Olympus Rises (The Code of War)

by Jim Roberts

  "Danny, we're going to pull out, make a run for the northern mountains."

  The Canadian seemed to think for a short moment, gauging the risk, "It's up to you Sergeant. They'll pick us off here in no time if we stay!"

  The medic, Corporal Tennyson, piped up behind Joe, "Sir what about the wounded?"

  Damn. Joe hadn't thought of that, "We'll have to carry them!"

  "Some of these boys are hurt bad Joe," said Tennyson with deep concern, "they could die."

  Joe made up his mind, "If they stay here, they will die! Danny, choose ten men and form a new squad! You'll be our cover! The rest of the men will grab anyone who can't move under their own power! We all move at once, Hooah?"

  "HOOAH!" shouted the Rangers in reply. Danny ran from his cover and began selecting the new defensive squad from the best shooters.

  Abruptly, the weapons fire from the jetpack troopers stopped. Joe could still here the whine of their flight packs, but for the moment they were weapons silent.

  "Get ready to move. Danny, your squad's designated Alpha, everyone else is designated Bravo team, got it?"

  Danny nodded, reloading his C-7.

  Joe checked his own rifle. He was still good for ammo; at least four extra magazines and his sidearm, a 9mm Beretta. Joe jogged over to the triage area and grabbed one of the troopers, hoisting him to his feet. It was Private Rybak, a good kid from Tennessee that Joe had had little time to get to know. He was bleeding from a nasty head wound caused by shrapnel and unable to walk without aid. Joe hoisted the man onto his back.

  Ready or not, this was it. Joe joined the rest of his men as they prepared to run towards the mountains. He was breathing hard. Joe had no idea if this would work but, all things considered, it was the only option.

  His men were as ready as they'd ever be, "Alright boys...ready...RUN!"

  The Rangers were off, double time running into the grasslands. The flying troopers were nowhere in sight, but the faint echo of their jetpacks resounded south of the tree copse. Squad Alpha, who Danny had positioned surrounding the triaged soldiers, kept their weapons trained, waiting for any sign of the flying sons-of-bitches.

  "Here they come!" yelled Joe, spotting the first of the flying troopers swooping in from behind them. Alpha squad swung around and began firing, reducing their speed as they were forced to run backwards. The five remaining jet troopers were coming in fast, weapons ready.

  "Come on guys! Run!" screamed Joe as loud as he could.

  They weren't making good enough time.

  The jetpack troopers opened fire. The powerful weapons tore through three of the rear Alpha squad Rangers. Awkwardly, Joe swung himself to face the hovering enemies, drew a bead on the closest trooper and opened fire. His M4 set to full-auto, he emptied the entire clip at the bastard.

  You guys think you're hot shit? Try some of this!

  Joe saw the bullets clip the trooper and rip what must have been sensitive equipment on the jetpack. The entire trooper and his pack exploded in an enormous fireball. Two down, but still four to go.

  They were over half way towards the nearest mountain. Joe spun back and hefted his cargo for a better grip. The Troopers let off another salvo, catching one of the Bravo squad soldiers and the wounded man he was carrying. They were incinerated in a blaze of hot concussive fire. The smoke and heat from the repeated blasts of fire caused tears to well in Joe's eyes, obscuring his vision.

  So close. Keep going; you can make it!

  One of the Alpha Rangers running to Joe's right squeezed off a flurry of gunfire, catching a Jet Soldier in the wing. The jet pack awkwardly pitched and yawed, then lost control. The soldier flailed against the machine desperately, but to no avail. The pack flew straight up into the air then made an immediate one-eighty and propelled the hapless fool into the ground head first at over one-hundred miles an hour. A flash of flame later, nothing remained.

  Joe made a quick tally. He judged they had lost five more in the run. Danny ran towards Joe, shouting as he went, "We're in bad shape here!"

  "No kidding!"

  As Danny ran, he pointed at a rocky outcropping jutting out from the closest mountain, "We'll take shelter there! We can at least make a stand!"

  There was little other choice. Joe nodded, "Do it!"

  Danny roared to his men, "Alright Alpha team, we're heading to that outcropping! Double time now!"

  It was actually starting to look like they could make it. The three Jet troopers were beginning to feel the force of the gunfire through their armor and were backing off. It seemed they needed a close range to fire those concussion weapons. If the platoon could make it to the cover of the mountains, they could reform and actually deliver a challenging offense.

  A familiar sound to the north of them quashed Joe's hopes.

  A terrifying whine announced the black VTOL jet as it swooped down towards the injured Ranger platoon, weapons at the ready, preparing to finish the job. To Joe it almost resembled a dragonfly; with large wings and rotating engines that seemed to spit a blue flame from them, propelling the craft forwards.

  NO! NO!

  The feeling of failure was worse than death. Joe knew this was it, "Weapons free! Get to the mountains!"

  The Rangers unloaded on the approaching VTOL aircraft, but their low-calibre weapons could not penetrate the obsidian armor surrounding it. The aircraft began firing its powerful arsenal of incendiary rounds. Furious bolts of fire burst around the Rangers like explosive volcanoes, erupting in massive flashes of red-hot flame. Three soldiers were killed in the initial burst, the explosive volleys tossing their fragile bodies like ragdolls through the air.

  "Run!" screamed Joe, hefting Private Ryback more firmly on his shoulder.

  They charged full out, with everything they had and more.

  Time seemed to slow for Joe Braddock. The world became abstract, as if in a dream. To his right he saw Privates Gorman and Thomas erupt in a blaze of concussive gunfire, their bodies blown apart. Joe ran but his feet felt like lead. It felt like he was going backwards; his body heavy with guilt. This was his command and now it was all coming apart in the worst possible way.

  Three more Rangers on his right were hit by the aircraft gunfire, igniting their bodies with ease. The soldiers twisted in place like marionettes with their strings cut in a gruesome dance of fiery death before pitching to the ground.

  Suddenly Joe's world turned upside down when a cannonade of shrapnel and napalm raked the ground beside him, throwing him off his feet. Joe watched in fascination as he was thrown through the air. He landed hard on his back and lay there stunned. He felt another body hit the ground. Private Ryback had landed beside him; his head bent towards Joe, his eyes staring at him...lifeless. The eyes accused Joe.

  This was it.

  This is where you will die Joseph Braddock.

  And then Danny was by his side.

  The Canadian grabbed Joe by the collar and pulled him up, yelling, "On your feet Joe!"

  Still holding Joe Braddock with one hand, Danny Callbeck fired his C-7 at the nearest Trooper. His bullets struck true, exploding the flight pack. The fiery remains plummeted to the Earth in a shower of blazing debris and grisly body parts.

  Time seemed to snap back for Joe Braddock. He looked around for his platoon. The steppe leading to the mountain was so full of smoke and fire, he couldn't see anything. Ahead of them, the tips of the mountains loomed close. The crag Joe had seen earlier was also barely in view. They were only a hundred feet give or take. Danny pushed him on, forcing Joe to forget his pain and anguish, at least for the moment. The Canadian's steel resolve gave Joe strength. He pushed himself forward.

  He'd lost his M4, having been thrown from his hand by the force of the last explosion. Joe withdrew his Berretta M9 as he ran, trying in vain to see through the thick clouds of smoke. Blood oozed from his ears where his eardrums had been ruptured; he could hardly hear anything. More explosions cracked behind them, but Joe and Danny pushed forward.

  I can see t
he crags...so close...

  A whirring engine sound behind them warned Joe too late of the final attack from the VTOL aircraft. Joe twisted around and fired blindly towards the noise. Useless, he knew, but it was all he had left. A flurry of concussive blasts burst in front of him. Joe was thrown off his feet again.

  This time he couldn't have gotten up if he wanted too.

  The explosion had hit directly in front of Danny. Too late to duck them, the flames sheared the Canadian soldier's face and shrapnel pierced his body. He collapsed on the ground beside Joe, bleeding out. With herculean effort, Joe managed a turn his head to look at his friend. Danny held a wavering hand over his throat, blood oozing from a grisly wound. His breathing came in fits and gurgles. His eyes were shut tight; blood seeping through his lids in rivulets of crimson.

  Joe winced at the sight. His friend's gallantry had only bought them mere seconds.

  The havoc surrounding them began to die down. The smoke from battle wafted over Joe, obscuring the blue sky.

  No more doubt Joe. This is the end.

  And the world went black for Joe Braddock

  Chapter 3

  Meet and Greet

  Somewhere in the Pamir Mountains

  Joe's first physical act upon waking was to throw up. He barely managed to grab a nearby bedpan, emptying the contents of his stomach with one woeful retch after another. His second act was to feel more pain wrack his body than ever before in his life. The numbing banality of unconsciousness had given way to a paroxysm of agony that almost made him throw up again. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? No, if it was, the first thing he would have done wouldn’t have been to barf all over it. He was still alive - for the time being.

  Joseph pulled himself up as best he could. He was lying in an old Army cot, set up in what appeared at first glance to be a dungeon. A bandage sticky with blood was wrapped around his head and right arm. He gingerly moved the dressing up to check the severity of the wound. Bad, but cleaned and healing. His Ranger uniform was gone, as well as his flak jacket and anything else. He was dressed in his white undershirt and his torn, battered fatigues. His shoes and socks had also been taken.

  The cell he was in was about twelve feet long and ten feet wide, give or take. All of the walls were made up of hard concrete, moulded over by what looked like decades of neglect. His nose suddenly remembered how to smell and the rank stench of filth and carrion assaulted him. A series of high pitched squeaks echoed around the cell. Rats, Joe thought with disgust. He hated rats with a passion borne of childhood terror. From what he could see, his cell was currently vermin free, so he let out a sigh of relief.

  The prison room's only natural light source was from a tiny window almost ten feet up. It was wide open to the elements, but also useless in an escape as it only measured two-thirds of a foot across and less wide. A massive iron door separated him from freedom. The door looked firm and well built, with no easy way of escape through it, save removing the hinges somehow.

  Joe pulled himself awkwardly out of bed. His body hurt worse than he could ever remember. Whoever had dumped him in here hadn't done much to help that.

  My men! Were any still alive? The question popped into Joe's mind so suddenly his heart skipped. Ignoring the pain, he pulled himself to his feet, moving to the iron door. A tiny barred window opened out into the hallway. He pushed his face up close against it, trying to see as much of his surroundings as possible.

  The outer hallway only showed him more cells. Further down the hall, the cells were entirely made up of iron bars, rather than enclosed, like his. Several obscure shapes moved within.

  There are other prisoners besides me, Joe told himself.

  Suddenly an armored gauntlet from outside of the cell smashed Joe in the face, forcing him to fall flat on his back. A stream of blood spewed from his nose. He wiped at it helplessly as the blood streamed down onto his white T-shirt. A large helmeted figure replaced the window on the cell door, staring at Joe with alien, mechanical eyes.

  "Don't be getting nosey Sergeant. You may not live to regret it." From what Joe could see, the trooper was wearing body armor very similar to the Flying Soldiers that had destroyed his platoon. It gave Joe the impression of stormtrooper armor used by German commandos in World War 2. But what was truly frightening about the trooper were those terrifying mechanical eyes, positioned and designed in such a way as to provoke as much fear from the enemy as possible.

  "Where am I? How long have I been here?"

  The trooper did not immediately answer Joe. Probably wondering what was OK to tell the prisoner, thought Joe, pulling himself up to a sitting position on the floor of his cell. He decided to press the question.

  "Who are you people?"

  The trooper seemed to hesitate before responding to only one of Joe's question, "We are Olympus, Sergeant. That is all you need to know for now. Get comfortable. Once the commander arrives, your real pain begins."

  Joe scowled as he pulled himself to his feet. As he did, the trooper slid a metal latch on the outside of the door and pulled an iron plate across the small window, blocking it completely. He tried to judge where he was. It was hotter than a snake's ass, so he assumed he was either in Afghanistan still or close by. Kazinistan? Maybe. There was no way to tell as of now.

  Joe suddenly realised he was unbelievably thirsty. His mouth tasted like a urinal, and hunger pangs twisted his guts. He looked around the room, taking in all the details. Besides his cot and bedpan there was nothing else. At all. His cot didn't even have sheets. He reasoned wherever he was had been here a long time. If I'm in Kazinistan or any of the other old Soviet bloc countries, this could be a military fort. That jived with the age of the door and concrete.

  Wherever he was, he wasn't going anywhere soon. He thought back to his Ranger training, specifically what his instructors had mentioned about being taken prisoner. In Joe's entire service in the Ranger corps, it suddenly hit him that he had never really lost a fight; never been taken prisoner. First time for everything.

  All he could do was improvise, adapt and overcome. An old Marine motto that worked in this situation just fine.

  After an hour of searching every inch of the room he found little of note. The cell was made up of heavy cement block construction that would take a C4 charge to damage. It was an efficiently constructed prison that did its job well. A sound from outside the tiny window pulled Joe's attention from his searching. It was the hum of an aircraft engine. VTOL most likely; the engine rush was definately a type of jet. The sound became louder, as if the aircraft was coming in for a landing overhead.

  Must be one of those black-colored aircraft's that attacked us.

  Joe looked up at the window, judging the distance. He pulled the cot over and braced himself on it. He knew it would hurt his wounds, but he had to see where he was. He bent his knees and jumped.

  He caught the window ledge with a fraction of an inch to spare. The wound in his arm tore open, blood seeping out.

  Screw it! You're tough. Suck it up.

  His muscles screamed as he pulled himself up towards the window. Finally his eyes reached the window sill and he peered out into the light.

  It was probably midday, judging by the sun. The exterior of the complex was definitely a fortress of some sort. His window was higher up, as he could see in the distance a large dip in the horizon. Beyond, the unmistakable Pamir Mountain range spread out as far as he could see.

  I'm in the mountains; in an old fort, probably from World War II.

  Well that was good to know. His arms were buckling now. He couldn't hold on much longer. He saw several groups of the so-called Olympus soldiers walking on patrol outside. The VTOL aircraft he had heard was not in his line of sight, but he could still hear it out there. There were also lines of vehicles parked along the shaded end of the fort: Humvees, jeeps and other assorted vehicles.

  Suddenly, Joe's arms gave out. He dropped down from his hanging position and slipped on the cot. He fell back heavily, dropping r
oughly to the ground. Joe lay there for a time, not knowing whether it was worth getting up.

  A half-mad laugh escaped his lips; a small chuckle of insanity that he just couldn't keep bottled up. After what felt like hours, he pulled himself off the floor and onto the cot. He had to think. The Lieutenant Colonel of Firebase Foxtrot had to know about the attack. The Coalition would mount an investigation and rescue.

  But that could take days...if not weeks. I can't rely on them. We need to break out now before it's too late.

  Joe put his hand over his eyes and breathed steadily. Focus. He needed more information. He needed to know about his platoon...

  Danny!

  Joe opened his eyes. Was he dead too? Joe's last memory of his friend was Danny lying on the ground, bleeding from several grievous wounds. He didn't want to believe it but...

  Abruptly, Joe heard the approaching sound of voices from outside the door. Making a fast decision, he curled up on the cot, facing away from the door. Pretend to be asleep. Get somebody close-up.

  He waited. He heard a key being turned in the door lock.

  Get ready.

  The door opened wide. A voice like a mutated bear growled, "On your feet Sergeant!"

  Joe didn't move.

  "I said on your feet! Get him up!"

  Joe could hear at least two distinct sets of footsteps entering the room.

  Wait for it...

  He felt a hand grab his shoulder.

  NOW!

  Joe twisted out from his possum position, grabbing the arm of the soldier touching him. With all his might he pulled the trooper across his back and into the wall behind him. The trooper's helmet connected with the concrete, dropping him to the ground stunned.