02-06-2014, 02:23 AM
The freezing night wind at 27,000 feet tore against his body armor, and he knew that in less than two hours he would be fighting for his life, but Andrew loved every second of it. In perfect formation, dark blue parachutes carried eight of the free world's greatest warriors to do what they did best. Who else got to see shit like that?
Mecca lay before him, like a whore about to get the ravaging of her life. It was done up like one, too. Even the most puritanical of Muslims didn't bat an eye when ancient historical sites were bulldozed and replaced with five star hotels. That was further east, though. Their target lay barely thirty miles inland--which was stretching the limits of a HAHO jump already.
Their target was a stretch of desert about three miles out from the edges of Mecca. SAD had already arranged for a couple civilian vehicles to be waiting for them at the site. A couple movements of the eye, and the blinking IR strobes shone clear as day. They were only a few miles out, and losing altitude quickly. It was going to be a perfect landing.
The ground rushed up before them, and with the kind of grace that can only be achieved by experience, each man landed in turn. They quickly piled their discarded parachutes and set to work checking their gear. There wasn't much time left, and they couldn't afford errors. Two vehicles were parked not too far from where they landed, covered by brown tarps; an old technical that had certainly seen better days, and the kind of van normally reserved for electricians and painters.
LT's voice came through on Andrew's comms. "Andrew, torch the chutes." To the outside world they weren't even looking at each other, but the sound-proofed and encrypted communications suite in their helmets meant they could chatter like, well, like Custody soldiers. How else would they have gotten the suits, after all?
Andrew clicked his comms once, the standard signal for yes, and seized the power. It didn't matter how many times he did it, the sense of utter invincibility was breathtaking. It was strange, in the Custody suit, though. He could make out every pixel on the visor's display, where normally he could see the tinest cracks in pavement; the muted buzzing of its highly tuned speakers replaced the heart beats of the men around him.
All the others saw was a muted flash of light, and then only evidence of their jump was a pile of ash quickly dissipated with a blast of air. Even if command wasn't sure it wanted to devote the resources to make its own Hogwarts, the squad had already adjusted. They piled into the cars.
Rat and Jordan were taking the technical. They had to infiltrate the main building, take out the security cameras and provide over watch from the roof. A good sniper could give Zeus a run for his money, and Rat was more than good.
Mole was driving the van, with Andrew, LT and the rest of them in the back. The second B team gave the all clear, they would go in and bring down an empire.
The battered technical pulled out first, and left A team to wait. Five minutes after the dust from B's passing settled, their van's engine rumbled to life and they were off. The streets of Mecca were deserted this close to the time of evening prayer, and the police presence was near nonexistent in this part of town. The middle east's CDPS was all too concerned with fortifying the city's center against Nikolai Brandon's arrival. Too bad; a heart is no good when the arteries are gaping ruins.
There was little doubt that the so-called Mahdi had his own eyes and ears throughout the city, and with thermals on they spotted no less than seven armed militants in windows along their route. It took about half an hour to reach the university.
They parked two hundred meters from a maintenance entrance to the mosque selected weeks before, turned off the engine, and waited. As expected, ten soon-dead men stood guard. They were clustered near the door, and three brand new black trucks were parked nearby.
"Salaam alaikum." After all the tension that had built up over the minutes of waiting, those words were like a dunk in ice water. Rat and Jordan would be perched on the roof of the university's main building, with fast ropes already hooked up. Quick in and out.
"Alaikum salaam." When LT sent the return call, everybody got in gear. Safeties off, rifles up, bodies out. All that stood in their way were ten untrained militants, who might as well have been wearing cardboard and armed with butter knives. LT switched to Russian, it was time to get in character. "Nachnite." Begin.
Andrew grabbed hold of the power, feeling indescribable power even as he fought against a force that could surely burn him to ash. Blades of solid air slammed through the night towards the men by the door, piercing both their arteries and their throats so they could not raise alarm. To anyone else, the guards just slumped over dead. Small pools of red formed around their crumpled figures; they died quickly.
A gesture from the LT, and they advanced. Despite their almost casual gait, each man had dominion over his own overlapping field of fire. ZARS would have been hard pressed to sneak up on them; a haji with his grandfather's rifle didn't have a chance. The door wasn't even locked.
Now came the real test. They'd all heard the rumors about Al-Hasan, even if they didn't talk about it. It was going to be seriously awkward if he jammed some lightning bolts up their asses. Andrew held onto the power like a vice, and felt something strange resonating from where Al-Hasan would be standing. He needed to be ready to kill this motherfucker.
There were three doors into the hall on their side of the building. Thermals told them that Al-Hasan's only bodyguards were stupidly standing to either side of the room, next to the doors. Lucas took right, Jung took left. LT, Andrew, Mole and Stevey were going in the middle.
What followed were some of the most beautiful few seconds of Andrew's life. They could've done fucking ballet. Three doors crashed down at the same instant, and LT and Mole covered their sides while their buddies took out the guards. It wasn't a fair fight from the start; the Custody's muscle enhancers made it possible to carry three hundred pounds of hardware five miles in the desert without breaking a sweat. Putting down a would-be terrorist was child's play.
Stevey had about as much trouble with Al-Hasan, and Andrew stood a few feet back and to the side with his rifle scanning the crowd for more enemies. The power boiled inside him, reminding him of the odd urge to jump off the edge of a tall cliff. He wanted to do something.
In short order, three Jihadis were face first on the ground with boots on their backs and rifle barrels poking into their skulls, daring them to resist.
Threats subdued, LT walked over and sat on his heels next to Al-Hasan. He lowered his rifle and mockingly waved, with his left hand. "Allo! The Ascendancy has a warrant for you arrest, mudak. Let's keep things peaceful, yes?" Andrew had to admit, the guy played the Russian sociopath well. But that crowd did not look happy. The mission was going perfectly.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Feb 6 2014, 09:08 PM.
Mecca lay before him, like a whore about to get the ravaging of her life. It was done up like one, too. Even the most puritanical of Muslims didn't bat an eye when ancient historical sites were bulldozed and replaced with five star hotels. That was further east, though. Their target lay barely thirty miles inland--which was stretching the limits of a HAHO jump already.
Their target was a stretch of desert about three miles out from the edges of Mecca. SAD had already arranged for a couple civilian vehicles to be waiting for them at the site. A couple movements of the eye, and the blinking IR strobes shone clear as day. They were only a few miles out, and losing altitude quickly. It was going to be a perfect landing.
The ground rushed up before them, and with the kind of grace that can only be achieved by experience, each man landed in turn. They quickly piled their discarded parachutes and set to work checking their gear. There wasn't much time left, and they couldn't afford errors. Two vehicles were parked not too far from where they landed, covered by brown tarps; an old technical that had certainly seen better days, and the kind of van normally reserved for electricians and painters.
LT's voice came through on Andrew's comms. "Andrew, torch the chutes." To the outside world they weren't even looking at each other, but the sound-proofed and encrypted communications suite in their helmets meant they could chatter like, well, like Custody soldiers. How else would they have gotten the suits, after all?
Andrew clicked his comms once, the standard signal for yes, and seized the power. It didn't matter how many times he did it, the sense of utter invincibility was breathtaking. It was strange, in the Custody suit, though. He could make out every pixel on the visor's display, where normally he could see the tinest cracks in pavement; the muted buzzing of its highly tuned speakers replaced the heart beats of the men around him.
All the others saw was a muted flash of light, and then only evidence of their jump was a pile of ash quickly dissipated with a blast of air. Even if command wasn't sure it wanted to devote the resources to make its own Hogwarts, the squad had already adjusted. They piled into the cars.
Rat and Jordan were taking the technical. They had to infiltrate the main building, take out the security cameras and provide over watch from the roof. A good sniper could give Zeus a run for his money, and Rat was more than good.
Mole was driving the van, with Andrew, LT and the rest of them in the back. The second B team gave the all clear, they would go in and bring down an empire.
The battered technical pulled out first, and left A team to wait. Five minutes after the dust from B's passing settled, their van's engine rumbled to life and they were off. The streets of Mecca were deserted this close to the time of evening prayer, and the police presence was near nonexistent in this part of town. The middle east's CDPS was all too concerned with fortifying the city's center against Nikolai Brandon's arrival. Too bad; a heart is no good when the arteries are gaping ruins.
There was little doubt that the so-called Mahdi had his own eyes and ears throughout the city, and with thermals on they spotted no less than seven armed militants in windows along their route. It took about half an hour to reach the university.
They parked two hundred meters from a maintenance entrance to the mosque selected weeks before, turned off the engine, and waited. As expected, ten soon-dead men stood guard. They were clustered near the door, and three brand new black trucks were parked nearby.
"Salaam alaikum." After all the tension that had built up over the minutes of waiting, those words were like a dunk in ice water. Rat and Jordan would be perched on the roof of the university's main building, with fast ropes already hooked up. Quick in and out.
"Alaikum salaam." When LT sent the return call, everybody got in gear. Safeties off, rifles up, bodies out. All that stood in their way were ten untrained militants, who might as well have been wearing cardboard and armed with butter knives. LT switched to Russian, it was time to get in character. "Nachnite." Begin.
Andrew grabbed hold of the power, feeling indescribable power even as he fought against a force that could surely burn him to ash. Blades of solid air slammed through the night towards the men by the door, piercing both their arteries and their throats so they could not raise alarm. To anyone else, the guards just slumped over dead. Small pools of red formed around their crumpled figures; they died quickly.
A gesture from the LT, and they advanced. Despite their almost casual gait, each man had dominion over his own overlapping field of fire. ZARS would have been hard pressed to sneak up on them; a haji with his grandfather's rifle didn't have a chance. The door wasn't even locked.
Now came the real test. They'd all heard the rumors about Al-Hasan, even if they didn't talk about it. It was going to be seriously awkward if he jammed some lightning bolts up their asses. Andrew held onto the power like a vice, and felt something strange resonating from where Al-Hasan would be standing. He needed to be ready to kill this motherfucker.
There were three doors into the hall on their side of the building. Thermals told them that Al-Hasan's only bodyguards were stupidly standing to either side of the room, next to the doors. Lucas took right, Jung took left. LT, Andrew, Mole and Stevey were going in the middle.
What followed were some of the most beautiful few seconds of Andrew's life. They could've done fucking ballet. Three doors crashed down at the same instant, and LT and Mole covered their sides while their buddies took out the guards. It wasn't a fair fight from the start; the Custody's muscle enhancers made it possible to carry three hundred pounds of hardware five miles in the desert without breaking a sweat. Putting down a would-be terrorist was child's play.
Stevey had about as much trouble with Al-Hasan, and Andrew stood a few feet back and to the side with his rifle scanning the crowd for more enemies. The power boiled inside him, reminding him of the odd urge to jump off the edge of a tall cliff. He wanted to do something.
In short order, three Jihadis were face first on the ground with boots on their backs and rifle barrels poking into their skulls, daring them to resist.
Threats subdued, LT walked over and sat on his heels next to Al-Hasan. He lowered his rifle and mockingly waved, with his left hand. "Allo! The Ascendancy has a warrant for you arrest, mudak. Let's keep things peaceful, yes?" Andrew had to admit, the guy played the Russian sociopath well. But that crowd did not look happy. The mission was going perfectly.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Feb 6 2014, 09:08 PM.