David Carmichael was a suit, and he knew that his being a suit meant people thought less of him - he was as concerned with budgets as he was with winning and his troop's lives - but he prided himself on being a very clever suit. He knew when to commit and when to hold back.
Jacob Faraday was one of his old friends. A very old friend in fact. It had irked Carmichael sending him into battle, especially the kind of insane, fucked up battle that he had ended up sending him into, but Faraday had been tough and resilient, well trained and battle hardened after ten years of SAS service; a true example of the British military's finest men.
And now he was dead, all life readings apparently discontinued. Whatever fucked up shot was happening in Fairport had killed him minutes into his and Davison's mission (Davison, somehow, had survived, a fact Carmichael was eager to question him about as soon as the mission was over, Davison's own low chance of surviving notwithstanding), which, reasonably enough, pissed off Carmichael no end. But that wasn't why he was committing more troops.
SAS battle hardened, ten years' service. Dead within minutes. Yeah, like Carmichael wasn't going to send more men in. They needed every last one. Sighing as he realised this meant PIC would have to reveal it's motives to the Americans, Carmichael placed a call. He knew Rowdy Betters well enough that he knew the FEAR Co-ordinator would be pissed off as hell.
Operation Light-up New objective: PIC operatives to link up with surviving FEAR and SFOD-D forces to attempt to locate the source of the paranormal and neutralise/destroy it. Ten squads of six men are being sent in to expedite matters, and FEAR Co-ordinator Rowdy Betters will be in command on the ground.
New objective: PIC operatives to link up with surviving FEAR and SFOD-D forces to attempt to locate the source of the paranormal and neutralise/destroy it. Ten squads of six men are being sent in to expedite matters, and FEAR Co-ordinator Rowdy Betters will be in command on the ground.
Current mission status.
The PIC PIT (Preliminary Investigation Team) survivor has been located and is supported by surviving members of Delta Force team "Dark Signal".
Initial Insertion Operative has been located, however his position seems to have relocated swiftly from Auburn Hospital back to near initial insertion point. A team has been despatched.
Things were not going well for Lewis and Team Dark Signal; "Top", the Delta's leader, had met an unfortunately grisly demise at the hands of the insane dead bitch. Well, not the hands – more the giant ghostly tentacle things. Even worse was the death of Snake Fist, the only person to seemingly know anything relevant regarding this shit, at the hands of a Replica Assassin. Needless to say, the mood was grim, although the team did now have a lead as to a sort of plan they could attempt to implement.
Lewis however was not busy listening to them discuss this plan. He was busy listening to the faint radio signals he was getting.
"…repeat, this is Carmichael to any surviving PIC troopers, come in, requesting immediate report on the situation…"
"Guys," he said to the Dark Signal crew, "I might just have good news…"
The thing that surprised Jon when he woke up wasn't really being alive - after all, plenty of dead people were still running around apparently conscious, having had much worse than a helicopter being dropped on their heads. No, what bothered him more was that he seemed to have woken up right next to Faraday's impact crater from earlier that night.
"Ok," he said irritably, trying to get up but failing. He sighed and tired again, managing to get a vaguely steady bearing. "Not cool."
There was a lot of shooting going on nearby - lord only knew who and what was shooting - but Jon was getting sick of all this crap - CDC's and gun toting supermen and ghosts of cannibals and a million other crazy things, although he was half convinced that everything had happened in the last day or so - for him anyway - had been a massive GIV. Jon thought about it and decided that he would try to leave ASAP.
Of course, deciding that and actually doing it were two totally different things, especially given the number of armed men now aiming weapons at him. Six troops in total, all aiming at his face. 'At least not the balls,' he thought wryly.
Fortunately, they were wearing the familiar PIC uniform, and one of them stepped forward, lowering his gun.
"I'm Lieutenant Andrew Carstairs," he said, voice rough with a definite cockney accent that belied the name and rank (as if anyone believed the "posh officer" Clive anymore anyway). "Mind telling me your report, soldier?"
Deadly seriously, Jon looked him in the eye. "Would you accept 'FUBAR,' sir?"
A long moment passed. "If that's all you have," Carstairs finally said, sighing irritably.
"Actually, sir," Jon replied, "I can give a report with terminology and in depth..."
Carstairs cut him off with a sharp motion of the hand. "'FUBAR' will do fine, soldier. Now, let's try to make heads or tails of this situation."
"Sir, we've received new orders," one soldier, with what appeared to be a large radio – probably with a signal booster inside – put in – as far as Jon could tell, they were almost all ABWA, which he supposed was a good thing now that Jon had pretty much confirmed the presence of ghostly shit.
"What are they, McGrew?" Carstairs put in.
"Apparently someone's figured out how to kill the creepy dead chick, sir," McGrew said. Jon grinned – this "McGrew" might be a ghost jock after all. "We've been told to report to Still Island Nuclear Facility."
"Oh, I hate nukes," Carstairs sighed. "Alright lads, let's move it!"
Lewis and Becket were having the time of their lives. No, not really. In fact, quite the opposite; Becket was trying to shoot Replica's from his turret in the APC and Lewis was currently holding down a struggling Keegan.
"Stay the fuck down!" he yelled at the man, who was trying to get to a bright light from which an ominous and all too familiar whispering was issuing. "I said stay down!" he added, knocking the man out in the process. Thankfully, the white light seemed to be fading, as did the whispering.
"Plan then, oh fearless bosswoman?" he asked Stokes as the fighting subsided.
"You and Becket go through where the light was," the Lieutenant replied. "See what the hell's going on. We'll meet you at the facility."
Becket was already moving, and once Morales had Keegan covered, Lewis took off after his new mate. Typically, there were already bodies lying around and shooting up ahead. By the time Lewis had reached Becket, there were a dozen dead replicas lying around.
"You don't mess around do you?" he asked. There was no reply from the Delta. "Funny how you're meant to be the only hope for the world and she sends you and me off on our own through subways, without any real backup whatsoever..."
Again, no answer. Lewis sighed - one of those days...
"Your people should meet us there, right?" Becket asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Lewis replied smiling.
"Good," Becket grinned back. "I like you Brits. You have good gallows humour."
"Gallows humour is good," Lewis agreed. "Although I wish I wasn't on the gallows when I was delivering it."