Lieutenant David Hyrin looked around the hold of the Nighthawk transport
his team was in. They were en route to a Soviet base in Central America.
It wasn't the first combat mission he'd had, not by far, but intel didn't
look too good. David was a SEAL, the best the navy has, but that can't
stop a 50,000 volt charge from killing him. The base was ringed with tesla
coils, with tesla troops to charge them if power was ever shut. Major
McKinnon, the team commander, had the SEALs, a few Grizzly tanks, GIs, and
whatever POWs were at the site at his disposal.
It seemed fairly standard, actually. Too standard for a SEAL, conventional forces could handle this op. Why were they here? Instead of Texas, or Colorado, somewhere on the front? David didn't get much time for speculation. The Nighthawk chopper landed and the team filed out. They were on a high bluff that commanded a good view of the area. The base was south, and it did seem heavily guarded. Anywhere not under the protection of a tesla coil was squared off by concrete walls. In the rear of the base, however, a small opening lead to a group of power reactors. David smiled and pointed this out to his CO. The Major nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything.
From their landing zone on the bluff, the team snaked through the Central American terrain. The night was in full swing, and the sound of nocturnal animals was present above the subdued sneak of the SEALs. David pushed away his natural fear of spiders as he crawled and prowled through brush. It was a longer hike than he'd expected, but sure enough there were Allied campfires in the distance.
The silhouettes of several Grizzly tanks lay dormant near the flames. The crews were on standby and were currently eating rations in preparation. The GIs had fortified the position, but most of them were asleep anyway. Major McKinnon got out a whistle and blew it twice. It sounded like some kind of bird. The tanks crews left their meals and began checking their vehicles. Most of the GIs woke up. The whistle was the pre-determined signal, so the GIs wouldn't kill them in fear of the SEALs being someone else.
The officers met in a large tent erected behind most of the fires. The Major already had a plan for the Tesla coils, but the tankers and GIs had different ideas. McKinnon called for David and a few others to go up the back entrance and destroy enough reactors to shut off power. The remaining SEALs, at the front entrance, would follow the tanks into the base. With tesla troopers providing the only power, the tanks would draw the coils' attention until the SEALs could eliminate the troopers. It would be a chicken shoot after that. The plan was sound, but the other men didn't like being cannon fodder for some Navy grunts. They wouldn't agree to anything until their buddies were liberated from a POW camp to the East. They'd free the POWs tonight while they still had dark. The offensive on the base would begin at next sundown.
***
The thud of thick rubber boots echoed down the barrack's halls. Sergei Kolikov was being transferred to the front in 'Oklahoma,' the West had the strangest way with words. He was a Tesla Trooper, a defender of the Motherland, and now he had the opportunity to fry some American fools where it hurt most to them. His helmet was flipped up, his head dwarfed by the combat suit he was wearing. The Tesla gauntlet on his right arm was deactivated, and his rucksack and duffel bags were slung across his shoulders. It was early. And very warm, Sergei thought as he opened the door outside. There was a Flak Track waiting for him. He hurried in and hoped the vehicle had air conditioning; this climate could drive any Russian to madness, especially one in a rubber suit!
A husky was sitting in the cargo compartment, his tongue hanging out as his ears were scratched by a conscript sitting nearby. It had been a while since Sergei had seen his own husky, and he considered go over as well but did not want to trouble himself with removing his gloves. Two other conscripts were sleeping in the transport, one with a Flak launcher resting in his lap. Sergei flipped his helmet down and also fell asleep.
It didn't last long. An explosion from outside nearly flipped the Flak Track over. The driver strung together a long line of curses as he maneuvered the transport near the jungle encompassing the road. The turret operator cursed also, as he searched in vain for the assailant. An echoing, booming noise thundered through the thin armor. It was an Allied plane. In the dead of night this was difficult, Allied tanks and soldiers had 'infra-red,' 'night vision,' and other such technologies the Soviets did not. Finally, the gunner found the exhaust light from the fighter and began to fire. Sergei did not like trusting his life to an unknown gunner and a surely-unreligious driver. There was nothing else to be done, so Sergei simply buckled down and braced himself. The roaring noise returned this time accompanied by pings and pangs as shells hit the hull of the vehicle. A round struck a sleeping conscript's leg, he woke up and began to convulse in pain. The blood sent the husky into a craze, the soldier stroking him earlier desperately attempted to keep the animal at bay.
The jet seemed to get closer and closer each time it passed, but never fired a shot. The radio in the driver's compartment once burst out the word 'assholes.' Sergei didn't know the exact translation, except that it was a derogatory term. Allied dogs! The undignified tesla trooper shook on the gunner's leg.
"Make his death extra painful! He's taunting us!"
"Don't you think I know, Comrade? I must deal with flyboys all the time; this one is excessively arrogant, and very stupid. But I will comply with your request. He'll die slowly."
The gunner pressed the trigger a few final times before an explosion could be heard in the sky. The plane didn't again cross the Flak Track's path.
"Let us go see where he has landed," the gunner insisted.
"No," the driver replied, "Allies guard their pilots and planes as one protects his manhood. It is surely suicide."
"The Allies protect everyone with that fervor. Besides, Allied avionics are very valuable to the KGB at present. We could be commended."
The driver hesitated, "Very well. Get the men ready for anything."
The half-tracked vehicle drove down a swathe cut through the jungle by the plane as it landed. As they approached its smoking hulk, the men were ordered out. The wounded conscript could stay, but must be ready to fight nonetheless.
Segei powered up his gauntlet. It hummed to life and served as a small light in the darkness. A conscript ran ahead to the plane's wreck. Obviously, he mattered more for medals than his own safety. He lunged nearly headlong and began to scrounge around for parts. A flash. The twilight shadows receded for a split second as a nearby tree let forth a burst of flame. The conscript ignited without warning or pretense. The other conscript, with the flak cannon, dropped his weapon and ran for the transport calling for his mother. The other writhed in torment before succumbing to the flames.
"Allied trickery!" Kolikov muttered to himself. He ran for the wreckage and hid himself in it, praying that Allied technology could not see through the twisted metal.
The halftrack quickly took off, and the trees let down their disguises to give chase. Once he could be sure all of them were gone, Sergei paced over to the cockpit. The pilot was sitting lifelessly in his restraints, as if dead. The Russian trooper shattered the cockpit glass, he wasn't taking any chances with the pilot.
Captain Nolen woke up. He felt like shit. As he could recall, he probably shouldn't have called those Soviet bastards assholes. He flipped up his visor and the first thing he saw was a tesla trooper charging his gloves. The trooper acknowledged his consciousness by hissing something, Nolen translated it to be 'You!' He raised his glove at the airman, it buzzed as blue sparks criss-crossed his forearm. Nolen held his breath.
It seemed fairly standard, actually. Too standard for a SEAL, conventional forces could handle this op. Why were they here? Instead of Texas, or Colorado, somewhere on the front? David didn't get much time for speculation. The Nighthawk chopper landed and the team filed out. They were on a high bluff that commanded a good view of the area. The base was south, and it did seem heavily guarded. Anywhere not under the protection of a tesla coil was squared off by concrete walls. In the rear of the base, however, a small opening lead to a group of power reactors. David smiled and pointed this out to his CO. The Major nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything.
From their landing zone on the bluff, the team snaked through the Central American terrain. The night was in full swing, and the sound of nocturnal animals was present above the subdued sneak of the SEALs. David pushed away his natural fear of spiders as he crawled and prowled through brush. It was a longer hike than he'd expected, but sure enough there were Allied campfires in the distance.
The silhouettes of several Grizzly tanks lay dormant near the flames. The crews were on standby and were currently eating rations in preparation. The GIs had fortified the position, but most of them were asleep anyway. Major McKinnon got out a whistle and blew it twice. It sounded like some kind of bird. The tanks crews left their meals and began checking their vehicles. Most of the GIs woke up. The whistle was the pre-determined signal, so the GIs wouldn't kill them in fear of the SEALs being someone else.
The officers met in a large tent erected behind most of the fires. The Major already had a plan for the Tesla coils, but the tankers and GIs had different ideas. McKinnon called for David and a few others to go up the back entrance and destroy enough reactors to shut off power. The remaining SEALs, at the front entrance, would follow the tanks into the base. With tesla troopers providing the only power, the tanks would draw the coils' attention until the SEALs could eliminate the troopers. It would be a chicken shoot after that. The plan was sound, but the other men didn't like being cannon fodder for some Navy grunts. They wouldn't agree to anything until their buddies were liberated from a POW camp to the East. They'd free the POWs tonight while they still had dark. The offensive on the base would begin at next sundown.
***
The thud of thick rubber boots echoed down the barrack's halls. Sergei Kolikov was being transferred to the front in 'Oklahoma,' the West had the strangest way with words. He was a Tesla Trooper, a defender of the Motherland, and now he had the opportunity to fry some American fools where it hurt most to them. His helmet was flipped up, his head dwarfed by the combat suit he was wearing. The Tesla gauntlet on his right arm was deactivated, and his rucksack and duffel bags were slung across his shoulders. It was early. And very warm, Sergei thought as he opened the door outside. There was a Flak Track waiting for him. He hurried in and hoped the vehicle had air conditioning; this climate could drive any Russian to madness, especially one in a rubber suit!
A husky was sitting in the cargo compartment, his tongue hanging out as his ears were scratched by a conscript sitting nearby. It had been a while since Sergei had seen his own husky, and he considered go over as well but did not want to trouble himself with removing his gloves. Two other conscripts were sleeping in the transport, one with a Flak launcher resting in his lap. Sergei flipped his helmet down and also fell asleep.
It didn't last long. An explosion from outside nearly flipped the Flak Track over. The driver strung together a long line of curses as he maneuvered the transport near the jungle encompassing the road. The turret operator cursed also, as he searched in vain for the assailant. An echoing, booming noise thundered through the thin armor. It was an Allied plane. In the dead of night this was difficult, Allied tanks and soldiers had 'infra-red,' 'night vision,' and other such technologies the Soviets did not. Finally, the gunner found the exhaust light from the fighter and began to fire. Sergei did not like trusting his life to an unknown gunner and a surely-unreligious driver. There was nothing else to be done, so Sergei simply buckled down and braced himself. The roaring noise returned this time accompanied by pings and pangs as shells hit the hull of the vehicle. A round struck a sleeping conscript's leg, he woke up and began to convulse in pain. The blood sent the husky into a craze, the soldier stroking him earlier desperately attempted to keep the animal at bay.
The jet seemed to get closer and closer each time it passed, but never fired a shot. The radio in the driver's compartment once burst out the word 'assholes.' Sergei didn't know the exact translation, except that it was a derogatory term. Allied dogs! The undignified tesla trooper shook on the gunner's leg.
"Make his death extra painful! He's taunting us!"
"Don't you think I know, Comrade? I must deal with flyboys all the time; this one is excessively arrogant, and very stupid. But I will comply with your request. He'll die slowly."
The gunner pressed the trigger a few final times before an explosion could be heard in the sky. The plane didn't again cross the Flak Track's path.
"Let us go see where he has landed," the gunner insisted.
"No," the driver replied, "Allies guard their pilots and planes as one protects his manhood. It is surely suicide."
"The Allies protect everyone with that fervor. Besides, Allied avionics are very valuable to the KGB at present. We could be commended."
The driver hesitated, "Very well. Get the men ready for anything."
The half-tracked vehicle drove down a swathe cut through the jungle by the plane as it landed. As they approached its smoking hulk, the men were ordered out. The wounded conscript could stay, but must be ready to fight nonetheless.
Segei powered up his gauntlet. It hummed to life and served as a small light in the darkness. A conscript ran ahead to the plane's wreck. Obviously, he mattered more for medals than his own safety. He lunged nearly headlong and began to scrounge around for parts. A flash. The twilight shadows receded for a split second as a nearby tree let forth a burst of flame. The conscript ignited without warning or pretense. The other conscript, with the flak cannon, dropped his weapon and ran for the transport calling for his mother. The other writhed in torment before succumbing to the flames.
"Allied trickery!" Kolikov muttered to himself. He ran for the wreckage and hid himself in it, praying that Allied technology could not see through the twisted metal.
The halftrack quickly took off, and the trees let down their disguises to give chase. Once he could be sure all of them were gone, Sergei paced over to the cockpit. The pilot was sitting lifelessly in his restraints, as if dead. The Russian trooper shattered the cockpit glass, he wasn't taking any chances with the pilot.
Captain Nolen woke up. He felt like shit. As he could recall, he probably shouldn't have called those Soviet bastards assholes. He flipped up his visor and the first thing he saw was a tesla trooper charging his gloves. The trooper acknowledged his consciousness by hissing something, Nolen translated it to be 'You!' He raised his glove at the airman, it buzzed as blue sparks criss-crossed his forearm. Nolen held his breath.