Post by johncheese on Jul 9, 2012 16:19:08 GMT -5
The Jeep Wrangler skidded to a halt across the cracked tarmac, the radio blaring and headlights peircing through the darkness as the sun set over the glowing haze of Tijuana in the distance. As the driver and passengers got out they looked around using the tactical lights mounted on their pistols to light up the gloom as they headed towards the Lear Jet squatting in the centere of the field sorounded by the rusting hulks of outdated aircraft. The three men and one women made it to their jet before arguing in Spanish before they split into two groups; the leather clad hispanic woman and bald colossus of a man squeezed into suit heading to the car as the two almost identical greasey haired men stayed by the plane continuing to scan the darkness for threats.
“Get the case out first idiota.” the woman snapped at the big man as he pulled out a large box from the Jeep’s boot. “That’s what is important all this other stuff is collateral.”
“I don’t see why we’re running?” the bald man asked as he reached in and grabbed an aluminium case, “Just because Rohas hires one guy.”
“You are an idiot.” the woman hissed, “Anyone else would have taken days to find the leak, he takes hours tops. Mark my word he is dangerous.” The larger man huffed as he picked up the box he had removed first. “If he was so dangerous why isn’t he here right now?” he asked as he placed the box at the twins feet.
“He’s right.” one of the twins added, “We have had three perimiter breaches in the last hour; two mangy cyotes and the largest rattler I’ve ever seen.”
“So your saying he ain’t here.” the other stated, “That we outrun him.”
“Tiene mierda para cerebros?” the woman cursed, “He is here, now load that and burn the rest we need to leave before the window closes.”
“Crazy chica.” the bald man stated, “Nobody can touch us.”
The sound of the conversation radiated out several hundrad meters to the wreck of an Mi-17, it’s chassis so heavily oxidized that it flaked off to the touch. Crouching under the crew compartment Crossfire smiled, he knew that attitude to well, had fealt it so many times before but as the old proverb so rightly stated pride definatly came before a fall. Scanning the air-field Crossfire picked up four thermal signitures before crossing the image with the audio image creating a multi dimensonal image of the group. It wasn’t quite the same as seeing with your own eyes, he mused, but it was good enough to locate a target. Silently he finished the simulation run through of the hit he was about to perform, estimating distances, time to secondary fire positions, wind speed and a hundrad other varriables. He considered the hunt the fun part of an assignment, matching wits with an opponent, manuvering them into position but when it came to the kill it was simply buisness no matter who or what the target was.
“Who the hell would that Cross guy recognize us?” one of the twins asked, “Langley’s files are so secure it would take a genius to hack in.”
Crossfire smiled again, Rohas had hirred him three days ago, it had taken him a day to get to the Mexican’s compound, five hours to ID all five undercover CIA agents, another three to get the remainder jumping after he made sure that their friend would never move again and only twenty minutes to convince his employer to set the trap for the idiots now congrugating around the plane. Aside from the woman they were too cocky, the fact that he’d turned their associate from loyal CIA agent to a suicidal hit woman with only a few choice words didn’t seem to register with them. Unfolding his weapon of choice for this mission, a Pneu-Dart 176B Rifle, he lined up the first shot not bothering to use the attached sight instead relying on his optical implants to lock onto the bald man’s neck. Squeezing the trigger he fired watching as the dart embedded in the agent’s neck, the blow sending a shiver down his body before he stood motionless like a statue.
“Viene en usted jodiendo a imbécil que tenemos que conseguir mover” the female agent snapped at the bald guy who just stood there, now litually a prisoner in his own flesh. Peering behind the man the woman noticed the dart and backed off removing the saftey from her pistol. “He’s here?” she yelled alerting the twins as they closed the cargo compartment. Immediately the agents started scanning the perimiter as they backed behind the jet’s landing gear. Crossfire watched and selected a new position that would give him a clear line of sight before reloading the dart gun and sprinting across the tarmac to a F5 Tiger, it’s wing tips snapped off and cockpit dented with holes. Lining up a second shot he fired, the dart embedding into one of the twin’s foreheads sending him collapsing, his finger shuddering on the trigger as he fell, a few shots clipping one of the Lear Jet’s engine, the last bullet breaching the tank and causing a steady dribble of fuel to splat onto the runway.
The woman and the remaining twin looked over to the ladder up to the Lear Jet and ran darting round the landing gear, Jeep Wrangler and their parylyzed comrade before reaching the steps. The twin reached the steps first and Crossfire pulled the trigger again, the dart clipping him in the arm sending him slipping down the steps as his comrade sprung over his falling body before reaching the top of the steps. Crossfire reloaded again and fired the final shot, the dart richoceting off the top of the steps into her rump freezing her in her tracks. Crossfire smiled and scanned the area, four targets neutralized, one would most likley be dead in three minutes but the others would still be useful. Removing a tablet he typed a set of comandes before sending them to the darts embedded in the CIA agents. Shuddering like marionettes grasped by a puppet master the agents threw down their weapons and lined up by the Lear Jet as the woman picked up the case and held it out ready for collection
“Get the case out first idiota.” the woman snapped at the big man as he pulled out a large box from the Jeep’s boot. “That’s what is important all this other stuff is collateral.”
“I don’t see why we’re running?” the bald man asked as he reached in and grabbed an aluminium case, “Just because Rohas hires one guy.”
“You are an idiot.” the woman hissed, “Anyone else would have taken days to find the leak, he takes hours tops. Mark my word he is dangerous.” The larger man huffed as he picked up the box he had removed first. “If he was so dangerous why isn’t he here right now?” he asked as he placed the box at the twins feet.
“He’s right.” one of the twins added, “We have had three perimiter breaches in the last hour; two mangy cyotes and the largest rattler I’ve ever seen.”
“So your saying he ain’t here.” the other stated, “That we outrun him.”
“Tiene mierda para cerebros?” the woman cursed, “He is here, now load that and burn the rest we need to leave before the window closes.”
“Crazy chica.” the bald man stated, “Nobody can touch us.”
The sound of the conversation radiated out several hundrad meters to the wreck of an Mi-17, it’s chassis so heavily oxidized that it flaked off to the touch. Crouching under the crew compartment Crossfire smiled, he knew that attitude to well, had fealt it so many times before but as the old proverb so rightly stated pride definatly came before a fall. Scanning the air-field Crossfire picked up four thermal signitures before crossing the image with the audio image creating a multi dimensonal image of the group. It wasn’t quite the same as seeing with your own eyes, he mused, but it was good enough to locate a target. Silently he finished the simulation run through of the hit he was about to perform, estimating distances, time to secondary fire positions, wind speed and a hundrad other varriables. He considered the hunt the fun part of an assignment, matching wits with an opponent, manuvering them into position but when it came to the kill it was simply buisness no matter who or what the target was.
“Who the hell would that Cross guy recognize us?” one of the twins asked, “Langley’s files are so secure it would take a genius to hack in.”
Crossfire smiled again, Rohas had hirred him three days ago, it had taken him a day to get to the Mexican’s compound, five hours to ID all five undercover CIA agents, another three to get the remainder jumping after he made sure that their friend would never move again and only twenty minutes to convince his employer to set the trap for the idiots now congrugating around the plane. Aside from the woman they were too cocky, the fact that he’d turned their associate from loyal CIA agent to a suicidal hit woman with only a few choice words didn’t seem to register with them. Unfolding his weapon of choice for this mission, a Pneu-Dart 176B Rifle, he lined up the first shot not bothering to use the attached sight instead relying on his optical implants to lock onto the bald man’s neck. Squeezing the trigger he fired watching as the dart embedded in the agent’s neck, the blow sending a shiver down his body before he stood motionless like a statue.
“Viene en usted jodiendo a imbécil que tenemos que conseguir mover” the female agent snapped at the bald guy who just stood there, now litually a prisoner in his own flesh. Peering behind the man the woman noticed the dart and backed off removing the saftey from her pistol. “He’s here?” she yelled alerting the twins as they closed the cargo compartment. Immediately the agents started scanning the perimiter as they backed behind the jet’s landing gear. Crossfire watched and selected a new position that would give him a clear line of sight before reloading the dart gun and sprinting across the tarmac to a F5 Tiger, it’s wing tips snapped off and cockpit dented with holes. Lining up a second shot he fired, the dart embedding into one of the twin’s foreheads sending him collapsing, his finger shuddering on the trigger as he fell, a few shots clipping one of the Lear Jet’s engine, the last bullet breaching the tank and causing a steady dribble of fuel to splat onto the runway.
The woman and the remaining twin looked over to the ladder up to the Lear Jet and ran darting round the landing gear, Jeep Wrangler and their parylyzed comrade before reaching the steps. The twin reached the steps first and Crossfire pulled the trigger again, the dart clipping him in the arm sending him slipping down the steps as his comrade sprung over his falling body before reaching the top of the steps. Crossfire reloaded again and fired the final shot, the dart richoceting off the top of the steps into her rump freezing her in her tracks. Crossfire smiled and scanned the area, four targets neutralized, one would most likley be dead in three minutes but the others would still be useful. Removing a tablet he typed a set of comandes before sending them to the darts embedded in the CIA agents. Shuddering like marionettes grasped by a puppet master the agents threw down their weapons and lined up by the Lear Jet as the woman picked up the case and held it out ready for collection