|
NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
|
|
20-10-10 12M p3 |
|
Frostbite by Steve Hatton |
|
SYNOPSIS It had left too little time for Governments to protect their populations. The President of the United States, bowing to pressure from scientists and the Military, made resources available to build a secret survival environment located in the New Mexico desert. Two Ice Marshals will journey by Jet-Sled across Arizona and into Nevada, heading towards the secret base at Groom Lake, pursued by factions intent on thwarting their mission. On reaching the base, they encounter it’s mysterious occupants and unravel the secrets of the mysterious Area 51. Squatted down alongside the grey titanium-alloy hull of the craft, he suddenly caught a fleeting glimpse of his own reflection in the wet surface of the artificial ice beneath him. Although the image was somewhat distorted, he still looked just the way that he felt, miserable, cold and weary. It wasn't really surprising, considering that he’d been rudely summoned from his warm bed at such an ungodly hour. He groaned as he rose to a standing position lifting the heavy test module aloft. Daco Hernandez’s mood suddenly then brightened, realizing that he could now look forward to his first hot mug of coffee. The vehicle which now stood before him was a heavily armed Interceptor Jet-sled MK V, the latest version to be built under contract to the Defence Department by the Wolverine Corporation. Ice Fortress 15 had recently acquired two of them as replacements to earlier versions. Being diligent as always, the Mexican engineer had taken it upon himself to burn the midnight oil reading through their extensive maintenance manual until he was fully familiar with all of the new aspects of the machines. In the next four hours he was grudgingly putting his newly acquired knowledge into practice. Moving slowly around the wedge-shaped nose of the craft, Daco paused for a moment in order to admire the vehicle. Sleek fighter plane lines tapered gently upwards and away from him over its cockpit canopy, falling back down to blend into the steeply raked tailfin. Surmounting the tailfin, downward sloping tail-planes jutted out at each side. Once again it reminded the technician of a crouching panther, as it stood there menacingly on its three powerful shock-absorbing pontoon-skis. One of these was located forward underneath the nose, the others were positioned at the ends of its swept-back stubby wings. Just for a moment Daco Hernandez experienced a boyish pang of regret that he’d never been fortunate to pilot one of these fast, agile vehicles. He shrugged as he moved onwards, mounting the Launch Station’s platform to make his way out. Just then he flinched, as an ear-splitting siren suddenly shattered the gloomy stillness of the concrete cavern. All around him the glistening white ice-glazed walls became streaked with pulsing crimson light. Across the narrow sunken runway, on the opposite platform, he could see that a row of elevator floor indicators were now counting down. As the elevator doors slid open a shadowy figure swiftly emerged. Daco watched as the tall helmeted figure strode purposely along the opposing platform to descend the steps leading down to the waiting Jet-Sled. The figure’s dark grey reptilian-like jumpsuit shimmered in the flickering half-light as he mounted the vehicle’s pin ladder to swing his snow-booted feet athletically into the cockpit. The white helmet and the inverted triangular badge on his chest both bore a Wolf’s head symbol, signifying his status as a Federal Ice Marshal. In a desolate chaotic world of lawlessness, he represented the last vestige of law and order. His name was Jack Frost. The watching technician was acknowledged with one briefly raised hand, before the Marshal sealed shut his Jet-sled’s canopy. The cockpit became bathed in a dim red glow as the dashboard’s main screens illuminated. Indicators flashed into life as the Marshal’s experienced hands initiated powering-up of the machine’s power plant. The vehicle shuddered visibly as the powerful engine erupted into life. Frost applied slight pressure to the throttles and could sense the Jet-sled resisting the grip of its claw-like crampon restraints, which projected beneath its three pontoon skis and were currently anchoring it to the synthetic ice surface beneath. Further pressure on the throttles made the engine note increase to a scream. Mingling with the high-pitched wails of the alert sirens, the resultant banshee wail easily overwhelmed the deep humming of the large extractor fans set high up into the rear wall, now hungrily sucking up the Jet-sled’s exhaust gases, to filter them through the Fortress’ chemical scrubbing system. Reflected in the windscreen, two rows of bright green lights winked on, suddenly illuminating the darkness of the long arched tunnel that lay in front of the Jet-Sled. Frost increased his pressure on the throttles and an incandescent ball of light erupted from the Jet-sled’s tail-pipe. It’s engine note rose to a crescendo, then Frost released its crampons. Exploding forward, the Interceptor Jet-sled tore itself free from the frozen runway and launched itself into the ghostly illuminated tunnel. Moments later it was to burst through the automatically triggered airlock opening at the tunnel’s exit, streaking its way out into world now Vanishing swiftly into the white-grey early dawn, it left behind just briefly, an undulating white vapour trail to be quickly torn apart by the ferocity of the wind, as evidence of its passing...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- |