Follow Me Until the End of the World: The Weapon - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Sandman
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 11

On the Border of Canada and the State of Washington

A desert condor soared far overhead.

An overzealous soldier took several pot shots at it with his rifle, nearly hitting the bird. His companions, strewn around their pup tent, chastised their master marksman and squad commander for his obviously failure. The rifleman simply turned, pumped out the spent shells, and shrugged his shoulders. He then assured them that he could hit his target when it really mattered.

The commanding officer of the Fourth Battalion of the East Field Army of the Southern Cross took notice and approached the four-man squad. The seasoned colonel that bore facial scars like battle ribbons, stood before the crew who were unshaven, unkempt, and attired in little more than their tiger shorts and combat boots.

“Officer on deck. Attenhut!” the squad leader bellowed. Instinctively, each man jumped to his feet and threw a mighty salute against his sweaty forehead.

The colonel silently appraised the sorry condition of the squad, and mumbled, “as you were.” The four men relaxed their locked shoulders and prepared for a verbal lashing that would accompany other punishment, probably KP duty or possibly even time in the Brig. Instead, the colonel took out a cigar from his front pocket of his shirt, lit it, and began smoking. He took a seat on an empty ammo crate.

“How are you men doing?” the grizzled man inquired.

“Just fine sir. We were just trying to pass the time, sir,” the squad leader said excitedly, ready to take the brunt of his wrath.

“Yes, I understand all too well how difficult this waiting is. Out here in this godamned heat. What can you do?”

The squad leader looked to the others, whose faces showed an equal amount of confusion. “Yes sir, the waiting is something terrible. But can I ask you something, sir?”

The other three men tensed up, cursing him for his lack of common sense.

“Go ahead, corporal.”

“Is this the real thing, or just a drill?”

The colonel chuckled offhandedly. “Son, I seriously doubt that they would gather the entire field army out here just for an exercise. It’s as real as its going to get. Real soon, you’re going to be missing these long bouts of boredom. As you were told in your briefing this morning, we’re facing a very serious threat from the north from that pyschopath Hodge. Apparently, there was a complete communication breakdown. We’re standing here to make sure that he doesn’t march that freakshow army of his down here and pillage our capital and our homes.”

“We won’t let that happen, sir,” the squad leader answered.

The colonel crooked an eyebrow at him, and smiled. “Do you have any family at home, son?”

”I’ve got a wife and a three month old son,” he responded, taking out a photograph and handing it to the officer.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s really nice,” the veteran said with profound sincerity. He handed it back, and said “just never forget why we’re out here, boys, to protect our homes from common bandits and any other threat, human or cyborg. We’re the only thing standing in the way of these monsters from paying a visit to your families.”

The colonel took a look into the sky, feeling the relentless heat pour down on his brow from the blazing sun. “You men make sure that you stay hydrated,” he said, standing and then preparing to make his exit. “I’m going to make a few more rounds before nightfall.”

The squad snapped to attention and threw the colonel of salute that was inspired by respect, not fear. The colonel returned it, and began walking away. On his way over to the next tent, he thought how difficult it was to lead such fine young men to their deaths.

…

Around an impenetrable steel fortress, a massive storm was developing. Dark gray clouds rushed across the sky. Gale force winds tore across the landscape. Lightning shot to the ground, blasting chunks of the earth into the air.

From the structure’s deepest recesses, Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries called out into the night. The madman sat with his back to the door, sitting in a crushed velvet captain’s chair. His claw-like fingers gripped the armrests tightly, embracing himself for the apex of the piece. Visions of storm riders breaking through to the unsuspecting enemy camps filled his mind. The sons and daughters of his own creation fell upon the mere mortals and prepared for the slaughter. And then it came, like a violent orgasm. The horns called out the final battle march with tremendous vigor. His body shook, his lips trembled, and he simply surrendered control to the artistic surge that overtook him. He saw red, and then, black.

His body twitched, sank into the chair, and then welcomed the soothing calm. When Cameron Hodge’s eyes opened, they were bloodshot and bore only a hint of the madness that existed behind them.

The door com chimed. After several seconds, he finally muttered, “enter.”

The reinforced steel door slithered open and the only other human on the premises entered. Electro crossed his arms and stood before the slumped- over Hodge.

“Are you just going to stand there like a mute prick or do you have something to tell me?” the wormy little man snapped.

Electro withheld his own contempt for Hodge, knowing full well of his mood swings. Still, it would be so easy to destroy the little fucker where he sat….Of course, Hodge had no doubt prepared for that scenario. The computer mainframe that existed as an all-powerful deity to everything Hodge created (including the fortress, the Mixing Station where the captured humans were agonizingly converted into cyborgs, and even the army of organic machines, themselves) would strike Electro dead the second he moved against him. He knew full well of the defensive mechanisms lining the walls-projectile spikes, poisonous gases, pencil-thin lasers, and only God could guess what else. So he obeyed. There was so much more to gain this way, anyway.

“The spy returned,” Electro said, referring to the cybernetic condor they sent out nearly a week ago. “I’ve studied its findings.”

“And?” Hodge sneered impatiently.

“And they have massed their army along the entire border. Preliminary estimates put them at 12,000 light infantry, four heavy artillery brigades that have at least 30 pieces, and approximately 50 armor. You can expect that they have a makeshift firebase with helicopter landing capability not far off, so they will have some air power. Do not underestimate their normal small arms-rockets, mortars…”

”NONSENSE!!!!” Hodge screamed, as his voice cracked like an adolescent. “THEY DO NOT REALIZE THAT THEY ARE DEALING WITH A GOD!!!”

Now, Electro struggled to maintain his composure. These volatile moments made the madman more dangerous than any of his twisted creations.

Hodge stood, and walked over to a window. “Yes, yes, a god is what I am. You see, my dear Max, that nothing can touch me now. No force of arms…no act of God…no natural disaster…I am immortal. I have the power, within these TWO HANDS to take whatever I please from this world. Who has bypassed every supposed limitation of science? Who has tamed that beast and made it his slave? There is very little that I cannot do, and only time stands of THAT.”

He pressed his hands against the thick pane of glass, staring into the lightning storm. Sudden, almost blinding illuminations flickered. From a side-glance, Electro saw his master’s face-eyes glazed over, mouth gaping open, and a trickle of spittle flowing easily down his cheek. He dared not think of the dark things that danced around in the madman’s head.

“They must want war, Max. I have followed all the polite courses of diplomacy. I offered them a generous alliance, and they failed to bring me HER.”

Ahhh, yes, the red headed beauty, Electro recalled. He found himself at times puzzled as to the obsession. There were literally hundreds of other, more beautiful women, awaiting the terrible fate at the Mixing Plants. He settled on the theory that it was all because another man, perhaps the only one that could claim to be more powerful than Hodge, wanted her for himself. By claiming her, Hodge could finally announce his supremacy to Nathaniel Essex. It was a deep seated psychology that befitted him somehow. Something so simple as wanting to win a contest among one’s peers. In his eyes, it was Hodge’s only peer.

“Give them total war. Unleash the Reavers-the groundlings and fliers. Bring only enough prisoners back to compensate for our loses. Destroy the rest. Desecrate the bodies, make an example out of them.”

“And then?”

He turned to Electro with a slow turn that revealed a countenance that was nothing short of maniacal. “March onto the capital. I wish to be king now.” A smile slowly crept across his face. “I want no mercy on the battlefield….kill them all, Max, kill them all…Obliterate them….bring me absolution.