Battle Earth VII Read online

  Taylor could do nothing for a few minutes as he stood in astonishment at what he was seeing. The lad playing was running through corridors, gunning down Mechs left right and centre. His Assegai flashed out occasionally, as the in game character rolled across the floor and thrust it into an enemy soldier or leapt up athletically onto the back of another in an effortless manner of which he could only dream of.

  "You see, you like war. Everyone does," stated Jafar.

  He was surprised at the voice, for he had not even noticed his friend approach his side. They continued to watch for a few minutes in amazement. Taylor seemed a one-man army in the game, supported by only a few comrades who did little but seemingly elevate his epic abilities. As a level came to a close, the lad came up against a huge Mech villain, the likes of which Taylor had never seen. It was five times the size of any enemy soldier, like some giant war machine.

  "Not seen anything like that before."

  "No, but something similar on some worlds," replied Jafar.

  Another terror we are yet to face, he thought.

  "How the hell do they know about them, then?"

  He already knew the answer before he had finished asking it, artistic licence.

  The lad playing was frantically lashing out at the huge in game creature but was struck and grasped by its huge mechanical claws. The body of Taylor on screen was lifted and snapped at the spine before being tossed to the floor, and the letters 'game over' appearing in large letters.

  "Goddamn it!" yelled the boy.

  The scene took Taylor aback. It was a visceral and eye-opening reminder of what could, or might still be his fate. He often wondered how he had survived through so many deadly situations. As the boy took off the mask, he recoiled in shock at Taylor and his huge friend looming over and staring at the console.

  "What the fuck?" he screamed.

  Several in the room went silent as they looked over to the two strangers and sought reason to cause trouble.

  "It's okay, kid, just watching," Taylor said, snapping out of it.

  The teenager was still in shock and had clearly not been in the room or noticed when they had arrived. He first looked in absolute fear at Jafar, and then to Taylor. His expression changed to a smile when he realised who they were.

  "No fucking way."

  Taylor didn't respond. He was still shocked at the game that seemed to trivialise everything they had worked to achieve, and even the deaths of those around him.

  “No fucking way, it’s really you, and with your alien turncoat!”

  Taylor’s face turned to a grimace, taking offence at the word. He wanted to strike the teenager for it but restrained himself, realising where he was and who stood before him. He felt his skin boil in anger, but thinking of what Chandra would have done in such circumstances made him rise above it.

  “So fucking cool to meet you!” yelled the teenager. "You're one sick motherfucker."

  He didn't know how to respond, but the boy gave him little opportunity.

  "You must have killed hundreds of Krys, man?"

  He'd not heard the abbreviation before, but it didn't take a whole lot of imagination to work it out. The lad tapped him on the chest as he continued on in a manner he did not appreciate.

  "So come on, my man, how many you kill?"

  "Enough," he replied.

  "Oh, come on, you fucked 'em up proper good. Tell me what it's like."

  Visions flashed through his mind of the seemingly endless bloodshed he had witnessed. The gruesome scenes of genocide from where they had rescued Jones stuck with him the most. But what harrowed him even more was the fact he had not been there for two of his closest friends when they met their end, Friday and Chandra. When it came down to it, he could not be there and could not save those he cared for most. Jones and Parker had barely made it through. That was what he could see, not those who had died at his hands.

  "Come on, tell me. You must have fucking slaughtered them!"

  He tapped Taylor again, and he had heard enough. His arm snapped up and took the lad's in a firm hold; enough to freeze him in place but not harm him. He tried to struggle, but it was no good.

  "You trivialise war. You mock all those who fought and died, so you can play these shitty videogames. What kind of a man are you?"

  The lad was stunned and froze. His face was going white, and it was evidently the most fear he had ever experienced. That only made Taylor angrier.

  "Remember the wars. Honour those who served in them, but do not make light of their sacrifices. A day may come when your generation has to take on the job, and you will find it a very different experience."

  His jaw dropped, and he tried to get out words but couldn't for a few seconds until he finally gasped for air and opened up.

  "I am sorry, fucking sorry, man. I didn't mean it. I love you guys."

  A coarse voice sounded off to their side that brought silence to those around them.

  "You done kissing ass, kid, or you wanna get a room with this soldier boy?"

  Taylor turned to see the comment had come from a tall man who was almost as wide as he was high. He wore a close fitting vest that only served to make him look like a slob. Despite this, he had arms as thick as tree trunks. Maybe he couldn't run a marathon, but he wasn't a man to be tussled with. He turned his attention to Taylor as he swilled his beer and licked his chops. His head was bold and reflected the light from the ceiling lamps. A large gold chain hung around his neck, and one of his ears was pierced with a large hoop. His face was stubbled and red cheeked. Bags sat under his eyes from a man who had spent half his life drinking.

  "What do ya say, soldier boy? Why don't you head on and find a bent bar to get your end away? And take your alien freak here with you."

  "You sound like a man of some experience," Taylor replied dryly.

  The response both confused and angered the man, for the humour went over his head, but that only served to entertain those watching a little more. The youngster stepped between them to address the huge fat thug.

  "Hey come on, man. This is Taylor. He's a legend."

  "Yeah, this piece of shit? Not here, he ain't. Get out of now before you get fucked up."

  He shoved the lad and sent him flying with little effort. He crashed over a chair and hit the ground hard. Taylor knelt down and hauled him to his feet.

  "Stay out of this, son. You'll only get hurt."

  He turned back to the greasy thug. He looked him up and down for a second. He seemed twice the man Taylor was, in weight at least.

  "What are you looking at?" he sneered.

  The entire bar had now silenced and turned their attention to the standoff.

  "A sack of shit who's wasting my time," he replied quickly.

  A few of the man's friends took a few paces closer to have his back as they could see it was about to kick off. Jafar did the same, but Taylor lifted his hand to tell him to stop.

  "I got this."

  "Oh, you got this, have you?" asked the thug. "Only thing you got is an ass whooping coming. I don't like soldier boys."

  "Marine, asshole!"

  The man had heard enough and lifted his beer bottle which he had reversed while they spoke, so he now held it by the neck. It was a clumsy move, and one Taylor had fully anticipated. He kicked forward hard into the man's belly. It did little to move the hulking mass but enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled back into his friends who caught him and barely managed to hold his weight up. They threw him back towards Taylor, and he came out swinging with the biggest hook Taylor had ever seen.

  He knew the weight would be too much to stop, so he ducked under and drove his knee up into the man's huge bulking stomach. The air was pushed out of him. He folded over the Colonel's strike and went limp for a second. Taylor grabbed the top of his vest and yanked him upright and punched him hard in the face, which threw him back to his friends once again.

  "Why don't you quit before you really feel some pain?"

  The man spat out bloo
d on the floor in front of Taylor and looked furious. It was clear to everyone that he wasn't going to let it stand. He grabbed the nearest bottle and smashed it on the table beside him, holding it up ready to use. Taylor smiled as the fool held it before him rather than back and out of the way. He rushed forward with surprising speed and thrust with the sharpened glass. Taylor pushed down with both hands over the bottle and onto the man's wrist and gripped hard. He stepped under his armpit and thrust his body up so that he almost dislocated the arm. The man squirmed in agony. The bottle dropped from his grasp and smashed on the hard floor in front of them.

  Taylor twisted back out from under the man's arm and struck where his ribs would be with several punches, though his first met nothing but fat. Seeing it was having little effect, he leapt forward with a knee that smashed the man back. As the two of them stumbled across the room under the power of Taylor's attack, one of the thug's friends lifted a chair and swung for Taylor. He tried to duck under, but his forward momentum made it impossible. He lifted his hands just in time to have the chair crash over his body and splinter into a hundred parts.

  Pain soared through Taylor's arm. He felt wood splinters pierce his flesh, but there was no time to check it. He was down on one knee from the impact, and the man was already bearing down on him with one of the legs from the chair. He jumped up and threw his arm up to parry the strike at the forearm where there was the least power. The man head-butted him in response, but it did little except make him angrier. He jammed his thumb into his attacker’s wrist at the pressure point, causing him to give him the leg.

  Now armed with an improvised truncheon, Taylor was ready to go to work. He smashed it across his attacker’s cheek and watched the man tumble over to the floor. As he did, he was tackled by another and hit the floor hard. His head impacted, and the shock made him blackout for just a few seconds. His eyes opened to see a fist coming towards his face and pushed him back into the floor. He reached over for the table leg and smashed it across the man's face, throwing him off to the side.

  Taylor tilted his head back while still on the floor and saw Jafar standing about idle and watching the display.

  "Not gonna help?"

  "You said not to."

  "When did I say that?"

  He looked up to see a foot about to slam into his face. He quickly rolled over, clambered to his feet, and looked over to Jafar again.

  "You want help now?" asked his friend.

  "Yes!" Taylor hollered.

  The hulking thug was now on his feet and once more coming at Taylor. He swung clumsily again. This time Taylor parried the strike with his left, and with his right grabbed hold of the huge hoop in the thug’s ear and ripped it way through the flesh of his lobe.

  With a big hook, Taylor smashed the man to the ground as he cupped his ear in agony. But a few seconds later, his pained expression turned to anger, and he was coming at him like a raging bull. Taylor had no time to move and did his best to brace for impact, but from his flank came Jafar at lighting speed. He barged the huge man aside, throwing him onto a nearby table that collapsed under his weight. His friends stopped for a moment at the scene, turning their attention back to Taylor and his alien friend.

  “Get ‘em!” one yelled.

  Six men rushed at them brandishing chairs and bottles. The bar erupted into a hail of punches and bloodshed. Five minutes later, Taylor and Jafar stood over the bodies of their attackers who were now unconscious or incapacitated in some way. The rest of the bar’s patrons could do nothing but watch in amazement. Blood poured from Taylor’s nose where he had been struck more than a few times, and his jaw ached like hell. Despite the pain, he managed to break a smile to Jafar.

  Sirens could be heard approaching on the road outside, but they made no attempt to run.

  “You’re going down for this!” shouted the barkeep.

  He rushed out from behind the bar with a scattergun in hand as if to act all tough, now he knew he had the authorities close to hand.

  The young lad who Taylor had so recently been conversing with leapt forward to jump in the way.

  “Hey, come on, you saw who started this!”

  “You keep your mouth shut, kid! These boys came in here looking for trouble, and they found it.” He turned his attention to Taylor again, “We don’t want your kind here. You fucking soldier boys are all the same. No war to fight, so you start one.”

  “Marine,” replied Taylor sharply.

  “What?”

  The barkeep rushed up to Taylor with his gun and tried to jam it in his face.

  “What was that you said?”

  Taylor gave him not a second longer to make his pathetic attempt at intimidation. He snatched the barrel of the gun and ripped it from the man’s arms and turned it on him.

  “I didn’t spend years of fighting and losing friends to put up with this shit.”

  He spun the stock around and struck the man’s face, breaking his nose. He dropped to his knees, blood pouring through his hands as they cupped his bleeding face.

  The door of the bar burst open and police rushed in. Taylor instantly released his grip, as to not be gunned down by trigger-happy local authorities, but he was still as calm as ever.

  “You just remember who it was who fought so you could live your life,” he stated.

  He knew his words would be lost on the bar owner, but he seemed to get some sympathy from those watching. Others were disgusted by his actions and seemed to view him as the sort of degenerate who they’d rather have behind bars.

  “Freeze!”

  It was over. Six cops all ready to pull the trigger rushed them. Two pushed Taylor over against the wall to cuff him. They tried the same to Jafar but could not move him. One stuffed a gun in his face and screamed. “Turn around! You are under arrest!”

  He looked to Taylor first. He wouldn’t take the command from a stranger. Taylor nodded in agreement for his friend to accept their fate, but he smiled at the cops, revealing blood seeping into the gaps of his teeth. In response, one drew a shock baton and drove it into his stomach. His went limp and dropped to his knees.

  “Not so funny now, is it?” the cop shouted in his ear.

  * * *

  The night seemed to have gone on forever as Taylor sat on a hard bench in a prison cell. After what he’d been through in military detention, it didn’t seem so bad. Jafar sat in a cell opposite him. He was willing to bet good money that his alien friend would be capable of prising the bars apart with his bare hands, but he had done as ordered and gone along with it. Hours had passed without a word between the two of them when Jafar finally spoke out.

  “Yesterday you tried to get out of a fight any way possible, and yet in the night, you sought one, why?”

  It gave Taylor pause for thought.

  “You say you don’t want to fight anymore, but then enjoy it when the time comes.”

  “A good honest bar brawl is the end to a good evening. Fighting a war is something I would wish on no man.”

  He wasn’t sure he necessarily believed that whole-heartedly, but it seemed like the best way of explaining it.

  “But you were asked to fight a war, just one Mech. An unarmed Mech. How is that different to what we just did?”

  He didn’t have an answer. Somehow in his head it made sense, and he had enjoyed every minute of the brawl, and hated the Mech fight and the reasons for it.

  “Your people only seem to like and respect you when there is a war and when you are fighting it, and yet you wish for peace?”

  The questions were getting more trying and piercing Taylor’s thoughts.

  Yes, maybe I do pray for another war.

  A door opened at the far end of the corridor dividing their two cells, and they could hear three pairs of footsteps approaching. Neither of them got up to greet their visitors. Two cops and Weaver came into view. Weaver was shaking his head in disgust and disapproval.

  “You’re a maniac who should be locked away in times of peace for the good of soc
iety. But someone, somewhere thinks you have a part to play. You’re a relic, Taylor, one that will be paraded around until nobody longer cares and then thrown aside. I can just see your life ten years from now. Sitting in a trailer park somewhere, alone and drinking yourself to death. Replaying the glory days in your head while nobody gives a shit anymore.”

  Taylor wanted nothing more than to reach through the bars of the cell and throttle the detestable creature. He only restrained himself because the only thing he wanted more was to get out of the cell.

  “And a good morning to you,” he replied sarcastically.

  Weaver shook his head. He was clearly trying to get a rise out of Mitch and give them all an excuse to keep him behind bars, but he wasn’t biting.

  “Let him out.”

  “Bail ain’t even been paid,” protested one of he officers, “This guy wrecked a whole bar and half the patrons in it.”

  “I think that’s exaggerating. He’s one man, not an army. Now, you know who I work for. Let him out before I have to start making calls you don’t want me to make. And let that thing out while you’re at it,” Weaver said, waving towards Jafar.

  The cop reluctantly swiped his security card through the cell access point, and the door slid open.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said Taylor.

  “How so?” Weaver asked.

  “I’m happy to see you,” he sneered.

  “All right, let’s go.”

  The two of them followed Weaver out of the cellblock to the front of the station where they heard cheering coming from the front desk. They got to the atrium to see two police officers watching a video of his fight with the Mech the previous day. It had clearly been filmed by one of the audience. He could see the crowd come into view on the edges.

  “That you?” asked one of them.

  “Fucking epic,” added one of the others.

  “Yes,” added Weaver. “That little stunt of ours has caused quite a stir since it has gone viral; five million views in less than a day. A lot of people can see plenty of potential in that.”

  “In what? Live assassinations? We used to condemn and invade countries for it.”