Battle Earth VII

Chapter 4

"Good fight," stated Jafar.

"You think?" responded Taylor sarcastically.

He rolled off the huge bed in the suite of the stadium where he had stayed after the fight. The evidence of last night's drinking was long gone with not an empty bottle in sight, but his head was the only reminder he needed. His eyes took a while to focus, and he found Jafar standing just a couple of metres away watching him.

"It's still weird, you know, waking up to find you looming over me."

"Why?"

"Well... come on, we've been through this a hundred times...I give up. You got that car ready?"

"Yes."

"All right, then give me a few minutes, and we'll make a move."

"Where?"

"To see an old friend."

* * *

They soared through the French countryside. Parts were luscious and green, but other areas remained a wasteland compared to what they once were. They both knew Weaver wouldn't be happy about them vanishing from his sight, but that only pleased Mitch further. It was just the two of them and a driver from the Deveron.

"You know who lives out in these parts?" asked Taylor.

"Captain Jones?"

Taylor looked surprised.

"Well... yes, actually."

He didn't care to ask why but was a little curious.

"Yes, he retired last year to live out here with Sergeant Dubois. She saved our asses once, maybe twice. That was a life time ago."

"But he does not want a fighter’s life, so what do you want from him?"

"Maybe a little reflection on life. These last few years are not what I imagined for myself, whether in or out of the Corps. He's away from it all."

The address Taylor had led them to a farm entrance in a secluded area where the wildlife seemed to be all they could hear when they got out of the car. The house must have been more than a couple of hundred years old and appeared completely untouched by the wars that had ravished the country so fiercely. There were no cars in sight, or anything that had been made in Taylor's lifetime. It was like stepping into a time warp and coming out a hundred years back.

"Not the kind of place I ever expected to find him," Taylor said.

"Freeze!" a voice yelled.

It came from where the car had parked.

Taylor's hand instinctively reached for his handgun, but the second shout brought him to a halt.

"Don't even think about it, you son of a bitch!"

He recognised the voice now and turned with a smile.

"You almost had me there," he replied.

He turned to see Jones behind their car with a gun to the driver's head.

"What are you doing here, Colonel?" he asked suspiciously.

Taylor was surprised by his tone. The hostility was not at all what he had been expecting when reunited with one of the friends he would hold dearest in the world.

“No way to greet a friend, Charlie.”

“Whatever you want from me, I’m not interested!”

They heard another weapon cock and turned to see Dubois coming out from the side of the house with gun in hand.

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting,” Mitch whispered to Jafar.

“I don’t care what the offer is, I’m still not interested!” Jones shouted.

Taylor couldn’t believe what he was saying. He began walking towards his friend.

“What the hell happened to you, Charlie?”

“Not another step!” he screamed.

"If you're here to recruit me, go away!"

Taylor was starting to understand.

"Not for a second. I just wanted to see an old friend."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, sure as hell," he replied calmly.

Jones lowered his weapon and walked out from behind the car.

"The slightest sign you're trying to get me to join you in some crazy thing, you are outta here."

"Got it."

"All right, then come with me."

He led them around the side of the house to a decked area with a table and chairs set up and a wide parasol giving shelter from the warm sunrays. Jones opened a small storage cupboard beside the house to reveal a refrigerator and threw a few beers out to them.

"Hell of a place you have here," said Taylor.

Jones sat down suspiciously and gestured for them to do the same. Dubois took a seat beside him.

"We saw your fight last night," she said.

Taylor had nothing to respond with.

"That’s what being a marine has boiled down to? Blood sport?"

"Can't say I like it either, Charlie, but I have my orders."

"We both know you have done more than your fair share for the Corps and for the World. Why not leave? We did, and look at what we have. When we were huddled away at night, scared and expecting to meet our deaths at any moment, having to risk our lives every second of every day, this here is the life we dreamed of."

It was a compelling argument. General White had made him feel that without the Corps he would have nothing, but Jones made a lot of sense. One last issue bothered him, though.

"And when the next war comes, what then?"

"The next generation will fight it. None of us are immortal. We have done our part."

"So you would do that? If another attack came tomorrow, you would sit by and watch?"

Jones had to think about it for a moment.

"I would do whatever I had to do, but right now, we have earned this peace, and we are going to enjoy every second we get."

Taylor nodded in agreement.

"So you really didn't come here to recruit me into some scheme?"

Taylor shook his head, "Can't a guy just come for a chat?"

"I guess, just didn't see you as the type."

"Yeah, thanks."

"So you're going to keep fighting in these ridiculous displays?"

"I don't know. I don't want to. I shouldn't have to. But if I don't, I'll be outta the Corps before you know it."

"I don't think they could get rid of the famous Colonel Mitch Taylor so easily. But even if they could, so what?"

It gave him something to think about.

"When the World goes to shit and you really need me, you give me a call. Until then, I suggest you kick back and enjoy this life we earned for ourselves."

Taylor couldn't help but feel they were intruding on the life the two of them had made together. He finished his beer quickly and got up to leave.

"Great to see you again, Charlie."

He didn't seem disappointed they were leaving.

"Good luck in whatever you do, Mitch. Just know that you have done enough. It’s time you started living for yourself."

Taylor got back to the car and slumped in the back with Jafar. He could not help but feel disappointed. 2nd Inter-Allied, the great Immortals, seemed to be nothing more than a fading memory.

"Is that the life you look forward to?" Jafar asked.

Taylor shrugged. "No idea, why, you got any thoughts?"

"I was not born a farmer," he quickly replied.

It was all Taylor needed to know.

They once more soared across the countryside on their return to Paris. As they rolled up outside the stadium, Weaver came rushing out in a flap.

"Where the hell have you been?" he insisted before Taylor had even got both feet out the door.

Mitch glared back at him.

"I may fight for you, but you don't own me."

"What? There are press conferences to do. Audiences are desperate to hear from their champion, and we have new fights to prepare for."

The comment seemed to have gone over his head, or he chose to ignore it.

"One week. One week, that is all we have before your next display. Young men and women are queuing at the recruitment offices trying to join up, and we have sponsors throwing money at us. This could be the greatest boost to the Corps in decades and is exactly what was needed."

"Great," he replied, uninterested.

Weaver chose to ignore that also.

"Come on, I have interviewers waiting to talk with you. Let's get you inside." He looked over to Jafar, "You can head back to the Deveron and await further orders."

"No," Taylor shouted.

"No? What do you mean, no?" asked Weaver.

"I mean exactly that. I've done everything you asked of me, but the big guy stays with me."

He could see Weaver didn't like it, but it was hard to say no before dozens of public and reporters who had spotted them and were already approaching.

"All right, all right, let's go."

One week before another fight? Boxers get how many months before theirs?

The next week was filled with seemingly endless TV interviewers asking him the same questions in different ways and expecting him to be as enthusiastic as they were. The endless cameras and idiotic questions that pandered to the mindless obsessions of the average viewer were getting to him.

It was the morning of his fight that had been milked for everything they could possibly get out of it, and yet he still did not know his opponent. It was a carefully guarded secret, intended to build more hype than the last one. Who his opponent would be was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't heard from Eli since he had left things so badly, and just as she came to mind, his comms flashed with an incoming message. He answered it to be greeted with her face. He jumped to his feet and tapped a button for the video to project her image before him.

"I was just thinking of calling you, Eli."

"Of course, you were," she replied sarcastically but smiling, "How's it going there?"

"About what you'd expect."

She went silent for a moment. Clearly, she had something big to say.

"Go on, spit it out," he said.

"These fights, you know you've got to put to end to it, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"People over here are livid about them. Seems half the World loves it and wants all the blood they can get, and the rest want to set the prisoners free."

"Set them free? And do what with them?"

"I don't know, but it's getting ugly. There are protests outside the base everyday about it."

"But Weaver said it's doing wonders for recruitment?"

"Sure, I guess, but it’s stirring up big trouble."

"What would you have me do?"

"Call off the fight. Tell them you're not doing it."

"On what grounds?"

"I don't give a damn what grounds. Your word still holds a lot of weight in the World. You make it public you are against this, and it could make a difference."

"And is that what you want, for it to be ended? That because of the fights, or because it's me fighting them?"

"Both."

He looked away, thinking it over. He shared her opinion, but he hadn't realised how bad it had gotten.

"How is this the first I have heard about the controversy over these fights?" he asked her.

"No idea, presumably someone wants to make sure you don't see that side of it. Mitch, this is all gonna come tumbling down, and you are right at the centre of it. Get out."

He opened his mouth to speak, but the transmission cut off abruptly. He looked down to his comms. The signal had been completely lost.

"Goddamn it."

He paced over to a computer console in the wall and went to the comms channel to find it too was down. The timing seemed too coincidental. He raced to the door and out into the corridor. Weaver was approaching, and Jafar still stood guard at the entrance to the suite.

"Ah, Colonel, we've just lost comms. The local towers are being flooded by fans, and it's overloaded the whole area."

It sounded suspicious, but he could rarely tell if Weaver was lying, for he did so frequently and believably, it became hard to tell.

"Just an hour until your pre-fight conference where we'll reveal your opponent for the first time," he said with a smile.

"Yeah, great."

"Fight this one, and you'll be done for a while. You can go home and take a bit of R&R while other fighters rise to the challenge."

I've heard that before.

"There's talk of a weekly live show, starting with representatives from around the World competing in the arena."

Weaver was trying to usher him back into his room, and he obliged until he worked out what was going on. He shut the door after him, despite the man wanting to follow him in. Taylor walked to the far end of the suite where a large balcony overlooked the arena. He stepped up to the edge and looked down to see security staff patrolling. Then he noticed a cleaner sitting beside a ride-on device. What held his attention was the fact the man was talking on his comms unit. He lifted his own and tried to make a call, but there was nothing.

"Bastard," he said to himself.

He knew something was up, and it was time to make a stand. Time seemed to fly by as he ran it all through his head, and the knock finally came at his door. He went to it to find Jafar had not allowed Weaver to just walk in.

"It's time, Colonel. Your crowds await you."

He stepped out and walked on with the man he despised so much. He just talked endlessly, and Jafar followed closely behind.

"Now remember, people want a bit of excitement. We're going to have your opponent there now so that you can..."

"What? Why?" Taylor insisted.

"We've got something special planned for this one. People need to feel there is a challenge and some risk and excitement."

"Risk, for me, yeah."

"Come on, Colonel, it may be your life out there, but can you imagine what would happen to any of us if any harm came to you? We have to keep you alive no matter what, so don't worry."

They weren't particularly reassuring words, but they did reinforce what he knew he had to do. He was led to a conference hall in the stadium that was full of reporters. It was not lost on him the fact it was a totally sealed environment. If there were protests in place like Eli had mentioned, he'd never have seen them. Weaver stopped them for just a second and pointed his finger at Jafar.

"You can stay out here."

He looked to Taylor who nodded in agreement and then took up position beside two Gendarmes, the local para-military policemen who seemed uncomfortable as he towered over them. The press conference had clearly been ongoing for some time, and as Taylor entered, the commentator who resided over the last fight introduced him.

"I'd like to give a warm welcome to our conquering hero, Colonel Mitch Taylor. Come and step up here, Colonel."

He stepped up to find he was once more bombarded by cameras and in the limelight that he never appreciated. Uncomfortable silence overcame the hall as they all waited for him to speak, and yet nothing came. He looked at the teleprompter across the room that was flashing to get his attention. It was yet another speech written by Weaver that he had never even got a glimpse of, until now.

Taylor tried to open his mouth, but the words were not coming out. He knew what he should say, but it would almost certainly condemn his career. As time crept by, the commentator leapt back to the stage to stand beside him and get things rolling.

"Colonel, were all very honoured to have you here, but I want to introduce his opponent. We've got something special for you all here today. I don't know if I'd give any applause, but I'm certainly very excited myself. I want to introduce to you one of the greatest soldiers in the Krycenaean army, one of Demiran’s handpicked veteran bodyguards. He faced off to Colonel Taylor and his companions once before. He bears the scars of that fight and still stands to take on the man himself in single combat!"

A screen at the back wall slid open and there he was, just as he had said. Taylor felt his body tense for action as he recognized the ornate and agile armour, as Jafar had worn when they first met. The Mechs were dangerous, but this was the first time since meeting Demiran in personal combat he had felt an overwhelming threat against him. The only weapon he carried was his sidearm, which made him feel woefully underequipped. The commentator continued.

"Second only to the world-destroying Demiran himself, these aides to the enemy leaders have been called 'Destroyers' by those who have met them in combat.

Destroyers? That’s just been made up for effect.

"What do you say, Colonel, about going up against one of these fearsome Destroyers in a fair fight. No rules, close quarter weapons only, and last man standing wins!"

He stepped from the podium to allow Taylor to retake his place. Mitch was still uncomfortable about turning his back on what they were now calling a Destroyer, but this was his opportunity. He was being broadcast to who knows how many millions.

"Welcome to all of you and thanks for tuning in."

Weaver smiled, it was just as the teleprompter read.

"You know who I am, and you know what part I played in the wars."

Weaver looked to the prompter because he didn't recognise the line at all. He was pointing at the screen and miming a shout at the Colonel, but he was completely ignored.

"I know why you tuned in here today. You hate the Krys and want to revel in their deaths. We all endured great hardships at their hands, and who wouldn't want a bit of payback? But did I fight this war, did you fight this war, so that we could earn peace or not? All I ever wanted throughout the wars was for it to be over, but it isn't over for me. I understand why this blood sport seems appealing, but I can tell you for certain, this is not the way."

Weaver was running along the lines of reporters and tying to get their cameramen to stop, but the crews were too enthralled in the story to care what he had to say.

"I saw what Karadag and Demiran did to those humans who survived their wars, and this is precisely the kind of thing they would be doing now had they won. Are we no better than that? These fights make a mockery of all those who fought, served, and died against the Krys, and I will have no further part in them. If it costs me my career, it's time to draw a line and say we are not animals. We are not barbarians. We are humans. This is Earth, and we will not stand for it!"

The room was silenced once more. The crews were fascinated by the eye-opening speech, but he had no idea how the viewers were taking it. Weaver rushed up on the stage and tried to barge Taylor off the podium, but it had little effect with his strong stature and Reitech equipment he wore.

"As a representative of the US Government, I want to confirm that any and all words of Colonel Taylor are not condoned by the United States. We have organised this fight because you, the people, wanted it. I am sorry to say that Colonel Taylor is clearly not feeling well and will return to service after..."

Taylor's hand connected with his shoulder and launched him across the stage. He slid across the floor and crashed into the empty chair that had been placed for him. The press turned their attention back to Taylor but were utterly speechless.

"No, I am not the word of the United States Government. I am the word of a United States Marine. Countless friends and colleagues of mine died for the peace we enjoy today. Let's not sully their name any further with this."

Weaver got to his feet, and his face was red with anger, but Taylor had not noticed.

"Fine, if you don't want to fight, I'll bring the fight to you," he muttered under his breath.

He called in on his comms 'knock out the feed'. The live transmissions from the room immediately stopped, though in their fascination with what they were seeing the press had not noticed. Weaver leapt up to the Destroyer and whispered to him, "That there is Mitch Taylor, the man who killed your master. How would you like a chance for payback?"

He could tell the creature understood him and simply nodded in agreement. Weaver stepped around the back of the creature to where his shackle bands were connected to a reinforced post. A keypad was all it would take for Weaver to release the Destroyer, and through his anger he didn't give it a second thought.

Six digits were all it took to release a lethal alien soldier amongst the crowd. He no longer cared what damage it would do, only that it would go for Taylor. "You'll die or make great TV," he said as the bands retracted, and the creature was free. In their focus on Taylor, the crowd had not noticed Weaver's treacherous actions.

The Destroyer rushed across the stage. The crowd gasped in shock and surprise, but it was too late. It kicked full force forwards at Taylor who only had enough time to turn and see it coming at him. He was thrown across the room and struck the wall the other side. His armour saved his body, but his head was bare and smashed against the wall. He crumpled down limply to the ground.

Screams echoed around the room when the crowd realised it was not part of the show and tried to get to the doors. The Destroyer leapt from the stage and rushed for Taylor. Gendarmes flanking the room drew their pistols but had to push through the crowd to try and get a clear shot. Bodies were flung aside as the Destroyer smashed his way through the press. It had no interest in them besides getting them out of the way, but several were killed from the sheer force as their necks were snapped.

As the alien reached Taylor, two of the police jumped in front of him, opening fire with their handguns. The rounds ricocheted of the creature’s intricate armour and barely slowed it at all. The gunshots were enough to awake Taylor from his unconscious state. He was quickly reminded of how he’d got there and tried to shake off the drowsiness. Just as he got to his feet, the two Gendarmes with thrown aside like ragdolls. He drew his pistol and raised it to fire at the creature’s exposed head, but it dipped its body slightly, and the two shots he fired went into the fleeing crowd.

In a flash it was on him and smashed him back against the wall. His pistol flew from his grasp, and he was lifted up against the wall. He tried to raise his knee to strike but couldn't get any leverage with his feet off the ground. The Destroyer's hands reached up and around his throat, and he knew he had just seconds before it would snap his neck.

He took hold of one of the fingers wrapped around his throat and with all his force snapped it back, breaking the joint. The alien winced a little and released its iron grip, allowing him to shift his weight and drive an elbow down onto its collar. He followed it with two punches to the alien's face. It was enough to free him. He fired his boosters and flew over the creature and came to a rough landing on the stage, causing him to go into a roll before getting back to his feet.

Weaver was still on the stage and now looked white with fear. It was clear he was already regretting his decision to free the Destroyer. He stood between Taylor and the alien.

"What are you waiting for? Kill it!" he screeched.

What as asshole, Taylor thought.

He stayed put, trying to use every second he could to get his composure back, and was in no rush to help the man who had brought it all upon them. The Destroyer strode forward. Without breaking stride, he took Weaver's head in one of its hands and crushed his skull. His body went limp and collapsed where he had stood. Taylor wouldn't miss him.

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

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

Thank God!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Way too close," he muttered.

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

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

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

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

"Do not move. You are under arrest!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what happened here?"

Taylor pointed to Weaver.

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

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

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

"You are currently stationed here?"

Taylor nodded once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Colonel Taylor."

"Who wants to know?"

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

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

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

"I just want to talk."

"Right, thirty seconds."

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

"I am Councillor Armand, UEN."

Taylor was both surprised and curious.

"Keep talking."

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

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

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

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

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

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