A/N: Well, folks, I'm almost home. One more month over here in Iraq. Yep, I'm still alive. I apologize for Pandora Guardian. This deployment absolutely killed whatever momentum I had going with that story. But, seeing as I'm almost home, I should be able to see this one to the end. This installment still continues the storyline of my other works, so if you haven't read my earlier stories, I suggest you do for the sake of continuation.
Alright, ages... now that I know the age differentials, here's mine:
Sonic: 21, DOB: 27 JAN 1982
Knuckles: 22, DOB: 17 JUL 1981
Amy: 19: DOB: 18 MAY 1984
Tails: 13 DOB: 10 JAN 1990
Rouge: 23 DOB 13 APR 1980
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot... well sorta the plot...
Somewhere in Central Brazil. December 24, 2003. 2200 hours.
The rain continued to mercilessly permeate into Captain Wolf Mackenzie's boots. He could not remember a deployment where the weather was this miserable.
Back in April, he didn't even fathom his unit, which consisted of twenty teams of twenty of the PoTCW's elite commandos with various combat support teams integrated amongst them, would be relegated to a counterinsurgency contract for the Brazilian government against a consortium of drug cartels vying for the overthrow of the current government, collectively calling themselves the Consortium of Brazilian Liberation. Granted, he would never underestimate the importance of any contracted mission, but he would rather be fighting Dr. Robotnik's burgeoning might, than doing any wetwork's dirty work.
Fact of the matter was, two factors kept the PoTCW from carrying on the fight against the newly formed G.U.N.-Robotnik coalition: lack of viable targets and lack of funds. The capture of Nack the Weasel was aimed to give the Phantoms more intel on the doctor's offensive capabilities, and shed light on more viable targets. Instead, Nack netted little advantage, if any. And as a final slap in the face, word came from the top brass that Nack had actually escaped from their custody three days ago. He wasn't too shocked about that; the weasel was once a U.S. Army sniper, and a CIA paramilitary operative before he was dismissed from both organizations.
Secondly, the PoTCW was strapped for cash. In fact, about 75 of their forces were scattered across four continents on contracted missions in a bid to refill the Phantoms' coffers. This contract in Brazil, which was worth almost 1 billion American dollars, was the most lucrative of these contracts, and in order to ensure its completion, the higher-ups assigned the mission to his task force commander, Colonel Shadow. Wolf silently wondered what was going through his friend's head when the Ultimate Life Form was given the order to deploy to Brazil.
He was brought out of his reverie when he heard a set of soggy footsteps plod their way through the rainforest toward him, and he instinctively readied his high-frequency katana, only to relax when Shadow's familiar face-concealing helmet came into view in his night vision goggles.
"What are you still doing out here, Wolf? I thought you'd be among your men?" Shadow queried, the voice masking effect of his helmet turned off.
The timber wolf grunted, and sheathed his weapon. "To be honest, sir, I've been thinking long and hard about our situation." A beat as he flipped up his NVGs. Looking into them was bad for the eyes. "Is our ledger really bad enough to send us on a simple counterinsurgency contract?"
Shadow shook his head. "We're not really that bad off... well, we are, and we are not. You forget that we're in the Southern Hemisphere. Robotnik's expansion has already claimed southern Chile, and he has forward operating bases established there. There is the possibility of expanding our operations there and driving him completely off this continent."
Wolf sighed. "If you say so…"
Another few minutes passed before Shadow spoke. "Let me ask you this: do you have any reservations about not having anybody that you hold dear?"
Wolf blinked. "Uh, sir? Where is this coming from?"
Shadow laughed a bit, and shook his head. "Just pointless drivel. A question that I have asked myself that has bugged me ever since. I just need an outside opinion."
"If you would've asked me a year ago, the answer would've been 'no'." Wolf confessed. "But, truth be told, I think Lupis—"
"Oh, yeah! Navy Lieutenant Junior Grade Lupis Pavalov." Shadow allowed himself to chuckle. "I forgot she duped you into falling in love." As if to change tracks, he cleared his throat. "I've told you about Maria, right?" When the timber wolf nodded the affirmative, Shadow continued. "Lately, I've been having dreams of my past life with her. In particular, during this time of year. And I know I cannot go back to those days. I know you told me before not to become attached to my past, but when I look at our surroundings," he motioned at the rainy, mud sodden rainforest they were standing in. "Sometimes, I have my work more than cut out for me, and I hate it."
"Sir, I don't think she wanted you to be miserable for the rest of your life." Wolf counseled. "For one thing—"
"Colonel!" A heavy Russian accented voice called out. "We have hits on our radar! No IFF response!"
Shadow and Wolf exchanged glances, silently agreeing to banish the topic for now, and ran towards the task force's command post, a captured runway once used by one of the consortium's factions to transport the contraband they sold to keep them supplied. At the head of the runway was an SA-8 Gecko Surface to Air Missile system, and Shadow quickly jumped on top of the SAM launcher, and ducked his head down into the vehicle's cramped cabin. "What's the status, Gunny?" Shadow asked the canine gunnery sergeant commanding the vehicle.
"Sir, we've IDed the contacts' engine signatures; two G.U.N. type Su-33 Flankers, also known as the 'Blue Eagle', and an Russian-made An-124 cargo plane. Range, fifteen miles. All three are in formation just within the edge of our radar coverage, and bearing southwest to cross right across the middle of our coverage. They aren't within weapon range, yet. Just say the word, sir, and we'll go loud."
Shadow contemplated the situation. What in the world are G.U.N. aircraft doing over Brazilian airspace? Nonetheless, he was not about to just let this catch get away. The SA-9's effective range was a respectable 12 kilometers, which equaled seven and a half miles. He jumped into the cabin to get a better look at the vehicle's radar screen. "Standby, the bandits will be within range inside a minute." Shadow whispered. "Wait until they're almost on top of us, then go loud. Prioritize the cargo aircraft. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Another minute passed tensely. "Range: six miles, sir."
"Not yet…" just a couple more miles… Finally, the An-124 got within three miles. Time to strike. "Now! Go for the transport first!"
"Roger that!" With that, the SA-8's active radar woke up, and moments later, two surface to air missile roared to life from their launch rails, and raced through the stormy night toward their quarry.
"Holy shit! Mayday! We've been spiked! Brace for evasive maneuvers!" The pilot of the An-124 frantically shouted as he yanked hard left on the aircraft's flight stick, sending it into as tight a left turn as a pregnant yak could muster. However, even as he dropped countermeasure flares, he knew it was a losing battle. A few seconds after launch, the two SAMs impacted the aircraft, first on its inner left engine, then on its inner right engine, the explosions and the shrapnel from the missiles' payload effectively tearing off both wings, and sending the still intact fuselage spiraling down to earth like a flaming football.
"Shack on the target, sir! The cargo plane's going down!" The gunnery sergeant announced as the rest of the crew erupted in celebratory shouts.
"Good work, men," Even Shadow had to give credit where credit was due. "Prepare to—"
"Incoming!" Wolf warned. "Everyone stand clear of the vehicle!"
Nobody needed to look at the radar display to know that the Blue Eagles had broken formation and had launched a retaliatory attack. Two separate ear-splitting whistles let everyone know the two jets had released two GPS-guided bombs down at their SAM site. In haste, everyone scrambled out of the vehicle, and as far away from the killzone as possible. Within seconds of the last PoTCW marine getting clear of the vehicle, the first bomb hit dead on the armor, the explosion warping the Cold War vintage hardware into a twisted, burning, charred piece of scrap metal. The second bomb was really just an exclamation point for the first one, completely obliterating whatever was left of the SA-8 SAM, and two separate sonic booms followed seconds later.
Wolf just glanced sideways at Shadow. "Sir, what the hell was on that bird that we shot down that they're so pissed about?"
Shadow shrugged, and shook his head. "I don't know. But, first thing in the morning, I want you to send a team out to that crash site, and salvage whatever you can."
There was nothing Wolf could do except mutely nod his head, and take the order.
Well... I finally managed to get the plot out of North America. The jungle setting was inspired by SOCOM II: US Navy SEALs, and Metal Gear Solid 3. Anyways, next chapter, I'll warn you in advance. There will be Sonamy fluff...hears Sonic locking and loading ... Oh, c'mon! You can't still be mad about Tickle Me Sonic, can you! I wrote that almost two years ago!
Sonic: Damn skippy I am! I will never forget!
sighs Oh, well. If you have the time, please drop a comment or two in the form of a review, and I'll try and make sure Sonic doesn't find any ammo. Out!