From: | shadowtk@*********.com (Paul J. Adam) |
---|---|
Subject: | Heavy Overcast and Increasing Precipitation |
Date: | Wed Oct 10 16:20:01 2001 |
>>>>>[We're working on the lost stuff. But this is what we got out of...
recent events, I guess.
+++++begin video
The forest is oppressive, overgrown, and far too dark. In the deep
shade, there's too little light for even image-intensifiers to be much
use, while in the darkness and shadow everything's the same temperature
and so thermal imaging's almost blind. EyeLights give you visibility to
avoid tripping over your own feet, but the darkness swallows their weak
glow within a few yards.
Lynch is taking point: perhaps because he's best suited, more likely
because anyone skilled enough to dispute his choice is wise enough to
let him *have* the most dangerous position. He pauses, the PSG-7 held at
high port, studying the forest ahead: the rest of the team, behind him,
also halt.
"Is there... a... problem?" Cypher enquires in his soft, sepulchral
voice.
"I don't know. Something feels wrong." The Marine replies, almost
inaudibly, still examining the trees.
"*Everything* feels wrong." whispers Willow. "This place... this place
screams with horror."
"Yeah." Lynch nods. "But there's more than that. Or else my famous
intuition's screwed again."
"You got a feeling that something's wrong ahead?" Ironguard suggests.
"Like, that terrain feature would make a nice defensive position, or at
least a great OP? I was thinking that too."
"Especially because I don't know where to go to get through it. That
hill feels too exposed, but the re-entrants either side are deathtraps,
and if we detour around we add two, three miles and we won't make it
into the base before sunrise. Opinions?" Lynch asks.
"The... valleys are... more dangerous." Cypher suggests. "If the hill...
is... clear then it is... superior. Perhaps it could be... quietly
_made_ clear."
"I'd put an OP on the hill, looking out and down. Anyone in those
re-entrants is pretty much blind. They could react, but they can't see
jack." Storm comments. "But it _looks_ clear. Maybe they just don't have
enough people here to patrol and secure every approach."
"I can't look. I _can't_." Willow rubs at her temples. "This
*place*...." She leans over and retches, just dry heaves: Guilas trying
to comfort her, the mobster out of his depth in these fearsome,
pitch-black woods.
"Okay. How about we just go right up the middle over the top of that
damn hill, quick and sneaky, watching our flanks and being quiet as
fucking church mice? If we meet anyone we kill them fast and sneaky like
*homicidal* church mice." Lynch suggests, once the silence is long
enough that nobody else has anything to add. "It's a shitty deal but
it's all we've got and we're running out of night. Dissenting opinions
welcomed."
"I don't like it." Guilas admits. "But everything else I can think of is
worse."
"Welcome to my world." Lynch nods. "Anyone else?... Okay, shake it out
and stay loose. If we hit the shit..." he pauses, suddenly realising
that these aren't troopers he's trained, who have clearly defined and
well-practiced 'Actions On...' for various contingencies, who can't be
launched into an organised and rehearsed flanking attack by a simple
shout of 'Ambush Left!', and that his usual litany's not appropriate.
"Listen for my orders and stay alive." he finishes slightly lamely. "Not
*necessarily* in that order." he adds with a flash of humour.
The group moves off, still with Lynch leading, the other five members in
loose double file behind him, weapons and eyes searching the forest for
threats. Still, it turns out, they're looking in the wrong place.
Lynch, Cypher, and Storm all shout variations of "GET DOWN!" in the
heartbeat before the rushing _whoosh_ and the savage silver light
freezes the scene. Schermurly paraflares, at least eight, each over a
million candlepower of fierce blue-white light. Rising fast on their
rockets, then coming down slowly under their parachutes.
"JASON LYNCH! YOU ARE SURROUNDED!" an amplified voice booms, and another
light source is added to the fierce glare. "DROP YOUR WEAPON AND RAISE
YOUR HANDS! ALL OF YOU!" The helicopter gunship's Spectralab spotlight
overloads Lynch's headware camera and he looks away, to where black-clad
FRAG troops are coming up the hill from either side. They didn't choose
either the valley or the spur... they covered both, with a stealthed
gunship for backstop and support.
"Do we...?" Guilas asks, the muzzle of his shotgun shivering in his
grasp.
Lynch transfers his rifle to his right hand, holding it by the forestock
well away from his body, then dropping it carefully to the ground.
"Herve, possono ucciderli in qualunque momento. Mentre siamo vivo,
possiamo ancora fuoriusciamo."
"Si, patrone." Guilas sighs, unslinging the weapon. The others get the
gist, even those that don't speak Italian.
The helicopter's downwash blows leaves and dust around, and the
spotlight is still painfully bright even as the flares burn out.
"Jason fragging Lynch. Meant to be some sort of Superman." The senior
FRAG trooper says contemptuously.
"Actually, I'm a burned-out relic who's been superseded by progress."
Lynch replies cheerfully. "And only the most cluelessly inept soldiers
should be unable to resist my-"
The FRAG captain tries to buttstroke Lynch in the stomach and finds he's
swiping his rifle's stock through empty air.
"See?" Lynch chuckles. "Want to dance?" Suddenly, his right hand grows
three murderous blades from its knuckles. "Your General says you'll cut
me to pieces easily. Come on. Fight me. Your boss says it's easy and you
can't lose. Come on. Fight me. Kill me. Pop your spurs and fight me.
Come ON! Fight me! I'm old and obsolete and past it! Fight me! Fight me!
Fight me! Come and-" Lynch is advancing steadily on the trooper -
"Enough, Colonel Lynch." A voice from the left. Lynch freezes at once,
retracting the spurs and then relaxing into a casual stance that would
take a fatal quarter-second extra to attack from.
"Well done, sir. Nice try, good moves, good manipulation. Lieutenant,
you are a fragging *buffalo*, you have no clue, sir. Colonel Lynch was
about to kill you the moment you went for him, and use that confusion to
attempt an escape. Am I right, sir?" a third party suggests.
"Precisely right...?"
"Master Sergeant Tonnant, sir. And Sioux terrorists killed my parents."
The SPAS-22 aimed at Lynch's head - from just far enough away that he'll
be dead before he reaches his opponent - doesn't waver.
"Very sad, Sergeant. You want to try counting relative atrocity?"
"No, sir. Are you able to let Abilene pass?"
"The United States is dead. So's President Jarman. The scumbag camp
guards who killed for fun and raped for sport are dead or hiding in
terror. Abilene was *over* before I was born, even though my grandmother
died there after a bunch of US soldiers decided she was pretty enough to
play with.." Lynch turns, keeping his hands raised. "I'm here to stop
the second round of that war-"
"Shut up!" Tonnant snaps.
"Hey, First Amendment, right of free speech!"
"You have *no* rights except what-"
"So you're not a UCAS soldier?"
"If I suspend your rights then-"
"Then it don't mean *shit* because you *can't* do that!" Lynch snaps.
"You _defend_ the Constitution, you do *not* rewrite it!"
"Oh, _frag_ that liberal bulldrek-"
"Yeah, hell with the right to free speech! Fuck the right to trial by
jury! Screw the right to silence! You and your Hitler Youth death squad
hold the power of life and death over the UCAS and you *love* it, don't
you?" Lynch is actually advancing on the sergeant.
Tonnant's knuckles are white on the shotgun. "It's lucky for you I'm a
professional soldier-"
"If you were a professional soldier you wouldn't be hiding on
Madagascar, behind a lying scheming sack of shit of a boss, who's
violating the Constitution you swore to defend." Lynch says coldly. "Why
doesn't your Commander-in-Chief know what you're doing?"
"Desperate times demand desperate measures." Tonnant says coldly.
Lynch laughs wryly. "Yeah, Sergeant, they always do. That's what Stalin
and Beria said. That's what the Gestapo said. That's what the Abilene
guards said. That's what SAIM said. How long a list do you want? You
won't find any congenial company there, though."
"You're a traitor and a renegade, Colonel. You're opposing the best
interests of the UCAS."
"I'm protecting the Constitution and defending my country against its
enemies. Foreign *and* domestic. You're shitting your pants because you
*are* one of those enemies."
"I don't have time for this." Tonnant snaps. "You put your hands behind
your head and you stand damn still. Move a muscle or say one more word,
and I'll kill you myself, and then I'll kill all your buddies too. You
talk all you want, Colonel, but you're a traitor and we'll kill you the
moment you pose a threat."
+++++end video
Are those guys for real?
How the _hell_ did they get into the Army?
Sir... this is not good news. I hope it gets better before it gets too
much worse.]<<<<<
-- SSgt T R Porter <21:11:39/10-10-62>
Data Extraction & Recovery
Cyberspace Special Forces