Altan looked down the firing line. None of his troops had gone for their RPGs; all of them continued firing their rifles, but if they were hitting the KzSha, the alien didn’t give any indication.
With a rising sense of desperation, he turned back to Sokolov. The Russian had thrown down the empty launcher and picked up an RPG launcher. Altan recognized the bulbous shape of the grenade affixed to it—a thermobaric round—and his head snapped back to the KzSha, his eyes wide. The alien was only about 25 meters from the right end of the Horde’s firing line...inside the area of effect of the warhead.
“Down!” he yelled, throwing himself behind the berm as Sokolov fired.
Even behind the earthwork, he could still feel the heat of the fireball as the fuel-air explosive ignited with a blast similar to a 122mm artillery round, and he saw the flash through his closed eyelids. The blast also tried to suck the air from his lungs, but he was far enough away to not be seriously affected by it.
Pulling himself back up, he saw that several of his troops on the right end of the wall were down, but the KzSha was down, too, and it lay feebly twitching in front of the berm as it died. “Medic!” Altan cried, pointing at the downed troopers, and two of the young girls by the trucks came running forward with alien medkits.
With the alien leaders down, Altan’s fighters turned their rifles on the remaining troopers, concentrating on the ones coming in their direction. The KzSha seemed confused about where the rounds hitting them were coming from. They were far enough away and had tough enough exoskeletons that the majority of the rounds didn’t penetrate; still, the rounds hurt, and Altan could see some of the aliens turning to flash at each other.
Without warning, one of the KzSha shot the KzSha next to it with its laser rifle, and rifle fire immediately broke out across the entire formation as the aliens shot each other.
Within 30 seconds, it was over, and all of the alien troopers lay on the ground—dead, wounded, or sleeping.
“What in the Sky Above just happened?” Borte asked.
“I don’t know,” Altan replied, climbing over the berm, “but we better go take care of the rest before they come to their senses.”
“You mean, just go over and kill them where they’re laying?” Borte asked. “Don’t you think they’ll be worth something as hostages?”
“Do you know how to restrain giant wasps?” Altan asked.
“No,” Borte replied.
“They’re going to be awfully pissed off when they wake up,” Altan noted. “And the hangover…”
“Got it, Boss,” Borte said. “Killing the aliens.” He raised his voice as he began climbing over the berm and ordered, “Let’s go, Golden Horde! Time to put some aliens out of our misery!”
“Careful you don’t destroy their equipment,” Altan added. “I want that for us!”
* * * * *
The Golden Horde - 13
“I don’t know how you did it,” the Zuparti factory manager said as the last of the initial run of video games were taken by truck out of the warehouse, “but I can’t argue with the results. When I saw the KzSha dropships land, I was sure you were all going to be killed…or worse.”
“What’s worse than being killed?” Altan asked.
The Zuparti looked around, as if looking to see if anyone was listening, and he lowered his voice. “It’s said that the KzSha have been known to enslave people they capture in combat. Sometimes they’ll trade for ransom, but usually the price is so high, the captured mercenaries are sold into slavery instead.”
“Well, I don’t think any of the KzSha that came to the planet will be selling anyone into slavery. Additionally, the troop transport that came to pick them up has left the system, so I think the word will be getting around that we are not a group to be trifled with.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps so,” the factory manager agreed.
“The bottom line, though,” Altan said, “is that you will be paying us our full fee, and giving us a good recommendation to the Mercenary Guild, correct?”
“Yes, yes, we will be paying your entire fee—less the cost of using our earthmover and our hover cars—and will be giving you a positive rating at the Guild and on the GalNet.” The boss made a noise the translation pendant rendered as a chuckle. “I’m just happy you didn’t ask for a combat bonus in your contract,” the manager added.
“A what?” Altan asked.
“A combat bonus,” the manager repeated. “Most mercenary organizations put a combat bonus in their contracts, where they have to be paid a special upcharge if there is combat. You didn’t have one in your contract, which I was excited to see, as it means I don’t have to pay any more, even though there was combat.”
“You’re funny,” Altan said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t antagonize the people with the weapons.”
“Oh, yes, yes, that would probably be wise,” the manager said. “By the way, see that box over there?” he asked, pointing to a large crate. Altan nodded. “That is for you. There is a copy of our latest game in there for all of your personnel.”
“There is?”
“Yes, in accordance with the contract you signed. There is, of course, an account activation fee that will have to be paid when you sign up, as well as monthly access fees that users will have to pay to use the gaming portal, but you can pay those as a yearly fee and save a lot of money…” The Zuparti stopped and cocked its head. “I haven’t been exposed to any Humans before,” it added. “Is what you’re doing with your face supposed to convey something to me?”
“Yes, it is supposed to let you know that you are within a few seconds of having me shoot you where you stand. Perhaps you should stop talking and go find someone else to annoy.”
“Yes, yes, that is probably a good idea,” the manager said, before turning and scampering off in the other direction.
“Where is he running off to?” Borte asked as he approached.
“Somewhere far away from me,” Altan replied. “As it turns out, we could have asked for a combat bonus in our contract, and we would have gotten paid more for having battled them. I wonder what other things we don’t know.”
“Lots of things, probably,” Borte replied. “I do have something that will cheer you up, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Remember how the little rat manager said there aren’t any drugs here?” Altan nodded. “Well, as it turns out, he lied. There is a drug, and it’s called ‘Sparkle.’ Even better, it appears to work on Humans, so we can take some of our hard-earned credits and purchase a bunch of it, and then we’ll be the sole-source provider back on Earth for it. Get in early, get in fast, as you always say.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway,” Altan said.
“Yeah, it’s too bad we didn’t have any more heroin. It would have been nice to see if it worked for any of the other species, besides the KzSha.”
“Yes, it would have,” Altan said. He shrugged. “Don’t worry, though. We need to get home and deal with the Red Hawks and establish the pipeline between here and there.”
“And then?”
“After that it’s easy. We’ll be back.”
* * * * *
The Golden Horde - Epilogue
Borte leaned around the corner as the back door to the warehouse shut. He’d been waiting five minutes for the two men smoking to go back inside.
“You sure this is the place?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Kadan replied. “All of their computer networks lead to this building.”
“Just like we practiced it, then,” Borte said. He leapt forward, waving for the people behind him to follow. Little more than shadows in their black combat armor, the platoon raced across the street and gathered at the door.
Kadan stepped forward, handed Borte his rifle, and pulled out his lockpicks. Within seconds, the door was open. He pocketed the picks, took back his rifle, and held the door open. The platoon entered the building, spreading out as they proceeded into the interior.
Red Haw
ks began dying, with little more than quiet snapping noises to mark their demise. Sometimes there was a grunt to accompany the snap, but not very often.
Borte led his fire team along the pre-planned route and was standing in front of the leader’s door in less than two minutes, having left a trail of five bodies behind him. Based on the sub-vocal radio calls he had received, the total was probably over 20.
“Building secure,” First Sergeant Sokolov said over the radio, and Borte nodded to one of his men, who kicked in the door to the office.
Although they had surprised the Red Hawk leader, he had excellent reflexes, and was in motion as soon as the door crashed open. He grabbed a pistol from his desk and threw himself to the floor behind his desk.
Borte fired at an exposed leg, and the man screamed in pain. He scooted forward and came around the side of the desk, leading with his gun and ready to fire on the intruders. Borte fired at the first sign of movement and shot the man’s pistol from his hand.
The man pulled back, grabbing his damaged fingers with his other hand, and swore.
Borte nodded, and Kadan moved forward and kicked the pistol out of reach, while Borte continued to cover the Red Hawk leader with his laser rifle. The pistol was partially melted—it probably wouldn’t have worked—but Borte didn’t want to take the chance.
“Well, now, what have we here?” Borte asked. “It looks like the head hawk has had his wings clipped.”
“Fuck you,” the man growled. “Kill me if you’re going to; otherwise, get the hell out of here.”
“Don’t worry,” Borte said, “I intend to kill you. Altan Enkh sends his regards. He is most displeased with you over what you did while we were away.” He aimed a little lower and shot the man in the groin.
The leader screamed, and he curled into a ball, holding himself.
“In addition to raping some of our women,” Borte said, firing his rifle into the man’s leg, “you mutilated others under our protection.” He fired into the other leg. “You killed our people.” He fired into an arm. “You took our customers.” He fired into the other arm. “And you were generally an asshole to everyone we left behind.” He paused for a second and then added, “You know what, though? In spite of all that, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’m going to let you live, after all.”
The man’s head came up, tears streaming down his face. “Really?” he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“No,” Borte said. “I lied. You’re a bastard and you need to die.” He fired one more time, through the man’s temple, and his head dropped to the floor.
Kadan kicked the leader’s body once. His other knee didn’t work like it should; he was a victim of a Red Hawk beating while the Golden Horde had been on-contract. He spit on the corpse and turned to Borte.
“Better now?” Borte asked.
“What that pig did will never be better,” Kadan said. “But wiping out the Red Hawks will be a good start.”
“That’s so.” Borte looked at his watch. “Grab his computer. We’ll take it back and hack it so we can find out more about his network.” Kadan started disassembling it. “Let’s go,” Borte said over the radio. “Strip the place of anything valuable and kill any of the Red Hawks you find, then meet back at the trucks. We still have two more cells to wipe out. After tonight, people will forget they ever existed. We may have been the worst mercs ever when we started, but we’re getting better…and we’re going to be the best damned drug runners and hackers this galaxy has ever seen. Long live the Gray Wolves and the Golden Horde!”
* * * * *
Alpha Contracts - Epilogue
Jim walked into the merc pit on Karma, his new high-tech uniform still rather uncomfortable, although it had built-in cooling circuits and a little armor. It was the blue color he wasn’t fond of, but it was distinctive, as was the damned red beret. The days of simple BDUs were gone. Ted was a few feet behind, as was a pair of escorts. They peeled off after he passed security and headed for the table he’d reserved days ago.
“You okay?” Ted asked.
“Fine,” Jim assured him. Ted and the other two men found a good place to keep an eye on things. Jim wasn’t really worried; he knew merc law better than most Humans. You didn’t start shit in a pit, unless you wanted to get ended, or worse. Besides, the Union laser pistol on his hip would equalize the game.
The Veetanho behind the bar, Peepo, gave him a nod. She was apparently a merc herself, but he wasn’t sure how that worked. There were a lot of Veetanho in the merc guild.
He almost went to the bar instead; the table looked empty. Then he saw Shirazi. Jim had forgotten how short the Iranian was. He was sitting at the table, reading a slate and drinking something. He wore a sand-colored uniform. Jim scowled. It looked better than his blue. The man looked up and gave Jim a nod, so he headed over.
“Colonel,” Jim said as he approached.
“Colonel,” Shirazi replied.
“Is the Chinese guy here?”
“Mongolian,” Shirazi corrected, then pointed. There was a rowdy group in a private room off to the side, just visible. Jesus Christ, they looked like fucking Mongolian gang-bangers! Several had bandoliers of ammo and carried fucking AK-47s. One was looking at him with an intense stare. That one was the leader; he had to be. He had a huge gold necklace, and a Union laser rifle over his shoulder. Jim nodded and the man returned the gesture, so Jim gestured to a chair at the table. The other man nodded, spoke to one of his people, and left them behind. They stopped partying for a second to all look at Jim and Shirazi, before going back to their celebration.
“So you are this Jim Cartwright?” Jim’s pendant translated. “Commander of the Cavaliers.”
“I am,” Jim said. He offered his hand, and the man took it in a powerful grip.
“Cartwright,” Shirazi said, standing, “this is Colonel Enkh, commander of the Golden Horde.”
“Colonel?” Jim asked, a slight laugh in his voice. “Okay, sure.”
“We all came back alive,” Enkh said, ignoring the slight. “We came back when none of the others did.”
“That we did,” Jim agreed.
“Yes,” Shirazi agreed. “Three out of one hundred.” They all regarded each other. The West Point graduate, the former Iranian commander, and the man who looked like a Mongolian drug lord.
“We all are rich, now,” Enkh said, “but we can be much richer.”
“This is true,” Shirazi agreed. “But what about the other mercs?”
“What others?” Jim asked.
“More merc companies are forming,” Shirazi said.
“Good luck to them,” Enkh said with a laugh.
“We need to come up with ways to help them survive,” Jim said.
“That won’t be easy,” Shirazi said.
“And yet we must,” a new person said. They all turned, a little surprised. A man stood a few feet away. Tall and lean, he was dressed in a European navy camouflage Jim recognized. A logo on one shoulder had a winged helmet on it, and the name “Kosmalski” was stitched on his breast.
“Winged Hussars,” Jim said, eyes wide. “You survived?”
“We did,” the man agreed. Jim shook his head in amazement. The man had a purple mohawk and more tattoos than Jim had ever seen. Were some of them moving?!
“What do you mean we must?” Enkh asked. “We must do nothing.”
“No, we must help Earth.”
“Why?” Shirazi asked. “What do we owe Earth?”
“Survival,” Kosmalski said. He had their attention. “I’ve travelled further than any of you, and I have aliens in my company now.”
“What kind of betrayal is this?” Shirazi snarled. He spat on the floor.
“It was survival!” Kosmalski yelled, slamming a fist down on the table. “I lost my ship and most of my crew. Many were family. We allied with aliens who were dying, and we all survived.”
“How?” Jim asked.
“We found a derelict alien ship. Old, but powerful. I’ve lea
rned a lot about the aliens, enough to know they’ll kick our asses if we don’t learn to beat them.”
“We won,” Enkh laughed, but it was bluster, not confidence.
“We did, as well,” Shirazi said, though he was listening.
“What do you propose?” Jim asked.
“That we cooperate, at least for the time being, and help each other figure out better ways to defeat the aliens.”
This time Shirazi was nodding. “I like that,” he agreed.
“I could go along with that,” Enkh agreed. Jim had been looking at their logos and thinking. He had an idea.
“Four of us made it,” he said, “four out of one hundred. Have you all heard of the Four Horsemen?” He explained. In a minute, they were all smiling.
# # # # #
About the Authors
A bestselling Science Fiction/Fantasy author, publisher, and speaker, Chris Kennedy is a former school principal and naval aviator with over 3,000 hours flying attack and reconnaissance aircraft.
Chris’ full-length novels on Amazon include the “Occupied Seattle” military fiction duology, the “Theogony” and “Codex Regius” science fiction trilogies and the “War for Dominance” fantasy trilogy. Chris is also the author of the #1 Amazon self-help book, “Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Into the Stores.”
Find out more about Chris Kennedy and get the free prequel, “Shattered Crucible” at:
http://chriskennedypublishing.com/
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Located in rural Tennessee, Mark Wandrey has been creating new worlds since he was old enough to write. After penning countless short stories, he realized novels were his real calling and hasn’t looked back since. A lifetime of diverse jobs, extensive travels, and living in most areas of the country have uniquely equipped him with experiences to color his stories in ways many find engaging and thought provoking.
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