by William Lee
“Ten to one odds, Major,” Davis said from behind a jagged piece of debris, 20 yards to Snap’s left.
“I like those odds, Davis. Our FALOS suits and laser rifles should give us a decisive advantage – not to mention the element of surprise,” Snap said from behind a collapsed bulkhead. From his vantage point, Snap could clearly see the crater’s ridge.
“Bob, we are in position. Once you take out that helo, we will ambush the Russians as they descend the ridge. You need to make your way back to the ridge and attack them from the rear. You and Taylor should be able to force any stragglers over the ridge with your miniguns. We will catch these Russians in a cross fire, they won’t even know what hit them,” Snap said.
“I see three men on top of the ridge. Looks like they are preparing to repel down,” Davis said over the COM.
“Where?” Snap asked.
“Your ten o’clock.”
Snap switched to thermal and looked to his left. There they were, and then four more appeared.
“Bob, have you neutralized that helo? We have visual. Russians on the ridge,” Snap said into the COM.
The first Russian began the decent. From the position the Russians chose, the drop was only about seventy feet to the base of the newly carved out trench. It would not take them long to be on the ground. Once on the ground level, they would have more places to hide, and would be more difficult to target. If they made it to the ship, they would have countless places to hide – it would be like searching through a corn maze.
“I’m lining up the shot now,” Bob said over the COM. “Direct hit. Target immobilized. Do want me to finish off the flight crew?” Bob asked.
Snap thought about it for a minute. He needed Bob to set up the crossfire, so the Russians could not simply run away from the ridge. On the other hand, if he left the flight crew alive, they may find some way get in contact with Russian command.
“Eliminate the flight crew, then get back to the ridge ASAP.”
“Helo down. Everyone else, wait until the first Russian hits the ground, then light’em up. Start with the targets on top of the ridge - the ones that have not started down the cliff.”
The first Russian touched the snow-covered ground at the bottom of the trench. All five men on the ground began to fire at the Russians as they repelled down the rocky cliff. Lightning Squad’s DE rifles made very little noise and only emitted a tiny trace of light. At first, the Russians had no idea what was happening. Fifteen Russians fell from the ridge before any of them realized they were under attack.
Twenty-five Russians, wearing cold weather gear, were shot as they clung to the slippery rockface they were attempting to descend.
“Holy shit. This is like shooting fish in a barrel,” Davis yelled.
“Forty down, and they still have not fired a shot,” Williams said from Deck 12 where he was sniping Russians that were hiding just over the ridgeline.
“That means there are about 60 left, and they are digging in behind the ridge – where we can’t see them from down here.”
“I can see them clearly from my vantage point,” Williams said. “I moved up several decks, I’m looking down on these Reds.”
Williams had used his select fire switch to change his DE rifle from assault to sniper mode. In addition to single fire, three-shot burst, and full auto, the laser rifle offered two other firing options. These other options included sniper mode and anti-armor mode. Anti-armor mode used more power and caused a serious delay between shots. Theoretically, anti-armor mode, if used often enough, could diminish the fusion fuel cell, even though no one had ever seen that happen.
“I don’t think they are called ‘Reds’ anymore,” West said.
“Another one down,” Williams called out. “I don’t care what they’re called, as long as they drop.”
Snap and the others had slowed down their rate of fire because the Russians had retreated to behind the ridgeline.
“I got no targets, Major,” Davis said.
“Yeah, we got the easy ones dangling on the side of the cliff. The rest have taken up defensive positions along the ridge,” Snap replied.
“Bob, where are you and Taylor? The Russians have retreated behind the ridgeline where we can’t see them.”
“We are making our way into position behind the Russian line.”
Taylor, on the ridgeline with Bob and the remaining Russians, switched his FALOS suit to invisibility mode. The thousands of light-emitting diodes and electrochromic panels displayed images of a snow storm across his heavy plate armor. His titanium, exoskeleton frame made wielding the minigun and thousands of rounds as easy as picking up a bowling ball.
He walked the ridgeline, boulder to boulder, shooting unsuspecting Russians. Bob, who did not have the advantage of invisible armor, stayed behind Taylor, taking out any survivors. A few Russians were able to fire off a couple of shots before being pulverized by the rotating multi-barrel machinegun, but they missed by dozens of yards. At no time did Taylor feel like the enemy could even see him, much less effectively target him.
A quick squeeze of the modified trigger on the M134D-H sent dozens of rounds into the soft Russian targets, leaving nothing but a bloody mess where an enemy solider once stood. A few Russians decided to take their chances with the ridge, but Snap and the men on the ground made short work of them. A few minutes later, the last Russian was dispatched to meet his maker. The minigun in Taylor’s hand was not even warm.
“That’s the last one,” Taylor said into the COM.
“Roger that, what’s your status up there?” Snap asked.
“Bob and I are fine. Between the two of us, we just spent about 1,800 rounds of ammunition.”
“Shit. You only had 60 targets,” West said as he headed back over towards Snap.
“Yeah, well, they wouldn’t hold still,” Taylor said, as he surveyed the bloody carnage along the ridgeline. Taylor walked the cliff’s edge with a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand, making sure there were no survivors.
“What did these Russians do to deserve this? I mean, they came out here to check on a crashed ship or asteroid, and this is what they get for their efforts? Hell, we are in their country,” Taylor said, as he lined up a head shot on a Russian that was struggling to breathe with a bubbling hole in his chest.
“It’s not fair, or right. It is what it is. We all know the risks when we put on the uniform and pick up a weapon. Today, we had the better weapons, tomorrow – who knows?” Snap said.
“The helo is destroyed. Flight crew is dead. It looks like they were unable to get a message to Russian command,” Bob reported in his abrupt manner.
“Bob, Taylor, stay on the ridge. The rest of you get back to Deck 12, we need to get that cargo to ground level for pick up,” Snap ordered.
“We don’t have long before the Russians come looking for their missing helo,” West said.
“Bring them on, with these FALOS suits and laser rifles, fighting Russians is as easy as stepping on cockroaches,” Chris Johnson said into the COM.
“Those Russians thought they were looking for an asteroid or something. We caught them completely off guard. I’m sure the next ones that are sent will be more prepared,” Snap warned. “Let’s not get too cocky.”
“Hopefully, we can get the hell out of here before the next wave of Russians comes around.”
“Flying City is sixty minutes out,” General Stone Byrd reported.
“Anything can happen in an hour,” West muttered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Magadan Airport
Nox Bellator hurried down the ramp of his antigravity fighter. Once on the ground, he spun around to examine his favorite craft. Nox had diverted from his course to the crash site when the warning alarms sounded. The last few minutes of his trip had been like flying a toaster through a tornado; now he could see why. Nox stood in a private hangar, which appeared to have been rapidly cleared for his arrival. The forty-foot-wide disc shaped craft was covered with ice and snow; it
would need to be deiced before he could take off again.
“General Bellator, I am General Kotov, it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” said the older man in a trembling voice.
Nox turned around to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He could see the fear in the General’s eyes. This is why Nox preferred to only deal with Generals he knew, or at least officers that had been properly informed of his features.
“Do not be afraid, General. I too am Russian. I was first commissioned by Stalin himself after WWII. I assume General Popov has given you instructions.”
“Yes, Sir. As you can see, we have cleared out this hangar for you. There are guards posted at the door, with instructions not to allow anyone to enter.”
“General Kotov, you understand that you and your men were not supposed to see me or my ship.”
“Yes Sir. These are my best men. They know not to tell a soul.”
“General Kotov, do you believe in souls?” Nox asked.
“No Sir, not particularly so, Sir. It’s just a saying.”
“General, if I ever hear of you, or your men, mentioning this encounter, I will see to it that, not only you, but your families’ souls are immediately relieved of their mortal coil. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Sir. No one will ever mention your presence.”
“How long until my team gets here?”
“Couple hours, Sir.”
“Two hours? I don’t have two hours. I need to get to the site. General, when was the last time you and your officers actually did some manual labor?”
“Excuse me, Sir?”
“I need you and your officers to deice my craft. No one else. Deice my craft now. I want reports every fifteen minutes from the units deployed to the crash sites.”
Nox turned to enter his craft, when General Kotov spoke, “Would you like your action report now, Sir.”
Nox slowly turned, reminding himself that there were good officers in the Russian Air Force that were not aware of his existence, “Yes, General. Now would be fine.”
“We have landed troops at each of the impact zones. Five helos have reported back, all with the same findings; big craters, minor radiation and little else. Multiple attempts to contact the sixth helo have failed.”
Nox sensed this was the break for which he had been waiting. “Which helo failed to report back? Which site was it?”
“The Mi-26 that did not report was sent to Site Four, Sir.”
“Is that the site where the MiG pilot reported an anomalous impact crater?” Nox asked, with masked glee.
“Yes Sir, that’s the one.”
Damn. If it were not for my craft icing over, I would have already been there.
“How long until my craft is deiced?”
“Sir, it will take about 40 minutes to deice and apply anti-icing chemicals.”
“Make it happen. No one other than you and your staff officers are allowed in this hangar,” Nox said, as he hurried up the ramp into his craft.
Nox plopped down into the chair in his cockpit. It was set up similarly to the cockpit of a modern jet. It never shocked Nox that humanoids of all different planets had equipment that looked the same. After all, humanoids had similar features: arms, legs, heads and hands. It made perfect sense that they would arrive at the same solution to a scientific problem. Nox’s craft had been upgraded several times to be able to interface with human technologies. In addition to the otherworldly features, Nox’s craft had command and control functions for most Russian military assets, including communications.
“Get me General Popov,” Nox spoke into the craft’s communication system. Nox preferred the voice command feature, even though he could control certain aspects of the craft thru thought commands.
“This is General Popov. What can I do for you, Sir?” General Popov asked.
“Where are you, right now?” Nox asked.
“I’m in Moscow, at the bunker.”
“Excellent. How many next generation BAS units do we have operational?”
“Other than yours, and the other resident Ondagra, we have ten Battle Armor Systems with trained Russian operators,” General Popov said. “What do you have in mind?”
“How many Ondagra are there at the base?”
“Three that I know of.”
“I want the three Ondagra and the 10 trained operators deployed in an antigravity fighter to Site Four. I believe there are enemy forces on the ground there, and they shot down our Mi-26. Make sure that you take extra care when applying the anti-freeze to the exterior of the craft; that’s what forced me to divert. I should be at Site Four within an hour.”
“Consider it done, Sir.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Magadan Oblast
“We need to carry these containers to the ground level and outside for pickup. When the NATT arrives, we need to be able to load up quickly and get the hell out,” Snap to Lightning Squad from Deck 12 of the crashed Impegi.
“We have several containers to carry off this deck to ground level. Each of you grab an end, and we will walk them down the stairwell,” Neal added.
“There’s seven of us. You six, grab three containers, and I will stay up here and look for the missing units,” Snap said pointing the men to the large containers.
Carrying the heavy containers down multiple flights of broken and uneven steps was challenging, even with the aid of their titanium exoskeletons. Forty-five minutes later the containers were lined up, like coffins on the frozen tundra, ready for transport. Snap found no more of the missing containers.
“So here we are, in the open, sitting ducks for any Russian fighter pilot to light us up,” Williams said, as the squad stood by the line of containers on the ground.
“Our sensors would tell us if there were any Russian planes on approach,” Snap said. “All we have to do is wait for the NATT to come pick us up, and we are home free.”
“What if they have stealth planes? Our sensors would not alert us to those,” Williams pointed out.
“It’s unlikely that they have stealth planes this close to the Arctic Circle. Those assets would be stationed near Europe and Moscow,” Snap replied.
“How far out is the NATT?” West asked.
Snap checked the display on his forearm, “Fifteen minutes out.”
“Should we bring Bob and Taylor down off the ridge?” West asked.
“Not yet. We may need them, still. Leave them up there until we are ready to leave,” Snap said.
“Snap, since we have a minute here before the Transport arrives, I got a question for you,” West said into the COM so that only Snap could hear him.
“West, what’s that?”
“So, how did you get the nickname ‘Snap’?”
“Ha,” Snap chuckled, “That’s a funny story. We got a minute. Back in junior high school, I was about 14 years old. I had this super-hot science teacher, long blonde hair and big tits.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, well, one hot summer day, it was pouring rain outside, and she ran into the classroom holding her briefcase over her head with both hands. She was wearing a very thin, almost see-through silk blouse. Her blouse was soaked and pulled tight around her breasts because her arms were up over her head.”
“Sounds like quite a sight for a fourteen-year-old.”
“Shit. I’d like to see that again, now! Just as she was coming through the door in her drenched silk blouse, the AC cuts on, and it was full on headlights – her nipples poked through that silk shirt. Let’s just say it didn’t leave much to the imagination.”
“Nice.”
“West, as soon as she came through that door, my eyes went straight to those hard nipples, and I yelled at the top of my voice, ‘Snap Dog, tits!”
West and Snap chuckled.
“Every boy in that class started laughing. The teacher dropped her brief case and cupped her own breasts – that’s when the girls started laughing. Needless to say, I got sent to detention. When I got back from detention, e
veryone started calling me Snap Dog. Funny thing is, we never saw that teacher’s pointy nipples again - she must have gone out and bought padded bras.”
“That’s hilarious.”
“Yeah. That story followed me around for a long time. In college, they shortened my nickname to ‘Snap.’ Even my mom still calls me Snap.”
“Your mom found out?”
“Yeah, she thought it was funny too,” Snap said with a chuckle.
The entire squad’s HUD units sounded at once, indicating an approaching aircraft. It was their built-in Identification Friend or Foe system, or IFF for short, informing them that the NATT was on approach.
“Hell yeah, mission accomplished,” Williams said.
“Not so fast, we can celebrate once we are out of Russian airspace with the cargo,” West cautioned.
“This is Flying City, we need a visual confirmation of the LZ,” an unfamiliar voice boomed through the squad’s COM.
“Roger that, Flying City. This is Major Morgan Slade. Turn off the PID, Jackson,” Snap ordered. The Projected Invisibility Dome flickered off.
“Flying City, can you see us?” Snap asked.
“Clear as day,” the voice responded.
“We are standing with the cargo; it’s only 80,000 pounds. Can you land close to us?’
“No problem. We will be vertically landing and will hover 10 feet off the ground. You can load the cargo via a drop ramp; we will be heading home in 10 minutes.”
“Roger that,” Snap said with a bit of excitement.
All the men looked up into the sky, expecting to see a large transport plane hovering over them, but there was nothing but dreary winter flurries.
“Look, there, about 75 yards out,” Johnson said as he pointed to the snow swirling in the sky.
