Mercenary Soldiers
06-10-2006, 03:43
You're welcome to take over as one of the mercenaries, with the exception of Stillwater or Underwood. I've even left two positions open for you to make your own characters, (two guys in a van). This doesn't really have a plot, and like the name says, it will have plenty of shooting between counter-terrorists and the invaders. I don't, however, want poor displays of RP skills, or anything outside of modern-tech.
The light inside the embassy was a bit dimmer than it was outside, a bit of a transition when one entered from the outside. The sunglasses cast everything in a dimmer hue anyway, and everything within seemed that much darker. Moscow was a bit chilly this time of year, but not the biting cold of the infamous Russian winter.
It was about three-forty-five in the afternoon when eight suspicious-looking individuals entered the lobby area. The first was an American-looking man in his mid-forties, wearing a leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses. He counted seven uniformed Marines, packing the usual M9 Beretta. Luckily, he'd brought seven of his friends along for the ride. They filtered towards the security checkpoint, namely the metal detectors. The first guy walked through non-chalantly, standing in a relaxed posture as a pair of US Marines approached him to do a more precise inspection...
"Stand still, sir... This'll only take a minute..."
The metal detector passed over his chest without incident, until it came towards his right side...
"Please remove your jacket sir..."
The man in question didn't really move to comply...
"I was a Marine once, a long time ago..."
The younger man in front of him nodded sternly as the older man raised his hand to execute what looked like a salute, but as the tips of his fingers brushed his right temple it turned into a thundering elbow-strike across the face that sent the young warrior's hat flying from his head. It preceeded a clinch-knee to the face, stunning the man long enough for the man in the jacket to get behind him and pull the Marine's sidearm from his holster and bury the muzzle in his scalp...
"Nobody move... This can be over fairly quickly if you'll all cooperate..."
His associates were up in front of the other guards very quickly, taking their weapons from them, and having them lie down on the floor while they were searched for additional weapons...
"You get over there with your buddies, and don't cause us any trouble..."
The man in the jacket grinned broadly, showing off a set of whitened teeth...
"And one more thing..."
The young man turned to face him, malice in his eyes...
"Semper Fi, motherfucker..."
The young Marine looked like he wanted to tear his head off, but the nine-milimeter in his hand prevented that. The man in the jacket slowly worked his way out of it. The tattoo on his right shoulder was something different than what he'd said he was. The image of an eagle with a trident singled him out as a former SEAL. He'd lied about his service, big fucking deal. Clad in a black wifebeater, a pair of tactical pants of the same color, and a pair of GSG-9-style boots, his motives became a bit more clear. He wasn't just some simple, poorly-trained terrorist with some nifty karate-gimmicks, but a military-trained professional...
"Hey Stillwater, you want us to cuff 'em?"
Stillwater nodded, stuffing the Beretta into the waistband of his pants and drawing the oversized Desert Eagle from under his right shoulder...
"Whatever, so long as they don't trouble us later..."
His associates complied quickly. Stillwater was no stranger to such operations, nor was he a complete stranger in a United States Embassy. He'd worked for the CIA for a number of years after the Navy. He'd selected his team from a roster of some highly qualified mercenaries, himself included...
"I say fucking shoot them, save trouble later..."
The heavily-accented voice of Alexi Stechnikov came from somewhere behind Stillwater, a violent former Russian Navy commando. He'd taken the folding-stock AKS-74U from under his jacket and clipped a magazine into place. His hand was on the charging handle when Stillwater stopped him...
"Not yet, you blood-thirsty animal..."
Stechnikov's face twisted into a sneer. He didn't seem to like Americans much...
"Not tough now, are you? Eh, pretty-boy?"
The Russian kicked one of the bound Marines in the ribs after engaging the charging handle on his weapon...
"Leave 'em alone, asshole. If they're smart, they won't screw around..."
The voice was that of a fellow American, Roland Sykes. Sykes' dossier said he was an ex-Ranger turned Anarchist. The amount of steel in his face seemed to go along with it, with the stylized 'A' tattoo on his left forearm. He was in the process of putting a magazine in his MP5A4...
"Yeah, they ain't stupid..."
The third was also an American, a former Force-Recon Marine holding an M4A2, which he'd carried in two pieces under his jacket to get into the Embassy undetected. He went by the nickname of Joker...
"Whatever Joker, you know dey gonna try shit later..."
Lionel Joseph, the Rastafarian mercenary of Jamaican heritage, was his usual suspicious self. His pair of CZ-75 handguns were already loaded, and he really didn't like using anything else. The tip of a joint poked out from under his dreds, which he fully intended to smoke during the operation...
"Quit yer whinin' like a buncha wee little taven-wenches and get barricading the doors, or we'll be up to our cocks in Spetznaz..."
Lewis Underwood, the fifth mercenary, was former PIRA, and Irish to the core. He hadn't brought any weapons along, other than his 586 Smith and Wesson .357 magnum, with a four-inch barrel and finely-tuned trigger. His other gear was in the van the other two mercs would be pulling into the loading dock around back. Stillwater had selected him as his second in command for good reason. In addition to being a hardass, effective leader, Underwood was a professional who'd been doing this sort of thing since he was fifteen. At the age of forty-nine, he'd had quite a bit of practice...
"You two, get some shit in front of the doors and get them locked. We'll be setting up a defensive line from the landing up there..."
The embassy lobby was over-looked by a large landing with staircases on either side. They had sandbags in the van which they'd be setting up shortly. Joseph relieved one of the Marines of his keys, and followed by Joker, went to lock the front doors and herd the rest of the civilians out. Once the doors were locked, they stayed behind to cover the front entrance while Stillwater and the rest of the crew got ready to sweep and clear the building for the remainder of the Embassy's security forces, after they grabbed the good gear from the van out back...
"The rest of you, head for the van..."
The cell-phone in his pocket had rung twice, but only he'd felt the vibration. Their body-armor was in the van, and they'd be needing it. It took about two minutes to get to the van, another three to get their vests out, and about a minute to get into them. The new 'Dragon-Skin' armor was the pinnacle of defensive technology, able to stop pretty much anything shot from a gun. The Russian counter-terror operatives wouldn't have a fifty-caliber rifle on hand, or anything close. Stillwater moved around a bit to make sure he'd gotten the vest on properly under his under-arm holster, then re-drew the Desert Eagle. He'd opted for the smallest-caliber round the weapon came in, a .357 magnum. With the impressive size of the weapon, it made recoil an afterthought. He really didn't think it was a practical combat pistol, with the extreme size and all, it just made him look the part of the crazed terrorist. His Glock 19 was with his rifle down in the van, sealed securely in a Pelican-brand case. The custom-built Accuracy International was chambered in .338 Lapua magnum, and Stillwater was quite skilled with the weapon. The other three mercs followed their leader through a systematic clearing of the embassy, still unaware of the situation downstairs. Not a shot had been fired, and the security Marines hadn't had a chance to get off a distress call. In about twenty-five minutes, the entire building was secure, and they had about fifteen more hostages. Unfortunately, the diplomat was out at the time they arrived, and they didn't have a well-known hostage, which might make keeping the inevitable counter-terror teams at bay a bit harder.
The captives were marched carefully down to the cafeteria area, and locked inside after everthing resembling a weapon or escape device had been removed. That would keep them from bitching about food or bathroom use. It would leave Stillwater and his boys free to get what they needed, which was a lot more important than ransom money...
The light inside the embassy was a bit dimmer than it was outside, a bit of a transition when one entered from the outside. The sunglasses cast everything in a dimmer hue anyway, and everything within seemed that much darker. Moscow was a bit chilly this time of year, but not the biting cold of the infamous Russian winter.
It was about three-forty-five in the afternoon when eight suspicious-looking individuals entered the lobby area. The first was an American-looking man in his mid-forties, wearing a leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses. He counted seven uniformed Marines, packing the usual M9 Beretta. Luckily, he'd brought seven of his friends along for the ride. They filtered towards the security checkpoint, namely the metal detectors. The first guy walked through non-chalantly, standing in a relaxed posture as a pair of US Marines approached him to do a more precise inspection...
"Stand still, sir... This'll only take a minute..."
The metal detector passed over his chest without incident, until it came towards his right side...
"Please remove your jacket sir..."
The man in question didn't really move to comply...
"I was a Marine once, a long time ago..."
The younger man in front of him nodded sternly as the older man raised his hand to execute what looked like a salute, but as the tips of his fingers brushed his right temple it turned into a thundering elbow-strike across the face that sent the young warrior's hat flying from his head. It preceeded a clinch-knee to the face, stunning the man long enough for the man in the jacket to get behind him and pull the Marine's sidearm from his holster and bury the muzzle in his scalp...
"Nobody move... This can be over fairly quickly if you'll all cooperate..."
His associates were up in front of the other guards very quickly, taking their weapons from them, and having them lie down on the floor while they were searched for additional weapons...
"You get over there with your buddies, and don't cause us any trouble..."
The man in the jacket grinned broadly, showing off a set of whitened teeth...
"And one more thing..."
The young man turned to face him, malice in his eyes...
"Semper Fi, motherfucker..."
The young Marine looked like he wanted to tear his head off, but the nine-milimeter in his hand prevented that. The man in the jacket slowly worked his way out of it. The tattoo on his right shoulder was something different than what he'd said he was. The image of an eagle with a trident singled him out as a former SEAL. He'd lied about his service, big fucking deal. Clad in a black wifebeater, a pair of tactical pants of the same color, and a pair of GSG-9-style boots, his motives became a bit more clear. He wasn't just some simple, poorly-trained terrorist with some nifty karate-gimmicks, but a military-trained professional...
"Hey Stillwater, you want us to cuff 'em?"
Stillwater nodded, stuffing the Beretta into the waistband of his pants and drawing the oversized Desert Eagle from under his right shoulder...
"Whatever, so long as they don't trouble us later..."
His associates complied quickly. Stillwater was no stranger to such operations, nor was he a complete stranger in a United States Embassy. He'd worked for the CIA for a number of years after the Navy. He'd selected his team from a roster of some highly qualified mercenaries, himself included...
"I say fucking shoot them, save trouble later..."
The heavily-accented voice of Alexi Stechnikov came from somewhere behind Stillwater, a violent former Russian Navy commando. He'd taken the folding-stock AKS-74U from under his jacket and clipped a magazine into place. His hand was on the charging handle when Stillwater stopped him...
"Not yet, you blood-thirsty animal..."
Stechnikov's face twisted into a sneer. He didn't seem to like Americans much...
"Not tough now, are you? Eh, pretty-boy?"
The Russian kicked one of the bound Marines in the ribs after engaging the charging handle on his weapon...
"Leave 'em alone, asshole. If they're smart, they won't screw around..."
The voice was that of a fellow American, Roland Sykes. Sykes' dossier said he was an ex-Ranger turned Anarchist. The amount of steel in his face seemed to go along with it, with the stylized 'A' tattoo on his left forearm. He was in the process of putting a magazine in his MP5A4...
"Yeah, they ain't stupid..."
The third was also an American, a former Force-Recon Marine holding an M4A2, which he'd carried in two pieces under his jacket to get into the Embassy undetected. He went by the nickname of Joker...
"Whatever Joker, you know dey gonna try shit later..."
Lionel Joseph, the Rastafarian mercenary of Jamaican heritage, was his usual suspicious self. His pair of CZ-75 handguns were already loaded, and he really didn't like using anything else. The tip of a joint poked out from under his dreds, which he fully intended to smoke during the operation...
"Quit yer whinin' like a buncha wee little taven-wenches and get barricading the doors, or we'll be up to our cocks in Spetznaz..."
Lewis Underwood, the fifth mercenary, was former PIRA, and Irish to the core. He hadn't brought any weapons along, other than his 586 Smith and Wesson .357 magnum, with a four-inch barrel and finely-tuned trigger. His other gear was in the van the other two mercs would be pulling into the loading dock around back. Stillwater had selected him as his second in command for good reason. In addition to being a hardass, effective leader, Underwood was a professional who'd been doing this sort of thing since he was fifteen. At the age of forty-nine, he'd had quite a bit of practice...
"You two, get some shit in front of the doors and get them locked. We'll be setting up a defensive line from the landing up there..."
The embassy lobby was over-looked by a large landing with staircases on either side. They had sandbags in the van which they'd be setting up shortly. Joseph relieved one of the Marines of his keys, and followed by Joker, went to lock the front doors and herd the rest of the civilians out. Once the doors were locked, they stayed behind to cover the front entrance while Stillwater and the rest of the crew got ready to sweep and clear the building for the remainder of the Embassy's security forces, after they grabbed the good gear from the van out back...
"The rest of you, head for the van..."
The cell-phone in his pocket had rung twice, but only he'd felt the vibration. Their body-armor was in the van, and they'd be needing it. It took about two minutes to get to the van, another three to get their vests out, and about a minute to get into them. The new 'Dragon-Skin' armor was the pinnacle of defensive technology, able to stop pretty much anything shot from a gun. The Russian counter-terror operatives wouldn't have a fifty-caliber rifle on hand, or anything close. Stillwater moved around a bit to make sure he'd gotten the vest on properly under his under-arm holster, then re-drew the Desert Eagle. He'd opted for the smallest-caliber round the weapon came in, a .357 magnum. With the impressive size of the weapon, it made recoil an afterthought. He really didn't think it was a practical combat pistol, with the extreme size and all, it just made him look the part of the crazed terrorist. His Glock 19 was with his rifle down in the van, sealed securely in a Pelican-brand case. The custom-built Accuracy International was chambered in .338 Lapua magnum, and Stillwater was quite skilled with the weapon. The other three mercs followed their leader through a systematic clearing of the embassy, still unaware of the situation downstairs. Not a shot had been fired, and the security Marines hadn't had a chance to get off a distress call. In about twenty-five minutes, the entire building was secure, and they had about fifteen more hostages. Unfortunately, the diplomat was out at the time they arrived, and they didn't have a well-known hostage, which might make keeping the inevitable counter-terror teams at bay a bit harder.
The captives were marched carefully down to the cafeteria area, and locked inside after everthing resembling a weapon or escape device had been removed. That would keep them from bitching about food or bathroom use. It would leave Stillwater and his boys free to get what they needed, which was a lot more important than ransom money...