of Puke spray.
The beach gave way to a sticky mangrove swamp that provided good cover, although the mud sucked at her arms and legs as she crawled through it in the blackness. Clouds of insects rose around her. The thought of snakes crossed her mind, but she pushed the image away. She wouldn’t see one until she crawled on top of it, even with the aid of the NV goggles.
Thirteen minutes.
Chisnall checked the time on his wrist computer. It was going to be tight. They were taking the long way around to give Price as much time as possible, but she still had to slip onto the island, get inside the complex, and take out the power before the ship got to the wharf. If anyone could do it, it was the Phantom, but there was so little time.
The equipment pod lay open on the deck, and the team was helping themselves to weapons and ammunition. They were dressed in the uniforms of the Bzadian ship’s crew. That crew—some conscious, some naked, all resentful—were secured inside and out of sight.
Wilton snorted as he took an ammunition pack for his coil-gun. “We might as well throw rocks at them,” he said.
The others grunted in agreement.
The success of the first Angel mission at Uluru had not been kept quiet for long. Nor had the second, a rescue mission on the island of Hokkaido in Japan.
Rumors had started spreading through the military, and within weeks it was common knowledge in the Free Territories that teams of teenage soldiers were engaged in missions behind enemy lines. What the human public didn’t know was the extent to which the Angels and Demons had gone to disguise themselves as Bzadians. Nor the extensive training they had received in Bzadian languages and customs.
But the knowledge of the Angel Team caused an uproar in the free media.
Child Soldiers!
roared one conservative newspaper.
Babes in Arms!
declared another.
The outcry from left-wing groups had been so great that ACOG had been forced to issue only nonlethal weapons to the Angel and Demon teams.
“The human race is on the verge of extinction and they won’t let us fight with real guns?” Wilton said.
“Clearly it is better to be dead than risk being politically incorrect,” Barnard said.
“I agree, but we’re going to have to live with it,” Chisnall said.
Their coil-guns were real, but their ammunition was not. Instead of metal-jacketed bullets, the Angels had “puffer” pellets. Made of a compacted powder, they disintegrated on impact with body armor, instantly vaporizing into a cloud of particles. The thump of the bullet on chest armor was powerful enough to knock the wind out of the target’s lungs. As they gasped air back in, they breathed in the particles. They were unconscious before they realized they’d been shot.
The Angels’ sidearms also were loaded with puffers. They were M9 pistols, human weapons, because the Bzadian needle-guns could not take a puffer pellet.
Both types of weapon were silenced. The M9s had a long dimpled tube screwed onto the end of the barrel, while the coil-guns had lowered the speed of the projectiles so they didn’t break the sound barrier on the way out of the barrel. They could be dialed back up later if need be, but for this part of the mission, stealth and silence were all-important.
The only other weapon the Angels were officially allowed (other than smoke and stun grenades) was K-122 spray. A simple aerosol spray in a pressurized can, it contained a chemical that had little effect on humans but caused a crippling paralysis to Bzadians. It lasted for hours, leaving them conscious but unable to move a muscle. It smelled of peppermint and had been nicknamed
Puke spray
.
Wilton loaded a clip of puffer bullets into his coil-gun and checked the action, sliding it back and forth a few times.It was more of a habit than a necessity. Bzadian guns never jammed.
“I heard one of the Demons say they were going to exchange the puffers for real ammunition as soon as they hit dry land,” he
The beach gave way to a sticky mangrove swamp that provided good cover, although the mud sucked at her arms and legs as she crawled through it in the blackness. Clouds of insects rose around her. The thought of snakes crossed her mind, but she pushed the image away. She wouldn’t see one until she crawled on top of it, even with the aid of the NV goggles.
Thirteen minutes.
Chisnall checked the time on his wrist computer. It was going to be tight. They were taking the long way around to give Price as much time as possible, but she still had to slip onto the island, get inside the complex, and take out the power before the ship got to the wharf. If anyone could do it, it was the Phantom, but there was so little time.
The equipment pod lay open on the deck, and the team was helping themselves to weapons and ammunition. They were dressed in the uniforms of the Bzadian ship’s crew. That crew—some conscious, some naked, all resentful—were secured inside and out of sight.
Wilton snorted as he took an ammunition pack for his coil-gun. “We might as well throw rocks at them,” he said.
The others grunted in agreement.
The success of the first Angel mission at Uluru had not been kept quiet for long. Nor had the second, a rescue mission on the island of Hokkaido in Japan.
Rumors had started spreading through the military, and within weeks it was common knowledge in the Free Territories that teams of teenage soldiers were engaged in missions behind enemy lines. What the human public didn’t know was the extent to which the Angels and Demons had gone to disguise themselves as Bzadians. Nor the extensive training they had received in Bzadian languages and customs.
But the knowledge of the Angel Team caused an uproar in the free media.
Child Soldiers!
roared one conservative newspaper.
Babes in Arms!
declared another.
The outcry from left-wing groups had been so great that ACOG had been forced to issue only nonlethal weapons to the Angel and Demon teams.
“The human race is on the verge of extinction and they won’t let us fight with real guns?” Wilton said.
“Clearly it is better to be dead than risk being politically incorrect,” Barnard said.
“I agree, but we’re going to have to live with it,” Chisnall said.
Their coil-guns were real, but their ammunition was not. Instead of metal-jacketed bullets, the Angels had “puffer” pellets. Made of a compacted powder, they disintegrated on impact with body armor, instantly vaporizing into a cloud of particles. The thump of the bullet on chest armor was powerful enough to knock the wind out of the target’s lungs. As they gasped air back in, they breathed in the particles. They were unconscious before they realized they’d been shot.
The Angels’ sidearms also were loaded with puffers. They were M9 pistols, human weapons, because the Bzadian needle-guns could not take a puffer pellet.
Both types of weapon were silenced. The M9s had a long dimpled tube screwed onto the end of the barrel, while the coil-guns had lowered the speed of the projectiles so they didn’t break the sound barrier on the way out of the barrel. They could be dialed back up later if need be, but for this part of the mission, stealth and silence were all-important.
The only other weapon the Angels were officially allowed (other than smoke and stun grenades) was K-122 spray. A simple aerosol spray in a pressurized can, it contained a chemical that had little effect on humans but caused a crippling paralysis to Bzadians. It lasted for hours, leaving them conscious but unable to move a muscle. It smelled of peppermint and had been nicknamed
Puke spray
.
Wilton loaded a clip of puffer bullets into his coil-gun and checked the action, sliding it back and forth a few times.It was more of a habit than a necessity. Bzadian guns never jammed.
“I heard one of the Demons say they were going to exchange the puffers for real ammunition as soon as they hit dry land,” he
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