Where Soldiers Fear To Tread: The Deck Const, #3

By Duane Gundrum

Brian Burke, The Soldier, has been set on his task to find the mythical Deck Const. Having deserted his army in Old Francisco, he joins former police gang leader Greg Johnson and soldier recruit Jenkins as they are sent on a mission to find an elusive monk in Angel City. Once in Angel City, Burke soon discovers that a city built on the movie industry is now controlled by that same society. In order to find their elusive prey, they must become a part of Grand Studios, where movies are made to resemble real life...and death.

This is the third part of the series, which consists of:

Rumors of War
The Charge of the Lost Brigade
Where Soldiers Fear to Tread
The Sisters Karamazov

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duane Gundrum
• Release date: Aug 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501486142

Duane Gundrum

Possibly the greatest translator to ever live, Duane Gundrum can speak 35 words of at least two different languages fluently. When sober, he can walk a straight line and not fall down once. Well, once, but he still thinks he was tripped. Always fascinated by the Greek Trojans, he wonders why they couldn't have gone with a different name instead of stealing USC's mascot for their own. He lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, but don't tell anyone. You know that whole restraining order thing....

Book preview

Table of Contents

Where Soldiers Fear To Tread (The Deck Const, #3)

BOOK 3 | WHERE SOLDIERS FEAR TO TREAD

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

ENTRANCE TO SANTA CLARITA/HWY 5 | PROPERTY OF GRAND STUDIOS OF ANGEL CITY | SLOW DOWN AND REPORT TO AGENT AT MAIN GATE

Chapter 25

Executive Staff:

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

About Where Soldiers Fear to Tread

The book runs about 66 pages in book form and consists of 15,500 words. It is Part Three of the Deck Const series.

About The Deck Const

The Deck Const is a universe copyrighted by Duane Gundrum, the author. For permission to use any elements of the Deck Const universe, please contact the author.

Also by Duane Gundrum

NOVELS

A SEASON OF KINGS

INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUITY

LEADER OF THE LOSERS

DESTINY

ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE (AWOL)

DEADLY DECEPTIONS

THOMPSON’S BOUNTY: A SHIP OUT OF TIME

THE AMERIAD

THE TEDDY BEAR CONSPIRACY

THE DECK CONST SERIES

RUMORS OF WAR

THE CHARGE OF THE LOST BRIGADE

WHERE SOLDIERS FEAR TO TREAD

THE SISTERS KARAMAZOV

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

DARKENED PASSAGES

POETRY

LICENSE TO QUILL

SHORT STORIES & NOVELLAS

BETWEEN A LAUGH AND A SCREAM

ALL ROADS LEAD TO PINE BUSH

BURIED MEMORIES

MAPPING THE SILENCE OF DREAMS

THE SHADOW PEOPLE

THE BEAST OF BEGMIRE (A REAGUL STORY)

NONFICTION

NEO REVOLUTIONARY MESSAGES

Where Soldiers Fear to Tread-TITLE PAGE

The character and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright 2014 © Duane Gundrum

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the copyright holder.

BOOK 3

WHERE SOLDIERS FEAR TO TREAD

Chapter 23

As we traveled south on the multi-lane highway, there seemed to be a sense of quiet amongst the members of our crew. From the moment we left the boundaries of King Richard’s lands, passing through the territory of what used to be the Empire of Peter, there was a tension in the air between us, giving off the air that perhaps there was something to be said but no one was willing to say it. Part of me thought it might have something to do with the decisions we made in the previous weeks, another part suspected it was about the journey ahead, and yet a tiny sliver of me believed it was very essence of the three of us on a boundless journey towards an object none of us knew anything about yet suspected might be our very reason for existing. If I was one to think such things, I might have obsessed on the details, but being the kind of guy I am, I felt it was probably better to focus on the here and now and hope that the there and later would make their appearances when necessary. As we drove in silence, I kept glancing out the window at the mountains in the distance, not sure whether they were at the edge of, or beyond, the glow from the radiation fields that guaranteed no one would ever be stupid enough to travel directly to the east.

The trip south wasn't anywhere near as eventful as our original trip south when we came across the kingdom of King Richard and the Empire of Peter, so it was a refreshing change to travel through lands that appeared to be untouched by the ages that happened around them.

Fortunately, Highway 5 was accessible this far south of the Bay Area lands, so our time through these territories went by very fast.  From time to time, we spotted other drivers on the road, and these people appeared to be at peace with each other, including us.  This was a welcome sight considering the fact that we were used to dealing with other travelers as potential enemies.  It was really nice to actually believe we could trust other people on the same road as the one we were traveling.

One question that kept nagging at me during the journey was finally answered when we came across a series of large vehicles that were parked to the side of the road.  Men in orange jumpsuits and yellow helmets were working alongside the trucks, and as we got closer we realized they were filling in potholes that had formed in the roads themselves.

Strangely enough, there were people taking care of these roads, even though it was not exactly apparent who it was that might have been funding these repairs. It was Greg who finally addressed the issue that obviously all of us were probably thinking about.

Who is paying these people to do this? said Greg.

Jenkins, who hadn’t really been thinking about the situation, started thinking quickly and then blurted out: Perhaps there’s a local government near here.

I shook my head. From what we’ve seen so far, there doesn’t appear to be any authority in these lands.

Perhaps it’s a crew from Angel City, said Greg.

I thought about it for a moment. That would mean they were working far from Angel City itself. That would mean they’re working far from Angel City itself, I said, realizing that just thinking the thought wasn’t going to be enough.

If so, said Greg, that means there’s a lot of money flowing through that city. This is pretty damn far from where you’d expect them to be.

Jenkins spoke up. Perhaps it’s a logistical thing. If Angel City relies on the other territories, perhaps making sure their roads are travelable is one of their primary needs.

That seemed reasonable. Score one for the recruit, I said.  Keep thinking like that and one day you might actually live to be a sergeant.

So we continued traveling south. Of course, we appeared to be the only ones traveling in that direction.  Every vehicle we passed was on a pilgrimage north, away from Angel City.  It was only at a rest stop near Gorman that we met with the first immigrants who were willing to speak to us.

The rest stop was no longer what one could consider a government maintained rest stop.  The buildings from older days were still there, but the area appeared to be controlled by roving groups of travelers who sold every need and desire that life had to offer.  As was often taught in my original training, merchants were often the best source of information one could find; after all, they did most of the talking to the local populous, and they could find out things that no one else could even dream of asking.

The items for sale at this rest stop were not what one would expect in a maintained sales district.  While there were vendors of food, clothing and survival supplies, there were also vendors who dealt solely in the darker items of sale, the drugs, the neuro injectors and even in people.

Hey! screamed one of the vendors as I parked the jeep and climbed out onto the tarmac.  I nodded to Jenkins to remain in the vehicle to keep anyone from stealing it as Greg and I moved towards the vendor stalls.

Hey! screamed the same vendor again.  I've got the youngest women on the market!

I turned to face him and then noticed four young girls who were about thirteen years old.  Their hands were chained together and the chains were locked to an eyelet protruding out from the vendor's stall itself.  The girls themselves were semi-attractive, as attractive as little girls can be for that matter, but there was dirt and grime on their face and limbs.  A closer examination of the girls revealed the dirt and grime wasn't because they were unclean, but because the vendor appeared to be trying to hide deep bruises that were all over their skin.  Apparently, the vendor used quite a bit of violence to keep his girls in check.

This is disgusting, said Greg as he gestured down to his revolver.

I motioned for him to keep his cool.  Greg, I know how this looks, but we're out of our element here.  We can't judge these people on how they live.

But they’re selling children! he said.

The vendor laughed.  Of course we are.  I don't get good credits for adults now, do I?  These girls will give you years of pleasure.

Greg gave me a dirty look and then nodded slowly.  He wanted to do something, something that his years of police work demanded he do, but he accepted my authority over the situation and did nothing.  He didn't like it, but he accepted my decision as one he would follow.

The vendor looked my way.  Sir, can I interest you in a little girl?  These are the best managed ones in the district.

I glared at him for a second before I spoke.  Does that explain the bruises on their bodies?

He smiled brightly.  I'm a businessman.  Sometimes you have to bruise the lemons to get the best crop.

I was about to ask him some information about Angel City when I decided against it and then sought out someone else who might have the information I was seeking.

I came to a food tent where an old woman displayed fresh fruits and vegetables.  The sign advertising her fresh food was hand written in Spanish, Chinese and Japanese.  The woman herself appeared to be Middle Eastern, but it was probably a good guess that she spoke one, if not more than one, of these listed languages.

English? I said.

She smiled and then turned to a young girl who was standing close behind her.  The girl stepped forward and then spoke.  Would you like to buy some fruits? she said.

What's the going rate? I said.  For the first time in a long time, I realized that I had no idea what the currency was in this area.

Apples are a dollar, she said.

I glared at her for a long time.  Old dollars?

She nodded her head yes.  What kind of dollars were you expecting?

I was shocked.  Since the fall of the government that originally issued that currency, it was rare to find a local government actually using that money.  Sure, there were various occasions when I found myself able to barter my way out of some situation by having old dollars, but it was usually pretty rare.  However, as a soldier, I was required to carry several hundred dollars of this currency, so it was very possible we were going to have little difficulty getting supplies in this area.

I'll take three apples, I said as I reached into my wallet and pulled out a wad of currency that covered over twenty different government treasuries.  I peeled off an old five dollar bill and handed it to her.  She glanced at it quickly and then reached into a cash box to give me change.

Do you or your mother know anything about Angel City? I said.

She shook her head.  Never been there.

How about your mother? I said.

She turned to the old woman and then back to me.  She's not my mother.

I sighed.  I could already see where this was going.  Who is she then?

She's my protector, she said.  The streets are too dangerous for young girls to travel alone.

I glared at the old woman for a second, wondering how in the world this aging woman was capable of protecting a young girl from anyone, especially someone intent on doing some serious damage.  How does she protect you?

The girl smiled.  Don't misjudge her.  She can handle herself.  If not her, the shotgun she keeps at her side comes in handy.

I decided not to pursue it.  Does she know anything about Angel City?

The young girl turned to her protector and then spoke in Japanese.  The woman responded quickly with a look on her face that revealed more horror than recognition.  She spoke quickly and then looked away from me.

The girl turned back to me.  She says that she went to Angel City many years ago.  She also said she would never go back.

Ask her why? I said.

The girl did.  The woman responded again but with an answer that took much longer to explain than the time before.  At times, she slipped from Japanese into Chinese, then into Spanish, and then back into Japanese again, almost as if everything she had to say couldn't be explained in just one language.

The girl turned back to me.  "The government of Angel City is