Chapter 3

Dallas, Texas

1:30 PM

Out of ammunition for his rifle, the Sharpshooter had remained hidden in the building, the early chaos of the crowd dispersing and the strange army attacking them kept him well hidden from the enemy forces… whoever they were. They had appeared almost Roman, Galea helmets, Lorica armor, short swords, and spears... It was not unlike the images he had seen in Christian paintings of the Crucifixion, the persecutions under Nero, Constantine seeing the cross, and on and on. The difference had to be in the monsters they commanded, the eerie, leathery flapping sound of one of the flying creatures flying nearby. It was all audible now that the fighting had settled down. Risking a glance out the window, he noticed most of these “Romans” had pushed further into the city, the monsters and cavalry had gone, and several regular soldiers stayed behind occupying the plaza, setting up some kind of command center.

If one could call it that.

A very colorful tent was set up on the grass right by the thing that was clearly a portal to somewhere else. Under the tent, several men placed a table, and several other men stood around it, seemingly arguing as several other men in heavier armor under very colorful capes kept guard.

They really had no concept of modern war. Any rifleman for miles would have seen the colorful clothes, open tent, and guards and thought "hey, that guy's probably important… better shoot him!"

Unfortunately, the sharpshooter was out of bullets for his rifle, and his handgun, while fully loaded, probably wouldn't do much against the fifty-odd men down there. Even if every single one of his shots fatally hit one of the men, that would leave ten men to tackle him to the ground. Best he could do was sit and wait, despite how frustrating it was.

He had waited for about an hour after running out of ammunition and was considering his options when something caught his eye.

Several of the roman looking soldiers appeared, dragging behind them several civilians. One of them, a colored woman, was visibly shaking more as they carried her and a little colored girl forward. That alone was already conjuring up terrible images he’d seen in history books and read about in detail. But then the sharpshooter noticed the men under the tent had stopped arguing and were beginning to approach the apprehended civilians.

They got closer and began to surround the woman and child.

The “Romans” seemed almost incredulous at the sight. One of them grabbed the woman's sleeve, apparently not out of perversion but out of curiosity. Or perhaps he was appraising her. The Sharpshooter knew enough to say it wasn’t looking good for them regardless. One of the captured men yelled something as he pointed at the Romans before the man holding him gave him a swift kick behind the knee. The man crumbled to the floor, writhing on the grass as the attackers laughed loud enough the sharpshooter could hear them.

Then another one grabbed the little colored girl, ripping her from the woman's arms.

The Sharpshooter heard the girl scream "Mama!"

The woman lunged forward, uselessly so, but not stopping her struggle. He could hear her screaming, the guards yelling back at her, one unsheathing a sword, though the man in charge stayed the soldier’s hand, all but confirming what was happening.

Angry, the sharpshooter stood away from the window and ran down the steps with renewed purpose. Quickly making sure his .38 revolver was loaded; again, less out of need and more to ease his own mind. The offices below abandoned windows broken, one with a corpse hanging off it. He didn’t really care as he unlocked the entrance to the building and gunned it outside, brandishing his weapon. Men standing guard reacted quickly, despite the surprise. They lifted their spears, unsheathed their blades, and began to approach him.

At least until he lifted his weapon and aimed it at their presumed leader.

Then they paused.

"Let 'em go, you sorry imp- imperialist scum!!!" he shouted as loudly as he could then, which wasn't incredibly loud or intimidating. He never was much of an intimidating person. But it was certainly enough to get their attention.

One of the Romanesque officers appeared to be inspecting the sobbing child, ignoring him, the man with a gun pointed at him, as his potential subordinates stood in his path with drawn blades, though remaining a distance away.

"I mean it! You probably know what these things do by now!"

It was likely the only reason they hadn't charged him. They weren’t frozen where they stood, but they were cautiously watching him as if trying to figure out a way to grab him or charge him so he didn’t see them. But he kept watching their every move. The Sharpshooter knew enough to know that if he wasn’t careful, he would be cut down with great ease.

And he would bet these men knew enough to know his weapon killed better than any sword in their army.

The Roman officer finally stood up and turned to face him, eyeing the sharpshooter before shoving the little girl back into the arms of her mother, the woman gripping the girl tightly, as if to shield her as she ducked down. The officer then raised his hands as if to try and defuse the situation.

Then the Roman spoke.

The Sharpshooter understood none of it.

The Roman spoke again, lowering his hands in frustration and shaking his head, but this time a younger man in different armor made his presence known, walking next to the officer.

The new man also raised his hands and said in what almost sounded like an Italian accent, “Do note!”

The Sharpshooter blinked. They could speak English? No, it sounded... wrong. Was it a distraction? Were they trying to get him to focus on them and ignore the guards around him, itching for him to let his guard down so they could cut him down?!

“Wha-? Note?”

“Ah-ha! Note!” the other man repeated, smiling slightly.

The sharpshooter was having none of it.

“Look, just... just let them go! Now!!!” he yelled back.

“Pax, Pax...” the man said awkwardly, raising and lowering his hands as if waving at him.

"Pax- what-? Look, I don't know what you're saying! J-just let these people go! Right now!" he ordered as loud as he could, pointing between them and the civilians, trying to get his point across.

The Roman leader frowned, saying something to the younger man apparently trying to interpret, the sharpshooter didn't know enough to say what, only that it was said in a louder tone that invoked hostility more than anything. The younger man said something back, also frustrated before turning back to him and yelling one word.

“Zoo-render!”

Surrender...

The Sharpshooter couldn’t help the half-smile that crept across his face. He didn’t lower the gun as he nodded along, the other man grinning, perhaps believing he’d gotten through. There was an almost proud smile as the other man appeared excited at accomplishing something.

The Sharpshooter chortled then, and calmly whispered "Alright… alright… You know what?"

He squeezed the trigger, the .38 caliber round going through the neck of the Roman leader, staining the colorful banner behind him in crimson as the officer fell to the floor, the young man attempting to interpret immediately jumped back with a yelp. The sharpshooter, however, quickly turned the gun on the six guards holding the civilians and quickly did the same. Carefully aiming to hit everyone not capable of speaking English. He knew if he was able to rattle the guards, it would give his fellow citizens a chance to escape.

All his bullets found their mark, but if they were fatal or not was yet to be determined.

What mattered was that the civilians suddenly turned on their guards and began to run away, the young man who had been kicked down actually shoving the wounded guard holding him back, and then turning and attacking an uninjured one while the woman quickly scooped up the little girl in her arms and ran off.

The sharpshooter grinned.

Somehow, this was better than just killing the president or any other fascistic politician.

His service in the Marines hadn't allowed him to see much action, at least real action, and he had never been the heroic American GI that he had naively wanted to be, his defection wasn't at all what he had hoped for either, and he had indeed returned disillusioned to the country he’d defected from… but this… oh, this was special.

Somehow this was doing exactly what he had always wanted to do!

Free the enslaved, rescue the oppressed…

To his surprise, the man whose neck he had practically shot in two was still alive, weakly eyeing him as lifeblood spilled from his wound onto the already bloodstained grass of the Dealy Plaza. The combination of hate and fear in those eyes was much more than anything he had seen in anyone.

"I warned you! I-" he began, half laughing.

He barely turned in time to see the foot soldier run towards him and stab a blade through his chest, killing him before he hit the ground.

Somewhere over Texas

Air Force One

2:23 PM

The American president's finger tapped rhythmically against the wooden surface of his desk with a quiet urgency that made it readily apparent to anyone in the room that he, arguably the most powerful man in the world, was worried.

Obviously, the day wasn't supposed to go this way at all.

He had intended to meet with the more conservative members of the Democratic Party in an attempt at smoothing things over, if only a little, as there were some very serious tensions between members of the party as of late. Oh, maybe go to a fundraiser, and see the American people. The United States was changing, and whether the change would be positive or negative was yet to be seen as divisions were very clearly showing within his own party as certain issues in the United States were being pushed to the forefront of debates.

For starters, the issue of Civil Rights…

Now, all of that was out the window due to some incomprehensible structure out in the middle of Dallas spewing soldiers out of a storybook.

The president jerked around, glancing out the window. The nearby fighter escort, briefly visible in the clouds a distance away, appeared tiny. But it wasn’t an enemy aircraft, which was, as far as he knew at least, the bigger concern at the moment. No, perhaps not the bigger concern, but a part of it. What if this was some distraction? Some idiot general going under his nose... What if it was a combination of various problems? What if someone from the CIA had gone under his nose?

He got up and silently walked around his desk to look out the window, trying to get a glimpse at the ground below knowing it wouldn’t give him any new information but was probably better than just sitting around waiting for news to come in.

"Jack, please try to calm down." his older Vice President said in a tired voice.

While he could appreciate the advice, this simply was not the time!

"I can’t calm down. Not until I get word from our forces. Is this phenomenon happening anywhere else? Any other cities attacked? For God's sake, we are more in the dark right now than back in-"

"And worrying about it won't solve anything! It’ll do worse to your own health at this point, so please, try to calm down."

Wanting to argue, but knowing his older colleague was very much correct, he simply sat back on his chair and rubbed the back of his head. The only sound for a short while was the low hum of Air Force 1 flying through the clouds, the ever-present pair of F-105 Thunderchief fighter-bombers visible in the distance from the window. The jets had been designed to drop nuclear bombs and fly away before anyone could stop them.

He shuddered at the thought that they might be needed now.

The nearby door was opened then and a man walked in.

The president looked up expectantly at the aide.

"The 49th Armored has made contact with enemy forces and the Air Force has begun its gun runs. We rule the skies, sir."