Sons of the Lion

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Sons of the Lion Page 11

by Jason Cordova


  Mulbah still needed a Mk 8 Command CASPer, however, for Antonious to come back. Without it, Antonious would struggle in his command role in 2nd Company as he tried to use the suit in ways it was not designed. If there were any suits in the world, Mulbah had no idea where they were. Rumors abounded. Alaska, Spain, Portugal, Egypt…all were locations where spare suits were rumored to have been stashed when the Four Horsemen left. None of the Zuul mercenaries who had been sent to find them had been successful, which was disheartening. Then again, Mulbah knew just how sneaky Humans could be. It was entirely possible the various locations were hidden and gene-coded to reveal themselves when Humans were near. He had used something very similar when encoding the doors to the inner sanctum of the Korps’ HQ.

  Distracted, Mulbah thought back to the message General Peepo had passed him via Thorpi. The orders read, “Obtain the prison known as New Ikoyi Prison in Lagos, Nigeria, to serve as a detention center for any and all captured mercenaries.” Unlike past contracts he had dealt with, this had come down directly from General Peepo herself, which surprised him. There had been no bidding process or assessment waiting period, simply orders.

  This did not please Mulbah, since he’d been promised a small amount of autonomy when it came to operations in Africa. The fact he hadn’t been asked, merely told to go, irritated him. Still, it would be an easy contract with a fat payday, which offset the problematic nature of the deal a bit. This didn’t answer the question about how Nigeria would feel with the Korps tromping around in one of its bigger cities, but it was something he would be left to figure out, along with Thorpi. However, it still didn’t solve the current issue plaguing one of his companies.

  2nd Company was on HQ security as Mulbah tried to figure out who to promote as temporary replacement for Antonious. The obvious choice would be Master Sergeant Oti, except the senior NCO had already declined the offer. In fact, every single NCO in the entire Korps had declined the promotion so far. Everyone believed Antonious would continue to lead the 2nd Company and they were reluctant to step in to replace him, even if it was temporary. The captain sure wasn’t telling them not to take his spot until he was back up at full speed. Mulbah was beginning to consider alternative ways to handle it, part of which involved his chief operations officer.

  Thorpi, while nominally a member of the Mercenary Guild, had never actually shown any aptitude for combat. The alien had explained his kind weren’t suited for fighting, which Mulbah had found to be a bit odd. Males fought all the time. It was genetically ingrained into their biological makeup to fight for mating rights at the basic level, Mulbah knew. Even Veetanho males had to impress and woo the dominant females somehow.

  Right? The colonel was forced to admit he really didn’t know much about Veetanho culture or societal norms, or for that matter even the true dynamics behind the council which ran the Mercenary Guild. Everything he had once thought to be crystal clear was now murkier than a brown stream flowing rapidly through the poor part of town. Mulbah continue to mull over his options for how to handle 2nd Company as he monitored the restocking of the warehouse.

  He could always roll them up into the command squad and make a company. This was probably the easiest solution, but he really had no desire to take on the burden of being both the CEO of the Korps and 2nd Company CO as well. There would be so much going on it likely wouldn’t work out well. Plus, he recalled as he finally reached the bio-locked door which led into the main part of the Korps’ HQ, he wasn’t overly fond of 2nd Company as a whole. There was just something about them which made him uncomfortable, and it was a feeling no company-level commander should have with his mercs when they went into battle.

  He pressed his thumb against the scanner pad next to the door and waited as the gel-like substance formed a vacuum seal around it, checking his pulse, body temperature, and fingerprint. Satisfied the person holding the thumb was attached to the proper owner the door unlocked and Mulbah stepped inside. He turned and closed the door behind him.

  The inner sanctum of the Korps HQ was something of a joke. There were more slates scattered around for operational planning purposes than there were actual users. Every single one of his company commanders got their own office and attached apartment, which had driven the contractors crazy when he had demanded it. So far, only Mulbah and Zion seemed to use their apartments for the designed purpose. Antonious, up until he lost his arm, never spent the night with the same woman more than twice, though his clothing and uniforms were stored on base, and Samson lived off base but nearby with his wife and children, as well as his wife’s niece and nephew, both of whom were war orphans. Mulbah had hopes the children, who were already tearing it up in the school programs he helped establish in the country, turned to the Korps whenever they passed their VOWS.

  Mulbah’s office was sparse and had very little in it, outside of a desk and four chairs. There was no need for filing cabinets, not with the popularity and ease of use slates. He didn’t even bother with a potted plant or pictures on the walls. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have decorated his office, had he the time. No, the problem was he was never actually in his office to begin with.

  He walked past his office and stopped at Thorpi’s. The Veetanho actually preferred plush pillows more than anything and, with the slates scattered around in his office haphazardly, Mulbah thought it reminded him more of an unruly teenager’s room than a battle-hardened mercenary’s. However, it wasn’t his office, so he let the alien do as he pleased.

  “Menh, got the plan for the prison break yet?” Mulbah asked as he knocked on the Veetanho’s door.

  “You’re beginning to talk like them,” Thorpi stated without looking up from his slate. The faint sounds of the alien’s nails on the device’s screen were barely audible over the cool breeze of the central air conditioning, another demand of Mulbah’s during the conversion of the rundown facility.

  “Like who?”

  “Like the men under your command,” Thorpi explained. “As for your ‘prison break,’ yes, I have a plan. You do realize this isn’t a prison break as much as it’s a type of prison appropriation, right?”

  “Prison break sounds far more interesting,” Mulbah pointed out. “Besides, we need to move all those prisoners already there to somewhere else, and we really haven’t consulted the prison guards yet. That, technically, makes it a prison break.”

  “I’ll concede the point, for now,” Thorpi nodded. “Thanks to their civil unrest a few months back, Nigeria’s prisons are actually well below their maximum occupancy. Who knew mass executions could be so beneficial to our current needs?”

  The Veetanho was alien and simply did not understand Humans sometimes, which meant Mulbah needed to be patient with his COO. “Thorpi…” Mulbah paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he continued, “It’s not necessarily a good thing. Some of them were simply tossed in prison for having the wrong political beliefs.”

  “I thought your General Assembly charter prohibited this?” Thorpi looked at him, confused. The alien tapped a few commands on the slate, then flipped through the screens. After a moment he began to nod. “Yes, see? Right here it says that political discrimination against any minority party will be dealt with in a harsh manner.”

  “White people laws.” Mulbah waved his hand in the air, dismissing the argument. “Good for Europe and America. They write each other sternly worded letters and bitch about it in the General Assembly, but nothing comes of it. When they come to Africa, the General Assembly simply waits until we’re done killing each other before stepping in and declaring peace—well, most of them do. Then they say they created peace, while causing more shit with their foreign troops who are supposed to enforce the peace, sometimes violently. They’ll pick the side which lost, claim it was victimized, and then we start all over again because of old tribal grudges while they step back to watch all over again.”

  “This sounds inefficient,” Thorpi acknowledged. “Why not kill them all? One of your greatest
military leaders once said, ‘I shall make a desert and call it peace,’ did he not?”

  “‘To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire; and where they make a desert, they call it peace,’” Mulbah quoted as he closed his eyes. As much as he hated Roman history while in college, the quote from Gaius Cornelius Tacitus had always stuck with him. Mostly because the professor had been adamant it was the only way for absolute peace.

  “It sounds far more Veetanho than I thought a Human could,” Thorpi admitted after a moment of silent contemplation.

  “It does,” Mulbah grunted. “Which is why I decided to accept the proposal from the Mercenary Guild when you first brought it to me.”

  “Sir, I must say Humans…are really weird,” Thorpi stressed the final word, his ears twitching slightly as he spoke. “I don’t know if the word came out correctly or not.”

  “It was the correct word. Yeah, we’re very weird,” Mulbah nodded. He shifted gears. “So, how goes Operation Prison Break?”

  “It’s not…fine,” Thorpi relented with a very Human-like smile. “Operation ‘Prison Break’ is going to require both the 1st and 3rd Company to pull off. Not because of the prisoners in the prison itself, but the guards. According to this brief I received from General Peepo’s chief of staff, the prison has been taken over by a drug-trafficking warlord by the name of Moses, who appears to have the full support of the current Nigerian government and, more importantly, their military.”

  “Moses?” Mulbah asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Thorpi nodded. “Yes, Moses.” The alien looked at Mulbah, confused. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, just…forget it,” Mulbah told him as he shook his head. “Ready for the mission briefing, then? I can tell Samson and Zion to meet in the briefing room in ten.”

  “Sounds good,” Thorpi agreed. He looked back down at his slate. “I also have a proposal for the problem with 2nd Company you might be interested in.”

  “Oh?” Mulbah said. He stepped into the office. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the wall. “Go on.”

  “I know performance issues within the Jackals are worse than we’d hoped they would be,” Thorpi began, his eyes locked on the slate in his paw. “They seem to suffer the most casualties out of any other company, but it’s actually not Captain Karnga’s fault. They are typically deployed into combat situations first almost thirty-two percent more than the other companies, even though Captain Tolbert’s company has the reputation of being the most combat ready unit.”

  “Really?” Mulbah asked, surprised. He hadn’t known about that.

  “Oh, yes, Colonel, it’s obvious once you notice the trends,” Thorpi nodded and swiped right on his slate. “I just sent you the data. You tend to put the Jackals into dangerous positions more often than the others, even if it’s not apparent during pre-deployment drops. This isn’t through your fault, or Captain Karnga’s. It’s simply bad luck.”

  “Then what do you propose to do about fighting off bad juju?”

  “Juju? Oh, bad luck. I like that word. I will use it in the future. First off, we rotate them back here and keep them around as base security until Captain Karnga is back on his feet,” Thorpi said as he motioned for Mulbah to look at his slate. “We switch out the company numbers, which is easy enough. Captain Jacobs and the rest of his Goshawks become 2nd Company in terms of deployment rotation. Captain Karnga gets a promotion and becomes the S-1 for the Korps while remaining here at HQ, with the rest of his Jackals providing base security. This way we don’t have an understrength company out on contracts while leaving a fully-crewed one here.”

  “Hmm…” Mulbah pursed his lips, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Antonious was fairly popular in town, even with his womanizing ways, and the loyalty showed to him by the Jackals was pretty high, even with all the hits they’d taken to their personnel. Mulbah was forced to admit that while the man had never actually been through any sort of officer’s training program, his natural charisma seemed to bring about a certain level of leadership ability. Plus, serving as an S-1 would allow Antonious to assist with the maintaining of personnel in the Korps, while teaching him different ways to become a better leader without it feeling like a lecture. The more Mulbah ran the idea through his head, the better he liked it.

  “Do it,” Mulbah decided. “Antonious only has nine mercenaries in his company at the moment, counting himself, but they can easily maintain security on the base from here on out. Make sure they still receive combat bonuses, though. I don’t want them to think they’re being punished. I’ll explain to the other companies that we’ll be rotating everyone through HQ security eventually, but right now it’s going to be the Jackals until they get up to full strength.”

  “Which might be never,” Thorpi added as he looked over the recent VOWS results. “Have you seen these numbers?”

  “Horrible,” Mulbah agreed. “I’m sort of surprised, though. The scores in North America and western Europe are actually lower than ours are.”

  “I wonder…” Thorpi’s voice trailed off.

  “What?” Mulbah prodded.

  “Oh, I was just thinking. If I wanted to subvert an occupying force from using our own people against us, I’d do something about it,” Thorpi shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I’d make sure the populace resists in a way where they don’t even realize they’re resisting at all, like corrupting data in VOWS results to lower the scores or by making the test impossibly hard.”

  “Since when did you start calling the Mercenary Guild an occupying force?” Mulbah asked, surprised.

  “When I accepted it for what it is,” Thorpi said. “And because General Peepo accidentally let that bit of information slip in her missive through Captain Beeko. As smart as Peepo is, her subordinates aren’t up to her level. This, we can be thankful for.”

  * * *

  Three Kilometers from New Ikoyi Prison, Lagos, Nigeria District, Earth

  “Move it,” Samson called out as the CASPers of 1st Company bounded out of the transport shuttle’s rear. He waited until the last man was out before he followed suit, jumping from the shuttle and landing on the ground fifteen meters below. The CASPer’s legs absorbed the impact and he stumbled forward, his MAC warmed up and ready for anything while he swept the scene with his laser rifle.

  The outskirts of Lagos were no prize, and they made the streets of Monrovia look clean by comparison. Small ramshackle houses built with nothing more than a few sheets of metal and tarps dotted the area, and small puddles filled with feces dotted the edges of the worn path Samson guessed was supposed to be a road. A few faces peered out from the shadows of their homes, eyes wide in surprise as they took in the sight of the Korps’ CASPers.

  The ground was surprisingly squishy beneath his CASPers feet, slick and not unlike some of the back alleys in the worst parts of Monrovia. Samson made a silent promise to not look down and see precisely what he was standing in. He focused instead on his surroundings. It was eerily silent save for the noise created by 1st Company as they moved around. This bothered him. Knowing the people had been cowed by the warlord running the prison and actually seeing the results of his handiwork were two entirely different things.

  Around him, the rest of 1st Company established a secure perimeter. Samson grunted in satisfaction upon seeing his First Sergeant, Julius Simbo, had already prepared the mercs for the next part of the plan.

  “Top, are we ready to go?” Samson asked.

  “Yes, bass, we’re ready,” Julius acknowledged. “No word yet from Captain Jacobs?”

  “Not yet,” Samson grunted. He’d been more than a little surprised at the restructuring of the Korps, but in hindsight it made sense. He missed his friend out in the field, but until they figured out a way to purchase one of the Mk 8 CASPer suits for Antonious, he simply would not be able to fight the same way, pinplants or not. Zion and the 3rd Company were good, but Samson didn’t have nearly as much experience working with the lawyer as he did with
Antonious.

  “Contact!” Corporal Alonso Dau called out over the comms. “Two AMX-30 tanks, range fifteen hundred meters and closing. Sending coordinates now.”

  So, it begins, Samson thought as the two tanks suddenly appeared on his Tri-V screen.

  “First Squad, engage,” Samson ordered. “Second, provide support in case they send in air.”

  “Bass, did someone forget to tell the Nigerians we were coming?” Julius asked as the confirmations came rolling in from the company.

  “No, Top, they know we’re coming,” Samson stated. “This is all from the guy we’re taking the prison from.”

  “They let that crazy junda have tanks?” Julius asked, his voice incredulous.

  “There’s no real government here right now,” Samson reminded him. “It’s nothing more than a provisional government. Plus, those tanks are over one hundred years old. We’ll be fine.”

  “Bass, the AMX-30R has a modified railgun attachment on the turret,” Julius reminded him. “They’ve had those for fifty years. These models might have them, too.”

  “Damn,” Samson muttered. “Leopards, this is the captain. All personnel, spread out and keep moving. Don’t let yourselves be an easy target.”

  Samson sprinted to his right as 1st Company reacted to his orders, moving into a half-circle and spreading further out with each bounding leap.

  Samson zoomed in on the lead tank and saw it was, in fact, one of the upgraded turret designs with the rail gun. He targeted the AMX with his MAC but slipped on the ground as he struggled to stop. This threw his CASPer off-balance and he dropped to one knee, his free hand slamming into the ground to keep him from falling over.

  The barrel of the railgun oriented on one of his mercs from first squad and fired. A suit in the lower left-hand corner on his Tri-V display suddenly turned red. Samson swallowed as he recognized the red marker for what it was.

  “Hit those tanks!” Samson roared and reoriented himself. His MAC turned green and he let loose at the same time as the rest of 1st Company, every shot targeting the tank which had killed their brother. Three hundred MAC rounds ripped through the armor of the tank as though it were paper, slaughtering the occupants inside. A moment later a fire broke out as the oil from the engine compartment leaked into the crew compartment.

 

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