Steven L. Hawk - Peace Warrior

Peace Warrior

Copyright 2010 by Steven L. Hawk

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is dedicated to two of the driving forces in my life:

To my wife, Juanita, for your patience and endurance during the hundreds of hours I spent in front of my PC. You believed in me even when I didnt.

And for my Sister, Deb. One of my earliest memories is of you teaching me how to read and write the alphabet. I love and miss you.

PROLOGUE

Death was not lonely. He had his thoughts and memories to keep him company.

* * *

Sergeant Justice? Hes one of the best Ive ever seen, he heard his commander, Colonel Bishop, remarking to a huddled group of nodding generals and politicians. Grant halted less than 10 feet from the group and turned quickly away, not wanting to intrude on the private conversation. The VIPs had been observing field maneuvers for more than a week and had just reviewed the final two days of war games in an attempt to learn how Colonel Bishops forces had overcome a much larger and better equipped opposing force. The battle scenes were recorded by numerous ground-, aircraft- and satellite-based cameras. All showed the same vivid scenes of Grant leading his men against the enemy.

I dont know anyone else who could have pulled out a win under those circumstances, Grant heard the colonel continue. Hell, the exercise was designed to have them lose this... Slightly embarrassed by the remarks from the man he admired above all others, he marched quickly away.

* * *

Just another memory .

He now knew that death was made up of infinite darkness, random thoughts and old memories. There was awareness , but that awareness was without a body. There was no touch, no sound. No smell or taste. His consciousness was a dark sea of remembrances; and, with a few exceptions, he allowed the sea to carry him as it wished. The sea was not overly large. Its boundaries were the borders of his mind. Its waves were the recollections of his thirty-two years.

Even now, after what seemed like an eternity of death, he occasionally stumbled upon a new memory. When that happened, he viewed it in his mind and studied it for every detail. Then, certain that he had recalled it to the best of his ability, he filed it away. He no longer gorged himself as he had in the beginning, replaying each new recollection over and over and over. Now, he stored them away like precious possessions treasures to be taken out and viewed only when the dark walls of death pressed closest, seeking to finally extinguish the flickering remnant of his existence.

He understood he could not remain aware forever. At some distant point, he would relent allow the void to crush the thin eggshell of his awareness. But understanding is not the same as conceding and, for now, he fought.

He fought with memories.

And the one he always came back to the one he visited most often was the memory of his death

* * *

The receiver buzzed noisily as the outpost radioed in.

geant Justice, this the transmission was garbled badly. your wa can you see

Justice looked at Sean Taylor, the young corporal lying in the snow next to him. The soldier, a six month veteran to the team who had proved his abilities time and again over those few months, also had a receiver in his ear. A shake of the corporals head indicated that he had not heard the transmission any better.

Damn, Justice muttered. The sub-zero temperature was severely fucking with their reception. And this was not a good time for fuck ups. Grant cursed the supply sergeant who had issued his team the older, less reliable sets and asked the soldier on the other end, a buck sergeant and a tested veteran, to repeat his last transmission.

For the effort, he received more static.

For a mission this important, youd think they could find us something manufactured in this century , he thought. Instead, the communications officer had issued them forty-year old voice activated radios that only worked half of the time under normal conditions. And the blowing snow and frigid cold surrounding the team were far from normal.

Check that, he corrected. The snow and cold used to be far from normal. Even though they were just north of the imaginary boundary that defined the Arctic Circle, Justice knew these conditions were once uncommon for mid-August. Not so much anymore. For the past ten years, the worlds climate had grown quickly and progressively colder. The average annual temperature had dropped more than 5 degrees over that span of time. To a soldier like Justice, that didnt seem like a lot, but he knew that scientists were concerned. Sixty years earlier, scientists had argued relentlessly about the possibility of global warming. Now, all they argued about was the ever-present cold fronts, decreasing temperatures and the expansion of ice flows moving south. Some argued that the next ice age was upon them. Others countered that this was just a temporary meteorological blip caused by yadda-yadda-yadda . At this moment, Justice didnt care. All he knew was that the weather was an obstacle for him and his team.

The briefing Sergeant Justices team received from the units intelligence officer, a younger-than-usual-looking first lieutenant who was rapidly becoming known throughout the brigade for his faulty analysis and missing data, informed them that a heavily armored European Front column was headed their way. If the intelligence was correct, the fission powered tanks and personnel carriers should be passing through this mountain pass any time now, and Justice had a gnawing suspicion that it was getting close. Perhaps that was the info the garbled transmission was trying to pass along. He cursed silently and peered down along the road trying to make out anything in the blowing snow.

His team, or what was left of it after two years of action on the front, had a hard-won reputation for success. They had been given this latest mission of slowing down stopping, if possible the armored column. They had been helod onto the mountain three days ago, a day before the blizzard set in, and had been waiting for the enemy ever since. Waiting is never easy for a soldier, but it takes on a hellish quality when it happens under extreme conditions that sap the strength and concentration from even the toughest men. And a blizzard is about as extreme as it gets.

In view of the missions they had been drawing lately, Justice had given considerable thought to how long they could remain effective as a fighting team. The odds were high, and had been for some time, that they would eventually bite off more than they could chew, and even money was on it happening sooner rather than later. Grant had recently heard rumors of bets being taken on when they would get their asses chewed up. Normally, it was the kind of thing that Justice would shrug off as inane gossip, started by troops who had too much time on their hands, but lately he had begun to wonder if there might actually be some truth to the rumors. He and his soldiers kept getting sent to the middle of no-fucking-where with instructions to shoot up every-fucking-body.