City Of Life
In they come
The rotor blades of the helicopter cut swiftly through the unexpectedly rough wind, as the sleek Black Hawk descended from the clouds, down towards the smouldering wreckage of what had once been City Hall.
"Go Go Go!"
An almost invisible silhouette leapt from the open hatch, freefalling with evident professional skill. Wind lashed at his cloak, suspending it in the swift gusts that followed. The figure dived head first though the clouds, the moist air collecting on his water tight mask. Falling another three hundred feet he prepared himself for a swift landing. Throwing his left arm out to the side, he pulled on the cold steel toggle attached to his denim bomber jacket. A crisp linen parachute launched into the crisp November air, the emblem of a dagger clearly visible in the low ambient light.
The figure then adjusted his posture to allow himself to land in a more stable feet first position. Breaking through the final layer of now violent turbulence, he adjusted the cords of the parachute for the final time, and drew his commando knife from the leather sheath on his thigh. Inches above the rough roof of the apartment block; adjacent to the incandescent town hall, the figure swung the knife into the tight fibre straps attaching him to the parachute.
Thud, the parachutist landed smoothly on his feet, knife already back in its sheath. Sliding the bulky goggles from his sweaty face, he wiped his mouth with a moisture ridden glove.
"Dammit, I always get the hard jobs." He whispered as a shift of moonlight alit the smooth features of his face.
He was , Special Air Squadron Lieutenant, Codename: Bravo Two. Pulled into yet another Bio Weapons catastrophe.
"It's always Bio Weapons," he thought recognising the irony of his situation.
"Special forces, hmph." Renald had initially became involved in the management of biological weapons during the late 90s, a respected doctor who had dedicated his life to treating those unfortunate enough to be exposed to these dreadful concoctions. A rather relaxed, sedate role in comparison to the one he was currently performing. Noticed by a commanding officer undertaking a training course in advanced chemical warfare, he was rapidly snapped up and propelled through the armies' ranks, before being drafted to the front line of the current crisis before him.
The last dozen several times a clean up force had been called in it was because of the government or an organisation had failed to carry out sufficient safety assessments and things had become seriously out of hand. But this time it was different.
"Area secure, prepare for squad drop on Zulu – Bravo Two out," he whispered into the headset wrapped firmly around the sweaty cotton bandanna on his head.
Renald sighed as the brisk wind ruffled the edges of the Velcro strap, which sealed tight the seams of the denim bomber jacket he wore over his chest. It was clearly visible that the jacket was packed from head to toe with assorted objects and gadgets; but this was of no worry to Renald at that present time, for after all, anything that confronted him would not be given the chance to react.
He kneeled down, ripping open the main seam of the jacket. A quick equipment check was in order before he even thought about his rendezvous with Bravo Squad. During freefalls it was quite common for ammunition to become defective and electronic systems to be knocked out. Fortunately everything was in order, and for once his positioning device had actually survived a -10 degree freefall; a personal first in his many years of service.
A shrill scream shifted across the breeze from down below. Renald defensive instincts kicked in as the sound registered in his mind. His mind switched into automatic, his hands slid across his denim bomber jacket briskly fastening the velcro connector strap. He slid a razor sharp commando knife from its shoulder holster and slid it between his teeth; finally a firearm flew from its holster with angelic dexterity, as he shuffled instinctively to assume a firing position on the edge of the roof.
Contact.
Renald tapped the right side of his headset, relaying by voice the situation to his commanding officer.
"Bravo Two requesting instructions, female civilian under attack by unknown foe, target may be armed."
A few seconds later the radio crackled back a reply.
"Negative Bravo Two, objectives are to retain and destroy biohazard. Civilians are not our priority."
Renald stood breathless as events unfolded in the alley below.
"Get away from me you freak!" cried the woman, as the stumbling figure approached with unceasing speed.
"I said get away!" she shouted again, tears welling in her eyes as she paced briskly backwards, her body embraced by violent tremors. But the figure moved towards her at a relentless pace, it staggered more frequently than before and it was as if it was now focused on its panicking target.
"I said get away, you freak!" In her panic the woman delved clumsily into her purse, hands tearing through discarded paper & cosmetics. Her senses dulled as a wave of nausea poured over her. Cold metal. A scream of rage.
Bang! The barrel of the firearm burst alight as the woman blindly drew the weapon from her bag, firing at the lumbering creature. The sickening thud of the impact did nothing to the beast. It just paused, as if nothing had happened. It surveyed its wounds with curiosity and with a smirk of contentment, advanced on her, eyes glazed with predatory desire.
Up above Renald had seen enough, what ever that thing was it must have been related to the bio outbreak in the concealed scientific department in city hall. He slightly smiled to himself, whilst his objectives did not concern the safety of civilians, it did order the elimination of all Bio – Sub Projects and destruction of the source.
Renald tapped the side of his headset once again.
"Bravo Two requesting immediate assistance. Bio subject located south of city approx two clicks from primary zone of infection. Requesting permission to eliminate or stall."
A few painful seconds passed before the radio finally spat out a response.
"Roger that Bravo Two, operatives Sierra and Leone are moving to support. Eliminate subject with any means necessary."
About time, he thought. Usually this was an in out job, yet whilst this may be more tedious then was expected, it meant that his skills would get the work out they deserved.
Renald dashed for the suspended iron stairway bolted to the side of the building and vaulted the metal railings intended to stop unaware civilians falling to an untimely end. He scaled the rails proficiently, with gloved hands dancing over the iced metal with ease. Train hard fight easy. That was the Special Forces motto and one which had been carefully chosen at that.
Renald leapt from the second story, gaining rapidly on the target below, he manipulated his momentum into a direct strike, his boots slamming into the fleshy head of the deformed creature. Expertly Renald rolled to his feet, reducing injury to a minimum. Berretta drawn and knife already back in sheath.
"Stand down!" shouted Renald, as the figure clumsily began to climb to its feet. "Stand down! Final Warning!". The figure ignored him and stood blandly, its back facing the commando. Renald raised the gun to align with the beast's head, hands shaking wearily, retribution brought down upon him. His vision blurred and echoing voices enveloped him in the darkness....
A Moment of Sincerity.
A shuffling of desks by nervous students signified the start of the lecture. An old, well- built man took his place at the lectern placed at the middle of the stage, a raspy sigh and crack of the knuckles warned the students that this was a man who meant business.
'The yellow card', he announced, calmly glancing downwards at the sheet of illegible notes, hurriedly written by a short young lass moments before. 'Clause 11:14 from the Geneva Convention confrontation acts of 1978.'
A weary sigh of disappointment arose from the student as they prepared themselves for a long tiring lecture. 'Designed as disciplinary measure for penetration through enemy lines, this procedure relies on the soldiers ability to identify friend or foe, and, should a friendly target be eliminated the soldier will be severely disciplined and is likely to be court martialed.... The soldier frowned at his displeased crowd. Was it lack of discipline or had he really become out of touch with the younger generation?
'Hurry up gramps!' Came the cry of cocky Private Renald, a smug grin fixed across an otherwise seemingly innocent face.
Red Alert.
Crack! The creature's boney, fleshless shoulder struck Lt Renald square in the chest whilst he had let his guard down. It recovered instantly, all motion lost and if anything less tired than on the first encounter. It stood emotionless as Renald crumpled in the middle of the alley.
"Dammit!" Renald gasped as he rolled across the rough gravelled road, the creature swung at its' prey with a clawed hand. Renald swung his boot to connect with the incoming blow, the impact sending a shock through his body as he realised the immense strength which his foe possessed. Renald rolled yet again dodging another swipe. Let's get this party started. His hand flew to the edge of his jacket ripping open the flap, he snatched a second berretta from its holster and released a volley of explosive fire.
The subject flew backwards writhing in pain; the ammunition had penetrated through the creatures' chest and had ripped into his vital organs.
Renald cautiously climbed to his feet, eyes locked on the infected creature. He kept his gun trained on it, monitoring its every spasm, every squirm, every sign. It wriggled in pain as Renald approached, lowering his gun to align with the creature's head, Renald whispered a brief curse – and fired.