NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a cold morning. The Nor'Easter off the coast of Dnalkrad was gaining strength and ready to hit land. It would only be a few more days until it smashed into the coast at full fury. At Dnalkrad City IAP, a single 747-400 graced the tarmac, the last of the airliners to leave the airport. It was deemed too dangerous to keep all aircraft at the airport and thus all had been flown south to South Eastern Virginia or Ynoga. This was the last one, taking out the last bit of evacuees, a total of five hundred people, crammed in tightly.

It was on its way to the runway, the skeleton crew at the airport watching as the mighty airliner made its way to hold short at Runway 22S. The mighty beast, weighing just over 850,000 pounds sat poised and ready, its four massive engines in idle. Then, over the radio came the go. "Flight 929 for Ynoga, cleared for take off."

"Roger that." The pilot and his copilot had done this over four hundred times. They pushed the throttles for the four engines to maximum, sending a total of 248,000 lb. of thrust out of the four engines, pushing the giant aircraft down the runway. The plane hurtled down the three mile runway picking up speed as it went, moving past forty to fifty knots and further. The pilot and copilot put down the flaps and the jet increased speed to seventy-five knots. Take-off speed for this weight and these weather conditions was just over one hundred and eighty knots, quite a lot of airspeed, but they had plenty of runway. They would need just under two and a half miles, plenty of room for the massive jumbo jet.

As the plane passed through one hundred and twenty knots, the roar of the engines and of the tires was about the only sound one could hear in the cabin, all five hundred people just happy that they were getting the hell out of dodge. Finally, at one hundred and sixty knots, the pilot and copilot pulled up on the flight controls, lifting the nose into the air ever so slightly. With the full thrust and momentum, it was only a few more seconds before the plane was at one hundred and eighty knots. Ascent!

The elegant beast took to the skies and leapt off the runway. "This is Flight 929. We're airborne."

"Roger. Come to heading one-eight-zero, angels six. Clear for ascent to angels thirty-five. Pattern is empty. Good luck. We'll see you after the storm."

"Roger that." The pilot and copilot turned the massive beast as the wheels retracted. They climbed at a 10° pitch and turned slightly to the starboard, coming from a heading of one-five-zero to one-eight-zero. Six thousand feet wasn't far for them and they throttled back, retracting the flaps. When they were about thirty miles south of the airfield they reached thirty-five thousand feet, the cruise altitude. Cruise speed was five hundred knots, maximum being five hundred and twenty-five knots.

As the jetliner leveled out and came to the heading, the captain turned off the seatbelt sign and those who wanted food readied for it. Those who wanted to use the bathroom did so. And lastly, those with an ulterior agenda went to action. Twenty-four men, dispersed randomly throughout the cabin stood up, knives at the ready, pistols in their other hands. "EVERYONE GET DOWN!" They screamed. Instantly everyone knew what it was and screaming filled the cabins. It was a hijacking and there was no doubts about it.

"GET THE F*** DOWN NOW!" They screamed as they threw people into seats and threw people onto the ground. They cleared the bathrooms, yanking people out and hurtling them into any open seat. "SIT DOWN THIS IS A HIJACKING. MOVE OR STOP US AND YOU WILL BE SHOT!" Panic set in and everyone pretty much did as they said. Two young men, both in college, made an attempt to rush one of the hijackers and while they succeeded in knocking him down, both of them caught forty-five caliber rounds to their backs. That was the sound that alerted the pilot and copilot.

"What the hell was that?"

"It sounded like a gunshot? Turn on the cabin microphone." Screaming filled the cockpit. "F*** this is a goddamn hijacking. Laxed security at its finest. Send the distress call."

"Roger that." The navigator immediately got on the radio. "Dnalkrad tower, Dnalkrad tower. This is Flight 929. We're under hijack. Report gunfire. Over." There was nothing but static. He tried again, "Dnalkrad tower, Dnalkrad tower. This is Flight 929. We're under hijack. Report gunfire. Over." Once again, there was nothing but static. "Goddamnit. I can't get anything."

"Switch to military frequency."

"Roger." The navigator switched. Immediately the radio was cluttered with chatter. "Help. Help. This is Flight 929. We're under hijack. Report gunfire. Over." Silence filled the channel immediately.

Then came the words they wanted to hear. "Report hijack on Flight 929. This is Layarteb Central Air Force Station 57. Report your position over?"

"We are over the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Who am I talking to?"

"This is Colonel Westerson, Layarteb Air Force. Maintain control with SOPs. We're on it. We have your transponder signal. Good luck."

"Good luck, that's it?" The copilot said. "What are they kidding. That's it?"

"Calm yourself. You know protocol. Keep that door shut and we're fine. Keep the cabin microphones on, I want to know what is going on. Maintain heading and speed. We don't want to tip them off."

Meanwhile, in the CIC at station 57, flights were being shuffled. A pair of F-22A Raptors were the closest, sitting on the tarmac at an airfield in Maine. They were fueled and ready, only their pilots were missing. Both were in the barracks when the call came to them and they made it to their fighters in seconds. They had little time for preflight checks and they just went with what was the most important. These were new aircraft after all, no need for formalities. As the 747-400 passed over Nova Scotia, the two F-22As took off from the runway themselves. Both were fully loaded with fuel and could escort the 747-400 for a significant amount of time, indefinitely with mid-air refueling. Both were loaded with two AIM-9X Sidewinders and six AIM-120D AMRAAMs as well as a full load of gun rounds, four hundred and eighty overall. It would only take one missile to knock out the plane at that altitude and they planned on showing the terrorists all sixteen missiles.

The Emperor was informed only minutes after the distress call. He called a special meeting with his cabinet. The goal was, more or less, to find out just what these terrorists wanted and at that point, what they had planned...

The Colodian media, filled with senior sources that have deep connections to any and all neighboring nations, quickly jumped to the brand new news story.

"We have breaking news tonight as we have just received word from our sources here at the Colodian News Network that a Layarteb airline has been hijacked. The Layarteb Emperor has apparently been briefed and we will have more on this story as news fills in."

The President, upon watching this sudden turn of events, called the Colodian Ambassador to Layarteb and told him to immediatly head to the Layarteb capitol and give both The Emperor and the nation our full backing.

tag

Rose International News Network

In other news, a Layarteban Airliner has been hijacked. No word from the terrorists on what they want. But Sergei said that the Rosian Government will do anything to stop terrorism. And that terrorism is a threat to the fragile world peace in the world. And talking about the world, the World Class Jackass Competition went into a good start today when John Makov actually punched himself in the balls, naked...

((OOC: Aka tag))

Inside the cabin, the screaming and panic subdued under the supreme fear of the terrorists, twenty-four in total. They had scared everyone into submission, a mere twenty-four of them and four hundred and seventy-six of them. The panic factor had set in and everyone became powerless, useless, human beings. "Alright. Everyone sit down, shut up, and put your heads down!" They screamed having restored order.

"You come here!" The commander said to the nearest stewardess, a twenty-four year old, on her third flight. She was scared, worrying more about her apartment that she had just moved into than a hijacking. She was about 5'2", ninety-four pounds, skinny, cute, and her hair was naturally brunette but had streaks of red in it. She was, to look at, a dream. "Come here now!"

"What..." She was shaking. "No. Please..."

"Get over here now woman!" The terrorist grabbed her by the hair and yanked her towards him, hard. She screamed in pain, crying. "Stop your crying and come with me now! We're going to the cockpit!"

"No."

"What's your name!"

"Tris, Tri, Trish." She finally got the words out. "Please don't hurt me."

"That depends on your pilot!"

"On my what!"

"Come now. To the cockpit." The terrorist commander spoke fluent English but he wasn't a Layartebian. He looked more like a Russian. "Let's go!" He had no accent.

They moved to the cockpit door, the pistol jammed in her back. When they reached the terrorist knocked. "Trish says open the door!"

Inside the cockpit, the pilot and copilot looked at each other. The moment they feared was at hand. "Layarteb Air Force. This is Flight 929. They're banging on the door with a hostage."

"Roger. Over." Inside station 57, there was much to discuss. "Remain inside the cockpit. Over."

"But the woman."

"You have your orders."

"Yes sir. Out." The pilot looked at his copilot. "F*** that. I'm not giving them an unlimited body count. Who disagrees?" Nobody made a sound. "We're opening the door. Do not contact us!"

"OPEN THE DOOR OR SHE DIES!" The terrorist banged on the door again.

"Alright. Alright!" The pilot go up and opened the door, to see Trish, scared out of her witts. "What do you want!"

"Have you alerted the ground?"

"No." The pilot stood his ground and barely blinked. "What do you want!"

"I want nothing but you to fly straight and level. We're going south."

"Where to?"

"We'll let you know in the air." The terrorist yelled down the cabin. "Mashkov. Come here."

"Yes sir?"

"You are in charge of the cockpit. She is your hostage!"

Mashkov smiled. "Very well." The commander returned to the cabin.

Inside station 57, they were now dealing with a new course of action. The pilot had given control of the aircraft to the terrorists, albeit they were still flying it. The two F-22As were about half an hour from getting there and still the terrorists on board didn't know that they knew. They would have to hold off. The orders sent to the F-22s was simple, stay five miles behind the aircraft, make no visual signs. But they got a break. When they were fifteen minutes out, the terrorist commander made his speech across the radio waves.

"I am Vladimir Shevdov. I am from the Kaliningrad Warriors. We are here to take over this aircraft and bring the fear into the heart of your citizens as you have done to us. Our brothers are dying in Kaliningrad because of your imperial policies. You will release all prisoners held in Kaliningrad prisons and we will release your airline. If you do not comply within four hours we will start killing hostages, one by one for every ten minutes that you waste. That is all!"

The situation was different now. They definitely had someone watching the prison, someone to let them know that their cause had been won.

Immediately the reuqest was sent to the Emperor who released an immediate statement.

"It has come to the attention of several governments that a domestic flight from Dnalkrad to Ynoga has come under hijacking. These reports are false. Our flight is fine and on course, on time, and sound. I thank all governments for their pledge of support to our situation. If such a situation were to exist I would, without a doubt, ask their assistance. Thank you."

"Major, we're about twenty miles out, bearing 180 on the 747. Sir what do we do?" Lieutenant Markos was in the trail F-22, a new pilot by standards. He had only been flying for a year and scored high enough on tests and training standards to warrant flight in the F-22A Raptor. Major Calliphan, on the other hand, was a six year veteran and had, in combat, two kills, both MiG-29 Fulcrum fighters. He looked down at his fuel state, he had more than enough to escort this 747 down to North Carolina and back up. "Sir?"

"I hear you Lieutenant. We're coming on its six. Target is moving at five hundred knots, we're doing six hundred and fifty. When we get six miles back we're going to slow it down to five hundred and trail. At this speed and altitude we can fly for another thousand miles, at least. I'm sure they have a tanker in the air and/or on the way."

"Roger that." The Lieutenant was sweating, looking at the picture of his wife and kid. If I have to shoot this down there are going to be kids and women. I don't know if I can do that. He thought to himself as he looked at the picture. "Sir."

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"Sir I'm not sure I can shoot this down if we have to."

"You'll do what you are ordered to. Keep the channel clear."

"Roger. Sorry sir."

"Just don't do it again."

"Yes sir. Out." The Lieutenant sighed, a tear in his eye. I just can't do it. As they closed on the 747, they were tracking it with RWS, keeping from locking up onto the airliner but enough to see its track. They would follow it precisely.

========================

On board the 747, the terrorists had gotten silence. The passengers were just too scared to peep a single sound, fearing for their lives. Trish, the flight attendent was still in the cockpit, scared beyond her wildest possibilities. The pilot and copilot kept a straight course, maintaining 35,000 feet and 500 knots, enough to fly for another 9,000 miles, easy.

The terrorist commander had not come back, not in the past 20 minutes. They had been hailed several times from the ground but to no avail. The people at station 57 wanted to talk to the commander, to try to reason with him, if that was even possible. Their request wasn't going to be met nor was it even feasible. Now the only question was, how to get the plane down and the people safely out.

The security analysts at Dnalkrad City IAP were looking at the videos from the flight. They were mainly looking for a bomb. Thus far no unsual activity around the aircraft had been seen since it had last landed. Some maintenance workers there were tending to the flight were already in questioning and now it was a task to see who, out of the passengers, were the terrorists.

At Station 57, the only station dealing with the hijacking, several theories were going around as to how to bring this plane down safely and get the hijackers. The two F-22A fighters were shadowing the 747 from six miles back, barely visible from the 747 but they could see it on both radar and their HUD. The 747 was determined not to have any RWR system so they had locked up the 747 and were maintaining the same speed, 500 knots.

On board the airliner, the hijackers were maintaining order. How they smuggled guns aboard baffled those on the flight. They all had to pass through the same security net, why was it that they didn't set off the alarms. Something was amiss and despite the looming Nor'Easter, nobody at the airport was going anywhere until answers were given!

CYSN

"Reports are coming through that a layartebian passenger airliner has been hijacked over Dnalkrad, currently Layarteb territory. Celtayoshi state news has no further word at this time."

OOC: Layarteb, which one of your territories is Dnalkrad?

CYSN

"Reports are coming through that a layartebian passenger airliner has been hijacked over Dnalkrad, currently Layarteb territory. Celtayoshi state news has no further word at this time."

OOC: Layarteb, which one of your territories is Dnalkrad?

Newfoundland and Labrador.

Trish sat scared, more than ever. She had become the most valuable hostage for the hijackers. She was beautiful, young, scared, and defenseless. As the 747 flew slowly towards the southern, blue oblivion, she couldn't help but wonder just what was wrong with the world that these terrorists had to get on her flight, a flight that was meant to be refuge, a flight that was fleeing one of the most deadly and powerful Nor'Easters ever recorded. "What do you want?" She asked the hijacker through teary eyes and runny eyeliner. She got no response and began to cry more, sniffling to keep from dripping all over the place. "What do you want? Please. Let us go."

"Shut up woman!" The man yelled as he looked at her. His eyes were cold and lifeless, almost empty of all humanity whatsoever. It scared her, sent a cold chill down her spine. Never before had she seen eyes like that, never before had she seen an animal like this. It frightened her. "Your people have enslaved ours. Tortured our sons. Murdered our women. Burned our villages and cities. Bombed our schools. We will not bring that home to you!"

"What are you talking about?"

"We are from Kaliningrad. The nation your nation has raped of its sovreignty and of its peace. You have turned our bloodless and tranquil land into a breeding ground of animosity and hell. What have you to say for that!"

"How is it the fault of those on this airliner for what our government does?"

"It is the fault of every citizen. Rise up and fight the oppression of your ruler."

"What about you? What fighting to do you do? You take an airliner of innocent civilians hostage. You are nothing but a f****** coward!" that arose his anger and he smacked her clear across the face, hard. "F****** coward!" She said it again and he hit her again.

"Woman hold your tongue before I rip it out." She was holding her face, having falling into the arms of the navigator who was about to get up and rip the man's head off with his bear hands.

Hit a woman. I'll show you! The navigator thought as he tried to suppress his rage. Him killing this man would probably cause the others to detonate a bomb, if they had one, or do something rash, like kill more innocents. For now, he just looked after Trish, crying now from the situation and from her bruised face. F****** coward! The navigator thought. He had served in the military some twenty years ago as an infantry man with the 4th Infantry Corps and was trained in firearms and hand-to-hand combat. But he alone could not take the entire aircraft on by himself, even if the other men had all served in the military as well. There was a sort of crowd mentality that made everyone who had some power to them completely and utterly powerless. Also, nobody knew if they had a bomb or not.

The F-22As continued on their trail, some six miles behind the 747. The pilots of either aircraft kept quiet, their autopilot on and rested, slightly. The autopilot was in intercept-trail-shadow mode, which meant that it would maintain the speed of the target currently locked-up, keep the preset distance, and follow, to the degree, the aircraft's course. Their eight air-to-air missiles sat comfortably in their bays, ready and waiting for blood, for innocence.

Finally the commander burst into the cockpit. "Do you have enough fuel to make it to Kaliningrad?" He waited for an answer. After 10 seconds, he got none and pointed his M1911 .45 caliber pistol at Trish's head. "Do you have enough fuel to make it to Kaliningrad? If I have to say it again she loses her head."

The pilot, reluctantly, said, "Yes."

"Good. Fly us there. Now!"

"Yes." He pulled out his map of the world and looked at the positioning reading that told him exactly where in the world he was. Then he input some numbers into the keypad and immediately the terrorist commander cocked his pistol.

"WHAT WAS THAT? YOU ANSWER ME NOW!"

"It was the GPS system. I don't know how to fly there. This will give me the course. Look yourself." He showed him the map. "Thats the GPS coordinates of Kaliningrad. It'll tell me where to go."

"VERY WELL. TURN THE PLANE DAMNIT!"

"I am." They released autopilot and turned the aircraft from 180 to a course of 015.

Back, six miles, the F-22A autopilots turned the plane and immediately they saw their target turning completely around. It wasn't more than 2 seconds before the flight leader picked up his radio. "This is Zeta Flight Lead. Target is turning. We're coming to a northeastern course. Still at angels thirty-five, airspeed five hundred. Heading 015. Over."

"Roger that Zeta Flight. Continue to follow. Report fuel state? Over."

"We're at 18,500 pounds. Flying five hundred knots. Throttle at 62%. Calculate range, over."

"Roger...Calculating...You'll get close to a thousand miles. We're going to have to refuel you in the air. Feel like going to Kaliningrad? Over." The radio operator chuckled.

"Do I have a choice, over?"

"No sir. Tanker is getting airborne from Dnalkrad. It'll shadow you and the 747 until you need it. You can refuel once again over Europe from tankers at Kaliningrad. Out."

The F-22 flight lead looked out of his cockpit. "Looks like we're going on vacation. Tighten up and get some rest. I'm on."

"Roger that sir." He pushed a few buttons on his control panel and closed his eyes. His F-22A moved closer and they could see each other clearly. It was off to Kaliningrad for the two of them...

.:. Bump .:.

Just for views and stuff I'm posting more on this tomorrow...

The 747 was over the Atlantic, to the north was the giant Nor'Easter. She was up at 38,000 feet, flying at a steady 500 knots. The F-22As behind her were moving along at 500 knots. A refuel was scheduled near the coast of Ireland but they weren't going to be needing it there. They might need it sooner.

Inside the 747, the terrorists had managed to push calm onto everyone. It was an odd state of calm. Everyone was scared, everyone!

Kaliningrad was a smoldering scene. The city was rubble, turned to rubble from the vast bombardment by Layartebian forces. They had lost the battle, though not in numbers. The city had fallen to indigenous forces and that was it, the war was over. There remained only one small detachment of cavalry and infantry, the last of the vast presence that once stood in Kaliningrad. However, Force Falcon was still there, Team One only, but they were still present, providing security for the government officials still there.

They were called into briefing just after 1000. "Gentlemen, be seated." Their command said. "We have a situation unfolding. A 747 out of Dnalkrad flying refugees from the great Nor'Easter has been hijacked by Kaliningrad terrorists. They have turned the plane around and are heading this way. We have a pair of F-22A Raptors in trail but they cannot shoot down the plane. Yet.

"We imagine that once the terrorists land the plane here in Kaliningrad that they will try to escape. Such will not occur. I want you boys there once the plane stops and I want you to storm that plane. We do not know if they have a bomb. The threat has been made but we cannot ascertain just yet if there is one on board. They'll be arriving in roughly six hours. Are there any questions?"

"Yes sir." COL. Delaney asked.

"What is it Colonel?"

"How many sir?"

"Twelve to thirty. We're unsure the total."

"Roger that."

"Good luck and keep civilian casualties to a minimum!"

"Yes sir." Briefing was over. They had trained hundreds of times on 747s and would need little refreshment though it was available at the airport. They would practice slightly, carrying submachine guns over their rifles for this mission.

"Why are we going to Kaliningrad? Aren't there troops there?" Trish's face still hurt. "Shouldn't we go somewhere else?"

"Quiet woman. You know nothing of Kaliningrad but what you have read in the newspapers. They tell of a land that does not exist." The terrorist commander said, his eyes alit with rage. "Kaliningrad was once great before your army, before your people, before your policy infected us. But we won. We defeated the great Empire of Layarteb. Some great empire!"

"We are. But you are just terrorists." She got smacked again.

"We are terrorists? You have come to our land and pillaged our villages, burned our cities, and destroyed our bridges and roads and schools. Our children are dead. And for what? Your greed for land. You will be shown your true place!"

"When we land..."

"What? When we land what...Nothing will happen you and your cowardice will flee like the scared patriots you claim to be. Lest it be known that your mission is not a true one but one of lust and greed. You will be judged!"

The Atlantic Ocean was calm where they were. The storm was behind them and though the weather patterns were horribly offset throughout the world, the sky and ocean here was beautiful. It was afternoon and the sun was on the horizon. The two F-22As trailing behind the 747 were noticing the weather too. Everything was changed here, vastly different from the Arctic hell that was bearing down on Layarteb and Dnalkrad.

On board the 747, those that were actually still awake, that hand't fallen asleep out of fear and anxiety, sat and looked out the windows. The blue oblivion of the horizon was hope for them, hope that they were all clinging to, fearing the inevitable.

Inside the cockpit, the pilot and copilot kept the aircraft on course. The navigator kept a close eye on the GPS and their position. And lastly, Trish sat, scared and afraid. The terrorist in the cockpit kept quiet, his pistol pointed at Trish the whole time. It made her edgy and nervous, especially since a good jolt could set it off.

Trish had dozed off, the stress and emotional overload just tired her out. She remained sitting in her chair, strapped in, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the 747 was over the North Sea. It would be flying over Denmark and the Baltic Sea before landing at Kaliningrad IAP. The F-22As behind her had refueled over the mid-Atlantic and once more again over Ireland. They would be able to fly the whole way to Kaliningrad now without problem. With a full 25,000 lb. of fuel, they had a range of some 2,000 nautical miles combat and at least one and a half times that in ferry. They had enough fuel to almost make the whole trip on their own but the climb to altitude and take off had used up more of their fuel then they wanted. Then the flight down the coast, before they turned, used more of their fuel. It was only logical. Still, those inside the 747 knew not of their presence.

The 747 approached Kaliningrad. Fighting had broken out in the Baltic States of Estonia & Lithuania. Though it could not be seen from where they were, the ships below could be seen. They were descending and the wakes of the ships below were visible. They would be at 12,000 feet soon. Only miles from the approach to Kaliningrad IAP, the terrorists aboard the 747 had moved some hostages to first class, the ones they would take with them. The rest of them were kept in coach. Six of the terrorists would go to their headquarters with the hostages while the other eighteen kept the 747 under seige. Now came the demands.

The commander took the radio and immediately called down to the tower. "This is flight 929. We demand, at the airport, three cars and a refueling truck. We will taxi into a hangar. If any security personnel approach the airliner we will kill these hostages. We will get what we demand or there will be bloodshed unlike any other you have witnessed. Is this understood?"

"Yes. It is understood. Move to hangar 57." The tower replied up to them. "Your demands are satisfactory. We only want an easy end to this."

"And end you shall have. Upon refueling this aircraft will be granted safe passage to a destination of our own deciding."

"Yes. You will have it."

The entire conversation was relayed to the flight leader of the F-22A Raptors. "Alright here's what we're going to do. We'll land ourselves after the 747 is down and we'll taxi to another hangar, refuel and find our where she is going."

"Roger that." The tower was in agreement. Despite the previous history and open wounds, the last thing the Kaliningradians wanted was a repeat of the destruction and violence they had previously witnessed. They wanted this to be over and done with.

It was just after 1800, local time, when the 747 landed. The evening, winter sky made the scene dark, very dark. The lights at the airfield showed there was limited activity. Only two of the runways were lit, one for the 747 and the other for the two F-22As, which was unbeknownst to the terrorists and anyone else aboard the 747. The plane followed a taxi vehicle to the hangar, where there was nobody, nobody that could be seen. All eight men of Force Falcon Team One were sitting, standing, and waiting for the 747 to come to a stop. Another eight men, from Team Six, were waiting as well. News of the plans came down to them. Team One would go with the terrorists to their base HQ and the other eight men would stay by the plane. If needed, they would storm the plane and prevent it from taking off.

Three, black, BMW 745i sedans were waiting. They were the standard official car, bulletproof, secure communications line, and top-notch drivers. That meant one thing, someone up high in the government was trying to either resolve this or escalate it. Since the end of the conflict, Alexi Markiv became Prime Minister. He had funded the Kaliningrad Warriors, the insurgency force against the Layartebians.

As the giant 747 taxied into the dark hangar, the passengers inside cowered in their seats. The eighteen terrorists that were remaining would keep the plane silent and secure until the others returned. The six that were leaving had nine hostages ready, including Trish. They would be taking her and all of the others to their headquarters inside the demolished and wrecked city of Kaliningrad. Their headquarters was a four story commerical structure with two sub-basements used for holding cells. It had once been the city jail until it needed expanding and was simply sold off.

The three cars were parked in the back of the hangar, the three drivers sitting in the cars, waiting. Each car could hold five people and they would not all fit with the drivers, unless. The 747 stopped inside the hangar and two groundsmen closed the doors behind the 747. The six terrorists wished the others good luck and, at gunpoint, moved the nine hostages out of the 747, their hands restrained behind their backs. They were too demoralized and scared to fight back. The terrorists walked up to the vehicles and removed the drivers forcibly. Then they were off driving towards the inner city. About twenty minutes before the terrorists got into the BMWs, COL. Delaney had put a GPS device on one of the vehicles, without being seen by the drivers.

The vehicles took off and with them, the eight men of Force Falcon, crammed into a pair of vehicles. They would be following the BMWs all the way to their hideout. They had opted to put assault rifles in the trucks of their vehicles and it would pay off...

The BMWs stopped inside the city of Kaliningrad, about six miles east of the Parliament building. The place was what used to be a school. It wasn't devestated but rather abandoned. The country still hadn't fully picked up from where it left off before the war. Force Falcon Team One had been in that building before, the memories horrifying. The insurgents had slaughtered three dozen children and pinned it on the Layartebian military.

Parked about two blocks away, in the dead of the night, were the eight men of Team One. They smirked as the insurgents left the vehicles and entered the building. "Alright, what's the intel on that place?" COL. Delaney asked.

"Sir, we've got a good base of intel at least. It's a KWS headquarters. Last count put one hundred and twenty armed insurgents there. Now we've got them and nine hostages so that makes one hundred and twenty-nine. Four snipers on the roof, six machine gun nests on the outsides, probably another four inside. We know that they have an armory in there as well so we're probably looking at a few thousand rounds of ammunition for AK-47s, M16s, CAR-15s, M60s, and RPG7s. That's about it. The place has one point of entry aside from the front door and that is through the sewer. We'll come up in the basement and then be able to sweep through the building. There is one basement and four floors so that is five total." The XO said.

"What about reinforcements?"

"They could have, within a ten minutes of a distress call, at least two hundred soldiers here."

"That's not what I like but we'll have to do with what we have. Suppressors on men, keep on your rifles, use the SMGs if necessary. We're going with six in the building and two out. Team A and B with me. Team C take up defensive sniper position in that building over there." That building was a devestated hotel that was once a major hotel for dignitaries. "Alright men, whose not ready?" Nobody answered. "Alright let's get this done. I want that building secure in ten minutes with no distress calls, alright? Team C monitor communications. You're our eyes and ears."

"Yes sir." The two men of Team C responded. "We've got you!"

"Alright men. For our sins!"

"For our sins!" They all answered in unison as they exited the cars. They went right to the trunks. Inside the trunks were a total of eight M37A1 SACs, eight M30A3 assault rifles, one M41 sniper rifle, an M35 LMG, and two M34 SLATDWs. On them they each carried an M33A3 pistol, a knife, two M67 fragmentation grenades, four M84 flash-and-bang grenades, a small C4 charge, twenty feet of primer cord, an M43A4 SMG, and a squirt bottle of kerosene with matches. They were well armed. The six men assaulting the building would be using their M37A1s as primary, M43A4s as secondary, and their pistols and knives if necessary. For the two men sniping, one would be carrying the M41 and the other would be carrying the M30A3 in addition to M43A4s, pistols, and knives. They brought the M35 and the M34s with them, just in case but they would not be using it if they didn't have to.

The six men assaulting the building, Teams A and B, moved into the sewer system from a manhole cover about sixty meters from the two vehicles. Team C immediately entered the abandoned hotel to set up a position on the seventh floor, looking down on the school. During the final assault of Kaliningrad, they had set up in the exact same spot with an M38A1 special-application rifle and took out enemy forces without remorse. They knew exactly where to go and exactly what they had to hide with and they would use it to their advantage. During the final firefight, they had stayed there for all four days of the battle and killed well over two hundred enemy combatants, mostly from distances in excess of a kilometer.

The sewer was definitely not the best around. It was decrepit, damaged badly because of the bombing above. They were at the sewer cap inside of four minutes. It was a total of two hundred meters from the entrance to the cap underneath the school. They knew the distance by heart and knew exactly what they were doing and where they were going.

"Alright men. This is it. We're going into the basement. Give me the fiber optic camera." COL. Delaney smirked in the darkness that was the sewer. The fiber optic camera he took was an advanced and expensive tool. It was a PDA with a long but thin fiber-optic wire coming out of the top, connecting at the end, to a cylindrical camera eye. It was perfect for looking around corners and through sewers just like they were doing. The PDA offered two vision modes: nightvision and standard light vision. Given the night and the condition of the basement, they were using nightvision.

COL. Delaney stuck the camera end through a hole in the sewer grate, just wide enough for the camera piece to fit, and twirled it around the room using the fiber-optic wire. Within seconds he had a full 360° sweep of the room. He smirked once again. "Alright men, it's empty. We're going in. There's a door about ten meters that way," he pointed, "and I imagine behind it are guards but we'll get to that when we get there. Weapons at the ready." Quietly, he lifted the cover and slid it to the side, making as little noise as possible. All six of the men were quiet, breathing without sound.

Within seconds, the cover was free and they climbed into the basement, replacing the manhole cover when they were all through. Over the radio, Team C reported, "Eyes up. Four snipers on the roof. Two machine gun nests facing the street. Light ones. Looks like Russian PKMs, four men total at the guns. No other signs of enemy presence."

"Roger that men. Keep a look out."

"Yes sir." They were static and so it began. COL. Delaney and his men moved to the door and saw its horrible condition, perfect to allow them to stick the camera into the hallway. He did so and saw that the hallway was lit, albeit poorly, but lit. There was no presence in the hallway but they could hear a television on.

"Alright men, stay in the shadows." They advanced, shutting the door behind them. The noise from the television came from a room at the end of the hall, probably a mess hall or something along those lines. The walls and floor were concrete and in poor shape. The continued bombardment of the city shook the concrete loose and dust lie everywhere, chunks of the walls and floor missing or having turned to dust.

They moved quickly to the room with the noise and stuck the camera in quickly. The PDA snapped a picture of the room and they immediately looked at it. COL. Delaney used hand-signals, saying "Four men. Quiet and quick!" They took up an attack position. One man jumped to the other side of the door so that two were now able to fire from the door frame. Two more held a position that covered one end of the hall and the other two covered the other end. It was at this time that COL. Delaney and the other shooter leaned into the frame with their rifles shouldered, on single shot. They were not fans of the red-laser-dot pointer for their weapons but for this situation, it was perfect. They were able to hold their weapons steady regardless so it helped them out as they aimed using it. They each fired off a round into the back of their heads, leaving four dead insurgents. "Clean up." COL. Delaney said using his hand. They moved in and immediately picked up the bodies and stashed them in a darkened corner, where they would not be found.

Now it was up to the main floor...

The way up to the main floor was a single, concrete staircase. The walls were devestated from gunfire and the shockwaves of nearby explosions. A pair of Layartebian M2A3 Bradley IFVs were struck and destroyed only a hundred yards away when they came under heavy RPG fire.

With their M37s drawn, the eight men slowly crept up the stairs towards the main floor, where they expected some two dozen enemy insurgents, at the very least. Using suppressors they would be quiet and hidden but not quiet enough, especially not in a confined space such as this. Team C hadn't reported any kills or further contacts and COL. Delaney knew that it was only a matter of time before they had to engage the enemy. This would be one of the upper four floors, four floors of enemy soldiers to be precise. They didn't know where the hostages were, they could be either on the third or the fourth floor but they were going to find them.

"Team C, report status." COL. Delaney asked as he and his men stood fast in the stairwell.

"Four snipers on the roof. We've got three machinegun nests now, we suspect the other three are covering inside or detained by something. Perhaps a meeting? Sir, we're ready when you are."

"Alright Team C. We're making a go for the first floor, cover us."

"Roger that."

"Alright men, let's move!" COL. Delaney said as they began moving. The first floor was characterized by a main hallway, a waiting room, and offices, most likely for teachers or administrators, prior to the war. There were a lot of corners and hidden spots so they had to be careful, very careful.

Out they went, into the hall and immediately put down a half dozen soldiers, standing around. The waiting room was at the opposite end, where the front door was, and they would have to move there as quickly as possible to secure it and get to the main staircase, that went all the way up to the roof.

The eight men moved quietly but like lightning, investigating each office, shooting anyone they saw. Room after room, office after office, closet after closet, they wasted insurgent after insurgent, just leaving the bodies where they were. Inside the waiting room there was a machine gun nest but a simple M84 Flashbang neutralized it and the six soldiers standing around. Single shots to the head put each one of them down quicker than they had been blinded. And that was it, the first floor was cleared. They took down a total of thirty-four soldiers, eight of which were officers in the KWS. The rest were just foot soldiers and other logistics workers. This, coupled with the three from the basement made their total, thus far, thirty-seven. They had a long way to go though and it included three more floors, at least six machine guns, and four snipers. It wasn't going to be a picnic.

As they progressed up the staircase to the second floor, they were met with an ill-fated surprise...

The second floor stairwell was just as ruined as the first floor. They ascended it with resolve and fury. The second floor was four big rooms. Each one of them was a classroom. Two machine gun nests were on the second floor, both looking out of the windows. "Team C. We're on the second floor. Let's go to work."

"Roger that sir." The sniper looked down the sights of his M41 and smiled as he placed the crosshair on the head of the first machine gunner. "Target sighted."

"Drop him. We're storming."

"Roger that sir." The sniper matched his breathing instantly and squeezed off a round. The 7.62 x 51mm round left the barrel at a masterful 793 meters per second. The distance it would have to travel was a short two hundred and eighty meters. It would take much less than a split second for the round to reach its target, the top of the head of the machine gunner. As it twisted through the air, the faint sound of crashing aluminum shocked the air.

"What was that?" One of the insurgents asked another, both of them on the roof. They asked in their native language.

"Sounded like a garbage can."

"Probably a cat or something."

Little did they know that the bullet split the skull of the machine gunner. The brass cartridge ejected out and was caught by the spotter, before it could touch the ground and make any more noise. The suppressor had also hidden the muzzle flash and thus concealed their location.

The machine gunner fell lifeless to the floor of the balcony. Blood oozed out of his mouth and his head, his eyes open, staring into the oblivion of space. The sniper now turned his sights on the other machine gunner.

It was at this time, upon hearing the dull, high-pitched, metallic sound, that the men of Force Falcon stormed the second floor. They moved in two groups, one down the front hallway and the other down the back hallway. At that time, two of the men split off and now there were two men at each of the four doors. They would pounce at once. Each one tossed in a single M84 Flashbang and shouldered their M37. Between the eight of them, they were looking at some near forty to fifty soldiers, all heavily armed. In one of the rooms, they were watching television, smoking, and drinking. In another room, they were relaxing, cleaning their weapons and reloading magazines. In the other two, they were being indoctrinated, hearing of how evil the Empire of Layarteb was.

With a three second fuse, the men of Force Falcon tossed the four grenades into the rooms, each one exploding in mid-air, blinding just about everyone except for a few lucky souls. However, they were too confused to realize what happened. Each of the men had full magazines, thirty-five rounds at the ready. They didn't have their laser sights on for this one but rather used the main iron sights of the weapons. They had their weapons on automatic fire. Each one of them put two to three rounds into the helpless and scattering insurgents. Outside, Team C popped the other machine gunner, he too falling lifelessly onto the floor of the nest. He fell back, into the window, just inches away from two of the men from Force Falcon, mopping up a few stragglers in the room.

"Second floor secure."

"Roger that. Both machine gunners down. One machine gunner at the third floor, suspected others inside the third floor"

"We've got a confirmed machine gun down on the second floor, in one of the rooms."

"Roger that. Expect two minimum."

"Wilco. Moving to third floor."

"Roger that."

The third floor was home to another fifty-four insurgents, in addition to eight of the nine hostages, being held in the corner of one of the four classrooms. The layout of the third floor was exact to that of the second floor. They knew this and they would use it to their advantage.

"Moving to third floor now." They moved up the stairwell quietly and quickly. "Keep a sharp eye."

"Roger that. We've got one machine gun in the window. Going loud."

"Drop him."

The sniper pointed his crosshairs on the machine gunners head. He had eighteen rounds remaining, eighteen rounds for more than enough targets. He squeezed the trigger and once again, the dull sound of clashing aluminum echoed throughout the street. The bullet whizzed through the air and slammed through the neck of the soldier, pushing him against the window. He squirted blood everywhere but died within seconds, mostly from shock. "Machine gunner down."

They moved up the stairwell and tagged six men in the two halls, four in the front and two in the back. They once again split into two groups of four and then split again into four groups of two. A quick peak into the doors revealed an excellent finding. "Sir, we've got six hostages here." One of the groups reported.

"Sir we've got two more." Reported another group.

"Alright, be careful. Let's do this. No hostage rooms use M84s. Other ones go hot." COL. Delaney tossed another M84 Flashbang into a room and it detonated in mid-air again. He and the other man fired off nearly a full magazine each, killing, between them, twenty-six insurgents, all crowded around a table. The M84 had actually landed on the table just after it went off. In one of the other rooms, the M84 went dud and caused a major problem. As the insurgents immediately snapped to, another one came flying in and detoanted, blinding all of them, luckily. There were only sixteen of them though. Inside the room with the six hostages there were three insurgents, an easy kill for the two men. The other room had three more and they were dropped fairly quickly.

"Rooms secure. Hostages secure. We've got eight total. We're missing one sir."

"Roger that. Secure hostages." All of the eight men met in a single room, the one with the six hostages. "Are all of you alright?" COL. Delaney asked.

"Yes sir. We're fine." They had been beaten, it was obvious. The man doing the speaking was one of the flight attendants, obviously beaten the most. "They have Trisha upstairs. She's been screaming for some time now."

"Is she the other hostage?"

"Yes."

"Alright, you four secure them and wait for us." COL. Delaney changed out the magazine and took three of his men. "We're going up to the fourth floor. Go hot sniper."

"Roger that. Taking out the roof." The sniper and his spotter aimed with their weapons and fired off single shots each, two shots per. They dropped all four snipers within six seconds, enough time for them to aim for headshots but quick enough to hide immediately. "Snipers down. Fourth floor seems active from the windows. Collecting brass."

"Roger that."

"Ready sir."

"We're moving." COL. Delaney heard talking just inches away from the stairwell, far too close for him to use his M37. He threw it to his back and drew his pistol. As two insurgents passed by the stairwell he fired four shots, killing the two men. He put his pistol back away and pulled forward his M37. "Let's go men." They advanced into the main corridor. The layout of the fourth floor was far different than any other. The stairwell led into a main corridor that ran down the middle of the floor. It then turned around to the left at the other end and turned again, coming back towards the stairwell. That led to one of the five rooms. The other four were available from the main corridor.

As they advanced down the main corridor, insurgents walked about, leaving rooms left and right. They were dropped within seconds of moving into the main corridor, none of them actually getting a visual on the four men from Force Falcon. They were low on M84s, only three between the four of them. But, they had M67 Fragmentation grenades, eight total. In addition, they had their C4 charges and primer chord. As they moved throughout the corrdior, coming up to the first of the rooms, they used an M84 and blinded six men inside the room, all of them surrounding a radio. They were killed immediately, obviously not quick enough. They had put out a distress call and had done so very skillfully.

"Team C, they put out a distress call. Be alert!"

"Roger that. We've got the LMG and the SLATDWs ready!"

"Good work men. Stay high and stay tight."

"Wilco."

They advanced to the second room and used another M84, blinding another dozen men, crowded around a television. They shot them quickly and moved onward. The third and fourth rooms were opposite each other, both of them busy with insurgents, eight in the left and sixteen in the right. In the left, they were reviewing documents and in the right, they were discussing something, a future operation possibly. The last M84 was used on the right room, blinding them and alerting the others. As the four men fired into the two rooms, emptying out their magazines, they wound up immediately drawing their pistols to finish off the rest. They didn't have time to change out magazines. When they had the two rooms cleared then they changed out magazines, all of them! Aside from the magazines in their M37s, each one of them had only two remaining. On the third floor, the four men that were guarding the hostages had, three magazines a piece, other than the ones in their M37s. They still maintained a full load of M43 ammunition.

"Alright men, last room. You two cover. We're going in."

"Roger that."

COL. Delaney and one of the men entered the turn around the corner but not before a bullet came ripping through the air, ripping right into COL. Delaney's left shoulder. He fired immediately, putting two rounds into the head of the man firing. "Damnit! I caught one! Left shoulder. I'll be fine, come on let's go!" They advanced down the hall towards the last room, where the hostage was, obviously. It was a room without windows and a room with only a single door. When this was a school, it was the main record keeping office, a dark, dank, and depression place to be.

From the voices they knew there were, at minimum, two soldiers in there. But they expected more. As COL. Delaney put away his M37 and drew his pistol once again, he saw a figure move across the room. He fired and caught the figure in the leg, putting him on the ground. He fired again and hit the figure in the chest. The figure immediately stopped moving.

As they advanced closer and quicker towards the door, it suddenly was slammed shut. "Shit! Come on guys, let's go!" They moved up towards the door and found it to be locked. "Primer cord!" COL. Delaney wrapped a foot of the primer cord around the door knob and they backed up. He lit the five second fuse and they ducked around the corner. It wasn't the blast they feared but the flying metal from the door knob and door. They were right, as a piece of metal imbedded itself into the wall just inches away from them. "Close call huh guys? Let's move!"

They came around the corner again, the door knob blown clear off, in addition to the frame it was locked into. They kicked the door in to find two men, both on the floor, writhing in pain. Shrapnel had caught them as well. They were standing very close to the door and they wound up getting tagged badly. COL. Delaney and his man immediately disarmed the men and shoved them against the wall. "Are you Trisha?" COL. Delaney asked.

The stewardess was frightened, cowering the dark corner. She was distraught, beaten as well. "Are you Trisha?" He asked again. She nodded and was crying. "We're here to save you but you have to move fast. More of these assholes are on the way. Do you want to get caught by more of them?" She shook her head. "Alright. You have to get up now. I want you to move out of here and walk to the corner where two more of my men are. Alright?" She nodded. "Go." She got up and went. "Guys, hostage coming around. Hold your fire!"

"Roger that sir. Visual. Come here. We're here to help. What's your name?" Their voices were dulled because they were speaking quietly and were further away.

"Team C. We've got the building secure, mopping up."

"Roger that. We have no visual on enemy reinforcements."

"Keep a sharp eye."

"Yes sir."

"So, you two. You speak English?" One of the men was the terrorist leader onboard the flight. "Do you speak English?" He asked again, in their native language this time.

"Yes. Yes." The leader was scared shitless, still in pain. "What do you want?"

"Not so tough now are you?"

"You are a pig dog."

"I am?" He smiled and pulled out the kerosine bottle. "What am I?"

"A terrorst!" He squirted the kerosine on the man. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to tell me where your reinforcements are coming from!"

"I will tell you nothing." COL. Delaney shot the man next to him with his pistol, using one of only three rounds remaining in his pistol. "I will tell you nothing!" He fired again. The man next to him was screaming in pain, his kneecaps busted from the .40S&W bullets that had been fired into him. "You cannot pursuade me!" COL. Delaney fired again and caught the man in the shoudler.

"Oh look at that, no more bullets. I guess I'll have to use my knife." He pulled it out and sliced the man. "All you have to do is tell me how many and from what direction and I'll spare the lives of you two. Him I doubt he'll make it, but you will."

"Fuck you!" COL. Delaney smirked and sliced again.

"I bet that hurts a lot!"

"I will kill you!" The man being sliced, shot, and cut said. "I will kill you!"

"Come on now. Just tell me." He sliced again, cutting down the man's face. "I bet that'll leave a beautiful scar. So what direction and how many?"

"East. East! Just tell him damnit!" He man being sliced cried as his face bled. "Come on tell him! They're from the east. All one hundred of them!"

"One hundred. From the east. Is that right?"

"It is. It is." The man covered in kerosine said. "I swear. Now make due and let us live."

"Very well." COL. Delaney put away his knife and smirked. He pulled back out his kerosine bottle and sprayed the rest on the other man. "It'll help with the wounds."

"It's gasoline!"

"And you're burning!" He lit the match with his teeth and smirked. "I lie." He tossed it on them and they immediately caught fire, screaming within a split second. "Team C. We've got roughly one hundred from the east. Visual?"

"No sir. But we hear engine noises in the distance."

"Roger that. ETA?"

"Six minutes."

"We're fighting." COL. Delaney and the three men on the fourth floor went to the third with the hostage. "Alright men, we've got one hundred inbound. Take up positions of cover. You two. Get down to the door and plant C4 at the entrance. One charge. We need to make this stuff last. Put another one in the stairwell. You two, take your C4 and put it on the stairwell as well. Take the primer cord and make a trip wire out of it for this level. We'll hold on the fourth floor and use the roof. Use the C4 to hold it down. Full magazines men, ready your fragmentations. Put the hostages in the back room. Not the one around the corner, the one with the eight men."

"Roger sir." Four of the eight men left to prepare the charges.

"Alright. I commend you for getting this far but it isn't over. We've got a hundred insurgents coming to us fast. We need to stand our ground and stand our ground fast. You're all coming with us to the fourth floor. There will be bodies and gore. You must bear it. Understood?" They nodded. "Good. Let's move!"

"Team C, we've got a visual. They're about five blocks away. I see six vehicles, two of which are light armor. They look like IFVs sir."

"Alright hit them with the SLATDWs. Make a trap. What's the status on the C4?"

"Set sir."

"Alright men. Fall back to the fourth floor. Keep it up."

"Roger that sir." They fell back immediately as the six vehicles approached. Two were BMP-3 IFVs and the other four were trucks, each probably carrying twenty men. It was night and it was about to become a new war!

They were set up and waiting patiently, a whole sixty-five seconds. It was far too long though, the suspense driving them insane. Outside, Team C waited and watched as the vehicles approached. Both the sniper and his spotter were holding their SLATDWs. They were both experts in using them and they were definitely going to make them count since these were the only ones they had. They too had placed their C4 charges using the primer cord as tripwire but they had done so long before the convoy began to approach. The charges were on the fourth floor, giving them three floors worth of time to get ready.

"Wait for it," the sniper whispered as the vehicles came to a halt in front of the school. "I've got the back one. Fire NOW!" They both fired, the two missiles simulatenously leaving their shoulder launched tubes at a speed of seven hundred and sixty-two meters per second. Both slammed into the tops of the vehicles and the missile went to work. Inside of a fraction of a second, the missile had penetrated the armor of the vehicle and exploded inside. It was a small explosion, mostly meant for fragmentation but it set off the main armament inside the IFV, causing both of them to explode. "IFVs down. They're on to us!" The two soldiers mounted up and began their assault. The sniper pulled up his rifle as the spotter pulled up his M30. Both of them began to fire heavily as the soldiers from inside the school began to fire as well.

The first things they did was drop a pair of M67 Fragmentation grenades out of the windows and near the rear of the trucks. When they detonated, they would detonate about waist height, sending fragments of metal for up to two hundred meters. Then it was back to firing. They were using their M37s now, firing out of the windows, using their elevated position to an advantage. They were also focusing not so much on the soldiers walking into the school but rather the ones making it across to the hotel. The sniper and spotter, on the other hand, were working on the soldiers who were trying to get into the school. But, for them, it was different.

That was when the first C4 charges went off, exploding at the front door of the school. It had been breeched! The members of Force Falcon, inside the school knew it and knew it well. "Alright men, you two guard the stairs. The rest of you keep firing." COL. Delaney opened up as well, firing his last magazine of M37 ammunition. He was making every shot count and with his thirty-five shots, probably missed about four times in total.

"Four up the stairwell!" One of the men shouted. "C4 charges going on, get down!" The C4 charges went off again and shattered the silence of the stairwell. That was it, they were out of traps, now it was one on one. Two men took up defensive positions, looking down the hallway and one of them threw an M67 into the stairwell, hoping to delay the enemy soldiers more. "Keep firing!" One of them yelled as he threw another M67 down the stairwell. The soldiers were coming up in drogues.

It was at that time that the charges in the hotel went off, alerting the sniper and his spotter that they were in danger. They focused now on their own defense. "Defending ourselves. Good luck!"

"Roger that. We'll be out in a minute!" COL. Delaney pulled up his M43 and let loose, firing off three round bursts, out the window. He tossed another M67 out the window, his last one, and it blew up about ten feet from the ground.

In the other room, the hostages were cowered under the protection of the two Force Falcon soldiers protecting them. Now it was up to all of them to hold their ground.

OOC: I hope this is ok with you, Layarteb. Just a little help. ;)

If you don't like, I'll delete the post.
________________________________________________________

Polish/Kaliningrad Border...

The Prussian Division of the SPK had received word of the hostage situation, and refused to not help. After all, Layarteb had helped them immensely in the war with Wick.

The Prussian Division had snuck into the area of Kaliningrad where the hostages were being held, and where Force Falcon was.

They were roughly some forty-five yards away from the fighting, and with a total team of ten soldiers, they intended to give the Layarteb soldiers the best possible assistance they could.

The Prussians carried G-36 assault rifles equipped with nightvision scopes, 40mm grenade launchers, and the sign that was the trademark of the Germanian Special Forces -- the eerie blue/grey laser sight systems.

Oberst Hunge ordered the SPK soldiers to click on their laser sights.

Ten of the blue/grey lasers appeared from behind the Layartebian soldiers, their streams visible in the smoke from the fighting.

Oberst Hunge opened a radio communication with Force Falcon...

"Achtung! Laiernische Force Falcon! Wir sind die Preussisch SPK Gruppe aus Deutschreich. Wir sind hier zu hilfen!"

"Attention! Layartebian Force Falcon! We are the Prussian SPK Group from Germania. We're here to help!"

The ten soldiers took cover, positioned their laser sights on KWS insurgents, and fired ten rounds into ten enemy faces.

The Prussian soldiers - renowned worldwide for their long history of militarism - quickly and brutally began shooting insurgents, not to kill them, but rather to injure them and let them bleed to death.

After they fired off rounds, they would relocate as fast as possible and take cover. The insurgents were fairly well-trained, and the Prussian soldiers were not taking out as many as they had hoped.
________________________________________________________

KWS Casualties and Attritions:

Twelve dead (head and neck shots)
Six wounded and bleeding to death
________________________________________________________

- N.G.

It'd be cool but this situation is still unknown to the world, extremely unknown.

It'd be cool but this situation is still unknown to the world, extremely unknown.


When it becomes known, can i send in some of my men?

When it becomes known, can i send in some of my men?
OOC: If I know Layarteb right, when it gets known it's all gonna be over.

This is actually setting the stage for a future thing with Kaliningrad.

This is actually setting the stage for a future thing with Kaliningrad.
tag for that

tag for that

It will be the bloodiest, most horrific war ever fought in NS history.

OOC: Sounds good, Lay.

Achtung Herr Devlin! Mind making a response to the post I made?

The way the Prussian SPK Group found out was through spies planted in Kaliningrad; NOT to spy on Layarteb, but to monitor the insurgent army.

As soon as they got word that the Layartebian Force Falcon had entered, the Prussian SPK Group was mobilised from Western Poland.

PICTURES OF PRUSSIAN SPK GROUP:

http://www.bmlv.gv.at/images_skaliert/ortskampf001_768x576_1067681596.jpg

http://le.cos.free.fr/photo/KSK/KSK-17.jpg

http://www5c.biglobe.ne.jp/~recon/SOG-KSK-9.jpg
Daylight operations uniform

http://www.einsatz.bundeswehr.de/pic/einsatz_aktuell/oef_spezial/ueberblick/spez_img.gif

http://www.nimpex.de/shop/images/artikel/RE_02524.jpg

It will be the bloodiest, most horrific war ever fought in NS history.


:mp5: :sniper: :mp5: :sniper: :mp5: :sniper:

count me in :gundge:

maby if some way ou could get my troops in before the rest of the world finds out, i need more practise, and besides, this is what i trained my people for

I did NG. See you and I have BS'd about Force Falcon OOC but in the world of NS they and the rest of the black forces just don't exist, period, to any one. That and the firefight in the city is like 5 minutes old.

Don't worry when I do Kaliningrad II then you'll get to enjoy feasts in the city, same for you Duke.

yay :D

OOC: me2? Please? *puppy eyes*

OOC: me2? Please? *puppy eyes*

Sure. It'll be a disaster I can say that.

OOC: Count me in as soon as it starts.

The first soldiers breeched the last C4 charges only minutes into the fighting, seven to be exact. The men of Force Falcon, inside the school, were now all in the most defensive of positions. They were in the multitude of rooms, leaning around the corners of each of the door frames, firing single shots at whomever came up the stairs. They were all down to their M43s, having used up the ammunition of their M37s. Some were running low on M43 ammunition, down to four magazines or less. COL. Delaney had two full magazines left. For his pistol he had another three and for the rest, they had three to five. They had expended their M67 Fragmentation grenades and had used up all of their M84 Flashbang grenades. Other than kerosine, matches, and their knives, they were dangerously low on ammunition and weapons. They could use the weapons of the fallen enemy soldiers but they would have to get to them first.

Inside the hotel, the sniper and his spotter were making out well. They were using defensive positions as well, mostly using the walls as their protection. As the insurgents ran up the staircase, they shot them in the back, until they had finally caught on and began coming up the stairs backwards. They had tried using grenades but they found that the sniper and his spotter were too well fortified for them to have much of an effect. In addition, M67 Fragmentation grenades from the sniper and his spotter had killed most of the enemy forces.

It was now down to a simple close quarters shooting war. Between the two groups, it was all about trying to advance. As the men of Force Falcon moved closer to the stairwell, they found that the insurgents became more reluctant to advance.

COL. Delaney had managed to pick up an assault rifle from the ground, an AK-47. It still had a full magazine and he was able to pick up another ten lying near it. That gave him another three hundred rounds. His men did the same, now each carrying an M37, an M43, and an AK-47. That was a lot of weight but they were trained to carry two hundred pounds each, mostly heavy supplies.

As they advanced and moved down the stairwell, listening to the sounds of the insurgents below, they realized that they had killed most of them. Only seven voices were heard, mostly arguing. The men were frightened and scared, afraid to move up the stairs and die like the rest of their friends. As they huddled in their corner, two men bolted down the stairs, each with an AK-47 in their hands. It only took a short squeeze of the trigger but when they were done, they had each fired about eight rounds and killed all seven of the men.

"Search the building. Team C, report?"

"Team C. We've got six of them pinned down. We can't get to them nor can they get to us."

"Roger that. Are they visible?"

"Doubtful sir. They're smart, unlike the rest of their friends."

"Alright. Wait one."

"Roger that sir."

COL. Delaney immediately nodded to one of his men. "Come on, we're going across the street. The rest of you, hold this facility, get down to the second floor and stay there with the hostages. Be prepared to leave!"

"Yes sir!"

COL. Delaney and his man bolted across the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. They shot two soldiers sitting by one of the trucks, both wounded and reaching for their rifles, hoping to continue the fight. Then, they darted to the side of the truck and peaked around. The gore from the M67s and 5.56 x 45mm bullets left the road covered in blood and flesh, bones and body parts. There were few people alive and those that were, were heavily wounded. Single shots to the head and chest took care of them. Then, COL. Delaney and his man, after killing eight more insurgents, darted across the street to the hotel and began to ascend the stairs.

They were covered in blood, dried blood, from the battle before. As they ascended the stairs they saw where the corpses had lay, removed by clean up crews after the cease-fire. They heard the voices and the single gunshots, meaning that the insurgents were still trying to get to the sniper and his spotter. As COL. Delaney and his man climbed the stairs, slowly and quietly, they looked everywhere, searching everywhere for the insurgents.

"Team C, we're ascending the stairs now." COL. Delaney whispered. "What floor are they on?"

"Sixth sir." He whispered back. "Sixth floor."

"Roger that." They moved slowly and cautiously. They kept the AK-47s shouldered and moved with grace and ease. The enemy forces that were on the sixth floor were the last of the near one hundred man force that had driven here to slaughter those who did the slaughtering. The six of them were easy to spot. They were hidden from the sniper and the spotter but not from the two who ascended the stairs. COL. Delaney and his man fired twelve shots a piece. That was the remainder of their magazines, enough to killed the last soldiers. They quickly changed out magazines and COL. Delaney gave the order. "Move to the cars, NOW!"

Instantly, Team C, COL. Delaney, his man, and the four men inside the school, along with the nine hostages, bolted out to the street and then towards the cars. Each of the cars could hold six people comfortably, not enough for all of them. Instead, they commandeered a truck and loaded everyone into it.

COL. Delaney was about to climb into the truck when the sniper climbed into the driver's seat. "Get down now!"

"Why sir, I have the ability to..."

"You're from Maine. I'm from New York. Get down."

"Yes sir." COL. Delaney got into the driver seat and the sniper into the passenger seat. The truck was stained with blood and shattered with fragments but it was running and it was enough to hold all seventeen of them, and their weapons, which they took from the two vehicles. Upon that, they set a pair of C4 charges and set the timers to thirty seconds. They weren't more than a half mile down the road when they blew, shattering the silence that had engulfed the area since the last shots.

"This is Colonel Delaney from Force Falcon Team One. Report status at the 747, over?"

"Sir, this is Major Matthew. We've secured the 747 and the terrorists sir. We're ready to roll."

"Move out to the tarmac, have the F-22s get in front of you. We're inbound with nine hostages. We aren't alone either."

"Roger that sir!"

They weren't alone. As COL. Delaney looked into the sideview mirror he saw a pair of vehicles fast approaching, two men firing rifles. He pushed the pedal to the floor and the truck accelerated to seventy miles per hour, double what was considered dangerous for these streets. "Gentlemen, we've got a tail. Want to clear that?"

"On it sir." The spotter laid down on the floor of the truck and placed the M35 LMG down, loaded with a two hundred round box, ready to go. He dropped the back gate and opened fire. He first shot a pair of five round bursts into each of the vehicles but that did little. He switched it to automatic and unleashed.

The first thirty rounds out of the M35 found their mark well. They pierced the glass windshield of the chasing car and split through the metal hood. The result was the driver losing control and crashing into the side of a building, just shy of the car exploding from the breeched fuel lines and the hot engine. The second car, however, took the hint and began driving eratically. The soldier fired off another thirty rounds but barely hit and the few hits were non-important, especially now that the truck was zig-zagging.

COL. Delaney was avoiding and creating obstacles as he went down the streets, driving light poles down and crashing into parked cars, moving them in the way of those chasing him. The truck was holding though. It had taken a beating already and it was taking more, especially as COL. Delaney accelerated past seventy-five to a staggering eighty-two miles per hour, the top speed of the vehicle.

The street was turning into a nightmare. COL. Delaney was using everything that was in the way for an obstacle as the men in the back continued to fire and unload. The brass casing from their bullets spilled onto the floor of the truck and rolled out of the back as the truck slid down the road. Everyone held on so tight their circulation nearly cut off. The straps that were there to restrain those didn't seem like enough, especially not with the way that COL. Delaney was driving.

They weren't far from the airport when the first car went into the building, nor were they far from the school. But, in those few measely minutes, they had fired well over a hundred rounds of ammunition at the two vehicles, destroying one of them but not the other. Then, when it seemed as if they were going to get a break, COL. Delaney pulled a sharp turn around a corner and the second car skidded out, crashing into the building dead ahead. Unfortunately, a pair of vehicles were waiting, both full of insurgents, all of them armed. They fired off a quick spray at the windshield.

Instinct immediately dropped COL. Delaney below the dashboard as he drove right between them, smashing both of the cars into the sidewalks and the parked cars. Unfortunately, the sniper hadn't moved in time and caught three rounds to his neck. He too dropped below the dashboard but bleeding. He couldn't utter any words but gurgled on his own blood. COL. Delaney, seeing the blood on the windshield and on the seat immediately snapped to. "Mike's hit!" He screamed over their radios. "Roger get in here!" Roger Howard was the medic and he was in the back, firing off a few rounds at the insurgents standing by the failed roadblock.

COL. Delaney took another sharp turn and Roger put his rifle on his back and then moved from the rear of the vehicle, out the cloth, and around to the side door, opening it as he came around. "He took some in the neck!" COL. Delaney screamed as he avoided a car at a stop light. "He looks real bad!"

"Hold in there Mike. We're almost there." Roger was holding the wound, trying frantically to stop the bleeding but the chances of him doing so weren't all that great. The blood was coming out almost faster than it seemed possible to keep it in. COL. Delaney could only pay some attention to the situation, he had to pay more attention to the road ahead, more lives were at stake. When he looked over at the blood soaked medic and the wounded sniper the medic simply shook his head. The sniper was definitely NOT going to survive.

"This is Team One. Report status at airport?"

"Roger that, we're taxiing to the runway now. What is your ETA?"

"Four minutes."

"We'll be at the runway in two. We'll be waiting sir."

"Get a staircase there for us, we're going to need it. We have one wounded."

"Report status?"

"Unable."

"Roger that. Report when on outskirts of the airport."

"Wilco." COL. Delaney slammed the pedal again and pushed the truck back up to eighty-two as he barreled down a main highway towards the airport. Nobody was chasing him anymore but the men in the back were still ready, their rifles and the M35 LMG ready. They would haul out and get into the 747 within seconds, that was their game plan. Whatever weaponry the hostages could hold, they would, to make everyone move faster.

As COL. Delaney approached the outskirts of the airport he looked off into the horizon to see the 747 and its two F-22A escorts sitting on the runway. "Team One. We have a visual. We're inbound!" He looked over at the medic. "How is he?"

"Dead."

COL. Delaney muttered to himself but kept driving. He pushed the pedal down more, wishing the truck a few more miles per hour more than what they had. Lest it be known I will raze this country to the ground! He said to himself as he pulled around the turn and sped down the tarmac, towards the parked airliner.

With smoke, screeching, and sliding, the truck came to a halt at the side of the 747. COL. Delaney immedately jumped out of the cab and yelled to his men, "Get them aboard now!" He looked back into the cab and nodded his head to the medic. "Help them. I'll get him!"

"But sir."

"You have your orders."

"Yes sir.

"Well then..." The cab was covered in blood, eight pints of it to be exact. He looked into it, with a blank stare on his face. "Home at last." He smirked and walked around to the other side, the hostages and his men boarding the jet. The medic, however, hung back, standing at the top of the stairwell and looked towards the truck and COL. Delaney, who was picking up the sniper from the cab and his weaponry. "Come on, let's both go home!" He began walking towards the 747 when gunshots sprang out from the distance and bullets slammed into the stairwell. "No respect for the dead!" He screamed as he called to the medic. "Come take him! Now!" The medic darted down the stairs and helped with the sniper. "I'll get these bastards!" He pulled up and shouldered the M41. He had a full magazine in the rifle and another one that he picked off the side of the sniper. "BASTARDS!" He screamed as he fired a shot at the car approaching.

The bullet went right through the windshield, on the drivers side, and punched a clean hole through it as it entered the neck of the driver, exited, and went into the back seat, catching one of the insurgents in the shoulder. He fired again and again! The car came to a halt and men poured out, some six of them. They were crammed in there, chasing the truck long before it got to the airport. Crouching, he fired more shots, putting one into the chest of each of his victims. "DIE!" He screamed more as he fired more and more shots. The medic had made it up the staircase with the sniper. Waiting at the top were two more Force Falcon members and Trish. She looked down at COL. Delaney has he fired off more shots at more approaching men. "YOU MOTHER SONS OF BITCHES!" He fired more and used up the last round of the magazine. He changed it out and boarded the staircase quickly, bullets flying through the air. "GET MOVING NOW!" He screamed as he was a third of the way up the staircase.

The pilot inside the 747 immediately picked up the radio and gave the cue to the F-22A pilots. "We're good to go! Let's get moving!" The two F-22As hit their engines immediately, afterburners coming on only seconds later. The blue flames streamed out of their tails and they bolted down the runway, the 747 following behind, its engines roaring. They had pushed away the staircase but had not closed the door yet. COL. Delaney kept shooting, firing at insurgents approaching with their AK-47s, firing throughout the air. "DIE YOU BASTARDS!" He fired the last round and smirked. "Let's close her up!" He pulled out the magazine and shut the door to the 747 as it barrelled down the runway after the F-22As, which were already in a 15° climb, shooting skyward.

The 747 was in the air moments later, heavy with fuel and passengers. "747 airborne. Let's go home men! Thanks again!"

"Roger that! Follow my lead." The F-22As dropped off their afterburners and the 747 entered a 10° climb with the F-22As as they went skyward. But alas, that wasn't all. "747, maintain northern course. Radar shows possible hostiles. Moving to intercept. Enter heading to the west and climb to angels thirty-five. Over."

"Roger that. Good luck boys!" The F-22As banked hard as they turned towards the northeast. On their radars were a pair of contacts, both flying low and fast, on an intercept course with the 747.

"Flight lead. Can we ID them yet?"

"Not yet. They're forty-two miles out, low, closure one thousand knots." The F-22As were only at three hundred knots, accelerating rapidly using their supercruise ability. As they descended to 5,000 feet, the altitude the targets were at, they passed six hundred knots. The targets were moving at seven hundred knots, static at that speed.

"What do you think they are sir?"

"Don't know. Could be MiGs."

"But where from?"

"That is a mystery." The flight leader switched his master arm on. "Keep silent until we get a VID."

"Roger that sir." The F-22As banked again, turning now for a side intercept course. As they closed on the enemy fighters at seven hundred knots, they passed underneath the twenty mile mark, closing faster and faster. They would be on the targets in under a minute. They would be using their AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles, if necessary. Using their night vision goggles, the goal was to come up on the rear of the fighters at five miles back, identify them, and if necessary, shoot them down.

The manuever was done quite well, the contacts never seeing the pair of F-22s on their radars or any other sensors. "Alright we're on their six, ten miles back. Increase speed to eight hundred and fifty knots, let's get close."

"Roger that sir." The two F-22As increased their throttles and sped up, closing to exactly five miles away. When they were stable they could get visual ID. "Sir, a pair of F-14s. They're definitely hostile."

"Roger that. Master arm on. Take the right one."

"Roger that sir." The pilots selected their AIM-9X Sidewinders and set their targets. The growl of the AIM-9Xs let them know they had a lock. Together, the pilots pushed down on their flight sticks, releasing the missiles. The left side bay of each F-22A immediately sprang open and the missiles were dropped out. It was less than a 1/4 of a second for the process. As the missile ignited and sped away from the F-22A, the bay arm would retract and the bay close, inside of seconds again. The RCS signature of the F-22A was visible for, at most, three seconds.

The missiles accelerated inside of a few feet, matching their top speed, Mach 3.0. As they sped towards their targets, the two F-14 pilots were apparently unaware of the launch. They made no attempts to jink or avoid the missiles. It was evident, especially when the two AIM-9Xs hit the F-14s, and sent both of them towards the ground in flaming fireballs. "Scratch two. 747 report status, over?" The F-22A flight leader said.

"We're good sir. Passing sixteen thousand feet now, moving up to thirty-five. Speed is three hundred knots."

"Roger that, we're inbound."

"Yes sir. Get them?"

"A pair of F-14s, unknown origin."

"Roger that." The 747 moved gracefully through the night sky, upwards to the space above.

COL. Delaney had finally found a seat in the first class cabin. It had been cleared out for just the men of Team One, the remainder of the operatives spread out across the 747. The body of the sniper had been laid out across a row and covered. The medic was treating the wound of COL. Delaney, the AK-47 round through his shoulder, when Trish came in with the refreshment cart. She was still shaken. "What can I offer you guys?" She asked as she took a sip of Coke. "We have water and Coke and Sprite and..." COL. Delaney winced in pain.

"Damn doc. Make it hurt more!" He smirked. "What's your name?" He looked at the stewardess.

"Trish."

"Trish. That's right. Short for Trisha?"

"Yes."

"Sit down. My men will get what they need. Correct gentlemen?" They nodded, wanting too much to just relax then to get up. "Now I must ask you something, it will be an uncomfortable question but you must answer truthfully."

"Okay." She sat uneasy. "What is it?"

"What happened? Explain this entire situation?"

"Well these terrorists from Kaliningrad took over the plane. They forced us to land in Kaliningrad. Then they took me and eight others to a place in the city and beat us, yelled at us, hurt us. Then you came to rescue us."

"Alright, the short version. I like. Now about the rescue. How were you rescued?"

"By Layartebian..."

COL. Delaney stopped her. "How were you rescued?"

"By Layarteb..."

"No. You must listen to me."

"I am, you won't let me answer."

"Trish. There is something of importance here that I must stress. These men you see here, I, we all. All of us are covert. You know what that means?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Alright. So then how were you rescued?"

"I'm not sure. I was unconscious."

"Very good. That is your story and you MUST stick to it. Media, press, police, federal investigators will ask each and every one of you for your statements. They will ask everyone on board for their statements. I would enjoy greatly if the story you just uttered was repeated by all of the passengers on this plane and it will be. We will go to great lengths to ensure it is."

"I understand."

"Very well. Now. You have had a most harrowing ordeal. We have a six hour flight back to where we need to be. You will use that time to relax."

"I will? I have to..."

"You have to do nothing. One of the passengers will. The pilots must fly, that is true. You must rest."

"Alright." She relaxed a bit, sitting only across from COL. Delaney. The medic worked to stitch up his wound. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not sure what hurt more. The bullet or the doc?" At that moment, the medic pulled hard on the stitch. "Yeah it was the bullet. Point taken."

"Sorry sir. You understand?"

"I do. What about infection?"

"I sprayed it before. You'll be on antibiotics for the next week."

"Make them strong doc. I don't need to lose a shoulder."

"You won't. You're going to report to the base doctor every day, once a day. If any pain, swelling, discomfort, or anything out of what is already there develops you are to see him immediately. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright. You're fine now. Keep that ice pack on it for the next fifteen minutes."

"Will do doc."

"Alright I'm going to tend to some of the hostages."

"Good job." The medic left and walked back to the cabin. Most of the men were sleeping. "Come over here Trish. I don't want to wake my men." She smiled and brushed her hair back. She was still beautiful, though the wound on her left cheek from where she was hit was bruised badly. "You know, you should let me look at that. Or the doc for that matter. I mean we all have medical training but the doc has, well he's a medic."

"It's fine. I'll be fine. I've gotten worse from ex-boyfriends." She smirked, though hardly. "Well yeah."

"I hope they got what they deserved."

"Seven years in Albany Central."

"Works for me."

"Me too." She smiled. "Thank you again for saving us. I didn't think anyone was going to come for us. Where'd the two fighter planes come from?" She waited. "Or is that classified?"

He nodded. "Perhaps I..." He paused. "What is your greatest fear?"

"What?"

"Fear? What's your greatest fear?"

"I used to think it was death but going back there seems like it. Why?"

"If I disclose any of this to you, I will be forced to act upon that. Understood." He was dead serious. She looked down to see his pistol in his hand.

"I understand. Could you?" She pointed down.

"Force of habit. I'm sorry." He holstered it. "The two fighter planes that were there followed this plane all the way to Kaliningrad. You weren't alone. But they were there for one reason."

"To shoot us down."

"Yes. Just incase they had a bomb or planned to turn this plane into a flying, guided missile."

"Understood. Well thank you anyway. I really thank you."

"You're welcome. It's part of the job you know." He smirked. She returned the smile and exhaled. "I'm not sure what to say."

"I understand."

The 747 was finally at 35,000 feet and over the Baltic Sea. It would fly a straight course home, landing at Bangor, Maine. The airport had survived the horrible Nor'Easter, which caused some $12.5B worth of damage in both Layarteb and Dnalkrad.

Inside the first class cabin, COL. Delaney and Trish were the only two people awake. The other five men of Force Falcon Team One were sound asleep. The medic was tending to passengers throughout coach class and the sniper had been moved to the refrigerator. The goal was to keep him preserved and from rotting. It was a most uncivilized and unnatural practice but they had to do it.

COL. Delaney had sufficiently relaxed Trish, through talking to her. She was calm now, her face still on fire from wounds she had suffered. "So how long have you been in the military?" She asked, calmly.

"I can't really say."

"Classified?"

"That and I just don't remember. It's been so long."

"What about your shoulder? How many times did that happen?"

"Being shot?"

"Yeah."

"More times than I can count." He smirked. "This one wasn't so bad. Went clean through. I'm lucky the guy was a bad shot."

"He was?"

"Yeah. Soldiers are taught center of mass, basically the heart. I have a vest on but it would have still hurt. I'm lucky he didn't go for my head. That would have been bad." He laughed.

"Yeah. There would be two..." She caught herself. "Listen, I'm sorry about your man."

"It's alright. It's a risk we know when we took this job. He's at peace now, no more nightmares from the places we've been, the things we've done."

"Like what?"

"It wouldn't be right. Let me just say that the things we've done, the things we've seen would haunt you for the rest of your life. They haunt us and we don't often sleep."

"You don't often sleep?"

"None of these men are sleeping. They're just relaxing. It's something we're taught. Actually, the last time I slept was the day before I joined this unit."

"And you don't remember?"

"No I don't. It's been that long."

"What about a family? Do you have one?"

"I was married once. I had a son. But just after the final war for independence, they were killed in a bomb explosion."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. It's alright."

"What do you mean?"

"There's nothing that can change it now."

"Yeah. That's true."

"What about a girlfriend or anything?"

"Not since. I'm sorry. It's been very tumultuous since."

"Makes it tough for a relationship right?"

"Impossibly tough."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah it's been depressing I can say that."

"So that's why you did what you did to those guys up there?"

"Which?"

"When you set them on fire?"

"It fuels the fire."

"Did you do that to the person that killed your wife and son?"

"No." He smiled, remembering the looking on his face when he beat the man to death. "No, I didn't."

"Do I want to ask what you did?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. So where have you gone?"

"All over. Kaliningrad, Ireland, Europe, Africa, Asia, South America. I think the only two places I haven't been is Antarctica and Australia."

"Kaliningrad. I don't understand why they did that?"

"What us?"

"No. The terrorists."

"Because the pain is strong and deep. And only in time can pain fade..."

The 747 landed in Bangor a few hours later and the passengers deboarded and were ushered into interrogation by military personnel, mostly men from Force Falcon. They were all given their story and a fear worse than death was put in their eyes. The sniper was given a burial later that night to full honors with the men of Force Falcon standing by. His body, incinerated, was just one of many, but the first of Team One. Then it was back to business as usual. The Emperor made a statement of the situation telling only of a terrorist hijacking on board a 747 and the actions of several brave passengers that brought the plane back home safely. No names were mentioned. Trish, on the other hand, planted a kiss on the lips of COL. Delaney as she deboarded the plane and put her number in his pocket. She hoped he would call but he wasn't sure if he could...

Yes this RP is over. Questions, comments?

very good. i give it 2 thimbs up. maby we could use the terrorists from kalingarad for the war.

Yes this RP is over. Questions, comments?
Beautiful. I particularly like the possible romantic relations between COL Delaney and Trish. Maybe an idea for a new story...?