Title: Duty's Call
Author: Crazy Ivan & Lady Bethia
Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door. Read Before Ranger Chapter 7
E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com
Home Page:
Pairings: None
Ratings: PG
Warnings:
Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this
story. James Smith is my original character.
Summary: A near miss on Xavier's Academy.
Duty's Call, IV: (Hunters in the Night)
It started as a night like any other in Westchester County, New York. It was early fall. The air was crisp and clean, the trees just starting to turn. Stars were just beginning to come out in the sky. It promised to be gloriously beautiful, even when the three matt black Hummers took a side exit off the State Highway, then turned into the State park, their engines purred quietly, in stealth mode. Their sound was that of silent lethality even as they coasted through a new hole in the barbed wire fence, to a quiet stop under the trees.
Four occupants got out then to cover up the signs of their passing, and put up camouflage, to further hide their presence. Once that was done, the occupants of the other vehicles all got out and gathered around their leader for a listen up.
Twelve men, garbed in the latest in Night Combat Equipment, battle dress, night vision goggles, body armor and weapons, lots of weapons, stood ready. It was time for another attack on the Xavier Mansion.
The leader tapped his communications headset, and motioned for everyone to do an equipment check. Then he started speaking softly into the microphone. "Listen careful. This is a sanctioned raid. The purpose is to hurt the X-Men and Charles Xavier's sense of purpose and peace. Remember, go for soft targets. Intel has it that the main combat team members are out on a mission. So, it should be old folks and kids."
"Synchronize your watches, 20:45 hours, should take us an hour, hour fifteen to reach the perimeter, then set up. We start shooting while they are groggy, and then start capping targets."
"Remember, 22:30 hours, we open fire and create confusion, then start cherry picking our targets."
"Right, any questions? No, then move out."
And the twelve started to move through the forest, quietly, stealthily, and very very carefully, after all, they were professionals.
Meanwhile, further into the park, Chief Smith was enjoying time in a field expedient lean to, warming some coffee, and watching intelligence feeds. "Boring can be fun, occasionally," he muttered to himself. Until his early warning alarms told him someone was coming. And it was not from the Mansion but from out side the park.
Taking a moment to finish securing his Chi Tau Battle Dress, he moved into the trees, and up to them to watch, wait and listen.
Scant minutes later, the first of the twelve-man team moved into the hidden clearing, and signaled a stop.
"Number One, something curious here."
Number one moved up to evaluate, and snorted, "We interrupted some bums camp, and you're worried about it?"
"Move out,"
"Now."
As the team moved on, they took a minute to look things over, then out of spite or malice, one of the men kicked over the tommy cooker, spilling out the contents, and extinguishing the cooker as well. For good measure, he stomped it once, then took his place in the formation.
Ten steps further in, he and his team entered 'The Twilight Zone,' minus the early warning appearance of Rod Sterling. The two men on sweep quietly vanished from the rear of the formation. No noise, no fuss, no muss, just gone.
And it took the team time to realize that they were gone. Almost ten minutes. When they realized something was wrong, Number One ordered a stop, so he could double back with two men to check out his missing people.
Fifteen minutes, and no sign. No I.R. signature, no bodies, nothing. Background chatter got a little more intense, but stayed disciplined. After all, looses were acceptable even if they could not explain why.
When Number One rejoined his team, he ran a quick nose count, and found two more missing, his scouts. The Sniper and the Grenadier were also gone without a trace. No sound that any of the others could even complain of.
Meanwhile, 30 feet above them, a dark shadowy figure was listening in on a captured comm. Unit, even as a bound figure was secured to the main trunk of a majestic oak, trying to shout, talk, or do anything but drool, around an old army sock and duct tape.
Military arithmetic, 12 in, four captured, 8 to go. 'By the book, good discipline, good weapons, by the book.'
'Size, reinforced squad, Activity, infiltration, probably toward the mansion, Location, just walking over my cooker and coffee pot,' "Bad Boys" he mumbled, Unit, apparently special ops, covert type, 'Great another rogue unit, amateurs to boot.' 'Time,' a quick glance at his chronometer, '21:00 Hours,' Equipment, HK Machine Pistols, a couple of Arm Burst Rocket Launchers, two SAWs, still, no snipers, not anymore, two men with '16's with Grenade Launchers. Lots of pistols and pretty fair combat communications head sets. Body Armour, slightly above average, not the best, a quick look at his nearest victim, two frags, one smoker, oh goody, one nerve gas.' A quick rummage through his victim's respirator pouch, 'Nope, no Atropine. Typical. Amateurs.'
Taking a moment to pluck the grenade from his victim's gear, he looked it over in the faint moonlight, and upped the capacity of his vision receptors to cat vision. 'Oh goody, paralytic nerve agent, and they are not even carrying proper NBC Equipment.'
He looked at his victim one more time, 'Amateur night in my woods. I could have given you a pass, but no, you idiots kicked over my lifer juice. That made it personal.'
'Idiots.'
Moving swiftly, he started using the trees to move into a better position to watch the attackers below him. 'Not bad, not listening enough, but not bad.'
"Circling up, to deal with what ever threat they face."
'Two dimensional.' He muttered, shaking his head in amazement, 'Not looking up or down, only around.'
'Too easy.'
Back on the ground, Number One was having his surviving team members scan for anything with unusual body thermals in the surrounding terrain. "After all, the X-Men have fire using and ice using muties as well, as some that could pass for norms."
And with quiet confidence, but a growing sense of concern, they looked around, wondering what they were looking for, curious what could take four of them down that quietly, yet, still confident they could deal with this new threat.
Yet, they had forgotten an ancient military axiom. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. And, worse, and they didn't know it; they had found the wrong enemy.
The intruder lowered himself slowly into the middle of their defensive circle. Quietly, slowly, still listening to their radio chatter. Small stuff, nervous stuff. No change. Good, nothing different. Then, within 10 feet of the ground, he dropped to the ground, and rolled. Two responded by spinning at the soft sound of something behind them, and saw nothing. No body, nothing on thermals, zip. And they relaxed.
That was their last mistake. The first caught a dagger in his eye. His counterpart saw the death of his teammate, and started to raise an alarm, only to find that something hard was in his throat and depriving him of the power of speech and the ability to breath.
Him hitting the ground alerted the others something was wrong. The entire team spun around at the sound of the thump of their fallen companions saw nothing normal, or even abnormal. Until Number One registered movement toward his three o'clock position pivoted and then fired.
Given the high state of excitement of his team, that was all it took, six men with automatic weapons opened fire into what was a classic Mexican Firing Squad. Two men went down immediately, gurgling blood through chest wounds, or worse. Then the unseen shadow moved against one of the lightly wounded men, still standing. The three survivors saw their team mate being lifted into the air, by nothing they could see on thermals or night sensors, yet he was still dangling in the air, feet off the ground, kicking feebly as the air in his blood thinned out. Three automatic weapons barked as one, at what and where their unseen enemy had to be. The intruder rocked on his boot heels, looked at the survivors, and casually snapped the neck of the man he was holding by the throat.
Then that poor departed soul was used as a shield, as the dark intruder rushed two of the survivors, leaving Number One alone, for the moment. Number one paused a moment to turn off his Thermal Goggles, to give him a chance at seeing what was killing his team. He hoped. And in the blink of an eye, two more of his team were down, one crying softly for his mother, the other not doing much of anything after being slammed into a tree, other than slumping slowly to the ground.
Number One, did the only thing he could think of, he emptied his machine pistol into the target he could at least marginally see in the dark. He knew he was hitting his target. The target that kept coming toward him, then casually reached out, took his machine pistol away from him, and then held up a cylindrical object that he recognized as one of the teams nerve gas grenades.
Fear held him in place, what was this, it didn't look like a mutie, it looked like something from a cheap movie, part Star Wars, part Terminator. And a minute was all that was needed, for his enemy to casually pull the pin on the Nerve Gas, and then remove his respirator. His last thought was, 'Who is this guy?, How could he move that fast?'
Smith shook his head slowly, 'Amateur night,' he murmured.
He sighed deeply. 'Now I gotta call in a clean up team.' He perked up at a new thought as he dusted his hands off, 'Maybe they could bring in some more coffee.'
He casually tossed off a salute to the man at his feet, 'Thanks, I almost owe you. I may even get some real coffee out of this.'
And he walked off, whistling, thinking about John Wayne Bars and Java. 'Maybe these idiots weren't a total waste of my time after all.'
Later that night, three whisper driven black birds took off from a small clearing in the park, leaving a very happy observer with three tins of real coffee, a case of John Wayne Bars, and two Phillie Cheese Steak Sandwiches.
'I love my job,' thought CW Smith, as he dug into the first sandwich, while waiting for his new coffee pot to brew his beverage of choice.
*John Wayne Bars are military issue ration candy, circular, and coming in a variety of flavors. Milk Chocolate, Milk Chocolate with Crispies, and various Chocolate covered nuggets being just a few. My personal favorites were the strawberry cream and the coconut cream.
Read Chapter 7 of The Ranger Next Door
Duty's Call, IV: (Hunters in the Night)
It started as a night like any other in Westchester County, New York. It was early fall. The air was crisp and clean, the trees just starting to turn. Stars were just beginning to come out in the sky. It promised to be gloriously beautiful, even when the three matt black Hummers took a side exit off the State Highway, then turned into the State park, their engines purred quietly, in stealth mode. Their sound was that of silent lethality even as they coasted through a new hole in the barbed wire fence, to a quiet stop under the trees.
Four occupants got out then to cover up the signs of their passing, and put up camouflage, to further hide their presence. Once that was done, the occupants of the other vehicles all got out and gathered around their leader for a listen up.
Twelve men, garbed in the latest in Night Combat Equipment, battle dress, night vision goggles, body armor and weapons, lots of weapons, stood ready. It was time for another attack on the Xavier Mansion.
The leader tapped his communications headset, and motioned for everyone to do an equipment check. Then he started speaking softly into the microphone. "Listen careful. This is a sanctioned raid. The purpose is to hurt the X-Men and Charles Xavier's sense of purpose and peace. Remember, go for soft targets. Intel has it that the main combat team members are out on a mission. So, it should be old folks and kids."
"Synchronize your watches, 20:45 hours, should take us an hour, hour fifteen to reach the perimeter, then set up. We start shooting while they are groggy, and then start capping targets."
"Remember, 22:30 hours, we open fire and create confusion, then start cherry picking our targets."
"Right, any questions? No, then move out."
And the twelve started to move through the forest, quietly, stealthily, and very very carefully, after all, they were professionals.
Meanwhile, further into the park, Chief Smith was enjoying time in a field expedient lean to, warming some coffee, and watching intelligence feeds. "Boring can be fun, occasionally," he muttered to himself. Until his early warning alarms told him someone was coming. And it was not from the Mansion but from out side the park.
Taking a moment to finish securing his Chi Tau Battle Dress, he moved into the trees, and up to them to watch, wait and listen.
Scant minutes later, the first of the twelve-man team moved into the hidden clearing, and signaled a stop.
"Number One, something curious here."
Number one moved up to evaluate, and snorted, "We interrupted some bums camp, and you're worried about it?"
"Move out,"
"Now."
As the team moved on, they took a minute to look things over, then out of spite or malice, one of the men kicked over the tommy cooker, spilling out the contents, and extinguishing the cooker as well. For good measure, he stomped it once, then took his place in the formation.
Ten steps further in, he and his team entered 'The Twilight Zone,' minus the early warning appearance of Rod Sterling. The two men on sweep quietly vanished from the rear of the formation. No noise, no fuss, no muss, just gone.
And it took the team time to realize that they were gone. Almost ten minutes. When they realized something was wrong, Number One ordered a stop, so he could double back with two men to check out his missing people.
Fifteen minutes, and no sign. No I.R. signature, no bodies, nothing. Background chatter got a little more intense, but stayed disciplined. After all, looses were acceptable even if they could not explain why.
When Number One rejoined his team, he ran a quick nose count, and found two more missing, his scouts. The Sniper and the Grenadier were also gone without a trace. No sound that any of the others could even complain of.
Meanwhile, 30 feet above them, a dark shadowy figure was listening in on a captured comm. Unit, even as a bound figure was secured to the main trunk of a majestic oak, trying to shout, talk, or do anything but drool, around an old army sock and duct tape.
Military arithmetic, 12 in, four captured, 8 to go. 'By the book, good discipline, good weapons, by the book.'
'Size, reinforced squad, Activity, infiltration, probably toward the mansion, Location, just walking over my cooker and coffee pot,' "Bad Boys" he mumbled, Unit, apparently special ops, covert type, 'Great another rogue unit, amateurs to boot.' 'Time,' a quick glance at his chronometer, '21:00 Hours,' Equipment, HK Machine Pistols, a couple of Arm Burst Rocket Launchers, two SAWs, still, no snipers, not anymore, two men with '16's with Grenade Launchers. Lots of pistols and pretty fair combat communications head sets. Body Armour, slightly above average, not the best, a quick look at his nearest victim, two frags, one smoker, oh goody, one nerve gas.' A quick rummage through his victim's respirator pouch, 'Nope, no Atropine. Typical. Amateurs.'
Taking a moment to pluck the grenade from his victim's gear, he looked it over in the faint moonlight, and upped the capacity of his vision receptors to cat vision. 'Oh goody, paralytic nerve agent, and they are not even carrying proper NBC Equipment.'
He looked at his victim one more time, 'Amateur night in my woods. I could have given you a pass, but no, you idiots kicked over my lifer juice. That made it personal.'
'Idiots.'
Moving swiftly, he started using the trees to move into a better position to watch the attackers below him. 'Not bad, not listening enough, but not bad.'
"Circling up, to deal with what ever threat they face."
'Two dimensional.' He muttered, shaking his head in amazement, 'Not looking up or down, only around.'
'Too easy.'
Back on the ground, Number One was having his surviving team members scan for anything with unusual body thermals in the surrounding terrain. "After all, the X-Men have fire using and ice using muties as well, as some that could pass for norms."
And with quiet confidence, but a growing sense of concern, they looked around, wondering what they were looking for, curious what could take four of them down that quietly, yet, still confident they could deal with this new threat.
Yet, they had forgotten an ancient military axiom. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. And, worse, and they didn't know it; they had found the wrong enemy.
The intruder lowered himself slowly into the middle of their defensive circle. Quietly, slowly, still listening to their radio chatter. Small stuff, nervous stuff. No change. Good, nothing different. Then, within 10 feet of the ground, he dropped to the ground, and rolled. Two responded by spinning at the soft sound of something behind them, and saw nothing. No body, nothing on thermals, zip. And they relaxed.
That was their last mistake. The first caught a dagger in his eye. His counterpart saw the death of his teammate, and started to raise an alarm, only to find that something hard was in his throat and depriving him of the power of speech and the ability to breath.
Him hitting the ground alerted the others something was wrong. The entire team spun around at the sound of the thump of their fallen companions saw nothing normal, or even abnormal. Until Number One registered movement toward his three o'clock position pivoted and then fired.
Given the high state of excitement of his team, that was all it took, six men with automatic weapons opened fire into what was a classic Mexican Firing Squad. Two men went down immediately, gurgling blood through chest wounds, or worse. Then the unseen shadow moved against one of the lightly wounded men, still standing. The three survivors saw their team mate being lifted into the air, by nothing they could see on thermals or night sensors, yet he was still dangling in the air, feet off the ground, kicking feebly as the air in his blood thinned out. Three automatic weapons barked as one, at what and where their unseen enemy had to be. The intruder rocked on his boot heels, looked at the survivors, and casually snapped the neck of the man he was holding by the throat.
Then that poor departed soul was used as a shield, as the dark intruder rushed two of the survivors, leaving Number One alone, for the moment. Number one paused a moment to turn off his Thermal Goggles, to give him a chance at seeing what was killing his team. He hoped. And in the blink of an eye, two more of his team were down, one crying softly for his mother, the other not doing much of anything after being slammed into a tree, other than slumping slowly to the ground.
Number One, did the only thing he could think of, he emptied his machine pistol into the target he could at least marginally see in the dark. He knew he was hitting his target. The target that kept coming toward him, then casually reached out, took his machine pistol away from him, and then held up a cylindrical object that he recognized as one of the teams nerve gas grenades.
Fear held him in place, what was this, it didn't look like a mutie, it looked like something from a cheap movie, part Star Wars, part Terminator. And a minute was all that was needed, for his enemy to casually pull the pin on the Nerve Gas, and then remove his respirator. His last thought was, 'Who is this guy?, How could he move that fast?'
Smith shook his head slowly, 'Amateur night,' he murmured.
He sighed deeply. 'Now I gotta call in a clean up team.' He perked up at a new thought as he dusted his hands off, 'Maybe they could bring in some more coffee.'
He casually tossed off a salute to the man at his feet, 'Thanks, I almost owe you. I may even get some real coffee out of this.'
And he walked off, whistling, thinking about John Wayne Bars and Java. 'Maybe these idiots weren't a total waste of my time after all.'
Later that night, three whisper driven black birds took off from a small clearing in the park, leaving a very happy observer with three tins of real coffee, a case of John Wayne Bars, and two Phillie Cheese Steak Sandwiches.
'I love my job,' thought CW Smith, as he dug into the first sandwich, while waiting for his new coffee pot to brew his beverage of choice.
*John Wayne Bars are military issue ration candy, circular, and coming in a variety of flavors. Milk Chocolate, Milk Chocolate with Crispies, and various Chocolate covered nuggets being just a few. My personal favorites were the strawberry cream and the coconut cream.
Read Chapter 7 of The Ranger Next Door