Authors: Bishop O'Connell

Three Promises (11 page)

“Drop that bastard!” One says.

One, Three, and Four move to the street as I get my sense back. I take shots at any hostile who gives me a target.

One makes an X out of his arms then opens them quickly as Three and Four both drive their fists into the ground. A giant hand of sand and stone reaches up from the ground and grabs the mystic. The giant fist tightens.

Without thinking, I take aim and open fire, three quick shots. There's a red spray as the body jerks in the earthen hand. In a moment, the hand collapses and the mystic's body follows suit.

Someone screams a phrase I know all too well. I take cover just as the hostiles begin their death blossom: opening fire on full auto in our general direction.

I hear the bullets zip by and hit the wall behind me. When I look up, I see my wounded squad a few feet away, but they're on the ground and there's no sign of the Legion.

Panic hits me as I realize I'm alone and hopelessly outnumbered. It might've started at ten, but some passersby must've join in because I hear what must be twenty voices screaming at me.

“Hell with it,” I say. I pop up and fire.

My rifle barks twice then goes silent.

I take cover again, and try to figure out my options. It doesn't take a genius to know I've run dry. I hear them in the street taking position to move on me.

I toss my rifle and grab my side arm. It's better than nothing, and at least I'll go fighting. A Âcouple of deep breaths to steady my nerves and I listen; I have to let them get close.

That's when I hear a loud barking, and I smile like a kid on Christmas at the beautiful, familiar sound of a Browning M2 .50-Âcaliber machine gun opening up. It's joined by the chopping sound of Blackhawk helicopter blades.

I look and see four Humvees rolling down the street toward me. The two in the front are laying down lines of fire. I sit on the ground, back against the wall, and start laughing. I look at Mitchell, Johnson, and Sarge. The pendants and glowing writing are gone. At this point, I'm not even sure I didn't just imagine the whole thing.

“Private, you hit?”

A medic is standing over me.

“I'm okay for now, get them in first,” I say, motioning to the three on the ground.

In seconds, the three are on stretchers and loaded in the back of the Humvees. I go to stand and all the pain that was gone just minutes before is back, with a vengeance. In fact, I'm having trouble breathing.

“Lie down,” another medic says to me. Still another runs up with a stretcher. I know I can't stand so I start to do as he says. Then the pain overwhelms me and I fall over. They move quickly, getting the stretcher under me.

All I see is dark sky and I feel myself being bounced as they load me into the Humvee. I manage to turn my head and see Mitchell on my right.

“We've got them, move out,” I hear someone say. We lurch forward and speed down the road.

“What happened?” I hear someone ask.

“Ambush,” I say. “IEDs, RPGs, lots of fun for all.”

“Don't worry, brother, we got another team rolling in for the rest of the convoy. We won't leave them out there,” the voice says.

“How'd you hold them off?” another voice asks.

I take a deep breath and feel stabbing pain. “I can't tell you.”

“It's all right,” the first voice says. “It's common to have holes in your memory after something like that. You saved your buddies' lives though.”

“Hope so” is all I can say.

“You'll probably get a medal out of this.”

“That's what I hear.” It had to have been real, right? I couldn't have hallucinated something like that.

“Fritzy, you hear thunder?” the voice asks.

“I think so, but there isn't a cloud in the sky.”

“Man, there's some seriously weird shit going down today,” the first voice says.

“You got no idea,” I say too quietly for anyone to hear. I look over at Mitchell. “You're lucky you'll miss out on the debriefing. That's going to be fun.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

F
irst and foremost, thanks to you, the readers and fans of the American Faerie Tale series. There are truly no words to express my gratitude. To the Knights of Powahatan for your continued support, friendship, and encouragement: Kenda, Mike, Dustin, Kristin, Casey, Geoff, AND Baby G. Thanks to Angela and Aubrey (The Doubleclicks) for making music that inspires, entertains, provokes thought, and redefines the word “awesome.” As always, thanks to Rebecca, my editor, even though you got off really easy this time. Thanks to my Harper Voyager Impulse colleagues, we might not be keeping each other sane, but we are keeping each other less insane.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BISHOP O'CONNELL
is the author of the American Faerie Tale series, a consultant, writer, blogger, and lover of kilts and beer, as well as a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. Born in Naples, Italy while his father was stationed in Sardinia, Bishop grew up in San Diego, CA where he fell in love with the ocean and fish tacos. While wandering the country for work and school (absolutely not because he was in hiding from mind controlling bunnies), he experienced autumn in New England. Soon after, he settled in Manchester, NH, where he writes, collects swords, revels in his immortality as a critically acclaimed “visionary” of the urban fantasy genre, and is regularly chastised for making up things for his bio. He can also be found online at A Quiet Pint (
aquietpint.com
), where he muses philosophical on life, the universe, and everything, as well as various aspects of writing and the road to getting published.

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Also by Bishop O'Connell

The Stolen

The Forgotten

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lyrics to “Wonder (Wonder Woman Song)” used by permission of The Doubleclicks.

THREE PROMISES
. Copyright Â© 2015 by Bishop O'Connell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-ÂAmerican Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-Âbook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-Âengineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperÂCollins e-Âbooks.

EPub Edition DECEMBER 2015 ISBN: 9780062449849

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062449856

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