The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12)

by Ian J. Malone

  Taylor polished off the last of his pudding, then snapped the spoon scoop to the side of his bowl and shoved the items into a nearby receptacle. “I take it Paulie never elaborated on his exodus from the Eagles.”

  Genovese shook his head.

  Figures. Taylor considered his next words. “Between troops, administrators, medical staff, and others, Swamp Eagle Security inherited more than 600 new personnel from the Steeldriver Defense Group when we took over Ron Carnegie’s operation. Some of those folks left for greener pastures of their own accord. Others didn’t make the cut for a variety of reasons. So they were shown the door.”

  “I take it Paulie was the latter,” Genovese said.

  “Actually, no,” Taylor said. “I had high hopes for Paulie, believe it or not. He brought a sterling field record. He had good recommendations from the previous regime. He’d even done some work in the Jacksonville community, which always strikes a chord with me.”

  Genovese crossed his arms. “Then why’d you can him?”

  “I didn’t,” Taylor said. “Paulie resigned his post of his own volition.”

  Genovese wrinkled his nose. “Did you ask him why he wanted out?”

  “Sure I did,” Taylor said. “He cited an inability to mesh with his new commanders as the primary reason for his resignation.”

  “So it was a chemistry thing,” Genovese said.

  “I guess,” Taylor answered. “Like I said, Paulie didn’t give me much of an explanation to work with. What I do know is, shortly after he left Swamp Eagle, word got out around Jax that Paulie meant to launch his own operation. Six months later, the River Hawk Defense Group was open for business with their very first contract.”

  “Interesting,” Genovese mused aloud. “I’d have probably felt a little betrayed by that if I were you.”

  “Nah.” Taylor waved off the comment. “Knowin’ Paulie the way I did by then, I figured the guy needed some space. I mean, look at things from his perspective. He had tenure with Steeldriver. It stands to reason then that he wouldn’t be real wild about startin’ over from scratch with a brand-new command staff and a brand new company in a culture he wasn’t terribly comfortable in to begin with. Hell—” Taylor grunted, “—I’d have been a little salty, too, if I were him.”

  Genovese huffed. “So just like that. It’s no harm, no foul.”

  “No harm, no foul,” Taylor said.

  Genovese sipped his coffee. “Ah, I guess I’m not surprised. Paulie always did have authority issues. And besides, a wise guy like him takin’ orders from a pack of rednecks like you fellas? No way was that gonna end well.” He glanced up, eyes slightly widening. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” Taylor chewed his lip. “You’ve been a North Floridian for what? Two years now?”

  “Two years and a month. Why?”

  “Can I offer you some free insight?”

  Genovese nodded.

  “The term redneck ain’t an insult where I come from,” Taylor said. “It’s a code, and it’s not just for Southerners, either. It applies to anybody who works their fingers to the bone, day in and day out, to care for the others around them.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Take Corporal Newhouse for example. Prior to boardin’ my crew, he spent eight years workin’ extra shifts in triple-digit heat on a tobacco farm so his kids could have nice clothes for school. Then there’s my XO, Major Dawson. His parents were flat broke when he graduated from Lee. So Billy joined the Navy out of high school and got himself some skills, then parlayed that into a highly lucrative career as a merc. Now his parents live on the beach in Amelia Island.”

  Genovese drummed his fingers. “You’re talkin’ about work ethic.”

  “That’s part of it,” Taylor said. “Bein’ a redneck ain’t about where you come from or how you earn a livin’. It’s about the conscious choice to put the wants and needs of those who matter most above your own at any price and by any means necessary. Everything else is just a distant second on the priority list.”

  Genovese eased back in his seat, seeming to understand. “So family above all else. I can appreciate that in my own way.”

  “I thought you might,” Taylor said. “Which brings us to you.”

  “What about me?” Genovese asked.

  “How does a New York needle mover with no military experience, para or otherwise, climb the ranks to become second in command of an interstellar mercenary outfit in 25 months?”

  The captain’s lips formed a line. “You make it sound like I dangled Paulie off a balcony and made him promote me.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Listen, Chief, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, and honestly, I don’t care. I worked my way up in this outfit just like everybody else. How was I supposed to know Paulie’s XO was gonna bail 18 into my first tour? Moreover, what was I supposed to say when Paulie offered me the shot? No? He’d have been devastated!”

  Taylor raised a palm. “It’s cool, man. I hear you.”

  “Do ya now?” Genovese asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Taylor said firmly. “I may have grown up in this business on account of my brother, but lest we forget, the Eagles have only been back in action for three years under my command. Prior to that, I was slingin’ well bourbons and domestic drafts over in Cocktail Junction for tips and free food.”

  That provoked a slight double-take from the captain. “No shit?”

  “No shit,” Taylor replied.

  “I’ll be damned.” Genovese scratched his whiskers. “From the barstool to the command chair, huh? That must’ve been some learning curve.”

  “It still is,” Taylor said. “Our first big mission back was…well, let’s just say it didn’t go to plan. But we rolled with the punches and fought through it. I’m just thankful to have the staff around me that I do. They’re honest, reliable, and good at their jobs. Moreover, I trust their judgement to help me make informed decisions when it feels like I’m in over my head.”

  “That’s important.” Genovese stabbed out a finger. “The whole trust thing, I mean. If I had to guess, I’d say that’s probably why Paulie tapped me as his XO instead of one of the other officers. Trust don’t come easy for him. It never has, not since his dad walked out on their family when he was a kid.”

  Taylor winced. “I didn’t know about that.”

  “Yep,” Genovese said. “Paulie’s been the man of his house since he was big enough to hold a meat cleaver. He took an apprenticeship with one of the local butchers when he was 12, then worked his way up until he was managing his own slaughterhouse out by Arbor Commons. That’s where I met him.”

  “You worked in the slaughterhouse?” Taylor said.

  “That’s right,” Genovese said. “My old man felt I needed a job that would put some hair on my balls, and in his opinion, swingin’ blades at carcasses and standin’ around in animal entrails all day was it. He pulled some strings and got me the gig that summer before I turned 15.”

  Taylor’s only experience cleaning meat had stopped with the skinning process of the animals he’d killed during hunting season. Beyond that, he’d paid a butcher to do the rest.

  “I met Paulie my first week in,” Genovese continued. “We hit it right off, too. In retrospect, I think that’s mostly because I reminded him so much of his son, Tony. The Torrio family took me in pretty quick after that, even despite all my…” He paused. “Baggage.”

  Taylor leaned onto an elbow. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that by ‘baggage,’ you mean the Genovese legacy in New York.”

  The captain exhaled through his nostrils. “I see that Brooklyn birdie of yours has been chirpin’ outta school.”

  “Frank’s a good officer,” Taylor said. “If he knows something, he speaks up, whether you want him to or not. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “Nah, it’s fine.” Genovese shook his head. “I kinda figured you’d do your homework on my background at some point. That’s why I didn’t hide my name from you back at the
hospital.”

  “I appreciate that,” Taylor said.

  “Don’t mention it.” The captain sipped his coffee. “My father is not what you’d call a nice man. To the contrary, he’s ruthless, calculated, and prior to his incarceration, he was vicious as hell with anybody who dared to cross him.”

  “Sounds like he was a hard man to grow up with,” Taylor said.

  “Oh, he was that and then some,” Genovese said. “In Pop’s defense, viciousness is sort of a prerequisite for survival in his world. To do otherwise not only gets you killed, but, more often than not, everybody you care about.” The captain paused visibly in thought. “A lot of folks don’t buy it when I say this, but I never wanted to be a gangster. I saw what the life did to people I cared about, people I was close to. Truthfully, I think that’s what drew me most to the Torrios. They were so much like me, from their upbringing in Queens to the way their ancestors came to America from Italy. Only they made their way honest, not like our family.” He glanced up. “Paulie had a term for folks like us—street survivors. That’s in part, obviously, for where we come from. Mostly, though, it’s because, when the chips are down and our backs are against the wall, there’s no end to what we’ll do to fight our way outta that corner. We’ll literally go to war for each other if we have to.”

  Taylor’s entire family history crashed through his mind like a monsoon of memories, from Terry’s rise and fall as the Eagles’ commander, to the Van Zants’ plunge back into poverty, and eventually Taylor’s own quest to rescue his family legacy from the pit of financial ruin. So much had been thrown their way in Taylor’s 27 years on Earth. And yet there they all were—himself, his siblings, and Billy—standing shoulder-to-shoulder, always ready to scrap for more. “You mentioned Paulie had a son.”

  “Yeah, Tony,” Genovese said.

  “I’ve never seen him around Jax. Did he stay behind in New York or what?”

  Genovese’s gaze plummeted. “You might say that. Tony’s buried in Chestnut Grove Cemetery back home in the Palisades.”

  Taylor felt an imaginary fist careen into his stomach. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Chief. It was a fair question.” Genovese took in a breath, then let it out. “Tony studied business at NYU while the rest of us were off bustin’ skulls and collectin’ payments. He was damn good at it, too—so much so that he landed a job on Wall Street straight out of college. He was on his way home from workin’ late one night when a junkie street thug jumped him for his flyer. Tony fought back, of course, but he didn’t make it.” Genovese glanced up. “That happened one year to the day before the Torrios’ move to North Florida.”

  Taylor lowered his head and recalled Genovese’s recounting of the Torrios’ relocation story.

  “Paulie needed a change of scenery,” the captain had said.

  Now, Taylor knew why.

  “Bridge to Chief Van Zant,” Reigns said over the intercom.

  “Van Zant here,” Taylor answered. “What’s up, Sergeant?”

  “Commander Bowyer is with me on the command deck,” Reigns said. “He’d like a word, since you’re still up.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way. Van Zant, out.” Taylor pushed himself up to go.

  “No rest for the weary, eh?” Genovese noted.

  “Apparently not,” Taylor said. “The others and I have church at 0800 tomorrow. I’d like you to be there.”

  Genovese grimaced. “No offense, Chief, but the last person who tried to give me religion was Sister Mary back in grade school. It didn’t stick.”

  “Church is slang around here for a command staff briefing,” Taylor said. “I want to go over our plan for Droxis, and as the lone representative of the River Hawk Defense Group aboard, I think it’s only right that you be a part of that.”

  “Oh.” Genovese cleared his throat. “Sure, yeah. Count me in.”

  Taylor headed toward the galley exit.

  “Hey, Chief?” Genovese called out. “Thanks for bringin’ me on this mission. You certainly weren’t obligated to, yet you did. So, thank you.”

  Taylor nodded. “Get some rest, Mike. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 12: Frozen

  The Ryley Osyrys emerged from hyperspace a week later in the yellow dwarf star system matching the coordinates Scarface had provided at the Siler City starport. The system housed a total of seven planets, beginning with a scorched red planet that was roughly the size of Earth’s moon.

  “Please tell me that Hades of a planet I’m lookin’ at ain’t Droxis.” Taylor frowned at the Tri-V from his command chair.

  “Negative,” Frank said from the nav station. “According to our latest batch of cartography charts, Droxis is the fourth planet from the star. We should have a visual on it momentarily.”

  Taylor exhaled and relaxed in his command chair “Tactical. Any sign of pryin’ eyes?”

  “That, too, is a negative, Chief,” Jack said. “Sensors show no sign whatsoever of any advanced satellites or early warnin’ systems. They also don’t register any other ships in the vicinity.” The cowboy looked up. “Best I can tell, we’re completely alone out here.”

  “I guess that fits, what with the whole covert slave camp thing and all,” Ruiz said. The Puerto Rican lieutenant had jointed the makeshift bridge team with Stan to fill in at the comm station while the Mississippian took over at science.

  “Entering visual range of Droxis…now,” Frank announced.

  The main Tri-V image shifted from its previous depiction of the fiery hell planet to one blanketed almost entirely in white.

  You’ve gotta be fargin kidding me. Taylor shivered. “I don’t suppose the weather down there is warmer than it looks?”

  “Sadly, no such luck.” Stan worked his console. “The climate on Droxis appears to be almost universally subarctic with average surface temps rangin’ from 19 degrees Fahrenheit to minus 30, depending on elevation and time of day.”

  “That’s it.” Frank put up a hand. “I vote we come back when it’s summertime.”

  “Pretty sure that’s what summer looks like on this planet, Birdman,” Stan said. “On the upshot, the air is breathable enough.”

  Taylor drummed his fingers on his chair arm. “What about life signs?”

  “None that I can find, no,” Stan said.

  Ruiz wrinkled his nose at comm station. “I don’t get it. If this is where the Dutya told us to come, where are all the captives?”

  Taylor was wondering that very thing.

  “Everybody hold on for a second.” Stan swiped a series of hand gestures over his display, then waited for a pair of fresh data streams to appear. He cocked his head. “Well, now. That’s interesting.”

  “Do share,” Taylor said.

  “Sensors are detectin’ faint traces of carbon fibers about 30 miles out from one of the mountains on the southwest continent,” Stan said.

  “Okay?” Taylor scratched his temple. “Carbon fibers are used for all sorts of stuff, everything from run-of-the-mill shipyard materials to the storage bins we use to keep our food supplies fresh outside the galley. Why are these significant?”

  “Maybe it’s a crash site,” Ruiz suggested.

  “I don’t think so.” Stan pointed to his display. “These readings are way too small to be a downed ship. And yet there they are, a bunch of artificial elements plain as day in an otherwise natural environment.”

  Taylor was starting to see where this was headed.

  “Passive sensors.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Gotta be.”

  “It makes sense,” Stan agreed. “Establishin’ an early warning system in space would tip off anybody passin’ by that something or somebody is down on the surface. With some passive sensors on the surface, the KzSha would at least get the benefit of an early heads-up if somebody touched down on their doorstep.”

  Taylor hunched forward onto his elbows. “What if we touch down i
n their neighborhood but not on their doorstep?”

  “Say what?” Jack asked.

  Taylor swiped at the display on his command chair and mirrored the data from science station onto the main Tri-V.

  “What if we land our dropships somewhere around…here?” He pointed to a spot on the image that was roughly 300 miles south of the mountain. “That puts us well beyond the reach of their sensors, but not so far out we can’t make the trek to the sensor site via APC.”

  Stan rubbed his chin. “Trail makin’ certainly wouldn’t be an issue. Not in those conditions, anyway.”

  “Agreed,” Jack said. “Trouble is, those same conditions also make for a helluva carrier ride to reach the target.” He pointed to the Tri-V. “That’s 12 hours, easy. Plus we’ll have to take the final three miles or so on foot so the KzSha don’t detect our approach.”

  “That’s if these aliens are even down there,” Frank added. “For all we know, this whole thing is a wild goose chase led by Sluggo and his slimeball minions back at the starport.”

  Taylor had spent the last week weighing that very possibility. Still, a lead was a lead, and as things stood, Droxis was the only one they had. He keyed the ship’s intercom. “Bridge to Sergeant Reigns. Assemble your teams, then gear up for extreme cold weather, and report to drop room Alpha for immediate deployment. Be advised, we’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of us once we’re topside, so pack accordingly.”

  “Ayew,” Reigns answered. “We’ll be ready.”

  Taylor acknowledged, then shifted channels. “Bridge to Corporal Newhouse.”

  A pause.

  “House here.”

  “Report to drop room Alpha at once and coordinate with the flight crew to prep three birds for immediate release. We’ll also need three armored personnel carriers fueled up and ready to roll as soon as we reach the surface. Sergeant Reigns will fill you in on the rest as soon as she arrives.”

  “Ayew,” House said. “Consider it done, sir.”

  Taylor took off his belts and pushed himself airborne. “Frank, lay in a course for Droxis, put us in a geosync orbit, then gear up for drop. You’re comin’ with us.”