Roger Ellis - AK-239

“It’s Russian. I’d bet my retirement on it! It has hostile intent because it just launched some sort of missile at Bokan.”

The general asks, “Bokan?”

“Bokan! Bokan!” says Stone.

The general asks, “Bokan? What the hell’s a Bokan?”

“It’s a freaking mountain, you dumb fuck! Mother fucking….” says Stone in the background on NORAD’s speakers.

The general turns off the speaker system and Stone is silenced.

The general says to an airman, “Put Bokan Mountain up there.”

“Okay, Mr. Stone, I have you on the speaker again,” says the general.

“There are Russians on Bokan too!” says Stone.

“So let me get this straight…”

The general continues, “You believe a Russian sub just launched a missile at themselves?”

“Do you have any evidence that Russians are involved?” asks the general.

Stone says, “All I know is somebody just blew up a mountain in the United States of America. So you better get everybody over here, Goddamn it!”

General Norton picks up a tiny Christmas tree sitting near him saying,

“Leave it to the f’ing commies to attack us on Christmas!”

Fishing Trawler

King of The Crabs

Several Iranian guards with AK 47s walk the deck of King of the Crabs trawler.

There is an orange glow in the background on Bokan Mountain.

It’s very quiet here so I have to swim slowly.

I motion to Jen who is swimming through the water, parallel to me, to board The Cod-Father .

We are swimming through the cold water as the two Iranian trawlers sit, moored at the end of the pitch-black dock.

I quietly climb aboard on a rope ladder near the plimsoll line that I suspect the real owner’s let down as a distress signal to someone who might have noticed.

Apparently, no one noticed.

As I climb the hull I have to stop as there is an Iranian with an AK standing right at the railing.

I’m hanging on to this rusty old ladder, over the water, when I realize the rust on the metal rungs have cut my hands and they are now bleeding. I have to pull one hand away and try to stop the bleeding.

This is not working very well.

If I go back I’ll likely cut my hands even worse.

Retreat is not an option.

Just when I think I’ll have no other choice, I notice several scientists, including Doctor Vladimir Peskov, in white coats walking down the dock toward the boats.

As they walk to the edge of the dock, The Russian scientists, that haven’t been killed from the blast, look dazed and confused.

The Iranian that was preventing me from boarding now walks, on the boat, toward the Russian scientists, on the dock.

I’m able to board the boat and sneak up to the bridge.

I can see a man in an Iranian general’s uniform talking on his satellite phone,

“Shahab 4 was a brilliant success. Praise Allah. But the nuclear EMP blast should have taken out all of the lights and electronics for fifty miles. Everything sill works on this boat. Why?”

Meanwhile, an Iranian soldier on the deck yells at the scientists who are walking in a daze, “Come closer.”

As the unarmed scientists walk near the boat the Iranian soldier asks,

“Are there any others that made it?”

Doctor Peskov says,

“Nyet. They were all killed. Could I have a glass of water?”

The Iranian then mows down all of the scientists, killing them.

Doctor Peskov who asked for the water, falls into the bay.

The Iranian says, “There! There’s your glass of water.”

The Iranians laugh at the floating body in the bay.

I stand and shoot the Iranian and it’s on!

Gunfire erupts from my ‘3’ and ‘9’ o’clock. I lay down a burst of fire and take out the two threats on my ‘3’. Meanwhile on my ‘9’ this crazy guy is charging me like a bull but not firing his weapon. I realize it’s jammed. As he nears, I simply take the butt of my AK 74M and knock him into Kendrick Bay. I hit him in the temple so death was probably instantaneous.

As I look back onto the bridge the Iranian general is nowhere to be found.

I can hear gunfire on the, The Cod-Father , the other trawler that Jen boarded.

I run around to the other side of the boat and am met with gunfire again. I take out another Iranian who starts shooting from my ‘6.’

As I swing around to port side I see an Iranian has Jen in his sights and is about to shoot her in the back. I fire a short burst knocking him into the water.

Jen wheels around and gives me a thumbs-up sign.

I can remember the last look I saw on her face before the explosion. It was one of confidence and love. At least that’s how I’d like to remember it, I guess.

There is an explosion so large it knocks me backward and onto the deck.

As I jump to my feet and race onto the deck, there is some splashing of debris into the water then an eerie silence.

I yell,

“Jennifer!”

There is no way anyone could have lived through this blast. It took off the entire bridge and the entire upper deck of The Cod-Father . I run to the front of King of the Crabs to see if it’s possible that she lived.

“Impossible.”

I thought as I looked at the utter damage of this boat. That looks like a whole lot of C4.

Then I run to the back of the boat to be sure.

I see nothing.

Nothing living in the water.

Nothing living on the boat.

Just nothing.

I find myself not caring at all about what appears to be a ballistic missile submarine sitting the furthest out on my starboard side.

I’m still running around like a chicken with my head cut off on the port side desperately trying to find Jennifer.

Finally, I realize the fact that the only person in my life that I have ever loved is gone.

This makes my legs buckle from under me much quicker than carrying her hundreds of yards in forty-degree water!

I have to grab onto the railing or I would have dropped like a rock to the deck.

I stare at the water for an eternity before remembering:

That Iranian general is still on the loose.

Realizing that she’s gone, I slowly walk back inside the bridge. As I do, I’m disgusted at the site I see:

Russian soldiers lying, dead, in pools of blood executed by the Iranians.

These monsters are barbarians from the 7th Century, I thought.

And If I find any more of them I’m sending them right, the hell, back there!

As I stand there looking at this horror, I see a little man in civilian clothing crawling slowly away from me inside the bridge. I quietly come up from behind him and when he hears me he says,

“Please, please they forced me to…”

“Who are you,” I ask.

“My name is Sergei.”

Russian?

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

The man reaches for something so I train my gun on his center mass.

“Wait! Wait I’m getting my ID.”

“What is your objective?” I ask.

“We were here to…”

The man tries to go for my gun but in a very foolish manner.

He goes for the muzzle.

It’s foolish as it swings the butt of the gun right toward him and I clock him with it in his left eye.

The man falls back in pain holding his eye. When he recovers again I now realize this is the little Iranian general I saw moments ago. He simply took off his uniform and put on civilian clothes.

A cell phone rings in the closet.

We both stare at each other a moment when I say,

“Maybe I’ll just answer your phone and get some answers.”

I walk over to the closet door and as soon as I open it the little man lunges for me again.

And again I clock him with the butt of my machine gun, only this time in his right eye.