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April 9th, 2003
A few kilometers north of Area 23
Captain Sam Wychin approached the column of red smoke rising up into the sky. It seemed almost like a victory fire - although Wychin just had more than a half of the squad he took into battle disabled. They'll wake up he thought. Right now, he had more important things to think about - like the fact that for the first time in over a year, he was seeing a regular army unit, if you could call it that, with his own eyes. The fact that the tanks and APC's had marks on them with both Russian and U.S. colors didn't really bother him though.
"Wish Sophie were here to see this..." Master Sargeant John Poole remarked. "We're gonna go home..."
Wychin, for once, stifled his sense of sarcasm. In his honest opinion, nobody was going home. But, he hated to break the man who'd been with him since the last century. His musings were interrupted as he looked up to see a black man, of about his own height, with sideburns as long, wearing a hat and general's stars on his shoulders, flanked by several mean-looking marines and russian guys, all wearing helmets. The man's name tag read - "Gen. Jackson"
"Captain Samuel Wychin reporting for duty, sir!" Wychin snapped to attention and gave his best military salute. Poole and Private David Harrison followed suit.
The general returned the salute. "At ease, men. It's good to see that we're not the only guys alive in this wasteland."
Wychin relaxed a bit, although his heart was still pounding. This was the first time he'd called anyone 'sir' in over a year - "Roger that, sir! We've been out here for more than a year... and all we saw was a bunch of stragglers and aliens..."
The general scratched his short beard. "How many troops you got under your command, son?"
"Three Delta, a couple of assorted military, and a few civilians... there are fifteen of us left, sir." Wychin closed his eyes for a second... there used to be ten Delta men and women under his command - now most of them were dead, killed by alien or snowstorm.
Jackson apparently saw Wychin's mood change. "Nothin' anyone can do, son. I'm sorry about your men... but I'll tell you - I've lost ten times that number. You said you had fifteen people under your command - we only found five disabled troopers. Where's the rest of your boys?"
"Well, sir, some are back at our base camp - and we also have a uh... prisoner, of sorts." Wychin spoke into his com. "Krotyla! Feel free to get over here now!"
The general's eyes widened at the sight of the sectoid. "Damn, boy... you got guts, I'll tell ya that. What's the story with this critter?"
"Sir, I'd like to tell you - but it's getting damn cold... may I recommend we retire to our base of operations - area 23?"
"Boy, what the hell you talkin' about?! I don't know jack about any area 23..."
"Well, sir, if you'll allow us to show you the route..."
Several hours later, Area 23 looked quite differently from its recent quiet abandoned state. Vehicles were parked in hangars, troops were wandering around the base. Of greatest importance were a few people seated around a table in a control room.
"... so, as you can see, we were pushing towards Anchorage, 'cause transmissions constantly get out of there. But, that attack back there really put a strain on our spare parts. This factory complex could be just the thing we need to repair our vehicles and enable us to complete our march on the city. Captain Wychin, what do you say to leading our troops through an attack on that facility?" General Jackson watched as all eyes in the room, both Cold Force and United Alaskan Army turned towards the Captain.
"Sir yes sir!" Was Wychin's response, along with a salute. "When do you want us to move out, sir?"
"'soon as our vehicles are fully fueled. Remember, Captain. I want that factory INTACT - that means, you don't get any artillery support. You'll be escorted by three tanks - your job is simple. Go in, and flush the alien bastards out so our tanks can frag 'em. If you've noticed, we've been towing choppers around - well, if you can capture that factory, we'll be able to get the fuel to run those! So, good luck. Move!"
The Captain stood up, saluted, and walked out of the room. He noticed several of the Cold Force troopers smiling. It was time for some payback.
Written on February 3rd, 2000 by Andrew Pokrovski AKA Captain Samuel Wychin