The Greater Good
Chapter 1: Prologue
"Boots on the ground. All callsigns Autumn through Diego you are clear to engage! I say again, green light!" the radio hummed to life aboard the Vertibird. Even though the technology was still in its infancy, the XVB02 Vertibird was a solid gunship and very reliable in a gunfight. Upon this radio chatter, the rear door of the Vertibird kicked open and the squad of Army Rangers stormed out of the aircraft onto the harsh Mongolian desert, Old Glory on their darkened power armors glistening under the bold Mongolian sun. Their callsign was Bear.
"Come on people, we gotta hustle! We got ten mikes before the Florida Everglades look like this God-damned desert!" First Sergeant Bradley barked. The Chinese and the Americans were not in a talking mood any longer. Even though this was being actively settled today as the Resource Wars dragged on, such desperation quickly encouraged political pressure against both sides as both countries tried desperately to maintain their old way of life. Although peace talks were in progress, multiple theaters were still engaged with active military combat.
The Rangers were typically considered light-infantry in the military, however, with their newly created powered armor, they could just as easily become a heavy assault force.
"Johnson, we got a Silo ahead! Come on! Let's get there!" Bradley shouted. The desert was quickly becoming a whirlwind behind them as sand led to concrete. In front, a large bunker stood. In the middle, a Tse-tung class ICBM stood menacingly within its metal prison. A booming Chinese voice spoke. Johnson didn't even dare to switch on his translator, ignorance is bliss.
"Well fuck my balls in a knot, Cheng sure is compensating for something, isn't he?" Davidson joked.
"Come on, we gotta shut this thing off!" Bradley cried. Johnson immediately hopped to the nearest computer and held his wrist to it. His Pip-boy 3000E flashing to life as it attempted to bypass firewalls. The crackle of fire arms heard in the distance. "Rangers, defensive positions! Cover him!" Bradley shouted. A charismatic leader, Bradley easily was able to maintain his calm under normal combat circumstances.
This was not a normal circumstance.
"Diego is down, I repeat, Diego is down, Autumn, go secure the package!" the SOCOM radio hissed.
"This is Autumn 0-1, we are under fire from multiple sides! We cannot maintain mission posture! Requesting immediate fire support!" a different voice replied on the radio.
"Autumn is under severe assault, Hawk 2-5, can you provide close air support?"
"This is Hawk 2-5, weapons are hot for immediate strike. Time to target fifteen seconds." There was a loud explosion in the sky and bits of debris rained on the team. As if on queue, Bradley's own team came under fire from combatants within the bunker.
"COME ON JOHNSON, GET THIS FREAKING SHOW ON THE ROAD! LET'S GO!" Bradley ordered. His AER9 Laser Rifle emitting its red-hot brilliance. As Johnson continued to decode the encryption on the ICBM, he continued to look at his squad-mates. They appeared calm and collected, but that was likely only a result of the awe-inspiring armor. He could tell they were beginning to get worried as they began to pull the trigger more frequently.
The first one to be wounded was Davidson. A sharp thump of a Gauss Rifle sounded as a high velocity round tore through Davidson's leg. Even with state of the art armored plating, the round easily cleaved his leg clean off. Davidson staggered to the ground and swore.
"GOD damn it! Fuck that is going to need some stitches!" He swore as he continued to fire his weapon. Johnson admired his bravery as even though he lost a leg, and likely the shock was beginning to set in, he kept firing. Perhaps it was the high dosage of Med-X he had received from his armor to keep fighting, maybe it was just pure balls, but regardless, Davidson kept fighting. As he fought, the loss of blood was quick and significant, and his suit was too damaged to put a clamp on the bleeding. Davidson bled out quickly and profusely on the hard concrete. Jefferson pulled him out of the line of fire, took off Davidson's helmet and pocketed his dog tags. He quickly made a cross over the head of Davidson, then resumed fighting.
Johnson's heart was pounding to the point where his armor's metabolic scans thought he was having an allergic reaction and his armor secreted a small dosage of Buffout to help with his immune system. As the loading bar nearly reached the end of his Pip-Boy, an exclamation mark appeared along with red words.
.ERROR:/PROTOCOL_783-7b
It was too late. The missile was too far along. Davidson had carried the only countermeasure should the missile launch, but that was now in multiple pieces beside his right leg. Johnson's heart plummeted and he could hardly think. The Chinese forces were cheering and shouting various praises.
Johnson got on the radio.
"Zulu Actual, this is Bear 1-4, the principal is away, I say again the principal…is…away."
"Understood Bear 1-4. May God help all of us."