History's Prisoners

By James Garmisch

Moments before his execution, Huan is given a clear choice: infiltrate the Global Resistance—or die, and never see his children again.

The Alliance is collapsing, and Huan, a former economist for the worldwide government, knows how it was engineered. History has been reset, the children of dissidents re-educated, and the family unit abolished. The facade of utopia is evaporating.

Meanwhile, beyond the city walls, the separated lands are shifting from despair to chaos. Smoldering discontent is about to explode. Huan is neither a soldier nor a spy, but he will have to become both—and quickly—if he is to survive and to save the family that does not know him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Garmisch
• Release date: Sep 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370789801

James Garmisch

Ex Marine who likes to write.

Book preview

History’s Prisoners:

Invasion

James Garmisch

Copyright © 2021 by James Garmisch

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1. SEPARATED

CHAPTER 2. SITUATION

CHAPTER 3. ROCKS

CHAPTER 4. SURPRISE

CHAPTER 5. THE EXECUTION

CHAPTER 6. DEAL

CHAPTER 7. REVOLUTION CITY

CHAPTER 8. BOARD ROOM

CHAPTER 9. SKELETONS OF STEEL

CHAPTER 10. MUTANT

CHAPTER 11. CHOICE

CHAPTER 12. KNEW YOU

CHAPTER 13. DOON’S DAY

CHAPTER 14. ISAW U

CHAPTER 15. THE SMOKING MIRROR

CHAPTER 16. SHIFT

CHAPTER 17. PLAN

CHAPTER 18. CALM BEFORE

CHAPTER 19. ASSAULT

CHAPTER 20. WELCOME TO THE MACHINE

CHAPTER 21. TUBE

CHAPTER 22. RED SMUDGE

CHAPTER 23. CROSS TOWN TRAFFIC

CHAPTER 24. BY THE HORNS

CHAPTER 25. LAST TRAIN OUT OF…

CHAPTER 26. THE TUNNEL

CHAPTER 27. THE CIVILIZED WAY

CHAPTER 1. SEPARATED

Sector Thirteen, Southwestern Separated Lands, 251 AR

Rat, snake, or contaminated chicken? Doon folded the stock of his weapon and slung it across his gray-armored chest plates. The sun was slowly climbing to the top of the sky, prompting the desert heat to rise. The city reminded him of a rotting corpse. Crumbling remains of buildings and twisted steel bones reached aimlessly toward the sky. Doon loved the mornings and evenings but cursed everything in between. The spicy aroma of cooking meat and the stench of burning tires wafted across his nostrils. He frowned. They are forever burning things. The city landfill was authorized to burn refuse at night, but was seldom finished by morning.

Cuisine of the Southwestern Zones, can't beat it. He teased Angelia, his best friend, and fellow squad leader. He handed a local woman a Western Alliance Mark, and thanked her in her own tongue. The native smiled, showing two black teeth. He peeled off his gloves and attached them with a magnetic click to his thigh plates, then picked up the two skewers of meat from the counter.

Giving cash in the open? That’ll make her a target, Angelia warned.

Oh stop. Doon blew on his snack and swatted away the flies. The breeze shifted sending the stink of rubber and trash elsewhere.

Charmer and I go way back.

They turned their backs to the makeshift café and headed for the street. Doon continued, Seems one of our Rangers propositioned her daughter, she refused—so he tried to revoke her crop-growing permit. Charmer keeps me well fed — with Intel and fried snake. He thrust the skewer under Angelia's nose and said, C'mon, try it.

Who was it? She swatted his hand away. A baby cried from a near by building.

Hare.

The spoiled Party member's kid?—what a rule smith. I would've stabbed him, Doon laughed.

Doon, you should be celebrating not poisoning yourself.

A burst of gunfire somewhere out beyond the ruins of the city sparked a cacophony of dog barking. He checked his radio and drone feed, nothing. Probably some idiot scavenger. The locals were beginning to take to the streets, buckets, and children in tow. The food and water distribution centers were opening.

How many times are we gonna rebuild the food centers and whip the gangs until they get it? Just leave the people alone— accept our help, he said.

The uncivilized never want help. They just want death—and to blame us. Angelia pulled her mirrored sun goggles down over her hazel eyes and banged the dust off her gloves. Doon shrugged and spoke quickly between bites.

"Making the illiterate fill out land usage permits and then restricting their water — maybe both sides are crazy." He finished his snake and dropped the sticks on the ground.

Whatever. Two days left and then back to civilization. Showers, massages, real food and pedicures. She whirled around to face him and traced a smiley face in the dust coating his chest plate. So, you’re gonna celebrate your selection or what?

He brushed her arms away and erased the happy face.

They settled onto a pair of plastic benches beneath a graffiti-covered structure. The crowd steadily swelled. Windowless buildings rose up high on either side of the avenue, colorful scraps of fabric were hanging out to dry. One had to be careful when walking since the inhabitants loved flinging refuse from their balconies.

Celebrate? Doon asked while observing a group of shirtless children playfighting with sticks. He frowned.

"Yes, did I stutter? You’ve just been selected for Special Services. That’s like a dream come true. No one—I mean no one—passes the Indoc on their first shot. You'll make some jealous. Be a little cocky." She placed her weapon across her knees and sipped cold water from a tube attached to her backpack.

Doon you with me? You’re spacing. Sun blindness? She teased, waving her hand in front of his face.

Eh, I guess I'm still in shock. I mean—I'm gonna miss all this. Not you or any of the guys of course, but eating fried snake.

Whatever. Enjoy eating snake—cause living like a scavenger, and tracking down Global Resistance, will be your new life. She laughed and punched him in the arm. Better learn to make yourself smaller—be less of a target.

He frowned, opening his mouth to speak, and then closed it. The Rangers were still in a cease-fire with the Global Resistance, courtesy of some secret political wrangling. He hoped it held.

The ground shook suddenly as an eight-wheeled armored truck grumbled past.

Residents scrambled to get out of the way. A cloud of thick dust swirled in its wake.

Idiots.

Doon spoke into his radio, Six-nine six, tell that thing to slow down—there are kids in the street. That's how we piss off the locals.

All we need is for the gangs to throw a kid in front of a convoy again and then try to blame us for driving too fast — and of course, collect damages.

Doon turned down the temperature in his powered armor. The fan seemed to be broke again.

You know, with you gone, who'll watch my back? Angelia blew the dust off her weapon and produced a rag from her backpack.

Doon faced her and said, You'll be fine. Maybe you'll be the next platoon leader — you've been a squad leader long enough.

There’s that. She paused and cocked her head to the side. Yeah, exciting. I get to babysit adults.

He thought back to the first day he had seen her at the academy. She had been another scared orphan, just like him. We are your family — the Alliance is all and all are we. Die to self and forever be free. He shook the motto, and its implications, from his head. I just want my parents back, whoever they were.

When do you think all this ends, this war? He ran his fingers over his close-cropped black hair and touched the small bump that was his neuro implant.

She looked at him mockingly, cocked her head to the side. What war? The info complex says we’re at peace. Don’t you watch the news?

A drone jet streaked overhead. Some of the locals covered their faces with their robes and ducked into the shadows.

Remember my fourteenth birthday? she asked out of the blue.

Your first kill, my tenth.

Do you still count? She replaced her scope with a laser tracking system. The breeze changed, pushing the smell of burning garbage and human waste back in their direction. The Alliance Civil Engineer Corps had built an intricate above ground sewage system to help the locals. Digging was impossible. The gangs were continually blowing up the pipes, effectively causing parts of the city to fester.

Stopped counting twelve years ago, he said.

And remember how I asked you — to not tell the sergeant how I cried?

No, he lied. They were both twenty-six now. He hadn’t seen her cry since.

So sensitive back then. Sometimes I fight that same feeling.

Uh-huh. Has it been that long? How many friends have we lost? He felt his stomach sink and his jaw grow stiff.

That’s what I like about you, Doon — you keep your word, you do the right thing.

Mmm, I try.

It’ll be quiet without you. She started repacking her bag.

Um, thanks — I think.

His earpiece crackled. Sergeant, we got a situation at the inn. Third squad.

Both he and Angelia looked at each other, all business now.

Condition two authorized. Ranger down, the radio announced.

Oh crap. Just my luck.

They hurried into their gear, checked their weapons, put on their helmets, and made for the street. Doon could hear both squads checking in. His Rangers were converging on the inn in the center of what was at one time a thriving city.

You’ll miss all this, trust me, she said through the private line. A group of six Rangers waited for them in the center of the cracked and pitted street. Pillars and sections of a broken overpass cast a wide shadow over them.

No, just you. He said, giving her a little shove.

CHAPTER 2. SITUATION

Doon had three simple rules that he lived by: Never point your weapon at anything you don’t intend to shoot, keep it simple until it’s time to not be, and better to surround yourself with people who will keep you sharp.

Within five minutes the remaining Rangers were ready for battle. The inn, named New Las Va’jas, was a mish mosh fortress pieced together with choice stone and steel from around the surrounding city. Local legend proclaimed the inn as the place where the inhabitant’s forefathers had made a final stand against an ancient invader. The immediate area around the inn was deserted. The locals had fled.

What’s going on? Doon tapped his helmet. His radio was breaking up with static.

A semicircle of grave looking Rangers parted as he approached. He could tell by their eyes that they wanted blood. Drones buzzed like hungry mosquitos overhead.

What's this? He pointed. Two bare-chested Rangers, Tou and Dack, from third squad were kneeling, beaten and bloody. Medics attended their wounds.

What happened? Doon gently pushed the medics aside.

Easy. Angelia dug her heels in, placed her hands on his chest.

Putting his hands up, he backed off and surveyed the inn. Steel shutters thudded closed. He felt eyes watching him.

Where the hell are your weapons and armor? he studied the two Rangers. They wore their leg plates and wrist guards only. Their shirts lay in rags on the ground.

You know the penalty for loosing issued gear?

The Rangers looked at each other. Dack wiped blood from his mouth and spoke while yellow foam was sprayed over his scalp.

"Our batteries overheated sergeant—something made our tech stop working.

We stripped them off." He coughed, refusing to meet Doon’s eyes.

What?

Dack nodded, raised remorseful eyes. Global Resistance. We think they used an energy weapon.

Doon and Angelia glanced at each other. Rangers within earshot began talking.

"Makes sense. Set on low- scramble, an energy burst will fry a battery pack," Angelia said with a nod.

The words stung. Energy weapons?

Are you sure? There should be no Global Resistance in this area, and energy weapons? Are they trying to start a war? We’ll be cut down in seconds. Doon’s jaw tightened, he narrowed his eyes and glanced at his Rangers. If the shooting starts, we’ll never get authorization to use our energy weapons in time.

Sergeant, we were trying to protect Corporal Hare... Tou cut in, while pushing the medic's arms away. He stood up.

From who? Doon watched the medics spray and staple close a wound on Dack's shoulder.

Portable barricades and a heavy supply droid crunched slowly past on steel treads. No one spoke for a moment.

Who? he repeated.

"Her." Dack coughed, spitting out a tooth. His dark skin was streaked with dried blood.

Angelia muffled a giggle, and then cleared her throat, You got your ass kicked by a girl? This better be good.

Angelia. Doon gave her a quick elbow, and a piercing look. She slung her weapon and studied her gloves.

Her? Doon looked at the inn. Okay, think. There has to be a way out of this without destroying what’s left of the city. He helped Dack to his feet.

Talk to me!

"Sergeant, Hare got himself in a bit of trouble, with—yes, the Global Resistance. The leader, she will only speak with you."

Angelia and Doon stared at each other. We’re not prepared for a show down with the GR, Angelia whispered. His throat went dry. Leaning close, he spoke to Angelia, "We must maintain the cease-fire, but I can’t let this go unpunished."

Stepping back he turned to his Rangers, Make ready boys!

The Rangers made ready, with one collective unslinging and chambering of rounds into their weapons. Helmet visors went down. Powered armor fired up. Angelia backed up and started barking commands to the squads. A tracked breaching droid grumbled up the street, flanked by two mechanical walking racks. Racks carried the Rangers' portable handheld shields, which provided protection from projectile weapons.

A sudden breeze swirled up a cloud of brown talcum powder like dust.

Dack, what did Hare do? Doon wrapped the sling of his weapon around his bicep and got into his reflex shooting posture.

So—we went to get a drink. I swear, just one. Everything was fine, we were drinking, the locals were drinking—and, and—

Just tell me what happened!

"He propositioned a tribal leader with the Global Resistance. She beat him up."

Doon nodded, took a deep breath, and motioned to the two Rangers,

Dismissed, go back to the rear.

Accessing a grainy video feed inside his faceplate, Doon bounced through the individual body cam feeds of each member of Third Squad. Finally, he found the image he wanted. Rangers and GR were faced off. No casualties, yet.

Angelia, call Battalion. Tell the commander we might have a situation with GR and a possible—but not confirmed, violation of Article 21. They'd better send the response team and a liaison.

He took off his helmet, ignored the heat, and remained synced in. His men, shields and weapons at the ready, took cover as best they could behind crumbling walls, and piles of rocks with twisted rebar.

They may have energy weapons! He broadcast for all to hear. Energy weapons could decimate a platoon in seconds. It wasn’t pretty, and armor wasn’t much help.

Get ready, he snapped. Thrusting his helmet into the medic's arms he said, You're gonna be busy today.

What are you doing? Angelia called him on the private leaders’ line.

Being a leader.

CHAPTER 3. ROCKS

Doon made his way across chunks of asphalt. Rubble had been picked up and moved so many times over the centuries that the city now resembled a series of jigsaw puzzles pieced together from different boxes.

He paused at the stairs of the inn. A dog barked and a baby cried off in the distance. Just two more days, and we could have been home, incident free. Damn Separated Lands.

The inn's heavy steel door burst open with a creak and then a thud. He stepped back, fighting the urge to bring up his weapon. The man before him resembled more of a hairy walking walrus than a soldier. No shirt, leather pants with steel thigh plates, and a skirt of sorts, made with overlapping alloy rings. A massive axe hung from a belt.

Not a piece of flesh showed that was not covered with a tattoo.

They locked eyes. The walrus-man spit a black wad of narcotic-soaked leaves onto the rocky footing.

You tribal leader?

I am.

Walrus-man spat again and peered past Doon to the squads of Rangers.

You kill us, we kill you! The warrior’s eyes were not afraid. He seemed to sway, as if drunk. Doon nodded thoughtfully, maintaining eye contact, per their custom.

This is going to be tricky. Not like fighting the gangs, who quickly run away. These guys are a formidable army–thanks a lot, Hare. Thoughts and scenarios played out in his head. Caution and coolness must prevail. Hare will pay later. We gonna stare at each other, or you gonna let me in? Doon watched as Walrus-man inspected the Rangers behind him.

It’s not that hard, idiot. Let me in. Doon shook his head, raised his eyebrows.

Angelia's voice whispered in his head via his Syncnet implant. This is odd. I can't raise Battalion or any of the other platoons in nearby towns. Must be an atmospheric disturbance of some sort.

Great. No need to call—yet, Doon responded by touching the implants just under his ear, while keeping a watchful eye on walrus-man. The civilized had the advantage of the Syncnet, he couldn't imagine how anyone survived without it.

Walrus-man blinked at him suspiciously.

You got this, she said, trying to sound reassuring. "We’re watching. Scanners report low yield radiation. They do have energy weapons—fortunately, they're off."

Doon acknowledged her. We are running out of time. He followed the GR soldier down a dark hallway lit by dim electrical bulbs. Acrid smoke stung his eyes and throat eliciting a raspy cough. He regretted leaving his helmet for a moment but knew that the GR would view it as hostile. His eyes adjusted quickly; he kept his finger near the trigger. Rule one, he thought. Don’t point your weapon at anything you don’t intend to shoot.

Third squad was in a massive room that could probably hold around a hundred people. The stench of alcohol and sweat stained the air. Wooden tables and chairs lay in disarray. A cat leaped off the bar and disappeared into the shadows. Doon observed archaic signs, written in the dead languages, nailed to the walls in an attempt to decorate. What a mess, he thought, pausing cautiously in the center of the room and clicking on his shoulder-mounted flashlight.

Third squad stood in formation, weapons raised, backs against the wall. The GR lined the bar, spread out and ready. No one moved. If we shoot it out, this zone goes up in a fireball.

He eased down the middle of the no man’s land between the opposing forces.

His boots crunched glass.

Where can a man get a drink around here? he asked. He illuminated Hare with searing white light.

Hare was sitting on a stool with his hands in his lap, chin up, eyes furious. A narrow blade was pressed firmly under his chin.

Electrofulguration blade. The preferred weapon of GR assassins, Doon stated, jibbing Corporal Hare with an amused look. Nice, turn it on and decapitate a horse in a second.

Looks like you need a shave, Hare.

Shut up! He snapped, incredulous as if this whole thing was somehow someone else's fault. Hare tried to lower his head, but the yielder of the weapon pressed the blade firmly under his chin, lifting it up.

Doon suppressed a smile, focused his light and attention on the female warrior. Wow.

I’m Doon. You speak…? Doon fumbled for his translator.

I can speak your stupid language just fine. Turn that light off! The GR leader brought one hand up to shield her eyes. The blade didn’t move. I’m not a prize for your inspection!

Doon felt his jaw drop. He clicked his light to the more subdued red. Did she just speak in a perfect citizen dialect?

The Global Resistance leader had the rugged body and golden brown skin of one who had performed hard labor in the sun. She was much taller than Hare, as most people tended to be, and probably came up to about nose level on Doon. One eye was blue, the other green. Black hair was piled high on her head, secured with wire. loose ends tumbled down over her shoulders. She, like many of the other