War Dog Page 2

  Remembering the Scythia had drivers that would be getting wise to what he was doing, Krieger lifted the .50 behind him and aimed down, letting out another burst into the cab of the armored truck. The bullets exploded into the engine block, sending smoke escaping through the hood. He pumped round after round inside the roof of the cab until he was satisfied only lice could escape unharmed.

  When Krieger finally depressed the trigger of the .50, the village had become deadly quiet.

  A spot of movement by the nearest alley caught his eye. He aimed the .50 cal over just in time to see Walker emerge from the shadows into the lit main street. The Peacemaker surveyed the carnage, whistling softly.

  “Jesus, Krieger, you think you got ‘em all?”

  The Russian tossed the .50 onto the roof of the destroyed Scythia before climbing down to join his comrade. “I didn’t hear ‘thank you’ for saving your life.”

  “‘Thank you?’” Walker practically choked on the words.

  Krieger smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You almost got us both killed with that insane plan!”

  “God, you whine a lot,” Krieger said, swatting Walker in the gut with the back of his hand. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  Walker was bristling. “If you hadn’t bungled this operation up, we wouldn’t have had a dozen Olympus assholes gunning for us. And on top of that we’re still no closer to finding Bra—look out!”

  The warning was too late in coming. Krieger spun around just in time to see a Centurion at the mouth of an alleyway, preparing to fire his assault rifle.

  Miraculously, he never did.

  The Centurion made a jerking motion, like something had smashed hard into his back. A second later, a blade of Damascus steel sluiced through the reactive armor on his chest. The Centurion let out a burbling noise as he dangled on the blade like a minnow on a hook.

  “I can’t leave you two alone for a second, can I?”

  The voice came from Danny ‘Whisper’ Callbeck, who emerged from the shadows behind the Centurion. Retracting the wrist-mounted blade from his victim, Callbeck let gravity pull the trooper to the ground with a muted thunk.

  Krieger let out a breath as he and Walker moved to join their mission leader. Clad head to toe in the glittering onyx black metal armor of the Gestalt suit, Callbeck resembled a dark vision of death as he marched across the main street towards his cohorts.

  “So—” Danny said, his coarse voice filtered through the suit’s electronic modulator, “—which one of you do I have to thank for this mess?”

  Walker coughed, averting his eyes.

  Krieger grunted, avoiding the question. “Where have you been, tin man? We just took down entire Olympus squad of dumbasses.” He reached down to pick up one the F2000 rifles, turning the weapon over in his hand to inspect it. “These poor fools still can’t shoot for shit.”

  The faceless helmet of the Gestalt suit nodded. “Yes, these Centurions were still obviously affected by the Stream Withdrawal. Their reactions are terrible.”

  “What took you so long getting here, Callbeck?” Walker asked as Krieger tossed him the F2000 to inspect.

  “I got hung up after you two cowboys started shooting. My satellite uplink showed there was another squad of Centurions stationed just outside the village.” Danny paused to sheath the spring-loaded blade into his wrist armor. “I…dealt with them.”

  Krieger and Walker looked at each other. The man in the armor was even more impressive lately since returning from the mission in Arizona. It was amazing what the man was capable of with that suit.

  “Looks like you guys managed to scare away anyone who could help us,” Danny said, walking along the main street, scanning the area. “Any sign of Joe?”

  Walker shook his head. “Nope. If I had to guess, these guys were stationed here a while ago to pacify the area. All the locals appear to be merchants or militants. They all fled once the shooting started. I think the intel we got back in Kumbasa was bupkiss.”

  “Teach us to trust simpleton farmers,” Krieger grumbled. “If we don’t find him soon, Olympus will have Joe’s skin hanging on their wall at Ascension Island.”

  Danny turned to look at the two men. “Unfortunately, the situation has changed. I just received a message from Brick before all of this went nuts. There are reports that Olympus is aiding an SPLM military convoy that just attacked a United Nations medical encampment a hundred miles west of here. They’re reporting mass casualties. We’ve been ordered to suspend the search and investigate as a favor for the UN.”

  Krieger’s face twisted in confusion. “Wait, investigate? What about Joe? We were sent here to find him, not do favors for the UN!”

  “These are orders, Krieger,” said Danny, calmly. “Braddock…Joe will have to wait.”

  Krieger couldn’t detect a hint of emotion through the electrically filtered voice. “So that’s it? We leave Joe out here? He’ll be killed if he isn’t dead already!”

  “We don’t know that for sure. Believe me, I want to find him just as much as you do—”

  “No!” the Russian’s face was flush with anger at the Canadian soldier. “We need to find him now! I don’t know why he is here, or if he has indeed killed innocents, nor do I care—he can answer those questions when he is safe and found.”

  “This mission is under my command, Krieger,” Danny said, a slight hint of menace in his voice now. “I know how you feel about Joe, believe me we all do. But we’re Peacemakers. Our duty is to stop Olympus whenever and wherever we can. Joe will have to wait.” Danny reached over with his right hand and pressed a key on the holographic display on his opposite wrist. Quickly observing the readout, he said, “Packrat is on his way now, ETA two minutes for pickup just over that ridge two-hundred yards. Let’s get going.”

  Danny started walking in the direction of the LZ. Krieger looked over at Walker. His friend shrugged and went to follow the armored Peacemaker. “I don’t believe it,” Krieger said incredulously. “Does Joe mean nothing to either of you?”

  Danny stopped in his tracks. “He’s my battle brother. Of course he does. But my orders are clear.”

  “Stuff orders,” Krieger said.

  Beside Danny, Walker flinched. “Alexei…”

  “You’re taking his side too?” Krieger asked, turning to look his friend in the eye.

  Walker scowled. “Braddock’s been AWOL from the Unit for half a year. If he’s out here, he can wait a bit longer. Where can he go?”

  “Olympus will do anything to get a hold of him, you both know that,” Krieger said, anger pulsing through his body. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find him myself.”

  “Wait, Alexei, you can’t—”

  “Watch me!”

  With the Jeep Wrangler they’d driven into the town filled with holes from the firefight, Krieger would need a new ride. He marched across the road to a collection of huts where he’d noticed a few parked vehicles on his way into the village. On closer inspection, he spotted an ancient-looking Ford hatchback parked alongside a few rundown junkers. Giving them a pass, he headed straight for the Ford, calling over his shoulder, “If comradeship means nothing to either of you, that is fine with me!”

  Watching the Russian go, Danny said, “This Unit isn’t a country club, Krieger. You can’t just—”

  “I can and I am.”

  Trying the door of the hatchback, the big Russian found it was locked. Undeterred, Krieger smashed the window with his elbow, shattering it completely. Unlocking the door, he jumped in. Luck was with him—the keys were stuffed above the sun visor. He started the vehicle just as Walker marched up, resting a hand on the door frame. “Alexei, this is crazy? What are you going to do? Drive around until you run into Braddock? This place is a warzone—you’ll get killed!”

  Krieger looked over at Danny, standing like a statue in the middle of the street. “I have friends in low places in Juba. People who owe me favors.” He put the hatchback in gea
r and drove out into the street, forcing Walker to jump back. Krieger stopped to speak to Danny from the window, “Go do what your fearless leader asks. Brick never understood comradeship. Joe is still my friend. I will find him and bring him back—alive.”

  Danny took a second to respond. “You’re sure about this? I can’t promise what Brick is going to do.”

  The Russian sniffed. “The Captain never liked me much anyway. Tell him he can court-martial my ass.”

  “You’re not actually in the military, you know.”

  Krieger grinned. “Then he can kiss my ass.”

  The faceless helmet nodded stoically. Danny had to know it was pointless to try and stop his comrade. “Be careful, Krieger. For what it’s worth, good luck.”

  The big Russian nodded. “If Joe is alive, I will find him.” With one last glance at Curtis Walker, Krieger hit the gas and powered out of the village.

  * * *

  AS THE dust kicked up by the hatchback settled, Curtis Walker turned to look at Danny Callbeck.

  “How long do you think it will take him to realize Juba’s in the opposite direction?”

  Behind the steel helmet of the Gestalt suit, Danny chucked. “My money is on a day or so. Come on. We have a job to do.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bakadi, Twenty Miles South of Juba

  April 22nd

  RAINY SEASONS in Africa were a thing to be loved and feared in unequal measure—loved for the growing crops and clean drinking water, and feared for the dangerous floods that typically came with them. By the time Krieger had arrived at Bakadi—a small town just outside of the capital of Juba—a torrent had begun to fall. The rain doused the native populace as they tried to get to work in the morning—an activity made even harder thanks to the heavy Olympus presence within the town.

  Slowly driving the hatchback through the main drag of the village, Krieger took a minute to assess things so far. He knew there was going to be hell-to-pay for what he was doing from the Peacemaker higher-ups. Captain Reynolds was already looking for a reason to get rid of him. Krieger knew the chief officer of the Peacemakers had never really trusted him. Brick had even gone so far as to tell him that he was a loose cannon and did not fit into the mold of what a true Peacemaker was.

  The big Russian cared little about any of that. As far as Krieger was concerned, Brick Reynolds and the rest of his ridiculous unit of heroes could eat dirt. He knew perfectly well he didn’t fit in with the buttoned-up sensibilities that would one day lead the Peacemakers to their own end. None of that mattered anymore.

  Right now, all he cared about was finding Joe.

  Krieger would never admit it, but he loved the man like a brother, just like Danny did. The past six months had felt like an eternity to the wild Russian. For the first time in years, he believed he’d found a kindred spirit in Braddock. He respected the man’s fighting spirit and passion to do right. Joe had seen something in him—respected and treated him like an equal. That respect and friendship had kept Krieger honest with himself. He knew without Joe, eventually he would embrace a darkness that constantly threatened to engulf him—a darkness he tried to keep at bay with his flippant personality.

  Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts, Krieger focused on his plan, which depended on him getting into the capital unmolested. Back during the time he’d run his own private security firm, Iron Hammer, he’d made sure to keep a wide range of contacts throughout the many hotspots of the world. A gun supplier here, a mafia stoolie there—he’d managed to form a decent web of persons that could help in difficult times. Apart from some militiamen scattered throughout Khartoum in the north, he didn’t know too many trustworthy friends around here—but he did know someone in Juba who still owed him one.

  Krieger just prayed he wasn’t the type to carry a grudge, considering the last time he’d seen the man.

  From the briefing they’d received before coming to South Sudan, Krieger had learned Juba was under martial law and currently occupied by an entire cohort of Centurions. He knew there would be no safe way in without a disguise.

  He hoped someone in this little burg would be so kind as to donate one to him.

  Had he thought of it at the time, he would have checked the troopers he left back in Jufawa for a uniform, but considering the state he left them in, the chances of finding one his size was low.

  After he’d parked the hatchback, Krieger donned his rain poncho and struck out into the streets, searching for an opportunity to present itself. With any luck, it wouldn’t take long to find a Centurion roughly his size.

  It took the big Russian the better part of a day to find the right patsy for his plot. Just like back in Jufawa, the Centurions here were just as shaky and unprepared. The local people hated the ‘Dark Masters’ with a passion, as they were often beaten, robbed, or outright murdered by the scattered squads of Stream-deprived Centurions.

  It was later in the evening when Krieger got his big break.

  A pair of Centurions, probably off-duty, had parked their obsidian-black Hummer a few meters from where he stood so they could hassle a shopkeeper nearby. Once they’d finished, Krieger followed behind the oblivious duo as they trundled along the rainy streets, speaking to each other about who next to harass. He noted they were each armed with the older HK XM8 assault rifles, no longer preferred by the PMC.

  When they turned a corner and moved down a quiet road towards their next location, Krieger made his move.

  “Evening gents!” he said loudly above the rain. The closest Centurion swung around just in time to receive the Russian’s twelve-inch tactical Bowie knife directly through the plexiglass faceplate of his helmet. The iron smell of blood mixed with rain as the trooper twitched before dropping into a deep puddle on the ground.

  The last trooper was slightly quicker than his friend and almost managed to raise his XM8 assault rifle.

  But the Russian beat him to the draw.

  Whipping his left hand out, Krieger clasped the muzzle of the rifle—pushing the gun to the side. A single shot rang out but was mostly drowned by the heavy rainstorm. While holding the gun away from him, Krieger hauled off with his right and belted the Centurion hard in the face. While the helmet the man wore may have protected him somewhat, it was enough to stun the man for a few seconds—all the time Krieger needed to yank the gun from his nerveless hands. Allowing the weapon to drop, Krieger grappled the Centurion into a forward headlock.

  With a loud snap, he broke the man’s neck.

  The body went limp in his arms. Letting it fall into the street, Krieger took a breath.

  Two men in less than six seconds. Not bad.

  He looked around, knowing his stunt would have attracted undue attention. But besides a barking dog attached to a post a few yards away, there was no one in sight.

  “Good,” Krieger said to himself, wiping the rain from his eyes, “Now for the not-so-fun part.”

  Tossing the first Centurion roughly into a nearby trash dumpster, Krieger spotted an out-of-the-way alley that would work perfectly for what he needed. Picking up the two rifles awkwardly in one hand and hoisting the second body on his other shoulder, he made his way over to the alley—dropping the Centurion there. The big Russian then began the task of stripping the heavy uniform from the trooper. After three minutes of less than pleasant work, he stood fully decked out in the Centurion armor. It was a tight fit, but would do for what he had planned. More importantly, he located the trooper’s PDA, a special tablet device kept by all soldiers in Olympus that served as personal identification.

  It was his ticket past the Juba roadblocks.

  Pocketing the PDA, Krieger hid the body under a collection of garbage and empty boxes and emerged from his hiding spot—a fully armed and dressed member of Olympus.

  Krieger made his way back to the Centurion’s Hummer—unlocking it with the set of keys they left him. It was an extremely well-decked out vehicle, with holographic displays and an advanced tracking system designed to aid urban pacificati
on.

  “Lucky maggots,” Krieger said to himself. “They get all the fun tools!”

  Starting the engine, he set out on the road to the capital.

  Phase one of his little plan was complete.

  Now to see if it held up to closer scrutiny.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Juba, South Sudan

  April 22nd

  BY THE time Krieger reached Juba, it was evening. The rain was falling hard as before, drenching the streets to the point vehicles in all lanes had to slow down, lest they risk hydroplaning. Traffic was fairly sparse, likely due to the increased security placed on the capital by Olympus. Eventually, the first checkpoint entry into the city came into view.

  Krieger took a few deep breaths, hoping he’d planned for all eventualities. It was possible the Olympus maggots would suss him out, in which case he would most likely be killed. Still, if it got him closer to his friend, he would have to take the risk.

  Ahead of him, one of the guards at the checkpoint waved him past the waiting civilian vehicles. Maneuvering the Hummer up to the guard area, Krieger counted at least a dozen Centurions and maybe half that number of Legionnaires—Olympus soldiers of a higher caliber than their lower-class brethren. Instead of the reactive armor the Centurions wore, Legionnaires wore similar getups favored by the Tribunes: heavy rynohyde bodysuits with combat vests over top. A set of reflective goggles perched on their faces below bright red berets sporting the Olympus crest. Peacemaker Intelligence had reported most Centurions within Olympus were still suffering from the Stream-Withdrawal en masse, but not these guys. They were highly trained and alert.

  Krieger took a breath and mentally crossed his fingers. Checking to see his helmet was fastened tight, he placed one of the XM8 rifles on the seat beside him as he drove up to the waving Centurion and lowered his window.