Stream of Madness Page 11

  Too late.

  The single second of Joe dropping his guard was all Sandor Delacroix needed to fire a small dart at him. As Joe swivelled, he saw the smoking wrist launcher in Delacroix’s Centurion uniform. The realization he’d been shot came too late, as his vision doubled and his breath drew short.

  “Etrophine hydrochloride, Braddock. Sleep. You look like you can use it.”

  Sandor’s voice came from somewhere, but Joe couldn’t pinpoint it. His arms grew instantly heavy and he lost sensation in his hands. The AK clattered to the ground.

  Sandor’s voice sounded far away, “Sorry to have to do this, but things have changed on my end.”

  Joe felt his legs give out and he dropped to the ground, rolling onto his back. He managed to mumble out a barely discernable word.

  “Why?”

  In his clouded vision, he could almost make out the face of his betrayer, staring down at him.

  “Hope you don’t blame me for this Braddock, but it’s better this way.”

  Joe tried in vain to lift his arms toward the indiscernible face looking down at him, but his strength was gone. Soon, all feeling in his body left him and Joe Braddock slipped into a blissfully dreamless oblivion.

  Chapter 10

  Hunter

  Syria, Raqqad Valley

  July 16th , 2015

  THE UNEASE growing in Rashid’s mind refused to give way as he followed his master up the craggy hill. It was far from a difficult climb, but the loose rock made it difficult to find proper footing and the long day of riding had tired him out. But it wasn’t the climb that worried the mercenary, it was the simple fact that they were out in the open, so close to known ISIL locations.

  For the past ten minutes, the forty Riders of the Scorpion had scoured the outer ridge of the Raqqad valley, all the while keeping a weather eye for ISIL forces. Brutus had led Rashid’s master, Saladin to the base of the Raqqad valley. According to the man/creature’s heightened senses, there was a scent of the wayward Centurion throughout the area. Saladin had taken a calculated risk and decided to investigate the crags in the hope of finding some conclusive evidence that their man was indeed close-by.

  While he searched, Rashid’s eyes strayed every so often towards the Olympus man-beast sitting at the foot of the valley. Brutus, still clad head to toe in the mountain of high tech machinery, had barely moved since Saladin ordered him to stand guard while they searched. Rashid shook his head, trying to comprehend the madness that would bring someone to build a thing like that.

  “Rashid, I found it!” Saladin called from near the top of the hillside. Rashid hustled upwards, moving past the many rocks between him and his master. The Sand Scorpion was staring down at something Rashid couldn’t see.

  “Master, please, there could still be Islamic State patrols in the area.” Rashid looked around the steppe, concerned for their security. Saladin waved it away.

  “Brutus has informed me the area is secure. The ISIL fortifications were all but abandoned. They destroyed an empty encampment. Fools and their high powered weaponry.”

  The Sand Scorpion knelt down amidst the rocks, “Look here…the tracks are fresh.” Saladin pointed at a smattering of grooves and imprints in the sand. “Do you see the patterns there? It’s our missing Centurion, I am certain. He was camped here for some time.”

  Rashid let out a breath of aggravated air. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Simple. Olympus provides all of its soldiers with boots that include bottom patterns specifically designed for each individual soldier. This allows for each man to be readily identified simply by their footwear.”

  Rashid looked at the prints, seeing no difference between them and any other boot print. Far be it for him to question the Scorpion on his formidable tracking skills, but Rashid simply didn’t see it, “You are sure of this?”

  “Of course. Our good friend Falco provided us with the exact designs of the boots. This is definitely our man,” Saladin pointed down the hill at the hulking Olympus super-soldier, “Our beast there was quite correct. By my reckoning, the man was here only twelve or thirteen hours ago.”

  Rashid nodded, inwardly dumbfounded. If someone had told him a week ago that there existed a man/beast/machine capable of tracking a soldier through the desert of Syria on scent alone, he would have vowed they were mad.

  But now, seeing what Brutus could do, Rashid knew better than to second guess Olympus’s amazing tracker. “There are vehicle tracks at the base of the hill leading both to the northeast and the south.”

  “We head south. ISIL is too concentrated in the north. Our Centurion friend knows this, I am certain of that. He will make his way towards Jordan, or perhaps Iraq…sneak across the border and leave this country for good.”

  Rashid cast a glance towards the setting sun, “Should we continue tonight, my lord?”

  “No,” Saladin said, shaking his head, “The light won’t last another half hour. ISIL forces love to patrol at night, and our horses are tired. We shall send Brutus out. He has so far performed admirably. He will be able to track any vehicles far easier than we could.”

  The Sand Scorpion proceeded down the hill. Rashid fell in behind his leader, head bowed in thought.

  “What is on your mind, Rashid?” Saladin asked.

  “I don’t understand. What was the Centurion even doing here?”

  “Do you not remember the bombing run during the night?”

  “Of course.” Rashid frowned as a thought crossed his mind, “You don’t think that was in any way his doing?”

  “I doubt it. ISIL radio chatter have stated this was either an American or Jordanian attack. Olympus has no contact with either country. I think our man was drawn here. Perhaps he was waiting for the attack…or something that preluded it.”

  “Sir?”

  Saladin slid down several feet of rocky terrain, keeping his balance as assuredly as a mountain goat, “Just a thought, Rashid. Obviously our man wishes to leave this country and escape Olympus. Perhaps he has already been in contact with an outside party.”

  “You mean someone is attempting to rescue him?”

  Saladin nodded, “A possibility. Whether this was a failed attempt or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is they may try again.”

  The sun had dipped behind the horizon by the time they exited the hillcrest. Saladin and his second-in-command joined the other Riders, who were busy either inspecting their weapons, or maintaining the horses.

  Saladin leaned over to Rashid as they walked, “There is a small water reservoir about half a mile east from here. Tell the men to make for it and set up camp for the night.”

  “Should I not come too, my lord? I hate leaving you alone with that…machine.”

  “I will be fine, Rashid. Do as I ask.”

  “My master.” Rashid bowed and went to carry out his orders.

  * * *

  SALADIN APPROACHED the hulking Olympus tracker, his mind marveling at the piece of technology given to him by those he would soon consider equals. Brutus stood staring out across the desert waste, his massive form rising and falling from each breath it inhaled. The wicked looking gauntlets he wore looked fully capable of slicing a man to ribbons.

  An army created this man…this war machine. One day I shall be the one to command Olympus. One day…

  His ambitions were infinite. Saladin knew full well the game the Olympus Lords played against one another. It was a game of one-upmanship that he knew he would excel at. He had made a bargain that would finally get him close to the higher-ups. Once there, Saladin would quickly prove his extraordinary tactical mind to Tiberius...to the Imperator himself. He would cast aside the weakling underdogs and lead the army to victory after victory. He would reap honors on his name that would see his enemies whimpering at the mere mention of it.

  The Sand Scorpion licked his lips, hungry at the thought. Soon. Oh so soon. Once the Centurion was found, Saladin’s true ascent would begin.

  The question of why
Olympus wanted the man was one Saladin had pondered often over the past week. Centurions were elite in the ranks of Olympus, usually made up of ex-Special Forces from around the world. The information they were entrusted with was rarely of any consequence.

  What did this man know that scared Olympus so much?

  Brutus stirred as the Sand Scorpion approached. Saladin cleared his throat. He did feel some apprehension speaking to such a dangerous creation.

  “Brutus, you have performed admirably. But now I need another job from you.”

  Brutus made no movement or gesture to show he understood.

  Saladin continued, “I believe our quarry is attempting to escape the desert by an unknown party. I need you to track down anything suspicious in a two mile radius of this area. You are to hunt through the night and inform me by comlink of anything out of the ordinary. Is that understood?”

  “Attack?”

  Saladin shook his head, “No. Do not engage. Patrol and report; that is all. Once you have secured the area, I want you to mark any vehicles that have left this site in the past twelve hours. If I am not mistaken, the bombing run from the night before should have left chemical residue behind that can be tracked with your sensors. Are you capable of this?”

  Brutus made a strange movement that Saladin took for a nod. He smiled, “Excellent. Go now.” Before the beast could leave on his errand, Saladin took a risk and spoke again, “Halt. There is something…I must know.”

  Brutus stopped in his tracks, retaining a neutral position. Saladin looked back to where his men made camp. They were busy and none seemed to be looking his way. He drew closer to the seven foot man/machine.

  “Hold out you right arm.” Saladin commanded.

  With no hesitation, Brutus held forth his bulky arm. Underneath the armor, the muscles bulged as if barely held together by the sinew and skin.

  Saladin drew closer to the beast, breathing faster. He reached his own hand forth, trembling as he did. He placed his hand on the arm, letting out a small gasp of air.

  Brutus did not move.

  “It…it is amazing! The feel of utter and total strength. Unbridled and barely contained!” Saladin ran his hands up and down the arm, feeling every contour of technology, every inch of exposed skin, “Olympus has given you power that I can only imagine. You can end a man’s life with a twist of these hands. We have much in common, you and I. We are both trackers – hunters who will never allow our prey to escape.”

  Saladin felt a surge of desire in his loins. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of elation. The pure, unadulterated strength of this machine proved to him that Olympus needed his leadership. An army of men like this, and ISIL, even the entirety of the Middle East, could be brought to heel quickly.

  The moment passed and Saladin opened his eyes, taking his hands from the arm of the machine. He took a deep breath and regained his composure.

  “War beckons us both, Brutus. Do as I have asked. Go now.”

  Brutus stomped the ground and exploded across the desert, beginning his patrol. Saladin looked up at the first stars beginning to peak through the night sky, thanking Allah in his righteousness for giving him the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Soon…

  LZ Gamma, Three Miles East of Raqqad

  July 16th, 2015

  “Come on Joe, where are you?”

  Krieger lowered the nightvision enhanced binoculars and checked his watch. 10:05pm. He straightened the shoulder strap of the M60E3 light-machinegun slung over his back, keeping the weapon loose in case of any encounters they may run into while parked on the Syrian plateau.

  Fat chance of that, Krieger thought to himself. The LZ at Hotel Gamma, three miles due east of the Raqqad valley was quieter than a mouse fart. Krieger raised the binoculars again and scanned the horizon.

  “Krieger, Stanlin’s on the line,” Packrat’s voice came from the lowered aft bay door.

  The Russian grumbled to himself, angry at the Major’s impatience.

  The last twenty minutes had been infuriating for the burly Peacemaker. Once the sun had set on the eastern plateau, Packrat had set the Spirit Walker down in the clearing for the second attempt at retrieving their missing Sergeant. Stanlin had initially rejected the second attempt, stating there was little to no chance Braddock had survived the jump. Krieger had later found out it was Jade Masters who had changed his mind to go through with the second retrieval. The Russian didn’t want to imagine what it took for the ex-UN Peacekeeper to convince their stone-wall CO to o.k. the pickup.

  But so far, there was nothing. Joe was nowhere to be seen. The radio comlink had been dead since the jump last night. Packrat’s constant attempts to contact Braddock had been met with dead air.

  Krieger scanned the horizon a final time, hoping against hope his American friend would be walking across the plateau, alive and well.

  Nothing.

  Packrat called out to the Russian once more, “Krieger, the Major says–”

  “I hear you, keep your damn pants on!” Krieger snarled as he dropped the binoculars and headed back to the landed VTOL. A feeling of failure crept into the Russian’s mind, weighing down his heart. He knew exactly what the Major would say and he would have no choice but to acquiesce to the order.

  Marching up the gangway into the dimly lit aft bay of the modified stealth Osprey, Krieger snatched the earpiece comlink from Packrat’s outstretched hand, placing it on his head.

  “Go ahead Haly-Con One, this is Krieger, over.”

  The Major’s stern voice bellowed over the comlink, “Krieger, you’ve been ordered to evac towards Incirlik base for refueling. What is the delay, over?”

  “Joe may still show, Major. Give us twenty minutes more, I know he’ll make it.”

  “You are not in any position to argue here, Krieger! Tell Packrat he is to get back to Incirlik immediately! That is an order!”

  Krieger shot a quick glance to his comrade. Packrat shook his head. “I gotta take my orders, Krieger. You know that.”

  The Russian exhaled a hot breath of air. He clicked the comm, “Sorry Major…didn’t make…last part out…getting…interference.” The Russian made a series of whooshing noises with his mouth, imitating static, “We understand…*chhssshh*…twenty more minutes…*chsshhsshh*…Peacemaker One out.”

  “Wait! What the hell is going–”

  Krieger disabled the transmission and tossed the comlink back to Packrat. “Twenty more minutes, then we go.”

  Packrat was about to disagree, but the look in the eyes of massive Russian made him change his mind. “Fine…twenty minutes.”

  Krieger nodded his thanks. Grasping the binoculars, he headed back out and continued scanning the area.

  Come on Joe, where are you?

  * * *

  FIVE HUNDRED feet away from the parked aircraft, a beast stalked the desert night. Brutus had honed in on the landed aircraft upon reaching the outskirts of his perimeter patrol. Keeping low to the ground, the Olympus war-machine silently approached the landed jet, scanning the area with his sensors for any human life forms.

  There were two: one on board the jet, the other just outside.

  Killing both would be easy. He could rend their bodies inside out before they knew what was happening.

  For the machine of war, killing was something programmed into his genetic makeup. It was almost as easy as breathing – easier, in fact. The years of conditioning Olympus had invested in crafting a perfect predatory tracker had succeeded all too well. Brutus was incapable of any thought other than what was programmed by his masters.

  But for now, killing was not in the equation.

  “Patrol and report, that is all…”

  The orders were clear and Brutus would not break them. Instead, he activated the cameras in the modular suit to analyze the new targets and transmit the data to his new master, the one named Saladin.

  For now, Brutus was hungry.

  It was time to hunt.

  * * *


  KRIEGER CHECKED his watch. His twenty minutes were almost up.

  Damn you Joe!

  He glared through the nightvision hoping that his friend would miraculously appear out of thin air.

  Something caught his eye. A blur of movement off to his right. The rangefinder read the distance between the anomaly and himself to be near four hundred feet. After a second of sweeping the area, he lost sight of it.

  An animal?

  It had looked too big to be a goat or hyena. A mountain lion maybe?

  Taking no chances, Krieger unslung the M60E3 from his shoulder. He peered back towards the patch of darkness.

  Packrat called out from the aircraft, “Krieger, we have to go. I can’t put off the Major any longer.”

  “Shush!” Krieger hissed, “There is something out there.”

  Packrat hushed as he looked out from the aircraft into the cool Syrian Desert.

  Off somewhere in the distance, Krieger heard the rapid chuckling of a jackal. Was that what he had seen?

  He followed the sound with the nightvision, trying to find the animal.

  The jackal continued to chuckle, amused at its own instinctual private joke.

  Then, there was an abrupt yelp. Krieger thought he heard a sharp crunch sound before the desert was plunged back into silence.

  Krieger swept the area, but saw nothing. Whatever it was had disappeared; swallowed by the desert night.

  “Krieger…”

  “All right, all right. Start up the engine. It’s nothing.”

  Packrat nodded, his face wane, “I’m sorry. We followed our half of the mission. Joe must not have made the fall.”

  “Just get us in the air. I want to be out of this goddamn country!” Anger boiled in the Russian’s veins. Giving up on his friend was the last thing he wanted, but the pilot was right; they had done everything they could.

  As the Spirit Walker’s engines powered on, Krieger closed the aft bay door. As he did, a lingering thought nagged his mind.