# A Thriller, Sci-Fi, Action Story... Working Title: Conquering The Hydra (Long story)



## Nazgul Killer (Apr 6, 2011)

*A Thriller, Sci-Fi, Action Story... Conquering The Hydra*

*This story has gore in it, intense warfare and some harsh language. Bear in mind.*

The year is 2017, Russian and America grew ever closer in the past few years as China grew ever so mightier. A Russian Revolutionist Party, a Democratic one at that, has been planning a revolt against the current regime for some years now, and have now really started to gain motion in its movement, setting St. Peterburg as one of its main strongholds. They start taking over the nation by force and by propaganda...

My story is of espionage, warfare, politics, action and the inner feelings of the people involved. But there is a small twist to the plot... This isn't your ordinary story with a hero and a bunch of extras running about and dying. No... This story has *very* few recurring and remaining characters, every chapter will present 3-4 different characters with different, and sometimes combining, conflicting or dividing stories. This is the first time I've ever written something like this, but I'm very excited about it. Enjoy! 
*
Conquering The Hydra
**Chapter 1: Prologue - "Reality?"
*
His pace was that of a demon rather than that of a Human. He walked so quickly, so decisively, with so much confidence that it appeared as if the ground had been shaking around him and the entire world shivering to his very existence. His right hand started twitching as he became edgy, walking toward the dark warehouse. His pistol was strong and cold to his right side, ready for action if needed and his guards were not too far behind, just as edgy as he was.

He picked up the pace, his boots clacking against the rough pavement as his mind raced. "What if that fool Alexey would screw everything up?" He thought. He worked on this plan for far too long, for too many years, for it to fail right now. He loved Alexey, as if he were his brother. He would trust him with his life and he could think of no one better, more charismatic, smarter, more cunning to lead his revolution and his army. Dimitri was, without a doubt, the mastermind behind this whole plan, and that was why he was so edgy about this. He felt as if his plan was taken away from him by his own brother... Yet he calmed himself. He knew it was his paranoid mind just running about in circles and yelling while flailing his arms. The thought of that made him chuckle nervously.

Dimitri's guards caught up with him soon enough as he approached the entrance to the warehouse, their boots clacking in uniformity. His guards drew their weapons and he stopped, looking at them in shock; "Idiots!" He spat in his native language, Russian; "Put those back in their holsters! We are in the company of friends!" He roared at them as they stood in the entrance of the warehouse;
"I'm glad you think so, Dimitri" A voice said in Russian with a heavy Chinese accent. 
"Ah, Bingwen!" Dimitri shrieked and smiled nervously. The two embraced one another, if one were to sit at the sidelines of this meeting he would choke from the tension in the air. The two men were so nervous you would think it were two lovers meeting after months apart... But quite the opposite. It were two enemies meeting for the first step of reconciliation. 
"So, what do you have for me, dearest Dimitri?" Bingwen asked with a calm voice, hiding his fear.
"As promised..." Dimitri said, opening his backpack and pulling out a laptop, indicating a shares deal had been done over thousands and thousands of shares of oil in Saudi Arabia, transferred from one account to the other.
"Fantastic!" Bingwen exclaimed, somewhat more calm now as he now sees his Russian colleague kept up to his leaders' words.
"And...?" Dimitri asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course! Of course!" Bingwen said, smiling, pulling a manifest out. The manifest indicated a shipment of 'Goods and Foods' being sent from Beijing to St. Peterbourg by ship. 
Dimitri smiled at that, but then a thought crossed his mind... "How do I know this is real?" 
"How do I know this is real?" Bingwen asked, motioning with his head to the laptop in his hands now.
The two men smiled and shook hands, now more nervous than before. 

Bingwen went on his way, with the deal done now, he raced to the other side of the warehouse, laptop at hand. Soon enough, Dimitri and his guards who remained in the warehouse could hear the rotor blades of a chopper and it lifting off. Dimitri took one last look at the manifest in his hand and sighed, hoping he had not just been a victim of a fraud. Three red-colored jeeps raced into the warehouse just then, from the same entrance he himself entered. Out of the middle jeep a man peered, opening his door, motioning Dimitri to enter. Dimitri motioned his guards to enter the jeeps and jumped into the middle one himself.
Just as he shut the door, the three engines roared and they set out.
"Is it done?" Alexey asked.
"Yes. It should reach us by the end of the week" Dimitri responded, handing him the manifest. 
Alexey smiled.

~~~~~~

The Raptor duo zoomed by the Su-30 duo, now disengaging. The Russian technique for aerial combat was so expected that the Raptor leader didn't even think twice.
"Break right!" He screamed at the radio, and did so himself. The Raptors roared into action as they broke to the right, to chase the leading Su-30.
"Arm!" He screamed again at the radio, and armed his ordinance.
The two Raptors came diagonally to the leading Su-30, coming up on his six. The Su-30 tried maneuvering to evade  them, yet to no avail. The two remained strong on his tail.
"Bravo 2, break, break! Behind you!" He screamed into the radio as his radar picked up the second Su-30 on his six. His wing man erupted into the skies, pulling up near the point of stalling, and then dove down like a rocket, lining up behind the second Su-30, forcing it to disengage and break to the left, Bravo 2 not too far behind.
"Goodbye." He said calmly into the radio, and heard Bravo 2 laughing a maniac laughter of joy and victory. He squeezed the trigger and the computer indicated the F-22 fired its ordinance and the enemy destroyed.
He smiled, his first kill of the day.
"Got him!" Bravo 2 soon exclaimed.
"Good work Bravo team. You had us there..." A Russian accent, speaking in English came from the radio.
"You were too predictable" He mocked.
"Next time you won't be so lucky" The laughing Russian comrade responded.
"Ohhh, I'm scared now" He laughed, sweating and breathing heavily after the dogfight "Come on, back in to formation. Let's head home" He said, and the 'downed' Su-30 came to his right. His wing man and the second Su-30 came up to his left and they started flying for home, bickering, criticism and laughter coming from all four pilots.

An alarm suddenly ticked on at the F-22's radar. "Break! Breaaaaaak!" He screamed and the four planes broke formation majestically. A rocket about the size of a street light zoomed past his canopy just then, origin unknown. He faced an impossible problem. If he were to stay high off the ground he would get easily shot down, if he were to go low he would risk crashing one of the quad, yet he also could not engage the foe as he had no real ordinance on either of the four jets, not to mention the location of the anti air missile remains unknown.

He did what he knew best... "Get out of here! Now! Go low!" He barked his orders at the other three and the quad dove to the ground, zooming to the base, Bravo 2 just barely pulling up quickly enough to not crash against the ground.

"What, the *hell*, was that!? " He exclaimed at his commander.
"Calm down Colonel..." His CO responded.
"Calm down!? Calm *down*!?" The Russian duo's team leader erupted into the conversation; "Did you not see what happened there, General!?"
"I know. And we know where this was from. And... Who it was also" The two-star general responded.

~~~~~~

"You stupid son of a bitch! What the hell is wrong with you!? Why can't you ever work!?" A Russian mechanic screamed at the tank and banged on it with a wrench as a bunch of soldiers looked at him and mocked him betwixt themselves.
"Oh, funny, isn't it? I'm trying to fix it for you, you ungrateful mutts!" He screamed at them, to their utter delight.
Michael watched from the side, leaning against a tree in its shade, whilst the laughing soldiers sat upon a boulder, not ten feet away from the broken tank and the mechanic. He chuckled at the site of the five soldiers mocking the one, poor mechanic, who soon understood the absurdity of his situation and burst into laughter. 
Michael looked at the plains set beneath him, below the hilltop he was standing on. The snowy forest beneath him, to the West, was absolutely staggering, brimming in the dim sunlight of pre-sunrise. To the East were plains of nothing but snow, snow so deep the ground beneath was simply invisible. Fall in Russia was something indeed special. 
He started pacing toward his tent at the second level of the encampment, walking between tents and downward toward his tent, passing tanks, soldiers, fires, squabbles, breakfasts, tents and much joy in the air. For some reason, today was one of the happiest days Michael had seen in his long-long service in the Russian army. There was some sort of cheer in the air... Maybe it was because of the warmer-than-usual weather, the early sunrise, the magnificent view... Or maybe it was just one of these days, that start perfectly and end horribly... Maybe.

He walked into his tent, seeing all three of his 'room-mates' still asleep. He tossed his rifle at his bed and walked outside again, sitting in front of the fire still roaring aside to his tent. He found a bullet on the ground and started playing with it, trying to decide whether to go in the tent and go to sleep, make up for the night in which he had no sleep at all... Or just sit out here, gaze onto his fire and to the magnificent forest beyond it. Soon enough, fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep where he sat. 

"Where's my arm? My arm!" A long, distant cry came.
"Come on guys! Wake up! Wake up! Grab your weapons!" Another cry came, accompanied by the sound of a dull explosion.
"Here they are! Shoot them! Shoot them!" A closer cry came, followed by a dim gunshot. 
Michael opened his eyes to see a horrific scene. The forest erupted into gunfire as several artillery units started bombarding the hilltop from the forest itself and gunshots blazed from it. A Russian soldier, he recognized him as the mechanic from earlier this morning, went about searching his severed arm, his other arm holding on to a live grenade. 
A bullet smashed into his chair, breaking one of its legs and making Michael fall onto his face and his hand into the fire. He cried in agony and removed his hand from the flames, severe burns covering it. He rushed to his tent and grabbed his rifle, all three previously-occupied beds were now vacant. He pushed a magazine into his AK-47 and rushed outside, utilizing his wounded hand to hold the rifle as he fired into nothingness toward the forest, rushing to his pre-determined post at mortar pit 7, 50 feet from his tent.
Soon enough he got to his pit, seeing only one of his room-mates there, with a grim face. 
"Dima! Come on! Load up!" Michael yelled and Dima shoved a mortar shell into the mortar, the mortar roared into action. Soon enough, an explosion rocked the forest and a tree fell. Another shell, another explosion. Another shell, this time the explosion was accompanied by several screams. 
"Dima, stay here, hide, I'll be right back" Michael yelled over the blaze of gunfire and explosions and rushed to get more ordinance for the mortar. Just as he made his way, 20 feet from the mortar pit, an explosion ripped through his ears and sent him falling forward, he looked back and saw that his post, the mortar pit, was now a simple smoldering crater.
A head, who had had its jaw ripped off and a big gash across its face, diagonally, left-bottom to right-top, landed next to him. Michael shrieked and started rushing to the other side of the hill.
He ran, and ran. Passing between soldiers firing at the invisible enemy, dying by the same enemy, screaming, shouting and hiding, he just kept running. He didn't care. He wanted to live. 
He hid for a few seconds behind a tree that peered out from a rock in the hill, leaning on to it while holding his injured hand close to his shirt. He tossed aside his AK-47 and ripped his shirt to make a make-shift bandage. He smiled at his creation... Yet his joy was short-lived and soon replaced with despair. An explosion rippled the ground around him, he realized the tree had exploded and he was sent flying.
Michael couldn't even remember hitting the ground.


----------



## Nazgul Killer (Apr 7, 2011)

All-right, time for the next chapter. Hopefully it will bring up some commentary.

The Russian government grows ever more concerned of the Revolutionist forces, as those grow stronger by the day. The government's strongest weapon, propaganda, has been put in play now. Messages released from the government declare that a new, Fascist, Nazi party has arisen and attempts to take over Russia to restore its Nazi ideals. This is far from reality, of course... But real is in the eye of the beholder, is it not?
All attempts to discover their sources of funding and weapon shipments came to nothing. With dead ends, no leads and empty hands, the Russian government has become desperate and turns to its closest allies in times of need...


*Conquering The Hydra
**Chapter 2: "Desperation..."*


 He smiled and waved at the hordes of reporters taking flash photography of him. His smile was as sarcastic as a black widow was venomous, he couldn't stand all these leeches just waiting for the right moment to strike and find you in your darkest hour, all he could think was how he wished this hour would end at last and the meeting would begin. 

His American counterpart had just entered the podium, smiling and waving as well, a smile that seemed ever so sincere, but he saw right through it and knew how much they both hated these moments. They were standing in a press conference room with about forty seats for the reporters, the White House's emblem behind them in the background and flags of Russia and the United States about the entire room. The room was lit with almost sun-like light, ever so bright and they both squinted at the blazing light and the irritating flash photography. 

His American counterpart approached him and shook his hand, them not even exchanging a word just yet, they posed for the cameras for a few seconds while shaking hands as his American counterpart finally spoke, in Russian, with almost no accent whatsoever; "I'm getting sick of this" He said, not moving his lips.
"Just a few more minutes..." The Russian Dictator replied.  
"A few minutes that seem to never end" The American President said, still smiling and waving while shaking the Russian's hand.

"Would you like a drink? Scotch perhaps?" An exhausted American President asked as they had both entered the backroom. The room was wallpapered by red-blood colored wood, two chandeliers embellishing the ceiling and throwing a dim light upon the entire room. In front of the Russian Dictator, at the other side of the room, stood four squared windows, stretching from ceiling to floor that gave a good view of the outside lawn. Upon the walls lay bookcases upon bookcases and paintings of important individuals in American history. His eyes fixated on a portrait of George Washington. 
It was late afternoon by now, and after a day of nothing short of intellectual hypocrisy, the Russian Dictator could not wait to sit down upon a comfortable chair and talk of the most pressing issue with one of his closest allies as of now.
"Yes. I would love one... Surprise me" The Russian Dictator responded to the querying President. The American smiled and poured them both a strong cup of Scotch. 

After exchanging a few random issues between one another, exchanging pleasantries and sharing in intelligence and knowledge, the two finally became comfortable enough for the Dictator to speak of his mind.
"I have a pressing issue, back home..." He said, taking a sip from his Scotch.
"We know. Your 'Nazi' party" The President mocked.
"Yes... They are of much concern, truly. A few days ago they had destroyed one of my top platoons, taking out seven tanks and two hundred sixty one of my soldiers. They have become violent" He said with concern in his eyes.
"And what would you have me do about it? I cannot intervene in a nation's inner struggles for power unless they go utterly critical. I can press the issue at the U.N. but that's about it. The world would condemn us both" The President exclaimed.
"I know this is much to ask, and I'm not requesting you go in with your forces... To be honest, I'm quite embarrassed by what I'm about to ask. "
"Speak. You are in friends' company, not in your foes'"
"Russia has gone poor in recent years. They have taken over half of our oil and gas wells and have blocked off the trains for half of the half we still control" The Dictator said, scrambling words. The President looked puzzled. 
"I didn't follow... You have three halves?" The President mocked.
The Dictator smiled and chuckled; "Doesn't matter. We need monetary aid. Our factories are old and outdated and need to be renewed if we are to gear for war" He said, back to his concern and serious look.
"How can we help you? I mean, I know how, but why? You are in charge of a dictatorship, and a democratic party has arisen in your nation - And we are to quash it?" The President asked, taunting.
"Should I remind you that this, '*democratic*' party," He said, emphasizing the word with utter disdain "has just recently launched a ground-to-air missile at a training exercise between our forces, nearly shooting down one of your top aces?" The Dictator asked, annoyed now. The President shifted uncomfortably in his spot, sitting right across from the Dictator with a glass table separating them. Upon the table lay a statue of a Gryphon. "Not to mention our friendly Eastern neighbor, growing in the shade that is modern society?" He said, before the President could respond. "Need I remind you the thousands of shipments of natural gas we are to send to you in the coming years? The combined development of the X-235? Our half a dozen military projects together? The exercises? The most peaceful time this world has seen in the past hundred years?!" He said, now raising his voice and the President motioned him to relax.
"I know of my interest in *your* Russia, but there is no guarantee the Democratic Russia wouldn't be exactly the same" The President said, calmly, coldly... Dismissively. 
The Dictator now smiled. His ace was ready in his sleeve and he placed the document that was itching so strongly in his briefcase upon the glass table. The President took it to his eyes.
"That is the original message sent to the four leaders of the Revolutionists" The Dictator smirked.
The President shifted uncomfortably again, yet this time adopted an angry gaze to the document and then looked back at his colleague, his eyes softening somewhat.
"I will return you my answer in the coming days. I need to consult this with my staff" The President said.
The Dictator smiled and nodded, they both stood up and shook hands. The Dictator had landed the ace, and he knew he had won this little argument between... Friends.

~~~~~~

The President walked out of the backroom and his secret service men rushed to his side, walking to either of his side. Bulky, large men they were. He left through a side door to the right of the backroom, entering a long, long hallway that reminded him of a hospital. The trio kept a steady, fast pace as he head to his office as quickly as possible. The minister of defense, one of his best friends and political allies, had joined him quickly as he saw him pass by his open office.
"Wha...?" The Minister started, and the President shoved the document into his chest. The Minister gazed at the document and read it thoroughly. 
"Is it genuine?"
"Yes" The President responded simply.
The President opened the door to his office, in which all four Chiefs of Staff waited for him along with the Minister of Treasury, Minister of Interior, Foreign Affairs and the head of the CIA waited for him inside, all of them looking ever so concerned. This is one of the very first times almost all the heads of the country stood in just one room. The Vice President was the only one missing at the moment. The President rushed to his desk, at the opposite end of the room and sat behind it. The room had been decorated ever-so-similarly to the backroom in which the Dictator and the President had their discussion. 
"Wh..." The Chief of Staff of the Marine corps started, the President raised his hand in dismissal.
"Russia is in trouble. Deep trouble. A new Revolutionist party has arisen and threatens the integrity of the new, stable, government there. One that I must remind you all, is our closest ally at the moment" He said, they all nodded in approval, he said nothing they did not already know. "This certain party has been gaining abnormal military power and have launched an attack against an encampment of the Russian army, killing well over two hundred troops. They have taken half of their oil and gas fields and are preventing shipment of the gas and oil from the rest of the fields to Russia, its neighbors and allies." He said, waiting for them to grasp what he said. Once he was satisfied with the time he had waited, he leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped together. "Russia has come to us for aid. They need financial aid, and fast. Now... Despite all of our strategic, *known*, interests in the current government, I was not convinced... However..." He said, pointing to the document in the Minister of Defense's hand, whilst that kept reading. "That document is the very first, original letter sent from an unknown entity to the four leaders of the Revolution. Dave?" The President asked, and the Minister of Defense nodded.
"It reads... 'Dearest friends, we have accepted your request and shall support you in your endeavors. We have much interest to see the Dictatorship that is Russia fall and a new Democracy to rise. Together we shall be stronger than ever, our allies are with us and we are ready to go all the way with you, for your new nation and the downfall of all who oppose us.'" He said with fear in his eyes.
"Do we know who sent this?" The head of the CIA asked.
The President nodded; "Li Jinato" He said simply. He looked to his clasped hands but could feel the eyes of all present in the room widening. 
"So... You're saying..." The head of the CIA started.
"China has declared silent war on Russia." The Minister of Defense whispered ominously. 
"Gentlemen, we are facing our doomsday scenario unless we act now" The President said, leaning forward, slamming his finger on the desk, pointing at it and rising up. "We either act and do our best to avert what we fear most, or we sit back and hope things turn up fine" He said, almost angry. 
"What's the worst case scenario?" The chief of the Navy asked dismissively.
"China has a new Russia as a puppet, becoming the single strongest nation in the world and we face a second Cold War, potentially lethal this time" The President responded. "Let's not forget that China is the reason South Korea had fallen in 2014!" He exclaimed. "One of our most strategical allies had fallen to its counterpart in just under two months of war, and our *now* most strategical ally is in grave danger" He said, obviously meaning Japan.
"I say we act." The Minister of Defense said.
"I won't do anything without the consent of most of the leaders of my nation... If not all" The President said, looking at all of them.

~~~~~~

"Hello, my dearest of friends!" Bingwen greeted Dimitri as he entered the room. The room was fashionably Chinese with its decorations, statues and lighting. Statues of ancient Chinese warriors embellished the center desk which was made of dark wood, upon the large bookcases to every side of the room lay books that appeared dusty and old, and also books that appeared just brand new. A painting of Sing Jinato, Li Jinato's mother, stood proudly over the desk on the wall behind it. Dimitri sat in front of the desk and just as he did that he could hear the door open. He jumped up quickly.
"Welcome, comrade" Li Jinato welcomed Dimitri in his own language as he smiled and they shook hands. 
"Let us speak English, please. It is tough for the both of us to speak each other's native language, so let us find a comfortable compromise" Dimitri proposed. Li raised an eyebrow, not prepared for such directness but smiled and nodded;
"You have courage. I like that in my allies" He said calmly and coldly. His voice sounded like that of a snake, so cold and distant yet so warm and powerful. He was definitely impressive. He stood 6'1 high, bulky and in shape, his voice deep and calming. 
"I have a question, if you don't mind..." Dimitri said nervously as Li motioned for him to be seated again and he himself sat behind the desk.
"Feel free!" Li said, smiling. 
"The... Uhm... Weapons shipment... I... Ugh..." He said nervously. He had never been in the presence of such a powerful figure.
"Oh, yes yes. I know. I have run into some trouble on that end... It seems that it has disappeared. Well... Not disappeared... We found wreckage of the ship in the shores of Siberia..." Li said ominously, looking truly worried.
"Do you know who did that?" Dimitri asked.
"No." Bingwen suddenly said, "We do not have any intelligence on that operation and it would appear as if ghosts did it. This is most troubling, this could mean they know of our alliance"
"Oh, how foolish of me. I forgot to introduce you two, even though you have indeed already met, yet not properly. Bingwen is my intelligence officer, he knows everything there is to know... My sole, truly trusted friend" Li said, smiling. Li seemed ever so cheerful. "We plan on sending an even larger shipment, but this time by air. We would not risk another seaborne shipment" Li said, now serious. 
Dimitri couldn't help but thinking just how fickle Li appeared, almost hyperactive. "Oh, I couldn't ask that!" He exclaimed.
"A deal is a deal. Do not insult my honor by not allowing me to do my part in it" Li said, aggravated. 
Dimitri nodded, smiling... Gulping in fear. 

~~~~~~

A thunder ripped open the air around the chopper, just after the lightning had hit the ocean itself. He couldn't believe he was here, on this Black Hawk, on his very first mission. It was almost too much. He was so happy and so excited, he couldn't wait... Feeling like a small child again, all he could think about was how just three months ago his officers were still screaming at him for not running fast enough or not getting somewhere on time... And now here he was. Holding his magnificent P90 with so many extras that it looked more like a tank than a gun. 
"Two minutes!" The Pilot yelled back, and his commander signaled the number two with his fingers to the rest of the crew.
He looked out the open door to see the thunderstorm just above still riling and screaming into the air, yet the sea was ever so quiet and peaceful. The two other Black Hawks flew in perfect alignment with his, in a downward facing triangle, ready for action and zooming to their destination.
"Bogies, bogies! This is Barber six four, go go go!" A voice screamed through the radio and the four accompanying Apaches zoomed overhead and past the Black Hawks at maniacal speed.
"Hotel one and Hotel three, this is Hotel two, go low, go low. I repeat, go low. One minute" His chopper's pilot said calmly into the radio and the three choppers aligned together in a perfect line and descended close enough to the ocean to avoid detection. 
One of the choppers started flying slower and aligning itself into a new formation, the third chopper rocketed forward in front of his own chopper; "Hotel one in formation" The forward chopper's pilot said.
"Hotel three in formation" The back chopper responded.
"Hotel two, ready" His own pilot responded.
"Roger. Hotel two and three, be advised they know of our location and we're going in hot. They are likely to be heavily equipped and ready for us, so be on your toes and keep moving" The leading chopper ordered.
He peered outside of his chopper, looking up past the rotating blades and could see the four Apaches deadlocked in a deadly aerial combat against three other attack choppers, of which he could not recognize. Missiles were flying everywhere, tracers and hellfire rockets zooming over the skies. He couldn't help but thinking how much he hoped the Apaches were good enough to manage that fight. 
"Twenty seconds!" The cry came over the radio.
"All right guys, get ready to roll. You know how it goes, five meter spread, steel duos, move together never apart, stay in eye and radio contact" His Officer said, looking at his three teammates. "Are you ready?" The Officer asked him specifically.
"Yes sir. Good to go." He said, smiling. Sadly enough, they couldn't see the smile. They were all wearing gas masks, combat suits and combat vests, gloves and a ski hat. No part of their body remained visible. 
"Good to hear that. Lock and load guys!" His Officer said, the quad loaded their weapons.
"Here we are!" The cry came over the radio and he could feel the chopper veering up and left, he looked outside and saw the leading chopper zooming above the cargo ship and its side-mounted machine gun began opening fire. The trailing chopper veered right and up, starting a slalom until it reached enough altitude to lands its troops on the roof of the bridge.
"This is Hotel 3, Seals are away!" The pilot said cheerfully.
The machine gunner in his own chopper started opening fire at the foe, who returned the favor. A missile zoomed across the skies, not hitting anything.
"The bottom of the bridge! Bring them down!" He heard a cry over the radio, and the machine gunner on his chopper began opening fire from the left hand side at the bottom of the bridge, where a large concentration of soldiers stood, firing their weapons at the skies. The chopper was now zooming over the end of the ship, cannot land just yet. 
"This is Hotel two, going in" His pilot said in the radio.
"Negative Hotel two! Negative! Do not land your troops, your LZ is way too hot!" A cry came over the radio.
"Shit!" He screamed as the chopper veered steeply to the right, after attempting to send its troops through, he almost fell out.
"This is Hotel three, Seals are safe" The third pilot said, now continuing its run after roping down its troops. 
"Sierra three, this is Sierra two, take over the bridge and take the guys at the bottom down" His Officer said over the radio, and a mumbled response came. Over the darkness, he couldn't see where his comrades on the ship went.
"Hotel two and one, this is Barber six four, stand clear" The leading Apache pilot said, and a missile zoomed from the left hand side of the ship and slammed into the bottom of the bridge, eliminating the opposition. He could clearly see a man hit directly by the missile and ripped to bloody shreds, another one standing right next to him had his leg 'removed' along with half of his arm. Two were running about, as they were on fire, screaming screams of agony and coming death. Three Apaches appeared and started their protective slalom around the ship in perfect coordination, rotating clockwise. He couldn't help but hoping that the last Apache's pilot's death was quick and painless. He knew that no body recovery would be done on this mission. 
"Hotel one and two, you are clear for contact" The leading Apache said.
"Acknowledged" He heard the officer of the first team say. The two choppers stood in their levitating positions, Hotel two above the bottom deck of the bridge, Hotel one at the tip's deck, and started propelling their troops. 
"Go! Go! Go!" His Officer yelled and he jumped out, grabbing onto the rope and slipping down. As his legs touched ground he quickly moved a few feet ahead and lay on the floor, setting a perimeter, as did his comrade on the other rope and as did the other two when they landed.
"Team, on me!" The Officer yelled and the four huddled together, he covered the back, aiming to their six and walking backward, his right hand on his weapon, left hand on his friend's back. The other three kept moving toward a door on the bottom bridge.
His Officer opened the door and they rushed in, he left his position in the back and rushed to the right side of the hallway in front of them, sticking to the wall and walking alongside it, covering to the front. His three teammates did the same on the opposite wall. 
"Contact!" He yelled and opened fire as he identified a figure running to him from an open door later down the hallway. The figure fell after three shots from the P90. As they came closer they saw it was nothing more than a simple civilian, yet he was holding a knife.
They now stopped, his three teammates aiming at a door on his side, and he stood right next to it, ready to move in. The third, last, teammate on the opposite wall ran to him and crouched next to his knees. He bended his knees and peered in, his comrade sticking close to him and aiming inward as well, he covered to the right of the room and his crouching friend to the left. 
 "Contact!" His crouching friend exclaimed and fired a single shot, taking out a soldier that just now peered out of his hideout behind a table. A direct hit to the forehead made the back of his head explode and his brain and skull splatter all across the wall behind him.
"Contact!" He yelled as three more soldiers popped up and opened fire, the two returned fire, using the wall as cover.
Their tactic worked. All three ended up dead soon enough. One of them got three shots to the chest, falling forward and now leaning on the same table as the first soldier peered out from, forming a pool of blood on it. The third soldier to pop up was shot three times in the shoulder, severing his arm off. His shoulder was spitting out blood, and to put him out of his misery, and prevent him from screaming, a shot to the mouth ended the story. His teeth cracked with a sickening noise along with his jawbone as the bottom of his face erupted into a river of blood. The last soldier got a shot directly to the heart, which penetrated right through him and made an exit hole in his back about the size of a melon. 
"Go go go!" He ordered and they rushed in, his Officer and the last comrade took positions in the hallway to protect them from unwelcome visitors. They rushed in, clearing the room.
"Clear!"
"Clear!" They both yelled.
"Here it is" He said, holding a briefcase and opening it. The briefcase was filled with dozens of maps and different documents, a laptop, a gun and the manifest of the ship. He gave his Officer, who peered into the room, the thumbs up.
"Sierra three and one, be advised that Sierra two has completed its mission and is bugging out" His Officer said over the radio and the four ran out the way they came.
"Roger that Sierra two, good work. This is Sierra one, we're bugging out as well, we did our job" The first team's officer said.
They descended using a ladder on the right hand side of the ship and used their inflatable boat to get away from the ship.
After a few minutes, at their meeting point marked by an infra-red strobe, Sierra one soon joined and Sierra three right after.
"Damion! What's wrong with you!? We tried reaching you over the radio for an hour!" His Officer yelled at the Sierra three leader;
"Our radio's busted. We did our job, got our intelligence and took the evidence" He said dismissively.
"Barber six four, this is Sierra Leader, we have finished our job and well in the clear, all three teams. You are weapons hot" His Officer said.
"Roger that. Kaaaabooom" The Apache pilot said.
The three Apaches motioned into action, one at the left hand side of the ship, another at the front and the last one behind the bridge - They had opened fire with all the remaining rockets they had, sinking and detonating the ship into a gigantic ball of flames in the night's sky.
"Good work Sierra Leader. Now let's get you back home"


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## Olly Buckle (Apr 8, 2011)

Firstly there is an awful lot here to read, let alone crit. in one go. I would have finished the first post after the first five paragraphs where it breaks and says "Alexey smiled"---

Cut down on surplus words, I have taken the first paragraph because that is important for drawing people in, consider:-

His pace was that of a demon rather than that of a Human. He walked so quickly, so decisively, with so much confidence that it appeared as if the ground had been shaking around him and the entire world shivering to his very existence. 
Becomes:-
His pace was demonic, so decisive and confident the ground seemed to shake and the world quiver to his existence.

It is an action story so the text needs to be sharp to fit it, look at Spillane, sparse as a starving crack whore. Looking for qualifiers is always a good start, and some things do not need qualifying.
'for it to fail right now'
Now is now, right now does not change it.

Having said that the voice generally is good, your English better than many and the story, though it is not my personal taste, seems strong. I should try editing hard and then reposting the first 2-300 words. Good luck.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 8, 2011)

Thanks mate, I'll work on it. I won't edit the current posts as I want to see where I started from, and use said posts as a reference point for past mistakes, but what you gave me are very important pointers as I'm currently trying to develop my own writing style. Thanks mate, you've been very helpful and I'll keep your advice in mind for the next chapter.

However, I do have a question; I really want to keep the current stream of 3-4 characters per chapter, as such I'd rather keep my story a bit long per chapter... But on the other hand, I know what you're saying, it seems frighteningly too long at times and unless you truly devote yourself to it, I don't see why anyone would read it. I want to find the balance between the two, because the ''4 new character every chapter'' bit is one of the things that make this story so special in my eyes. Any advice?


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## Olly Buckle (Apr 9, 2011)

What people will read when they want a story and what they will read when trawling the site or considering critiquing something are two different things. I am not saying shorten the whole thing down, simply to only post short bits of it here. 

Also if you look at the example I gave starting "His pace ..." I have reduced the length by about a third without changing the meaning, do that right through and it becomes a much less daunting read.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 9, 2011)

I see. Thanks man, I'll definitely work on that.


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## InsanityStrickenWriter (Apr 9, 2011)

Apologies, but I only read the first post, (which was a _lot_  ), but I'll try and read the second post tomorrow. First off- I _never_ read action stories, but I thoroughly enjoyed this anyway. I found it fast moving, lots of stuff happening and a very interesting world (though perhaps a bit more of the world should be added in to the individual scenes, such as listening to radios of political developments or something). 

The only bad thing I can say about it is all the character changes... I understand that you want to keep it because it is "special", but there is usually a reason why most people avoid doing certain things. The fact is, by constantly changing your characters, (it's fine every now and then), the reader can never particularly care about them. An explosion just hit a tree and made the guy fly a mile away? Hahahahahahah! I mean, oh noes! I hope he's alright! (Then again, perhaps I'm just a b*st*rd).

But yes- I enjoyed this, well done.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 9, 2011)

Thanks mate. I actually figured I never really added stuff in the background about the world and planned to change that, so thanks for reaffirming my own critique, I was pondering if anyone actually minded that. 
And I know what you mean about the recurring characters... And it's definitely food for thought. I think you might just be right and I'm going to have *some* recurring characters. And I know how I can develop them properly while keeping the main storyline and the specialty of the story I want... So, thanks for that.

As for the guy getting thrown away by an explosion... Let's just say there's a twist to come


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## Svalbard (Apr 9, 2011)

Hi Nazgul,

The story looks good. The pacing is quick and you move from scene to scene with a blinding speed. Too quickly, I feel, for your story to develop. Readers identify with characters and if you do not give them space to develop then their actions and what happens to them will fail to registar on any level with a reader. You a have a very good story brewing here. Best of luck with it.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 10, 2011)

Thanks mate. I've taken what you've all said into thought when writing this next chapter, hope you will find it more to your liking.




*Conquering The Hydra
**Chapter 3: "Answering The Call"*

 "A report has recently come to our desks of an attack by the proclaimed 'Nazi' party that has recently arisen in Russia" The reporter said, the CNN logo wide and strong behind him; "The attack has reportedly taken place fifty miles away from St. Peterbourg," He said, pointing to an area on the map behind him. 

The TV's reporter soon became background noise as Michael became enveloped in thoughts, wondering and pondering over the events of the past few weeks. The attack on his encampment, the strike he took, his mutilated arm... He gazed at his left, previously burned, arm and moved it around with utter disdain. He hated it. It looked brand new, it looked wonderful, clean, healthy and strong... But it felt everything but. He grabbed a pint glass from the table and shattered it between his fingers and palm, releasing the shards to the floor. He had became a monster. 

"...Russia has declared a state of emergency as the revolution now became violent. In other news, the United States has planned, developed and is now executing a world-wide scale military exercise, involving pilots from the United Kingdom, France, Japan, Italy, Germany, Egypt and Israel. The exercise is said to calm nerves around the Middle East between Egypt and Israel and bring the nations involved closer together. Details of the event have not been further released. More on the Military front, searches of the pilot from the recent disappearance of an Apache chopper in the Pacific have been called off after twenty days of searching. His funeral was scheduled for later this afternoon" The reporter said avidly, having a lot to cover. He continued on to the meeting of the Russian dictator and the American president and the U.N. meeting... Things that have made little importance to Michael.

Michael stood near a sturdy, round wooden table with six chairs around it, in the dimly lit room. The seven year old dead boy sat on the couch, his neck snapped. Michael smiled with delight of what he had done.
He moved through the corridor into the parents' bedroom, where a man and a wife slept near one another. Michael took his monstrous arm and grabbed the woman by the throat, her not even making a peep but struggling to stay alive, kicking and punching. She punched him in the face, making a metal 'clank' noise and breaking several bones in her hand. He took the rope he had tied masterfully before and tied it to the bed, he then threw the loop over a beam in the ceiling and pushed the now-suffocated woman's head through it. He lift her to the highest altitude he possibly could and dropped her, snapping her neck. 
He took the kerosine tank he had filled earlier and poured it all over her and continued along a straight line to her dead boy in the living room. He then took her hand and pushed it to her, her dead body held it firmly as it went stiff. He then grabbed her husband, who woke up then and looked at his abductor, prepared to yell and fight. 
He punched Michael on the left side of his face, Michael shuddered in pain and almost fell. Michael then got back to his senses and used his new arm to slam the man with a fist to the face, breaking his cheek bone and rendering him unconscious. He took him to the front door, and grabbed the dead body of the homeless man from down the street and planted him in the bed. Michael then took a knife and put it in the woman's hand, giving it her fingerprints, and shoved it up the dead homeless man's mouth up to his brain. He loved a good butcher's knife. 
Michael then took a lighter he had in his pocket and lit it, throwing it at the kerosine-drenched woman, setting her alight. He walked, with the fire closely behind him, toward the abducted man and hefted him over his metallic left shoulder. Opened the door calmly, and left the building... All the while thinking that he had only recently been an honorable soldier in the service of Russia... His proud nation... But now? 
Now he was a monster.
A murderer.
And he loved it.

~~~~~~~

"Mr. President! What an honor" The Russian dictator exclaimed in false surprise over the phone. He had long been awaiting this phone call.
"How are you, my friend?" The President asked.
"I cannot complain, at least not over the phone" The dictator said heartily.
"I am afraid this would have to be a short and discreet conversation. We have decided that you are one of our most valuable allies, my friend" The President said decisively, the dictator smiled.
"But of course. I thank you Mr. President." The dictator said, smiling slyly. 
"Goodbye, Petrov. And no... Thank you" The President said.
"You're very welcome Gibson" Petrov responded, almost bellowing with joy and laughter.

"Your orders sir?" Dave asked Gibson, with a folder that seemed about the size of the entire White House in his hands.
"Send thirty pilots and their jets to Berlin, twenty to Sydney, seventy to Tokyo and the U.S.S Aurora to Haifa" Gibson said decisively. War was at hand and he knew the air force would be a major part of it.
"What of the army?" The Chief of the Army asked.
"Deploy the emergency brigades in Iraq and Germany. Send the emergency Marine brigades to Japan and Australia and the Air Force emergency brigades to Britain" He ordered. The 'emergency' forces of the United States were highly trained, experienced troops that had seen war on many fronts in the past few decades, spread all across the globe. He centered them around Japan and Germany because he knew that an attack into Russia would force him to enter through Japan and Germany, especially if his enemies were as coy as he was.

"What of the 'military exercise'?" Dave asked.
"Have the pilots assemble on the Aurora and have it ready to go, move it to the Black Sea as soon as possible." He said, visualizing the forces he had spread all across the globe and smiled. He was ready.
"Launch a telegram to all involved nations" Dave ordered his assistant and handed him the important document in which there were the specifications of all troops spreading.
"What are we to expect, Mr. President?" The Chief of the Navy asked.
"The China-supporting nations would likely support the revolutionists as well... With Sweden, Finland, Iran, Pakistan and Korea being the most likely of enemies. Syria and Turkey would likely give us some trouble, but nothing Israel and Egypt can't handle... Jordan would likely remain neutral along with Denmark, Norway, the Balkan states... I think that Greece might just help us about discreetly... But we can never know. One thing is for certain though..." He said, pausing ominously. "We are at war gentlemen. In a decade or so people would read of this war... They would say that we are foolish warmongers, others would say we are heroes... But this is a war they have all predicted..." He said, nodding to the men in the room... And they all knew what war this was. The third of its kind.

~~~~~~

He couldn't see anything. His right cheek hurt with such intensity he just wanted to scream and shout, but he couldn't. He could feel the cold, hard steel beneath him on his chair and the men walking about. He was in pain, but more so he was confused and had no idea what was happening around him. Was he dead? No... He wasn't... Was he alive? Maybe. He couldn't tell.

"So, Sergey..." A voice came. But it wasn't in Russian... It was in English. With an American accent. "Do you know why you are here?" The voice asked mockingly in the darkness.
"He can't talk. Michael, do the honors" A British accent responded, and he felt a firm hand removing the sack over his head and then the gag in his mouth, his eyes couldn't even adjust to the bright light before the sack was once again tugged over his head.
"You are here, Sergey, because you are a traitor" A voice came, in Russian. Annoyed. "But even more so, you are vital" He continued. 
"Vital... I wouldn't say that" The British said, annoyed for being cut off. "We need something from you, dearest Sergey. We need information" He said.
"Murderers!" Sergey screamed. He suddenly felt an intense pain in his groin, he knew what had happened. Someone had slammed something powerful and metallic against his groin... Sergey was in the deepest pain he had ever felt in his entire life, he couldn't even scream in pain since the air was taken from his lungs, all he could do was choke. 
"We'll try this again" A cold voice with a Russian accent in English came. He recognized that voice. The same voice that had been speaking to him on the way here. It was *the* murderer. "We need you to tell us what is your plan... And you are about to"
Sergey yelped and started to cry. He suddenly felt his arm in intense and sharp pain, he felt as if it were burning. 
The warmth on the rest of his body told him he was right, they were burning him alive, he began to scream in agony.
"Tell us what we want to know, and this will stop!" A yell came over his screams of pain. The pain was so intense and nullifying, he wanted to tell them everything. He just wanted them to make it stop... He began to cry and scream of desperation and agony, the sight of his hung wife still on his mind... He had lost hope.
"Pl... Ahhhhhhh ugh!!" He screamed, and the pain was now much more dull, much less intense. They had put it out, he could feel the coldness of the water all over his body.
"What was that now?" The calm American voice said.
"I'll tell you everything! Please, just stop... Please... For the love of god... Stop..."

~~~~~~

"I'm not sure how wise this may be, Mr. President" Dave said, as now they were alone.
"Please, Dave..."
"I'm sorry Mr... Er... Gibson" He said, smiling foolishly.
"I'm backed up against the wall here Dave. I have nothing I can do... This is the only reasonable choice" Gibson responded.
"Gibson, for the love of God, you're talking about starting the Third World War! This is insane!" Dave exclaimed.
"What would you have me do!?" Gibson asked, annoyed. "It's either I sit  back and watch as Petrov falls into the hands of a party supported by  China and Korea, and have a second cold war on my hands with an enemy I  barely even know" He said, bashing his fist against his desk, "Or I  still with the devil I already know and have a deep interest in and  allow it to survive!" Gibson exclaimed.
"Don't you think it would be best not to involve every country in the  world in this conflict? Have them sort it out on their own?" Dave asked.
"And what chance do you think Petrov has? None. At all. He will lose. He needs us, and we need him." 
"Regardless, pulling Germany, Israel, France, Britain, Japan, Australia,  India, Egypt and about a dozen other countries into our selfish little  war?!" Dave now yelled.
"*Selfish little war!?*" Gibson screamed. "How is this wa..."
"You want control of oil and gas, and diplomatic control of the world, and you will lose all three if Russia falls!" Dave said.
"Don't you understand!? It's Russia first, and we're next!" He yelled.
"You're being paranoid!" 
Gibson rushed to his bookcase and pulled out a book, opening it and from  it a document, he tossed it at Dave. Dave picked it off the floor after  failing to catch it in mid-air.
"What..." Dave said in shock.
"That's a report from the Russian Intelligence Agency. The Revolutionists are  going nuclear." Gibson said, and added before Dave could say anything;  "Their targets from the silo were Moscow, Paris, London and New York. We  didn't start this war. They did"
"Where did you get this...?"
"A recent... 'Investigation' of a revolutionist activist and leader in Russia, our own operative brought this up."
"When did the attack happen? When did they take over the silo?"
"Just under two days ago. We were lucky"

 


EDIT: This is one episode I feel very strongly about, I kept my specialty of the story while listening to your advice and I must say I'm delighted with the results. Thank you guys for the amazing critiques, you have been very helpful and I hope you'll continue to be!
As you can tell, it's shorter now as per Olly's advice, I've progressed to my liking with the plot despite the length, even more so than other chapters, I've developed characters that I want to be recurring as per Svalbard's and Insanity's advice and I've actually changed the way the plot is going and I feel much more strongly about this. I must further add that this story is one of the few I've ever felt so strongly about and the *only* one that has been going well for me so far and I can say with a full heart that it had a lot to do with your critiques, so once again, thanks guys! Hopefully I'll keep this current swing and you guys have more critique down your sleeve to send my way, I'm always open for criticism.


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## InsanityStrickenWriter (Apr 10, 2011)

I said I'd come back to read the second post- but I wasn't expecting a third post  Considering the third post is the revised one, I figured I'd read that and leave the second post be, (I need to walk the dog). First off- it's much better in terms of world and plot. The world made itself known. Things for criticism/improvement:

It has quite a few cliche lines. But then all actions movies have cliche lines, so I wouldn't be surprised if it was the same for action novels, so might not matter.
Michaels personality- In one scene, he first refers to himself as a monster- in a negative way. Halfway through he is enjoying killing/bloodthirst whatever. By end of scene he has said that he is a monster, and he enjoys it. I think the first reference to himself as a monster should be either with pride, or you should change his personality by making him a monster- but not being happy about it and hating himself.

Also, you say Michaels arm is mechanical, (no reference to anything else being mechanical), but then:



> She punched him in the face, making a metal 'clank' noise and breaking several bones in her hand.


Which implied his face is also mechanical. But:



> He punched Michael on the left side of his face, Michael shuddered in pain and almost fell.


Which implied his face is not mechanical.



> They would say that we are fools, others would say we are genius


I think it would be more, "Some might say that we are warmongers, but others will say that we are heroes."

Well done on what seems like a very interesting tale.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 10, 2011)

Yeah, I didn't really like that line (About the fools and geniuses) and felt I needed other words, but I had so many things to write I had completely forgotten about it. I won't fix it as it is already written and I don't believe in changing, but that's just a minor flaw to be honest. Just a slip of the mind and a slip of the editing finger. No matter.

As for the different approaches in Michael's story, it's supposed to attest to his transformation. At first he hates himself, then he begins to love what he does, and then he loves himself for being a monster. You will see many conflicts such as that in his story and I won't be explaining them as I leave it for the reader to explain them himself, but he hates himself on one front and adores himself on the other, and you'll see why.

As for the face being mechanical... Just remember the explosion. He wasn't fully affected, he was half hiding behind the tree, only *one* side of him was affected. And I think that's enough spoilers for now 

I figured those questions would rise, but that's what I wanted. I wanted to make you wonder and ponder what happened, why it happened and why I'm being so cryptic. 

EDIT: Scrap that. I did edit. Your line just sounds a thousand times better, good enough for me to throw my principles out the window


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 13, 2011)

*Conquering The Hydra
**Chapter 4: "Getting Dirty"

*He barely knew his comrades, those he was just about to lose his life with. The four last people he'll ever see in his entire life, and he was supposed to trust them with a full heart. He pushed through the crowd, dressed like a simple man amongst them, blending in perfectly. Gazing upward he could see the Russian snipers on the rooftops, scouting for any trouble makers.
He kept moving through the crowd until he reached the end of the crowd and the Russian police barricade, closing off three of the four intersection exits. The demonstration was humongous, the initial count estimated three thousand demonstrators roaming the streets... Little did they know of what he had had in store for them.
The police officials at the barricade kept a calm, cold gaze on the crowd, holding their rifles close to them - Magazines already inserted. These were tense times. Soon enough, a tank roared and stopped just short of the police barricade, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He smiled at that, they were ready. He pretended to call someone over the phone and activated the PTT; "Lever, ready." He stated.
"Rhino ready" One of his teammates responded.
"Helo ready."
"Cool ready."
"Sector ready."
The team was ready, they were in their positions, the demonstrators kept shouting simple, yet effective slogans into the air.
"All units, this is Lever. Execute" He ordered into the PTT as he rushed inward toward the main center of the crowd. 
"Rhino, engaging" He heard one of them said, and soon enough dull gunshots were heard near the barricade. He had managed to pull himself enough through the crowd to escape the shots at the barricade. Rhino had obviously opened fire at the officers at the barricade, he thought. Helo was probably with him. A few more dull gunshots were heard, the crowd started screaming and dispersing, but it was too late... He heard it.
A roar of bullets and explosions rippled through the street as the officers began retaliating indiscriminately into the crowd, cutting down dozens and dozens of demonstrators and probably cutting down Rhino, Helo and Sector.
"This is Cool, I'm in position" His teammate said over the PTT.
Soon enough, he reached and tapped Cool on the shoulder and Cool turned to him, nodding. They opened their coats and reached for their MP-5s, aiming at the snipers and opening fire. Lever could easily detect two snipers getting hit, before Cool's head exploded right next to him, splatting brains, skull and blood all over his left side and the car behind them. He kept firing, another sniper went down.
He then heard a single gunshot. It seemed as if the world had stopped for a second... He looked around, people screaming around him, Cool had his head almost blown off right next to him, now nothing more than a bleeding puddle on the floor... And a demonstrator not five feet from him, being shot by the police forces...
It all went dark.

~~~~~~

"How many are they?"
"Five" the Chief responded.
"Are they in the crowd already?" 
"We assume so"
"How can we identify them?"
"I have no idea" The Chief said impatiently. 
"Sir!" He said, exasperated; "You're sending me in there, telling me there's absolutely no way to recognize my enemy and..." 
"I have no choice. I don't know what else to do. If this plan of theirs goes ahead and succeeds, we've lost the political campaign, and the people's sympathies!" The Russian officer exclaimed, desperate and powerless.
"Sir... I can't just go in there and... I can't find them in the time we have left" He said, shrugging and spreading his hands to his sides in helplessness.
"I gotta hand it to them... They're smart" The officer said. They had just stopped walking, standing in a rather narrow hallway of an abandoned building by the demonstration down the street. They could easily hear the crowd chanting their slogans. 
"Yes. They are..." He said, opening a door and entering an abandoned apartment, peering out to the street. His officer soon joined him.
"There..." The officer said, pointing at an individual pushing through the crowd in what appears a great rush, rushing toward the center of the crowd. 
"Wait, maybe..." He raised his weapon and positioned it on the window ledge, aiming at him, and preparing to fire, only to have his Officer stop him. The man kept rushing toward the center, lowering his phone, now shots were heard. 
"We lost" The Officer said, and he nodded. 

~~~~~~

"Sector, ready" The American blurted into the PTT in plain Russian, the Revolutionist operative trying to struggle against his captors, two juggernauts holding him from either side, with him yelling and cursing.
"Let go of me!" He suddenly yelled in English.
"Give us a proper reason to let go of you" Michael said from the shadows as the three Americans looked at the two with utter joy.
"I'll kill you if you don't!" The operative made an empty threat.
Michael then left his comfortable position in the shadows, and stood in front of the man, taking his monstrosity of a left arm and slamming it into his stomach, then lifting the operative's head with his right hand and headbutting him, making a 'Clank' noise. "Are you sure you want to make empty threats, you miserable man?" Michael asked mockingly.
The operative spat out blood and now appeared more calm, or was it just the fact that he could hardly breathe. 
"All units, this is Lever, execute" The PTT ordered. The two Americans holding the operative smiled as shots began erupting outside, unconcerned by the scene outside as they already know what will happen. 
"Nikita... Is it?" Michael asked mockingly.
The operative looked at him wide eyed. How the hell did he know his name? How the hell did this piece of shit know his name? This monster? He was infuriated.
"I guess so" Michael said, as if answering Nikita's thoughts while looking into his eyes. Michael could read him like an open book. In the past month his exploits brought him to torture many, many people. 'Too many' he sometimes thought, but then he'd chuckle. 'There's no such thing as too many' he would respond to himself. 
"Wh... What do you want from me?" Nikita asked, still dazed from the blows and from the fact that his entire anonymity, and the anonymity of the entire operation was... Non-existent.
"Me? I want you to die" Michael said, coldly. Truly a monster. "But my superiors... They want an inside guy" Michael said, with disinterest. 
"I will never, *ever* work for you! You monsters! Ne-... Oh my god..." Nikita said with tears in his eyes as Michael held a picture in front of him, taken about three feet from the person in it. 
"Oh, I see I hit a soft spot" Michael said, grinning. 
The picture was of two young boys and a young lady, the boys were twins and looked around thirteen whilst the girl was as gorgeous as a woman could get, about twenty in age. She had long, golden hair, beaming green eyes, a small cute smile and a white-pale face, typical of Russian descent. The boys were both brown haired and brown eyed. The three looked delighted for some reason, and Nikita knew what it meant. Someone in the boys' school was an operative... Probably a teacher... But who? 
"She's amazing... The things I would do to her..." The third American said, smiling, still holding the phone and approaching Nikita. Nikita gazed at him with fury in his eyes, wanting nothing better than to choke him to death.
"I can promise you, Nikita, that your children will remain unharmed throughout your service, if you... Do this little favor for us" Michael said, smiling. "If you don't... Well, I'll personally snap the twins' necks, proceed to burning your wife alive and taking your gorgeous daughter and bringing her to my dearest friend here" Michael said, putting his right arm around the third American's shoulder. The two smiled a dreadful smile, a horrifying smile. 
"I... I won't do it. You wouldn't dare!" Nikita exclaimed. 
"Right." Michael said, walking into the shadows again and returning with a few photographs. "Remember reading two weeks ago about a family gone mad? Where the wife had killed her own seven year old son and took a knife through her husband's head, afterward burning the house and hanging herself?" Michael asked with little emotion.
"N... No..." Nikita said, that was his friend, one of his best friends actually. He could only think of poor Sergey and what they had done to him, and what he may have told them... Being one of the four leaders of the revolution, he knew a lot.
"Oh, yes." Michael said, putting pictures in front of him of the seven-year-old boy with a snapped neck, the husband and wife sleeping in the bed and the dead homeless by the door. And the pictures of the aftermath of Michael's plan. 
Nikita now burst into silent tears. "Just... Please... Don't... I'll do anything... Just... Please..." 

~~~~~~

Michael walked out of the abandoned apartment, just in time to see two Russian soldiers, an officer and an NCO walking into a different apartment further down the hall. He had smiled to himself, walking up the hallway and toward the exit. Remembering what had happened to him in the past two months, he shivered. A horror story at best. Be it the attack on his platoon and its destruction, the fact that his left hand and leg had been blown off alongside the left side of his face or the horrid experiments committed on him... He could not tell. He loved himself to the point of narcissism on one end yet hated himself to the point of self destruction on the other...
He could remember how his doctors implanted him with steel plates in his face and forehead, to help keep his face and brain together. They said it was a miracle he was still alive... He doesn't even remember how, but he woke up in a lab where they had attached him with a new arm, experimental arm... And he remembers the horrid feeling of steel against his still-aching burned shoulder. He looked at his left arm and shook his head. He felt nothing.
They called it 'Resurrection'... They used to put him in a room with a dozen other soldiers and had them watch movies for fun, to avoid boredom. They had watched about a hundred movies... Or it felt like a hundred movies... He could clearly remember he had only seen fifteen different movies... But he remembers so many scenes... Too many. 
He remembered how someone tried to get him out of the lab, whispering in his ear that he must fight the 'brainwash'. Who was that? 
He remembered the man removing Michael's restraints and telling him that he's been 'brainwashed'... He doesn't even know the word. 
He remembered how he gripped the man with his left, monstrous arm and screamed "Traitor! Traitor!" Into the air... How the five Officers rushed into the room and did nothing. Absolutely nothing. They had looked at Michael and smiled. One of them encouraged him; "Kill him..." He said. "Squash the life out of him" He repeated... Michael did so.
Who was that man? He looked so familiar. And why in heaven's name did he use a name as idiotic as 'Dad'?


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## Ajay (Apr 13, 2011)

Brilliant last line !! I'm hooked.... when's the next update ? =/


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 13, 2011)

Heh... Hopefully sooner rather than later. Tomorrow I have to head back to the base so I don't think I'll have the time to write anything until maybe next week. I'll try and write something in a few hours again, if I feel inspiration striking me.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 15, 2011)

*Conquering The Hydra*
*Chapter 5: "Doomsday Scenario"*


"Cura seven, this is Cura Actual, how copy, over?"
"Copy loud and clear" The pilot in the F-15 responded in Arabic.
"Excellent. Cura five and four, follow seven. Seven, I want you to bank right around the fleet and have a look at the shore to our East. Make sure nothing's going to surprise us" The squadron leader ordered.
"Roger that Cura actual. Breaking left" Cura seven acknowledged and the squadron leader peered out of his cockpit just in time to see the three jets banking left, the proud symbols of the Egyptian Air Force embedded on their wings.
"Cura actual, this is Naga leader, how's it looking up there?" The American Admiral asked over the radio in English.
"It looks fantastic up here" The Egyptian leader responded sarcastically; "There's a storm on the horizon, it will reach us in about half an hour... Other than that we're all good" He said with a heavy accent.
"Roger that. Keep up the good work and make sure we're safe" The Admiral ordered. 
The radio chatter faded into the background of the leader's world as he went waist-deep into the sea of thought. He looked around at the terrain visible from his cockpit, just in time as well, it was time for him and his remaining four jets to bank right and make a half-circular movement toward the back end of the fleet again to keep up the pace with them. The sea was gorgeous at this time of day, the sun rising just a few hours earlier, smiling and shining upon them, blessing thier voyage. 'May Allah save us' he thought to himself as he looked toward the horizon once more to see the immense storm to soon land upon them. 
The Egyptian forces had been more than happy to be enlisted by the Americans and aid them, he thought to himself, more than happy to send their young folk over to die for some Westerner's goals and ideals... He couldn't help but ponder and wonder what the hell he was doing here. 
"Cura Actual, this is Cura seven, be advised we are reading heavy movement from the shoreline" His comrade spat over the radio, and the leader cursed himself for being right, again. "They appear to be... I can't even see the insignia yet. They're pretty far off, but they're fast movers... I can't even spot them on radar, I'm thinking it's a J-20 or something" He spoke quickly, excited.
"Are they hostile?" The leader asked.
"I'm not sure but I assume so, they're flying very fast and moderately high, they appear to be coming in for a bombing run. I don't think they know I'm here" Seven responded.
"Cura 1, bank to them!" The leader shouted at his squad and his jet roared into action as he banked quickly, hard right, pulling major G's and pushed the throttle. 
He could easily hear the four jets flying in formation next to him roaring as well into action, they flew at maximum speed toward the Eastern shoreline. The Red Sea was a dangerous place to be for a fleet, too many ambush positions.
"Cura actual, this is Naga leader, I'm sending my hornets out to assist you" He said, referring to his astonishing F-18s; "Those jets coming up are pesrumeably J-20s... And if they are, you're going to need some help" He said.
"Roger that Naga leader, thanks" The leader acknowledged.
"Cura actual, this is Cura seven, we have contact! I repeat! We have conta---" The radio broke into static and the leader could clearly see an explosion in the air, just above his flight path. He spat and cursed to himself. "Two, three and six stick together and go low, stop them from bombing our ships! Eight, on me!" The leader screamed and ordered into the radio and the jets roared into play. His wingman quickly reached him and positioned himself to the leader's right, giving him the thumbs up. The two pilots pulled up with perfect coordination and pushed on the throttle, quickly elavating to reach their two already-engaged jets, seeing them swarmed by seven jets with a red star on their wings. They were Chinese. 
"Cura actual, fox one!" He screamed into the radio and launched a heat-seeking rocket. He simply couldn't get a radar fix on them. The rocket screetched as it detached from his wing and flew at unconceivable speed toward its target, soon enough slamming into the cockpit of one of the J-20's. Two of the Chinese J-20's decided to break off and engage the leader and his wingman, heading right toward them in what appeared like a collision course. 
"Stay with me!" The leader ordered his wingman. "Open fire!" He screamed and the two opened fire with their machineguns at the jets coming up right in front of them. Using a missile was too dangerous now. The J-20's responded in kind. The leader could hear vibrant cracks and clanks of metal against metal as his jet was hit by about ten rounds, broad holes in his wing and some of his fuselage. One of the J-20's erupted in flames as it was hit by many rounds of ammunition, in a blink of an eye the fire reached its fuel tanks and it exploded. The other J-20 darted above the two wingmen.
The leader screamed into the radio just then; "Eight, take him out!" 
His wingman replied with a steep dive and a brilliant manuever to get on the J-20's tail. His wingman was as experienced as they get, he knew what the Chinese pilot was planning and was going to stop it.
The leader kept on his flight toward the main dogfight, where four J-20's and two F-15's were squabbling. His brave comrades just barely hanging on. Just as he was about to reach missile range of one of the J-20's, it launched its own missile and an F-15 exploded. Enfuriated, he launched his own missile and the J-20 just barely managed to evade it. He cut right through the furball, confusing the Chinese jets and giving some breathing space for his comrade. His comrade manuevered just in that window of opportunity, when all the Chinese pilots were distracted, to disappear by pulling up, then diving diagonally to go on the tail of two of the J-20's, flying in formation. The two didn't even notice.
He launched his missile and one of the jets was hit, his wing shedding off, throwing his jet to the left and into collision course with his wingman. The two jets exploded. The Egyptian pilot was astonished.
"I got one on my six!" The leader screamed into the radio, as the remaining J-20's stuck to his tail adamantly. 
Another J-20 just cut through the skies, the same one number eight went after... The leader realized the grim news. It was now three versus two, and he was running low on fuel and ammo. Just then an explosion ripped through the skies and roars of engines streaked around him... The cavalry had arrived, the F-18's had come and were destroying all remaining resistance. 


~~~~~~


"How are you my friend?" Bingwen greeted Dimitri as he entered through the broad wooden doors and extended his hand to greet him hello.
"Heh... Don't ask questions, you won't hear lies" Dimitri said with a cynical note and a grin, shaking Bingwens hand.
Bingwen chuckled heartily and motioned Dimitri to enter Li Jinato's office. Li was absent at the moment, Dimitri was getting strangely accostumed to waiting for him to arrive. Li was indeed a busy man. Dimitri was preoccupied just now, unhappy about his recent events, losing on one front and winning on the other... He had no idea this revolution would take such a high cost from him and his people. 
"I am deeply sorry for keeping you waiting again..." Li Jinato said as he entered the office hastily, the formalities slipping his mind. He quickly took his seat behind his desk and looked at Dimitri, their eyes meeting, both equally as vague and hazy as they were both preoccupied with thoughts. 
"What is it you wish to talk about my dearest Dimitri?" Bingwen said, taking over as he realized that Li Jinato was so preoccupied he could barely start a conversation. 
"My party has been under constant attack the past few months, one of my colleagues has been taken hostage and I have no idea whether he is alive or not. You've met him, Sergey." Dimitri said; "My plans have been sabotaged and predicted by my foes, and I have no idea what I should do next, I have no idea what they know and what don't they know..." Dimitri kept on rambling and Li raised his hand to halt him.
"I see... Don't you worry my friend, I have a plan" Li said, and motioned for Dimitri to rise as he has risen himself. Li then put his arm around Dimitri's waist and gently pushed him and they both made their way to the door and out of it.
"Where are we going?" Dimitri inquired as Bingwen quickly fell in beind.
"I have a surprise for you" Li said, smiling.
Soon enough they reached a set of large metal doors, white in color. Li pushed them open and in the circular and dark room sat six individuals, each with a flag in front of him. Korea, Iran, Finland, Sweden, Pakistan and Brazil. Two additional flags stood proudly on the circular desk, behind it the six sat. One flag of China, where Li sat. And another seat, where Li motioned Dimitri to sit, with a flag of Russia.

~~~~~

"I have received word that Li Jinato, the grand Chinese emperor, is about to speak" The CNN reporter said with great joy from the TV, as Gibson stood edgily in his office, watching the TV. Dave to his right.
Soon enough, Li had opened the door to the press conference and stood behind the podium; "This is a grim day for China. We have receieved grave news and it would appear the world is now entering a new, ill era" Li said, annoyed. 
"Dave..." Gibson said as he gulped.
"It would appear that American forces had launched an attack on a squadron of our fighters in a training exercise in the Red Sea" Li said, with a grimace. "As such, the grand Empire of China has no option but to declare open war on the United States of America and its allied, as they have assisted them in the assault" Li said coldly as the interviewers in the room erupted with questions; "All trade with the United States will cease and all nations who wish to assist the United States in its war, will face our wrath. That is all" Li said and left the room.
"Dave..." Gibson said again.
"I know. I know." Dave responded. Gibson looked absolutely terrified.


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## Bmxchamp4 (Apr 26, 2011)

Excellent story so far.. I love the writing style, jumping back and forth between characters. Keep up the good work, I look forward to reading more. I currently am working on a story of my own that could use some critiquing, but not until I have finished at LEAST the first chapter.


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## Nazgul Killer (Apr 27, 2011)

Thanks mate. Once I have the time I'll update the next chapter... Sadly enough, time is scarce as of late.


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## Bmxchamp4 (Apr 27, 2011)

No biggy take your time. I understand how that goes lol


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## Nazgul Killer (May 20, 2011)

Hey guys! It's been a while. Too long of a while actually... Sadly enough, this is the first time I've been home for the past month or so, active duty and all... And I've been really itching to get this story underway again, so here we go. Hope you enjoy it! 
*
Conquering The Hydra*
*Chapter 6: "Into Lucifer's Cage"

*"No! What are you --- SHIT!" The Staff Sergeant screamed as he fell flat on his backside as the rocket flung into the air in a straight line, his face dark with gunpowder as if he were in a cartoon, the soldier next to him laughing like a baby being tickled.
The rocket kept flying into the air and exploded with a mighty bang, filling the skies with red sparkles and magnificent pyrotechnics, 4th of Jully's celebrations have finally began.
The Staff Sergeant looked furious at the soldier next to him, but couldn't keep a straight face for long after observing the soldier's maniacal laughter, soon enough he himself began bursting into laughter. 
This wasn't the ideal at all, but it was good enough, Sitting atop an aircraft carrier, with make-shift fireworks, docked at Haifa, Israel, wasn't exactly the dream 4th of July of every soldier, let alone any Marine... But it was good enough. The residents soon made the Americans feel right at home, joining their celebrations - Just looking for any excuse to celebrate anything at these dark times. Fireworks launching into the air, drunks making fools of themselves and people just generally making a blast of this dark, dark night. The USS "Mercury", one of the fastest moving nuclear-powered Aircraft Carriers in the fleet along with its escort were docked in Haifa, for refueling purposes, just before its departure, just three hours away now. So the Marines were making the most of it, and the residents of the port-city of Haifa were well aware that the Americans were going off to the mission soon enough, so they made their time unforgettable. The few days they were docked, the Marines got free drinks at most pubs and bars, free entry into most clubs and quite a few parties to their celebration. It is well known that the Israeli people join together in times of crisis, and embrace friendship further in these times... And they had not disappointed this time. 

"All our fuel tanks are full, Admiral, as are our armaments stocks, the jets are good to go and the fleet captains report they are all ready" One of the Lieutenants spoke out to the entire bridge in general, yet to the Admiral in specific.
The Admiral looked out the port hatch of the bridge, toward the city of Haifa with a grim look, unhappy about the mission he had been entitled responsible for. 
"Sir...?" The Lieutenant inquired.
"Have the Marines get back to their positions and move us out of the dock at 0300 hours" The Admiral ordered; "Oh... And Bill...?" The Admiral said, turning to the Lieutenant, who was currently browsing some documents and now lift his gaze up to the Admiral.
"Yes sir?"
"J... Jus... Nevermind. Give me that" The Admiral ordered, approaching the Lieutenant and snatching the documents from his hands. "Get back here at 0200. Get out there and have some fun for God's sake... Heck, for my sake" The Admiral said with a grim look.
"Uh... Yes sir?" The Lieutenant said, smiling and departing from the bridge. 
The Admiral looked around at the now-empty room. He did not have the heart to tell anyone of the crew of the mission and the expected casualties. '50%...?' he thought to himself. 'This is a fucking suicide mission...'


~~~~~


"Saif leader this is Haruv leader, be advised that we have now crossed Israeli territorial waters and have entered Turkey's airspace, how copy, over?" The Israeli pilot spat over the radio to his Egyptian counterpart in English. 
"Copy loud and clear Haruv leader, thanks for the heads up" The Egyptian pilot spat back. The events of the past 60 years not so easily forgotten, despite them being now on the same side. 
The four Israeli F-35s and the eight Egyptian F-15s were flying together in an ingenious formation, having the F-15s fly below the F-35s in a star-like formation, with a large gap in the middle of it, and the F-35s flying well above the F15s in a straight-vertical line formation, having one placed above the other, this way even if spotted the F-35s appear as just one jet and can easily slip by, whilst the F-15s on the radar appear like 20 jets rather than just 8. 
'I can't believe I'm fighting Arabs alongside Arabs...' The pilot called Haruv leader had thought to himself, thoughts not too different than that of the Saif leader. Two peoples at conflict for so long now together on the same side, nothing felt as odd to him before, neglecting the fact that the co-operation before had worked surprisingly well, he didn't like the idea. 
'How am I supposed to trust someone who might just pull up and launch a missile at me?' He kept thinking, but then mind-slapped himself and reprimanded himself for his thinking. Though they used to be enemies, they are now allies. Brothers in arms. Yeah. He sure as hell believed that.
"Saif leader this is Haruv leader" He said calmly over the radio, neglecting his thoughts; "I've just detected two jets that appear to be on a training run near the coastline, they haven't spotted us" He said, trusting his life in the Egyptian pilot.
"Roger that Haruv leader, I want you to take your squadron and head North-East, avoid detection. I'll send six of my jets with you" Saif leader acknowledged and then started spitting out instructions in Arabic to his squadron, the Israeli jets veered North-East and six of the Egyptian jets with them. Saif leader and another F-15 had headed off to the two training jets to take them down.

Not five minutes had passed and Saif leader and his wing man rejoined the squadrons, reporting a successful mission. 

After ten minutes of flying with almost no radio contact, the jets had reached their target. 
"Saif leader, this is Haruv leader, deploy your defensive formation, we're going in for the kill" The Israeli leader said over the radio, calmly and assertively. The star-like Egyptian formation had broken up into 4 pairs of jets, who spread in different directions.
"Haruv squadron, begin bombing run!" The leader screamed over the radio and the four jets lined up perfectly, horizontally to one another. 
"*Now!*" He screamed again and the jets all magnificently pushed down their noses and began their maniacal descent toward their targets, their wings, fuselage and engines screeching. Soon enough, they had reached optimum altitude and launched their missiles, 8 missiles launched toward the ground and toward definite hits. The F-35s now pulled up again to reach safe altitude as the Egyptian F-15s rushed to their defensive positions once more.
"Saif leader, this is Haruv leader, mission is a success, I repeat, mission is a success" 
"Roger that Haruv leader. Good work. Let's go home" The Egyptian counterpart never sounded happier.
As much as he hated to admit it, Haruv leader felt incredibly safe in the hands of his Egyptian counterpart, as they returned to their original formations. He figured the rockets had hit by now, so he smiled to himself as the jets all head Southward once more, to the sea and back to their bases. 
"Haruv leader, this is Saif leader... Do you see that?" The Egyptian leader sounded scared shitless.
"What?" The Israeli pilot asked instinctively.
"Behind us..."
The Israeli pilot looked at the back side of his cockpit to see a large mushroom cloud.
'Was that supposed to happen?' He asked himself. 'We hadn't launched any nuclear warheads.' He came to a realization. 
"Have we launched nuclear devices?" Saif leader quickly inquired, as if reading his thoughts.
"Negative. We haven't. I would've known" Haruv leader responded quickly. Convincing himself.
"I hope you're right."
'I do too...' He thought to himself.


~~~~~~

"They're coming off the ridge!" The Captain screamed at the machinegunner, who now turned his monstrous 50-cal. toward the the ridge and opened fire at the incoming forces. Bullets were zooming all around, and the Captain heard a 'clank' noise just above his head, looking up he could clearly see a bullet hole. He was hiding with four of his other Marines in a ruined building corner, with a proper defensive positions filling half of the ruined wall, upon it stood a 50-caliber machinegun which was manned by one of his best men, Gordon. Another Marine was reporting and relaying reports over the radio and to the Captain, the two other Marines were manning the two windows to both sides of the gaping gash in the room, firing in every direction.
Below him were seven other Marines in defensive positions in the lobby of the building, next to the entrance, firing out the windows and through the door at the oncoming revolutionist forces. 
Four buildings down the street was his Lieutenant, manning another building with twelve other Marines, together they were holding the street who was soon nicknamed 'Death's Avenue' by his Marines. In the street itself were two T-90s, blasting the ridge where Gordon just began firing at with their machineguns and cannons. 

All across the town were many Russian soldiers defending two main entrances to the two, and many alleyways. Strategically laid out so the town was almost impossible to breach. 
To the North of the town lay the ridge, to the South was one of the main roads to the town - Which was under the defense of the Lieutenant and about 30 other Russian soldiers. To the West was another main entrance, which was defended by an M-1 Abrams and 17 Marines lead by what appeared to be no one, as the Captain had lost his commander earlier that day, the Major had perished. To the East was a simple swamp. This town was of grave importance, as it was one of the few stops before Moscow and had one of the most strategically placed railway stations in Russia, let alone it being a magnificent fortress by itself. 

"*Taaaaaaaaaaaaaanks!*" Gordon screamed and stopped firing. The Captain quickly looked to the direction of the ridge, to see about seven Revolutionist tanks getting into position and halting, terrifying him. One of the tanks had then erupted into flames and thundered the entire valley in which the town was placed - Its turret being thrown wildly into the skies and well over the ash cloud that its explosion produced. The T-90 scored a direct hit. 
The six remaining tanks had began opening sporadic fire, a rooftop had exploded near the first-building line of the town, and another shell hit the street beneath them. Four other explosions were heard, but even from his strategic position - The Captain couldn't see where they hit.
"Tell unit four we need the Abrams in Death's Avenue!" The Captain screamed at his radio man and he relayed it forward through the radio. 
Soon enough, the clank of metal against cobble was heard as the Abrams plowed its way right under the building the Captain was in, it didn't take him long, it's a straight-line drive from his position at the main entrance to the town to Death's Avenue, and about three minutes drive. The Abrams peered out from behind the building hiding him, blasted a shot and quickly hid back again - Scoring a direct hit. The T-90's themselves weren't doing too bad either. 

Gordon opened fire once more, but it seemed that the Revolutionists never end. The Captain could easily estimate about 500 of them were already killed. 
"Sir, I'm reading nothing from unit two!" The soldier on the radio said with a frightened look. The Captain kicked open the door to the room they were hiding in and rushed to the other side of the building, looking out the window he saw that the top floor of the building, where the Lieutenant was, was on fire. He was dead. The forces at the Lobby were still fighting. He cursed to himself before a mighty explosion sent him forward, almost falling out the window and dazing him, the world turned black...

Waking up, the Captain looked around, dazed, and he could see that the ruined room he and his four Marines were hiding in earlier was now gone, at least the floor was along with all of his four Marines, and the rest of the room was black. He barely got back up to his feet and peered out the window, both T-90's had been destroyed and the M-1 Abrams was still firing. Only three Revolutionist tanks were remaining, but their forces had penetrated the streets from the South and the North. He could barely hear any shots from the West. The battle was lost. 
He noticed in the skies that four fighter choppers were flying about, carrying the Revolutionist symbol - A fist in which was embedded a scroll - Signed with a star. 
"Don't move!" The cry came and the Captain turned to the offender. 
It was a Revolutionist officer, he held up an M-16, aiming at the Captain.
The Captain had no choice, he pulled out his sidearm and dropped to the ground, letting two shots loose and hitting the officer twice in the chest before that could let a shot loose. 
"Hey!" One of the Revolutionist soldiers screamed and ran into the room just in time to see his officer dropping to the ground. The Captain lift his sidearm again, but the soldier was quicker and a rippling pain across his entire arm paralyzed him. He looked to his arm and noticed the bullet from the soldier's AK-47 had entered through his palm and all the way to his elbow, destroying his hand along the way, the Captain looked up again just in time to see the butt-end of the AK-47 approaching. The world turned black again...


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## Nazgul Killer (Jun 2, 2011)

Next chapter should come later today as I'm finally home again. I'd appreciate some constructive criticism guys.


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## Nazgul Killer (Jul 8, 2011)

Jesus christ, my life have been a mess lately. Sorry for the extremely late update, but it seems that every single time I sat down to write something happened, be it something small as having to take my dog off to the vet, or be it something huge like being called up to the front lines for duty as things got somewhat ugly here. So, finally, after a month and a half, I actually have time. Starting to write now.


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## Nazgul Killer (Jul 8, 2011)

*
**Conquering The Hydra*
*Chapter 7: "Closing  In"*

Striding through the hallway like a man possessed with  demonic fervor, Petrov had never imagined this would happen. The  thoughts racing through his already troubled mind, thoughts of what  would happen tomorrow, or the day after, should the revolutionists  succeed. Soon enough one of his assistants caught up with him, a  troubled young lady with exquisite physique, which was basically her  only good feature and the only reason he kept her around. She handed him  a file containing several reports from some of his military generals,  he browsed through those reports, reading but not comprehending what it  is he just read, not even caring.

Petrov then arrived at his  destination, with the assistant by his side he opened the doors to his  office's porch and looked outside, to see the burning Moscow. Black  smoke rose upon the horizon at the outskirts of Moscow as the fighting  there grew ever more gruesome. Distant explosions could be heard from  where he now stood, if he did not know better he could easily mistake  them for fireworks... But the truth of the matter was it was likely  tanks exploding and shooting, soldiers dying and killing. He knew their  destination, and he knew there was absolutely no way he could stop  them... But he was sure as hell going to try.


~~~~~~~~


"Go!  Go! Go!" The pilot screamed as the chopper made a quick, powerful  landing on the helipad atop the silo. Seven soldiers jumped out quickly,  and the Black Hawk quickly lift off once more, rocketing into the skies  and clearing the helipad for the next Black Hawk as it was closing in  fast. The seven soldiers rushed down the metal stairs to the silo, their  commander sending a lightning-quick glance upward to the second  helipad, just in time to see a firefight between the soldiers who just  rushed out of another helicopter and the security forces of the  facility. 
He rushed down the  oh-so-many stairs, thinking how vulnerable he and his squad are at the  moment, visible to all and nothing to hide them but the thin railing.  Soon enough, a bullet zoomed by his ear and clanked at the railing on  the other side, he quickly aimed his MP5 at the general origin of the  fire, blasting an burst over there. He and his six soldiers rushed down  the last flight of stairs, kicking the door at the end of the stairs  open, knowing full well there is no one inside. Soon enough, all seven  soldiers were inside the metal room, panting heavily. 
Firefights were  heard all across the silo, choppers zooming by, and soon enough a loud  explosion was also heard; The commander knew right then that it meant  that the Germans had arrived with their tanks, blasting through the main  gate and the forces at the outside yard. They were the diversion so  that the covert forces, being himself, his soldiers and about fifty  other soldiers flown in by chopper, could take over the missile  silo.

"All right guys, we're heading  through this door" The commander pointed at the door to the southernmost  part of the room, right in front of the door to the stairs, telling  them nothing they already didn't know; "It will lead us to the top  railing of the generator room, we go in quietly and we'll sort out any  security forces waiting there." He said, nodding at them, they nodded  back. "Masks on!" He ordered quietly, and they all pulled out their gas  masks from their vests and planted them on their faces and helmets. Just  as they did that, the second squad of soldiers rushed in, only six this  time, meaning that one of them died or fell injured. The commander gave  a solemn nod to the officer of the other team, and positioned himself  by the door, having one of his soldiers open it and rush outside to  clear the  room.

"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear  the low!"
"Clear high!" 
The team  shouted as they each did their part at clearing the fourth room they  entered that day, one room before the top railing of the engine room."Go!" The commander screamed, pointing at the door in  front of them; His team quickly positioned themselves and pushed five  tear gas grenades through the door before opening it. The team rushed  through the door then, positioning themselves on the top railing,  observing the security forces below them, choking and coughing.
"Ready!" The commander yelled; "Weapons free!" He  yelled again, and the team opened fire, single bullet shots and single  bursts to take out the security forces. 
"Clear low!"  One of them shouted.
"Clear low!" Another one shouted, a  little far way.
"I think that's all!" Another shouted. 
"All right, down we go!" The commander yelled, and  three soldiers took out ropes from their combat vests and attached them  to the railing, propelling down to the generator room, hiding behind  cover to cover the remaining four propelling down the  ropes.

 Once the seven were again  reunited, they made their way through the generator room, making sure  the security forces were indeed dead, and found themselves facing the  last doorway, to the control room.
"All right guys. Get  ready, this is the money shot, now we wait" The commander ordered, and  quickly clicked on his PTT on his ear; "Squad one in  position"
The reply soon came;
"Squad  two in position"
"Squad three  ready"
"Squad four ready"
"Squad six  primed and ready. Squad five is nowhere to be  found"
"Squad eight ready with seven  here"
Right then and there, the commander thanked God  in his mind that his officers had the idea of setting up two reserve  squads just in case one squad didn't make it, even perhaps  two.
"All right, all units, go go go!" The cry came  over the radio from one of the choppers overhead, where the General was.  
At that, the commander kicked the door open and  pulled back, giving room to two of his soldiers to throw smoke and  flash-bang grenades into the room. Soon enough, he could hear many  flash-bangs going up, but still no gunshots. All teams were waiting for  the smoke to thicken. 
"GO!" The commander then  screamed, and the team rushed through the door, shooting at their  designated spot as to avoid friendly fire.&lt;br&gt;In a matter  of seconds, the control room was theirs, the missile silo was back in  friendly  hands.


~~~~~~


"...Reports  come in from Moscow of attacks by the revolutionary forces on Moscow  itself, St. Petersburg and several missile silos over the entire  country. In other news, in a surprising turn of events, the German Prime  Minister has agreed to assist Russia and the United States in their  efforts against the revolutionary forces, having taken a neutral  position at this conflict from the very beginning, this came as a  surprise to many of the U.N. representatives, and perhaps even the  German..." The news lady spoke ever so lightly of such an important  subject as Gibson gazed upon the  TV.
"Gibson?" Dave  queried.
"What?"
"Are you with me...?"  
"Yeah... Sorry" Gibson said, tearing his eyes off the  TV screen and forcing them back to his desk and the report. The report  read of a successful mission in Siberia to retake a nuclear missile silo  from revolutionary hands, it was painfully detailed.
The office was filled with military officials,  awaiting the President's reply; The Chiefs of Staff were here along with  the head of the CIA. Gibson then nodded and got up to his  feet
"Great work guys. I'm glad to see this operation  was a total success, you might have just saved us from a nuclear war" He  said with a grim smile. 
Just as he ended that  sentence, the door opened silently and two figures entered, both of  which he could not see or recognize as the generals were obscuring his  sight. Soon enough the two figures made their way through the crowd, one  of them a U.S. Marine Colonel, and approached Gibson to whisper in his  ear
"I think you'll find this interesting, Mr.  President" He said, Gibson couldn't help but wonder who is this man and  how does he have the nerves to approach him like  that?
The Colonel then made way for the second figure  to approach the President and shake his hand. The man had a somewhat  cold hand and Gibson noticed that he was shaking his left hand for some  reason. The man was tall, broad-shouldered and had a somewhat dark aura  about him.
"What's your name?" Gibson  queried.
"Michael, Mr.  President"


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## Nazgul Killer (Jul 10, 2011)

*Conquering The Hydra*
*Chapter 8: "Crossing The Line"*


The bleeding teenager, just barely 17, kept screaming through the hospital halls as the wound in his stomach kept gashing out blood, Anton worked furiously to keep the boy alive - Yet somewhere in his mind the realization of the horrible fate that awaits this young teenager crept closer and closer. 
"Don't let me die, don't let me die!" The boy screamed as he grabbed hold of Anton's left hand, two nurses scurrying around to stop the bleeding and pump painkillers into the boy. 
"This guy has multiple gunshot wounds, is there a doctor here!?" Someone yelled over the Emergency Room, joining about a hundred other cries for help coming from all over. The hospital was swamped. Doctors were scurrying about, prioritizing the wounded, over the injured over the harmed. There were at least fifty different casualties in the Emergency Room alone. 
"I-don't-wanna-die-I-don't-wanna-die!" The boy screamed again and again and again, Anton could barely hear him anymore. He's had enough. He tore himself from the boy, fighting off tears and ran into a secluded room, away from all the racket. 
Upon shutting the door, he could feel an instant relief. How the hell could this have happened? 
"...United States forces have apparently been reported in the St. Petersburg area in Russia, to remind you, St. Petersburg has recently become a major stronghold for the so-called 'Nazi' revolutionist party that has recently arisen in Russia, a party that seeks to overthrow the current dictator and establish its own new rule. The civil war in Russia has gotten..." The narrator from the CNN channel spoke ever so calmly while showing pictures and video segments of attacks, tanks and American soldiers on Russian soil... How could he be so calm with such chaos just around the corner? 
Anton could clearly hear three, loud, sonic booms overhead - Despite being in a hospital. 
Just as he opened the door, an explosion threw him back into the room, flames and smoke erupted throughout the Emergency Room as Anton went dazed.

As Anton came back to his senses, he tried rising to his feet but failed for some reason. He looked down to see what the problem was, and it dawned on him that one of his legs was missing, and all he could think of was why would he remove his own leg?
He started limping just on one leg, moving outside the room he had just recently found refuge in, feeling more and more dazed by the minute. He looked around and then took a glance at the Emergency Room, a gigantic, gaping hole was punched through the wall and the entire room was burning. Body segments, body parts and dead bodies were spread all over the room - Those who weren't dead were either dying or burning alive, their screams echoing throughout the hospital. He looked to his left, to the opposite side of the Emergency Room and could see Russian soldiers approaching him, rapidly. They weren't the Russian army, they were the revolutionists, one of them rushed to Anton and quickly pulled out some medical supplies from a kit, most likely a medic. Just then a few gunshots were heard and said medic had his head blown off. 
A firefight instantly erupted between the revolutionists and an unknown foe. Anton, with no fear and no realization of who he is, tried moving further down the hall to see their assailants, he dropped down to the floor. It's hard walking with just one leg. He did however get a good look at his assailants, wearing their grey-white camouflage suits, there was no mistaking the U.S. Marines for anyone else. Just then and there, Anton died.

~~~~~~

"Golf one, this is Golf two, how's the view?" 
"Fantastic Golf two. Ready to roll?"
"Hell yeah."
The two pilots on the Apache Longbow task force jokingly conversed with each other, trying some black humor to ease the pain of the war. Soon enough, both choppers were off the ground and over St. Petersburg.
"Boy oh boy, do you see that?" Golf one asked.
"Looks like we have a lot to play with, eh Curt?" Golf two responded.
"We sure do. Let'em have it!" Curtis replied.
The two pilots were talking about an ambush set by the revolutionary forces, just where their intelligence officer told them they'd be. A tank and twenty soldiers were waiting unsuspecting comers to the street, just waiting in the alleyway. Curtis lined up his chopper and lit the tank ablaze with one of his Hellfire rockets, watching as that gigantic piece of metal went up like a volcano. 
"Let me have some fun too!" Golf two begged, lined up his chopper and opened fire with his Vulcan machine gun, tearing through some of the remaining soldiers from the ambush, ripping them apart.
Laughing maniacally, Curtis gained some more altitude, with his wingman close behind.
"Golf one and two, this is Eagle one, be advised we will be passing overhead. Stay at your current altitude please and watch the fireworks" The F-35 pilot ordered over the radio, and the two paid heed to his words intently. Staying put, they watched as three F-35 jets zoomed by at supersonic speed, quite a bit overhead, and one of them launching a deadly bomb. 
The bomb shrieked as it fell toward a relatively large building in the landscape, and blew a chunk of it open, slamming through the wall and lighting up the inside. 
Two black hawks then rushed to the scene and lowered ropes atop the same building's rooftop, having Marines propelling downward and taking hold of the building. 

"Yeeee-hawwww!" Curtis yelled into the radio in response to the spectacle. Their forces were pushing through to St. Petersburg, the rebels had no chance. The city was alight and blood was decorating the streets... War is a messy business, but once you're in it, you're captivated. 
"All right Golf two, follow suit!" Curtis ordered and spurred his chopper forward, moving further down the blocks, scouring the ground for potential foe.
"Stinger! Stinger! Breaaaaak!" Golf two screamed and the two broke formation, Curtis to the right and Golf two to the left, the stinger missile zoomed by Curtis' canopy, just in an angle to not hit the blades of the propeller. Curtis lined up his chopper just in time to see Golf two make a run at the Stinger site, opening fire with everything he had, they were apparently upon a rooftop of an apartment building, the Apache roared furiously as its Vulcan and missiles blasted the last two floors of the building, spraying it to its fiery death. 
"Thanks Golf two. Saved my skin back there" Curtis acknowledged over the radio, and launched a missile at a moving tank down the street, watching as the turret ripped out from the main hull of the tank and slammed into a building nearby, relishing the destruction.

~~~~~~

Alexey was sitting at a rounded table with his co-leader, Dimitri and three of their guards, talking over plans. Having just recently wrestled control of St. Petersburg, and having been under attack ever since, the resistance was currently quite frail. It was quite obvious though that the Russians, Americans and their allies would stop at nothing to try and destroy the resistance. Luckily, the resistance was strong and nearing Moscow as well. 
"We need to take Moscow, and we need to take it now. No time is better than this!" Alexey exclaimed. "If we fail to take Moscow in the next week, St Petersburg will fall, with it our last stronghold and likely all support to the resistance" He explained soon after.
"But if we fail to take Moscow? What then? Not only will we be without *more* support, we'll lose all support we currently have and all of our troops. Moscow is heavily defended. Petrov will not relinquish control of it easily" Dimitri replied. 
"We need to try. We have the British attacking our missile silos in Siberia along with the Seals, we have the Marines pushing at St. Petersburg and the Army protecting key strategical locations all over Russia. Not to mention the German reinforcements arriving, the French and the main Russian forces - Who are currently on the defensive... Which is why we need to strike!" Alexey punched the table. 
"Having someone on the defensive doesn't mean you need to attack him, it means you need to starve him. A force on the defensive is a desperate force, and there's no dangerous foe than that that is desperate" Dimitri gave his wise advice.
Alexey then brushed his hands through his head and blonde, shoulder-long hair. Thinking. He focused his green eyes on Dimitri; "What if..."
"What if what?" Dimitri asked, leaning back on his chair. 
"What if we use Michael?"
"We have already used him. He met the President"
"What if we *use* him...?"
"Petrov?"
"Gibson first"
"I see." Dimitri leaned forward again, putting his head on his folder and playing with his short brown hair; "No... Gibson should be spared. If he would take out Gibson he would never leave the United States alive"
"Petrov however...?"
"Petrov trusts Michael. Michael is his operative after all, he *made* him. A shame he's out of touch with reality to see Michael turned sides, again" Dimitri said with a sly smile.
Alexey smiled back. "Get Michael to the Kremlin. I need Petrov dead" He said decisively.
"That's one issue solved, Moscow, but now - St. Petersburg?" Dimitri asked.
"We should deploy our missiles" Alexey said, half asking.
"No-no... We won't use missiles. Nukes are for mad men. Only a fool would use a weapon meant for intimidation" Dimitri said dismissively.
"What other solution do we have?"
Dimitri then smiled. "I have one more trick up our sleeve brother..."


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## Nazgul Killer (Jul 21, 2011)

I will be finishing this story soon enough, due to lack of reader and my refusal to keep this story unfinished, for the first time I've gone this far with one of my stories and for the first time I've actually loved every word I put up. I'll likely write either later today or Saturday.


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## Nazgul Killer (Sep 5, 2011)

Disappointingly enough, I've ran out of writer wind for this story and will have to call it quits on this one. Really wanted to finish it, but lack of time lead to lack of motivation and creativity I'm afraid, and any ending I write for this story would not do it honors as it is the first story I'm truly proud of, I hope any readers who have read it have actually enjoyed it, I know I had a blast writing it.


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