2112 - 28Oct03

A teenage girl ran through the streets, firing as she ran at the Soviet troops chasing her. Running in a random direction, she was quickly cornered, her magazine expended. She dropped her pistol as she tried to reload. The Soviet troops gathered around her. Suddenly gunshots rang out over the sound of an approaching engine and two of the Soviets dropped as a black SUV careened through the empty night streets. The driver sped straight at her, applied his brake and turned, started a controlled fish-tail, ending perpendicular to her. Muzzle-flashes lit the night as multiple weapons opened up the Soviets. A teen with a kevlar helmet and a mini-14 spat lead from where he had popped out of the sun roof, adding his fire to the full auto being poured through one of the rear windows. Then it was quiet. The girl looked on in shock. One of the back doors popped open, and another teen, sighting down a AK-74 resting on the open window motioned to her for several seconds.
"You gonna just fuckin' stand there!" the roof gunner yelled as he dropped into the SUV, snapping her out of her trance.
As she ran to the car, the door gunner squeezed himself into his seat to allow her to pass.
"We're kinda short on room." the roof gunner said, gesturing to the row of seating behind them filled with crates of weaponry and ammo.
"But you can sit on my lap." he said with a smirk as she jumped into the unoccupied seat in the middle row.
"Punch-it Sarge!" the roof gunner yelled at the driver before turning to their newest passenger as the vehicle lurched into motion.
"Fuckin' rooskies, always pickin' on somebody. By the way, we're Sarge, Smith, Boomer and Gunner." he said in turn pointing to the driver, the front passenger, the door gunner and himself.
"I-m...I'm Susan." she said.
"now, unless I'm mistaken, you have some data we need to get to somebody." he said as the vehicle drove through the streets at break-neck speed. They drove for almost an hour, sticking to the backroads and circling the city, before finally arriving at an abandoned industrial complex in an unoccupied part of town. The rescuers left the vehicle and entered the building. The soft orange glow of sodium bulbs mixed with the harsh, sterile blue-tinge of the newer halogen bulbs, reflecting from the relatively well-swept concrete floor. The original purpose of the building was now lost, all of the equipment having been moved out, although attachment points and bolt holes were still present in the floor at seemingly random intervals. Metal I-beams extended from the floor to the ceiling two stories above them, the beams at the front supporting a loft. A walled office sat off to one side, probably a foreman's. In one corner sat several desks covered with about a half-dozen computers and their various paraphenelia. Atleast one of the computers was partially disassembled. A workbench stood near the entrance, several weapons, including an RPG sat in various states of repair, next to a few minor metal working machines, like metal lathes and grinders. The center of the bulding was filled with a mass of Soviet crates, weapons, ammunition, supplies, everything they could need.
"By the way Gunner, you're hit." Boomer said as they stepped inside and pointed at his left shoulder.
Gunner glanced at his wound.
"Well fuck me!" he said as he poked the hole with his right index finger.
"Looks like a ricochet. Hey Sarge! Gimme your fuckin' Gerber"
Sarge pulled his multi-tool from it's holster and threw it at Gunner, who caught it. Susan came over and looked at his shoulder as he prepared the pliers on the multi-tool.
"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked.
"Don't worry. He gets shot all the time." Boomer said.
"Shut-up nipple-dick"
Gunner pulled on it for a couple of seconds.
"Boomer, it's lodged in the bone. Hold my shoulder"
Boomer complied and after several seconds of yanking, the bullet audibly displaced from the bone.
"Beth! Patch job!" Gunner yelled as blood began slowly dripping onto the floor from his elbow.
An attractive young lady, her long, red hair tied in a pony-tail, walked out of the office. She was dressed in boots, fatigue pants, and an olive-drab tube-top. She turned to look at him and saw his arm.
"What happened to you"
"Uhhhh...I got shot." he responded, as if the answer was obvious.
"Come on." she said angrily, grabbing his left arm and beginning to pull him into the room.
"Ow! That's the INJURED arm!" he yelled as he was dragged into her "office.
The office contained three cots, one for Beth and two for patients. A small hand mirror and several beauty products lay under a layer of dust on a chair in the corner, make-up had not been high on her list of priorities, though she was still attractive bare-faced. A large box of 9x18 mm makarov rounds sat in another corner, the original Russian packing seals still intact. Her bison SMG leaned against her desk, which was covered with first aid kits and various implements of the medical trade. She forced him down on one of the cots, removed his shirt, and began stitching his wound after cleaning it with alcohol. Boomer stuck his head in the door.
"You know Sparks is pissed that you got blood all over his floor, right"
"Yeah, I bet he is. Who's on watch"
"Lurch." Boomer replied.
"So then Scope is sleeping again"
"What else does he do"
Gunner got up and put on his shirt.
"Well, I should probably go entertain our 'guest'. You didn't leave her with Sarge, did you"
"No, we don't need her pregnant. I left her with Smith"
"Good choice." Gunner said as he left.
Susan was looking around the somewhat cluttered interior of their home.
"Can I help you? Gunner asked in a sarcastic voice.
"Don't you guys have anything heavier than small arms?" she asked.
"We got about fifteen kilos of plastique, plus accessories, there's a PKM in our guard position, but we only have about a hundred rounds for it. We DO have several boxes of RPG rockets, but our launcher was damaged. Sparks is workin' on it"
"Don't forget about the 'tube." Boomer added.
"Oh yeah, we stole a Soviet mortar and some rounds, but we're not smart enough to use it. The shells make awesome I.E.D.s though"
Susan moved in a new direction, continuing to explore their 'facility.
"Yeah, make yourself at home!" Gunner yelled after her, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
She stopped at a bulletin board hung with newspaper clippings.
"You guys keep track of other resistance actions?" she asked as she scanned the articles.
"No, it's our trophy wall"
"You guys pulled off the May-Day assassination"
"Well, actually, it was Scope's shot"
"But it was broad daylight! And they never caught the shooter"
"I know"
"And the Main Street massacre, the Alamo raid, the jailbreak at Bexar County Correctionql, these are legends to the other groups! You guys-" she stopped. As she looked around, she realized the calibur of people she was in the presence of. Their weapons were worn, but clean and in perfect working order. Their clothes were patched and faded, except for the American flag patches on their shoulders. These partisans were diligently going about their tasks, even with her as a distraction. They were consumate professionals. Everthing they did they did with a purpose. She looked around, they were preparing for something. Boomer was building breaching charges, Beth was packing supplies in her office, Scope cleaned his weapon, everyone was performing their own preparations. Gunner suddenly appeared at her side, holding a folded American flag.
"Here." he said, handing it to her.
"I'm sure you'll put it to good use. Now if you'll excuse us, we're prepping for am op, so you need to leave." he said bluntly.
"Is it big?" she asked expectantly.
"You could say that. Goodbye." he said waving.
"Can I-we help"
"Um...no. I don't know you and I don't trust you. You've already wasted alot of our time with Sarge's little 'rescue', so...shoo." he said pushing her out the door.
He turned to his comrades.
"Alright, get your gear out here and ready! Sand table in 30!"

0232 - 29Oct03

"Go." Gunner whispered as he held open the hole in the fence.
Sarge put the bolt cutters back in his ruck as Lurch covered Sparks, Scope, Beth and the others as they crossed the empty and sparsely lit parking lot. The dozen or so 'resistance commandos' wore a motley assortment of uniforms, parts scavenged from Soviet and U.S. military uniforms mixed with civilian clothing. Their weapons were a similar grab bag. As each fighter reached the building, they hid in it's shadow, turning to cover their comrades. Within a few minutes, they had all crossed. Gunner moved to the front of the line as they stacked by the door.
"That's a solid-looking door." Bommer said.
An understatement. The door to the bunker-like laboratory was an inch of solid steel.
"It's cool." Gunner said as he pushed on the door.
The door opened, revealing a dark and empty lounge "How did you-" Smith started.
"Insider." Gunner said.
"Sparks-" he began.
"Fire and internal alarms. Got it." Sparks said, moving to the computer behind the desk.
Gunner walked to the trash can in the corner, pulled out the bag and reached inside. There was the sound of detaching tape, and Gunner pulled out an electronic key card. He walked to the end of the room and swiped the card. The door slid open and the Soviet guard behind the desk looked up from his book. He reached for his rifle, but Gunner's weapon was already up. His silenced .45 caliber pistol double-tapped the guard, who now hung lifeless over the chair back, his helmet clattering to the floor. Gunner walked across the room, the soldier moaning as he passed. Without breaking stride, Gunner stuck his arm out and shot him in the temple, scattering his brains.
"Damn it." he said as he started to clear the stove-piped casing in the ejection port.
Suddenly another guard appeared around the corner in front of him. He leveled his weapon at Gunner, who didn't have time to draw another another weapon or to clear the one in his hand. A series of rapid, dull clacks followed by multiple soft metallic clicks suddenly eminated from behind the guard, his body jerking in time with the noise before hitting the ground. A heavily armed soldier in an American uniform stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell.
"Identify yourself." he said, still sighting down his MP-5SD5.
"Callsign: Dark Squire." Gunner said.
"Callsign: Black Knight. Authenticate. Orange cat"
"Blue dog"
The soldier lowered his weapon.
"So you're our contact?" he asked.
"Gunner, at your service"
"Specialist Biggs, U.S. Special Forces. Good to see you"
Gunner shook his hand.
"You guys got our way in like you promised?" the specialist asked.
"Yeah. Where's the rest of your team"
"They're back upstairs, we infiled through the roof"
"Well, follow me." Gunner said as he returned downstairs and collected his teams who were holding a perimeter.
The resistance fighters and the SF team took up positions as Gunner and the SF CPT moved down the stairwell to the subterranian levels. The security door at the bottom was easily opened with Gunner's key card, and the combatants spread out over the laboratory complex. The dark lab was larger in size than a football field, cluttered with lab tables, networked computer and other assorted scientific paraphenalia.
"Sparks, Lurch, Worm." Gunner said and pointed at a computer as they moved past.
Sparks flashed a thumbs-up and moved to the computer. He pulled some electronic gear out of his pack and went to work on the computer, Lurch and Worm taking up positions to cover him. The other soldiers continuing with their sweep and search. They found what they wanted through another locked door at the end of the lab. Three large horizontal tanks, thirty feet long and about ten feet tall.
"You boys know what this shit is?" CPT Aarons asked, pointing at the tanks with his AN-93.
"Heavy water, H2O+. Destined for the Soviet atomic weapons program." Gunenr replied.
"Boomer do it." Gunner said.
"Boomer pulled out a trio of 'smasher' charges from his ruck and began to set them, placing one on the flat end of each tank.
"Does he know what he's doing?" SPC Juarez, one of the SF engineers asked.
"Yeah, I wondered that the first time he did this shit too, but he's never let me down." Gunner said.
Gunner pushed the earpiece of his radio closer to his ear and listened for a second.
"Boomer, we need to leave. Everybody get clear." Gunner said.
"Watch this." Bommer said as he hit the detonator all three charges were attached to.
The small explosive charges directed their force into the tanks, putting incredible pressure on the liquid inside. The liquid, unable to compress, burst out the opposite side of the tanks, tearing them open. Boomer bowed as PFC Grey, the other SF engineer, clapped. Gunner turned to them.
"We need to leave." he repeated, emphasizing the last word.
He turned around and ran through the door. The others took the hint and followed suit.
"What's up?" Sparks asked without looking up from his work as they ran by.
"Get out." Gunner said with urgency.
The group hurried up the stairs. AS they ran up the last flight, they heard shots from one of Gunner's sentries.
"Whadda we got?" Gunner yelled as he hurried up the stairs.
"200+ troops and armour comin' from the garrison." came Tango's reply.
"Must've tripped an alarm." Gunner said.
Boomer reached the top of the stairs first, messily terminating the two Soviet soldiers there with his shotgun.
"Reds inside!" he hollared back down the stairs.
The combatants quickly spread through the building, taking up positions at the windows.
"Kelly! Get up on the rooftop!" the SF CPT yelled to the soldier with a drawn M-11 and a light .50 slung on his back.
"Roger." he said and ran off.
Gunner, CPT Aarons, one of the SF RTOs, SPC Brown, as well as several of the resistance fighters, began opening fire as the Soviets moved towards them. Gunner popped in and out of the cover provided by the window, leaning out to fire at random intervals. Two rounds, one round, three, one, one, three, two. Suddenly several BMPs and a pair of T-85s appeared from around a building.
"Shit." Gunner said as he ducked back and changed magazines.
"Biggs!" the captain yelled.
Running feet sounded on the stairs and the soldier who had saved Gunner appeared. The CPT pointed at the window and opened his mouth to talk.
"On it." Biggs said before the CPT could speak.
He unslung his paratrooper RPG and began assembling it.
"Loader!" he yelled as he finished and shouldered the weapon.
Brown grabbed a rocket out of Biiggs' pack and readied it, inserting it into the launcher and giving it a quarter turn.
"Clear!" Brown yelled and stuck his fingers in his ears.
The room filled with a roar and a heavy heat for a fraction of a second as the rocket streaked towards the lead T-85. Gunner watched as the perfectly-aimed round impacted the tank on the turret ring. The tank exploded spectacularly, the turret flying into the air. By the time Gunner looked up, the RPG had already been reloaded and Biggs was searching for another target. He fired at the closest vehicle, a BMP. The APC exploded in a ball of fire. A flaming person half-rolling, half-jumping from one of the hatches a second later.
"Last round!" Brown yelled.
Biggs took careful aim and shot the remaining T-85. As the round struck the turret, the hatches blew open, flame and smoke billowing forth. The tank moved forward for several seconds, before turning and stopping part-way into a building, blocking the remaining vehicles from entering the courtyard. Infantry continued to stream towards their position, putting them under ever increasing amount of fire while draining their supply of ammunition. The situation looked bad, several of the SF men had already been forced to switch to their pistols. As Gunner loaded his last magazine, he turned to CPT Aarons and extended his hand.
"Pleasure to have served with you, sir"
The CPT took his hand and shook it.
"Likewise. You're a credit to your kind. It's an honor to have it end with men like you and your team"
Gunner slapped up on the magazine.
"Last chance box, captain, time to dance?" Gunner asked calmly.
The CPT nodded and followed Gunner down the stairs to the ground floor. Gunner gathered several of his men, as did the captain and together they moved into the courtyard, spewing lead. Gunner fired into a group of reds,dropping two. He ducked into cover behind a conex container just as a bullet grazed his left shoulder, leaving a shallow, bloody furrow.
"Fuck!" he yelled.
"Wow, I guess somebody REALLY doesn't like you." Boomer said as he got up from where he had leapt behind the container after him.
"Yeah, same shoulder. What're the odds?" Gunner asked as he finished off his magazine and drew his .45.
"Ready for martyrdom?" Cooper asked as he changed magazines on his sagat shotgun.
"Always." Gunner replied as he gave a hand signal to several combatants hunkering behind a bullet ridden Taurus. Gunner jumped from his position of cover, screaming a death-yell at the top of his lungs. Boomer followed his example, as did every friendly fighter within visual range. Gunner ran straight at a group of Soviet soldiers, firing with both hands. He emptied the magazine, dropping a man everytime the pistol bucked in his hands. He dropped the pistol and pulled out his kukri without breaking stride and slashed the throat of the remaining soldier, spraying blood everywhere. More Soviets continued to flood the area. Suddenly, the second T-85 hulk, the only thing keeping out Soviet armour, began to move. The wreckage was pushed aside by a third T-85, equiped with a dozer-blade. The tank's turret turned towards Gunner, it's coaxial machine gun chewing-up the pavement as it locked onto him. Gunner pulled a grenade and ran at it, unsure of exactly what would happen next, but determined to go down fighting. All of their anti-tank weapons had been expended, and he was out of ammo. As he got about ten meters from it and prepared to pull the pin, the tank exploded, throwing him backwards and scorching his eyebrows and 5 o'clock shadow. Gunner picked himself up, slightly dazed and ducked into cover. A second or two later, when his ears had stopped ringing, he heard a noise that almost confused him. Yells and cheers, in English. A second group of partisans had appeared and were driving off the Russians with small arms and several technicals. Within several minutes, all the reds were gone. Gunner gathered his dropped weapons as well as his men. He quickly searched for the SF soldiers, but they had already faded into the night. He eventually approached a partisan after scavenging some ammo and equipment from the dead reds. The blue-haired partisan was dressed as though she'd just came from a rave, right down to the pacifier hanging around her neck.
"Who's in charge of you guys?" he asked gruffly.
The partisan pointed at the closest technical, a Ford truck with a Dshk mounted in his bed. He walked up and slammed his fist several times on the heavily tinted driver's-side window.
"Who's in charge here!" he yelled loudly.
"The window rolled down.
"Hey Gunner!" Susan said.