Von Jesonik stood directly in front of Colonel Chuikova and put his gloved hand upon the colonel’s armored shoulder.
“Johann, I am so pleased. The chancellor himself sends his regards.” He dropped his hand and walked back behind his massive desk. “I cannot tell you how crucial your mission was. Our science teams are busy analyzing the specimen you have brought back, and the initial reports are very favorable.”
The all stood frozen, side by side, and said nothing.
Von Jesonik continued. “Johann, you and your men deserve a much needed rest. In two weeks’ time, we will meet again to discuss the future. As of right now, consider yourselves on leave.”
Scotts and Matthias turned toward each other, smiling. “I have one other thing before you are dismissed,” Von Jesonik said, nodding to Ernst, who retrieved a large ornate box, inlaid with gold and jewels, from the desk. He slowly opened it, revealing the contents.
“I know how much you detest these things, Johann, but it will be done.” He walked in front of the assembled men and issued the order, “Group, attention!”
The men came to attention, Roman following suit. Von Jesonik walked around his desk and stood in front of Roman.
“Mr. Roman, for unwavering service and commitment to the chancellor of the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the honorary rank of lieutenant.” He reached into the box and pulled out a pair of silver shoulder boards with a single gold stripe on them, and he put the gaudy rank into Roman’s left hand, shook his right hand and moved down the line, leaving Roman staring at his newfangled decoration.
“Corporal Joachim Scotts, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of Flight Officer, 1st class. You will get your orders for assignment to a fighter wing in the near future. Congratulations.” Scotts broke into a huge grin as Von Jesonik placed a silver shoulder board into his hand and pinned an insignia onto his collar. The marshal moved to the next man, with Ernst trailing behind with the box.
“Sergeant Roger Matthias, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of Command Sergeant of Infantry.” Seeing Matthias’s jaw drop, Von Jesonik continued, “That is the highest non-officer rank, and with it comes many responsibilities. Your years of service and your impeccable service record have not gone unnoticed.” Von Jesonik handed the chevron stripes to Matthias and pinned the rank to his collar. He moved on and stood in front Cruwell.
“Captain Sebastian Cruwell, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of major.” He reached into the box and retrieved the insignia of gold star and crossed swords, which he pinned to Cruwell’s collar. He placed gold shoulder boards, carrying an image of the star and crossed swords, into his hand. Cruwell shook Von Jesonik’s hand and stared at the shoulder boards with a blank look on his face. Many thoughts crossed his mind at the moment, one of which was his rapid ascent through the officer ranks. He thought he might be the youngest major ever appointed.
Von Jesonik stood face to face with the colonel. He reached into the box and retrieved a gold baton, covered with many jewels and intricate carvings. “Johann, I will make this short. You are elevated to Ground Marshal of Army group Dreadwolf. Congratulations.” He placed an ancient baton, which had been presented to dozens of general staff officers in the past, into Chuikova’s gloved hand, his face cracked with a rare smile. Von Jesonik stepped back and surveyed, one more time, the men assembled before him. He stood stiffly and saluted. The men each returned the salute. Von Jesonik lowered his arm and declared, “Dismissed!” The men filed out of the office single file, with Ernst trailing behind. Ernst closed the doors to the office, leaving the men to themselves in the foyer. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Scotts asked.
Chuikova looked down at the baton he had received. “No, I guess it wasn’t that bad.” He looked at Cruwell and nodded approvingly. “You’ve earned it, major.” He walked over to Matthias and Scotts. “None of this could have happened without you two, either, that’s for sure.” Scotts and Matthias each laughed and slapped Chuikova on the shoulder. Chuikova turned to Roman, who was standing off to the side. For the first time in a while, he felt like an outsider—almost.
“Johnny. Welcome to the brotherhood.” He shook Roman’s hand and ushered them all down the corridor toward the turbo lift, trailing behind. Roman couldn’t help but think that the colonel had forced that statement and handshake on him, but the feeling was short-lived as Johann shouted, “Tonight, drinks are on me!”
The men erupted in yells and cheers, sending many robed people scurrying out of their way, wondering what was going on.
Scotts yelled over his shoulder toward Roman just as they started to enter the turbo lift. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do, lieutenant!”
The turbo lift doors sealed shut, silencing the corridor. The lift descended, taking the men to some much needed rest and relaxation.
Roman spotted the sign riveted above the large, steel double doors, reading Bloody Hell’s Tavern. The tavern was a small, square, windowless building three stories high. Monoliths of varying size dwarfed it on all sides; one almost had to know exactly where it was to find it. Roman looked at the sign and shrugged. This was where Scotts had told him to meet everyone for drinks. Everyone had split up taking care of their own business, leaving Roman exploring the city on his own for most of the day. In front of the tavern, a few soldiers in utility coveralls milled about, talking to one another. Overhead, an occasional monorail car passed by in a whiz of speed, kicking up a fast breeze. The lack of anything resembling cars on the street intrigued Roman. All the transportation appeared to done by monorail, or people simply walked. Everyone also seemed to be in good physical condition. Of course, having to walk a few miles to get someplace (the tavern was two miles or so from the barracks); it would be difficult to be lazy or out of shape. As Roman walked toward the double doors, they slid open silently, beckoning him inside. He stepped into the threshold, and the doors slid closed silently behind him. A scanner built into the wall briefly searched him for contraband. Once the scan was completed, a female computer voice spoke. “You may proceed.”
Roman stepped down into a large sunken area, filled with all types of people. He found it difficult to see very far in the pale light. He recognized the grey military uniforms of the infantry, the blue uniforms of the navy, and the loose-fitting robes favored by most people in the civilian sectors. Video screens suspended from the ceiling showed news broadcasts from other planets. Roman noticed a large eagle, carved out of what appeared to be wood, hanging above the bar. It clutched what appeared to be a real, and still bloody, sword in its talons. Various artifacts lined the walls, including what appeared to be unit insignias of various military units. The bar area was fairly crowded, with most of the patrons either standing around tables in the middle, drinking and talking, or sitting in booths surrounding the circular bar. Roman straightened his newly cleaned leather jacket and walked toward the bar. The hot shower he had taken earlier had left him refreshed and completely recharged. He watched those seated around the circular bar enjoying after-work drinks, some of them playing a game of chance on the numerous video screens. Few took notice of Roman’s strange attire, save for the bartender.
“What can I get you?” The purple-haired bartender eyed Roman up and down. Roman noted her hair, tightly wrapped in a bun behind her head, and numerous tattoos, one of the familiar eagle and sword, on her left arm. Situated below that tattoo were the words “XXX Corps Dreadwolves” and the phrase “Death Never Dies.” Roman caught himself staring at her silver prosthetic left arm, which reminded him of the Terminator movies back on Earth.
The woman made eye contact as she wiped the counter with a damp rag. “Never seen a girl with only one arm?”
“Sorry,” Roman stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I saw your other tattoo and …”
“Don
’t worry,” she cut him off. “I lost it in the war. I was one of the lucky ones.”
Roman sat down on a recently vacated stool and looked at the various bottles behind the bartender. He honestly had no idea where to start.
“I don’t suppose you have any beer or whiskey?”
“Excuse me?”
He remembered the drink Scotts had told him about in Von Jesonik’s waiting room earlier, although the name escaped him at the moment. “Actually, I forgot the name, but it comes from a jungle planet. It’s green in color.”
Without pause, the bartender reached under the bar and retrieved a slim glass bottle. She quickly poured a glass of the familiar green liquid. He was about to drink it when he remembered something.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I don’t have any money to pay for this.”
The bartender eyed Roman more with curiosity than the contempt she would have for any other non-paying customer.
“I can see that you’re not from around here, so it’s on the house.” She turned to refill a drink for a nearby soldier.
Roman was about to make a smartass comment like “How did you figure that out?” but decided against it. Instead, he said, “I didn’t realize I stood out that bad.” She had been pretty cool so far. What’s the golden rule? Don’t piss off the bartender, right? “It’s kind of a long story on how I ended up here.”
The bartender looked back at him, over her shoulder. “I figured that much. We all have long stories around here.” She pushed two purple drinks in the direction of a slightly inebriated soldier to Roman’s left.
Roman was about to say something else to her when he felt a slap on his shoulder. Looking back, his gaze met Scott’s usual jovial self.
“I see you’ve met Natasha. You’re lucky; she’s in a good mood tonight!”
Natasha flashed Scotts a “go to hell” look and walked to another part of the bar and a group of rowdy academy cadets whose drinks needed refilling.
“We thought you got lost,” Scotts said. “We have a table in the back.” Roman followed Scotts through the maze of patrons into the rear part of the bar, which had filled up even more since he had arrived. Perhaps it was happy hour, Roman thought to himself. No video broadcasts played in the back section, just a slow ambient rhythm. Chuikova was seated in the middle of a large booth, with Cruwell and Matthias on each side. Two rather attractive black-haired women sat on either side of Matthias in the booth, laughing at his jokes, one of them massaging his shoulders. As Roman scanned the rest of the back part of the bar, he found similarities to strip clubs back home. Several women in various stages of undress chatted and danced with the customers, male and female alike. A striking contrast however, was a large, painted mural on the wall featuring a fanged, grey wolf. The word “DREADWOLF” was painted in red script under the wolf.
“Sit down!” Matthias roared at Roman. The alcohol was working just fine tonight, Roman mused. Chuikova nodded in his direction. Not surprisingly, he smoked a cigar and had a glass of rather rusty-colored liquid in front of him. From his experiences as a cop back home, Roman was pretty sure Chuikova (and Matthias, for that matter) was three sheets to the wind. Cruwell, on the other hand, appeared to be drinking water or vodka (if they had vodka on this planet). Cruwell sat quietly, rotating his glass in his hands, not saying anything. He gazed up at Roman and nodded in his direction. Roman noted that Cruwell’s shoulder-length black hair was tied into a ponytail, a more casual style than he usually sported. Roman chuckled to himself as he turned his gaze back to Matthias. Although his arm was still in the sling, he managed to use it to lift his glass to his lips.
“I didn’t think you could have places like this here,” Roman said over the noise of the music.
Matthias replied, “Just what kind of society do you think we have?” He started to laugh, and the others joined him.
Chuikova interrupted, “Anything you want, it’s on me. Well, actually, it’s on the army!” Scotts summoned a waitress and ordered a round of drinks for everyone.
“I have a job for you if you’re interested, Johnny,” Chuikova said as he finished the last of his drink and set the empty glass on the table. Roman could tell that Chuikova was trying his best not to slur his words.
“I’m listening.”
“I have a friend who is in command of the police force in this sector. There is a job there if you want it. It will at least give you something to do for a while.”
“I haven’t seen any police presence here,” Roman replied.” He reached for his glass and took another small, cautious sip of Torol.
“Well, it’s actually a military unit, attached to XXX Corps. The XXX Corps has been in control of the police for a while in this sector. Now that I am basically in command of XXX Corps now, it’s no problem. With the war still going on, the police don’t really have any manpower. Anyway, I prefer not to talk business. Come by my quarters tomorrow, and we’ll pay my friend a visit.” Chuikova received his fresh drink from the waitress and raised it up in the air.
“Let’s have a toast to the end of war!”
Everyone at the table stood up and raised their glasses. All of them except Roman shouted in unison, “Dreadwolves! Death never dies!”
Scotts looked over at Roman after he slammed the rest of his drink and said, “See any girls you like?”
“Well, actually, I like the bartender,” Roman said half jokingly. He found himself looking back toward the bar area, trying to could catch a glimpse of her.
Matthias started laughing as he overheard Johnny’s response. “Natasha will kick your ass, man. Very tough. I fought alongside her on one campaign. She’s got a couple other bionic implants to go along with that arm. But I think everything else works, if you know what I mean.” Matthias laughed again, and continued. “Last one of her platoon to survive an ambush up on Chairia’s second moon, I think. Infantry lieutenants don’t last long, you know. She got lucky.”
“Yeah, you’d better be careful, man,” Scotts added. Good luck to you, though!” He stood and headed toward a side door. “I gotta take a piss.”
Cruwell stood up, finished his drink, and set the glass on the table. “If you will all excuse me, my new rank has burdened me with many new responsibilities. I have an early start tomorrow.”
Matthias blurted out, “We all have an early start tomorrow!”
Cruwell nodded and headed toward the exit. Roman finished the last of his Torol and set the empty glass on the table. The drink’s effects were kicking in; he felt very relaxed. Watching Cruwell leave, Roman sensed he was bothered by something, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
Roman unsteadily stood up trying to get his legs under him. He said the group, “I’m going to try my luck.” He thought he sounded under control. But then again, drunks usually think they are.
“Good luck to you,” Matthias said, “and lad, watch out for the right cross!” He erupted in laughter and signaled for the waitress to refill his empty glass.
Roman walked toward the front of the bar, pushing his way through the crowd. He felt a slight buzz beginning to develop, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He finally made it to the bar, but instead of Natasha, he was confronted by a burly, bearded man with a bionic eye.
“Damn. Where’s Natasha?”
“She’s on break, be back in fifteen,” the barkeep said gruffly.
Roman nodded and began to walk back toward his friends. He spotted Natasha, sitting at a small table by herself, having a drink and smoking a cigarette. Matthias was right. Along with her bionic left arm, she also had a bionic implant on her left upper thigh, her black skirt not quite hiding the implant from view. He quickly looked up from her otherwise muscular legs and caught her staring directly back at him. She had let her long purple hair down, so that it fell down the sides of her face. Letting out a heavy sigh, Roman walked over.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t staring this time.”
Natasha took a drag on the cigarette and
looked him up and down, keying on the backside of his faded Levi’s. Pushing her hair away from her face, she said, “Those look comfortable.” Exhaling the smoke away from Roman, she pointed to the chair opposite her. “You don’t have to stand all night.”
“Thanks.”
“So tell me, what sector are you from, anyway? Did you get discharged already?”
“I am from a planet called Earth,” Roman said a little nervously. He continued, “I arrived a couple days ago.” He remained deliberately vague because he had been warned against mentioning any mission parameters to prying minds. The information was strictly classified.
“Really.” Natasha opened a flat black case to reach for another cigarette. As if on cue, Roman reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of L&M’s. He offered the pack to her, and she pulled out one of the cigarettes, eyeing it with curiosity. Roman pulled out his chrome Zippo and lit the cigarette. Natasha inhaled deeply, sitting back into the chair.
Eyeing the cigarette held by her thumb and index finger, Natasha said, “Sure beats synthetics. Thanks.”
“I’m Johnny.” Roman offered his outstretched hand. She shook it with a surprisingly firm grip. Roman couldn’t help but notice her muscular build, among other things, showcased by her tight, black sleeveless shirt.
Taking another drag off of the L&M, Natasha continued, “I have never heard of Earth.” She took another long drag off of the cigarette. “I don’t know what to make of you, Johnny.” Her dark grey eyes stared into his. “I am Natasha,” she continued, not displaying any outward signs of emotion.
“I know. Matthias and Scotts told me a little about you.”
“Did they, now? Matthias is a good man, damned lucky if you ask me. He saved my life. I think he’s been shot more times than anybody else I know—at least anyone living.”
I can attest to that, Roman thought to himself, recalling the three AK-47 slugs pulled from Matthias’s shoulder.
Natasha finished her cigarette and put it out in a chrome ashtray sitting on the table top. She stood up and tied her hair into a ponytail. “Well, if you know those two, you hang around with good company.” She looked back toward the bar. “Sorry, Johnny, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
Dawn of the Mad Page 23