Atlantis Rising: Chapter 3
Previous Chapter: Atlantis Rising: Chapter 2
Homepage: Atlantis
Also see: Reaper's First Drop
14:32 Hours, April 22, 2015 (Military Calendar), Fort Bragg, North Carolina, USA
5 years before the New York City Invasion
"Five minutes to drop - begin final countdown checks."
"This is insane." Matt commented mildly as he tightened the straps on his parachute.
Malcolm glanced at him from across the C-17. "You'd think you'd have realized that when you signed up for World War Three."
"No, I just realized too." Scar looked slightly green. "Remind me why we're trying out for this outfit."
"Cause this is the most elite, badass unit in the American military." Jamie responded.
"Haha I hear that." Someone further down the line said. "Oorah."
It was day six of Selection. Matt, Jamie, Malcolm, and Scar were sitting in a C-17, waiting their turn to jump from 10,000 feet. The past six days had been the easy part, mostly designed to get rid of the idiots who wouldn't pass the regular Army basic training course, much less have a shot at joining the Marine Shock Forces - the absolute elite in the military, and likely the world. Marine Shock Forces were meant to be the real-world equivalent of Spartans - Immortal, unstoppable, elite, leaders.
So Matt had no idea why around half of the original class of 600 had even been submitted, only to fail out in the first week because of small things - like being uncomfortable with swimming. Or with heights. Or being surprised at the physical training they had done so far - mostly just standard conditioning calisthenics.
The light at the door turned red. "Stand up!" The Jumpmaster gave the hand signals. Matt stood and clipped his chute into the static-line and tried not to hyperventilate. Up and down the line of men and women, the prospective recruits were working themselves up for the jump. "Alright, yeah!" and "Here we go."
"Please, God, no one make the standard perfectly good airplane cliche." Jamie moaned.
Several of the guys in line laughed. Scar still looked somewhat green - Matt patted her shoulder and nodded when she looked at him. She offered a half-smile in return.
They all remembered how it had started - 2012. Not the end of the world at all, like some had predicted. Instead, it was the start of a completely new one - Atlantis, the giant continent in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, spontaneously and inexplicably rose. People all over the world, previously labeled as crackpots and pseudo-scientists, got their fair share of, 'I told you so's in. Both the scientific world and the physical were both sent reeling. Physically, the huge mass that had been submerged for thousands of years suddenly rising forced millions of gallons of water out of its way before settling, first sending enormous waves over the coasts of every country bordering the Atlantic, then allowing the waters to recede, lowering the water level by over a hundred feet.
The continent rose just in time to spark off what was to become World War Three. Tensions between Russia, North Korea, China, and the United States and her allies were at a new high at the start of 2012. North Korea had been agitating for war for years, and after a Russian satellite was supposedly shot down by American missiles, Russia was quick to support them, as was China. The destroyed satellite was later found by a UN investigatory panel to be the work of the Russian government - the satellite had been designed to explode upon exiting the atmosphere, and to be used as a scapegoat for war. With political heat turned on Russia because of this, she was quick to build new relationships with America's enemies.
Advanced Russian military technology flowed into China as their alliance blossomed, paving the way for a new generation of Chinese infantry. Because of pressure from China's new friends, the government imposed a trade embargo on the United States. Cut off from its primary supply of material goods, America was now facing a new economic deficit right on the heels of the previous credit crisis of 2008. A huge rush of new industry based in Mexico and the Continental United States sprang up to fill the gap, but the huge influx of industry needed new resources to process. Similarly, Russia needed new resources to fund and fuel its Reconstruction Project - a massive effort to rebuild Russia to a major world power.
This had all taken place in the Summer and Fall of 2012.
When Atlantis surfaced in December of 2012, it happened to contain a vast wealth of untapped natural resources - everything from petroleum to precious metals and minerals to endless forests of timber.
There was just one problem - Atlantis was inhabited. Upon resurfacing, satellite images revealed enormous cities and towns, evidence of civilization scattered all over the three separate rings of land. The Atlantian people had somehow survived the submergence, as had the rest of the land - not a thing had changed on the continent since 9,000 BCE.
The Russian government didn't care - natives, no natives, it didn't matter to them. They wanted the enormous wealth contained on the continent, and were going to take it by force.
The United States intervened, with the support of much of the UN. Not only was this considered an unacceptable breach of human rights, but it was also a chance to ally with the Atlantians themselves, which could prove far more beneficial in the long run.
Russia decided to launch a preliminary strike with a scope on par with the attack on Pearl Harbor, this time directed at the Atlantic Fleet in Norfolk, Virginia. This was the final spark needed to set the war in motion.
War was formally declared on July 5th, 2013, the day after the attack on Norfolk that left over forty ships at the bottom of the ocean.
Matt had never really thought he was going to join the military, even though he loved any form of combat, and was good at it too. He had had plans to be a mechanical and ballistic engineer, designing armor and other technology for the military, but never actually going to war. Norfolk had changed all that, for him and for his three closest friends, Scar, Jamie, and Malcolm. They had signed up first thing in 2013 at the minimum age, thinking to go into Marine Force Recon and shoot up the ranks to the minimum of Staff Sergeant required to try out for Delta Force - the previous elite of the American military, specializing in counter-terrorism.
They had passed Force Recon school with flying colors and put in two years in combat units, quickly attaining the required rank. By then, however, the Marine Shock Force had been initiated. Only the top half percent of all applicants were accepted, making it the most exclusive force to date. And for good reason, considering the rigors of the course yet to come. This jump, which was going to be followed by a twenty mile hike back to a forward camp in the massive sprawl of land allotted to the base, was considered an 'easy' exercise.
The light turned green, and the assembled recruits poured through the drop doors.
One week later
"...and we welcome you to the unit. You are hereby sworn to carry the mantle of the Marine Shock Force, and to remember what this title will mean for you and for America in the coming years as you strive to uphold those qualities that make us unique - both on and off the battlefield..."
Matt stood in a daze, decked out in full dress uniform. They had made it. After all their trials and hardships, they were finally a part of the MSF. Each one of them - Matt, Scar, Jamie, and Malcolm - had met the incredibly strenuous requirements set up by the unit.
As Matt listened to the brass read to him just how important this achievement would prove to become, another officer moved down the short line of what had been recruits moments before, securing the MSF's unique pin to everyone's lapel. Out of the original class of around 300, only 10 had made it. Just over 3%.
"...your training will begin immediately. Great work to all of you, but that was the easy part." A new officer was saying. This one wore the insignia of a US Navy Vice Admiral, and his nametag read, 'James Ford.'
"Ladies and gentlemen, you are hereby dismissed. I advise you get something to eat and get some rest - you all have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."
Rounds sailed past Matt's head. What had the DI's said? A whiz meant it was close, a crack the bullet was landing right next to you?
Matt looked up the slope of the mountain. That was his goal. Get to the top. Guarding it were four fireteams of Drill Instructors - DI's. One marksman, one Light Machine Gunner, one grenadier, and one command element in each group - standard military loadout. And they were firing live rounds - well, almost live. The simunition used in the MSF was a bit more advanced than Matt was used to - a bullet was filled with crimson paint, like normal. The abnormal part consisted of a small amount of local topical anesthetic loaded in each round - when something got hit, it stiffened up and became nearly unusable. Also, the impacts registered on the battle fatigues and light 'armor' Matt wore, synchronizing with a computer in his helmet. When the computer saw he had taken a round, it activated microcircuits in his clothes that would lock whatever appendage was hit. Too many shots, or a lucky one to the face, and it froze his whole uniform - dead.
Matt checked the clip in his XM8 carbine - the standard assault weapon of the MSF. He had been dropped off completely by himself. Get to the top, and he got a ride back to their Forward Operating Base (FOB) for the night. Get nailed, he spent a couple hours snoozing in the dirt on the mountain before they unfroze his uniform, and then he would be allowed to hike the fifteen miles back to camp, get a few hours' rest, and then start it all over again.
And he was absolutely not allowed to have any sort of contact with any of the other trainees. That was the point of the exercise - evaluate their solo performance, but also wear them down enough so that in a few days, working as a pair would be that much better than solo.
And to top everything off, the DI's force also included S&D Stalker teams that patrolled around the mountain, looking for trainees to 'kill.' It didn't exactly help that the DI's were Force Recon marines. Special forces soldiers just itching for a chance to beat down on the new 'Prima-Donna' outfit.
One of the Stalker teams had gotten on his trail a while ago, but Matt had tried to sneak by them instead of fighting. But given his cautious pace, one of the Force Recon guys had leap-frogged ahead of him, and while the other two flushed him out, the third lay waiting. Unfortunately for the Marine, Matt had anticipated the classic predatory ruse. He was also just a better soldier. A quick burst of rounds cut out the ambusher before the Marine knew he was there. Now the other two were pressing.
Matt primed a frag grenade and through it over the boulder. The explosive caused enough of a distraction for Matt to leap out and empty his clip on the run while he moved for a better position. One of the Marines took a lucky string to the leg and toppled to the ground, but he was still in the fight. The other ducked behind cover.
Meanwhile, he was raising a hell of a racket fighting these guys. The whole mountain probably knew where he was.
Matt realized he didn't have to wipe out these guys to disappear. Matt reached for another flashbang, and by the time the Recon guys were done stumbling and cursing, Matt was gone. He had simply disengaged and disappeared into the woods.
Matt took his time circling around to the other side of the mountain, mildly surprised he didn't run across any fellow trainees on the way. They ran the course in groups of 5, with the second group going while the first one made their way back to camp and slept. But this was a big mountain, the recruits weren't taking the trails because trails were chokepoints, easily defended, and each of them knew how to move silently through the forest. Matt thought he caught a glimpse of somebody once, but whatever he saw didn't stick around to chat.
It was getting late in the day - Matt needed to make a move soon. He started angling closer to the top of the mountain, maintaining a constant vigil for Stalker teams or entrenchment positions.
Things had gotten quiet again after Matt's brief run-and-gun firefight, so when the crack of the sniper rifle resounded, Matt was startled. He immediately dropped to the dirt and scanned for the target - the shot had been close, but not directed at him.
There were a few seconds more of silence, and then the gunfire picked up in earnest. Matt made a break for the top - hopefully, the battle would distract the guards enough for him to get through with minimal return fire.
Apparently he wasn't the only one with the idea. From the furious gunfire on all corners of the peak, Matt guessed the rest of the trainees had chosen this moment to make the dash as well.
As he got closer to the top, the foliage started to thin before disappearing completely further on. Matt knew the entrenchments would be in the foliage still - perfect lines of fire without sacrificing cover.
Matt hit the dirt when another sniper boomed. Closer. Really close - Matt looked off to his left and saw a flicker of movement a hundred feet away.
Before Matt could even start to consider risking his own neck to help the others assaulting the entrenchment or making a break for the endpoint, another trainee ripped through the foliage to his right. The guy - Matt couldn't tell who under the armor and camouflage - was sprinting hard. Another second, a sniper crack, and he was falling hard. Matt watched the sim-round burst open on the trainee's helmet, spraying crimson paint in every direction. The sniper emerged from the woods, followed closely by the grenadier. Apparently at least one of the guard positions had split apart and was hunting down the trainees.
Matt watched from his position behind a rock and a bush. Slowly, he brought his rifle to bare. He waited for the pair to line up in a better angle, so he could nail both with one salvo.
Around them, the battle continued to roar. The heavy SAWs pounded constantly, punctuated by the deeper boom of sniper rounds every few seconds.
Matt increased the pressure on his trigger, preparing to fire.
Before he could get a shot off, a heavy steel tube planted itself in the back of Matt's head.
"Sweet dreams, kid." The DI's .44 magnum sidearm bucked once, and Matt's armor locked up tight.
It continued like that every day for six more days. Different terrain, different endpoint, same version of hell. Matt only made it to the objective once, which tied him with Malcolm and another guy named Jake for wins. During the scant few hours they had to themselves, Matt learned that Malcolm had been the sprinter on the first day ahead of him. Jamie and Scar were in the other group.
Finally, at the end of the week, they migrated from solo to pairs, and it was back to square one.
"Mal, we're on the road in five." Matt yelled over the alt-rock blaring from his iPod, sitting on his cot and lacing up a boot. The Trainees' bunk room was spacious, considering there were only ten guys in a space big enough for three times that number, with another nine identical hangars stretching down in a double row, all unoccupied. Rain drummed against the metal roof of the hangar, the moisture sweeping through the open doors and shutter windows and lending the air a close, humid quality.
Malcolm groaned and rolled out of his sleeping bag, already outfitted for the drill. "It's four in the morning, its pouring rain, and we have to hike fifteen miles to the combat zone. This friggen sucks, man."
Matt nodded. "I know." What else could he say?
Grumbling, Malcolm stood and stretched.
Three minutes later, the two of them grabbed their rifles and set off down the gravel path. Two more pairs would follow at intervals of ten minutes, and once at the combat zone, they would be separated further and spaced out in the forest.
The whole point of this multi-week exercise was to emphasize the importance of teams. And Matt had to admit, it came together beautifully as he and Malcolm crawled through the soaking underbrush. It was comforting to know that he had another set of eyes looking out for them, another gun ready to neutralize threats, another guy, his equal, to rely on.
This was right at the beginning of their training. The rest of the course would take place over the next year and a half, and would hone their already considerably skills to a razor sharp edge. It would make them one-man platoons. By the end of the course, they would be able to pull this same exercise solo and not only win, but win with every enemy combatant snoozing in the dirt.
At the end of this, they would be Immortal.
But if they were going to be unstoppable by themselves, a team would be able to cripple armies. A unit would have the capability to bring a nation to its knees.
Matt and Malcolm didn't win the round, but they got close - very close. The problem was, while the trainees could work in pairs now, the DI's got a little something extra too. They began to set up claymores in the woods, which weren't too bad because of the tell-tale laser trip-wires that emanated from them. They were annoying when Matt and Malcolm had to run somewhere, because they often couldn't see the anti-personnel mines until they were almost on top of them at those speeds. But the bigger threat now came from the sky - The DI's had access to a AH-6C Little Bird attack helicopter.
The helo carried two GAU/19 12.7mm Gatling guns, as well as two rocket pods filled with 70mm Hydra rockets. It flew in orbiting sweeps around the mountain, scanning for targets. While it was possible for the trainees to 'kill' the helicopter with enough fire, it would be extremely difficult to bring the chopper 'down' before it killed them.
And it only got more ridiculous as they went on. Motion sensors linked to CCTV cameras. One chopper became two. And in some objective locations, the DI's got special equipment. Like in the swamps, they were allowed an AC-130 gunship overhead. The trainees had to crawl through the mud-filled swamps to disguise their IR signatures, and were issued full-face helmets with integrated rebreathers in case they passed out underwater.
Or on the river, with the patrol boats and razor wire underwater, and bloodhounds tracking them down and heavily armed PT boats cruising the water. Or the M1A2 Abrams MBT in the urban mockup.
Their teams continued to grow, from pairs to fireteams of four to squads of two fireteams. As the teams got bigger, the complexity of the tactics did as well. They could fire-and-maneuver, one team covering while the other advanced. And they could bait the DI's more effectively, with a trainee firing off his weapon to attract the Stalker teams, then ambushing them.
The days passed without distinction, bleeding together into weeks, then a month. It was grueling, days spent crawling through mud and rubble, jungle and, on the teams' trips to the coast, sand. Apparently someone in Higher had decided they wanted to see the Marines' new supersoldiers run through a D-Day/beach-storming scenario for the culmination of their team-building unit. Afterward, on a rare 'holiday,' all ten of them watched Saving Private Ryan in the base's Rec. room.
The ten of them started the core of a tight-knit unit. They did everything together: fought together, died together, revived eachother, and repeated. Ate together, slept in the same barracks, relaxed together when there wasn't a session in progress. And once the team unit was over, they started a lot more class-based curriculum. Not only were the MSF supposed to be incredible soldiers, they were coincidentally all academic geniuses as well. Granted, most of the academics they studied were involved with military fields. They studied a lot of physics, biology, and material sciences. Matt had wanted to be a mechanical engineer before the war, so he was right at home in most of the classes. Most of the other guys had been planning to or had the capability to fill similar occupations.
And they weren't the only ones. Matt's group was the original, but more recruits were trying out every day. There was another class half a month behind them, running a parallel track, and a third class half a month behind the second. Presumably, there would continue to be new classes of MSF every two weeks until they reached their operational maximum of 300 - a resemblance to the 300 Spartans of Thermopylae that wasn't lost on Matt or the other MSF soldiers.
Another scant few idle hours were spent watching that movie.
"I don't get their fetish for malformed creatures, but it's still a damn good movie." Matt commented as he, Malcolm, Jamie, and Scar walked back to the Mess Hall for dinner.
"The ox-head dude with the flute really creeps me out." Scar agreed.
"It wasn't a historically accurate movie. The Spartans led the Greek force, but it's not like they were the only ones there." Malcolm replied. "And the Immortals weren't Japanese."
"Still a damn good movie." Matt repeated, entering the Mess.
They grabbed their trays and sat at a table with some of the other guys who were already there as the last few trickled in, back from watching the movie. They all clustered at one end of a table, mostly left to themselves - the couple officers that oversaw their training gave them plenty of space to bond when there wasn't a session. And besides, they needed the down time.
"I think we should make Spartans our outfit mascot." Chris said.
"Nahh, its been used too much already." Jamie replied.
"Curse you Halo. Stole all the good names." Mikey shook his head.
"Immortals would work though." Matt nodded thoughtfully. "Halo didn't use it, and its basically the same thing."
"Kind of like an anti-Spartan, shooting Halo the bird?" Sam asked.
"Anti-Spartan yes, but Halo is a cool series. Don't hate."
"Whatever, man. If the guys that made Call of Duty made Halo, it would be three hundred times better." Jake pointed out.
Scarlett rolled her eyes at the other two girls in the unit, Summer and Ashlynne.
"I've played Halo. It's not that good." She said.
"Yeah, but, you're a girl. Girls aren't supposed to like video games about killing things."
"But we can be in an elite unit of the American military, whose purpose is to defend America, which involves fighting in the armed forces and killing actual humans?" Ashlynne asked bitingly.
"Well... yes. But that's different." Jake said.
"Uh-huh. Totally."
The next morning, they began hand-to-hand combat training. Matt couldn't help but remember the scenes from 300 as they sparred. The Marine Shock Forces had recruited instructors from various branches of the military's elite, principally the Army's Delta Force, which coincidentally was also based out of Fort Bragg. Then again, maybe it wasn't coincidence. Over the next few weeks, Matt and the others learned an entirely new form of unarmed combat made specifically to take advantage of their unnatural physical strength, grace, and speed. Most of the take-downs and counters were too brutal to practice against one another, as if executed correctly would involve a mortal injury. Instead, they practiced on specially constructed mannequins that were made to replicate the ballistics and dynamics of real humans.
They still sparred against one another, but without the kill moves. Even the Delta operators looked impressed after every training session.
In addition to unarmed combat, the recruits were also trained in the use of blunt and sharp melee weapons, both actual and contrived. Resourcefulness and adaptability were the buzzwords of each session, the instructors stressing the importance of being able to turn any situation to their advantage.
And they were damn good at it, too. All of them moved through the training with a collective fluidity and competence that they were by now expecting of eachother, not to mention their instructors. The ten men and women that made up the infant unit were ten of the most elite humans the United States military had to offer. With each successive Selection cycle, their number would be increased until the unit was at peak operating capacity. That was the ultimate goal; 300 elite warriors, unbeatable, invincible, Immortal, outfitted with the best technology and equipment available, some of it designed by the very warriors in the unit.
As part of their ongoing training, they were shown how to modify weapons and equipment to suit their own needs. They disassembled, cleaned, repaired, and improved weapons so often that Matt began to know the proper place of each individual component of his M8 carbine by heart. In addition to modification, the ten of them took part in the wholesale design and creation of gear that they needed or wanted that simply did not exist for purchase or requisition. Their was a laboratory and a workshop within the MSF's own little corner of Fort Bragg, which soon became a second home to all of them.
Their primary project was to design a new, high-powered magnum sidearm. They had chosen the H&K M8 carbine as their base rifle platform, and the MP7 as their secondary Personal Defense Weapon (PDW). But they still needed to choose a sidearm, and after hours of practice on the range, firing thousands of bullets, all of them agreed - none of the modern handguns at their disposal had the near-impossible but highly-desired combination of reliability, magazine size, range, accuracy, penetration capability, and above all, stopping power.
So they began meeting in the workshop, all of them working together to design something better. Over the course of several weeks, the rough beginnings of the design appeared. Meanwhile, their training proceeded as if nothing else existed.
"I think this is Water's version of hell." Mike sputtered as they climbed out of the surf for the last time that day.
"Normally I would say that doesn't make any sense," Matt coughed. "But in this case I can see your point."
The instructors called it 'Drownproofing Mark Two.' They shipped out in trucks to a remote area of the coast, where they had to set up their own temporary base camp, as well as catch, kill, and cook all their own food; a wilderness survival course. That was the easy part; the hard part was the fourteen straight hours a day they spent in the water, swimming, paddling in small boats, diving, and anything else the instructors could dream up. Sometimes they went out at night and wouldn't get back to camp until late the next day, sometimes the reverse.
The reason for the unofficial course name came from the traditional Special Forces' drownproofing training course. Because all MSF recruits had spent at least a year of active duty in an SF branch by requirement, all of them had taken a water skills course at some point in their relatively short careers. The mark two version tested and challenged everything the mark one did, except everything was harder, and with the addition of several new challenges. The whole idea of the trainees having to make their own base camp and catch fish to eat wasn't as much of a physical challenge for the elite MSF trainees. Instead, it was meant to wear them down mentally - warm beds and hot meals had to be earned.
The culmination of the two-week drownproofing course was a night jump from a UH-60 Blackhawk. Midnight, 60 feet from the bird to the water, decked out in full combat-duty rig of 70 pounds of equipment, not including the 7-pound rifle strapped to their packs. Once they hit, they then had to swim two miles back to shore, break camp before sunrise, and board another Blackhawk for extraction.
Exhausted, the ten of them sprawled out in the back cabin to sleep, expecting the bird to fly them back to camp. Instead, less than halfway back the pilot banked into a gradual turn. Most of them sat up and looked out the windows in surprise as each of their internal compasses registered the change of course.
"Uhh, pilot? Where are we going?" Chris, who was closest to the cockpit, shouted over the noise of the engines.
"Just got new instructions to drop you guys off in a clearing back inside the fort perimeter. Must be another survival training course or something; command's saying to set up another temporary camp and await further instruction." The copilot broadcast over their personal comm units. "They say you'll get a new assignment by tomorrow morning."
Chris thumped the bulkhead twice in confirmation and went back to sleep. None of them had been given a training schedule; they just went where they were told and did what they were supposed to do.
They set down less than an hour later and automatically assumed combat positions as they leaped from the Black Hawk, wary of a surprise ambush from the DI's. Once they had established lines of fire, they spread out to secure the LZ as the Hawk lifted off.
"Anyone got eyes on hostiles?" Matt whispered over the team comm while he combed through his sector.
"Negative on targets." Mike reported.
"I got nothing, man." Malcolm confirmed. "Quiet as a grave."
"Same here." Ashlynne agreed.
"There's no one out here but us... strange." Scar whispered.
"Anyone else feeling like this was too easy?" Jamie asked.
"Yeah... I say we regroup and set up camp, but let's keep a two-man patrol rotating through. Jamie and I will take the first watch."
Jamie sighed. "Great. Thanks, man."
The recruits were all technically the same rank throughout their training, and none of them had technically been assigned team leader yet. Any one of them had the capacity to be in charge, or ignore every command the others gave. Matt guessed correctly that this was a part of the latest test: to see what would happen when they were left on their own without external direction or command for a while.
Regardless, all ten of them quickly regrouped at the clearing. They had in their packs everything they normally would take on a combat mission, which included some survival tools. Several of them grabbed their machete/bayonets and set to work cutting down trees to provide an enclosed campsite. Others spread out and collected wood for a fire and to build their shelters out of. Matt and Jamie stood guard, sipping occasionally from their hydro packs while they covered the forest from elevated positions in the trees.
"You two lovebirds had enough up there?" Jake asked as he walked over to relieve them after their assigned two hours.
"Screw you, man." Matt replied as he tied a rope for the next group. Jake snickered.
Summer got up from her seat next to the fire, brushed off her hands, and joined Jake.
"Oh, I see how it is." Jamie said as he slid down. "You're just trying to get Summer in the right frame of mind."
Now it was Matt's turn to snicker. "Have fun you two."
Smiling, Summer stuck out her tongue in response.
"Oh, of course not, I have only the noblest of intentions. Besides, we've got more important work to be doing." Jake said teasingly.
"When did I become work?" Summer protested.
"Shhhh! Not in front of these pigs. They could get the wrong idea about our relationship." Jake laughed as he grabbed the rope Matt had tied and pulled himself up.
Matt took a seat in front of the fire and opened an MRE, fishing out the candy and instant coffee package. He popped a handful of M&M's and lay back after setting a cup of water to boil, looking up at the sun. Most of the other guys were still napping. He tried to follow their example, propping his rifle up against the log he was leaning against, positioning it so he could find and shoulder it quickly if something woke him up.
Sam knelt by the fire, feeding it occasionally with sticks and twigs. They had made sure to only collect very dry wood, so the flames made almost no smoke.
The eight of them lounged around the campfire, sleeping, talking, and enjoying their first opportunity for rest in a long time. Hours passed, the sun moving in a sluggish arc across the sky. The watchmen changed, but aside from that they hardly moved.
Matt was completely out when his shift came around again. Sam approached him, intending to tap his shoulder and let him know he was up again. The second Sam got within ten feet, Matt jerked awake, his head snapping around to face Sam, fists clenching.
"Jesus!" Sam stepped back, startled. "What the hell, man?"
Matt shook his head and stood, stretching. "Sorry. I do that."
"It's some kind of built-in proximity alarm." Jamie explained, also yawning and stretching. "I have no idea how he does it - he'll be completely asleep until you get too close."
"He's also really smug about it. Thinks it's some kind of cool survival instinct." Malcolm said.
"It is cool. You're just jealous." Matt protested.
"Whatever you say, man." Sam shook his head.
The distant sound of a plane engine interrupted them, sending them running for the cover of the trees.
"That doesn't sound like a jet," Michael shouted from across the clearing.
Matt cocked his head, listening. The forest had grown completely still, allowing him to clearly discern the noise of the engines. "You're right! It's a propeller!" he shouted back.
"Well what does that mean?" Summer asked.
"It means it's probably not a fighter or bomber sent here to kill us." Malcolm replied dryly.
The engines continued to grow louder, until the sillouette of an AC-130 passed over the clearing.
"Might want to rethink that!" Chris yelled, diving for cover again. If the Spectre gunship engaged them, there was very little they would be able to do. The gunship's 105mm cannon could take most of them out with one shot, and they had no weapons that could hope to touch the plane, much less disable it.
But to their surprise, no rain of fire fell from the sky, and instead the engines began to fade from hearing as the plane flew away.
"Uhhh... What just happened?" Jamie asked.
"Look!" Summer cried, pointing. Matt caught a glimpse of a white parachute before it was obscured by the tree in front of him. The chute had been almost on top of them.
"An airdrop?" Malcolm suggested. "Why all this secrecy and ambiguity? What do they want us to do?"
"Right now? I assume they want us to find that airdrop." Matt said as the package floated back into view above them.
The ten of them slowly crept back into the clearing. Hanging under the pristine chute was a flat platform with a lipped edge that prevented anything from slipping off. Strapped to the platform were several olive-drab crates.
The airdrop continued to descend until it hung just above the canopy of the forest. Then with a final plunge, the crate came to rest in the clearing, landing with a solid thud and a puff of dirt.
"Kind of makes you wonder how they're tracking us so easily. This thing just landed literally in the center of our camp." Chris said. The ten of them kept their weapons trained on the airdrop; they had learned over the last several weeks to be suspicious of anything out of the ordinary.
"No kidding. Hey wait!" Matt hissed as Scar stepped out into the clearing, rifle leveled at the crates. "It's probably rigged to blow or something."
"Standing there looking at it isn't going to defuse any bombs." Scar muttered as she ignored his warning and sidled up to the crates. "It looks clear." She called back, louder.
"Lemme give you a hand." Matt said, approaching, but Scar waved him off.
"If it is booby-trapped we don't need two dead bodies for the rest of them to cart around." She pointed out.
"Just-"
"Be careful. I got it." Scar smiled. Pulling her combat knife, she cut off the straps, flipped the latch, and lifted the lid, peering carefully inside.
As Scar bent over the crate looking inside, one of the guys shone his laser sight on her butt. Ashlynne sighed as the guys struggled not to laugh. "So much for the most elite team of soldiers in America, still just a bunch of immature teenage boys."
Scar looked back over her shoulder, then shot the bird in the general direction of the laser.
Abruptly she grasped the lid of the crate and threw it completely off, bringing everyone back to reality. "Check this out." She lifted something from the crate, holding it up for everyone to see - a rifle magazine.
"Is that live ammo?"
"Yep." Scar answered, prying a round from the mag and flicking it into the air. "There's enough for everyone to have a double load, too."
Sam took the lid off of another crate. "This one's full of armor parts. Like, real, bullet-proof version." He lifted a brand-new helmet with his name inscribed on it out of its cradle and rapped his knuckle against it. "Heavy - not standard Kevlar. This looks like some kind of ballistic plastic over a carbon-fiber weave. Very strong." Sam took off the Kevlar training helmet he was wearing and put the new one on. "And it fits perfectly."
"Same thing for the rest of this stuff. It's like a live-combat version of all our current gear." Matt said, holding up the armored vest.
They looked around at eachother for a few seconds. "Well, if they want us to have live gear for whatever they're planning, I guess we better go with it. Let's strip down and suit up."
After half an hour, all ten of them had taken off their training gear and replaced it with the live gear they found in the crates. Full combat loads, each 80 pounds, with every standard-issue piece of equipment they would have in the field. Matt had stuffed eighteen magazines of 5.56 x 45mm live ammunition into his assault vest, plus one already in his rifle. Matt also kept a magazine of training rounds in his kit, just in case. He didn't know why, but it felt like a good idea.
"So... what now?" Michael asked.
"Hell if I know-" Jamie replied, just as something beeped from the depths of one of the crates.
"Scatter!" Matt hit the dirt, but after several seconds had elapsed and nothing had exploded, he felt pretty stupid. Getting back to his feet and brushing himself off, he carefully stepped back towards the crates and peeked in. Seeing a glowing display, he reached in and pulled out a tiny GPS. A red dot pulsed gently on the display, only a few clicks from where they were standing.
"There's your answer. Let's move out - I'm getting bored staring at these same goddamn trees for the second day in a row." Matt said.
"I second that. Let's go." The team gathered their equipment and set off into the woods as the sun climbed higher in the sky, moving as quietly as a predator stalking its prey.
"And we're sure it's not too soon." Ford said, more of a question than a statement, as he leaned over the desk and studied the camera feeds coming in from the various hidden locations in the forest, tracking the 10 trainees.
The aide sitting in the swivel chair Ford was leaning over nodded exaggeratedly. "We've been over the statistics a thousand times. If anyone can handle the kind of stress this next phase of their training is supposed to create, it's these soldiers."
Statistics. Ford thought derisively. "You know these are people we're sending into this artificial hell, not mathematical functions. There are too many variables to definitively conclude. All we know for certain, this will be the some of the worst shit they've ever gone through."
"They can handle it. I'm certain." The aide repeated.
Ford stood back, hiding his uncertainty. "I wish we could all share your level of confidence." He mumbled, quietly enough that only he knew he had spoken.
"Heads up guys, looks like we've got something here." Sam's voice came in over the comm.
"Whaddya got, lead?" Matt asked.
"Looks like a- a building or something."
"A single building, in the middle of nowhere? That's almost never good." Jamie commented from several paces behind. The group had broken up into a single-file line several hundred feet long in order to minimize their chances of being detected. Chris and Sam were on point, scouting out the area ahead and reporting back potential danger areas to the rest of them.
"Yeah, it's definitely a building of some sort." Chris confirmed. "More like, a huge complex..."
"Alright, hold up and we'll regroup at your position." Malcolm said from his position at the rear of the chain.
A series of double-clicks on the intra-team radio net served as each individual's confirmation of Malcolm's suggestion, since technically he couldn't order anyone to do anything.
The ten of them collected around the point where Chris and Sam had stopped. It was a good position to survey the terrain, winding around the side of a mountain and giving a clear view of the bowl-shaped valley below, cupped discreetly in the shadows of the mountains surrounding it. At the bottom of the valley lay a massive sprawling complex of cinder-block buildings.
"What on Earth do you think that's all for?" Ashlynne asked.
"No clue. But it looks like it was all recently made - the cement is all pristine, barely any sign of weathering or dirt." Michael pointed out.
"Plus you can see the marks left by the construction crews, although it looked like they sort of tried to cover them up. See over there, by the Southwest corner? The ground was stripped bare it looks like."
"Probably a road for the trucks - that little bare section leads out to the mountain pass over there." Matt said, pointing at a gap in the horizon.
"Yeah, so it's all brand new. So what?" Jamie said.
Scar glanced at him, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face as she cradled her helmet in her hands. "It means this place was built specifically for us." She said levelly.
The trainees looked around at eachother anxiously. "I really don't like the sound of that." Matt said.
The GPS Matt had shoved into his pack let off a short buzz and a beep.
"Sounds like command's getting a tad jumpy. They must not like us scoping it out for so long."
"They can go screw themselves for all I care. If we want to be smart about this and see what we're up against, they should be happy anyways. They've finally taught us something." Sam reasoned.
"They probably recorded you saying that too." Matt chuckled.
Sam held both middle fingers in the air. "Fuck they system!" He half-shouted, and the others laughed.
"Actually though, who says we have to go in? We haven't gotten any orders. What if this is all just a test to see what we do without formal directions?" Summer said.
"I doubt they would have made all of this just to see if we'd go in. I think they kind of expect us to go investigate." Malcolm said.
"No, Ashlynne's right. I vote we find a cozy spot and settle in until we get some real instructions." Jake put in.
An unearthly scream suddenly burst out, slicing through the cool morning air and bouncing off the mountains. It was weak and fragile-sounding, but incredibly loud, and enough to make Matt's neck prickle in horror. It set his teeth on edge and caused his heart to pump faster in anticipation of conflict not far off.
The scream died out slowly, fading into a whimper. Matt realized he had been holding his breath during the howl, and now he let it out and consciously relaxed his body.
"I think your vote just got overruled. Whatever the hell that was, it came from in there." Chris motioned with his rifle.
Biting his lip, Matt said, "I don't like the idea of going in there, but at the same time we're clearly meant to. And I want to know what made that scream - it sounded barely human."
"If we're going in, we should break into teams. That complex is huge, and it looks like it has multiple entrances. We'll comb through it in pairs and keep in constant radio contact, and try to coordinate once we're inside to meet up at one location." Malcolm suggested.
They looked around at eachother. "Sounds like a good plan to me, I'm down." Matt said. "Who wants to be my date?"
Sam nodded at Matt and winked, "It's my turn to keep you company for a while." He slipped his helmet back on, and the others did likewise. Discreetly, over a private channel, Sam told Matt, "We've got some things to discuss once the others are spread out."
Matt twitched a foot to let Sam know he had heard. "Anybody else coming?"
Summer hooked elbows with Ahslynne as Jamie put a hand on Scar's shoulder. Malcolm tossed a pinecone at Chris and said, "If we're heading into some unknown horror-fest I at least want the big guy." Chris smirked.
"I guess that leaves us two." Michael elbowed Jake, who nodded.
Matt felt his heart pump faster as he considered a plan of attack. "Alright, here's what I think we should do..."
"On your go, Prime."
Malcolm double-clicked his mic in acknowledgement and took a deep breath, then all at once burst into the open at a dead sprint, closely followed by Chris, heading for their assigned entry point. Matt and Sam covered them as they ran from the safety of the woods.
"For such huge guys, they both move pretty damn fast." Sam commented. Matt nodded, one eye on the pair as they prepared to breach their door and another on the surrounding area. Once they were both situated by the entrance, Malcolm gave the okay signal, and Matt and Sam moved out for their own entry point.
"So what's up?" Matt asked quietly over a comm channel as the two moved silently on the outskirts of the cleared area around the building complex.
Sam hesitated for a second before answering, "Something just feels off. My old CO was pretty tight with some of the cadre members around Fort Bragg, you know, like the Delta Force drill instructors? Long story short he's got some connections, and a while ago he got word of some proprietary new training program being installed here at the base. And I think this is what we're about to go through."
"Did your CO give you any idea what kind of stuff this program is going to be throwing at us?" Matt asked.
"Sort of." Sam responded. Matt glanced over his shoulder back at Sam, who was several paces behind him as they maneuvered through the forest. Meeting his gaze, Sam said, "He couldn't say outright, because everything of course is very hush-hush top secret. But the stuff he was hearing... I think this is designed to be a kind of psychological training."
"How so?"
"Like using fear as a weapon against us. Basically? I think we're about to walk in to a real-life, live-fire version of a horror movie."
Matt came to a halt in front of their entry point and checked his gear. "Why didn't you want to tell the others?"
"I dunno. I just didn't want them to be worried for nothing, you know? More than likely this is just another standard run and gun exercise. I didn't want to freak anybody out and have them seeing ghosts and shadows where there are none."
"Makes sense, but then why would you tell me?" Matt asked.
Sam gave Matt a level stare. "I figured someone should know, and I trust all the others in the team right? Like they're all brothers and sisters to me, and I know by the end of this training we'll all be willing to die for one another and all that sentimental jazz. But I knew I could trust you to hear all that and not get freaked out. It won't effect our performance during this mission, and I'm not sure that would have been true for the others."
Matt paused, weighing his response. He was a little irritated that Sam hadn't seen fit to share this information with everyone - it could have been the difference between passing this next test with flying colors or taking a quiet snooze in the dirt for a while before some irate DI came to unfreeze their armor. Yeah, who am I kidding. It wouldn't have made any difference whatsoever. Matt thought, reconsidering. And he was more than a little proud that Sam had trusted him enough with this knowledge when he had trusted no one else.
"You're right and wrong." Matt finally replied.
Sam cocked his head. "Sorry?"
"You're right that it was probably better not to freak everyone out, and you're definitely right that something is odd about this mission. Live ammo and a mysterious, huge building in the middle of nowhere? Something strange is definitely going on here. But you're wrong that what you've told me won't effect our performance - now that we know all this, we're not going to be the victims of this exercise. We're gonna kick its ass."
Sam grinned behind his visor. "Hell yeah, chief. Let's do this. You go first, and I'll cover you."
Matt chambered a round in his XM8 carbine, coiled up, and then sprang out into the open clearing. 50 yards between the treeline and the bulkhead door that was their entry point into the complex, and Matt covered it in a little less than 6 seconds. Once he got to the door, he readied his rifle and swept the area as Sam followed, cradling his own XM8. Skidding to a halt, Sam pulled a tablet-sized computer from his pack and held it near the keypad on the door.
"I really wish we could just shoot the lock or something like in the movies." Matt said.
"It would be so much simpler than having to run a government-issued cracking program off of a computer." Sam agreed.
"Although, its funny how shooting the lock can either make the door open if its locked or stay closed if its unlocked, depending on what the hero needs." Matt realized, thinking out loud.
"If life was a movie, both of us already would have defeated the evil Empire that is Russia and somehow made off with the hot girl and a ton of cash to boot. Then what would we do?"
Matt snorted, returning his attention to reality as the tablet beeped and the door popped open. With a satisfactory grunt, Sam grasped the metal handle and hauled the vault-like door open, waited for Matt to go through and sweep the interior of the hallway, and then shut it behind them.
"Lights." Matt advised, switching on the powerful LED lamp mounted on his rifle. A beam of white light flooded the corridor, illuminating the dark, dingy interior.
The pale lights swept over the interior of the hallway, starkly illuminating the objects they came up against and casting strange, distorted shadows. A series of corroded metal grates formed the floor, thick patches of rust springing up regularly. The sides of the hallway opened up, but the floor was kept hemmed in by waist-high rails. Overhead, translucent panels housed fluorescent lights, nearly all shattered or burnt out, their surfaces caked in dirt and filth.
One of these sparked feebly, briefly giving off a pale yellow glow - in the half-light this provided Matt saw the outline of a dark figure, hunched over on the walkway 100 feet in front of him.
Matt whipped his rifle around to face straight down the walkway, and the beam of light followed. Nothing was there.
Sam had noticed Matt's reaction. "What is it? You see something?" Sam asked over their internal comm.
Matt hesitated. "Just nerves."
Sam glanced at him. "Probably not in this exercise."
"Let's just stay cool, eyes open."
Sam nodded. "Bet you ten bucks something pops up from under this walkway later."
Matt considered the murky, impenetrable darkness below their feet. "I'm not gonna take that bet, because I agree with you. Can we go now?"
Next Chapter: Atlantis Rising: Chapter 4
Homepage: Atlantis
