- "To a region that's engulfed in conflict, all you need to settle it is to become more powerful than the combatants. Then the rest falls into place."
- ―General Nathan Samuel Fishar
This fanfiction is made for pure entertainment and reader discretion is advised. The story is purely fictional.
Supersoldier, the next installment in the SILO files. This one revolves around a new breed of soldier, who escapes and SILO's hired to track it down. There will just be a teaser for now. Supersoldier's release date was April 15, 2012. Supersoldier will also show a bit more about the LANCERs of the 37th Division and their past.
December 1, 1989
A small village was lining the rocky slopes of the edge of the Atacama desert. Among the driest deserts, the Atacama had never experienced rain. Famine, war and dehydration plagued the region and the few settlements that were present.
The small village in the Atacama was under protection by United States Marines. Smoke billowed from a burning hut, women and children huddled at the central well. After making another patterned sweep a marine captain returned to a tall man with sunglasses.
"General, there is no evidence of Norman anywhere, the village is secure."
"Then he is not dead." General Nathan Fishar sternly replied. "Double your search captain."
Fishar crossed his arms as the captain left to shout at his men. He came from a wealthy background of military men. One of the youngest to reach the rank of Major General, Fishar was known through the Marines to be ruthless, narcissistic and demanding respect. His command was proven effective and he always seemed to find a flaw in his men, even if they were the best Marines to ever exist.
One of the women approached Fishar and he shifted uneasily. He loved being the one to stand superior to others around him and it was easy to distinguish that this woman had been through a lot. His target was a drug cartel somewhere in Chile's cities, not an Atacaman village.
The leader was Norman Catasmo, a notorious Santiago drug dealer that eliminated all his competition. Chilean troops have been ineffective and US Marines were called in to search the country. Catasmo's monopoly allowed him command of all his conquered lord's gunmen that was the size of a medium milita.
"Take him." The woman said, brushing off a strand of dirty hair.
"Take what?" Fishar snapped, suddenly irritated. The villager simply pulled a cover of blankets to reveal a small child wrapped inside. A baby blue blanket spelled Jorge was clutched in the sleeping infant's hands. Fishar was not new to the appearance of a single mother with an unwanted child. Traditional villages in ancient times often killed the father or he left after conception. Mothers were left with nothing but grief and a child they did not want. The children were often brainwashed by Catasmo and put in his militia. In some cases, many were forced to kill their own mothers to be fully initiated.
Fishar hesitantly accepted the child and was determined to solve the conflict that plagued the region.
September 20, 1998
Secret US Military Base in Okinawa
Fishar hardly believed that Jorge Catasmo had been only a small defenseless infant only nine years ago. He had his top trained soldiers begin teaching the kid in various styles of martial arts. He was already capable of breaking wood blocks at age seven. He had been put through intense training that would push normal Marines to their knees. Fishar hoped that he could draw Jorge's raw power into his feat of accomplishing missions. Since his trainers were so brutal, Jorge developed both hatred and respect for them, likely because he knew little else. In a way, he was almost heartless.
"You have completed the first stage of your training." Fishar told him, stepping down the stairs to a large dark hangar. Two lights were on, shining on the general and Catasmo, who stood with his back to the older man.
"I think it is time to begin weapons training." Fishar lit a cigar, inhaling the aromatic smoke. He gestured to a Marine, who wheeled out a table. Placed on top were various assault rifles coupled with their clips of ammunition.
Fishar raised an eyebrow as Jorge scanned the weapons. He picked one of them up, the Heckler and Koch made G36C, handling the weapon as if it were just a new toy. Examining it with interest, he finally set it down and moved on to the next.
"Which one do I choose?" Jorge asked, more of an order than a question.
"Choose which one you may feel best with." Those words gave him more pondering as he did another scan of the armory. Finally he decided and nodded when he picked up the SCAR-H CQC.
"Now hit the targets by aiming down the sight of the weapon." Fishar popped up four targets in a shooting range. Jorge quickly moved and pulled the trigger. Even though it was set to semi-automatic, the recoil nearly tossed the rifle out of his hands and none of the shots hit.
Fishar shook his head, "Pathetic! That will get you killed! Hit the targets!"
Jorge anticipated the recoil this time and missed. He tried again, pulling off four shots before he struck the circular pad with the fifth round.
"I want you to hit like that with one shot!" Fishar snapped, "It is going to be twenty pushups for every shot missed!"
By three in the afternoon, Jorge had done two hundred and eighty pushups and eventually hit twenty targets in a row. He had also used an M16, FAMAS and even started on the automatic M4. It was nearly eleven at night and Jorge looked up at the general who stood on a balcony watching his every move. It seemed like the general had not moved a muscle and he looked as if he had a slight smile flicker across his face.
At the small suburban section of Kansas City, the night went on like any typical clockwork. One of the houses in a particular neighborhood was brimming with life as the casually dressed guests as they congratulated one spectacular individual on his graduation. The lack of adults made it go haywire and the smell of alcohol and vomit wafted out of open doors from careless drinkers.
Madison had escaped the chaos when she realized that a drink some other teenage boy hand handed to her was open. She was quite aware of the dangers of these drinking parties and knew too well of the rohypnol trick. Before anyone could stop her, she had bolted out of the house and kept running. If she could find a safe place, then hopefully she could avoid the drunk guys. She couldn't blame them for trying, being one of the most popular girls at school. She had brown hair and deep blue eyes, once catching one guy practically drooling at her appearance when short skirt season approached.
"There she is! Come back here bitch!" One of the drunk male students shouted. Upon hearing this, Madison sprinted faster, but felt herself getting fatigued. She sprinted up the steps of a house and frantically knocked on the door.
The lock clicked and opened to reveal a woman slightly taller than herself. She was dressed in casual fatigues and her firm eyes regarded the teenager as a threat.
"Can I help you?" The woman asked.
"Get her!" She heard the crowd of drunken guys shouted out. The woman paused at the yelling and opened the door, ushering Madison inside.
"Lexi, what's going on?" A male voice came from further inside the house. A taller man stepped out with very short black hair and gave the newcomer an intriguing look.
Alexis Roush turned to the man, "It's nothing Victor. Just picked up one of the women before the guys got worked up."
Roush would do such a thing, like walk elders across streets or help little girl scouts sell cookies. Her charming and outgoing personality could brighten anyone's day. However, she could turn into a brilliant strategist and was ready to help at anything in a moment's notice.
Havok looked at Madison with slight disdain, "Get Fixer to check on her and make sure she's not drugged. Lee and I are going to make an alumni speech."
Madison attempted to protest, but Roush firmly grabbed her arm to steer her away. As they walked, both heard some gruff talk on the other side of the entrance to the basement.
"What's going on?" She asked Roush. "Not of your concern." Was her reply. She had their newcomer look away as she opened a hidden panel to reveal a number pad, she entered a code and a door swung open for them to enter.
Meanwhile Victor Havok and his operations director Tyler Lee had stepped outside as the crowd of drunks ambled and screamed up the driveway. Already two houses were lights on from the noise.
"Hello my friends." Havok gave a slight wave to the crowd. "What can I do for you?"
"Yeah, well one of ours. Think her name was um, Madison? Could we get her back?" Asked a large man with a slightly wet shirt from spilled beer.
"Unfortunately I don't know who you are talking about." Havok had dealt with drunk crowds before and their intelligence levels could equal a mole's sometimes. Since his brother had died because of a drunk driver, he detested drinking. Still, it didn't stop him from the rare liquor treat.
"I think you do. Why don't we search the house and find her?" He looked back and the crowd started murmuring in agreement. They were immediately silenced from a gunshot.
Tyler Lee remained still, with his nine millimeter pistol smoking. "I think it would be best if you leave."
The mob of drunkards couldn't put up a fight and sluggishly returned to the graduation house where they resumed partying.
"Slobs." Havok muttered as he shut the door.
"You would be surprised at the amount of partying done by California highschoolers." Lee chuckled as he holstered the pistol. "When I was younger, we held beer drinking contests."
"Yet, you managed to get into the CIA six years later."
"I'm not everything I seem right?" Lee quipped happily as they began their way to the medical room. The two men walked into the loft where Havok grabbed a mirror and placed his palm on the higher part. The mirror folded inward and they traversed a narrow hallway until they opened another door. When it closed, one could see that it blended as a section of the wall.
Alexis Roush, Madison and Dr. Thomas Fixer were in the room. Instantly as Havok crossed the room, Madison's head shot up in surprise at their appearance, when she had her eyes on the seemingly only entrance of the room.
"How did you get over here?"
"Secret door." Havok touched where the door was and it slid open to reveal the corridor.
"Who the hell are you?" Madison asked, fear creeping into her voice.
"I can't say everything my dear." Havok replied as Fixer began to examine a sample of her blood. "We are an organization that combats terrorism around the world."
"So then you were?"
Roush cut in, "There is a suspected terrorist in this house. He is currently being interrogated by our operatives. I can't say where."
Madison's heart beat faster, "Was it that room I was escorted by?"
"Maybe." Roush replied with a hint of deception on her face. "It's late. I will call your parents to notify them you are currently safe."
After Madison and Roush were gone, Lee returned through the hidden corridor to assist in interrogation. Havok and Fixer had finally analyzed a small sprinkle of white powder.
"Rohypnol." The veteran doctor grinned, "Typical date-rape drug."
"Sounds like my kind of party."
An hour later with the girl picked up by her angry parents. The SILO commander was in no mood to put up with arguments and made no attempt to hide the Beretta M9 he was carrying. After being called a snobbish policeman, the parents drove off. Madison blew him a kiss in thanks.
Havok sighed and went to the interrogation room. The basement stored boxes of old clothes and items that many at SILO had no more use for. It also housed the armory of the safehouse and the interrogation room. Both were difficult to get in and out of. The commander of SILO opened his eye on a retinal scanner and the heavy door swung open.
Rex Pyra knocked on the door of Tyler "Spectre" Vanguilder's cabin. The latch opened and he stood on the other side with tousled hair, one hand reading a novel and another scrubbing foamy toothpaste in his mouth.
"You know it's three fifteen in the afternoon?" He asked, hands on his hips. Tyler shrugged and went to his sink to spit out toothpaste. He never took his eyes off the book. Rex shook his head and walked inside, nearly tripping over several gaming magazines.
Tyler's room was among the messiest aboard the ship, causing few to venture inside. On the right was his small bed with posters of various anime and Japanese games. Pyra could see a charging Nintendo 3DS on the sheets. On the left side were several corkboards that looked as if nothing was taken off for years. Center was a desk cluttered with a laptop, papers and five cans of half full Venom. Next to the desk was a large flat screen TV with a PS3 and Xbox hooked up.
"I came because Havok told me that the captive is not breaking, yet." The president of SILO continued, cautiously kicking aside a Pokemon magazine as if it was a land mine.
"Well, you could grasp him by the back of his neck on some certain nerve and squeeze it. That might work." He smiled nervously while rinsing the toothbrush.
"Where'd you get that idea and where is the nerve?" Pyra asked skeptically, suspecting he got it from video games. Tyler shrugged and tossed Rex the book. "Page 572."
Pyra flipped pages as he turned to exit. In disbelief, the navigator of Defiant peered out and shouted to the president who was nearly gone. "I want it back!"
"Sorry kid. You'll just have to buy another one." As soon as Pyra was out of listening distance, he burst out laughing and opened the book.
May 29, 2006
Unknown prison in Wyoming
The interrogation room was dark, dreary and the leering prison warden did little to mitigate the atmosphere.
"Ron Haulner. Former SEAL Medic, deceptive, prone to anger and gloating. Convicted of multiple robberies and carjackings." The warden leaned close to the strapped man, who only stared back with equal hatred. Haulner slammed his head straight into the warden's nose. He stood in the chair to escape, only to find out his wrist was chained to the wall and his fingers were just short of the doorknob. Instantly, the other prison guard shoved Haulner back into the chair.
"And a master escapist." The warden stood, wiping his bloody nose with a wet towel. Haulner smirked slightly at his captor's misfortune. He was given his iconic orange uniform and sent to his sell to become an inmate with a number and less of an individual.
He was greeted with stone cold reception by both the guards and fellow inmates whom he pressed stares. The guards shut the cell to leave him to stare at the blank wall. Laying on the firm cot, he allowed his eyes to slowly shut.
"Get up." A stern voice barked. Haulner's eyes snapped open and he faced the guard. He was only armed with a baton and gripped it readily. When he refused to move, the guard waved it to help coax him out. Making no resistance, Haulner allowed himself to be moved to another interrogation room.
Unlike the previous torture chamber, the room was lit by flouescent light bulbs. A moderate height woman wearing a simple jacket and long jogging shorts stood in the back. She had blue eyes and chestnut colored hair. Her eyes remained stoic as she scanned the inmate. For some reason, Haulner couldn't fix a hard stare without relaxing. Two strange armored figures stood beside her, completely still. The prisoner knew that he had no chance of escape when he saw the two submachine guns being held in the armored soldier's hands.
"No restraints will be necessary." The woman held up her hand, just as the guard was about to chain him. He paused and left the room, closing the heavy double lock door behind him.
A moment of silence enveloped the room as nobody moved. The woman finally broke the silence.
"Mr. Haulner, what is your first name?"
Haulner snickered. In response, the commando on the woman's left raised the submachine gun. She put a hand on the top and slowly lowered it. "Just answer the questions honestly."
He was slightly surprised at how she was talking to him, even though he was a hated criminal mastermind.
"My name is Ron. What is it you want from me?"
"I want answers and a deal." She paced the room. "It's a shame that the United States and Russia have came to strained relations recently. The two soldiers behind me are from the next generation of Special Forces and possibly even the next marines."
"Where do I fit in this?" Haulner asked.
"My name is Natalie Lancer. I am tasked by the US Government to create the supersoldiers of the American Armed Forces. A daunting task and not everyone makes it. Therefore, I've had to narrow down the selection to those I am certain will make the cut. You're one of those people."
"If I join, what happens?"
Lancer stopped and faced him, "I've read your files in the SEALs and your entire criminal record. You are a valuable medic and a master escapist. If I never needed such a specialty, I would have been wasting my time talking with you. I can't drop the criminal charges you face, but I can give you another chance to serve. You did mention in your Silver Star ceremony that serving was the greatest award you possibly obtained."
"Yeah." Ron chuckled at the memory, "It was."
"But then it went all wrong. Your anger took the best of you." Lancer cooly stated.
"I have had difficulties dealing with frustration and failure." He was slightly shameful at his own condemning. The young doctor had not taken notice, listening with vigilant attention. "It wasn't until it was too late when I realized what I had done had affected so much."
She placed a hand on his shoulder, "It is honorable to fail if you adapt to the failure to prevent it from repeating. You have ten minutes to get your things." Her mood suddenly changed to a more stern tone. "Don't keep me waiting."
One of the commandos accompanied Haulner back to his cell where he quickly gathered up what the guards had tossed in his room. The other prisoners shot him glares of death that were quickly suppressed when they saw the armored commando following.
Doctor Lancer sat at the table with the other commando and the prison warden. She turned to Ron as he entered the room, no longer dressed in inmate fatigues.
"You are free to leave the building, but under no circumstances are free from your sentence." She slid out a form and a pen.
Ron scrawled his signature.
Marzo Corporation Headquarters
Norman Catasmo did not look like a human smuggler or a drug dealer.
He drained the last of the rum from the glass with a smile on his face. Excusing himself from a group of politicians, he strode to the balcony of Avril Corporation's fourty story building's patio. The roar of the Santiago skyline rose from the lower sections of the streets as people headed home for the day.
Catasmo was only five and a half feet tall, yet his face with piercing brown eyes and a devilish grin, he was capable of manipulating those who were much larger. He moved in a fluid manner that betrayed his smooth and arrogant attitude.
Exactly on paper of a Chilean business of a rags to riches story came from Catasmo's village life of identifying many rare medicinal plants. He had once provided medicine to save a Chilean government offical's brother which had gained him clearance to found Marzo. Named after a season which a rare Chilean herb boldo is harvested, Marzo provides drugs and medicinal supplies to Chile and several other Latin American countries.
Catasmo's facade only went so far and he had organized a large security force to keep his human and drug smuugling from the outside.
There was going to be a banquet to celebrate ten years of Marzo Corporation's service of medicine to the declining health care in South America. Catasmo left the balcony and went to greet his guests. He was not immensely rich as other medical companies around the globe. Today, he had a real treat for his sponsors.
Boldo had a toxic chemical ascaridole which was present around the stems. Normally they would be cut off and the leaves would be used. Catasmo's scientists found a possible cure to hangovers and stomach problems which Marzo Corporation Tea was used. The process involved boiling the stems with iodine and using salt and heat to dry them out. They no longer contained ascaridole that was toxic, but still present with its medicinal effects. However, it was incredibly salty.
As the guests took their seat at the table, eyeing the plates of asado berbeque and fried stuffed empanadas. Nearby were wine bottles from France, California and Italy.
Catasmo saw someone wave him over and he excused himself from his conversation, snatched a glass of Alexandria Washington Merlot from a tray and made his way over.
"We have an unidentified black van that is on the atrium side."
"Our security teams?" Catasmo asked unintrested as he sipped his glass. The security chief looked at an Ipad in his arm and his other hand hovering down to a pistol.
"They have the van surrounded and have seen nobody exit since it arrived about ten minutes ago." Catasmo's grip tightened on the chalice. He was easily aware of other nations plotting his assassination. Already, to gain access to Marzo Corporation was a medicine entrepreneur's dream come true. He took no chances, but still had to alert his guests.
"Thank you ladies and gentlemen for coming." He raised his hand as the chatter died. "I'm afraid we have a small issue in the atrium, but my security team is working on it."
As Catasmo continued to talk, none of the guests noticed a dozen men armed with automatic rifles pass through the door.
"Now, we celebrate our ten years of prosperous success!" The short charismatic man raised his wine glass in a toast.
Outside the noisy dining hall, the security chief looked at the Ipad, anxious to see the van's doors open with corpses riddled with bullet holes.
Jorge knew from the sound of shouting security troops outside that he was out of time. He had finished strapping on armor when bullet holes began thumping against the van's back door.
"General." Jorge irritably spoke into a small bluetoothlike device on his right ear. "Looks like they know we're here."
Fishar was safe and sound in an air conditioned office in the Pentagon. "Below you is a sewer pipeline that can gain access to the waste processing area of Marzo's building."
The supersoldier looked around at the van he had carjacked. Taking out two charges of C4, he inserted them underneath the seats, primed a detonator and set a pressure monitor near the driver's seat. Upon the slightest change in shifting, the hidden explosives would detonate. It was time to leave.
Jorge began timing the amount when the shots hit the door. Upon coordination, he planned to fire at the same time to prevent anyone else knowing he was armed. His only weapon was an M429 belt fed machine gun and a USP that came with a silencer.
"You've got a plan?" Fishar asked, since his apprentice had not communicated with him for a couple of minutes.
"I do." He replied wryly. Upon his coordination, he began blasting at the van's floor. The metal screeched when the rounds impacted, but apparently the guards had not taken notice. Jorge placed his hands on the holes and with great strength, pulled the entire metal circle free. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness within a second, he saw the bright muzzle flashes and peered upside down at a dozen security guards. Hoping he would not get noticed, he removed the sewer cover and eased his large weapon down, setting it on a concrete block underneath. Before slipping down into the pipeline, Jorge reached back up and twisted the sensitivity on the monitor to maximum. Anyone that ever wanted to set foot in the van would get a surprise.
"On the count of three!" The zealous security chief shouted to the van, "You do not show yourself, we will be forced to breach!"
Instantly, two men armed with automatics and bulletproof vests threw open the van's door. The interior was completely empty save for some smoke and empty shells. The chief noticed the hole in the floor and stepped forward to get a better look.
He was vaproized a second later when he stepped aboard, triggering the hidden potent explosives.
Jorge felt the explosion as he traversed the dark sewer. He did it without need for night vision goggles because of special biological upgrades to enhance his capabilities. He could virtually see in pitch black without his pupils needing to dialate to allow more scarce light into the eye. He came to the treatment area with a staircase that led upstairs and ambled up to the shut door. Quickly scanning the outside with a snake camera, he cleared the area and drew his pistol. The M249 was slung on his back.
"Hey!" Jorge's heart skipped a beat. "You! Stop right there!"
Instead of responding, Jorge ducked down, lashing out with his elbow and delivering a knockout blow to the guard's jaw. His partner tried to draw a pistol in his holster while Jorge seized his comrade and as a distraction, tossed the body at the other guard. He easily caught the body, casting it aside and racking the slide. Jorge grabbed the gun as his opponent slugged him in the face and retook the handgun.
Using the wall as a barrier, Jorge retreated and reappeared again as the gunman tried to pursue. He grabbed his head and delivered two knees to the face, dropping the guard cold.
Suddenly gunfire pelted the walls as a half dozen concealed men fired at his position. With his option of stealth eliminated, Jorge calmly unslung his M249 and sent a stream of bullets to where the shots came from. Screams of death followed after he let about thirty rounds fly. Then as if nothing had happened, the supersoldier calmly slung the machine gun on his back and threw aside the barricades. One of the men pulled out his handgun and aimed at the walking assiliant. Jorge drew his USP and without looking, shot him dead center in the forehead.
Alarms blared as he heard civilian screams from the building. They poured out like a swarm of angry ants and he casually bushed aside them and made his way into the lobby. The armed guard only had time to look up before a red spot appeared on his stomach. Proceeding up the stairs into a lavish lobby, he found himself against barricades and a dozen guards. Instantly, he tossed a smoke grenade and yanked down a nearby table for cover. The bullets came wildly and often uncontrolled. It came sort of as a relief to Jorge, the guards were not prepared for smokescreens and did not have thermal optics. However, advantage would not last forever. He dropped his cover and sprayed rounds perfectly. As he entered the elevator to the penthouse, he saw that he had not missed one bullet.
Catasmo had the alarm sounded and the elevators cut off. Unfortunately, the elevator controls were at the bottom and he was on that floor. His guards attempted to calm the panicking crowd as the chairman called several of Marzo's personal helicopters to airlift his guests to his secondary facility in his corporate office.
The room looked as if an earthquake had struck. Shattered glasses and china littered the floor from panic of the outside explosions. Smoke was now rising visibly in the Santiago skyline. Catasmo gritted his teeth on the thought of the authorities being involved, despite Marzo being private.
"Everyone down!" The security commander shouted over the noise. "Wait until evacuation!"
Women began weeping softly as the first helicopter approached.
The elevator doors detonated moments later.
Dust filled the room from walls that were now powder. Ignoring the panicked civilians, Jorge easily killed the surviving guard with his pistol and approached Catasmo. The executive did not hesitate in running towards the balcony where a small helicopter was landing.
"You will not move."
Catasmo turned to see Jorge behind, holding out a USP pointed at his face.
"Too late, my ride's here." He smirked as the helo began to touch down. The other person's response was to shift the handgun's aim and cough two shots. The helicopter screeched as it spun out of control as the pilot released his grip to nurse the two bullets in his chest. The others attempted to overpower him and rushed out.
Jorge did not need to fire a single shot. If he did, the mission would fail. He took out the M249 and fired a quick burst to keep back the rioters.
"Stop this!" Norman Catasmo shouted as he threw a punch at Jorge. The latter easily blocked the blow and placed a bullet in his leg.
"Who? Who are you?" He asked as the commando pulled a smoke grenade and forced several civilians away. He removed his mask and glared at the helpless man in front of him. Catasmo tried to make a revelation when he saw eyes that were the exact color of his own.
"Your son." He aimed the gun at his father's head and pulled the trigger.
Fishar wished that he kept the assassination safe from the prying eyes of the New York Times.
He now stood in the Oval Office with the President, who was far from pleased. Vice President George Warnes and the Attourney General had entered quietly to try and think of a way to solve the issue.
"What do you have to say for yourself? Now, just when we reach a deal with the Chileans about their domestic herbs and precious medicine to counter the flu epidemic in Spokane! Now with their top medicine dealer dead from your pet project, they've already canceled and nearly delcared the incident as an act of war!"
"You don't understand Mr. President." Fishar replied, taking no changes in his attitude from his rage. "You know me too well to think I would show off my new asset by picking on anyone like a school bully. By the end of today, I want you to look up Norman Catasmo's CIA profile and come back to me with what you say."
The President's anger began rising again, but he smothered it. "I'm going to have to go through a lot of hell to normalize relations with the Chileans. It could take years before we're on good terms with them."
"Not to mention that they have a bounty on your new ace commando." The Attourney General piped.
Fishar grimaced at the problem and looked at his watch. "Well gentlemen, I'm afraid I must get going now." He turned and left the room.
"I swear that guy makes my skin crawl." Warnes finally said after the door shut.
The President dismissed everyone and called his secretary. "Yes Mr. President?" The sweet sounding woman named Jillian asked after picking up the phone on the first ring.
"Call the CIA director and patch me through to him."
A few rings later, he heard another phone pickup. "CIA Director's office, this is codename Actual."
"Hello. This is the President. Can you get me the files on Norman Catasmo?"
"Of course Mr. President. I'll have it to you after lunch."
At two in the afternoon, the President returned to the oval office to find the traditional manila folder with the CIA classified stamp. He opened the file and began to read.
When Jillian arrived to tell him about his lunch with the Prime Minister of Austrailia, he was only halfway through.
"May I ask what this is about?" She asked as they exited the Oval Office.
The President quietly dismissed Jillian as he met with the Prime Minister, files on Marzo Corporation's Norman Catasmo still in hand.
Vancouver International Airport
“I don’t believe it.” Travis Magnum said for the thirteenth time that day. His eyes contained a mixture of anger and sadness. “Can’t you stay?”
“I’m afraid not.” His sister, Whitney Magnum shook her head as she zipped up a suitcase. “If I’m going to be a professor for German, then I better live there for a few years. You knew for months that I was taking this trip.”
The Magnum family had only three children with Travis being the only boy. Whitney Magnum was his older sister by 3 years and had just finished her senior year in high school and had decided to teach German. Her program required her to go and live in Frankfurt for a couple years to teach both German and English at a middle school there. Even though his parents did enjoy the idea of Whitney pursuing her goals overseas, Travis did not. He knew that they wanted him to enlist. Which was exactly what he was going to do.
“Now you’re saying I have to watch Lindsey by myself without my big sis.” Travis muttered, in a mock sad tone, referencing his younger sister.
“You can get her a boyfriend while I’m gone.” Whitney smiled pulling her brother into a hug. Unlike most older sisters, Whitney seldom teased her younger siblings. “Just take care, you’re now the elder of the house.”
“Last call for Lufthansa Flight 2670 to Frankfurt!” The speakers in Vancouver Airport blared. Whitney gave Travis another hug goodbye. “Thanks for taking me here.”
She smiled sweetly, “By the way, I may not be able to attend your graduation, but in whatever you do, don’t lose sight of it. It would be a shame to see you quit.”
Travis couldn’t reply as his older sister and mentor melted into the crowd. Ten minutes later, the Airbus A340-600 retracted from the gate. He had just gotten back on the Canada Line when he saw the Lufthansa begin its rapid ascension into the the pink sunset.
"This had just come back yesterday." Actual finished, on the phone. "Norman Catasmo, CEO of Marzo Corporation was assassinated yesterday at the Santiago headquarters. He had a full security detail with him."
Tyler Lee took the iPad from Havok to examine the pictures that police took. The once lavish dining room was now splattered with blood, from civilians, bodyguards and Marzo employees that served the dinner. The curtains were torn, walls and the floor riddled with bullet holes. Whoever had came through had a big gun that was complimented with plenty of ammo.
"What was he armed with?"
"Obviously it wasn't a minigun, the bodies would be too mangled for us to identify anyone." Actual could be heard shuffling papers in his Langley office. "No complete identification of what the weapon was, but judging from the photos, it looks like a light machine gun. A total of nearly four hundred rounds were discharged from the weapon, from the entry into the building until the police arrived."
Lee flicked the photos aside, "Was it a NATO round?"
"Five point five six."
"So then an assault rifle?"
Havok shook his head while checking his watch, "It couldn't be. That guy must have had a bandolier that weighed as much as the loaded gun itself. Let me know if you get anything else." He killed the connection and got up.
They walked through the halls of the ship. While the upper, more displayable passages looked like traditional ships made of ornate wood and metal, they were merely props. Many port authorities came aboard and usually never saw through the facade, they were too disgusted on the looks of the ship to even think about continuing to investigate.
SILO liked it that way.
Havok and Lee entered the meeting hall where Francois Chareux had laid out a Japanese sushi dinner. Since Defiant was being resupplied at Okinawa, Chareux was more than happy to get fresh fish and show off his sushi artistic abilities. The tasty rice covered rolls were not the usual diet of the Japanese people, in fact. Rice and fish were the two main staples. Sushi was saved for special events.
Normal Japanese sushi is quite different than its western counterparts. Most American sushi bars had them in roll style, where an entire long tube was made and then cut into smaller pieces. There was Nigiri hand made sushi with pressed rice patty and seasoned eel on top. Also capturing the attention were the American variants such as the ever popular California roll and the Seattle roll which had the same things as the California except the crabmeat was replaced with smoked salmon. Chareux was always ready to pour additional Japanese tea.
Most of SILO's senior staff was present around the table and they ate in small talk. After about ten minutes, Havok cleared his throat and began once he caught everyone's attention.
"As of four twenty one yesterday afternoon, Marzo executive Norman Catasmo was killed in a massacre assassination attempt. One hundred and fourty eight people are dead from the attack, with no witnesses." He paused to let it sink in. "Actual, Rex and I have been researching on why people wanted Catasmo dead and there were enough reasons for many people to want a bullet in his brain. Catasmo was involved in Chile's drug trade and trafficking for over ten years. Now, while he was a druggie, his death caused the Chilean economy to decline eleven percent as of two hours ago. The vice president of Marzo has taken over, but we have also found out who gave the order of Catasmo's death and who carried out the massacre." He paused, throwing a roll into his mouth. "The entire operation was completed by one man."
"Is that even possible?"
"I'm not sure." Pyra responded. "Seeing this degree of destruction being the work of a single man makes him not ordinary. With normal military men, they would have taken casualties, no matter how much surprise was on their side. This guy didn't have as much as a scratch on him. There isn't a lot that can do mass destruction without leveling the building. Especially if it was done by conventional means and not by gas or bombs."
"What are we talking about then?" Communications officer Heinrich Schrader asked.
Havok answered the inevitable. "A supersoldier."
Fishar's Lake Tahoe Retreat in Nevada
"You have done well for your first assignment." Fishar gave a slight smile while pacing behind his elaborate and neat desk. "Seeing the carnage and the hell I got for laying waste made me worked up of course." He chuckled slightly.
"You were not impressed?" Jorge raised an eyebrow as he placed the M249 on Fishar's desk. The weapon was riddled with marks and gave the impression of a well used weapon.
"Perhaps," Fishar clicked his teeth, "I was wrong. You kicked some ass out there. Were there any survivors?"
The supersoldier shook his head, trying to remember everything that happened. He was sure that he had killed nearly everyone to cover up his existence, but like all secrets that are attempted to be hidden are revealed eventually.
"I did." Jorge finally responded, "However, it's only a matter of time before my existence is discovered. Maybe I'm known even now."
"Nonsense. This is my private retreat that is surrounded by guard posts. If anything ever happens to you from the media, I will bail you out."
"I hope you're right."
They were at Fishar's private retreat near Lake Tahoe. He had inherited part of the area from his grandmother, who used to live in nearby Carson City. Under strict guard, he had the safehouse renovated to include the accomidations that would rival mansions belonging to CEOs. In addition, to his safehouse, it also doubled as his secondary headquarters.
"Did you regret killing your father?"
"No." Despite the answer, Jorge's eyes darkened. "From what you told me, he was a terrible man, only cared for himself. Marzo was only a facade to legitimize his drug selling."
"Not to mention his private militia from younger boys."
The large man picked up the M249 and examined it. He frowned as he smelled the burned metal and laid it back on Fishar's desk. White powder came out and the general scowled at his now dirty desk.
"I killed a lot of people, just to kill one man." This time, Jorge wasn't the hardened supersoldier that Fishar had trained him to be. He saw his entire training the kid to began decomposing. If he didn't act quick, Jorge may change views on Fishar's war and turn against him.
"It was needed."
"No it wasn't." Tension began to steam from both men as they stared straight at each other. "If I wanted to kill one man, why didn't I just go on an infiltration mission? Even though I am following orders, I am ending people's lives for your own gain. You taught me how to be a good soldier and that was to do whatever you told. Are you sure about that?" He saw one marine whisper to his partner and quietly leave the room. "I'm a supersoldier, from what you tell me. Supersoldiers are to be the future combat troops and to be different and better than the average infantrymen. I think that the first change is to do what I think is right rather than following orders like a computer all the time! You want something that obeys you all the time? Go program yourself a robot soldier!"
Neither person dared to move for a few minutes. When Nathan spoke it rose with his temper, it sounded as if a demon that had been locked up for a thousand years was now rampant. "You're saying that I should not care what my elite troops should do?! I let the best marines in the military fuck off because they don't have to follow orders?! I demand perfection! I expect nothing less from my marines and I will not disregard you from that."
"What I am saying is that sometimes your orders may not be the way to follow a war." If Fishar had taught Jorge anything about arguing, it was not to lose temper, unlike the former. "All the deaths that were not needed are done. They will remember and catastrophic effects will take place. When it hits you, I'm going to smile."
"You're dismissed for the night." Fishar angrily waved him off like an annoying gnat. Jorge turned to leave, but not before he threw a smug look at his commanding officer.
November 27, 2013
"The leader's name is Ghami." The military police captain began as most of the personnel that was assigned to the hostage crisis had been seated. "He has had quite a reputation while in Yemen and later set his terrorist threat off when he was linked to the detonations in Afghanistan which killed four Afghan infantrymen. Now somehow, he managed to get into San Francisco to hold the entire Axis-Hunt tower hostage."
In the back of the room was a small man named Sergio. He was the designated sniper for the crisis and would be sniping from the top of a nearby building. If the military police couldn't contain the terrorists, the pressure went to him. He was born in Orlando, Florida to a Russian mother and father who had escaped the clutches of the USSR when they were children. Being pressured to join the KGB was not on his father's list.
Sergio had lived life in a difficult way before he joined the military police as a marksman. Both of his parents had died from tuberculosis when he had just graduated from high school. He had joined the military police along with two of his friends and discovered his uncanny talent with sniping.
"Sergio will be posted on the adjacent tower to provide sniper support." The captain extended his hand to the sergeant. "Give him proper designation on who to eliminate. Civilian lives are inside and I do not want one of them lost because of our carelessness." He stuck a radio to his ear, "Now's the time to gear up! The negotiators can only appease our guests for so long!"
"Alpha, check in." The captain radioed from his position inside the armored command vehicle. Built to withstand a direct hit from a grenade launcher, it served as a military police's nucleus and the brain of the operation.
Sergio was lying down and scanning the Axis-Hunt tower with high magnification binoculars with his spotter, a middle aged man named Calhoun. He was searching for possible targets while finding routes for the squads to clear. Alpha was his callsign for most ops, so he adopted the nickname and was known as such throughout the base.
"Alpha here." Sergio replied, as he opened the case to his rifle. Inside was a Remington M24, a bolt-action sniper rifle. Simply the military version of the R700, the M24 was on the side to be phased out of service. It had a heavy recoil and could punch through concrete walls to make short work of whatever lay on the other side. It took him only fifteen seconds to assemble the enitre weapon.
"We got trouble." Calhoun reported, his stoic voice never wavering. Sergio had just inserted the last of his rounds into the chamber and had armed the weapon when he joined his spotter. Sure enough, just like command had reported about fifteen terrorists inside the newly constructed Axis-Hunt tower.
"Alpha, we got a tango on the roof with a sniper." Calhoun was relaying information quickly as the rescue plan began to fall apart. One of the terrorists was firing a pistol in the air to move civilians higher up. Two of them began firing shots at a squad who had just got on the same floor. Sergio identified the rifles as F1 models of the French FAMAS rifle. One of the men fell to the ground clutching his arm. Chatter flooded the radio as the teams struggled to keep up. Alpha scoped back to the sniper on the roof. He had found them and now it was a matter of who would shoot first.
His opponent already had a lead of finding, but Sergio had more experience and was able to raise the rifle quicker. Not even bothering where he was aiming, he pulled the trigger as soon as Calhoun had called the shots. The sniper's arm was torn off in a grueseome spray of blood and he went down. A second later, three terrorists ran on the roof with dozens of civilians. All had the same look of panic on their faces.
Seeing his companion dead, Sergio recognized Ghami with his beard. The man pointed at the edge of a building and one of his assistants grabbed a man in a suit and walked him over to the edge.
"They're getting smart." Calhoun reported, "Tango has civilian at the edge; do not fire unless commanded to do so. Advance team Foxtrot, hold your position until it's clear of traps."
Alpha scanned the roof as the terrorist leader retreated towards the back of the roof. He was known to be cowardly and often run when faced with insurmountable odds. A mastermind, yet afraid if the tide turned.
“Alpha, you are clear to fire on the tango holding the civilian.”
Sergio adjusted his zoom and aimed for the shoulder. The bullet zipped past the terrified man and into his assailant’s blade. It tossed the body back a good five feet and as soon as the hostage was free, he bolted for the door. Alpha had already shot the gunman that was preparing to shoot the escapee down. By the time Ghami returned, he was surrounded by his dead henchmen and several angry military policemen.
They began to cuff him when a loud beeping sound came from Ghami’s radio.
“Hit the deck!” One of the men shouted. “Bomb!”
Sergio quickly aimed for the antennae on the radio and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the wiring and sent sparks through the air. Alpha did see and explosive charge and luckily did not detonate it. Had his bullet went three centimeters to the right, the Axis-Hunt may have been a pile of rubble.
Instantly, the police had the remaining perpetrators surrounded. Alpha kept his scope on all of them, ensuring that none had hidden weapons. As reinforcements began to arrive, Sergio finally placed his rifle down. The crosshairs seemed to be burned into his eyelids from staring inside so long.
"Cutting it a little close there huh?" Calhoun quipped as the terrorists were led inside one of the helicopters that had landed on the roof.
"Excellent work Alpha." The captain complimented, "That sniper shot was one in a million."
"Nonsense." The sniper chuckled, "More like a million in one."
Marine Outpost Sierra
Southwest of Kandahar, Afghanistan
April 21, 2016
Newly promoted Sargeant Damian Sikex was fighting for his life.
The command base in Kabul had reported a group of marines battling an ambush of nearly a hundred insurgents. Already four of the nine men were killed. Damian's squad, led by Master Sargeant Mark Baker who was in the first of the Humvees. They could not send in any Blackhawks because of reports of RPG fire.
Sikex was on the second Humvee as they sped towards the conflict. The heat pressed on the marine's skin like a hot iron. Temperatures had nearly reached their records and it was a small relief when the occasional cloud passed over the merciless sun.
Born in the streets of Bridgeport, the Sikex family had been going through troubled times. Their debt had drastically increased and they had to leave their home in Hartford to move to a cheaper rated apartment in Bridgeport. Damian's education was filled with behavior reports and was bound to come home at least once a week with some sort of sign that he had been in a fight. With the small money his parents could spare, he began training in a local karate dojo. With little else to do, his skill kept honing itself and he had been entered into a tournament in nearby Boston for smaller children. His opponent lasted only fourty seconds. After the tournament, nobody ever pissed him off in middle and high school. He joined the football team for his high school and obtained his black belt at the age of seventeen. Damian graduated and sought to run the dojo with his master's approval, but it simply wasn't enough money to get his family out. So he had joined the marines.
"This is Lima Eight-Eight! Where is that rescue team!" The radio crackled with static from the straining signal.
"Lima Eight-Eight." General Overlord replied in his unwavering voice. "Baker and Zulu Five Zero are five minutes out. Just hold on a second."
Gunfire was beginning to faintly pierce the air as they neared the battle. Damian clamped his helmet on just as he heard a whooshing sound.
"RPG!" One of the marines in the Humvee shouted to warn the group. The rocket slammed into the wheel of Baker's vehicle and tipped it upward. Baker and his men attempted to bail, but the jeep had detonated into a fiery inferno a split second later. One of the privates instantly began shelling rounds in the general direction. Damian pulled the man down after a few seconds.
"Don't do that." He calmly explained, despite the chaos. "There might be snipers out there."
As if on cue, the driver jerked and the vehicle slowed to a crawl.
"Get out!" Dare screamed, "We are sitting ducks in here!"
The marines in the third Humvee halted and also got out to return fire. Sikex saw at least two dozen insurgents firing from a high cliff. Most were descending while a few stayed back with RPGs and a sniper. Dare had his heavy M240B on hand and although not his typical M249, it still did the job in his book.
The insurgents were chattering in their native language and took positions on boulders near the road. One private had tossed a grenade over the top and was rewarded by the blast, blowing off the rock and the man hiding behind him. Sikex leaned out to see one of the militia turn to him and immediately spray in his direction. He swung himself out and rolled to the wreckage of the destroyed jeep, using it as cover. The smell of burning flesh and lack of crys for help had already told him that Baker and his men were instantly killed. Shouts filled the air as the two other surviving marines shouted man down. It was going to be rough getting backup or even getting out alive.
All Dare could do was just pump rounds into the enemy.
"Virus Nine-Seven, can you confirm anything?"
The AH-1Z Viper attack helicopter hovered around the enormous hole, careful to avoid the rising smoke.
The conflict had started when Jorge had gone missing for two days straight. Fishar was far from pleased at his supersoldier's disappearance. He had poured many rescources into his finest soldier including three different martial artists, weapons experts and even a master hacker to adapt him into being the ultimate infantry fighting machine.
He began to think that he had been too soft on Jorge. Nobody was immune to the horrors of war and it struck a chord in everyone. Even himself.
"We have a visual!" Virus Nine-Seven suddenly exclaimed as the helo roared overhead. "He's putting some jacket on?"
"Damn it." Fishar snarled, pressing a button to summon his bodyguards. "Deserter has donned the Warrior Jacket! Jorge is a deserter! All call signs, terminate Jorge!" With a quickened pace, Fishar arrived at a Little Bird to leave his facility. He still had a chance to catch Jorge and reinstall his mind to be the first of supersoldier breed.
Jorge had underwent severe augmentations a few days ago, with the drugs enhancing his growth, strength and speed. The downside was that he would likely have psychologial problems and would not be combat ready for days. They were right about the first part, as his defiance was growing to his superior and now almost completely distrusted him. Fishar wished that he listened to the psychologists before ordering the injections.
Jorge felt the armor slide on into places as the Warrior Jacket conformed to his body. The Warrior Jacket was also going to be for his use and was built in top secret under Fishar's orders. The exoskeleton was strong enough to withstand a full minute of a gatling gun at point blank. Although the explosive resistant part was not yet installed, it didn't make it any less dangerous.
The Viper had peeled off and was likely coming back for another go. Reluctant to leave the only person that gave him a home, Jorge locked the armor into place and checked the weapons he had brought with him. A pair of MAC-11s, an M4 and a Milkor MGL. Footsteps and chattering of gunfire began sounding outside as Fishar's men closed in on Jorge's position.
It wasn't his favorite decision, but after being taught about all American laws, Fishar was violating his freedoms. He threatened if Jorge ever tried to sneak away to severe punishment. He never said Jorge couldn't shoot his way out.
The supersoldier waved his arm to deflect rounds from an assault rifle and easily killed the assailiant with the rifle. He began knocking out the troops one by one with easily deflecting their blows and hitting so fast that none had the chance to react. As the helicopter drew nearer, he slung the MGL and shot a round, linking the detonation to his command. The grenade detonated six feet away from the helo's tail, sending it spiraling to the ground where he blew up the glass with another two grenades. He pulled out his MACs and blasted the advancing marines who had no cover. Despite his seemingly malicious actions, he never intended to kill. He was going to expose Fishar's oppressive actions and those men had stood in his way. After running out of ammunition and hitting the last man over the head with the stocks, then Jorge finally breathed heavily while surveying. He was surprised that there were no snipers watching him.
As if it never happened, Jorge began to walk away from the carnage. He didn't even look back as the rest of the Viper's fuel ignited in a huge explosion.
Citadel Military College
"RISE AND SHINE LADIES!"
The booming voice shook the freshman out of their sleep and voices filled the air in seconds. The Citadel, located in Charleston, South Carolina is famous for its combination of academics, athletics and military style discipline. It was clockwork from sunrise to about one in the morning. Get up, go to class, run two miles and be in bed by the time taps played.
The freshman sprinted out into the barrack's open center, where already the hot August sun had heated the floor. The four seniors in charge of the freshman division wore no expression at the underclassmen's burning feet. In reality, they would have howled with laughter.
One of the seniors called the dozen cadets to attention. As one they snapped their heels together. This was the Grenadier and explosives section, for those who wanted to specialize in the volatile compound. Other than the sniper division, the Grenadier section was the second most difficult area to enter if one planned to serve.
"I'm impressed." Trip Varnum remarked. Being the largest of the four seniors, Trip came from a long list of graduates from the Citadel. Like the other seniors, his uniform was nothing short of perfect with the coat neatly ironed and his face clean shaven. "There aren't many freshmen that snap to attention as well as you."
"Thank you sir!" They all shouted in unison.
"On second note, I probably should explain the other shit that you'll have to remember for the next four years."
Two of the seniors moved to inspect the uniforms of the lines. The subjects nervously resisted movement as the taller men approached them. One cadet had gotten too nervous and swallowed just as his inspector had passed by. Five seconds later, he was sweating and counting twenty pushups. The freshman looked at each other, sightly worried.
"From the looks on their faces, it seems like they don't like us." One of the seniors remarked, at the newcomer's stares.
"Isiah, you know they were just like us when we came here." The other inspecting senior shot back with a touch of humor in his dark eyes. Coming from Marcus Xavier, it could make anyone laugh. "Unless you want to plank on the floor for seven minutes like freshman year."
"That's right." He pointed at the freshman. "The four of us were just like you four years ago. This is the Citadel, a facility where whole men are produced and the rest are washed out. We do things a little differently around here. In other facilities, ones that don't produce whole men, there's nothing similar to us. Those so called men, are right now still feeling the effects of the frat party last night and has his hands in twin bulbous breasts that belong to his girlfriend. In addition, he's whining about getting up for his first class at three in the afternoon. No, we don't and won't do that. In fact, none of you want to do that. Am I right?!"
"It's a sir! Yes sir! Next time, otherwise you'll add another half mile to your sleep." Trip snapped. One of the cadets raised his hand. "Sir permission to speak."
"Granted." Isiah replied, folding his hands behind his back.
"Why is it that you are all harsh, but really are nice guys."
"Ha!" Brett Stearn, the fourth senior chucked, "Nice guys!"
Marcus shook his head, "The reason we are harsh, is because we are in charge of you!" He stepped up to the freshman and jabbed a finger in his chest, making him fall back. "If you look bad, it means that we look bad. If you make it to senior year, then you'll be in charge of your own freshman division like I am right now. You got it?"
"Got it sir." The cadet looked like he was going to burst into tears, but nothing came out. Marcus put back on his hardened look and joined the seniors at the front.
"Alright ladies." Isiah began, "Just do the excercises right and you won't have to do extra pushups today."
"Maybe." Brett chimed in, "With you sitting on them. Oh, and incl-"
"Can it you two." Marcus snapped before whispering to his fellow seniors, "Oh this is going to be fun."
"Maintain radio silence after checking in." Havok whispered into the communications. His eyelids felt heavy after mimimizing movement. One by one, his five man team checked in. They were crouching behind rocky outcroppings about twenty five meters apart from each other. Inside the village up front, gunmen silently patrolled the outlines of the rugged landscape. None of them knew that they were being spied on. Havok saw that instead of the usual AKs, they now wielded the older FAMAS models from the Cold War era. No doubt that the supersoldier known as Jorge had broken into an old armory in Fishar's base and stole a full supply of weapons and ammo.
The subject's logic was simple, if one didn't understand the price of war, then they had to experience and pay for it. He had sent Fishar a message from his home village to bring him back after he had been thinking and realizing that the general's motives were right. At first, he was jubiliant, but then began to suspect something. After spotting nothing unusual with the Predator recon, Fishar was still suspicious. He began to assemble a large task force to invade Chile when he was contacted by Actual. The CIA had condemned his actions which could give Chile a legitimate excuse to go to war with the US, unprovoked invasion. Despite Fishar's disagreement, Actual suggested that SILO handle the job of capturing Jorge.
Fishar was disgusted that mercenaries would handle his work until Actual told them about SILO's one-hundred percent success rate. By the time he finished chatting with him, the general already had his phone out and dialing.
Havok agreed to capture the supersoldier and deliver him to Fishar's outpost in the mountains of Utah. He charged nine million dollars, which he waved away like it was nothing.
As the patrols began to fade due to the fast approaching night, he silently crawled out of the cover and began to slowly advance to the village. Havok quickly scanned his weapon, a Remington ACR with a suppressor. The weapon still made a disturbing sound, even with the silencer fitted on the barrel. Tyler Lee tapped his shoulder and held up two fingers before extending his palm and making a walking motion. Both men silently went around the other side of the shelter and they gave the clear signal once the two patrols had passed the small cluster of houses.
Jorge had been spotted at the center hut in the small group and he was probably off guard. Since nobody had seen movement in the arid area, Havok turned to cover Lee's back as he opened the door. Since it was greased with chicken fat, the hinges did not squeak.
Jorge was sitting with his back to the duo with another guard that laid on a cot. They already knew that his sidekick was sleeping by the loud snores that came from him. The common sleep disorder known as snores could get as loud as a pneumatic drill. Havok and Lee timed their approach with the snores, ironically using Jorge's own guard to capture him.
Havok went for Jorge while Lee unsheathed his knife. He balled a fist and struck the back of Jorge's head where the spine connected the skull. Jorge flew forward, dazed for a second before kicking up the chair. This caught Victor off guard and he tripped.
Lee, hearing the conforntation impaled the guard through the neck. Blood pooled on the cot as he lay dying. Jorge was on him like a charging rhino and Lee was unable to get any weapon out in time. The close quarters negated many of his martial arts moves that he was better at, requiring maneuverability. Lee struck with an uppercut and found himself parrying blows from Jorge that were nearly impossible to block from the incredible speed.
Eventually Jorge had gotten the upper hand, grabbing and pulling Lee towards him while sending a roundhouse into the operations director's stomach. His breath went out in an explosive whoosh and the force tore his arm out of Jorge's grip and he hit the stove. He pounced on him and prepared another martial arts hold until he heard the click of a weapon.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Havok held his handgun of choice at the supersoldier's head. Tension began to build as Jorge tried to get his mind around the situation.
"You're already too late." Jorge sneered, reaching for the radio to call for help. He pressed a button, only to get the crackle of static. Seeing the confusion on his face, Havok kept his Five seveN up and revealed the portable electronic jammer in his pocket that he had activated.
The door burst open and US marines flooded the house. Havok looked in the village outskirts to see moonlight shining on dozens of men that crouched in front of Fishar's men. However the troops wore a large armored jacket with new angular and more sophisticated helmets. Fearsome commandos for a fearsome marine unit.
The general strode inside and eyed Jorge with a smug look while showing his new troops. "Meet your new squad."
Schrader found VanGuilder by his station in Defiant's bridge. The electronics expert opened a hatch on the small earpiece that they had found on Jorge. He took a set of tweezers and removed a microchip, smaller than his thumbnail.
"You might have to apply for surgery." Schrader joked.
VanGuilder shook his head, "Fixer already noticed and now I'm banned from touching anything in his medical lab. Especially the fermaldahyde."
They got down to work, decoding the transmission in the earpiece. Little dialogue was made out from the chatter, but Schrader did find something.
"That just said Tango-Delta 70."
"You lost me at Tango." VanGuilder stared blankly as he took a swig of his Venom energy drink. The ex-Bundeswehr began his explanation. "Tango-Delta 70 is a code for certain military branches to eliminate deserters. It has a pattern when soldiers have to hunt down the rogue, where the officer is in the front with his entrire group covering behind in a wide V similar to the geese flock."
"So then was it Fishar who ordered TD-70 or was it Jorge? We already know that somehow Jorge got his own gang of triggermen."
"You guys have no idea how easy it is to get a local and his AK to protect you." Both men turned to see Havok walk back onto the bridge. "Rex's guarding our guest while we transport him back to Norfolk for interrogation. There we will hand him off to Fishar."
"What happens after that?" VanGuilder asked. Havok shook his head in response, "He never told me." Shifting gears, he sat down on the command seat and began relaying orders. "Helm, once we clear all major traffic, increase speed to thirty knots and head north to Norfolk." He got up from his seat and headed towards the mess hall.
Alexis met him at the door. "Where are you going?"
"Might as well give the prisoner some food while he's here."
"Well hurry up." She called after him, "You'll miss out on the Brazilian feast that Francois is preparing tonight!"
Havok arrived at the cell a few minutes after Rex ended his guard shift. His friend grinned at him as he opened the door to the large bulletproof and soundproof glass chamber. There was a metal table in the center and Jorge was sitting in front with arms folded and eyes closed deep in thought.
The door shut and the supersoldier's eyes slowly opened. Havok set the tray of food in front of him. "You look hungry."
Jorge took the plastic fork and was about to poke a piece of grilled chicken breast when he stopped and raised an eyebrow at Havok. The SILO commander chuckled, "Don't worry. I didn't poison it."
Vic let a few minutes of silence go by as Jorge downed the chicken, green beans and seasoned rice. He folded his arms and looked across the table.
"Are you with Fishar?" Jorge asked. Havok was taken aback by the voice, it was quite a rumble and could easily strike fear into the nervous.
"No." Havok replied, "We were simply hired to get you into captivity. My questions that I currently have are of my own interest." He indicated to the surrounding glass. "The wall is bulletproof and soundproof, so nothing will escape this room. Now can you explain your history with Nathan Fishar?"
Jorge sighed, taking a woeful look around the cell, "From what he has told me, I am the son of the deceased Chairman of Marzo Corporation, who produces medical supplies in South America. He also told me that my father was a notorious drug dealer, not only a threat to Chile, but even the entire western area of South America. My longtime goal in his eyes, was to become what he described as the newest cutting edge soldier. Expert in all fields from weapons, to aircraft to even survival in the Arctic."
"So I'm assuming that during your childhood, you had underwent rigorous training?"
"That is correct, Commander. Shortly after the conditioning, approximately a year ago, I was first deployed to Iran to test my abilities. My orders were to storm an entire compound and eliminate an entire group of insurgents. I performed the mission flawlessly by myself and seemed to impress Fishar enough to send me on the four month trail of finding and eliminating my father."
"Please call me Havok." Vic corrected, "One thing I do not understand, is how Fishar branded you as a deserter."
"After I eliminated my father, I realized that he was trying to get out of the drug trade, not increase his role. I know it is not an American thing to eliminate an unarmed person, no matter how wanted they are, but I still killed him. I remember it like it was yesterday, leveling my pistol at his nose and pulling the trigger. Fishar was most pleased when I returned that day. Still, the hopelessness in my father's eyes has never left me. The general was strict, when I never followed orders to the letter. In fact he is still like that."
"Then let's hope we can change that." Havok said in a hopeful tone before he exited the cell.
They handed off a cuffed Jorge to a parked UH-60. Fishar and his guards had come to oversee the transfer. Once everyone was aboard, the rotors began to turn. Fishar had nodded to Havok who had come alone and handed him a small piece of paper with a code on it. Havok would later relay the code to Rex to confirm the account transfer.
It would be three days later when Havok had heard anything worthwile. Rex was watching the television when breaking news came on.
"General Nathan Fishar was found this morning dead in his office. Apparently, forensics are still investigating. The cause of the death was a toxin applied to a oen. Fishar was eating a sandwich with the poisoned hand just before he died. More when we come back." The music began to play as SILO's second in command turned it off.
"See, now that's why we wash our hands before lunch."
Chapter 17 (Unofficial)Edit
After his discharge from the armed forces, Marcus Xavier, known to the 37th SSD as Wildcard finally was able to integrate himself in civilian life. He married his childhood friend Gabrielle Addison and with her, fathered two children. A month later, he happily accepted his new job as first officer at Emirates Airlines. Having flown for Emirates for 6 years, he also owned an apartment in Dubai. Other pilots would often gather in the pilot lounge of Dubai's airport where they asked questions to the war hero. However, Marcus was more than eager to put the past behind him, but still said a few words about his experiences as a supersoldier.
Marcus finally got some time for leave to help mend the rift that his job opened between him and his family.
In a week, he had taken his family to amusement parks, beaches and one night took his wife out for a very pleasing dinner. It was quite an effort to juggle both career and family.
It seemed that life was perfect for the Xavier family, but then everything changed one night.
Marcus and Gabrielle had almost fallen asleep when his wife stirred at something that sounded different in their house at Maui. She heard their infant daughter, Lyra stiffle slightly.
"Marcus." She whispered, "Wake up."
He was awake in an instant and rolled over to her side. "Nightmares again?" It was too dark to see, but she could tell he was grinning.
"No. I think someone is in our house."
He was about to protest when he heard it too. Footsteps. Whoever the intruder, or intruders were, they appeared to be patrolling the kitchen. He looked over the bed at the clock and security. The alarm was still set, but wasn't tripped and it was nearly one-thirty in the morning. It was confirmed when he heard the sound of a suppressor being placed on the barrel of a weapon. Marcus still kept an AUG A5 in the house's gun safe, but the entrance was adjacent to the kitchen.
Without his wife's consent, Wildcard silently leaned over his nightstand. Gabrielle had placed Marcus Jr. and Lyra underneath the bed's covers and used herself to shield their children. He had found a key that was in a hidden slot and used it to open the second drawer. Inside was an unloaded Five seveN pistol. He took out a pre-loaded clip and silently slid it in, putting it between the bed and muffling the sound as quietly as possible.
"Wait here." He said as he moved to the door, "Don't move until I say that it's clear." Before she could respond, he shut the door and strode to the kitchen. Unfortunately for the intruders, he knew the house better then they did.
Without having to use ammunition, he swung the butt of the pistol into the crouched dark shape around the corner. The assassin never saw it coming and crumpled to the ground.
A storm of bullets tore through the wall seconds later. Wildcard dropped to the ground, firing two bullets. His aim was true as the second gunman went down.
He felt himself being heaved up and grabbed the arm to twist. His opponent, twisted another way and countered the lock. Marcus was caught off guard as the last intruder punched him in the face. As Marcus was getting up, he was slammed into the wall and hit repeatedly. Finally finding an advantage, he pressed the handgun into the rib cage, but suddenly felt himself double over as his enemy kneed him in the groin, causing the pistol to skitter away.
"You supersoldiers don't seem so tough to me." The larger man growled in his face. Marcus wanted to gag at the smell of tobacco in his breath. The gunman reached into his holster and Marcus felt the barrel of a revolver pressed against his head.
"Try anything stupid and I'll blow your skull out."
Marcus' response was to slam the hand with the revolver into the wall. Instantly a round discharged, hitting him in the shoulder. He had been shot before, but not at such close range. Flinching from the shot, the masked man shoved the ex-LANCER to the ground.
"I'm getting paid a lot to do this you know." He chuckled, before cocking the hammer on the revolver.
Suddenly a gunshot resonated through the air and the assailiant fired, before dropping his revolver. He unzipped his black shirt to reveal a dark circle over his chest. Staring over, Marcus saw Gabrielle with his Five seveN, barrel smoking from the discharge. He reached for a knife and flipped it around, preparing to throw the blade.
She never let that happen, squeezing the trigger a second time and both watched as the final assassin dropped to his knees and died.
She turned on the lights so that Marcus could get up. He stared at her with his pistol. In a way, she reminded him of Lara Croft. He ignored his gunshot wound and embraced his wife, who was more than happy to have the ordeal over. He broke away and wiped her tears from her face.
"I'm alright. Nothing serious." He dialed a number on his phone. "Maybe I need to teach you how to shoot that."
"If I hadn't watched you shoot, you might not be here." She reminded him. Marcus disregarded his wife's chauvinistic attitude and frowned as the amount of rings on his phone increased.
"Hello?" Someone answered on the other line.
"Damian? Yeah, I need your help."