| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Rolling Thunda |
| Date: | Mon, 13 Jan 1997 21:39:08 +0000 |
as far as we are able to tell - Thunda is, again, dead. For reasons
that'll eventually become apparent, we're fairly confident this was the
real article.
Enjoy watching it. We didn't enjoy living it.
+++++begin video
Lilith is driving at breakneck speed through an urban area, siren
wailing and a bubble light strobing on the dash: Lynch is taking
magazines from a black holdall and shoving them into pouches on his
combat vest. From the amount of ammunition he's carrying, it seems he
anticipates a major war.
You hear similar metallic noises from the back seat of the Interceptor,
as Lilith brakes hard to slow as she passes the two Lone Star patrolmen
who are trying to control traffic, rounds a corner to a street choked
with police cruisers. Lynch opens the door, reaching back in for a FN
HAR assault rifle, and you can already hear automatic gunfire, shouts,
screams, from somewhere nearby.
The others are also disembarking from the Jensen: all (even one slim
female you guess must be Easy, wearing a full-face helmet against the
daylight) are dressed in black fatigues and helmets, combat harnesses,
body armour stencilled with "FBI" in yellow, and all carry the same FN
assault rifles: some with grenade launchers.
"Kurtz, what's your status?" Lynch asks by radio as he brings up the map
of the area, starts trying to lock into police - or better, Thunda's -
radio and data nets without success. He manages to bring up his four
companions, at least, more registering as out of the vicinity.
"ETA four minutes." The Marine sergeant's voice is cool and relaxed.
"Outstanding. Imp?"
"Airborne, five minutes out. Can you give me an LZ?"
Lynch scans the map in his headware, highlights one. "Stay low, they've
got HMGs at least. JayCee?"
"Nine minutes, plus or minus, if you'll take care of the speeding
tickets."
"Hey, you're the decker. D'Arkan?" The Fed runs up, slightly breathless.
"What's the situation?"
The Federal agent looks disgusted. "The Star jumped the gun on us. A
cruiser pulled right up to the front gate: then someone swiss-cheesed
it. The cops took heavy fire and pulled back, now everyone's just
blazing away at each other while we try to get the civvies out of the
tenements."
"Outstanding. So much for hitting him hard and fast." Lynch moves to the
buildings edging the street and makes his way in, past the stream of
civilians being hustled to safety. An explosion booms, not far away, as
they go straight through the hall and out through the back door into a
small yard, ten yards or so of grass, weeds and clotheslines. Lynch
ignores the two frightened-looking cops with shotguns hiding behind the
back wall, cautiously looks over it it - and then the service road and
main gate for a steelworks, one of the small, dirty operations that
flourish or fold throughout the Barrens.
Muzzle flashes and gunsmoke can be seen from the buildings, and police
officers lie in the road or by the chainlink fence, many returning a
sporadic fire with pistols and shotguns. Several wounded are shouting or
screaming for aid.
A single police car is parked in the road by the abandoned gate: the
passenger's side door is open and a body in uniform sprawls out of it.
Lynch zooms in and the blood and bullet holes are visible, the car and
its occupants riddled by heavy-calibre machine gun fire. He drops back
down. to where the others - including D'Arkan - wait..
"I say seal it off and get the snipers working him, take out those
shooters. That's a nice killing zone he's got there, I don't want to
cross it under fire. And the foundry's too quiet, all the shooters are
in the office block. I don't buy it."
"Then do it." D'Arkan seems to be watching Lynch's expression, then
grins. "Come on, Lynch, you're the one with the training and the
headware, you're already running BattleTac aren't you? I can't compete
with that and I can't run the situation always asking you for advice.
You're it, Marine."
"Okay." Lynch switches frequency. "Imp, get your snipers into position
and start picking off the shooters in the office buildings. Kurtz, ditto
Singh and Holman. If we can get to the offices and clear them, we can
move reinforcements up and start sweeping the foundry and smelter
blocks, those'll be a nightmare. I want your squad here, Imp -" a
location on the map flares - "ready to put down cover fire, maybe smoke.
Kurtz and yours, here.."
Changing back to the general net, Lynch starts directing the Lone Star
and FBI sharpshooters as well. The gunfire begins to tail off, snuffed
out by a series of well-placed rifle shots. By the time the shooting
stops, the spotters making a series of laconic "No target" calls, you
realise Lynch has over a hundred police officers, about thirty federal
agents, and around the same number of Marines and shadowrunners under
his control, and the number is steadily growing as reinforcements
arrive.
Listening to the silence, D'Arkan smiles wryly. "Well, that seemed to
work." Perhaps a hint of sarcasm.
"Too easy. Way, way, too easy." Lynch flexes his fingers around his
rifle. "Thunda's got something special planned for us."
+++++end video
So far, so good.]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <21:40:32/01-13-58>
