Codename: Iron Bear: Mech Troopers: Arctic Defense, #1

By Charles Eugene Anderson

In a world on the brink of war, two superpowers clash in the unforgiving Alaskan wilderness. When Russia launches a surprise invasion, the United States deploys its most advanced weapon: the Mech Troopers. Among them is Easy Squadron, an elite team of pilots tasked with defending America's last frontier.

Led by the enigmatic Bandit, Easy Squadron must navigate treacherous terrain, brutal weather, and an enemy that will stop at nothing to claim victory. As they uncover a secret that could turn the tide of the war, the team must risk everything to protect the ones they love and the country they serve.

From the frozen tundra to the heart of Russia's military might, Codename: Iron Bear is a pulse-pounding tale of courage, sacrifice, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the heat of battle. With its vivid characters, non-stop action, and thought-provoking themes, this military sci-fi thriller will keep you on the edge of your seat until the final page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Mar 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224509652

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

1

Awake From Hibernation

The grinding thunder of tank treads reverberated between the ancient walls and towers of the Kremlin. Columns of armored vehicles rumbled down the expanse of Red Square, interspersed with regiments of soldiers marching in perfect unison, their boots striking the cobblestones in a single booming cadence. The grand display of military precision echoed with marine shouts and barked commands, a raw manifestation of national might.

At the head of the parade, two hulking mechanical behemoths lumbered down the avenue. Kremlin's Claw and Siberian Tiger, massive bipedal war machines codenamed Mechs, stood over twenty-five feet tall. Sunlight glinted off their armor of angular black and blood-red composite plates, obscured in areas by splotches of gray urban camouflage. Missile pods bristled along their shoulders, accompanied by the extended barrels of cannons protruding from multiple weapon hardpoints. Sparks streamed behind them as metal digits longer than cars gouged divots in the ancient street.

General Nikolai Petrovich observed the parade from the raised grandstand, his chest swelling with satisfaction. The Mech program had been his brainchild, a secret military project he had tirelessly championed in the face of skepticism and bureaucratic obstacles. Now, the fruits of his efforts were fully displayed before the global media and Russian citizens alike.

The message was clear - the Russian Federation had regained its status as a dominant military superpower, spearheaded by Petrovich's visionary leadership.

As the Mechs passed the grandstand, Petrovich turned to his assistant. Magnificent, are they not? The world has not witnessed such advancements in military technology since the last Cold War.

His assistant nodded. Yes, comrade General, your contributions have made our motherland strong once again. The West will tremble at our might.

As the parade concluded, Petrovich watched the crowds cheering, their faces filled with pride and adoration. He savored the moment, knowing that this display of military might was just the beginning. In the privacy of his Kremlin office, he pored over maps of Alaska, his finger tracing the route of his bold plan. The Americans, complacent in their supposed superiority, would never see the first strike coming. Petrovich allowed himself a small smile. Soon, the world would learn to fear Russia's might once again.

For decades, the West had underestimated them, dismissing Russia as a crumbling remnant of a former superpower. Petrovich would shatter those delusions of superiority in one decisive blow.

The target was already chosen - Alaska. That vast, oil-rich territory had once belonged to Russia before being sold off in tsarist folly. Petrovich would correct that historical mistake and reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

The isolated state was lightly defended, a perfect demonstration of the Federation's revitalized military assets. Additional resources could be seized to fuel the further expansion of Petrovich's armies.

But Alaska would only be the beginning. Once Russia asserted dominance over the remote state, the door would be open to press further advantages across the Pacific. With the Mech program and other advanced weapons at his disposal, America's holdings in the Pacific and beyond were ripe for the taking.

Petrovich had carefully cultivated allies in the Kremlin to ensure this first strike was approved, greasing wheels with bribes and threats where necessary. The official authorization came within days of the parade, a classified order bearing the signature of the Prime Minister himself.

Now, the pieces were in motion. Additional armored divisions were secretly mobilized and dispatched across Siberia to marshaling points near Alaska. The Mechs were also prepared for transit and loaded onto heavy lift transports destined for captured airfields. They would spearhead the invasion force there, delivering a shocking blow to America's complacency.

All that remained was choosing the hour to launch this bold maneuver. As he gazed out his Kremlin window at the setting sun, Petrovich decided it would be soon. Perhaps within the week, before the Americans had any inkling of what was coming.

The operation would have a codename, he decided - Iron Bear. A new dawning for the Russian Federation as the dominant power of the 21st century was achieved through audacity and military prowess.

One month after the triumphant military parade, the endless darkness of the Arctic winter had descended on Moscow. General Petrovich sat at his heavy wooden desk in a small circle of light cast by a solitary lamp. The temperatures outside rendered the city an icy ghost town, but operations proceeded on schedule regardless of season or hour.

Petrovich lifted the black handset from its cradle, his breath steaming in the frigid office air.

Operations, he ordered. His voice echoed through the dead night. Execute Operation Iron Bear. Alaska will be back in Russian hands before dawn breaks.

Returning the handset to its cradle with a clunk that echoed with finality in the darkness, Petrovich allowed himself a wolfish smile unseen by any other living soul. The wheels were irrevocably turning - his forces would soon be on the march despite the howling blizzard winds outside.

The message would be delivered: the age of Western supremacy was coming to a close. The Russian bear was again on the prowl, and no amount of ice or snow could hide his prey for long.

General Petrovich strode through the bustling hangar, inspecting the final preparations on the two Mechs slated for the initial incursion. Technicians swarmed over the angular war machines, calibrating sensors and loading ordnance for the mission ahead.

At the far end stood Kremlin's Claw, Lieutenant Sokolova's assigned Mech. Petrovich noted with approval that the artillery cannons had been supplemented with additional missile pods. Sokolova was fond of overwhelming force applied from range - an approach well suited for her defensive role in the vanguard.

Nearby was Captain Ivanov’s Siberian Tiger—a Mech customized for ruthless efficiency at close range. The cannons along its arms had been stripped down and tuned for maximum rate of fire. Ivanov's talent lay in surgically precise strikes on critical enemy systems.

Both pilots stood at attention as Petrovich approached. He regarded them appraisingly. At ease. The final adjustments meet with my approval. I trust you are prepared?

Yes, comrade General, Sokolova replied crisply. All systems calibrated and combat ready.

Ivanov nodded, his craggy features set in determination.

Excellent. Petrovich clasped his hands behind his back. You each understand your objectives for Operation Red Dawn?

Perfectly, sir, said Sokolova. I will spearhead the coastal assault, using the Claw's artillery to reduce enemy fortifications from long range.

And the Tiger will be unleashed once forces are on the ground, Ivanov added, Eliminating high-value targets and fuel depots.

Petrovich smiled thinly. I expect nothing less from my finest Mech pilots. You do the Motherland proud this day.

He checked his watch. The transports are already inbound to your launch positions. It is time - climb into your cockpits and await my signal to commence the operation.

Yes, sir! The pilots snapped a sharp salute in unison before turning towards their Mechs.

Petrovich observed as the massive exoskeletons thudded closed around each pilot, encasing them safely in composite armor and advanced sensor suites. Hatch lights blinked ready signals across the Mechs' hulls.

Satisfied, Petrovich donned his officer's cap and strode from the hangar. He had final preparations to oversee before committing his forces to battle. By his order, Alaska would be in Russian hands before the end of the day.

The transports bearing the two Mechs rose from their airfields, wheeling north across the Bering Sea towards Alaska's vulnerable coastline. Petrovich's intelligence teams' intercepted communications revealed chaos and confusion in the Pentagon. The Americans remained unaware of the hammer blow speeding towards them.

Yet, as the transports neared the border of US airspace, Petrovich's radio cracked unexpectedly with a new report: Comrade General, our listening posts detect strange chatter on US military networks. Something about American Mechs? The significance is unclear.

Petrovich frowned, uneasy at this new wildcard. Keep monitoring their transmissions closely. I want to know where these mechs are.

Lieutenant Anya Sokolova watched critically as the technicians loaded the extra missile pods onto the Kremlin Claw's broad shoulders. The sleek, angular lines of the mech's armor gleamed under the harsh lights of the hangar, a testament to Russian engineering prowess. Sokolova's lips curled into a satisfied smile as she saw her mech’s already impressive firepower being further enhanced.

Double-check the targeting systems and increase the long-range capacity, she called out to the technicians, her voice ringing with authority. I want those American coastal defenses crushed without warning. They won't even have time to raise the alarm.

General Nikolai Petrovich strode across the frozen tarmac, his boots crunching against the icy ground. His keen eyes took in the scene before him, and he nodded in approval as he approached Sokolova and the Kremlin Claw.

Impressive work, Lieutenant, he said, his voice deep and commanding. With the Claw spearheading our vanguard, the Americans will be caught completely off guard. Their arrogance has blinded them to the true might of the Russian military, and today, we will make them pay for that mistake.

Sokolova turned to face the General, snapping to attention and offering a sharp salute. Comrade General, she said, her voice filled with respect and determination. The Kremlin Claw is being outfitted to lead the beach assault. With the extra missile pods and enhanced long-range capabilities, we will rain destruction upon the enemy defenses before they know what hit them.

Nikolai returned the salute, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. Your talent for artillery strikes is unmatched, Lieutenant Sokolova. The Kremlin Claw, under your command, will spearhead our forces perfectly. The Americans have grown complacent, believing themselves invulnerable behind their coastal defenses. Today, we will shatter that illusion and show them the true power of the Russian Federation.

Sokolova allowed herself a small smile at the General's praise. She knew that the mission’s success rested on her shoulders, and she was determined to prove herself worthy of the trust placed in her. With the Kremlin Claw at her command, she would lead the Russian forces to victory and crush the American resistance.

He turned to study the second mech, Siberian Tiger. Captain Ivanov circled it, inspecting the newly installed rotating barrels on its cannons. The captain called up to the technicians, Tune the firing rate even higher. I want these guns to shred anything in our path once we reach the mainland.

Ivanov approached Nikolai and saluted. The Tiger has been customized for surgical strikes against their fuel depots and bases. We will cripple their mobility once ashore.

Excellent, Captain, Nikolai replied. Your talents for precision strikes are known far and wide.

He checked his watch. The transports will arrive within the hour. We will debrief fully in my command center shortly.

The three entered the nearby concrete bunker, shaking off the chill as they stepped into the warmth. They gathered around a table displaying digital maps and tactical displays.

Nikolai activated the monitors with a remote. Here is the situation. Our forces will launch a surprise assault to capture key targets and infrastructure along Alaska's southern coast.

He zoomed the map into the mission area. Lieutenant Sokolova, the Claw will be airdropped here, east of the port city of Ketchikan. You will bombard the coastal defenses to soften them for our ground troops.

Yes, sir, Sokolova replied. I will rain fire until their positions are rubble.

Nikolai smiled slightly. Always bold, that one. Once our foothold is established, Captain Ivanov will be deployed further inland. The Tiger will roam behind enemy lines, striking fuel and supply assets. This will paralyze any attempt at counter-attack.

Ivanov nodded. We will sever their mobility at the root.

The Americans believe Alaska is safe, far beyond our reach, Nikolai continued. But today, we will shatter that delusion. By nightfall, our flag will fly over their prized northern territory.

He snapped the monitors off. The transports will arrive soon. Make ready - today, we reshape the balance of power in the Pacific!

The pilots saluted sharply, then headed for their waiting mechs. Nikolai watched through a window as the machines thundered to life, metallic limbs moving smoothly despite the sub-zero temperatures. He allowed himself a tight smile. The element of surprise was total - the Americans had no inkling of the hammer blow speeding toward them this very moment.

The transports arrived, massive cargo planes that lowered their rear ramps onto the tarmac. The mechs stomped up the ramps and were secured for the long flight over the Bering Sea. Nikolai observed the liftoff from the bunker, then picked up an encrypted satellite phone.

Siberian Command to strike force - you are cleared to proceed.

Far to the east, the transport planes banked over the open ocean. In the cargo bays, Sokolova and Ivanov made their final pre-combat checks. In a few hours, they would plunge into combat.

Radio chatter in Sokolova's cockpit indicated they were approaching the border of American radar coverage. She deactivated the external lights on the Claw to avoid detection.

The minutes crawled as she watched the navigation display count down the distance. Then - Now entering Alaskan airspace. All strike teams, you are cleared to engage.

Sokolova activated the Claw's weapons systems. All indicators flashed ready. Kremlin's Claw is combat ready, she reported. Commencing attack run.

The transports descended to just above sea level to evade radar. Ahead, the mountainous Alaskan coastline materialized through the gloom. Sokolova's transport veered east, positioning for an airdrop on the outskirts of Ketchikan.

Prepare for release on my mark, came the order. Sokolova braced herself as the cargo ramp lowered, admitting a blast of frigid air. Then - Mark! Green light for drop!

Hydraulics fired, propelling the Claw out the end of the plane. It plunged briefly before its thrusters fired, slowing the mech for a heavy but controlled landing on the snow-swept terrain.

Immediately, Sokolova snapped the heavy cannons down over her shoulders and scanned for targets. Kremlin's Claw is on the ground and weapons hot. Commencing attack.

The crackle of radio chatter indicated Ivanov's transport was peeling away, deploying the Siberian Tiger to its inland targets. For now, the coastline ahead was hers to ravage.

Sokolova activated the newly installed missile pods. First salvo away! A swarm of missiles screamed ahead, streaking over the bay to slam into the shoreline base. Seconds later, eruptions of fire and shrapnel marked the hits.

Before the smoke had cleared, Sokolova was already traversing the cannons and firing again. Shore batteries neutralized. Advancing to next target.

The Claw stomped forward, the earth shuddering under each metal footfall. Today, the Americans would learn to fear the new Russian might.

As the Russian mechs neared the Alaskan