“Fair enough,” Samson nodded and stood upright. He scanned the other three surviving members behind Chief Maloni and Tsolmon. Two women, and two men, one of which who had a very nice prosthetic for his leg. He wondered where the injury had occurred before shaking his head. Questions could be asked later. For now, he needed to contact the guards who would be taking care of the prisoners.
“Helios One, this is Captain Samson Tolbert, Kakata Korps,” Samson radioed. He knew somewhere overhead the Zuul transport shuttle was waiting to come down and transport the prisoners.
“This is Helios One,” came a quick reply. “Do you have prisoners in custody?”
“Affirmative, Helios One,” Samson confirmed. “Six prisoners ready for transport.”
“Only six, Captain?” a voice came back over the radio. It almost sounded like a whine to Samson’s ear. “We were hoping for more.”
“Yeah, so was I,” Samson muttered, thinking back to the ruined CASPers his men had spent the better part of the day removing from the island. Each would receive a proper burial on the mainland unless their families wanted something else. It was the least he could do for them, given the circumstances. They might be traitors in the eyes of the guild, but they were still Humans. He keyed his radio to transmit. “Confirm six prisoner pickups, Helios One.”
“Fine,” the voice came back, exasperated. “Touchdown in three minutes. Helios One, out.”
“Puk janga craw craw…” Samson muttered once the link was dead. He was really beginning to hate dealing with aliens. Perhaps Asbaran Solutions had the right idea? What was it again? Kill aliens, get paid? Much simpler.
“Where are they taking us?” Tsolmon asked, curious.
“I’m not actually sure,” Samson admitted after a moment of silent contemplation. “Possibly a jail near SOGA HQ in Sao Paolo? I don’t know.”
“Captain,” a new voice interrupted them. It was Specialist Taylor, the 2nd Company’s medic. “Status update. Captain Karnga is safely back at HQ and receiving treatment. The surgeon says he’ll live, but he will probably lose his arm.”
“Thanks, doc,” Samson acknowledged and closed his eyes. As much crap as he gave Antonious over the years since they had first started working together in Spain, he considered the wounded man as close to being a brother as anyone could. The worst part of it was the 2nd Company was already showing signs of fraying with the loss of their CO.
The VTOL shuttle screamed overhead, making a quick pass over the island as it looked for a spot to land. Thirty seconds passed before the shuttle circled back around and slowed. It hovered over a large open area behind the concrete bunker entrance into the underground base and settled down, the shocks of the landing gear absorbing the heavy load of the shuttle easily.
The rear door dropped down and a squadron of Zuul in combat armor poured out, their laser carbines pointed at the six prisoners from Taranto S.R.L. as they hustled forward. The dog-like aliens looked uncomfortably at the gathered CASPers which were currently guarding the prisoners.
“Captain Tolbert?” a Zuul with a gold insignia on his chest called out as the Zuul approached. Samson raised an armored hand and the Zuul altered his course slightly. “I’m Subcommander Jisloon. I’m here to take charge of your prisoners.”
“They’re all yours, Subcommander,” Samson said as he looked back over at Tsolmon Enkh. For some reason he decided not to mention the inclusion of the Golden Horde member in the prisoner roster. “Can I ask what you’re doing with them?”
“You can ask, but I will not answer,” the Zuul stated in a cold voice. “Your job was to subdue and apprehend. Mine is to transport.”
“My contract was to arrest them, not to suffer you or your pissy attitude,” Samson snapped back. “Take your prisoners, Pup.”
The Zuul bristled but said nothing as he realized his squad was vastly outgunned. The alien’s ears were back and flattened against his head.
“Don’t get cocky, Human,” he finally growled. “Your time will come, just like all the others.”
Samson ignored the jibe and motioned with his hand toward the shuttle. “Those prisoners better arrive at their destination intact and unharmed, menh. You ken?”
The Zuul gave Samson a nasty snarl, pivoted, and walked off. Samson calmly waited as the prisoners were rounded up and guided toward the shuttle. Tsolmon Enkh cast one final glance over his shoulder before he was shoved into the shuttle by another Zuul mercenary. Once everyone was on board, the doors closed and the thrusters began to burn white-hot. The VTOL engines lifted the shuttle off the ground and the nose pointed out toward the Mediterranean Sea.
I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, Tsolmon, Samson thought as he watched the shuttle take off and claw for altitude. It angled slightly to the southwest and rapidly disappeared from view. He tracked it via the CASPer’s Tri-V monitors until it was beyond the horizon, his heart unhappy about the Korps’ victory at San Pietro.
“I feel like I’ve done something wrong,” Samson whispered quietly to himself. Unfortunately, there was nobody else there to help him feel otherwise.
* * *
Kakata Korps HQ, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth
Mulbah looked at the man standing before him. He was confused, and for a good reason. It was rare to see a white man in Liberia these days, especially one dressed as well as the individual who sat across from him. In addition, the businessman did not have any bodyguards, which was almost asking for trouble while roaming the streets of Monrovia. Mulbah glanced back down at the antiquated business card in his hand and frowned.
The air in his office was chilly in spite of the midday heat, thanks to the central air conditioner he had installed before they had left for Krollenord. The day promised to be a scorcher across Liberia, and the next wasn’t going to be any cooler. It wasn’t even summer yet.
Gregory Donahue, Mulbah read as he accessed the databanks via his personal slate. Former mercenary captain who’d gone into the defense contractor business at Mattis Aeorspace Solutions. They, in turn, had been around for roughly 75 years now, supplying mercenary companies with top-notch equipment. They were no Binnig, sure, but Mattis was definitely up there in quality and cost.
“How can I help you, Mister Donahue?” Mulbah looked back up at the contractor. Donahue was a big man, easily almost six and a half feet tall, and carried himself like a veteran merc who had seen many battles and was expecting another to start up at any given moment.
That could explain why he didn’t bring any bodyguards, Mulbah thought as he reassessed the situation. Someone would have to be dumber than a jocko in heat to try to steal from this monster.
“It’s how Mattis Aerospace can help you,” Donahue corrected, a smile plastered upon his face. On anyone else it would have looked fake and insincere, but the smile seemed genuine to Mulbah. The big man gave off an aura of geniality. “We’ve been watching the Korps for quite a while now and have been impressed with your record. We’ve noticed some of your equipment, while outdated, is still performing at or above expectations. We would very much like to arrange a business partnership with you, Colonel.”
“You don’t have new CASPers, do you?” Mulbah asked.
Donahue chuckled as he shook his head. “We have some old Mk 7s that have been retrofitted for scouts,” Donahue explained as he motioned at the chair opposite of Mulbah’s desk. The colonel nodded and the contractor sat down. “But Mk 8s? Not yet. We’ve been in the process of assisting newer companies such as yours with getting older equipment to accomplish today’s mission.”
“I would literally give an arm for a few extra Mk 8s,” Mulbah muttered.
Donahue nodded. “With some of our tech, we could either regrow an arm or have one hell of a bionic prosthetic made,” the defense contractor confirmed. “It’ll be better than the original. Tougher, more durable. Could probably hide a small laser pistol inside it, too.”
“It’s why I said that…” Mulbah’s voice trailed off as he pursed his lips,
suddenly thoughtful. “I appreciate your company’s time, Mister Donahue, but I don’t really see how you can help us in any way, save for a prosthetic arm. I happen to be in need of a high-end one at this time.”
“We’ll throw it in as a token of goodwill,” Donahue nodded, evidently pleased he was making inroads with the mercenary commander already. “Whoever the individual is, I can have it fitted and shipped within the hour. But the real reason I’m here is a simple one: how long?”
“Excuse me?”
“How long until the Mercenary Guild decides your company is ripe for the plucking?” Donahue clarified for him. “Imagine it, if you will: your highly successful merc company has been making waves. You’ve already helped them take down one company which was violating Guild Law. That’s good and all, but how long until they decide you have broken Guild Law? Quis custodiet Ipsos custodes, Colonel?”
“I think we’re done here,” Mulbah said as he abruptly stood up. Donahue’s words struck too close to home with his own feelings and misgivings. It was something the colonel was not yet prepared to hear from someone he didn’t even know. “You may leave at your earliest convenience. Thank you for coming by.”
“My apologies,” Donahue said as he followed suit. “I didn’t mean to offend you. My job is to ask the tough questions and offer solutions. Let me make it up to you. No costs, nothing. I’ll fit that prosthetic you were asking about for your merc. Consider it the beginning of an apology.”
Mulbah paused, uncertain. Donahue seemed to share some of the same concerns as Samson did, and while Mulbah would readily admit the 1st Company commander had a point, he had no obligation to listen to some salesman there to sell weapons. Not yet, at least.
“That works. Antonious needs a bionic.”
“Very well. Thank you once again for your time, Colonel,” Donahue said as he stuck out his hand. He didn’t seem upset to Mulbah, merely disappointed. The Liberian could live with this.
“I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time here,” Mulbah said and shook the man’s hand.
“On the contrary, I learned much,” Donahue said as he released the grip. “I’m just happy to help your merc in need. I have a briefcase which was left outside your office at your Veetanho’s insistence. In it I have the tools I need to fabricate the prosthetic. If you show me where to go, I’ll gladly help.”
“Um, sure,” Mulbah said as he walked to his office door and escorted the salesman out of the offices. They quickly descended the stairs and walked across the warehouse floor to the medical ward, which currently housed a single mercenary.
The infirmary was quiet as they entered. Antonious was propped up on his bed, and his eyes were closed as his head swung rhythmically back and forth. It took Mulbah a moment to realize the merc was using his pinplants to listen to music in his head. How this didn’t give him a headache Mulbah would never know. Prolonged pinlink use gave Mulbah a splitting migraine.
“Captain,” Mulbah said as he tapped Antonious on the shoulder. The other man’s eyes popped open and he looked at them in confusion for a moment before grinning. “Music?”
“Podcast, bass,” Antonious corrected. “It was on a commercial break though and had some good music.”
Mulbah nodded. “Captain, this is Gregory Donahue. He works at Mattis Aerospace, a defense contractor who deals with merc companies. He’s going to fit you for a prosthetic.”
“You mean I’m getting a new arm already?” Antonious asked, eyes wide. “I thought it would be a month, bass. I only lost lefty three days ago!”
Donahue spoke for the first time since they entered the ward. “The faster you get fitted for one, the less likely you are to ‘forget’ how to use those muscles. Your neural pathways are still fresh, if damaged, and the nerves are still working. It’s why your arm hurts sometimes even when it’s gone. The nerves think there is trauma and are trying to stimulate the healing process. Eventually it fades into a background ache and becomes nothing more than psychosomatic pain. Getting your prosthetic now will avoid the process altogether.”
“Bass, does that mean I can still fight in my CASPer?” Antonious asked, surprised. Mulbah shook his head.
“The Mk 7s aren’t equipped to deal with a prosthetic, not exactly,” Mulbah admitted with reluctance. “I’ll need to get my hands on an upgraded Mk 8 command suit that uses full pinplant interface to drive it. The Horde uses them, and a few others as well. I’ll ask around. Once this happens, we can get you up and running again. The Jackals are already missing their bass.”
As Donahue began taking measurements and talking to the captain, Mulbah stepped back and considered what Donahue had said earlier. While he did not want to believe the defense contractor, he definitely had a point about the gaze of the Mercenary Guild inevitably turning back onto the Korps. It was something Mulbah was not willing to talk about with anyone not in the Korps, though.
No, he decided as he watched Antonious’ face light up like a kid on Christmas morning as the 3D printer began to print out a robotic hand. I’ll talk it over with Zion first. No more hasty decisions.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
SOGA HQ, Sao Paolo, Brazil, Earth
General Peepo looked over the reports one final time, fur bristling, exposing her irritation at the situation. Keeping any of the prisoners in the building’s converted holding cells might be an ideal short-term solution, but she was well aware the lack of proper defenses would make for a very short siege if any rescue attempt was made. She already had plans to upgrade the building’s systems, but it would be easier to split the attacking forces into different groups to chase the bait and focus her own defenses here than to try and withstand a singular massive assault.
No, it would need to be somewhere else, she decided after a long pause. Using her slate, she quickly flipped through hundreds of sites which could potentially serve as a location for the mercenary prisoners currently being rounded up all over Earth. The Korps had managed to capture six in Italy, killing the rest, which amused her to no end. She hadn’t thought they had it in them to kill their own kind, but Leeto’s assessment was correct. Colonel Luo had no love for Earth as a whole. His sole loyalty was to the guild.
“That makes using you so much easier,” she thought out loud as she identified a location which could potentially suit her needs and plans. It was an older facility in Nigeria, currently in use by some sort of drug warlord as a holding and torture center. It was disgusting, but also fairly defensible at the entrance, which meant the CASPer drivers had to abandon their suits before entering due to the narrow entrance. It was also solid enough so the issues which plagued the Taranto underground bunker on San Pietro wouldn’t come into play in Nigeria.
The largest problem was the only Human merc company loyal to her and the guild within fifty thousand kilometers was the Korps. She had no problem sending them out to do her dirty work, after all, but the prospect Colonel Luo might balk at the proposal almost gave her pause. However, his psychological profile suggested he hated the warlords which had plagued Africa throughout history. In fact, Peepo was beginning to suspect there was very little on Earth the colonel appeared to like. Thorpi had suggested to Leeto this was the case, but Peepo had discounted it initially. Now, though, it was a different story altogether.
Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, she thought as she messaged the colonel. He could clear out the compound, then her Zuul mercenaries would be able to come in and hold the position until it became untenable. But how to ensure the Four Horsemen would attack the facility later without it seeming too easy or suspecting a setup, she wondered.
A devious idea came to mind. She picked up her slate and began making plans.
* * *
Kakata Korps HQ, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth
Mulbah slowly walked around the storage facility, his mind awash with doubts and questions. For the first time since he had bought the company and moved them to Liberia, he was truly second-guessing the wisdom of hi
s decision. Wearily, he brought up the contract information which had been forwarded to him by Thorpi earlier in the morning.
It had been very quiet since the 1st and 2nd companies had returned from Italy. For the past three weeks the Korps had recruited and trained from the growing population of Liberia as more and more people from neighboring countries came for the promise of schooling and jobs. They weren’t mercs, not until they finished the MST and took their VOWS, but they could still work for the Korps. Monrovia was exploding with opportunity as the nation’s president fulfilled his promise of less government graft and more money for infrastructure.
The mere fact that President Forh kept his promises still floored Mulbah. He had heard similar empty promises in the past and had learned to take anything a politician told him with a bucket of salt. But Liberia’s president held true to his word. He had even managed to convince three of the countries General Peepo had suggested they conquer to instead enter into talks of a free trade zone—no tariffs, no fees, nothing. This had shocked and amazed Mulbah. It was an exhilarating time to be in the country, to be a Liberian.
There were downsides, however. Despite the wealth pouring into the country via merc contracts and trade, the ranks of the Korps were not growing with actual mercenaries. Thousands of people were taking their VOWS and failing, which caught Mulbah off-guard. In fact, the only person who had passed their VOWS at either of the established MST schools in Liberia thus far had been Zion’s rescued orphan, Sunshine. Since there was currently no way to have her fitted with pinplants while in-country without significant risks, Mulbah wasn’t certain how she would be able to drive a CASPer as well as the rest of the Korps until he could get her over to the United States. He had a spare suit, coincidentally, since Antonious was semi-retired from CASPer service due to losing his arm, but the option simply wasn’t there yet.
Sons of the Lion Page 10
