Chapter 1
The following morning, Rabbit awoke to the alarm of his phone and drove for the base where the helo was awaiting them that was to fly them over. His usual gear awaiting him.
The usual tactical gear he customly had along with his Silver Ghost, one with a muzzle break on the barrel to deviate it from Kennedy's, a M4A1—customized with a hybrid sight of a scope and holographic, laser dot sight, flashlight, and suppressor—, and a custom combat knife. He used these about as frequently as Anegla's custom MP5K PDW equipped with a vertical foregrip having a thumbhole, integral flashlight and red dot sight. Blackwatch's members had the benefit of each operator being allowed to use the gear they favored.
The least annoying facet of the career Rabbit had foisted upon him. His brother would have loved this way of life, or so he chose to believe.
Leon had some similar liberties afforded to him. For this one he was opting to use a Noveska Rifleworks Diplomat with a scope, laser dot, flashlight, foregrip, and a few other attachments.
For whatever faults he could see with Kennedy, taste in firearms was not one which Rabbit complained about.
Boarding the helo, buckling himself in his seat as the others did as well, gulping down some pills to make the flight more pleasant, their ride disembarked for the state to host the cordoned off no-go zone.
It was only a few moments until they were in the air that Angela noticed Rabbit. He was more quiet than usual, with a serious look on his face conveying he was deep in thought. Something had him concerned and it wasn't this (even for Blackwatch) unorthodox mission. What was the double jeopardy question.
"Hey, Damien."
Rabbit's eyes darted toward her pretty face. "What is it?"
"You okay?" she asked, earning a glance from Stump. "Something you seem somewhere between daydreaming and brooding over something."
Really hate when she notices that.
Angela and him are not exactly close—at least in the way he would have preferred—but she had an uncanny ability to read when something was amiss with him. It didn't annoy him, nor did he hate—imagining it was the result of her time as a Harvardville cop—, but Rabbit did find it agitating when it made him have to talk about something he'd rather keep to himself.
"I'm strapped into a chair inside a flying coffin. That's pretty normal for me, dontcha think."
"No…" Stump took a closer look at his war buddy's countenance. "This is different. Almost like…there's something on your mind."
"It's nothing. Just thinking about something that Ghost over there mentioned." Rabbit told them, jerking his head briefly toward Ghost.
"Care to share with the class?" Leon asked.
"Not really."
"Damien Walker…" Chris said, sounding like a disappointed older brother more than usual when dealing with him.
Rabbit sighed. "Fine, ass holes. The name H.C.F. came up. We haven't heard from those cunts since the early 2000s. And the way those guys who were chasing after your sister and Chambers were carrying themselves—they were acting like a cross between the H.C.F. and U.S.S. Just thought it was a…weird similarity."
"That's not what you're thinking about though, is it?" Stump cut right to the heart of it quickly. Knowing his friend too well for the ex-Delta Force operative to not to be aware of where his mind was at. "You thinking—"
"Let's not talk about that." Jill said. "It's not pertinent."
Much to Rabbit's silent relief. For once Valentine's fierce insistence of glossing over his personal obsession. He was tired of having to talk about it, preferring to keep it to himself for the time being.
"Better question: how did you know what Caliban Cove is?" Stump asked.
"What does it matter?"
"Just curious."
"Well, stuff your curiosity." Rabbit told him. "That's my business."
"Harsh…"
Not long after this the medication began to take more effect and at last Rabbit passed out. The Morpheous visit was not pleasant however. Finding himself in a coffin, buried alive and digging himself out to find an army of eaters awaiting him. The residue of the trauma of his imprisonment at the hands of Umbrella, returning him forcibly to that place where any chance the Damien Walker back then may have had for a normal life was crushed before his very eyes.
The hordes came for him as he fled, seeking out his brother desperately. A frequent nightmare to greet him since his escape. It had waned somewhat in the frequency which Rabbit experienced the inconvenience of sleep however when it struck the operative it hit effectively all the same. This nightmare always ended the same: finding his zombified brother.
A bloodied form of his brother was always awaiting him before he awoke.
Gasping as he returned to reality he found Angela's face awaiting him. They had landed.
Bain, a member of Blue Umbrella, was waiting, receiving nasty glances from the BSAA and DSO members to pass by him here and there. He paid little heed to them—it was par for the course. Wherever his own company went they received dirty looks, as if they were lepers. He tried to ignore it, the effort growing more easy as time went on, but it was tedious at times that they were paying for the crimes of his uncle and their ilk.
He distracted himself from the thought by watching some of the nearby humdrum.
Watching as the BSAA soldier, Alex "Carver" Fenix, loaded his machine gun. Preparing for the mission ahead of them, with the last of their comrades bound to arrive not long between now and then. The helo carrying them was said to be landing soon.
This whole situation stunk to Bain. The bastards he, Roach and Ghost had been chasing for a pain in the ass long time—after Yuri tipped them off to their recent activity—unleashed the T-virus into the populated area then to throw salt in the wound went on to release several B.O.W.s such as Lickers and Hunters, and have had their operatives moving through Caliban Cove pursuing their own agenda. Talon destroyed any attempts before then to intervene with either bullets or strikes from a satellite they somehow had in orbit—which the BSAA and DSO were still struggling to take down. Compounding the problem further, the bioterrorists somehow had released a leviathan type of B.O.W. into the nearby ocean which was destroying any possible naval deployment. All around a goat fuck to make Getysberg look mild by comparison.
Bain was not sure what was going on, but he knew it wasn't good.
The plan going in was just as asinine. They were to enter with those Talon had demanded the red zone, and make their way to the police station where a number of the survivors were reported to have taken refuge. And implement it as if it was a base of operations moving forward.
With a host of volunteers which did not seem close to what they would require for going into a city that had a population of 99, 975 (based on the last conducted sensus) before the virus was unleashed.
Bain questioned the sanity of the BSAA leadership, however the DSO did not factor into his consideration—reminding him of the CIA: incapable at times of remotely being competent.
This was the problem with their work in general. Taking orders often from piss ants who have never been in the field themselves when a biohazard was a concern. Reminding him of his time in the military, with his frustration being as intense as it was back then.
"Bain!" he suddenly heard. The Blue Umbrella soldier looked over to see Roach approaching. "What now?"
"Boss said it's time to mount up."
"They arrived already?"
"Yep."
"Alright then."
The nerve center of Talon's operations, known to their lower tier members and grunts colloquially as the' Switchboard,' was quiet and messy with its floor littered as Felix was enjoying yet another one of his snacks. Their friends on the inside assured Talon that the BSAA was to be moving in soon, but they were taking their sweet time on that front.
Suddenly the radio buzzed.
"This is Team 5 to Control, we have movement approaching from the north."
The feed from Team 5's came onto the screen. Showing incoming convoy of humvees and personnel carriers. Causing Felix to smile slightly before pressing a button. "Do you have visual confirmation of any of our guests on the list?"
"Yes sir." the team captain responded. "Redfield is in one of the driver's seats."
"Very good. Fall back to base." Felix told him. Reclining back into his chair.
Now the fun begins.
Stump was seated patiently in his spot among the convoy of Humvees, armed with a LaRue rifle in hand, along with Carver in the chair next to him in the back holding his heavy machine gun. The legs of Dunn standing between them as he manned the turret. They were yet to encounter signs of life or unlife. There had been a few bodies to cross their path, however these were all dead and zombies who appear to have been stragglers that had wandered outside of Caliban Cove.
If he did not know any better, Stump would have thought that Talon had killed them to ensure that the infection could not spread outside the city limits. Weirdly considerate of 'em, Stump had thought to himself as much reflexively as he did cynically. The thought disgusted him somewhat, preferring for people to be one thing or be the other. If you're a scumbag be a scumbag, if you're a hero be a hero. Unlike Rabbit he didn't buy into that gray area bull shit.
They entered the city, the bodies becoming more abundant. The turrets atop the Humvee begin firing off with Stump and Carver following suit. Their combined barrage of bullets tearing through the zombies to come into their line of sight.
Unlike the denizens and tourists to be caught figuratively with their pants down, the soldiers and operatives were more than adequately prepared for this violent party. That was the case for Blackwatch in general. As Rabbit would often tell him: the key to surviving a biohazard-related mission is preparation and tenacity.
Especially when considering the incompetent, anal retentive-prone bureaucrats who they have been forced to serve the whims of.
So anyway, he continued blasting. Then! Suddenly there was a bang and the Humvee overturned.
Shit…
It took a moment for his consciousness to register the occurrence, the blow to the head from the explosion knocking the humvee not helping much either. Assuming that it was a RPG, given there were reports and footage of militants such as those USS knockoffs running about in the city. Then he heard Valentine's voice. "Stump, Carver! Are you still alive?"
Nodding as he came to, Stump replied "Yeah." With Carver sounding off not too long after.
Grabbing his rifle he saw half of corporal Dunn and the crimson oil not far from it. "Dunn isn't doing so well though. He's half the man he used to be, in a manner of speaking."
"No time for jokes, Stump." Jill told him scoldingly. Cutting the seat belt strapping the agent down with her combat knife.
Nodding again as he began situating himself, Stump replied "Right-o. Apologies. Force of habit."
Pushing the door open and crawling out with his rifle ready, Stump was greeted by the sight of a one-sided battle before him. One of the Blue Umbrellas, Roach, was approaching with one his people's standard assault rifle in hand—helping Stump to his feet before they lit up the infected citizens who were beyond the point of return with more gun fire.
The scene itself was not chaotic, but it was also not by any means orderly.
Stump advanced. Firing on the zombies, adhering to Kennedy's doctrine of headshot obsession. Gunning down as many as he could. Joining Redfield's side briefly at one point before they separated.
Joining up with the Brit to deal with a small contingent to come at them.
Thanks to his own past training and experience, Stump was basically a spartan in terms of combat prowess. Much like Chris, in a way. So he was often known to have the best chance of survival.
Firing again and again.
When the dust settled and no more zombies were in sight, they were at last able to relax. If only for a brief reprieve as the battle at long last wound down.
Beginning the process of the first stage to the operation. Operation Counterstrike.
