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Captain Sam Wychin wasn't pleased with the turn of events. The small team under his command needed a place to shelter from the rain and hail - the guy carrying the tent had drowned when the ice covering the lake - seemingly solid and secure - collapsed underneath him. Now, Dave Powell was a blue statue, face frozen in horror, hands touching the ice as if trying to lift it. The tent went down with him.
The team huddled under a tree, wrapped in all kinds of arctic clothes. There were only a few of them left now - of a once proud and numerous SFOD- Delta team. The aliens had claimed half of them, and the elements took care of the rest. Wychin knew they were aliens - they'd been running around for a year now, occasionally running away from circular blue saucers, nothing that had ever been constructed by humans. He knew they were aliens because they rampaged, screeching, through his base, blasting everything with green energy bolts, killing everyone inside. Except for SFOD-Delta Cold Team, who'd been out on a practice jaunt through the wilderness. When they returned, the base was a smoking ruin, the only inhabitants corpses, both human and... alien. Short grey humanoids with opaque black eyes. Sam had taken command, scavenged all the equipment the team could carry, and escaped just as another blue saucer flew overhead.
Since then, they'd been wandering around the wilderness, occasionally stumbling upon some civilians - a few Americans, a bunch of Canadians, and a few others. They hadn't used much or any of their ammo at all - the aliens weren't interested in Alaska.
A few months ago, Dave Powell, Sam's radio man, had picked up morse code transmissions - they were from some group called the Russian Resistance Force. They'd sent a few messages back and forth, confiriming that the Earth was no longer under human control. Now, only a few days ago, Powell had picked up signals claiming to come from Europe - from Sam's comrades during several multi-national terrorist cleanup ops - Scott Wright and Stephen Davies. Sam had no idea how the hell the europeans were bouncing a radio signal almost across the world... maybe they were bouncing the signal to the russians who were then passing it on. In any case, it was good to know that it wasn't only Sam's team and a bunch of Russians had survived.
Now, Sam had a more urgent problem. He tapped Robert Clark, his old teammate, on the shoulder...
Written on August 21 by Andrew Pokrovski AKA Captain Samuel Wychin.
Copyright Notice: If you want to put this stuff up on your webpage for some reason, than
go ahead. If you try to publish it and make money off of it, and assuming you don't get
turned down, then I'm gonna hunt you down and squash you like the puny human that you are.