Chapter 2
Getting Ready
Lewis Cramer, who, for the last hour and a bit, had been informing the
group before him of the incident in Racoon City, felt a bit of relief as he
moved onto the final phase of his talk, where he briefed the 6 men sitting
on the table in front of him on the mission they were about to partake. He
could imagine what was going through their minds; the absolute terror from
being told they'd have to go into that city, when any normal person would
be trying to escape.
Darryl sat in silence. Now that he had been told what they'd have to do, he was happy to sit and listen to all the little details. He only listened half-heartedly to the person up the front giving the information to him. It's not because he hated his very guts, but because he was so used to Lewis Cramer giving details he knew he'd only need to tune in half the time. Instead, he let his mind wander over his part in the mission. He knew, being the commander, he'd be in charge of writing up the list for all the equipment he'd want, not to mention what he'd bring himself. The thing he concentrated most on was firepower. He didn't intend on being caught out by the undead anytime soon.
Weapons had always been his ultimate forte. From the very first day at basic training, he could outshoot and outgun half the instructors. He thought about every aspect, calibre being one of the most important to him. He'd grown an immaculate understanding of the different calibers and bullet types, and understood just how important they were.
If you wanted to injure, you'd use the smaller caliber full metal jacket, 5.56 for example. If you wanted one shot kills you'd use the higher calibres, like the 9mm or .40s. Darryl of course wanted one shot kills, but decided that the 9mm was to short range for his liking. He hadn't intended on getting up close and personal with the city's former residents. But the 5.56 FMJ was notorious for not killing its target with the first shots, even when the targets where alive, let alone undead. "Though," thought Darryl, "looking at that skin it ain't holding together well. Yeah, what the hell, FMJ it is."
When he had decided that, he then went on to wonder about what sort of firepower he'd want for the group. He knew he'd want a machine gun. He had basically had two choices when it came to machineguns. The FN MAG or the Minimi. He'd be writing M240 or M249 on the form, but he didn't care. He'd grown up around those titles, and old habits died hard. After mulling over it for a while, he decided to bring both. If those guys at the armoury wanted to have a cry to him about the amount of equipment being used, they'd have to wait for another day.
The rest was simple. He'd obviously want grenades, lots of grenades. He'd also want night vision, along with defensive equipment so he could set up a base of operations. And, most importantly, he'd bring ammo, lots and lots of ammo. But how much was the question. He decided instead of thinking up a number, he'd pack all the stuff into their vehicles, and then load it up with as much ammunition as he could stuff into them.
Darryl, satisfied with that much, went over want Lewis Cramer had been talking about. He may not have been giving him his undivided attention, but he was sure as hell listening to every word he was saying. Basically, they were going to be flown in by two helicopters and dropped outside the city, just inside the perimeter line set up and manned by the US Army. The vehicles and half the men would be in the Chinook, while Darryl and John and one other would ride in the lead Blackhawk.
From there they'd drive into town and set up a defensive position to work from. From there the decision on what to do next would remain with the commander. The rest of it was of little concern to Darryl. Although it was incredibly important information, it was standard. Radio frequencies, how often they'd want sitreps, and how to get out if things became too hostile.
The one thing that did, however, interest Darryl, and surely the rest of the group, was their contingency plan. If they were unable to complete their mission; either if they were obliterated, or if Darryl decided to pull them out; then a small grade nuclear warhead would be detonated, completely destroying the city.
The source of this nuke would be one of two, depending on why the mission was being aborted. One of the most disturbing additions to their kit was a self-contained nuclear bomb, that if Darryl had decided to pull his team out, he could place himself and detonate. If, on the other hand, contact with the team was lost, the worst would be assumed and the nuke would be flown in and dropped.
Darryl began thinking of the international uproar that would cause, but before he was able to get too far in to thought, the lights switched back on and Lewis Cramer wrapped up his brief. They were dismissed to go and get ready, as they left 4 am the next morning. As they all began getting out of their chairs and heading for the door, Darryl overheard his men talking. "This is terrible", one of them would say, to which another would reply, "Those poor people. I feel so sorry for them."
Darryl thought to himself, "You'd want to get over those feeling quickly." Personally, he didn't feel anything for the undead monsters roaming around the city. They were already dead, not much use worrying about them. He was more concerned about the possible survivors still in the city, how scared they must be. Although the incident at the mansion happened over three months ago, the infection in the city had only really taken affect a few days ago. Surely the entire population hadn't been taken over. If so, they really had their work cut out for them.
Darryl remembered overhearing the blokes in Intelligence talking about some people that may have escaped. They must have really gotten on Umbrellas bad side to have them stick the Intel guys on them. One of the Intelligence Forces jobs was tracking down people that Umbrella had something against. More often then not, once the person was found, the work was handed over to the assassins in Umbrella RET groups. Darryl was one of those assassins, although he was never a big fan of the job.
Having survived the horrors of that city, Darryl couldn't imagine why Umbrella would want to have them tracked down and killed. This raised some major moral issues for Darryl and, as much as Darryl would like to have gotten some answers to that, he had more pressing matters at hand. Although it was still another 10 hours until they left, Darryl wanted to get the paperwork done quickly and get down to the pub just in case it was his last chance. But despite his obvious desire to relax as much as possible, fully knowing he wouldn't be able to get to sleep, he knew the sooner he gave his orders the more time it gave his team to prepare.
Darryl retreated to his room, which was conveniently shared with his best friend John, who he had always worked with, and the two just worked off each other naturally. Darryl had to wait for his second in command, Ryan Lee to arrive. He had worked with Ryan on a number of different operations, and the guy had his shit squared away. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Ryan came in.
They sat at his desk as the three of them worked out their plan of attack. They decided that they'd haul up in the police station. Not only was the police station a large and easily fortified position, it was one of the few places in the city that has a helipad, so not only could they get out if they needed to, they could also get more stuff in if they needed to.
Satisfied with their plan, and the orders written up and the requisitions list ready to be handed in, the two men headed for the equipment room to sort out their personal equipment while Ryan went to hand in their list. When they arrived, they went off to the locker rooms to have a shower, knowing it may be a while before they have another. The locker room was completely empty, the remainder of the team having already gotten their kit sorted.
The steam that enveloped Darryl's body was comforting and soothing, but really dull. He couldn't wait to get in to his combat clothes. He turned the shower off and grabbed the towel that hung on the hook. John was already out of the shower and drying himself off. Darryl turned his back, not really wanting to see his bare ass.
His memories cast him back to a time when he had come in late from training, gone for a shower, and had been in such a rush to get out and on the phone to his friend Jess that he generally ended up half dressed or missing the towel completely. He remembered those good times, but felt a sudden sadness when he remembered he'd lost her. Lost her to the very city he was about to enter himself. Jess had gone to Racoon City University to study archaeology, and was in to her second year when the virus struck. She was a smart and talented girl, and she knew how to defend herself, but the chances that she was still alive were remote. He put on his uniform and immediately felt good again. He may have lost Jess to the zombies and won't see her ever again, but he was going in there to avenge that loss. He looked down at himself in his uniform and thought how happy it always made him.
The combat uniform for Umbrellas RET operatives was a black BDU design; identical to that the US government has for its soldiers, but straight black. Above his right breast pocket was his nametag, and on the left breast pocket was the Umbrella logo done in dark grey, like the rest of the embroidery. On the shoulder were the patches for Umbrella Retrieval and Elimination Teams.
Darryl finished his clothes with his favourites he'd always taken. Kneepads, tactical vest adorned with drop leg pouches, one for his pistol and the other for more magazines and attached his cherished bayonet.
He looked over at John, who was dressed in a similar fashion. He and John had always had the same kit, ever since their time in Army cadets. Each would make a modification and share it with the other who, if they liked it, would follow suit. "Let's go." Darryl said when they were both ready. They walked out the equipment room and went to a much smaller and less elegant briefing room. Darryl turned to his friend and said, "Hey John, can you go round everyone up and get them in here, I'm going to give them their orders." "Sure thing mate", John replied.
The group filed in, sat down and listened intently as Darryl went over every small detail abut how things were going to happen. None of them were that intent on getting killed either. When he had finished, he let them go telling them to get as much rest as they could, suspecting though, that they'd have just as much trouble sleeping as he will.
Darryl picked up his equipment he'd slung over the chair, turned to John as said, "Come on John, lets get out of here. I need a drink." To which John all to happily replied, "I thought you'd never ask." The two stuffed their kit in their room, and then proceeded to through the maze of corridors and elevators that would lead them once again outside, where they'd hunt down the nearest pub and forget for a moment that they were about to be slung head first into the fiery pits of hell.
Darryl sat in silence. Now that he had been told what they'd have to do, he was happy to sit and listen to all the little details. He only listened half-heartedly to the person up the front giving the information to him. It's not because he hated his very guts, but because he was so used to Lewis Cramer giving details he knew he'd only need to tune in half the time. Instead, he let his mind wander over his part in the mission. He knew, being the commander, he'd be in charge of writing up the list for all the equipment he'd want, not to mention what he'd bring himself. The thing he concentrated most on was firepower. He didn't intend on being caught out by the undead anytime soon.
Weapons had always been his ultimate forte. From the very first day at basic training, he could outshoot and outgun half the instructors. He thought about every aspect, calibre being one of the most important to him. He'd grown an immaculate understanding of the different calibers and bullet types, and understood just how important they were.
If you wanted to injure, you'd use the smaller caliber full metal jacket, 5.56 for example. If you wanted one shot kills you'd use the higher calibres, like the 9mm or .40s. Darryl of course wanted one shot kills, but decided that the 9mm was to short range for his liking. He hadn't intended on getting up close and personal with the city's former residents. But the 5.56 FMJ was notorious for not killing its target with the first shots, even when the targets where alive, let alone undead. "Though," thought Darryl, "looking at that skin it ain't holding together well. Yeah, what the hell, FMJ it is."
When he had decided that, he then went on to wonder about what sort of firepower he'd want for the group. He knew he'd want a machine gun. He had basically had two choices when it came to machineguns. The FN MAG or the Minimi. He'd be writing M240 or M249 on the form, but he didn't care. He'd grown up around those titles, and old habits died hard. After mulling over it for a while, he decided to bring both. If those guys at the armoury wanted to have a cry to him about the amount of equipment being used, they'd have to wait for another day.
The rest was simple. He'd obviously want grenades, lots of grenades. He'd also want night vision, along with defensive equipment so he could set up a base of operations. And, most importantly, he'd bring ammo, lots and lots of ammo. But how much was the question. He decided instead of thinking up a number, he'd pack all the stuff into their vehicles, and then load it up with as much ammunition as he could stuff into them.
Darryl, satisfied with that much, went over want Lewis Cramer had been talking about. He may not have been giving him his undivided attention, but he was sure as hell listening to every word he was saying. Basically, they were going to be flown in by two helicopters and dropped outside the city, just inside the perimeter line set up and manned by the US Army. The vehicles and half the men would be in the Chinook, while Darryl and John and one other would ride in the lead Blackhawk.
From there they'd drive into town and set up a defensive position to work from. From there the decision on what to do next would remain with the commander. The rest of it was of little concern to Darryl. Although it was incredibly important information, it was standard. Radio frequencies, how often they'd want sitreps, and how to get out if things became too hostile.
The one thing that did, however, interest Darryl, and surely the rest of the group, was their contingency plan. If they were unable to complete their mission; either if they were obliterated, or if Darryl decided to pull them out; then a small grade nuclear warhead would be detonated, completely destroying the city.
The source of this nuke would be one of two, depending on why the mission was being aborted. One of the most disturbing additions to their kit was a self-contained nuclear bomb, that if Darryl had decided to pull his team out, he could place himself and detonate. If, on the other hand, contact with the team was lost, the worst would be assumed and the nuke would be flown in and dropped.
Darryl began thinking of the international uproar that would cause, but before he was able to get too far in to thought, the lights switched back on and Lewis Cramer wrapped up his brief. They were dismissed to go and get ready, as they left 4 am the next morning. As they all began getting out of their chairs and heading for the door, Darryl overheard his men talking. "This is terrible", one of them would say, to which another would reply, "Those poor people. I feel so sorry for them."
Darryl thought to himself, "You'd want to get over those feeling quickly." Personally, he didn't feel anything for the undead monsters roaming around the city. They were already dead, not much use worrying about them. He was more concerned about the possible survivors still in the city, how scared they must be. Although the incident at the mansion happened over three months ago, the infection in the city had only really taken affect a few days ago. Surely the entire population hadn't been taken over. If so, they really had their work cut out for them.
Darryl remembered overhearing the blokes in Intelligence talking about some people that may have escaped. They must have really gotten on Umbrellas bad side to have them stick the Intel guys on them. One of the Intelligence Forces jobs was tracking down people that Umbrella had something against. More often then not, once the person was found, the work was handed over to the assassins in Umbrella RET groups. Darryl was one of those assassins, although he was never a big fan of the job.
Having survived the horrors of that city, Darryl couldn't imagine why Umbrella would want to have them tracked down and killed. This raised some major moral issues for Darryl and, as much as Darryl would like to have gotten some answers to that, he had more pressing matters at hand. Although it was still another 10 hours until they left, Darryl wanted to get the paperwork done quickly and get down to the pub just in case it was his last chance. But despite his obvious desire to relax as much as possible, fully knowing he wouldn't be able to get to sleep, he knew the sooner he gave his orders the more time it gave his team to prepare.
Darryl retreated to his room, which was conveniently shared with his best friend John, who he had always worked with, and the two just worked off each other naturally. Darryl had to wait for his second in command, Ryan Lee to arrive. He had worked with Ryan on a number of different operations, and the guy had his shit squared away. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Ryan came in.
They sat at his desk as the three of them worked out their plan of attack. They decided that they'd haul up in the police station. Not only was the police station a large and easily fortified position, it was one of the few places in the city that has a helipad, so not only could they get out if they needed to, they could also get more stuff in if they needed to.
Satisfied with their plan, and the orders written up and the requisitions list ready to be handed in, the two men headed for the equipment room to sort out their personal equipment while Ryan went to hand in their list. When they arrived, they went off to the locker rooms to have a shower, knowing it may be a while before they have another. The locker room was completely empty, the remainder of the team having already gotten their kit sorted.
The steam that enveloped Darryl's body was comforting and soothing, but really dull. He couldn't wait to get in to his combat clothes. He turned the shower off and grabbed the towel that hung on the hook. John was already out of the shower and drying himself off. Darryl turned his back, not really wanting to see his bare ass.
His memories cast him back to a time when he had come in late from training, gone for a shower, and had been in such a rush to get out and on the phone to his friend Jess that he generally ended up half dressed or missing the towel completely. He remembered those good times, but felt a sudden sadness when he remembered he'd lost her. Lost her to the very city he was about to enter himself. Jess had gone to Racoon City University to study archaeology, and was in to her second year when the virus struck. She was a smart and talented girl, and she knew how to defend herself, but the chances that she was still alive were remote. He put on his uniform and immediately felt good again. He may have lost Jess to the zombies and won't see her ever again, but he was going in there to avenge that loss. He looked down at himself in his uniform and thought how happy it always made him.
The combat uniform for Umbrellas RET operatives was a black BDU design; identical to that the US government has for its soldiers, but straight black. Above his right breast pocket was his nametag, and on the left breast pocket was the Umbrella logo done in dark grey, like the rest of the embroidery. On the shoulder were the patches for Umbrella Retrieval and Elimination Teams.
Darryl finished his clothes with his favourites he'd always taken. Kneepads, tactical vest adorned with drop leg pouches, one for his pistol and the other for more magazines and attached his cherished bayonet.
He looked over at John, who was dressed in a similar fashion. He and John had always had the same kit, ever since their time in Army cadets. Each would make a modification and share it with the other who, if they liked it, would follow suit. "Let's go." Darryl said when they were both ready. They walked out the equipment room and went to a much smaller and less elegant briefing room. Darryl turned to his friend and said, "Hey John, can you go round everyone up and get them in here, I'm going to give them their orders." "Sure thing mate", John replied.
The group filed in, sat down and listened intently as Darryl went over every small detail abut how things were going to happen. None of them were that intent on getting killed either. When he had finished, he let them go telling them to get as much rest as they could, suspecting though, that they'd have just as much trouble sleeping as he will.
Darryl picked up his equipment he'd slung over the chair, turned to John as said, "Come on John, lets get out of here. I need a drink." To which John all to happily replied, "I thought you'd never ask." The two stuffed their kit in their room, and then proceeded to through the maze of corridors and elevators that would lead them once again outside, where they'd hunt down the nearest pub and forget for a moment that they were about to be slung head first into the fiery pits of hell.