The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (44 page)

Tank shells and bullets rained down into the dwindling mass of combatants, massacring the soldiers as they battled to the last man. Jackson cried out and staggered as a piece of shrapnel severed his left arm below his elbow. He swung his rifle around and bellowed as he fired in vain at the drones overhead. A pair of high velocity bullets pierced his body armor and ripped two holes through his torso—cutting off his defiant roar mid-breath and sending him to his knees, gasping for air.

Jackson Hewitt had lived through two wars, survived countless battles, and devoted the majority of his life to the United States Military. For nearly half a century he had dreamt of a last stand where he could fight and die a patriot’s death. So when he saw the unmanned tank emerge from the fire fifty feet away, aim its long barrel directly at where he knelt, and flash—the last thing that went through his mind before the shell struck his chest was the sad regret that he wouldn’t die as an American soldier.

“Let the ruins of Fort Bragg serve as a reminder that we must always remain a strong and united race. We will cast out the evils that afflicted us and become a fair and just people. To those of you who desire food, shelter, medicine, or a sense of
genuine
security, I will give you what you seek, so long as you give me your allegiance in return. Thank you, and may the gods of fate forever bless the Imperium!”

Lukas’ voice ceased and chaos filled the room. Many attempted to push their way through the exits, while others struggled to approach the front. Soldiers had seized Rhys Howard and held the panic-stricken man at the base of the large podium. Everywhere Adam looked he saw fear and hysteria. Fifteen minutes ago, every single person in the room had held some sort of authority over the nation. Now, any influence they had been gifted with was completely and utterly gone, just like the country they had served.

The uproar continued until a gun shot rang out from the stage. Adam, along with the others in the room, ducked for cover and the cries of fear ceased. Lukas Chambers, the man who now considered himself the absolute authority over the entire world, stood with his smoking pistol raised overhead. As the crowd slowly rose, he began to speak once more.

“Those of you in this room who wish to continue to assist the people of this land may do so, but not as you were before. In the past, you devoted everything you were to your self-centered elections and careers. Now, you will swear your lives to me and the advancement of my empire. While my punishments will be swift from this hour forward, I will also be a fair and just Sovereign. I now grant each and every one of you the chance to come forward as a declaration of your newly-placed allegiance, regardless of any past grievances we may have had. However, know that you will be given only one chance to prove your loyalty. Now, rise and come forward, oh you sons and daughters of mine.”

Adam Reinhart had always taken great pride in his patriotism and zeal for his country, like so many other politicians had. Just like every other congressman or senator, he had sworn to protect the American citizens. Adam had cherished that sense of loyalty and unity so much so that when the majority of the scared men and women pushed their way to the front of the room—abandoning the United States of America—he wanted to cry.

Adam looked around the chamber at the shocked and frightened politicians who had refused to move. He searched for someone he knew and found Jennings, Malcovich, and Max—all looking around with fear in their eyes. As the crowd surged forward, Adam began shoving his way toward the back of the room.

“Max, David!” His voice was almost completely lost in the pandemonium. “Jennings. Let’s go!” As he tried to reach his friends, someone attempting to make it to the front shouldered him hard. He fell into an empty aisle, rose to his feet, and started hopping the rows of chairs in effort to reach his friends. When they finally saw him, they started making their way toward him.

“What the hell do we do?” Max shouted.

Another gunshot exploded from the front, and Adam instinctively dipped his head before turning around. The crowd of hundreds who had betrayed their country in fear had found a place where they could lower themselves to the floor. Some cried, some wept, while others held on to each other in terror.

All, however, knelt before Lukas Chambers, their new king.

Lukas scanned over the men and women before him. His eyes slowly rose to survey those who had remained in the stands. He glanced over the crowd, and when he finally found Adam, a euphoric grin slowly appeared on his face.

“So be it.” Lukas stared down at Adam—hatred filling his jubilant eyes. “I stretched out my hand in peace and you spat on it. You have all made your choice and there is no going back. As promised, I was fair. Now, I will be swift.”

Lukas Chambers, a powerful and deceitful man whom Adam had tried to stop, turned to the uniformed soldier at his right and uttered his first symbolic orders as a malicious tyrant.

“Take them outside and wait for me,” he said before looking back up at Adam with a wickedly joyful smirk. “I will be there soon enough.”

Shouts of anger and madness rose from those thirty or so damned souls in the stands. Lukas was glad Adam Reinhart had chosen to remain among them, and he looked forward to personally bringing an end to the man who had cost him so much.

But first, he would take care of the one man he hated most.

Rhys Howard struggled below with two of the black clad soldiers. Face bruised and bloodied, the defeated man laughed hysterically as Lukas approached. Lukas hoped his wounds would not numb the eternal pain that was about to come. As he stopped next to Rhys—looming ominously over the kneeling man—air raid sirens outside began to blare out. Lukas ignored them. He had waited years for this moment, and he was not going to let anyone or anything spoil his fun.

“This is it,” Lukas said. “The Purge the world needed, but not the one you expected.”

“We should have known not to trust Jacob,” Rhys said. “But mark my words. We will find him, long after I’m dead, and give him the same treatment you will come to know. You are not the world’s hero, Lukas. We have watched you when you thought you were hidden. We have heard you when you thought you spoke in secret. John Fresnel was right. You are and always will be your own worst enemy.”

“You think I fear you? You think I fear whatever army you and the Patriarchs have gathered outside? I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, but I know it will fail. The Patriarchs will break their bones against the high walls of my empire! I will crush their will to fight, and they will fall before the new world that Jacob, Maria, and I have forged.”

Rhys laughed, blood spurting through his jagged teeth as Lukas raised the silver cylinder. Lukas was vaguely aware of Adam Reinhart shouting out from the commotion, though he didn’t hear nor care what the man was yelling.

“You find this funny?” Lukas demanded.

“No,” Rhys replied, choking as he laughed. “I find it funny that you believe it is our army outside.”

Lukas looked at the man, puzzled at what he meant.

“We were wrong, you know,” Rhys said. “We couldn’t have won. Not yet. And now you’ve pulled the trigger too soon, oh my beloved and foolish king. I believe all you have done is wound a sleeping bear; a giant that is ready to fight back with a wrath for the ages. And that,” he motioned outside, “those men who are beating down your high walls, that’s not our army. Our ships were docked in the Gulf Coast, waiting for the Purge to begin weeks from now when the nations of the world rose against one another. So know that I take great pleasure, here in the end, knowing that an American army has arrived to show you that the time has come to water the tree of liberty with the blood of a tyrant.”

“You’re lying,” Lukas said.

“Say what you will, but your words don’t matter. Soon, the time will come when you will live in fear again, Lukas. I promise you that.”

“I fear nothing,” Lukas said defiantly, though his eye twitched ever so slightly, causing Rhys to laugh all the more. Lukas shoved the cylinder against the man’s neck. With the hiss of escaping gasses, he flipped open the switch.

“Goodbye, Rhys, and may you live forever.”

And with the push of a button, the screams began.

C
hapter
T
wenty-one

The Crimson Fall

Adam clenched his fist and swung wide at the first soldier who reached for him. The darkly dressed combatant—a trained man younger and stronger than Adam—casually ducked and threw a hard backhand, sending a flurry of stars dancing across Adam’s vision. Adam shook his head and looked over, vaguely aware of David and Max struggling with the men trying to subdue them a few feet away. Adam tried to rise to his feet, but the soldier cracked a baton on his lower back. His feet buckled underneath him and he slumped down to the floor.

The soldier held Adam underneath the arms and began pulling him through the narrow aisle. Adam looked up as his head began to clear, and bleakness filled his heart. Lukas’ men were taking their victims to the back of the room, pushing them violently through the exit doors as though they were driving unruly livestock to the abattoir. When he reached the main aisle, Adam kicked with his feet and pushed the man dragging him as hard as he could. The soldier raised his baton to strike again, but Adam quickly rose and held out his hands in submission.

“Wait!” Adam shouted with outstretched hands. “Let me at least walk to my death.” The man looked at Adam with hatred in his eyes, but he slowly lowered his baton. Adam began to walk forward—composing himself as much as he could—but when he passed the soldier he shoved him hard, turned around, and shouted to those at the front of the room.

“Kneel, you cowards!”

The soldier reached forward and tried to grab Adam, but Adam hit him in the face as hard as he could to buy him a moment longer.

“May you all die a traitor’s death!”

The soldier rose again to attack, but Adam held up his hands for the man. The soldier grabbed Adam’s arms, zip tied his wrists together, and slugged Adam in the stomach—knocking the wind from his lungs before shoving him toward the back door.

Adam and what he guessed to be no less than three dozen other men and women were slowly led through the back doors and down the short hallway that so many great Americans had walked before. As he exited the House Chamber, he heard the wicked laughter of Rhys Howard suddenly transformed into loud shrieks of agony that did not end. Ahead—in Statuary Hall—men and women wept as their deaths drew near. Adam fought against the tears as he began to think back on the life he had lived and the world he was about to leave behind. He wondered about things like death, eternity, and what God would say to him at the heavenly gates. He then wept for the future generations that might never know the liberty he had grown to love. He prayed that more men and women would rise up and fight back against Lukas and his new empire. Above all else, Adam hoped every American left alive would resist this new oppression and fight for freedom until the final breath.

Until the final breath.

The words echoed through his mind as though they had been forged of both thunder and war drums. Adam knew his time to die was almost at hand, but for now, he was alive and able to fight in his own small way.

Until the final breath.

Adam raised his head and dried his eyes as he was led between two bronze statues and into the massive circular room. While the others were being force to their knees—crying out in fear and anger—Adam took a deep breath and began to fight back the only way he could.

He began to sing.

“Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain. . . .”

The man who had dragged him into the room turned around angrily.

“Shut your mouth!”

“For purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain. . . .”

The soldier brought his baton down on Adam’s face, splitting his lower lip and dropping him to the floor. However, before Adam hit the ground, others in the room began to take up their final, defiant hymn of a fallen nation.

“America! America!” The men and women fought through their sobs and bellowed out the song as they were forced to their knees. “God shed his grace on thee. . . .”

Adam slowly lifted his head as his tears fell to the marble floor, blending with the blood from his lip to form a mixture of red and white; an image that the patriot within him wished held a tint of blue. Across the room, Adam watched David Malcovich turn around and pounce on the man holding him, smashing his head against the stone floor repeatedly as he roared with rage. One of the soldiers swung the butt of his rifle down onto David’s head before putting three rounds in the man’s chest, silencing Adam’s friend forever.

But the melody continued as those facing death refused to do so quietly.

“And crown thy good with brotherhood. . . .” Adam turned his head back toward the entrance and watched Lukas Chambers—the hateful man who had crushed a nation—as he slowly approached through the shadowed hallway with soldiers at his sides and deadly drones above his head. Adam gritted his teeth and fought through the pain so that he might finish the battle cry he had begun.

“From sea to shining sea!”

A far off, dull thud from somewhere outside the structure lightly shook the room. The soldiers looked around to one another worriedly, but Lukas Chambers continued to gaze ahead vindictively at Adam. He calmly strolled forward toward his kneeling target as though he had not a care in the world. He stopped a few feet away from Adam and sported a beam of victory.

“You almost beat me, Mr. Reinhart.” The room shook again—this time even more violently than before, but Lukas continued to disregard anything but his defeated foe. “Almost, but not quite. You are a mere man, just like your brother and every other bastard who thought they could stop me. And mere men cannot stop a man of fate. So sing your pathetic little song while you can, for the history books will soon forget its words just like they will forget your weak and miserable life.” Lukas smiled again as he drew a familiar-looking revolver and aimed it at Adam’s head.

“Any final words before you return to the nothingness that awaits you?”

Something flew through the thick wooden door at the far end of the hall, lodging itself in one of the columns not five feet to the right of Lukas. Before Adam could say a word, a soldier’s voice filled the room.

“Get down!”             

One of the black clad soldiers dove toward Lukas, crashing into Lukas as he pulled the trigger. A bright light filled Adam’s eyes, and all comprehension fled. His pain numbed as he floated soundlessly in a sea of pure white.

Death.             

The word strayed across his mind and as he embraced his demise, he felt a profound sorrow radiate from his heart. It was the grief born from the knowledge that if his family had managed to survive the attack on Fort Bragg, he wouldn’t be there to comfort his wife when she realized her husband had died. It was the regret that he would not raise his boy into the chivalrous man he hoped he would become. It was a sadness that he wouldn’t be there to protect his girls in this new and dangerous world. Despite his silent prayers that Lukas had failed to kill them during the assault on Fort Bragg, Adam couldn’t help but hope in the depths of his soul that they had died as well—a quick and painless passing—and that they would be waiting for him beyond this life. Like a ghost, Adam quietly cried out—the last prayer he believed he would ever utter as a mortal man.

God, if they survived, take care of them. I’m coming home.

As his prayer ended, a warm, kind, and booming voice—the same voice that had been with him in the rainy streets of Chicago—answered back.

Rise, my son. Your battle has just begun.

Sound and comprehension slowly returned, and his vision began to dance back and forth like a hot mirage. He raised his hand slowly to his head, trying to locate what he thought would be a gaping gunshot wound. He ran his hands over his face and found nothing but his bloodied lip. His vision tumbled around, trying to return back to normal. As it began to refocus, Adam Reinhart—a man who believed he had died and lost his fight against Lukas Chambers—realized that he was in the middle of an intense firefight.

Armed men had entered the room at the far entrance and were opening fire on the hovering drones and the black clad soldiers. Lukas’ men in the middle of Statuary Hall quickly fell beneath the ensuing gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off the walls and bronze statues as the unknown troops tried to utilize the element of surprise and take down their target. A target—that Adam recognized to be Lukas Chambers himself.

A black clad soldier dove to the floor for cover and looked over at Adam. Gritting his teeth, the man quickly swung his rifle around. However, Adam had been given a second chance at life, and he had no intentions of dying just yet. His adrenaline surged as he threw his legs around, kicking the soldier’s face just before the man let loose two rounds into the far wall. Adam attacked the soldier—grabbing the man’s gun with his zip-tied hands and slamming it down on the marble floor, letting loose a few more stray rounds. The two men struggled underneath the gunfire that whizzed above until Adam threw all his weight against the soldier, slamming the rifle into the man’s face before ripping it away from him. He raised the gun, aimed at the combatant’s face, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.
In that brief moment—that instantaneous flash of comprehension—Adam understood the full extent of what Lukas had done. Not only had he disarmed the American people with a new firearm technology, but he also made it so those who chose to fight back couldn’t even use the weapons of the enemy. A gun that couldn’t be fired was nothing more than a large club, but even clubs could do the damage that needed to be done.

When the gun failed to fire, the downed man smiled a brief and bloody triumphant smile. Adam let loose a savage cry and swung the not-so-useless firearm down on the man’s head, caving in his teeth and wiping the smile off the soldier’s face for good. Adam looked up—breathing heavily as it dawned on him that it was over. The others in the room were crying out as they used what they could to repeatedly bludgeon the dead or dying troops who had been moments away from executing them. Adam quickly spun—searching for Lukas Chambers. All he found was the audible shouts of rage emanating from Lukas who was being taken back to the House Chamber by his men who had survived the ambush.

The hollow pops of repeated gunfire continued elsewhere inside the massive stone building. While Adam had been spared, it was clear that the battle was not yet over.

“Check the hostages and reload. We’re ghosts as soon as we find him.” A soldier ran over to the doorway Lukas and his troops had disappeared behind, peered inside it to check for safety, and shut the two large wooden doors. He then turned to those in the room and shouted. “Adam Reinhart?”

“Over here,” Adam shouted.

The soldier ran across the room toward Adam.

“You hurt?” the man asked. “Can you move?”

Adam wiped the blood off his lip and rose to his feet. “I’ll be fine. My ears are ringing, but I can walk.”

An explosion to the east shook the building again, cutting off the electricity and leaving them in the dark. The soldiers flicked on their flashlights and began helping those who had survived to their feet.

“I don’t need you to walk,” the soldier said. “I need you to run.” The man took out a knife and cut Adam’s bonds. “Sorry about your ears. A rocket-propelled flash bang can be a real bitch that close, but it gave us the surprise we needed. I’m Captain William Bond of the United States Navy Seals, and we’ve got to get you out now.” He turned to his men and began to bark his orders. “Listen up! Grab only those who can run. Ready your shotty packs. You can bet your asses they’ll send in the heavies now.”

“What about Lukas?” Adam shouted. “You’re going after him right?”

“Not ours to reason why,” the officer replied. “The others are here for Lukas and might have him for all we know. You’re my mission priority number one. We were here to find you, give you a message, and extract you.”

“What others? What message?” Adam asked. “Who sent you?”

“Gene Smith, sir, and the Sons of Liberty. He said to tell you that diplomacy is over.” The officer drew one of his side arms and handed it to Adam. “He said the time has come for you to take a stand and fight.”

The Sons of Liberty.

It had been the name given to the men who had fought for America in the early years preceding her independence. Gene—an American soldier that no one had been able to find for months—had been doing exactly what he said he would. He had gathered the last of America’s warriors and they were yet not willing to kneel before a tyrant.

An explosion shook the room again, rumbling from the giant chamber Lukas and his troops had retreated to. Shouts and gunfire erupted from beyond the two thick doors.

“Alright, Bravo team, let’s get the hell out of here! East exit. Go, go, go!”

Adam racked his handgun and began running toward the far side of the room. Those politicians wounded during the gunfight lay on the floor, crying out for help.

“Leave them!” Captain Bond shouted. “Only those who can run.” Adam bit back the urge to help those behind, knowing it would mean a certain death for them. The soldiers and roughly fifteen survivors, including Adam, ran quickly through the large stone structure, passing the Speaker’s office as they sprinted for the east exit and the extraction point beyond it.