Atlantis: chapter 11

Can you believe we're at chapter 11? All the way from one? Have you read chapter one? Go back and do it now if you haven't. Seriously. I'm not even kidding. Really. No joke. Come on, just go.

Please note that this page and all related articles are a work in progress and the authors reserve the right to edit, expand, delete, and/or reformat this page and all other related pages. Please also note that in writing this we mean no disrespect to any country or culture, a book merely needs protagonists and antagonists.

I swear I'm not even kidding.

Chapter XI: Plan F for Success

"Glad to see you guys are alive." Tom said truthfully.

"Yeah. We've been pinned down here at least half an hour." Mitchell responded.

"Well, 50, when pinned down like this and under fire, what's your first tactic if nobody comes to the rescue?" Tom asked him quizzically. When battling a technically superior enemy it was best not to use names.

"Mount an energetic and enthusiastic counter attack." Mitchell replied with a slight smile. His sandy hair somehow seemed darker when coupled with his serious, grimy face. "And we have. But we've been under so much fire we couldn't do very much. P- er, 49 and I have been switching off on branch duty. We got a couple of them. I estimate about six left, with the ones you killed."

"Uh, Sarge, I think there are a few more than six..." One of them called, and Tom looked up to see multiple of the Russians' APCs rolling to stops around their position.

"Quick! Get out while there's time!" Tom screamed. Too late.

The first APC opened and dropped down the first of its men. They opened fire, and along with the APC's built in .45 cal machine gun, it sent a sheet of bullets racing for the opening, effectively trapping Tom and his men.

"Guess we'll stay a while." Mitchell said from his position on the side of a ruined seat.

"We'll be fine as long as they don't bring out explosives." Tom said reassuringly. Just then an explosion rocked the destroyed craft, sending men spilling to the floor. Tom was knocked onto his side. "I thought that only happened in movies." He said glumly.

"Maybe not, but it looks like they only got one launcher." One of the soldiers grunted, climbing to his feet. "Otherwise we woulda' heard another one right now."

"Alright. One launcher. Simple, we take him out." Mitchell said.

"But how do we get out to shoot?" Another of the soldiers asked.

"We don't need to see them to get them." Mitchell answered, sitting down in a secure position. He mentally accessed his Other and began to search. One advantage of using the Other was that, in addition to being able to control supernatural forces, the Other saw in a different light. The Other's vision was based less on objects than on brainwaves and links. Mainly, it was used for telepathic images and messages, mostly by the newer psi-agents. An experienced psi-agent would know the links between brains are there, and he wouldn't have to see to link up and send a thought. But in the hands of a skilled psi-warrior like Mitchell, it could also be used to detect life and its whereabouts. It could also be used in conjunction with another psi power, like, say, telekenesis.

Mitchell latched onto a rock and threw it at one of the APCs. The gunner must have been warned of their powers, though, because he swiveled the turret around and blasted the rock to pieces using his machine gun.

Next Mitchell latched onto a log, hooking it between the APC's treadwheels. He found a goodly sized rock and placed it as the fulcrum for his lever. Then he called, "Need a little extra force over here. Can anybody lend a brain?", and immediately two minds who had been throwing random stuff at men jumped to and started to help. Just then another explosion rocked the Osprey, disrupting everyone's concentration. Mitchell jumped right back into the Other and said, "I see his vapor trail! Quick! 48, get on him!"

Then the three others went back to their lever. Mitchell stoned a Russian who was trying to dig the rock out, then pushed downwards. With the help of the other two, he managed to flip the APC on its side, and it rolled over onto its top and smashed its own gun. Then Mitchell grabbed a large boulder and dropped it from up high onto the exposed, weak underbelly. It penetrated through and hit a fuel tank, causing the APC to blow up into fragments.

Wild cheering broke out through the Osprey as they saw the APC go down, leaving Tom feeling even more helpless. He couldn't access his psi energy, and so couldn't help with the counterattack. Here he was, coming to save them, and they were saving him!

He decided to mount a counterattack of his own. Calling to one of the soldiers, he said, "Cover me on the way out!" and started climbing to the top. The soldier obediently turned and dredged up two pieces of bulletproof steel and metal from the broken APC to cover Tom as he came out. Tom popped through the door, opening up a few rounds from the opening between the two pieces of metal. He dropped the the jungle floor and dove through a cloud of lead and into the safety of the jungle. The safety of the dark, mysterious, incredibly scary, Dino infested, thick, tangled jungle.

Three Russians spun to shoot at him, and Tom melted back into the darkness after taking a couple shots at the rocket soldier. One hit the man's knee, and he dropped the shell he was about to load. This was followed a second later by a wince-worthy THUD! as 48 took out a tree's base and watched as it fell on top of the downed AT trooper.

"Timber!" Someone from the Osprey called comically, and Tom took a second to snicker to himself. The rocket soldier was down, and moreover so was his launcher. Both crushed like bugs.

With the lull of fire on the Osprey, two Americans jumped up and sprayed lead around, giving Tom an added distraction. They were forced to duck back down in a moment, though, because the APCs had started up their devastating suppressing fire again. One Angeler poked his head and shoulders up, trying to get his ZEUS-MPGR to lock on. A bullet hit him in the shoulder and he dropped the launcher, his teammates pulling him back inside to safety. That gave Tom an idea.

If he could distract those APC turrets, then one of his men would have a clear line of fire to get the vehicles. To tell his plan to Mitchell, he'd have to use the comm. and the Russians could here him. But he had no choice.

"Mitchell! I'll distract, you take 'em out!" Tom said, as quickly as he could.

Tom just hoped that any Russian translation gear would take another few seconds to process as he ran out without cover into the middle of the clearing. He waved his hands and arms comically, yelling at the top of his lungs. This would have to be the first time he had ever employed this tactic, but it worked. Both of the remaining APCs swiveled to face him. It was rather sad, really, that these were the Russian elites. A first grader could have seen through the deception, especially because they knew that a man in the Osprey had an Anti Armor launcher, and their men didn't have the firepower or height of vantage point to get the same amount of suppressing fire on the bay opening.

Tom's awareness cranked up a few notches as the beating of a helicopter's blades echoed throughout the clearing. He could see every single detail in the twisted landscape, from the lush, tropical green palms to the damp, chocolate colored earth. The ground was covered in fallen vegetation and smaller shrubs, and there was a small chimney opening in the foliage overhead. Shafts of light entered, casting a dim glow throughout, and Tom saw a glimpse of an aqua blue sky above.

The second most intruding sense was smell. It was funny, but in all the books he'd ever read, in all the after-action reports he'd written, nothing had ever talked about smell. He could smell the fumes of the gasoline-Ethanol mix the Russian's APCs ran on, he could smell the coppery twang of blood and the leaden of bullet casings. He could even smell fried circuits from the V-22.

"We need to take out the APCs and get into the jungle!" Tom called out. The APCs were still tracking him, so he ran to the opposite side of the clearing and watched as the stupid, confident gunners took aim at him. Two or three Americans silently dropped down from the Osprey, scattering in all directions as Russians belatedly took aim and opened fire.

Tom dove for cover behind a large tree as the APCs also opened fire on him, spewing their heavy projectiles at a devastating rate of fire. The tree shattered into tiny splinters and threatened to fall. Tom ran out, again drawing their fire as a missile erupted from the Osprey, taking the lead APC and blasting it into fragments. The substantial fire now dropped by half.

The remaining APC driver realized his danger and hit the gas, rumbling onto a new point in the battlefield. The turret swiveled again to suppress the Osprey, pinning the men inside down again.

Tom watched all this from behind the cover of a tree, and just as he was about to jump out, he felt a foreign presence attempt to enter his mind. He didn't recognize the feel of the consciousness, so he rebelled, throwing up mental barriers. The presence easily overwhelmed him and entered.

We'll cover you and take out the men while you go for that last APC. Mitchell's voice jumped out. Tom breathed a sigh of relief, then drew in a shaky breath. He needed to be more careful. That presence could just have easily killed him as helped him.

But sure enough, several seconds later, two rifles opened up in wild fire in every direction, and the final rifle shot out brief puffs of three bullets each, taking one man with burst.

The Russians soon forgot about the stationary Tom and turned to face this new threat. The APC continued to hold down the Osprey, so Tom ran over to it to find a weak point.

Tom gave a kick and watched as the metal of the boarding doors buckled. Not satisfied, he kicked the door again, hearing metal tear and fall inward. He inserted his fingers into the inch-wide gap and strained his muscles. The solid aluminum-steel mix creaked and gave way, centimeter by centimeter. With a final kick, Tom had opened a gap large enough to squeeze through.

That would give handbook instructors food for thought the next time they lectured about tactics and how to get through a closed door.

Tom shuffled through the opening, finding himself face-to-muzzle with an outstretched gun. The Russian soldier clutching it was staring wild eyed at Tom. Evidently, he had never witnessed Tom, or anyone else, pulling open metal before.

Tom calmly looked into the Russian's eyes, then lowered his gaze and studied the gun held before him. It was an antique, a Skorpion Czech machine pistol. The metal was scratched and dented, obviously having seen many fights. The gun was held in an experienced if shaky grip, but with one crucial detail missing.

"Go ahead and put that gun down, friend." Tom said in flawless Russian.

Normally, APCs carried four crew, three if there wasn't a gun turret. And the three other from this particular APC were standing right behind the first one, but fortunately their view was blocked by their comrade's own body.

The Russian recoiled, as if pricked by a knife. "N- nn- never!" He screamed. "P- put your hands on your head and stand against the wall!"

"Make me." Tom said, grinning, and whipped his own SMG from its holster lightning fast.

Before the Russian knew what was happening, Tom had shouldered his SMG and fired a burst into the first Russian, standing behind the one in front of him. Since they were vehicle crew, they wore much less armor than the regular soldiers, and the first man crumpled.

Tom completely ignored the Russian in front of him as the man's weapon clicked, flinging empty air at Tom in the place of a bullet. Instead, Tom shot the man on the other side of the soldier in front of him, and simultaneously threw the Russian he was clutching at the third hostile. They stumbled and collapsed together, but Tom wouldn't give a reprieve. He came up to the soldiers scrabbling frantically around and jabbed out quickly with the stock of his SMG. One of the soldiers fell prostrate, and the other keeled over to his chest as Tom brought up his knee and caught the man between the legs. That move wouldn't have worked on a regular, because of their armor. But on these unfortunate soldiers, it worked perfectly well.

Tom swung the stock of his SMG again, this time in a wide, sideways arc that hit the agonized soldier in the temple. Unconsciousness was immediate, and he grew slack in Tom's grip.

"Next time," Tom said to the fallen Russian, referring to the magazine and charging lever, "Insert this metal box thing here, then pull this little lever here, then squeeze the trigger."

Tom looked around. The APC was now gunnerless and driverless. No threat here. Still though, the turret was operative. And this would be more fun.

Tom climbed in and searched for the correct button. Except that there were somewhere close on a hundred buttons. It looked like an aircraft cockpit.

Why is this all so complex? Shouldn't you just need a joystick? Tom asked himself.

He finally found what he was looking for about six seconds later. A traction ball in the center of the panel. He rotated it and watched as the turret swiveled around in the direction he had rolled the ball, and the firing unit was obviously the pedal under his foot. Because all artillery cannon and turrets have foot-activated firing mechanisms. Tom thought.

Tom lined the digital cross hairs up on a Russian and slammed his foot down. The enraged fire he now controlled cut a swath of madness through the enemy ranks, giving Mitchell and his men time to grab the wounded and bolt away into the jungle, the enemy helicopters just now appearing overhead. Tom still had time to get out, but he rigged the foot pedal to continue firing and smashed the control ball after pointing it at the sky, effectively giving the Americans undirected suppressive fire at the air until someone took the tie off the pedal, or destroyed the turret.

Tom slid down the small ladder into the main cabin of the APC and ran over to the dented door. Instead of slowing and squeezing through the small opening, Tom used his momentum to fuel a running kick that buckled the weakened door outward and wrenched it off the damaged hinges. Tom sailed to the ground, riding on his thick, heavy, square metal surfboard. The cost of his sweet move was a bone-aching pain that lanced up his leg.

Tom took half a second to revitalize himself, then jumped up and evaded a stream of lead from a helicopter above him.

Tom dashed off into the jungle after Mitchell, tangos hot on his tail. He avoided clearings and light spots in the jungle canopy for fear the helicopter would find him. Even so, the helicopter fired its machine gun into the leaves, shredding foliage. Once it even cleared a path with the MG to shoot a missile. The explosive charge detonated and utterly destroyed a tree fifteen feet to Tom's left, sending him flying right off his feet and into another tree six feet to his right. Needless to say, it hurt like crap.

He caught up to the group a little ways in, then said, "Alright, plan D. Here it goes, hunker down here, set up a trap. Had about seven hostiles on my six, but I lost them temporarily. They're still heading in this direction and it won't be too hard to track our prints."

"We're at plan D?" Mitchell asked incredulously.

"Yeah, plan A was to get the base running and have a mobile attack force. Plan B was sending you guys to come save Bravo. Plan C was me coming to bail you out. Now, this is plan D. Mitchell, I want you to set up men here and here..." Tom pointed with each name, indicating their ambush position. He went on, carefully detailing each man's position.

"I'll give the signal to attack." Mitchell volunteered, saving Tom from explaining how he couldn't use Psi anymore. Mitchell was one smart soldier to have picked up on that.

"And make sure you've all got fresh clips. It would not be good for them to run dry mid ambush." Tom advised, knowing full well that everyone had already loaded in a new one.

"Alright, we don't have more than six minutes, so get to it." Mitchell said.

Five and a half minutes later, Tom was lying in the crook of a tree branch. In those five or so minutes, Mitchell and the team had scattered, a few digging out foxholes and another one dragging over foliage for screening. The injured men would remain on the ground in the foxholes, shooting through gaps in their cover. Meanwhile, the rest of his men climbed trees, and two even burrowed into a small hill. All of them were perfectly camouflaged, and they were so silent and unmoving that if Tom hadn't just witnessed them preparing five minutes earlier, he wouldn't have known they were here at all.

Right on time, a group of six soldiers walked warily through their area. Tom wasn't exactly sure where the others in the squad were, so it was a surprise to him when Mitchell gave the signal and a rifle only two yards away from him opened fire. Sure, he had told them where to go, but of course they had meandered off a little bit within reason, and it was much different seeing it for real.

Tom added his own shots to the mix, going for accuracy rather than suppression. With each burst, another man fell.

Along with Tom, the other soldiers continued to fire. Their first volley of bursts caught four of the six men, and Tom took out his second all on his own. The last one started to turn and run, but the two down in the side of the hill trained their weapons and fired, sending hot bullets pelting the man in the back. He toppled and rolled with the force, his armor catching the bullets.

Tom cursed. Only two of the six Russians were dead, the rest simply stunned. Even now, most were getting to their feet, bruised and battered, but not dead.

Tom opened fire again, raking the ground with his shots. The runner was staggering back up, and Tom took a potshot. The bullet hit the soldier in the side of his exposed face on his way up. The soldier spun violently as bright red and pinkish gore shot out of his head, splattering the ground. The soldier fell for the second and last time.

Now just three left. And they were all racing the opposite direction of their de-brained comrade, right at Tom.

Instead of firing, Tom dropped from the tree. Simultaneously, Mitchell dropped as well, and a bullet fired from the hill took the lead soldier in the knee. He collapsed, skidding forward headfirst, and his two buddies stopped dead at seeing two heavily armed and armored American elites drop literally from the sky, twenty or thirty feet down. For Tom, the drop felt like nothing, having fallen from over twenty stories twice. For Mitchell, the drop was more of a slammer, even though he had left his eighty pound sack at the base of the tree. Camouflaged, of course.

Tom got to his feet two seconds after landing. In fairness to Mitchell, it only took three seconds longer for him, and he didn't have the benefit of Tom's superman treatment.

Instead of fumbling with his gun, Tom yanked his six inch combat knife out and flipped the blade. Using the Russian's confusion to his advantage, he advanced on one soldier, Mitchell staying behind to back Tom up. Tom dragged the blade across the Russian's outstretched arms, cutting them to the bone. As the Russian cried out in agony, his partner lowered his defenses to look over. That was when Tom lashed out, jabbing the point of the blade backhanded into the Russian's Adam's apple. Tom kicked the man away, not wanting to watch as blood spurted from the severed vein and a hollow wheezing sound filled the air.

Mitchell came in with his knife at the same time, taking the other Russian in the diaphragm. He too started wheezing, and Tom pulled his sidearm out of its holster and pushed the barrel point blank against the soldier's head. He pulled the trigger, and more red started pooling in a shallow puddle next to the soldier's head.

The man on the ground writhed around, reaching for his sidearm. Before he could draw, Tom shifted his aim and got the Russian's arm. Next he took out the other arm, then the other leg.

The Russian was now completely helpless, so Tom grabbed the shoulder and hoisted him against a tree. The man spluttered in pain, and cried out when Tom's blade pinned him to the trunk by the collar. Tom gave an extra punch to the gut for good measure.

"Mitchell, take this guy. Get some answers, see if you can't figure anything out about their defensive line. You, you're on air patrol. Find some kind of AA device. I don't care if you have to hit them with a freaking rock, just get it done."

Two simultaneous 'Yes sir!'s came from both men, and Tom went over to help the injured men out of their foxholes.

A couple minutes later, the Americans were on the move again.

On the way Mitchell filled him in on the Russian's information, who was still hanging from a branch. Tom had taken his knife back, though.

"The Rucks have a pretty sweet setup." Mitchell acknowledged grudgingly. "We'd never make it with a frontal assault."

"Now, we're at plan E. Frontal assault will never work. So, instead, we're going to hit the pressure points." Tom explained, beaming a digital map of Bravo base onto the squad-wide HUD.

"This tower, here, will be the easiest to take, as it's the farthest away from all of the others, and the shape of the perimeter makes it even more vulnerable. However, we're not dealing with idiots. These Rucks can fight, and they've got the smarts to do so. They'll have re-inforced this point with some of their own defenses, maybe even a minefield. So, we take the second easiest. They'll be expecting us here, so we send you two;" Tom pointed at the two injured soldiers, "over to them with some suppressive weaponry. You'll be the distraction while the rest of us follow this game trail here, to this post here." With each point, he highlighted an area on the HUD for everybody to see.

"This mission will be difficult. Some will die. But the ultimate goal will be to eradicate the Russians and drive them out of our camp, freeing any survivors as you go."

While he talked, the men checked their ammo, weapons, and other gear, took a minute to ravenously tear into a nutrient bar, and then re-checked their gear.

"We move out in five." Tom said.

"I'm buying for any and everyone who makes it out alive." Mitchell said. Tom smiled at the small cheer that went up in his men, then climbed a low tree to get a better view of the surrounding area as his men readied themselves for combat.

Tom crept quietly along the game trail, Mitchell on point directly in front of him. Mitchell used his psi to clear the way, and as a result the going was a lot easier than Tom had imagined. The long, winding trail was still grueling, though, and Tom hoped he could succeed from this.

Five minutes later, he was in position, M9 Carbine fitted with a silencer and sniper mods. The sniper mods gave the M9 an increased optics sighting and a bipod on the barrel, making it easier to steady the shot. It also meant exchanging the regular fifty-round .35 cal AP clip for a ten-round, .50 cal APAP (Anti-Personnel Armor Piercing) semi-explosive shot. The bullets had a small explosive head at the top, giving it an enhanced anti-armor ability.

Tom let the scope and cross hairs drift lazily over his target; an older Russian soldier standing obliviously on the third level of a CGT. Three more snipers lay next to him, all targeting different soldiers. The CGT held six Russians out of a suggested nine, and they looked relaxed. Obviously, the possibility that they would be attacked, not their companions, hadn't occurred to them.

Tom had seen fit to give this plan, plan E, a name besides plan E. He had chosen the name 'Final Consequence,' and it proved very apt for his mission. These Russians hadn't taken precautions, and this was their consequence;

Tom pulled the trigger back, knowing his shot would tell the others next to him to open fire, and four Russians fell, two with bullets in the neck, one in the head, and one in the arm, which promptly fell away, to the ground. He made a sick gargling sound as he fell, blood gurgling up to his throat. Tom grimaced and turned away.

The two last Russians looked around wildly, but before they could open fire, two more shots echoed almost silently through the jungle, coming into contact with the soldiers' chests. Both fell with ragged holes.

The CGT was out, and somebody would know, soon. Tom picked up his gun and ran forward, hoping against hope that the Rucks hadn't put up a minefield around here. As he came to the CGT, he heard rotor blades up ahead. Although they had expected a response, this one was too soon, and Tom didn't believe in coincidence.

Tom vaulted over the wall on the lowest level of the CGT, grabbed the ladder, and climbed to the top. Once he got there, he saw the source of the noise: a jungle-green helicopter with a red star, moving full force to them. Tom grabbed the CGT's closest mounted chain gun and aimed it at the bird, not bothering to look through the scopes. He could let the tracers show him the bullets' path.

He disengaged the safety and opened fire, the barrel taking two seconds to come up to speed before bullets flooded through a slot in the side, their empty cases flowing out the other side. For every five bullets that weren't but faintly visible as the flew out the gun, a red tracer, extremely visible, gave him an idea where the bullets were headed. Adjusting for wind and taking a slight lead on the craft, he opened fire again, watching holes stitch in the side of the craft. He hit something vital and watched the aircraft shudder and spin out to the left, then come back into control a moment before it hit the ground.

Mitchell jumped up next to him and pulled another chain gun into position, pressed the triggers and let fly a swarm of bullets. The helicopter responded by shying to the right, and the swath missed it by several inches. Drop lines came down from the doors, and Russian soldiers started descending. Tom harassed them while Mitchell fired at the craft.

One lucky hit severed a drop cable, and three men fell to the ground with the one shot.

Then men were on the ground and rushing towards them, and the Americans still hurrying to the CGT paused to settle into stable stances, then opened fire with their sniper mods still attached. Men fell, blood was spilled. Including American blood, as a wild shot nicked one's leg and tore a gap in the armor and fatigues.

Mitchell switched to his M9 Sniper Mod and aimed through the scope at the bird. It was moving too fast to get a perfect shot at the cockpit, though, so Mitchell emptied his clip at the helicopter after taking a slight lead. Two shots made contact; one in the troop bay and one against a rotor blade, the explosive in the round destroying the blade and severing the hydraulic lines, effectively destroying the craft as it rolled into the jungle.

Then Mitchell was back on the chain gun and firing at ground troops even as more Americans rushed into the CGT for safety and to man the turrets. They all crammed to the guns, but there were only six left now, not including Mitchell and Tom. That meant eight men manning the turrets, which left one unmanned.

Still, eight chain guns was a serious force, and Russians fell one by one, two by two, until there weren't any left.

Tom only realized too late that if they were expecting them here, the two injured men wouldn't stand a chance. Tom called out, "Withdraw! NOW!" over the comm, hearing gunfire and explosions in the background but receiving no verbal answer except a scream and a gasp of pain.

Mitchell cursed angrily. Tom's head jerked up as he heard more rotors and the squeaky rolling of APCs.

"All units, disperse and withdraw! Meet up at the barracks!" Tom ordered, then jumped from the CGT twenty feet down to the ground, landed, rolled to break his fall, and then was up and running for the trees. If he could just get in and climb a tree, or burrow himself under a bush...

A missile launched from one of the helicopters overhead, and Tom was thrown forward by the shockwave. It washed over him, throwing him forward like a sack of vegetables, where he skidded to a halt in the dirt. Fortunately, his TBA had taken most of the force and protected him from the fragments, but flying face-first into the ground still hurt like crap.

The Russian helicopter flew over, but it had lost sight of Tom after the explosion. The pilot pulled the triggers regardless, hoping a lucky shot might find his target. He launched two more missiles, both of which missed Tom. The flames and explosions shredded the jungle apart, throwing Tom around further. By this time, the rest of Mitchell's rescue force had retreated and were headed to the barracks of Bravo base.

Tom waited with his head buried in the dirt for the helicopter to pass. Probably not one of the smartest ideas, but it was better than jumping up and revealing his position.

The Russian pilot focused his aiming reticle on a likely looking bush a ways into the canopy. He was almost out of ammunition. Oh well. One last barrage.

Tom felt three 10mm bullets impale him, all across his back. One at the base of his spine, another just left of his spinal cord, and the third at the base of his skull. Incredibly, none of the bullets pierced his armor. They left giant bruises, but all fell to the ground harmlessly after a second of intense pain.

He was lucky. If the bullets had been going in at a straighter angle, they would've gotten him. But for some reason, the helicopter had been leaving as it fired at his hiding spot, and the bullets had come at an angle and pinged off the shell.

The helicopter flew away to land somewhere in the compound, and that gave Tom an escape route. If they could take out the pilot, they could get it to fly out and request a larger strike force to eradicate and take back the base.

Holly's voice crackled in his ear, "Tom! Are you alright?" and despite the situation, Tom was faintly glad of the concern in her voice.

"I'm good. But can't they hear you?" He responded.

"No, I had our tech crew working on a way to encode the channels ever since they broke in. It's super secure. But they'll pick up the code after this one call, and I'll have to come up with a different one after that. Quickly, where do you want us to meet you?"

"Scarlett's going to go in and take out their AA battery, and if possible their communications relay. I'm going to assist her. I've got six men left from my rescue team and I've ordered them to meet up at Bravo's barracks. Once their AA ordnance is out, you pull in with whatever you've got. We'll liberate their air field first; we'll need their helos to get everyone out. Then we'll send a strike force over to the command center, and then work from there to liberate the rest of the base."

"Alright, I hear ya. Matt's back up on his feet and he wants to help, but the doctors ordered him to stay at Alpha. I don't think he's taking it well. Listen, try not to get shot, okay? I see your armor just registered several impacts. I don't have to tell you not to do that." She was only joking, trying to get Tom to laugh inspite of his injuries and to take his mind off it. It worked.

Tom chuckled and said, "Roger that. I'll see ya at the airfield, if we're all not dead by then."

"Way to be optimistic. Over and out." Holly ended, cutting the comm and getting to work on another encryption code.

Tom got up and rolled to his feet. The APCs were just arriving, but Tom was already melting into the shadows by the time any of the soldiers had gotten out.

Tom made his way through the jungle. It was even slower work than the game trail had been, but eventually he came to the large clearing where the center of Bravo was housed. And in the dead center of the clearing was a definately non-American AA gun, with several soldiers milling around beside it. Tom had no time to plan his attack, but Scarlett entered a call over the comm, "Tom, I'm in position. Be ready to give covering fire."

"Roger. Sniper loaded and trigger finger itchy. Your wish is a Russian dead."

"Making my move... now." She said, cutting the comm as she fired. A storm of brass marched its way to the soldiers by the AA device, sewing mayhem and death where the bullets impacted. Tom opened fire with his M9, and another Russian fell to the ground. Then another, and a black TBA-encased figure sprinted at twenty miles an hour to the gun from a nearby position. Scarlett backslid under the barrel for cover as Tom opened fire at a trio of soldiers belatedly firing their own weapons.

His silenced bullets made it difficult to find the sniper's position, but even so, Tom picked up his rifle and ran to another point. In the lull of fire, six men rushed out into the open, oblivious to the fact that Tom had just set up again until two of them fell from one shot.

Tom opened fire again and again until he ran out of targets and shots in the clip. Smoothly, he changed clips and position as Scarlett dragged herself from under the gun, having planted a quantity of C4, and flew at top speed towards him, using her other to find his hiding position.

Realizing what running for him would do to their cover opportunity, she changed directions and entered the jungle slightly towards Tom's right, then made her way quietly around until she met up with Tom. Just as the two came withing sight, a shoulder-fired rocket impacted where Scarlett entered the thick vegetation, causing the ground to scorch and the leaves to hang and shred themselves into tatters.

Tom couldn't resist a shot at the Russian. He fell under the heavy bullet, and then Tom and Scarlett were rushing for the air field without a word.

When they finally stopped to catch their breath, they heard more rotor blades echoing throughout the clearing, these of American origin. Several seconds later, an Osprey leaped over the surrounding foliage, closely followed by two Predator UCAVs and an Apache gunship. All four craft sprayed brass and led at targets being marked by American ground troops that descended from the Osprey. Their huge bulk hid the sun for several seconds at a time.

Scarlett, outfitted in her Matte Black Mk. III, unshouldered a ZEUS-MPGR launcher and aimed it at the communications satellite relay station. She waited for the launcher to receive a radio-fix on the relay, then fired, watching the high-powered explosive drill into the metal and explode, demolishing the dish.

She dropped the portable launcher, as it only carried one shot, then unslung her M9 Carbine and pulled the charging lever, enjoying the clack of a successful rifle bolt. Tom glanced sideways at her, then readied his own gun, removing the sniper modifications and refitting it for regular combat.

As soon as Scarlett saw that Tom was ready, she moved out, Tom following close behind. They headed towards the fence gate for the air fields, and Tom smashed the lock with the stock of his gun, then stepped aside for Scarlett to blow the hinges off with TK. Then she blasted the electrified fence gate down to the ground with a pyro blast, severing the electric cables and rendering it useless. Then Tom followed Scarlett through as more Angels swarmed behind him. They eliminated the guards quickly, effectively, and methodically, storming the helo landing pad. Tom saw multiple men climbing a slight rise and aiming more ZEUS launchers at the helos, sending a simple, bodily message; move and you die.

While one team of about four moved through the airfield and secured the pilots, Tom and another squad converged on the barracks, where the prisoners were being held. He arrived to find Mitchell and the rest of his squad already broken into the building and in the process of eliminating the guards. Just as Tom was moving to support, he heard more squealing of APCs and saw the vehicles that had attacked his CGT wheeling back to base. He sent more men over to take those out while he moved on with another eight men, mixed Delta and Echo Angels, and took out the guards.

Tom and his men freed the prisoners one by one. The first one to have here hands and mouth untaped was Sgt. Kate Alabaster, and the first thing she did when Tom cut her binds was to vomit off to one side. Then she drew herself up and wiped her mouth, then confided urgently, "Captain, get all the men you can back to Alpha Base! The Russians sent out major strike teams to Echo and Delta. You may already be too la-"

She was interrupted as shouts and screams came over the comm unit, originating from both Echo and Delta bases.

Tom cursed, then ordered, "All surviving units, converge on Alpha base! Meet up at the air fields and await further orders. Repeat, Alpha through Echo Angels, retreat immediately to Alpha base!" before returning to his work of freeing the prisoners, with renewed vigor. Five minutes later all of Bravo was free, and Tom and a few others were carrying the wounded soldiers back to the air field. Among the mass of men and women fleeing Bravo Base were Holly and Scarlett, dutifully heading towards the air field yet tactfully lingering and covering the retreat. Tom met up with them, and loaded men onto the helos.

Five minutes later all of the Angels were on board one craft or another, and they all took off to Alpha base. In the air, they met up with Ospreys fleeing Delta and Echo Bases, and the procession of aircraft beet their rotors in harmony.

"Plan E did not go well." Tom said calmly, displaying a real skill for understating.

Alabaster stood near the back, warding off a medical team as they descended, trying to log her injuries. They convinced her to pop a stimulating pill to cover her fatigue, and to have her numerous cuts cleaned. Otherwise, she told them to stay the heck away, nodding with thanks in Tom's direction. She smiled despite herself, then went to oversee a group of newbies loading ammunition into one of the side-mounted chainguns.

As they approached Alpha Base, Tom saw a pitched battle between his defenders and a much larger, greater Russian force coming in from all sides. APCs, the Russian's Main Battle Tanks, T-99's, artillery, more Russian helos, and their fighter jets escorting the bombers. Tom made sure that the FOF tags they had implanted on all the escaping helos were working, then ordered the pilot to open fire on the bombers.

Along with the mass of ground troops were a mass of air troops; American and Russian alike. The American F-35 JSFs were keeping the bombers and fighters at bay, but it wouldn't be long before they had to return to the field and rearm. Then the bombers would drop in and lay down a punishing volley of destruction. To counteract this, the F-35s were leaving in shifts to attack, and when one came in the other would fly out.

The helos turned as one and fired on the Russian bombers, felling many with the first volley. They caught the attention of the fighters, however, and were forced to land quickly or be shot to the ground.

Once landed, the Angels poured out of the helos and swept forward to the front lines. The CGTs were holding, barely, with the help of an Apache here and there. As the ground forces rushed on, Tom gave thanks that Matt had ordered trenches dug between CGTs in his absence, and sure enough, Matt, despite his bruises, was down in the dirt with the rest. Tom leaped forward and slid into the trench, then raised his rifle and opened fire on a group of Russians who were getting uncomfortably close. Matt's right arm was in a sling, so he couldn't shoot a rifle or anything remotely like it, but he was wielding an MP7 SMG in his left hand and using psi to make up for his right arm. Tom watched as a divot suddenly and without warning appeared in the ground and blew up and out, the flying rocks and dirt chunks catching Russians in the head and neck, killing them and blowing them twelve feet in the air.

Tom aimed and fired, watching another man fall. He unclipped a grenade from his belt and hurled it at a clutch of Russian egineers attempting to construct a portable artillery device, and then fired again and again until his clip ran dry. Matt loosed a Pyro blast into the oncoming wave, sending them scrambling back.

More frequent, smaller divots appeared, courtesy of the three American 75mm Artillery Cannon. They sent more soldiers and equipment blasting into fragments, keeping vehicles at bay.

A grenade landed next to Tom. Inside the trench. And there wasn't time to pick it up and hurl it out.

So instead, Tom kicked it at the grenade sump right in front of him. The grenade sumps were narrow, cylindrical shafts cut deeper into the trenches, specifically designed to kick a grenade into. When the explosive detonated, the earthen walls would absorb most of the fragments and collapse, making the explosion much less potent.

Tom held his breath, and then the grenade went in. A successful kick. A muffled Boom! swept through the trench segment, but no damage was caused.

Suddenly a Russian was right on top of him, and he dove forward with knife in hand. Tom fell back, hoping to evade, but the knife flashed past and caught the side of his face, drawing a long, thin red line.

Tom whipped around, struggling under the morbid pain, to find more of the Russian's squad barreling to the trench. A few of them were cut down on the run, but most of them made it in. Tom thought he was a gonner, until Kate suddenly appeared next to him. She firmly and a little roughly pushed Tom aside as another knife kicked forward, but then she was in front of him, jumped onto one side of the trench, and jumped off it, her foot coming around in a roundhouse kick that caught the Russian in the chest. Meanwhile, she had already snapped out her sidearm, and was putting the rounds to good use, every three bullets or so taking a life.

Tom blinked twice, then sidestepped a heavily booted foot as it whipped by. Then Tom leaned back and gave a sidekick to the man's abdomen, making him double up. Then Tom brought his elbow down on the back of the Russian's neck, jarring him into unconsciousness.

Kate emptied her sidearm and threw it away, dropping back into the trench as bullets whizzed by her. She came down crouched in the middle of three men, until Tom cut the number to two. She sprang up, and in true The Matrix style, kicked out with both legs in midair at two men on opposite sides of her. She looked like a haunted gymnast as both legs connected, sending both men reeling, snapping one's neck. Tom caught the other in a vice-like hold as Kate walked up and sent a dizzying punch to the man's diaphragm, forcing him to lose his breath and consciousness.

Ten minutes later, the waves of men receded, and Tom called a hurried assembly in the middle of camp. He stepped onto the center of a makeshift podium, using his comm device as a microphone. When everyone had seated, he called out,