Free Synthetics by B. Wulf

Screaming like a man; a man who sounds like a little kid.
    “What?” Cole had stumbled back to the passenger area. “Stop shouting. We’re making an unplanned stop over.”
    I abandoned the panic position and looked Cole in the eye. “Tell me the truth. What is happening?”
    Cole sighed. I could even hear it, which was an impressive thing to do considering the noise of the aircraft.
    “We were hailed by an unknown authority on the ground. They threatened to blow us out of the sky with stinger missiles unless we landed immediately. You’re going to be fine Fletcher. I’ll sort this out.”
    Cole took a seat beside me and fastened his seatbelt.
    “And now all we can do is wait.”

 
    Chapter 8
     
    The plane touched down to a chorus of groaning rivets and shrieking metal. We bounced along for a few seconds before shuddering to a halt.
    I vomited.
    Embarrassment, shock, and fear are an odd mixture of emotions. We sat in silence, composing ourselves, before Cole finally spoke.
    “Well this is it then. We better go meet whoever is waiting outside.”
    Or we could hide… That was an option. I liked that option. It meant I had a better chance of survival, which also meant I might get to see Kate again.
    “Come on Fletcher,” said Cole offering me a hand up, “There is no where to run to.”
    As we stepped outside I saw that he was right. We had landed in the middle of a frozen wasteland. It was white as far as the eye could see, and snaking through that white was a thin line of vehicles heading directly for us. We were screwed. I went around to the cockpit to check on the pilot, only to discover that he was already sprinting towards the convoy as fast as his stubby legs could take him.
    “At least we know who ratted us out,” I called to Cole.
    Cole looked so calm all of a sudden. He should be panicking like me. It was disconcerting.
    “The landing gear is torn off and the left prop is mangled,” I observed, “I guess we ain’t flying out of here.”
    Cole was sitting in the snow now. He had his tweety bird tie on again. I bet he had more than one.
    “The storm is getting closer,” he said slowly, “I think we will be stuck here for a while. Welcome to Siberia, Fletcher.”
    “Lovely to be here Cole.”
    Cole didn’t reply. Perhaps he didn’t catch the sarcasm in my voice. At least I knew where we were now.
    “They are taking a while to get here,” I observed.
    “Where can we go?” replied Cole, “They are not in a hurry.”
    “Are they military?” I asked.
    “No they’re not. No tanks or heavy gear. They look like a militia, just small arms and jeeps. Probably some mob boss’s pet army. They probably didn’t even have the capacity to bring us down.”
    “So why aren’t you having a nervous breakdown?”
    Cole’s calm was rubbing off on me.
    “Because they have no idea what they are getting themselves into,” he said.
    “You gonna go all ninja on them?” I laughed.
    This was the strangest situation imaginable. A group of well-armed thugs were approaching and we were sitting in the snow having a little chat.
    “No need to,” said Cole.
    “So they are after the package then?” I asked, “In the cargo area?”
    “Yes, I imagine they are.”
    “Can you tell me what it is now?”
    “You will find out soon enough.”
     
    ***
     
    When the convoy eventually reached us it was snowing. What had used to be a white expanse was now grey. They pulled up in the big trucks and arrayed themselves out in front of us. I saw a few RPG’s but they were mainly equipped with assault rifles. There were about twenty of them, all looking very fearsome and aggressive like I assume all wannabe soldiers do.
    What looked like the leader approached us. He was a big man with a flowing moustache. Moustache Man came to a halt in front of us and kicked snow into our laps. “Lie down,” he growled, in rough English, “Do it now.”
    I stared at his feet and at the men in the distance. Two rushed over and