Chapter Four

shook the world. Christ, who's that, Reggie asked, in a slurred voice heavy with sleep. Mortars. Manny explained, I think I heard rockets too. Shit, The brit Ex sailed sharply. Is this bad? Many shrugged. Those sound like small mortars, very short range, but we're miles behind the line. So a deafening explosion shook the world. It was loud enough that Manny didn't even properly hear it. He felt it

hard and hot against his skin. The sheer, impo sucible noise of it pulled the air from his lungs and the thoughts from his head. The next instant, he was flat on the ground. His eyes darted left and right for cover. He spotted something, an artificial cave built into a corner of the main room, perhaps a hundred feet away. It looked like some sort of shrine or temple. Many could see the walls were thick with melted candles, colorful drawings in a variety of brass cymbals. He grabbed Reggie

by the shoulder and shook hard. The other man jerked, locked eyes with Manny and mouthed what the fixture pointed towards the shrine, pulled himself up and sprinted towards it. The journalists followed, and soon both men were huddled in the little substructure, staring out at the devastation that had overtaken the Richardson Autonomous Project. They could see two holes in the roof. The huge circular kitchen bar looked like

it had taken a direct hit. Beer spurted from shattered taps, and many could see what looked like blood staining the white oak of the bar. Counter Flames licked somewhere off in the distance on the other side of the vast structure. The air smelled of smoke and burning grass. More blasts sound it in the distance, including a few that were just too loud to be mortar fire. Now that he focused, Manny could also hear the chatter of machine guns. It was distant, but not nearly as distant as it should

have been. Many dug into his pocket, found where the deck was clipped inside, and thumbed the power button. Static flashed at the edge of his vision as his implants started up. He nearly always ran in minimalist mode, which gave him access to his maps and his communications sweet and nothing else. He selected his address book and sub vocalized his cousin's name, Alejandro. It dialed and dialed and dialed. Amen. Reggie said, his voice oddly, calm, I think we might

need to get the funk out of here. Reggie looked over at the bride and then towards the flames. They were bigger now and closer. He could see a dozen or so men and women fighting the fire with hoses and extinguishers. They didn't seem to be winning. Elsewhere, he saw small groups breaking cover to run for the exits. The sound of alarm bells echoed across the big structure. Alejandro hadn't responded, which meant he was fighting or dead either way, Manny and Reggie would need to find their

own ride out of this mess. It had been a while since the last mortar had landed on the complex, and the small arms fire still sounded distant. This seemed as good a time to make a break for it as they were likely to get, so they ran until they hit the nearest exit doors, shoved them open, and staggered outside into the balmy Texas night. The asphalt parking lot outside was filled with newly minted refugees, perhaps two hundred of them, most carried at least to go bag.

A few had managed to drag out more. They were ringed by a widening cordon of armed men and women, fifty at the most. The militia clutched antique weapons, mostly small arms, and stuck like glue to the Hescoe barriers that ringed the old parking lot. Here and there, Manny caught sight of a man with an RPG or a light machine gun. It was a forcement for scaring off bandits. The rockets still thudding in the distance told Manny these men and women faced considerably more than their match. A

green blink of light caught his attention. Reggie head and aged his lapel camera. The brit fixed him with a look that said, dude, what did you expect me to do? Most of the survivors were probably recording to their decks, too, but Reggie's little camera could do considerably more. It scanned the world around him in a three hundred and sixty degree arc. It also recorded the journalist's own physical data, his heart rate, his respiration, his adrenal levels. Everything he

saw and felt was being recorded for later consumption. The brit was carving out a little slice of the war for safer parts of the world to Binge Watch. Vehicle started to arrive. The project's motor pool included three tracks built to carry large groups of people in semi armored semi safety. The commune's rapid reaction force set to work, loading children and wounded up first. There was no panic, no hysteria, just an exhausted efficiency that spoke of long practice.

Manny saw glassy eyes and clenched jaws, but very little open rage. They're so very used to it, he realized. Scattered throughout the crowd, Manny saw people whose bodies rattled with the sort of palsied shock that artillery leaves in its wake. Reggie just stared out at them, mouth slack. His left knee twitched, the foot below it pumped against the ground. Many guessed he was caught between the urge to step out and talk to some of them and the voice of sanity in the back of his head

that knew how tone deaf that would be. Manny put a hand on the journalist's shoulder. We need to get the funk out of here, and our ride is off calms, he said. I'm going to suggest we hitch with the R A P where their guests. They'll make room for us, but if you'd rather drag us, I know a safe neighborhood about six miles into the city. We could probably hire a ride there. It looks like they're a bit short of room, as is said the brit Those tracks

can't hold more than people each. Many smiled a little twenty four, But that's just if you're attached to things like seats. Ten minutes later, Reggie and Manny clung to the hood of the track as it barreled down the broken streets of Ciadad de Muerta, bound for a staging area in deep Ellum. The fighting sounded much closer by the time they left, Manny guessed the small arms fire

couldn't be more than a couple of blocks away. He and the journalist held on with white knuckles and tried not to linger long on what would happen if they lost their grip. The martyrs had passed the command post the bridge, shouted in sudden realization, his voice strained to be audible over the roar of the engines. Holy shit, they have to be right. Many thought about the geography

for a moment. It was possible that the martyrs had only broken through in a few chunks of the line, but that would mean to Shaun and the others were alive and surrounded or fleeing. Those were the best case scenarios. I think we might be fucked, Manny said, stunned by the realization. For the last year, Major Clark had been his most reliable source in the SDF. That post had seemed immovable, impregnable for its significance in his little chunk

of the world. The tracks slowed to a stop. Parked facing them were too smaller armored SDF tracks with swiveling cannons on their roofs. Soldiers scurried around them. They pulled sections of thin, frosted gray still glass barricades off the vehicles and started setting them up to form a new defensive line. Many watched two militia women wrestle with a

large olive green case covered in boxy cyrillic script. They pried it open, and Manny saw a huge metal tube and what looked like a lot of antique optical equipment. It was probably an old wire guided missile launcher, something that had been antique before the revolution. He'd never seen the stf use anything that old. They had drones half this size that carried even more firepower, had them yesterday, at least, he thought. The track slowed to a cautious

stop and honked. Manny glanced back at the driver. She had her hands in the air in a universal please don't shoot us gesture. Two of the soldiers peeled off from their efforts and approached, weapons in hand but not aimed. The driver opened her door and shouted something down at them. One of the men responded and gestured vaguely downtown. Manny couldn't make out exactly what was being said, but the driver's face contorted in a fury that was impossible to miss.

Something's fucked Manny said to the journalist, I think we're about to lose our ride. Look. He pointed to the makeshift barricade and the dozen or so soldiers who filtered past it and towards the track. The driver yelled and one of the other passengers near the front started to shout. The soldier's face remained impassive, but he put a hand on his side arm and repeated a command Manny didn't

even need to hear. A few seconds later, a soldier with a megaphone arrived and addressed Manny, Reggie and the new refugees citizens. Your vehicle has been requisition for medical use by the SDF. Please dismount on a wordly fashion. Injured in pregnant individuals may stay aboard. The man repeated the order, this time in Spanish. Reggie's jaw clinched man he could see fear in his eyes, but the other man just nodded and started to climb down off the track.

Manny did the same. Not all of the tracks passengers were as compliant. There was a lot of shouting and even a few shoving matches between the militiamen and the passengers, but in the end, the SDF got their way. Manny gathered fairly quickly that they planned to send the civilians a mile or so back to a holding area behind in the new line. That was the last fucking place in the world he wanted to be, so he approached

the officer who had been arguing with their driver. The man had no rank in signiya on his uniform, but that wasn't unusual for militia. His fatigues were old U S Army issue. His arm band identified him as part of the Citizens Front. Manny found that odd Most of the militia at this barricade were with Raza Front or the p p A. This much intermixing wasn't normal. It pointed to a lot of casualties among the stf DI scope Signor. Manny started, Chico, no ur remismo. I don't

have time to debate, no Signor. My cousin Alejandro was with Citizens Front ninth Battalion. He was our ride. We were taking this journalist. Manny jerked his head towards Reggie, who stood a few feetback, and we got caught up in the attack. The officer nodded, then grunted. Manny studied his face for a moment. The man was middle aged, with a weak chin and enough extra meat on his bones to suggest this was his first front line duty in a while. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenched,

his attitude softened a bit at Alejandro's name, Alejandro Hernandez. Yeah, he's a good man, or was, the officer said darkly. All our front line units were wiped out or near enough. The whole STF has been pushed all the way back to Sida de Muerta. If he's alive, he's a prisoner. The man shook his head. Sorry, Chico, there's not much I can do for you or your friend. We need to get to Waco. I know there's a hospital there

that must be where you're sending the serious injuries. Right, Dallas doesn't have anything left with a fully are the officer nodded. These tracks are headed to the Field Hospital in Oak Lawn, But we've got a couple of deuce and a half sloading up at fire based. Jamenez, if you can get there on your own, all radio ahead and ask Major Peron if he's got space. I know Peron. Manny almost shouted, I went to school with his nephew, Hector. He couldn't stop himself from wincing as he said, if

you'd give him my name, that might help. The other man's eye cocked up in a really motherfucker look. But then the soldier asked, and your name is Many Sanchez. He nodded. Good, then, Manny, all radio ahead. You and your friend get to the firebase Rapido Cambrende. Many nodded and turned to Reggie. We've got a ride, but it's going to be a bit of a hike. It was less a hike and more of a panicked jog. The streets around them were filled with dozens of people carrying

their possessions and bags and rusted old shopping carts. Manny had never seen Dallas this crowded. Less than a million people still lived in the old Metroplex, but most of them seemed to be out in the streets to watch the world end. Sirens sounded, courtesy of the city's old civil defense system, mixed every few seconds with the distorted voice of a woman reminding them that all motor vehicle use was prohibited. Any civilian vehicles on the road will

be assumed hostile and targeted. The road traffic was all military. There was less of it than Manny would have hoped to see. In the space of a few seconds, he watched three pairs of cougar assault vehicles race up towards the front, carrying squads of armored troopers in their open beds. He also saw one convoy of five anti tank drones. Each was the size of a four door sedan, with two linked chain guns on a turret that scanned the

sky in fast, jerky arcs. There was a troubling amount of dead space on the road between the two units. By the sound of it, the fighting had only grown more intense throughout the morning. The crack of small arms fire had been nearly drowned out by the all consuming roar of close support drones in the sky above them. The only noises to rise above that din were the stippling bangs of mortar fire and the pop pop popping of cluster bombs fire. Bassiamenez was about two miles back

from the new front. It was mainly a staging area for the st f's Autonomous Artillery Division. The a a D was made up of men and mostly drones from all the secular militia groups active in the Dallas area. The fire base itself wasn't well fortified. The only physical defense was a fence topped with razor wire to keep civilians out. That wouldn't be much of a barrier for

a determined assault. Untilicup of hours ago, Yumenez had been far enough from the front that an assault wasn't considered possible. After an hour of mixed jogging and running, Manny and Reggie took a left onto park Lane and the fire base came into view. It had been built in the bones of an old apartment complex. Several buildings had been converted into offices and the rest left as barracks space.

The apartments were situated across the road from a tall, very thin, parentheses shaped building that looked out over a large field dotted with landing pads. The name Top Golf Driving Range was still visible on the side of the building. Several hundred militiamen were hard at work throwing up defenses. Still, glass sheets had been set up to screen a dozen machine gun nests. Further back, soldiers piled sandbags in front of two howitzers. Manny and Reggie weren't the only civilians

trying to gain entrance. Fifty or so people clustered by a checkpoint in the middle of the road, a hundred yards ahead of the construction efforts. The checkpoint was new, just a sandbag machine gun emplacement manned by six fighters in powered body armor. They were over watched by a pair of ancient Abrams tanks because issian on either side of the road. The soldiers in the middle checked the documents and let the occasional civilian through. They turned most

people back. There were a lot of shouts and violent gestures on the part of the civilians. While Manny watched. One of the guards raised their rifle up and fired it just to the left of a screaming man's face. He recoiled in pain and fear, clutched his ears, and staggered away from the checkpoint. The weight was only about ten minutes, but with the flooding artillery at their back, each of those minutes felt like an hour. But soon they stood face to face with one of the armored

militia folks. Reggie went stiff at once, his pupils the size of dinner plates. He had never seen powered armor up close before. Many couldn't blame the man for being unnerved. The reflective, bug eyed, blistic glass of the helmets and humanly broad shoulder armor made the wearers look like Cronenbergie and guerrilla mantis hybrids. The shortest armored soldier was well over seven feet tall and almost as broad as two men. Their gender was impossible to discern, but a feminine voice

leapt from the speakers. State your busin this, she said, If you're looking for shelter, you'll have to head to North Park Center. We don't have room for you. I'm Emmanuel Sanchez, Major Perrone. Should have my friend and I on your list. The woman was silent for a little while. As she called up the list, she clucked her tongue between her teeth, and the high fidelity mike in her suit made it sound like she'd done it next to his ear. Well, hell, there you are. Her helmeted head

bobbed at them. All right, you're in, come through quick. You stop being my fucking problem. As soon as you're inside. They made their way towards the actual front gate of the fire base, passing squads of militias struggling with hescoes and setting up firing positions behind the still glass palisade. Manny and Reggie walked past it all and to the firebases front gate. They were let in without any fuss, which surprised Manny a bit, but he wasn't about to

question it. On the other side of the gate, they found themselves adrift, unescorted, and surrounded by pure chaos. There were other civilians inside the walls, huddled in small groups around piles of backpacks. They sat wide eyed and shaking, and waited for whatever deliverance the STF could provide. Soldiers rushed through the clots of humanity in groups of two or three. Often their arms were filled with machinery or paper, or even crates of munitions. Everyone's eyes were wide and

full of fear. For a while, Reggie and Manny milled around with no real aim, unable to enter any of the buildings. Mannie found them an unclaimed place to sit that looked like it would be easy for mister perun to find, and then they just sat there. At one point, Reggie offered him a protein bar. Mannie tried to eat it, but three bites in he accepted that his appetite just

wasn't there. What do I do if Dallas falls? He ran through his finances over and over again, mulling over which European vises he could afford, and how long he'd be able to survive in each country. I could make it a year, maybe eighteen months. In Croatia, he'd been studying German for the last year, though I can learn

Croatian any here, he tried to convince himself. He also tried to ignore what he'd been leaving behind if he hopped the next flight from Austin to the e U. He didn't want to think about Oscar's wife and child, how they'd get by without their dad's income. He didn't want to think about his own father or the rest of his family and how they'd fair if Austin fell. You can only afford to take care of you here, Manny.

It was two hours before Major Perne found them. The older man's skin was a deep sunsharred brown that seemed at odds with his narrow face and thin wire glasses. He had the look of a high school history teacher who had been transplanted into a war zone. There was something drawn and strained in his expression that spoke of deep exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was swollen slightly red. Manny could remember seeing that same face a bit younger and wearing a T shirt rather than

digiKam at a hundred different slumber parties. Mister Perrone was Hector's dad. Mister Perrone made them kettle corn and let them watch violent movies on the family projector Major Perone. Manny had to remind himself he's Major Perone. The Major favored Manny with a sad smile. Madre di dio, s Emmanuel, It's fucking good to see you. Have you seen your cousin Alejandro? He was with us last night, Manny said,

before the attack. Back a pained look cross the Major's face. Okay, he nodded and forced to smile back across his lips. I hear you boys need a ride, yes, Manny said, if you could get us back to Waco. I have enough connections in the area to get him. Manny nodded back to the journalist. Into Austin and what is your name, sir, Major Perrone asked the journalist as he extended his hand. Reggie the brit responded, thank you so much for helping us. I'm afraid there's not much I can do right now.

The situation is still very fluid. We've set a new defensive line running from the Lakewood Crater to love Field. With any luck, the martyrs have spent the bulk of their strength and will hold them there. And if not, Reggie asked, Mr Perrone laughed and scratched his head. Well, if the line breaks, then I'd guess our collective booch is screwed. We'll begin the evacuation if it gets much worse, But right now we're still waiting for convoys of wounded

to get back through the lines. He gestured out at the considerable amount of fenced off open space in the firebase. This whole place is about to be a big, open air hospital. He gave Reggie a severe look. I won't tell you not to record them, because quite frankly, everyone here is too busy to police that. But I will ask that you showed tact in respect in your documentation, of course, said Reggie, with enough sincerity that Manny believed him.

All right. He clapped Manny on the shoulder, and, after a second's pause, embraced him. Hold on out here for a while. I'll try to send some food in a little bit. Manny and Reggie both thanked Major Braun and he trundled off into the old top golf building to do his part in coordinating the defense. So what now, Reggie asked, We wait, said Manny. Three hours passed. More and more wounded men streamed into the base, carried on stretchers and an ambulances, and in several cases stacked like

firewood on flatbed trucks. The wounded were set up on cots and piles of blankets in the grass and wherever possible, in paved sections of the driving ranger's old parking lot. Medics, far too few medics hustled from soldier to soldier at a frantic, manic, unsustainable pace. For a while, there was nothing to do but follow Reggie around while he interviewed the wounded men and women who were stable enough to talk. They all reported shock at the speed and ferocity of

the attack. Their testimonies drove home the fact that this was something new. Tendrils of fear crept up Manny's spine. It was all he could do to keep moving with his journalist Amen. Reggie said, look at that fellow. He pointed to a soldier with the top half of his head wrapped in blood soaked bandages. Something about the man's broad and square chin looked familiar. Isn't that one of the men we met yesterday, Reggie asked the Major. Holy shit, Reggie was right. That had to be to Shaun Clark.

Manny ran over to him. As he drew closer, it became clear that Deshaun was an even worse shape than he looked at a distance. His shirt had been ripped open, exposing a muscular chest drenched in blood. Three white plugs of hardened Seloch's wound spray visible across his abdomen. He'd been shot repeatedly and had what looked like a shrapnel wound on the side of his head. At least he's breathing, Manny thought, Major Clark, he said, and to manny surprise,

the warrior poet stirred. Manny, sweet Jesus, is that you d Shaun asked in a slared voice. Yes, sir, Manny said, You know, I was damn sure you had been killed. Haven't had all that much time to think about you in the last few hours, of course, what with everyone dying and all. I'm glad you're alive, Manny said, and he was. Major Clark had always been good to him. Do you know what happened to Himid and Colonel Milgram. Manny asked, before the thought had fully crystallized in his mind.

Major Clark tried to lift his head and almost cried out from the sheer agony of the movement. He didn't speak for a few seconds. He just took deep, slow breaths, but he started to whisper. The last sunbeam lightly falls from the finished Sabbath on the pavement here and there beyond it is looking down a new maid, double grave. What man he asked, confused, Walt Actually, Major Clark laughed, winced, and then explained, Walt, Whitman. That is sorry. Imminent death

makes me go for the deep cuts. So they're dead. Then Manny asked. Major Clark coughed, and again his lips curled up in an agonized cringe. I think, so, he managed to say. I think everyone from the command post is dead. I was out grabbing a smoke when they hit us. Came out of nowhere, drone artillery, heavy stuff. Whole place slit up like Christmas. Two booms sounded in the distance. Major Clark tensed up. Reggie cringed to Manny.

The whole situation seemed almost too unreal. To justify a reaction like that, Major Clark said, after I grabbed who I could and tried to save as many men as possible fighting retreat. You know, we linked up with as many fighters as we could, but every time we'd set a line, they'd break through. They had so many damn drones.

I've never seen Martyr's use drones like that. What do you mean, Reggie asked, Well, they've always had drones, but usually just his defensive aids for when we'd make a push. We've got enough jammers that their hardware was no use in our territory since none of their ship goes autonomous. So what the journalist asked, as he drew in a bit closer. Do you think they've changed their minds on autonomous drones? Or is this something else? Major Clark rolled his head just a little. It seemed to be the

only gesture he could make without hurting himself. I don't know, kid, he said, Whatever is happening, it's totally new, and it's totally fucked us. Major Clark was taken by another coughing fit. This one lasted a long time. Blood bubbled up and out from the corners of his mouth. Manny wanted to call for a medic, but he couldn't see any of them who weren't dealing with patients who were even worse off. Eventually, the coughing subsided and Major Clark drifted off into unconsciousness.

They sat with him until the night fell and Mr Perrone finally came to get them. He looked exhausted and somehow broken. His skin was sallow and so pale it was almost yellow. His uniform was soaked with old sweat stains, and he had two lit cigarettes in his mouth. When he found Manny and Reggie, Manny wasn't sure he'd ever seen the older man's smoke. Mr Perrone noted his surprise. I've taken up smoking again, he said, with a hollow laugh since her tone, expect to survive to the end

of the week that bad, Manny asked worse. He shook his head and then seemed to notice the Major Is that d Shawn Clark? Yes, Sir, Manny said, is he? He's alive and he seems to be stable for now. Major Perrone looked relieved. That's one spot a mercy. Then hopefully we'll get him out in time. On that note, I've confirmed that We've got a convoy of wounded heading out tomorrow a m As soon as our scouts clear the root. You'll both have a seat in that convoy.

Thank you so much, sir, Reggie started, Mr Perrone cut him off. It's no problem, son, do your job and tell people what's happened here. What are you going to do, Sir Manny asked? Mr Perrone looked into his eyes. He'd always had an intense stare. His edge had been evident, even when he'd been driving the boys to soccer practice or taking them out for pizza. Now his eyes bored into Manny's heart so deeply that the fixer finally understood

what that phrase meant. I'm going to die here, Emmanuel, he said, I'm going to die here like your cousin Alajandro died here, because it's the only thing I can do that might protect our home. Manny felt an intense urge to look away, to cast his eyes down, but he didn't. He held mister Perrone's gaze and braced himself for what came next. What about you, mister Perrone asked, What will you do if they reach Austin? Wait? Is that on the bloody table? Reggie interrupted. Mr Perrone paused

for a moment and considered his words. I don't know, he said, No one does. But the martyrs just broke through it Lakewood. We won't hold Dallas for another day. He pulled Manny into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. When he pulled back, he kept his hands on Manny's shoulders. I've always been proud of you, Immanuel. I think that what you do here, he nodded to Reggie, has value. But there are times when our homelands require more of us. What are you prepared to give for Austin?

Manny clinched his jaw. I planned to be on a plane out of here in the next twelve hours, if possible. But I don't know, sir, is all he said. It was hard to meet mister Perrone's eyes. When he did, he was sure the older man saw the guilt in them. Mr Perrone didn't say anything, though, He just led Manny and Reggie over to where the convoy was assembling and slipped them a pair of m R. E's and some bottled water. The best I can do, he said, apologetically.

He left them at the disembarkation point Manny's last clear sight of the man who had helped raise him was of his slumped, sweat stained shoulders trudging back to the firebase's command center. They sat there for hours, neither of them talked much. One by one, the wounded men were loaded carefully into the assortment of old half tracks, busses, and trailers that made up the convoy. Once they were seated, there was another two hours of white time before the

convoy got moving. Both Reggie and Manny found time to nap, but neither of them were really arrested when the dawn broke and the convoy set forward it. By the time the ramshackle assortment of trucks and broken soldiers started on its way to Waco, the sound of mortar fire was so constant it had almost become white noise. The small arms fire wasn't as loud, but it was also clearly much closer than it had been when they'd arrived at

fire bas umenz. As the convoy rolled out onto the old access road that led eventually to Waco, a flight of drones roared past them and towards the new front line. Those aren't SDF drones, are they, Reggie asked, without actually looking at Manny. His gaze was focused on the two medics in the back of the truck as they moved from soldier to soldier. No, Manny confirmed those are Austin

Civil Defense Forces. The brit whistled through his teeth. So you think this means the sdf ran through their drones could be as all, Manny said. The track and its escort lumbered through the cracked remnants of the old highway system. The accumulated hangers on civilian vehicles piled high with refugees. As they rolled along. The civilians stayed back, leary the convoy's guns, but trusting in its presence for protection. By the time the convoy finally left the Dallas Sprawl, their

tails stretched back to the horizon line. Manny had seen similar sights before when his parents had fled the DFW area for Austin's relative safety. Here and there on and in the cars behind them, he saw small figures that had to be children, kids like he'd been fleeing the same city he'd had to flee for the same basic reason. Manny's stand out memory from that time wasn't the terror of seeing a mortar land for the first time. Or anything about their flight out of the city at all.

It was from the next day at their first refugee camp, when he saw his father in line for their daily ration of food. A journalist had passed by, taking the sort of pictures Reggie's lapel camera now snapped mindlessly. Manny's dad had been crying, ashamed that he'd needed charity, and even more ashamed to have fled the family home. More than anything about that time, Manny remembered how his father

had hidden his face from the fataeographer. The gesture had told Manny more about their new status in the world than anything an adult had actually said. Behind him now were cars full of mothers and fathers and children who were about to have their own searing experiences. Manny hated how familiar this felt to him. He hated that for

Reggie it counted as the adventure of a lifetime. Many looked at the journalist at the awe and innocent excitement in his eyes, and tried to imagine Reggie's life back home. None of the individual pieces of that life would be new to Manny. His world also had bars and parties and apartment leases and term papers. The thing he couldn't imagine was the sense of security, living life without the

constant threat of war. He'd been so close to securing that life for himself if they only waited six months. But they hadn't, and now Manny had a choice to make stand and fight or run with what he had and hoped for the best. Manny leaned back as much as his precarious seat allowed and stared out the burning city that had once been Dallas. Goddamn, he muttered to himself. I gotta get the funk out of Texas. Hey, everybody, Robert Evans here. I hope you just enjoyed the chapter

you listen to. I hope you enjoyed the chapters to come. If you would like to read the text version of this book either on the web or on your e reader as an e pub you can find those on the website a t r book dot com. So again, the free ad free e pub and the text of every chapter will be on a t R book dot com. Thanks