by William King
Who could sneak up on greens?
A figure moved cautiously through the undergrowth. At first Travis thought it was Chad. He had the same green skin but the head was too large, the shoulders too muscular. As the figure's head scanned from side to side he made out a hammer and sickle tattoo on its forehead. It was joined by three other figures. They huddled close, exchanging words in Russian. He froze hoping they hadn't noticed him.
Cautiously he unclipped a grenade. One of the Soviets looked up. Travis held still. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. The fear he lived with constantly clawed at him. He wanted to run and scream. A
noise attracted the enemies' attention.
The Russians had Greens too. This was important. The US was assumed to be five years ahead in bio-technology. Travis wondered briefly whether they had got them by independent research or industrial espionage. He decided it didn't matter. He lobbed the grenade.
One of the figures looked up just before impact, tried to throw himself flat as he shouted a warning. Travis let rip with his M-16. The Soviet Greens reeled and died. Gobbets of bloody flesh exploded across the clearing. They didn't scream. Not one of them screamed.
"Come on, Carlo," Travis shouted and headed towards the sound of gunfire.
He sprinted from tree to tree then threw himself on his stomach to worm his way round the edge of the clearing. He assumed Carlo was following.
Keep moving, he told himself, don't let the fear in your gut get control.
Bill-boy was pinned down by the bole of a giant tree. Three soviets kept up suppression fire while two snuck forward.
Why are they here? Travis wondered. Protecting the power station? Same reason as us, field tests? Carlo arrived in his patch of cover. In the distance he heard the whoosh and explosion of Chad's rocket launcher, caught sight of the bright muzzle flash of the Russian guns.
He pointed to one of the Russians who were suppressing Bill-boy. Carlo nodded. They opened fire. Two of the Russians died. The other one started to turn, bringing his weapon to bear on the sergeant. He was cut in two by near simultaneous bursts from Carlo and Travis.
One of the two who had been attempting to reach Bill-boy lay still in the clearing. Bill-boy popped up and shot him, then ducked back into cover as bullets from the right of the clearing thudded into the wood around him.
The night was filled by the roar of automatic weapons and the noise of approaching helicopters. Travis looked at Carlo. At some point the Green had slapped a fleshtone bandage on his arm. "Let's get gone," he said.
Bullets whined around him, impact knocked him over. Most had been glancing shots bouncing from his kevlar body armour. Carlo was not quite so lucky.
He lay nearby riddled with bullets.
Travis watched appalled as he began to move. "Get gone, Sarge, I'll cover you." Travis looked at his ruined face and shook his head. Travis heard footsteps and whirled. It was Bill-boy. His eyes held an insane glint.
"Got that last one, Sarge. Good fight."
Travis turned back to Carlo. Soon he would be dead and his body would decompose rapidly as special designed micro-organisms did their work.
Can't have the prototypes falling into enemy hands, he thought, not that it matters much now.
"Get gone, Sarge," croaked Carlo. Travis nodded. He looked towards Bill-boy who had just seemed to notice Carlo for the first time. The Green's face was transformed by fury. With his necklace of human teeth he looked suddenly wild and barbaric. The look he gave Travis made Travis back away.
"Let's go," Travis said. Bill-boy shook his head and spat at Travis's feet. They stared at each other for a long tense moment. Travis heard a scream. It sounded like Chad. Bill-boy wheeled and ran off into the night.
Travis was torn by indecision. A part of him wanted to stay and fight, to die along with the Greens, to end the fear and disgust he constantly felt.
Another part of him urged him to flee headlong into the night. He stood transfixed. His mind held a seething mass of conflicting impulses and thoughts, a maelstrom of emotion that could easily become either panic or unreasoning berserk fury. His senses were preternaturally keen. He could hear movement in the undergrowth around him.
Get control, he told himself. Take a deep breath. Take another one.
Think. The information on Soviet greens was too important, he had to get it back. By an effort of will he forced himself to move. He had found a reason to do it. It wasn't a good one but it would do. Tomorrow he could look for another. He wasn't going to give up.
It was a long time before the sounds of gunfire faded behind him.
8. Gunship.
The whir of helicopter rotors above him was almost deafening. He stared near mindlessly into the jungle canopy that rushed by below.
"Jesus, Travis, you look rough," Kyle had said when they picked him up at the rendezvous point. Travis hadn't answered. He had just clambered aboard the chopper.
"Where are the Greens?"
"Dead." Greens don't surrender and they can't be taken prisoner, biological alterations had seen to that.
"Pity. They were good boys. Still, life is cheap."
"Yes. That's why there will be plenty more Greens. Life is cheap. Not like expensive bionics."
Travis knew that the word of the Russian artificial soldiers would cause the Pentagon to begin full scale production of Greens. There would be more refinements. This batch had just been the start.
He remembered the look of fury and hatred on Bill-boy's face before he turned to run to his death. It had been an accusing look. It had meant you and people like you are responsible for this. He knew that there would be more Bill-boys and Carlos and Chads and Stefs sent to their deaths. They would live only to die. The knowledge made him feel sick.
He stared down into the vast, tropical wilderness and thought of the men and other things he had lost in the jungle. At least he was getting out.
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Document ID: 7e16f48e-6c4c-1014-a6e6-98e746e132a5
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 06.07.2008
Created using: Text2FB2 software
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