Face the Enemy - 1
All-new Take 'em Out Tanya Action Figure! Based on the real life war hero!
Take 'em Out Tanya comes with the classic Tanya Tank Top, EXPLOSIVE pack and her trademark DUAL PISTOLS! Tanya even Talks!
"Where's the party?"
"How 'bout some action!"
"Cha-ching!"
Now you too can send the COMMIES back to their MOMMIES with new Take 'em Out Tanya! Available in stores now, now, now!
-Advertisement on 'Calliope' children's television channel, aired throughout Allied territory.
November 5th, 1995 - Isla de la Juventud, Cuba - 0800 hrs
Cuban beaches were Tanya's favourite places to infiltrate. The patrols were sloppy, the water was clear, and Commie sonar couldn't detect a lone swimmer for shit. Her legs burned pleasantly from the exertion of kicking her flippers, but aside from that this op had gone without a hitch. So far.
At least they hadn't sent her in with the Chronosphere this time. Tanya hated the fucking Chronosphere.
Rising slowly from the waters of the Caribbean, Tanya scanned the sand around her as droplets trickled down her swim goggles. The only noise was the soft hiss of the rebreather in her mouth, and the pounding of the surf.
The early morning Sun lit the golden beach in a warm glow. A thick forest of verdant pine trees beyond the sand walled the beach off from the rest of the island. Even this early, the scenery struck her with its beauty.
Damn shame about the embargo, she thought. This would be a great vacation spot.
But when did she ever get vacation? Agent Tanya was supposed to be the Hero of the Free World. Which meant there was always some damn fire to put out somewhere.
She stayed crouched in the shallow water, and took a small plastic device from a waterproof pouch. She waved it in broad arcs in front of her as she moved forward. It vibrated in her hand, throbbing a warning.
Minefield. So much for vacation.
Tanya took a deep breath, and re-examined the beach. This time, she saw it with the eyes of a demolitions expert, while her mind reviewed the latest intel on WSA landmine types and deployment patterns.
The Reds liked cheap, simple devices that took your leg off with a simple pressure trigger. They'd be deployed with the intent to slow a full-scale amphibious invasion, or deter emigrating dissidents. The mines wouldn't be set up to stop a lone infiltrator. That meant gaps that she could use.
She moved forward a little further, and waved the device again, slower this time. It throbbed at her eleven o'clock, her twelve, but not her one o'clock, where seaweed had piled up around a lump of driftwood.
Someone had been careless. Tanya could picture Cuban conscripts, underpaid and overworked, sweating from long hours digging in wet sand, tired of being screamed at, starting to let things slip. Their loss, her gain.
Tanya moved out of the water and onto the beach, slipping through the gap in the minefield. She huffed a little as she stripped away her swimming gear and buried it in wet sand near the driftwood, marking it with a tiny infrared strobe in case she needed to retrieve it later.
Next, she retrieved her land gear from her waterproof backpack, putting on her camo pants, combat boots and tactical belt, strapping on her dual pistols, her demo kit, and pocket camera. Finally, she sprayed herself in scent eliminator, originally developed for hunters but also useful for a special operative who might end up on the wrong end of an attack dog's nose.
Then Tanya advanced, carefully picking her way through the land mines until she was off the beach and into the tree line. She moved silently among the pine trees, painfully aware of how unprotected she was as needles jabbed at her bare arms and scratched at her exposed abs. At times like this, she wished she could wear a damn shirt.
Tanya Adams - the first Tanya - had become a legend in the Second Great War by charging into the heart of Soviet might with nothing but two pistols, some plastic explosive, and a tank top. That legend had power, which was why today's Agent Tanya had to infiltrate Cuba with two pistols, some plastic explosive, and a tank top.
She didn't even look much like the first Tanya. Tanya Adams had been angular and bone-pale with short black hair, and was at least a head taller than her tanned brunette successor. Adams had also been an American citizen volunteering in Europe, rather than Polish-born, German-raised, and USA-educated like today's Tanya. If Allied High Command wanted to convince the Reds that Agent Tanya was some kind of time-travelling immortal warrior, she didn't know who they thought they were fooling.
The legend always made things harder. Her job was to take big risks, not stupid ones. There was a difference, no matter what Colonel Locke said.
She didn't know how many other Tanyas there had been between her and the real one, but she did know they tended not to last long.
It was colder among the pines, and darker with the canopy screening the Sun. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the trees, and Tanya stepped carefully around them, keeping to the shadows, alert for branches and roots. Most of this island was a designated nature preserve for forest like this, but it also hosted a research base of the WSA's 'Special Projects' division. Which meant high-quality Russian guards in addition to Cuban troops.
Voices. Snatches of Spanish, smothered by the trees. Tanya dropped to her belly, lowering herself onto a prickling mattress of fallen pine branches. She ignored the discomfort and kept her hand hovering over her holster.
Twigs snapped and crunched ahead of her. She could glimpse movement in the shadows, squint at the suggestion of heads and shoulders and guns peeking through the branches. Eight men, she counted. Cuban conscripts, bored and sleepy.
Ten metres away now. Five. She pressed herself deeper into the ground, pine needles tickling her nose, and put her hand on her gun.
They passed her by. She waited until the noise had faded. Then she waited some more. Only when she was sure did she take her hand off her gun, then got back up and kept going. She still had a long, silent hike ahead of her before she reached the rendezvous.
It was a Cold War, which meant she wasn't supposed to kill anyone unless she made it really easy for her bosses to pretend that she wasn't killing anyone. A shadow world of 'rogue agents', contracted mercenaries, and special 'volunteers' like Tanya. If she was captured or killed, Allied High Command would deny any knowledge of her mission, or even of her existence outside of the smiling propaganda icon seen on televisions throughout the capitalist world.
By denying the little killing, they got to postpone the big killing, the apocalyptic descent back into global war that everyone had been preparing for ever since Romanov re-armed Russia and founded the WSA alongside China in the 70s. So officially, the Russians had never sent a shipment of weapons-grade atomic material to their clients in Libya last year. And also officially, the Allies had nothing to do with a Russian military transport ship suddenly sinking to the bottom of the Mediterranean, with all cargo lost and no survivors among the crew.
Unofficially was where Tanya's real work got done. A nice, tidy arrangement, at least for her bosses.
That tidy arrangement was also why she hadn't been briefed. Compartmentalization was part of black ops: Tanya couldn't leak the plan if she didn't know it. Her only instructions were to infiltrate the island, then rendezvous with a contact in the forest at the designated time and coordinates. The contact would give her the full story, and hopefully help her finish the mission.
Tanya would rather have just been briefed. She would also much rather have been working alone. Other people complicated things, and complications could get her killed.
Even in the cool forest, Tanya had walked long and hard enough to wipe a bit of sweat away by the time she reached the rendezvous. She carefully stepped over a branch and pressed herself against a tree trunk, peering through the pine branches at the tight clearing where she was supposed to meet the contact. No one was there.
"Freeze, capitalist pig!"
Tanya froze, hearing the familiar clack of the safety on a submachine gun - sounded like one of the new PPSh-50s - three feet from her back. Even she couldn't turn and draw that fast.
Then she sighed. The soldier had spoken English. Tanya turned around, glaring.
"Juan, you son of a bitch! I could've shot you!"
"I missed you too, old friend."
His voice purred with teasing as he lowered his weapon - with the safety engaged, she noticed. Juan always sounded amused, even under fire. The deadly game of espionage was a grand adventure to him.
Juan looked every inch the weary Cuban conscript: the rumpled olive-green uniform with matching cap, stained with grease and sweat, the bushy black mustache, the red star of the WSA on his upper right arm above the Cuban flag. Only his broad, perfect smile hinted that he was playing a role.
Allied spies were trained to be masters of disguise, and Juan Paesa of Spain was among the best in the business.
"Come." He beckoned her deeper into the forest. "We've got a ride to catch. The road isn't far."
She bit back her anger and followed him. Juan knew his shit. At least her odds were better with him on this mission.
"So where's the party?"
"The Battle Lab, on the outskirts of town." Juan whispered as he stepped silently between the trees, looking from side to side. "A research center for Special Projects. Prisoners go in there from the Presidio Modelo, and they don't come out. You must make it back to London with pictures."
Her jaw tensed. Tanya had seen horrors in Commie prisons from Budapest to Baghdad. The funny thing about declaring someone an 'enemy of the people' was that it made it awfully easy to not treat them as people.
She'd never hit a Special Projects lab before, but she'd heard… things. Strange things. Special Projects had complexes like this one all over the world, completely independent from the regular chain of command, each surrounded by a fog of rumours: brainwashing, genetic engineering, new Tesla weapons, and other shit too weird to be named.
"Typical," Tanya said. "Let me guess, no rescue?" Not with just the two of them and no transport.
"Recon only," Juan said softly as he slipped around a bundle of fallen branches. "Colonel Locke was very clear. We gather proof of human experiments, but we don't, and I quote, 'blow the hell out of the place just to make a point.'" His grin flashed bright in the shade of the trees. "I believe that instruction was for you in particular, Tanya."
"Great," she scoffed. "Politics as usual."
She could read between the lines just as well as she could move between the trees. The prison was more politically useful to her bosses intact, so they could embarrass Moscow by waving around pictures of Communist brutality at the UN. And maybe rattle some cages in Washington DC in the process.
The world was upside-down ever since the GLA attacked New York. The USA had abandoned the Allies to waste their time chasing low-rent guerillas around the world, while ignoring the hostile superpower with nukes sitting on their doorstep. Losing Mexico had apparently been enough to convince the Americans to just give up on defending democracy worldwide. And now they were helping China invade small countries? Tanya didn't know what the Hell they were thinking at the Pentagon.
So the Allied spies would take pictures, and go home, and leave the prisoners to rot so their sad eyes could stir the hearts of voters and donors when they appeared on the evening news. All in the hopes that the shock might wake the USA up from their vengeful daydreams and realize that the real war was the Cold one.
"We should be hitting the Reds back hard after what they pulled in Italy," Tanya said, flushing with anger. "How many people did Boris kill at FutureTech? And it just gets hushed up."
Juan just shrugged. "We can't choose our orders, I'm afraid. But look- the road."
The road was an unpaved track of dirt snaking its way through the forest, flanked by shallow ditches. Lying in between the trees, concealed by camo netting and loose branches of pine, was a military supply truck with a canvas top over its back and red stars on its doors. Juan hauled aside the net with a magician's flourish, and bowed to her like a maitre'd.
"Your chariot, Madame."
"Okay, not bad." Tanya went around to the back of the truck, then wrinkled her nose. "But did you have to steal one that smells like a gas spill?"
"There are dogs at the base," Juan said. "The scent will help us pass."
"Dogs?" Her skin prickled. "I hate dogs."
"No more than I do," he said with feeling. "But in this truck, they'll never smell you. I can take you straight to the Battle Lab."
Tanya thought for a moment. Then she took a deep breath, relishing the last clean air she'd smell for a while, and nodded.
"All right. Load me up."
Juan grinned and struck a pose by the truck's gate, grandly gesturing Tanya in amongst splintered pallets and oily barrels.
"Only the best service for you, my friend."
Tanya grimaced as she boarded. She found an empty oil barrel at the back, lid off and awaiting her. She took a moment to reapply her anti-scent spray, then took a seat on a pallet, propping her back against the barrel. As the engine started, she closed her eyes, and tried to relax while she still could.
She was completely vulnerable back here. If they were caught, she'd have no protection, no room to maneuver. The enemy could just ventilate the truck with bullets with Tanya inside. She would die like a caged animal.
But Juan was driving, and Juan had a plan. He had never let her down before. She took a deep breath, and tried to settle as the truck rolled down the road, heading out of the forest.
Naturally, the road was bumpy the whole way. It took half an hour before Juan's horn warned her they were near the town.
Peeking through the canvas, Tanya saw a quiet, darkened town passing by. She glimpsed beautiful old buildings with peeling paint and crumbling plaster. A bright propaganda mural dominated a barren plaza, depicting smiling red figures advancing arm-in-arm beneath the hammer and sickle, confident workers brandishing shovels and pitchforks.
But the only people on the street were in military uniform. And most of them weren't Cuban.
The Russians had imposed martial law during the crisis in the 80s, after they helped 'correct' the government of their Cuban allies. Moscow boasted about driving the United States out of Mexico and shutting down Guantanamo Bay, freeing people from Yankee imperialism. Meanwhile, their own bases in the area got larger every year.
The truck slowed, and Tanya heard voices in Russian hailing Juan. She saw tall, thick concrete walls festooned with red banners, and heard the familiar hum of Tesla Coils, smelled a hint of ozone in the air.
They were at the base. Tanya felt grease smearing over her bare arms as she folded herself into the empty barrel - not the first barrel she'd travelled in, and likely not the last. In the darkness, she waited. It was all in Juan's hands now.
More voices, this time in halting Spanish. The Russians were struggling with the local tongue.
Laughter. Juan always knew how to get a smile. She relaxed a little.
Then she heard it: the click-clacking of nails on concrete, the snuffling of a hungry nose. The dog.
She held her breath. There was a thump, and the truck bed rocked slightly. The dog was in the truck with her. She gripped her pistol and held perfectly still. The click-clack came closer.
Crunching noises. A voice barking a reprimand in Russian. The dog whined, and she heard it jump out of the truck. Juan's laughter, and an apology in broken Russian.
Slowly, silently, she let her breath out through her nose, understanding. Juan had planted a bit of food in the truck with her, a distraction for the dog. The truck moved again. They entered the base.
The truck came to a halt a few minutes later. Slowly, carefully, quietly, she left the barrel, smeared with gunk and smelling much riper than before she went in. Juan was waiting for her at the truck gate, looking very pleased with himself.
"Welcome to Battle Lab Y-7, Agent Tanya."
He'd parked the truck in the shadow of the Battle Lab, which appeared to have an enormous appetite for fuel, judging by the barrels of gasoline stacked all around it. She hid behind it and stretched her cramping muscles, looking around the base as she did.
Tesla Coils always set her on edge. They loomed forty feet high, with electricity arcing between the concentric rings climbing their central pole, and were crowned with lightning constantly flickering around the gleaming sphere at their peak, like an immense steel parody of a Christmas tree. They looked ridiculous, right up until they melted vehicles or turned people into charred, twitching skeletons.
There were two Coils, flanking the front gate Juan had talked them through. The base was ringed on three sides by thick concrete barriers, and faced the ocean to the North. There was a huge Construction Yard with its clawed crane, a blocky Barracks, and a Tesla Reactor blazing with blue light around its central sphere. But Tanya was focused on the Battle Lab, which looked… wrong.
Russian bases had a particular look: lots of hammers and sickles and red adorning stark slabs of grey Brutalist concrete. The Special Projects Battle Lab was different. Its tower commanded a view of the ocean and rose ten stories tall, sloping elegantly with an almost organic feel to its design, strange prongs and antennae poking from its peak. It was all purple steel and tinted glass, and its skin had a sheen to it like the shell of a mollusc. Behind the dark glass, Tanya could see some kind of elevator or enormous pump, rising and falling like a pulse.
It didn't matter. She had a job to do. She drew a pistol in one hand, and handed her camera to Juan with the other.
"Let's get to it."
Together, they moved into Battle Lab Y-7.
A/N: This version of Agent Tanya is primarily inspired by the RA2 depiction played by Kari Wuhrer. Juan Paesa takes his last name from a real-life spy who faked his own death in Thailand. The Presidio Modelo is a real landmark in Cuba, originally a panopticon-style prison constructed pre-revolution. The incident in Italy Tanya references was depicted in Chapter 4: Rain in the Night. Tanya's superior, Colonel Locke, will one day be Havoc's boss in Renegade.
This chapter got split into two due to length - the reader will discover what waits in the Battle Lab in the next update.