A/N: Whew! Merry Christmas, everyone! I am back! So sorry for the lack of updates. I planned to update before I left Iraq, but redeployment plans went faster than I expected. And you know what? I still haven't seen my computer! I'm using my cousin's while I'm on leave. So, without further delays, here's Chapter 3!
Military lingo used:
AO: Area of Operation
LZ: Landing Zone
BDU: Battle Dress Uniform
bogey: unidentified aircraft, presumed hostile.
ETA: Estimated Time of Arrival
HUD: Head-Up Display
Splash: To shoot down (an aircraft)
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story except the ideas.
Somewhere in Central Brazil. December 25, 2003. 1500 hours, Atlantic Time.
"Shadowcaster, Shadowcaster, this is Alpha Male, over." Wolf spoke tiredly into his two-way radio. His team had been out in the bush for the past eight frustrating hours, and after twenty square miles, all they had come across so far is part of the An-124's wing.
"Alpha Male, this is Shadowcaster. Go ahead, over." Shadow's artificially filtered voice responded on the other end.
"Shadowcaster, this is Alpha Male. Sir, my men have found nothing in this AO. I suggest sending additional assets to the outlying areas, over."
"Alpha Male, this is Shadowcaster. Our priorities have changed, break." Shadow paused, unwittingly adding undue tension to the situation. "Your orders are to prepare for extraction. Rally your men to grid coordinates bravo-tango-tree-two-eight-four-niner-one-tree-niner. How copy, over?"
Wolf had someone dialing in the coordinates on their GPS device before responding. "That's a good copy. We are proceeding to those coordinates."
"Be advised," Shadow started. "A large enemy element is may be scattered between you and the LZ. The Hinds will arrive in thirty minutes. Shadowcaster, out." With that, the channel went dead, and Wolf replaced his radio.
"You get those coordinates, Lance Corporal?" Wolf asked.
"Yes, sir." The young marine answered, and let the device point the right azimuth for him to face. "LZ's this way." He announced, pointing ahead.
"Then let's move with a purpose. There's supposed to be a lot of bad guys in the area now." Wolf motioned the rest of his element to move out, and they started picking their way through the mud and undergrowth.
Somewhere else in Central Brazil. 1510 hours...
"This is some miserable shit..." Nack grumbled to himself after he dismounted his borrowed truck, landing into a calf deep section of mud. He was doubly thankful he wore boots, otherwise he'd have to change socks already. He stood not too far from the edge of a bluff that gave a fairly nice over watch point of the surrounding jungle. After prying his feet out of the mud, he walked over to the edge and pulled out his binoculars. "Funny, there's no telltale scar in the jungle's canopy. Either the plane crashed somewhere else, or--" His peripheral vision caught a metallic glint in the distance, and the weasel set the binoculars to maximum zoom. Although concealed by the trees, he could faintly make out the G.U.N. insignia on the piece of metal. Probably from the aircraft's wing. A quick scan of the surrounding area yielded nothing else. Despite his best attempts to think of a more appealing scenario, he kept arriving at the worst-case, and most likely scenario: The aircraft's remains were scattered all over the jungle. "An Easter Egg hunt. Dammit!"
He was about to jump back in the Chevy S-10 when incoming jet engines made him turn his view skyward. A flight of seven of Robotnik's assault dropships were flying low over the jungle's canopy, east to west. Meaning they were most likely full of the doctor's infantry bots. "...Shit..." he sighed, put away his binoculars, casually took out a Marlboro, and lit it. "Well, at least they don't know exactly where the cargo is. I still have a chance!" With that, he waded back through the mud, got back into the Chevy, started it up, and made his way down to the lower jungle.
Somewhere in Central Brazil. Captured villa: PoTCW Command Post Arrowhead. 1600 hours...
"Wolf!" Shadow called out as soon as the timber wolf stepped out of the Mi-24 Hind-D that extracted him, and onto the villa's tennis court that served an improvised helipad. Early in the campaign, the PoTCW were quick to identify and capture the residence of one of the CBL's main leaders, then convert the $3.3 million estate into a viable fortress. The building itself served as a headquarters, supply depot, and dining facility for the brigade's worth of soldiers deployed, while a tent city was situated to the rear of the property to provide lodging for troops as they rotated in and out of patrol bases throughout the country.
The captain jogged over to his commander, and fell in step to his left as they walked into the captured villa that served as the task force's command post. "Sir, what happened?"
"Wolf, I know you and your men have been in the bush the whole day, but your team is on 24 hour standby." Shadow answered. "New, alarming developments have just occurred."
Wolf gave him a quizzical look. "The Consortium? There's no way they have the capability to present so much of a threat to put my men on 24-hour standby."
Shadow dragged out an exasperated sigh. "No. But, it's not the Consortium we're talking about."
"What?" Wolf froze for a second, and had to jog a little to catch up.
"I'm briefing all team commanders when everybody's present. We're just waiting for Oscar Team's commander, and we'll get started."
Somewhere over the north Caribbean Sea. 1540 hours, Eastern Time.
The CIA's C-17 Sonic and gang were flying in had been radically transformed from its original transport mission, to a heavily armed aerial command and control craft. A new radar array powerful enough to rival any AWACS aircraft had been installed, in addition to two remote 20mm Vulcan cannon turrets mounted on the top and bottom of the aircraft, as well as a 90mm flak gun mounted on its underside. And if that wasn't enough protection from air threats, Tails was flying escort in his Hurricane, an aircraft the fox said would "redefine 'air dominance'".
"Hey, Dowell! A new advisory just in from Langley: Fighters from the Leviathan have begun to impose an air blockade. Not even commercial flights are allowed to enter or leave the country." Simon Carter, an African American just a few months short of 35, reported from his station in the aircraft. A former army signal intelligence, or SIGINT specialist for ten years, he proved his worth during Operation: Desert Storm by listening in on Iraqi radio transmissions, and forwarding the transcripts back to Allied Command in Saudi Arabia for translating. The information he uncovered, from the positions of enemy SCUD sites to tank battalion locations had earned him a Bronze Star as a lowly specialist. He'd been medically discharged since 1998 with a blown knee, and has enjoyed desk work in the CIA's SIGINT department for the past four years.
"Roger that." Dowell nodded. "Relay that to Tails."
"So, what's the count now?" Sonic asked the bloodhound while rummaging through a box full of woodland camouflage BDUs, finding a set his size, and putting it on.
"At present, about five thousand. Estimates from Langley say we'll have a full division on our hands when we get on the ground."
"Great..." Sonic picked out another set of BDUs. "Ames! Head's up!" He lobbed it over to the unsuspecting girl, who barely caught the articles before they hit her face. "You're coming with us to the bush. The jungle's a low visibility environment, so we're gonna need all the eyes we can get." When she gave him a look, he just grinned. "Don't worry. You've been ready for a while; I just ain't say it yet."
"Alright, listen up!" Dowell started. "We just got an interesting tidbit of intel from our embassy in Brasilia. Get a load of this one: The Brazilian government recently employed a defense contractor to help with their counterinsurgency operations. That same contractor claims responsibility for shooting down that G.U.N. bird over the jungle last night. Guess who said contractor is? Our friends from last April."
"What!" Everyone sounded off, not in unison though, and started murmuring amongst themselves.
"Moreover, the commander of the force there is expecting reinforcements to arrive. Looks like they're gonna up the ante."
"They're planning for an all-out war." Rouge murmured. "What about our embassy personnel? Are we evacuating them, too?"
"No." Dowell answered. "Navy SEALs are en route to get them out. The embassy will be empty by the time we get there. Our primary mission is just to find the cargo on that downed aircraft."
"... Okay... what's our secondary?"
Dowell chuckled. "Well naturally, Langley wants us to eliminate all targets of opportunity. Just don't take too many chances, as there are just four of you. Not to mention I suggest you split into two teams to double your search area."
"Can we expect any coaction from the PoTCW?" Sonic asked.
Dowell groaned thoughtfully. "Well, while it's true that they're the enemy of our enemy, they probably have their own mission. I wouldn't cling to it like a lifeline, though."
Sonic smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Somewhere near the Venezuela-Brazil border. 2230 hours, Atlantic time...
"Flying over Venezuala. Altitude: 30,000 feet. Approaching Brazilian airspace. ETA to destination: 4 hours." The C-17's pilot announced over the aircraft's PA system.
"Anything new?" Sonic asked, kneeling down by a full weapons rack in the plane's rear, and inspecting one for himself. He once swore to himself that he'd never use a weapon, and for a while, it was a reality he prided himself for. Numerous victories over Robotnik over so many years without once picking up a weapon. It wasn't until a fateful deep reconnaissance mission almost three years ago without support from friendlies, when he was pinned down by withering suppressive fire that would've killed him ten times over if he moved from his cover. Seeing no other solution of coming out alive, he picked up a downed bot's AK-74 near him, and fired behind his cover to neutralize the suppressive fire. From then on, he had to admit, and love the tactical advantages a weapon gave him. Make no mistake, though. He still hated the damned things, even if they did save the lives of his comrades a few times. Though strangely enough, for someone with a love-hate relationship of firearms, he was a very adept marksman.
"Nothing new." Dowell answered.
Sonic didn't even realize he was absorbed in his thoughts until Amy lightly tapped his arm. "Something wrong?" She asked when he looked up.
He shook his head, and resumed his inspection of the M4 in his hands. "Nah. Just spaced out for a second." After expertly cocking the weapon a couple of times and passing his inspection, he presented the weapon to Amy. "You remember how to work one of these, right?"
"But, I already have a weapon!" She exclaimed, and flashily twirled her hammer around.
Sonic just looked at her. "...Rrrrright. Never mind Eggman's elite E-Series bots, but his regular infantry bots can order a new AK-74, assemble it, lock and load, intentionally jam it, fix the jam, and fire before you can close in for that hammer." When Amy stuck her tongue out at him after taking the weapon, he laughed. "There's a red dot optical sight system equipped on that one, similar to the one on my paintball gun. That one works the same. Just keep that weapon on "SAFE" until you have it pointed at your intended target. Then, let me know you're gonna fire before you take the shot. And you better not use "BURST" at any time. Name of the game is to conserve ammo. Stick around until I get my weapon so I can zero your sights."
"Gotcha."
"Well, might as well stick with the favorite..." Sonic mumbled and withdrew an M4 with an attached M203 grenade launcher inspected it, then attached another red dot optical sight to the weapon's built-in rail system.
Another ten minutes passed before the pilot spoke over the PA system. "All passengers, be advised. We are tracking two bogeys closing in from the east. Range: 100 miles. I repeat..."
"Dammit!" Dowell hissed, ran up to the cockpit, and keyed the Hurricane's radio channel. "Hey, kid! Wake up! We may have trouble!"
The fox's nonchalant answer completely threw Dowell off, the cockpit's monitors and HUD casting him in an eerie fluorescent green light. "Sheesh! Calm down. I've been tracking these guys for the past five minutes, and wondering when you guys would pick'em up." As if trying to negate Dowell's impending argument of taking the threats too seriously, he added as an afterthought. "Don't worry. They're just Hammerheads. They carry Archers. They can't touch us yet..." Tails had targeted the lead bogey, and noticed that its airspeed was steadily increasing. "But, it looks like they wanna make a fight outta this. Oh, I got something for'em! Breaking to attack!" With that, Tails banked left, and yanked back hard on his flight stick, sending the Hurricane into a tight left turn until the two Hammerheads' target markers were in the center of his HUD. Once there, he switched his radar from target acquisition to fire control, switched to AIM-54 Phoenix missiles, and loosed two of them from their internal bay. "Missiles' away!" A tense minute passed as the targets appeared to move erratically around the HUD... then disappear. "Splash two! Picture clear! Should be smooth sailing all the way to Brasilia. Let's get outta hear before their friends come looking for'em."
"Gotcha." Dowell answered. One thing's for sure, Dowell didn't add, Robotnik's forces will probably know the U.S. about to enter the fray. Namely: Sonic and gang.
Aaaand that's it for now! Once again, sorry for the delay in getting this one out. Please leave a comment or two in the form of a review. I finally pick my computer up from my Pops later on this week. Merry Christmas!