DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1)
Page 1
Drums of War
A Broken Patriot Novel
Timothy W. Long
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
March to War
Afterword
Impact Earth sample
Prologue
Victor
About the Author
Also by Timothy W. Long
“DRUMS OF WAR A BROKEN PATRIOT NOVEL”
By Timothy W. Long
Copyright 2017. Timothy W. Long
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Introduction
A country in chaos. A government obsessed with power. A series of coordinated attacks on the largest cities in America.
Bradley Adams, a former Army veteran, and prepper, is swept up in a web of lies following a politically motivated work place shooting. When martial law is declared, his life descends into a series of nightmares from which there may be no escape.
This is the story of a man dedicated to defending his family, his home, and his country.
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Sign up for the authors New Release mailing list and get a free Timothy W. Long reading library.
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Included with Drums of War is a small sample of Tim’s sci-fi thriller Impact Earth. It can be found after the end of the book.
“I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its stupidity.
DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER,
January 10, 1946
Chapter One
It’s been another wild week for the white house. President Henderson has faced an unprecedented amount of negativity from the press and now it’s spilling over into the congressional house. Democrats have put up staunch defenses regarding any executive actions or bills he has tried to pass.
In what is being called a civil win for liberals, the executive action to limit protesters from taking to the streets has been blocked by a federal judge in New Hampshire. Judge Forestal said in a statement. “The liberties that are protected by the first amendment shall not be infringed upon and that includes the right to protest.”
President Henderson has vowed that he will work to pass his agenda no matter what it takes if it means ensuring the safety of the American people.”
Thursday morning started out like any other, with an overloaded trouble ticket queue, a pissed off customer, and a severe lack of caffeine.
Bradley Adams day only got worse from there.
Little Jenny had been up most of the night with a cough and the sniffles, and he and Monica had taken turns tending to her. Bradley only managed about three hours of sleep. After he hit his snooze button for the fourth time, he had managed to wake up with less than half an hour before his shift started.
His mad rush left little time to grab a cup of coffee, shave, or even shower. If he weren’t already on his boss’s shit list, Bradley would have simply called in. Instead, he had hurried out the door, forgetting his id badge, and to retrieve his conceal and carry, a Smith and Wesson M&P 9 Shield, from the basement. He had intended to tuck it into his laptop bag before his wife got up. It was probably an offense that would get him fired, and his ass kicked by Monica, but Bradley felt like it was worth it, considering how badly things had degenerated in the country over the last few weeks.
Then the Bronco had given him trouble, acting like it was also planning to have a bad day as well. In his rush to get on the road, he had flooded the carburetor. After cranking over the ignition a half dozen times, the engine had finally fired up.
He really needed to focus, and get back to work, but with the office buzzing about the unrest in Chicago, he had trouble concentrating on his job.
More often than not, he found himself on FOX news, reading the ticker at the top of the page as well as news articles and opinion pieces. How was anyone supposed to get any damn work done with all the crazy stuff going on in the US over the last month?
His desk was covered in computer parts: hard drives, a power supply that was missing its cover, a broken motherboard, and a strip of RAM that was scorched. One of them had been extracted from a computer on the seventh floor because it kept throwing errors. Piece of crap was made in China, and Bradley was surprised it still worked. Although the accountant, Ed Reels wouldn’t admit it, his computer internals had been messed with. AlgerTech was low on money, and they had to cut back on the IT budget. That meant when a part went bad, it had to be salvaged. Ordering new stuff was out of the question.
Ed Reels had probably tried to upgrade his memory on his own but didn’t know the first thing about what speed or configuration to purchase. He claimed someone else must have broken the memory modules seat. Then he’d forced the old memory chip back in, and it had started smoking a few seconds later. The fire, such that it was, hadn’t been more than the biting smell of toasted silicone, something that Bradley suspected would be stuck in his nasal cavity for a good long time.
Ed was an asshole, there was no way around it. He had been one of the most vocal anti-President Henderson employees in the office. Ed had even put a cutout of the president’s face on a five inch dart board, but he’d driven a knife into the center. Something that pissed off Bradley every time he saw it.
Ed Reels had been a jerk from the moment Bradley arrived to look at the broken PC.
“Look who it is,” Ed had said. “The face of the right.”
“I don’t want to talk politics,” Bradley said.
“Of course not. It’s not like we have issues. Everything is just hunky dory in Rightville. You guys got your man, and now the country is in the dumpster. Henderson needs to be impeached immediately,” Ed taunted.
Ed was a portly man with thick rimmed black glasses, and his forehead was always
covered in a sheen of sweat. His clothes smelled like they hadn’t been washed in a month. Bradley had heard rumors that Ed’s spouse had left him for a younger man, but Ed still wore his wedding ring and kept his wife’s picture on the desk. She had a sweet smile and hair in tight curls that hung around her face.
“Whatever, Ed. I just need to crack open your case. Why don’t you go get some coffee,” Bradley gritted his teeth.
“Don’t even think about looking at what’s on my hard drive. I keep important company finances, and you’re not the right pay grade, know what I mean there, Brad? Wouldn’t want all of those big numbers confusing you.”
Bradley shot him a tight smile and held down the lighted button on the front of the Dell until it powered off.
“Don’t! Oh man. That’s not cool. I don’t know if I saved.” Ed had panicked.
“Your computer’s been locked up for half an hour, Ed. You didn't save your work? I would think that a smart accountant like you would back your work up every five minutes.”
“Damn, damn, damn!”
“Calm down, Ed.”
“I’m going to make sure you lose your job if a single file wasn't saved. I swear to God.” Ed rose to his feet, a blood vessel pulsing over his left temple.
“Like I said, Ed. Why don't you go get some coffee, or better yet, a glass of water. You look stressed.”
Some of the other accountants prairie-dogged over their cubicle walls. A tall skinny guy, Bradley was pretty sure his name was Garry, put his glasses on as he rose. His lips were tightly closed but they quirked up in a half-smile.
Garry was probably hoping for an incident, and ready to egg on the combatants.
“Yeah, Ed. Take a chill pill,” Garry said, his voice sonorous like he was narrating a PBS documentary.
Bradley wished he felt calm. He’d like to punch Ed right in the face. But if he lost his cool, then he really would be looking at the unemployment line, and with unemployment at a ten year high, he wasn't likely to find a new job any time soon.
He loved almost everything about brash President Henderson, but his promise of job growth had been stagnant. The issue wasn't his bills to increase job growth, it was his constant battles with democrats in the house. They wouldn’t let him get a single thing done without an all out war in the media.
“Is Ed losing his mind again?” an attractive woman asked.
She had long blonde curls and looked like she should be in a fashion magazine rather than in an accountant’s office. Her name was Jessica Carpenter, and almost every man in the office was guilty of checking her out because she loved to strut around in short skirts.
Bradley was a happily married man, and he kept his eyes in their sockets.
“He's having another great day, yep. Got his big boy undies in a twist again,” Garry shot back.
“Screw you both.” Ed halted in his tracks and turned.
“You’re not my type,” Garry said.
“Not gonna happen,” Jessica said. “You probably have a micro-thingy anyway.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’ll tell HR,” Ed shot back.
“Tell them. I’ll tell them how you tried to take a picture down my shirt. You think I didn’t notice, but I did, Ed. I saw you.”
“That’s preposterous! I’d never do something like that. You think I’m some kind of pervert?” Ed yelled.
Other faces popped up from cubicle walls to take in the action.
“Just a perv, not some kind of perv,” Garry offered with a laugh.
“You’re so clean, right? Don’t you have someone to suck somewhere?” Ed’s face turned livid and bright red.
“Oh. Good one, Eddy. I may have one to suck later. I’ll text you the location if you want to watch,” Garry said.
A couple of women at the end of the row laughed.
Ed stalked past them, eyes burning into both, until he took a left toward the elevators.
“He really do that?” Bradley asked Jessica.
“He did. He’s always staring at me. Watching my legs when I walk by. Creeps me out,” she said.
“Every man in the office stares at you,” Garry had rolled his eyes.
“Except you, Garry. I don’t have the right equipment.”
“No, ma’am, you do not,” Garry winked.
Bradley wisely kept his mouth shut.
He cracked open Ed’s case and pulled both memory chips. He wanted to avoid any further confrontation so he pocketed them, and then headed back downstairs to find a matching pair of modules. Bradley planned to get them as soon as possible, and leave Ed to stew in his own crap.
Bradley was happy he wasn’t in this department. The men and women were vicious.
* * *
The IT department looked out over a parking lot. Rows of cars stretched to the street. If he squinted his eyes, he was able to make out his silver, 1996 four-wheel drive Ford Bronco. He wished he was in it now and going home.
AlgerTech shared the building with an internet marketing company and a radio station that played classical music. They piped the feed directly into the elevators, making it hard to stay awake whenever he had to travel more than a few flights.
The IT department’s walls were white. Just white. There was a big screen television that used to rotate channels on a daily basis. The company had the attitude that a minor distraction was good for productivity. It wasn’t like anyone had time to sit around and stare at the TV all day anyway. There was always work to be done. Computers to load, printers to fix, and network passwords to reset. His trouble ticket queue was so full he wouldn’t be caught up until tomorrow morning.
Once Paul had taken over, the new supervisor had demanded they leave the television off. He didn’t agree with the companies reasoning to have it on. Since it was his IT department now, no one argued. Paul was fast to write people up, and if you got three of those, it was adios, amigo.
There was a mission statement printed on a poster, corporate stuff Bradley had been asked to read and agree to. It was printed in an annoying large white font on a serene background of a waterfall.
The rest of the walls were dull and devoid of art. In his own cubicle, he kept pictures of his kids and wife in a picture frame and often stared at them when a customer was being difficult on the phone. There was one of Junior in a baseball outfit, his son held a bat, and he had a big goofy grin plastered on his face. The picture was five years old but it made Bradley smile.
On little Jenny’s picture, she held an Easter basket from when she was three, and in the other hand, a large pastel egg. The egg hadn’t survived the trip home, but Bradley’s memories had.
He also had a small American flag pinned to a cubicle wall, and a wooden sign that said Proud American in red white and blue.
One of the techs, a guy named Vinay, was the most flamboyant of the bunch of IT nerds. His walls were covered in magazine cutouts of fast cars and Bollywood actors. Bradley liked Vinay. The man was slightly older than him, had a thick Pakistani accent, but he also had a killer sense of humor. Or he had, until President Henderson had come down hard on immigration.
Bradley had once asked Vinay if he was worried about the mass deportations.
“I don’t know, man. It seems so far away from us. I have a green card, you know, but sometimes it feels like that might even be temporary,” Vinay had said.
“I don’t think Henderson is going to go that far,” Bradley said. “He’s just doing what’s right for America.”
“Tell that to the Native American’s who used to live here. But not if you’re going to get some to come and scalp me,” Vinay chuckled.
Bradley’s phone rang. He lifted his headset and placed it over his head, then hit the answer button.
“Bradley Adams speaking.”
“Brad. Can you come home?” Monica asked.
“Honey? What’s wrong?” Bradley didn’t allow his voice to rise in panic.
“Everything is wrong, honey. It’s the news, they’re saying the fighting is
spreading. The kids and I would feel safe if you came home,” Monica said. “I’ll make you meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“I appreciate the bribe, baby, but I have to finish my shift. I can’t take another early day for a few weeks. Jenny’s doctor appointment last week cost me.”
“Just tell that asshole to give you a break. Like his life is so wonderful,” Monica said. “I’m worried about Bradley Jr. He’s been so weird, and he said he would be home late after school. I said no way, no way he was going to walk home with all of this happening.”
“He’s a teenager, baby. He just needs to blow off steam with his friends,” Brad said.
Junior was a good kid but he had ideological choices that didn’t mesh with the rest of the family. When other kids rebelled by turning to cigarettes, pot, or alcohol, Junior sneaked out to rallies in town. He had even joined a group of liberal-minded kids his age who seemed to think they were going to be able to change the world. Kirk was the worst of them. His father was a drunk, and his mother was dead. Kirk did whatever he wanted to with barely any adult guidance.
“It’s more than that and you know it. You have to talk to him,” Monica said. Her voice cut out for a second as something buzzed loudly in the background.
“Grinding coffee beans?”
“I’m so tired, babe. I tossed and turned all night and I need some caffeine. I didn’t want you to go to work today. Just please come home. Tell Paul to kiss your butt.”
“I can’t tell my boss off,” Bradley lowered his voice. “I need this job. We need this. I can’t let us down again.”
“You didn’t let us down, and you never have. When jobs go bad, there’s nothing you can do about it, but you always come back. You’ve had to get other jobs, and this won’t be any different. We can talk about it later, I just want you home,” Monica said, voice rising. “I’m so worried. The news, Brad, it’s all over the news. There was a mass shooting in New York and another one in Jacksonville a few minutes ago”