The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) (67 page)

“Open fire!”

And as suddenly as it had all begun, Adam snapped back to reality—a world in which his family lived, a day in which they might soon die.

He raised the rifle and howled as he pulled the trigger.

“I remember being young and pregnant with Judah,” Sarah said, sipping her coffee in between words. Judah and Alexandra sat across from one another, smiling as they listened to her speak. “The thrill and excitement of feeling a life was growing inside me…joyfully intoxicating, to say the least.”

Alexandra smiled hesitantly before sipping her coffee. Sarah knew she should have stopped the girl from drinking anything with caffeine, but she didn’t want to overstep herself too soon. For now, she would be a friend
and
a mother to Alexandra, focusing on the delights of motherhood instead of the little hardships.

“When do you think I’ll first feel the baby?” Alexandra asked.

“That all depends,” Sarah said, taking another sip. “I think—”

The escalating drone of sirens wailing around the campus summoned the sudden urge of panic. Sarah looked over at Judah as he quickly rose, gun in hand. “You two get the girls,” Judah said. “I’ll go—”

The door flew open and Judah raised his gun.

“Don’t shoot!” Eric shouted, ducking away from Judah’s aim.

“What’s happening?” Sarah asked, not realizing she had already leapt to her feet.

“There’s been an explosion at Southgate One and we’ve lost radio contact,” Eric replied, looking toward Judah. “Get your sisters and Elizabeth, and then get them all to the control room at the Heritage Building.”

Judah bolted up the stairs without a word.

“Are we under attack?” Alexandra asked, touching her stomach unconsciously.

“I don’t know,” Eric replied as footsteps already pounded down the stairs. Judah ran down with Grace in his arms—Elizabeth quickly following with Eva.

“I heard the sirens and got the girls,” Elizabeth said, standing in a white robe with her hair in disarray.

“Good,” Eric said, turning to Judah as he held out his rifle. “Take this. I’ll be fine with a standard scope.” Eric exchanged weapons with Judah quickly, glancing at the door as a new series of distant explosions echoed like an approaching thunderstorm. “You’ll need it if you—”

“I’m not leaving her,” Judah replied flatly, looking over at Alexandra.

“If there is a breach we’ll need every man we’ve got,” Eric said, his focused and yet fearful eyes darting over toward Sarah. “Just get them to HQ and guard them until you hear more. I’ll be at the gate on the corner of Beebe Capps and Benton. It’s the final blockade between the inner wall and the southern gates.”

“Wait,” Sarah cut in quickly, grabbing Eric by the hand as he turned to leave. He glanced back at her, his piercing gaze drilling into her. She had so much she wanted to tell him before he charged off into danger, but all she could think about was losing another man she had come to care about. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. She felt foolish she hadn’t done so prior to spending the night with him. Part of her knew what they had done was wrong, but she didn’t care.

Sarah believed she loved him and let that love supersede the truth that was tucked away in her back pocket.

“I love you,” she said, raising up to give him a long kiss. She could feel the eyes of everyone else in the room boring into her, but she didn’t care. In that moment—as sirens wailed in the distance and the last of her family stood on the brink of battle—she only cared about the man she loved.

“Circle the gunships north into strike position and destroy the long range air defenses in Belle Chasse,” Lukas said, watching as his air force approached from the south. “We take their air grid down and that will leave an open door for the Yellow Jackets.”

“Agreed,” Clark Madison replied. Clark stood at the front of the room as the new Battle Marshal of the Unified Forces while Damian Ross—the Praetorian Guard Commander—paced beside him calmly. There would only be one Battle Lord that day. There would be only the Sovereign. Victory would belong completely to him, as would defeat. “Spectre One, this is Battle Marshal Madison. Circle your squadron north and target—”

“He’s hitting the anti-air from the north,” a woman cried out from the back of the room. “Send the—”

A quick surge of suppressed gunfire filled the room behind Lukas, followed by cries of shock and horror. Lukas smiled, turning his chair just in time to see Sandra Bowie slump down in her chair, eyes glassing over with death.

“Well, well,” Lukas said with a grin. “I did not suspect her. Anyone else care to join Sandra in treason?” The shocked attendees sat there stunned, shrieking away from Sandra’s bloody corpse. “Very well.” Lukas said, turning to the Battle Marshal and nodding his head. “Just as we discussed.”

“Spectre One, belay that order and remain out of range until further notice,” the Battle Marshal said. “Hawk One, this is Command. Move your squadron in now and hit the defenses from the south. Stay below radar until you’re on them.”

“It was all a ruse?” Jacob asked, his face beaming with amusement.

“Any time one of Sigmund’s embedded eyes relays what we’re doing, we alter the plan,” Lukas said, glancing behind him. “Their air defenses in New Orleans will soon be focusing on the skies to the north. They won’t have time to readjust before our fighters hidden to the south sweep over them.”

“Satellite imagery confirms all air-defense vehicles are rotating their turrets northward,” Clark said. “Hawk One is low against the Gulf and will strike from the south within twenty-five seconds.”

“Are the Praetorians ready?”

“Yes, my Sovereign,” Damian Ross replied as a wave of thirty fast moving jets began bombing the air defense grid. Six jets were lost before the bombing was completed. Lukas ignored them as they completed their run, refusing to dwell on his losses.
Anything for victory.
“We can deploy troops—”

“Sovereign!” Lukas turned. A young Sovereign Guard jogged to Lukas’ side, clearly upset and nearly out of breath. “We might have a problem.”

“What is it?” Lukas asked.

“Maria Brekor,” the man replied. “She is missing.”

“What?” Lukas breathed, rotating his wheelchair to face the man as a cannonball of fear settled in the pit of his stomach. “She was here fifteen minutes ago.”

“I just received word over the hardline,” the guard replied. “She had requested that the Sovereign Guards in the garage take her for a drive.”

“Where did they go?” Lukas asked.

“That’s just it, sir. We don’t know.

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know?” Lukas roared.

“They were being monitored by the Sovereign Guard back here but fell off the radar five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes ago?” Lukas breathed, his anger boiling on the brink of rage. “Why the hell are you just telling me now?”

“You said only communication for us in and out of this room is through the hard line,” the guard replied. “They contacted me as soon as they thought it was outside the realm of technical malfunctions.”

“Find her!” Lukas shouted. “Use every man you have, including yourself!”

“Forgive me, Lukas, but you think that wise?” Jacob said, stepping forward. “These men are here for a reason and—”

“Everyone!” Lukas bellowed, trying to rise from his wheelchair. He fell back clumsily as the guard nodded his head and ran toward the door.

Lukas turned back to the monitor as the remaining jets ascended into the clouds. He waved Jacob’s hand away and tried to refocus on the battle. Still, as the battle began to boil above New Orleans, Lukas’ imagination couldn’t help but conjure up wild scenarios of betrayal and abduction. Lukas eyed the battle wearily, grumbling to himself as his eye twitched uncomfortably.

Maria finally gave in, failing to hold back her tears of joy as the limousine passed through DC. She glanced out at the stone buildings, saying more quiet goodbyes for what she desperately hoped would be the last time. She didn’t care if Lukas won the war. She didn’t care if he lost and burned with the city she had come to loathe. All she cared about, as she rode toward freedom, was that she would rid herself of Lukas Chambers, one way or another.

“How much longer?” Maria asked, thankful for the silk mask that concealed the majority of her face.

“We’ll be there in three minutes, my lady,” the driver replied, glancing up at the rearview mirror with probing eyes.

Three minutes,
Maria thought, looking down at her silver purse and the Stonewall device that was hidden inside. As she gazed at the tool that hid her from unwanted watchers, she almost brought herself to audible prayer. She didn’t care if freedom commenced with a long and uncertain journey or her violent death.

She wanted only to be free from the man whom every fiber inside her body despised.

Three more minutes.

Adam breathed heavily, fighting to suppress the tremors that stretched his sanity while the last of the attackers died. He had been in battle before, but never had he faced such a terrifying sight as three hundred charging, mindless minions enraged by the imaginative designs of devils.

He tore his eyes away from a teenage boy at his feet that shuddered as death overwhelmed him. He looked up, his eyes resting on the open door of the nearest trailer before focusing on the massive television screen mounted at the far end. Though it was thirty feet away, he could easily make out the picture—an image that caused a fresh wave of panic to pass through him. It was his face and his name flashing underneath. The Patriarchs weren’t there simply to annihilate Fort Harding.

They were there for him.

“Flags up and get to the base now! Don’t stop if anyone goes down, including me. Get to the campus no matter what!” Tyler paused to retch on the bloodied road. Adam jumped in the passenger side of the vehicle, Marc in the rear seat and two other Americans in the bed. The pickup lurched forward, the tires kicking up dust and roadside gravel as Tyler veered around the dead bodies. The other survivors quickly piled in the five other trucks, their engines howling as they followed Tyler’s lead.

“There are a couple of cardboard tubes underneath your seat,” Tyler said, glancing back at Marc. “You see them?”

“He can’t speak,” Adam replied as Marc reached down. Marc pulled out two tubes three feet in length.

“Open the rear window and give them to the guys in the back,” Tyler said.

“What are they?” Adam asked as the Marc opened the window and gave the tubes to the soldiers in the back.

“American flags,” Tyler replied, looking over at Adam. “There’s another gate up ahead on the highway, though my guess is they’re not much better off than we are. Pray if they are still up on that wall, they will see our flags and not think of us as another attack.”

Tyler tried the radio again, but the signal was still blocked. The truck’s engine roared as they raced down the road. Adam inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself—his mind racing about his family, Fort Harding, and his photo plastered on a television inside each trailer. He began to wonder if they weren’t there for the city.

Maybe I’m all they want. Maybe I can save them all.
Suddenly, the odd awareness of both courage and fear overwhelmed him.

“Let me out at the next gate,” Adam said quickly.

“What?” Tyler said, glancing over at Adam in confusion.

“They had my picture in the back of the trailer,” Adam said. “They know who I am and they want me. I can’t let you—”

“I saw it too,” Tyler cut in. “And I don’t care if you’re the only one they want. You’re coming with us.”

“But my family!” Adam argued. “Your wife, everyone you know—I won’t let them die for me. If I give myself up they might—”

“They won’t do anything,” Tyler replied, looking over at Adam. “They’re here with thousands and if what you said is true, they’ve been planning to hit us for a while.”

“But—”

“We fight united and we die united,” Tyler cut in. “We’re Americans, Mr. Reinhart, and we’ll stand together till the end.”

The highway gradually veered left, revealing the sight of black smoke rising from the second wall half a mile ahead. The white shapes of four more parked semi-trucks dotted the landscape.

“We need to cut over to the west side of the highway. Those trucks and bikes will have to use the roads. I can get ahead of them in the pickup by cutting across the fields and a few parking lots.”

“Then why not—”

“I can’t cut over just yet,” Tyler cut in, pointing to the median that separated the two lanes. “That fence is reinforced steel wire. There’s no way this truck can cut through to the other side. There is a gap just past the blockade, but we’ll have to go through the fight to make it.”

Adam grabbed binoculars from the dash and looked forward at the approaching skirmish at the blockade. Hundreds of men fought, many apparently hand to hand. What remained of the steel containers was scattered about the road—the main convoy already far past the gate. He lowered the binoculars and took a deep breath, nodding to Tyler.