| "Be Cunning As Serpents" | ||
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SH1 Eric followed dutifully down the hallway, furtively casting a glance to the side to see if their departure from the main hallway had been observed.� It appeared clear to him, but he remained on his guard. Paige stopped, as did he, across the hall from her, and she spoke first. "You followed me into New York"� It was more a statement than a question.� She knew, yet had given no sign of knowing at the time.�Someone else knew of his surveillance, or suspected it, and had told her.� Otherwise, she was trying to bluff to get some information out of him.� He stared back at her blankly for a quick moment while his brain wheels turned, then responded. "You are paranoid and a danger to yourself and those around you, but perhaps with good cause." This appeared to upset her a little, as he refused to confirm or deny her allegation, and wasn't allowing her to take the conversation where she wanted it to go.� Her time was limited though, and a sense of urgency presided, so she bit her tongue and thought a little before responding. "And you?� Everything's peachy keen and under control since you hit the outside?" "No, which is why we need to back each other up. Then there are those, not imagined, who wish us dead and will stop at nothing to see their wishes come true if they learn of our identities." "I told you I was fine and didn't need your help." "Right after standing at your french doors, pistol in hand, for an hour, and going through five locks on your front door as if they weren't there.� Did you expect me to believe you?" "No," she said quietly. "But I expected you to listen to me. Even if I were attacked I CAN take care of myself. I was trained by the same...as you, after all." "Perhaps, but two chords are stronger than one.� We need to watch each other's backs, regardless of our pride or felt need for privacy." She sighed in frustration.� The discussion STILL wasn't where she wanted it, and she'd let herself get distracted with her emotions. "Look, I didn't come to hear your justifications." "Nor I to make them.� I will do what I believe necessary to ensure your safety." "Join the club." She rolled her eyes in frustration. "So did They.�THAT's why I was so paranoid.� They put covert surveillance on me without letting me know, but I KNEW SOMETHING was out there.� Okay? I'm just having a hard time adjusting to like outside.� That good enough for you?" "No, but we are out of time.� We need to gear up for the mission.�Will you be fit for the time being?" "What are you saying?" "With this alleged stimulus of your paranoia being known,� is it under control? Has your judgment returned to nominal levels, or can I help you get it there, or do you want to sit this one out? We, I need you fully alert and clear headed on this mission." A pause.� He asked a valid question, wouldn't settle for a simple explanation of her former behavior, but demanded assurance of the present and immediate future.� Finally, she just smiled morosely and nodded. "I'm an operative just like they made me.� You know that.� I'll do what I have to." "Good.� Lets go." "We're not finished with this, you know," she said to him simply as they left the hallway. ten minutes later SH1 Ready Room Eric was sorting out equipment, briefing his crew, perhaps? "General Purpose Machine Gun, Menace, hotter than your 60, so do not over do it. 9mm Berretas," He ejected a magazine and checked the load "Medium load, so aim for center of mass and head, and don't stop till they go down . . ." "Eric." The one he'd given the light machine gun to interrupted, his voice indicating that he was slightly concerned. Eric froze at the use of his new given name, and then looked around slowly from the table over which he worked. The larger man with the gun revised his address appropriately, and Safara noticed the use of his old call sign, wondering that he did not try to forget all from his old life. "Snowy Owl, we know all this. You trained us, remember?" The response was instantaneous, filled with venom, the passion of a cornered animal showing in the Native American's eyes and voice for a moment. "You know nothing!" Just as quickly, though, he had the beast back under control, and continued in his usual way. "About our opposition this time. Red Cell is not a band of thugs or an amateur arms smuggler. You know of Al Queda. Puppets of Red Cell, given to the U.S. to throw us off their trail. We are outnumbered by trained soldiers with superior armament and a defensive position. It will be difficult, but stay with me, do as I have trained you, and you will live." He paused, looking each of them in the eyes, sizing them up, encouraging them, somehow, with those eyes. He'd pulled them through the desert, at his own loss, and he would pull them through this mission, they were sure. They saluted, He nodded, and continued with the weapons distribution without another word. She approached him openly, "I'd like to go over the ingress details with you, if you have a moment." Her voice was neutral, deliberately so. This was business, and they were expected to work together no matter what their past was. He was busy at the moment, had to split his attention between her and his work, so he pretended not to notice while doing what he could to analyze her voice and bearing. There wasn't much there to interpret, as she was in perfect Section 1 form, hiding anything. Of course, that hiding of anything could be an indication that she had something she did not wish to display. For a moment she didn't think he had heard her, because he continued his task without pause, then he turned to her, "Very Well. Anything in particular?" He checked his own backup pistol, and shoved it home to its thigh holster, now watching her with those eyes, wolf-like, searching, boring, after any information he could learn, she might have noticed. He would learn nothing from her until she determined to let him know it, but he would clearly not quit trying. This was one that would not give up in his effort to advance and gain power, but not for power's sake, not like some others she'd encountered. She wondered about him. She nodded, "I am not certain they have considered all the details," she tapped her palm, "according to the latest weather data for that area, wind speed is increased, the descent will take too long and chances of injuries high." His gaze was steady on her, "I know and agree, in addition to the risk of ourselves or the chopper being compromised." His voice was calm, quiet enough that the others, checking their various armaments, would not hear his well masked concern; it helped, she could focus on the mission any antipathy she may have had subsided in the need to make this work. "Might we use `Rocking the Cradle'?" his words made her look up at him, he was holding his palm out to her, she took it and saw the results of his calculations. What he was suggesting was not new, but not standard operating procedure either. It would be borderline in terms of success given the weather, but the descent would be faster therefore reducing the possibility of casualties. "Have you done it before?" she asked. Watching him, watching her; he too had perfected the blank stare of Section and she couldn't tell what his thoughts were. "Once," he admitted, "when it works, it is faster, more effective but," he hesitated, "would it fly with the PTBs?" He nodded his head slightly to the large mirror behind which lay Rebecca's office. Her reply was slow and considered, "I don't think they would turn down a good suggestion, they are not Section." She paused, "I think you should suggest it, I will back you. It's better than a straightforward abseil." She handed back his palm, "whatever we do, we have to do it now or it will be too late." "I agree." He was looking around the room, "We will speak with Gray" She nodded and fell in step beside him, and together they walked across the room towards Gray and Simon who were talking animatedly about some details on the PDA's. She let Eric take the lead, simply acknowledging her support of the changes. "Gray, may we have a word?" The superior looked, somewhat distracted and annoyed at the two agents, particularly at Eric. Something about him, he just would not be content, was always pushing the boundaries of submission to authority, or lack thereof. And that caper in the bar, he wondered sometimes if these Section operatives wouldn't be more trouble than they were worth. Yet neither agent was the slightest moved under his harsh glare, not surprising, he supposed, given the way they'd faced Joshua, Safara in particular. He relented, a little. "Sure. What is it?" Eric began without hesitation and in full assurance of his rightness, or so it seemed, presenting his palm even as he spoke. "We have considered the infil profile for this mission and believe there is a better tactic we might use, given the inclement weather, the heat of the infil zone, and the time absailing would require over the target." Gray glanced quickly at the palm, not really reading it. "Rocking the Cradle?" He shook his head, somewhat perturbed. "An unconventional and untried technique, still experimental in the special forces." Safara broke in with some quick figures she might have calculated, or might have made up, it didn't make much difference. "Absailing, with a good team, would put agents on the rope and the helo over the target for an average of fifteen seconds, plenty of time to alert the enemy. Expected casualty rate of 20% Eric's plan would bring that time down to three to five seconds of such vulnerability, and reduce the casualty rate to 5%." Gray was listening now. He didn't like the idea of his agents being hurt, and it was beginning to come home to him that these ones had been on the ground before, knew the risks, knew how to mitigate them. Eric continued, approaching the issue from another angle. "With all due respect, sir, I was Special Forces, and all of us have been trained in experimental and unconventional techniques beyond what most of them have. Furthermore, the tactic in question has been tried, several times, with much greater POS, given a good pilot and hostile conditions, than has absailing. All we need, sir, is the approval of the pilot and yourself." Gray nodded gravely, now reading the stats. After a moment he looked to Safara. "You are prepared to do this, 'rocking the cradle' insertion?" "Yes sir. I believe it is the best choice given the conditions." "Very well. Where's that pilot? We're running out of time. Safara, if you need to prep, I think Eric and I can brief him, as he's ready to go." She nodded slightly, face blank, no witty comments, just about turned without a backward glance, leaving the room grabbing her bag en-route. As it happened, the pilots often practiced the maneuver, if on their own time with paint buckets tied to the ends of the cables. It was a challenge, and somewhat more fun than the usual maneuvers. If too much paint spilled, they were too low, or down for too long, or did not accelerate enough. If no paint spilled it meant they would have been dropping their passengers some distance, which could result in significant injuries, given that they were all to be clustered on the end of the same cable. The pilot who was to drop off the air team was quite confident in his abilities, understanding the risks, and the lives at stake, but boasting the highest paint score. Furthermore, he was much more comfortable with the decreased time over target, as his helo was at risk of being taken down by small arms fire or worse if he hovered for too long. The plan was agreed to, a hearty hand shake exchanged between Eric and the Pilot, and they went their separate ways, Eric to join his team in making last minute checks at the weapons table. Return |
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