Battle Earth VIII (Book 8) (5 page)

The soldier could barely breathe or speak, but just about summed up enough energy to point onwards and mumble the word 'hangar'.

Fuck, he's gonna try and fly out of here.

He knew the chances of him making it across the border were slim, but if they were shot down en route, all evidence of them would be destroyed anyway. Taylor knew if they got airborne it was a ‘win win’ for the Krys. He picked up the pace and stormed down the corridor, without a care for anything in the world except for stopping Jones. He knew at any moment he could be ambushed but took no caution at all. He could not afford to.

The corridor opened up ahead of him as the Frenchman had said. He burst out into a small hangar that stored just three small craft; highly agile and fast hexrotor transports with power turbines derived from alien technology. They seated half a dozen at the most, and Taylor realised they must have been there for rapid evac of VIPs. A fact that might get them over the border, free and clear.

The engines were already fired up and the massive blast doors in front of them sliding apart. Taylor had just twenty seconds before he'd lose them for good. He looked to the cockpit and could see Jones looking down at him with a triumphant smile. It was bizarre and incongruous to be coming from a man he'd considered his closest friend for so many years. He had to keep telling himself that it was not Jones.

Taylor raised his pistol and fired two shots at the glass, but both bounced off with no damage. He quickly turned his attention to one of the turbine engines and fired two shots through, but they ricocheted off as well. He looked around for anything that could make a difference and saw the mechanics tool rack. He grabbed the largest wrench he could and launched it into the turbine. It crunched and bounced around inside the engine before being tossed out the back to little effect.

He looked out to see the doors were almost open. There were just a few seconds left. Then to his side he noticed huge chains hanging from a hoist, presumably designed for lifting large component parts. He grabbed one of the chains and rushed to the craft. The hoist swung over on its mountings overhead, and as Jones upped the power to move, Taylor launched the chain into the turbine. As it struck the fan, a huge piece of metal flew from the engine and narrowly missed Taylor's head. He recoiled back and fell to the floor.

He watched in amazement as the thick chain was pulled through the engine until it went taut and ripped the hoist from the ceiling. The huge electronic pulley system crashed down onto the turbine, crushing it in one and ripping part of the fuselage off the craft as it did so.

The turbine caught fire for a moment. The aircraft's emergency systems cut in, and all power was reduced, and the fires put out by its inbuilt extinguishers. The noise finally died down, and Taylor could see the craft was beached and utterly useless. Jones still glared at him from the cockpit. He had no choice now but to confront Taylor personally.

"Only way out is through me, you son of a bitch!" yelled Taylor.

He got to his feet and took cover behind a mechanic’s workstation and slammed a new magazine into his pistol. A few seconds later, the door to the craft slid open, but there was no sign of Jones. Then a gunshot rang out, and Taylor ducked down as it hit the top beside him. It hadn't come from the door of the craft. He looked out around the corner and saw as another gunshot rang out that it was coming from the hole that had been ripped in the fuselage.

Taylor took a few paces along to change position and then jumped up to fire a few shots, but he could not tell if they met their target. Three shots were returned at him, and he ducked down once again. In this instance, time was on his side. Any time now he hoped for a swathe of soldiers to rush to his aid, and yet they hadn't come yet.

Two more shots rang out, and then all went quiet. Taylor waited for a moment before carefully looking over the edge to see Jones' silhouette in the doorway of the craft. He stood square on with no care for cover and his pistol lowered.

"I'm out!" he called.

"Tough shit!"

"You won't shoot me, Mitch. You couldn't shoot an old friend!"

"No, I couldn't, but you’re not him! Jones never came back to service. Your secret is out!"

"Ah, well, can't win 'em all."

Taylor found it unnerving how much this Krys agent sounded and acted like Jones. He watched from cover as Jones threw his pistol away onto the ground and stepped out onto the deck of the landing area. Mitch rushed out with his pistol held at the ready. He could see Jones carried the head of Armand in one hand and a bloodied knife was stuffed into his belt.

"Maybe you won't kill me for looking like him, but you will not kill me because I'm the only living clone you know."

Taylor couldn't help but agree.

"So I'm going walk to that next ship and fly the hell out of here."

He turned to leave, but Taylor fired a warning shot at the floor beside him that forced him to stop.

"You’re not going anywhere. I need you alive, but you don't need your legs. Another step towards that craft, and I'll put you down."

"You put animals down. You want to put me down, you better be willing to do it with your own hands."

He dropped the head of Armand and drew his knife, but he did not grip it ready to fight. Instead, he threw it away.

"You going to shoot an unarmed man?"

The clone standing before him disgusted Taylor. It was an insult to his friend, and an insult to their Regiment, and yet he could not help but treat it like a human.

"All right, you want to do this?" he asked. "You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not."

He dropped the magazine on his pistol and placed it down on the workbench. He didn't enjoy hurting Armand because the Councillor either didn't or couldn't fight back, but he was going to enjoy this.

"You know you Krys play every card against the human race, and every time we beat you. You just don't know when to quit."

"When we own this planet, this heaven, and we will own it. No matter the cost, no matter how long it takes. Erdogan is coming for you, and nothing will stand in his way."

"Wrong, I will."

He rushed forward at Jones and tackled him to the ground, beating down on him with two heavy punches to the face. Jones tried to cover his face, but Taylor worked a heavy shot to his flank, but as he did Jones managed to lever out from under him and lock a leg over his neck, launching him off onto his back. Jones kicked towards his head, but Taylor rolled over and was quickly back on his feet.

One-on-one combat was something he'd become intimately familiar with since he had been used as a gladiator in the ring. He rarely enjoyed that experience, but this was different. Now he had a reason to fight. Taylor stepped forward with his hands held at the ready and launched a fast jab towards Jones, who blocked and kicked to the inside of his leg. It hurt like hell and forced him to wobble, but he just about managed to stay on his feet when a kick hit his stomach and launched him back against the workbench where he had placed the gun. For a moment, the thought of reaching it passed through his mind, but his honour stopped him.

"It's a wonder you ever commanded this unit when Jones was clearly the better man," said the clone.

"Maybe he was, but you're not him."

Taylor rushed forward with immense speed and threw a jab as he done before, but stopped short in a feint that got the same response as before. Jones leapt aside. As he did, Taylor carried through with a hook, catching Jones square on the chin. He dropped to the floor. Taylor circled him with a smile. The clone held onto its jaw that had almost been broken by the impact.

"Jones was many things, great at many things in fact, but he was never one for a fist fight, and if you have nothing more in the bank than he had, you might as well give up now."

It still struck Taylor as strange to be hitting the man he considered such a strong friend. He had to keep reminding himself that it was not Jones, and that was easy when he was being attacked, but looking down at the body of Jones on the floor made him feel awkward and made it difficult to hit him while he was down.

"Might as well give up. You’re not getting out of here."

"You are all that stands between me and that ship," he spat back.

"Like I said, might as well give up now."

Jones got back to his feet and stumbled towards Taylor as if half finished. Taylor lowered his guard, and as he did, Jones kicked once again to the leg that had been struck before. This time it buckled. A knee coming for his face quickly followed it. Taylor tried to lift his hands to protect his head, but most of the impact hit him full on and launched him onto his back.

The clone rushed past to make it to the ship, but Taylor took a firm hold on his ankle and pulled him off his feet. He landed hard but reached for the wrench that had blasted out the turbine a few minutes before and smashed it down on Taylor's arm. Mitch felt the bone crunch as it came close to breaking and hurt like hell. He could not help but release his grip and roll out the way as the wrench came at him once again, and smashing into the metal floor where he had lain.

Taylor's arm almost gave way when he pushed himself up. He knew another blow like that could stop him in his tracks. He reached for the first thing to hand, a two-metre metal tube. He had no idea what it was from, but it was lightweight for its size and completely rigid and tough. He held out the pole in both hands as if it were a spear, offering the tip to Jones to try and reach for it.

Jones struck towards the pole with his heavy wrench, but Taylor quickly avoided it, using the leverage of the light weapon and thrust it into his attacker's chest. The impact hit hard with no flex at all, and the wind was taken out of the clone’s lungs. Taylor took his opportunity to finish it. He swung the pole around, striking Jones' leg and taking it out from under him. But Taylor did not stop the swing of the pole. He used the weight to pendulum it around his head and drive it into Jones' face.

The impact hit his skull just above his eye sockets and instantly knocked him unconscious. Taylor took a deep breath and sighed in relief. He knew how close they had come to losing all the evidence they had. He stepped over to the head of Armand and picked it up off the ground as he heard footsteps thundering down the corridor towards him.

Four French soldiers rushed out into the hangar with rifles held high, and General Dupont himself with gun in hand followed them. They all stopped and looked in disbelief at the sight before them. Taylor stood with the pole in one hand and the severed head in the other; the hangar itself looked like a warzone. Dupont looked out at the open hangar doors and back to Taylor, trying to make sense of what had happened.

"Is that Armand's head you are carrying?" he asked.

Taylor nodded and couldn't help but admit it must be a bizarre sight to behold, but it was clear the General already knew Jones was the infiltrator.

"Captain Jones, one of yours from the very beginning."

"Near enough," replied Taylor, "but that isn't him. That is a Krys agent."

"We know. He was detected passing out scanners as he entered this building, but he cut a bloody path through."

"Something tells me it's time you upgraded your security. The clone got through to Armand and tried to bust him out. When I stopped him from doing it, he took the head for obvious reasons and made a break for it."

"So now we have no surviving Krys subject?"

"We have him. He'll live."

"Is the real Captain Jones still alive also?"

Taylor nodded in agreement, and Dupont's face lit up.

"This is a real boost to our position. If we can get the real Jones and clone together, it will be irrefutable proof of what the Krys have been doing."

"Yeah, well good luck getting him here. He doesn't want anything more to do with this war."

"Like it or not, he's in it; more than ever now."

"Well you can be the one to tell him that."

"Something tells me he'll be more amenable to the idea now. He's got a clone running around raising hell and a wife in the hospital. Wouldn't that drive you to want to fight back?"

"It would, yes," he replied. Though he didn't agree it would for Jones. The last time he saw the real Jones he was not the man he used to know, not even close. He wanted nothing more than to have him back alongside in the Inter-Allied Regiment. He looked down at the body of the clone and thought not of his own pain and the casualties they had suffered that day, but for the hatred he had for the clone making him believe he had his comrade back.