Post by syphon on Aug 6, 2007 7:42:54 GMT -5
Hey guys, here's part of my book that's in the works. Please read and comment! No stealing! It's been copyrighted.
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Chapter 1: Awakening
Lieutenant Grant was looking at the compound from behind a squad car which stood in half a circle amongst other squad cars.
Grant and his men from the precinct had been laying siege to the compound the cars semi-circled for over 3 hours now, ever since they arrived
there at about 8 in the morning. None of the men were really nervous, Grant noticed to his content.
He didn't expect them to be, because this was a waiting game like any other they had done.
Grant saw the Nigel twins drink coffee. They were taking turns filling out words of the crossword puzzle, he knew.
A few feet from the Nigels was the new kid on the block, Rumer, sitting on a folding chair, catching up with some sleep after being called for so early
in the morning. Grant shook his head. It was always the same with the new ones. Every time he had a new one assigned to his squad, they would have
to learn to get used to the abnormal rhythym they lived by. No personal life, or at least, as good as none.
Grant looked on and saw that his men were already suited up for an assault, should it prove necessary. That's the way he'd trained them.
If you get there and you're in your gear, the worst thing that can happen to you is that you have to take it
off. However, Grant had always said, if you get caught in the zone without any equipment on you, getting your head bashed in by a mobster was
the best thing to happen to you, should you die in the attack.
"I tell you, the MP5 is the best submachine gun you can get for missions like this. We are not crossing any large open fields, so we don't need any range.
You need maneuverability too, in small confined spaces. You still wonder why I prefer the MP5 over that damn M4 of yours?" Grant heard from behind him.
He turned around and saw the SWAT van, their headquarters, with two of his men discussing weapons behind it.
The man that had been talking was sitting on the rear bumper of the van, his colleague leaning against the open door.
"I am saying that the M4 has power anywhere," the latter said, looking at the other.
That other in turn shook his head. "The M4's barrel is just too big, you'll get that thing stuck behind every single corner we turn."
And so the discussion continued for a while. These two talking about their weapon of choice, the Nigel twins drinking coffee, Rumer sleeping and his sniper, Holter, laying on top of the van, trying to keep his eyes on everyone inside the compound, preferably all at the same time.
Fixing his eye on a survivalist in the compound, Holter again asked for permission to shoot. And yet again, it was denied.
"Get shot at then you can do it" was the reply every time.
Muttering softly, Holter just continued watching the sentry inside.
On the recieving end of the scope, the person in Holter's sight was pacing around nervously in front of the window.
"I don't get it, Tommy. Why do we have to stand guard, all the while watching these glorified mall cops camp out on our porch?"
The guard by the name of Tommy replied with a soft grunt.
"I mean, the Colonel is in the hall, giving a speech and YET again, I am not there. Do you think whoever makes those
guard schedules just wants me to suffer? I bet it's that ape Sanders. He's had it in for me ever since we got here.
Probably jealous of my physique," the sentry said.
In truth, the sentry was an unattractive 30 year old by the name of Joe Masters. His face was blemished by a large mole on his cheek, earning him
the nickname Mole Joe from the others in the compound. The mole had done it, but Joe's tendency to squint was also a great factor.
Slightly overweight and dressed in ragged clothing, Joe had never been a person to care for himself much other than staying alive. Contrary to his clothes, Joe was holding a brand new rifle in his hands, fingering the trigger idly yet nervously. Finally, Tommy spoke up.
"Will you shut up, Joe? Ever since I got posted with you, all you've done is female dog and moan."
Joe grimaced."So? It's what I do." Tommy narrowed his eyes, flexing his trigger finger a few times.
"And you do it well. And lots. So be quiet for a change, alright? There's SWAT out on the doorstep and all you can do is whine about how you want to listen to the
Colonel repeat his nuts over and over again."
Squinting his eyes, Joe raised his weapon and pointed it at Tommy.
"You know what? I'm getting tired of you as well. Always pointing the finger at me when I'm not even the one to blame!"
Tommy looked at the weapon pointed at him. "Put it down, Joe. You aren't going to shoot me." At that moment, in his last moments, Tommy
found out that it wasn't like in the movies. No life flashing before your eyes, no bright tunnel and no enemies that could be persuaded to stand down.
Joe's weapon let out a short burst and all there was for Tommy was a brief burning pain in his gut before he fell over dead.
At that point, things got out of hand fast.
The sniper Holter that had been watching the two bicker was so shocked that the sentry with the mold actually shot his comrade that he himself pulled the trigger.
A single sound, like someone stepping on a twig, was heard, followed by the breaking of glass. To his content, Holter saw the sentry sink to his knees
and soon disappear out of sight, laying on the floor below the window.
"Hold your fire, dammit!" Grant yelled, but the damage was already done. All hell broke loose and from inside the compound, bullets were already flying.
One of the Nigels was the first to go. Laughing at how one redneck mowed down another then got shot by Holter, he in turn was the next to go, a bullet hitting him in the left eye. "Frank!" yelled the other, firing his weapon madly in the direction of the compound.
"Open fire!" Grant yelled, rather unnecessary because by the time he did, most of his men had already emptied a clip at the target.
Unleashing his rifle, Holter, from on top of the van, was softly counting how many rednecks he hit.
"Five.." he whispered, adding up one every time another survivalist went down with a round in the head or heart.
Unaware of everything else but his targets, Holter just carried on and didn't hear the warning.
"Throwing a flashbang!" yelled Rumer, who had obviously gotten up from his sleep.
Every SWAT agent took cover, covering their eyes from the flash that was to follow.
"Come on out you bastard..." Holter spoke just before it went off.
"That makes ni.." he whispered just before it did. The flashbang, in essence a piece of firework, went off, letting out a high pitched bang, at the same time
creating a flash as intense as white phosphorus burning. Screaming, Holter fell off the van as he was startled bt the flashbang.
His armour prevented him from breaking anything, but Holter's body got a major shock and he lay there dazed for a moment before crying out for help.
"My eyes! I can't see!" Grant ran over to him while the firefight still went on, trying to come to his aid.
"Goddamnit! Light enhancer must've.." Grant began but was stopped short by a bullet hitting him in the temple.
He fell over, right on top of a blinded Holter, leaving the both of them incapacitated. Two dead, one blind, SWAT wasn't doing very well.
Inside the compound, things were better. "Those government pawns shot the Mole and Tommy!" was the explanation from
another sentry to his leader, the Colonel. "How many are there left?" he shouted to exceed the noise of the gunfight.
"As far as I can see on this side, four, sir" the sentry yelled. The Colonel frowned. "That can't be all of them! We got two of them, that means there has to be
way more! There's usually snipers, trailers, multiple tactical teams and everything," he said, rubbing his chin. "If nothing happens in the next ten minutes,
we can assume there's only the four of them. In that case, we'll assault them. Got it?"
The sentry nodded and headed back into the fray, sitting next to one window, taking shots at the cops.
Looking around the hall from left to right, the Colonel saw more bodies than just the Mole and Tommy. He shook his fist at the door. "Damn those government pawns!" he yelled, but his vocie was drowned out by all the weapons firing.
Ten minutes past and when none of the entryway guards reported any movement, the Colonel made his decision.
He gathered his most trusted, best armed and most accurate men to him, making for an entourage of twenty angry survivalists.
"The corrupt pawns in the twisted game of the so-called ruler of America have made their last mistake. They shot seven of our number, but we
got at least two in turn. We lost seven but, while regrettable, it is not a great loss. They just have four guys left. By the power of Jesus Christ,
we will destroy these puppets. Let us pray for His favour!" the Colonel spoke. And as one man, the twenty-one kneeled down while the Colonel
proceeded in prayer. "By the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we will proceed into victory on these mindless pawns of the false leader" was the simple
but strong message from the Colonel to his men and Jesus Christ.
After a loud "amen" the men got up and stormed out of the building, guns blazing.
The surviving Nigel twin, Donald, was looking at the scene with eyes wide open.
"They are charging out at us! We have to get out of here!" Rumer yelled, firing his weapon frantically at the survivalists rushing them.
When none of his bullets seemed to hit and the suspects were still coming, Rumer dropped his weapon and wanted to get up.
"Cover your eyes!" Donald yelled, closing his own as well as putting his hands over his ears. "Now THEY are using flashbangs!" he shouted.
On the assaulting team, the Colonel yelled: "Flashbangs! Watch out! But keep running!"
Both of them were wrong. A blinding flash did appear in between of the two parties but caused by neither.
"Ah...it is good to be walking again" a voice spoke, not quite male but not completely female as well.
"What the..?" Donald Nigel as well as the Colonel said in unison. The survivalists stared at the source of the light with amazement.
"Sir..our prayer worked! It is Jesus! It has to be! What else could it be?"
The Colonel nodded. He agreed. What else could it be?
On the other side of the light, the SWAT officers were too confused to still be firing.
"Did you just hear a voice, Donald?" Rumer shouted, his hearing still ringing from the loud sound that had accompanied the light.
"I didn't hear any..." he began but there it was again. More agitated this time. "What are these monkeys doing, we wonder. Can they tell us, we wonder."
"Monkeys? Are we..?" Rumer started. "Lord Jesus Christ! Please slay those infidels, those who offend your followers and that which you stand for!" the Colonel shouted.
In the middle of the light, Donald could see the contours of a face forming. "Why is that light still there? Their flashbangs should've been done flashing!"
The light crackled like static and then it was closer to the cops all of a sudden. "Yes! Lord Jesus Christ! Please avenge our men! Your followers!" came the frantic shouting of the Colonel, standing amidst his entourage that was kneeling and praying. Spurring on the light, the Colonel looked on in amazement, thrilled at his prayer being fullfilled.
Again the light crackled and in the blink of an eye, the cars that had been protecting the men of SWAT were gone.
Gasping for air, Donald and Rumer took in their surroundings. Their shelter was gone. All they had left was their weapons. "Open fire!"
As one, the four fired their weapons at the light, which flickered and expanded slightly in response.
"Why do the monkies try to hurt us? We come in peace, we say." the ghostly voice exclaimed.
Contrary to the voice that was heard, a large claw came swooping out of the lightball, mauling Rumer and one of his colleagues in one fell blow.
"Rumer! Closkey! Goddammit! What IS that thing?" Donald Nigel shouted. "Just shoot it, dammit!" the other remaining cop yelled.
Of course, it was to no avail. Again the claw swiped at the cops and while missing Rumer by the slightest of spaces, his friend was
practically flayed alive. Screaming loudly, Rumer started to back away. "That is right. Flee, little treeclimber. Find shelter from us." the ghostly voice sounded.
It was mocking him now, Rumer knew. But he also knew that surviving had more priority than keeping up appearances right now. So he ran...
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Chapter 1: Awakening
Lieutenant Grant was looking at the compound from behind a squad car which stood in half a circle amongst other squad cars.
Grant and his men from the precinct had been laying siege to the compound the cars semi-circled for over 3 hours now, ever since they arrived
there at about 8 in the morning. None of the men were really nervous, Grant noticed to his content.
He didn't expect them to be, because this was a waiting game like any other they had done.
Grant saw the Nigel twins drink coffee. They were taking turns filling out words of the crossword puzzle, he knew.
A few feet from the Nigels was the new kid on the block, Rumer, sitting on a folding chair, catching up with some sleep after being called for so early
in the morning. Grant shook his head. It was always the same with the new ones. Every time he had a new one assigned to his squad, they would have
to learn to get used to the abnormal rhythym they lived by. No personal life, or at least, as good as none.
Grant looked on and saw that his men were already suited up for an assault, should it prove necessary. That's the way he'd trained them.
If you get there and you're in your gear, the worst thing that can happen to you is that you have to take it
off. However, Grant had always said, if you get caught in the zone without any equipment on you, getting your head bashed in by a mobster was
the best thing to happen to you, should you die in the attack.
"I tell you, the MP5 is the best submachine gun you can get for missions like this. We are not crossing any large open fields, so we don't need any range.
You need maneuverability too, in small confined spaces. You still wonder why I prefer the MP5 over that damn M4 of yours?" Grant heard from behind him.
He turned around and saw the SWAT van, their headquarters, with two of his men discussing weapons behind it.
The man that had been talking was sitting on the rear bumper of the van, his colleague leaning against the open door.
"I am saying that the M4 has power anywhere," the latter said, looking at the other.
That other in turn shook his head. "The M4's barrel is just too big, you'll get that thing stuck behind every single corner we turn."
And so the discussion continued for a while. These two talking about their weapon of choice, the Nigel twins drinking coffee, Rumer sleeping and his sniper, Holter, laying on top of the van, trying to keep his eyes on everyone inside the compound, preferably all at the same time.
Fixing his eye on a survivalist in the compound, Holter again asked for permission to shoot. And yet again, it was denied.
"Get shot at then you can do it" was the reply every time.
Muttering softly, Holter just continued watching the sentry inside.
On the recieving end of the scope, the person in Holter's sight was pacing around nervously in front of the window.
"I don't get it, Tommy. Why do we have to stand guard, all the while watching these glorified mall cops camp out on our porch?"
The guard by the name of Tommy replied with a soft grunt.
"I mean, the Colonel is in the hall, giving a speech and YET again, I am not there. Do you think whoever makes those
guard schedules just wants me to suffer? I bet it's that ape Sanders. He's had it in for me ever since we got here.
Probably jealous of my physique," the sentry said.
In truth, the sentry was an unattractive 30 year old by the name of Joe Masters. His face was blemished by a large mole on his cheek, earning him
the nickname Mole Joe from the others in the compound. The mole had done it, but Joe's tendency to squint was also a great factor.
Slightly overweight and dressed in ragged clothing, Joe had never been a person to care for himself much other than staying alive. Contrary to his clothes, Joe was holding a brand new rifle in his hands, fingering the trigger idly yet nervously. Finally, Tommy spoke up.
"Will you shut up, Joe? Ever since I got posted with you, all you've done is female dog and moan."
Joe grimaced."So? It's what I do." Tommy narrowed his eyes, flexing his trigger finger a few times.
"And you do it well. And lots. So be quiet for a change, alright? There's SWAT out on the doorstep and all you can do is whine about how you want to listen to the
Colonel repeat his nuts over and over again."
Squinting his eyes, Joe raised his weapon and pointed it at Tommy.
"You know what? I'm getting tired of you as well. Always pointing the finger at me when I'm not even the one to blame!"
Tommy looked at the weapon pointed at him. "Put it down, Joe. You aren't going to shoot me." At that moment, in his last moments, Tommy
found out that it wasn't like in the movies. No life flashing before your eyes, no bright tunnel and no enemies that could be persuaded to stand down.
Joe's weapon let out a short burst and all there was for Tommy was a brief burning pain in his gut before he fell over dead.
At that point, things got out of hand fast.
The sniper Holter that had been watching the two bicker was so shocked that the sentry with the mold actually shot his comrade that he himself pulled the trigger.
A single sound, like someone stepping on a twig, was heard, followed by the breaking of glass. To his content, Holter saw the sentry sink to his knees
and soon disappear out of sight, laying on the floor below the window.
"Hold your fire, dammit!" Grant yelled, but the damage was already done. All hell broke loose and from inside the compound, bullets were already flying.
One of the Nigels was the first to go. Laughing at how one redneck mowed down another then got shot by Holter, he in turn was the next to go, a bullet hitting him in the left eye. "Frank!" yelled the other, firing his weapon madly in the direction of the compound.
"Open fire!" Grant yelled, rather unnecessary because by the time he did, most of his men had already emptied a clip at the target.
Unleashing his rifle, Holter, from on top of the van, was softly counting how many rednecks he hit.
"Five.." he whispered, adding up one every time another survivalist went down with a round in the head or heart.
Unaware of everything else but his targets, Holter just carried on and didn't hear the warning.
"Throwing a flashbang!" yelled Rumer, who had obviously gotten up from his sleep.
Every SWAT agent took cover, covering their eyes from the flash that was to follow.
"Come on out you bastard..." Holter spoke just before it went off.
"That makes ni.." he whispered just before it did. The flashbang, in essence a piece of firework, went off, letting out a high pitched bang, at the same time
creating a flash as intense as white phosphorus burning. Screaming, Holter fell off the van as he was startled bt the flashbang.
His armour prevented him from breaking anything, but Holter's body got a major shock and he lay there dazed for a moment before crying out for help.
"My eyes! I can't see!" Grant ran over to him while the firefight still went on, trying to come to his aid.
"Goddamnit! Light enhancer must've.." Grant began but was stopped short by a bullet hitting him in the temple.
He fell over, right on top of a blinded Holter, leaving the both of them incapacitated. Two dead, one blind, SWAT wasn't doing very well.
Inside the compound, things were better. "Those government pawns shot the Mole and Tommy!" was the explanation from
another sentry to his leader, the Colonel. "How many are there left?" he shouted to exceed the noise of the gunfight.
"As far as I can see on this side, four, sir" the sentry yelled. The Colonel frowned. "That can't be all of them! We got two of them, that means there has to be
way more! There's usually snipers, trailers, multiple tactical teams and everything," he said, rubbing his chin. "If nothing happens in the next ten minutes,
we can assume there's only the four of them. In that case, we'll assault them. Got it?"
The sentry nodded and headed back into the fray, sitting next to one window, taking shots at the cops.
Looking around the hall from left to right, the Colonel saw more bodies than just the Mole and Tommy. He shook his fist at the door. "Damn those government pawns!" he yelled, but his vocie was drowned out by all the weapons firing.
Ten minutes past and when none of the entryway guards reported any movement, the Colonel made his decision.
He gathered his most trusted, best armed and most accurate men to him, making for an entourage of twenty angry survivalists.
"The corrupt pawns in the twisted game of the so-called ruler of America have made their last mistake. They shot seven of our number, but we
got at least two in turn. We lost seven but, while regrettable, it is not a great loss. They just have four guys left. By the power of Jesus Christ,
we will destroy these puppets. Let us pray for His favour!" the Colonel spoke. And as one man, the twenty-one kneeled down while the Colonel
proceeded in prayer. "By the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we will proceed into victory on these mindless pawns of the false leader" was the simple
but strong message from the Colonel to his men and Jesus Christ.
After a loud "amen" the men got up and stormed out of the building, guns blazing.
The surviving Nigel twin, Donald, was looking at the scene with eyes wide open.
"They are charging out at us! We have to get out of here!" Rumer yelled, firing his weapon frantically at the survivalists rushing them.
When none of his bullets seemed to hit and the suspects were still coming, Rumer dropped his weapon and wanted to get up.
"Cover your eyes!" Donald yelled, closing his own as well as putting his hands over his ears. "Now THEY are using flashbangs!" he shouted.
On the assaulting team, the Colonel yelled: "Flashbangs! Watch out! But keep running!"
Both of them were wrong. A blinding flash did appear in between of the two parties but caused by neither.
"Ah...it is good to be walking again" a voice spoke, not quite male but not completely female as well.
"What the..?" Donald Nigel as well as the Colonel said in unison. The survivalists stared at the source of the light with amazement.
"Sir..our prayer worked! It is Jesus! It has to be! What else could it be?"
The Colonel nodded. He agreed. What else could it be?
On the other side of the light, the SWAT officers were too confused to still be firing.
"Did you just hear a voice, Donald?" Rumer shouted, his hearing still ringing from the loud sound that had accompanied the light.
"I didn't hear any..." he began but there it was again. More agitated this time. "What are these monkeys doing, we wonder. Can they tell us, we wonder."
"Monkeys? Are we..?" Rumer started. "Lord Jesus Christ! Please slay those infidels, those who offend your followers and that which you stand for!" the Colonel shouted.
In the middle of the light, Donald could see the contours of a face forming. "Why is that light still there? Their flashbangs should've been done flashing!"
The light crackled like static and then it was closer to the cops all of a sudden. "Yes! Lord Jesus Christ! Please avenge our men! Your followers!" came the frantic shouting of the Colonel, standing amidst his entourage that was kneeling and praying. Spurring on the light, the Colonel looked on in amazement, thrilled at his prayer being fullfilled.
Again the light crackled and in the blink of an eye, the cars that had been protecting the men of SWAT were gone.
Gasping for air, Donald and Rumer took in their surroundings. Their shelter was gone. All they had left was their weapons. "Open fire!"
As one, the four fired their weapons at the light, which flickered and expanded slightly in response.
"Why do the monkies try to hurt us? We come in peace, we say." the ghostly voice exclaimed.
Contrary to the voice that was heard, a large claw came swooping out of the lightball, mauling Rumer and one of his colleagues in one fell blow.
"Rumer! Closkey! Goddammit! What IS that thing?" Donald Nigel shouted. "Just shoot it, dammit!" the other remaining cop yelled.
Of course, it was to no avail. Again the claw swiped at the cops and while missing Rumer by the slightest of spaces, his friend was
practically flayed alive. Screaming loudly, Rumer started to back away. "That is right. Flee, little treeclimber. Find shelter from us." the ghostly voice sounded.
It was mocking him now, Rumer knew. But he also knew that surviving had more priority than keeping up appearances right now. So he ran...
