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Operation: Jack Frost (Novel)

Novel By: rofltaco
Science fiction

A 17 year old super soldier is on a mission in Alaska to defend the homefront from skirmishes with Russian invaders. He idolizes a man named Cook who is his squad leader. Cook is the rebel of the group. He doesn't wear proper armor, he disreguards regulation, yet he fights like no other soldier can. For this, he is kept as an average soldier with no prestige; however, could there be more beneath the surface to his carelessness and combat genius? This story follows Carson on a journey as a young soldier through every day issues of teen life to catastrophes of apocalyptic proportions. Carson is still searching for some sense of identity and trying to make meaning of the things happening around and to him, and grasping for stability while his reality slowly crumbles. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Apr 4, 2011    Reads: 18    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Approaching the battleground, some of the newbies were obviously scared senseless. This would be a baptism of fire to remember. I saw on the horizon explosions going off, gunfire flying in every direction and men being hurtled into the air. Alpine Company was right on our heels, but being the first to fight was never an easy task. Coming ever closer to the fight, Blue figures were suddenly struck in the head, keeled over and faded out to black all along the entrenched borders. A sinking sensation washed over me as I began seeing gleaming red figures storming the trenches - hundreds of them. Although I was one of one hundred and fifty men, the nerves still gripped my chest, tightening my insides and making a bead of sweat roll down my spine, instantly freezing halfway down my back.
"What is this, your first fight?" teased Cook. "Compose yourself; it looks bad to the newbies." This belittlement actually reassured me, and as I took my first steps onto the battlefield I was calm and collected. Another drag on my cigarette brought my nerves to steel as I sighted in on my first target.
I aligned the red dot sight on the top of my rifle to the neck of the gold tinged red figure. This was an officer I was about to drop. Breathe, aim, and squeeze, I thought, remembering my training. With a smooth exhale my finger glided the trigger all the way back, releasing three rounds in rapid succession, streaking with intense speed to my enemy to deliver three fifty caliber blows directly on target. The man fell like a rock, although the color remained in his figure. He got back up, shook his head, and looked directly at where I was standing.
"This can't be good," said Cook as the enemy officer brushed off the three rapid headshots. The figure raised a pistol, and with seemingly a point shot, hit one of the rookies directly in the chink of his armor. The loud crack thundered an instant after the round traced through him and his blood drenched the snow. He fell down, dead instantly as the blue faded out from his figure and he turned to black. I glanced back up as the officer lowered his pistol yet continued to stare into my squad. All of a sudden, an ear-splitting screech overwhelmed the radio signal of my chip and I fell to the floor, squirming about helplessly as the relentless assault on my ear drums continued to unceasingly pierce into the depths of my ears. The men all around screamed and tore their helmets off in an attempt to rid themselves of the audio assault. Two more rounds streaked through the air, one hitting one of the newly helmetless men's head. The only way to assuage my ears seemed to be to remove the chip from my brain. I groped at the right side of my head searching for the small slot as the screech continued to sound. Men's ears ran red as the overwhelmed radio signal continued in their ears, many being picked off like cattle by the Russian soldiers. Stealing a glance upward, I saw a group of roughly twenty brightly gleaming red figures moving in on us, guns trained on my comrades, lead by the same officer who initiated the attack. They opened fire with their guns, spraying my squad with bullets, taking out many men who had shed their helmets to try to rip out the chips. I felt blood streaming down from my ears as I ducked my head under my arms and hit the ground, still groping for the slot where I could rip out the chip. Bullets bounced from my armor as my fingers finally met a small metal slot and he felt the chip's exterior. I ripped the thing from its place and the screech ceased at last. My ears were still ringing unbelievably, and the full effect of everything unleashed its toll on my natural body. The armor protecting me now felt as a whole other person sitting on top of me, my bleeding ears surged immensely, paralyzing pain coursed throughout my entire body as I curled into a fetal position and tucked my head into my arms. I felt each bullet deflecting off my armor as a knock-out punch against bare skin. New waves of pain rolled over me with each impact. The world's colors were back. All was snow blind white and sanguine with streaks of pink. The bodies of my squad mates littered all around as the ringing began to recede and screams now met my ears. Through all the suffering and chaotic gunfire, I heard one thing that rallied the near dead hopes pitifully lingering in my heart.
Through the carnage I made out screams of defiance, and some straight vulgarity, coming from none other than Cook. He had somehow managed to remove the chip before the rest of them and was now standing at the front of the pack, administering a thorough lead-cased beat down on the Russian assailants. Wielding two assault rifles, one in either hand, cook was firing into the advancing enemies, pulling clean head shots as their bullets all whizzed just to the side of the man that was literally a "moving target." He glanced behind him to his decimated squadron of men laying broken and battered, many dead, to find me, a seventeen year old kid in a red bandana, raising my assault rifle to aid in his fight. He smiled and began shouting to the advancers again (mostly profane insults) as he dropped one weapon to drag me off to a large mound of snow to our left. The whirling snow created a white out as my vision began to fade in and out of focus and the world became less real by the minute. Amazingly, Cook had pinned down the entire squad of advancing Russians, fired eighteen rounds into the front their commanding officer, and pulled me out of the fight. We were now all that remained of the squad, and everyone from Alpine Company had been wiped out. Cook and I regressed to a small cavern in the rocks to wait out the battle and call for backup. We made sure to warn the men of the audio attacks which had overcome the whole company. Cook tossed a blanket to my bloody form as he sat down with his own.
"It'll get cold in here waiting for rescue, and you can forget about cuddling up to me for warmth," said Cook with a deadpan face. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch until they arrive." Sleep seemed nowhere to be found as I tried to doze off in the corner. It would be hours until anyone could clear the area outside. The explosions seemed a trivial thing as exhaustion and loneliness set in on me. I decided against lighting up another cigarette. I missed my mom, and hardly thought she would approve.


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