Globall War of Terror - Nightmare
May. 10th, 2018 01:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGloball War of Terror - Nightmare
We were rolling on two lane paved road, the battered barracks van in the lead, recovery truck behind, then bus then shuttle. It was early afternoon, the heat of the day had everyone tired and restless.
Then the barracks van blew up in front of us for no apparent reason.
Buddy brought us to a panic stop, herringbone left, and I dismounted with my binoculars.
The interstate bus went herringbone right which left the shuttle bus enough time to stop in the center.
I had just time to realize I was hearing rotor blades when I heard extremely powerful loudspeakers.
"HOMELAND! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!"
Three helicopters. A recon bird with rockets, which had just put paid to the van and killed three of my people. Two medium transports that even now were disgorging troops on either side of the road, flanking us at 100 yards. Ideal distance for trained troops, not so good for us.
Brooke brought her rifle up and fired controlled bursts at one of the helicopters.
Its minigun tore her to shreds.
"Next rocket goes in a bus! Drop your weapons!" said the enemy officer over his bullhorn, from his dismount position. A designated marksman already had a bead on my chest, I could see the reflections from his red laser.
I thought about it. I seriously thought about it. A clean death by fire.
But perhaps we could BS or bribe our way out of this yet. I keyed my mike.
"Weapons down," I ordered.
Everyone complied. The troops rushed us, then the buses. They started pulling the passengers off the buses.
One man briefly resisted and was riddled with bullets.
I stood there with my hands raised until the enemy officer came over to me. I still wore my sidearm but I had no chance of drawing it.
"[Echo 18]," he introduced himself. _He knew my name_.
"These people are innocent. I kidnapped them," I began.
He interrupted.
"They are enemy aliens and will be properly taken care of."
They took our shovels and made them dig a ditch at the side of the road.
Buddy also still had his hands up. He had misplaced his pistol somewhere. No one paid attention to him.
Then the machine gun team started setting up.
I drew and my world shattered.
When I regained consciousness, my broken right arm had been crudely splinted with one of our own splints. My belt gear had been cut off and the contents of my pockets removed. Aches told me that I had been thoroughly searched while I was out.
Two Homeland ... soldiers? No. Not soldiers. Paramilitaries? Thugs? Genocidaires? stood watch over me. One had broken my arm with a baton while the other had jabbed me with a cattle prod. Temporary memory loss is a known side effect.
I had failed my own personal kill house exercise.
I sat by myself. Three of my guards sat some distance away.
Buddy's headless body was nearby. He'd gone for it too.
And there was a jumbled line of corpses tumbled into the newly dug trench. Including three on litters from the ambulance. And children.
"Fill it in," the enemy officer ordered my guards.
They did, wielding shovels while held at gunpoint. And when they had finished all but a few feet, they too were shot.
They stood me up under my armpits to walk me over to the bit of trench remaining.
The enemy officer put his hand on my shoulder.
"You did your best," he said kindly. Then he turned me away from him. I heard the whisper of his pistol draw.
"... wake up, sir ..."
I sat bolt upright with my right arm asleep.
It was early afternoon. I was in the shade of the bus. Everyone around me was still alive.
Brooke -- whom I had last seen ripped apart by minigun fire -- walked up.
"About that time, sir," she said and handed me a bottle of water.
I drank deeply.
Then I shuddered.
"Bad dream," I explained briefly.
Then geared up to do my best to keep it from becoming reality.
We were rolling on two lane paved road, the battered barracks van in the lead, recovery truck behind, then bus then shuttle. It was early afternoon, the heat of the day had everyone tired and restless.
Then the barracks van blew up in front of us for no apparent reason.
Buddy brought us to a panic stop, herringbone left, and I dismounted with my binoculars.
The interstate bus went herringbone right which left the shuttle bus enough time to stop in the center.
I had just time to realize I was hearing rotor blades when I heard extremely powerful loudspeakers.
"HOMELAND! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!"
Three helicopters. A recon bird with rockets, which had just put paid to the van and killed three of my people. Two medium transports that even now were disgorging troops on either side of the road, flanking us at 100 yards. Ideal distance for trained troops, not so good for us.
Brooke brought her rifle up and fired controlled bursts at one of the helicopters.
Its minigun tore her to shreds.
"Next rocket goes in a bus! Drop your weapons!" said the enemy officer over his bullhorn, from his dismount position. A designated marksman already had a bead on my chest, I could see the reflections from his red laser.
I thought about it. I seriously thought about it. A clean death by fire.
But perhaps we could BS or bribe our way out of this yet. I keyed my mike.
"Weapons down," I ordered.
Everyone complied. The troops rushed us, then the buses. They started pulling the passengers off the buses.
One man briefly resisted and was riddled with bullets.
I stood there with my hands raised until the enemy officer came over to me. I still wore my sidearm but I had no chance of drawing it.
"[Echo 18]," he introduced himself. _He knew my name_.
"These people are innocent. I kidnapped them," I began.
He interrupted.
"They are enemy aliens and will be properly taken care of."
They took our shovels and made them dig a ditch at the side of the road.
Buddy also still had his hands up. He had misplaced his pistol somewhere. No one paid attention to him.
Then the machine gun team started setting up.
I drew and my world shattered.
When I regained consciousness, my broken right arm had been crudely splinted with one of our own splints. My belt gear had been cut off and the contents of my pockets removed. Aches told me that I had been thoroughly searched while I was out.
Two Homeland ... soldiers? No. Not soldiers. Paramilitaries? Thugs? Genocidaires? stood watch over me. One had broken my arm with a baton while the other had jabbed me with a cattle prod. Temporary memory loss is a known side effect.
I had failed my own personal kill house exercise.
I sat by myself. Three of my guards sat some distance away.
Buddy's headless body was nearby. He'd gone for it too.
And there was a jumbled line of corpses tumbled into the newly dug trench. Including three on litters from the ambulance. And children.
"Fill it in," the enemy officer ordered my guards.
They did, wielding shovels while held at gunpoint. And when they had finished all but a few feet, they too were shot.
They stood me up under my armpits to walk me over to the bit of trench remaining.
The enemy officer put his hand on my shoulder.
"You did your best," he said kindly. Then he turned me away from him. I heard the whisper of his pistol draw.
"... wake up, sir ..."
I sat bolt upright with my right arm asleep.
It was early afternoon. I was in the shade of the bus. Everyone around me was still alive.
Brooke -- whom I had last seen ripped apart by minigun fire -- walked up.
"About that time, sir," she said and handed me a bottle of water.
I drank deeply.
Then I shuddered.
"Bad dream," I explained briefly.
Then geared up to do my best to keep it from becoming reality.
