Sons of the Lion Page 4

  Plus, Samson had two children and a wife at home, whereas Antonious liked to joke with the rest of the men he had three kids “somewhere.” Samson was grounded in his faith, his family, and his life. Mulbah wasn’t certain whether it was because Samson had children, or a faith that nobody else could match, which made him such an effective combat leader. In the end, it really didn’t matter, as long as he continued to work for the Korps.

  A voice cut in over the comms. “Colonel?” Mulbah sighed and killed the view of his Tri-V. It was time for him to execute his part of the mission. It was the most dangerous part as well. He’d rather be in combat in the safety of a CASPer than face what was to come.

  “Yeah, Thorpi, I’m ready.” Mulbah exhaled and got up from behind the desk. He floated to the entry into his personal office and paused. The Veetanho was giving him a very strange look. “What is it?”

  “I just…” Thorpi paused and scratched behind one ear. “Are you sure you don’t wish to bring the command squad with you, in their CASPers and ready to fight, Colonel?”

  “I do wish to bring them,” Mulbah stated, a wry smile upon his face. “But then the Presidential Guard would think we’re there to start a coup, and things will go to shit in a hurry.”

  “But, Colonel…aren’t we there to start a coup?”

  “Yeah, true. Probably,” Mulbah acknowledged as he shrugged hesitantly. “Doesn’t mean they need to know until it’s over, though. Plus, we could get lucky and not need one. I really hope this is the case.”

  Thorpi bared his fangs ever so slightly. “You think too much like a Veetanho, Colonel. It is downright scary at times.”

  “Besides, Major, if it does go to shit, I need the command squad to come in blasting everything they’ve got, just like we planned,” Mulbah reminded him. “We show up looking for a fight, we’re going to get one. I’d rather they come to the negotiation table peacefully. Well, appearing peaceful.”

  “What about Captain Jacobs and 3rd Company, then?” Thorpi pressed. “Why do you have them in CASPers but so far away from the potential combat?”

  “Zion has his own mission to complete,” Mulbah reminded the Veetanho. “It was your idea for him to do this, remember?”

  “Yes, but that was before I knew you were going into the capitol without even a single CASPer backing you up!”

  “I know.” Mulbah nodded as the duo began to head toward the sole remaining shuttle onboard the Jörgummund. “If I had told you what I planned to do, you wouldn’t have let him go to secure our HQ in case things go sideways. You would have him flanking me, probably in Chocolate City or something, ready to jump into the fight at a moment’s notice, since it would be the last direction they’d expect him to come from.”

  “You’re absolutely right!”

  “Now do you understand why I didn’t tell you?”

  “Unfortunately, I must concede your point,” Thorpi said, his voice miserable. The Veetanho’s ears twitched slightly as he looked at Mulbah. There was genuine concern in his eyes. “You will use caution, Colonel?”

  “If I used caution, Major, I wouldn’t be going down with my ass hanging in the wind,” Mulbah reminded him. “But since I like living so much, I’ll be extra careful. I’m glad you care so much, Major.”

  “I don’t have job security if you’re dead,” Thorpi reminded him. “Stay alive, sir.”

  * * *

  15 Kilometers above Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary HQ, San Pietro Island, Italy District, Earth

  “Jackal Six, Golf Four. Bass, got eyes on the prize,” Corporal William Noah announced as they continued to plummet through the thick cloud cover over Italy. “Landing in two minutes.”

  “Confirmed, Golf Four.” Antonious checked his altimeter. They were passing fifteen kilometers and would be groundside precisely when Corporal Noah stated. So far, so good, he thought. “Stay safe, menh. Jackal Six, out.”

  Outside his suit, the wind howled as it whipped past. Antonious was nervous since this was only the second time the company had done a kamikaze drop. The first time had been done to the colonel’s satisfaction, but thanks to the amount of deployments the Korps had been on over the past six months since, he had not had the opportunity to keep his company up-to-date on the training regimen. He knew he had to do it eventually, there just hadn’t been enough time to do it before all this happened.

  “This sucks, menh,” Antonious muttered as the landing zone came into view. The flight line just outside of Taranto S.R.L.’s main compound was chosen for their LZ before they moved into the base proper. Antonious had no idea if the mercs inside would surrender and submit to Guild Law, though he really hoped they would. The idea of killing another Human merc company just didn’t sit well with him.

  Truth be told, none of it was fine by him. He hadn’t said much on the matter when Mulbah had presented the guild’s case to them, but since then his mind had been in turmoil over the matter. Antonious knew he really didn’t understand politics or politicking the way the other company commanders did. He’d done well enough on his VOWS, true, but he’d always been inclined to simply live and let live. Backroom deals involving one person pledging loyalty to another in exchange for money while publicly denouncing the person paying them, always confused the hell out of the Liberian.

  Jump packs screamed as the rocky ground of the island just off Italy’s coast came rushing up to meet him. Antonious felt the suit right itself and he landed gently on the sandy beach a mere fifty meters from his anticipated spot. Using his pinplants he began to tag every CASPer as they landed, identifying them and marking their locations as a secondary backup for each squad’s NCO on the Tri-V inside his suit. He knew from experience that Master Sergeant Oti was undoubtedly doing something very similar, and he fervently hoped the squad leaders were as well.

  “Jackal Six, Jackal One,” Oti’s voice crackled in his ear. “Good drop, bass. All okay. Orders?”

  Holy shit, we all lived, was Antonious’ instinctual first response, but he decided saying so out loud would be highly unprofessional. He decided to stick with something Colonel Luo might say. “Good work, Top. Have the squads move into position. I’ve got to make contact with the Italians, over.”

  “Ya bass, on it. One, out.” Oti clicked over to start barking orders at the men of 2nd Company while Antonious prepared to do the hard part.

  Settling down, he transmitted on an open frequency to the members of the Italian merc company inside the complex.

  “Attention mercenaries of Taranto S.R.L.,” he began, reading the script which was helpfully displayed on his screen. It had been written by Mulbah and Thorpi, with Zion going over the finer details to ensure they didn’t screw it up. Not for the first time did he wish Samson had been the one chosen to do this part of the mission. “This is Captain Antonious Karnga, 2nd Company, Kakata Korps of the Mercenary Guild. You are in violation of Guild Law Article Fourteen, Section Seven, Paragraph Twenty-two: violating a guild directive by not responding to a guild missive in a timely manner, thus causing the guild to file a formal protest on your lack of compliance, which in turn forced the guild to file a missive to which you did not respond to in said manner. You are hereby subjected to guild justice and are ordered to turn yourself over for judgement within the hour. Please respond.”

  Antonious clicked off the comms and stared at the script. He took a deep breath and tried to read it a second time. He failed to understand a single word of what the Italians were being accused of. He muttered under his breath.

  “What the hell did I just tell them?”

  * * *

  Inside Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary HQ, San Pietro Island, Italy District, Earth

  “What the hell did he just say?” Chief Sergeant Major Umberto Meloni asked as he looked around at the gathered men and women of Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary, one of the three government-sanctioned Mercenary Guild units within Italy. Unlike their Italian brethren who had fled when the general alert and evacuation order from the Four Horsemen was received, Taranto S.R
.L. had neither the funds nor inclination to abandon their island base. It had been decided by near-universal agreement to remain behind, to act as the eyes and ears for the rest of the companies. Plus, they had been commanded to hold down the fort by the Italian government and, since their now-missing and presumed dead leader was a distant cousin to the Prime Minister, their hunkering down to wait out the storm had been an easy decision to make.

  “I think…I think we’re being punished for not answering a letter,” First Corporal Major Mario Bonucci answered, confusion etched upon his craggy features. “We’re in trouble for not answering?”

  “No, we’re in hot water because they were forced to send out an official notice to our non-compliance to their letter, which caused them to write…another letter?” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni suggested as he looked back at the gathered CASPers outside. “That’s pure bureaucratic bullshit right there.”

  “Who are the Kakata Korps?” Corporal Major Alia Guigliana asked as she consulted her pinplants. After a moment she began shaking her head, a slightly bemused expression on her face. “They’re a moolie company from Liberia.”

  “They let the moolies have CASPers?” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni asked in surprise. “The guild must be getting desperate.”

  “I don’t know,” Corporal Major Guigliana said as she delved deeper into their combat records. “They look pretty good. I wonder why the Horsemen didn’t tell them to leave, too? Oh, I see. They were off-world and their comms were dark. Cheap bastards.”

  “They’re moolies, Alia,” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni stated, finality in his tone. “Why would any of the Horsemen mess with them? Tell First Squad to suit up. We’ll teach them how proper mercenaries fight.” He activated his pinplants to respond. “Kakata Korps, this is Chief Sergeant Major Umberto Maloni, Taranto S.R.L. Get off our lawn, moolie.”

  * * *

  Outside Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary HQ, San Pietro Island, Italy District, Earth

  “What the hell does that even mean?” Antonious muttered as he stared at the facility. Only fifty years before, the island had been a luxurious vacation spot for wealthy Europeans, with lovely views of the port city of Taranto across the bay on one side, and equally pleasant views of the Mediterranean on the other. He changed frequencies. “Oti, it’s Tony. You know what a moolie is?”

  “Like kaffir,” Oti answered immediately. “Bad name. No kill, can beat them hard?”

  “I’m tempted,” Antonious growled as he recalled where the term kaffir had come from and the history behind the derogatory word. His blood began to boil but he forced himself to remain calm. “Don’t shoot unless they fire first, though. Bass doesn’t want to kill Humans, even if they are full of biggity, menh. Over?”

  “Okay, bass, no kill,” Oti confirmed. “One, out.”

  “Stupid biggity, cocky, ugly Euros…” Antonious muttered as he switched frequencies once more. “Taranto S.R.L., this is your second warning. Surrender to the Korps and prepare to accept Mercenary Guild justice or face the consequences. Please comply, over.”

  * * *

  Inside Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary HQ, San Pietro Island, Italy District, Earth

  “They’re smoking something if they think we’re going to surrender without a fight,” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni grunted as he stubbed out his cigarette. He turned in his seat and looked at Corporal Major Guigliana. It was obvious to the experienced senior NCO she was concerned. “What?”

  “Chief, they are very good at assaults,” she pointed out as she shared the information via pinplants. “They’ve only been around for a few years, but they are solid. They’ve even survived a Besquith contract with almost zero casualties!”

  “They’re moolies, Alia,” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni reminded her, ignoring the data. “Look at their history. Of course they’re good at assaults. It’s the simplest tactic in the history of mankind, outside of defending a walled structure. Charge head-long into something and smash it in the face.”

  “Chief…”

  “I’ve heard enough, Corporal,” Maloni warned. “Have First Squad deploy as soon as they’re suited up. More than likely the moolies will either back off, or we’ll start shooting, and they’ll be cut down. Oh, and get Tsolmon Enkh up here. He’s going to want to see this.”

  “Yes, Chief,” she answered miserably and turned back to her pinplant to give the command for First Squad to move out. The corporal wondered if the chief remembered all they had was First Squad before shoving the question aside. It wasn’t her place to second-guess her superior’s commands, after all.

  * * *

  Outside Taranto S.R.L. Mercenary HQ, San Pietro Island, Italy District, Earth

  “Well, that’s different,” Antonious commented to nobody in particular as he watched the solid concrete blast doors begin to open. The large bunker was undoubtedly tough and went underground, since there was no way they could cram more than fifteen CASPers into the small area he could see from his position.

  He clicked over to 2nd Company’s channel. “Jackals, this is Jackal Six. Be advised, we got movement over here. Master Sergeant Oti?”

  “Bass?”

  “Have the men ready, but remember not to shoot unless they shoot first, over.”

  “Yeah, bass, you say already,” the man reminded him.

  “Just…making sure,” Antonious said. “Six, out.” He changed frequencies and contacted Captain Tolbert. “Leopard Six, Jackal Six, over.”

  “This is Samson, go ahead,” came the quick reply from roughly 42,000 feet overhead.

  “Menh, they’re coming out from the look of things,” Antonious said as the large doors started moving. He could hear loud noises from within and swallowed nervously. “They didn’t sound happy when I told them to surrender.”

  “I heard it when you were broadcasting, craw craw boy,” Samson chuckled. “1st Company is on standby. Just give the word, over.”

  “I swear to God…” Antonious growled, irritated. “One time! It was one time, and the cream made it go away!”

  “Okay, Jackal, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t tease you anymore about them Ghana girls,” Samson apologized.

  “Thank you,” Antonious breathed in relief.

  “But I said nothing about them girls from Guinea…” Samson roared with laughter.

  “Shut the hell up, menh,” Antonious said in an irritated voice. Leave it to Samson to remind him about the other time, which had required pills and multiple doctor visits to clear up. He silently vowed to never brag about his conquests in the bedroom again whenever Samson was around. “Jackal Six, out.”

  He killed the connection before Samson could get in one final joke at his expense, and focused on the noises coming from within the concrete structure. The sounds were obviously being made by CASPers moving across a concrete surface, but for the life of him he could not figure out just what they were doing. If they were coming out to fight, then he would have expected them to come pouring out of the building like ants when one kicked over the anthill, not to toy around in the darkness simply to build suspense.

  “What are they doing?” Antonious hissed as he waited impatiently for something to happen.

  An engine rumbled loudly from within the darkness and Antonious’ guts clenched up nervously. Whatever the noise was, it was definitely not a CASPer. It almost sounded like a tank, but ever since the advent of the Mk 5 CASPer, tanks had become obsolete. Surely the Italians wouldn’t try to fight them in tanks? Something was up.

  From out of the darkness a massive shape emerged. Antonious yelped in surprise as the huge form of a semi-trailer truck came barreling out of the concrete structure, its roof barely clearing the ceiling as it drove out onto the hard pavement at breakneck speeds. The semi was pulling a long flatbed behind it, and Antonious suddenly realized just what the Italians had planned, even though he had no idea how they had managed to get a semi into a building which was half its size.

  On the back of the flatbed were fourteen Mk 7 CASPers, each with a MA
C on one arm and a lightweight cyclic energy weapon on their opposite shoulder for balance. They leapt off the flatbed and landed heavily on the pavement before fanning out. Their heavy steps shook loose a few small stones which had been piled up next to the small artificial berm near the water’s edge.

  Antonious watched as the Italian CASPers turned and aimed their weapons at individuals in Antonious’ company who were not behind hard cover. He felt a tiny bead of sweat begin to run down the side of his face as his guts churned. They were in a standoff, and with Antonious under strict orders not to fire first, he was probably going to take some casualties if the Italians decided to start blasting at the Korps. He still retained some hope it would not come to a shootout, but those hopes were quickly dwindling by the aggressive tactics shown by Taranto S.R.L.

  “Stand down,” a voice broadcasted from one of the CASPers. It was heavily accented English, but still understandable for Antonious. “Stand down, or you will be destroyed. The guild has betrayed humanity.”

  “The Four Horsemen have betrayed us!” Antonious called out in reply. “They broke both Galactic and Guild Law, then left us to hold onto the planet while they ran off! How can you be so stupid?”

  “The Mercenary Guild has betrayed us!” the CASPer countered. “Surrender now or be destroyed!”

  “Naw, menh, you surrender, or we’ll destroy your base,” Antonious threatened, though he wasn’t too sure how he could accomplish this. If a semi could drive out of a concrete building which looked to be only fifty feet long, then he had no clue as to how far underground the true complex burrowed. More than likely it would take quite a bit of time to actually destroy the base, which would probably mean flooding it with the Mediterranean Sea.

  “Last warning, moolie,” the voice warned. Antonious’ eyes narrowed.