Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers Page 17

  Of course, that wasn’t the point. The destruction was the point, which gave Burns shivers. He couldn’t believe he was once just like the ULC. His shortsighted anger had sent him all across the galaxy, spreading violence and spilling blood without remorse. He was just glad there wasn’t an army of him. Hatred is contagious. He might have never gotten out. He might have never been able to see the error of his ways.

  As the group made their way into the actual fort parts of the city, Alvarez motioned to a large armory building. That was where the hostages were being kept. They had arrived, and none too soon.

  Burns instructed the men to form a perimeter around the main door. He knew the Collective would be coming, and he didn’t want any of the hostages to take fire.

  Ensuring every man was in place, he turned and approached the large door to retrieve the hostages.

  Giving it a tug, he realized that the door was locked. Putting his faceplate close to the crease between the large doors, he yelled in.

  “Is anyone in there?” he asked. At first, silence, and then he heard some faint scuffling. “Hello?” he asked again, realizing it could be a ULC trap. After a few moments of silence, he finally received a response.

  “H-Hello?” he heard a woman’s voice crackle.

  “Hi,” he returned. “My name is Colonel Burns. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need your help in order to do it,” he told her. The woman was apprehensively silent at first, and then another response came.

  “Okay,” she said lightly.

  “Okay,” he returned. “First off, how many others are with you?” he asked, needing to calculate the best strategy for transport.

  “Uh,” the woman stammered, “twenty four—I think.” Burns took a deep breath. The ULC had executed a dozen last time and threatened to do double if the Dominion sent more fighters. Two dozen executions—twenty four. This was all of them.

  “Okay, one last thing,” he spoke up again. “Is anyone closer than fifteen feet from this door?”

  “No,” the woman returned. He bowed his head.

  “Good,” he replied. “Now, I’m going to bust it open. Stay calm, please.” He heard a slight murmur in response, and he took that as an okay.

  Peeling away from the door, he took several steps back and then turned, facing the door once more. It was a sturdily-built, metal door, and it was locked tight, but he bet his boot was stronger. He flicked on the vertical assistance function again, and then waited for it to charge.

  As the vertical assistance signal beeped, he began to run forward. Reaching the door, he kicked one leg up and then sourced all VAF power into it alone. His boot jutted out with considerable velocity and busted right through the lock, sending the two doors flying open.

  He placed his foot back down on the ground, laying eyes on the hostages for the first time. They looked starved and nearly frozen.

  Burns proceeded into the armory, checking the corners for an ambush. Assured that it was clear of traps, he got to work on the hostages.

  He knelt down near the closest person. It was the woman who’d communicated with him through the door. Her hands were bound behind her back, so he motioned to one of the Survivors. The man threw him a knife. He caught it and then began to cut the bindings.

  Freed, the woman immediately put her hands together and began warming them. Poor thing was probably frostbitten—her tattered clothing provided little warmth, and the armory had no heaters. Burns gave her a pat on the shoulder as she looked up at him.

  “Thank you,” she gasped. He nodded back to her sincerely and then stood, motioning over a few of the Survivors.

  “Let’s get these guys out of here!” he yelled out to them. They complied and joined him in cutting the hostages free.

  Between the three of them, they divided the twenty-four hostages, each taking eight.

  This simple division made the task go much quicker, and Burns was able to personally speak to those he freed. That same look of hope—they all seemed to have it. Despite their circumstances, even these people allowed themselves optimism.

  However, they were not out of the woods yet. Burns was only halfway through his eight when the inevitable ULC counterattack arrived.

  Looking up, he saw one of the guarding Survivors fall to the ground. Alvarez and the remaining men tried to hold the attack off but were eventually forced to pull back inside the armory.

  Taking cover behind the armory door, Alvarez watched as the last of his guards was dispatched. Militants quickly closing in, he considered his options. Burns was still too far out, and he couldn’t risk the Collective getting shots off at the hostages.

  Alvarez made a split second decision and entered into combat. He only got one shot off before his legs were littered with bullets, and he collapsed onto the tarmac—hard. Burns gritted his teeth. It was a poor move by the man, but it did buy time.

  Moving swiftly, Burns was able to get into position and let the militants have it. Their rounds had little effect on his armor and soon he’d reduced their numbers to only a few. They began to retreat into the city to regroup. That couldn’t happen. Except, Burns’ submachine guns didn’t have the range, and he couldn’t abandon the hostages to follow. It seemed he was out of options.

  He then heard a whisper from behind. It was Alvarez. The man was in great pain, but he was determined to stay focused. He had unclipped a grenade from his belt and tossed it to Burns.

  Holstering his weapon, Burns caught the grenade and then pulled the pin.

  Turning, he threw it as hard as he could. It flew a decent distance and then bounced across the tarmac.

  Reaching the retreating militants in time, it engulfed them in an orange inferno.

  For the moment, the path was clear. That didn’t mean that more weren’t on their way. They had to get moving.

  “Let’s go, get them on their feet. We need to make our exit. Now!” Burns urgently ordered the few remaining Survivors. They agreed and began to prep the hostages.

  Meanwhile, Burns knelt down next to Alvarez and tried to help him up. The man resisted.

  “I’m fine! I can hobble out! Go!” he sputtered. Burns shook his head.

  “Sorry, but I don’t leave men behind,” he exclaimed, activating lift functions with a bat of his eyes and pulling the brawny man up and over his shoulder.

  The Survivors were now ready with the hostages, and it was time to move. Only, this time Burns would have to take point. He reached over to a holster on Alvarez’s back and removed a shotgun. Pumping it, he motioned over to his men.

  “Let’s move!” he ordered, proceeding out of the Fort and back into the tight alleyways of the city streets.

  He was going to face the ULC on his own terms. No snipers and no long-range attacks. They’d have to face him in close quarters, and in that arena, his shotgun would be devastating.

  Still not knowing the streets, Burns relied on Alvarez’s word to navigate him through the icy labyrinth and toward the extraction. If they made a wrong turn or got lost, it would be game over.

  Even though they’d had great success thus far, they would be wise to know that the Collective still owned this fort. Any stalling would see the small unit overwhelmed. Only a couple Survivors remained, and it would not be enough to protect the hostages for long. This was not to mention Shamera couldn’t see into the alleys.

  Trusting Alvarez with absolute certainty nonetheless, Burns turned at every junction the man said. He might be in great pain—delirious even—but it was the only option at this point.

  About halfway through the maze, every turn became filled with anticipation. If there wasn’t a man hiding in wait, then Burns would take a deep breath and continue onward. If there was, he’d blast him with one booming crack of the shotgun and proceed forward as well. The Collective didn’t seem to figure this out soon enough, and eventually the group had reached what appeared to be the exfil point—a hidden tunnel under the Fort. Sitting atop it was the wheat ma
rket.

  Burns left the streets and made his way around to the front of the market. It was a small, corner-type shop that boasted all sorts of different breads. Its windows had been busted out, and it looked trashed inside, but for the most part it was intact. It wouldn’t be after Burns was done.

  He proceeded to a safe distance, back into the main street of the city, and set Alvarez down. The others then made sure the hostages were kept at that distance as well.

  Burns looked back down the street toward the outer wall, and he saw the slight glint of Shamera’s riflescope once more. He felt slightly relieved. They were pretty exposed out here, but knowing that she had their backs once again was comforting. Regardless, it was time to get through with it.

  He made his way inside the market and began to remove the explosives from his bag and set them in a circle pattern on the floor. With any luck, this would bust down into the passages below.

  Clicking the explosives on and linking them with the detonator, Burns made his way outside to the minimum safe distance. He knelt down near Alvarez, lowered his head, and began to count.

  “Three...two...one—” He pulled up the detonator and pressed down on the red button. Immediately, a loud crack ensued, and soon the small wheat market was engulfed in a fiery display of flames and debris.

  “Hot damn!” he vaguely heard Shamera yell over the comms.

  The chaos was over in mere seconds, however, and what was left was a decisive ringing in Burns’ ears and a dark billowing hole where the market used to be.

  Standing, Burns made his way over to the destruction and looked down. A passage was indeed what he found. It stretched out toward the back of the Fort, where the mountains sat stoically frozen. He slightly smiled and then turned to the others.

  “Let’s go—into the hole!” he exclaimed. The hostages moved first, and the Survivors loaded up to follow them down.

  Only thing left was word on Brosi’s mission, and they could all pull out. Noticing no sign of ULC trouble, Burns quickly made a call to the man.

  “Brosi—update! We’re at the exfiltration point. What’s the status of the cannon?” he asked. There was no response. “Brosi?” he exclaimed again, fearing the worst. A slight shuffle was heard on the comms and then Brosi spoke up.

  “Connector located. I just have to insert the EUC spike, and I’ll be granted access to the cannon’s main directives,” the man confirmed. Burns opened his eyes wide.

  “Do it!” he shouted, but more muffling emanated from Brosi’s end.

  “Sorry, boss, it seems your diversion didn’t fully work.” The connection then fizzed out. The man didn’t sound like he was breathing very hard, which meant he wasn’t in a firefight. He was being held hostage, but what sort of militant would hold a high-value target hostage?

  “Gambi!” Burns exclaimed out loud. The commander himself had intervened.

  From everything Burns knew about Gambi, which was a lot, Brosi was going to need assistance. Burns turned on his comms with Shamera.

  “Sham, get down here and get Alvarez out,” he ordered.

  “I heard what was happening—this is a trap. Don’t go alone. I’m coming down,” she told him, but Burns shook his head.

  “That’s not an option. The ULC may follow the hostages, and Alvarez needs help out. This may be a trap, but it doesn’t mean that I’m in danger. I know Gambi better than he knows himself. I hunted that man for nearly twenty years. I’m the best suited to handle him.” She grumbled a little in response.

  “I was hunting him too—remember?” she reminded him. Burns growled back.

  “Sham, you wanted to be one of us, then you follow orders like one of us. Get down here and proceed to the extraction. Those are your orders. Move out!” he yelled, switching off his comms and proceeding toward the stem of the observatory.

  He supposed everything had come full circle at this point. He was going to face down the man who’d caused him so much pain. Everything that had happened to him in the last twenty years had been caused by Gambi. Everything that had happened to Silverset in the past few weeks had been caused by Gambi. He was a monster, and Burns was going to stop him. This would be the last ride. There was nowhere for either of them to run.

  FIRST BLOOD

  The lift doors opened, and Burns stepped out into the entryway of the observatory. Weapon at the ready, he was fully focused.

  A battle had been fought here—he noticed that almost immediately. A fallen Survivor lay dead just outside the lift.

  The doors of the observatory slid open with a hiss, revealing the domed room.

  A large control stem sat in the center, and wide-ranging windows wrapped all around. They were quite impressive, and the view was equally grand. Though Burns didn’t have much time to see the sights, because he found Fodor and Ordai lying at the base of the stem. Large cuts had been slashed across their bodies, but the wounds seemed to have already clotted. Burns didn’t have time to investigate though because Gambi was here. Peering around the center control stem, weapon drawn, Burns saw him.

  The large man was pointing his shotgun decisively at Brosi, who had his hands in the air. Gambi was still wearing his tactical pants and bullet resistant vest, only now his right arm seemed to have been replaced by some sort of bulky prosthetic. Apparently, that rooftop hadn’t completely shielded him from the blast. The vile man looked over at Burns while still holding Brosi hostage.

  “Welcome, Colonel,” he teased as Burns came fully into view, aiming his gun squarely at the man’s bald head. Shamera was right—this was a trap. Gambi must have known he’d come to rescue Brosi; it was why he let the comm out. It was only a mystery as to why Brosi had surrendered. What edge did Gambi hold?

  “Drop the weapon, come quietly, don’t die. Deal?” Burns proposed, trying to handle this situation without violence. Gambi chuckled a little.

  “You think you’re pretty tough, yes?” he mocked, “The Reapers of Silverset. It’s impressive, but I won’t be intimidated by you. I have the upper hand!” he exclaimed. Burns noticed that the spike pin for the external uplink connector was clipped onto Gambi’s belt. This situation was always hard. Burns could probably get the pin, but it may leave Brosi exposed to Gambi. If Burns moved to rescue Brosi, he could fail to retrieve the pin. Without it, the EUC couldn’t be neutralized and the Duchess wouldn’t be able to descend. It was either man or mission here.

  “You have me, Gambi! Please, let the man go!” Burns called out, trying to negotiate Brosi’s freedom so he could focus solely on retrieving the pin. Gambi wasn’t a fool. He knew what cards he held in this game.

  “So, you know my name,” he said, shrugging off Burns’ plea. “Strange, because I don’t know anything about you. Only that they call you Colonel.” Burns tried to not let this get to him. The only thing worse than hatred was apathy. This man knew him personally, and he didn’t even remember him. Not even after he’d destroyed his life.

  “I’m one of the survivors of the Mardius attack, and I’m here to return the favor,” Burns growled, finger hovering just above the trigger. The comment seemed to confuse Gambi.

  “A survivor?” he grumbled. “That attack had a one hundred percent casualty rate. No one survived Mardius,” he hissed, seemingly proud of the death percentage his attack had earned. Burns shook his head.

  “I’m not lying.” Despite being obviously peeved, Gambi slightly smiled.

  “Then you saw firsthand what happened on that glorious day. The planet had almost succumbed to the Dominion, yet today it’s free and returned to the Isolation. Soon it’s going to be time for another day like that. Only larger—a day when all of the galaxy is purged of Dominion tyranny,” he exclaimed. Burns still held his submachine gun forward.

  “Forget it, Gambi. It’s over!” The bald man shook his head.

  “No, this is only the beginning! This is only a stepping stone.” Burns squinted his eyes.

  “You keep popping up, and I’ll just ha
ve to keep swatting you down,” he guaranteed. Gambi chuckled.

  “Oh, I know you’ll try. Which is why I lured you here. Time to die, Colonel.” Now was the time. At any moment Gambi could lash out.

  Pull the trigger, Burns thought to himself, but his finger wouldn’t budge. He’d done it so many times before, but Gambi was different than those other men. Burns had imagined himself in this spot for many years. His hand began to tremble.

  Pull the damn trigger, he thought to himself again, holding the submachine gun a little more stringently and going for it. He heard a loud crack and felt some recoil. He’d fired the gun.

  Only, as he lowered it, he saw that Gambi was still standing. In front of him, a shield of hard light was being generated from his prosthetic arm. Burns couldn’t believe it…this was Gambi’s edge, this was why Brosi had surrendered.

  Aiming the submachine gun again, Burns held down the trigger and fired off the capacity of the clip. The shield didn’t let up and a very much alive Gambi was still aiming his shotgun at Brosi.

  Burns lowered his empty weapon as he backed up, unsure of what move to make. He’d never seen anything like this before.

  “Like my tech?” Gambi asked with a sinister smile. Burns looked for options, but it was Brosi who made his move.

  “Not impressed!” he exclaimed, pushing Gambi’s shotgun out of the way and kicking a boot into his stomach. Yet Gambi was unfazed by the hit. He aimed his shotgun and fired, blasting Brosi in the chest and sending the man slamming into the glass wall. This left an opening for Burns.

  Burns leaped forward, kicking Gambi to the ground. The man fell into a roll and quickly recovered, pulling the shotgun up. Burns grabbed the weapon and pulled it into his own chest as Gambi pulled the trigger. The blast certainly rattled his teeth, but the bullets didn’t penetrate the armor.

  Full of adrenaline and rage, Burns activated his armor and ripped the barrel of the shotgun clean off and then slashed Gambi across the face with the severed piece.

  The man began to bleed but was unperturbed; he minimized the shield into a smaller, diamond shape and swung upwards at Burns, searing a line right through Burns’ chest armor. Baffled, Burns was left open to a left hook from the man. His metal fist didn’t seem to have any problem with Burns’ helmet and sent the energy through the metal exterior, colliding with Burns’ cheek. Stunned by the pain, Burns left his guard open and was slashed across the left side of his visor.