Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  He's trying to get his tanks south first. That's not good. He's playing offense. If he's moving his tanks that early, what kind of units has he already slipped south? Does he have any special forces? Why didn't someone tell me about that?

  The phone on his desk rang, interrupting his dark thoughts on the best route to evacuate to the Greenbrier bunker.

  West Virginia. How the hell am I going to run the country from West Virginia?

  He picked up the phone. "Yes?"

  "I… I'm sorry, Mr. President, I don't mean to interrupt—”

  He sighed. "What is it Marylyn?"

  "You have a call…from a Minister Shin Ho. Or maybe it's just Mr. Shin Ho. I can't really tell," she whispered. "His accent is so thick."

  "Who?"

  "I know, right? I said the same thing!" his secretary cleared her throat. "I mean, I'm sorry, sir. I don't know who he is, but he claims to be an official representative of the Chinese government. And he already had the proper codes…"

  "What does he want?"

  "I'm sorry sir, I didn't ask. Hang on, I'll go check—”

  Daniel rolled his eyes again. "No, no. Just put him through. Thank you."

  "Hello Mr. President," said a heavily accented voice—Marylyn was right. "My name is Shin Ho. I am Minister of the Interior for the People's Republic. It is a pleasure to be finally speaking with you."

  "Mr. Ho, I've heard good things about you," Daniel lied. Politicians always liked to hear that. Didn't they? "Thank you for calling. Has your country reached a decision on my proposal?" Please say yes.

  A polite chuckle crossed the line. "Mr. President, I believe I should be asking you that question. We've been watching the disturbing events taking place near your nation's capital. My sympathies and condolences are yours, sir."

  Daniel sighed. Is everyone out there watching us like some Goddamn reality TV show? "Thank you, minister." What's your God damn decision? Are you going to accept my offer or not? Daniel opened his mouth to give voice to his thoughts when the minister spoke.

  "We have considered your proposal, and in light of the current situation, I have a counter-offer for you, Mr. President."

  Daniel tasted bile in the back of his throat. "With all due respect, minister, what exactly makes you think that I would be open to hearing a proposition from you? Your people have invaded several states in my country and if the reports are accurate, destroyed several major cities. This is unacceptable."

  "Ah, yes. Phoenix. I regret to inform you Mr. President, my people had nothing to do with that—insurgent vigilantes from your own civilian population started the conflagration that destroyed Phoenix. We have been trying to provide humanitarian aid in line with the United Nations mandate. Unfortunately, our soldiers have been forced to defend themselves, sometimes with costly results for the local civilian population…"

  "Vigilantes you say?" Why wasn't I told of this?

  "Indeed, Mr. President. They called themselves the Regulators."

  "Called?"

  The minister cleared his throat. "They have been destroyed, Mr. President. But their influence lives on. All these people want to do is fight and make war. They don't understand that peace is a far better alternative."

  "I see…" Daniel said cautiously.

  "Mr. President I will come to the point. I know about the deal you cut with the Russians. I know about your offer to the rebels. I wish to secure my own deal for China. Help us track down and fight these insurrectionists in Arizona and California. Help me stop the needless slaughter of my troops and in return I will make sure they follow the strictest of orders to leave civilian populations alone."

  Daniel stared at the map of the invasion with an open mouth. "You want me to help you invade my own country? I offered you a truce if you'd stop hostilities in exchange for assistance on the east coast and you want me to actively support your invasion in the southwest?"

  "If you do, I can guarantee the swift arrival of Chinese forces to help stop your rogue army and end the rebellion. My people are standing by. Check your satellite imagery. You know this to be true. Within 36 hours, I can have an army division four times the size of the one outside your capital city ready to take back your country for you. All I ask, is a tiny bit of land in California and Arizona."

  Daniel thought about this for a moment. He forced himself to get over the gut-wrenching aspect of ceding part of the United States to a foreign power. It was easier this time that it had been when he was dealing with the Russians, but he still didn't like the idea.

  "Let's say I agree to this plan of yours. What guarantee do I have you'll keep your word?"

  The cultured voice laughed softly another in the line. "Why, you have no guarantee at all. Beggars cannot be choosers—I believe that is how the saying goes in your country? You Mr. President, are perhaps the greatest beggar in the history of the world. I'm offering you a solution to all of your problems. I understand if you wish take some time to think about it. In your position, I might do the same."

  "Well…"

  "Think quickly Mr. President—this offer does have a time limit. If the rebels or your rogue army happen to capture Washington, I am unsure as to whether anything can be done to help you."

  "I…thank you," Daniel said. "How will I contact you? I mean, once I've made my decision?"

  Shin Ho laughed again. "Not to worry, Mr. President—I will contact you. Good day."

  The line went dead.

  Daniel slammed the phone down. He felt like he was being pulled in a hundred different directions at once. Why the hell did I ever want this job?

  Chapter 29

  Liberate D.C.

  "WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT they say, 'third time's the charm.'"

  Hughes stared at Albertson, sitting across the cabin in their Black Hawk, strapped securely in his jump seat.

  "What?" asked his XO.

  Hughes shook his head. "This isn't the third time. If we find her, that's great, but our target is the president."

  "We're going after the president?" asked the young officer over the noise of the helicopter's rotors. "Dude, I didn't sign up for that."

  Hughes frowned, though he had to agree with his lieutenant. "I didn't either, but keep in mind what the general said—Jones wasn't elected. He assumed power. He took the reigns of government after Suthby died—he wasn't elected either, but he tried to at least act like a president. Jones is running around making treaties with the ChiComs for Chrissake. That shit's gotta stop."

  "Hooah," replied Albertson.

  Hughes checked his watch. It had been only a few hours since their hasty retreat from Philly and immediate retasking to Washington. He stared out open side door and frowned at the city below. Everything was moving so fast. One minute he's trying to rescue a downed pilot in an American city, the next he's assaulting Washington, D.C. and trying to capture a sitting president.

  Well, sort of president.

  He let the thoughts tumble and percolate in his mind as he watched the sprawling suburbs of Washington drift under their ride. Lifting his eyes up, he focused on the dozens of helicopters ferrying hundreds of troops toward the nation's capital. Between the Black Hawks and their haze-gray Sea Hawk cousins, Hughes estimated they had a combined Army/Navy task force big enough to be called a proper battalion.

  "Look at 'em down there…" muttered Albertson, leaning out the door to stare at the ground. "There's hundreds of people in the streets, just watching us."

  "They probably think we're relief workers or something. Washington hasn't had any help since the U.N. pulled out."

  "How many rebels you think they left behind as sleepers?" asked Albertson, still staring at the ground.

  "Too many." Hughes didn't want to think about it. It was hard enough to wrap his mind around the idea that they were going after the president. He just wished he knew what Stapleton's endgame was—no one said anything about what would happen when they found the president.

  "Heads up Seeker, we're ten mikes out. Lead units rep
orting small arms fire," reported the pilot.

  Before Hughes could answer, a faint ping echoed just outside the cockpit.

  His XO flinched. "They're shooting at us!"

  No shit, Sherlock. "All right Seekers, listen up! The LZ's going to be hot, so get ready! The rebels may have left us some surprises, so I want any foot mobiles you encounter considered hostile until confirmed friendly."

  The somber nods were all the confirmation he needed. They had gone in twice now to find the missing pilot. General Stapleton told him the rebels had transferred her into the president's custody in exchange for support as the horde moved through Washington. He didn't think President Jones had the balls to execute her, but he might use her in other ways to slow down Stapleton.

  A gray jet screamed over the phalanx of helicopters. Three more followed, all of them loaded for combat. He spotted missiles under the wings on the Hornets. The others—Lightnings, if his guess was right—had external fuel pods instead.

  "That's the Navy!" his XO called out, pointing to one of the jets as it streaked ahead. "They're softening up the LZ for us."

  "Hooah!" the men cheered as the first thunderous boom sounded.

  The pilot banked the Black Hawk in formation with three others and Hughes found himself staring at the ground as they circled over The Mall.

  "There's the LZ!" he shouted over the noise of the rotors. Plumes of red, green, and orange smoke set up in repeating patterns littered the wide, green space between the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building. Explosions rocked the structures around The Mall as fighters circled overhead and delivered their ordinance.

  "Jesus God," muttered his XO. "What the hell are we doing?"

  Hughes stared at the bubbles of over-pressure rippling the air around the explosions below. Debris and smoke sailed blossomed over each one.

  "Taking back our country," Hughes muttered as the Black Hawk flared for a combat landing.

  I hope.

  Chapter 30

  All in the Family

  EVANS STOOD AT THE top of the driveway, staring at the house. The mailbox next to him read Larsson. From this position, he saw the house next door, where the mysterious ‘colonel’ lived, was much closer than the Holden house.

  Have to deal with him today, too.

  He'd let this cluster of houses alone for far too long, occupied as he was with more lucrative playthings across the lake. But today all that was going to change.

  He had the fort now, a secure base of operations and it was time to take complete control over the lake. He was doing a fine job spreading his reign of terror out from Fort Ticonderoga but this was the final loose end he needed to tie up before he could turn all of his men loose on the town of Ticonderoga itself.

  "You know what to do," he said to his new XO. Carl wasn't as smart as Bondo had been, but he got the job done without questions. "Get to it."

  His greasy-haired second-in-command mumbled confirmation of the order, then grabbed three big brutes. They boldly walked up to the front door without bothering to be discreet.

  "You in the house!" Evans called out from the driveway, his voice echoing off the snow-muffled landscape. "Come on out with your hands up and nobody gets hurt."

  He had two men stationed at the rear of the house and two more to his right with armed guns they’d taken from mansions across the lake. A third pair watched over the colonel's house. Evans opened his mouth to repeat his warning when the door to the Larsson house cracked open and a face appeared.

  "Get the hell out of here! We don't want any trouble!"

  Evans chuckled. "Well, trouble's found you! So come on out or—”

  The face in the door disappeared, replaced by a shotgun barrel. There was no time for a warning—the gun went off, shattering the silence of the early afternoon. One of his men crumpled to the snow in a spray of red.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Carl charged forward, screaming as his own shotgun blasted a hole in the front door. He stepped aside as one his brutes rushed forward.

  The homeowner fired once more, taking off the side of the poor bastard's head and some of his shoulder with it. The brute’s body toppled back in the snow spraying blood. Then Carl signaled his last remaining man to the front door. He smashed into it, knocking the old man back and disappeared inside the house. Carl whooped and followed his lackey inside, the blast of his shotgun lighting up the foyer.

  Evans stood there with his hands in his pockets, waiting at the top of the driveway. He watched as gunfire flashed back and forth inside the house, expecting to see his men emerge triumphant any second.

  He then saw his men exit the house limping—without their weapons. Evans' eyebrows came together as he frowned. He walked forward, stepping over the bodies of the fallen and approached the front door as Carl made to run past.

  The barrel of the shotgun emerged again from the ruined front door, but before the homeowner could fire, Evans reached out and ripped it free in one savage twisting motion. He turned and tossed the weapon to Carl.

  Reaching back into the doorway, he grabbed a handful of flannel robe and dragged the sputtering old man out into the snow. His wife screamed from the doorway and begged for mercy.

  A sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the neighbor’s house on his right as the colonel shouted defiance and fired. The men around him dove for cover, but Evans ignored it. He had snipers up by the road that would take care of the cantankerous neighbor soon enough. He had other issues to worry about.

  He smelled smoke.

  Forcing Larsson to his knees in his own front yard, Evans stared into the house and saw the glowing flicker of fire. Shadows danced on the walls. The house was doomed.

  Dammit, I told those assholes not to burn anything. It's going to send a helluva smoke signal on a calm day like this. He glanced up at the cloudless blue sky.

  "You got anything in there worth saving?"

  "Screw you!" the old man spat.

  "Any food? Weapons? Liquor?" Evans asked, ignoring the outburst.

  "Please! Don't hurt him—” the old lady whimpered from the porch.

  One of his crew backhanded her and sent her reeling in the snow, but it didn't stop her crying.

  "Leave her alone, you animals!" the old man growled.

  "Fine!" Evans replied. He slammed his fist into the side of Larsson's head. The old man grunted and kissed the snow.

  A rifle cracked and Evans heard something buzz past his head.

  "You'll never take us alive!" called out a strong voice from the colonel’s house. A rifle cracked and another chunk of snow erupted at Carl's feet.

  "Will you morons take care that old bastard already?" Evans roared. His men finally returned fire. Evans knew he had to move quick, or they’d lose everything inside—the Larsson house was already engulfed in flames.

  "Find anything?" he hollered at the men inside.

  "Nothing! It's too hot in here—we gotta get out!"

  "My house!" the old woman wailed.

  "You son of a bitch," said Larsson through clenched teeth as he tried to rise up from the snow.

  Evans pulled out his crampon. The old man looked at the spike in his hand and glanced up at Evans. Recognition dawned in his eyes. He knew his time was up.

  "I would ask if you want to say any last words…" Evans said.

  The old woman screamed again. Evans took the crampon and slammed it into the side of Larsson's head. He sputtered a wet cough and collapsed into the snow.

  "…but I don't really give a fuck what you’ve got to say."

  Carl swung his shotgun at Larsson's wife, catching her on the side of the head. She fell into the snow, silent at last. Evans turned and watched the flames eat at their house.

  One of his men jogged up through the snow, bloody but grinning.

  "You get him?" Evans called through the smoke.

  "I think so—I’m sure I winged ‘im! He stopped firing at us," was the shouted reply.

  Evans looked up at the thic
k black smoke soaring up in the sky. So much for doing this quick and quiet.

  He put his hands to his face and bellowed, "Change of plan! Let's head into town. People will see this smoke for miles around. If we don't hurry, we'll miss out on all the fun."

  "What about that one? Should we make sure he’s dead?" one of his men said, pointing his rifle at the neighbor’s house.

  "Naw, it ain’t worth it. Set it on fire—we gotta go. Let the old fucker burn if he's still alive."

  "And her?" asked Carl, pointing his shotgun at Larsson's wife.

  "Why? You want her?" Evans asked, his mouth curled up in a crooked grin.

  Carl licked his lips. "Maybe."

  Evans shrugged. "Bring her with us. But she's your responsibility now."

  Carl grinned. "She may be old, but I like the way she moved."

  "Whatever." Evans turned and marched up the driveway, his men falling in behind him. Ashes drifted down on top of them as they passed under the smoke cloud of the dying house.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Evans saw the flames already licked at the front door of the colonel's place. Before long, both houses would be reduced to nothing but piles of soot and ash.

  Evans smiled. "Let's go boys, it's time for us to hike into town."

  Chapter 31

  Run

  "WE HAVE TO LEAVE—right now!" barked a Secret Service agent.

  Daniel stood from his desk and stuffed his latest treaty proposal in his briefcase. "Fine, fine! Let's go."

  The instant he stepped out into the hallway, two more agents grabbed his arms and rushed him toward the far exit. A third ran ahead of them, clearing staffers on the way, physically shoving them back as they stepped up to join the panicked stampede.

  Washington, D.C. was about to fall.

  After a swirl of corridors, shouts and screams, Daniel was passed off from agent to agent until dumped in the back of a black Secret Service Suburban. He struggled to retain some dignity, but felt like a sack of potatoes.

  "Foxtrot is mobile! Repeat, Foxtrot is mobile! Let's roll!" one of the agents said as he climbed into the passenger seat.