Angels of War Battle of Archangels (Book 3) (Angels of War Trilogy) Read online

  “No. But her new status is either going to her head or she’s gone crazy.”

  “I think both.”

  “She loved Satan once, Tobias.”

  “Get to the point, Maria. I don’t want to hear about their love story, another lost chapter in the Bible.”

  “Her plan to corral him back down here doesn’t sit well with me. She’s suggesting the battle in Heaven will fail.”

  Tobias laid the sword on his lap and pulled out the folded cloth. With slow movements he slid the cloth over the blade. “She wants to trap him, that’s her plan.”

  Maria drew the gladius she held from its sheath and turned the blade over in her small hand. The blade gleamed and brought a brief smile to her face. “He won’t go that easy. That is what bugs me.”

  “So you’re saying she turned?”

  “I think she never repented for her sin of betrayal.”

  Tobias grunted. “We need to start training the Guardians, Maria. Let’s focus on that instead of pointing fingers and creating dangerous assumptions.”

  Maria gazed at Tobias for a few seconds, he tossed her a cloth and she caught it. “I’ll watch her then.”

  He waived the cloth at her. “Yea, let’s train the troops tomorrow and find out what Daisy wants us to do next.”

  “Why are you blowing this off, Tobias?”

  Tobias leaned forward and bared his teeth. “Because too much is happening already and you want to suggest Daisy is about to fall.”

  “It’s me and you now, Tobias. I’m saying think about it. Have the thought in your head, don’t blow me off.”

  “Let’s do this. I’ll let you watch Daisy, you deal with her.”

  “You’re not getting what I’m saying, Tobias. Or you’re blowing me off.”

  Tobias lowered his voice. “She’s a Seraph. Only a few beings can stop her and we’re not one of them.”

  “Joan faced Satan on her own. Satan. And you want to wimp out now.”

  “Maria, I am a Marine. Don’t ever suggest that I am a coward.”

  “I’m not suggesting you’re a coward. We are overwhelmed, yes. But keep Daisy in mind. No more surprises for either of us.”

  Tobias sheathed the cleaned sword. “Hope for the best, and expect the worse.”

  “Yes,” Maria said and held Tobias with her brown eyes. “Deal?”

  Tobias stood and held out a hand to Maria. “Deal.”

  Maria’s muscles relaxed. If she faced Daisy she didn’t want to do it alone. She took Tobias’s hand. “Deal.”

  45

  Johnny smiled once the Chinook broke over the brown hills of Sonora, Mexico. Beneath him spread out land, flat, dry, and bleak. A ranch house sat at its center, low and wide with a Spanish tiled roof. He stood in the Chinook cockpit and studied the scene below. No one came out from the ranch to greet them as the black helicopter landed on a field next to an empty corral.

  Thirty armed men dressed in black poured from the Chinook’s rear door. Twenty surrounded the helicopter and ten, along with Johnny Chang, worked their way to the red fence built around the property.

  Johnny walked along a road covered in diamond cut gravel. His men continued forward, weapons up and at the ready. Jose gave the orders. The team swung open a large gate and moved onto the property.

  Johnny cleared the gate and gazed at the empty corral and wondered where all the horses went. Up ahead the team charged forward, working their way towards a stairway built into the hillside. They followed the stairs down and faced the ranch home front door. He loved the intricate latticework cut into the thick wood and made plans to take the door after they killed off the family.

  Jose grabbed the doorknob and turned it. “Nothing, sir. I’ll blow the door open.”

  Johnny lifted his hands. “No, Jose. I want that door. It’s beautiful. Find another way in.”

  “Around the back,” Jose said to his men.

  Johnny followed the group around back. Four minutes passed before they reached the ranch house back door. “This guy must be one of those cartel bosses.”

  Jose turned back to Johnny. “Her father makes tequila, sir. The best in the region.”

  Johnny’s muscles tensed, heat flashed through his face. “You don’t correct me, understand. Your job is to kill.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Johnny gazed at Jose for a few seconds. Dark thoughts urged him to shoot the man. “Now get us in, Jose.”

  Jose nodded at a soldier who pulled open a wooden door to a large immaculate yard. Once again the team moved ahead with military precision. A back door faced them, heavy but plain.

  Johnny admired the backyard. He gazed at three different grills. One a brick grill, another cut from a large metal barrel and another formed like a strange disk. Redwood chairs covered the yard decorated with now dead palm trees. An empty fountain clogged with stagnant water and algae sat in the yard’s center.

  He turned to the plain door. “That door you can blow, Jose.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and ordered a man forward who produce plastic explosives. The soldier began molding the gray glob around the doorknob.

  Johnny meandered around the yard as his men prepared to blow the door. He gazed at the dead palm trees, the dried fronds waved in a gentle wind. He wondered if the family still resided inside the house. No one peeked out the dark windows, no terror filled screams rose from inside. He ran his fingers over the sturdy redwood benches and decided to take them too.

  The small explosion made him jerk and spin around. Smoke curled from the door and the team ran in, silent and fast. He drew his weapon and went inside behind them.

  The cavernous house made him pause. Frustrated grunts and curses emerged from the many rooms within the house. He liked the one floor mansion and journeyed his way through the home like a prospective buyer. He met the team in the large kitchen.

  Jose shook his head. “Empty.”

  “I can see that, Jose,” Johnny said. He expected Maria’s family to be inside with tear-streaked eyes, on their knees deep in prayer with Mother Mary’s statue set on a pedestal before them.

  Johnny turned back to the kitchen. He admired the granite countertops, the wood cabinets. Both firewood and electric stoves sat next to each other, computerized refrigerator, large ceiling fan and several pot and pan collections worth in the thousands. Maria’s family seemed flush with money. Since the occupants must have fled the mansion he decided to clear it out and load what he wanted into the Chinook.

  “Wait here,” Johnny said.

  He returned to the backyard. Anger burned in him and heated his face. He anticipated a house loaded with people. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out an address for Mexico City.

  Johnny looked up from the paper and gazed at the washed out landscape, a place once green and filled with life. In the distance movement caught his eyes. A low rumble like thunder reached his ears. The hills seemed to move, dust rose up into the air and his eyes widened.

  From underneath the gray clouds the horsemen came. In the hundreds they rode from the distant hills, hoof beats made the dry earth underneath his feet tremble. The dust cloud went from a thin scrim along the horizon to a thick wall speckled with brown and black dots lined along its base.

  “Jose,” he said and drew his gun. “Jose, get out here.”

  Jose ran out into the artful yard with his men close behind. The armed group paused at the scene. The dust cloud thickened, lifting higher against the hills and gray sky. A green, white, and red flag snapped in the wind above their heads.

  “They know we’re here,” Jose said.

  Johnny lifted his gun and pulled the trigger at the onrush. One rider tumbled off his horse and vanished within the dust storm. “Shoot them, shoot them. Jose, call the entire team down here.”

  The group lifted their rifles and fired on the horses and men. Undaunted the attack continued. The Mexican flag furled and snapped in the dust-choked air. Gunfire erupted from the attackers, bullets smacked into the ground
and flesh, the black clad soldiers started to fall.

  Johnny ducked and flinched. Rounds cracked into wood, huge terra cotta planter pots exploded next to him. A bullet buzzed by his head, his men fell, their cries filling his ears. The power and joy he once experienced vanished in a yellow stream down his legs. He turned and ran back into the ranch house with Jose not too far behind.

  Jose lifted his radio and screamed commands. Out the front door the two went. Four men remained from the original ten in close pursuit. They hustled up the high stairs.

  One man screamed. A bloody hole blew out his chest. He hitched up, arched and tumbled down the stairs pass the men running up. Windows shattered behind the escaping group as voices yipped and yelped, horses whinnied.

  Johnny crested the stairs and broke out into a full run. Sweat smeared his face, his lungs and legs burned as he sprinted towards the twenty-team members who rushed towards the battle. “Run,” Johnny said. “There are too many of them. Run.”

  The soldiers fired at the horsemen, a few fell from their mounts, the return fire dropped the black clad men, their legs kicking up in pain. Haphazard gunshots ripped the air in their death throes.

  Johnny saw his men’s backs, the red three sixes etched into their uniforms bounced as they took flight. Riders emerged from his periphery. He saw rifles, handguns amongst thick dust the horses kicked up. A coarse rope swung over his head and tightened around his neck.

  The Satanist took in a breath thickened by dust and musky horseflesh. The rope squeezed his neck like a tie and jerked. His legs performed a little jig as he fought to remain upright. More gunfire peppered the air along with screams. Horses snorted and Spanish words laced with anger swarmed over him.

  Johnny fell hard on his ass. The heavy rope bit into the skin at his throat. Pain pressed in on his Adam’s apple, his tongue stuck out to taste dust laced with dried manure and cordite. Tears sprang from his eyes.

  He struggled like a trapped squirrel. He dug his fingers between skin and coarse rope, a pressure built up in his head until he loosened the tight rope around his neck enough to suck down a harsh breath. What air he did swallow made him gag and vomit, his vision blurred.

  To his left Jose dropped his rifle, flung his hands in the air with splayed fingers. “I give up, I give up,” he said. A big man on an even bigger horse rode up to the sergeant and drew a large silver six-shooter gun from a worn brown holster. The dark barrel swung up to Jose’s forehead.

  The gun boomed. Jose spun like a drunk ballet dancer, a red hole gracing the space between his eyes and he hit face first into the dust. Other riders dismounted their horses and either shot, or hacked machetes into the black clad men who pleaded for their lives.

  Johnny glared at the big Mexican who slid off his horse and ambled over to him. His eyes flicked to the silver gun held in a scarred hand and over to Jose’s dead body with dark blood haloed around his still head.

  “You came here to kill my family,” he said in halted English.

  Johnny lifted his chin. His head throbbed. The pain sickened him. He gazed into the man’s round, sun worn face. “Yea, and we were going to fuck every woman in your house.”

  The man shook his head in disgust, his yellow teeth shown. “My daughter is Maria the angel,” he said and tapped the hot gun barrel against the seared three sixes on Johnny’s forehead.

  Johnny attempted to laugh. His ruined throat produced a few croaks. He tasted blood. “Maria is dead.”

  The man turned his head and spoke a few words in Spanish. Calloused hands armed with more ropes descended upon Johnny. Ropes tied in hard knots wrapped around his wrists and ankles, the other ends looped over saddle horns.

  Johnny moved his head about, the smile on his face faltered. He hoped for a quick bullet to his head like Jose. He struggled as the horses cantered ahead and stretched him like a deerskin set out to dry. The rope around his neck tightened. Bones along his spine creaked and cracked. “No,” he said.

  “Que no?” The big man’s face hovered over Johnny’s. “Are you ready to die?”

  Johnny could no longer struggle even if he tried. The man’s face blocked his view. He wanted to see the gray skies before he flew off into Hell. More pain rippled throughout his body, his muscles, stretched to their limits, trembled like guitar strings.

  “You kill me, I’ll be more powerful when I return.” Johnny swallowed several ragged breaths to force away the fear. He refused to beg, death for him meant Hell, an achievement he spent a lifetime to accomplish. Spanish voices filled his ears, all babel to him, nonsense he no longer wanted to hear.

  The ropes pulled on his arms and legs with a gentle tug, voices lifted in excitement, as he seemed to levitate into the air. Muscles jerked, twitched and ached over his body. A hollow pop emerged from his shoulders, the bones in their sockets twisted, loosened and separated. Pain rushed over him, reddish pink spots splattered his vision. A low moan escaped his voice, a sound he hated as his pants warmed with urine and feces.

  Johnny’s mouth drew back in a rictus, his white teeth bit down, blood frothed between their tight creases. Horses snorted, the rope thrummed and pain spiked through his body. Both arms and legs ripped away from the torso joined by his head. Johnny’s world swirled for a brief moment. His eyes caught a dour face, silver gun and boots coated with corral dust and dried horse shit. Blackness swallowed him whole.

  46

  Daisy Lane dreamt about the cellar door laying open on rusted hinges. Green ivy crept along its cracked wood. Brown grass sat outside the door trembling like fingers in a cold breeze. The door sat alone in a field covered with white daisies.

  Sinister whispers floated out the door’s black maw like ash flakes. A heady smell laced with vegetable decay and wet rot accompanied the voices. They beckoned her down into the darkness.

  Curiosity pulled Daisy forward. She traveled in a dream, a place she could pull away from at any time but didn’t want to. Daisy eased onto the cracked top step with dried weeds caught in its thin fissures. Five steps down into the gloom she found herself standing on a soft dirt floor.

  Daisy paused, allowing her vision to adjust to the dimness. Short, round forms appeared. Wine casks draped in ropey cobwebs sat stacked four high in endless rows. She journeyed further into the moldy cellar. Her footfalls landing soft against the floor. The wine casks arranged in long aisles vanished off into the distance, seeming forever. Plump brown spiders scampered over the casks molded wood, their eyes reflecting an unseen light.

  The musty smell strengthened, like bad breath caused by a rotten tooth. Goosebumps sprouted along her flesh. Daisy reminded herself she is a Seraph and jammed her fear to a little corner in her mind.

  “Hey,” a voice said near her.

  Daisy stopped, peered down a dark aisle. She walked ahead, her nostrils flaring. More green rot odor greeted her, but this time tinged with iron. Dried blood graced her nostrils with its familiar tang. The wooden wine casks appeared centuries old. Black mold and red rust seeped out the casks metal bindings. The spiders paused and watched her float down the aisle like a doomed bride.

  “Closer,” the same voice said. “You’re almost here.”

  Daisy reminded herself again, as Seraph she knew no fear. She moved deeper into the gloom and discovered a shadowy figure crouched in a corner. “Who are you?”

  The figure stirred. Its eyes green and bright lifted up to her. “Your promise.”

  The shadow leaped forward. Its empty mouth yawned open with arms raised to swallow Daisy Lane in blackness.

  Daisy Lane bolted up from her sleep. She found herself on the cold hard ground. Her body aching and with a thought she dismissed the pain.

  Daisy Lane decided to unleash her plan. She knew Maria and Juggernaut would not be a problem. Over a million years wait came down to her next few moves.

  She stood near her tent in the shadows. Her eyes hooded as she watched the Guardians and others hurry throughout the desert, their energy seemed superhuman. Joan failed and Luci
fer’s victory sat a few days away. The Battle of Seven Gates, the angels who fell from grace, her double identity, all came down to her betrayal. Her simple whisper in Lucifer’s ear almost unraveled Heaven.

  God forgave her treason. The feigned act she displayed worked so well the good Lord pardoned her and sent Lucifer to Hell. She missed Lucifer, and could not wait to be in his arms once again.

  Daisy hated them all. From God and his angels to the weak mortals who scurried over the planet. Once Joan woke her from the centuries old sleep the plan started. General Temeculus’s initiated the assault. His small skirmish tested what God would do. Jehovah remained distant from the fight and let the angels slug it out with Satan’s Black Army.

  Their victory shocked Daisy. Their faith tested made Joan slack off. Enough for Okura’s and Black Angel’s little surprise to come through and rip a hole in reality.

  God’s soldiers, outnumbered, suffered terrible losses enough to throw them into retreat. Still Jehovah kept his hand from the fight. The breach through the Large Hadron Collider crushed them, and now her time came to step forward and spur the final attack.

  She could not understand why God gambled on Joan? Michael’s daughter came with weaknesses. Yes, she admired Joan’s physical power, but her mental weakness Daisy discovered within the first few hours they met. She picked at it like a scab until she broke down Joan’s mental walls. So much so God promoted her to Seraph and not Joan. Seraph, she mused. A high rank filled with powers and advantages greater than most archangels.

  Power she could use to open a gate into the kingdom and allow the Hell Force to swarm in and do what Lucifer longed for.

  Heaven would burn, a dream she kept bottled up for so long the desire almost drove her mad. Their plans came together once Michael left Heaven to enjoy earth’s mortal fruits.

  Michael plowed Joan’s mother while Lucifer plotted Heaven’s downfall. The entire scheme came with twists, turns, double backs. Joan’s appearance gave their rebellion a stronger reason than a selfish power struggle. God murdered families fathered by several million angels. He did it with a coldness Lucifer did not expect.