The Last Spartan 1: Different Paths
Page 30
Aeneas’ dual gladii were faster than Xerxes’ spear but the hard exoskeleton of the Mantis made up for any weakness in his form. The Praetorian had been able to get several thrusts through his defenses but none were able to penetrate his carapace.
Xerxes was not a true warrior, never had been and never would be. But every Manatodea knows how to fight. Fighting is a way of life in the Colony. From the moment they are a hatchling to the day their path is chosen for them by the Queen, they must fight to survive. But even as stubborn as Xerxes was, he knew that he could not win this battle. Not unless something unexpected happened. Aeneas was too skilled with his blades and sooner or later, one of his attacks would pierce his carapace.
However, both of them paused in their battle when something or someone came hurling through the main entrance to the Grand Rotunda.
* * * * *
When DJ pulled the trigger on his Typhoon S10 Railgun and nothing happened, he knew at that precise moment that he was in serious trouble. His ammo counter still showed that he had five hundred and twenty three rounds so he knew it was a jam. This was a known flaw in the Typhoon S10, but with two very pissed off Galactic Marshals less than ten feet away, he did expect to have time to clear the jammed round.
He also didn’t expect them to tackle him nor did he expect them to be strong enough to knock him backward through the doorway he was guarding. But that was how he found himself tumbling down a flight of stairs.
One thing about the HAVOC-V suit, it was tough.
Somewhere in the spill, he’d lost his grip on the Typhoon but that didn’t matter, not with it being jammed anyway. DJ let the suit finish its fall down the stairs before trying to right himself. Already the suit’s AI was updating possible tangos throughout the room.
One part of him wanted to watch the amazing sword battle ranging on the far side of the room between his friend and the shadow covered swordsmen but when the two Galactic Marshals which had knocked him through the doorway stood up and pulled out short swords which sparked with energy, his attention was focused.
Grabbing the two swords Iaido had given him earlier, he thumbed on their power switched and prepared himself. Since he wasn’t a swordsman, he opted to treat them as really big knives, just like he said earlier. DJ held the both blades downward, running along his forearm and readied himself.
One of the first mistakes anyone who wears combat armor makes is thinking that they are wearing combat armor. Those that continue to think that way usually die. Combat armor, whether it was the ARC suits or the HAVOC-Vs are nothing more than an extension of the individual. When a person wears clothes, they really aren’t conscious of how the clothes slightly modify their walking or other actions, it happens naturally. The same could be said for a veteran of combat armor. Those who lived in a suit…who trusted a suit…who bled in a suit, eventually stopped thinking of it as a suit. It becomes just another set of clothes.
DJ was a veteran of combat armor and so, the seven foot suit of armor was just like a second skin to him. Granted, it was rather large and that was a few years ago but those worries fell into the category of rule number two.
Ever since DJ had been released from New Leavenworth, two simple rules had governed his life. Rule one, don’t sweat the small shit. Rule two, everything is small shit.
* * * * *
Talia was in a quandary.
She was a mystic, not a warrior. She was trained to heal and not harm. Yet, here she was bearing witness to an epic battle where the enemy had the upper hand. From her vantage point on the balcony, she could see that several of the wounded Marshals on the podium were moving. Not quickly but she could see them fumbling with their guns. She knew that they were in fact Praetorians and that meant against Iaido.
What to do? She had chosen the path to follow and aid the bounty hunter. Yet, her skills lie in knowledge and healing, not in battle. As always when she was uncertain of what to do, she reached for her Tarot cards, the tools of her trade and instruments of her faith. Knowing this wasn’t the proper place for a reading; she whispered the words of her prayer to the universe and drew one card.
She had expected it to be a card from the Major Arcana; the Tower, the Fool, the Chariot or any of the other ten cards. She knew that these tend to pop up when grave decisions abound. However, she was surprised to find a card from the Minor Arcana, the Two of Swords to be precise.
Talia had always found this to be one of the strangest images in the deck.
The card depicted a lone woman dressed in flowing white robes over chainmail armor riding a winged horse above a battlefield. Her arms were laid across her chest like a corpse at rest, while she tries to maintain a tenuous equilibrium by balancing the two swords against her shoulders. The sky is dark and cloudy above her, lit only by the crescent moon. This was the image of the Valkyrie, the chooser of the slain, but she was not allowed to see those fighting below or the moonlight since Odin had ordered her to be blindfolded.
Talia knew that whenever the Two of Swords appeared in a reading, it typically represented a difficult decision; a choice between two conflicting thoughts or ideas. Like the one she faced now; to act or to watch.
Talia glanced down and saw the Master Chief’s rifle. Somewhere inside herself, she heard Jay’s laughter and voice when he called her Annie Oakley and she knew at that moment what she had to do.
The rifle was much heavier than it looked but she lifted it with difficulty and moved it to the edge of the balcony. Setting it down, she took a moment and looked over the weapon. It only had four switches, three of which were clearly marked; power, release and safety. The trigger was self-explanatory.
Looking through the scope, Talia lined up the crosshairs on one of the Praetorians which had pulled himself upright on the podium. He was pointing his weapon at Xerxes and just waiting for a clear shot. Snuggling the butt of the rifle into her shoulder, Talia took a deep breath and blew it out.
Calmly, she squeezed the trigger.
* * * * *
Spike looked down at the dead body of his friend and cursed.
Ignoring the dead and their wounded in the other room, Lt. Kristopher helped Muncy into the bomb room before he rolled the corpse of the SWAT officer over and found that Sponge Bob had three holes in a perfect triangle center mass on his chest; right where Spike had shot him.
Not really knowing what to say, Kristopher opted for levity. “Nice grouping by the way.”
Spike pulled his eyes up and fixed them on his superior officer. He opened and closed his mouth several times but nothing came out.
Officer Muncy, whose nickname was Butterfingers as a pun due to his occupation and for his fondness for sweets, glanced up from the explosive that he was dismantling and said, “Karma is a bitch!”
Ernspiker snapped his attention to the bomb tech and grinned. “You know…I hadn’t thought of that. I guess now we’re even.”
Kristopher said, “It will all be a moot point if you don’t disarm that bomb.”
Spike moved over to the tech and asked, “Anything I can help you with Butterfingers?”
Muncy nodded and nudged a toolkit at his feet. “Get me out a number two ratchet and a pair of snips.”
“Sure thing.”
Spike bent down and froze. A blinking red light on a cone-shaped metal object caught his attention. Shifting his position, he saw that the blinking light was actually a countdown timer in red LEDs. Spike swallowed hard before saying, “El-tee. Would you look at this?”
Leaning down, Kristopher almost fainted when he saw the nuclear warhead.
“Oh shit…”
Chapter 36
If the battle in the Grand Rotunda was chaotic before it was utter pandemonium now.
There was the crack of a rifle fire from above and one of the Praetorians that had been still alive on the podium flew backwards with a fist sized hole in his chest. Unfortunately he had been squeezing the trigger on his disruptor at the same time and still got a shot off before he died. That shot w
ent wide of its mark and blew a hole in the floor at Xerxes’ feet which in turn caused him to stumble.
Which was all the opening Aeneas needed to hammer home a deadly thrust. His gladius entered the Mantodea’s carapace just below the joint of his left forearm. Xerxes flinched and fell to the side, dropping his silver spear. Aeneas pulled free his sword and paused to look around before moving in for the kill.
He could see that two of his Praetorians were battling an armored human in a HAVOC suit. This must be the Marine Achilles had warned him about. Speaking of the twins, Aeneas turned around quickly to try and find his deadly brothers.
Achilles and Hector were still battling about fifty feet away. They were like two waves crashing against each other; one would attack while the other gave ground only to counterattack immediately. It was mesmerizing. After watching them for all of twenty seconds, Aeneas knew that Hector had been right. There was no way that he could’ve stood toe to toe with either of them. It was a bitter pill to swallow knowing that someone was more deadly than you. But with them occupied, he still had ample time to complete his mission.
Stepping up to the injured mantis, Aeneas raised his swords high and prepared to end the life of the troublesome bug. That was until the silver-tipped spear went through his back and out his chest. Aeneas stared down at the offensive shard of metal that was now protruding from his torso and tried to figure out where it came from. For some reason, it just didn’t make sense.
As his lifeblood poured from the wound, he dropped both swords since he no longer had the strength to hold them and turned to face his killer. Of all the people in this room, seeing the General holding the other end of the spear was the greatest shock.
He opened his mouth to say something profound but his throat was full of blood. He coughed once, gurgled something unintelligible and died.
* * * * *
DJ was surprised that he was holding his own against the two Marshals. Of course, they had both scored a dozen hits but the armor of the HAVOC-V was still holding up. Suit integrity was below fifty percent but holding steady. Both Marshals were injured but they were more skilled with their blades than he was and it was only a matter of time before they scored a hit that the suit couldn’t take. DJ circled left. It had been a struggled to keep the two Marshals in front of him. He couldn’t afford to have one in front and one behind, so he had to keep moving with his attacks to keep the Praetorians guessing.
Outnumbered and out of options, DJ decided to try something unorthodox.
He knew going in that it was a life or death solution. It was all on the roll of a dice. Either this worked and he won or it didn’t and he was dead.
Seeing the two Marshals almost directly in front of him, DJ highlighted them with a flick of his eye and a thought. The twin rocket launchers on his shoulders homed in on their targets. With a double blink of his eyes, he emptied the six rockets he had left in the tubes, three from each side. The first rockets slammed into the floor of the Grand Rotunda at almost the same time the last ones fired.
DJ felt the explosions all the way to the core of his bones and knew he was flying backwards. But the explosion had either knocked out his systems or he was dead…either way he had no idea of the outcome of his little trick since all he saw and knew was darkness.
* * * * *
Lt. Kristopher flinched involuntarily when he heard those explosions. The floor rattled with the concussions and dust fell from the ceiling. Picking up his dropped screwdriver he asked, “How’s it going up there?”
Muncy leaned over and wiped the sweat off his forehead the best he could given the delicate situation he found himself in. He had nearly jerked the wire out of the bomb casing when those explosions went off above his head.
“I have the timer free from the case and I’m nearly through to the primer. How about you?”
Kristopher nearly laughed at the situation. Here he was wedged between ten barrels of what they believed to be the Mars Virus and his only qualified bomb tech was disarming a proton bomb while he tried to crack the case of a century old nuclear bomb. “Just peachy.” Since he was in a very awkward position, he couldn’t see the timer he had to ask, “Time?”
Spike had nothing else to do except watch the two clocks countdown toward his death. At least they were on the same time. “One minute and fifty two seconds.”
Kristopher muttered to no one in particular. “This is going to be close.”
* * * * *
Athena and Pax had no idea what was going on inside the Hall of Justice and at this precise moment, they only partially cared. Their concern was the five missiles homing in on them and the flight of Coalition Dragons vectoring in on an intercept course. Not to mention the dozen Galactic Marshal skimmers still on their tail.
Both girls knew that if they broke orbit from around the building, they would have a fighting chance but with Iaido inside, they weren’t leaving. Even after the pairing of their matrixes by Jay, Pax had remained the logical and practical AI personality. As Diana, she had almost always responded emotionally. While Athena seemed to have gained a more pragmatic and sensible outlook but if staying meant their destruction, then stay they would.
Pax said, “Ten seconds until impact.”
Athena said nothing but nodded to her unseen sister. Nothing needed to be said between the two.
When the five missiles shifted course at the last seconds to explode on the leading five Galactic Marshal skimmers, both were at a loss for words. Then a voice came over the radio that answered their questions and unspoken prayers.
“To all vessels in the vicinity of New Atlanta, be advised that the charter with the Galactic Marshals has been revoked by Executive Order twenty-two thirty-one. All Galactic Marshals are hereby ordered to cease and desist any and all operations on Terra. Any hostile act, or action suspected to be hostile, toward any citizen of the Coalition will be met with overwhelming force.”
It was obvious that one of the remaining Galactic Marshals had keyed up his mic and wanted to argue the point. “We are in the process of apprehending a known fugitive and are operating within the parameters of our charter.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. Your charter has been revoked by executive order. You have no authority on Terra. Power down and land your craft.”
“So you say. Who is this?” the Marshal asked.
“This is Chief…I mean, Ensign Ed Brockbank…call sign Tinman of the newly reformed Coalition Air Group SE55 – the Screaming Eagles.”
“Well Tinman, I don’t recognize your authority….”
Whatever he was going to say died with him as Tinman and his flight of Dragons lit up the sky with missiles. In seconds, the only ships in the air around the Hall of Justice were three NAPD skimmers, the Nemesis and the five Coalition Dragons.
“Tinman to Nemesis, come in Nemesis.”
Athena keyed her mic. “This is the Nemesis, how can we help you Tinman?”
“Just checking on your condition. Sorry for our delay in getting here.”
Athena stammered for a second before answering, “No worries on our end. We’re just happy you arrived in time. How can we ever repay you?”
“No need ma’am. We’re just returning the favor you once showed us.”
Both Pax and Athena were at a loss since he was referring to the time in the asteroid belt and that was when they were both damaged. Athena realized that it must’ve happened during her ‘dark times’ which is how she had started classifying anything that happened during the time between Diana’s memories and her own.
“Either way Tinman, I would like to buy you a beer someday.”
“It’s a date. How about next Friday on Starbase Alpha? That’s where we are billeted now.”
Athena smiled. “If I can make it, I’ll be there. I have to check with my boss first.”
A different voice broke into their conversation. “Dragon leader, this is Lt. Robert Brown of the NAPD SWAT-Six.”
“Go for Tinman.”
“Roger that El-tee. We have orders to remain in overwatch until this situation is resolved.”
“Ten-four Tinman.”
“Good hunting El-tee…just remember, don’t bunch up.”
Lt. Brown chuckled slightly on the radio before adding, “Roger that!”
Athena watched as the SWAT skimmer nosed up to what was left of the thirtieth floor and the officers disembarked. She glanced at the chronometer on the upper left corner of the Nemesis’ HUD. It showed less than two minutes. This time had been calculated on their best guess as to when the Major’s GOTH bombs would go off. She knew that they could be off by several minutes either way.
One way or the other this was going to be over soon.
* * * * *
DJ’s gamble had paid off…kind of. The two Praetorians he’d been fighting were nothing but bits of flesh and bone and not really much of that. However, the concussion and flying shrapnel covered the entire room. Unfortunately, a softball size piece of the marble floor struck Achilles in the back of the leg causing him to stumble.
Hector didn’t pass up this opportunity. Sidestepping and rebounding off the nearby wall, Hector spun in the air and caught Iaido with a wicked thrust through his lower abdomen.
Iaido flinched with the wound and tried to roll out of it. He instinctively knew that the gash wasn’t fatal but left untreated, he would bleed out within a quarter hour. The ten inch long laceration also caused Iaido to drop one of his blades and brought him to his knees.
Hector paused in his attacks and stalked back and forth like a caged lion. “So brother, it ends here.”
“Really? Does that mean you’re going to surrender?”
With a puzzled look, Hector furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean? You’re beaten. You know it and I know it.”
“You really don’t get it do you?”
“Get what? I won. I beat you.”