The following full section is from the sixth and final book in the Blades of Grass series, called Fractured States. It launches December 2nd! Enjoy!
Lou and the two men whom Honker claimed were soldiers in the British Special Air Service crossed through the hangar to a blacked-out Mercedes E-350 with equally dark windows. It was the first of two parked nearly bumper-to-bumper on the tarmac. His rumbling stomach and intuition told him it must be close to suppertime. But who knows, he surmised. My body clock hasn’t been right for weeks. “Where we headed, fellas?” The fact that Honker and the Rangers had been loaded into a prisoner transport rig should have been more unsettling, but he was just too exhausted to care.
“Vauxhall Cross, Sir,” one of the two men answered, as if he were a hotel clerk telling Lou where to find the best fish and chips. He opened the right rear door for Lou, who slid into the car and took a seat behind the greasy, black hair of a government driver. A man wearing all three pieces of a gray wool suit, which was probably decades old, sat to his left. Pudgy, Lou figured him to be relatively short. His white hair was thin, and he smelled of cigarettes, though he’d not been smoking in the car. The man tapped the headrest of the empty seat next to the driver with a cane. The Churchill-esque figure struck Lou as a man whose name any decent spy in the world would know from memory.
“Let’s go, Brantley,” the gentleman said. He turned his attention to Lou. “Sorry about the secrecy, Colonel Caldwell.” His bent smile betrayed kind gray eyes. “We should talk a bit before we get to SIS.”
Lou knew he didn’t have a choice. “How should I address you, Sir?”
The staunch man cleared his throat. “Ah, you won’t need my name. My apologies, Colonel.”
“Why am I heading to SIS, Sir?” Lou asked. He knew Vauxhall Cross was the public face of the British Secret Intelligence Service. “More to the point—why am I being debriefed apart from the rest of my team?”
The Mercedes weaved through the maze of planes and airport vehicles. The other dark sedan, which the two SAS operators hopped into, was not two meters from its bumper. A pair of police cars joined the ends of the procession after it passed through a service gate and into the regional airport’s public parking area en route to North Woolwich Road and the path to downtown.
“You’ve been... in the dark about things for several weeks,” the old gentleman said, choosing his words carefully, “what with the long submarine trek over here, and the planning time before the mission. So, please pardon me if I ask you things which seem... silly.” Lou nodded, indicating his patience. “Are you aware that we have officially joined your war?”
Lou exhaled and took a long, deep breath as he thought about what that meant. “I wasn’t, officially. I saw you shuttling munitions out of Diego Garcia, so it was a logical guess. But having been all over the American West during the war, I can assure you that we are most grateful for the help. I take it RAF has gone across the pond and helped us take back the air?”
“They say he who controls the air...” the distinguished man said with a smile that told Lou he was right. “Or the media.”
“The all-knowing ‘they’ always say things like that,” the slight colonel quipped. “They say the same thing about submarines and controlling the ocean. And they’re probably right.”
“Truer words, Colonel.” The man studied Lou for the next question, his old skin wrinkling around his eyes. “Are you aware that you have a new president?”
Lou felt the thumping of blood in his ears, the sound of the rhythmic pounding accompanying the sudden acidic rumble in his empty belly. “Excuse me?” He couldn’t quite believe it. They killed the vice president several weeks back, he remembered. “What—I mean... how? Was Allen killed?” He was oblivious to the evening summer view of the Thames River just outside his host’s passenger window. The speedy procession was already well into the fifteen-kilometer trip to the infamous spy headquarters.
The gentleman let his cane rest against the left side of his groin. He reached ahead in the spacious interior and pulled a pair of lowball glasses out of a rack behind the front seat. He motioned with his eyes and a slight head waggle toward the decanter of single-malt Scotch in the same rack. “Would you mind, my young American friend?”
Friends tell each other their names, Lou thought. The nameless but distinguished man poured them two drinks, then took his own glass after returning the decanter to its spot.
“I’m sure you’re aware that your country’s surviving politicians and bureaucrats have been hard at work trying to reshape things ever since those dastardly slugs fell onto Washington from space and obliterated the Pentagon...”
“More like the entire city,” Lou said quietly. His thoughts drifted back to that particular evening in his hometown of North East, Maryland. It was during the early days after he got shot in Mexico. From the north Chesapeake Bay area, the orange glow to the south was both beautiful and horrifying.
The man continued. “There was an expedited impeachment process on former President Allen. Your new president is your former Speaker of the House, Madam Sally Measure.” The man cleared his scratchy throat. “The Crown and Parliament have... recognized her as the rightful president.”
“What?” Lou set down the whiskey he had no intention of drinking, clearly shocked.
“She is next in line,” the man said, rather matter-of-factly. “Since, as you say, your vice president is dead.”
“Most of Congress and the Supreme Court Justices were killed!” Lou yelled. “A proper Congressional impeachment can’t even happen! It’ll take the states months to replace their lost representatives and senators!”
The host seemed hesitant. “They claim they have a quorum with the few survivors. There... there is more, Colonel.” The Mercedes turned left to cross the river at Southwark Bridge. “As I’m sure you know, General Montgomery had already been fired when your war broke out. So, when most of the Joint Chiefs of Staff died, and he inserted himself back into the war effort...” He paused.
Lou hung onto his words, dreading to hear them, but knowing he must. The air in the car felt hot. “He was protecting America.”
“The General... his staff... they were all arrested for treason two days ago. The trial begins soon. Our intelligence analysts and forecast models predict that this will be a speedy and deadly trial,” he finally added.
Lou’s head was about to explode. “That’s insane! What! What are they being tried for?”
“You see—Colonel... the international community has not responded well to Operation Lex Talionis,” the man continued. “Not well at all. You and I both know that those targets were chosen not just for their high military value, but also for their low civilian body count. But that’s not stopping politicians worldwide from claiming that America has committed an act of nuclear war. Your new president is, shall we say... taking full advantage of this crisis.”
“What about the Chinese?” Lou nearly screamed. After being in a weeks-long information blackout, hearing that his mentor had been framed as a war criminal was too much for him to take.
“The plan worked. Their systems are falling apart. Your Marines are tearing through Mexico in record time. China is in full retreat.”
Lou seethed, speechless. They were nearly to their destination.
“General Montgomery’s staff will wind up being shot by firing squad, I figure. Maybe hanged, and most certainly immediately after the sham trial ends. Whether it will be public or not is hard to say.”
Lou’s growl was like something out of a wounded Rottweiler. “Where? Where is this circus happening?”
“Philadelphia, I’m afraid, old boy,” the man said. “For what it’s worth, I find getting the chance to meet you an honor. There are a few of us who know exactly what bravery and feat the crew of Stone Wall pulled off. Someone will always remember, Colonel. On that, you have my word.” The car whisked past an armed checkpoint and into an underground parking area. Lou was as angry as he’d ever been, staring out the window, but seeing nothing but red. “Colonel...” the man quietly repeated twice. The driver parked the Mercedes next to a pair of thick, bulletproof glass doors. Lou finally looked at him, his face sour. “Mr. Caldwell, you need to be very careful with whom you tell things and what you tell them in the coming weeks.”
Lou finally snapped out of his funk long enough to see several men in suits outside the car. “Am I under arrest?”
The man tilted his glass back and drained it. “I believe your FBI blokes are calling it ‘detained,’” he said.
