Battle Earth VII (7 page)

"I can see you’re finally starting to get it now. Maybe having me around isn't so bad for you, after all, Colonel."

He looked out of the window to see a welcome sign to ‘Parc des Princes’.

"A stadium fight? What is this?"

"This is entertainment. The new Parc des Princes was under construction and almost complete before the first war broke out. With a few repairs and changes, it's ideal for our purposes. One hundred and twenty five thousand capacity, and with all eyes on you."

"Just what I wanted."

"To be the World's hero? Any marine would give anything to be in your shoes."

"Not one who fought in the wars," he snapped.

"Cheer up, Colonel. This is your big moment."

They rolled up to the entrance where a red carpet had been laid out for his arrival, and camera crews and reporters lined up behind barriers for any chance of an opportunity get at him.

"Play to the crowd, Colonel. It's what you've been ordered to do, and therefore, what you're paid to do."

He'd never been a fan of actors, and in joining the Marine Corps, it was the last thing he had ever envisaged he might have to do.

"All right, if this is what the people want, I'll give them their pound of flesh," he said spitefully. He opened the door, and his face instantly turned to a fake smile as he threw both his arms up triumphantly, sparking a series of camera flashes and a roar of applause.

Some people might be in their element, but this sucks.

One of the American reporters pushed to the front and yelled their question the loudest, bringing many others to silence. “Bookies are giving you ten to one odds, what do you say about that?”

Taylor was taken aback by the comment.

“I didn’t come here to lose,” he replied with a smile.

Laughter erupted as he turned to Weaver.

“Ten to one? What have you got me fighting?”

“You’ll see.”

Weaver stepped in front of the Colonel to speak.

“That’s it. You all came here to see our hero fight monsters, not hear him talk. Give him his rest, for he has a great challenge ahead!”

They walked through the crowds as the reporters continued to hurl questions at Taylor, and others reached out to touch him as they passed. Beyond the crowd, he could see sparks from welders and construction crews still working away to finish the structure. Chemicals filled the air from flooring which had barely set. He knew this had been a rushed affair. He just hoped it wasn't at the expense of his safety. As much as Weaver's job was to make him a publicity whore, he seemed to want him dead just as much.

The stadium staff led them through the vast unfinished complex and finally through a lavish doorway that opened up into what could only be described as a luxury apartment.

"Welcome to our Presidential Suite," one of them stated.

It was lavishly decorated and ten times to the size of his own home. Screens around the walls were showing video commercials from around the World promoting the upcoming fight.

"Make yourself comfortable. I've got interviews to do, lots of them," said Weaver. "You'll be notified at 11:30 and called for at 11:45."

Taylor nodded and lay down on one of the sofas.

"You will be ready, won't you?"

"Sure," he replied confidently, as if bored by the whole affair.

Taylor awoke to find he was being rustled by one of the local staff members. He reached up and grabbed the man by the throat instinctively as he was torn out of a deep sleep. He could see the look of terror on the man's eyes as he was starved of oxygen. He quickly released his grip.

"Don't you know not to startle a marine like that?" he asked.

"Sorry, Monsieur, but we could not rouse you."

He looked at his watch. 23:47.

"Okay, let's do this."

He was stiff from having slept in his armour, but the rest had done him a lot of good. He was led out and down to the ground floor. Weaver was waiting for him, next to a trolley with the rest of his gear.

"Christ, don't you know how important this is?"

"No, I don't," he replied dryly.

"Millions of people around the World are waiting for you, and you simply can't be bothered?"

"If you're so concerned, you could always armour up and go in there yourself. I know I'd enjoy watching that."

It immediately silenced Weaver, but he was fuming with anger. Taylor paced up to the gear on the trolley, a helmet, an Assegai, and a shield.

"That's it, Weaver?"

"They want a fight, not an execution."

Taylor couldn't help but think when all his gear was on it wouldn't matter who was wearing it.

Do the crowds really want 'Colonel Taylor', or do they just want to see human versus alien? I wonder if many would ever recognise me were I not in uniform as I’m portrayed on posters and videos around the World.

He clamped the Assegai in its sheath to the leg of his exoskeleton suit and lifted his helmet onto his head before lifting the hefty shield onto his arm.

"Ready?" Weaver asked.

"I'll do this fight, but that's it. After this, you find another idiot to be your puppet."

"You just get out there and do your job."
 

Taylor turned and strode out down the corridor that led to the main stadium grounds. He could hear the roar of the crowds as they yelled and clapped. It was almost deafening. He'd never been in front of so many people before.

"And here he is, the man himself. Welcome the slayer of Demiran, the saviour of the World, Colonel Taylor!"

The commentator was an instantly recognisable voice. An American who seemed to commentate on every big fight he'd seen over the years. He had no clue of the man's name, but his voice was unmistakeable. He rambled on another five minutes about Taylor's exploits and the dangers he was about to face, but it passed through Mitch's one ear and out the other. He was focused on psyching himself up ready for the action.

In the war he had always been ready to fight, as survival had been on their minds every second of every day, but his last fight just days before had shown him his head wasn't in it. He blocked out the crowds from his mind, focusing on the weapons in hand and the thought of what he was going to face.

Gonna kill the alien bastard, gonna kill you, gonna kill you, gonna win,
he was telling himself.

His hands began to shake a little as the adrenaline flowed through his body. His mouth went dry, and his breathing slowed beyond what was ideal. He had to tell himself to get the air in.

 
Breathe, breathe, focus.

A trickle of sweat rolled down his face and hit his already dry lips. It tasted horrible and only made him thirstier. He felt a hand clench his and try to lift it, but to no avail. He looked to his side to see the commentator in a white suit and matching bow tie trying to raise his hand for the crowd, but it was only going where he wanted it to.

"Come on," the man whispered to him, "They love you. Play to it."

He gave in and did as asked. He snapped out of his mind-focusing daze to look at his surroundings as he was paraded around for all to admire. He was standing on a metal stage thirty metres wide. Thick armoured clear plastic walls surrounded him and must have been ten metres tall. They were braced by steel supports around the outside of the structure. Floodlights created almost perfect balanced light with only a little shadowing. The floor had smatterings of alien blood. He was clearly not the only exhibit that night, but he was the headliner they had all been waiting for.

As he continued to study his surroundings, the commentator left the arena, and the wall sealed shut behind him. There seemed to be no way in or out now except going upwards. Knowing his Reitech boosters would allow him that was a relief. A section of the floor in the arena slid open, and a single Mech arose from beneath the ground. It was still shackled and made no attempt to break free. He wondered if that was because it didn't want to fight, or if it had simply accepted it had to wait for its opportunity to try and kill him. Its armour had been polished so much that the floodlights glinted off of it.

Weaver began spouting his orders over the comms, but Taylor shut it off. That was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the battle begin!"

The shackles opened, and the Mech rushed immediately at him. Like in the previous display, it was armoured but without any weapons. With no finesse, it rushed at him as if in the hope of trampling him where he stood. Taylor quickly twisted his body to void to one side and drove the Assegai up into its torso armour, driving up to the hilt so that the tip would reach its throat.

The creature froze where it stood as he ripped the blade out. Blood poured down its armour and spread across the floor. It went limp and collapsed lifelessly to the ground. It landed hard. The metal on metal clang echoed around the stadium from all of the speakers that relayed every audible decibel for everyone to hear. The crowd was silent and stunned.

Taylor looked over to the side of the arena where Weaver and a few of Ryan's crew were sitting. Ryan was clapping and found it hilarious, but he was one of the few. Weaver frantically beckoned for him to come over to the perimeter. He finally obliged, as there seemed no response from the audience in what was becoming an uncomfortable silence.

As he reached the perimeter, he could see small holes perforated in the wall, just enough so that sound could travel through.

"What the hell was that?" yelled Weaver frantically.

"What you asked for," he snapped back.

"No, you're here to put on a show. That was shit."

"Well, I did say you're welcome to take over."

Weaver's face reddened, and he was boiling over with anger. Taylor knew it was a dangerous move when he was locked in an arena with god knows how many more potential combatants.

"All right, Colonel, let's see how good you really are."

Taylor ignored him and walked off into the centre of the arena where he awaited the next challenge. He ignored the crowd but watched Weaver whispering to the commentator who finally broke the silence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, well, well, well. Did you ever imagine our hero here could vanquish a mighty armoured alien without breaking a sweat? He truly is an epic champion. But alas, this challenge is simply not enough for such a man. Who wants to see him put to the test?"

The crowd screamed with excitement, appearing to have forgotten the first fight already. It certainly hadn't provided what they wanted or expected.

Knew it couldn't be that easy,
he thought.

Everything he had been told suggested it was a one off, one-on-one fight, but he'd always suspected Weaver would screw him over.

The floor hatch slid open once again, and three Mechs arose from the ground. He was only thankful they were still unarmed, for although he made it look easy, he knew they were not to be underestimated. The crowd was still silent, eagerly waiting what they had all come there to see, a fight.

"Right, if this is what you want," Mitch whispered to himself.

The shackles slid off the Mechs, and they approached slowly together in a crescent shape. They were being cautious and working together, precisely what he didn't need. He circled a little to try and get one in front of the other two, but they wheeled around and maintained their formation.

"Okay, if that's how you want to play it."

He leapt to his right onto one at the flank. It swung for him, but he pushed the Assegai into its huge iron claw, stopping it dead. One of the others closed on him quickly. He kicked up his leg into its chest and fired the boosters on his suit. It launched it back and thrust him and his first opponent into the air and rocketing towards the barrier wall. They hit it hard, but the Mech took the worst of the impact. As they dropped to the metal floor, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause; this is what they wanted to see. This is what they came for, a gladiatorial match.

Mitch pulled the Assegai from the creature’s hand and thrust it into its chest. He quickly pulled it out and thrust again to make sure. Having vanquished one, he turned to meet the others, but it was already too late. The one that had been left standing was on him. He lifted his shield as a huge punch came for him. It impacted square on and launched him back against the wall. The wind was taken out of him from the impact, but he was still standing.