by Jim Roberts
Colonel Walsh, the old war dog, stepped out into the snow.
Joe could only imagine the looks on his and Danny's face.
The Colonel still knew how to make an entrance.
Walsh waded through the ankle deep snow towards his two point men.
"Danny. Joe." He greeted each soldier in turn.
"Colonel...what the..." Joe began, not knowing what to say.
Walsh grinned underneath his bushy moustache.
"Let me introduce the Spirit Walker, gents. Ou new stealth jet, courtesy of the lovely folks at CIA."
Both men stared at the amazing aircraft, having never seen anything like it.
The Colonel beckoned the two gapping soldiers to get inside the VTOL.
"Sorry I didn't call first, but the vacation's over. Olympus ain't playin' by the book anymore."
The Barbarian, Canadian Airspace
"−and that's the long and short of it, gents."
The Colonel lit a fresh cigarette, heedless as ever to the no-smoking sign pasted on the side of the aircraft hull. It had taken the better part of an hour to bring Joe and Danny up to speed on current events in the world. The phone call from the reporter, Sarah Anders; the noclist; the Olympus invasion of Sadoma; the reinstatement of the Peacemakers; everything was touched upon. Joe and Danny sat opposite Walsh in the cargo area of the new addition to the Peacemakers. At the pilot seat sat a man who Walsh only introduced as 'Packrat', the designated pilot who came with the new aircraft as a kind of packaged deal with the CIA. Joe made a mental note to get to know the fellow as soon as an opportunity presented itself.
Also in the aircraft was Doctor Yune. The doc was fidgeting with an OpTab as he listened to the Colonel's debriefing.
Joe looked around the new aircraft, taking in the details. He'd been in the original Osprey V-22 several times in Afghanistan, but this aircraft looked and felt nothing like those older accident laden VTOLs. One thing similar was that the aft hatch could rise and lower allowing mid-air deployment.
"Sir, what is this aircraft? I've never seen anything like it except for−"
"−Olympus Hyperions?" The Colonel interrupted. "Remember Egypt, back in July?"
"Sure." Joe replied.
"Do you recall the plans Corporal Callbeck acquired for us in the data upload at the Olympus office complex?"
Joe nodded, wondering where the Colonel was going with this.
"Well in that little batch of info, we discovered something the Navy has been working on perfecting for years: rotating wing jet technology. It allowed the CIA, along with the Navy, to fast track development of a prototype stealth VTOL aircraft, using the core hull of an Osprey. The original design was similar to something the Germans had built back in the 60s called the Dornier Do 31. We also obtained specs for high-speed G-force dampeners, allowing faster travel than ever before while enabling a small crew to work in the interior for specific missions."
Joe was impressed. "It's a nice ride Colonel. What's she armed with?"
"Thirty millimeter under mounted autocannon. This baby's built for stealth, not combat."
Joe looked around the slightly cramped interior. He judged one could fit about twenty-five to thirty people in the cargo area alone. That is, if the large amount of tech equipment brought by Doctor Yune wasn't stuffed behind the pilot seats. The entire forward section of the aircraft had been jury-rigged for the good doctor to put a small monitor area, as well as hold enough equipment to aid in the use of the Whisper armor. As the Colonel finished telling Danny and Joe the details of their new ride, Yune approached the group, tapping feverishly at an OpTab computer device.
"Colonel, you need to see this." Yune passed the computer tablet to Walsh. The Colonel quickly absorbed the data on the screen.
"Damn."
"What is it, sir?" Joe asked.
"There's been another killing of one of our mysterious scientists, this time in Lithuania. A mister Rolandas Masiulis." Walsh stumbled over the unfamiliar sounding name. "Killed in his sleep by an edged weapon, probably a sword."
"So we think these scientists had something to do with the Code?" asked Joe.
"In all probability, yes," Walsh replied, nodding. He passed the OpTab back to the doctor. "Once we reach Andrews Air Base, Danny, the good doctor and one of our new recruits will head to Russia. This baby can travel just under Mach One, so hopefully you'll get there in time." Walsh tapped the cigarette into a small Styrofoam cup.
"Get where in time for what?" Danny asked.
The Colonel let Doctor Yune take over for him, stifling a hoarse cough.
The Japanese scientist retrieved his OpTab from the Colonel and punched in a few quick commands. "After working with the noclist over the past day, I've found something that could help us." Yune passed the tablet to the Inuit warrior. "There is a man, who I believe at one time worked as an Olympus information broker, of sorts."
The image contained on the screen of the tablet was a profile for a man named 'Vassili Kutsenko'. Danny skimmed the article quickly, noting to make a more in-depth review later.
Yune continued, scratching his small nose as if he had an allergy, "CIA contacts in Moscow tell us Kutsenko has his fingers in a thousand dirty pies. Weapon smuggling, money laundering, human trafficking. The Kremlin has apparently had their eyes on the man for some time. Currently, he's laying low in a discothèque in Chelyabinsk."
Walsh took over for the Doctor, "We're gonna play a big hunch here, but I believe if anyone in the world knows where we can find three hidden ex-Olympus scientists, it'll be this guy. The man knows how to make someone disappear. He would be the perfect choice for Olympus to use in hiding their scientists and digging them back up."
"So where do we go from here, boss?" Danny asked.
"You−" Walsh said, pointing a finger at Danny, "−are going to Chelyabinsk. Doctor Yune, our good pilot Packrat, and a new recruit you'll pick up at Andrews will go with you. Find this Kutsenko and make him tell you the location of the scientists."
Danny took a deep breath, "Then what?"
"Track down any surviving scientists and liberate them from their socialist oppressors." A small hint of a grin pulled underneath Walsh's grey moustache. "You're mission leader. Yune will provide support inside this aircraft and your new...teammate will be your backup."
"What's his name?" Danny asked, curious about his new comrade.
"Her name, Corporal. We'll save the intros for when we reach Andrews."
Walsh then turned his eyes to Joe. The Colonel's Staff Sergeant sat forward, eager to hear his part in the plan.
"So...Africa, you say Colonel?"
Walsh nodded. "That's right. Cradle of humanity."
"What's the objective? We obviously can't take Olympus on in any kind of direct conflict."
"Of course not. Brick and Krieger are already on their way, transport provided by our good friends at the Pentagon." Walsh checked his watch, "The two should be arriving in Mozambique in a few hours. Someone I trust will be ferrying them across the border. They will be making a nighttime air jump into the country, parachuting a mile outside the city. From there, they'll make contact with our Miss Anders and protect her until we arrive to evac them out."
Walsh dropped the butt of the cigarette into the cup and set it beside him. Joe noted that the dampeners of the jet aircraft barely caused the cup to shake, a feat impossible in earlier Osprey models.
"Upon reaching Andrews, you, Cordova, myself and our other new recruit will take the Barbarian straight for Zimbala where your team will enter the city via Black Hawk and extract Miss Anders, Brick and Krieger. Once they are safe back in South Africa, we re-enter the city at night and assassinate David Musabe."
"Wait...what?" Joe wasn't sure if he heard right.
"The Olympus contract is binding only while Musabe lives. He's the man footing the bill for Olympus being there. Everything hinges on him. Miss Anders has promised us that the rebels will help in any way they can in getting you close to the man and do
ing the job."
"What exactly are we getting for all of this, Colonel?"
"Apparently, Olympus is working on some sort of hush hush project that even Musabe doesn't know about. Anders has promised us full disclosure once she is safe, as well as..." The Colonel hesitated for a moment before continuing, "...a few other bits of intel. In return, she gets to tell a world that doesn't care about the cruelties inflicted upon another African society."
Joe shook his head. The Colonel was really gambling with this one. It was a truely ambitious plan, one that any number of things could go wrong.
But Joe Braddock was up to the task. The souls of the men he'd lost back in Afghanistan were still with him, calling for justice against the PMC that had so ruthlessly cut them down.
Walsh wrapped things up. "Alright then, I hope you guys don't need anything back in Arviat, cause you won't be back there for a while. It's a three hour flight to Andrews, so make use of the time and go through the info on your OpTabs."
Joe looked out the small window on the port hull. The wintery landscape of Canada blew past them as the Osprey hurtled along towards Andrews Airbase, Maryland.
* * *
Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, November 24th
The flight had been astonishingly quick. A trip that, via commercial airliner would have taken five hours, was cut down to just shy of three. Packrat, as the veteran pilot liked to be called, set the jet down on the closed off segment of the tarmac designated for CIA operations only. The Barbarian had been removed from the Peacemaker's private hanger and was now being prepped for action on the darkened tarmac. Walsh had called into play all active Peacemaker techs and mechanics, many of whom were swarming around the aircraft performing last minute maintenance.
As the aft loading ramp of the modified Osprey touched the ground with a metallic clank, Joe, Danny and Walsh marched down into the warm night air. Going from the minus thirty degree Canadian north to the sub-tropic humidity of Maryland in less than three hours was jarring. Although they had ditched the heavy winter jackets they'd brought to Canada, they were still considerably overdressed.
As they walked, Joe had to squint in the relative darkness to see two people he didn't recognize, sitting amidst a collection of cargo boxes waiting to be loaded onto the C-17 Globemaster. A man and a woman.
The man was dressed in simple naval fatigues, with the rank insignia of−if Joe's memory of Naval rank was still accurate−a Chief Petty Officer. His hair was fashioned into a short mohawk, a favored hairstyle of many Navy SEAL operators. On the breast of his uniform was the unmistakable insignia pin of the Navy SEALS−that of a golden eagle perched on an anchor and decorated with a harpoon and flintlock pistol.
The woman was disassembling a PSG-1 Sniper rifle into a large briefcase. Her slender cheek bones and almond round eyes hinted at a strong Asian ancestry. Athletic in build, the woman looked like she could snap anyone who messed with her in half. Her hair was pinned behind her head in a rather severe bun. Joe didn't recognize her uniform.
Walsh halted the two Peacemakers in front of the new arrivals. Upon seeing the Colonel approach, both soldiers snapped to.
"Staff Sergeant Joseph Braddock, Corporal Danny Callbeck, I'd like you to meet the two newest members to our little sewing circle−Chief Petty Officer Clive Rourke, coming to us courtesy of the Navy SEALS and..." Walsh nodded to the young lady, "...Private Kim Yuanza, or as she prefers to be called−"
"−Orchid." The woman said, matter of factly.
"Orchid," Walsh corrected himself. "Miss Yuanza comes to us on exchange with the Japanese Self-Defense Force. She is one of the best snipers in the world. The CIA tested her against every sharpshooter in the service; none come close. She will be accompanying you, Danny, as your backup."
Orchid bowed in greeting. Joe managed a quick "hello". Danny nodded his reply. Joe could tell the Canadian was already scrutinizing the young soldier−measuring her up to what they may face in the days ahead.
Walsh turned back to the young SEAL. "Chief Rourke was a platoon leader of the Naval Special Warfare Group ONE, specifically SEAL team seven. Spent time in Thailand, Burma and...Sri Lanka was it Chief?"
Rourke stared straight ahead, "I'm not at liberty to discuss past history, sir."
Walsh grinned, "At ease, Chief. We're informal in this unit."
"Begging the Colonel's pardon, sir, but why am I out here? I mean, excuse me for being blunt and all, but what is this all about, sir?"
"What do you mean, Chief?" Walsh asked, humoring the Naval operator.
"I mean that after being pulled from my own squad and dumped in some CIA training sessions, now here I am told to accompany some ragtag group of A-team wannabes to Africa, or something like that. So as I said, what's this all about?"
"After your last mission, Chief, I would have thought you would be glad for another chance in the saddle." Walsh said, a wistful look behind his cool eyes.
Rourke was about to respond, then thought better of it. He nodded, "Yes sir. Thank you sir."
Walsh gave the SEAL one last glance before turning to Private Yuanza.
"Do you have any questions about your new unit, Private?"
"No Colonel." Orchid answered, speaking English without a hint of accent. "In the JSDF, we do not ask questions, we follow orders."
"Excellent." Walsh said, genuinely impressed. "Your reputation is well earned, Private." Walsh checked his watch, "OK ladies and gents, time's a wasting. We leave in forty minutes. You two−" Walsh said, pointing at Danny and Joe, "−get to the hanger and grab a shower. It may be your last for a long time. Meet back here at 01:30 hours."
"Yes'sir," Joe and Danny intoned simultaneously. Walsh nodded, and walked off towards the loading ramp of the Barbarian.
Rourke regarded his new Staff Sergeant with a cool glance before returning to his duties.
Joe had met several SEALS over his years in the military and knew them to be outstanding soldiers; men of courage and will, never giving up, never leaving a man behind. The SEALS were the elite of the elite.
Joe hoped the guy was more reliable then he let on. Behind his cocky eyes, Joe had seen a hint of something that unnerved him. The man had his demons−from what, Joe Braddock didn't know yet.
Rourke and Yuanza went back to their duties, preparing their gear for flight. Joe and Danny headed briskly over to the hanger. As soon as they were out of earshot, Joe asked, "What do you think?"
"She looks disciplined. Willful, but disciplined. I like her."
Joe nodded, "I get that feeling too. Not sure about the SEAL."
"Well, I trust the Colonel. If he thinks the guy has what it takes, then that's enough for me."
"Fair enough, but you're not gonna have to have him watch your back."
Danny grinned, but said nothing more. After a quick shower, the two soldiers got dressed, stowed their winter gear and grabbed their travel kits. Five minutes after that, they were back on the tarmac, walking toward their respective rides.
"Do you think you can find this Kutsenko guy?" Joe asked as they walked. A C-130 Hercules landed on the runway opposite them, its quad engines making it difficult to hear Danny's raspy reply.
"I think so. Russia may be a big place, but apply the right pressure to the right person, and you can find out anything. The Colonel's right; a small unit will make far more headway in the long run."
"I hope you're right." Joe said, breathing the cool night air. "We're walking headlong into a war here. It's gonna get a helluvalot darker before it gets bright."
Danny stopped and turned to look his battle brother square in the eye with his bionic glasses.
"Be careful out there, brother. Olympus has risen. We're standing on the doorstep of a new world now. Anything goes."
Joe nodded. "I know."
The two friends embraced, as battle brothers unsure if they would meet again.
"Take care Joe Braddock."
"You too, Callbeck."
They broke off, without another wo
rd. Nothing else needed to be said. Each man's respective mission took precedence in their minds now. As Joe walked up the Barbarian loading ramp, a thought crossed his mind.
We're in it now...the real war with Olympus is about to begin...
Chapter 10
Slither in the Night
Vladivostok, Russia, November 24th
Roman Krasnov, Russian oligarch and near deity in the business world of the city of Vladivostok, finally finished checking the last of the twelve bedrooms in his upper class mansion. He had twenty security specialists, hired exclusively from Alfa-Tsentr, an ex-Spetnaz security firm, to guard him in his home; each man armed with Uzi's and Glocks. It was his own meticulous nature, brought on by a history of trusting no one, that made him check his entire house each night personally before going to bed.
Short and unimpressive to look at, the Russian businessman was typical of the elite ruling class of the country these days: men of means, controlling vast business empires where the small and unruly lower class clung to in hopes of finding jobs. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, it had been this way, and would continue to be, if current events were any indication.
But in the past week, Krasnov was beginning to fear his own time would soon come.
He didn't fear his competetors in the computer software industry−they had learned long ago not to mess with his ruthless tactics. It wasn't his heart condition, which at his age of sixty-two, was beginning to be a major issue for him.
It wasn't any of these things.
The fear came from the men Krasnov had once allied himself with to create something the world would never forget.
The men who were now dying faster than flies.
Doctor Dupuis, beheaded along with five of his security men. And then there was good old Gustav, the one man Krasnov actually respected in the group, who was found eviscerated in his bed.
Each man butchered by a bladed weapon.
When Krasnov read the news of the first murder, he instantly knew his days of peace and prospering on the fools beneath him were coming to an end.