Read Online Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) by Andre Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andre Roberts
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stop the menace.
13
Joan needed to suspend disbelief and accept her midair flight. The eeriness as the ground fell away from her small feet struck her hard. Streets and roads turned into lines etched across brown and green earth. She closed her eyes. Cool morning air buffeted her face. She opened them to gaze at the world below.
The clouds over Georgia broke into windows filled with blue sky. She tried to shoo away the oddness her flight over the mountains and hills created, a difficult task without a first class seat and a glass of red wine on an airplane. In the far horizon, planes floated by, sunlight winked off their metal skins. Below her, the roads remained congested with vehicles. Their headlights turned the highway into one long luminous snake crowded with fear.
Joan, ignorant about aerodynamics, toyed with her wings. She adjusted them in flight to test the results. To slow down, she kept them still to catch air underneath her feathers. When she wanted to lower herself, she angled the front ends down. Enough so the air skipped against the feathers and dragged her speed. When she wanted to fly fast, she pumped them hard, and enjoyed the ride as the world whizzed by her in a blur.
Joan managed to control her speed and rein in her excitement. She found the last few hours and events surreal. She went from self-pity and hatred to a maiden flight north with massive wings upon her back. Again, she recalled her childhood. At five years old, as she sat on the hot Virginia Beach with her adopted parents, she became self-aware.
She played with the other kids in school and around the neighborhood, but somehow she comprehended more than they did. This separated her from them like a deep gorge cut through land. For five years old, a strange knowledge sat in her mind, waiting to uncoil and get out. Considerable time would pass before her knowledge matured enough for her to use.
The angel reached the Appalachians with its snow-capped mountains. The crisp air brushed against her skin, clean and good. She pumped and flapped her strong wings as she soared over the lush green land. The sun shown against the snow covered mountains and transformed them into milky pearls strung together. Eagles soared below and negotiated the crags and clefts, their sharp cries reached up to her in long vibrant echoes.
Joan cleared the Appalachians. She crossed over South Carolina, pushed into North Carolina and angled her way towards Virginia. She started her descent once she neared Washington, D.C. The city rested amongst green hills. The mighty Potomac lay beneath her. The river shimmered and coursed like a sword blade. In increments the maze below became streets. The ants over freeways and avenues turned into cars and people.
From above she found a clear spot in an almost empty park. She landed hard behind a big oak tree, almost breaking her ankles. She regained her balance and jogged for the White House. Her wings vanished from sight. Above her, Black Hawk helicopters choppered towards the White House.
Fighter jets boomed overhead and caused the earth to tremble beneath her feet. Cars slowed, people rubbernecked, and fingers pointed towards the skies. Someone got the news about what went down in California. Too many military trucks packed with armed soldiers approached the White House.
Joan slowed her jog to a comfortable trot. She wanted to get a good grasp for the situation around her. The trucks stopped at the White House gates. Soldiers jumped out the enormous trucks and took defensive positions.
Within minutes, sandbags and wooden barriers piled up around the White House lawn and Pennsylvania Avenue. The soldiers and barriers posed no problem for her.
The streets became crowded with more people. Black limousines, heavy with bulletproof glass and metal, headed for the White House with police escorts. Pennsylvania Avenue became thick with frightened citizens. She weaved her way through the frantic crowd, found an
13
Joan needed to suspend disbelief and accept her midair flight. The eeriness as the ground fell away from her small feet struck her hard. Streets and roads turned into lines etched across brown and green earth. She closed her eyes. Cool morning air buffeted her face. She opened them to gaze at the world below.
The clouds over Georgia broke into windows filled with blue sky. She tried to shoo away the oddness her flight over the mountains and hills created, a difficult task without a first class seat and a glass of red wine on an airplane. In the far horizon, planes floated by, sunlight winked off their metal skins. Below her, the roads remained congested with vehicles. Their headlights turned the highway into one long luminous snake crowded with fear.
Joan, ignorant about aerodynamics, toyed with her wings. She adjusted them in flight to test the results. To slow down, she kept them still to catch air underneath her feathers. When she wanted to lower herself, she angled the front ends down. Enough so the air skipped against the feathers and dragged her speed. When she wanted to fly fast, she pumped them hard, and enjoyed the ride as the world whizzed by her in a blur.
Joan managed to control her speed and rein in her excitement. She found the last few hours and events surreal. She went from self-pity and hatred to a maiden flight north with massive wings upon her back. Again, she recalled her childhood. At five years old, as she sat on the hot Virginia Beach with her adopted parents, she became self-aware.
She played with the other kids in school and around the neighborhood, but somehow she comprehended more than they did. This separated her from them like a deep gorge cut through land. For five years old, a strange knowledge sat in her mind, waiting to uncoil and get out. Considerable time would pass before her knowledge matured enough for her to use.
The angel reached the Appalachians with its snow-capped mountains. The crisp air brushed against her skin, clean and good. She pumped and flapped her strong wings as she soared over the lush green land. The sun shown against the snow covered mountains and transformed them into milky pearls strung together. Eagles soared below and negotiated the crags and clefts, their sharp cries reached up to her in long vibrant echoes.
Joan cleared the Appalachians. She crossed over South Carolina, pushed into North Carolina and angled her way towards Virginia. She started her descent once she neared Washington, D.C. The city rested amongst green hills. The mighty Potomac lay beneath her. The river shimmered and coursed like a sword blade. In increments the maze below became streets. The ants over freeways and avenues turned into cars and people.
From above she found a clear spot in an almost empty park. She landed hard behind a big oak tree, almost breaking her ankles. She regained her balance and jogged for the White House. Her wings vanished from sight. Above her, Black Hawk helicopters choppered towards the White House.
Fighter jets boomed overhead and caused the earth to tremble beneath her feet. Cars slowed, people rubbernecked, and fingers pointed towards the skies. Someone got the news about what went down in California. Too many military trucks packed with armed soldiers approached the White House.
Joan slowed her jog to a comfortable trot. She wanted to get a good grasp for the situation around her. The trucks stopped at the White House gates. Soldiers jumped out the enormous trucks and took defensive positions.
Within minutes, sandbags and wooden barriers piled up around the White House lawn and Pennsylvania Avenue. The soldiers and barriers posed no problem for her.
The streets became crowded with more people. Black limousines, heavy with bulletproof glass and metal, headed for the White House with police escorts. Pennsylvania Avenue became thick with frightened citizens. She weaved her way through the frantic crowd, found an
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