Peter Savage Novels Boxed Set

by Dave Edlund

  A flicker of curiosity attenuated with concern flashed across Jim’s face, and Ming noticed.

  “We tried a great many viruses with years of trial and error before finally finding the right one.”

  Jim swallowed. He fought a growing fear of what Ming was about to reveal next.

  “We injected it into human test subjects and transformed them.” Then he laughed, hard and long.

  “You see, Commander… my soldiers… are not men. They are a previously unknown species! A genetic hybrid between Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis. What Nature could not achieve, I have done!”

  Disgusted and horrified, Jim was reminded of Mary Shelley’s novel. “You’re as mad as Dr. Frankenstein.”

  “I am a genius, the likes of which the world has never known.”

  Jim narrowed his eyes, already thinking ahead and trying to understand Ming’s motive, and goals.

  “Why… why do this? Last I heard the Chinese army wasn’t suffering a lack of recruits.”

  “You stupid little man. This has nothing to do with the PLA. I used them to fund my research. But I had other plans.”

  “It doesn’t matter if your Homothals are tough; they still die when shot. And Americans never run out of bullets. That’s something even you should know.”

  “You think small. This is not about simply engineering a superior warrior, although that I have accomplished.” He flashed another disingenuous smile.

  Jim thought for a moment, but it still didn’t make sense. He had to keep Ming talking. He’d try a different angle.

  “You don’t know who I work for, do you?”

  Ming lifted an eyebrow at Jim, and flicked his fingers. The Homothal slackened the pressure on the knife at Jim’s throat.

  Jim pushed further, trying to trigger doubt and paranoia in Ming’s mind. “China and the U.S. are no longer the rivals we once were. I could be assisting the PLA.”

  “Are you?” Ming asked, directly to the point.

  Jim ignored the question.

  “So what’s your angle Ming? Are you planning to advertise in Soldier of Fortune magazine that you’re selling super mercenaries to the highest bidder? I have to admit it… you do have a polished sales pitch, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a half dozen or so dictators scattered across the world who would pay very well for these Homothals. Is that why you are here in Sudan? Working out a deal with the madmen in Khartoum? Are you merely a capitalist at heart?”

  “You Americans… you can’t grasp the real opportunity.”

  “I have to give you credit, Ming. It sounds like a good plan to me. What do you figure to net… a hundred million, maybe a hundred fifty million dollars before your freaks are exterminated?”

  “Who did you send that message to, Commander Nicolaou?”

  Jim didn’t answer.

  “If you do not tell me what I want to know you will suffer a most horrible death, I can assure you.”

  “I’m dead either way.”

  Ming stared into Jim’s eyes for a long minute and found the answer he was looking for. The Commander was not going to reveal where he sent the transmission.

  Colonel Ming sighed, and his shoulders drooped ever so slightly. “You are a determined man, Commander—a determined, foolish man. The Homothals are more like a wild pack of wolves than they are men. I have seen them tear a weaker comrade limb to limb and then devour the flesh while the muscles were still twitching. They show a preference for fresh meat, even though we have tried to grow them accustomed to prepared food.

  “Still, sometimes we allow them the pleasure of hunting a few… primates, shall we say? They seem to enjoy… playing with their food. I think you know what I mean… yes? It helps to keep them excited about going into battle against the rebel factions in this wasteland.”

  “Is that what you call half-starved refugees—primates? You’re a sick bastard, Ming.” This time Wong slammed the butt of his assault rifle into Jim’s stomach. As he doubled over, the Homothal pulled back the knife to avoid cutting through his carotid artery.

  Ming chuckled. “They are worthless, a blight on human kind. No one really cares about them. The U.N. and Western countries don’t even try to stop us. What has your country done, hmm? Americans spout strong words, but there is no conviction behind those words. I can kill as many refugees as I wish, yet no one even tries to stop me. No one cares what happens in Africa.”

  “You think the genocide in Darfur has gone unnoticed?” Jim rasped out after catching his breath again.

  “And exactly what has the U.S. or Europe done?”

  Jim locked eyes with Ming. “I am going to kill you, Ming.” His voice was solid, confident, authoritative. The way the words were spoken, the message cut through Ming’s ego, bringing him to a pause. Should he fear this man before him?

  “I shall learn who you sent the communication to when we complete the satellite signal trace. Goodbye, Commander,” Ming said, dismissing Jim.

  He then turned to Lieutenant Li, who was silently awaiting his orders. “Lieutenant Li. How hungry would you say our Homothals are?”

  Chapter 33

  Darfur

  June 14 0515 hours

  Homer manned the Dillon minigun. With a full ammunition box fed into the weapon system, he was ready for the expected charge. Ghost, Bull, and Magnum spread out and took up supporting defensive positions with overlapping fields of fire.

  Bull had stabilized Ethan—he suffered a serious concussion accompanied by bruises and lacerations to his face. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut. He was still unconscious and Bull kept him heavily medicated to ease the pain. Without an X-ray, Bull could not be sure if Ethan had one or more broken facial bones.

  The rest of the new recruits fared better. Todd and Gary had been knocked out, and Todd was short two teeth from the upward blow to his chin. Peter had taken a serious beating but managed to get away with only bruises to his ribs, throat, and face. Still, Bull had to use smelling salts to bring him completely around.

  “Something don’t seem right.” Bull mumbled to no one in particular. The shooting up on the ridge had ended abruptly almost fifteen minutes ago—plenty of time for Boss Man and Coyote to rejoin the team.

  Bull moved close to Homer. “We’re going up to see what the hell is keeping Boss Man and Coyote. They should have been here by now.”

  Speaking into his throat mic, Bull explained the ad hoc plan to Ghost and Magnum. “Keep a sharp eye out and be ready for another flanking maneuver.”

  The two soldiers cautiously climbed to the twin boulders where they had recovered the wounded men. Using those boulders for protection, Bull slowly peered around at Boss Man’s and Coyote’s last known position. There were several bodies scattered across the ridge top. He studied the terrain for a long minute before finally seeing the inert body with the American uniform.

  “Shit!”

  “What is it?” Homer asked.

  “We have a man down. From here I can’t tell if it’s Coyote or Boss Man.”

  Bull looked again, and not seeing any sign of enemy movement, he slid swiftly around the boulder and dashed toward the prone body. Homer kept close behind, still scanning for the enemy.

  As he closed the distance, Bull realized the body was Coyote. Boss Man was nowhere to be seen. Kneeling next to Coyote, it was clearly evident that he had been shot in the head at close range—a pool of blood and gore covered the ground where his head lay. There was no need to check vital signs.

  “Damn it!”

  There was nothing for Homer to say out loud as he lowered his head and offered a silent prayer. Although Coyote was the newest member of the team, he was well liked.

  “Where’s Boss Man?” Homer wondered.

  Quickly looking around, Bull answered, “I don’t know. His body isn’t here. He may still be alive.”

  The two men began examining the physical evidence left in the sandy dirt. There were a lot of boot prints indicating a scuffle, and a great many shell casing
s, mostly from the weapons Boss Man and Coyote had used.

  Bull ventured an interpretation of what had occurred. “Looks like they captured Boss Man and killed Coyote in the process. They fought hard; Boss Man wouldn’t give up unless he had no choice.”

  Homer looked around again and noted the dead Homothals. “They killed a bunch of bad guys. Probably not enough of a force left to carry the attack forward to our camp.”

  Bull kneeled down and raised Coyote’s lifeless body to his shoulder. He was a fellow Devil Dog, and Bull felt a personal obligation to retrieve his body. With a grunt, he rose and turned beginning the trek back down to camp. Never leave a fallen comrade, that’s what he was taught in basic training and that was the promise of each SGIT soldier to their teammates.

  “We’re coming back,” he radioed to the remaining team back at camp so as to avoid an accidental shooting.

  Ghost replied, “Are Boss Man and Coyote alright?”

  There was a pause before Bull could answer. When he did, his answer was short and to the point. “No.”

  Ghost knew well enough not to press the issue. Whatever had happened on the ridge, it wasn’t good.

  As Bull and Homer neared the camp Ghost could make out a large object on Bull’s right shoulder, but it wasn’t until they had entered camp that Ghost and Magnum realized Coyote was dead.

  Bull gently and respectfully laid Coyote’s body down as Homer stoically retrieved a body bag from their gear on the mule. The team gathered around the body and afforded as much dignity as possible given the circumstances. Together, the two men zipped the bag closed.

  “He was a good man,” Homer said.

  “What about Boss Man?” Magnum asked.

  Bull shook his head. “He’s not there.”

  Homer continued the explanation. “They put up a hell of a fight from the looks of it. I’d say they ran out of ammunition and were overrun. Coyote was killed. Boss Man must have been captured. We recovered his weapon.”

  “There’s only one place he can be—at that compound he infiltrated earlier.”

  “The tracks lead in that direction, back down off the ridge,” Homer agreed.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Ghost asked. “Let’s go get him.”

  “Slow down,” Bull cautioned. “We don’t know what we could be walking into. We need a plan.”

  “The plan is simple,” Magnum barked, his voice raised. “We walk into that compound, shoot anyone who tries to stop us, find Boss Man, and leave.”

  “No, it’s not that simple,” Bull countered. “We have orders to follow, or have you forgotten?”

  “We have a responsibility to retrieve Boss Man, or have you forgotten that?”

  “I don’t need you or anybody else reminding me of our duty to each other.”

  Ghost joined in. “I agree with Magnum. I say we take the Dillon down there and turn that compound into Swiss cheese.”

  “Well, I don’t really care what you say. This isn’t a Democracy. Boss Man put me in charge in his absence. And until I give you an order to the contrary, we stay put!”

  From the fringe, Peter listened closely to the unexpected friction. He didn’t care to involve himself in office politics if he could avoid it. Yet it appeared that the SGIT professionalism only went so far when faced with the uncertain status of their missing commander.

  “Look, save your fight for down there,” Peter interrupted, referring to the occupants of the secret facility below the ridge.

  Collectively the SGIT team turned their eyes toward Peter. “Who asked you? You’re not part of this team,” Ghost said.

  “Back off,” Bull ordered. “He’s fought with us and he’s bled with us.”

  Ghost shifted his focus back to Bull, who offered an olive branch. “We are going to rescue Boss Man,” Bull said. “But first we are going to put together a plan to ensure our success. The minigun will never make it to the compound, the batteries on the mule are nearly drained after the climb up this ridge.

  “Our biggest problem is we can’t say for sure where he’s being held, assuming he’s even alive.”

  “He’s alive,” Peter interrupted with a determination that had no rational backing. “Jimmy the Greek is too tough and too stubborn to die.” The soldiers looked toward Peter, surprised to hear the emotion in his voice.

  “My friends and I can get you in. Once inside, the rest is up to you and your team.”

  Bull wasn’t impressed. “Since when did you three become super soldiers?”

  “You need our help. You’re down two men. We can do this.”

  Bull thought for a minute, and then an idea began to gel. He knew his team was, in all probability, severely out numbered. Surely the enemy also knew that. At least he hoped they did—he was counting on it.

  Chapter 34

  Darfur

  June 14 0615 hours

  “Sergeant Wong. Take Commander Nicolaou to the cellblock. Release him into the common area where the Homothals can have some sport with him before breakfast,” Colonel Ming ordered.

  “Yes, sir!” Wong replied.

  Jim had to stall. He needed more time to come up with a plan. By now his SGIT team would have discovered he was missing, and they would rightly conclude he was being held prisoner in Colonel Ming’s research facility. But it would take his team time to formulate a plan of attack.

  His best bet was to stall before arriving at the cellblock. Jim knew he stood no chance at all of defeating several Homothals in hand-to-hand combat. He had witnessed their superior strength and phenomenal ability to continue fighting even when mortally wounded. He had heard about wild animals behaving this way—reports from hunters who had shot out the heart of a fleeing elk and then witnessed the animal run for another hundred yards before falling.

  He was also familiar with stories of hunters who had been severely mauled, some killed, by an enraged bear or lion that had been shot in the heart-lung vital zone, mortally wounded, yet the beast kept attacking for several minutes.

  Jim had no interest in slugging it out with a pack of Homothals. He would have to stage a diversion and try to escape. He knew the odds were slim that he would actually make it out of the compound to freedom, but to surrender to the unfolding events would surely mean death.

  An idea flashed; it was risky, but it was the only chance he could think of. As Colonel Ming turned to leave with Lieutenant Li, Jim taunted him once more.

  “I have to hand it to you Ming, for all your faults you really are brilliant.”

  Ming took the bait. He stopped, and looked over his should at Nicolaou, still held in the grip of the two Homothals.

  “Yes, but it is too late for flattery to save you, Commander.”

  “Oh, I’m not flattering you Colonel. Your knick-name is well deserved, I’d say. The MOSSAD calls you the Asian Angel of Death after Josef Mengele, the Nazi doctor who also conducted heinous experiments on captured subjects, Jews mostly.

  “History will forever remember Mengele as an evil, sick bastard. I think the Israelis got it right. The analogy to you and your so-called work is perfect. You, too, will be remembered—not as a brilliant scientist—but rather as a psychopath who tortured and killed innocent people, peaceful villagers.”

  Just as Jim had hoped, Sergeant Wong slammed his rifle butt into Jim’s stomach; attempting to defend the honor of his superior officer. Jim doubled over in pain. Then Wong slammed the butt down on Jim’s upper back, causing him to fall to his knees. He raised the rifle to strike again. Jim hoped he would survive this beating; he knew it would be vicious—maybe he had gambled too much?

  Just as Wong was about to strike again, Colonel Ming shouted, “Stop!”

  Wong halted in mid stroke, the butt inches from Jim’s head.

  “Do not kill him here, Sergeant. It would deprive our loyal Homothals of their enjoyment.”

  Colonel Ming turned and exited the room with Lieutenant Li close behind.

  “I would rather kill you myself,” Wong spat.
>
  Jim was trying to catch his breath, hampered by the sharp pain running down his spine from his neck to between his shoulder blades. He remained on his knees, trying to recover some strength and gain more time.

  Wong ordered Nicolaou to stand. Jim did not comply, still stalling.

  “I said stand up!” and Jim was hoisted to his feet by the Homothals. Wong slapped him across the face. Jim responded with a groan and slowly opened his eyes part way.

  Wong was disgusted that Jim could be so easily incapacitated. He motioned to the Homothals to let him drop, and Jim fell to the floor. Sergeant Wong walked to the door where a first aid kit was mounted on the wall. He opened the plastic box and found smelling salts.

  Wong returned to Jim and tore open the small packet to release the strong odor of ammonia. The sergeant waved the packet under Jim’s nose, and he snorted and shook his head as he had seen others do. He slowly opened his eyes and gently shook his head, the pain still intense and sharp.

  “Get him on his feet,” Wong ordered the two Homothals.

  So far, Jim had just bought an extra seven minutes.

  With Wong in the lead, they walked out of the dissection lab and into the main corridor. Turning to the right, the group walked toward the far end. Each Homothal had one hand under each of Jim’s arms, gripping the upper arm tightly.

  Acting the role, Jim stumbled as he was led down the hallway, allowing the Homothals to carry much of his weight.

  Jim reasoned that the cellblock was in another building. He recalled studying the compound from high on the ridge and seeing two long rectangular buildings adjacent to the open, fenced area. He presumed this open area was the common area that Ming had referred to, and that each of the adjacent rectangular buildings housed the Homothals. These would be the cellblocks.

  But which one was he being taken to, and how far was it? He had no plan for what to do next.

  As they walked down the corridor, Jim observed as much as possible. The doors to other rooms were closed, but many had windows, and he was able to glimpse inside as he walked by. The Homothals, for all their strength and endurance, did not seem to realize that Nicolaou was gathering further intelligence about their facility. Do they possess the capability of independent thought? Jim wondered, half shuffling and half dragging his feet.