A/N: I'm a long-time writer, but this is my first foray into the world of fanfiction. I did this by the request of a massive history buff and a dedicated gamer of a friend. Let me know what you people think (yes, I know this story is a bit... unorthodox), and hopefully, I'll be able to upload all that it takes to see this story finished. Oh, and don't worry. Despite what you're about to read, this still is a League of Legends story.
Legend:
"Blah, blah, blah." - Speech
Blah, blah, blah. - Thoughts
"Blah, blah, blah." - Emphasis
A few years after the fall of the Axis Powers and the end of the Second World War, the United States-led Western Bloc and the Soviet Union-led Eastern Bloc entered a period of continuous political and military tension characterized by threats, violent propaganda, clandestine activities and other measures just short of open warfare. Both sides had possession of nuclear weapons; therefore, every country involved in a future war will be threatened with Mutually Assured Destruction (or MAD), the second the first shots fly. Nukes will ensure a quick, brutal end to any sort of war the two sides could create... with undesirable consequences to all parties involved. As a result, in their effort to gain global influence, the two superpowers engaged in psychological warfare, in substitute to actual warfare. Furthermore, they also began utilizing mercenaries as their representatives in indirect confrontations within various proxy wars.
Both sides knew the risk of their actions, so they sought to alleviate the threat of a potential nuclear war by declaring an armistice; the West began working with the East to the betterment of humanity. Both sides had decreased their nuclear stockpiles by an astounding 75%, and in such a short time, mankind's technological advancements had far exceeded most experts' expectations, with futuristic technology such as those found in science-fiction novels becoming more and more common each day. The joint Western and Eastern scientific community even managed to achieve the long-awaited dream of many an astronomer: spaceflight. In the early 1950's, a spacecraft crewed by both Western and Eastern astronauts landed on the Moon; with another joint, future operation in the works for a manned landing on Mars.
However, this fragile, delicate ceasefire between the superpowers would not last very long. Exploiting the momentary laxity of their enemies' defenses, the Soviet Union began launching covert military offensive operations within United States domain in order to weaken the country's military strength, under orders from a zealous, belligerent Russian General, Arkadiy Chekhov, with approval from the Kremlin. Soon, the Americans found out who were the culprits to the savage, irregular attacks to their country. A highly confidential search and destroy operation by a united American and British force in Russia swiftly overwhelmed the Soviet force guarding the general, culminating in the man's field execution by firing squad.
Upon learning that the West had discovered their cloak-and-dagger campaigns, in a wintry December evening in 1972, the Soviets launched an all-out invasion of all western countries, including NATO and United Nations forces. The attack was not unexpected, but the Soviet military was supplemented by their Eastern Bloc allies. Their advance was vicious and unrelenting, powerful and overwhelming. One by one, the Eastern advance claimed whole countries as their own; their armies were rendered powerless to resist the invaders. Normally, the the end of the world by nuclear fire would've followed soon, but with both sides having advanced anti-ICBM technology, nuclear missiles have since been stored away for later use, letting conventional warfare take the center stage.
In Asia, the communist-led China and North Korea had managed to conquer their closest neighbouring nations, but their advance was quelled by an alliance of ASEAN nations, lead by Australia. Slowly but surely, the two communist countries were being pushed back. On the other hand, the Soviets and their allies had almost completely overrun most of Europe. The latest country to fall to the East's clutches in the European continent was Sweden, whose defenders had bravely managed to hold out for three years of assault after assault.
Shortly after Sweden surrendered, German Resistance spies had reported some unusual activities being conducted on a Soviet research ship, the Zapusteniye. For some unknown reason, the ship seems to be setting course to the Bering Strait. The Kremlin had deemed the vessel to be very important, and had accordingly sent several escort vessels to follow it around. Desperate to turn the Eastern tide, the remaining Western Powers planned an assault on the ship, to determine what were the Russians exactly doing in the ship, and to see if they can utilize the unquestionably useful equipment within the research vessel.
Little did they know that the ship holds the key to not just ending one war, but two. A war on Earth, and a war in the continent of Valoran.
DISPLACED
Prologue: Give and Take
0938 Hours, Fort Detrick, Maryland, American Territory
1976 A.D.
Since the start of the Soviet offensive, First Lieutenant Jonathan Sterling had been assigned to numerous defensive operations in Europe. In a few months' time, he had been to numerous countries being besieged by the enemy. The lieutenant has personally seen the Federal Republic of Germany's last stand against a combined Russian and Czechoslovak force, Italy's mass evacuation from a Romanian and Hungarian joint offensive, France's successful defense of its territories against a Yugoslavian airborne invasion and Spain's marginally triumphant efforts to ward off a Russian amphibious assault launched from Italy. With his phenomenal skill with a rifle and his extraordinary knack for surviving near-impossible assignments, Sterling managed to come out of every engagement alive and well.
The same cannot be said to some of the men under his command, however. When Sterling was given his first command, most of the missions he partook in almost always resulted in 65% of his unit ending up dead by the end of the day. The higher-ups told him that he'd done everything he could, but Sterling's mind focused on one thing: most of his most trusted friends were now nothing more than decomposing corpses, laying somewhere in the European battlefield. Abandoned and forgotten, unburied and unattended.
The loss of his colleagues coupled with constant warfare had purged almost all of Sterling's naïveté and idealism, and refilled the empty void within his soul with a fiery hatred against his enemies. This left the lieutenant a very bitter man. He disliked having to interact with his fellow soldiers during the sporadic momentary lulls in fighting, preferring to keep to himself. He longed for the day when he was given the order to attack. Such is the way of a soldier like him; born, bred and trained for war... and nothing else.
In this windy Thursday morning, Sterling was busy honing his craft down at the fort's shooting range. A seasoned marksman, the lieutenant preferred assault rifles as his main armament, with shotguns a close second. He was in the middle of perforating his target, a holographic projection of a Soviet officer, when he suddenly heard his name being called by the fort's PA system.
"Attention! All base personnel involved in Operation White November, please report to the briefing room. Colonel Burrows wants to have a word with you," The voice stopped for a moment to contemplate on something. "First Lieutenant Jonathan, that means you!"
The message continued repeating itself for three more times before the system went silent.
By the time Sterling discarded his weapon, a M16A7 multipurpose rifle fitted with an underslung M28 shotgun, his artificial enemy had already killed him six times over.
The lieutenant cautiously opened the door to the briefing room. A few meters away from the door, he could already hear the colonel's thick Texan-accented voice echoing behind the wooden entrance.
The briefing room was fitted with the latest in holographic technology to give the soldiers a better presentation of their next assignment. As a result, the room had an odd, bright blue glow. Colonel Nicolas Burrows was standing on an elevated platform, partially leaning on a holo-desk with a simulated image of a Russian-made VTOL.
Sterling couldn't really care less, so he made his way to his seat, nodding at his fellow soldiers, getting quick nervous nods back and the occasional rare smile. Those who do smile obviously hadn't known Sterling for very long.
"Ah, Jonathan. Didn't bother changin' to your civvies, eh?" The pudgy, grizzled colonel spared Sterling a brief glance. "We've been waitin' on you. Do sit down; you're a vital part of this op."
Never much of a talker, Sterling obeyed the colonel without much ado. He made himself comfortable on his seat before he unintentionally flipped his seat's armrest, accidentally hitting the person beside him.
"Watch it, lieutenant." The voice of Captain Hendrickson invaded the lieutenant's ears. He had an obnoxious Bostonian accent that complimented his wiry, devious looks well.
Two years ago, when Staff Sergeant Sterling and Second Lieutenant Hendrickson first met, the two near-instantly took a disliking to one another. Sterling disapproved of Hendrickson's excessively servile attitude when in the company of a superior officer and his overly gung-ho stance on war. Hendrickson didn't like Sterling because he perceived the lieutenant's silence and his 'lone wolf' tendencies as untrustworthy and unreliable.
In a low, growling voice, Sterling mouthed, "I apologize, sir." He pushed the armrest back to its previous position, making sure to hit the captain again. Harder this time.
Hendrickson winced in pain. He nursed his arm as he gave Sterling a blistering glare. "Don't push your luck, Sterling. I'll have your ass scrubbing latrines for the rest of the war if you keep that up."
An eye-roll was Sterling's sole reaction. Hendrickson was about to speak again when the colonel's voice suddenly intensified.
"And you," Colonel Burrows pointed at the captain, much to his silent surprise. "Captain Paul Hendrickson, will be in charge of this procedure. Have you been doing your CQB drills lately, captain?" The colonel projected a holographic image of a pair of weights on his holo-desk, as if to represent physical training.
Hendrickson's answer had already formed itself before he was even asked. "Affirmative. The test results should be already delivered to your personal computer, sir. I've also recently done and passed a few endurance tests here and there."
"Indeed, captain. Not only did you pass all of the tests, but you did so with admirable effort." The colonel sharply inhaled before removing the holographic weights and replacing it with a detailed image of the Soviet ship. "Back to the current matter at hand, you'll be in command of two small squads of NATO assault specialists, with Lieutenant Sterling here as your second-in-command. Keep in mind that those specialists have been doing this sort of thing since the two of you haven't made officer yet; so don't worry about their safety. Also, we don't know what the Russians are going to use against us, so you'll be required to be suited in full Nuclear, Biological and Chemical gear."
Some of the soldiers started shifting uncomfortably on their seats. Being covered head-to-toe in the so-called 'chemsuit' sure makes you really resistant to bioweapons, but being trapped in the suit while your own sweat builds up around your body makes the whole mission extremely uncomfortable. Conversely, Sterling had spent almost every job he was assigned to in an NBC suit, owing to the fact that he was in a biological weapons unit, forcing him to become accustomed to how the suit feels on his skin.
One of the younger soldiers, Corporal Tamara, stood up from his seat. "Uh, sir? When are we leaving for this op?"
The colonel waved for the soldier to sit back down. "Tonight, at 2100. Your helicopter will be insertin' you on the ship under cover of a storm." The holographic image of the ship was buffeted by a virtual oceanic storm, complete with massive sea waves. "The rest of the details should be listed along with your ROE sheet, so I suggest that before you head down your bunks, take the time to read it." The colonel's voice grew heavier and darker. "We don't want this to be a total loss of military resources. God knows we're gonna need all we've got."
"Wait, you mean we've got this assignment tonight?" Corporal Smith stood up from his seat and threw his arms up in disbelief. "Didn't the brass say that we'd be doing this next month?"
The colonel shook his head. "Change of plans, soldier. The spooks have reported that the Zapusteniye is currently being moved to an unidentified area somewhere deeper into Eastern territory." A computer-generated map of the Bering Strait appeared and the colonel pointed at one of the larger islands that dot the Strait. "All we know is that the egghead ship has just passed St. Lawrence Island several hours ago. We need to act now or we might lose the chance to inflict some much-needed damage to those communist bastards."
The soldiers started applauding the colonel, albeit some did so sycophantically. Within the applause, Colonel Burrows had started climbing down his platform. "That's all for today, men. Get yourselves organized, the Black Hawk crew will start a rollcall before they leave, so make sure you're ready." Burrows left the room, closely trailed by his cyborg dog, whom he is never seen without.
After most of the soldiers have left the briefing room to prepare for the assignment and rest, Hendrickson let out a brief, smug chuckle. "You hear that, Sterling? You're under my fucking command for the next twenty four fucking hours, so you damn well better do what I tell you to, or I'll have your ass thrown out of the chopper before we even land."
"I don't care." Sterling started walking away, towards the room's exit. "As long as you stay out of my way, we'll have no problems, captain." He began to open the door.
The arrogant smirk on Hendrickson's face shrank to non-existence. "What if I just pull out a gun and shoot you while everyone's backs're turned?"
Sterling's own smirk quickly formed on his face. "You can try, but it won't end well for you." He slammed the door shut.
The thick wooden door silenced Hendrickson's fusillade of insults and homemade curses directed at the lieutenant.
0306 Hours, Bering Strait, Russian Territory
"Sixty seconds, guys. Hang on."
Lieutenant Sterling stared at the Zapusteniye from behind his gasmask atop his vantage point inside the Black Hawk. The research ship is massive, easily stretching for half of a kilometer. The storm kept raging all around the area, destroying any semblance of order within the sea's surface and conjuring giant waves that could've easily pounded a seawall to oblivion, but they harmlessly dematerialized upon contact with the vessel's hull.
There were other ships too, but they were just the normal, uninteresting, tide-resistant escort ships assigned to protect the 'Mothership' as the other troopers have nicknamed the gigantic boat.
The helicopter pilot flicked several switches on the helicopter's console. "Radio jammers are operational, systems are all green. Ivan still hasn't blown us outta the sky, so I think the stealth systems are working perfectly." A final button was pressed, and the helicopter's lights flashed red. "Thirty seconds. Get ready, boys."
The Black Hawk made its approach towards the ship's bridge. The strike team's first objective was to neutralize the shipmaster along with the navigators in order to prevent the ship from moving. The second objective is to have a small team of two to pave a way to the ship's helipad so that the NATO helicopter could land with the specialists. The third and final objective is to locate and procure anything useful within the ship's onboard science lab.
Captain Hendrickson pulled his gasmask down on his face and activated his NV goggles, making the lenses glow green. "Alright, people! Eyes open, shit's about to hit the fan!"
Sergeant Wesson extinguished his cigarette and donned his gasmask. Corporal Smith attached a magazine and a suppressor on his rifle before cocking it and Corporal Tamara gripped his sub-machinegun nervously.
A quick wordless prayer was all Sterling did.
Thirty seconds elapsed, and the flashing red lights turned a bright green. One by one, the strike team covertly roped down in front of the ship's bridge. Sure enough, the ones in charge of the ship were in the bridge, with some of them having fallen asleep on the job. They remained blithely unaware of the Americans' presence beyond the bridge's windows.
"Pop 'em." Hendrickson whispered into his radio.
The look on the Soviets' faces was priceless. Their facial features had contorted into wide-eyed, surprised expressions as they came to realize what was going on. They scrambled to find weapons, but it was of no use. They died with the look of horror on their faces, and their bodies full of bullet holes.
Hendrickson inserted a fresh clip into his rifle. "Hostiles fucked." He turned to look at Corporal Tamara, the strike team's tech expert. "Corporal, get on that console, I want you to turn off all navigational and communications equipment, as well as this ship's automated anti-air defenses. We don't want that NATO chopper getting shredded before they even touch the deck."
The soldier nodded before heeding his orders.
Hendrickson raised the Black Hawk. "Sky Lance, this is Delta Six, first objective's complete. What're our orders now?"
"You need to clear the ship's helipad, Delta Six." The helicopter pilot responded. "There's a manned anti-aircraft battery guarding the area. That NATO chopper can't land with that thing blocking the skies."
"A-fucking-ffirmative." The captain closed communications.
"Lieutenant," Hendrickson accentuated Sterling's rank mockingly. "Take Smith and clear the helipad of Ivan. Wesson and I will guard Tamara while he works."
Sterling left the bridge without a word, with Smith in tow.
Walking cautiously around the ship, the two soldiers made their way towards the helipad, making sure to shoot anyone wearing any red on their uniform.
The sounds of conversation and laughter registered in the two soldier's ears. Soon after, the source of the sounds entered visual range. "Contacts, eleven o'clock. Up on the platform, scattered." The lieutenant warned the corporal about a spread out group of six Russians on patrol with his radio.
The corporal zoomed in on the Russians with his helmet's camera. "I see them. Orders, sir?" There was no response. "Are you there, sir? I say again; orders?"
After another second of silence, Sterling was back. "Threat neutralized, keep moving."
What? Smith zoomed in again on Ivan's last position. He only found six corpses on the floor. A trail of blood is leaking from a hole on each of their foreheads.
Impressive. Smith thought before he continued moving to the helipad with Sterling.
Along the way to the helipad, Sterling and Smith silently picked off numerous scattered Soviet patrols. They were greatly aided by the fact that the enemy seems to be exhausted with fatigue, and that they didn't have access to night-vision goggles to help them see clearly in dark environments.
Once the two soldiers reached their destination, as expected, they found that the area was guarded by two-dozen soldiers, in addition to the afformentioned anti-air turret mounted right next to the helipad.
"Smith, we aren't going to take these guys on silently." Sterling stated through his radio. "They're in close proximity with each other, so if we shoot one, another will notice. We'll have to fight this one out, old-fashioned style."
The corporal, his resolve strengthened by his previous successful kills, found no reason to be uneasy. "Don't worry, sir. We have the element of surprise, along with these goggles."
"Just because we killed several of these bastards earlier doesn't mean we're invincible, Smith." The lieutenant chided the less-experienced soldier. "You'll come to understand that when you command your own men."
"Assuming I live to see tomorrow, el-tee?"
"That's the spirit."
"Once that guy turns his back, I want you to put a round on him, then I'll take care of the guy watching his back. And then… we'll go all out."
Smith pondered on his orders. "Are grenades out?"
"Yeah, of course. We don't want to blow a hole on the deck, not to mention alerting every hostile still ignorant of our presence."
"What about flashbangs, sir?"
Sterling's respect for Smith grew by a small amount. "Flashbangs are in. Just make sure you aren't throwing yours near some flammable sources. That's much worse than a grenade."
Hearing no response from Smith, Sterling acknowledged that he understood. Soon enough, one of the Soviets fell to the ground, the crack of Smith's rifle was muffled by the suppressor attached to the barrel, as well as the growling sounds made by the storm.
Not wishing to be outdone, the lieutenant shot a nearby soldier who managed to notice his comrade's death. Without a suppressor on his weapon, the loud report of his rifle was barely stifled by the storm.
Within a few seconds, the Russians have fully grasped what was happening. An officer screamed to his underlings as they took cover behind anything they could find. A moment passed before they let loose a barrage of bullets from their weapons, spraying the two Americans' positions blindly.
"El-tee, two tangos! Heading straight for the AA gun!" Smith reported as the gunfight raged on.
"Roger that, corporal." Sterling's voice remained calm and professional, but he was seething with revulsion for the enemy inside.
Sterling switched his rifle into full-auto mode and hosed the Russians, killing a few who were out of cover at the wrong moment, and forcing the others to duck into cover. As soon as his rifle went click, the lieutenant sprinted towards the enemy, with Corporal Smith providing him with covering fire.
An enemy soldier shouted to his comrades to cover him as he tried to move towards the Americans for a flanking move. He didn't have time to notice that Sterling had already made his way to his flank before he got blasted away by the lieutenant's underslung shotgun.
Turning away from Smith, another soldier had just enough time to see his attacker. He fearfully uttered something in his language, but at close range, Sterling reduced the soldier's head into a bloody, bullet-sifted mess; his buckshot ignored the soldier's helmet entirely.
The rest of the Russians were now aware of Sterling's presence. They shifted their positions to counter the lieutenant's flanking manoeuvre. Seeing the Russians changing their tactics, Sterling dove for cover. Once he had the chance, he reloaded his rifle and the shotgun underneath it. Soon enough, the steel crate he was hiding behind made the loud, pinging sounds characteristic of metal being peppered with bullets.
The officer continued spouting foreign gibberish, and this alone was more than enough to give Sterling a reason to silence him forever. Removing the pin on a flash grenade, he counted to two, since three-second fuses always go off a second early. The lieutenant didn't bother with precision when it comes to grenades, so he just chucked it away at the enemy's general direction.
"Разброс, гранату!" The officer shouted in alarm.
The second he heard the explosion, Sterling removed himself from cover and unleashed a whole magazine's worth of bullets on the disabled Russians. Death came swiftly for the enemy, and by the time Sterling's magazine was empty, only three surrendering Russians remained.
Smith, upon seeing the brief skirmish come to an end, assisted the lieutenant in detaining their prisoners. "What do we do with them, sir?"
As soon as Smith's words flew out of his mouth, an answer from Sterling was already made. "Shoot them."
Having moral obligations, Smith had problems with killing unarmed enemy personnel. "They've surrendered, sir. Can't we just… you know, tie them up somewhere?"
Sterling was silent for a moment. "Okay, do it. After that, you take the point, I'll cover the rear."
"That was easier than I thought." Sparing a last look at the prisoners, Smith made the first step to the helipad.
Reminding himself to execute the Soviets when Smith was gone, Sterling bashed the nearest of them with his rifle's polymer stock, knocking the man unconscious and sending the rest squirming in fear. He then planted an electromagnetic charge on the AA gun, making sure to be at a safe distance before detonating it. The electromagnetic pulse from the charge permanently locked the gun in a disabled state.
Smith opened a comm ink to the captain. "Captain Hendrickson, the helipad is clear of hostiles, and the AA gun's out of the game. Those specialists could land now."
"Affirmative, they're making their way to your position now." Responded the captain. "I want the two of you to guard the helipad's perimeter from hostiles. If they ain't wearing black, assume that they're hostiles and act accordingly."
This is the first time Smith has been in a biohazard combat suit, so he took a good long look at what he and the rest of the team's equipped with. The corporal, like everyone else, is wearing mostly black combat gear such as boots, a kevlar vest and combat gloves, as well as a biohazard battledress uniform worn under his other equipment as his first layer of protection against projectiles and biological agents. He is also equipped with a modified gasmask with a respiratory muzzle on each side, a combat helmet and a pair of night vision goggles with the lenses tinted blue. His last piece of equipment is a small, easy-to-carry, kevlar-lined backpack.
Memorizing his suit's appearance to the last detail, Smith asked Hendrickson for further orders. "Roger, sir. They won't get through. Will that be all?"
Seconds passed before Captain Hendrickson responded. "After the specialists are secure, I want you to escort them to the third deck. There's-" Hendrickson was interrupted by a wave of static. It took him a few seconds to get back. "-al. Our inside men told us that the Russians are doing some sorta weird shit down there. For now, we're-" A renewed wave of static drowned out Hendrickson's words.
"I didn't quite hear a large chunk of what you said, sir." The corporal relayed. Nothing but static answered him. He then decided just shrug his shoulders and inform the lieutenant.
Sterling remained vigilant, keeping a sharp eye for any Soviets who wanted a 5.56 millimeter round to the forehead. He was in the process of doing a mental ammo count, when a gloved hand tapped his kevlar-reinforced shoulder.
"El-tee, NATO forces are inbound. Captain wants us to stay within the perimeter, make sure the area remains secure."
"That's it, corporal?" The lieutenant went back to counting.
"No, sir. He also wants us to escort the specialists to the third deck. That's where the good stuff's supposed to be."
0344 Hours, The Zapusteniye, Third Deck, Bering Strait, Russian Territory
The NATO specialists were just as badass as they were described. The joint British, French and Belgian strike force silently plowed straight into the Soviets as if they were nothing. Like grass before a lawnmower, the Russians died by the droves, and they didn't even notice. It wasn't long before they cleared the second and third decks of hostiles. Now, the Western soldiers are in the process of penetrating the reinforced doors to the experimentation lab.
Sterling, for the first time in his career, felt a little outclassed by someone. Smith, on the other hand, was only glad that he doesn't have to get his hands dirty anymore.
"Lieutenant Jonathan, I'd like to ask that you keep what transpires in the next few minutes to yourself." The British NATO strike team leader talked to Sterling. He pronounced the word 'lieutenant' with the British 'leftenant'. "The N-Cs back home wouldn't like hearing about this one. It might start another bloody panic."
Sterling nodded. "You have my word, Captain Tanner."
A French specialist standing next to the door to the experiments room alerted his fellow soldiers. "Prepare yourselves. I'm about to blow the charge."
"Are you ready, lieutenant?" The British captain loaded fresh shells into his shotgun.
"Always ready, sir." Sterling readily answered as he adopted a combat-ready stance.
"Great. Make sure to tell your partner over there to switch to burst fire only. I can't have a bloody Yank spraying the whole area with bullets, the R&D boffins back home might make something useful from the objects inside."
"Hey!" Smith is a little sensitive about his aim. "I'm standing right here!"
Sterling stared him down.
Getting the lieutenant's wordless message, Smith shrank away. "Roger, sir. Shutting up."
"We're ready, sergeant." The British captain spoke to the Frenchman with the breaching charge. "Breach the door."
"Oui, monsieur." The Frenchman triggered the device. "Breaching the door!"
As soon as the door flew off its hinges, the combined American and NATO strike force swiftly put an end to any Soviet resistance within the experimentation lab. As it turns out, none of them were even soldiers, just scientists with assault rifles. This tells of just how stealthy the team is.
The room was chock-full of various scientific paraphernalia. There are vats filled with various unidentified liquids and gases litter the room; a hastily scribbled note taped to each one. Hundreds of scientific documents, forms and records were scattered all over the tables, floors and the like. Experimental weapons and armor technology are also being tested in the room, as evidenced by a makeshift shooting range littered with pockmarks, scorched areas and even a meter-wide hole in the wall. Lastly, at the center of the room lies a colossal O-shaped machine mounted on a platform, with several fat wires linked to it. Judging by its position, the device seems to be the most important object in the lab.
Against his better judgement, Sterling found himself drawn to the machine. He couldn't help but move closer and investigate it. This looks useful.
"Looks like the commies are experimenting on biological warfare…" Muttered Corporal Smith as he studied the vats. "They've tried modifying anthrax to accelerate its process and then tried to increase its lethality by ten times its original capacity... fascinating. The boys at Detrick's gonna have a field day with these."
A British soldier tried to make the experimental weapons and armor to activate, but they appear to be in a non-functional state. "Our R&D chaps have some work to do."
The team continued rummaging through the lab, making sure to check every little corner for anything useful in the war against the East. However, aside from the viruses and the experimental equipment, only broken, discarded and useless pieces of civilian tech were found.
"Hey, captain!" A Scottish soldier that goes by the name of Keira had in her hands a few sheets of heavily highlighted paper. She had her mask discarded and had a pair of unwieldy-looking glasses as a replacement.
Tanner stopped inspecting a scientist's corpse to look at the soldier. "What's that, sergeant?"
"These papers allude to something like functioning teleportation technology made by a multinational group of researchers. Apparently, they made use of a group of volunteers to use… this machine." Kiera flipped the papers over, displaying them to Captain Tanner.
In response, the captain tilted his helmet higher and removed his sunglasses. "Bloody hell…"
The papers show a detailed sketch of the teleporter, which is the same contraption that Sterling was fiddling with right now. The papers were littered with Cyrillic letters, but the sketches relayed the message well enough. Closer inspection of the machine reveals that it appears to be drawing power from a purple crystal that faintly shines in the darkness.
"The volunteers seemed to have disappeared for four weeks straight before they briefly reported that the teleportation was a success. A few minutes later, they were cut off by a hostile force. They never reported back, and the project was considered a failure and was shut down." Sergeant Kiera read the papers with increasing disbelief. "Maybe that's why the Soviets are moving this ship."
The papers show something very fantastical and outlandish. Surely, this must be just the ramblings of a sleep-deprived Soviet scientist, the Scotswoman theorized. "This is preposterous, captain. Besides these weird-looking gear and the toxins, I think we've just stumbled into a useless, unimportant ship."
"Nonsense, sergeant." The captain took the papers from Kiera. After a few moments of reading, he moved closer to the machine, next to Sterling. "Excuse me, lieutenant. I'm going to have to take this thing for a field run."
Normally, Sterling would object to letting someone use an obviously unstable machine, given its ramshackle appearance, but like Colonel Burrows said: 'We can't let this one turn out to be a waste of military resources'.
Without much commotion, Sterling stepped aside, pocketing the papers that Tanner absent-mindedly handed to him.
Tanner was quite clearly just pushing and triggering random knobs and switches that dot the machine's console. It appears that the teleporter, like most of the experiments in the lab, is in an inoperable condition, because no matter what button was pressed, nothing happened.
Out of the corner of the Tanner's eye, a glowing yellow button shielded by a plastic case sat innocently on one corner of the console. Not willing to let the mission turn into a waste of time and effort, the captain flipped the cap open and drove his finger down the button.
The machine started humming and shaking. Sterling and the captain took several steps back. The strike force prepared themselves to evacuate the room, just in case the English captain pressed some sort of self-destruct button.
The increasingly audible thuds of heavy footfalls forced the team to ignore the machine and find some cover to hide behind. The Soviets must have found out about the raid on their ship.
As it turns out, the sounds were made by Captain Hendrickson. "Sterling! Smith! Where are you?!"
It appears that he had been in a fight, as his dark kevlar vest is riddled with four bullet marks and his gasmask is now hanging limply by a strap to his helmet. He carried his rifle with one hand, with the other clutching a bleeding wound he received to his shoulder. Zooming in with his helmet's camera, Sterling could see that he's walking with a slight limp, and his eyes were wide with fear and anxiety.
"Hendrickson!" Sterling called out to the American captain. As much as he'd like to see the idiot get frayed apart by a machine-gun, one less ally can make a big difference to a firefight. "We're here! What happened out there?"
Relief washed over Hendrickson's face when he saw a friendly, even if it's Sterling's. He dashed towards his allies and slumped on a wall the first opportunity he got. "Those fuckers… they shot me and killed Wesson and Tamara! There's too many of them topside, and they're making their way to us now." Hendrickson groaned in pain as he pried off a bullet from his shoulder with his combat knife. "Fuck this ship, we need to get outta here now!"
Shots suddenly smashed into the wall the Western soldiers were taking cover at, peppering a Belgian operative's back with bullets, sending the man falling to the ground with a clunk. The Soviets are here.
"Watch the door, sergeant! We'll deal with the machine!" Tanner ordered at his French and Belgian soldiers, who nodded and covered the entrance to the experiments room. "On ne passe pas!" They cried in accord.
Sterling dropped three hostiles with a burst from his rifle before waving Hendrickson's attention to him. "Captain, we need to shut down the teleporter!"
Then he noticed that the room looks to be tinted in a deep purple hue. Strange... he could've sworn that he saw something like that before.
Realization came down on the lieutenant; the crystal that's used to power the teleporter was purple. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as he turned his head to look at the machine's current state.
"Shit."
The whole room was engulfed in purple energies. Sterling, Smith, Tanner, Hendrickson, the rest of the NATO strike force and the Russians were frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity to them, but in actuality just a nanosecond. The machine's O-like shape formed into a churning purple void to hell, sucking anyone that couldn't hold their ground in.
Equipment, weapons, furniture and soldiers from both sides, dead or alive were thrown into the air, right into the abyss.
Sterling could do nothing but watch as a Russian soldier's body was stretched into impossibility before his whole form was sucked into the void. The lieutenant tried to resist the force trying to pull him in, but even with years of physical training under his belt, the force proved to be the victor.
He watched as his whole body was lifted from the floor. It wasn't long before the mouth of nothingness devoured him whole.
0407 Hours, Bering Strait, Russian Territory
Without warning, a massive, bluish-purple explosion from the Soviet research ship very nearly threw the Black Hawk into the water, but the pilot's manoeuvring skills kept the aircraft in flight. The two pilots inside the helicopter ensured that their aircraft would remain as it were before their minds shifted to the strike team's wellbeing.
"Sky Lance to Delta Six, do you read?" The Black Hawk pilot frantically raised Captain Hendrickson on his radio. "Delta Six… come in, dammit!"
"Sir…" The copilot pointed at the Zapusteniye from the helicopter's window. "Code black?"
With an annoyed expression, the pilot looked at what the copilot is gawking at.
The sight was horrifying, to say the least. The massive ship had a gaping, smoking hole at the uppermost decks, with a few more explosions going on at almost every part of the ship. The Zapusteniye gave a shrieking, terrible sound; it's the ear-splitting sound of metal being ripped apart. Soon, the Bering Strait will come to claim the ship as its most recent prize.
Silence in respect for the late strike team had lasted for almost a minute. "…Yeah. Get this chopper geared for zipflight. Let's get back to the AAC."
The copilot silently cursed as he worked his way on the helicopter's console while the pilot raised HQ to give the news. "Sir, this is Sky Lance. Captain Hendrickson and his team are dead. We're returning to the Wasp."
The person on the other line was unperturbed. "Roger that, Sky Lance. I'll have your detailed report when you arrive. Out."
"Understood, colonel. This is Sky Lance, signing off." The Black Hawk buzzed away from the smoking, sinking wreckage of the Soviet research ship, careful not to alert the escort ships to its presence.
Compulsory Disclaimer: In no way do I own League of Legends. The rights to LoL belong to Riot Games.