Dawn of the Mad (49 page)

“We may need to fall back,” Roman said. “If our guys run out of flares, we’re done.” He grimly surveyed the ever-increasing numbers of heat signatures. It didn’t look good.

Without warning, a shoulder-fired rocket impacted directly between the two burned out Texas State Trooper cars, sending all three defenders hurtling backward. Roman heard a cry through his helmet, which now lay on the ground beside him, knocked clean off of his head. A large piece of shrapnel had embedded itself in its side. Roman was unable to move. He was bleeding profusely from his right leg, where a smoking metal shard had lodged itself. He thought about removing it but quickly decided against it. If his femoral artery was severed, he would be done. The embedded metal might be keeping him from bleeding to death.

“Ah damn. I’m hit,” he croaked. He rolled onto his side and saw that Petor hadn’t fared much better. He appeared to be unconscious, lying in a crumpled heap. The clones were upon them. One of them came into view and crashed into Chana, knocking her off balance. Roman turned over onto his other side and watched the spectacle unfold before his eyes. His rifle was gone, but he drew his hand cannon and tried to steady the weapon. Chana had regained her feet and was still firing her rifle. The clone appeared to have a large blade and attempted to slash Chana, but she parried the attack with her rifle. Her helmet crashed into the clone’s chest armor with a loud crack. The clone lunged at Chana, going for her neck, but she managed to bring up her rifle and let loose a long burst under the base of its helmet, sending the clone’s head fragmenting in all directions. The lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Roman breathed a sigh of relief but gasped as a flare was fired, this time showing dozens of clones, seemingly everywhere. Two legless clones began to try to drag Petor’s body off, but shots from Roman’s hand cannon drove them off.

The loud engine of the M-ATV roared behind the trio, and the vehicle came to a screeching halt. The machine gunner began hammering away at anything and everything that moved in his path. Several soldiers began firing their M4’s into the horde. The line apparently had been breached elsewhere as well. Roman could hear faint yells emanating from the M- ATV’s radio inside.

Without warning, the front of the road became instantaneously engulfed in a huge fireball, sending clone body parts in all directions. Soldiers grabbed Roman, Petor, and Chana and loaded them into the M-ATV. The driver slammed the M-ATV into reverse and drove back as another blast erupted.

“Where are those blasts coming from? The driver yelled. The gunner was busy replacing an ammunition belt on his machine gun. “Fuckin’ A!,” the gunner screamed at the top of his lungs as he finished reloading, slapped the top cover shut on his machine gun, and let loose another long volley of automatic weapons fire. He hadn’t heard a word the driver had said.

Roman groaned as he tried to push Petor’s unmoving body off of his. It was no use. Roman was out of strength and losing blood fast. Chana desperately tried to resuscitate Petor, but Roman couldn’t gauge her level of success. Sleep came at him like a warm embrace, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to refuse it. His eyes began to shut of their own accord, and he was powerless to stop them.

He awoke to a hard slap across his face. Chana was shaking him, denying him solitude and tranquility. He saw that she had applied a tourniquet to his leg. The vehicle stopped, and he felt several hands drag him from the vehicle.

“Johann came … Johann …” Roman blacked out again, oblivious to the world around him.

CHAPTER 47

“There,” Roman said. “You can see the ships above.” He shifted his weight on the crutch he used to support himself. Daylight finally had come, and it was relatively quiet for a change. His leg was heavily bandaged, but except for some cuts and bruises, he had no other injuries. Chapa and Sergeant Duncan followed Roman’s finger and were awed by a singular large ovoid shape and many smaller ones high in the sky. Several contrails high in the atmosphere head to the same position. “See those contrails? Those probably are the drop ships coming down,” Roman said. “Make sure your fighters don’t shoot them down.” Several soldiers now peered through binoculars, awaiting the arrival of alien craft.

The next twenty minutes seemed like forever. Six drop pods, each about ten stories tall, landed with massive booms and settled several feet into earth was scarred by their exhaust. Vegetation around the landing site also caught fire, but the fires were extinguished quickly by unknown gases venting from unseen exhaust ports in the drop pods. The pods finally powered down, and large ramps began to extend from the ships toward the ground.

Chapa now had reinforcements at his disposal, albeit a little late. The thought of the extra help pleased him, but he was taking no chances. He had deployed several sniper teams and dozens of soldiers around the landing site in concealed positions, just in case these reinforcements turned out to be the enemy. A platoon of 7th CAV M1 Abrams tanks had arrived earlier in the morning, and the tank platoon leader had positioned these around the landing area as well.

Once the ramps were lowered to the ground, columns of armored troopers poured out in formation, their rifles held at port arms, helmet visors open. Their bearing and grim expressions showed clearly that they weren’t a conscript or penal battalion; these were hardened battle troopers. Roman saw Ground Marshal Chuikova himself exit purposefully from one of the ships in his ceremonial regalia, including his sword. Roman nodded toward Lieutenant Chapa, and the pair walked to the waiting contingent.

“Duncan, you watch my ass,” Chapa ordered.

“Roger that, sir.” Duncan turned away and pulled the hood of his ghillie suit over his blond hair. He jogged over to a nearby blasted hulk of a building to rejoin his sniper team, already in position.

Roman noticed Matthias standing next to Chuikova. Each smoked a large cigar and seemed particularly at ease under the circumstances. Peering inside the drop pods, Roman noticed several armored vehicles, fully crewed and apparently on standby.

Roman and Chapa finally neared Chuikova and Matthias. The sergeant asked cheerfully, “Johnny, how are you?” He broke into a wide grin.

Chuikova nodded in recognition. “Johnny, it’s good to see you again. I wish this never had to happen, but I am afraid there are more sinister forces at work than even I could have imagined.”

Roman examined the two men, whom he once regarded as his friends. Many thoughts raced through his mind. Chuikova, apparently the man responsible for laying waste to a large portion of Roman’s country, seemed relaxed, almost as though he was out for a Sunday stroll rather than overseeing a massive, deadly battle.

“Johann, Roger,” Roman addressed each of them by name; the stepped forward and shook both of their hands.

Chapa spoke, breaking Roman’s internal conflict. “I am Lieutenant Chapa of the Texas National Guard. I am in command here, and I have you surrounded. You may have superior weapons, but my weapons kill nonetheless.”

Johann looked at the grey-haired lieutenant with curiosity.

“A lieutenant you say? Are you the highest ranking officer here?”

“As of now I am,” Chapa replied.

Johann snapped to attention and saluted, his jeweled baton raised high. Chapa returned the salute, and both men relaxed.

“We come to offer terms for peace,” Chuikova stated.

“Terms?” Chapa almost spat out the word. “I don’t think you are in a position to dictate terms. You are responsible for this act of aggression and the many thousands of dead and wounded soldiers and civilians.”

“Casualties are a most regrettable result of war. You must understand that our forces were controlled by another entity, which has since been eliminated. We no longer wish to pursue the destruction of cities and population, just to assure you that this action is over. I can offer the assistance of my troopers and equipment to clean up the remaining clones if that is acceptable.

Chapa stood dumbstruck, suddenly awed both by the display of alien technology before him and by the fact that the superior alien forces appeared to be human, both in appearance and in compassion, and not some monsters. His awe and surprise rendered him speechless.

Roman took over. “Sir, perhaps I could have a word with you in private?” Roman gestured with his left hand, and the ground marshal nodded and followed him. Matthias removed a cigar from his inside his armor and handed it to Chapa, who accepted it with a surprised look on his face.

“First off,” Roman said, “I assume you received my transmission last night. You saved my ass.”

Chuikova smiled. “Yes, I received it, and not a moment too soon, I gather. You can thank Scotts when you see him again—he personally led the assault. He is a very capable fighter pilot.”

“I will definitely do that,” Roman replied. “But I have to ask one question: What do you mean by “terms”? Clone units are still running wild all over the place, as far as I know, and several factions have seized upon the opportunity to exploit this situation. No less than five countries have committed acts of war in one shape or another. My own country is on the verge of collapse.”

Walking with his gloved hands clasped behind his back, the ground marshal replied, “I know, Johnny. The Auger-Lords had your planet in their sights from the first day you arrived upon Hellenheim. I’m sorry if I kept you in the dark. We all were afraid of the Auger-Lords, and we still are. I really had no choice in the matter. However, a lot has changed. I am going to take the fleet into uncharted space and see if we can find an uninhabited planet to colonize, or at least one receptive to us settling down. We do not wish for war anymore. We do not wish to return to our home planet.”

“That still leaves the mess you created here,” Roman interjected.

The ground marshal paused before answering, his purple cape swirling behind him. “I am prepared to leave these drop pods on the planet, with full complements of men and equipment. The men have volunteered to stay behind. I only wish that they be treated with honor. They did not make the decisions that led to the destruction of your cities.”

“I’m sure that would be most welcome, but the circumstances are peculiar. It’s not my decision, anyway.” The duo made an about-face and walked back toward Matthias and Chapa. A few other soldiers now stood around them, some of them no doubt enticed by Matthias’s generosity with his cigars. Matthias was his usual jovial self.

“Terms of peace will be up to our government to decide,” Chapa said. “But as of now I will authorize a cease fire against your forces. Communications are intermittent at best, so I hope you can stay for a short while as we work out details. Your sergeant here has told me a great deal about what has been going on. I would like to think we can work something out.”

The ground marshal extended his gloved hand, which Chapa grasped. Matthias let out a hearty yell, “Bring out the rotgut, you sorry bastards!” The columns of troopers began to pound the butts of their rifles in a rhythmic beat upon the ground.

Chapa keyed his handheld radio and spoke. “Stand down, men. Pass the word. Stand down.” He looked at the marshal. “Of course I am assuming you are in charge and have the authority to negotiate terms also.

“I am in command,” he replied. “My honor is my word.”

”Tell me these terms of yours and how you are going to clean up this mess.” Smiling, the ground marshal replied, “Of course, but first I think a drink is due.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

The ground marshal and the fleet kept their word, and the new government accepted the generous donation of men and equipment. Roman was shocked to learn how much damage his country had absorbed. Millions of people were homeless, with entire cities and communities laid waste along the southwestern border. Civil unrest took hold of much of the rest of the country, compounded by foreign agents who tried their best to exploit the instability.

Roman saw the situation as prime for a fresh start. He had made the decision to leave Earth under somewhat rushed circumstances, but without some forethought. While working with Chuikova and his crew, he wondered about the possibilities for him in a different society, given he just didn’t seem to fit into his own society, which he viewed as degenerating into chaos. Maybe things could be turned around now.

Matthias related the news that Natasha was OK. Sebastian had seen to that, protecting her as best he could during the revolution that had begun on Hellenheim. The supreme chancellor was holding onto power by a thread, fighting off the military establishment and other emerging factions, and his support had dwindled to near nothing. Chuikova had informed him about the ugly situation during one of their many nights drinking and smoking his newfound favorite Cuban cigars. The ground marshal indicated that he would not be returning home, but rather venturing off into uncharted space, seeking a new world on which to settle and retire.

The remaining Auger-Seers on board the
The Emperor’s Fist
had been persuaded to change their allegiance.

Although they had been cruel and manipulative, they had an intense desire for self– preservation, and they recognized that their position had degenerated into weakness.

One thing that had unsettled the ground marshal was the disappearance of Lord Sabis’ body. He ordered the body blasted out of the airlock, but it was nowhere to be found. Every inch of the ship was searched to no avail. He had a gut feeling he wasn’t done with him yet. It would be too easy to simply kill an Auger-Lord with his hands. He only hoped if Lord Sabis had managed to escape, he wasn’t on this planet.

The rest of the Auger-Seers on board were needed to power the ship and maintain its core, creating grounds for bargaining. Not all of the crew wished to depart into the unknown, and one ship was scheduled to return to the home world of Hellenheim.

Roman sat against the trunk of a tree on a small patch of grass. He looked at the beads of sweat running down the sides of the Coke can. He took a gulp, savoring the sweet taste. He missed the simple things from home. Roman therefore faced a dilemma. He wanted to go back to Hellenheim to continue his life with Natasha there, but on the other hand, he felt he was needed here. He also was intrigued by the possibility of a venture into the unknown, possible with Chuikova and his ships. When that was finished, perhaps he could return to Hellenheim. The choices facing him were difficult, but at least they all
good
choices and he realized that making difficult choices is what makes a man. He was grateful that he had them. So many of his former friends and colleagues had stumbled their through life, just going to work and hoping they could retire after forty years or so.