A World in Flames

         Alarms rang, lights flashed and the only comfort 1st Lieutenant Randall Barrister had known for two days was rocked back and forth jolting him awake.  He had been dreaming of her back home.  What was left of his home anyway. Christ I miss her he thought.             
The Lieutenant leaned forward, putting his head in his hands and tried to rub the sleep out of his tired eyes. “How long have I been out?”  he asked in an English accent to no one in particular.          
“About 6 hours, boss,” said his big burly Russian platoon sergeant in heavily accented English.  “We’ve must be coming up to the Manhattan soon.”  Lieutenant Barrister sighed slightly and looked around the cramped, dimly lit transport.  Sixteen other men rode in the transport with him, seats lined up against the wall allowing for a walkway to the exit and the cockpit.  Each man was wearing battle amour, and had a rifle and his pack bolted to the floor between his feet.  Each man was tired.  Each man was battle weary.  Each man was part of an elite special operations corps that was leading the charge in this war.  Each man was part of the platoon that would help spearhead a counter-assault on New York City.
         
         The room was dark and dusty.  A lone table and two chairs on either side were all the furniture that filled the very spartan room.  Inside the room, time had no meaning as no clock, window, or anything else covered the walls.  The dark gray walls said nothing to anyone.  The room had no personality, no identity, and the only feeling that could be picked up from the darkest recess of it was some vague shroud of mystery.
         A man was seated in the on one of the seats, in the middle of the room.  He wore a black military uniform that bore nothing on it expect a patch on his shoulder that read Military Intelligence.  The man had short, thin, jet black hair, a strong face, shiny black eyes, and a slight scare that ran along temple.  He wasn’t a huge man, but muscles were clearly defined underneath his uniform.  The man’s hands were rough and had calices covering them.  His knee continually bounced up and down rapidly underneath the table, giving the only outward sign of his inner being.  He was nervous as hell. 
         The only door in and out of the room, opened with a slight squeak followed by a short man in a similar uniform.  He had bright blond hair and sparkling blue eyes.  His face looked young and soft but there was no denying an underlying sense of power and danger radiating from him.
         “Thank you for coming here today, Major,” said the man with blonde hair in an American accent, before sitting down across from him.  He then laid a thick brown folder on the table.  It was over fifty centimetres thick and had the N.A.T.O. symbol along with the words EYE’S ONLY written in red over it. 
         “Well, with all due respect sir, I don’t know why I’m here or even where here is,” replied the other man in an Australian accent.  The American smiled.
         “No, of course you don’t.  I don’t have a lot of time here so I’m just going to cut to the chase.  You have been selected for a special assignment.  The nature of this assignment is beyond top secret and even I don’t know what it is at this point in time.  The only thing I really do know about it is that it pertains to your unique skills.”  The Australian’s eyebrows went up but he remained silent, waiting for the American to continue.   
         “This assignment will take place in the near future and if you accept there is no backing out.  It is dangerous and completely off the books.  If you do succeed on this assignment, it could mean the end of the war in an N.A.T.O. victory, which is something we all want.  I understand I’m asking for a lot of faith on your part but will you accept this assignment Major?”
         “Well, sir, all my assignments are dangerous, off the books, and I never fully know what I’m getting myself into until they shove me in the field.  What makes this one so different?”  The American grinned openly. 
         “I’ll take that as a yes then.  Before you’re taken to a debriefing and your assignment revealed you have been given access to read this,” the American said before sliding the folder over to the Australian.  “It’s a series of intelligence, military, medical, scientific reports, analysis, statics, and testimonies.  It’s only just recently been complied but it is ever growing.  The file has everything from past to future battle plans, psychological reports of the soldiers and the current political and social statues of nations.  Everything anyone would ever need to know about this damn war is in that file.  There are even some reports from you and yours truly, but for security reasons people’s names have been redacted.          
“Now there are only five such files in the world I had to sell my soul to the devil and God knows who else to get that.  You are to you read it, re-read it and memorize as much as you can from it, because once it leaves this room, it’s never coming back.  Food and drink will be brought to you when needed.  If you have any other questions or needs just knock on the door and talk to the Marine out there.  I’ll be back later to escort you to debriefing.  Good Luck, Major.”  The American stood up and left the room without saying another word.  The Australian heard a click as the door was locked.  He just stared at the file for a few moments taking in all that he had heard.  Shite.  What have I got myself into thought the Major.  His knee started to bounce up and down again.  The Australian took one deep breath to calm him down before he opened the file and started to read.         


Military Report: # 00003.
The war had started over five years ago.  They came out of the sky in waves and decimated everything in their path.  Though not knowing what they called themselves the world’s governments just simply called them the Katary.  Beings that are fused of flesh and metal.  The Katary came with no warning, no mercy and no doubt as to their intentions.  Faced with a challenge that one else in the history of the world has had to face, the governments and leaders of the world set aside their differences and united under the military organization known as N.A.T.O., in order to battle the Katary.  One of N.A.T.O.’s first jobs was to unify the world’s greatest and most feared military units.  From Russian Spetsnaz, to Israeli commandos, from British SAS, to American Delta force, they were formed into one single elite fighting Corps.  They were given the toughest training, the best equipment, and the hardest missions.  They are called the Vanguard.
 
    “ETA to LZ five minutes.  Satellite uplink to high command commencing in five, four, three….,” the pilot announced over the intercom.  Lieutenant Barrister leaned back against the metallic chair and flipped his screen down on his helmet covering the top part of his vision, as did the rest of his platoon.           
“...one, mark,” A small yellow light start to blink in the corner of his screen, which rapidly expand to cover the whole screen.           
“Tactical, this is command; your orders are as followed.  You are to land in downtown Manhattan here,” a soothing female voice said in the Lieutenant’s ear, as did sixteen other men’s’.  On his screen, it showed a picture of Manhattan and point in the middle of the island.          
“From here you transverse to the nearby apartment building were you will pick up the package in room 8D, guard it to the extraction point and await further orders.”  Said the voice.  On the screen, it showed a platoon sized force exiting a transport, breaking into a building and preceding to the roof.           
“Good luck boys and stay safe.”  The image disappeared from the screen to leave behind a yellowish hue.  The transport rocked again, this time more violently.  Lieutenant Barrister started to get a buzzing feeling.  The feeling he always gets before combat.  Adrenaline started to pump through his body making him feel unstoppable.  The fight or flight mechanism was kicking in and Lieutenant Barrister wanted a fight.           
“Right then lads, you heard the lady.  Let’s lock and load.  Stay strong, stay fast, and for fuck sake stay loaded,” shouted the Lieutenant over the roar that had picked up outside.  Every man on the transport then reached between their legs and brought up their rifles activating them.  On their screens the type of weapon, the number of rounds in the magazine and were and who it was pointing at was displayed.  “The war has finally reached America and there are still some three hundred thousand civilians left of that dammed island so will probably be called in to help EVAC.  You all know your jobs so fucking do them and this should be a cake-walk,” yelled the Lieutenant.           
“And let’s kill those bastards,” the Russian yelled, causing the whole platoon to cheer.  “Hit them hard, hit them fast, hit them so the fuckers go down and don’t come back up,” roared the Russian repeating the platoon motto, causing another cheer.
“ETA to LZ one minute 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…mark,” said the pilot.  Lieutenant Barrister took a deep breath as his whole world dropped into chaos. 

Military Analysis: # 10538
The V-6 Firestorm transport shuttle was designed out of necessity.  When the war first started at the battle of Beijing, thousands of soldiers were shipped to the front using conventional gunships and heavy helicopters.  With the Katary’s advanced weapons shooting down hundreds of transports packed with supplies, weapons and most importantly, battle harden veterans of the dozens of other conflicts that had occurred throughout the years; N.A.T.O. realized that in order to get the elite Vanguard and the hundreds of thousands of other soldiers to the front lines, it would need a better transport.  So the V-6 Firestorm was created.          
The V-6 Firestorm flies at altitude of forty thousand feet over the battle, well out of the range of the short and medium range Katary anti-air emplacements.  When in position the Firestorm literary flies down to the landing zone at over MAC 7.  At such speeds, the Katary guns just simply cannot keep up with the Firestorm’s speed and agility.  When the Firestorm gets within 300 hundred feet of the LZ, it rapidly decelerates and lands horizontally, the same way as the old Jump Jet Harrier did.          

Lieutenant Barrister was slammed sideways into his seat as the transport plunged towards to LZ.  He felt the pressure of his safety harness as it held him with a death grip.  He heard the groan of his metal bars trying to keep him in place.  The Lieutenant felt his body amour expand as it protected from the bone crushing Gs trying to beat him to death.  The Firestorm rocked violently as it shot downwards.  Lieutenant Barrister clamped his eyes shut and try to block out the bone crushing pain.  Visions of her swam in his vision.  A slight groan from a platoon member was the only protest against the pain heard.  The Lieutenant’s ears popped repeatedly from the pressure.  It was like this every time but it still didn’t stop the Lieutenant from wanting it over with.             Just as the pressure, the pain, and the rocking got too much, Lieutenant Barrister felt the Firestorm decelerate and he was thrown back into the opposite side of his seat.  The deceleration was rapid at first but began to slow and Lieutenant Barrister oriented himself.           
“Gentlemen, I believe this is your stop.  Thank you for flying the trans-Atlantic flight “kick their arses”.  Please join us again and have a pleasant battle,” the pilot joked over the intercom.           
“Hey where’s my peanuts,” yelled a corporal from South Africa.  The Firestorm landed with a slight bump.  The metal bars were released and Lieutenant Barrister unhooked his safety harness.           
“Get serious everyone and stay on your toes,” the Russian bellowed at the platoon as he slammed his fist into the side button that released the aft loading ramp.  The Lieutenant unclipped his pack swung the sixty-kilo bag over his shoulder.  The ramp opened slowly with a metallic squeal before hitting the ground with a loud thump.  The platoon rushed out the Firestorm, rifles raised and ready.  On the Lieutenant’s screen, information on temperature, speed, and position on the battle was constantly being fed.  Charging out of the Firestorm one by one, the platoon took in the site of the city for a moment.  It was a scene of hell.           
Craters pocketed the streets every few hundred feet, while cars lay flipped over or in utter ruins.  Rubble was everywhere while clothes and other personal items were scattered all over.  A lone teddy bear was leaning up against one of the few remaining street lights.  Its right arm and left eye were missing.  That wasn’t the worst of it though.  The worst was that everything was on fire.  Cars, building, piles of bodies, all of it in flames.  The smoke was so thick that it blocked out the moon making it so that the only light came from the burning fire, giving everything a hellish red glow.  The platoon had seen this all too many times for it to affect them.           
“Form up on me and more out,” Lieutenant Barrister ordered, taking off down the street at a brisk jog.  The platoon split into its four firing teams and followed him closely behind.  Moving round the street corner Lieutenant Barrister heard the saying that gave him chills and a rush all at the same time.          
“Contact, contact.  On our six,” yelled one of the Vanguard.  The Lieutenant spun around to face the enemy.  On the opposite end of the street stood about 30 wide eyed and crazed human figures.  Each one had blood dripping from their mouths, eyes, ears, and noses.  They were what N.A.T.O. called, the infected.

Medical Report: # 23015          
When the Katary attack a city, they mostly slaughter the local population through mass executions, bombardment from heavy weapons or by biological agents.  Those are the lucky ones.  The ones that the Katary decid not to kill are injected with some form of virus which runs the metabolism at five times the normal rate.  It turns it host into a superhuman who can run faster, jump higher and doesn’t feel pain.  It also drives the host mad with rage causing them to attack and kill anything that isn’t infected with the virus.  A lot is still unknown about the virus and its effects, such as how someone infected can tell the differences between an infected human and a non-infected human, but what is known is that it causes blood to seep out gradually and the life-time of an infected has only ever been recorded up to three days.  With a metabolism going at five times the normal rate, it can take anywhere up to twenty rounds in the chest to take down an infected.  The only fast way to take them out is a shot to the head, destroying the brain and killing them instantly.          

“Form lines,” Lieutenant Barrister ordered.  His platoon quickly formed into two firing lines, old colonial style.  “Target names, fuckers’ one through thirty.”  On the Lieutenant’s screen, each individual infected human was given the title “fucker” above their heads with their respective number.  The infected started to charge the platoon in one unorganized mass attack           
“One shot, one kill,” The Russian sergeant bellowed.  On the Lieutenant’s screen, the target marker was steady on his targets head.           
“Fire,” Lieutenant Barrister ordered and the two lines rippled as seventeen rounds went flying towards the charging mob.  Seventeen heads exploded and seventeen bodies went down, spewing blood all over the street.  The rest of the infected ignored this and continued to charge at the platoon.           
“Fire,” Lieutenant Barrister ordered again and the remaining infected went down in a hail of rifle fire.  The Lieutenant lowered his rifle feeling intense pity for the infected.  They had no way for controlling themselves and yet he was forced to put them down.  They were just another causality in this long war.           
“Move out.  Corporal, you, and your team have point,” Lieutenant Barrister commanded pointing at one of his squad leaders.           

Wood splintered and lights danced around the room.  The lights centred in on the lone figure.  A young woman was standing in the apartment staring at the platoon as three of their four fire teams rushed in, rifles raised.           
“Clear,” was the word that was repeated as each room was searched at gun point. 
“I guess you’re the ones who are supposed to be escorting me,” she said in a Latino accent, raising her chin slightly.          
“Yes ma’am, Lieutenant Randal Barrister of the 1st Special Operations Corps at your service.  Now come this way please,” said Lieutenant Barrister.                       
“Yes, well you took your sweet time getting here.  The rest of the team was evacuated Two days ago,” She said.          
“Ma’am, I just the post man, you’ll have to take that particular issue up with the Postmaster General.  Now please follow me.”          
The woman straightened her cloths quickly by running her hand down them and said “Very well then.  Please lead the way.”           

A door was smashed of its hinges and Lieutenant Barrister, his platoon and their package moved onto the roof of the building.           
“Oh my God,” the woman said.  From over 30 stories up the view of the city was horrendous.  Smoke rose thousands of feet in the sky as the fires continued to burn the city to the ground.  Dozens of V-6 Firestorms were coming in and out of the city, every second.  Whole buildings had chunks missing from them from the artillery barrage that had ravaged the city.  Overhead, hundreds of lights flashed a minute as Katary assault craft dog fought with N.A.T.O. fighters.  Every few seconds a roaring boom would echo through the city and a flash of light would be seen in the distance as the Katary long rang artillery exchanged fire with the N.A.T.O. North Atlantic Fleet sixty miles of the coast.          
“Command, this is Tactical, package is at pick up zone, repeat package is at pick up zone,” Lieutenant Barrister said into his radio.           
“Roger that, Tactical, pick up is on the way, ETA one minute,” said a soft female voice                   
The seconds ticked by as the city around them fell even more in chaos’s snare.  The woman stared at the fires and muttered in Spanish under her breath while she continual kissed her cross hanging round her neck.  A loud boom came from over head and eighteen pairs of eyes stared into the sky.  A dark sharp in the form of a V-6 Firestorm was falling towards them.          
Out of the shadows of the city, an ear-splitting screech came, followed by a wing creature flying towards the Firestorm. 

Military Report: # 00138          
A Katary sky hunter is a winged beast that is part bred, part made.  Like all Katary, they are a fusion of flesh and metal.  With almost all metal making up most its giant 5 feet long wings, 2 feet wide torso, foot long beck and 4 feet long legs its job is to mainly harass enemy aircraft and infantry.  While it has also been know for doing short range scouting and bombing missions it is relatively easy to shot down.  Most of the time.                   

The Katary Sky hunter streaked towards the Firestorm at high speeds, wings flapping rapidly.          
“Corporal,” Lieutenant Barrister yelled at the South African Corporal and heavy weapons expert.  “Shoot that bastard down.”  Before the Lieutenant had finished his sentence, the Corporal was already loading his portable missile launcher with a round. 
        The Sky hunter slammed into Firestorm, causing the transport to spin out of control slightly but it then regained its course.  The Katary winged beast came around again for another pass.  This time instead of simply slamming into the transport it flew right up next to it and began ramming it with its huge beck.  The Firestorms amour was already starting to cave in from repeated impact.             
“It’s too close, the computer can’t get a lock,” the Corporal stated to the platoon.          
“So fucking aim manually and take it down,” The platoon Sergeant roared. 

Military Report: # 01385          
There is a key difference between a Vanguard and a regular solider.  If some computer, some general, some military analyst, or just some stupid prick with a stick up his arse says that it can’t, not no way, not no how, no buts, just can’t be done; Well then as God, Buda, Allah, Jehovah, or any other supernatural being as their witness, they will do it.  They will walk through fire and back to complete a mission because if the war is lost on their side, there will be no second war, no life after war, no home to go to back to.  It’s all or nothing.           

A missile rocketed upward, leaving a small cloud of exhaust in its wake, straight towards the transport and the Sky Hunter.  Everyone in the platoon held their breath as the missile streaked upwards.  A beautiful explosion of extreme red, mild yellow, and average orange followed after the missile connected with the Katary Sky Hunter.  A collected sigh of relief came as the platoon saw the transport fly safely out of the fireball.           
“Nice shooting there, Corporal,” commended Lieutenant Barrister.           
“Thank you, Sir,” replied the South African.          
The Firestorm landed smoothly on the roof and a squad of U.S. Marines came down the ramp.  The package was escorted into the transport with a word of thanks from it.          
“Hey, who shoot the missile at that winged bastard,” a Marine asked suddenly.          
“I did,” answered the Corporal.           
“Well then as soon as you get back to the fleet get your ass over to the U.S.S Enterprise and look up Sergeant Sanchez’s squad, cause we all owe you a drink for that one,”          
“You can all bet your arse’s I’ll hold you to that.”          
“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”                             
The transport took off at high speed blowing dust, ash, and smoke all over the building.           
“Tactical, this is command, your orders are as followed,” said a voice in Lieutenant Barristers ear.  “You are to move to checkpoint Alpha were you will assist a battalion of U.S. Marines EVAC the few remaining civilians off the island.”  On the top right corner of his screen, a map of the city was shown and line from one point to another was drawn.          
“Roger that Command, Tactical out,” The Lieutenant said into his radio.           
“All right men you have your orders, now move out,” shouted the Giant Russian Bear making the platoon move into action.  The Lieutenant sighed deeply, cursing this war not the first time in his life.  He hated the war, the army, the hate, the death, the destruction but above all, he hated the Katary for making him hate all those things.  He just wanted to go home.  To be with her once again.  To be left alone and as far as Lieutenant Barrister was concerned the world could go to hell in a hand basket, but alas, fate had decreed it not to be so.          
“Boss,” His Russian Sergeant said, jerking him back into reality.  “Ready to move?”  The Lieutenant nodded slightly and then grinned evilly at the Russian and his platoon.           
“Lets go and kill the fuckers,” the Lieutenant said and then symbolically pulled back on the slide making his rifle, singing the death song of a round being cambered.  This caused a cheer amongst his men and the platoon rushed off into battle.