Dawn of the Mad (11 page)

The mission had begun almost the moment the forces arrived on the planet’s surface; they immediately received orders to move out to specified coordinates. That much of the mission was known. Barely an hour after they reached the destination, they received new orders to secure a bunker complex and await further instructions.

The mercs were as grateful for the fresh air as for the end to the constant jarring inside the personnel carriers. Their commander had received information that the bunker complex had come under full-scale assault from another unknown force but was now abandoned. News of the assault was accurate, but the assumption that the complex was abandoned would prove to be fatal.

The client was unable to spare any transport aircraft, and the forces were pushed hard the entire way, without adequate reinforcements or supplies. With only three tanks and a small contingent of mercs, the element had to assume that resupply would come from salvaging materials from the complex itself. Upon arriving at the base of the plateau, the mercs had been given orders to proceed ahead of the armor and march up the trail to the complex. The commander almost laughed out loud when he thought about the location of the complex. “A facility located in a forest on a desert planet? That’s not very secret.” A spiral of acrid smoke billowed high above the plateau, carrying a rancid odor. As a show of force, the lead tank fired a few high explosive rounds at the bunker for effect.

“Sir, what are your orders for the assault?” A young, bearded merc asked the commander, who was leaning out of his tank. The young merc sported an odd, mismatched kit and an impeccably clean uniform. The commander had locked his sights on the rocky outcropping, knowing that now would be the perfect time for an ambush against his forces; however, the road up to the plateau curved, making it impossible to see any further. Across the distance, he could barely see the edge of the forest; it seemed like a solid wall of green. The commander dismounted from his tank with a youthful grace, and dusted off his ancient uniform as soon as his feet hit the ground. He never took his eyes from the target.

“Take your company ahead and establish a perimeter around the bunker. The client does not want us to enter the bunker. They are sending a specialist team that should arrive soon.”

“I don’t like this,” the young merc said. “It’s too quiet. It doesn’t make sense. And there’s that damn forest: a forest shouldn’t be here, in this desert climate. At least let me bring up a tank or an APC for support.” The young merc watched nervously as the armored vehicles arranged in a single file before shutting off their engines. The tank crews already were exiting their hatches and finding relatively cool spots to drink precious water and open rations.

The commander turned and faced the young merc. “Relax. I am sure the bunker is either lightly defended or not at all defended. Either way, secure the perimeter and let your men rest. I am sure they will thank you for it. Anyway, I prefer not to send armor up the trail. It doesn’t look too passable for vehicles.”

“OK, it’s your show.” The young merc sighed heavily and walked to the front of the formation, now almost halfway up the trail. The rest of the mercs still had their weapons slung over their soldiers. Many were chewing slag root, an herbal opiate that grows wild in the desert. Many pushed up their shirt sleeves, revealing a multitude of skull tattoos and other markings on their arms, typical for galaxian mercs from their sector.

“Wait for my command!” The colonel barely whispered the order, yet in the tense silence, it was heard without difficulty.

The approaching infantry column now could be seen from the complex. The area hummed with the quiet sound of energy weapons being charged. Matthias observed that the opposing force apparently thought the bunker abandoned. They approached without caution, an infantry column in full view of the defensive line.

The colonel’s steady voice crackled over all the helmet radios. “Open fire!”

The intense initial volley immediately cut down the lead soldiers of the infantry column. Masses of flesh and uniforms were melded together from the intense energy released upon them. The soldiers who were following stood in place, as if in utter disbelief of what was occurring. Some soon tried to run back down the road but were mercilessly cut down. The colonel’s sniper element picked off the rear infantry at will. Within minutes, the approaching force had been eliminated without having fired a shot.

“We are under attack! We are falling back!” The panicked shout of the young merc into his helmet mike was almost drowned out by the screams of the dying and soon to be dead.

“You will advance your position until properly relieved,” the commander ordered “It is probably only a rear guard. You are to charge in force.” The commander issued the order from the base of the plateau. The scowl on his face showed more annoyance than displeasure with the news. By now, all of the infantry had been committed unwillingly into the fray. The commander could hear the firing and a few explosions, but he wasn’t overly concerned. Suddenly, silence overtook him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and from experience he knew something wasn’t right. Rapidly approaching storm clouds partially blocked the remnants of daylight, as did acrid smoke that smelled of burned flesh.

“Michaels, report.” The commander tried again on his handheld radio. “Michaels, I say again, report.” He heard nothing from the infantry leader. He looked at the tank commander, who avoided his gaze, fearing that he would be forced to take his vehicles up the questionable path, to face an unknown force. His assembled crew had begun to remount their vehicles. “This could be bad,” the tank commander muttered.

“Forward!” The commander ordered, as he jumped inside an APC behind the lead tank. The driver of the lead tank looked back at the commander apprehensively for a second before closing the hatch. The armored column consisted of three medium tanks and three armored personnel carriers. Retreat meant nonpayment by the client, and they all knew it, so retreat was not an option. The commander rode exposed in the turret of his APC, waving his arm forward for the remaining APC’s and tanks to follow. Halfway up, the lead tank encountered the first smoking remains of the infantry. Thermite and plasma grenades dropped from above the road, along the plateau’s ridge line, had done their jobs well. Fewer than a dozen of the mercs were left. The ones who remained all crouched behind a large, blackened boulder. Michaels stood up and stared at the commander, with his silly-looking yellow scarf and medals, as his APC rumbled past, the driver maneuvering carefully so as not to go over the side. The dead were pulverized beneath the tracks of the armored vehicles.

“The lead tank is approaching,” the colonel said into his helmet mike. “Wait for my command.” The colonel watched the lead tank approaching slowly, its progress impeded both by the dead and by the large rocks on the narrow trail. Calmly, he raised his arm. He was now positioned with the plasma cannon crew, one hand resting on the gunner’s shoulder. When the lead tank and the first APC were in full view, he noticed a curious figure in the APC, wearing a yellow scarf and stoically pointing forward with his outstretched arm, as if he was leading a cavalry charge from the old days.

The colonel dropped his raised arm, signaling the gunner. The pulse cannon erupted in a massive energy discharge. The lead tank took a direct hit and stopped in its tracks, its frontal armor melted. The driver’s hatch flew open, and a smoking figure, partially on fire, tried to escape the inferno inside the tank. He fell in a hail of fire from the entrenched troopers. The snipers under Cruwell’s command fired and eliminated the curious figure protruding out of the top of the APC. The colonel almost wished they hadn’t done that; interrogating the apparent leader could have been informative. The two other tanks tried to disengage, but there was nowhere to go. They succumbed to several well-thrown thermite grenades. The remaining APC’s met a similar fate.

That ended the battle; all that remained was to take prisoners. Cruwell emerged from his concealed position, and the colonel came forward. He motioned for the reserve squad to come forward as well.

“Sergeant, find me a prisoner.” Matthias and his squad quickly proceeded down the road in tactical two by two formation, covered by the snipers and the entrenched troopers. The colonel’s forces had not suffered a single casualty, and he began to think of alternate plans of aggression. Perhaps there was a supply base or garrison nearby.

Matthias had no sooner rounded the bend in the road when he encountered a group of three badly mauled men, their hands raised in surrender. Their mismatched uniforms were almost grafted to their bodies from the intense heat caused by the grenades, which had burned or melted the fabric as well as the soldiers’ skin. A fourth man, appearing almost unscathed, stepped in front of the others. He was weaponless, and his hands were raised. He addressed Sergeant Matthias.

“I am Michaels. We surrender and demand treatment according to the articles of war.” Michaels fully expected to be shot on the spot, as was usual when mercs were captured. Sergeant Matthias gave Michaels the once over and, apparently satisfied, motioned for two of his troopers to come forward. “Search them for intel,” Matthias said as he looked Michaels directly in the eyes. “Were you in charge of this attack?”

Michaels looked around before pointing to the figure slumped over the open hatch of the knocked-out APC. “No, he was,” Michaels said as he stared at the ground. “I tried to warn them …” His mumbling voice trailed off. Matthias’s troopers surrounded the ragtag bunch and searched them for intelligence, going through their pockets and gear before leading them up the road. Two of the mercs needed assistance, unable to walk on their own. Two troopers removed the dead commander’s body from the turret hatch and laid it on the ground. A single large bloodstained hole gaped open on his chest, and a thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. A few pieces of brain were also on his shirt, perhaps his own or perhaps someone else’s. A large part of his head was gone, thanks to another sniper round. His eyes had grayed over and stared into nothingness. Matthias knelt beside the corpse and fingered the tarnished medals, noticing that many of them were very old. The bright yellow scarf was now soaked with blood.

“The war is over for you now,” Matthias muttered. He closed the eyes of the commander for the last time. After many years and many battles, the lines and creases that marked what was left of his face finally showed peace.

CHAPTER 8

The colonel sat behind a plain metal desk in a featureless room that had been hastily cleared out for use as a command post inside the bunker complex. “Was this the only attacking force we can expect?” he asked of the prisoner seated across the desk from him.

Michaels sipped water from a metal cup. One of the troopers guarding the door offer him a synthetic cigarette; Michaels pushed it away politely with his hand. He took another sip from his cup of water before responding to the question.

“No. We were given orders only to secure the bunker perimeter, not to go inside. The client told us that a special force would come by nightfall and secure the complex.”