NationStates Jolt Archive

O’Brien paced back and forth in the COMSEC command centre for precinct 19, it was a dark room cramped with expensive hardware and monitors, the retina of the cameras that were proudly displayed all over precinct – and some hidden ones. Different monitors marked the link between the scanners (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/Kriegorgrad/scanners.jpg) and the COMSEC officers watching through their eyes, nothing escaped the notice of COMSEC in precinct 19, then again, nothing really escaped the notice of COMSEC anywhere in Kriegorgrad. O’Brien leant over an operative’s shoulder and peered into the screen, he was looking through a scanner’s eyes and he saw a street through the machine’s optics, he scanned the crowd that moved down it, every trace of afternoon light was crystal clear, it was as if he was looking through a window.

Abruptly, O’Brien’s finger flew to the screen, next to the face of a normal looking man.

”Him, he is a heretic.” O’Brien stated, pointing to a small man with hazelnut eyes and greasy brown hair after he withdrew from his position over the man’s shoulder.

The operative didn’t even question his superior, everyone knew O’Brien was right, it was as if he could tell what people were thinking merely by looking at them. Some claimed he had a second sight and rightly so, he did seem to have some kind of gift. The operative clicked a button on the side of his communicator and spoke into with a monotonous tone.

”Squad nine-three-one, suspected heretic, 5”5, brown hair, hazel nut eyes, Brikington road, precinct 19, code one-o-seven-delta.”

The crackle of radio chatter came through the headset before giving way to silence. O’Brien looked back to the screen and saw COMSEC (http://halflife.ingame.de/gfx/content/half-life2/enemies/combinesoldier.jpg) enforcers rush into the street and pick the man out from the crowd, he protested - a sure sign of heresy – and received a rifle butt in the face for it, by now people gave the COMSEC operatives a large berth and allowed the men to carry the limp heretic off the camera screen.

The operative nodded a few times as the crackle of radio chatter came in again, it ended abruptly as it always did and the man craned his neck upwards towards his superior’s face.

”Comrade, ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

”Very well Comrade, I’ll see him soon enough.”

O’Brien turned on his heel and left the room to find his way through the sleek black metal halls to the interrogation chambers...

The black-uniformed operative was sitting on a wooden crate, cleaning his AN-94 assault rifle. The moonlight coming through the grimy windows of the warehouse shone on his shaved head as he worked on his weapon.

"Hey Jansson!" a voice called out from behind him.

Karl Jansson turned and saw Captain Josef Tolstoy, a good friend of his, motioning for him to come. He stood up and carefully settled his assault rifle on the crate before approaching his comrade.

"What is it, sir?" he asked curiously.

Tolstoy opened a folder and pointed to a picture of a brown haired Kriegos. The picture was not the man's best, he appeared to be scowling and the lines on his forehead stood out.

"They got him. They fucking snatched him out of the street in front of everyone. COMSEC brought him in, there's no telling what they did to him."

Jansson cursed under his breath. "What if they make him talk? We're not safe here, we need to leave!"

"Settle down, Jansson. He won't talk, he hates the Commies more than we do." replied Tolstoy quietly.

After the Communist revolution had ousted Kriegor Zan Varr, the former Kriegos leader had fled to Zarbia, him and those loyal to him finding refuge in the allied nation. Almost immediately after Zarbian forces withdrew from Kriegorgrad, Zan Varr appealed to the Zarbian military government, asking for assistance to place him back in power of his homeland. Finally, after many months of planning, a small Spekpoli task force of twelve Zarbians was sent to Kriegorgrad, their mission was to train and equip Kriegos combat squads to fight back against the government.

Jansson nodded but he still felt anxious. The Commies could beat them and hurt them, but when the time came they were the ones who would feel true pain.

OOC: *The Spekpoli are my nation's Special Forces while the Statpoli are the secret police.

O’Brien looked at the limp man bolted into the chair, steel iron clamps guarded his wrists and ankles from movement as to save the COMSEC officers the effort of restraining him when he woke up and noticed his surroundings: stainless black steel walls, a bright blue halogen light in the eyes, dark black marble that made the floor seem an ocean of eternal darkness. O’Brien’s face didn’t change and he didn’t try put on a wicked grin like O’Brien’s less experienced comrades sometimes tried to as his unfortunate captive’s eyes flutter open slowly.

-----

Light flooded into Cecil’s world, the last thing he remember was fighting off COMSEC enforcers when a rifle butt came out of nowhere and…the colour left Cecil’s face ghastly white as he tried to move, finding his wrists and ankles locked in the unmoving grip of cold steel. A figure moved into Cecil’s line of sight, out from the shadows that plagued the room, a tall man with broad shoulders and a wide face, it didn’t take more than a few nanoseconds before the face clicked with Cecil’s memory: the face he was staring into was O’Brien of COMSEC, the man who’s very identity Cecil was charged with bringing to the Zarbian operatives helping to free the people of Kriegorgrad.

-----

O’Brien felt satisfaction well up within him as he saw the fear run rampant across Cecil’s narrow features, the hazel eyes darted to and fro, much like a trapped animal with its back to the wall.

”Do you know why you’re here, Comrade Cecil?”

O’Brien gave Cecil a cold stare when the man kept his lips sealed, O’Brien gave the signal.

-----

Terror had claimed most of Cecil’s cognitive responses and Cecil was struck for words, he knew that if he said “Yes, I know why I’m here” he would be free of the terrible pain that came with defying COMSEC, thoughts raced through his head in a jumble, bumping and spilling into each other so no rational thought would aid Cecil.

The horror Cecil felt was increased three-fold as he saw O’Brien raise and click his fingers, a soft whine of machinery could be heard and the silhouette of a mechanical arm protruded from behind the light, it slowly came into position under the light, revealing not only the details of the arm but the blades, drills and saws attached to it, a few cables ran along the arm and they buzzed with the efficient energy than ran through them. It was like child’s nightmare about a dentist.

-----

”Do you know why you’re here, Comrade Cecil?” Queried O’Brien in a cold tone.

The fear in Cecil’s eyes had intensified, the hunters had caught the fox and the dogs were baying for blood and the fox would’ve done anything to stay away from the snapping maws and the rifles of the hounds and the hunters. O’Brien kept his face stony. He clicked his fingers again.

-----

Cecil writhed as much as he could under the scrutiny of the evil implement hanging above him, the whine of machinery kicked in again and the blades and drills came ever closer, they slowly began to activate, the drills began to turn and the saws began to rotate.

-----

Do you know why you’re here, Comrade Cecil?

More defiance from the poor man strapped to the chair. Another click.

-----

Cecil lost all rational thought and soiled himself, he was going to give in as the blades and drills came ever so close his neck…

-----

”Do you know why you’re here, Comrade Cecil?”

Defiance and fingers clicking.

“Yes! I know why I’m here.”

For the first time in the interrogation, O’Brien smiled.

-----

Winston Barak, the leader of Kill Team 23 of COMSEC checked his weaponry inside the armoured confines of the MV-87A ( http://s6.invisionfree.com/International_Mall/index.php?showtopic=1840) Coba as the VTOL transport consumed the night time air with its powerful engines.

“Okay, Kill Team 23, you know the drill, shoot the cripple, not to kill.”

”Yessir!” Was the chorus while the gap between the warehouse the Zarbians were in and Kill Team 23 quickly became smaller and smaller…

Jansson had been dozing, his back against a crate, when a firm hand gripped his soldier, shaking him violently. He woke up, startled and disoriented.

"Jansson, wake up goddamnit," Tolstoy ordered. "The son of a bitch talked, he told them everything! We have five minutes before COMSEC gets here, so hurry up."

Jansson got to his feet quickly and looking past Tolstoy, saw his fellow squad members packing equipment into one of their black vans.

"Brekov reported in about two minutes ago, said he saw COMSEC transports heading this way," explained Tolstoy.

"Where is he?" asked Jansson, picking up the AN-94 he had left on the crate.

"No idea, he said he would meet up with us later," replied the captain. "Now hurry up and move, we have no time."

Suddenly, the windows at the top of the warehouse shattered as COMSEC agents smashed through the glass. Floodlights filled the area with light as gunfire ripped through the men below. Two Zarbians that had been loading the van were gunned down, their bodies riddled with bullets.

Tolstoy pulled Jansson back against the wall while freeing his OTs-33 pistol from its holster. He pointed the weapon upwards and began to fire, quickly hitting a Kriegos who cried out in pain. Jansson joined him with his assault rifle, emptying his magazine on the communists.

"Get into the vans!" yelled Tolstoy while taking cover behind a pillar.

The three vehicles roared to life, prompting the two operatives to head towards them. Tolstoy and Jansson reached the third van, moving quickly into the back while bullets whizzed by overhead.

The vans began moving, driving through the main doors of the warehouse. They headed north, towards their second location where they would meet up and secure another base. For now they had to escape the wrath of the COMSEC…

Winston Barak heard the glass shatter beneath his feet as he clung to the synthetic rope, by the time his boots touched the floor, the area had already exploded into gunfire and the din of combat bore into Winston’s ears. The Kill Team leader shouldered his hi-tech assault rifle and let off a burst at a fleeing Kriegos rebel, his back opened in an incarnadine display of human brutality yet despite the evil that Winston was committing, he felt no remorse for the poor souls he murdered for their beliefs, he felt only hatred and contempt. Any other Kriegos loyalist would share that hatred because what kind of person turns their back on the glorious Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov?

After a few more seconds of the intense fire fight, the screech of vans could be heard and Winston allowed himself a bit of time to tally up the dead and wounded, his eyes scanned the small, bullet ridden warehouse from their positions behind the saturated cerulean lenses, crimson splashed the walls now and again, shell casings were strewn about the shattered corpses of both rebel and Kill Team, he walked about, taking care to step around the few COMSEC corpses, not showing the dead rebels the same courtesy, daring even to kick one of the rebels who’d suffered a particularly hideous death.

Winston let out a sigh and crackled into his comm.-link “all-clear”, a chorus of “all-clear” came out through the minute speakers in Winston’s helmet, within seconds, the wounded COMSEC were put onto a spare Coba transport while the rest of the squad; those deemed combat efficient, were shoved into the two waiting VTOL craft. Winston gravity long to pull him down as the Coba suddenly tore itself off the ground to pursue the vans.

The Zarbian vans were quick but an MV-87 Coba was faster, within minutes of pursuit, three vans came rising up from the pitch black horizon and were bathed in the high moon’s light, gleaming black Cobas quickly consumed the distance between the vans and themselves. Seconds later, an explosion erupted in an orgy of flame and steel, a van went hurtling off the road, half melted and still ablaze, screams could be heard dimly even from the safety of the Coba, shrill cries piercing the melodious silence nature intended.

Machine gun fire ripped open the back of the next van before it struck one of the wheels, the van tipped over and skidded upside down, back to front, down the motorway, a missile lock was achieved on the final van and a missile was let loose from its cradle, a grand smoke trail marking the soon demise of the final van when the open motorway gave way to a tunnel, the missile harmlessly exploded near the tunnel entrance after the final van had made it into the safety of the tunnel, a rat fleeing down its hole.

Back in the MV-87, Winston snarled as he heard the pilot’s curse, that meant that his adversaries were temporarily out of his grasp and despite all the displeasure that brought Winston, it always compelled a feeling of challenge.

His quarry wouldn’t escape that easily.

Jansson cursed as the pursuing Kriegos destroyed the two fleeing vans. Suddenly his vision was obscured as the vehicle he was riding in entered a tunnel. An explosion occurred moments after, causing rubble from the tunnel structure to collapse. The COMSEC would have to take a new route; this would buy the Zarbians time to escape. If only they could reach the second location soon.

Captain Tolstoy patted him on the back. The situation in the warehouse had been tough; they had been completely ambushed and slaughtered.

"What the hell are we going to do, sir?"

"Don't worry about that now, Jansson, wait until we reach the backup point."

Jansson shook his head, how could he not worry? Three quarters of his team had been wiped out in fifteen minutes; three weeks of progress had been dealt a heavy blow. There was nothing they could do now; everything was in the hands of the Kriegos...

**********

Derbuk Charleton sat low in the shadows of the abandoned house. He had been here for several hours with the other seven members of his combat squad. It was past midnight now and orders from the Zarbians should be arriving soon.

A fellow Kriegos, Sergei Holokie, moved beside him, an AK-102 in his hands. Although not supplied with the best of weapons, the combat teams had received the best training that the Zarbian Spekpoli could offer. Holokie unscrewed the lid of his canteen and took a sip. Soon it would be time. Soon they would prove themselves against the forces of the government...

The city was in full swing, klaxons roared as searchlights boomed into life, COMSEC kill teams were put on alert status, the militias were roused and the witch hunt for the heretics began, men, women - and children, too - cowered inside their meagre dwellings, fearful that the great enemy; those who sought to bring down the glorious Comrade Leader, was in the city. The militias were co-ordinated by civil protection units and usually starry sky was locked away by the intensive amount of lighting within the city, despite the luminance provided by the lighting system, the city could have been gripped by the dark vice of pitch black night, judging from the state of perpetual fear it was locked in.

Even young Duran and Joe, both lads, now cared for by devout men, devout men who were currently combing the city head-to-toe, looking for the enemies of the state. Joe suggested they venture into the aging quarantined zone, the area where old Kriegos architecture reigned despite the advances of Kriegos architecture.

Joe warned against it but Duran argued that if the heretics were to be hiding anywhere, it would be there.

Thus, with a reckless streak, the two boys clambered over the chain link fence, usually patrolled by the camera bots that were, as of this time, elsewhere, searching for the heretics.

The quarantined area of Krieg was poor and abandoned, it was one of the few areas that the COMSEC generally steered clear of. On occasion patrols would wander among the old homes and buildings, but this was not very frequent.

The Kriegos combat squad, led by Derbuk Charleton, had occupied two buildings in the area, both old homes. Peter Kinnon held onto the railing of the second floor balcony as he surveyed the area. He watched as the two COMSEC agents moved quickly through the quarantined zone, they were about one hundred yards from the squad's current position. Kinnon spoke softly into his walkie-talkie, letting the rest of the squad know what he saw. The two men split up, one began walking towards the combat team's location while the other headed east.

Derbuk Charleton peeked through the grimy window at the approaching soldier. The gap between them was closing, it was about seventy yards now. Once the COMSEC agent was a bit closer, then the squad would strike.

Scanner unit #3419 was whizzing over the quarantined zone, wooden houses, paint long since peeled off the rotting wood, revealing the dark brown mass of abandoned homes, no doubt teeming with termites and other insects and arachnids that were fond of the dilapidated area. As soon as the light levels dropped below acceptable levels, night vision clicked on and #3419's world was illuminated by varying shades of green, suddenly, movement was located and an illuminated white box appeared around two young children...

Duran led the way, Joe following reluctantly behind, suddenly, Joe's ears pricked up, the plump boy grasped at Duran's shoulder and whispered into his ear: "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Duran said, quite audibly.

"Keep your voice down, I tell you, I heard something."

"Fine coward, where from?"

"That window." Joe whispered, pointing to a nearby window.

"Fine, I'll go check it out." Duran trotted over to the window and grabbed at the window sill, hauling himself up to see what was inside the dark building...

Derbuk Charleton's eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, he was watching the two COMSEC agents gradually approaching his location from a ragged hole in the wall. He looked to the left, Sergei Holokie was three feet away from him, peeking out of the front window.

The two figures in the dark stopped, paused, and one of them stepped forward slowly. Charleton was silent as he saw the braver soldier come within two feet of Holokie's position. Wait...this soldier was too short to be a fully grown man. Derbuk scrunched up against the wall, hoping that the person outside would leave and not cause any trouble. Small hands grasped the window sill and a boyish face peered into the room through the filthy glass.

Suddenly, Charleton heard a loud blast as Holokie fired his RMB-93 shotgun into the intruder's face. The corpse disappeared over the side of the window sill as it hit the soft ground. He peered through his hole in the wall and finally realized that the body was that of a teenage boy.

"What the fuck?!" he screamed.

Sergei Holokie gasped when he saw what he had done. He sat back against the wall and let the shotgun fall to the floor. It was one thing to kill the oppressive COMSEC, but to murder a boy was no worse than the Reds.

At that moment Derbuk remembered the boy's companion. He stood up, already giving orders to his squad.

"Anderson, Giles, get out there and capture the other one. Don't hurt him, just bring him here. If he gets away, we are in deep shit." he turned to Holokie. "I'll deal with you later you trigger happy bastard."

Will Anderson and Morton Giles left the building through the front door, passing the bloody, headless corpse and breaking into a run after the fleeing child.

Joe's jaw dropped adjusted to allow a scream to escape his lips, his friend's head had just exploded like an over-ripe watermelon smashed asunder with a sledgehammer, blood and brain matter covered his being and he heard the front door of the house open with a clatter, the tromp of footsteps not far behind, quickly, out of the mist of panic, one word formed in Joe's mind.

Run

Joe sprinted until his lungs threatened to burst, he clambered over the chain link fence and after being no more than thirty seconds out of the quarantined zone, he came across a COMSEC patrol, the group of five barked in a cruel voice, distorted by the feedback of the COMSEC Kill Team suit.

"WHAT IS IT CHILD."

"A-a-a...." The boy's words gave way to tears.

"WHAT! FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY."

"Erm...err..."

"THREE SECONDS."

"Err...heh...hehr-e...heretics! HERETICS! They...my friend...quarantined..."

"CONFIRMED." The COMSEC Security Officer raised a hand to his ear and clicked on his long range comms system.

"THIS IS COMSEC SEARCH TEAM THIRTEEN-ALPHA, REQUESTING BACKUP AT PRECINCT 13, KILL TEAM SITUATION, REPEAT, KILL TEAM SITUATION."

A chorus of crackled response came through the COMSEC's comms equipment, while Joe sat there, bewildered and fearful.

"YOU MAY LEAVE CITIZEN."

The child ran while the first swarm of camera drones, cheap floodlights on, piercing the veil of darkness that shielded the Zarbian trained combat squad from COMSEC's all seeing eye.

Shortly following the camera drones, the Cobas followed behind in arrow formation, no less than five of the Coba transports all en-route to the pinpointed zone, one for each corner...four corners...where did the fifth one go?