The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (24 page)

I’m sure the like-minded and brilliant men before me surrounded themselves with others bent on shaping tomorrow and bending fate so they could seize the day. But sitting by worthlessly, taking tests on quadratic equations and the history of the Colonies seems so pointless! The world needs leaders, not test takers. Governors, politicians, company owners, billionaires—the elite of men. That’s who needs to step up. That’s who I need to find and what I need to be. Hell, I could be the president one day if I fix my eyes on the end goal and run without stumbling. But I guess every marathon begins with that first step and it just so happens that my first step achieved what I thought previously impossible.

I made my father proud.

I have pledged myself to the United States Marine Corps. I know that I cannot be a man that enjoys the comfort of a cockpit or the security of service behind a computer. I need to lead Marines into battle and they need to follow me proudly. Therefore, I fully intend to become an infantry officer once I graduate from college in less than three years. I found that when I apply myself, school is so much easier than I anticipated and I don’t see a reason I can’t finish early. Though I still believe fear and respect garner some of the greatest power and influence, I’ve also found it true that those who have risen above others are deeply loved as well. I will become that leader and gain their love by devoting my life to changing this world for the better. One man, one idea, one nation at a time. The world cries out for great men to rise up for tomorrow and I intend to do just that.

              ~Lukas, World Changing 101

September ‘01

This is it—the great trial that will test me as every great man must be tested. I once believed that I alone would choose my path. As it turns out, fate has chosen that path for me.

I must first clarify that I harbor no hard feelings for the men who did what they did. I understand that they must have believed it their right to attack us. In a way, they very well could and should be justified in doing what they did. However, I do not believe for one single minute that it is not my duty to embrace the moment and this newfound hatred for them to further my obligation to rise among my peers. Although I must and will make them my enemy, I do hope they celebrate today. I hope they sing their victory songs and dance their victory dances while they can. Because when America arrives at their doorstep seeking vengeance for those buried beneath the World Trade Center, they will plead for mercy though they will not get it.

I do not believe it a coincidence that I have walked the journey that I have. I do not believe it chance that I felt compelled to give my word to join the military before war. And this morning, as I watched our buildings crumble at the hands of terrorists, I knew it could only be fate that has chosen me for this moment in time. Now, after the dust has finally settled and the drums of war begin to thrum, I can say for the first time that I know exactly who I am and precisely where I am going.

I am Lukas Chambers, a man destined for greatness, and I will soon be going to war.

              ~Lukas Ryan Chambers

July ‘03

‘First to fight for right and freedom

And to keep our honor clean;

I am proud to claim the title

Of United States Marine.’

Semper Fi!

It has begun.

              ~Second Lieutenant Lukas Chambers

April ‘04

How do you lead? How do you make men that are required to follow you to want to do so? I was commissioned as a second lieutenant infantry officer; I spent six months training as a leader for war, and all for what? To get sent to Iraq with a bunch of blockheads who can barely tie their own shoes, let alone follow orders without complaining.

Make no mistake, they’ve always obeyed their orders when we trained back home, but they did so half-heartedly. I figured that stage would pass once we were here, but still they do not follow because they want to. They only do so because they have to and they don’t think I see through that front. Take Prescott, a redneck Lance Corporal from backwoods Louisiana whom I have the privilege of babysitting every day. Any time now we are going to be sent off on some scouting mission, to secure a town, or whatever the hell the higher ups want, and all the men want to talk about is women, home, food and sports—anything else that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. We could die any day and they don’t even care! It’s like they actually believe ‘it’s not ours to reason why, but to do and die.’ I mean come on! We’re at war and they just want to joke around.

So I start talking about Tora Bora and how we could have ended the war right then and there if it hadn’t been for the bullshit bureaucracy that’s flooded Washington. As soon as I started talking they all got upset with their ‘here we go again’ attitudes. I know it happened almost two and a half years ago but I say that if the brass had half a brain they’d send us in to find Bin Laden and finish the job instead of sitting here on our asses for a month to guard sand dunes and camels in a country that doesn’t need us. But did they care about what I said? No. They just wanted to talk about March Madness and the girls back home waiting for them.

So I figured everyone is joking, why the hell don’t I? I turned to Prescott and asked him if he was fine sharing a foxhole with these laughing retards when the shit gets serious. He looked at me and said that I didn’t know shit from my momma’s breakfast. Everyone burst out laughing; everyone except Private Buck, our own humble Goody Two-Shoes. Buck says he’s Christian and that he wants to stay out of things, but I know his type. I know he’s laughing with the rest when I’m not looking. Anyway, while they’re laughing, I did what I had to do. I told them about my mother and then I told Prescott that he’ll be the one who doesn’t know shit from breakfast by the time he’s done cleaning the latrines every morning for the next week.

I know he’s just an eighteen-year-old kid trying to pay for college, but I don’t know what he expects. What do any of them expect? I can’t just be their equal, joke with them on the same level, and then expect them to see me as someone they have to follow. So how do I lead them? I’ve tried to make them like me, but they don’t. They don’t understand that it doesn’t work like this. I am the link above them in the chain, and they have to comprehend that.

I guess if they don’t want to respect that out of duty, then that’s just fine. They don’t have to. There is more than one way to solidify control over weaker men. Niccolo Machiavelli said it best, ‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.’

              ~Lukas

May ‘04

That little son of a bitch is going to pay! I know it was him. He was the one joking about shit and breakfast last month. This was his payback for having to clean the stalls. They all claimed innocence, asking me what was wrong as I emptied my guts out, but I could see them. I saw every one of those bastards sitting there trying to hide their grins. Especially Prescott. No one puts shit in my food and gets away with it. We’ll see how much they’re laughing when they’re all court-martialed. They want to play games then fine by me.

But I’ll get the last laugh.

              ~Lukas

June ‘04

It’s all falling apart and I don’t know what to do.  No one respects me. My officers don’t care what I say and neither do my men. I went to Lieutenant Colonel Mackner, petitioning for court-martial and all he did was laugh. LAUGH! He asked me if I had any proof. He laughed as he asked me to smile to see if I had any left between my teeth. He said worst he could do was a company-level discipline but that my men would only get sympathy from the others. He said just drop it, relax for once, and leave it alone. But was it over? No. Every other officer between me and Mackner immediately got all up in arms about bypassing the chain of command and going straight to the Lieutenant Colonel. The Major even threatened to court-martial me for insubordination! Meanwhile, my men think I’m nothing more than a laughing stock.

On top of that, Private Buck had the audacity to try to befriend me so that he could tell me about Jesus. Well I told him what I thought about his fellow associates in Jesus. I told him that Christians are pathetic charlatans who are only in it for the weak-minded comforts and immoral riches. They sing their songs and cry out in their worship, ‘God use me!’ All they really want is to go to their feel-good ‘hoorahs’ on Sunday mornings, complain about their jobs over the next five days, and then handle their pitiful existence by burying themselves in debt so they can buy things that—what was it—oh yeah, that ‘rust and moth destroy.’ They’re fakes. They don’t want to be used. They want to be comforted with their simpleton lies. They’re nothing but a few billion selfish assholes shitting on their beliefs and I have a feeling their savior wouldn’t have been so eager to climb up on that tree if he had known this is what his legacy would become. But you know what, Buck did get me thinking about the whole thing a bit more. Let’s suppose I sought out God and actually found him. Suppose Jesus and the Good Book are real after all. A revelation like that would only mean that to believe in one side of the coin I would also be forced to believe in the other; the darker side that’s hidden from the world by pious frauds.

And it is the very idea of those who stood together and defied God that I have come to respect.

Label them what you will; the fallen angels, demons, Lucifer and his legions. Whatever you call them, I call them courageous. I call them bold and powerful. They are the links of power far above the weaker Christians. They’re brave, confident, and daring. Not just men of destiny but higher beings of destiny. You see, if I came to believe in Jesus then that means I must also believe in his archrival. Imagine the audacity it took Lucifer to stand up against Christ in heaven because he didn’t agree with him. That takes a lot more nerves than anything Jesus claimed to do, and valor is what I want to follow, not submission. Rulers of men need to be fearless, not weak two-faced assholes like Buck and Prescott. Bravery is what the world of tomorrow calls for. If there is a God and his name is Christ, well then I chose to follow the valiant ones who spoke against his hypocritical tyranny.

And if ever I find myself crying out for help, it won’t be to a meek God that turns the other cheek. It will be to the brave beings, my brothers of the night, who stood courageously against him.

              ~Lukas

August ‘04

I was wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I somehow thought this was how I would clutch my greatness. They want me dead. Two months go by and I think things have cooled down, but last night I wake to them holding me down and duck taping me to my cot. They laugh about it as I order them to cut me loose; they all think it’s nothing more than one big joke.

Then, when the mortars started screaming overhead, they dive for cover. They protect their asses while I’m stuck there shouting, terrified and pissing my pants like a little kid, waiting for a round to come crashing through the roof and end my life. My pathetic little life. They swore they had no idea that was going to happen, but even then they couldn’t help but chuckle at me wetting myself. I know what they want. They want me gone and they’re going to do whatever they can to make that happen.

I have no place. Mom was right. I’m nothing more than an unwanted accident. My men hate me. Dad will reject me when I come back dishonored. I have no future. There is no hope. No God. No good left in this world. There is nothing here for me. So I, Lukas Ryan Chambers, a child of sorrow, will muster up the courage I can, put a barrel in my mouth just like Mom, and leave it all behind.

But I’m not going out by myself.

Before I’m done I will show them the full fury of a madman with nothing to lose. I will show them that I was the greater man and that if God was right about one thing, it is that they will reap what they have sown. I’m going to take as many of them with me as I can and when we’re all dead and dying, casualties of a cruel and failing world, they will finally come to respect my authority over them.

              ~Lukas

September ‘04

This is it. Come now. If you’re listening, then come oh my brothers of the night. Guide my hand and embrace your own. I am coming to the only home I have left.

And I am not coming alone.

C
hapter
T
hirteen

A Man of Fate

October ‘04

For weeks I have stared at these blank pages, knowing what I must say but unable to form the words I wanted to write. These fateful words I needed to write. How do I explain chance? How do I describe fate? How do I even try to define what I can only label as a life-altering epiphany?

Where to begin?

Two months ago my eight-member squad and I were part of a convoy riding east through Fallujah. We had traversed the road countless times before, and I knew exactly when and where I would strike. I had made my plan, said my internal goodbyes, and intended to go through with everything. Five of us were in the lead Humvee. Ramirez was on the turret, Antonio was behind the wheel, and three more were in the back with me. Prescott and Noland were in the Humvee behind us with two contractors and an interpreter. We were assigned to transfer the men to some site an hour away for God only knows what. Two Humvees, eight soldiers, and three unfortunate American bystanders—eleven men there to reap what they and the world had sown.

Eleven souls there to die with me on the day of my deliverance.

The three men close to me were joking around while I just sat in the back corner seat by myself. I had decided that when I finished with those in my car, I would mount the turret, turn it to the other vehicle, and laugh as I wiped the confused look off of Prescott’s face. I knew if I were to get them all, I’d need to be fast and unwavering.

What happened next is more of a blur than anything—just a haze of flashes and screaming. I was sitting in the back and had slowly begun to un-holster my side arm, trying hard not to draw attention. I closed my eyes and told myself the time had come. Suddenly, the men around me stopped laughing. I opened my eyes and saw that they were all staring at me. Private Buck asked if everything was all right. I knew the time had come. I smiled at them all, quickly raised my side arm, and shot Buck in the face. I got one more round off that hit Ramirez in the back of his leg, before the others jumped on top of me. I started emptying my handgun randomly when all of the sudden there was a bright light and the wind left my lungs. My ears were ringing and I figured one of them had shot me. I remember feeling disappointed that I hadn’t taken more of them with me. But as I expected death to roll over me, I was instead surprised as my eyes and ears began to readjust to the world. I could see the Humvee was lying on its side and that the front of it was burning. Antonio was screaming and thrashing around as the flames engulfed him. I heard the tatter of metal striking metal, and the Marines on top of me began shouting out in pain as the bullets pierced the roof, hitting them again and again, snuffing out their life like I had tried to moments prior.

We had been hit. Rockets were flying inbound from somewhere off to our left. The only thing that saved me were the men that had jumped on top of me to take me down. Their bodies kept the enemy fire from ending my life as well. Another rocket hit what had been the underside of the burning engine compartment, sending the Humvee rolling down into a ravine before coming to a stop again on its roof. I pushed one of the men off me and looked around at the ripped up Marines.

They were all dead.

Two of the doors had been blown off across from me, and I saw it was my only way outside to face the men in the second Humvee and finish what I had started.

I had to crawl over Buck’s half-intact torso to get out of the toppled vehicle. I could hear the hissing and snapping of gunfire flying a few feet above the Humvee, which lay partially hidden in the ditch. It was enemy fire and it was meant for me. I grabbed a rifle lying a few feet away and began to crawl up toward the road, praying to my brothers of the night as I did so. I could see the Humvee that had been behind us had stopped, and Prescott was manning the turret, firing into the few outbuildings on the other side of the road. I turned to him and aimed my rifle, but then I stopped. Among the chaos that burned around me I realized as I had years ago, with the girl in the back alley, that this was not a moment for action. It was a moment of illumination.

I had crawled through fire and death. I had chosen to kill those men, and it was I who had blazed my own path, not random chance. Kneeling there, among the madness that swirled around me, I realized my life would only ever be what I chose to make it. Fate did not deliver me. It beckoned for me to seize it. In that moment I realized that only I could guide myself to greatness.

In that moment, I chose to live.

A rocket hit close to the other Humvee, jerking me back to the present moment, and I heard the engine roar as they began to floor it to get away. I knew if I didn’t go with them that I would be a goner. I tried to wave them down, but they didn’t see me by the ravine. So I ran into the road, with gunfire flying all around me, and shouted to get their attention. I then saw Prescott turn and look right at me as a round hit me in the upper leg. I screamed out in pain and fell to the ground, thinking I was a dead man after all. I could see the insurgents making their way from the tree line, trying to overwhelm us. But I didn’t want to die anymore. I wanted to live. No, I needed to live. I grabbed my rifle, howled like a crazed warrior, and began fighting for my life.

The Humvee raced over and came to a screeching halt next to me. The back door flew open, and the two contractors grabbed me by my vest and pulled me into the vehicle as Corporal Noland floored it. Five or six loud pings pinged across the roof, and Prescott fell out of the turret well, screaming out in agony. He was writhing around so we couldn’t see where he had been hit, but his blood was everywhere. Another rocket hit just in front of the Humvee and I realized that without a gunner we were fish in a barrel. So I pulled myself up on my one good leg, stood in the turret well, and began to fire back. Fury like I’ve never felt before welled up in me as I sent round after round into the outbuildings and the tree line. Soon, I found myself facing backward, firing into the low-lying hills that were far out of range. Suddenly, it was over. When the ammo was spent and the turret quiet, I began to shake as I grasped what I had just done.

I had made it out alive. My adrenaline rush vanished and exhaustion quickly spread throughout my body. I sank back into the cab and the pain shot up my leg. One of the contractors was holding a rag against Prescott’s neck and praying, but Prescott’s eyes were already glazed over. The surviving men turned and thanked me. They actually thanked me for saving their lives. Noland was on the radio calling in the ambush and the downed soldiers behind us and requesting medical personnel to be waiting when we arrived at the base.

In that moment, it dawned on me that I had crossed a threshold and there would be no return. You see, in my act of rage, I had made up my mind and started to kill those men. Foolish and cruel men who acted the way they did simply because they had been raised as Americans. They had thought themselves so privileged that they could outwardly express their hatred for someone in authority over them. I wanted them dead, and I had pulled the trigger to prove it. I now see that it wasn’t the men themselves or the way they had treated me that birthed my murderous hatred. I hated what had made them that way.

In that moment, I hated America.

It was, and is, a pure, primal rage against the cancer that has trickled down from the top and infested every level of American society. I understand now that what America needs is not simply good men. It needs a revolution. It needs a new course and a captain to guide them there.

And I, Lukas Chambers, had right then and there decreed that I would one day fulfill that need.

              ~A Man of Fate

February '05

I have become a national star; an icon of courage. I spent three months recuperating at my father’s retreat in Virginia and have since then moved into a house of my own. My service is luckily all but finished, though they believe I will never walk without a limp again. The good news is that Dad couldn’t be more proud of his boy now that I’m a war hero and all. He even bought me a home close to him in Norfolk and gave me a one-of-a-kind revolver to commemorate his appreciation for everything I gave the country. Not only that, but he petitioned to have me become the unofficial face of Holt Firearms. They loved the idea; the money is great, and Dad promises this could be the start of a very lucrative career. The funny thing is that while I know I am the one who has created these opportunities for myself, it seems fate only continues to work on my behalf.

I went on a speaking tour with the company a week ago when I first met her. She is a young girl in her early twenties and just about to finish her college degree. Though she is attractive, she’s by no means someone to write home about. We got to talking and she said God hadn’t introduced her to the right man and that she was fine in this ‘season of singleness.’ I suppose if God were real then he would know about my past and save one of his own from a man like me. Initially, I was hoping for nothing more than a one-night stand, but when I heard her name I knew I would make her mine.

Her name is Sue Holt, daughter of Mike Holt, the founder and majority shareholder of Holt Firearms. Once I met her, I knew what I needed to do. To become wealthy is one thing. To one day own a multi-million dollar company is something else entirely. Someday, when I own the company and grow it into something else—something far better for my needs—I suppose then I can begin my quest for change.

              ~Lukas

January ‘06             

Thomas Carlyle once said, ‘the man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder.’ I believe before the event—that is what I have come to call what happened in Iraq—I was an eager and rudderless mess of a man. I would daydream about the horizon but I never knew the direction I had to sail to reach it. I had so much potential, but I was drowning it in self-pity and anger because of the pain that filled my childhood. I refuse to ever become that boy again. I refuse to believe I am an unwanted accident. I must stay focused on my goals—those golden shores ahead, no matter how far they may be.

With that being said, I am here to write that I have married Sue Holt. To my surprise, I do actually feel something for the woman, though I don’t know if I would ever call it love. I think I’d call it gratitude more than anything. I once believed that marriage would be some terrible prison and that women were never to be trusted beyond one night of passion. What I have come to discover is that she has earned my trust, and, in a way, I find myself trusting her because she truly believes I love her back. So I don’t know, maybe it is love; maybe it’s something different. But if it is love, then this powerful emotion that everyone speaks so fondly of—the one thing that controls so many people for the majority of their life—well, it is far less interesting than I had ever believed it could be.

              ~Lukas

June ‘06

One thing I have come to understand is that the higher I climb, the smaller the world becomes. I have become the director of innovation at Holt Firearms after only five months of marriage to the owner’s daughter. It was no surprise, really. Between my fame, my father’s influence, and the way Mike Holt adores the man who makes his ‘little Sue bug’ happy, I was really a shoe-in. My ideas for tomorrow—beyond the simple shotgun, handgun, or hunting rifle—have caught their attention so much so that they wish for me to begin to guide the company’s future prospects. This company has potential far greater than it realizes and I am here to capitalize on that.

However, it is not only my career that I believe I am destined to control. Fate has begun to work for me in more than one place. A man in his mid-twenties moved in next door about a month ago. His name is Sūn Vetrov, and apparently he works in shipping and international trade. The things that come out of his mouth never cease to amaze me. He has these grand ideas about a united world and what we could accomplish if only we stood together as a human race. He said we need world leaders and politicians to fundamentally dismantle and rebuild the establishment if we are to reach our full potential. I know, sounds familiar doesn’t it? I’m not sure how long he will be here in Norfolk, but I cannot help but think we were meant to find each other. In fact, I cannot help but wonder what tomorrow will bring for us both.

              ~Lukas

May ‘07

It is too much of a coincidence, I believe, that the goals I now live for and the actions of my past have brought me to the doorstep of a global revolution. My conversations with Sūn have become deeper and more frequent. They no longer arise from a simple longing for a different tomorrow but rather from the realistic idea that we might very well be able to alter the course of mankind. I see the same passion for change burning in him as burns in me. The other night he told me, over a couple of beers, that to truly reform the world as we see fit we would need patience and determination. Revolution could not happen with a sudden invasion, an economic battle, or even another world war. The change we desire needs to be a gradual change. A slow marinating of the hearts of men. I told Sūn that while I agree, we would need a small army of other loyal individuals bonded together as though we were kin if we were to ever bring about such a radical shift.