Sniper Country
24-01-2006, 05:11
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Lee Donald, and I'll be your pilot today. Our travel route will be from Southeastasia International Airport, to Sniper Country International Airport, located in Remington City, Sniper Country. You are flying aboard a new Boeing 777, designated AirRun Two Two Seven Four. We're about to taxi out to the runway for takeoff, so we ask that you all buckle your seatbelts, and I will talk to you again as soon as we're airborne," the pilot said over the intercom as he checked the instruments on his plane's displays. He switched over to his headset in order to contact the tower and prepare to get off the ground and on his way home. After this flight, he'd have an entire month off to be with his family back in Weet.
"Hey, tower it's AirRun Two Two Seven Four, here on the loading ramp, waiting to taxi for takeoff."
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, tower, taxi to runway one-eight, wind one-seven-zero at one-zero, gust two-five, altimeter three-zero-zero-one, field IFR, rain, visibility two, ceiling niner hundred broken, standby for IFR clearance."
"Roger tower, one-eight taxi, altimeter three-zero-zero-one, standby for clearance."
The huge aircraft began to roll off the ramp, and toward its selected runway. Along the way, the pilot received his IFR clearance, and upon reaching the runway, stopped, and waited for clearance to take off.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, men and equipment left of runway midfield, wind one-seven-zero and one-zero, gust two-five, runway one-eight cleared for takeoff, expedite."
Captain Donald moved his aircraft into position, thrusted his engines, and began his takeoff procedure. The plane began to rumble down the runway, as the rain splashed down on the windshield of the cockpit. The passengers felt as the plane lifted off the ground and the landing gear was retracted.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, contact departure, good day and thanks," the controller said finally, sending the plane off to radar control.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking again. As you may note, we are off the ground and now en route to Remington City, Sniper Country. We are currently climbing to our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. The flight will last approximately twelve hours, but on the bright side, we're making it a straight flight, so you won't have to worry about switching planes along the way. The attendants will be coming by soon with snacks and menus for supper tonight. Our estimated arrival time is two thirty in the morning at Sniper Country International Airport, again, located in Remington City, Sniper Country. There won't be much to see outside, folks, since it's mostly going to be ocean we're flying over. So, in the mean time, sit back, relax, and thank you for flying with AirRun," Captain Donald said once again over the intercom.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, Southeastasia Departure, climb and maintain flight level three-five-zero, turn left heading three-three-zero, increase speed to three-seven-zero knots. Upon reaching flight level three-five-zero, contact Southeastasia Center on niner-five-six point niner. Thanks, good day," the departure controller spurted out his clearance like lightning.
"Roger Departure, climbing to thirty-five thousand, turning left to three-three-zero, speeding up to three-seven-zero knots. Will contact Center on nine-five-nine point nine, thanks," the Captain spilled out, beginning his climb. This would be a long, long trip, but it would pay off, Donald hoped. He missed three of his son's birthdays since he was born five years ago. That day was in two days, and he was going to be there, no matter what.
---
"Excuse me, sir, would you like something to drink?" the flight attendent asked.
Looking up from his book, the man, who had a scruffy beard and was extremely tan, gave a semi-smile to the attendent. "I'll have Doctor Pepper, please ma'am," he said.
"What are you reading?" the attendent asked as she reached for the drink out of the ice chest.
"Oh, just a few memoirs of some old military guys. Just something to pass the time, you know," he replied.
"Oh yes, I know!" she laughed as she handed the man his drink, who set it in the cupholder to his left. "Well, have a wonderful flight!"
"You too..." he replied as she moved on to the next row of people. He looked back down at his book and continued to read. His name was John Able, and was on his way home after a classified mission, helping train several Southeastasian Special Forces in SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) Training. Able, a current member of Packrat Platoon (better known as “Sierra Hotel”), was possibly one of the best operators the SCAF had to offer. So good, in fact, he was the only authorized member of Packrat or any other unit, aside from Force Haze, to travel In-Country alone. He’d joined the SCAF immediately after gaining his Bachelor’s degree, and once he finished DB training, he was granted special permission by CGN Spitz to continue his education. He then gained his Master’s from the University of Southern Sniper Country, and his Ph.D. from Lehigh University in Stalk Lane. After this, he applied and trained into the 22nd SOF-D Regiment. Further training and experience led him to be chosen by Sierra Hotel. The twenty-four man unit was widely renown, for several years, to be the greatest and most feared Special Forces unit in the world. Of course, just a few short years later, Force Haze was created, but this unit remained Top Secret. Not wanting to have anything to do with such an organization, Able declined to join.
---
“Get down! Get down! I will shoot you in your head, now get down!” Captain Donald heard voices shouting from the nearest cabin. “Get them to the back now! I’ll get to the cockpit!” He heard. Instinctly, he switched to squawk the emergency code. He switched the box to the code as the voice suddenly turned into human form behind him.
“Your plane just got hijacked, man!” the estranged hijacker’s voice sounded both hateful and scared. He had a raspy voice, which cracked and growled as he spoke. “Turn to go back to Southeastasia! Now!” he screamed.
“Sir, I can’t just turn. I need a clearance. Can you give me a minute?” Donald replied, as he heard the controller voice in his headset say the last few words of her spill. He went over them a few more times in his head, “AAR2274, squawk hijack.” It suddenly hit him of what was really happening. His hand had already been on the box since he squawked the emergency code. He pressed “7718,” the code for hijack. He had already been transferred from Southeastasia Center to Stalk Lane Center. The flight was half over, and it was already 8:30 at night.
“No I can’t give you a minute! Turn this plane around now, before I blow your co-pilot’s head off!” the hijacker screamed again, pointing his pistol at the co-pilot.
“Alright, alright,” Captain Donald replied, turning back around in his seat. He took the controls and began to bank the huge airplane to the right, in order to return to their airport of origin. All the captain could think about was his son. He had to get home; he had to.
---
John was still reading, sipping his drink, when all heck broke loose. Men began yelling their orders, letting the entirety of the passengers know immediately that the plane was being hijacked. Able looked around quickly, counting six hijackers in the cabin, but he quickly hit the ground, following the orders of the hijackers. There were four more cabins that had to be taken over, and from what was going on so far, there had to have been hijackers in each of them. How did they get pistols onboard? John thought to himself as he was stepped on by one of the hijackers. Slowly, people were being pushed back to the rear of the plane, probably so the hijackers could keep an eye on them easier. Able went along with it, and cautiously moved to the rear as he was pushed from behind with the barrel of a pistol. He felt the plane beginning to turn.
---
“Sam, Sam!” the controller screamed as the head of the section came walking over to her screen. “AirRun Two Two Seven Four – squawking hijack.” The eyes of the section head widened. “Oh my G…” he muttered. He turned around and rushed to his office, and began to punch numbers into the phone on his desk.
---
Upon hearing of the situation, Commander-General Mark Spitz began to take action. “Get on the phone to Southeastasian authorities. I want two F-14G Tomcat Plus’ in the air in ten minutes and en route to escort that plane. Tell Southeastasia we want their best controllers on this. They need to clear airspace and be able to cater to whatever that plane needs. Get Force Haze up and ready.”
“But sir,” Spitz’s Lieutenant asked, “Force Haze? That’s for Top Secret missions only…”
“They’re the best. We need the best.”
“Yessir.”
Spitz sat back down and began to analyze the situation. He was getting on in age – he was 67 – and would soon have to retire. But this was big. This was real big. And he was going to do this right.
"Hey, tower it's AirRun Two Two Seven Four, here on the loading ramp, waiting to taxi for takeoff."
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, tower, taxi to runway one-eight, wind one-seven-zero at one-zero, gust two-five, altimeter three-zero-zero-one, field IFR, rain, visibility two, ceiling niner hundred broken, standby for IFR clearance."
"Roger tower, one-eight taxi, altimeter three-zero-zero-one, standby for clearance."
The huge aircraft began to roll off the ramp, and toward its selected runway. Along the way, the pilot received his IFR clearance, and upon reaching the runway, stopped, and waited for clearance to take off.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, men and equipment left of runway midfield, wind one-seven-zero and one-zero, gust two-five, runway one-eight cleared for takeoff, expedite."
Captain Donald moved his aircraft into position, thrusted his engines, and began his takeoff procedure. The plane began to rumble down the runway, as the rain splashed down on the windshield of the cockpit. The passengers felt as the plane lifted off the ground and the landing gear was retracted.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, contact departure, good day and thanks," the controller said finally, sending the plane off to radar control.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking again. As you may note, we are off the ground and now en route to Remington City, Sniper Country. We are currently climbing to our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. The flight will last approximately twelve hours, but on the bright side, we're making it a straight flight, so you won't have to worry about switching planes along the way. The attendants will be coming by soon with snacks and menus for supper tonight. Our estimated arrival time is two thirty in the morning at Sniper Country International Airport, again, located in Remington City, Sniper Country. There won't be much to see outside, folks, since it's mostly going to be ocean we're flying over. So, in the mean time, sit back, relax, and thank you for flying with AirRun," Captain Donald said once again over the intercom.
"AirRun Two Two Seven Four, Southeastasia Departure, climb and maintain flight level three-five-zero, turn left heading three-three-zero, increase speed to three-seven-zero knots. Upon reaching flight level three-five-zero, contact Southeastasia Center on niner-five-six point niner. Thanks, good day," the departure controller spurted out his clearance like lightning.
"Roger Departure, climbing to thirty-five thousand, turning left to three-three-zero, speeding up to three-seven-zero knots. Will contact Center on nine-five-nine point nine, thanks," the Captain spilled out, beginning his climb. This would be a long, long trip, but it would pay off, Donald hoped. He missed three of his son's birthdays since he was born five years ago. That day was in two days, and he was going to be there, no matter what.
---
"Excuse me, sir, would you like something to drink?" the flight attendent asked.
Looking up from his book, the man, who had a scruffy beard and was extremely tan, gave a semi-smile to the attendent. "I'll have Doctor Pepper, please ma'am," he said.
"What are you reading?" the attendent asked as she reached for the drink out of the ice chest.
"Oh, just a few memoirs of some old military guys. Just something to pass the time, you know," he replied.
"Oh yes, I know!" she laughed as she handed the man his drink, who set it in the cupholder to his left. "Well, have a wonderful flight!"
"You too..." he replied as she moved on to the next row of people. He looked back down at his book and continued to read. His name was John Able, and was on his way home after a classified mission, helping train several Southeastasian Special Forces in SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) Training. Able, a current member of Packrat Platoon (better known as “Sierra Hotel”), was possibly one of the best operators the SCAF had to offer. So good, in fact, he was the only authorized member of Packrat or any other unit, aside from Force Haze, to travel In-Country alone. He’d joined the SCAF immediately after gaining his Bachelor’s degree, and once he finished DB training, he was granted special permission by CGN Spitz to continue his education. He then gained his Master’s from the University of Southern Sniper Country, and his Ph.D. from Lehigh University in Stalk Lane. After this, he applied and trained into the 22nd SOF-D Regiment. Further training and experience led him to be chosen by Sierra Hotel. The twenty-four man unit was widely renown, for several years, to be the greatest and most feared Special Forces unit in the world. Of course, just a few short years later, Force Haze was created, but this unit remained Top Secret. Not wanting to have anything to do with such an organization, Able declined to join.
---
“Get down! Get down! I will shoot you in your head, now get down!” Captain Donald heard voices shouting from the nearest cabin. “Get them to the back now! I’ll get to the cockpit!” He heard. Instinctly, he switched to squawk the emergency code. He switched the box to the code as the voice suddenly turned into human form behind him.
“Your plane just got hijacked, man!” the estranged hijacker’s voice sounded both hateful and scared. He had a raspy voice, which cracked and growled as he spoke. “Turn to go back to Southeastasia! Now!” he screamed.
“Sir, I can’t just turn. I need a clearance. Can you give me a minute?” Donald replied, as he heard the controller voice in his headset say the last few words of her spill. He went over them a few more times in his head, “AAR2274, squawk hijack.” It suddenly hit him of what was really happening. His hand had already been on the box since he squawked the emergency code. He pressed “7718,” the code for hijack. He had already been transferred from Southeastasia Center to Stalk Lane Center. The flight was half over, and it was already 8:30 at night.
“No I can’t give you a minute! Turn this plane around now, before I blow your co-pilot’s head off!” the hijacker screamed again, pointing his pistol at the co-pilot.
“Alright, alright,” Captain Donald replied, turning back around in his seat. He took the controls and began to bank the huge airplane to the right, in order to return to their airport of origin. All the captain could think about was his son. He had to get home; he had to.
---
John was still reading, sipping his drink, when all heck broke loose. Men began yelling their orders, letting the entirety of the passengers know immediately that the plane was being hijacked. Able looked around quickly, counting six hijackers in the cabin, but he quickly hit the ground, following the orders of the hijackers. There were four more cabins that had to be taken over, and from what was going on so far, there had to have been hijackers in each of them. How did they get pistols onboard? John thought to himself as he was stepped on by one of the hijackers. Slowly, people were being pushed back to the rear of the plane, probably so the hijackers could keep an eye on them easier. Able went along with it, and cautiously moved to the rear as he was pushed from behind with the barrel of a pistol. He felt the plane beginning to turn.
---
“Sam, Sam!” the controller screamed as the head of the section came walking over to her screen. “AirRun Two Two Seven Four – squawking hijack.” The eyes of the section head widened. “Oh my G…” he muttered. He turned around and rushed to his office, and began to punch numbers into the phone on his desk.
---
Upon hearing of the situation, Commander-General Mark Spitz began to take action. “Get on the phone to Southeastasian authorities. I want two F-14G Tomcat Plus’ in the air in ten minutes and en route to escort that plane. Tell Southeastasia we want their best controllers on this. They need to clear airspace and be able to cater to whatever that plane needs. Get Force Haze up and ready.”
“But sir,” Spitz’s Lieutenant asked, “Force Haze? That’s for Top Secret missions only…”
“They’re the best. We need the best.”
“Yessir.”
Spitz sat back down and began to analyze the situation. He was getting on in age – he was 67 – and would soon have to retire. But this was big. This was real big. And he was going to do this right.