Chapter 43: Fuck around and find out

Location: NZA Facility, Antarctica

Unit: GOU

Date: 14th March 2023 CE

Mclaw efficiently neutralised two fireteams of NZA soldiers as they rounded the corner, leading his section through deserted steel corridors. They came to a stop near a substantial doorway.

With precision, Mclaw retrieved a mirror and employed it to cautiously survey the corners. Suddenly, a sharp whistle seized his attention, emanating from behind a crate. Looking ahead, he swiftly identified a rifleman cautiously peering out with his weapon raised.

Oza signalled for them to join him, and Mclaw swiftly took cover behind a stack of pallets, followed by the rest of the team, who cautiously scanned their surroundings. Spread out before them was the shipyard, where three battleships were undergoing maintenance. NZA soldiers scurried about, ferrying explosive ammunition into the ship hulls.

Kneeling beside Oza, Mclaw inquired, "Has Brad located the engine room of the third ship?"

Oza shook his head, replying, "No, this one has a distinct design compared to the others."

Mclaw carefully examined the ship and noticed that its railguns were smaller than the ones typically found on NZA battleships. Moreover, it seemed to be equipped with a larger number of missiles. The hull appeared elongated and had a more curved front, contrasting with the sharpness of the other vessels in the fleet.

Retrieving his bag, Mclaw rummaged through its contents and extracted a set of blueprints. Holding the designs up to the sky, he called out quietly, "Burt!"

She hurried over, took the blueprints, and swiftly scanned through them. Inserting the blueprints into the GOU's system, she verified their authenticity.

Richards' voice crackled over the communication device, expressing frustration, "Oh, for God's sake," he paused, clearly having examined the blueprints, "it's there?"

Displaying the designs on his left arm while keeping his pistol at the ready in his right hand, he pressed himself against a wall and holstered his sidearm. Two NZA guards appeared around the corner, exchanging a glance with the operator. Quick as lightning, Richards retrieved a concealed blade from his arm and plunged it into the first guard's neck. With precision, he swiftly retracted his foot and delivered a forceful kick to the second soldier's groyne.

Turning back, he swiftly slashed the throat of the hunched-over enemy. Walking away, he left the two guards' lifeless bodies behind.

He continued down the corridor, forcefully pulling a hatch open before leaping through it and landing at the bottom of a hallway that connected several rooms. Retrieving a backpack from his back, he placed it securely inside what appeared to be the main engine room.

Opening a zipper on the backpack, warm air unfroze the surrounding area. Pressing a few buttons, he spoke into his radio, "Armed and connected to the master detonator, over."

There was no response...

He repeated, "Anyone?"

Suddenly, gunfire erupted outside the vessel, prompting him to instinctively cover his head.

Turning back to the corridor, Richards swiftly drew his pistol as he heard multiple sets of approaching footsteps. But then, they gradually faded away...

Instead, he started to hear several distinct clicking sounds, causing him to tighten his grip on his weapon. Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the area, hurling him into the air. His vision blurred as he struggled to remain conscious.

In and out of consciousness, Richards reached for his helmet, feeling a throbbing pain underneath. He shook his head, trying to regain clarity, and as his vision slowly returned, he realised his visor was cracked. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered under his breath.

Turning his head slightly, he noticed someone entering the room. Reacting quickly, he pulled out his pistol, observing the NZA marine who had readied their assault rifle.

With a single well-aimed shot, Richards discharged his weapon, and the marine slumped against the wall, lifeless.

As more footsteps approached, Richards reached into one of his pouches, retrieving a steel ball. Swiftly, he pulled the pin and tossed it down a nearby corridor, the ball bouncing off the walls and disappearing around the corner. A moment later, a loud cry echoed through the corridor, followed by an explosion that rippled through the area.

Despite his injuries, Richards mustered a smile as he attempted to stand up, only to falter and drop to one knee. A crimson substance dripped from his forehead, and upon touching it, he realised it was blood. "Shit," he muttered, pulling up his radio, which appeared to be in perfect condition. He quickly analysed it on his pad, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "It should be working..."

A burst of laughter escaped him, mixed with a tinge of grim determination. He fired two shots, taking down an approaching NZA marine. "Left leg is fucked. Covered in shrapnel, not long until infection sets in... bullet wound as well. Losing blood from my head fast. Faceplate cracked, temperature dropping. Rest of the armour compromised," he reported through his microphone, doing a quick self-assessment.

Swallowing hard, he spoke again, "Don't worry about me. Get out of here." He urged the voices on the other end of the radio to prioritise their escape. Turning away from the radio, he tightly clenched his bloody palm. Removing his shattered helmet, he hurled it against the wall in frustration before retrieving a first aid kit.

Applying a bandage, he wrapped it around his scalp, knowing that the blood would likely seep through. He had to hold on as long as he could, ensuring that the rest of the team could escape and that the mission wouldn't be in vain.

As he applied the bandage, a nagging thought crept into Richards' mind. "Why weren't they responding? Did something go wrong?" But he forcefully pushed the thought aside and continued wrapping. Spotting an enemy ACR-3 rifle, he swiftly picked it up and fired into a group of adversaries.

Just as he released the trigger, a familiar voice echoed in his ears, "Burt, get the damn radio working!"

There was static, followed by another voice saying, "It's on!"

Mclaw brought his microphone closer to his face, his hand still gripping his throbbing head. "They tried jamming long-range comms, Richards, radio check, over?" he shouted over the intense gunfire on his end.

Richards tapped his earpiece and responded, "This is two-one, radios are okay, over." A grin formed on his face, relieved to hear the familiar voice on the other end.

Then, the confirmation he had feared came through amidst the cacophony of gunfire. Mclaw yelled, "We've been detected! Watch out for enemy contacts!"