Concieved by Bumblebeeprime09, Written by Delta 4-7
The year is 1978, Alex Mason, Jason Hudson, and Grigori Weaver, men once instrumental to the survival of the Western world, are now wanted fugitives. The combined force of the CIA, MI-6, and the rest of NATO's intelligence agencies have pushed the trio in to hiding in the far corners of South Africa. Only the support of ex-SOG member Terrance Brooks, the mysterious messages of a man named "X", and their own luck has kept the group alive, unfortunately, that luck had to run out...
Chapter 1: HuntersEdit
November 30th, 1978
"The Russians ain't the threat they were 15 years ago...They won't be comin' after them. No military confrontation means the White House knows nothing of this." Said Charybdis Operation lead Ryan Jackson, while rookie CIA operator Michael Lange listened intently,"Langley called in a phony bomb threat to the Cape Town PD, by the time we enter the slums the area will be surrounded and swarming with Police, no one will notice an extra couple armored guys with guns." Lange continued to check his gear in the back of the van, which was quickly closing on the shanty town. He had just been flown in from Johannesburg, and was largely running on fumes, but he was never one to question orders, and he wanted to prove himself to his boss, so he prepped for the fight anyway.
Alex Mason sat quietly, in one of the "nicer" shacks littered across the outskirts of the city. He had indeed broken Dragovich's insidious form of mind control, but the scars from his time at Vorkuta were still there, apparent, tender. Grigori Weaver was on the opposite end of the room, hauling duffle bags which contained nearly all of the groups supplies: guns, food, and money, which was all they really needed for their excursion to Vietnam, a trip planned not just to follow the "lead" on Woods, but to find any remaining artifacts of Dragovich's plan, which hopefully could be used to clear their names among the public, as well as put and end to Kain and the orchestrators of Charybdis. Weaver's preperations and Mason's daydreaming were interrupted by Hudson entering via the rooftop hatch; "We've got a problem."
"Kristina, the Kremlin knows about Charybdis. But, you see, they don't know that we know they know, so we're sending a strike team in as part of the act. That way the Russians can remain convinced that our only way of getting to Mason is through SAD. Don't fuck up."
"I understand, Kain. Out."
Kristina sat on a rooftop near the fringes of the Cape Town slum, as the police moved in to position. She took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the junkyard near the western part of the shanty, and saw the sniper teams give the signal. The plan was ready.
"Kristina," said Anatoly, as he approached his operaton commander. "We are ready, but, we noticed that the police are moving in, Viktor tapped in to their radio and heard something about a bomb...infiltrating the slums may prove..."
Kristina pointed to the alley below, with four riot police laying dead against a dumpster.
"May prove what?"
"Attention citizens: evacuate this area immediately, we have reports of a possible terrorist threat somewhere in the vicinity, police will sweep the area as soon as all..." Announced a police megaphone
"Fuck!" Weaver screamed as he observed the seemingly-never-ending circle of red and blue flashing lights surrounding the town.
"I know, this is a golden opportunity for someone to slip in." Hudson assesed the situation.
"Someone like the CIA," said Mason, "We need to hurry, with any luck we can grab our supplies, look like we're just another couple evacuees, and get to the airport."
"Yeah, Mason's right, come on Weaver. Gimme a hand." Hudson said as he jumped back in to the shack. He was interrupted, however, by a knock at the door.
"Sir, by order of the Cape Town Police you need to evacuate this area." Said the female police officer, adressing Hudson.
"Look, we need to get..." Hudson was stopped by one of the other police throwing a flashbang in to the room and slamming the door shut. As the flahbang detonated everyone in the room dropped to the floor.
"Restrain them, get them in the car!" yelled one of the men,
"I call the shots here", Kristina told him. As Mason Hudson and Weaver were being thrown in to the car, blindfoled and bound, Kristina examined the scene. "Dimitri, what were they doing with those duffle bags?"
"I don't know, but we should probably examine them." Dimitri replied.
Kristina opened one of the bags to find dissambled M16's AK's and FAMAS' lying atop a bed of South African, Vietnamese, and US money. "It looks like we got here just in time!" Kristina exclaimed. "Take them, toss them in the car. I want to know where they got the guns from." As she handed one other Russian the bags. The group sped off in the police van.
"You know," spoke one Russian, "At first I thought tracking you down would be hard, but then..." He was cut off by a truck ramming the van, and throwing the doors open.
The truck was an armed pickup driven by local gang members, who were shouting at the "police" van about how this was their terrritory. A few of the Russians were flung to the floor, a few fired out the windows at the attackers, and a few were simply panicking, but none noticed Mason, Hudson, and Weaver escape.
"Come on! Move, Move!" yelled Hudson, as he led the goup further in to the slums and away from the GRU team.
"Who the fuck were those people?!" Weaver asked, with a tone of indignance and adrenaline in his voice.
"I dunno, CIA. Alot of them had accents though." Hudson replied.
"Russians?" Mason asked as he rounded a corner, the sound of gunfire slowly getting softer.
"Now that's what I'm afraid of, one government after us is bad enough." said Hudson.
It was nearly a half hour before the trio made it to the small airfield on the edge of town, an airfield meant for small 1 and 2 engine planes, planes like Brooks'.
"Okay, we're here. Weaver, did you manage to save any of the supplies?" asked Mason.
"I was only able to get away with two, but we have enough." Weaver responded.
"Okay. Hand me those binoculars. Let me get a view of the airport."
Weaver handed Mason the binoculars, and armed himself and Hudson with the cutting-edge FAMAS rifles they had managed to procure. Mason, meanwhile, scanned the runway from atop the hill overlooking the airfield, he didn't see much though; a few affluent locals packing up and leaving, the glow of computers in the control tower. He was jsut about to give the "all clear" when a dim lightbulb shilouetted a number of shadowy figures entering the hangar.
Michael Lange was directly behind the pointman for his SAD team, as he kicked in the door, Lange found himself in a maze of crates. He formed up on the rest of his squad and moved cautiosly around the numerous corners, having learned a thing or two about ambushes from being attacked in the slums barely an hour prior at the CIA's dusk assault.