Ice Cold Kill

by Jake Striker

  He was beating at his melting face and shrieking as he went. He twisted and fell.

  There was brand-new motion. Yet another man burst through roiling smoke.

  He was coughing and hacking. But he was still intact.

  He glanced in my direction and raised a hand to point. Had he seen me?

  Was he guessing?

  It was impossible to say and it did not matter. A rotor fragment pierced him like a sword and he dropped dead.

  Meantime the helipad was a smoking crater. It was filled with ruptured metal and charred human remains.

  Black ash swirled and churned. It settled over the camp like a death shroud.

  Several troops were screaming and clutching ugly wounds. They were maimed by hot shrapnel and boiling fuel.

  Crumpled and mutilated forms lay scattered on the dirt.

  Hungry flames spat high. They flared and crackled.

  I zoomed the Nikons and scanned again. Where was Colonel Toom?

  There was zero time to guess. And zero time to waste.

  I had a battle to fight and blood debts to settle. I would show my enemies no mercy this night.

  Only their full eradication would satisfy me now.

  I stowed the Nikons and seized my Javelin. I reloaded the launcher and swung it at the camp's guard tower.

  I took aim and triggered another FLASH. The rocket blazed in and struck the tower in a ball of flame.

  The tower's sentry box ruptured. Its legs snapped and it toppled in a cloud of cinders.

  Broken gear and burning men slammed into freefall. They were lost in billowing smoke.

  I reloaded the Javelin and loosed another FLASH.

  The rocket hit the camp's generator shack dead-center. It went to hell in a storm of multicolored sparks.

  The rest of the camp went black as electrical power was cut off.

  I reloaded again and let fly another FLASH. It walloped the camp's motor pool amid the parked Lambos.

  One SUV reared on oily flame and broke into smoking wreckage.

  A lake of fire engulfed the other Lambos. Fuel tanks ruptured and blew in volcanic eruptions.

  Blazing gasoline spewed and Quonsets burst into flame.

  Cammo netting ignited and shriveled into sizzling blobs.

  I aimed and triggered another FLASH.

  The camp's CP dissolved in a fiery thunderclap.

  Ravaged bodies and severed limbs hurtled overhead.

  The landscape glowed Hadean red.

  Surviving Triad guards rushed to the camp's perimeter.

  They fired their AKs into the dark. But their shots were wasted on phantoms and empty shadows.

  I triggered my last FLASH.

  I was aiming at the largest intact Quonset. And connecting.

  Its walls shuddered and rippled. They bulged and burst in gushing flame.

  Something inside exploded with a numbing roar. Debris battered the camp and gouged reeling men.

  Another blast rocked the camp and fireworks lit the dark. Bullets whistled and hummed as stored ammo cooked off.

  I surveyed the devastation.

  It was hell on earth. As intended.

  Churning heatwaves cut through the air and baked my face. Acrid fumes flared my nostrils.

  The fumes smelled like burning fuel mixed with charred flesh. It was the smell of revenge.

  I stood my ground and kept scanning.

  Brand-new gunfire erupted along the camp's fence. The troops were drilling every flicker of motion they thought they saw.

  I hugged my cover to avoid strays and stay hidden. Stealth and concealment were the keys to survival.

  I ditched the spent Javelin and raised my Nikons. I zoomed in on the ruins of the CP.

  I was seeking Colonel Toom's corpse. But I did not find it.

  There was no trace of his carcass among the dead.

  I needed to get in closer and search. There was no other option.

  My legs were bunched beneath me like steel springs. I was primed to forge ahead.

  I paused for any sign of reinforcements and found none.

  All right. Time to advance.

  I shifted downslope and moved cautiously to avoid detection. I took several more paces and my boot hit something taut.

  A tripwire pulled and a flare shot from a tube. It hissed into the sky and burst into white light.

  Its glare illuminated my position.

  That blew my cover and exposed me to immediate danger. So much for stealth and concealment.

  The enemy troops swiveled in my direction.

  They triggered autofire salvos.

  AK bullets buzzed overhead like angry hornets.

  Ricochets hummed and a bullet splinter clawed my cheek. I grimaced and recoiled.

  My pulse thundered in my ears. It blocked the roar of hostile guns.

  I swallowed hard. I clenched my teeth against the coppery taste of raw adrenaline.

  I sped my pace and hastened my retreat. An AK slug grazed my thigh and knocked me off stride.

  I staggered and kept moving. I ducked behind a boulder.

  My grimace deepened. I had lost my chance to intercept Colonel Toom.

  My only option was to fall back. I had to escape before my enemies surrounded me and cut me off.

  How much time did I have?

  Minutes? Seconds?

  Would my opponents come at me with special weapons?

  I could feel the noose tightening around my neck. But I would not surrender.

  I would wreak major havoc before I was overwhelmed. I would spill rivers of enemy blood.

  A rumbling sound hit my ears. I scanned downslope and spotted brand-new motion.

  Two vehicles thrust into view. They were Predator ATVs and they were surging in my direction.

  Their big off-road tires dug in and kicked gouts of dirt.

  Special weapons.

  Right.

  Gunmen in the Predators triggered long bursts from their AKs.

  Brand-new bullet salvos zoomed past my shoulders. One slug clipped my helmet.

  I recoiled again and sank into a nearby treeline. I let my panther eyes adjust and pierce the gloom.

  The ATVs gained power and traction. They roared upslope.

  They were closing fast on my position. In seconds they would overrun me.

  Their shotgun riders loosed more autofire with muzzles blazing. Their drivers cranked their wheels and the ATVs split apart.

  Doubtless they were forming a pincer movement. Doubtless they planned to attack me from both flanks at once.

  I needed to gain a tactical advantage or I was doomed.

  I pivoted toward a stout fir. I grasped its branches and fast-climbed.

  After twenty feet I halted my ascent. Now I had a vantage point to return fire.

  I reckoned the ATV gunners would be looking ahead. Not up.

  I hoped so. I was counting on it.

  I gripped the SCAR and let dense foliage conceal me.

  There was sudden calm. But of course it could not last.

  An ATV burst into view. Its driver was powering through the trees in my direction.

  I took aim and tightened my finger on the SCAR's trigger.

  The hostile wheelman braked and slowed as he approached.

  He had not seen me. But he knew I was somewhere nearby.

  The gunner next to him probed with a red rifle-light. He was hunting with eyes narrowed to slits.

  I stayed in the tree and let the enemy ATV loom closer.

  The driver shouted something and hit his accelerator. The ATV's engine roared and it veered under my perch.

  Now!

  I hit the SCAR's trigger and loosed blazing autofire.

  Power Strike bullets struck the driver's skull. He shuddered and slumped over his wheel.

  The unguided ATV slewed and rammed a stout fir. Its engine spewed smoke and died.

  The impact catapulted a passenger through the air. He slammed nose-first into a fir trunk.

 
He went limp and slithered into a broken heap.

  Another ATV rider leaped from his seat. He peered up at me and raised his weapon.

  Too slow.

  I triggered the SCAR.

  Power Strikes drilled the man and he toppled.

  I scrambled from my perch and hit the ground running. I reached the fallen soldier and grabbed his weapon.

  It was a Russian-made Vepir shotgun.

  It was an auto-loading design and fired Magnum ammo.

  Its box magazine held triple-zero buckshot.

  That delivered twice the punch of standard double-zero shot.

  I gripped the Vepir and scanned ahead.

  The second ATV powered into view and surged in my direction.

  I spun toward the wrecked Predator. I braced my elbows on its crumpled hood.

  I leveled the Vepir and pointed its muzzle at the onrushing ATV.

  Its passenger loosed a slashing burst from his AK. But he failed to aim.

  His bullets flew high and wide.

  I drew the shotgun's trigger to unleash six cartridges in full-auto.

  A storm of buckshot battered the ATV. Heavy pellets drilled its nose and windshield.

  Its front tires blew in eruptions of black rubber debris. Mangled tread thrashed the air.

  The bloody driver slumped sideways and lost control.

  The unguided ATV fishtailed and tipped over at high speed. It barrel-rolled in a blur of churning dust and broken bodywork.

  It settled upside down in a twisted heap.

  I stowed the Vepir and grasped the SCAR. I tracked through its AimPoint optical sight.

  The ATV's passenger crawled free and lurched upright.

  He clutched a pistol and swung it toward me. Too late.

  I centered my AimPoint and loosed a Power Strike blitz.

  The man crashed onto the ground and went stiff.

  I snapped a fresh magazine into the SCAR's hot receiver. I registered brand-new motion.

  Triad guncocks were moving on foot through the trees. Two man-shapes led the advance.

  They had spotted me and they were converging like hungry wolves. Each man triggered blazing AK fire.

  Bullets zoomed low over my shoulders. One slug grazed my bicep and white-hot pain shot through my arm.

  I reached to test the wound. My gloved fingertips came back bloody.

  The wound was not serious. My arm still functioned on command.

  Meantime the enemy troops were closing fast.

  I recoiled in search of deeper cover. As I moved I loosed short bursts from the SCAR.

  I hated to spend the ammo. But I needed to slow my enemies as much as possible.

  I shifted uprange for fifty paces. I reached the mining shacks I had found before.

  I settled beside the largest shack and scanned ahead.

  The troops were still advancing. Their AKs were braced for action.

  I formed a plan.

  It was a risky move. Sure.

  But I had to play the cards I was dealt.

  I pulled an M-50 gas mask and slipped it over my face. I peered through its fisheye lenses and spotted the troops.

  They were closing with guns raised.

  All right. I sprang a Piranha riot gas grenade.

  I made a silent countdown.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Now!

  I ripped the grenade's pin and lobbed it overhead.

  The green cylinder tumbled and fell amid the Triad platoon. It hissed and blew in a burst of yellow gas.

  The hellish fumes swirled and quickly spread.

  I tossed another Piranha to maximize the effect.

  Choking gas enveloped the enemy troops in seconds flat.

  A cloud of gas churned back and reached my position.

  I was unfazed. My M-50 prevented the noxious fog from hitting my throat or lungs.

  I leveled the SCAR and peered through its AimPoint. The sight's amber reticle pierced the gloom of the forest.

  I spent single shots when targets came into view. I toppled three gunmen as they staggered through the gas.

  I reloaded the rifle and kept searching. How many troops left to battle?

  Two more soldiers emerged and swung their AKs in my direction.

  I gripped the SCAR and triggered blazing hell.

  Power Strikes cored both men and blew them away.

  I needed to conserve rifle ammunition. I stowed the SCAR and pulled my captured Vepir shotgun.

  A quick check proved its magazine still held six cartridges.

  I shifted in a combat crouch with the Vepir up and ready. I was shielded by drifting gas and deep shadows.

  Somehow a hostile trooper spotted me in the dark and gas. He fired his AK on the run without bothering to precisely aim.

  A volley of slugs zoomed over my shoulder. I hit a diving roll and snapped level a dozen yards uprange.

  I grasped the Vepir and unleashed it in blazing full-auto.

  Buckshot gouged the enemy soldier and he lurched backward. As he fell his twitching finger triggered a burst from his AK.

  Those bullets drilled a nearby comrade from groin to throat. That man stumbled and crashed facedown.

  Incredibly he had enough strength to raise his weapon.

  I loosed the Vepir's final cartridge.

  The downed man shuddered and flopped. He gasped and went deathly still.

  I tossed the spent shotgun and lifted the SCAR back into action.

  I spotted another hostile. I peered closer and recognized him from his mugshot.

  He was Joseph Kang. He was a Chi-Comm black-ops killer and Toom's main henchman.

  Kang primed an F-1 frag grenade and wound up for a baseball pitch. But he never got the chance to make his move.

  I leveled the SCAR and let fly three quick shots.

  My aim was low. But still effective.

  Power Strikes gouged Kang's legs. He screamed and crumpled.

  The live F-1 slid from his grasp and fell beneath him. He shrieked again and rolled sideways to escape the blast.

  Too late.

  The grenade blew in a yellow flash and churning smoke.

  The echo of the explosion slammed my ears and I grimaced. Rippling shockwaves battered my face and chest.

  The next few moments happened in grainy slow-motion.

  Kang's shredded corpse somersaulted through the air. His amputated head bounced and rolled in my direction.

  It settled upright with bulging eyes that stared straight at me.

  Its mouth gaped. But it never spoke a word.

  A giant spider hurtled past my face. A severed hand.

  Bloody meat whizzed around me and pelted the ground. I ducked and recoiled under the grisly downpour.

  The rain of death lasted a few seconds longer and ceased.

  I scanned for more threats and found none. I scrambled to my feet and bolted upslope.

  When I was clear of the gas I stripped my M-50 and stowed it.

  I kept moving upslope. I was heading toward Mount Diablo.

  Its icy peak glowed in the moonlight.

  I reached the mountain trail I had used before. I jogged along it in the direction of El Capitan.

  I needed to gain my hidden dinghy and make my getaway.

  Easy. Sure.

  Like falling into an open grave.

  I scowled.

  How long until Triad reinforcements arrived? How long before they circled me and cut me off?

  There was no point guessing.

  I slogged over the trail. Its opposite edge fell off into Dead Man's Gorge.

  I had to be cautious. Any misstep would send me off the path and into the gorge.

  Endgame.

  Another engine roar hit my ears.

  I spotted two more pairs of LED headlights. Two more ATVs were closing fast on my rear.

  One ATV was leading the chase while the other followed.

  I cursed and darted along the trail. As I moved a pla
n clicked in my head.

  I halted and dropped to one knee. I sprang a Hornet mine and planted it on the trail.

  I armed the Hornet for remote detonation. Then I thrust behind a tall rock and crouched low.

  The ATV's engine roar grew rapidly louder.

  I poised my finger over my wrist-mounted detonator.

  My timing had to be perfect. No mistakes.

  Any fumble meant disaster.

  Any error meant death.

  The ATV burst into view with its LEDs blazing.

  I made a short countdown and hit my detonator.

  The Hornet blew in a swarm of buzzing steel fragments. Each fragment was triangular in shape and razor sharp.

  Shrapnel drilled the ATV's windshield. The driver spat blood and clawed at his ruptured throat.

  The unguided ATV slewed and stood on its nose. It twisted off the trail and tumbled into Dead Man's Gorge.

  The shotgun rider spun from his seat into freefall. His face was stark white and his eyes bulged in terror.

  Instantly I recognized Van Uōng. He was another Chi-Comm subversive and a cohort of Colonel Toom.

  Uōng screamed and flailed. He vanished headfirst into the gorge.

  I turned toward the other ATV. It was closing fast with its engine roaring.

  I sped back along the trail and reached a toadstool boulder. I dropped into another low crouch.

  I waited and watched.

  The ATV swerved into view and skidded to a halt. Its three-man crew leaped free with guns primed.

  They swung AKs in my direction and loosed autofire. Somehow they had detected my position.

  I triggered short bursts from the SCAR to slow their advance.

  The combat clock was ticking down to absolute zero. In seconds I would be swarmed.

  In seconds I would be doomed.

  I needed a swift killing blow. I palmed a Vulcan incendiary grenade.

  The Vulcan carried a napalm filler. It was a dirty weapon for a dirty job.

  I yanked the Vulcan's pin and made an overhand toss.

  The green can hurtled and detonated in a red flash. Seething napalm sprayed two onrushing gunners.

  One man was transformed into a screaming scarecrow. He lost his AK and beat at the flames that engulfed him.

  He dropped to his knees. He walked on them and trailed smoke.

  He collapsed into a smoldering heap.

  A stink of scorched flesh filled the air.

  The other trooper was still advancing. Somehow he had escaped serious burns.

  I raised the SCAR and let fly a vengeful fusillade.

  Power Strikes spun the man through a drunken dance. He tumbled off the trail into the gorge.