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#Post#: 4122--------------------------------------------------
Honour of the Flag
By: PsychoBunni Date: July 4, 2013, 12:24 pm
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Honour of the Flag
A PsychoBunni and SilverKnight Production.
”Touchdown in three minutes, stand by.”
“Copy that, landing gear lowered, flaps set to landing, course
correction by 2.0 degrees left in twenty.”
“Course correction. Crew, please be seated for landing.”
The Lindin-34 passenger jumbo jet touched down with a calm thump
which was barely felt by the passengers on board the large
aircraft. It taxied further down the airfield, leaving the
landing strip for one leading to the arrival hall of Cascade
Falls International Airport. It continued to bleed acceleration
until it almost stopped and small trucks drove out to pull it to
the gangway leading to the arrival hall. The gangway stretched
out from the airport building and connected to the forward door
on the aircraft. The passengers filed out and started to make
for the baggage reclaim area. A few didn’t. One of them was a
tall man in a black suit. At first glance one would easily take
him for a businessman, in Cascade Falls on a mission for his
company, to control bank holdings or work at the stock market.
But if one looked closer one could see there was something about
this man that was a bit different. He was not a physically
impressive man, but was not frail or weak-looking either. His
hair was short and dark brown, his eyes were a clear grey and
they darted everywhere, never resting on a single place for more
than a few seconds and his skin was a golden hue not commonly
seen in this part of the world. His left hand clutched a
suitcase; the other was firmly placed in his pocket.
He walked straight past the duty-free shop and went through the
welcome hall and out into the street. He hailed a taxi, one of
many which patrolled the area just outside the airport, looking
for customers. One pulled over and the middle-aged taxi driver
rushed out and opened the door for him.
“Where to?” he asked when they both were seated.
The not-quite-businessman grinned.
-
The streets were full with cheering people. There were literally
thousands of them, filling the pavements and the fully mobilized
Constabulary were having their hands full with keeping them
back. The cobbled streets sang with the tramp of thousands of
boots marching in unison. The music of military bands mixed with
the cheering of the crowds and the marching feet. The city of
Oldtown had all turned out to welcome home the victorious
defenders of justice and liberty, and the three thousand
soldiers of the provisional 13th Brigade were marching in
perfect step. The Band of the Royal Highland Dragoons and the
Band of the Royal Northern Rifles were playing the “Tameronian
Fusilier March” and the sharp tunes of the drums, bugles, fifes
and bagpipes sounded clearly, even over the din of the crowds.
At the very head of the massive column was a sombre entourage,
composed of groups of troops carrying on their shoulders the
coffins containing the mortal remains of those that had given
their lives for their country. The cheers muted and died when
this passed along the streets and people bowed their heads in
respect. After a while the column ended up in the massive Duke
Harrington Square and formed in companies and battalions and
along with the attending crowds, listened to the speech made by
the brigade commander, the town’s lord mayor and defence
minister Lord North Dale. The order to disperse rang out and
finally the troops were rushed by friends and loved ones. The
huge square was packed to brimming with people.
 
The first Marines returning to Ceanada got less of a glorious,
but no less heart-warming welcome. The first flight of
transports landed in the middle of the night at Telmann Airport,
and even though there were no military bands welcoming them home
with the rich tunes of marches, their families and loves ones
filled the arrival terminal, which to a weary Marine were likely
to be a much more appreciated sight. As the Marines walked in
through the doors they were heartily welcomed by cheers, sobs of
happiness and placards welcoming them home and joyful singing.
One by one Marines found who were waiting for them and together
they walked out into the late Ceanadian summer night. The
Ceanadian Army had fully taken over post-combat peace keeping
duties as the Marines packed up and left. They would be there to
train and rebuild the Eurovan Army, as well as deter any further
attempts by the Agadian military to invade.
It was a source of pride among the Marines; it would go down in
history as one of the Corps’ most spectacular and glorious
victories. A little under a year ago, when the Agadian Army
invaded their small neighbour to the south, no one expected the
latter to be beaten back so quickly. But logistics problems and
incompetence at the higher echelons of the Eurovan military
brass almost saw an end to their own armed forces, and indeed
the entire country. A month after the fighting began; things
were grim for the defenders. The Eurovan military was getting
its ass kicked all over the country and disagreements about what
to do among NATO members were not helping. Finally, two months
after the invasion and at the Eurovan Army’s breaking point,
Ceanada and Tamerion were able to intervene. A three thousand
man task force from Tamerion –the much publicized 13th
(Provisional) Brigade-, along with the Ceanadian Army’s 1st
Infantry Division and 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force landed in
the country with support from the Ceanadian Navy Mediterranean
Fleet and Ceanadian Air Force Endryan Command. The Marines were
the first in, using hit and run tactics and maneuver warfare
against their much larger foes until the heavily armed Tamerion
and Ceanadian Army units were able to land. Within a period of
several weeks, the Agadians were pushed back to the original
borders, and the two Allies set about rebuilding the country.
“Well, Madam Prime Minister, all in all it can be called a huge
success. Casualties among the Marines and Army troops were small
considering the forces they faced, and they still managed to
stave off the Agadian invasion, disrupt foreign influence in the
region and we have once again reaffirmed our position as the
leading military nation in the world. Also, our standing in the
polls is excellent. They have, as a matter of fact, never been
better and we can easily kick back and wait for the general
election which starts in just a few months.”
Senior Press Advisor Richard Prestwick put down his clipboard
with poll information and foreign office’s analysis of the
international situation, and looked at Prime Minister Kelsie
Didriksdotter with a smile on his lips. The PM nodded sagely and
cracked a smile of her own, and Saints knew there had been few
of those lately in the PM’s office these last few months.
General election was coming up, and the Ceanadian Republican
Party had had their hands full with beating back criticism from
the Liberals and Democrats considering the weakening home
economy and justifying the increased military spending as well
as the new educational subsidiary reforms which have given over
two million Ceanadian students free education, but cost much
more than even the most liberal government estimate had been
able to predict. With this war however, they had gone up a full
30% on the polls and were firmly sitting on about 65% with the
Liberals and Republicans sharing the remaining 35%. But the sun
wasn't quite shining on the home front yet. Political fringe
groups had always been an accepted, if a bit outré part of
Ceanadian politics and now the most hard lined of those were
stirring. The left wing radicals were demanding a toning down on
military spending and a more neutral international foreign
policy, while the much more scary and numerous right wing
radicals were demanding a change of immigration policy, a
reassessment of international alliances and, most troubling of
all, a full change of the internal market and economic system to
suit a full market liberal economy along with a reduction of
immigrants of non-Southern or Northern affiliation.
But right now, Kelsie could relax and have no worries as to the
result of the coming election which would entail a further
economic reform to strengthen the struggling smaller and medium
businesses following the economic boost of the USR which had
flooded parts of the international market with cheap products
and effectively blocked the smaller Ceanadian industries form
exporting their goods internationally. Well, she would have to
do something about that very soon. Just as soon as she got the
confirmation the country wanted her to sit one more term in the
chair. And it was a very comfy chair, Didriksdotter reflected as
Prestwick continued his analysis of the polls and the current
political climate.
A few hours later the workday ended and Didriksdotter could
finally kick back and go back to her comfy living quarters in
the White house. She walked along the pathways to the west wing
of the White House, nodding to the patrolling CSS ERT Agents in
the warm air of a typical Ceanadian Summer evening. She walked
into her spacious living quarters and settled into the sectional
in front of a large LED TV.
She turned on the TV to catch the six o’clock news which had
just started. The apparatus sprang alive and showed pictures of
the pompous and magnificent homecoming of the Tameronian troops
which had fought in Eurova. She smiled as she recognized the
beautiful facades and avenues of Oldtown, this time filled with
thousands of marching troops still in their desert camouflage,
but wearing the distinctive berets the Tameronian military
insisted on wearing. It was a rainbow of colours as the black,
blue and red bonnets of the Royal Highland Dragoons was replaced
with a column of troops wearing the dark beige berets of the
Royal Artillery, which gave way for the green berets of the
Royal Northern Rifles, and the white berets with grey plumes of
the Princess of Arcia’s Own Regiment. Didriksdotter had spent
four years at the prestigious Princess’ University of Oldtown
where she had studied advanced economy and modern politics
before signing up in the Marine Corps and the sights brought
back nostalgic memories. Oldtown was the third largest city in
Tamerion, but it was impossible to tell when one walked through
the streets of cobblestone and looked at the three hundred year
old buildings, or enjoyed a coffee on the harbour front and
watched the sun go behind the old fortress towers for which the
city had been named.
She snapped out of her nostalgia as the next rapport and the
pictures registered. Her eyes hardened and she gripped the
crystal glass firmly. The screen showed a number of Government
buildings which had been torched a few hours ago in the
Southern, Tropical regions of the country. Apparently, a right
wing radical group had gotten tired with the government’s
handling on their petitions for stricter immigration laws and
decided to show their irritation by throwing Sergey cocktails
through the windows of a number of government buildings in three
towns. Thankfully, no one had been hurt as it had happened well
after work hours, but hundreds of thousands of documents and
files had been burnt to so much ash, and the buildings had been
totally destroyed. The fire fighters on scene had done their
best to stop it, but even five alarms weren’t enough to save
them. Didriksdotter was growing very tired with these barbarians
who used the civil right of free speech as a poor pretext to
form practically paramilitary gangs, “disguised” as political
interest groups. There were growing more restless and bold by
the day, and soon she would have to crack down on them, hard,
before they could do any real damage.
She finished her drink and looked out the large windows over
Cascade falls as the sun set over the city.
Major Damien de Lancey took a sip of his Maldivan brandy, and
took another admiring glance around the room. It wasn’t fancy,
per se, but it was a sort of “ultra-modern” that appeared to be
typical of the hotels in the southern, tropical regions of
Ceanada. There was a small balcony with a great view of the
seemingly endless white sand beach and the outlying city. There
was even a small bonus for military buffs, as the hotels on the
beach offered a great view to returning and departing naval
vessels from the naval base several miles up the beach. Right
now the sun was setting, casting an orange sheen on everything
and he sighed as a sense of tranquillity set in.
He looked back at his pretty blonde companion, who was still
lying in the double bed, which filled the most of the small
bedroom. She was covered by the sheets and her dress, as well as
some undergarments, was strewn about the floor around the bed,
along with his dress uniform. His companion sat up, covered
herself, and looked at him with a smile.
“Perhaps we should go get something to eat? I know the bars are
still open here, as is the steakhouse.” She tilted her head
slightly.
De Lancey considered that for a second.
“Yeah, that’s an idea, although something slightly less fancy
sounds more appetizing.”
The Blonde nodded and suggested one of the “fast casual” coffee
and sandwich shops a couple of blocks down. “Fast casual” was a
Ceanadian specialty, which to the uninitiated, like de Lancey,
appeared to be cross-over between a fast food vendor and a
“real” restaurant.
De Lancey nodded in agreement.
“I’m going to go freshen up. Try not to miss me too much.” He
gave her a mischievous grin and she stuck out her tongue at him.
Then he rose from his chair by the balcony and walked into the
bathroom.
His lady friend sat up, the sheet falling away as she put her
arms behind her head and sighed happily, revealing the artwork
on her arms. Her left arm was covered with a dragon that wrapped
around her forearm, silhouetted against blue flame. The right
was inscribed with a grim reaper, carrying an M36A3 rifle, and
with styled letters reading “FORCE RECON”. She slipped on a
t-shirt and reached on the table for a chain.
They were dog tags, and read: Sandrasdotter, Krystal C. O
Positive. 324-87-4352.
Ceanadian Marine Corps.
She slipped them around her neck and rose out of bed, and
wrapped a blanket tightly around her waist. She heard de Lancey
start the shower, and as predicted, his tolerable singing
started. She shook her head in amusement and walked over to the
small kitchen in the next room and pored herself a glass of
brandy.
Several Minutes earlier
Seven floors down, at the back receiving door, a large white
delivery truck backed up. Several hotel employees and hired
teamsters met the driver in the small warehouse on the ground
floor. The driver jumped out and gave the receiver a sheet of
paper on a clipboard. Refrigerated stuff mostly; milk, juice,
cheese, butter, etc. The receiver nodded and opened the
receiving door. A second man came in through the warehouse
entrance and nodded to the driver, who in turn unlocked the back
door on the truck. The supervisor turned just in time to see a
number of rifles pointing at him and the other hotel employees.
The driver and his companion pulled out small, silenced
submachine guns and told the men in the small receiving
warehouse to get on the floor. A dozen heavily armed gunmen
stormed into the warehouse from the truck, binding and gagging
the hotel employees. They went through the door into the
kitchen, rounding up and pacifying every hotel employee they
encountered. Several of them continued into the main lobby and
within minutes they had corralled all the tourists, locals and
employees on the ground floor of the hotel, before herding them
into the dining room of the steakhouse. Another team of gunmen
parked in front of the lobby and entered; guns at the ready.
They split off into smaller teams and started to check the rooms
upstairs and sent whoever they found to the Steakhouse dining
room.
Two patrol officers from the local police department drove past
the hotel several minutes after the gunmen entered, and were
flagged by a distressed pedestrian. The two officers exchanged
glances and stepped out of their patrol cruiser. One cautiously
approached the lobby, walked slowly up the main aisle while
taking notes of his surroundings. As he got to the main
entrance, he was met with a flurry of gunfire that flew through
the pane glass doors and hit him in the upper chest and
shoulder. The officer dove over the hood for cover as the gunmen
trained their weapons and opened fire on the other officer,
still by the patrol car. He hurled himself over the front of the
car and covered behind it, brought up his radio and called it in
to the dispatcher.
“Officer needs assistance, shots fired, officer down. I repeat
Officer down. Carlston Hotel, 29th and Hope, shots fired, I
repeat, officer down!”
“All units, officer down, I repeat, Officer down. Multiple shots
fired, Carlston Hotel, 29th and Hope, I repeat, officer down,
Carlston Hotel at 29th and Hope. All units be advised suspects
are carrying automatic weapons and should be considered highly
dangerous”
Seven floors up.
De Lancey was still in the shower, singing to himself, when
Krystal heard the gunfire outside. She stopped dressing, only
undergarments on, and listened. She opened up the night table
drawer and withdrew her custom-built M23A1, a .45 Calibre pistol
that was standard issue in the Marines. She silently chambered a
round as she heard shouting in the hallway, then flicked off the
safety, leaving the weapon on the bed. She stood next to the
door, and waited. All of a sudden, gunfire ripped through the
door handle and the door was kicked open. A gunman rushed in and
looked around, and seeing the pistol he moved forward. Krystal
incidentally found herself behind the door as it opened and he
didn’t spot her. In an instant her thought process established
the weapon model of the intruder and how to relieve the operator
of it. She reached forward and grabbed the rifle’s hand guard
and receiver, flicking the safety. She pushed the barrel down
and pulled it back, smashing the owner in the jaw and knocking
him off balance. He stumbled back into her as she wrapped her
arms around his neck in a sleeper hold as de Lancey charged
through the bathroom door and looked at her with confusion
clearly written all over his face.
“Get dressed, something serious is going on.” Krystal told him
as she reached for her phone. Within minutes, dozens of officers
were on the scene. The gunmen had retreated inside, into the
main lobby and steakhouse which the officers on the street were
unable to see from the front of the hotel. More officers
deployed around the hotel, several of them equipped with R716
patrol rifles retrieved from the trunks of their patrol cars,
effectively sealing the area off. A few minutes afterwards,
several CPD SWAT units showed up, with sniper teams setting up
in buildings around the hotel. The officer who was hit stopped
the bleeding in his shoulder, while the bullet that hit him in
the chest was stopped by his bullet proof vest.
Fifteen Minutes later, Krystal was talking to the CPD SWAT
commander, Captain Dominic Nichols, on the street below, telling
them what they knew so far, and learning that the FBI HRT was on
the way.
#Post#: 4398--------------------------------------------------
HOTF - End of the Beginning.
By: PsychoBunni Date: August 23, 2013, 11:48 pm
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As the FBI was arriving on Scene, another, less public operation
was occurring further northeast, in the nation’s capital of
Cascade Falls. The CFMPD was cordoning off a section of the
city, known as Lower Central Station, and only a select number
of people knew what was going on and why as civilians were
escorted from the area. Lower Central Station was one of the
primary transport hubs in Cascade Falls and connected the myriad
of smaller underground train lines and railway lines into one
spot. It was also the largest transport station in the city,
apart from the High Central Station which lay in downtown
Cascade Falls. Despite the importance of Lower Central Station,
it had become the central building in one of the poorest areas
in the Ceanadian capital. Over one million people inhabited the
surrounding areas of Harley, Riverside and Carlow and were
commonly known as the “dark side of the Cascade”. No one with a
decent income settled down in these areas voluntarily, and the
majority of inhabitants were unemployed, manual labourers,
students and artists. The crime rate in these areas was soaring
and the CFMPD had their hands full trying to stop the almost
daily robberies, murders and muggings. It was also the most
densely populated area in the country with people living almost
on top of each other in large apartment blocks and in every
building which could be converted to house people. In short, it
was the perfect place to hide for anyone who wanted to
disappear.
Case name “Ferret” was the bad guy in Ceanada at the moment, the
government convinced he was in charge of the organization
responsible for many of the attacks on government personnel and
property. He had always managed to stay one step ahead of the
police investigators and as his case was transferred from the
police to the Ceanadian Intelligence Agency, someone had a
bright moment and decided to call him “ferret” due to him being
almost impossible to catch. The name stuck.
“This is Saren, I have no visual, repeat, no visual on target.
Target seems to have gone into building B, and three more have
gone in after the target entered. Requesting orders, out.”
“Saren, this is Command, stand by and wait for backup. You’re
sure on the ID of the target?”
“Command, Saren, I’m sure. He fits the description perfectly,
even though he’s growing a beard. I also have positive ID on two
of his associates which entered the building shortly after the
primary target’s entry.”
“Copy that, Saren. Just stay put and backup will be there
shortly. Command out.”
Dansson Street 145 was a large, rundown apartment block in old,
‘60s functionalistic style. It had a plain façade, plain window,
plain entrance and plain balconies. It was a eight story
reminder of the days when the city had been in such growth that
the government had approved a massive expansion of housing areas
and hundreds of thousands had moved here from the other parts of
the country, only to find themselves stuck in a part of the city
were poverty and unemployment was a heavy shroud over everyone
and everything. Only in recent years had large numbers of
artists and students moved here in search of cheap apartments
and had started to freshen up parts of Harley, though only on
the outside. People were still as poor, even though the
buildings were being covered in modern art and graffiti. Dansson
Street was in Eastern Riverside, not too far away from Emerald
River which ran through parts of Cascade Falls and ended in the
world famous falls for which the city was named.
*
“Brothers and sisters of freedom, welcome.” “Ferret” held out
his arms in an embrace of the air, welcoming the six people who
sat in the remains of a once homely living room, which had now
been forced to surrender to the undeniably powerful forces of
time. The chairs on which “Ferret’s” audience sat on were wooden
and creaked treacherously whenever any of them moved. The main
table was ruined and a smaller table with a few bottles of water
and a suitcase was placed in front of the standing “Ferret”.
“Ladies and gentlemen, today is the day you will tell your
grandkids about. Today starts the crusade, the reclamation, nay,
the reformation of Ceanada! For too long has the evil ideologies
of foreigners been allowed to destroy and warp the core of this
proud country. For too long has the traitors we call our leaders
been allowed to destroy and spit upon what our forefathers built
with their sweat and blood and tears. These days are past. Today
we strike back, and show them the error of their ways. We will
show the tyrants and the misinformed and oppressed masses that
we hold the answer to continued prosperity for our nation.”
*
Officers of the CFMPD’s 16th and 17th Platoons, the Tactical
Response Unit, rapidly moved towards the building, while patrol
officers set up a perimeter in a one block radius. Officers
maintained roadblocks and held curious bystanders away.
Journalists who tried to bypass the blockade using “freedom of
the press” as an excuse were firmly told that this was not
something they were allowed to report by order of the
government. Black SUVs approached the target building, as a
CFMPD UH-10Fs hovered overhead. Ropes dropped and Officers slid
down onto the roof as Officers on the ground stacked up at the
doors.
*
“We all know how the evil NATO continues to corrupt and limit
our proud nation by determining what we can and can’t do. Tell
me, are we doves or are we eagles? Are we to be dictated by our
lesser? Do the lion bend to the lamb? We are the strongest
nation in the world; truly nothing can stand in our way. We are
foremost power in the world and we bend to no man!”
*
All forces, this is Command. On my order, commence the
operation. No one moves until the order is given. If we do this
right, we’ll rid ourselves of a major thorn in Ceanada’s
collective side. I repeat, no one move until I give the order.”
The Officers checked their weapons. The Air Assault Team on the
roof grouped around the door leading to the top floor and a
small hatch. A breacher gripped a heavy steel door ram. They
were taut like the coil of a spring. Hands flexed on pistol
grips, fore grips and hand guards. This guy was the worst
terrorist in Ceanada, possibly the worst in this part of the
world. Stopping him would be the high water mark in most of
their careers. They were elite, specially trained assault police
forces, skilled marksmen and well trained police officers. Proud
and professional all.
They were getting this guy.
*
“We will show them. We will show the world, the country and the
traitors who run our government that we have the means and the
dedication to put our words into action. We will show them our
resolve. We will show them our dedication. We will show them our
power! Today starts our Crusade!”
*
“Go! Go! Go!” The CFPD Commander on-seen shouted the order, and
simultaneously the order registered in the ears of every police
officer taking part in the operation. The officers on the roof
breached with shotguns, before tossing in flash bangs and
storming the top floor. The people in the room sat for the most
part on flimsy chairs, and several officers tackled them over
and pressed them to the ground while shouts of “down” and
“Police” filled the dusty air. One person were standing when the
Officers entered, and in the chaos the stun grenades caused, one
of the lead officers saw an object in one of his hands and he
mistook the object for a gun. He quickly whipped up his Carbine
and let rip a pair of rounds. One bullet punched through a
rib-bone and punctured a lung and the second entered his neck
and shattered his larynx. He was half-dead before he hit the
floor, but he did not drop the object he held in his hand, but
clutched it stubbornly with a death grip.
A few floors down, the assault teams entered, knocking in the
door with a battering ram and several officers with heavy
ballistic shields entered. The rest of the teams rushed in after
them, checking every corner for potential hostiles, but found
none. The first officers reached the stairs at the end of the
entrance hall and started up them, weapons trained upwards,
ready for anything.
The officers further up started to get the prisoners on their
feet. One of them fell forward, and strangely he did not use his
hands to brace his fall, even though the Marines hadn’t cuffed
any of them. An officer went over to him and took off his
goggles and checked him out. The man was dressed in a long coat,
but without putting his arms through the coat sleeves. His hands
were firmly folded behind his back and his mouth was, strangely
enough, gagged with duct tape.
The officer stopped moving, his brain working hard to figure out
why one of their own was bound like a pig. Then he noticed all
of their prisoners were like this. Everyone was firmly cuffed
and gagged, and the one lying on the floor, bleeding from
several gruesome and fatal wounds had a rectangular object taped
onto his right hand. It had several small lights which blinked
yellow and green and, most disturbingly of all, a cord which ran
from the object and into his wrist artery. Realization struck
the officer like a hammer and he whipped around and looked at
the prisoners again. There was fear in their eyes. But not fear
of what the officers would do to them, but rather a fear of
something the officer could not comprehend, and they shouted
muffled cries and grunts. The prisoner who had fallen looked
pleadingly at the officer and as the officer looked back at him,
he flicked his eyes towards the table at the rear in the room. A
large case lay on it, about two by one metres. And there were
two lights on it. Which blinked yellow.
The Officer realized suddenly what was about to happen, but his
realization came far too late to prevent what was already in
motion. He turned around and watched as the wounded prisoner’s
pupils dilated and retracted up into the cavity of the eye
sockets and his arms relaxed. And the lights on the trigger
taped into his hand switched from yellow and green to an angry
red.
The explosion tore the whole upper part of Dansson Street to
very tiny pieces. Every single police officer, along with their
recently acquired charges was reduced to atoms. The perimeter
roadblock had been deemed to be far enough away from the target
building to prevent any harm coming to the civilians, but they
had been wrong. In the police officer in charge’s defence, no
one had anticipated anything like that to happen. Neither had
they presumed any bomb that powerful would be detonated in the
capital. Every journalist, pedestrian and car waiting for the
roadblock to be removed was blown to bits by the explosion. The
Officers maintaining the cordon around the district were knocked
to their feet. Every window in a ten mile radius was shattered
and the force of the shock wave shifted cars as far away as
downtown Cascade Falls.
Over six hundred people were killed outright by the explosion
and over six and a half thousand were wounded either by flying
debris, the shock wave or falling pieces of glass. Within
minutes the emergency channel of the Cascade Falls emergency
services were overcrowded and collapsed completely. Ambulances
and fire trucks came hurrying from every part of the city. The
huge crater where upper Dansson Street had been, looked like
mayhem, like taken straight out of a disaster movie.
Agent “Saren” was a local of Riverside. He had grown up on the
streets here and gone to one of the public schools close to the
river and worked as a secretary at a local police station before
enlisting in the Secret Service. Therefore he had witnessed the
poverty and desperation people faced in this part of the city,
watched their grief and their pain. He was an intelligent man,
but he still could not avoid blaming the government for what had
happened to the people here. He could not sit by and let the
same government corrupt and destroy more people in the name of
“social equality and freedom”. He had to take action and he did
by deciding to work against the system from the inside. He had
enlisted in the CIA and had witnessed the actions of terrorists
such as “Ferret” first-hand and seen the results. While he did
not agree with their actions, he could not deny the efficiency
of the results or the truth of their conviction. He gathered
followers at a harrying speed. And he was leading the country to
a brighter future. Of this, “Saren” was sure.
In an apartment on the outskirts of Cascade Falls, “Ferret”
watched the news and smiled and turned back towards his
audience.
“This is how we will win this crusade. Through fire and
devastation, for a better tomorrow.”
The assembled terrorist cell leaders looked at each other. Then
they rose and applauded the man responsible for the largest
single loss of Ceanadian life inside its borders since the
country’s foundation.
Krystal and Damien were watching the news reports about the
explosion in Cascade Falls. She slumped into the couch as
realization hit that some terrorist asshole decided to bomb her
country’s capital.
“Ok Gentlemen, you’ve all heard of what happened an hour ago in
Cascade Falls. Twenty Minutes ago, the Director got the formal
order from the Prime Minister; she wants this ended, now. No
more negotiations.” FBI HRT Commander Rick Lawsson said as
looked around to the assembled HRT Agents and SWAT Officers.
CPD Captain Nichols pointed to the map.
“You all know the layout of the building’s ground floor where
the hostages are present, so here’s the plan, HRT will enter
through receiving and the kitchen, closest to the hostages in
the dining room.”
Nodding to his team leaders, he continued.
“We will hit the front doors and a team will rappel down from
the roof and breach the second floor windows. Clearing the floor
and cutting off any suspects further up.”
He stepped back as Commander Lawsson spoke up.
“Brief your teams and stand by to move in. The Tech boys are
working to loop security cameras so you can get close without
being made. Good luck.”
The Assembled Officers and Agents dispersed.
Twenty Minutes would pass as the Officers and Agents checked
weapons and approached their entry points. The front doors of
the hotel were pane glass, only requiring a sledge hammer to
effectively breach. Several officers stood ready with them. Near
the back by a receiving door, an Agent with a shotgun stood
ready.
Krystal and de Lancey cautiously moved down the stairs to the
second floor. They had been informed of the plan and were
authorized to assist. The Law Enforcement agencies on scene were
initially reluctant, but confirmation from CENSOCOM and TSOFC
convinced them to allow the pair to help. Krystal listened
silently to the terrorists talking amongst themselves.
Outside, Tactical Officers silently jogged towards the building
and stacked up on the concrete wall that flanked the main doors.
An officer stood ready, gripping a sledge hammer.
“Commence assault…9, 8, 7…”
The HRT Breacher on the rear receiving door raised his weapon.
“6, 5, 4…”
Snipers on the opposite building pushed their bolts forward,
chambering rounds.
“3, 2, 1…”
The SWAT Officer raised his sledge hammer.
“Go.”
Swinging it through the door, he shattering it completely as
two other officers did the same.
The hostage takers from just inside from the lobby heard the
crash of glass and rushed out. Shouts by the officers to drop
their weapons went ignored as the gunmen raised their rifles and
opened fire. The officers heard the whips and cracks in their
ears as they took cover and returned fire, bullets tearing into
the walls around. Several stray rounds found their way out into
the street, driving people into cover. From across the street, a
SWAT Sniper looked through his optic at a gunman wielding an
automatic rifle, firing at his brethren in the lobby.
His Spotter called out the range.
He depressed the trigger. The .300 Magnum round tore through an
upper window, ripping through the wall, striking the man in the
upper chest, killing him instantly. Several officers rappelled
down in through the windows onto the second floor. The Gunmen
turned to face them as Krystal and de Lancey broke from cover.
Raising her service weapon, she planted a round in the head of a
gunman as de Lancey double tapped another. The breaching
officers raised their MP5s and opened fire on the gunmen that
were firing at the pair. Between the two groups the gunmen on
the second floor were neutralized. Two men who surrendered were
quickly bound with zip ties as the officers on the ground floor
pushed the hostage takers to the base of the stairs, where they
were also neutralized. The Officers moved into the dining room
at about the same time as the FBI moved in from the kitchen. The
remaining suspects surrendered as one of their numbers was
killed by a sniper while holding a human shield.
At the same time SWAT breached the front door, an FBI Agent put
a .12 Gauge shell through the door handle, rapidly transitioning
to both door hinges. He lifted his boot and knocked the door
down completely as a flash bang was tossed in. The gunmen in
receiving were confused and disoriented. One man raised his
weapon and the agent on point, and was promptly greeted with two
in the chest as other agents tackled the remaining suspects. The
Agents moved in to the kitchen, where they were greeted with
more fire, the superior accuracy and weapons training of the
federal agents putting a quick end to the gun battle. The kicked
open the doors to kitchen, spreading out along the wall as CPD
SWAT did the same, coming from the lobby. Krystal, de Lancey and
other officers looked down from a balcony. The remaining hostage
takers, realizing the futility, surrendered. One man made the
mistake of taking a hostage as a human shield. An FBI HRT sniper
shot him in the side of the head, ending the crisis.
The Final count was five hostage takers captured, including the
leader, the remaining 22 killed, five of them by Krystal and de
Lancey. Two SWAT Officers were wounded during the lobby
firefight.
From then on, everything went downhill quickly. At 0800 Hours,
While de Lancey and Krystal were attending the debriefing and
the cleanup at the hotel was underway, The Krasovian embassy in
Cascade Falls opened for business and as usual there was the
everyday flow of tourists, diplomatic officials, local
government officials, representatives from the Ceanadian
government and the usual. As lunch was announced at twelve, no
one suspected that this day was going to be any different than
any other. Lieutenant Nikolai Filanovich, head of the embassy’s
security detachment of thirty special commando operatives, sat
down for lunch with his second in command, Lieutenant Fyodor
Alhainov. The local meat tasted great, as usual, especially when
compared with the meat-coloured mush one got at home in
Krasovia. They talked about the usual while sharing a bottle of
vodka. Most people would wince at the very thought of alcohol at
an international embassy, and especially being drunk among
security personnel. But unlike most of the world’s population,
the average Krasovian had an incredible alcohol resistance and
an almost uncanny ability to absorb high percentages of alcohol
in their bloodstreams. This probably came from the fact that
strong alcohol was as much a part of Krasovian society as
celebrating Yuletide, which, Filanovich reflected, was actually
a bit sad. Their people had had few reasons to celebrate and be
happy with their lives in the past, which was why they had
apparently opted to drown their misery in strong, home-brew.
That was why Filanovich and Alhainov could drink a full bottle
of vodka between them during lunch hours. And it was at that
exact moment that it happened.
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