The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc Read online

  The Day After Never

  Havoc

  Russell Blake

  Copyright © 2018 by Russell Blake. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact:

  [email protected]

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  Contents

  Books by Russell Blake

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Excerpt from A Girl Apart

  Books by Russell Blake

  Co-authored with Clive Cussler

  THE EYE OF HEAVEN

  THE SOLOMON CURSE

  Thrillers

  FATAL EXCHANGE

  FATAL DECEPTION

  THE GERONIMO BREACH

  ZERO SUM

  THE DELPHI CHRONICLE TRILOGY

  THE VOYNICH CYPHER

  SILVER JUSTICE

  UPON A PALE HORSE

  DEADLY CALM

  RAMSEY’S GOLD

  EMERALD BUDDHA

  THE GODDESS LEGACY

  A GIRL APART

  A GIRL BETRAYED

  The Assassin Series

  KING OF SWORDS

  NIGHT OF THE ASSASSIN

  RETURN OF THE ASSASSIN

  REVENGE OF THE ASSASSIN

  BLOOD OF THE ASSASSIN

  REQUIEM FOR THE ASSASSIN

  RAGE OF THE ASSASSIN

  The Day After Never Series

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – BLOOD HONOR

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – PURGATORY ROAD

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – COVENANT

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – RETRIBUTION

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – INSURRECTION

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – PERDITION

  THE DAY AFTER NEVER – HAVOC

  The JET Series

  JET

  JET II – BETRAYAL

  JET III – VENGEANCE

  JET IV – RECKONING

  JET V – LEGACY

  JET VI – JUSTICE

  JET VII – SANCTUARY

  JET VIII – SURVIVAL

  JET IX – ESCAPE

  JET X – INCARCERATION

  JET XI – FORSAKEN

  JET XII – ROGUE STATE

  JET XIII – RENEGADE

  JET – OPS FILES (prequel)

  JET – OPS FILES; TERROR ALERT

  The BLACK Series

  BLACK

  BLACK IS BACK

  BLACK IS THE NEW BLACK

  BLACK TO REALITY

  BLACK IN THE BOX

  Non Fiction

  AN ANGEL WITH FUR

  HOW TO SELL A GAZILLION EBOOKS

  (while drunk, high or incarcerated)

  About the Author

  Featured in The Wall Street Journal, The Times, and The Chicago Tribune, Russell Blake is The NY Times and USA Today bestselling author of over forty novels, including Fatal Exchange, Fatal Deception, The Geronimo Breach, Zero Sum, King of Swords, Night of the Assassin, Revenge of the Assassin, Return of the Assassin, Blood of the Assassin, Requiem for the Assassin, Rage of the Assassin The Delphi Chronicle trilogy, The Voynich Cypher, Silver Justice, JET, JET – Ops Files, JET – Ops Files: Terror Alert, JET II – Betrayal, JET III – Vengeance, JET IV – Reckoning, JET V – Legacy, JET VI – Justice, JET VII – Sanctuary, JET VIII – Survival, JET IX – Escape, JET X – Incarceration, JET XI – Forsaken, JET XII – Rogue State, JET XIII – Renegade, Upon a Pale Horse, BLACK, BLACK is Back, BLACK is the New Black, BLACK to Reality, BLACK in the Box, Deadly Calm, Ramsey’s Gold, Emerald Buddha, The Day After Never – Blood Honor, The Day After Never – Purgatory Road, The Day After Never – Covenant, The Day After Never – Retribution, The Day After Never – Insurrection, The Day After Never – Perdition, The Day After Never – Havoc, The Goddess Legacy, A Girl Apart and A Girl Betrayed.

  Non-fiction includes the international bestseller An Angel With Fur (animal biography) and How To Sell A Gazillion eBooks In No Time (even if drunk, high or incarcerated), a parody of all things writing-related.

  Blake is co-author of The Eye of Heaven and The Solomon Curse, with legendary author Clive Cussler. Blake’s novel King of Swords has been translated into German, The Voynich Cypher into Bulgarian, and his JET novels into Spanish, German, and Czech.

  Blake writes under the moniker R.E. Blake in the NA/YA/Contemporary Romance genres. Novels include Less Than Nothing, More Than Anything, and Best Of Everything.

  Having resided in Mexico for a dozen years, Blake enjoys his dogs, fishing, boating, tequila and writing, while battling world domination by clowns. His thoughts, such as they are, can be found at his blog:

  RussellBlake.com

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  just join my readers’ group here:

  http://bit.ly/rb-kos

  Cry “Havoc,” and let slip the dogs of war

  – Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare

  Chapter 1

  Seattle, Washington

  The Chinese amphibious transport dock ship Yimeng Shan was anchored several hundred yards off the Smith Cove waterway, its lights glimmering in the predawn fog that enveloped Puget Sound. The ship had arrived a week earlier and disgorged a fighting force of eight hundred and seventy-five Chinese marines, as well as a host of military engineers to assess the state of the city’s infrastructure and the port facilities. They’d secured Harbor Island without a fight and established a base, where they’d staged their invasion troops in anticipation of making a push to seize the city.

  After a week of sending out patrols to test the defenders’ strength, that night the Chinese troops had been given the order to move.

  Gunshots echoed across the water as they secured the wharves across from Harbor Island. The commander had specified that the areas vital to Chinese interests were to be prised from the control of the warlord who ruled the city, and once they’d established another defendable base downtown, the marines could mop up the enemy fighters at their convenience.

  The presence of a warship and a large invasion force in plain sight on Harbor Island had achieved the desired psychological shock and awe, and the civilian prisoners the patrols had captured reported that the warlord’s gunmen had left the city in droves. So far resistance fr
om the remaining fighters had been largely ineffective, their attacks amateurish and disorganized, and the Chinese were now battling for the waterfront and working their way toward the downtown area.

  A dozen leather-clad bikers had tried to stop the Chinese at the Harbor Island bridge, but a few skillfully targeted mortars had blown their sandbagged bunker to pieces. By the time reinforcements arrived from the city, hundreds of Chinese had already poured across the bridge and were shooting it out with the vastly outgunned warlord’s fighters, who showed no stomach for battle against a disciplined, well-outfitted enemy.

  Flames licked at the night sky from warehouses and big-box outlets, where the locals had lost skirmishes as they’d tried to halt the onslaught, and now the Chinese marines were working their way inexorably north in grim silence, their orders to neutralize anyone who put up a fight. So far their offensive under cover of darkness had appeared to have taken the defenders largely unawares, which surprised the Chinese given the Americans had had a week to prepare themselves.

  Shots rang out from a brick building by the rail yards, and a soldier screamed as slugs ripped through his chest. The man tumbled forward, and his rifle clattered against the asphalt as he hit hard. The marines around him spread out and ran for cover, their weapons trained on the building. Each soldier carried three hundred rounds of ammo, which was all they had been allocated for the offensive, so they held their fire until they could spot a target. Almost as one they raced toward a tangle of abandoned cars that clogged the deserted street.

  The fog had reduced visibility to under thirty yards, so to hit anything, one had to be close. More shots barked from the building, and the squad leader signaled to three of his men and pointed at the muzzle flashes emanating from a window on the second floor. The men took off, zigzagging to the building entrance, their boots pounding on the pavement as bullets rained down around them.

  Two of them stopped just short of the entrance and fired up at the window while the third freed a grenade and lobbed it through the opening. The blast sent a shower of debris and flame into the street, but the soldiers continued into the building, leading with their assault rifles. The lead soldier indicated the doorways along the hallway, and the trio methodically made their way along the corridor, pausing at each room and sweeping the interiors with their weapons.

  The building had long ago been gutted by looters, and all that remained in the rooms was debris and refuse. It took the soldiers five minutes to pronounce the area clear, and then they hurried to rejoin their platoon as gunfire from the boulevard reached them through the fog.

  The defenders were barricaded in a warehouse near the railway, and at least two of the warlord’s snipers had taken cover on the far side of the block in a bell tower, where they’d cut down an attempt to flank the warehouse. Six marines lay wounded or dead in the middle of the street after having been caught in the open by the sharpshooters.

  The squad leader barked orders to his men, and a pair of them ran back toward the bridge as the rest laid down covering fire. They melted into the fog, and the squad leader instructed the troops to stop shooting until he gave the signal to open up again.

  An occasional shot rang out from the tower or the warehouse, but they missed their targets. The squad leader waited patiently, knowing there was a good chance that enemy reinforcements would arrive at the warehouse before his men got back, but they’d be forced to make an impossible choice – either expend a ton of ammunition and men to overwhelm the warehouse with no guarantee of success, or do as he’d done, and send the fastest runners to the temporary base by the bridge for serious ordnance.

  When the men returned, the squad leader grunted his approval and whispered to them. They worked their way to the front of the formation and took up position behind the husk of an old brick building, from where they could sight on the warehouse without being picked off by the snipers.

  The first of the antipersonnel rockets they’d brought from the base streaked from the launcher straight toward the row of windows where the shooters were hiding, and detonated with a whump that shook the ground. The bell tower was the recipient of the second projectile, which vaporized the upper section and collapsed half of the rest.

  The squad leader was ordering his men to move on the warehouse when more rifle fire pocked the walls around him. He ducked, fished a small radio from his belt, and called in a report to the ship. A voice answered, and he made his request, which was approved a minute later as his men exchanged volleys with the defenders.

  “Hold your fire,” he called out. “Don’t throw away rounds you’ll need later.”

  The Chinese fire died, and he waited, eyeing the second hand of his mechanical watch impatiently as time crept by.

  A series of muffled booms sounded from the island. He listened for the telltale whistle of incoming mortar rounds and was rewarded a moment later by the expected sound.

  The warehouse roof exploded with geysers of flame as the 120mm shells detonated across its surface. A second salvo of white phosphorous projectiles finished the job in a series of blinding flashes, leaving the building a smoldering ruin.

  The squad leader was already in motion before the roar of the explosions faded, leading his surviving thirty men forward toward their ultimate objective: downtown Seattle.

  By morning, the fog had burned off and been replaced by an oily haze from the burning buildings that dotted the skyline. The Chinese occupation force had successfully contained the waterfront and downtown district and was in the process of creating an armed perimeter in case any of the locals decided to play hero. An occasional gunshot rang out as squads went block by block to mop up stragglers, although they’d taken the city with surprisingly little effective resistance, which had been a pleasant surprise after hearing the reports of the decimation of the Oregon contingent’s warship.

  Several hundred of the warlord’s fighters had been captured or wounded; they were being held in one of the large sports arenas, watched over by guards with assault rifles and a machine gun nest strategically located in the bleachers. A group of Chinese officers entered the stadium and made their way down the steps to where the field commander, Major Ling, waited with his men.

  The major snapped to attention as they approached, and the two officers in the lead returned his salute as they faced him.

  “At ease, Major,” said General Song, the ranking officer and new military governor of Seattle.

  “Yes, sir,” Major Ling replied, and relaxed.

  “You suffered forty-seven casualties?” Song asked. “How many hurt?”

  “Another eighteen.”

  General Song nodded at the news and turned to where Colonel Wei stood to his right. “See to it that our wounded receive attentive care and are kept comfortable.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wei said.

  Song addressed Major Ling again. “You’ll be happy to know that Hamilton, the warlord who controlled Seattle, was killed in a skirmish east of here no more than an hour ago.”

  “That is good news. Congratulations, sir.”

  “It is you who deserves the credit. Your offensive drove him and his henchmen out of the city. Good work, Major. I’ll see to it that you receive a commendation.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The general looked over the prisoners, some of whom lay on the ground, while others stood glaring at the Chinese. The enemy fighters were a filthy bunch, ragged beards and long hair the norm, their arms covered with tattoos and their faces adorned with piercings and prison ink.

  “Quite a collection, aren’t they?” General Song said, more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes, sir. We were fortunate that they were as disorganized as they were. Apparently they’ve grown accustomed to preying on the population and weren’t expecting to confront a trained force.”

  “They look like the criminals they are,” Song agreed.

  “What do you want to do with them?” Major Ling asked.

  The general thought for a long moment. “
Don’t waste ammunition. Bayonet them and leave their bodies for the buzzards. It will serve as a warning to the citizenry that to oppose us is to die.”

  Colonel Wei edged closer to the general. “Perhaps we could use the stronger ones as slaves? There is much to be done, and we’ll need manpower.”

  Song shook his head. “No. We must send a message to any still out there. They will receive no mercy. We’ll get our slaves from the peaceful locals. These scum are responsible for the loss of forty-seven good and honorable men. They will pay for their crimes in the most expedient manner possible. Organize a bayonet squad and make quick work of it,” he ordered, and turned.

  “Yes, sir,” Ling said, and watched the brass climb the stairs and disappear from view as they went to inspect the rest of the troops.

  Ling had no issue slaughtering the warlord’s fighters. There was no Geneva Convention at play, and whatever the military governor decreed had the weight of law. He studied the prisoners, whose wrists were cinched behind their backs, and called over his subordinate Captain Ma.

  Ma hurried to the major, who leaned into him and spoke in a low voice. The captain’s eyes widened when the major finished, but his expression was stony when he nodded to Ling.

  Half an hour later, hundreds of corpses littered the playing field, and a lake of blood stained the grass. Swarms of flies so thick they appeared to be black smoke descended on the bodies to feast, and the stench of bodily fluids was overpowering when the breeze blew from the sea. Seagulls wheeled overhead, and several landed and hopped over to an appetizing body and went to work on its eyes with their razor-sharp beaks. Ling watched for a minute and then turned to his gathered men.

  “Leave the gates open for anyone who wants to come and see what happens to those who oppose us. I suspect the enthusiasm of the lazy Americans for more fighting will be nil.”

  “If the reports are correct, many in the city will view us as heroes after years under the rule of these animals,” Ma said.

  “Perhaps. But you are to treat any residents as enemies of the Chinese state until proven otherwise. We are not here to win hearts and minds. We have a job to do.” He took a final glance at the carnage and managed a tight smile. “I’m sure the gates of hell will be busy today with this bunch.”