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"A shot in the arm or leg, may encourage a weaker man to inconvenient heroics. That is why we strike at the head and the heart of an opponent." - Col. Stavkowicz, 23rd Elysian Drop Regiment Chapter 4 - Operation SABER The intra-system mass transport, "Solar Grrl", began its descent. Quite unexpectedly, the rear cargo hatch opened up and three objects slipped out unnoticed by tracking auguries, at approximately 10 miles above the surface. +++ It always seemed like it was Burke's turn to patrol the Lord Treasurer's immense roof when the weather turned ugly. His refusal to kick back part of his credits to the duty master usually translated into him getting all the dirty jobs. What could he say, he had a family to feed. He only hoped that Steppengraff on the other side of the complex was as miserable as he was. +++ Stalker preferred to freefall a few more seconds longer than his troops. First he never got tired of the feeling that an unrestrained drop provided, but just as importantly, it almost always ensured that his were the first boots on the ground. As the high contrast green image coalesced into recognizable shapes, a voice interrupted his thoughts. "Saber Six, this is Saber Six-Two. I am at your ten o'clock, fifteen meters low. I have two heat returns in the vicinity of the LZ. I have marked both targets. Stalker's first thought was that was just like Boro, pushing the envelope even further than he would, determined to lead the way into Hell itself, if necessary. "Saber Six-Two, this is Saber Six. Acknowledged. I copy your coordinates. The Northeast return is now labeled Charlie One, you own it. Saber Six-Nine, Southwest return is Charlie Two and he's yours. Gentlemen, let's not start the party too early, but you may consider yourselves weapons free." The only responses to his statement were two clicks in his ear bead com set. +++ Burke looked at his chronograph with cold, tired eyes. He grunted at the fact that he had four more hours on his watch before he could get back inside and soak up a little warmth before his next shift started. Just briefly, he heard an odd sound on the wind, almost like fabric rustling. The only nearby material Burke could think of was the Lord Treasurer's personal flag, but that had been lowered at sundown per standard protocol. As he squinted into the darkness, he never saw the filtered flash from the Stinger sniper pistol. Burke slumped to the ground, his brain cooked by a focused packet of microwaves. In sixty seconds the whole team was down and the perimeter was secure. All three teams were broken up looking outward at their section of the perimeter, intently seeking any sign that might indicate that the first phase of the operation had been compromised. "Fortuna must favor the bold", Stalker thought. His teams experienced no casualties and only one trooper was disabled with a broken leg. Thankfully, he was still able to shoot despite the pain, as Stalker couldn't afford to lose the firepower or his cognitive powers to pain killers. Saber Six gave the 23rd's silent battle language hand signals and his teams moved out. +++ Sleep seemed beyond Quinn's grasp tonight. Normally he was used to tossing around the day's issues, usually comforted by his decision making and how efficient his operations appeared. However tonight, his thoughts seemed dominated by an unexplainable growing unease. Tossing and turning in his bed, he briefly considered reaching for his medicae pack, but dreaded the headaches that resulted when he did. After another ten minutes had passed without release, Quinn got up and decided to make himself a cup of caffeine. Part way through putting on his evening robe, he heard the sound of muffled voices and a rushing of footsteps on the floor of the marble hallway just outside his door. Then silence. An instant later, Quinn was thrown back by the shock of the explosion that threw his door off of its reinforced hinges. Lying stunned on the floor, Quinn weakly reached for the sidearm in his nightstand. Out of nowhere, a dark boot slammed into his wrist at the same time a gun barrel painfully jammed into his temple. A voice then hissed, "A most unwise move Lord Treasurer, do not force me to administer justice too soon." With that statement, Quinn was roughly lifted up. Before he could utter a cry for help, a large adhesive restraint was placed over his mouth as he was rushed down the hall. Still disoriented from the blast, Quinn soon found himself crouched on the roof of his quarters, shaking in the biting wind. "Saber One, this is Saber Six, over. Saber One this is Saber Six, do you copy?" "Six, this is One. Copy that." "Saber One, GLORY, I repeat GLORY. Do you copy?" "Roger Six. High Rise on target in two minutes. Copy?" "Saber Six copies on High Rise." Quinn's head had cleared enough that he began to look around for some way out of this mess. Just as he was beginning to stand, a long stream of stubber rounds raked across the roof, dropping several of the mysterious invaders. "Saber One, this is Saber Six. The LZ just got hot. Taking fire from the Southeast. Several men down. Where in the throne is High Rise? Do you copy?" "Saber Six, this is High Rise. ETA 20 seconds. You should see my IR markers on your Northeast." Quinn began to be aware of a new sound, higher pitched than the wind, more constant than the staccato bark of the stubber. Almost at the same time, the stubber that had been pouring fire on them, began firing up into the air, based on the track of its tracer rounds. "Saber Six, this is High Rise. Clear the LZ. I'm coming in hard and I'm not staying long. It's gotten just a little too warm for comfort." Before Stalker could respond, the Valkyrie slammed into the roof and popped the back hatch. At the same time, the side doors slid back and gunners began returning suppression fire on the stubber emplacement. Quinn felt himself yanked upright and the two soldiers on either side ran him into the back of the craft. The two soldiers threw Quinn at the bulkhead in the front of the cargo area. In the time it took him to sit up, the rest of the Saber Six team was onboard and the craft had lifted off. Once in the air the soldiers sat down in the utilitarian jump seats. A black clad soldier came over to where Quinn was sitting, flipped him onto his stomach and pinned him to the floor with an armored knee. Before Quinn could do more than squeal in pain, the soldier pulled his wrists behind his back and applied two string restraints, then did the same to his ankles. He then performed a quick, but efficient pat down to ensure no weapons would inconveniently surface later. Satisfied that Quinn wasn't going anywhere unaided, the soldier removed his webbing and sat nearby, alert, but relaxed. Quinn eventually succumbed to the monotonous drone of the aircraft's engines and slipped into a deep sleep. +++ Pain. Again. A third time. "Wake up you pathetic excuse for a human being!" A flustered Quinn felt heat on his cheeks from being slapped awake. Quinn's eyes finally focused on the severe features of a blacked out face with piercing eyes, mere centimeters from his face. "I certainly hope you are of value to the good Inquisitor, Lord Treasurer, as you cost me one aircraft and fourteen good men." The speaker's anger seemed to abate a little upon noticing the panic that swept across Quinn's face. "You are afraid. That is good. You should be." http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d187/hkowabunga/Elysians/bols-dp-0460.jpg http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d187/hkowabunga/Elysians/wgcday2a009.jpg http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d187/hkowabunga/Elysians/apoc-004.jpg http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d187/hkowabunga/Elysians/DSCN0724.jpg Photos by the BoLS photographer, War Games Con 2010, The Battle for Armageddon More later...