Atlantis: chapter 8

Okay I'm going to stop with the super genius thing.

And of course, this is chapter 8.

Please note this is a work in progress and the authors reserve the right to edit and/or reformat the book. Also note that in this writing we mean no disrespect to any country reading this. A book merely needs protagonists and antagonists.

Chapter VII: The Dawn Awakening

Paul looked out over the terrain for the thousandth time in five and a half hours. Nothing had changed. The same view of the same moonlight riddled jungle, the LED spotlights revealing more empty dirt and vegetation. Nothing alarming or even remotely threatening.

Paul had to try hard not to close his eyes. Even a top-notch elite soldier got tired.

Sitting next to him, Rob was wide awake, eyes enlarged to the proportions of golf balls.

"Did you hear that!?!" Rob asked.

"What?" Paul yawned.

"That!" Rob pointed wildly out at the sea of emerald green.

Paul shook his head and looked again at the newbie's nonexistent assailant. "Green horn." He muttered under his breath. Rob was the worst person to be stuck on watch with. He jumped at the slightest noise, and he insisted on keeping his carbine tightly in his vice-like grip. He personally loaded belts of ammunition into the chain guns, as he didn't trust the speedy machine loaders all the CGT's came with. On the other hand, if something did attack, Paul could be sure the new guy would know before anything else did, despite the UCAVs flying overhead with infrared beams scraping the landscape.

Paul was supposed to have his NVG's (night vision goggles) on, but why bother? Rob had his tightly fastened around his head, his goggle filters displaying a hybrid of thermal and infrared viewing. Rob was pacing the railing of the CGT, head turned out towards the jungle, hands tightly gripping his carbine in a death grip while he twitched and jittered. Paul was actually mildly afraid that Rob would accidentally jump off the tower.

So far this watch was the most boring of Paul's career. He almost wanted something to come up. Only half an hour more until his shift was over...

Paul must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Rob was sitting on a stool next to the railing, still looking out over the jungle. Paul stretched his arms and was about to open his mouth to ask how long he had been out when Rob raised a four fingers, indicating silence. It was then Paul saw why Rob was so still.

The recruit was sitting ram rod straight, completely silent, only his eyes darting around under his goggle lenses. And he was clutching at the chain gun in the same death hold he had with his carbine. Only tighter.

Whats the matter? Paul sent telepathically to Rob. The recruit jumped slightly at the mental message, but then quickly sent back,

They're everywhere...

What is? Paul asked, mildly concerned.

Oh my god, we're dead men...

...call the others?...

...No... one twitch and we'll all be gone... Rob's thoughts were less sent messages and just thought. Paul had to mentally lean closer to pick them up.

What, is, it. Paul sent, calmly and slowly.

Look. Was Rob's only answer.

And Paul did. He would take the sight to his grave.

Thousands of them. Maybe a hundred thousand. The emerald sea of green cast by his NVG's as well as the natural color of the forest seemed to be... moving. But the plants were still. It was the things on top of them that were the threat.

Raptors. A hundred thousand Raptors? That was impossible! How could there have been so many in the world? Not good at al-

A universal growl permeated the air. As one, the Raptors' lips curled up in a menacing half rumble half howl. The sound chilled Paul's bones...

Rob opened fire. It was a futile effort to kill a hundred thousand Raptors, but Rob was going down fighting if he had to die.

Paul could only sit. He didn't have the strength of willpower to resist as the Raptors clambered up the CGT like gymnists, jumping ten feet in the air and jumping straight off one of the support struts. Nor could Paul even think as he watched Rob torn apart and gored through by the vicious Raptors. He didn't even feel anything as a Raptor slashed him from behind...

Paul awoke with a start. He jumped out of his seat, his against-regs magazine spilling onto the floor. The first thing he did was feel his body for cuts. Nothing. He was mercifully whole, but Rob-

Rob! At the sound of Paul's magazine hitting the floor, Rob spun around with his carbine raised, looking away from the jungle for the first time on the watch shift. He was unhurt. Not so much as a scratch. But Paul could have sworn... no. It was just a dream. More of a nightmare. But not for real.

Rob tentatively lowered his weapon at Paul's upturned hands.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Sorry," Rob said. "I get jumpy."

"You don't say." Paul muttered.

"What happened?" Rob asked.

"Nightmare. Thats all." Paul said reassuringly, though inside he still felt shaky.

"No, I mean, what happened in you nightmare?" Rob asked.

"We were, uhh, surrounded by Raptors. Tons of them. Maybe a hundred thousand. You and I got slashed to pieces." Paul said haltingly.

Rob laughed. "Should we call the others, then?"

"No, we're fine..."

Rob turned to see what Paul was looking at. His eyebrows raised inches until Paul was again afraid that his eyes would pop out of their sockets. Standing in the middle of a moonlit clearing was an American soldier. And his IFF was displayed as, "Kenderson, Matthew, Chief Petty Officer".

They looked at each other anxiously.

"Call the others." Paul ordered.

Tom was already up when they came looking for him. He was siting on top of the stockade wall, looking out over the Raptor pen and up at the sunrise now claiming the sky. A bloody red light was rising over the trees. In front of it were gorgeous orange and yellow hues working their way up the midnight blue sky. Tom breathed out and inhaled deeply, thankful to be alive and well, so he'd have the opportunity to see this. At that moment, he felt himself lucky, despite all the war, the hardship, the pain that his battles were.

MY battles. Tom thought. It was at moments like this where he could just appreciate life. Life and death.

He looked down, fifteen feet below his, at a juvenile Raptor looking hungrily up at Tom.

They can get out. Tom thought. Why don't they? Just one hop, onto the wood, and over, or maybe they could even claw their way through the wood, or dig under it. Why don't they?

Needless to say there was a large portion of men guarding the pen at all times. They even sacrificed a whole CGT to guard it. Even if they did get out, they wouldn't get very far. Their were only twenty of them in their, and should they attempt escape they would be shot to pieces. Painfully.

But still, why? Were they planning something more devious, or had they simply given up? Whatever it was, it made Tom uneasy.

"Sir!" Mitchell's voice crackled over the comm. One of Tom's more strict rules, anyone wandering the camp had to wear fully battle gear, including helmet and camo fatigues. Also, all personell outside the buildings or barracks made by the V-22s had to travel in pairs or more, except him, of course.

"Reading. Continue." Tom answered.

"Sir, Chief Petty Officer Kenderson requests your presence, sir!" Mitchell barked over the comm.

"Matt?! What happened!" Tom shouted as he almost fell off the wall and into the pen.

"He's heading toward the barracks now, sir." Mitchell answered.

"I'm on my way." Tom switched the comm channel to Bravo Angel unit-wide range, which called all the soldiers in Matt's squad, also known as Bravo team. His holo-video panel in his helmet crackled to life, and the screen displayed Bravo's bios.

All of them were erratic but strong, except for five, whose bios were beating so faintly they flat lined at times. Cheif Petty Officer Matt, as it displayed, had the strongest and fastest bios, but then the gang always had abnormally strong and fast bios. Tom hoped they were only a little faster than normal. Hoped.

At least the fact that Matt was 'on his way' meant that he was moving, which was good. But he probably wasn't exactly walking...

Matt was half dead when the CGT sighted him. He barely could stand, let alone walk. He stumbled the best he could up to the base and moaned. Incredibly embarrassing, if he had been anywhere near conscious, but it worked. Both men in the tower rushed to the railing and leaned over.

"Are you okay!?" One of them, the elder, asked.

Why do they always ask that? Do I look fine? Matt thought. What he said was, "Nnnghh!" which could be translated in the 'pathetic sounds' dictionary as a sad attempt at no.

"CPO Kenderson!" the other shouted.

No dugh. Matt thought. Alright now, skipping the pathetic 'Oh my god!' scenes, lets get some medical help! It was amazing that he was thinking coherently despite his injuries.

At least mentally he was sane, if not physically.

The younger one just stood there in shock when the elder started climbing down the metal struts to get to the bottom. Finally the elder got to the ground and shouted at the other.

"ROB! Get a comm link to base NOW!!" He rushed over after the soldier named Rob dropped the med pack from up top down to the older soldier.

Matt felt strong arms take him around his chest and haul him under the CGT. Meanwhile, he heard Rob frantically calling Alpha base to come immediately, there was a problem at CGT 5.

Matt felt his combat fatigues being ripped open at the chest as Paul examined his wounds.

Paul sucked in a breath. "Ouch." He said.

"Ungh." Matt agreed weakly.

The hovercraft-makeshift-ambulance darted and wove in and out of the trees. It arrived at CGT 5 as quickly as the engines would allow, but Paul was still worried it wouldn't be fast enough. Matt had second and third class burns on most of his body, not to mention the numerous gashes, cuts, and broken bones. At least half of his ribs were broken and out of line. Three or four broken fingers. How had he gotten here by himself all the way from Bravo base? And how had he even gotten those injuries in the first place?

The hovercraft-turned-ambulance landed a minute later next to the CGT. Matt was hurriedly loaded onto a stretcher and transported back to Alpha Base.

Matt was barely conscious as he was carried back to base. He didn't feel any of the bumps and knocks as the hovercraft stitched a pattern through the trees. He didn't notice as the doors were thrown open and he was dragged out into bright sunlight for a moment before entering into a small medical bay made out of the reconfigured parts of a V-22 Osprey transport helicopter. He didn't notice anything until he saw Tom's usually stoic face full of concern.

Matt exhaled a breath. He would be okay now as long as Tom was with him.

Tom entered the mini medical bay. He took a moment to stop and think how amazing it was that he was now standing in what used to be some bay or compartment of a fully functional and flying V-22 Osprey.

Then he was back to the concern of his best friend, Matt, as he entered through the doors.

Matt was looking steadier than he had five minutes ago. Meaning that he was barely conscious and he was mumbling incoherently. He looked up at Tom and he seemed to calm. He exhaled deeply. Then he lost consciousness again, and he fell into a deep, merciful sleep.

The medics patched Matt up the best they could. Binding for the ribs, salves and burn-packs for his burns, a cast for his leg, brace for his wrist and fingers. Basically a mess.

"Holy... is he okay?" Tom asked nervously.

The surgeon-medic glanced up. "Does he look okay!?" The man asked. "Of course he's not. If your question is, 'Will he live?' then the answer is yes, he'll survive. Maybe. That's if his heart doesn't give up on him. This is completely amazing, I can't believe he's still alive! If only I could run some tests on his cardovascul-"

"Now's not the time, doctor! Obviously, as you yourself said, he needs help. Please." Tom grudgingly relented at the end.

"Of course sir. Sorry. I just, yes. Working." The surgeon said, now remembering he was talking to an officer, not a random soldier.