Difference between revisions of "Atlantis Rising: Chapter 3"

Revision as of 21:00, 5 February 2011

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 technology (specifically armor) 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 the Rangers 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 Ranger school with flying colors and put in two years in combat units, quickly attaining the required rank. By then, however, the Marine Shock Forces 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 Forces, 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 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 Mike 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 take out an entire army.

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.

Next Chapter: Atlantis Rising: Chapter 4

Homepage: Atlantis