Hello, everyone! ShadowMajin here with the latest installment of my and Anonymous Void's series. We're expanding yet again into our universe with a Suicide Squad story. This is one that we started forming ideas for—read: I came up with the idea and needed AV to help me develop it—around Eerie Giggles of the Fourth War. I'm certain the reason for this will become apparent as the story progresses. It was merely determining when the story would take place that was that was the ultimate decider on when to write it. Seeing as AV had plans for certain Suicide Squad members, this was forced to wait until Titanomachy was finished.
But now, we bring it to you, fresh out of the oven. We hope you enjoy!
The engines were running full blast, loud and deafening. Turbulence caused the bulky bomber to bounce up and down. The propellers on the wings were blurs as they spun, whirring sounds being made.
Oh, and one of those engines was on fire, thick clouds of smoke pouring out of it. That kinda explained a lot of the turbulence.
His name was Floyd Lawton, a hitman for hire, one that never missed his target. He was not a pilot by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew enough to get by. So he knew just how fucked they were when one of the left engines exploded.
"We're gonna f'ing die!" Harkness shouted from somewhere in the back. The Aussie was a bit dramatic at times, but it was a little hard to argue with him at the moment.
"Shut yer mouth!" Deadshot shouted back, hands gripping the ancient steering wheel. The plane was a relic from the 50's, a genuine Soviet Era Tupolev Tu-95. It was longer and thinner than the bombers the US used back then, but it had four distinctive engines along the wings, dual propellers right in front of them.
The thing was, the Soviets weren't known for safety, so a lot of corners had been cut in the construction of this old bird. It shook and rattled from the moment they had lifted off, but now it was worse due to one of the engines getting shot up.
Oh, did he forget to tell you? There were a couple of Russian MiGs hot on their asses and one of them had managed to shoot up the ruined engine.
"Bogie coming up our ass!" Killer Frost shouted from the little radar they had. Deadshot grimaced as he turned the wheel to the left, which caused the bomber to slowly start leaning in that direction. There was a doppler effect as he heard the loud approach of the MiG before it passed right over their heads. No telling if there was any damage made, but no doubt it had been firing its machine gun during its pass.
"Any ideas on how not to die?" a woman in the co-pilot's suit grumbled loud enough for the sharpshooter to hear. That was Plastique, a thin woman with short, bright red hair. She was the demolition expert, though those skills were not useful at the moment.
"Still working on that," Deadshot grunted back as he turned the wheel back, the plane beginning to straighten out. "If no one has anything helpful to say, be more like Diablo and shut your damn mouths!"
"Oy, stuff it!" Harkness shot back. "Just cause that guy welcomes death don't mean the rest of us do!"
"Agreed!" their last member, a guy by the name of Slipknot, chimed in. Considering he was dressed in black combat fatigues with every knot known to man on his person, the name was rather on-point.
"Well, if any of you think you can fly this bucket of bolts better than me, then take the damn wheel!"
Was it a surprise that no one took him up on his offer?
"Second bogie!" Frost cried out.
Unfortunately, she didn't say from where the second MiG was coming from, but Deadshot certainly heard the machine gun this time. In fact, he felt it as an engine on the right wing suddenly exploded, causing the bomber to violently shake. Deadshot grimaced, teeth clenched tightly as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. "Second engine down!" Plastique confirmed.
"On the bright side, at least they evened us out," Deadshot grunted back.
"That's one way to look at it," she agreed.
"Do we even know where we're going?" Harkness again piped up. "Would be nice to know!"
Yeah, there was a legitimate problem with that. See, none of them could see where they were going because there was a freaking blizzard going on out there. Snow was pelting the windshield, not to mention it was damn near dark. So yeah, they had two failing, if not failed engines, two Russian MiGs trying to shoot them out of the sky, and they were trying to fly blind through a freaking blizzard.
And this was supposed to be an easy mission too.
Some intel had gotten back to them regarding an old Soviet-era base coming back on-line and it was their job to go in and investigate. Two teams from the Task Force X program had been sent in.
Yeah, that was right, two teams. They were all that was left.
They found that out when they were trying to escape the hell the base had become. As Deadshot understood it, the base was trying to resurrect an old Soviet Super Soldier program, or something of that nature. One of the original products of that program had been Anatoli Knyazev, better known as the KGBeast. That's right, the one asshole that got killed in Gotham. Deadshot had met the guy, seen a little of his handiwork, but that was about it. He wasn't too familiar with the guy's abilities, only that he killed people and had no problem with collateral damage. Of the assassins Bane had hired back then, he was the only one to get axed off. The sharpshooter still didn't know how that happened, but apparently Waller and the big wigs didn't like the idea of more KGBeasts running around, so two teams had been sent in.
And wouldn't you know it, while they were investigating, the entire place lit up and all of the current participants of the super soldier program were suddenly active. They had to fight their way out.
Upon take off, Deadshot just pointed north and went. The idea was that they would fly over the North Pole and reach Canadian airspace, or if they were lucky, reach Alaska and enter U.S. airspace. He just never expected the Arctic to have a snowstorm in progress.
One bright side though, the storm was giving them cover. Though they couldn't see, it was the same problem for the MiGs. They had to rely entirely on their radar system just to get a good look at them. So the machine guns they had weren't a constant drone. There had been a lack of missiles too, which was definitely a good thing.
Now they just had to reach the North American—
"More bogies, small and fast!" Killer Frost shouted. "I…I think they've fired missiles!"
Oh, great, he spoke too damn soon.
"Launch countermeasures!" Deadshot barked at Plastique.
The redhead turned her head and gave him an incredulous look. "This plane was built in the 50's, jackass! From the guys that didn't think safety features were needed on Sputnik! There aren't any countermeasures!"
"You've got to be kidding me!" Harkness cried out.
Fuck him, fuck him right up his ass. This was not going to end well. "Right then. Everyone! Duck your heads and pray to God! This is going to get rough fast and in a hurry!"
Again, Deadshot began turning the wheel, hoping to turn the plane out of the way of the incoming missiles. Frost hadn't told him from which direction they were coming from, but considering every run the MiGs had made had come from behind, it was safe to assume the missiles would be doing the same. The tremors of the plane bounced them all around as the plane began to turn.
The explosion that hit them told them all that it wasn't enough.
Deadshot slammed his chest into the wheel as he was forced forward. There were cries of terror from the others. Then another explosion erupted on the right wing, forcing them even more to the left.
"We're going down!" Deadshot shouted as he pushed himself back from the wheel.
"No shit!" Harkness yelled back.
The sound of their descent ramped up, growing louder and louder until it was all that could be heard. Initially, Deadshot tried to fight it, but he soon figured it was too much effort to delay the inevitable. They were going down and that was that. So, he decided to lean into it. He pushed the wheel forward, causing the plane's nose to dip more. "Altitude!" he demanded.
"Like I know where to look!" Plastique shot back, somehow being heard over the high-pitched wind screeching around them.
"It'll be the one gauge dropping numbers fast!"
"All of the gauges are—oh wait, found it." Plastique paused as she stared at it. "I don't know where it started, but we're under ten thousand. Nine thousand."
"Let me know when we reach two thousand," Deadshot told her.
"What the bloody hell are ya doing, Lawton!" Harkness demanded.
"Well, let's see, we're going down. I don't know, I figured we'd go for a crash landing!"
"In this bleedin' blizzard! Are you nuts?!"
"I'd prefer flying, but we've lost three engines and we're going down. I don't exactly see Superman flying in to stop us!"
"Past seven thousand!" Plastique updated him.
"If we survive this, someone remind me to tell Waller I quit," Harkness continued his complaining. "None of these missions are worth the reduced prison sentence. I mean, I don't even know how many damn years I've got taken off!"
"Clearly not enough to get released," Killer Frost said.
"Six thousand," Plastique counted down.
Not gonna lie, Lawton kinda agreed with the Aussie. He had been at this for a while now, and he knew he had quite a list of shootings that would put him away for life. The removal of a few years here and there had sounded like a good idea, but so far he wasn't even certain if Waller was keeping up her end of the bargain. For all they knew, it was lip service.
"I'll raise you one better," Slipknot chimed in. "When we get back, I'll strangle that bitch with my bare hands."
"Five thousand."
"Oy, I'd pay good money to watch that," Harkness responded. "Think ya might want a hand?"
"I've got two perfectly good ones. I don't even need any of my ropes!"
"You might still want someone to hold her down."
"Four thousand!"
"Will you two shut your goddamn mouths!" Deadshot shouted at the two. "I gotta focus here and your two talking is not helping!"
"Since when has Boomerang ever been helpful?" Killer Frost chimed in.
"That goes for you too, Frost."
"Three thousand!"
The cockpit fell silent then, a level of apprehension rising amongst all six passengers. It wasn't until Plastique finally called out, "Two thousand!" that anything changed.
Upon hearing that, Deadshot began pulling back on the wheel, trying to get the nose back up. There was the sensation of the plane leaning backwards, but it was painfully slow. Deadshot wasn't even certain if they were even level or still pointing down.
"One thousand!" Plastique called out, a hint of panic in her voice.
"Brace for impact!" Deadshot shouted.
That was the last thing any of them would say as the plane finally hit the ground and everything lurched forward and went black.
"So you're still in one piece? Good. You have a new assignment."
Deadshot resisted the urge to sigh. That was how it always was with Task Force X, the unofficial Suicide Squad. There wasn't a lot of down time, and they were constantly on the move. It was as if their ball-busting boss was determined to get every last shred of use that she could out of them.
The body bags that she had filled confirmed as much.
"What's the job now?" Captain Boomerang grumbled. He was looking a little worse for wear, but that was enhanced by the fatigue he was clearly displaying. That he wasn't whining about needing some R showed that he had fully accepted being run ragged.
The two of them had entered Waller's office, a new one by all accounts. It didn't have the full setup like her previous office did, but it had everything she needed to be able to function in her usual role. The short woman was currently at her seat in front of her desk, her back to the two men.
Waller didn't comment on Boomerang's response, most likely because she didn't care. She never did. She was practical that way. "It has come to our attention that the Russians are up to something."
"Since when aren't they?" Ah, there was the protest in the Australian. Though to be fair, he had a point. There was always something going on with the Russians, be it military prep, a cyberattack, or social media interference. You name it, they were usually the shadowy power behind it.
And that was assuming the U.S. wasn't already the shadowy power too.
The short African-American woman actually admitted the point, surprisingly, though it was a little backhanded. "While we keep a close eye on their activities, it really gets our attention when a former Soviet research facility that has been inoperable for decades suddenly comes back online. There's been increased activity observed, both through our contacts and satellite observation. The facility has been upgraded and modernized, but what they're doing there is unknown. It's your job to find out what they're doing."
"Sounds like a small team will be needed," Deadshot observed.
"For your standard observation mission, yes. However, we can't assume this is them simply starting up a new spying program, not with the materials that have been reported to be purchased. We haven't obtained a full list, but cybernetic enhancements was one thing that caught our eyes."
"What, they building a flippin' Terminator?" Harkness commented.
"That's what you're going to find out. While a small team would be preferable, with the potential for cybernetics being a threat, two teams will be sent. Each team will observe a portion of the facility, and if there is an opportunity to shut it down, to do so."
"So, you want sabotage. I think only one team can handle that."
"The same way it handled Slade Wilson? I think not."
Deadshot grimaced. That had not been a fun fight. The goddamn Terminator himself had wrecked their collective shit not that long ago, and the sharpshooter had the feeling that Waller was trying to overcompensate here, what with the sending of two teams. This was effectively a spy mission, so the need for firepower was not necessary. A smaller team made more sense, with people that were well-versed in stealth. They didn't need anyone like Major Force on one team, much less a second one.
Not that they could use him, the poor bastard.
"Do we at least get to choose our teams?" he asked.
"Depends. Who do you want on your team?"
"Me and Lawton for certain," Harkness immediately jumped in, not that he could blame him. "Both of us have been through hell and back. I may not like the ass, but we work well together. No point in rockin' that boat."
"I agree," Deadshot quickly added. Harkness had a knack for getting in and out of places undetected, for the most part. He could also contain a scene if he were spotted. "I also want Frost with us. If we absolutely have to have some firepower, she'll be more than enough."
"Anyone else?"
The two men shared a look with each other. "We're going to want stealth, so anyone that can dispose of others quietly would be perfect. You have that rope guy handy, right? Slipknot?"
Waller nodded. "I'm going to insist on two more. If you have an opportunity for sabotage, I want someone that knows what they're doing. Plastique will be joining you. I also want more firepower than what Killer Frost can offer, so I'll also be assigning you Diablo."
"Diablo?" Harkness exclaimed. "Has that guy actually done anything since you found him? This ain't no picnic we're goin' to!"
"You said you wanted stealth. He should fit in nicely."
Deadshot shot the Aussie a look to drop it. He wasn't thrilled with the former gangbanger being on their team, but at the very least they didn't have to worry about him going off the rails. He was a staunch pacifist by his own admission, even if his past history was a rap sheet befitting a cartel enforcer. The guy had more interest in serving his time than actually getting out of prison. That wasn't exactly a guy you sent on a job that had the potential to get messy, which was basically every mission.
Waller, apparently, was trying to get him out of that mindset.
"Fine, we'll take him," the sniper said. "I don't care who you put on Team 2. Maybe not that Peacemaker guy. He's a complete ass that would probably shoot the place up on general principle than actually do what the mission requires."
"He may be an ass, but he's one that's more than willing to do what is right for America," the short woman replied. "Which is more than I can say for either of you two career criminals."
"You're the one that surrounded yourself with career criminals," he retorted.
"With the appropriate failsafes, need I remind you." Deadshot couldn't help but glance to the computer that was in front of Waller. It was an instinctive response because he knew the bitch wouldn't hesitate to activate that failsafe.
So he decided to be more diplomatic by inquiring, "When do we leave?"
"In an hour. You'll be over Russian airspace just before midnight, dropped in, and then you're on your own. I'm giving you forty-eight hours to do recon and get back to me with what you've found out. Don't disappoint me."
The plane had dug a long trench through the ice and snow, ending where the aircraft had finally come to a stop. There was debris scattered in and along the sides of the trench, indicating the plane was definitely not in one piece. Smoke rose up into the air from the destroyed engines, though the smoke was quickly swept away by the snowstorm still raging.
The right wing had snapped off and was lying somewhere along the debris field. The other wing was still attached, but the propellers were missing blades, though it wasn't like they would be of use either. One turbine had been shot to hell, which only left one good one, assuming it hadn't sustained damage in the crash.
The body of the plane was damn near split apart. There was a large gash where the hull had ripped open, which was allowing for terribly frigid cold to blow in. Snow was already piling in, slowly closing up the hole.
The cockpit was in shambles. The entire windshield was covered in cracks, but enough ice and snow and possibly dirt was shoved onto it that it was impossible to look out of it. The dashboard was cracked right down the middle as well. There was some blood too, primarily from a gash on Plastique's forehead, but that was fortunately the only injury she had. The wound was shallow, so it looked worse than it was.
As for Deadshot, he felt as if he had been beaten with a bat with a solid case of whiplash on the side. He was basically battered and beaten, and would surely find some bruises underneath his clothes when he got the chance to take them off. He could live with that, but it didn't mean it didn't suck.
"Status report!" he shouted, his jaw urging him to chatter a moment later. Damn, it was cold in here.
"Alive," Plastique grunted as she rubbed a hand against her head. "This is the last time I get on a plane with you lot."
"Did you have to crash the bleedin' bird that badly!" Harkness shouted from wherever he was. The one guy the sniper wouldn't have minded dying in the crash. "I'm lucky my bones ain't shattered to pieces!"
"I can arrange that," Killer Frost responded.
"I'll pass, Shiela."
"I am okay," Diablo added quietly after that.
That was five. Where was the other one, Slipknot? Deadshot turned in his seat, finding the rest of the plane trashed. Wires hung from the ceiling, which caused the occasional spark to fall. Boxes of ammo were scattered around, which was where Harkness was, lying amongst them as he tried to push himself up. Frost was in her chair at the radar station and Diablo was sitting up on the floor towards the back, closest to where that large gash was. He didn't see any blood anywhere else, and none of them were writhing around in pain, so no broken bones that any of them knew about.
And Slipknot was lying face down at his station like a limp noodle. Seeing this, Boomerang groaned as he stood up, then stiffly walked over to the guy, careful to not trip over the ammo crates. His hands were trembling, most likely due to the cold more than anything. When he reached the man, he grabbed Slipknot's arm at the wrist and raised it up, holding it there for a second before letting go. The arm just plopped down on the terminal the man was lying on and slipped off of it, falling to his side.
"Well, he's dead," the Aussie grimaced.
"And you can tell that from dropping his arm," Frost said in a deadpanned tone.
"That and I checked his pulse. He ain't got one. Usually means he's dead."
"How'd he die?" Plastique asked, pressing a hand to her forehead so she could stop the bleeding.
"Does it really matter?" Boomerang returned with a shrug.
No, it really didn't. Well, that was one down. That meant that was one less man they had to deal with. It was a pragmatic approach, but there was a reason why they were called the Suicide Squad; people tended to die more times than not. It didn't matter if you were a rookie, or a vet of several years, everyone eventually died. Deadshot hadn't even heard of anyone successfully completing the program.
"Alright, we need to get out of here and set up a signal to Belle Reve," the sniper said, taking charge as he stood up. "Grab whatever gear you can to make that happen. Frost: Do you see anything on the radar?"
"I see jack and shit," the woman responded. "There's no power, so the radar isn't on."
Shit. He was hoping to figure out if those MiGs were still out here. Considering he wasn't hearing jet engines, that only meant they weren't over their heads. They could be anywhere, and this blizzard sure as hell wasn't making it easier.
On the flip side, that same blizzard would hide them as well. Both sides were effectively blind.
"Alright, then I want you to go outside and scout the area," he then ordered. "Look for any sort of shelter we can use."
"Like hell I will!" she exclaimed.
Deadshot frowned. "Why not?"
"Cause I'll freeze out there, asshole! Just cause I'm forced to be on this team doesn't mean I'm going to willingly commit suicide!"
"The hell you talkin' 'bout?" Harkness pipped in. "You got that ice power, don't ya? You're the best one out of this blimey bunch to survive out there!"
"My powers don't work that way, dumbass," Frost retorted. "I'm not some walking icicle. I'm warm blooded like the rest of you. I go out there, I freeze. I think we're better off hiding in this plane instead of walking out there aimlessly."
Taking a good look at her, the sharpshooter could see Frost was actually shivering. Her teeth weren't chattering, none of them were, but she was shaking just like the rest of them. She even had her arms crossed over her chest as she attempted to warm them.
"We can't stay here either," Deadshot responded. "Those MiGs know we're out here and you can bet they'll be doing a sweep of the area once the blizzard dies down. We have to be long gone before then."
"Then you go out and scout the area," the blue-haired woman snapped back. "You've got the same chance as me of surviving."
"Perhaps I can be of help?" Diablo suggested then.
The entire team looked to the former gangbanger, who looked far more comfortable than the rest of them. See, they were shivering where they either sat or stood, largely to all of the cold air rushing in through the various holes in the plane's hull. Diablo looked as if he were doing yoga with his legs crossed beneath him. Make that a skeleton doing a yoga; he was covered in tattoos, a prominent one being on his face, which was of a skull. He wasn't even shivering and he was the closest to the biggest damaged area of the plane. He also was only wearing a white wife-beater and prison issued pants, so it wasn't like he was bundled up or anything. It didn't even look like he had a goosebump on his skin.
The skinnest guy wearing the least amount of clothes as anyone here, and he was the one least affected by the cold. Something wasn't adding up here.
"Hey, why ain't you shakin' like the rest of us?" Boomerang questioned.
Diablo just raised a hand up and snapped his fingers, a tall flame leaping up into the air. It burned for a few seconds before it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
That was all the answer any of them needed.
"Alright, everyone try and bundle up," Deadshot ordered. "There's gotta be some communication equipment here too, so make sure we grab that. The sooner we alert Waller to our situation, the better. When we're out there, we'll surround Diablo and he'll keep us warm. Boomerang, you got any of those sonar boomerangs?"
"Yeah, I got a couple," the man confirmed.
"Good. I want you throwing those as far as you can. Maybe they'll pick up some kind of cave we can hunker down in."
"That's not much of a plan."
"You got a better one?"
Harkness stared at him, but then sagged his shoulders in defeat. "Not a one, mate. This is a sorry plan, but it's the best we've got."
He knew the Aussie would see it his way eventually. They all did eventually "Alright, Team 1 move out."
