| From: | shadowtk@*********.com (Paul J. Adam) |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Cleanup Stage One: Kick Ass |
| Date: | Mon Nov 12 20:25:03 2001 |
>>>>>[At last!
At freaking mother-loving God-be-darned hoop-kicking last!
We cracked what was left of the FRAG file after they pulled the
"emergency delete, permanent erase" handle!
+++++begin transcript
E: BGen C Ernang
M: Col T McNally
E: How are things there?
M: Lockdown. A rat couldn't sneak into our perimeter, let alone
Lynch.
E: You sound terribly confident.
M: I've reviewed his file, been through every time he's hit us.
There's no way he can make a covert approach. If he does, I'm
keeping my people together. No group smaller than four,
everyone not on duty in the barracks.
E: Good. So much for his lone-wolf raiding, then.
M: Of course, it means that if the DC suits turn on us-
E: Not yet. What proof do they have? Nothing. A renegade Marine,
a shapeshifter, and a criminal. Once Lynch is neutralised, we
start rebuilding.
M: No prophecies this time, though.
E: No. But it was a gamble, we knew that. I'm as disappointed as
you are, but we can recover and turn this to our advantage.
M: Oh, it was worth trying, but I don't - wait up.
E: Problem?
M: A visitor. Main gate. Probably a civilian or someone lost, we
don't have anyone scheduled. Did you send anyone?
E: No. Can I see the car?
M: Sure.
+++++begin video
The gate camera looks down on the traditional double-entry gate,
where a tan-coloured Americar with Maryland plates is stopped in the
'safe zone'. The outer gate is closed, keeping car and driver from
fleeing; the inner gate is firmly shut to deny entry. Two FRAG troops
leave the warmth of the gatehouse and approach the car.
An eyeblink later, they're gone.
The camera recovers from the whited-out overload, revealing scattered
chunks of torn metal and burning plastic. The gates are shredded, the
gatehouse blasted apart into rubble, only a crater left where the
Americar sedan sat, and there's no trace of the FRAG troops visible.
As the smoke clears, a lone figure walks through the ruins of the gate.
Tall, painfully thin, the firelight glinting on his black aviator
sunglasses. Colonel Jason Running Wolf Lynch looks directly at the
camera, as he raises his rifle -
+++++signal lost
M: Oh, my God.
E: He's just one man. Kill him!
M: Yes... yessir. <aside> Muster the troops in the drill hall! Heavy
issue, stand by to repel intruder! We have a hostile inside the
wire!
E: Patch me into your security network.
M: I can't, sir, it's a local system. I can get you camera feeds -
E: Send a team to secure your emergency generator, another to your
switchboard. He'll go for your power supply or your
communications.
M: Yessir. I'm on it.
<line silent: 193.6 seconds>
M: <whispering> Contact.
E: Where?
M: Drillhall fire escape. He's tripped the alarm trying to open the
door.
E: Get your people into-
M: <softly> Already doing it. I can _see_ the sonofabitch working
on the door, from my window. We got him, sir. Every damn
troop I got is mustering in the drill hall and-
E: Punch it up.
+++++begin video
Forty or fifty black-uniformed troopers are aiming at an innocuous door
under a FIRE EXIT sign.
"This guy's meant to be-"
"Human." Someone squashes the thought. "He's good, but he's only so
good. He's taking a long time over that lock, and-"
A sharp mechanical scraping compels silence for a few moments.
"He's there." A soft whisper.
Nobody denies that - they can all hear the faint scraping of lockpicks
on metal.
"Open out. Everyone get a clear arc, by fireteams," McNally whispers,
triggering a last scurry of movement. "Stand clear of blast radius from
that door-"
The door scrapes again.
"Stand by... stand by..." McNally whispers.
Another scratching-
"FIRE!"
For a few seconds, the space around the door is a storm of dust and
flame and noise, as over thirty FRAG commandos fire at it. L7 rockets,
bullets, a couple of combat spells, all smash and pulverise the door and
the wall.
Troopers grab spare magazines, reload, and empty them too at the threat,
as the blue smoke of cordite thickens and the thunderous echoes of
gunfire ring in the enclosed space.
McNally has to shout "Cease fire!" five times before the gunfire finally
peters out. The door is off its hinges, the wall blasted into Emmenthal
cheese, and a sprawled figure just visible outside.
"I think we got him, sir." Someone whispers.
"Check the corpse, Lieutenant Nasmith." McNally replies.
"Yessir." The speaker (presumably it's her) immediately raises her
HK227, and puts another dozen rounds into the corpse's chest and head
before calling. "Jonze! Runji! Cover me!"
Nasmith advances carefully, her SMG aimed at Lynch's body. Her backup
split left and right, keeping their arcs open. Behind her, the FRAG
cluster and close, weapons ready.
The Lieutenant circles around the corpse, and finally sees its chest
clearly.
Taped to the shot-up mannequin's torso, in a damaged but unbreached
armoured enclosure, is a M96E2 Robust Multipurpose Electronic Detonator.
Its six-character display flashes three times as Nasmith stares in
horror.
<AD:IO:S!> it says, and Nasmith manages to scream "Get-"
<MO:TH:ER> the display flares. "DOWN! It's-"
<FU:CK:ER> and Nasmith's last words are lost in a piercing white light.
McNally switches back to the drillhall, to smoke and confusion and
casualties. "Captain Mayhew! Report! Get your-"
The order is interrupted by a dozen or more gas grenades exploding
amidst the FRAG troops. Two Steel Lynx drones roll through the smoke and
dust, to begin firing assault shotguns and grenade launchers at anything
that moves. The camera view is quickly swamped in smoke and riot gas,
lit from within by muzzle flashes: the audio is a hellish cacophony of
screams and gunfire.
+++++end video
M: Oh, my God. He's here. He's won. Jesus Christ! He's going to-
<gunfire in distance, explosion>
E: How the - cancel that. He'll be coming for you.
<More gunfire, continuing. Someone screaming incessantly on the
FRAG radio channel, blocking it and forcing McNally to shut it off>
M: I know. <Sounds of weapon being made ready> Myers!
Harrison! Defensive positions! Cheng, Lakey, sweep the corridor!
<muffled voice> Fuck that!
M: Cheng, get out there-
<muffled voice> I'm not going out there! That motherfucker's crazy
and he ain't stopping!
<explosion, less distant>
M: Cheng, if you don't get your hoop out there this instant-
<muffled voice> Hell with you, sir!
M: Myers, shoot Cheng in the head for mutiny-
<muffled voice> I'm going, I'm going!
E: Problems?
M: Just a little dissent. He got the point, though, and... what?
Cheng, get back to your post! Cheng, you come back here! Lakey!
Lakey, respond! Harrison, you and Myers get-
<automatic gunfire>
<scream>
<automatic gunfire, two explosions, single shot>
<indistinct screaming>
<cry of pain, two pistol shots>
<choking sounds>
<flurry of movement>
M: Standoff.
<Voiceprinted as Colonel J R W Lynch: code L>: Tradition.
M: What?
L: All that stamping around in black fatigues with HK227s, and
you don't even know who John Woo is. This scene is _so_
twentieth-century.
M: You just hate running up against someone who follows
procedure, Lynch. You're good against untrained losers, you can't
handle a skilled trained adversary-
L: You follow *all* the procedures?
M "To the letter, unlike cowboys like-
<gunshot>
L: In a John Woo standoff, *never* admit you're holding a double-
action pistol with a thirteen-pound pull, when your opponent's
weapon has a three-pound trigger and one of the fastest lock
times ever.
General, you listening?
You're next.
+++++call broken at source
+++++call terminated
Holy hell.
Admiral... do we keep routing this to the Oversight Committee?]<<<<<
-- SSgt T R Porter <01:52:26/11-13-62>
Data Extraction & Recovery
Cyberspace Special Forces
*****INTERNAL: SSgt T Porter, CSF
>>>>>[I ordered you to report everthing you got to the proper
authorities as well as to me.
Carry out your orders, Staff-Sergeant.]<<<<<
-- VAdm J Kowalski <01:56:35/11-13-62>
Special Operations Command
