Jacob realized the bigger picture now. He’d always imagined the Chancellor shaking in his boots when he heard other nations rallying against him. This was not the impression he got from Venloran right now. This man was far from backing down.
“I have a question for you. Of course, you don’t have to answer it, but hopefully you’ll come to appreciate its importance before you die. Do you, Jacob, or any of you for that matter, believe your cause is worthy of starting a world war?”
Venloran waited for a response and none gave him one. He was dissatisfied by this, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. He stepped back before he addressed them again. “Sgt. Flemming, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Flemming. He began to pace in front of the prisoners.
“You people have reached the end of the line. You have been given the gracious gift of being given an honorable death instead of dying in the streets like dogs. Consider this a privilege,” he said as he walked back and forth in front of them.” Your cooperation will mean more than just your life, but also the lives of the men and women around you. If you wish to speak, do so now.”
Flemming paused at Jacob Neeson, pleased to see remorse in the Crimson Angel’s eyes.
“You can all ask Neeson here for pointers. He’s had quite a few run-ins with us, but I’m bettin’ this will be his last.”
Jacob had no reaction to this, at least not a verbal one. Instead, he spat on Flemming’s boots.
Jacob, what the hell are you doing?! Nusaybah thought. The lieutenant appeared as calm as ever, and to her shock, so did Flemming. He looked at his Chancellor, his face stoic. Venloran sighed and nodded.
“Only one, Sergeant.”
“Understood, Chancellor.”
Flemming turned back to the prisoners, a beaming smile on his face. He got his arm ready, giddy with excitement. Jacob readied his body for punishment. The sergeant put a hand on Jacob’s cheek, patting him gently. Every soldier was watching now. Adar only looked forward.
Flemming used his pointer finger and placed it on Malik’s chest. He then playfully shoved the man backward. The smile on his face was the opposite of the dread and confusion on Malik’s.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Jacob demanded.
Flemming ignored him and pushed Malik again. The shove was a little more forceful this time, but not enough to knock him down. The sergeant stepped in close again, this time Malik stepping backward.
“Please, don’t!” Nusaybah pleaded.
Flemming backhanded his victim. Even though it looked passive, the sound it made was enough to make everyone cringe. Malik stumbled backward but remained on his feet. Everyone saw a few of his teeth lying in the grass around him. Flemming slapped him again, this time harder. Much harder.
Malik was ready to fall, but Flemming caught him by his shirt. Just as the others got ready to act, UNR soldiers held them back. All they could do was watch as Flemming battered Malik with strike after strike.
“Malik!” cried Nusaybah.
“Enough!” yelled Jacob.
Adar didn’t try to stop what was going on. He didn’t even protest it, but he watched without ever turning away. He saw the blood dribble from Malik’s nose and swollen lips, saw the bruises grow and darken; all the while, Flemming propped him up for more. His eyes watered as he craved so badly to look away. He did not allow himself to.
By now Malik’s face was unrecognizable. His jaw looked broken and both his eyes were swollen shut. Flemming let him drop to the wet grass and pulled out his pistol. He heard the prisoners screaming at him and felt everyone’s eyes on him, but he dwelled on only one thing: the men and women he’d lost tonight.
Malik rolled on to his side and used his elbow to prop himself up. He assumed it was over and he’d be allowed to return to the lineup with the others. He was right about one thing: it was over.
Flemming fired once, right into Malik’s face. He then holstered his gun and looked at Jacob again.
“I repeat, your cooperation will mean more than just your life, but also the lives of the men and women around you. Smart asses always learn the hard way.”
Venloran began to walk toward the chopper, Kearney following. The crying and yelling was inconsequential to him. So were the shortcomings of tonight. They had enough ammunition for the International Summit, and that was what mattered most.
About the Author
Joshua Aaron Landeros, though preferably Josh, is an upcoming author in the science fiction genre. He lives in the small town of Perris and is currently a student at UCR majoring in history administrative studies and minoring in English. He enjoys coffee, brewery exploration, quoting movies profusely, and reading comics. End of Knighthood is part of an ongoing series. The final part is looking at a late 2017 release.
Please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads to let Josh know what you thought of the entry. Reader feedback is always appreciated and thanks again.
Also, check out his website to sign up for the mailing list to receive the latest news and exclusive offers!
End of Knighthood Part III: Ballad of Demise
After a humiliating defeat at the hands of Chancellor Venloran, the remaining freedom fighters lick their wounds and must decide on their next course of action. Will urges for them to fight on, but none of them are aware of his true agenda. The Wolf now has a new master, and he has been given his first command: slaughter the innocent so that the war to truly end all wars shall begin!
Chapter 1 - Dead Set on a Requiem
October 23, 2065 – Carrolton, New York
Gael chugged his coffee, not giving a damn if its heat was almost too much. Being up all night was nothing new to him, but this feeling of despair was killing him. To keep up their ruse of normality, he was on top of Vivi’s shop and the AC unit was mostly disassembled. In his coveralls, it would seem he was fixated on repairs but in fact he was keeping an eye out for UNR activity.
Covering the entire truckyard, including the Peregrine, was an enormous white tarp. Displayed on the areas visible from the road was a simple message: COME ON DOWN TO RUSSEL’S YARD & MORE!!! WE DO IT ALL AND FOR CHEAPER THAN THE OTHER GUYS!
934-657-8872
RUSSELYARD.COM
It was almost noon by now. The traffic passing by was steady. A big rig honked at him, and he waved back. One of Vivi’s customers, no doubt, he thought, or maybe a suit for the UNR. Gael got hold of himself. After all, it wasn’t all gloom just yet. The invasion force had made it back, which was somewhat of a relief. Then he remembered how few of them remained and lost focus again.
Gael stood by the edge of the roof now, finishing his coffee. The only remedy he could think of was to give himself a moment. Maybe we’re through for good.
Across the road he saw a few bushes rustle. He assumed it was a deer getting ready to attempt a trek across the road. Being a late-night mechanic for the place, Gael had seen plenty of wildlife in his time do this. A pickup flew by at eighty, followed by a minivan heading away from Carrollton. It’s your lucky day.
For a brief moment he saw no cars approaching from either direction. He knew it wouldn’t last long. Now’s your chance, buddy, take it. The bushes rustled again and Gael got himself settled to watch. Stepping from behind the fall foliage was no animal.
“Holy shit!” Gael yelled.
***
Gabriella was in the loading dock of the remaining Peregrine, slumped against the wall. The phone Declan had issued to her was next to her on the floor as Alex sat on the other side. He was by no means okay, but Gabriella looked even worse. Her face was full of derision, her eyes only half open.
They were the only two out there, everyone else being inside. Today there were no helmet cams on Alex’s telescreens. Today they were all blank. He could have had the news going, but why bother? he reasoned.
They heard footsteps approaching. No, running. Alex turned to see Vivi. The woman appeared frantic.
“They made it! Come inside, they made it!” she
announced with joy.
Before Alex could even absorb the moment, Gabby was already headed down the ramp.
***
When Gabby and the others got to the pseudo-hospital, all they heard was clapping and cheering. Vivi’s lounge room, normally used as a suped-up waiting area for truck drivers, had been converted into the treatment center for all the wounded. Couches now had beaten soldiers on them. The pool tables had been pushed aside for cots.
“Make way, make way, goddamn it!” Gael shouted. The men and women did so, allowing Gabby and Alex to see Will walking toward an empty cot. In his arms was none other than Joseph Halsey. The super soldier set him down lightly and, as soon as he did. Bri and a few others began to check on him.
“Give us room!” the Tremblay sister ordered. People were reluctant to move, but Gael made sure everyone stayed their distance. Gabriella was among those dying to get closer, but Alex walked away from it all. Gabby’s first reaction was shock, coupled with ire. How can he just—
Then she saw who he was heading toward and realized she needed to pay her respects. Off in the corner of the room, away from everyone else, Alex spoke to the cyborg.
“It is good to see you,” Alex said. “Goddamn good. Late as always, but you never let us down.”
“Wasn’t exactly around the corner, but I work my magic,” the super soldier replied. As Sgt. Neeson joined them, he straightened his posture.
“He’ll be okay, Gabby. I stopped the bleeding, but he’ll probably need a transfusion.”
Gabriella teared up but could only nod in thanks.
“Seems like I taught you something after all,” Alex said proudly.
“I had to read up on something while you had me stuck in bed,” Will answered.
“Thank you, Will.”
The tired soldier and Alex alike were stunned to hear those words. Even more surprising was Gabby full-on embracing Will.
“Thank you so much!”
Will was thrown off for a moment, but he hugged her back. Alex realized he’d never seen the cyborg embrace another human being. The most he could usually get out of him were sarcastic remarks and maybe a handshake. This image lifted him up, giving his heart a jump. He remembered Robert Neeson: a man of mistakes and also of vision. Jacob, you must treat him as our equal, as you would treat a fellow soldier and friend. As much as you think of him as different, he's still no less human.
This is what Robert wanted.
***
The Ritz-Carlton, Toronto
Declan and Ominic had their eyes glued to the telescreen. None of the wonders in the suite got their attention. Vanzetti sat in his armchair, taking a sip of his favorite cabernet. He got back to his book.
Not even the mention of his friend Daniel Charles on the news stirred him. Ominic glared at Declan with anger, but the politician said nothing. He only looked at the news, waiting for the inevitable report. It was when they both heard a snicker that Ominic could no longer stand it.
“What the hell are you doing?!” the general yelled.
Vanzetti took note of the page number before shutting the book. He set it down next to his glass: Mark Twain’s Letters from Earth.
“My reading bothering you?” Vanzetti asked. The calmness in his voice made Ominic all the angrier.
“What the hell is wrong with you?! It’s like you haven’t heard a word I’ve said the past hour!”
“On the contrary, General,” Vanzetti replied, “I heard every word: Your pathetic mission has failed, one of my Peregrines has been shot down, and half the team is dead or in UNR custody. That about sum it up?”
“Y-yes,” Ominic stammered.
“You let Halsey chat you up and in so doing, led us to this. That being said, it’s not all bad news, right? They did collect some info and some of them did in fact make it out.”
“And now the UNR is aware of our governments’ involvement,” said Ominic. “How long before Venloran comes after us all?”
The terrifying and realistic possibility only moved Vanzetti to scoff.
“Not long, really, basing it on past incidents like this,” the secretary general said, “but nothing from your botched mission has made the news, has it?”
“No, not yet,” Declan put in. He spoke softly, but the sweat on his head displayed his fear.
“Then Venloran is anxious to avoid looking weak by admitting his border was breached and by a multinational coalition, no less.”
“You’re trying to tell me he’s scared?” Ominic said.
“No more than he’s probably been since April. After all, his most beloved fugitive got away.”
“All the more reason he will be hostile. Perhaps it’s best Ominic and I not make an appearance tonight,” Declan suggested.
“And further the tension with your country’s absence tonight? Unacceptable,” Vanzetti said sternly.
“Then what do we do, Vanzetti?”
“We simply do our part. You’ve already recalled your little band back to Hosbon, so all that’s left is to listen to my speech tonight and clap.”
The two quieted themselves at last. Vanzetti checked his watch before addressing them again.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
Vanzetti went back to his book, relieved to hear no protests. The only hole in the plan was a target not showing up tonight, but that probability was diminishing every minute. With every arrival of a plane, the sheep were lining themselves up. Their resolve was holding up surprisingly.
They’re not like you, are they, Unit 21? Your resolve can never be shaken. Not once the order’s been given. Much preferred over the spineless lot I’m accustomed to. Tonight, William Marconi, you usher in a new era. Your bravery will once again change the world.
The King's Move Page 15