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GWOT VI - Sideswipe
May. 11th, 2020 07:20 pmGWOT VI Sideswipe
Four motorcycles. Two have sidecars. All stolen. The riders shouldn't even be in Iowa.
But they are all wearing full face helmets rated for both military and riding use, equipped with microphones hooked up to radios.
They are also wearing gray patterned body armor. Only the shoulder patch on the right shoulder betrays their origin - a black outline of a state on the west coast of the North American continent, no longer part of America.
They do not have California flags displayed on the long whip antennas also hooked up to their radios.
The sidecars are loaded with anonymous looking black fabric packs, and a couple of long pieces of metal each.
They are traveling in a loose formation, two by two. There is no one ahead of them; no one behind them either. Going somewhere to do something. Quickly.
They pull into a gas station off the freeway, take over the last lane of the last island. The restaurant closed long ago, not a factor.
Smoothly, three of the four pull out machine pistols with long wide barrels. Suppressed. The fourth has broken off the access panel to the pump and hotwired the card reader; she then starts filling the gas tanks of the cycles and, somehow, something in each of the sidecars.
The gas station attendant comes outside to object, sees the machine pistols and turns to run back into the store. A machine pistol coughs twice and he falls hard on the concrete. He does not get up.
Two of the soldiers enter the gas station. Their moves are quick, sure. They go behind the counter, ignoring the register, and hit some switches.
The fourth is covering the handful of stunned bystanders, who raise their hands. She then starts shouting.
"Go over there! Run into the fields! Do it now!"
After a moment of stunned disbelief, they do.
Once the soldiers come out - one has helped himself to a package of beef jerky in passing - they start going to each pump, taking the handles off their holders, using zip ties to activate each and thereby causing it to spray gasoline all over the ground.
One by one, the soldier fueling the cycles moves them a safe distance away.
Soon there is a dangerous spreading pool of gasoline lapping at the bystander vehicles, which have not been moved.
Three of the soldiers get on their cycles. Put their visors down.
The fourth looks around, takes something from her vest. Points it.
A flare round.
The small fireball is impressive.
The much larger fireball as the station pumps are ignited would have singed his eyebrows if his visor had not been down.
The gas station will not explode. But it will burn to the ground and the melted pumps will inhibit any effort to use the tanks. The store is far enough away that it will not catch on fire, although the heat bubbles windows and paint.
Satisfied, she turns to mount her bike.
The car hits her and the bike, sideswiping both, and rams into a concrete stanchion, stopping it.
The driver is shouting something unintelligble when the California soldiers smoothly empty their magazines into him.
They reload, and as if they have practiced, change everything about what they are doing.
One gets out her rifle from its long holster on the rear of her bike and starts shooting every civilian in sight, in order of their distance from the station. Runners live longer, but not by much. Less than a minute later, the only survivors are the ones she can't see.
Another starts reading into his radio, as if from a script. It is a script he has memorized. An incantation, to summon a flying carpet.
The third opens the visor of the downed soldier and starts talking to her, loudly, while running his hands heedless of modesty down her body. When he reaches her hips, she screams. His gloved hands are wet with urine when he checks her groin.
The chanter flips up his visor.
"Twenty minutes," he says to the team.
The soldier giving care starts to get out an injector, and hesitates. His patient, panting with the effort to not scream, hisses "NO. NOT. YET."
Someone stands and tries to run for it. A single shot ends their attempt.
Grimly, the chanter gets out his own rifle and two of the three soldiers march around the burning station, firing as needed to assure scene security.
The civilians had been a tolerable risk while the visit was short.
With a team member down, and a helicopter inbound, they were no longer a tolerable risk.
One of the team members enters the store briefly from the side not facing the inferno, comes out with an armful of blankets. He wraps the casualty, to keep her warm.
He goes back inside, picks up the phone, dials a number, says a few words. Then he busies himself with a few errands - turning off the fire sprinklers, lighting stuff on fire.
When he leaves the store a second time, wisps of smoke follow.
A few minutes later, the crying soldier finally nods. The injection goes into her thigh.
It numbs her pain - but risks her breathing.
But the helicopter has a paramedic and full equipment.
As it approaches, it circles the burning station and pumps once. Then a second time, with brief bursts of gunfire from the side-mounted machine guns. Hiding from the ground is not always the same as hiding from the air.
Then it lands, two soldiers get out - one armed only with a backboard - and run to the casualty.
Again as if practiced, the California team secures her to the backboard and lifts into the helicopter.
The downed cycle is not functional. As the helicopter lifts, the now three person team strips radio and some equipment from it.
The helicopter, without circling, races west in the direction from where it came.
The cycles - two with sidecars, one without - get back on the highway.
They still have a mission.
###
"911, what is your emergency."
"A California soldier was attacked here. We therefore destroyed the station and shot everyone. Viva California."
>CLICK<
###
IHL Rule One and Rule Six
Rule 1. The parties to the conflict must at all times distinguish between civilians and combatants. Attacks may only be directed against combatants. Attacks must not be directed against civilians.
Rule 6. Civilians are protected against attack, unless and for such time as they take a direct part in hostilities.
Four motorcycles. Two have sidecars. All stolen. The riders shouldn't even be in Iowa.
But they are all wearing full face helmets rated for both military and riding use, equipped with microphones hooked up to radios.
They are also wearing gray patterned body armor. Only the shoulder patch on the right shoulder betrays their origin - a black outline of a state on the west coast of the North American continent, no longer part of America.
They do not have California flags displayed on the long whip antennas also hooked up to their radios.
The sidecars are loaded with anonymous looking black fabric packs, and a couple of long pieces of metal each.
They are traveling in a loose formation, two by two. There is no one ahead of them; no one behind them either. Going somewhere to do something. Quickly.
They pull into a gas station off the freeway, take over the last lane of the last island. The restaurant closed long ago, not a factor.
Smoothly, three of the four pull out machine pistols with long wide barrels. Suppressed. The fourth has broken off the access panel to the pump and hotwired the card reader; she then starts filling the gas tanks of the cycles and, somehow, something in each of the sidecars.
The gas station attendant comes outside to object, sees the machine pistols and turns to run back into the store. A machine pistol coughs twice and he falls hard on the concrete. He does not get up.
Two of the soldiers enter the gas station. Their moves are quick, sure. They go behind the counter, ignoring the register, and hit some switches.
The fourth is covering the handful of stunned bystanders, who raise their hands. She then starts shouting.
"Go over there! Run into the fields! Do it now!"
After a moment of stunned disbelief, they do.
Once the soldiers come out - one has helped himself to a package of beef jerky in passing - they start going to each pump, taking the handles off their holders, using zip ties to activate each and thereby causing it to spray gasoline all over the ground.
One by one, the soldier fueling the cycles moves them a safe distance away.
Soon there is a dangerous spreading pool of gasoline lapping at the bystander vehicles, which have not been moved.
Three of the soldiers get on their cycles. Put their visors down.
The fourth looks around, takes something from her vest. Points it.
A flare round.
The small fireball is impressive.
The much larger fireball as the station pumps are ignited would have singed his eyebrows if his visor had not been down.
The gas station will not explode. But it will burn to the ground and the melted pumps will inhibit any effort to use the tanks. The store is far enough away that it will not catch on fire, although the heat bubbles windows and paint.
Satisfied, she turns to mount her bike.
The car hits her and the bike, sideswiping both, and rams into a concrete stanchion, stopping it.
The driver is shouting something unintelligble when the California soldiers smoothly empty their magazines into him.
They reload, and as if they have practiced, change everything about what they are doing.
One gets out her rifle from its long holster on the rear of her bike and starts shooting every civilian in sight, in order of their distance from the station. Runners live longer, but not by much. Less than a minute later, the only survivors are the ones she can't see.
Another starts reading into his radio, as if from a script. It is a script he has memorized. An incantation, to summon a flying carpet.
The third opens the visor of the downed soldier and starts talking to her, loudly, while running his hands heedless of modesty down her body. When he reaches her hips, she screams. His gloved hands are wet with urine when he checks her groin.
The chanter flips up his visor.
"Twenty minutes," he says to the team.
The soldier giving care starts to get out an injector, and hesitates. His patient, panting with the effort to not scream, hisses "NO. NOT. YET."
Someone stands and tries to run for it. A single shot ends their attempt.
Grimly, the chanter gets out his own rifle and two of the three soldiers march around the burning station, firing as needed to assure scene security.
The civilians had been a tolerable risk while the visit was short.
With a team member down, and a helicopter inbound, they were no longer a tolerable risk.
One of the team members enters the store briefly from the side not facing the inferno, comes out with an armful of blankets. He wraps the casualty, to keep her warm.
He goes back inside, picks up the phone, dials a number, says a few words. Then he busies himself with a few errands - turning off the fire sprinklers, lighting stuff on fire.
When he leaves the store a second time, wisps of smoke follow.
A few minutes later, the crying soldier finally nods. The injection goes into her thigh.
It numbs her pain - but risks her breathing.
But the helicopter has a paramedic and full equipment.
As it approaches, it circles the burning station and pumps once. Then a second time, with brief bursts of gunfire from the side-mounted machine guns. Hiding from the ground is not always the same as hiding from the air.
Then it lands, two soldiers get out - one armed only with a backboard - and run to the casualty.
Again as if practiced, the California team secures her to the backboard and lifts into the helicopter.
The downed cycle is not functional. As the helicopter lifts, the now three person team strips radio and some equipment from it.
The helicopter, without circling, races west in the direction from where it came.
The cycles - two with sidecars, one without - get back on the highway.
They still have a mission.
###
"911, what is your emergency."
"A California soldier was attacked here. We therefore destroyed the station and shot everyone. Viva California."
>CLICK<
###
IHL Rule One and Rule Six
Rule 1. The parties to the conflict must at all times distinguish between civilians and combatants. Attacks may only be directed against combatants. Attacks must not be directed against civilians.
Rule 6. Civilians are protected against attack, unless and for such time as they take a direct part in hostilities.
