He saw the door of the Orlando hatch was open, and the fuselage had a huge rip in it. Sam came and stood at his shoulder.
“What do you see?” Sam whispered.
Alex kept his eyes on the Orlando. “Nothing, but it’s weird. I can sense there’s someone or something in there. Maybe it’s the goddamn mist making it hard for me to pinpoint exactly what it is.” He turned. “But it’s not human.”
The bowling ball-sized rock struck Sam, mid chest, and smashed him off his feet. Then they came. Fast. Emerging from the furiously agitated haze holding metal rods, knives, and hands hooked into claws.
Alex spun to meet them. “Engage.”
Alex’s arm came up, and his shield whirred to life, deflecting the initial charge. But the impact was like being struck by a battering ram. Who, or what, had struck him had the strength of several men. Alex rolled away, shield up, and ready for the next attack.
The Russians. Had to be. The huge men came out of the mist, a few with guns raised. The last thing Alex wanted was a firefight. The HAWCs weapons were safe in the explosive atmosphere, but he bet the Russian weaponry, if discharged, was liable to turn the entire mountaintop into a giant fireball that’d consume them all. He knew that if the HAWCs fired, they’d provoke return fire.
“No shooting,” Alex yelled, and rolled as an iron bar struck the ground again and again, trying to hammer him.
The HAWCs shelved their weapons over their backs and entered the fray against their bigger opponents.
Alex saw Sam rise back to his feet. Casey Franks roared as she dove, her shield engaged on her forearm and a Ka-bar knife in each hand. She had the blades pointed backwards so she could still use her armored knuckles to punch, and then bring in backward thrusts of her knives to slash at her foe.
Max Dunsen and Andy Garcia grappled with another of the Russians. Spetsnaz, GRU, or any other Special Forces that Russia could pit against them should have fallen like wheat before the scythe, but to Alex’s amazement, his HAWCs were being beaten back.
No, not just beaten back, but obliterated. One massive arm swung out, striking Dunsen and knocking him twenty feet back into the mist. Then Garcia was grabbed around the throat, lifted off his feet, and shaken like a rabbit in a hound’s mouth before being slammed down into the mud.
Garcia was groggy, but drew his longest blade, and stabbed upwards, but the laser-honed tip refused to penetrate the ribs of his opponent. In return, the Russian holding him down kept one large hand on Garcia’s throat, pinning him in place as he drew his other arm back, lined the HAWC up, and then with a sickening crunch, he punched down with all his strength into the HAWC’s helmet.
Astonishingly, the fist passed through the armored face-shield and on into Garcia’s face and skull.
“Noooo!” Alex was up and charging. He dropped his shoulder and cannonballed into the figure, knocking it off his man. He pulled Garcia up, but there was nothing he could do; the HAWC’s head was destroyed.
He stared into the ruined face of his dead soldier, as time fell away. It was impossible, the helmets were near unbreakable, and the human skull could withstand over 500 pounds of pressure before crushing. Alex let Garcia’s body slide back to the ground.
The Russian had crushed Garcia’s skull with one fist.
Alex turned slowly, teeth bared. So could he.
Sam Reid was trading blows with a being larger than he was. Even though Sam had internal MECH technology, it was he who was struggling with his opponent. Dunsen rejoined the fight. He, Casey, and Monroe faced an opponent together, but against the Russian they seemed to be taking turns being flung around like rag dolls.
Alex felt the movement in the air before he saw it, and raised his shielded arm in time to stop the metal bar coming down across his neck. Even though the super-compressed air defrayed the massive blow, he still grunted from the force of it, and his feet sunk a few inches further into the ooze.
He spun and came up with his knife, the metal blade horizontal, and he stabbed in hard at the Russian’s ribcage. The razor-sharp edge, with Alex’s force behind it, should have penetrated the ribs, and found the heart or at least the lungs — either should have meant immediate death or incapacitation.
But the blade barely entered the skin, and then struck something that felt like solid bone where none should have existed. Alex looked up into the face for the first time — the man didn’t wear any breathing apparatus, and his features were a grotesque mask of elongated jaws, heavy brow, and large, black soulless eyes like those of a shark. The man grinned, showing teeth that were strong and inward curving.
The Russian lunged, but he underestimated Alex who pivoted and brought the knife back around, roaring and swinging with all his strength into the meat of the Russian’s shoulder. There was no bone or armor plating there and his eight-inch knife sank to the hilt, delivering a devastating injury, and one that should have rendered the Russian’s arm useless.
This time the Russian howled with pain as he dropped his iron bar, and he quickly reached up to catch the hilt of the blade and Alex’s hand in his own. Alex saw that the giant hand only seemed to have three large blunt fingers and it completely wrapped around his own.
The Russian tried to crush Alex’s hand but couldn’t, and instead Alex pushed the blade further into the mottled flesh.
“It hurts, da?” It was Alex’s turn to grin.
The Russian growled and Alex stared into the black discs of eyes. What’s happening to these men?
Unexpectedly, the Russian straightened then jerked back, lifting Alex up off his feet while still gripping his hand. He pulled it from the knife and used Alex’s arm to swing his body around and whip him hard to the ground. Alex grunted in pain as his head thumped down and he felt the impact jar every bone in his body. His vision swam, and his mind began to wander away.
His adversary ripped the knife from his shoulder and flung it away and then bent to pick up the fallen steel bar.
Look. The voice in his head was urgent but disdainful. I said, look!
Alex’s blurred vision focused on hurricane of violence around him. Without the ability to use modern weaponry, it reminded him of movie scenes of age-old gladiator battles — huge warriors in armor battled each other with swords, clubs, and shields, as well as the most basic of weapons; hands, fists, elbows, and heads.
He saw Sam Reid lifted from the ground by one of the most grotesque men he had ever seen in his life. The HAWC was held aloft for a few seconds before being slammed down to the mud. His adversary then went to stomp down on him, but Sam caught the huge boot and hung on tight.
Three other HAWCs battled another of the men. Alex’s confused state making it impossible for him to tell who was who in their robotic-looking suits. Alex knew his HAWCs were an indomitable force and near-indestructible human beings, but the Russians were even more super-charged and bestial. They not only held their own with the American Special Forces soldiers, but their strength seemed to far surpass them.
Look at your loyal soldiers now. The voice chuckled cruelly. They follow you, and see where have you brought them? To hell, of course.
He turned his head, seeing the fallen body of Garcia.