Operation Razmer: Operation Razmer, #1

By R.B. Ashton

With training this ruthless, no one is safe…

 

November, 2032. Agent Starcen has infiltrated Camp Baistok to discover the GVD's darkest secret. They're training young women to use a new weapon without mercy: their ability to alter sizes could turn the tide of World War 3.

 

Starcen determines to escape the perilous camp to warn the Allies, but finds himself in the crosshairs of the camp's most vicious trainee. 

 

She's hungry for revenge, and willing to tear the whole camp apart to get it.

 

Camp Baistok was dangerous enough when Starcen arrived – it's worse when you're shrunk to snack-size, and worse still when the monstrous residents grow!

 

Strap yourself in for frenetic action as soldiers shift allegiances as quickly as they shift size, in R.B. Ashton's latest horror adventure – start reading today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neringa Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201666941

Book preview

Operation Razmer

R.B. Ashton

MMXXI

1

November 2032: The Third World War has been raging for 18 months. The Western Allies try to shore up the borders of Europe and America, with troops active throughout the world, but they play a weak third fiddle to the major clash between the United Asian Coalition (YLL) and the newly-established Velyka Derzhava (GVD), or Great State, formed by the Eastern European Chysta under the tyrant Nurov. In dark sites deep in the tundra of former-Russia, Chystan scientists set all caution and ethics aside to develop ever-more fearful ways to win the war . . .

The physical prowess of the Chystan soldiers was impressive even before they got onto the demonstration of Dr Wyre’s new technology. Starcen watched with mixed awe and concern as eight women raced around a four-hundred-metre track clad in bulky, ankle-height boots, combat trousers and tank tops, carrying backpacks weighed down with stones. For the burden, and their relatively slim frames, they moved faster than any soldiers Starcen had seen. Commandant Zotle insisted it was thanks to Camp Baistok’s unique blend of fear and reward.

Starcen had not been in camp for long enough to see exactly what that meant. The helicopter had touched down only fifteen minutes or so before, and Zotle and Wyre had rushed him straight over to see the Exhibition race. It comprised four elite trainees and four hopefuls from the lower ranks. Any hopeful that outran an elite would graduate to the next rank, but the opportunity came at great risk: whoever came last would be used for a demonstration, to be carried out by the winner.

Though unsure of the details, Starcen could see how it fuelled hostility between the recruits. They did not wish each other luck before starting, but jostled and goaded one another. He noted a particularly fierce rivalry between the cockiest hopeful, Janus, a stout, hard-set woman with cropped blond hair, and Rin Orsos, the most outspoken of the elite. Rin was a tall, lithe woman with olive skin, dark around the eyes like a natural mascara. She had a long ponytail of dark hair and those big eyes stared madly, a general tension about her muscular body suggesting she was always wired for conflict.

Before the race, Janus promised, I’m going to win, Orsos, and I’m going to turn you into shit.

You’re going to show me what pure-blood Chystan tastes like, huh? Orsos shot back, and Starcen muddled through the insults, wondering if they were simply crude or hinted somehow towards Dr Wyre’s promised demonstration. He only had to wait a few minutes to see the outcome, though. An 800 metres race, and the winner would be decided.

Enjoy your last breaths, Janus told Orsos as took their starting positions. You’d do better to run straight out of the grounds.

Rin gave her a nasty look, containing a history of hostility, with these trainees pent up together for who knew how many months, maybe even years, in this isolated camp. Baistok was as remote as any camp Starcen had known – the perfect place to raise crazed recruits, and the perfect place to test unholy new technology. They had a big horseshoe of huge factory and barracks buildings, as well as this training ground, but nothing else for a hundred miles of rocky tundra.

Starcen considered the icy chill, huddled in his fur-lined coat along with Wyre, Zotle and two guards, as the women ran in light tops, bare arms pumping. Apparently pushing themselves to their maximum speed kept them warm enough.

Do you care to place a wager? Zotle said, as the girls completed their first lap. They whipped past in a tight pack, hardly light between them, but Orsos and Janus had taken a slight lead. Starcen barely acknowledged the commandant, watching how hard the girls pushed each other. How fiercely they flashed glances at their comrades.

Around the next bend, the group started to spread out, as 500 metres of sprinting took its toll. Janus pushed ahead, impossibly fast for someone without a naturally slender frame. The frustration on Orsos’s face, just behind her, was tangible. A pained bleat came from the girl at the back of the pack; a skinny girl with a big head of frizzy red hair who had lost two metres on the second-last place, and was losing more ground as her panic slowed her. They were literally running for their lives, Starcen knew.

Then a cry came from the front and Starcen snapped his gaze back to Janus – she had gone down, rolling over the tracks. Orsos leapt over her and steamed onto the final stretch. The other girls vaulted and dodged around Janus in seconds, as she scrambled to stand. Roaring anger, she stumbled in a run again. The frizzy-haired girl passed her, and suddenly the pair were locked into a neck-and-neck race. Both gave it their absolute all to reach the finish line, releasing furious, desperate cries. The other girls skipped to a stop as they finished and gathered to look back.

Janus struck out sideways at the last second, aiming to knock the other girl down, but it made her trip and they crossed the finish line together, in a tangle. They rolled and Janus punched at her running mate, shouting. She pushed back off, up to standing. She