Operation Razmer: The Complete Trilogy: Operation Razmer

By R.B. Ashton

In this war, only the biggest survive...

 

It's 2032 and the world is locked in global combat. Deep in the GVD, a secret camp has been developing a size-altering weapon that will change everything. They train soldiers to be utterly ruthless. Soldiers who can grow – and eat the opposition for breakfast.

When Agent Starcen infiltrates the camp to uncover their terrible plans, he starts a chain of events that will reshape the war. Nothing could prepare him for Rin Orsos, a young rebel hungry for power, who will stop at nothing to succeed.

This collection includes a complete series: Operation Razmer, Operation Razmer 2: Civil War, and Operation Ramzer 3: New World Order. Enjoy R.B. Ashton's adventure of earth-shaking proportions, all in one place!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neringa Press
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201174873

Book preview

Operation Razmer

The Complete Trilogy

R.B. Ashton

MMXXII

Operation Razmer

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 was panting, looking up for confirmation. I beat her. You saw I was first.

You were last, Orsos offered, helpfully, as she struggled to regain her own breath.

You! You utter bitch, you pushed me! Janus roared and surged towards Orsos, but Zotle cut in with a shout, Stand down, Trainee! It is over.

Janus froze, arms spread, red-faced, as Zotle marched towards her. He had his pistol out, aimed at her stomach. Wyre gave Starcen an inviting smile, and trotted behind the commandant, her briefcase in hand. She said, Now you will see, Commander Reiser.

Starcen nodded at the use of his assumed identity, straining to keep neutral. He walked up with them, as the girls formed a circle around Janus and the frizzy-haired girl, who’d made it back up to her knees and was sobbing, pleading.

She tripped me. Janus pointed at Orsos. You saw it. You cannot allow –

"Do not dare presume to order me! Zotle roared, suddenly terrifyingly in command, despite his short stature and ungainly build. If she was able to push you down, then you deserved to be pushed down. War is not fair."

Janus shook, with a hateful glance to Orsos. The latter had steadied herself and was watching silently, no need for goading now. Janus said, But I made it, anyway. I crossed before Eliseev –

You crossed together, Wyre decided, and Starcen saw the briefcase was open, at her feet. The doctor drew out the device he had been sent to witness – to steal. The rumoured MM-23. It was a gun of bulbous dull metal, smaller than an assault rifle, more like a water cannon with its chunky barrel, bulging central reservation, and oversized buttons. Wyre pressed something and the barrel sparked with electricity.

No, Janus said. You can’t – you know I will make a great soldier. You know I –

But Wyre pulled the trigger, and a beam of sparkling light shout out of the gun.

Janus shrieked and threw up her hands as it hit her in the chest. Rather than knock her back, it held her in place, and the light spread. Wyre braced herself as her frail arms held the weapon steady, and the light grew, spreading over Janus. It spread further, a bubble reaching out to engulf the other loser, Eliseev, as she cried out. Both girls were frozen with pained, horrified expressions, as the light crackled around them, and for a moment Starcen tried to guess the purpose. A stasis gun? Some kind of taser?

Then the light contracted, the bubble sucking quickly in on itself, from a two-metre circle to tennis ball size. The girls contracted with it.

Starcen’s eyes widened as the pair of women shrank to fit in that small ball of light, both screaming as they flailed. They hovered in the air for a second, before the weapon’s buzz and light cut off, and they both fell to the track. Starcen was drawn forward in fascination, two quick steps and he was over them. The rest of the crowd drew in with him, framing the pair of girls in a circle of dirty boots that utterly dwarfed them. They were each maybe three inches tall, clothes and all. Janus stood as Eliseev struggled up to her knees, and both turned their gaze around to everyone looming over them.

Nothing could have prepared Starcen for this technology. The rumours said it was devastating, otherworldly, something that could defy physics, but he had thoughts of bombs, killing machines – destruction, not something that warped reality. Yet the other onlookers showed no sign of especial surprise, as he searched for a face to share his horror. The girls looked only pleased or relieved. Zotle was smugly proud, Wyre merely satisfied.

Rin’s expression was the worst, though: her eyes glinted with anticipation.

Now, Zotle announced, you get to see the dual specialities of Baistok. A technology like no other, thanks to the genius of Dr Wyre, and a recruit psychology honed through my own techniques. Only the very best graduate here. Orsos, accept your prize and complete the presentation.

Rin, having waited eagerly for this, shouldered forward from her companions and crouched. Eliseev and Janus shrieked and both made a ditch effort to run, but their little legs barely took them a few paces before Rin’s hands came down on them. She snatched up a girl in each fist and rose back to standing, turning to face Starcen. Eliseev’s legs kicked frantically from the bottom of one closed first, while Janus’s upper half pushed out of the other. Janus shouted insults, voice almost inaudible, as she beat at Rin’s fingers.

Starcen started, rapt in the helplessness of the tiny people, restraining himself from moving or questioning this. He could not expose himself now, no matter how wicked the expression on their captor’s face.

We have no use for the weak, Zotle said. They must fuel the strong. This is the Chystan way.

Starcen gave him an uncomfortable sideways look, but Rin drew his attention back as she lifted Eliseev to her mouth. He made a sound of alarm as Rin shoved the girl between her lips and held her there, Eliseev’s legs kicking out from between her teeth with little shrieks. Rin then took her free hand to Janus, who furiously beat at her fingers and yelled increasingly severe insults.

Rin peeled off Janus’s top, then opened her fist so the girl sprawled on her palm as she casually plucked off her boots, then her trousers. Janus fought and struggled uselessly, all her strength nothing against the woman that held her, and she screamed as Rin scratched off her underwear. With the girl finally naked, Rin spat Eliseev out into her other hand and raised Janus to head height. She whispered, privately, I told you you’d regret crossing me.

Her energy all but spent, Janus wheezed with terrified breaths and started shaking her head. Finally letting go of her anger, and pride, she pleaded, both hands up in prayer. It was possible to hear some words: Please! I’m sorry – I’m so sorry!

Rin’s lips stretched with satisfied pleasure. Then, without warning, she shoved Janus into her mouth. The small woman screamed, a pitiful squeak filled with terror, cut off almost at once as Rin closed her mouth. Her cheeks bulged momentarily, jaws moving as she positioned the girl, then Rin tilted her head back and swallowed Janus.

Starcen’s gasp was lost in a murmur of humour and approval from the watching girls. One patted Rin’s shoulder and laughed. Another said, Fuck Janus.

Starcen turned to Wyre in stunned silence, willing an explanation. They had not just made a monstrous technology, they had put it to an unthinkable use. He wanted to question how what they were possibly thinking, how could they be so inhuman – but events kept moving, as Rin lifted Eliseev, and the other small woman’s cries became louder.

Can I keep her for later? Rin asked, as politely as a child asking for chocolate. I’d like to play with her before dinner.

Certainly, Zotle said, with an amused laugh. A mess hall demonstration will be welcome. You see Commander Reiser, they are not only killing machines, the soldiers we train here. They innovate.

Starcen had no words, as he watched Rin unceremoniously pull open a trouser pocket and drop Eliseev in. The pocket bulged with the little woman’s struggles, so Rin gave it a pat to still her. Starcen wasn’t sure whose fate had been worse: Janus’ sudden demise, or the poor girl who was kept alive at the whim of this young monster. What would she do with her in the intervening hours?

Come, Commander, Zotle said, putting an arm around Starcen’s shoulders and turning him away. Now that the main surprise is over, we can show you what else we have been working on. You will like it.

Starcen mutely complied, a thousand questions surfacing. How long had they had this technology? How else could it be applied? How many people had been eaten? And chief amongst his fears: could he get this back to the Allies before it was too late?

2

It was hard to focus on Commandant Zotle’s boasts about the production capacity of Camp Baistok as Starcen walked between him and Doctor Wyre towards the main compound. The thoughts spinning through his mind were reserved for what was going to happen to the tiny woman that trainee had pocketed. And how long would Janus have survived in Rin’s stomach? Might she still be struggling there now?

Commander Reiser? Zotle said, drawing Starcen back to the moment.

Hmm? Starcen responded, not having heard what he was saying.

I asked how many able-bodied prisoners you have at Camp Foll. Zotle’s eyes bulged expectantly. He was repugnant, barely taller than five feet, with a big round head and froglike features, which his important-looking military coat and far-too-big hat did nothing to disguise.

Forgive him, Commandant, Wyre said with amusement. She was only a little taller than Zotle, but in much better shape despite her advanced age; slim, with a thick head of grey hair, the barest wrinkles around her eyes. She dressed better, in a well-fitted cold-weather uniform of a great coat and tall boots. Commander Reiser has just seen something incredible. You must give him time to process it.

Indeed, Zotle snorted, but time marches on, does it not, and we have matters to discuss? I would very much like to get testing our weapons outside Baistok, but we could use numbers to refill our stocks here, too.

Numbers? Starcen echoed.

People, Wyre said. Prisoners we can use for tests. Some we can even retrain. Rin Orsos back there, after all, came from a gulag.

A lower-class citizen who we reformed, Zotle added proudly.

Some of the rivalry made more sense then, as Starcen appreciated the pure-blooded Janus being bitter about a foreigner out-performing her. How much more horrible that must’ve seemed, to ultimately become food for a perceived inferior race. It sent a shudder through Starcen, which Wyre noticed and laughed at.

Through these doors, Commander, you will see the more savoury side of our endeavour. We should perhaps apologise for starting with a shock.

Zotle slapped Starcen on the back to urge him on. Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor. The good Commander has no doubt seen far worse. He led them through a set of double doors in the side of the massive factory building.

Starcen had been behind enemy lines for many years and witnessed murder and torture. He had seen people torn apart on the battlefield. But much of the savagery came from impersonal weapons. There was casual cruelty in the way Rin had said she’d like to play with Eliseev.

His attention was drawn properly back, however, as Starcen entered the building, onto a metal gangway that overlooked the production hall, and his eyes widened at a sight equally as troubling as the two women he’d seen reduced to toy-size. The building housed a series of machines and conveyors with dozens of uniformed workers operating them, a network of pipes, gangways and stairs running overhead. It looked like a weapons manufacturing plant, with various parts being assembled or worked on with sparking tools. The sounds of chatter, banging metal and winding gears filled the air and it stunk of oil. All of which was ordinary, apart from the presence of a giant standing on the other side of the room. She was wearing loose grey coveralls, but Starcen could discern it was a woman, from the curve of her chest, her wider hips and the smooth, rounded features of her face. Her skin was smeared with grease and her short black hair lay slickly over to one side, covering one ear. She was hunched over a work area, connecting large engine parts, too big for an ordinary man to move. No problem for her, at perhaps twelve-foot tall.

Here, here, Wyre encouraged, you can get a better angle from this side.

She walked down the gangway, waving a hand. Starcen followed but couldn’t take his eyes from the woman. She moved with the fluidity of a regular-sized person, but the objects in her hands were massive. The people around her looked tiny, men and women careful to avoid her as they passed.

As Starcen drew up next to Wyre again, the view did indeed improve, looking down the full length of the hall. There was another woman further off, in similar coveralls but with a cap keeping her brown hair in order. She was loading crates onto a truck – stacking them like child’s toys.

How . . . Starcen managed.

The same way, Wyre said, and finally explained. The MM-23 generates a field that spreads over matter in as wide a bubble as you assign. It then creates a rift that can either expand or contract that field.

A rift? Starcen asked, and the doctor offered an expression that said she was unlikely to share much more than that. She was a particle physicist, he knew that much. He had expected the next step in atomic bombs, though, nothing like this.

The tallest we have managed is 15 feet, but we did not sustain it, Zotle said. There is not enough space, and with the way we train these soldiers, it does not pay to give them too much power, you understand. But once we send them into battle, that is another matter.

So they don’t stay that way? Starcen asked.

The process is reversible, Wyre said, but there are risks with each application. Sometimes the body does not take, which can have devastating results. So if we make a successful change, we think carefully before reverting it. And the maximum is only 15 feet – Wyre leaned pointedly past Starcen to eye Zotle – because we have limited ourselves.

As I said, Zotle replied, his humour fading, we must exercise caution.

"It