Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) by Andre Roberts Page A
Authors: Andre Roberts
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to me, son.”
“The bodies, sir. They’re everywhere.” He pulled back on the throttle, the huge turbine engines kicked out its thrust. The plane began its sluggish ascent while battered by sudden high winds. He clenched his teeth. The AWACS struggled upwards and rattled so hard a deep pain throbbed in his head.
A shadow formed before the plane. A rider mounted on a pale horse broke from the black clouds. In one hand, he held a tremendous black shield with a bloody pentagram painted on its front. In his right hand he held a rusty broad sword, the hilt wrapped in a blood stained cloth. The mounted horror drew back the sword and paused as the large plane approached. He swung down, the blade crashed into the cockpit. The AWACS turned into a fireball over the city.
President Raymond Wallace balled his hands into fists as distorted screams crackled over the speakers. “Call everyone. I want this thing stopped now. Now.”
12
Joan cleaned her home. She stared at the family portraits lined along the hallway wall. In one, she, Charles and William, posed for a Christmas portrait. Her boy wore his red sweater decorated with brown reindeers harnessed to a sled. His bright smile jumped out at her. Charles, who stood behind them, stared into the camera.
Joan made her bed and ran her hands over the white comforter to smooth out the lumps. Her spacious home appeared neat and perfect. The dishes in the kitchen cabinet placed the way she liked, organized. Her plants, soon to die, sat near the sunniest windows. She cleaned her office, dusted down the desk and computer, and emptied out the trash.
Joan tried to soak her world up and take a few good memories with her on the strange journey she faced. She also fought to hold tight to her sanity.
She stood in the kitchen and inhaled the sweet spicy scents. The oregano, cinnamon, and Spanish paprika created an aroma she loved. She touched a wine bottle perched in its rack, ran her thumb over the rough cork. Her eyes flitted over the rose bushes in the backyard ready to burst open for the spring. They would spill their brilliant pinks, yellows, and reds to the world within two months. She doubted she would be around to enjoy her private spring rose show.
She walked into William’s room and stared at his walls covered in glossy posters decorated with superheroes in various stances. His television stand sat in one corner with his Play Station 4 console tucked underneath and the controllers placed on top. She even made his bed, folded his clothes, and placed them away in his drawer. The room sat neat and clean. Real, she surmised, but not real to her.
Weirdness assaulted her as if she dwelled in another reality she found difficult to grasp. She walked toward his desk covered in toy soldiers. She picked one up and slipped the green plastic soldier into her blue jeans back pocket.
An hour ago they crashed into Los Angeles like a firebomb. The noise floored her, and she took a few minutes to reel in her senses after the shock wore off. Once she crawled to her feet, the name Daisy Lane popped into her head as if her mind opened an old yellow envelope filled with names scrawled on ancient paper. She goaded this angel to leave Los Angeles as quick as possible.
“We will get the chance to battle them, Daisy. But for now run. Run as fast as you can, girl. Tell them all to run for now,” she said to the air.
Joan left William’s room and went into the kitchen to stare out the window. Morning sunlight worked through the clouds fat with precipitant rain. Distant screams rose in her neighborhood. The horrific news worked its way to hometown America, the screams told her so.
Joan found herself unable to sleep once she left the Roaner Building and arrived home. Her conversation with Michael frightened her. Her past life turned into an event she found hard to believe.
She took a hot shower to both clear her mind and relax her enough to sleep. When she stepped
“The bodies, sir. They’re everywhere.” He pulled back on the throttle, the huge turbine engines kicked out its thrust. The plane began its sluggish ascent while battered by sudden high winds. He clenched his teeth. The AWACS struggled upwards and rattled so hard a deep pain throbbed in his head.
A shadow formed before the plane. A rider mounted on a pale horse broke from the black clouds. In one hand, he held a tremendous black shield with a bloody pentagram painted on its front. In his right hand he held a rusty broad sword, the hilt wrapped in a blood stained cloth. The mounted horror drew back the sword and paused as the large plane approached. He swung down, the blade crashed into the cockpit. The AWACS turned into a fireball over the city.
President Raymond Wallace balled his hands into fists as distorted screams crackled over the speakers. “Call everyone. I want this thing stopped now. Now.”
12
Joan cleaned her home. She stared at the family portraits lined along the hallway wall. In one, she, Charles and William, posed for a Christmas portrait. Her boy wore his red sweater decorated with brown reindeers harnessed to a sled. His bright smile jumped out at her. Charles, who stood behind them, stared into the camera.
Joan made her bed and ran her hands over the white comforter to smooth out the lumps. Her spacious home appeared neat and perfect. The dishes in the kitchen cabinet placed the way she liked, organized. Her plants, soon to die, sat near the sunniest windows. She cleaned her office, dusted down the desk and computer, and emptied out the trash.
Joan tried to soak her world up and take a few good memories with her on the strange journey she faced. She also fought to hold tight to her sanity.
She stood in the kitchen and inhaled the sweet spicy scents. The oregano, cinnamon, and Spanish paprika created an aroma she loved. She touched a wine bottle perched in its rack, ran her thumb over the rough cork. Her eyes flitted over the rose bushes in the backyard ready to burst open for the spring. They would spill their brilliant pinks, yellows, and reds to the world within two months. She doubted she would be around to enjoy her private spring rose show.
She walked into William’s room and stared at his walls covered in glossy posters decorated with superheroes in various stances. His television stand sat in one corner with his Play Station 4 console tucked underneath and the controllers placed on top. She even made his bed, folded his clothes, and placed them away in his drawer. The room sat neat and clean. Real, she surmised, but not real to her.
Weirdness assaulted her as if she dwelled in another reality she found difficult to grasp. She walked toward his desk covered in toy soldiers. She picked one up and slipped the green plastic soldier into her blue jeans back pocket.
An hour ago they crashed into Los Angeles like a firebomb. The noise floored her, and she took a few minutes to reel in her senses after the shock wore off. Once she crawled to her feet, the name Daisy Lane popped into her head as if her mind opened an old yellow envelope filled with names scrawled on ancient paper. She goaded this angel to leave Los Angeles as quick as possible.
“We will get the chance to battle them, Daisy. But for now run. Run as fast as you can, girl. Tell them all to run for now,” she said to the air.
Joan left William’s room and went into the kitchen to stare out the window. Morning sunlight worked through the clouds fat with precipitant rain. Distant screams rose in her neighborhood. The horrific news worked its way to hometown America, the screams told her so.
Joan found herself unable to sleep once she left the Roaner Building and arrived home. Her conversation with Michael frightened her. Her past life turned into an event she found hard to believe.
She took a hot shower to both clear her mind and relax her enough to sleep. When she stepped
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