by Jim Roberts
It was at that exact moment when a violent explosion rocked the floor.
“What was that?” Walsh asked, his voice a soft murmur.
“Trip-mine on the elevator.”
“That won’t stop them. You need to—” the General was interrupted by a fit of coughing, “You need to leave now!”
“General, I’m getting you out and that’s final. Now hold on to me!”
Holstering one of her MP7s, Orchid lifted Walsh onto her shoulder. The old man was too weak to resist. Clutching the other MP7 in her opposite hand, Orchid turned and jogged out of the torture room—
—and into a hail of gunfire.
Across the office, coming up from the stairwell below, Orchid could see a large swarm of Olympus Centurions spreading out into firing positions. She saw flames beyond them where her mine had detonated, hopefully taking some unsuspecting troopers with it. As bullets zipped by like mad hornets, Orchid dropped down low behind a collection of surveillance terminals. The Centurions’ FN F2000 assault rifles chucked hot lead at her position, ripping up the carpet into chunks and tearing through computer machinery like it was cardboard.
Orchid cradled Walsh in her arms, attempting to block the onslaught of fire with her rynohyde-titanium suit. She felt a bullet ricochet off her shoulder, sending a wave of pain through her arm. Orchid surmised that if they stayed in this position much longer, the Centurions would either flank them or simply shoot their cover to bits and pick them off at their leisure.
They were effectively bottled in.
Orchid’s mind raced. The office floor was surrounded by windows. If she could make it to them and manage to break through the plexiglass, it would be possible to activate her patagium and BASE jump to the ground.
But the General was in no shape to do something so audacious.
For now, Orchid had to gain some time.
Setting the General down to lean against the monitor station, the Peacemaker withdrew her second MP7. Peering around her cover, Orchid counted ten Centurions, all moving cautiously toward her position. Taking a quick breath, the Peacemaker popped up out of cover, letting loose a torrent of fire toward her attackers. Her initial burst caught the troopers by surprise. The nearest Centurion was struck clear through the visor of his helmet. Orchid watched in satisfaction as a shower of gray matter and skull fragments burst from the back of the trooper’s head. The Centurion toppled to the ground like a broken Ken doll.
The remaining Centurions grabbed cover immediately, poking up occasionally to fire a burst at their enemy. The two sides continued to exchange fire for several seconds, playing a deadly game of whack-a-mole with one another. Orchid managed to tag two more Centurions with headshots.
Her good luck was spoiled as she noticed a slew of reinforcements spill from the stairwell beyond, all armed for business.
Orchid ducked back behind her cover, ejecting her spent clips. Beside her, General Walsh clutched at the seeping wound in his side, his hands drenched in dark blood. His face was an ashen mask of near-death.
Orchid was about to pop back up when she felt Walsh’s hand on her shoulder.
“Yuanza…you’re carrying semtex, right?”
“Yes General, but I don't—”
“Whatever you have, give it to me.”
“But—”
Walsh’s good eye flared, “Do it, Specialist!”
The man’s face told her there would be no arguing. Orchid set one of her guns down and withdrew the compacted semtex charge from her backpack. Passing it to the General, she waited to see what he had in mind. Beyond them, she could hear the Centurions reloading. Any second now, they would assault their position.
Walsh held the semtex charge in his hands. On the top of the charge was a small input screen with a digital timer. Orchid watched as Walsh keyed in a command into the object.
00.30
Orchid’s heart skipped a beat. “General, what are—”
Walsh looked at Orchid with his good eye, and said, “I’m done in, Yuanza. Get clear of this place.” Hey lifted his hand and pointed past the row of cubicles at the open windows. Beyond them, the skyline of Caracas beckoned. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“General, this is insane! You can’t—”
“I can. This is my last order to you, soldier. Follow it through.”
Orchid frantically searched for a way out, but there was none. The Centurions were coming and Walsh was mortally injured.
There was no sense in them both dying.
If she could get free of the electrical interference, there was a chance she could warn the Peacemakers about the coming attack.
“General…”
Walsh put a hand on Orchid’s shoulder, “You’ve got to survive, Kim. Stop Olympus from getting the Code. That’s the most important thing now.”
Orchid couldn’t leave her commander. She couldn’t let him die here—alone.
But the look in Walsh’s single good eye was enough to tell her there would be no further discussion on the matter. The old man had made up his mind and she would have to abide by his orders.
“General…it was my greatest honor to serve with you.” She placed her own hand on his, holding it in a moment of respect—one warrior to another.
A wry smile broke across Walsh’s aged face. “The honor is mine, Orchid. Get out of here…and tell Joe if you see him, I never meant to keep so much from him. This war is in his hands now.”
There was no time to ask what that meant. A fusillade of bullets exploded around them.
The Centurions were assaulting their position in full force.
Walsh grimaced as he shouted, “Twenty seconds! Get out of here!”
Orchid unclasped a thermite plasma grenade from her belt and lobbed it at the window running parallel to her. Sharing a final silent goodbye with her commanding officer, Orchid closed her faceplate, picked up her other MP7 and bolted from her cover. The Centurions tracked after her, altering their aim to send burst after burst of hot lead screaming toward the escaping Peacemaker.
At a three count, the grenade detonated, exploding the plexiglass. Orchid ran headlong toward the fresh exit, swiveling her torso to fire her MP7s to cover her escape.
All I need is a few seconds…just give me that!
She felt a bullet slam into her arm, knocking one of the guns from her hand. Ignoring the pain, she kept count in her mind.
00:05…00:04…00:03…
The Centurions, seeing their prey about to escape, made a Hail Mary final attempt to take down the Peacemaker, focusing their fire on Orchid’s silver form.
00.02…
She was at the window. The city below was a beacon of survival.
00.01…
Orchid jumped as hard as she could.
00.00…
Splitting the warm Venezuelan night like a torrent of hellfire, the top four floors of Corvo Tower exploded.
* * *
FEELING THE kinetic energy of the detonation slam into her, Orchid plunged down the side of the skyscraper. Flaming chunks of debris fell around her. Activating the patagium, she spread her arms and legs and caught the wind with the flight mesh. She swooped up and out over the city of Caracas.
Orchid aimed her descent for one of the smaller buildings across the way from the fortified tower. Slowing her dive as much as possible, she landed hard on the rooftop of an old Catholic church. The leg compensators sucked up most of the shock, but it was still a hard landing. Orchid lost her balance and fell straight forward, taking a good share of the church’s shingling with her. By the time she came to a stop, Orchid felt like she’d been dragged for a mile by a monster truck.
Dizzy and heartsick, she picked herself up and looked out across the city. She saw Corvo Tower, its top floors burning like a torch in the night sky.
General Walsh…
Walking painfully to the edge of the church steeple, she had a clear view of the chaos caused by Walsh’s sacrifice. Across the way, at the base of the tower, Orchid c
ould see Olympus forces streaming out of the building.
Free from the electromagnetic shielding of the tower, the internal comm unit of Orchid’s suit beeped. Activating it, she said, “Go ahead, Command.”
Brick’s voice came over the line, “Orchid! What’s your sitrep, over?”
Crestfallen, Kim Yuanza kept an eye on the base of the tower as she informed Brick of the death of General Jackson Walsh.
Chapter 26
Force of Many
Venezuelan Airspace, October 7th
STRAPPED IN tight in the lead Sikorsky Black Hawk, Joe Braddock kept a stern vigil across the endless miles of jungle racing by below. Dawn was only a few hours away, so he still required the use of night-vision goggles to keep his watch. As he maintained his observation of the jungle, Joe felt a pang of apprehension in his breast.
They would reach Damien Sledge’s drone compound within the hour.
The war was growing hotter by the minute.
About three hundred feet to the side of the Black Hawk—matching speed with the much slower helicopters—Joe could just barely make out three of the six Fenrir light-ducted fan VTOLs, flying in sync with the attack group. Each of the crafts were loaded for bear with GAU-8 30mm autocannons, and two hardpoints equipped with AIM-92 Stinger Missiles.
They would need every bit of their firepower in the fight ahead.
Sitting beside Joe in the cabin of the lead Black Hawk, Krieger checked his AA-12. The big Russian looked impatient as he clutched his shotgun. To his left was Curtis Walker—probably still wondering what he’d done to deserve being assigned to this detail. Observing the man for a moment in his peripheral vision, Joe had to admit the gunrunner had impressed him during the past few days. He hoped the man was up to the task before them.
Sitting across from Walker, cleaning one of her wakizashi blades, was Agrippina. The Olympus harpy looked as arrogant as ever as she rubbed a fine cloth along the blade to polish it to a mirror sheen. For a moment, her multi-colored eyes flicked to Joe. A brief second in time passed between the two.
Regardless of what happened back in the jungle and despite what Lennox felt about her loyalty, Joe still wasn’t sure if he trusted this woman. Joe couldn’t tell if Agrippina was still the same self-serving killer she’d been when they’d first met, or if events of the last few days forced her to grow a conscience. Agrippina sniffed and turned her gaze back to her sword.
Behind Aggy, in the co-pilot seat of the Black Hawk, sat Leo Lennox.
He felt a ghost of smile waft across his lips. Only a few hours earlier, Braddock had been blissfully unaware that his true flesh and blood kin was not only still alive, but would be leading an assault against Joe’s own worst enemies.
Fate indeed was a funny thing.
Joe checked his M4A1 for a final time. He’d replenished his ammo from the copious supplies at the Vagabond mission. In addition, Lennox had given him a weapon to help in the fight against Sledge’s drone forces—something the Vagabond commander referred to as an Uber Anti-tank launcher. Designed after the unsuccessful M202 FLASH quad-barrel rocket launchers of the 80s, the Uber was created to give the average combat soldier a fighting chance against bipedal or aerial drones. It featured a rotating cylindrical firing mechanism within its boxy form that held four 66mm magnesium anti-tank shells, each one capable of punching through inches of enemy armor with relative effectiveness. Lennox explained that it was so far the best method of taking down Olympus bipedal walker drones such as the Cerberus.
Glad to have the added firepower, Joe hoped the Fenrir aircraft would do most of the heavy lifting. The basic plan was for the Fenrirs to take point once the facility was in sight and engage any ground forces with their autocannons. After the ground opposition was neutralized, the Fenrirs would then launch a coordinated attack on the facility with missiles and blow it straight to eternity. If all went according to plan, the troops inside the three Black Hawks would not be needed.
However, if worse came to worse, each task force member carried a hefty amount of semtex, in case a more personal response was required.
Over the headset he wore, Joe heard Lennox’s voice say, “Joe, I’m picking up a call from your people. Patching it through to you now.”
Joe put a finger on the radio set and tuned in. “This is Braddock, go ahead.”
The voice on the other line belonged to Brick Reynolds.
“Joe, what’s your status, over?”
“Closing in on the drone facility now, Lieutenant. ETA—” Joe checked his watch and did some quick math, “—ten minutes out, over.”
“Good.” There was a long pause before the new Peacemaker CO spoke again, “Joe…something’s happened.”
There was a trembling in Brick’s voice that put Joe immediately on guard. “What?” he asked.
“It’s the General.”
“What about the General?”
“He’s…he’s dead, Joe.”
Braddock closed his eyes, dropping his head down to his chest.
Walsh. Dead.
“When?” Joe asked.
As Brick went over the particulars of Orchid’s mission to Corvo Tower, Joe felt a surge of cold rage grip his insides. Losing the General was a failure they could ill afford. The old man had always been there, always could be counted to carry them through whatever problems arose.
Joe couldn’t imagine this war without Jackson Walsh.
Brick’s voice continued to speak, “There’s more, Joe. Walsh told Orchid that Olympus is planning to attack the Cottage. They know where the Code is and they’re coming to get it.”
Joe’s blood became soot in his veins. At first, a thought of disbelief ran through his mind. Attack an American base a mere twenty miles from Washington D.C. itself? Olympus would never do something so absurdly brazen.
But…what if?
Joe keyed the mic, “Lieutenant, you’ve got to get the Code somewhere safe, now!”
“We’re already on it, Sergeant. I’ve ordered Cairncross to finish his tests immediately. Jade Masters will take care of things at the Cottage.”
Joe’s stomach clamped like a vice. “Jade…” he said the name, absently.
“Concentrate on the job at hand, Braddock. Take out that facility. Let Masters handle things back home.”
Joe forced himself to calm down. The flood of bad news was enough for a man to question his religion, but Brick spoke the truth; Joe was too far away to help. He had to trust in the skills of Jade Masters and the men and women back at the Cottage.
We’re all fighting now, he thought. A war on every side.
Brick wrapped up by saying, “Orchid’s staying on point across from Corvo Tower to keep an eye on things.”
Joe keyed the mic, “Roger that, Brick. Keep us posted,” Joe saw Lennox give him a hand-sign to cut the transmission. “We’re coming up on the facility. Do you have an ETA on when the Blitzers will be online?”
“Hopefully in the next hour. I can’t promise anything before that, Joe.”
“Roger that, Brick.”
“Keep to the task, Joe. Good luck!”
Joe signed off, his face a mirror of his grey mood.
Krieger nudged Joe in the arm. “What was that about the General?”
“Walsh is dead.”
“What?” Krieger was shocked.
Joe quickly relayed what he’d been told to his big teammate. For a moment, the Russian seemed crestfallen. While there had been little love between the General and the big man, Joe knew Krieger respected the old man.
“I’m sorry, Braddock,” Lennox said, his voice coming over the radio, “Walsh was a good man. It sounds like he went out fighting. I’d expect no less from him. We’re five minutes out from Sledge’s factory. Focus on what’s at stake—there’ll be time for grief later.”
His father’s words helped, but not enough. Right now, Joe Braddock wanted blood—the blood of those responsible for killing his mentor and friend.
He pulled the action back on his M4A
1.
Blood was what he would get.
* * *
Puerto Cabello Industrial Zone, Venezuela, October 7th
INSIDE THE upper bay area of the Sledge Dynamics drone facility, the large cadre of technicians and laborers continued the unenviable task of loading up the trucks outside with the cargo destined for the Puerto Cabello docks. Once the move was completed, the Sledge company-owned container vessel would ship the drone army to Ascension Island, under heavy Olympus guard.
But delays had already slowed the operation to a near crawl and the shipment was far behind schedule.
For Damien Sledge, delays were absolutely inexcusable.
He’d come to realize this entire deal was a huge mistake. He should have never trusted the arrogant, faceless creep, Titus. Instead, he should have offered the army up on the black market to the highest bidder. Perhaps an oligarch somewhere in Russia with currency to burn, or some jihadist leader in the Middle East. To Sledge, it mattered little. He was in a perfect position right now; an obscenely wealthy businessman—a microcosm of success in a country tearing itself apart. He was protected here like nowhere else in the world.
And this foolhardy deal threatened that security.
Through the open bay doors, the billionaire watched his men load a container of Saturnine drones on the back of a semi-trailer. Beside it, another Peterbilt semi pulled away from the facility with a heavy load of drones on its trailer, bound for the Puerto Cabello shipyard.
One of the workers yelled something in Spanish. The container of Saturnine drones tipped awkwardly from the skis of the forklift and was now threatening to fall to the ground.
At wit's end, Sledge charged out of the bay, followed by his entourage of four armed private security guards.
“You god damn yokel scum!” Sledge shouted at the workers desperately trying to keep the container from falling, “Can’t you do anything right? Get that container back on or I’ll fire you, and get someone else—”
