Stream of Madness

by Jim Roberts

  Walsh’s eyes flicked between Joe and Masters. “Of course, Sergeant. But after that, you are on medical leave, pending a psyche evaluation, is that understood?”

  Joe was too tired to question the order. He nodded, “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Take some time, Sergeant. You’re lucky more than you know to still be alive. I need you ready, for whatever comes.”

  Walsh met Jade’s eyes. He’s all yours, he seemed to say. With that, the Colonel made his exit. Jade and Braddock were left alone in the empty infirmary.

  “Christ, Joseph, you look awful!”

  “That’s me all over.”

  Jade sighed in exasperation, “Well if you won’t let the doctor treat you, at least let me.” She opened the first aid kit and unpacked some gauze and sutures. She began to work, cleaning the wounds on Joe’s arm, “For god sake, Joe, why didn’t you have this looked at?”

  Joe grasped Jade’s hand in his own, “I had to see you first.”

  Jade met the Peacemaker’s eyes with her own, “Why?”

  “To tell you something. I…I saw things out there that I–”

  Jade pursed her lips, “Shush, Joe. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s war. Things happen.”

  “No, this was...different. I don’t know if I’m even okay right now. I feel…outside myself, you know?”

  Jade frowned, not following where he was going with this.

  Joe continued, “I saw hell there, Jade. I believe it in my soul. It beckoned to me.”

  “Joe, you’re exhausted. Don’t do this to yourself–”

  “I was in a dark place, filled with death. I thought I was going to die, and if I died there, no part of me would see the light again.”

  Jade’s breath caught in her throat. She listened, her ears burning.

  “Surrounded by all of that misery, I was lost in myself. I was going to embrace the madness…embrace my nightmares. It was all I could do. But there was something I couldn't let go of…something that kept me solid in all of that darkness. In that moment, I became so afraid, more so than I’d ever been in my life.” His voice trailed off, his eyes looking through Jade, as if into another world completely.

  “Afraid of what, Joe?” Jade asked. She placed her fingers on Joe’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eye.

  “I’ve lost so much. My Rangers, Cordova, Jammer, Danny…I’m afraid I’m going to lose you too.”

  “My god, Joe!” Jade cried, “You’re not going to lose me!”

  “Before he died, Delacroix told me something. He told me Danny was dead. He saw him die, right in front of his eyes. My brother, my one true brother is dead. I thought I would find him and…maybe then, just maybe, the nightmares would finally end.”

  Tears poured down Joe’s face. He hunched forward, weeping into his hands. Jade cradled the wounded soldier in her arms, comforting him as much as she could.

  The world outside faded for a time, leaving two souls weeping for fallen friends.

  Epilogue

  Syria, Homs Governorate

  July 19th, 2015

  THE SUN was beginning to dip on what had been the longest week of Rashid ibn Hammad’s life. In that time, the mercenary had done more than a little soul searching. He knew that with his master’s rise into the ranks of Olympus, he would be the logical successor to command the Riders of the Scorpion. He knew he would be up to the task.

  The surviving soldiers of Saladin were clustered together on horseback, sitting atop their steeds like a ceremonial guard. Having regrouped with the full complement of the Riders of the Scorpion, they had lost almost a quarter of their original force. The losses were felt between all the brothers of the Scorpion. They had lived and fought together through countless skirmishes and every death was a mark on the soul.

  It was a curious sight amid the burning Syrian Desert: the men of Saladin’s horde, sitting tall on their mounts, surrounded by six landed Hyperion gunships. Olympus had followed through on their word and met with Saladin at a place of his choosing – a secluded portion of the Homs District, deep in the desert. A large contingent of Olympus Centurions – honor guard, Rashid had decided – stood outside the aircraft.

  Beside Rashid, standing at the front of the cadre, was Saladin, looking resplendent in a clean cloak and keffiyeh headdress. Before long, the Sand Scorpion would take on the mantle of an Olympus Lord and all the duties that followed. Despite the events and pain of the last few days, Rashid felt a burning sense of pride at having had the opportunity to serve a great man such as his master.

  As if sensing his friend’s thoughts, Saladin turned his head and said, “This is only the beginning, my friend. I could never have obtained this without your help. Allah walks with you.”

  “As he does with you, my Lord.”

  Ahead of them, Tribune Falco exited the lead Hyperion craft. Having shucked aside his business suit of earlier, the one-eyed Olympus commander now wore his traditional body armor, complete with katana sword strapped on his back. Saladin dismounted his horse. Rashid was about to do the same, when Saladin gestured for him to stay.

  “No my friend, I must speak alone with the Tribune. Await my return.”

  Rashid nodded. He watched Saladin cross the sand; a figure of majesty in the stark desert. Rashid’s mind danced with dreams of the future. With Saladin advising Olympus, they could take their war with ISIL to the next level. They would cut a clear swath of destruction right into Iraq, liberating the country from the American scourge.

  There was so much still to be done.

  Rashid saw his master bow in greeting to Falco. The two men spoke for several minutes, about what, Rashid could not hear. Formalities to conclude before the rite of introduction would take place.

  Then, after a time, Saladin turned around to face his men. He would address them one final time, giving his last orders before assuming the mantle of a Lord of the Olympus PMC.

  Saladin glanced over his men, his face impassive. He looked at Rashid.

  Their eyes met, only for a moment.

  My master…

  Saladin raised his hand–

  Then lowered it.

  Rashid realized the meaning far too late.

  The Centurions surrounding the Riders of the Scorpion raised their rifles and fired.

  “No!” Rashid shouted impotently.

  Bullet after bullet struck the desert mercenaries, ripping into their flesh and knocking them from their horses. A panic set in as the men realized they were trapped. Some reared the horses towards the direction of the open desert, but were gunned down moments later. Horses fell from bullets shooting wide, crushing their riders beneath their bodies.

  Rashid screamed commands to his men but to no avail. Then he too felt a bullet slam into his chest. He grasped at his AK, trying to fire at the nearest Centurion, but immediately felt another round strike him in the shoulder. He pitched from his horse and onto the sandy earth, his blood mixing with the sand.

  The sounds of the massacre bellowed into the evening sky. Soon, the entire cadre lay dead or dying in a sea of blood that stained the sands of the earth.

  After what felt like an eternity, the gunfire ceased. The area was thick with the stink of gunpowder and death. Rashid was vaguely aware of the dark, armored forms of the Olympus Centurions making their way through the corpses, making sure all were dead. One of the troopers stood over him as he lay, raising his FN assault rifle to end Rashid’s misery forever.

  “Stop!”

  The voice seemed to come from far away. He saw the man he had called his master walk towards him.

  Saladin knelt beside Rashid, his dark face devoid of emotion.

  “Can you hear me, my friend?”

  Rashid coughed on a mouthful of blood, “Why?”

  “You could never understand, my friend. The death of the Centurion was only the first part of my acceptance into Olympus. To truly be one under the Imperator, a Lord must sacrifice that which he loves most.” Saladin gestured to the bodies littering the sa
nd dunes. “I trained these men. Fought with them and loved them like my own children. They lived to serve me and now they have died to elevate me.”

  Saladin smiled sadly, “It is Allah’s will. It is my fate that I continue and for them to die. The world will see Olympus rise to power. I will be at the forefront. I shall wield that power and reap honor on myself for all days to come.”

  Rashid choked on his lifeblood, “You…have no honor…”

  Saladin sighed as he stood up to his full height, “All beginnings must start with an end.”

  He removed a handgun from the folds of his robe. A simple .45 caliber revolver.

  Rashid forced down the pain as he strove to say one final sentence, “The…Peacemakers…will end you, my lord.” A smile curled Rashid’s lips.

  Saladin aimed the weapon, “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Rashid Ibn Hammad’s world changed from light to dark at the speed of a bullet.

  SALADIN LOWERED the pistol. He looked over the bodies of his men, heaped against each other like straw dummies. Checking the gun, he holstered it as Falco joined him.

  “Ah yes, your second man, wasn’t he?”

  Saladin regarded the body of Rashid, his face devoid of emotion, “Just a pawn. A pawn in a grand scheme.”

  “Indeed. Shall we retire?” Falco gestured to the lead Hyperion gunship, “There is much to do before Project Ascension can begin.”

  “Of course.”

  The two men walked away from the massacre site, where the remaining Centurions would begin the arduous process of disposing the bodies. A massive grave would be dug and the bodies dumped in with lye to hurry the decomposition.

  As soon as they were on board, the Hyperion lifted into the sky and sped southbound towards the Indian Ocean. Saladin sat quietly in the rather comfortable seat. This particular Hyperion had been modified as a command aircraft, with much more luxurious seating than the typical gunship. Falco sat across from him, looking out the window at the ground below. There were several Olympus aid personnel sitting in the craft, each dressed in expensive suits.

  Saladin frowned. Another man sat drenched in darkness at the far rear of the craft. Saladin strained to get a better view of the man, but could not make him out.

  “A distasteful deed, well put behind us.” Falco said, turning back to face the Sand Scorpion.

  “One I wished to have been able to avoid.” Saladin replied, meeting the Tribune’s one-eyed gaze.

  “Still necessary, all the same. Your refusal to kill Joseph Braddock has put a rather large damper on this occasion, not to mention the loss of Brutus. Olympus had a sizable investment in the tracker.”

  “My mission was to find and kill the defector Delacroix. Now–” Saladin held out his arm, “–give me the mark and let us begin our work.”

  An angry shadow flashed across Falco’s face, but he held his temper. The Tribune made a gesture to one of the Olympus personnel sitting on the jet.

  The man pulled forth an object the size of a shoebox.

  Falco nodded to Saladin, “Receive the mark and become a Tribune of Olympus.”

  The high-tech object had an opening the size of man’s hand. Saladin placed his arm up to the wrist into the device. He grit his teeth in pain as the mechanical stenciler traced an outline into his skin. Finally, the Olympus lackey pulled the device free. On The Sand Scorpion’s forearm was a fresh tattoo of the Olympus PMC: an insignia of a coyote head amidst a coat of arms. Saladin admired the mark for a moment. Falco raised an eyebrow.

  “Is it as you imagined?”

  “No. It is better. A single image can hold immense power,” Saladin looked out the window, “Still…something confuses me. Tell me – why did you program Brutus to target Joe Braddock?”

  Before Falco could speak, a voice from the back of the jet answered Saladin’s question, “Falco did not program Brutus to kill Braddock. I did.”

  The man in darkness sat up and walked through the aisle. The Sand Scorpion’s eyes grew wide at the sight that stood before him.

  The man had no face. Or rather he had a face that had been melted and was now held intact by a transparent plastic burn mask. The skin beneath the Plexiglas was scorched into a grisly mess of flayed skin and bone, barely held together by the appliance. His eyes, lacking eyelids, glared at Saladin. The skin on the man’s hands was a ghastly pattern of scorch marks. He wore an expensive Armani suit, but seemed ill at ease in it.

  The sight of the scarred man was enough to churn even Saladin’s iron hard stomach.

  Falco introduced the man, “May I introduce Titus, Secondus of Olympus and sole heir of the Imperator.”

  The Scorpion gave a courteous nod to their new guest. Titus sat down beside Falco. Saladin saw that the burn mask did not extend to the man’s mouth. His lips were gone, leaving him with a twisted, inhuman smile. Saladin had to suppress a shiver at the sight.

  “It is good to finally meet you, Scorpion.” Titus said.

  “And you, my Secondus.”

  Titus nodded, “With Project Ascension on the horizon, Olympus has great need of your experience.”

  Saladin nodded graciously.

  Titus looked out the window, “I must admit, I am rather displeased that you did not kill Joe Braddock when you had the chance.”

  “There was no need. He was broken; a shell of a man.”

  Titus looked unconvinced, “Hmm…we’ll see about that.”

  Saladin decided to press his luck. “Delacroix was never the true target of this operation, was he?”

  Titus met the Sand Scorpion’s gaze for a long, tense moment.

  “Of course not,” Titus said, breaking the silence, “the Centurion knew nothing that would jeopardize our position, or the Code. We would have terminated him soon anyway, but when he contacted the Peacemakers, it provided a convenient catalyst to bring Braddock out into the open. We wished to pay the man back for the damage he has caused us over the past year.”

  Saladin cast a dubious look at Titus, “There are easier ways to kill a man.”

  “In Olympus, we only kill soldiers on a battlefield. That is our creed.” Titus’s mood abruptly turned sour, “But now, since Braddock managed to survive against our most powerful soldier, the Imperator himself has taken a new interest in the man. Braddock is to be spared, for the time being.”

  Saladin prided himself at being a good judge of character. He could tell there was something behind the burned man’s façade – a seething hatred the Sand Scorpion did not yet understand.

  Titus leaned back in his seat. “All will be dealt with in time. You have joined us at a time of great change in the world paradigm. The winds of war are blowing. Soon, we will control the storm.”

  THE END…FOR NOW

  About the Author

  Jim Roberts was born in Yorkton, Saskatchewan. Currently, he lives in Red Deer, Alberta. Jim is a lifelong action/adventure fan. He is currently in the planning stages of the fourth Code of War book, titled The Vagabonds. He loves his fans and heartily thanks them for taking a chance on his books.

  If you enjoyed the novel, please feel free to leave a review at Amazon or Goodreads.com.

  You can contact Jim on Facebook here

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  Find him on Twitter at: @JamesPayette

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Infiltration

  Chapter 2: Scorpion

  Chapter 3: Tenderness

  Chapter 4: Objectives

  Chapter 5: Restitution

  Chapter 6: Inferno

  Chapter 7: Lost

  Chapter 8: Scourge

  Chapter 9: Horror

  Chapter 10: Hunter

  Chapter 11: Strangers

  Chapter 12: Delays

  Chapter 13: Trekking

  Chapter 14: Onslaught

  Chapter 15: Torment

  Chapter 16: Forsaken

  Chapter 17: Al
legiance

  Chapter 18: Resolute

  Chapter 19: Parallel

  Chapter 20: Monster

  Chapter 21: Acquiescence

  Epilogue

  About the Author