Battle Earth VII (8 page)

He thrust when the creature came at him, but it knocked his weapon arm down and swung again for his head. He ducked under, and the impact hit the transparent screen with such immense force, it opened cracks in the surface layer that spread almost a metre in every direction.

A hammer blow followed it, intending to flatten Taylor. He thrust his shield up and braced it with both hands and took it head on. As soon as the energy was dissipated, he smashed the lower edge of the shield into the creature’s knee joints and then forwards, knocking it off its feet. The crowd cheered as he spun out from under it and quickly covered some ground to get away from the wall.

In that instance, Taylor knew he had won the crowd over, but he wondered what that was really worth. His heart was now thumping and adrenaline was making him pin sharp. He was starting to enjoy himself. Gone was the anger at having to be an actor. The challenge and the danger was the most excitement he could remember having in a long time. He wasn't sure if he should be enjoying it, but he couldn't help it.

One down, easy work now!

The two rushed towards him simultaneously. He took a few paces to one side to get them in line and blocking one another. As the first tried to strike him, he pushed his shield up and slung his body low and thrust down into its leg. As blood poured from the wound, he ripped the Assegai out and thrust it up into its abdomen.

Seeing its companion was finished, the last one grabbed the body that was still impaled in Taylor's weapon and threw it aside as it bore down upon him. He ducked down and slammed his shield up and over so that the creature was launched over him and tumbled hard to the floor the other side. The crowd revelled in the spectacle of it, and began to yell for him to finish it.

He answered their calls and rushed forward with lightning speed. His shield smashed the creature’s attack aside. He leapt up into the air, and his Assegai pierced its faceplate. The Mech collapsed dead beneath his weight. The crowd were in such ecstasy as if they'd just seen a national team win a global competition.

Mitch got to his feet and threw his arms up triumphantly. He had enjoyed the contest, but he still wondered what the event could mean for his future, and the future of society, as he knew it.

"Good fight," stated Jafar.

"You think?" responded Taylor sarcastically.

He rolled off the huge bed in the suite of the stadium where he had stayed after the fight. The evidence of last night's drinking was long gone with not an empty bottle in sight, but his head was the only reminder he needed. His eyes took a while to focus, and he found Jafar standing just a couple of metres away watching him.

"It's still weird, you know, waking up to find you looming over me."

"Why?"

"Well... come on, we've been through this a hundred times...I give up. You got that car ready?"

"Yes."

"All right, then give me a few minutes, and we'll make a move."

"Where?"

"To see an old friend."

* * *

They soared through the French countryside. Parts were luscious and green, but other areas remained a wasteland compared to what they once were. They both knew Weaver wouldn't be happy about them vanishing from his sight, but that only pleased Mitch further. It was just the two of them and a driver from the Deveron.

"You know who lives out in these parts?" asked Taylor.

"Captain Jones?"

Taylor looked surprised.

"Well... yes, actually."

He didn't care to ask why but was a little curious.

"Yes, he retired last year to live out here with Sergeant Dubois. She saved our asses once, maybe twice. That was a life time ago."

 
"But he does not want a fighter’s life, so what do you want from him?"

"Maybe a little reflection on life. These last few years are not what I imagined for myself, whether in or out of the Corps. He's away from it all."

The address Taylor had led them to a farm entrance in a secluded area where the wildlife seemed to be all they could hear when they got out of the car. The house must have been more than a couple of hundred years old and appeared completely untouched by the wars that had ravished the country so fiercely. There were no cars in sight, or anything that had been made in Taylor's lifetime. It was like stepping into a time warp and coming out a hundred years back.

"Not the kind of place I ever expected to find him," Taylor said.

"Freeze!" a voice yelled.

It came from where the car had parked.

Taylor's hand instinctively reached for his handgun, but the second shout brought him to a halt.

"Don't even think about it, you son of a bitch!"

He recognised the voice now and turned with a smile.

"You almost had me there," he replied.

He turned to see Jones behind their car with a gun to the driver's head.

"What are you doing here, Colonel?" he asked suspiciously.

Taylor was surprised by his tone. The hostility was not at all what he had been expecting when reunited with one of the friends he would hold dearest in the world.

“No way to greet a friend, Charlie.”

“Whatever you want from me, I’m not interested!”

They heard another weapon cock and turned to see Dubois coming out from the side of the house with gun in hand.

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting,” Mitch whispered to Jafar.

“I don’t care what the offer is, I’m still not interested!” Jones shouted.

Taylor couldn’t believe what he was saying. He began walking towards his friend.

“What the hell happened to you, Charlie?”

“Not another step!” he screamed.

"If you're here to recruit me, go away!"

Taylor was starting to understand.

"Not for a second. I just wanted to see an old friend."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, sure as hell," he replied calmly.

Jones lowered his weapon and walked out from behind the car.

"The slightest sign you're trying to get me to join you in some crazy thing, you are outta here."

"Got it."

"All right, then come with me."

He led them around the side of the house to a decked area with a table and chairs set up and a wide parasol giving shelter from the warm sunrays. Jones opened a small storage cupboard beside the house to reveal a refrigerator and threw a few beers out to them.

"Hell of a place you have here," said Taylor.

Jones sat down suspiciously and gestured for them to do the same. Dubois took a seat beside him.

"We saw your fight last night," she said.

Taylor had nothing to respond with.

"That’s what being a marine has boiled down to? Blood sport?"

"Can't say I like it either, Charlie, but I have my orders."

"We both know you have done more than your fair share for the Corps and for the World. Why not leave? We did, and look at what we have. When we were huddled away at night, scared and expecting to meet our deaths at any moment, having to risk our lives every second of every day, this here is the life we dreamed of."

It was a compelling argument. General White had made him feel that without the Corps he would have nothing, but Jones made a lot of sense. One last issue bothered him, though.

"And when the next war comes, what then?"

"The next generation will fight it. None of us are immortal. We have done our part."

"So you would do that? If another attack came tomorrow, you would sit by and watch?"

Jones had to think about it for a moment.

"I would do whatever I had to do, but right now, we have earned this peace, and we are going to enjoy every second we get."

Taylor nodded in agreement.

"So you really didn't come here to recruit me into some scheme?"

Taylor shook his head, "Can't a guy just come for a chat?"

"I guess, just didn't see you as the type."

"Yeah, thanks."

"So you're going to keep fighting in these ridiculous displays?"

"I don't know. I don't want to. I shouldn't have to. But if I don't, I'll be outta the Corps before you know it."

"I don't think they could get rid of the famous Colonel Mitch Taylor so easily. But even if they could, so what?"

It gave him something to think about.

"When the World goes to shit and you really need me, you give me a call. Until then, I suggest you kick back and enjoy this life we earned for ourselves."

Taylor couldn't help but feel they were intruding on the life the two of them had made together. He finished his beer quickly and got up to leave.

"Great to see you again, Charlie."

He didn't seem disappointed they were leaving.

"Good luck in whatever you do, Mitch. Just know that you have done enough. It’s time you started living for yourself."

Taylor got back to the car and slumped in the back with Jafar. He could not help but feel disappointed. 2nd Inter-Allied, the great Immortals, seemed to be nothing more than a fading memory.

"Is that the life you look forward to?" Jafar asked.

Taylor shrugged. "No idea, why, you got any thoughts?"

"I was not born a farmer," he quickly replied.

It was all Taylor needed to know.

They once more soared across the countryside on their return to Paris. As they rolled up outside the stadium, Weaver came rushing out in a flap.

"Where the hell have you been?" he insisted before Taylor had even got both feet out the door.

Mitch glared back at him.

"I may fight for you, but you don't own me."

"What? There are press conferences to do. Audiences are desperate to hear from their champion, and we have new fights to prepare for."

The comment seemed to have gone over his head, or he chose to ignore it.

"One week. One week, that is all we have before your next display. Young men and women are queuing at the recruitment offices trying to join up, and we have sponsors throwing money at us. This could be the greatest boost to the Corps in decades and is exactly what was needed."

"Great," he replied, uninterested.

Weaver chose to ignore that also.

"Come on, I have interviewers waiting to talk with you. Let's get you inside." He looked over to Jafar, "You can head back to the Deveron and await further orders."

"No," Taylor shouted.

"No? What do you mean, no?" asked Weaver.

"I mean exactly that. I've done everything you asked of me, but the big guy stays with me."

He could see Weaver didn't like it, but it was hard to say no before dozens of public and reporters who had spotted them and were already approaching.

"All right, all right, let's go."

One week before another fight? Boxers get how many months before theirs?

The next week was filled with seemingly endless TV interviewers asking him the same questions in different ways and expecting him to be as enthusiastic as they were. The endless cameras and idiotic questions that pandered to the mindless obsessions of the average viewer were getting to him.

It was the morning of his fight that had been milked for everything they could possibly get out of it, and yet he still did not know his opponent. It was a carefully guarded secret, intended to build more hype than the last one. Who his opponent would be was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't heard from Eli since he had left things so badly, and just as she came to mind, his comms flashed with an incoming message. He answered it to be greeted with her face. He jumped to his feet and tapped a button for the video to project her image before him.