Stream of Madness Read online

  “Okay, just be quick. I don’t want this going bad for you,” murmured Joe. He turned his attention to Nizar and Jamal, still speaking privately. “What are they talking about?” Braddock asked.

  “The rebels are going to move the survivors of my tribe to the south. They will find a safe place for us for the time being. Then, they shall move us south of Damascus and on into Lebanon.”

  Joe nodded, afraid to ask the next question, “What will happen to Sandor and I?”

  “I don’t know…I think that’s what they are talking about right now.”

  Joe shook his head. His entire body felt like it had been bounced through a roller derby. “Are they going to kill him? Or us for that matter?”

  “I don’t think so. Jamal has explained how you helped us. Wait…” Ayishah looked over as one of the Syrian rebels, a rough looking fellow with tragic brown eyes, came towards them.

  He spoke tersely to Braddock in English. “Nizar wants to speak with you, American.”

  “Outstanding,” Joe said, his voice weak from the pain. He did as he was asked, lumbering painfully over to where Delacroix and their rebel savior awaited them. Jamal stood aside, his face grave. Joe took a deep breath and said, “What’s the good news?”

  Nizar spoke swiftly. Jamal translated, “They have agreed to take my people to the west. We will travel through the south edge of the country and make out way towards Lebanon. You are welcome to come along.”

  Joe managed a nod, “Good. I’m glad for you, my friend.”

  Nizar spoke further, his tone becoming notably harsher. Jamal translated, “He…he says the Centurion cannot come.”

  Joe raised an eyelid, “Say again?”

  Nizar talked, Jamal interpreted, “The Centurion is a pariah to his people and has proven himself in saving us. He may go free, but Olympus cannot be forgiven for its crimes. His fate shall be left in Allah’s hands.”

  Joe shot Nizar a ruthless glance, his anger cutting through the intense pain he was feeling, “You mean you’re just going to leave him here to get picked off by some ISIL bastard?”

  The Syrian Opposition Commander stared Joe hard in the eye before speaking in broken English, “You may come with us. He must stay. His life is in Allah’s hands.”

  “That’s bullshit! If it wasn’t for Sandor, these people would be dead!”

  Jamal placed a hand on Joe’s arm, “I have tried to change their minds. They will not waver. Their decision is final.”

  Sandor, throughout the discussion, had stayed silent. He looked at Joe, a faint waft of a smile on his brutal chin, “Don’t worry yourself, Peacemaker. I can handle things on my own.”

  “I am on a mission to return this man to my people, in America.” Joe said, his blood rising, “He knows things that will harm Olympus, do you understand?”

  Nizar repeated his earlier statement, “You may come, he must stay.”

  “Then I’m staying too.” Joe said, crossing his arms.

  Jamal looked confused, “Sergeant, if you stay, you will–”

  “–die?” Joe interrupted, “I’ve felt myself die more than a few times since I’ve been in this godforsaken country. Once more won’t make a difference.”

  Joe saw Sandor looking at him, a perplexed expression on his dirt smeared face. The Peacemaker looked at Nizar and asked, “Do you have a radio or phone are anything we could borrow?”

  Nizar shook his head, “Radio transmissions dangerous, Olympus listening in.”

  “We will radio your people in Iraq once we reach the Opposition base,” Jamal said enthusiastically, “We will tell them where you are going.”

  “Thanks, but by now, it probably won’t do much good.” Joe said, rubbing his bandaged arm gingerly, “Still, it’s appreciated.”

  Nizar spoke Arabic to Jamal, then gave a signal to the surrounding rebels. The soldiers began to disperse, taking the Shaitat people to several large trucks parked at the south entrance of the town. Joe turned to watch as the tribespeople mounted up.

  Joe felt a hand touch his arm. Ayishah. The woman had approached so quietly, Joe hadn’t heard her.

  She dropped her hand quickly, so as not to seem improper. “Sergeant, you don’t have to do this. Centurion Delacroix knew the price of helping us from the beginning. His sacrifice can be your salvation. Your people have left you behind. Come with us and we will survive this place.”

  Joe looked at the young woman, who had become so important to him over the past day, “You have a silver tongue, ma’am, but this is my mission. I have to make a go of it, you know? It’s all I have left now.”

  There were tears in the woman’s beautiful green eyes, “Then this is goodbye. May God watch over you, Sergeant Braddock. I know you place little regard in him, but please know: he is watching always.”

  Joe lowered his eyes, not wishing to appear immodest to a woman of Arab custom, “I owe you a debt, Ayishah Bakr. You found me back there, in that darkness. I’ll never forget that. Wherever you go, I hope you stay safe.”

  Ayishah smiled. She touched her forehead in the traditional Muslim farewell, “Wa'laikum Assalaam, Sergeant Braddock.”

  Jamal walked up and placed a hand on Ayishah’s shoulder, “We must go.” He held out his right hand to Joe. “You are a good friend, Sergeant. I hope you find your way back to your people.”

  Joe clasped the man’s hand, shaking it tightly, “Goodbye. Stay safe, both of you.”

  Jamal nodded, his serious face relaxing with a respectful smile, “Wa'laikum Assalaam. God be with you, my friend.”

  NIZAR ORDERED the convoy to prepare to leave. The town was to be abandoned. The rebels were too few to make an attempt at excavating the dead from the cistern. For now, it would be left to the elements. Perhaps one day, when ISIL had been defeated, they could return.

  Sandor walked up beside Joe as the last of the Shaitat people loaded into the truck. From the back of the semis, the tribespeople leaned out and waved, speaking their goodbyes to the two men. By now, the wounded tribespeople had been tended to by the rebels. The injuries were superficial by and large. Joe thanked his lucky stars for that.

  The Centurion cocked his head towards Joe as they waved back, “Well, no radio, and there isn’t a single working car in this hole in the earth, but they gave us a week’s worth of food and water. And they let me have my gun back. All in all, not bad for rebel scum. Oh, I forgot, Nizar’s people found this…”

  Joe looked down and saw Sandor was holding his M4 Carbine.

  The Centurion grinned, “For a tough ass ex-Army Ranger, you have a bad luck tendency to lose your rifle. Might get you into trouble someday.”

  Joe accepted the gun gratefully. He’d thought it lost for good during his scuffle with the beast, Brutus. “Thanks.”

  The Peacemaker squinted across the sandy street at the departing vehicles. He saw the faces of those he’d protected over the past day watching him. Some eyes still held suspicion, but in most he saw a sliver of respect.

  Well, it was a start.

  With some slight injuries, they had come out alive in a fight against a legendary desert warrior and his pet Olympus killer.

  All told, it could have been much worse.

  Jamal and Ayishah were the last to board, helped onto the back of a semi by two rebel soldiers. Joe waved as the truck’s engine roared to life. It damn near broke his heart to know he’d probably never see either of them again. After only a day, he’d come to rely on them more than he could ever have imagined.

  “Good people, them.” Joe said.

  “Not bad,” replied the Centurion.

  The setting sun spread a burnished red flame across the Syrian steppe, creating a picaresque image for the departure. It was the first good thing Joe had witnessed in the last two days and wanted to burn it into his mind.

  They may make it, they may not. But it’s a chance.

  A chance for life.

  “Well Sergeant?” Sandor said, rubbing a sore muscle in his neck, “I think this town
’s had it for both of us. The Jordanian border is thirty miles due south. I’m exhausted, but I don’t cotton spending another damn second here.”

  “I hear that.”

  The last of the trucks rolled out of the village, leaving both men sitting in the midst of a ghost town.

  Sandor unfolded a map from his pocket. “Okay, I think we should push through as much as we can during the night. We can make a quick camp at this set of hills, here.” He pointed to a series of upraised hill markings on the map. “There’s a tiny civilian hamlet twenty miles from there that we might be able to jack a car from. You alright to travel?”

  “No, but what the hell choice do I have.”

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “On fire. Ayishah re-wrapped it, so I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Great. Because as soon as you start slowing me down, I’m ditching you, Braddock.” Sandor grinned as he hoisted his PSG-1 on his shoulder.

  “You’re a fucking ass, Centurion.”

  “You’re a jagoff, Peacemaker.”

  They took a few minutes to scrounge anything useful among the detritus of the town. Besides some desert rations carried by Saladin’s dead, there was little of use.

  “Okay, let’s see–” Sandor did a quick equipment check, “I’ve got three magazines left for my lady here,” he jerked a thumb at the PSG-1 slung to his back, “I still have my Desert Eagle, two clips apiece for him. Not great.”

  The Olympus merc snatched up a dropped AK from one of Saladin’s dead mercenaries. Joe managed to find a few extra clips of 5.56mm ammo from another dead body. He thought about grabbing an AK for himself, but decided against it. There was no chance they would get through the border by shooting. Adding another gun to his load would make little difference.

  Once finished, they made their way outside of the town, heading towards the south. They walked in silence for some time, with Joe leaning on the Centurion for balance.

  “By the way, back in the tunnel…”

  Joe frowned, “Yeah?”

  “You wouldn’t really have shot me, would you?”

  “Dunno. Wasn’t thinking right back there.”

  “You said something I didn’t quite get. You said ‘you’re him aren’t you?’ What did you mean?”

  Joe shook his head, “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

  Sandor snorted under his breath, “Christ. Out of all the Peacemaker’s I could have chosen, I get the shell-shocked one?”

  * * *

  HOURS AFTER all life had left the village of Dummaya, a small rat hopped down the collection of rubble, scurrying into the demolished cistern. The tiny creature sniffed the rocks, moving from stone to stone looking for whatever meal that could be had. It had to move carefully to not fall in the water.

  The rodent smelled the alluring scent of decay. As it moved among the dozens of dead human corpses, the rat came to a stop, sitting itself on a pile of rocks. There was enough food here to last a lifetime.

  The rat was about to begin its feast when a gauntleted hand smashed through the stones.

  Clasping the rodent, it held the animal tight in its palm.

  A real monster, made from iron, muscle and technology, erupted from the bed of boulders.

  It was in pain – the smell of charred skin rose from the beast’s body.

  Brutus stood for a moment, in the moonlight, staring up at the sky above the collapsed cistern. The beast listened to the squeals of the tiny animal caught in his grasp. He clenched his fist, crushing the rat with the collective pressure of 500 foot pounds. Blood and innards sprayed from both ends of the beast’s hand.

  Brutus stood to his full height, tossing the remains of the rodent away. He bolted out from the cistern and took off towards the open steppe, disappearing into the night.

  Chapter 17

  Allegiance

  Peacemaker HQ

  July 17th, 2015

  JADE MASTERS shoved herself away from the computer desk she’d been sitting for the past four hours. Her neck was cramped and she needed a break, having returned to the MOC earlier than she probably should have. She was needed here now, more than ever. Ever since the previous night, Major Stanlin had begun reassigning the MOC technicians and specialists from the Syrian operation to aid in the myriad other missions of the Peacemaker Corps. Orchid had just called in an SOS on her Op in Indonesia and Stanlin had been forced to pretty much gut Jade’s surveillance team. Masters was now left with a skeleton crew to oversee the outrageous amount of intel that flowed to them from the CIA, in the hopes of finding a trace of Joe Braddock. Jade knew if something didn’t turn up in the next few hours, Joe’s chances of rescue were minuscule.

  Jade took a slug of coffee from the travel mug on the desk. She really needed the caffeine. Her tired eyes stared at the computer screen in front of her, full of CIA drone readouts of ISIL activities throughout Syria and into Iraq. The screen was separated into six quadrants, each one a different feed from a drone.

  A needle in a bloody haystack.

  Jade sighed and tried to pay attention to the readouts. But the more she tried to concentrate, the more her mind wandered. Doubt began to take hold of her. She was beginning to believe that Joe had very well died in the jump. It twisted her stomach to think so, but the evidence was too much to deny. No contact, radio signal, no flares; nothing.

  She thought after spending most of her adult life in the service that she would be immune to the pain of loss by now. Jade had seen more than her share of grief – having fought side by side with Zimbalan rebels to rescue Sadoma city from the tyranny of President Musabe.

  She remembered the first time she’d met Joe, the day Olympus destroyed Hatfield, the rebel district of Sadoma. They had witnessed the destruction from afar, helplessly watching as Olympus leveled the district, killing thousands.

  In that horrible moment, she had looked into Joe’s face. She remembered the look of pain in his eyes as the fires burned bright. She had seen a fierce anger rise in him – an anger that knew no bounds. Joe Braddock would destroy Olympus or die.

  It was his passion that forced him on.

  Jade prayed that if Joe was alive, he had not given up yet.

  The Peacemaker was pulled from her thoughts as felt something brush past her leg. She looked down to a familiar pair of sad, dark brown eyes looking up at her.

  “Oh, Bowser, you shouldn’t be down here, Stanlin will flip!”

  Jade reached down and scratched the big German Shepard-Mastiff crossbreed.

  “He’s getting lonely without his master,” a familiar voice spoke from behind Jade. She turned to see Brick Reynolds walking towards her. The Brit smiled as he watched the dog accept a welcome petting from his favorite female soldier.

  “You miss that dumb Russian, don’t you boy.” Jade said, making a face at the dog. Bowser licked his lips and sulked.

  “He and I both. Jade…” Brick spoke with an edge of finality in his voice, “I think it’s time to bring the boys back. Repairs on their, ah, mysterious damages are finished. The Turkish Air Force wants them off the airfield as soon as possible, like yesterday.”

  Jade pulled away from the dog and back to her desk, “We can’t…we still don’t know yet if...” She stopped, knowing her words sounded hollow in her throat.

  Brick moved towards her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time we bring our boys home. We’ve done all we can. The Peacemakers are bigger than one man.”

  “You hardly know him! You couldn’t care less about Joe, could you?” Jade retorted, louder than she meant to. Her emotions were getting the best of her.

  “Braddock is a good soldier, one of the best I’ve served with. The berk can push my buttons, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t respect the man. But…” He removed his hand and sat down in the chair beside her, “…we need to accept the outcome this time. He knew the risk, going in there.”

  “No, he didn’t. He should never have gone. He’s sick.”

  Jade’s words caught
the SAS soldier by surprise, “Sick? What do you mean?”

  “Joe told me he…wasn’t well before taking the mission. Everything has been weighing on him: Danny, Jammer; it was all coming to a head. He’s in a dark place. I’m not going to give up on him when he needs someone to believe in him now more than ever.”

  The British soldier mulled over what he’d just heard. “Look, I know Stanlin is going to order the return of the Spirit Walker within the hour. We may as well get a lead on that and bring those boys home. I’m sorry Jade, but we’re outta ti–”

  “Corporal Masters!”

  Headcase, the redheaded female tech rushed over from her own terminal.

  “What?” Jade asked.

  “Drone feed coming in from the southern region of the Syrian Desert shows a firefight in one of the towns!”

  Brick scoffed, “Syria is in a civil war right now, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that.”

  Headcase frowned, “You didn’t let me finish. We ran faces of all observable combatants through a Limitless Scan…”

  Jade listened intently. The Limitless Scan was a present given to them by the CIA. A massive database of all known combatants in the past thirty years to the present throughout the world. Pattern recognition and facial algorithms allowed the Peacemaker techs to match a face up within a few seconds. If they were in the Limitless database, they would show up in the scan.

  “What did you find?” Jade asked, her heart quickening.

  “You’re not going to believe it, but our missing Centurion is alive and well, or was two hours ago, in a tiny town in southern Syria.”

  “Sod a dog!” Brick bellowed. Bowser looked up at him, his face curious. Brick smirked, “Not you, boy.”

  Jade was about to call the Major over when a comlink call came through over her headset. She answered it, knowing immediately who it would be. “This is Halcyon Base, go ahead Peacemaker One.”

  “Nice to hear your voice too, Jade!” Krieger’s unmistakable accent came through loud and clear. Jade quickly rerouted the call through her desk console.