NationStates Jolt Archive

Angenteria
20 Miles Northeast of Bure
7:30 AM

It was a bright, sunny day in the area around Pedigree Dam. While the area was, at this time of the year, still in the lower, colder temperatures, the weather had decided to give the region the long-awaited needed break, bathing the area in fresh, warm sunlight, and wonderful spring-like temperature. In the suburbs of Bure, children ran and played in local parks and playgrounds, and adults decided to finally take that long hike up the mountain trail. Pools were opened for the first time in the season, and people flocked to take a dip in the cool waters. The city of Bure itself, however, had almost an opposite reaction. Caught unawares by the new heat wave, many people found themselves unprepared. Exhaust from constant motor traffic choked the air, bringing the local temperature up. Commuters sweated as they went about their daily business. Kids popped the tops of fire hydrants, basking in the gushing water like it was from heaven itself, before being chased off by angry adults or the the local Arbitrators.

Twenty miles away from the city limits, the concrete walls of the Pedigree Dam shone white in the sunlight. Completed a mere twenty years ago, Pedigree has taken a lot of the slack off of local power plants, the dam now supplying a whopping fifteen percent of the entire city with power from their water-powered turbines. It was a massive project, costing the city billions of argents and years to construct, but it had all turned out very worthwhile in the end.

Perhaps it was all a little too worthwhile.

The yellow school bus rolled on it's merry way through the opened gates of the dam. The single-lane road, surrounded by trees and woodland, lead up to a rather typical chain-link gate, where a single security guard was posted. Waving at the windows as the bus passed by, the guard smiled. Such cute little children, they were.

Yes, today was certainly quite a day for the employees of the Pedigree Dam. Once a day, every year, a group of schoolchildren from the St. Sabbatine Primary Scholam would send a busload of their brightest children to take a tour of dam's inner-workings. It got them out of class for a day, and they got to see something not many people get to see. It was a win-win, right?

Little did they know, it would be the worst day of their entire lives.

--------------------------------------------

They came unannounced. A small convoy of transport trucks, no more then five, made it's way up the forested hill, moving in single file down the small road. They were all painted black, and the insignia of the Ministry of Internal Affairs was stamped on their sides. They rumbled through the road, jumping on the bumpy roads, but continuing onwards nonetheless. Passing the jubilant white "Welcome to Pedigree Dam!" sign, the trucks rolled to a stop in front of the closed chain-link gate. The security guard, the same one from before, stepped out of the guard post, and calmly walked over to the idling truck. Peering upwards into the window of the first one, he tapped on the glass to the trooper, whose eyes were covered with his visored helmet.

"'Scuse me." The security guard babbled out to the truck's driver. "I'm gonna have to see some papers." He peered off to the truck's side, taking a look at the menacing Internal Affairs insignia. What were they doing here, he wondered?

He never found out the answer to that question, as two bullets from a silenced pistol quickly ended that train of thought, as well as his life.

Silently, two black-uniformed soldiers ran over to the guard, the first one, with a flash of steel, stuck a combat knife into his chest, ensuring death. The second searched a the man's pockets, eventually pulling out a key ring. Ensuring that nobody was looking, they made their way to the guard post, and stuck the key into the allotted keyhole. With a slight beeping noise, the gate slowly slid open. With another rumble of engines, the trucks rolled on into the dam.

And so it had begun.

Allanean Special Operations Command
20:00 PM

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem,” - spoke Nicolae Carpathia, head of the Allanean Central Intelligece Agency. - “As you may or may not know, Pedigree Dam, in Angenteria, has been taken over by a hostile group. We do not have all the details, but a source within the Angenterian government has informed us that they have a bus full of children from the St. Sabbatine Primary School hostage... and worse yet, it seems they have a nuclear weapon.”

Colonel Morrison, head of Special Operations Command, shook his head. “So? Why should we give a shit?”

“If they blow up the dam, everybody in the floodplain is going to be in danger. Our projection holds that nuclear fallout, fires, and flooding will take out Bure entirely, as well as endangering hundreds of thousands of other innocent people.”

“Director Carpathia... look, I don't like the notion of innocents being killed any more than you do. But these aren't Allanean innocents. These are Angenterian innocents. Why not just sit back and let the Angenterian government take care of the situation? In simple terms, why the fuck should I give a shit?”

The superspy shook his head. “Oh, I realize that saving Angenterian schoolchildren is not part of our... mandate. However, they are not the only ones at risk. You see... we have information that Allanean civilians are somewhere in the floodplain area.”

“What do you mean... somewhere?”

“Have you ever heard of Dick Bentley?”

Everybody had heard of Dick Bentley. It was a television show host – sort of like Steve Irwin, but with a gun. He made his money by tracking down dangerous animals in foreign countries and killing them for the amusement of Allanean spectators.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. He's in the Angenterian jungle with a camera team, tracking down some sort of killer crocodile. If we let him die out there, people are going to be seriously pissed off – and probably right, too. “

“Right...” - the Colonel shook his head - “We're going to need to do an evac...”

“No. Bentley and his people are out of cellphone coverage. By the time we find them it'll be too late. We need to stop the bomb from going off. And given the situation... I think we can only send one operative... can't really get an entire team into Angenteria without the government there stopping us.”

“So... you want me to send one man there to defeat a bunch of terrorists, save the children and the nuns, and stop the nuke from going off?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Nick, I have just the guy.”

*

The Harlot's Inn, Liberty-City

This wasn't really a fair fight. Four drunken factory workers, none lighter than two hundred pounds in weight, against what seemed to be a young boy in black Army uniform. Of course, with anti-aging medicine being as advanced as it was, he could be older than he seemed – but they didn't think of that. And they were too drunk to understand the badges on his uniform.

The first clue that all was not as it seemed was the screams of pain as the heavy 'Mamba' combat boot crashed into a drunk's kneecap.

“You son of a -” the drunk gasped as the young man grabbed his head and drove it downwards, even as his knee rose to meet the drunk's face – again, and again. The huge man sagged to the floor, even as his comrade closed down on the soldier.

The soldier was faster. It was as if his body was pulled by an invisible force, removing him from that point where the three drunks intended to meet and crush him with their fists and boots – and a second later, the heel of his boot rammed into a steel-worker's face.

“You know, people, if you just apologize to that waitress-” the boy started.

But the two remaining drunks had no intent of giving up. After all, there were two of them and only one of him.

And now they pulled out their knives.

The boy shook his head sadly, as if regretting what he was about to do. Then he grabbed for a pocket – and a set of black, nunchuks appeared in his hand.

They charged forward – but then there was the ring of steel meeting steel as the young man caught one of the knives in a stretched-chain block. A swift motion – and both men fell to the ground as the black. octagonal handle impacted their heads – one, than another.

To the applause of the waitresses, the boy bent over to pick up the knives. “Sorry, boys. If I let you keep these... you're probably just going to hurt yourselves with them.”

Just as he was savoring the moment, his cellphone phone rang.

“Stossel speaking. Yes, Colonel. I'll be right there.”

OOC:

"Snake, what are you doing? Snake? SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE?!"

The room was rather small and bright, and that didn't say anything about the smell. Just moments ago, it had been a small office room in the dam, where white collar workers moved two and fro, managing the burdening administrative task of managing the dam's finances, workers, machinery, and the like.

It had only been a few moments ago, but it had seemed like ages since it had actually happened. Sister Marguerite sobbed softly, clutching a rosary like it was keeping her alive. Silently, she murmured every prayer she knew, praying that some divine providence would save them from this horrible fate. Only a few minutes had passed since the big men wearing Imperial Guard uniforms burst in through the doors, cutting down her class' tour guide in a hail of bullets, as well as several dam workers who had tried to run for their lives. The rest were ordered at gunpoint into this small room, apparently some sort of executive's office, away from the maze of cubicles and xerox machines. Outside, Sister Marguerite could hear the muffled voiced of their guards, laughing about some joke or another. She could smell the smoke from their cigarettes, even from this distance.

Suddenly, the laughing stopped, and the cigarette smoke disappeared. Looking up, she could see the two soldiers standing at attention, saluting who apparently was their senior officer. Leaning to take a closer look, Marguerite, and several other hostages, suddenly jumped when she heard the sudden bang of a pistol. Looking out, she saw one of the guards fall forward on his face. Apparently, the ashes of his cigarette had fallen on the officer's boot.

The door to the office swung open, and two more guards came in, followed by the officer. Marguerite got a good look at him. He was tall, but well-built. His (http://cache.kotaku.com/assets/resources/2007/05/Cc_screen_kane.jpg) head was shaved bald, and a mustache-goatee combo covered the area below his nose, and chin. He wore no hat, and his body was covered in the black uniform of the Imperial Guard stormtrooper division. Silently, he paced two and fro along the rows of hostages, looking down into their sunken, defeated eyes. Some hostages looked up at him, others averted their gaze, and other pretended like he was there. A few schoolchildren, fear taking them, started to cry, their sobs breaking Sister Marguerite's heart. Suddenly, the footsteps of the officer stopped. Looking to see where he had gone, Marguerite was a little surprised to find him standing over her, gazing at her.

She gasped, fear overtaking her body.

The man chuckled, and squatted down. Extending his hand, he felt the beads of Marguerite's rosary. The poor nun was too frozen with fright to even react. He smiled a smile that, under different circumstances, would have been very charming.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, his voice level and calm.

The nun was silent, too frozen with fear to form an audible response.

"I see." He replied, taking the rosary from the nun's hand. He gazed upon the cross icon, and felt the beads in his hands

"Do you not believe..." He said, his gaze fixed upon the rosary. "...That God is capable of abandoning even His most loyal followers?" He shook his head. "We cry, we beg, we plead, and yet He ignores our cries for help, allowing all sorts of misfortune to rain down upon us." His smiling face suddenly turned a look of disgust. He dropped the rosary, clattering to the floor. With a swift motion, he crushed it with the heel of his boot. He turned, and began to march out of the room, stopping to say only this:

“Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace, and there shall be none.”

Fort-Czapp Naval Base, Submarine Pen

Willhelm Stossel stood upon the very edge of the docks, dressed in a black military uniform. He wore the whole works – and then some. On each foot, he wore a pistol (http://s4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=3331) in an ankle holster. On his belt, he hung a machete (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=14092486) and a full-size Bowie knife, with yet another pistol hanging in a small-of-back paddle of holster. A DR-83M rifle hung off one shoulder, and his ammo pouches were filled with magazines and grenades. Hanging off his belt were nunchuks, a pair of potato-masher grenades, and a flashlight.

The only piece of equipment he was not wearing was his helmet. Instead of that vital item, Willhelm Stossel was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, not unlike those worn by the Union Cavalry of old, with a golden unit symbol in the shape of a pair of crossed rifles attached at the front.

Standing in front of him were two men – Colonel Morrison, head of Special Operations Command, and President Alexander Kazansky, his friend and mentor. Colonel Morrison was the first to speak.

“Major Stossel, you are already aware of your mission's highly-sensitive nature. Again - you will be brought to the vicinity of Angenteria on a submarine aircraft carrier, which will proceed to launch an AN-2 biplane, which will carry you to your destination at midnight, local time. You will airdrop within five miles of Pedigree Dam, proceed to the Dam on foot, eliminate the terrorists, and free the hostages.”

“Easy.” - grinned Willhelm - ”I won't even use up all my ammo.”

The President looked at his disciple and suddenly grabbed him by his shoulders. “Seriously, Will. Good luck out there.”


*

23:59 Local Time, 3 miles away from Pedigree Dam

The black-painted (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AN-2) wooden biplane was traveling low, far below RADAR range – but even had it chosen to gain height, detecting the wooden plane would be a near-impossibility for most conventional RADAR. As a matter of fact, it would climb – and in fact, it was climbing now.

Even if it were noticed now, it would likely be taken not for a military plane, but for a cropduster, the likes of which were plentiful in the area. In the moonless night it'd be difficult to notice six black-clothed figures detach from the black aircraft as it rose above 500 feet and drop towards the treetops.

Of course, five of the figures were paratrooper dummies – simple dolls made from stuffed black cloth, with parachutes attached. If they were somehow noticed during their dive, they would distract attention from the one man that was actually alive.

Area around Pedigree Dam

Marcus flicked the butt of his cigarette (OOC: Apparently, the bad guys like to smoke), stamping it out as it landed on the soft ground. He sighed, and unslung his ANG-99D assault rifle from his shoulder. He moved along with the rest of his unit, a four-man team, fanning out into the forested area around them. He was bored, to say the least. Patrol duty was always boring, but necessary. Since they had arrived, the Colonel had, in keeping with military procedure, sent out regular patrols into the surrounding area. The Dam had no detection equipment, so detection resorted down to regular foot patrols.

"Hey." One of the men hissed. "Get a fucking move on!"

He nodded, without saying a word, and quickly rejoined the rest of the team. They had deviated from the regular patrol route a bit to investigate what had sounded like a plane droning nearby. While the area beyond the forest was fertile farmland, and could easily have been a crop-duster, this was only three miles from the dam. Just a little too close for comfort for their tastes. They approached the area where they were sure they had heard something drop, and noticed a black object laying motionless in a clearing. Approaching it, they quietly moved to surround it.

Marcus crept forward, and flung the small parachute over with the barrel of his rifle...

Stossel watched carefully as the four men approached the parachute dummy. He had only seconds in which to act. As Marcus bent over to uncover the dummy, his back was turned to Willhelm. For these few seconds, he was not a threat to Will – but the other three men were.

Stossel aimed his silenced CAR-15 rifle and fired three shots. The suppressor obscure the noise of the cartridge exploding, and the only noise audible was the loud crack made by the .223 high-velocity rounds as they broke the the sound barrier, impacting the heads of three of the patrolmen. The crack would be absorbed by the forest, and a man standing a hundred yards away would probably not even hear it.

As Marcus turned around, he would not see Stossel, who remained hidden in the bushes. He could only see a red laser dot that suddenly appeared on his chest. The object in using the laser was not to improve aim – but to let Marcus know he was being targeted.

“DROP YOUR RIFLE! DROP YOUR RIFLE NOW!”

As soon as the ANG-99D dropped to the ground, Will made his appearance. “Now, look here, honeybars. I would rather not have to kill you. So won't you be a good dear and sit down with your legs crossed? Cool, like that. Now get your hands on your head.”

As Marcus complied, the Allanean promptly approached him and handcuffed him – in front, not in back.

“Here's the rules. I'm going to take you and these dead dues off the trail. You're going to help me – that's why I cuffed you in front. Then I'm going to ask you a few questions. Answer them, and I leave you in a safe location. Try to scream for help, escape, try to kill me, and I shoot you in the face. Are we clear?”

OOC: Sorry for the delay, let's get back on schedule. Also, TG for you.

Marcus, now handcuffed and out of commission, glanced around at the dead soldiers around him, before looking up into the face of his new captor. As Stossel looked down at him, he would notice that his eyes were concealed by the sunglasses-like visor of his helmet, so he would only be able to see everything from his nose down. He stayed silent as Stossel outlined what he called 'the rules.'

“Here's the rules. I'm going to take you and these dead dues off the trail. You're going to help me – that's why I cuffed you in front. Then I'm going to ask you a few questions. Answer them, and I leave you in a safe location. Try to scream for help, escape, try to kill me, and I shoot you in the face. Are we clear?”

Without a word, Marcus hogged a lugie right into Stossel's face.

Stossel reacted in a very strange manner. Before the gob of spittle smacked into his face, he simply fell to the ground, sideway - as if he were dodging a hail of bullets - but before his opponent could quite finish being surprised, his knee had a very loud and painful introduction to Will's heavy commando boot.

Seconds later, Will rose to his feet, smirking. "Now, please be kind and don't try that shit again. I may change my mind on interrogating you."

Marcus let out a cry as his body fell to the ground, pain swimming up and down his leg. Judging by how intense it was, and the loud crack that preceded it certainly couldn't have been good. He writhed around on the floor, trying to clutch his throbbing leg, but to no avail, as the handcuffs stopped him from doing so.

"W-what do you want?" He half-snarled, half-sobbed, still writhing on the ground.

Stossel got up on his feet, and then asked:

"How many of your fellows are there? How many patrols? How many at the dam?"

Marcus, still feeling a little defiant, retorted:

"And why should I tell you, bastard!?"

"Fine. Be like that." - Stossel shrugged - "I'm not into torture. On the other hand, I'm going to leave you here. If I fail my mission - which is stopping your fellows from blowing up the dam - there's no way you can walk out of the floodplain in time. Your hands are tied in front of you, which will make running or driving any vehicle - or swimming, to that matter - very difficult. So if you want... you can just avoid helping me. Go on. Be a hero."

Marcus, the pain still throbbing through his leg, rocked back and fourth on the ground, attempting to clutch it. He tried to move it, but the pain was too unbearable, and it was an effort to even try to sit up. So he didn't.

Turning his head, his last thoughts of defiance evaporated as Stossel turned to leave him on the ground, probably to die.

"W-Wait!" He cried. "I'll talk, just don't leave me here!" He raised his handcuffs, gesturing in the direction of the dam. "W-we've got h-h-half a division up there." He whimpered. "There are small p-patrols around the forest. I don't know how many."

OOC: More evil to come in my next post!

"Ah, now this is interesting." - Stossel said - "So, there is half a division of troops guarding the dam. How do they guard it? How many guard posts are there? How often do they change? And finally... do you know how long we have?"

Marcus sighed. "The e-entrances are locked down, and so are the m-major fa...cilities. " He grunted in pain, his injuries worsening. "I don't know when they c-c-change. Only the C-Colonel knows." He begged, the pain becoming more unbearable by the second.

"Please..." He begged.

-----------------------------------------------------------
Pedigree Dam

The Colonel exited through the main doors of the administration wing, the two guards snapping to attention in his presence. Ignoring them, he approached another similarly-uniformed officer, who was sporting a black beret. He was shorter then his leader, and well-kept brown hair shown underneath his beret.

"Gaius..." The colonel said, his voice soft and quiet, like a snake staking it's pray. "Is everything ready?'

The officer simply nodded.

"Excellent." The colonel said. "Tighten the security. We detonate in five hours."

"Is that necessary, sir?" The officer responded. "Surely the Emperor's lackeys-"

"No." The colonel said, turning to face the forest, which stretched out before him.

"There is another."

"Very well." - said Stossel. - "Here's the deal." - he threw the man a package of pills. "These are painkillers. Take one, and start going to the North-East. There's a small village there, they'll give you medical help. Good luck."

And with that, he disappeared into the forest, going towards the dam. With luck - and unless he found a car, first - he'd be there in two hours.

As Stossel left Marcus to his fate, he continued through the forest. By then, the night had reached it's darkest hour. Owls hooted from their perches in the trees, and the howls of distant wolves could be heard, echoing through the forest. The night sky was clear, and this far away from the big city, stars could be seen shining in the sky, along with a full moon.

Eventually, Stossel would notice that the density of the trees would become thinner and thinner, telling that he was coming closer to his destination. Eventually, he would come across a small road, with trees on either side. Military vehicles would be seen moving up the road, flanked by foot patrols, their headlights spearing the night with beams of light. Stossel would have no idea of telling if these men were rebel soldiers or Imperial Guardsmen sent to deal with the threat.

Bump...

Bump.....

OOC: Sottry about that. I was unable to log in for a while.

IC:

Stossel's solution was simple. He rapidly climbed upon a tree branch overlooking the road. When the last truck passed under him, he dropped out onto the roof, and quickly climbed into the passenger side of the cabin.

As the astonished driver stared at him, the young man pointed a gun in his face. "Get out. Now."