by Jim Roberts
Walsh turned back to the screen and said, “Okay, Masters, Brick is here. Tell him what you just told us.”
Through the flat-panel monitor, Jade typed something into her own workstation in the MOC of the Cottage. The Missions Operation Center was located far below the Cottage Command Center, and it was the primary intelligence wing of the complex. Behind Jade, dozens of Peacemaker techs and computer analysts buzzed here and there to support the many operations running concurrently around the globe. Jade finished typing and immediately a satellite graphic overlay popped onto the screen before them, showing a layout of northern Venezuela.
“Joe contacted me about wanting to know anything possible about Damien Sledge. The General’s had people on the carrier working on it too, but here at the MOC, we have far better access to intel sources than you guys.”
Brick watched as the graphic swooped closer to a region along the coastline. He recognized it from having studied maps of Venezuela earlier as the Puerto Cabello industrial district.
Jade continued her brief, “The biggest thing that stands out about this man Sledge is that for the last five or so years, he’s spent untold millions buying up land and building enterprises all over the Puerto Cabello region”
“What kind of enterprises are we talking about?” Brick asked.
“Well, Sledge Dynamics has at least a dozen separate factories in just that region alone. They range from gas refineries for Sledge’s oil subsidiaries to just simple machinery ventures. All in all, from what I can gather, he owns pretty much everything in that corner of the country.”
“What about any suspicious activities?” Walsh asked. His marled eye reflected the cold glow of the workstation. “The man is a billionaire working with the blessing of the crooked Venezuelan Government. He’s got to be dirty.”
Jade nodded, “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that, but for the most part, Sledge keeps above the grime. From the reports I’m seeing here, the man’s following the rules. In fact, the civil unrest hasn’t really even hit that part of the country yet. Most news reports and other intel over the past few years say his people are quite happy working for him.”
Headcase frowned. She looked up at the two men, asking, “Does that sound weird to anyone else?”
“Jade, I need you to do something—” said Walsh, an excited tone in his voice, “Check any reports in the news databases for anything, anything about riots or food strikes within the Puerto Cabello community.”
“Yes General, give me a minute.”
Brick looked at the General, “What are you thinking sir?”
“A working population perfectly content during one of the most disruptive social events in Venezuela’s history?” Walsh shook his head, “You’ve seen the news, Lieutenant. That country is at critical mass. They have no food, no basic necessities, and here’s a region that’s happy as pigs in shit.”
“General—” Jade’s visage returned on the monitor, “You’re not going to believe this…”
“None, am I right Specialist?”
“That’s correct, sir. None at all. These people are a microcosm within this country—happy as can be.”
“Alright, Masters,” Walsh said, “Keep digging for anything else you can find. Also, what is the condition of Doctor Cairncross’s project?”
“He’ll be wrapping up within twenty-four hours, General. By then, the disc will be ready to be moved.”
“Excellent. Keep us posted if anything changes.”
Jade signed off and the screen went to black.
“This Damien Sledge is dirty,” Walsh said, looking directly to Brick, “Curtis Walker said Lennox disappeared shortly after he’d made some sort of discovery about Sledge and his industries in Venezuela. I think we need to look in on this man’s operations first hand. Perhaps we can finish the job Lennox and his people started.”
Brick nodded, “I’m with you, sir. I’d like permission to take a team out to Puerto Cabello—give Sledge’s operations a bit of a look-see.”
Walsh paused, “You want to lead the team?”
“Yes, General. I’ve been on the other side of a desk for too long. I’d like to keep my feet in the muck if you get me. This is just a recon mission; I think I can handle it.”
After a moment of reflection, the General answered, “All right, granted. Where are Orchid and Rourke?”
Inwardly Brick was ecstatic. He’d been jonesin’ to get back in the action for months. “Rourke still isn’t a hundred percent after the last Op. And last I checked, Orchid is making repairs to the Whisper suit. I don’t think I can take either of them.”
“Fine. Assemble a team of irregulars. Go in at night, sweep the industrial area and report back anything out of the ordinary. Keep it stealthy—no point in alarming anyone we don’t need to.”
“Understood, sir.”
Walsh nodded, “Get this done, Lieutenant. If Damien Sledge has made a deal with the devil, I want to know.”
Chapter 18
Fire in the Mist
The River Apure, Venezuela, October 6th
THE CLOUD forests of western Venezuela were nothing like Joe had ever imagined. As they moved closer inland from the River Apure, the terrain around them began to morph into heavy jungle, dense with skyscraping trees. Birds whistled high-pitched tunes to each other, mixing with the rest of the ambient wildlife in a verbal cacophony of noise.
As the team hiked through the rainforest, Joe had the unnerving feeling that the fog was following them. It was a silly thought, but as he hacked away at the jungle with his machete, the feeling refused to go away. The thick mist just seemed to pursue them, limiting the team’s vision to a mere ten feet in front of their faces.
Krieger and Walker led the team forward, their own jungle blades hacking at the impassable rainforest.
“You need to cut better—” Krieger said to Walker, “—aim at the bottom of the vines!”
The arms-dealer grimaced. “Get off my back, Alexei.”
“Maybe time away selling weapons to terrorists has softened you, da?”
“Maybe you should mind your own goddamn business before I bury this in your thick head!” Walker snarled as he hacked at a branch.
“Big man talks the talk, but will he walk the walk?” Krieger retorted.
Walker shook his head, “I don’t even know what that means.”
Joe had heard more than enough from either man during the last day. “Shut up! I’m sick of both your shit. Keep your eyes open and clear the damn way.”
Krieger sighed and gave a mock salute, “Yes, fearless leader.”
As they moved slowly forward through the foliage, Joe noticed Agrippina acting strangely. Every so often, the Olympus assassin would halt and lift her head, as if hearing something in the distance. This had gone on for nearly an hour as the team traveled the barely visible path Walker was leading them down. Joe was getting anxious, to the point that he confronted her, quietly while the others worked to clear the jungle.
“You’ve been acting weird for hours now. What’s wrong?”
Agrippina stood silently, her beautiful face looking into the impenetrable fog.
“It’s probably nothing…”
“Do you hear something?”
“No. I feel.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked, clutching his M4A1.
“I don’t think we’re alone out here.”
“Is it the Vagabonds?”
“No.”
“Look, we need to hurry. Walker says the Vagabond HQ is several miles from here. At this rate, we probably won’t reach it until sometime tomorrow. We’ll need to make camp soon. For now, let’s keep going.”
Agrippina didn’t immediately return to the group. She stood looking over the mist-covered forest, fingers slowly caressing the twin handguns at her sides.
THE TEAM hiked through the rainforest for another two hours, making slow progress. The oppressive mist had all but blanketed the area around them.
Joe checke
d his watch.
1800 hours.
The team had reached a small clearing of terrain where the stifling foliage gave way to a small babbling stream. Joe called a halt for five minutes. The team broke out bottled water from their rucksacks and gratefully drank as they rested. Joe took point, making a futile attempt to see into the morass of fog. He decided to use the downtime to contact the Harbinger and give a status update.
“Alpha One to Mother Hen, over.”
No response.
He repeated, “Mother Hen, this is Alpha One, come in, over.”
Nothing. The channel was dead.
Petrol noticed Joe’s problem and asked, “What’s wrong, Sarge?”
“I’m not getting anything, on any channel,” Joe answered, trying again on a different frequency.
“Could it be the trees or fog?” Petrol asked, trying his own comm unit to no avail.
“I doubt it,” said Joe, unslinging his rifle, “These comm units are state of the art. We should be coming through to the Harbinger clear as HBO.”
Husker, the thick Special Tactics man, sat down on a fallen log, setting his SCAR rifle beside him. A hairy tarantula inched its way toward him from the other side of the log. Husker gave it a look and—almost casually—swatted it away into the bush.
“Damn creepin’ bastards,” he said, taking a swig of water.
Agrippina stood up and marched over to Joe. “We need to leave now.”
“Why?” Braddock asked.
“This place isn’t safe.”
“How do you—”
There was a muffled gurgle from the log stump to Braddock’s right. The team looked over and saw Husker lurch forward awkwardly. His eyes bulged in his head and he made an awkward attempt to stand. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, a gout of blood poured out. He staggered forward momentarily before falling in a heap to the ground.
A half-foot long throwing knife was embedded in the back of the man’s skull.
“Contacts!” Joe shouted, bringing his rifle up in the direction of their invisible enemies.
Krieger and Walker were back on their feet in an instant, weapons in hand. They let loose a torrent of fire into the jungle, firing blindly at whoever had killed their teammate. Petrol scrambled forward—covered by the other Peacemakers—to check on his fallen comrade. The man was clearly dead; Husker’s eyes stared vacantly into the cloudy sky in utter shock.
Agrippina, her FN Five-SeveN’s in her hands, rushed to shout into Braddock’s ear.
“It’s the Sirens! They’ve found us!”
Just as the words passed the assassin’s mouth, the small clearing was lit up by a flurry of gunfire from beyond the edge of the fog. Chunks of the surrounding trees were torn apart as the Peacemakers found themselves caught in a withering firestorm of bullets that would soon cut them all down.
“Everyone run, now!” Joe’s orders were barely out of his mouth as the team took his lead, rushing toward the promising safety of the rainforest. Bullets smacked into the ground and trees around them, sending dirt and splinters of wood into the group’s face. Joe’s heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline pushed him forward. There was no way to tell how many tangos were out there in the mist, but he judged there to be at least several dozen.
The team ran along the barely visible path, northbound, firing blindly into the fog. Agrippina two-fisted her handguns as she kept pace with Joe. Krieger and Walker charged ahead dodging the low-hanging branches as bullets pounded across the terrain from almost every direction.
Joe saw Petrol take a round in the arm. The impact made the new Peacemaker recruit yelp in surprise, but the STF suit he wore suppressed most of the damage.
“It’s your lucky day, soldier!” Joe yelled over to the man.
As they ran, there was a split second where Joe caught a glance through the mist at their attackers. He could see translucent figures melding in and out of the haze, leaping between the trees like jumping spiders.
Secutors.
The displacement suit killers had surrounded them in complete silence and were now moving in for the kill.
No…it was almost like they were being herded along; to where Braddock had no idea.
The rainforest abruptly slanted downwards into a steep hill littered with a smattering of roots and strangler vines. The mist was lighter here and Joe could see at the bottom of the hill was a valley, heavy with tall Kapok trees and a winding stream fed by a tiny waterfall from above. With barely any time to pick their footing, the group stumbled down the hill as they tried to stay ahead of their attackers. Joe hit a slippery patch of lichen and immediately lost his footing. He tumbled down into the ravine, end over end. His merciless fall came to a stop when he slammed hard into a tree near the bottom. Dizzy, and in pain, Joe felt something land beside him.
Agrippina.
The woman had managed to maintain her balance down the slope. She grasped Joe by the arm and pulled him up.
“On your feet, Braddock, if you want to live!”
Joe shook his head, trying to clear his spinning vision. The fog wasn’t as thick here—he was able to see the remainder of his team now. Krieger and Walker had both fallen down the slope at the same time, ending up a few meters from Joe’s position. Petrol had managed to clamor down into the ravine without falling and was helping Walker to his feet.
Joe grasped his M4A1 and pointed it back up the slope, covering his men while they righted themselves. He squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the enemy Secutors.
But there was nothing.
The gunfire that had split the jungle only seconds ago had stopped. The rainforest returned to an eerie silence.
After his team found their footing, Joe led them across the ravine in a blind rush toward the north. It was a race to nowhere, really, as the jungle simply continued in all directions like an endless alien world.
Joe guided his team toward a large copse of trees. Reaching it, the group took a quick moment to reload—slapping fresh magazines into their rifles. Krieger slammed a fresh drum of into his AA-12 shotgun. The team tried to remain as innocuous as possible, praying they had somehow lost the Secutors during the hectic chase. They finished rearming, then bunkered down around the trees. Joe searched the fog for the next sign of Secutor attack.
It didn’t come.
The silence spread across the ravine valley like a blanket. No wildlife dared to make a noise.
“What’s going on?” Joe whispered to Agrippina.
“Shhh! Listen,” she hissed in the aching quiet. Everyone held their breath, fearful of giving away their position.
“Wait…what’s that?” Walker asked no one in particular, his eyes moving skyward.
Joe heard it too—a dull hum that soon morphed into a loud fluttering noise. It approached them from the south, overhead. After a few short seconds, Joe saw the cause of the noise. Four metallic drones, resembling misshapen spiders, weaved in and out of the tree canopy above them.
They were maneuvering straight for them, Joe realized. He felt Agrippina grab his arm.
“It’s Fausta! Run!”
“What are they—” Joe began to ask before Agrippina cut him off.
“Don’t talk, run!”
The group was on their feet in an instant, forcing their way through the undergrowth toward the other side of the ravine. Above them, they could hear the eerie wail of the four drones. Joe could tell from the sounds that the machines were splitting away from one another. He felt one drone move directly overhead. Two more swerved away to each side of the team. The last one faded to the back.
Walker and Petrol fired their assault rifles at the nearest drone. Joe saw the bullets clang uselessly off the powerful armor.
Then, the drones began to spin.
As they picked up speed, a flurry of white flame tendrils spewed from the drone appendages, raining down onto the forest floor in a cavalcade of perversely beautiful fire.
Joe didn’t have to ask what kind of fire.
&
nbsp; White phosphorous.
The drones spat the white-hot chemical on each side of the team. As the chemical touched the trees, the forest around them ignited in walls of flame. The team was brought to a halt as the stinking phosphorous poured down in front of them, blocking their way.
In a few short seconds, the entire forest surrounding them had become a raging inferno. Their lungs were filled with the thick chemical smoke, causing the team to choke.
“She’s boxing us in!” Agrippina shouted to Braddock, “She’ll keep pouring the phosphorous down until we’re all dead. Get your people out of here now!”
Agrippina pointed toward the north. Joe looked and saw a small gap within the fire heading up the edge of the ravine.
“I’m going to draw Fausta out,” Agrippina said, reloading her pistols, “If I don’t, she’ll burn this entire forest down around us!”
The heavy fumes made Joe gag. “There are still Secutors out there, you can’t—”
“Don’t argue, Braddock, do it!”
The look in her red and green eyes told Joe she was deathly serious. Nodding, he turned to his men and said, “We’re taking that path out from the fire. Let’s go!”
There was no time for argument. Krieger and Walker were on their feet, followed closely by Petrol. As they ran, Joe spotted several Secutors leaping down from the trees, skillfully avoiding the fires. Krieger and Joe fired as they ran. Krieger’s booming AA-12 shredded three of the Olympus troopers, while Joe’s own M4A1 cut down another with a well-placed bullet to the brainpan. Krieger’s shotgun clicked on an empty magazine. Out of his Frag ammunition, the Russian loaded a 12 gauge box magazine into the gun.
In the corner of his eye, Joe saw a Secutor lunge down from a tree in front of Curtis Walker. His eyes wide with surprise, the gunrunner collided with the Olympus trooper. The two foes grappled together for a moment. The Secutor raked its gauntleted claw across his shoulder, causing the man to cry out. Gritting his teeth, Walker pushed his body weight onto the Olympus soldier and fell on top of it.
