FINLAND
STATION SOVIET STYLE
A snow
covered landscape stretched on for infinity, mirrored only by the vast empty
blue sky arcing overhead, seemingly forever. With the horizon in reality only
miles away and the enemy closer still, this was a time to be cautious if one
wanted to live, to survive the new and most deadly threat that was here and
now. Yet coming out of his mind and looking forward to the lower snow and upper
blue, he knew only the beauty of the landscape and of the moment, calming
him.
He felt it
was time to move from his hiding place, a collection of fallen trees and debris
left over from the last winter and a time of peaceful lucidity. Stopping to
brush snow from his long white leather overcoat and Soviet style tank helmet,
he stood up and picked up his Machine Pistol, a short fast firing
nine-millimetre affair with a full magazine of fifty rounds. All stolen from a
dead Soviet tank man in a previous battle several weeks before, spoils of war.
His eyes missed nothing and he surveyed the scene taking in every detail, looking,
waiting for movement – nothing but snow, trees and the ground before him. No
tanks, no diesel exhaust hanging in the air, no smoke from burning vehicles, no
advancing soldiers, for now.
How long had
it been like this, living in the fear that every day could be his last, knowing
that his country could be disassembled like a broken engine and rebuilt Soviet
style, another Soviet Republic under the boot of Moscow? Occupied by an enemy
army who killed and murdered and destroyed to achieve their aim, the aim of
occupation and of war. To take all they wanted by force, if necessary, when
politics with a veiled threat had failed, invasion was the only alternative
left. They had crossed the border area a scant few miles ahead of him and set
up camp, brought up massed reinforcements of tanks, fighting vehicles,
personnel carriers, supply trucks and a whole lot more, the tools of a modern
army. Several villages and small towns had already fallen in less than a week
of fighting, at first surprised and then overran in short order, the
inhabitants panicking, fleeing, fighting and then dying. But they managed to
get word out, had succeeded and now an army, a Finnish army was fighting the
Soviet invasion, as their grandparents had done over sixty years ago. How
history repeated itself, the big soldier grimly thought. This time we would
win, we had our allies, brought out of hiding and now ready to join us to
defend their, our, sacred homeland. No matter how long this takes, how much
blood is spilled, we will prevail and fight our common enemy to the end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the huge
grey stone castle atop the precipitous cliff, battle plans slowly formed in the
minds of people who were no longer human – who had preternatural power beyond
the scope and understanding of all but a few humans, now their allies by
coincidence. For now. The leader, standing seven feet tall, spoke loudly and
grimly in a voice that deserved respect, servitude: “We have seen from our
forward observers that the area here” – he pointed at the map on the study wall
with a laser pointer – “and here is
occupied by lead elements of the 6th Soviet Tank Army and 8th
Mechanised Infantry Brigade. They are dug in, in defensive positions, to
consolidate their ground and have deployed a number of mobile Air Defence
weapons to provide layered defence. These systems include the Lada short range
point defence missile, the Skoda medium range missile, the Trabant long range
missile together with an assortment of shoulder fired FSO and Zil missiles and
Yugo anti-aircraft artillery. Our air attacks have failed to destroy the Soviet
defences. When we destroy one position, they bring up two more to replace it.”
With this
disclosure, the leader smiled painfully. “We knocked out eighty-three tanks,
two-dozen APCs, numerous missile and gun positions and crews and Soviet
infantry besides. Yet this action cost us a third of our air force and twenty
pilots killed or missing. This can’t continue – we will lose our prestigious
air force and be naked to more Soviet aggression; our beloved country of
Finland will be theirs for the taking…”
He stepped
aside and gave the floor to his second in command, another vampire of equal evil
and destruction and also the War Leader. His role was defence organisation and
consolidation of their perilous position, moving over to attack when that was
possible. Defeat wasn’t in his cunningly agile mind as he faced the assembled
horde in the castle study. His eyes bored into all present.
“Now you know
our situation, the seriousness of what has happened, and now we have only a
short time to act, to fight back and to win, to survive. The Finnish Air Force
has lost many planes and pilots defending our country with little results.
Soviet defences proved too strong; this was known for some time but there was
little they could do but attack. Results have shown that it was a brave and
futile effort. Now the remaining fighter planes will be held in reserve and
provide cover for the unoccupied part of our country. I have a plan, worked out
with Vargg. With this plan we can destroy the Soviets, rid our land of them and
get revenge. We can afford to give up the land we have lost to them, as we did
in the battles of the last war. This will give them false security as they hide
behind their layered missile defence. Our Air Force planes can be shot down but
can they track vampires on their radars? Here is what we shall do, how we shall
destroy the Soviet Tank Army occupying our sacred land. We can capture the
Mechanised Infantry Brigade and use the soldiers as food. Never again will we
be threatened! Here is the plan…”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Soviet tanks advanced to the town of Rontaluumi, slowly and without
stopping, their forward drive pushing on and on. Under an artillery bombardment
of 155 millimetre High Explosive shells, Katyusha unguided artillery rockets
and heavy mortars, destruction mounted. What was once a nice picturesque
village with pine framed cottages and larger buildings now resembled a war zone
of bloodied bodies and burning buildings. Shells landed in the area of the main
square, raising large pillars of smoke and flame, razor-sharp shrapnel adding
to the mayhem. Civilians fled in all manner of vehicles from small Fiat cars to
local buses to escape the Soviet juggernaut. On the main road leading from the
square one such convoy was too late – it was cut to pieces and no one had a
chance. Cars and trucks burned, wounded moaned for their God who had now
forsaken them and blood flowed in the gutter, turning to red ice as it froze in
the snow. The Devil had been at work here taking his quota of souls.
In the lead advance element of the advancing tank the Colonel studied
his battle orders and smiled grimly. Another town was coming under Soviet
control, liberating the suppressed Finns from their fake Western government.
Yes, some had died in the effort of liberation, but that was war. In a stern
voice the Colonel ordered his gunner to target the middle house in a group of
three: a Finn with a hunting rifle was sniping at the Soviet infantry; three
soldiers had died and two were injured in his stoic defence. Slamming a High
Explosive shell into the breach, the gunner aimed carefully and watched as the
target came into view. One pull on the trigger and it was over, a massive blast
of flame and explosive gasses as the shell destroyed the house, killing the
Finn who paid with his life for his actions.
Looking from the trees nearby, Finnish army observers radioed that the
enemy was in town and that it had fallen. Now the defensive plan could be put
into effect.
It started with an air strike by the Finnish air force, a small force
of six Hornet fighters flying at full throttle at low level, hugging the land
in their desperate gamble. Many of their comrades had fallen and now, would
they follow them?
Arcing over a ridgeline like darts, the Hornet flight came upon the
Soviet tank elements at Rontaluumi. Here air defence wasn’t as dangerous as at
other Soviet captured areas. It would be no cakewalk, though – each man knew
that and determination made them more likely to succeed or to die trying. With
a war load of Sidewinder wingtip mounted missiles, fuselage AMRAAMs, a
centreline tank and four underwing cluster bombs, they were armed for bear, to
wage war and defend their homeland.
In cockpits Radar Warning Receivers chirped and came to life as Soviet
radars reached out to find the jets. Flying under the radar was helping to make
detection hard but not impossible – launch! In a flare of exhaust gasses four
missiles flew skyward, aimed at the Finnish jets. Flying even lower over trees
and hills, a dozen metres above the frozen earth, the battle started. In each
cockpit alert eyes saw and noted the Skoda missiles course. Hands worked
controls and each plane broke off in a different direction to momentarily
confuse radars and missile guidance units. The tactic worked along with a
healthy dumping of flares and chaff expendables to blind the missiles. Blue sky
spinning, g-force taking hold, Hornet jets flew seemingly random courses, but
every second heading more closely to Rontaluumi and the enemy. In blinding
flashes and in a noise to wake the Gods, detonations indicated spent Skoda
medium range missiles. More launches, this time Lada close range weapons
infra-red guided and very deadly and agile. Turning and climbing slightly to
allow room for manoeuvre, the Hornets became living creatures, vapour coursing
over wings and fuselage as g-forces crushed pilots who flew their fighters to
the edge. Not enough! One plane came to pieces in a huge fireball of jet fuel
and exploding weapons, sending metal and debris in all directions. First blood
to the Soviets – another Finn had died in his jet. Over the town they flew,
weapon computers armed, target details appearing on Head Up Displays, watching
the aim point. Now! Press the button and feel four cluster bombs fall away,
target bound. Nothing could stop the bombs now as five out of six jets dropped
on schedule and completed their mission. Survival now was a bonus if the
Hornets made it back.
Tracer fire sped upwards in long lazy lines, rifle calibre to
thirty-seven millimetre of the Yugo anti-aircraft guns. Single soldiers pointed
their AK-47s and fired at the speeding planes which blurred past at five
hundred knots plus. One Hornet had a death warrant signed as it was hit by a
single explosive shell, the cockpit separating from the fuselage. In slow
motion the pilot put up his hands to shield his face from the inevitable as the
rest of the jet slammed into a parked up tank, cremating the crew and blowing
itself to bits. No mercy was here: cluster bombs exploded in pops and bangs,
slicing down exposed troops, piercing tank armour, igniting diesel fuel and
destroying a total of ten tanks and thirteen supply trucks carrying ammunition
and supplies. This mission was a success, for the loss of two planes and crew a
fair trade off, for now…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Finally it
was the vampires turn to attack. Through the snow clouds, stacked high over the
horizon, obscuring the blue sky and clear weather, the vampires flew, using
preternatural senses to guide themselves past swirling snowflakes, updrafts of
air and zero visibility. Two dozen vampires, equally divided between male and
female, with icicles hanging from their bodies due to the super freezing temperatures,
hurtled downwards and out of the murk. To their goal, the sister Soviet tank
formation with infantry support in the next village to Rontaluumi, Sonni-na, a
place of five thousand souls – now under Soviet enemy control and a ruin with
corpses everywhere, another familiar scene. An air attack would fail as
defences were massed here due to it being a forward command and control area
with a Soviet General and his Staff based there. It was vampire time now.
Like something out of a trash horror novel, snow fall covered the
previous snow with a lighter shade of white, virgin white and new like a fresh
piece of paper. Black fir trees arched upwards like abandoned burnt matches,
useless for cover but distracting any watching soldiers by their form. Long
enough for the vampires to land and shake the ice of their black leather trench
coats which flapped demonically in the wind like crippled raven wings and get
ready for war. Going to ground under the nearest tree boughs, in perfect
silence and stealth, twenty-four walking dead stayed deathly still, watching.
There! Two hundred yards away and facing a hundred degrees off to their right
was the enemy – a Soviet watching post, hidden so no human could see it. No
ordinary eyes spied out this little three-man detachment: vampire super
kick-ass vision cut through the distance like a microscope over an Amoeba,
watching, inescapable.
With the slightest movement of his head, Vargg gave the decision to
attack. A formation of two vampires soared into the air at tremendous speed,
blurring forwards to the enemy position. Even if spotted by human eyes there
was nothing that a person could do – preternatural senses reigned supreme. Able
to reach out in flight with their own agile minds, the two vampires picked up
the thought patterns and state of minds of the soldiers – a relaxed state of
readiness bordering on arrogance, a typical Soviet mindset of fifteen-foot tall
soldiers who wanted to own the world. Slipping under the barrel of the Soviet
14.5 mm heavy machine gun manned by a single Corporal who squinted down the
slickly greased barrel, the vampires had the advantage of surprise. Taking it
in his hand in one swift movement, bending it upwards so it couldn’t threaten
the others, the vampire destroyed the gun in a millisecond. Not even the gunner
noticed the blur before him – the tugging of his machine gun from his hands or
the breaking noise, such was the speed of the assault.
Vaulting over the ice block wall and through a gap in the white
camouflage netting, leather jacket flapping, death struck here, a bloody
menagerie of flailing fists, scything fingers with razor sharp nails and two
deadly blood sucking fangs. Drinking the victim dry in five seconds, slaying
his life and screaming the vampire death cry that burst the eardrums of the
remaining two soldiers, the vamps were in their element. One soldier drew his
silenced pistol and fired two rounds at the intruder, to no effect; both
nine-mill bullets hit the tall vampire and passed through his body and into the
wild forest. Wide eyes showed the soldier’s fear as he screamed for his mother
and tried to run, before he was struck down like his comrade. The third soldier
reached for the secure digital encrypted satellite radio with compact disc and
sub woofer speakers, real time tunes. His nice bit of kit was smashed by one
well-aimed preternatural kick, silenced. Gripping the man in a bear like grip,
the murderous vamp signalled to his companion via his mind to come and take
part in the kill. He had to leave at least one for his companion as the enemy
observation post was taken, three soldiers dead and valuable enemy documents
seized. A small success before the main assault began on Sonni-na.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Over the village sped the vampires, their leader signalling with an
outstretched arm the target direction. Downwards to oblivion and to war! Below
an army waited for a new air strike but this was no ordinary one, this was a
vampire attack of preternatural power and death of the undead. Gunfire slowly
arced up as alert soldiers atop tank turrets swivelled up their heavy machine
guns and fired long tracer filled bursts to find the range. Bullets hissed
through the sky as the slow target almost hung in the air, an optical illusion
because this was no supersonic jet flight.
Second in formation, Jonn was hit by a good half a dozen heavy
bullets, thwacking into his dead body like sledgehammer, ruining his designer
leather jacket and really pissing him off. With a snarl he left the vampire
formation, flying down to his enemy and striking with cold fear and brutal
inhuman strength. Alighting atop the tank turret, he grabbed the tank man’s
combat coat and threw him out of the vehicle, a good fifty yards into an icy
stream with a huge splash! Then in a blur faster than a bullet Jonn followed,
drinking the wounded man dry till he was truly dead. In rapt awe the other tank
men and soldiers watched this spectacle. The message was clear – don’t ruin the
leather, boys!
The killing continued and firing started up, with heavy main tank guns
and SAM missiles whooshing into the frigid air but not finding any targets. The
undead had no infra red heat signature – just cold hearts like death and souls
like space full of nothing, only a void. Screams and shouts echoed across the
ground and past the houses of Sonni-na. Vampires yelled in delight as Soviet
soldiers and tank men paid the price for stepping onto sacred Finland, for
killing Finnish people and destroying property and for entertaining the idea of
wiping this small nation off the map, Soviet juggernaut style. In other
occupied towns and villages a similar scene unfolded. It was a battle for
national survival. Military units of the Finnish army and air force fought back
with untold ferocity, losing more men and equipment but pushing the enemy back
– to the border, to Mother Russia and the Soviet nightmare state that had bred
them. An unbelievable victory. Blood ran down the streets of towns and
villages, soaked into freshly fallen snow and men called for their mothers who
never came. Only death and the vampires, a lesson was taught and a legend
released – vampires are here now, as real as forever and as deadly as a bullet.
Don’t ever doubt them – and don’t invade Finland!
No comments:
Post a Comment