Olympus Rises (The Code of War)

by Jim Roberts

  Olympus Rises

  Book One of the Code of War

  By Jim Roberts

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2013 Jim Roberts

  Cover Art by Shuric78

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank David Morrell, the creator of Rambo for his advice and encouragement. A special thanks to Tony, David and Alysha for their opinions. And of course, thank you Ma, for everything!

  This book contains some course language and action/adventure violence. Reader discretion is advised.

  "Only the dead have seen the end of war"

  −Plato

  Prologue

  Northern Afghanistan, Near the Kazinistan Border

  The attack had ended as fast as it had begun. The half dozen vehicles that had made up the NATO convoy destined for Pakistan was burning with the heat of a crucible. The starry Middle Eastern night was obscured by rising smoke and flame erupting from the broken jeeps and Humvees that now littered the area. Bodies of over twenty assorted NATO soldiers littered the ground around the burning convoy, some aflame, most wracked from gunfire. The corpses contorted in horrible caricatures of pain and anguish.

  All told it had been a smashing success.

  The attack had been swift and without remorse. The Olympus Private Military's Hyperion VTOL aircraft had flown in with less than fifteen seconds warning. The Vertical-Takeoff-and-Landing jet resembled something akin to a dragonfly; its large wings utilized twin rotating engines, allowing the vehicle maximum mobility in the air. The convoy of NATO Humvees and Cougar IMV's were completely unprepared when a combination of incendiary missiles and cannon fire laid waste to every vehicle in turn. Infrared imaging gave the obsidian-colored jet engine VTOL's precision targeting. The Hyperion pilots knew their mission well; destroy all visible personnel and military vehicles, except the large Peterbilt truck located in the center of the convoy. That was the prize.

  After the battle had subsided, the Olympus Commander had been alerted that the area was pacified; making it safe for his approach. A heavily modified Mi-M8 Russian Helicopter, repainted the trademark obsidian black of the Olympus PMC, flew in from over the northern hills. It alighted upon a small dirt knoll some two-hundred feet from the carnage.

  Olympus Commander Dante exited the chopper and surveyed the bloodshed with an appropriately muted look of satisfaction. Flanked by two Olympus Centurion Troopers armed with XM8 Carbine assault rifles, he stood like a monolith, his eyes seeing everything. The attack was almost too perfect, too easy. This was no true test of a soldier's ability. But his men required active field training, so this had to suffice for now. It had been several months since Olympus had last surfaced to ply its trade and Dante was aching for some real action.

  The Olympus Commander stood for a final moment taking the sight in. He was as fearsome a man as had ever walked this part of the earth. Nearly seven feet of granite-solid muscle, built like a dump-truck with hands that could crush a man's skull like a grapefruit; he stood decked out in Olympus command attire. An armored black body suit encased his mammoth figure, containing the latest weaves of Rynohyde-Carbon Fiber textiles. Over top he wore a thick wool longcoat and on his stark bald head wore the Crimson beret of an Olympus high commander.

  "Hurry it up gentlemen. This is beneath our talents," Dante roared commands to his men like Hannibal to his horde, "Make sure there are no NATO survivors, and bring me that damn scientist!" His orders were aimed at one of the two Centurion guardsman by his side. The soldier snapped his arm against the left breast of his armor, making the Olympus salute, then went to join his comrades surrounding the Peterbilt semi. The Centurions were the crack foot soldiers of the Private Military known as Olympus, decked out with the latest Reactive Armor designs. The reddish-black armor gave each soldier the look of a fearsome blood soaked demon in the Afghan moonlight. However, the sight of the armor made Dante sigh: with recent budget shortfalls as they were, the armor had yet to truly be perfected.

  Several flashes of gunfire resounded from the ambush site. The survivors were being dealt with. But where was that blasted scientist? Dante produced a pair of infrared binoculars from his jacket to view the scene. He watched as the Centurions under his command opened the cargo box of the Peterbilt truck and searched its interior.

  "Centurion Alpha?" shouted Dante over the din of the Mi-M8 rotor blades.

  The armored soldier to Dante's right straightened sharply, "Sir!"

  "Get down there and find out what the situation is with the scientist!"

  "Sir!" The Centurion readied his weapon and double timed it towards the chaos of the attack. Dante waited. He hated waiting more than anything else, hated every simpering second of it. After a few moments, the mini-Bluetooth receiver attached to Dante's ear chimed that it was receiving a call.

  Centurion Alpha's voice squawked in Dante's ear, "Sir, there are multiple survivors in the cargo truck; three in total. What are your orders?"

  Dante smiled, "Bring them over to me Alpha. Order the men to secure the cargo contents for transport."

  "Yes sir," replied the young Centurion.

  Dante was growing more impatient. Having served in most of the war torn hellholes around the world, the Commander of the largest, most secretive private military had picked up a few bad habits; his impatience being one of the nicer ones.

  The Centurion designated Alpha returned a moment later, flanked by two more of his comrades. Between them were three survivors; two fairly non-descript Turkish men wearing white lab coats, and a Japanese man wearing octagonal glasses. He was casually dressed compared to his companions, in a black jean jacket and dark slacks; definitely not from these parts. The whirling blades of the Mi-M8 kicked up dirt into the scientist's eyes, forcing them to squint to see their new host's face.

  Dante approached the three scientists, his eyes immediately going towards the Asian man, "Welcome back to Olympus, Doctor Yune," he said, a wide grin spreading across his brutish face.

  The Doctor looked up at Dante, a glimpse of defiance in his dark brown eyes. Dante smirked at his prisoner, disregarding the other two scientists, "It was a valiant effort Doctor, to make a break for Pakistan with Olympus property. But now it's time to return and finish what you began."

  Yune glowered at the giant commander, "I will not. Never again."

  Dante gestured at the Centurions standing behind the three scientists. The trooper to the right nodded, lifted his Carbine to eye-level and fired a bullet into the head of the scientist beside the Doctor. Yune recoiled in horror at the sight of his colleague pitching to the dirt; a grisly bullet wound in the back of his skull. Dante nodded to the other trooper standing behind the remaining Turkish scientist. The Centurion lifted his own rifle up and prepared to fire.

  Doctor Yune moved to stand in front of the scientist, putting himself between his friend and the Centurion. "No! No more!"

  Dante grinned as he watched the scene play out, "There is no need for further violence Doctor. Please come with me now." Doctor Yune scowled and moved to stand beside the Olympus Commander. Dante placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulder as he led Yune towards the helicopter. The giant's manner seemed almost gracious. "You know we cannot replicate your research in drone technology without your full s
upport," said Dante, his voice dripping with malice, "It hurts me to know you wished to leave our company. But what hurts me more is you took your lovely inventions with you."

  Dante gestured for Yune to look back at the Peterbilt truck. The Centurions were unloading several large crates from the back of the trailer into one of the Hyperions that had landed near the ruined convoy.

  The Asian doctor was confused, "I...I don't...I have..."

  "...That is correct Doctor," interrupted Dante, "you have much that we need. And we will be taking it from you - for as long as we require."

  Alpha took his place behind Doctor Yune, and pushed the young man towards the landed Mi-M8. Yune looked back at his fellow scientist, still standing in front of the armed Centurions, "What about my friend?"

  Dante's smile slowly vanished, "Do not worry Doctor. He is no longer your concern." A loud burst of gunfire flashed from the Centurion's weapons. The scientist toppled to the ground, dead.

  "No!" screamed Yune, as he tried to run back to his fallen companion. His action was met with a rough shove from Centurion Alpha. Yune was enraged at the killing of his friends. He tried one last time, striking the large trooper as hard as he could. The Doctor only succeeded in hurting his knuckles on the armored soldier's helmet. However, the moment of defiance had severely angered the Olympus trooper. Centurion Alpha smashed Yune hard across the face, dropping the doctor into the sand. Blood spewed from a nasty gash that ripped across Yune's check.

  Commander Dante marched towards the Centurion and smashed the trooper with a meaty backhand. Alpha pitched to the ground in a heap.

  "You fool! Were your orders not clear that he is not to be touched?"

  "I'm sorry sir," the trooper stammered, knowing full well what displeasing Commander Dante entailed, "It was a mistake!"

  Dante was fast approaching a fury. Few survived one of Commander Dante's furies. He reached down with his iron strong hand and grasped Centurion Alpha by the neck and hoisted him to his feet.

  "My dear comrade, mistakes are how empires fall!"

  And with that, he grabbed the struggling Centurion's belt clasp with one hand and lifted the soldier into the waiting rotor blades of the helicopter. With a sickening *grunch* the blades tore through the torso of the hapless soldier. Chunks of gore and blood spattered across the site. Satisfied, Dante tossed the torso-less cadaver to the side. He picked up Yune by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. The helicopter door slid open. Inside the helo, several waiting Olympus troopers pulled the near-unconscious doctor inside the vehicle and secured him for transport.

  Before entering the helicopter himself, Dante took one last look at the ambush site. His men had finally finished loading the Hyperion VTOL's with the contents of the truck. Good. Things were going relatively smoothly. From here, it was only a matter of destroying the evidence, which his men could handle well enough on their own.

  Dante pulled himself into the helicopter, making sure not to step too much into the mess that was Centurion Alpha, and closed the door behind him. His gargantuan frame barely cleared the door, requiring him to stoop considerably inside the cramped chopper.

  "We are finished here. Take off now!"

  The Olympus pilot nodded from the cockpit and the helicopter slowly began to rise. As they soared into the night sky, the flames of the burning convoy below began to subside. A familiar pinging sound buzzed the Bluetooth comm. He pressed a finger to activate it.

  "Yes, my Imperius?" The voice on the other end spoke quickly, "Yes sir, I am on my way with the good Doctor right now. No sir, the cargo is still being loaded. Yes I understand sir, time is of the essence. Please be patient. The cargo will be delivered to the fort as you requested. Yes, the surveillance tech will be prepared in time; I'll see that the Doctor begins immediately on the new drone technology. I promise the Code will not be interrupted."

  One of the Centurions looked over at Dante, curious about the strange phrase. Dante gave the trooper a withering glance and the trooper snapped back to his own business.

  Dante, slowly moving his gaze away from the nosy Centurion, continued his phone call, "...Yes sir, you may proceed as planned. Phase One will begin in two days, as scheduled...NATO will have no idea what is happening...yes, of course my Imperator. Goodbye."

  Dante switched off the headset and looked outside the chopper as it powered low over the Afghan steppe towards the Pamir Mountains to the north. He was excited; more excited than he had been in years.

  So close.

  The Code is within our grasp.

  Chapter 1

  Simple as Butter and Toast

  NATO Forward Operating Outpost, Designated Firebase Foxtrot - Six Months Later

  Staff Sergeant Joseph Braddock attached the final strap of his flak jacket and checked himself out in the mirror. A six foot, tightly muscled, twenty-eight year old Army Ranger stared him right back. Not bad. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair; grown long over the last few months of his deployment in the Northern Afghan border outpost designated Firebase Foxtrot. To finish his kit, he picked up his desert camo helmet and strapped it to his head loosely.

  He took his last few free seconds to muse over his appearance. In the two years since he'd shipped out here to Firebase Foxtrot, he'd racked up a noticeable amount of scars: a large white one that arched through his eyebrow, given to him by an angry Taliban bastard that had used his face for knife practice; a grisly scar that leapt up from his collar caused by shrapnel from an IED that had killed two of his friends; and a last scar that, well, was in a place the sun didn't shine.

  Two more weeks, he told himself, two more weeks and we go home. A range of mixed emotions waved over him as he finished his weapons check alone, as he preferred. The rest of his Ranger Platoon were prepping the Humvee column right now, awaiting their 'intrepid' Sergeant to lead them on their last mission before leaving this backwards, ass-end country for good. He stared at himself in the mirror.

  Bring em home Joe. They're counting on you.

  From the bench opposite the sink, he grabbed his M4 Carbine, tricked out with an under-mounted M27 Grenade Launcher and Elcan Spector telescopic sight; his old standby. Giving his grim, gung-ho visage one last nod, he headed out of the barracks into the blinding morning sunlight.

  The mercury was spiking already at ninety-five degrees, but the day was young; the sweltering heat would only get worse. His squad leaders were mustering outside the barracks, making sure last minute preparations were complete before the recon operation commenced.

  Outpost Firebase Foxtrot was the northernmost Coalition outpost in Afghanistan, less than a hundred miles from the border of Kazinistan, the neutral country to the north and Uzbekistan to the west. The camp had certainly seen better days. Mortar fire had reduced the Hesco barriers ‒ large gabions filled with sand surrounding the outpost ‒ to heaps of rubble. Most of the dozen or so buildings within the camp were severely dilapidated and in dire need of repair. Two more weeks. Then this place would be left to the coyotes. And they were welcome to it.

  Still, Joe thought as he approached his boys, this place fells more like home than the ratshit apartment I had back in Fort Benning. An orphan raised in the Sunflower State, he'd grown up a hundred-percent cornfed by his hard-working guardians, Liza and Thomas Braddock. Enlisting in the Army in 2003 when he was seventeen, he'd moved fast up the chain until it was suggested that he volunteer for the Rangers. Passing the Regiment entrance exam with flying colors, Joe had fought in almost every conflict the Rangers had been a part of since. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Pakistan and several other romantic getaways had been Joe's stomping ground for the past eleven years. In that time he'd amassed more citations for valor than any soldier in the history of the 76th Ranger Regiment.

  As Joe moved among his mates, checking their equipment, he made sure they had everything they needed. All seemed well. He could tell his boys were eager to be out of here. This tour had been the longest in Joe's ten year career as a Ranger, longer even fo
r some of the other veterans in the platoon. It was time to go home.

  Just one more mission. Do it right, and get your men home.

  Joe whistled for the attention of his squad commanders, "Listen up ladies! Details are sketchy on this op, so remember your training and things will go fine. We're to recon the Imam Sahib District of the Kunduz province to the northeast, ten miles from the border of Kazinistan. Over the past few months NATO's lost two large convoys of personnel to unknown enemy contacts, probably Taliban infiltrating from Kazinistan to the north. NATO's been a bit behind in its paperwork and we've been selected to check it out before the withdrawal as a favor for the Afghan Army."

  There were several collective groans from the boys in his platoon. Although Joe straightened them out with a "secure that shit" command, he had to admit the Afghan Army was mostly useless in pretty much everything it tried to do. It's men had heart and determination, but lacked the discipline to wage a confident war against their enemy. Joe really had to wonder what would happen when the US Army truly and completely pulled out of Afghanistan altogether.

  He continued his briefing, "We recon the area, check for any enemy contacts and take em out. Air support will be provided by one Predator Drone that will take off from Bravo One outpost forty miles away and rendezvous above our position. All in all, simple as butter and toast." He paused for affect, before continuing, "One other thing: there have been reports of unidentified aerial objects throughout the northern provinces over the past few months. Command is chalking it up to jitters from the locals about the NATO withdrawal. Still...keep a weather eye for anything out of the ordinary."

  He wrapped everything up by saying, "Let's get this one right boys. This is our last op in this dustbowl. Be ready for anything and let's leave these insurgents with something to remember the 76th for!"