Difference between revisions of "Atlantis Rising: Perfect War"

Revision as of 17:46, 6 February 2010

Here's a bit of background, because most of the story I already have sorted out, but it will take a while to write out. Basically, this tale is seen from the eyes of Scott West, member of the elite Special Operations 13th Black Ops division. He, along with nineteen other Black-Ops soldiers, are sent in an XV-22 Valkyrie to secure a classified 'package' from an American research outpost being overwhelmed by Russian forces. Two regular V-22 Ospreys are sent as escorts and to air-lift any survivors.

The mission goes off without a hitch. None of the 13th are killed and they find and successfully escape with the package, about the size of a coffin and shrouded in solid steel. The other Ospreys stay behind as Scott's leaves the hot zone immediately.

This is where the account begins.

Homepage: Atlantis

03:47 Hours, August 3rd, 2017 (Military Calendar), XV-22 Osprey Twilight Flame en route to Alpha Base, over Atlantian jungle, Atlantis Mainland

Scott West inhaled deeply as he hit the hydraulic catches on his full-face blackout helmet, eager for a taste of the sweet, unfiltered air. The helmet released with a pneumatic hiss, and the matte-black headpiece came away. Scott turned the helmet over so the visor was facing him and examined the helmet.

It was similar to the standard issue Tactical Combat Armor piece, part of the CROC Armor, but with considerably more high-tech, high-expense advancements. All of their gear was high-tech, high-expense. The 13th always got the best of the best. Advanced armor with higher-density ballistic gel, a more sophisticated electronics suite in the suit, a more powerful exo-skeleton that lifted the armor's considerable weight and then some, high-class weaponry. The helmet Scott was twisting between his hands had the addition of a full-face front with internal air scrubbers, externally-silent comm. system, auditory amplification, and integral Sonics emitters. Turn it on, high-frequency pulse blasted out, any dinos or other creatures with sensitive hearing scattered in every direction for a hundred yards.

And of course, everything was completely customizable. Scott set his helmet on its cradle next to his seat, watching as the others in his squad removed the various pieces of their customized armor. There were thicker-than-normal gauntlets that delivered an electric shock at the touch of a button, immediately rendering anything live touching it unconscious. There were bulked-up pauldrons that could blast an EMP, leaving any unshielded tech unworkable for several minutes. Elbow joints with short, squat metal spikes. Bayonets that could slide out on springs from the forearm portions of the gauntlets.

Scott looked over his back and smiled. He had enhanced his own armor with an integral jump-jet pack, and enough non-volatile fuel for a minute of continued max-power. He couldn't fly, but it let him jump to absurd heights before gravity reasserted itself. Jack had had the same thing installed in his armor, too.

Jack sat directly across from Scott. Although Scott was close to every one of the 19 other 13th Black Ops soldiers, Jack was something special. He and Jack were their own army of two. Against-all-odds, come-out-smiling kind of partnership. The two had been together in more scrapes and gotten out alive than either cared to remember.

Scott set his rifle in the cradle with his helmet, stood, and stretched. They had been flying for about twenty minutes, away from the outpost that was their latest successful mission, away from the Russian ground forces and fighters. The back hatch in the XV-22 Vertical Takeoff and Landing (VTOL) Valkyrie was jammed open, frozen in place from damaged hydraulics. But that meant Scott got a clear view of the Atlantian landscape, pale underneath the wan light of the full moon.

Around him, conversation sparked as the guys began to talk of the mission.

"Did you see, 'bout halfway through the op, when those two Russians were going for the crate? Stacked one on top of eachother. Real smart. I lined up and opened fire, an' I cut 'em both down with one burst."

"Yeah, and your butt would've been fried by the third guy if Conrad hadn't bailed you out."

"Well, yeah, but that's what a team's for, right?"

"So what do you guys think's in the thing?" Luke asked, and kicked the side of the crate.

"Luke, you put another toe on the package an' I'll dump you over the side." Sergeant Blake warned. "The eggheads at Alpha wanted this badly enough to send us out to get it. I swear, if you manage to break the thing we all just recovered under fire for, I'll stick a tazer through your ear and scramble that stuffing you call a brain."

"It's got like a foot and a half of armor, Sarge. I doubt if a direct hit from a 105' could even dent the metal."

"I'll bet it's empty." Someone said, forestalling the Sarge's response. "I'll bet we came all the way out here and picked up a false trail, and the real one's still back at the outpost, maybe underground somewhere, waiting for a larger strike force to recapture the outpost and the eggheads to dig it back up."

The men pondered the idea for a few seconds. "Shut your trap, Jackson. You think too much when you're not supposed to."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

"That's Corporal Cramer to you, Private."

There were four girls in the squad. Cramer, MC, AC, and Fox. They made life in the 13th a lot more entertaining.

Scott leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Another mission to add to his growing bragging resume.

Scott was just nodding off when the entire craft shook violently, jerking him back awake. Scott looked around and reached for his harness, trying to buckle it befor-

The Valkyrie shook again, harder this time. "Brace!" The pilot yelled over the internal comm., and banked to the right. Scott was thrown out of his seat and across the drop bay.

His exposed head collided with the other side of the flier and he reeled back, seeing stars. The centripetal force kept him glued to the wall. Scott's eyes cleared just in time for the plane to bank the other way as another missile flew past, missing the bird by half a foot. The floor came rushing up to meet Scott, and he blacked out for a few seconds. AA fire licked up and punched pockmarks in the super-hard armor.

Scott opened his eyes, every muscle tense, and spat out blood. He looked to his left in time to see someone dangling in space, holding onto the hydraulic arm as the acceleration tore at him. Scott dived forward and reached for the guy, but just as he got there the plane shuddered again as a 40mm round exploded on the vehicle's underside, shaking loose the soldier's grip.

Scott winced, looked after the soldier for a moment, then looked back to his empty seat and next to it, his helmet and rifle. He had to get his gear.

Scott dived forward again, stumbling as the Valkyrie lurched. He overshot and collided with the wall again, but his fumbling hands found his gear and wrenched it from the cradle. As the gear came free, Scott stumbled backwards into the open bay-

-just as the Valkyrie was hit by missile from an enemy SAM site.

The XV-22 Osprey tore apart, shredding itself in mid-air. Scott didn't see who else was thrown out with him into the night air, but he saw several forms falling with him. Wind tore his helmet and rifle from his clutch, sending them spinning into the air around him.

Scott utilized his training, trying to spread-eagle and stop his rotation, and slow his descent. The problem was, he was free-falling without a parachute. It took all his skill, nerve, and focus to put aside his heart-stopping adrenaline surge and steady himself in the air.

Scott steadied. To his right was Jack, fumbling with his gauntlet controls. Scott saw Jack's jump-jet pack light and Jack immediately slowed, jumping out of Scott's vision.

Good plan. Scott hit the button on his gauntlet, and jets erupted out of sunken ports in his pack with a sharp crack. He boosted the gain to max and angled himself for maximum lift. Looking down, he realized he wouldn't slow fast enough or have enough fuel to stop himself anywhere near completely. This was gonna hurt.

It was over before he knew it. One second Scott was falling through the air, next second the jungle canopy was next to him.

Scott covered his head with his arms as he went through the canopy, bouncing off of tree branches. His armor absorbed the hits, the ballistic gel heating - until it boiled and his armor dumped first a quarter of gel, then half, three quarters-

Scott landed in a tangled knot of vines, his descent halted abruptly, and then he blacked out.

Scott came to at the sound of distant grunting. His whole body was on fire. He tried to move, but something kept him pinned in place. Pain lanced down from the base of his neck to his toes. That was good. It meant he was alive.

Scott forced his eyes open. He blinked several times before the blurry image his eyes were putting into his brain resolved into the arching branches of a massive tree. Vines snaked down from branches, supporting his weight fifteen feet above the ground.

Scott tried to move his body again. He couldn't feel his arm, but everything else responded with massive amounts of pain. Scott winced and drew his knife with his left hand, sawing at the vines that were cutting off the bloodflow to his arm.

As the last vine came free, blood rushed back into his arm, setting it crawling with pins and needles.

Scott bit his lip and muffled a curse, shaking his arm out. After a couple minutes his arm felt well enough to hold things again, so he transferred his knife to his right hand and began sawing at the vines that held him in place. The sharp combat knife cut through the plants like butter, and Scott had most of the vines split by the time he heard a yell that he knew as Jack's.

Instinctively, Scott reached up and felt near his ear, where his comm. pad usually lay. Instead, he found only his ear on his unhelmeted head.

Scott raised his left gauntlet and tried the backup comm. The whole gauntlet was bashed up and most of the displays were cracked and useless, but the comm. worked. Scott tried to raise Jack over the Teamcomm.

"Jack! Come in, Jack. Respond!"

Jack grunted back fuzzily. "About effing time. I've been trying to raise you for an hour."

"What? What time is it?" Scott asked.

"It's five in the morning, but we've got bigger problems right now. I'm stuck in a clump of vines. Can't move at all. And I've got a pack of Raptors below me. Tell me you've got a rifle, and your Sonics work.

Scott severed the last vine and dropped to the jungle floor. "No rifle," he reported, then tried his Sonics. Although he wouldn't actually be able to hear it, there should have been momentary feedback over the comm, and a green light would have pulsed on his gauntlet and Heads-Up Display (HUD) had he had a helmet.

"No Sonics either, I don't think. Hard to tell." Scott patted his right thigh and left shin. "Alls I got's my MP7, a Magnum, an' my knife."

"That'll have to do. Get up here and find a tree or something, get rid of these things."

"Right. Gimme a shout."

Jack shouted, "I'm over here!"

Scott didn't respond, for fear the Raptors would hear him and come for him before he could get to a better position. He had fought Raptors before. One on one, from the height of twenty feet in a helicopter with a chaingun. Never four-on-one and one unable to move, with only his sidearms. Scott clamped down on a rising tingle he hadn't known since his last visit to the jungle, on the periphery. It was fear. Raptors, and the other dinos, were perfect hunting machines. This was their element. If not for the meteor 65 million years ago, they could have feasibly stayed the dominant life-form.