Twelve kilometers, and at a balmy -15 degrees Celsius, the squad of ten found themselves the rarest of pleasures - an old shelter that was taken up, with warning of a blizzard on the way. Training was fun, and surviving a blizzard was a part of it - but even vets avoided getting into it if they had a choice.
So it was that ten bodies stayed in the comfortable wind-free shelter of an old, abandoned log house - and admittedly, while cramped, it was dry and only a fool would bitch about THAT!
"So there I was, pulling a third rotation on patrol, when this fine ass girl came walking up. I mean, she had knockers out to here!" The chance to unwind was a rare pleasure for any soldier, but it was a distinct method for training - and it was also a reward for making it this far. "So anyway, she comes over, had her veil on and everything, and starts asking me if it's true about all American men."
"Oh, no you didn't..." Alvorez rolled her eyes and resumed watch through the small glass less window - the shutters long ago having rusted off. "You joto, cannot keep it in your pants."
"Lighten up, Alvorez, I'm sure yours is bigger." Their teacher, who was honestly and respectfully called 'Sir!', said around a mouthful of the ever delicious (and Geneva-convention-breaking) spaghetti MRE. "Anyway, everyone get some shut-eye, we have a long week in this environment, much less dealing with the blizzard!"
Alvorez, of course, took first watch, so she could get her beauty sleep and rest the full six hours until morning. The shadows played in the dark as she watched the snow and chewed on the last of her meal - her attention settling on the distant thoughts of a far away, pleasent place - home, in Arizona.
The wind howled, a most lonely sound, and she watched the wind swirl the flakes through the dark - the small heating fire in the middle of the camped-in log house making her see shapes that gnawed at the back of her mind.
And then a face appeared in the shadow, and she yelped, stumbling backwards and crashing over the old table and landing dangerously close to the fire. Her shout drew the scorned look of her captain and the rest of her team.
"What the situation, Alvorez?"
"I saw someone in the snow, Sir!" She shouted, then worked on relaxing her heart beat, to slow it down and return to being calm. Her heart raced.
"Jackson, Paulson, check it." She winced, feeling the heat, finally, against the side of her face. She stood, pulling herself up and checking her weapon, left at the window.
"Nothing, Sir! It seems that princess was seeing things." Paulson stomped the snow off his boots after a good four minutes outside. He squinted, and it gave his face a glare. Of course, it was still colder than a witches tit outside.
"Alvorez." Sir! sighed, and shook his head. "Go get some sleep, your shift is up, Aurona." The large Samoan gave a nod and smirked at the little Latina woman, before taking his post at the window.
So much for a good week.
"Alright! Now that we are out here in the cold, I can tell you what we are all out here for. Command has set up a mission for you - our objective is to scout out a town that's been found up here. You are to treat it like a live mission - your Ammo is Hot. It is ten kilometers north of here. This mission will five days before you are to extract."
Sir! sat with his back to the door, and unrolled the recon map, which depicted the half-buried village of Boulder.
"It had been uncovered with the raising global temperature." The map was well rendered and showed the old mining ruins. Of course, this far north of Alaska, not many people would be out to disturb it, either, so that gave his men plenty of room to enjoy the experience.
"Now, this village isn't fully mapped, but we've already put up objectives for you to find, you will be monitored. Take care in there."
With a nod, the squad assembled and made their way north, towards the ruins. Sir! leading the way.
"Live ammo for a training exercise?" Alvores asked of Aurona. The big dark skinned man shrugged and held his gun over his shoulder, his face hidden behind the well insulated mask. He patted her on the shoulder as he kept pace, and look out. The outline could be seen even through the swirling snow, but no one felt comforted, for some odd reason.
The buildings were old, and the snow had not been friendly to the wood and stone. Old, perhaps a hundred and fifty years, back before being buried with the small ice-age that had struck about those days, this might have once been prosperous, but time had not been kind to the ruins, burried under tons of snow. Some looked to have been clawed apart by great hands, others were pristine.
"Good ol' American engineering." Jackson laughed to himself, as he looked up at what might have once been a postal office, or a bank. What it was didn't matter now, of course. No windows remained, and a look inside showed rusted metal and sagging wood.
"What was our objective again, Sir! ?"
"Alright. Since you are impatient, our orders are to scout this township out. Intel is very interested in this place. Look for bodies, signs of struggle, anything strange. Intel wants to know what happened here."
"And so they send Rangers, Sir! ?" Alvorez piped up. "Shouldn't they send archaeologists or some shit?"
"I'll forgive that, Alvorez. Just scout it out, I don't like being out here any more than you." He grunted once and gestured, with a gloved hand, towards the church. "Go with Aurona and Kitt, scout the church out. Paulson, take those two, and you three, come with me, we need to check out here. Meet up in two hours."
The 'Church' still stood. Made of stone and twisted metal, the old place seemed almost defiant of the weather that had claimed most of the town, and it held no sign of being bothered by the chill. Inside was as cold as outside, even without the wind to drive in the daggers of frost, and the darkness was almost a living thing - an oppressing atmosphere that spoke to the lizard brain, whispering for it to flee. The great beam flash lights had trouble piercing the old dark, and mounted on the end of their rifles, they were like bayonets to stab at shadow.
Row after row of pews stood, facing a great alter. A few bodies were still sitting and clutching their bibles, mouths opened in quiet hymnals to the saints, even as frost coated their mouths and dead eyes. The frozen death had not come quickly, but each sat perfectly straight, facing forward, towards a barbwire wrapped cross of metal, rusted and pitted after all the years. Their eyes, long since dead, focused without deviation.
"Spooky." Aurona murmured from behind his mask, while creeping forward, slowly. Out of habit, he made a sign of the cross over his breast. "Almost like the old folks down at Quetzolta, they sit perfectly straight and don't seem to blink when they sing."
"Knew you were a wetback." Alvorez murmured with a cracked grin, while moving on. A glitter of gold caught her eye, a ring worn by a man in the front row. It looked quite identical to the rings of others in the congregation, a simple band with a strange star embedded on the top of it. An old leather tome was clutched in his other hand, of strange marking as well, and in neither French nor English, or even Spanish. Her skin crawled and a shudder passed through her spine.
"This doesn't feel right, guys."
"Relax" Kitt murmured, while making his way to the back. A small spiraled stair-case lead down into the dark, and the strange scent of turned earth burned his nostrils. "Come on, found a way down."
Down into the dark, the three continued. The stairs had held firm, and carved of stone, they were remarkably sturdy. Upon each step was carved the name of a saint, as well as the same strange crucifix as had been on the far wall of the church.
"Crypts. Careful, could be diseases in here." Aurona ducked the doorway and then stood tall in the crypt beneath the church. For a great long stretch the frozen-earth was hollowed out, for rows upon rows of marked graves to stand, buried under the cathedral proper. Row after row, it carried in into the dark, in perfectly ordered arrangements six to a row, separated by great columns beneath the church.
"1807-1867, 1806-1866, 1805-1865..." The dates were read off. "Tschovsky, Federov, Shelikov, Rezinov, Golikov. Five names, and it repeats back row to row."
"Russian. Makes sense why it seems a little off." Alorez murmured and shook off. She continued on, past the rows, towards the back, where an old door stood, sealed, and marked in Russian. The door handle refused to budge, until Aurona forced the door open, into a back chamber.
Five bodies lay, their heads touching together and hair braided into a single join, which lay dipped into a frozen bowl. They held hands together in the shape of a perverse star, their bodies wrapped in long red cloth. Webbing ran fingers, obvious genetic damage from there being only five families, or so Alorez presumed.
"Nasty. What were they doing down here?" Kitt asked, as he brought his light over the remarkably preserved figure of one of the cadavers. The face was strange, an odd mark of scales across the face and odd folds of flesh at his throat. His eyes were bulged and maw was longer than most, as though it had been growing with great tumors beneath it.
"Most foul." He said, while turning to look at his squad mates. He sat against the stone, and drew a cigarette from a hidden pouch in his jacket, then lit it. Smoke wafted up in small curls from his nostrils, as he exhaled the first refreshing puff in almost two weeks. "Seems the whole town was inbred, if this guy has anything to say about it."
He stubbed the cigarette out on the corpse and stood up, and bent down to retrieve his pack. He did not look back, nor see the glitter of eyes behind him, as they opened up in slow register of the pain of the cigarette. He didn't look back, and notice the others do the same.
"Looks like they were some odd Russian Orthodox, Sir!." The fire burned in the old town hall, which also served as a small bank, and postal office for these strange people, a few hundred years ago. The township was a little older than he'd have guessed, but Intel had not always been accurate. Sir! sat back in an old chair, liberated from a closet, and flipped through one of the hand printed tomes. The odd text made his head hurt, as did the designs printed along the inner labeling. The tomes were well put together.
"Odd. Alright, we can check the mines next, while I want three of you here at all times, in case one of the teams needs some assistance. The church bugs me." Sir! said, looking up from the book and towards the swirling blizzard, which had seen fit to trap them again, inside the town. Not that they didn't have a few days left to continue exploring, of course. "Should be something good there. Maybe it's gold."
"Maybe, Sir!." Paulson said, while finishing off his MRE and taking evening watch, while the others made bunk on the beds that had been found. Cold, but more comfortable than the floor, they served as good rests for soldiers used to cots.
"Can you read Russian, Kitt?" Sir! asked of the usually 'late to sleep' soldier. Two would be good look-out. "If so, care to do some translation?"
"Sure. Let me see." He flipped through the tome and sat back, feeling the fire warm him more than he cared to admit. It felt good, and relaxing, and made him want to close his eyes and fall to sleep. "Covenants and Oaths to They Who Guide, for better making of good peoples."
"Weird shit, Sir!" He said after a few minutes. "It looks like these people worshiped a, uh, something from the deep waters off the port. This town was founded in 1743, as a small mining and fishing township for return to Tsarists Russia. It was commissioned by Catherine II, and the five families here are descendants of the five who explored and found this frozen land." Two hours of reading, of deep, consuming reading, had taken Kitt, and he looked up at Sir! who, as was rumored, never seemed to sleep. "They ran into trouble for the first five years and nearly closed down, when this, uh, Voldru, came and offered them assistance, in return for five people a year, to... to join the Deep Water. They agreed, and..."
A scream ripped through the silence and dark, and guns were snapped up with a hurried grip. The scream drew blood to the nostril of Kitt and made heads throb - it was shrill, and sounded like glass scratching across chalkboard. It hurt to hear.
"The the fuck was that?"
"What I was afraid we'd find." Sir! murmured loud enough to be heard. Blood dripped from his left ear, while he held a rather disconcertingly large gun in his left hand, his personal revolver. He stood slowly and reached for his radio.
Bodies moved beyond the ring of fire light, and stood, old garments tattered upon their bodies. The wind howled a mournful dirge, as countless, neat rows watched and waited without saying a thing. There were far too many to count, and the smell of turned earth was pungent, even through the masks.
"Operation Lumina has made contact. Zone is Hot." Sir! spoke into his radio, pulled from his long survival jacket. The black radio beeped twice and static followed, piercing.
"Understood. Ghaitie is being dispatched. ETA 30 minutes."
"Thirty minutes. Might as well be a week." Sir! said under his breath, and softly shook his head. He took a breath and stretched his neck out, while trying to let free some of the aches that troubled his thoughts. Bad things stood in the dark and snow, and Sir! did not like it at all. Of course, crying about it didn't do a whole hell of a lot, either. He turned, gesturing them up stairs. Thirty minutes.
"Maintain points, we are to hold for Thirty!" He said, while taking point up stairs with the rest of his squad. Strange, concerned looks touched many faces, and he felt a moment of pity, for they knew not what they dealt with.
"What I'm about to reveal is classified. This is shit that Delta-Grou deals with, and you weren't supposed to be here, but were the only ones that were available for scouting of position. You are dealing with hostiles that are not human."
He looked up, and was met with stares that were as though he admitted to being a fairy godmother. He glowered, and gestured down the stairs. He was cold. They were sucking the heat out of the air.
"Think what you want. There are at least a township full of dead things that shouldn't be walking, and they are going to try to kill you. If you survive, I'll tell you everything."
"If, Sir?"
"Usual Delta-Grou faces casualties of 65%." Sir! replied. His gun was heavy. He was so damn tired. "If it helps, I'll nominate you all to become Delta-Grou. But for now, don't worry. Focus on surviving, and keeping your sanity. This is the real test, kids. This is the real thing you've been training for."
Thirty minutes can be a long time in battle, a longer time when out numbered, and facing horrors that drain your will to live. Thirty minutes can be forever. Thirty minutes later, five people remained, and were evacuated despite heavy fire and forces raising from the frozen earth, clawing their way out to be drawn to the middle of town.
Thirty five minutes later, a second sun was briefly upon the earth, and cleansed it in the warm bath of atomic fire. Five people survived the mission, including Delta-Grou Asset known only as Erchangi, or Sir! according to his recruits.
All in all, it was rated highly successful at 50% survival of un-tested recruits. Were it not classified, it would have been written in as one of the greatest stands of any Ranger force, against enemies of Overwhelming Superiority. The names of Kitt, Jackson, Crosov, Krakaow and Miller were reported missing, and after military investigation, were reported MIA.
As for Alvorez, Aurona, and Paulson, they were quietly removed from civilian databases,
and histories. They never existed, and were forgotten by family and friends over the years.
Of course, none of this was known, or admitted to, for no one admitted to the eternal wars of Unknown Armies.
This is really enjoyable. Reminds me a bit equally of Delta Green and Charles Strosss stuff, you know, the Lovecraftian Cold War Thriller shorts.
ReplyDelete