by Jim Roberts
THE PEACEMAKER and the Centurion had walked for nearly three miles under the evening sky. Leaning on Sandor’s shoulder for support, Joe was soon forced to halt – the pain in his leg becoming unbearable. They had been traveling in the Rif Dimashq district, which bordered the country of Jordan to the south and reached all the way to Damascus in the west.
Joe realized there was little to no way they could make the twenty mile distance to the border with his ankle in the shape it was in. He knew he was a liability to Sandor now and could very well end up getting them both killed. The good news in all of this was that there were several small towns lined across the Syrian-Jordan border that could hopefully provide them with some form of transportation to help smuggle them across.
It was a thousand in one chance, but it was all they had.
Sometime after midnight, Sandor set Joe down near a small deposit of rock amidst the sea of sand. A cold had descended on the desert that chilled both men to the bone. Sandor collected some twigs and branches from a nearby Ironwood tree and made a small fire. Joe sat down, removing his boot to massage some life into his burning ankle. They kept their weapons close, knowing full well that the area was still a hotbed of rebel and ISIL activity.
As the two men sat in gloomy silence, a jackal howled in the distance; its evil cackle resounding across the plain like a savage warning. Sandor passed Joe a bottle of water from his pack along with a ration bar. The Peacemaker took a long pull of the warm liquid before tearing into the ration. He hadn’t eaten anything since leaving the cave earlier today and the stale protein bar tasted like a slice of heaven to the famished soldier.
The Centurion looked up at the starry night sky.
“Well, you gotta admit, it’s a lovely sight.”
Joe gazed up at the stars. Unlike in a city in the States, where manmade light had long drowned out the majesty of a night sky, here in the desert one could get lost trying to count the thousands of stars that dotted the heavens.
For a moment, Joe forgot the pain in his ankle and the worries of the morrow. After the horror of the past few days, this was a welcome moment of peace he hoped would last forever.
He wouldn’t tell the Centurion, but his ankle was literally on its last leg. Every step he took was agony and his other foot was beginning to smart due to his favoring of it.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for some time, warming themselves by the fire. Desert nights could be extremely cold due to the loss of radiation under the clear skies. This night was no exception.
The defector broke the silence, his brusque voice sounding heavier than usual, “So tell me, what does your Colonel Walsh have planned for me when we get out of here?”
Joe chuckled, “If we get out of here, you mean,” He shook his head, taking another swig of water before replacing the cap. He didn’t want to waste what they had left, “I don’t know. You’ll be debriefed for a while, and after that, it depends what the brass want to do with you. Maybe after, you can return to your old life.”
Sandor pondered that for a moment, “My old life...an ex-wife and kid who wouldn’t talk to me if I was the last man on earth. A forty-one year-old mercenary with no future to speak of. What the hell is there left for me?”
“I don’t know…maybe a new beginning? A chance to start fresh.”
The Centurion snorted, “Start fresh. You know you still haven’t asked me the big question.”
Joe raised an eyebrow, “What question?”
“Why? Why did I choose desertion?”
Joe shrugged, “That wasn’t for me to ask. My mission was simply to get you back stateside. Perhaps your motives are important to my bosses, but for me, all I care about is my brother and what you know about him.”
Sandor’s eyes reflected the firelight as he sat in reflection, “I’m a man of my word, Braddock. We get out of here, I will tell you everything about Danny Callbeck.”
They were quiet for some time. Braddock decided to change the subject. “Why did you join Olympus, anyway?”
“Well, they hire almost exclusively from Private Security firms and the like. They especially like soldiers who aren’t afraid to follow any order, no matter how unjust. I had no qualms about taking lives for an organization that paid as well as they did. At least, that’s how I rationalized it for a while. But…”
Sandor fell silent, his last thoughts going unspoken. Joe pressed him. “But what?”
“But they soon work their way into your mind. You’re told that all that matters is fighting and dying in the name of the Imperator. After a while, you start to believe it. They promise you great things – powers you never knew you could have. I, along with many other Centurions, volunteered for the Code chip implants. They promised us we would be gods on the battlefield; to be able to function in perfect unison with one another and fight with the knowledge of a thousand soldiers. All that power…how could anyone resist?”
“I’ve seen the results of Code implants on Centurions,” Joe said, remembering the evidence Orchid had brought back from the Ukraine eight months ago. Sandor nodded, soberly.
“Yes. We found that out later. Weaker minded men fell to the Stream’s overwhelming power. But not me. I welcomed the knowledge of the Stream; embraced it even. I felt like I could do anything. My Centurion brothers thought the same. We were unstoppable.”
“So why then? Why abandon them?”
Sandor sniffed, the grizzled soldier pausing to rub an itch on his nose. “Two reasons, I guess. For the past year, there have been rumors in the higher ups of Olympus that an operation of incredible magnitude is currently being prepared.”
“What operation?”
Sandor shook his head, “I don’t know much about it. Something called Project Ascension. Almost all of Olympus’s current resources are being devoted to it. It scared the shit out of me, hearing the Tribunes of the Brotherhood discuss the project.”
“What Brotherhood?” Joe asked, unfamiliar with the name.
“The Brotherhood of Olympia…the true head of Olympus. They are made up of the Council of Lords, who serve the Imperator,” Sandor raised an eyebrow, “You’ve been fighting us for over a year and you don’t know this?”
“How could we know? We don’t even know where Olympus’s home HQ is located.”
Sandor grew quiet, probably realizing he had said more than he’d meant to. Joe decided to press the man for everything he would give freely.
“You mentioned a second reason.”
Sandor stared into the fire, the orange flame mirrored in his cool eyes, “After a while, the Stream becomes everything. You don’t feel anything else. The taste of your food, the touch of a woman’s flesh – nothing feels right anymore. All that’s left is the Stream. It encompasses your thoughts day in and day out. You feel like a husk of a man, doing the bidding of men completely uninterested in your survival. You…do things to others you never thought yourself capable of doing. That day, two weeks ago, my mind came into focus for the first time in years. I saw what I had become and knew I had to end it…end my addiction to the Stream.”
Sandor looked over at Joe, “What we did for those Shaitat people was the first good thing I’ve done in as long as I can remember. And I never want to forget it.”
The two men were silent for some time. Joe felt a sense of pity for the man across from him. To be robbed of all emotion and empathy in the name of serving Olympus – it was as horrible a thought as any Joe could imagine. The will it must have taken for Sandor to severe that link must have been enormous.
Breaking the silence, Sandor asked, “Back in the tunnel, you said a name: Jade. Who is that?”
“Oh…a woman, back in the States.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No, not really. Yes…I don’t know.”
“Pretty?”
“Gorgeous.”
“Is she good to you?”
“Well, she has her own mind. She’s tougher than I am.”
“That’s good. Women like that don’t
come around often.”
“You some sort of expert?” Joe asked.
“Only in losing them. Hold onto her if she’s good to you, Braddock. You never know what you’ve had until it’s gone.”
The two men said nothing more for several hours. The tiny fire crackled and snapped as the night wore on.
Syrian Airspace
July 18th, 2015
“The thermal scan still shows negative, Krieger. This is a bloody needle in a haystack.”
Packrat’s voice had an air of finality in it that annoyed the big Russian. From his seat in the co-pilot chair, Krieger reset the thermal monitor.
“Shut up, and make another pass. Joe is down there, I know it!”
They had just passed over the village where the defecting Centurion had last been seen, and there had been no sign of life in the surrounding area. The thermal scan showed large splotches of heat intermittently from various areas of the desert. Whether they were ISIL or rebel factions, it was impossible to tell. For now, they were looking for anything that would stand out in the thermal image. The stealth Spirit Walker had dropped to ten-thousand feet to allow a cleaner scan, but so far nothing was showing. Krieger was beginning to accept that this could very well be a lost cause.
A voice in Krieger’s headset blared into his ear, “Peacemaker One, this is Halcyon Base, come in, over?”
Krieger answered before Packrat could acknowledge, “This is One, go ahead, Jade.”
“Krieger, we’ve received a communiqué from NATO command in Iraq. Apparently, a group of Syrian tribespeople say that Joe and Sandor Delacroix were both seen leaving the town of Dummaya towards the Jordan border.” The mission analyst’s voice was trembling with excitement.
Krieger roared loudly in acknowledgment, “I knew my good buddy would not let me down!”
“There are reports of heavy ISIL and Syrian Opposition forces in the vicinity. They aren’t out of the woods yet, over.”
Krieger’s expression grew serious, “Copy that, Haly-con Base. Do not worry, if Joe is out there, we will bring him home!”
“Roger that…Krieger, be careful.”
The Russian scoffed loudly into the mike, “Who me? I am Mister Cautious himself! Don’t worry, Masters. Over and out,” He turned to look at the pilot, “You heard the lady – to the south border. What is ETA?”
Packrat adjusted the flight path, “About ten minutes. We’re flying lower than I’d like Krieger. Stealth shielding or not, we’ll show up clear as day to anyone down there when the sun comes up in a few minutes. ISIL has long range missile capabilities and we make a lovely target.”
“Don’t be so negative! Joe is alive and I can finally have a chance at collecting my bet!”
Chapter 20
Monster
Syria, Rif Dimashq Governorate
July 18th, 2015
THE TWO companions had set off an hour before daybreak. They made slow progress, but Joe sucked the pain down like a good soldier. The map Sandor used to plot their course told them they were still several miles from the border. Segments of civilization were cropping up around the steppe, small towns dotting the landscape here and there. Sandor set Joe down for a moment to scout one of the hamlets with his binoculars. He spotted at least two dozen ISIS jihadists, fully armed and equipped. They would have to look elsewhere for transportation.
As the hours passed, the steppe began to become more pronounced, with the arid desert transforming into dry grasslands. By now, Joe was leaning full against Sandor, his leg becoming near impossible to walk on. Joe could have laughed at the absurdity of their predicament – a Peacemaker and a Centurion, relying on one another to escape a warzone. Joe had come to admit a simple truth: he respected the grungy soldier.
Sandor had proven much to him over the past day. He had been willing to protect the Shaitat people, even with no hope of reward and even the possibility of death at the Syrian Opposition’s hands. The man had muddled through incredible odds, all in the hope of returning to a life which held little to no promise in the States. Joe admired the man’s integrity.
While walking through the plain, both men kept their eyes out for any signs of patrols, ISIL or otherwise. There had been almost no signs of civilians, but as they were traveling so far off the main roads, that was no surprise.
An hour after sunrise, something gradually appeared in front of them. A small collection of old ruins – left behind from some long forgotten epoch of history – rose up from the ground. Several meticulously hand crafted pillars stood twenty feet high, surrounded by the remains of other columns that had fallen over the years.
“What’s that?” Joe asked the Centurion.
“Looks like the remains of an old village. 1st or 2nd century if I had to guess.” Joe shot a quizzical glance at the Centurion. Sandor shrugged, “I like old things, what can I say?”
“Let’s head for it,” Joe said, “We can check the map. I’m pretty sure we’re los–”
Crack!
A bullet ricocheted into the ground beside Joe’s foot, missing him by an inch.
“Jesus!” Joe cried, whirling around.
Thirty or so men on horseback were bearing down on them like an avenging horde. Joe and his companion had been so intent on the way ahead, they’d forgotten to keep an eye behind them as well.
The riders were about four-hundred yards away, give or take.
More bullets zinged by. Sandor shouted at Joe, “The ruins! They’re our only chance!”
The two men took off, with Joe swallowing the agony in his ankle as hot lead ripped up surrounding terrain. He didn’t need to ask who it was that was chasing them. Who else in this desert of hell would lead a pack of men on horseback?
Saladin.
The desert mercenary had escaped the battle in Dummaya and had somehow tracked them down. Joe had to give the mercenary leader credit – he didn’t give up easy.
If they could reach the ruins, the fallen chunks of rock could give them some semblance of protection to make a fighting stand. So far, they were out of range of the gunfire, but that would change any second.
They had to get to the ruins…
* * *
SALADIN RAISED his hand, beckoning his men to slow their approach. Rashid followed his master’s orders, reigning in his white bay. He saw the Sand Scorpion maneuver his horse beside the Rider who’d broken their silence.
“You fool! You fired without my order!”
The young merc, a young man named Akeem, dipped his head in apology, “Forgive me, my lord Saladin, I thought I had them in sight!”
Rashid knew any other day, Saladin would have executed any man that acted preemptively in his cadre. But they were too few this day to waste valuable flesh. They would have to make do with the foolish error and punish the man later.
The Riders urged their mounts onward. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out from the ruins, exploding through the head of a young cadre warrior. The bullet bore a hole through the man’s brain matter like a drill. He pitched from his horse, stone dead.
Rashid squinted in the early morning sun.
The Centurion was firing on them with that sniper rifle.
Rashid saw Saladin point to a collection of raised mud buttes dotting the steppe fifty feet from their current location, “They’ll pick us off one by one. Make for the cover of those foothills, now!”
Reaching the buttes, the Riders of Saladin dropped down amidst them; ducking for cover.
Diving behind a small boulder, Rashid swore under his breath. He shouted over to Saladin, “My lord, we should have rushed them!”
“No! The Centurion is an outstanding shot with that rifle. I don’t wish to sacrifice more of my men unnecessarily!”
What had seemed like perfect opportunity to ambush the Centurion and his Peacemaker escort had been bungled by a foolish mistake. Rashid swore he would be the one to put a bullet in the fool Akeem’s head when this was all over. Now, they were pinned down by sniper fire that their AKs would be hard pressed
to match.
“My lord, what now?” Rashid called out to Saladin, who was hunkered down a dozen feet away from him.
“Let them enjoy their success. Trust me my friend – they are about to witness hell itself.”
* * *
SANDOR LOWERED the PSG-1, whooping at the successful shot.
“Scratch one asshole, Braddock!”
The two companions had reached the relative safety of the ruined pillars. Setting his rifle on a collection of rubble, Sandor had squeezed off a shot from his PSG-1, killing a Rider instantly. Saladin’s forces had withdrawn towards some raised cover and were now busy putting blind fire on their location. Bullets struck the ruins like blind insects smacking a windshield.
“Well, what do you figure?” Joe asked, peering over the fallen pillar. His M4 was tight in hand, ready to take out any merc dumb enough to pop his head out.
“I figure Saladin isn’t giving me up without a fight!” Sandor answered as he slapped a fresh magazine into the sniper rifle.
Joe nodded. He aimed down the dot-sight of the M4 and fired at the nearest merc. He saw the shot go wide, slamming into the ground beside the tango.
“Don’t waste your ammo!” Sandor called from his place behind the pillar, “Pick your shots and make them count!”
“You always this bossy?” Joe shouted back, sighting down the M4 again.
“Only when a desert mercenary wants my head!”
For several tense moments, the two sides traded gunfire with little being accomplished. Joe managed to catch one of the mercs that ventured too far out. The Peacemaker saw his round take the man in the arm, sending him to the ground thrashing in pain. Another round from Sandor quieted the merc forever.
Abruptly, the mercenary gunfire halted, sending the battle zone into an eerie calm.
“What are they doing?” Joe asked the Centurion.
“I don’t know...wait, what’s that sou–”
The tall pillar on the immediate right of both men exploded in a shower of rock. A massive soldier of steel and flesh charged into the ruins, its wolf head searching for a live target. Terror gripped Braddock as they were once more face to face with the brutal Olympus tracker, Brutus.
