Stream of Madness

by Jim Roberts

  You can’t be alive! Joe felt panic set into his stomach. The all-too recent memory of his battle in the cistern returned to Joe in all its horror.

  The Peacemaker lurched back, bringing his M4 to bear on the beast. Brutus rushed straight for Joe, his armored legs tearing up the ground into a swirl of cloudy dust.

  Joe fired a short burst but was too late. He was knocked aside by an almost casual backhand strike from the creature that sent him reeling.

  With the first target immobilized, the beast headed straight for Sandor. The Centurion, probably knowing his sniper rifle would be useless against the Olympus monster, dropped it into the ground and grasped for the .50 caliber Desert Eagle in his belt. Brutus slammed full force into Sandor, knocking the gun away.

  “Die!” the beast screamed in its rage. Joe saw Brutus slash the Centurion violently across the chest. The razor-sharp gauntlet claws bit through the Centurion’s armor like butter, cutting the man deeply. Bright blood poured onto the sand of the ruins.

  “No!” Joe shouted. He searched the scene desperately for his M4. He spotted it lying a full ten feet from him, a distance that may as well have been a mile. Joe grasped at the Browning handgun, drew it and fired. Three bullets ricocheted against Brutus’s armor, doing no damage at all.

  Brutus stood to his full height, a horrible nightmare come alive. Joe saw the Centurion struggle against the beast, trying but failing to gain an advantage. Blood streamed from the wounds in his chest. Still, the Centurion stood firm against his enemy.

  Joe had to help. Dropping the gun, he drew his combat knife and forced himself to his feet.

  This man knows where Danny is…if he dies, your brother is lost…

  Swallowing the terror he felt at being so close to the beast, Joe rushed at his backside and jumped as hard as he could. His ankle buckled and he stumbled, but still managed to reach a decent height. He grabbed onto the back of Brutus with his free arm. The Olympus tracker, thrown off guard by the surprise assault, dropped the Centurion and tried to buck the Peacemaker off.

  Joe held tight. He saw an area of exposed skin near the top of the beast’s shoulder. Joe slammed the blade into it as hard as he could.

  Brutus shrieked. Blood poured out from the wound.

  Yes! You can bleed, can’t you, fucker?

  The beast reared wildly, doing everything in its might to toss Braddock off, but still the Peacemaker held on.

  Not this man! Not this man!

  Brutus seemed to clue in on how best to remove his unwanted rider. The monster reeled backwards and slammed Joe full force against the remaining pillar. Sandwiched between the unwavering force and the immovable object, Joe felt his chest deflate as all air was pushed from his lungs. He lost his grasp on the beast and dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

  Brutus paid him no second thought. The beast lumbered towards the Centurion once more…

  * * *

  THE SPIRIT WALKER zoomed low over the southern Syrian district, making its final pass of the area. Packrat’s voice broke through the comm, shaking Krieger out from his focus on the thermal monitor. The mercury was rising fast and the scanner would become useless before long.

  “Krieger, ten o’clock!”

  The Russian snapped his head up and looked out past the dashboard of the aircraft. A small smattering of ruins lay in the distance. Flashes of light from what could only be gunfire flared here and there across the area. Krieger switched the monitor from thermal scan to enhanced imaging and enlarged the picture. He saw two figures struggling against a large soldier. A short distance away, a group of desert mercenaries were approaching, weapons ready. Krieger recognized the dress of the soldiers as what was typically worn by the Riders of the Scorpion.

  “Bring us down there!” the Russian ordered.

  “It could just be a rebel skirmish–” Packrat started to say.

  “Just do it!”

  Packrat shrugged and eased up on the throttle, bringing the aircraft in low and fast.

  Krieger clenched his fists.

  Everything fit.

  Braddock had to be here.

  * * *

  JOE COUGHED out a gout of dust as his lungs remembered how to breathe. His vision was cloudy and his head felt disconnected from his body. It was all he could do to concentrate on watching the two combatants, grappling with each other some twenty feet away.

  Brutus flung the Centurion against the ground, hard. The blow dazed the Olympus ex-merc, but couldn’t put him down. Joe saw Sandor stand tall, his hand against his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from his wounds.

  The monster Brutus advanced on Sandor, its clawed hands ready for the final kill.

  “Wa…wait…” Joe tried to speak, but there was no breath to push the words out. He could only watch as the Centurion reached for two objects clinging to his belt.

  Grenades.

  What was he going to do?

  Sandor pulled the pins on both weapons. He looked up, his face resolute at the sight of imminent death.

  “Come on you sonovabitch! Come at me!” he shouted.

  Brutus lunged. Sandor’s face was a mask of absolute defiance.

  “I am Sandor Delacroix! And I am no slave to Olympus!”

  Joe’s heart stopped as the two opponents grasped each other.

  Twin explosions split the morning air. Joe covered his head with his arm as pieces of fragmentation exploded towards him. He felt a terrible pain rip through his arm.

  Time seemed to stop.

  There was no sound.

  Nothing.

  * * *

  “My lord! Did you see?” Rashid called out. From where he stood, cautiously approaching the ruins, Rashid had witnessed the Centurion literally blow himself up. The explosion had engulfed him and the beast Brutus as well.

  Saladin clutched his AK, “I did, my friend. Everyone move in now!”

  The Riders of the Scorpion began to run towards the ruin. They were almost there when an unfamiliar sound began to reverberate over the area.

  A jet aircraft engine. Rashid noticed it first. Over the horizon, a silver aircraft that resembled a Navy Osprey came into view, hovering towards their position.

  Rashid shot a glance to Saladin, who also recognized the gunship. The Sand Scorpion turned back to his men, shouting, “It’s the Peacemakers! Get down now!”

  Too late, the VTOL opened fire from the belly mounted 30mm autocannon. A flurry of gunfire ripped across the sand, tearing five of Saladin’s men into chunks of meat and blood. The suddenness of the attack had caught the Riders off guard and they panicked. Several attempted to return fire, but were also cut down.

  Saladin shouted over the din of gunfire, “Everyone fall back now! Retreat!”

  The men did as they were ordered, running back the way they came. Rashid was about to follow when he saw Saladin walking calmly onwards toward the ruins.

  Rashid shouted to his master, “My lord! What are you doing?”

  “Go, Rashid! There is still something I must do!” Saladin held out his arms and dropped his AK in full view of the hovering VTOL.

  Rashid watched in fascinating horror as the Sand Scorpion approached the ruins, fearless of the Peacemaker aircraft hovering just beyond. A wall of sand rose from under the engines of the aircraft, shrouding the ruins occupants from view.

  Rashid continued to watch as Saladin disappeared into the torrent of sand.

  No further fire came from the aircraft. For the time being, Rashid trusted his master to know what he was doing. As for himself, the surviving Riders would need his leadership.

  He turned and followed the rest of the men in retreat.

  * * *

  JOE LAY in a broken pile on the ground, his ears ringing from the force of the explosions. A violent sandstorm was being kicked up by the engines of an aircraft overhead. It came into view, hovering just beyond Joe’s eyesight.

  The Spirit Walker.

  Joe looked at his left arm. A large chunk of metal st
uck out from the skin, embedded in his flesh by the force of the grenade. He pulled it free, gagging from the pain.

  Sandor…

  Joe dragged himself across the sand towards were the Centurion and the remains of the beast Brutus lay. Above him, he heard a loudspeaker call out.

  “Joe! This is Krieger! We are here to rescue you!”

  The voice sounded a million miles away.

  Sandor…

  Joe pulled himself over to where the Centurion lay. Delacroix was resting in a pool of blood, both of his arms blown completely off. His face and body were blacked and bloodied from burns. He eyes stared into the sky, rivulets of blood streaming from their sockets.

  “J…Joe…”

  Dear god...the man was still alive.

  Joe dragged himself beside the Centurion and placed his hand on Delacroix’s chest.

  “I’m here.”

  Sandor’s coughed; a wet, hacking sound. The only thing holding the man together was sheer will.

  “Is it…dead?” his voice was little more than a whisper.

  Joe looked over to where Brutus lay. The beast had been shredded by the two grenades. The flesh behind the armor bled out in a hundred horrible wounds. The helmet was cracked – brains and ichor leaking from it.

  The beast was felled.

  “Yeah. He’s dead.” Joe answered, his voice cracking.

  “Good. One…last…good deed.”

  Sandor coughed, blood specking his lips.

  “Joe…I…lied to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About…Danny.”

  Joe felt his stomach knot together. “Lied?”

  “Danny…Callbeck is dead.”

  The words were said, but Braddock didn’t hear. “What?”

  “Danny died...two months ago. I saw…Olympus kill him…he was trying to escape…”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. It…was the only…way I could get you to come here.”

  “Sandor…tell me where he was. Tell me where they held him!” Joe’s voice was pleading.

  “I…I can see it…the stars…so beautiful…” Sandor’s eyes looked, but saw nothing, “Joe…”

  A rasping breath escaped his mouth.

  The Centurion was gone.

  There had been no lie in the man’s eyes. So close to death, the truth had begged to be let loose.

  Danny Callbeck was dead. Joe’s brother was gone.

  Joe heard the engines of the aircraft move behind them, probably looking for a safe place to land. The sandstorm began to die down, leaving only a calm wind blowing through the ruin.

  “Joseph Braddock, I presume?”

  A voice, thick and modulated spoke to Joe. The Peacemaker looked up and saw a man – silhouetted by the morning sun – appear seemingly out of nowhere. Dressed in a desert cloak and wearing a Muslim headdress, Joe recognized the man from the image he’d seen back at the Cottage.

  “Saladin.”

  “You have heard of me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have heard of you as well. A man Olympus sent a beast of war to hunt. You are like a fox – hard to kill.” The legendary mercenary walked closer to examine the body of Brutus. Joe was completely unarmed and his left arm and right leg were useless. If this man wanted to kill him, there was nothing he could do to stop him.

  “Amazing,” said Saladin, standing up again, “The beast was human after all. What extraordinary will it must have taken to slay him.”

  “Why are you here?” Joe warbled.

  “Evidence, my friend.” Saladin answered. Joe saw the man reach into his cloak and produce a smartphone. “My employers require proof of Mr. Delacroix’s demise.” Saladin snapped several pictures of the scene. Finished, he put the phone back in his robes.

  “What about me?” Joe asked. He didn’t know where his would-be rescuers were, or if they would reach him in time. In the end, he hardly cared.

  “That depends. I have to admit, you impress me, Sergeant. In a way, you remind me of myself, long ago. It would be a shame for you to die here, before your true fate is known.”

  “What do you know about my fate?”

  “Me? Nothing. Every man makes his own. Some, like your Centurion friend were fated to die this day, as I was fated to ascend to the council of Olympus. I wonder what fate has in store for you.” Saladin smiled, his dark eyes alive with possibility, “You will not die this day, Joseph Braddock. Olympus used me to try and kill you and for that, I shall spare your life. The Lords of Olympus must learn that tricking me shall cost them dearly.”

  Saladin turned to leave, speaking as he went, “One day we shall meet again, Fox. On that day, one of us shall indeed die. And in the deed, our fates will truly be decided. Farewell!”

  The Sand Scorpion laughed as he disappeared from the Peacemaker’s eyes. For a time, Joe lay there, bloodied and weak, having not the energy to stand or even move. He simply lay staring at the sky, his mind an unfocused mess, until a familiar voice shouted to him from a distance.

  “Joe! Joe do you hear me?”

  Krieger.

  The Russian’s face came into view, the rough-hewn, unshaven face wide with a smile, “You are not dead, no? Come on, get up!”

  Joe felt the Russian hoist him to his feet. Krieger held an M249 light machine gun in his free arm.

  “Where is he?” Joe asked weakly.

  “Where is who?”

  “Saladin? He was here!”

  Krieger looked around the ruin, “There is no one here, Joe! Come on, we need to leave now! Packrat has said a large ISIL force is on its way. Your little firefight here attracted some attention, yes?”

  Braddock was barely conscious of the walk back to the Spirit Walker, where once he was aboard, the Russian laid him down in a foldout medical cot.

  “Packrat, get us out of here, now!” Krieger shouted to the pilot.

  The Louisiana boy called back to them, “All right, hold on to your asses!”

  Joe felt the aircraft lift into the air. Krieger set his weapon down and moved to help Joe with his injuries.

  “Just bandage me up, okay? We need to get back to the States, now.”

  “You should be in hospital, Joe.” Krieger said, setting a first aid kit on the cot.

  “I’m…fine. Just get me back home.”

  “Of course, my friend. We’ll need to refuel in Iraq before heading home.” Krieger turned towards the cockpit, “Get on the horn, Packrat. Let’s kiss this country goodbye!”

  Chapter 21

  Acquiescence

  The Cottage, Peacemaker HQ

  July 18th, 2015

  JADE RAN down the corridor towards the infirmary of the Peacemaker HQ. Skidding down the hall, she almost collided with several security personnel. Managing a quick ‘sorry’, she continued on her way.

  The infirmary was on the far end of second basement floor of the Cottage facility. It was a ten bed, fully equipped medical bay, capable of long and short-term care. Flashing her ID to the Peacemaker soldiers standing guard, Jade entered the medical wing. The entire main floor of the infirmary was a sterile white, like the inside of an IPod. It was empty, save for a small group of people clustered near the end of the first line of beds. Jade calmed herself as she walked towards them, her heart pounding. She held her hands tight at her sides, afraid anyone watching would see them shake.

  Taking a long breath, she joined the compliment of Peacemakers speaking to the infirmary’s sole occupant. Colonel Walsh, along with Packrat, Krieger, Brick and Rourke stood speaking to a man that barely resembled the one in Jade’s memory of only two days ago. Joe sat on the edge of the bed as the Unit’s resident Doctor, Michael ‘Mac’ Richards, wrapped a bandage around his head.

  Joe looked like he’d been run over by a dump truck. His shirt had been removed, showing the many wounds he’d received. His body was covered in bruises and scrapes and his left arm was burned in multiple places. An ugly gash spread across his forehead, adding to his impressive
collection of past contusions. The doctor was in the middle of what sounded to Jade like a lecture.

  “…stubbornness is the sign of a fool, Sergeant Braddock. You should have allowed Krieger to treat you on the aircraft.”

  “Let the doc help you, Braddock. That’s an order.” Walsh said, leaning on his cane.

  “I need to see her first,” Joe said, pushing the doctor away.

  Jade walked up behind Rourke, placing her hand on the SEAL’s shoulder. Seeing her, the stoic Navy man moved to let her through.

  “Come on, folks,” Rourke said, “Why don’t we give the man some time.”

  The Peacemakers said their pieces to Joe, telling him they were glad he had returned. Joe managed polite nods and ‘thank you’ to his friends and that he would speak to them all later. Jade could tell he had something important on his mind; something he needed to say that couldn’t be said in front of his mates. When the others had cleared out, only Krieger, the Colonel and Jade remained.

  The Russian smiled, “We never gave up on you, my friend. You are harder to kill than a New York cockroach!”

  Joe smirked, “Thanks, I think.”

  “Keep money on bet, Joe. We will find something to wager on next time, da?”

  Krieger clapped Joe on his back before excusing himself. Joe shook his head, “The friends you make, huh?”

  With the Russian gone, Walsh asked, “So…the Centurion…”

  Joe grew solemn at the mention of the word, “Dead.”

  Walsh nodded, “Not that I want to hit you with this right now, son, but did he tell you anything useful? Anything at all?”

  Joe nodded, “He didn’t tell me much, but…from the sounds of it, I think we’re going to have our work cut out for us, very soon now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something big is coming, Colonel. I don’t know what, but I can feel it.” Joe held a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. “Can you give me a few hours to assemble a full debrief for you, sir?”