| "Though Foes Surround Me" | ||
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New York City, Lower Manhattan, Safe House 1, 2345 hours, 23rd of May, 2008 His entire body tingled with anticipation, every sense on the utmost alert, tuned for the slightest sign of variation from the norm to which they'd become accustomed, though not dully. Things seemed to move in slow motion, his muscles dull, like dead weight, moving slowly in response to his mental commands. It was all part of it, of what he now did, and he knew and expected it, was not perturbed by it. His perceptions of his body and its responses were just that, perceptions. They were not real, and would disappear when action was required, replaced by adrenalin, will, instinct, and training. The reality was that his body was primed for action, more ready and fit to do whatever he required of it than it ever was under other conditions. His muscles were loose and relaxed, his thoughts flowed, randomly coming, being batted around, and let go before he was distracted. Always and constantly his focus returned to the prey of his choice as though it had never wavered, and he missed nothing. Eric Schweig was the wild creature in the wilds, the hunter on the hunt, and he was in his element. His pray, this time, was the Alpha male, but even as he observed, knew, and noted multiple abuses of what he thought proper behavior for an Alpha, he remained in the shadows and made no move. He was the hunter now, not the fighter, the patient one on the stalk who would prevail by his keen observation and patience. These were the characteristics that had let him survive and be the best as a younger man in even wilder environs, and they would stand him in good stead even here and now against "human" prey in the urban jungle. It had come to this not long ago, or Eric Schweig might now be focusing his mind more on the mission to come. Not that he could do much about it, he idly reflected as they gathered in the ready room from various corners and the locker rooms. All were physically prepared as they could only hope, with the latest in gear, clothing, and equipment for a night raid on a well defended target. The base of their outfits consisted, uniformly, of black nylon and spandex allowing freedom of movement, warmth, low water absorption and high wicking ability, and being less likely to catch or snag on obstructions than other materials. Load Bearing vests were loaded to the brim with armaments, all worn over the level three Kevlar flack vests, good against small arms fire at reasonable distances. Over it all they wore harnesses in preparation for their chosen methods of infiltration. All was prepared, the scenarios lain out, known, and memorized. He'd already snatched a few minutes to run through them mentally as he meditated, watching the mission go down move by move, introducing variables and adjusting his movements accordingly. He'd formed and discarded a dozen new contingencies, come back to those originally agreed upon, and settled in his mind how he would react to any given scenario. He was ready, they were all as ready as they would ever be for the mission as laid out in the briefing. Heading to the lifts to the roof, listening to the pep talk from Gray, or pretending to, Eric's preparedness left his mind and senses to focus on the prey, though he did not let on. He noted a pattern of behavior that seemed elementary and immature for one having gained such a position. The beast joshed with the other male that presented him no threat, in the briefing, seeming genuinely on good terms. Perhaps he could not use the man, yet. He then proceeded, systematically, to pick on each of the women in turn, but for those of the brood. Perhaps he had nothing to gain from them, or they were too close under the Beta Male's protection. At any rate, he'd practically ignored the Beta male, not prepared, it seemed, for the confrontation that must occur. The hunter kept his distance, though not too much so. He never looked directly at his prey for long, though he would not be seen to avoid looking at the prey. His movement was such that he was prepared to move away, or in for the strike, but appeared no more on edge than ever. Thus he watched the Alpha, watched, learned, and prepared for the proper moment. It was a little surprising, a part of his mind mused as he watched the Alpha, that his stalk had not been noticed, either by the prey or by its pack-mates. They were trained operatives and agents who had survived by being the best, the most skilled, the most perceptive to threats and able to respond. The alpha, furthermore, was by no means the least of them, or he would not be Alpha. And none of them had noticed the threat of the Snowy Owl, the Beta male. But then, it shouldn't really be a surprise after all, as they were only agents and operatives, even the Alpha. They were trained and experienced to see certain things, certain differences, but not to read the prey, nor the movement of the hunter. They were not, themselves, hunters, and had rarely been prey themselves, and lacking that experience they knew neither. Their targets moved and behaved in certain ways, as human warriors with fears that they overcame with the assurance of heavy steel weapons in their hands. To take such an opponent was simply to spot, acquire, and fire on the target successfully before the target did so on you. This was generally accomplished either by shooting from hiding some distance away, or with short bursts at close range and high frequency, overcoming the opposition by speed and surprise. Neither skill set would enable the operatives and agents identify or counteract his behavior in this near proximity and lack of clear and present aggression on his part. The agents had the skills and mentality more similar to that of the hunter, Safara in particular, but she and the others were too absorbed in their own concerns, maintaining or promoting their own status in the pack, to worry about the loner that stalked through the shadows. Indeed, as if the Alpha's enforcements of his dominance, his muttered threats, blackmails, reminders, and meaningful glances mixed with the occasional imposition of his immense physicality weren't enough, the other pack members had the upcoming mission to stress about. Stress some of them did, though the former Section 1 operatives were practiced enough to shut down on mission stress and dwell on the Alpha. Neither would do them any good, but the Alpha was here and now, the mission itself was not, as they waited in the tension filled lift, and then the pilot's ready room just under the roof. It seemed the weather continued to threaten, perhaps to have grown worse, especially in the target area. Questions were raised quietly concerning the chosen method of infiltration, as it left the operatives in the weather longer, but were quickly squelched. The weather they could deal with far more easily than the gun shot wounds they might suffer if they hung in the air over the target for long. Besides, their Thick Gore Tex jackets and 30 pounds of other things surrounding their torsos, along with their nomex gloves and face masks would protect them from the worst of the weather. 2350 hours They finally received the go command and shuffle jogged up and out to their respective helos. Eric would ride with Jordan, Alpha team & former Section 1 level 1 operative and the GPMG (General Purpose Machine Gun) toting Dennis, unofficial call sign "Menace." The theory was that Eric and Dennis would cover Jordan's collection of Intelligence, while Safara and Cindy would cover Timothy's, but they all knew what was bound to happen to their best laid plans. He would very much have preferred to infiltrate with his entire team, knowing, as he did, that they would be firmly under his control. But Jordan knew as well as they the protocols to be implemented on this infiltration, as they'd covered them as a whole team in the last moments before heading to the choppers. She knew from her Section 1 days even how to communicate on the ground with Eric, and clearly respected his experience, having been in Section longer than her and in the military before then. He was confident she would perform up to par and as part of the unit. It took a moment to settle in to the uncomfortable webbing seats and secure the harnesses, and the others began their various mental routines to deal with the interminable and no doubt very rough ride to the target. Eric's body went almost numb as he focused inward to the waiting trance, and seemed to float outside his awareness and control. He continued to mull the hunt in his mind, his position relative to the others and to the prey. His unspoken but acknowledged rank in the pack notwithstanding, Eric had never been much of a Beta male, much of a pack animal at all beyond what was necessary to complete the task at hand. The exception came when he was to lead a pack as an extension of himself. Thus, he was more like a wild cat in among the wolves, or given their more urban experience and background, wild dog pack. This presented a problem; though a cat can easily overcome a dog of similar size and build, any number of cats will not so easily overcome a pack of dogs, though all else be equal. The dogs will fight as a pack, while the cats fight as individuals, and the individuals are each, in turn, overcome by the pack. Yet this pack would identify him not as the cat he was, but as the beta male he would pretend to be, vying for leadership of the pack. As had been the accepted tradition for centuries, when the confrontation occurred they would watch and wait, and pounce on the first to go down, tearing him apart. They would then acknowledge their Alpha as such, be he the new or the old, with equal loyalty and indifference. So Eric Schweig, Snowy Owl, wild cat, lone wolf, Beta Male, or hunter stalked the shadows, watched, and learned all. He would continue so until he learned enough, found the Alpha's weaknesses, and determined the time and place to be appropriate for confrontation. In the meantime he dozed as he could on the terrain following, storm fighting roller-coaster ride that seemed to be the standard helo lift into target. 2500 hours "ETA, FIVE MINUTES! Prepare to deploy!" The shout from the crew-member, louder than necessary through their active comm devices, brought Eric from his trance somewhat more quickly than he would have liked. Still, it was a part of missions, and a quick tensing and releasing of each of his muscle groups in turn and a couple deep breaths and he was ready to go. No longer was he focused on the hunt and the prey of the Alpha male, though it would never be entirely forgotten or neglected until it ended in the banishment and possible death of one of them. Now, however, he had a mission to carry out with its own clear and present dangers, and his immediate focus was clear. Jordan and Dennis, being somewhat less experienced in airborne assault techniques than he, would de-board together at the end of the cable being lowered from the starboard door of the helo, toward the center of the target roof, while he would hang from the port side, closer to the edge of the roof. Knots and Carabiners, goggles, face masks, and gloves secured and double checked, the three of them stepped in unison backward out of the doors of the chopper. They free-fell the first ten feet to the end of the cables so as to avoid being sucked up into the rotors as they might if they descended too slowly, and the crewman operated the winch, letting them out another ten feet. Finally they hung, whipping back and forth 20 feet beneath and behind their taxi. It had been hot inside the chopper, bundled up as they were under 30 pounds of gear, sitting still anticipating the upcoming mission. Stepping out into the blustery cold spring air, with the additional wind chill resulting from their quick forward movement behind the chopper, and the addition of the rotor wash, was like falling twenty feet into the center of nearly frozen jello, Eric reflected. It took a moment to shake the numbing cold, or to ignore it and force his body to work, more precisely. The near collision with the two on the end of their rope brought the additional needed adrenaline to act, and the next time they drew near each other he had a webbing loop and beaner ready. Dennis grabbed the other end, as it passed, and managing somehow to keep his hold, clipped it into a third loop on his rope, and the three of them hung together. There was nothing for it for the next four minutes, an hour though they seemed, but to huddle as tightly together as possible there in midair. It was time, somehow Eric knew it, and he forced himself to lift his head from where he'd held it against the others, to keep from smashing heads and faces together, and glanced beneath him. Indeed, there was the target immediately below, but not within a safe range to disengage from the line and drop to it. What was the pilot doing? The chopper turned, moved sideways off the target, turned and approached from another angle. This was not rocking the cradle any more, and any surprise was lost. He heard Safara's voice over his comm, ordering her pilot, in no uncertain terms, to put her down. His pilot seemed to be waiting to see how that would go, just off the target. Eric gritted his teeth against the wind, and wrestled his mp5 up between himself and the ropes, simultaneously releasing the carabiner holding him to Dennis & Jordan's rope. What he was about to do was not standard protocol, not prudent, not even safe. But he'd been a Section 1 operative, and as such, had learned to risk much to influence people, by any means necessary, to accomplish their missions. He Kicked away from the other two, swinging outward even as his pilot started another turn to the inside, and fired a quick burst past the pilot's window. He was careful to shoot wide, even of the rotors, but his meaning was clear, even as he shouted into his own comm unit, "You set us down NOW, easy way, or hard way!" Even as the chopper dropped to the target with speed surprising even to Eric, the urgency was punctuated by Joshua's strained but neutral voice over the comm. "Alpha 5 to all units, we are under heavy fire." No time to reflect as the roof rushed up to meet them, Eric worked the release on the beaner, as he tucked his head and shoulders, held his legs tightly together, knees slightly bent, and prepared to roll on impact. It came before he was quite ready, the carabiner not having quite disengaged, and he was yanked back into the air. Hauling himself up the rope to allow some slack, he slipped free of the loop, and let himself drop, absorbing the impact with bending knees and waist. Still, it was far more of a jolt than he was comfortable with, and his roll was finally stopped by the wall at the edge of the roof. None of the others, he noticed, had fared any better, Dennis and Jordan remaining on the line and being drug across the roof before finally disengaging just before the edge. One did not become an elite anti-terror operative or agent by nursing one's wounds while on a mission, however, and immediately as the teammates regained their bearings they rushed quickly but quietly to their chosen points of entry. As planned, Eric made eye contact with Dennis and Jordan, verifying by rushed hand signals that they were both essentially okay. Then Joshua's voice again over the comms: "Alpha 1 and 2 are down." Paige & Baz. And Joshua was with them, and able bodied enough to report, though something sounded wrong with him as well. The momentary anger was quickly shoved aside by the practical need to act quickly, and he held up the hand signal for protocol 2. The others, without sign, attached their personal ropes to the railing at the side of the roof and lowered themselves backward over the side. At the signal they would kick away from it, letting out line, and swing into the windows in the wall at about the second story level, above the interior catwalk. Eric, for his part, girth hitched his webbing loop around the railing and clipped a carabiner through the webbing loop, and the loop tied in the end of his rope. he payed out a couple feet of it, clipped it through the bener on his harness, and held the other twenty feet in his left hand as he dove to his belly beside another skylight. No time now for the usual triply redundant equipment and buddy checks, as the sounds of gunfire intensified below. Safara had beaten him down, was already dropping through a skylight on the east side of the warehouse, and it was a good idea. Eric would do in a similar fashion. lying back enough from the skylight that he could only just see in, but could not very well be seen from inside, he chose a target coming around for a shot at what he presumed to be the ground team, currently outside his field of view. Not bothering to aim precisely, he released a burst from his weapon, taking out the skylight, the target, and forcing other tango heads down as well with that burst. The skylight out of the way, he tossed his bunch of rope down into the warehouse, taking the portion one foot from the beaner on his harness and yanked it outward and backward past his thigh into the break position where it provided the maximum friction as it passed through the beaner. Even as he did so, he shoved himself foreword over the opening, facing downward into the warehouse, feet on the rim around where the skylight had been. Thus hanging face downward in the opening, he shoved himself around the rim, choosing targets and firing bursts into them. They could little determine where the shots were coming from, much less deal with Eric's from above and Safara's from their level or below, and Dennis and Jordan were relatively well covered as they swung in the windows, taking out guards on their side even as they came, found covered positions, and began to lay down covering fire for Eric, Safara, and the ground team. Safara was on the floor now, relatively secure within reach of crates that would serve as cover, and some tangos were beginning to look for him at the ceiling. He kicked from the lip of the skylight, into the open air just under the warehouse's sloped ceiling, and snapped the line to his chest, falling head downward, so the friction of the rope through the beaner was minimized. As he fell head first, facing the tango position on the east side of the building, he aimed the submachine gun, held upside down in his right hand, and held down the trigger for the full second it took him to descend. It would be practically impossible to catch him in any fire, falling at the rate he was. The knot signaling that he was nearing the end of the rope passed through his fingers, and tightening his grip a little on the running line, he yanked it backward and upward into the break position, slowing himself a little. A couple of rounds passed just below his head. A tango had gotten wise. He let the end of the rope pass through his fingers and the bener, and tucking, flipped from his head downward position to feet down as he fell the last six feet. He landed with his weight forward as another round passed through the space he'd occupied a moment earlier, and dive shoulder rolled behind a covering crate. No sooner had he verified the relative security of his position than he spoke into his comm, his voice urgent, authoritative but calm. It had not been stated as his position to give orders, but some, at least, on the ground would listen to him. He spoke, thus, to any friendlies listening and willing to obey, and the others could try to stay alive by whatever methods they chose. "Snowy Owl reloading." He noted with minor satisfaction the covering fire from Safara and the North West Catwalk as he ejected the nearly empty 30 round magazine and shoved the next one too, all in about two seconds. That done, he fired a burst at the enemy positions, giving those who had covered him a chance to reload, then paused a moment to speak again. "All . . ." He stopped, a little irked if it were possible in the action. He wasn't in charge yet, and though he might take charge, though others might see the wisdom in obedience to him, they also might not. Confusion would be the destruction of the teams if he didn't follow protocol, at this point. He continued, revising his intended statement. ". . . Brood units rendezvous on GT, sector eight center. Menace to me, sector five south!" The warehouse had been divided into sectors on the blue prints in their palms to clarify plans concerning movements and communications. The warehouse was three sectors wide, four long. The sector that Eric announced revealed the general portion of the warehouse to which he refered, the direction refering to which side of that sector, more specifically, was at issue. Sector 1 was in the North West corner, sector 12 in the South East. The offices occupied sectors 1-3, the labs sectors 4, 7, & 10 in the West half of the building, while the sectors 6, 9, & 12 on the East side were mostly filled with large shipping crates with dark allies between them. These were perfect places for hidden tangos, and indeed, most of the enemy fire originated from among them and had come from the catwalk above them until the West Air Team cleared it. Eric kept his body low now as he peaked from behind his crate, found the source of the most intense enemy fire, and placed three shots in the cover the tango was using and another two where his head would have been, if he hadn't of put it down so quickly. That gave Eric a moment to locate Saf, and he skittered closer, moving backward and sideways toward her position, keeping his crate more or less between himself and the tango and watching the enemy positions, not Saf. A shot from a slightly different angle ricoched past him, and he stopped, aimed, and fired, barely noticing the eruption of red against the crate behind the target. One less tango to deal with. Safara saw him perhaps, knew he intended communication, and fired a sustained burst across the enemy positions before turning slightly toward him, her focus still on the enemy. Return |
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