Kill Team: Rogue Operations

by Extartius

Part 1 - The Accountant

As he passed through the security checkpoint, one of the maintenance workers reached up to touch the near invisible micro-communicator tucked over his earlobe. He keyed the vox twice, sending a two-pip signal to the rest of the team.

Two pips meant they were in

The security protocols in the Administatum's clerical annexes were relaxed to say the least. A glance at their maintenance dockets and a cursory examination of the ID markings tattooed into the skin of their forearms was all it took. Then the door-valve cycled and they were through, wheeling the bulky maintenance servitor along with them. The security officers hadn't even bothered to check it over.

If they had, they might eventually have worked out that it was a dud.

'Keep moving, we need Annex C,' one of the men mumbled to his partner. They kept on until they spotted a brass bound sign indicating the direction they wanted. Beyond the turning there was an elevator lobby. They picked one at random and wheeled their packhorse in, securing the doors behind them.

One of the men immediately moved to the control panel. He expertly popped the repair hatch and slid a data splice into the card-reader slot, sending sparks flying for a moment. The data splice pinged, confirming that the elevator was theirs. They could use it to access any level above the one they were on, even the ones requiring a security code. He punched in a three-digit number and the lift lurched into motion, ascending.

The other man had already started disassembling parts of the servitor, quickly and efficiently constructing a pair of large bore shotguns from the components. Another compartment disgorged a plethora of offensive articles, machine pistols with several long ammo-clips, a collection of grenades and a belt of pre-prepared directional charges for blowing out any locking mechanisms they couldn't slice electronically. The two men hurriedly equipped themselves for a close range firefight. Beneath their coveralls, even the keenest observer would fail to notice they were clad in high-density armaweave flak jackets.

The man with the vertical scar down the left side of his face reached a hand up to his earpiece while the handsome one used the butt of his shotgun to dislodge the upper hatch, his partner gave him a leg up and he climbed through onto the elevator roof. Scarface keyed his communicator.

'Rogue Seven, this is One. Elevator secured. Rogue Two is awaiting instructions. Over!'

'Two, this is Seven. You need to locate the main cable trunk and access the nearest junction box.'

Rogue Two was forced to climb up onto a stanchion to reach a panel painted with black and yellow chevrons. Using a small crowbar he levered the box open.

'Rogue Seven, this is Two. Have located and accessed a junction box on the main trunk, what am I looking for?'

'Look for a serial number. They usually stencil it onto the jacket of the cable. You want serial 334-892-AV-944.'

'Got it, Seven. You want me to cut this?'

'Affirmative. Don't cut anything else...'

Two took out a bulky set of wire cutters and sliced through the thick cable without hesitation. He then dropped back down to the roof of the elevator and clambered back in. Rogue One triggered the data splice and the car began to rise again.

'Six, this is Rogue One. Check in. Over!'

xxx

Rogue Six was hunkered down in a service crawl space deep within the complex. A compact codifier was spliced into a wrist thick cable that could be traced back to the higher levels of Annex C. The rare and highly sought after example of techno-arcana was busy intercepting the pict feeds from seven security cameras up in the annex and overlaying them with a stolen recording from several weeks earlier. Rogue Six had spent days tweaking the images, making sure the seam was flawless. Even the time-code shown on the bottom left hand corner of the image had been painstakingly timed to perfection.

'Six here, I've got the surveillance cameras covered. Over!'

It had cost the team hundreds of thousands of credits to acquire the necessary equipment and training to successfully pull this exercise off. The Techno Magos had been difficult to bribe into giving up the information. In the end torture had worked better, the refund was nice too.

Rogue Six turned his thoughts back to the work at hand, monitoring the power fluctuations that could overload the splice at a moments notice and give the game away.

xxx

Rogue One ticked another mental box and keyed the vox again.

'Seven, this is One. How's the air?'

xxx

Rogue Seven was hidden in a small maintenance closet some way down from the security checkpoint that Rogues One and Two passed through only minutes before. He was busy adjusting the dials on a similarly complicated piece of technological equipment.

'This is Rogue Seven,' he replied, his voice grating and mechanical. 'I'm preparing to scramble all vox traffic in Annex C and the surrounding area. Be warned, they may get concerned when their beads stop working.'

xxx

'We'll have time, Seven. Go live on my mark. All units, green light in five... four... three...'

The elevator slowed and ground to a halt as the speaker wound down to zero. The elevator doors ground open and the two men dived out into the lobby beyond, blasting as they went.

Three security officers went down, their armaweave jackets bursting under the impact of high-powered manstopper rounds. Two more opened fire from either side but their shots went wild. In seconds they had joined their compatriots on the floor.

One of the men covered the other as he placed a charge on the door then both men moved aside. Even as the charge detonated and the doors collapsed inward, Rogue One was ready with a flashbang. In it went and seconds later they followed it, clubbing a couple of guards that were busy staggering about in their blindness.

'Which door?' asked Rogue Two.

'The one in the corner, move quickly.'

Another door opened and several officers charged in, blasting from the hip with their own shotguns. The codifiers and cogitator units around them erupted in sparks, the plaster was blown from the walls and a shower of lead pellets filled the air as the two infiltrators dove for cover.

'Leave them to me,' Rogue One bellowed. 'Take down that door, now!'

Rogue One dropped his bulky shotgun and took out a pair of matched Korsch 50 machine pistols, hefting them appreciatively. Bulky they may be, but they had a high rate of fire and a fair amount of punch. They were also reasonably accurate for weapons of their kind. Even if they hadn't been, the wielder was a deadeye shot with a gunfighter's instincts.

He stood, reaching out with both arms and letting the Korsch pistols kick as he sidestepped between pedestals and worktops. The air filled with the pale grey smoke of burnt off cordite propellant, the smell reaching back into the man's memories of youth, to a time when he'd been only marginally less dangerous than he was now.

The security detail didn't stand a chance.

They tracked his movement, zoning in on him as the other of their targets moved away. Rogue One was the immediate threat. They could take their time with the other. Furniture exploded all around the man, but all he managed to catch was a little buckshot grazing that tore his clothes but failed to punch through the armaweave beneath.

In turn, the infiltrator's fire was sustained, accurate and deadly. Two men dropped with bullets tearing into the gap between their closed-visor helmets and the carapace breastplates they were sporting. Arterial blood spurted. Another was spun around by a series of impacts on his shoulder armour. One of the bullets must have gone through because he yelped with pain and wasn't able to get back up in a hurry.

Two security officers ducked into cover and started taking blind pot shots over the tops of the work units. Rogue one took a frag grenade from his belt and cooked it off, tossing it up and over behind the units they were ensconced behind. A second or two later, two broken bodies were belched into the air in a cloud of fiery smoke.

Rogue One was taking no chances. He walked over and put a bullet through each man's head then checked over the room they'd come from.

'We're clear over here, how's it going with that door?'

'Almost there,' Two replied, checking the codifier attached to his own data splice. The reinforced door was code locked. No amount of explosive charges would have worried it, but they'd bought what they were told was the master codifier at an extortionate price on the black market. There were no guarantees that it would work, but if not there were less subtle ways of gaining access. Rogue Five was standing by.

'Got it!' The door cycled and hissed inward. The mournful cries of a herd of terrified scribes and scriveners issued forth as the two armed men walked into the room with their shotguns held to their shoulders.

They'd heard the racket outside. They'd thought themselves secure in their heavily armoured crypt. They were gravely mistaken.

'Which one of you is Tordoph Raize?' Rogue One barked.

The target didn't volunteer his own identity, but several of the others raised fingers to indicate an emaciated crone of a man with cortical mechadendrites festooning the back of his skull.

Rogue two took a geno-sampler from his pocket and stabbed the little man with it. The indicator light flashed green.

'This is him, alright!'

'Dose him. We don't have much time.'

Rogue two took a hypodermic from his satchel and sedated the whimpering crone, whose heart might otherwise have given out with all the excitement. Hefting the limp form over one shoulder, Rogue One led the way back out towards the elevator.

'One to all units, we have the accountant. Rogue Three, you are go! Rogues Six and Seven, prepare to bug out on my signal. Rogues Four and Five, stand at ready! We're getting the hell out of here.'

They retreated to the elevator. Rogue Two unhooked the lifeless servitor from its harness and slung the emaciated corpse out into the blood-smeared lobby. Together they hoisted the accountant up into the harness. The little man's hairless, colourless head drooped, his receding chin not quite resting on his bony chest.

With the target secured, they activated the lift again.

'Help me with this, will you?' said Rogue One, indicating the torn-up coveralls. Rogue Two passed him the broad utility belt he was wearing. It concealed the damage well enough.

The elevator took them back down to the level on which they'd gained access to the secure annexes. Here they trundled their prize inconspicuously back through. This time they were not even stopped for a cursory check. The guard had changed three minutes before and the new man hadn't bothered to check the manifest to see that they'd only been in there for a few minutes. It generally took longer than that to repair a cogitator unit.

As they were moving down the corridor towards the main trunk elevator rotunda Rogues Four and Five emerged from their positions behind them, keeping their sharp eyes on any security personnel that may be walking the halls. Rogue Seven emerged ahead of them, his equipment bagged up in the satchel he carried over one shoulder.

Together, the infiltrators entered another elevator with their prize. None of them spoke a word. None of them even acknowledged the others. The gig wasn't up yet. They still had a ways to go.

As the elevator opened up on the Transport level, the alarm klaxons began to blare.

'Shit!' Rogue One swore. 'They weren't supposed to raise the alarm for another six minutes.'

'Somebody frakked up good, boss!' Two replied.

'No use crying over spilt milk, fellas,' said Rogue Five, shrugging her massive shoulders and patting the concealed assault rifle strapped to her leg. 'Let's get this guy portable, shall we?'

Rogue One nodded curtly, detaching Raize's constraints and, with Two's help, strapping him across Rogue Five's back. Within seconds they were ready to roll and One waved the others forward.

The shuttle bays were always going to be the first thing to get locked down in the event of a high alert status. But the Rogue team had ways of dealing with such obstructions. It wasn't their ideal solution, but it would do the job in a pinch.

'Six, this is One, report your status. Over!'

'I'm en route, three minutes. Over!'

'Head for the security module on the Transport level. We'll meet you there. Over!'

'Affirmative, Six out!'

'All right, people, by the numbers. We don't want to draw too much attention.'

Rogue four took point, armed with a silenced assault rifle similar to Rogue Five's, who took up position at the centre of the group, seeing as she carried the prize. The Korsch machine pistols were reconstructed but Rogue One's holstered them in favour of a broad-bladed knife. They'd be close to hand just in case they were needed.

Two guards rushed towards them, shotguns held across their chests. They were obviously headed up-stack because they weren't paying enough attention to save their sorry lives. Rogue Four put them on the floor with bullets through their eyes.

The security module was only partially manned, having redeployed most of its personnel to making sure the shuttle bays were locked down and guarded. The rest of their manpower had been sent to join the hunt for whoever it was that had shot up Annex C. They didn't stand a chance. Rogue One took out the corridor sentry with his knife and Four stormed the room, killing the two security men without conscience.

Rogue Seven moved to look over the equipment. The massive security console was studded with control panels and pict-feeds from the six shuttle-bays adjoining the security hub. Seven was quickly able to identify which was the softest target.

'Looks like we need Bay Three,' he declared. Rogue One nodded at Two and Four, who left the room with determined expressions on their faces. Rogue Six arrived shortly after their departure and wasted no time in logging into the terminal indicated by his teammates. Inserting a data splice he went to work on their exit strategy.

xxx

Rogue Four grinned as he charged down the pair of guards watching Bay Three. Bullets tore into the alert but unsuspecting men and they went down in a twitching heap. He leapt over them and smacked the door-release panel. Rogue Two folded in behind him as the door cycled open, his shotgun levelled and ready.

Inside, the Bay was deserted. The outer doors were sealed. Crates were piled against the walls, flanking a service ramp that led down into the storage levels below.

'Drag those bodies inside and watch the corridor,' said Two. 'I'll check the service entrance.'

'Sure thing, Daz...'

Rogue Two rounded on Four, pinning him with an accusatory finger.

'Damn it, no names, how many times do you have to be told?'

'Yeesh, man, cool it!'

'I'm telling you, drop my name again, in whatever form, and I'll leave you here in pieces...'

Four held up his arms in surrender, a look of mock apology on his surly features. Just at that moment buckshot sprayed their position, scoring Four with superficial grazing but knocking Two from his feet, his weapon flying from his fingers.

'Man down!' Four shouted into his vox as he dived for cover by the door. 'We've got tangos, lots of tangos...' he opened up with his assault rifle as a security detail moved up the ramp from below, shooting from the hip as they came. One went down but three more made cover. One stayed put to keep Four pinned while the other two started moving around behind the crates to close on his position.

'Stay put, Four, the cavalry's inbound!'

xxx

The rest of the team packed up their operation and piled out into the corridor. Seven and Six took the lead while Five backed them up. One brought up the rear, unshipping his Korsch pistols as they closed on Bay Three.

That was when their luck ran out.

The security forces had found them. It was probable that the men in Bay Three had called it in but there could have been any number of reasons for the sudden security presence on the Transport Level. In the end it mattered little why they were there, blocking the path to Bay Three.

Scarface turned to fix his cold eyes on his team and uttered two words that caused their features to harden.

'Extreme prejudice!'

Four against twenty was long odds. The security forces didn't stand a chance. They dived for doorways as the team made its way relentlessly towards them. High-powered assault rifles stitched puckered lines of bullet holes in the walls. Tube grenades popped as they were projected from under-slung launchers, filling the corridor with fire and shrapnel.

Security personnel were separated from their limbs, their weapons or their bladder control in the face of their ferocious advance. In seconds the team was through the door and into the hangar bay.

They fanned out, pinning the security personnel that had gone to ground amidst the packing crates near the service ramp.

Rogue Four had managed to drag Two into cover. He was dazed and bleeding, but upon coaxing he managed to groan and swear so he couldn't have been too badly hurt.

Scarface reached up to his bead.

'What's your ETA, Three?'

'You might want to stand back, One, we're coming in…'

'COVER!!!'

The team dived into shelter, hunkering down behind packing crates, crane control boxes or behind bulkheads. With an ear-splitting explosion the massive landing gates tore inward. Hot air gushed over them, carrying the stench of high explosive fyceline and cordite.

A matt black, Guard issue Valkyrie with the Imperial markings scraped off lunged through the breach and set down. The side hatch was already open, the white-haired gunner ready with his high-calibre cannon to cover the extraction.

The rear exit ramp levered open and the team moved into the interior, securing the still-dazed Two into a seat before seeing to themselves. Even as they did so the Valkyrie was lifting off again, nosing out into the high-stack air lanes.

A couple of security speeders picked them up straight away. Rogue One manned the second cannon and together they scratched the bogeys with a minimum of fuss.

'Secure the hatches back there, we're going dark!' Three spoke over the cabin speaker.

One and white-hair pulled their cannons inside on their gimble-mounts and slammed the sliding hatches closed, shutting out the greater part of the turbine noise emitted by the flier's engines.

The rest of the flight would be blind for them. Their fates lay in the hands of their pilot.

xxx

Tordoph Raize woke to a purple haze of drug-induced euphoria. He was strapped into a chair, bound hand and foot, but this didn't concern him too much with all the lovely things the narcotics were doing to him.

A scarred face loomed before him, a shaven headed ruffian who looked like he'd killed his fair share of anyone that got in his way without too much remorse. But Raize was too high to give a damn.

He vaguely registered the man's words.

'Don't worry, old man. This'll soon be over. We're nearly through the last of the synaptic seals. As soon as we've extracted all those secret account numbers you can go on your way. No hard feelings, eh?'

It took him a couple of minutes to work out the implications of what the boy said. When his befuddled mind had wrapped itself around the conundrum his eyes widened in panic, even through the haze… his heart palpitated in his chest, an implant-induced arrhythmia, the beginnings of a massive heart attack. The calming drugs slowed it down, but the hardware his masters had installed was the best in a line of biological failsafe implants. Tordoph Raize was the receptacle for a great many secrets, the key that would unlock a quarter of a billion credits embezzled from the sub-sector Administratum.

Three minutes later, Tordoph Raize was pronounced officially brain-dead.

xxx

Corgan turned to Toal, whose fevered brow was dripping on the green glowing cogitator readout.

'Did we get it?'

Toal punched up a few more codes. A series of nervous looks passed between the other occupants of the room. Wheln looked up from the vox hardware he'd been tinkering with, Lita scratched her temple and shrugged in Frocar's direction. Darron scowled at Pars as he picked at the dressing on his shoulder, the other man only grinned, completely unperturbed. Perri was a silent and inscrutable as he always was, cleaning his assault rifle with an oily piece of vizzy cloth.

Toal breathed a deep sigh that could have passed for relief or disappointment. He swivelled in his seat, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up at Corgan.

'Two hundred and fifty nine billion in the bank, plus change!'

Corgan nodded, almost cracking a smile. He turned to survey the room's occupants.

'As much as I'd like to kiss our esteemed colleague on a job well done, I'll refrain for the time being. Instead I'd like to congratulate you all on becoming so stupidly, insanely rich…'

xxx

In a run down, neath-stack hab on the lower east side of Patrician Secundus seventeen light-years away, Alfonso Shopal waited beside a beaten up old codifier, hard-wired into the hab's decrepit trunk-line. He played cards with his compatriot, bored or the constant waiting.

It made him jump when the codifier burbled to life, spitting out a ream of paper. Once it had finished he tore the strip and held it up to the flickering bulb to read what it said.

Congratulations on your recent windfall. Funds are now available to go ahead with the next phase of operations. May fortune favours the audacious! Imperator conservo nosta animus.+++