Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  “To make them duck when we do something real stupid, menh.”

  “Why the hell not?” Simbo asked, understanding Samson’s thought process almost immediately. He laughed and waved a hand toward the burning building. “Not like we haven’t already burned the shit out of this place, ken?”

  * * *

  Lion’s Gate, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Deep in his chest, Mulbah felt a familiar rage begin to build as he struggled to corral his mercenaries into a coherent defense. They were fast running out of options. Then again, he only needed to hold out for a little while longer.

  A loud rumble ripped through the air, causing him to look up. He spotted five more objects descending from the upper atmosphere and tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it. He had 38 mercenaries total, and Peepo was acting as if this were a fight against the entirety of the Four Horsemen. Not normally a jovial man, he found a wicked sense of gallows humor seemed to overwhelm him at the oddest of times.

  It reminded him somewhat of when he’d been held captive by the Zuparti the year before. They’d beaten him, with the help of some hulking Lumar, for what had felt like days before his rescue had come. During that time, he had drifted into a weird kind of half-life where everything serious was funny and his life meant nothing and everything simultaneously. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again.

  He shook his head to clear it; melancholy did not suit him. Fighting did. He turned and shot a stray Tortantula in the face once, twice, before it fell to the ground. For good measure he put two more rounds into the exposed weak spot at the back of the alien’s neck. It twitched one more time before he was certain it was dead.

  “All Kakata Korps, this is Lion Six,” he called over the comms, broadcasting on a general channel for all his surviving mercenaries after checking his clock. Time was running short but they only needed a few more minutes before he could be certain everyone was away. “Keep fighting. You might be hurting. You might be tired, sore, injured. I don’t care about your aches or pains. Fight. Fight, damn you all. We need to give them more time. I order you to fight for your country, your people, and your fucking families!”

  * * *

  Executive Presidential Mansion, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  “Damn it, bass,” Samson muttered as he listened to Mulbah. “We’re doing as much as we can.”

  “K-bombs set, bass,” Private Fields said as he crouched behind one of the few undamaged concrete barriers. “They all on stringers, too.”

  Samson nodded as he aimed his stolen laser rifle at a Zuul and fired. The Zuul yelped and dropped like a stone. He checked the cartridge and saw he only had enough charges for five more shots. “Good. We’re really running out of time here.”

  “The fire is gonna get us?” Simbo asked as he picked up a solid piece of concrete and hurled it at the Zuul. It missed and exploded in a cloud of dust and rock upon a portion of the still-standing fence. The first sergeant cursed and found another chunk of concrete to throw.

  “Or the Zuul,” Samson confirmed as he checked the timer. Everything was set. He checked the positions of the Zuul. The alien mercs remained in small pockets as they surrounded the entire mansion. There was no escape for the men of 1st Company. Not that Samson or Mulbah had really expected it, given how far away from the HQ they had to be to ensure the leaders of the Defense League could escape.

  Still, Samson had clung to a small hope that some of his men would escape. The fighters had been a rude surprise, though. Not to mention the arrival of the Besquith and the Tortantulas. Nobody had really believed they would be used; it was common knowledge both races had been hit with something biological. To see them deployed into battle had been a gut-wrenching moment for every member of the Korps.

  “Timer set for thirty seconds,” Samson announced to them. “Leopards…I think this is the part where we all die or something.”

  “Menh, this is some fucking bullshit right here,” Private Fields groused. “I don’t want to die a virgin.”

  “No virgin, Fields,” Simbo called out in a teasing voice. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you’re about to get fucked, boyo.”

  “That’s not right…”

  Samson shook his head and hurled the daisy-chained K-bombs through the window of the burning mansion. The bombs hit the floor and stayed together, as he had hoped. He coughed and looked at his Tri-V. It was time. “Let’s do this! Paint the sky!”

  The three CASPers broke out from their cover and charged into the surprised Zuul. Their rapid fire faltered as the heavy mecha crashed into them, arm blades slicing through the soft spots of their armor. The alien mercenaries recovered faster than Samson hoped but not fast enough to stop many of them from dying.

  Fields’ suit was tripped up and the young private went sprawling. He landed heavily on a concrete barrier. He tried to push himself up off the barrier but it quickly became evident he was stuck. A Zuul, sensing the CASPer was vulnerable, ran forward and slapped their version of a sticky bomb on the exposed back of the suit.

  Samson was too far away to help and was forced to listen to Fields’ panicked cries before the multiple detonations of Zuul grenades cut him off for good. In a rage, Samson swung the arm of his CASPer in a wide circle, decapitating three Zuul in one strike before slamming a fist through another. The confused expression on the alien’s face would have been comical had Samson not been lost in the depths of his rage.

  Fields’ CASPer blew up spectacularly, creating a flash hot enough to set a nearby Zuul’s fur on fire. Samson struggled to fight off the dog-like aliens but they pressed the attack.

  Dark memories came to his mind as he fought on, and days long past flitted through his thoughts. When he had fought as a child against different warlords who had angered his bass. He could still taste the coppery tang of his blood as he bit his lips while crying, trying to make sure he killed other children before he himself died. Recalling the rank stench of burned gunpowder and rotting corpses, his stomach turned as he found killing aliens to be much easier.

  Killing shouldn’t be easy, he knew in his heart. It was a lesson he had strived to teach his own children. It might be necessary, but it should never be easy. Being a mercenary was not something just anybody could do. It required a mindset Samson wondered if he truly ever had.

  A solid impact and explosion near the small of his back knocked him to the ground. He struggled to get up but found his legs weren’t working. Looking down, he was surprised to see he had a large hole in his belly and blood was pouring out. Oddly, it didn’t hurt at all. His systems were screaming at him and the Tri-V was showing the lower half of his suit was red. He tried to chuckle but it was too tiring.

  The CASPer grew hotter around him. Had he fallen into the fire? That would be bad. Dying was no big deal. Being cooked before dying, though, would be horrible. Cooked Human flesh was one of the more disgusting odors he had ever had the misfortune of smelling. It was one of the reasons Samson studiously avoided the Korps’ HQ whenever Mulbah had barbecue days.

  Ow, it hurts, menh. It suddenly dawned on him just what was going on. Another glance down showed him there was too much blood inside his CASPer for it to be anything else. Something had pierced his suit and gone straight through some major blood vessels, potentially an artery had been severed. There was no sensation in his legs at all and breathing was growing difficult with each flutter of his faltering heart. He tried to stab the legs of an approaching Zuul but his arm was too weak. He was done.

  I’m dying? Damn it.

  * * *

  Tubman Memorial Plaza, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Zion yelped as a claw from one of the Besquith embedded itself in his CASPer’s armor. He turned and the massive furred arm, and body attached to it, was dragged along. Zion brought up his blade and sliced the Besquith’s arm off in one stroke. The claw remained stuck in his armor, so he deftly sliced the blade through the face of the alien. The Besquith fell to the ground, bleedi
ng from two ghastly wounds, unlikely to recover.

  3rd Company continued to fight the Besquith in the middle of the plaza, turning the formerly immaculate memorial site into a ruined collective of trashed buildings and mangled metal sculptures. The grass was torn up completely, which was Zion’s fault more than the Besquiths, and alien blood was everywhere. The Besquith were putting up a terrific fight, but the CASPer’s ability to keep the fighting at a distance favored the Humans inside, since the Besquith preferred to fight in close-quarters combat.

  “Zion? You still alive?” Mulbah called out over the comms.

  “Yeah, for now,” Zion replied as he turned and shot another Besquith in the hip. The massive alien slid to the ground before reaching out and grasping the leg armor of another member of 3rd Company. Taking careful aim, Zion put a round through the head of the alien before it could disembowel Sergeant Kepah. Claws dragged down the leg of the sergeant as the Besquith died rather messily.

  “Good call on Sunshine,” Mulbah informed him. “She’s going to avenge us all.”

  “If you say so.” Zion grunted as a Besquith managed to get in close and rip open a CASPer cockpit. Before he could shoot and kill the alien, the Besquith managed to stick its head in and rip the pilot’s face off. On Zion’s Tri-V, he saw Corporal Wallace would not be going home that night, his suit suddenly going red as life support signs failed. Blood dripped down the gaping maw of the Besquith as it launched itself off the fallen CASPer and crashed into another.

  “Goshawks, tighten up!” Zion ordered as the formation became ragged. Outgoing fire slackened as a few CASPers turned to deal with the threat in their midst. Suddenly it clicked in Zion’s head just what Mulbah had said. “Wait. Colonel, what did you do?”

  “I sent her away,” Mulbah explained. “She has information which needs to get off-planet and into the hands of a Peacemaker.”

  “You sent her away?” Zion asked, shocked. “But…”

  “You want her to stay alive?” Mulbah interrupted.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then delay the Besquith for as long as possible,” Mulbah instructed. “Don’t be in a hurry to die. That’s how you can help her.”

  “Got it,” Zion confirmed. “Goshawk Six, out.”

  I didn’t even get to say goodbye, he thought as the Besquith continued their relentless attack. He raised his rifle and shot a Besquith in the chest. Instead of falling, though, the alien merc pushed ahead and landed a heavy blow on Master Sergeant Nuhu’s left arm.

  Sparks flew as the Besquith went into a rage, claws scraping along the CASPer’s armor as it struggled to get inside. Master Sergeant Nuhu tried to use his undamaged arm to swipe at the Besquith but his reluctance to release his laser rifle hampered him.

  Screaming furiously, the wounded Besquith finally managed to crack the cockpit open like an egg to get at the pilot. Nuhu’s cries for help were abruptly cut off in a wet gurgle as the Besquith’s fangs ripped open his throat. Blood sprayed out of the cockpit as the CASPer staggered backward. More Besquith closed in on the gory scene and Zion knew they had mere moments before 3rd Company was overwhelmed.

  “I’m sorry, Christian,” Zion whispered as he targeted the small area just below the jumpjets of his CASPer. He squeezed the trigger, and the tiny spot ruptured.

  Inside the containment tank was the fuel which powered the CASPer’s jumpjets. Like Zion, Master Sergeant Nuhu had not used any fuel while they moved into their defensive position upon leaving the Kakata Korps HQ. The highly volatile fuel exploded as it reacted with the oxygen in the atmosphere.

  The hypergolic fuel expanded rapidly, superheating the air as it converted the rich oxygen into energy. The fireball expanded in less than one-tenth of a second before the concussive blast followed. The blast grew, violently tearing into the ranks of the Besquith gathered around Master Sergeant Nuhu’s dying form. White-hot flames fused the Besquith to the concrete where they were standing before blasting away their flesh and soft tissue, leaving only their ghastly skeletal remains behind.

  Unfortunately, the explosion also took out two members of 3rd Company, cooking the men inside their mechas before they even had a chance to blink from the bright blast. They died just as quickly as the Besquith, without feeling much pain.

  The shockwave from the explosion pushed the surviving Besquith back, creating a large open space between them and the surviving CASPers. Zion, knowing an opening when he saw one, knew there was only a short time for him to get his surviving mercs back to HQ.

  “Goshawks! Back to the base!” he ordered as he provided covering fire. The CASPers turned and fell back toward their headquarters, forcing the Besquith to pay dearly for every inch of ground they claimed.

  * * *

  Warehouse Zero, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Tears ran freely down Sunshine’s face as she finished refueling her CASPer. It had been torturous for her to listen to the deaths of Samson and the rest of 1st Company. The mercenaries she called her family were dying in droves while she was safe inside and preparing to flee. All because Mulbah wanted her to get off the planet and to safety.

  Intellectually, she understood and even agreed with him. Zion had mentioned to her they had information which needed to get to the Peacemakers. The only problem was all she had on her person was what she knew, which, admittedly, wasn’t much. If she understood anything about Mulbah, however, she was certain the colonel had already figured out how to get the information to whoever it was supposed to get to. All she needed to do was get out of Monrovia alive.

  “Probably uploaded the data into my CASPer,” she muttered as she finished the refueling process. Not knowing what else to take, nor where her final destination lay, she grabbed some dried ration packs just in case. These would keep her alive, though the taste was atrocious. Still, it was better than some of the stuff she had been forced to eat while living with Major General Sparkles.

  Loaded up, she clambered back into her CASPer and sealed the cockpit. Taking a deep breath, she double-checked her systems. All systems green. With the amount of fuel she currently carried, she could easily make it over 250 kilometers before worrying about refueling the suit. Without a combat loadout, she knew she could potentially stretch it to over 400.

  Being armed with only two reload magazines for her laser rifle and nothing more made her slightly nervous. If any of the three merc races caught up to her, she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. None of the scenarios she had run with Zion predicted anything like this, not even the Moloq one. She swallowed and remembered something she had heard once, long ago, though she could not remember from where.

  Adapt, then overcome.

  She would adapt to the change of plans. It was simple. As a member of the Kakata Korps, she was expected to be the best they had to offer. A beacon of hope for Africa. Scourge to those who wished to enslave humanity. A chance at redemption for all men and women alike. She would overcome the odds, and kill every single individual who came in her way.

  First, however, she needed to get the hell out of Monrovia.

  Exiting the warehouse, the sounds of intense fighting could be head from the direction of the Lion’s Gate. If she had understood Antonious correctly, the Tortantula and their Flatar riders had slaughtered the regular Liberian Army as they valiantly sacrificed themselves to give the Korps more time to repel the assault. She didn’t dare bring up the status of the company on her suit, not after she had barely managed to convince herself to follow the colonel’s orders.

  Mulbah was there with the Command Squad, fighting alongside the Jackals as they struggled to hold onto the main gate to the Korps’ headquarters. It was where she should be. The colonel needed an update, and while she knew he would yell at her for not leaving yet, Sunshine needed to know precisely how he was planning on transferring the data to her CASPer while she was on her way out of the city. There were ways, but if it was a large data file dump then she might need to stay in one area.

  “
Colonel, it’s Lieutenant Sunshine,” she radioed as she stepped out into the daylight and looked toward the sea. It startled her at how blue the ocean was on her Tri-V. Pollution in the Freeport had traditionally been high, but with the Korps purchasing it and renovating most of the dockside area, the levels of grime and muck in the water had all but disappeared.

  “You’re supposed to be on the road already, Lieutenant,” Mulbah scolded her after a few moments of silence. “What’s the delay?”

  “Sir, I…I don’t know where the information is,” she admitted. “Is it in your offices?”

  “No…but thanks for reminding me about the other thing,” Mulbah stated, his tone weary. “Near your position there’s a makeshift holding cell. In it is the Blevin. I need you to…I need you to let her go.”

  “Let her go?” Sunshine was startled. From everything Zion had told her, the Blevin was supposed to be executed for murdering PFC Doré. What had changed? “You sure, bass?”

  “No,” Mulbah said irritably. “But if I hated everyone who was ever hired to do merc guild business, I’d never learn to do anything else again. No, just let her go. She’ll be on her own but I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself.”

  “And the data, bass?” she reminded him. “Where do I get it?”

  “I uploaded it…to your CASPer two days ago, the moment I figured an attack was imminent.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just get yourself off-planet,” he told her. “Find the Peacemakers.”

  “Do you want me to rip out the CPU of the CASPer once I find a way?” she asked.

  “Uh…sure, yeah, that would help,” Mulbah told her. “Not to sound rude, Sunshine, but I’m—ouch, you little fucker, that hurt!—a little busy right now. Get your ass out of here!”

  “Yes, bass,” she said. She opened her mouth to say more but was cut off by Mulbah.