Aberrant: 200X - ...And A Bottle of Rum [War Diaries] (Complete)

[Eingar]

1st September, 2008.

Town of Eyl, Puntland Region, Somalia.

"Insertion in five."

"Online. Extraction crew status: ready."

"Roger. Where's the package?"

"Northern edge of the harbor. The locals have got the hostages there in a rigged cargo freighter. One hint of alarm and they blow the hull out. After those French commandoes, they're ready. Or think they are."

"Roger. Phase one begins in three."

"Two hours till the guard change. Current shift should be getting sleepy right about now. Einherjar, HQ says you are free to engage. Make us some Euros, buddy."

Einherjar responded with a double click of his mic, then turned the radio off. He floated in the night sky high above a sprawling seaside town. From up here, it would be hard to guess the place to be any different from a tourist spot. But appearances could be deceptive. Below the blond Elite was the port town of Eyl, capital of the semi-autonomous Puntland region of Somalia, and by far one of the most lawless places in a land that could only be described as post-apocalyptic.

Directly below him was the cargo freighter containing his first objective for the night. Somali pirates, led by a nova calling himself 'Barra', had issued an ultimatum to the EU, and through them, the world: "Return the prisoners you have taken and let us raid your shipping with impunity, or we kill all white faces we capture." The European Union, along with several rich owners of shipping companies, had decided to take a cheaper option than allowing tens of millions of dollars of loss every year. They had hired DeVries to extract all the currently held hostages... and ensure that a message was clearly sent in language that the pirates could understand.

His eufiber set to it's default 'Barbarian Paramilitary' look, only with a dusky grey night camo-pattern rather than arctic, Einherjar slowly descended from the sky. His enhanced hearing siphoned through the sparse signal traffic below him, isolating the carrier signal for the radio detonator held by one of Barra's men. As was suspected, the man was on board the dilapidated freighter, 'Captain' for a ship that was not likely to see the open ocean again.

Ein let himself drop the hundred feet remaining to the ship's deck, arresting his fall a few inches from the steel, then alighting gently. He heard four sets of footfalls on the crate-strewn deck, four somewhere below, and two men talking in Somali somewhere below that. He also heard two sets of snores, and the quiet tumult of many scared, underfed people trying to sleep in the cargo hold. He glanced at the divers watch on his large wrist. Time to go to work.

He moved quietly on rubber-soled boots along the deck, tracking the detonator frequency towards the bridge-end of the boat. The captain was in his cabin, more than likely one of the snorers. As with all the locals, he probably chewed khat, a stimulant/narcotic that provided a high, but then the crash afterwards was enough to make a man insensible at best. The sentries currently walking about were probably just starting their crash, and as the big man crouched in the shadow of a crane, he saw that intel was spot on. Ahead of him was a skinny figure in loose-woven pants and shirt that was all but leaning on the rail as he took a piss in the sea, his head nodding drunkenly. Ein waited patiently, and the pirate sighed, shook himself off, then picked up his rifle and wandered right past the lurking Elite, mumbling to himself as though dreaming.

Grinning tightly, feeling the tension of his mission as a pleasant thrumming in his nerves that made him feel alive again, Einherjar trod quietly down the rust-splotched steel steps. The first cabin he came to was the Captain's, and sure enough he could hear the man snoring inside along with the quiet buzz of the detonator. He tried the latch, and wasn't surprised to find it bolted. Not that an inch-thick steel door was much of a problem.

He pressed his hand against the door with gradually increasing pressure. Steel buckled slowly as more and more force was exerted, the nova's thews not straining in the least as, with a final grinding pop, the door crashed inwards. Stepping smartly into the room beyond, Einherjar saw the dark face of the captain turn towards him, jaw slack from shock. Awake, but still mazed from sleep and khat, the man was too slow to realise that death was on him, and the last thing he saw was a cold blue gaze as an inhumanly strong hand gripped his head and twisted.

Einherjar let the limp body fall and moved to the cluttered desk. He heard someone shout above, an interrogatory call that the Elite ignored as he scooped the detonator up and turned it off. One cement-crushing grip later, and the detonator was just so much powdered circuitry and plastic. He stepped back into the corridor outside and looked up the stairwell, right hand already pulling something from his belt and coming up as he gazed into the widening eyes of the sentry that stood 10 feet away. The silenced Heckler & Koch MP7A1 made a single subdued coughing noise as he fired, but the hole that appeared in the man's head, the spray of bone and tissue from behind him, and the sudden glazed look of death in his eye was ample evidence that the 4.6mm high-velocity round had done it's work. The pirate fell down the stairs with a thump and a clatter, but Einherjar was already moving in the other direction, continuing down to the hold.

He ran down the steps and moved along the corridor at the bottom, gun up and covering the doorways as he moved. He heard further shouts behind him as the bodies were discovered, but his attention was focused ahead 20 feet on the two men next to a large steel door. Beyond that door was 'the package', roughly ninety European men and women marked for death if the European Union did not submit to Barra's threat. The SMG coughed twice more, and both guards dropped in sprays of blood. Two more seconds, and he was at the door.

A twist of the handle, and the large door opened inwards with a squeal of protesting metal. The stench of sweat, vomit and waste met the nova's sensitive nostrils, and he fought the urge to gag for a moment. Christ, but that stinks. He heard people moving in there and called out quietly in English.

"Stay calm and stay quiet. Help is here." He quickly repeated himself in German, Spanish and French as he moved into the hold, watching where he trod. Someone had hooked up a single lamp in here, and ninety pairs of eyes watched the tall blond nova with fear, awe and hope. "Anyone injured? Can you all move? Call out if you cannot move. I'm with DeVries, your governments haven't forgotten you." He turned and closed the door, twisting the locking mechanism as he did so that it would not open without a cutting torch and ten minutes work at least. He looked around at the baffled faces nearest him and grinned slightly as he turned his sat-radio back on.

"This is Einherjar. Package is secure and waiting for transport." Approximately two seconds after these words had been uttered, a rippling distortion formed in the close air of the cargo hold and a lean, hard-looking woman stepped through as if from nowhere. The other Elite nodded to Einherjar, then addressed the crowd.

"Everyone through the portal. Quickly and quietly, and don't jostle. You're all going, so no need to panic." Timidly at first, then with increasing eagerness, the released hostages clustered under the woman's eagle eye and moved through the rift in space. Banging could be heard from the other side of the steel door, then a crumping sound made all but the two Elites jump.

"Relax!" Einherjar commanded. "That was a frag. It's not going to get through the door. Keep moving." They hustled through the warp faster, but still keeping good order. Within ten minutes the hold was empty, only the effluvia of misery left behind. The woman turned as a man wearing fatigues stepped through, pulling a trolley on which rested a large, multi-barrelled gun. Ein handed off the smaller weapon he had hitherto been using to the quartermaster and hefted the BFG.

"Satellite shows hostiles massing along the docks, small boats already coming out." The man told Ein as he picked up bandolier of grenades. "Orders are confirmed for phase two. Sweep and clear." Einherjar smiled grimly as he checked his sword in it's sheath across his back, then tucked the minigun into the crook of one arm.

"Good. Get going, I'll take it from here."

[Eingar]

He heard the boats bumping against the hull, heard the running footsteps and shouts on the deck overhead. He heard roughly sixty men board the floating hulk and, clamoring, try to make sense of what was happening.

Einherjar waited alone in the cramped gloom of the hold, the bulky ultramachinegun under one arm as he listened, judging the moment. He heard an angry voice on the radio, demanding that the men on deck blow open the deck doors to the hold and rain bullets on the white infidels inside. He heard the shouts as explosives were fetched and placed. He grinned and put in his sound filtering earplugs.

With loud crump and a screech of steel, the cargo doors fell inwards with a bang, a cloud of dust and rust clogging the air. Shouts from overhead filtered through the murk as first one, then all the men up there started firing blindly down into the hold. It was time to go.

With a flex of his node, Einherjar soared up out of the belly of the ship, a blue-white nimbus of light sheathing his body as his forcefield deflected the few stray round that came his way. Up he went: two, then three hundred feet. And he looked down, sought through radio frequencies, and pulsed a command down the right one.

The radio detonator attached to the masses of explosives that had made the ship a perfect hostage-holding deathtrap received the command and flared to life. In a heartbeat the old freighter was consigned to a fiery, explosive death, carrying the screaming men on board with her to the afterlife. Even this high up, Einherjar squinted and half-turned away from the brilliance of the explosion, then grinned savagely and sought the local radio frequency.

"What is happening? Speak!" an angry voice demanded of minions over the net. He did not get the answer he expected.

"I am happening." Was all Einherjar answered as he turned towards the origin of that signal, a pier roughly two hundred metres south of his position. As made a slow swooping dive, he opened up with short ripping bursts from the BFG, tearing some of the small speedboats buzzing around in the harbor (and their crews) to pieces. A larger yacht, it's deck crowded with armed men, steered towards the airborne nova. A few puffs of smoke heralded near misses by several RPG's, and Ein decided to put an end to the flak with a long raking burst of the minigun that damn near cut the yacht in half before hitting the fuel tank and setting off another explosion.

He touched down on the pier and, noting several old-model APC's drawn up at the far end, treated his welcome wagon to another long burst of depleted uranium. Men dived for cover as thirty-year old military vehicles were ripped apart as though made of cardboard. Again, some rounds spanged from his body shield, but the Elite didn't even flinch as he methodically destroyed the heavier weapons. The carnage didn't seem to faze or touch him: men or machines, if they posed a threat they disappeared behind the flaring thunder of his weapon not to be seen again as he advanced up the pier towards the meagre resistance. Already they were breaking and running, and as he leapt over a wrecked jeep, his gun empty, he found the enemy forces pretty much crushed.

"Ein to Pickup, BFG dropped at current location." He set the hardware down at his feet and scooped up an assault rifle from a fallen enemy. Behind him, a warp opened in the air and the half-ton firearm was drawn through it, reclaimed.

He was already moving on however, drawing beads on distant targets and dropping them with single, precise shots. The Somali pirates were not lacking in bravery when it came to skirmishing, but the overwhelming assault from an invincible foe was taking its toll of even their considerable morale. A roar of anger alerted Einherjar to a new threat as a large, powerful man charged at him. The Elite had time to snap off one shot, only to see it dent the man's skin and bounce off, before Barra was upon him.

The dark face was contorted with wide-eyed rage as the pirate leader levelled a massive swipe at Einherjar with a length of steel I-beam. The blow went wide as the Elite ducked and stepped to the side, dropping the useless rifle as he did so. As he straightened, Ein drew his sword and set himself to meet Barra's backswing, the solid tungsten-carbide blade swinging in ahead of the steel I-beam with deadly intent. Blood spurted and the other nova screamed in pain as both hands were sheared off halfway between wrist and elbow, the makeshift weapon he had been brandishing falling to the floor along with the twitching appendages that had held it.

Einherjar didn't waste any words, didn't talk to the man. The orders were stated and the mission clear. Barra was not to be negotiated with or held prisoner. Without even slowing or pausing, the great sword spun once more in the fire-lit air and the Somali chief's head rolled on the ground. He heard shouts of dismay and fear from the dead man's nearby followers. The job was not yet finished. Taking a white phosphorus grenade from his bandolier, he threw it into the nearest house.

Flames blazed up behind the Elite as he stalked, ran or flew, bloody sword in hand, along the waterfront streets, dealing fire and death in his wake. Many of the pirate leaders had made palaces for themselves, bought expensive cars and lifestyles with the proceeds of their crimes. Nothing was spared. The palaces burned, the toys were trashed, and any resistance was brutally and effectively cut down by the swift-moving nova. He broke a car window, dropped a willie-pete into the driver's seat, then heaved the whole vehicle into Barra's residence at the top of the hill. Flames and explosions filled the night as Eyl burned, and terrified eyes watched from the hills outside town as the glowing figure drifted above the now-blazing streets.

"Jesus, Einherjar. We can see that mess from here." came the voice over the satellite net.

"That's the idea." Ein smiled faintly as he scanned for further resistance. Orders had been to crush the fight out of the pirates for a good long time to come. "Hope the employers are happy."

"They are. We're cross-decking the sat-feed to them now. Good work, buddy. Come on home."

"Want me to bring Barra's head?" He asked with a sly grin unseen by the other half of the conversation.

"You better be joking, Einherjar. Tell me you are."

"Roger that, Control. Heading home now." He soared upwards, leaving the burning town behind him.