In Time of War

By AJ Hunter

When the only thing left to hide behind is a mask, you get desperate.

I used to take photos of crimes as they happened, afraid to intervene. I was just trying to help my police department keep up with civil unrest in the middle of a war with Centauri, a country convinced we killed their prince. Their mercenary, Lioness, blew up part of the city. When she left my best friend covered in burns, I understood photos were not enough to protect people.

I found the corruption that danced through our country’s War Office trying to appease the enemy enough to keep our soldiers alive. They want Spades of all people, the boy that tells nothing but lies.

I have learned that when you don’t have a name, people think of you when they say, “Somebody should fix this.”

So I became Revolutionary, and I am demanding a revolt to free my home from the domineering grip of the enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662413650

Book preview

Chapter 1

War strikes in times of need, as well as in times of avarice and rage.

For us, war struck in the enemy’s grief. Centauri blamed us for their dead prince—us of all people. We could never dream to enter their impenetrable forbidden city in the heart of their impregnable fortress of a country. Sometimes there’s laughter when we remember that our country mourned with them before they unveiled their missiles and bombs. The chatter began on how to save ourselves and how to survive as we always have, locked in a fight to the death.

It was all the same to me. See, I never had the courage to enlist or even entertain the thought of the draft. Every time I passed by the office, I only saw the nightly death toll, the dreaded list that always had a name you knew and a million you never dreamed of.

The hysteria of the war was the worst part. Just another problem to explain away the uptick in theft, breaking and entering, and general poor behavior to your fellow citizen. Guess who had to clean up the mess.

Tonight was less rough. I finally got a break in a case worth about a few million dollars of stolen jewels belonging to a prominent young designer who had no business out of her home country in our time of war. That said, I was nothing more than a cheap city cop looking for the next clue.

The break in the case consisted of photos that came across the captain’s desk—all depicting a part of some puzzle leading to an old warehouse near the shipping district with a crate full of the missing jewels, pried open by a green-gloved hand.

The truth was that nobody cared about stolen jewels and designer trends anymore. It was all a distraction. The lifeblood of Kohlton was continuously shipped out of the city as a fresh war raged up north with Centauri. I lived in Belltown, Kohlton’s capital. We got the freshest news about who won what and where we were going next.

When the front was only a few hundred miles away, people panicked.

A hundred fifty miles from Kohlton’s borders, people stole and stockpiled goods for an uncertain future where they somehow lived off diamond necklaces in their basement, with the water lines easily blocked outside.

Last week, the front became only seventy-five miles from our borders. People stole food. People stole the stolen food from their neighbors. The War Office was erected in Belltown, seeking to raise the spirits of the people.

Nothing worked. And as much as I hated chasing down stolen gems and metal, the break in the case meant we tracked down the jewelry.

The break also meant I could get to her and my movie night late but not as late as I could have been.

When I arrived at her doorstep, the only sound in the hallway was her whistling a tune at the ripe hour of midnight. I stood outside her door, prepared to listen to her qualms about the hour and the lack of an explanation.

I twisted the doorknob to find it unlocked. I entered her spacious apartment on the good side of town. Big white walls. Rent was even bigger. I found her making popcorn in the kitchen. A movie was loaded on the television. My timing wasn’t too bad.

Hey, Ariel, sorry I’m late, I said sheepishly.

No problem. Sheriff called and told me you were on your way, Ariel replied indifferently. She pulled a swollen bag of popcorn out of the microwave and shook it violently. How’d it go?

We found the stolen goods and a single person fleeing the scene. Case isn’t really closed, but it’s enough for the night. The designer’s plans are set to move forward on schedule. I doubt she knows that we found her jewelry yet. Press release is tomorrow morning, I don’t have to go in ’til noon.

Murphy’s stuck with it? Poor guy. Ariel frowned at her popcorn. "Should I tell Rachel to go easy on him? She is in a bad mood. Her story about Centauri got shredded because she wasn’t allowed to take the company chopper so close to the front. The footage she took was incredible."

Telling her to go easy on him is like telling a snake not to use too much venom. I sat on her couch and saw the movie she chose. She’s too inquisitive to just stay in the city. I don’t see why she doesn’t get government permission to make her own update about how our soldiers are faring.

The movie was some outdated comedy about nothing at all. It was perfect to fall asleep on the couch to.

I understand that she’s a dedicated reporter in the city, I admitted, but sometimes she wants way too much.

She simply has questions and wants answers, just like any curious human being. You want answers, and that’s your job. The only difference is that she’s public about where she puts her information. Ariel thought for a moment about what to say next. You’re both direct, Armand. And you’re both my best friends.

What are you trying to say? I probed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. She never called me by my first name. It was always Mr. Akeem or Officer or just a generic greeting that anyone had heard a thousand times. Armand felt foreign from her voice, in my ears. Something was wrong with it, like the vowels had turned to acid.

"I’m saying get over it," she urged. She sat on the couch next to me and rested a bowl of popcorn in my lap.

I pressed play on the movie, letting an upbeat melody introduce the happy-go-lucky actors and the beachside setting. Someone left photos on the captain’s desk. Third time this week, I mentioned, attempting to make small talk and stay awake.

Any idea who has access to Cap’s office? Maybe it’s one of you police guys doing it. One of the cadets, Jay or Claude?

They’re barely sixteen. They couldn’t organize these things. I’m thinking that it’s one of the officers. Those photos have helped crack several cases. I’d love to shake the hand of the person who took them, I said. I preened shamelessly.

Ariel simply laughed. You never shake my hand, she mocked.

"That’s because the last time I shook your hands, you forgot to wash off concentrated Hydrochloric acid and I peed right after. I was pissing fire for a week."

And I still had on my blue gloves and lab coat. Besides, you didn’t know how to say hello properly and went ahead and shook my hand anyway. Were you flustered? Terrified?

The world may never know, I answered quickly, putting on my best impression of being suave.

The genuine answer was that I was worried for all the right reasons. Ariel and I met under extraneous circumstances, and her in the lab coat was the first time I had interacted with her when she wasn’t in the middle of a mental breakdown. I was startled that she was an actual person, not crying and out of her mind with grief. It was almost alien to talk to her with a head on her shoulders.

As it went with the rest of the Belltown population, ups and downs.

When the movie was over, Ariel was asleep on my shoulder. I carefully freed myself from her and draped a blanket over her slumbering body. The half-moon was high in the sky tonight. I pursed my lips, studying the clouds for any signs of rain. I strode to the window and studied the barren street below.

It took me mere moments to turn off the lights and lock the door, escaping to the parking garage to start my car. Most nights, it took hours for me to return home, even if my apartment was only partway across the city. The drive was something I liked to call the scenic route.

The night was peaceful. Nobody wanted to be out once Centauri felt the need to create some sort of air strike. Of course, there had never been an air strike on civilian territory at this point in the war. Somehow people always feared the worst in the dark parts of their imagination, wondering if it would ever come to light.

The shopping district was quiet; so was the rich part of town. People were out only if they had to be. A recent crime wave instituted a flexible curfew so none got caught where they weren’t supposed to be and end up as a homicide or robbery victim. I didn’t follow the curfew because there was always something happening on the rough side of town that needed my attention not as a cop, but as another pair of eyes and a camera where there was no security protocol.

Yes, I was the one who left photos on the sheriff’s desk. Sue me. I don’t care. Someone had to watch over Belltown. If I didn’t, who would? Watching from rooftops and warehouse rafters wasn’t exactly easy. At least my camera could focus respectably.

That night was no different. I drove myself away from Ariel’s apartment building and to the warehouse district. In the car, I donned my modest mask and green gloves. However, as I left my car, the reverberations of chatter filled the air. Whoever spoke, their voices bounced off anything iron, creating an extra din of metallic whispers.

The words were hushed yet loud enough to make out the intent.

The other crate’s somewhere around here. Jeff, help me find it, an old man whispered none too quietly. There was a nasty wheeze to his voice, like he had inhaled some of the poisonous gas that Centaurian troops had released mere days ago. They said that it burned from the inside. I was too cowardly to find out. My eyes rolled as I absentmindedly recalled another recruitment jingle: Join our best. Beat the rest! It was always a young woman singing it into a tiny microphone. Her voice was the way someone spoke when they didn’t want to be remembered.

My fingers fumbled over my camera’s On button. I approached the sounds of the voices, ready to run if I stepped on a twig or a set of chains. Building tops defied all other perches. There was something so calming and powerful about watching and listening. It’s almost as if I was a ghost in my off time. Did ghosts sleep? I certainly didn’t.

The cluster of chatter came from a circle of people in thick coats and freshly shined shoes. I snapped a photo. Their collars were turned up. I snapped another photo, zooming in on one person’s visible profile. They stood near the entrance of one of the warehouses, waiting for someone or something to happen. I tiptoed in the moonlight, taking refuge next to a shipping container. I snapped a photo of the entrance to the warehouse and squinted to see someone nearing the doorway from inside the warehouse.

Another photo.

It was an old man, and he carried a small sack that jingled melodically.

Another photo.

The person carrying the sack opened it silently, revealing it to the other people in the party.

Another photo.

From what I saw on the zoom, they seemed familiar. The jewels looked akin to the ones I had uncovered as a cop earlier that night. Possibly the same designer. Possibly stolen too.

I snapped another photo as a faint humming filled the air. It was almost beelike. The party saw it before I did. A helicopter dangerously close to the tops of the warehouses sailed through the air. Rachel, the infamous reporter, sat perched out the front window with a camera trained on the ground. I recognized her fox-like face and bright orange hair. It was a face I loathed to see at any time of day or night.

So while the suspected thieves fled with the sack of jewels, I ran in the other direction. Back to my car.

As I drove away from the scene, I pulled off my mask and gloves and stuffed them into the glove box. They would be ready to watch another moonrise without confiscation.

I turned on my police scanner and heard a call asking for anyone available to converge on where I just was. Anonymous tip. I translated that myself. Rachel wants more footage.

As I deemed myself available, an enormous boom and subsequent crash echoed through the quiet streets. The shock wave felt like it hit me upside the head. I pulled over and left my car, searching the skies for an alien invasion. There was fire and a ton of smoke northwest of where I was. It stained the clouds brown and the moonlight fiery red. I drove in the direction of the blast, getting on the radio.

This is Officer Akeem. What was that blast? Does anyone know? Out.

My left hand gracefully led my car through the barren streets while my right controlled the police scanner. Centauri better not have made it to our doorstep. They were still so far away. They had to be.

Armand, I told you specifically to drop in on Ms. Lauder and then get some sleep. Why are you in your car? I thought you were going to crash in her second bedroom, the captain demanded, borderline angry. Normal for him at this time of night.

We watched a movie, and I was on my way home, I excused myself. "Does anyone have eyes on the explosion? Jeanene, you were out tonight, right?"

I have eyes on it now. It’s the hydropower dam. The middle…it’s gone. It’s a waterfall now. What kind of explosive could have done this? Jeanene’s was the voice on the radio, but it didn’t sound like her. She sounded scared, almost. As alien as my first name coming from Ariel’s lips.

I didn’t think I had ever heard Jeanene’s fear. And then I realized: the dam was the northernmost part of the city, twenty miles from Kohlton’s northern border, seventy-five more to the front.

I’m coming to you, Jeanie. Don’t do anything until I get there, I urged, pressuring my foot harder onto the gas pedal to witness the blast site as soon as possible.

When I arrived, I saw everything that she saw. Standing next to her, I took in the crashing water from the river putting out the flames and the firefighters attempting to put out the rest. The only thing in my ears was the captain’s order he thoughtlessly made on the radio during my drive up: Neither of you engage until we know what’s going on. Fire fighters are on their way. I’ll send you in if they need backup.

It’s way too far to be the front, I blurted, far out of breath from running up the hill to be at my coworker’s side. No idea how she managed to drive her car up there.

How? Jeanene pleaded. This is too much for gangs. You know everyone’s fears about aerial strikes. What if Centauri made it a reality?

Not possible, I denied. They’ve never hit anything with a plane before. We would see it on the troops first, god rest their souls. We couldn’t be the first target. It makes no sense. I wracked my brain, desperately wanting to know if I had heard any planes buzzing through the air that evening. I don’t think I heard any planes. I saw Rachel’s Channel 9 chopper, though, but that’s not important.

Someone came up behind Jeanene and me, holding a fancy set of binoculars. It was a middle-aged woman in a khaki trench coat. Her lapel bared the symbol of the War Office: one canon with a lion next to it and a fox at the lion’s feet. Espionage, valor, bravery—at least that’s what I knew it as. Others said cunning, courage, militia. There wasn’t any difference. All those things became the War Office as it had become a symbol of far too much until it had become a symbol of our side of the war.

What was the symbol of Centauri? Intelligence. Many hysterical people burned inventions in the middle of streets to show their protest of Centauri. Inventions were the only tangible form of intelligence until we descended upon the books. Any invention from before the war was grandfathered in because who honestly wanted to burn televisions in the streets? The hydropower dam was borderline Centauri; however, now that it had been destroyed…it wasn’t good for new product. The engineers would have to simplify it, so the public didn’t decimate it when it was rebuilt.

Which begged the question.

What happened?

I see no bombshell, and there were no reports of enemy bombers overhead, the woman, the agent from the War Office noted. Take a look. She handed off the binoculars to Jeanene.

She peered through the lenses. What am I supposed to see?

Look anywhere. There is no bombshell. That means this was from someone on foot or someone with a car skilled enough to drive away through this terrain. Probably a plastic explosive of some sort, the agent surmised.

Not even I could figure out a case that fast. I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering if she had seen this before. Maybe that was why she was hired at the War Office. Maybe she knew something else. War Office was for the most elite and the specifically chosen. I had never made it through their cut.

How would you know that? Jeanene spoke up before I did. It could have been someone with a grenade launcher.

Even I knew the blast was too massive for a grenade launcher. Or something else as a projectile, I speculated.

To be clear, the dam was advertised as five hundred feet. The explosion tore a fissure three-fourths of the way down. Water continued to rush through the fissure even as fire fighters worked carefully not to get washed away by the surf while still managing to put out the fire remaining from the explosion. I had been too afraid to sign up to be a fireman in my youth, not out of fear for my death but for being responsible for those around me. Guns were easier to outthink. Point, shoot, take refuge behind a car or a building or something big enough to slow a bullet down. Fire just spreads. It eats and consumes at the rate of a wild boar stampede. Never been a fan.

How old are you, Officer Akeem? the agent asked without looking at me. Her gaze was once again trained through the binoculars, watching the crumbled dam.

Twenty-six, I answered truthfully. Why do you ask?

Someone’s going to need to take over the investigation for this. War Office is spread too thin. Officer Tanaka, what about you?

Thirty-one, Jeanene answered.

Tanaka, you’ll lead the investigation starting tomorrow, if you have nothing to do. Officer Akeem, you’re the second-in-command.

This isn’t war. You have no jurisdiction, Jeanene countered.

Could be enemy soldiers already inside the city, starting to take us down from the inside. I will tell you now that it is every bit within my power to control this situation. I’ll make a public address tomorrow morning announcing you two.

The thought had never crossed my mind as to how she had learned my name and Jeanene’s. Although I do remember an inkling of suspicion crashing through my brain as I crashed into my own bed that night. Somehow sleep quelled the suspicion, and I was carried off to a fitful dream about Rachel being the one behind all this.

The people need to be scared, she said in my mind.

Chapter 2

When I woke up, all I could remember was Rachel’s dream voice haunting me.

Coffee was the first thing on my mind. I took a shower and turned on the television only to be greeted with Rachel’s face on the screen, talking into a microphone. She was in front of the warehouse where I had taken pictures last night.

A picture appeared on the screen. It was me in my mask and gloves, with my camera in hands, running away from the scene of the speculation.

Like I said for the six-o’clock run, Angela, Rachel addressed the anchorwoman, He has a camera in his hands. This could be the person that has been taking photos for our city police department. I wouldn’t be surprised if pictures of this scene end up on the captain’s desk tomorrow morning. What do you think?

Angela chimed in, We know that the photos come across Cap’s desk almost every night. He announces it that afternoon. If this is the photographer, we should know fairly soon.

My heart stopped. I had stopped by the station last night on my way home from the discussion with the War Office agent. I printed them out because there was no one there except Murphy, passed out, to watch me. No security cameras meant that there would be no evidence that I had anything to do with those pictures.

I massaged my temples, wondering what to do. The newscasters switched out to show raw footage of the blazing fires over the broken dam last night. The footage continued until it was spliced with footage of this morning, where the fires were out and all anyone could see was a broken wall of concrete failing at stopping a river. Right, I had to investigate that.

Thoughts of where to start encompassed my mind as I stumbled into the kitchen…only to find Ariel there.

What are you…? I looked around to make sure I fell asleep in the correct apartment. Without a doubt, it was mine. The place had the same cheaply painted walls and thin doors, and it was on the border of Cheapside just so I could get to work faster when I needed to. Pretty much the only thing my apartment and hers had in common was two bedrooms.

You were out late last night, so I decided to make you breakfast, Ariel started. Call went out to study the new bioweapon that Centauri is using, and I got drafted. We’re getting a few soldiers today so we can figure out how to treat them.

I sat across her at the kitchen table. Why are you telling me this?

Looking down at the food, I saw that she hadn’t stopped at french toast or an omelet or even delicately cut fruit. There was fruit juice, a delicacy in our state of war, even milk on the table. All the milk was shipped out to the troops.

I smiled. Thank you.

I’m telling you because it’s not any ordinary chemical like white sulfur. This is a live, contagious virus. Cap also called me last night, telling me that you were assigned to a joint task force with the War Office. I have no idea what you’re about to be dealing with, but I want you to be cautious around whomever you meet. Understand? She leaned forward, pressing against the table.

I nodded slowly. How would they weaponize a virus? I asked myself. Don’t viruses need live hosts?

Good, she replied and slung her bag over her shoulder. She headed for the door.

So you just make me breakfast and don’t share it? I called after her, cutting into the fruit.

I already ate mine, she replied and gestured to a couple of plates stacked in the sink. I had a lapse in judgment and thought you’d be awake earlier.

I checked the clock. It said 11:32. Less than half an hour until my shift.

She laughed as she left my apartment, cackling her way down the hall.

I ate fast, not wanting to waste anything, and ended up leaving my home minutes before noon. I could only imagine my good impression on the War Office. Welcome, Officer Armand Akeem. So glad you could grace us with your presence.

I ended up arriving during Murphy’s public address about the recovered jewels. Rachel was nowhere in the crowd, sparing everyone from the roasting that she usually gave. Why could you not find the jewelry faster? Why do you have to rely on photographs from a vigilante? Why can’t you do your job? I ran her usual format of questions through my head. No, she never doubted that the police could do their job as of late…at least not explicitly. She meant it, however, and I knew it from overhearing her complaining to Ariel about me.

He can’t even shoot straight! Rachel had complained once.

Neither can you, so what are you moaning about? I wished Ariel had said. Instead, Ariel mediated the qualm like any ordinary human being.

The captain of the police department came to stand next to me. He went by Cap most of the time for the fact that his full name was Milford Ernest Deere. Rumor had it that Cap had never gone by his given names, only vague pseudonyms like Sergeant.

Ariel told me she was going over to your place to make you breakfast. I trust you said thank you, Cap whispered over my shoulder. His hair was nearly white, but somehow, he always acted the age of whomever he spoke with.

I said thank you. She got me milk and made orange juice. I haven’t had milk in weeks. My bones are stronger already, I replied, grinning ear to ear.

You treat her right. She’s like a daughter to me, Cap ordered in his fatherly tone. To most people he knew in the department, he was the dad. To one of the cadets, he was an adoptive father, legally.

I do treat her right because she is my best friend. We aren’t dating, by the way.

Son, if I can’t understand why your life isn’t stable, neither will voters, he warned. They want to elect a perfect picture for police commissioner, not some man-child that lives close to his work for economic reasons.

I didn’t care. I am who I am.

That you are, but you also aspire to have more than my position in the future, and that means that you will bend to voters’ every need, whim, and want. I know I did.

I turned to look him in the eye. Is that why you adopted Jay?

I adopted Jay because she needed a home and the foster care system at the time was crap. She needed a home, and my wife and I didn’t have any kids yet. We were forty and never really got around to it.

Now she’s sixteen and calls you Grandpa? I retorted. I know I would.

Captain! Jay traversed through the small crowd to be at my side to talk to her father. Governor is going to make an appearance. He’s planning to address the dam explosion last night.

She doesn’t even call you Dad? I stared at Cap incredulously.

Why aren’t you in school? Cap replied, seeming to ignore everything Jay had said.

Maybe because it’s Saturday and my shift starts at one? Just a guess? Jay rocked on her heels. I wish Rachel was here to chew out the governor. He could use it.

Spare Murphy and me for a change, I mentioned. I wouldn’t mind it. Governor’s thinking of starting the draft to get more meat for the war.

War is pointless, Jay stated. What are we even fighting for? Oil?

Centauri blamed us for the murder of Prince Mercury. They never did find the body, Cap explained, taking up his fatherly tone again. But since they blamed us, they started with a cursory assault on Kohlton’s northern border, and brave women and men drove them back. For all the racket they get about being a utopian, enlightened society, I don’t understand why they didn’t handle it diplomatically. They should have demanded a murderer or presented evidence of the death.

I was just kidding, I know what happened, Jay droned.

Not a bad summation of the war, I offered. I thought there was more to it.

Yeah, the fact that they keep inventing new ways to kill our soldiers, Cap replied, defeated. Those poor people.

After Murphy finished his public address, the governor took the podium. He was a fat man with a goatee that should have been trimmed weeks ago. His hair was shaggy, and his voice was like a chain-smoked cowbell. He wasn’t the public favorite. Or mine. He closed numerous public programs to fund the war—not saying that our troops didn’t need funding, but all the wrong programs were closed. Soup kitchens, nonprofit psychiatric facilities, public housing for youth who couldn’t make it into foster care, animal shelters, homeless shelters, elder care. What did he keep? Alcohol addiction counselling in the