Nemesis: Resident Evil III

Chapter Three: Carlos Olivera

"This is Chopper Delta." The pilot reported into the radio's receiver. "Preparing to drop off at Area E95070; ETA fifteen minutes, over."

"Roger, Chopper Delta." A voice responded a second later. "Proceed to the drop point as ordered, over and out."

Sunlight poured in brightly through the small, circular side windows of the large CH-47 Transport Helicopter, allowing Carlos Olivera to see clearly as all of the other mercenaries rechecked their gear for the final time before the actual mission began. The young man could hardly believe that he and the rest of these experienced soldiers from around the world were about to be dropped into an American city, of all places, nor could he believe that they were doing it on the orders of a large corporation like Umbrella.

Just a few days before, he had been in the middle of asshole nowhere, or Honduras as the locals referred to it, but instead of wearing the green uniform of a soldier, he was sitting in a dirty prison cell. Sentenced to die for… let's just call it poor life choices that mostly involved a group of rebels on the losing side, Carlos had only been a few hours from the chopping block, when he had been roughly pulled from his cell, and sat down at a table with a man in a real sharp looking suit.

That man brought an offer with him, an offer that sounded like something out of a Hollywood Movie, but when faced with execution, was there really any choice? A name was never given, but this man represented the worldwide Umbrella Corporation, and simply said that in exchange for purchasing his freedom, the young man had to use the skills he had learned on the battlefield at the company's behest. This situation led him, and several dozen others, to join a newly formed group called the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service, or UBCS for short… and what a team it was.

Everyone there was on Umbrella's payroll, but above all of them was one man who was to be their leader on a mission that had only been partially described. That man was a tough looking Russian, former USSR Spetsnaz from what the rumors said, named Mikhail Victor. Captain Victor was as tough as he looked, but was more concerned with turning this rag-tag collection of soldiers, criminals, and outlaws into a functioning team, than anything else. He claimed that all of them wearing that uniform were brothers, and that there was no stronger bond than that between men who have fought shoulder to shoulder in war.

Mikhail's Lieutenant, another much sterner looking Russian with gray hair, named Nikolai Zinoviev, did not seem to share this sense of brotherhood, and mostly kept to himself during the days of briefings and equipment issuing that happened next. An American M4 Carbine rifle with collapsible stock, a SIG Pro SP 9mm pistol with plenty of ammo for each, water canteen, serrated combat knife, compass; people could say what they wanted about Umbrella, but the company was really well equipped, and with everyone else getting issued the same gear, the young man was feeling like they could take on any enemy.

"All right, men, fifteen minutes to drop." Mikhail said in his heavy accent, taking a large bottle out of a case as he stood up. "Here I hold real Russian Vodka, not that bullshit you buy at corner store. Each of you take drink and pass to brothers, make us all strong and focused for mission ahead, da? Corporal Olivera, you are youngest, you drink first."

Never one to disobey such an order from his commander, the young man took the bottle, and there was some laughter when he had to cough after taking his drink. Carlos wasn't that young, but… well, compared to some of those guys, he supposed that twenty one did seem so by comparison… oh great, now his mouth was still burning from that liquid fire that the Captain called Vodka. Turning to look out the window near him as the bottle was passed around, the young man could see the place called Raccoon City in the distance; a small place surrounded by forests and mountains… and he wondered what bad things could ever happen in a pretty place like this?

The explanation that he had gotten during the briefings was that an emergency situation had broken out, and that Carlos's unit, which was only one of several, was to be tasked with evacuating civilians. Search and rescue was easy enough, and at the time it sounded better than what some of the other units had been assigned to, like the platoon that was to keep their extraction point secured… boring… and the one that was supposed to recover some kind of ground-breaking vaccine from the hospital… slightly less boring, but still not what he wanted to do.

No, the place for him had always been on the front lines of battle, but the young man couldn't help wondering what kind of enemy they would be facing when they landed in Raccoon City. Bikers? Iranian Terrorists? That guy from Friday the 13th? Again, most of what Carlos knew about America came from Hollywood Movies, but whatever had happened in this place, it had to be more than the local police could handle, or else why would the UBCS have been called in? The city was closer now, and he could see people moving around in the streets, as well as some buildings that were partially collapsed or on fire.

"Que' diablos esta'pasando ahi abajo?" He said to himself after seeing even more destruction. "Hey, Captain, did they have an earthquake or something? This place is follada."

"Bad time in land of the free." Mikhail replied, kind of snorting at what they saw while flying over. "Doesn't matter what happened… our only concerns are rescue of civilians, and watching backs of brothers, da? Hey… maybe you get lucky and rescue pretty girl down there, da? All right, men, listen up: Anyone finds pretty American girl with blonde hair and fake boobs, Olivera gets first dibs, da?"

The Captain elbowed him a couple times while everyone laughed, and even Carlos joined in after a few seconds, since he didn't exactly hate the idea. Now everyone lurched forward just a little as the rotors of the helicopter started to slow down, and now the mostly intact buildings of Raccoon City's downtown district were rising up around them. The landing zone was set in the middle of one of the small city's largest streets, but the extraction point was someplace called St. Michael Clock Tower, which the young man assumed was kind of like Big Ben in London.

More sunlight coming in as the cargo door of the helicopter slowly lowered into a ramp, revealing that they were hovering just a meter or so above the blacktop road, and on Mikhail's order everyone got up to disembark. No one there was a rookie to the battlefield, so upon jumping down from the helicopter, all of them got into a circular defensive formation, with rifles pointed in all directions until everyone was off, and the wind kicked up as the helicopter flew back up into the sky.

Once the wind, sand, and blowing trash died down, everyone was able to look around themselves, but except for the sound of a car alarm that was running out of juice and the crackling of a small fire coming from a nearby building's windows, everything was surprisingly quiet. Windows were broken on several nearby shops, cars were crashed together in large pileups, and trash was blowing everywhere as if some kind of civil riot had broken out, but if everyone had gone all crazy like after the World Cup or something… then where the hell was everybody?

"Movement!" Nikolai announced, startling Carlos a little. "Civilians at nine o'clock, they look… unarmed."

Everyone had turned their heads in the direction called out, and the young man saw that there were indeed some civilians now headed toward them. Some were walking down the street, while others slowly made their way out of alleys and buildings, probably drawn to the sound of the helicopter, but… but some of them didn't look well. Yeah, a lot of them were stumbling, and some had what looked like blood on their shirts and faces like they had been wounded or maybe caught in a car crash or something.

"Remember, men, most Americans only speak English." Mikhail reminded them. "Remember to give all commands to civilians in English; injured ones might be scared, and foreign tongues might make things worse."

Carlos spoke English just fine, but it was the Captain who first addressed the approaching, and growing crowd. He informed them that they were there to rescue as many of them as possible, and that no matter what had happened before, they were safe now, but as more and more of them approached… from both sides now… the young man was starting to feel nervous. A lot of the people could be heard groaning and rasping, and their skin was off color, even for blanquitos… and their eyes… something was very wrong here.

"We are here to help, but you must keep back." Mikhail continued as all the men began feeling obvious anxiety. "Stop right there, I'm warning you."

Bang! Taking out his pistol and firing a shot into the air as a warning, the Captain was visibly concerned when the approaching people weren't bothered by the gunshot, and now they were close enough for the men to see that they were shambling and drooling; growling and snarling as they got closer… and worst of all, the blood on their clothes did not appear to be their own. So what… were these the ones behind the attack, instead of victims? Either way, the Captain told them to prepare to engage just in case, reminding them to fire center mass of their targets to save ammo… nothing fancy.

Bang! After giving the closest one a final command to stop, Mikhail lowered his pistol, and fired another shot, this time causing a small spray of blood when the bullet hit the deranged man's leg. Growling as if surprised, the drooling man stumbled for a second before falling to his knees… only to get back up and limp a little as he continued heading right for them. Bang! Bang! Now shooting him twice in the chest, the deranged man stumbled backwards, but didn't fall this time… and he was not the only one that was getting too close for comfort.

"Fire carefully!" The Captain yelled, switching to his rifle. "Drive them back and move to cover!"

Now the streets were echoing with gunfire as all of the soldiers picked their targets and began to engage, but… but something was very wrong here. Ratta-tat! Ratta-tat! Firing his rifle in quick, controlled bursts, Carlos shot his own target, a deranged woman this time, four or five times in the chest, far more than was required to kill with such a weapon… but apparently someone forgot to tell her that, because she was still on her feet. For a moment the young man thought maybe his weapon was defective, but then he realized that everyone else was having the same problem.

The deranged, snarling people weren't dying when they were shot… and now even more of them were coming down both sides of the street.