Battle Earth VII

• Prologue
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Chapter 11
  
• Chapter 12
  

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

The war to survive had been won, for humanity to continue existing. The World must now find a way to live with one another in a newfound peace.

Ridding the planet of the alien invaders had been the aim of every human being since the first shot was fired, but it had not happened. Prisoner of War camps across the World were filled with alien combatants who had been trapped on Earth.

Demiran had been defeated by Mitch Taylor’s own hand, a definitive stroke that made all who saw or heard of it believe the nightmare of alien contact was over; but not for Taylor. With no war to fight, his superiors found new ways to exploit his name and fame.

'What to do with the alien prisoners of war?' was the question on many minds, but even as they thought it, a new threat was looming. A threat that Taylor had only begun to get an insight to and the only one among them that understood, lay in a coma. The danger no longer came from the enemy at their gates, but the enemy within.

Tsengal lay still on the hospital bed where he had been for the last four years. His heart was still beating, but there was little other sign of life. Taylor visited him whenever he could. He wondered like they all did what memories lay in the alien’s head.

Does he dream of Chandra's death?
he asked himself.

He certainly did and he wasn't even there. He could still only speculate as to Chandra's fate, but it seemed all but certain she was dead. And yet, mystery surrounded Tsengal's return, and what he’d tried to tell them before he passed over to unconsciousness.

"You won't make him wake by hoping for it."

Taylor turned and saw Jafar a few steps behind him.

"Will he ever wake up?"

"I have said this many times. He'd have been finished off. Years of this 'coma' as you call it would be considered a waste where we came from. But I have told you this countless times."

"I know, but he needs to wake up."

Jafar nodded in agreement.

"We have to get to work."

Taylor turned, accepting there was nothing else for it. Two guards stood on duty at the entrance to the room, both wore the insignia of the 2nd Inter-Allied. Taylor didn't trust anyone else with the security of their comrade.

"What time are we due on stage?" he asked Jafar.

"1300 hours."

Taylor groaned.

"This is really getting old."

"At least you don't have to wear the Mech suit."

He smiled in response. Jafar had taken on some of Jones' sarcasm that he so missed since the Captain's retirement. They stepped out and saw the face of a man who was quickly becoming Taylor's most annoying acquaintance.

"Come on, Mitch, we've got work to do. You've gotta be on stage in a half hour. Chop, chop!"

Taylor stopped in his tracks and glared at the man. He wore a perfectly cut and pressed suit. He'd never served in the military, and while Mitch had never cared to ask, he would bet his right arm he sat out the war in a comfy house somewhere far from the apocalyptic carnage they had all witnessed. That was Richard Weaver, his government appointed press and liaison officer.

"Look...Dick," he took a little pleasure in seeing the man's face tighten with scorn at the nickname. "I couldn't give a rat’s ass what you want. I'll get up there because my country asks it of me, but what comes out of your mouth is worth less than shit."

Weaver looked taken aback. It was clearly one of the few times anyone had dared offend him, and he was unsure how to respond. He was a pencil pushing, slimy, backstabbing weasel of a man who Taylor had zero respect for. He was almost as tall as Taylor and clearly in healthy shape. He could have served and fought for their planet and their survival, but he chose to be selfish, and that was unforgiveable. He had a perfectly slicked parting and a tan that could only be the result of careful planning. He had make up applied which was as subtle as a news anchorman, and a Cartier pen placed in his upper suit pocket the same way every time. A matching branded tank watch on his wrist and a sleazy smile to top it all off. Getting nowhere with the Colonel, he turned his attention to Jafar.

"You big guy, you've gotta be suited up. You know the drill, get to it!"

Jafar looked as impressed by his tone as Taylor was.

"Don't forget who you work for now. You're an asset. You get to live a free and great life because of us. Now get to work."

With those words, Weaver paced off as if he'd laid down his orders and there was nothing more to say on the subject. They both knew they had to do the job, but being treated like dirt when they were going to do it anyway left a bitter taste in Taylor's mouth.

"Is this the kind of life you looked forward to and fought for?" asked Jafar.

Taylor shrugged his shoulders.

"Then maybe the next war will come soon."

* * *

Taylor approached the podium from where he was to begin. He was fully geared up in the latest make of Reitech armour. He was ten seconds late, and as he walked in to a cheer from the crowd, he caught sight of the scornful look on Weaver's face. Mitch smiled in response, and that only infuriated him. He lifted his hand, and the room fell silent. Hundreds of cadets looked on at their hero and hung on to his every word and motion. They could not get enough of the officer who killed Demiran in personal combat.

"Afternoon to you all," he stated, making an informal salute to them, "Millions fought and died in the wars with the invaders. I bet most of you saw little of the war, and consider that a blessing, for you were too young to fight it. But now you're being forged into the next generation of fighters, the next marines!"

Roars of applause followed.

"Long after officers like me are too old to still wear a combat uniform, you men and women will carry the torch, and you have a lot to live up to."

A projection lit up behind him displaying images of some of his fallen comrades. Firstly, Colonel Chandra filled the screen, and a narration boomed out and echoed around the room to accompany the footage.

"Colonel Chandra, Captain Friday, just two of the many heroes who fought to save our planet from complete destruction. Remember them, and follow in their footsteps to greatness."

Taylor shook his head, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Weaver. His fallen comrades were being used as a cheap recruiting ploy, and it didn't sit well with him at all. He was in half a mind to jump from the stage and crack Weaver's jaw, but he refrained. He looked over to Jafar as the video continued and could see he looked no more impressed. His alien friend stood off to the side outside of the audience’s view. He wore a full Mech suit, but the head cover plate was removed to reveal his face.

The video came to a close with a roar of applause, but it seemed a hollow gesture.

These kids don't know anything about what they've just been told, to them Chandra is nothing more than a character in a book. But, on the other hand, the potential future of
the Corps is standing before me, and it’s my duty to give them a good show
.

"The alien invaders were a strong enemy which must never be underestimated. Should you ever meet one, you want to be sure of your Marine training and weapons, for they will keep you alive. The Mech warrior is unlike any enemy our race has ever had to fight!"

He pointed to Jafar as he finished, and his friend stomped onto the stage in the towering and bulky Mech battlesuit. Gasps rang out, for they both knew the crowd had never seen a Mech in person, only on the TV and in video games.

"The first time I ever saw one of these was on the Lunar Colony. Just one single enemy soldier, and it took a platoon to take it down! Our bullets barely scratched it. They were terrifying war machines, the likes of which we had never seen!"

He lifted up a pistol from the display table beside him and fired two shots at Jafar. One ricocheted off and made a loud crash as it hit a clear shield that lay between him and the audience. It ruined the effect a little now they knew they were sheltered, but they still recoiled in surprise.

"Imagine the day we first stood before these metal monsters. Never seen an alien before. Never been in space before. Years of training for combat and being prepared for the next war, and it was nothing like anyone on Earth could have predicted. Faced with a technologically superior enemy we could barely hurt, we gave it our all. We lost many marines that day, and a great many more in the coming years, and yet today we stand triumphant because of the hard work of the men and women out there, with a rifle in hand. That marine could be you."

An image projected up before him of a press photo of a marine in full Reitech equipment and a corny grin on his face. He couldn't believe anyone would buy into it, but then, after all, he did. He continued.

"The heavily armoured Mech is not as slow as you may think, but they are heavily armoured and present large targets. When the great Marcus Reiter developed a new range of handheld weaponry which could take on this new threat, the war finally began to turn."

He picked up the huge Reitech rifle of which he had become so acquainted and lifted it. As he did so, a Mech suit was wheeled in remotely, propped up like a mannequin. It had several battle scars already that had been patched over for the display. He wondered for a moment if he had met its previous owner and sent it into whatever afterlife the aliens may imagine.

"When you have a relentless enemy coming at you, and all that you have left to rely on is your training and your equipment, pray that it is one of these in your hands!"

He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and fired two shots. The muzzles flashed the room in a strobe fashion, and the two rounds punched gaping holes in the armour. The crowd sighed and gasped before laughter followed, as if they were watching the latest outrageously unbelievable action movie.

"Sick!" someone in the crowd yelled out.

Yeah, but not in the way you are thinking,
Taylor thought.

"But! The enemy knows no fear! It will rarely stop to take cover or be intimidated by anything you throw at it. And when they are bearing down on you and your magazine runs dry and worse still, you're out of ammo, what do you do?"