The Peacemakers

by Jim Roberts

  It was do or die time.

  Abruptly, Shamal came to a stop, ushering his two companions into an abandoned stone building. Krieger closed the rickety door behind them. The building was unbelievably warm. The entire country was unseasonably hot this time of year and Joe was stifling already in his dishadasha.

  Shamal seemed to relax slightly, no longer being out in the open.

  "Sorry for making you wait Mister Braddock. Many unfriendly eyes out there. You two stand out in crowd."

  "Do not." Krieger grumbled, fixing his Keffiyeh more comfortably on his head.

  "You're early. The deal was you wouldn't show until Decimus had arrived." Joe said, removing his M4 from under his cloak, checking it for any fouling. Krieger removed his own AA-12 Assault Shotgun and checked the safety. Joe had tried to convince the ex-merc to bring something a bit more practical, but Krieger had insisted he might need the stopping power of thirty shotgun rounds firing at five rounds per second.

  Shamal spoke while Joe and Krieger checked their equipment.

  "I hear from someone. Decimus arrives in ten minutes. The arms bazaar is to be located at the edge of village, on the north-east side."

  Joe checked his watch. 16:00 hours. They needed to hustle.

  "Alright, you get out of the village. Your work here is done." Joe fished around in the folds of his cloak. He pulled forth a wad of hundred dollar bills and handed it to the kid. "From the Colonel."

  Shamal took the money eagerly, "Be careful. I hear they have invited terrorists from around entire globe to this meeting. Also, every tribe leader in a hundred miles will be there, as well as their bodyguards."

  Joe shook his head, "Trust me kid, it's not the terrorists we're worried about."

  Shamal nodded, pocketing the cash. "I go now. Please tell the Colonel I am at his service. He helped me...when I was a child. I still owe him." A small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips, "kha kismet darta ghowaram."

  Shamal gave the two Peacemakers one last nod before exiting the hut and disappearing back into the dusty alley.

  Joe closed the door after the boy. The boy was only 16 at the oldest. He could only guess as to what the Colonel had done for the boy to convince him to risk his life in helping outsiders in his own country. It certainly did not surprise him that Jackson Walsh had made more than a few contacts around the world. Five decades of near endless soldiering would see to that.

  Krieger checked the sights on his AA-12. The beefy ex-merc had a take-it-as-it-comes attitude to pretty much everything these days. Joe hoped he would be ready. If everything went well, this should be a simple snatch-and-grab.

  Joe clicked the watch comm and spoke quickly, "Danny we have an affirmative on the location for the arms sale, over." He pressed a finger to his ear to better hear the response.

  "Where is it?"

  "Ten minutes from now, north-east side of the village. We're on our way. Check in at 16:06 hours."

  "On my way."

  Joe glanced at Krieger. The Russian nodded, wordlessly. Joe moved to the door and eased it open, peering outside. The alley was empty, save for two old tribesman hobbling on canes. Joe opened the door quietly and stepped back out, pulling the cap further down on his head. Krieger followed, shutting the door after them. The two men angled their way towards the north-east of the village, walking briskly through the alley.

  * * *

  UPON RECEIVING Joe's communiqué, Whisper had leapt from the top of the steeple down sixty feet to one of the taller stone buildings below. The suit's servo-enhancers reduced the shock of the fall to almost non-existent. He moved across the rooftops of the village like a haunting specter; making no more noise than a mouse. Every so often, he would make a quick leap to the next building, landing with the ease and stealth of a panther. As he ran, Danny activated the internal comlink of his suit, linking him directly to the chair of Doctor Toshiro Yune, currently stationed aboard the Peacemaker's mobile HQ, the C-17 Globemaster airplane designated Barbarian.

  "Doctor Yune, this is Whisper, come in."

  In the corner of the Heads-Up-Display of the Whisper helmet, the face of Danny's minder flashed up. Yune was sitting, as always, in front of his computer setup in the Control Area of the Barbarian. Utilizing microscopic CCD cameras built into the visor of the Whisper armor, Yune was able to see everything Danny could see. During most Peacemaker operations, if the operators were unable to wear helmet cams, the surveillance team aboard the Barbarian had to rely on Danny to give them a grounds-eye view of the situation.

  The visage of Doctor Yune was typing feverishly at his station, "Go ahead Danny."

  "Informant intelligence confirms meeting in T-minus eight minutes. Stand by."

  Doctor Yune nodded, "Copy that Danny. We're standing by here. How is the suit working?"

  Whisper waited before clearing another jump before answering, "There's significant tightness in the right arm. It's catching on something inside the rotator cuff."

  Yune frowned, "That's odd. The suit was pre-checked for desert operations."

  "It's okay for now Doc."

  Yune wasn't convinced, "Well even so, I'm still worried. After the Accretion Device malfunctioned during the Sudan crisis, I've tested the suit over 100 times. We'll need to do some more when you get back."

  "Copy that Doc, Whisper out."

  Whisper came to a halt on the dusty rooftop of one of the dozen buildings overlooking the Darra Adam Khel gun market. Joe and Krieger had fallen off his target checking system during the last few moments. Whisper scanned the crowd quickly, trying to re-establish a lock on his comrades. After thirty tense seconds, he finally found them, moving through the thickest parts of the market.

  Whisper moved a hand up and placed it on his breast, reminding himself of his Inuit charm, always worn around his neck.

  He could feel it...the calm before the storm. Even within the two inch thick layers of Titanium and Rynohyde armor, Danny Callbeck could feel the winds of change blowing. He closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer to the spirits of his forefathers. He asked for their wisdom and strength in the fight that was certain to be ahead.

  * * *

  IT WAS exactly eight minutes since they left their hiding place when Joe Braddock heard a familiar whine.

  Olympus Hyperion Strike aircraft.

  Timed to almost perfectly coincide with their arrival, six assorted trucks, vans and jeeps trundled through the market way, forcing the throngs of gun buyers to jump out of the way, lest they be run down. Joe pulled Krieger to the side of the street, momentarily halting as they watched the convoy of vehicles make their way towards the north-east. After another few seconds, Joe saw them: the terrifying dragonfly-like shapes of two Olympus Hyperion VTOL aircraft, roaring in overtop the city to make their landing on the outskirts of the town.

  Joe motioned his comrade to follow quickly. Once they landed, Olympus would surely secure this area from any civilians. They needed to get somewhere to watch the proceedings. Once hunkered down, Joe could form a plan of action.

  Joe pressed the comm on his watch, "Danny, what's the word from on high?"

  "Two Hyperions just arrived. They're landing right now."

  "Anything else?"

  "No....wait...oh hell, we have a problem Joe."

  Braddock could feel the tenseness in his friend's raspy voice, "What is it Danny?"

  "Cerberus Attack Drones. Two of them."

  Joe's heart began to pound.

  * * *

  AS WHISPER watched from his secluded position on the rooftop of one of the north-eastern domiciles, two eight-foot tall walking robotic drones trundled down the gangway's of the two Hyperion aircrafts. They were a brand new element of Olympus technology, inspired by designs of the 'Walking Truck', a proof of concept experiment by General Electric in the late 1960s to create a quadruped robot capable of bipedal motion. Somehow, Olympus had managed to modernize the design for modern warfare. The drone's bulky construction hampered their mobility and usage in enclosed spaces,
but in urban and wilderness locales, they were a terror to behold. Each one was a walking arsenal of weaponry, the most obvious armament being a swivel-mounted 15mm chain gun attached to each of the drone's arms.

  Whisper crouched down below the concrete parapet of the domicile. He was still shrouded, but he had no idea if the machines possessed some sort of technology capable of seeing through his facade.

  Whisper spoke into his comlink, "Joe are you seeing this?"

  "Affirmative. This wasn't in the intel."

  "What are your orders?"

  "Stick to the plan. Decimus is too important to let go. Just wait for my signal."

  "Copy that."

  Danny reached behind him and removed an oblong device that was attached to the back of his suit. Upon removal it immediately de-shrouded, appearing as a slender rifle. It was his personal assault weapon, designed by Doctor Yune's support staff. Created as a prototype weapon for the German armed forces, the gun was called a Heckler & Koch Hyena, an advancement of the original HK G11 caseless rifle developed in the late 60s. The original weapon fired a special 'caseless' round of ammunition, basically a solid brass round that was fired from the weapon with a gas propellant, rather than gunpowder. Doctor Yune, wishing to keep Whisper's technology unique and efficient, decided to update the original design and had contracted the Heckler & Koch manufacturer to develop an update of the original gun. In the almost certain event of a gunfight, Danny had preloaded the weapon with explosive-tipped rounds, each one filled with a small nitro-glycerine charge capable of blowing a hole through foot thick cement.

  If he was entering a firefight, he was going in packing.

  As he knelt on the parapet, Whisper awaited Joe's signal.

  * * *

  "What is plan, Joe?"

  Krieger's hushed voice was laced with worry. After the arrival of the two obsidian-black Hyperion aircraft, the streets around the outskirts of Darra Adam Khel had emptied faster than a pub after last call. Most of the street vendors, seemingly heedless of their own merchandise, bolted towards other places of safety.

  Wise of them, thought Joe.

  He and Krieger were both situated on the opposite sides of a window in one of the small plaster and cement buildings across from the meeting place. Leaning against the wall on either side of the window, they gingerly peered out, watching the unfolding arms meeting in tense silence. Both men had removed their weapons from under their cloaks and were prepared for anything.

  The convoy of vans and trucks pulled up adjacent to the landed Olympus aircraft. Joe watched breathlessly as he counted nearly thirty or so members of every terrorist organization on the planet exit their vehicles and move to stand opposite of the Olympus crew. Joe recognized two high-value members of the Caucasus Emerite, a rebel faction opposed to the Russian presence in Chechnya; three high-value members of Hamas, and twenty more from organizations as diverse as Hezbollah and Al-Qaida. All of the men were armed to the teeth.

  "Joe, what are we..."

  Before the Russian could continue, Joe hushed him. From the belly of each Hyperion craft came two squads each of Olympus Centurions, totalling twenty-four troopers.

  "We have to abort Joe," Krieger said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, "There are far too many for just the three of us."

  "As you were, Corporal." Joe fingered his M4 nervously. His old standby, Joe had tricked the gun out with a M203 grenade launcher. If he was going to be drawn into a firefight, he would be the first to end it, that was for damn sure. "Danny is covering the location. Once the vehicles take off, he'll mark one of the Hyperions' with a tracking device. We'll take them down later with more help. Just stay as you are."

  Krieger nodded. He would argue no more about it. Joe pressed his comlink.

  "Danny, any sign of Decimus yet?"

  "Negative, Joe...wait...I see him. Left Hyperion, gangway."

  Joe risked a further glance out the window. The vehicles of the terrorists had blocked Joe's view of the general area, but he could barely make out a final figure stepping off the Hyperion. Dressed in what looked to Joe as a smart black Armani suit, the man had the look of power and importance about him. His hair was slicked back sharply, oiled to perfection and combed with care. His face was intensely handsome, making him look far younger than he probably was. Joe guessed he was in his late forties, but he could easily pass for thirty.

  It was Maximillion Decimus all right. Joe had seen the arms dealer in pictures many times as the weapons lord met with third-world leaders to discuss munitions trading. He was a top offender of human rights according to Amnesty International and routinely hit the number one spot of most elusive arms seller in the annals of the CIA.

  The terrorists formed a semi circle, made up of smaller cliques of specific terrorist groups. I guess terrorists the world over don't mix, thought Joe with a small dash of amusement. He could feel his heart beating faster now. The first plan, of simply grabbing Decimus and making an escape to the LZ outside of the town, was dead in the water. He hoped against hope things would go smoothly; Danny would mark the aircraft, the terrorists would leave and they could track down Decimus at their leisure.

  Joe felt a familiar sense of dread work its way up his throat.

  Things in the Peacemakers seldom went according to plan.

  Chapter 2

  A Meeting of Like Minded Men

  MAXIMILLION DECIMUS loved his job. To the Olympus weapon supplier, jetting around the world, selling the most advanced weapons and armaments to those that could afford his outrageous prices, was the meat, potatoes and creamy gravy of life. He wouldn't trade it, or his devotion to his masters in Olympus, for anything else.

  As the Arms Dealer stepped down off the ramp leading from the Hyperion, he pulled a pair of Oakley sunglasses from his front pocket and placed them on his face. In his right hand, he carried a large metal suitcase, nearly a meter and a half in length. The Hyperion engines were still in operation, creating a strong updraft that churned the sand into a swirling maelstrom around the current visitors. Decimus signalled the two Cerberus drones to follow him as he walked towards the awaiting terrorists. The squads of Centurions fell in behind their leader, hefting their brand new 5.56mm FN F5000 bullpup assault rifles, courtesy of Decimus's Russian contacts.

  But the Centurions were not the reason why the Olympus arms-man was here today. It was time to make the pitch.

  "Greetings everyone! I trust you can all understand me!" He had to shout to be heart over the engines. It was necessary to keep the VTOL engines active in case he had to make a fast getaway. The semi-circle of the world's most wanted terrorists mumbled, unimpressed at his significant show of force.

  "I am Maximillion Decimus! I know some of you came a long way to see what I have in store for you. Trust me when I say Olympus has what you want. My motto is if the customer isn't satisfied, the gun ain't big enough!"

  A few sporadic chuckles at the joke. Mostly just frowns. Decimus decided to tighten things up, "You have all contacted Olympus because you want the best merchandise in the world, so the best is what I brought!"

  A Centurion to his side came forward and took the suitcase, holding it at waist level. Decimus flipped up the electric locking mechanism situated on the case's side. He quickly keyed in the combination. An audible *beep* verified the password and the case unlocked. Lifting the lid, Decimus reached in and pulled out his latest invention. As he did, he continued his speech, shouting loudly to be heard by all.

  "My dear friends, I would like to introduce the OLEM Railgun!"

  The weapon he held in his arms resembled something out of a science-fiction film. The so-called 'railgun' resembled a large calibre sniper rifle at first glance. The entire body of the gun was obsidian black, with a long barrel mounted with a large octagonal scope. It resembled no weapon currently known to man.

  "For those that don't know, a railgun uses parallel conducting rails along a sliding armature that are accelerated via electromagnetics..."

  He
could tell he was losing the crowd.

  "Here, how about a test!" he looked around for something, anything to use as a live fire example. "Kinda barren around here. How about that car there!"

  He pointed at the car driven by the Hezbollah group. The Centurions nervously grasped their weapons. They knew of Decimus's reckless ways and were always prepared just in case he went a bit too far in demonstrating his new toys.

  The terrorists didn't seem to like his idea. He took the decision away from them, leveling the gun at the old Ford four door.

  "You might want to stand back!"

  The terrorists pushed each other away from Decimus's line of fire, shouting at one and another to move.

  The Olympus arms dealer smiled. This was his favorite part.

  He pulled the trigger. The massive rifle jumped in his arms as a brilliant blue arc of electrical energy spat from the muzzle, blazing toward its target at Mach seven. In a spectacular burst of charged explosive energy, the Ford flew back as if hit by the angry fist of God. The car bounced end over end before smashing headlong into the building behind it.

  The terrorists gasped at the power of the weapon. Decimus smiled wider. He fired again and again. The bolts of electromagnetic energy surged forward, pounding the car multiple times. The fuel line burst and the car exploded into a massive fireball. Decimus continued firing, the massive rifle barely causing any noticeable recoil in his hands. The bolts smashed into the building, ripping through the foundation and slicing through the concrete construction like butter. After a few seconds of sustained fire, the three story residence buckled, lurched, then collapsed in on itself; crumpling down in a rain of dust and fire.

  No one in the crowd spoke. The sheer power of the gun was almost unimaginable. Decimus let what they'd seen sink in before continuing his pitch, as he'd done so many times around the world.

  "The OLEM Railgun is capable of 500 rounds per minute with a 50 round magazine! Each round packs the equivalent punch of thirty LAWs rockets in one single focused bolt! It utilizes a Networked Tracking Scope−a lovely invention courtesy of America. It is capable of hitting a football at two...what the hell?"