Guardian Angel

As Alicia and her group of patriots retreat to Berlin, they find that the Ancient soldiers returning to our planet are not their number one enemy.
GUARDIAN ANGEL – BOOK TWO
is available now!

GUARDIAN ANGEL

John M. Davis

Guardian Angel, Book I

Copyright 2013 Serenity Valley Publishing

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.

Editing: Aaron Rommel

First Printing: January 2013

PROLOGUE

Nothing else mattered. In that moment, Alicia sat there, mesmerized and alone at her corner booth watching them all dance. Including the buxom blonde. Especially the buxom blonde.

Alicia had watched her for nearly an hour, perfectly symmetrical curves moving with such fluidity. Of course the blonde who had Alicia's attention was with a date, and he was a catch to say the least, but Alicia didn't care; she had locked eyes with the most beautiful woman in the room and continued her concentrated glances as she remained seated, her shoulder length hair of velvet-black swaying slightly as the lights from the club dance floor bounced around the interior of the building.

Sipping small drinks from a solid glass container, Alicia's tongue made its way up and down the straw, but just slightly. She had decided that the blonde dressed in solid red was something that she wanted; desired.

She had a way of doing that, and Alicia wasn't the kind of woman to leave without taking with her what she lusted for. Standing up slowly, her pastel blue eyes shifted perfectly with similarly shaded lipstick, her tongue massaging them slowly as she confidently approached the couple.

Without so much as a word, the background music then shifted into another song as Alicia and the blonde kissed. First, trembling lips sought each other out, finally locking together and handling each other with passion as the women kissed uncontrollably.

The crowd on the floor started to thin out as a majority of them backed off to watch the two most attractive women in the place share passion through the mouth as Alicia began to slide her left hand up the red skirt of the blonde.

Slowly she moved it in an upward position, finding a resting place in just the right spot as the blonde stopped kissing back for a moment, overwhelmed with both passion and lust.

Calypso entered the club slowly, the light of the sun illuminating his near-superhuman size as everyone cast their eyes to the door, including Alicia.
 

“Damn.” she said under her breath as the blonde attempted to kiss while breathing heavily.

Of course his born name wasn't Calypso, it was Gunther Stokley. Calypso was simply a nickname that was given to him by those he fought beside, including a very irritated Alicia Sims.

“We are needed.” Calypso said, glancing down for a moment as Alicia removed her hand from the blonde's dress.

Slowly nodding, Alicia turned for a moment to kiss the blonde's date on his cheek for being such a good sport of things, finally letting loose her grasp of the woman's ass in order to follow Calypso outside. As they both exited the club they were handed a stiff reminder that it was back to business as usual. War. 

One November day in the year 2087, everything was normal. The very next, Ancient ships had descended from the sky and just like that, there was no normal. Not anymore. There were only two governments left standing, the United States and Germany. The rest of the world had simply become a wasteland filled with both Human survivors and Ancients.

In mere minutes of news coverage, we had answers to some of mankind's greatest mysteries. They left shortly after the rise of the Egyptian armies. Not out of fear, that's for damn sure. To our best estimation, they left so we would breed, expand the population that would eventually be enslaved by them.

The smallest Ancient that any Human has ever laid eyes on is roughly eight feet in height. The largest, about the same. They walk like we do, but that's where the similarities end. Covered in pasty-gray skin, the pupils of their eyes with an amber-colored pigment that helps them deal with the rays of the sun, or so we're told.

They also possess a transparent skull and bones, which has been linked to their ability to heal quickly. Very quickly. Sometimes not quickly enough though. In other words, they die. I should know, my unit has killed more of the sky-born bastards than any other group of soldiers on Earth.
   -Alicia Lucard

CHAPTER 1

Alicia and Calypso walked slowly, approaching the third member of their team, G. Gregory-Hawthorne Laurenitis got his nickname largely in part because Alicia hated spouting off such a long name, so G it was. Either way, he was damn deadly with his silhouette blade, which was a perfectly cut sword.

The stringy-haired man carried the blade on his back, along with several of his personal affections which were tied snugly into a leather knapsack. From first glance, G looked as though he were preparing to stand in a soup line, rather than continue the fight against a race of warriors from beyond the stars.

His blade had been diamond shaved and angled to do massive damage, no to mention hand sharpened by G personally on a regular basis. In the event that the silhouette blade didn't seal the deal, he always had his ranger pistol to fall back on. It was a simple design, mostly wooden with only two shots of black powder in the barrel. And while G took great pride in the condition of his blade, the opposite could be said for his sidearm.

Immediately upon glancing at the weapon, it became obvious that he cared little for it. The pistol had seen no action, and when it was in use, the heavy scarring of its wooden shell pointed to the fact that it was getting tossed somewhere.

The truth was, G had long wondered if it would even fire. And it was for that reason that he refused to clean it, shunning the idea of handling the weapon any more than he had to. The Resistance had plenty of sidearms, all of which were a lot more up-to-date. But the pistol he carried, which closely resembled one of a high seas pirate, was a gift from his father. One of his only reminders of a world that once was. So G carried the weapon, along with his love for music, as a reminder to continue the fight.

The city around them, at least what remained of it, bore similarities to a civilization that once thrived. Skyscrapers and transit systems were in place, though Humans had been knocked back into a time of horse and buggy.

Streets were once again equipped with wax lanterns which hung from poles on every corner, requiring a crew of lamplighters to travel through the city near dusk. Some survivors had oil lamps as well, however, with the highly-flammable fuel in such short supply, they generally only burned oil during special events and holidays.

Just as if it were the nineteenth-century all over again, the streets of Washington City were dirty, overcrowded and no longer a place to gather. They were simply means of getting from one area to another, and that was further reinforced by wagons full of armed soldiers for the Resistance. They had taken the place of a police force that once was, and maintaining a suitable life for the survivors inside of the city had proved itself nearly as taxing as the war on those who sought to take it away.

Living in Washington City meant living under the protection of the Guardian Angel grid system above. It was a double-edged sword, allowing them a safer place of living, while forcing them to survive as though it were hundreds of years behind the actual calender date.             

Calypso was a bit more hardcore than G when it came to weaponry, a mini-gun hanging from his shoulder on a thick leather strap. An old relic pulled from a downed combat helicopter, it had been rusted heavily at one time, but Calypso had done a solid job of cleaning the weapon.

Every soldier who was Resistance sworn, at least in Washington City, carried a primary and secondary weapon. It was a standard loadout. And accompanying such a massive gun, one that pulled the warrior's frame a bit lower from the gravity of weight, was a pump-action shotgun. Solid black and basic in style, it was the type of gun that commanded attention. Its unique sound while pumping accepting no less from those around it.

Alicia Lucard was simplistic when it came to weaponry as she stood there with the men, the scorching sun bearing down on them as two Glock-style pistols were strapped to her legs with thick nylon holstering, and well-defined hand to hand combat skills if it came down to it.

Before Invasion Day, she had been an accountant. Funny how her top priorities used to include quitting time, grocery lists and what programming to pack onto her DVR. Now, her short list had been replaced with living every day to its fullest, staying one step ahead of her peers when it came to survival and slaying as many aliens as she possibly could. Aliens! Before Invasion Day, Humanity had questioned if life beyond our own planet was even a possibility. Now we had grown used to a life with them here.

As she began to think back to her days of sampling the newest latte in her office of modernized distractions, Alicia looked up above them and watched Guardian Angel for several moments.

It looked like a series of neon lights hovering above Washington City, but in reality, it was a cluster of low orbiting satellites which emitted electromagnetic pulses on a timer, rendering the superior air capabilities of the Ancients defenseless.

Not to mention, it was damn beautiful. At least to Alica. Much like the society of old had driven to work, passing by life's true beauty with disregard, the society of new had long-forgotten the beauty of Guardian Angel.

The lights of the man-made cloud of protection above burst out every few seconds, each shudder of electromagnetic pulse sending a small wave of color. It had been designed that way in order for surviving military craft to navigate through it more easily. Each color beginning a sequence of bursts that fell into a larger pattern. If an aircraft pilot was good enough, and used his onboard navigational unit properly, he or she could fly through the bursting cloud as though it were a well-mapped out minefield.

Guardian Angel was tough to see during the day, not that it mattered. The Ancients remained indoors while the sun was out unless it was very necessary to do otherwise, their weakness for a specific ultraviolet ray forcing them to do a majority of their work from sun down to sun up.

From the moment the sunset came, the wastelands would become a war zone, littered with Ancient ships and Human Resistance. Because of the protection of Guardian Angel, if the Ancients launched an assault against Washington City, it came on foot and with heavy losses. What remained of the United States military had fallen back into the safe zone, literally turning the entire city into a huge military base of operations. The city of Berlin, Germany was just the same, making them the only two standing reminders of a society that once was.

Once you left the protection of either city, or safe zone, all bets were off. The Ancients controlled about eighty percent of the wastelands, the other twenty held by either Separatists or the Resistance. The Resistance was a mixture of American and German soldiers who had dug in and were fighting like hell to stave off constant attacks by the Ancients. Separatists, on the other hand, just tried to survive one day at a time. Usually in secluded villages, caves or even on water barges which roamed the oceans.

It took weeks for a steam powered airship to travel from Berlin to Washington, only having the ability to fly during the day. And it was an airship that Alicia and her team waited for as they stood near the landing section of the city.

Several Washington airships were departing, not an uncommon sight as it was the only reliable way of trading with factions and Separatists throughout the wastelands. A small military crew would accompany the ship's flight crew and cargo, that was the standard procedure.