by William Lee
The two men who were perched atop a large pile of containers that had slid down to one side of the deck across from the stairwell and they could not clearly see the Russians hiding behind the smaller pile of containers.
“If I could just get a little higher, I could see those Ruskies,” Taylor said, pointing upward at a partially collapsed metal walkway above them.
“That’s almost 20 feet up, you’ll have no cover,” Johnson objected.
“I’ve jumped twenty feet before in this FALOS armor. Besides, you can cover me.”
“Don’t do it. They got us flanked on two sides. I doubt I can cover both at the same time,” Johnson argued.
Catrix expertly wielded the light tank behind the advancing Russians while maintaining their invisibility. Now, the Russian paratroopers between them and the large bulkheads of the crashed ship were still advancing toward the front of the ship, where the rest of Snap’s team was dug in and waiting. The wind picked up, fiercely swirling snow to near whiteout blindness.
Snap checked his forearm display, it was still showing red dots directly ahead of him. “West, we should engage the enemy now. Between the snow and our invisibility, we should be able to evade and overpower them.”
“Roger that.”
“Fabris, maneuver the tank toward the enemy, try to keep most of their forces in front of us.”
“How are you going to target the enemy in this blinding snow?”
“We’ve got that covered. The built-in radar should give us an advantage over the paratroopers,” Snap said, as he gripped the duel handles of the large gun and rotated his wrist to see the screen on his forearm.
“Major, this is all on you. I can’t fire this gun based solely on the radar. If I hit an unseen rock directly in front of us, it could destroy the tank,” West said.
“Agreed,” Snap said, as he fired the laser cannon in the direction of three red dots.
The laser cannon made no sound as it sent a barrage intense light beams racing into the snowy whiteness. Three red dots slowly faded away from the display screen on Snap’s forearm.
“Good shot, Major,” West said, as he watched the dots disappear.
Fabris added, “Major, don’t forget the snowy conditions are going to greatly reduce the range of the laser cannon.”
“What’s my range in this shit?”
“Four hundred yards, tops,” Catrix said.
“Damn.”
“We are in a complete standoff,” Ryan Taylor said to Johnson. “I will have a clear shot from that walkway.”
“Okay, I got your back,” Johnson barked.
Taylor stood and bent his armor-clad legs to prepare for the jump. Twenty feet is close to the maximum distance the exoskeleton can leap. Still behind the stack of containers, as soon as he jumped, Taylor would be exposed to enemy fire.
“READY. SET. GO,” Taylor yelled.
Johnson stood from his covered position and began firing his laser rifle at the Russians who were peeking from behind the broken containers.
One Russian’s head disappeared in a spray of red mist. Another stepped back to avoid being splashed with his comrade’s blood.
Taylor’s left hand missed the metal railing, but his right hand made contact and clamped down on the cold steel. Taylor hung suspended in the air, struggling to pull himself to the higher walkway.
As if in slow motion, Johnson, from the corner of his eye, saw a Russian step from behind the bulkhead with an RPG already shouldered and pointed upward. In a split second, the rocket was launched in a cloud of flame and smoke. Johnson, who was not an overly religious man, said a quick prayer, as he glanced toward Ryan Taylor. Direct hit on the center mass of Taylor’s FALOS armor. Ryan disappeared in a fiery explosion. Johnson did not need to look for Taylor as the smoke cleared; he knew there was no chance of survival.
“Taylor down,” Johnson called out, as he lined up a shot and squeezed the trigger.
“Damn,” Snap muttered, as he fired another volley into the dwindling snow storm. “West, we are regaining some visibility, it looks like you may have a clear shot with the cannon.”
“Roger that, Major.”
“Catrix, it looks like there is a cluster of targets about 900 meters to the right; if you can get us up to that embankment, I may have a clean shot,” West said.
“Roger that, but we have to conserve the photon shells, we only have twenty,” Catrix said, as he sharply turned the tank toward the mound of earth.
“How does this small tank generate enough energy to power a photon gun?” West asked, as he prepared to line up the shot.
“It doesn’t, off course. The shells we use don’t contain explosives and projectiles, but rather concentrated energy that, when released, projects a ray of intense heat. They are best used against armor.”
As the tank crested the mound of earth, the wind died and the Russians could barely be seen in the distance. The white clad paratroopers were near the end of the ship where Snap’s team was waiting.
“Looks like about 40 of them,” Snap observed.
“They are kind of spread out; I don’t know if we can get them all,” West complained.
“Target the center of the group,” Catrix said.
West pointed the cannon at the center of the group and squeezed the trigger. A bright flash shot from the cannon with a sizzling whoosh. The air around the tank was instantly hot and sparked with flame. The flash of light struck near the center of the soldiers advancing toward the gaping hole in the ship. When Snap’s eyes adjusted from the blinding light, he zoomed in on the spot where the soldiers had been. The ones nearest the center had been vaporized or turned to charred ash. All the snow had melted and the paratroopers on the perimeter of the group were all lying on the ground, seemingly dead.
“The photon cannon releases a ray of light that is twice as hot as your sun. The targets that are not instantly burnt from the release of heat, suffocate as the oxygen around the initial impact is burned off,” Catrix explained. “Terrible way to die, not that I can think of a good one.”
After another 20 minutes of fighting, all the paratroopers that had landed on the ground were either dead, or fleeing across the frozen tundra, where they would surely die from exposure. Snap and West joined the rest of the team on the main level where they heard gunfire above them. The team raced up the stairwell to find Johnson defending against 14 remaining paratroopers. The paratroopers fought and died well, as the armor-clad team easily flanked their position. Once the paratroopers were eliminated the team gathered at the spot where Taylor had been killed.
“Poor Ryan,” Johnson said, shaking his head.
“Rest in peace, old buddy,” Josh Miller choked out, as he looked down at the bloody mess of armor and flesh that had once been his friend.
“Should we bury him?” Catrix asked.
“Major, who are these guys?” Davis asked, halfway lifting his gun in Catrix and Fabris’ direction.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Nox piloted his AG fighter alone. The other Ondagra and the BAS operators were in General Manpugna’s AG Fighter. The plan was for Nox to give cover fire, while Manpugna deployed the soldiers. As Nox approached the crash site, he could see no movement, no para-troopers, only blackened tundra and corpses.
Both fighters slowed to deploy the BAS operators and Ondagra, when a flash of light raced past his fighter, causing him to lose flight controls. In seconds Nox regained control of his craft in time to see a cleverly disguised tank slowly fade into the wintery whiteness.
Once again, Nox’s control panel lit up with warning alarms, his weapons systems were completely offline. An unfamiliar tension rose in Nox’s chest and throat, anxiety, or anger. He had not felt this way since his interstellar ship crashed in Antarctica decades earlier.
“I’ve been hit. All weapons lost. I can’t cover your landing. I’m going after the tank. You and your men secure the target,” Nox barked into his COMM.
Nox fought the urge to fly his craft direct
ly at the enemy tank, knowing he must preserve the fighter. He veered to the right, making several evasive maneuvers as he picked up speed and gained altitude. The tank fired no more shots and was now completely undetectable on the ground below, blending in with the swirling snow.
Damn. That tank makes these AG Fighters far less useful.
Nox felt he was out of the tank’s range, and he circled back toward the site in time to see 10 Russian operators and two Ondagra run from Manpugna’s AG fighter toward the crashed ship. Even from the sky, Nox could see flashes of light and explosions, as the operators met the Americans at the perimeter of the debris field. The Americans had positioned themselves inside the wrecked ship’s bulkheads and were shielded from air attacks. Nox’s craft would be ineffective at this stage.
Nox spoke into his COMM, “Manpugna, I’m going to land and look for that tank. You stay in the sky and provide air support when the need arises. With weapons down, I’m no good in the air anyway.”
“Yes Sir. Want me to draw fire from the tank? So, you can find it?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know. Don’t get shot down, they have a photon gun.”
Nox landed his fighter several hundred yards away and engaged the invisibility. A few minutes of searching for the tank turned up nothing, and Nox decided to join the Russians battling at the ship.
Nox joined Manpugna at the inner rim of the debris field just outside the hulk of the ship that remained somewhat intact. The Americans were just inside the hulk exchanging fire with the Russian BAS operators.
“No tank?” Manpugna asked.
“Could not find it. I’m sure it will show up at the most inopportune time,” Nox snarled in disgust. “What’s the situation here?”
“Appears to be seven American operators set up on the first three decks, all wearing advanced armor with directed energy weapons, except the one with the heavy machine gun. He’s not wearing armor, or winter gear. Not sure what the hell he is?”
“Probably a genetically engineered warrior, super strong and fast. I’ve seen reports that they can trade blows with a BAS unit with their bare hands. He’s the one who shot my fighter before you got here.”
“Great,” Manpugna muttered. “Nearly a fair fight against our fourteen.”
“Don’t forget the tank; there could be two or three Americans operating it,” Nox reminded.
“Yeah, what if there are survivors? From the initial crash?” Manpugna pondered.
“Anything’s possible. We could be out numbered.”
“True. But time is one our side. We can reinforce, not sure they can,” Manpugna said, as he shouldered his rifle and stepped out from the debris.
Nox leapt over the twisted metal wreckage and sprinted toward the opening. He drew the American’s fire like nails to a magnet, bright flashes of light smashed into the ground all around him. The first three direct hits caused seconds of white blindness but did little damage to his advanced armor.
Good. My armor is still superior. The Americans and their Vitahician benefactors still don’t have what it takes to beat me.
Nox ran along a path that provided the most cover from the American weapons, knowing that they had rockets and heavy machineguns that could cause him substantial damage. Two overly confident Russian BAS operators followed Nox and were cut down in flashes of light.
Nox yelled into his COMM, “Operators, do not follow me, your armor is not strong enough to withstand a direct hit. The Ondagra armor cannot yet be duplicated on this planet.”
Inside the hulk, and shielded by a large collapsed bulkhead, Nox was drawing intense fire from the Americans. He stepped from the broken bulkhead and fired at one of the Americans who had revealed himself three times in the same position. Perfect timing. The bold American stepped into his line of fire and a large smoldering hole appeared in the center of his chest.
Josh Miller was dead.
Nox had little time to enjoy the small victory as he was nearly struck by a hail of heavy machine gunfire. Rolling back to cover unharmed, Nox thought to himself, ‘that giant has got to go.’ Two more Ondagra joined him inside the hulk, while the other Russian operators were being effectively held to the debris field by the Americans holding the high ground.
Nox gave the order to charge the Americans, and chaos ensued. In the swirling, white mayhem of madness, Nox came face to face with an American in FALOS armor. Reflexively, Nox struck the American in the helmet with his metal clad fist. The American stepped back, apparently momentarily stunned, and Nox raised his rifle and fired.
The American expertly dove to the right, and the flash of light singed the metal deck. In a split second, the American had tackled Nox, and they were both on the ground. The alien easily overpowered the invader, and, using brute strength ripped the American’s helmet off.
Nox raised his right hand, intending to smash the American’s head like a cantaloupe.
What. The. Fuck? It was Dale Matthews? His old adversary from the Great War? How was this possible? Dale would be nearly 100 years old, yet, here he was?
Nox froze in confusion. Nothing made any sense.
Am I going crazy? That was not normal for Ondagra. Could this planet be driving me insane?
Nox lowered his fist, he could not kill Dale Matthews. Why?
Nox was suddenly struck by a barrage of machine gun fire in the back, throwing him to the ground. Nox raced for cover before the giant clone could get another shot.
Shaken and wounded, Nox retreated from the battlefield and returned to his fighter. The wounds were not fatal, but his armor had sustained significant damage from the machine gun. Nox monitored the progress of the Russians from his fighter craft as he tended to his wounds.
How was Dale Matthews here in Siberia? Why had he not aged?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Snap grabbed his broken helmet and stumbled to cover. Neal West and Bob were the only two of his team that had seen the incident.
“Thanks, Bob. You saved my life,” Snap gasped between cold breaths. Bob could not hear him because the COMM system was in the detached helmet.
Neal pulled Snap to cover behind a twisted bulkhead. The Russian operators were now all inside the ship’s hulk, and advancing.
Snap’s face was freezing as he gulped down frigid air. “Did you see that?” Snap asked Neal, who was directly in front of him. Snap was fumbling with his broken helmet, trying to reattach it to his FALOS armor.
Neal helped Snap somewhat reattach the helmet and COMM. “It’s damaged beyond battlefield repair,” Neal said. “But this should work for now.”
“Thanks. Did you see that alien? Why did he freeze? He had me dead to rights. I knew I was a dead man.”
“I saw it. Thank God for Bob.”
“It wasn’t Bob. The alien recognized me and lowered his fist. He had time to kill me before Bob shot him.”
“I don’t know, that’s pretty messed up. Maybe we will never know.”
The Russian operators had settled back into positions, with their backs to the frozen tundra, and were trading fire with Lightning Squad. Davis and Moore had made their way to Snap and West’s position to give cover, while Snap got his helmet back on.
“Looks like one of the big ones is trying to flank us on the right,” Timothy Moore said, while pointing to movement behind some wreckage.
“I can’t get a clear shoot at him,” West said, as he inched his way into a better position.
“Doesn’t matter. The big ones can’t be harmed by our DE rifles,” Snap said, as he switched to his 50 BMG Lynx. “Maybe this will help.”
“Damn. I was hoping we would never need that thing again,” West whispered.
“Semi-automatic 50 caliber Exacto rounds. But only five shots per magazine,” Snap said.
The Ondagra sprang from the rubble and landed in the middle of the group, swiping the Lynx sniper rifle from Snap’s hands. The powerful rifle clattered to the deck, which was slowly turning white from the wind-blown snow.
“Fuck,�
�� Timothy Moore said, as he was flung against a pile of jagged metal debris that had seconds earlier been affording him cover.
Davis and West, knowing their rifles were useless, grabbed the seven-foot-tall armor-clad alien and attempted to wrestle him to the ground. Snap scrambled for the rifle, as Moore slowly picked himself up.
The Ondagra flung West off with ease and rolled over, pinning Davis to the ground beneath him. The device on the alien’s chest began to glow bright blue, and Snap knew Davis was about to be incinerated. Snap, lying on the ground, raised the powerful sniper rifle at the alien and fired three times. Snap could feel the recoil of the 50 caliber rounds through his armor. The alien lurched to the left, and the flash of light from his chest missed Davis.
“You hit him,” West yelled, as the alien leapt from the ground and scurried away before Snap could line up another shot.
Davis and Moore lie on the ground, not moving. Moore sat against the pile of jagged debris, with a grapefruit-sized hole burned through his armored stomach, a thin trail of steamy smoke was climbing upward.
Snap, knowing Moore was dead, crawled over to Davis, lying where the alien had left him. “Davis, Davis, can you hear me?”
West grabbed Snap’s sniper rifle and took up a defensive position behind the twisted metal. “Snap, is he alive?”
Davis had two perfectly round holes punctured through his armor. Snap recognized them immediately, the BMG round had passed through the alien’s armor, through the alien, and through Davis’ armor. Snap rolled Davis over to see if the bullets had passed through him, there were no exit wounds. Two BMG rounds were lodged in Davis.
