Update (2/19/2017): Had to change some words and phrases.
Update (11/15/2017): Affectations toned-down from this point on, as I said in Chapter Nine

Chapter One - "Team Rainbow"

Bartlett University, Cambridge, Massachusetts
1530 hours

...

Mission time was two hours and thirty seconds.

Emmanuelle Pichon felt uneasy sitting in the Blackhawk. Her bulky, grey MOPP suit made it more cumbersome to shift in her seat. The gas mask gave her tunnel vision, and the imaging goggles on her forehead was slightly disorienting. Top that with all the rifle mags, flashbangs, drone batteries, and other miscellanies on her chest rig, her body felt completely burdened. But any discomfort she felt was irrelevant, nor was it worthy of her attention. The clock was ticking. She rested her fingers on the FAMAS on her lap, as her lips murmured childhood lullabies and prayers to keep herself calm. Her eyes were closed, her mind was focused.

It was rather gloomy and quiet inside the cabin. The doors were shut tight, so nobody knew what awaited them on the ground. A rather fitting metaphor, given the amount of 'actionable intelligence' the team had for this mission. Yet all throughout the flight, she didn't hear a single complaint from anyone in the aircraft. The scale of the situation was too great to gripe about poor planning, lack of preparation, and whatnot. The whos, whats, and whys didn't matter. Many lives were counting on Rainbow to act now.

Would there even be any survivors to rescue? The flight from Fort Bragg burned a lot of time; it may already be too late.

"Twenty seconds to insertion.", the pilot announced to his passengers. "On final approach to the LZ."

The words were like a command prompt for Emma's brain. Upon hearing them, she opened her eyes and pulled the charging handle on her rifle's top receiver. The audible click told her that the Clarion was loaded with a fresh bullet. She then checked the reflex scope, to see if the reticle was on. Turning to her left, she saw the rest of Alpha Team doing the same steps, arming their weapons and checking their gear in silent fashion. Gilles Touré. Miles Campbell. Shuhrat Kessikbayev. The Frenchwoman followed their example and took another look at her suit's pressure gauge and oxygen readings. The last thing she wanted was to die a stupid death via asphyxiation.

It was game time. Team leader Seamus Cowden finally rose from his seat.

"Oi, listen up!", he spoke in his Scottish drawl. "I want a five-meter spread, diamond formation once we're on the ground. Eyes on yer sectors. We're gonna leg it to the building together, clear?"

Everyone bobbed their heads in response. The plan was simple: Alpha will take Liberty Hall, Bravo will proceed to the adjacent Dormitories, and Charlie will follow closely and set up triage for any survivors. Since they had reports of explosives in the campus, each team was also entrusted with an electronic bomb defuser kit. Emma was carrying the one given to Alpha. By the simulation's estimates, it would probably take twenty minutes for the teams to accomplish their objectives. Mission notes, floor plans, and entry tactics occupied their heads.

Alpha-One gave one last reminder.

"I'll be making our entry. Montagne will take point. Castle, you'll have rear security. Fuze, explosives. Twitch, keep the drone and the defuser ready."

"Roger that, sir.", she responded.

Then, the pilot opened the channel and spoke again. "Five seconds...",

Before they knew it, the helicopter was nearly above their designated landing zone. Using nothing more than hand signals, Seamus ordered the Blackhawk's cabin doors to be opened, immediately showering the compartment with bright and blinding sunlight. Then, the crew chief gathered an armful of rope and tossed it outside of the fuselage. A standard helicopter insertion from a height of 20 meters, give or take. Beyond the gaping door was the point of no return.

"...Green light! Go! Go! Go!"

Nobody hesitated. One by one, Alpha Team rose from their seats and grasped at the long, static assault line dangling outside. Seamus was the first one out. Next was Miles, followed by Shuhrat. The towering Gilles was next, and he patted Emma's back before he ventured out and abseiled to the bottom. It was simple well-wishing from one ex-Gendarmerie to another. Then, it was her turn.

Okay, let's do this.

Emma grabbed the rope with both hands and legs, then let herself out of the chopper. She pivoted her body a good 180 degrees, as she let herself descend into the thick mist below at about eight feet per second. The hard, tensile fabric skid across the palm of her Kevlar gloves, as she made a conscious effort to keep her legs from getting tangled. Halfway through the rope's length, she immediately used her right hand to exert tension and slow her body down. Her boots were firmly planted less than two seconds later. Removing herself from the rope and lifting her FAMAS at shoulder-level, the young woman was good to go. She was immediately met by a dense fog of yellowish toxic gas. The helicopter flew off shortly after.

"Sledge to all Strike Elements...", Seamus called into the radio. "...Alpha is on the ground, ready to proceed to target building."

The plan hinged on everyone advancing to their respective objectives simultaneously. Luckily, the second Blackhawk was only a few seconds away from Alpha Team's LZ. The senior most officer on board that aircraft was ex-Navy SEAL Meghan Castellano, who promptly replied to the Scotsman's report.

"Check that, Alpha. Bravo and Charlie are inserting now. Don't start the party without us."

The fog was incredibly thick. Whatever gave it its sickly yellow tint must be have been a very potent biochemical agent. The downdraft from the incoming helicopter blew some of the fog away, albeit briefly. Glancing beside her shoulder, Emma could see the Blackhawk hovering above, ropes dangling outside, and hooded figures dropping from the cabin doors one by one. She counted ten other Rainbow operatives joining them in the field, weapons at the ready.

"Alpha-One, this is Bravo-One.", Meghan spoke again. Her MOPP suit made her totally indistinguishable from the others. "All Elements are on deck, waitin' on you."

"Copy that Bravo.", Seamus replied. "All teams, execute. Mission is a go."

With that order, fifteen heavily-armed men and women fanned out across the grassy grounds of Bartlett University. All of their training, virtual or otherwise, have prepared them for this. And just like their drills and exercises, almost everything they did next was muscle memory. Their guns were raised and pointed at any direction their eyes turned to. Their legs moved briskly, wasting no time to carry them to their objectives. The diamond formation ensured that each group was covered in all angles.

Visibility was low. Liberty Hall's spire was in sight, only a few meters away, but the sun could barely break through the fog. Emma could only see beyond an arm's length; she had to narrow her eyes to see clearer. From her perspective, the campus resembled ground zero, lifeless and barren. There was no other movement, save for the commandos running across the grassy ground. There were remnants of a once lively afternoon- papers, books, food stuffs, and empty shell casings.

There were also plenty of bodies littering the grass and the pavement. Some of them belonged to the first-responders; cops and security guards killed by this callous act of mass murder. And just at the outskirts of Liberty Hall was a mass of bodies concentrated around tents and chairs. To Emma's quiet horror, she saw youthful faces- cold, pale, and motionless. They were all students. They've been dead for a few hours.

It was a grizzly scene that could crush anyone's hearts.

"Oh my God...", she muttered. It took every fiber of her being to fight back the tears.

"Eyes forward, Twitch.", Seamus berated her. "Nothing we can do for them now..."

The tall man didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, he pressed on to the objective with his rifle raised. For a moment, Emma wanted to snap at his heartless statement.

*Crack!*

She was startled by the sound of broken glass. It caused her to recoil a bit and look at her feet. She had just stepped on a smartphone lying beside a limp, motionless hand attached to a human body. A young woman with a brown ponytail. She was a student, donning a maroon sweater decked with the University's coat of arms. She was lying face down, with a pink handkerchief covering her nose.

Every bit of logic told Emma that this kid was dead. But somehow, her gut told her to take a closer look. She could make out the sounds of faint wheezing, coming from the girl's nostrils. Grasping at the wrist, she checked for a pulse…

"…Guys! I... I think she's still alive!"

A small miracle. It was enough to bring a faint smile on Emma's face. Incredulous to everything else, she quickly brought out one of her spare breathers and brought to the girl's nose and mouth. She was unconscious, but the female trooper felt the need to talk to her regardless.

"Hang in there, kid! We'll get you out of here!"

Miles also went to the student's side and lent his comrade a hand. His knowledge of chemical and biological weapons was limited, but he knew enough first aid to treat anyone exposed to these harmful toxins. Seamus, meanwhile, stopped in his tracks and went back to his teammates, hovering over their shoulders. Right there and then, he retracted his previous statement.

"Alpha-One to Charlie-Two, do you read?"

He was radioing Tina Lin Tsang, Rainbow's resident rescue tech.

"Five-by-five, Alpha. Go ahead."

"I have a code-three civilian casualty on my position.", the tall man reported. "Female, late-teens to early twenties. Sending coordinates."

"Wilco, Alpha-One. Moving to you."

With that exchange, Seamus brought a hand to Emma's shoulder.

"Help's on the way, Em. We have to move..."

Again with the pragmatic orders. She didn't want to leave her. But the look on her team leader's eyes told her everything. They've done everything they could for her. None of them had the power to bring the other kids back. They must continue with the mission. Hopefully, they could still find other survivors.

"Don't worry, Emmanuelle...", Shuhrat radioed to her. "...We'll make these sons of bitches pay…"

She couldn't agree more.

"This is Bravo-Three.", a woman called in. The thick German accent undoubtedly belonged to Monika Weiss, who was attached to Meghan's team. "I spotted active signals at the Hall's first and second floors..."

"Check that, Bravo-Three.", the female SEAL responded. "Alpha-One, possible bomb location at the first and second decks of your target building, how copy?"

"We read ya, Bravo. Thanks for the heads-up."

Alpha and Bravo Teams continued their advance, while Charlie handled the casualties. Soon enough, amidst the thick poisonous fog, Seamus and the others have reached the Hall's front patio.

"Stack up on the door! Left-side breach!", he ordered.

Everyone went to their positions with utmost urgency, forming a line that hugged the structure's red brick wall. The windows were all shut. It seemed quiet inside. As the team planned beforehand, Seamus was the first man on the queue, followed by Gilles, Emma, Shuhrat, and Miles. The towering ex-SAS sergeant was closest to the door. He slung over his rifle and brought out his trusted sledgehammer, ready to smash the brown, pinewood frame open.

"Twitch, yer up."

"Copy that...", Emma replied, bringing out her prized RSD-1 from the backpack's sling. "...Deploying shock drone."

She raised her left arm and stared at her wrist pad. A press of the 'On' button caused the black screen to light up with a camera view from her little device. Brief glances at the boot-up messages told her that the signal between the drone and the monitor was clear. The arrow keys caused the wheeled robot to dart forward. The camera gave Emma a good view of the drone's perspective, and she kept her a finger close to the 'Mark' and 'Taze' buttons on her wrist pad, whichever would be prudent in the next few seconds. Everything was muscle memory.

"Patio clear... Coat room clear..."

Liberty Hall's interior was just as the photos and blueprints told her. Wooden surfaces, antique furniture, and a mostly brown, white, and beige color scheme. The marble floors were covered with debris, papers, blood, and shell casings. Electricity in the building was out and there was no source of light, save for a burning fireplace on the other end of a hall. There were a few dead bodies slumped on the ground. Morbidly, the logical part of Emma's brain told her that the corpses could be used as cover for her drone to hide behind.

It quickly paid off.

"Two tangos spotted...", Emma whispered into Alpha's frequency.

A couple of men in another hallway, sparsely spread apart, donning grey hoodies and gas masks. Each of them held an assault rifle. They were hunkering down behind a couch and an overturned bookshelf, as if they were waiting for her team to barge in through the front patio. They probably saw the choppers outside.

"...West wing, first floor reading room.", she reported. "Tangos behind cover, facing front patio… No shot."

"Roger that Alpha-Three.", Seamus replied. "Let's improvise."

He immediately motioned to Miles and Shuhrat to go to the other end of the building. Moving with haste, they lowered their imaging goggles and positioned themselves by the windows, eagerly awaiting their female teammate's callouts. They readied their sound suppressed pistols for the flank. It felt like VR training, all over again.

"Marking targets...", Emma called again.

With the press of a button, the shock drone briefly emitted a red light. The two terrorists had just been tagged with a red marker, which appeared in the HUD of Miles's and Shuhrat's goggles. The Rainbow troopers were assigned their targets, and they could take them out with a few bullets through the thin glass.

"Alpha-Four is ready."

"Five, ready for shot."

Emma acknowledged the replies. One last look at the drone's camera showed no other occupants in the reading room.

"Now!", she ordered.

Immediately, her comrades double-tapped the windows with their pistols. The two armed men on the other side grunted as they were hit. They fell to the floor, motionless. The shock drone's camera confirmed the kills.

"Targets down. We're in the clear."

"Good work Twitch.", the Scotsman praised her. "Castle, Fuze, regroup on me."

Without missing a beat, Seamus raised his Caber swung it into the wooden door, knocking it off its hinges. Gilles, with a suppressed P9 handgun and Le Roc shield drawn, immediately stepped in, shadowed by Emma. The rest of the team followed them inside, one at a time. Then, the Frenchwoman knelt and maneuvered her shock drone for a pick-up. All of them took care not to step on the corpses.

"Room clear.", Gilles reported to the team leader. "Alpha-Two, pressing forward. Stay behind me."

"Copy. Bravo-One, Alpha is at the target building, headed inside."

"Check that, Alpha-One. We're also internal. Happy hunting."

The lumbering giant proceeded to an archway hall, his team following his lead with weapons drawn. They moved together, slowly and methodically. It might have been better for Alpha Team to split up and cover more ground. Unfortunately, the thick, poisonous mist made it harder to navigate the building. Visibility was next to nothing. Not only was it very easy to get lost in this place, it also presented plenty of spots for the terrorists to hide behind.

And lo and behold, a hooded man with a gas mask and a Steyr AUG stumbled across the hallway, completely surprised by the sudden presence of five commandos in the hall. Before he could yelp and warn his buddies, the terrorist was silenced with a single bullet to the head from Gilles' pistol. The blowback from the man's skull painted the wall behind him with a smear of red.

"Kill confirmed."

The team pressed on, moving past the dead bad guy and other corpses. The atmosphere was incredibly tense. Outside, they could hear faint explosions and gun fire erupting from the nearby Dormitories. Meghan and her team were fighting their way through the building. It's not as if Alpha had it easy; trouble seemed to wait for them at every corner. Luckily, this place had signs indicating where they were and where they needed to go. Just past the archway hall was the main hallway and the first-floor lounge. Beyond that must be the dining room, the kitchen, and the pantry, if Emma memorized the campus blueprints right.

It only took her and her comrades a few seconds to reach the end of the hall. Beyond the yellow mist, she could see that the doors were barricaded with wooden planks and barbed wire. There was no doubt that the enemy was on the other side.

"Twitch, get on yer drone again.", Seamus ordered her.

"Roger that."

The RSD-1 was deployed once more. Emma maneuvered the device into the room and underneath the wooden barricades. The chairs and tables confirmed that this was dining area. A few seconds of piloting later, she saw a well-complemented welcoming party of guns, ballistic panels, and makeshift firing positions manned by at least five men. They were aiming at the doors, waiting for a chance to give the Rainbow troopers hell.

These psychos were very well-equipped. The firearms, the deployable shields, the explosives, the toxic gas. She wouldn't be surprised if they were the same terrorists that they faced in Abidjan, London, and elsewhere. But why attack Bartlett? Out of all places, the University wasn't exactly a soft target. She would look for answers once she'd dealt with the problem at hand.

"… Multiple tangos and heavy defenses on the other side. Marking targets."

"Copy, Alpha-Three…", Shuhrat spoke.

He peeled off from the group and slowly approached the wooden barricades at the dining room. Quickly, but quietly, the ex-GRU operative brought out a Matryoshka charge from his backpack and placed on top of a section of the planks. With a push of a button, the bastards inside the room would be showered by a bouquet of miniature fragmentation grenades.

"…Cluster charge set."

Emma acknowledged the report and kept her green eyes on the screen. The masked men were panicking. The RSD-1's audio receptors could hear their anxious voices.

"Where the fuck is Caleb?", one of them asked. He was jittery. "I lost contact with Red Team!"

"He went to the dorms… We also got another group of hostiles over there."

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit…"

"Hey!", the other gunman shook his partner. "Remember the plan, remember our training, and we'll be fine, right?"

Emma heard enough. Once again, she piloted the drone and directed it into the adjacent kitchen, scouting for potential threats. The device picked up movement almost immediately; about six terrorists were hunkering down behind the appliances and the furniture. The drone weaved through tiny gaps, dangerously close to the boots of the clueless bad guys. Every inch and corner must be covered before her team could storm in.

Then she saw something quite unsettling.

…What the hell?!

Right beside one of the kitchen stoves was a crude, bulky device, resembling a hodgepodge of different containers, wires, and tubes in a massive, rectangular frame. There were about three cylinders wrapped together with a harness, sitting on top of a large, ominous-looking red barrel. There were gauges and lights installed all over the chassis. Judging from the beeping and the blinking strobe lights, this device could only be one thing.

"I-I found the bomb… Mon Dieu, it's big."

It was a nerve-wracking sight. A device of that size could level the entire building, with little to no time for anyone to escape. Worse, there were no exposed circuits for the RSD-1's tazer probes to fry. While her engineering skills were limited to robotics and machines, Emma knew at first glance that the bomb would take forever to disarm by hand. Whoever built this thing was an expert. Good thing they had an electronic defuser.

"Six tangos spotted. Marking locations now."

With that, Alpha Team lowered their imaging goggles and confirmed the data in their HUDs. A heavy battle lay ahead of them. But just as Emma was about to maneuver the shock drone away from the kitchen, the little robot was spotted by one of the masked men. He was completely startled by it.

"What the fuck!?", the terrorist raised his gun.

*BANG! BANG!*

In an instant, the screen on the Frenchwoman's wrist pad turned into static.

"Fuck! Shock drone is down!"

That was enough for the team to spring into action. They were compromised.

"Stack up on the door, now!", Alpha-One ordered.

Gilles stood beside one of the barricaded doors, with Emma close behind, a flashbang on her hand. Miles and Seamus moved to the other door, with the latter clutching at his sledgehammer. Shuhrat slung the bullpup machinegun to his back and brought up the Matryoshka's detonator. The air was tense.

"Go loud! Go loud!"

Alpha Team's demolition expert made the first move, squeezing the button.

"Fire in the hole!"

*Click!*

*Thoomp!* *Thoomp!* *Thoomp!* *Thoomp!* *Thoomp!*

The Matryoshka spat its grenades into the room, bouncing across marble floors and concrete walls with perceptible, metallic clunks. At first, the gunmen were surprised at the sight of tiny pucks emerging from the wooden barricades. Then, they screamed their lungs out in fear. Seconds later, they were obliterated by loud, powerful explosions. The ground resonated with the awesome power of a bomblet chain reaction. The rumbling ceased soon after.

"Flash out!"

"Flashbang going out!", Emma yelled.

Gilles turned away as his partner tossed the grenade under the barricade. Inside the room, the device erupted into a blinding and ear-ringing spark of light.

"GO! GO! GO!"

The towering Frenchman smashed the planks with his shield, then entered the dining room with his female partner, guns raised and blood filled with adrenaline. They stumbled across a complete mess of overturned tables, twisted metal panels, and blood smeared walls. Emma ignored the sickening sight of five mangled bodies strewn across the room and instead focused on her goggles. There were six red markers still active and she lined them up on her rifle's reflex scope. She followed Gilles closely behind, who already had his Le Roc raised. They were soon met by gunfire from the kitchen next door.

"Merde! Stay behind me!"

Alpha Team's point man retracted his shield to catch the bullets, rattling with solid thuds. His partner peeked out of the giant's imposing figure and aimed her FAMAS down. Using her goggles to guide her, she sprayed the dark figures in the room with bursts of 5.56mm fire.

At the same time, Emma caught a glimpse of Miles, Shuhrat, and Seamus stacking up on the wall at the end of the dining room hallway. The team leader smashed it open with his sledgehammer. Then, Miles tossed another flashbang inside. Another white burst of light, another ringing sound. The terrorists were the only ones who didn't shield their eyes. They screamed and grunted at the deafening flashes as they received a hail of bullets from the Spetsnaz commando's LMG.

The remaining targets were sitting ducks for the female trooper's gun sights. She cut them down without a second thought.

"Reloading! Cover me!", she yelled.

Emma brought out a fresh, 30-round STANAG mag from one of her pouches and loaded it to her weapon. Another pull of the charging handle, another audible click, as Gilles continued the advance. The kitchen was dark. The only source of light was the massive bomb Alpha Team needed to disarm. Lack of electricity, a thick toxic mist, and copious amounts of smoke from the explosions made it difficult to see ahead, even with the aid of image-enhancers and optics.

It was the perfect trap.

"Raaarrrrgh!"

Just as Emma crossed the threshold to the kitchen, a masked man lunged at her and knocked the bullpup assault rifle from her hands. Her heart leapt from the suddenness of the ambush. It happened so fast; in less than two seconds, the man had pushed her into the ground and pulled out a knife from his belt. She, on the other hand, drew her LFP revolver and prepared to shoot.

"WATCH OUT!"

It was Shuhrat. He rushed and tackled her attacker with tremendous force, the two men knocked over a tray of plates from one of the kitchen counters. Emma slipped away from the two men as they almost collapsed on top of her, trading punches. She aimed her gun at the mess of bodies, but didn't get a clear shot. However, it was obvious that the Russian soldier had the upper hand. He overpowered the knife-wielding terrorist and pinned him to the ground. He began smashing his face.

"Murderer! Fucking! MURDERER!", he yelled between his blows in anger. "You like killing kids!? Huh!? HUH!?"

Such a savage sight. The punching was merciless. Shuhrat was a highly-trained elite soldier, easily worth ten men, specializing in all forms of explosive entry and assaults. Bombs, guns and grenades were his preferred methods of killing. Not once did Emma expect to see him brutally beat-up another man. And she certainly didn't expect him to tear off the terrorist's gas mask.

The attacker immediately breathed in the toxic gas in the room, extremely horrified. He screamed, coughed, and choked, as his body convulsed violently. Then, it went still. Emma was speechless at what she just saw. It took a forceful pull of her shoulder to snap her back to reality.

"Hey! You alright?", Gilles shook her.

She turned around. She simply nodded at him, at a loss of words.

"Room clear!", Alpha-Four reported.

"Copy that Castle!" Seamus spoke on the radio. "Twitch! Get on the defuser!"

His words were like a stern teacher, slamming her desk and waking her up. Ignoring the horror that she witnessed, Emma went to the bomb and knelt beside it. With four other men watching the corners, she pulled out the bulky defuser from its carrying bag, strapped to her left thigh.

Another bit of muscle memory kicked in. She opened the device, which resembled a chubby laptop, and raised its signal antennae. Then, she began typing protocols in the keyboard. Since it was impractical to disarm the bomb by hand, the next best thing was to override its circuits with a different set of electronic signals. Like a computer program designed to crack a security system by bombarding it with millions and millions of passwords.

"Defuser is activated!", she reported.

"Copy!", the Scotsman replied. "Alpha-Four, we need to hunker down 'ere. Now!"

"Roger that. Setting up barricades..."

Miles wasted no time and pulled out sheets of UTP-1 Armor Panels from his carrying bag. The tensile, but durable fabric was designed to stop bullets and block access, providing ample protection against any would-be intruder. The dark-skinned man draped each Panel across the kitchen's windows and doors, save for the one door that led to the first-floor lounge. The team needed an escape route.

And with good reason. While Miles secured their position, Emma heard heavy footsteps and shouting from the first and second floors. It seemed that the remaining terrorists in the building were on their way to kitchen. Everyone in the Team heard the incoming sounds.

"Barricades in place, Alpha-One."

"Copy, Alpha-Four. Team! We have company! Check and reload your weapons! Don't let these arseholes through!"

Another fight lay ahead of them.

…

…

Mission time was five hours and zero seconds.

The skies were dark. Bartlett University was filled with all manner of police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances. Cops and soldiers donned gas masks as they guarded the campus, while armored vehicles cordoned off the streets from anxious onlookers. There were news crews and helicopters at the scene, itching for a glimpse of the aftermath. Sirens and flashing lights blared all around. It was an overwhelming scene, typical of what would occur after every tragedy. But Emma, still in her grey MOPP suit, simply walked passed it and went straight to the decontamination tent. The gas mask kept her identity hidden, as per protocol.

The crisis was over. Yet, the mission would only end once everyone was back at base.

She pulled the charging handle on her FAMAS to ensure that it wasn't loaded. Then, she placed the weapon on the gun rack and went inside the tent. Beyond the semi-translucent curtains was a shower stall and a metal grate, basking in a faint yellow light. There were also a couple of technicians in Hazmat suits, holding charts and chemical scanners. She exchanged nods with them, as she stood under the shower and waited for the water to rain on her body.

She was deathly tired. Her muscles were aching. Her mouth was dry and her breathing was raspy. The adrenaline in her bloodstream had worn off hours ago, and she was suffering its side-effects. And inside her bulky clothing, she felt that her fatigues were soggy with sweat. She would probably skip the debrief once they got back to Fort Bragg, and head to her room instead. She would take a hot shower, chug down a cold bottle of water, then hit the sack. Dinner wasn't inviting anymore. She would probably just buy a sandwich from a nearby shop and eat in the Blackhawk.

A minute later, the Frenchwoman emerged from the tent. Rather than pick up her weapon, she opted to look for Seamus first.

"Sledge?", she called out his nickname.

Emma scanned her eyes for the tall, burly man. She needed to learn her orders. She could've used her radio at this point, but Madame Six ordered everyone against it. The police and paramedics needed full control of the airwaves to coordinate the on-going rescue and retrieval efforts at the campus. There were so many people to comb over. There were stretchers and gurneys carrying the wounded. It was humbling to see so many casualties. Thank God that nobody in Rainbow was killed or injured.

"Sledge? Sledge?"

Thankfully, it didn't take her long to find the man with the sledgehammer, amongst a crowd of nurses and medical techs at the campus courtyard. A few other figures in grey MOPP suits joined him. She was about to walk towards her comrades, eager to chat with them for a bit, when she suddenly stopped her own tracks. Beneath the gas mask, her green eyes were widened and her jaw was half-open.

"Oh God…"

Seamus was standing near a collection of black body bags, neatly-arranged in rows and columns. There were dozens of them. The medics were either writing on charts or handling bodies with care. Any bag that was left half-open had a pale, lifeless, youthful face. Then, the Scotsman turned around. He saw Emma standing behind him, gawking. Beyond the tinted lenses of their masks, each could tell that the other was appalled by the sight.

"How many…?", she mustered the courage to ask.

"…Forty-four."

She gasped at the number. She felt her heart sink.

"…What?"

Then, her eyes caught a glimpse of a gurney, being pushed by a paramedic. It contained a body: a young woman, brown-haired, donning a maroon sweater. A spare MOPP breather was strapped to her face. Emma recognized her as the girl she saved. But there was something wrong. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pristine, but motionless. Her body seemed stiff. The paramedic, with the utmost respect, removed the breather from the girl's lips and carried her into an empty, black bag.

The female trooper felt her gut wrench. There had to be a mistake. It was… too much to take in.

"…Emma?"

The more the feeling sunk, the more her heart broke. Her eyes were wet. She closed her gloved hands into fists, shaking, as all semblance of composure slowly left her. She wanted to take of the mask and wipe the tears.

"I'm sorry, sir… I…*sniff* I-I shouldn't…"

But the leader felt her pain. He gave her a tight hug, from one comrade to another. He stroked the back of her head to comfort her.

"Don't be. Just… let it out…"

Emma buried her head into his chest. That was the only thing it took for her to break into a mess of sobs. Despite her best offers, despite her smarts and her selflessness, she failed to save one more life. What else she could've done? She gave everything she could. All she had left were tears. For all the young men and women she couldn't save.

The other Rainbow troopers looked on, silently. They also felt the lost. They killed the bad guys and stopped the bombs, but the mission wasn't a complete success. Despite their training, skills, and courage, forty-four innocent lives were taken. The dawning realization brought a mix of feelings to their hearts: sorrow, disappointment, hate. Bartlett University just became a blemish in Rainbow's otherwise sterling record.

But if there was any truth from this tragedy, Bartlett was only a taste of things to come. They need to be ready for what would happen next.

"Em. Listen to me...", Seamus told her. "…We're gonna find the bastards who did this, okay? …We're gonna find 'em, and we're gonna kill 'em all… Are you with me?"

She didn't answer.

…

…

Caleb was in the driver's seat of a Ford Explorer, looking out of the windscreen. The vehicle bore the shield and blue-and-grey colors of the Massachusetts State Police. He donned a uniform of a similar scheme; the crowd passed him off as just another cop. Calmly, he peered into a pair of binoculars to observe two more people in grey MOPP suits at the campus courtyard. The distance made it difficult to see them. But they were definitely there. Hugging.

"…Target six: male, large build, about six feet, three inches, breaching hammer at the back… Possibly the point man… Target seven: five feet, six to seven inches, small build… Probably, female…"

The bald man was talking to his earpiece.

"Hmm…", the caller spoke in a deep, garbled voice. "They seem to be the same commandos we faced in Abidjan…"

"You sure about that, sir?"

"I have to confirm it with my source in Virginia…"

Caleb let out a sigh of disappointment, leaning back on his seat. He spent a lot of resources just to draw this team of elite soldiers out, force them to come in full strength. The plan hinged on them doing their best performance, so that he could study their tactics better. He had a feeling that these guys were American Special Forces, using a very strange mix of local and foreign equipment. Heck, they could even be an international taskforce for all he knew. Yet the best that his boss can say about his hypothesis was 'maybe'?

"…You sound displeased, Caleb."

"Sir. We lost a lot of men for this."

"Hah. Don't worry about them; they were Leonard's guys. His usefulness was ending, anyway."

The bald man gave a little chuckle. His boss surely had a creative way of taking care of loose ends. But it's not like that the attack on Bartlett was a massive waste of time and resources. It sent a statement to the government. From here on out, the media would do the legwork. Besides, ditching his crew during the battle wasn't really a big deal. He worked better alone.

He never really knew any of them either. They wouldn't be missed.

"What about Adam?", he asked. "He's not exactly… committed."

"He still has a project for us. Let him be, for now."

Caleb didn't like hearing that too. He had been itching for an excuse to kill the pompous bastard ever since he came on board.

"I think we've accomplished our objectives today...", the man on the phone informed him. "…Get out of there now."

"They're still on site, boss. I haven't seen any Blackhawks for-"

"No need for that, son. I'm suspending all operations against Team Rainbow for now. We know enough…"

Without saying a word, Caleb turned the ignition and pushed the handbrake. He tossed the binoculars to the passenger's seat, forming a small pile with his white balaclava and his grey hoodie. They were still damp and musky after he decontaminated them on his own. But he'd probably ditch them in a dumpster anyway, as a precaution. He should start getting used to the disguises.

"…I'll also get word out to our cells in Europe and Asia to move the timetable."

"So… you want me back, sir?"

The caller paused for a bit.

"Not yet. I need you to meet with the Engineer in Redmond, plan the next phase of the operation…"

That only meant one thing: 'Freedom Day'. For some reason, it brought a little smile to the stoic former Marine's face.

"…I've booked you a flight to Oregon at Logan International. Sending you the details now."

"Copy that, sir. Oscar Mike, out."

…

Author's Notes/Comments: As promised, here is my version of the 'Article 5' situation, which follows the last chapter of my "Behind the Mask" series. To be honest, I was tempted to give Team Rainbow a standard set of weapons (like an HK 416 or something), just like how it was in Tom Clancy's original novel (MP10) and the Article 5 cinematic (R-4C). But I think the FAMAS is part of Twitch's character, just as how the 6P41 and AK12 are synonymous with Fuze, etc. So, I'll be using their in-game weaponry from here on out. Thank you for reading and please stay tuned for the next chapter! :)