Author's Note: Okay, this chapter switches scenes quite a few times, so you're going to have to bear with me a little here. It was the only way I could get rid of the unneeded "in-between" details in describing each side's trek to the Umbrella facility in England. It worked out quite well, in my opinion. Well, enjoy this read. Oh, and just as another note, I'll constantly be editing my chapters until I have it the way I want, so please excuse any discrepancies you may encounter seeing that they may change in due time. Thank you.

FOUR: DISTURBANCE

December 24
1350 hours Eastern Standard Time
Manhattan, New York

Markus was sitting in the cabin, resting himself before his operation was to take place. He rested his M-16 to his right, holding it by the ten and a half inch barrel. A blanket of cool air washed over his body as the helicopter's blades began to spin. His eyes were closed, thinking of his wife and his unborn child, already he was thinking of what to name the child.

Nicholas sounds nice. Or maybe Matthew. Aidan sounds better. Yeah, Aidan, but what if it's a girl? Naomi, ha. Wow, I'm gonna be a dad.

"Captain," someone called to him, but he ignored it. "Captain," they called again, this time shrugging his shoulder. He opened his eyes, a little irked. It was Miguel Juárez the strategist. "Captain, we're ready for take off. You'd better buckle up, you're M-16, too, it should be stored in the weapons compartment."

Markus handed Miguel the M-16 and strapped himself into his seat, making sure everything was safe and secure. He then looked across the cabin to where his E.D.E.N. unit was positioned; all of them had the same blank stare on their visages. To the far left, his left, was Miguel, then next to him was his best marksman, or rather markswoman, Angela Swift, and finally computer analyst and technician and mechanic and "the French guy" Xavier Le Querrec. The three of them only made up three of five E.D.E.N. knights, the other two weren't needed, at least that's what Mathis told Markus.

Five minutes past and the helicopter began to lift itself off the helipad on the roof of the S.T.A.R.S. building. They were flying in the CV-22 Osprey helicopter-aircraft. It was a magnificent special ops craft: It was midnight black in colour, and on either side of the aircraft was the S.T.A.R.S. insignia, and on the underbelly of it was the S.T.A.R.S. heraldry with the motto "Obedience Breeds Discipline. Discipline Breeds Unity. Unity Breeds Power. Power is Life."

They would be in England in no more than two hours time. Apparently they were to land one hundred miles from the main facility, then hitch a ride from a British correspondent ninety miles closer, and finally trek the last ten miles through a forest and penetrate the facility from there whilst using stealth. They were cautioned to be wary of any guard dogs that might be roaming around the forest—Mathis also said something about other creatures that might be stalking the forest at the late hour.

24 December
1915 hours Central European Time / Mitteleuropäische Zeit
Münster, North Rhine Westphalia, Germany

"All right, guys, it's seven-ten right now, we leave in five minutes and we'll be there in a good two and a half hours, so it'll be nine-forty-five by the time we reach our destination, but don't forget about the time change because of the times zones there, so it'll be eight-forty-five GMT. Barry, everything's loaded in the car, right?" Chris asked and Barry nodded in response.

Jill walked out from the apartment's back entrance into the alley where their car was parked. She was dressed in black garb, stretching tightly over her white skin. She was also wearing her signature S.T.A.R.S. beret, which titled to the side with the S.T.A.R.S. patch facing away. She walked over in Rebecca's direction, placed one gloved hand on her shoulder and spoke softly to her.

"Rebecca, as much as you want to go, I really don't think you should. You should stay here, where it's safe. I—I just want you to be safe, that's all."

Rebecca's eyes shot wide open, filled with fury, but before she could break open her mouth and shoot words at Jill, Barry walked up to them both and said, "Uh, I'll stay behind, Jill. Rebecca can go. I think you guys'll need her there just in case any one of you gets injured. I'll stay here and act as communications. Just remember my frequency: 125.35."

"Barry, we can't—"

"It's okay. Rebecca can take care of herself. She proved that already back in July. She can do it." Barry said, and patted her on the head like his very own daughter.

"C'mon guys," Chris called over to them, smacking his hand on the hood of the black minivan. "We've got some Umbrella ass to kick."

Rebecca looked up at Barry and gave him a look of appreciation and thanks, then walked past him and got into the minivan, Jill followed suit and got into the passenger's seat next to Chris. They were to get there by road, first drive into Calais, France and then take the Tube into London.

Whilst on the road to France, Jill moved to the back with Rebecca to prepare their artillery: They had to load magazines, pack backup ammunition into side packs, and make sure each person had a side pack of first aid and a flashlight for their handguns.

"What a way to spend almost all our money in the bank, huh, Rebecca? Just to take down a faceless corporation and stop their evil doings." Jill said, laughing to herself.

"Hey Rebecca, you have the coordinates for this place, right?" Chris called back to her. Rebecca checked the pockets of her skirt and felt a cool, thin piece of metal in there. The electronic map she picked up after those two men ran off in the alleyway. Keeping that aside she fingered for the little slip she printed out of the coordinates to the Umbrella facility that she received from her correspondent in America before they left. She took it out and unfolded it.

"Yeah, got it here," she said, folding the paper back up and slipping it back into the pocket of her skirt.

Jill looked up from the bag that she was packing the guns into and scanned Rebecca's simple attire: she was wearing a simple, thin haut couture zip-up jacket that was charcoal in colour, and on the left breast was an embroidered "R." Beneath that Jill could make out what looking like a white tank-top, and around her neck was that red choker she wore on the night of the incident at the mansion; also, there was a silver necklace that went beneath her tank, concealing whatever it was that hung from the necklace. One her, Rebecca had a travel bag strapped on, and around her waist was her medical kit and ammunition bag—the straps to these articles had a holster for her handgun and another strap for her bowie knife, which she never carried with her, seeing that she would never use it; so instead she carried a lighter in its place. The colour of her skirt was a dead green, with a hint of yellow in it. It itself had several cargo pockets, in which she kept more magazine clips and whatever else she had on her.

"Do you plan on changing into pants?" Jill queried.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, I find a skirt more flexible than pants. There's more freedom, I think. Plus, this skirt was geared for playing tennis so I'm sure I'll be able to move easily in 'em."

That was right, after the happenings at the mansion Rebecca picked up tennis to take her mind away from the horrors that hid around its corners.

"Well, don't forget to put on your Kevlar," Jill reminded.

"No worries, darling mother," Rebecca joked, placing a playful punch on Jill's shoulder.

Chris looked back at them for a second. "Hey kids, behave now. We're nearing the checkpoint, so have out your passports."

He drove up to the gate that blocked their way into France, rolled down his window and waited for the guard to approach the car.

"Bonjour monsieur," Chris called out when he saw a man approaching their car.

"Bonjour," the man replied back. "Vous avez votre passeport?"

"Ah, oui, monsieur. Un moment, s'il vous plait—ah, voilà." Chris handed the man his passport, after checking Chris's, he asked for Jill's and Rebecca's.

"Et votre marie et fille?" he asked.

Rebecca grew angered; her mouth hung agape and turned to Jill. "Did he—Did he just say I was your daughter? How young does he think I am? What the—" she turned to the man. "Excusez-moi, monsieur," she began, but Jill cut her off.

"Hand the man your passport, darling," she said, handing the man hers. Rebecca reached into a sac near her side and handed it to the man. After a moment he handed it back to them.

"Bon voyage monsieur, mademoiselles," he tipped his cap and waved the operator to open the cuts.

"Merci, monsieur," Chris said, rolling the window back up and drove through into French land.

"Well, that was easy," Chris said, throwing the girls a brief smile.

The cross over the pond was very smooth and relaxing, Markus was able to muster an hour of sleep before the heavy turbulence of the helicopter shook him awake. With his eyes bleary, Markus caught a glimpse of his crew; they were all wide-awake and waiting anxiously for their arrival in England. He raised his left wrist to his face and read the time on his watch. It was already three-thirty, Eastern Standard Time. They should be arriving at their destination in approximately thirty minutes.

Ten minutes passed as Markus sat there, blank-faced, staring absent-mindedly at his crew. They were not just any motley crew; they were well-trained special operatives officers with a military background. It seemed that all of the S.T.A.R.S. members had a military background of some sort. He was glad to know that he had a team of experienced shoulders that he could count on.

Ten more minutes passed. They should almost be there now. Markus began thinking of his wife Madeline again, at home, sitting in a chair, waiting for him to return home to only swipe her off her feet and carry her into the bedroom where he would make love to her one more time before she blew up in size carrying his child. The child, he also began to think of the child. Would it be a boy, or a girl? He hoped and prayed that it would be a boy, and he would name him Aidan—What a nice name. But he would not mind having a girl. He began to think of how his children would look like.

Would they have his hair colour, jet-black, or would they have their mother's, a deep red? What the eye colour? Grey like his or green like their mothers? Or maybe a mixture of the two? Hair type? Wavy? Straight? Curly? This was all amusing to think about, he thought. This creature that was slowly developing in the womb of his wife was to be his child. It was going to be an extending link in the Hayman family. This was—

BOOM!

Whatever Markus was thinking about was abruptly interrupted by the loud explosion from the cockpit of the helicopter, the door to the cockpit rumbled, shaking violently as the helicopter itself began to spin and hurl itself toward land or sea—wherever it was heading, it wasn't good. Markus was being tossed around in his seat, still tightly buckled to it. The material of the straps began to burn into his skin as the helicopter shook furiously, rumbling and screaming in agony. Metal against metal pounded against each other on the other side of the hatch to the cockpit.

Soon, everything turned white, as the turbulence was too much for even Markus to handle. Their helicopter was spinning erratically, out of control, and toward some form of surface.

So early some sort of disturbance ended their operation.

A tall, dark figure that loomed in the darkness of a tower in Essex lowered its missile launcher and walked off into the night, glass crunching beneath its monstrous feet.
Chris, Jill and Rebecca had reached the Underground in Calais. They unpacked their bags and carried them casually through the doors of the subway station, going down the escalators and walked the winding paths until they reached their platform to London. With their metro cards in hand they slid it through the reader and were let through the turnstile with ease; but up ahead there was a sort of check-in station set up before passengers were allowed onto the train, and standing post at the stations were several armed military-style men and women—they were checking people for any suspicious items.

"Shit," Chris muttered beneath his breath as he held the black duffle of Uzi's and ammunition close to him. "What the fuck are we going to do now?" he asked the girls, a worried look washed over his face.

"Rebecca," Jill suddenly said, handing Rebecca her duffle. "I'll be back, you guys stay tight." And she went off into the crowd.

In about one minute she returned, nodded to Chris and Rebecca and said: "Let's go, get the bags. We're going to London."

Chris and Rebecca both looked at her confusingly.

"I've got this covered, trust me. Now, let's go get checked in, guys. We wouldn't want to hold up the line. Plus, I paid good money for these tickets so I'm not letting them go to waste. Now come on." She tugged at Rebecca's arm and pulled her forward toward the line that formed in front of the five check stands.

Both Chris and Rebecca looked at each other with befuddled looks on their faces. What was it that Jill did to ensure that they got on the train?

Jill rolled up her sleeve and checked the time. "The train takes off in exactly two minutes." She then lowered her voice dramatically, almost inaudible. "Just follow my lead, 'kay guys?" They both nodded their heads in unison. Jill then stood on her tiptoes and threw one arm up, giving a thumb up.

They were next in line.

The man in black asked for Jill to hand over all of her bags that she seemed to carry on her body, but Jill politely refused to. "Sir," she said in a charming, girlish voice. "Please, I've got a train to catch, and this train leaves promptly in less than two minutes now. Please, if you'll just let me get on the train. My aunt has recently passed away and I need to go see my family in London, you see. Please, won't you just let me onboard with a check? It'll take ages for you to rummage through my belongings, sir."

There was a sudden crash from behind Jill, Chris and Rebecca. Rebecca and Chris both turned back to see what the commotion about, but Jill promptly asked them not to, both listened and turned back toward the guard.

"Hey!" a man called from the back. "You fuckin' wanker, look o'er yonder fucker!" the man was calling toward the man who demanded to check Jill's bags, he turned away from Jill for an instant to take a look at the man cursing at him. The man threw a small, hard object at the man, hitting him hard on the head. It was then that the other officers took action against the man, fighting through the crowd, trying to reach the man before he could get away, but he was already past the turnstiles and up the stairs. And at that exact same moment Jill grabbed for an Uzi in one of her bags and hit the officer hard on the head with the butt of the gun.

"Let's go!" Jill cried out to Chris and Rebecca, shoving the gun back into its place and made toward the open door of the train. Rebecca was the last to jump on, and as she made it onto the landing of the train the door immediately shut behind her and sped off like a speed demon through the underground tunnel toward London. They had done it with not a second to spare.

"What the fuck was that about?" Chris asked excitedly through a wide, cheesy grin, staring fondly at Jill.

Jill could not help but throw back an equally cheesy grin. "Ha, that was easier than expected."

"How did you get that guy to cuss at the officer?" Rebecca asked her.

"It was easy. I told the man I'd give him money when I got back into Calais, after I bailed him; that is if he gets jailed. It was rather complicated, actually. But the man bought in. Ha, men."

Jill had created quite a disturbance at the Calais train station. But it did not matter to her, she and the others were on their way to demolish Umbrella.

Their train was heading speedily through the underground toward England. It would only be a short time more until they reached their destination: The Umbrella facility that was located on the coast of Essex.