Dawn of the Mad (43 page)

“Who are they?” The smaller worker asked. “I’ve never seen a unit like that before.”

The taller worker threw down his synthetic, mashed it under the toe of his boot, and craned his head to get a closer look. “I have no idea. They all looked the same.” He gasped. “But look at the ends of the platoons—those robed guys. I’ve heard things about them.”

The smaller worker, who had climbed onto a crate, nodded. “I hear they can fry your skull just by thinking about it, mystical magic or something.” He jumped down, and the two ran to the opposite side of the drop ship to get a closer look. The front of the formation entered a large door leading to an adjacent building.

“Look at those troopers!” the taller one said. “Looks like those clones I heard about. They are all the same size, identical! And those helmets are supposed to be hardwired into their heads. I didn’t believe it, but I think I’m seeing it!”

The heavily muscled troopers wore identical uniforms and carried their gear in exactly the same places. Their black pants had numerous pockets and a thigh holster on each leg, and each holster held a large subatomic pistol. They each also carried a plasma boot knife. They wore vests with no shirts underneath. The vests had several cables connected to a large box on their backs. Two of the cables ran from the box to the helmet, with the others attached to various parts of the vest. Numerous frag and thermite grenades hung off of the vests as well. Each trooper carried an EMR modified with a large scope, grenade launcher, and what appeared to be a slug thrower. Some of the troopers carried large rocket launchers and satchels of spare rockets slung over their shoulders.

A booming voice from behind the two workers startled them. They turned around, red-faced, like children who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. A behemoth of a man almost too big for his overalls stood before them, with his arms crossed. His rolled-up sleeves exposed biceps measuring well more than twenty inches. “The supreme chancellor would appreciate it if you two would get back to work and quit wasting his time.” The two workers averted their eyes and looked at the ground momentarily.

“Ah, sorry, Boss,” the taller worker said. “We just saw the troopers coming in. They sure don’t look like regular troopers.”

The boss replied sternly, “You two didn’t see anything. In fact, if you are caught again neglecting your duty, you will be arrested. Is that understood?”

Both workers replied in unison, “Understood.”

The boss turned walked briskly to another nearby maintenance crew, also seemingly distracted by the procession.

The short, fat worker grabbed the handle on a crate. “What was that all about, saying we didn’t see anything?”

The tall worker grabbed the other handle. He looked at his partner sternly. “Exactly what he said—we saw nothing. Now let’s hurry up and finish, so we can get that drink.”

The smaller worker looked slightly bewildered but said nothing further. The two quietly finished loading the crate and finished their shift in silence.

Battalion 3 marched inside a large, empty building that appeared to once have been a gymnasium, complete with a large swimming pool, which was now drained. Grime-stained windows lined the top of the walls where they were joined with the roof, allowing a grey light to permeate the dusty space, which was rapidly filling with troopers. They formed perfect ranks, and their boots rang out in a rhythmic stomping symphony. Several robed figures brought up the rear, with their hands clasped together in front. Heads bowed, these figures silently stopped, off to the side, as the troopers formed six long ranks. Their boots stomped the pavement loudly as they came to a halt and again as they executed a right face in perfect unison. Several high-ranking officers entered, with several junior officers and noncommissioned officers trailing behind.

The main body of troopers, wearing identical uniforms devoid of any name tags or unit markings, waited at attention with their battle rifles held at port arms. The noncommissioned officers, equipped with full battle gear, took up positions in front, at various intervals. In contrast to the troopers, there was nothing perfect about them, as they each wore their kitand uniforms to their liking. Each of them was accompanied by a private or junior corporal who wore a large radio pack on his back. The high-ranking officers made their way to the front and began walking across the ranks, inspecting the rigid troopers. The robed figures stayed to the side, save for one, who conversed with a colonel near the drained swimming pool at the rear of the formation partially hidden by the shadows of the building.

“The battalion will remain here,” said one of the robed figures, “out of site, until the drop ships are fully prepped. I do not want any prying eyes, colonel.”

The colonel turned and faced soldiers displayed before him with great satisfaction. He placed his gloved hands behind his back. “Security is tight,” he said. “We will handle any problems accordingly.” The colonel turned and stared into the blackness of the robed figure’s hood. “The troops will be airborne soon and will rendezvous with fleet. I am more concerned that they are not fully ready of the mission they will undertake. I still have concerns about their built-in cooling units and the logistics of keeping them supplied.”

The robed figure’s voice came out as almost a whisper. “Do you not have faith in the program? It was you who were so enthusiastic when you were given this opportunity to build it from the ground up.”

“There is no way to know if their human minders can keep them under control when in the heat of battle. Ten battalions with less than what amounts to a handful of minders may not be adequate. If they go berserk like the original did, that could be a problem for the human troopers sent to reinforce them.”

The robed figure responded with the same barely audible rasp. “You have fulfilled you mission by getting them prepped and ready for war. Do not worry yourself anymore. The Shadow will take over command once we are in enemy space. If they adhere to their programming long enough for the human battalions to take over, the mission is a success. You have done well, and I sense you have a bright future ahead of you, Colonel Brenneke—perhaps as a provincial governor of X713 Delta?”

Colonel Brenneke quickly smiled as he envisioned the realm of possibilities. “Yes, I am indebted to you. There is just so much more work to be done. I fear the cloning may have been rushed, that’s all.”

“We did not sense that.” The robed figure raised its bowed head and started walking away. “You worry too much, colonel,” The robed figure said as it walked away. “Take it for what it is, a marvel of science and prophecy.” The robed figure paused and turned back around. Two red orbs stared into Colonel Brenneke’s eyes. He almost gasped but held fast, transfixed. “You are serving the supreme chancellor, and that is what puts fulfillment in your life, is it not?”

After a couple of seconds, Brenneke broke out of his brief hypnosis. Stuttering, he replied, “Ye-yes. It is my greatest honor to serve the supreme chancellor.”

The red orbs vanished, leaving blackness. “Good. The hour is near. Farewell, colonel.” The robed figure left without saying anything else, leaving Brenneke wondering what exactly was in store for the populace of the unfortunate planet soon to be invaded.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 41

Roman let Petor in on his plan just before they entered the stasis pods for the journey to Earth, or X713 Delta, as everyone else was calling it. They had both been standing in a long line of underwear-clad penal battalion troopers awaiting a vaccination of some sort within the hold of a massive battle barge.

“You will take me with you, won’t you?” Petor had hissed in a low whisper. He had taken great pains to try to remain inaudible, even though medical staff and regular army sergeants shouted orders seemingly almost every step of the way.

“Shh! I already told you I would. Now be silent before we get sent to the mines instead!”

Petor put his hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Chana wishes to accompany us as well. We cannot leave her behind.”

Roman’s brow furrowed slightly. “How do you know that? She doesn’t speak.”

“I have become quite adept at communication with her now,” Petor replied.

Nodding, Roman kept his eyes forward. “We all need to stay together.”

“Next!” A medical orderly brought a small pistol-shaped device to Roman’s shoulder. On the top of a device was a reservoir holding a lightly colored purple liquid. Roman felt a prick as a needle penetrated his skin. A loud hiss emanated from the gun, and the purple liquid vanished from its reservoir.

“Ow!” Roman’s shoulder instantly felt numb. As he looked at the injection site, he could see it beginning to bruise before his eyes.

“Let’s go, move out!” the technician said. “Next!”

A trooper grabbed and led him by the shoulder through a door into a vast corridor lined on both sides with stasis pods. He already felt a bit loopy and extremely tired. The trooper him to one of the cylindrical stasis pods, into which he gratefully entered. Sleep quickly overcame him as the computer took control of the pod’s ambient temperature and began to monitor his vitals. Behind him, Petor and later Chana were entered their respective pods, along with dozens of others.

Dozens of massive dreadnaughts parked themselves in low Earth orbit, causing satellites and space junk to disintegrate against their outer shielding, adding to an already dense debris field. Once in position, the dreadnaughts commenced with a precise surgical bombardment, executed by an experienced battle fleet. The full force of their laser batteries and tactical missiles were loosed on the blue planet below. Power stations, suspected military bases, and other targets of infrastructure were eliminated. These attacks dropped numerous cities into perpetual darkness, from Belize and Honduras to the current front line on the Rio Grande, separating Mexico and Texas. Weapons technicians monitored hits and acquired new targets on large holomaps. Once the bombardment ceased, numerous egg shaped dropped pods carrying assault regiments and equipment descended to predetermined LZ’s.

Lord Sabis advised Chuikova to separate the campaign into two distinct offensives, a southern and northern. Once the southern offensive was underway, clone units would spearhead the northern offensive. Once all resistance was crushed, occupation and subjugation could begin.