New Jersey, 2016, 1733hrs;
5 km off-shore from Jersey City.
The Invincible-class battlecruiser, Albion, stretched over 600 metres long, 200 wide and 80 tall. Like all other battlecruisers, Albion boasted a sleek hull and a tall control tower. Set upon the immense deck, were 12-inch guns set apart at regular intervals. However, it was at the control tower where the main, long-ranged, sea-to-land guns were housed. 4 17-inch guns individually fitted with 3 cannons, were mounted in front of the control deck. The radar towers based on the top of the control tower provided both active and passive sonar. On the deck itself, crew men could be seen tending to the many aircraft stationed there with side-elevators ambulating from the lower deck, carrying cargo and weapon caches. Towards the front of the vessel, a black helicopter gunship readied for lift-off. Despite its sleek design, it carried several missiles and a built-in machine gun with a radar dish attached near the top, directly under the intermeshing rotors.
The US Fleet had recently engaged the USSR naval forces and sufficed to say, both sides suffered heavy casualties. The fleet had pulled back to Long Island-just off New York- and were at present, rebuilding and rearming at one of the many naval bases situated there.
Fortuitously, USNF-Albion had remained unscathed and was currently the only fully-operating cruiser in the fleet. As such, many aerial missions were being conducted with it as home base.
The setting sun cast an amber glow upon the massive structure, framing it in a metallic lustre.
“Black-hawk fourty-niner, requesting launch clearance, over.” Radioed the pilot of the Tiger UHT Gunship.
“This is Control. Black-hawk fourty-niner, you are clear to launch. Godspeed." Droned the flight controller, releasing the gear lock on the gunship wheels.
Controlling the collective, the Gunship pilot slowly increased his altitude. Inside the cockpit, he was accompanied by the co-pilot and also gunner of the attack copter. He flicked a switch located amongst a plethora of others on the overhead control board, waiting as the landing gear folded back into the copter.
He pushed the cyclic, the joystick controlling the direction of movement, front and the helicopter pitched forwards, moving in the general direction of Jersey City, New Jersey. The rotors chopped at the dusk air, emitting a low-whoosh at so fast a rate then the sound just meshed together in a constant thump.
New Jersey had fallen almost three weeks ago to the invading USSR forces. Atlantic City, Oceanic City and Jersey City had perished. Of the 3 cities, only 5 bio-domes remained, sheltered and hidden from the invaders and they all were situated in Jersey City.
Black-hawk fourty-niner was the reconnaissance chopper sent to investigate the extent of USSR presence in Jersey City and was to report and photograph any military installations and concentrations within the city limits. The mission was extremely hazardous and only the best pilot had been chosen to carry it out.
The best pilot was a female and it was Diana Sanchez.
She slowly accelerated towards the shore, tilting the collective so that the Tiger was flying under the radar. The sea reflected the rays of the setting sun, sending up a stunning array of light into the cockpit. Irritated, she flicked yet another switch and a hidden section of the cockpit glass slid up to cut the glare, imposing a light shade within the compartment.
New Jersey, 2016, 1750hrs;
The sleek, black helicopter hovered slowly over the bay of Jersey City. The pilots within scanned the immediate area for any hostilities, at the same time utilizing the installed radar. It was safe.
She stepped on the right pedal located at the bottom of the pilot’s seat, causing the nose of the craft to yaw in that direction, pushing down on the cyclic, she continued forward, covering the 9km-wide city in a search grid-pattern. Two hours of searching yielded no fruit and Diana was starting to get complacent.
Pulling down on the torque power level, she shot through heedlessly towards the centre of the city.
Upon arriving, she stumbled right over an encampment of soldiers set up amongst a series of streets. Some were milling about tanks and erected campfires whilst others were gathered under a camouflaged tent that looked to serve as their centre of operations. All activity stopped as the surprised soldiers stared up into the late-afternoon sky at the Tiger Gunship.
“Oh damn!” She cried.
“Are you taking this?!” demanded Diana, glancing over at the co-pilot who was already snapping pictures off in the seat behind her.
The soldiers in the camp had raised their voices and started pointing into the sky. An officer ran out of the tent, stared at the helicopter and starting barking orders in quick succession. The soldiers immediately sprung into action. Some started running towards the tanks whilst others quickly brought forward a rocket launcher.
But Diana was one step ahead of them. Pitching backwards, she reversed the copter and swung the yaw around, accelerating. Taking quick aim, she disabled the tanks of the front-runners, opening fire from the machine gun. The Tiger pitched forwards as the armour-piercing rounds cut a swath of destruction throughout the camp, blowing apart humvees and apartment buildings alike. The exploding concrete ricocheted throughout the streets, tearing through fleeing soldiers and embedding themselves into nearby tanks.
“Rocket, 4 o’clock!” shouted the co-pilot, doubling up yet again as a spotter.
Diana simultaneously raised the collective and stepped on the left cyclic pedal. The helicopter veered upwards and to the left, narrowly escaping the fired projectile by inches. The heat of the rocket seared the rear of the tail rotor, causing the body paint to peel off.
She turned the yaw clockwise, and pitched the Tiger forwards, the nose almost perpendicular to the ground. From her altitude, she unhooked the catch on her control stick and toggled the weapons rack. Immediately, she let loose a barrage of Hellfire missiles. Highly directional, they were aimed towards the command post of the encampment as well as the surrounding radio transmitters. More explosions rocked the surrounding area as the Hellfire missiles exploded in a conflagrant blast of scorching heat and stunning force.
“Missiles 9 and 4 o’clock!” yelled the co-pilot.
Diana deployed the craft’s chaff and slammed down on the collective.
The Tiger dived several metres and hovered.
Beside it, 2 streaks of missiles flashed past the cockpit, speeding straight towards the chaff. The resultant explosion rocked the chopper, sending it flying several metres as Diana fought to gain control of the craft.
Below, two sets of half-tracks rolled into view from adjoining streets. Their mounted anti-air guns rose towards the chopper and simultaneously started firing. Diana had only a momentary opening to avoid the volleys of flak and she took it. Diving below the intended detonation height of the anti-air guns, she maxed out the torque levers on the twin turbines and managed to slingshot her way through the rain of flak. Angling back around, she switched to the armour-piercing guns and opened up on the street below. She swung the yaw left and right, avoiding the oncoming fire. Streaks of bright light whizzed past the chopper as the anti-air rounds shot by harmlessly.
Swooping low, the Tiger tore into the half-tracks, instantly disabling one of them. As she swung up and out, the remaining half-track with a little fight left within it caught the craft on its rear rotor. The impact swung the chopper into a tight swing. With the rear rotors disabled, Diana was unable to counter the torque output of the main rotors, continuing to swing helplessly in arcs, angling towards the city street.
Before she crashed, the best chopper pilot in the US airforce screamed out her final transmission to the USNF-Albion.
“BLACK-HAWK FOURTY-NINER DOWN! REQUESTING ATTILERY BARRAGE ON TARGET COORDINATES, 763, 394! I REPE...” a loud crash cut off her final words, sending the channel into a burst of static.
New Jersey, 2016, 1810hrs;
Bruised and bleeding, Diana half-crawled, half-dragged herself out of the shattered cockpit, the limp form of the co-pilot was slouched over the backseat. From his chest protruded a large shaft that had separated from the tail boom.
A wave of immense relief flooded her as she knew she had narrowly escaped death. Pulling on her last reserves of strength, she collapsed face-up onto the city street, staring into the blood-red sky.
Her jubilance faltered, for arching high up in the sky, was the artillery shells from the USNF-Albion’s 17-inch guns, making their slow decent onto the city.
Wave after wave of incendiary bombs filled the heavens as they fell towards the USSR encampment
And also, towards her.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
(S) Fallout: Braving the weathers.
California, 1989;
Jinks Weathers was only 6 then.
He grew up in Downieville, Sierra, just a county up north of Nevada. He went to a reputable school and lived in a fairly safe neighbourhood.
At 7, he was witness to the first of the many deaths that would come to encircle his life.
It was his parents.
They worked together in a security firm called Versacorp, a company that designed security software for the major firms that had formed a joint-venture with the US military. Details of the project was kept tight-lipped and even his parents were forced to work on individual segments of the programme, unsure of what they were developing. However, word did manage to leak out that something big was going on. And coincidentally, the USSR caught hold of it. Their field agents worked around the clock to make out just what exactly were their US counterparts up to. It was a shame that they dint find out, for if they had, Jinks’s parents wouldn’t have had to die.
Maybe.
On the night of August 27th 1989, Jinks was in the country-styled kitchen trying to steal a piece of Mama’s latest batch of cookies. The jar was located high up in one of the wooden built-in cabinets that were hackneyed to most American families. The kitchen was filled to the brim with all sorts of canned food, vegetables and preserved meat. Knifes and similar cutlery lined the racks adjacent to the kitchen sink, which was overlooked by a small round window. To top it all off, the warm light of the lamp that hung over the dining table gave the kitchen a nice homey feel. Of comfort, and of love.
He had tiptoed silently into the room; the smooth tiled floors reflecting his scrawny image of 7. Picking up footsteps from the living room, he lunged towards the dining table, seeking refuge behind a wooden chair as he peered out between the spokes. It was his mother, tall and sporting gorgeous dimples, she was the epitome of every mother. She never spoke a harsh word to anyone and would always give in to the demands of the family. Her wavy hair was black and lustrous, and she had the characteristic angular nose that ran deep in the Weather’s family line.
She was preparing supper for the family; scoops of mashed potato, coleslaw and home-baked chicken filled each of the three plates to the brim. Carefully, she picked them up from the counter and placed them upon the tabletop. The aromas of the combined scents wafted throughout the house and Jinks was almost betrayed by his stomach, which let out a grumble of protest. Wiping her hands on a towel, his mother called out loudly, “Jinks, dinner in 10 minutes, hopefully your father would be back by then!” she proceeded to walk back into the living room, awaiting the arrival of her husband who was working overtime for that night.
With cat-like grace, Jinks recovered from his hiding spot and in a semi-crouch, inched slow, by agonizingly slow steps towards the counter cabinets. Any slip up now would result in alerting his mother, who was sitting on the living room couch. Her line of sight extended past the kitchen doorway that linked both rooms together and onto the row of cabinets that, unfortunately, housed the jar of cookies. Reaching high up with both hands, he realised with a start that he was too short.
He needed more leverage.
He half-carried half-dragged a wooden chair towards the counters and was on the verge of mounting it, when the sound of a car driving up on the gravel outside could be heard. Headlights lit up the front of the living room for a split-instant before shutting off, the sound of the engine dying away with it.
Crap. He thought. It was his father!
He hurriedly lowered his leg that was already on the chair and dragged it back to the table.
All of a sudden, the front door banged open. Peering around the edge of the kitchen doorway, Jinks witnessed his father half-stumbling into the house, as if pushed from behind. Following closely behind, was a man in his 30s.
This stranger wore a green jumpsuit and had an unfamiliar insignia stitched on the front of his shirt. It was the motif of a hilt-less sword that was superimposed on the image of an eagle, wings out-spread. The stranger had cold eyes of midnight blue, and it filled his very being with dread and fear, yet Jinks felt compelled to look on.
By then his father had regained his equanimity, with his mother already on her feet, arms wrapped around him protectively. Jinks did not have a clear view then, as his parents were between him and the obvious assailant. He dint know what was going on, but he knew it was nothing good.
The man at the door took two casual steps forward and, without warning, swung his clenched fist in a wide arc, slamming it against the face of his father. It was immediately followed up by a vicious kick to the abdomen. Yet the assailant’s face was still as impassive as when he first entered, cold and calculative.
“I ask you again, what did you find out?”spoke the man, with an accent that Jinks could not discern.
His father did not answer. Instead his mother spat at the intruder, screaming vulgarities. Jinks was taken aback at her momentary lapse in composure. Never had he witnessed her in such a state.
“Very well,” murmured the man. He turned to leave and almost like an afterthought, turned back to them, whipping out a pistol in mid-spin. He fired twice from the muffled muzzle and left.
Jinks stared in horror as his brain struggled to process what had just happened. His knuckles were deathly-white as he gripped the doorway, unawares.
The headlights of the car lit the living room in a nightmarish glow, as the car reversed back out of the gravel strewn driveway.
The silhouettes of his loved ones were illuminated by the whitish glare, their bodies seemingly frozen in time. And it would serve as the last memory he would have of them.
Unhurriedly, almost dream-like, a small trickle of blood started down the back of both their heads. Almost in a whisper, their bodies slumped against each other and slowly tipped forward. Even in death, his mother still had her arms clutched around his father.
The red globules of blood followed in a trail as they traced a falling arc towards the floor. The fading lights of the vehicle caught in the tiny spheres. The sparkle of blood-red lights contrasting in reflection against the eye whites of Jinks’s as he stared wide-eyed, lost in the chaotic whirl of emotions raging within.
Finally, with breathing so shallow made his heart struggle to beat, he let out a piercing scream that echoed down the neighbourhood.
The police arrived to find two adults dead in a pool of blood and a young boy unconscious in the back of the house.
Jinks was transferred to the care of his relatives who also lived in the town. They were later informed that his parents had been the targets of a USSR attack and were persuaded with enough sustenance to keep the incident under wraps.
Jinks grew up a bitter boy.
At 15, he left his school with top grades and was offered a scholarship for further studying into his young adult years.
He took the offer without a hint of regret.
Two months after, he left his relatives in California to continue his advanced studies in Atlantic City, New Jersey. He took with him nothing but the clothes on his back and an unparalleled loathing against the USSR.
The white-washed academy wherein he studied was situated right beside a military boot-camp for fresh recruits. At that point in time, small skirmishes were taking place between the US-led defence and USSR in the Asian countries. Jinks reasoned that the fastest way to exact his revenge was to join the army. He would often receive a sharp rap on his head by any number of lecturers who caught him staring longingly outside the lecture hall windows, into the adjacent compound.
However, when he wasn’t caught up in one of his retrospect moments, he could often be seen laughing with classmates and doing all sorts of silly antics. It appeared that his childhood experience did little to stunt his sense of humour. Yet, he was sharply observant of his surroundings, often avoiding the little accidents that would have caught any other unsuspecting person. As such, he was given the pet name Jinx by the friends that he often hung out with. This did little to stem his spirit, as by the end of college, he had graduated with Honours in his class, showing the other condescending posh students just what he was exactly capable of. He was immediately offered jobs by various logistics companies hoping to capitalize on his abilities.
He declined them all and instead, joined the army.
Somehow, his pet name stuck.
The first few months of rigorous training left him trim and fit. And over time, he came to garner the respect of his peers, both through his sense of humour and his incredible foresight. His studies in logistics in his schooling years paid off, as he utilized his knowledge to help him gain an edge over his opponent’s movements and thus, their strategies. Unsurprisingly, he graduated from boot-camp top of his cohort and was attached to the 5th platoon situated in New York. His platoon leader was called Jericho, a Mexican with so much influence that he basically ruled the 5th platoon with an unprecedented autonomy not seen in other platoons. It was this autonomy that resulted in their downfall.
In 2012, the platoon was posted to the jungles of Cambodia, South-east Asia. They were tasked as a peace-keeping force in the region, and when fighting broke out against the Cambodian Guerrilla forces, responded with an inflexible arm. It was then that Platoon leader Jericho was killed. At that point in time, Jinks was thought of as the next best to lead them and a majority of the platoon deferred to him as their temporary leader. Jinks, with his usual track record, routed the Guerrilla uprisings and returned back to the US awaiting a promotion. However, upon return, some factions within the 5th platoon harboured negative opinions of his leadership and eventually fragmented away. The 14 that remained formed his ‘Skull’ Squad, whilst the defectors were posted to other companies in hopes of preventing further hostilities.
By 2016, of the 14 original soldiers, 7 did not make the cut and dropped out of the squad. ‘Skull’ was now down to 8 men.
Present time:
Upon the recent promotion into the Special Ops team, Jinx Weathers was presented with a fresh uniform that had the word ‘Skull’ ironed onto the side sleeves. No longer was the insignia of the 5th platoon, now-forgotten, on the breast pocket of the uniform. Instead a new insignia marked the entry into a different division.
However, Jinx could only stare at it as a steely look flashed across his eyes.
“Sir, are you alright?” queried the soldier presenting the uniform.
“No...No, I’m fine.” He replied, flashing a tight smile at the soldier.
“Just send it to my quarters alright? I need to be somewhere else right now.”
With that, he turned and left the fitting rooms.
“I wonder what that was all about.” Thought the soldier to himself, staring like how Jinx had at the front of the uniform.
It was the motif of a hilt-less sword, superimposed on an image of an eagle with out-spread wings.
Jinks Weathers was only 6 then.
He grew up in Downieville, Sierra, just a county up north of Nevada. He went to a reputable school and lived in a fairly safe neighbourhood.
At 7, he was witness to the first of the many deaths that would come to encircle his life.
It was his parents.
They worked together in a security firm called Versacorp, a company that designed security software for the major firms that had formed a joint-venture with the US military. Details of the project was kept tight-lipped and even his parents were forced to work on individual segments of the programme, unsure of what they were developing. However, word did manage to leak out that something big was going on. And coincidentally, the USSR caught hold of it. Their field agents worked around the clock to make out just what exactly were their US counterparts up to. It was a shame that they dint find out, for if they had, Jinks’s parents wouldn’t have had to die.
Maybe.
On the night of August 27th 1989, Jinks was in the country-styled kitchen trying to steal a piece of Mama’s latest batch of cookies. The jar was located high up in one of the wooden built-in cabinets that were hackneyed to most American families. The kitchen was filled to the brim with all sorts of canned food, vegetables and preserved meat. Knifes and similar cutlery lined the racks adjacent to the kitchen sink, which was overlooked by a small round window. To top it all off, the warm light of the lamp that hung over the dining table gave the kitchen a nice homey feel. Of comfort, and of love.
He had tiptoed silently into the room; the smooth tiled floors reflecting his scrawny image of 7. Picking up footsteps from the living room, he lunged towards the dining table, seeking refuge behind a wooden chair as he peered out between the spokes. It was his mother, tall and sporting gorgeous dimples, she was the epitome of every mother. She never spoke a harsh word to anyone and would always give in to the demands of the family. Her wavy hair was black and lustrous, and she had the characteristic angular nose that ran deep in the Weather’s family line.
She was preparing supper for the family; scoops of mashed potato, coleslaw and home-baked chicken filled each of the three plates to the brim. Carefully, she picked them up from the counter and placed them upon the tabletop. The aromas of the combined scents wafted throughout the house and Jinks was almost betrayed by his stomach, which let out a grumble of protest. Wiping her hands on a towel, his mother called out loudly, “Jinks, dinner in 10 minutes, hopefully your father would be back by then!” she proceeded to walk back into the living room, awaiting the arrival of her husband who was working overtime for that night.
With cat-like grace, Jinks recovered from his hiding spot and in a semi-crouch, inched slow, by agonizingly slow steps towards the counter cabinets. Any slip up now would result in alerting his mother, who was sitting on the living room couch. Her line of sight extended past the kitchen doorway that linked both rooms together and onto the row of cabinets that, unfortunately, housed the jar of cookies. Reaching high up with both hands, he realised with a start that he was too short.
He needed more leverage.
He half-carried half-dragged a wooden chair towards the counters and was on the verge of mounting it, when the sound of a car driving up on the gravel outside could be heard. Headlights lit up the front of the living room for a split-instant before shutting off, the sound of the engine dying away with it.
Crap. He thought. It was his father!
He hurriedly lowered his leg that was already on the chair and dragged it back to the table.
All of a sudden, the front door banged open. Peering around the edge of the kitchen doorway, Jinks witnessed his father half-stumbling into the house, as if pushed from behind. Following closely behind, was a man in his 30s.
This stranger wore a green jumpsuit and had an unfamiliar insignia stitched on the front of his shirt. It was the motif of a hilt-less sword that was superimposed on the image of an eagle, wings out-spread. The stranger had cold eyes of midnight blue, and it filled his very being with dread and fear, yet Jinks felt compelled to look on.
By then his father had regained his equanimity, with his mother already on her feet, arms wrapped around him protectively. Jinks did not have a clear view then, as his parents were between him and the obvious assailant. He dint know what was going on, but he knew it was nothing good.
The man at the door took two casual steps forward and, without warning, swung his clenched fist in a wide arc, slamming it against the face of his father. It was immediately followed up by a vicious kick to the abdomen. Yet the assailant’s face was still as impassive as when he first entered, cold and calculative.
“I ask you again, what did you find out?”spoke the man, with an accent that Jinks could not discern.
His father did not answer. Instead his mother spat at the intruder, screaming vulgarities. Jinks was taken aback at her momentary lapse in composure. Never had he witnessed her in such a state.
“Very well,” murmured the man. He turned to leave and almost like an afterthought, turned back to them, whipping out a pistol in mid-spin. He fired twice from the muffled muzzle and left.
Jinks stared in horror as his brain struggled to process what had just happened. His knuckles were deathly-white as he gripped the doorway, unawares.
The headlights of the car lit the living room in a nightmarish glow, as the car reversed back out of the gravel strewn driveway.
The silhouettes of his loved ones were illuminated by the whitish glare, their bodies seemingly frozen in time. And it would serve as the last memory he would have of them.
Unhurriedly, almost dream-like, a small trickle of blood started down the back of both their heads. Almost in a whisper, their bodies slumped against each other and slowly tipped forward. Even in death, his mother still had her arms clutched around his father.
The red globules of blood followed in a trail as they traced a falling arc towards the floor. The fading lights of the vehicle caught in the tiny spheres. The sparkle of blood-red lights contrasting in reflection against the eye whites of Jinks’s as he stared wide-eyed, lost in the chaotic whirl of emotions raging within.
Finally, with breathing so shallow made his heart struggle to beat, he let out a piercing scream that echoed down the neighbourhood.
The police arrived to find two adults dead in a pool of blood and a young boy unconscious in the back of the house.
Jinks was transferred to the care of his relatives who also lived in the town. They were later informed that his parents had been the targets of a USSR attack and were persuaded with enough sustenance to keep the incident under wraps.
Jinks grew up a bitter boy.
At 15, he left his school with top grades and was offered a scholarship for further studying into his young adult years.
He took the offer without a hint of regret.
Two months after, he left his relatives in California to continue his advanced studies in Atlantic City, New Jersey. He took with him nothing but the clothes on his back and an unparalleled loathing against the USSR.
The white-washed academy wherein he studied was situated right beside a military boot-camp for fresh recruits. At that point in time, small skirmishes were taking place between the US-led defence and USSR in the Asian countries. Jinks reasoned that the fastest way to exact his revenge was to join the army. He would often receive a sharp rap on his head by any number of lecturers who caught him staring longingly outside the lecture hall windows, into the adjacent compound.
However, when he wasn’t caught up in one of his retrospect moments, he could often be seen laughing with classmates and doing all sorts of silly antics. It appeared that his childhood experience did little to stunt his sense of humour. Yet, he was sharply observant of his surroundings, often avoiding the little accidents that would have caught any other unsuspecting person. As such, he was given the pet name Jinx by the friends that he often hung out with. This did little to stem his spirit, as by the end of college, he had graduated with Honours in his class, showing the other condescending posh students just what he was exactly capable of. He was immediately offered jobs by various logistics companies hoping to capitalize on his abilities.
He declined them all and instead, joined the army.
Somehow, his pet name stuck.
The first few months of rigorous training left him trim and fit. And over time, he came to garner the respect of his peers, both through his sense of humour and his incredible foresight. His studies in logistics in his schooling years paid off, as he utilized his knowledge to help him gain an edge over his opponent’s movements and thus, their strategies. Unsurprisingly, he graduated from boot-camp top of his cohort and was attached to the 5th platoon situated in New York. His platoon leader was called Jericho, a Mexican with so much influence that he basically ruled the 5th platoon with an unprecedented autonomy not seen in other platoons. It was this autonomy that resulted in their downfall.
In 2012, the platoon was posted to the jungles of Cambodia, South-east Asia. They were tasked as a peace-keeping force in the region, and when fighting broke out against the Cambodian Guerrilla forces, responded with an inflexible arm. It was then that Platoon leader Jericho was killed. At that point in time, Jinks was thought of as the next best to lead them and a majority of the platoon deferred to him as their temporary leader. Jinks, with his usual track record, routed the Guerrilla uprisings and returned back to the US awaiting a promotion. However, upon return, some factions within the 5th platoon harboured negative opinions of his leadership and eventually fragmented away. The 14 that remained formed his ‘Skull’ Squad, whilst the defectors were posted to other companies in hopes of preventing further hostilities.
By 2016, of the 14 original soldiers, 7 did not make the cut and dropped out of the squad. ‘Skull’ was now down to 8 men.
Present time:
Upon the recent promotion into the Special Ops team, Jinx Weathers was presented with a fresh uniform that had the word ‘Skull’ ironed onto the side sleeves. No longer was the insignia of the 5th platoon, now-forgotten, on the breast pocket of the uniform. Instead a new insignia marked the entry into a different division.
However, Jinx could only stare at it as a steely look flashed across his eyes.
“Sir, are you alright?” queried the soldier presenting the uniform.
“No...No, I’m fine.” He replied, flashing a tight smile at the soldier.
“Just send it to my quarters alright? I need to be somewhere else right now.”
With that, he turned and left the fitting rooms.
“I wonder what that was all about.” Thought the soldier to himself, staring like how Jinx had at the front of the uniform.
It was the motif of a hilt-less sword, superimposed on an image of an eagle with out-spread wings.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
(S) Fallout: Tactical Upload
New York, 2016, 1700hrs;
Beta Dome; Debrief room.
“So you’re saying that you DON’T KNOW what happened? Is that it?” demanded the officer.
Colonel Lincoln was a hard, hard man. Brought up living in poverty, he managed to fight and work his way into the military. He wore a well-decorated uniform of the US Command Corps. , the tactical genius housed within his mind ensured a peripatetic rise to the top brass in just 7 years. His close-cropped hair of stunning blonde showed streaks of grey and although his forehead was creased in wrinkles, his brown-streaked eyes, so full of life and youth, told otherwise.
Opposite him, were two seated soldiers, one had his hands cupped and rested on the metal table between the Colonel and himself, another kept them by his sides.
“Well...yes sir, I’m not too sure of it myself, the whole thing was just ... Pow, whish.” Gesturing vaguely with his hands as he finished his sentence. He had eyes of midnight black and a crew cut of wavy black hair. His face was unblemished and angular; the almost-sharp nose completed his features, giving one the impression of looking at a majestic hawk. The dog-tags around his tanned neck read: Lance Corporal Jinks.
“You expect me to believe this bull-crap that for all I know could have been fabricated by a 5-year old watching two butterflies fornicating on his sorry-excuse for a lollipop!” yelled the Colonel, slamming his fists down upon the metal table. The ringing resonated around the closed room.
“Sir, even I don’t really know what happened! We were greatly outnumbered by USSR soldiers and the fog made it difficult to discern our situation! The fact that our tanks had been EMP-ed dint help much with the situation.” Cut in the other soldier. He had emerald-green eyes and exuded an aura of control and calm. One could not lie to these kind of people, even if one wasn’t compelled to tell the truth. His hair too, was close-cropped, sporting firm auburn hair. His dog-tag identified him as: Sergeant Maxell.
“Well that’s all well and fine. But please cut the horse-dung and get to the point of HOW we lost our Gene-Mod damnit! Can you explain why 4th squad sighted an explosion at your location when they were on their way over? Why was the Mobile Vehicle that housed the Gene-Mod blown up?! Are you two traitors, cause I sure as hell smell something fishy!”
“Well, in all honesty, the explosion surprised us just as much as you might have been and maybe even more, it just....happened sir, like...Pow, whish.” Again Jinx gestured with those vague actions, his voice trailing off towards the end of his sentence.
Seeing that the Colonel was not taken in, he tried a different tact.
“I swear sir, we did our best to protect the cargo! We lost 5 men protecting it-and excuse my language-, but damnit sir, do you think we’d go to the trouble of doing all that just to double-cross the US? I lost my family to the damned USSR for god’s sake!”
Then it was Maxell’s turn to placate the Colonel, he had as much progress as throwing a sponge into a swelling river, in hopes of preventing a flood.
Seeing that he was not going to get anything out of the two officers, Colonel Lincoln turned and paced to the end of the room, his backs to them. His mind was already racing to piece things together, running over their every word and body posture.
“Recovery team could not find any trace of the Gene-Mod nor the container that held it. Do you know that the Gene-Mod was the only sample that the research team at Gamma could produce? It was en route to Beta for mass production damnit. However, do I have your confirmation that the Gene-Mod has not fallen into the enemy’s hands?”
“Affirmative.”
“Right as rain, sir.”
Their voices rang out in unison as they felt the omnipresent stress-machine was going to stop breathing down their necks.
“Then I can guess that not all is as bad as it seems. This incident shall be marked down as a disappointing turn of events, yet we are glad that the USSR does not have it. That’s it then. You’re dismissed, Lance Corporal Jinks, please stay back for awhile.”
The sound of booted feet echoed throughout the room as Maxell walked to the door, stopped, waited for it to slide open and then left the room. The sliding door slid shut, the hydraulic pistons hissing behind hidden compartments.
“So Lance Corporal Jinx, I guess a commendation is in order for you and your squad. Under the immense duress that you and your men may have faced, I am impressed that you managed to pull off the rescue. It has come to my knowledge that you even took down a large number of enemy soldiers in the midnight skirmish.”
“More than you’ll ever know.” thought Jinx.
“ Congratulations. You and your men will be awarded the Lion’s Mane for your bravery and unwavering support in combat.”
“Thank you sir!” saluted Jinx.
He lowered his hand and turned to leave the room. As the doors slid open, Colonel Lincoln called out.
“One more thing Jinks. Do you have a name for you and your men?”
“Yes sir,” grinned Jinx. “We’re called the Skull squadron”
“Good. Effective from now, you’ll be serving in the Special Ops department. Dismissed.”
The doors closed shut.
Outside, Maxell was waiting for him. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor that overlooked the lush garden on the first floor. Large-paned windows that were slanted outwards from the bottom up, lined the other side of the corridor and carried on in a fashion till they circled back, joining in a wide square to overlook the garden.
“That went moderately well dint it Lance Corporal?” he asked, pushing against the wall when Jinx stepped out. They fell in step together and paced down the corridor.
“I’d say that was brilliant, what with all that hand gesturing and all.” he joked.
“And, seeing that we’re off duty at the moment, how bout we drop the titles for a lil’ while?”
“Sounds good to me.” acquiesced Maxell.
“And how bout a drink? I seem to recall them being on you the last time i checked.” teased Jinx.
Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Maxell nodded in reply.
“Sure why not, call down your squad while you’re at it would you? I seem to have too much money to spend nowadays.” said Maxell, dryly.
With a wink, Jinx reached into his uniform breast pocket and produced a mobile phone and was already dialling into it.
“Hey, I was just kidding damnit. Gah fine, fine, call them down. And just curious, they never introduced themselves, what are their names?”
“Oh my men?” he asked, head tilted as he wedged his mobile against his shoulder. “They’re Kasper Luzterg, Brad Forst and Gabriel Hunter. The ones that are alive anyhow.”
“And I’m Jinks Weathers. But you can call me Jinx.”
Beta Dome; Debrief room.
“So you’re saying that you DON’T KNOW what happened? Is that it?” demanded the officer.
Colonel Lincoln was a hard, hard man. Brought up living in poverty, he managed to fight and work his way into the military. He wore a well-decorated uniform of the US Command Corps. , the tactical genius housed within his mind ensured a peripatetic rise to the top brass in just 7 years. His close-cropped hair of stunning blonde showed streaks of grey and although his forehead was creased in wrinkles, his brown-streaked eyes, so full of life and youth, told otherwise.
Opposite him, were two seated soldiers, one had his hands cupped and rested on the metal table between the Colonel and himself, another kept them by his sides.
“Well...yes sir, I’m not too sure of it myself, the whole thing was just ... Pow, whish.” Gesturing vaguely with his hands as he finished his sentence. He had eyes of midnight black and a crew cut of wavy black hair. His face was unblemished and angular; the almost-sharp nose completed his features, giving one the impression of looking at a majestic hawk. The dog-tags around his tanned neck read: Lance Corporal Jinks.
“You expect me to believe this bull-crap that for all I know could have been fabricated by a 5-year old watching two butterflies fornicating on his sorry-excuse for a lollipop!” yelled the Colonel, slamming his fists down upon the metal table. The ringing resonated around the closed room.
“Sir, even I don’t really know what happened! We were greatly outnumbered by USSR soldiers and the fog made it difficult to discern our situation! The fact that our tanks had been EMP-ed dint help much with the situation.” Cut in the other soldier. He had emerald-green eyes and exuded an aura of control and calm. One could not lie to these kind of people, even if one wasn’t compelled to tell the truth. His hair too, was close-cropped, sporting firm auburn hair. His dog-tag identified him as: Sergeant Maxell.
“Well that’s all well and fine. But please cut the horse-dung and get to the point of HOW we lost our Gene-Mod damnit! Can you explain why 4th squad sighted an explosion at your location when they were on their way over? Why was the Mobile Vehicle that housed the Gene-Mod blown up?! Are you two traitors, cause I sure as hell smell something fishy!”
“Well, in all honesty, the explosion surprised us just as much as you might have been and maybe even more, it just....happened sir, like...Pow, whish.” Again Jinx gestured with those vague actions, his voice trailing off towards the end of his sentence.
Seeing that the Colonel was not taken in, he tried a different tact.
“I swear sir, we did our best to protect the cargo! We lost 5 men protecting it-and excuse my language-, but damnit sir, do you think we’d go to the trouble of doing all that just to double-cross the US? I lost my family to the damned USSR for god’s sake!”
Then it was Maxell’s turn to placate the Colonel, he had as much progress as throwing a sponge into a swelling river, in hopes of preventing a flood.
Seeing that he was not going to get anything out of the two officers, Colonel Lincoln turned and paced to the end of the room, his backs to them. His mind was already racing to piece things together, running over their every word and body posture.
“Recovery team could not find any trace of the Gene-Mod nor the container that held it. Do you know that the Gene-Mod was the only sample that the research team at Gamma could produce? It was en route to Beta for mass production damnit. However, do I have your confirmation that the Gene-Mod has not fallen into the enemy’s hands?”
“Affirmative.”
“Right as rain, sir.”
Their voices rang out in unison as they felt the omnipresent stress-machine was going to stop breathing down their necks.
“Then I can guess that not all is as bad as it seems. This incident shall be marked down as a disappointing turn of events, yet we are glad that the USSR does not have it. That’s it then. You’re dismissed, Lance Corporal Jinks, please stay back for awhile.”
The sound of booted feet echoed throughout the room as Maxell walked to the door, stopped, waited for it to slide open and then left the room. The sliding door slid shut, the hydraulic pistons hissing behind hidden compartments.
“So Lance Corporal Jinx, I guess a commendation is in order for you and your squad. Under the immense duress that you and your men may have faced, I am impressed that you managed to pull off the rescue. It has come to my knowledge that you even took down a large number of enemy soldiers in the midnight skirmish.”
“More than you’ll ever know.” thought Jinx.
“ Congratulations. You and your men will be awarded the Lion’s Mane for your bravery and unwavering support in combat.”
“Thank you sir!” saluted Jinx.
He lowered his hand and turned to leave the room. As the doors slid open, Colonel Lincoln called out.
“One more thing Jinks. Do you have a name for you and your men?”
“Yes sir,” grinned Jinx. “We’re called the Skull squadron”
“Good. Effective from now, you’ll be serving in the Special Ops department. Dismissed.”
The doors closed shut.
Outside, Maxell was waiting for him. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor that overlooked the lush garden on the first floor. Large-paned windows that were slanted outwards from the bottom up, lined the other side of the corridor and carried on in a fashion till they circled back, joining in a wide square to overlook the garden.
“That went moderately well dint it Lance Corporal?” he asked, pushing against the wall when Jinx stepped out. They fell in step together and paced down the corridor.
“I’d say that was brilliant, what with all that hand gesturing and all.” he joked.
“And, seeing that we’re off duty at the moment, how bout we drop the titles for a lil’ while?”
“Sounds good to me.” acquiesced Maxell.
“And how bout a drink? I seem to recall them being on you the last time i checked.” teased Jinx.
Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Maxell nodded in reply.
“Sure why not, call down your squad while you’re at it would you? I seem to have too much money to spend nowadays.” said Maxell, dryly.
With a wink, Jinx reached into his uniform breast pocket and produced a mobile phone and was already dialling into it.
“Hey, I was just kidding damnit. Gah fine, fine, call them down. And just curious, they never introduced themselves, what are their names?”
“Oh my men?” he asked, head tilted as he wedged his mobile against his shoulder. “They’re Kasper Luzterg, Brad Forst and Gabriel Hunter. The ones that are alive anyhow.”
“And I’m Jinks Weathers. But you can call me Jinx.”
Monday, July 28, 2008
(S) Fallout: Through cover of darkness.
New York, 2016, 1940hrs;
“Sir, look up there!” pointed a soldier.
The sky had lighted up in a conflagrant blast of blood-red flares and in that moment, a calm lull fell over the entire junction. As if by unanimous vote, all the combatants stopped firing, the last few bullet shells clattering to the ground. US and USSR soldiers alike, stood mesmerized as the show of fireworks was the last thing they expected to see in this drawn-out siege of almost 2 hours. All heads were strained as far as their bulky armour allowed them to, as they stared into the night sky, weapons lowered. Dead silence filled the night air. Finally, the last few blood-red flares faded away and as if shaken from a dream, the captivated soldiers broke from their repose and resumed the assault.
“It’s a flare from Beta Dome! Looks like we got to share the kills now.” hollered the Sergeant. “Thank god we’re not going to die.” He murmured.
From the shadows emerged four soldiers, they looked tired, yet still held themselves up in a professional manner. The Sergeant and his own squad stared in disbelief at their apparent back-up. Some even dropped their weapons and began hammering at the ground.
“If that’s all we got, then we’re..”
“Four only eh? Well I guess that means more kills for us boys! Welcome aboard Beta Squad!” Cut in the Sergeant, regaining his equanimity.
“Pleased to serve you, just know that the next time we meet, the drinks are on you.” Jabbed the lead soldier, hoping to lighten the tension in the air, which was so tangible that even a knife could not cut through.
“ Lance Corp. Jinx at your service, my boys had a run in with some USSR scum earlier on. We’re down to four men. What’s the heads up on your situation?” inquired Jinx.
“Sergeant Maxell. We were moving along First Impact from Gamma to Beta when they ambushed us in the open, I had to find a good defensible spot so here we are. Don’t bother with the light tanks, they were disabled by EMP nades shortly after we set up position here. The cargo is safe in the Mobile Vehicle. With your four men, we’re now up to 13 soldiers. Any chance of more reinforcements?”
“That’s a negative till day break. Current reserves are engaged in the countryside and will not be back for a while. I guess we better get started then.”
Jinx broke off and together with his men, calmly took up positions overlooking the remaining three junctions. Everyone else followed suit.
Apparently, the USSR forces had pulled back to regroup, and for the next few hours, the makeshift barricade waited in uneasy silence.
New York, 2016, 2300hrs;
The sound of muffled footsteps permeated through the dead silence, which hung like a heavy fog over the surrounding city.
Shadows flirted from alley to alley on each street.
The enemy was taking up positions yet again. The US soldiers, full of renewed vigour from their short rest, retook their positions, awaiting a clear shot. There was no clear definition of how the gunfight restarted. It just, happened. In a matter of seconds, the soldiers were unloading clip after clip, pausing only to reload and kick away the mound of bullet shells that were piling at their feet. A soldier was detailed to restocking the ammunitions for the rest. He ducked low, running alongside the tanks, clutching an ammunitions box to his chest, careful not to drop it. If he was shot, he had a better chance of survival than if it were to be the ammo chest that was the target. He would place several clips beside each soldier as they fired off rounds mercilessly into the indistinct void.
Jinx was having a good time trying to stem the seemingly never-ending flood of USSR soldiers down his lane.
“That’s seven on my list, what about you?” he chortled, maintaining a vice-like grip on the handle and barrel of his rifle.
“Damn you’re fast, I’m on my fifth...oh make that sixth!” shouted Maxell in reply, as he shot another soldier squarely in the chest.
Click. The trigger sounded hollow against the empty rifle. Jinx pushed back from crouching to lean against the side of the tank, unlocking and dropping his empty clip. He reached to reload yet another magazine from the pile beside him. Cocking the hammer into the barrel, he swept back up on one knee to resume firing at the advancing USSR soldiers. All this in one motion.
After two hours of continuous shooting, the USSR soldiers pulled back with heavy casualties on their side, the cries of retreat echoing after the fading silhouettes. Jinx and Maxell suffered no deaths.
“I’d say we took about 25 of them down, looks like we’re gonna make it after all.” Voiced Jinx, his assessment of the situation spoke for them all. Already the shoulders of several soldiers were starting to lift in the hope of victory.
New York, 2016, 0100hrs;
A thick fog had settled over the city, blanketing everything in muffled silence.
The US soldiers gripped their rifles uneasily. The sudden cease in aggression was disconcerting at the least. Yet they all hoped for day break, for Jinx had received a transmission from Beta Dome’s comms. team that 3rd and 4th squad had routed the enemy on their side and were on the way to back-up the convoy.
A lone soldier was making a trek across one end of the cross-junction to the other, heading towards Maxell, when suddenly 3 shafts of red light pierced through the fog to convene on him.
“Get down!” yelled Maxell, but it was too late.
The soldier dint even know what hit him. Three gaping holes through his chest confirmed his demise, with his blood sizzling in the radio-active air.
Snipers.
“Damnit! We’re sitting ducks out here, we can’t leave the convoy for fear of ambush yet if we stay, we’re dead either way!” barked a soldier.
“Alright everybody hug the tanks, I don’t want anyone to move until I tell you to, move out!”
“What’re we gonna do Maxell?”
“Its Sergeant, and if I dint need your men so much right now, I’d punch you.” Growled Maxell.
“Right, so what’s the plan...sir?”
Deep down, Jinx dint have to ask, the inner-workings of his brain had already formulated a plan, he just needed the approval of a higher ranker.
“What?!” exploded Maxell. “We fought so long to protect this thing, and you say you want to use it?!”
“We don’t have a freaking choice damnit! So listen to the bigwigs, and if we die protecting this Gene-Mod, who’s going to retrieve it? Our people? Damned as hell won’t be!”whispered Jinx, through clenched teeth.”Think of the implications then, if the USSR mass-produces this Gene-Mod, it’s gonna be the end of us!”
Maxell tensed, his veins standing taut against the skin on his neck, and then relaxed. The fight seemed to have gone out of him and he reluctantly acquiesced.
“But if you fail, you’re going to do the explaining you hear me?”
“If I fail, we won’t need to explain anything to anyone now will we?” replied Jinx, grinning.
With that said, he got up from crouching and slinked towards the Mobile First Aid Vehicle.
The Gene-Mod was inside.
It was immaculately white within the lit vehicle and he immediately spotted the casing that housed the Gene-Mod. Slowly, he slipped the straps that held the casing in place, undoing the catch that locked the container. The lid slid upwards slowly, as the hydraulic pistons pushed the lid perpendicular to the hinges.
He reached in and pulled out a vial of blue liquid, its texture reminding him somewhat of a lava-lamp. Vapours of nitrogen wafted from the opening, condensing on his goggles. He wiped it away and proceeded to attach the vial to a syringe.
“Do I want to go through with this?” he thought, and immediately plunged the needle into his arm, through his suit. The hiss of the syringe as the plunger slid downwards resonated out into the open, as if a sigh for all the deaths incurred through the war.
Pain.
He dropped to his knees as an unbearable sensation to tear himself away from his body shot throughout his veins. This was shortly replaced by a sense of ecstasy and then immense shivering one would expect from drug addicts suffering from withdrawal. His body was fighting against the Gene-Mod. It dint last long.
He was changed.
After he had recovered enough to get up, he tentatively removed his left glove.
The hair on his knuckles singed and a little skin off the back of his wrist began to peel. Apart from that, he was fine.
Slowly, he removed the rest of the bulky armour that served more of radiation protection rather than for any other form of damage.
“I’d say that would be about 8kg shed.” He murmured.
Lighter and more dexterous, he leapt from the vehicle, curling into a rolling crouch as he remembered the predicament his men were in at the last second.
The emotions their faces were hard to discern, due to their masks, but their body posture told of a plethora of emotions. Some soldiers were glad he was going to do something that might help them survive. Others were resigned as they felt that they had battled for nothing to protect something that was going to become history very soon.
He gave a quick nod to Maxell and slinked out into the shadows. He was definitely not going to die there.
“Try to catch me now.” He growled.
New York, 2016, 0330hrs;
Freed from his heavy armour, Jinx scaled the roof heights with unprecedented agility and stealth not seen since the post-fallout days. The fog did much to cover his approach as well. He was only armed with a commando’s knife. He could not afford to give away his position through unnecessary gunfire.
Beams of laser light cut through the night sky like sweeping scythes, as the snipers searched for their well-hidden targets. The tanks were mighty handy indeed.
On silent feet, he ran from roof to adjacent roof, building up his momentum so that he could traverse the final stretch of open air which separated him from the next roof metres away. He landed on the distant roof, rolling on impact and recovering on one knee. Eyes darting about, he located the first sniper, in a similar position at the edge of the roof. Wasting no time, he darted quickly around back, reaching forward; he brought the pommel of his commando knife down upon the unsuspecting sniper. He caught the unconscious soldier and the sniper rifle before both tumbled to the ground below.
Jinx never fancied gory deaths by blade and thus kept his melee fights to a minimum. Instead, he tore off the visor of the USSR soldier, leaving him to the elements. That was something that he dint mind one bit.
Straddling the sniper rifle, he switched off the laser and started tracking the remaining snipers through their red beams. Lying prone on the rooftop, he wondered if he was suffering from déjà vu.
“There you are.” He whispered.
His finger pulled the trigger. The gunfire! He had forgotten! Yet, to his surprise, the weapon emitted a low thud and that was that. He peered over at the edge of the rifle barrel and heaved a sigh of relief.
Thank god for the silencer attached.
Making quick work of the remaining sniper, he searched the neighbouring corpse for a transmission device.
Found it.
Unsure of the call-sign of the snipers, he tentatively radioed in.
“Sniper-1 over, targets immobilized, however, expect light resistance, some are too bunkered down to get a shot at.”
“Roger that, we are moving in now to take positions. Cover our approach, over.”
“Roger that, over and out.”
As the USSR soldiers emerged from hiding, he tracked them to their respective positions and shot them down one by one. It was too easy and Jinx almost felt bad doing it.
When he was certain he had killed every last one of them, Jinx recovered from prone, stretching his muscles and headed back towards the convoy.
New York, 2016, 0445hrs;
Jinx hurried back into the convoy, shouting out to inform of his approach.
“It’s done Maxell sir.”
“God damn, you actually did it! Blessed be us!” yelled the Sergeant in mirthful glee.
“3rd and 4th will be arriving anytime now, I suggest u put your anti-radiation armour back on, the situation is complicated as it is already. And I expect the rest of you soldiers to have no comments on tonight’s incident. Dismissed.”
New York, 2016, 0525hrs;
The rising sun began its slow ascent to the axis of the sky, its fiery rays penertrated through the fog, lifting the sombre gloom. From the east marched a platoon of soldiers, followed by a heavy tank and two lighter ones. From the west rolled two trucks of infantry APCs. Reinforcements couldn’t have arrived any sooner.
The dawning light was reflected by the shards of glass that littered the city streets, revealing the mass of dead USSR soldiers around the convoy, as well as the dead snipers on the rooftops.
Jinx and Maxell looked at each other and grimaced. There was going to be a lot of explaining to do.
They’d better get started on their cover story.
“Sir, look up there!” pointed a soldier.
The sky had lighted up in a conflagrant blast of blood-red flares and in that moment, a calm lull fell over the entire junction. As if by unanimous vote, all the combatants stopped firing, the last few bullet shells clattering to the ground. US and USSR soldiers alike, stood mesmerized as the show of fireworks was the last thing they expected to see in this drawn-out siege of almost 2 hours. All heads were strained as far as their bulky armour allowed them to, as they stared into the night sky, weapons lowered. Dead silence filled the night air. Finally, the last few blood-red flares faded away and as if shaken from a dream, the captivated soldiers broke from their repose and resumed the assault.
“It’s a flare from Beta Dome! Looks like we got to share the kills now.” hollered the Sergeant. “Thank god we’re not going to die.” He murmured.
From the shadows emerged four soldiers, they looked tired, yet still held themselves up in a professional manner. The Sergeant and his own squad stared in disbelief at their apparent back-up. Some even dropped their weapons and began hammering at the ground.
“If that’s all we got, then we’re..”
“Four only eh? Well I guess that means more kills for us boys! Welcome aboard Beta Squad!” Cut in the Sergeant, regaining his equanimity.
“Pleased to serve you, just know that the next time we meet, the drinks are on you.” Jabbed the lead soldier, hoping to lighten the tension in the air, which was so tangible that even a knife could not cut through.
“ Lance Corp. Jinx at your service, my boys had a run in with some USSR scum earlier on. We’re down to four men. What’s the heads up on your situation?” inquired Jinx.
“Sergeant Maxell. We were moving along First Impact from Gamma to Beta when they ambushed us in the open, I had to find a good defensible spot so here we are. Don’t bother with the light tanks, they were disabled by EMP nades shortly after we set up position here. The cargo is safe in the Mobile Vehicle. With your four men, we’re now up to 13 soldiers. Any chance of more reinforcements?”
“That’s a negative till day break. Current reserves are engaged in the countryside and will not be back for a while. I guess we better get started then.”
Jinx broke off and together with his men, calmly took up positions overlooking the remaining three junctions. Everyone else followed suit.
Apparently, the USSR forces had pulled back to regroup, and for the next few hours, the makeshift barricade waited in uneasy silence.
New York, 2016, 2300hrs;
The sound of muffled footsteps permeated through the dead silence, which hung like a heavy fog over the surrounding city.
Shadows flirted from alley to alley on each street.
The enemy was taking up positions yet again. The US soldiers, full of renewed vigour from their short rest, retook their positions, awaiting a clear shot. There was no clear definition of how the gunfight restarted. It just, happened. In a matter of seconds, the soldiers were unloading clip after clip, pausing only to reload and kick away the mound of bullet shells that were piling at their feet. A soldier was detailed to restocking the ammunitions for the rest. He ducked low, running alongside the tanks, clutching an ammunitions box to his chest, careful not to drop it. If he was shot, he had a better chance of survival than if it were to be the ammo chest that was the target. He would place several clips beside each soldier as they fired off rounds mercilessly into the indistinct void.
Jinx was having a good time trying to stem the seemingly never-ending flood of USSR soldiers down his lane.
“That’s seven on my list, what about you?” he chortled, maintaining a vice-like grip on the handle and barrel of his rifle.
“Damn you’re fast, I’m on my fifth...oh make that sixth!” shouted Maxell in reply, as he shot another soldier squarely in the chest.
Click. The trigger sounded hollow against the empty rifle. Jinx pushed back from crouching to lean against the side of the tank, unlocking and dropping his empty clip. He reached to reload yet another magazine from the pile beside him. Cocking the hammer into the barrel, he swept back up on one knee to resume firing at the advancing USSR soldiers. All this in one motion.
After two hours of continuous shooting, the USSR soldiers pulled back with heavy casualties on their side, the cries of retreat echoing after the fading silhouettes. Jinx and Maxell suffered no deaths.
“I’d say we took about 25 of them down, looks like we’re gonna make it after all.” Voiced Jinx, his assessment of the situation spoke for them all. Already the shoulders of several soldiers were starting to lift in the hope of victory.
New York, 2016, 0100hrs;
A thick fog had settled over the city, blanketing everything in muffled silence.
The US soldiers gripped their rifles uneasily. The sudden cease in aggression was disconcerting at the least. Yet they all hoped for day break, for Jinx had received a transmission from Beta Dome’s comms. team that 3rd and 4th squad had routed the enemy on their side and were on the way to back-up the convoy.
A lone soldier was making a trek across one end of the cross-junction to the other, heading towards Maxell, when suddenly 3 shafts of red light pierced through the fog to convene on him.
“Get down!” yelled Maxell, but it was too late.
The soldier dint even know what hit him. Three gaping holes through his chest confirmed his demise, with his blood sizzling in the radio-active air.
Snipers.
“Damnit! We’re sitting ducks out here, we can’t leave the convoy for fear of ambush yet if we stay, we’re dead either way!” barked a soldier.
“Alright everybody hug the tanks, I don’t want anyone to move until I tell you to, move out!”
“What’re we gonna do Maxell?”
“Its Sergeant, and if I dint need your men so much right now, I’d punch you.” Growled Maxell.
“Right, so what’s the plan...sir?”
Deep down, Jinx dint have to ask, the inner-workings of his brain had already formulated a plan, he just needed the approval of a higher ranker.
“What?!” exploded Maxell. “We fought so long to protect this thing, and you say you want to use it?!”
“We don’t have a freaking choice damnit! So listen to the bigwigs, and if we die protecting this Gene-Mod, who’s going to retrieve it? Our people? Damned as hell won’t be!”whispered Jinx, through clenched teeth.”Think of the implications then, if the USSR mass-produces this Gene-Mod, it’s gonna be the end of us!”
Maxell tensed, his veins standing taut against the skin on his neck, and then relaxed. The fight seemed to have gone out of him and he reluctantly acquiesced.
“But if you fail, you’re going to do the explaining you hear me?”
“If I fail, we won’t need to explain anything to anyone now will we?” replied Jinx, grinning.
With that said, he got up from crouching and slinked towards the Mobile First Aid Vehicle.
The Gene-Mod was inside.
It was immaculately white within the lit vehicle and he immediately spotted the casing that housed the Gene-Mod. Slowly, he slipped the straps that held the casing in place, undoing the catch that locked the container. The lid slid upwards slowly, as the hydraulic pistons pushed the lid perpendicular to the hinges.
He reached in and pulled out a vial of blue liquid, its texture reminding him somewhat of a lava-lamp. Vapours of nitrogen wafted from the opening, condensing on his goggles. He wiped it away and proceeded to attach the vial to a syringe.
“Do I want to go through with this?” he thought, and immediately plunged the needle into his arm, through his suit. The hiss of the syringe as the plunger slid downwards resonated out into the open, as if a sigh for all the deaths incurred through the war.
Pain.
He dropped to his knees as an unbearable sensation to tear himself away from his body shot throughout his veins. This was shortly replaced by a sense of ecstasy and then immense shivering one would expect from drug addicts suffering from withdrawal. His body was fighting against the Gene-Mod. It dint last long.
He was changed.
After he had recovered enough to get up, he tentatively removed his left glove.
The hair on his knuckles singed and a little skin off the back of his wrist began to peel. Apart from that, he was fine.
Slowly, he removed the rest of the bulky armour that served more of radiation protection rather than for any other form of damage.
“I’d say that would be about 8kg shed.” He murmured.
Lighter and more dexterous, he leapt from the vehicle, curling into a rolling crouch as he remembered the predicament his men were in at the last second.
The emotions their faces were hard to discern, due to their masks, but their body posture told of a plethora of emotions. Some soldiers were glad he was going to do something that might help them survive. Others were resigned as they felt that they had battled for nothing to protect something that was going to become history very soon.
He gave a quick nod to Maxell and slinked out into the shadows. He was definitely not going to die there.
“Try to catch me now.” He growled.
New York, 2016, 0330hrs;
Freed from his heavy armour, Jinx scaled the roof heights with unprecedented agility and stealth not seen since the post-fallout days. The fog did much to cover his approach as well. He was only armed with a commando’s knife. He could not afford to give away his position through unnecessary gunfire.
Beams of laser light cut through the night sky like sweeping scythes, as the snipers searched for their well-hidden targets. The tanks were mighty handy indeed.
On silent feet, he ran from roof to adjacent roof, building up his momentum so that he could traverse the final stretch of open air which separated him from the next roof metres away. He landed on the distant roof, rolling on impact and recovering on one knee. Eyes darting about, he located the first sniper, in a similar position at the edge of the roof. Wasting no time, he darted quickly around back, reaching forward; he brought the pommel of his commando knife down upon the unsuspecting sniper. He caught the unconscious soldier and the sniper rifle before both tumbled to the ground below.
Jinx never fancied gory deaths by blade and thus kept his melee fights to a minimum. Instead, he tore off the visor of the USSR soldier, leaving him to the elements. That was something that he dint mind one bit.
Straddling the sniper rifle, he switched off the laser and started tracking the remaining snipers through their red beams. Lying prone on the rooftop, he wondered if he was suffering from déjà vu.
“There you are.” He whispered.
His finger pulled the trigger. The gunfire! He had forgotten! Yet, to his surprise, the weapon emitted a low thud and that was that. He peered over at the edge of the rifle barrel and heaved a sigh of relief.
Thank god for the silencer attached.
Making quick work of the remaining sniper, he searched the neighbouring corpse for a transmission device.
Found it.
Unsure of the call-sign of the snipers, he tentatively radioed in.
“Sniper-1 over, targets immobilized, however, expect light resistance, some are too bunkered down to get a shot at.”
“Roger that, we are moving in now to take positions. Cover our approach, over.”
“Roger that, over and out.”
As the USSR soldiers emerged from hiding, he tracked them to their respective positions and shot them down one by one. It was too easy and Jinx almost felt bad doing it.
When he was certain he had killed every last one of them, Jinx recovered from prone, stretching his muscles and headed back towards the convoy.
New York, 2016, 0445hrs;
Jinx hurried back into the convoy, shouting out to inform of his approach.
“It’s done Maxell sir.”
“God damn, you actually did it! Blessed be us!” yelled the Sergeant in mirthful glee.
“3rd and 4th will be arriving anytime now, I suggest u put your anti-radiation armour back on, the situation is complicated as it is already. And I expect the rest of you soldiers to have no comments on tonight’s incident. Dismissed.”
New York, 2016, 0525hrs;
The rising sun began its slow ascent to the axis of the sky, its fiery rays penertrated through the fog, lifting the sombre gloom. From the east marched a platoon of soldiers, followed by a heavy tank and two lighter ones. From the west rolled two trucks of infantry APCs. Reinforcements couldn’t have arrived any sooner.
The dawning light was reflected by the shards of glass that littered the city streets, revealing the mass of dead USSR soldiers around the convoy, as well as the dead snipers on the rooftops.
Jinx and Maxell looked at each other and grimaced. There was going to be a lot of explaining to do.
They’d better get started on their cover story.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
(S) Fallout: Under the blood-red sky
Under the blood-red sky, the resplendent city-by-the-bay glittered like garnets and rubies. The spires of building ruins formed a truly remarkable sight; catching the amber rays and sent them coalesced into a stunning beam of light. From the seaward side, it shone like a beacon guiding lost ships-or a portent of death. There were signs of battle everywhere, bullet-marked walls and blown-out doorways being the most prominent features. This was especially so in the middle of the city, wherein lay a massive crater of gargantuan proportions. The force that resulted in the crater’s formation must have blown bits of glass from windows, for pieces littered the street everywhere, scattered throughout the city. A layer of dust carpeted everything outdoors and indoors, loose wiring hung out of holes in false ceilings, with paperwork strewn amongst office floors.
There was no sign of human habitation.
Far off, towards the city fringes, reverberated gunshots. The narrow streets amplified the noise and it ricocheted around, booming mercilessly through abandoned houses and offices alike. The source of the fight could be traced over to a cross-junction at 73rd street, wherein two groups of people fought, a confusing sight due to the apparent desolation of the city. In the middle of the cross-junction, three light tanks and a mobile first-aid vehicle were doubled-up as barricades to the four adjoining streets. A group of combatants periodically fired towards other soldiers a hundred metres down each lane. The constant cascade of empty shells sounded like the patter of raindrops on a downcast day, exactly matching the moods of the soldiers.
On a hill several hundred metres away, yet another group of soldiers were making their slow advance towards the bunkered down soldiers. Probably back-up for the forces trying to breach the barricade.
New York, 2016, 1915hrs;
“How goes the radio effort?” yelled a soldier in his 40’s.
He wore a gas mask and had bulky armour that protected against the radioactive environment. He was lean, tall and had eyes of emerald blue that seemed to pierce one’s very being. You could not lie to these kind of people, even if u weren’t compelled to tell the truth. His rank said he was a Sergeant, yet he exuded an inner-strength and leadership that bespoke of a Major. He paced-as if oblivious to the situation at present- over to where another soldier was frantically speaking into a mouth piece in his hand.
“Sir, I still can’t get through! The enemy seems to have blocked all radio channels, we can’t get help in sir, we’re trapped damnit!” sobbed the frantic soldier.
A soldier firing from the rear end of one light tank suddenly gave a shout. Dropping his rifle, he clutched at his side. A well-placed bullet had shot through the weak armour under his left armpit and exited out of his back. After a momentary lapse, blood started spewing in rapid spurts out from his back and armpit, only to hiss and evaporate a split second later from the radio-active air. He doubled over as if genuflecting, and seconds after the wounding, collapsed to lie prone on the tar road. The Sergeant walked over to the soldier, boots crunching on empty shells, and picked up the dropped rifle. He reached up to his gas mask and toggled the controls on his tactical overhead view into night-mode. Placing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, he leaned against the side of the tank and started firing rounds with pin-point precision into the evening horizon.
“Well, that’s not going to stop us now is it?” he grunted.
“Ye..yes sir!” replied the soldier, renewing his efforts to get through the radio channels.
New York, 2016, 1930hrs;
100 metres away from the convoy.
Four soldiers advanced prone on the debris-strewn streets. They all had their tactical overhead view switched to night-mode, holding rifles out in front of them. The lead soldier, leaning on one side, turned to look back at the rest of his men; he related several finger commands and switched to a crouching stance. Together, they ran, doubled over, to the side of a building, crouching in the shadows.
“Hold, surveillance team just managed to upload a satellite shot on the block of buildings ahead, hang on while I transfer it to your tactical overheads.”
The gas mask goggles glowed a pale green as the satellite images displayed themselves on the tactical overhead. The red glows indicated the presence of soldiers, likely to be USSR’s, as the US ones were under siege in the middle.
“Pick your targets men, from here we split, we meet back here after we clear out this street. That will give one less avenue of attack for the convoy to worry about. Move out.”
One by one, the soldiers emerged from the shadows, running in differing directions but all general to the convoy. The lead soldier was the last to move. With great dexterity, he scaled the fire-escape platforms on the side of the
building and reached the top of the three-storey building. Going prone at the edge of the roof, he took aim with careful precision. The targets were not hard to spot, as they were periodically illuminated by the flash of gunfire as they shot at the convoy. Several were shooting from alleys between building blocks and took cover behind the walls when they reloaded. Others were rolling forward a garbage dump, firing blindly over the edge of the dumpster. Generally, they all wielded Mac-Ingrams, a rapid fire sub-machine gun that could rip a person into pieces in seconds.
Careful not to attract attention, the lead soldier attached a scope to the top end of his rifle and peered through it. The stationary ones at the alley were easy enough to take down, especially since their attention was focused somewhere else and their backs were to him. It was the ones with the dumpster that proved a challenge. He just could not take a clear shot at them, as their movements kept him swivelling his rifle around trying to get them within the crosshairs of his scope. It was pretty much a give-away as soon as he missed his first couple of shots. The soldiers might not have known he was there, but the ricochet of bullets off the side of the dumpster away from the known enemy was enough to warrant attention. They crouched and spun around, aiming around frantically.
His next shot took one of them down, the flash of gunfire alerting the other two to his location. Raising their barrels at him, they prepared to shoot. It was just at that point in time when a well-thrown flash-bang erupted in a dazzling array of light. Scintillating orbs flashed across his vision, this was made worse due to the thousand percent light amplification ratio of his night goggles. Pushing himself away from the edge, he reached up as if to pull off the gas mask. As if remembering the implications of that, he veered off at the last second, only to deactivate the night-mode on his tactical overview. Launching back onto the edge, he immediately took aim at the two soldiers below, who had dropped their weapons, clutching their faces.
The final two shots resounded loudly in the now empty street, fainter sounds of gunfire resonated from the other streets, however, he was safe for now.
Upon regrouping, the lead soldier pulled out a flare gun; the flare loaded inside was specifically tailored to match the soldier squads of the respective bio-domes. He pointed it at the sky as if to shoot. At that moment, another soldier reached out and pulled his hands down.
“Wait Jinx! Are you sure about this? Lighting the flare will reveal our position to the enemy units around us!” he blurted, without reasoning.
Jinx turned his head and fixed the soldier a long stare.
“Oh, sorry sir, I wasn’t thinking.”
Raising his hands to the sky again, he pulled the trigger. The night sky exploded in a dazzling spray of blood-red flares. Dropping the flare gun, he picked up his rifle and motioned for the group to follow. They set off at a quick trot down the street towards the convoy.
“Say, why did Lance Corporal Jinx do that?” Whispered a soldier at the back of the two by two formation.
“Isn’t it obvious? If we’re gonna join the convoy, they need to know we’re coming. And don’t worry about alerting the USSR units. We’re joining the convoy, and they already know where that is.”
The four soldiers side-stepped over the dead USSR soldiers, travelling quickly towards the cross-junction.
Above them, the blood-red flares lingered in the night sky.
There was no sign of human habitation.
Far off, towards the city fringes, reverberated gunshots. The narrow streets amplified the noise and it ricocheted around, booming mercilessly through abandoned houses and offices alike. The source of the fight could be traced over to a cross-junction at 73rd street, wherein two groups of people fought, a confusing sight due to the apparent desolation of the city. In the middle of the cross-junction, three light tanks and a mobile first-aid vehicle were doubled-up as barricades to the four adjoining streets. A group of combatants periodically fired towards other soldiers a hundred metres down each lane. The constant cascade of empty shells sounded like the patter of raindrops on a downcast day, exactly matching the moods of the soldiers.
On a hill several hundred metres away, yet another group of soldiers were making their slow advance towards the bunkered down soldiers. Probably back-up for the forces trying to breach the barricade.
New York, 2016, 1915hrs;
“How goes the radio effort?” yelled a soldier in his 40’s.
He wore a gas mask and had bulky armour that protected against the radioactive environment. He was lean, tall and had eyes of emerald blue that seemed to pierce one’s very being. You could not lie to these kind of people, even if u weren’t compelled to tell the truth. His rank said he was a Sergeant, yet he exuded an inner-strength and leadership that bespoke of a Major. He paced-as if oblivious to the situation at present- over to where another soldier was frantically speaking into a mouth piece in his hand.
“Sir, I still can’t get through! The enemy seems to have blocked all radio channels, we can’t get help in sir, we’re trapped damnit!” sobbed the frantic soldier.
A soldier firing from the rear end of one light tank suddenly gave a shout. Dropping his rifle, he clutched at his side. A well-placed bullet had shot through the weak armour under his left armpit and exited out of his back. After a momentary lapse, blood started spewing in rapid spurts out from his back and armpit, only to hiss and evaporate a split second later from the radio-active air. He doubled over as if genuflecting, and seconds after the wounding, collapsed to lie prone on the tar road. The Sergeant walked over to the soldier, boots crunching on empty shells, and picked up the dropped rifle. He reached up to his gas mask and toggled the controls on his tactical overhead view into night-mode. Placing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, he leaned against the side of the tank and started firing rounds with pin-point precision into the evening horizon.
“Well, that’s not going to stop us now is it?” he grunted.
“Ye..yes sir!” replied the soldier, renewing his efforts to get through the radio channels.
New York, 2016, 1930hrs;
100 metres away from the convoy.
Four soldiers advanced prone on the debris-strewn streets. They all had their tactical overhead view switched to night-mode, holding rifles out in front of them. The lead soldier, leaning on one side, turned to look back at the rest of his men; he related several finger commands and switched to a crouching stance. Together, they ran, doubled over, to the side of a building, crouching in the shadows.
“Hold, surveillance team just managed to upload a satellite shot on the block of buildings ahead, hang on while I transfer it to your tactical overheads.”
The gas mask goggles glowed a pale green as the satellite images displayed themselves on the tactical overhead. The red glows indicated the presence of soldiers, likely to be USSR’s, as the US ones were under siege in the middle.
“Pick your targets men, from here we split, we meet back here after we clear out this street. That will give one less avenue of attack for the convoy to worry about. Move out.”
One by one, the soldiers emerged from the shadows, running in differing directions but all general to the convoy. The lead soldier was the last to move. With great dexterity, he scaled the fire-escape platforms on the side of the
building and reached the top of the three-storey building. Going prone at the edge of the roof, he took aim with careful precision. The targets were not hard to spot, as they were periodically illuminated by the flash of gunfire as they shot at the convoy. Several were shooting from alleys between building blocks and took cover behind the walls when they reloaded. Others were rolling forward a garbage dump, firing blindly over the edge of the dumpster. Generally, they all wielded Mac-Ingrams, a rapid fire sub-machine gun that could rip a person into pieces in seconds.
Careful not to attract attention, the lead soldier attached a scope to the top end of his rifle and peered through it. The stationary ones at the alley were easy enough to take down, especially since their attention was focused somewhere else and their backs were to him. It was the ones with the dumpster that proved a challenge. He just could not take a clear shot at them, as their movements kept him swivelling his rifle around trying to get them within the crosshairs of his scope. It was pretty much a give-away as soon as he missed his first couple of shots. The soldiers might not have known he was there, but the ricochet of bullets off the side of the dumpster away from the known enemy was enough to warrant attention. They crouched and spun around, aiming around frantically.
His next shot took one of them down, the flash of gunfire alerting the other two to his location. Raising their barrels at him, they prepared to shoot. It was just at that point in time when a well-thrown flash-bang erupted in a dazzling array of light. Scintillating orbs flashed across his vision, this was made worse due to the thousand percent light amplification ratio of his night goggles. Pushing himself away from the edge, he reached up as if to pull off the gas mask. As if remembering the implications of that, he veered off at the last second, only to deactivate the night-mode on his tactical overview. Launching back onto the edge, he immediately took aim at the two soldiers below, who had dropped their weapons, clutching their faces.
The final two shots resounded loudly in the now empty street, fainter sounds of gunfire resonated from the other streets, however, he was safe for now.
Upon regrouping, the lead soldier pulled out a flare gun; the flare loaded inside was specifically tailored to match the soldier squads of the respective bio-domes. He pointed it at the sky as if to shoot. At that moment, another soldier reached out and pulled his hands down.
“Wait Jinx! Are you sure about this? Lighting the flare will reveal our position to the enemy units around us!” he blurted, without reasoning.
Jinx turned his head and fixed the soldier a long stare.
“Oh, sorry sir, I wasn’t thinking.”
Raising his hands to the sky again, he pulled the trigger. The night sky exploded in a dazzling spray of blood-red flares. Dropping the flare gun, he picked up his rifle and motioned for the group to follow. They set off at a quick trot down the street towards the convoy.
“Say, why did Lance Corporal Jinx do that?” Whispered a soldier at the back of the two by two formation.
“Isn’t it obvious? If we’re gonna join the convoy, they need to know we’re coming. And don’t worry about alerting the USSR units. We’re joining the convoy, and they already know where that is.”
The four soldiers side-stepped over the dead USSR soldiers, travelling quickly towards the cross-junction.
Above them, the blood-red flares lingered in the night sky.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
(S) Fallout: Fading dusk.
New York, 2016, 1800hrs;
The setting sun cast a dream-like state over the city; glistening spires of city blocks caught the amber rays and sent it coalesced into a stunning beam of light that reflected into the mahogany sky.
It would have been a magnificent sight if not for the dilapidated ruins of skyscrapers that detracted ones attention. Ironically, the skyscrapers were lying on the ground, their lustre long gone and replaced by a sad emptiness.
The city streets were littered with cars and a majority of them had their doors wide open; obvious signs of hasty departure. Traffic lights, or those that were still standing, were faulty, with those in the same junction blinking antagonistically. Nothing wrong with that of course, but the fact that the rate of change was every few seconds surely could not have gone unnoticed. This is, if there was anyone around to notice it, largely due to the blaring fact that the entire city was deserted.
A gentle breeze blew along the stretches of road, stirring up various odds and ends; pages of a newspaper spiralled up into the air, riding the air currents. Apart from its rustling, there was only deafening silence to be heard.
30 km away, at the heart of the city, lay a massive crater. This semi sphere was 2km wide and at the epicentre of the void, it ran 4km deep.
The setting sun cast a dream-like state over the city.
There were no birds;
There was no life.
Military ammo dump site, Nevada, 2 years ago:
The sound of booted feet echoed loudly down the underground gang walks.
The subterranean facility was kept under strict surveillance by the US National Guard.
There was only one way in and one had to have 5 levels of clearance in order to enter the inner sanctum of the facility, also the primary area of operations.
"Sir, a message has just arrived from Washington. Our operators down at the comm. Lab are unable to decode it. Apparently it's FYEO." Puffed a lean soldier of mid-30's and by the stripes on his uniform, it identified him as a lance corporal.
"Alright, dismissed soldier. Okay everybody listen up. I want everyone to clear the OPS room ASAP."
Without even pausing to wait, the Commander of the base produced a key card and slotted it into the primary console in front of him. A prompt instantly lit up the OPS room video screen.
Voice recognition eh? He mused.
Statistics ran across the screen before congregating in a mesh of files, only to be covered by a message pop-up.
'Commander', it read, 'there is a top level priority situation that is to be in immediate effect upon reading this message. 2 days ago, our intelligence unit at Washington had chanced upon an encrypted message from within homeland servers, outgoing to the USSR. Upon further probing, investigations have revealed a breach in security. There have already been several instances of system crashes in which have been related to USSR server attacks. The biggest discovery has been that of 5 USSR intelligence officers amongst our top-brass. It is thereby imperative that you immediately begin a thorough background check on all officers of level 6 clearance and above.
This message is to all Commanders. We wish you the best of luck and if it holds, hopefully nothing too harmful will come of this situation. God bless us.'
No sooner had the Commander finished reading the message than 3 officers burst into the OPS room.
"I thought I told everybody to,"
"Sir, forgive us, but there's a situation going on outside the steam rooms, there have been reports of gunfire and fighting. We were sent to report to you."
The Commander was already rushing to the doorway when something clicked in his mind, with a start, he turned around to speak.
The twisted smiles of the officers with their gun barrels raised at him were the last things he saw.
In that day, 9 other ammo dumps that housed nuclear warheads became armed. Of these, 8 were launched; the other 2 bases perpetrators had been foiled in their attempts.
USSR intelligence had infiltrated US defences and had launched nuclear warheads at the major American cities.
The nuclear fallout that had resulted killed two thirds of the population, the rest were forced to take shelter in self-sustainable underground domes. The cataclysm was coined; First Impact.
A year later, after radiation levels had dropped till they could be countered by radiation suits, the USSR launched assaults on US soil.
At present, surviving US forces pitch battle on homeland, other major world powers are unable to help due to problems of their own, instigated by USSR agents.
New York had become the frontier city facing the USSR onslaught after the fall of New Jersey 3 weeks prior. Already, the US soldiers assigned to the 10 domes in the city were hard pressed defending it.
New York, 2016, 1800hrs;
A small squad is dispatched from Beta Dome to recover a downed convoy en route from Gamma Dome.
Lance corporal Jinks, better known as Jinx, stood outside on the ramp that led to the surface as the door to the airlock room clamped shut behind with a resounding finality.
He, together with 7 other squad mates, wore gas masks and similar clothes and equipment that had been developed to protect against the dangerous levels of radiation that permeated the environment like a coiling miasma.
At a signal, they set off towards the last received location of the convoy. The convoy was of high priority, yet his squad was the only one assigned, as the rest were busy in engagements with USSR forces. The convoy contained the latest batch of the genetically-altering vaccines that rendered soldiers immune to the environmental radiation. This meant less bulky armour and better manoeuvrability in the field. The squad scaled the fallen debris and headed wearily towards their target. The only signs of life were fields of radioactive moss covering blocks of buildings and entire stretches of road. The soldiers advanced in a semi-hunched position, their standard issue automatic rifles (m4a1s) held out in front of them.
Soon they passed by the zone of First Impact, looking like miniscule toy soldiers compared to the size of the crater. The site of the destruction forced Jinx to tear his eyes away, as unwelcomed feelings of resentment welled up within.
It was when they emerged from the shadow of a small building onto a cross-junction when they were assailed by several USSR soldiers. 2 squad members died instantly.
The squad broke formation and ducked for cover.
Jinx was pressed up against a piece of concrete that once was the foundation walls for a building, the butt of his gun held against his thighs. Pieces of shrapnel whizzed over his head as the opposition unloaded clips after clips of ammunition. The rate of fire meant that the ricochet of bullets was highly likely, making retaliation at best, a blind fire in the enemies general direction. Using a mirror attached to his rifle, Jinx pinpointed the location of the enemy to a second storey car park overlooking the cross-junction.
He glanced over at his squad mates, who were equally pressed up against other debris on the same side of the road as he was and then at the dead soldiers lying in the middle of the junction.
There it was, a lull in the shooting. He jerked his fingers in rapid succession. Almost as one, the remaining squad split off into 2 groups, flanking the multi-storey car park, whilst another 2 soldiers remained to fire volleys at the enemy, drawing their attention away from the rest.
Slinking from shadow to shadow, the squad, huddled forward, rushed up the ramp of the car park. They were met by a conflagration as a well-timed grenade blew up under their noses. One died instantly whilst another had had his armour torn through.
Jinx ticked him off the squad list, as exposure to the radiation resulted in death minutes later.
Seemingly out of nowhere, 4 USSR soldiers flanked their backs and started firing. Ducking behind support pillars, Jinx and the surviving squad members returned fire, their night-vision googles exuding a greenish glow as they peered into the gloom.
It was useless, with the remaining USSR soldiers coming down the ramp to backup their comrades, pitching a battle was suicide.
Jinx fumbled at his side-compartments, pulling out a flash-bang. He hurled it into the midst of the enemy and with other squad members doing the same thing, aimed for the car park exit, shut his eyes and made a mad dash for it.
The downed soldier put up his final resistance, opening up at the mass of soldiers at the base of the ramp, before being gunned down from behind, as their backup finally arrived.
Outside, the Jinx's squad half-crouched, half-sprinted towards the safety of the debris which they had took cover upon earlier. The other 2 teammates were still firing shots into the shadows of the car park, providing covering fire for the squads retreat. Afraid to look back, the squad made their way through side streets and alleys, in the general direction of the convoy. If they got there, they could restock and recoup at the mobile first aid vehicle detailed to the convoy. A wild panic gnawed at the pits of their stomach as the squad had come so close to being wiped out.
One of the squad members, carrying a radio kit, had received a short burst of message before the channels became consumed by static. However, it was enough to confirm the survival of the convoy and their exact location. The darkening horizon was creeping up on the squad and they needed to reach the convoy ASAP. Cresting a small hill, they finally came to overlook the convoy bunkered down in the middle of a cross-junction. 3 light tanks and the mobile first aid vehicle had been set up on all flanks to deflect enemy fire. In the middle of the cluster was a group of US soldiers, taking up covered positions and trading fire on all sides.
Jinx sighed. It was going to be a long night.
The squad made its slow decent down the hill, rifles held in front of them, as they fought their way towards the convoy.
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