The Sanders Saga (Book 1): Fire From the Sky Read online

  FIRE FROM

  THE SKY

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  FIRE FROM THE SKY

  by N.C. REED

  Published by Creative Texts Publishers

  PO Box 50

  Barto, PA 19504

  www.creativetexts.com

  Copyright 2017 by N.C. REED

  All rights reserved

  Cover photos used by license.

  Photo Credit: The US Army

  Design copyright 2017 Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual names, persons, businesses, and incidents is strictly coincidental. Locations are used only in the general sense and do not represent the real place in actuality.

  Kindle Edition

  FIRE FROM

  THE SKY

  N.C. Reed

  As always, For the chef, the clerk, and the ranger.

  Love and miss you all, more each day.

  For my wife who keeps me inspired when I

  want to give up.

  For the Wrecking Crew, who remind me

  what it was like to be young.

  And for you, the readers, who keep me writing.

  Calhoun County Tennessee, along with the towns of Jordan, Peabody and Lewiston, at least as they exist in this story, are completely fictitious.

  Other towns and locations are real…or used to be anyway.

  FYI, Murfreesboro is home to Middle Tennessee State University, the largest such school on Tennessee at the moment.

  This book, the characters and the location of the Sanders' farm are complete works of fiction. Similarities to real people are completely by coincidence and are in no way intentional.

  PROLOGUE

  -

  They didn't have real names.

  Well, they had them of course. They just didn't use them. Not here. They were known by names their comrades had chosen. Names that suited their personalities. Names that only mattered to them.

  The men of CTG 31 were the kind of men that didn't exist in the modern, civilized world. There was no place for them in an enlightened society. Except when that society needed them.

  They were the kind of men who visited dark places in the middle of the night, doing violence to those who preyed on the weak and the helpless. Rough men, yes, but honorable. They had a code of their own, these men, and they lived by it as if it were a writ from a Higher Authority. No one broke that code, that set of unwritten rules that kept them from sliding over the edge. Kept them from becoming like those they hunted.

  Like those they were pursuing right now.

  “We're about twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes behind, Boss-man”

  The man known as Boss-man stopped, hand raised in a fist. Those following halted and spread out without being told.

  “Status?” Boss-man asked tersely. He was angry. They were all angry. Something they had to guard against in their business. Keeping things strict and orderly helped.

  “Still on the trail for now,” the scout replied.

  “Continue,” Boss-man ordered and waved his hand forward. The squad of men behind him began moving again.

  They were in a hurry today. Before dawn a group of terrorists had attacked a small village that the squad had befriended. Or that had befriended them. The men of CTG 31 weren't sure which was the case. They did know that the people of the small village known as Home had become their friends. The village had become a place where they could relax, even if only slightly, and be people for just a few hours at a time. A place of sanity in a world that had lost it's own.

  And that place had been violated. People they knew had been killed. Children they had grown to care for taken, herded toward a fate that no one in their group wanted to consider.

  Someone had to pay for that. Someone would pay for that. Dearly.

  They had been in pursuit for hours, running the entire way. Hard men who pushed themselves to be harder still, banking that toughness against a day like today. A day of reckoning.

  Had the attackers known the kind of men they were offending, it's entirely possible they would not have committed the atrocity. They were not brave men, these thugs known as terrorists. By nature terrorists were cowards, using fear and intimidation to force their will upon those too weak to resist them.

  But they hadn't known, and so they had attacked a place that was sacred to this squad of hard, violent men. And in so doing had assured that they, themselves, would not see another day on this mortal plane.

  Time meant nothing as they ran. There was only the objective and nothing else. A dozen pairs of eyes roamed the country around them, missing nothing as they moved. Twice the one called Boss-man had raised a hand, the men behind once more spreading out and taking position. The halts lasted mere seconds as he communicated with their scouts or eyed some anomaly that had attracted his attention. Then they were moving again.

  The scout's call was almost anti-climatic. Soon twelve angry men were looking down at a group of cowards, rapists, and murderers. Grim eyes tightened at the site of scared and abused children, huddled together in an attempt to protect themselves.

  It would take longer to plan than to execute.

  CHAPTER ONE

  -

  “This is your exit buddy.”

  Clay Sanders shook himself awake as the driver of the semi he was a passenger in patted his shoulder. Straightening in his seat, Clay wiped his eyes to clear the sleep away and looked through the windshield to see an exit sign off I65 that read 'Jordan'.

  “Thanks, man,” he smiled slightly. “You sure I can't pay you?” he asked again.

  “Was going this way anyway,” the trucker shrugged. “Where did you serve?” he asked as Clay pulled his duffel from the sleeper area of the truck cab.

  “Here and there,” Clay shrugged. He noted the skull and dagger tattoo on the driver's forearm. “You know how it is,” he added, to avoid seeming rude.

  “'fraid I do,” the man nodded. “Headed home?”

  “Hope so,” Clay nodded. “Be nice to have some of my mom's cooking.”

  The driver chuckled as he downshifted, taking the ramp up off the Interstate and then into the lot of a small collection of buildings.

  “Pretty isolated,” he noted. “Sure this is good?”

  “Better or worse, this is me,” Clay assured him. “Thanks again, man,” he took the man's hand in his.

  “Glad to do it,” the driver assured him. “Welcome home, kid,” he added, smiling.

  “Thanks.”

  Clay crawled down from the cab and closed the door, tapping the door twice to let the driver know he was good to pull away. He watched as the rig took the on ramp across the small road and the disappeared back onto the Interstate then turned to look at where he'd been deposited. There were exactly three places that occupied this rural exit off the Interstate in middle Tennessee.

  One he ignored, having been abandoned even when he was a kid. It had once been a tavern that featured scantily clad waitresses, low quality over priced beer and more scantily clad dancers. A mysterious fire one night had put an end to what most people had considered a blight on Calhoun County. He shook his
head as he remembered the talk around his community for two weeks as older women celebrated and older men wisely mourned in private.

  The next building was a mammoth structure with two bays designed to house semi-trucks for repair, and a third bay that was designed to do body work for wrecked semi tractors. Denver's service station had been there before Clay had even been born and while it had a more weathered look than it had when he had been hanging around as a kid, it was still going strong apparently, servicing the huge trucks that kept things moving, repairing them and fueling them.

  The final building was a near landmark in Calhoun and he was glad to see it still in business. Lorrie's Diner had offered the absolute best cheeseburgers ever, anywhere. When he'd been a kid Lorrie's was the Friday and Saturday night destination for half the county it seemed like. Crowds would cram in and sit elbow to elbow in order to eat there, enduring wait times of thirty to forty-five minutes for their food without complaint, using that time to visit with friends and neighbors who were waiting for their own foods.

  He was gripped by a sudden urge to have one of those great cheeseburgers. He hadn't had a cheeseburger in a long time and it suddenly seemed really important that he have one. Shouldering his bag he started toward the diner with a determined step. This day promised to be hard, and a good cheeseburger might make it a little easier.

  As he got closer he realized that while the two businesses were still working, they were showing their age. He had been gone a long time, he reminded himself. Lot can change in that length of time. Hell, look at him. He was nothing like the gangling seventeen-year-old kid that had departed Calhoun County as soon as he had his diploma in hand. As he ruminated on that, movement from the service center caught his eye and drew him to it.

  A grin split his face as he recognized a near giant figure coming from one of the bays, wide shoulders, thick neck and bulging arms that showed a man who worked long and hard hours every day. He was currently wiping his giant hands on a shop rag. Just like Clay he was older now, more worn, but there was no mistaking that profile anywhere.

  “Jake!” Clay shouted without even thinking, something he never did any more. The giant stopped at once, looking around him for the source of the call. In other circumstances Clay might have caught the slightly harried look the big man sported but today he missed it as it passed across the face of an old friend and disappeared.

  “Yeah?” the man called out as Clay approached, his look wary. Almost suspicious.

  “Dude, is that how you welcome all your old friends and family, or is this just for me?” Clay demanded, almost laughing. Jake looked closely at the tanned, scarred face, recognition dawning slowly.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, if it ain't Clay Sanders!” Jake exclaimed suddenly, and enveloped the smaller man in a bear hug. Clay laughed again, something he hadn't done much of lately.

  “Put me down, you ox!” he said, mentally checking his bones. Jake Sidell still didn't know his own strength. He never had when they were growing up together, either.

  “When did you get back?” Jake demanded, then saw the duffel. “Oh, just now, huh?”

  “More or less,” Clay replied a bit evasively. “What's doing, bro? You look like you're busy.”

  “Off and on,” Jake nodded. “Here and there,” he added with a shrug. “Today's an 'on' day. Gotta make it while it's there, you know?”

  “Heard that,” Clay nodded in reply. “How long you been working for Denver?”

  “Denver retired,” Jake told him. “I own this place now. Have for nearly five years.”

  “No kidding?” Clay whistled. “Nice, man. Very nice.”

  “Yeah,” Jake sighed, but didn't elaborate. “So you coming home to visit, or what?”

  “Nah, I'm back for good, look's like,” Clay shook his head. “Assuming the folks will have me, anyway.”

  “You know better,” his childhood friend told him flatly. “Your mom will be so glad to see you she'll cry for a month.”

  “That I can do without,” Clay chuckled. “Still, it'll be good to see her. All of them.”

  “Why you been away so long?” Jake asked. Clay stilled for a moment, his face frozen.

  “Ah, just busy, here and there,” he managed to make a nonchalant reply. “Hard to get enough time free to make the trip.”

  “Thought you guys got thirty days a year, guaranteed.”

  “We do,” Clay nodded. “I got the leave, just like it was promised. What I didn't get was the time to use it. I'm still getting paid for it,” he laughed darkly.

  “Well, they'll be glad to see you,” Jake predicted. “And so am I, you little shit!” he grabbed Clay again in that crushing bear hug before slapping him on the back.

  “Jeez, Jake, don't kill me before I get to see 'em!” Clay told him, but smiled as he said it.

  “Going to eat?” Jake asked, nodding toward the diner.

  “Thought on it,” Clay admitted. “Wondered if the cheeseburgers were still as good.”

  “Scenery ain't bad either,” Jake said cryptically. “Don't let how things look fool you.”

  “Fair enough,” Clay nodded. “Join me?”

  “Can't do it, man,” Jake shook his head. “Got too many jobs waiting. I'll eat this evening, or grab a sandwich while I keep working. Busy day, like I said, man. Good to see you, bro,” he added, hand resting on Clay's shoulder. “Don't be a stranger, okay?”

  “Done being a stranger, looks like,” Clay admitted. “See you later, man.” With a handshake and a nod the two went about their business, Jake inside the shop again, Clay turning to the Diner.

  Despite what Jake had said, Clay couldn't help but cast a disparaging eye on the place. When he'd been a kid, Lorrie's had been the place where folks around Jordan had gone on Friday and/or Saturday nights. It had been that nice. Nowadays it wasn't so nice looking. Jake had promised the food was still just as good, scenery aside.

  A bell rang over the door when Clay opened it, drawing several pairs of eyes his way. Clay didn't like that kind of scrutiny but reminded himself that he no longer had so much to fear from attention. At least he hoped not. He had enough problems as it was.

  “Take a seat, be with ya in a minute!” a voice called from somewhere out of sight behind the counter. Clay looked around, selecting a table away from the door out of habit. He noticed that one or two sets of eyes followed him to the table, but ignored it. To most people, he was just another stranger passing through on the interstate.

  There was a menu on the table but Clay ignored it. He had come in here for a cheeseburger and that was what he meant to have. And a milk shake, maybe. Yeah, a milkshake. How long had it been since he'd had a milkshake? He couldn't recall. It was a long time.

  “Welcome to Lorrie's!” a cheery voice declared, and Clay looked up. Standing before him was another familiar face. Smiling but business like, she didn't recognize him.

  Amy Mitchell had been perhaps the best looking girl in Calhoun County High, and the object of Clay's secret crush for a very long time. She had been the quintessential blonde cheerleader, with blue eyes, bright smile, mouth watering figure, and a thug permanently attached to her arm in the form of Will Tanner. Clay had hated Tanner with a passion that only a man who was a victim of bullying could develop.

  Come to think of it, I still hate him, Clay decided. Wouldn't it be nice to run into that son-of-a-bitch now, though? He put that thought aside. He had much bigger fish to fry than Will Tanner.

  But that made him wonder how Amy had come to be a waitress at Lorrie's. Last he had known, Tanner was going to UT and would likely take over his father's car dealership. That should have left Amy in good shape, since she was going to UT as well. Or so he'd thought. He had also left town five days after graduation and hadn't been back other than one visit since then. A lot could have changed.

  “What can I get ya?” Amy asked, smile still plastered on her face. As he looked at her, Clay realized that she had no idea who he was. Of course, she hadn't really known who he was
in high school, either.

  “Cheeseburger, fries, and vanilla shake,” he ordered. “Pickles, onions, and mustard on the burger, please, and a tall glass of water.”

  “Sure thing, hon,” Amy replied, scribbling on her ticket book. “Anything else?” she asked, looking at him, really looking at him for the first time. She frowned slightly.

  “Do I know you?” she asked suddenly, and Clay almost smiled but caught it in time.

  “I doubt it,” he said, being honest. “I haven't been around for a long time.”

  “You look familiar,” Amy insisted, transferring her weight to one leg, pen against her cheek, the classic 'I'm thinking' look. “I hardly ever forget a face. Comes with the territory, I guess,” she added, smiling again.

  “I went to school here,” Clay admitted. “You probably know my family. I'm Clay Sanders.”

  “Oh my God!” Amy exclaimed. “I knew you looked familiar! I go to church with your mom and dad!”

  “I'm glad to hear that,” Clay relied truthfully. “That means I'll probably be seeing you again,” he added with a smile. She was still a very pretty woman. He glanced at her ring finger and noted it was absent any sign of a ring.

  “You're the one who ran off after graduation, aren't you?” Amy said thoughtfully. “I remember that, I think. Your mom talks about you now and then. She was sure glad to see you, I bet!”

  So that's how I'm remembered, huh? Clay thought. Well, it's about what I deserve, I guess. And it is accurate if nothing else.

  “I haven't seen her yet,” Clay admitted. “I just this minute got here. I'll be heading out there after I eat.”

  “She'll be talking about that all-night tomorrow night at church, then,” Amy smiled again. “Well, let me get your order in.” She turned and headed for the kitchen and Clay couldn't help but admire the sway of her hips as she departed. There might be a bit more there now than when they were in high school, but he had to admit she was no less attractive for all of that.