by Jim Roberts
Danny was starting to wonder if he should rethink his line of work.
Yune helped Danny into the arm sections, attaching them to the torso with a satisfying click sound.
"The suit is still meant to be primarily stealth-based, Danny. But when you need to fight, it will carry you through."
Lastly, Yune hefted the helmet up, admiring it for a moment. "I retouched a few elements of the helmet. I redesigned the user interface and switched all voice commands to be activated by what I call the 'TAB', built into the left wrist. Voice commands are too unreliable for the field, according to the research I've conducted from past missions. The wrist device has been designed to utilize a simple gestural interface, similar to a phone or tablet. Shroud activation, patagium deployment, however, are still voice activated."
Danny passed Yune his bionic sunglasses, plunging himself into total darkness. His pallid, unseeing eyes stared blankly at his companions. The darkness was only fleeting. Yune placed the helmet on Danny's head, where the servos at the neck joint connected with the torso section.
The suit was complete.
Yune picked up the Accretion device and reconnected it to the battery pack on the back of the suit.
"Alright. It's good to go. Activate the suit using the TAB."
Orchid put her own tablet down to watch Danny activate the power armor.
"This is my favorite part." Danny's muffled voice came through the depowered armor. With great difficulty, he lifted his arms and slid the TAB power command to ON. Instantly, the suit charged up, with an audible murmur of energy shooting through its multitude of systems.
He was Whisper once more.
"How does it feel?" Yune asked.
Whisper stood up as tall as he could in the cramped interior. He balled his fingers a few times and moved his arms to test the weight.
"Nice."
Yune handed Danny his foldable compound bow. "How did the preliminary tests of this contraption go?"
"Quite satisfactory. Wish I had this thing back in Kazinistan." Danny replied, taking the bow.
"Good. I added a compartment for it on the backpack, along with your G11 Incendiary rifle. There is also a quick release quiver of fifteen arrows as well. It will extend automatically as soon as you pull the bow out for use."
Whisper nodded, still adjusting to the new armor.
Orchid folded her arms, an odd half-smile on her lips. "I had heard about this technology, but to see it now is...underwhelming."
Yune looked hurt. He had actually said little to nothing to the new Peacemaker since they had left and the below-the-belt comment struck him hard, "What? Do you have any idea what you are looking at? This device is the most sophisticated suit of armor in the history of mankind. It is capable of−"
"−I'm sure you think the world is in need of a device like this, Doctor..." Orchid interrupted, nonplussed. "...but I assure you, it takes more than a fancy rig of titanium and Kevlar to make a true warrior."
"Danny is the finest soldier I have ever served with 'Private'. He has saved us all more times than I can−"
"It's okay, Doc." Whisper interrupted, his paper-thin voice filtered through the suit's external speakers. The Doctor was close to blowing a gasket and Whisper needed everyone to act as a team. "Orchid's opinions are her own and we should respect them, alright?"
Yune grumbled and returned to his desk. Danny walked over to stand in front of Orchid, balancing against the bulkhead as the aircraft made a soft course correction.
"I suppose now is as good as any time to get some details straight." In the armor, Danny stood six inches taller than the young sniper. She stared up at him, her eyes unimpressed at the armored warrior before her.
"By all means, Corporal."
"I've read your file." Whisper said. "The Colonel was right; you are an impressive soldier."
"Thank you." Her voice was completely neutral.
"But that's the problem, isn't it? You believe you don't need anyone else to help you. All of your previous CO's define you as rigid and uncompromising; traits that are counter to a team mentality."
Orchid's stone-faced expression hardened. "So what are you asking me, Corporal?"
"I'm asking you why you are here, Private. Why did you want to join the Peacemakers?"
"Your team is where the action is. I need to be near the action. I test myself every moment of every day−to make myself better. Good enough?"
Whisper regarded her for a moment before nodding. "Good enough. I just need to know that I can trust you out in the field, when the chips are down."
Orchid stared straight into the cold shell-like helmet, her eyes defensive. "I am loyal to my team, Corporal. You can trust me to do my job."
The moment hung between the two soldiers, thick as molasses.
"Regarding our mission," Orchid asked, folding her arms, "have you a plan on how we are to proceed?"
Whisper continued to test the suit's movements. He unsheathed the wrist blade in his right arm, checking that everything was as it should be.
"Oh I don't know," Danny answered, cockier than he really meant to sound, "Pay him a visit, man to armored soldier. Put the fear of god in him and get what we need."
It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize what Orchid thought of that idea.
Inside the suit, Danny smiled.
"Have any suggestions, Private?"
"Yes. The discotheque that our Mister Kutsenko owns and operates has nightly raves and, according to INTERPOL, gets more than its share of underhanded visitors."
"Underhanded?" Danny asked, not sure what Orchid meant by the word.
"Shady. Russian mob. Criminal elements within the city flock to Kutsenko, trying to get information on anything they may require. He sets absorbent prices for his time, but is−by all accounts−worth every penny."
"So what are you thinking?" Whisper asked, sheathing the blade.
"I suggest we make an earnest attempt to meet with him, face to face. We may be able to get the knowledge we need without any needless violence."
"Are you volunteering?"
The Japanese sniper nodded, "From all accounts, Mister Kutsenko is a ladies man, in the extreme. I think we can use that to get what we need, and not employ your team's standard mantra of shoot first, shoot later, shoot again and then ask questions."
Danny liked this woman.
"Alright Private, we play it your way. Run me through what you have in mind."
Chapter 13
Path to Ruin
Government District, Sadoma, Zimbala, November 24th
Titus scanned the tablet, his temper beginning to rise. The glare from the midday sun was making it difficult to see the screen, forcing him to shade it with his other hand. That miserable bastard Tiberius had slashed his reinforcements by half. Falco was overseeing the disbursement of the current shipment of troops at the captured airport that the Legate had decided to send. It equaled out to two companies of Legionnaires, one company of Centurions and two squads of Praetorians. He had also been told this would be the extent of reinforcements Olympus was willing to send for the duration of the Op. Titus had raged in an email that it was simply not enough to pacify the entire city, and the region beyond. Zimbala wasn't a large country, but the logistics of subjugating an entire people were, so far, beyond the PMC's capabilities.
Not everything was bad news. Tiberius had decided to send a unit of three prototype Gorgon-tanks. The new armored behemoths had to be airlifted via twin Chinook helicopters due to their girth. Weighing nearly sixty tons, the tanks were lined with obsidian-colored osmium armor plating, over top thick layers of reactive shielding. The armor was completely resistant to anything short of a one-hundred millimeter tank shell. At the top of the three meter high monstrosity was the pinnacle of Olympus engineering; a fully functional railgun. The seven pound gun was capable of firing an electro-magnetically charged projectile at nearly 11,000 feet-per-second. The tanks would be invaluable in rooting out the rebel forces from their well
dug hiding zones throughout the city.
When one was fighting a war for an inept dictator, you had to think overkill.
Titus passed the tablet to his assistant, a young Olympus clerk recruited from Academi less than a year ago. With Falco managing the cargo transfers, Titus needed someone he could bark his complaints to. He looked out at the main hub of Olympus operations in Sadoma; the Capitol building and surrounding area had been completely transformed into a veritable fortress zone. They had erected gabions around the complex, lined with razor wire, to deter any infiltration. Titus knew the rebels did not have the equipment or resources to mount an offensive that could pierce his defenses, but he would rather be safe than sorry.
"Mister Titus!"
The shout came from the direction of Capitol building. Titus didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Yes, Mister President!" He had to shout to be heard over the many vehicles and drones moving throughout the area. Coming towards the Tribune was David Musabe, flanked by a group of his ANDU soldiers. The President had to step carefully, as the constant movement of vehicles through the area had churned the once fertile lawn of the capitol complex into a lake of mud.
"Mister Titus! I need to speak to you immediately!"
"Of course Mister President, but as you can plainly see, I am quite busy fighting your war for you."
"Mister Triboon, I need to know what is being done about the cowards hiding in Hatfield. You have had over a week and I have seen no results on my purchase of your services!"
Titus stepped aside to allow a Cerberus drone to lurch past, on its way to the gate at the Capitol building entryway.
"I assure you, Mister President, plans are in motion to root out Muzenda and his rebels. We need to be prepared for any−"
"−I did not pay your army to sit and wait!" Musabe roared, losing what cool he had. "I want Muzenda found and his body flayed and left for the cockroaches to feed on!"
"A lovely image, Mister President. I assure you, it is only a matter of time." Titus turned to walk away.
"Time is something you do not have, Mister Triboon!"
Titus halted, his eyes flaring with dangerous rage. He took a breath and turned back to face the President.
"What are you saying, Mister President?"
Musabe walked to stand within a meter of Titus. The closeness of the fool President repulsed the Olympus heir.
"I am saying that if Donald Muzenda is not dealt with soon, my patience with your group will be at an end and your Imperator will be informed of your failure!"
A half-crazy idea of drawing his .45 and blowing the idiot fool's head off flashed through Titus's mind. He stayed calm, reminding himself that an argument was often lost when one became emotional.
"Mister President, I require that you hold your patience a little longer. My drone surveillance of the southern region of the city has given me several promising leads as to the rebellion headquarters. You must trust me a little longer."
"Triboon Titus," Musabe said, his mood abruptly changing to affable, "Time is an enemy to me. It is not a friend. If I am to retake my city and re-educate my people, you must do as I ask."
Without another word, the President turned on his heel and walked back to the Capitol building. Titus watched him go, wondering how many neurons it took in that pea brain to move those stubby legs. Shaking his head, he walked toward the makeshift command post the Olympus Legionnaires had built in the Capitol building parking lot. A simple popup-tent structure made from ceramic plastics, the Command Post was where all of Olympus's communications and surveillance equipment for this operation was kept.
He had to stall the President a little more. Project Prometheus had still not produced the adequate results the Imperator had desired and Titus would be damned if he was going to return to his father with empty hands.
A thought occurred to Titus as he entered the command post, saluting the guarding Centurions stationed at the door.
The President's impatience may actually serve Olympus's plans in this regard. But he would have to act quickly. If the President wanted results, Titus would give him results.
"Get me Octavia." Titus ordered the tech sitting at the radar monitoring station. His second in command was still at the Blacksite on the opposite end of the Northern District. It took the young man five seconds to patch the call through. He handed Titus a headset to speak with.
"I thought you might have forgotten about me." The smooth voice of his lover came through over the headset, sounding typically haughty.
"What is Prometheus's current condition?"
"We are still running tests. His last deployment was...extremely exerting for him. The Code has been overloading his neural pathways faster and faster."
"We have to step things up. Prepare the Alpha stage of the project."
"But it's too soon, we need the entire Code for−"
"Just do as I ask!" Titus shouted, louder than he had meant to.
Octavia's voice quivered with anger as she responded, "Of course, my Tribune. We will prepare Alpha stage at once."
"Octavia, I didn't mean to−"
Silence. She had hung up. Titus flung the headset against the monitoring station, where it bounced back and smacked the young tech in the face, cutting him slightly. The young man clasped his cheek, but made no further sound, lest he anger the Olympus Tribune.
"Sir," a tech called for Titus from the opposite end of the tent, apparently unafraid of the Tribune's foul mood, "There is something here I think you should see."
Titus attempted a calming breath, knowing his bursts of anger were bad for morale. He needed his men concentrated and alert.
"What is it?"
"This Tribune−" The tech pointed at the screen of his holographic gestural interface terminal. "−last night we lost two drones in Section D-1 of the downtown core. This was its final transmission."
Titus concentrated on the screen where the tech was pointing. The image showed a playback of the final moments of the drone's visual transmission. The Chimera aerial drones were completely automated, but required human surveillance in order for them to be truly effective. The cameras mounted to the wings of the drone beamed back virtual data of the battlefield to the techs, for tactical reference.
The image on the screen showed what appeared to be two men, running amidst a heavily bombed out street. One man wore a uniform similar to the SAS soldiers of Britain. He was dark-skinned, but did not resemble the far darker Zimbalan people, though Titus couldn't be one-hundred percent sure of that, due to the image quality.
The other man, the Tribune recognized immediately. Titus reached forward to pause the image replay.
It was Colonel Walsh's pet ex-mercenary.
Krieger.
There was no doubt about it. Titus recognized the long, unkempt hair; muscled, heavily tattooed arms and vague Arab ethnicity.
The Peacemakers were in Sadoma.
Titus's mind raced, trying to make sense of what this all meant. America had made no attempts to stop the invasion so far, its interests laying elsewhere for the time being. Why would they be here? What would they hope to do against the largest mobile force Olympus had ever assembled?
He stood back from the monitor, then made up his mind.
"Connect to Tiberius." The Tribune said. The Bluetooth communicator instantly uplinked to the Olympus communications relay system. In five seconds, he was in contact with the Legate of the PMC.
"This is Tiberius. Speak Tribune." The cold, authoritarian voice made the hair on Titus's neck stand up.
"We have...a problem."
"Another?"
"The Peacemakers are here in Zimbala."
There was a pause on the other line. "How do you know?"
"A drone discovered two of them in the downtown district. Didn't your contact at the CIA say they were disbanded?"
"My contacts are none of your business Tribune. You need to deal with them."
"Why would they be here?"
"
Why do you think? What is the only thing keeping us in that country?"
"...Musabe."
"Correct. America has sent the only deniable resource they possess capable of killing Musabe. They should not be underestimated. Protect the President with everything you have."
"Of course." Titus said.
"What is the state of Project Prometheus?"
"Excellent," Titus lied, "We're in fine shape. I will contact you when the Project is nearing completion."
"Keep me informed, Tribune. You have made no discernable advancements in that country. You have nearly thirty percent of our resources at your disposal. The Imperator is not pleased with your lack of progress."
"I will find and kill the Peacemakers, you have my word Commander. I will give my father results."
"See that you do, Tribune. Tiberius out."
Titus pulled the red beret off his head and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. It would only take a single match to light a powder keg, which would destroy his only chance at taking his rightful place among the leadership of this Company. It would not take much to ruin it all.
He had to make a noise. He had to prove that he was not scared to take a risk and show the true might of Olympus to the world. He would break this rebellion at the foundation. Shatter it utterly in a brash assault that would leave its leaders writhing in agony.
The President wanted results. Tiberius wanted results.
Titus would give them results...
And much, much more.
"Attention everyone!" Titus called out to the people in the tent. "I require all Prefects and Sub Commanders to meet at this tent in one hour. Suspend all other operations for the time being."
The order was contrary to everything the Olympus techs and analysts within the tent had been working on for the past week. No one knew how to react.
Titus made it easy for them.
"NOW!"
Everyone jumped at the young man's shout. They instantly began carrying out his order.
Titus was resolute. He was loathe to admit it, but Tiberius was right; he had been sitting on his hands. Trying to fight the war by the guerrilla rebel's tactics was getting him nowhere. He would strike and strike hard at the heart of the rebellion.
