NationStates Jolt Archive

Against All Enemies

The influence of Venezuela upon Layartebian policy, history, and culture is, perhaps, larger than any other culture, people, state, or group in the world. Venezuelan influence has had more of an effect than both Tnemration and Kaliningradian influence, both of which have molded and shaped the Empire into what it is today.

Venezuela first dawned on Layartebian politics in the early 1960s. Terrorism was rising throughout the world and the world was a very uncertain place. The weak, corrupt, and ineffective Venezuelan government was trying its best to stop the flow of weapons, drugs, and dangerous ideology both into and out of its borders, with no luck and no avail. In 1967, President Marcos Baracóa formally requested Layartebian assistance with his crisis. The Layartebian President, Baxter Wesley Gephard was all too willing to assist President Baracóa and committed some 250,000 Layartebian soldiers to the Venezuelan countryside. The war was initially met with strong ratings as it was seen as a chance to ebb the flow of drugs and dangerous ideology into the borders of the Republic. In 1969, the war took a tragic downturn with the assassination of President Baracóa and the onset of a full-fledged civil war. The civil war, which had little to nothing to do with Layartebian involvement grew and grew. Rather than withdrawing, Layartebian forces downsized to 150,000 and continued to fight the civil war, even during a period of transitional government, which saw four presidents assassinated in 7 months. In 1971, Layartebian involvement was one of three causes of the civil war's prolonged state. The other two was ethnic rivalry between indigenous and Hispanic people and the third being the lifting of oppression from the Venezuelan government. In late 1972, President Gephard won a second term in office and announced that Layartebian officials would be governing Venezuela until it could return to stability. Approval ratings for the war plummeted and by 1973, 23,940 Layartebian soldiers had come home in body bags with another 16,800 wounded. The war dragged on for 3 more years without any progress or resolve. Violence escalated and Layartebian forces were largely ineffective, hampered by ineffective leaders in the government both in Venezuela and in the Republic. In 1975, President Gephard died of a sudden heart attack, leaving his vice president, Thomas Deveroe to assume the office of President of the Republic of Layarteb. He won the election bid in 1976 amidst violence brewing in Layarteb, which some thought to be a "rigged election." His view to the War in Venezuela, throughout his election term was for withdrawal and a return of Venezuela to the Venezuelans. When he "officially" assumed office in January 1977, his policies shifted. Shortly thereafter, violence throughout the Republic of Layarteb exponentially increased and by late 1977, the Republic of Layarteb was amidst a full blown civil war, which would last until 1980.

Following the three year, bloody civil war, which saw the fall of the Republic and the establishment of the Empire, the question of Venezuela rose again. In the three years that Republican forces had been fighting rebel forces throughout the country, Venezuela descended into the bloodiest civil war in its history with over 600,000 men, women, and children dead by 1980. On February 16, 1981, the newly instated Emperor of the Empire of Layarteb, announced that Layartebian forces would be going back to Venezuela, an initiative that was largely unpopular at first and threatened to unsettled the new government. However, the reasons behind the move strengthen the Emperor initially. He stated, "The stain of Venezuela is upon the Layartebian peoples. Thirty thousand of our fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers died to protect nothing. We went there not for conquest nor for our own defense. We went there for the motives of the inept and corrupt Republican government. Now we are going back to restore the pride that has been lost from us. We are going back FOR CONQUEST! The Venezuelan Civil War will be suppressed, by any and all means necessary, and as sure as I stand here today, in no more than 3 years from today we shall be in full and total control of the Venezuelan state and it shall become the first state in the Province of South Eastern Virginia." It took only 2 years. Between June 1981 and August 1983, Layartebian forces swept through the Venezuelan country, pacifing and exterminating all forces of rebellion, turning the war torn and ravaged country into a prospering state. Initially unfavored, when Caracas was captured in March 1982, popular support for the war soared to 93%. Upon its conquest, the Emperor's position was solidified.

However, in 1988, Venezuela returned to the forefront. Insurrectionist forces had largely regrouped and received foreign aide and assistance to fight off the Layartebian authorities and violence began to rise from March to May of 1988. In June, it peaked. Popular support for the Empire was higher than it had ever been and national pride was higher than it had ever been. The Layartebian Empire was rapidly expanded and Layartebian forces were not dying in droves as they had done in the days of the Republic, when their goals and rules of engagement hampered their ability to fight and win a war. They were led by more competant generals with fewer hampering rules of engagement. They had lost less in those 8 years than the Republic had lost in its entire Venezuelan campaign. However, when violence in the streets of Caracas, Coro, and San Fernando turned into open rebellion and insurrection, Layartebian forces were sent to pacify the rebel forces. The war, as short as it was, was prominently featured on television. The insurrection lasted only three weeks. Layartebian forces, with the help of its new allies in the Fourth Reich, managed to recapture and recontrol all three cities while, at the same time, brutally suppressing and eliminating rebel elements. Casualties for Layartebian forces numbered less than 300 with rebel casualties numbering well over 15,000 with at least 10,000 captured.

In three separate wars, which could, for the sake of argument, be all one large war, Venezuela influenced not only a regime change and a bloody civil war within the borders of the Republic but also gave the new leader, the Emperor, his first major victory in a long line of victories to come, as well as guaranteeing his seat of power. Forces within the revolution who may have been planning to dethrone the Emperor because he was weak in going back into Venezuela were silenced. Now, forty years after Layartebian forces were first committed to Venezuela, thirty years after they left to fight the revolution, twenty-three years after Venezuela was conquered and annexed, and nineteen years after its final fight was silenced, the Venezuelan influence returns.

Lastly, before you read please do not pass any judgement that this will be a pathetic post. If you must have a reference, please go to to the list below and you will see the abilities of me to tell a story. I am a writer.
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Legend
All text in red type is top secret classified. It is unknown to the normal reader and even anyone else other than those present in the text. All are loyal to the government so please none of that, "We had spies" nonsense because I'm going to ignore it.

Italic text is text that is speech. It is italic to differentiate from normal text.

Italic underlined text is thought.

Orange text is a memory.

Green text is documents, communications, etc.

Bold, blue text is a service announcement meant in OOC form

Small text is a translation.

Small, bold text is OOC.
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Notes

This will be updated on a irregular basis. If you see a lapse then by all means, bump the topic. Pictures may be included with horrible images of death. The RP will be R-rated. I will not delve into the realm of sexual acts such as rape and the like because they are just unnecessary but there may be elusions to horrid acts. There will be profanity and there will be gore. I am warning you of all of this because I feel that if you do not like it then this is your chance to avoid reading it. There won't be any surprises. If there is ever something that violates NS rules (and no nothing illegal will be had here) please inform me and I'll take care of it. If you are offended don't read! Simple as that.
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Other Role-Playing Stories

Ascensión (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=509447)
Down with the Sickness (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=432254)
Isla del Enfermo (Earth II) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=398102)
La Guerra que no Hombre Debe Saber (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434657)
Ride the Lightning (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=448866)
Sehnsucht für das Glück (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386920)
Tale of the Time: Ancient Secrets Found in Yucatán... (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=409829)
Tale of the Wicked: An Empire Within... (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=486764)
The Decayed (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=474683)
The Forsaken Island (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=442286)
The Kingdom of Forgotten Warriors (Earth II) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=380343)
The Knight of Dark Chaos (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384906)
The Layartebian Chronicles (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384916)
The Praetorian Project (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=450228)

Table of Contents


Chapter I: History's Lessons Repeating (Page 1)
Chapter II: The Worst Hours
Chapter III: Misery Loves Company (Page 2)
Chapter IV: Illusions of Mind (Page 3)
Chapter V: Nightfall (Page 4)

Map

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/venezuela-map-preview.jpg (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/venezuela-map.jpg)

Chapter I: History's Lessons Repeating

"You know the saying, 'To the victor belong the spoils'? Well that saying is something that I always heard and understood but never really knew much about, not until I saw the bloodshed that these 'spoils' unleashed. You see, the victor gets all the spoils, which are generally referred to as the goods, gold, money, women, and so on and so fourth. But the victor also gets the bad, the disenfranchised, the rebels, the outlaws, the criminals, the evil, and the weak-willed. The victor inherits all of this with the good and sometimes, just sometimes, the bad outweighs the good."

"What are you trying to say Dad?"

"I'm trying to say son that everything we're seeing now. It's all our own fault. We don't have anyone to blame but ourselves. The violence in the streets, the kidnappings, the terrorism, the unrest. It's all our own fault. We conquered these lands, how many of them, dozens. We conquered their people, assimilated them into our culture and made them one of us. We fabricated the Layartebian nationality. Well, maybe not all of it but we certainly expanded upon it. We made the nationality what it is today and it is a nationality just as much as the Empire is a nation-state. We're a state, we have borders, we have a government. But we're a nation because you and I and the billions of others consider themselves Layartebian. We've suppressed cultures and customs that were hundreds and thousands of years old and now it's biting us back."

"I know Dad but what else can we do? I believe in the Empire. Do you?"

"I do."

"Then you must understand why I have to go."

"I understand. I went just like you did but it was a different time, a different war, a different place."

"I know Dad. I know. What did you do to get through it?"

"Kept my head down and made sure that the person in front of me was paying attention."

"Thanks Dad."

"Come home to me son alright."

"I will Dad." They embraced and the son departed, a strong and stern smile on his face as he stepped through the terminal at Dulles International Airport. He was catching a flight down to Florida, where his unit was staging. Dressed in his military unit, he received nothing short of proper respect from people he passed. Being a Layartebian soldier wasn't something that garnered disrespect. In the days of the Republic, he could be spat on and cursed at or he could be thanked, there was an uncertainty. In the Empire, he was respected, his sacrifice allowing the 1.26 billion people inside of the Empire safe. He passed through the ramp and into the airplane, greeting the two, very attractive, stewardesses as he stepped onto the plane. "Good afternoon," he smiled to them.

"Good afternoon sir." They both smiled back and he passed through the first class section of the airline, stopping abruptly to salute a major.

"Sir."

"Carry on sergeant." The major returned the salute and he sat down towards the rear of the plane, in coach class, his dufflebag secure inside of the cargo hold of the plane and his carry-on bag now underneath his seat, which was, lucky for him, an aisle seat. The plane was a 767-322ER, registered N661UA underneath United Airlines, a long-running company that had been in existence for well over four decades now. The passenger aircraft that sat against the terminal was an astonishing 180.25 feet long and rose 52.00 feet into the air, its wingspan registering in at 156.00 feet long. It was powered by a pair of General Electric engines that generated up to 65,000 pounds of thrust each, pushing the plane as fast as 593 mph and as far as 7,135 miles. The almost 412,000 pounds aircraft seated as many as 216 passengers. There were a total of six stewards, three of them female. The two pilots, who were nestled in the front of the aircraft were both seated just as comfortably in a spacious cockpit.

It took about twenty minutes for everyone to get seated and situated and then, the 767 began its preflight proceedures. The aircraft was pushed back, away from the gate, the soldier's father still watching from the window. Inside the cabin, the stewards and stewardesses went over the emergency proceedures, should they be necessary, and the pilots did their preflight checks, communicating with the tower. The intercom pinged, "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. You're onboard United Airlines, flight 772, heading non-stop from Dulles International to Miami International, where we will connect with another flight and head on to Lima International. Flight time is about two and a half hours and it looks like it'll be raining when we land, which should put us in around 20:30 hours. We're third in line for take off so if you'll please fasten your seatbelts, we'll be ready to go. I want to thank you for choosing United Airlines." The intercom went off and the stewards and stewardesses did their final preparations as they seated themselves. The intercom pinged again when the 767 was sitting short of the runway. "Prepare for departure." The 767 came to the taxiway. "Dulles tower. This is United 772. We're holding short."

"Roger that United 772. You're second now."

"Roger that." A few minutes went by and a 747-400 took off, battering down the runway.

"United 772. Hold short. Runway 19L."

"Roger that Dulles tower. Holding short runway 19L." A Gulfstream V took off ahead of them and now it was there turn.

"United 772. Cleared to line up on runway 19L."

"Roger that." The aircraft pushed forward and taxiied onto the runway and then situated itself facing down the runway.

"United 772. Cleared for takeoff, runway 19L. Depart heading 1-5-2."

"Roger that Dulles. See you in a few days." The pilots pushed the throttles up as the aircraft came to life. The high pitched whine of the two turbofan engines turned into a loud roar as they achieved maximum thrust, the blades turning at such immense speeds that the aircraft shook. The 767 would use up 7,900 of the runway's 11,500 feet in its takeoff run. The jet roared down the runway, picking up speed faster and faster, achieving takeoff speed of 195 mph, lifting itself off the ground with a lurch, continuing upwards, into the sky.

"United 772. You're on your own. Thank you."

"Thank you Dulles. We're on our way." The pilot banked the aircraft as he retracted the landing gear and lifted the plane into a climb, towards its cruise altitude and speed.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/plane-takeoff.jpg

It took a few minutes as they climbed upwards but eventually the seatbelt sign was taken off and two people near the soldier got up right away and made for the bathroom, both of them visibly shaken by the takeoff. He smiled and laughed. The takeoff was nothing for a man who was used to jumping out of airplanes and helicopters, sometimes without a parachute. The captain pinged the intercom again. "We'll be climbing to our cruise altitude of 37,000 feet and speed of 540 mph. Please move around the cabin if you have to but remain buckled in when you are seated. Thank you." The soldier leaned his chair back and closed his eyes.

"Mister. Mister." He barely had his eyes closed ten seconds before he was summoned. Mister." It was a little boy, maybe about five or six years old, sitting in front of him who had turned around in his seat.

"Yes?"

"Are you a soldier?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?" The little boy asked with a sense of urgent curiosity. Apparently this was important to him.

"I'm nineteen."

"My brother is sixteen. Is he going to be a soldier too?"

"Probably he will be." He said with a smile.

"Do soldiers get hurt?"

"Sometimes."

"Will my brother get hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"I haven't gotten hurt."

"No?"

"No." Someone tapped the little boy and he turned around. From in front of him he could hear a woman's voice.

"Leave the nice man alone behind us." She turned around. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright ma'am." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again. He was nineteen, a year into his mandatory service, and he ascended through the ranks to sergeant rather quickly, mainly because of his aptitude test scores, which made him a shoe in for his NCO position in the paratroopers. His unit had been called up only three days prior when renewed fighting broke out in Venezuela, amidst already rising tensions. Now he was on his way down there to meet up with his unit and, if the call came, parachute into the Venezuelan state and put an end to the violence.

The Venezuelan situation was new. Both 2005 and 2006 saw a rising trend in domestic violence within the Empire that started out as harmless propaganda but grew into the Republican Liberation Army and furthered into an unknown "army" of terrorists who had set off a nuclear bomb in Saint George's, Grenada, killing over 37,000 people and crippling both the economy and infrastructure of the small island state, which, until then, had been the center of operations for the Caribbean Sea sector. It had since been moved to Cuba, along with the capital of the Province of Raef. Life never quite returned to normal on Grenada and its population was a mere 20% of what it had once been. That situation was in the past though, albeit recent history. Since then, the terrorism, which was presumed to be domestic, had nearly trippled. There had been over a dozen kidnappings of high profile individuals, including the daughter of the Governor of the Province of Raef who was, to date, still unfound, and presumed dead. No demands were ever offered and nobody took credit for it. The only evidence the police had on her disappearance was the sighting of three Florida Cartel members, who had disappeared just as well. There was nothing else. There had been car bombings, a downed airliner, which was attributed to mechanical failure, a reasoning that few people actually accepted. There had been dozens of assassinations and yet, nobody took credit for them and police leads were empty. They had thousands of pieces of evidence but not one connection between them except that they were all connected to some unknown, domestic terrorist group.

Amidst the rising violence in the Layartebian Empire, Venezuela popped into the forefront again. The state governor was assassinated on February 18, 2007 and his replacement was suspected in the death of his predecessor but, once again, nothing could be proven. His policies were slightly different as well and widely unpopular and when the federal government stepped in to put a stop to it on March 4, he vanished. Shortly thereafter, street violence in Caracas increased with a rash of murders and bombings. Violence escalated and by April, a few hundred people were dead and the populace called for action. Law enforcement was largely unable to help and the terrorism inside of Venezuela was seen as, possibly, connected to the rest of the terrorism inside of the Empire.

Then, on April 1, violence inside of Venezuela spiked and people took to the streets. Organized, public protests, though against the law, immediately took place, with the populace calling for the government to put a stop to the violence, violence that had, by then, killed 629 people, 55 of them police officers. Police officers, who had largely organized the rally, did little to stop it and it set a dangerous precedent. The military was called in to put down the protest and two protesters were killed when they attacked a pair of soldiers. Outcry flooded out of the Venezuela but the incident was largely isolated. There were no other protests going on and Venezuela seemed to be, to the luck of the federal government, just an isolated incident. On April 2, things grew worse when the governor's home was attacked by mortars and RPGs. Two women died in the attack and the governor was injured, severely enough to put him out of his duty.

On April 5, a group claiming to be the "Free Venezuelans" sprung up and took credit for the attack on the governor's home as well as the protests. In a video tapped statement, the group claimed that it was going to fight for Venezuela. "We will return the land of Venezuela back to the people whom it was stolen from. The Layartebians have, for far too long, been involved in our land and have raped and ravaged it of its beauty, culture, and history. Now it is time for us to rape and ravage them of their culture and take from them that which does not belong." The "leader" stated. He wore dark sunglasses and sported a full beard, beret hat, and covered his face with a piece of cloth. He wore olive drabs and droned on for ten minutes. The video tape was released to twelve news stations and broadcast on each one, multiple times. One hour later, the Emperor and his Cabinet were assembling to talk about the threat that the Free Venezuelans posed.

"They are a terrorist group!" He roared. "For all we know they could be connected with the same group that has been kidnapping, bombing, and killing our leaders. What does the Ministry of Intelligence have on them!" He demanded.

The Ministef of Intelligence looked frightened as he addressed the Emperor. "Sir. We have nothing. They just appeared out of nowhere."

"What!"

"Sir. They came out of thin air."

"Nothing comes out of thin air. Get information on them. I don't care why you don't have anything but get something, anything, I don't care what!"

"Yes sir."

"What about the Interior? What does your Ministry have to say?"

"Sir. We're in the dark as well. The rising tensions in Venezuela seem almost too orchestrated to be chance. They could be linked to the unknown terrorist group or alliance sir."

"Why is it that one of the most important states to the Empire suddenly falls into havoc and turmoil and nobody knows anything about it? How it happened? Who did anything? Or what is going to happen?" Nobody answered, it wasn't a question for them to answer, it was rhetorical. "Fine. I'm ordering the Ministry of Defense to increase to REDCON 3 and call up military forces for possible intervention into Venezuela. We need to active the emergency bands now."

"Yes sir." The Minister of Defense jotted down some notes and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Military (CJCSM) stood up and departed the office for his command center, buried deep underneath the castle, well below the bedrock of the Upper New York Bay.

That was exactly three days ago. Now it was April 8 and military forces throughout the Empire were assembling in Florida, Cuba, Colombia, Panama, Trinidad, Suriname, and Alabama. Paratroopers, Marines, sailors, pilots, and everyone else who was called up was reporting for duty. Most of them were scattered around the Empire and it was estimated that it would take two days to collectivize everyone. The military wouldn't be able to move until the 11th. Three days was an impressive feat for such a large force, which was being assembled. If control over Venezuela fell to the insurrectionist group, military personnel would move immediately and resecure the state. They wouldn't wait like they did in Grenada. This was personal and the Emperor wanted this to go no further. Memories of 1988 came back to haunt the Emperor and the government when, for three weeks, the state of Venezuela was a bloodbath. That rebellion was so strongly squashed that nobody who partook in it was believed to be alive or free. Rebel leaders were serving in excess of fifty years in jail each and common rebel soldiers were serving more than twenty years. Nobody would be getting out of jail until 2008 and many of them had been executed. That rebellion was thoroughly squashed but still the questions loomed, "Are these people holdouts from the last rebellion? Did they regroup? Did they receive aide?" That question was being asked, not only by the leaders of the Empire but also by the media personalities. As a show of force, a Carrier Reconnaissance Group, attached to the 1st Fleet, which monitored the Caribbean Sea, was dispatched to take up position off Venezuela, a forty-four warship battlegroup, centered around an Enterprise class CVN, with 140 aircraft and a Vampire class CVN with 56 aircraft. In total, the battlegroup had 322 fixed and rotary-wing aircraft, ready to deploy them on combat air support missions. It was more than important that military personnel at major installations within Venezuela hold their positions at all costs, especially the air bases. Venezuela had ten air bases and each of them had to be kept under the control of the military. The fall of just one of them would put scores of advanced fighters and bombers into the hands of the rebels.

The 767 glided through the air over the Atlantic Ocean with ease and without resistance. It was high, moving fast, and quiet, its engines nowhere near full throttle and full power, the massive turbofan engines pushing it through the cold, thin air of the stratosphere, where most, if not all, jet powered commercial airliners cruised. The stratosphere was above the weather and turbulence inside the troposphere, which went up to an altitude of around 32,800 feet. They were about halfway down to Miami when the soldier woke up and looked around the airliner. Most people were reading, talking with others around them, or napping. He decided that he needed a stretch. He unbuckled the seatbelt and stood up, stepping into the asile to yawn. "Excuse me sir." He heard a voice behind him and he moved back into his seat. "Thank you," a petite but elderly woman said as she passed by him.

"You're welcome ma'am." He took a few steps back to the rear of the plane, which was empty except for the lavatories, one of which was occupied, the other vacant. He stepped inside and looked in the mirror, yawning to himself as he splashed some cold water on his face. It was uncomfortably small in the lavatory but he didn't stay in there for long, stepping back outside to see the drink cart making its way towards him. He sat back down and the cart came to him, the steward asking him what he fancied. "Just a Coke, thank you." He dropped his tray and took a sip of the icy cold Coke and yawned a third time, the nap having really done a number on him. He looked to his right to see that the seat was empty. The 767 had a two-three-two arrangement for seating and he was all the way to the right, way behind the wing. He didn't remember who was sitting next to him, whether it was a man or a woman, or if they had said anything to him either. The nap had really put him out and messed him up, something he regretted now as he sipped his Coke in a feeble attempt to surge his blood stream with sugar, enough to get him through the rest of the flight. He would crash eventually, that much he knew but when he landed, he planned on a cup of coffee, maybe two, depending on how long the briefing went. There was a short rattle, nothing to be alarmed but his Coke almost spilled over. That was when the individual sitting next to him appeared, a woman of considerable beauty. "Ma'am." He stood up and let her pass and with a smile, she looked back at him, brushing her hair back.

"Ma'am? That's old isn't it?"

"I'm sorry. Miss is it?"

"How about Connie?"

"Nice to meet you Connie. I'm David."

"And a sergeant I see."

"Yes Ma. Connie." She smiled.

"So I take it you're going to Venezuela?"

"I don't know where I'll be going. I'm going in for the usual rotation. If they send me down, they send me down. What can I do? Its my duty."

"Hmm. That's one way to see it."

"I have no choice." He smiled. "What do you do Connie?"

"I'm actually a student. I study international relations at the University of Miami. I'm heading back after a weekend with my parents. It was my mom's birthday yesterday."

"That's good to hear. What year are you?"

"I'm a junior. A little bit older than you."

"Comforting." He laughed again. "Maybe you can tell me what the hell I'm doing?"

"Your duty. You said it before. What is your unit?"

"I'm a paratrooper."

"Okay scratch the duty. You're nuts."

"Never jumped out of a plane before?"

"Can't say I have but if we get in trouble here, I'm sticking with you." She smiled again and peeked out the window at the deep reddening sky, which was getting darker.

"Not much good up here. Too cold and no oxygen."

"That's unfortunate. Isn't it beautiful out there?"

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/plane-sunset.jpg

He leaned over and looked outside. "Yes it is." They could see the sun setting on the western horizon and it was a beautiful sight. They both stared at it for a few minutes, him leaning over her, looking out of the window. "It really is beautiful." He turned his face slightly and looked into her eyes, catching her off guard for a moment, a good moment for a kiss, a kiss he planted right on her lips. She smiled at him afterwards and he sat back down. "Was that out of line?"

"Nope." She giggled a little bit but looked at him again, leaning in to kiss him again, the two of them talking to each other for the rest of the flight, holding hands and talking about what they were doing in their own lives and some other random topics.

When they were on their descent, she took out her purse and pulled out a small piece of paper from a pink notepad, the size of a Post-It. She wrote on it, her number, her name, and her address at school. "Listen. If you go to Venezuela I want you to remember this flight and when things get really bad," she pulled out a small bottom of perfume and sprayed the note. "Just smell this."

"Thank you." He had little else to say.

"I had fun. I was so afraid I was going to wake you when I slipped past you after you fell asleep but I'm glad I didn't. You might not have talked to me."

"Why's that?"

"You looked pretty asleep."

"It's been a while since I slept well."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Will you call me?"

"The minute I get a chance."

"I'll be looking forward to it David."

"Me too." The plane landed only about ten minutes later and they walked off together, holding hands.

"Promise me you'll call me?"

"I promise." They smiled and kissed one last time. He caught a cab over to the army base just outside of the city limits and she took a cab back to her apartment, which was a few blocks from the campus. He had tucked her phone number away in his wallet and he gave her something in return, something that meant a lot to him, something he promised her he would collect, in person. "This necklace was given to me when I was in training. You see, I landed kind of hard and had to spend a few days in the hospital and this little girl who was in there too made it for me because she said I was 'sad.' I've kept it ever since."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yeah. The sad part is that she died a few days later."

"Of what?"

"They wouldn't say but I plan on getting it back."

"I'll make sure that you do." He handed her his phone number and address as well, which was, for now, his parent's address since, as a military soldier, he lived on the base. He gave her both numbers because his base was close to his parent's house. He visited occassionally.

"Alright ladies. Sit down." The auditorium was filled with almost 6,200 soldiers, a full brigade, many of them sitting on the floor and standing up in the back. The auditorium could handle them all and standing on the stage were the company, battallion, regimental, and brigade commander, Brigadier General Kyle Fachetti. "Attention!" He yelled and everyone snapped to, a testament to the discipline of the paratroopers. "I'm glad we're all ready now. I'm glad to see everyone of you got here as quickly as we called you up. They don't say the paratroopers can be anywhere in the world in eighteen hours for nothing. Now. Let's get to it! The Emperor has activated emergency bands and we're all here. Most of the military is being called up for operations in Venezuela." Everyone groaned. "Do I detect unwillingness? I better not! Listen up men because I'm only saying this once! Some of you will be going immediately and some of you will be going later and some of you won't be going. We need reinforcements back here if the situation turns sour! Now I'm sure that everyone here is fully aware of the situation but if you live under a rock and I know some of you do, let me explain it. Listen up because it'll save your life!

"This is a history lesson so take some notes." He laughed at his own joke with few chuckles. "Not that good huh? Back in the '60s Republican forces entered Venezuela to quell unrest and stabilize the state. Let's say it didn't work! We were fighting for a cause that was pointless and a cause that was not our own. The revolution happened here and the Empire went back to Venezuela and conquered it, the Empire's first victory, a victory that we, today, can admire. In 1988, remnants of the war and the insurrectionists who fought us in the conquest fought back and three weeks of terrible war and fighting turned Caracas, Corno, and San Fernando into ruins. We've rebuilt since then.

"Now. With the domestic terrorism going on in the Empire but whatever jackass decided that he wasn't getting enough masturbation time because he had to work or serve in the military, the Venezuelans have seized on an opportunity. They call themselves 'Free Venezuelans' and they are terrorists! They've spent the past two months killing off officials, bombing markets, blowing up cars, kidnapping and killing people, and generally fucking with the sovereignty of the Empire of Layarteb and its people! We will not stand for this! As of current, we control the land, we control the capital, and we control the military assets. That could change! Our civilian leaders aren't confident that this army of terrorists will just dissipate. Law enforcement is too corrupt and judges can be bought. Venezuela is akin to the Yucatán in its corruptness, a byproduct of its past and history with Layarteb. Several governors have been killed, kidnapped, or maimed in such a way that they cannot serve. The Ministry of Intelligence has actionable intelligence that the terrorist group is planning on a full attack against the capital, Caracas as well as in fourteen other major cities in Venezuela. Our military down there is on high alert and prepared to defend the country. In twenty minutes, 22:00 hours, curfew will be declared in Venezuela and, tomorrow, and until this situation can be resolved, there will be curfew everyday at 20:00 hours. The military is patrolling the streets. The Ministry of Intelligence expects significant levels of violence tonight and throughout the morning.

"Now. Like I said men. We're going to go. The 'Free Venezuelans' will be stopped and they will be destroyed. So be prepared to move. Individual platoon leaders will provide more details as to your assignments but those won't come until we get our orders. When we get our orders you'll know. Until then, you're under lockdown. Nobody leaves and phone use is blackout. I'm sorry men but we can't have any loose lips here. I know you're disciplined but accidents happen. We cannot have them! Good luck men! DISMISSED!" The men stood and saluted, in unison, before retreating back to their makeshift bunks and quarters.

David followed the rest of his squad to the makeshift bunks on the other side of the complex, which was, essentially, an abandoned university, abandoned when the state of Florida fell to the Empire. The complex had been taken over by the paratroopers and now that his unit was being deployed down to Venezuela, his unit had taken over the temporary facility. "How have you guys been?" The last time any of them had seen each other was four months prior, when they were called up to do a training exercise. David belonged to one of the basic squads in just one of the many platoons of the brigade, which numbered 6,144 soldiers. There were a total of seven hundred and sixty-eight platoons in the brigade, which was actually part of a much larger unit, a division, which had a total of three brigades, or 18,432 paratroopers, all of them highly trained and determined. David, as a sergeant, led the assault team of his squad, which included an assault and a fire team, both with four men. The fire team was meant to provide cover and to allow the assault team to attack the targets, if necessary. He unpacked his belongings and took off his boots. "Been doing good, I hope?" He asked the three men in his assault team.

"Yeah. You know. The same stuff. But I did get laid again." One of the men laughed. He was a big, strong, and otherwise extremely muscle-bound guy, dwarfing David, who was strong but scrawny. He carried the SMAW anti-tank rocket into battle and was equipped with a submachine gun. "What about you?" He looked over at the breecher, a man whose job it was to open up any door or obstacle.

"Me? I went fishing and worked in the store." His mother owned a bait and tackle store in Mississippi and he was more than content sitting on a boat, being eaten alive by flies and mosquitos, his fishing line out over the edge, in total serenity, fishing for whatever was biting.

"I can say that I spent the entire time working out and reading. It was pretty much a waste." That was the demolitions man talking and he was from a ridiculously rich family, which, otherwise, would have branded him as a wuss but he was the opposite. He wanted to be a structural engineer and he took his unusual gift for retaining knowledge to a new level. By the time he was ready for his military service, he knew most of the physics about buildings, especially how to bring them down. He was the perfect candidate for the job. All of them were corporals, except for the demolitions man, who was a specialist. "What about you Sarge?"

"I work. That's all I do. Work and keep healthy. But." He smiled as he pulled out his wallet. "On the flight down I got a girl's number."

"WHAT!" They were all over him. "Who!" They demanded.

"Some cute college girl. I'm going to call her when they let us."

"Damn!" The remarks continued as they caught up on old times. The rest of the squad joined them shortly thereafter and they, now under the direction of the squad leader, a second lieutenant, they made sure that their weapons were in tip-top shape, them coming back from the armories, cleaned and properly in order. David picked up his M81A1 Paratrooper Assault Rifle and checked the ACOG scope on the top of the rifle, which was a 4x scope that gave an excellent advantage over the standard iron sights. He had an M48A1 Grenade Launcher fitted to the front of it along with two, pen-like devices on the front, one being an infrared illuminator and the other being an infrared dot, both of which could only be seen through nightvision googles. He had one last device he could fit onto the assault rifle of his, a suppressor that he could slide over the muzzle, which reduced the noise of the gunshot slightly but, more importantly, hid the dangerous muzzle flash, which could give away his position. Normally, he carried two hundred and ten rounds of 6.8 x 48 millimeter ammunition for the rifle and four 40 x 46 millimeter, high-explosive grenades, which had a decent range, being 150 meters against a point target and 350 meters against an area target. The rifle had an effective range of 650 meters, which was a significant advantage over the previous weapons that their predecessors used, which revolved around the 5.56 x 45 millimeter round. Those were good out to 250 - 300 meters with the short barrels that they employed on their carbines.

April 9, 2007 - 01:15 [AST]
Caracas, Venezuela

An hour an fifteen minutes earlier, the Emperor's plan for isolating the Venezuelan problem began. Colombia and Guyana sealed their borders with ILDF forces shifted to guard the borders with Venezuela, to keep the problems within Venezuela, inside Venezuela. Military facilities throughout the state went into darkness as their perimeters were put under instant and heavy guard. The curfew left the streets silent and the lights dim. Soldiers patrolled the streets as the military gathered its forces throughout the Caribbean perimeter of the Empire, tens of thousands of soldiers all preparing to go in and attack the "Free Venezuelans." They were planning their own happenings. "Los planes han cambiado." [Plans have changed.] The man said. He was nestled away in Caracas, overlooking the Venezuelan government building in downtown Caracas, a tall building that housed the entire government of the Venezuelan state. His Spanish was flawless but he wasn't Venezuelan nor was he part of the revolution, per say.

"¿A qué hora quiere usted que mí traer la televisión por?" [What time do you want me to bring the television by?] The man on the other end was definitely Venezuelan and he spoke with a thick accent that the other man had to cut through in order to understand.

"Tráigalo por en 5:30." [Bring it by at 5:30.]

The short phone call terminated and he shut the curtains from his hotel room. The hotel was a beautiful looking building that was in the heart of Caracas as well. It was a twenty-six story, five-star hotel with a pool on the roof, a pool that was heated by the sun during the day and heaters at night. Few people were on it now, with the chaos abound in Caracas and Venezuela. However, he made his way towards the pool, walking up to the elevator doors and pushing the button as he came to a stop. The gold plated doors reflected him and the entire hallway, quiet and abandoned at this time of night. With a pack of cigarettes in his hand, a cellular phone in his pocket, a knife on his belt, and a watch on his wrist, he was ready. The doors pinged open and he stepped inside. It was empty and a very comfortable and spacious elevator. He pushed the button for the roof and ascended the fourteen stories to the roof, which took about two minutes. Nobody stopped the elevator on the way up and when he stepped out, onto the roof, underneath the glass patio, he took a quick survey. Nobody was on the roof at all, a pleasing sight.

Putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, he walked over to the eastern side of the hotel roof and stepped up to the railing. Behind him, the lights from the pool glittered into the sky and his cigarette now added a tiny, unnoticable red glow. He exhaled and looked at his watch. It was 01:22 local time. He slowly smoked as he looked out, to the illuminated government building.

A few blocks away, in front of the concrete barricades and barriers set up around the building that were guarded by dozens of armed soldiers, four men worked inside a mechanics garage. The windows had been spray painted black to hide what was going on inside, which was, the final part of the pre-coup attempts. Following tonight, they all agreed, the Empire's grasp of Venezuela would fall just as it had fallen in Grenada. However, these insurrections were going about things differently. Setting up a communist council wasn't on their agenda but neither was setting up a democracy. To them, Venezuela belonged in the hands of Venezuelans, not the Emperor or the Empire and they were going to see to it that the coup happened and the weak governor of the state, who had only been in his job post for four days, was unseated and his successor not allowed to take any position, whatsoever. They were working on a vehicle, a large vehicle, that was going to be driven by two of the four men, two men who, reluctantly, accepted their fate. The Free Venezuelans weren't like normal terrorists, especially not like Arab terrorists. They didn't believe in a martyrs end nor did they believe in a cause pushed by an ancient ideology. They believed in nationalism but a different brand than believing in Layarteb and the "Empire." They believed in Venezuela and its history, land, and its yield. That was why they were loading an armored truck with explosives, tons of explosives. It was a modified International 4300 armored car, obtained from a bank service through less than legal methods but methods that had, thus far, gone unnoticed, thanks to corruption. It would allow them to deliver their cargo successfully and though the armored car wasn't able to protect against ammunition as powerful as fifty caliber, it would get them close enough to level the building. They didn't expect to survive the actual crash into the building, especially with the hail of gunfire that they expected to receive.

The plan was simple, drive the armored vehicle down the street, through the barriers, and crash into the northern side of the building, which wasn't as protected as the other three sides, which had Dingo APVs with mounted machine guns protecting them. If they could hit the building at over 60 mph, they would go right through the wall and into the first floor, which would be ideal for the explosive, which was a powerful bomb. They were loading the armored truck with blocks of plastique, powerful explosives that would be able to annihilate the entire building and they hoped to bring it down, right down onto its footprint. The tons of small blocks of Semtex, a powerful military-grade plastic explosive were all interconnected, to allow them to detonate at the same time. The original plans called for just 5,000 pounds of explosives, which would have done serious damage but the planners thought that was too little. They increased that to 8,500 pounds, a lot of weight for the large vehicle, which was rated to 56,000 pounds for gross vehicle weight. When the last blocks were placed and connected, almost everything was in place. The bomb planners put a magnetic trigger on the door, which would cause the explosives to go off if the vehicle door opened up. From there, they shut and secured the door, it only being capable of being opened by lifting the handle. The explosives were set to a timer, just in case the men died. Either way, this explosive device was going off and it was going to take out whatever was around it.

When the two men climbed into the cab of the vehicle, they said their last prayers to the Virgin Mary and set the timer. They now had eight minutes to accomplish their goal. They estimated only two would be needed to get the vehicle into position and another two to rev it up to 60 mph and barrel down the main roadway. A sensor inside of the vehicle would cancel out the clock and set off the device if it detected that the vehicle had reached its goal, which would be determined by the impact force. The vehicle would be going through a wall and into the ground level of the building, an impact force that could be measured with mercury. When that force was registered the device timer would immediately go to 30 seconds. There were a million fail safes in place.

They started the armored truck, which roared to its idle, the diesel sound echoing in the gas station. The door went up and they pulled out, unnoticed by the patrolling soldiers who, undoubtedly heard the vehicle echo in the silent night. They pulled out onto the street and immediately positioned themselves and hit the throttle on the vehicle, pushing it forward. It reacted slowly and sluggishly but it was moving, faster and faster and faster, barrelling down the street, drawing attention. Soldiers in the streets began running towards the sound of the vehicle, radios came alive, and people flocked to their windows, to see what all the commotion was about. Gunshots came next and, from the roof of the hotel, the man looked towards the direction. He heard the roar of the armored car and the dull echoes of semi-automatic gunfire hit his ears. He heard it like this: pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Then there was automatic gunfire that followed, echoing in the no-longer silent night. He smiled.

The armored truck barrelled down the road, the bullets impacting it with sparks and flashes, some rounds penetrating, others being knocked off. Soldiers shot at it from behind, from the side, from the front, and from the top. Hundreds of bullets were in the air, trying to stop the truck, which was moving at a speed of at least 60 mph when it came within two blocks of the square and the government building. This building was, consequently, also the administrative building of the Province of South Eastern Asia. In front of the building, the barriers were set and ready, with soldiers standing behind them, shooting at the incoming vehicle. Radio calls were screaming for a Firefly launcher or some sort of anti-tank weapon to be used against the incomming vehicle, which, when it reached the concrete barriers, was moving at 73 mph. It tore through the side of one, turning it into dust and debris. The driver was still alive, though badly wounded, the passenger was dead, four bullets tearing through his face. The soldiers were locked in an epic battle that wasn't going in favor for them. The vehicle smashed into the wall of the building and the timer went from 3 minutes and 22 seconds to 30 seconds. With the driver dead, from the impact and the gunshot wounds he sustained, the vehicle immediately slowed down, tearing through another wall, losing more of its momentum, its roof scraping the ceiling.

With the screeching, shrieking, and groaning of the vehicle as it tore through the first floor of the building, the gunshots stopped and the man on the roof looked at his watch. His smile left as the night went silent. Soldiers cautiously approached the building, where dust and smoke hindered their vision. They only took a few steps before someone yelled out, "It's a bomb!" Realizing the situation and the vehicle, the soldiers backed up and began to move away from the building. The radios echoed the same call, "Bomb!" People watching from their windows saw the soldiers running and many of them, realizing the gravity of the situation, began to back away from their windows but most did too slowly.

At 01:31 [AST] or 05:31 [GMT], the ground shook. The roar of the explosion echoed in the streets and silent night of Caracas. The smoke rose with the fireball, which lit up the sky in a brilliant fury of orange and red as it rose upwards. The shaking of the ground was from two things, the massive explosion, which shattered windows for almost a mile. It knocked people over and it damaged nearby buildings. The second thing contributing to the small earthquake was the collapsing building, which was falling into itself as the bottom of it had been blown out and away. From his view on the hotel roof, the man watched the building fall to the ground, slowly at first but picking up speed as it gained momentum. Smoke rose as the debris piled up, the roar echoing through the city, everyone coming out to see what had happened. The Free Venezuelans had done what they accomplished, severed the head of the Empire in Venezuela with one fatal swoop and that was only the beginning. Mystified and horified by what had happened, the soldiers were caught off guard when thousands of Venezuelan guerillas opened fire on them in the streets of Caracas. The coup was underway and the man picked up his cellular phone, dialed a secure number, and flicked his cigarette over the roof of the building, watching its red glow go out as it fell. "Its done." He shut off the phone and returned back to his suite by the stairs, the elevators packed with people trying to get to the roof to see what was happening.

Dawn came on the horizon on April 9 in Venezuela. Fighting had been going on in Caracas since 01:32, in Coro since 02:00, in San Fernando since 02:05, in Barinas since 02:15, in Ciudad Bolivar since 02:30, in Mérida since 02:50, in Maracaibo since 03:00, in San Carlos since 03:30, in San Cristóbal since 03:50, in El Dorado since 04:00, and in Riecito since 04:22. Already, at least two dozen soldiers were killed and scores of rebel soldiers were dead. Though they were gaining ground, they were losing the battle by way of sheer numbers. They were engaging the Layartebian military in a setpiece battle, a move that guerilla warfare taught against. They were; however, hoping for popular suppotr and hoping to overcome their enemy with sheer numbers. Military installations were reporting perimeter gunfire and were firing at and engaging snipers and attackers on their perimeter.

Six minutes after the collapse of the government building in Caracas, the Emperor, sitting on the balcony of his castle, was summoned back inside. "Sir." His aide called from the open door. He was admiring the Layarteb City landscape, which was glowing in the night. "Sir. Something important happened." He called again.

"Come out here. I'm not going back in."

"Yes sir." The aide walked out of the open door and stepped onto the stone balcony, which was large enough to host a decent sized dinner party. "Sir?" He found the Emperor in the corner, drinking a glass of Scotch. "Sir. Something's just happened in Caracas."

"What? War?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact sir."

The Emperor turned, his hand tightened on the glass. "What happened?"

"The Free Venezuelans just blew up and leveled the governmental building in downtown Caracas. It was a car bombing."

"A car bombing did that?"

"Well sir. More like a truck."

"How bad is it?"

"Well sir. Initial reports are showing a few military casualties, definitely the driver and a seen passenger. A few other buildings are badly damaged. They're still just guessing. They estimate about three hundred right now, mostly inside the building. There's more though."

"What?"

"There is gunfighting going on in the streets of Caracas. They're using the opportunity to attack us."

"Very well. Call in the Cabinet."

"Yes sir."

By the time the Cabinet arrived, fighting had just broken out in Barinas and the situation was quickly spiralling out of control. The Governor of South Eastern Virginia was unreachable so far, hiding out somewhere in the city of Caracas, crippled by the bombing, possibly wounded or dead, they didn't know. The Governor of the state of Virginia was dead. Shortly after the government building was knocked down and out, an elite team of Free Venezuelan guerillas tore through his mansion with four dozen men and automatic weapons, killing most of the guards and house staff before they got to him, shooting him execution style in his office, his wife and daughter shot soon thereafter. As fighting broke out in other major cities and towns and as military installations were being attacked throughout the country, the military inside of Venezuela immediately went to their highest alert and readiness status. "Ladies and gentlemen. The crisis we have all feared has become a full blown disaster. Venezuelan guerillas have attacked and are attacking cities and military installations throughout the state of Venezuela, which is, at this moment, completely cut off from the rest of the Empire. Our forces there are fighting hard and able but they have struck us before we could be fully ready. Fighters, attack planes, and bombers of the ILAF are currently flying missions against the guerillas to keep them at bay and, thus far, it is working. Vital assets are evacuating the state and flying elsewhere, where they will be safe from counterattack and seizure. Army assets are moving to reinforce our positions and clamp down on other major cities." The Emperor began but was interrupted by the aide again.

"Sir? Ciudad Bolivar has reported fighting."

"There you have it. They are attacking all along our lines and all along our strengths. Chairman, what can you tell me?"

"Sir. The Free Venezuelans are pretty organized for a guerilla force and they're well trained. Sir. We believe they are funded from outside."

"We'll deal with that later, give me a military standpoint Chairman."

"Yes sir. Well the enemy is expanding fronts from multiple attack points throughout the country, trying to split up and divide our forces and they are succeeding, despite losing far more soldiers than we are losing sir. I have reports of between eighteen and thirty dead soldiers with over a hundred dead guerillas. Fighting is urban, in the city centers, primarily with serious implications. Guerillas may be getting help from residents within the cities and they are difficult to spot. The night is making it much more difficult and, well sir, since they know the terrain far better than we do, they are with the advantage."

"How do they know the terrain better than we do? We have occupied the area for twenty-four years. We've been fighting there since the sixties!"

"Sir. Only because that is their homeland. They have that advantage. Our soldiers know the terrain sir, they know the streets and alleyways quite well. However, they are being attack from all points. They are outnumbered, I am afraid to say."

"Best estimates."

"Intelligence tells us of probably about eighty to a hundred thousand of them but we're guessing double that many, perhaps a half million. It's difficult to say."

"How are we countering them?"

"Sir. We're putting up every wall of resistance we can sir. We're hoping for reinforcements."

"Agreed Chairman. Alright. Let's move it along. What does the Intelligence Ministry have to say? They've let us down big time with this one Minister and I am not pleased to hear that either."

"Sorry sir. We have little to go on this time except that this army of guerillas did not just appear sir. We believe that some of them have remnants from the 1988 war and probably even earlier than that but these aren't fighters we've engaged before. They're an entirely new breed of fighters, probably raised with a whole different ideology and we believe their funding and training to be foreign. Like the Chairman said, they didn't just pop up. They've been there for some time and have been dormant, just waiting for the opportune moment. They could be working with the domestic terrorist organization that is currently attack us every chance they get."

"Is that a guess?"

"At this moment sir it is just a theory."

"I bet. Interior. What have you to say?"

"Sir. The borders to Venezuela are closed and secure. The fighting will be kept localized. We are going to contain the situation there and counterattack immediately. Defense Forces along the border are working to keep the borders completely closed. Anybody that crosses will be detained. We're not going to take refugees from our own nation, if you understand."

"I do. But make sure that those who are trying to escape the enemies are treated properly."

"Yes sir."

"Defense?"

"We have a paratrooper brigade, two SOF teams, and plenty of Marines ready to go at a moment's notice."

"That's it?"

"Sir. They caught us off guard. It is still going to take three days to assemble the force in full."

"Why can't we hurry that up?"

"Sir. The only way to hurry that up right now is to completely disrupt the civilian element of the Empire. We would cause panic sir."

"I understand. Is this the best all of you can come up with?" More opinions were put out but not many of them were viable past the ones already given.

By 06:00, the situation in Venezuela was beyond out of control. Venezuelan military elements were losing their footholds on the cities and they were being overwhelmed. Air support was helping but they needed more, they needed full reinforcements, reinforcements that just weren't ready yet. Armored units from within Venezuela came out in force, surging from their bases, to attack rebel positions in the mountains, in the cities, and throughout the state. Sabertooth MBTs were pushing hard against the Venezuelans. Thus far, the Sabertooths had seen only limited combat action in the Empire, not anything on the degree of a full-scale war, not like they had been with The October Alliance allies, where a total of about nineteen had been lost to enemy fire, out of thousands fielded. Many had been damaged but repaired and non-combat accidents were low. Now, the Sabertooth, which had a perfect record in its limited engagements in the Empire, was about to be going full throttle against the enemies of the Empire.

Fighting had broken out in 90% of Venezuela and the Empire was beginning to crack. Two airbases had already fallen but no aircraft had been captured, pilots being able to get their planes off the runways before the airbases could be taken over completely. Caracas International Airport was the scene of a major fight and two army bases were about to fall. The naval port, empty, was about to be attacked just as well. News broke throughout the Empire of the situation in Venezuela and reporters, still inside the state, showed lived footage of explosions, gun battles, and dead bodies. It was all over the news, something that wasn't helping the situation at all. Reporters, ducking for cover behind walls, kept their cameras rolling, showing the smoke, the rockets, and the explosions. In the distance, even when it was quiet in the foreground, gunshots echoed. Explosions from rocket propelled grenades, hand grenades, mines, and demolitions blocks echoed and shattered windows. Artillery and tank fire came just as well, turning eardrums into shattered bone. Combat deafness had more then set in on the front lines as sounds exceeding 130 dB pierced the air.

For David, this was going to be it. His first brush with combat. He and his unit, along with sixty-five others were sitting inside of a C-5M Galaxy, waiting on the tarmac, their gear and parachutes loaded and ready. They would be the first into combat, jumping in over Caracas. Countless other C-5s and C-17s were awaiting takeoff just as well, bringing the full brigade of 6,144 soldiers along with 96 SOF soldiers into combat all over Venezuela. Marines stationed outside of the state, in the Caribbean Sea were going to be helicoptered to Caracas International Airport, where they would engage rebel forces and reinforce the soldiers already there. Many more would land, amphibiously, at points near Coro, Caracas, and Barcelona, where new fighting was beginning to show.

Chapter II: The Worst Hours

Engines whining, the C-5M Galaxy sat there, on the edge of the runway, holding short, as ordered. "Delta 2-1. You are cleared for takeoff. Depart heading 2-2-0."

"Roger that tower." The pilots got their call and pushed the four throttles up, to full power, the beast of an aircraft, weighing over 750,000 pounds. The aircraft was loaded with more than just soldiers and fuel. It was also carrying equipment, for a supply drop that it was going to make at an airfield just south of Caracas. With enough fuel to fly to the target and back, twice, the C-5 barrelled down the runway at full throttle, grabbing the pavement for a total of 8,400 feet as it clawed for the air. It reached 190 mph and the pilots pulled back on the controls, slightly, lifting up into a 5° noses up climb, lifting the plane into the air, to the cheers of the men inside the transport. "Tower. We're airborne. Turning to 2-2-0." The pilots banked the transport to the right and came to the heading, which would put them out, towards the ocean, where they would join up with the rest of the group. Because of the short flight, they would climb up to 18,000 feet only and, from there, fly towards the Venezuelan coast.

"Delta 2-1. Resume own navigation. Good luck gentlemen!" The C-5 was the first aircraft in the air for Operation Razor Sword, the plan devised by the Ministry of Defense and the military to do one task, which was the recapture of Venezuela from a hostile, armed force, and to eliminate the Free Venezuelan insurgent group, which was, quickly, gaining ground. The sun was already rising far on the eastern horizon.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/c5m-takeoff2.jpg

Roaring into the sky, the C-5M Galaxy initiated a slight and slow climb. The pilots throttled back and the four engines, which produced a total of 172,000 pounds at full thrust whined down and reduced their thrust to 90%, enabling the C-5 to climb at 7.5° to get up to 18,000 feet. The C-5 along with two C-130J Super Hercules and one C-17A Globemaster III transport would be the first aircraft over Venezuela. The two C-130s were going to El Jobal Air Force Base to resupply them with soldiers and ammunition, as well as food and other supplies. Both of them would be landing amidst hostile enemy fire and both of them would have to takeoff in the same hostile fire, which was definitely going to be aimed at them. The C-17 was going to fly down to San Fernando and drop its paratroopers over the city. In total, there would be two companies of paratroopers on the ground in Venezuela in just a few hours, a total of 256 men, armed, supplied, and hungry for action. It was 1,550 miles to Caracas and further to San Fernando and El Jobal, where the C-17 and C-130s would be going and both the C-5 and the C-17 would be moving at 450 mph the entire way, whereas the C-130s would be moving at 336 mph. They wouldn't all arrive at the same time.

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Good luck is right. The pilot thought to himself as he banked the aircraft to the southeast, to fly over Cuba and the Caribbean Sea. Forty miles from the coast of Venezuela, the aircraft would drop down to an altitude of just 1,100 feet and at 10 miles it would slow down to 225 mph, to allow for the drop. It was at that 40 mile mark that the C-5 would meet up with its two escorts, a pair of F-16G Super Falcon fighters, equipped with both air to air and air to ground ordinance, ready to drop them on any unit that engaged the C-5 as it came over the Venezuelan coast. It was imperative that they have this protection, especially since there were reports that the Free Venezuelans had their hands on both man portable surface to air missiles and anti-aircraft guns, which they reportedly had set up around the capital of Caracas, to defend their assaults against air attack. Thus far, pilots flying combat air support (CAS) had reported MANPAD launches but none had seen any triple-A yet. However, time would tell.

David sat in his seat, inside the lumbering C-5, uncomfortable from all the gear he had on himself but such was the life of a paratrooper. He couldn't help but think to himself what Connie was doing in her dorm room, what his mother and father were doing in their home in Washington City, and what his friends were doing, wherever they were. He knew two of his buddies from high school were stationed in Venezuela but he didn't know where, only that they were with the ILAF but they weren't pilots, they were both crew chiefs. He couldn't remember the unit at all. He reached to the back of his pack and pulled out a small, leather case, inside of it were all his most personal belongings. He had a family picture, a picture of him and his friends just before they left for boot camp, and the note that Connie gave him on the airplane. He also had one other picture inside the case, a picture of his ex-girlfriend, who dumped him just a week before he left for boot camp. He hated her guts still but, unfortunately, he still had feelings for her. Oh babe what did I get into. He thought to himself as he looked at the picture. When he was being assessed for his military service, the assessor recommended that he join the navy because of his impressive swimming capabilities, as shown on his high school record. He rejected the idea though. Being a navy diver wasn't thrilling enough for him, he repeated to the assessor. That was when he looked at the assessor and, he still remembered his exact words, "How about the fucking paratroopers?" The assessor laughed and asked him if he'd ever gone skydiving. He hadn't and the assessor laughed again.

"Go skydiving and come back to me alright." This was only the first of six interviews and the assessor made some notations in his file before he shook his hand. A week later, David jumped out of an airplane at an altitude of 13,500 feet, over the Maryland countryside. He loved every minute of it, all five of them, the first one being his freefall, all the way down to 5,500 feet, where he pulled the ripcord. He shot upwards, going from 150 mph to about 30 mph, in only a few seconds. That chute deployed in three to five seconds. The parachute he was wearing now was different, a lot bigger, with a lot more surface area. It would deploy in half the time and slow him down. He was only jumping from 1,100 feet, not 13,500 feet. When he had gone for his second interview, the assessor looked straight at him before he could sit down, "Did you jump or do I have to call you a wuss for the rest of the day?"

"No. I jumped. Sign me up for the paratroopers."

"Well. Well. A man with some balls! I'm proud to see that. You do realize that the risk to paratroopers is significantly high. There is a 1 in 250 chance that you will die in training. A 1 in 100 chance you will be severely injured. And there is a 1 in 120 chance you will die in combat. Is that understood?"

"There's also a 1 in 1 chance that I'll kick your ass if you don't put me in the paratroopers."

"Well. Well. You've got guts kid. Alright. Alright. You're in. Now let's see if you pass the physicals and the PT. Good luck!" Six months later, David made his first training jump and now, less than a year later, he was making his first combat jump, into the heart of a warzone, a serious warzone. That night he had a major fight with both his girlfriend and his parents. They didn't approve of him joining the paratroopers but what could they do. His parents forgave him, his girlfriend, on the other hand, never did, although she did speak to him the day before he left for Venezuela.

"Listen David. I know we haven't been friendly to each other since you left but listen. Be careful. Okay?"

"Yeah Angela. I will. Do you want to maybe see each other tonight? Go to a movie or something?"

"David. I can't."

"I get it." He hung up the phone on her and scowled the rest of the night. When he left for the airport, he hadn't slept at all the night before. Now, he was sitting on the C-5, having gotten only about 4 hours of sleep in the past three days. He was tired but he didn't feel it, not at all. He had taken a nap inside his quarters just before the flight and now he was about to take another one. He looked at the picture one last time, closed his eyes, and put it back in his pack.

Three hours later, he was being woken up by the loadmaster, screaming down the cabin of the C-5, "FIFTEEN MINUTES!" The C-5 was descending, towards the drop altitude, which would take some time. The C-5 didn't move too fast on its descent nor did it want to get into too steep a dive, which it wouldn't be able to recover from, these things being fatal to the aircraft. Everyone woke up and checked their gear. When they were 40 miles out, at 1,100 feet, the men stood up and attached their static lines to the cord above them. The men would be going out of both sides of the aircraft and it just so happened that David was going out of the port side. He stepped up to the line and he was nowhere near the front nor was he in the back. His squad was both in front of and behind him and the doors were open. The sound of the rushing air and the engines roared through the cabin as the C-5 banked again, coming to its final course. The two F-16s were out front of the C-5 and all three aircraft were running their infrared jammers, knowing full well that the enemy knew they were coming. Flares were ready to be dropped and they would be needed. They were a few miles out when the first MANPAD was launched up at the C-5 but a flare burst and the infrared jamming spoofed it. The F-16s, out in front with their Brimstone missiles, watched their RWR, to make sure that they weren't being painted. They weren't but when they saw tracer fire in front of them, they immediately took evasive manuvers. The bullets missed and the lead pilot locked up the target through his FLIR and locked on a Brimstone missile. Two miles away, he fired it at the gun and watched the small missile fly across the morning sky and dive down, slamming into the gun, turning it into a fireball of black, red, and orange. The C-5 crew watched as the city came well into view, clearly. Smoke rose from it and they could see the helicopters and attack aircraft diving on their targets, firing rockets, missiles, and dropping bombs. The radio was alive with screams from both the ground soldier and the pilots. Now, the C-5 was going to add to those screams. "All forces! All forces! Friendlies in the air! Friendlies in the air!" The C-5 streaked through the morning sky at 225 mph and finally, when they were just on the outskirts of Caracas, the yellow lights at the doors turned green.

"GO! GO! GO!" The two loadmasters yelled from the door. The men jumped out of the doors and held their hands tight to their chest, flying down like arrows, their parachutes opening and slowing them down instantly. The jolts stopped them in their tracks and they reached up, grabbing onto the guiding lines. When it was David's turn, he looked at the loadmaster and nodded as he was patted on the back. He jumped out of the door and reached up when his parachute opened up, grabbing the lines and steering himself, albeit not too well. Combat and training jumps were totally different and now, as he fell towards the ground, with dozens of men around him, he looked back down, to see the ground coming up at him. His rifle was secured, his pack was secured, and his parachute was open and fine. He was going to live, at least as long as he was in the air...

David and his squad landed just two kliks outside of Caracas, to the south, in the middle of a residential area, possibly in a park, they couldn't tell from the ground but they were surrounded by trees and, from the air, it seemed like a park area. "Everyone. Form up." The lieutenant said as he cut himself down from a tree. Their radios were connected on two frequencies, to the main frequency and to the frequency that his squad used. On his weapon was a small button that he could push to switch frequencies. If it was pushed in, he knew that he was on the squad frequency but if it wasn't he knew that he was on the main frequency. "Form up." He said again as he hit the ground. "Fucking trees." He muttered to himself as he landed with a crash. He looked up at his torn and entangled parachute. David was the first person to find him but only because he landed in a tree himself. Hobbling over, he looked at his squad leader. "You alright?"

"Yeah Lt. Just a little hard hitting on the ground. That's all."

"Alright. Where are the rest of the men?"

"My guess is that they're scattered all around here. I think we landed in a park or something."

"Did you hear the radio call."

"No."

"Alright. Hold on." He pushed the button again and listened but heard nothing except for static. "Shit. Nothing."

"Me too. What happened?"

"Don't know. Maybe our radios broke landing or something. I landed in a tree."

"Me too."

"Alright. Come on. Let's see if we can find them."

"Got it." They both moved out, walking around the park area, looking for any sign that they were not alone and that the rest of their squad had landed safely. It took them three minutes of walking just to find the first two soldiers, both of them trapped in trees as well, unable to get down because they were so high up. "Hey guys. Get stuck?"

"Yeah. A little. You think they could have dropped us in a worse place?" The soldier in the tree called out. The other was just a few trees away, looking the same way. "Get us down alright?"

"Yeah. We'll see what we can do." It took a few minutes more of finagling before they could get them down from heights of fourteen and twenty feet in the air. Branches cracked underneath them as they climbed their way down and reached the ground. "Do your radios work?" The squad leader asked.

"Nothing but static. We've been calling for five minutes now but nothing."

"Figures. Alright let's try to find the others."

"Yeah." In the background, they could hear the cacophony of sounds that were war. Aircraft streaked overhead and helicopters slapped at the air. The sound of missiles and rockets flying across the sky always ended in dull roars and bangs as they hit their targets. Then, there was the most obvious sound of all, the sounds of gunfire. They heard both semi-automatic and automatic gunfire, the echoing of the gunshots mixing in with the explosions, all of them dull on the horizon, in the heart of the capital. Mortars and artillery whailed through the air before they hit their targets, filling the air with the explosive roars of their warheads. "Let's go." The radioman said. Now there was David, the squad leader, Lieutenant Ken Shanting, the radioman, Corporal James Huffington, and the anti-tank soldier, Specialist Domminick Faccetti. There were four men still missing, all of them somewhere in the park, somewhere trapped either in trees or without radio communications.

They kept walking, using their bionoculars to look all around the park. Not long after they started moving to the north, they came on a small pond, with a parachute floating in the water. "Over there." David yelled, seeing it first. They ran over to the pond and realized that it was pretty deep. Swimming out there, David and Domminick grabbed the parachute and began lifting it away, only to find the body of the spotter, Corporal Henry Buffingford, dead, drowned because he got tangled in his lines in the 10 foot pond. "He's dead. Drowned. Got tangled." David said when he came out, soaking wet, putting his gear back on, taking his weapon. "So we're minus one now."

"Yeah. Come on. That way. I thought I saw a flash." LT. Shanting said as they moved on, more towards the west now. They found the parachute first and the body second, the body of the demolitions man, Specialist Russell Waters. Not far from him was the body of the breecher, Corporal Max Denbury. Towards the far end of the park, they came across the sniper, actually alive, hiding in the brush. "Damnit Alec. What happened?" LT. Shanting asked Specialist Alec Louis.

"Couple of Venezuelans snuck in here. About twelve of them. Came across Russ and Max, captured them and slit their throats. I guess they thought I was dead up there in that tree, I played dead. Problem was my gun was on the ground and I couldn't get to it without being seen."

"Alright. Come on. Let's go." The five of them assembled there and huddled down, on the ground, behind a rock formation. "Alright. I think we're here. In this park. I saw this building when we were on our way down so I think that's over that way. To the north there. Our objective is the bank. Down here, on this corner. It's about a klik from here so we're going to have to huff it. Alright. Come on." He stood up but he wasn't up for long. With a snap and a whizz, he slammed back down, on the ground, blood rushing out of his throat. He squirmed on the ground, his hands on his throat, as the other four tried to hold him steady, putting their hands on his throat. He gurgled as the blood filled his mouth and came right out.

"Stay still Lieutenant, come on." David yelled at him as the gunshot echoed over them, struggling to catch up with the bullet.

"Sniper! Stay down!" The sniper yelled out as he let go of the lieutenants legs and uncapped the scope on his rifle. He saw the way that the blood came out and the way that the lieutenant fell and, judging by the sound and the timing, he estimated the sniper to be about 400 - 500 meters away. He adjusted his scope and laid down on the ground. "Don't move. He's got skill this one. Stay still!" He crawled over, slightly, just so the barrel of the rifle and the scope was sticking out the rock formation. Covered in camouflage, he didn't expect that the barrel of his M41A1 Sniper Rifle would be seen. It wasn't and he looked through his scope, out at the distance, scanning what he saw. There wasn't much except for trees and grass. There was a few rocks on a hill but nothing else. "Keep down." He looked around, slowly, using the rifle scope to see what he could. Finally, he saw a reflection and he saw movement, 480 meters away, by the rocks on the hill. "Got him." He squeezed the trigger and sent the 7.62 x 51mm bullet flying through the air at 793 meters per second. The bullet went right through the scope of the enemy sniper and through his brain. The puff of red mist followed and the body went limp, the rifle he was holding coming out of his hands, rolling down the hill, dead. He turned around to the men, to see that the lieutenant had died, bled out from the wound he suffered. "We're safe." The tone of his voice was altered as he looked down at the pool of blood and the red, blood soaked hands of the men. "Sergeant?"

"Yeah..." David was in charge.

"Yeah. I know. I know." David eyed another rock formation a few meters away and darted for it. One by one, the men followed. "Alright it's plain to see that we're probably under watch here and that they saw us come down. Our platoon and company is probably scattered all around this city and we should make every effort we can to locate our brothers in arms and link up with them. We're only four here, fifty percent combat effective and that isn't a good way to start out a battle but we're paratroopers so we're trained for this shit. Now we're not far from the edge of this park so here's what we're going to do. Spread out and reach that building over there, it looks like restrooms or something. Maybe we can use it to see if the coast is clear." The men nodded and moved out, sprinting to the building, aware that crosshairs might be on them as they ran. They awaited that sound or the sound of a bullet whizzing by or even of it hitting the ground in front of them. Fortunately, none came and they all made it to the structure without a problem. "Alright. Now. The way I see it on the map, if we move down this street here we can get to the end of it and be near to our objective. Let's get it on." They moved away from the structure, their weapons raised and ready to be fired, their safeties off, just waiting to shoot a Venezuelan enemy. The area was quiet, immediately quiet. In the background, the roars of engines, the dull pops of gunshots, and the dull explosions from artillery and other explosives echoed just as well. Slowly, they moved alongside a narrow road with buildings all around them. "Eyes!" They walked down the roadway, staying close enough to the walls to duck for cover but not too close where they could be hit by ricocheting bullets. They learned that in basic training. During combat inside of a city or urban area, bullets tend to ricochet badly off walls and/or ride along them, turning even a missed shot into a potent killshot. They were advised not to stay too close to the walls.

The sound of a motorbike echoed in the distance and there was a loud explosion that shook the ground. The sound of snapping metal and shattering glass filled the air around them and they immediately went from a standing position down to a crouch. David held up his right hand in a closed fist, the sign for them all to stop. They stayed low to the ground and looked off into the hazy distance. The sun had risen above the horizon but the war had created a haze over the city that went from the ground up. Mixed with dust, smoke, and humidity, the haze that engulfed the city reduced visibility big time for them and they could only see for about a hundred to two hundred meters down the roads. The haze settled in on them, its brownish particles filling the air.

About eighty-five meters ahead of them, just beyond a burned out car, they saw something, a figure. Then there was another one and another. Three men, with assault rifles darted across the street and they weren't wearing military uniforms. David peered down the sight of his assault rifle and squeezed off six rounds in three groups of two. The rounds, leaving the barrel at 907 meters per second, slicing through the air towards their targets, twisting with a vortex of death. David was dead on with his shots and all but one shot hit, that fourth shot impacting the pavement and bouncing upwards with a cloud of haze. "Sharp eye. There could be more!" The gunshots, though suppressed, echoed through the air and the haze like aluminum garbage cans being thrown into the ground, their lids slammed down too. Staying still and completely quiet, the four men, weapons out and ready, were all waiting for more but more never came. They waited two minutes before they stood up again and began moving down the same street, towards the three bodies that were lying on the ground.

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"Alright we're good. Let's go see who they are." David stood up and moved with his team towards the bodies on the rgound, eighty meters ahead of them. The first body, the one closest to the right side of the street, was dead, both bullets going right through his chest, piercing his heart and lungs, killing him almost instantly. The body lay there, lifeless, face down, arms out, weapon at his side. The second, in the middle of the street, was dead too, one round in his neck, the other having missed, the fourth shot. The body lay their with his right hand clutching the gaping neck wound, his left hand on the rifle still. He died just ten seconds before they approached him, having bled out on the hazy, dusty road in Caracas. The third body, lying face down, half in the street, half on the curb, still had some life to it. David kicked him and he heart a grunt. The next kick turned him over. With guns pointed at the man, he wasn't going to do anything, especially not since one bullet was in his gut, the other in his leg. He was still alive, bleeding badly but still alive. "Who are you?" David said to him as he looked down at the man, a look of horror on his pain torched faced. His gun had slid twenty feet away. The man looked up and him and shook his head. "¿Quién es usted?" [Who are you?]

"La revolución." [The revolution.] He grimmaced through the pain of the bullet wound, curled up on the dusty ground in the fetal position, whailing.

"Usted es un criminal. Un terrorista." [You're a criminal. A terrorist.] He looked at his men. "Keep an eye out." The men nodded. "¿Cuántos de usted?" [How many of you?]

"Miles. Las decenas de miles. Centenares de miles. Millón." [Thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Millions.]

"¿Apenas usted tres?" [Just you three?] When he didn't answer right away, David kicked him hard and caused him to let out a scream of pain, a scream that echoed. He repeated the question. "¿Apenas usted tres?" [Just you three?]

"Sí." [Yes.]

"¿De modo que dónde están sus compañeros?" [So where are your buddies?]

"Alrededor." [Around] He laughed but David wasn't playing. He kicked him again and stared down with an evil smile.

"Yo lo podría hacer rápidamente. O yo lo podría hacer afloja para usted. De cualquier manera usted se morirá. No para una causa. No para una revolución. Para nada. Soy su verdugo. De modo que le hace quiere cooperar." [I could make it fast. Or I could make it slow for you. Either way you're going to die. Not for a cause. Not for a revolution. For nothing. I'm your executioner. So do you want to cooperate.]

"¿Usted? Yo me morí para mi libertad. Usted no puede tomar que de mí." [You? I died for my freedom. You can't take that from me.]

"Acabo de hacer. ¿Dónde está la frente?" [I just did. Where's the front?]

"Por todas partes usted gringo." [All around you gringo.]

"¿El gringo? Bien. Qué es el plan, puta." [Gringo? Alright. What's the plan, bitch.]

"Para manejarle fuera. Tomaremos esta ciudad y cada otro lo quiere." [To drive you out. We'll take this city and every other one like it.]

"Come on. Let's get the hell out of here. We're wasting too much time." SPC. Louis yelled. He was right, they were wasting too much time and that wasn't the end of it either. They were being watched.

"Fine. Fine. Goodbye." He reached down and looked at the wound. It was deep, bleeding dark, red blood and he knew that he was dying. David kicked him again, hard, right in the neck. It would only take a few seconds after that for him to suffocate to death, his windpipe and neck broken. The four of them kept going down the same street, towards a train yard that wasn't far away.

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The scene was completely surreal. In the brown haze of the city, they passed by a hulk of a car, burning still. The streets were abandoned and the wreck of the car, the bright flame lifting from its roof, or rather where the roof used to be, was a grim reminder where they were and what they were doing. It was more then a death wish to be where they were and it was most then deadly for them. The echoes in the distance were echoes of death, destruction, and chaos. Gunshots, explosions, helicopters, zooming aircraft, and bombs going off were just some of the sounds in the cacophony of war that was around them.

Smoke billowed in the distance from smokestacks, as they rounded the corner of the industrial sector. It wasn't so much because the factories were being used but rather because they were burning, burning inside from the war that surrounded them. They rounded another corner and stared out into the hazy sky. The smokestacks were a surefire sign that the railyard was just ahead, their objective. Being used as a base of operations for the rebel forces attacking the city, the railyard had to be neutralized and it couldn't be taken out by an airstrike either, it was too valuable for the Layartebian troops and war effort.

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Moving along, they passed through empty streets, streets that were covered in blood, debris, and hell. The scene was oddly disgusting for them as they rounded the last corner and stared at the outside of the railyard. A train car sat there, undisturbed, smoke rising in the distance by a water tower, the streets more then difficult for anyone to pass through. This was no picnic, no walk in the park, and no training exercise.

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They now moved more slowly, more cautiously, weapons raised, sights up, as they walked into the railyard. A billboard above them, unscathed by the war around them read cluster with a black background and an odd logo. None of them understood it but the reconnaissance photographs showed it and that was good enough for them. They were at the railyard, where they were supposed to be and on time too. "Alright. Get down." David switched frequencies on his radio to talk to command. "Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. This is Gauntlet One. Come in over."

"Roger that Gauntlet One. Execute Alpha?"

"Roger that. Execute Charlie."

"Go. Cleared."

"Squad is light. Fifty percent CE. At Objective Clark. Encountered three. Repeat. Three hostiles. Rebel-types. No viable information extracted. No other contacts except sniper at LZ. SL dead. I am in charge."

"Report ID."

"Five."

"Roger. Proceed with objective."

"Roger that. Where is Mango Fourteen?"

"On the highway. I repeat on the highway."

"Roger that. Gauntlet One out." He switched back to the squad frequency and turned around. "Looks like we're doing it. Alright stay close. We're going to circle around, that way. We'll see if we can hit them from the side alright?"

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"Alright. Here we are. Let's stay close and stay sharp alright. We don't really have good recon of this railyard. All we have is a satellite picture two hours old. On it I count fourteen soldiers, eight in four RPG nests it looks like. Here." They took shelter inside of a side building that was like a loading dock. The four of them were huddled in corner, hidden away from sight passing by either the garage or main door, both of which were open. "Okay. Up here, to the east of the railyard loading station, which is what we have to capture, is the first nest. Two guys, lots of sandbags. Over here, on top of the loading station is another one. All the way to the west here is another one. Lastly, to the south here. It'll be a tough shot to get that one we'll have to go around the side to get a shot on there." Just then, the ground shook and gunshots echoed. It was sustained fire, four bursts from an AK series rifle and two more from M16s. The distinct sounds echoed through the railyard as well as the sound of a rocket firing. It wooshed overhead and the men looked up and out of the side of the building to see an MH-60 Black Hawk flying over the railyard, only about 200 feet in the air.

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"There's the cavalry." David continued. "Alright. We're going to do it like this. First we're going to advance to this building here, near the billboard, which will give us a good shot on the first RPG nest. If we move a little to the west, the second nest becomes in view real easy but we're going to have to act quickly. I'm thinking this. You and I," he pointed to Corporal Huffington, "we'll take down the first nest while you two get the other nest. We'll hit them simultaneously. Chances are with the suppressors and the background noise they won't hear a thing." Smoke billowed in the distance over the sign and they were planning their assault. "Then we'll move through the west, take out the third nest and go around to the back and take out the other one. We'll probably find people down there just as well. From there, we can enter the main yard from here, this side area, sweep through it, and then go into the yard from this main door. We'll need a Flashbang to go in and maybe a fragmentation too." They nodded. "Good. From there we're home free. Extraction is up there. This building behind the railyard. All we have to do is sweep the yard. Paratroopers coming in will hold it. From here we're off elsewhere. Don't know where but elsewhere." It was tough to see too far from the haze and the sun, now providing more glare than any of them cared to experience. "Let's get it done." He put away the picture and stood up. They exited and approached the large billboard in front of them.

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From there, they turned slightly west and walked in the tracks towards the western entry point, which would give the two others, the sniper and the anti-tank soldier the good shot against the second RPG nest. David and Huffington would take out the other nest. In reality, just David and the sniper would be engaging, the other two would be covering their backs against other rebels that could have seen them and were trying to flank, who knew, they couldn't be too safe.

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"Set?" David whispered into his microphone as he stared into the sight on his rifle. He could see the rebel holding the RPG and he could see his buddy too. Both of them were either standing or crouching, they couldn't tell but they were well over the sandbags. With that, David could easily engage the two men and just as he did, the sniper did the same thing, looking down his scope to engage the other two men in the other RPG nest. Both of them smiled as they set their targets.

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David raised his scope slightly and put the red dot on the rebels' chest.

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When he gave the order to fire, he quickly squeezed the trigger twice, sending two 6.8 x 48 millimeter shells towards the first rebel, holding the RPG. He moved his sight slightly to the left and shot the other one, two shots against, killing him just as quickly.

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The sniper did the same.

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The four men regrouped and moved towards the western approach, which was swarming with rebel soldiers now, including the two in the RPG nest. The four of them approached cautiously, leaning around the side of the concrete wall to peer down the alleyway, which was littered with debris, including a vehicle, parked not on the road but in the actual alleyway, riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. They would find the driver still inside, three bullet holes in his head and two more in his chest, all from close range. He evidently tried to pick a fight with some of the rebels but lost.

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With the water tower in the distance and the RPG nest to the upper left of them they moved slowly with their weapons both in the air and leveled at their shoulders. The four of them stayed close to the left, so that they couldn't be seen by the RPG nest but, in the process, they saw two more rebel soldiers, standing in by the entrance to the railyard and shot both of them, two shots into each. They dropped their weapons, which included a G36E and an M30A1, both assault rifles. With a hook shot, David tossed a fragmentation grenade onto the RPG nest and he could hear them yell, in Spanish, "¡Granada!" It blew up a split second later and both bodies landed a few feet from him, lifeless and smoking. They advanced.

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"Cover the gate here." David said to the sniper and the anti-tank man as he moved up to the corner of the building. He peered right up and shot off four rounds, taking out the two men in the last RPG nest. "RPGs clear." He said into his microphone, which went over the air not only to his men but on the guard channel too. The MH-60 pilots heard him and cheered. "Come on."

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He and his men moved back to the gate and looked around, only to hear more gunfire as the MH-60 came over the railyard, its M74 Minigun spitting out a few hundred 7.62 x 51mm rounds at two rebels on the ground, shooting up at the Black Hawk. The sound was overwhelming and hot brass tinkered on the pavement as the rounds created splashes of dust on the ground, passing right through the two rebels. The helicopter lifted back off again, to gain more altitude and do a final sweep over the area.

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Quickly, they moved up to a van and watched as the Black Hawk tore through the ground, only to find that it missed two rebels who were shooting up at the helicopter as it flew away. Explosions rocked the ground and echoed in the distance as the sound of a fighter jet whooshed overhead, the aircraft not being seen because of where they were. It passed only 1,200 feet off the deck, to their east, over the far side of the railyard. Littered with tractor trailors, pallets, crates, and other vehicles, the railyard was a maze with tons of hiding spots. "Stay sharp." David said as they moved to the front corner of the station. He looked around the corner, only to find that there were a few rebels trying to hide next to a tractor trailer. He got off a few shots before a few came at him, one tearing right through his right shoulder. "AH!" He yelled as he slammed back on the ground. "Get them!" He yelled as he fell to the ground, his hand on the bleeding wound.

"Got it!" The sniper stuck his rifle around the corner and squeezed off a few rounds, taking down four rebels. "Where'd you get hit?" He asked as he turned around. "Bad?"

"Shoulder. I think it went clean through."

"Let me look. Cover us." The radioman and anti-tank soldier darted away, one taking cover next to some crates, the other taking cover next to some pallets. "Alright. Let me see. Yeah. That's fresh. You got lucky. You're right. Clean through. Here." He pulled out a bandana and made it tight on his shoulder, cutting off the wound with pressure. "Alright. Get in the back. You're wounded."

"Like hell I am. Let's go. I'm fine. I can still hold a rifle." He stood up and moved his arm around to feel the pain as it surged through his veins and his bones. "Hurry up." He stepped onto the stairs and walked up to the dock level, crouched, his rifle out in front of him. The other three moved in his direction as well but scattered around, engaging rebels as they saw them, taking out two more, hiding on the other side of the tractor trailer when the tell-tale sign of a heavy machine gun echoed in the air. The anti-tank soldier hit the ground and just in time as a few 12.7 x 99mm rounds from an M2HB Heavy Machine Gun tore through the air, turning a 55 gallon drum into swiss cheese. "HEAVY!" David yelled as everyone hit the deck. It was followed soon after by, "GRENADE!" A fragmentation grenade came out and landed only a few feet from the radioman but because of the dock setup, the blast never reached him. Everyone stayed down. "STAY DOWN!" David, realizing what was happening picked up a fragmentation grenade from his belt and walked up to the edge of the open door of the loading station, pulled the pin, and rolled in the grenade. The M2 kept firing but three seconds later, the grenade went off and the machine gun fell silent. Cautious, he put his rifle in and watched on his eyepiece as he could see the inside of the station and the smoking M2, its gunner lying dead on the ground, behind a pile of sandbags that were blasted apart. He could; however, see another soldier, hiding up top on the gantry. "Shit!" He said to himself as he pulled his rifle back. A stream of bullets hit the dock in front of him, ricocheting in every direction, one grazing his leg. "SON OF A BITCH!" He yelled as it grazed past him. "FUCK THIS!" He yelled one more time and darted into the station and let off a few rounds, four of them, right through the gantry and through the rebel, tearing him to pieces. "All clear. Sweep the yard." The three men stood up and began a sweep of the yard. David stayed in the station nad looked around, checking the office and the receiving area to find nothing but dead bodies, the bodies of workers who had died in the fighting, dozens of them. "Great." The three men appeared in the loading bay and looked up at him on the gantry.

"All clear. We're done here."

David smiled and looked at his watch. "Alright. Omega lead. Omega lead. This is Gauntlet One. We're ready for extract."

"Roger that Gauntlet One. Inbound. ETA is 1 minute."

"Roger that. On our way to the EZ."

"You got it." David began moving towards the edge of the gantry, one to hear it shaking underneath him and feel it too. He looked back to find his men on the ground still. "Shit. Stay down there." He yelled as he hit the gantry too, lying prone, his rifle out in front of him. The gantry shook beneath him and he watched as another rebel came around the corner and he shot him, square in the chest, three times. His magazine clicked and he put in another magazine. "Alright. Come on." He yelled back down.

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They began walking down the other side of the gantry, towards the building ahead of them, a building they would have to scale in order to get to the extraction point. The MH-60 would land there and pick up him and his men. They walked slowly towards the stairs ahead of them, cautious that there may be more soldiers around but, because of the close combat, he put his rifle on his back and withdrew his pistol, an M82 Storm loaded with fourteen .40SW rounds, all ready to be put into someone's chest or head. It was good that he did because, as he ascended the stairs to the main level, another rebel appeared. He fired off two rounds in a quick double tap and followed with a third, putting the rebel on the ground, two in his chest and one in his head, perfect execution style, just as he had been taught.

From there, they went up the stairs and got to the roof, only to look down and see one thing, the MH-60 Black Hawk below, dropping the paratroopers that would hold the railyard.

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They walked up to the Black Hawk, bent low to avoid the rotor wash and climbed in, David last. "Alright boys. Let's get out of here!" He yelled as he stepped into the Black Hawk and looked at the floor. Empty shell casings were lying on the floor of the Black Hawk and they rattled around with the vibration from the helicopter's engines, shaking and tinkering on the ground.

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Ammunition boxes lay between the two gunners and David plugged into the headset. "Thanks guys for picking us up." He said as he looked out of the window, down at the other Black Hawk, lifting into the area. He could see a few rebels in the distance, approaching the railyard, only to see them gunned down by the Black Hawk and its powerful Minigun, capable of firing up to 6,000 rounds per minute, roughly 100 bullets every second after the first 1/4 second.

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"Don't mention it Sarge," the pilot of the Black Hawk said as he looked around and banked to the west. "Name's Russ but everyone calls me 'Ace' and you ask why? Why? Well. Let's make it quick and simple. I can put this Black Hawk into a swimming pool and take off without disturbing the walls. You know. As long as its big enough for this big beast." He laughed as they shut the doors and locked their buckles. "Alright. Where to?"

"Figured you would know. Name's David but I don't mind Sarge." The pilot laughed.

"My co-pilot, James, just call him Rambo. He agrees."

"Glad to hear. I don't know where we are to go."

"What do your orders say?"

"Take the railyard. Our LT got killed at the drop zone. I'm in charge now."

"Alright. Hang tight. I'll get command on the line." The helicopter flew off into the distance, climbing to 800 feet to stay clear from the ground fire. It wasn't very high but against RPGs and small arms it was perfect. They had their IR jammers on and they would periodically drop flares, just to make sure that no ground missiles were tracking them but if they went up any higher it would slow them down and they needed to be moving as fast as they could over the city, towards wherever it was they were going, some horizon in the distance that had their next objective, which included, ultimately, to secure the city, which was, falling apart under the heavy and fierce fighting.

Chapter III: Misery Loves Company

"Let me look at that." The sniper said to David, noticing that his arm was still wounded. "Alright let me see." He said again, the loud sound of the Black Hawk engines almost drowning him out. David nodded and shifted over. His arm hurt and he looked around the helicopter as the men watched with smiles. All of them were in the air, over the city, safe from the ground war, in a way. They felt some solace in the Black Hawk, which was armored for them and they were definitely safer there than on the ground except for one thing, they were vulnerable to ground fire and they were taking some, mainly small arms fire and RPGs that missed by thousands of feet. They were rather safe. Every now and then they heard a plink against the hull of the helicopter but it was a rifle bullet that had no hope of any penetration and none did, simply bouncing off and falling back to the ground. "Not too bad. Not too great. Hey!" He called in his headset. "You got a medical kit in here?"

"Yeah." The pilot answered. "Behind my seat." The sniper picked it off and opened it up as the pilot continued to talk to the commander who was in charge of operations to try to find out where to bring David and his men.

"Not too bad but hold still. It went clean through. No real damage it looks. Here let's get it bandaged up. You'll be fine."

"I know I will be. I'm not worried. It's minor. Just make sure you give me that anti-bacterial shot I don't want an infection."

"We'll clean it real well." The ground beneath them exploded as a guided bomb from an F-16G Super Falcon slammed into a building that had been targetted through signals intelligence. Drones and aircraft flying high, over Caracas, were searching for radio communications from the enemy rebels, triangulating them, and attacking them. The bomb that the F-16G dropped was a 2,000 pound Paveway V, which sliced through the air and hit the building, hard. It collapsed down on itself as the warhead went off, shaking the ground. The F-16 was high in the air, over 15,000 feet and it made neither sound nor sight as it flew over the city, awaiting another target. The Black Hawk shook and the pilot dipped the aircraft violently, causing the sniper to miss and accidentally stab David in the shoulder with the needle he was using to disinfect the wound. "Sorry about that." David laughed and the sniper continued to dress the wound.

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"Sarge. I've got command on the line for you." The pilot said into the intercom and then banked the helicopter again, heading to the west.

"This is Gauntlet One. Go ahead command."

"Gauntlet One. Good work at the railyard. We're going to move you over to a different area of the city, about four kliks to the west. We've got a situation. It seems in Jesus Plaza, we've got a group of rebels that are definitely not up to good. The problem is we have a VIP down in the city somewhere. The VIP is a high level director in the Ministry of the Interior and he was trying to get out of the city when his vehicle convoy was ambushed. Satellite and reconnaissance shows his vehicle and the convoy vehicles abandoned with a few dead bodies around, including a few bodyguards we assigned to him on his egress. We can't divert any air elements there just yet so it's up to you."

"Roger that command. You know we're down to 50% combat effectiveness."

"Are any of you wounded Gauntlet One?"

"Negative."

"That's fine by me. Good luck."

"Thanks." He looked around the helicopter and the blank stare of his men was enough to make him ask them, "What?"

"You just lied to the commander?"

"How so?"

"Wounded."

"This isn't wounded." David laughed as the sniper finished up and he put his armor back on, clipping it together over his shoulder. "This definitely isn't wounded. We on the way now Ace?"

"You got it."

"Good. Good. We are you putting us down?"

"About four hundred meters away from the convoy. In a secure part that we know isn't crawling with bad guys right now. You're going in fast rope. Good thing we brought them along."

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"Yeah." David said without any enthusiasm. Fast roping wasn't his favorite activity and he definitely didn't want to be doing it with a wounded shoulder. He needed all the strength he had on it. "Guys. Get some ammo. We're fast roping in." The men opened up the ammunition boxes lying in the cabin and began taking out magazines and bullets, stuffing and replenishing their supplies.

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The Black Hawk swung around again and approached its hover zone, to which the pilot responded by giving the thumbs up. The doors were opened and the two, long, thick, black cables that hung outside of the helicopter came into view as the right sider gunner swung around, scanning the ground for anybody that might pose a hazard and a threat.

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The fast rope cables were let go and they fell to the ground, unwinding as they did, falling to the ground below, 70 feet! The men put on their gloves and looked at the 40mm thick rope, which was black and hooked onto the outside of the helicopter, tightly and strongly.

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"GO GO GO!" The pilot yelled as the men sat on the edge of the helicopter floor, unhooked themselves, threw their weapons on their backs, and grabbed the rope with both their hands and the feet.

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David watched as the radioman vanished from the other side of the helicopter, flying down the rope, to the ground below. The Black Hawk, in a sustained hover, 70 feet in the air, hung there like a beacon of hope for whoever needed the paratroopers and their force.

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Now it was David's turn. He grabbed the rope and looked down. I hate this shit. He thought to himself as he fell down the rope, towards the ground, twisting as he did, his feet controlled his speed, his hands stabalizing his fall.

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It took only seconds for David to hit the ground and when he did he looked back up at the Black Hawk. With all four men on the ground, the pilot hit the disconnect switch and both ropes let go of the helicopter and fell towards the ground. They would be left there, for now, coiled up on the ground, to be collected at a later time, when things weren't so dangerous.

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The men were back on the ground, ready to fight.

"Come on. We've got to move about three hundred meters through those streets over there and then, through this plaza." He showed them an image on his palm pilot. He picked it up inside the helicopter and it did wonders. The palm pilot was encrypted and encoded to ensure that, even if it fell into enemy hands, it was unusable. It provided GPS information, mapping information, a secure communications link, and satellite uplink capability. He was looking at the satellite now, beaming down a live picture of the plaza. "Look. The plaza is loaded with bad guys. I see an emplaced machine gun here. I count twelve guys throughout the plaza so we're going to have to hustle in and make sure we're careful. Now." He zoomed in on the palm pilot. "Now if we come here we can split out. You, you can station yourself here and get a good view of the plaza. When we advance, you can move by this car here and engage prone." He looked at the sniper and then motioned to the anti-tank man. "You come over here, on this side of the building. You can engage anyone coming towards our origin position very easily and you can get them as they run by, shot them from behind, sort of." He turned to the radioman. "And you. Well you go prone right by this dumpster here and you can engage down the main street, towards where we have to go eventually. Now I'm going to move up to the car here and then try to get around but I am going to have to stretch the shot on the machine gun but we can do it." He showed them the map one more time.

They moved out, weapons shouldered and pointed out in front of them. They walked down the streets and around the corner, towards the plaza area. It was hazy, very hazy, and they knew it, which didn't help matters. The plaza was wide open and at least forty to fifty meters wide, a large area, large enough for a helicopter to land but certainly too cluttered for such to happen. When they came to the edge of the corner, which was an edge that went right down the end of the plaza, the four of them stopped. Using only hand signals they knew it was time and from there, David ordered that his men take up their positions, as discussed. David pointed his rifle around the corner, only to use the video link attached to the end of it. He saw two rebels but they were far off and facing the other direction. Two more were walking but their views were obstructed. The men went by running as fast as they could to their spots, darting across the street. David kept watching on his gun camera, just to make sure that they weren't seen and they weren't. Good. He thought to himself as he moved himself. He sat down next to the dumpster, with his radioman, and inched up slowly, to the edge of the dumpster. Crouched, he looked down the sight of his rifle and squeezed the trigger four times, firing off four rounds and the two rebels that he could plainly see at the end of the street. The rest were alerted and gunshots echoed now, towards his direction. He heard gunshots close to him, the shots of his anti-tank man, firing off rounds and killing two rebels who were running towards his position.

"Open fire!" David yelled and was too late when his sniper put a round right through the chest of a rebel far off, in the distance, trying to hide behind a wall. With five down and at least seven more inside of the plaza, David moved up to the car, which was trashed, littered with bullet holes and charred from a fire. He edged up to it and put the rifle on the edge of the car and looked out and could easily see rebels trying to take cover. "Move up!" He whispered into his communications headset and the men did just the same. He covered them, engaging two rebels, while his men moved up to different positions, all of them staying out of the line of sight from the machine gun, which had been, thus far, quiet.

The gun made its first noises when the gunner engaged the sniper as he darted across the street to take cover behind a wall. David got the perfect fix on it and watched, through his sight, as the red flames from the muzzle lit up through the haze. David put his sights on the muzzle and fired off a few shots. He was lucky, he was not in the line of sight of the gun, hindered by a tree in the plaza. The bullets did nothing and missed but it was a distraction that allowed the sniper to get into place. A well placed shot, right through the gunner's skull silenced the machine gun. The other six rebels, hiding as well, were shot by the rest of the men, as they were preoccupied by the sniper and David.

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With the plaza secure, the men picked up some extra ammunition that they found. Despite them having 6.8 millimeter weapons, they wouldn't object to some extra firepower and some of them picked up the enemy weapons and threw them on their backs. They picked up G36s, all of them well-made and well-maintained. With the extra weapons, they began to move out, towards the other plaza, where the VIP was supposed to be hiding. The high-level official in the Minister of the Interior had given no communications since the distress call and that was ten minutes ago. The echoes of gunfire in the background were too ambient for them to know exactly where they were coming from but they could have been anywhere.

Another whoosh overhead and they ducked as an F-26 Typhoon roared overhead on a steep climb away from the ground, dropping flares behind it. The multirole fighter had just destroyed a rebel tank about 500 meters away from the plaza and the explosion and mini-earthquake that resulted shook them as they watched the F-26 roar away. They were ready to move out when they heard a loud snap and the sound of a rocket motor firing, coming from very close to them. They looked up to watch a missile streak upwards, towards the F-26, which was banking and jinking, dropping flares as it did. They watched the missile track upwards and then they listened and a second launch echoed. Both missiles, only 4 seconds apart, streaked upwards, towards the F-26 trailing smoke behind them. "Find the launcher." David commented to the sniper and they looked towards the origin of the missile launch, which was about 100 meters due north of them. "Do you see anything?"

"No. They came from that roof over there but I don't see anything. They must be. Wait." The sniper saw a body, someone moving. "Got him." He put his sights on the head of the person and squeezed off the trigger. The bullet tore through the air and the rebels head, just a split second before one of the missiles struck the Typhoon. Black smoke puffed from the aircraft as its engines went out. Inside of it, klaxons and alarms went off as the pilot struggled to maintain control. One missile missed, that being the first one, but the second one didn't. The second one sent shrapnel through the fuel lines and destroyed one of the turbines. Wounded and stricken, the Typhoon began to erratically yaw and turn. "Damnit. They got it." The sniper remarked as the F-26 pilot, inside the cockpit, yanked hard on the ejection handles. The canopy blew off and flew upwards, through the air and the chair came next. The pilot and his ejection seat followed, blown upwards, into the air at 13.2gs. The force was significant and the ejection seat flew up, into the air, and the seat came off, the pilot's parachute opening. The chair would smash down, onto the ground, along with the wounded and stricken Typhoon. The pilot, uninjured by the ejection but visibly shaken, began to guide his parachute. He was only 2,200 feet in the air when he ejected but the men on the ground looked up at him and watched him come down.

"Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. This is Gauntlet One."

"Go ahead Gauntlet One."

"We've got an F-26 down. Pilot ejected safely."

"Roger that. Continue mission."

"Understood command." The men moved out. "Watch where he comes down. We're going to find him." David ignored command's disregard for the pilot, obviously his mission was more important than a single pilot but that wasn't going to stop him from getting to the pilot. "Alright?" The men agreed and they moved up a small hill, past destroyed cars, littering the streets.

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The four of them were approaching the position from a whole different direction, a direction that forced up them a series of small hills and upramps but hills that would give them some measure of tactical surprise in getting to the position. They moved only about 20 meters before David caught sight of another rebel with a missile launcher, perhaps he was the second launcher that took down the Typhoon. He leveled his sights on him and fired off two rounds, putting them both through the rebel and killing him. The launcher fell down, on the roof top, and he slumped over, stuck on the roof.

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The echo of gunshots once again filled the air and the men took some cover as they moved around, parallel to the position, in order to gain a different angle. From his satellite device, David could see that there was an emplaced machine gun watching the main route to the plaza and that there was no activity at the plaza whatsoever. They approached the last hill and approached slowly, up the hill, weapons out in front, crouched, moving slowly and silently. David was out front and with his rifle on his shoulder, he looked down the scope to see the machine gun ahead, pointed in his direction. He hit the ground immediately and the men did the same. "Shit." He whispered to his men and looked back at his men. "Alright. I've got him." David stood up, slowly, and raised his rifle again, moving slowly, very slowly up the hill. He looked right down the sight and to the machine gun and squeezed off a few rounds. He watched as they penetrated the weak, steel plate in front of the machine gun, which would protect the gunner.

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"Grenade!" He yelled to his men as the radioman pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade and lobbed it over the hill, onto the emplaced gun nest. All of them, crouched, watched for rebels and grenades but after two minutes, none came. The men slowly approached again, moving up the hill. The men kept their weapons ahead of them as they came eye level with the street but found that there were no rebels at all, none around there, period.

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Only two rebels manned the nest and they crossed the small plaza to the VIPs car, which was riddled with bullet holes. Gunshots echoed in the distance. The doors were open and the tires were shot out. The trunk was destroyed and the roof was torn open. The vehicle looked as if a monster had tried to eat it and, through all the broken glass on the ground. "Nobody here. Shit! Spread out. Look around." The four men scattered around the plaza and looked but found nothing but bodies. There were seven of them, five of them rebel, two of them body guards who were to protect the VIP.

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"Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. Come in."

"Roger that Gauntlet One."

"Report status is as follows. No VIP. I repeat NO VIP! Two down bodyguards. Vehicle is trashed. No idea where he is."

"Roger that. Hold."

"Understood. Satellite showing incoming rebels. Two positions. We need information right now!" David looked around at his men. "TAKE COVER! WE'VE GOT INBOUND!" The men scattered and took cover behind vehicles and behind walls, their weapons out in front of them, waiting for the rebels to come and attack them. David did the same, using the VIPs care as a shield. The four men waited all of thirty seconds before they opened fire at the first rebels who came around the corners. Gunshots echoed again and now they were being attacked. David had little time to answer command when they called again.

"Gauntlet One. Gauntlet One. Come in."

"Busy right now Command. Wait 1."

"Gauntlet One. Report."

"Busy." David ignored the rest of the calls, which were made by furious operators in the command center but they didn't know just what was going on in the plaza. Dozens of rebels were storming their position, guns blazing, weapons in hand, and they were being mowed down, left and right. The gunfight lasted two minutes but when it was over, all of David's men were fine but eighteen rebels were dead, some still twitching on the ground. "Command. This is Gauntlet One. Ready for communication."

"Gauntlet One. Your are in violation of code."

"Shit up operator. We've got a lot of dead rebels around us here. Now what the hell do you want."

"Sergeant!"

"Listen. I don't care what rank you are or what you are doing. You're a radio operator and I am a soldier. Now either you get with the program and learn how to be a radio operator and understand that when bullets come flying through the air you cannot pay much attention to some pencil neck a thousand miles away. Now what the FUCK do you want!"

"Gauntlet One. We have a location on the VIP."

"Good. Send it to the device." He cut the communications line and looked over at his men. "Fucking assholes! Now. Any of them alive?"

"Just one. Barely."

"Good. Where is he?" They walked over to a dying rebel lying next to a wall, bullets through is legs and lower abdomen. He was bleeding out and he knew it, so did the men. David looked down at him and eyed the bloody body.

"¿Qué es su misión?" [What is your mission?]

"Para capturar..." [To capture...]

"¿Quién?" [Who?]

"El gringo. En el coche." [The 'Gringo'. In the car.]

"El no está aquí. ¿Dónde está él?" [He's not here. Where is he?] The soldier coughed and was on his last breath when David asked the question but, unfortunately, he never got an answer, the man died. His palm device received the information and data on the VIP, which was a staticy distress signal 250 meters away from them. "Alright dirtbag is dead. Let's go." They moved out again and began heading towards the position, using the PDA to guide them.

David and his men moved out, towards the far off position. They listened on their radio to the screams and orders of men fighting, kilometers upon kilometers away. There were helicopters overhead now, firing on positions and on each other. It seemed to appear that some of the rebels got their hands on attack helicopters of some sort. Burning wreckage rained down on them from a battle overhead and it was all they could to do to escape the flames and metal. "Close one." David said as his men looked at each other, across the street, the burning carcass of an RAH-70 Arapaho burning in front of them.

"Hello. Hello. Anyone out there?" The radio echoed. The voice was a man, shaky, and gunshots in the background echoed into the microphone. "Hello."

"Identify yourself." David spoke into the microphone.

"This is Fortitude Six. Downed pilot."

"Advise aircraft." David looked around and thought to himself, Could he be the pilot?

"F-26A Typhoon. ILAF."

"Alright." David looked around at his men, who were all itching to rescue the downed pilot but David still had to verify his identity. "Alright. Alright. Answer me this then. What is the sum of Zulu and Kappa?"

"Easy man. It's illumination Iota."

"Roger that. Advise location. We're friendly."

"Thank God! I'm holed up inside of some dentist's office, I think. Beats me, there's a lot of rebels around this position. I can hear a heavy machine gun, maybe a fifty."

"That's not helping much. We saw your plane go down and spotted the chute but that's about it. It's a city, you know."

"No. I got you. Let me look. Wait one." The pilot put his head up, slightly, over the counter. The rebels didn't know he was in there but they were looking around for him, to no avail. "Alright," he whispered, the rebels almost near the front wall of the place he was hiding. "Alright. Got a few rebels around me. I see a burning tractor trailer in front of men about fifty meters. The cab is to my right and I am looking right at its broadside. There's my parachute in the street near it and I can see a street sign that is blown apart but I see the word 'Avenue.'"

"Alright. Wait one." David scanned the satellite on his PDA and found his position and the burning tractor trailer. It was on the way to the VIP and he could stop off there. It would be a close call but the pilot would have to hold out as long as he could. "Alright. I've got you. What is your status?"

"Okay. Nothing broken. Couple of scrapes that's it. I've got my pistol and about sixty rounds. Haven't had to fire a one."

"Good. We're coming to get you. Stay low. Answer the word 'Harold.'"

"Okay. Hurry up. They're almost on me."

"Roger." David looked at his men, "Alright. New parameter. We're going to get our pilot. Fuck command! Alright?"

"Yes sir!" None of them disagreed and they moved out, weapons shouldered, towards the direction of the VIP and the pilot. The VIP was 250 meters away and the pilot was 135 meters away so it was definitely on the way. The streets were lined with bodies, rubble, and fires. "Something out of a nightmare," the sniper commented and they all agreed.

They moved down the hill again, past where they had engaged the heavy machine gun nest and took a turn at the corner, to head away from the plaza and the ambush site. They moved down that small alleyway for a few dozen meters and turned again, through a darkened and very narrow alleyway. When they popped out they all stopped dead and dropped to the ground. "Rebels." David whispered as he looked out, towards the burning tractor trailer. "Alright." He moved back. "I think our pilot is in this building right here but we've got rebels all around him," he said, pointing to his PDA. "We're going to have to do this smartly but, unfortunately, the only other way to attack it is to go around this way, which will take forever so we have to do this one head-on, you know?" They nodded in subtle agreement and the four of them all picked up their weapons and shouldered them. David held a concussion grenade in his hand and tossed the grenade into the open plaza as all four of them hid for cover. The explosion form the grenade echoed and made their ears ring. The walls around them shook and the smoke began to rise. "GO!" David had to yell over the ringing and all four of them poured out, weapons in front of them, firing off single and double shots at the rebels that were stunned from the blast. Four had been killed instantly and another two were wounded. The rest had been knocked around or knocked on the ground and they were dazed. It was an easy assault and David and his men fired off round after round, precisely, hitting the rebels one after the other, killing them all. "PILOT!" David yelled out, almost unable to hear himself.

"HAROLD!" A faint voice echoed from inside the building. "HAROLD!" David approached it cautiously and found the pilot, lying behind the counter, his pistol at the ready, in front of him. "Boy am I glad to see you." He yelled at them. David nodded, his voice muffled. "You alright?"

"LITTLE DEAF!" David yelled, barely hearing himself. The pilot nodded and holstered his sidearm, extending his hand to David. "Sergeant David James, squad leader. This is Corporal James Huffington, our radioman, Specialist Domminick Faccetti, our anti-tank soldier, and Specialist Alec Louis, our sniper."

"Major Harvey Forrenti."

"Yes sir." The men knew that they were addressing a superior office but they weren't saluting for two reasons: this was a war and they were in charge. "Just because you are a major don't think that you're in charge."

"I wouldn't dream of it Sergeant. Let's go."

"Yes." The five of them now began to move out, towards the VIP. "We have to rescue a VIP first then we'll extract the hell out of here."

"Understood. Did you get the buggers that got me?"

"Both of them."

"Good. Assholes don't know how to miss."

"No sir. They don't." With his pistol back out, the major followed them onward, as they moved through the streets, through the haze, and through alleyways, towards the VIPs location, which, as they got closer, seemed to be more and more quiet. That was until they got within 50 meters of it. Gunfire erupted like a rainstorm, out of nowhere, and they knew that the VIP and whatever bodyguards he was being protected by were under heavy and intense, automatic gunfire. "Shit!" David yelled and they sped up and approached a street. One one side, the left side, was a rebel group moving across, firing into a small, two story building. Gunfire was pouring into the building and little gunfire was coming out of it and they knew that this had to be the VIP's position. "Alright. Let's engage." David and his men spread out and took cover, then they began engaging the rebels on their flank. The pilot stayed next to David and under cover, protecting their rear as David fired off, towards the rebels, down the street, onto their right flank. "Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. Over."

"Go ahead Gauntlet One. Over."

"We believe we found the VIP's location. We've got some gunbattle going on at the presumed position. We're engaging the rebels now. How do we get in contact with the VIP? Over."

"Patching you through. Wait one. Over."

"Good job Command. Out." The radio was full of static for a moment and then it included the voices of the bodyguards and the echoes of gunfire.

"Get down! Get down! Hurry up. Shit. Here they come. What the fuck!" A voice echoed as the rebels poured round after round after round into the building. "Come on. Protect him! Fuck. Come on bastard. Yeah. Right there. Good fucking bye!" There were two bodyguards left and they were putting up a fight and a half to protect the VIP.

"VIP! VIP! This is Gauntlet One. We're inbound. We've got a VID on the rebels engaging you. Can you confirm position? Over."

"Yeah. Yeah!" They heard cheers as the gunfire intensified. "We're holed up on the second floor of this fucking building and getting shot at from everywhere. You better hurry up! Over."

"How is the VIP? Over."

"Fine. Fine. We're running out of ammo though. Over."

"Roger that!" The five men began to advance down the street, taking cover behind what they could, the pilot trailing behind David, using David for protection and cover. They engaged every rebel that they saw and cleared the street pretty fast, the element of surprise working in their favor. Then, it was into the building. They couldn't storm in but a Flashbang worked well. With a switch throw and a three second fuse, the Flashbang turned the entire inside of the building into a white wash of light and sound. The rebels, stunned, were easily taken down from that point and killed. "VIP! VIP! We're coming up now. Don't shoot!"

"GOT IT!" David moved up the stairs, slowly, his rifle out in front of him. They had killed eighteen rebels in a matter of a few minutes, less than five, and they secured the VIP only seconds later. When David moved up the stairs and got to the top he yelled out again, "GAUNTLET ONE! DON'T SHOOT!" The bodyguards didn't but had their weapons on him the whole time. "Gentlemen. Let's get the fuck out of here?"

"Good idea." The two bodyguards and the VIP stood up and the party went from five to eight instantly. David looked at the VIP, who was visibly shaken but not wounded.

"You alright sir?"

"Fine. Thank you for coming!"

"Our duty sir. Who is in charge?"

"I am. Colonel Arthur Davis."

"Sergeant David James. You're all under my authority now. Despite your rank. Is that understood?"

"Yes it is Sergeant just get us the hell out of here." The VIP answered. "Where is the extract?"

"Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. We have the VIP and the downed pilot. Rescue immediate extraction. And I mean immediate!"

"Roger that Gauntlet One. Extraction in two minutes."

"Two minutes! HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

"Understood Gauntlet One." David turned around and looked at the seven men, all of them battle worn already.

"I am going to punch that little asshole when we get back!" They shared a laugh and held up in the building, reinforcing the position as the helicopter flew inbound. Two minutes, on the dot, the ground shook and the echo of a helicopter filled the area. "Cavalry's here!" They cheered and the men moved down to the first floor, the pilot, VIP, and bodyguards staying inside for cover as David and his men moved to protect the landing zone. They looked out to the north as an MH-60 Black Hawk, moving at over 100 mph, zoomed inward, its Miniguns blazing and bullets flying up at it, three RPGs missing.

"YAHOO! KEEP SHOOTING YOU FUCKS!" He heard over the radio as the helicopter spun around and slowed down almost immediately. Then, it descended like a brick but still managed to touch the ground soft enough that not even the men manning the Miniguns felt it. David and his men secured the area and the other four men darted out, just as more rebels came around the corner. David and his men opened fire and knocked them down quickly as the VIP and his bodyguards, as well as the pilots, jumped into the bird. David was the last one in and when he did, the pilot lifted the bird off so fast that he flung down, onto the floor. They struggled to strap in and the pilot twisted the bird violently to the right to allow his side gunner to engage a contingent of 50 rebels moving up the street. None of them felt so much as a thing as the Miniguns tore into them. "GET THEM! GET THEM!" Ace screamed as they banked away from the ground and climbed to the north. "Feeling alright Sarge?"

"Ace! Glad to see ya! We've got some important guests here this time."

"Glad to hear it. Hope you're alright sir?"

"Fine fine. Get me out of here though."

"I'll do my best sir. Just hold on." He banked hard again and ducked behind a building as an RPG flew past the hull of the Black Hawk. "Can't chat right now."

"Understood." The Miniguns kept firing and David and his men fired as well but less accurately, because of the violent and eratic movements from the helicopter. Once they got to 500 feet, the doors were shut and the Miniguns went quiet. "We're safe now?" The VIP asked.

"Nope." Ace laughed, "but safer."

The Black Hawk banked out over the edge of the city and the VIP looked out of the door. "This is a mess." The intercom on the helicopter was audible over the rotor noise but not by much. It was difficult to hear and David nodded when he said that, pointing to the other side of the helicopter. The VIP moved over to look out that side of the helicopter, to see a pair of Anasazi helicopters making a run against a few buildings. "What are they doing?"

"Rooting out the enemy."

"That bad?"

"Sir you don't have a clue how bad it is, do you?"

"Is that a hostile tone?"

"Yes it is!"

"You should watch yourself sergeant!"

"I don't care, what the hell are you going to do to me? Kick me out of the service? You realize what I did today? You realize what I said to command today? Please. The least of my worries is you right now. Because you had to go for a fucking joyride I had to come in and find you! You're just lucky we got there in time. I think you owe a debt of gratitude to the men that died to protect you. You can't be that important that its worth that many lives. Now quit with the stupid comments, shut up, and enjoy the ride!" David turned around and stuck his head into the cockpit area. "Where are we dropping him off?"

"Want to give him anymore?" Ace asked, laughing as he banked the helicopter again. "About three kliks away. We're setting down at the airport. It's a dangerous place but it's a lot safer than here. Fighting is going on throughout this whole country. The rebels have attacked positions all across the country and they are sealed in. They won't be going anywhere, that's for sure, and reinforcements are on their way. Definitely on their way."

"How long?"

"Hours man. Hours. You're in here on your own for a while now. I hope you brought supplies."

"More than you know. You got ammo here?"

"Nope. You'll pick up some more bullets back at the airport. Command wants to brief your team anyway. It's going to be dark soon so you and your guys definitely will want to pack up on supplies."

"Got it." The Black Hawk tore through the air and the men inside stayed quiet now. Ace pointed out a gun battle below, that they could clearly see from the aircraft. Rebels were advancing against Layartebian soldiers but they weren't getting far. They were being held back. As they passed the area, an F-35A Raven streaked down and dropped a pair of unguided bombs into the heart of the rebel advance. It was, abruptly, stopped. The shockwave shook the helicopter and they flew onwards, towards the airport, unscathed or touched by the ground fire. There were a few pings on the bottom of the helicopter, which were 7.62 and 5.56 millimeter rounds clanging against the hull of the aircraft, fired from the ground, ineffectively and without enough velocity or power to penetrate the under armor of the Black Hawk. A few RPGs streaked into the sky but none had a hope or a prayer's chance in hitting the Black Hawk, as it moved overhead at 80 mph and 800 feet, climbing as it went along. By the time they reached the airport, they were 1,100 feet in the air but the pilot entered a pattern and dramatically dropped the aircraft to 300 feet, in order to land. He touched down at the end of the tarmac with a soft bump and turned off the helicopter. He had to refuel and rearm, as well as clean out the interior of the bird. The VIP and his bodyguards stepped out, shaking David's hand as they did, and were spirited away to an awaiting Gulfstream VI jetliner. They would be in Layarteb City in a few hours, to recount their story to the Emperor.

David and his men, weapons in hand, stepped out next and walked towards the command post, which was a makeshift bunker at the end of the runway. The airport was protected heavily by armor and aircraft and gunfire echoed across it as rebels probed the defenses, attempting to seize it but this was Caracas International Airport and nobody was getting in or out of the airport without the military's permission. Any enemies trying to get into the airport were going have to go through a wall of flying lead and they weren't going to get far. The Sabertooth tanks positioned at various intervals had already destroyed a dozen vehicles with HEAT rounds and soldiers had destroyed triple that with shoulder-fired missiles and emplaced weapons positions. They were engaging the enemy hard and they were protecting the airport as best as they could.

David and his men walked into the command post. They were covered in dirt, sweat, blood, and gunpowder. They were filthy and when they walked in, the commander laughed at them. "Do you boys want a shower?" He laughed from behind his cigar. The war room was a mess. It was covered in maps, there were phones everywhere, and the eight men inside were frantically trying to coordinate the defense of Caracas. Other posts around the state were trying to protect Venezuela as best as they could and they were all linked, centrally, to JOC, in Layarteb City by satellite communication phones. It was a crisis, if there ever was one. "Name is Lieutenant Colonel Arnold Huffington. CIC for Caracas. Gentlemen. Have a seat in here." He led them into a small room that was covered in papers as well but had a few chairs. "Alright men. You did one helluva job bringing back the pilot and the VIP. Good work. We'll forget the little furball you had with the operator. Things are tense here. Real tense. We'll forget whatever you guys said to the VIP too. Yeah he squealed but he can go to hell. I never liked the guy! Anyway. I am sending you guys back in, back into the field. What can I said, I need every man I can get and you boys are doing the best. I'm sorry you're down to fifty percent but that's all we got right now."

"Not a problem sir. We're ready." David said, brushing his rifle with his hand.

"Good. Glad to hear it. Your target is going to be on the outskirts of town. We've got a rebel advance that took over a command post we had there. Unfortunately, they're in control of the whole post and that means we can't get into or out of Caracas through that route and it's a major one. They're using it to reinforce their own positions and we have a lot of supplies there. What we need from you is a three-goaled approach. We need them all dead, the two overlook bunkers destroyed, and we know of an artillery position at the area that they control. We need you to find it and spot it for a Stalker attack. Alright?"

"Yes sir. We need ammunition."

"I've got tons of it and you'll get all you need before you take off. That'll be in about ten minutes. Do any of you need medicial attention?"

"We're fine. Just get us back in there."

"You got it sergeant. By the way, because of the situation, I am giving you a battlefield promotion because I need a leader out there. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir. What rank am I being elevated to?"

"You are being elevated to master sergeant. Your men will be elevated up to staff sergeants. Is that acceptable?"

"It is sir. Anybody have a problem?"

"No Master Sergeant!" All of them were smiling from ear to ear, gung-ho, and ready to go! "Let's kick some rebel ass!"

"Well boys get in there and good luck!" The men stood, saluted, and left for the armory right away. They refilled their ammunition supplies and packed up on C4 explosive blocks and a pair of SMAWs, to take out armor that might be in the possession of rebel forces, which was very likely. Then, it was back in the helicopter, back under the guidance of Ace and his co-pilot. They had cleaned out the inside of the bird, let it rest for fifteen minutes, reloaded the Miniguns, and refueled.

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The flight to the overpass was about 15 kilometers away, a decent flight that would take them only a few minutes, if that, and they were going to be moving to the site at low-altitude and high speed, over 120 mph and under 100 feet. They would be vulnerable to ground fire and the route they were flying over was definitely a route that was packed with rebels but at their high speed, it was unlikely that they were going to be engaged. Ace was a top pilot and he had planned the route himself, surveying reconnaissance data along the route before deciding that it was the best possible route that he could take. Overhead, Ravens and Typhoons roared with force as they attacked rebel positions throughout Caracas. The enemy was putting up a fight but so were the Layartebians. It hadn't even been a day yet and things were becoming real bad for the rebels but, at the same time, they weren't good for the Layartebians either.

Ace flew over the dangerous route with a smile on his face as his gunners went to work on several enemy positions, eradicating a pair of machine gun posts and a vast array of rebels moving along the route. Bullets pinged off the bottom and sides of the Black Hawk and RPGs streaked upwards but all of them were failures. The RPGs missed by feet upon feet and the bullets that hit didn't have the power to punch through the armor. Ace screamed at them, giving his middle finger out the window as the Miniguns blared and opened up on the positions. They would drop off David and his men and return back to the airport to rearm and refuel, again. "Master Sergeant huh?" Ace laughed as he avoided a pair of RPGs streaking up towards him. "That figures. You get the promotion and I get a mission to send you sickos in!"

"Don't take it so personally Ace. The way I hear it you might not have to come get us."

"Don't joke like that man. I know there's a lot of rebels down there but you know how it is."

"Hell yeah. Listen, do me a favor. After you drop us off give me a quick survey of the area."

"You got it but if I get shot down you better hope I'm dead or else I'm going to kick your ass. I like my Black Hawk, you hear?"

"Got you covered!" The Black Hawk tore back through the air and put down two kilometers from the outpost, where it was safe, according to the satellite pictures. They still had to kill a few rebels when they landed but it was a nice area with a good overlook of the city. When the Black Hawk lifted off, Ace did a survey and got back on the radio.

"Looks bad Master Sergeant. Real bad. I can't see the artillery, sun is going down too fast but I see at least three or four dozen rebels down there. They've got a lot of weapons. They're shooting me up pretty bad but nothing too serious. It looks like they have some heavy machine guns too. Pretty nasty stuff and I see a pair of APCs down there, old type, M113s and, it looks like a Stryker down there. Good luck!" David nodded to his men as they took up their positions and looked over the red horizon. The sun was setting, casting that evening glow of red over the city and, when it combined with the haze and smoke and fire created from the battles below, it made the city almost apocalyptic in its setting. Overhead, in the air, was a group of fighters or bombers, they couldn't tell, moving towards the southeast, into the city. They were carrying bombs and missiles, powerful enough to devestate a lot of targets.

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However, they were out of the picture soon enough and Ace was far enough away from the area that it was time for their mission to begin. Helicopters passed in the distance and smoke rose into the air, through the haze and red glow of the fires and sunset. They were overlooking an area below them and they were well aware that they were in a good firing position from where they were, good enough to take out a group of rebels below them, trying to move into a position to defend against a possible tank attack. They were easy pickings and their 6.8 millimeter rounds were more than enough to slaughter all of them. The mission had begun!

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"Alright. Let's go. We've got air company overhead and a Stalker is due in here in a few. Let's make sure we get to the outpost and do some damage to it. Now. Satellite shows we've got two M113s, a Stryker, and a few five-ton trucks here and there. These two main bunkers here and here are the main things we have to blow up. We'll throw in a grenade first, concussion, clear out the inside, and then C4 the damn things. From there, we're going to make sure that we take out the three armored vehicles with the SMAWs. We got four of them so we're only going to need three, understood? We'll save the fourth one for the artillery, if we need it, wherever it is. It must be camouflaged or something.

"So we'll move up this way. Down there, through the small pond and up the slope at the other side. The Stryker and an M113 are up there. We'll take those two out, simultaneously, so we can provide a good distraction for them, if we need one. We'll advance further inwards though, rifles up, and we'll do it well. Alright? Good. Let's move."

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The water was warm, luke warm and they wadded through it quickly until they came up to the other side. Their rifles were shouldered and their equipment was safe, most of it protected from water to begin with but the few pieces that were exposed were not harmed. They came out of the other end of it low and attentive as they moved up the hill towards the main roadway. There were rocks around the area and telephone poles jutted out, into the air. With the setting sun, the west was visibly hard to see and shadows were cast everywhere. It was too bright for night vision but dark enough that it was tough to see into the shadowy areas. This would make it increasingly difficult for them but they had to prevail. Low and quiet, using only hand signals, David came up to the edge of the rock and looked through his Aimpoint scope, right at the Stryker. Two rebels were standing next to it and two others were by the M113. If both vehicles were taken out then all four of them would die, plus whomever was inside the vehicles. They were both running and their engine idling echoed in the quiet air, just as the woosh of a jet flew overhead, buzzing the area at 5,000 feet, while on a strafing run against targets a mile away.

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"SMAWs. Now." David whispered and Huffington and Faccetti came forward, their weapons on their backs, SMAWs in their hands. They were going through the short but annoying proceedure to get the tubed missile ready to fire. First, they had to open it up, then they released the safeties, raised up the sights, set them, and pushed down on the main firing button. They were ready. While they did, David and Louis took cover behind a rock, the backblast of the SMAW-D being enough to take them out if they were anywhere near them when they went off. "When you're ready." David whispered and both he and Louis put their fingers in their ears and the two men released the firing trigger on their SMAW-Ds, sending the two 83mm rockets towards the vehicles at 325 meters per second, which was much slower than a bullet but the 83mm rocket, with a high-explosive, dual-purpose warhead was very poweful. It wasn't particularly for armor but it worked against light armor and both the Stryker and the M113 were light. The rounds annihilated the two vehicles in a fireball that wasn't nearly as loud as the firing noise, which rated at 187 decibels. Lucky for the shooters, they had put in ear plugs prior to firing off the rockets or else they would be deaf, stone deaf. They dropped the disposable canisters and David and Louis appeared from the other side of the rocket, weapons raised, and advanced on the left side of the burning vehicles while the other two moved up the right side. They shot three rebels dead as they passed around them and found one burning alive so they put him out of his misery.

With the initial approach clear, they moved across the road and up a hill again, to get to the overpass area, which would lead directly to the two bunkers that were protecting the outpost, making up the main defense of the outpost. With their suppressors fitted and two SMAW-Ds lighter, they could move a little faster. They still had two remaining and the plastic tubes weighed them down by an additional 27 pounds almost. They fired on more rebels guarding the road up to the main area and dropped both of them without much effort, advancing towards the bunker. The bunker was off to their right and they kept low to the ground, hoping to evade the suspicions of anyone inside of it. They stuck in the shadows of the setting sun and when they were almost to the bunker, David held up his hand. Huffington and Louis stayed behind while he and Faccetti moved up, towards the bunker, weapons raised, low to the ground, very low. They came up to the back of the bunker and looked inside. They couldn't see anyone but they could definitely hear voices, voices of people inside, speaking in Spanish, arguing about what they were going to do. David didn't have time to listen to them and pulled an M63A1 Concussion grenade from his belt and tossed it into the bunker.

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Five seconds later, the Concussion grenade went off, shaking the bunker and filling the air with smoke. The bunker smoked from every possible opening and both David and Faccetti approached the bunker entrance with their weapons raised. They shot two rebels coming out of the bunker, both of them visibly wounded. "Alright. Cover me." David pulled out his pistol and walked into the bunker, choking immediately from the smoke. The grenade had starded a fire in some of the ammunition crates, which meant that the place wasn't safe at all. He had to be quick and he saw nothing alive except for four bodies, torn apart by the grenade. He put the C4 explosive on the floor and ran out of the bunker, the fuse set to fifteen seconds. That would give both him and Faccetti enough time to back out of the area and move back to a safe distance away, where the other two men were.

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Fifteen seconds later, on cue, perfectly on cue, the C4 detonated and the bunker burped fire out of every possible opening just as it had smoked from the Concussion grenade. The explosion shook the ground and collapsed the ceiling of the concrete bunker quickly, destroying it and making it useless. Unfortunately though, the rebels knew that they were being attacked, thought they figured that they were being attacked from the air. Below them and on the other side of the road, rebels scrambled with their weapons, looking up to the sky. The gun battle that came next was quick and fast. David and his men took down about nine or ten of them, they couldn't tell with all of the confusion.

They continued, crossing the street to the other side, covering each other as they ran from one point to the other point. The four of them moved quickly through a small storage area on the other side, hiding behind ammunition and supply creates. Metal shields protected heavy machine guns but no one manned them just yet. This was a plus for David and his men, who immediately took control of two of them and opened fire on a few of the rebels on the other side, sitting down, enjoying a game of cards. That was when David spotted the second M113, parked in the middle of the road, with rebels pouring into it.

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He didn't have much time to waste and he dropped his assault rifle and shouldered the SMAW-D. He moved up to the metal plates and yelled out behind him, "BACK BLAST!" The two gunners moved off to the side and took cover while Faccetti did the same to the other side. He sighted the tank, which was only about 25 meters ahead of him, and went through the painfully slow procedure that got the rocket ready to fire. He raced against time but he had a good shot on the rear of the M113. Its cargo hatch was still on the ground and the rebels were running into it when he finally had the missile ready to fire. The back door began to lift and he smiled as he released the firing trigger. The rocket tore through the air and impacted on the inside of the M113, turning one of the rebels into a fine mist before it blew up. The kinetic energy of the rocket, impacting the rebel, killed him instantly and the detonation destroyed not only the M113 but a few ammunition crates on the other side of it, creating a brilliant fireball that lit up the whole area as it mushroomed into the sky.

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"We got it!" He yelled as he and his men moved towards the bunker ahead of them. They shot a few more rebels, six to be precise, on the way to the bunker and when they got to the bunker, David and Faccetti did the same thing that they did the last time, destroying the inside of the bunker with the Concussion grenade first. They advanced next and put the C4 in place, turning the bunker into the same crippled mess that they left the other bunker in, rendering both of them completely useless to anyone, enemy or friendly. They moved over the bunker and past the barracks area, which was storming with rebels who were taking defensive positions. Bullets peppered behind them before they could advance anymore and they stopped, hitting the ground without warning. They tossed over a few grenades and Flashbangs, then they rushed, weapons raised, shots precise. They had to reload as they did but they covered themselves perfectly, shooting each and every round into a rebel soldier, clearing and sweeping the area in a matter of seconds, dozens upon dozens dead but a few were left alive, a few that they could interrogate. David walked up to one and bent down, putting his knee square in the chest of a wounded rebel who was definitely going to live, if he got medicial attention. "Usted vivirá. Pero usted debe ayudar. Usted me ayuda. Yo le ayudo." [You're going to live. But you need help. You help me. I help you.]

"Vete pal carajo." [Go to hell.] He lifted his knee and the rebel soldier gasped for air, feeling the pain surge through his veins.

"¿Las heridas qué? Podemos hacer el dolor se va. Usted acaba de tener que decirme donde la artillería es." [Hurts huh? We can make the pain go away. You just have to tell me where the artillery is.]

"¡No. se MUERE!" [No. DIE!]

"Usted hace si usted no ayuda. Apresúrese yo no tengo todo el día y usted pierde mucha sangre." [You will if you don't help. Hurry up I don't have all day and you are losing a lot of blood.] He wasn't but David didn't need to let him think that he was going to live without help. He was shot, through the abdomen but the bullet passed right through and didn't hit any vitals. "Sangre negra. Eso significa que usted ha obtenido una veintena de minutos. Nosotros lo podríamos hacer para." [Black blood. That means you've got about twenty minutes. We could make it stop.]

"Párelo. ¡Yo me moriría más bien!" [Stop yourself. I would rather die!]

"Convéngalo." [Suit yourself.] David stood up and leveled his pistol on the rebel's head and squeezed off a single round. The bullet didn't hit him but, instead, missed by only millimeters, close enough to make his ears ring but far enough that it didn't hurt him. The bullet lodged itself in the ground. "Dure la oportunidad." [Last chance.]

"Allí." [Over there.] The rebel pointed to a clearing in the distance. "Allí." [Over there.] He cried from the pain but at least he was alive. David just smiled and shot him in the head, then, with his men, they shot the rest of the rebels that were still alive. They would rather have taken them back for interrogation but that wasn't going to happen. Leaving them alive was too much of a liability. They advanced to the clearing and peaked around. It was about 200 meters away from the main point and surrounded by rocks and hill areas.

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David turned to his men and nodded for them to get the radio to him. "Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. We've got a visual."

"Roger that Gauntlet One. Go ahead."

"We've got a visual on the artillery. It's in a small clearing area. We'll send you the coordinates."

"Roger that." He handed the microphone to the radioman who gave out the coordinates and handed the microphone back. "Alright. We have a Stalker inbound. Give them about three minutes."

"Got it." He gave the microphone back and they moved away from the area, to the top of the ridge line. From there, they could see into the clearing but were far enough away that they couldn't be seen themselves. They could also see the small village that was near the outpost, a village that had been shut down in fear. Rebels controlled it and there were at least two dozen of them inside the village but, because they were so entrentched, it would be suicide to attack the village.

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Three minutes later, as they laid there, prone, watching the clearing and the village, they saw the Stalker come in from the distance. It moved in fast, quiet, and low and, shortly after they got a visual on it, a pair of flashes jutted out from underneath it, followed by smoke trails. It soared inwards and the missiles that it fired left its ventral bays with speed and force, moving through the air, towards the artillery piece, underneath the helicopter.

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It wasn't much longer but only a few seconds later, the two Brimstone missiles, each with a tandemn warhead, hit the artillery piece. Both of them piercing through the artillery gun, causing the ammunition inside to ignite and explode. The artillery piece, which had been raining hell and havoc on Layartebian positions exploded in a ball of fire and their mission was over, for now. They moved up to the extraction point, about a half of a klik away from the village, where they hoped Ace would be there, waiting for them.

Ace dropped the Black Hawk onto the deck with a light thump. The Black Hawk zoomed over the hills in the distance and twisted around as it landed, facing the way it came. With a smile and a yell, Ace screamed for them to get in the bird and they did, the pickup taking less than a few seconds. The Black Hawk ripped back into the air, nose down, and climbed over the hills, flying away, taking tons of ground fire from the village as it flew out, towards the airport. "We're taking a lot of fire and we might be going in. I evaded about a dozen RPGs and two missiles already and I can say that my odds are running out." Ace joked. "So hold on!" The Black Hawk egressed fast, low, and violent as Ace avoided more and more RPGs and gunfire. "The rebels, about ten minutes ago, unleashed an offensive of massive proportions all across the country. They already control at least six major cities and they're working on Caracas. They've seized Cottish hostages just south of El Jobal, some major, influential family or ambassador, I don't know but they are threatening to kill them if the Empire continues its onslaught of their forces. Naturally, we're not giving in to a bunch of rebels.

"So things are getting worse. They've shot down a pair of F-16s with shoulder-fired missiles about two minutes ago, both pilots dead, sadly. There's another catch."

"What's that Ace?"

"The rebels have their hands on our prototype jamming system. It's classified they're telling me but I know that it's something serious. It jams wireless communications and jams it pretty damn well, I'm told. We're operating on certain frequencies right now, ones that we know they don't know of, ones that we know they won't jam yet. We're also running secret protocols. So be advised. Shit. HOLD ON!" He twisted the helicopter violently to the right and ejected flares as a shoulder-fired SAM came flying up towards the Black Hawk, missing but not by much. "This is going to be fun." He said again as he turned hard left. The men inside slid around with the aircraft as it moved quickly, at maximum speed, the infrared jammer running at full power. Their flare quantities were depleting and fast, which was bad news for them but they had to evade every missile that they could. "Listen up because I'm only say this once because if we go down I might not be able to repeat it. They think they have the system, which I'm told is called Zues MX5, or something like that. They think they found it in the park area, somewhere near the center of the city. We're going in at night to see if we can find it but we can't guarantee it'll be there. You and your men are going in but that'll be tonight. If we go down, you must get on the airwaves and alert 'Priority Clean' to Command. They'll take it from there, alright?"

"Got it. 'Priority Clean.' Just make sure we don't go down!"

"I'll try. GUN RIGHT!" He yelled over the intercom and the right gunner opened up a burst of fire against another missile team on top of a building. The bullets cut them like paper and avoided another missile shot towards the helicopter, bullets destroying the missile launcher and setting off the fuse. It exploded in a small fireball on the roof top as Ace turned the helicopter again. They were flying through a gauntlet of hell with nothing but bullets, missiles, and hell flying up at them, at incredible speeds with unpredictable trajectories. Left and right, the Black Hawk swung around and about the sky, twisting and turning at every spot. Ace was flying an errant route out of the hot zone, a full 15 kilometers that was turning into 25 with all of the erratic course maneuvers he was taking to avoid the onslaught of gunfire and missiles. "Jesus Christ!" A bullet tore through the hull of the Black Hawk and out the side window causing no real damage and hitting no one but the snap popped in Ace's ear and he knew that they had been hit. "These sons of bastards!" The radio waves were cluttered with chatter and radio calls, distress calls, and maneuver calls. Everyone was shouting at everyone as the rebels advanced. They were like an army, tactically intelligent and advancing properly and organized.

They moved again and aoivded a pair of RPGs that streaked up towards them from below, both of them missing, one of them suffering from fin failure, causing it to go wildly out of control, smashing into the side of a building below, exploding on impact. They roared through the air and watched, overhead, as fighters and attack aircraft dropped bombs and fired missiles at enemy positions, positions being identified through satellite cameras and forward observers on the ground. The Layartebian forces were beginning to arrive in Venezuela and some were parachuting over Caracas, trying to get to the ground as a whole and avoid the massive groundfighting that was echoing in the city.

So far, casualties were difficult to determine but they did surmise that there were at least 2,000 to 5,000 dead rebels, well over 4,000 dead civilians, and between 20 and 80 dead Layartebian soldiers and airmen. Two F-16s, an F-26, a pair of Black Hawks, and an A-15 were all downed over the city thus far and the rebel forces were making quick, heavy, and powerful advances.

Ace tore towards the right and banked over a deadly scene below, a scene that they, themselves, narrowly escaped. The gunners opened fire first and mowed down an advancing rebel force but didn't do as much damage as was necessary. Ace was on priority though and the single pass was all that they were going to make and it was fortunate for them that it was because the scene turned into chaos and an explosion only seconds later. A 1,000 pound Paveway V, dropped from overhead slammed into the ground below, tossing bodies and body parts everywhere. Smoke, dust, and debris formed a cloud next and ascended upwards. The Black Hawk banked again and Ace moved away towards the airport, which they could now see, in the distance.

"Almost there. I can see it." They could see aircraft taking off in the distance, aircraft that were being shot at as they pulled away but flares and chaff were being thrown all about by everything that was taking off, including aircraft that were already in the air. As a makeshift plan, a pair of C-130 transports, which had a low infrared signature to begin with, were loaded with flares that they dispensed overhead. They had hundreds and hundreds of flares in the transports and dropped them from the air, creating a massive infrared beacon for every missile that was shot upwards, towards the aircraft taking off and landing. "Almost there."

Ace brought the Black Hawk in and landed it very quickly, turning off the engines and getting out with his men. They would be cleaning out the cabin of the aircraft next, which was full of empty shell casings. The men departed for the briefing area and the armory next, to venture into the hell that was going to be their next assignment.

In the Foreign Ministry in Oslo, people were working overtime thanks to the uprising in Venezuela. People were on the phones, working frantically to help the Cottish embassy in Layarteb City to alert Cottish citizens known to be in Venezuela. So far, most of the Cottish citizens in the country had been alerted and told to sit tight in their hotels until they could be helped. They were assured that the Cottish Government was working to get the Layartebian authorities to evacuate them. One of the workers in the Foreign Ministry sat on a phone, a lot of names crossed out after he had gotten hold of them. Right now, he was trying to get a hold of a family that was last known to be outside the city of El Jobal. The safety of all Cottish citizens was a priority of the Cottish Government, but since the man of the family was a member of the Board of Directors in the Bank of Cotland, he was even more important.

At least there was still tone in the phone, meaning that the cell phone was turned on and that they could be contacted. Thank heavens for the cellular telephone technology. Finally it was picked up.

“Hallo?” [Hello?]

”¿Hola? ¿Qué quiere usted?” [Hello? What do you want?]

Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit oh shit! The worker thought as he immediately raised his left hand, calling over his supervisor, who came over immediately. The phone was put on speaker mode so everyone in the room could hear what was going on.

“¿Habla usted inglés? The supervisor asked in heavily accented Spanish, hoping for a positive answer.

“Yes. Who are you? What do you want?” The male voice asked, speaking in a heavily accented dialect. The conversation was being recorded for future analysis, something which might identify the man.

”My name is Thomas Reidahl. Who are you?”

”That is none of your business! What the fuck do you want?”

“I am working for the Foreign Ministry of the Realm of Cotland. We are trying to get in contact with our citizens, to get them out of harms way. You are speaking on the telephone belonging to one of our citizens – Mr Yngve Hammer. May we speak with him?”

The man started laughing, having himself a real belly laugh. Eventually, he stopped laughing for long enough to give an answer.

“No. He and his family is being held by the Free Venezuelans. Listen carefully, and you might see the family alive again. You will make the Layartebian dogs stop killing us and give us back our independence, or we kill them.”

“I will need to discuss this with my superiors before I can give you any answer to your request. However, for them to take me seriously, I need proof that the family is alive. May I speak with Mr Hammer? That would be sufficient proof for us to support a decision to negotigate.”

There was silence for a little while before another, frightened voice was heard.

”Jeg heter Yngve Hammer. Hjelp oss!” [My name is Yngve Hammer. Help us!]

”Herr Hammer, jeg ringer fra Utenriksministeriet. Vi gjør alt vi kan for å få dere ut derfra. Har alle det bra? Hvor blir dere holdt?” [Mr Hammer, I am calling from the Foreign Ministry. We’re going all we can to get you out of there. Are everyone okay? Where are they holding you?]

”Vi er alle i live, men redde. Vi er et eller annet sted i El Jobal…” [We’re all alive, but frightened. We’re somewhere in El Jobal…]

”THAT’S ENOUGH! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The male voice from earlier shouted in the background, then came on the phone again. ”You have your proof. Now, get the Layartebian dogs out of here. You have fourty-eight hours.”

The phone was hung up, leaving the Cottish officials to look at each other for a short while, trying to figure out what to do next. No one had been crazy enough to kidnap a Cottish citizen for a long time, and that time, it ended with their death. They had contingency plans for situations like this, and the supervisor walked over to the file cabinet after a few seconds, unlocked it and pulled out a dossier. He walked over to his own desk, opened the dossier and dialled the telephone number. After a second, it replied.

”Forsvarsministeriet, situasjonsrommet.” [Defense Ministry, the Situation Room.]

”Dette er fra Utenriksministeriet. Vi har en gisselsituasjon i El Jobal, Venezuela. Herr Yngve Hammer med familie. De er holdt fanget av venezuelanske opprørere som truer med å henrette dem dersom vi ikke får Layartebianerne til å trekke seg ut av Venezuela. Vi har førtiåtte timer.” [This is from the Foreign Ministry. We have a hostage situation in El Jobal, Venezuela. Mr Yngve Hammer with family. They are held hostage by Venezuelan insurgents who threaten to execute them unless we get the Layartebians to withdraw from Venezuela. We have forty-eight hours.]

“Takk. Vi tar det herfra. Godt jobbet.” [Thank you. We’ll take it from here. Good work.] The officer said before hanging up and putting the wheels into motion. The contingency plans called for a rescue operation since the Realm did not negotiate with terrorists, and a rescue operation had to be authorized by not only the Cabinet and, unless the King decided otherwide, the Storting, but also the Layartebian government since they were held hostage inside Layartebian territory. The Cabinet was immediately summoned, despite it being in the middle of the night, and orders were given to the Caribbean Military District, more specifically the 10th Special Forces Battalion of the 4th Special Forces Regiment of Hærens Spesialkommando and the 6. Special Operations Aviation Regiment of Luftvåpenets Spesialkommando to be ready for operations abroad. An encrypted communiqué requesting permission to send in Special Forces to locate and extract Cottish citizens was also issued to the Layartebian embassy in Oslo with an emphasis on the need for a speedy decision since the Cots were working against the clock on this one. The communiqué also offered the assistance of the Realm’s military might in quashing the uprising if necessary.

In the meanwhile, Castries Airbase in Saint Lucia was placed on highest alert as the eight 12-man special forces teams and the pilots that were to be involved in the operation if it was given the green light got together to start planning the operation. It was decided early on that a HALO insertion was required due to the reports of so many Layartebian air defense systems having fallen into enemy hands, with helicopters coming in later to provide assistance. The aircraft to be used for insertion would be the M-60/A Combat Talon III, which had a crew of seven and a carrying capacity of some sixty-eight fully equipped troops, and a combat range of five thousand five hundred kilometres. More than sufficient to transport the troops to El Jobal, loiter for a little while before returning to Castries. In terms of helicopters however, things would be a little bit more difficult. The Cots were planning to use the H-44/C Night Huey, a modified version of the H-25/A Super Huey that was being used by the Air Force and Navy equipped with plenty of armament, better armament and more electronics, as well as more chaff and flares; and the H-45/A Explorer, which was a Cottish version of the Layartebian MH-100A Explorer. It was a pretty good aircraft which was perfect for special operations: Small, fast and silent. Being armed with Miniguns and CRV7 rockets and able to carry up to six passengers also helped. The Realm would deploy a number of these helicopters to the nearest Layartebian-held base if permitted to do so. For now however, the operation was on the planning stage, pending a reply from the Layartebians.

The news that Cottish citizens had been kidnapped in El Jobal did not hit the Emperor or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs too well. Layartebian forces were not able to mount any type of rescue mission, being too spread out and too thin, for the moment. There had been a build-up but the surprise attack by the rebels was certainly a successful one. The news rocked the airwaves but the soldiers on the ground were too busy with their own problems. The Cottish were their allies, strong allies at that but El Jobal was almost completely in rebel hands and with it a lot of military assets, including M1A4 Abrams tanks that were in storage. Many of them were rumbling through Caracas as well. The fact of the matter was, they were too engaged and way too spread out to do anything, for the moment and certainly not within forty-eight hours. Cottish citizens were already being spirited away by SOF teams and most of them were deployed. If one had to be redeployed, they could risk even more Cottish citizens then were captured. It would be for the greater good, which tied the hands of the Emperor and his Cabinet.

That was why the Cottish request for intervention was so overwhelmingly welcomed. A Cottish SOF team would do a HALO insertion and they would need as much cover as they could get. Layartebian F-16G Super Falcons would escort the Cottish aircraft and engage any active air-defense systems that were trained on the skies above and there were many. Guns and several mobile SAM units had been destroyed by Layartebian aircraft and many more would be by the time the war ceased.

The rebel offensive was moving successfully but was slowing down. Its momentum was being lost as they realized that engaging the Layartebian Army and military in a set piece battle was a mistake. Guerilla tactics were hard to fight but a battle like the one that was unfolding was going to be swayed to the more powerful side and that was definitely the Layartebian Army, their tanks and personnel carries more than adept at destroying anything and everything in the way of them. Sabertooth tanks, Arrow armored vehicles, and Cobra personnel carriers were powerful, very powerful and the M1A4 Abrams tanks that the rebels had gained control of were no match for the Sabertooths, which could tear through the armor of the Abrams with little or no effort. It was built with every flaw on the M1A4 in mind, all of that being corrected in its development.

The Layartebian go-ahead to the Cottish request came shortly after it was issued, showing that the Layartebians were taking the offer seriously and backing it completely. The Cots had a plan for how to do this thing, and it was pretty simple really. They would insert a full company of Special Forces – six twelve-man teams, totalling seventy-two operators – to El Jobal to locate and rescue the Cottish hostages using any means necessary. They had recorded the telephone call from earlier, and after doing some checking, they had found out that Hammer owned a new telephone that had a GPS transmitter installed. The transmitter showed that the telephone was located in downtown El Jobal, which wasn’t really much more than a small village of some a thousand people, an airport and a large military depot, all of which was in enemy hands. The Cots were triangulating the signal, and the location was kept under constant satellite surveillance with the information constantly being updated.

The Cottish plan was to send in two teams to clear the airport to ensure that they had a way to extract, one team to clear out the depot, and the other three to rescue the family. The operation was planned to commence in a few hours, when the helicopters could get into position. The Cots had very loose rules of engagement in this conflict, meaning that they could do whatever was necessary to achieve their objectives.

Three hours later, and the helicopters had crossed over Venezuela and were now in the danger zone. They would make two more pit stops in Layartebian-held positions to refuel and restock their flares and chaff before they reached their holding point, a clearing in the jungle fifty kilometres out of El Jobal. Satellite scans had shown that it was clear of activity, but the Cots still wouldn’t take any chances. They would have one team land there in advance of the helicopter’s arrival to ensure it was clear.

Meanwhile, in Castries Airbase, the six teams stood in attention on the tarmac, illuminated by the powerful lights that illuminated the tarmac in the pitch black Caribbean night. They looked like something out of hell, dressed in jungle-camouflage uniforms, boonie hats, tactical vests with equipment, grenades and magazines sticking out from pockets, and rifles strapped securely to their chest. On their backs, they had parachutes strapped on. All in all, they were ready to deploy to El Jobal, just as soon as the final pep talk from the battalion commander, a Lieutenant Colonel was completed. He emphasised the importance of this mission and repeated how they were going to prevail because they were far better trained, equipped and motivated than the enemy.

“…og når dere krigsmenn nå skal ut i strid så drar dere ut for å gjøre en innsats ikke bare for Konge og fedreland, men og for den familien som blir holdt fanget av terroristene i Venezuela og misbrukt på bare Gud vet hvor mange forskjellige måter. Dere er bedre utrustet, bedre opplært og bedre forberedt på denne oppgaven enn fienden er. Gud signe Kongen, og Gud signe Fedrelandet.” […and when you warriors now are heading out into battle, remember that you are heading out there to make an effort, not only for King and country, but also for the family that’s being held captive by the Venezuelan terrorists, being mutilated in God knows how many ways. You are better equipped, better trained and better prepared for the task at hand than the enemy is. God save the King, and God save the Fatherland.]

All seventy-two men, most of them with a sense of contempt for most military authorities thanks to the mostly autonomous nature of Special Forces units and the tasks they preformed that no other military units could or would preform, joined in with the powerful shout: ”Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!” [Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!] While they weren’t too fond of military authorities, they all had one thing in common, and that was their affection for their country and their ruler. After all, none of them had been in the military for less than six years, professional soldiers all of them.

The Lieutenant Colonel smirked as he said, “God jakt!” [Good hunting!]

With that, the soldiers all snapped into attention and replied in one, powerful voice, ”God jakt skal være!

It was an expression that is very difficult to translate, but it translates roughly to something like “We will hunt well,” and is a expression used by the military to confirm an order or wish. Anyway, the soldiers all fell out of formation and moved towards the two M-60/A Combat Talon IIIs of Aviation Company 6303 that stood on the tarmac, powering up their four CTPE-2A-2006 turboprop engines as the troops entered and found their seats. The Cots were using two aircraft with three teams in each, using the rest of the available space to stock in supplies that would be dropped down with the forces. The Cots were also deploying a UAV to the area, a Q-38/A Shadow UAV which would provide the Cots with a good source of crucial real-time information. All in all, the Cots were sending a lot of firepower to rescue the enemy, but it was needed. The Cots expected the hostile force to be a battalion-sized unit with armor support and heavy weaponry, so they didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

At 00.00 hours local time, the two Combat Talon IIIs barrelled down the runway of Castries Airbase and took off, immediately starting a steep climb at 640 meters per minute until they reached the cruising altitude of nine thousand meters fourteen minutes later, heading on a direct course for El Jobal. With the call signs HUSKY 1-1 and HUSKY 1-2, the two Combat Talon IIIs expected to meet their Layartebian escort within an hour.

Operation Thor’s Hammer had commenced.

It was still only April 9 when the Black Hawk landed at the airport. Fighting in Venezuela had been going on for 20 hours already. It was brutal, indescribably brutal. Caracas and Coro were under the most intense action out of the cities and that was because the Layartebian paratroopers and special forces that had either parachuted or HALO'd into the city were putting up a fierce fight. Layartebian soldiers based in Venezuela were putting up a major fight too and most of them were deployed by their bases, trying to protect them from being overrun by rebels. San Fernando had fallen to rebel forces already as had El Jobal. Barinas was being pelted by artillery fire from rebel positions that had surrounded the city. Layartebian soldiers inside of the city weren't going to be able to hold it for too long. Ciudad Bolivar was safe, for now. Layartebian forces had repelled the rebel onslaught there thus far but were reinforcing themselves and bracing for a second attack, which was highly probable. Mérida, like Barinas, was on the verge of falling and Maracaibo was about to fall, with Layartebian forces being forced out of the city at record speed. San Carlos was seeing increased fighting as rebel forces worked their way north, towards Caracas, which they expected and hoped to hold by the next morning, though they knew not of the Layartebian forces that were inbound. San Cristóbal was safe, for now, as helicopter support from above and from Colombia helped them hold the city against the rebel forces. El Dorado was receiving significant support from Guyana but it wasn't enough thus far and Riecito, being between Coro and Caracas, was a shooting gallery.

In the past twenty hours, Layartebian forces landed a full division of paratroopers throughout the country, 18,432 soldiers, most of them in Caracas, where a two full regiments had gone in, out of a total of nine regiments. The other seven regiments had been dispersed over other key points throughout the state. Each regiment had 2,048 soldiers in it and that was a lot of firepower, especially when combined with the hundreds of fixed and rotary-winged aircraft in the skies, all bombing rebel positions and pushing the paratroopers ahead. Already inside of Venezuela, when the fighting began, was a full corps of 55,296 soldiers, all of them fighting as hard as they could. That put, as of now, over 73,000 soldiers on the ground, which wasn't enough, especially considering the size of the rebel force, which numbered anywhere from 300,000 to 700,000, or so they thought, it could have been more, they didn't know yet, reports were sketchy. A total of sixteen SOF teams had been deployed: four from 1st SOG, two from 2nd SOG, two from 3rd SOG, six from 4th SOG, and two from 5th SOG, putting a total of 124 SOF soldiers on the ground as well, all of them doing a multitude of snatch-and-grab missions, mostly rounding up foreign nationals and VIPs throughout Venezuela and spiriting them away to the airport where awaiting C-130J Super Hercules transports and Gulfstream VI aircraft were flying out and northward, towards Cuba and Florida, where they would be flown back to their respective lands.

Preparing to be deployed into Venezuela was a lot more soldiers, more than anyone could really tell. The 7th Army Group was responsible for defense of the Province of South Eastern Virginia and inside its nine corps, organized into three armies, there were 500,000 soldiers. One full army of 165,888 soldiers would be deployed straight into Venezuela and the other two would be deployed on the borders of Venezuela, to prevent any rebels from both escaping and taking the fight elsewhere. They would need more help though and that was a given. Two armies from both the 1st and the 8th Army Groups would be deployed as well, adding another 331,776 soldiers. Marines from the 1st Fleet, 7th Fleet, and 8th Fleet would be deployed as well, a total of six divisions of Marines, for another 110,592 soldiers on the ground, these very highly trained and very highly motivated. Aside from the single division of paratroopers already deployed, another five would be deployed for another 92,160 soldiers. SOF presence would be more than 800 by the time the other soldiers arrived and, when things were finally settled, there would be a total of about 720,000 Layartebian soldiers on the ground.

If that wasn't enough and those would all be on the ground by noon on April 10, there could be much more. Two more armies could be deployed putting the number over 1,000,000 soldiers and more Marines could be brought in as well. The Emperor and the Cabinet weren't messing around with this situation at all and they were definitely not going to let the rebels win.

They hoped that the Cottish presence in El Jobal would assist them in securing the city and already a plea for help had gone out to Saint Lucia. Cottish forces there were deployed on quick-ready status and that would be perfect. If they could be deployed in assistance to the Empire in El Jobal, it would alleviate some of the forces to go back to Caracas, where the majority of the fighting was. Estimates put at least 1/2 of the rebel force in and around Caracas, where the largest concentration of Layartebian soldiers was.

As April 9 came to a conclusion, the airport became fully reinforced. Nobody was going to be able to take it without a full onslaught and that contingency was already prepared for with hundreds of Claymore mines and anti-tank mines, dispersed all around the perimeter of the airport. Artillery had landed on the runway but the spotters had been killed and the guns disabled by Anasazi helicopters maintaining a constant orbit over the airport. The flare-dispensing C-130s were doing a fantastic job and already dozens of missiles had gone up towards the many flares in the sky. It was a quick, on-the-fly plan and it was working, thus far. Over 600 people had been rounded up already but, unfortunately, command received six reports of kidnappings. One was a Cottish family in El Jobal and the rest were Layartebian VIPs in Coro, Caracas, El Dorado, and Esmeralda, where fighting had broken out at 17:00 hours. By 17:30 hours, every major city in Venezuela was under seige by the hundreds of thousands of rebels.

The Emperor was receiving up-to-the-minute situation reports through the Joint Chiefs, buried so deep underneath the Fortress of Comhghall and the Upper New York Bay. He would have to go on the air and reassure the Layartebian people that what was happening in Venezuela was an isolated incident. People were scared and since the terrorism campaign began in October 2005, over 50,000 people had died as a result of terrorist actions. It wasn't pleasant under any circumstance. He paced his office with the Cabinet present. He and the rest of the Cabinet were mostly silent, reviewing the situation reports and trying to make something of them when 21:00 hours came. The Emperor was set to go on the air at 21:30 hours, a broadcast that would interrupt every radio and television program in the Empire. It would be broadcast over the internet on two hundred different sites, all of them running on independent servers. Normally about 65% of the Empire's 1,265,000,000 people listened to the Emperor's regular speeches. When it was something of importance, that number shot up to 80%. There were also tons of international watchers and, even for a normal speech there could be 200 million people around the world listening to the Emperor's speech. Thus far, the largest turnout for a speech of his had been the speech announcing the cessation of the Conquests with a record number of 15 billion people around the globe. Planners for this speech were contingent upon at least 15 billion viewers and listeners to this speech. The turnout was nearly double!

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire." The Emperor began, seating at his desk, a stern look on his face, dressed in a sharp suit with a royal blue tie. He had a weathered look on his face and, to many, it seemed that he had not slept in ages. Little did they knew he hadn't slept since he became the Emperor. "Today has been a day of complete and utter disarray, particularly for Venezuela, where an insurgent group began a brutal campaign of guerilla warfare throughout the Venezuelan countryside and against its major cities. They have attacked every major city and they have probed the defenses of almost every military facility. To many this might seem to be the start of another civil war but I can assure you that this is an isolated incident. We are on high alert throughout the Empire, nonetheless but we have no indication that fighting will break out anywhere else except for Venezuela.

"For right now, we know little about this insurgent force, who call themselves the 'Free Venezuelans' and they wish to turn Venezuela into a third world country. They want to throw out the technology of the Empire and they advances that we have brought. They want to overturn everything that we have worked for and died for in Venezuela since 1967. That is a forty-year period of history that is rich and deep within the Empire and its Layartebian people. We will not give up a piece of our Empire without a fight and that is what we are doing. Our soldiers are fighting bravely throughout the streets, fields, and farms of Venezuela, squashing rebel forces with an overwhelming success ratio. We can estimate that, for every Layartebian casualty, the enemy is losing over 1,000 of their own! But soldiers aren't the only ones fighting right now. The residents of Venezuela have risen up against the rebels and they are fighting alongside the soldiers, hand-in-hand, with whatever weapons they can muster. I am proud to be able to hell this to everyone in the Empire, that its citizens will not sit idly by as they are slaughtered by some ideology that preaches nothing more than death and destruction." He slammed his fist on the desk. "Layartebian citizens have declared that today, above any other day, that they will not stand for this terrorism that has been ravaging our nation for so long. Whether or not this occurrence can be linked to the same terrorist group that orchestrated the bombing of Grenada is unknown, for now. Our campaign against the Varsolan corporation that had their hand in that bombing was a successful one, which makes it more than difficult to tell who is being this act. But let me reassure, everyone everywhere that we will find out and soon enough to be able to report to everyone, everywhere that we will search them out, find them, and punish them as they should be punished! The Empire will not tolerate terrorism or chaos. We will not tolerate any group that sets out to kill civilians, helpless civilians.

"Today is just one day. Today is the first day of this conflict. Today is also the last day that we, as a people, will tolerate this nonsense and this terrorism. I pledge to you the full resources of the Empire to stop this problem. We have, for too long, been ravaged by terrorism and it will end. It will end before it can continue its reign any further and kill more innocent people. You, as a people, only want peace and prosperity. I, as a leader, only want peace and prosperity. You want protection and security. I will give protection and security. The days of fear ended twenty-seven years ago and they will not be coming back!

"I will say good night to you now but not good bye. I am here. I am the leader of the Empire of Layarteb and I will not, under any condition or circumstance, let my fellow citizens be pawns in a came of power. Terrorists want to wield power that they do not have and they use citizens and their deaths as their sword. Beware terrorists. The sword of terrorism is a sharp one and a powerful one but when it meets the armor of the Empire it will shatter. The fist of justice is being brought down, upon terrorists tonight and it will be brought fourth against the terrorists. Their sword is already broken and it will not be allowed to be repaired.

"Ladies and gentlemen for the Empire. Tonight I ask that you continue your sacrifices and that you allow the federal government to do as it shall do. We will be victorious against this cowardly enemy and we will return the Empire to the peace that it deserves and that it has earned. Thank you and good night." The cameras flicked off and the Emperor returned to the Cabinet members.

"Sir. We've got a reading already." An aide rushed in with a piece of paper in his hand. "It's combined."

"How many?"

"Uh sir. If I am reading this correctly, most of the world."

"How many?"

"28,775,220,229."

"WHAT!?" The Emperor and the Cabinet gasped. "That must be a mistake. Most of the world?"

"Yes sir. It seems that news agencies around the world are carrying the story of Venezuela. It is something that we would have never expected."

"What is the international reaction?"

"Well sir."

"Alright. Gentlemen. Let me be the first to thank you so far for what you're doing. You've become a de facto special operations team and for that we're really glad. Our SOF teams are tied up getting out VIPs and foreign nationals and you boys have become some of the most capable men in our outfit. Good work!" LTC. Huffington said with a fresh cigar in his mouth inside of the command bunker at the airport. "I'm sure you've heard about them capturing our jamming equipment."

"Yes sir." David said as he shifted in his chair to get more comfortable.

"Alright since you are going in to try to find it the following information, being classified, is need to know only. You boys need to know!"

"Yes sir. I think that would be best."

"Alright. Consider this information compartmentalized. Sergeants. Please leave the room." LTC. Huffington was speaking to two aide sergeants that were assisting him with the briefing. They snapped to and did as he said, the door shutting behind them. "Now," his voice was much lower. "The system they are in possession of is a prototype system that we've only just developed at our Special Weapons Design Bureau, a subsidiary of the LDC. They're based in Venezuela, somewhere down south, I guess near Esmeralda, I'm not sure." He eyed them carefully to make sure they were taking it all in and not writing anything down. "It's codenamed 'ATHENA' and it serves two purposes. It can monitor all wireless communications in a given area and jam them within a smaller area. It is developed for us on ground and air platforms. We can mount it inside of a helicopter or a Gulfstream is we want or we can put it in a Dingo or Bushmaster. You see it's a very capable system that is small, powerful, and very classified. They have their hands on it, which isn't good and we know they are using it in Caracas. There is a special way to track if it is being used and we know how to do that, I mean, we made the system. Well. We know they are using it but, because of its jamming capabilities, we can only track it to a certain area and not get a precise location. That area has a radius of 800 meters! It's being used on low power. If it were on high power we could have a radius as large as 2,000 meters!"

"Quite powerful!"

"Yes. It is only limited to the amount of power being put through it. That is why we need to get it back. You are going to do that for me. We've tracked it somewhere in the vacinity of Caracas Park, quite a big area but only about half the size of Central Park in Layarteb City, well maybe three quarters. Either way, that's where we think they are using it. We're going to insert you into the field with two platoons of paratroopers that have just arrived here. We'll deposit you in the center of the park, on the eastern edge of it. The other two platoons are going in to the north and south of you, at the far edges. The sweep will be primarily in your hands but we're going to need full cooperation. Once you're down, in the park, you've got maybe 100 meters before you'll be jammed completely. You won't be able to communicate with each other on your headsets and you won't be able to communicate with anyone else as well. You will be back to the old days except you'll have night vision. That will still work. I guess they haven't figured out how to jam that. Yet."

"That's good and bad to hear sir."

"Yes. Your MH-60M Black Hawk will be lead with a pair of MH-47G Chinook helicopters bringing in the other two platoons, one per aircraft. You'll ingress at 4,000 feet and Ace will drop you right in on the target area. I hope you boys are prepared for this because once you capture the system and turn it off we're coming in to get you."

"Sir. Does this jam aircraft communications as well?"

"Everything. Satellite communications can be disrupted even."

"Shit."

"Yes. Your PDA will not work. You will be back to the days of maps."

"Understood sir. When do we leave?"

"Half hour."

"Alright. Thank you. We'll be preparing. Do we have any recon of the area?"

"It is available but it isn't helpful."

"Understood. We won't let you down sir."

"Good luck." They saluted and the four men left the briefing room for the main room and picked up the reconnaissance data. They would go over the plan and then go to the helicopter and fly out. During that time they could go to the bathroom, get a quick bite to eat, and relax a little bit.

The wind was howling through the cargo bay of the Combat Talon III, disrupting the silence. Along the open aft cargo hatch, two rows of men stood, looking like something out of a bad science fiction novel. The men were illuminated only by the red combat lighting of the cargo bay, revealing that the men were dressed in jump helmets with breathing masks and protective goggles over their faces. All of them were focusing on the little red light over the cargo bay, just waiting. The Combat Talon was flying level and smooth at 450 kilometers per hour at an altitude of seven thousand meters, and everyone were just waiting.

Suddenly the light started flashing, making everyone check the equipment on the man ahead of him and doing the final checks. Thirty seconds later, the flashing light was replaced by a green light, making the two crew chiefs starting to shout out for the men to go while tapping their shoulders. Each man waddled forward to the edge, dragging along with them all the equipment and supplies he would need for up to forty-eight hours of sustained combat. The operation itself was expected to last a maximum of twenty-four hours, but the Cots preferred bringing too much than too little. That way, they could leave behind what they didn’t need.

At the edge, each man made a little jump off the ramp and started his long decent down towards the dark jungle below. If the man looked to the sides, he could see either more operators jumping out from the dark Combat Talon IIIs or the Layartebian fighter escort through the night vision goggles mounted on the jump helmet. On their way down, the men free-falled quickly, but tried their best to stick together, grabbing hold of each other to prevent from drifting too far away from each other. From an altitude this far up, they risked being dispersed very far from each other, something which was unacceptable.

Finally, after many minutes of dropping like rocks, the jungle came closer and closer until finally they reached one hundred and fifty meters, the altitude where they could deploy the parachutes. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as they were coming dangerously close to the trees by now. The men weren’t too far from each other, well within acceptable distances, and they all had a set of designated rendezvous-points installed on their PDAs and the backup plastic maps. As soon as the operations were on the ground, the jump helmets, breathing kit and the parachute were gathered up and hidden, most of them in shallow ditches or under tree roots.

With the traces of their appearance concealed, the men made their way towards the rendezvous-points, weapons ready, night-vision goggles on and the SOLDAT-2000 equipment online and fully powered, giving the men a good fix on where the rest of their team were thanks to the advanced encrypted two-way data uplink. Via this system, orders could be issued quickly and quietly, giving the Cots an edge against the enemies. This, combined with the excellent soldiering skills of these highly trained and well motivated professional soldiers virtually ensured Cottish supremacy on the field of battle.

Within ten minutes, all SOF teams had met up at their designated rendezvous-points and gotten their bearings. Weapons had been checked, heavy equipment distributed among the team members, and orders verified with Command. Everything was set. Phase two of Operation Thor’s Hammer was about to commence as the teams split up into their designated areas. They were a three kilometres east of El Jobal, and they still had approximately forty hours until the hostages were set to be executed.

The two teams set to take out the airport, teams 170 and 173 moved out first, making their way through the jungle towards the airport to begin staking it out and finding out the strength of the enemy forces at the airport. Team 171, the team that was to take out the Layartebian Army depot moved out in the direction of their target. They had been given the necessary information from the Layartebians so they could get there and enter quietly, taking it out from within with their suppressed weapons. The remaining three teams, teams 169, 172 and 174 were to enter El Jobal itself, locate the hostages and rescue them. Team 172 would enter the city via the Cottish helicopters that were arriving on station just about now, hiding among the many Layartebian military helicopters and aircraft that were to fly constantly over the city for the duration of the mission, engaging the enemy. It would be relatively simple to hide the deployment of the Cottish Special Forces operators, thanks to the flurry of activity that would preoccupy the defenders. The other two teams would also enter via the cover of the Layartebian air campaign, hopefully making it to the downtown area without too much trouble. Still, they expected trouble and were ready for the worst, despite the suppressors on their L114A3 Enhanced Carbines and other weapons.

By 23:00 hours, the three H-45/A Explorer helicopters that were to deploy Team 172 to the city arrived at the clearing of the teams rendezvous-point, escorted by a pair of Layartebian AH-99A Anasazi gunships. The Cottish helicopters quickly decended, allowing the twelve operators to mount up quickly before moving off towards the city, covered by the massive Layartebian bombardment that started an hour prior. It was a perfect cover for the insertion of the Cots.

Phase two had begun.

"You boys sure are some VIPs around here. We just jumped ahead of the line for supplies." Ace said as he entered the bunker and met David, who was going over the reconnaissance photographs.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. Everyone out there is waiting twenty minutes or more for fuel and ammunition. Lot of priority going on here. They're refueling us now!"

"Awesome to hear that. Ammunition?"

"Six thousand rounds of seven, six-two as we speak."

"Good. Your gunners are getting some serious time."

"Yes they are. So what do you have for me?"

"Alright. We'll form up with a pair of Chinooks about two kilometers away from here and proceed straight to the target at 4,000 feet. Cruise speed is set at 155 mph. Chinooks can't go as fast. Now. Then way I look at it is you put us down here and the Chinooks will go down here and here. Once we're down we can go in and try to secure the technology. I guess you'll evac afterwards?"

"Once we get you in, we'll come back to base and rearm. Refill the flares. Standard stuff. We'll come back to get you. It's a total of 9 kilometers each way so we're not talking a long flight."

"No. Once we have it we'll report the success code, 'VALIANT.' The fail code is 'UNDERWEAR.' I don't make them up, these guys do." They laughed at the fail word and shook hands. "Luck be on our side tonight!"

"Yes. How many bad guys down there?"

"Hundreds."

"Not good."

"Nope. Not at all. We'll be fine though." The men departed the bunker and walked over to the Black Hawk, which was fully refueled and rearmed. It had seen a lot of action over the past few hours and it was still going strong. The MH-60M Black Hawk was an improved and indigenous design that took some of the improvements of the UH-60M and combined them with both the MH-60K and the MH-60L. When fitted with stub wings, the MH-60M Black Hawk could carry sixteen anti-tank missiles or up to 76 2.75" rockets. It could also carry external fuel tanks and there were plans for fitting it with the ability to carry Maverick missiles. For now, the Black Hawk went without the stub wings, making it lighter and faster. At 23:00 hours, the three helicopters lifted off the ground. Their original mission time was scheduled for 21:00 hours but it had to be delayed. Now they were launching, at the same time that Cottish aircraft were arriving at El Jobal to rescue a kidnapped Cottish family.

The three helicopters took a wide formation, spacing 150 meters apart. The Black Hawk was in the middle with the two Chinooks on either side. The MH-47G Chinook was a SOF modification to the CH-47 and it was a powerful one that could carry a platoon of soldiers to and from the battlefield as well as haul heavy equipment. It could move an 8 ton vehicle up to 57 miles while taking it all the way up to 4,000 feet. That was much more than the Black Hawk could move, which was only 4.5 tons.

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"Looks peaceful." SSG. Faccetti said as he looked out of the door of the Black Hawk. Aircraft were flying high overhead but, for a few moments, there were no explosions and from their directions no fires either. "So you have any relation to the Colonel?" He asked SSG. Huffington.

"None. I'd like to though, at this moment." SSG. Huffington smiled and looked out of the same way. There were tons of lights on down below and from 4,000 feet they couldn't see the vast destruction that was inside of the city, which, for a moment, seemed to be at peace. "Too peaceful. Something's wrong."

"You can say that again." David said as he looked out at the Chinook.

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They were approaching the park quite quickly but they were still 4 kilometers away. That was a far ride if they were on the ground and on foot but, by helicopter, it was only a minute. That wasn't much time. "One minute out guys!" Ace said. The guns on the Black Hawk were silent and so was the air. The two Chinooks that were on either flank of the Black Hawk were out front and it didn't look like any of them were moving at all. "Forty-five seconds!"

"Alright. We ready?"

"Yes Master Sergeant!" They all said. Their weapons were locked and loaded, their body armor was tight, and their supplies were fitted to their backs. They wouldn't be fast roping in this time, the area wasn't safe enough for that so Ace would be putting the bird down for a few seconds and flying right out, fast and erratic. "Thirty seconds out." David said it almost at the same time that the night sky over the city lit up with a bright flash and the silence was shattered by the sound of anti-aircraft fire.

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A pair of shoulder-fired missiles had streaked up and hit both Chinooks at the same time, filling the sky with a bright explosion. Both missiles hit the tails of the Chinooks and tracer fire echoed upwards just as well. "SHIT!" Ace yelled as he began to dive the bird over to the left, to avoid a spurt of anti-aircraft fire coming up at him from dead ahead.

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The left Chinook burst into a fireball and exploded in mid-air, killing all of the men aboard, instantly. A missile had streaked up towards the Black Hawk as well but Ace's violent twist to the left caused it to miss and go after the flares coming out of the rear of the helicopter. To the right, the Chinook caught fire and was seriously wounded. Unable to maintain its height, it began to rapidly descend towards the ground. Over the radio there had been silence but now the echoes and screams of the people inside the Chinook were all that they heard. People were on fire and two flaming bodies fell out of the right side door and fell towards the ground, lifeless and burning, like a flare. The pilots struggled to slow the descent of the wounded helicopter but it wasn't enough and they could do little.

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Flaming, the Chinook began to go in, uncontrollably as Ace tore the helicopter downward, away from the tracer fire and two more missiles. "GODDAMNIT!" He yelled but he couldn't give firing instructions because he had no angles on the gunners or the missile shooters. For now it was all up to him and his co-pilot, as they headed for the deck at a tremendous speed.

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Tracer fire lit up the sky and so did flak bursts, from Layartebian 88 millimeter cannons, long since retired but kept in storage. Now they were out of storage and firing their bursts up, towards the sky, hoping to down the Black Hawk and the Chinook, which was already going in, heading to the ground, almost nose first. "We're putting down. NOW!" Ace yelled as the landing zone was no longer an option. They would be putting in by the crashed bird, to see if there were any survivors. When it crashed, it crashed hard.

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The peace was gone and David looked through the scope of his assault rifle, to try to see if there were any shooters that he could engage but there were none. The enemy was too hidden and it was too dark. He looked down to see the crash site, which was near the original landing zone but much further to the north. "Well. Plan B." He said to Ace as he looked at the crashed Chinook.

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Ace was on the radio, trying to get word through to command. "This is Gauntlet One. We've got trouble. Gauntlet Two and Three are down. Two is destroyed and Three is on the ground. Putting down for survivors. We're going in!" The enemy was listening to the communications through the jamming device and they knew that they had a success, thus far. The mission would be aborted; or so they thought...

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The anti-aircraft fire kept skyward as the Black Hawk fell off the line of sight for the missile launchers and descended to the landing zone. He put down quickly and not as soft as some of the other landings but David and his team dove out of the helicopter quickly and hit the ground, prone, weapons shouldered, looking down the sights. The Black Hawk lifted off immediately thereafter and flew towards the sky, Ace still on the communications loop. "Check the site. See if there are survivors." Ace said over the communications link as David and his men moved the thirty meters to the crash site.

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The wreckage was all over the place, along with the bodies. The wreckage smoked and burned and they couldn't get too close to it but they could get close enough to see that nobody was left alive. It hit so hard that the fuselage split into four different sections and buried itself into the soft ground below. "No survivors." David said over the radio, pissed. "None! Fucking assholes!"

"Alright. Good luck. Still a go!" David and his men were still going to get the target but they were going to have to do it themselves. Sixty-four paratroopers and six airmen were lost. Seventy men in no more than forty seconds!

The five helicopters sweeped quickly through the air, moving just over the rooftops of the buildings of El Jobal at speeds of upwards of two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, mostly concealed thanks to the Layartebian bombardment that kept on going. There were a few insurgents on the rooftops, but they were handled by the Layartebian gunships and the Miniguns mounted on the Explorers. A few armored vehicles were also encountered, but quickly disposed of by the Layartebian gunships.

After a quick ride into the downtown area, the three Explorers set down on three different rooftops near where the triangulation teams back in Cotland had determined that the hostages were being held. The three four-man fireteams got out from the helicopters which moved on immediately, climbing to a higher altitude to be clear of the enemy ground fire that was starting to make itself noticed. Fortunately the helicopters were sufficiently armed to withstand what the enemy was throwing against them right now, but they estimated that it wouldn’t be long until they started firing RPGs, shoulder-fired SAMs and heavier anti-aircraft fire against the helicopters.

As the helicopters moved off and back out of the city, the Special Forces operators started clearing each their building as they moved down towards the street-level, heading for the rendezvous-point on the street. All men had suppressed weapons, and all men were expert marksmen with every intention of making every round fired count. As they moved down the buildings, they made a quick sweep of each floor, taking out what existed of enemies in there. With the element of surprise, accurate and suppressed fire and not to mention speed, the men of the three fireteams quickly cleared out each floor, expediting the insurgents to meet their maker with a pair of 6.8x48mm LDC rounds in the head. No one was spared, and what the Cots had expended of ammunition was replenished from captured ex-Layartebian/ex-insurgent ammo. Apparently the insurgents had helped themselves from the Layartebian Army depot where they had stolen the old equipment. That wasn’t too good news for the operators, who had body armor that guaranteed to stop the 5.56x45mm rounds from the weapons the planners had expected the enemy would be armed with. In terms of the 6.8x48mm round, preventing penetration wasn’t guaranteed beyond perhaps the third or fourth round. Still, risk was part of the job description for the operators, and they proceeded to press on towards the street-level.

Eventually, they made their way out from the buildings and into the darkened streets, illuminated only by the explosions caused by the Layartebian air raid and the tracer fire from the weaponry fired against the aircraft. Few noticed the group of twelve heavily armed men moving quickly through the streets, and those who did ended up with a few 6.8x48mm or 7.62x51mm rounds in their body, most often in the head.

From two other directions, the two other teams were moving quickly through the suburbs. One of the teams had stumbled upon a insurgent convoy consisting mostly of unarmored pickups fitted with a machine gun or a recoilless rifle, but also a few M2008A1 Dingo APVs and M2010A1 Bushmaster IMVs. The convoy was quickly taken out with the sniper rifle and the light machine guns assisted by the Layartebian gunships, leaving but a few vehicles intact, their previous occupants having fled as soon as they saw the gunships arrive. This meant that the Special Forces team had at their disposal a Dingo and a Bushmaster with nearly filled gas tanks and plenty of ammo for the M31A1 Heavy Machine Guns mounted on remotely operated turrets in the two vehicles. Deciding not to waste this opportunity to get to their destination faster and thus save the hostages more quickly, the team split up and got in.

In the past, the Cottish military had been great users of the Dingo APV and the Bushmaster IMV, but these expensive vehicles had been mostly phased out in favor of the indigenous M38 Cottish Tactical Light Armored Vehicle (CTLAV). The CTLAV was a versatile vehicle which could conduct all the tasks the Dingo and Bushmaster could and then some. There was even a Special Forces variant of the CTLAV, but the planners had decided that it would be too cumbersome to employ in this terrain. Anyway, most of the operators had vast experience driving Dingos and Bushmasters, making this makeshift transportation most of them to take a short stroll down memory lane.

As they made their way through the streets in heart-pounding speeds, most insurgents paid little attention to them, believing the vehicles to be occupied by fellow insurgents instead of a crack Special Forces team. The only places that could pose problems were the checkpoints the insurgents had established, but a quick spray of the 15.5x115mm ammunition from the M31s and not slowing down at all quickly solved those problems. It wouldn’t be long until the team was in position.

The third team made their way into town on foot, moving quickly through the city under cover of darkness. However, they got into a number of firefights, each raising the risks of their presence being alerted to the rest of the insurgents. A quick and decisive firefight and a few hand grenades tended to clear away the resistance though, and the Cots moved on, not having taken any serious casualties apart from a few graced bullets and some 5.56mm rounds fired from ex-Layartebian M30A4 carbines in the body armor. Nothing too serious. They made their way towards the downtown area, halting only to clear away the resistance that blocked their path.

At the airport, the two teams had reached their destinations and dug themselves in, ready for the observer role. They would stake out the place, finding out how well defended the airport was, figure out the routine of the enemy defenders and figure out how to best capture the airport. With the help of the powerful sniper scopes, binoculars and spotter scopes, the Cottish forces had a pretty good view of the main airport area from their position one and one point one kilometers, respectively, from the terminal building, on the hilltops surrounding the airport. They had already prepared defensive positions and deployed their Claymore mines along their perimeter, and were now just waiting for the go-ahead. Once the hostages had been freed, the teams would get into the fray, clearing the airport just in time for the Combat Talon IIIs to land, take aboard the hostages and Special Forces operators, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Along the perimeter of the Army Depot, the team slated to clear it out was on station, trying to clear a path across the minefield that was around the depot. The Layartebians had given the Cots the full drawings of the depot and of the defenses in hopes of the Cots being able to take it out quietly and without too much damage, and the Cots intended to do their best to meet the mission requirements. The minefield was approximately fifteen meters wide and filled with landmines ranging from Claymores and Bouncing Betties to other, more devilish contraptions made by the Layartebians. Fortunately the Cots were prepared for this and trained in clearing a path through mine fields, and were trying to decide the next course of action. Clearing the minefield was painstakingly slow work and for every passing minute in the clear, they risked detection, something which was unacceptable. Therefore, they decided to go with the easy way out. They called in an airstrike! After all, it was cheaper to replace a fence and a couple of landmines than to train and equip a new Special Forces soldier. Pulling away a hundred and fifty meters, they left an infrared strobe in the middle of the minefield and called in the gunships. A quick bombardment with 70mm rockets and cannon fire later, and the minefield was cleared.

The Special Forces proceeded to the edge of the tree line and waited for the insurgents to come investigate, taking up position behind trees and brush to conceal themselves. Sure enough, it wasn’t long until the insurgents came to check on what was going on. About a squad of them, the team leader figured. There was plenty of moonlight, something which enabled the night vision equipment to work perfectly, so the Cots had a pretty good fix on the enemies that came to check it out. Designating the enemies on his PDA, the information was quickly distributed to the other team members via the encrypted datalink, enabling the men to see the positions of the enemies and the tasking the team leader had given. All but the two gunners were given a target, one target per operator, and were ordered to fire when the team leader fired. That meant that when the leader decided, sixteen 6.8x48mm rounds, four 4.6x30mm rounds and one 7.62x51mm round were fired from silenced and suppressed Cottish weapons against the enemies thirty meters away, taking them all out within two seconds. They never knew what hit them. They had barely touched the ground before the operators moved quickly past the cleared minefield and dragged them all back to the Cottish positions, concealing them from view before the Cots decided it was time to enter the facility. They estimated that it would be cleared in approximately two hours, given the size and the expected number of enemies inside.

"Alright. Let's move out. They're all dead, nothing we can do. Rescue guys will come get the bodies. Come on." The men moved out at David's order and they walked towards a hill, in the distance, about 100 meters away. It was quiet and David eyed it as a place he could sit and get a good view of the park, hoping to find the transmitter. "Over there. That hill." They moved quickly in pairs, each covering the other as they approached the hill. It was around the bend from another small hill, one that was too high to scale and too steep to climb. David, at lead, went first but he jolted himself to a stop the instant he came around the bend, his right hand raised in a fist. Everyone stopped on the spot and hit the ground as he brought his hand down in a motion, showing them to get down. He did too, going to a kneel as he looked around through his rifle scope, just barely peeking out from the other side of the rock. He turned back around and thought to himself for a quick second. "I've got," he whispered to his men. They didn't use their radio system because they knew the enemy would be listening to them. "a vehicle. Looks like a tank. About six guys and whoever is in the tank. It's running and pointing that way." He motioned to their right and looked at his rifle. "On me. Quick and stealthy." They went back to a crouch and all of them came around, rifle raised, moving slowly, their eyes looking down the sights. They kept low and moved quick, towards the tank on the hill and the six men, one carrying an RPG and the other carrying a shoulder launcher for a Wizard missile. These are the bastards that took down the helicopters! David thought to himself. He would fire the first shot and the rest would follow but not too soon, that would be disastrous. He picked up a fragmentation grenade from his side and tossed it over to the tank and opened fire on the one with the RPG. He took him down with a burst of two shots and the men followed. With a loud bang and a cloud of dust, the grenade went off and took down two more men. "NOW!" He yelled as they stood up and stormed the hill, keeping out of the bead of the tank. They were too low for the tank to aim either its main or commander's guns and they could clearly see it was an M1A4 Abrams, just waiting. It was pointed towards the road, waiting for an unsuspecting enemy to come down and take a full hit from a 120 millimeter shell launched at over 5,000 feet per second. The enemy would never know what hit him.

They knocked down the six men without effort but there were men in the tank and the beast was swinging now. "DOWN!" David yelled and they all hit the ground next to the hillside, below the tank, away from its fire. "Shit!" David said as he looked back at his men. "Give me a C4 block." He looked right at SSG. Faccetti and he meant business. SSG. Faccetti handed him one a moment later, a two pound brick of C4 plastic explosive with a radio detonator on it. "Get down and stay down!" David threw his rifle on his back and pulled out his pistol, it in his right hand, the C4 charge in his left. He ran around to the back side of the hill and looked up. The tank gun was swinging around the other way and slowly at that, slow enough that he could get up and dash towards it, in a most brazen maneuver. "Here goes nothing!" He said to himself as he jumped onto the hill, a four foot vertical leap he made without any effort, adrenaline flowing in his veins more than blood. He dashed towards the rear of the tank, fully aware that the camera system in the rear of the tank was definitely showing his maneuver. The tank gun stopped and immediately began to swing towards him, a 175° turn. He had been spotted and he knew it, knew it enough to keep running though. He slammed into the rear hull of the tank reached into the rear protection slat armor with the charge and placed it against the hull. Then, with blistering speed, he ran back the other way, the turret swinging around towards him, both of them fighting time. He knew SSG. Faccetti was going to hit the detonator as soon as he yelled but he couldn't wait and as he dove off the side of the hill, as the turret came all the way around, he yelled. "HIT IT!" SSG. Faccetti heard him and pushed the button on the detonator just as the tank fired off a HEAT charge, sending it through the air faster than David was running. He got lucky and the explosion jittered the tank enough that it sent the HEAT shell through the air, upwards at 18°.

The explosion echoed overhead and shook the hill. The roar of the gunshot shook the hill as well and David slammed into the ground below, on his side, scrambled over, and put up his pistol, waiting for someone to come over and shoot at him. Nobody came and a piece of debris, the hatch from the tank, almost hit him. The charge had blown clean through the engine block of the tank and caused the rear ammunition compartment to shake enough that it set off two rounds, both of those exploding outward with the ammunition. However, the blast door was open and the explosion tore through the inside of the tank, killing all four crew members inside instantly.

Nobody moved for a minute or two. David though, realizing that they destroyed the tank, stood up and held out his pistol. He looked up at the burning wreckage of the tank and decided that it was done for and smiled. "We got it!" The men came out and were amazed at his bravery but annoyed at his stupidity. He had barely escaped the explosion and the shock wave and only because of it did the HEAT round miss, otherwise, he may have been tagged by it, turning his entire body into a fine, red mist. "Stupid huh?" He laughed, holstering his pistol. "Come on. We got work to do." They set off in the direction of the road but didn't get far. In the distance, they could see flashlights and hear voices and they all got down, on the ground, hiding behind rocks and a downed tree, split in two at the trunk from the explosion of the tank.

Four rebels came dashing towards them and it was unfortunate for them that they didn't move slower. They got across the street safely and by design and then, only meters away from the burning Abrams, they were put down, all of them, at the same time. "Quick. Hide the bodies." David realized what would happen if someone saw the bodies and he and his men went to work, picking them up and hauling them away, to the other side of the hill, dropped them, and took off running towards the road, though they dared not cross it, yet.

Instead, they hid in the shadows of the gate and looked to the right and to the left. There were no vehicles but there was rebels, a patrol of three of them off to their right and two off to the left. Neither of the five men were looking in their direction but they couldn't chance getting across the road without being seen so they had to act fast. Unfortunately though, their surprise was up, they couldn't hide these bodies, there was too much risk involved in it. "Alright. You three. Those three. One each. Two shots. Make it surgical and make it fast. I'll take those two. On my shot. Alright?" They all inched out a little bit and took their aiming positions. "Ready?"

"Yeah." They were ready and David centered the red dot on the chest of one of the men and squeezed off two rounds. The three others did the same and David adjusted quickly and fired off three more, taking down the other rebel. Five of them, dropped in a matter of three seconds, was an impressive feat of teamwork but that was what paratroopers were known for, after all, they were inserted deep behind enemy lines, all of the time. "Nice job Master Sergeant." SSG. Louis said as he eyed the two dead bodies, over 80 feet away. They dashed across the street and to the other side of the park and there, they were in the dark. Instantly, their radios were filled with static and the PDA that David was holding went blank. "What the..."

"Jamming. We're close. Real close. Alright. Turn off the radios, they're no good to us." He switched off the PDA and was glad that his night vision goggles still worked but that was it. "Hand signals and whispers only. Alright?"

"Yes." They moved out and approached a small structure in the distance, which looked like it was occupied. "Guards from there?" SSG. Huffington asked quietly as they approached it, surrounded by a black, wrought iron fence, at least 8 feet high. David nodded and they approached the fence and quietly listened. They heard voices, a few of them, all of them coming from an open window.

"Alright. You two, over that side. Faccetti, with me." David whispered and they crept around the fence and to the wall of the structure. It was only a single story, probably the size of a small room, maybe eighteen by twelve in size and about ten feet high. It was brick and the windows had been blown open by shock waves from other explosions throughout the city. Glass was all over the ground and David almost stepped on a piece, which would have made a very audible crunching sound below them, which would have alerted those inside. They were too close to the window now to speak and David motioned for a Flashbang. SSG. Faccetti handed him one and he dropped it in the window. Three seconds later, the 4.5 grams of a pyrotechnic metal-oxidant mix of magnesium and ammonium perchlorate ignited and exploded inside of the grenade producing a 180 dB bang and a 1 million candela flash. All of the men inside were both blind and deaf and David took the opportunity. He jumped up onto the window ledge and shoot two rebels right away and then, dove inside and shot six more, all of them struggling to get their composure. "Clear." He echoed and the three men entered. The rebels here had walkie-talkies but they were useless with the jamming, which was indiscriminate. "Alright. We're good in here for a few. I doubt anyone will come looking but to be sure, Faccetti, guard the door. You guys over here. I think this is a map of the park." The structure was an office, shop for the park workers and there was a large map hanging on the wall. "Alright. Let's figure this out." David pointed to an area of the map, in the lower corner. "Alright. We landed here and the wreckage is here. We took out the tank here and we're in here right now. That leaves this whole area. Lots of trees over here. Good place. Some structures over here. Another good place. We're going to have to check those two zones. It won't be out in the open it'll be concealed and we'll be able to find it. So let's go here first." David committed the map to memory along with the other men and they walked up to the door, to Faccetti. "Let's go."

They crept back out, into the park and crossed towards a dip in the terrain. They were moving towards the structures first, the most logical place for the transmitter to be, considering walls did not hinder its power. They were moving fast but they kept low, dipping down, reaching a small, man-made stream that was about four feet wide. All of them dove over it, running at full speed when they came to the edge of it and now they were moving up hill, slightly slower than before but still moving quite fast. They got near the top and stopped through, voices echoing from in front of them. Hitting the ground hard, they all formed a line and began to crawl forwards, up the hill, to the very edge of it, watching their flanks as they did. They remembered that the road was about fifty meters away from them and they could hear the idling sounds of a truck engine, a diesel engine. Using only hand signals, David ordered the men to move out, two of them down the side of the embankment to the other end of the road while the other, Faccetti, followed him. He came up to the level and looked around. The voices were in the distance, a two man patrol of rebels, behind an iron fence in front of them. The structures were there, about a half dozen of them, independent of each other but in a line, on this side of the road.

David stopped and looked down the side of the hill. He saw the other two men in position, facing him and with his hands he ordered them to clear the first building. He was at the third. "Come on." He whispered and he and Faccetti stood up, to a low crouch, and moved to the iron bars. Quietly but quickly, Faccetti gave David a boost and he flew over the fence and landed quite quietly. Faccetti followed as David covered him, the two rebels walking away from them. He wouldn't open fire on them yet, it was too close and people in the buildings my hear them. Instead, he and Faccetti moved to the door of the building, which was open, and snuck inside. It was one room and empty.

In the first building, the two men found the same thing, nothing. The courtyard around the buildings was small, with the spacing between the buildings and the fence being only about eight or nine feet. It was dark though, completely dark. No lights were on above the roadway and the truck, idling across the street from the fourth building, didn't have its headlights on either. As the two men entered the second building, David and Faccetti left the third and took a prone position in the courtyard, David facing the two rebels and Faccetti facing the opposite direction. They waited now and waited for two minutes before the other two men joined them. "Nothing?" David asked but they nodded that there was nothing in either building.

They were back up again, moving down the courtyard, behind the buildings, towards the fourth building, a larger structure, the largest of them. It had two floors and looked like a mini-castle. There were no lights on inside and the windows were bared shut. The door was locked as well, a strong chain around it, strong enough that it would take a gunshot to go through the lock. They didn't have time to pick the lock, which made it that much more annoying. Instead, David stood back, raised his suppressed pistol, and fired a shot, a shot that alerted both of the rebels. His men reacted quickly though and shot both of them. From there, they quickly jumped into the structure, before anyone else saw them, closing the doors behind them. "Alright. Stay down here." The first floor was open and empty but there was a small staircase that led up to the second level and it was evident that the tower on the side of the structure was for show, there being no door into it from the first or the second floor.

The second floor was open but definitely not empty. There were chairs everywhere but nobody was there. Cigarette ashes and discarded drink containers littered the floor and they had to be careful not to step on any because that would have made noise. Instead, David moved to one of the windows on the backside and overlooked the park, slightly. He couldn't see too far but he could see the trees in the distance. They were about 200 meters away and in the opposite direction but he couldn't quite make out if the transmitter was there or not. He dared not go to the front of the structure and, instead, they exited the structure carefully and slowly, moving off to the fifth and sixth, both of which were empty just as well. The idling truck had no driver and they saw no one on the road at all but they did spot out a good landing spot for their extraction and that was good enough for them, for now. "Trees." David said as the four of them moved out of the courtyard and towards the trees. They moved quickly, stayed low, and kept their rifles shouldered. The round wound around and ducked between the trees and that was bad for them. They were about 100 meters away when David held up his hand for them to stop and get down and they all did. A rumbling echoed from the distance and the ground shook a little as they hugged it, looking towards the trees. "SMAW." David whispered and a tube was handed him, an M83C SMAW-CS. He quickly poped it open and watched as, in the distance, over the road, an armored car passed and stopped. "Shit." He said to himself as the men took cover away from the direct backblast area, despite there being none. He quickly shot up to a crouch, with the weapon shouldered, and released the trigger, sending the HEDP round towards the armored car at 325 meters per second, fast enough that the armored car never knew what hit it. It burst into flames as he discarded the spent firing tube and hit the ground again, rifle in his hands this time. "Stay sharp." They sat there for a few seconds and waited but nobody appeared. Still, David was cautious and they continued to wait, the burning car in the distance obscuring their NODs slightly.

Then they saw a few shadows and flashlights appear. The forest came alive and they could count nine rebels, all armed, some with flashlights, approaching the vehicle. They didn't waste any time and immediately opened fire on the rebels, dropping four of them right away, a fifth and sixth a split second later. The other three managed to take some immediate cover but they were exposed just as well. They were shot at by all four men and wounded but they were still alive. The hope was to wound them enough to make them fall over or come out of their hiding spots behind the thick, tall trees. One did and he met a bullet with his face but the other two stayed behind the cover. That was when David stood up and tried to flank them, moving away, towards the side as the other three men followed, one covering them at all times, another covering their rear. Normally, they would try to apprehend them but this wasn't the time or place and, when they got a bead, they engaged the remaining two rebels, killing both of them where they stood.

The tree area of the park wasn't that large but it was dense, dense enough that they could barely see too far. Their intercoms were thoroughly jammed and they figured that they were getting closer and closer, perhaps to a clearing where the set was deployed but, instead, they approached the center of the tree area and found a small structure, one with lights on and guards all around it, guards ready and waiting for some action. David and the men stopped short and hit the ground but not before they were seen by someone, someone who opened fire immediately. They dove for cover and opened fire themselves. Unable to get any decent shots on the guards, David moved over slightly and arched his rifle up just enough that his 40mm grenade launcher could fire off a round and he did, putting the round right in the middle of a few rebels, killing three of them with a single HE shell. The rebels wised up and tried to flank them as the gunbattle heated up with dozens of rounds in the air at once. They fired at everything that moved and the rebels fired at everything, period.

The gun battle was hard fought and hard won by David and his men, all of whom racked up over six kills each. Rebels had poured out from the structure once the gunfire began and none of them lived very long against the superior paratroopers. Trained to be behind enemy lines for days at a time, the paratroopers were excellent shots and even more excellent tacticians. They had arranged themselves in a wide U-shape around the compound before they had been seen, allowing them to criss-cross their fire patterns and avoid being flanked, three rebels dying trying to flank them. They stood to their feet when they were sure the shooting stopped and cautiously approached the structure. They had to remove their NODs because of the light from the structure or else they would have been blinded by the whiteness of the light. Inside, they found what they were looking for, a transmitter device, a big and heavy one at that, big enough that it would take two of them to carry it out. It was awkward mostly, larger than a backpack radioset. There was no way the helicopter could set down anywhere near them and they would have to hump it out of the area, into the landing zone that they spotted. "Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One." David said into his radio, turning it on after he switched off the transmitter. "Command. Command. This is Gauntlet One. VALIANT. I repeat. VALIANT."

"Roger that Gauntlet One. We're inbound." Ace came over the radio and turned his Black Hawk for the park. "Be there in five." That was plenty of time for them to get the transmitter and go. With their weapons on their backs, Louis and Huffington picked up the transmitter and began to follow behind David and Faccetti, both of them in the front and rear, respectively, keeping them protected and covered. The transmitter weighed only about a hundred pounds but it was awkward, too awkward for one person to carry. Instead, they rigged it so they could carry it on their shoulders and they began to move out, through the tree area, weapons in their hands again. All was quiet in the park as they moved out of the trees and towards the landing zone and all was quiet once they got there, with three minutes to spare. Unfortunately, the radio became alive only moments later. "Gauntlet One. Better make it another five minutes. We're under heavy fire. We have to go a different route."

"Roger that." The ground rumbled again and they all knew what was coming. This time it wasn't an armored car, it was an armored personnel carrier and it appeared in the distance, on a hill, coming towards them. They were sure that they hadn't been spotted yet, hiding behind a rock wall but it would be long before they were. "Shit. Drop the transmitter here." David said as they picked up their weapons and moved around to the other side. "When the APC stops. Hit it with a SMAW." Unfortunately, they were out of M83Cs and they only had three M83Bs with them, which meant a massive backblast to the rear. They had to be careful and they did. Faccetti shouldered the weapon and made sure that the blast area was clear as the APC turned down the main road and came towards them. They couldn't take it head on, that wouldn't guarantee a kill so, they moved towards the other side of the wall. In the turret of the APC was a rebel, manning an M50A1 HMG that could destroy the rock wall with a few bullets. Faccetti kept a low profile but he quickly saw his opportunity and as he was at the APC's, 9 o'clock position, he jumped up over the wall and put the SMAW-D back on his shoulder. The APC stopped immediately and the gunner swung around, the back hatch dropping. He didn't waste any time and fired the weapon, falling to the ground instantly thereafter. The rocket tore through the side armor of the M113 and caused it to explode just as brilliantly as the armored car did but that didn't stop a few rebels from getting out. He dove back onto the other side of the rock wall, bullets peppering all around him. The men used the wall for cover as the rebels used the burning APC for cover, definitely calling in for backup. "Spread out." David ordered as he kept covering fire on the APC and the men moved out, trying to get into better positions to engage the men on the other side of the APC. It was then that another armored car appeared and all that they had ready was a 40mm grenade in David's rifle. He leveled it on the car as it moved towards him and he fired off the round. It spiraled towards the car and smashed right into the cab, exploding inside, instantly killing the driver and two rebels in the back who were unfortunte enough to be sitting in the back. Still, four more rebels jumped out and were joined by another dozen rebels coming in on foot. They were in deep trouble now, four against eighteen and without sufficient cover.

They traded fire with each other as the rebels got into position and the three paratroopers looked to get into flanking positions around the rock wall, which ran for a good sixty meters. The rebels had gotten good positions and they were barely exposed. David and his men would have to pick their shots and they waited until the rebels jumped out to fire and they managed to kill three of them that way before the other realized that they were in deep trouble if they appeared. Instead, the rebels just pointed their rifles around the edges and shot towards the rock wall. The minutes ticked by until, finally, overhead, a Black Hawk buzzed over the park, its Miniguns blazing. From their upper position, the Black Hawk gunners had a perfect down angle on the rebels shooting at David and his men and with a few quick bursts, they had already managed to kill a half dozen of the remaining fifteen rebels. With nine left, they circled around and watched as the rebels ran for cover, making them easy pickings for David and his men. The Black Hawk came around again, this time the other gunner firing and he managed to kill the last few remaining except for one, who had dove underneath the armored car for protection. He was taken out by David as the Black Hawk came in for the landing and the men moved towards it, transmitted on their shoulders, and dropped it into the cabin of the Black Hawk. They climbed in next, David jumping in last, securing themselves and the transmitter to the cabine floor. "Sorry about that Master Sergeant. I got a little hung up back there."

"Rebels?"

"About two hundred of them. Moving this way."

"Damn. Good gunners huh?"

"You bet." The Miniguns continued to spin and fire as the Black Hawk covered its own escape and made for the airport at full speed, climbing away from the ground fire, small arms bullets pinging against its bottom hull.

El Jobal Army Depot
Outside El Jobal, Venezuela
00:31 Hours EST

Fifteen minutes after they had infiltrated the depot perimeter, the twelve men had gained access to the facility and started the process of clearing it out. Splitting into teams of four, the men moved quickly through the corridors of the mostly underground complex, taking out enemies with double-taps to the head, ensuring a kill. With the suppressed Enhanced Carbines, that was no problem. What was a problem though was the existence of CCTV cameras that watched the corridors. While the depot was darkened by the lack of power – they had taken out the power supply before they arrived – they didn’t know whether the CCTV cameras were powered by an alternate power source. Therefore, one of the first priorities was to get to the control room and shut it down.

Fortunately, the men knew the layout of the depot intimately, having been given the blueprints by the Layartebians for just this purpose. They were to incapacitate the depot and ensure that it remained out of commission until the Layartebians could retake the place, something which would most likely occur within a week or so, given the number of troops the Layartebians were going to commit to this endeavour. Not that this was any help to the Cottish SOFs, who were already in place. Twelve men versus the four hundred in the depot seemed like very bad odds, but it was twelve highly trained and well-equipped men versus four hundred poorly trained and equipped insurgents. This was proven as the four-man team slated to clear out the control room moved into the corridor that lead to the large blast door that separated the control room from the rest of the facility. It was dark, but there was some lighting from the cigarettes and flashlights of the insurgents at the door, giving the night vision goggles the Cots were wearing just enough illumination to work properly. What they saw could have taken the motivation from anyone, but not these men.

To them, some thirty heavily armed insurgents behind sandbag barriers with a heavy machine gun mounted on top of them didn’t discourage them. Instead, they moved back just as the rebels opened up with the M50A1 heavy machine gun which fired a number of 12.7x99mm rounds towards the opening of the corridor. They were effectively pinned down, unable to get down the corridor without having to pay the price. Fortunately, they had their SOLDAT-2000 equipment – basically just a heavily modified and improved Land Warrior combat suit modified to Cottish needs and requirements – on, enabling them to stick out only their rifles and fire, seeing the target in the HUD in their goggles. They started methodically picking off targets, starting with the gunner of the M50, who had his head exposed. That would be a mistake he wouldn’t get a chance to repeat, since a 6.8mm round impacted just over his left eye, sending his brain contents onto the insurgents and wall behind him.

Once he was down, the Cots started moving down the corridor again, firing constantly. Gunshots echoed down the corridors, alerting anyone awake to their presence, so it was time to really level the playing field. The gunner of the four-man team got his L102A2 light machine gun up and going, firing off bursts of 6.8mm rounds into the enemy, providing suppressive fire while the other three moved forward and finished them off with the carbines and the buckshot from tactical shotgun the engineer donned. No enemy lived when the Cots, who had suffered only a few graced bullets to the arms and thighs, were finished with the carnage. Now, they just had one more thing to do before they could get back to the job. The engineer moved up to the door and mounted a one-kilo block of Composition C4 on the hinges, something which should be sufficient to take out the door. Connecting it to a radio detonator, the engineer gave the all-set signal and the Cots moved back to the relative safety of the main corridor. Once they were set, the engineer pressed the red button on the detonator, generating a massive boom, sending a fireball down the corridor and the door into the control room, taking out two insurgents that were waiting just inside. A 125-kilogram steel door in your face will take your life.

This meant that the Cots just had to cross into the now blood-soaked and charred corridor again, pass over the mutilated bodies that were scattered all over the place by the blast, pass through the door and take out anyone stupid enough to remain inside. They decided to play it safe though, so they tossed in a pair of Flashbang grenades before moving in swiftly, spreading out and taking out people with double-taps to the head. That was, all but one who was just shot in the shoulder. The Cots wanted someone to interrogate. It was swiftly done, and within thirty seconds, the room was cleared save for the wounded man in the corner. Two of the men had their weapons trained on him while a third checked him for concealed weapons, intel or anything else that could be of value for the Cots, the fourth SOF keeping watch at the door, which was the only entrance to the control room. The man was pulled up and placed in a chair and restrained with plastic zip-ties, ready for interrogation.

“Who are you?” The man asked through the pain of the gunshot wound to his shoulder.

“We’re the people who are going to kill you if you don’t co-operate. How many people are there here?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Wrong answer.” The Cot said before prying his fingers into the gunshot wound, causing the man even more pain. “I repeat my question. How many insurgents are in this facility?”

“Stop! I’ll talk! Four hundred! Freedom fighters! Not insurgents!”

The Cot removed his fingers from the wound, rewarding the man for talking.

“Whatever. What is the disposition of the insurgents?”

“I don’t…” Was all the man managed to say before the fingers were back in the wound, messing it up even further.

“Okay! They’re mostly in the main hall, working on the equipment.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“Tanks, APCs, anti-aircraft stuff. Whatever is stored there. That’s where you’ll find three hundred of them. The rest are scattered around the facility. Some are down in the generator room, trying to get it back up and running. Some are outside, guarding the place. Some are roaming the facility.”

That was some pretty good intel for the Cots, who now knew what they were up against. The information was shared with the rest of the team via the PDA by one of the guards while the interrogator continued interrogating the insurgent.

“How are they armed?”

“Mostly with captured weapons. M30s and M42s. Some M80s and M35s. Some have AKs.”

“How are their training?”

“For the most part, poor. But the leaders have experience from the Layartebian Army, from their conscription service there. They’re the best trained. Most of us dodged the draft though.”

That was bad news. The Cots knew that the Layartebians drilled their soldiers well, and that an ex-Layartebian soldier could be a nuisance. Still, these Cots were Special Forces, out of the regular infantrymen’s league, with better training, armaments, equipment and motivation. They had fully expected and accepted that they would have to kill the entire population of this depot, and they were mentally prepared for it, despite knowing that it would most likely be a slaughter. Therefore, the news that they were going up against someone who could be classified as soldiers would mean a relatively even match, even through the Cots would reign supreme regardless. It wouldn’t be such a sense of murder for the Cots.

“Dodging the draft is a punishable offence under Layartebian law. So is insurgency.” The Cot stated, not really caring whether he was correct or not. “Anything else you want to share with us?”

“You’re not Layartebians. Are you?”

The Cot smiled. He might as well tell the man the truth. It wasn’t like he was going to live to tell anyone else anyway.

“No. We’re from the Realm of Cotland, and we’re here for our citizens. Do you know where they are?”

“I do actually.” The man said, his voice gaining more confidence. “They’re here.”

“What the hell do you mean, here? Here in this facility?”

“Yes. They’re being held in the basement level.”

The Cots raised their eyebrows in puzzlement, gripping their weapons tighter. The interrogator continued, speaking in a stronger, more determined (and more frightening) voice.

“Where in the basement level? How are they being guarded? Have they been abused?”

The insurgent dared not do anything but to tell the truth.

“In a storage room in the generator room. About six men are guarding them. I hear they’re wanting to have some fun with the women. Unfortunately, el Commandante won’t let them. Then again, he might not always be down there…”

That was all the information the Cots needed, so they didn’t let the man finish. He stopped speaking abruptly when the interrogator pulled out his silenced L104A6 Tactical Assault Pistol, fear suddenly clearly visible in his eyes. He started pleading for his life, but to no avail. From a distance of sixty centimetres, the interrogator levelled the TAP to the man’s head and cocked it. With a final comment to the convicted man, the SOF said, “As a thanks for talking, we’re not going to leave you here to bleed out. You should be grateful.”

With that, the TAP jerked up slightly as the 11x43 millimeter hollow-point projectile manufactured in Venezuela by the Layartebian Defense Corporation exited the weapon and passed through the silencer, muffling the shot substantially, at five hundred meters per second, slamming through the man’s skull, making it jerk backwards as the bullet expanded and blasted open a hole in the back of the head the size of a Silver Dollar coin, sending blood and brain matter backwards in a blast that splatted against the wall, leaving a rather nasty view for whoever was to enter here at a later date to find. With the man dead, the three four-man teams communicated with each other and decided to rendezvous a hundred meters down the main corridor in the mess hall, where another team had just killed twenty insurgents in.

Meeting up two minutes later, the information was shared and it was decided that they had to inform the other teams. That meant that they had to go through Command in Saint Lucia, and it was determined that the three teams in the downtown area were on a futile quest. Command made the decision that two of the teams would be relocated to the depot to help clear it, while the third went after the people who were in the originally suspected location. They needed to punish someone. It also meant that the hostages would be rescued a little bit ahead of schedule.

The door suddenly opened, but the insurgents inside the room didn’t have a chance to do anything before the room exploded in an intense flash of white light and a thundering blast of sound. While the insurgents struggled to recuperate, the Cottish SOFs stormed the room, firing two-round bursts, hitting the enemy in the head and/or chest, taking them out instantly. Within ten seconds, the Cots had crossed to the large iron door on the other side and stood ready, counting silently to three before jerking the door open and rushing in, weapons raised and ready. The mouths of the three carbines ended up being trained on a small group of people huddled in one of the corners, one of them trying to cover the rest of them with his body. Silent sobs could be heard from somewhere inside the huddle.

“Hærens Spesialkommando! Yngve Hammer?!” [Army Special Command! Yngve Hammer?!] The commander for Lag 171 half asked, half stated in a powerful and clearly Cottish voice. The person who had tried to protect the rest slowly turned around and looked directly into the three flashlights that were focused on the group, not seeing the actual bodies of the three SOFs that had their weapons trained on the group.

“D… det er meg…” [T… that’s me…] He said, his voice trembling. The man was quite clearly petrified.

”Hærens Spesialkommando. Vi er her for å redde dere. Dere er relativt trygge nå, men dere må komme med oss, umiddelbart. Vi har ikke mye tid.” [Army Special Command. We’re here to rescue you. You’re relatively safe now, but we need you to come with us, immediately We don’t have much time.]

Hammer nodded and turned his attention back to his family, speaking softly with them, helping them up. Two of the Cottish soldiers slinged their rifles on their backs and walked over to them, picking up the two children – twin girls roughly twelve years old and a boy, roughly six years old – while Hammer helped his wife up. The parents tried to comfort their children, telling them that they were safe now, that the Government had come to help them just like they had said they would, and that they were going home to Cotland.

Before the group moved out, the commander separated Hammer from his family for a moment to warn him of what expected them outside this room – the six insurgents inside had all been shot in the head with the resulting mess that follows, and the group was going to have to pass through environments where much worse scenes awaited. The Cots hadn’t saved the ammunition, getting down here to the generator area quickly enough. They estimated that they had killed, so far, about a hundred insurgents. The actual number was thrice that.

Hammer nodded, clearly pale and queasy, and returned to his family to try to prepare them. Less than a minute later, the group moved out. The sight of the dead rebels and one of the team-members performing a double-tap with his sidearm made the children lose whatever they had been given to eat for the past twenty-four hours. Still, the Cots didn’t have the luxury of time to try to comfort the children. Instead, they made Hammer carry his son, had two of the soldiers carry the daughters, and formed a protective circle around the family before they made their way out from the lower area, running towards the exit where a pair of H-44/C Night Huey special operations helicopters based on the outstanding H-25/A Super Huey that served with distinction in the Royal Cottish Army and the Royal Marines were en route to pick up the rescued hostages.

As the group got closer to the exit, the intense firefight that Lag 169 and Lag 172 was engaged in inside the main storage area were the rest of the enemy forces were holed up. It was real Close Quarters Combat, with the fighting taking place in distances less than twenty meters away, or in some cases less than two meters away, using knives, pistols and fists due to the proximity. It was a bloody slaughter to say the least.

Moving past the exit, a pair of rebels appeared, only to be quickly gunned down by the SOFs, much to the shock and horror of the rescued hostages. The crisis psychologists would have a lot of work to do when the hostages returned to Castries Airbase in Saint Lucia. That would be later though, because the Cots had to get out into the main compound where the helicopters would be landing in less than a minute.

Stopping just short of the exit, the sniper and spotter separated from the group and exited, taking up an overhead position, scouting for any enemy activity outside and eliminating the four rebels that approached the door with four well-placed 7.62mm rounds to the head before giving the all-clear signal.

The commander didn’t acknowledge the signal. Instead, he barked out for the group to get going, and they stormed out of the depot bunker, moving towards the center of the compound and stopping, the SOFs kneeling and keeping an eye out, weapons raised and ready, trained in all directions with the hostages also kneeling, comforting each other. The distinct flapping sound of the Night Hueys then suddenly was heard, coming from less than five hundred meters away and closing in fast.

The two darkly painted helicopters came to a standstill from 200 kilometers per hour in less than three seconds, coming to a hover just twenty centimetres over the ground, the pilots following regulations to the tee. They had no idea whether the area was mined with AT-mines that the skids of the helicopter could detonate or not, so the pilots took no chances. The doors to the passenger compartment of the helicopters were open, and the long barrels of the L103A1 Minguns that protruded from the sides were scary to say the least, but the men behind them, dressed in olive nomex flightsuits and flight helmets equipped with night vision goggles on shouted for the freed hostages to get in, and with a little help from the SOFs, they were pushed in. Four of the SOFs would ride in the helicopter carrying the hostages, with the remaining eight going into the second helicopter.

The other two SOF teams would finish mopping up the resistance, disable whatever remained of military equipment, and then start conducting irregular warfare against the insurgents in the area until the Layartebian Army arrived.

The time was 01:05 AM EST on the night of April 10th, and the hostages were secured by Cottish forces and on their way home, some eighteen hours after they were taken hostages. However, they first had to survive the transfer from the helicopter and into the Combat Talon.

The Black Hawk touched back down at the airport and the transmitter was carried out by professionals. LTC. Huffington was there to greet them on a job well done but his smile dropped as he saw the transmitter. "That's not it..." He said. "That's not it..."

"What do you mean sir? We turned it off and the jamming went away."

"No. It's not it. That's a decoy!"

"A DECOY! We risked our fucking lives for a decoy! SIR!"

"Son of a bitch!" He paced around on the tarmac. "They still have the rear system out there. This is a decoy. It's mean to be exactly like the one but it's just a repeater. All it does is repeat the signal. It's useless really. It means they were there but they went away. They aren't there anymore!"

"Son of a bitch! How many decoys exist?"

"Six."

"Six! Why wasn't this told to us before?"

"We were sure that we had the real item sergeant. This isn't good. You boys get inside and get some rest. I'm not sending you back in until dawn. For now get comfortable. David. I'd like to speak to you alone."

"Understood. You heard him. Get some sleep." The tarmac was noisy but they yelled to each other to hear themselves. "Yes sir?"

"I've noticed that you're wounded."

"I would just call it a scratch."

"A scratch you say? Is that a 5.56 millimeter scratch?"

"I think so. I don't remember anymore."

"Get inside and get that fixed up. When did it happen?"

"Not long after we dropped in. I think."

"You've been fighting the whole time wounded like that?"

"Yes sir. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Alright. Get fixed up. You boys did great today. I'm recommending you for the Silver Star and, for your men, the Bronze Star. Keep up the good work and we'll get through this without a problem."

"Thank you sir. What about Ace? He's been keeping us in and out."

"His crew will be duly rewarded." He didn't let on but he had already recommended a Distinguished Flying Cross for them and he was sure that they would all be receiving much more than that if the war persisted. Between the Black Hawk crew and David's squad, the lieutenant colonel had his own, personal team. The eight of them were an army of one, it seemed. They had rescued a downed pilot, a VIP, fought their way through Caracas, and had, on numerous occasions, stopped the enemy from achieving their own plans. Night was warm, humid, and noisy. The explosions, gunshots, and artillery in the distance echoed over Caracas and the airport. Helicopters and fighter jets only added to the noise. Smoke billowed high and fires spread. The city's infrastructure was collapsing and civilians were taking cover in bomb shelters or evacuating the city. All across Venezuela, chaos had spread, set in, and was funneling outwards. When the remainder of the forces arrived, things would be totally different. The state would be brought to its knees and revolution would never again grace their tongues.

El Jobal Airport, El Jobal, Venezuela
00:24 Hours, April 10th

The night had been very quiet for the sixty insurgents guarding the airport, save of course for the Layartebian airstrikes against the city itself. Something was up, but not against the people here it seemed. For the insurgents in the tower, that would be their last thought at the 8.6mm projectiles from the two Cottish sniper’s L108A1 sniper rifles shattered the thin glass pane of the tower and embedded themselves in both insurgents’ heads at a speed of 915 meters per second, killing them instantly. Immediately after the shots, the forest around the terminal building seemed to explode in gunfire, mowing down the twenty insurgents assembled outside quickly. The four L102A2 light machine guns were laying down a deadly crossfire against the terminal building.

Under the cover of the machine gunners and a pair of smoke grenades lobbed towards the terminal building, eight SOFs started advancing towards the building, rifles raised and firing, moving in a line ten meters apart, firing as they advanced. From the other side of the airport, another four SOFs started attacking the airport and its defenses, shooting whoever was present and destroying the three M1A4 Abrams tanks and two M2A3 Bradley IFVs with well-placed 83mm rockets from the L111A1 SMAWs. There were a few 88mm flak cannons of the type M244 Layarteb 88 present at the airport too, and those had to be disabled before the aircraft would arrive. This was all well known to the Cots though, as they were following a detailed battleplan that had been devised and rehearsed over the past few hours.

The plan called for the tanks and other armoured vehicles being disabled immediately, and for the snipers to pick off anyone that could call in reinforcements while the rest of the two teams cleared the area. It was this plan they were carrying out now, expending the majority of their ammunition and cleaning out the area of hostiles.

The fireline moved quicker now that they emerged from the smoke, pouncing hard against the enemy, tossing grenades and making the most of their advanced infantry tactics. Assault was one of the areas where the Cottish SOFs excelled, and they were doing their reputation proud. By 00:30 hours, the Cots had killed an estimated fifty rebels, destroyed two tanks, three IFVs, five Dingos and Bushmasters, and disabled all eight flak cannons. The flak cannons had been destroyed with the use of a C4 block pushed up into the barrel and detonated at a safe distance, destroying not only the barrel, but the entire weapon. Now, they were mopping up the rest of the resistance inside the terminal buildings and hangars.

By 01:00 hours, the airport was deemed secured, with a total of sixty-three insurgents killed and nine captured alive, and a massive arsenal captured, including sixteen Wizard shoulder-launchers and fifty missiles. The arsenal was placed in a room in the concrete basement of the terminal building and destroyed with a few blocks of C4 explosives, denying the rebels access to the arsenal. At that time, the Combat Talon III that was to ferry the hostages and the three SOF teams out of Venezuela arrived, landing and taxiing over to the terminal building where the Cots were assembled with the prisoners restrained and blindfolded. They would be handed over to the Layartebians after the Cots reached Castries Airbase, a fact that was made aware to them as the SOFs dragged them into the cargo hold of the Combat Talon, restraining them to the seats.

By 01:05 hours, the teams at the airport received word that the hostages were rescued and that the rescue helicopters were en route. This meant that it was nearly time for departure. The teams assembled at the aircraft. To ensure that there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises, the road to the airport had been mined with the anti-tank mines and Claymores the Combat Talon had brought along. For now, the soldiers just scouted to the south where they expected the helicopters to arrive.

A few minutes later, the flapping sound of the Night Hueys was heard, meaning that it was time to get out of here. The four turboprop engines of the Combat Talon were powered up again, ready to bring the aircraft back into the skies and to safety while the teams waited. Sure enough, the two helicopters arrived like shadows in the night, touching down gently fifty meters from the waiting Combat Talon, the SOFs in the helicopters jumping out and half pushing, half pulling the rescued hostages over to the waiting aircraft. The hostages were smiling and crying of relief now, having been rescued from the terrible nightmare they had been exposed to for the past eighteen hours.

They ran up the ramp to the aircraft and were greeted by two crew chiefs who took over, escorting the hostages further into the red-dimmed, cavernous cargo hold, giving them earplugs to help protect their ears from the loud sounds of the turboprops which were revved up now, providing enough thrust for the aircraft to get moving. It wasn’t long before the Combat Talon was barrelling down the runway, leaving behind the helicopters which took off shortly thereafter, heading for the nearest Layartebian-held heliport for refuelling before they returned to Cotland. All three aircraft would make it safely home to Castries, where the hostages would be given a thorough physical and debriefing before they were sent home with a strickt warning not to talk about the rescue operation with any outsiders or journalists.

Operation Thor’s Hammer had been completed with 100 % success, but with enemy casualties estimated in the thousands in exchange for no allied fatalities and only three mildly wounded Cottish soldiers in the El Jobal area of operations. One thing was for certain though: The Layartebian forces that “liberated” the depot in El Jobal would find a horrific slaughter, with some six hundred dead insurgents, most killed with headshots. A thorough cleanup would have to be conducted before that facility could be used again.

Three of the Cottish SOF teams were transferred to Layartebian command for the remainder of the Venezuelan campaign after Operation Thor’s Hammer had been concluded, for operations as the Layartebians saw fit in southern Venezuela. Heavens knew the Layartebians would have use for them.

In a few weeks when the situation in Venezuela had calmed down, the news of the rescue mission and its success would be leaked to the press, albeit without any details. All they would say was that personnel from a Special Operations Force had conducted a successful rescue operation that had resulted in the hostages being rescued. Neither nationality of the Special Forces nor any mission details were revealed, but speculations would be plenty. As normal, the Defense Ministry would neither confirm nor deny that there had been Cottish SOFs deployed in the rescue mission, and secretly, the men of Special Forces teams 169 through 174 were decorated for their actions in Venezuela by the King himself a month after the operation. Naturally, the outside world never knew that this happened.

[OOC: And that concludes the Cottish involvement in the Venezuelan campaign. Thanks for letting me participate, and thank you for reading. I hope it was enjoyable.]

Chapter IV: Illusions of Mind

"Sir. When are we going to be sent in? This business in Venezuela is out of hand and out of control. We need to be down there. We need to be fighting. I understand the risk factor with an assassination attempt but, sir, I assure you, Team 2 is more than capable in protecting you sir. My men are ready and eager and we're wasting our time up here sir. We need to be on the next plane down there and down there right now."

"Calm down general. I didn't call you in here to tell you that I won't be sending you in. On the contrary, I want you down there right now. However, I called you in here for a special mission, something that I will be personally asking you for. The generals, they're not involved in this. Neither are the Joint Chiefs. They've only passed me the intelligence and, as usual, I need someone capable of achieving the most in a short amount of time span. That is you and your team."

"Sir. We're at your service. What is the request?"

"Cottish forces have swept through El Jobal and cleaned out the main armory, rescued their citizens. They're fine. We have a bigger problem there, a problem they were lucky to avoid, very lucky. Rebel forces there have seized the chemical weapons depot and they threatened to use them against us in Caracas. That is a major problem. We have to secure the depot and its cache of weapons. Based on satellite tracking on our weapons, they are still in the facility and we've surmised that they do not yet have access to the storage lockers. They could have access within eighteen hours. That is a problem, a big problem. Now. You'll only have twelve hours of working time. It's a five hour flight and the flight leaves in an hour. Once you're down there, you've got a lot of work to accomplish. I figure you'll recon the place for a few hours, probably four, before the assault. That'll leave you eight hours to accomplish the mission. We have paratroopers ready to be deployed and they'll be sent in thirty minutes after you secure the compound. I would provide you with additional support for the mission but they'll probably just get in the way."

"They will sir. How is the situation in El Jobal right now?"

"Terrible. They've got it under control. Aside from what the Cottish neutralized, they have a lot of forces between themselves there. That's something we have to deal with head-on. Army personnel are going to be coming in from Colombia. They'll assault through Puerto Carreño and advance into El Jobal after that. They'll have Sabertooth tanks leading the way and Arrow IFVs supporting them with Bradleys. We're not taking this lightly but we're also at a slight problem. In order to get from Puerto Carreño to El Jobal, they'll have to cross a single bridge. That bridge is under rebel control and we have every right to believe that they have it rigged with explosives. This won't be any easier. The bridge is about thirteen miles south of El Jobal and the chemical weapons depot. It's fifty between Puerto Carreño and El Jobal. Now. Once the paratroopers land, thirty minutes after the depot is secured, I need you to get to the bridge as fast as possible. Then it has to be secured. We have to have the bridge intact or else we'll have to go around the long way to El Jobal. If we have to do that we'll lose the city for good.

"Now. You will have twenty minutes to clear the bridge. I know it isn't a lot of time and you'll have to secure a vehicle to the bridge or else you'll never make it. The roads are dangerous there so you won't be able to do much more than forty, maybe sixty if you're daring. We're really short of time here. The army is preparing already and the paratrooper company that will go into El Jobal will be split four ways. One platoon is going to secure the depot, another platoon the army headquarters, and the other two platoons are going to secure the entrances into the city. Once the army arrives, the assault will begin and it will be spectacular. Following your securing the bridge and the crossing of the army, we'll need you and your men to link back up. It will be at that point that the Joint Chiefs learn you are down there."

"Understood sir. May I ask why the secrecy?"

"You may but I cannot give that to you just now."

"I understand sir. What's our transportation?"

"You're going down on a Gulfstream VI. We can't take any chances. It's registered to the Ministry of Intelligence and as far as the airwaves and flight lines will be under the impression that you are an ELINT aircraft. So that means you're going to HALO in, full gear. You'll be heavier than normal so a lot more to take into account. I need you to go in with heavy firepower. You've got to be able to unleash havoc from far away."

"A fifty?"

"No. Too small. They've got armor. I need someone to go in with a 32."

"You know how I hate those heavy weapons sir."

"I know that general," the Emperor stood up. "I hated carrying them too. They just slow you down. Unfortunately, for this, we've got no other choice. Only a 32 can penetrate the light skin armor of the Dingos and Bushmasters. They've got tons of them. So you and your men will be carrying heavy loads but that is the way it'll be."

"Understood sir. We won't let you down."

"No. No you won't."

"Thank you sir." BG. Delaney saluted and caught the helicopter over to Layarteb City IAP. On the way over he made up a loadout list and read it off to the armory at Zeta Facility along the way. They would be choppered in, at high speed and be available before they took off. The weapons were stored and maintained perfectly by the armorers at the base. Now they were being flown in and a lot of them.

Requests Weapons List

To be delivered immediately to Layarteb City IAP. Priority One. For Team One. Deployment immediate. ETA for departure is 60 minutes.

1x M32A1 Heavy Sniper Rifle
40 rounds, 10x 4 round clips, armor piercing

4x M81A3 Carbine
1,080 rounds, 24x 45 round clips

1x M42A4 SAW
700 rounds, 7x 100 round mags

1x M76A1 Tactical Shotgun
140 rounds, 56 Magnum slug, 84 00 Buckshot

1x M89A2 DMR
200 rounds, 10x 20 round clips

1x M71A1 P90 SMG
500 rounds, 10x 50 round clips

8x M82A4 Storm
576 rounds, 48x 12 round clips

3x M48A1 GL
42 rounds, 28 HEDP, 3 IR illuminator, 4 thermobaric, 3 ground marker-red, 4 buckshot

6x M68A1 Claymore
24x M57A1 Frag, 8x M58A1 Flashbang, 6x M61A1 Thermate, 4x M62A1 White Smoke, 4x M63A1 Concussion, 2x M59A1 Red Smoke

8x SEAL Knife 2000 S37, 24x throwing knives, 4x wire cutters, 1x bolt cutter

ACOG 4x optics, Aimpoint optics, suppressors, IR pointers, IR illuminators, front handles, flashlights for all rifles & SMGs
Suppressors for pistols
Bipod, 10x for the HSR
bipod, 10x, IR pointer, IR illuminator, flashlight, suppressor for the DMR

Radioset, satellite uplink, PDA, body armor

24 pounds C-4, 24 fuses
10 door breeching charges

8x M83C SMAW-CS, 4x HEDP, 4x HEAA

Supplies standard
HALO gear

The list was hand-written and he read it off as he spoke to the armory. They took down what he had written and read it back to him, everything checking out. A Black Hawk was loaded with the supplies just ten minutes later and everything was on its way within fifteen. It would land at the airport just as the men were finishing their briefing. They offloaded the supplies, changed into their BDUs, put on their body armor, loaded their packs, slung their weapons, and were ready. With fifteen minutes to go, they picked up phones and called who they had to, only to give some news, nothing that would give too much away but their wives, their girlfriends, they would know what to do, what was going on, and where they were going, even if they didn't say anything. "Trish, honey."

"Yeah Jack. What time are you going to be home for breakfast?" She had been awoken and looked over at the clock. It was 02:16 hours.

"I'm not."

"Yeah. I had a feeling."

"Sorry babe."

"No. It's. Be careful. Alright?"

"I will."

"I love you Jack."

"I love you too honey. I'll see you soon." While he put down the phone, Tricia, almost thirty-five miles away, was crying but she did everytime he went away like this. The mens' wives and girlfriends did more of the same. Fifteen minutes later, their black painted C-28A Gulfstream VI was flying down the runway and lifting off into the night air. They would be over the target zone in just five hours, around 06:30 hours. There was an hour difference between Venezuela and Layarteb City but only an hour ahead. They took the time on the flight to go over their weapons, rest up, and go over the profile again. They were loaded with a lot of gear, in addition to their parachutes and oxygen tanks, which would let them jump out of their aircraft at 36,000 feet. The C-28 was modified for HALO usage and the pilots would wear thick jackets and oxygen masks while the eight men jumped out of the plane. A third crewman would open and close the door, which would slide up and down, to allow for the pressure differential. The cabin would have to be depressurized to prevent the massive suction of air out of the plane, which could be catostrophic to the plane's control abilities. Once the door was locked again, the cabin would be repressurized, the crew members would remove their masks, and they would fly home. The temperature at 36,000 feet would be 124°F colder than what it was on the ground. With a ground temperature of 88.4°F, the temperature at 36,000 feet was expected to be -35.6°F. It would be real cold and they would have to fly through the oxygen lacking areas, flying down, towards the ground, at speeds reaching up to 200 mph, in a full diving position. They were trained for this and, equipped with the pounds and pounds of gear, they would be at more of a risk then usual. The mission promised, if nothing else, to be one of the most dangerous ones they ever undertook. "Give me the 32."

"Sir?"

"Give me the 32. I'm not asking any of you to carry that piece of dead weight. The Emperor asked me to bring it in and I will. I'll take that and my primary. Just focus on your gear." The team sniper, reluctantly, handed him the rifle, knowing that it would add a lot of extra weight to him. "It would be wrong as the leader of this team to make someone else carry all the weight," he smiled.

"You got it sir." They continued the flight and passed over the Caribbean on schedule, flying at 450 mph.

Suited up and ready to go, the eight men of Team One stood in the cabin of the Gulfstream. Their oxygen tanks were on and the two pilots and jumpmaster had joined them and were breathing through oxygen tanks as well. For forty-five minutes prior to the jump, they had been breathing pure oxygen, flushing the nitrogen from their bloodstream. Now it was time to jump and the door was opened, the bitterly cold air stinging right through them. The jumpmaster held his thumb up and BG. Delaney dove out, going right into the proper position within a second or two of getting out of the plane. The rest of the men followed, at eight second intervals and in just over a minute, all eight of them were flying downwards. The pilots initiated the recompression of the aircraft and turned around, to head back home, as the men descended from 36,000 feet, picking up speed instantly. Once they reached 200 mph they would be falling at 17,600 feet per minute, making it a long jump. They wouldn't open their parachutes until they were 1,150 feet off the ground. It would be about a two minute flight to the opening altitude and they would, once they reached 12,000 feet, slow down their rate of descent so that, when they opened, they were only doing around 126 mph, which would greatly ease the forces on their bodies once the parachutes were opened.

BG. Delaney led the way and all of the men wore night vision goggles to help them see. This was a combat jump, there were no strobe lights or glowing stickers to tell them where people were. They were doing this in full combat conditions and they could see tracer fire in the distance, perhaps 100 miles away, lighting up the sky. Explosions and fires glowed on the blackened horizon and BG. Delaney checked his altimeter. It read 26,250 and it was dropping, rapidly. He put his right arm back into position and looked at his left, where the GPS system was, telling him where he was going. It was a basic system that only told him his heading and the distance to the target signal. He was on course, on speed, and proper. The rest of his men were in a similar line, spread out so that when they opened, they wouldn't open on each other. They were professionals and this was their 800th HALO jump. None of them were taking this lightly and as their altimeters swung through the ticks, the men did spot checks on themselves, using their legs for support so that they could move their arms as they needed. As they approached clouds, they slowed down, putting their arms out, to increase the drag. When they came out of the clouds, they sped up. They maintained 2,400 feet, give or take 100 feet of separation between each other and enjoyed the jump more than they feared it. HALO jumps were certainly fearful and they were certainly something to be approached seriously but if you were too tense, you'd only wind up harming yourself. They had to be loose, they had to be calm, and they had to be keen. All of this, they were, and then some.

BG. Delaney was the first to pull and in the green haze of the ground, he yanked the rip cord, sending his body upwards as it instantly slowed down from 184 feet per second to a mere 17.6 feet per second, a deceleration of just over 4Gs. His body yanked upwards and he grabbed a hold of the guidance cords on the parachute and steered himself. He looked up at the GPS and found the heading, the bearing, and the target zone, which was just ahead, in a clearing that had been scouted out before hand by satellites. He touched down first and quickly removed his mask and stomped down his parachute. He looked up to see his men under canopy, one by one as they popped open, all of them coming in perfectly, landing with pure technique in a perfect standing landing. With precision and skill, they were all down in proper areas and kept from tangling up on each other. Quickly, they went to work hiding their parachutes to keep them from being seen. They didn't know if they had been seen coming down and they had little time to perpare for a counter-attack. Their gear was packed up fast, the people at the base would sort it out properly and they picked up their gear, hastily, shouldered their rifles, and took off into the jungle. They hit the ground in a dense patch of the jungle, brush all around them, their weapons shouldered.

They had twelve hours to complete their task and, as the sun began to rise in the east, casting the black of the night into the nether regions, they removed their night vision goggles, and began to move out, twenty minutes later. They stashed their gear in a pre-arranged pickup spot, buried it underneath camouflage and began to move out. Within two hours, they were overlooking the depot and their reconnaissance began. There were no active patrols through the jungles, as originally thought but activity at the depot was buzzing. There were dozens of rebels there and they had manned every emplaced weapon at the depot and added more. Machine guns and missile launchers all had rebels standing ready to engage anyone who came at them. They must have heard about the Cottish raid on the army base or else this was evidence of serious tactical planning. They couldn't assume it would be one or the other, they could only hold that their enemy was trained and ready for them, ready for someone.

April 10, 2007 - 11:35 [AST]
El Jobal, Venezuela

The sun was up and shining over the world as the morning eagerly approached afternoon. Fighting on the ground had intensified over the past few hours and aerial bombardment of El Jobal was shaking the ground every few seconds. B-10s and B-9s were doing most of the work, dropping conventional and smart bombs on a wide array of targets, hoping to soften the resistence for the invading forces. Army personnel had moved into Venezuela and were fighting their way northward. They were expected on the bridge at 15:00 hours, leaving them with just three and a half hours to get to the bridge and secure it before the army came near it. They had to make sure the bridge was intact, that was a major goal for them and one that wasn't going to be easily dismissed. They had to make sure they were out of the chemical weapons depot by 14:45 hours, leaving them just forty-five minutes to drive the thirteen miles, through a hailstorm of enemy fire and horrendous jungle roads and secure the bridge. Engineers would disable the explosives rigged to it once it was secure but if the bridge went, the entire invasion into southern Venezuela was going to be slowed.

That left them with, more or less, three hours and ten minutes, a half hour of which would have to be given to waiting for the paratroopers. In reality they only had two to two and a half hours. They were running short on time and that was a problem. They planned to start their assault at 13:15 hrs, which would give them a short amount of time to do something that would, otherwise, take longer. BG. Delaney had already split off the team into two teams, designated blue and gold. He led the blue team and the XO led the gold team.

Two minutes before everything was set, BG. Delaney looked through the sights of his M81A3 Carbine. He had fixed the ACOG 4x scope to it and was using its magnification power to count the number of enemies there were. "Alright. On my signal. We'll take them down." He and his team were planning on taking down ten rebels posting guard outside of the compound, manning the various emplaced weapons and the watch tower. His would be the first shot and as he lined up the crosshairs on the rebel in the watch tower, he began to think of the various ways that this could go wrong, only for advanced planning of course. With his weapon on single fire and a suppressor attached, he squeezed off the first round but, instead, it was a double tap, two rounds, both moving at 884 meters per second. They went through his chest and knocked him right out of the tower but before the others could react, more bullets were flying through the air. BG. Delaney adjusted his aim and moved onto the next target, a rebel manning an M31 HMG. The bullets met him before the body hit the ground from the watch tower. They engaged the rest of the rebels outside of the compound and then sprang up from their prone positions. Gold team was already on the move and they moved fast and hard towards the compound.

When they hit the outside fences and perimeter, they tore right through them in an instant and were inside of the depot immediately thereafter. Weapons shouldered, they moved into the outside grounds of the depot carefully now. They moved quietly now, weapons carefully against their shoulders, looking down the sights of their weapons. They made sure that they were in defensive positions and moved from position to position, using the barriers around the outside of the depot to make srue that they were safe from enemy fire. There were ten dead bodies outside, just as they had hoped and now it was time for the inside of the depot.

El Jobal was once the site of an iron mine but a serious collapse over seventeen years ago put the whole area out of commission and another mine was opened and dug eighteen miles away. Since then, a high-security, well-built and fortified bunker was constructed not two miles from the mine collapse. The bunker, surrounded by the iron, made for a very unique facility and a very expensive one, given the toughness of iron to drill. This gave extra security to the facility against aerial attack.

Buried some sixty feet underneath the ground, the facility had three structures each one in excess of 300,000 ft². They were large, one being entirely a storage area for nerve agents, primarily three, Sarin, VX, and LA. The storage facility held roughly 50,000 gallons of Sarin, 25,000 gallons of VX, and 1,000 gallons of LA. It was nowhere near full storage capacity. In addition, it held some 900 rockets, all MGM-212 Chemical & Biological Release Rockets, which allowed soldiers to use chemical or biological weapons in a battlefield. The rockets were small, only 6 feet long, 6.5 inches wide, and they weighed under 150 pounds. Each one carried 104 spheres, each holding an ounce of either a chemical or biological agent. With 104 ounces, that meant 3,075.65 milliliters or a mere 0.8125 gallons worth of the loaded chemical or biological agent. The second structure was a small area for control, communications, and everything else associated with running the facility, including the barracks. The third structure, connected directly to the storage facility was the loading dock and garage, which held four vehicles at all times: an M2A4 Bradley IFV, an M2025A1 Piranha AT vehicle, and a pair of M2010A1 Bushmaster IMVs. In the event of a seige on the facility, these four vehicles could provide a type of basic level of cover until helicopters and aircraft arrived from airbases nearby. The facility was only home to sixty soldiers at any time, who alternated on three-month shifts, each group doing two-shifts per year. They were on for three months and then off for three months, then on, then off, and so on and so fourth.

The storage facility had quite an armory as well, boasting firearms ranging from light assault rifles and submachine guns to heavy machine guns like the M31 and the M50. They had enough rounds and rations to sustain themselves for 96 hours of straight fighting, during which time the SOP called for helicopter and aerial relief, as well as a ground convoy, if necessary.

They knew that the rebels had access to all but the facility that stored the weapons. That was a good thing but they had access to the armory and the other areas, including the vehicle bay. They had anti-tank weapons but they had to save those for now, incase they had to engage enemy vehicles along the way to the bridge and they knew that they would have to, thus they were limited to their options. There was only one entrance into the facility. Once they were in, Gold team would go for the vehicle bay and Blue team would go for the armory. From there, once they were neutralized, the rest of the compound would be easily taken. They were looking at dozens of rebels versus just the eight of them but they were professionals and these were just countrymen without a clue, or were they...

April 10, 2007 - 13:25 [AST]
El Jobal, Venezuela

Ten minutes had gone by for their assault and they were already breeching the door of the compound. They carried the proper cards required to slide through the door locks. BG. Delaney and the XO, LTC. Wilkins had the keys and both of them led blue and gold teams, respectively. The card reader turned green right away, once they slid through and now it was the testing time. They opened the door but stood back, opting not to simply rush in but rather use one of their Flashbang grenades. With a three second fuse, they had no time to cook it off and, instead, pulled the pin and rolled it in, keeping their eyes and ears away from a direct line from the door. With a loud "BANG" and a bright flash, the grenade went off and they entered, carefully. There were only two rebels guarding the two, Pitiful, BG. Delaney thought as he shot one of them, the XO shooting the other.

They were in a concrete corridor and despite having suppressors, their gunshots echoed and, undoubtedly alerted everyone else. They would have preferred to make it tactically silent with a knife or piano wire but they didn't have time or maneuver room to accomplish that as the two rebels screamed and flailed about, trying to recover from the pain in their head from the bright light. "Good luck." BG. Delaney said as they passed by the vehicle bay. Gold team would secure it while he and his men went to the armory. LTC. Wilkins gave him a pound on the fist and his team waited by the door. The three structures were independent of each other and they were linked by this one corridor. The vehicle bay was first and the armory second. If someone could get that far, the storage structure was next. The vehicle bay structure, the first one, wasn't just the vehicle bay though. It contained a full mechanical shop and the power generator to the entire facility. The second structure contained the armory, barracks, and control center. The third was just for storage and the only way to get into it was by unlocking it from the control center. Cards wouldn't work and if the lock received a short it was done for, it would have to be cut off and that would take time, a long time.

Gold team, led by LTC. Wilkins, went into the first structure quietly and crouched low. There were three main doors that led into the different areas of the complex and that was going to compound things. LTC. Wilkins opted to hit the generator room first. He and his men crept over to that door and prepared another Flashbang. With a slide of the card and an audible beep, the lock light went from red to green and the door slid open, the Flashbang going in a split second later. It went off before the door was fully open and they moved in, crouched. Two men hit the room while the other two, MAJ. Steel and MAJ. Milton, the sniper and spotter, respectively, guarded the corridor. LTC. Wilkins and MAJ. Wilson, the demolitions man moved into the large and nosiy room crouched. With their weapons shouldered, they shot three rebels that were close to the door, all of them armed with M30A3 Assault Rifles, lightweight and short barrelled, more like carbines. They were once the mainstay of the ILM along with the M30A4 but had since been retired and placed into storage. They fired the powerful 5.56 x 45mm round at high speeds, upwards of 921 meters per second but it didn't have the stopping or penetration power that the newer 6.8 x 48mm round had, which moved only at speeds of 884 meters per second but had double the amount of energy.

The generator room was full of distractions and places to hide, not the place to want to go in without something deadly. MAJ. Wilson packed an M76 Tactical Shotgun, loaded with 12 gauge slugs, enough to put anyone on the ground in a single shot. He had already taken out one rebel and was moving onto another one when LTC. Wilkins shot him too. The shotgun, by nature, was a slow weapon but it made up for it in terms of power. He could destroy locks with his weapon and he could blow holes in rebels' chests, body armor or not, especially this close. The generator room was also large and packed with rebels. The Flashbang had stunned a good portion of them but not all of them and, as they rounded a corner into another machinery room, more bullets came flying at them. They both avoided them, ducking behind machines that were now acting as shields. "Frag!" LTC. Wilkins shouted as he tossed an M57 Fragmentation grenade over the machine. The grenade went off three seconds later, him having cooked off two seconds of its fuse. It shattered the machines they were using for cover and peppered them with fragments but they were fine and the machines, though not working, weren't crucial to the power of the building. Instead, they cut off the water supply to the facility. The dust cleared and the two soldiers stood up, slowly, only to find that nobody was standing anymore. Six rebels had been taken out by the one grenade and another was still alive, though barely. They shot him and exited the generator room. In the corridor, the sniper and spotter had killed three rebels who had gotten curious and come out to see.

The next was the mechanical shop, a place rife with tools and throwing objects. Once again, they slid open the door and threw in a Flashbang grenade, then they pounced. The generator room had been filled with ten rebels and this one only had seven, all of whom were getting curious to find out what was going on around them as the gunshots echoed. They didn't last too long and LTC. Wilkins dropped two of them right off the bat, MAJ. Wilson getting another one. They took out the rest just as quickly and secured the mechanical room easily. Here was where they now had the advantage. "Alright. You two go into the door there as a distraction. We're going in from here." LTC. Wilkins ordered the sniper and spotter. They would be the distraction and though they wouldn't enter, they would draw attention away from the other door, which was next to a pair of garage doors. The vehicle bay was wide open and all four vehicles were present inside. The guns on the Bushmasters were manned. One was an M31A1 HMG and the other an M50A1 HMG. A single bullet from either would kill the men and the sniper and spotter, as they opened the door and threw in a Flashbang grenade, had to duck for immediate cover as the machine guns opened up and their bullets tore into the concrete wall, disintegrating it.

"GET BACK!" The sniper yelled and they moved back, away from the possibility of ricocheting bullets as they now came through the open door and against the wall. The door would shut after twenty seconds but that was a long time for them to stand there, exposed.

"Guns first." LTC. Wilkins said as he opened the door himself. He wasn't able to put immediate shots against the guns as there were two rebels with their weapons to the door. They both went down, one with a burst from LTC. Wilkins and the other with a shotgun shot from MAJ. Wilson. As the gunners came around to suppress fire, LTC. Wilkins tagged on in the head with a two-round burst from his assault rifle. Now, with the machine gun firing against his position, the sniper opened the door again and popped that gunner. The distraction proved effective and the four men regrouped at the doors and slowly and carefully moved in, shooting rebels left and right. The bulk of them were in the vehicle bay and two were killed as they ran for the Bradley, trying to get its powerful gun up and running, which would have been disasterous to the four men of gold team.

The first structure was secured with ten rebels dead in the generator room, three in the corridor, seven in the mechanical shop, and thirteen in the vehicle bay. That was a body count so far of forty-five, when combined with the two in the entrance and the ten outside. Forty-five dead in just eighteen minutes was a good ratio for the men, who were all unharmed. LTC. Wilkins and his men probed around the vehicle bay, the mechanical room, and the generator room, just to make sure that they didn't miss anyone hiding but they didn't. All of the vents were secure and all possible hiding spots were overturned. Blood and bodies covered the floor and the stench of death had already wafted into the humid and warm air.

BG. Delaney and blue team, at the same time, were moving on the second structure. The gunshots of the battle in the first structure echoed through the long, concrete and humid corridors. The air was warm, very warm, meaning that the speed of sound was much faster. BG. Delaney led his men in the main corridor, only to find six rebels that had begun their journey towards the first structure. They were instantly defeated by BG. Delaney's carbine and the M42A4 SAW of the second demolitions man, MAJ. Jackson. MAJ. Rigalo and MAJ. Howard both had Carbines as well. Once the six rebels were down, BG. Delaney and the men moved up to the armory, which was the first stop, where all of the firepower was. Unfortunately, for them, because of the possibility of igniting something, they couldn't use the Flashbang grenades. They would have to do this one smartly. Their body armor was rated all the way through Level V, which could stop anything short of the .338 Lapua round and higher. The 6.8 x 48mm rounds were rated as level V and all 7.62 millimeter rounds as well. It was called "DRAGON SKIN" and they used the SOV-3000, which was the higher line. The SOV-2000 was rated up through level IV but it had taken seventeen rounds before it failed. It could even withstand a fragmentation grenade. In testing, one was placed underneath a dummy wearing the vest, a vest that had already been peppered with rounds from the MP5, M4 Carbine, and AK-47. The vest was torn apart and unusable but none of the fragmentations penetrated. The vest they used was stronger, though it still wouldn't survive a grenade, nothing would. However, the person would.

BG. Delaney opened the door and a hail of bullets came his way before he could release any himself. "Shit." He reached around and fired a few rounds but none hit anybody. There was only one way into and one way out of the armory and that made things even more difficult. "Give me a smoke. White smoke." He took the smoke grenade from one of the men and pulled the pin but held the safety. "Alright open it up and I'll toss it in." He ordered MAJ. Jackson.

"Got it." With a swipe of the card, the door opened and BG. Delaney tossed in the smoke grenade, which, five seconds later, began to emit a thick cloud of white smoke. It would hide him from the rebels but, at the same time, hide them from him. It was all he needed though. As the smoke filled the room, he reached around and opened up with his weapon, towards the muzzle flashes that lit up the smoke around them. It was an effective way of targetting people and he dropped six of them before the door shut again. The grenade still poured out smoke and he ducked into the room. The other men kept the corridor clear and engaged in minor firefights as well. They were exposed, unfortunately but they had laid down on the ground and shot anyone that they saw. As BG. Delaney was rolling inside of the armory, MAJ. Rigalo shot a rebel coming out of the barracks room.

Inside of the armoy, he could hear them talking, whispering to themselves. They didn't know he was in there and he put his rifle on his back and drew both his pistol and his knife. He would use the knife first, not the pistol, making it quick, silent and quiet. Keeping low, he ducked through the smoke and came up behind a rebel. He grabbed him quickly from behind and slid the razor sharp blade of his SOG Knife S37 across his throat. The rebel fell to the ground, voiceless, bleeding from the gaping hole in his throat. He still heard voices and whispers and they were waiting for the door to open again. They had a general idea where it was and they were going to open up into it. From the whispers and voices he knew that there were two more rebels in the room but he couldn't exactly find where they were only that they were close to each other, really close. He couldn't tell if there were others, perhaps they were silent so he would have to go about this with the thinking that there were more rebels in the armory. He moved slowly and came close to one of the rebels and did the same, using his knife to cut his throat. The other rebel turned around and with two shots from his pistol, BG. Delaney put him on the ground. The suppressor hid the muzzle flashes but the sounds echoed in the small room. He waited, on the ground, low and quiet, pistol raised, for someone to open fire. Nobody did and as the smoke clear, he could see that they were all dead.

In the corridor, the men had shot three more rebels and now, with the armory clear, they moved into it for safety. BG. Delaney looked at them and thought of a quick way to storm the next two rooms, the barracks and the control room, which were in that order. "Alright. Rigalo. You cover this door and Howard, you cover the corridor door. Lean out. Me and Jackson and going for the barracks. It'll be packed in there probably so we're going to have to make sure that we do it quick and fast. Use the SAW and I'll get a grenade in there. I'll use a frag. Cover us from the control room part and make sure that your corners are cleared too."

"Yes sir." With more gunshots they moved into the corridor and took their positions. Gold team was working on the mechanical room while they moved onto the barracks, which was stuffed with rebel soldiers, another twenty-six to be precise. They were waiting for the men to come in, setting up ambushes and using overturned tables and chairs for cover. One couch had six rebels hiding behind it and the door was wedged permanently open. When they got near the door, the two of them pulled fragmentation grenades from their belts and pulled the pins. They waited until three and then tossed them, in opposite directions. BG. Delaney's went against the back wall of the common room and went off in midair, doing extreme damage. MAJ. Jackson's hit the ground and rolled, just behind a table. The two explosions overturned more tables and the couch, killing some eight of the twenty-six right off the bat. With eighteen more, BG. Delaney and MAJ. Howard moved in, taking cover behind two tables that had been thrown around by the grenade blasts. Rebels opened fire and MAJ. Jackson did too, the small machine gun in his hands doing the most damage. He tore through four rebels who had exposed themselves. From there on, the rebels were scattered. BG. Delaney took out two in the galley and MAJ. Jackson took another two out who were hiding in the corridor to the sleeping quarters. The remaining ten were scattered around, one in a closet and the bulk of them in the sleeping quarters.

In the main corridor for the second structure, the two men had dropped two rebels coming out of the control room and as BG. Delaney and MAJ. Howard approached the door, BG. Delaney screamed out, "Falcon!" That was the safe word and they came out and backed up, towards the other men. "Alright. Barracks is clear. Twenty-six of the fuckers! How's the control room?"

"Two more just came out." MAJ. Howard said. All of them were facing the end of the corridor. "Probably more too."

"Alright. Cover us. We're moving up." MAJ. Howard moved up from the main corridor door, which was an exposed position, to the barracks. MAJ. Rigalo stayed by the armory, which was behind the main corridor door. If anyone came in and headed towards the control room without turning around they would get shot by him. They wouldn't have to worry, gold team was working on the vehicle bay now. BG. Delaney moved up towards the control room, stepping over the bodies that had been lying on the ground. "Alright." He said as he got to the door. "Flashbang." The door was opened by MAJ. Jackson threw in a Flashbang. It went off and they went in next. The control room was large, large enough for dozens of people but there were only three inside and all of them were the leaders of this rebel contingent. "DON'T SHOOT!" He yelled, realizing what they stumbled upon. "ARREST." They knocked the three of them to the ground and quickly managed to get plastic zip-ties around their hands and feet. "SAFE!" BG. Delaney yelled out of the door and the men moved up. They took the last part without a shot fired and the entire battle would see eighty-six dead rebels and three captures. BG. Delaney, just after he declared that it was safe had MAJ. Rigalo and MAJ. Jackson move back to the gold team, to make contact. They would report back that all was clear and, upon inspecting the cameras around the facility, BG. Delaney found that everyone was dead. "Excellent work men." Three men of gold team stayed in the first structure and three of blue team stayed in the second. MAJ. Howard and MAJ. Wilson moved away, to secure the compound as a whole. It was then that BG. Delaney made the call for the paratroopers. It was 13:48.

April 10, 2007 - 13:50 [AST]
Eastern Colombia

The airfield was 118 miles from El Jobal. The paratroopers were already waiting inside of the cargo holds of three C-130J Super Hercules transports. A total of one hundred and ninety-two of them comprised a total of six platoons. Four platoons were part of one company and three were assault with one being a recon platoon. Those four platoons would move into positions around the perimeter of El Jobal and secure various positions such as road junctions, the army base, which had been routed by Cottish special forces, and several other key points. The remaining two platoons were there as strictly backup, in case one of the aircraft went down. They were both assault platoons and if none of the aircraft went down, they would be heading back to the base, to be part of a different mission, perhaps securing the bridge after BG. Delaney and his men swept through it. The three aircraft, lined up on the runway and the taxiway leading up to it were granted clearance. They were part of Serpent 2 flight, numbered Serpent 2-1, 2-2, and 2-3. Serpent 1 flight consisted of four F-26A Typhoons, loaded with air to air and air to ground ordinance. They would be flying in support of the C-130s and carried four AIM-221A LRAAAM and two AIM-204A Dogfight missiles each, for air combat. For air to ground sorties, they each carried six AGM-177A Brimstone missiles, four 1,000 pound JDAM IIs, and two AGM-222A Longhorn missiles, which were, essentially, improved Mavericks. On their centerline hardpoints they carried a 270 gallon fuel tank. There were more aircraft to the flight though. Serpent 3-1 was an EA-5F Vigilante, carrying four AIM-204A Escape missiles for defense, two AGM-88F AARGM missiles for use against emitting radars, and six AGM-177A Brimstone missiles for tanks or anti-aircraft vehicles. The C-130s were the last to get into the air as the F-26s took off in formation flight, four in a single leap. The Vigilante went first and all eight aircraft stacked up in their positions. They would fly towards the target at 360 mph. The EA-5 was out in front, flying higher, at 18,000 feet with the C-130s at 12,000 feet. The Typhoons were flying at an altitude of 15,000 feet.

Colombian airspace was full of helicopters, transport planes, tankers, and fighters, all fying to and from Venezuela on constant attack runs. On the ground, at the border town of Puerto Carreño, the army was finishing up their assault. The town was secure and only two vehicles had been destroyed, both being Bushmasters, destroyed by an M1A4 Abrams, which was subsequently taken out by an A-15A Viper with a Longhorn missile. The Sabertooths had taken a beating but lumbered on, though one was out of commission for now. It had been damaged by RPG fire with one rocket piercing its rear armor and damaging the engine. It would eventually make it back to combat service but not for months. Bradleys and Arrows had taken damage as well but, overall, 92% of the force that took the city would be moving onto El Jobal. The road to it was going to be a tough battle with hundreds of ambush sites, each one having to be neutralized before the main force could move up, which was why the Sabertooths were out in front. There was an M2032A1H heavy tank at the front, with the toughest armor and behind it A1B variants, with mortars that could be trained on enemy ambush positions from much further away. The coordination was phenomenal and attack helicopters were doing most of the work. They used their rockets, anti-tank missiles, and guns to neutralize threats before the main assault force got there. Reconnaissance helicopters organized most of the battle and a high-flying EP-8B Excalibur, with its powerful cameras showed the men back in the command center what was happening on the southwestern front of Venezuela.

The C-130s made it into Venezuelan airspace with little problem. They dropped low to the ground for the air drop and slowed down as they should have while the Typhoons kept watch over the skies. The Vigilante had fired its AARGM missiles at a pair of SAM radars, which were painting the C-130s before they took their dive to the ground. Now with both sites neutralized, the powerful jamming of the EA-5F made it impossible to lock onto anything in its immediate vacinity. The Typhoons had not engaged anything but were eager and hungry for action. Their radars were full of contacts, friendly contacts. On the ground, at the depot, BG. Delaney and his men had fanned out to eight defensive positions that enabled them to keep a close guard on the entire depot and its grounds. They watched as a whole platoon of soldiers came down, towards the depot, thirty-two men in total. The other three platoons had gone elsewhere and were being dropped accordingly. The C-130s would fly out unharmed as would the remainder of the Serpent flight.

The platoon commander was a captain and he had enough men to hold the depot without much effort. The first on the ground, as he was the first out of the plane, he came over to BG. Delaney but didn't salute. That wasn't proper in the field. He was; however, completely shocked to see a general standing in front of him, even a one-star general. He didn't know who BG. Delaney was or what outfit he represented but all he knew was that he was special forces. He didn't know just how special that was. "Sir. The facility is secure?" He asked, timidly.

"Yes captain it is. You and your men are going to hold this position until army reinforcements arrive."

"When is that sir?"

"I am not sure. My men and I are proceeding south to secure the bridge. Once that is secure, the army will move up and advance. Your best bet is to split up your men. You have four squads here. Have two at the depot guarding it and have two more fanned out along the road. We've stocked up on ammunition and supplies from the armory already but make sure that you leave it there, in case you need it. We're taking one of the Bushmasters to get out of here and get to the bridge. Understood?"

"Yes sir. Good luck."

"Thanks captain. Let's GO!" He yelled. The Bushmaster was already out of the vehicle bay and BG. Delaney climbed into the front of it. MAJ. Rigalo manned the turret on the top and the men climbed into the back with LTC. Wilkins taking the passenger seat. The vehicle itself held ten people, one in driver seat, one in the turret, one in the passenger seat, and seven in the back. They only had eight people and they dispensed with the water canisters on the sides. It was lighter and could move quicker. "How you doing up there Rigalo?" BG. Delaney asked before they set out for the bridge.

"With a '31' you should ask the bad guys." He laughed and they were on their way. They were ahead of schedule, leaving the depot at 14:20 hours but who knew how difficult it was going to be to get to the bridge, let alone secure it.

The bridge was fast approaching them and their Bushmaster was tearing through the dirt, bumpy, and torn road. BG. Delaney, driving down the torn and destroyed road, looked at his watch. "It's going to be close." He said to the men inside of the cab, "Real close."

"That's what we do best sir." LTC. Wilkins said with a smile.

"Good. Because here we go!" He jammed up the brakes on the Bushmaster and it went skidding to a halt. The cloud of dust that was behind the truck now engulfed it completely. They got out, weapons in hand. BG. Delaney kept the keys in his pocket, just to make sure that the vehicle would not be able to be used against them. They had a few minutes to plan everything out and BG. Delaney put the map down on the hood of the truck. "Alright. Sniper team up here. Blue team on me we're going to hit up that side of the bridge. Gold team, you are taking this side. Howard, you are with gold on this one. Alright?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Let's go. Nobody fires until we're in position." They took off running. They were just three quarters of a mile from the bridge and the truck was parked off-road. The eight of them ran at full-speed, which would put them at the bridge in just three minutes. Loaded with gear and running as fast as they could, they tore through the terrain at sixteen miles per hour. Loaded with gear and weapons, they were moving as fast as they could. There were no rebel patrols in the jungles around the bridge but, at the bridge, there were sixty rebels and they had it lined with explosions, enough to take down the whole bridge.

"Sniper In."

"Gold in."

"Blue in. Alright men. Standard tactics. Sniper takes the first shot. Make sure it's the idiot with the detonator."

"On it sir." MAJ. Steel was lying prone on the ground, the massive M32A1 Heavy Sniper Rifle against his shoulder. The bipod supported its massive sixty-five pounds that the weapon weighed. With the bipod and scope it weighed slightly more. Four rounds were loaded and he had another thirty-six near him, all ready to be loaded and fired. With the muzzle brake on the edge of the rifle, the brilliant flash that would normally exist with the gunshot wouldn't be there but it would do nothing for the noise. With a gunshot as loud as 169 dB, the M32 would shatter their eardrums with the first round. They had hearing protection for this occurance but they still maintained the ability to communicate with the other teams. It was now that the responsibility rested on him. With the army just ten to twenty miles down the road, they had to act fast. They had no less than twenty minutes but no more than forty minutes to accomplish this.

He looked through the powerful scope, which had its own invisible laser-ranging device. This would automatically calibrate windage and distance, allowing the sniper to instantly adjust for a shot as far away as three kilometers or as close as three hundred meters. From their position to the bridge it was six hundred and sixty-four meters. There was a breeze moving at four miles per hour and the scope adjusted immediately. A mercury sensor within the scope registered each shot and the scope itself was more along the lines of a heads-up display than anything else.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/advancedscope.gif

He kept a close eye on the heading, the windage, and range. The green light was lit on the "laser," which meant that it was active. It had a fifteen second warm-up time, during which the yellow light would be lit. When off, it would be red. He was zoomed to eight times normal vision and he had four 15.5x115mm rounds in the weapon. Everything was programmed and the weapon was true to its readings. Now, he just had to find the detonator. He kept the bullseye of the scope on the various rebels that were walking around the bridge checkpoint, which was made up of concrete K-rails and a gate arm. "Nothing yet." He whispered into the microphone. "They're really dug-in though. Oh wait. Hold on..." He looked into the guard booth and saw the plunger detonator and two rebels inside of it. Both of them were holding assault rifles and were right near the detonator. "I've got them...See em?"

"Got them." MAJ. Milton looked through the binoculars and watched the area around them as well as got a ranging on them. "Six-seven-two."

"Yes. We're calibrated. Alright. Hold on..." He controlled his breathing and put the sights on the rear rebel. He centered it on his chest and unlocked the safety. The weapon was armed now and the round in the chamber, ready to come out at eleven hundred meters per second. Bracing the weapon against his shoulder, he squeezed the trigger. The earthquake that came out of the shot echoed throughout the area. The bullet tore right through the flimsy sheet metal that was the guard booth and right through both rebels, before it exited the other end, all in a fraction of a second. They weren't using tracer rounds and the sniper unlocked the bolt to reload the next round. They would collect the shells when they were done. His shoulder, already sore from the single shot, was about to take a further beating. He had padding on his shoulder and on the butt of the rifle but it wasn't entirely enough. There was no longer a pair of rebels in the guard tower but rather just a splatter of red from their blood. They had been reduced to bits and pieces of flesh, chunks here and there. "Detonator good."

"Alright. Let's go!" The two teams came out of their hiding spaces, with their rifles shouldered, and opened fire, pouncing hard. The rebels had come out from the woodworks when the first shots rang out. The sniper, though, kept firing. He put the sights on rebeks coming across the bridge and shot at them too. He reloaded after five kills, the first two being from the first bullet. With three directions of firing coming at them, the rebels were more than put on the defensive. Blue team was coming at them from the right side of the road and gold from the left side. They had their M83C SMAW rockets on their backs, ready to use them and they would need them.

Each shoot from the M32 shook the ground and echoed in the air like a volanco explosion. However, when the ground started rumbling between shots they knew that something else was coming at them, something larger. They had managed to kill at least twelve of them in the first pounce. They were still terribly outnumbered and two rebels were killed as they ran for the guard shack. "Take out the fucking shack!" BG. Delaney ordered as LTC. Wilkins dropped to the ground and pulled out his M83C SMAW-CS. He went through the firing proceedures and shot back up to a crouch, the SMAW-CS on his shoulder. He sighted the guard shack and fired off the rocket. It streaked through the air at three hundred and twenty-five meters per second. The shack was reduced to nothing as the plunger and its wires became disconnected from each other in the explosion. He dropped the disposable tube and picked up his rifle again. They kept going towards the bridge now. Three more sniper shots killed three more rebels as they tried to scurry across the bridge.

Then it appeared, the source of the rumbling. "TANK!" BG. Delaney yelled as the M2030A1 Medium Assault Tank came out from an enclosure that was leading away from the bridge. It had a powerful, 105 millimeter ETC cannon, which could annihilate any of them. BG. Delaney and the other two men of blue team all picked up their SMAW-CS rockets, which would not do much against the tank from the front but, they hoped to move in from the rear. It began to move towards the sniper position which was, thus far, secluded. The sniper saw this and he and his spotter immediately realized that they needed to move.

"GO!" He yelled as the tank began to sight them in and unleash some co-axial 7.62mm fire at them. The sniper grabbed the rifle and threw it as he and the spotter took a dive down the slope. The tank fired its gun a moment later, sending the 105mm shell hurtling towards their position at superb speeds. The round smashed into the ground where they had been sitting. "GO!" He yelled again as they took off running, away from the tank and the position that had been exposed to the tank. "Tank...engaging us...fine now..." The sniper yelled into the microphone.

BG. Delaney and his men were moving to a rear positon on the tank and they were getting close. Rebels were shooting at them left and right but they were doing their best. Their SMAW-CS launchers were ready, all they had to do was aim and fire. With BG. Delaney leading, his rifle to his shoulder, he cut through the rebels as they moved to the defensive position, which was behind a few rocks. They shouldered their launchers after killing eight rebels and took aim. "REAR ENGINE!" BG. Delaney yelled and they released the firing triggers. The three HEDP rockets tore through the air and hit the rear of the tank. The first two rounds did very little except to shatter the rear armor. The last round was the one that did it, piercing the last bits of armor and lodging itself into the engine block of the tank. It exploded immediately thereafter and sent a plume of flames and smoke into the air. The tank was now completely disabled and they dropped their disposable launchers. Lighter now, they took aim again and started shooting again. "Tank down!" Gold team shot up from the ground and started shooting back as well.

They advanced to the K-rails with twenty-four rebels remaining. Most of them were on the other side of the bridge and two of them were easily shot as they tried to cross it. Using the concrete K-rails for protection, the six of them took aim and fired at the rebel soldiers, who had dug themselves into the ground and behind similar defenses. BG. Delaney then switched to the grenade launcher on the front of the rifle and sighted in the K-rails at the end of the bridge. It was a long enough span that it wouldn't be an easy shot. He had a one hundred and fifty meter range against point targets and he could easily see that the targets were almost two hundred meters away. His training kicked in and so did his expertise. Sighted properly, he effectively squeezed off the trigger and sent the 40x46mm high-explosive grenade towards the target. It exploded on contact and killed eight of the rebels using it for cover. "Good shot!" LTC. Wilkins said as the six of them resumed firing at the targets.

The ground started shaking again but not from their side. It was coming from the other side of the bridge and they stopped firing as they saw the symbol of victory in the background. It was an M2032A1H Sabertooth main battle tank. The commander was in the turret, manning the powerful heavy machine gun on the top of it. They had won, the bridge was secured and the army had slaughtered the last fourteen rebels in a single swoop.

April 10, 2007 - 18:00 [AST]
El Jobal, Venezuela

El Jobal was about to become a blistering haven of activity. The Layartebian Army had moved up from Puerto Carreño and across the bridge that Force Falcon Team One had secured. The burning wreck of the tank still stood where it had been destroyed but aside from that the bridge was totally different. Paratroopers were guarding it, equipped with anti-tank rockets and heavy weapons. They had fortified the bridge and disconnected all of the explosives that had been rigged to it, which was about one ton worth of composition C4. The explosives would have shattered and torn the steel and concrete frame of the bridge to bits and pieces, causing it to collapse into the river, 400 feet below. Now, things were about to befall the enemy. The Cottish special forces that had stayed on had moved up north of El Jobal and cut off the road. Paratroopers that had moved in to secure both the army depot and the chemical weapons depot had minimalized their forces protecting both targets and had moved out as well. Some reinforced Cottish positions to the north while others moved into the city and began to do reconnaissance for the army, which had enough armor and supplies to turn the entire city into ruins. That wasn't the goal though, this wasn't a campaign to annihilate everyone. The Empire had to pay for everything it destroyed and the less destroyed, the better. Venezuela's infrastructure had been hit hard by the campaign. Bridges blown up by the enemy would have to be repaired. Roads destroyed by attack fighters would have to be repaired.

So as the sun set in the west, behind the army and behind their forces, the call was given. Sabertooth tanks revved up their engines and put the power forward. Their large, 125mm ETC guns pointed forward, a round in the chamber, ready to engage the enemy. Helicopter reconnaissance had detected several heat signatures, many of them hidden though and many large enough to be a tank. The rebels had dug in and they were not going to give up easily. They lined the streets with Claymore mines and tripwires, to confuse and distort the soldiers who would be moving with the tanks. Tanks had been fitted with Non-Explosive Reactive Armor, which wasn't as effective as Explosive Reactive Armor but you couldn't have those bricks going off with soldiers two feet away, it would be devestating. Armored fighting vehicles mounted the same bricks and the seige began at 18:00 hours with a precision artillery strike on two buildings, both of which had been spotted by the paratroopers. Tanks had been in both buildings and the 155mm shells that rained down on them leveled both of them and the tanks inside. The fight had begun.

Mines and booby-traps were instant worries for the soldiers on foot. Many of them had dismounted from their vehicles and were moving up the streets, behind tanks and fighting vehicles, using them for cover. Thermal sights on the vehicles went a long way to finding the enemy. They were hiding in windows, around corners, and in completely defensive positions. They'd fire a single shot and then run away. Trained and motivated, they were a force to be reckoned with but, unfortunately, the reckoning force was the army and it wanted its city back. The northward thrust was going to be a hell of a battle.

BG. Delaney and his team had moved up with the armor and had taken up a position on the top of a structure that had been cleared by them. It was empty but it would serve as a perfect vantage point. Concealed in the ever-gaining darkness, the eight of them were lying prone on the roof and crouching in the windows of the top floor. They had set their own booby-traps, with Claymores, so that if anyone decided to come in for them, they would have to go through a wall of flying ball bearings first. Then they would know that they had been found and were in trouble. BG. Delaney had swapped his carbine for the DMR and was currently looking through its scope, down the throat of the city. He was using it to spot enemy positions that he could and could not take out. If he could take them out it was a simple squeeze of the trigger. If he couldn't the armor would and they were pleased to do it. HEAT shells, armor-piercing rounds, and anti-tank rockets swarmed through the city. Bullets were like rain drops, falling everywhere. Grenade blasts echoed in the streets but not as loudly as did the noise from the Sabertooth guns, which turned whole buildings into crumbling dust. From their position, Team One could see everything.

April 10, 2007 - 21:00 [AST]
El Jobal, Venezuela

Night fell over El Jobal and so did a large portion of the city. In just three hours, Sabertooths and other armored vehicles had secured some 40% of the city. Rebels had pushed themselves back to various other positions around the city and it was turning even more bloody than it had been anticipated. Rebels were excellent marksmen but their bullets did little against the body armor of the soldiers except after repeated hits. Each muzzle flash was sighted and engaged whether by shoulder-fired rockets, tank guns, machine guns, chain guns, whatever was available. The city was largely evacuated of civilians who had tried to flee further west, into Colombia but many of whom were stopped at the border. Temporary camps were being set up to filter them, just to make sure that rebels weren't escaping. So far eleven had been arrested, which was a good sign and a bad sign. It meant that they were trying to escape, which was bad but good that most of them were contained within Venezuela. It was still further bad that they were all fighting, hundreds of thousands of them, an army that had sprung up underneath the watchfull eyes of the Empire. It was a significant intelligence failure, much like the nuclear explosion of Saint George's but that was a small bomb. This was an army.

Losses, for the Layartebian Army were small. Only six fighting vehicles, all Bradleys, had been taken out of commission, two by mines, one by friendly fire. The other three took multiple RPG hits. Ten Dingos and six Bushmasters were damaged but would be repaired and one Sabertooth was damaged. It had thrown a track after taking two hits from an M136 AT4, which had streamed right into the front, in an effort to destroy the LOSAT launchers. The effort failed and a single 60mm mortar shot turned the two gunners into nothing. The round impacted with percision and craft, landing right inside of the upper floor window of the building. The flash and spray of blood was more than enough to neutralize the two gunners.

The Sabertooth, disabled, would make a stand for itself but it would be able to survive for some time alone. Repairs crews were already dispatched and protection had been sent as well. Attack helicopters would be doing most of the protection but they were slaughtering enemy positions. El Jobal wouldn't be in enemy hands by the time the sun rose.

OOC: Any thoughts so far?

Chapter V: Nightfall

April 10, 2007 - 03:00 [AST]
Caracas International Airport, Venezuela

"Alright. Thank you. I understand sir. Yes. We will, immediately." LTC. Huffington put down the phone and looked at the four men that had been doing his bidding and attacking the enemy. "Gentlemen, I just got off the phone with the General of the Army. He wants me to inform you gentlemen that we have a situation."

"What kind of situation sir?"

"Master Sergeant one you will not like. The rebels have seized control of a surface-to-air missile site, a Crow site to be precise. We've already engaged it with missiles but the rebels that seized the site are VIPs. They will have the site up and running again in just forty-five minutes, making it more than unsafe for us to be in the air over Caracas. I need you to neutralize the site and do it immediately."

"Understood. How well defended?"

"Well the satellite photographs that we don't have would definitely tell us this stuff immediately. However, we know that the rebels have been attacking in well coordinated groups. These men have been attacking in groups of twenty-four and up so it's entirely possible that you will be entirely outnumbered. That is why I am going to give you some assistance. I will have a small special operations force assisting you gentlemen. You may outrank them but they are in charge, in this situation. Is that clear?"

"It is sir."

"Good. You'll meet up with them on the tarmac. We don't have any real intelligence on the site but you know how well defended those usually are."

"We do."

"Good luck." The men stood up and saluted. They exited the compound and began to walk off, towards the tarmac, where Ace was talking with six men from a special operations team.

"Who do you think they are?" David asked.

"I don't know. Maybe 'Recon'?" SSG. Louis said. "Maybe 'Delta'?"

"Yeah. Maybe." They approached the helicopter and saw the six men from the special operations team all turn around and look at them with some level of curiosity.

"Good morning gentlemen. Master Sergeant David James. This is Staff Sergeant James Huffington, Staff Sergeant Domminick Faccetti, and Staff Sergeant Alec Louis. We're with the paratroopers."

"Already heard about you gentlemen Master Sergeant. I am Bruce, this is Andrew, Mike, Russ, Harry, and Victor. We're with 1st Special Operations Group."

"Delta..." SSG. Faccetti whispered with a smile.

"Good to meet you gentlemen. So how is it being done?"

"Well." They moved over to the cabin of the Black Hawk and climbed in and stood around the open doors. Ace and his co-pilot, as well as the two gunners paid close attention too. "The site is located here. It's on pretty level ground so there isn't much that we have with an advantage. We're going to have to go in real quiet, real fast, and real powerful. You have suppressors for those weapons?"

"We do."

"Good. We're going in suppressed. We'll drop in here, on the other side of these buildings. Once we come around, we'll move through the site from the north here. Once we sweep through and neutralize it, we're going to take out the radars with C4. We'll have to sacrifice them to keep them from getting anything online. Once the radars are done it's the command vehicle. Then we'll extract."

"Alright. Got it."

"Good. Stay behind us and we'll lead you through. Come on. Let's get out of here." The helicopter began to whine up as the rotors began to turn. The ten of them climbed into the cabin behind the two gunners. Both Ace and the co-pilot climbed into the front cabin first and were in the start-up process. The Black Hawk was going to be flying this one solo and they would be fast roping into the battlefield as they had done several times already. Within minutes, the Black Hawk was in the air and moving.

April 10, 2007 - 03:20 [AST]
Caracas, Venezuela

Ace hooked his Black Hawk to the right as a Stinger missile streaked off the ground. The rebels had dug themselves into a spot just a hundred meters from the landing zone and they were putting up high caliber anti-aircraft fire and shoulder launched missiles in high volumes. For Ace and his Black Hawk crew, that wasn't a good thing. The Miniguns could only keep them pinned for just long enough to get into hover position and allow the ten men to fast rope to the ground but other than that, they were vulnerable to other fire. All ten men were beyond professional by this point in time and they were on the ground as quickly as possible. When the ropes were dropped free, the Black Hawk took to the air and sped away, releasing bright, red fireballs of flares, trying to cover itself. It worked but the helicopter did sustain damage from one of the anti-aircraft guns, damage that could be easily repaired though.

On the ground, the Delta team took the lead, with the paratroopers taking up the rear. They moved through the plaza area, which was ridden with dead bodies and hunks of metal, which used to be vehicles. The buildings towered over them and the rebels moved through them freely, which made their job that much mroe difficult, since they didn't have any high ground. The air defense site was on the other side of the building row but they had to cross through it to get there, which was no picnic. Weapons shouldered, using only hand signals, the ten men entered the first building and opened fire immediately. Rebels were everywhere, seemingly awaiting their assault. It was a scenario where they had no advantage except their own training, which didn't give them much against this rebel force, which was a specialized group, more highly trained than the rest of the rebels. They were equipped better and had a totally different morale level and motivation to them. They were fierce fighters, not unlike the paratroopers and Delta men moving against them, who were winning though.

The first building was a piece of cake to clear for the Delta operators and their paratrooper friends. The second building, on the other hand, was a nightmare. Rebel snipers had turned the courtyard between both buildings into a shooting gallery and they were hard to spot, the angles were almost too steep. Flashbangs were what ultimately would get them across but not without some shooting of their own. The first Delta operator skirted across with little resistance but as the second went, the gunfire began. He got across rather safely too and they both began to fire upwards as the third Delta operator rushed across but he wasn't so lucky. Two rounds pierced right through his right leg and put him on the ground right away though, lucky for him, he skidded underneath an overturned car wreck. David, realizing the situation, dashed out, under the cover of a Flashbang, which nearly deafened and blinded him, he rushed that soon.

It was a gutsy move that paid off. The Deltas protected him and the rest of them as they moved across the courtyard. He threw his rifle on his back and picked up the Delta operator, who wanted to walk rather than be carried but David would have none of it. He picked him up with brute strength and lunged for the safe area, diving through a window with the operator, who was bleeding badly. Luckily though, all Delta operators were trained medics. "I've got him! He's bleeding!" David yelled as he tore through the window. The team leader was there to greet him and his men covered him as he and David cleared off a table with one swoop. "Come on cover us!" David shouted as a few bullets pinged into the window from a pair of rebels who were brave enough to advance into the courtyard. They died shortly thereafter.

"Alright. Hold on!" The operator ripped open his pants leg and saw that both rounds went through his upper leg. "I don't think it got the artery but this is going to hurt." He pushed down hard on the wound. The wounded operator yelled out for pain and grabbed onto David's arm, so tight that he almost burst blood vessels. The pain must have been intense. "Alright they went in and out. We've got to stop the bleeding and we have to do it now." Applying pressure was the easy part but the blood kept coming. He needed immediately medical attention and he needed it now. "Fuck...Alright..." Realizing that the situation was worsening, the operator picked up his radio. "We need an immediate medevac." The radio chatter went to silence as the operator kept the pressure on, "We've got to go back through the courtyard you know."

"Wouldn't want to do that but if we have to. We will."

"Cover us!" They picked up the wounded operator and, under massive covering fire, they opened up and moved through the courtyard, again, the opposite way. Gunfire came down in a hail of bullets and David took another bullet to his arm but it was a superficial wound, something that could just be patched up, he was lucky. A Black Hawk met them only a minute later and the operator was safely onboard with another of the Delta team, reducing numbers to eight total. "Stay down." The operator said as he looked around at the building. "I've got an idea. You think we have any helicopters in the area?"

"Probably," David looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"Because we need a diversion." He smiled, realizing that David was definitely not on board with his idea, not that he knew what it was. He'd bring in a Black Hawk to just hover over the two buildings, which would draw fire away and provide some covering fire. As the Black Hawk did, taking small arms fire against its armored underbelly, the Deltas and paratroopers returned to the courtyard and lobbed several grenades into open windows, ducking into the second building for cover. Three explosions later, the gunfire was reduced to less than a third. The Black Hawk exited the area and continued its own mission as the eight men moved to the edge of the second building. They all had a new respect for David and the paratroopers but, to the Delta operator, they still weren't special forces, yet...

Bullets bounced all around them as the eight of them stood, huddled against the wall of the second building. "You know," the Delta leader said with a smile. "If we live through this, we'll have one hell of a bedtime story." Two bullets snapped past them as David laughed.

"I agree. What's the base of fire look like?"

"Four on the left, six to the right, I don't know how many above us. Two dead center." He squeezed off a few rounds. "One dead center. They don't have grenades or they would have used them."

"We do."

"Save them for now. We've got to go through this bullets only."

"Figures." David fired off some rounds to keep one of the men on the right down. "They're really not budging."

"No. No they aren't. We've got to flank them." The Delta leader looked at two of his men to his right. "Flank right." He turned his head and looked at one of the paratroopers and the other Delta operator. "Flank left." With four men now moving away from them, out of the opposite sides of the building, trying to move around and get a flanking of fire, the four men remaining, David, two of his paratroopers, and the Delta leader opened up fire of their own, to keep the rebels at bay while the four men moved into position. Bullets snapped and cracked past them as the rebels outside kept their heads down. "Give me a white smoke."

"Alright. Here."

"This'll cover us. When it goes off, I want all of you, move to the right and take some cover. It'll give us some time."

"Alright." He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade into the middle of the courtyard between the second and third buildings and as the white smoke filled the air, the four of them moved off to the right, to get away from the death trap that they had gotten stuck in just minutes earlier. As the smoke filled the courtyard, the two flanking teams came around and began to move against the rebels. They shot the ten of them in the back quickly and easily and the smoke covered them from the snipers above them.

"Clear." Their radioes echoed and the two squads met up with each other inside of the third building, avoiding the gunshots from the snipers above them. The smoke was a perfect screen and it lingered in the courtyard, long after they had passed through and moved onward. The air defense site was on the other side of the third building but it was crawling with rebel soldiers. They entered it and surprised a few of them, managing to take them down but, at the same time, giving up that element of surprise. Rebels in adjacent rooms didn't waste any time to come out and see what was going on but, too bad for them, they were put down quickly and easily. Rebels were everywhere around the site and these weren't volunteers either. These were trained mercenaries, it seemed, and they fought with tactical precision. They moved from cover to cover, picking their shots, rather than just spraying gunfire at the eight men.

The eight men moved to the southern exit of the building, where they would pop out into a small alleyway, just big enough for a single car, which, they found, was blocking the exit. It was masterfully done, the car a smoldering wreck that was definitely immovable except by a forklift or a tow truck. "Sneaky bastards," David commented to himself as he saw the car. They would have to climb over it, which would, in essence, reveal their position over the short wall that was lining one side of the alleyway. "Real sneaky." They took up their positions in the alleyway for now and looked around at the buildings around them. "We could get up there." David pointed to the roof of a building on the other side of the alleyway, which had more height than the wall. "This way we could pass through the alley and the man could cover."

"Good plan. Good plan." SSG. Louis and SSG. Faccetti were given the honor of the job and both of them moved back through the building and out of a window that overlooked the main street. It was quiet there, the opposite of what it was on the other side of the alleyway, where the rebels were just waiting for the Layartebian soldiers to come around the corner on them. Both paratroopers were masters of stealth and speed though. They moved quickly across the street and into the building, which had been badly burned in a fire, possibly from being struck by a bomb, they couldn't tell. The building was still smoking but it would be fine, it was a brick structure. They inched up the charred, concrete staircase and to the second floor, where they found that the ladder to the roof was metal but far too hot, still, to touch. It steamed on them, still.

"Boost me up." Faccetti said and, standing on Louis' shoulders he could see onto the roof. It was empty. "Alright. Come on," he leaned over the hole and lifted Louis up to a point where he could grab onto the roof and both of them climbed up, onto the roof and crawled towards the edge, their rifles in their hands. "Alright. We're set."

"I've got a full air defense site down there and at least two dozen rebel bastards all around it. Six of them are definitely waiting for you to come around the edge. If you grenade them we'll lose the element of surprise but we'll lose it if we shoot. Advise." SSG. Louis whispered into the microphone as he looked through the scope of his rifle.

"Shit." David remarked down in the alleyway. They were in a quandary now but they had to take some advantage of it. "Alright. Frag them?"

"Yes." The Delta leader said and both of them took a pair of M57 Fragmentation grenades in their hands, pulled the pins, counted to two, and launched them over the alleyway wall. SSG. Louis and SSG. Faccetti watched as both grenades bounced off the roof of a Dingo and landed on either side of it. The resulting explosions killed all six of the men and wounded two others, while destroying the Dingo as well. The element of surprise was over and both Louis and Faccetti opened fire.

"Hurry up." Louis said as he changed out his magazine. The two of them, on the rooftop, were fantastic shots and they killed eight of the rebels before the first man got over the wall but that was where their score ended. The rebels, realizing that they were being sniped, were definitely hiding now, either under vehicles or behind them. It would make fighting that much more difficult.

"Get off a pair of frags there and there." The Delta operator said to David as he and SSG. Huffington took a pair of M57 Fragmentation grenades and tossed them over the vehicles. Both landed on the ground before they went off and both of them were far apart, far enough that their fragments shot through four rebels lying underneath more vehicles, killing them and seriously wounding another who was further away. "Come on..." They moved forward, slow, crouched low, weapons shouldered, and put each and every round where they needed to put them. They kept their weapons on semi-automatic fire but their trigger fingers were so fast that they could pull out double-taps fast enough that both bullets hit only tenths of a second apart from each other. Bullets whizzed through the air like fire flies but the paratroopers and Delta operators kept completely safe. Bullets grazed past them but none so much as touched them or their gear. SSG. Faccetti and SSG. Louis, on the rooftop, had the best angles and they were the most effective. As the paratroopers and Delta operators advanced into the air defense site the two snipers made sure that they were covered at all times. They put bullets into rebels who had popped up from behind shadows and in windows and each and every one of them had been taken out accordingly.

They pushed hard into the air defense site, ignoring most of the vehicles as they approached the command trailer, which was the ultimate target. A satchel charge in the command trailer would turn it into little more than metal splinters. It would take the whole site offline and other explosives placed on the missile launchers would turn the whole site useless but they had to first sweept through the various amounts of rebels that had populated the site. They moved through it like a forest fire of their own and slaughtered all of the rebels that they saw and despite the fact that these were elite rebels, they were no match for the even better trained paratroopers and Delta operators. Within minutes it was over and the site was neutralized. They had wounded a few of the rebels to take back for interrogation and as SSG. Huffington and David led them off, the Delta leader dropped the satchel charge into the command trailer and set the radio detonator. Blocks of C4 weighing just one and a quarter pounds each, were placed on the various trailers holding missiles and all of the men began to withdraw backwards, back through the alleyway. Both SSG. Louis and SSG. Faccetti moved back as well and all of them got into the building before they set off the charges, which rocked the ground like an earthquake. They tore through the missiles and the command trailer, destroying each and every one of the missile trailers and the command trailer. Fragments of molten metal and jagged pieces of metal tore through the radar dishes and destroyed them through secondary effects. With the site neutralized, the men moved back to the pick-up point and were on the ground in at Caracas International Airfield just fifteen minutes later.

April 10, 2007 - 04:30 [AST]
Caracas, Venezuela

Dawn was approaching fast and David's team had, thus far, made some amazing missions and advances against the rebel forces that had laid seige to Caracas. Mechanized units were beginning to enter Venezuela from the east and the northwest. Soon, they would be moving in from the south as well, all pushing the rebels into the center of the country, where they would be exterminated. Air dropped supplies at the airport in Caracas would allow them to stay alive for the time being. Rebel forces had moved to encircle the airport and though they had failed on numerous occassions, they were moving in artillery now, seized M2014A1 Hail Storm self-propelled howitzers, armed with deadly 155mm guns that could put several rounds in the air before the first one ever hit, making it a deadly system that could effectively level the airport in just minutes. The solution, thus, was simple, just destroy the artillery units and the problem could be solved. However, in true fashion, the rebels had camouflaged their artillery units and spotting them from the air wasn't going to be possible without getting shot down. David and his men would have to go in and find them, designating them for strikes. "Alright. We've got four artillery units that we know about within this one particular site. It's a big site though so they could be anywhere and they're all under camouflage so spotting them is going to require a lot more than just a fancy pair of binoculars. Now. When you find them, call in a strike from aircraft overhead. We have a flight of F-31s on call carrying 250 pound JDAM II bombs so make sure when you send the coordinates they are correct. We don't need a bomb landing on your head. Now. From what I'm told you will have three aircraft carrying a total of four bombs each so it's a light load but that's twelve targets so make sure you vector them accordingly. Alright soldiers. Good luck!" As usual, the men departed the briefing area and into an awaiting helicopter, a Black Hawk, flown by Ace who definitely looked like he needed a rest.

"Need a rest Ace?" David asked as he climbed in and put his headset on, allowing him to communicate over the engine noise. "You look beat."

"You know you might have a different taxi on the way home but we'll try. We're off." The Black Hawk lifted off and banked low and off to the north, heading out, away from the city. They would fly in a looped pattern and come down from the north, behind the artillery site, which was situated to the east of the airport, about eight kilometers away. Rebels had reinforced the site with at least two mortar units and four Stinger shoulder-fired launchers and missiles. They had also packed in a total of 72 of themselves into the sector, which was only 1 km² but that meant 10,758,400 ft². In the center was an ancient and old castle that had stood for centuries. It was now being used to hide an artillery gun, which was the primary target, all four of them.

The Black Hawk ride was quieter than usual. Over the horizon, the red glow of the burning city echoed into the night like a scream of terror. To their south was nothing but villages, towns, and other assorted entities. Many of them were packed with rebels, thousands of them, and used as a staging point for the rebels to go before they fought in Caracas, which still had yet to fall, despite the best efforts of the rebels. Soon, Layartebian tanks would roll down their streets, shaking buildings from their foundations, and clear the way to Caracas. To their west was the city and the airport, the red glow of the burning city marking the end of civilization, so to speak. The airport was quiet and dark, done on purpose to keep rebels from targetting anything of value. To the north was the Caribbean Sea and an armada of warships that had surged from Guantanamo Bay. They brought Marines, artillery, aircraft, and anything else that they could use to quell and squash the rebellion. Finally, to the east there was hope. Layartebian armored units had already crossed the border into Venezuela and though they were meeting heavier than expected resistance, they were advancing into the country with a firm resolve to do the job and secure Venezuela. Wars had been fought in Venezuela for too long and now, they wanted this to be the last one.

They soared into a clear just 800 meters from the artillery camp and they put down as quietly as they could. Unnoticed, the Black Hawk flew off, towards the north again, to escape any shoulder-fired missiles, which were flying into the air in uncountable numbers. David just looke dup, through his scope at the Black Hawk and looked around at the green sky above him and the green terrain around him. "Move out." He whispered and so they were off, on yet another high valued mission. They may not have been SOF but they were treated like SOF and they were almost as good as SOF. The Delta commandos that they had fought with just an hour earlier had thanked them when they got back to the base and the commander was so pleased with the actions of the paratroopers, David especially, that he recommended, to LTC. Huffington that his team work with them until the war could be over, which was no simple or small request. The wounded commando would live but he was out of this war and probably out for life. The bullet did major damage to him but he was alive, that was what counted the most. Had David not rescued him, he would be dead. He owed his life to David but that wasn't out of the ordinary, after all, this was war...

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Against%20All%20Enemies/caracas-61.jpg

OOC: For now, since I totally forgot about this and lost a major train of though I am going to put it on hold and bring back RTL soon, as I wanted to restart RTL in April. I guess, for now I'll just add more to this but I do plan on finishing it, eventually.