Syndicate Wars: First Strike (Seppukarian Book 1)

by Kyle Noe

  Luke smiled, ducking and diving under branches as Giovanni struggled to knock him down from the tree. It was a game, and Giovanni could tell that Luke was taking as much pleasure in it as he was.

  When they were done there, next came a forced marched through the jungle, where they leaped over a series of chasms and crawled under thorn-filled vines, Giovanni doing his best to run the others through a kind of backwoods boot camp.

  When Giovanni called them to a halt, he ordered them to gather up sticks, and then engaged in hand-to-hand combat with each of them at random, knocking one after another down with ease.

  But then Luke plucked up his branch and called out to Giovanni, the two stabbing and swiping at each other as the sun rose higher in the sky. Luke rushed Giovanni, swinging his stick.

  Giovanni parried the blow, moving in a circle as Luke lunged.

  WHACK!

  Giovanni popped him in the jaw with the end of his stick.

  The blow stung, but the real damage was to Luke’s pride.

  Again he came at Giovanni, and again ... Up came the stick, swatting his jaw as the other fighters surrounded the men, cheering them on.

  On the third try, Luke managed to fend off Giovanni and swing his own stick. Giovanni jumped in the air and over the stick and brought his own length of wood around, cracking Luke behind his ear and levering him to the ground.

  The other fighters hooted and hollered as Giovanni reached a hand down, leaning into him.

  “You’re better than I expected,” Giovanni whispered.

  “I didn’t want to show you up,” Luke said.

  Giovanni grinned. “You’ll have to show me more later.”

  Luke nodded. “I plan to.”

  Giovanni helped Luke up as everyone headed back to the base camp. They stood there like that for a moment with clasped hands, brothers in arms. Luke nodded.

  “We’re glad you’re on the team,” he said.

  “So am I,” Giovanni said, then released the man’s hand.

  ***

  As the group made its way to the main compound where food was served, Giovanni and Luke headed there as well, with Calee in tow. She kept an eye out, watching the resistance fighters trudge forward, sweat-slicked, having been put through the ringer by Giovanni and Luke. She sneered at Luke and Giovanni talking together, and Giovanni could tell she thought little of him. That he was too full of himself, that it took more than training and fighting skills to win a war.

  But he also knew that once she harnessed the ability to fight like him, with the stolen advanced weaponry, she would maybe despise him a little less.

  “How’d it go?” she asked Luke, interrupting the pair’s private parlay.

  “Like Crossfit on crack. Think I lost ten pounds,” he replied.

  Calee nodded. “I need you two to come with me.”

  “What?” Giovanni said. “And skip chow?”

  Luke offered Giovanni a nod that said it was okay, and they followed her through the undergrowth to a hut that had been woven around a stand of oversized trees. Lights glowed on the inside of camouflage webbing, which Giovanni soon saw concealed a communications outpost of sorts.

  The inside of the outpost brimmed with technology: a few banks of computers and tablets; routing equipment, listening devices, and several old-school radios that were as large as a battery on a tractor-trailer.

  The air was filled with chatter and bursts of conversation in various tongues, everything monitored by four technicians who crouched on chairs fabricated from ammunition crates and jungle vines.

  “This is the hive,” Calee said.

  “I came up with the name,” Luke offered, proudly.

  Calee gestured at the computers and communications equipment.

  “Most of the satellites are down, but a portion of the net is still online after some hacker element from the Navy tapped into deep sea lines that the aliens apparently don’t even know about.”

  “Communications?”

  “Spotty, but we’ve still got email and outdated and relic deep sea comm cables. Supposed to be phased out, but they’re still there, dormant, unused.”

  Calee pointed at several of the tablet screens, which were filled with real-time footage from cities across the globe. Most were in flames or in the process of being shattered as a result of Syndicate bombing runs.

  “What do you see?” Calee asked Giovanni.

  “Death and devastation,” he replied.

  “Look closer.”

  He did, and Calee swiped her fingers across a tablet so that the images were juxtaposed with coordinates and mapping symbols. Some of the areas were colored yellow, others were colored red. She pinched her fingers and zoomed in on the areas in yellow.

  “Those are major population centers,” she said.

  “The bastards targeted civilians,” Giovanni said, teeth bared.

  “Only partially,” Calee replied.

  She brought up images of several cities: New York, Miami, Los Angeles, Las Vegas. The additional images revealed that much of the city centers were indeed damaged, but others surrounding the inner ring of corporate offices remained largely intact.

  “They could have flattened the cities, but they didn’t,” she said.

  “Why?”

  New images appeared, juxtaposed with the areas on the map in red.

  “These are military bases. Rail lines. Fuel and weapons depots,” Calee said.

  The images showed that these areas had been pulverized, destroyed beyond recognition.

  “They … they’re targeting our weapons systems,” Giovanni said.

  “Our means of warfare,” Calee said, correcting him.

  “Rather than the people who’d actually wage it,” Giovanni replied.

  She leaned back, nodding, arms folded across her chest. “That doesn’t make sense at all does it?”

  “Unless it makes perfect sense,” he said.

  “Explain,” she demanded, arching an eyebrow.

  “What’s the first thing you do when you pacify a population?” Giovanni asked. “You take away their guns.”

  Giovanni stared at the screen as Calee brought up a final set of images: maps with green dots followed by real-time shots of other resistance fighters in various locales.

  “That represents our brothers and sisters in arms,” she said.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Unknown, but there are more of them every day,” she answered.

  Giovanni leaned close to the tablet as Calee pointed to a city covered in an unusually large number of green dots.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Las Vegas, specifically the tunnels underneath it. It’s now ground zero for the resistance back in the States.”

  ***

  Outside, Giovanni strode next to Luke as the sun set overhead, a long day already behind them. The sky was clear, no signs of the Syndicate, no faraway shriek of aircraft, and no shuddering thunder of dropped bombs.

  For a moment, it fooled Giovanni into feeling like nothing had changed and they were back in the past, in a world united before an invasion force changed everything. The way the vines dangled and the trees and flowers gave up their sweet fragrances reminded him of the summers he had spent as a child in New Orleans’s Garden District with his grandmother. The air was moist there, tinged with the salty hint of ocean.

  He could almost feel the press of his grandmother’s hand as they strolled past the gardens on Fourth Street. But he wasn’t with her now. He was with a man who amounted to a stranger in essence, but with whom he already felt a deep bond. Almost as strong as the one he’d formed with Quinn.

  “We’re going to head north,” Luke said.

  Giovanni stopped and looked back.

  “North as in—”

  “Norte Americanos,” Luke said with a sly smile. “We’re going back over the border.”

  “You’re assuming there still is one.”

  Luke waved a dismissive hand.

  “And
then?” Giovanni asked.

  “We’ll link with friendly elements in Vegas.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

  “Calee does most of the planning. She’s good like that. There’s even a name for it. Operation Weeping Angel.”

  Giovanni registered this, then burst out in laughter. “Operation Weeping Angel? That is, without a doubt, the worst name for a mission I’ve ever heard of!”

  “Hey, kiss my ass, man,” Luke said, laughing along. “I spent hours helping come up with that!”

  A moment passed between the two.

  “Calee’s not what I expected,” Giovanni finally said. “I had my doubts at first, but she’s impressive. She would’ve done well in the Corps.”

  “She’s like the big sister I never had,” Luke said, with a snark in his tone.

  “Is that all she is?”

  “Oh, I think she probably wants more, but for me, that’s all she’ll ever be.”

  Giovanni’s eyes found Luke’s, and he smiled. “Are you scared about moving out?”

  Luke shook his head. “Change inevitably comes, Gio. It’s good to take risks in the meantime.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “Hell, if I hadn’t trusted my gut, you wouldn’t even be here,” Luke added.

  “And then where would you be?” Giovanni asked, his arm brushing Luke’s.

  “I’d be a whole helluva lot worse off,” Luke said, staring into Giovanni’s eyes. “Do you … feel the same?”

  Giovanni bit his lip and felt his cheeks burn red. This was as far as he’d ever gone in his personal desires. All that had been pushed aside so as not to get in the way of defending their home, Earth. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice the way the man’s eyes flitted down to his mouth, then across his body before returning to his eyes. In the silence that passed, they both seemed to understand each other.

  There was no doubt the two wanted to do more, but was it really the right time? In light of all that was happening, could Giovanni really allow himself to get involved? To open up to such a degree that it could cause distractions?

  He turned, frustrated, and when he looked up again, Luke was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen: A New Kind of Marine

  Back on the Syndicate Command Ship, Quinn and the other Marines were following Marin and a handful of Syndicate soldiers, threading down an inner staircase which ended at what looked a surgical room that smelled of antiseptic. The space was cluttered with workbenches and metal carts brimming with metallic medical instruments, syringes, and what appeared to be MRI scanners.

  “Is this where the anal probing is done?” Renner asked, tongue in cheek.

  Marin glared daggers at Renner as the bearded General Aames and an odd-looking man entered through a side door, dressed in an ivory smock. For an instant Quinn thought this was the man who’d injected her with drugs earlier. The one who’d forced her to submit. But then she realized the man in front of her was less stocky, not as broad, and as thin as a blade of grass, yet cut like every tissue in his body was muscle.

  His eyelids flickered as if his mind couldn’t contain all his thoughts, yet when his eyelids were open, his irises burned with a yellow intensity that was jarring juxtaposed against his delicate skin. He looked to Quinn like somebody who hadn’t seen sunlight for quite some time, but something about his gaze and presence captured her attention.

  The man in the smock approached and stopped before Milo.

  “We’re doing complete workups. Womb to tomb, so drop your pants, please.”

  “You gonna buy me dinner first?” Milo quipped.

  The bearded General, Aames, stepped over. He hovered a good foot taller than Milo, and glared down at him. “Cheap date,” he said, smirking. “I was a general in the army back on Earth and I remain one here. This is Doctor Cody.” Aames gestured to the bearded man in the smock. Beards seemed like some kind of status symbol of rank, Quinn thought.

  “You a medical doctor?” Milo asked.

  “Well, actually I’m a scientist and an author,” Cody said.

  “What do you write?”

  “Non-fiction books mostly. I was working on one about the world’s great brothels when they sucked me up.”

  “You finish it?”

  Cody shook his head. “I was too busy doing research.”

  Milo smirked as Cody gestured at the Marines. Quinn imagined Milo would actually like this douchebag, Cody, under different circumstances. She might even, too.

  “We’re going to run some basic tests on everyone. Triage any potential issues that might impact your ability to function back on Terra Firma.”

  “We’re all fighting fit,” Hayden said, slapping his chest.

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” General Aames said.

  Over the next hour, the Marines were prodded and poked and injected and studied by Cody and General Aames, as well as two medics who’d also been sucked up with the others. The Syndicate technology was exceptionally advanced, so much so that after running DNA scans, the Marines were able to learn about diseases and conditions they likely wouldn’t have experienced for decades.

  Milo, for instance, discovered that he had a cancerous tumor under his left testicle, one that wouldn’t have grown or metastasized for thirty years.

  One of the medics turned to Renner. “Did you know your white blood cell count is five-hundred thousand?”

  “Who-hoo!” Renner shouted, pumping his fist. “You hear that! Five-hundred thousand, baby!” He turned back to the medic. “Is that, like, a record or something?”

  “Yes,” the medic replied, “but not a positive one.”

  “Okay, so what should the number be?”

  “Your count should be less than four-thousand,” the medic replied.

  Renner shrugged. “So what’s the takeaway?”

  Cody glanced over. “You should technically be dead.”

  Renner went on to learn that he had a leukemia and would’ve likely died within three months. Hayden was examined next and discovered that he had issues with his arteries, and Quinn had problems with her ovaries that may or may not have been cancerous. All of these things were discovered and corrected with the Syndicate’s non-invasive, nano-infused technology.

  “The hell is that?” Quinn asked, pointing to a clear monocle that Cody slipped down over one eye.

  “Mono-lens,” Cody replied. “Allows me to see the anatomical structures inside without opening you up. Right now I’m following the blood vessels in your liver over and under your breasts.”

  “And this is strictly for medical purposes?”

  “That’s what I keep telling people,” Cody said, with a wry smile.

  “Are you human?” Quinn asked him.

  Cody giggled. “What else would I be?”

  “Nothing is what it seems in this place.”

  Cody’s smile slipped away. “It took me two full months before I realized that.”

  Quinn leaned into him. “You were kidnapped?”

  Cody shrugged. “All I remember was walking along the beach north of San Diego one night when I saw this flash of lights.”

  “The aliens?” Quinn asked.

  “No, that was just a plane. The aliens came out of the water and got me.”

  “Really?”

  Cody grinned. “Just messing with you. Yeah, the lights were the bad guys.”

  Quinn suppressed a faint smile, turning her attention away. She watched several medics prep some kind of alien 3D printer that allowed the team to create eerily lifelike sections of the Marines’ anatomy that could be explored in greater detail.

  Milo soon found himself surrounded by Cody and Marin, bent over a surgical table as one of the medics waved a wand across his backside that was supposed to restore the elasticity to his lower lumbar region. This, along with injections of various cocktails of drugs, was done to everyone to improve their fighting abilities. As Cody said, the goal was to turn force-multipliers into multi-force-multiplie
rs. Quinn choked on that load of BS. Sounded like propaganda if she’d ever heard it.

  As the medical work was wrapping up, Quinn found herself standing next to Marin, who’d just appeared, bobbing her head in the direction of General Aames.

  “So what role is General spit and polish playing?” Quinn asked.

  “I believe the term is CO,” Marin said.

  “Christ. He’s our commanding officer?”

  “You’re going to be singing from his hymn sheet now,” she replied, with a nod.

  “And what exactly is the song?”

  “That’s up to him,” Marin answered, with a tight smile. “The Syndicate allows for more discretion on the battlefield than you might expect, in light of how ordered things are here.”

  “And you do like your order,” Quinn said.

  “You’ve been fighting your whole life, haven’t you?” Marin asked.

  “There was a gap when I was in elementary school,” Quinn replied.

  Marin grinned. “They say sarcasm is the last vestige of the inarticulate. You need to know, Sergeant, that you’re no longer at the top of the food chain. You need to know your place now, because soon, one way or another, you will be singing to a different tune.”

  “Right. You already mentioned that. Round one to the Syndicate puppet for originality.” Quinn marched away, not looking back.

  ***

  After their medical reconditioning was complete, the Marines gaggled down through security checkpoints and across corridors within corridors. They saw rooms filled with Syndicate technicians manning computers and watching real-time footage from faraway places, battles on Earth and presumably other, far-flung locales.

  They stopped before a retina scanner pinned to a metal door. General Aames peered into the scanner and the door opened to reveal a hangar-sized space segregated into sections. On one side of the room were simulation devices, enormous insertion shuttles, and other craft that were positioned on struts and pneumatic lifts.

  In the middle of the room were dozens of touchscreen plasma tablets hanging from the ceiling, filled with images of space and various areas on the Earth. At the back of the room was a zero gravity chamber, a glass-enclosed raised dais filled with floating items, while at the outer edges of the room were metal lockers and a wall filled with armor and weapons and ammunition.