ISBN: 9781624886270
There wouldn’t be a Gary, wouldn’t be a love of reading and writing, and wouldn’t be an Olympus Union series without my parents. To them, as always, I offer my love, respect and thanks. Troy Burnett, Jon Dunn and Scott Stafiej have offered a great deal of feedback, acted as sounding boards, and provided general support that was key to making this third book happen.
Christopher and Katie Moccio and their crew down at Christopher’s keep my mojo running. Whenever I was stuck, I could sit in that fantastic atmosphere, eat their incredible food, and spend time around their amazing people. Just like that, the creative juices started flowing again. Special thanks to Danielle Abbate and Erin Poletnovage for lending me their names and allowing me to riff on their great personalities. Whatever you think of their characters in this book, the two women in real life are spectacular!
A special thanks, for all that she’s done, to Rachel Butler. The girl that knows the right question to ask: pre or post apocalyptic?
Bryan Hardbarger, Scott West and Brian Tudor have provided much in the way of encouragement. To then I offer this pledge: my Red Scythe short stories will become the basis of a full Olympus Union novel. Hail Red Scythe!
Wyatt Davenport, the author of the Lunara Series, and my fellow “up and comer” has been an unending source of support and suggestion. He’s offered great feedback. He’s lent me a hand where I’ve needed it. He’s a great guy and one I fully support. Hopefully you’ll all support him too.
Finally, I offer a special thanks to those of you who have bought all three books. The fantastic folks who kept up all along; who reached out to offer suggestions and feedback; the people who walked through this trilogy with me. Your acceptance gave me purpose for continuation and inspired a mad, driving thought: I need to keep on writing. Thank you so much for your support. I invite you to OlympusUnion.com to find me in all of the ways that I communicate, and communicate with me.
“Quickly! Quickly! Let’s move it, men! No letting up,” Justin Brand yelled out, coaxing his Ares Elite forward through the stark hallway. “We’ve got the upper hand, and I’d like to keep it!”
The Ares Elite were charging full boar through Ganymede Station on a raid mission. The firefight was on in full, raging more forcefully than any of them had quite expected. At least fifteen Jovian soldiers lay dead in their wake; conversely, the Olympian super soldiers had yet to lose one of their own. This was the ninth such skirmish between the two factions since Brand and his team had arrived in the system, more than nine long months ago. Calculating the true to life scores, the Captain had deemed the previous eight to be a split in view of overall success and failure. Former conquests paled in comparison, though; this was by far and away the most important mission they had undertaken.
Winning back Ganymede was absolutely crucial to ending the Jovian revolution. The foolish rebellion had gone on long enough, in Brand’s opinion. Fuel for their illegal activities came from Olympus Union funded projects. Not for long, though. Brand aimed to stifle their stranglehold on the burgeoning, Earth-like world. Terraforming had been too successful to lose it to the traitors. Soon, the sprawling farms and freshly minted reservoirs would come back under Olympian control. Secession, the rebels would find, was far more difficulty without a steady supply of food and water. He’d deny them both.
The Hydras had refused to bring their beloved ships into the system as of late. No new water was flowing outward from the core worlds. Exports from Earth were recently diverted to the space stations orbiting Venus, instead. Luna and Mars would be the beneficiaries of those comet mined fluids traveling in from further outward. Whoever controlled Ganymede, thus, would definitively control the Jovian System. No one doubted this.
The rapidly terraforming moon was unconquerable in its own right. Battle waged on the ground would too easily disrupt much of the accomplishments. Destruction would be far too catastrophic, rendering victory meaningless. The key was its orbital station, which controlled all space traffic and communications. Justin was determined to walk off of Ganymede Station the victor.
Not a fool, himself, he was willing to retreat if absolutely necessary. Of course, that would only come to pass if it were the solitary tactic for preserving his team, and what it represented. But, should a man or two be needed in sacrifice, to give his life to claim this station, and turn the tide, then that’s exactly what they were all here for. That included Justin. The Ares Elite were charged with defending the sanctity of the Olympus Union. Nothing could possibly qualify more than returning the Jovian System completely to Olympian control.
Avinoam David, his Sergeant and second in command, hustled up. The trademark smile hadn’t even left his face, despite the chaos.
“According to the layout we were provided, we’re just one deck above the entrance to the main hangar bay,” he said. “I’m willing to bet, if we can get down there, we can have some real fun. No doubt they’ve got plenty more of these pretend soldiers for us to knock over. Civilians all seem to be heading toward the aft sections of this deck. We shouldn’t have to worry about any accidental deaths.”
“Good intel,” Brand nodded. “Can you get us down there?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded, still grinning. “They have a lift not too far from here, just around the next corner. It’s down the hall about a hundred feet. Odds are pretty good it’ll either be heavily guarded on all decks where they have people, or booby trapped wherever they don’t.”
Justin made a face, wordlessly expressing his distaste, but Avinoam just shrugged.
“Shouldn’t be too big of a deal. Not sure why they think we’re lazy. I mean, unless they just think we’re stupid. See, I found us an access stairway. Roughly three hundred and fifty feet further, straight down the corridor, tucked on a corner. It’s not overly convenient, I’ll give you, but there is a nice little perk: they probably won’t even think about it since it’s that much further away. They don’t know how fast the Elite can move. If we run for it, we can be down one deck within five minutes.”
“Perfect!” He nodded towards the front. “Get up at point. On the hop. Keep the pace quick, and make sure everyone knows where we’re going.” Avinoam arched a questioning eyebrow. “Go head, lead us out. I’ll take the rear guard.”
Sergeant David dutifully jogged off toward the front of the line. Pausing only to spread the word to his troops as he went, he kept up a rather swift pace. An encouragement here, a slap on the shoulder there and soon the men were all geared up and running. Keeping pace with him was nothing difficult. Ares Elite underwent genetic modification, resulting in enhanced musculature and improved lung capacity.
Boots stomped the deck like a thundering herd of cattle. Soaring across the steel and through the station, not one soldier broke a sweat. Passing the booby-trapped lift, he led the column to the far side of the wall, just to be safe. No telling if there might be proximity sensors.
When he finally approached the access stairway, Avinoam didn’t even slow their pace. No need to concern themselves with missteps; the Elite had an exception sense of balance. Bursting through the doorway, he took the stairs at nearly the same speed, his soles dangerously close to slipping, and yet, never once did. Fleet feet trampled down after him.
Ares Elite spilled out into the new corridor, landing like waves rushing across a beach. They jumped out and then kicked to a halt. Fanning out, they established a defensive formation. Waiting, quietly catching their breath, all weapons were drawn and held ready. Faces were screwed tight, teeth clenched, but the scene fell somewhat anticlimactic. Brand and David came together briefly, conferring on location and plans. Settled up, Avinoam took off running again. The troop followed behind once more, eyes alert, heads oscillating to check for danger.
“Hangar is dead ahead,” he yelled, “weapons up, guys. Dive for cover when you find it!”
“What?”
“Dive! You’ll need it!”
The men move two abreast, spread as wide as the hall would allow without putting one another in danger. Staggering their formation would make it harder to fire into the group and take out more than one at a time. It also made it easier to fire back without hitting their fellow Elite. Strangely enough, not everyone who they had fought over the years understood the concept. Avinoam chuckled softly to himself at the thought. Realizing Captain Brand might be watching he stifled it quickly. Battle was for focus, not myth. He buttoned up.
As they came to the end of the passageway, the station opened up into a much larger corridor. This design was common architecture among the orbital space stations throughout the Jovian System. Larger spaces generally indicated an important junction, or crossing into a major section of the deck. The expansive main hangar, as expected, sat dead ahead of them. Element of surprise was theirs. Avinoam opened fire on the unsuspecting guards. Not squandering the moment, the other Elite began spreading out where they could, following suit with precision shots. The inferior Jovian soldiers were caught flatfooted, completely unprepared, and fell quickly. They offered less than a moment’s resistance.
The unstoppable surge crashed onward, into the hangar bay’s mouth, and opened fire on everything that they saw move. No one was safe. Technicians and pilots, not used to such conditions, dove for cover. Most were unarmed at first pass, a relative few of them reaching for ankle-holstered side arms. Momentary hope was such a fleeting thing.
None of the Jovian men were a match for the Ares Elite. Precious few shots came within several feet of the super soldiers. Towards the front, in opposite corners, two shuttles were preparing to flee. Justin watched as, at the right most, a man was waving frantically, just before he jumped through the portal.
“Up ahead,” Brand bellowed, “those shuttles! I want them both kept here. Bring them down now!”
The Ares Elite proceeded with single-mindedness. Avinoam took one group to the right, Brand leading another to the left. Firepower was concentrated on the engines themselves, weapons unloading mercilessly, seeking to cripple the vehicles. The tactic was a minor modification to a standard, well-drilled Elite procedure. Had they been on the ground, the soldiers would shoot the wheels free of any vehicle, be it attacking or fleeing. No one gave any thought to another strategy, it was so common. Having considerably less experience in space, however, none of the men realized just how badly mistaken their common assumptions were.
Avinoam’s team poured fire into the tail section of their target, from varying angles, as the pilot frantically ran through his start up procedures. It was a deadly race. Someone leaned out, trying to shout at the Olympian soldiers, but a quickly placed shot singed his hair and chased him back inside. On Brand’s side of the hangar, the Captain was even less inclined to allow an escape, nor permit distraction. One of the men quickly secured his gun and fished two cylindrical grenades out of his vest pocket. The one in his left flashed blue as he activated it; the right flashed yellow.
Rushing up, he cast the yellow one toward the tail section. The second, an incendiary grenade, he rolled under the region that should contain the passenger section. Blue lights began pulsing faster as it left his hand. Rushing away, the demolitions tech dove as the yellow grenade detonated. A sharp burst of heat reached out at him from behind as the engines erupted in a blaze.
The first shuttle crashed hard to the deck. The grenade’s explosion set off a violent chain reaction across the ship. Mixing with the incendiary charge, it burst into a raging inferno, raising the hull temperature far beyond sustainable temperatures. This vehicle was meant for inter-station travel, not atmospheric entry. It was prepped for extreme cold.
The grenade would have reduced a jeep to cinders. Faced with heavier, space-faring plating, it still roasted the shuttle’s hull to a deep, dark char. Brand planned to pop the hatch when it cooled down to a more reasonable degree. He knew for a fact, though, that no one on the inside would have survived what just happened. These shuttles were sparse, and not insulated for that kind of blast. Anyone not suffering painful and immediately fatal burn wounds from touching the walls while jostling would have asphyxiated from the searing air inside.
On the other side of the hangar, Avi was having better luck keeping his opponents alive, although bad news was soon to follow. His efforts, without resorting to explosives, produced a much simpler detonation sequence. The shuttle’s engine section was rendered a useless mass of scrap metal. The blast did rock the ship onto its side, but there were certain to be survivors. Bashed about, perhaps, but alive.
The Sergeant sent three of his men scrambling up the sides to retrieve the passengers. Each of the assigned Ares Elite jumped to the task. No concern was spared for the precarious positioning of the shuttle. The hull was stable enough. While they worked, he waited for Captain Brand, who jogged over, his retinue in tow.
“Nice work,” Brand complemented the other man.
“Thanks,” Avi smile beamed as usual. “What’re the chances that you’ve got any survivors?”
“Highly doubt it,” the Captain shook his head, frowning. No reason to look behind him. Scorched ovens rarely yielded raw meat. “Hopefully we’ll get some better answers on your side of the deck. Hmm,” he paused, eyebrows knit. “That doesn’t look so good.”
The two soldiers turned around as a highly irate gentleman, wearing a clearly ruined suit, hobbled towards them. Ripped and wrinkled, the garment made him look smaller. He was hurt, but fuming, with good reason. One of Avi’s dispatched Ares Elite walked steadily behind, his eyes also angry, locked on the man, but mouth firmly clamped shut.
“You idiots! What in the cosmos do you think you’re doing?”
“Our job, sir,” Justin answered with great emphasis. Soldiers and Olympus Union hierarchy deserved respect, even without giving it. Civilians needed to remember their place and his. They were to be protected, yes, certainly. No one had permission to speak in such a nasty manner to the Union’s super soldiers. “And you are?”
“Phineas Ferling, Assistant Senior Project Director.”
Ferling had a nasty gash on the right side of his head. Blood slowly seeped out, but his anger seemed to mask the symptoms and pain. Civilians were so predictably haughty. Later, the man would likely be huddled and whining. For now, adrenaline gave him extra muscle.
“Every single man and woman on that shuttle,” he gestured back where he came from, “were supervisors of projects run by the Olympus Union you dolt! Last time I checked, you overdressed meat bags worked for us. I’ve got just two people still alive in there, and a whole lot of wasted talent turned into corpses. How would you like to explain that? Huh?”
“A grievous mistake, sir,” Brand said, instantly contrite, stifling a sigh. Much as he was incensed by such treatment, he felt bad. Civilians were, after all, his charge to protect. Accidental death was often a part of maneuvers, but to have been caused by his people was a problem. “We were trying to stop both shuttles from escaping, quite certain that we had traitors aboard each. There was no way we could have known who was aboard yours, with no warning or alert. That was something expressly explained to you by our covert agent. Provide information on any escape plans to avoid complications and crossed paths. Still, I will submit myself to review for the damages.”
“Yes, well,” Ferling realized that he was at least partially faulted for his lack of action. He quickly changed the topic. “You stopped that other one, though, did you?” He glanced over and noted the blackened hull that was once a functioning spacecraft, lying smoldering on the deck. “Good. Good. That one there was filled with Jovian citizens from Zeta Station. They were turncoats who jumped sides back when those bastards blew up the station. Blew it up. Can you believe that? Who does that? Mad men, I tell you! Absolute madness, this mess is. Those people, they deserved a horrible death. They were scheduled for re-colonization efforts by the Jovians, moving from Zeta Station to the surface. Council channeled them through Ganymede. Lots of them had that schedule set up for them. Whole lot of traitors’ families was crammed in there, and you sent those slopsockers and riffraff to a fiery death. Well played on that front, boys.”
“Families?” Avinoam’s eyes grew wide. “There were children in there?”
“Dirty Jovians, son,” Ferling corrected him, “not real people. Few pregnant wenches, too. Breeding a new generation of Jovian filth. Nasty people who deserved to die. Don’t you forget that. They deserved death, from the oldest to the smallest. Turncoats. That’s what you do with traitors against humanity. You put them down. Dregs and dogs, the lot of them.”
Immediately after uttering the last word, Ferling seized up, jerking straight. He was stiff as a board for just a moment. His right temple revealed a mark. Moments before, his skin had been clear. Very slowly, a thin red line traced its way down from the gash, thickening moment by moment; a rivulet of blood traced the jaw line. Dripping off his chin, the stream formed a small puddle on the floor. Off in the distance, the Olympian soldiers heard a smattering of cheers.
All of this took place across several seconds. That was more than enough time. The men had scattered even before the Olympian administrator hit the ground. Cover was scarce from their current position. It was a problem. Moving as quickly as possible, they darted across the deck to take up protective locations. Shouting had come from outside the doorway, but that was just the herald. The sound of boots arriving signaled a shift in the paradigm. Ganymede Station’s soldiers had caught up to them, and it was time for evasive maneuvers.
“I think we’ve got a bit of a problem,” Avinoam grunted as he crawled on knees and elbows over to Justin’s position. The smile had finally faded. “I’m pretty sure we can’t win a firefight pinned like this. No real angle of retreat behind us, nowhere to regroup.”
Captain and Sergeant were huddled behind another, undamaged shuttle. The other soldiers had found similar places to take cover; some crouched behind star craft, others behind mechanical equipment. A few worked to return fire, while the others did their best to simply remain alive with the poor amount of protection allotted. Avi and Justin laid down just enough counter fire to bring two of their fellows across from their relative openness. Running to the more effective hiding place, one of them earned a singed shoulder for his troubles.
“We definitely have far more to fight against than we can manage,” Brand noted. “They’ve started using laser weaponry.”
“Yeah,” Avi grinned despite the situation, “but so are we.”
“Yes, I understand that, but we’re the only people on Earth who are supposed to have this kind of weaponry. As far as everyone else knows, coherent light weaponry doesn’t even work inside a pressurized atmosphere. That’s been the official propaganda issued by OU Military Command for as long as I can remember.”
“True as that may be, sir,” the singed of the other two Elite chimed in, “but we’re not on Earth, and apparently, these guys found out that laser weaponry works pretty damned well, even without the benefit of hard vacuum.” He winced turning his left shoulder for display. “I’ve got proof right here.”
“Noted,” Brand nodded. “We obviously need to find a way out of here, and we need to find it quickly. It’s not the way we came. So…”
He searched around the cavernous room. Sliding his way along the floor on his left knee, pushing with his right foot, he kept behind the protection of the shuttle. Peaking around the edge, Brand looked out toward the other side. The hangar was filled with a collection of shuttles, close station repair skiffs, docking arms for larger craft, and a slew of mechanical and technical equipment. Something suddenly clicked in Justin’s mind. Slow and deliberately, he lined up his rifle’s sites on a mobile diagnostics cart resting idly across the room. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, Brand squeezed the trigger twice, quickly. Two bursts of coherent light flashed across the room and the cart exploded rather violently. Searching the floor he found another and repeated the process with similar results.
“Sir,” the singed soldier asked, waiting for his Captain to pause, “mind if I ask what the plan is?”
“Yes. The two of you, target that skiff right over there,” he indicated with his chin. “Keep on firing until the thing is completely slagged. Not just malfunctioning, but fully destroyed. Avi,” he slid back from the edge. Turning around, he pointed to another target. “We’re going to fire on that docking arm over there.” Slinging his gun across his shoulder, Justin cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled to the nearest soldiers. “Start firing on that docking arm when I do!”
Leveling his rifle once again, the Captain opened fire on a crucial joint. Moments later, the barrage was completed, joined by Avinoam and the other soldiers, per his instructions. The Ares Elite worked diligently to maim, scar or destroy as much of the hangar’s contents as they could manage. Catching on quickly, the Jovian soldiers who blocked the mouth of the hangar began to remark on the wanton destruction; the once steady fire from the JFL soldiers subsided. Justin held up a hand after a few more seconds and the Olympian soldiers, likewise, stopped shooting. As expected, a concerned voice bellowed out into the void.
“What in the hell are you people doing over there?”
“Well, if you’re going to kill us anyway,” Justin yelled back, “then we’re just going to take every last usable piece of equipment along with us. It’s really only fair, when you think about it. Ares Elite,” he shouted out to all of his troops across the deck, making a dramatic show, “concentrate fire on the two skiffs near-”
“Wait! Hold on a minute! We can come to an agreement!”
“Troops hold fire.” Brand suppressed his grin. This wasn’t a time to betray overconfidence. His counterpart was clearly rattled by the new tactic. Again, as was expected. “I’m listening.”
Brand had managed to keep the retort flat and emotionless. His strategy should work out in their favor, just as long as he didn’t overplay his hand. Haughty responses and premature victory smiles would only serve to self-sabotage.
“Alright, well,” a pause for thought, “you tell me,” the Jovian commander yelled, “what’s it going to take for you not to demolish our hangar?”
“Get out of my damned way,” Brand yelled back, just enough venom creeping into his voice to make a point. “Pull your men back, all the way out of the hangar. Give me enough room to come out of here, bring my people into the hall. Five minutes, I’ll be sending one of my men out there. If he doesn’t give me the all clear, we’ll take that as the go-ahead to slag the rest of your equipment. Every space worthy vehicle of value to this station will melt to the deck. You’ll be completely dependent on every other station in the system to import, to travel, and to move at all. We’ll leave you with nothing more than whatever piddling backup ships you’ve got in your auxiliary hangar.”
Brand let the thought sink in for a moment. It would be embarrassing and inconvenient, and partially crippling. With resources likely stifled for the near future, it would be incredibly difficult to recover for quite some time. He let he thought fester. Then, he escalated the threat.
“Worse, if he gives me no sign at all, you’ll wish that we’d only wrecked the hangar. Gun him down from a cowardly position just inside the hall, we’ll retaliate in kind. We’ll slaughter your entire company like the rebel criminals that you are. Blow the door locks? Just gives us more than enough time to completely destroy everything you’ve got in here. Your choices are incredibly limited. You are a danger to the Olympus Union, renegades,” he spat the word. “We’ll quarantine you here until more soldiers arrive to remove you. Just because you might end our lives, don’t think you’ll save your ill-fated revolution. We’re the people who ended South Bend. We ended Sparta. We will end your uprising too. The only question is how difficult you make it on the future of your people. You’ve got five minutes, starting right now.”
There was no answer, but the sound of boots told the Ares Elite Captain what he needed to know. They waited the requisite five minutes, after which his men looked uneasily around at each other. Everyone trusted their leader. They didn’t, however, trust the Jovian commander. Had it really worked?
Justin rose from his crouch and fired a single shot out of the hangar entry. The men waited patiently, but there was no response. The Free League’s commander had either agreed to his terms, or his men were incredibly disciplined in their pursuit of ambush. Brand doubted the latter, but still didn’t trust the former. True to his word, the Captain gestured for the singed soldier, Xavier Zorsh, to move out into the hall. Cautiously but quickly, the Ares moved across the hangar, dropping into a crouch at the exit’s edge. Sliding himself slowly into the corridor, the man disappeared from view.
Moments later, Zorsh reappeared in Brand’s field of view. He waved sharply in the affirmative. There were no signs of duress, so the Captain formed up his unit and headed onward. Out in the corridor, the group looked to their leader, who in turned looked to Avinoam. Brand trusted David with his local knowledge.
“Where to next?”
“Well,” the Sergeant answered with lips pursed, “we obviously can’t go back upstairs. They’d be waiting for us at the top of the stairwell. The question is where they actually went.”
“No,” Brand corrected, “the question I asked you is where we’re going. It doesn’t matter where they went; eventually we’re going to have to face them again. Sooner, later, none of it matters. Get us moving Sergeant.”
Avinoam nodded and took off walking at a brisk pace. The Ares Elite looked to Justin who nodded in the direction Avi began moving. In response, the entire unit moved down the corridor in lock step. Heading straight, then a turn left, a later right, and the hall opened up into another wide expanse. Offices lined the far side this time, with another, thinner corridor meandering off to the left. They stepped out cautiously, warily, tentatively… and walked right into an ambush. Fortunately, it was, for the most part, fairly expected. Each of them had their weapons at the ready.
Ducking under whatever available cover they could find, the Ares Elite immediately started shooting. Initial laser fire lanced out blindly, hoping for a clean hit while they sought proper cover. The JFL troops were much more exposed this time, despite having the opening advantage; a handful went down rather quickly. The Jovian Commander must have been less experienced. It was unlikely that this was the man named Adi Sizh whom Justin had heard so much about. The success that the enemy had had thus far was largely based on the raw skill of individual soldiers, and not leadership ability. This man had already accepted Justin’s bluff once. Hoping to stand toe to toe with the Ares Elite, he’d be desperate to come away with a draw at this stage. It was time to try the wanton destruction tactic again.
“Focus your fire on the offices over there,” Justin instructed. “Avi, take two men and keep knocking back the traitors. We can end this quickly. Let’s do it now.”
“Justin,” Avinoam hissed, “There are people in those offices.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. Every one of them works for the Jovian Free League in some capacity. Look around you: they run the turncoat’s operations for both Ganymede’s Station and the moon itself. If we can take them away from the Jovians, we remove vital cogs in the rebellion. Now, do we have a problem, Sergeant?”
“No sir.”
“Good.” Brand turned back to his soldiers. “Open fire!”
The carnage was widespread and staggering, the death absolute. Such an enormous amount of firepower coursed into the offices that the structural integrity broke down. Glass shattered and plastic splintered across the deck. The result, however, was not quite what Brand had expected when authorizing the death sentence. He’d assumed the move to be demoralizing, devastating the opposing forces. Instead, it had proven both galvanizing and motivating. With screams of anguish, the Jovian soldiers threw themselves against the Ares Elite, like feral beasts. Weapons blazed and men cast forth thundering roars, tinged with a primal tone.
Flummoxed at the turn of events, Justin Brand did the only thing that made sense at this point: he rallied his troops and made for a rapid tactical retreat. The Jovian Commander, in hopes of reclaiming a definitive conclusion to the activity, gave chase with his command just behind. The decision had been delivered to him in a moment of inspiration. The Jovians would force the Olympian super soldiers down a residential corridor. The Commander was certain that his opponent would never be so callous as to hurt innocent civilians. So he hoped.
The other soldiers in the unit were a bit less convinced. If nothing else, the most recent developments had proven otherwise. The Ares Elite had opened fire on administrative offices. Thinking to himself as they stormed, the Commander contended that the offices were, in some sense, an obvious military target. How could it be anything else? Plus, after they saw the Jovians’ initial reaction, how much more ferocious would they be if a child were hurt? They wouldn’t risk that, surely.
As they shot and ran, however, the Jovian troops privately held severe doubts in mind. They had heard the stories from Earth. Tales of savagery, brutality and death had long circulated. Some were clearly exaggerated, but others were the things of legend and mystery. There was little doubt that the super soldiers were unwavering in their loyalty to the Olympus Union’s directives. It seemed that they were far less concerned about what methods were used to achieve their goals.
Still, the Commander explained, he had to hope for the best. Maybe, instead, they should have made a stand? Maybe they should have tried to divert them? Maybe, he thought to himself at the last moment, it was a mistake to flush the Ares Elite into that particular segment of Ganymede Station after all. Perhaps he could…
It was already too late. Justin Brand and his men were among the civilians.
Captain Justin Brand was revered as the consummate soldier. Olympus Union hierarchy, and those who had served under him alike, knew him as a true leader, always able to think on his feet. An unquestionable, unwavering commitment to honor and the rightful dominion of the Olympus Union was his calling card. Those who knew him, or knew of him, regardless of classification or stature, understood this. What many did not understand, however, was his sheer loathing for anyone that betrayed the rightful rulers of the solar system.
There was an awful run-in on the freighter that had brought him to the Jovian System. The ship’s crewman spoke ill of the government who employed, fed and safe guarded them. His entire team had been relatively quarantined as an effect, Avinoam most severely punished. Offenders, meanwhile, were left rather free to go about their business. Despicable. Insulting.
Deserters and traitors came in many forms, and sometimes from the most unexpected of directions. Not a single one of them deserved his sympathy; that much was clear. Something had to be done to eliminate the scourge of betrayal. Thoughts began to swirl at the base of Justin’s brain. It was an idea of righting the ship, so to speak; the blossoming sense of a grander mission across the missions. There needed to be an example made, dire consequences, starting here and now. Who knew where this epiphany might take him, but for now, here, it needed to be different.
There were so few others who appeared interested in protecting the sanctity of the Union. Ares Elite were sworn to it. Jovians spurned it. Olympian citizens ignored it as inconsequential. Clearly, so far from Earth, it would have to come down to Justin and his men. It would have to start here. Change stirred in The Captain; this is where the change would begin.
“What now, sir?”
“They’re herding us,” Brand answered. He immediately recognized the tactic for what it was. He’d used it before. “They’re actually trying to steer us. Apparently these people think we won’t risk hurting their civilians, and intentionally sent us here. Do you hear what I said? They intentionally sent us to a place that would put their so-called innocents immediately in harm’s way. Hiding behind people that they should be sworn to protect?” He shook his head in disgust. “These men are more than traitors to the Union. They’re even worse. We’re fighting a collection of cowards who don’t deserve to share our citizenry and barely qualify as acceptable members of humanity. It makes me sick.”
Carefully surveying the scene, he took stock, trying to force the anger back down to a simmer. There were really only two ways for them to proceed. He could rally his troops, which wouldn’t be difficult. The Elite would run back into the teeth of the JFL soldiers, weapons brandished, war cries bellowing. It would take no effort. This was what his people were trained to do.
That was likely what the Jovian Commander was expecting. The man had likely heard so many war stories, and watched so many dramatic films, that he’d developed some strange picture of the Ares Elite. Brand was certain of it. They would be most definitely screaming and firing in this fantastic fever dream, coming at a full sprint, and absolutely giving leave to their senses. Easy pickings for a more human set of soldiers, victory would be assured for the Jovians. The Elite had heard the complaints before, about how savage they were, how they were barely human. Brand scoffed.
Foolishly, their adversary believed the Ares Elite to be unthinking, robotic monsters. They had no clue that Justin understood a simple truth. By following that path, no matter what the odds and skill, it bore only one possible outcome: the entire group would be mowed down, drained of blood, dashed to the floor. That result simply wouldn’t do. As such, he couldn’t follow that path. Nor were his men so mindless and beastly.
The only other option readily available to the Olympian super soldiers was the one that his enemy was actually certain would never occur. Never because, as an inexperienced warrior, the man couldn’t even comprehend that any regular commanding officer would, or could, order it. This group in particular, however, followed a man who was far from the generic commanding office. These were the best, and their leader was the best of those best.
What was apparently misunderstood was that Justin Brand could easily pick his men up and have them retreat further into the civilian section. That was where the difference between them lay, in fact. The Jovians saw these people as innocents, good folks that no one would willingly allow fire to head towards. They were also un-blooded soldiers, having made their mark through guerilla attacks and inconveniences. For so many, the first man that they killed in this battle would be the first man that hey killed at all. To allow something to happen to civilians was tantamount to absolute failure in their mission.
Ares Elite understood the concept of collateral damage. These were blooded men, indeed, who had fought in difficult regions of Earth. They understood that, sometimes, the death of a civilian brought the larger battle to an end much more quickly, sparing the lives of many more. Noncombatant dying here today, in truth, meant nothing to Brand, other than the potential resolution that they represented. These people might be civilians, but they were far from innocents. They had made the decision to desert the Olympus Union, and thus, they were all technically criminals; civilian criminals, as well as human shields that the rebel soldiers were hiding behind. That was how the JFL chose to behave with their people. Well, two could play at that. Perhaps the tactics could be reversed and turned on their ear, doing the same to his opponents.
“I think that I’ve got an idea which can get us out of here, limit our losses, and spread a little fear into these people’s hearts,” he said. “I want you all to start shooting, but keep your fire away from the soldiers. My sense is that they’ll keep back, because they’re hoping we’ll just come charging out after them. One semi-successful ambush, and they’ve gotten us figured. Seems like it might be time to show these traitors how little they actually understand the Ares Elite. Concentrate all of your blasts on these home units. In fact,” he grinned, “I want you to aim near the people. Take care, though; we don’t want to kill them just yet, if we can avoid it. Let’s just see if we can make them run.”
“Sir,” Avinoam objected strongly, “I’m not sure how good of an idea that is. What happened if we actually hit the civilians?”
“What happens? Well, whichever people that you generally hit tend to fall down injured or dead. My command specifically said that we don’t want to kill them if we can avoid it. You know, as well as I do, that we might not be able to avoid it. So, if you hit one, it’ll fall screaming, or it’ll die. When they see someone actually get hurt, the rest of them will probably run even faster.”
Avinoam was mortified. The other soldiers around him merely nodded their ascent, accepting the tactic even if they didn’t understand the bigger picture. Such was their trust and obedience to their Captain.
“These aren’t civilians, Avi,” he explained to the Sergeant. “Always remember that they made a choice to be here. These are criminals. If our opponent is happy to use them as a shield, then so will we. We aren’t trying to hurt anyone, but we are trying to create some chaos. This is going to create our smoke screen. As soon as we can get them moving, I want all of you out into their midst. We’ll keep running along with them, screened between them. If we’re lucky, this Commander’s bleeding heart will get us some relief when he figures out what’s happening, and they’ll draw their troops back. We’re warriors, Sergeant. If the Jovians find it acceptable to hide behind their civilians, why shouldn’t we? Remember, we weren’t the ones who put them in danger in the first place. Technically, we’re the danger that was pushed right at them by their own protectors.”
He looked around. “Ready?” They clearly were. “Alright, then, let’s get moving!”
The Ares Elite began firing and, as expected, the Jovian civilians began screaming. While an individual person might be considered generally intelligent, throbbing masses of people are inherently foolish by their nature. No chaotic mob, in the history of such masses, had ever acted in a logical and systematic manner; there was no exception on Ganymede Station. Oddly, Brand’s plan was nearly stymied because the Jovian civilians ran in too many varying directions at first. Providing an incredibly unruly view for anyone watching on the security cameras, it actually made the situation appear worse than it really was. The scene was, of course, being fed to the Free League team live as it happened.
Key to the escape, however, was that the mob moved in a direction that would allow constant cover. Herding the civilians like cattle would require some additional effort. The Ares Elite began to fan out, moving among the terrified residents. Firing their weapons, and occasionally thrashing a man or woman with armored fists, the pandemonium became marginally channeled.
At one stage, a man in his mid-thirties built up enough courage, and a head full of steam, to resist. Charging full boar towards the Olympian commandos, the man’s face was twisted with rage, confusion and a determination to quell his fear. Hot on the raging man’s heels was his ten year old son; both screamed incoherently, bellowing at the top of their lungs. They brandished no weapons, merely shaking bare fists and uttering barely intelligible slurs.
Naturally, the soldiers were quite used to being called monsters and machines by this point. Oddly, this time felt different. As the boy raced towards one of the Ares Elite in particular, he became a bit easier to understand. Screaming that the man didn’t belong here, the boy insisted that the monster should go back where he belonged. In response, the soldier shot the boy in the chest, point blank, several times.
“That’s your fault,” he bellowed to the father, eyes aflame. “You want monsters? We’ll give you monsters!”
The grief stricken father’s jaw went slack, eyes wide, body instantly jerking to a halt. Shattering din, cutting through the cries of panic from his fellows, the man let out a sub-human howl of grief, tears streaming from his eyes. This was unthinkable. Crashing to the ground, arms swooping in from his sides, the Jovian cradled the boy’s dead, limp body in his arms. Wailing uncontrollably, he looked up at the Olympian in confusion and regret. The soldier stared back in anger, reviewing the scene for a moment… then shot the crouching man in the head.
“What!”
Avinoam tried to stop short, to change direction. He needed to reprimand the soldier. The word erupted from his throat almost unconsciously. Rage bubbled up in his chest. Murdered flashed in his eyes. Brand reached out and quickly caught his Sergeant’s arm, recognizing the signs. The scene was almost scripted. He’d half expected the reaction, and was prepared. Avinoam had to understand what was happening, and more importantly, accept how necessary it was. There would be no Ares on Ares violence here today.
“Traitors, Sergeant,” Brand said, loudly but firmly over the din, pulling close to Avi’s ear. “Look at them as traitors, not as family. Those two were enemies, assaulting our people. They made their choice. You’re on our side. Don’t forget that.”
The two men continued moving along the corridor. Avinoam was placated for now, but Brand could see the wheels were turning in the Sergeant’s mind. A good commanding officer could read his people’s eyes and body language. The moment would come, later, after they survived this mission, when the debate would be taken up again. For now, he knew that they had to survive in order to have that argument. As always, he intended to survive.
Pursuit from the Jovian soldiers quickly petered out, the air suddenly much clearer. Captain Brand breathed a sigh of relief. No one would ever question his toughness. It didn’t mean that he was eager to die.
The Jovian troopers were remarkably appalled at the intentional targeting of a child. Murder in cold blood, as they saw it, was animalistic. To them, this was nothing less than murder. Ares Elite certainly held that reputation as sub-human; this scene had helped to reinforce the mentality. Justin had no interest in mounting a campaign to slaughter children, of course. He actually did regret the unfortunate incident, despite what he told Avinoam.
Still, he had a necessary image to present. Brand was regarded as such a strong commander for a reason. Understanding the moment, and the longer term impact of individual actions, was an absolute key to victory. Capitalizing on the situation, he waved his men forward faster. This was their opportunity. Taking the rear, he slowed down, striding backward with slow, measured pace. He began shouting behind them, intentionally feeding their fears. Missing intentionally, no shots impacted anything of consequence.
“Those two were just the first!” he shouted, projecting well in the much quieter space. It wasn’t true. That didn’t matter. “Attacking us bears consequences. I’ve got no intentions of drawing my men back, asking them to lay off specific targets. They will continue to fire at all possible threats, regardless of age. We will defend ourselves against anyone who attacks. That’s what they did. We can’t possibly believe those two were unarmed, or else they wouldn’t have charged. No one is that stupid.”
He let the concept linger for a moment. Only an idiot would attack the Ares Elite.
“My assumption, going forward, is that anyone in our path is armed, dangerous, and intends to harm us. We’ll respond with deadly force in all cases. Do I make myself clear?”
Not waiting for a response, Justin turned in mid-stride and began jogging forward once again. People drew away while he moved among them. Picking up speed became easy. As he ran, he watched another soldier reach out and tag a civilian in the back of the head. The armored glove dropped the man instantly, a trickle of blood already flowing. Brand would have a word with that soldier, who might have enjoyed the maneuver a little too much.
Another Olympian shot out a window as he ran, the shattering glass raining down on unsuspecting civilians. That was more what Justin wanted to see. Perpetuating confusion and panic would keep the people from rising against them in a misguided attempt to perpetuate the rebellion. It prevented more would-be heroes from needlessly sacrificing themselves.
“Attention all station residents,” the Jovian commander’s voice blared over the station’s sound system, “please vacate all hallways immediately. Everyone aboard, military and civilian alike, is under strict orders to move into your respective offices, laboratories and residences. For those who have not yet encountered them, a unit of Ares Elite is currently moving through our halls. They have begun to target civilians. Two of our citizens are already dead as a result, one of them a young boy. Others have been wounded and maimed. Repeat: all residents, military and civilian alike, are hereby instructed to let them pass with no retaliation. For your safety, do not engage!”
Sergeant David chose that moment to look backwards as he jogged. In response, Captain Brand raised an eyebrow and nodded knowingly. He mouthed, ‘minimize loss’ and then returned his attention to the walls around them. Just because the Jovian commander had made the statement did not guarantee that there would be no resistance. Brand remained continually on guard. Still, the man had bought into the tactics to at least some degree.
“Captain,” the Jovian voice echoed again, speaking directly to Brand. “As long as you keep on moving, no one will harm you. You will face no more resistance from our military personnel. I’ll give my word on that. We’ve cleared all but the absolutely essential personnel from our anterior docking bay. You’ll be free to leave the way that you came, just as long as you harm no more civilians. We hope that this accord is acceptable, and I’m willing to take this as a simple stalemate between us. Just get off my station.”
Brand offered no verbal response. Instead, he stowed his weapon in a more comfortable position and began sprinting. As he passed his men, they caught on and followed suit. The offer was palatable as long as it wasn’t rescinded. No telling when someone in charge would change their mind. He wouldn’t be caught off guard. The Ares Elite charged hard, pounding across the deck, opening up to the fullest extent of their enhanced abilities. Thunder echoed from the coordinated boots, like the hooves of stampeding bulls.