A.N. Okay, this is not to be intended as 'Voyage II' but one can never tell. Sit back enjoy, and we will see what we will see.
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'So, what you are saying is…you don't know?'
The figure next to him adjusted the shoulder straps of its harness and tried their best to makes themselves comfortable. Not easy when the rumble and vibration of the huge transport was digging them into the meat of their chest.
'No, that's not what I'm saying.'
They moved their head to the left and stared out from under the reinforced rim of the Kevlar helmet that it wore.
'They don't tell us, we don't ask.'
Private Bobby Jenkins looked away from the irate corporal with a smile starting to form on his lips. He wasn't going to give up without an argument. It was fun after all, and this was the high point of his trip.
'But why man? Here we are armed to teeth, escorting a bunch of damned stiffs, and you sit there and tell me that you don't want to know? What the hell is wrong with you? You aren't the least bit curious?'
Corporal Mark Smith lifted his gaze to the slightly curved roof of the area they were in.
'Listen…I get paid a lot of money for these runs, you too I assume. They want to pay me to escort some dead people from point A to point B, with a fully-loaded weapon in my hands that I am never going to use…then I am not going to argue.'
Bobby opened his mouth to ask something else but never got the chance.
'And, trust me, the next stupid question out of your mouth will be your last. Because I'll grab your scrawny ass and throw you out this damn plane. See if you can fly.'
The other soldier wisely chose that moment to close his mouth, the smile lessened but still there. He was sure it was just an empty threat but he had heard stories about the other man; excessive force, those had been the words handed around. Rumours were that that was why he had got this gig in the first place.
He was smart enough not to push his luck.
He leant back in his chair closing his eyes as he did so.
He heard the older man say something under his breath. Sounding like…
'They scare the shit out of me anyway.'
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The military-spec C-130 tore through the night sky, its wing-tip lights the only thing visible from the outside.
The craft had flown across the Atlantic from a base in the US headed for a research laboratory in the UK. It was currently over British airspace and flying low to avoid radar. Only a few people knew it was even there.
Aside from the two marines on guard duty the plane had a crew of two; pilot and co-pilot. That was it.
That was unless you counted the cargo.
This was the reason for the armed escort, and the unwritten flight plan.
The darkened hold of the craft held ten caskets. Each was temperature controlled and each had its own, separate power supply. Each was made of reinforced alloy and each held a body.
Dead of course.
Or…very nearly so.
At one end was a thick frosted plexi glass window. If you had been passing and looked down you would have seen a face looking back at you.
The men and women in the tubes had all donated their bodies to science. Although only a few of them knew what that would entail.
Every one of them had been infected with ebola to the common flu, along with other viruses that had never seen the light of day. If the public knew of them there would be hell to pay.
And then some.
They sat, strapped down, in two neat rows; one high, five deep, end to end.
Everything was quiet.
Everything was still.
The status lights all showing in the green.
All except one.
The red light started to wink faster and faster.
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'Jesus, don't you ever shut up?'
Bobby smiled, his job of annoying his colleague complete. He was just winding up for another sarcastic tirade when a red light started to flash above the door to the cockpit.
Almost instantly a tinny voice came over on the headsets both men wore.
'Okay back there, we got an atmosphere warning light on here. While neither of you are busy…'
The voice left the sentence unfinished, but the sentiment was clear.
Bobby started to unhitch his harness but the older man reached over and placed a restraining hand on his chest.
'You', he said with emphasise, 'stay here. I need to get the hell away from you for a while anyway.'
He pulled his own straps and stood, placing his M4 upright next to the seat. Pulling his sidearm he checked there was one in the barrel ready to go, just in case, and making sure of the safety put it back in the drop holster at his hip.
He stalked off towards the door to the hold.
'Hey, old man.'
Turning, Mark stared at the other marine. His frustration evident in his eyes, his hand hovering above the berretta. If only he thought.
'Shout if you need me okay?'
He lifted his hand and extended the middle finger flipping him 'the bird'.
'I wouldn't ask for your help if I was dying. And another thing…if I see you sneaking around behind me in the dark, so help me, I'll shoot you.'
Bobby watched the other man go. Only after he had disappeared did he drop the smile and close his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool, slightly vibrating steel behind him.
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Mark ducked through the small archway, closing the door behind him and then stood as he entered the hold proper.
Damn it was cold in here.
At least he was away from that gob-shite that he had to travel with. Where the hell had they found that guy anyway.
He made his way slowly down one side of the large space and then turned to come down the other side his light playing over the containers in the darkness. He thought that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, down by the entrance that he had come through. It was there and then it was gone, he convinced himself that it had been nothing. He started back.
Now…what the hell…?
He approached the open casket; cold gas vapours still leaking from inside. He ducked low, brushing the mist away with one hand. His arm kept going, deeper and deeper.
He pulled his hand back and dropped the other to the butt of his pistol.
Where the hell was the body.
Then it hit him.
That damn kid. He'd ring his neck. It had to be some kind of sick joke. Well, the laugh would be on him when he got back, he'd kick his ass all over the damn plane.
He walked to the door and through it into the connecting hallway beyond.
That's weird, he was sure that he had closed it earlier.
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Bobby heard a quiet noise in front of him and opened his eyes.
His smile fell from his face as he saw the figure that stood no more than a foot from him. He instinctively reached for the rifle at his side but it caught on the webbing of his seat. He tried to lift the pistol from his waist.
He tried to fire a shot.
He tried to defend himself.
Private Bobby Jenkins never got the chance to do either.
Strapped in he could do nothing but scream as the other figure darted in towards him.
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Mark stepped through the last door, the curse already on his lips.
'That is the last time that you piss me…'
He never finished the sentence.
Mark stepped into a scene from a nightmare.
He took a moment to digest the scene and then yanked the semi from its holster, flicking off the safety in one smooth movement.
'GET THE HELL OFF OF HIM!'
The naked figure acted like it hadn't heard him. It stayed where it was, stooped over, its face buried in the midsection of the unfortunate private.
Mark fired once…twice.
A third time.
All three hit the body centre-mass, but the man barely moved from the impacts.
Mark lifted his aim and fired again.
The bullet hit the man in the back of the head just below the curve of the skull. The round exited through the left eye. The figure flew forwards with the force of the shot and hit the dead man in front of it. It slowly slid to the ground where it came to rest in a spreading pool of its own blood.
Mark stepped slowly forwards and reached his fingers for the blood spattered skin of the privates throat, searching for a pulse. Too late, the kid was dead.
Very.
The body already starting to cool.
He lowered his head for the merest of moments and then walked as fast as he could towards the closed door of the cockpit.
He lifted the hand with the gun and thumped on the door.
It opened almost immediately and he found himself staring down the barrel of a .45 colt semi-auto.
He pushed the gun away and stormed into the surprisingly large space. He faced the pilot.
We have a situation. One of the subjects got out. We need to land this thing…now!'
The pilot reached for an intercom switch, the plane not making a single correction in course or speed.
'What the hell are you doing? Why aren't we…?'
The .45 calibre shell from the co-pilots weapon entered his skull just below his left ear blowing his brains across the instruments to his right. The muted red lighting of the cockpit contrasting sharply with the deep crimson of arterial blood.
The report was incredibly loud in the confines of the flight deck.
The co-pilot sat back down and strapped himself back in, the pistol still clenched in one hand.
Neither man saw or heard the private behind them start to slowly twitch in his seat.
The pilot spoke quickly and quietly into the mic in front of his face and then, slowly and deliberately, turned the radio off. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms across his chest.
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Outside in the dark of the night, the f-15 that had been shadowing them for most of their journey, acquired a lock on the craft and launched the air-to-air missile that it had been ordered to fire only seconds before.
There was a roar of igniting gases as the rockets exhausts lit, followed almost at the same moment by a streak of read and yellow light as the long lethal tube sped towards its target.
The night was bathed in an explosion of light and sound as the rear of the transport plane disintegrated. The remainder of the aircraft spiralled down towards the earth.
The fight plane, its job now completed, banked hard to the left and climbed sharply into the night sky. The boom of supersonic speed was the only thing to mark its passing.
