Subject: FICTION: ASSAULT
From: rathwig@aol.com (Rathwig)
Date: 6 Aug 1996 23:25:47 -0400

I'm posting this from an AOL account as my regular account is SNAFU this
day. Please post comments, critiques, etc or e-mail to
fironald@artsu2.watstar.uwaterloo.ca

ASSAULT

by F. Ian Ronald

Amazon Jungle, March 2062

	Corporal Richard Lyons was quite worried. The officers from C-Corp
were taking far too long. The team had already lost three of its members,
and the longer they remained within an enemy base the better the chances
of being caught. There was some comfort in the knowledge that this was
merely a relay station deep within enemy territory, which meant that most
of the security systems were automated. The lieutenant from C-Corp assured
the corporal that all of the security devices had been put on stand-by as
soon as the C-Corp operative had cracked into the station s main net. The
chances of a patrol actually finding the team at unawareness was minimal.
The corporal was the only member of the team that wasn't on point. It was
Lyons  responsibility to guard the C-Corp team, who were not as fully
combat trained as the Green Berets.
	Lyons heard the point teams report in. The sergeant was with the
heavy weapon, and the lieutenant who was running the show was with the
point team nearest to the communications relay tower. Everything was
quiet, and the lieutenant from C-Corp estimated the main datacore would be
breached in less than a minute. Lyons remembered from the briefing that
once the datacore had been breached, it would take three minutes to search
and download the necessary files. By the time that was accomplished, the
AV-225 Dragonfly VTOL aircraft would be ready to make an immediate
dustoff, and the whole team would be winging home on the most
sophisticated stealth support aircraft ever made.
	"Datacore breached," came the C-Corp lieutenant's voice, both from
just behind Lyons and through his headset. "Beginning search program.
Alert Nighthawk to begin approach."
	"Negative," replied Lieutenant Munro, from his post by the tower.
"Nighthawk will begin approach during downloading."
	Lyons recognized the consternation in Munro's voice. Munro had
mentioned how much he hated Intel Ops. He didn't have a high opinion of
C-Corp either. He didn't feel the intelligence was the purview of the
Army, nor was cyberspace. Munro probably was the type of person who hated
colourization as well, thought Lyons, already beginning to feel the tense
anxiety creep out of him. His grip on his Armalite M-18A loosened
slightly. He wiped away some of the sweat that had accumulated on his
brow. The mission was almost over. It hadn't been a milk run, but
everything had run smoothly after the perfect covert entry onto the base.
The jungle patrol had been a fluke; and even then, it was a miracle more
of their team hadn't been killed. Superior training and equipment had once
again triumphed over numbers.
	"We've got a problem," the eerily echoing tense voice of the
C-Corp lieutenant said. "The datacore appears to be filled with
counterfeit files."
	"Explain," Munro demanded, no emotion apparent.
	"The files are all gibberish," the C-Corp lieutenant answered, his
voice now more under control. "Some appear to be copies of new bulletins,
others are weather reports, but nowhere are there any files with military
or technical information."
	"Have you searched every file?" queried Munro.
	"The program is still running, but it doesn't look good," the
C-Corp officer replied.
	"Continue operation," Munro ordered. "I want everyone on their
toes. I've got a bad feeling about this one. Douglas, contact Nighthawk,
relay that we have come across suspicious circumstances, and require
immediate dustoff. Once the bird arrives, we're high-tailing it out of
here, but not a second sooner."
	Lyons heard Specialist Douglas respond to Munro in the
affirmative. Lyons' anxiety returned four-fold. Point teams once again
called in. There was still no sign of the opposition. Maybe it was some
kind of mistake, perhaps it wasn't a trap, hoped Lyons. He knew full well
that those thoughts were pure fantasy. It was no longer a question of if
the shit might hit the fan, it was when the shit would hit. He made a
cursory visual inspection of his equipment. Everything was properly
secured. If the team had to evac fast, Lyons would be ready. He had been
told that if it came down to it, it was his responsibility to destroy the
C-Corp teams equipment. There was no way the team could make it out
quickly hauling all of the C-Corp crap. 
	"We've got movement," reported Specialist Gregory, who was one of
two men in the team with portable detector equipment. "Can't quite figure
out these readings, there's a lot of interference, and a lot of shit out
in that jungle. Looks like men and heavy equipment moving in on our
location."
	"Pull back to rendezvous," ordered Munro. "This party is
cancelled. Lyons, get those C-Corp boys and their toys to rendezvous."
	Lyons nodded as he acknowledged the order, knowing the lieutenant
couldn't see him. He turned to the C-Corp officers, who were already busy
packing up their gear. 
	"Definite contact," came Gregory's voice came over the headset,
excited. "Shit, there're too many to make an accurate report, but I'd say
hundred, maybe hundred fifty infantry with twelve APCs and possibly some
tanks; the readings are really screwy."
	"Let's bail, kids," Sergeant Harris's voice ordered over the
headset.
	As Lyons grabbed a briefcase like container from the C-Corp
officers he heard the unmistakable sound of a mortar firing. Then there
were three more. Suddenly his headset was alive with reports, orders and
exclamations. The ground shook with the impact of the mortar rounds.
	"Christ, biologic weapons," screamed Gregory, and Lyons could hear
him fumbling with his environmental gear.
	"Everyone wrap up, we're under biologic attack," ordered Munro,
the edges of agitation beginning to frame his words.
	Lyons began to seal up his suit. The suit and body armour were
already prepared, only a mask and gloves were necessary to fully secure
the suit against exterior biological threats. Lyons' suit was secure
within twelve seconds, which was four seconds slower than his fastest
time. Lyons turned to see if he could assist the C-Corp team. They were
also ready, and were picking up their equipment.
	Over the headset, Lyons could hear the loud exchange of small arms
fire. Teams were constantly reporting in updates. The sergeant and the
heavy weapons crew were at the rendezvous, and could see the Dragonfly
begin its approach. Lyons and the three C-Corp officers were just exiting
the computer offices building when Lyons saw a missile fire up from the
jungle. Swearing could be heard all over the headset, including from the
pilots. A second, then a third missile followed the first into the air,
all chasing the erratic and nimble Dragonfly. With three missiles in the
air, Lyons knew the chances that he would be flying home were too close to
nil to even dream about. Lyons was searching for a possible route of
escape and saw the explosion of the Dragonfly in his peripheral vision.
	"Gather at the secondary rendezvous," Munro said. "Trash the
C-Corp equipment."
	"Fuck that," said the C-Corp lieutenant. "You've got no
authority..."
	"I've got all the authority," Munro yelled back over the comlink,
not in the mood for insubordination. "Trash the equipment. Nothing left at
all, Lyons."
	Lyons shrugged at the C-Corp lieutenant. The two cyber-ops were
just standing dumbfounded, glancing between their lieutenant and Lyons.
Lyons made a move towards the cyber-ops, and the C-Corp lieutenant drew
out his sidearm. Before the pistol had cleared its holster, Lyons had
driven the butt of his M-18A into the lieutenant's midsection. The pistol
discharged, catching Lyons in the leg. 
	"Christ, the bastard shot me," Lyons said over the comlink,
knowing, as he said it, nobody would understand.
	Lyons fired two rounds into the upper arm of the C-Corp
lieutenant, hoping that would stop him from doing anything else stupid.
Lyons trained his weapon on the two cyber-ops, who raised their arms into
the air, visibly shaking and sweating with fright.
	"The C-Corp crew's gone screwy," Lyons said in answer to the
multiple questions over the link. "The lieutenant shot me. I put him down
with two rounds in the arm. He's bleeding pretty heavily. I'll need
back-up if you want this equipment trashed."
	"We don't have any back-up to give you," Munro replied. "We're
pinned down here. What about you, Harris"
	"I'm on my way," came Sergeant Harris's reply. "I'm bringing the
corpsman. If these biologics contact the breached suit, you're both dead,
Lyons."
	"I know," Lyons whispered in reply.
	Lyons waited, his weapon still trained on the two cyber-ops. He
could see the lieutenant writhing around on the ground beside him, but the
pistol was not within the officer's reach. Lyons wanted to put a bullet
into the bastard's skull. Lyons began to feel tired, and his vision
started to blur. His arms were heavy, and already the M-18A began to
waver. It was too difficult for Lyons to keep it trained on the cyber-ops,
and it was getting hard to focus in on them. Lyons' recognized the initial
phases of biologic contamination. His clouded brain told the rest of his
body he was dead. Lyons could no longer hold his weapon up, and he could
not even hear the arrival of Sergeant Harris. Lyons was gone.