The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (45 page)

As they approached the exit, the loud
thud-thud-thud
of eight massive blades cutting through the air outside shook the windowed wall. The soldiers and fleeing politicians slowed as search lights cast moving shadows through the glass windows. An aerial drone, shaped like a giant four leaf clover, and larger than any drone Adam had ever imagined, lowered itself next to the tall columns and rotated its magnetic-driven miniguns toward the group of survivors.

“Take cover!”             

The escalating whine of incoming fire cracked overhead, and bullets ripped through the windows and wall to their right. Adam dove for cover as the gunfire cut through two men who had been running next to him. Five soldiers each raised what appeared to be two short guns connected to their packs and loosed a deafening volley of fiery bullets laced with streaks of blue—a stream of carnage that rivaled the drone’s deadly assault. The aircraft immediately began to spin—firing blindly as the incendiary rounds melted through its heavy steel. The drone rose twenty feet before spiraling out of control and plummeting down to the wide plaza below. As it crashed, Adam’s heart sank. He could see the search lights of ten more aircrafts hovering above an approaching army of armored vehicles.

Captain Bond cursed. He grabbed his radio and growled his orders.

“This is Captain William Bond. We’ve got a squadron of Yellow Jackets and a column of tanks advancing toward the Capitol from the east. I need an immediate bombing run at the East Front. Danger close.”

“Roger that, I have five Warthogs rerouting. ETA twenty seconds. Good luck.”

“Alright, we’ve got to move! West exit, go!”

The troops shouted as they led Adam and the survivors across the hallway toward the Great Rotunda room. The fleeing men and women burst through the open doorway and ran for the far side. They had almost reached the other door when a shockwave of dust—followed by a searing wall of heat—struck, dislodging the iconic paintings that lined the walls and throwing almost everyone to the floor.

Adam quickly rolled to his back, and he heard what sounded like a freight train bearing down from above. He looked up as stone from the ruined dome began to fall. He rose to his feet and lunged under the west doorway as the rubble fell where they had been lying, burying all but seven of them underneath a pile of carved rock. Adam turned back in a daze—looking through the doors toward the room where he had almost been crushed—when Captain Bond grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Forget about them. We need to go.”

As they ran for the west exit, the captain grabbed his radio and started shouting again.

“Hold fire on the west entrance. I say again, hold fire. Friendlies coming out.”

They neared the doorway, and hope began to swell within Adam. Minutes ago he had been kneeling before the gun of a madman, ready to die and believing that everything he had ever cared about had been lost. Now, he was moments away from escaping the building that had almost entombed him.

As soon as he ran through the big doorway, all hope inside him burned away in the sea of fire that churned before him.

Washington was ablaze. Smoke rose against the dark, snowy January sky as countless fires—both big and small—blackened the city. Sirens wailed throughout the night while anti-aircraft fire rose quickly into the dark. Whether the tracers were aiming for American planes or Lukas’ drones, Adam couldn’t tell. Explosions rippled across the massive battlefield. As Adam ran behind the Navy Seal, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the battle before him.

That is, the violent clash between men and machine that heralded the beginning of World War Three.

The last remaining survivors—Max Jennings among them—raced across the raised terrace toward the lengthy steps. When the men had made it halfway down the wide staircase, tracers began to zip around them, cracking hard against the stone steps and iron railing.

Captain Bond shouted into his radio as they ran. “I need an air strike or artillery on the roof and western front of the Capitol. I’ve got mission priority Adam Reinhart and I need an immediate EVAC!”

“Roger, orders for artillery at the west Capitol face commencing. Take cover. Firing in three, two, one. . . .”

More than a mile away, the National Mall lit up with smoke and flashes as a massive gathering of tanks let lose their shells. Just as Adam and the others dismounted the final few steps, the reverberating roar of a dozen large, deadly projectiles passed overhead, slamming into the face of the Capitol behind them with a thunderous boom.

“Bravo team, it’s too hot for birds that close. Proceed to the Grant Memorial. We have Humvees heading your way now.”

“Alright men, move your butts! Two hundred yards and then we’re out of here.”

As Adam ran—his lungs aching and old wounds crying out in agony—he looked around at the madness engulfing the nation’s capital. Five planes to the north screamed through the night in formation when one of them was stuck by anti-air fire. It banked to the left before its wing ripped off completely, sending the plane spiraling down and crashing with a huge explosion just beyond the Botanic Gardens. A stray rocket, launched from somewhere behind them, smashed into the grass lawn a few hundred feet to Adam’s left. Bullets and artillery whined and snapped above as they raced to safety.

As the uncontrollable chaos raged around them, Adam began to pray.

Though part of him believed it luck or chance that he had managed to survive the firestorm that seethed in Washington—threatening to kill him at any moment—he also knew that God had spared him for a reason. If he could make it through the battle, he could help change the destiny of millions and save a nation.

“HQ this is Bravo team, we’re fifty yards from the—”

A barrage of missiles passed above from behind them and showered the approaching column of American tanks—lighting up the night sky with their balls of fire and generating a concussion that knocked Adam onto his back. Dozens more of the shrieking warheads raced toward the advance that was now underneath the Washington Monument. Countless tracers strafed the army, obliterating the remaining Humvees, tanks, and armored vehicles that had made up the mobile HQ.

A few seconds later, twenty or so Soviet MIG fighter jets streaked through the night at full afterburner. Adam slowly rose and looked for the others. Captain Bond and Max were pushing themselves up to their knees or feet gradually. The captain stood and looked at the field of burning debris that stretched half a mile long and then back at the burning Capitol Building. He shook his head and cursed—ripping away his radio and speaking in somber tone.

“This is Bravo team leader William Bond. HQ and the main advance is gone. All units, be advised. Crimson Fall. I say again, Crimson Fall.” He cursed loudly before reattaching his radio to his vest and turning to Adam. “Alright, we’ve got to move.”

“Crimson Fall?” Adam asked. “What’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” the captain said. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t—”

“It means we’ve lost!” the Navy Seal shouted. “It means the United States no longer controls Washington and her military has been shattered. It means that the battle is over, America’s destroyed, and it’s time to retreat!”

Crimson Fall.

             
The words stung at Adam as he stood amongst the ruins of DC. He had welcomed death moments before, but he had thought his survival meant he may very well be able to fight again and stop Lukas from finishing off America. Adam had hoped the people would rise up and fight for their country now that the war had begun. He had passed through fire only to hear two words that told him it had all been for nothing.

“Alright people, we got to keep going. This ain’t over yet.”

“The colonel?” Adam inquired. “Was he out there?”

“I don’t know, but they were our other ticket out of this. We got to find our own way now. Follow me.”

The group of survivors had dwindled to Adam, Max, the captain, and one other politician that Adam couldn’t name. They followed the captain south toward Independence Avenue. To their right, an intense fire licked its way through the steel and glass walls of the Botanic Gardens. The jet plane from earlier had hit the glass roof and crashed down on the other side.

Captain Bond slowed, looked around, and then ran toward the blazing wreckage of the downed plane.

“This way!”

A blue truck sat motionless twenty feet from the wrecked plane, rumbling softly as it continued to idle. The driver’s head rested on the steering wheel, eyes still in death. Debris from the plane had rained down onto the vehicle, ripping a wide hole through the roof and killing the man. The captain unbuckled the driver and pulled him out of the truck.

“Alright, we’re driving out of this shit. You,” he motioned to the nameless politician before handing him his automatic rifle. “Ride in the back and light up anything that follows us. Adam you drive, and Max, in the cab with us. Head toward Reagan and don’t stop.” Adam climbed into the front seat as Max entered the back of the cab. William ran around the side and jumped into the passenger’s seat. He drew his pistol and set four grenades on the dash before shouting at Adam. “Punch it!”

Adam pushed the pedal to the floor and the truck lurched forward. He swerved around the burning plane and headed west along Independence Avenue. They raced through the mess of stopped or wrecked vehicles, with Adam honking his horn anytime someone ventured out in front of them. People who had left their cars or hadn’t found safety indoors yet ran along the sidewalks, crying out in horror as the battle of DC continued. As the truck crossed Fourth Street, a black SUV came speeding into the intersection. Adam slammed on the brakes as fast as he could but the two vehicles collided, sending his truck spinning across the intersection and slamming into a light pole as the engine shut off. The other SUV slowly crawled forward, horn blaring as it came to rest ten feet away.

Adam shook his head and looked over. Captain Bond was dazed and barely conscious. The side of the truck had crumpled in and hit him hard. Blood was running from the captain’s head, but he opened his eyes slowly and began looking around the cab. Max groaned from the back seat, holding a forearm that had been bent at an awkward angle. Adam looked through the back window for the man who had been riding in the bed of the truck, but there was no sign of him. He peered back over to the SUV and watched as the door opened and a man stepped out.

“Adam, start the truck,” the captain said softly as he glanced around the cab until he saw his pistol on the floor lodged between the crushed door and the seat. “Start the truck.”

Adam began turning the ignition key, trying to start the mangled vehicle. The captain reached down with a painful grunt and tugged at his pistol. The man who had stepped out of the SUV shook his head and peered back into his vehicle to check on the driver. He then nodded and approached the blue truck with his hand resting on his side arm.

“Keep the vehicle off and your hands where I can see them.”

“We’re fine,” the captain replied as loudly as he could. “You just get yourself the hell out of here.”

“I said keep the truck off!” the man shouted.

The captain tugged at the pistol harder, cursing as he tried to free it.

“I said—” the man looked inside the truck and saw Adam. “Shit, it’s him!” He drew his gun just as Captain Bond freed his and the two men began firing. Adam ducked—bullets ripping through the windshield as he continued to turn the key.

The man leapt behind his SUV and began shouting. “Eagle Eye! This is Agent Grimes; target located!” He looked up to unleash two more rounds and Captain Bond quickly returned fire, sending the man ducking back behind his vehicle. Adam began shouting—begging the truck to come to life. As he was turning the key, he looked down and saw one of the grenades. He snatched it, pulled the pin, and threw it out the shattered window toward the agent.

“Eagle Eye, I say again. Target located! They’re in a blue truck on Indepe—”

The truck rumbled to life, and Adam floored it just as the grenade exploded, blowing the man’s legs off from the knees down.

“Get us off Independence. Head south.” Bond gripped his radio. “Command, Colonel, someone! This is Bravo team leader. We’re wounded and need an immediate EVAC. Damn it, is anyone left?”

“Bravo team, this is Chopper-Six. All units are in full retreat. Rendezvous at Fourth and Virginia.”

“Chopper-Six, you’re a life saver. Alright, stay on Fourth. They should be right up ahead.”

The truck raced south. A low flying Blackhawk appeared from the right and began to hover over a low lying bridge. Adam was just about to let out a sigh of relief when a missile screeched from the left, striking the back of the helicopter and sending it crashing down at them.

Adam swerved to the left as the helicopter fell beside them. Overhead, a MIG fighter raced from the left where it had fired the kill shot. Adam floored it under the bridge and continued to race south.

“Where the hell do I go?” Adam shouted.

“The freeway underpass ahead.”

The road ahead passed under the freeway, and Adam knew if he could make it in time, it might give them the cover they needed to survive.

The jet circled around—banking wide before it came barreling toward them. As it leveled out, the plane let loose a missile and Adam let loose a defiant shout. The truck raced under the bridge just as the lethal warhead struck the road behind them. The rear of the truck rose—hitting the roof of the bridge underneath before crashing down sideways, tumbling forward as it began to roll. It flipped twice before coming to a rough stop on its roof in the middle of the underpass. Stunned, cut up, and bloodied from the crash, Adam slowly looked to his left as the squealing of tires and the headlights of an unknown SUV quickly advanced toward him.