Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  “Go!” Mulbah ordered. Ibara and Obassi moved into the room and split up, each moving to corners as they began firing at the barricade and the men hiding behind it. Mulbah waited a moment before he barged in and charged directly into the center of the room. He dove onto his belly as someone fired a full burst at him.

  As he had expected, the shots all went high. He could hear faint cries of surprise and pain as the drug warlord’s soldiers lost sight of Mulbah. A few stood up and tried to shoot at him from over the barricade but Ibara, Obassi, and Casimir cut them down with ease.

  Panic ensued among the defenders as they struggled to decide who to shoot at. The trained mercs of the Kakata Korps had no such compunctions and began to scythe down the opposing force, using their superior training and firearms to make short work of the remaining defenders.

  As the dust cleared, Mulbah saw a familiar orange mohawk cowering in the corner. Mulbah waved away the dust and saw it was indeed their target, Moses. Obassi moved forward to ensure there were no more of the drug lord’s men hiding behind the barricade while Ibara covered the other side. Casimir had turned and was now covering the entry in case any reinforcements arrived, though Mulbah was fairly certain anyone who could potentially assist Moses was probably dead at this point. Still, only a fool wouldn’t watch his back, he knew from long experience.

  “Moses,” Mulbah called out to the drug lord as he grabbed the cowering man’s collared shirt. Moses was sweat stained and smelled of ripe cabbage, though it was a vast improvement over the stench surrounding them. He hauled the scrawny man to his feet and looked him in the eye.

  Or tried, rather. One of Moses’ eyes was missing and had been replaced by a prosthetic at some point. The pupil must have been knocked asunder during the gunfight and was pointed in the wrong direction entirely. Mulbah ignored it and focused instead on the drug lord’s good eye.

  “The Mercenary Guild is seizing this prison and evicting you and your ilk,” Mulbah informed him. “You are to be tried for war crimes and crimes against humanity. Have you anything to say?”

  “Mon, I don’ ken dis t’all!” Moses stammered as he looked wildly around with his one good eye, his accent heavy and slurred. It was obvious he was as high as the child soldiers he had sent out to be slaughtered, if not more. “Dis boolsheet!”

  “You’ve said enough,” Mulbah said and slugged the drug lord in the mouth, hard. Moses cried out but didn’t say anything else. Mulbah looked over at Casimir. “Staff Sergeant? How’re we looking?”

  “Good, bass,” Casimir replied instantly. “Ready to extract.”

  “Perfect,” Mulbah nodded as he manhandled Moses out of the corner and threw him into the barricade. The man yelped in pain as he landed on broken furniture. Mulbah clicked his radio and waited a beat before speaking. “Leopard Six, Lion Six.”

  “Yeah, bass?” Samson replied almost immediately.

  “Package secured,” Mulbah told him. “How’re things up there?”

  “It’s…handled,” Samson said after a momentary pause. “ETA on the shuttles is ten minutes, over.”

  “Roger,” Mulbah grunted. “Be up in five. Lion Six, out.”

  “Bass, what are they going to use this prison for anyway?” Ibara asked as he kicked aside some of the debris. He looked around the room and shook his head. “Not like this is going to be worth much. It’s filthy.”

  “The orders were to take the prison, not clean it,” Mulbah said as he eyed the drug lord. He prodded the man with his foot. “Hey! How’d you get all this military hardware?”

  “Fuck off,” Moses told him. Mulbah kicked the man in the gut, hard.

  “I asked nicely,” Mulbah said as he reached down and unstrapped his knife from its pouch. He flicked the blade open and tried to cause the blade to reflect what little light there was in the room into Moses’ good eye. “Next time you don’t answer me, I start cutting. I’ll start small, then work my way up to something you might actually miss. Now I’m going to try again. Where did you get those tanks?”

  * * *

  This time, Mulbah ensured the men of both 1st and 3rd Companies were aboard their transport shuttles before the Zuul mercenaries came down to take control of the prison. He had heard from Samson just how close he had come to punching one of the dog-like mercs, and the last thing the Kakata Korps CO wanted was for something like that to occur and void their contract.

  Six dead. Eleven wounded. Those were more casualties than the Korps had ever taken in one operation. The artillery and tanks had come as a surprise, though the fact that the Nigerian government had sent along trained troops to provide security to the drug lord had been a shock.

  The suits were all recoverable, three of which looked as though they could be repaired. The others would simply be scrapped or parted out to repair others. By his estimation, they might be able to get all the wounded back into action within six months except for one or two. Mulbah wasn’t sure yet but he thought there might be a medical retirement in there for one of Samson’s troops.

  The shuttle jetted out over the Gulf of Guinea, leaving Lagos and Nigeria behind as it climbed high into the sky. Mulbah and the rest of the command squad were near the rear of the shuttle, with the survivors of 1st Company toward the front. They had been brutalized by the tanks and artillery of the Nigerian Army, and all the men of the unit had damage to their suits. Everyone in the shuttle was quiet, their thoughts on the mission and of absent comrades.

  All except for the drug lord Moses. He was chattering away at whoever would listen, which was beginning to drive Mulbah nuts. The Kakata Korps CO stared ahead, his eyes unseeing as he mentally went over the death toll. The loss of suits didn’t bother him. Those could be replaced now, courtesy of the credits they had earned for completing the mission. No, it was the loss of CASPer pilots which hurt more than anything.

  They were his men. Sure, they served under the command of Samson, but at the end of the day it was Mulbah who signed their paychecks, paid out their death benefits to the grieving families, and had to console his own officers when they lost mercs in their companies. It was rough and he wasn’t sure just how military generals of old managed. He thought back to the brutality of the Somme Offensive during World War One and repressed a shudder. That series of battles had featured a body count which, fortunately, humanity hasn’t seen since.

  He stole a look at the drug lord and wondered why he hadn’t killed the man while they had been in the underground prison. Moses seemed oblivious to his gaze, focusing instead on mocking the surviving troops and reminding them they could not hurt him. It angered Mulbah more than anything ever had in his life, which he found to be surprising. Never had he felt such a rage toward any one man.

  Before he was consciously away of what he was doing, the colonel was on his feet and walking toward the drug lord. Moses had but a moment of incomprehension before he was bodily hoisted to his feet by his stained shirt collar. Mulbah dragged the drug lord toward the rear drop ramp and slapped the green activation button. Alarms buzzed as the pressure in the cabin dropped suddenly, though not enough to suck them out into the sky.

  Moses had a panicked look upon his face as Mulbah walked him to the edge of the ramp. Turning him around, Mulbah positioned Moses so he could look out into the great blue nothing. The merc kept a tight grip on the back of the drug lord’s shirt.

  “Nobody’s going to miss you, menh,” Mulbah shouted into Moses’ ear. “You won’t even be a footnote in history. I’ll make certain of this.”

  Mulbah released the drug lord’s shirt and took a step back. Moses began to turn around but before he could, Mulbah’s foot lashed out and impacted solidly on the other man’s chest. Moses cried out and stumbled backward. He tried to regain his balance but was unable as his foot slipped off the edge of the ramp.

  Screaming and flailing his arms, Moses fell from the shuttle. Mulbah shuffled carefully to the edge of the ramp, grabbing hold of a ready bar to look down. His eyes tracked the brief fatalistic flight of the
drug lord as he descended quickly from four kilometers to the ocean. The bright orange mohawk contrasted sharply with the dark blue water below, allowing Mulbah to watch Moses for the entire trip. There was a small splash in the middle of the ocean, then nothing as the mercenary lost sight of the body.

  With a satisfied grunt, he turned and walked back into the interior of the shuttle. He closed the ramp’s door and looked at the CASPers gathered around. He knew they were watching him, however, none of them stood up to help the drug lord, which told Mulbah they approved of the impromptu trial and sentencing.

  “Only Humans get trials,” Mulbah announced loudly to all. “Scum like that gets nothing but a quick flying lesson. You get me?”

  “Paint the sky!” the mercs roared approvingly in response.

  * * *

  Six Kilometers Southwest of New Ikoyi Prison, Lagos, Nigeria District, Earth

  After what felt like an eternity, the Blevin gingerly removed the ghillie blanket which had protected her from both visual and thermal imagery. The elongated laser rifle, with a range of up to ten kilometers, was carefully disassembled before being put away in the carrying case. The ghillie blanket went into her small pack, folded and organized.

  Task completed, the brown-skinned alien looked around and admired the view from her perch atop the towering skyscraper, one of three which dominated the downtown Lagos skyline. The atmosphere was a little wet on Earth but otherwise perfectly charming, save for the Humans who lived upon it, of course. The planet had the perfect combination of legitimate businesses and corrupt black markets for those who simply took the initiative. For a Blevin, it was almost like being back home.

  I will never understand why Peepo said to target the lowest ranking Human mercenaries first, she thought as she tapped in her homing signal to request pickup. She received confirmation within moments, so she took in the beautiful views of the nearby ocean as she waited.

  Still, 20,000 credits to kill only a single target? Fastest money I’ve ever made. Plus, those CASPers are very easy to see from this range.

  * * * * *

  Part Two—The Thorn & The Paw

  Chapter Four

  SOGA HQ, Sao Paolo, Brazil

  General Peepo’s Chief of Staff, Captain Beeko, was in a foul mood. There were many factors which helped contribute to this general malaise, but it was fairly easy for her to figure out the order of importance in which these events took place.

  The biggest one, however, was that she had been deliberately left out of the meeting between General Peepo and General Chirbayl, much to the captain’s chagrin. Peepo had always said she trusted her longtime chief of staff to get the job done, but she had not let the captain sit in on the meeting. It was an important one as well, since it was a briefing on the incident at Capitol Planet. It also covered the successful escape of the Cavaliers from Karma, which was a double injury to the goals of the Mercenary Guild.

  Beeko chuffed, irritated. No matter what Peepo and the guild did, the damnable Horsemen always seemed to wiggle their way out of every cleverly laid trap. It was enough to drive any Veetanho to distraction.

  Fortunately, the pacification of Earth was going swimmingly. Sinai Steel, the Egyptian mercenary company who had remained behind on Earth to spy on the guild with Taranto S.R.L., had been rounded up and executed by MinSha troops. Taranto S.R.L. had been almost wiped out to a man by the Kakata Korps, leaving behind only a handful. The capture of Tsolmon Enkh, one of the Golden Horde members, had been a welcome surprise, though Beeko had little idea how it would help further the guild’s plans for Earth. Tsolmon was not one of the higher-ups in the Horde, that was certain. And there were scattered groups still causing problems around the planet, with Sinclair’s Scorpions being the largest issue. They were, at last guess, somewhere in the United Kingdom, though General Peepo hadn’t seemed too concerned at the time. No, the general seemed to be far more interested in the continent of Africa and the problems there.

  Beeko frowned as a map of Portugal appeared on the slate’s screen. While technically outside the zone the Kakata Korps were being requested to patrol, it was close enough to warrant their presence. At least, this was how the chief of staff saw things. Besides which, it was a smaller mercenary company, one which had suffered severe losses in the months leading up to the Mercenary Guild’s occupation of Earth.

  Desbravadores de Lisbon were the last Portuguese mercenary company on the planet, Beeko knew from previous reports. Poor even for a Human company, they had fallen on hard times when they were nearly wiped out while on contract. They were almost not even worth going after, yet they were recruiting in South America, which irritated General Peepo to some extent. This was reason enough to send the Korps in the take care of the issue.

  The Kakata Korps had quelled almost every warlord and slave trafficker within 6,000 kilometers of Liberia. They had also, with the guidance of their country’s president, led the western states to form a defense union the likes of which hadn’t been seen on the continent since the days of colonialism. It was a heady time to be in Liberia. Slowly but surely, the country was shifting from third world hellhole into something more.

  Normally a source of good news, the Veetanho knew this was bad for the guild’s overall plan.

  No, Beeko thought as she flipped through the slate. The problem isn’t the country, or the Kakata Korps. The problem is their entropy-cursed president!

  It had started off as something small and inconsequential. A word here, a comment there, and the millions and millions of people who flocked into Liberia in the past three months cheered wildly for the president of the country. Later came the condemnations of the guild controlling the world, depriving people of their freedoms, and even jailing the mercenary companies his own people had participated in. It was mind-boggling the mental gymnastics Humans put themselves through in order to feel they were doing the right and noble thing.

  Beeko thought about how to handle the problem without bothering General Peepo. It would be an excellent opportunity to show the type of leadership the Mercenary Guild leader looked for in her underlings, as well as take care of a potentially pesky problem before it blew out of proportion. Typing a command into the slate, Beeko smiled as she changed the Blevin’s primary mission.

  Presidential assassinations were nothing new in Liberia. What was one more dead president, anyway, she wondered, her mood markedly improved. Better still, getting rid of a pest such as the Portuguese would make her more worthy in the eyes of the general.

  * * *

  40 Kilometers North of Desbravadores HQ, Odeleite, Portugal District, Earth

  “Target is in sight,” Mulbah said quietly into his mic as the two transport vehicles rumbled into view on the other side of the bridge. His command squad clicked confirmation. No one spoke. There was no need at this point. Each of them knew their jobs.

  Around him, the dry landscape of southern Portugal reminded Mulbah a little bit of the deserts of Mali as the sun began to slowly rise to the east. The steep valley the old road traversed just past the wide bridge had been selected as the perfect ambush point along the entire route between Odeleite and the town of Beja. It was remote enough not to draw any unwanted attention as well as to provide enough of a window for his team to escape should the alarm be raised.

  He shook himself. After the horrible and wasteful deaths in Nigeria, as well as the near-death of Antonious in Italy, Mulbah had decided to take only his command squad out for this one. Every single bit of intelligence Thorpi had dug up on the Desbravadores showed they had maybe ten mercenaries left after their transition accident in the Ch’sis System months earlier. Mulbah knew if they were armed with the proper tools, the Korps could easily take the Portuguese company without having to kill anybody.

  Everyone agreed with using non-lethal tactics to take the Portuguese down. Nobody wanted a repeat of New Ikoyi Prison. After some searching, Zion had come up with a solution which made everyone happy. They would simply hit the Bravadores with tranquilizer da
rts and kidnap them.

  The transports slowed as they rumbled carefully across the two-lane bridge. Mulbah checked his combat armor one final time and waited. Though they had rehearsed multiple times over the past few days, it was still nerve wracking to be out doing it. The execution was simple enough. The trick, Mulbah had discovered during the planning phase, was simply to be in the right position at the right time. This meant they needed to get the Desbravadores out of their headquarters and encourage them to flee.

  The task had seemed insurmountable at first glance. The Portuguese mercenary company, abandoned by its government as well as its private supporters, had simply barricaded themselves in their base. Mulbah, not wanting a repeat of what had happened in Taranto, had decided to lure them out. The question was how.

  Thorpi had figured it out, using his contacts in the Information Guild. Mulbah never asked for the details, even though he was immensely curious, but Thorpi had passed some data to the Desbravadores. Mulbah didn’t know what, precisely, but whatever it had been was enough to force the company’s hand into moving north. With a Reaper drone high overhead providing surveillance, Mulbah and his command squad had watched as the mercs loaded up into two transports and left their HQ in a hurry not an hour before.

  If he had not already known which way they would go, the ambush would have been impossible. Thorpi, however, assured him they would take this road north to Beja and not into Spain. Mulbah had been doubtful, but once again, his faith in Thorpi was rewarded.

  “Ready,” Mulbah whispered as he took a deep breath to remain calm. From here, it was up to Staff Sergeant Ange, who was perched nearby under a ghillie suit with the only potentially lethal weapon in their collection. The subsonic rifle, combined with a suppressor, should not be heard by anyone when fired. He smiled grimly as the truck finally reached the designated spot. “Send it.”