.
Chapter Nineteen - "Freedom Day"
...
No rest for the wicked.
Morning at a workweek in one of America's busiest cities, much like the last time he was here to visit his daughter. Not much had changed. Cars, vans, and pickup trucks of various makes formed a line on the bridge as far as the eye could see. Tempers flared as per the norm, proven by the constant honking of horns and cussing of frustrated city-dwellers. Any attempt to appease them would be in vain, except perhaps a chirpy voice on the radio. The local station still had that same spunky, female disc jockey, always eager to dole out the latest traffic update…
"~Rise and shine Americaaa, and happy Juneteenth! Time now is eight minutes after seven o'clock.
If any of y'all still getting outta bed, well, better double-time it now 'coz we have one HECK of a gridlock this morning! …We've got a bottleneck in the Cross Bronx up until Exit Two, as usuaaaaal... FDR Drive all the way to Queensboro is also moving at a snail's pace; everyone's advised to avoid that area to make way for the international delegation coming to today's Global Security and Anti-Terrorism Summit in Midtown…"
…
For a moment, the man in the black tactical suit spaced out and absorbed the irrelevant facts, just so he could think of something else. From the way the radio described it, a drive to Long Island at this time would probably take a couple hours. Little Jenny and her mother were just a few miles away. True, they might have not yet returned from their delightful vacation in Hawaii, but it wouldn't hurt to check on their house himself. If he wanted it bad enough, he could ditch his post, hail a cab or limp his way, just to see them again one more time. Say things that he should've said. Make amends as he should've done. There probably wouldn't be another opportunity for him after today. His fate had been intertwined in a conspiracy he should've seen coming.
He had become part of something bigger, ever since he took up that job in the Middle East. Ever since he let himself and his friends be roped into 'another simple mission' with the CIA. After that, the series of unfortunate events kept escalating: from Gabe's death, to the ill-fated robbery in LA, to the bloody confrontation in Redmond, and his capture at the hands of terrorists. Now, it had finally come full circle. A familiar scenario: a small team, perched up in some landmark, manning defensive positions, all the while a massive throng of vehicles honked their horns in collective anger. None of the civvies below were aware that a covert mission taking place, one that could decide their fates forever.
Blissful ignorance would be the best though, as cruel as it sounded. The last thing that the black-clad commandos needed was pandemonium in the streets, as it would achieve the terrorists' plans in a different way. Across the world, tens of thousands of lives would either be saved or snuffed out, and this knowledge brought them even more undue stress. The man begged for his body to remain strong, even for a short while, and carry him through the toughest spots. He wished that his wounds wouldn't slow him down when the time came. He hoped that things would work out for the better, if it ever did, one last time.
Least of all, he prayed for a miracle that the looming doom would simply go away, save everyone the trouble. Alas, the world was not that simple. Nobody else needed to die today.
Today of all days.
...
Queensboro Bridge, Manhattan, New York
Day 21
Freedom Day
...
Today was supposed to commemorate the end of slavery in America. Not much fanfare would be expected, much like in any other year. It just so happened that the month's biggest gathering of bigwigs would also take place this day. On the plate would be lengthy discussion policies and commitments, intended to prevent the likes of Bartlett from ever happening again. For the pencil pushers over at DC, the Summit was a momentous occasion that deserved Uncle Sam's five-star treatment. Checkpoints at Brooklyn Bridge and Time Square. K-9 units all over Midtown. Snipers from the US Secret Service, scanning the rooftops.
What better day to make a political statement, written in blood and violence? Emily's men were out there somewhere, waiting for the signal. The stakes could not have been any higher...
...
"…In other words, another fine friggin' day in the Big Apple, if I say so myself. But don't worry; if the traffic's gettin' ya down, just remember that there's a light at the end of that tunnel, sweetheart. Chin up and smile! Up next is our Rush Hour playlist, with the newest single from-
*click*
…
The DJ's words, though encouraging and lively, failed to improve the mood. But at least her enthusiasm proved the calmness prevailing across New York, if blaring car horns and shouting drivers could be considered as such. Clueless civilians would help Rainbow operate clandestinely. It would be easier for a bunch of black-clad troopers to remain inconspicuous, in broad daylight, if the locals were pre-occupied with the humdrum day-to-day. Then again, the same advantage could apply to the White Masks, wherever the hell they were. Win some, lose some.
"Hey, Ethan. Sure you're alright?", Meghan Castellano tapped his shoulder.
Back to reality.
He only nodded as a trite answer, a weak smile strewn across his face from behind the two-hole balaclava. He needed her to believe that he was working at full capacity, despite the truth being the contrary. In all honesty, he needed to go to a hospital. But it was far too late to call it quits now. Far too late to regret volunteering himself for this mission, as his common sense dictated hours ago. Charlie Team had already established its sniping position at the top of a massive steel pylon, one of four structures that line Queensboro Bridge. It would be one hell of a climb to get down from here, even if he was in prime condition.
Now his body was paying the price for disobeying the medics at Bragg. He had been awake for almost 24 hours, he was exhausted. If he closed his eyes long enough, he would fall asleep on his spot, lying in a prone position, peering into a scoped H&K 417. But he had no complaints. Despite fatigue and pain gripping his body, he knew that he should be involved in this op, no matter the cost to his own. A fitting end to his chapter. His involvement with Emily and the White Masks went far too deeply just for him to take a hike. Besides, the day was still young.
"Just say something if you want out, 'kay?", Meghan continued. "There's still time to call the helo to pick us up."
"I'm good. Trust me.", Ethan lied.
The steel base beneath his belly was warm, causing his wounds to tinge slightly. Underneath his black combat fatigues and tactical webbing, his body was strewn with bandages all hastily-applied. Least of all his legs, each of which was held together by makeshift casts and an extra layer of medical dressing. There were also the painkillers running throughout his bloodstream, numbing the constant throbbing from his injuries, but also making him a bit woozy. It was such a frustrating dilemma, choosing between keeping his senses intact for this crucial day and holding back the writhing agony that demanded serious medical attention. A battle was about to take place...
Ethan peered beyond the crosshairs of his telescopic optic. There were so many people headed to Midtown, where the Global Security and Anti-Terrorism Summit was about to take place in a few hours. The average Joe, of course, would not care much for any of it, their political leanings notwithstanding. For them, the Summit was nothing more than today's source for their headaches on the road, as the incessant barking of car horns would attest.
They didn't know better, but so did their unsung protectors, maintaining an overwatch position high above. Ethan was certain that the White Masks would strike today, but he didn't have the particulars. Exact troop movements, force projections, plans of attack. His only reference were Emily's words, as reliable as a traitor could be. Logic reminded that she should be the last person to trust. She had shown that lies and deceit were truly her stock in trade… and yet a part of him still wanted to believe her. Perhaps it was a gut feeling too, that her one bout of 'honesty' was genuine. That she indeed told him the truth, out of respect to his sense of duty. And so, Team Rainbow was deployed today. The commandos only one objective, one chance at stopping the enemy from enacting their plan.
"Charlie-One, you there?", Ethan felt his earpiece ring.
The voice from the secure frequency belonged to Miles Campbell, manning their field command post back at the Summit venue in Midtown. On account of his wounded shooting arm, the former FBI agent was running command and control together with Seamus and their esteemed Director. For this mission, callsign 'Charlie-One' belonged to Meghan, who also had the job of acting as Ethan's spotter.
"Go, Castle. I hope you have some good news."
"Hong Kong Police are sending units to the US Consulate… Ramstein's initiated an elevated security lockdown… Policia Nacional have established checkpoints near our embassy in Madrid."
"Check that. At least we have progress…"
So far so good. Despite everyone's apprehensions, Rainbow's call to arms was actually heeded by much of the world. Prospective targets had been reinforced and the word came out that hundreds of killers were headed their way. At this point, the terrorists would be at a severe disadvantage should they decide to press on. All they had going for them would be the element of surprise and near-suicidal vigor to enact their plan.
As if that was good enough for a consolation prize.
"…What about Heathrow?", Meghan asked.
The ex-FBI agent's voice was suddenly strewn with disappointment.
"It's a stand-off... Plane's still grounded on the tarmac, cops are surrounding it... Bad guys didn't change their demands since they landed. We still have a total media blackout there."
"Check that. Any confirmation that Emily Jacobsen's on-site?"
"Negative. The bastards have been takin' out our recon drones. Thatcher better kick things off before the reporters start poking 'round."
The situation was far more serious than Ethan thought. While his comrades rescued him from that icy hellhole in Canada, tragedy struck at the skies above the Atlantic. At daybreak, Six had gotten word that the plane carrying the UK's delegates to the Summit had been hijacked. No word on casualties, not much intel to work with, but Rainbow's contingent in RAF Credenhill, Herefordshire were on the case. Ethan didn't need to look at Meghan to know that she was worried about that situation. Despite everyone's preparations, the attack on Freedom Day had already begun hours ago. And New York was probably next on the White Masks' hit-list.
"Goddamn press...", the woman cursed. "…What's Rainbow's cover story, just in case?"
"SAS operation. Special Branch volunteered to be our 'face' on this one."
"Pfft. Volunteered? I bet those Brits in Whitehall just want us to owe 'em a favor. Maybe even have Six put their people in the Team to keep an eye on us…"
"You worry too much, girl.", Miles chuckled a bit. "I'm sure the boss lady'll figure something out to please 'em."
"Whatever. Keep me posted if something comes up. Over and out."
Another breath of exasperation escaped from her lips, then it was back to the grim realization of a terrible day ahead. The sniper and the spotter remained silent, letting their minds drift to what-ifs and has-beens, using the clarity of hindsight. Somehow the White Masks knew of the attack on the Aklark: one of their secret bases, and presumably a staging area for the attack in North America. Rainbow's meddling ruined whatever momentum they had built up, but that was only a small hurdle for a determined group of killers. So far, the 'frontlines' had been drawn in New York and London. Two cities, tens of thousands of people, and only a handful of commandos to protect them all. Just one part of a small string of bad news that would undoubtedly get longer.
"Charlie-Three, maintain eyes on the Eastbound lane, we have the West..."
"Roger that, Valkyrie.", Yumiko Imagawa replied.
"…Bravo, can I get a sitrep on the ground? You guys have a better view on the traffic down there..."
"Da.", Alexsandr Senaviev radioed back in his thick drawl. "IQ has not detected explosives in vehicles... She says they all look clean so far."
"Check that. Keep your guard up, Your Highness. Holler if you find anything."
Rather than pick up her binoculars again, Meghan pulled out her PDA to sift through the feeds from her portable cameras, pre-placed at strategic positions to monitor suspicious movement below. From the way she swiped the screen, it looked like nothing of import was happening in their area of operations. That wasn't always a good thing in her line of work though; good thing she brought with her a lot of backup.
Charlie Team consisted of her, Ethan, Yumiko, and Masaru; the latter of which opted for this posting since it was safer and "less stressful" than tagging along with Bravo. That squad, led by the Good Lord himself, was crouched near a series of catwalks dangling above the partition between Eastbound and West. Alex, Monika, Max, and Gilles; Bravo Team consisted of heavy-hitters tasked with intercepting any wayward attempt to plow through the gridlock and cause carnage. The three men would do much of the legwork, while they were supported by a maimed American sniper and a trained markswoman from the Aichi Police Special Assault Team. It was by no means a perfect plan, but it was the best that Meghan could come up with given the circumstances. It was either that or pull more men from the Summit venue in Midtown, which would only weaken their security arrangements even further.
Another issue was the rift between Six and the Department of Homeland Security. For some inane reason, she was denied more JSOC and FBI assets to be used at her leisure. A few loose tongues said this was due to an altercation between her and Director Treadway; the timing was incredibly bad if this was true. It was starting to look like Rainbow's presence in the city was one colossal mistake. They would all be in a world of shit if they didn't play their cards right, when the White Masks finally struck.
If they would ever strike to begin with. Meghan was starting to see the writing on the wall.
"I hope your intel is good, Ethan. I'll be damned if those maniacs strike somewhere else, while we're out here doing nothing."
"What, you're having doubts now?", he scoffed at the woman.
"Maybe you shouldn't have listened to that turncoat-spook of yours."
"And maybe you should call in that chopper after all. Never pegged you to be a chicken..."
"Fuck you. You have another thing coming if you think you're gonna lone wolf this one, D-Boy."
"Hah! For a minute there, I thought you're getting soft on me..."
Vitriol between two professionals. Ethan smiled at her persistence and willingness to accompany him. Whatever misgivings she had with him were most definitely shelved for later. And for an esteemed Intelligence Officer, she uncharacteristically went with his idea today, rather than with charts and cold-hearted logic.
And that idea came from a hunch, just a little one, that the White Masks would strike from where Rainbow least expected it. Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan Bridge, Williamsburg… all of them were obvious points of entry that the security plans had already prepared for. The same plan that Ethan had idiotically given to that turncoat Emily Jacobsen, not too long ago. Now that the terrorist-infiltrator had been told about this information, it would make sense for her friends to adjust their game. And Queensboro made the most sense. The Bridge was far enough to be overlooked as a backdoor, but also close enough to the target area if one had the will to overcome the morning rush hour. If anything, the congestion of vehicles in 59th and 60th would allow the bad guys to blend in better, thanks to the lack of police checkpoints in these areas.
All of this effort, just to force Congress to pass the Enhanced Domestic Defense Act? That traitorous redhead's justification was incredibly difficult to comprehend…
Why did you this? Why?
Ethan wanted to be the one who would end her wretched life. But that opportunity wouldn't come today. The waiting was painful, in more ways than one. Each minute that went by without incident was another sixty seconds worth of numbing and aching in his body. He could be swimming in painkillers at this point and he would still feel like death. And the more he laid flat on his stomach, aiming into a rifle with no targets in sight, the more he felt like a complete fool. If Gabe was still alive, he would've already chewed him out for his misplaced sense of bravado. If Emma was with him instead of the blonde, she would crack jokes at his expense and call him an idiot. Both would nonetheless support him, all the rest of the way. Their absence emphasized just how much help he needed right now. He had to remain strong.
He scanned the sightlines for targets, as a sniper should. Every vehicle he saw had a different set of passengers. A white collar office worker. A young couple driving to work together. A family about to drop their kid at the local school. Frustrated utility workers caught up in the jam. A bunch of meatheads banging their heads to some tasteless music, presumably. Plus, scores and scores of nondescript faces behind windshields, all cursing the morning rush hour like any New Yorker should. Then the cops, who were very easy to spot with their fancy shades, dark clothes, and grim faces…
…
"Meg?"
"What is it?", she asked back, her eyes glued to a pair of binoculars.
"...I have eyes on three NYPD vehicles below. Westbound center-lane, behind the red Toyota. Thirty cars away."
She turned her head to that direction while the sniper scoped in; both people were relieved for the break in silence. There were a lot of vehicles to comb over, but the anomaly was easy to spot. It was way, way back in the queue, sticking out like a sore thumb.
"Got it. I see 'em."
Three Ford Explorers, painted in blue and white, with the hood adorned with the brass shield of the New York Police Department. They were neck-deep in the congestion, with barely a few inches of space between them, and their sirens noticeably silent. The three cars were out of Bravo's visual range, so there was no way for Charlie to ask for another opinion. Then again, that might be not necessary at all, as it was expected for the NYPD to have roving patrols at this time of day. Especially with the Summit venue just less than a mile out. It made sense for a bunch of cops to get caught up in the city's dreaded traffic...
There's something wrong.
...Except that these people seldom do that, if at all. The dispatchers had been working nonstop since this morning, advising patrol officers on what areas to avoid, to get units through the morning gridlock as soon as possible. And for three NYPD cruisers to be stuck in a bind, so close to each other, at this time of day? Were they in a convoy or something? If they were, what were they carrying? Why were the security forces not informed of it? The presence of the errant squad cars didn't add up.
"Did we call for reinforcements?", Ethan asked his partner. "There shouldn't be any more NYPD headed Downtown, correct?"
"You're right… Charlie-Three, shift your view to Westbound. Three NYPD victors at the far end of the queue. You see 'em?"
The Japanese woman took a second before she radioed a response.
"Acknowledged. We got them on scope."
"Check. Keep eyes on. I have to call this in, just in case."
A switch flipped, putting everyone in Charlie Team on combat mode. The sniper felt a pang of dread but kept his cool, all the while the blonde woman beside him activated her radio again to contact Miles. Their conversation went by the numbers, at which the words just became white noise to Ethan's ears. He had a more important job. The three cars barely moved at all thanks to the traffic, giving him the perfect opportunity to inspect them more thoroughly. Adjusting the zoom level of his rifle scope, he realized that the three Explorers had their windows lightly tinted. But the cops were there, donning the usual uniform and behaving as he expected, seemingly chilling out. The front vehicle was suspect, however, since its passengers looked on edge. They were all wearing sunglasses.
The tension was quite palpable in the air. Charlie Team watched over their sectors, looking for anything amiss with the vehicles their scopes zeroed in on. Bravo did the same with their electronics detectors. All of them had their fingers on their weapons, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. Seconds seemed like minutes at the absence of action, but it was clear that the day was about to rear its ugly head. Sweat started to bead in the Operators' foreheads, least of all Ethan who felt his body ache in anticipation of violence.
"...Are you sure Castle?"
The ex-Delta sniper's concentration did not break as Meghan continued to speak over at the radio.
"I've got the Commissioner with me, Valk.", Miles replied. "You wanna talk to him? ...Is there something wrong?"
"No… No, I hope not. I-I'll call you back..."
The anxious tone of her voice only highlighted the proverbial evil in the air.
"…Bravo, be advised: Charlie has visual on three unknown victors, Westbound center-lane, about twenty cars away from your spot. They're NYPD."
"Police cars?", Monika radioed back. "…I didn't know we had backup headed our way."
"No, we aren't getting any... Those cops are somewhere they're not supposed to be…"
The last sentence would be a massive red flag to any experienced counter-terror operative, least of all the towering Gilles Touré. No doubt that he and his friends had already switched their safeties off, as that was exactly what Charlie Team did. Ethan, designated Charlie-Two, remained composed and concentrated as he placed crosshairs on top of the suspicious vehicles. He rested his shooting finger on top of the trigger, exerting just the right amount of pressure to keep it from pulling all the way. While he had good reason to suspect the cops' presence, there was just a good chance for him to be wrong as well.
A few seconds went by with nothing but his slow heartbeats to listen to. It was like a slow, boring test of patience as the he, Meghan, and Yumiko watched out for any errant movement from the cops. A quick check at the shooting conditions told Ethan the vehicles were about 500 meters, or some 550 yards, from his position. Close enough to fall within his 417 marksman rifle's effective range. The wind was blowing faintly, east to west, so there was no need to compensate trajectory. Shooting angle was a little over 50 degrees. At this distance, every trigger pull would result in a round flying true, flying into its target. The only real obstacle was the abundance of civilians on the bridge- arguably a sniper's worst nightmare.
Uh oh.
And it was about to be realized. Without warning, the lead police vehicle began to maneuver out of the traffic jam, coming dangerously close to hitting the red Toyota in front of it. Its two partners also followed suit, weaving into an opening they saw in the congestion, cutting off the poor sods who were just right behind them. It was a brash and strange behavior from the cops, given the context. It also provided more evidence that there was something amiss. Road rage was a given in New York, but this was too… sudden. Unprovoked.
"Valkyrie, the policemen are forcing their way out of the traffic...", Yumiko radioed. "...That does not look suspicious to you?"
"Hell yes it does."
"What are we waiting for then?", Ethan asked. "I have a bead on them."
"Rules of engagement, idiot. We ain't allowed to shoot them unless…"
Meghan's words turned into a gasp at that instance. From her binoculars, she saw one of the passengers in the front vehicle cradle an automatic weapon from under his seat and hoist across his chest. The driver followed suit with an SMG. Yet another sign that something was off.
"Gun!", she reported. "Gun, center lane!"
There was no way that an ordinary beat cop would get their hands on that kind of hardware. Not to mention would they be allowed to wield them in such a crowded location. The light window tints on the police vehicles meant that a few nearby drivers and passengers saw what they were packing. A few heads turned, dumbfounded at the sight of heavily-armed law enforcement in their midst. Most paid them no heed and went about with their business. Meghan was having none of it. The rest of her teammate took aim at their own initiative, freeing her the time to talk to her earpiece.
"Six-Actual, this is Charlie-One at Queensboro.", she spoke calmly. "We have eyes on three NYPD vehicles, occupants armed with non-standard automatic weapons… They're acting restless; Police Dispatch has no comms on them. What's the call here?"
She didn't have to wait for Rainbow Six to reply…
While Meghan spoke through her headset, the lead Ford Explorer once again weaved across the traffic like it owned the road. This time, its fender crunched into the red Toyota's rear bumper, firmly lodging itself in there. A collision. Within seconds, the driver of that car left his seat in a fit and made his way to the police vehicle, fuming. It looked like he was about to enter into a shouting match, as any angry person would. But as Ethan observed the altercation, a passenger from the cop car pulled out his own automatic weapon: an olive drab Steyr AUG. This was no ordinary confrontation.
"Son of a bitch!", Meghan cursed. "Take the shot, Ace!"
The cops were not behaving like they were supposed to. And their latest stunt was the last red card that Ethan was looking for. He wasted no time and pulled his trigger finger all the way, letting loose a 7.62mm round into the fray, with the sound-suppressor masking the shot. The bullet found its way into the lead vehicle's engine block, impacting with a loud crunch and disabling it. It was meant to be a warning shot, to dissuade the van's occupants from further indulging in undue aggression. But instead, they became even more aggravated. Within seconds, the man with the assault rifle pointed his weapon at the civilian, preparing to fire. Whether it was a reflex or a bout of rage, it sealed his fate to the sniper, perched up high.
*Thwoop*
The bullet went straight into the heart of the 'cop', killing him instantly. His friends scurried into action with weapons drawn, emerging from the vehicle with lethal intent. The other two police vehicles followed suit; their passengers dismounted bristling with weapons.
"OH SHIT!"
The polite and cordial Yumiko suddenly cussed, mirroring her friends' reaction to the scene. Like trained professionals, the disguised policemen took only a second to hoist their guns, take aim, and unleash a hail of bullets to their left and right. They fired indiscriminately at innocent commuters and drivers, with the full intention of literally shooting their way out of the jam. Windshields were immediately shattered and stained with blood, horns were left honking thanks to lifeless corpses pressing into them. Charlie Team wasted no time retaliating just as fast. The enemy had finally revealed themselves.
As Ethan suspected, the White Masks were here.
"All teams, all teams we have contact! Targets on Westbound, disguised as NYPD! Bravo, move through the catwalks and flank 'em!"
"Roger that Valkyrie!", Alex replied in a loud voice.
In short order, Queensboro Bridge erupted into a mess of screams as people ran for their lives or hurried into cover. A few of them fell over dead just as they were about to leave, gunned down by the remorseless killers. But to Ethan, the bastards were sitting ducks to his crosshairs. They didn't even know where he was, leaving him to drop them dead with impunity. At this point, they knew the gig was up. Their attempt to infiltrate New York had become a vicious gun battle instead.
As he unleased controlled, precision shots, the sniper observed Bravo Team move into position. Well-drilled maneuvers, moving from cover to cover, just as the simulations conditioned them. But the enemy saw their approach and opened fire, sparks and ricochets flickering at their surroundings. Alex signaled his men to take cover as bullets plinked at the steel beams and grates, missing their bodies by inches. It was clear that they needed help, even though they still managed to exchange fire with the tango. Ethan and Meghan knew what to do.
"Ace, visual on one tango, hiding behind that blue sedan. You see him?"
"Wilco..."
*Thwoop*
"...Tango down."
A center mass hit; the bad guy was already dead before he hit the asphalt. His friends panicked and began to shoot into the source of the bullet, but they missed their mark by a wide margin. It only provided Bravo Team with the opening they needed to eliminate the bad guys. From Ethan's scope, he watched closely as Alex and Max let loose with their SMGs, firing precision bursts at the targets who were still distracted. One by one, they fell down and remained still on the ground, lifeless. With the threats now dealt with, Bravo emerged from cover and started their climb down into the roadway below, amidst screaming civilians and all hell breaking loose. Along the way, Charlie Team provided them with much needed suppressing fire as Gilles erected his shield for added defense while the two Russians took cover behind a fire truck.
The situation was critical. Meghan needed to get the word out.
"This is Charlie-One at Queensboro. We have Code Red at the bridge. I say again, Code Red at Queensboro Bridge. We are engaging multiple contacts in our AO, targets dressed as police. Requesting all Blue Force callsigns to assist when able, over."
"Understood. Dispatching QRF now. ETA five minutes."
They would need all the help they could. By Ethan's estimates, there were about twenty White Mask shooters scrambling all over the bridge, up against seven brave men and women from Team Rainbow. Considering that there were a lot of civilians on site, the good guys were at a huge disadvantage. There were two dilemmas again: save the noncombatants and risk being killed by the enemy, or focus on the enemy and risk more innocents to die in the crossfire.
"All teams, all teams. Watch your fire! We have a fuckton of civvies on our lines of sight! Bravo-Two, double-check your targets and confirm!"
The Frenchman who bore that callsign was not at all pleased with the obvious statement.
"Putain de merde (Fucking hell), we know that!"
"I can't get a clear shot, Valkyrie. We need to get those people out.", Yumiko also radioed, albeit in a calm voice. "Recommend we rappel down there and support Bravo, over."
Pressure was mounting on the snipers to make a move. Ethan contemplated on staying behind to provide cover fire while the two Japanese cops rappel down and give their friends some personal backup. This course made a lot of sense, since his body was in no condition for a straight fight. But before he can open his mouth, his scope gave him a chilling discovery.
Amidst the ding of battle ravaging all around, a tan-skinned fellow had somehow stepped out of the rear police vehicle. He was wearing a dirty grey hoodie and pair of blood-stained jeans. His hands were joined together with handcuffs. His dark hair and beard were all shaggy. His face was strewn with bruises and his eyes were filled with terror. He looked like a civilian, but the getup was quite familiar. Ethan had seen him before- recently, in fact.
He could not believe his eyes.
"That's Adam… Adam Kipper!"
"Say what!?", Meghan exclaimed. "Ace, are you sure?"
"I'm positive..."
Ethan could recognize that pencil neck anywhere after what he did to him in that godforsaken ship. His last memory of Adam was of that Caleb-guy choking him out, amidst Emily's cold remarks on his usefulness. She said that she intended him to be 'delivered' to the authorities- was this what she had in mind? Thought dead, but actually alive and well, Adam's sudden appearance had just given the mission a rather unwelcome twist, further complicating things.
"...Oh shit."
But then, Ethan scrutinized the man's clothes, as if he missed out a crucial detail. There was something worn over it: a crude military-style vest, lined with white blocks of solid material and a metallic yellow canister on his waist. It was all covered by wires and cables, with one strobe light flickering on and off like a siren. Adam's hands, which were bound together, were actually interlocked around a small, innocuous looking device. It was shaped like a joystick, with a bright red button at the top. It didn't take a genius to figure out what it was.
"Hold that thought, Charlie-Three.", Meghan radioed, with as much calmness as she could muster. "All teams, we have a visual on Target: Mohandes in the AO, Westbound center-lane, near the police cars. Be advised, he has a suicide vest."
That message sent chills down everyone's spines. So engrossed at stopping the enemy with bullets alone, Team Rainbow did not bring their bomb disposal equipment with them this morning. The only ones who did were their comrades at the Summit venue in Midtown. Ethan gave the threat a second look and made some hasty calculations. He had seen all kinds of explosives in his time to know that Adam was carrying an incredibly powerful payload. Why the sleazy scumbag suddenly decided to be like a goddamn martyr was beyond him, but it didn't change the fact that he was now more dangerous than the psychos with guns at the Bridge with him.
"Shit. That guy's packing a lot of C4! We have at least a hundred civilians on the kill radius!"
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!", Meghan advised him, rather frantically. "He's holding a deadman's switch; he's rigged to blow!"
She was referring to that detonator on Adam's hands. That meant that a bullet to the head would be a bad idea. Ethan cursed under his breath, realizing that his expertise would only do little in this situation. And if his suspicions about that yellow canister hanging by the vest were correct, then the Team was facing an even greater danger. A chemical strike, like these maniacs had been telegraphing all this time. Just like in Bartlett. Just like Redmond. The White Masks had really put a lot of effort with their attack in New York, and the Rainbow troopers suddenly felt undermanned and ill-equipped for the task.
"Valkyrie, we have four hostiles coming out of the rear vehicle.", Monika called out. "Give us support! We are pinned here!"
"Roger that. Get your dope on, Ace…"
One problem at a time. Ethan heeded Meghan's order and reloaded his 417 marksman rifle; Yumiko and Masaru did the same. With a deep breath, he peered into his scope again, ready to fire. His crosshairs saw a scene of complete chaos, with civilians and terrorists running around. All sorts of vehicles were shot up and left to rot under the sun. Glass shards, bullet cases, and bloodstains littered the streets, further driving home the battle's intensity. With his spotter all focused on her binoculars, the sniper was ready to go to work, awaiting her callouts. Sweat started to form in his forehead. Today, his targets were disguised police officers.
"...Left-side lane, running past blue pickup…"
He immediately saw the tango darting to the road, donning the dark colors of an NYPD patrolman and cradling an SG 552. Ethan aimed the reticle just right above the terrorist's tactical vest, to bypass any body armor he could be wearing. The sniper held his breath to calm his muscles, as he quickly calculated the best trajectory for his bullet. In the next moment, he jerked his finger on the trigger, and the bad guy immediately fell flat on his face.
"Done."
Moving on.
"...Center-lane, one hostile coming out of the black sedan. Ten cars deep…."
Ethan repeated his ministrations and aimed at the target: another armed tango, running past abandoned vehicles. The policeman disguise was no longer useful, nor did it help protect him from the 7.62mm bullet aimed at his head. The inevitable blowback would form a bright, disgusting stain on the pearl-white camper van behind him.
*Thwoop*
"Got him."
"...Twelve meters down, to the left…", Meghan continued. "…I have two behind the red SUV."
The sniper scanned the scene and found another set of targets. One terrorist was taking potshots at Bravo Team while his partner crouched and moved past a hulking sports utility vehicle; it was a flanking maneuver. The bad guys were not as stealthy as they thought they were, though, as Ethan immediately aimed at the prospective flanker and neutralized him with a round through his cranium. The other shooter was completely unaware of what befell his friend, making him an easy picking for another center mass shot. The range was about 300 meters…
*Thwoop*
"They're down.", Ethan reported, on account of two fresh corpses drenched in blood. It was good news to his spotter's ears.
"Good kills, Ace. Bravo, you're clear!"
"Danke (Thank you)! We're moving on!"
From Charlie Team's vantage point, they could see Alex use hand signals to his teammates, prompting them to abandon cover and continue their advance. Up ahead, they were met with gunfire from other hostiles, but that was quickly dealt with by the experienced Operators. It was a slow and methodical process to resist the torrent of bullets, fight back, and ensure that no stray round would hit an innocent civilian. The terrorists, on the other hand, did not have any qualms about unleashing lead on anything that moved, whether they be the approaching Rainbow troopers, or a few unfortunate souls caught in the crossfire. To Charlie Team's quiet horror, most of the lifeless bodies they saw on their scopes were from noncombatants, despite their best efforts to prevent the carnage from escalating.
The full brunt of the attack was realized when they heard faint rumblings from the distance. At first, the sounds were drowned out by the cacophony in the background, but they resounded a second time with a vengeance. It prompted Ethan and his teammates to look to their right. There were plumes of smoke dominating the skyline. Then, the airwaves came to life with Miles Campbell on the other end. This time, there were no ambiguities as to his state of mind.
"Charlie-One, come in!"
"Castle, what the hell happened!?"
"Car bombs just went off over at Williamsburg! We're rerouting our QRF there! Can you hold?"
"Jesus fucking Christ! It's the Wild West down here!"
This was no time to quarrel. While Meghan fought at the radio, Ethan watched through his scope as Gilles led Bravo Team into the carnage, with a revolver on one hand and a shield hoisted by the other, taking out targets as they saw them. Behind him, Max and Monika laid down suppressing fire with their automatic weapons, while Alex quickly dragged away any beleaguered civilian he came across. 'Lord' became a fitting euphemism as he risked life and limb for to an innocent stranger. An office worker. A family and their kid. A young couple. A pair of utility workers cradling their wounded friend. Despite the trouble erupting elsewhere, Charlie Team continued to lend support, knowing that dozens lives were on the line. Ethan kept firing with his 417, relying on his own pointers, while Yumiko sent bullets down range with her Howa rifle as well.
"Aww shit… the bomber's still up."
"Where is he, Ace?", Meghan asked.
"There! Behind that yellow cab. Right-side lane."
Adam Kipper. Ethan was able to single him out even amidst the chaos; he would've looked like another bystander if it weren't for the apparatus stuck to his chest. The poor bastard was completely terrified and out of his wits, markedly different from the pompous bravado he showed Ethan in the Aklark. But he withheld his contempt for the terrorist; Adam was a literal ticking time bomb, ready to blow and take dozens of lives with him at the slightest misstep. Even if Charlie and Bravo Teams were able to kill every tango they saw, there was still the matter of the chemical explosive to deal with. An entirely different problem on its own.
And the worst was yet to come. From the corner of Ethan's eye, he saw movement at Queensboro's outer roadway. A black Fortuner had rammed its way through the lines of abandoned vehicles littering the street, nearly running over a few panic-stricken civilians. When the van ground to a halt, several masked men with grey hoodies and white-garbed faces stepped out of the vehicle, weapons at the ready. The sniper counted at least five of them before they disappeared from view, presumably on their way to rappel to the upper level. That was where Bravo Team was located, thick in the fighting. The White Masks had brought more men to the front. Emily sure wasn't lying when she alluded at the scale of the attack…
"Bravo-One! Be advised: you have company headed your way! Five tangos, southwest of your position, over!"
"Chyort!", Alex cursed. "We will move to intercept! Cover us!"
"Don't worry Bravo; I got you covered.", Yumiko boasted. "Keep you heads down."
The Japanese woman released single-shots from her rifle, taking out or keeping down the targets she saw in her ACOG. This helped Ethan focus on the bigger threat: Adam and his bomb. Meghan also zeroed in on the man and observed his movements. It appeared that 'Mohandes' was darting in out of cover, headed down the road, but consciously avoiding Bravo Team's presence. Curiously, the terrorists who were supposed to be on his side paid him no heed. It was clear as day that he was escaping, but they didn't even bother to shoot him. Or maybe he had a different purpose? A destination?
The emergence of enemy reinforcements gave Alex and his comrades no other choice but to rappel into the outer roadway, fight in close range. Just like that, there was no Rainbow operative on the ground to engage the bad guys on the main thoroughfare, to say nothing of the suicide bomber who was trying to escape the chaos and head to the Eastbound lane. Adam was having the worst, living nightmare imaginable. If he was headed somewhere, he was looking for the safest route to get there. That alone spelled trouble for Meghan, who realized the need to stop him before he could unleash his payload on the Bridge. Or worse, somewhere crowded in New York, just like in Williamsburg. Perhaps the Summit itself. She stood up from her prone position, a brave statement in of itself.
"We need to get down there and stop Mohandes. Disarm the bomb."
"We don't have enough guys, Charlie-One.", Masaru radioed her, the very first time for this battle. "We cannot cover every inch of this bridge!"
"Fuck, I know… I'm going in."
"Eh? By yourself!?"
"Just watch my back. I'll make it!"
"I'll come with you.", Ethan blurted out.
It earned him an incredulous stare from his spotter, her green eyes making contact with his grey ones.
"What!? Are you insane!?"
"Don't have time to argue, Meghan! You need my help. Just get me down there!"
He punctuated his words with a stare of his own, vigorously burning away any doubt that remained. He was determined to see this through. He knew that if they didn't stop Adam, the White Masks would've succeeded in their plan. Whatever the hell that might be. Their intentions for this battle were made clear. The enemies were bait, albeit well-trained and very dangerous in that regard. It was the vaunted 'Mohandes' himself who was the real threat all along. The woman wanted to spout another protest, but she understood her partner's conviction. She recognized that going at it alone would be a bad idea.
"Goddamn. If you break your legs, it's on you!"
She reached out a hand, which Ethan grabbed earnestly to pull himself up from a prone position. Immediately after that, he felt his legs come to life with blistering pain, even with the anesthetics supposedly keeping it bay. He winced and grunted behind his mask, but he did not protest any further. He used every bit of strength he had left to remain upright, while Meghan fixed a line for herself. She then motioned to him to pick his rifle up as she cocked the charging handle of her MPX, previously slung across her back.
"You ready?"
"Let's do it.", he replied.
He wrapped a shoulder across her back, as she did hers, then they promptly began their descent from the pylon. Meghan's mannish arms provided enough strength to carry two people in due haste. At regular intervals, she loosened her grip on the abseiling rope to help her climb down. Each moment that she planted her boots onto the steel surface of the bridge's pylon was a moment of agony for Ethan's battered legs. He endured it all, for the sake of finishing the mission. Within a few seconds from leaping off their sniping position, the two Operators were on street-level, ready to give chase.
"Argh!", Ethan grunted as his legs throbbed while he stood up.
*Ting! Ting!*
"Get down!"
Two bullets missed his noggin by a few inches, hammering the steel frame of an abandoned pickup truck instead. Meghan shoved him into cover while she returned fire with a quick burst from her 9mm submachine gun. It didn't work. The rounds continued to hit their position with vicious abandon. It sounded like there were at least three shooters coming to take them down. A quick glimpse thanks to a lull in the shooting allowed the woman to peek behind cover. To her horror, they were being assailed by another GSh machinegun. The same as Redmond, the same as the Aklark. Such heavy firepower was enough to keep the two Operators suppressed for a long period of time. They were sitting ducks, waiting for a couple of killers to circle around and finish them off…
*Bratatatatatatatatatatat*
That is, until the distinctive tattering of another machinegun came to their rescue. The blonde woman was just about to call for Yumiko to back them up, when the distinctive reports of automatic fire of Alex's DP-28 erupted from the distance.
"URRRAAAAAAAAA!", he yelled over the radio.
It was unbelievable, causing both Ethan and Meghan to smile in astonished relief. The brawny Russian's war cry was filled with bluster while he cut down his friends' would-be attackers. Bullets tore into the GSh mount and its gunner, filling the asphalt with brass cases and the air with screams of terror. The poor bastards didn't stand a chance; their failure to spot another Rainbow operative had costed them their lives, courtesy of a Soviet antique mounted on an old tripod.
"Valkyrie, you're good to go!"
"Excellent timing, Your Highness. Much obliged!", she commended him.
"Charlie-One, check your six o'clock.", Yumiko also radioed. "We're rappeling down to your position now."
"Check that, Hibana. Take over here and get these civvies safe!"
"Wakarimashita (You got it)."
"Come on, Ace. On me!"
With that, he stood up again and emerged from cover, as much as his legs didn't want him to. He followed his partner as she darted to the Eastbound lane, consciously weaving between behind motionless cars and taxis makeshift shields. The incessant gunfire and screaming all throughout Queensboro Bridge didn't cease. They served as a reminder that the battle was not letting up, and the black-clad commandos were still in harm's way, more so since they virtually had no reinforcements. Easy prey for another squad of tangos who could strike from another direction.
And sure enough, a couple of 'cops' from down the road started taking potshots at them. Meghan rushed into cover, while Ethan saw them and raised his rifle, resting it on the hood of a white sedan. He scoped in as fast as he could, then pulled the trigger when he had a clear shot. One bullet cracked open the head of a disguised terrorist, prompting his partner to run for cover. He wasn't fast enough, and was also dead meat for the experienced sniper.
"Tangos neutralized!"
The problem was quickly dealt with, but there was no time to celebrate the quick victory. With no more enemies to contend with, Eastbound was bereft of activity and life, save for one Adam Kipper who was trying to get away. Upon seeing the two commandos dangerously close to his heels, he ran faster and more vigorously, whimpering along the way.
"Stop where you are!", Meghan shouted.
The frightened man didn't listen. This prompted the SEAL to fire a warning shot to his direction, missing his femur by a few inches. It was crude and hasty work, despite her earlier warning not to shoot at him, but it was enough to get his undivided attention. Adam turned around with the look of desperation, seemingly awaiting his fate. When Ethan finally caught up, he almost felt pity for the bastard.
"I give up! I GIVE UP!"
What was done to him was quite heinous. He had bruises and cuts in almost every piece of unprotected flesh, indicating that he was tortured earlier. By his own people no less. Wasn't he their ally? Perhaps the fact that Adam was a 'terrorist-for-hire' could shed some more light. He was a mercenary, after all, plying his expertise in WMDs. By definition, he wouldn't have any true loyalty to the cause. Perhaps Emily had known this and wanted to get rid of him, as soon as she and her friends had gotten what they wanted from him. In true devious fashion, they opted for the most inglorious way possible to put an end to him.
It was what Ethan had suspected. This guy was forced to become a living bomb. The yellow canister attached to his vest was a good indicator of that. It was ironic that the man who provided a potent poison for a callous group of people would also fall victim to his own concoction. That, plus a couple pounds of C4 wrapped across his chest would easily mark him as expendable, despite his smarts. A truly terrible way to go, even though he deserved it for all the kids in Bartlett he helped murder.
"Hold it right there Adam! Stay calm, we won't hurt you…"
The bomber immediately recognized his voice. It was enough to change his demeanor. Previously dead set on getting away, he was now begging for their aid.
"Mallory? YOU! Help me! Please!"
While Meghan kept her gun raised, her comrade analyzed the contraption in front of him. Crude but complex, exactly what the White Masks' handiwork was about. Another switch was flipped in his brain; it was time to save a life.
The device on the poor guy's torso was a mess of wires and cables. Even if Ethan had sufficient explosives disposal training, he wouldn't know where to start. Should he go for the detonator? Should he try to remove the wires from the C4? With this much crap to work on, it was safe to assume that the contraption also had fail-safes to stop any conventional approach. One wrong move could set the device off and send them all to the afterlife. The best he could do was to adopt a methodical approach, even though it looked like he did not know what he was doing. Rainbow had to wait for backup in the meantime; as far as Meghan knew, their friends were still racing to the scene. They were perhaps a couple of minutes away. Two minutes might as well be forever if a bomb was on play.
"Castle, we have situation at the Bridge. Can you dispatch us a bomb squad?", she radioed.
Ethan didn't pay heed to her conversation, instead focusing on the task at hand and pulling out his wire-cutters. He was careful not to touch anything that looked sensitive, lest he would make a fatal mistake. Adam, on the other hand, was understandably panicky. The beeping was only getting into his skin, reminding him of his own mortality. The sniper had to dissuade him from acting erratically; a tall order at that.
"Don't move idiot! If I slip, we're all dead!"
"Okay! You got this right? Right!?"
"Just shut up and let me work."
"Oh man, thank you! Thank you! Help me out, and you can take me to whatever jail you want! I-I'll take anything! Plea bargain, extradition …I'm gonna tell you everything I know, I swear! I'll help you find that fucking bitch!"
Emily. Ethan felt his blood boil at the offhand reference to his former friend, but he kept himself calm. He would not repeat the same mistake that he did with Leonard Fausse. And knowing that a high-value target would have intel on the rest of the White Masks' operations, it gave him more incentive to save this bastard's pathetic life. Sparing him would not do justice for those poor kids who died in Bartlett, but that was a moral dilemma for another time.
"You got to fix this, man!", Adam pleaded. "They wanted me to go to Time Square and set this off!"
"Calm down and we'll get you out of that thing!"
"You don't understand! Listen, listen… They have my wife. They have my kid!"
"Stop squirming!", Ethan yelled at the man, who immediately fell silent.
It was the best way to vent his frustration. No kidding, since the explosive device on the guy's chest proved to be incredibly difficult to dissect. Ethan knelt down to inspect the bomb further. There had to be a way to stop the damn thing. In his limited experience with disarming bombs, he knew that the job was like solving a jigsaw puzzle, only in reverse. Each piece was related to the whole and he needed to find the one piece that could dismantle everything. He quickly made a mental list of the bomb's components, to see what he could remove. Detonator. Fuse. Explosive charge. Arming device. Power source.
Seconds seemed to turn into minutes. No matter how long it was, he stood there long enough for a news chopper to arrive, hovering up above at the chaos in the bridge.
That alone gave him more pressure. At the very least, the bomb didn't run on a timer, nor did it have a limited fuse of some sort. The detonator that Adam was forced to hold onto seemed the only thing that kept the ordnance from ever going off. That was a relief to Meghan, who had anxious eyes that go against her initially-calm composure. Not that she could be blamed for it; nobody in their right mind would be at ease if they stood mere inches away from a live explosive device. She and Ethan sorely wished they had brought their electronic defuser today.
"IQ, this is Valkyrie. Can we borrow you over here?"
"Bravo Team is doing a sweep on the area. Why?"
"We got Mohandes in custody, and Ace is trying to disarm his suicide vest. We're gonna need you RED scanner to-"
*Beep! Beep! Beep!*
"…what was that?"
One of the lights suddenly blinked incessantly. It didn't match the beeping coming out from somewhere in that bird's nest of a bomb.
"It's a cellphone...", Ethan remarked.
…
"...Oh no…"
"What do you mean 'oh no'?", Adam asked.
The ringing caused a timer to appear on his vest; the digital screen was previously lifeless. '20'. Then it became '19'. '18'. '17'…
The deadman's switch was not enough for these bastards. Ethan was speechless and slack-jawed at the sudden sight. He was gripped with fear and adrenaline, his heart upped the ante as he tried to make sense of the next steps. But he didn't panic like the poor fellow in front of him. On the contrary, he remained calm and composed, rationalizing his plan of action. This time, there was something mixed with his feelings. The one thing he didn't think he'd ever feel for Adam, after everything that this wretched man had done against him and his own countrymen.
Pity.
"We're out of time… We're out of time...", Ethan muttered.
"W-what?"
There was dawning realization on the sniper's head: the only acceptable outcome that didn't sit well with his conscience. It needed to be done, if lives were to be saved.
"…I'm sorry. I-I am so sorry..."
He turned around to his partner, who immediately realized what he was about to do.
"...Come here. Help me with him."
And she went along with it. She walked towards Adam, as Ethan grabbed him by the shoulder without any warning. The poor man was still clueless, as if the fear had addled his purportedly-genius brain. When the masked woman with the black tactical gear manhandled him as well, that was when absolute terror gripped him completely. He was too weak, and acted far too late, to even resist. The two commandos lifted him off his feet, despite his protests…
"Wait! Wait! No! Nononono… Don't do this! Don't do this! DON'T DO THIS!"
…They walked over to the railing, below which was the East River, flowing unceasingly. At this point, the timer on Adam's vest had counted down to '7'. Then '6'. Then '5'. Ethan wanted to apologize, one last time. By rights he should savor this moment. Alas he didn't even have the courage to look at the poor man in the eye.
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo!"
…
…
*BOOOOOOM!*
The Bridge rocked violently from the force of the explosion, breaking a few more windscreens by its intensity. Ethan nearly fell on his feet, hands gripped on the steel balustrade, as his legs briefly swayed and engulfed him in even more pain. It was enough to force him to kneel against the railing, all the while giving him a good view of the smoke billowing from the blast. To his horror, the smoke was had a tinge of yellow on it: undoubtedly the poisonous Compound Z, per his experience. But by some miracle, the terrifying mist settled into the River instead. A far worse tragedy, averted in front of his eyes. All it took was just another life.
It was all over. Exhausted and in pain, Ethan collapsed into the ground.
"Ace!", Meghan rushed to his side.
"I'm okay… Don't worry, I'll be fine… I'll be fine."
It was the last lie he would give this morning. He wanted to tear off the fabric on his lower legs, gauge just how his wounds were worsened. He decided to leave that surprise for later, once this whole mess was over with.
There was just enough time to survey the carnage, smell the ashes. The bridge was littered with spent shell casings, shattered glass, pock marks, and bloodstains. Most of all, the corpses strewn about between empty vehicles. Anguished crying and screams came from a handful of survivors, cradling lifeless friends and family. Many were gripped in fear, frozen in place by the bloodbath they were unfortunate enough to witness firsthand. It was an appalling scene, one that could break the hearts of even the sternest soldiers. Meghan muttered something under her breath, before turning away to wipe something from her face.
Nobody would ever forget this day.
From afar came blaring sirens, slowly growing in volume. Ethan looked behind him to the sight of dozens of ambulances and NYPD SWAT cars, all screeching their tires to a halt. The cavalry was here. Cops with raised weapons, medics with trauma kits and stretchers, and other people came to the rescue. They were too late, but their presence was not less than welcome. Rainbow could finally sigh in relief. Yet not a single one of them wanted to indulge in the new-found respite. The battle at Queensboro was just a small snapshot of the larger picture. Within seconds, the radio came to life yet again, with a familiar voice on the other end.
"Valkyrie, are you there?", went a male voice. It was Miles. "Valkyrie, come in."
"Castle? 'Bout time you called back... What's the sitrep?"
"Six wants you and your guys to pull back to the command post, ASAP. We've got another skirmish over at Williamsburg. Sledge and Alpha Team are on point."
Unsurprisingly, the White Masks were still coming in droves. Their attack was still underway.
"Oh my God… Just how big is this thing?"
"You won't believe it. Chatter's through the roof. Bastards hit everywhere, like Ethan said they would... Ramstein, Madrid, Hong Kong, Nagoya… We also got word that they bombed a Marine convoy in Marrakesh just a few minutes ago."
"Goddammit…"
…
The sense of accomplishment was short-lived as another exasperated sigh escaped the blonde woman's lips. She turned around and looked at Ethan, exchanging weary stares. He overhead their conversation, already resigning himself to the grim fact. Trouble was still brewing elsewhere, prompting Rainbow to rearm and regroup. Time was of the essence. But for the sniper, he needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible, lest his wounds would completely ruin him. The silence between the two Operators was almost enough to do the job of words.
"Ace… you really should sit this one out."
He still had fire in his heart. He wanted to stand up, prove his conviction.
"I can't… We still have to deal with... argh!"
He crumpled into the ground, in pain and with a few ounces of strength left in his body. The bandages on his legs now had darker splotches of red; some of his wounds had been reopened. Meghan hurried to his side, lifting one of his arms over her shoulder. A sturdy constitution proved to be nothing when forced to carry the burden of such injuries. Then, he felt a hand on his back. It was a gentle, friendly pat. He looked at his comrade with incredulous eyes. She was smiling behind her mask, albeit a faint one. They were both exhausted.
"Don't be stupid. You've done enough…"
The day was still young.
...
Commonwealth Royal Flight HC-1000
Heathrow Airport, London
At the same time
…
An assault team had boarded the plane ten minutes ago. The pressure was on. Emily Jacobsen kept a keen ear open while her two partners readied themselves in the cockpit. The absence of explosions meant that the traps they laid in the halls had been disabled. The gunfire had been silent for a while now, which could only mean that the guys guarding the rear compartment and the meeting room had all been killed. At this point, the cops were already massing near the server hallway and the stairs- the final layer of defense for the survivors inside the pilot's cabin. One could faintly hear the squeaking of combat boots just a few yards away from the barricaded door.
"This is it guys. Get ready!", one of the ski mask-wearing hijackers whispered.
"We got this! We got this! No problem...", said another, hiding his fear with fake bravado.
Emily didn't speak. Instead, she pulled back the slide on her sound-suppressed Beretta, anticipating yet another gunfight in close quarters. At any moment, the barricade in front of her would be shattered by a breaching device.
She crouched up from her hiding spot and made her way to the pilot's seat, past its bound-and-gagged owner and his coworker, both whimpering in fear. Peering outside of the bulletproof glass, she could see that more MPS squad cars had arrived to the scene. A few of them transported heavily-armed officers, who immediately dismounted from their vehicles and raced to take up positions near the barricades. A quick estimate placed their numbers at around 20 or so cops. 'Cops' being the operative word here; there were countless soldiers and commandos mingling with the growing crowd as well, all identified by their British Army camouflage. Beyond the throng of armed responders, there was a line of civilians, reporters, and onlookers cordoned off by an even larger police barricade. It was safe to assume that the whole world was already aware of the situation.
So, it would be a final stand after all. Victory hinged on taking down as many of the commandos as possible in order to force them to flee and regroup. They might even reopen negotiations after that stunt in a ploy to spare a few more lives. The Metropolitan Police Service would likely concede to any demand if it would mean the safe release of the hostages: in this case, the pilot and the crew. But things would be different if the dreaded Special Air Service was on the scene; those psychos seldom showed mercy to their enemies. The redhead could expect nothing less than a repeat of The Alamo, albeit a messier one at that, if the boys of Hereford were here.
There was no point worrying. Everything went according to plan, with nobody else in the group aware of the ruse. There was still a chance to turn things around if she worked fast enough. Freedom was within reach.
"Shh. I hear 'em coming."
One of her lackeys placed a finger on his mask, where his mouth would be. It was time. Sure enough, Emily heard a faint rustling from beyond the barricade, similar to a ripcord being pulled. Then, a smack from hard rubber against a metal surface. Then a tab…
…But curiously, there was no beep.
*tick*
"The hell is that?"
The three hijackers looked at their feet, revealing a sinister surprise. A small metal sphere had been rolled from underneath the barricade. It blinked with an annoying white flicker, spinning around like a carousel. It hummed with a tiny motor, or perhaps a generator, which presumably powered the device. The first thought that came to Emily's mind was 'grenade'. She wanted to scream. But she recognized the object. It was something that the Brits kept up their sleeves: a trump card to foil any would-be terrorist with a suicide vest.
An EMP grenade.
*Zzzzzzzaaaap!*
One second there was a blinding light. The next second, the entire cabin became dark, devoid of flashing strobes. Lights from the control panels went dead, as did the quiet humming of the flight apparatus. The hijackers were gripped in fear for a moment. Then, they readied their guns in anticipation of the inevitable entry.
This is my chance.
"Get ready, they just shut down our comms. We have to- *thwoop*"
The hijacker immediately fell dead with a bullet to the head. His comrade turned around to the shot's direction. Instead, he met face to face with a sound-suppressed Beretta. The barrel was smoking.
"Jacobsen!? What the fu- *thwoop*"
She, too, planted a bullet into his head without a second thought. Two fresh corpses in the cabin, each had hollow holes with blood oozing out. The hostages whimpered at the sight, fearing they were next. They would be, if the redhead deemed it necessary.
Lucky for them, their salvation had finally come. With her partners dead, Emily pulled back the slide of her handgun to empty its chamber. A bullet fell from the ejection port, onto the bloodstained floor with an audible clang. Then, she released the magazine from her gun and tossed it away, setting down the weapon a few feet in front of her. An odd twist of events for any passersby's eyes. But this was part of the woman's plan from the beginning. It needed to end here and now, before it was too late. Too late for her.
*Blam!*
The barricade on the cabin was felled by a powerful blow: a battering ram from the London bobbies, rather than an explosive door charge that Emily had expected. Within seconds, hooded figures in black commando suits stormed in, all brandishing sound-suppressed automatic weapons. The sole remaining 'hijacker' heeded her instinct and raised her hands, prove she was no threat, even without the barking of the commandos' team leader.
"Hands! Hands!", he yelled. "Don't ya fucking move!"
The man wore a gasmask and spoke with an aged voice.
More commandos entered the cabin. Some went to escort the hostages out, while others inspected the deceased in such close quarters. Emily, meanwhile, complied like an obedient prisoner. Another act, another lie. This time though, her ploy had a different, far less sinister objective. No more deaths were needed from this moment on, lest she would ruin the rest of her plan. She played it like she practiced a dozen times before. The commandos manhandled her as they were wont to do. They didn't have gentle hands, shoving her down into the cold, bloodied floor like a hated fugitive. Her mask was stained with splotches of red and some of them oozed into her unblemished face. Disgusting and undignified, but she was way past caring for appearances at this point.
While the elderly trooper produced handcuffs from his utility belt, another masked man came into the cabin. He had a rather sinister gait, perhaps purposeful, as he holstered a sound-suppressed SMG-11 and took out something from his vest. It looked like a photograph of some sort, judging from its square shape. The man held it close to Emily's face, right before he tore her ski mask off. Of course he would; this was standard operating procedure for identifying a suspect from a throng of unknown individuals.
"Yep. That's her. Positive visual.", the man spoke, obviously sounding a bit younger. "Hear that, guv? Looks like you owe me a pint!"
"Shut it, Jimmy. Get her up…"
After that quick banter, the commandos forced Emily on her feet and led her out. On the stairs leading into the tarmac, she realized the full extent of London's 'welcome': the runway was absolutely packed with fire engines, ambulances, and police cars all surrounding the aircraft. Cops and paramedics were everywhere. News vans drove into the scene, only to be waved off by armed officers on sentry-duty. There were no snipers. No helicopters circling above. Was that all? Was she home free? Her questions remained unanswered as a black bag was suddenly draped over her face…
"Mute, this is Thatcher. Target X-Ray is secured.", the team leader reported. "I repeat, X-Ray is secured. Sierra and Whiskey are movin' to the L-Zed now, over."
"Affirmative sir. Code White confirmed. All units are standing down."
Captured by the enemy: the last step in the plan. The tension on her muscles faded as the realization slowed crept into her soul. All the sacrifices she made, all the lies, all the deaths she caused… didn't go to waste after all. No more ambiguities. No more deceptions. She made it, despite the odds. She pulled it off, just like her father would've wanted her to. Underneath the mask, there was a bright grin on her lips and tears forming in her pretty eyes. She wafted in the sense of fulfillment, even if the cost was too high. Her life was forfeit. As did her career, her honor, her friends, her countrymen, her father's legacy. All in the name of protecting her beloved nation from its own insane patriots. At least she didn't completely lose everything.
See you on the other side… Ethan.
It felt unworthy of her to remember that name. She would never see him again. But it didn't matter now. After a long trek across the tarmac, the commandos led her to a van and closed the door shut. It was dark, cold, and lonely, save for the ambient radio chatter.
At long last, she was finally free.
…
Author's Notes and Comments: Welp, this is officially the longest chapter in this story. I suppose it's only fitting that I make this last bit as action-packed as I could make it. Chapter 19 was heavily-inspired by the Rainbow Six: Patriots reveal trailer back in 2011; you might notice plenty of callbacks and references from that. Please stay tuned for the Epilogue, which will be out in a couple of days (fingers crossed)!