The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1)

by Justin Alexander

  The Baron and Baroness had both agreed, never to tell Kiera of what had happened, yet from that day on he had been the girl’s shadow, never allowing her to leave his side. The Baron had not been happy, yet it was the Baroness who had convinced him, she had always been good at that, he should know better than anyone.

  The story and in fact the legend that had been crafted was that he had saved the Baron from an assassination attempt. He had received more medals and wealth than he had known what to do with, and a new place among the elite of their land, a place which he had never been comfortable with, that was not the kind of man he was, even if the Baroness wanted him to be. You could not change your essence and his was of a simple man, who had no interest in the trappings of wealth and privilege.

  Abruptly Claudius brought his mind back to the present and he set off after Kiera hoping that he was wrong and that this mission would pass without incidence, already so much was changing, the assassin had been right. The storm was coming, he knew it better than anyone, and if they weren’t careful there would be nothing left.

  Talius McDermott, stood at the front of the shuttle, surrounded by his elite guards and seethed. He could stand to take the chiding and scornful comments from Kiera, he had after all known her since childhood, and her beauty allowed her such freedoms. Yet the old Knight Marshall, now he was a different story entirely, a man so shrouded in secrecy that many people outside of the palace simply didn’t believe that he truly existed, his caustic words and dismissive tone, that could not be allowed to stand.

  He glared back briefly and saw Claudius standing alone, how easy it would be to simply turn around and kill him now. The ancient warrior would put up little fight, yet that mattered not a jot to Talius, a man who although brought up surrounded by nobility and servitude, was a borne survivor. A man who played the numbers and percentages, he had no intention of spending his entire life in service to a portly, monster like the Baron. That was why he had been so quick to change his allegiance, when the Cabal, had sought him out.

  He turned away from Claudius, his mission briefing had been explicit and now was not the time for the Knight Marshall to die. His backers had made it abundantly clear that Kiera and her protector, were only to be slain once they had gained entry to the prison, after all that would make the cover up so much easier. He may even make himself to be a true hero, a man who had fought off and killed ten or perhaps twenty, terrorists and prisoners, to try and reach Kiera, yet sadly he had been too late.

  He simpered and rubbed his gloved hands together eagerly. The only downside to this entire operation was that he would never get to have the Royal bitch. He fixed his lustful gaze upon her, petite, lithe figure, so clear under the figure hugging, leather garb, her lustrous golden hair, that had seemed to him for so long to be as bright as the sun at mid-morning, was pulled back, and held up by some bejewelled headpiece. For so long he had wanted her and now it would not be.

  He sighed heavily and then thought of the money. With what the Cabal were going to pay him, he would be able to buy more beautiful woman, the kind that would worship him as a king. Perhaps he would seek out one of the smaller, royal houses that had fallen on hard times, one whose Baron, had attractive, pert daughters that he would wish to see taken care of. Maybe he would even buy himself a planet and set himself up as Baron, or perhaps even King that had a more regal and powerful tone.

  Yes, soon everything would change for him, all he had to do now, was follow the plan and within an hour, Claudius and Kiera would be dead. He wished that he could make it quick, at least for the Kiera, yet those were not his orders. They wanted them both to suffer. He wouldn’t particular enjoy that, he wasn’t a sadist, yet for what he was being paid, he could certainly try it out. They would both die agonizingly and afterwards he would be wealthy enough to buy himself forgiveness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Inside the domed hangar commissioner Hawkling Justicare paced nervously, he had been in charge of the detention centre for almost twenty years and in all that time he had never once had a dignitary visit. In fact in all that time, he had not had a single visitor, except for a member of the Justice Department board who wanted to make sure that the torture wings were fully operational, before they brought in a high value target.

  Sweat streamed down his baldhead and over his pudgy face, Hawkling would never have been called handsome not even as a younger man. Standing at just over five feet tall, with a hooked nose and small darting eyes, his nickname had been ratty at school and sadly that had been apt. Yet now he barely, even had the most basic exterior of a man, after almost twenty years underground his skin had turned an unhealthy shade of grey, his eyes were puffy and heavily set in dark sockets, and his stomach now hung limply over his trousers. He didn’t even possess enough power or influence, as to act as an aphrodisiac, no he had excepted long ago, that the only way he could get a woman to fane interest in him, was through payment, which he was quite happy to do. His position here may not be glamorous, yet at least it paid well.

  Abruptly the large circular airlock in front of him rolled open, the hiss of escaping air resonated around the small hangar and shuddered into his ear drums. Hawkling stood anxiously, he tried in a futile gesture to straighten the creases out of his drab uniform and comb over the few remaining strands of hair he possessed, as the guests began to enter the chamber.

  At first all he could see were what he thought must be an honour guard, eight soldiers dressed in, red robes and ostentatious, highly decorative jewel encrusted armour. Yet the way the eyes of the stern looking, young men scoured every corner of the room searching for any possible threat, coupled with the way they each clutched their laser rifle’s with the butt sung against their shoulders and fingers resting gently on the trigger guard; led him to suspect that they were not just for show. Then as they parted he caught sight of her, she moved with an elegance and majesty that Hawkling had never before witnessed. She stood only slightly taller than him, yet it was the way that she comported herself, she snaked towards him like a dancer, as if every step was perfectly arranged. Her high cheekbones, soft lips and pale almost porcelain skin gave her a youthful glow. Behind her a long black silk robe flowed that was being desperately held up by two pretty young girls. Two men flanked her on either side; one was younger and clad in the same ceremonial armour as the honour guard. The other man was older and wore a simple red robe, and dented, tarnished chainmail, his hand gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword.

  “Commissioner you honour us by coming to meet us personally, I am Lady, Kiera Snowfell, of the house Snowfell.” Kiera uttered as she strode gracefully into the hangar, her eyes surveying Hawkling up and down, taking in all of his hideous form.

  “We…we are honoured to have you here my lady,” He coughed as he attempted to bow. “You must excuse us, but we have never had a visitor of your calibre before, in fact we have never had a visitor before.” Hawkling stammered, his mouth suddenly so dry and parched. His scurrying eyes attempting not to stare at Kiera as she came to stand in front of him.

  Her smile was fake, “well today we are glad to change that, may I introduce Captain McDermott” At which point the young soldier stepped forward, bowing slightly. “And Knight Marshall Valen” the older man, who had more the look of a mercenary killer, than a high member of the court, strode forth and took Hawking’s limp, wet hand and shook it vigorously.

  “We’re honoured indeed to be able to see such an impressive facility commissioner, however as you know this is more than a simple visit. Do you have the file on the prisoner that we requested?” the old warrior asked pointedly, his eyes, stony and calculating.

  Hawkling nodded, uncertainly, “Yes of course, however I was surprised that you requested the file on this particular inmate.”

  “Why is that commissioner?” Claudius, edged closer so their faces were little more than inches apart.

  He tried to edge backwards, “Because of his status, he is a class Zulu prisoner, he is one of the most d
angerous men in this facility. Out of the over one hundred thousand men and woman that we had here, he is perhaps the most lethal, if you can believe all that is in his file, that is.” He replied, handing a small, slim data-slate to Claudius.

  A warm, disarming grin, spread across the old warriors puckered face. “I see,” he replied brusquely, as he began to flick through the file.

  Hawkling had always been good at reading people, it was one of the few natural gifts that he possessed and it had saved his life several times in this hellhole, and he could tell that this Knight Marshall, was much more that what he first appeared. For one thing, his hand had never left the hilt of his sword and it wasn’t one of the gaudy, display ground weapons worn by the honour guard, it was a blade, designed for combat, and to eviscerate an adversary. The other was that, he had already seen this file, which would have certainly be difficult to obtain as it was above top-secret.

  For now though Hawkling continued to play along with the ruse, after all this royal party had a great deal more pull and power than he did and he was certainly not the type of man that was going to rock the boat. “He was one of the best assassins in the Empire, a trusted member of the death bringers and a natural killer, if what they say about him is to be believed. It is suggested, he is responsible for more than two hundred confirmed kills, however he was only actually charged with thirty separate murders, those that were not sanctioned by the Agency. Apparently it took a women to bring him down in the end, well they say love hurts.” Hawkling snickered at his own joke.

  “Yes indeed,” Claudius retorted, his pursed smile, certainly more out of politeness.

  “Well let me show you in will you all be accompanying us?” Hawkling asked, uncomfortably, indicating to Kiera.

  “Yes commissioner, we will all be coming with you.” The old warrior replied as Kiera shot Hawkling an angry scowl.

  “Very well if you would like to follow me,” Hawkling uttered as he waddled away slowly, his back was already starting to hurt and the sooner he could get this charade over and return to his bed the better he would feel.

  All of a sudden, as he approached the far end of the elongated chamber, two large sections of the wall slid away and four immense auto-cannons exploded forth.

  “Don’t worry it’s just the automated security system,” He proclaimed hurriedly, as the honour guard brought their weapons to bare on the gun platforms. He cautiously tiptoed towards a small translucent screen in the middle of the defence systems, as he shuffled ahead the guns tracked him the barrels of the weapons, spinning and tracking his every mood ominously.

  He paused in front of the display and drew in a profound lungful of the refined and processed oxygen, he was so used to it now, that he didn’t even think that he could actually take breathing real air again; slowly he placed his right hand onto the screen.

  A deep voice suddenly boomed through the hanger, “SCANNING.”

  There was a slight pause then the voice again, “TODAYS CODEWORD PLEASE?”

  “G-y-u-I-p-5678,” Hawkling replied tersely, trying to keep his voice, firm and cool, the security system, was notoriously jumpy and they had already had three deaths this year alone.

  Again there was a slight pause, “IDENTITY CONFIRMED YOU MAY CONTINUE,” and with that the gun platforms retreated back into the walls.

  Hawkling wiped his sleeve over his dripping brow, “I apologise about that, I’m so used to the security systems now it’s just like second nature.” As he spoke a large section of the partition in front of him rose up to reveal a mammoth circular platform, the lift down to the actual facility.

  “Follow Me,” he uttered as he made his way onto the lift.

  “After you my lady,” Claudius said allowing Kiera to move onto the platform first she dismissed the two children derisively, who simply removed the intricate train and fled back towards the shuttle. Then Claudius and the honour guard stepped onto the metal disc, each one of them appeared nervous, except for the young Captain, whose name had already escaped him, his smirk was pronounced and it made Hawking’s own skin crawl, which was even more troubling.

  “I think you should all steady yourselves it’s quite a drop,” He said as he pressed a button on the side of elevator and it began to plummet into the murk. Towards the prison itself and he was sure the revelation of what this royal party was really doing here.

  To him their real motivations or goals, were secondary to what this would mean for him and this installation, which had become his home. He didn’t make any judgements as to those kept here by the Justice Department, or those that were tortured and abused in the most base and disturbing ways. That was above his pay grade, he was the Commissioner of this facility and that was all. He made sure that everything worked properly, the guards and the prisoners were kept alive and where possible in relatively good health. The political and social ideas were lost to him, he would never cause a stink or stir the waters and so in-danger his fiefdom. He had become used to its drab, whitewashed walls and the damp smell.

  So he would allow this royal party to do whatever they wanted and as usual keep his head down, maybe they would even pay him a little extra for his trouble and he would be able to afford two of Madame Victoria’s girls this month to entertain him. He allowed himself to leer as they descended into the depths of the prison, and as usual you could hear the screams reverberating through the almost impenetrable gloom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Andre Bertsein sat alone as usual in his cramped, dimly lit cell that had been his home for over a year, and if the Justice Department had its way, it would be his residence for the rest of his life. He was a dangerous man, people used to say they could tell it just by looking at him, they could tell by his eyes. He had once been told that you could see a man’s soul refracted in his eyes, yet in order to believe that had relevance, you first had to believe in a God, or deity and thus that they had created us, and given us these spirits.

  Andre had never been a particularly religious man, he had seen too much woe, pain, misery and desperation in the universe to believe that there was a benevolent god out there somewhere just sitting back on some kind of fluffy cloud, and watching over everyone. To him ideas of deities and religion, was a manmade concoction a way of controlling the masses and giving hope to those whose lives were pretty much devoid of anything else. Once on a mission on one of the Core Worlds, he had seen a puritan preacher, stoning a woman, or more accurately a girl, for having an affair, a crowd was standing around, jeering, yelling and cursing as this old man, hurled rocks against her head. He had slain the preacher, yet by the time he had fought his way through the crowd the girl was dead, her skull cracked in so many places, her hair was matted with brain tissue.

  As he envisioned that old wizened minister now, his thoughts drifted, he had killed well over two hundred men in his life and he was exceptionally good at it. In fact it was the only thing he had ever been truly gifted at. The death bringers had taught him how to kill silently and to leave no trace behind; how to disappear in broad daylight and to escape, and evade even the most impressive trackers. They had told him who to slay and when. Yet his first taste of death had come much earlier than that.

  A string of gruesome images flitted through Andre’s mind, of that time, when he had taken his first life, when he had first killed.

  He is ten years old, his mother who was an addict and a whore, had been in her room entertaining another one of his “uncles”, while he had been watching a programme on the small holo-unit they had in the filthy lounge of the cheap, run-down apartment they called home. It was then he had heard the scream, so loud it had cut to his very soul, he would still wake up late at night, sometimes drenched in sweat that same cry resonating through his head.

  He had leapt up and raced to the bedroom, he could see himself again, nothing more than a shrimp, a boy, whose body had yet to fully develop. He throws the door open just in time to see the naked, obese client plunging the hunting knife into his mother’s chest, cloudy c
rimson liquid spraying over the yellow stained, white washed walls.

  “NOOO!” Andre had bellowed as he leapt onto the rotund man’s back his small fingers gripping tightly around the killer’s throat. The heavy man stood up and stumbled back against the wall crushing Andre who dropped to the floor winded. The fat man turned around his naked body splattered with blood. His eyes wide, with excitement.

  “And who are you?” the man, has spluttered, trying to wipe away some of the still steaming, viscous fluid.

  Andre didn’t answer, he knows now peering back that he was in shock, instead he glanced to his left out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the needles his mother used to get herself right. He had soared up, his mind fixed on one single purpose, he grabbed the syringe just as the man shifted to face him, bringing the knife up, gore still dripping from its blade. Yet what Andre may have lacked in brute strength he made up for with speed, he was too fast, he ducked the weapon and plunged the needle directly into the obese man’s eye pushing the button on the side to activate the drug as he did so.

  The killer stumbled back the syringe still protruding from his eye, a few seconds later he began to shake as the huge amount of drugs, which had just been forced into him, began to take effect.

  Without a word he buckled to the floor his body wracked with convulsions, as soapy sanguine fluid gushed out of his mouth. Andre stood transfixed watching as the man flopped around on the floor, like a fish taken out of water. After a few minutes the man’s body stopped twitching and Andre was alone.

  He watches again now, as he was then a frightened child, thrust at breakneck speed into the adult world. Slowly he spun around towards the bed, for a long time he was unable to move, however much he had hated what his mother had to do for a living and sometimes he even hated her for doing it and for making him sit and listen. He still adored her and she was his whole world. He could still remember how she would tuck him into bed each night read to him then kiss his forehead and tell him that tomorrow everything would change, she would get clean, and that they would finally start their new life together. Then she would lean in close and whisper how much she loved him. Of course that new day had never come, the addiction had always won, it had always been better than him, and more deserving of her love.