by Jim Roberts
The inside of the tank was extremely tight, but able to seat about six people uncomfortably.
"Get this thing started, will you?" Joe said as he thumbed the safety on his M4 and set it down.
"Do I look like Olympus gearhead?" Krieger said, pressing every button and switch he could. "Hold horses!"
Joe winced as he felt several bullets impact into the armor of the tank. "We have thirty seconds before every Centurion out there surrounds and grenades us back to the stone age!"
Krieger fumbled with the controls for another few seconds. With a loud rumble, the tank powered on. The Russian let out a howl.
"Can you drive this thing?" Brick asked, clutching his wounded arm.
"There is no vehicle I cannot drive, tovarisch!"
"Well hurry up and figure it out, we need to pick up Rourke!"
Rather than the typical viewfinder used by most tanks, this beast used a large holographic interface that provided a three-dimensional view of the area to the immediate front of the tank. Joe could see the Centurions moving away; smartly not wanting to be in the path of a marauding tank.
"Alright, I think I have it!" Joe watched as Krieger pressed down on what must have been the gas pedal, because at that moment the tank rumbled forward.
The comm in Joe's ear buzzed.
"Uhh, you guys aren't buggin' out without me, are you?"
Rourke.
Joe thumbed the comm unit. "Rourke, we're in one of the Olympus tanks. Meet us south-southeast of the compound."
"Copy that!"
Joe heard the sound of bullets impacting the side of the tank. He checked on his team quickly while Krieger maneuvered the machine of war to make a direct line out of the Olympus compound. Sarah had torn away a part of her T-shirt and was patching Brick's arm as carefully as possible. Jade sat to the side of Joe, eye's wide.
All in all, Joe was amazed they had made it this far.
If their luck could hold just a little longer.
* * *
DAVID MUSABE was dead.
Titus stood over the President's body, his mind exploding with rage. Everything was finished. After his men had finally managed to call the elevator to the lobby, Titus had reached the top floor only to find his fate sealed in the death of Musabe. Olympus now had no legal reason to be in the country. He would have to somehow explain to Tiberius how he, Titus, son of the Imperator, allowed the most important man in their plan to be killed by a group of terrorists.
"Tribune Titus," The Centurion on his right spoke up, clutching a hand to his helmet, "I have a report from down in the courtyard. The intruders have commandeered one of the Gorgon tanks and are attempting to exit the compound!"
"What?" Titus spun towards the soldier. He rushed over to the perpendicular glass skylight and looked down. Sure enough, one of the new railgun equipped tanks was moving away from the motorcade. "Order all Cerberus drones to block its path. That tank must not be allowed to exit this compound, understood?"
The Centurion nodded. "Yessir!"
Titus saw exactly what the group of heroes had attempted. They'd slid down the entire Plexiglas side of the building to the motorcade below.
If they can do it, so can I!
It would take far too long to go via the elevator. Titus had sat on his hands far too long. He knew his father would kill him for certain for his failure. Titus would be damned if he was going to go to his grave alone.
Without another thought, he leapt out into the night and slid on both feet down the Plexiglas. Placing a hand out to balance himself, he managed to make it the entire way without falling−an impressive feat, even for him. He watched the massive tank pivot wildly as it headed to the west side of the compound.
With little effort at all, he leapt over the side of the guardrail and landed on the asphalt of the motorcade. He made a quick check of the area...
And saw Octavia.
She was splayed out on the raised platform, directly in front of the door.
Titus's blood froze white.
His enemy forgotten, the Tribune rushed up onto the platform and bent down over her crumpled form.
She had been shot at least three times. Thick, viscous blood pooled around her prone form. Titus lifted her into his arms. A line of blood seeped from a bullet entry point in her forehead. Her once luscious brown hair was matted with clots of blood. Her eyes were half open, staring vacantly out at nothing.
Dead.
She wasn't even armed.
They had executed her like a common criminal.
Titus held her in his arms, burying his face into Octavia's bloody locks. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that it was all a terrible nightmare. He moved his hand down her face, closing her eyes forever. Titus laid her body on the cement platform as gently as he could.
Standing to his full height, he clenched his fists.
Hatred burned through his body like a tempest of flame.
There were still two Gorgon tanks in the motorcade. Without a second thought, Titus rushed to the nearest one and leapt on top. He pulled open the hatch and dropped in. Powering up the beast of war, he gunned the engine hard. The tank jolted forward up and out into the courtyard. On the Heads-up-Display in front of him, he saw the enemy tank smash through one of the Cerberus drones, tossing the eight-foot machine aside like it weighed no more than a rag doll.
The Tribune began the charging process for the tank's railgun, a procedure that usually required at least five full minutes to draw power from the fusion reactor.
Nothing would stop him now. He had literally nothing left to lose.
* * *
KRIEGER SLAMMED through the HESCO barrier at forty miles an hour. Everyone in the machine was jostled by the impact. The gabion ripped apart, shredding itself open against the might of the sixty tonne tank.
"I have got to get me one of these, my friend!" Krieger roared in delight as he maneuvered the tank towards the yellow building where Rourke would be waiting. Joe stood up and popped the hatch. He had to squint as he looked towards the east, as the early rays of morning peeked through the inky black sky.
His heart skipped a beat.
From behind them, a tank identical to their own was rushing through the courtyard.
"Ah hell! We have company!"
Forgetting the chase tank for the moment, Joe turned back towards the yellow building. He keyed his comm.
"Rourke, where the hell are you?"
"I'm on my way now!"
Joe had to squint in the relative darkness, but he soon spotted the SEAL, running full speed from his sniping position in the yellow house. Following closely behind Rourke was the mutt, Bowser. The dog ran quickly, his long pink tongue dangling loosely as he followed his temporary master.
Krieger maneuvered the tank westbound down the avenue. When Rourke was within fifty feet of the tank, Joe shouted down into the cab. "Stop! He's almost here!"
The tank slammed to an abrupt halt. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, Joe moved out of the hatch to help the SEAL. Rourke picked Bowser up and hoisted him onto the armored skirt of the tank before grabbing Joe's hand. In another twenty seconds, both were inside the tank. The mangy dog leapt into Brick's lap, to the chagrin of the stoic soldier.
"Alright Krieger, due south, now!" Joe shouted, closing the hatch behind him. He awkwardly moved past Jade to sit in the co-pilot seat of the Olympus tank.
"Okay, everyone hang on to butts, as they say!" The Russian gunned the engine. The tank powered forward, going from zero to fifty in less than five seconds.
Joe flicked his comm on, "Colonel, this is Joe, do you read?"
No answer.
"Colonel, if you can hear me, we are on our way, repeat we are on our way!"
Chapter 31
Mad Defense
The Barbarian, Two Miles Due South of Sadoma, November 26th
The first thing Walsh felt upon waking was pain in every part of his body. The second thing he felt was a heavy weight on top of him.
A body.
>
Walsh coughed violently as he pushed the copse of Peter Atkinson off of him. The brave kid had tried to shield the Colonel as the Barbarian hit the ground after being shot from the sky like a seagull. Walsh set the poor kid down on the metal floor of the aircraft and stood up, looking around.
He almost wished he had died in the crash.
The entire aft section of the Barbarian had broken away, leaving the whole aircraft split open like a cooked lobster. Fires blazed throughout the cabin and outside of the aircraft along the half mile crash zone beyond. Scattered throughout the remains of the cabin were bodies of at least a dozen Peacemaker technicians. Their lifeless corpses had been jostled out of their secure seats during the crash, causing them to be bounced around the cabin violently like ping pong balls.
Walsh himself felt a terrible pain in the left side of his waist. He reached down and clutched it. As he withdrew his hand, he saw it was covered in blood. He also felt a wicked gash on his forehead and he could barely stop himself from hacking and coughing.
God damn.
The terrifying whine of Hyperions sent a chill down Walsh's back. They weren't out of this yet. Not by a long shot.
The Code!
Walsh's eyes went immediately to the large container built into the hull of the aircraft. Although Doctor's Yune's desk had been completely pulverised during the crash, the Code safe was, predictably, undamaged.
The survivors of the crash began to slowly come to. Moans of wounded men and women filled the cabin. Walsh helped a nearby tech onto his feet.
"Everyone who can fight, arm yourselves!" Walsh shouted above the cries of pain. "Olympus is coming any minute to take the Code. They'll have it over my goddamn dead body!"
The Barbarian's armory lockup had been tilted upside down during the crash. Walsh grabbed two technicians to help him pull it right side up. With no time to bother finding the right key to open it, Walsh pulled his Colt Python from its holster and shot the lock off. The technicians immediately began passing out weapons to any survivor capable of wielding one.
"Try and find what cover you can! We need to hold out as long as possible. Olympus absolutely must not get the Code!"
Walsh did a quick head count. There were at least two dozen able bodied men and women left alive. They were all mostly techies and mechanics, but Walsh had made certain all members of the Peacemakers were fully qualified with rifles and handguns before joining the Unit. They were far from trained soldiers, but in a pinch, they would throw down and fight for their lives.
As soon as the last tech had grabbed a weapon, Walsh picked up one for himself; an RPG-7. Even though the Colonel was long past his prime, he would be damned if he asked these people to fight for their lives and not join them in what was assuredly a final stand for the Peacemaker Unit.
In the corn field beyond the torn away hull of the gutted Barbarian, Walsh could see the searchlights of the incoming Hyperions. The lead aircraft hovered for a moment several hundred feet away, shining its searchlight directly into the ruined cabin of the C-17. From the hovering VTOL, a voice belted out on a loudspeaker.
"This is the Olympus PMC! You will give yourselves up immediately. You will not be harmed as long as you do not attempt to attack! You have to the count of ten to lay down your arms and exit the aircraft!"
Walsh let them know what he thought of that order. Pushing the techs out of the way in front and behind him, the Colonel raised the RPG and took aim at the hovering VTOL.
"Take your peace and shove it up your ass!"
The rocket-propelled grenade shot from the launcher with a loud bang, ignited and screamed toward the VTOL. The amazingly maneuverable Hyperion made a fast adjustment and the rocket zinged past, narrowly missing the obsidian aircraft's hull.
"Damn!" Walsh said, lowering the weapon to reload it. The VTOL gained altitude and moved out of sight of the Colonel's men. However Olympus planned to attack them, it would be soon.
Walsh could only pray Joe had heard their SOS, because very soon, they would be in for the fight of their lives.
* * *
FALCO ORDERED the Hyperion lead aircraft to land due north of the downed C-17. His plan was to advance upon the aircraft with his Centurion forces, with each man being assigned a ballistic shield, as there was little natural cover in the corn field. They would advance on the exterior of the aircraft, kill all those that resisted and retrieve the Code.
As the Hyperion landed, Falco exited the VTOL, followed by a squad of a dozen Centurions.
The old war horse was ready. His armor was as tough as his warrior's hide. He would prove to his young master he was no forgotten soldier.
"All units, advance!"
Together, the additional squads of Centurions from the other landed Hyperions' began to march towards the aft section of the crashed C-17.
None would be spared.
Olympus would have its day.
Chapter 32
A Blitz for the Ages
Downtown District, Sadoma
Titus gripped the controls of the Gorgon tank so tightly, his hands went pale white from the strain. If it was the last thing he did, he would send this group of interfering terrorists straight to hell.
Octavia. They killed Octavia.
The tribune ground his teeth together as he followed the target tank using the holographic heads-up-display. A signal from the offensive weaponry system told Titus the railgun was online.
Finally.
Titus aligned a firing solution upon the target, using the holographic targetting display in front of him. It took a moment to lock on, due to the breadth of the debris from the downtown district blocking his way. He was about to fire when the enemy tank made an immediate turn, disappearing behind a ten story office complex.
Oh no...you can't hide from me!
Titus squeezed the trigger. The entire tank shook as the massive railgun fired its electromagnetically charged bolt at 5200 miles an hour. He saw the blast rip into the complex, tearing out the foundation completely. In another second, the whole structure broke apart and collapsed in on itself, crumpling down with incredible force. The area was obscured by clouds of debris. Titus activated the infrared imaging.
He'd missed. He saw his enemy rushing past the demolished building, barely slowing down.
No matter. He still had more where that came from. The Peacemaker fools had no idea how to properly operate the tank. He could afford to take his time.
Titus was about to fire again when the proximity alert on the HUD warned Titus of an incoming bogie. He expanded the field of view on the holographic image. In a moment, he saw it.
Prometheus.
The super soldier was leaping behind his tank, bounding around the structures of the bombed out district like an embattled angel.
Titus held back a moment to see what the lunatic cyborg was planning. He swore to himself that if he got a good shot, he would destroy the failure of Olympus technology once and for all. The godforsaken piece of garbage had failed him in every way possible.
The cyborg leapt high into the air. If its arc of descent was right, Prometheus would be coming down directly on top of him. Relying on the Gorgon tank's extraordinary sideways maneuverability, Titus gunned the engine, pulling hard to the right. The cyborg missed his target, landing directly beside the tribune's tank.
Titus didn't waste a minute.
He slammed the steering column as hard left as he could. He felt the sixty tonne tank smash full on into the dark cyborg. He drove the tank hard against the side of a collection of strip malls, grinding Prometheus brutally against the concrete and rebar.
But it wasn't enough.
The external camera system, designed to display any exterior threats that may be climbing on the outside of the tank, showed the obsidian super soldier holding onto the left side of the Gorgon tightly, the red katana gripped in his right hand.
Titus swore violently and swung the tank once more as hard as he could into the concrete buildings. He saw Prometheus
leap onto the tank right before the iron behemoth plowed into the buildings. The cyborg held on to the metal skirt of the Gorgon with his free hand, while angling the katana downwards.
Immediately, Titus knew what Prometheus intended to do. He had a fraction of a second to move out from his seat before the ultra-sharp red blade pierced through the osmium armor of the tank. The blade gouged deeply into the heads-up-display system; shorting out the tank controls in one fell swoop.
Uncontrolled, the tank rushed forward and slammed hard into an escarpment. Titus was thrown forward hard, slamming his head against the damaged control panel.
The red blade abruptly disappeared−yanked back through the top of the tank by its wielder. Titus had the sudden feeling that this was the end, his attempt at vengeance cut short by a failed Olympus experiment.
But the death blow never came. He heard the sound of iron boots moving on top of the tank suddenly push themselves off, as if the cyborg had just leapt away, satisfied the tank had been crippled.
Titus pulled himself up, checking the HUD. The blade had heavily damaged the interior of the tank. The holographic display was barely operable, flickering wildly.
However, it was working just enough to show him the form of Prometheus, bounding away through the downtown like a grasshoper in the direction of the Peacemakers.
He thought for a moment of letting the failed cyborg kill the cretins for him.
No. They are mine!
Titus relayed a communiqué through the comm system. "This is Tribune Titus to all Olympus forces in Zimbala. We are engaged in battle with CIA forces currently in possession of the Code of War. A stolen Gorgon tank is heading south towards the district of Hatfield. Intercept and destroy." Then he remembered one last thing, "Also, send a Hyperion to...position 232 mark 512. I require immediate pickup!"
