Operation Phoenix: From the Deep (pt.1)


Mordrid reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of 
Bud.  He'd just learned he'd gotten an 85 on his calculus midterm and he 
was going to celebrate with a beer and a cigar.  He went over to his 
stereo and put in AC/DC's _Highway to Hell_--perfect kick-back music, as 
far as he was concerned.  He sat down on his bed, taking a swig of beer 
as he did so, and lit up a Cuban.
        He didn't get to celebrate too long.  The Jihadlinker on his desk began 
to beep madly.  "What the--" he grumbled, irritated at the interruption, 
as he went to grab it.  He picked it up, looked at the display, and 
promptly dropped his beer.  "Fuckin' shit!" he croaked.  "We're being 
invaded!"
        He snatched up Heckle and Jeckle, his pair of 9mm Berettas, from his top 
drawer and dashed out the door.  He didn't bother to take the elevator 
down, even though he lived on the seventeenth floor of his dorm--it took 
too long--but charged down the stairs, taking entire flights at once.  
When he reached the bottom, he rushed down the escalators to street level 
and sped down Commonwealth Ave. towards Kenmore Square, paying no heed to 
the angry calls of the pedestrians he pushed out of his way.
        When he reached the Kenmore Square T station, he pushed on a brick about 
halfway up the wall of a little-used corridor.  Part of the wall swung 
inward, revealing a long downward staircase.  This was the entrance to 
the Destroying Angels' headquarters.
        The two soldiers in the control room looked up to see their commander 
burst in, dressed in street clothes and waving a pistol in each hand.  
They stood and saluted.  "Sir?  What is it?"
        Mordrid ignored him, directing his attention to the large map of Boston 
that formed an entire wall of the room.  "Map--world--Mercator 
projection."  The city map dissolved into a map of the globe.  "Display 
invaders."  Purple blotches sprouted all over the map like poisonous 
mushrooms.  "Goddam..." he whispered. "B'harnii's not screwing with us 
anymore."  He turned to the soldiers, who were still standing at 
attention.  "Call up Air.  Tell them to have the Old Bastard ready for 
takeoff in ten minutes."  
        The Old Bastard was the Destroying Angels' air force: a WWII vintage 
B-26 Martin Marauder bomber, but with a few new twists.  The frame had 
been strengthened and the fuselage covered with eight inches of durasteel 
plating.  To accomodate this extra bulk, the original engines were 
replaced with combination turboprop/ion drives, in order to enhance 
performance while maintaining the look of the original.  The Bastard 
could go 700 miles per hour at top speed and handle six tons of cargo at 
the same time.  Finally, the machine guns had been removed and small 
plasma cannon installed in their places.  It also had a few other nasty 
surprises, like concealed rearward-firing Sidewinder heatseeking missiles 
and a high-powered cutting laser in the nose.
        Before the soldiers could do this, however, a phone began to ring.  One 
of the soldiers picked it up and listened for a minute.  Still holding 
the headset to his ear, he looked up at the Colonel.  "Sir.  This is 
waterfront observation post eight.  He reports several objects surfacing 
in the inner harbor and moving shoreward."
        Mordrid took the headset.  "What do they look like, Trooper?"
        "Unclear, sir.  Appear to be small submarines of some sort, black in 
color."
        "Strange.  B'harnii's stuff is usually purple or green.  Focus in on 
one."  He addressed the soldiers in the control room.  "Put eight's 
camera output onscreen."  The display showed a torpedo-shaped object, 
possibly fifty feet in length and half-submerged.  "Something's moving on 
the top there.  Zoom in some more."  The screen was filled with the image 
of a hatch in the top of the sub opening.  "Something's coming out.  Back 
off a bit so we can see it more clearly."  It stepped out of the hatch 
and stood on top of the sub.  A second and then a third joined it.  They 
were black, reptilian, and extremely powerful-looking.  Two of them 
carried enormous serrated swords and the third a gun of some kind.  They 
appeared to be having a discussion of some kind.
        "What the hell...?" said Mordrid.  He put down the headset.  "Call in 
the entire Angels.  Get Harbor Defense out there and get the Bastard in 
the air.  We can't expect any help from the rest of the Jihad for 
now--they're too busy with their own fights--so we're gonna have to go it 
alone.  Let's get 'em.  NEX PURPUREAE BESTIAE!!"

to be continued...

Col. Mordrid
Ensign, TRES Corps
Lieutenant, Legion of Doom
High Commander, Destroying Angels
(new .sig under construction)