From darkside.buggeroff@buggeroff.sandwich.net Wed Jun 20 22:26:19 2001 Newsgroups: alt.barney.dinosaur.die.die.die Subject: Op: sUcK - The Crater, part I (Seg 1) From: "Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!)" Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 23:26:19 -0500 NOTE: Because of the narrow scope of this Operation, the project is closed to public participation. However, if you are a member of TRES Corps and interested in the possibility of joining the project, contact darkside@sandwich.net. This Operation is a work in progress. +-----------------+ | Operation: sUcK | +-----------------+ The Crater, part I Authors: Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!) Shadur t'Kharn --- ****** Bellingham, Washington Day 0, 6:25pm, Pacific Time ****** The Bellingham Fire Marshall held down his hat as he watched an olive-drab helicopter set down amidst the countless fire and rescue vehicles that had gathered around the area. A man dressed in camo fatigues climbed out of the chopper, followed by a pair of similarly dressed soldiers. Overhead, three more military-style helos circled, looking for someplace to set down. The Marshall approached the soldiers. "About time you boys got here," he said. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. So far, we haven't found anyone, survivors or otherwise. Bob Bellamy, Bellingham Fire Marshall." He extended his hand. The first soldier looked at the hand, but didn't take it. "Colonel Henry Starks, National Guard, Fort Lewis. What the hell happened here?" Bob shrugged, putting his hand back to better use writing. Starks shielded his eyes from the dying sunlight, peering with annoyance up at the civilian aircraft circling overhead. "Until we ascertain as to what happened here, I want this situation to be kept under wraps as best as possible." He gestured to a Lieutenant next to him. "I want those aircraft escorted out of here." Bob looked up wide-eyed from his clipboard. "'Under wraps'? A chunk of Bellingham about eight city blocks square has VANISHED. How in the hell do you plan on keeping it 'under wraps?'" Overhead, the view from the news choppers was both awesome and fear-inspiring. An empty crater eight blocks wide stood out in the middle of the small community. At first glance it could be written off as a bomb impact; but there was no residual damage around the crater-- a hard line of half-demolished buildings fenced it in, with no indication of damage outside of that perimeter. There was also a distinct lack of any sort of debris, and what little there was seemed to be gathered in a small cluster at the bottom of the pit. A squad of Cobra attack choppers thundered over the area, chasing down the civilian craft. Bob just shook his head and went about shouting more orders and trying to look generally more authoritive. ****** Seattle A swallow's flight away ****** "...Thanks Bill. And now we go to Miles Mason, for a look at today's sports." TRES Corps Admiral Kirk Felton swivelled lazily in his skyline studio apartment, sipping slowly at a pint of Guinness. He sighed with satisfaction, fumbling in the Chair's cushions for his remote. He always kept a sort of vigil, even when off-duty, by keeping an eye on current events for things that might be out of the ordinary. Today had turned out to be a quiet day, even by Mundane standards. It was nice to be able to get a break from fighting a war nobody knew about. "Wait! This just in--" Kirk winced. Jinx. "We've just received reports of some sort of disaster in downtown Bellingham. We go now live to Jack Williams in Chopper 7. Jack, any idea what's going on out there?" The screen cut to a shot of Jack, riding shotgun in the helicopter. "Janet, just moments ago, the National Guard established a strict no-fly zone over the area, enforced by helicopter gunship. We've no indication what precisely has happened, and authorities are refusing to reveal any information. Shortly before we were chased from the area, we managed to capture this footage. Roll it, Ted." A pair of arms draped over Kirk's shoulders as the picture changed to a wobbly video of the crater. "Looks like something blew up," said Keili. "Yeah, sorta..." Kirk said, squinting at the fuzzy image. "Somethin's not right, though. It doesna feel... 'normal.' I dunno." "Normal compared to what?" Keili said. "Buildings explode on a regular basis?" "Ha ha ha. Y'know what I mean. I... I think I should go check it out." Keili's lazy drape tightened across Kirk's chest. "Hey, we're supposed to be on leave." Kirk emitted a strangled sound. Keili let up a bit. "I know, I know. No rest fer th'wicked, eh?" He gave her a peck on the cheek. "I'll make it up t'ye. Y'know I will. In th'meantime, y'best get our things packed. I have a feelin' we'll be headin' back t'Colorado." ... Felton's Highlander slid quietly down the back streets of Bellingham. The National Guard had cordoned off a several block radius around the crater, so there was not much chance of him getting too close. He just needed to find a nice spot to observe from. Luckily, night was falling. This suited him well, as it would make him harder to detect. And there was something about the night that energized him; maybe it was just an aversion to sunlight, maybe it was what he often referred to as "the darkside", whatever it was that made him what he is, and gave him his Jihad pseudonym. DarkSide eased into the alley behind an apartment complex that looked appealing; it was probably close enough and tall enough to see the site. He attempted to pick the lock of the back door, and grumbled quietly as he felt the lock's tumblers jam-- He really needed to practice his lockpicking skills. Failing that little bit of finesse, he went for a slightly more crude method-- with the flick of a finger an index Claw[tm] extended, and he slid it slowly into the lock, easing it in such that the ultra-sharp blades could slice cleanly through the tumblers without making too much noise. A twist of the wrist, and the lock popped open. The cool night air caressed his face as he exited the stairwell onto the roof. He stopped cold when he noticed several other people on the roof, apparently up there for the same purpose. "Bonehead move," he muttered to himself. In a display of incredible dumb luck, none of them seemed to take much notice of the stranger. "What ya think happened over there?" one of them asked. DarkSide strode up to the ledge, pulling out a set of binoculars and squinting through the dark, allowing his own heightened night vision to adjust to the zoom. "Dunno," he said, peering through the binocs. By now they had set up a couple of cranes, and were trying to lift the pile of rubble out of the crater. Apparently it was all one mass, and it seemed as though the cranes were unable to even budge the thing. Judging by the condition of one of the cranes, the lump appeared to have much more mass than its size would indicate. Whatever it was that had done this clearly wasn't a conventional weapon of some kind, and that set alarms off in DarkSide's mind. "I thank it wuz aliens," said another, in a thick redneck drawl. "That's why them soldiers is down there, ta cover it up." This elicited a snicker from all present, save for one. "I dinna think they know /what/ it is," DarkSide said. "And they dinna want anyone else t'know what happened until they do." He tucked away his binoculars and turned away, his coat flapping with a melodramatic flourish. "What do /you/ think it is?" one of them asked, still peering at the scenery. DarkSide paused briefly. "I dinna know. But whatever 'tis, it isnae a good sign." "Say, who are you, anyway?" asked one, coming to a realization. They all turned, but the man was gone. A voice echoed softly in response through the night air. "Just a friend." ... "I dunno, ma'am. It just strikes me as bad juju." The sickly pink-orange glow of sodium-vapor streetlights flickered over the skin of the Highlander, as it sped down the cave-like confines of the expressway's lower level. A pleasant view of Puget Sound at night was afforded out his window, but DarkSide's attention was more focused on his conference call with Second-in-Command of TRES and the head of TRES Intel. "Do you have any conclusive proof that indicates that it might be B'harnii?" asked Admiral Davies. "Eight blocks of city donnae just disappear on their own... and what I saw didn't look like a conventional bomb blast," said DarkSide. Admiral Bond snorted. "I don't have any reports of any degree of activity from the Wyrm. As far as we can tell, it's still laying low." "Maybe yer folks ain't lookin' hard enough," DarkSide quipped. The image of Admiral Bonds narrowed its eyes. "Are you implying my men and I don't know how to do our job?" DarkSide shrugged. "Not at all... I'm just sayin' ye can't be e'rywhere at once. It's entirely possible fer th'enemy t'be operatin' outside yer sphere o' observation." Bond's image flicked off. "Touchy." "Look DarkSide," said Davies, "you know as well as I do that CP would be less than pleased if we pulled him from his vacation over conjecture." DarkSide bit his lower lip. "Yeah. Understood. I'll keep m'eyes peeled. Felton out." The image of Admiral Davies flickered off the screen, and was replaced by the seal of the Corps. DarkSide sighed at he stared at the lanes of traffic ahead of him. He tried to ignore it, but the situation kept nagging him in the back of his mind; his resistance was soon overcome, and he flipped the comm back on. "Message encrypt, eyes-only..." ****** Pleasant Ridge industrial park, Indiana 10:00pm Eastern Time ****** The facility was shrouded in darkness. The only lights on in the sprawling complex were those in the night guard's office and the flashlight from the officer doing his hourly round through the building. "Looks clear from here." Bryan o'Connel whispered, putting down his binoculars. "Leader, do we go in?" "Hold that thought, Two." the mission leader replied. "Three?" "Three here. All clear." "Four?" Silence from the radio. Bryan tightened his grip on his pistol. "Four?" the mission leader's voice was slightly tense. Static crackled, then Four's reply came through in an angry whisper. "Four here. Slight radio malfunction. Overwatch is clear." Leader snorted. "Five?" "Five here. In the clear." "All right, team. Leader confirms go. Move out." Bryan scrambled to his feet and proceeded stealthily downhill. From the surrounding hillside three more black-clad, camo-painted shapes joined him at the foot of the fence surrounding the complex. Leader shouldered his rifle and gestured at the fence. Bryan pulled out a pair of induction probes and scanned the fence. The needle didn't even twitch. Signaling an "all clear" to his leader, he put it away and pulled a set of cutters out of another pocket. Leader nodded, and he proceeded to quickly cut a man-size hole in the fence. Three and Five stood ready and pulled the cutout away. One by one, they passed through the fence and across the lawn, reassembling by the garage doors at the back of the building. Leader keyed his radio. "Four, Leader. Point two." "Four here. Understood. Everything's quiet." "Keep an eye out. We're going in. Leader out." Bryan had already knelt by the access door, and was examining the lock. Standard card-and-code locking mechanism, most likely linked to a timer that'd flag an alert if the door was opened outside normal hours even if the correct card and code were given. Nothing he couldn't handle. Pulling out a screwdriver, he got to work while the rest of the team covered his back. After half a minute, the lock light went green and there was a click. With a smirk he opened the door and motioned everyone in. As they stalked through the facility's darkened hallways, Bryan felt a growing sense of unease, as if something was wrong with the situation, but try as he might, he couldn't pin it down... When they arrived at the stairs to the basement Leader called them together. "Four, Leader. Point three." "Four, copy point three. Perimeter still clear." Leader motioned to Five, who shrugged off his backpack and started distributing demolition charges. "Set timers for five minutes. Three and Five, you take the west side. Two, you're with me. Place 'em and rendesvous here in ten minutes. If we're not there, exit immediately. Clear?" Everyone nodded, and Leader turned around, grabbed the railing and slid quickly down into the dark, followed by Five. Bryan stepped up and was just about to slide down when Leader suddenly shouted, "AMBU-!" and was then cut off by gunfire. He glanced down just in time to see Five get hit several times while still on the stairs. Cursing, he yanked two grenades from his bandolier and pulled the pins. Dropping them into the hole and running for it, he and Three were around the corner before the explosion shook the building and lights and alarms came on. "Four, Two. It's an ambush. Leader is gone, mission is scrubbed. We're out of here. Status Omega." That was the bug-out signal, the order to cut and run when everything had gone to hell. He and Three might not make it out, but Four had a better chance of getting back and report to TRES. Footsteps from in front of him. He hefted his rifle and nodded to Three to do the same. When the four security guards rounded the corner, they opened fire, taking three out before the fourth managed to get back behind cover. Cursing, Bryan pointed his rifle at the nearest window and pulled the trigger, shattering it in a hail of bullets. "Go!" he yelled to Three, who stared at him blankly for a second before understanding, and then leaped through the window. Bryan lobbed the last of his grenades around the corner and followed him. He hit the ground hard and rolled, coming up on one knee and getting his bearings. A searchlight swept over him and flared in his eyes, then went dark again as a burst from Three took it out. "C'mon! Fence is this way!" He scrambled to his feet and they ran. Risking a quick glance behind him, he saw the now-illuminated main entrance doors open and disgorge two full squadrons of guards. He cursed silently. At least they hadn't seen him yet, which was a small blessing. They managed to reach the hole in the fence well before any pursuers could catch up, and as they did so his hopes gathered. *maybe we'll make it out after all...* At that moment, there was a flash from one of the hilltops and a dark stain started spreading on Three's chest. Bryan pulled up his rifle again and aimed for the source. The shot struck him square in the chest just as his finger tightened on the trigger. ... Bryan woke up lying on a slab in a white room, in his regular uniform. Blinking, he looked around. Around him were four more beds upon which the other team members were lying in various states of waking up. "What happened? Where are we?" "Damn if I know... Last thing I remember is staring at the wrong end of a rifle, then I'm here." A door opened and a man in a Zeta Captain's uniform and a woman in a technicians' coat over a Chi uniform entered. Bryan automatically grabbed for a sidearm that wasn't there when the woman spoke. "The simulation is over. The word is 'Exercise', gentlemen. When I snap my fingers you will be awake and once again aware of reality." She snapped her fingers and memory returned. This had been a training mission to a simulated target. They had all undergone hypnotic suggestion to create the illusion of reality even though they'd fired - and had been fired at - with paint guns. Every move they'd made had been observed by the instructors. He groaned inwardly. *There goes the graduation...* "Let's get on with the evaluation, shall we?" said the man, whose nametag read "t'Kharn" Bryan now recognized him as the one who'd "briefed" them. "First off, though, I'd like Cadet Winters explain why he didn't bother to confirm Four's identity after he failed to check in on time." Leader looked taken aback. "Sir?" "When in doubt, /always/ check if whomever you intend to trust to watch your back with a sniping rifle still is who he says he is." Leader, or Cadet Winters, looked around at Four, who looked embarassed. "He snuck up on me. I was out cold before I even was aware of him..." "Sir, I felt that the malfunctioning radio was a satisfactory explanation and wanted to keep the mission on schedule. On reflection I see that was a minor oversight, but-" Winters protested but t'Kharn cut him off. "That 'minor oversight' cost you an early warning as well as the lives of two squadmates who might have gotten out to report back otherwise. Since noone escaped, TRES didn't find out the situation was a trap until the next team we sent in was lost. There is no such thing as a 'minor' oversight in this line of work, cadet." Stepping back, he continued "That is all for now, cadets. Report tomorrow morning at 0800 for the full debriefing, for now I suggest you all get some sleep and analyze what you could have done better. Dismissed." As they watched the cadets slump out of the room, the tech turned to Shadur. "I know I'm not supposed to criticize your bedside manners, but weren't you a little harsh down there?" Shadur nodded. "I was, lieutenant. I have my reasons...." He was interrupted by the base intercom. "Captain t'Kharn, please report to Comm." "... which we'll have to discuss later," he finished with a wry grin, moving to the nearest wall intercom. "t'Kharn here." "Incoming call from Command. Flagged eyes-only and priority." "I'll take it in my office. t'Kharn out." ... Captain t'Kharn slid into the comfy faux-leather chair stationed behind his desk. The comm screen flashed an impatient "*Incoming Message*", and a retinal scanner stood on standby. *Better take a breather, Shad,* Rens thought. The unearthly blackness in his eyes melted away, revealing their true color. He leaned forward, and there was a sense of warmness in his eye as the scanner did its work. The scanner beeped pleasantly, and the words "*Welcome, Captain t'Kharn... Decrypting Signal*" flashed across the screen. A low-angle image of Admiral Felton cut in. He looked down into the camera. "First off, ye didnae receive this call..." Rens grinned. "Whose head are you going over?" "Shaddup," DarkSide replied, looking back up. "I need t'ask ye a favor, Shad. I need ye t'come t'Seattle. Unofficial business, there's n'hurry, but I'd like ye t'get here as soon as possible. By sometime t'morrow. Think ye can pull that off?" Rens sat back and scratched his chin. "I have business to finish here. I can probably make it." DarkSide nodded, not looking at the camera. "Good. Tie up any loose ends ye need to, just get here when ye can. And bring some analyzin' equipment. Portable spectrometer, b'harnescope. Call it a hunch." "What is it we'll be analyzing?" "Beats th'hell out o' me. We'll figure that out when ye get here. Felton out." The screen went black. --TBC -- --Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!) Grand Admiral Felton, C-in-C, TRES Corps Jihad 5000 Lord of the Race The Corps is Mother. The Corps is Father. Trust the Corps.