Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

Joan walked away from the unsettled group turned mob followed by a hesitant Daisy Lane. “What’s wrong, Daisy? Speak your peace, because later is going to be too late.”

Daisy pursed her lips and wiped a lone tear from her eye. “I got married last year and this craziness happens.”

Joan’s thoughts drifted back to Charles and William and red rage tightened her stomach. “I lost my family four months ago to console your complaints. All our little problems are nothing…I mean nothing in comparison to this, Daisy Lane.” Joan stopped and faced the tall woman.

Daisy huffed. Green light flickered in her eyes. “My husband and my life are more than nothing, Joan.”

Joan moved closer to the angel. “Stifle your personal problems. They die right here. Do you understand me?”

Daisy turned her head for a moment to contemplate the distraught masses jammed together. She faced Joan’s hard brown eyes. “I understand.”

“Listen, if we don’t do them, they are going to do us. We have to keep Lucifer in Hell. I need for you to get your head together, Daisy Lane.”
 

Joan ran a hand through her black hair and moved further from the crowd. Curses stifled the air as soldiers piled up at the gates. Hummers rolled towards the White House with mounted fifty-caliber machine gun turrets located on their rooftops.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go to Japan. Okura, another angel, is at Mount Fuji. Find him and bring him here. You must talk him out of his mortal slumber. He won’t be too willing to wake up.”

“Where are the others?”

“One is in Mexico City, guarding the Key, her name is Maria. The other one is in San Diego at the Marine base.”

Daisy brushed some dirt from her tattered uniform and smirked at the useless act. “What else do I need to know about this? I want to go kick some ass so I can go back to my normal life.”

“When everyone is together, I will sit down and tell you everything the archangel Michael told me. For now, Daisy, I need you to go.”
 

Someone screamed. A commotion erupted behind the two angels. A cop drove his baton into a fat man’s belly.

Daisy flinched as the baton sunk deep into the man’s swollen stomach. Her wide apart green eyes blinked several times as a soldier dropped his rifle, tore off his camouflaged shirt, and dove into the hysterical multitude. A larger soldier shouted profanities in his wake.

Daisy sucked in air. “The world is falling apart? This is the end of mankind.”

“Mankind’s end is what we are trying to prevent. I’m afraid if the earth falls, Heaven will be next. Lucifer must be stopped. Go. Go now to Mount Fuji and be careful in Japan.”

“I’ll go, Joan. Aren’t you afraid? Afraid your life and everything else will be destroyed?”

“I’m resting on faith. Also, try not to lose your head taking on more than you can handle. Several millennia passed since our last fight, Daisy Lane. We will survive this mess.”

Daisy’s eyes fell to her hands as she lifted them. “Holding those axes again came good and natural to me. I wanted to kill all those screaming things. But the guardian angels took off running.”

“A wise move on their part. This, Daisy, is what you would call a small scale operation.”

Daisy laughed aloud. Her laughter drew harsh stares. She ignored them. “Biblically speaking.”

Joan smiled. “Be quick and be safe, Daisy Lane.”

Daisy nodded, turned and ran. Huge wings spread out behind her as her form dimmed from mortal view. She drew her sword and took off to the skies as a Viking Warrior graced with wings. She flew into the blue, becoming a silver glint and vanished.
 

20

Joan moved a few feet from the crowd as more shouts erupted. The National Guard and police formed a tight line and began to push the mob away from the gates.
 

The scene before her dripped with frantic volatility, as if the people wanted to rush into the White House for safety. The sun took on a burnt orange glow several hours before sunset. The skies dimmed and the wrongness played over the people gathered at the White House gate.
 

Joan’s wait gave her ample time to think more. What did the word angel mean to her? An odd smile crossed her face as the question raced through her mind. She never thought about angels too much. Her pastor told her about angels in sermons from his oak pulpit. She thought of angels as God’s bellhops and butlers.
 

Joan’s new responsibilities swirled in her head. Save earth to save Heaven. She wanted her family saved the most.
 

The crowd remained raucous and to her amazement no gunshots peppered the heated area. Michael told her the world depended on them to keep the back gate closed.
 

Michael reminded her about the Battle of Seven Gates. Lucifer’s rebellion led to his expulsion from Heaven. Joan, however, sensed more remained to the story than Michael wanted to tell. Daisy delivered Joan an obvious hint.
 

She tugged the old memories from the footlocker in her mind, recalling her goodbyes to everyone close to her in Heaven. Michael held Joan’s hands with a firm grip. He seemed worried and reluctant to part with his favorite pupil. A mortal life came with unbearable pains, mixed with good experiences along the way.
 

Joan scanned the area with brown eyes bordered with long black lashes. Within thirty minutes, the crowd thickened with spectators. People prayed, preached, sung, cursed, shoved and threw objects at the White House security guards as they stumbled towards the mob. A shadow passed over her. Her skin Brailed along the forearms, sweat trickled from behind her earlobes. A dark evil hurtled its way from the west.

Her angelic powers picked up its speed. The dark evil moved with a cold purpose. Her heart sped up and mouth dried. Fear crept up her body and she questioned whether the short refresher match Michael gave her would hold up to this.
 

A roar lifted into the air. The skies, streaked with a blood-red light, intensified the crowd’s madness. An explosion and shockwave erupted first, followed by a huge fireball. Joan considered the blast a magician’s trick laced with steroids. Everyone, and Joan included, hit the ground. Black smoke swirled and formed over the White House front lawn.
 

Joan narrowed her eyes against the smoke. Sulfur’s harsh and unmistakable rotten egg odor poured over the crowd like a gas attack. The mob scrambled to their feet and ran. Both cops and soldiers almost joined the throng in their dash from the explosion.
 

Joan wondered whether to change into her war armor. As the smoke cleared, a huge black battleax swung out from the gray curls in wide circular arcs. The dark blade cut the air with a heavy whoosh. Two horns and a bull’s head emerged from the dusky haze.

“Lord Goth,” she said under her breath. Goth remained silent as the black and yellow smoke cleared. He stood nine feet tall and commanded the center lawn. He swung his battleax, weaving pandemic fear throughout the crowd. The soldiers and cops aimed their weapons and began to shoot.

The civilian crowd trampled over each other in their frantic escape. Their screams congealed and swelled into one horrible squall. Over five thousand people moved in one direction like frightened cattle. Some died in the hysterical rush. The armed teams continued to shoot at Lord Goth who changed into human form. He walked into the bullet storm undaunted. More soldiers raced from the White House headed straight for Goth.
 

A bad idea.

Lord Goth, dressed in all black coveralls, wore dried human skins. He sprinted forward, vaulted the White House wrought iron fence and landed amongst the uniformed men and women. He hacked away at them with his iron weapon. Screams rose from the brave souls who challenged the Hell spawn. He severed many limbs. Blood splashed against his muscular body.
 

He hacked and hacked with relish as he worked his way through every human who stood before him. He hacked off arms, legs, and heads. He halved torsos and grinned as life winked out from his victim’s eyes. He resembled a giant coal miner gone mad. His red eyes blazed under a head thick with black hair, his face smeared in soot.
 

Lord Goth swung his weapon like a five iron. The ground at his feet became slick with blood and gore. He stopped his attack with the long battleax and rested its spiked butt upon the ground.
 

“Tell your president to come out and face me. If not, I shall kill everyone in this cursed city.” His voice rolled, loud enough to reach the terrified crowd.

Joan stepped from the people massed together. Tiny, plain, and almost hesitant she faced the goliath. Goth’s cockiness bothered her, even when he lived in Heaven. The security team, too afraid to move against him, stood frozen in terror. “Lord Goth.”

Goth turned around. “Joan? Joan, is that you?”

“Who else, Goth. Who else?” Joan lifted her hand. She thought about her sword and the perfect blade appeared in her grasp with a custom fit for her small right hand. The blade shimmered like a river. Burnt-orange sunlight struck its honed edge. She decided to stay dressed in her jeans and a simple white blouse.
 

She wanted to test her skills. “Tell your boss to pack up and go home, Goth.”

“Retreat is the last thing on anyone’s mind.” He approached Joan, glared at her for a moment and swung the axe at her head. The worn metal rivets stitched to his horrid outfit creaked.
 

Joan ducked, surprised at her own reflexes. Warm blood from the previous victims dappled her face from the iron weapon’s edge. She blocked Goth’s second strike. The blow thrummed down her arms, her knees buckled. She stepped back and grasped her sword with both hands.
 

Her sparring match with the archangel loosened the rusty screws within her memory. She steadied herself. Goth lifted his battleax and attacked her again.
 

Lord Goth hacked and lunged. He grunted at each delivered blow. Joan parried, spun and slipped Goth’s attacks. She found an opened space, leaped up, and kicked Goth in his ribs. He stumbled back, eyes filled with black rage. The soldiers, once eager to meet Goth in battle, retreated to the White House steps.
 

Joan swung at Goth’s head and missed. He struck out with his battleax. She blocked his blow intended for her head. She moved with grace and fierceness. Her every attack and parry functioned like artwork.
 

Her sword strokes met his blows as if she read his mind. She leaped forward, spun, and kicked to catch the huge demon in his chest.

Goth stumbled back and caught his balance. He hefted his battleax overhead with both hands. The two circled each other. He feigned a few moves and struck with explosive speed. Their weapons clashed, sparks flew. Goth broke away and attacked again. He brought his battleax down and split the brown skin on Joan’s left arm.

Joan shouted in pain, a noise she cared little for. The cut burned like acid thrown against her skin. Blood seeped from the wound. She gritted her teeth and fought back the dizziness in her head. Goth smiled and swept his battleax back like a pendulum.
 

She forced herself to remain steady. Her arms shook as sweat sprinkled her forehead. Goth narrowed his eyes and lunged to deliver his final blow.

Joan slipped to Goth’s right side, the battleax heavy edge plowed into the earth with a thud. She drove her sword up into his throat before he started to rise. Her face twisted in a grimace, her white teeth shown bright as Lord Goth’s thick blood dripped over her hands. His red eyes drew down to hers. For a second they filled with shock and fear before pure hatred flooded them. “Tell your master to pack his things and go.”

“Never.”
 

Pink blood frothed and bubbled in his maw as he changed from human to bovine. His weakened hands fumbled and his battleax struck the ground. He continued to transform before her until his true hideousness appeared. Goth jerked his head and impaled a horn into Joan’s tiny shoulder.

Joan cried out from the sharp pain and withdrew her bloodstained sword from Goth’s throat. She placed some distance between her and the herald. Lord Goth’s ten-foot bat wings outstretched from his broad back. He took flight. Dust swirled up in his wake.

Joan’s sword vanished from her hand. Her eyes traced the path Goth took into the air as he howled in anger and pain. The wound on her shoulder began to heal. The intense pain traveled through her shoulder and almost paralyzed her. Joan surmised any cut from their weapons or bodies would be poisonous.

Three Apache gunships roared above her head, their blades kicking up dust. Soldiers approached with their useless weapons aimed at her. She would not harm them, even if they started to shoot. Fear filled them all, even more so after her fight with Lord Goth.
 

“Place your hands behind your head and get down.” A soldier ordered the angel.

Joan took a breath to steady her nerves. “Calm yourselves, I mean you no harm. I am Joan, angel from Heaven. Lower your weapons and let me speak to your president. For only I can tell him why Hell came to earth.”

“I said get down or we will shoot you.”

Joan faced the soldier who held the rifle. “Shoot.”

She stepped toward him and he fired a round. The bullet went clean through her chest. “Now, let me chat with your president. Do not be afraid of me. Please,” she said as the bloodless bullet hole closed. The soldiers lowered their weapons.
 

“Thank you,” she said.
 

Joan dropped through the ground beneath her feet like a vapor. She headed to the hole where President Wallace scurried to hide. His men who fought for their lives above ground thought their brave leader remained in the Oval Office to face his fate.

President Raymond Wallace frowned as the battle unfolded on several close circuit screens built into the control center walls. He stood with a coffee cup in one shaky hand. Reports about the fight and about the tiny woman who defeated the murderous monster filtered down to him. His Secret Service protection team, arrayed in black jumpsuits, guarded the entrance into the impenetrable fortress.