by Jim Roberts
“I agree with you, General,” Brick said, speaking as succinctly as possible, “but nevertheless, everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
McLusky, heavyset as ever, leaned forward to speak. “So what’s the current situation with these Vagabond mercs and their commander, Lennox?”
“They’ve returned to their fight in Venezuela,” Brick replied, “Olympus has increased its presence there twice over. With all the losses they’ve suffered, they need the oil deal they’ve cut with the Venezuelan government more than ever. Lennox and his mercenaries will continue the fight to end their contract.”
“What was your opinion of these…Vagabonds?” General Brackett asked in his no-nonsense Oklahoma twang.
“Strong fighters, sir. Good men and women willing to fight for what they believe in. Leo Lennox has offered his aid against Olympus in the future, should we want it.” Brick left out the small detail of Joe Braddock’s relationship with the man. He didn’t trust the brass with such knowledge.
“And what of the Code of War discs, Lieutenant?” The question came from a Colonel sitting down the table from Brick.
“Lost to the bottom of the Caribbean, sir. The Stream network was heavily compromised by the virus cluster input by our Doctor Cairncross. My people were unable to retrieve them.”
McKlusky grunted, “We could have used those discs, Lieutenant. Think what we could have done with that knowledge—”
“My men made a judgement and I stand by it. The discs are out of Olympus’s hand; the Stream has been permanently disabled. We’ve had reports from around the world of Centurions collapsing from withdrawal from the Stream. Trust me, the loss is going to hurt Olympus but good.”
The DD/CIA regarded Brick with a knowing look before retreating from the conversation.
Admiral Arnold Marshall, the highest ranking Chief at the meeting, said, “Your team’s done a great service to this country, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Brick replied.
General Brackett nodded his agreement, “We’re promoting you to Captain, effective immediately. You are officially to take command of the Peacemakers, as per the wishes of Jackson Walsh.”
“Wishes, sir?” Brick asked, confused.
Brackett removed a piece of paper from a manila folder in front of him, “It was a letter of recommendation sent to us by the late General. He proposed you as the best man for the position.”
Brick felt a tinge of pride in his heart, along with a pang of sorrow. Walsh’s death had been a hard thing to take.
“Is there a problem with that, Captain?”
Brick snapped to, shaking his head, “Of course not, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The General nodded, “You’ve amassed a great deal of admiration from your peers, as well as from your own men. I think we can all agree you’re the best choice for the job.” Closing the folder, General Brackett looked at Brick, “That being said, your Unit is going to be needed now, more than ever. Olympus has been denounced by America in the UN and declared a terrorist organization. Meer semantics, as they’re still the world’s leader in privatized military power. We need the Peacemakers to remain on guard. I’m sure Olympus won’t be taking this whole screw-job sitting down. With support growing against them, it shouldn’t be hard to secure some…serious funding for the Peacemakers in the near future.”
“I understand, sir,” Brick said, nodding, “We’ll be ready.”
* * *
EXITING the Pentagon on the south-eastern corner, Brick walked briskly through the rain toward the parking lot, where his lift was waiting. Getting into the Ford Focus, Brick looked over at the driver.
Sarah Anders.
The redheaded journalist had waited patiently for him over the past half hour. He told her the news of his promotion and gaining the command of the Peacemakers.
Together, the two made the quick trek up Boundary Channel Drive to Arlington cemetery.
There, they joined the rest of the Peacemakers, along with a large crowd of other military dignitaries, in a final farewell to a true American hero.
An honor guard was assembled amidst the rows upon rows of white crosses, marking the resting place of men and women who’d fought and died in service of their country.
So much honor…
So much war…
Amongst the crowd of witnesses was Danny Callbeck, wearing his sight-giving eGlasses. The Inuit soldier stood like a statue, his face a mask of neutral emotion. Whatever the Canadian was feeling, he kept it close, locked up deep inside.
Beside Callbeck were Krieger and Curtis Walker. Upon returning from Venezuela, Leo Lennox had offered the former gunrunner a place within the Vagabonds. Oddly, the man had refused. Instead, he’d asked Brick for a chance to join the Peacemakers. While smoothing over the man’s many years of questionable actions would take a good degree of wheel-greasing, Brick consented, on the basis that he and Krieger bury the hatchet.
A tall order, perhaps.
The other Peacemakers were spread throughout the crowd. Packrat stood beside Headcase, whose tears were melding with the cool rain.
And lastly, standing next to a grieving Kim Yuanza, was Joseph Braddock.
Staunch and resolute, Braddock’s face was emotionless.
After all, what was left for a man who’d lost so much already?
Brick stood up to the podium and spoke from the heart, “General Jackson Milhouse Walsh was a man of great strength. No one would question that. In my whole life, I’ll never know another man so willing to sacrifice himself to protect the country he loved and the people who served with him. I will never forget his honor. We will never forget his sacrifice.”
The honor guard fired their twenty-one gun salute.
The empty coffin of General Jackson Walsh was laid to rest.
Brick felt his own tears mix with the cold rain.
Don’t worry, General. They’re my children now, these Peacemakers. I promise I’ll look after them.
* * *
WALKING ALONG the endless crosses, feeling the rain pelt against his blue beret, Joe Braddock’s mind wandered. The rest of the team were heading to the General’s wake, being held at a nice pub somewhere in D.C. There, they would raise toasts to their honored CO and all those who’d fought and died in this bloody war.
Joe hadn’t felt like joining them.
A numbness permeated his body as he looked across the cemetery. He could almost sense the ghosts of those long dead, watching him—seeing the pain etched across his face.
Joe came to stop. Looking down, he’d found the place he’d been searching for.
On the grouping of crosses in front of him were the names of those lost in his Ranger unit, two years ago.
Private Daniel Thomas.
Private Mick Blackburn.
Private Kirk Gorman.
Here they lay, the members of the 76th Ranger Regiment.
His brothers in arms.
Killed by Olympus.
So much death.
Closing his eyes, Joe paid his respects to the honored dead. When he was finished, he reached into his pocket and removed a small brown book.
The Red Badge of Courage.
The book Jade had given him back on the farm.
The only thing he still had to remind him of her.
Droplets of rain spattered on the cover of the old book, making the ink run.
He stood like a granite statue amidst the crosses—a soldier born of war and misery. Now that he knew the truth of his bloodstained family’s legacy, Joe had a choice to make.
The war against Olympus had slowed, for a time…
…but it was far from over.
A muted hate had been slowly building up inside him since returning from the Caribbean—a hate that seeped into every pore of his being.
Jade was dead.
My love is dead.
And it was Olympus that killed her.
He gripped the book tight in his hand.
The grievous pain
he felt at her loss was overwhelming. The only thing that could fill that void were the deaths of those responsible.
“Joe?”
A voice in the rain, raspy like course sandpaper.
Looking over from his vigil, Joe saw his friend approach.
His brother.
Danny Callbeck stepped through the crosses. To look at him, one would never think he was thirty-percent synthetic.
“You weren’t with the others,” Danny said.
“I had to be here…for them.”
Danny reached Joe’s side. He looked down at the crosses and read the names. “Our old brothers in arms.”
“Yes.”
They were silent for a time. The rain fell, constant and stinging.
“What’s that in your hand?” Danny asked, finally.
“Just a book. Jade gave it to me before she—” his voice cracked before silencing altogether.
Danny leaned over to read the cover.
“The Red Badge of Courage. Good book.”
Joe exhaled into the cold rain, “I didn’t know why she gave it to me at the time. Maybe it was her way of telling me I had to find my own courage again.” He shook his head, closing his eyes, “I just don’t…understand. Why? Why she didn’t tell me she was…” He stopped midsentence, the pain too great to endure.
When he was able to speak again, Joe’s face was hot with anger.
“They stole her from me, Danny. They’ve stolen everything from me. Now that they know who I am and the truth of my birth, they’ll never leave me alone. This war will follow me forever.”
Danny looked at his friend, his face lined with worry. “What are you saying, Joe?”
“I’m saying that from here on out, it’s no mercy. I’m going to fight Olympus on my own terms.”
“Joe—”
Braddock cut his friend off with a gesture. He took a final glance at the book and tossed it to the wet ground where it lay, pelted with rain.
“I’ve found my courage. I’m going to make my own fate now.”
Danny seemed about to object. But after observing the determination on his battle brother’s face, he remained silent. There was a common bond between them…the bond of warrior brothers. Joe knew his friend understood what he was feeling—understood the pain in his soul.
Danny would not get in the way of a man’s path of vengeance.
For a long moment, the two men regarded each other.
Equals.
Friends.
Brothers.
Finally, Joe turned on his heel and walked away among the crosses on his new road.
It would be paved with the corpses of those that served Olympus.
His new war would come fast and brutal.
It would only end with the death of Imperator Titus.
So swore Joe Braddock.
DANNY STOOD in the rain, watching as his friend disappeared from view. He knew Joe’s path would bring him untold hardships—and would most likely lead to his death.
For now, his destiny lay elsewhere from Joe Braddock.
In the year since being taken by Olympus, Danny Callbeck had been molded to become a warrior unparalleled in the world—his body violated with scientific trickery to become something he wasn’t. His mind was corrupted by the Stream.
Now that he was back, he felt…lost in his new life.
Danny had his own axe to grind with Olympus, that was true enough.
But before he could swing it, he needed to find his own path first.
And after that, he would bring his own vengeance upon Olympus.
Before he left the graves of his former comrades, Danny bent down and picked up the soggy novel.
The Red Badge of Courage.
Shaking the water off as best he could, he put it into the pocket of his coat.
It was, after all, a good book.
Epilogue
Ascension Island, November 10th
FROM HIS seat at the top of the tower overlooking Ascension airfield, Titus scowled as he read the evening’s reports.
Failure. Everywhere he looked—failure.
An oil refinery in Venezuela had recently been lost to the Vagabonds. Next, the report from the UN detailing sanctions to put forward against the Olympus PMC. And now two of their largest contracts in Africa—Angola and Somalia—were threatening to pull their commitments.
Since becoming the Imperator, nothing had gone right.
Upon arriving back on Ascension, he’d had Tiberius thrown into the deepest prison on the island. As far as Titus was concerned, the former Legate could rot there till the end of his days.
There were far bigger issues at stake for the new Imperator.
Standing up, he moved to window and looked down from the tower across the Island of Ascension. He saw his forces begin to expand its dominance over the small rock in the middle of the Atlantic. The pre-fab towers were now morphing into full-scale structures. A large permanent base was being erected and the entire island transformed into a fortress where Olympus would train its next generation of soldier.
Grand plans were being formed that would carry Olympus into a new age.
So the Stream had failed? So the Code of War was now resting at the bottom of the ocean. The grand experiment was a tool of the last Imperator, his fool of a father. Titus had dreams now—dreams that would make this army a leader in a new world order. He would see it through.
But first, he would have to get his house in order.
A sound from the entranceway made the Imperator turn.
“Falco? Is that you—”
Standing at the doorway was Tiberius.
The man he’d thought defeated.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” Titus spat. His mind couldn’t fathom how the man had escaped the brig.
Tiberius’s voice was laced with venom. “I never thought in a hundred years you would be so foolish, Titus.”
“What?”
“That you would forget the primary tenants of the Brotherhood.”
Titus didn’t reply, moving instead to the desk where he’d left his pistol.
Tiberius didn’t seem to care, as he continued his speech, “You forgot that in Olympus all men, even the Imperator, are responsible for their actions. Your actions of late prove you are unfit for this office.”
Behind the Legate, two more men entered the room, followed by a heavy retinue of Centurions.
Saladin and Falco.
The men who’d helped Titus become the Imperator.
“Falco,” he called over to his old lap dog, “What’s going on?”
The one-eyed veteran didn’t answer, his face remaining passive.
Titus was very worried now.
Where were my Praetorians?
Tiberius guessed his thoughts, “Your guard has given themselves up. You’ve cost Olympus more than you can ever imagine. Now, Olympus must look to the past secrets of our Brotherhood for the keys to the future. For now, your use to this army is finished.”
Titus’s heart jackhammered in his chest. “This is mutiny! You’re all traitors!”
Tiberius gestured to his soldiers, “Take him.”
Titus bolted for his pistol, but the Centurions reached him first. Titus tried to resist, but even his powerful conditioning was no match for the combined strength of the Centurions. Clasping the young Imperator’s arms behind his back, they quickly restrained him.
Titus screamed, “You can’t do this! I’m the Imperator of Olympus! I’ll have your hearts for breakfast!”
The Centurions hauled Titus toward the tower exit. He caught Falco’s eye before he was taken away.
“Falco! Don’t let them do this! Help me!” His voice was pathetically desperate.
“I’m sorry, Titus—” Falco said, his single eye showing no remorse, “—but this is for the good of the Brotherhood.”
Saladin, the Sand Scorpion spoke in his commanding voice, “We are but councilors in this war, Titus. And we have chosen our new King. And i
t isn’t you.”
The young Imperator was incensed, “I’ll kill you for this Falco! I’ll kill all of you!”
“Get him out of here,” Tiberius ordered.
Titus screamed and yelled and hollered.
It was no good.
He was alone now.
* * *
IN AN almost poetic twist of fate, Titus sat in the same cell he’d so smugly thought he’d hold Tiberius in forever. The former Imperator only had only the rats for company now.
Days had gone by. He couldn’t be sure how many, as there were no windows. He’d spent the first few days screaming and yelling, cursing down the entire Brotherhood and their mothers. His mask had been taken, along with all other raiments of his office.
He could only sit now, a scarred man lost to his own people.
At length, Titus finally had a visitor.
The sound of heels clicking on the stone masonry of the old RAF brig forced him out of his foul mood for the moment.
A woman stepped in front of the cell.
Vorena.
His half-sister was more beautiful than ever. Even the knowledge of their lineage did nothing to taint his attraction to her.
She looked at him like a visitor at a zoo would a caged ape. “Hello, Titus.”
“Vorena…you have to get me out of here!”
“Get you out? Who do think helped put you in?”
“What?”
“Tiberius and Falco made a deal with me, for control of my father’s Praetorians. They wanted no more bloodshed within the Brotherhood, as did I.”
“You bitch!”
“Don’t say that, brother. Believe it or not, I had hoped this all could have been avoided.”
“What are you getting for betraying me?” Titus said through clenched teeth.
“Nothing. Just clemency for betraying Tiberius—” she paused, her eyes meeting his, “—and, for an eventual patronage for our child.”
Titus blinked. “What?”
She reached down and placed a hand on her stomach, “The bloodline of our father will live on. Our son or daughter will grow under Tiberius’s tutelage to become the Imperator of a new order. Olympus will become great again.”
