The two Americans and the Russian left the room, but the blond man lingered.
"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Sergeant?" asked the general.
"You're sending me to Siberia," he said through clenched teeth. "Back to Siberia."
"Listen, Conrad, I know you've had bad experiences there in the past, but you have experience in the region, and you have experience in these bunkers."
"I have 'experience.'" He spat out the word. "Sure I do." The anger was barely being held back now. "You sent me and 5 others over there in '78, and abandoned us! No backup, no radio contact, you ignored the fact that they knew we were coming!"
"This is uncalled for!"
"So was ruining my life! I had a financee! She thinks I'm dead! Everyone else from my squad was, and you had to fucking cover it up! And the only reason I made it out of that hellhole alive was because of a lieutenant who liked me. He probably gave his life to save mine, you know the way that they were back then. And then you tried to leave me there dead, you bastard, but one of the carrier groups accidentally picked up my radio signal before the KGB did, and they were kind enough not to ask questions when getting me out of there."
"Hauser, you're going to Siberia, and that's a goddamned order!" He paused. "Conrad you don --"
"Don't 'Conrad' me. Conrad Hauser's dead. You killed him fifteen years ago." He was at the door now, and turned around to face the general. "My name's Duke."
The door slammed.
Later that night, Duke and the others were at a barracks, closed off from everyone else, preparing to leave. They'd met with the colonel, who was former Oktober Guard. Red Star. They'd agreed to call each other by the code names again, if only for old time's sake. Duke, Gung-Ho, Zap, and Red Star. Going deep into the wilderness of Siberia, to rescue a nuke that was stolen because the idiots in Washington hadn't had the good sense to keep an eye on Cobra.
Duke looked at himself in the mirror as he changed out of his uniform before going to sleep. He ran a hand over the small scar on his left cheekbone, and remembered the one that ran across his back.
"All right boys," shouted a man over the noise of a helicopter's rotors, "We're nearing the drop site now. Remember, if you get in trouble, send out a signal on the emergency band, and we'll get to you as soon as we can. When you get the recon done, send for us, and we'll get you out of here. And if you get caught," he paused, "Just don't get yourselves caught, boys."
They approached the drop site, and one by one the six soldiers parachuted out and into the snow-filled sky. They landed with six thuds on the ground, and then met up. Their leader, a young sergeant, reminded them why they were there.
"OK, guys, we've gotta get some pictures of this new silo up close and personal. The brass wants details. Now, I don't want any friggin' James Bond stunts out here. We get close, we get the pictures, we get the hell outta here." The others nodded. "All right then, lets go."
They trudged on through the snow for about an hour, until one of them raised his hand to stop. The sergeant moved slowly towards him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Con, I heard something, and it wasn't one of us," he said, looking concerned.
"Do you still hear it?"
"No, it was just that once. I think I was just hearing things."
"OK. Then lets get going." He motioned to start moving just as something whizzed by his ear. A dull thud sounded next to him. The man he had been standing next to was laying on the ground, a blood stain growing on his white fatigues.
"DOWN!" shouted the sergeant. "Hit the emergency signal!"
"The shot came from that way, Con!"
"Then shoot back, dammit!"
Soon the air was full of bullets going by. Hauser could tell that they were outnumbered, but maybe if they held out long enough . . . A chopper . . . theirs . . . he signalled for them . . . the pilot looked down, saw him . . . listened to something in his headseat . . . shook his head . . . shouted something back . . . looked defeated . . . shook his head . . . and it was gone. He lay there, not firing. Soon his men followed suit, he realized his mistake, started firing again, no one else did, he looked at them, all dead.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, threw his rifle aside, pulled a pistol out, and charged, firing away at the Russians. Bullets flew around him, but he kept going, still shouting.
"Killed my men! Bastards! You killed my men! Go to hell! All of you!"
Soon it turned into just a primitive battle cry, a scream, and he was out of bullets, and he kept running, and something hit him in the back of the head
and Duke woke up, sitting in his bed, sweating.
"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Sergeant?" asked the general.
"You're sending me to Siberia," he said through clenched teeth. "Back to Siberia."
"Listen, Conrad, I know you've had bad experiences there in the past, but you have experience in the region, and you have experience in these bunkers."
"I have 'experience.'" He spat out the word. "Sure I do." The anger was barely being held back now. "You sent me and 5 others over there in '78, and abandoned us! No backup, no radio contact, you ignored the fact that they knew we were coming!"
"This is uncalled for!"
"So was ruining my life! I had a financee! She thinks I'm dead! Everyone else from my squad was, and you had to fucking cover it up! And the only reason I made it out of that hellhole alive was because of a lieutenant who liked me. He probably gave his life to save mine, you know the way that they were back then. And then you tried to leave me there dead, you bastard, but one of the carrier groups accidentally picked up my radio signal before the KGB did, and they were kind enough not to ask questions when getting me out of there."
"Hauser, you're going to Siberia, and that's a goddamned order!" He paused. "Conrad you don --"
"Don't 'Conrad' me. Conrad Hauser's dead. You killed him fifteen years ago." He was at the door now, and turned around to face the general. "My name's Duke."
The door slammed.
Later that night, Duke and the others were at a barracks, closed off from everyone else, preparing to leave. They'd met with the colonel, who was former Oktober Guard. Red Star. They'd agreed to call each other by the code names again, if only for old time's sake. Duke, Gung-Ho, Zap, and Red Star. Going deep into the wilderness of Siberia, to rescue a nuke that was stolen because the idiots in Washington hadn't had the good sense to keep an eye on Cobra.
Duke looked at himself in the mirror as he changed out of his uniform before going to sleep. He ran a hand over the small scar on his left cheekbone, and remembered the one that ran across his back.
"All right boys," shouted a man over the noise of a helicopter's rotors, "We're nearing the drop site now. Remember, if you get in trouble, send out a signal on the emergency band, and we'll get to you as soon as we can. When you get the recon done, send for us, and we'll get you out of here. And if you get caught," he paused, "Just don't get yourselves caught, boys."
They approached the drop site, and one by one the six soldiers parachuted out and into the snow-filled sky. They landed with six thuds on the ground, and then met up. Their leader, a young sergeant, reminded them why they were there.
"OK, guys, we've gotta get some pictures of this new silo up close and personal. The brass wants details. Now, I don't want any friggin' James Bond stunts out here. We get close, we get the pictures, we get the hell outta here." The others nodded. "All right then, lets go."
They trudged on through the snow for about an hour, until one of them raised his hand to stop. The sergeant moved slowly towards him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Con, I heard something, and it wasn't one of us," he said, looking concerned.
"Do you still hear it?"
"No, it was just that once. I think I was just hearing things."
"OK. Then lets get going." He motioned to start moving just as something whizzed by his ear. A dull thud sounded next to him. The man he had been standing next to was laying on the ground, a blood stain growing on his white fatigues.
"DOWN!" shouted the sergeant. "Hit the emergency signal!"
"The shot came from that way, Con!"
"Then shoot back, dammit!"
Soon the air was full of bullets going by. Hauser could tell that they were outnumbered, but maybe if they held out long enough . . . A chopper . . . theirs . . . he signalled for them . . . the pilot looked down, saw him . . . listened to something in his headseat . . . shook his head . . . shouted something back . . . looked defeated . . . shook his head . . . and it was gone. He lay there, not firing. Soon his men followed suit, he realized his mistake, started firing again, no one else did, he looked at them, all dead.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, threw his rifle aside, pulled a pistol out, and charged, firing away at the Russians. Bullets flew around him, but he kept going, still shouting.
"Killed my men! Bastards! You killed my men! Go to hell! All of you!"
Soon it turned into just a primitive battle cry, a scream, and he was out of bullets, and he kept running, and something hit him in the back of the head
and Duke woke up, sitting in his bed, sweating.