PS2 Chronicles - Joe Walsh, New Conglomerate Master Sergeant

Joe Walsh, New Conglomerate Master Sergeant, Searhus. June 21, 2845.

         Walsh watched helplessly as Privates Ken Edmund Jr. and Adira Sullivan, both doing their best to hold Lavastorm’s south ridge, fell dead to the ground, Terran Republic bullets penetrating their armor. Although he didn’t know Sullivan, Walsh had been friends with his father from their Academy days. These kids were good. Walsh would make certain that the T.R. paid.

         “Miller. Cohen. Move into their positions. You see any T.R. scum, take them out.” The two scrambled over the crusted lava field and filled the empty spaces. “In place, Sarge,” Miller shouted, “and ready.”

         The Terran Republic had been the single political force on Earth since the Armistice and the formation of the new Government. They had set up an open and transparent Government that kept the peace for close to two hundred years. Walsh had no problem with them, but he certainly did with the current politicians who used the Terran Republic name to rule over Auraxis, not as a democracy but as a harsh and cruel dictatorship. Strict curfews, which had been put into place during their travels when discipline needed to be maintained, were not rescinded after they landed on Auraxis. In fact, in recent years they had been made more harsh.

         “Don’t worry,” the T.R. council told the people, “we have a planet to reshape, cities to build, and we don’t know what the hell might be out there. As soon as we can, all restrictions will be lifted, but for the safety of our 60 thousand citizens, we have to keep all rules and laws in place." So much for that.

         But what really pissed Walsh off was that the supporters of the T.R. voted down their own freedoms.

         In a move directly planned to keep the emerging New Conglomerate from resisting Terran Republic control, all large gatherings were banned. Groups of more than three, unless they were a family, were not permitted the right of assembly. Refusal to follow T.R. laws became punishable by imprisonment, and in some cases death. Suspected N.C. officers were rounded up and imprisoned without proof of wrongdoing, or even a trial. The N.C. pleaded for the return of all personal freedoms, but the T.R. refused. They were trying to work out a compromise when war broke out. Both sides walked from the table.

         So much for Thomas Connery’s belief that men could work together in peace.

         Walsh and his unit grabbed an array of heavy gauss rifles, tri-barreled jackhammer shotguns, and carbines and carefully moved down Lavastorm. Walsh knew the T.R.’s tactics. They hid behind realistic 3D holo-boulders, lying in wait until N.C. soldiers passed. Walsh held his jackhammer close and fired it in a wide arc as they passed all possible hiding places.

         He cursed himself as the sound of gunfire erupted from behind him. The T.R. were hiding in a real crevice, large enough for a half dozen men. They ambushed Walsh's unit from behind with open fire. Walsh watched helplessly as his men fell, wounded, captured, dead. His unit's scrambled return fire only hit a handful of their ambushers.

         Walsh and his men scrambled for safety behind an outgrowth of rock. They had managed to take the high ground; they’d be safe, if only for a few minutes. He gave the signal and Miller and Cohen revealed the seven Phoenix missile launchers they had hidden along the volcano’s rim.

          “Now!” Walsh screamed. His men set off the launchers in quick succession. Rockets careened down alongside Lavastorm’s wall and exploded. T.R. soldiers, broken and lifeless, were thrown from cubby holes. Through his binocs Walsh could see two of the T.R. bastards. One, a kid, probably 19. “Screw you, moron for picking the wrong side,” Walsh shouted. The other looked like a girl, a little older, with flaming red hair.