Alaskan Storm (Part 1 of Blood Stone Impact): A Taskforce COBALT Action-Adventure Technothriller

by Kronos Ananthsimha

  Soon they were flowing along under the waves at speeds neither could swim. With new sounds thundering with the storm, the current, pressure and the temperature of the water drastically changed. They were under a ship.

  The COBALT operative led the sheriff almost to the propellers blades. Knowing the danger of being torn to shreds if he kept going, Blood pulled something out of his thigh pouch. It looked like two square sheets, each an inch thick and the squares connected by a steel cable. They were electromagnets. He quickly activated them with a flip of a switch and the object attached itself onto the steel hull. This pulled the two people towards the rear hull stopping just yards behind the propellers. If not for the helmet, Blood would have cracked his forehead. The impact against the under-structure jolted him. Morgan’s body was cushioned by Blood’s.

  The pony-bottle was only half-empty and sunk with the remaining weight. Damian Blood had infiltrated many hostile ships in his career. But never with a civilian whose life he felt responsible for.

  He used the magnets to climb the stern. When he rose above water level, he readied a brick of HMX explosive charge and stuck it to the hull to take out the propellers. The vessel was named The Alaskan Bridger. Blood had never heard of this ship and was reassured to find the open decks empty. Not seeing immediate hostiles was not always a good thing. Now Blood and Morgan had to face the weather on this big vessel.

  Edna Morgan who had held on to Blood as he climbed the hull was on board the ship’s deck as gently as Blood could manage. She yelped, but soon stood and readied the MP7A1. She looked behind to see Blood pointing at the only door in sight. It was red and had no see-through panels or windows.

  Using his thermal monocular, Blood scanned for tangos present through the door. There were four. All were working on devices and were armed. This was the control room.

  Blood stuck a new magazine into his M1911A1, pulled the slide and shot at the door to signal the tangos. There was movement, and the door was opened from inside. The muzzle of an AK-12 poked out the door and Blood saw his chance. He threw in a frag grenade and slammed the door shut. He waited for the explosion, and the shock reverberated through the door and into Blood’s bones.

  He took point with his M600 SR rifle and charged inside. Two bodies were ripped apart like crushed grapes. The third person was alive, with a leg blown away. The young Russian raised his Kalashnikov and uttered a curse. Before he could fire, Blood fired his rifle.

  The young skinhead Russian’s face was blown all over the white floor. Damian Blood made his way through the bloody carnage. He blinked twice in confusion.

  Morgan made a disgusted sound. “See what happens when you kill everyone! Nobody’s going to talk.”

  Blood remembered what he had seen through the monocular. “Everyone’s not dead.”

  “What?” she asked, shocked.

  “Here, take these.” Blood handed over both his M1911A1 pistols. “Shoot anything that’s not me.”

  He ran away before she could reply.

  An open door inside the control room echoed with footsteps. Blood wanted his enemy to panic in his last moments. That way, it would be easier to interrogate them, thought Blood.

  The dark metal aisle led to a large open area in the center of the ship. There was a helipad without a chopper. Blood raised his head to see a stealth chopper that looked like a variant of the Russian Mi-26 heading off the ship. The large transport bird could move around a hundred people over 500 miles at 180 miles-per-hour with basic configurations. He would bet that this could move farther and faster. The dark stealth coating made the chopper invisible to most radars in the region.

  Whoever is behind this must be playing a damn good game, thought Blood.

  Oh Shit! Blood realized a grave threat and hoped it was not too late. He ran to where he had left Morgan in hopes that everything would not go to hell.

  “What did you learn?” Morgan asked, scared at the fear in Blood’s face.

  “It can wait. We’ve got to go!” Blood barked and pulled her to the deck.

  The sheriff pulled back and sat on a fixed chair. “I ain’t going anywhere till you start trusting me with what’s going on.” Morgan frowned.

  Blood was more worried about being responsible for the death of a civilian he had dragged into combat than losing his own life. Colonel Ryan would not say a word. But that was the way the old man guilt-tripped his subordinates. This was the first time Damian Blood worked with someone who did not respect rank and lacked virtues like discipline, tactics and instincts that could save lives.

  “Fine! All the baddies rabbited and there’s probably a self-destruct mechanism about to finish its countdown. Happy?” Blood had no time to explain further and struggled to politely lead Morgan out of the ship. Before she could reach a life boat, he threw her overboard and jumped himself.

  He could only hope the young sheriff had inhaled enough air to sustain their long dive. After a few kicks, Blood reached Morgan and pulled her into the ocean as deep and far away from the ship as they could. In less than a minute they felt a force wave that almost broke their bones. The bomb had gone off.

  Suddenly came another wave. Blood guessed it to be from his HMX charge, now triggered by the ship’s self-destructing explosive. Both force waves were accompanied by sounds that reverberated through the water and all life in it. The ocean began to settle down. Blood led Morgan to the surface where they breathed heavy amounts of air while their lungs recovered.

  Sheriff Morgan slapped Blood’s face.

  The operator’s temper rose. “What the hell is that for?”

  “You gotta stop throwing me around!” She was cool as ice.

  “Hey! I just saved your hide. Multiple times!”

  “Oh, thanks for that.”

  Blood was unsatisfied. He had hoped for more. “That’s it?”

  “This isn’t some fun little stupid movie and I’m not a damsel in distress. You just wrecked the peace that my town enjoyed. Nobody with as many guns as you people have ever come into my part of the world and blown stuff up. Now get me back to my island!”

  Blood hated people who never appreciated the armed forces and their service, but expected different from a cop. At the end of the day, Damian Blood was trained to protect civilians whatever the cost.

  “Yes ma’am,” he muttered and dived back down.

  Edna Morgan relaxed in the frigid water and waited. Now she blamed her adrenaline for the mean things she had just said to a good but wild man. She stared at the burning wreckage that was mostly submerged and pondered.

  Fifteen years ago, she had tried to enlist at West Point with an aim to be an Army Ranger one day. She could not make the physical cut in training. Being a cop was her hope to alternative happiness. But she could never be happy when her boyfriend graduated from West Point, was shipped off to Afghanistan and never returned. Then hope came through a troubled Nick Park. Morgan and Park were mostly platonic but the current chaos would take him away. Maybe permanently, she feared.

  Lost in thought, she had not noticed the life-raft making its way towards her. Blood surfaced and stopped dragging along the raft. He boarded the twelve seated vessel and helped the sheriff on board. The awkward silence lasted a minute.

  “My tracker’s activated. We’ll be rescued soon.” Blood beamed despite the previous insult.

  “I apologize for . . .” Blood cut her off by motioning his hand. She continued, “Bring back Nick Park. Don’t let him die.”

  Blood understood everything behind those words and nodded.

  14

  Chapter 14

  June 2nd

  03:15a.m.

  Gulf of Alaska

  The hovercraft that stank of death from all the blood splashing on it was speeding joyfully. That’s what it seemed like when Logan Tanner kept yelling out Christmas carols. The only other living person on the vehicle was begging him to stop.

  “Now’s your last chance, Red.” Nick Park screamed. He aimed the M2 at Tanner in defiance.<
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  The red-head raised his hands mockingly and pointed west. A misty glow of yellow lights seemed to flicker in that direction. “Maybe that’s where your former Rangers are heading. Save ammo for the traitors. And don’t you dare shoot me.”

  Tanner did have a point. There was nobody here in this storm but the ones hiding in it. As the operative and the microbiologist headed nearer, they realized that the light was from something extremely large.

  “What’s our play?” Park questioned. He had rarely been on the receiving end of orders in the field. But this was different. This was a state of utter chaos where he was losing his mind.

  “We wait and see.” Tanner never was huge on tactical command and he was also having a hard time. Yet he retained his cool.

  * * *

  Lark had been on the tail of a hovercraft for over ten minutes. His group had no opportunity to take any real action. The huge lights beyond them changed their game.

  The hovercraft which was in front, slowed down. Its M2 machine-gun lit up towards the Jet-ski. Quill, who was seated behind Lark returned fire with the MP7A1. He couldn’t afford to miss. Their Yamaha would be torn to bits any moment now. Dominic Quill, who had never seen any combat, hit the jackpot.

  One of the small bursts caught the M2 gunner right in the mouth. He was thrown overboard from the Czilim. Before any of the other former Rangers could get to the gunner’s post, Will Lark swerved left to tail the hovercraft at a close-quarters-distance.

  With an array of hand-signs given by Will Lark, Buck leaped from the Yamaha. He flew over the fan-rotors and landed near the gunner’s post on the hovercraft, instantly knocking a couple of Rangers overboard. Panic swept the vehicle.

  The gigantic St. Bernard wrestled ferociously with the remaining two traitors. Eventually they were thrown into the ocean. What he lacked in savagery, Buck made up for with sheer body mass.

  Lark left his hound behind and accelerated the Jet-ski forward towards the light. The other three hovercrafts were in sight. It was all going to erupt now.

  A leviathan structure was silhouetted past the racing crafts. Lark slowed down and flipped on a thermal imaging scope from over his helmet. He could make out a large amphibious plane with its rear ramp open. It was a Beriev Be-200. A multipurpose plane that had proven its salt and made by Irkut.

  Inside the Beriev was a vehicle that looked like a hovercraft. But the Hounds had counted only five back at the villa. Something more was going on. Lark scanned the cockpit with his scope. There were four people. Two pilots and two armed men.

  The heavy buzzing noise broke through the thundering storm. Lark could make out another Apache chopper hovering near the Beriev, acting as a sentinel. It surely had thermal scanners and target locators that could lock onto the jet-ski. But Lark and Quill had not been seen yet.

  Now that Lark did not have Buck to worry about, he accelerated to the Yamaha’s maximum speed. Out of the storm, another hovercraft raced from the east. Tracer fire lit up from its M2 for a long burst. Hundreds of rounds illuminated the dark sky and a few even struck the Apache.

  Lark could not believe what he saw on his helmet mounted scope. Tanner and Park had commandeered a Czilim and were using the enemy’s tools against them. The chopper was still functioning and had begun circling around.

  If the chopper hovered a few miles away from Tanner’s craft, the Apache could fire AGM -114 Hellfire missiles. Just one of these anti-armor fire-and-forget rockets could obliterate a tank from more than eight miles away.

  “Can you fire a grenade launcher?” Lark asked Quill while turning around towards the speeding chopper.

  “I can, but don’t count on my luck.” Quill managed to grab the Under-Barrel-Grenade-Launcher fixed below the REC7 assault rifle strapped to Lark’s gear. He checked and confirmed that a 30mm round was already loaded.

  Moving closer to the Apache, Lark yelled, “Now or never, kid!”

  With a low - Thump - the thermobaric round shot into the air. Coursing on its curved path it slipped past the chopper and fell into the ravaging waves of the chilly water.

  “Damn it to hell! Hold on to the accelerator and keep her steady.” Lark let Quill lean front and control the jet-ski.

  The chopper spun around. It could not fire Hellfire missiles from this close a distance. But there were plenty of 20mm unguided rockets that could blow up the small water scooter.

  Taking a 30mm round from a pouch on his gear, Lark loaded it onto the grenade launcher. Before he could aim, a salvo of rockets cruised from the chopper. The unguided explosives struck the water near the Yamaha. Though they didn’t find their mark, their underwater explosions rattled the jet-ski, almost dropping Lark over since he only held onto his rifle. Quill steadied the vehicle with experienced hands.

  This was the greatest chance they would get. The Apache’s pilot would fire the Gatling fixed under it any second. Before they had the chance, Lark took a steady aim and pulled the trigger. The 30mm grenade shot up in an arch and halfway through the curve, it found its mark. The Apache burst into flames. It stayed in the air for a long second and dropped into the Pacific, splashing the salty water over Lark and Quill.

  “Well, at least we got something right,” Lark said softly and took over the Yamaha’s controls.

  * * *

  When the Apache circled away from the commandeered hovercrafts, the three remaining Czilim crafts changed their trajectory. The former Rangers careened towards their former CO, Nick Park, who kept his M2 machine gun rampaging on the craft closest to him.

  Darius Cross, the current tactical leader of the group of traitors, knew better than to run from this fight. Their job was to use Park as bait and eliminate the black-ops team that had crashed their party. Instead they were running for their exfiltration location. Their direct employer, McCain was now dead.

  Cross knew better than to go against McCain’s employers. The only way to survive the shitstorm they were in was to kill Park. The microbiologist had made it this far despite the odds. Cross was terrified of how far his former CO would get.

  One of the hovercrafts was unlucky. It was caught dead center in Park’s line of tracer rounds and was torn to shreds with everyone on board.

  Park’s .50 cal belt-fed ammunition for the M2 ran out. He ducked under the gunner’s post. The remaining two Czilim crafts also ran out of ammo. Park knew that Cross would make the fight personal. The microbiologist’s former XO never killed from far. He liked to complete most of his kills with his own hands like an animal. Having come this far, Park was way beyond forgiving his one-time teammate. He had lost the peace he had worked to create. Now, he would embrace hell.

  Tanner set the controls to full speed and rammed through, between the two hovercrafts. The shudder jolted him but he clearly saw the Beriev’s rear ramp closing. Wind blew towards him as the plane’s turbines started readying for takeoff.

  “Lark! You need to stop the plane!” Tanner yelled into his throat mike and looked back. Park was missing and five black-clad former Rangers had leaped over his hovercraft. They were steadying themselves and going for their sidearm, but before they fired, Tanner dived into the water.

  Having a thermal wetsuit under his fatigues did help. He swam underwater towards the back of the craft. A couple of seconds before he broke the water level, he bit the pins off three frag grenades. Focusing intensely for a second, he flung the three M67 grenades into the center of the hovercraft. Then he dived back under the cold water and let the magic happen.

  The pyrotechnic delay fuse finished its four second count and 540 grams of Composition B explosive burst out from the three grenades. Fragmented shrapnel tore into the bodies of the five traitors. They had left the land of the living in less than a few seconds.

  Tanner held onto the hovercraft’s skirt and saw Lark’s jet-ski racing along the slowly departing Beriev Be-200. Buck was riding on the nose of the Yamaha again and on Lark’s command, he jumped towards the plane’s flank. The dog bumped onto the speeding plane with his
paws and face, hurting himself and bounced into the water.

  “What in the sick hell did you just do?” Tanner asked into his comms. He had never seen their dog used in a kamikaze tactic.

  Lark’s reply was grim. “Buck will need medical treatment. But we now have a tracker on the plane.”

  * * *

  The last four former Rangers that Cross was commanding struck Park all at once. They were softening the kill for their current CO. But they were not as motivated as their enemy.

  Nick Park matched move for move against four men he had trained in what felt like another lifetime. He remembered what Harold Ryan had advised when Park had quit the Rangers. It had something to do with risks and taking chances for the better.

  Instead of defending and tiring himself, he took a few blows, looking for an opening. Between a few strikes, he crouched and swept his leg in two circles. One of the traitors fell and the others moved back losing balance.

  After a short roll, Park loaded a magazine into the MP7A1 Tanner had given him. He pulled back the charging bolt of the H&K SMG and fired all 30 of the 9mm rounds the weapon had.

  Having no more magazines, Park dropped the SMG and reached for the Ruger handgun. A burning flood of pain erupted from his left forearm. Cross had thrown a Seal Pup knife.

  Park pulled out the partially serrated, 4.75” steel blade from his hand. He could smell his own blood now as it flowed from the wound. The Seal Pup had missed the bone leaving behind a deep flesh wound.

  Cross charged and tackled Park. The traitor pulled out a 12-inch Bowie knife that shone in the dark and its large serrated teeth were ready to bite flesh. Before Cross struck with the Bowie, Park quickly jabbed the Seal Pup thrice into his former XO’s kidneys.