Stygian Archives: Survival of the Fittest

Chapter 1

  An aircraft shot across the sky faster than the speed of sound.

  Although it was a fairly sizable plane, it was invisible to radar and didn’t create any sonic booms, despite it’s speed. This was the International Intelligence Bureau’s latest plane, the WR-12. It was usually used for surveillance and attack missions, and its usual payload was bombs and missiles.

  Today, however, it’s cargo was special: one Armorlite Reconnaissance Attack vehicle and ten IIB agents.

  Sitting in the corner of the lounge, Senior Agent Zack C. Damon was unaware that four days earlier, he had become a target in perhaps the most lucrative and significant bounty hunt ever. 

  Underneath his hood, Damon wore a pair of anti-flash glasses with black frames and orange-tinted lenses. Clothed entirely in a black cloak, Damon cut an imposing figure, especially in the dark. His dark, cold personality and clothing gave him his call-sign: Stygian.

  Standing at over 1.88 meters tall, Damon was lean and well-muscled. Over the years, Damon had earned a formidable reputation as the best agent in the IIB, and he came up at number two on the CIA’s list of top agents in the world. In fact, he was the only IIB agent on that list. 

  The WR-12 sped through the sky, bound for an abandoned Libyan facility in the harsh Sahara Desert. It was officially named “GN-3” and was a remnant of the old Gaddafi administration. There had been three secret nuclear facilities in Libya, with GN-3 being the largest. As Gaddafi’s cruel regime came crashing down, the facilities were left to deteriorate by themselves in the blazing heat of the Sahara.

  However, just two days before, a group of well-armed and well-prepared Islamic Gaddafi-supporting terrorists hijacked the facility and threatened to launch eight SS-N-23 nuclear missiles--missiles that simply had been left at the facility after the fall of Gaddafi’s regime--throughout Libya if the Libyan government didn’t accede to their demands. The deadline was set at 11 a.m. today, 14 September.

  The Libyan government investigated old records and discovered that nuclear missiles were indeed housed at GN-3--ten SS-N-23 nuclear-tipped intercontinental ballistic missiles actually; all contained in underground silos that were designed to evade detection by anyone else.

  Therefore, without the proper men and equipment to deal with the situation, the Libyan government called on the IIB for help. 

  Responding quickly, the IIB had sent a force of 2 special crack teams led by Senior Agents Leon Daswell and Otto Skolsky to neutralize the threat and to destroy the nukes. However, just a mere 30 minutes after the teams entered the facility, radio contact was mysteriously lost. Damon and his team were sent to investigate and complete the mission, if necessary.

  Damon sauntered over to the bomb bay of the plane where the Armorlite Recon vehicle sat. It was the latest vehicle developed by scientists and engineers at the IIB laboratories and was one of the lightest, fastest, and strongest armored vehicles in the world. On the roof was a fearsome looking 6-barreled Gatling machine gun.

  Inside the elegant vehicle sat nine IIB agents, the other members of Damon’s team. Every one of them was dressed in orange fatigues, grey body armor, and yellowish-orangish helmets to blend into the desert environment of the Sahara.

  Apart from one member of the squad, this wasn’t Damon’s usual team of Vladimir Petrekov, Brian Williams, Harry Brandt, and Johann Schmidt. Head Agent Isaacs wanted Damon to “get out of his comfort zone,” thus assigning him to a different team. Damon wasn’t at the least irked, since he knew almost everyone in the IIB.

  However, Damon was allowed to bring one of his regulars along for the mission: Landon Steele, call-signed “Grey Wolf.” Enthusiastic, quick, and intelligent, the 26-year-old Grey Wolf was not someone to be messed with. He had met Damon on a previous mission years before, and they had become good friends. 

  Just after Damon strapped himself into his seat, the ramp opened, revealing the sand rushing past below the plane. Apparently, the plane was flying just a mere 5 meters off the ground.

  “We’re ready to go! Release the safety chains!” Damon shouted over the roar of the engines.

  With a “chink” sound, the Armorlite was released and shot down the ramp, out into the open desert of the Sahara.

  The Armorlite bounced on the sandy dunes of the Sahara. The heat was sweltering but thanks to the IIB agents’ cooling gear, they did not really feel the effects of the desert temperature. 

  “Sir, GN-3 lies behind that sand dune. We should be coming into visual range in 25 seconds.” Agent Jonathan Terrington, the Armorlite’s driver and an experienced agent, said to Damon. 

  “Once we get into visual range, stop the vehicle. I want to have a look at the facility before we go barging in.” Damon eyed the sand dune.

  When the Armorlite got to the top of the dune, Terrington slowed it to a stop. Damon pulled his binoculars from his utility belt and zoomed in on GN-3. After observing for a minute, he put his binoculars back and ordered Terrington to continue the drive.

  “The gate has been blasted open. This means that Daswell and Skolsky did enter the facility. I could see their Armorlites in the main courtyard. However, I didn’t detect any activity. We’d better prepare for a surprise, boys,” Damon announced.

  “Do you think that Daswell and Skolsky are still alive? I’ve a feeling that something happened. Somthing unpleasant.” Grey Wolf turned to Damon.

  “Yeah. I’ve the same feeling too, but I don’t like to speculate. Let’s get there and find out what happened,” Damon replied.

  Soon, the Armorlite drove past the blasted gates of GN-3 and the agents got a closer look of the facility. Two large buildings dominated the compound: one warehouse and an office building. It was like a ghost town, with no one else in sight; and ten nuclear missiles lay somewhere underneath.

  The Armorlite screeched to a halt beside the other two Armorlites, kicking up sand and dust. The IIB agents got off and organized the attack plan.

  “Wendall, take Doc, Topman, Kayne, and Terrington. You secure the office building. I’ll take Grey Wolf, Stripe, Ice, and Red Fox,” Damon whispered.

  “Roger, Stygian.” Wendall smirked and led his team to the offices.

  Damon slowly opened a creaky wooden door, trying to be as silent as possible. He went in gun-first, surveying the scene that lay before him. Damon carried a TDI Vector submachine gun, a recoilless gun that could fire a blistering 1,500 rounds per minute. It was his weapon of choice in close-quarter fighting. Strapped to his back was a P-90 SMG and two Desert Eagles were holstered to his sides. In addition, he carried an unknown number of S-shaped knifes under his cloak, which he used to great effect.

  Once he was sure the corridor was clear, Damon motioned to his team to move into the corridor. They moved to the end of the corridor and Damon put his ear to the door, trying to hear any sound coming from the other side. 

  No sound. The area was dead quiet.

  “Base, this is Mohawk-3. There is no sign of Mohawk-1 or Mohawk-2.” Stygian spoke into his microphone. 

  “Mohawk-3, continue with--” Suddenly, the signal cut to hash.

  “What the... What happened?!” Damon frowned, “Stripe, do you detect any jamming signals?”

  “Yes, sir. Our signal is being jammed. I have a bad feeling about this, sir.” Stripe nodded.

  “Damn. Something’s not right here. I have a very bad feeling about this whole thing,” Damon muttered, “Never mind. We continue with the mission.”

  Opening the door, Damon was met with the sight of a huge hangar in the maintenance area. But he didn’t have time to ponder the size of the area, because that was when he caught sight of the bodies.

  They lay in a group about 15 meters from the door: five bodies, all clothed in orange IIB desert fatigues, body armor, and all shot to bits.

  Blood covered the whole lot. It was splattered all over the floor, splotched over bodies, and smeared over faces.

  “What the...” Red Fox gasped.

  “Man, these are the freakin’ IIB crack team!” Ice said, surveying the carnage.

  Damon remained silent and brooding.

  The uniforms on the corpses were customised: removed armor plates, markings on the armor, and colored helmets.

  Customised uniforms: the trademark of the IIB Commandos.

  Numerous ejected shell casing lay on the ground around the bodies. Fire from the crack team. From the look of it, the men had been firing in every direction when they’d went down.

  Whispers.

  “How many men down there?”

  “Just five, same as the last group. Yellow-2 reports five more in the office building.” 

  “So which one is Damon?”

  “The one in the hood and glasses.”

  “Snipers ready. Wait for my signal.”

  One of the bodies caught Damon’s attention. 

  He hadn’t really seen it at first, because the bodies were lying in a huddle, making it hard to make out.

  Among the five bodies, this man’s head had been completely hacked off!

  The exposed windpipe and esophagus fluttered in the wind, and blood stained the part of the neck that was still intact.

  Damon was not at the least affected by the sight, but it had a different effect on Stripe.

  “Oh, man! That’s disgusting!” Stripe turned away.

  “Damon looked closer at the body. Although IIB Commandos don’t wear tags, Damon could tell the body’s identity just from the armor.

  It was Leon Daswell.

  Suddenly Damon’s earpiece burst to life with Wendall’s voice on the other end, “Damon! Bad news! The entire IIB crack team here is dead! A bloody mess! And Skolsky’s head has been cut clean off! What the blazes is going on here?!”

  Damon’s mind raced. His eyes scoured the surroundings.

  GN-3. Isolated and remote. Far away from civilisation.

  No sign of the Islamic terrorists. 

  Radio signals jammed. 

  The IIB crack teams dead...and the strange addition of Daswell and Skolsky’s head being cut off.

  Then realisation hit him. 

  “Wendall!” Damon whispered sharply into his mike, “It’s a trap! We’ve been set up! Get here immediately!”

  Just then, Damon’s prowling eyes settled on a heap of snow. Looking closely, he discovered that it was actually a camouflaged soldier with a rifle pointed right at him! 

  As if on cue, the whole area became awash with gunfire and it turned into a combat zone.