by Dameon Gibbs
“I shudder to think what that restoration will involve,” said Tucker.
“It will require that things become unpleasant so that the people once again focus on how we govern. It begins by undermining their trust in the government by destroying its ability to keep civil order. It is, necessarily, a rather ugly process. Oh, don’t give me that reproachful look, Tucker. I think you've greenlit a few similar ops and,” Winford turned to Edge, “I know you were a part of a few yourself.”
“Those were traitors, terrorists, and sworn enemies of the nation, not innocent American citizens!” Tucker snapped.
“The problem here is not outside enemies but those within. We have to deal with people who are deeply embedded in society and who are very powerful. They are traitors, not in the classic sense of aiding an enemy, but in the sense of recklessly destroying the nation for their gain.”
“Oh come on, Chief!” pleaded Tucker in exasperation. “You know enough history to realize that destroying wealth will not produce a good society.”
“Correct,” said Winford, “but if the people are roused to action, they can create a climate of vigilance where the seeds of corruption cannot flourish!”
“And you think that killing thousands of people will bring about a good and just society,” said Edge in disgust.
Winford raised his voice even more. “You will see that their sacrifice will usher in a new beginning. The world is about to go up in flames, and a new one will emerge. My actions will bring about a new age, and I hold the key that will create that change! For we are everywhere…. I am everywhere. And there is not one place that we can’t reach.”
Tucker shook his head. “You may have a point or two about greed and corruption, but your cure is worse than the problem. An organization built on such a murderous foundation is no less corrupt than anything it wants to change. I thought of you as a patriot, but I have come to realize that you are just sick, self-righteous, and bitter.”
“Tucker you are young and naïve but in time you will see how the world truly turns,” Winford said, looking down. Then he snapped his head up and said, trembling with rage, “But let’s get one thing straight. I DO LOVE MY COUNTRY! That’s why this must happen, to restore power back to the people, opening the eyes of my countrymen to the truth.” He glared at Tucker and Edge, then took a deep breath and composed himself.
“Man’s starting to sound a bit messianic,” whispered Edge to Tucker.
Keeast raised his hand to his earpiece, moved to Winford and whispered to him. The old man simply nodded.
“Ah well, I’d love to stand here and debate all day, but I do believe we have an exchange to do. So please hand over the disc. Time is of the essence,” Winford order calmly as if this was a business transaction.
Tucker raised his hand to take the video from his pocket but hesitated. The soldier next to Ramona clicked off his safety and put the muzzle to her head.
“I want proof of vitality,” demanded Tucker, more to put Winford through hoops than to prove Ramona was still alive, which he already knew to be true.
Keeast looked at the soldier who promptly grabbed Ramona’s hair and gave it a vicious twist. She gave a heavily drugged whimper of pain.
Tucker sighed and took out the small square plastic box that held the camera’s silver-dollar size video disc. With a simple nod, Keeast ordered the soldier to the side of them to take the disk and bring it to him.
“And no copies, correct?” asked Winford.
“No copies.”
“Because I would hate to see the bad things that will happen to certain people if my men happen to find traces of a digital fingerprint,” Winford continued while looking over at Ramona, who was still bound to the chair.
“You can release her now,” Tucker demanded.
Laughing beneath his breath, Keeast stepped out in front of Winford giving Tucker a dead stare. “Tucker, did you two think that we were going to let you waltz out of here after the Director briefed you on his plan? You and your motley collection of junkyard dogs put up a decent fight but, clever as you are, you’re just not clever enough,” Keeast sneered. “Watch and learn from the masters.”
۞۞۞۞
Hawk moved cautiously through building three. The lack of patrols was suspicious, but not necessarily red-flag worthy. He had been on many missions where the enemy’s confidence had been their undoing. As he entered the third floor, the utter lack of decoration on the walls, floor and columns indicated this floor had been simply a warehouse. After he swept the floor and was sure that he was alone, he placed motion detectors near the ends of the hallways under the chances of anyone showing up unexpectedly.
Exactly as Hawk wanted, the windows lined the outer hallway and practically covered the whole length of the building, overlooking the walled-in area. Hawk took up a position where he could provide cover for Pitch and Dust and then escape easily. He tried to remove some of the dust and dirt from the window, but it had been there a long time and felt it had a right to stay. He managed to clear away enough that he could see without creating a window that was suspiciously clean compared to the rest. He could see the now-closed double doors into Building two where Edge and Tucker were, along with a decent view of the yard below. It was enough to give Pitch the go.
“No sentries, no guards on patrol, no security cams that I can see. You should be good to enter but advise caution.”
“Roger. Entering northeast corner,” replied Pitch. Hawk could see them moving along the top of the shipping crates. “I don’t like the lack of security. Careless is not how these guys work. If they went through all the trouble to make only one way into this yard, it shows they thought about the layout.”
As Dust reached the end of the crate, he peeked over and scanned the area. The part of the yard he and Pitch were about to drop into contained stacks of wooden crates, boxes, and shipping supplies, all neatly piled and organized. “They prepped this area, guys. No way an abandoned pier looks this neat,” Dust commented as he looked at Pitch, whose eyes said he was thinking the same thing: Trap.
“Might have been using it as a depot or staging area which is why it’s cleaned up,” commented Hawk. “Anyway, Edge and Tucker are committed so we gotta follow through. Doom, how are things going inside?”
From the shadows, Doom watched through his infrared scope at the scene in the building. His gun trained on the single soldier standing next to Ramona. “Everyone looks calm… for now.”
“All right,” commented Dust. “Pitch and I are about to drop down and position to breach the entrance. Going in slow, probably two mikes before we are there.”
“Roger that. Will update if things get tense.”
Dust tied his rappelling cord around a loop at the end of a crate and began his descent. Pitch and Hawk kept a lookout. When Dust finished, and all was quiet, Pitch joined him. It was a little too easy, but this is why they got paid the minimum bucks and all the foreign soil they could collect. They moved to the entrance: a single door built into two larger doors that looked like they had not been used in a while. “Stacked up at the door. Just tell us when, ” Dust reported.
Pitch could not shake the feeling this was going to end badly. He scanned the area again. “Hawk, is there any movement?”
“Still as night.”
Pitch started mumbling in German, his thinking language. Then he noticed near Hawk’s building on the top row of some shipping containers, one lone box that was big enough to hold a love seat. From the moment he spotted it, it seemed out of place. He dropped his eyes and scanned the piles around him. The layout of the trap had revealed itself, and they were squarely in it.
۞۞۞۞
“We didn’t make this meeting for nighttime to give you guys time to rest after your little high-speed chase. It gave you time to call in your buddies, who after their friend’s death would be more than willing to bring us down.” Keeast said, making no attempt to hide his smugness.
Edge glared hard at Keeast; he knew the psycho was relishing the ba
d news he was delivering. As if the sorrow he was creating was sustaining his being.
“Even though you’ve been a pain, your interference has provided a unique opportunity. You see, we are going to kill you and your team right here. My men will come and provide the evidence that you were a rogue unit hell bent on terrorizing this great country.” Winford added with a smile. “Of course, Tucker and Ramona provided the intel needed to pull off such a plan. They knew where to steal the rockets when to attack the facility and kill all the witnesses. Of course with his high clearance Tucker was able to sneak in a known terrorist to help aid in his endeavor.”
“Must say, that is original,” replied Edge. “I come up with something like that, and I’m told I watch too many movies. You say the same thing, and you’re an evil mastermind.”
“I’m just a man with a vision,” replied Winford humbly. Keeast listened to a report on his ear mic and then whispered to Winford.
“Well yes, of course,” replied Winford. “Tell Hitoshi not keep our guests waiting.”
Tucker looked at Edge confused, but Edge simply kept his eyes focused on Keeast and Winford. “What are you talking about?” Tucker eventually asked.
Keeast did a countdown with his fingers as he relayed the message to someone named Hitoshi. 3.. 2.. 1.. his fingered curled mockingly. When he made a tight fist, gunfire erupted from outside, and bullets chipped at the wooden wall of the building, right at the door Edge's team was supposed to breach.
۞۞۞۞
Pitch grabbed Dust’s back loop and dragged him down behind one of the piles as the lone wooden crate opened and a remote controlled mini-gun spun to life. Bullet after bullet flew at their position tearing at the wood, following them as they dove for cover, its stream of death chipping at the concrete like a jackhammer.
Hitoshi watched through the gun-mounted camera on his computer screen, controlling the gun with a joystick. He loved the sound of it; just hearing the roar of the gun outside his location got his adrenaline pumping.
The M61 Vulcan variant could send over six thousand rounds a minute, and he wanted to unload all rounds on their position. However, the longest ammo belt he could get his hands on only held enough rounds for ten seconds of continuous fire, so he had to conserve ammo. Alas, his task today was not to kill them but to push them to the awaiting men. He clicked his radio. “Begin.”
Outside, Pitch and Dust tried as hard as they could to become part of the pile of wood they used for cover. “Well, shitberries. I was not expecting that,” said Dust.
“Ya think?” replied Pitch sarcastically. “Hawk, can you shoot that mini gun? Take out its camera or…” BOOM! And a fountain of concrete and dust erupted from the roof of Hawk’s building. Simultaneously, the shipping container’s doors burst open. Suddenly the mini-gun doesn’t seem so bad; Pitch thought as he held his gun tighter.
۞۞۞۞
Hawk heard the mini-gun from his position. All he had to do was shoot the camera, and the gun would be useless. As he lined up his shot, a huge chunk of the wall where the containers were stacked against the building disappeared in a deafening boom, the blast knocking Hawk to the ground. The floor was instantly filled with a cloud of dust. He could hear the muffled voices of the men as they entered. In this scenario, he knew he had to react fast, but shooting his gun would only give away his position. You like explosions? I got something for ya!
He grabbed the remote mine, custom made by Quake, and slid the puck-sized object in the general direction of the enemy soldiers. Giving them a second to move towards him, he clamped down on the detonator.
Another explosion rocked the building. This one was smaller, as it was not meant to break through concrete, on the human body. Two of the soldiers were just far enough from the blast simply to knock backward. Unfortunately for the third soldier, his luck had worn out as the blast cart-wheeled him out the window, screaming as he descended.
Hawk took this chance to crawl speedily towards what his eyes told him was a doorway. However, his vision was so foggy that at the moment he half expected to crawl into a wall.
Yes! He said to himself as he found the safety in a room. With his senses coming back to normal, he checked his gun and listened to the rants of his two soon-to-be victims.
۞۞۞۞
“You see, Edge? We set up everything. We laid the bread crumbs and your men blindly followed them,” Keeast bragged. “Let me see, that should be Pitch, Quake, and Dust getting shot at right now while Hawk should be occupied with some friends of mine in the building adjacent to us. Oh, and Doom, your little sniping buddy, is about to get the final surprise of his life.”
Okay, Edge thought, they think Quake is on the dock. Things are working so far. “You’re good, really good, but my men have survived better traps laid by better soldiers than you,” Edge taunted.
“Let's ask Trident about surviving, shall we?” Keeast gloated, knowing it was the lowest blow he could make.
“Oh, that is in such poor taste, Keeast,” Winford scolded, mockingly, “though he does have a point. You have to accept reality at some point, young man. I'm sorry you had to learn this lesson moments before your death.”
“I’m thinking the lesson isn’t over and who learns what in the moments before their death hasn’t been decided,” Edge replied.
“Here endeth the lesson,” said Keeast giving a nod to one soldier and then the other.
۞۞۞۞
As Pitch heard the rusted doors of the container swing open and the gunfire that followed he knew that the odds, as usual, when going against the Order, were not in their favor. The pile would provide a few minutes of cover, at best, but they were going to have to fight their way to a better position or be overran. He looked at Dust who shared his view of their situation. They touched fists and got ready to make a last stand. Then they heard another explosion from Hawk’s building, and instead of a dust cloud, a man flew out the window, screaming as he crashed into one of the stacks of wood below.
Emerging from the container with a purpose, the soldiers were quickly moving to their positions when the explosion went off. Briefly halting their movement, they made sure their flank was not under attack. It was the distraction Pitch and Dust needed. With their heads down, Dust and Pitch could not see what was going on, and they did not need to as Dust grabbed a grenade and tossed it while Pitch blindly fired at the enemy. Sounds of panic were heard amongst the enemy ranks, followed by the familiar sound of an explosion.
To Dust’s dismay, he had thrown the grenade left of his intended targets, when Pitch grabbed his grenade from his vest and looking at Dust. “Run!”
Pitch stood up long enough to show himself to the mini-gun and threw the grenade, this time right at the now disorganized soldiers. Kneel up. Throw. Now you see me. Now you’re gonna shoot, and I disappear. Pitch said to himself as a way to time his movements.
No sooner did he ducked back below cover that the mini-gun sprung back to life, placing over fifty rounds through the air where his body had just been. Once again using the explosion as a decoy, Dust sprinted away, leaving from the opposite side of Pitch’s location.
Hitoshi was too disciplined to berate himself for getting suckered; like an automaton he just redirected the gun to follow the little speed demon.
Dust ran from the pile towards Hawk’s building. There had been no time to plan; this was sheer improvising. Just need to find a window or door to jump through and I’m safe. He scanned the building: no first-floor windows or doors on this side. Ok, so I’m running.
He could not spare the time to look back for he heard the mini-gun tracking him, with the ever-nearer sound of cement breaking told him it was zeroing in on him. At the last possible second he duck, sliding on the ground behind some crates as the trail of bullets passed over harmlessly, but close enough that Dust felt as if he aged five years.
He reversed field and came back out the same side of the pile and sprinted towards the mini-gun. Like a dog chasing a car, the bullet trail followed
, although he was now comfortably ahead of it. Another twenty feet and I’ll be inside its minimum radius. In full sprint, he checked his right only to see the soldiers occupied with trying to grab the rolling grenade, and then recognized his opportunity. “Pitch, I’m flanking. Hold on.”
As he passed another pile, the turret’s fire stopped; Dust was too close for it to angle down any further. He saw an explosion in the air to his right. Damn. They tossed the grenade. Dust slid on his knee next to one of the crates. He listened for any sign that suggested his position had been compromised, none came, as the grenade’s explosion must have masked his approach. He took a few deep breaths and opened fire on the soldiers. One soldier was kneeling, he took a round in the head; the man next to him took the next few shots in the upper chest only to fall on the guy kneeling next to him. By the time Dust shot his last clueless target, the soldier after him had figured out what was going on and returned fire. Nonetheless, Dust already had him in his sights and with two quick shots center mass, the skirmish was over.
With his assault rifle spent, he slung it over his back and drew his sidearm, looking for the last guy. He replayed the scenario in his head. One went down with a head shot, another in the chest; he fell... on top of a one of them. Searching in the area where the body supposed to have been he found only three bodies. The soldier was either hiding in the container or behind the crates. Unsure if Pitch w able to rendezvous with him or not, Dust pressed on. It was simply him and the guy, fifty-fifty chance. Choose wrong and I'll never recover in time.
Creeping along a collection of steel barrel drums, the last soldier popped into view from inside the container and had Dust cold in his sights. Doing the only thing he could do to recover his time, Dust’s instincts took over as he dove to the ground, bashing his head on one of the crates in the process. A single shot ranged out in the night. Taking only a second to collect himself, Dust peaked around the crate, finding the soldier lying on his side dead.