Dawn of the Mad (46 page)

“Well, it may have been a rally point at one time, but not anymore,” Roman transmitted back to his waiting team a few minutes later. “This is definitely the place, but no one seems to be home.”

“Copy,” Petor replied.

Roman stepped into a large clearing created by a drop ship. Two large burn craters were visible. The touchdown seemed to have triggered a small fire, and the advance party most likely widened the cleared area. Several large crates were still stacked, as well as a radio antenna array. It seemed to Roman for a split second that whoever was here had hurriedly abandoned this position sans most of its equipment; some very useful items had been left behind. He was about to give the all clear when he saw the bodies.

He saw six bodies even in the dim light, but it was a little hard to tell. Whatever had gotten hold of them had savagely rendered them limbless and headless. A crude fire pit had two still-smoldering corpses inside it.

“I need you guys to move up. This place is torched.”

The rest of the group soon entered the clearing. Lestor raised his face shield upon seeing the dismembered corpses. Petor and Chana stared blankly at the display of carnage.

“Wha-what could have c-caused this?” Petor stammered out. “It’s so barbaric.”

Roman knelt down and examined several of the corpses. “These were clone minders. I recognize the uniforms.”

“Their heads are gone,” Lestor whispered. “What did they do with their heads?”

Roman stood up. “Chana, I need you to find tracks out of here. We need to find out where they went.”

Chana nodded and started checking the perimeter.

“Petor, get on that radio and see if you can raise fleet. I need to know where we are, and they need to know we are still alive.

Petor nodded and seemed grateful for not having to look at the bodies any longer.

Roman turned to Lestor. “I need you to police up what you can. Rations, grenades, ammo. Whatever you can carry.”

“Understood.”

Roman walked over to Petor who had uncrated the rest of the communications array. It consisted of a small table and a portable computer. The antenna itself unfolded, and once raised manually, it was about fifteen feet in height. Petor got busy on the keyboard and placed a headset on his head. He rested his helmet on the desk.

“I’ll give you five minutes, and we move. I don’t like sitting here.”

“OK.” Petor stopped typing. “The antenna should be calibrated. Let’s see if it works.” Petor stood and look at Roman, who had now removed his helmet.

“Fleet command, come in. Fleet command, come in. Over.” Petor was about to try again when a voice responded, cutting into the static. “Unit calling, identify yourself. This is a secure high-level channel.”

Roman snatched the headset off of Petor’s head. “Give me that damn thing.” He put on the headset and spoke into it. “Listen here, you asshole. Your advance party is history. We are cut off and need immediate extraction!”

The static resumed.

“You got that up there?” Roman handed the headset back to Petor. “They must be all nice and cozy up there. See what they say. I gotta take a piss.”

“What do you have, Ensign?” The watch commander peered over the shoulder of the ensign who sat at his communications station. The ensign adjusted knobs on the console while holding a headset to his ear.

“It’s a tier one encrypted transmission from Battalion 3, Company 6. It’s intermittent, but I did pick this up.” The ensign quickly replayed Roman’s call for extraction. The bemused watch commander placed his hand on his chin.

“That is Captain Siminov’s Clone Assault unit. There may be survivors.” The watch commander spoke quickly, “Try to get him back. If his element is still operational, they will be the only advance clone unit in the area.”

The ensign nodded and quickly resumed his manipulation of the console’s knobs. “Last calling unit, identify yourself and transmit verification code.”

The ensuing static quickly broke. Petor’s slightly nervous voice sounded on the bridge. “Ah, yes. Hello.”

The ensign turned to the watch commander with a bewildered look on his face.

Petor continued, “We are at the rally point. It looks like the advance party was wiped out. We have secured the perimeter and are awaiting extraction.”

The watch commander took the headset from the ensign and covered the mic with hand. “Get the ground marshal down here at once.” The ensign exited his station, leaving the watch commander alone.

“Unit calling, identify yourself,” he resumed, taking his hand away.

“Ah, this is Petor. We are from the penal battalion.”

The watch commander was left speechless. His brief moment of confusion was broken by the arrival of Chuikova on the bridge.

“Report.”

The ground marshal’s speech slurred and he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

“We apparently have a penal unit occupying the forward rally point. It’s from Captain Siminov’s last known location.”

“OK. Give me that.” The ground marshal angrily grabbed the headset and spoke into it. “Who is in charge? Put him on, Trooper!”

Petor managed to whimper a soft “Yes, sir” before leaving the radio to static.

“What units do we have in the vicinity?” the ground marshal asked.

The watch commander quickly produced a holopad and read the latest intelligence report.

“None, sir, in close proximity. Nothing at this time since we ceased orbital strikes. The advance clone units seem to be disintegrating. No support units have been able to get through due to enemy air and missile strikes. Most are spread thinly throughout this area, just short of the large city indicated on the map here.” The watch commander enhanced the outskirts of what appeared to be a sizable residential area. Numerous flashing indicators showed the current positions of the units.

“Why wasn’t I informed of our lack of progress sooner?” the ground marshal asked coldly.

“Sir, you made it clear you did not wish to be disturbed.” The watch commander took a step back, as if he fully expected to be struck. The marshal’s demeanor quickly changed, however.

“I’m sure I did. I’ll take care of this. I want a full briefing in my quarters prepared on the progress of the clone units and supporting elements. Find out why our forces are being split up. No one else will be notified of this but me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The watch commander did an about face and set off from the bridge, yelling orders to his junior officers.

The ground marshal gazed out of the panoramic view window at the blue planet below. His short trance was quickly broken by an incoming radio transmission. The ground marshal quickly turned off the intercom so the transmission could be heard only on his headset.

“This is John Roman. There are four of us left. As of right now, we are the rally point. The clone minders of this unit are all dead. No sign of the clones. How copy?”

“Roman, this Johann. It’s good to hear your voice. When this is over, I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me how you ended up in a penal battalion.” Chuikova looked around the bridge for any robed figures who might be sticking their telepathic minds where they were not welcome. He wasn’t sure of the range of their mind probing, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Seeing none, he continued, “Hold position and await further orders.”

“You want me to stay here?” Roman’s voice agitated voice asked. “Let me be the first to inform you that your clones are going cannibal. We have found some of your regular army troops. My guess is your clones are killing them, just like before when we followed that nut around my city. I hope you copied that. We will wait five minutes, and my team is moving out.”

“Understood. Stand by.” Chuikova turned to a nearby technician. “Patch this through to my quarters.” Without waiting for a reply, he made a hasty exit off the bridge. Unbeknownst to him, a figure in black robes had blended perfectly into the shadows on the bridge. The figure quickly exited to provide information to his master.

“Roman, are you there? It’s Johann.” The ground marshal sat in a small room connected to a closet in his quarters, to which he had the door closed and locked. He sat in a metal chair and spoke into a handset.

“Go ahead. I hear you.” Roman’s voice came over the headset surprisingly clearly.

“Johnny, I am sending you new coordinates. Try to make your way there. We are reinforcing several sectors in order to contain the clones. We will attempt to get you guys out of there. You should have never been there.”

“Well, we are here and will head that way. It looks like chaos down here. I haven’t seen any operational regular units, just an abandoned rally point with lots of equipment, but no sign of anybody.

“Understood. We will get you out of there. In the meantime, maintain contact. Out.” Chuikova put the headset down and let out a long sigh. He pushed a button on the side of the featureless wall, causing the door to open. He walked back into his quarters, sat on his bunk, and was about to pour a drink from the bottle of rotgut on the table next to the bunk when a robed figure stepped out from the shadows.

“Your attempts to hide transmissions from me are futile. You should know that,” the robed figure hissed.

Chuikova slowly turned around. He made no attempt to hide the look of disgust that played across his face.

“Well, come right in.”

The robed figure threw back his hood, revealing a pale, weathered face with patches of grey hair and two black eyes. What reviled Chuikova the most were several carbuncles, oozing black pus, interspersed throughout the forehead and skull. The skin looked almost rotted, as if Chuikova was staring into living corpse. Set square in the forehead was a third, pineal eye, with a purple pupil that held Chuikova paralyzed for a brief moment. He felt a brief surge of electricity surge through his body, before quickly regaining his composure.

The robed figure’s dry, cracked lips formed into a thin smile upon seeing that Chuikova was unable to meet his gaze.

“There will be no extraction,” the robed figure hissed. “The clone units will be reinforced once the rest of the fleet arrives from pulse space. You will continue to push your elements forward until the whole of the continent is infested with my creations.”

“And what purpose would that serve? I thought we were attempting to pacify this planet in the name of the supreme chancellor. Apparently you have ulterior motives.” Chuikova regained his composure and stared straight into the black eyes. His anger and contempt now overwhelmed all the anxiety and fear he had felt initially. He reached for the bottle of rotgut.

The robed figure paced the confines of the spartan quarters. He produced a jeweled staff from the depths of his robes and began to lean on it to supplement his left foot as he walked.

“You are most correct. We are not here for pacification; this is merely but a test of our new forces on an indigenous population. The home world is weary of another war, and if this experiment is successful, we will be unstoppable. Ten thousand years ago, the Auger-Lords set out to conquer the universe and nearly succeeded.” The robed figure stopped for a moment, as if he was remembering events that had transpired so long ago. He continued, albeit in a quieter, soft tone, “The ways of the Auger-Lords were passed down to a select few, and over time, they were nearly forgotten. Theories and applications of the ancients’ technologies are almost lost, except for the order of the Shadow. We keep the legacy alive and will continue to do so until the end of the universe. Do you now see?”

Chuikova stood up abruptly. “The only thing I see is death. I am weary from death.”

The robed figure began to laugh. “It is written in the ancient texts that when a thousand years have expired, our creator will be awoken and set forth to reclaim his kingdom. Your time therefore is at an end. The prophecy must be carried out and fulfilled.” With surprising quickness, he brought the staff to bear upon Chuikova. A blue light formed on the tip. Chuikova was a split second faster. He brought the heavy bottle of rotgut down hard upon the robed figure’s head. The bottle shattered into several large fragments, and the rust-colored liquid began intermingling with blood. A large shard of glass embedded itself into the robed figure’s third eye. The figure gasped and fell, the staff clattering uselessly onto the metallic floor. Chuikova fell upon him in an instant, sandwiching the withered head between his massive hands.