This was the quiet time before a mission. The pilots never gave us an ETA, operating procedure I guess. There was some rumbling that this would be our own operation soon, but right now, we were all just following sealed orders.
Nerves caused even the more boisterous of the squad like Bachman or Ventimiglia to fall silent, their words like a held breath. Some had their helmets on, coordinating the RSDSA systems between each others' systems. A few re-situated their packs, or checked their gear. Others had their heads bent, lost in thought or maybe prayer. Only Meloche dozed, slung in his straps, head lolling to the side.
Me, I wrenched myself around in my straps to stare out the small window next to me. The re-engineered Antonov An-72 'Skyranger' skimmed over the deep blue of the Atlantic, below the massing clouds that raced above us. They streamed westward towards the smoldering setting sun, the flagging sunlight cast a string broken glass across the waves over the Gulf of Guinea. Searching the darkening sky at the fore of the plane, the airspace was clear; no signs of the NATO fighter escort or the Nigeria Airforce or even the coastline yet.
Next to me, Fazzalari kicked at the stock of his weapon that was held vertical between his knees. It was one of the new chemical laser rifles the rest of the techs and I put together just days before. Built on top of one of the Assault rifle lowers, it was a near-prototype and looked the part.
'It's way above my pay-grade...' Fazzalari chipped in, flashing a knowing glance to the big Sicilian Ventimiglia across from him. '...But didn't the egg heads pick up this thing? I mean, it would be nice if we could actually aim without the mask getting in the way.' I looked to my own laser rifle held in the rack above me. The fuel cell placement making up the stock was one of the compromises I fought against.
Bachman barked from his place near the front of the plane before they could laugh. "Hey! We fucking tried to make it more compact, Fazzalari. You, Bell and `Brozy bitched that the alpha rifle didn't have burst fire. So we gave you burst fire."
Ambrozy, he was still recovering from the last mission: retrieval of a downed craft. Both he and Bell were at the front of the entry-stack. Bell, if his suit's Trauma-Management-System didn't ice him, the team would have had to drag him back to base in two buckets. The instant tissue cloning and knitting technology recovered before the start of the X-com project allowed the medical techs to work miracles on the squad. I was one of the few that was allowed in the rebuild rooms before my injured teammates were put out into general convalescence. I always wished I wasn't after.
Wetting my lips, I pushed a retort, rising up over the din of the engine noise. "If it was that bad, wouldn't you think us 'eggheads'..." Letting the word sizzle on my tongue with a hiss. "...would still be using the Type-8 rifles? Wait until one of those lizards drops from two shots, instead of half a clip like before."
"Hey, Bean, it's cool! It looked nice at the range, we'll see if it falls apart like it's made of Lego-bricks if you drop it." Lipke offered, laughing. "If it does, have fun with the little pop-gun." He gestured to the machine pistol on my hip. Again, my research colleagues back at North-Comm complained about me taking the PDW with me, that it didn't 'show confidence in the technology' to have a backup.
But they were back at the base. Only three of us from the tech team were on this jet heading for the capital of Nigeria, in the heart of the blackout. Those complaining about the PDW were not about to walk out the back of a troop carrier, to fight God-knows-what, using weapon technology that has never seen combat.
I checked out the window again. It was maybe an hour before sunset, and I could see it now. The dying daylight light gleamed off the two mile high translucent deflective screen the Xenos established. It kept the local governments from moving in their troops, armor and air support into the area. They generally struck whatever military or significant police force was in the area before they landed. Why the screens were up sometimes and down during other incursions could only be guessed at, but only our jet was equipped with technology that could bypass the screen.
However, this was much different than the retrieval or interception of landed or downed crafts. This was why only three of the half-dozen combat-trained techs were sent in. This was another Auckland. Another horror-show.
"Twenty seconds until we hit the field, generators are powering up." The navigator crackled in over the loud speaker, voice echoing in our helmets. I reached up to the lifted faceplate of the RSDSA mask to power it off, and then my weapon. It was just a precaution but I saw everyone else did the same. My fellow scientist Dr. Robert nudged the sleeping SAS man.
Meloche roused at the prodding with an audible grump. "What now?" Robert lifted his chin to indicate to the humming generator situated above our heads, filling hold with the smell of diesel and ozone. Meloche shrugged and tapped his mask, indicating that it was already off.
Again, the Anatov grew quiet, then shuddered as it pieced the alien energy field. As it did, the windows flashed as flares blossomed around the Anatov, and a half dozen interdiction packages launched from the wings, soaring out over the besieged city.
"Drones and decoys are away, we see their main troop carrier on the east side of the city." The navigator strained over the loudspeaker as the floor canted, the heterodyning frequencies of the field generator squealing over his words. There was a slight pause, everyone was standing now, either to finish loading their gear, or locking up their armor. "The LZ is hot."
"Looks like all of Lagos is hot. Touchdown in thirty seconds." DeVooght countered gruffly as he leaned to look out the window, squinting to see past all the smoke as his SAW machine gun danged from it's assault sling. "Looks real bad." The Marine just shook his head, and lowered the black armored faceplate down and locked it in.
Before I could turn to look out the window again, a spatter of metal flew past my face, slapping against the side walls of the vehicle. Glancing back, I could still see the seared glow of where a heavy plasma shot had slammed into the undercarrage of the Anatov a handful of feet away from the larger of the Hauschulz brothers, his eyes wide and he leaned away from the still smoldering perforation. I hastened to get my faceplate down, self-preservation overpowering the animal-panic of claustrophobia that always hit me before the displays and filtration kicked in on the helmet, filling my nostrils with cool air.
"We're taking some fire." The speaker kicked in, in case we didn't notice. I could see everyone was looking towards the back of the Antonov as it leaned, the image processors and passive sonic area scanners indicating where the squad's attentions were focused as they swept over the rear door and the CROWS mini-tank at the back of the Skyranger. I gripped the railing above my head, as I was almost pulled off my feet by the sudden change of direction and drop as the Anatov's wings shifted to VTOL mode.
The descent slowed and the navigator came in over the comm. "I've put us down behind a gas station and near a three floor apartment. Dropping the doors in three-two-one..."
