Battle Earth VII Read online

  "That’s what being a marine has boiled down to? Blood sport?"

  "Can't say I like it either, Charlie, but I have my orders."

  "We both know you have done more than your fair share for the Corps and for the World. Why not leave? We did, and look at what we have. When we were huddled away at night, scared and expecting to meet our deaths at any moment, having to risk our lives every second of every day, this here is the life we dreamed of."

  It was a compelling argument. General White had made him feel that without the Corps he would have nothing, but Jones made a lot of sense. One last issue bothered him, though.

  "And when the next war comes, what then?"

  "The next generation will fight it. None of us are immortal. We have done our part."

  "So you would do that? If another attack came tomorrow, you would sit by and watch?"

  Jones had to think about it for a moment.

  "I would do whatever I had to do, but right now, we have earned this peace, and we are going to enjoy every second we get."

  Taylor nodded in agreement.

  "So you really didn't come here to recruit me into some scheme?"

  Taylor shook his head, "Can't a guy just come for a chat?"

  "I guess, just didn't see you as the type."

  "Yeah, thanks."

  "So you're going to keep fighting in these ridiculous displays?"

  "I don't know. I don't want to. I shouldn't have to. But if I don't, I'll be outta the Corps before you know it."

  "I don't think they could get rid of the famous Colonel Mitch Taylor so easily. But even if they could, so what?"

  It gave him something to think about.

  "When the World goes to shit and you really need me, you give me a call. Until then, I suggest you kick back and enjoy this life we earned for ourselves."

  Taylor couldn't help but feel they were intruding on the life the two of them had made together. He finished his beer quickly and got up to leave.

  "Great to see you again, Charlie."

  He didn't seem disappointed they were leaving.

  "Good luck in whatever you do, Mitch. Just know that you have done enough. It’s time you started living for yourself."

  Taylor got back to the car and slumped in the back with Jafar. He could not help but feel disappointed. 2nd Inter-Allied, the great Immortals, seemed to be nothing more than a fading memory.

  "Is that the life you look forward to?" Jafar asked.

  Taylor shrugged. "No idea, why, you got any thoughts?"

  "I was not born a farmer," he quickly replied.

  It was all Taylor needed to know.

  They once more soared across the countryside on their return to Paris. As they rolled up outside the stadium, Weaver came rushing out in a flap.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he insisted before Taylor had even got both feet out the door.

  Mitch glared back at him.

  "I may fight for you, but you don't own me."

  "What? There are press conferences to do. Audiences are desperate to hear from their champion, and we have new fights to prepare for."

  The comment seemed to have gone over his head, or he chose to ignore it.

  "One week. One week, that is all we have before your next display. Young men and women are queuing at the recruitment offices trying to join up, and we have sponsors throwing money at us. This could be the greatest boost to the Corps in decades and is exactly what was needed."

  "Great," he replied, uninterested.

  Weaver chose to ignore that also.

  "Come on, I have interviewers waiting to talk with you. Let's get you inside." He looked over to Jafar, "You can head back to the Deveron and await further orders."

  "No," Taylor shouted.

  "No? What do you mean, no?" asked Weaver.

  "I mean exactly that. I've done everything you asked of me, but the big guy stays with me."

  He could see Weaver didn't like it, but it was hard to say no before dozens of public and reporters who had spotted them and were already approaching.

  "All right, all right, let's go."

  One week before another fight? Boxers get how many months before theirs?

  The next week was filled with seemingly endless TV interviewers asking him the same questions in different ways and expecting him to be as enthusiastic as they were. The endless cameras and idiotic questions that pandered to the mindless obsessions of the average viewer were getting to him.

  It was the morning of his fight that had been milked for everything they could possibly get out of it, and yet he still did not know his opponent. It was a carefully guarded secret, intended to build more hype than the last one. Who his opponent would be was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't heard from Eli since he had left things so badly, and just as she came to mind, his comms flashed with an incoming message. He answered it to be greeted with her face. He jumped to his feet and tapped a button for the video to project her image before him.

  "I was just thinking of calling you, Eli."

  "Of course, you were," she replied sarcastically but smiling, "How's it going there?"

  "About what you'd expect."

  She went silent for a moment. Clearly, she had something big to say.

  "Go on, spit it out," he said.

  "These fights, you know you've got to put to end to it, don't you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "People over here are livid about them. Seems half the World loves it and wants all the blood they can get, and the rest want to set the prisoners free."

  "Set them free? And do what with them?"

  "I don't know, but it's getting ugly. There are protests outside the base everyday about it."

  "But Weaver said it's doing wonders for recruitment?"

  "Sure, I guess, but it’s stirring up big trouble."

  "What would you have me do?"

  "Call off the fight. Tell them you're not doing it."

  "On what grounds?"

  "I don't give a damn what grounds. Your word still holds a lot of weight in the World. You make it public you are against this, and it could make a difference."

  "And is that what you want, for it to be ended? That because of the fights, or because it's me fighting them?"

  "Both."

  He looked away, thinking it over. He shared her opinion, but he hadn't realised how bad it had gotten.

  "How is this the first I have heard about the controversy over these fights?" he asked her.

  "No idea, presumably someone wants to make sure you don't see that side of it. Mitch, this is all gonna come tumbling down, and you are right at the centre of it. Get out."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but the transmission cut off abruptly. He looked down to his comms. The signal had been completely lost.

  "Goddamn it."

  He paced over to a computer console in the wall and went to the comms channel to find it too was down. The timing seemed too coincidental. He raced to the door and out into the corridor. Weaver was approaching, and Jafar still stood guard at the entrance to the suite.

  "Ah, Colonel, we've just lost comms. The local towers are being flooded by fans, and it's overloaded the whole area."

  It sounded suspicious, but he could rarely tell if Weaver was lying, for he did so frequently and believably, it became hard to tell.

  "Just an hour until your pre-fight conference where we'll reveal your opponent for the first time," he said with a smile.

  "Yeah, great."

  "Fight this one, and you'll be done for a while. You can go home and take a bit of R&R while other fighters rise to the challenge."

  I've heard that before.

  "There's talk of a weekly live show, starting with representatives from around the World competing in the arena."

  Weaver was trying to usher him back into his room, and he obliged until he worked out what was going on. He shut the door after him, despite the man wanting to follow him in. Taylor walked to the far end of the suite where a large balcon
y overlooked the arena. He stepped up to the edge and looked down to see security staff patrolling. Then he noticed a cleaner sitting beside a ride-on device. What held his attention was the fact the man was talking on his comms unit. He lifted his own and tried to make a call, but there was nothing.

  "Bastard," he said to himself.

  He knew something was up, and it was time to make a stand. Time seemed to fly by as he ran it all through his head, and the knock finally came at his door. He went to it to find Jafar had not allowed Weaver to just walk in.

  "It's time, Colonel. Your crowds await you."

  He stepped out and walked on with the man he despised so much. He just talked endlessly, and Jafar followed closely behind.

  "Now remember, people want a bit of excitement. We're going to have your opponent there now so that you can..."

  "What? Why?" Taylor insisted.

  "We've got something special planned for this one. People need to feel there is a challenge and some risk and excitement."

  "Risk, for me, yeah."

  "Come on, Colonel, it may be your life out there, but can you imagine what would happen to any of us if any harm came to you? We have to keep you alive no matter what, so don't worry."

  They weren't particularly reassuring words, but they did reinforce what he knew he had to do. He was led to a conference hall in the stadium that was full of reporters. It was not lost on him the fact it was a totally sealed environment. If there were protests in place like Eli had mentioned, he'd never have seen them. Weaver stopped them for just a second and pointed his finger at Jafar.

  "You can stay out here."

  He looked to Taylor who nodded in agreement and then took up position beside two Gendarmes, the local para-military policemen who seemed uncomfortable as he towered over them. The press conference had clearly been ongoing for some time, and as Taylor entered, the commentator who resided over the last fight introduced him.

  "I'd like to give a warm welcome to our conquering hero, Colonel Mitch Taylor. Come and step up here, Colonel."

  He stepped up to find he was once more bombarded by cameras and in the limelight that he never appreciated. Uncomfortable silence overcame the hall as they all waited for him to speak, and yet nothing came. He looked at the teleprompter across the room that was flashing to get his attention. It was yet another speech written by Weaver that he had never even got a glimpse of, until now.

  Taylor tried to open his mouth, but the words were not coming out. He knew what he should say, but it would almost certainly condemn his career. As time crept by, the commentator leapt back to the stage to stand beside him and get things rolling.

  "Colonel, were all very honoured to have you here, but I want to introduce his opponent. We've got something special for you all here today. I don't know if I'd give any applause, but I'm certainly very excited myself. I want to introduce to you one of the greatest soldiers in the Krycenaean army, one of Demiran’s handpicked veteran bodyguards. He faced off to Colonel Taylor and his companions once before. He bears the scars of that fight and still stands to take on the man himself in single combat!"

  A screen at the back wall slid open and there he was, just as he had said. Taylor felt his body tense for action as he recognized the ornate and agile armour, as Jafar had worn when they first met. The Mechs were dangerous, but this was the first time since meeting Demiran in personal combat he had felt an overwhelming threat against him. The only weapon he carried was his sidearm, which made him feel woefully underequipped. The commentator continued.

  "Second only to the world-destroying Demiran himself, these aides to the enemy leaders have been called 'Destroyers' by those who have met them in combat.

  Destroyers? That’s just been made up for effect.

  "What do you say, Colonel, about going up against one of these fearsome Destroyers in a fair fight. No rules, close quarter weapons only, and last man standing wins!"

  He stepped from the podium to allow Taylor to retake his place. Mitch was still uncomfortable about turning his back on what they were now calling a Destroyer, but this was his opportunity. He was being broadcast to who knows how many millions.

  "Welcome to all of you and thanks for tuning in."

  Weaver smiled, it was just as the teleprompter read.

  "You know who I am, and you know what part I played in the wars."

  Weaver looked to the prompter because he didn't recognise the line at all. He was pointing at the screen and miming a shout at the Colonel, but he was completely ignored.

  "I know why you tuned in here today. You hate the Krys and want to revel in their deaths. We all endured great hardships at their hands, and who wouldn't want a bit of payback? But did I fight this war, did you fight this war, so that we could earn peace or not? All I ever wanted throughout the wars was for it to be over, but it isn't over for me. I understand why this blood sport seems appealing, but I can tell you for certain, this is not the way."

  Weaver was running along the lines of reporters and tying to get their cameramen to stop, but the crews were too enthralled in the story to care what he had to say.

  "I saw what Karadag and Demiran did to those humans who survived their wars, and this is precisely the kind of thing they would be doing now had they won. Are we no better than that? These fights make a mockery of all those who fought, served, and died against the Krys, and I will have no further part in them. If it costs me my career, it's time to draw a line and say we are not animals. We are not barbarians. We are humans. This is Earth, and we will not stand for it!"

  The room was silenced once more. The crews were fascinated by the eye-opening speech, but he had no idea how the viewers were taking it. Weaver rushed up on the stage and tried to barge Taylor off the podium, but it had little effect with his strong stature and Reitech equipment he wore.

  "As a representative of the US Government, I want to confirm that any and all words of Colonel Taylor are not condoned by the United States. We have organised this fight because you, the people, wanted it. I am sorry to say that Colonel Taylor is clearly not feeling well and will return to service after..."

  Taylor's hand connected with his shoulder and launched him across the stage. He slid across the floor and crashed into the empty chair that had been placed for him. The press turned their attention back to Taylor but were utterly speechless.

  "No, I am not the word of the United States Government. I am the word of a United States Marine. Countless friends and colleagues of mine died for the peace we enjoy today. Let's not sully their name any further with this."

  Weaver got to his feet, and his face was red with anger, but Taylor had not noticed.

  "Fine, if you don't want to fight, I'll bring the fight to you," he muttered under his breath.

  He called in on his comms 'knock out the feed'. The live transmissions from the room immediately stopped, though in their fascination with what they were seeing the press had not noticed. Weaver leapt up to the Destroyer and whispered to him, "That there is Mitch Taylor, the man who killed your master. How would you like a chance for payback?"

  He could tell the creature understood him and simply nodded in agreement. Weaver stepped around the back of the creature to where his shackle bands were connected to a reinforced post. A keypad was all it would take for Weaver to release the Destroyer, and through his anger he didn't give it a second thought.

  Six digits were all it took to release a lethal alien soldier amongst the crowd. He no longer cared what damage it would do, only that it would go for Taylor. "You'll die or make great TV," he said as the bands retracted, and the creature was free. In their focus on Taylor, the crowd had not noticed Weaver's treacherous actions.

  The Destroyer rushed across the stage. The crowd gasped in shock and surprise, but it was too late. It kicked full force forwards at Taylor who only had enough time to turn and see it coming at him. He was thrown across the room and struck the wall the other side. His armour saved his body, but his head was bare and smashed against the wall
. He crumpled down limply to the ground.

  Screams echoed around the room when the crowd realised it was not part of the show and tried to get to the doors. The Destroyer leapt from the stage and rushed for Taylor. Gendarmes flanking the room drew their pistols but had to push through the crowd to try and get a clear shot. Bodies were flung aside as the Destroyer smashed his way through the press. It had no interest in them besides getting them out of the way, but several were killed from the sheer force as their necks were snapped.

  As the alien reached Taylor, two of the police jumped in front of him, opening fire with their handguns. The rounds ricocheted of the creature’s intricate armour and barely slowed it at all. The gunshots were enough to awake Taylor from his unconscious state. He was quickly reminded of how he’d got there and tried to shake off the drowsiness. Just as he got to his feet, the two Gendarmes with thrown aside like ragdolls. He drew his pistol and raised it to fire at the creature’s exposed head, but it dipped its body slightly, and the two shots he fired went into the fleeing crowd.

  In a flash it was on him and smashed him back against the wall. His pistol flew from his grasp, and he was lifted up against the wall. He tried to raise his knee to strike but couldn't get any leverage with his feet off the ground. The Destroyer's hands reached up and around his throat, and he knew he had just seconds before it would snap his neck.

  He took hold of one of the fingers wrapped around his throat and with all his force snapped it back, breaking the joint. The alien winced a little and released its iron grip, allowing him to shift his weight and drive an elbow down onto its collar. He followed it with two punches to the alien's face. It was enough to free him. He fired his boosters and flew over the creature and came to a rough landing on the stage, causing him to go into a roll before getting back to his feet.

  Weaver was still on the stage and now looked white with fear. It was clear he was already regretting his decision to free the Destroyer. He stood between Taylor and the alien.

  "What are you waiting for? Kill it!" he screeched.

  What as asshole, Taylor thought.

  He stayed put, trying to use every second he could to get his composure back, and was in no rush to help the man who had brought it all upon them. The Destroyer strode forward. Without breaking stride, he took Weaver's head in one of its hands and crushed his skull. His body went limp and collapsed where he had stood. Taylor wouldn't miss him.