Gavin Smith - Crysis - Escalation

He was gasping for breath. There were three of the helos. He could see that now. All of them were pouring fire down into the village. One of them was firing into the rainforest. Bullets from the minigun cut swathes through the frozen trees, shattering them like crystal.

He looked around for more of the sick people. All he saw was a sea of corpses.

They circled the village looking for more of the infected to kill. Lockhart looked down at the patrol leader stood in the middle of the street, holding a smoking pistol, looking for more targets, his people gone. Lockhart felt sorry for the man.

‘It’s very exciting this,’ Asher said. Lockhart wished that his orders had allowed him to ride in a different helo. ‘Is it safe for us to go down?’ Lockhart just gave the scientist a look of contempt.

The commander listened as he received a message through the headset he was wearing.

‘Well?’ Asher demanded. Lockhart took a deep breath.

‘The Joint Chiefs have agreed with the boards’ recommendation. The Firestorm protocol is enabled. The bird’s already in the air.’

Asher nodded. ‘Typical tiny military minds. We’ll have to act quickly, then.’

‘What about Lieutenant Barnes?’

‘What about him?’

Barnes watched as armed men fast-roped out of two of the choppers, whilst the third chopper covered them. They were wearing NBC suits with body armour over the top.

Four of them advanced on him, covering him with their carbines.

‘Lieutenant Barnes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to relinquish your weapon.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?! We’re on the same side!’ For one moment he thought that maybe they worked for the cartel, or FARC, except they had called him by his name. He handed over his Mk 23 and then sat down hard.

It was then he started to realise how badly hurt he was. He was covered in cuts, abrasions and bite marks. Some of them were deep and bleeding quite badly. He’d taken a through-and-through in his right upper arm, probably fragmentation from one of his own grenades. He had another graze on his forehead, either from another fragment or a bullet. Judging from how hard he was finding it to breathe he reckoned he had at least one broken rib, probably due to a stray round, at a guess from the minigun. It had only grazed his body armour. Frankly, he was lucky to be alive. He noticed that none of the people in the NBC suits were rushing to offer him medical aid. They had supplied him with a number of armed guards, however.

Then he started to think about T, and Chavez, and wonder where the fuck Earl was.

Then he remembered them all around him, reaching for him, teeth in his flesh. He started to shake uncontrollably.

The folding table had a number of scientific instruments on it. Asher was pouring over an instrument that Lockhart took to be some kind of microscope. Lockhart glimpsed the stopwatch on the table, checked the countdown, and then turned to look at the strange tower. Three members of Asher’s team were using a plasma cutter in an attempt to remove part of it. Their attempt was working but it looked to be taking a lot longer than he would expect for a plasma torch to cut through anything.

‘What happened here?’ Lockhart asked the scientist. Asher sighed so theatrically that Lockhart was able to make it out through the heavy NBC suit.

‘At a guess it was an incursion that didn’t fully initialise. Probably due to a lack of energy.’

‘And the virus?’

This time Lockhart heard the theatrical sigh over the radio link. The commander started grinding his teeth.

‘Commander, I’m working in the most appalling conditions, under ridiculous time restraints and trying to do science through these preposterous suits, which is a bit like trying to play tennis whilst zipped into a body bag…’

‘Just answer the fucking question,’ Lockhart snapped.

Asher stared at the commander. The effect was wasted due to neither of them being able to see very much as a result of the suits’ masks.

‘The answer to the fucking question, commander, is yes, according to my preliminary, and I emphasise the word preliminary, findings, this is very similar to the Tunguska strain.’

‘Is it contagious?’

‘In your terms that,’ Asher pointed at the spire, ‘is basically a big landmine crossed with a fungus.’

‘An area denial weapon?’

‘Whenever it breaches the surface it spores and, as far as we know, only those infected with the spores come down with the virus. The spores themselves become inert after an amount of time we have yet to determine.’

‘So he’s going to be fine?’ Lockhart asked, nodding towards where four of his men were guarding Barnes. ‘Even with the amount of contact he’s had?’

‘As far as I’m aware he’ll be perfectly fine. Fit as a badly-beaten fiddle, right up to the moment that this area is sanitised.’

‘And you have enough samples?’ Lockhart asked. Asher didn’t answer immediately. Instead he just looked around at the carpet of corpses on the ground.

‘I think so,’ the scientist finally said, sarcastically.

‘Good. Get that sample of the spire and get your people back on the helo.’ Lockhart turned and started walking towards Barnes.

‘Commander, I do hope you’re not forgetting your instructions,’ Asher said. Lockhart swung around to face the piggy little scientist.

‘They’re called orders, and I don’t need a stinking little pig of a man to remind me of my duty, do you understand me?’ Without waiting for an answer he turned back and strode towards the battered Delta Force officer.

Major Winterman strode across the playing field the US and UK forces were using as an airfield for their helicopters. He was heading towards the British quarter.

‘No ma’am, in my opinion it is untenable to attempt to run special operations under these circumstances.’ He was talking over a secure sat phone to General Pamela Follet, the commanding officer of United States Special Operations Command at MacDill air force base in Tampa, Florida. ‘It puts every last one of my operators at risk and frankly, I feel it’s an usurpation of military resources for corporate agendas. I have not taken this decision lightly, but I am tendering the resignation of my commission, effective immediately. I will of course serve out the remainder of Operation Scarface unless you see fit to replace me, which I would understand.’ Winterman listened to the General’s response. He had spotted the individual he begrudgingly wanted to speak to. He stopped walking. ‘Frankly, General, the Joint Chiefs can kiss my ass and yes do please put that on record. If any of them have a problem with my conduct then they are more than welcome to come down here and discuss it with me personally. I should also make you aware that the moment, and I mean the very second, I am relieved of command I am going to find that so-called-commander-marine-washout-Dominic Lockhart and beat his bitch-ass to death. Yes ma’am, you have a good day as well.’

Having finished murdering his career, the major continued heading towards the UK part of the base as one of their Chinooks came into land. The man he wanted to speak to had noticed his approach and stood up.

‘Major!’

Winterman turned around. He saw three members of D-squadron’s recce/sniper troop running towards him. He recognised Sergeants Hawker and Cortez and second lieutenant Dunn. It had been Dunn who shouted.

‘I suspect it’s just mister now,’ Winterman told them. The three of them looked like they had just come off a job. Dunn looked momentarily confused but just launched ahead anyway.

‘Major, with all due respect, what the fuck is going on? Where is T’s patrol? We get to the CP and they said you’d been relieved of command.’ Winterman looked at the six foot tall operator. Dunn looked like he’d been carved out of stone. He knew that all three of them went way back with Thomas and Earl. They liked Chavez as well.