Another Excerpt

I have realized that most of you don’t know me, or any of my work. I never let you kick my tires so this excerpt is from Terror on Arrival: An Apocalyptic Science Fiction Novel. I won’t give away anything that pertains to the story. I just thought this is one of the good parts, have fun.


Terror on Arrival excerpt

His muscles were tense. A sinew of anticipating tendons. His veins pumped dangerous adrenaline. The sweat cambered down his temple. He was primed to execute. His breathing was steady, not sporadic. He had been in the same situation before, so it wasn’t new. It was routine.
Alexi Doshmononov was a seasoned Spetsnaz commando. He lived for traumatic situations. He ate them for nourishment. If he didn’t dance with the Devil on a daily basis, he would die as a wallflower.
He was a master at assassinations. He was the trainer of tracking and demolitions. He held the highest status in Sambo and Pancreas fighting. He was decorated countless times for retrieval and rescue, including the Premier. He was the complete package.
He had wanted to join the military when the Cold War raged. He had trained himself to be The Commando. Those Yankee idiots would be crushed under the iron boot of Communism. They would give in to Stalin and Marxist philosophy. He wanted them to bring everything they had.
They were the majestic United Soviet Socialist Republic, until 1991. That was when their power broke. They forfeited the status of Superpower. They just became the world’s largest state. Those damned Americans must have gloated at our dilapidation. They sat back on their high horses, and quietly laughed at Russia. Everything Alexi had striven for poofed like smoke.
He was still The Commando. All of those governmental antics never hindered his goal. If there was anyone with the arrogance to even think of opposing Mother Russia, they would be subjected to relentless brimstone. Enemies of the nation were not safe on this planet.
Alexi was at a uranium facility in Omsk, a town in the southwest of Russia. There was intelligence that stated terrorists would attempt to infiltrate the facility for its uranium deposits. Intelligence only pinpointed a window in which they would strike. They didn’t know who or why; just where, and a window of when.
Alexi was diligent with ambiguous attacks and infiltrations. Many of his diffusional tactics were reflex, not defense.
Alexi believed you had to be ready at all times. If you weren’t prepared to defend, you couldn’t claim the title of Commando. The definition of commando is a member, specially trained for defensive, hit-and-run, and surprise activities for the military. The phrase ‘during business hours’ doesn’t apply.
Alexi was monitoring by himself. Back-up wasn’t necessary. If he had a team, they would turn into liabilities, not assets. He had remembered that from his last team. They were excellent soldiers. They are feeding their mother now, with their blood and bones in commitment. The only thing positive about their fruitless deaths was they fed the Mother.
He decided, after that tragedy, he would never endanger a fellow soldier on one of his missions, ever again.
He worked better alone anyway. He didn’t have to worry about harming a comrade when he went berserk. He couldn’t control berserk. A controlled berserk was an oxymoron. He was good, but when he lost it, everyone died, and God was the sorter.
His first killing was devastating to him. He stayed awake for weeks after the operation. Now, termination was mandatory clockwork for him. He stopped carving notches on his belt whenever he killed an enemy. He stopped when the many notches on his belt weakened the belt to snap, therefore alleviating the purpose for a belt. It couldn’t even hold itself, let alone pants. He realized no one cared how many enemies he killed but him. As long as the job was complete, was all anyone ever cared about.
The notches on his belt were counterproductive, so he stopped carving. If he would’ve continued his diatribe of counting, he would’ve run through eight belts by now.
Alexi was pensive. Anytime a mission became active, being absorbed was his nature. Nothing was as important as the mission. Once it was complete, that was when his attention became inert. It was still a memory. Everything that transpired in his life introduced experience. He knew what to do in order to have a favorable result. The ‘just getting by’ scenario wasn’t what a veteran commando did. Success or death was the only option.
That status ran through every operation for Alexi. His commanders believed he had a death wish. Alexi was the strangest commando. He sunk himself into everything without self-preservation. He felt his life was secondary; that his mission, whatever it happened to be, was paramount.
Alexi’s commanders were happy they had a psychotic ace in the hole. If he didn’t care about his own life, how would he care about yours? It was like keeping dynamite in a briefcase, with a short fuse. As long as you had the match—find cover and look out.
Alexi saw the silhouette of an arm motioning someone to advance in the warehouse of the facility. It was time.
Alexi grabbed his AK-12 assault rifle. He began to flank the silhouette, and came from the side. The squad leader was oblivious to Alexi’s defense. He never knew he was being intercepted, until Alexi tackled him to the ground.
With his arms pinned to the ground by Alexi’s knees, he got a ringside seat to the damage an AK-12 assault rifle could do to a human body.
The other eight terrorists in the squad were riddled with white-hot rounds. They bucked and jerked with immediate lead poisoning. Their triggers weren’t even pulled, until the aimless jerking of their dead man’s reflex response pulled them after the fact.
Alexi pointed his rifle at the squad leader. “Kto ty!?”
The squad leader was confused, and terrified. “I-I do not speak Russian!”
Alexi punched him in the jaw. “You are trying to steal Russian uranium from a Russian facility, and you do not speak Russian!?”
The punch was Alexi’s disrespectful slap in the face. It was just done with knuckles. The flowing blood accented that point.
“I only speak English and Croatian!” the squad leader said.
“Judging from your accent, you are not a native bloke, or Yank! Who is Croatia affiliated with, Russia does not know of!?” Alexi aggressively questioned.
“We have no affiliation! We thought you would be happy in assisting us in constructing a dirty bomb to be received by America!” the squad leader yelled.
“Even friends do not take the cookies from our cookie jar without permission! You should have asked first!” Alexi yelled back.
“We didn’t want an international incident. Those Al-Qadea bastards would claim it anyway!” the squad leader retorted.
“You do not conduct missions against our enemies without permission!” Alexi yelled at the squad leader.
Alexi rose cautiously from the squad leader, cuffed the disheveled man, and walked him out of the facility to an A4 AVL transport vehicle. They traveled to Kiev, and Alexi presented the Croatian squad leader to his superiors.
His superiors looked at the man, and they were in a quandary.
“This man is Croatian! He can’t be a terrorist!” one superior expressed.
“Even the security guard can shoplift, Commandant,” Alexi said.
The commandant kept looking at the man. As impossible as it seemed, it must have been correct. Alexi was loyal enough in the commandant’s eyes to babysit his infants.
“You are our best commando, Doshmononov. You complete impossible jobs,” the commandant said.
“There are only two outcomes in my missions, Commandant, completion or death,” Alexi said.
“I hope death won’t punch your ticket for some time, Doshmononov. Your value is of a singular importance,” the commandant said.
“Send me your impossible missions, Commandant. I take what others run from,” Alexi said.
“All the threats have been completed with your terrorist capture. There are no more dangerous missions,” the commandant said.
“I am hungry, Commandant,” Alexi said. “I will take anything, even tasks that are below my level. I would consider a mission like that a vacation.” Alexi wanted more.
“This mission is beneath your expertise, Doshmononov. I was going to kick it back, away from Spetsnaz even breathing near it.”

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