‘here.’” Valerie laughed, which reminded Sandra how much she had missed that laugh. “Where do you need me?”

  Sandra thought about this a moment, then said, “Meet me at HQ. We have to brief you on the situation.”

  “Sure, but first—I don’t suppose you’ve seen Cammie and Royland?”

  With a sigh, Sandra replied, “That’s part of the situation. I’ll tell you when you get there.”

  “Sandra…”

  “Yes, okay? She made it, but she’s not here now. She went out to…gather intel.”

  “Gather intel?” Valerie asked.

  “In a sense.”

  “Sandra, so help me—”

  “Okay, okay.” Sandra hadn’t wanted to tell Valerie and get her worked up, not until they were all in a room discussing it rationally. Too late. “The short version is, there’s a community out there, one of our new allies, and we think they’ll be hit first by the attack. Cammie and Royland had meant to go back to the island, but when they heard what was potentially happening, they volunteered to take a small force and go to the front lines, in a sense.”

  “Oh my God, Sandra, and you let them?”

  “Hey, I’ve tried talking Cammie out of things before. She’s as pig-headed as you are.”

  “I’m going after them.”

  “See?” Sandra chuckled despite herself. “Pig-headed. At least come by HQ first, get briefed. Then we can make decisions.”

  “The decision’s made,” Valerie replied. “But sure, I want to see you first anyway. I’ll be there in ten. But if I am ten minutes too late to help them…”

  “I can’t wait to see you too,” Sandra said and hung up, then rolled out of bed, hoping this stupid nausea would go away soon.

  CHAPTER TWO

  El Diablo

  Cammie glanced around the desert landscape and the town known as El Diablo. It was pressed up against a small hill with dead trees at the top that resembled devil horns, which looked especially ominous silhouetted against the night.

  The first thing she had done was come to New York looking for Valerie. When she learned that Sandra had been in touch with her and that Valerie was heading for New York, her first instinct had been to stay there and wait. But the more she heard about the situation, the upcoming predicament, the more she realized that they had to get ahead of this war situation.

  So here she was, with Sergeant Garcia and Royland. They had told the others that anyone who wanted to return to the island up north could take off that day. The rest would stay in New York to help fight.

  Nobody had left.

  It still amazed her that she had gone from the Badlands to this, and what a journey it had been. Now she had Royland at her side, and a group of close friends at her back. While she had felt like quite the badass before, now she stood tall, looking around this land as if nothing could touch her. Like she was on top of the world.

  A crunch of rocks on hard dirt sounded behind her and she looked around to see Garcia stepping up next to her. His broad shoulders gave him an imposing silhouette, but he was just one more of her new friends, one more fighter who was with her to kick ass and not bother with the names. Garcia was the only one of the small group to travel out here today who had been here with Diego.

  “That’s Micky,” Garcia pointed out the large man in a leather jacket walking toward them.

  “And he’s on our side?” Royland asked to be sure.

  “This place smells like the devil’s butt crack,” Cammie noted, scrunching her nose as a gust of wind carried sand and more of that smell. “They should’ve called the city that instead. El Diablo’s Butt Crack.”

  Garcia shook his head at Royland for chuckling. “Don’t laugh at her jokes just ‘cause she’s your girl, first of all. Second, don’t say that kind of shit in front of them, and third…that’s not how you say butt crack in Spanish.”

  She turned to him, waiting, but he didn’t offer the translation.

  “Good to see you again, big guy,” Garcia said, turning to welcome Micky.

  The large man nodded, then climbed up to the ledge where they stood. “What, too chicken-shit to just walk into town and see if you get shot or not?”

  “Damn.” Garcia laughed. “After our welcome last time, I thought maybe you’d want to try to fight Cammie here before deciding if you trust her.”

  Micky scoffed, but looked at her from the corner of his eye.

  “Try me,” she said, smiling and revealing teeth that grew sharp as he watched.

  “Diego got a sex change?” Mickey looked her up and down, ignoring the growl that came from Royland.

  Cammie laughed. “I like this big dude, Garcia. Where’d you find him?”

  “Tried to crack my skull open, that’s where.” Garcia replied.

  “And we’ve been best friends ever since,” Micky added. “Well, ever since you soundly kicked my butt, right?”

  “Trust me,” Garcia leaned in, conspiratorially, “if I could take you, you wouldn’t stand a chance against either of these two. So we can skip that whole challenge part, right?”

  The man had a hungry look in his eyes, but nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. Where is Diego, though?”

  “His woman wouldn’t let him come back out to play,” Garcia answered with a sneer.

  “Sounds like a smart woman. He still wearing my vest?”

  Garcia chuckled and nodded.

  “No troubles yet?” Cammie asked.

  Micky shook his head. “A couple of skirmishes—scouts, I think. And…we might be being watched. But those shit-lickers show their ugly mugs around here, we’re ready.”

  “So, there’s no chance of you all simply coming back with us to New York?” Royland asked, although they had been over this in the airship on the way over more than once.

  They had brought the airship so that they could ferry people if needed, versus a Pod that would only fit a few of them. The way they figured it, at some point the people might change their minds, especially if the fighting got really bad.

  “Wish I could say there was,” Micky replied. “These people are loyal to their homes. Many don’t even think we have anything to worry about. Way they see it, we’ve survived out here this long, we’ll survive a little longer.”

  “Damn hubris,” Royland muttered, but said no more after a glance from Cammie.

  “Well, mister,” she nodded toward the town, “I suppose we’d better see this place that’s so very precious.”

  Micky laughed. “I’m sure it will live up to your expectations. Come on.”

  He led the way past some huts to another large man who introduced himself as Arturo. A redhead poked her head out of a doorway and blew a kiss to Micky, then waved to Garcia before ducking back in. Cammie saw as the door closed that she’d only been in a towel.

  “At least you still take baths out here,” Cammie noted.

  “Ha. Only in our enemy’s blood.” Micky winked, and Arturo laughed.

  They turned a corner as Micky explained to his buddy who Cammie and Royland were, and then a man came charging up and plowed into Arturo. Fists started flying and more of the townsfolk emerged, some rubbing their eyes. They had already gone to bed, apparently, but everyone wanted to see what the commotion was.

  Cammie sprang to an offensive stance and was about to charge in, thinking this might be part of the attack, when Micky put a h
and on her shoulder.

  “Relax, Arturo just slept with the other’s girl. Happens quite often out here, or the other way around. Shit, at this point, all of El Diablo has—”

  “We get the picture,” Garcia interrupted.

  “Hey, now,” Cammie scolded him. “Let the man tell us about all the incest going on here. I’m curious.”

  “I never said anything about no incest,” Micky replied, frowning. “Ain’t none of that happening around here.”

  “Well, good. Maybe you all can stop fucking and fighting each other long enough to help us kill those assholes out there?”

  Micky considered this, then shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.” He strode forward and clocked the attacker so hard that the guy fell over unconscious, and stepped up to Arturo.

  “It’s done!” Micky shouted, finger pointed at his chest. “Got that?”

  “He…” Arturo glared, hands still balled into fists.

  Micky stared him down until Arturo backed off, and then Micky turned to address the crowd. “Our new friends have a point. For the next few days, or until this’s over, we need to pull together, be ready to fight. This isn’t about any of us separately, but all of us together!”

  A couple of them nodded and others grumbled, but none seemed too eager.

  He shook his head, jaw jutting out, then turned back to Cammie and motioned for her and her team to follow.

  They went through a low-hanging door into an old house that had been converted into a bar. It still had a couch and a fireplace, but the back half of the room was tables and chairs.