Battle Earth VII (11 page)

“This is a fucking disaster, all that work and effort, and for what? We’re stuck over here having risked our lives for nothing. Bring back the wars, I say. I’ll take them any day over this misery.”

He knew Jafar would agree, anyway. He always agreed fighting was favourable over all else.

“I’ve had enough of this. There’s not even a thing to drink in here. Let’s find a bar.”

“And the General’s orders?”

“The last orders I got from the General almost got us killed. He’s cutting all ties with this. As long as we get back home in the next few weeks, he’ll be happy. All the years we fought over this country, and yet it seems we don’t have a friend left in it.”

Taylor stripped off his armour and was glad to be free of it. His BDUs still displayed the dried blood around the collar from his fight before, but he didn’t care anymore. They strode out of the suite to find no one before their door. Not a guard to protect them, nor keep them in place.

“From celebrity to forgotten in five minutes. Can’t say I’m complaining,” he stated.

Ten minutes later they were walking into a nearby bar, in what felt like a repeat of the events that had led to the brawl and subsequent night in police cells so recently. Exactly as before, many of the patrons turned to stare at them, Jafar in particular. Taylor sighed at how boring this scenario was becoming.

“Yes, he is an alien. I am Colonel Mitch Taylor and this is Jafar, one of my most loyal colleagues. If you have a problem with any of this, then make it known now! Otherwise, should you say nothing and then cowardly make an attempt against…”

He drew his pistol and held it up for all to see.

“I’ll shoot the first bastard who lays a hand on either one of us and not hesitate to shoot a few more. We did not fight over this country to put up with any bullshit. Now, can we sit down and enjoy a few beers?”

“Of course, Monsieur Taylor!” yelled the man behind the bar.

“Makes a change,” he muttered to Jafar.

Grunts of approval echoed around the room, and several beckoned for them to come forward. It was the warmest welcome Taylor had ever gotten when Jafar was by his side.

“It’s an honour to have you here, my friend,” said the barman, “and this friend of yours we hear so much about. I don’t know why you fight for us, but I thank you.”

He passed two beers over the counter and didn’t ask for any payment. Taylor was speechless.

“My brother said he met you once during the war. You would not remember him, but he certainly remembers you.”

“Where did he serve?”

“All over, a trainee doctor he was then, volunteered as a field medic.”

“And now?”

“Army doctor, he made it a career!”

Taylor had been waiting to hear the bad news that he had been killed in the fighting there, as so many stories he heard around the World. He was already starting to like the place.

“Paris is a lot easier to like when you aren’t having to fight over it,” he replied.

The Frenchman nodded in agreement. In the background a TV projection was running, and a nearby patron called over in French. He was obviously asking for the volume to be raised. Taylor looked and saw he was once again on air.

It was his speech from the conference hall moments before the battle with the Destroyer. The bar fell quiet as they watched it, realising it was the man sitting before them. Taylor’s name had become widely known worldwide, but few would recognise his face.

The video came to an end with the screams in the room, and the signal cutting off and returning back to the news anchor speaking in French, of which Taylor understood nothing.

“What are they saying?” Taylor asked.

The barman looked uncomfortable, continued watching, and tried to translate as it went on.

“They are saying you are creating…divides, amongst different groups. Some are calling you a hero and humanitarian, and others, a coward and alien sympathiser…”

“Figures.”

“Seems like you have created quite a stir.”

“And you, what do you think?”

The man looked surprised to be asked his opinion at all.

“I…I don’t know. I wanted peace for my country. Beyond that, I don’t care. If people want to watch fighting on TV, then let them.”

It wasn’t a particularly helpful response.

“So, look here a second,” Taylor said, pointing to Jafar.

“This is Jafar, an alien, a good friend of mine, and worth more than a platoon of fighters from most armies in the World. Do remember he is an alien? What we are saying here is, he is really no different from one of us. He fought for us, lives with us. Would you have him fight to the death in the arena and be butchered like an animal?”

The barman looked confused and sheepish.

“I don’t know. It’s not my place to say.”

“But it is! Watch the TV. It’s public opinion which is deciding what we should do next.”

“Maybe, Monsieur, but are you sure anyone really cares about public opinion that much?”

It was food for thought. The report was still on going, and the barman continued to translate for him.

“They are saying it was an alien who got loose at the stadium and caused many deaths, and that local authorities subdued the creature.”

“Local authorities?” Taylor laughed.

“They say there are growing calls to eradicate all remaining Krys on Earth, in an attempt to remove the threat to the public. Apparently, a number of leaders have signed a charter pushing for it at the UEN.”

“Shit, this is really kicking off.”

They heard a bottle smash at their side, and three angry looking locals approached.

“How’d we know this one wasn’t in that stadium killing humans?” one asked.

“He was there all right, saving lives.”

“I don’t like Krys, and I don’t like enablers like you. You’re a disgrace to our race.”

Taylor had heard enough. He drew his pistol and fired a shot through the man’s leg. He cried out in pain. His leg gave way, and he dropped to the floor, screaming in pain. The other two men went to move forward but stopped, finding themselves staring down the barrel of his gun.

The rest of the room had silenced, and all that could be heard were the man’s screams. Everybody was too shocked to go to his aid immediately and could only stand in amazement at what had happened.

“Monsieur, please, that’s enough,” pleaded the barman.

Taylor knew that anyone else from his unit would have held him back, but Jafar simply stood and waited for a response from the rest of the crowd. Mitch knew it was an extreme measure, but he had become sick of the constant harassment everywhere they went.

“You know everywhere we go we have to put up with the same assholes. Doesn’t matter what country, what city. Does nobody care that this alien fought on our side, that he was vital to our efforts in defeating them? That you can sit here today and enjoy your drinks because he was at my side fighting?”

There was no response, though a few lowered their heads in shame.

“No one else here feels that way, but you can’t just go shooting people,” said the barman.

“The people wanted to see blood. They got blood…I never wanted this. All I wanted was to go home and get on with my life, but at every turn there’s an asshole like this. Enough!” he screamed.

He knew he was losing it, but he could not help himself through the anger he felt towards so much of the World that had turned on him and his friend because they were no longer needed, because there was no longer a war to fight.

Sirens rang out in the background; the local police were bearing down on the establishment. Taylor necked the beer and walked out with Jafar at his back. Two police cars slid to a halt, but the officers relaxed when they recognised the two of them.

“We’ll handle this,” said one and allowed them to pass.

“Nice to still have a few friends,” he replied.

At least that wouldn’t make the news,
he thought.

They returned to his suite. Taylor knew it was the only place they would remain trouble free as the General had ordered. Another day passed, and they tried to find anything to do to pass it. The stadium grounds were their prison for now, but they made the best of the space they had. Running, training, watching TV; it was all they had. On the morning of the second day, they were in the field grounds at one end away from the arena Taylor had fought it. They’d dug out a baseball and bat, and Taylor was throwing curve balls that Jafar was hitting so hard, they occasionally cracked the protective screens around the arena where he was aiming. It was all they could do for another few days until they could get out of there. Just when they thought they’d been left alone to pass the time, Taylor heard his name shouted.

“Colonel! Colonel!”

One of the Gendarmes he’d seen in the conference hall during the fateful event with the Destroyer was rushing towards him.

“Great, what now?” he muttered.

“Sir, I think you should see the news.”

Taylor lifted his Mappad, switched on the projection display, and hit the shortcut to the World News Agency. The screen was filled with protest banners and scenes of mass crowds.

“Where is this?”

“At one of the prisoner camps in North Africa, but there are scenes like this at another dozen locations.”

“What do they want?”

“To exterminate the remaining alien prisoners on the planet.”

“What?”

“Can’t say I blame them, Sir. Those things are fucking dangerous, save your friend here.”

He continued watching the news broadcast for a few minutes in amazement as the anchor continued to appraise the situation.

“While opinion is divided on the subject, it is up to the UEN now to come to some agreement on the subject of the alien prisoners. Pressure has mounted over coming years on action to take, but the UEN is yet to implement any initiative beyond maintaining the Prisoner of War camps. Many people around the World are beginning to question if money and resources should be allocated to an enemy which once tried to destroy humanity.”

“This is gonna get ugly,” said Taylor.

The day continued much as the previous had. Nobody seemed interested in reaching Taylor since the debacle at the stadium, that or they simply didn’t know how. Taylor took off his uniform and lay down on the ridiculously oversized and lavish bed in his suite. He dreaded waking up the next morning. He knew trouble was coming, and there was no doubt he would be drawn into it.

As the sun rose, he awoke naturally. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful. The World hadn’t ended, and he’d caught up on some much needed rest and recovered from his minor injuries, but the pleasant morning wouldn’t last. A chime rang to signify somebody at the door, and Jafar was quick to answer it. It was almost as if the alien had defaulted to being his butler and manservant, a situation he was not comfortable with.

The door slid open, and the same Gendarme who had delivered yesterday’s news rushed in.

"Sir, I really must warn you. Crowds are gathering outside the stadium and protesting your presence."

"What are their intentions?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Thank you for your concern, and please keep me notified of any further developments."

The man nodded in agreement. Taylor wondered why he was delivering messages in person rather than through comms. He wondered if he was going outside of his job parameters, as he rushed out as quickly as he had come in.

"I don't like the sound of this at all."

He turned back to the news channel. A Spanish politician was being interviewed, and the topic was clearly the Colonel himself, for a picture was projected behind the news panel.

"What do you think of Colonel Taylor's latest condemnation of the treatment of the alien prisoners after having so recently brutally killed them for entertainment?"

"I think the Colonel is most mistaken in his apathy for these monsters. Maybe he is disillusioned with the bloodshed, or maybe mentally scarred from all that he has seen. No one can deny his great efforts during the war, but Taylor is very much that, a war machine, one which should stay out of politics."