Dawn of the Mad (42 page)

Roman, with Petor close behind, made his way to Chana’s side, walking in a low crouch and keeping against the wall. He raised his face shield, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out two concussion grenades from a pouch on his tactical vest. Chana did likewise. Petor raised his face shield, still looking to the rear with his rifle at the ready.

“Petor, open fire after the grenades go off, OK?” Roman whispered. Petor quickly moved to the opposite side of the alley and took position in a doorway. Closing his face shield, he watched as Roman indicated a countdown for the grenades, raising one finger, a second and a third. On the third, Roman quickly grabbed one of his two grenades, pulled the pin, and lobbed it toward the sentries, and quickly followed it with his second grenade. Chana had done the same thing.

One of the sentries picked up the movement and spun around, but it was too late. Two massive blasts erupted in the tight confines of the alley, sending brick, mortar, and exoskeleton parts in every direction. Petor opened fire with controlled bursts through the grey cloud that appeared, taking the sentries offline for good.

“Nice work,” Roman whispered to Chana. “Let’s move north and hit the next street up. We’ll try to link up with 800 that way.” Roman followed Chana to Petor’s position in front of the door to a building. They entered and found the lobby level empty of furniture, typical of the mocked up training buildings. Roman crossed the lobby and peered out of the front and saw another east-west street at the end of the block lined by nondescript buildings on both sides.

“Damn, I hate this ghost town crap,” Roman whispered. He scanned through his sensors and detected no movement. “Watch the rooftops,” he whispered to Petor before repeating himself a little louder so that Chana could hear clearly. “We are going to run to the intersection, and maybe we can flank them.” Roman activated his helmet mike. “800? You copy?”

“Copy. We are pinned down, but I think we have them contained. What’s your status?” Sounding a lot calmer, 800 continued, “We heard some explosions your way. Did you get hit?”

“Copy, we had positive contact. We are OK. We will be at your position shortly. Out.”

Roman turned to face his team, and raised his face shield. “That guy is a moron. He has barely moved since we started this. And how the hell can you be pinned down, yet say you have them contained?” Roman activated the building’s door, and it slid open silently. “Let’s move.”

Roman lowered his face shield, and the trio ran west as fast as they could while trying to watch all around them. Soon they could see the intersection of the north-south street they had veered off of earlier. The intersection, in an unusual feature, was actually dotted with trees, or what appeared to be trees. At the quick glance possible, Roman couldn’t tell if they were alive. He wondered why this particular intersection had them.

“Careful,” Roman said. He took over point and looked around, Chana and Petor close behind. The immediate area had nothing; the gunfire and explosions still were at a distance. Roman was about to turn south on the main street when Petor yelled at him.

“Tank!” he yelled into his helmet mike, stopping Chana and Roman cold. The hulking Mark VII main battle tank sat in a side alley a couple hundred feet in from the street they were on. It was partially hidden by some trees and a lot of weeds. Upon closer inspection through his magnified weapon sight, Roman noticed that the main gun was pointed at the ground in front of it. He detected no movement or heat in its vicinity.

“I think it’s a derelict,” he told the others. “Chana, be careful and go check it out. We will cover you.” Chana nodded, and backtracked disappearing down the side alley, leaving Roman and Petor behind some trees, nervously pointing their pulse rifles at the tank.

“I suppose if it was alive, we would be dead,” Petor reasoned.

“Shut up. You damn near blew out my ear drum screaming at us about it.”

“Sorry.”

They both saw Chana appear around the backside of the massive tank.

She tugged on each of the three hatches on the massive turret, but none budged. She stood on top of the hulking tank and shrugged, before nimbly dismounting and rejoining the group.

“I say its derelict,” Roman said matter-of-factly. “Let’s move on.”

With Chana resuming point duties, the trio cautiously approached the intersection where 800 was supposed to be holed up.

“800?” Roman asked into the helmet mike. “Where are you? We are coming in.”

“Copy. We are about half a klick west on the north side of the street. The sentries have bugged out.”

“Next time you move, maybe let us know,” Roman said acidly.

Within a couple of minutes, Roman, Chana, and Petor ran across the street and Roman halted the group, raising his closed fist in the air. He quickly took his team off the street and into an adjacent building upon seeing 800’s team lined up on the street, weapons pointed down. Roman raised his face shield.

Roman took a quick glance around his surroundings and noticed the building was set up to look like a supermarket, complete with aisles and shelves filled with what appeared to be canned goods.

800 stood outside around a hundred feet down from Roman’s position, consulting a holographic map displayed from his wrist communicator.

“You two wait here. Cover me.” Petor and Chana nodded as he carefully made his way outside towards 800’s assembled team.

Upon seeing Roman, he raised his face shield and said, “My objectives were updated, and the cache should be to the northwest, about two klicks. 3rd squad is almost on site. 1st is currently engaged, but they should be able to extract themselves.”

“OK. You lose anybody?”

“No. We are good. I want you to take—”

800 never finished the sentence. A brilliant light flashed, followed by a booming concussion that blew the glass out of the surrounding buildings. Picking himself off of the ground, Roman looked around and saw several sentries lining the rooftops, raining down stun and smoke grenades. 800’s team was caught out in the open, blinded by smoke and flash from the grenades. Stun rifle fire quickly picked off the ones that couldn’t get away fast enough. “Idiots!” Roman yelled. “They let themselves get hit in the open.”

Petor yelled back at Roman through the 2nd squad channel. “They are moving through the buildings systematically! I can see them on the rooftops and on the street!”

“Copy. I am pinned down here. You two take off and try to get to the extraction point. There is nothing you can do back here now,” Roman said grimly.

“There has to be another way!” Petor’s cracked voice pleaded through the helmet mike.

“No. You two take off. No sense in the whole team getting wasted.”

“Copy.”

Roman crawled into the nearest building and found 800 and some of his team propped up against a wall. 800 had removed his helmet and looked at the ceiling in disgust. Roman’s ears still rang from the grenade blasts. Both of them were covered in orange powder from the simulated grenades. The less fortunate squad members still lay in the street, unable to move because of hits from the sentries’ stun rifles.

“Damn, looks like maximum settings,” Roman said in a slightly mocking manner to no one in particular as he looked over his shoulder out of the window. “They aren’t playing around this week. I wonder if they’ll use live ammo on us anytime soon.” He turned and faced 800, looking at him eye to eye.

“OK,” 800 said defensively. “If you have a problem, we can resolve it right now!” He stood up, holding his bayonet in his right hand. The other weary troopers immediately stood up, not sure what exactly was happening. “You have been riding my ass the whole time!” 800 yelled at Roman. “I didn’t ask to be team leader!”

Roman slowly stood up and removed his helmet, placing it on the ground “No, you didn’t,” Roman replied. “But you could have stepped down once you figured out how incompetent you really were. Let’s see, a few survivors today, and they may not make it out.”

With a snarl, Lon lunged at Roman, who deftly sidestepped the clumsy charge and redirected 800 toward the large glass window. It shattered on impact, and 800 stumbled through it into the street, where he fell. Wearily, he got himself to a sitting position, looking around for his bayonet, only to find it underneath the boot of the one-armed captain. The captain reached down and picked up the bayonet.

“This exercise is hereby terminated.” The captain’s curt voice displayed no emotion as he turned the bayonet over and over in his gloved hand. He seemed lost in deep thought to the team, as if he just replayed in his mind some tragic event from his past. Corporal Henri and some other members of the training cadre began kicking some of the stunned troopers to their feet.

“Fall in!” Corporal Henri yelled.

The squad wearily formed up. The sentries by now had received the command to abort and were no longer in sight. Roman stepped through the shattered window with the remnants of the squad and got in line.

“I cannot teach you anymore,” the captain addressed them, “especially since we have such limited time. Considering your level of training, some of you have performed well, and others have not.” The captain paused, and looked 800 straight in his eyes. 800 averted his gaze to the ground. The captain continued, “Your element will ship out very shortly to participate in the great conquest, as directed by our supreme chancellor. There is no more training here. You are to be a reserve force, most likely performing occupation duties behind our shock troopers. Most of you will probably die, and I would bet that
all
of you would die under your current team leader.” The captain walked to the second rank and stood before Roman. “I do not wish for you all to be sacrificed in vain. I have seen it too many times before. I wish you the best, and I hope that errors in command are rectified before the situation gets out of hand.” The captain flipped the bayonet in the air and caught it by the blade. He threw it, and it stuck in the ground between Roman’s feet. “Corporal, they are all yours,” he said to Corporal Henri. The captain placed his arm behind his back and quietly walked away.

“Fall out to the hangar for dropship assignment!” Corporal Henri commanded, shouting over a thunderclap. “Let’s go, double time!” Rain began to fall in a steady torrent.

The captain stood in the range observation tower with Sergeant Rima, watching the many teams moving out rapidly to the dropship hangar. The captain spoke softly, his voice barely audible over the rain pelting the metal roof of the tower.

“Sebastian’s friend is actually a good soldier. I hate to think he is going to his death.”

“I had assumed you were going to put him in charge of the squad,” Rima said passively.

“No. Situations like this will work themselves out in the field.” He turned to face Rima. “Besides, the team will follow Roman whether he is promoted or not. Perhaps they can assist him in getting back to his home. I believe that is what Sebastian had planned for him.”

Rima nodded. “I already asked him to stay. I told him we could get him an alias and he could ship out with a regular army unit to a remote garrison.” Rima sighed. “He wishes to be back on his planet. I envy him, in a way.”

The captain smiled. “As do I. At least he has a worthy cause to pursue.” The captain turned around and started toward the stairs. “Shall we go for a drink?” he asked over his shoulder.

Sergeant Rima smiled. “I would love that—but only if you are paying, of course,” she replied coyly.

CHAPTER 40

Hangar Bay 95B bustled with activity. Dozens of maintenance workers wearing grey overalls loaded crates of various sizes into the numerous egg- shaped drop ships being prepped for launch. Engineers wearing blue overalls loaded fuel cells and checked the ships’ onboard systems. Pilot crews checked the external surfaces of their respective pods for damage; although the engineers were careful, the pilots took special care with their own ships. The roof to the hangar bay retracted slowly, exposing the giant spacecraft to the barren grey, cloudless sky.

“Well, at least it’s not raining for a change,” one of the maintenance workers said to his colleague, both busy stacking green ammunition crates into the cargo hold of a drop ship.

“Quit looking at the sky and try not to drop this crate on my foot, OK?” the taller of the two said, slightly irritated. “I’d like to finish sometime today.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You want to go to Bloody Blade’s after shift?” the short, fat one asked. The two workers grunted in unison as they stacked another crate.

Taking a deep breath, the tall worker nodded as he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a pack of synthetics. After pulling one out and placing it between his lips, he offered the pack to his partner, who withdrew one from the withered pack and did the same. The tall man produced a lighter, and the two workers leaned against a large crate marked “Portable Communications Array.”

After a few minutes of silence, the tall worker suddenly rapped his partner on the shoulder.

“What was that for?”

The tall worker said nothing; he just pointed to a large formation of soldiers entering the far side of the hangar. The formation was at least battalion size, but it was the precision of the personnel marching into the hangar that surprised both workers.