The Real Tales of the Royally Screwed

The Whimsical Tales of the Royally Screwed

By Bobkiss88

Introduction

"This was a really shitty day to quit drinking."

         Lieutenant Andreos          'Joker' Cain

To say that things didn't exactly go according to plan would be a fairly accurate description. Or at least it would be, if you didn't include all the betrayal, secrecy, manipulation and killing. But enough about what I did, that's still to come. In all honesty, the start event that lead me to battling alien Gods can be singled out as when I was wrongly dishonourably discharged from the RAF regiment. A few, well, more than a few deaths were involved. I won't bore you with the details of why I was shunned and exiled by my country men, but needless to say, I was more than a little pissed off at them.



Being in the military for a majority of my life left me with very few skills other than the ability to shoot people and lead soldiers into battle. Which made me the perfect candidate for mercenary work. I had met a number of people whilst in the RAF which gave me a lot of contacts. Admittedly, most of them had been shooting at me at some point. They had often caused me to dive for cover while I tried to work out how the Hell I'm going to get out of this one. Fortunately, being a heavy trooper, I was not only carrying my trusty light machine gun, but I also carried around a rocket launcher which, apart from being bloody heavy, made dealing with enemies rather easy.



I got a message from an old friend who had contacted me, after I had told him that I was looking for work. He set me up with a group who needed some hired muscle. Now I know I'm in no way the tallest person around, by any stretch of the imagination, but I know how to take orders and set up a fairly decent ambush, so I was accepted quite quickly. I mean I was never truly trusted, seeing as I was shooting at these types of people in a previous profession, but they saw my usefulness and I got paid, so we had an understanding.



I stayed with them for a few years. I lost count of the number of missions that I actually went on with the team, but it was very easily into the three figure range. We raided compounds, defended outposts, ambushed convoys and everything in-between. I was rather good at it to be honest. A particular mission stands out to me, and probably was the deciding moment that put me on the road that lead me to being the person that I now am.

Chapter 1

"There is no problem that cannot be solved by the use of high explosives."

         Sergeant Dennis          "Leeroy" Blackburn

Have you ever woken up and just known today was going to be bad? I have, on a number of occasions. You can't quite put your finger on what it is, then it hits you like a freight train and my God, don't you wish you'd just stayed in bed. Well, like a fool, I ignored that feeling and got on with my day.

My team and I had been given news that we were to be ambushing a heavily armed convoy carrying an important piece of cargo. I thought nothing of it. The group that I'd been working with for the last five years had done this type of job more times in a year than most students do their own laundry the entire time they're at university. The convoy, we had been told, was compromised of two HMV's, two armoured personnel carriers and a heavy goods vehicle, which was carrying our prize. We didn't ask what the item was, what it did or what it was for. It wasn't our place to ask. All we did was what we were paid to do.

I was in my bunk at the outpost in Germany, when I received the news that we had a job. I was reading some God awful book about a world where an alien armada comes to earth seeking to colonise our planet. Stupid, I know right. I was just about to put it down when my comrade in arms walked in through the door way.

"Cain, we've got a job." He had a thick Russian accent, which suited him well. He was a tall, broad man with scars here, there and everywhere but the only one that really stood out was the one down his left eye. He had told me at least seven different stories of how he received it, whilst we had drinks over card games. He seemed to enjoy keeping me guessing. To be honest, I never really cared about the scar, but he gave off a sense of charisma that had a knack for keeping my attention.

"What is it Viktor?" I asked, not really wanting to leave my bunk.

"Not sure. Get dressed. Marco wants to brief us all in 10."

"Well we wouldn't want to keep the big guy waiting, now, would we?"

"He'll have your balls as a trophy if he hears you say that." Viktor said with a very sly grin, his yellowing teeth breaking through his battered leathery face.

"Oh, he can try." I replied with a similarly sly grin. With that, Viktor left down the hall and I got dressed. I put on my usual combat fatigues. All fairly standard stuff you'd expect for a mercenary; combat boots, disruptive pattern material trousers, shirt and jacket and my own personal touch, my trusty rapier. I acquired it on a mission into France. Raiding museums for art can get boring. But a sword... now that's interesting. It was 3 feet of reinforced steel with one razor sharp edge that led to a needle like point. And it never left my side. It gave me a sense of comfort. Viktor told me I was a fool for carrying it around, but it had saved my life on more than a few occasions, so I would be damned if anyone was going to take it away from me now. Once I was ready I left my room and went down the dark corridor to the briefing room. My room was at the far end of the corridor from the briefing room, opposite the storage room. Rumour beheld that in there was a hoover of some sort, but I've never seen it used. I passed 10 other doors on my way, which led to rooms similar to mine, each belonging to a comrade in arms. I got to the doorway of the briefing room. Like always it was open to the bunk corridor, seeing as that was the only way into or out of accommodation space.

The briefing room itself was about twenty feet by twenty feet, with 11 chairs, one chart of the French Alps and a dart board with Hugh Jackman's face pinned to it. Inside the briefing room were nine men all dressed similarly to me, minus the rapier of course. Of the nine, only one wasn't sitting down. Marco. He was the boss, no mistake there. He had more experience than the rest of us combined when it came to jobs. He was well into his late 70's although some of us believed he's actually been around so long as to have been in the battle of Waterloo. He never shut up about it. He claimed that he loved history. We all thought he was just remembering the good old days. Marco had short, greying hair, but still retained some of his youthfulness. The most striking thing about him though, was he was only five foot tall. But don't let that fool you. He's taken down men over a foot taller than him in less than three punches.

"Right, Cain's here, that leaves Smith and Jones." Marco growled.

"They're coming." Replied Johnson. He was a smug man with an air of arrogance. He claimed to be the best sniper in the modern world. I've yet to see such talent. Hell, I can hit a target further away with my LGM.

"I'm going to kill them if they're not here in the next three minutes."

"Calm down boss, they'll be here. What's all the hurry anyway?" Asked Crowden.

"There's a time limit on this one and we're going to need all of you to pull this one off." Answered Marco. He seemed jittery, which could be good or bad. He only got like this if there was a very large cash payment, or he was genuinely worried. The latter I've only ever seen once, and this was when he heard his ex-wife was on route.

"How long?" Asked Viktor.

"Less than 10 hours." Marco grumbled. He was getting impatient. This wasn't a good sign. Things didn't tend to go well for the people who upset Marco. Two people came though the door. A man, average height, in his early twenties and a woman, shorter, of similar age. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a tight bun on the top of her head. She looked angry. I would have been too if I was catching up on 3 days of missed sleep, but I guess that comes with the job. They were both wearing their flight suits. It was rare they were ever out of them, except when they were working out in the gym downstairs.

"This better be worth me getting up." Scowled Jones. She leaned against the wall opposite Marco and the chart.

"Oh it will be." Replied Marco, holding her stare. "Right, everyone, listen up. We've got a job. There's a convoy heading through the French Alps towards this military bunker. It's carrying a piece cargo in a heavy goods vehicle that our employer wants. The mission is to retrieve this item and take it to the drop off location, here." Marco pointed to a small farm on the Southern side of the map. "The convoy is protected by two HMV's and two APC's, meaning you're going to have to be fully kitted out for this one. You'll be dropped off near the road that the convoy will be travelling down. You'll set up an ambush, kill the guards and take the cargo. Cain you'll be in charge of the ambush. Any questions?" Wonderful. I was in charge. It's not that I didn't like being in command, but there's always one idiot who thinks it'll be a good idea to do his own thing.

"What compensation are we looking at for this?" Asked Thomson.

"Enough that we'll be able to retire." Replied Marco. Well shit me. I can tell you, if I wasn't feeling the pressure before, I was now.

"How long do we have to prep gear?" Viktor asked with his deep Russian voice.

"One hour."

"What is the cargo?" asked Smith.

"Unknown. It's a container about two feet wide and four feet tall."

"How professional are these guards?" I asked. I've been in more than a few firefights to know that professionals are predictable, it's the amateurs who are dangerous.

"Unknown. They're a group we've never heard of before."

"Name?" Quizzed Viktor.

"EXALT." Replied Marco. "Any other questions?" There were none. "No? Good. You've got one hour till dust off. Get ready." With that we left to prepare. Since we were all dressed, all that was really needed was getting the combat armour and weapons. We all had our own set of flak armour which some of us had personalised in some way or another. Viktor had sewn a Russian star onto his right arm. He said it gave him good luck. I've never been an optimist, but a bit of luck never hurt. The way I was feeling however about this job, though, I wanted as much luck as possible.

The team itself was a collection of troops from all over the world. All had their own reasons for being here. All had their stories. Most of them were dull as fuck however. I mean one or two wanted to flee their countries for political reasons and I think Gunther was meant to be on trial for War Crimes, but hey, who hasn't been these days? What made our team of nine so effective was our diversity when it came to combat. Of the nine, there were two heavies, three assaults, two supports and two snipers. The heavies, were armed as such because of the big guns that we carried around so much. One light machine gun and a rocket launcher per person can be very effective in the right situation. The assaults were the "happy go lucky" sort of people that enjoyed charging the enemy positions. Lord knows why anyone would be that stupid, but somehow they managed to dodge enemy fire long enough to take them out. The supports were the people to befriend however. They were the ones who went around helping others who'd taken a hit, and that happened quite a bit in our line of work. The last group were the snipers. Cowardly bastards who stay at the back, because they're afraid of taking a bit of fire. That said, they are our eye in the sky when it comes to taking down the enemy.

Once we all got our combat gear on, we went out of the compound towards the helipad where Smith and Jones were doing final checks on our Merlin Class helicopter. The single propeller aircraft had been our method of transport for a number of years now. Smith never told anyone how he got it, but hinted it was something to do with a card game, three chickens and a priest. Regardless, it was now our transport to the ambush site, where we were going to acquire our retirement fund. We stowed our weapons, strapped in and set off. Oh how I should have just stayed in my bunk...





* * *

















I was jolted awake by a sudden bump of the helicopter. I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour, and by the looks of things I wasn't the only one who had drifted off before we arrived. Hicks was also fast asleep. It was hard to miss, to be honest. His snoring could be heard over the engines of the Merlin which said quite a bit. Viktor was looking out of the window opposite him. His knuckles were white. He hated flying, but it was the only method of getting where we needed to be in such a short amount of time.

"Twenty minutes to drop off." Jones called. "Get ready."

"Somebody wake up Hicks." I shouted. Johnson gave him a friendly slap and Hicks jolted awake with a startle before he remembered where he was. The twenty minutes flew by and before we knew it, we were jumping off the helicopter. Having the helicopter would be too problematic if it was to stay (big target and all), so it took off. It would only return once the cargo was secured.

The Canyon was, thankfully, just like the images that we had been going through, back at the compound. This made everyone's job a lot easier, but most of all mine. I've said before I have a knack for setting up ambushes and this was going to be the big one. From what we were told, we'd be out manned 2:1 and out gunned by a hell of a lot. Never the less, we had been given a job and we were going to see it through.

I ordered the eight men to their respective locations. The road led straight through a cannon with steep, but climbable sides. About 30 metres up the hills on both sides of the road, a forest began. This would be where we would all be hiding. On the left hand side, there would be one assault, one heavy, a sniper and a support. Whilst on the other side would be two assaults, a sniper, a support and myself, as the heavy. The idea was to take out the front and the rear vehicles, thereby trapping the convoy on the road. The two teams would then supress the guards until the heavies could take out their armour. Once the APC's were dealt with, the assaults and supports would move in to secure the cargo while the rest of the team provided covering fire. Simple, right? I was happy with the plan, as were the rest of them. Or at least if they did have any issues they never voiced them. With everyone now in position we waited until the convoy came into view. We didn't have to wait long.

Less the fifteen minutes after we had all set up, the convoy came into view. It looked just how I imagined it would. In the front was a HMV with a 50. Cal machine gun on top. It was carrying five guards; one driver, one gunner and three foot soldiers. Behind that was an APC. It was an old BTR-4 series that were used by the Ukrainian army. It was an eight wheeled hulk that carried a 30mm auto cannon that could tare through most lightly armoured vehicles without a second thought. Behind that was the HGV that was carrying our prize. It was a full eighteen wheeler, with what looked like reinforced armoured sides. After the lorry was another HMV and finally at the back was a second BTR-4. This was going to be interesting. I signalled Hicks to wait until the convoy was between the two teams before firing his rocket. His job was to take out the lead vehicle whilst I took out the rear. From there, the plan was proceed as appropriate. The convoy approached the ambush site, unaware of what was about to happen to them. I primed my launcher and the rest of the team cocked their weapons. Hicks waited until the lead vehicle was in position and then all Hell broke loose.

Hicks fired his rocket. It travelled straight into the side of the lead HMV and the resulting explosion sent shrapnel and flying car parts all over the road. The main chassis of the car, flew into the air about 10 feet and landed in front of the BTR-4 which slammed on its breaks at the sudden obstacle in its path. The turret on top now tracking the smoke trail left by the rocket back to Hick's position. My rocket was not quite as successful. It hit the side of the rear APC with a fantastically hot fireball, which blew out the wheels on the left hand side of the tank. It veered wildly to its left and came to a halt almost 90 degrees to the road. It was crippled, but not dead. The HGV and the remaining HMV both stopped abruptly and the occupants disembarked. Four men from the remaining HMV, all armed with assault rifles, got out of the vehicle and took cover around it. The man, operating the 50. Cal didn't need to be given any orders and opened fire on the wood line where my team were stationed. The tracer rounds tracked back and forth as he tried to find a target amongst the undergrowth. The rear compartment of the front APC opened and 4 men, all armed similarly to the others, took up firing positions around the HGV and the APC that was now unloading it's ammunition into the treeline where Hicks and Viktor were stationed. With targets now aplenty for both sides of the ambush, the main fire fight began. The assaults began to edge forward down the hill side, towards to vehicles while the support men and snipers provided covering fire. Johnson, who was positioned near me, aimed down his scope and with an audible thud, fired his sniper. The result was the 50. Cal on the rear HMV went silent. He then repositioned and aimed up another shot. I could see everything that I needed to. Everything was going according to plan. I loaded up a second rocket and took aim at the damaged APC. Its turret was now searching for whatever had wounded it. It spied something and opened fire. The tree, less than 4 metres away exploded in a shower of splinters as the 30mm shells ripped through it. I've never cared for trees, but I felt a sort of sorrow for it. At least until a fairly large splinter slammed into me. That's when I came to my senses. I wasn't a bloody tree hugger. Screw that thing. I was on a job. I lined up my rocket and fired my remaining missile at the APC. It hit the tank in the gap just between the turret and the hull. The shot was exactly what I needed. The turret blew off the top of the tank and landed some 10 feet behind the vehicle and the explosion tore through the hull of the APC, cooking off the magazines inside. The secondary explosion was even more impressive than the first with a fireball almost twenty feet across. I allowed myself a grin and switched to my light machine gun. I aimed at the 3 remaining guards from the rear HMV and laid down supressing fire.

"Viktor and Hicks have both been hit." I heard Crowden shout over the radio. I cursed. Not only because Viktor was a friend of mine, but also because Hicks still hadn't fired his second rocket. This was bad, because now we had an APC, with no method of dealing with it.

"Crowden, can you help them?" I asked.

"Negative, too much fire on me."

"Johnson! Give Crowden some support." I ordered. No reply. "Johnson, do it now." I looked over to his position. There lay the body of Johnson. His head was now a bloodied mess. He must have taken a round from the rear APC before it was destroyed. I was beginning to have issues about this. I've often found that just before shit is about to hit the fan, I get this feeling in the back of my mind and start to shudder. Sometimes I shudder without knowing why and then (unfortunately) I get a reason. Well needless to say, I shuddered there and then.

"I'm in deep sh-..." Crowden was cut off. There was a crump of an explosion from his position. One of the guards must have gotten close enough to throw a grenade. This was not going well. I was about to give another order when I realised I was the only one left shooting still.

"Biggs? Harper? Anybody?" I called down the radio. Nothing. Silence. It was at that point when I realised something was very wrong. I was about to get up when a very distinct feeling came upon me. A gun barrel was pressed against the back of my head. It was still warm.

"Get up." I heard the man say. Now I don't know if you've ever been threatened before. If you haven't I can honestly say, it's not very nice. Still, he was in a position to kill me, but had chosen not to. I thought this must have been my lucky day. I slowly got to my feet. "Start walking." I began to walk towards the road where the remaining guards were waiting. Of the eight that had disembarked from the vehicles only three remained. I was taken to the road side and forced onto my knees. Guns were aimed at me as I knelt before them. The guards brought out someone from behind the still functioning APC. I was filled with relief to see that it was Viktor. He was still alive. He had clearly been hit though, and was losing blood fast. He gave me a wiry grin. I think he was trying to make me feel better. We'd gotten out of worse situations before. He probably felt this was going to be no different. Viktor was forced to his knees next to me and together we stared back at the four men with their rifles trained on us.

"It's clear Sir. Two survivors." One of the gunmen said over his radio. A man in his late 50's exited out of the lead APC. He was wearing combat fatigues, but wore them sharply. He was clearly an officer of some sort. What rank though, was impossible to tell. He was a tall man, around six foot and wore short cropped hair that was beginning to grey. He stood in front of the gunmen.

"Who are you?" He asked us. We didn't answer. "I hate having to repeat myself." He pulled out his pistol and shot Viktor straight between the eyes. My heart stopped. The man who I'd become so close to in our years together now lay dead next to me. I have never felt such a mixture of sorrow and anger as in that moment. The officer turned to face me. "Who are you and what do you know of our cargo?" I looked at the man square in the face. I said nothing. He shook his head. "You are such an ignorant fool." He tightened his grip on the trigger. And for a second time in one day, all Hell broke loose. The arm that was holding the pistol trained at my head became a bloody stump right before my eyes. The pistol and the officer who was now clutching his mangled arm fell to the floor. A rocket hurtled into the side of the remaining APC, blowing it into large pieces of flaming shrapnel. The four gunmen that were watching us fell one by one as bullets tore through them from somewhere behind me. I was not concerned about them however. I rose to my feet. The guard who'd marched me to the road hadn't removed my sword, and it was that very weapon which I was now drawing. The officer, began crawling away from me with his one good arm, towards the HGV. I followed and stood over him. He looked at me. His face white with fear.

"Who am I?" I asked rhetorically. "I'm Andreos fucking Cain." I thrust my sword into him. He gasped as my sword pierced his heart, before slumping to the floor. I withdrew my sword and sheathed it. I turned around to face my 'would be' saviours to find yet more guns pointed at me. Five soldiers stood behind me in armour that looked almost alien.

"Who are you?" Asked a woman with a French accent. She had the rank of Captain on her shoulder.

"Oh no. Not this bloody game again." I replied.

"I am Captain Annette Durand." she said.

"Andreos Cain. At your service." I bowed mockingly.

"What were you doing here?" asked a man to her side, this one a sergeant.

"Sight-seeing." The look on their faces told me they weren't a fun group. "I was sent here to retrieve the cargo of that lorry. What are you doing here?"

"That's classified." The captain answered.

"Well I don't suppose you know what's in there?" I gestured to the HGV.

"That's classified." She repeated.

"Talkative bunch you lot are." I said.

"Are you the one who was in charge of this attack?" She asked.

"That's classified." I answered. See how they like it. As it turned out, she liked it a lot more so than I was expecting. She smirked at me.

"Well, Cain, it looks like your day hasn't exactly gone well. What are your plans now?" The captain asked. "Your team are dead and I see no method of extraction for you."

"I was going to click my heels together and say there's no place like home." The captain chuckled to herself.

"How would you like to work with us? We could use a man like you. You would be paid well and you would be respected as one of us." I can honestly say I was tempted. I could go back to the compound, but then what? Everyone was dead apart from the pilots, Marco and myself. No. The answer was clear.

"What sort of work would it be?" I asked. "Oh wait don't tell me. That's classified?" She smiled again.

"It'll be worth it Cain. Trust me."

"Fine." I said after a moment or two. "I'll come with you. But what's going to happen to all these bodies and vehicles?"

"Leave that to us." The sergeant said.

"On your heads be it." I said. With that, they escorted me to an aircraft the likes of which I've never seen before. It was a small aircraft, no bigger than the Merlin I arrived in. It was a mixture of both plane and helicopter. The wings and shape were in the design of a plane, but in the wings themselves were a pair of turbines that allowed it to land and take off vertically. Being from an RAF background I was heartily impressed. They called it a Sky Ranger. What a weird name. That said, I've flown in gryphons, squirrels and pumas, so I guess it wasn't the worst name in the world. There were six seats in the back. Five of which were taken up. I stowed my weapon, sat in the spare seat and strapped in. The cargo from the back of the HGV was brought on board and when we were all ready, the pilots took off. Looking back now, I can't help think that Viktor was the lucky one in all of this. He never had to deal with all the things I've gone through. The panicking, the running, the bowel clenching fear, more running... I could go on. Yeah, he was definitely the lucky one. If only I had known at the time.