Saul of Sodom: The Last Prophet (6 page)

  
“These are the men you expect us to lead?”

  
“Now, now,” said Malachi, “don’t go getting the wrong idea.  These men play
hard, but they work hard –
damn
hard.  You have my word.”

  
Celyn lowered herself into a black leather lounger.  “Speaking of playing hard,”
she said. “Where’s the Cajun?”

  
“Cho! Co!  Yeaaw! 
Merci
,
mes chers
!” At that moment, a door
flung open at the end of an adjacent corridor and a voice cackled loudly.  Three
high-end, platinum-haired walkers with high heels and mannequin features
sauntered in from the adjacent corridor, walking and dressing at the same time,
and shuffled right past them and out of the room.  Seconds later, the same
loud, cackling voice from before approached, singing: 

  
“I’s a rambler, I’s a gambler, I’s a long way from home, and if you all don’t
like me, just leave me alone.  I eat when I’m hungry, I drink when I’m dry.  If
ambrosia don’t kill me, I drink till I die. 
Laissez le bon temps rouler,
laissez le bon temps rouler…
”

  
A long-haired, sharp-faced and bare-chested mestizo-looking martial staggered
into the room, holding a half-empty bottle of Liquid Luck ambrosia.  He lifted
the bottle to his lips took five long swigs, then hung his arms, threw his
shoulders back and burped.  The mestizo’s golden eyes dawdled around the room,
finally settling on Saul, whereupon he leered a wide and jagged-toothed leer.  “Ah,
baise-moi
; Monsieur Ares!” he sputtered, flinging his arms in the
air.    “Eh,
Celin
’!” he cried, pointing a wavering finger at Celyn.  “
Bon
soir, cher
...”

  
“Duguay,” Malachi rumbled.  “We’ve got business.  Put down the poison.”

  
“
Bon
.”  The Cajun shrugged, lifted the bottom of the bottle and emptied
the drink into his gullet and bore a striking resemblance to the nightclub
mascot outside the building. He exhaled loudly and threw the bottle aside with
a
smash
.  The Cajun cackled, leapt over the back of a long settee and
fell into his seat with a sigh.  Then, seeing the bottles on the table – some
of them still full – his eyes lit up with sudden desire, and he filled himself
another glass, licking his lips.  “
Grand
…
Alors
…”

  
“Saul’s here to run us through strategy for Nova Crimea,” said Malachi, setting
the agenda for the meeting. “After that, we talk future plans.  Ain’t that
right, Saul?”

  
Saul had had his eyes fixed intently on the boisterous Cajun.  “Right,”  he
muttered.

  
“Right…” said Malachi in a shrewd, drawn-out voice.  He stroked the stubble on
his chin with the ringed finger and started to pace around, one hand
pocketed.   “Assuming we’re all alive by next week, the future looks pretty
damn bright.”  He took a glass off the table and filled it with ambrosia, then
walked out to the edge of the penthouse and gazed out over the Dragon.  “Hell,”
he snickered, “with you in our ranks; there’ll be no contract we can’t score,
no martial we couldn’t snatch up for the guild.”  He drunk and exhaled.  “The
sky’s the limit.”  Malachi turned to face him again.  “Well… we’ll get to all
that later,” Malachi grinned.  “Don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, now, do
we?”

  
“No, we do not,” Saul replied.

  
The scarred eye narrowed judiciously as Malachi knocked back the rest of his
drink and sauntered back over to his seat, taking out a device from under the
sleeve of his suit jacket.  He pressed down on the control and the holographic
flame over the table fizzled away.  In its place, there materialised a large
three-dimensional schematic of what appeared to be a city.  “That’s her,”
Malachi presented. “Nova Crimea.” He slipped the control back into his suit,
sat down, poured himself another glass and leaned back in his seat.  “Floor’s yours,
Martial…”

  
Saul laid his coat down on the nearest chair and slowly stepped up to the
holographic schematic.  He mentally went over the stratagem, which he had only
briefly sketched out in his mind over the interceding days, but which had since
ripened in his veteran subconscious.

  
“Expand Sector 5.”

  
The schematic rotated to his instruction and the northeast corner of the holographic
rendition of the city expanded.  He took out a cigarette, placed the butt at
his lips, lit, drew and blew a stream of smoke, coming nearer to the hologram,
circled and stopped. 

  
“We will be one of five brigades the EDS is deploying to take Nova Crimea,” he began. 
“Each brigade has been assigned a different sector.  Our objective is to take Sector
5.  East Grid forces took over the city about a month ago on a Russian mandate,
so they are expecting retaliation. This will not be a surprise attack, but we
can
turn it into one.”

  
He lifted his right index finger and drew a line over the edge of the sector in
the hologram.

  
“Nova Crimea is right on the edge of the New Borderland, outskirts of the
former Ukrainian Republic,” he explained.  “The city’s defences were set up to
repel attacks from the east.  After the beating the place took a month ago, the
enemy would not have had enough time to restructure their ramparts.  We will be
moving in on the city from the west.  Our PMC is providing us with 12 Landis GM-1
Leviathan Buldroogs.  We move up through sector four with 4
^th
Brigade. 
Once they have cleared our path, we move on to Sector 5.  That is where our
real work begins.”

  
He drew another mouthful of smoke, took the cigarette between his middle and
index fingers and ran the smoldering tip along two, wide paths that cut right
across the schematic.

  
“These are the two main streets,” he continued.  “They run straight through the
sector.  We will call them “North Street” and “South Street” for ease.  They
are the key to the sector.  That is where the enemy will put all of their
stock.  They will no doubt have all the surrounding buildings garrisoned and we
can assume that they will deploy any heavy armour they can spare here and here
(he pointed the locations out on the schematic with the smoldering cherry of
his cigarette).  Their strategy will be to funnel us into these two paths and
tear us apart.  Even if we had a hundred thousand soldiers, we would not be
able to get through in a full frontal firefight...” 

  
“Why don’t we just bang dem
salauds
up from a ways away,
hein
?”
the Cajun interjected.

  
“Nova Crimea is not a martial metropolis,” he replied, pausing to decipher the drunken
creole burbles. “There are civilians there – thousands of them.”  The concern
in his voice seemed to render present company bemused and he noted their rapid
and askance looks at one another.  Needless to say, civilian lives never
registered high in the list of priorities before an assignment, barring some clause
to that effect in the martial contract. 

  
“The ESD wants us to keep collateral damage to a minimum,” Malachi intervened. 
“They want their city back, not a pile of debris and dead bodies.”

  
“
Mo chagren
,” hummed the Cajun, throwing his head back wearily.

  
“Go on, Saul...”

  
“We will need to secure the elevated positions over both roads.”  He drew lines
of smoke through the schematic.  “We breach these buildings along the main
streets,” he indicated.  “It will have to be done quickly and silently.  We
must divide their ranks and find a way to destroy their armour before we advance…” 

  
He suddenly paused, much to the confusion of his three listeners.

  
“So … what’s the plan?” asked Celyn.

 
 “That, I have not yet worked out,” he said.  “We will be outnumbered.  We must
pick our openings carefully.  I will inform you as soon as the strategy is
clear in my mind.  For now, all I know is that we will need a lot of
explosives, and at least four sniper platoons.”

  
“No problem,” Malachi assured.  “Duguay will take the sharpshooters.  Celle can
put the demo team together.”

  
Celyn assented with a nod.

  
“You and I will lead the infiltration teams,” said Saul. “We shall split the
brigade up in two -- one battalion going north and the other going south with
three companies moving through the buildings. Assault squads will hold
positions in the adjacent streets.  It will be a night operation.  We can take
the buildings quietly and surprise them.  Once we have secured both roads, the
sector will be ours before sunrise.”  He blew a stream of smoke from his
cigarette and gazed pensively through the holographic schematic and out the
glass penthouse walls.  “There is no better way to go about it,” he concluded. 
“If everything goes according to plan, you can save a lot of your men’s lives,
and
keep damage to a minimum, which should make your employers happy.”  

  
He wandered across the room, past Malachi and Duguay toward his own reflection
in the penthouse walls.  When he came nearer, he could see the view of the
illuminated skyline through the reflections of the three silhouettes seated in
the room behind him and a wall of cigarette smoke.

  
“Then, that’s it,” said Malachi.

  
Saul removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled. 

  
“That is it.”

  
The jasmine woman let out a snort.  “Always easier said than done.”

  
Malachi clapped his palms against his thighs.  “Alright then,” he declared, rising
from his seat.  “Now that that’s out the way…”

  
“
Les temps des affaires
…” murmured the Cajun, marking the next item on
the agenda.

  
Saul remained with his sights set over the Sodom skyline. 

  
“The contract pays fifty-million dimitars,” said Malachi. “Ten million to the
guild Underclasses, ten to Overs, twenty to the Lower-Elites.  That leaves ten
million to divide between us.”

  
He took the last drag from his cigarette. 

  
“Well,’ said Malachi; ‘what are your demands?”

  
After a long pause, he exhaled the last draw of smoke and turned.  His jaded
stare wandered curiously over Celyn, who stared back at him through narrow
eyes.   “I do not want your money.”

  
Malachi’s head tilted back and surveyed him through downturned eyes.  “What now?”

  
He dropped the burnt butt into a half-empty glass of Snake Venom ambrosia.  “You
can keep the money,” he reiterated. 

  
“
Quoi faire?
”  The Cajun’s head lolled over with a leery goggle

  
“I have no need for money.”   

  
“Is that right?” There was a sudden air of misgiving in Malachi’s voice as he
stepped forward. “Doesn’t look like it to me...”

  
“Eli...”

  
“Not now, Celle.”

  
Celyn sighed and looked away.

  
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a catch here?”

  
“I will lead your men to battle and you will win,” Saul stated, categorically. 
“It is what I do.  You will also keep all the spoils.”

  
“
Mais
…” prodded the Cajun.

  
There was a long silence among them.

  
“I have two conditions,” he said.

  
“What conditions?” Malachi demanded rapidly.

  
“We do this my way.”

  
“Which means?”

  
“I never fire on civilians...”

  
There was a momentary silence.

  
“What’s condition two?” asked Malachi. 

  
Saul looked back at him.

  
“After we complete the assignment and take the sector…”  He paused.  “I leave.”

  
“…Leave?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Where will you go?” asked Celyn.

  
“That does not concern any of you,” he said, brushing Malachi’s shoulder as he
walked past. He lifted his coat off the back of the chair and filled the
sleeves with his arms.  “When you get back to Sodom, you will give the
Commission the final assignment report.  You will tell them I was killed in
action and that my body could not be recovered.”

  
“You’re going rogue and you want us to cover for you,” said Malachi.  “Is that
what you’re telling us?”

  
“
Bioque
,” growled the Cajun.

  
Malachi glowered.  “If the Commission finds out...”

  
“They will not find out,” he interjected.

  
“They
always
find out.”  

  
When he straightened out his coat, he took out another cigarette and raised it
to his lips.

  
“Why the hell are you doing this?”

  
“Explaining my reasons to you will make no difference.”

  
“We want you to be one of us...  Name your terms.”

  
“There is nothing you can offer me,” he said, making his way toward the door.  “Those
are my terms.  This meeting is over.”

  
“No one ever leaves the martial world once they cross over,” Malachi stated,
categorically.  “
No one
.  Especially men like you.  You’re just going to
walk out into the middle of a warzone?  And what do you think will happen when
you cross the Civil Border?  You’re a martial.  Wherever you go, sooner or
later they’ll find you...”