Operation: Pacifica, Landfall
by Lieutenant Commander "ST" Geier

[Day Ten of Operation Pacifica.  Time:0800]
Music - Piano Concerto No. 19, Mozart

 Although he had set his alarm for this time the previous evening,
  ST had had little sleep.  It was now only an hour to the disembarkment to
  Pacifica, for the island now loomed on the horizon well within visual
  distance of the fleet.  The botched attack of the spongin and his
  counteroffensive had aided him in beating a funk the long voyage had
  instilled in him, but that was now replaced by feelings of anxiousness,
  tenseness, and slight paranoia.

 [Perhaps I am subconsciously readying myself for battle,] he
  silently mused.  [Shouldn't be that big a deal.  We go there, kick sponge
  ass, liberate the captain, take them back to the fleet, and go home.  Simple
  as that.]  For about the hundredth time, he checked himself in a mirror.  He
  had on his blue and green Omega Squad duty uniform, with his weapons in
  their usual immaculate condition.  He stood at attention, studying himself
  intently.

 [For crying out loud, this isn't a fricking fashion show!  You're
  here to seek and destroy, not get on the cover of GQ!]   With that disgusted
  thought, he turned and left his quarters, leaving behind the trappings of
  his tenure about the _Tsunami_.

[About an hour later]

 "Lieutenant?"

 "Hmm...oh, Captain Roswell, I assume it's time?"

 "Yes, ST, it's time," said Roswell, who had approached ST.  He
  stood at the rail, his gaze locked on the island.  "Am I interrupting
  anything?" he asked.

 "Not at all, I was just standing here thinking about...," he
  hesitated.  "Thinking about what I'm about to do."

 "Don't worry about it," responded Roswell.  "From what I've seen in
  the past few days, you should do all right.  Just remember to keep your wits
  and know what's going on around you, and you should make it."

 "I don't like that word, should," laughed ST, "but I'll keep your
  advice in mind."  He paused.  "Isn't it about time for me to get my ass up
  there?"

 "Yes, it is.  Good luck, ST," said the captain, shaking ST's hand.

 "Thank you, Captain," replied ST as he returned the handshake.  He
  turned to leave, walking in his steady pace to the transport.

 Stepping inside the transport, ST could feel his breath coming in
  gasping spurts.  He realized he was about to hyperventilate unless he calmed
  down.

 "Sir?  Is there something wrong?" asked the Doberman manning the
  transport.

 ST took a deep breath and sat down.  "No, not at all...just
  nerves," he explained in an out-of-breath voice.  "Let's get this thing in
  the air...I'm as ready as I'll ever be...."

 "Yes, sir."

 With that, the Doberman turned to his console and activated the
  Zodiac.  The transport lifted off without a hitch and was soon seaborne.
  Around him, ST could see the other transports hit the sea along with a
  heavily armored battlesuit rocketing by.  [I wonder who that could be,] he
  silently noted with a twinge of sarcasm, as he drew ever closer to the
  island of Pacifica.

Music - Symphony No. 9, First Movement, L.V. Beethoven

 The transport slowly but steadily pulled up to a deserted beach.
  About a mile away, ST could hear the sounds of the beginning of the
  conflict.  The transport doors whizzed open, and with a wishing of luck from
  the transport pilot, ST set foot on the island.

 The instant he had both feet firmly planted, he started to hear a
  strange murmuring.  Puzzled, he wondered if this was a mental attack by some
  nearby Lyran.  With that, he attempted to push it out of his mind, but the
  strange noises continued.  "You hear something?" he said in the equivalent
  of a stage whisper to the pilot, who was just about to depart.

 "Not a thing, sir.  I'm sorry, I have to leave at once or my ass is
  fried and toasty..."

 "I understand," ST cut in.  With an exchange of nods, the pilot
  left and ST began his exploration of the island.

 His first priority was to find the Lyran who was tormenting him
  with the strange noises in his head.  He searched for about twenty minutes
  in and around his landing location and found nothing. [Must be something
  else,] he mused, finally giving up the search, crouched behind a large rock.

 "Do you think we'll be safe here?"

 ST instantly became alert at the sound of the unexpected voice, his
  eyes darting in all directions.  He hit the dirt and snuck a glance behind
  the rock.  He spotted a lone female sponge minion, unarmed and beckoning
  with one arm.  ST heard running footsteps from the other direction, and thus
  he carefully shifted his position to look around the other side of the rock.

 He saw a male sponge minion running and obviously out of breath.
  He was soon at the side of the female, so ST resumed his former position.
  The spongin were exchanging small talk and were quite distracted as ST
  considered his options.  The best course would be to sneak around them, but
  he didn't know if these spongin were alone, surrounded by a slew of others,
  or even real at all.  The thought of a Lyran trap using an illusion crossed
  ST's mind more than once.   There was no easy decision in this case.
  Finally, the spongin sealed their own fate.  After about ten minutes of
  thought, ST looked up to see where the spongin were.  He saw that they had
  snuck away to make out and they had been at it for quite a while.

 [I cannot allow the furthering of the sponge race,] he thought,
  arming his .357.  [They chose the wrong place to do... that...]  He suddenly
  stood up and fired two quick shots, hoping to hit both of them as they
  rolled and trashed about in the throes of something truly hideous.  The
  bullets struck the back and head of the female, killing her instantly.  The
  male was thrown back several yards from the impact.  He got up and ran
  towards where his girlfriend's body was.  ST only calmly loaded another
  bullet and fired, hitting the spongie dead center in the chest.  With a
  grunt of satisfaction, he continued past the corpses inland.

Music - Grieg "Hall of the Mountain King"
[A few minutes later]

 ST carefully made his way forward through a forest, attempting to
  find the conflict that he could hear raging between the first wave and
  unknown enemy forces.  As he moved further on, the murmuring grew louder,
  but he paid it no heed.  He suddenly heard a twig snap and a muttered curse
  ahead.  Snapping into full battle attention, he drew his .357 and Lochaber,
  looking all around in order to ward off the attack that he knew was now
  impending.  It came fifteen seconds later, with a party of seven spongins
  jumping from the trees, weapons blazing.

 It might have worked had ST not known of their presence beforehand,
  but unfortunately for them, ST had his Magnum blazing the instant the attack
  began.  Five of them dropped to the ground dead, the other two firing but
  missing.  The quick and the dead slammed into the ground with a loud thump,
  as ST reloaded and checked for survivors.  The two that lived stood up and
  drew swords, charging at ST with the Hell Wyrm War Chant in their throats.
  ST quickly seathed his .357 and drew a dagger, hurling it at the lead
  minion, catching him right between the eyes.  The other reached ST and swung
  his axe clumsily at him.  ST blocked it expertly and countered with a
  devastating stroke to the spongin's hip, felling him.  A quick swipe
  beheaded the inept foe and left ST alone once more.

 [I knew I should have brought along a silencer for the Magnum,] he
  silently cursed.  [Water under the bridge now.]

[A few minutes later]

 He made his away along even more cautiously than before, until he
  finally made it close enough to the fighting to see what the sneck was going
  on.  He saw instantly that this was not his battle.

 Wyrm Bots and armored TRES and Doberman troops waged war with a
  ferocity that stunned even the barbarian ST.  With missiles flying,
  chainguns blazing, and all sorts of other madness airborne, ST could see
  that he would be toasted in an instant were he to venture onto that field.
  A stray missile exploded about twenty-five yards from him, causing him to
  duck and cover.  "I gotta get out of here ASAP," he muttered, "before
  another stray claims me."  He turned and moved as furtively as he could in
  the other direction.

 He had to find an ally.

To be continued in "A Joining of Hosts"

--ST