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CHAPTER THREE – INSURGENCY
PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER: "You can't kill your way to success in a counter insurgency effort. You have to protect the people, get the civil military balance right, train the locals, and practice effective strategic communications." James G Stavridis – American author and retired US Navy Admiral – 1955-Present
Last Updated: 09-17-2021
SAINT ALEXANDER NEVESKY MONASTERY, TSENTRALNY DISTRICT, St. PETERSBRUG, RUSSIA – FEBRUARY 2nd, 2011 – TWILIGHT
Erik Killmonger groaned as he grudgingly regained consciousness. The fact his entire body hurt helped keep him focused enough not to fall back into darkness. He tried to sit up but quickly found this to be a mistake as he banged his head on something. Only his training kept him from yelling out in pain and potentially giving his position away. He spat out the blood in his mouth and tried to get his bearings. It took him a bit to clear his thoughts and remember enough to figure out where he was.
It wasn't till he remembered jumping through the open door of a delivery van as an explosion erupted behind him that Erik realized he was still in that van. Now, however, that van was on its roof and mostly crushed down. There was less than a half a meter of head space. Still, Erik realized that the side door that he'd jumped through was still open. Careful of the broken glass, he was able to wriggle out.
What he found around him caused his memories to come roaring back.
The neighborhood was in ruins and a few blocks away Erik could see the monastery burning brightly in the dying light as the was sun setting. Erik cursed. They had hoped to draw the Asgardians away from the monks when they had been discovered or betrayed. It looked like that plan had failed as much as their mission had.
Erik made his way carefully around the debris of the battle. Civilians lay dead all around him. Many of the apartments were burning as well. If anyone was alive, they were in hiding. Even so, Erik clutched his combat knife in the at-the-ready position. It wasn't paranoia when they were out to get you.
After rounding a flipped over police car, Erik stopped and even his training and experiences as Killmonger couldn't stop the slight gasp of horror at the sight in front of him. The others of his team were dead. Worse, their bodies looked like they'd been hacked up by a butcher. In the center of such butchery, another supply van was stood up on its back doors. Spiked to the roof was the Red Guardian. Or it was more correct to say the various severed body parts were spiked to the roof. Still, Erik was cheered to see the former Soviet hero's face was still twisted in an expression of defiance.
For a long time, Erik just stared at the bodies. It finally clicked what was truly bothering him. At twenty-four, he'd already seen his fair share of atrocities. Yet what Killmonger finally realized what he was seeing in front of him.
Disrespect to the dead as well as his fellow agents as well as a statement that his comrades had not been viewed as worthy warriors.
Erik rubbed some blood out of his left eye from a wound on his forehead. Erik realized he needed to focus. For the next ten minutes, Killmonger tended to himself and took stock of what he had. After scouring the battlefield, he came away with one working pistol, a few grenades and some thermite. The police car he'd seen earlier yielded a PP-19 submachine gun from its trunk.
As he turned back to the task at hand, Erik noted one body had been missing from the slaughter. Erik hoped Crossbones had escaped. One of his last memories was of the Red Guardian, who seemed to know his fate was sealed, had called to the enhanced agent and threw him his shield. Erik had had his own problems so he didn't know if Crossbones had gotten away or not. Or if anyone else as there were two of the team missing from the slaughter. Of course, like Erik had, they might have made it farther from the slaughter before being killed.
Erik would hopefully find out soon enough. He still had a working communicator to call for extraction. Survivor's guilt was already starting to ping around in his head, saying he didn't deserved to be saved.
What had gone so wrong? It should have been an easy op. Meet with a former KGB agent who had intelligence along with the complete plans to the Crimson Dynamo program. It might have been a failure so far, but Director Fury wasn't one to pass up any potential weapons. The Russian suits were much smaller than the Iron-Monger suits which had been fielded since the beginning of the year. Erik felt sure that Fury had thought it stupid to reinvent the wheel, even if that wheel didn't work right. With the tech the rebels had, the tech boys had felt they could correct any errors and another type of armor could be fielded in areas which lacked access to SHIELD's level of tech.
Killmonger had trained quite a few insurgents so he knew how important it was to get the weapons which could make a difference into the hands of the various groups around the world who were resisting Asgardian rule.
If today was anything to go by, the Asgardians were getting pissed off at this resistance.
Erik now remembered the leader of the soldiers who had jumped them was an Errol Flynn looking mother-fucker. Right down to the goatee and "I'm better than thou" smile. Worse was the name he gave when calling for their surrender. Fandral the Dashing. It made Erik sick to see him strutting around like it was a foregone conclusion that they would just meekly surrender to him.
Seeing how badly his fellows had been mutilated after death, it was obvious that Dashing Fandral didn't like having his fun ruined.
Of course Erik and others had already seen how the Asgardians seemed to get their panties in a bunch if they weren't met in close combat. Well that was for suckers and he wasn't about to fight fair when fighting for his life. He still could remember what his drill sergeant had told his 18-year old self along with all the other trainees. "Remember you aren't paid to be a hero. In a choice between being a live hyena and a dead lion, a live hyena lives to fight another day. There is no shame in getting your ass out of the AO when things go badly. Your job is to fight for your country and you can't do that when you're dead!" Erik knew how that arrogant Fandral would feel about that!
Thinking about the Asgardians brought back what they had done. The Asgardians were all about fighting, honor and in the end, proving themselves worthy in death to get into Valhalla. Hacking up an opponent was clearly a gross show of disrespect to the dead. Worse was just leaving the bodies to the birds, dogs and the elements.
Erik's face hardened. No, before he got extracted, his fellows would get their proper send off. His father, before he died, told him the beliefs of his people. Erik knew there was more after death. In fact, he rather hoped that Fandral's warriors disrespect wasn't held by the Valkyries. It pleased him to think his fallen comrades had made it into Valhalla so they could spend eternity, drinking, wenching and kicking Asgardian ass for what was done to them!
It took over an hour for him to complete his task while it had gotten dark and cold. Russia in February wasn't for the timid. However the burning buildings gave light and heat. Erik was surprised that even hours after the end of the fight, no one was venturing into the area to put out the fires. He figured the locals had seen how pissed off the Asgardians had been and decided to just let the area burn rather than provoke their ire further.
Erik was glad of it. He didn't need any civilian gawkers or police trying to stop him. He had gathered up all that was left of his team. Worked to match the body parts back together as best he could. He put them on a make-shift byre. There was plenty of wood for it with all the debris and damage around the square. Finally, he had put the various pieces of the Red Guardian's body on the very top of the byre.
When it was ready, Erik got out the bottle of vodka he had found in a bag of groceries in a car while looking for wood. The driver was dead so he didn't feel bad about liberating it. Erik pour out a liberal dose into his canteen cup. He then lit the byre. The thermite he had available ensured the fire caught quickly and burned hot.
As it burned, Erik called out the full names of each of his team-mates. Toasting them and drinking to their memory. When he was done, he smashed the bottle into the byre and vowed upon the name of his dead father, Prince N'Jobu of the Royal House of Wakanda that he would avenge their deaths.
Before the vodka hit him, he had called in a request for extraction. Erik had been surprised how quick the pick-up would be. Normally movement was overly cautious to fool the Asgardians who seemed to sometimes show an amazing ability to know just when to attack. Erik scowled; his team might have fallen to that. Or at least he hope so. The idea that human Quislings would work with the Asgardians made his stomach turn.
After another hour of watching the byre burn, Erik moved off to the park he'd been directed to. He waited in the tree-line and watched the clearing, which seemed to glow from the moonlight on the snow. It was the snow being disturbed which alerted him that something was amiss. Before he could do more than squint at what he was seeing, a vehicle of some kind suddenly became visible. With no visible engine Erik could see from his angle, the vehicle hovered, extruded some landing gear and came to rest on the snow-covered ground. As a ramp was lowered, Erik suddenly realized what he was seeing. The markings on the side confirmed it. It was a Wakandan Talon fighter! From what his father had told of their capabilities, getting to St. Petersburg undetected was easily within their capabilities. Erik was sure the design had been improved since his father's time.
A woman came down the ramp to meet him as he moved towards the fighter. His father's tales and books meant he recognized that the gear the woman wore meant she was one of the Dora Malaje. Elite guards who served the royal family. Erik had to smile to himself how the woman was fulfilling her duty to the royal house even if she was not aware of it.
The woman gave him a once-over look, a bit of disdain in her expression, "Come. We must be away."
Erik didn't reply but just let himself be led to the cockpit. There, two other woman were already getting the fighter airborne and into flight mode. Erik sat in the only seat not being used. As the Talon fighter accelerated away, Erik looked out to see the buildings and monastery still burning in the dark. Like so many times during an extraction, Erik wondered if the next mission might be his last. It was one thing to do the CIA's dirty work around the globe. Work which ended with scars on his body to denote special kills. The price Erik would pay to get closer to returning to Wakanda and seek answers and perhaps justice for his father. Now? Now the chances he'd end up like his former team-mates was great.
His hand slipped under his shirt and Erik ran a finger over some of those scars. He had a war to help win. Yet now Fate was seemingly dropping a chance worth taking right in his lap. For his father, he had to take it up.
"Where are we going," Erik asked quietly.
Without turning, one of the women said, "We shall drop you off at the base in Mumbai. The Asgardians have taken up a base in Delhi. Assets are needed in the area to observe them."
Normally Erik would be fine with that. India had been mostly spared. Indeed, many covertly had rejoiced that Loki had wiped out their long-time foes in Pakistan. So far the Hindu's were content to see how things played out under Loki's rule. Still, it wasn't where he needed to go.
He stood, "No. We need to go to Wakanda. I need to see the king. I'm not going to face the foe again without the vibranium weapons which are due me."
The woman who had led him onto the fighter turned her chair to face him, "What did you say?"
The other women had turned as well. Erik smiled, "I thought I was being clear. You need to take me to Wakanda. You are Dora Milaje, are you not? Do you not serve the royal house? Then do as I ask."
The warrior woman stood, menace radiating off her, "I do not know how you know of things you should not know. I do know that only your service against the Asgardians keeps me from breaking you for your disrespect. Whatever you think you know, you are wrong."
Erik laughed, "Is that so? Well let me show you how I know exactly what I think I know." He pulled his bottom lip down to show the blue glow of vibranium.
This only brought a distasteful sneer to the woman's face, "All that shows is you are most likely an errant Dog-Soldier. You do not demand to see the king to seek his mercy. It is for others to decide if you merit an audience with the King."
Erik merely smirked as he took off his right glove. He then fished out the chain and took the ring off of it before slipping it on his finger. Making a fist, he turned his hand to the woman so she could get a good look at it."
"I am not wanting an audience with the king. No, I will see my uncle and demand answers. Answers of how my father, Prince N'Jobu and brother of King T'Chaka died when I was a boy. Answers to why that boy, N'Jadaka, blood of the Royal House of Wakanda, was left orphaned and alone. Why he was denied his royal Wakandan birthright!"
Erik's voice rose as the old anger began to burn through him, "So given I am of royal blood, you will do your duty and take me to Wakanda!"
The woman was so surprised she took a step back and almost collapsed back into the chair. The other Dora Milaje were almost open-mouthed in surprise.
Erik snapped, "Your name?"
The command in his voice seemed to compell the woman to respond, "I am Yama, of the Second Fist."
Erik gave a slight nod and said in a calmer voice even as he kept up his clenched fist so the women could see the ring, "Well Yama of the Second Fist, I will leave you to your duty of getting me to Wakanda. Yes?"
Yama blinked and didn't reply.
Erik almost laughed. He'd seen that look before. It was the look of someone who realizes they have an issue way above their pay grade. Thus it was almost inevitable what would happen next.
"Yes, it shall be as you say," Yama finally said in a voice filled with confusion.
"Excellent! I'm going to rack out in the aft area. Wake me twenty minutes before we land," Erik said with a smirk. As expected, Yama was going along with his orders because she was bucking what to do up the chain of command. Which suited Erik just fine.
As he made his way to the back of the fighter, Erik realized that he needed to get out of the habit of thinking himself as Erik Killmonger.
It was time for him to reclaim his name and title of Prince N'Jadaka. No longer would he be content to follow others into battle. No, he would lead Wakandan warriors and show them all that he was a true son of Wakanda. And in doing so, he would fulfill his oath to avenge his comrades disrespectful deaths at the hand of Fandral the Dashing.
XxXxX
LAL QILA (RED FORT), OLD DELHI, INDIA, FEBRUARY 27th, 2011 – EVENING
Lady Sif frowned at the paperwork which surrounded her desk. Even in the field, paperwork and reports followed her. Still, battles rarely happened on their own. And when they did, it generally went poorly. Without information, they were essentially just floundering around. While the Midgardians had submitted quickly, problems remained. Even after what the mortals had dubbed Fimbulwinter Friday, there was still over six billion of them!
Sif looked out the window of the ancient fortress she had taken for her headquarters. It felt more like home than any of the so called modern buildings of New Delhi. She knew many Midgardians actually looked down on them for seemingly being backward in technology.
If they only knew!
In the long lives her people lived, the rapid change seen amongst the mortals would not work. The ancient ancestors of her people had lived like that before those seeking a simpler life. A life more suited to the long lives they had evolved into. This had led to what would become the future Æsir leaving their ancestral home and following Lord Buri and his son Bör to the stars. In time, Lord Buri and his followers had established both the Asgardian realm and royal line Sif now served.
Many of those in the Nine Realms had settled there for the same reason. What looked like peoples rooted in a certain time and style of technology was only the life they had chosen to live. Yet under that was still ancient and powerful magicks and advanced technologies. In truth, it was hard to tell the former from the latter at times.
Sif grimaced to herself. She knew that the host had not been able to gather up the vast majority of weapons that had littered Midgard. While most such weapons were no match to even a young Æsir who had not yet grown into his beard, Sif knew there were other weapons far more dangerous. Weapons which, so far, had not been used. Sif felt this was forbearance on the part of the rebels not to provoke bringing the full might of Asgard down upon them. For in truth, for all of the glory and grandeur of the army Loki had brought, it was just a small part of the power the Æsir commanded. To say nothing of the powerful treasures which lay in Odin's vault.
Lady Sif looked up at her main map. If such a thing could have an expression, it would be of a frown. Even with the hit-or-miss scrying they could use, there was just so much to sift through. Just outside the walls surrounding her were over 16 million mortals! And this was but just one such mega-city in this nation-state alone.
These numbers worried Sif. By sheer numbers alone, the host might be overwhelmed even at the cost of millions of lives. Yet Midgard had such millions to spare! This danger made Sif worried the Prince might listen to other generals in the host that more of the mortals should be culled to make Midgard more manageable.
Sif shuddered at that. Loki had already wiped out entire peoples and destroyed much so precious to the Midgardians. If some of the generals had their way, more would be crushed under the ice. However, if the only threat over you is death, then why not rise up for one has nothing to lose? With so many mortals and weapons she knew they kept hidden, couldn't Prince Loki and others see that force of arms would not win this day?
No! Midgard was a mess and so many of the mortals lived in squalor. Something she could see much of just by looking out the window. There was so much opportunity to earn the mortal's allegiance. Yet so many of her fellows could only think of their honor and wish to blood their blades to further their reputation. They saw this campaign mostly as a way to create legends for themselves. As was far to typical, such warriors only thought of a potential future in Valhalla instead of focusing on the needs of the Realm Eternal at the moment.
Sif banished such dark thoughts to concentrate on the report before her. When finished, she called for her aide to bring the Princess to her. While by royal blood she was above Sif. In practice, Sif was all but the second-in-command after Prince Loki himself. That and she had stood as a surrogate mother to Þrúðr. Thus, the Princess was loath to even think of pulling rank.
After some minutes, Princess Þrúðr strode in with an air of purpose and gave her a salute. "Lady Sif, you have called. What need do you have of me?" Other's might think her words arrogant and dismissive, but Sif heard the respect and the terseness was because the princess knew that Sif did not like to waste time by bandying words.
Sif was silent for a moment, looking up at the woman she had all but raised herself after Thor had killed Þrúðr's mother in a drunken rage. Taller than both her father and Loki by a few inches, her hair as raven-black as Sif's own dwarven-spun hair. Her eyes were icy blue, so different from the warm sky-blue color of Thor's eyes. With great strength being the birthright of all Æsir, few other than the likes of Thor and Skurge showed a more robust show of muscles. Þrúðr's Jotun heritage along with being Thor's daughter showed in how bulging muscled rippled under the chainmail she wore. In fact, Sif was hard-pressed to remember the last time she'd seen the Princess in anything but armor. In this, she was more like Sif than her father.
"I have a potential target for you and your men, Princess," Sif finally said as she laid the report she still had in her hand down on her table. "We have gotten hints of one of the Midgardian warriors in their flying suits is bound for the island city of Madripoor. What they are there to do is not important. What is important is you go and destroy them before they do it."
Hearing the harshness in Sif's tone, Þrúðr gave her a questioning look, "My Lady?"
Sif sighed and bowed her head and rubbed her forehead. Þrúðr was one of a select few Sif would let see her worry. Finally she looked up, "I am worried, Þrúðr. Worried that the mortals can swamp us. Worried that the Prince will use the Cask again to create another unimaginable slaughter of innocents. I'm worried our generals seek battle instead of ways to show the average Midgardian how much we can do to uplift them."
"I too have had such worries, my Lady," Þrúðr said softly.
Sif's face turned grim, "The best path to finesse these dangers is to not hesitate when fighting the rebels, especially their champions. Defeat these heroes and we might cow the rest long enough for the tide of opinion to turn against rebellion and to acceptance of our Lord Loki's rule. That will never happen if our troops continue as they have or if the Cask of Ancient Winters is opened again.
Þrúðr nodded at this.
Sif gave the princess a searching look. Raising Thor's first-born as she had meant Þrúðr was almost as much her daughter as Magni and Móði were her sons. So Sif had a sense of the woman she'd once dandled on her knee. Behind the stiff discipline was trouble.
She sighed. It was time for truths, "Princess, I know where your mind wanders. I've seen it in your eyes. The hitch of your breath when we replay certain battles via the scrying pool. And I understand why it could be so. For the Captain is a fierce warrior, an honorable man, and truly a feast for the eyes."
"My Lady?" Þrúðr almost squeaked.
Sif laughed, "I have lived a long life, daughter of my heart. I have seen plenty of maidens who are pining for a man. Many of them longing for what they cannot have." Sif's voice hardened as did the glint in her eyes as she locked eyes with Þrúðr. "And it cannot be. This Captain America may be the most pivotal of the champions arrayed against us. His death would shake the rebels to their core and go farther to ending this struggle so peace may reign. I need to know your maiden's heart will not stay your warrior's hand."
For a brief moment, Sif saw rebellion in the princess' eyes before the woman straightened, "Lady Sif, I will always hold to my oaths. That and he has taken what was my father's. My family's honor is at stake." Þrúðr said in a tone Sif knew to be anger at having her honor and duty so questioned.
Sif didn't have the luxury of a gentle talk among women to combat such potential heartbreak. In the same cool tone she brought up something which had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since the Battle of New York. "I do not doubt your honor or your commitment. However, you may not have thought of it but you owe the Captain a debt of honor for him sparing your life when he held it in his hands. You must clear this debt before you can truly be free to do your duty if it should come about that you cross weapons again."
Þrúðr was silent, a whiff of defiance still in her eyes. Yet it was obvious that Sif's words had her thoughts turning.
Sif made a dismissive gesture, "Go. Assemble your warband so you can make haste to Madripoor. There, make it the grave for our enemies. I will have everything you will need to know before you depart. Yet you must make right with the Captain. You must clear that debt before you are free to do your duty to the All-Father and your father's memory."
Þrúðr saluted stiffly, "It shall be as you say, my Lady." She turned and stalked out.
Sif sighed and felt a melancholy fill her. A tear almost made it down her cheek before she angrily wiped it away. How cruel life could be to dangle such a hero to capture a maiden's heart when it was her duty to kill the same hero?
Truly, the Norns could be cruel. To lose her father and then be forced to kill the man who had caught her maiden's imagination. Something Sif had despaired ever happening to the Princess.
With another sigh, Sif turned back to the cursed pile of papers and continued to do her own duty.
XxXxX
ORCHARDS COMBAT TRAINING CENTER (GOWAN FIELD), IDAHO, UNITED STATES – MARCH 23rd, 2011 – MORNING
SFC Lemar Hoskins looked at the clock in his HUD and decided it was close enough to call in. "Suit, comms, Falcon." There was a small tone and an icon flared on the HUD.
In moments, the line picked up, "Falcon, this is Battlestar. Are you in position, over?"
"Battlestar, this is Falcon. Give us five mikes and we'll be all set, over," came the reply.
Lemar smiled, "Falcon, this is Battlestar. Ping me when ready, out." He cut the connection and checked once more on the icons of the various units involved in the mission. The MRLS battery had already reported in they were fully camouflaged and ready to fire on command and had gone dark until needed. Everyone else was where they needed to be for overwatch of the kill zone they had prepared so carefully.
Veterans knew that no plan survives contact with the enemy. At first the rebels had adopted tried-and-true insurgency tactics. Tactics Lemar had had used against him in Afghanistan and Iraq. Like any occupying force, the Asgardians had limited forces so at first the 'shoot-and-scoot' tactic was used to begin whittling away the enemy a little at a time . This would give Director Fury and the others the time to grow their forces and capabilities.
Lemar frowned at how the Asgardians had responded to that. Their honor was touchy and they seemed to have no trouble slaughtering those they felt unworthy. It had become horrifyingly apparent that an Asgardian force taking sniper fire showed no hesitation in killing everyone in the area to get to their foe. It was painfully obvious the Geneva Convention was not in force in this war.
Lemar had learned in ANOC about how the British came up with some brutal ways to pacify people during the Boer War in South Africa. Even those tactics were mild compared to what the Asgardians had already done. Often their actions would have made Vlad the Impaler impressed. Lemar and quite a few others had lost their lunch during a briefing which showed footage of endless rows of normal people staked along a highway. A grim reminder of the price of rebellion. It was obvious that the rebels had to change tactics or in trying to save civilians from the Asgardians would just bring about even more civilian casualties.
Today's mission was an experiment. The plan was to be seen moving equipment to the training area where the nearest city was 35 miles away. Hopefully that was far enough away to keep it from being hit with reprisals. When the Asgardians showed up, Falcon's people would retreat and lead the Asgardians into the kill-zone. Much of the plant hinged on the fact that whatever the Asgardians used to ward of long-ranged attacks had, for the most part, been kept to around their bases.
But it wasn't just trying to bump off as many Asgardians as they could. Today they hoped to take out one of the major Asgardian champions to hurt the enemies morale. Captain America himself had pointed out how the Asgardians didn't have an egalitarian officer corps. Their leaders were like the old time warband leaders. Their warriors followed them due to their proven worth in battle.
While prisoners they'd captured talked a lot about their oaths to King Odin, Cap had pointed out that the All-Father was a long way off in Asgard. So for the common soldier, these individual heroes were important lynch-pins in maintaining discipline and keeping morale up.
Everyone who fought against them had noticed that Asgardians were prone to wanting to break ranks to engage in single combat to increase their own personal share of honor. It was those heroes who kept this to a minimum. So taking them out not only deny the enemy experienced warriors but would hopefully bring home that if their champions weren't safe, they could not win.
It was up to his Buffalo Soldiers to hammer that message home!
It had been mere coincidence that the other five members chosen for his team were black. Three from the US, while the other two were from Bermuda and the Dominican Republic. It had been Staff Sergeant Bryant who grew up in Phoenix who had initially dubbed them the Buffalo Soldiers after the famous, all black 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiment who had once fought in the area. Given they so far had operated throughout the southwest part of the US and northern Mexico, the name was surprisingly apt.
Of course, they didn't ride into battle on horses. Instead, they flew in with their Iron-Monger suits.
Lemar frowned at the name which had unfortunately stuck. He was an old sci-fi buff and he would have called them Heinleins after the powered armor suits of the Mobile Infantry in Heinlein's Starship Troopers novel. As usual, no one cared much for the opinion of a senior NCO.
Regardless of the name, Lemar was glad they had the top-of-the-line models. He'd seen the specs for the suits built in other places around the world. Pictures of them reminded Lemar of the early days of Afghanistan and Iraq. When troops added make-shift 'hillbilly' armor to their vehicles before the more resilient, counter-insurgency vehicles had finally been fielded.
A ping alerted Lemar that Falcon and the 'bait' team were ready. Lemar had a good feeling about this mission. Mostly because there wasn't an officer in sight. Nope, it was an all sergeant run op. Even Sam was a good troop all that he was a wing-nut. Still, Lemar couldn't fault the former USAF sergeant given he'd been in Search and Rescue. The SAR guys had save his butt once in Afghanistan.
The thought of that cluster-fuck made Lemar wonder about the young lieutenant he'd been trying to keep from getting them all killed. To Lemar's surprise, when things went south, the LT had jumped up and been a mini-Captain America and got them out to the extraction zone with minimal casualties instead of being killed to a man.
He wondered were that LT was now. Lemar and the rest of the platoon had given 1LT John Walker quite a bit of crap due to his name being the same as a famous whiskey. Young Johnny winning himself the Medal of Honor quickly shut down those jokes. Had he been picked by SHIELD to be sent off to become one of the Super-Soldiers? While none were in Captain America's league, Lemar had seen one of them, Agent Sharon "Spitfire" Carter, in action. She was impressive enough and Lemar felt that someone like Walker would be even better.
Lemar checked the time for the fifth time in the last minute. Walker might not have made it in the program. Quite a few really exceptional soldiers had been denied because they were too good at being frontline leaders. Lemar felt that if that was the case, Walker probably might score one or two more Medals of Honor before he got himself killed gloriously or this damn war ended.
His comm link activated, "Battlestar, this is Falcon. The Bifrost has activated, break. Have Asgardians in a company minus strength, break. No heavy weapons but I have eyes-on primary mission target, break. Estimate we can start the show in fife to ten mikes, over."
Lemar activated the signal to the rest of the team to stand ready. "Falcon, this is Battlestar. SITREP received. Waiting for your signal, out."
He quickly went through the pre-combat checklist again. Now was not the time to have forgotten to charge up a weapon! His suit was ready and so was he. The last few months had been rough. While there had been successes against the Asgardians, the cost continued to pile up.
They had already lost the Red Guardian with only Rumlow and another agent making it out of St. Petersburg. Although he'd heard a rumor that Killmonger had survived but had gone to ground somewhere. Then there was Whiplash. With Vanko being too important to have go on ops, a contemporary of his, one Alexander Nevsky, had taken up the armor Vanko originally had built to defeat Tony Stark. Even upgraded further, Nevsky was barely alive when they finally were able to pry him out of the suit. Whoever this Hogun the Grim might be, Lemar knew he was dangerous as hell to have gone toe-to-toe with Whiplash with nothing but light armor and a mace.
Lemar grunted at that. It still freaked him out how most Asgardians shrugged off bullets. Even .50cal rounds just pissed them off. Colonel Rhodes, the new Iron Man, had told him of fighting a battle where an obese Asgardian who pretty much only had a silly helmet and an axe had waded into soldiers like it was a game to him. His buffoonish behavior had been comical at first but the Colonel soon had realized the guy was almost doing a Norse version of drunken boxing. A very deadly version of such where he had used his great girth as a weapon.. They had lost a lot of good men before Iron Man called for a retreat.
Then there was what happened to Kevin O'Brien and his team in Madripoor. Phone videos taken of the fight had that amazon-like princess cleave the War Machine armor in two with one blow of her axe. The less one thought about that image, the better. None had survived that mission.
That wasn't going to happen here. Lemar wasn't going to let his mission go south.
Another tone sounded and a video feed from Falcon's Red Wing drone showed Falcon moving his people out as if in a panicked rout. And as predicted, the Asgardians gave chase. Already the group seemed less of a military unit and just a mob of armed men.
However, what gave Lemar pause was a small group which surrounded what was obviously their target. They hadn't known who they might get. Giving a low whistle, Lemar realized they had gotten one of the big fish. Looking like the product of a night between one of Genghis Khan's warriors and a Norse shieldmaiden, was Hogun the Grim. One of the fabled Warriors Three. The man and his guards walked as if they had not a care in the world. Given what the dour warrior had done to Whiplash, Lemar knew it wasn't swaggering over-confidence but the seeming indifference showed the hero felt there was little danger to him.
Lemar grinned like a wolf. He'd teach the Asgardian how wrong he was.
The minutes ticked by as both groups neared the kill zone. Falcon was doing an excellent job of at once keeping the enemy off-balance but not so much that they stopped their careless rush after their prey.
Once again Lemar wondered why there weren't more of the Falcon's Exo-7 suits being used. He would have love to have some air cover of a squadron of them overhead. To this day, he still hadn't heard a good explanation of why Sam had the only one. Still, the answer was probably over his pay-grade anyway.
Finally enough of the Asgardians entered the kill-box. Lemar hit the go signal and he and the five other Iron-Monger suits roared out of their hiding places. In a flash they had covered the distance and where among the Asgardians, bullets, mini-missiles and repulsor beams flying from them.
The Asgardians, caught out of position, still reacted quickly to the new danger. However, as planned, they focused on the Iron-Mongers instead of the retreating soldiers. The Psy-Ops spooks had predicted that the lure of taking down an Iron-Monger would be enough to get the Asgardians to ignore 'mere humans' in favor of a chance at some serious glory.
Even with specialized bullets and other weapons, Battlestar found that these Asgardians seemed to be too stubborn to die. Even being wounded seemed to just push them to fight harder.
In short order, Lemar found himself facing Hogun the Grim. He wasn't going to believe his suit, no matter how amazing, ensured victory against a hero such as Hogun. Already the hero had damaged two of his men badly enough that he had them withdraw. Lemar had those two retreat and take over shepherding the ground forces away, bringing the Falcon back into the fight.
Unlike so many other Asgardians Lemar had fought, Hogun was silent. No boasting, no taunting or cursing. Just a face set like stone, coming on like an unstoppable force. Still, he hadn't earned his code-name of Battlestar for nothing. That and his armor was customized more for direct hand-to-hand combat.
So it fell to him to trade blows with the mace-wielding hero. As Falcon and the remaining Buffalo Soldiers kept the other Asgardians busy, Battlestar fought to keep from ending up like Whiplash. As their fight went on, Lemar felt somewhat confident of his chances.
Surprisingly after landing a good blow against Hogun's head hard enough to knock his helmet off, the man's face cracked into a smile. Inside his armor, Lemar groaned. He'd been fighting for his life and it was obviously Hogun hadn't even been fighting at anywhere near his potential. Lemar's best had only gotten him to the point where Hogun felt the fight to finally be enjoyable!
Battlestar took the opportunity to jump back and assess the state of the battle while Hogun seemingly without a care picked up and put his helmet back on.
Yet before he could figure out his next move, his comm pinged, "Battlestar! This is Ogre. We are clear! Repeat! We are clear!"
"Thank you, Jesus!" Lemar said as he toggled the retreat call and kicked his jets to hover outside Hogun's reach. Cries of anger went up as Falcon and the remaining Buffalo soldiers flew out of the kill-zone. "Suit, comms, battery," Lemar ordered. As the line connected, "This is Battlestar, do you copy, over?"
A cheerful voice answer, "You yell, we shell."
Lemar smirked at that, "Commence your attack!" and cut the line. He looked down to find Hogun simply up at him, unperturbed by the rebels actions.
In a dispassionate voice, "Running will do you no good. There is nowhere you can hide that we cannot find. You would do well to surrender to Prince Loki's justice and beg for his mercy."
As a swarm of icons began to edge towards them on his HUD map, he knew he had to delay them to keep them from using their Bifrost to escape. Lemar keyed his mic, "Sorry, my mother taught me not to beg. Besides, you and your men look a little parched. I guess this high desert region is a far cry from what you are used to."
Hogun's face showed no emotion, "It matters not how desolate the battlefield is; we succeed. Again, mortal, surrender yourself and your men."
Lemar glanced at the map; he was cutting it really fine, "No can do. However, like I said, you and your men look like you could use a drink. I'm sorry but all I can offer is steel rain."
With that taunt, Lemar hit his boosters and drove them past the red-line. He'd barely cleared the area when the twelve MGM-140 ATACMS rockets roared in before exploding. Each rocket contained 644 M77 grenades. Thus 23,184 of these munitions exploded down upon and covering 1 square kilometers worth of ground. Designed to take out tanks and other armored vehicles, Lemar was confident that the unearthly resilience of the Asgardians would do them little good.
Lemar keyed the general frequency, "All units, this is Battlestar. Begin extraction. Buffalo Soldiers, you are on me. Falcon, get me a go/no-go on the target."
His order was answered with all involved acknowledging the order. He and the other Buffalo Soldiers circled the kill-zone. There was still too much kicked up debris and dust to see if their mission was a success.
Finally, Falcon called in, "Battlestar, this is Falcon. Mission accomplished, over."
"Falcon, Battlestar, enemy status, over," Lemar asked wanting to be sure.
"Shredded," came the terse reply. By the tone of voice, it was obvious the scene Sam was seeing was not pretty.
"Then let's get the hell out of here," Lemar ordered.
In short order, they had flown to where an over-pass of one of the state-routes would feed into the Interstate a few miles away. The Buffalo Soldiers landed next to an 18-Wheeler whose trailer had a Fanta logo of all things on it. Each Iron-Monger filed in to have support personnel help them out and secure the armor. By the time Lemar and the rest were finished, Sam had his own armor off and in its specialized trunk which was being loaded on a bus which had pulled up.
Like their extraction truck, the bus was disguised to look normal. In this case as a band's tour bus. Lemar and a few chuckled at the name of the band. Whoever had been in charge of this part of the op was obviously a South Park fan as the band's name was The Lords of the Underworld. Sam nudged him in the ribs and asked, "Which one of us gets to be Timmy?"
Lemar just laughed as his ear comm piece pinged, "Battlestar here, go ahead."
"Battlestar, this is Rain Maker. Battery movement complete. We're boarding our ride now," came the reply.
Lemar smiled, "Acknowledged. Good luck, out."
Sam looked at him, "Good news?"
Lemar smiled, "The Arty team got their vehicles to the hiding spot. Hopefully we can rail car them out in a few days when things quiet down. They're boarding their bus now."
Sam nodded, "Something we need to do ourselves. The rest of the team's already on their way."
"True that," Lemar said as the two men watched the 18-Wheeler turn to get on the Interstate going south. Their bus would do the same going north towards Boise.
As the two men boarded the bus and found a seat, he found his men had already broken open the bar. Both he and Sam accepted bottles of beer. They clinked the two together in a toast. "Here's to the Buffalo Soldiers. May they ride again," Sam said with a grin before taking a drink.
Lemar smiled as he did the same, "Oh we will, Sam. We will."
XxXxX
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The middle of this story just keeps getting away from me! Still, on track for twelve chapters…hopefully.
Orchards Combat Training Center/Gowan Field: Spent a week there while training to deploy to Afghanistan. At the time, we all felt it stupid to train in an area where we weren't allowed to drive off the roads. The reason? The area is within the boundaries of the Nelson Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area. They didn't want us running over any baby hawks and the like. However, when we actually got to Afghanistan, we belatedly realized how good the area had actually been. High altitude, arid conditions where you didn't want to drive off the roads due to the danger of land mines.
In fact, they could have built entire replicas of the bases we had in Afghanistan to train in. Certainly the US part (Camp Lightning) co-located with the ANA 201st Corp I spent half of my tour at. It would have been so much better than training at Camp Shelby in Mississippi.
Also, when ANOC is referenced in regard to Lemar, that is the Advance Non-Commissioned Officers Course. It's the course that Staff Sergeants (SSG) have to pass to become Sergeant First Class (SFC). Given this story is earlier than the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Lemar hasn't been promoted to Sergeant Major as he is in that series.
M270 Multiple Launch Rocket System (MRLS): Another weapons system which help make artillery the queen of battle. Lovingly nicknamed the Grid Square Removal System, this is one seriously bad-ass weapon system. And it's surprisingly fast. Almost had one run me over along with some other soldiers while we were training outside of Bamberg. Suddenly this MRLS just came barreling around the corner in the wooded training area. You wouldn't think a boxy, top-heavy vehicle could go that fast or make such a turn without flipping over. Well, you'd be wrong. Also, the "you yell, we shell" was something I heard the DIVARTY guys say when I was in Korea for a month for the annual Team Spirit training event.
Marvel People: Except for really small bit characters (like SSG Bryant in this chapter) pretty much everyone referenced in this story is someone from the comics. For example, Kevin O'Brien who died in the War Machine armor (as Rhodes had taken up Tony's old suit) was the original person to use the Guardsman armor. An armor which was later copied and used by guards in the Super-Max type prison enhanced criminals were kept in. Likewise, Alexander Nevsky was, in comic canon, the original Crimson Dynamo which was the Soviet answer to Iron Man. So if you don't recognize a name, you can bet it'll be on the Marvel Wiki.
Norse Names: While Buri and Bör are real characters in Norse theology and Marvel canon, I am changing things a bit given the MCU does make Asgardians and others more 'space aliens' instead of just gods in the comics. That and this depiction better matches the original Jack Kirby artwork so much of the MCU Asgard is taken from. As one comic pundit once said, "Asgard is Space Vikings on acid" which probably what Jack Kirby and Stan Lee might have been on when they created the comic. (smile)
Bör, bested his father in combat and became king. He then sired three sons, Vilí, Vė and Odin. Vilí and Vė sacrifice their lives and power to hold back Surtur when the three brothers stole the Eternal Flame. Their power was transferred to their brother which became the "Odin Power" – a plot point for later.