The car touched down amid swirling yellow dust. An armed group of three elderly men and a woman emerged through the minor wind storm to greet the weary travelers.
“You don’t stop by to visit once since we retired and the first time I hear from you, you drop this shitstorm on me,” a crotchety-looking man sarcastically said to Ericksen. The two smiled and embraced.
“I’m happy to see you too, Robinson,” Ericksen said. Then, to his son: “Come and meet the old gang.” He waved Frost over. “This is Mary Kay Thorn. Don’t cross her or you might find your throat bleeding.” She grinned at Frost. He thought she looked more like someone’s grandmother than a cold-blooded killer, but he didn’t doubt his father’s words. “These old farts are Frederick Hauser, Leroy Tomlinson, and of course, Van Robinson. Everyone, this is my son. These days he goes by Roger Frost.”
Frost shouldered his MRG and shook hands. “Thank you all for helping. What’s our situation?”
Robinson answered. “We have control of the operations center. The staff is tied up in a storage room.” He chuckled. “You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when we busted in with our guns drawn. I’m not sure if they were scared or just plain befuddled into paralysis at the sight of a bunch of gun-toting senior citizens with bad attitudes. We’ll move them to a safe spot outside and away from this soon-to-be hot spot.”
Frost ran his eyes over the radio telescope field. “What’s the status of converting them so they can transmit the data on sub-space?”
“That’s Wu’s department,” Thorn said coldly. “He’s the tech nerd.”
“Where is that old Chinaman?” Ericksen affectionately asked.
“He’s still inbound,” Robinson said. “ETA ten minutes. He says jerry-rigging one of these bastards to blast the data stream to Alpha won’t take long.”
“I hope you’re right,” Frost said. “I’m guessing we aren’t going to be left alone here for long.”
Thorn stroked her MRG like a lover. Frost noticed it was an older model with no shine left on the barrel. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “If they come, I’ll protect you.”
He politely smiled despite the chill running up his spine.
***
“Here they come,” Hauser calmly said from atop the operations center’s roof.
“Where?” Frost demanded. He rushed to the old man’s side. Looking off in the same direction, he saw nothing.
“They’re there,” Hauser replied. “My spectacles picked them up. They’re twenty klicks out and holding.”
“How many?”
“Just a dozen cars.” He shrugged.
“Shit! That’s too many. If they rush us now, we won’t have enough time.”
“Here they come. Standard attack formation. They’re coming right for us.”
“We need more time!”
“Relax. It’ll take them a few minutes to jog the last five klicks here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Frost asked stiffly. “They’ll fly right to our fucking doorstep.”
“Mr. Tomlinson,” Hauser said to his old comrade, “would you please show our young friend here what you do best?”
“Certainly,” replied the old black man. He picked up a case and moved like he had all the time in the world. Opening it, he pulled out a rocket launcher.
“Where the hell did you get that thing?” Frost asked in amazement.
“Flea market,” Tomlinson replied calmly. “You’d be surprised what you can find at those things.”
Old but capable hands leveled the large tube and held it steady.
The tracking system buzzed once it established a lock. Tomlinson pulled the trigger, launching the explosive projectile at an incredible rate. A second later, the lead car transformed into a fireball that fell to Earth with a bang. The remaining eleven cars veered off and landed behind the telescopes.
“Woooheee!” Hauser shouted. “Hell of a shot, old man. I think they got the hint.”
Tomlinson accepted a high five. “Good thing, too, cause I only had the one shot.”
“I’m gonna check on Wu,” Frost said. These guys are crazy. No wonder my dad is, was messed up. He’s the normal one here!
“That’s a good idea,” Hauser said. “We know what to do from here, anyway. This sure as heck beats the hell out of playing bridge all day at the senior center.”
Tomlinson belly-laughed. “I got you beat. I’m missing my colonoscopy to be here.”
Frost shook his head as he walked away.
***
Ericksen was relaxing in the server room when his son burst in. He asked, “What happened up there?”
“Your friend, Leroy, pulled out a rocket launcher and took out one of their cars. Looks like it bought us some time, but not much. What’s the situation here?”
“Wu?” he asked.
The gray-haired Asian man didn’t stop working. He continued to frantically rip out wires only to quickly jam them into a new plug. “I need fifteen minutes!” A lit cigarette dangled between his lips.
“You might have ten,” Frost said.
Ericksen headed for the stairs. “C’mon! Let’s go grab those assholes off the roof before they get their heads blown off by some ranged IS grenades. We’re going to make our stand inside the building.”
Frost caught a disturbing grin stretching across his father’s face. It was born of satisfaction. Of finally experiencing resolution at the end of a long quest, fulfillment and righteousness in the cause he fought for. It was the look of a man who knew he was about to die and didn’t care, as long as he succeeded.
“We’ll show them what we’re made of,” he continued. “This maybe the last stand of the CIA, but it will be our finest hour.”
***
The attackers carefully approached, using the radio telescopes for cover. Fast moving, blurry streaks of camouflaged IS agents signaled their advance from point to point. The force of forty well-armed and trained men would overwhelm the ancient defenders. It was only a matter of time.
The rooftop contingent knew enough to realize they were severely outmatched. Laying down a storm of suppression fire, they beat a smart retreat. The confined space inside would multiply their combat value.
When the IS assault teams came into range, the roof exploded in a blizzard of grenade fragments. Anyone on the roof would’ve been killed.
The square two-story complex featured two doors, front and back, and numerous windows. Each presented the swarming attackers an entry point. Outnumbered and outgunned, the defenders couldn’t cover them all.
Likely understanding that time was their real enemy, the IS assault was simplistic and brutal. Agents unloaded well-placed volleys of grenades at the front of the building. The door blew open and every room facing the front endured several explosions. The main hall running the length of the building became a charred wreck after a string of cascading fire sterilized it.
As agents stormed the shattered door and flowed around the structure’s sides, Leroy Tomlinson stepped around a protective nook in the stairwell. He nosed the hallway down with merciless MRG fire. Caught by surprise, the intruders were shredded with supersonic bullets. Their camouflage meant nothing in the close quarters. Multiple rounds hit each target, turning the blackened walls crimson with gore.
Manually switching to grenades, Tomlinson sent an entire magazine into the side rooms that the invading enemy troops had taken cover in.
The determined IS soldiers quickly regrouped and forced the black demon to withdraw. Surging forward, many of the enraged attackers pursued their prey up the stairs he had used in his escape.
The crazy senior citizen whooped and hollered the entire way up the stairs.
***
Robinson and Hauser allowed an entire squad of IS henchmen to pass before they emerged from the ballistic blanket that protected them from the initial bombardment. With a ready blade in each hand, they threw themselves into the confused ranks of the enemy. Robinson and Hauser lacked youth and nano enhancemen
ts, but their training and decades of experience proved relevant against the disorganized foe.
They danced gracefully through the shocked enemy agents, who were prepared for a gunfight, not a knife fight at close range. Robinson sliced the throats of two simultaneously. The men swirled, spraying everywhere on their way to the floor. Hauser dropped two with twin strikes to the heart.
The intermixed situation prevented the better-equipped opponents from firing at their attackers. The old berserkers utilized their advantage to buy precious time with each smooth slash.
It couldn’t last.
The stronger, faster, and younger enemy regained their footing. Using their rifles as clubs, they finally ended the valiant charge.
Hauser fell from a blow to the head that cracked his skull wide open. Robinson took a rifle butt to the ribs that punctured his lung and sent him backward to the floor. His last act on Earth was to pull the pin on an old-fashioned grenade dangling from his chest. The explosion killed three more.
***
Tomlinson heard the detonation and knew from the device’s signature sound that his friends were dead. He took solace in the fact their plan had, so far, worked perfectly. He himself had delayed, then drawn the lead enemy element away from their objective. He retained not a bit of doubt that Robinson and Hauser had done their part to bleed and further delay the enemy. Any IS agents he took with him now would be icing on the cake.
From a well-protected position, he survived a hail of grenade fire. No longer taking their opponents for granted, the cautious foe had stopped at the top of the steps to lay waste to the second floor hall.
Hearing their advancing footsteps, he rolled out from cover and mowed down three more before a frantically fired grenade exploded half a meter from Leroy Tomlinson’s spine. The old man was dead, but he’d died on his own terms.
***
The cessation of violence outside the janitors closet in the main hall told Mary Kay Thorn she was the last one between the IS team and the server room. The door on the closet she hid in wasn’t what you’d expect to find. Instead of the original paper-thin slab of carbon fiber that made up the closet’s door, this one was made of hard metal and read ‘Server Room Stairs’ on the outside.
A sensor showed her several new enemy contacts outside her closet. The totality of her trap made her grin. Little did the fools know that kitty-corner from them, the only thing standing between them and the real server room was a weak door labeled ‘Janitors Closet.’
Plain sight is always the best place to hide. She stroked her MRG. This is it, old girl. One last fight. Better than dying slowly in that old folks’ home. Taking a deep breath, she firmly said, “Computer, activate charge in three seconds.”
Here we go.
When the charge detonated, the door flew off its hinges, killing two instantly. The directed concussion wave knocked several more to the ground. She tossed a smoke grenade, filing the hall with a thick electronically-charged mist that not only hindered the eyes but also the visors of the enemy.
She jumped out, gun blazing on full auto as she swept it in every direction. The gentle recoil of her MRG tickled her nerves. She’d forgotten how much she missed the sensation. She wished she could’ve heard the weapon’s subtle hum, but the screams and shouts of the surprised IS agents wouldn’t allow it.
Setting aside her disappointment, she held the trigger down, blindly sending supersonic projectiles into the fog. Knowing her time was short, she let out a blood-curdling scream. Death was coming for her. She met it on her feet, with her best friend in her arms.
***
The thin door did a poor job of blocking the sounds of the battle above. Luckily, the chaos didn’t seem to bother Wu, who neared completion of his work. When done, the data would travel along a series of buried cables connecting the radio telescopes to the server room. Once he hit send, nothing could stop or jam the sub-space link.
Ericksen and Frost covered the stairwell with sidearms. They knew once the enemy got through their comrades’ valiant efforts, they’d be little more than a speed bump. There were no more games left, no more tricky places to hide.
The floor above grew silent again. The enemy had cleared a path to them.
“I bet she gave them hell,” Ericksen said. A wide smile crossed his face. “I bet they all did.”
For a second, Frost thought his father might shed a tear. “Sounds like they all gave them hell. Wish you’d let me stay up there and stand with them. I think I could’ve done more to help upstairs. One grenade in this confined space and we’re all dead.”
“I know, I know.”
Frost glanced at him. “Then why did you make me stay down here?”
“Wu,” Ericksen said, ignoring his son, “time?”
“In thirty seconds, nothing will be able to stop us.”
“That’s great. After all of those surprises, it should take them at least that long to walk down the hall again.”
“We’re still dead,” Frost said. “But at least we won.”
Ericksen turned to face his son. “You should always have an escape route planned, my boy. I never did a mission without one.” He reached behind Frost’s neck, softly gripping the back of it and pulled their foreheads together.
“What? You have a way out of here?”
“Yes, but only for one of us.”
Frost’s mind fogged over. He staggered back into a table. “Wha…wha...what did you do?” He reached around, pulling a patch off his neck, and he stared at it, bewildered.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me,” Ericksen said to his wobbly son. “I love you. I hope you know that. I’m sorry I didn’t say it more often.”
Frost looked at his father with glazed eyes, then passed out.
“If you’re done, can you give me a hand here?” he asked Wu.
“Sure.”
Ericksen dragged out a heavy bag hidden behind a desk. He opened it, pulled out a rebreather mask and affixed it to Frost’s face. Reaching into the bag once more, he unfolded a ballistic blanket and draped it over his sleeping son before stuffing him under a sturdy desk.
“That should do it,” Wu said. “He should have no problem surviving the fire and any concussion wave. The transponder will direct emergency services right to him. They should be here in less than a minute.”
“Thanks for bringing the stuff.”
“Don’t mention it.” Wu reached for his pack of smokes.
“Can I have one?”
Wu shrugged. “Sure. Not like I’m going to have time to smoke them all.”
Wu lit their cigarettes. Activity at the door indicated their secret was out.
Ericksen took a long, deep drag. “You know they used to say these things would kill you.” He pulled a detonator out of a pocket,
“You don’t say.”
The door at the top of the stairs was kicked in.
“See you around.”
Wu nodded as Ericksen pressed the button. The building erupted as charges placed throughout the structure went off, killing everyone inside.
All but one.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Assault
High Commander Gondo took one final look at the suspected Kitright capitol with his visor on max zoom. Seeing no reason to delay, he gave the order, “Execute phase one.”
Units deployed along the city’s southern section opened up with KKC rounds and shells launched from the feared hover tanks. The merciless fire tore into the outlying buildings, inflicting extensive damage. Whole chunks flew off, entire sections of some structures seemed to disappear. The pulverized debris created a fog of dust that blanketed the area.
The second half of phase one dipped from the heavens to rain down hell. Thousands upon thousands of KKC rounds from Avengers added their destruction to the scene. The weight of the combined attack collapsed building after building.
As the spent fighters sped toward the relative safety of space, Gondo coldly surveyed the destruction. �
��Begin phase two.”
. The magic phrase caused the very ground to tremble. Two Orders and two Legions, twenty-three thousand soldiers with their heavy weapons troops, sprinted for the city’s tumbling towers.
The ground reserve force of two understrength Orders and Legions were forward deployed. They poured fire into the enemy camp, providing covering barrages for the attack.
The primary objective of the assault was the structures the Kitright fighters emerged from. Gondo committed the entire force to the south and dedicated to this singular maneuver. He aimed to make the simplistic knife thrust so overpowering that the speed of the advance would prevent the Kitright from destroying much of the useful intel or massacring the civilian population with horrific efficiency. With a bit of luck, he hoped the initial bombardment would destroy the concentrations of enemy troops that had to be massing to blunt the single-pronged attack.
This prayer to the gods of war fell on deaf ears. The race of pacifists showed themselves to be quick students in the art of war.
***
Lieutenant Jack Strasberg had joined the Legion because it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, it got him away from his overbearing mother and crowded Long Island community. To spare himself the agony of guilt trips and tears, he didn’t tell his family he was leaving for training till the day before. They didn’t take the news well, which only confirmed that he had made the right move in not telling them sooner.
After basic at Fort Sill in Oklahoma, he graduated to Advanced Combat Training on Mars Base. There, he became a member of the heavy infantry. He considered volunteering for the Super Heavies, but the thought of enduring another year of drills and classroom lessons quickly drove that impulse out of him.
Strasberg loved the feel of his armor. Powered down, the hunk of reinforced valdalium, an alien alloy made possible from discovered resources in the colonies, weighed a ton and gave its occupant the unpleasant sensation of being buried alive. However, with the fusion generator on its back pumping power into the circuitry, the metal plating moved like a second skin. He felt like a demigod, a direct descent of Hercules himself.
The suit made him stronger and faster than even nano-enhanced legionnaires. The MRG and grenade launcher in each arm also gave him twice the firepower.
The Last Revenge (The Last Hero Trilogy Book 2) Page 27