View Full Version : Troy's Joeverse v.2 - G.I. Joe: Freedom Fighters
08-04-2010, 10:19 AM
Awhile ago I started writing some Joe fan fiction. It got out of control and kept expanding beyond where I wanted it. I had to keep adding pieces that I didn't want to make it work. So I stopped for awhile, and let other projects get going but always wanted to return to writing some Joe stuff. Now that I have some more flexibility in my writing schedule I was able to start developing the idea. I originally came up with an angle that was somewhat set aside in favor of the first Joeverse, so I went back to that concept.
With some changes that have come to Joe itself, with the reintroduction of ARAH and Renegades, I was able to take a bit from all the various Joeverses out there, including Darth_Hennings (started on the 'Tank, updated on the 'Pryde) and Zuludeltas Filecard Project (posted on the 'Tank), and mix it all together and come up with something that I hope is pretty interesting and leads to some good stories.
Some people may be turned off by the grittiness and the darkness that my Joes go through. I hope not though. There is no messages meant, purposely or accidently. They're just stories.
Postings will alternate between here and HISS Tank. One thing I like showing with my Joeverse's is that there are multiple missions ongoing at the same time, so the way it will work (eventually, once it gets going) is that one mission (story) will be on the 'Pryde and another mission (story) will be here on the 'Tank. Won't have to read all of 'em, but I hope you will.
Hope you enjoy the stories.
08-04-2010, 10:20 AM
THE BEGINNING: HOW IT BEGAN
Excerpt from the diary of Gen. Joseph Colton (ret.), former Secretary of Defense
Entry Date Unknown
The attacks came out of nowhere. No warnings from any of the intelligence services. Going back and reviewing everything, none of them had dropped the ball. There just had been no warning. And no one claiming responsibility either. To this day, so many months later, the general public still does not know who was behind it. We work to keep it that way. We have to. The truth would cause a wider panic.
The first attack was an outdoor shopping mall in Indonesia, 27 dead. Second, a day after, was a toy store in the Phillipines, 13 dead, 9 of them children below the age of 12. The attacks continued like that over the course of the month, every day somewhere new, death tolls averaging around 50. Not large numbers, not right at first. Some of the attacks barely hit the international news. The first six were all in the same part of the world. They started in Indonesia and then spread out from there. Each day a different country.
None of the local terrorist or revolutionary groups were taking credit. Panic was slow to start, but it started. All of the targets were low profile. No major cities. No major landmarks. The largest indicator that it was not the work of any local groups was that no government, religious, military or educational structures were hit.
When the tiny nation of Freusenland was hit, the world’s intelligence agencies started to pay attention. This was a country with no enemies, no reason to attack.
The attacks had started on June 11, 2011. On June 23, 12 days after they had started, the pattern changed. No longer in the Asian part of the world, the attacks came home. On June 23, we lost 123 Americans, 26 of them children, when a grocery store in Nampa Idaho was targeted. Three other targets in the continental United States.
Then it was in South America, followed by four attacks in Australia and New Zealand, back to Asia, Russia and so on. Even research stations in Antarctica were attacked. After the first month the pattern was completely gone and it was a month of total chaos. No one could predict where the next daily attack would take place.
Two months and then nothing.
Most terrorists want their bombings to carry a statement. They have a message they are trying to send. Whether it’s “we don’t like your politics or religion” or “give us cheaper health care” the message is still there. But these attacks? Nothing.
That in itself was the scariest message of all.
It said we can attack you anytime and anywhere. None of you are safe.
The global population received the message.
Loud and clear.
Total chaos and anarchy was the result.
Entry Date Unknown
Have you ever lived with not knowing when but knowing it would happen? The “would” being anything. You can feel the tension in the air. Economy going south, people losing their jobs, low man on the totem pole. You can feel it coming. You know it can happen at any moment. Every time your boss walks by, you wonder if now is the time that you lose your job.
After the attacks the entire world was like that.
You’d think the normal, everyday… how sad is that that I would now think of a “normal” terrorist attack like that… You would think they would have stopped. The world being so close to the edge of disaster, why in God’s name would anyone want to push it that much closer. Stupid. Damn stupid men. It never stopped. In fact it got worse.
All the insane radicals, all the politicos with an agenda, every single one of them took this moment to step out of the shadows and make their statements. What had started with no statements, now had hundreds of conflicting.
The Philippines was one of the worst hit areas. A government building had been bombed, one group.. I can’t even remember which one, the reports somewhere on my desk but they’re small fish now.. claimed responsibility and then another terrorist grouped bombed the first saying that the target had been theirs to take down.
The world was going to hell quickly and these wastes of breath were getting mad at each other.
Sometimes I thought it would be best if we just let the world go and started over.
But then I looked at Jane and thought of our son and the sacrifice he had made.
There was no giving up.
Entry Date Unknown
I’m proud to be an American.
I’m proud of what President Rutledge has done.
Someday when it is all said and done, when the real history can be written and the world can learn of the steps this man took to insure we all would live to see a better world, when that day happens history will be written and the world, the entire world, will all give thanks to one man.
One man and a small unit of soldiers.
Entry Date Unknown
I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s been so long, sometimes it’s hard to remember it all and write it all down. Jane had kept after me through the years to keep records. But I was old school, I remember the days when the littlest bit of information you thought you had destroyed would come back to bite you in the ass. So here I am, finally getting it down.
Months after the attacks, after martial law had been declared.. Yes, martial law had been declared in the United States and the world over. We had no choice. I was finally the one that had convinced President Rutledge to sign the order. The rest of the world had been ahead of us, but that was to be expected. Americans had fought hard for our independence and we would not give it up without a fight. It had taken almost two hundred more deaths for the Nation to understand it needed to be done.
We had record numbers of people willing to join the military. The National Guard ranks swelled. It’s said that it takes such tragedy to bring people together, but it did. Much like 9/11, the Patriotic spirit hit the Nation. People understood why this needed to happen. The fear that you child’s school, as so many had, could be destroyed at any time is powerful motivation. True, there were so many that enjoyed the power they got.
And the recruiters took everyone. Even some that they should not have.
The world settled like that for awhile.
There were still attacks, on an almost daily basis. But none had the feel of the original The Two Months, as it came to be called. But then they started to happen again.
It was in this second wave that we got our intelligence services got their first break.
Entry Date Unknown
The United States has always taken a hard stance against terrorism.
Standard practice is that we refuse to negotiate. All the presidents, except one, have always held true to that practice.
It had always been one of our greatest deterrents.
Because there was the unspoken second half of that statement.
We would not negotiate and if you carried out your threat you better run far and fast because there would be no where you could hide.
Our vengeance was swift and it was harsh.
The way it should be.
When President Rutledge started getting the intelligence briefings on just who and what had been behind The Two Months, he reacted as an American President should.
He created our vengeance.
It would not be swift. It would take time. It would be bloody.
It was the greatest honor of my life that he chose me to lead that vengeance.
It was the greatest honor of my life that I was given the command of G.I. Joe.
08-04-2010, 10:21 AM
The Beginning: The Coming of the Hawk
First Star General Clayton M. Abernathy stood staring out the window, hands clasped behind him. He could see the Washington Monument in the distance. Was that the capitol building beyond it? Abernathy wasn't sure. He didn't know where he was. The room he was in had 2 doors, the one that led outside and another one that had been locked. There were no chairs. It was a plain room. The window was on the north wall. They were south of the city then, that was as far as Abernathy knew.
The car that had brought him here, driven by silent drivers that had been dressed in fatigues, all insignia of rank and unit removed. Once he was inside the drivers had put up a divider that was tinted as well. He had been left in the dark. The seat of the car had stacks of magazines, all of them containing articles on the recent terrorist activities across the world, they dated as far back as The Two Months. He had started flipping through them.
It was stuff that Abernathy had already known about. His position had granted him access to many of the meetings on how to deal with the problems that were occurring worldwide. He had been one of the staunchest supporters for declaring martial law. He had also been quite vocal in the desire to take the fight to the enemy. Once they knew who that was, of course. He had also been quite vocal that the old ways had been thrown out. This was a new war and a new enemy.
He had gotten frustrated. Didn't anyone realize that this new enemy couldn't be fought like before? New methods had to come out. And sometimes, sometimes you had to get dirty. Was he the only one that saw it?
Then the call had come. The speaker had said "if you want the gloves to come off, in an hour get in the car."
And so Abernathy had gotten in the car, and now he was here. He had only gotten into the car because he had known the voice on the other end. It had been a couple of years since he had spoken to the man directly, but it was fairly recent that the man had been on television. The man, had been retired from his post, but he had been a very popular figure, and Abernathy had looked up to him greatly. When the troubles had started, he was a frequent guest of the talk shows. It was obvious he hated being on the shows but it was equally obvious he felt he needed to be.
So now here Clayton Abernathy was. The dark car was so he wouldn't know where they had gone. He had tried to pay attention to the direction, but the drivers went a round about way and had definately gone out of their way. They had started off going north, but now were obviously south of the city.
The door opened and Abernathy turned.
Three Star General Flagg was standing there. That was not who Abernathy had heard on the phone.
"Come in," Flagg said and walked into the room. Abernathy followed.
The next room wasn't much bigger than the outer room. A single oak table was in the middle, one chair on this end, another on the far end. A figure was sitting in that chair but Abernathy
couldn't make him out. General Flagg took a seat on the left of the figure.
"Sit down General Abernathy," the other figure said and Abernathy was shocked to recognized the voice from the phone. The former Secretary of Defense, Retired Five Star General Joseph B. Colton.
"So you want the gloves to come off General?"
"Yes sir," Abernathy said. "There is no way to win this war on new terror and defend our people with conventional military reasoning and tactics. This is no enemy to face across an open battlefield. They hide and attack in secret. They don't have bases to attack. They will fight dirty. The Geneva Convention obviously means nothing to them."
"I agree with you son," the other General said. "And so do some others." Flagg nodded. "But there's only so much we can do with what we have and the laws we have in place.”
"Why am I here sir," Abernathy asked.
"We will not go quietly General Abernathy. We will not give up the fight. But what can we do? The Presidents and the Military, their hands are tied. The President wishes there was more he could do. He agrees with you, with us. But he is limited in what he can do. But he won't give up, especially not now. Not after what we've learned."
"Learned sir," Abernathy asked. His position afforded him access to all the top level intelligence. But he knew nothing.
He wondered what the former Secretary of Defense was talking about.
"Tell him Larry."
Flagg cleared his throat and began.
"Several months ago we started receiving intelligence that suggested there was someone or something supplying multiple terrorist organizations across the globe. This organization, which we've learned very little about, seems to be giving money, munitions, planning and sometimes even troops to help support various causes. It seems this group is responsible for The Two Months."
Flagg threw a folder onto the table and indicated that Abernathy should pick it up. He did and started looking thru it. He recognized alot of the names and places but there were things he had not known about. Flagg continued.
"Now that we had a base to start with, we could start to detect a pattern? What we've found out is that this group, we still don't know the name, is worldwide. The causes they support, are varied. One place it's a democratic rebellion, the next country over they are helping to overthrow a democratic government."
"It's a terrorists best friend and governments worst nightmare," General Colton. "A worldwide group whose sole purpose is to cause chaos on a global scale. Why we don't know, and that scares us. We’ve already seen how they made themselves known."
"Who knows about this," Abernathy asked.
"Not that many, and the ones that do, we control. We will not let this great country go quietly without doing anything about this."
"What can you do sir," Abernathy asked. He was starting to get an idea of why he was there.
"There's nothing I can do alone, General Abernathy. This group even has agents in our own government. Everything we know is in that folder you hold in your hands. There is not much we can do through the normal channels and methods."
"Why am I here sir?"
"We need your help," Colton said looking Abernathy directly in the eyes.
"Together we will form a fast response team whose goal is to fight and stop the terrorists across the world. But the main goal will be to take this group out of action. The gloves are off General Abernathy. We have been given carte blanche to do what needs to be done."
"There's only one catch," Flagg said.
"What is that sirs?"
"You have to die General Abernathy," Colton answered.
"This team must be tight General, no chance of being compromised. There are agents and forces in our own government that would stop us and because of the nature of the unit, being outside the chain of command, we are on our own. I will not have the good names of the men and women that step up to end this threat have their names dragged through the mud by the agents of this enemy. That cannot happen and it will not happen. The men and women of the unit must have no ties that can be exploited. They must be dead men."
Abernathy studied the folder. He read all the contents, got an idea of what was being asked of him and the people he would have to fight. It was several minutes before anyone spoke.
"What do you say General Abernathy?," General Colton asked.
"General Clayton M. Abernathy is dead."
08-04-2010, 10:22 AM
The Beginning: The Nameless Dead
“You are all dead.”
The man now known as Hawk stared out at the men and women facing him. Behind him were the men now known as Pysche-Out and Mainframe, behind them a large screen with different faces of men and women and maps of the world quickly flashing across it. They were on a dais, slightly raised. The assembled men and women were looking up at him, some sitting in chairs and some standing.
“You’re all dead men and women,” Hawk started. “Or else you wouldn’t be here. You all chose to die to be here. You all know what’s at stake and what we’re up against.”
He paused and surveyed the faces. Good men and women. Good soldiers. The best. He wanted to remember all the faces. This would be the first and only time all of them would be in the room together. Some of them may not see each other alive again. He nodded at the squad leaders all standing together in the back. He took a long time looking at each and every one of them. These were the first, but not the last and not all that they would need.
“We have been given carte blanche. I am giving each of you carte blanche to carry out your missions as you see they need to be. This is a new war ladies and gentlemen. A new enemy. The world has changed. It is martial law out there,” he said pointing towards the world above. “Something that should never have happened in this country has. You are all here because you are the best of the best and also because you want this to change as much as I do. And we will make it happen. This I swear. I swear on all those we lost in Nampa and all those since. It will be dirty. It will be messy. We will do things that we swore we never will. We are soldiers. We will do what we must to defend this great Nation and to defend the world.”
He paused, feeling all the eyes on him. He had never felt prouder.
“We will be hated. We will be viewed as no better than the enemy. We will be hunted. The enemy has agents in our own Government, as well as across the world. We will be secret. We will have no support. We are our on our own. We will not get medals or rewards. There will be no parades when our mission is accomplished. We will fade in obscurity and the people of theworld will never know our names. Will never know what we have sacrificed for them. But none of that matters. We have a job to do and we have accepted it. We do not need medals or acknowledgments for we are already dead.”
“We are on our own. If you’re caught, no one will be coming to get you,” Hawk paused, this was the part he hated, having to tell these people they may get left behind. “Because you don’t exist.”
“We don’t exist. This unit doesn’t exist. Back a long time ago, nameless grunts that had died were given a name. Not really a name, but a designation. No that’s not right either. It was a name. No one wanted these brave men to go to the afterlife without a name. These men were ordered and issued to where they had died by the government. They were government issue. And so they were called G.I. Joes. The nameless dead given a name.” He smiled, probably the last time he would ever smile again. “And that’s what we are now. The nameless dead. We are G.I. Joe.”
08-04-2010, 10:23 AM
The Guardsman: Walking the Streets
Sergeant Daniel J Byrne stood at the intersection, watching the cars go by. For being midday in Cleveland, Ohio, there wasn’t much traffic. There were more people walking then driving. Lots of bikes too, he thought, watching a middle aged man dressed in a suit with a briefcase strapped to the back, weave in and out of traffic. Ever since the worldwide bombings, two years ago, when the world had tightened up, gas was in short supply.
A lot of things were in short supply.
There were more hybrids on the road. There was as much electricity as before, even more since a lot of things that had used it had been shut down. One of the first things the government had done, one of the smartest in his opinion, was to force GM and others to halt production on all cars but hybrids. Surprisingly there had been little outcry. It’s surprising what the threat of death does to people, he thought, always amazed at how even some good at come from such tragedy.
The remains of Colman Court, a victim of the second round of bombings, was a constant reminder of why the change was necessary.
Not like GM had much choice, he thought watching a pair of kids cross the street, with the amount of money the government had given to bail them out a couple years prior, they should have volunteered to hand out the cars.
DJ sighed and flexed his right index finger. It was cramping up from being extended along the assault rifles trigger guard. The gun, shoulder strap slung around his right shoulder, was pointed down towards the ground, right hand on the trigger with finger extended, and left on the grip attached to the barrel. He hated the street patrols. But he knew they were necessary.
He had spent six years with the Rangers in Iraq. Some of the stuff if he had done, he was extremely proud of. Some of it, not so much. He had enjoyed his time with the Ranger Regiment, but it had started to get to him. Was it worth it? What were they fighting for? What were they protecting? The questions kept nagging at him and when he had gotten injured, taking a bullet through the left shoulder that still ached now and then, he had taken the first chance at an honorable discharge and had come back home.
The guilt bothered him, feeling like he had abandoned his brothers in arms. That’s probably why he had jumped at the chance to join the National Guard when martial law was declared. Now he knew what he was fighting for, what he was protecting. His own people. His neighbors.
It also felt good to be back in uniform.
Martial law had, at first, been fought and argued. There had been widespread rioting and looting, an increase in the number and size of the various private militias and other radical groups, but an equal increase in the National Guard and other military branches. People, most of them anyways, understood the need for martial law and many wanted to do their parts. The conspiracy freaks were still out there, in record numbers, but they were toned out more and more each day.
There still weren’t enough Guardsmen, even with the increase in numbers. Law enforcement nationwide; Homeland Security, Police, FBI, ATF; they were all stretched thin. That’s when the private contractors had been called in to help.
The biggest mistake, Byrne thought, watching two members of King Snake LTD walk by across the street. Some of the PMCs were alright, he knew, but then some of them were not. Bullies. Big boys that liked their toys. King Snake was one of the worst.
They did have some nice toys, he thought, thinking of how their gear compared to his.
Assault rifles manufactured by MARS Industries with laser sights, under mount flashlights and under barrel grenade launchers. They wore some kind of new helmet designed, with balaclavas underneath. The helmet, blue in color like the rest of their uniform, came down almost to the shoulders, on all sides, thin looking and flared, with lower pieces that almost wrapped around the face. Googles were on top of the helmet, ready to pull down when needed. Their flak jackets were less bulky then his and had a piece that covered the groin area. Lightweight and flexible. Various shades of blue.
Sleek and modern. At least compared to his uniform.
He watched them disappear around a corner and went back to his patrol. He walked down the street, nodding to various people. He was starting to recognize some of the small store owners, he’d walked these same streets enough. There hadn’t been trouble in Cleveland in awhile, but the presence of the Guard was more to reassure the people.
A lot of storefronts were empty, boarded up and abandoned. A lot of stores were closed. The economy was bad, but it was still functioning. With so many businesses going under, who really needed to spend money at a gym or a tanning parlor at a time like this, it had been feared that the United States would have suffered an Even Greater Depression. Somehow that did not happen, at least not as forecast. The people that lost their jobs? They found new ones.
The farming industry got a boon. People still needed food. Sure there may not be a need for a McDonalds, but there was still a need for food, and with more people in the military and the PMCs, there was even more call for food production. The farms were the most heavily protected places on the planet now it seemed. A lot of Army units had been deployed to protect the farms, leaving the cities and small towns to the National Guard and the Paramilitary Contractors.
Life was hard, but people were adapting and surviving.
It was the constant living in fear that wore on people.
You can see it in the eyes, he thought nodding at an old man that looked tired. They’re weary and worn out. They can’t take much more of these.
DJ wished he knew what could be done to get things back to the way they used to be.
Night had fallen. Curfew.
DJ stood in the middle of the intersection looking around at the deserted streets. It was dark. There were few lights on in the buildings around him. The flicker of candle could be seen. People tried to conserve as much electricity as they could. It cost money. Money was tight. The street lights provided most of the illumination.
This was the time he hated. His patrol was almost up, his stomach rumbling. It wasn’t dark enough for the night imagers, but it wasn’t light enough that he could see everything. It was odd to see such a major city virtually dead. No traffic. No walkers. Nothing.
Most nights he came across at least someone trying to break curfew. Most times it was just a young boy and his girl, trying to get some alone time. Others were more dangerous. This was when the muggers and the gangs, and there were more of them, came out. Normally night patrols were in groups of three, at least. Because of man power shortages, the day patrols were solo. It was just his luck that his patrol had gone into the night and they were shorted handed that day, a couple of the unit on leave.
Scanning the streets and the alleys between the buildings, he walked down the middle of the road. Another two miles and he’d be back at the makeshift barracks, an old Staples that had been converted over to their use. Maybe I should join King Snake, he thought, they get to use one of the Marriott hotels for their barracks. He chuckled softly. No, a good bed wasn’t a reason to give up his ideals and join those mercenaries.
He paused at the next intersection, looking up and down the streets. Seeing nothing he started down his route and stopped. There, inside an old deli, he could see lights moving. Just glimpses, like whoever was inside was trying to hide or keep them covered.
Just my luck, he thought thumbing the safety off, looters.
“Byrne,” he said quietly thumbing his radio on. “I have lights inside a deli. Going to investigate,” he said thumbing it off. He didn’t want any return chatter to alert the looters inside the building.
Slowly, rifle ready, he paused in front of broken glass of the large windows facing the street. It looked like this had been one of the places hit during the worst of the rioting, he thought, stepping over the sill, being careful to avoid the remaining edges of glass. The lights were in the back, behind the counter and in the kitchen area. Tables were overturned and chairs broken, some of them missing. The paintings and other decorations were smashed.
He could hear muffled voices, talking quietly, not able to make out what was being said.
Glancing down, wishing there was more light, he surveyed the floor. Glass and other debris lay scattered. Cursing silently, he started his slow creep, being careful how he placed his weight, trying to avoid making noise. Luckily the counter was open and he was able to step behind the display cases. It was narrow, but he still had room to swing his weapon, and that was all he cared about.
The swinging doors to the kitchen area had been lost, the opening was clear. He could see a thin beams of light shining across the floor, reflecting off some of the pots and pans that were surprisingly still there. The voices were louder, but still muffled. He quietly lowered himself, crouching down.
Counting to three he swung around, facing into the kitchen, turning his assault rifles flashlight on, crouched down with the rifle raised to his shoulder, ready to fire.
“Freeze,” he said loudly. “No one move..”
He paused staring at the strange scene.
In the beam of light he saw two uniformed King Snake operatives. They were turned towards him, distracted from what they had been doing. On the ground, at their feet, was some kind of device. There was a timer on top of the square device. The LED was blinking.
It was an explosive, he knew it instantly. Had they found it? Why hadn’t they called it in? The standing rules of engagement were that any explosives or potential explosives were to be called in by whoever found them, National Guard or PMC. Even the worst of the PMCs obeyed that rule.
“What,” he started, staring dumbfounded as a shape appeared in the swiftly moving hand of one of the operators.
“Oh shi..” was all he said as he recognized the shape of a gun.
A muffled shot, muzzle flash, and then pain.
08-04-2010, 10:24 AM
The Guardsman: Bomb In The Deli
Sergeant Daniel J. Byrne felt the first bullet hit his left shoulder, striking bone. The silenced pistols weren’t high impact, but the close distance and surprise caused DJ to turn with the impact. The next bullet reflected off his helmet, the luck of his turn saving his life. But DJ didn’t realize that, he just knew he was shot. Shot and falling. He hit the ground roughly, the wind being knocked out of him.
Instinct and training saved his life. He hit the ground and pushed himself backwards, shots hitting the ground where his body had been. Quickly he pulled himself up, using the wall as cover, drawing his sidearm awkwardly. His rifle was on the ground in the middle of the opening, but it might as well have been miles away. He knew if he made a grab the shooters would take him out. He knew they were waiting him out now.
He was surprised that his training had kicked in. It had been years since he’d been in the Rangers and on an actual mission. He had always wondered how much his skills had degraded. Now he guess he knew.
What was more surprising was what the King Snake Operatives were up to. What the hell were they up to, he thought. He hadn’t gotten a great look but he assumed it was a bomb of some kind. What where they doing? Were they even King Snake?
Questions for later, he knew gritting his teeth and patting his body looking for the switch to activate his radio, being careful to not shoot himself since his only usable arm was also holding his only weapon. Finding it, he thumbed it on. Nothing. Not even static. Jammed.
“Shit,” he muttered quietly.
He needed to take those men out and quickly. If it was a bomb, he had no idea how long he had. Could be hours or could be minutes. He hoped and prayed for hours. Long enough for him to figure out how to take out the two men and then get a bomb squad here.
“Don’t ask for the world or anything DJ,” he said quietly.
His shoulder hurt like hell. Burning and he could feel the blood flowing down his arm.
Something else to worry about.
What were they waiting for? They wouldn’t come through the door and they knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t either. It was a stand-off. But a one sided one. They could wait him out. Or could they? If they were on a deadline with the bomb, they’d have to abort the mission or set it off and hope to get by him.
Or they could leave by the rear exit, he thought hearing running steps heading away from him.
“Dammit,” he said.
Counting to three he rolled over into the opening, doing his best with a wounded shoulder to get into a firing position. The room looked empty, the light on his rifle shining off into the side from where had fell. Carefully with his hurt arm, each movement more painful than the last, he pulled the gun to him, not wanting to put down his sidearm.
Grabbing the gun and dropping his sidearm he was able to swing it in quick arcs, illuminating the room as the light shone on the different sections. It was the backroom of the deli, the food preparation area. Counters, now bare of equipment all of stainless steel glinting in the light. The room was empty. And there, at the back, was the door that opened into a long hallway. Where the King Snake men had gone.
He pushed himself up and moved over to the bomb.
And that is what it was.
Four blocks of plastique tied together with a timer stuck into them. Crude but effective. He was no expert but he figured it would be enough to take out this building and most of the next. He had been given some training, very limited, on bomb disposal. But that was years okay. There were more wires then he knew what to do with. The timer was going down. It was at 4:02 and counting down quickly.
“Shit,” he said positioning his light so he could see. “Which do I pull?”
“None,” the voice said behind him.
He cursed to himself. He had been so preoccupied with the bomb that he hadn’t checked his six. A rookie mistake. A goddamn rookie mistake and now this city block was going to pay for it.
“Keep the hands up,” the voice said. It was male, commanding, and had a mid-west accent. Chicago, he thought.
DJ knew he had nothing to lose. He started to slowly reach for his rifle.
“Don’t be a fool Holiday Hero,” another voice said, off to the side a bit.
He heard four sets of footsteps.
“We’re the good guys,” the first voice added from right behind DJ.
Glancing down he saw his rifle get picked up, the beam of light never left the bomb.
“So were the guys that set this,” DJ said angrily.
“Where’d they go,” the second voice said, now that it was closer, DJ thought it sounded slightly muffled, like the speaker was wearing a mask.
“Don’t know where your friends went,” DJ replied. “They leave you high and dry?”
“We don’t have time for this,” the first voice said as he saw multiple lights turn on and start scanning the room. “Shockwave, there,” the man said pointing his light on the open door.
“Right,” the second voice said, the muffled one. “Street, with me.”
DJ watched two men run past him, one on either side. They switched the lights that were attached to their rifles off as they passed, heading for the door. He couldn’t make out any details, they were dressed in dark clothing. The one on the right, that had been identified as Shockwave, wore a baseball style hat and DJ could see he was wearing a balaclava.
“Highway and Alley,” the first voice said. “We got two King Snakes heading out.”
No one moved, DJ assumed he had been talking into a radio.
“Why does your radio work but mine didn’t,” he asked.
“We have better toys,” a third voice said from the side.
“Son, you’re going to get up and walked backwards,” the first voice said to DJ. “My friend here is going to disarm that bomb. Alright?,”
“How do I know you’re the good guys,” DJ asked.
“You’re still alive aren’t you,” the third voice, the newcomer, said.
Makes sense, DJ thought, using his good arm to help himself stand. He heard the first speaker take a couple steps back, his light squarely on DJ’s back. The third voice came into view, into the full glow of the light. This man was dressed in dark colors as well, green or black it was hard to tell, but he wore a blast vest with the high neck guard. He had padded protection over the rest of his body, pieces strapped where they could. It was an odd suit for an EOD, almost piecemeal DJ thought. It was missing the full head protection. The man pulled a strap over his shoulder, lowering his tool bag to the ground.
“You good Longarm,” the first voice asked.
The man in front of the bomb waved his hand dismissively. He held a small flashlight between his teeth and was pulling a set of wire snips out of the bag.
“You can turn around now.”
DJ did, squinting in the bright light, which the man quickly pointed to the ground. There was still enough light that he could make out the man. He wore a helmet with no markings, a full camouflage outfit. It was a US military pattern, DJ was sure of it, he just couldn’t place where he had seen it. The man was black, or he was wearing face paint, not enough light to tell.
“Who are you,” DJ asked.
These men weren’t National Guard, Army or any other law enforcement agency or they would have identified themselves as such. If they were trying to disarm the bomb, then they weren’t terrorists.
“You can call me Bulletproof,” the man said.
“What kind of name is that,” DJ asked. He was getting short tempered. These men were too mysterious and he wanted answers. The blood loss was starting to get to him. He could feel it still running down his arm.
“It is what it is,” the man called Bulletproof said. “You are?”
“Sergeant Byrne,” DJ started the routine and then stumbled.
“Whoa,” Bulletproof said stepping forward and helping hold DJ up. “You hurt son?”
“Shoulder,” DJ said weakly.
“STRETCHER!!,” Bulletproof yelled, leading DJ towards the broken entrance of the deli.
08-07-2010, 04:13 AM
I really enjoy these. Not bad at all. I like to write myself so this is inspiration.
08-09-2010, 09:00 PM
The Guardsman: The Alley
Shockwave up held his arm, fist closed, signaling the man following five feet back to stop. They were in a long hallway. They were in a long hallway with no doors off it, just one at the end that they had come through and the one at the end. That one was slightly ajar. He figured it for an egress corridor and that the second door opened onto a back alleyway between the buildings. That it was open meant that the King Snake operators had come this way. How long ago? That was the question.
He had Street hanging back. This long hallway didn’t afford them cover and anyone coming in the door had a clear shot at them. At least with Street hanging back, he could take the brunt of the attack. Not that he really wanted to, but he was the senior man and this was his specialty. If calling ‘being the first into a hostile building’ a specialty. He wished he could get ahold of Alleyway or Highway, who should be flanking the building from one of the sides, but he wanted to maintain radio silence. With luck the Snakes didn’t realize they were being followed.
The hope was to catch them between the two groups. They knew, thanks to satellite imaging that Firewall had been able to bring up in the command center, that this particular block had an alley that ran the entire length of the block in a straight line. From one street to the next parallel one. All the buildings had openings, multiple, onto that alley which was fairly wide. It meant they had only two exits to cover, unless the King Snakes took the chance of going into one of the other buildings.
The problem was which way had they gone when leaving this building. Before entering the team had barricaded one exit. Shockwave smiled under his balaclava, thinking that making a barricade with a man named Barricade was funny in a way. They had purposely left the east end open, and that was where Alley Way and Highway would be positioning themselves.
He crept slowly towards the door, shutting his flash light off, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. He didn’t want the light alerting the Snakes. Holding himself tight against the wall, having Street stay at the far end, Shockwave approached the door. It was metal, no windows. He knew it would be what was called ‘hollow metal’, really just two fairly thin sheets of metal with no core. It could take some damage, but not a bullet.
He quickly ran the available options through his mind. The best course was to kick the door open and, if, any bullets hit it, use the impact holes to determine where the shooters were. Of course, if the Snakes were outside in the alley in front of the door, just waiting for that to happen, he was a dead man. At least Street would be able to dive back into the other room, he thought turning and giving the other man a thumbs up.
Street nodded, he had already run the options himself.
Taking a deep breath Shockwave stepped into the middle of the hallway.
You only live once, he thought as he kicked out, slamming the door and sending it flying open.
Shit, he cursed silently.
He really had hoped the King Snakes would have fallen for it.
The problem with dropping soldiers into the middle of large urban cities was that they weren’t prepared, equipped and trained to fight in it. Not like he and the rest of his select unit were. More and more it was becoming a requirement, as more and more fighting happened street to street and not over battlefields. He had hoped these two weren’t used to it.
Apparently they were. Either that or they weren’t in the alley.
He motioned to Street, who quickly but quietly came down the hallway. Shockwave hunched down, his assault rifle lying across the tops of his knees. Reaching up he adjusted the baseball style hat he wore, turning it so the brim was backwards. The hat was the same grays and green camouflage that the rest of his uniform was. He wore a dark black tactical vest with a knife and a couple of smoke grenades. Nothing that would help him. Two sidearms, with his preferred weapon, a couple of old Colt 45s, were strapped to each leg. He had another knife strapped to the inside of his left ankle.
Street was dressed in light gray fatigues with a dark gray and lighter gray urban camouflage pattern. His tactical vest was different than Shockwaves, but also contained nothing that would help them at the moment. Street wore a helmet that had a built-in microphone, the end of it bent up and out of the way currently. He wore pads on his knees and elbows and a rappelling harness. This operation was outside of Street’s normal parameters, his job usually to come in from above well Shockwave came from below. It was an odd callsign for someone that usually dropped from helicopter, but as the Latino from East LA put it “I drop to the street, it’s where I want to be”.
No noise from either end of the alley outside. That didn’t sit well with Shockwave. They would have heard of the King Snakes had gotten past either end of the long alley. That meant they had entered another building.
Realizing they couldn’t wait any longer Shockwave put his rifle down on the ground and pulled out his right Colt. He reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a light, and attached it to the Colt. He looked at Street and nodded.
Reaching up Street pulled down the mike and tapped the controls on his right wrist. He nodded at Shockwave who was thumbing the safety off the Colt.
Luck was with him, the door had swung open almost a full 180 degrees and did not swing closed. The dive through would be difficult, his back would be to the left side, the east side, and he’d have to dive down and out, so there would be room for Street to follow.
He adjusted his position, putting his left arm on the ground to help push off, angling his body so he’d be jumping out, down and to the right.
“One,” he heard Street whisper behind him. “Two. Three.”
“Jumping out,” Street yelled into the radio.
Shockwave dove out, landing on his left shoulder, Colt pointing down the west length of the alley. No shots were fired. He heard Street step out, rifle pointing down the east side.
“Lights,” Shockwave said, pushing himself up, gun still pointed down the alley.
“Lights on,” Street said into the radio, telling the men stationed at either end of the alley who it was that was now visible.
The light mounted to Street’s rifle clicked on. Shockwave couldn’t see it behind him, but he heard the click. His followed a couple seconds later, bathing the alley in light. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show some details. Garbage cans, refuse and other things littered the length. He could see Barricade and another man moving down at the end, the few lights of the city behind them.
The King Snakes could be hiding midway down the alley, crouched behind some barrels or other obstructions. Shockwave didn’t like being so exposed.
“Advance,” he said over his shoulder not bothering to whisper. Anyone in the alley knew they were there.
“Advancing,” Street echoed into the radio.
Shockwave heard Street’s booted footsteps moving down the alley, away from him as he walked away from the other. He knew he should have retrieved his rifle but the longer it took him to clear the alley, the more time it gave the King Snakes to get away. He hoped the Eye in the Sky was able to watch the city block. With a curfew in place, it helped them out, because anyone moving in the streets was either with them or the King Snakes. He walked slowly, sweeping the alley with the light.
Closer to the end he saw Barricade making weird motions with his hands. The man, dressed in a light weight full body armor, was tapping his helmet. Over and over. Shockwave wasn’t sure what he meant, then it hit him.
Cursing himself for an idiot, he reached up and thumbed his radio on.
“Repeat,” he said into the throat mike he wore under his balaclava.
“East clear,” came the voice of Street.
Shockwave continued his advance, coming within ten feet of the end. There was nowhere for the Snakes to hide between him and Barricade.
“West clear,” he said, frustration in his voice.
It meant the King Snakes had gone into another building. Which one of the six that opened into the alley, and which one of the multiple doors, they didn’t know.
“Close it down,” came the voice of Sure Fire. “Back to the van.”
“Gotta grab my rifle,” Shockwave said to Barricade, who nodded.
“I’ll follow,” the other man at the end of the alley, Grid, said.
Shockwave nodded, knowing that there was still a chance that the King Snakes could come back into the alleyway. He knew it was beyond the small unit to search all the buildings. It was also out of their mission parameters. He knew that the King Snakes were in one of these buildings, but he smiled knowing that they’d get theirs soon enough.
They got back to the open door, Shockwave holstering his sidearm and retrieving his rifle. They walked down the hallway, still on guard, and came into the deli’s kitchen.
It was then that Shockwave remembered that the King Snakes had set a bomb.
08-26-2010, 04:09 PM
The Guardsman: The Next Step
D.J. Byrne walked out of the deli, supporting himself on the man next to him, the man called Bulletproof. Behind them came the medic, Stretcher. His shoulder hurt like hell, but it was stitched up as good as could be for the moment. It was no longer bleeding and that was a plus. He hadn’t realized how much blood he had lost until he had almost fainted. Luckily Bulletproof had caught him.
Outside on the street stood a man and a large dog. The dog was not leashed, and circled the man wearily. It turned and stopped, sniffing at the air and looking directly at Byrne, the only scent it didn’t recognize. It was a German Sheppard, but dark in coloring. The dog started a low growl.
“Easy Lamont,” the man said. He was dressed like the others, in dark unmarked fatigues. He wore a tactical vest that had marks of faded white paint on it. Byrne could barely make it out but thought that it used to read ‘S.W.A.T.’ The man wore a balaclava and a baseball hat. He carried a riot shield strapped to his left arm, an assault rifle held in the ready position. “Who’s your friend BP,” the man asked.
“Sergeant Byrne of the National Guard,” Bulletproof answered. “The man with the dog is called Wide Scope,” he said to Byrne.
Byrne thought he saw the other man nod in the darkness, but he wasn’t sure. The dog stopped growling, but didn’t look less threatening.
“Longarm’s defusing the bomb,” Bulletproof stated. “Shockwave and the others are trying to corner the King Snakes.”
“Right,” Wide Scope said tapping his ear indicating he had heard through the radio. “I’ll watch the door.”
Byrne saw Bulletproof give a nod in acknowledgement and then felt himself being led up the street. At the next intersection they turned and Byrne saw a large truck parked in the middle of the road. It was painted black and had no reflective surfaces. All the vehicles lights were off. It was a darker shadow in the dark night. The truck was long, Byrne recognizing the basic shape as that of the trucks employed by SWAT teams as mobile command centers, except this one had been heavily modified.
A door on the side of the vehicle swung open and light could be seen within the vehicle. A man stood in the doorway. He was older, probably mid-thirties, with sandy blond hair. He wore light brown fatigues with a tactical vest. He stood in the doorway watching Byrne and the other two.
“Glad to see you’re still with us Sergeant,” the man said to Byrne as Bulletproof stepped back, letting Byrne stand on his own.
“Me too,” Byrne said and paused. “uhmm.. sir,” he finished.
“Lieutenant Colonel Sure Fire,” the man said stepping back into the trailer. “Come aboard, I’m sure you have questions.”
Byrne was amazed at the inside of the vehicle. He had never been inside one before, but he had a feeling that the modifications this vehicle had gone through didn’t just end on the exterior. The front was taken up by two large computer workstations, split by the door that went to the cab. The rear was taken up by a small maintenance stall that currently had two motorcycles. On either side of the entrance door were gun cabinets and a couple benches filled the rest of the space.
Sitting at one of the workstations was a girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one, and had her long black hair held up in two pigtails. She looked to be of mixed Asian descent and was dressed in loose fitting green fatigues. She was busy looking at the large screen in front of her, but spared a glance towards the door when they entered.
“Sitrep Firewall,” Sure Fire asked.
“Eye in the sky doesn’t show anything,” she said “Just our people getting into position,” she finished pointing at the screen as Sure Fire walked over and stood behind her.
“Sir,” Byrne started.
“Right,” Sure Fire said turning his attention away from the screen. “You have questions. I wish I could answer all of them, but some of them I can’t,” he held up a hand, pausing Byrne who was about to speak. “Some of it I’m not authorized to tell you and some of it we don’t know yet.”
“We’ve been following the movements of the King Snake Paramilitary Contractors for awhile now,” he said taking the chair at the other workstation. “Why we’re following them I can’t say. We had an operative watching these two and when he saw them enter the building to plant the bomb, we moved in and that’s when we found you.”
“Sir,” Byrne said taking a seat on one of the benches. “I don’t mean to be insubordinate or anything but I’m taking an awful lot on faith. I have no clue who you people are.”
“Well,” Sure Fire began with a smile and Byrne had a feeling he knew what the response was going to be. “That I can’t tell you. At least not yet. But we are the good guys,” he finished.
“And I believe that how,” Byrne asked, about at the end of his patience.
“Son,” Bulletproof started but Sure Fire held up a hand stopping him.
“You were a Ranger weren’t you,” Sure Fire asked.
“Yes sir,” Byrne answered wondering how they knew.
“So was I,” Sure Fire said. “For a brief time then I transferred to CID and that’s where I was when all hell broke loose,” he continued, referring to the bombings and the current state of fear. “That’s when I was tapped for this unit.”
“Who or what is this unit,” Byrne asked. “DOD?”
“Kind of,” Sure Fire answered. “But not officially. We’re all soldiers and loyal Americans, just like you, of that have no doubt. But,” he paused searching for the words. “Let’s put it this way, there’s only so much you can do from within the system.”
“Shockwave and Street are in the alley,” came a voice over the loudspeakers in the vehicle.
Sure Fire swiveled the chair and hit a couple switches on the console, grabbing a headset and holding the microphone near his mouth.
“Right,” he said into the headset. “Stay sharp.”
They listened in silence until a voice said “East Clear” and soon after another one, this one Byrne recognized as the operative Bulletproof had called Shockwave, said “West Clear.”
“Dammit,” Sure Fire said knowing it meant the King Snake operatives had gotten away. “Close it down,” he said into the headset. “Back to the van.”
“What now,” Byrne asked but no one answered.
Sure Fire turned a dial and depressed the talk button on the headset.
“Quick Kick,” he said into the headset. “Your team is go,” he said and Byrne watched Firewall type some commands and the screen changed from a sky-down view of the block they were at to a sky-down view of what he thought to be the hotel that the King Snakes were using. “I repeat, your team is go. Good luck,” he said and again switched frequencies. “Longarm, not to rush you or anything but we have to move.”
“He’s just got it,” came the voice of Shockwave. “We’re on our way.”
“Get this beast ready to roll,” Sure Fire said standing up. “As soon as the last member of the team is on, we’re heading back to base.”
Byrne looked around, wondering what was going on and what he had gotten himself into.
“I repeat, your team is go. Good luck.”
Quick Kick disconnected the headset and stowed the unit in the thin backpack on the ground. He looked at the small group of people arrayed around him. Besides himself, the small team consisted of three other people, two men and a woman. All were dressed head to toe in black, with masks concealing their features. They were a variety of equipment, from silenced pistols and Uzis to swords strapped across their backs.
“We’re on,” the man said pulling his mask over his face, hiding his Chinease-American features and the white headband he wore. The mask covered the red symbol on the center of the band. “You all know your assignments.”
In a crouch he walked over to the edge of the roof, crouching behind the parapet, joined by the others. They watched the building across the open space. It was a brick building, six or seven stories high, with a lot of lights on. Men could be seen patrolling the grounds and coming and going through the main door. There was not much activity, the parking lot empty except for almost a dozen Humvees and a couple of motorcycles. Most of the windows were dark, but a few had lights on. A large sign on the building read “Marriott”.
“Nice of the King Snakes to use such a big building,” one of the men said.
“Nice of them to use one with such low security,” the lone female replied.
“Right you are Jinx,” Quick Kick said. “Let’s go. Get in, get out and don’t be seen.”
08-26-2010, 06:56 PM
This is a great story i wish that the writers of the movies actally were this good
08-26-2010, 07:05 PM
10-02-2010, 08:38 PM
The Guardsman: The Hotel Part 1: Kamakura
Kamakura leaned into the shadows created by the brick wall. The wall ran out from the side of the hotel, close to ten feet high, capped with a piece of precast concrete. It was at the front side of the building, used to screen the service yard from the guests coming and going.
Don’t want the guests seeing the help, he thought always amazed at what consisted of the ‘back of house’ of a hotel and other establishments. Entire rooms and areas that the public never saw but where all the real work happened.
He was facing into the yard, the wall at his back, in the shadows where the wall met the brick of the building. The yard was well lit. Another wall shielded the back side of the yard, hiding the two large dumpsters and the loading dock, at ground level, from the public areas. There were three doors into the yard. Two doors and an overhead garage style door, about 10 feet wide by 12 foot high. Remembering the map he had been memorized at the base, the far door led into the stairwell, the loading dock door and other leading into the back of house.
So far there had been no one back here.
Which they knew to be normal.
The teams had spent close to three days watching this building, day and night. The analysts watching and documenting all the guard patterns, shift changes. Assigning names and unit numbers to the King Snakes they could identify. This operation had been planned for awhile now, the attempted bombing had just moved the schedule up a couple of days.
The intel gang had learned the King Snakes would be up to something. They weren’t quite sure what. The plan had been to just raid the building, take out the King Snakes, make a statement and move on. Stopping the bombing had adjusted all that. The plan was still the same, the schedule had just changed.
Adaptability. That’s what his old Special Forces Captain had preached over and over and it was a lesson that Kamakura had taken to heart. His later training, with Master Light, had helped him reach new heights of the skill.
No one used the service yard at night. Why would they? The King Snakes were here on behalf of the United States government, after all. They had nothing to hide. The two bombers had left by the front door and would return by the front door.
That was the part that angered the young man known as Kamakura. He wanted the attempted bombers to pay for what they had tried to do, destroying an apartment building full of innocent civilians. But they plan hinged on their being unseen and unknown. If the Snakes got the slightest hint of what was to happen, the entire mission was to be scrapped. So they had to let the Snakes return. Sure they would say they were stopped, but the appearance of the National Guardsman gave them the best cover. The King Snakes would assume that the men that had stopped the bombing were Guardsmen.
That would set the Snakes into a panic. They would need to find some way to cover it up.
That was why the mission had been pushed up.
His small unit, originally just observation, was now mission active.
And now he had to get into the stairwell without being seen.
He looked hard at the small camera above him.
It was buried in the shadows at the top of the wall and very small. They never would have known it was there. It had been pure luck that the scout team, disguised as the laundry company, had spotted it at all. A stroke of luck, he thought, or the mission would have been over before it had begun.
It had been hard enough to get across the open parking lot, which was fairly well lit, and into the shadows of the wall. Getting into the building itself would be next to impossible if he couldn’t do something about the camera.
His back tight to the corner, he reached up over his head, pressing his left palm tight to the brick. He lifted up with his right leg, digging into the small mortar joint with his toes. He used his leg to push himself up, awkwardly turning his left leg to find a joint. Being thankful that he was very flexible, and still in pain as his muscles stretched uncomfortably, he worked his way up the corner thankful that it was only ten feet high and he was 6 feet tall.
It didn’t take long, but it felt like it to his already aching muscles, he was only a couple of inches underneath the camera. He reached into the small pouch on his belt, taking out a small screwdriver and set to work taking the cover off the unit.
The angle wasn’t great, he could barely see the inside of the camera from his position, but there was no other position he would be able to get into. He could have come in from the top, but he would have been exposed to the parking lot. He returned the screwdriver to the pouch and pulled out a small device that looked like a calculator but without any buttons. On the back of the unit was a suction cup. Reaching over his head he attached the unit, but the suction, to the wall next to the camera.
His neck ached as he looked up, behind and over himself. He took a deep breath, centering himself, knowing what Master Light would think of his discomfort. He let the breath out, calmer, and pulled a couple of leads out of the unit, attaching them to two points on the camera.
“We have contact,” Mainframe said.
He was at a terminal, people gathered around him. The computer terminal, really just a couple of monitors and a couple of laptops set on a desk, stood in the middle of a large open space. The entire area wasn’t well lit, most of the light concentrating on his terminal and a collection of people in the corner where weapons could be seen being passed out.
“Which one,” came the voice, an older African American man leaning down to look at the laptops over Mainframe’s shoulder.
“Kamakura,” Mainframe answered, almost as old as the other. He keyed in a couple of commands, an image of the hotel service yard appearing on the screen in front of him. A couple more keystrokes and the image shrunk down in size and appeared in the upper corner.
“Give him the tap,” the older man said.
“Yes sir Colonel,” Mainframe answered and tapped a key three times.
Kamakura heard three quiet taps in his earpiece. The only communications allowed on this silent mission. The earpiece was one way, receiving only. There were no signals that could be traced and no way to listen in as it only communicated tones and not words.
Breathing a sigh of relief he let himself drop the few feet to the ground, landing softly. He paused, ears straining, listening for any noise, any sound that he had been heard.
He worked his way along the hotel wall, pausing at the first door, listening. He waited. Worst case would be someone opens the door. Disaster would be if he was spotted. The door opened towards him. Once he was past it, he would be exposed to anyone coming out of the door.
Who Dares Wins, he thought shrugging and quickly stepped past the door.
In front of the other door he examined the keypad electronic lock. He again took out the screwdriver, prying the cover off. Numerous wires ran from the numbers on the lock to the inside of the device. Holding it up with one hand he pulled out a device similar to the one he had left attached to the camera. This one had a small LED screen. Still holding the lock’s cover up with one hand, he pulled the leads out, one at a time, attaching them to points on the inside of the lock.
As soon as the second lead was attached the LED started flashing numbers.
It only took seconds, but to Kamakura it felt like hours. One by one the LED stopped flashing numbers as it found the ones for the door code. With a barely audible click the lock disengaged. Still holding the lock’s cover plate up, he switched hands moving it to his right and grasping the door handle with his left. He adjusted his position so his body was fully out of the swing of the door.
This was the trickiest part. Their research into the plans had shown this door opened to a stairwell that ran the entire height of the building, used by the service personal to come and go, as well as a fire exit. They had no interior intelligence, never having been able to get an operative inside, so Kamakura didn’t know what awaited him on the other side.
For all he knew there was a guard stationed at the door at all hours, even at this ungodly hour of the morning.
He would be at his most vulnerable in the next couple of seconds.
Who Dares Wins, he thought again. It was a habit he had picked up from an old Marine he had ran a couple operations with. The more you had to say the motto in a given operation, the more likely it was to go FUBAR. He was up to two. The most he had ever gotten to was five. He had a feeling this operation would give him a new record.
Taking another deep breath, letting it out slowly, he adjusted his stance. He had been told that he could not let the lock’s cover plate hang by the wires. It would set off the alarms. There was no guarantee of it, of course, they hadn’t been able to get that in depth with the scouting, but it was assumed based on the type of locking devices that had been specified for this hotel. Having hackers on the team that could get into the construction companies computers came in handy.
He took a firmer grip on the door handle, pulling it down and slowly pulling the door open. He held it open an inch or so, leaning so he could look in. Nothing and no one. Of course someone could be hiding out of his view, but that was a risk he would have to take.
Pulling the door open a couple more inches, he jammed his foot into the opening, letting the handle go and holding the door open with his foot. He quickly undid the device from the lock and replaced the cover plate. He reached up and pulled the door open enough for him to squeeze through, letting it close behind him, a click telling him that it had relocked.
The stairwell was well lit, not providing him with any shadows. He heard no noises echoing. No one was in the stair well. The stairs were concrete in metal pans, covered in a rubber tile. Metal handrails attached to the wall and metal guardrails in the center. He quickly surveyed the stairwell, glad that the outdated plans they had from the construction company were accurate. No cameras or other devices had been installed.
He again thanked whoever he had to that the King Snakes hadn’t installed their own devices.
He knew it was for the inspectors.
When the government had hired the Paramilitary Corporations to help out with the homeland defense, they had set up a massive amount of guidelines and oversight. The President had known that the PMC help was needed, but he had insisted on no one being able to line their pockets from the PMCs and that the PMCs, themselves, couldn’t fleece the government. The economy was in dire enough straits. So the Government Inspectors kept a pretty tight eye on the expenditures of the PMCs as well as their lodgings, making sure they didn’t do anything that was above and beyond the scope of what their contracts required.
Kamakura was glad that the inspectors didn’t think that installing extra security measures was in the scope.
He pulled up his sleeve, showing white skin and a watch. The watch read 2:17 and was counting down. He had two minutes and seventeen seconds to spare. He couldn’t help but smile, wondering at the progress of the rest of his small unit.
He knew his entrance point was one of the more difficult ones, but he also knew that his mission inside the building was nowhere near as difficult as that of the others, his master having the hardest.
He watched the numbers count down, keeping an ear out for any noise in the stairwell. When the countdown reached zero it would start over with a thirty minute countdown. If he wasn’t in position in those thirty minutes then the entire operation, both parts of it, could be in jeopardy.
10-05-2010, 12:02 AM
Master Light (Snake-Eyes?) Can't wait. Who is he referring to about the Who dares Wins motto? Hammer Team? It's nice to see Courage get some love.
10-05-2010, 02:28 PM
Hammer Team doesn't exist, as such, in this universe. Remember, D.J. Byrne (from Hammer Team) is the National Guardsman introduced at the beginning of the storyline.
Courage will be getting alot of love.
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