Chapter 44 - The Siege of Fort Aldridge Redoubt
The little girl didn't hesitate.
With the agility of a child raised on military obstacle courses, little Clara dropped her weight violently to the concrete floor, kicking backward with both heels against Arthur’s right knee with all her might.
CRACK!
The brittle joint buckled with a sharp snap. Arthur shrieked in agony, his balance destroyed, his gun arm swinging upward off target.
BANG!
The errant bullet sparked harmlessly against the massive iron crane fifty feet above.
"Fidelis!" I roared.
From the high rafters of the foundry, two high-velocity sniper rounds struck Arthur’s right shoulder and wrist simultaneously, disintegrating the weapon from his hand in a spray of blood and shredded metal.
I closed the twenty paces in three explosive strides.
Arthur screamed, lunging with his left hand toward a backup blade tucked in his boot, but I caught his forearm mid-draw, twisting the joint until the bone tore from the socket. I drove the heel of my combat boot into his chest, slamming him down against the cold, iron floorplates of the pouring platform.
I pinned his throat beneath my boot, drawing my M17 and pressing the muzzle against the center of his forehead.
"It's over, Arthur," I said, my chest heaving with cold, measured breaths. "Your offshore accounts are frozen. Your mercenaries are dead on the mountain pass. And the Citadel ring on your finger is going into an evidence locker at the Department of Justice."
Arthur lay gasping in the dust, coughing blood onto the concrete, his aristocratic arrogance shattered into pathetic, shivering ruins.
"You... you can't kill me..." he wheezed, his eyes rolling back in terror. "I am... an American citizen... I have rights..."
"You aren't going to die here, Arthur," Clara said, stepping forward as Major Cruz sliced her zip-ties with a combat knife. She pulled little Clara into her arms, kissing the trembling child's hair.
Clara walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at the architect of our thirty-year nightmare.
"You are going to stand trial in the civilian courthouse right here in Aldridge," Clara whispered with absolute, crushing dignity. "You are going to sit in the same defendant's chair where Marcus Vance sat. And you are going to watch every single dollar of your stolen fortune handed over to the widows and orphans of the men you betrayed."
From the dark streets outside, the wailing sirens of sixty military police cruisers and civilian state patrol cars filled the night air with a chorus of flashing red and blue lights.
Major Cruz and two operators hauled Arthur to his feet, clamping heavy steel transport irons around his wrists and ankles.
As they dragged the last traitor of the Shigal Valley out into the cold rain, the first rays of dawn began to break through the broken skylights of the old foundry, bathing the rusted iron vats in clean, pale morning light.
I walked over to little Clara, who was standing beside my mother, holding the bronze challenge coin that had fallen during the struggle.
I knelt down on both knees, wrapping my arms around both of them in a fierce, silent embrace that washed away thirty years of fire, smoke, and sorrow.
"You were brave, Clara," I whispered into the little girl's ear. "Brave as an army."
Little Clara looked up at me with her bright, clear eyes, offering the bronze coin back into my palm.
"Mommy," she whispered with a sweet, innocent smile. "Can we go home now?"
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I looked at Mom, whose green eyes were shining with peaceful, radiant tears.
"Yes, baby," I answered, smiling as the morning sun kissed our faces. "We're going home."
