The Missile Silo

Michael was sitting on a bench in the gym, resting after another heavy workout put on his schedule when Max interrupted him, “Michael, we got a hit. I followed the lead from one of the numbers in Ariz Rama’s phone and it led me to a terrorist cell. Elizabeth and Alice are waiting for you in the intelligence center, they want you there ASAP.”

“All right, give me five minutes,” he answered, and took one of the fastest showers in his life. He entered the intelligence center still drying his hair with a towel.

“So, ladies, what have you found out?”

Elizabeth pointed at the image on the wall, “From the main suspect, the one who has been in contact with Ariz Rama, we’ve managed to identify an additional twenty members of that terrorist cell.”

New pictures appeared next to the first one. “And judging by some of the intercepted communication, they’re planning something big.”

“Do we have any indication of what it is?” Michael asked, looking at the hostile mugs.

“Nothing specific, just that is going down soon; one of them said that the planes flying into the buildings will be like a lover’s kiss in comparison to what they’re planning.”

“Damn… and I was starting to relax,” Michael replied. “What about government agencies? Do they know anything?”

“They know something is going on, but even they don’t have a clue what it actually is,” Max answered.

“Okay, Max, send all the information we have to them, anonymously. Maybe some of them will have better luck than us. There is nothing we can do but wait, and be prepared to act if we find out more.”

Elizabeth used the break in the conversation, “we have another problem, not as grave as this one, but one that needs to be dealt with. Max, place Dr. Ross’s file on the display.”

The holographic screen changed into a picture of an older man, in a tweed suit and thick glasses on his face.

“Dr. Benjamin Ross, one of the leading scientists dealing with outer space habitation. He worked for NASA, ESA, even did a bit of consulting for the Russians. By all accounts, an extremely brilliant man and your father said that he is essential to our plans.”

“So, what’s the problem? Hire him.”

“The problem is that two months ago his daughter and her husband were sailing around Africa. It was just the two of them, in a medium-sized sailboat on a honeymoon trip. Unfortunately, they were attacked and kidnapped by pirates off the coast of Somalia. The pirates are demanding $20 million to set them free. Dr. Ross already sent every dime he had, even sold his house to appease them. As long as he keeps sending the money, they are keeping them alive, but are still demanding the main payment. And last week, after he missed a payment, they cut his son-in-law's hand off and sent him a video of the act.”

“Jesus… and I guess our government is not being helpful?” Michael questioned, suspecting the answer.

“The official policy of our government is that they don’t pay ransoms, and they would not send the military to extract just two people. Dr. Ross talked, begged, and threatened to go to the papers, but all they said to him is to be calm and that they were looking into it,” Elizabeth answered.

Michael closed his eyes. “Max, can we transfer $20 million to Dr. Ross accounts?”

“We could do that easily, but it won’t do any good. I researched this particular group and they’ve never released any prisoners. Even if they get the money, they will kill them in the end. They simply do not care; they feel quite untouchable in their part of the world and know that there will always be new people for them to exploit. As a matter of fact, they don’t keep prisoners for long; if the families of their captives refuse, or are unable to pay, they simply kill them and go for the next target,” Max replied.

Michael nodded a few times and said, “Tell the rest of the team to meet me in the operations room, let’s see if we can beat some sense into those pirates.

***

The operations room was not originally part of the missile silo plans, it was something Max saw the need for, and build it adjacent to the intelligence center. It was a circular room some fifteen feet across, with a round table in the middle and walls covered with holo-screens. A perfect place where they could make plans. Everyone present in the silo was sitting around the table and looking at Michael.

“Tyron, Pete, and Al are going with me, it is a rescue mission, and it’s not our first. Alice and Elizabeth will monitor the situation with the terrorists; let us know if there are any new developments. Max, do we have a location on Dr. Ross’s family?”

“Yes, it was quite easy to pinpoint their exact position. The pirate leader even sent the video from his own phone; they are not trying to hide. Oh, and don’t bring any weapons, I already packed some goodies on the transporter and will explain everything on the way there.” Max said.

“Gentlemen, it would seem that our vacation is over, so be ready to rock ‘n roll; we are leaving in five minutes,” Michael said looking at the members of his team.

Right away, everybody except Elizabeth left, intentionally giving them some privacy.

“Do I have to tell you to be careful?” Elizabeth whispered while resting her head on his chest.

“I will be, I know what I’m doing; for a long time these kinds of operations were my life, so don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I will worry Michael, not so long ago you were shot in the head. The upgrades made you more resilient, not invulnerable. So… be careful and watch out for any bullets flying towards your head.” Elizabeth demanded, and kissed him.

Transporter 001

Destination: Somalia

Michael was looking at four big black boxes stacked in the center of the aircraft.

“So, Max… would you explain why you told us not to bring any weapons, I doubt we will sway the pirates with words only.”

The AI’s image was projected on the holo-screen.

“They would have been superfluous. Open the boxes and look inside; they contain something I’ve been working on for a while. Each has its owner’s name on the top, and is tailored to precise specifications of your bodies.”

Michael took the box that had his name printed with bold white letters and opened it, while the others were doing the same. He could see that there were several things inside, carefully packed in separate compartments.

“The first item is a combat suit; I played around with different kinds of materials. Essentially, it is a combination of spider silk, Kevlar, and the same subdermal armor you already have, but much thicker. If will stop even a 50-caliber bullet by spreading the impact energy all around the suit. You will not be comfortable if shot by one, but still alive.” Max started his lecture.

“The next item is a battle helmet that integrates seamlessly into the suit. In fact, Michael gave me an idea for it when he was shot in the head. Let us try to avoid that in the future, bullets to the head I mean. It has an internal rebreather unit, so it can go underwater for an hour, or in a toxic environment, take your pick. Now, try them on, I want to show you something.”

Michael held the supple suit in his hand, it felt like an extra thick leather, but more flexible and with a smooth black exterior. The helmet was a different matter entirely. Shaped to follow the contours of their skulls, but without a visor or any other openings. It was made from some hard material and padded with a soft gel inside. It didn’t take them long to put on the new equipment and were soon looking at each other, having to admit that the combat suits did look intimidating.

“I always wanted to be a superhero, but they’re missing something crucial,” Al said.

“What?” Max’s voice asked with a note of worry.

“The cape, Max, where is the cape?” Al wondered.

Michael didn’t think that Tyron’s slap had any effect now since he hit the back of Al’s helmet.

“All joking aside, check this out.”

To Michael, it seemed like all the other members of his team… disappeared.

“Active holographic camouflage, it makes you almost invisible.”

He was right about that almost, as they moved, their transparent silhouettes could still be seen, but if they stayed very still, the suit completely blended with the environment.

“Now, where have I seen this before? Oh yes, I’ve seen it in the movies, so what do we do if Arnold comes after us?” Al laughed, waving his hands around.

Michael had to agree with Al, the way the suits bent light really resembled an antagonist in a certain movie series.

“I will not admit, or deny that I got an idea from that. You can activate the option on your CEIs to see each other perfectly while wearing the suits… moving on.” Max stated forcefully.

“The third item in the box is your new rifle. It is based on FN P90, very compact with a few modifications I implemented. Even if it resembles P90 on the outside and the reloading system is quite similar, the insides are all my proprietary designs. First of all, it doesn’t use bullets or any types of regular ammunition, instead, it fires small pieces of metal called flechette rounds. They are shaped like small razor-sharp darts that spin at a considerable speed, for stability. Rather than using chemical propellants, the flechette’s acceleration is achieved by using electromagnetic propulsion. There are two switches on its side. The first one allows you to select the speed of acceleration. The upper position is subsonic and while it provides sufficient acceleration to kill, it is almost silent. The down position is supersonic, and since it breaks the speed of sound barrier, it is extremely loud. The second switch chooses between single, semi-auto, and full-auto mode. Unless Godzilla itself is after you I would suggest against using full auto, it can create quite a mess in no time, and uses up ammunition like crazy.”

Michael held the gun a little more carefully now, starting to have an inkling of its destructive power. “That is impressive… what about the ammo, how many rounds?”

“Each magazine has two hundred and fifty flechette rounds, and there are three more spares on your belt. The power source is good for two thousand rounds before it needs to be recharged. The last thing in the box is a handgun that works on the same principle. It holds only fifty flechette rounds in its magazine, and you have two extras. Overall, you are carrying one thousand one hundred and fifty rounds, so if you find yourself in a situation that demands more than that… I can recommend a few prayers. All weapons have the same camouflage coating as your suits; it would be rather pointless if they could be seen while you are invisible. So… do you like your new toys?” Max asked cheerfully.

It was more than he dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Battle-suits combined with their upgrades and new weapons made them more than formidable. And by the particular way Pete was caressing his new weapon, affections were considerable… and a bit unhealthy.

“It is just what we need,” he answered Max’s question.

“Okay guys, let’s go one more time through our plan of action.

***

Somali Pirates’ Base

Abdullah was very pleased about how his life turned out. He had everything he once only dreamed about, money, gold, and women. What's more, it was so easy to acquire all those things; he just had to take it. He grew up poor, and everyone around him was equally poor. For all that, while others found some semblance of happiness in such existence, Abdullah hated it from the deepest parts of his soul. He saw in the newspapers how all those rich people lived, with their cars, houses, boats, and servants… everything he did not have and wanted.

At first, he tried to make money by selling drugs to those in big cities, but the competition was great and he didn't want to be a small fish in a big pond. He decided to do something more lucrative.

He was not the first or only pirate captain in Somalia; it was quite a profitable occupation. Although, Abdullah could be considered to be one of the most ruthless that ever plied that trade. He never left anyone alive on the ships his crew attacked except for the ones used for ransom. The boats were cleaned of everything valuable and then quickly sold for a tenth of the price. They were worth a lot, but he knew that keeping them could be disastrous to his health. His practice made even other pirates avoid his band of robbers, which pleased him immensely. He liked being so notorious that even those who ordinary people feared were afraid of him in return.

Now the only thing that ruined his good mood was that he had to cut another hand off tonight. The man was one of those infidel Americans, born to the life of entitlement and privilege. Nonetheless, like all others, the man screamed so beautifully while Abdullah mutilated him.

This was the second week the man’s family did not pay to keep him alive, and it would be his last. He knew they did not have twenty million to pay, but that was a ruse in the first place, an additional pressure to ensure he could milk the family for all they had. If more money was not transferred into his accounts in the next two days, he would kill the man, send family the video and then start on the wife. She was left untouched until now, and would soon do anything to spare her husband additional pain, which was what he wanted. Nothing pleased him more than for those infidel harlots to offer themselves to him freely, like the one he finally used up three months ago did. All her efforts did little to help her or her family in the end.

Fun and games could wait for tonight, it was so damn hot. Not that surprising since they were in the desert, so he would wait for nightfall when temperatures were much lower. When you get right down to it, slowly cutting a human hand off was a hard day’s work.

Abdullah took another cold drink from the cooler and laughed at his morbid joke.

***

Close to the Somali Pirates’ Base

The hot desert sun and terrain predominated by sand gave Michael a flashback from that time, more than a decade ago, when one suicide bomber changed the course of his life. Yet, that was a valuable lesson, which the man who shot at him confirmed; you always need to be prepared for the unexpected.

This is depressingly pitiful for a pirate base, Michael thought, looking at the location of their target. A few dilapidated buildings in the middle of the desert, built on an ancient oasis. The water that made this place livable was now gone, and a few dried trees told the story of its past.

One big house stood out by being in a slightly better condition than the rest, and by Max’s intel, that was the pirate’s captain house. It felt weird that the desert was so close to the sea, but he guessed the climate played by its own rules, not caring one bit what humans considered appropriate.

Their normal tactics of encircling the enemy were not needed, as satellite images confirmed the pirates were not really concerned with their own safety. The only guards were placed at the entrance of the main house and in front of the metal shack, where the captives were held.

The team split up, Michael and Tyron would go and free the captives while Pete and Al dealt with guards in front of the main house.

Michael looked at Tyron, and could not help but think how cool was that they were invisible. If one looked directly at any of them, they would appear as wavy air rising from the hot sands. That was one of the reasons why they decided to attack during the day. It increased their camouflage and people here were not as alert as during the night. It sounded strange but with a temperature of 113°F, everyone was looking for some shade from the hot sun.

Satellite imagery detected twenty pirates on the premises and four life signs identified as hostages.

They approach slowly as that increased the effectiveness of their camouflage; there was no need to rush, despite the blazing sun. Max failed to mention that the combat suits they were wearing had full body temperature control, which came as a pleasant surprise. He could not even imagine how they would feel without that extra function.

Michael saw two men in front of the shack where the captives were and couldn’t believe his eyes. One guard was holding an RPG-7 in his hands. It might have looked impressive, but it was hardly practical. The condition of said weapon was even more unbelievable. There were so many rust spots on it that there was a good chance that if activated, the rocket would simply explode, still in the barrel. He knew that Somalian pirates were not exactly known for their academic achievements, but this guy was depriving a village somewhere of its idiot.

Well, life was full of amusing moments, even in the middle of the action.

The others confirmed that they had their targets in the cross-hairs so Michael gave the order.

“Execute!” He sent the command through the comm link.

Flechettes, accelerated by electromagnetic force, took flight toward their designated targets, and a moment later, four pirates were dead. The two guarding the hostages had the privilege of receiving two of the small darts to the head each, fired by Tyron and Michael.

He looked at the weapon in his hands with wonder, even the best silencers in the world made some sort of muffled sound, but this weapon was completely inaudible. Max really outdid himself with this one, now to protect the hostages.

The shack’s walls were made from earthen bricks and it had a rusty metal roof. The bodies of two guards were in front of it, still sitting beneath a makeshift sunshade as if they were alive. There was barely any blood, just two tiny entry wounds at their foreheads. Michael entered inside and deactivated his camouflage. Taking off his helmet, he could feel the excruciating heat inside. The metal roof turned the entire place into an oven. It was a small miracle that the hostages hadn’t already succumbed to the heat. There was another door, a few feet from the entrance, and he opened it with the key he took from the dead guard.

The first thing that welcomed him was nauseating stench and the buzzing sound of countless flies. Four bodies were lying on the floor, so exhausted from the heat, they did not even notice when he entered. One of them was a man, Dr. Ross’s son-in-law, judging by the missing hand. A woman beside him was presumably his wife, and there were two small girls next to them.

Michael exited the room and went to the dead guards; Tyron was keeping watch just inside the door. He took water canteens from the bodies and returned to the hostages.

A light touch on the shoulder was enough to wake Dr. Ross’s daughter.

“What…” She started to say before Michael put his hand over her mouth.

“Shh… Mary, keep quiet. Your father, Doctor Benjamin Ross sent us to save you. I need you to wake up everybody and prepare them to leave,” he whispered, holding her gaze. “Do you understand?”

Fear and panic in her eyes were replaced with overwhelming hope. She nodded while two tears slid down her face.

“Yes… my husband… he is not well,” she pointed at the body next to her, “I think his hand is infected, I couldn’t wake him since last night.”

Michael took a nano-patch from one of his breast pockets and taped it on a bare skin above the man’s wrapped stump. Nano-patches were Max’s new invention; there was no need to transfer medical nanites directly anymore, and there were enough of them on the patch to provide first aid.

“This should help them until we can get him to somewhere safer.”

The woman’s eyes were filled with hope, but there was still residual fear acquired from her ordeal.

“Who are the girls?” Michael asked.

“Natalie, and Lee, they are ten-year-old twins brought a few weeks ago. Like us, the pirates attacked them at sea; their parents tried to fight them off… they were murdered. I don’t know what Abdullah was planning to do with them, but he said that they would soon be gone.”

A silent tear ran down her dirty face and disappeared when it reached her cracked lips.

Michael gave her the canteen and whispered, “be ready in five minutes,” before exiting the room.

Tyron didn’t move from his spot, his gun pointing toward the main house. Pete and Al also reported that everything was calm, the pirates were inside the house, sheltered from the scorching sun.

“Max, bring the transporter here, we need to move the hostages before we continue. If they start shooting from the house, one stray bullet is all it takes.”

A few seconds later, the transporter landed in front of the shack’s entrance. Even with the door opened facing the shack, the back of the aircraft projected what was supposed to be in the front of it, omitting Michael and Tyron.

“Tyron, turn off the camouflage and take off your helmet, we need to move the hostages, and they are going to freak out if they see you like that.”

When two men returned inside, they could see the little girls trying to help Mary with her unconscious husband, and their eyes filled with fear when they noticed two strange men. They were focused on Tyron, owing to the fact that his size made him lower his head considerably so he could enter.

“Are you really going to save us?” one of the girls softly asked.

Tyron smiled and quietly replied, “Yes, little one, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Even with all the grime and dirt-smeared face, her smile lit up the room.

It took a few minutes to transfer everybody onto the transport; Tyron took the man in his arms and easily carried him. Michael applied nano-patches to Mary and the girls; it was never too soon to begin the healing.

“Max, how is he?”

“His stump is infected and he’s running a fever with a serious case of dehydration, but he’s going to make it. The nanites are already working overtime to stabilize him. Mary and the girls are better off, but will still need time to recuperate.”

Michael nodded to a voice only he could hear.

“Mary, I need you all to stay inside. This vehicle will take you a few miles from here, it will stay there for a while, and then it will come back for us.”

“But… we should all run away now, what if they realize that we have escaped?” Mary asked with a quiver in her voice.

Michael approached her seat and leaned to her ear so she was the only one that could hear him.

“By the time we leave there won’t be anyone alive here to come looking for you.”

Her lips pressed themselves into a thin white line and her eyes closed, after a few seconds she silently nodded.

“We won’t be long,” Michael said, exiting the transport. A few seconds later, only the vacant imprint in the sand indicated that the aircraft has left.

“Ready to rock ‘n’ roll?” He asked Tyron while putting his helmet back on his head and activating suits camouflage.

“Locked and loaded, just say when.” The big man replied, and by his tone of voice, Michael knew that Tyron was smiling underneath his helmet.

Eliminating the remaining pirates was embarrassingly easy to achieve. The lack of preparedness and discipline could be explained by the circumstances. They were in the middle of the desert and asleep due to the high temperatures outside. Even so, the whole thing was so anticlimactic for the team.

Like invisible wraiths’ they moved through the house, dispatching those inside with machine precision, erasing their vile presence from this world. The pirates died quietly, barely making any sounds as their lives were extinguished, not firing one shot in return.

“Only the man in charge is left, he is in the back room, alone,” Max sent through their implants.

They entered the room that was drastically different from anything they saw until now. It was furnished with expensive pieces of furniture, stolen from the ships now lost in the depths of the sea. A big brutish man was sitting in a leather chair, watching a flat-screen TV and drinking twenty-year-old Scotch straight from the bottle. A big handgun was tucked in his belt, and Michael was bewildered that anyone would allow for a gun barrel to point in that specific direction, that was like begging for accidental castration.

The man’s fun was interrupted when Michael grabbed him by the back of his neck and then catapulted him towards the wall. The impact could be felt through the soles of their boots. He deactivated his camouflage and addressed the man who was shaking his dizzy head, to clear it from the consequences of the impact.

“Mr. Abdullah, I presume.”

Abdullah’s head sluggishly came up, but when he saw a black apparition in front of him, his eyes opened wide, and he made a strange sign with his hand, to ward off evil spirits.

“I assure you I am quite real,” Michael said.

The man swallowed loudly and gathered his courage.

“What do you want?” He asked in very broken English.

“Just to inform you that you should have taken a different path in your life,” Michael replied.

He could see Abdullah’s hand slowly reaching for a gun; one well-placed flechette round resolved that, shattering the pirate’s captain elbow. His screams were surprisingly high, reminding Michael of soprano opera singers’; maybe that would have been a better choice of a career.

“Max, do you need anything from him?” He asked using his implant.

“Not really, he did most of the work on his smart-phone, and I have already hacked, entered, and retrieved all the accounts and passwords.”

Michael looked at the man that was moaning and staring back at him with murder in his eyes.

“I’m curious, why have you never released the people whose ransoms were paid?”

“Why should I? I defeated them in battle, so they were mine to do as I pleased.” Abdullah answered through clenched teeth.

“Oh, so it was a tribal thing; that answers one question. What are your plans for the two little girls? Would you kill them too?”

Abdullah managed to smile, or sneer would better describe his expression. The second flechette shattered his second elbow and caused the pirate to achieve an even higher note.

“I would appreciate it if you would answer my question,” Michael said when the screams reached the lower levels where Abdullah could actually hear.

“They… were to be sold. Small girls have a high price, some whorehouse would have given me a lot of money for them.”

Maybe it was a mercy that Abdullah couldn’t see Michael’s face underneath the helmet.

“How could you… on the second thought, forget it.”

His finger switched the selector to full auto mode, and he gently caressed the trigger.

The noise was so loud that he knew his ears would be ringing if the helmet didn’t automatically muffle the sound. Abdullah’s head disintegrated and the wall behind him received the new coat of red paint. Michael’s hand did not flinch, his heart beat steadily; this was not about vengeance or proving a point, this was about justice; plain and simple.

“Ah, boss, I see you are redecorating the place,” Al said as he walked into the room. “But next time, maybe try a color that is a little less… chunky.” He smiled at his gallows humor.

“What? Too soon?” Al asked when his joke didn't produce the reaction he was hoping for.

The mess this gun made at full-auto was quite impressive; he now understood why Max cautioned them to be very careful with it.

Michael turned around when he heard Al squealing like a little girl, “Boss… do you see what I see!” Al said, pointing at the corner of the room.

There was a large wooden chest with iron fittings. “Well, we have ourselves a pirate captain so a treasure chest is not that far out of the box,” Michael replied.

Al fell to his knees in front of it and using his enhanced strength, ripped the lock off its hinge. As he lifted the lid up, they could all see the chest was filled with gold coins, jewelry, and money stacks of several currencies.

“A real treasure chest boss; you’re always taking me to the best places,” Al whispered while caressing the gold.

“You found it, you can carry it,” Michael said, “if we can figure out to whom some of those things belong to, we can send it to their beneficiaries’; arrange with Max to dispose of the rest.”

Michael established a link to the AI, “Max, bring the transporter, we are leaving this place.”

A few minutes later, they were on their way home.

----------------

"Don't be afraid to be the first to resort to violence."

Schlock Mercenary maxim

:)