Atlantis
Book One: Phoenix Rising
Written by Brandon Krupczak
Wellie Delmer as Holly Dayne
Emma Reifenberger as Scarlett Miller
Brandon Krupczak as Matthew Kenderson
Madeline Hill as Kate Alabaster
Stephen Borrelli as Dr. Stephens
Hello, visitors to this site! Welcome! You may have accidentally stumbled upon a book that is under way currently. If you're here on purpose, then thank you for visiting my book-site! Below is a random chapter from the book that I display here on the front page. The link above brings you to the page that the chapter is actually housed at. Right now, there aren't actually all that many chapters to put up on the front page, so currently the only chapter is displayed here and on the linked page. If you scroll down to the very bottom, you'll find my work in progress section, where I write the next section/chapter of the book. Because I start writing completely fresh chapters, the work in progress section might end in a fragment of thought, or there might not be anything displayed there.
Please also note that none of my writing here is completed and I go back numerous times to a piece to improve it. The chapter below will be changed multiple times and improved upon, so if you read it now you might wanna check back every now and again to see if I changed anything.
"Who the heck are you?" Matthew Kenderson demanded rudely.
The two men stood out like sore thumbs against their environment. Standing on a beach in Daytona, the usual outfit was a casual shirt and swimsuit, sandals, and sunglasses. These two lacked all but the dark shades that obscured half their faces respectively. Matt shot a quick glance around him. The white-sand beach stretched down as far as he could see, interrupted by the occasional pier or jetty. Behind him was a long series of never-ending condos and hotels, following the line of the beach. Toes buried in the soft, dry sand, he saw his older half-brother, Jamie, looking curiously at him from the water.
Matt guessed he did look a little odd, talking to these two adults in designer suits. Who wore suits to a beach? Apparently these guys.
"Wouldn't you like to know," the first Suit snarled. The other one, obviously the senior from his salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes, elbowed the first Suit.
"We're with the Homeland Logistics Division. We'd like to give you something, but you'd have to come with us to get it. Just a short walk to our car." He said smoothly, like oil, pointing over at a parking lot a good hundred yards or so away.
Matt looked at the Suit, reclined in his lounge chair, a book he hadn't read yet opened to the first page, balanced on his knee, and said flatly, "No. You think I'm stupid?"
"It's okay, see, just over to the car. Just a short little walk. I promise you won't regret it!" The second Suit said, trying to put real warmth and authority in his voice but achieving only evil-grandfather malice.
"Um, should I call a doctor?" Matt asked, fake uncertainty lacing his words. "I think you might need to be treated for sudden loss of hearing."
The Suit tried for a laugh. It sounded artificial, even to himself, so he stopped. "No, now, come along with us."
"Jamie!" Matt yelled. His brother started loping for shore as the surf crashed into him and sent sea-spray flying.
Matt only noticed the change after it happened. The two men suddenly tensed, their steel-like corded muscles hidden beneath their designer suits flexing.
"Come with us. Now."
The two men reached into their jackets, and that was when Matt knew something was wrong, very wrong. He acted instantly. Why hadn't he seen this coming? Everything about these two said, "Government Business" all over them.
Matt turned tail and ran, so fast that his chair tipped over and fell in the sand. His only desire now was to escape, but even as the two lined him up in their gun sights, he knew he wouldn't have a chance. The first shot rang out and Matt hit the dirt. The round passed directly over his head. He knew why these two wanted him. It had happened before, first in D.C. As he was walking out of his apartment, something had felt wrong. He found out what it was, five minutes later, when a man on the street had grabbed him, shoving Jamie roughly aside and dragging him away towards a discreet gray van. Why was it always gray or white? He'd only escaped because of the fountain... no. He'd promised himself he wouldn't ever do it again. Not after that.
Apparently now he wasn't needed alive.
The second shot burst forward as the firing pin struck the primer in the modified handgun, igniting a burst of gas and propelling a 9mm neuro-toxin dart at 900 fps at the intended target. This particular dart landed half a centimeter away from Matt's arm. He glanced at it once, briefly, then rolled to his right as a third and then fourth round kicked up sand. The fifth round was on its way and coming directly for him.
Nothing he could do. The dart might kill him at this range, it might not. Either way the built in auto-dispenser would inject 4cc's of a potent paralysis drug into his bloodstream, then into his nervous system, and take him down.
The round flew forward - and stuck into the edge of the pit Matt had just fallen into.
It was a shallow pit, but it served its purpose. The two Suits were momentarily taken aback, then ran forward. The first Suit strafed right to flank Matt and leave no grounds for escape. Jamie was closing, behind them now, but the second Suit turned and snapped off a quick shot at him, barely looking and not aiming anywhere near. The dart buzzed past Jamie, but he sprawled in the sand anyways, covering his head in panic. Matt grabbed a fistful of powdery white and threw it at the first Suit. Luckily the wind was working against the man and the sand flew straight into his face. He stumbled, raising an arm and lowering his defenses to wipe the grit out of his eyes, when Matt struck.
He flew out of the shallow depression, heedless of the single round fired at him from the Suit's partner before Jamie tackled him. Jamie was kinda big.
Matt launched a 360 kick as he ran forward, catching the Suit's shoulder and popping it out of the socket. The Suit blanched but dropped the clip from his gun, fumbling for another.
Matt payed him no attention. He ran directly for the waterline. He'd be safe if he could get out to sea. What he really wanted right now was to sit on this very beach with a cold drink in one hand, his now discarded and forgotten book in the other, and just relax. God knew he hadn't been able to the last month.
But nnoooo. These two ding-dongs had to just waltz in and ruin everything.
Again.
The second suit struggled out of Jamie's hold and mercilessly clocked him in the jaw with the butt of the handgun. Jamie's head whipped back as a cracking sound filled the air. Jamie's jaw.
Matt ducked and weaved as another two shots followed his path, clean misses.
Just another thirty feet! The surf seemed cruelly near and yet far at the same time. Matt cried out as a round took him directly between the shoulder blades. He maybe had twenty seconds before the drug took effect, more likely thirty, due to his... condition.
Stumbling forward with the force, stumbling but forward always, he couldn't spare his brother a glance as he was kicked again with the Suit's shoe, a plain black Loafer. With a metal toe. Jamie curled around the blow, clenching his bloody teeth.
Satisfied that Jamie wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, the second Suit spun and clicked off a shot. Another dart impacted and drove through Matt's thin T-shirt. Already he was starting to feel sluggish. The darts hurt, also, but that was distant. He could barely feel anything...
Matt sank to his knees, convulsing, and pitched forward. His head crashed into the sand. This was it. They finally had him.
The surf licked caressingly up and into Matt's face. The water gave him a surge of energy, but the shallow sea-foam didn't do much, or as much as Matt had hoped.
He tried to stand but couldn't, so he crawled on his hands and knees. With each pull forward, he felt more and more like himself again as he moved deeper and deeper into the water. Always water.
Meanwhile, Jamie had gotten back up and through sheer persistence, was wrestling the second Suit's gun out of it's owners hand.
The first suit advanced at a casual pace, believing there to be nothing abnormal with his almost-subdued quarry. Matt felt another surge of strength and power as the swell crashed over him, re-vitalizing and fresh. He dragged himself into a stooped but upright position, trudging through the deeper water. The four foot crest came up to just below his neck, and he cursed that he was only ten and still too short.
Another wave crashed over, this one larger, and he brought himself fully upright.
The first Suit paused at the edge of the water, only just sensing something wrong.
Matt felt the poison leech out of his body, slowly but surely. The Suit fired another shot, taking the time to aim. The dart buzzed straight for Matt, but was intercepted by a wave that rose opposite the riptide. An evidently random wall of water, rising up from the backwash and against the tide, catching the round and dragging it down to the sandy bottom. Matt felt the rhythmic tug of the Atlantic Ocean peeling away the toxin and augmenting his rising strength.
The Suit fired the last of his clip, then threw his gun aside and sloshed into the water after Matt.
Strike one.
The second Suit kneed Jamie between the legs, and he collapsed again, feebly grabbing at the Suit's leg. Another kick in the face served to knock him out and down, unconscious.
Strike two.
The second Suit raced towards the waterline, discarding his dart-gun and reaching for another weapon holstered to his thigh. When he brought it around, Matt knew it wouldn't fire a dart.
Strike three.
Matt grinned malevolently, feeling power surge through him. A burning, tingling sensation spread through his body, the kind he got when his legs fell asleep. Starting with his chest, channeling to his legs and head, then filling his arms. Power radiated from his hands, blue liquid-like orbs glowing from his palms.
Matt's very fiber turned blue, somehow, and a pale blue-grey mist settled over the two Suits; his targets.
The sky turned dark, instantly, with no warning. Rain pounded the beach-front, causing any heroic life guard that hadn't scattered when the two Suits brought out guns dive for shelter. One moment sunny and perfect, the next black and twisted.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and something told the few remaining people on the beach to hit the road, some forgotten animal instinct telling them to flee. One life guard grabbed Jamie and dragged him off the sand. The two Suits looked at each-other warily.
Matt tried to contain the power, but it surged through him, bursting from his hands. The sea grew choppy and treacherous.
The storm whipped the beach into a frenzy, causing a sandstorm to impact the two Suits. They were instantly soaked by the water falling from the sky and scoured continuously on any exposed skin by the sand.
Sapphire blue, water. The glowing watery energy burst forth, unable to be contained, and whipped the sea around. Matt raised his arms, not himself any longer, not able to contain... control...
With his ascending hands, a wave rose as well. Not just a wave, but a huge tidal wave, a solid wall of water, slowly gaining and rising. The tingling had turned to a burning, undefinable energy that coursed through his body, focused out his hands and down into the water.
More slick black cars rolled to a stop, right next to the two Suits on the beach. Out of the cars poured more Suits, each carrying a gun of some sort, and one a rifle. He took aim and opened fire, a three-round burst of 7.62mm ammunition that could tear a normal person apart. Matt dragged his left hand through the air, and another wave rose up, again going against the frenzied tide, and swept the bullets away. With his other hand, Matt poured more and more power into the water, the enormous tidal wave, now twenty feet high and stretching only a hundred feet wide. The water sloped down to a bare three feet at the ends.
The wall rose up and up, twenty feet, then thirty, advancing all the time to the beach. More vans pulled up on the edge of the condo-front, all marked FBI or SWAT or Daytona Police. Men in helmets and body armor slipped from the vehicles, more guns, and settled into combat positions. Until they saw the water.
Always water. The tidal wave rose up and through, passing Matt by as the source of energy, a small hole in the water opening for him and him alone. The Atlantic was left bare where the wave passed, the incredible power and sheer mass came crashing down on the beach, where thirty government Suits stood waiting for their deaths beneath the tortured, pulsing dark sky.
Work In Progress
'Kay, this is an excerpt from a future part of the second book in the series (of three), Harvest Reaper. Enjoy!
"Hit the dirt!"
Every soldier within hearing distance instantly obeyed the strained cry. Captain Matthew Kenderson gave no thought to throwing himself on the ground immediately, and just in time. As he grabbed a face-full of dirt, an enormous explosion tore through the wall, and carried away chunks of spongy sea-shell material. Two unfortunate soldiers were caught in the blast, and they flew backwards, as if in slow motion, off the edge of the platform, before landing below. One staggered immediately back to his feet; the other did not.
Matt rolled back to his feet and opened a trio of shots out into the gray mist of the rain-drenched terrain. Answering fire dug into the walls: the St. Augustine Fort was made partly of sea-shell material that absorbed impacts. However, it hadn't been made to withstand modern military artillery. The last shell had dug out part of the upper-level wall.
Before he knew what was happening, Matt was on the ground again, a dull aching throb in his shoulder. Although it still hurt like crap, his armor had saved him the real pain of being hit by a 7.62mm Armor-Piercing bullet.
Matt took another second to thank Dr. Stephens for his miracle design. His Olive Drab Mk. III Tactical Battle Armor, part of the Future Force Warrior design, had multiple layers and elements against attack.
The main feature of the armor was the hard, bullet-proof ceramic plating torso shell with similar gauntlet, upper arm, thigh, and lower leg pieces. Set in between layers of the plating were impact-deforming gel layers that absorbed impact, making a bullet hit softer. The gauntlet piece had a slot that contained a potently lethal double-edged serrated combat knife, which could be either ejected and retracted rapidly on a mechanism or be removed and fought with manually.
The plating was coated in a thin but effective layer of "Shear-Thickening Liquid" that hardened upon ballistic impact. A special bullet-proof weave of M5 Fiber, an updated and advanced Kevlar-like material, made up the non-plating area of the armor.
The helmet had an integrated Heads-up Display (HUD) for mission parameters, map, and other functions, a built in military grade auto-scrambler/descrambler comm. system, Friend or Foe distinction system (FOF), and the Global Access Command Board (GACB) that linked the individual soldier to the rest of the neighboring units within comm. range. This board allowed officers to issue commands, and lower-ranking soldiers to view in more detail their mission parameters and constantly changing battle data, also listing air, ground, and Naval support options.
Along with a host of other functions and technologies, it was one heckuva piece of equipment.
In short; survival. The military had been under increasing pressure to increase single-unit survivability. The reasoning was, besides the warm fuzzies that came with keeping people alive, more surviving units meant greater flexibility and long-lasting power. The more units staying alive, the larger the strike force. And the cost-effectiveness looked especially good on paper.
So it was with only a shallow ache that Matt got back to his feet and clicked on a Infrared/Thermal/Low-light hybrid image setting on his visor plate, watching the dense fog suddenly lift and peel away from his line of vision, just in time to see one of the 105mm shell-spewing artillery cannon situated next to him open fire. The explosive shell struck Russian armor, incredibly clanging off and exploding two feet above the vehicle. Dang Russian engineers.
The explosion still caused moderate damage, but not disabling; the Russian Main Battle Tank (MBT) rocked back and forth momentarily, then opened fire with an answering 99mm shell that blew another divot into the fort.
Matt ducked against the cover of one of the protective battlements, then leaned out to pick off a Russian that was causing significant damage with one of their Fire and Forget missile launchers.
The man fell, the launcher remained, and another Russian took it up and didn't wait for the lock-on to fire a 102mm shaped-charge rocket at full speed, carving a chunk out of the rock by Matt's head.
Americans returned fire, their standard-issue M8 carbines proving useful for the 200 meter stretch from the wall to the enemy trenches. The laser-sighting cut through mist like butter, and the powerful 6.8mm hollow-point bullets dug into the targets mercilessly.
The Russian Frigate stationed in the bay gave a full broadside, and more Americans fell away from the walls.
"Get that Apache in the air!" Matt screamed, and his comm. microphone instantly relayed his voice command to the pilot. "Bravo, suppressing fire! Target enemy AA emplacements. We need that gunship!"
In response, a third of the assembled forces turned and immediately began spraying fire from their carbines, and the lone Apache gunship started its rotor.
Another voice hit the comm; Captain Holly Dayne, commanding Alpha units. "Alpha, hit the gun emplacements! We're not going anywhere till our ships can land."
Out of the 90 men and women at the fort, Holly controlled the thirty Alpha, Matt commanded thirty Bravo, Captain Scarlett Miller; the last thirty Delta. "Somebody get me a line to Naval command, we need support, now. And where's my AT? I got plenty of targets out here, boys!" She called to Delta, but as Matt and Holly were Captains, the feed was automatically extended to them.
"They're making a break for the walls! Captain, their coming for the gate!" A hoarse voice called, and Matt instantly saw fresh danger; a column of MBTs were guiding several Russian Armored Personnel Carriers (APCs) to the gates, meaning to break them down.
"Alpha one this is Serpent, weapons primed for armor removal. Requesting permission to engage." The slick voice of the Apache pilot came as a relief, and Holly immediately transmitted the attack coordinates. The large helo lifted up, unhampered by the scattered small-arms fire that ineffectually attempted to drill through the enhanced armor plating of the hull. As it lifted off, an artillery shell narrowly missed it, and the Apache answered with a duo of missiles that detonated in the middle of the armor convoy. It ripped to shreds anything close enough and turned several vehicles onto their sides.
"Alright!" Holly crowed. "Serpent, this is Alpha-one, continue to engage targets at will. Watch that AA, over."
"Roger that Alpha-one. Search and Destroy."
The Apache circled off and around to come in from the flanks, Matt returned his attention back to the battle.
Scar came in, radioing the news. "I got Naval on the line, they've got some heat of their own, its a little hairy, but they've sent in a pair of fighters. New F-35s, vet pilots."
"We could sure as heck use them." Holly responded, then, "What's the word on the column down at the beachhead? That armor was supposed to be here two hours ago."
"Ran into stiff urban resistance passing through the town. Nothing they can't handle, but they've been delayed. At current pace they expect to arrive in another three-quarters hour.
Matt cursed. "Any other news?"
"Relief aerial divisions are on the way, thirty minutes out. They need it down at the carrier, though. As for us, we've got two Frig's heading our way, they shouldn't have a problem. Mostly we're on our own. Predator and Sea Hawk UCAVs charged up and ready to go."
"When our Frigates hit theirs in the bay, it's not gonna be pretty. I'm gonna need to get out their." Matt called again
"I hear ya. We'll spread around some fire, keep 'em occupied. Shouldn't be too hard." Holly assured him. "Take a squad with you, you'll need it. We've got some C4 in the armory, no use here, if you want it."
"I think I can find a use for it." Matt said.
He was interrupted by another explosion that blasted away the artillery next to him. The Apache turned and sprayed bullets at the offender, but it was out of missiles. Seconds later it was out of bullets, too, and it returned to the fort to re-arm.
"Get going now! We'll hold 'em. I'll make the first break with you and get out around them, to come in from the side." Holly yelled. Matt quickly called out his five best soldiers and had them all prepare for a boarding action.
"Outlaw-Five, secure the C4 and load it into something. We'll need it at the Russian Frig. Everyone else, grab what you need, grab yourself a thruster attachment, and meet me at the North Tower!" He immediately sprinted to the chosen tower, meeting up with his five team members, designated Outlaw.
Holly arrived a moment later with ten more of her men. "How's the party over on your end?" She asked.
"That artillery's throwing some heat around. Lost a couple men. You might wanna hit those first, then take out their AA. I hear those F-35 pilots prefer to enter unannounced."
"Good plan. Now lets blow this joint." She replied, and they both ran and dove over the battlements, landing in a roll to break the fall. Matt was up instantly and charging for the water; Holly followed him to the edge and broke off, using the mangroves to cover her advance, closely followed by her squad. Matt wove in and out of the line of fire, ducking under bullets a second before they were fired, diving through explosions that hit in front of him. Eventually he made it to the surf pounding the shore.
In the midst of the storm, the water was warm and welcoming. As Matt made his way through the chest-deep water, his squad following behind, one suddenly threw his arms up and went flying through the air, as result of an explosion. He was almost certainly dead.
Matt slogged in a little further, then dove, putting his head under. As he did so he reached into a pocket of his utility belt, bringing out a small, metallic re-breather. He slid it into his mouth, holding it between clenched teeth like a snorkel, and activated the thruster-pack he had shrugged on. The pack was another of Dr. Stephens's ingenious designs. The regular, general purpose Tactical Battle Armor (TBA) could be upgraded and changed out for different pieces, allowing for specific elemental advantage. The latest hydro-thruster pack strapped to his back would propel him at just under 10 knots through the water. The re-breather could supply him with recycled air for 90 minutes.
He launched himself towards the Russian Frigate stationed in the water. The Frig's powerful 105 and 40mm cannon were chewing the crap out of the fort. His plan was to blow a hole in the side of the Frig and sabotage whatever he could get his hands on, before their Frigs arrived.
It wasn't gonna be a cake-walk.
Meanwhile, Holly had gotten completely around the assembled Russians and their entrenchments. She called the team's sniper, having him target a fixed gun emplacement, while several other soldiers unslung ZUES-MPAR single-shot disposable rocket launchers and aimed them silently at the artillery emplacements. "Fire on my command," She whispered.
Scar was literally holding down the fort. More artillery shells hit and detonated against the walls, bringing down more chunks of sea-shell.
"D/11! Get me a line to those JSF pilots!" She called. JSF was a military acronym for Joint Strike Fighter, or the F-35s.
"Yes mam!" Delta Eleven replied, and patched her a link.
"Delta One this is Raptor, requesting attack vectors, over."
"Roger that Raptor One. Uploading friendly positions to your Tacmap. Confirm smoke color." Scar said, and D/11 launched a couple of cans of red smoke into the mass of Russian trenches.
"Roger that, red smoke on the horizon."
"Attack direction South, clear and hot. Recommend Bunker Buster missiles for maximum lethality." Scarlett advised.
"Bunker Buster missiles, engaging!" The pilot called, and Scar saw two phantom shadows in the distance, drawing closer. The Russians on the ground were frantically trying to kick the cans away from their position, but to no avail. The red smoke had already mixed with the thinner mist, so it appeared to be a dark blood color.
The two phantoms gradually resolved into a pair of F-35 JSFs, coming from the North, missiles at the ready. As Scar watched, a shrill alarm sounded the lock-on, and the missiles launched. She prepared herself for some fireworks.
Holly held position, listening to the exchange between the Raptor pilots and Scarlett. "Wait for my signal. Hit them when those fighters launch, that way they won't know where its coming from." She called softly to her troops.
"Aye, mam. Locked on and ready to fire." A/2 reported.
"On my mark... Fire!" Holly ordered, quietly but forcefully. At the same moment that her soldiers launched, the F-35 pilots opened up a devastating wall of bullets and missiles. The hail tore holes into the terrain, the shots mildly explosive, and making tatters out of armor. The missiles burrowed into the dirt as well, and three thumps reverberated before they exploded, blowing up from below, casting dirt and pebbles everywhere, as well as bodies from the entrenchments.
Her own missiles struck artillery, detonating and exploding the caches of shells. Six out of six of the artillery platforms went up in flames and wreathed in smoke.
"Good call." One of the soldiers whispered, watching the Russian lines scramble in confusion.
"Alright. Phase two, capture a trench and hold it until reinforcements arrive. Two and Three, move straight in and up. Distract and destroy. Four, Five, and Six, flank left. Seven, Eight, Nine, flank right. Ten stays here and provides cover, then moves up on my signal. Go!" Holly ordered, watching with satisfaction as the soldiers scrambled to obey. She moved up with Two and Three, acting as a distraction.
One Russian spotted the distraction group a fraction earlier than Holly had expected. He called out to his comrades, and soon half the trench was facing them. Ironically, although it was the ultimate goal, it now put the attackers in an awkward position, with no cover. Advancing would only get them killed.
"Hit the dirt!" Holly yelled, throwing herself down. A man-portable artillery platform, an advanced mortar, launched from the enemy lines. The shell landed and detonated, casting Black Napalm on the ground, crisping the previously neatly manicured lawn. After all, the fort was a tourist attraction.
Alpha Three was caught in the explosive fire. His TBA thermal insulation protected him against the heat for an instant before he was overwhelmed by flame. He screamed hideously, a cry of pure agony. He convulsed, twisting and writhing, before Holly lined up a shot and put a bullet in his face rather than let him die slowly, painfully. The screams mercifully cut out.
Alpha Two dove to the ground behind the flames, momentarily shielded. The roaring maw continued to consume the prickly green grass, spreading and threatening to destroy the entire fort. That wasn't a smart move on the Russian's part.
Holly felt a surge of energy as she accessed the power. She felt it spread down her arms, pooling at her hands of its own accord. She had never felt so alive, with this much energy and adrenaline pumping through her system. It felt good.
NO! She thought despairingly, tearing back the power as if it were on a leash. I'm never going to do that AGAIN!!
But the power was too strong for her to control anymore, and they needed it. Truth be told, Holly wanted to let it out. The power clamped and locked on this thought greedily, as if it had a mind of its own, and gradually forced the energy down Holly's limbs again, pooling at her fingertips, a deep emerald green.
She forced the power out of her body, directing it at the flaming lawn, and watched as gradually the flames withered and died. Her head set to pain, a steady throbbing, but the power still wasn't gone. She still had too much, and the Russians were beginning to get apprehensive. The flames had just died before their eyes, and here this American was with emerald at her fingers, doing who knew what. Several took up aim.
They squeezed their triggers at the same moment that Holly acted. An earthen mound rose out of nowhere, the bullets impacted, and then the hill was gone. The hill reappeared in the middle of the Russian lines, casting bodies into the air and breaking various legs and ankles. She let the twenty foot wall of earth stand for a moment, then pulled it back into the ground with a wave of her hands. The collapsing hill caused a minor but devastating earthquake that shook the nearby terrain and caused ominous ripples in the harbor. The lines were devastated; trenches collapsed, earthworks tumbled, and vehicles ripped themselves to pieces. Pandemonium.
Holly collapsed to the ground, her head in her hands. Alpha Two rushed over to her, picked her up bodily and ran, carrying her over his shoulder, to the nearest trench. Meanwhile, the others of their squad moved up and opened fire on the remaining enemies. More shots rang out from the battlements of the fort, Scarlett and her expanded forces taking advantage of the confusion. Russians fell from two directions.
Holly was set down gently at the bottom of a Russian trench, her head feeling like it was about to explode in her hands. The price, always a price for it. Always a price. Now, she was feeling pain. But agony would come in about six hours, so great that finally it would force her to unconsciousness. She would wake up, her head would be throbbing. And it would steadily deteriorate until she felt like herself. But for now, all she could do was hold her head and hope that her brain didn't splatter over the inside of the earthen defense.
Sometimes this whole power thing sucked.
Matt saw the ghostly figure of the Russian frigate materialize out of the hazy harbor water. Using hand gestures, he chose a particularly rusty-looking patch on the hull, and set B/2 to lay the charge there. He adjusted his buoyancy device, sinking to the silt at the bottom. A moment later Bravo two signaled the all-clear, himself sinking to the bottom. Matt gave him five seconds, then detonated the explosive. A resonant BOOM! shook the harbor, and a massive jet of water spurted to the surface. The water immediately around the destroyed hull boiled instantly.
Liquid gushed into the hole, and the frigate listed badly to port. The ocean rushed in and in, spreading in along the path of least resistance, swarming in against the metal, until it leveled out against a bulkhead in the floor. With the water over the top of the hole, no more came in. However, four heavily armed elite American soldiers squeezed through the opening. Already the welcome mat was rolling out; three Russians were descending the flooded staircase. Matt directed two men to neutralize the targets. They could fire their guns underwater, but the bullets would do close to nothing. Instead they advanced with gauntlets at the ready, using their thruster packs for speed. The Russians weren't equipped to fight; much less, all they had on them were sidearms. Engineer crew, probably.
The engineers backed up so only their thighs were in water, drawing their sidearms. They fired randomly into the roiling salt water, but it was too murky to see anything. They quickly exhausted their twelve round clips and reloaded. A pair of lucky shots pinged off B/3's armor, casting a dulled ringing sound through the water that was quickly silenced. The three Russians heard and called to one another.
B/4, meanwhile, flanked right, as much as he could on a narrow staircase, and caught the first engineer by surprise. He sprang forward, fist clenched, but instead of a blunt strike, he flicked a mechanism in his gauntlet and a double-edged pointed combat knife sprang out on a metal rod, burying itself in the engineer's Kevlar vest that was his only armor. The Russian cried out as he was pierced with the blade, but he wasn't dead. Four drew back his other fist and rammed it home, five times, before the engineer collapsed onto the floor.
His two buddies retreated, still firing. Bullets pinged off armor, Four answering with his SMG, and another engineer dropped. Matt's squad advanced out of the water like wraiths, dripping and sodden. Three had taken a bullet in the arm, other than Four a bullet in the leg, other than that they were fine. Three's and Four's TBA automatically dispensed doses of Morphine and antibodies, while Two patched up their injuries.
"Alright people, split up, plant your bombs, and rendezvous at the bridge. Our Frigs are gonna get here in twenty minutes, so be ready by then. Unless you like sleeping with the fishies." Matt said.
"Sir, message from Alpha One. Says they need some assistance."
"Patch me through."
"Bravo One this is Alpha. Requesting assistance." Holly yelled above the background explosions and screams.
"Roger Alpha One. We're aboard the ship and are attempting to plant explosives as we speak."
"Glad to hear it, Bravo One. If you could do us a little favor, the artillery on the ship is whittling us to pieces out here. There's not gonna be anything left for our guys to save if you don't take it out, pronto."
"Got it. I'll see what I can d- hang on, incoming priority call from Fleet Command." Matt said as a beeping tone interrupted him. He answered the call from the Carrier's Admiral that was stationed just outside the harbor. A Grey-haired man of 43, Admiral Dawson still insisted on being in the thick of the action, so it was no surprise when the comm. screen displayed his face posted on a smoke-and-fire-bleached background. The screen immediately split into three, as the comm. call was answered by Holly and Scarlett both.
"Captains, we've got a snag. Our position out here has become untenable. They ambushed us, came in from the coastline and caught us with our pants down. The fleet's been decimated, and we can't hold out much longer. They just keep throwing out ships with no pause. We're retreating, repeat, retreating into the harbor. I understand the Russians have a Frigate down their, and we need you to take it out before we're shot to pieces." The admiral swore, then relayed; "They got the Cherokee! Get the boats out!"
"We understand sir. We're doing everything we can, but there's only so much we can do. Rest assured, we'll take out the Frigate." Holly said.
"Roger that, Captain. Get it done." The Admiral's comm. line cut out.
"Matt, I'm coming in to help. Take out their air defenses and we'll make a pass in the gunship."
"Fine, just try not to get shot to pieces. Scar, same goes for you. Hold the fort, don't die." Matt answered. "Okay, troops. New plan. You four take out the AA batteries and light artillery. I go to the bridge and convey to the captain just how important it is for us, and him, to cease fire on the fort. Then we hold out and wait for backup to take the ship. All clear?"
It sounded clear enough, but then, how easy could it be for four men to crawl around on the deck of a hostile Frigate and destroy a bunch of heavy guns?
Five minutes later, Matt was making his way down a dark stainless-steel corridor on the ship when a three-man Search and Destroy team rounded the corner ahead.
Without thinking, Matt tucked his Pulse R71 SMG into the hollow of his shoulder and fired off a burst, simultaneously strafing along the corridor until he found a bulkhead door. The surprised Russian at the corner jerked back as a trio of bullets shattered and ricocheted off the corner wall. As he pulled his nose back behind cover, his buddies rolled out from cover and opened fire as well.
By this time Matt had found a bulkhead and had rammed his boot into the door. Three things happened. One, his nerves sent a jolt of pain through his leg into his brain, which he promptly ignored. Two, a large dent appeared in the door. And three, the sound of tortured, twisting metal filled the air. Bullets impacted on both sides of the door frame as the two Russians opened fire, but they missed, partly because they were new recruits and this was their first firefight, and partly because firing from the hip only works in movies, video games, and really bad novels.
Matt planted his feet firmly and bashed the door again with the stock plate of the SMG and one hinge broke off the door, causing it to sag wide. Another hit, downward to the final hinge, caused the door to crash to the ground, and Matt dove into the room. He had chosen this room, a washer-dryer room, because the door had smelled of rust, probably from a combination of the added humidity from the washer and poor ship service.
The two Russians dashed forward, eager for the kill, to find Matt at the door with a knife in one hand and a metal pipe about an inch thick and three feet long in the other, which he had torn from the washer machine. The first Russian had his knee taken out with a kick, followed by a grisly snap as it broke, and was dispatched with a blunt blow to the head from the pipe. The second one raised his gun to fire, but too late, and Matt jumped out and pounced with the blade, severing the Carotid artery.
The third Russian had been advancing at a more cautious pace, he shouldered his weapon and fired off a full-auto stream while retreating to the safety of the corner. Matt ducked into another room, this door luckily unlocked, to avoid the hail. As soon as it petered out to a stop, he poked his head around the door. The Russian had thrown his SMG to the ground and was reaching for his sidearm. Matt sprayed an answering full-auto burst that startled the recruit into dropping his gun and the clip, which both scattered across the floor. He dove after his gun, but Matt quickly darted forward and kicked the clip away, using the butt of his gun as a club and swinging a wide arc to the Russian's head. It connected with the side of the head, causing a fracture and blood.
Matt scanned the dark hallways for more enemies, breathing heavily. Finding none, he dropped the clip in his gun and reloaded, then continued for the bridge.
Holly ducked as a massive explosion tore chunks out of the earth in front of her. Huddled against the side of the captured trench, she was relatively protected against the heavy gunfire, and after the reverberations stopped she gave her ears a moment to stop ringing, then stood and fired off a few rounds.
Two out of twelve found targets. It wasn't like in the games, where almost every shot hit. In real life, people died when they were hit.
Neither of the two rounds penetrated armor, but they cut the Russian down to size as one struck him between the legs. Holly winced. That musta' hurt.
Then one of his buddies was up and spraying rounds from his assault rifle, before Holly took him out as well. One shot in the arm, one in the chest, two in the neck. The Russians were less concerned over their foot soldier's armoring than their vehicle armor, and even then their engineers didn't focus on survivability, but really big bullets fired out of really big guns. So the Russian dropped dead to the ground.
In response, another shell struck in front of the American trench, and another American cast up his arms as a flying chunk of rock hit him in the neck, causing him to gurgle sickeningly on the way down. More shells reverberated, and Holly ducked back down. Next to her, one of the squad's special MMG team setup shop at the lip of the trench, the wide-bore .50 cal posing a serious threat on the battlefield.
It opened fire, drowning out the sound of the rain hammering on the soldiers' helmets. Mud splatters kicked up over the terrain as the bullets hit puddles. Soldiers fell, not all of them regained their feet. Holly gave quick commands, synchronizing a countdown clock. Time to take the next entrenchment, a series of sand-bag bunkers, more just widening in trenches, connected by narrower corridors.
"Hit it, people!" Holly yelled, and four MMG teams opened heavy suppressive fire as twelve elite rangers vaulted up and out, towards the next entrenchment.
"Dig dig dig!" Someone yelled hoarsely, and everyone put their backs into sprinting all-out for the next piece of cover. The bullets whizzed under their legs, startlingly, uncomfortably close. One man was hit in the chest; he stopped dead, coughing blood, but the bullet hadn't penetrated, and another man behind him grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him over his shoulder, running again for the trench. The few Russians in the trench were cowering under the heavy fire, and the few that peaked up to get a shot off were taken full in whatever body part was exposed.
The suppressive fire cut out right as the team reached the lip of the trench, and they all jumped in. Twenty Russian infantry versus twelve Elite Rangers. They didn't stand a chance.
Holly took one's gun arm and twisted it around, bringing it in back of him. With a single pull, she popped his arm out of its socket and watched him fall to the ground, not dead by certainly not about to get up anytime soon.
Another soldier came up with a knife in hand. She dodged his first thrust, side-armed the second, and swung a roundhouse punch at his jaw. The soldier jumped back, but he was clipped on the nose, which erupted in blood. He blinked, looking startled, raising a hand to stench the flow. Holly looked at him, saying, "Don't worry, head wounds always bleed a lot." and hit him with a 360 kick to the side of the head. He flew backwards, and another soldier behind her finished him off with his handgun.
The three Russians that were left quickly surrendered, and they were quickly bound with ropes and tossed roughly to the mud to let the rain soak into them for a while as the battle continued.
Holly gazed over the subdued battlefield, the reddish haze of her infrared filter that cut out the Grey rainy mist casting an eerie light, her visor panel dyed a transparent crimson. The battles had cut out, mostly, and the entrenchments on this side of the fort were all but gone. A few more Russians held out in one trench, but they would quickly be subdued by the overwhelming forces. A couple of armored vehicles still roamed around, but they posed little threat. The artillery platforms were all but destroyed, and Matt was taking care of the Frigate. Things were looking good.
Then the corporal ran up to her, saying urgently, "Captain Dayne! Captain Dayne! Russians are coming in from the North! they're moving in from the town!"
Holly swore. Quickly she ran the odds in her head. Out here, her diminished team of eleven able-bodied men and one injured stood no chance if the Russians decided to hit their side of the fort. She needed to get back inside, but that would mean that everything she had just done would be pointless.
"Alpha, set some charges in the entrenchments. When those Russians come, they'll find the trenches waiting with open arms... and a couple packs of C-4." She called to her troops smugly. "But hurry, we've got five minutes at the most."
Meanwhile, Scarlett was repelling the latest wave from the gates. They should have upgraded the security of this place. The centuries old shell walls should have been coated in a layer of Shear-thickening liquid and lined with solid titanium, but they hadn't expected a siege of this magnitude. The gates were still the old, rusty wrought-iron penthouse gates, and wouldn't hold up to any sort of vehicle. Or armaments, either. Small-arms fire could probably bring it down.
Luckily the drawbridge had been replaced with solid wood suitable for driving tanks over, and the dry-moat had been mined. The drawbridge was raised, and no vehicle was going to ram its way through. A couple of shells might splinter the drawbridge, but what then? No vehicle would get inside without being blasted and destroying itself trying to roll down the stepped inclines. Infantry were another story.
The foot soldiers were sent ahead to open the drawbridge from the inside. They quickly jumped down into the dry-moat - and received a nasty surprise as the ground blew up beneath their feet. Their were only so many mines, and after a good number of Russians were decimated along one path, the rest followed suit and took the route cleared by the deaths of their comrades. They reached the wall, quickly realizing the lack of handholds on the two-story wall. Grappling hooks were thrown over, to be kicked back down by the American soldiers. All the while the Russians were under fire from American rifles, and as they pressed up against the wall a grenade was lobbed over, with particularly effective results as the grenade chain-reacted and blew up several mines.
A few of the Russians started climbing. After all, it wasn't that high. Several gave each other leg-ups to higher sections. One man with an SMG shot out portions of the wall as handholds, the cost of which he rapidly ate up his ammunition. By the time he had created a series of hand-holds for his fellows to climb, he was out, and he switched to his side-arm.
Scar knocked the first man to climb the wall back to the ground with a solid boot to the middle, but the Russians just kept poring in. It wasn't helping that their MBTs and their Frigate were blasting holes in the damaged walls. All they needed was a lucky shot in a weak point to send a whole section of the wall crumbling.
Scar fed bullets into one man climbing up, he fell, taking three others with him. Another was dispatched with a knock on the head, and three more taken out with various kicks and swings. One unfortunate man was hit once in the groin; he doubled over and staggered around for a second as Scar turned and clocked a different soldier with her fist, then she grabbed the gun and used the stock as a bat and brought it down on the first Russian's helmet. He collapsed, but more just kept on coming.
One young Sargent strafed laterally to the right, emptying the clip from his assault rifle. Bullets impacted, causing death, injury, and mass hysteria. Every Russian only scrambled all the harder to get up the wall. They seemed to be really focused on this one point for some reason. It was almost as if...
"It's a distraction! They're over here! They're over here!" a private called shrilly. A heavy-set man hoisted a Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) to the wall and began pouring brass casings. He was shot in the shoulder, which spun back. The bullet had unfortunately hit a weak spot on the armor, and the static gel couldn't compensate. The blow chipped the soldier's collarbone and sent the shoulder guard flying, held on limply by the leather strap. The man grimaced and shrugged his shoulder, then fired the machine gun one-handed, holding his busted shoulder with the other.
Scar weighed the chances of defending two simultaneous insurgents at once. Not likely.
"Fall back! Fall back! Defend the lower levels! Don't let them get through the doors!" Scar yelled, every syllable tasting of defeat. The American lines scrambled back for cover, some vaulting over the landing to the ground level and sprinting to the cover of the rubble-choked archways that made up the storehouses and barracks and other day-to-day rooms of the fort.
Scar focused a wad of energy and converted to Telekinesis (TK), feeling pressure build in her head. After a moment she let it out, focusing and directing it to the grenade pins attached to her combat pack. She used TK to yank the priming pins out after shrugging off her pack, and tossed it directly to an enemy soldier fresh from the climb.
The startled Russian grabbed it out of instinct, which ultimately got him and his surrounding buddies killed. "It's yours," Scar said innocently, quickly reverse-flipping over the walkway and to the ground, where a hail of covering fire picked off any Russian stupid enough to pursue. The grenades detonated, and a sizable portion of the sea-shell blew apart. Not to mention several other objects.
Scar dove head-first into cover, twisting onto her back as she went and firing between her legs, feeling the slipstream of the bullets ripple the M5 bullet-proof fiber of her non-plated-section armor. She skidded behind a large broken chunk of shell, and strong hands reached down to help her up. As soon as she was through, several of the bigger Americans hauled armfuls of rubble and sealed up the entrances to their makeshift barrier. This was done all around the fort, and any Russian who was unfortunate enough to be ordered down into the pandemonium was drilled with 360 degree wall of bullets.
Scar felt the cocking lever on her rifle clack and knew she was out of rounds. She ducked behind cover and smoothly reloaded, surveying the amount of ammo she had left. Only three clips. Not good. "Any units by the armory, give me an inventory. How much have we got left?" Scar yelled into the comm. as if it wasn't whisper sensitive.
"We got plenty of sidearms, Captain," a voice explained. "We've got plenty of rifles, too. Just no one to use 'em. On ammo, we're sitting pretty for assault rifles. SMG's are a different story."
"Roger that. What's the count on explosives?"
"Fresh out of grenades, Captain. We still got some packs of C-4, and I'm sure I saw a remo-deto lying around here somewhere. If we find the detonator and you give me and my boys a minute to rig 'em, I'm sure we can knock together some makeshift grenades. It is a piece of exploding substance still, you know. They're all the same."
"Good work. Or rather, get to work on that. Check with me in five."
"Captain, I've got Alpha-one on the line!" A young lieutenant called.
"Patch 'em through." Scar answered.
"Delta-one this is Alpha. Requesting a sit-rep ASAP."
"Roger that, Alpha-one. We're not doing well over here. We've retreated to the lower levels and have barricaded ourselves in the archways. We can hold out for fifteen, twenty minutes tops before we get seriously low on ammo. We're near to empty on explosives as well. Need immediate support options."
"Okay, hold out for another couple minutes. I'll relay the request to Matt and see if he can't do something about that frigate. I'm not gonna bring my guys to the wall until those cannon are out for the count and we get a little suppressive fire on their armor."
"We'll try. Any word on that division pulling in from the town? We need 'em."
"Not yet. I'll get back to you on tha- what? You've got to be kidding. No, no, wait - Take Cover!" Holly yelled, which was almost immediately followed by a loud explosion.
"This is Alpha-one, I've got Russian reinforcements coming from the town! They took out our armor!" A muffled swear, then; "We've got nothing out here. No cover. We need to get inside the fort! Scar, can you open us a way through and make a little diversion?"
"Wait one, Alpha. Delta four, what's the status on the C-4?"
"Finished... now. Repeat, makeshift grenades are ready!"
"Good. Get our best grenadiers and tell them to open a hole in the Russian ranks. Alpha needs to get through and back into the fort. Get a couple guys to lay down some smoke for them too." Scar answered.
"Aye, mam."
"Alpha, wait sixty seconds, then triple time it to the wall. We're taking the fort back."
Sixty seconds later, the twelve soldiers from the Alpha strike team sprinted low to the ground. They reached the wall and started crawling around to the sea-side wall. After another two minutes, Holly found the secret entrance and rapped on the wall three times with her gauntlet. The section of the wall made a hollow, metallic ringing sound, and Scar appeared in the doorway that slid back. The bolt-entrance, in case they needed to make an escape. Now they were using it for the exact opposite reason.
Holly and her team came in, unbeknown to the Russian infantry.
"Good to see you in one piece, Alpha."
"Good to be in one piece, Delta. How's it coming?" Holly asked.
"The Apache is completely destroyed. Took a couple bullets to the tail rotor, and went downhill from there."
"Chute?"
"Negative."
Holly swore quietly, then continued jogging to what used to be the gunpowder room in the old fort. The entrance/exit to the room used to be only four feet tall, because the Spanish had barely been five feet average, but it had recently been enlarged to seven feet. Inside the room were crates and crates of supplies and ammunition. Most of the ammunition was for rifles, some for MGs, and the majority of the remaining boxes were handguns. A few boxes were stacked with shotguns, probably about three boxes of fifteen each.
They came through the opening into the real fort area, where a desperate battle was taking place. The Russians had the advantage of numbers and superior armaments, but the American defenders were entrenched behind cover and were putting up a challenging resistance. Plus, they were fighting not only to win, but fighting to drive out the Russians on their home territory.
Holly instantly grabbed her rifle and slotted a fresh clip into the receiver. Scar didn't hesitate with her SMG, either, and they jumped back into the fray. They both quickly negotiated positions easy to fire from but hard to hit from the outside, and were quickly dropping enemy soldiers.
That wasn't to say there weren't American casualties. The Russians bombarded the American lines with devastating full-auto fire, and quickly chewed away at some of the lesser cover positions. Americans who were caught in the open were hit and fell as quickly as they came out. Only about a third of the ones dropped actually died; the armor systems were some of the most-protective in the world. Or so Scar thought, until fifteen men fast-roped to the ground in the middle of the fort.
Instantly all perceptions of American armor technologies being the best faded as 360 fire nailed the fifteen men, sinking them to their knees but doing nothing else.
The fifteen men raised portable grenade launchers and opened fire, drilling explosions into tight areas and blasting Americans off their feet. The Mk. III saved most of them, but it couldn't protect against direct explosions.
"Alpha! Our rounds aren't penetrating! Our rounds aren- Ahckk!"
Holly wasn't sure, but she supposed the Ahckk meant that the soldier was dead or incapacitated.
"Delta-one, we need a solution now! Those guys are gonna tear us to pieces!"
"We're loading up the shotguns with explosive slugs right now. We can't do anything else; we're out of grenades ourselves, though it would be interesting to see how they stand up to it in that armor of theirs. It doesn't seem that they can move all that fast; their armor looks ungodly heavy."
"Alright, good. I just wish we could get it done faster...."
"Alpha? You there?"
"Scar, do we have any duct-tape?"
Scar swallowed. Holly had called her by name. "What are you planning?" She asked by way of answer.
"Get anyone you can spare and have them outfit the M8's with the sniper variants."
"Already tried. The bullets don't pierce."
"Not a single bullet. Duct tape two rifles together, load the AT rounds, and issue them to all the units. The double-penetration should at the very least drill a coupl'a bruises."
"Roger that, Alpha-one."
The Russians were unprepared for the latest makeshift innovation. The fifteen heavy infantry units were ordered to advance and try to clear the barricades. They spread out, moving towards the walls as quickly as they could, hitting random areas with their grenades. Their was no return fire; the Americans had apparently scattered and run. They would be trapped and would die.
One heavy soldier had gotten to the lip of a barricade when a single American rolled out from behind an archway. He saw a single raven-colored lock of feminine hair that had come out of the soldier's helmet before he started seeing with tunnel vision, a dark, dull feeling in his gut.
Holly crouched behind the stone archway, waiting for the heavy soldier to come, a shotgun loaded with Frag 12 tucked under her arm. The Heavies, as her soldiers were calling them, launched grenades into the barricades randomly. Holly grinned. They were stupid as well as slow. If the Heavies were smarter, they would have coordinated a systematic search and destroy pattern with their grenades; as it is, they launched at irregular intervals and launched at wherever they felt like shooting.
The grin quickly faded off her face as an explosion detonated by her left arm, throwing shrapnel into her armor and jamming her mouth into her knee. She spat out blood, then readied herself to roll out in front of the Russian.
She heard a rhythmic pounding directly behind her, then a momentary pause as one leg was lifted up onto the waist-high section of barricade. She waited another half-second, then rolled.
As she came up into a half-crouch, a piece of raven-colored hair fell from her helmet, and she blew it away in annoyance. She didn't spare the Russian a second before she cocked the slider, loading a shell of explosive buckshot into the chamber. He heard the clack but apparently it didn't register; he smiled with contempt and brought his gun around insultingly slowly. Holly fired.
The buckshot, it appeared, did indeed penetrate his armor. The tiny rounds all found the same target, exploding on contact and making a meaty mess of the Russian's insides.
He looked at her, lethargically, his pupils shrinking to pinholes, then he suddenly pitched forward over the rail and died.
At the same time, fourteen other Heavies prepared to meet their makers as Americans jumped out of seemingly nowhere and fired a variety of guns that somehow pierced or utterly destroyed their armor. Three came to rest as groups of Americans appeared with shotguns in hand, firing solid metal slugs instead of buckshot. The slugs hit the armor and cracked ceramic plating at the point-blank range, splinters driving through and cutting vital body parts not meant to be cut.
Some more met their ends in hand-to-hand combat when they jumped over the barricades. As soon as they were over, fully nine Americans leaped out and pinned each to the ground while one put a spread of rounds under the Heavies' chins.
But most of them fell to the ground after a couple soldiers loaded them with double dosages of sniper rounds to the head at point-blank range from two rifles secured together with duct-tape.
The other Russians couldn't believe what they were seeing. Somehow the Americans had managed to penetrate their heavy soldier's armor, and all fifteen toppled to the ground, dead. Their was a moment of shocked silence, then when multiple regular soldiers also fell from American snipers did they jump into the action again.
Holly surveyed the dead Russian at her feet. In his armor, he was seven feet tall and big as a house. He looked like an oversized hockey player, but with significantly more bullet proof plating and Kevlar pads. Then she turned her attention back to the Russian horde still assembled on the upper section of the fort.
