The Last Spartan 1: Different Paths

by A. E. McCullough

  Before Iaido could goad him further, Aeneas tucked one sword under his arm and placed a calming hand on his younger cousin. “Don’t let him get to you Tiberius. He’s trying to make you angry. A true warrior doesn’t get angry. Anger leads to narrow thinking and target fixation. It will only make you easier to kill.”

  Now it was Iaido’s turn to grin. “Very good. I guess you truly are Aeneas.”

  “You had your doubts?”

  “Yes. Judging from the ease that I’ve been able to kill the Major’s pet creations, it had crossed my mind that you were nothing more than one of his Praetorians made up to look like my brother.”

  Aeneas smirked and began twirling the twin gladii in a complex pattern that Iaido recognized.

  It was known as the form of Attica, an aggressive sword dance from ancient Greece that the Omega handlers had taught them many years ago. As far as he knew, there was no one outside of the original ten who knew this particular sword form. In the final move, Aeneas leapt high into the air and jabbed downward with his twin swords as he landed in a kneeling position. Both blades bit deep into the marble floor, as a testament to the cutting power of the deadly weapons and the skill of the wielder.

  Aeneas looked up. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that this can end right here. We don’t have to come to blows.”

  “We most certainly do.”

  “Why? With the Major dead, you no longer have to walk this path.”

  Aeneas readied his swords. “As long as the General is alive, we will not rest.”

  Stupidly, the President took this moment to pop his head above the desk and asked, “But why? What have I ever done to you?”

  Aeneas and Tiberius shifted their attention toward the cowering politician but it was the young Praetorian which said, “Father told us that it was you who was collaborating with the Confederates. It was you that was selling information to the separatists.”

  The President actually stood up in his own defense. “Preposterous. That is a complete and utter lie.”

  Iaido inwardly grinned as he watched the anger wash over the young Praetorian’s face. The General had been able to rile up the young soldier with just a few words.

  Before Aeneas could calm or prevent him from doing anything foolish, Tiberius yelled, “Liar!”

  As the Praetorian leapt to the attack, the President tried to dodge back under the cover of the desk but never would’ve made it in time. However, Iaido intervened.

  Aeneas had been right about anger clouding the judgment during battle and it almost always caused target fixation. The situation when the attacker is so engrossed on their target that they are completely unaware of their surroundings. It happened an untold number of times in battle, causing pilots to fly into mountains or soldiers to fall off a cliff.

  Tiberius had been so obsessed in his attack on the President that he didn’t see Iaido move against him. That was until the bounty hunter’s energy blade passed right through the young Praetorian’s gut, cutting him in two.

  Aeneas just shook his head at the death of his young protégé. “Were we ever that impulsive?”

  “No, but then we were surrounded by good, levelheaded people.”

  Iaido turned his back on his brother, set his twin katanas down and grabbed the President by the collar of his fine silk suit with one hand. Lifting him to eye level, he said loudly, “Listen here General, your betters are going to have a conversation. It’s a family thing. I would appreciate it if you do not interrupt us again.”

  Surreptitiously, Iaido passed the shield generator armband to the General and saw him nod ever so slightly.

  Turning back to his brother’s clone, Iaido picked up his blades and stepped into the open area of the auditorium. “Well brother, it’s between you and me.”

  Aeneas calmly circled to the left. “Only until reinforcements arrive, I have a whole detachment down the hall.”

  “They won’t make it or at least not in time to save you. I have a highly motivated and very dangerous Marine blocking the only entrance to this room.”

  About that time they both heard faint echoes of explosions from the foyer.

  Aeneas grinned. “He won’t be able to hold the door for long. He is outnumbered and outclassed.”

  Iaido shook his head. “Don’t underestimate DJ. His tenacity is legendary. As long as there is breath in him, he won’t quit.”

  Aeneas attacked with a quick double slash, one high, one low.

  Iaido easily parried both.

  “You trust the normal that much?”

  “Of course, he’s my friend.”

  Aeneas shrugged. “I will never understand you. You always were sentimental. I told Major McDowell many times that your skills were highly overrated.”

  Iaido lowered his head ever so slightly and grinned. “Well, this is your chance to prove it. Since you won’t give up your desire to kill the General, you and I must fight.”

  “Fine by me. I’ve always wanted to know which of us is truly the best.”

  Iaido shifted his stance until his left foot was in front and the majority of his weight was on his back foot. Raising the powered energy blade in his right hand over his head, he pointed the tip of the ancient Blade of the Elements at his opponent’s chest and said with a grin, “Come on brother, let’s dance.”

  With a nod, the Myrmidon clone attacked and the battle of brothers began in earnest.

  * * * * *

  News Anchor Jennifer Moody had often wondered if she had messed up by choosing to ignore the sexual advances of her producer. Granted, she was still on the air but she had been shunted over to covering some of the most boring stories her producer could find. Like this piece. Yes, she was filming the interview of the Coalition President and the notorious thief Jagger Jax but she knew most of this would never see the light of day. And even if it was aired, hardly anyone would watch it.

  She had been contemplating calling her producer and accepting the long standing dinner date. That was until the roof blew up and the armored soldier fell through blasting away at the Galactic Marshals.

  One thing she could say about Ryan, the young kid that her producer had saddled her with…he was good with the camera. As soon as the roof blew up, instead of flinching or cowering down like any sane individual would, Ryan had his camera trained on the action.

  Recovering her wits, Jennifer contacted her producer over her cybernetic implant and shunted some of the footage to him. Truth be told, the producer reacted poorly believing it to be some sort of hoax. But once reports of the attack on the Hall of Justice came across the police tac-net, he became a believer.

  Preempting every channel they broadcasted on, Jennifer Moody found herself primetime throughout the whole Coalition.

  Keeping her voice low, she tried to describe what she was witnessing. “For those of you just joining us, this unprecedented attack on the President and his High Council happened without warning. We don’t have a lot of information at this time but it seems that a mysterious armored soldier and unknown number of assailants have attacked the Galactic Marshals which were charged with protecting the President and his High Council. It is unclear at this time if this is an assassination attempt or members of Jagger Jax’s radical bandits trying to free the notorious thief and murderer.”

  Seeing that the two swordsmen weren’t actively engaged at the moment, Jennifer seized the opportunity and moved slightly in front of the camera. Pointing at the podium in the background she narrated, “I am unsure how many of members of the High Council are still alive since they are out of sight at this time. I can still see movement back there but who it is we don’t know.”

  As the two warriors renewed their amazing sword battle, Jennifer stepped out of view and fell silent in awe of the dazzling display.

  The criminal, who was supposedly Jagger Jax but whose face had melted and changed shape on camera, was wielding two short swords which sparked and crackled with blue energy. To her untrain
ed eye, he seemed to be the aggressor. He would viciously attack with his twin swords but the unknown soldier would calmly block and counter.

  The more she watched, the more she was convinced that it was the Galactic Marshals which had been planning an assassination attempt and only the timely arrival of the unknown solider saved him.

  Jennifer gazed at the nearly naked form of the defender and felt her pulse quicken at his gleaming body. Even though he was dressed only in a form fitting black body suit, it was his steel grey eyes and coal black goatee which ultimately captivated her attention.

  Both combatants were bleeding from numerous wounds, obviously nothing serious but enough that the two would intermittently pause to check their status.

  It was just one of the things that Jennifer found odd.

  It was obvious that they knew each other from their earlier conversation but pausing while your opponent was tending a wound you just gave him was…..strange.

  It was during one of these lulls when a third individual entered the combat and if she thought things were peculiar before, Jennifer had no idea how to describe what she was about to witness.

  Chapter 33

  Talia and Xerxes followed in the wake of the warriors with ease. Their path was obvious. The destruction caused by their unconventional entry left a trail that a blind man could follow. Additionally, every floor was nearly deserted. They had only come across four or five Terrans during their trek through the ruined floors. Even then, they were cowering in fear behind a desk or cabinet.

  After several minutes and many floors Xerxes paused, even though the hole in the floor indicated that Iaido and company had gone through this level. The large black mantis seemed to sniff the air.

  Talia waited and watched as Xerxes pulled forth the little bag he always wore around his neck. He seemed torn as to which path to follow. They both knew that if there was a hole in the floor that was the path Iaido had taken. But something about this level seemed to call to the Mantodea shaman.

  Talia took several deep breathes and closed her eyes.

  Calling on her mystical abilities she probed her surroundings with her mind. There was nothing at first but then she felt it…a coldness that seeped into her soul. It was here. Opening her eyes, she nodded to her companion and pointed down the hallway.

  Xerxes dropped his pouch back to his chest and lead the way onto the abandoned floor.

  * * * * *

  DJ fired off another set of flash bangs and ducked behind his energy barricade.

  As the explosions rolled once more across the foyer, he quickly dropped the empty magazine from his railgun and slapped in a fresh one. This was his third magazine change, which meant he had fired off at least ten thousand rounds and still they came.

  As the HUD in his HAVOC-V suit updated the ammo count, DJ scanned all the other pertinent information available to him. His primary concern was suit integrity; it was down to seventy-three percent. This wasn’t good.

  DJ knew from his years in the Corps, if the integrity dropped below forty percent then he would be breathing outside air which would be bad if the Marshals started using some sort of gas. Of course, anything below twenty-five percent and he would start seeing a cascade of failures throughout the armor. Plus at that point, he knew that the nannites in the armor wouldn’t be able to repair the damage no matter how much time he gave it.

  His next concern was the energy barricade which had already saved his life numerous times. It was also damaged due to the constant barrage of enemy fire. Although, since it was made up entirely of energy, it would regenerate given enough time. It was still showing eighty percent and climbing.

  Then, he looked at the body count. To the best of his knowledge, he had only seven confirmed kills but over two-dozen maiming injuries. One part of him hoped that he would get some help soon; he only had one more magazine left after the one he’d just loaded. And if the Marshals kept advancing at their current pace, they would overrun his position within five minutes. Maybe less if his ammo ran out.

  As DJ shifted back into his attack position, he noted that the Marshals had moved forward a few more steps. He was only facing about twenty marshals at the moment but they too were hunkered down behind energy barricades. Unfortunately, they were slowly sliding the barriers forward under cover fire. They had less than fifty feet to travel before they reached him.

  Unseen by anyone, DJ nodded to himself. This was going to be a long five minutes.

  * * * * *

  Pax slid the Nemesis several yards to port as two missiles screamed past. She responded with her own barrage of missiles. They hit and the black skimmer disintegrated into a ball of flame.

  Athena was in the starboard gun turret and rolled it aft and showered the missiles with a storm of railgun fire. Enough so that they exploded before they could circle around or crash into another nearby building. She noted that three more skimmers had popped onto the radar. Their IFF responders marked them as Galactic Marshals. This made a total of ten enemy skimmers within firing range. Even though it was a waste of time to speak since Athena was in effect talking to herself she said, “This isn’t good.”

  “Your remark is both unnecessary and understated,” replied Pax as she shunted the long range radar scans to Athena. “We have five more ships inbound from the south-southeast at an extremely high rate of speed.”

  Athena scanned the data. Her sister was right. They were in trouble. As she rolled the turret to port and let loose another barrage she asked, “ETA?”

  “Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds until the bogies are in effective missile range, plus or minus twenty seconds depending on the actions of the pilots as they approach the city limits.”

  Athena muttered to no one in particular, “It’s going to be a long five minutes.”

  * * * * *

  Lt. Kristopher found himself huddling behind a metal file cabinet with what was left of Officer Buchanan on his lap. Glancing the ten feet which separated him from the rest of the team, he noted that they too were hunkered down behind makeshift bunkers. Quickly checking the statistics of his men on his HUD, he noticed that Ernspiker and Spurgeon were completely unharmed while Hamilton and Muncy showed slight injuries. Only Buchanan was critically injured but at least he was alive, in a drug induced coma, but alive.

  Involuntarily flinching back when another hailstorm of blaster bolts slammed into the cabinet, Lt. Kristopher mentally replayed the events which lead to their current situation.

  The freight elevator had opened onto a small passageway which lead off to the left and right. Downloaded blueprints showed that this corridor ran the perimeter of the building with the exception of the foyer and it had back entrances to all the offices on this floor, mostly through concealed doorways. Their objective had been a storeroom in the exact center of this floor and directly below the Grand Rotunda one floor up.

  Everything was going smooth, right up to the point they entered the storeroom.

  Officer Buchanan had been on point and made a clean entry. Signaling that the area was secure, the rest of the team had filed in. The entry area was actually a small office while the back half was filled with boxes and crates. Buchanan was still several feet ahead of the rest of the team and that is what damned him but saved the rest of the team. He had seen a blinking light and moved forward, breaking the tripwire and setting off the claymores mines.

  Claymores were anti-personnel land mines which had been around since the mid-1900s with only minor changes. It was a simple and deadly design. Take a stable explosive compound that is a clay-like substance, add hundreds of small metal ball bearings, apply both materials to a shaped metal backing and add a detonator. When the bomb is tripped, the resulting explosion expels the ball bearings in a cone like funnel at an extremely high rate of speed. Over the years, the military had found that claymores were an extremely effective deterrent.

  Officer Buchanan had the misfortune of being within five feet of the anti-personnel land mines when they went off. The result
ing explosions had blown off both legs and his left arm at the elbow. If he hadn’t been wearing the SWAT TacArmor he would’ve been dead. As it was, the suit immediately administered clotting agents, pain killers and a coma inducing drug that slowed the heart rate to a bare minimum.

  Kristopher had been the first to reach the injured officer, or what was left of him, when three unknown tangos popped up from behind some crates and began firing. Acting out of instinct, the NAPD lieutenant grabbed the wounded officer and dragged him behind the closest obstruction, the metal filing cabinet.

  The problem was that they were pinned down and couldn’t advance into the room without exposing themselves. Since they didn’t know if the tangos had any barrels of the Mars virus, the SWAT officers were being very selective in their return fire. The only positive was that there only seemed to be three bad guys but unless they did something, that didn’t matter.

  Lt. Kristopher keyed his mic to transmit on the team tac-net. “Anyone have an idea?”

  Ernspiker answered, “Just one but it’s a long shot.”

  You could hear the pain in Sgt. Hamilton’s voice when he answered, “Whatever it is, do it. I’ll have to take some sort of pain killer soon and after that, I won’t be good to anyone.”

  Lt. Kristopher used his command authority to access more data on the sergeant’s condition and it was worse than he first thought. One of the blaster bolts had overloaded the armor plating in his gut region, enough so that he must’ve received second degree burns from the blast. However it was worse than that. Scans showed that a railgun round had penetrated through the armor and pierced his side. Due to the scorching, the TacArmor hadn’t been able to administer the clotting agents and he was losing blood.

  Seeing that his vitals were already erratic, Lt. Kristopher sent an override command to the sergeant’s suit. “It’s okay Hammy. We’ve got this. Take the painkillers.”

  Sgt. Hamilton tried to object but his speech was already slurred due to the drugs coursing through his system. “But…but, I wanna…” and he was unconscious.