Sons of the Lion Read online

  Corporal Williams pivoted and aimed the MAC at the obvious threat in the destroyed room, a quick five-round burst. The MAC rounds split Major General Sparkles asunder like wet tissue, painting the knock-off throne, the wall beyond, the ceiling, and the floor with the warlord’s blood. The force of the multiple rounds drove the skinny criminal boss off his feet and into the wall. He slid down to the ground, dead.

  Kids began to scream and run, the sound distracting the CASPer pilot and throwing everything into utter chaos. Zion, unsure what to do, tried to step in the doorway to block any of the kids from seeing the utter carnage Williams had made of their former provider and drug lord. He glanced back and grimaced at the sight. That’s a lot of blood.

  Unexpectedly he felt the sharp bite of a knife sliding along his ribs. Reacting instinctively, he rolled away quickly, kicking out with his right leg as he did so. He hissed as the sharp pain which grew as he stumbled against the wall. Glancing back, he saw his attacker was a boy, no more than nine or ten, armed with a tiny knife no bigger than Zion’s middle finger. He felt blood seep into his undershirt and stumbled away, nearly colliding with Corporal Williams. The CASPer turned his MAC onto the boy but Zion yelled and pushed the arm of the mecha up and away.

  “No!”

  Corporal Williams refrained from firing. Zion, however, noticed his hands were now bleeding as well. He looked up at the arm and saw he had pushed at one of the extended blades of the suit with his unprotected hands. “Shit,” he muttered, suddenly woozy as his palms began to hurt.

  His hands were sliced open, exposing meat and tendons. Zion stared dumbly at the white thing inside the cut. Is that the bone? The pain wasn’t so bad once he got used to it. That, or he was beginning to slip into shock. The mercenary commander wasn’t completely sure which. He blamed the second-hand smoke from all the drugs out in the main area of the ramshackle house.

  “Hang in there, bass,” the corporal told him as he stood protectively over the prone figure. More of the roof began to fall in and children poured out of the ruined house, running for their lives, believing the Korps mercs were there to kill them all. “Sergeant! One of the little bastards knifed the bass!”

  Outside, Sergeant Kepah came to a halt after running the final one hundred meters to the house. He had observed the children fleeing and, assuming the worst, had quickly made his way to where his commanding officer was. Hearing Williams’ statement, he almost fired on them until he recalled Colonel Mulbah’s standing orders about the children of Liberia.

  Accessing the situation, he barked out a new set of orders.

  “Wallace! Clear the house! Make sure all the kids are out. Utu, Kromah, go to the back. Williams? Get the bass out of there!”

  “He’s hurt, Sergeant,” Corporal Williams called out. “Bass is bleeding everywhere.”

  Shit. Sergeant Kepah realized Master Sergeant Nuhu was going to beat him senseless for this massive screwup. If he was lucky, Nuhu would get tired before he killed Kepah. “Get him out anyway. That fire is spreading, and it’s going to cook off all those rounds, menh. You ken?”

  “Yeah, on it,” Corporal Williams replied. Using the suit’s armored back to keep the debris from the collapsing roof off the captain, he gently grabbed his CO by the arm and tried to drag him backward. However, debris was blocking the way, and the corporal couldn’t see how he could get the captain out without harming him further. “Sergeant, I have no safe exit for the bass.”

  “I’m on it,” Sergeant Kepah said as he waded into the damaged house. The fire was growing, and the entire structure was going to be engulfed in a matter of minutes. Flames licked greedily at the debris on the ground, which appeared to be highly flammable. The sergeant knew they did not have much time before the ammo rounds cooked off in the heat. The entire neighborhood was at risk.

  He tossed aside some old tin, which had once been the roof but was now blocking Williams’ exit path with the captain. Moving quickly, the sergeant pushed the fallen filing cabinet away and kicked a few of the ancient rifles. Corporal Williams now had a path out of the burning structure, and he towed Zion out into the street to relative safety.

  “Wallace? Grab Utu and knock down the building next door,” Kepah ordered. “Make sure nobody is inside first. Pile up the debris in a circle around the fire. Keep finding empty houses and build a wall around the fire so the bullets don’t hit anybody.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” they called out in unison and quickly began to dismantle the two closest housing structures. Both had been abandoned for a long time and the ruined skeletal structures were weakened by weather and age. In almost no time the two suits had taken the houses down and had a large pile of rubble before them.

  Working as a team, they quickly built an artificial barricade. They stacked it as high as they could, erecting a thick, two-meter-tall barrier around the fire. It did not help stop the fire. However, they soon heard a pop! from one of the rounds cooking off, but it did not make it through their hastily built structure. The barrier would hold for the time being. Sergeant Kepah nodded in satisfaction and knelt down to check on his captain.

  The hand wound looked bad, but Sergeant Kepah was more concerned about the stab wound. It was a deep cut, sliding just between the armor plates which protected Zion from the random gunfire. It had managed to go between the ribs as well, but other than a cursory scan there was nothing he could do. They had stupidly left the company’s medic back at HQ, not even considering they would need him for this operation. A round might not be able to pierce the armor but a knife could apparently slide between the plates, Kepah noted. With as filthy as the street was, on top of the viciousness of the cut, the sergeant’s experience told him a wound such as this could very well become infected in a hurry. They needed to get back to the Korps’ secured HQ building and get Zion treated, and quickly. With luck, their captain would only have scars and a terrific drinking story to share later, when they were all out in a merc pit somewhere, drunk to the point of blacking out. Kepah radioed ahead for the company’s medic to prepare to receive wounded.

  Of the children who had been working for the late and unlamented Major General Sparkles, there was no sign. It wasn’t as though Kepah could blame them. Even in the slums of Monrovia, everyone knew shit always flowed downhill.

  * * *

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

  Samson looked at the situation and nodded in satisfaction. The transport shuttle had landed and retrieved Antonious an hour before, leaving Samson in overall command of both 1st and 2nd Companies. It was a first for him, being in charge of so many mercenaries at one time. So far, everything was moving along like clockwork.

  The CASPers of 2nd Company had found the tunnel leading away from the underground bunker rather easily. Once they knew what to look for, the underwater tunnel connecting the mainland to the island had been found within ten minutes. It was a mere thirty meters underwater at its deepest point, so Samson went ahead and had 2nd Company follow it to the mainland and seal the entrance on the mainland’s end. He then continued digging the trench which would allow the sea water from the Mediterranean to flood into the underground compound on the opposite site, where the flatbed kept the bunker’s blast doors jammed open.

  In hindsight, Samson thought this structure’s design was one of the dumber ideas out there. He wondered if the Italians trapped below had come to the same realization. Hindsight always improves one’s vision, he had found over the years.

  The surviving members of Taranto S.R.L. had attempted to barricade the concrete doors shut but their plan had been stymied by the Korps simply pushing the rear half of the flatbed trailer into the entrance. Given the front end of said trailer had been destroyed by the two drop pods, it had been relatively easy to move. The doors had tried to shut and almost succeeded, but the steel frame of the trailer held it open by a full meter. While not enough room for a CASPer to fit inside, it was more than enough to slowly flush them out.

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nbsp; “Chief Maloni, you and the rest of Taranto S.R.L. have five minutes to come out of the underground bunker, unarmed and out of your CASPers, or I’ll have to do something I really don’t want to,” Samson declared across the open radio frequency. Around him, 1st Company waited expectantly for any signs of trouble. The Italians didn’t reply, so Samson continued. “Your men and women will be treated in a respectful manner and will not be harmed. You will be turned over to the Mercenary Guild and placed in a detention center until a trial can be arranged.”

  “Go to hell, moolie,” came the short, terse reply.

  Samson sighed. “Fine, be that way, menh,” Samson growled and killed the comm. He turned and looked at his men. “Sergeant Washington!”

  “Bass?” 1st Squad Leader Sergeant Seku Washington wandered over.

  “How’s the tide?”

  “Coming in now, bass.”

  “Perfect,” Samson nodded. Scanning the depth of the trench 2nd Company had spent almost a full hour digging, he saw they’d done it perfectly, with a two-degree downslope from the edge of the water to the concrete bunker. The only thing left was to smash the pavement at the entrance, then patiently wait for the Italians to recognize the inevitable conclusion to the situation. Saltwater had already filled the trench to the brim and the rising tide, combined with the downward sloping angle, would fill the base in hours. It would be a slow, torturous besiegement. He tried one final time to get through to the Italian mercs.

  “Chief Maloni, I don’t want to drown you and your mercs,” he said. “Just come out. Nobody else needs to die today.”

  Nothing. Samson sighed. He had known the men and women of Taranto S.R.L. were a stubborn and tenacious lot but this was absurd. He switched frequencies. “All right then. Master Sergeant Oti, knock down the last barrier.”

  “Okay, bass.” 2nd Company’s Top trotted quickly over to the concrete barrier preventing the water from the trench from going through the doors and into the underground bunker. The first sergeant leaned against the ruined flatbed and began to kick at the barrier, hard. After four solid strikes the concrete fractured. Oti bent over and began to scoop the crumbled material out of the trench. Slowly but with ever increasing speed, water began to flow steadily into the bunker.

  As the water really started to pour in, Samson had his CASPer try to gauge the flow of water. From the looks of things, over ten gallons a minute were headed into the underground bunker. While he still wasn’t sure how deep the bunker was, he figured it couldn’t go much further down than the underground tunnel. It would take a few million cubic gallons of saltwater to fill the bunker but then, it was why it was called a siege, he knew. Things like this weren’t instantaneous.

  “Tick tock,” he whispered as water continued to pour into the dark. The Italians were now on a timer. Samson knew eventually they would be forced to come out. The question was whether would it be peacefully, or if there would there be more unnecessary deaths?

  * * *

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

  “They’re insane,” Chief Sergeant Major Maloni muttered under his breath as he looked at the gathered mercenaries around him. It was far less than what the Korps had anticipated, since most had gone with the company’s CO in the flight from Earth with the South Africans from Dood Wraak. Only a handful had remained behind, to be the eyes and ears in the region. The Korps had no idea just how badly they had hurt the numbers of Taranto’s rear guard with their assault. And it wasn’t as though anyone from Taranto S.R.L. was interested in telling them.

  “How long until they force us out?” Corporal Major Guigliana asked, worried. She hadn’t seen that much water in Level One since the underwater tunnel had sprung a leak soon after it had been installed. It had made her nervous then; this was terrifying.

  “Ten hours, maybe nine,” Chief Maloni acknowledged. He, along with the others who had been left behind, were all in their CASPers, though they knew if they walked out of the compound suited up they would get slaughtered by the Korps.

  It was horrifying to watch their brothers and sisters in arms be disposed of so quickly. However, they also noted the Korps only opened fire after one of the Taranto S.R.L. mercenaries had shot first. This hadn’t made any of them feel better, though. In fact, it made everything worse. The Korps, from the look of things, had gone out of their way to try and not get into a fight. Still, the bastards outside had killed their comrades, and only blood would repay blood.

  First, however, they needed to get out of the situation they were in.

  “What do you think our odds are, taking them head-on?” Maloni asked. He was looking at the monitor. There were multiple hidden cameras set up around the island. All but three had been knocked out by the Kakata Korps as they sought to deny them information. The chief was irritated at the utter ruthlessness of the Korps. He really hated dealing with professionals sometimes.

  “Not good, Chief,” Guigliana admitted. “They have something like twenty CASPers up there. Mk 7s, sure, but still pretty tough. The worst part is they know how to drive them.”

  “Escape tunnel?” the chief tried again. Guigliana shook her head.

  “They blocked it off the moment they found it, remember?” she informed him. The chief cursed and looked at his slate.

  “Out of options, I take it?” a quiet voice asked from the darkened corner. Chief Maloni looked over at the slight man, who also happened to be one of the main reasons why Taranto S.R.L. had held out in the first place. They were supposed to be the eyes of the Horsemen in Europe, yet had been discovered quickly. The man dipped his head. “There is no point in more needless deaths, Chief. There is no shame here, even if they are…what did you call them? Moolies?”

  Maloni grunted. “I might have underestimated them a bit.”

  “No shit, Chief.” Guigliana said in a sour voice. “I tried to warn you.”

  “Yeah, enjoy the gloating while you can,” Maloni snapped back. He heaved a defeated sigh. “Shit, you’re right. You were right. I’m going to go ahead and send out the terms for our surrender. I hope they’ll listen.”

  “Let’s hope they aren’t carrying a grudge for shooting their guy,” Guigliana added in a humorless tone.

  * * *

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

  One by one the six remaining members of the mercenary company filed out of the bunker, their hands clasped atop their heads as they came. Samson and those of 1st Company who were available were covering them, their MACs trained on the approaching men and women. Samson knew his men weren’t looking for a fight, not after the bloodbath they had participated in earlier. Still, it was a bit nerve-wracking for them all. Samson did not expect a fight, not at this point, but he would be damned if he let them get the drop on his and hurt one of his men like they had managed to do with Antonious.

  The leader of the group stopped and looked up at him. The Italian was not an ugly man, Samson decided as he inspected him, but the expression he wore upon his face was twisted and angry. Still, he had surrendered without any more deaths or injuries. It was enough for now.

  “Chief Sergeant Major Maloni?” Samson asked. The man before him replied with a short, curt nod of his head. “I am Captain Samson Tolbert, 1st Company, Kakata Corps. You are hereby placed under arrest on order of the Mercenary Guild, and you will now be taken into custody. Do you have anything to say?”

  “No,” the man responded through gritted teeth. Samson understood this level of anger. He’d been there before, a long time ago.

  Shoving those memories aside, Samson continued, “You will be kept in a secure facility until the date of your trial. I have been assured by the Mercenary Guild that your safety is important, and you will not be harmed in any manner.”

  “We need to look good for our show trial,” a soft voice muttered from behind the chief. Samson shifted his CASPer slightly and identified the speaker. It was a short, skinny Asian man of inde
terminate age with a very bland expression on his face. Samson could easily tell he was a merc. There were multiple scars running the length of his arm and the captain could see the pinplants just behind the man’s ears. Samson blinked as he accessed the data storage system in his brain and came up with nothing.

  “I don’t have you on file,” Samson admitted after a moment. “Are you a new recruit to Taranto S.R.L.?”

  The man laughed sympathetically. “You could argue this, though I know where my true loyalties lie.”

  “Yack?” Samson asked. The man shrugged his delicate shoulders.

  “Misplaced it.”

  “C’mon, menh,” Samson sighed tiredly. He was in no mood for games. It had been a long day and he was tired. “Don’t toy with me.”

  “I am Lieutenant Tsolmon Enkh,” the slight man told Samson after a moment of silence. “Golden Horde.”

  Samson blinked. “You lying, menh?”

  “No lies,” the man replied. “I remained behind to assist Taranto S.R.L., as ordered.”

  “You look kinda short to be in the Four Horsemen,” Samson observed. “I heard they were all giants.”

  “That’s Cartwright’s Cavaliers,” Tsolmon corrected with a wry smile. “Their commander is, ah, a tad overweight. A big boy.”

  “You really are in the Horde,” Samson breathed. He looked around but none of the other Korps members were listening in. Taking a slight risk, he leaned in closer to the man. “Did you really betray Earth and do all the things the guild said you did?”

  Tsolmon squirmed slightly before responding. “We did do some things which might be considered violating Guild Law, if strictly enforced and none of the other races in the guild weren’t doing the same thing. Other than that, I cannot say.”