Ch. 47: Apocalypse: Zero Hour

A.N.:

Hey everyone!

Sorry about the wait. I had piles of college work to get through.

I hope no one got discouraged. I love my story and characters too much to leave it.

Oh, and sorry but there is no lemon in this chapter. It has been so long that I did not have time to add it. I will find time in future chapters don't worry.

Aw, no one called me on mixing up the bridge names? xD

Read and review if you want

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!

I have full confidence in your courage and devotion to duty and skill in battle.

We will accept nothing less than full Victory! Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.

-Dwight D. Eisenhower. Order of the Day (June 2, 1944 before D-Day Landings on June 4, 1944)

June 4, 2028

0000 hours

As I stood on the observation deck of Athena, I idly wondered how the men that had been part of the Normandy Landings would have reacted to learning that less than a century later, history had repeated itself. The massive armada on either side of the giant battleship stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. There were thousands of ships ranging in size from the giant Athena and New Jersey to the tiny hovercraft landing craft or LCAC.

Months of preparation had led to this all-or-nothing assault on the fortress of Akira's Domain. We would only get one shot at success. The invasion, codenamed Apocalypse, was audacious in its overall design. The Main Landing Force, codenamed Bulldozer, would land on the occupied coastline of what had once been Hong Kong. The city was gone. In its place was a fortress of barbwire, trenches, concrete bunkers the size of office buildings, pillboxes, and deadly railroad guns. As the only viable landing area for thousands of miles, this section of beach was our only way into the occupied continents that was close enough for us to reach the city in Russia where the source of her forces was located before running out of resources.

The Landing Area was approximately fifty miles wide with sheer rock cliffs on either end. The black sanded beaches were approximately five miles long as they gradually sloped up to meet the line of bunkers. Along the shore was a line of landing obstacles designed to be able to impale landing craft at high tide. Halfway up the beach was a slight rise with barbwire fencing running along the crest. On the other side of the rise was a tank deathtrap in the form of metal spikes. The slope of the beach increased to approximately ten degrees just as it reached the giant building-like bunkers that were sheer concrete structures with machine gun nests and anti-tank artillery pieces located at the top in what looked like slits just before the roof.

The defensive line of bunkers was networked by trenches in a seamless wall. In the trenches connecting the bunkers were machine gun nests, sniper positions, short-range artillery, and mortars. Medium and heavy tanks were on site along with the barracked infantry. The size and strength of the enemy force was considered to be equal to if not greater than our own.

A few miles behind the main defensive network were SAM batteries, supporting self-propelled artillery guns, and, worst of all, powerful railroad guns that easily threatened our naval and army forces. Auxiliary stations were located at various places in the area, mostly around what could be thought of as towns. Most striking to me was that the area itself was setup almost like a "resort" for Akira. At a location far from the main defensive line, was what appeared to be a private retreat type compound.

The Landing Area was divided into five sections: Ace of Spades, Ace of Diamonds, King of Clubs, King of Spades, and Queen of Hearts. The King Kong-supported Spartan Landing Force would assault the strongest defenses which were at King of Clubs and King of Spades. The Russian Forces would assault Ace of Diamonds. The European Forces would assault Ace of Spades. Finally, the American Forces would assault the Queen of Hearts.

For the Spartans, the task of taking the rise halfway up the beach before the King Kong units arrived fell on the shoulders of Dark Signal and the veteran, battle-hardened soldiers of the 1st Battalion. Forged in the Battle of Fairport, the soldiers of the 1st Battalion were the most decorated of all the Spartans having taken part in every major battle since Fairport. Nicknamed "Alma's Fury", the 1st were infamous for being as ruthless as they were formidable. Reinforcements were either baptized by fire or by Dark Signal in combat simulations before they were officially recognized as being "in" the battalion by the veterans.

The landings were set to begin at 0600 hours when the tide would be low enough for the landing craft operators to navigate the treacherous shoreline. Once safe lanes could be established out of the planned ones, the additional waves could continue throughout the day. The first few hours would either make or break the operation and the success of the landings was vital. Without the reinforcements, the Special Operations teams deployed behind the enemy lines would not last the night.

In exactly three hours, the first boots of the soldiers dropped in behind enemy lines would hit the ground. The enemy units garrisoned along the coast were formidable but it was the units located inland that were the greatest threat. If the operation was going to be a success, several key targets had to be neutralized or controlled.

The entire operation area was roughly the size of the state of North Carolina. The beach line was short with jagged cliffs on either end that extended the remaining length of the coastline as well as around ten miles inland. Just behind the coastal region was a relatively flat grassland that extended a quarter of the way through the area.

It was in that area, which extended from one side of the area to the other, that multiple targets were located. Among the targets were five massive railway guns located at the end of five different railroad lines approximately ten miles behind the coastal defenses. Each one was positioned behind a section of the defenses so as to cover their own zone. Hannibal-3 satellite reconnaissance indicated that they were long barreled cannons that were estimated to be around 20-inches in caliber.

During the naval bombardment that was scheduled to begin at 0300 hours, New Jersey and Athena would take aim at them. Historically, the battleships required a spotter onshore to direct their fire beyond the horizon. However, modern advances in satellite and fire-directory technology allowed for near pinpoint accuracy with their main armament. The newly repaired and modernized New Jersey was once again in her prime. Her 16-inch main guns were fitted with modern guidance systems that were assisted by satellites to deliver armor piercing or high explosive shells onto targets with accuracy that rivaled that of guided missiles.

Beyond the flat region was a river of flowing lava that cut through the length of the area. There were only three bridges that spanned its length. Codenamed Ten of Spades, Ten of Hearts, and Ten of Diamonds, these bridges were tactically vital for both our forces and Akira's forces. Her reserve tank core and her infantry divisions were garrisoned on the other side of the river. We could not advance efficiently across the hazardous obstacle without the bridges. Not only could Akira's Forces reinforce the coastal positions and bring up the dangerous tank core to crush our forces, but should they be forced to retreat, they would destroy the vital structures to prevent our advance. For the operation to succeed, the bridges had to be in our hands once the battle commenced. For that, we would call upon our Special Forces.

A group comprised of an Austria Eko Cobra team, an American Navy SEAL team, a Polish GROM team, and a British SAS team would airdrop over the leftmost target Ten of Spades.

The task of securing and holding the middle target, where the bulky of the counter-assault would take place, Ten of Hearts, was too vital for conservative resolve. The task was given to a group comprising of our Spartan Wolf Pack, a Spartan ODT Foxtrot team, a German GSG 9 team, a team from Pakistan's Special Service Group, and a team from the new American Delta Force.

After we had liberated Fairport, I had taken it upon myself to report the names of my fallen brothers to my former commanders so that they would not be MIA as well as delivering the few bodies that we managed to locate for a proper burial. I had also informed them, in detail, the woeful lack of preparedness that had plagued the units sent in before the explosion. Delta Force prided itself as being one of, if not the, most effective Special Forces groups in the world. However, the Delta Force units sent into Fairport were so easily eliminated by both Alma's Apparitions, the Replica before I was controlling them, and by the ATC Mercenaries that I had felt nauseous.

The American Military, upon learning about the complete failure of the Delta Force units sent into Fairport, had taken steps to ensure that it never happened again. High-Command approached the group and instructed them that they had exactly one year to "get their house in order" or that they would do it for them, i.e.: liquefy the unit and divert funding to the Navy SEALs. Humiliated and now facing the complete liquidation of their group, Delta Force began extensive modifications and changes.

New physical and mental requirements were introduced. Every Delta Force Operative had to prove that they could meet the new, extremely high standards in order to remain in the group. So brutal were the new standards and tests that only 10% of the operatives remained in the group, which according to Shepard, the Delta Force Coordinator during the Fairport Incident, was higher than they had expected as it was believed that only 5% would meet them.

Shepard had been deeply affected by the events during the Fairport Incident. There were rumors that he had memorized the names of the operatives that had been killed and specifically, the names of the men that he had sent into ATC Headquarters. Being the only high-ranking officer that had met the new standards, Shepard was also now in charge of the entire group. I found it humorous because he now answered to Betters because F.E.A.R., due to our actions, was in control of the American Military much like how the two had been working together during the events at Fairport.

The operatives that had survived the massive personnel cut then spent six months going through brutal training programs that were outlined by Point Man himself at Shepard's and Better's requests. I had been told that the training was so intensive and challenging both mentally and physically that three veteran operatives had committed suicide by its completion.

When the operatives of the newly re-authorized Delta Force were finally given a chance to redeem their group, the effects of the drastic changes were immediately noticeable. After 500 combat missions including the evacuations of Hong Kong, Japan, South Africa, France, and England, the 100 operatives had a confirmed termination of 100,000 enemy combatants with around 20,000 additional unconfirmed kills and had suffered a casualty number of 0 KIA and 0 MIA.

Their new motto was "Never Again" in reference to the failure during the Fairport Incident. I had been struck by how every aspect of their group was, in some way, a form of mental torture designed to force them to relive the humiliation of the group's failure at Fairport every single day so that the memory of their failure remained fresh in their minds. After first seeing them in action, Delta 1 had reported to me that, "If they were any better, they would be Spartans, sir."

The remaining bridge, Ten of Diamonds, would be secured and held by a group that was comprised of a team from the airborne division of Russia's Spetsnaz GRU, a Spartan ODT Foxtrot team, and an American Navy SEAL team. As long as the bridges were held, Akira's Forces could neither reinforce the coastal defenses nor could they hinder our advance.

From the river, the terrain was relatively flat though there were the occasional hills with compounds that have to be dealt with. Approximately thirty miles from the back of the area was a large compound that was likely Akira's private retreat given its lavish, if gothic, resort-like appearance and furnishings. Like Akira, the resort had a twisted, dark appearance but was somewhat innocent and seemed out of place.

Once the landings commenced, it was anyone's guess who the victor would be. This was an all-or-nothing attack on our part. Dark Signal, the Delta Force teams that had survived Fairport and joined our ranks, and both F.E.A.R. teams would be leading the 1st Spartan Battalion. EPA and REV6 units were standing by for orbital drop from the Ishimura but they would be diverted to the Special Forces groups holding the bridges. While I had no doubt in my soldiers or our equipment, I personally knew that even the best soldiers were no match for fate.

I jumped slightly as a hand suddenly made contact with my right shoulder. I had been so preoccupied with my inner thoughts that I had failed to notice the appearance of my beautiful companion in her clothed healthy adult form. Quickly recovering, I turned and faced her before I pulled her in close. The darkness of the bridge made her radiant orange eyes stand out more than usual. A faint orange glow graced the pale skin around her eyes as she flashed me a faint smile before she said with her soft voice, "I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to scare you."

I smiled slightly before I replied, "I was startled, not scared."

She raised her left eyebrow quickly before she leaned in and licked my lips with her soft tongue. As she withdrew, she giggled with amusement. She gazed at me with a gentle expression for a moment before she said reassuringly, "We will win, Michael." I tried to smile bravely but she easily saw through my façade. She made a soft purring sound as she cupped my right cheek with her soft left hand. I raised my gloved right hand up and held her hand against my cheek. For a few minutes, we silently gazed at each other.

The moment was not unlike those that we shared when I was a child. Though it felt like a lifetime since those days, the memories that had resurfaced in my mind were as vivid and real as the moment that we were now sharing. My resolve faltered and I admitted, "Alma…I…I'm…afraid."

It was true. In all my time as a soldier, I had never felt so unsure about my chances of survival as I did in this moment. Even during the nightmare of Fairport, I had been convinced that if I had faith in myself and the mission, then somehow everything would work out. This attack chilled me to my core. I felt like screaming, crying, and throwing up, I was so afraid.

My mentor had told me once that fear only had power over a soldier as long as they believed that they still had a chance to survive. He told me that I had to accept that I was already dead. Once I had done that, he assured me that I would be "free". I knew that I could not truly die due to my psychic abilities. My "spirit" would live on like Alma's spirit had. However, that would mean losing everything that defined life.

Alma shocked me when she admitted, "I know. I'm afraid too." Her tone was steady and her eyes never gave the telltale sign of a lie. She was afraid? What could possibly scare a being as powerful as her?

Sensing my thoughts, she said, "We are the last of us, Michael. What Amara did to bring Alpha 1 back will not work again. I…"

She trailed off but I understood what she had meant. She was afraid that all the people that had accepted her and become family to her were going to die. Trying to reassure her, I said, "Don't worry, sweetie. I mean, the likelihood of a particular person dying is…."

From where he was silently standing against the back of the bridge next to the hatch, Alpha 1 said, "Less than ten percent."

I looked over him. His single, cracked glowing rectangular eye stood out in the darkness of the far end of the room. His eye illuminated the weathered surface of his white porcelain face. The surface was still white but the countless battles that he had been through had expanded the cracks from the grenade blast damage to the extent that there was now a considerable gap between the edges of the cracks. The underlying titanium alloy plate was visible beneath the wide cracks. Multiple pits dotted his face where bullets had scored direct hits but failed to penetrate his armor.

Alpha 1 was the only man that I would ever openly admit that I loved. How could I not? We had been through everything together. Every mark on his armor, save for the grenade damage, was from when he had taken damage to protect me. Though they were presently shrouded in darkness, I cringed as I envisioned the patched holes in the armored section of his chest. People believe that he was cold and logical. However, my brother was actually very emotional and sensitive beneath that cold façade. He was a much of a brother as he was a close friend. Only Alma held a larger place in my heart.

I looked back down at my wife and nodded encouragingly. She looked between the two of us for a moment before she smiled faintly. She then asked, "What would I do without you two?"

I teased her, "There wouldn't be the three musketeers…of which I am clearly the leader."

She huffed before she replied, "Really? You think so?"

I smirked and then said, "Obviously."

She remarked, "When you cry out my name in ecstasy, you forfeit the right to that title."

I replied, "Hey, you do that too."

Alpha 1 offered, "I am impartial…so I could be the leader."

Alma commented, "Oh, that could work."

I agreed, "Indeed."

Alma withdrew from me and then turned to face the Heavy Trooper. She giggled and bowed slightly before she proclaimed, "All hail the mighty Alpha 1."

I saluted him as I sang, "Leader, almighty leader…" He laughed with his repeated grunts.

0530 hours

Over the roar of the naval bombardment, I could hear the various, independent conversations of the Replica and our allied soldiers as I walked towards the starboard side of Athena. Due to the shortage of available vessels, warships like Athena had been given the secondary task of being troop transporters. My soldiers went to attention and saluted me when I approached them while our allied soldiers merely glanced up at me with a look of respect or fear.

I came upon Sergeant Passalaqua and found that the ex-Delta Force Operative was leaning against the side of a bulkhead and was listening to one of our allied soldiers as he was talking. The uniformed man, who had an identifying patch of being a United States Army Ranger was saying, "…right, so anyway…I guess…I guess I just need to tell her how I feel…you know?" Passalaqua nodded his head in agreement. The Ranger continued, "I mean…even if she doesn't feel that way for me, I will at least know, right?"

With his voice slightly muffled by the ballistic facemask that he still wore along with his Delta Force attire, Passalaqua nodded as he said, "Yeah, man. Exactly."

The Ranger nodded and then extended his right hand towards the ex-Delta Force Operative as he said, "Thanks man."

Passalaqua shook the man's gloved hand as he replied, "Hey no problem. Good luck to you."

The man began to leave while he said, "Good luck to you too." The Ranger passed me and I walked up to Passalaqua.

He saluted me and, after I returned it, I asked, "Who was that?"

The Operative laughed quietly for a moment and then admitted, "I don't know, sir. I've never met him before in my life. I don't even know his name."

I turned my head back to look at the Ranger as he disappeared around the corner while I said, "No strangers today." I then turned back and said, "Come on, we need to get to the LCAC."

I turned and continued towards the starboard side where the offloading of the first wave was about to commence. Falling in behind me, Passalaqua said, "Yes, sir."

Minutes later, we arrived at the loading area on the aft deck behind the third main turret. The bombardment had ceased to allow the first wave to go ashore but the warships were standing by to provide support once we hit the beach. The entire deck was covered with Replica soldiers like a carpet of green. However, the soldiers were standing in formation rather than being a jumbled mass. War Dog 1, the Heavy Trooper Commander of the 1st Battalion saluted me as he informed me, "All troopers present and accounted for, sir."

I replied, "Outstanding, War Dog 1." I turned and looked at the outline of the shore. It was still early in the morning and a thick layer of fog obscured all but the faint silhouettes of the shore and the defenses. I could see black smoke billowing up from the coast. The naval bombardment had succeeded in knocking out the lighter defensive structures but the enemy was deeply entrenched. The massive railroad guns had been successfully neutralized so our naval forces could safely remain on station.

I took a deep breath from the sea-heavy air and then addressed the commander, "Let's go do what we came here to do."

He replied, "Yes, sir."

I walked to the edge of the deck. There, I found my team and both F.E.A.R. teams waiting for me. Stokes and Morales were wearing their Dark Signal attire though Stokes was now wearing a larger vest that covered her entire torso. Her face had changed since those days in Fairport. Her face was still attractive but now had nasty scars, most notable of which was an animal claw-like scar that traveled at an angle from her nose down her right cheek before ending at the bottom of her jawline. The wound was a gift from one of Armacham's experiments in the form of a bear-like creature though what its intended purpose was we never discovered.

Her eyes still had traces of pink from her possession by the Queen on Titan Station but there was not a cause for concern as her regular blood work failed to indicate a trace of the parasite. Even still, she voluntarily continued to subject her body to scheduled hemodialysis to ensure that she was not a threat to us. Despite protests by the rest of us, Jin in particular since she was the one doing the procedures, Stokes refused to, as she put it, "endanger the team again".

The events on Titan Station had deeply affected Keira. For weeks, she was depressed. She would not sleep or eat. Alma, consumed with guilt for how she had used the Operative afterwards, had offered, through me as a liaison, to create a mental block so that Stokes would not have to live with knowing what she had done. However, Keira had refused the offer. Even now, I do not like to dwell on what might have happened had Amara not intervened. Whatever Amara had done had saved her though she was still troubled by what had happened.

I smiled warmly at them and they returned the gesture. Glancing past them, I saw Foxtrot 813 with his assault rifle holstered across his back while he stood with his arms crossed, Bravo 2 examining his .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle, and Juggernaut. Foxtrot 813 was perhaps the most troubled out of all of us. While he put up a cocky, confident façade, he was really a sentimental and humble individual. The man that he resembled in physical appearance, mental capacity, and psionic ability, Paxton Fettel, could not have been more opposite of the trooper's personality.

The Replica soldier was haunted by what he had done to his brothers that day in Fairport. As I had seen in the "good" universe, he considered himself to be "their" voice. Alma constantly told him that it was not a guilt that he should have to live with because there was no way that he could have been expected to resist Fettel. She even commended his ability to have remained "free" even while Fettel was possessing him. His will was strong enough for him to resist being overtaken by the Origin Prototype and was why she had been able to separate the two during our confrontation. In some ways, Alma considered Foxtrot 813 to be more her son than Fettel had ever been because the Replica was "everything that Paxton was not".

I also saw Holiday, the other ex-Delta Force Operatives, Jin, Point Man, and the three members of the other F.E.A.R. team. Alma and Alpha 1 were waiting for me by the edge of the deck railing. Due to the seriousness of the situation, Alma was going to take part in the assault. With my two closest companions standing next to me, I looked upon the shrouded shore for a moment before I addressed the soldiers, "My friends, glory is within your grasp. Will you not seize it?"

A loud throaty roar erupted from the soldiers behind me in response. I smirked as I turned to face them. Upon turning and facing them, I roared, "Carry on!" A war cry filled the air as the thunder of synchronized boot steps vibrated the deck. With my Patten assault rifle holstered across my back, I began to climb down the side of the giant battleship to the awaiting LCAC landing craft by the rope net that was placed along the battleship's hull.

Minutes later, after the one hundred and eighty soldier capacity of the vessel had been filled, the pilot of our LCAC navigated away from the side of Athena to allow for the next one in line to pick up its load. The LCAC was essentially a giant hovercraft at nearly eighty-eight feet in length and forty-seven feet wide. The four gas turbines could propel the vessel more than forty-six miles per hour at full load. For defense, the craft was armed with two 12.7mm machine guns in revolving mounts.

To the left and right of us, I could make out the silhouettes of the massive armada of ships through the fog. The damp air was thick and clung to my body like a sticky residue. My HUD flashed a humidity warning as it advised me to limit excess movement and increase fluid intake. Meanwhile, a tiny layer of moisture coated the surfaces of the vessel, making the already hazardous conditions even more dangerous.

I stood at the front near the ramp. Behind me, in the cargo space between the two wall-like sides of the hovercraft where the five man crew were stationed, was the rest of Dark Signal and the group of Replica soldiers that were able to go with us. In an effort to prevent a lone artillery round or coastal booby-trap from wiping out everyone, Dark Signal, the F.E.A.R. teams, Passalaqua and the other Delta Force Operatives, and War Dog 1 were riding in different LCACs.

Seemingly minutes later, we were joined on either side by other amphibious landing craft that were filled to maximum capacity with soldiers. In the skies overhead, I could hear the faint hum of our supporting gunships and drones. My HUD reported that it was 0559 hours. A strange calmness overtook the area. The unsettling sensation reminded me of that moment right before a race began when the lights are flashing a count down. There was no stopping it now.

The digital clock on my HUD changed to report 0600 hours and all hell broke loose. Giving off a thunderous roar, our LCAC's two massive Rolls-Royce T406 engines, the same ones used in the Ospreys, launched the hovercraft forward towards the beach.

The ride was nothing short of torture. The severe rattling of the vessel, very similar to that of an aircraft in turbulence, penetrated my very bones and irritated the cracks in my ribs. Meanwhile, as the notoriously difficult to pilot craft traveled along the surface of the strangely still water, a near continuous deluge of spray assaulted us. Within seconds, my Dark Signal combat gear was soaked.

Moving in a line, the LCACs of the first wave raced towards the shoreline. The misery of the ride was suddenly interrupted as a new sound overtook the roar of the turbines. I smirked as I immediately recognized it as the theme song for Snake Fist. The heavy chords of the movie soundtrack filled the air as the song was played at maximum volume by the dozen LCACs that were charging towards shore. Only seven of them had troops to offload. The rest were carrying Elite Power Armor units. I knew that somewhere behind us were the specially built transports of the four vital King Kong power armor units.

Through our link, Alma asked, "Why couldn't we have played my song?"

I replied, "No offense sweetie, but that is not the song that most people would want to die to."

Before she could reply, suddenly, the fog broke and the shoreline loomed before us. We were still at least a mile out but I could already make out the craters dotting the black-sanded beach and the insidious metal obstacles that were visible both on shore and sticking out of the water. Acrid black smoke blanketed the defensive line of bunkers but I could still make out at least eight on the section of the beach that we were racing towards.

However, before I could study the approaching shoreline further, the defenders made their presence known. What looked like rivers of tracer fire erupted out of the slits near the top of the bunker houses. I was unfazed even as the sound of metal clanging as bullets struck the LCAC filled the air. The gunners on our landing craft returned fire with the two machine guns though it was largely a futile gesture due to our speed and the distance to the bunkers.

My com link activated as the image of the Replica LCAC pilot announced, "Sixty seconds!"

Suddenly, from somewhere that was obscured by the smoke, a bright flash appeared. I cried out, "Fucking artillery! Get down!" At nearly the same time, the sound of whistling ripped through the air just before a huge column of water erupted just off our stern. I estimated the size of the piece to be somewhere in the range of 155mm. It was likely a self-propelled gun that was somewhere close behind the trench network.

The first flash was soon joined by others as we continued forward through the driving rain of machine gun and artillery fire. Another near miss ejected a tower of water off our stern. I saw several near misses straddle the LCAC closest to our left. The sick sound of rounds striking a soft surface drew my attention to the machine gun mount to my right. The body of the Replica soldier that had been manning the mount was torn apart and his blood was liberally coating both the mount and the gun.

I went to man the machine gun but I was thrown off my feet as an explosion rocked our landing craft. I must have blacked out because when I opened my eyes, Alma was kneeling over me with a concerned expression. The air was thick with smoke and there was a noticeable tilt in the deck. I was still disoriented so I only heard muffled sounds when Alma tried to tell me something. When I did not reply, she said through our link, "The pilot is dead. I am guiding us in."

My HUD's display flashed as it powered back on. It warned me, "Error…damage to auxiliary circuits detected. Power diverted to core functions. Exercise caution." I started to get to my feet and I felt two pairs of hands assist me. When I got to my feet, I turned to see that it was Alpha 1 and Morales that had helped me. I nodded at them as I retrieved my assault rifle from my back. They returned the gesture and I looked forward.

The entire right side of the LCAC was a smoldering mass of twisted metal. Foxtrot 813, Keira, and several of the Replica soldiers were fighting the fires that had been ignited with the on board red fire extinguishers. We had gotten lucky that the shell had struck us on our right side. If it had hit us in the center, we would have all been killed. The damaged landing craft may have been brain dead and ablaze, but, with Alma acting as a guide, the rugged craft's powerful engines were still propelling the hovercraft towards the rapidly approaching beach at full speed.

Over the Snake Fist theme that was still playing, I heard what sounded like a clap of thunder and looked over to my left to see that Bravo 2 had fired his .50 caliber Barrett at the machine gun operators inside the bunker that was directly in front of us. Amazingly, his round had hit home and the machine gun briefly fell silent. The rumble of a jet engine drew my attention to our left. There, I saw an enemy F-22 Raptor charging down through the overhead fog towards us.

Before our warships could target the Raptor, the pilot had strafed our line of landing craft with missiles and cannon fire. The rounds directed at us hit home and killed three of the Replica soldiers. As the jet screamed over us, it began to make its way back up into the fog. However, from the same direction that the Raptor had appeared, a Replica A-10 Warthog roared down out of the fog like an avenging angel and peppered the killer with its 30mm GAU-8 Gatling cannon. The depleted uranium shells shredded the Raptor and it plunged towards the surface of the water in a massive fireball.

By then, we were close to the shore. I was finally able to make out the barbwire fence running along the top the mound halfway up the beach. As we neared the shore, the LCAC to our right was hit by three artillery shells and exploded, presumably killing all 180 Replica soldiers on board. The fiery carcass of the shattered hovercraft drifted forward for a moment before it slipped beneath the surface of the charcoal black water. Foxtrot 813, Keira, and the Replica soldiers, having extinguished the fires, returned to standing behind us with their weapons at the ready. Once we hit the shore, we had seconds to reach what little cover the mound would provide before the machine guns cuts us apart like airborne saws.

Ten more seconds and we would hit the beach. I braced myself for the coming sprint through machine gun fire. Suddenly, I found myself flying backwards high above the LCAC before slamming into the surface of the pitch black water. The harsh impact with the ice cold water and the suddenness of the situation briefly paralyzed me.

I found myself floating down from the surface when my mind finally caught back up with my predicament. Despite the mortal danger that I was in as machine gun rounds zoomed around me with faint trails caused by the water, I felt strangely relaxed. I felt as though I was in a purgatory between the land of the living and the land of the dead. I looked up towards the surface directly above me and saw the burning hull of the LCAC that I had been riding on moments prior.

The bodies of dozens of Replica soldiers surrounded me as they too had been blown clear from the landing craft though whether it had been due to the explosion or to Alma saving us, I did not know. It did not matter it had been providence in the form of my wife or by dumb luck that we were still in the land of the living. We still had a job to do.

Rallying my body, I began to swim towards the surface through the hail of enemy machine gun fire. As I ascended, I called out through our link, "Come on Spartans! You aren't going to let a little swim stand between you and greatness are you?" A rumble echoed through the murky blackness as they roared in response. Admittedly, one hundred pounds worth of waterlogged combat gear is rather difficult to swim in but I managed to reach the surface.

Exhaling loudly, I burst through the divide between the two worlds. The hot, fog and smoke-laden air burned my lungs as I gasped for air. Looking around, I saw the burning LCAC off to my right and the shoreline beyond it. I was approximately 100 yards from the beach. Along the beach, I saw that the surviving LCACs were beginning to offload their troops. Unwilling to let another soldier take point straight into the meat grinder on what was largely my own plan of attack, I forced my sore body onward and began to power my way towards the shore. The rough texture of my waterlogged gear cut and scraped against my skin but I pushed the discomfort aside and focused on the task at hand.

As I made my way towards my destination, my HUD glasses powered back on, but this time, I received the warning messages, "Warning! Da%age cri…critical. Salt #ater da%age detected on %otherboard. Power rerouted to backup. Primary functions at 50% capacity. Seek authorized repair as soon as possible."

I smirked despite the situation. I was going to invade the domain of the second most feared being in the universe without a primary weapon and with barely functioning HUD glasses. Amateurs need not apply.

"Oh that looks cold." I looked to my left to see my wife in her child form standing on top of the water. I glared at her before I continued swimming towards shore. Walking next to me, she giggled for a moment before she offered, "I could just transport you to shore."

I replied through our link, "Life is a journey, not a destination." Reaching up, I added, "Also, what are you, a cat?" Grabbing hold of her right leg, I dragged her beneath the surface of the water. Her head popped up seconds later and she spit a fountain of water out of her mouth.

After shaking her head to get some of the water out of her raven hair, she remarked, "It isn't that bad, Mr. Grumpy."

Dog-paddling towards shore, I remarked, "You don't have skin!"

Swimming beside me with backstrokes, my wife replied, "That doesn't mean that I don't have feelings, jerk." A huge column of water erupted a few yards in front of me as an artillery shell fell short of killing me. All around me, the surface was marked by the miniature explosions of machine gun rounds hitting it. Undeterred, I continued forward. First, I had swam ten yards. Then, I had swam fifty yards.

On shore, I saw that our advance had stalled under the withering fire of the machine guns. There were groups of Replica that were pinned down behind beach obstacles and inside craters. The EPAs must not have made it to shore because I failed to see evidence of their fire support. Without the EPAs, we would have to resort to more traditional means of advancing.

A destroyed LCAC was onshore to my left. Behind it, I saw the majority of my team and War Dog 1. No less than three machine guns were concentrating their fire on them, preventing them from assisting the pinned down Replica. Ice-cold panic hit me as I failed to see any sign of my brother. "Progress is less than satisfactory, my brother."

I nearly let out a cry of relief when I saw Alpha 1 swimming next to me. His pace was slightly slower than my own due to his armor. Alma commented, "I see neither one of have your weapons."

Alpha 1 replied, "Negative, we still have our sidearms."

I added, "Besides, there will be plenty of them lying on the ground."

Appearing to the left of Alma, Foxtrot 813 finished, "If not, we can always ask for a supply drop from Ishimura."

As we closed in on the shore, Alma commented, "I suppose that it would have been rude of us to not have let them have their fun."

I felt my boots hit the bottom and stood up. Wading ashore, I replied, "And now they've had it."

As three rounds bounced off his chest plate, Alpha 1 said, "Affirmative. Amateur hour has expired."

Foxtrot 813 added, "Now, it is time for our fun."

Alma giggled darkly as a black aura began to surround her. Her body dried instantly and the water around and in front of her parted like it did for Moses in the Bible. As we sprinted the last few yards, she remarked with a darkened tone, "Time to play."

Exiting the water, we began to rush forward through the artillery and machine gun fire.