Battle Earth VII Page 7

  With nothing to hand, Taylor picked up a metal chair and smashed it down on the Destroyer as it came at him. The impact barley knocked it aside, and it grabbed one of the bars, ripped it from Taylor's grip, and threw it to the side. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. Without weapons, the creature seemed invulnerable.

  Just as all hope was lost, he heard a loud shout in the alien language he did not understand. They turned. Jafar was standing equidistant to their side.

  Thank God!

  "You ready for this?" he asked his friend.

  Jafar said nothing. He only rushed at the Destroyer. As it punched forward for him, he angled his body away and drove a knee in hard before pulling back and delivering a thunderous uppercut to it. It lifted its feet off the ground and fell on its back.

  Taylor jumped in to stamp down on its head, but the alien nimbly rolled out of the way and back onto its feet. This was a long way from the clumsy Mechs he was used to fighting. It moved like Jafar and not so differently from Demiran. As Jafar approached, it spun out and struck its backhand into his face before lunging for Taylor. He jumped out of the way and rolled back across the room to where he could see his pistol resting.

  The Destroyer tried to follow, but Jafar took one of its arms and pulled it back towards him. Taylor got to his gun and took it in hand. He turned back to see the sharpened elbow armour of the Destroyer strike Jafar and open up a huge cut across his cheek and onto his nose, but that didn't stop his friend coming right back at the beast.

  As the Destroyer swung for him, Jafar took its arm and spun around so it locked the other also from behind. For just a few seconds, the alien was pinned. Taylor seized his opportunity and jumped in front of the two of them and put his pistol under their opponent’s jaw. He did not hesitate to pull the trigger. Blood sprayed up and over Jafar. The body went limp, and he threw it aside.

  Taylor breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow and found his own blood trickling down his face from the impact he had taken.

  "Way too close," he muttered.

  He looked down to the body of Weaver which lay face down. His skull had collapsed inwards in places, and there was no doubt he had died instantly.

  "Bastard almost cost us our lives, and for what?"

  He looked around the room to see another ten dead, and six lying wounded from where they had been tossed aside with broken limbs from the impacts of the powerful creature. Camera equipment lay scattered across the floor. Two Gendarmes stood at the doorway frozen and speechless. They were the same two Jafar had loomed over when they first arrived. They had rightfully understood they could do nothing to help in the fight upon see the bodies of their two comrades.

  Footsteps pounded down the corridor behind them, and a fire escape door burst open with another dozen Gendarmes rushing in through the side. They all stopped in shock like the first two. It took them a moment to fathom out what had happened. Finally, one of the new arrivals yelled.

  "Do not move. You are under arrest!"

  "No!" shouted one of the two who had been there throughout, "They, saved us."

  The latest arrivals still couldn't figure out what had happened, and it was clearly a surprise to them to find an enemy soldier there at all. Taylor knew he had to speak. The man who had come to their aid was still too shocked to explain. He stepped up to the man who intended to arrest them. He looked at their weapons and saw they were the same outdated cased ammunition weapons they started the first war with.

  "What do you expect to do with those pieces of junk?" he asked.

  "We are here to police humans," he replied sternly.

  "And if we hadn't been here to deal with this, what would you have done then?"

  The Gendarmes officer leaned in close. Taylor could see an unmistakable burn mark running down his neck and inside his uniform, one that would only have been caused by a Mech weapon. He whispered so that only Taylor could hear.

  "With all money being spent on redevelopment of the city, there is a limited budget for this. Not my choice of equipment, but given these or nothing, what would you have them carry?"

  He felt sympathy for the Frenchman who was clearly only trying to do the best by his troops.

  "So what happened here?"

  Taylor pointed to Weaver.

  "That idiot, my public relations clown, let that thing loose. It should never have been here in the first place."

  "And you took it down with one pistol between the two of you?"

  Taylor nodded. The man was surprised but didn't question it any further.

  "You are currently stationed here?"

  Taylor nodded once again.

  "Then I would ask you stay here until we can pursue more inquiries as to how this happened."

  Taylor agreed, but he was really starting to grow weary of the place.

  "I'll be in the Presidential Suite for twenty-four hours at the most. After that, I am out of here. Now this circus is over, it's time to get home."

  "Yes, you must have many questions to answer."

  Taylor had almost forgotten the subject of his discussions that had led to the violent turn of events. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders now that he had a moment to think upon it.

  "You're with me," he said to Jafar, "I don't want any vigilante idiots turning on you."

  In all honesty, he knew Jafar would provide more protection for him than the other way around, but he didn't say it.

  "Good work back there, saved my ass. Last time I go anywhere without my Assegai, though."

  Jafar agreed, and they strolled out from the conference hall. There was little sign of life except for the Gendarmes, for everyone else had fled for their lives. However, one civilian stood confidently awaiting them. He wore a suit and had his hands in his pockets and his feet spread wide in a relaxed posture. His hair was carefully slicked, and he seemed to want to present an easy-going image while still being all about business. Taylor had never seen him before, but he seemed to know the Colonel.

  "Colonel Taylor."

  "Who wants to know?"

  The man smiled as if to be friendly, but it came off a little false. Taylor already knew he wanted something from him.

  "Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

  "No, you misjudge me, Colonel," he said, putting his hand up to stop Taylor in his tracks.

  "I just want to talk."

  "Right, thirty seconds."

  The man launched into a speech he'd clearly had prepared for their meeting.

  "I am Councillor Armand, UEN."

  Taylor was both surprised and curious.

  "Keep talking."

  "I heard what you had to say in there. This gladiatorial combat being barbaric, and I can see here you have made a friend of one who was previously an enemy. I represent a substantial move with the UEN who is looking for a sensible and humanitarian solution to the alien Prisoner of War issue."

  Taylor groaned. It sounded a little soft for him, but he let Armand continue.

  "All we’re looking for is a peaceful and sensible solution to the post invasion dilemmas the World now faces, but we need support from those who the World will listen to. Your voice holds weight, Colonel. Do not let it go wasted."

  He handed him his business card. A small clear data card that Taylor had no doubt contained more information than he ever cared to investigate.

  "If you want to see change, want to see some return to normality, contact me. I believe we have a lot in common."

  The man turned and left, leaving Taylor with a hundred and one questions. It was a good strategy because it had worked. He wasn't at all sure what part Armand had to play in it all, but he knew it would not be the last he would see of him.

  Chapter 5

  "And breaking news, a battle has broken out in the conference hall at the Parc des Princes stadium in Paris, the location at which Gladiatorial games took place last week. There are mixed reports that alien sympathisers were involved in what could be a terrorist act, while others say
alien Mechs were in a clash that left a number of dead and wounded. More to follow."

  That was what Taylor had to wake to after an afternoon kip in his suite. The comms unit on the wall was flashing and had been for several minutes, but Jafar had made no attempt to answer it. Finally, Taylor got to his feet and accepted the call, finding General White's secretary at the other end.

  "Please hold for the General," she stated.

  He appeared a split second later and had obviously been waiting impatiently for a response.

  "What the hell is going on there, Mitch?"

  "Weaver went off the rails. Released one of Demiran's Destroyers... or whatever they're called in the press conference. It went crazy. Killed him, and did its best to kill me. Got a few civilians and cops on the way."

  "Christ," he said, dipping his head into his hands.

  "This was supposed to be a PR stunt, and it's a fucking disaster."

  He went silent as his mind mulled over the situation and tried to find some answers.

  "You sure that's the way it happened? There's talk of terrorism. It'd be a lot easier to explain than our man going psychotic and getting civilians killed."

  "That's how it happened, Sir."

  "And you, how did you survive?"

  "Barely."

  "This could put us in a world of hurt. We're gonna have to shift emphasis over to Weaver. He caused this shit, so he can take the blame for it, not like the stupid idiot is around to clean up the mess. Distance yourself from this, Colonel. There's trouble coming with this POW situation. At least we have comparatively few over here."

  "So that's it? Dig our heads in the sand. Pretend none of this happened and ignore it all, Sir?"

  "Bet your ass that's what you're gonna do. You’re gonna stay there a few days until this situation calms down and then quietly slip out of there. Come back home, have that leave you deserve, and move on."

  Sounds like a plan, he thought.

  “We’re gonna chalk this one up to a failed concept and get past it. Less we hear about it now, the better. Report to me when you get Stateside.”

  The transmission cut off, and Taylor could not help but feel he’d been ripped off. He’d risked his life and put everything he had into Weaver’s concept, and he’d not got as much as a compliment on his work or a thanks for his efforts.

  “Nice to know my life can be gambled on a clever idea, isn’t it?” he asked Jafar.

  The alien grunted and seemed to be indifferent.

  “Yeah, that’s right. You like fighting, and death means nothing to you. Great.”

  There was no response.

  “Is there no way to get a rise out of you? Nothing I can do that will ever piss you off enough to get angry?”

  “Why would you?”

  “Curiosity, maybe.”

  The sarcasm was lost on him, and the room was left in silence.

  “This is a fucking disaster, all that work and effort, and for what? We’re stuck over here having risked our lives for nothing. Bring back the wars, I say. I’ll take them any day over this misery.”

  He knew Jafar would agree, anyway. He always agreed fighting was favourable over all else.

  “I’ve had enough of this. There’s not even a thing to drink in here. Let’s find a bar.”

  “And the General’s orders?”

  “The last orders I got from the General almost got us killed. He’s cutting all ties with this. As long as we get back home in the next few weeks, he’ll be happy. All the years we fought over this country, and yet it seems we don’t have a friend left in it.”

  Taylor stripped off his armour and was glad to be free of it. His BDUs still displayed the dried blood around the collar from his fight before, but he didn’t care anymore. They strode out of the suite to find no one before their door. Not a guard to protect them, nor keep them in place.

  “From celebrity to forgotten in five minutes. Can’t say I’m complaining,” he stated.

  Ten minutes later they were walking into a nearby bar, in what felt like a repeat of the events that had led to the brawl and subsequent night in police cells so recently. Exactly as before, many of the patrons turned to stare at them, Jafar in particular. Taylor sighed at how boring this scenario was becoming.

  “Yes, he is an alien. I am Colonel Mitch Taylor and this is Jafar, one of my most loyal colleagues. If you have a problem with any of this, then make it known now! Otherwise, should you say nothing and then cowardly make an attempt against…”

  He drew his pistol and held it up for all to see.

  “I’ll shoot the first bastard who lays a hand on either one of us and not hesitate to shoot a few more. We did not fight over this country to put up with any bullshit. Now, can we sit down and enjoy a few beers?”

  “Of course, Monsieur Taylor!” yelled the man behind the bar.

  “Makes a change,” he muttered to Jafar.

  Grunts of approval echoed around the room, and several beckoned for them to come forward. It was the warmest welcome Taylor had ever gotten when Jafar was by his side.

  “It’s an honour to have you here, my friend,” said the barman, “and this friend of yours we hear so much about. I don’t know why you fight for us, but I thank you.”

  He passed two beers over the counter and didn’t ask for any payment. Taylor was speechless.

  “My brother said he met you once during the war. You would not remember him, but he certainly remembers you.”

  “Where did he serve?”

  “All over, a trainee doctor he was then, volunteered as a field medic.”

  “And now?”

  “Army doctor, he made it a career!”

  Taylor had been waiting to hear the bad news that he had been killed in the fighting there, as so many stories he heard around the World. He was already starting to like the place.

  “Paris is a lot easier to like when you aren’t having to fight over it,” he replied.

  The Frenchman nodded in agreement. In the background a TV projection was running, and a nearby patron called over in French. He was obviously asking for the volume to be raised. Taylor looked and saw he was once again on air.

  It was his speech from the conference hall moments before the battle with the Destroyer. The bar fell quiet as they watched it, realising it was the man sitting before them. Taylor’s name had become widely known worldwide, but few would recognise his face.

  The video came to an end with the screams in the room, and the signal cutting off and returning back to the news anchor speaking in French, of which Taylor understood nothing.

  “What are they saying?” Taylor asked.

  The barman looked uncomfortable, continued watching, and tried to translate as it went on.

  “They are saying you are creating…divides, amongst different groups. Some are calling you a hero and humanitarian, and others, a coward and alien sympathiser…”

  “Figures.”

  “Seems like you have created quite a stir.”

  “And you, what do you think?”

  The man looked surprised to be asked his opinion at all.

  “I…I don’t know. I wanted peace for my country. Beyond that, I don’t care. If people want to watch fighting on TV, then let them.”

  It wasn’t a particularly helpful response.

  “So, look here a second,” Taylor said, pointing to Jafar.

  “This is Jafar, an alien, a good friend of mine, and worth more than a platoon of fighters from most armies in the World. Do remember he is an alien? What we are saying here is, he is really no different from one of us. He fought for us, lives with us. Would you have him fight to the death in the arena and be butchered like an animal?”

  The barman looked confused and sheepish.

  “I don’t know. It’s not my place to say.”

  “But it is! Watch the TV. It’s public opinion which is deciding what we should do next.”

  “Maybe, Monsieur, but are you sure anyone really cares about public opinion that much?�
��

  It was food for thought. The report was still on going, and the barman continued to translate for him.

  “They are saying it was an alien who got loose at the stadium and caused many deaths, and that local authorities subdued the creature.”

  “Local authorities?” Taylor laughed.

  “They say there are growing calls to eradicate all remaining Krys on Earth, in an attempt to remove the threat to the public. Apparently, a number of leaders have signed a charter pushing for it at the UEN.”

  “Shit, this is really kicking off.”

  They heard a bottle smash at their side, and three angry looking locals approached.

  “How’d we know this one wasn’t in that stadium killing humans?” one asked.

  “He was there all right, saving lives.”

  “I don’t like Krys, and I don’t like enablers like you. You’re a disgrace to our race.”

  Taylor had heard enough. He drew his pistol and fired a shot through the man’s leg. He cried out in pain. His leg gave way, and he dropped to the floor, screaming in pain. The other two men went to move forward but stopped, finding themselves staring down the barrel of his gun.

  The rest of the room had silenced, and all that could be heard were the man’s screams. Everybody was too shocked to go to his aid immediately and could only stand in amazement at what had happened.

  “Monsieur, please, that’s enough,” pleaded the barman.

  Taylor knew that anyone else from his unit would have held him back, but Jafar simply stood and waited for a response from the rest of the crowd. Mitch knew it was an extreme measure, but he had become sick of the constant harassment everywhere they went.

  “You know everywhere we go we have to put up with the same assholes. Doesn’t matter what country, what city. Does nobody care that this alien fought on our side, that he was vital to our efforts in defeating them? That you can sit here today and enjoy your drinks because he was at my side fighting?”

  There was no response, though a few lowered their heads in shame.