| Chapter 8: Hawk's Story | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 9 2013, 05:29 AM (235 Views) | |
| Jason Hawk | Jul 9 2013, 05:29 AM Post #1 |
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“It’s not much to look at, but it has a lot of character,” said the realtor, an attractive young blonde woman in her mid-thirties. She wore a smart tan blazer and matching skirt with a pair of red pumps. The Sands motel dated from the mid 1960s and had been abandoned since 2008. It was located sixty miles west of Las Cruces and was once a popular stop for long haul truck drivers and travelers on their way to Tucson on Interstate 10. Years of mismanagement and neglect had seen the Sands’ fortunes diminish over the past two decades until it was only a shadow of its former glory. The motel had nearly a hundred rooms, a cafe, a dance club and a recreation room with an old broken pinball machine, a few non-functional video game machines from the 1980s and a vending machine that appeared to be serviceable. The Sands was in sore need of repainting, with its sky blue paint faded and chipped. Many of the windows were broken and graffiti marred several of the walls. Hawk followed the realtor into the front office. Dust and cobwebs covered the front desk. A rack of magazines sat unread in the waiting area, covered with dust containing issues half a decade old or more. “As you can see she’s a fixer-upper, but the property went into receivership five years ago when the economy went south. The bank has been unable to contact the owners and is willing to work with qualified buyers for this unique property. What do you think, Mr. Hawk?” “I think this building has serious structural issues,” said Hawk, wiping his finger across the front desk and ringing the bell. “It needs a new roof, new paint, a termite treatment, drywall work to remove the black mold in eight of the rooms. Oh, and the wiring needs to be brought up to code. This place is a fire hazard.” “Perfect for someone willing to put in a little elbow grease! Now, I understand if you’re hesitant, but…..” “I’ll take it,” said Hawk. “It’s perfect.” “Are you sure? Don’t you want to see the boiler room?” “No. I’ve done restoration work before at my home. My last home, I mean. In Europe, where I used to live.” “Yes, I understand you’re moving back from the UK. Welcome back to the States, Mr. Hawk. Now, you will need transportation. The nearest town is Las Cruces, sixty miles to the east. However, the nearest gas station is less than a mile down the road.” “I don’t own a car yet,” said Hawk, looking at the room and envisioning it in its prime. “But I’m working on that. I have a lead on a late model, low mileage vehicle in Las Cruces.” “Now, if I may ask, Mr. Hawk, this is a commercial property, but the bank is eager to get it off its books. Are you planning on restoring this as a business?” “No, I plan to live here. Is that a problem?” “Well, normally the bank has additional restrictions on lending for commercial property, but as I said, they are motivated to find the right buyer. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. Now, do you have family who will be helping you with this? Friends?” “No and no,” said Hawk. “I live alone, well, I do now.” “Oh, I see. Divorce? Sorry if I’m being too nosy.” “No, nothing like that. Well, something like that. We weren’t married, but it didn’t work out. I need some time to myself for a while.” “I see.” “Can I stay here tonight?” Hawk asked. “You can come back in the morning and we can get started on the paperwork.” “Well, this all moving a bit faster than I expected, but sure,” she said with a smile. The woman was genuinely surprised that Hawk would be so receptive. “I’ll just need to know a bit more about your employment situation to get the ball rolling…..” “I’m self-employed,” said Hawk. “Oh, in what field?” “Consulting.” “I see, my cousin works in computers too. I’ll be back in the morning, Mr. Hawk. The electricity is turned on, but the hot water heater is on the blink I’m afraid. There are tools in the maintenance room if you feel like getting industrious.” “That sounds more than fine, Ms. Blake. Thank you,” said Hawk. Edited by Jason Hawk, Jul 17 2013, 01:08 AM.
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| Jason Hawk | Jul 10 2013, 02:49 PM Post #2 |
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Hawk stood in the front office of the Sands motel. He looked out over the empty parking lot with its cracked asphalt and weeds springing up in between the cracks. The night was clear and cloudless. A canopy of stars illuminated the sky. Pale moonlight cast a glow across the desert landscape. It was peaceful and quiet here, the solitude of the desert allowing Hawk a respite from the turbulence of the past. Alone, he could meditate and think back to the events that led him here. He looked at his old phone, which would soon be decommissioned, and saw that the number of voicemails was up to forty-three. Jade. Once he thought she could really become the love of his life, but each time he tried to work his way to a deeper level, she responded by lashing out, suicide or murder attempts. They had a long, storied history together. London, Wyoming, Tokyo, Belgium. It was still difficult to imagine himself alone again. He played the latest voicemail, sent a few minutes ago. “Hawk? *sniffle* Pick up the goddamned phone! Fuck. *sob* I know you’re there. Why won’t you return my calls? Are you with her? You are, aren’t you. Fucking spoiled bitch with her fucking pretty-boy best friend. Are you enjoying yourself? I just want to let you know that this is goodbye, Hawk. I know you’ll be happier when I’m dead. Then you won’t have to worry about trying to care. Her words were slurred and punctuated with sobs. “Why did you have to fucking stay there, Hawk? We could have started over... Fuck... *Screams* Answer your goddamned phone... Forget it... *click*” Hawk had grown weary of Jade’s extended temper tantrum, which was now drawing into its third month. This voicemail marked her sixty-fourth *final goodbye* in the past few weeks. He could always have her number blocked, but she would just get another phone and try again. This number would be decommissioned soon anyway, so there was no point in avoiding her voicemail, email or instant message tirades. He had not responded to any of her messages and now they were becoming darker, less coherent, more rambling. She was going further into a dark place. This time he wouldn’t be there to pull her out. He was done with it. If he called back, it would just delay them both moving on. She had made it quite apparent to him in Las Vegas that she was not interested in any reconciliation that involved compromise. “Well, this place isn’t going to fix itself,” he mused to himself. “I’m thinking an early sixties retro vibe….” Putting away his phone, he turned his attention to the maintenance room where a candyland of tools awaited. Edited by Jason Hawk, Jul 10 2013, 03:52 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Jul 12 2013, 03:10 AM Post #3 |
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Hawk spent the lion’s share of the evening repairing the water heater. He had developed a bit of a handyman streak restoring and renovating his home in England, so this was a simple job by comparison. Just before nine PM he made his way down the road to a nearby gas station. It was an old Philips station owned by a couple who migrated to the United States ten years ago from Ciudad Juárez just as the cartel violence was starting to escalate. Pablo and his wife Sarita had two small children. They were friendly, hard-working folk in their early forties who kept their gas station supplied with food, drinks, beer and wine and all the sundries Hawk would need to move into the motel. The ramshackle station was the last fuel stop for a hundred miles for travelers on the way to Tucson. There was a small dining area that seemed to be rarely used. Sarita made authentic Mexican cuisine that was inexpensive and surprisingly good. Hawk paid five dollars for a dinner of three tacos, rice, beans and a tall bottle of Mexican Coke. “So you’re buying the old motel?” said Pablo as he counted the wad of bills Hawk handed him. “It’s about time someone put some love into the old Sands.” Pablo’s two boys ran up to him, speaking earnestly in Spanish. They were around five and seven. They were eagerly asking him about today’s FIFA game. Hawk interjected in Spanish, “Brazil came out on top, 2-0 vs. Mexico. Sorry, guys.” “You speak very good Spanish,” said Pablo. “Have you spent much time in Mexico?” “Not recently. I have traveled quite a bit through South America, though, and a lot through Spain. My business used to take me on the road a lot. It still does, but I’m trying to find a place to settle when I’m not working. The Sands seems like a perfect spot, given a bit of work.” “I would love to see the old girl restored back to her former glory,” said Pablo. “Do you plan to reopen it as a business?” “Maybe later, but right now I just want a home,” said Hawk wistfully. “It’s just me for now. I’ll do all the work myself. It’s been a long past year, so it’ll be good to lose myself for a while.” “You’ve certainly found the place for it,” said Pablo. “I don’t know what’s brought you here, but this is a place for a man to lose himself and start again. Perhaps whatever it is you’ve lost you’ll find here.” “That’s what I hope,” said Hawk, paying for his groceries. “Thanks Pablo, I’ll see you around.” With this, Hawk took his food and his groceries and made his way back to the hotel, a few hundred yards down the road. Edited by Jason Hawk, Jul 12 2013, 04:04 AM.
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| Jason Hawk | Jul 12 2013, 03:58 AM Post #4 |
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Hawk sat alone in the motel office eating his food and sipping a Coke. He absently puffed at his electronic cigarette as he read the latest email from Jade. It was a dark, rambling, barely coherent diatribe. On the whole, he’d give it an A minus for overall effort, taking off a few points for stylistic derivativeness of her previous work. He tried to imagine the state she was in as she wrote it. Most likely, she was under the influence of copious amounts of drugs, wallowing in a pool of her own urine and vomit, with another needle primed to go. This is not the way he wanted to see her die. He had tried everything he knew to help her, but it wasn’t enough. For the rest of his life, his failure to help Jade would be his biggest regret. He quietly wrote on a piece of hotel stationary. As he wrote, he thought back to the most key moments in their relationship. Her visiting him after being wounded, their meeting in a rainstorm in Wyoming, making love for the first time in Tokyo, the surprise birthday dinner she made for him in London, her moving into his London home. Originally, it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but as weeks stretched into months it became apparent that she was not going anywhere. He welcomed her company, though he never made that apparent, so he allowed her to stay and thus become his live-in girlfriend, and probably his common-law wife after a few years. Jade, I know that you are hurting and, though you probably don’t believe me, I truly do wish there was something I could do to make it better. I would do anything for you, but I cannot give you what you want. I cannot simply return to England and pick up like nothing ever happened. This relationship involves the both of us and for a long time I have felt that you are the only one who matters. I’ve felt more and more pushed into the corner while this other woman who lives inside of you has taken over. I’m sorry, Jade, but I can’t simply start over like nothing happened. That’s a bridge too far even for me. I am willing to try again, but that would take compromise, which is something you consistently seem unable to entertain. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Jade. We’ve both been feeling bad for far too long. I wish you all the best in your life. - Jason With this, Hawk took the piece of stationary where he’d written the letter. He looked at it for a long moment, contemplating what it symbolized. It symbolized a part of his life that was no more. It was time to move on…staying in the past only prolonged the hurting and made it impossible to move forward. He produced a cigarette lighter and set the letter on fire, tossing it in a nearby metal trash can. As the paper burned, he instinctively touched his right shoulder where his tattoo of the Chaos symbol was. “Infinite possibilities,” he whispered. Edited by Jason Hawk, Jul 12 2013, 12:54 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 11 2013, 06:33 PM Post #5 |
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Later... The sun started to rise over the horizon, painting the clear desert sky in majestic rainbow hues. The air was still cool from the night when temperatures would drop. A prairie dog nearby peeked its head up out of its burrow. Mexican five-barrel cacti, ocotillo and mesquite plants dotted the landscape in the vast basin of the Chihuahuan Desert, which was surrounded by mountains such as the Sierra Madre, Guadalupe and Davis ranges which extended throughout New Mexico, into Texas and Mexico. Hitom had left two days ago after her ill-fated attempt to pull a ruse on him. Now, life was getting back to normal. Hawk ran in solitude along the interstate on his daily morning ritual five mile run. It had been four months since the end of the Cord affair and he was just starting to get back to a sense of normalcy. His life in London was a memory that would fade in time. Jade, Marcus, Hitomi….people who passed through his life and left and indelible mark, but now they were gone. After everything, he was left in pleasant solitude. He had to admit that he could see himself learning to enjoy this life. The Sands Motel was an ongoing project that would see him occupied physically and mentally for the forceable future. He had even taken to having enjoyable games of soccer with Pablo and his two boys. There was just enough money left in the bank to let him commence the first phase of restoration of the Sands, buy a car and live the life of a bachelor for a few months before reality would set in and force him to look for work. Once again, he would be forced to fly to other parts of the world, kill someone he did not know and in return receive a handsome payment. This time would be different, he vowed. He only needed a bit more, a few million here or there, to set him up for a humble retirement. It was only a matter of time at the going rate before his luck ran out and someone put a bullet in him. He would see himself retired and out of the business before that happened. This Sands was a perfect place for one to drop out of society, find and rediscover themselves. For the first month or two, Hawk had seriously considered the possibility of the Illuminati taking action against him in response to being denied control of the Aquinas Router. However, they were not a cartel nor a terrorist organization. They did not kill unless absolutely necessary, and only then to advance an end. That end was not always obvious, as the Illuminati weaved plans within plans. While it was difficult to predict their move or their rationale, letting one's guard down was the mark of the foolhardy in dealings with them. As he made his way back to the motel, he spied a strange car parked outside the front office. It was a late model, dark sedan. "Maybe someone's looking for a room," he told himself as he approached. "I'll have to tell them we're not open for business." He was mindful of the pistol he kept tucked away in the pack he always carried on these runs. He hoped he would not have to use it, but he would not hesitate to if this visitor was something other than a simple passerby. He entered the front office and saw a woman seated by the front desk. She was very attractive, in her early thirties and dressed in a smart, dark business suit with matching pumps and skirt. Her auburn hair was tied into a loose ponytail. She looked at Hawk and smiled. "Hello, Jason," she said in an accent that could be described as Mid-Atlantic. "It's been a while." "Eva?" Hawk replied, trying to contain the surprise and shock. "Don't tell me you're just passing through and want a room." Eva Hale had been a teenager the last time Hawk saw her. She was recruited out of Princeton and was known as the most brilliant analyst the U.S. government had at the time. A child prodigy, she had learned French and German fluently by the age of five….Spanish and Mandarin Chinese by the age of six. By seven she was composing her own symphonies. "I'm afraid not," she replied. "Nice place you have here. Very homey." She pointed to the slightly-singed guitar hanging on the wall. "Isn't that the one Hendrix burned at Monterrey Pop in '67?" Hawk shrugged. "What can I say, I like to collect things. Now, forgive me for not being more welcoming. I would have put coffee on had I known you were coming." "I…realize you must have a few questions," she said. "Yes, such as whether to shoot you now," he replied. "I haven't heard anything of the Phoenix Initiative for years. I thought that it had been shut down, actually." The Phoenix Initiative was a government-sponsored, quasi-military intelligence agency that operated as an unofficial branch of Army intelligence. Its purpose was to find young men with extraordinary aptitude in the combat, assassination, infiltration and intelligence gathering and hone them into a cohesive force that could take on missions that could be plausibly denied by the U.S. government. Years ago, Hawk was just the kind of disaffected young man that the Phoenix Initiative looked for. Young, recently disowned by his family, with a strong independent streak and disdain for authority. Hawk had enlisted in the Army after dropping out of high school. His story seemed like a story destined for failure and, at the very least, a dishonorable discharge. During his first year in the service, his superiors identified him as a potential for the then-nascent Phoenix Initiative training program. His test scores, marksmanship, survival instincts and hand-to-hand combat scores were all off-the-charts. However, a charge of drunkenness, insubordination and striking a superior officer threatened to see him dishonorably discharged. His superiors gave him a choice, to accept a "special training program" or to go the brig and be booted out of the service afterwards. The choice to young Hawk was an easy one, and he was shipped off to a secret facility in the Smokey Mountains to begin a harsh training regimen that would see a vast majority of the potentials fail. "The Initiative's been operating this entire time," said Eva. "Reports of its demise, how would McCartney put it, have been greatly exaggerated. I now spearhead logistics. I wish we still had you; you were one of our first and the best." "High praise from someone who helped shape the training curriculum," said Hawk. "But I said I was through all those years ago. Nothing's changed that." "I know your past with the Initiative has been rocky," she said. "For what it's worth I understand your reasons for leaving." "There was a difference of opinion between myself and our superiors, you know that," Hawk said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "The question in my mind is why you've come back after all this time and how did you find me? I dislike being tracked." "You can't blame us," she said. "You initiated contact, after all." Hawk looked at her quizzically. "In New York you dialed the secure hotline for agents in the field. What, you thought you reached a Chinese takeout place? We zeroed your location the moment you made contact." "So why didn't you bring us in?" "Frankly we weren't in a position to take on Cord or the Illuminati at that juncture, but we kept tabs on you. We even helped you in ways you didn't realize, by throwing certain parties off your trail." "The answer is no," said Hawk. "And this is beginning to feel like a strange deja vu." "I'm not Gwendolyn," said Eva. "For one, I'm not the product of the genome soldier project, I'm not insane and the Phoenix Initiative is not Section 17. For what its worth, no one forced you to leave the Initiative for Section 17." "And I'm not working for the Initiative again," Hawk said flatly. "So if you came here hoping to test my interest you've succeeded only in testing my patience." "Fair enough," said Eva. "But just hear me out. If after you've heard what I have to say you're still not interested, I'll leave and you'll never hear from the Initiative again." "I can't imagine what…." Hawk began. "It's about Decker," she said flatly. "We believe he's resurfaced." Hawk stopped cold in his tracks. "Decker?" That was a name he had not heard for many, many years. "John Decker," said Eva. "We think we know where he is." John Decker was the closest thing he had to a father in those formative years. The man who was part mentor, part father to him. The man who he thought had died years ago. Hawk pulled a chair at the table and sat down across from Eva. "Okay, you have my attention. Shoot….." he said flatly. |
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 13 2013, 01:24 AM Post #6 |
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"Colonel John Decker," said Eva. "Where do I begin?" She laid a file in front of Hawk containing photographs, psychological profiles, mission deconstruction. "Recruited into the service March 17, 1967. Served four tours in Vietnam in some of the most heated battle zones in Southeast Asia. His tactics and infiltration methods were considered unorthodox, revolutionary. He's known as the father of modern special forces. A legendary soldier and your mentor." "I know who he was," said Hawk, flipping through the dossier. "You know the history as well as I. He trained me, recruited me." "Actually it was Colonel Decker who selected you from an almost certain dishonorable discharge after, how should I say, flagrant defiance of regulation and insubordination." "I hit my superior," Hawk replied. "It's all in your files. Anyway, that's all in the past." "How long has it been since you last saw him?" "It's been sixteen years, seventy-two days and eighteen hours since our last mission together in the Ural Mountains. We were extracting deep cover operatives. Things went south, we were compromised. I got out alive, but Decker was left behind. I wanted to go back in to mount a rescue operation, but the President denied the request." "I agreed with him," said Eva. "Decker was one of our best, but there could be no official responsibility taken for the events of that mission. It was a shadow op….we had to be ghosts. Plausible deniability had to be maintained." "No names on walls," said Hawk. "No medals, no survivor's benefits. We officially didn't exist." "You knew that going in. So did Decker. Every one of the Initiative operatives understands that, and so did he. He made the ultimate sacrifice for his country." "So his country could abandon him?" said Hawk bitterly. "I had intel on where he was being taken. I could have seen the extraction through, but I needed official support." "You know we couldn't give that," said Eva. "I'd make the same decision again. Even if we had the power to counteract an official order from Washington, I wouldn't have. Sending you in would have just increased the chance of an international incident. It wasn't that long after the end of the Cold War…our relations with the former Soviet Union was on shaky ground to begin with. All the Ultranationalists needed was a reason to stir up paranoia of United States aggression, we couldn't allow that." "We owed him better," said Hawk, gazing at one of the photographs for a long moment as if reliving some long ago memory. "There was still so much I wanted him to teach me." "Decker taught you everything you needed to know about fighting techniques," said Eva. "You were one of the first young men he selected as a Phoenix Initiative potential. Back then, Decker made the case that a new breed of infiltration and assassination trained soldiers was needed to combat threats in the post-Soviet world. You were the first of his new vision of soldier, trained and hardened for the twenty-first century battlefield. Decker loved you like a son. He taught you all he could. The rest, you needed to learn on your own." "What about how to think like a soldier?" Hawk asked. "Decker couldn't teach you that any more than I could have. A soldier needs to be strong in spirit, body and technique…and the only thing you can learn from someone else is technique. The rest comes from experience. Decker gave you the tools you needed, you honed them into the soldier you are today." "So I was just supposed to forget him and carry on with the Initiative like nothing happened?" "Hawk, having personal feelings about your comrades is one of the worst sins you can commit. Just because soldiers are on the same side now doesn't mean they always will be. Politics determine who you face on the battlefield, and politics are a living thing…they change along with the times. Yesterday's good might be tomorrow's evil." "You don't understand," said Hawk. "John Decker was more than a soldier. He took young men and gave them a purpose, an identity. It was more than a brotherhood. I would have died for John Decker. Asking me to simply walk away was not an order I could follow in clear conscience." "A soldier has to follow whatever orders he's given," said Eva. "It's not his place to question why. A soldier is a political tool, nothing more. Right and wrong have no place in the equation. He has no enemies and no friends. Only the mission. You follow the orders you're given. That's what being a soldier is. If you couldn't do that, you were right to walk away." "I do whatever I have to to get the job done," Hawk retorted. "I don't think about politics. I have my own honor, my own code. I don't let others dictate the mission….in the end all that matters is my judgment in the field, not someone at a desk a thousand miles away." "It's not politics that dictate the missions," said Eva. "It's the times. The President and top brass won't be there forever. Peoples' values change over time, and so do the leaders of a country. So there's no such thing as an enemy in absolute terms. The enemies we fight are only enemies in relative terms, constantly changing with the times. In the end, the only thing a soldier has is the mission itself. That's why I gave the recommendation that a rescue operation for Decker not be authorized. It was on my head, Jason. You've hated me for years for that, haven't you?" "If I'd hated you enough you'd be dead by now," said Hawk bitterly. "I couldn't do it alone. I needed satellite feeds, air insertion, an extraction point. Without that, going in myself would have been pointless. You made your decision and I made mine. We all moved on with our lives. Decker was listed as MIA presumed dead. His file was closed and out his status was changed to KIA five years later." "That's the official story," she said. "Six months ago we found evidence that he might still be alive. I found the evidence so compelling that I took it on my own authority to reactivate his file. As I said, we might know where he is." "So why are you telling me this now? I've been out of the service for years. You have top operatives that can check out your leads. Why are you coming to me?" "Because our top three operatives have all turned up dead when sent on his trail," she replied. "No one knows Decker like you. You were his best. We want you back, just for this mission. If anyone has a chance to bring him in its you, Hawk. Call it, instinct." |
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 14 2013, 04:55 PM Post #7 |
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"And to think I thought the Initiative worked on verifiable intelligence," said Hawk sharply. "When we were being hunted by Deacon Cord and Majestic Twelve there was nary a peep from the Initiative when I called for help. Now that you need my help, you're knocking at my door. Forgive me if I'm somewhat skeptical. Since your *intuition* brought you to me after god knows how many years, what does it tell you about Decker?" "In the months after Decker's capture, we had no discernible proof he was even alive," said Eva. "Standard protocol for operatives in the field that have been compromised with no realistic hope of extraction is to commit suicide." "Indeed, if a bit of a spy novel cliché," Hawk said. "I'm sure there's a point to all of this." Eva produced a Macbook Air from her files and opened it. She brought up a report of listening station contacts during the past seventeen years. "In the months afer Decker disappeared we began to see a high occurrence of references to Kestral on Russian military communication channels." "Obviously a codename," said Hawk. "Thank you," said Eva. "I'm only the top analyst for the Initiative with an entire network at my fingertips. I never would have guessed without your assistance." Hawk rolled his eyes. "Okay, I walked into that one." "After four months, references to Kestral stopped. Vanished. It was as if whoever or whatever this Kestral was dropped off the map entirely. We forgot about the reference entirely until six months ago our Albanian listening station detected references to Kestral once again coming from numbers stations broadcasting from within Russia itself. These coded transmissions, once decrypted, seemed to reference Kestral in close proximity to a General Konstantin Nikolaevich Chernov, who is currently overseeing military operations in the recent Chechen unrest. Officially the war there ended four years ago, but the recent influx of foreign money and troops has given rise to the fear of a third conflict breaking out any day. There's been shooting in recent months and the rebels are estimated to have ten thousand battle-ready men under their command." "The evidence seems fairly circumstantial," said Hawk. "It is until you listen to this," she said, calling up an audio file. The file was only a few seconds long, and garbled with a considerable amount of static, but Hawk could make out male voices speaking in Russian. "We ran this through our most advanced audio filters," she said. "They came up with this…." She played another audio file. This time, the voices were much more clear. "We have positive identification of the materials. Need to secure transport out of country." "This can be arranged. Need you to provide official cover." "Understood." Hawk froze as he heard the second voice. It was a voice he had not heard for many years. "Our analysts identify the second voice with a 98% probability as John Decker." "You don't have to tell me," Hawk said. "I'd recognize that voice anywhere. What I want to know is where is he and when do I leave?" Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 26 2013, 10:40 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 15 2013, 06:16 PM Post #8 |
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"General Chernov is currently overseeing the defense of the town of Laishevo," said Eva. "It's currently the site of a major rebel offensive. If they take Laishevo, the Third Chechen War is officially on. The local government sees it as an opportunity to crush the uprising before it gains momentum. That's why they've contracted the Russian PMC Otselotovaya Khvatka to reinforce the town's garrison. They're well-equipped, professional and ethically-malleable. The perfect soldiers to crush a rebellion before it ever starts." "Makes sense," said Hawk. "Laishevo is home to a garrison of Russian mechanized infantry. It's also a major supply depot linking Chechnya and Moscow. It's no surprise the Chechen rebels want it taken out." "And based on these decoded communiques it would make the most sense that Decker is there with General Chernov. Though what he's up to is the question." "Well, that's what we're going to find out," said Hawk, producing his own iPad and bringing up a map of the region. "Hang on while I access the DOD comsat data on the region." Eva's eyes narrowed. "What? How? That information is classified!" "Yeah, well I have a few friends in low places," said Hawk. "Try to forget you saw this." He waited a few moments for the map to refresh. "Laishevo is located here along the Terek river. Latest intel shows a rebel offensive from the south. It looks like a night arial insertion is our best bet." "You know I could have you tried and imprisoned for accessing that." "If you still feel like throwing me in the brig after I get Decker back, you're welcome to try then," Hawk retorted slyly. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied. She was about to say something when an iMessage popped up on Hawk's iPad. It was a long message that made little sense. It made liberal use of expletives and meandered between anger, sorrow, pleading and back to anger. "Um, pretend you didn't see that," said Hawk sheepishly. "What the hell is that?" Eva exclaimed. "Nothing…nothing at all. My ex-girlfriend is just having some issues letting go." Eva paused. "Jade Anderson? The international assassin? The product of Stark's project? You're not with her anymore?" "No, unfortunately we had a falling out a few months ago. I'm afraid we're no longer on speaking terms." "You spurned Jade Anderson? You're a braver man than I thought. Our file on her is extensive. She has….hang on a second…" Eva brought up Jade's dossier on her laptop. "…no, that can't be right. She can't have THAT many confirmed kills, can she?" "She can," said Hawk, nodding in resignation. "And she's been sending you message bombs the entire time?" "Yep. No sign of letting up." "Wow…that's messed up," said Eva. Composing herself, she said, "I mean, you can't let personal feelings get in the way of the mission at hand. I've told you all I can here without having you 100% on board." "Well, despite the fact that when we were being hunted by MJ12 and Cord the Initiative did nothing to assist, and now that you need help you're at my door with your hat in your hand…..sure, a chance to bring in Decker. Count me in." "I have a plane leaving in an hour," said Eva. "You're in for a bit of a homecoming. We're going to Phoenix Initiative HQ. You'll find a lot's changed since you were last there." "Of that I have no doubt," Hawk replied. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 26 2013, 10:46 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 19 2013, 04:45 PM Post #9 |
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Hours later…. It was late in the day when Hawk and Eva arrived in Virginia. They were met by a driver in a nondescript blue Chevrolet sedan. From the airport they were driven out of the city and into the countryside of Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Memories came back to him of years long passed. The ancient mountains were covered in vast forests of oak and hickory. Deep in Appalachia towns and settlements became less numerous and less populated. "Like entering another country, isn't it?" said Eva. "More or less," said Hawk as they passed a service station that appeared to date from the 1940s. "That's the last bit of civilization for at least two hundred miles." "Don't worry, we'll turn back if we hear banjos," said Eva with a smile. "On the contrary," Hawk replied. "I spent some of my formative years here. It's like coming home in a way." "You'll find things have changed since your time," Eva said. "You'll see." *** After a time the driver turned off the main highway onto a dirt road. In the distance, Chimney Rock Mountain could be seen through the thick forest. Eventually they came to a gate near a set of railroad tracks. The driver keyed in a code into his phone and the gate opened. They drove into what appeared to be a functional farm. Rustic buildings, barns and fields laden with crops could be seen along with workers tending the fields. Farm animals were in pens and fields tended to by farm workers. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" said Hawk. "I don't remember any of this. Where are the bunkers? The barracks? The training areas? This looks more like a hippie commune." "Really? I quite like the change," said Eva. "It's peaceful here. You can really get back to nature." "Sorry, I though the Initiative was a serious military outfit. I didn't realize you'd gone all swords to plowshares in the years I've been gone." Eva smiled and waved to a group of men who were picking apples from a tree as they passed by. "Try to keep an open mind Hawk, we haven't quite gone totally Wavy-Gravy on you." The drive drove parked the car in a barn and keyed in a sequence on his phone. The barn doors closed and the sound of hydraulic machinery could be heard. The floor began to descend, taking them down through a long metal tunnel dotted with lights. "Eva Hale, Indigo security clearance verified," intoned a computerized female voice. "Welcome back to Phoenix Initiative HQ, Ms. Hale." "Okay, things really *have* changed," said Hawk impressively. Eva smiled knowingly. |
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 20 2013, 04:21 PM Post #10 |
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The hydraulic lift took them into a vast underground complex dug deep into the earth. The base was expansive, surrounded by steel and reinforced concrete. It was filled with machinery and personnel. Eva and Hawk exited the car. As Hawk gazed around in wonder, Eva guided him down a central hallway that led through the main concourse. To his right, he saw what appeared to be a weapons laboratory. Technicians were busy testing several different devices designed to kill, maim and explode while technical data was fed into supercomputers. To his left was a training hall where dozens of young, uniformed men drilled fighting techniques under the watchful eye of instructors. "As I said, things have changed considerably since your day," said Eva. "Over here, we have a weapons lab where our techs are working on next generation battlefield technology. Right now, they're working on infantry mini-missiles that can pierce the latest tank armor. They're smart, just fire and forget." "A bit overkill for covert ops, don't you think?" "On the contrary. Though we strive to operate in the shadows, sometimes direct conflict is unavoidable. You've seen the latest threats we're up against. Things have changed in the twenty-first century. Cord threw the latest battle-mech technology against you, computer-targeting weapons that fired depleted uranium shells, nanomachine-infused battle suits. Things have changed since you took on Stark and Section 17. It's all about the bigger stick." "Sometimes the best way of winning a fight is to avoid it entirely," said Hawk. "Sometimes the fight is unavoidable," said Eva. "When its not, it makes sense to always have the upper hand in terms of firepower. Over here," she pointed to the training ground. "You'll see we have the latest in physical as well as computerized training. Our operatives are treated with a blend of nano machines that let us monitor their battlefield performance. Data is fed into our supercomputers which are constantly optimizing training techniques. Every move is mathematically optimized for maximum efficiency with minimum energy expenditure." "Training is helpful, but there is no substitute for experience," said Hawk, looking at the young men training. He thought of himself long ago, and how much these recruits resembled who he was back then. Not one of them was over the age of twenty-three, he surmised. "Very true. That's why we've developed the latest Next-Generation Special Forces training through our virtual training simulations. We wire the recruits into computerized simulations designed to be interpreted by the brain as real experiences and memories, with liberal help from hypno-therapy. Your tactics and mission experiences form the foundation for our entire regimen. In a sense, we're working to create an entire generation of soldiers and spies based on your template. Whenever and wherever we need them, there will be Jason Hawks at our disposal." "If you ask me, these so-called Next Generation Special Forces should be called *simulated soldiers." They have no real experience." "Of course you have a point," said Eva. "We do all we can to prepare them, but there's no substitute for experience…..yet." "Why the move underground?" "After the downfall of Stark and Section 17, the full extend of Project Omega became apparent to us. We were given a new directive, to hunt down and neutralize Stark's progeny wherever they might be. In a way, taking down Stark created more difficult problems. The original children of Project Omega scattered, went underground, carved out their own empires and fiefdoms throughout the world. These people were well-financed, ambitious and exceedingly technologically-capable. Not like some jihadi in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan. Once they found out we were working against them, they took out three of our outposts, one in the South Pacific, another in Brazil and one on Denmark. We had to ensure that our base of operations would remain secrete and protected, so we went underground." "Even still, this must have been a massive financial expenditure." "It was," said Eva with an arched eyebrow. "Secret projects paid for by the Pentagon's black budget. You can avoid a lot of red tape and great lead time on your training and weapons production. And here, no one can bother you….not even those bleeding heart liberals on the military oversight committee…" "Bribes." "I prefer to think of it as good business," said Eva with a sly smile. She motioned to a set of hydraulic doors. "We're here, this is command central, the nerve center of this operation. Follow me inside and we'll get down to brass tacks." Having no other choice, Hawk nodded and watched as a retinal scanner scanned her eye and confirmed her identity. The hydraulic blast doors hissed open. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 20 2013, 09:05 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 21 2013, 05:05 PM Post #11 |
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Hawk entered an expansive control center that was dominated by a central auditorium surrounded by amphitheater-like tiered levels containing rows of computer terminals manned by analysts and technicians. A series of large display panels dominated the north side of the room, featuring a global satellite map superimposed with digital markers denoting areas of interest throughout the world. "Welcome to our inner sanctum," said Eva, ushering Hawk inside. "All of our global operations are coordinated through here. All intelligence gathered by electronic means or otherwise is ultimately routed here, where it is classified, analyzed and prioritized. "You have that many people in the field?" Hawk said, scrutinizing the digital map. "Your operation would need thousands to support the extent of what you're doing globally." "Not really," said Eva. "Of course our numbers are classified, but we contract with the major PMCs for much of our work when it requires boots on the ground. As long as the checks clear, they don't ask questions. This frees up our people for the more delicate tasks." "Hold on," she said before Hawk could reply. An analyst was motioning to her. "Ms. Hale," said the analyst, a young female with auburn hair tied into a tight bun. She was seated at a data terminal and was looking at an amber computer display that showed a series of satellite maps and tactical information. "Computers indicate a seventy-five percent positive identification on Khalid Haddad. He's in a car traveling northbound on a highway just outside the city of Sa'Dah. We believe he's trying to cross the border into Saudi Arabia." "I see," said Eva, studying the tactical information. "There you are, you wily bastard…." "Ma'am, we have a drone in the area that can have a missile on the target inside of ninety seconds, but the intel has only been confirmed by our computer algorithms. Our analysis team on site could verify our intel to make sure it's accurate." "How long would that take?" "Two, three hours, tops…." Eva shook her head. "Not good enough, he'll be gone by that time. He hasn't come out in the open in six months. This might be our only chance for another six. Take the shot with my authorization." "Yes, ma'am." The analyst keyed a sequence into her keyboard and the display changed to a targeting reticule with a lone sedan traveling down an lonely desert highway highlighted. Seconds later there was a black dart across the screen and the sedan detonated in a fiery explosion. "Target eliminated," said the analyst. "Very efficient," said Hawk, looking impassively at the smoking crater where the sedan was only seconds earlier. "And effective, assuming you killed an actual terrorist and not a family out for a drive in the countryside." "I accept full responsibility for everything we do here," said Eva resolutely. "Khalid Haddad is responsible for the deaths of over a thousand people in bombings over the past ten years. I saw the chance to take him out and I took it. War is never a pleasant thing. If the alternative was to have him over for dinner and a chat about sharing each other's feelings, believe me I'd be the first one breaking out the steak and lobster, but unfortunately the world doesn't work that way. There will be innocent casualties, that's a given. There's no way around it. If there was a sane alternative that left no one dead, I'd be the first to take it. Yes, I may have killed civilians just now, but I may also have saved Khalid Haddad's next thousand victims." "If war has become so sanitary, why send me after Decker at all?" said Hawk. "Why not simply push a button and erase him?" "Because after all that's happened, Decker is still our man," replied Eva. "We don't' know with a hundred percent certainty that he's engaged in treason and, until at which time Washington deems him a threat worth taking out, we will allow him to keep breathing just a little while longer." "Besides, if our intel is correct he's inside the Russian territory right now. We can't just fly drones into Russian airspace and risk an act of war. Even sending our own people is a risk, even if they're disavowed. That's where you come in. You're not part of the Initiative anymore and haven't been for years. Your a solo mercenary. As far as the politicians are concerned, you'll be in Russia on a personal crusade. No one will be the wiser if you get caught." "I won't," said Hawk resolutely. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 21 2013, 05:07 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 22 2013, 06:05 PM Post #12 |
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"Right then," said Eva. "Tell me, how much do you know about John Decker." "His military career dates back to the 1960s," said Hawk. "He was recruited into the service as a teenager and saw action in the Vietnam War and later joined the Green Berets. Trained in infiltration, sniping, demolition and intel gathering in both urban and marine environments. Considered by many to be the greatest soldier of the 20th century. A brilliant military leader, hailed as a hero by admirers and a tyrant by his enemies." "In the 1970s he was involved in nuclear tests at the Nevada Proving Grounds. Unlike most of his colleagues who were present during the testing who developed leukemia, thyroid cancer or died from radiation, he did not develop any symptoms at all. Eventually, however, the exposure to radiation resulted in him becoming sterile and unable to reproduce naturally." "Most of his official record during the Cold War as an operative is classified, so my knowledge of that period is incomplete. I do know he worked with the CIA in the 70s and 80s." "His official record is a matter of national security," said Eva. "Follow me…." She led him to an adjoining conference room and closed the door behind her. She picked up a remote control on the long conference table and activated a holographic project which displayed Decker's confidential file. "Decker uncovered the existence of a group of Western industrialists known as CIPHER who colluded in the 1970s and 80s to instigate conflict between the superpowers. The eventual goal being the start of World War 3. It was predicted that this would be a short nuclear conflict which would lead to the collapse of both the United States and the Soviet Union. In the aftermath, CIPHER's people would move into power and take control." Hawk studied the file, going through the list of operations Decker spearheaded. "This list is extensive. I've only heard rumors here and there about CIPHER's existence. This is the first I've seen confirmation it actually existed." "Formed in 1970," Eva continued. "At its height CIPHER had four top-level members along with a council of twenty-one sub-commanders. They had deep ties with the world's foremost criminal organizations, remnants of the Gestapo, SMERSH, Tito's secret police, the American Mafia, the Unione Corse in Europe. CIPHER was self-financed, with a cocaine-smuggling operation in the Florida Keys, a major heroin-smuggling operation in Turkey among their many underworld holdings." "Decker spent nearly the entirety of the 80s assassinating or jailing CIPHER's leadership structure. By the end of the 80s, CIPHER was dead as an operational entity. Decker was a hero in Western intelligence circles. He spent the last years of the 80s stoking the seeds of revolution in the Soviet Union behind the scenes. After the fall of communism, he had accumulated quite a bit of political capitol from Washington." "In the early 90s he proposed the creation of an organization of operatives who would be molded and trained in his image, thus the Phoenix Initiative was born." "I guess there's a certain poetry to that," said Hawk. "Unable to have children of his own, he would pass on his legacy through us. We, in effect, were his progeny." "We're all born with an expiration date," said Eva. "No one lasts forever. Life is nothing but a grace period for turning our genetic material into the next generation. The data of life is transferred from parent to child." "Life isn't just about passing on your genes," said Hawk. "A parent passes more than DNA to the child...our memories, ideals, the things that make us who we are…..those go beyond our genetic material. Those can be passed down to generations. Decker was a legend and he tried to impart who he was into us." "That's the danger of being a legend," said Eva. "The person becomes an ideal spread by others. Often times that ideal is twisted by the people who pass it down and it winds up bearing little resemblance to the original individual." "People are never as polished as the legends that surround them," said Hawk. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 23 2013, 10:23 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 24 2013, 06:16 PM Post #13 |
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"So what's the plan?" said Hawk. "We'll fly you into the target area in one of our Aurora high-altitude radar-evading planes," said Eva. "Then, you'll be inserted into the hot zone via a HALO jump." "It's been a while since I did one of those," Hawk replied. "I'm sure it's just like riding a bike. Anyway, since you're not officially working for us, you'll procure all gear on site, aside from a satellite transponder that you'll use to keep in contact with us at all times." "Understood." "From there, you'll link up with one of the rebel groups outside the town of Laishevo. You'll pose as a mercenary looking for work. They should accept you without much issue as it's common for soldiers of fortune to sell their services to the anti-government factions in the area. How's your Russian?" "It's been a while, but I'll get by," said Hawk in perfect Russian, imitating a native accent near enough to sound like a native. "Good, with your accent you could pass for a native. The rebels are desperate, but also ruthless. These are people who think nothing of killing children. If they suspect you're not who you say you are, they'll kill you on the spot." "Won't be a problem," said Hawk. "You should see some of the creeps I've worked for. Sometimes I'm more surprised when I'm approached by someone I don't think will turn on me to get out of paying." "Very good then. We'll put you on a plane and you can leave tonight. You can read your briefing packet en route for the mission specifics. It also contains the false identity we've created for you. Memorize it and you should be fine." *** Later… Hawk sat the passenger hold of a black, unmarked spy plane flying high over the Russian countryside. He was wearing a black pressure suit and held the suit's helmet and face mask in his lap. Attached to his back was an oxygen tank and parachute. "Standby for HALO drop," the pilot intoned through the radio. At this altitude they were nearly at the edge of space. The Aurora project had its genesis in the 1980s as a spy plane to replace the aging SR-71 Blackbird. Advances in stealth technology and avionics in recent years had allowed it to reach the potential hinted at in early prototypes a generation ago. Hawk sucked casually at the vapor from his electronic cigarette. Patiently awaiting confirmation to make the drop, he ran through the mission parameters in his mind. "My name is Johann Nicholas Bahner," he told himself. "I served with the KSK Kommando Spezialkräfte from 1997-2010. I served in combat operations in the Khost province in Afghanistan. My rank at the time of my discharge was second lieutenant. After military service I joined the Raven Sword PMC and served in Iraq for a year until offering my services as a private mercenary. I was terminated after being discovered funneling corporate funds to my own private Swiss bank account. Since then, I have offered my services, free from ideology or nationalism, to any organization that pays." "Hopefully none of the Chechnyan rebels know American history," thought Hawk. "Johann Nicholas Bahner was a Hessian mercenary captured at the Battle of Trenton." "Put that thing out!" said the pilot through the intercom, snapping Hawk back to reality. "Sorry," said Hawk sullenly. "We're over the drop zone. Prepare for HALO drop in five….four….three…." Hawk made sure the parachute was secure and his oxygen was functioning. He put on the helmet and mask and opened the bay doors. He looked out onto the cloudless sky and at this altitude he could see the curvature of the earth. "….two….one…..GO!" With a final leap, Hawk cast himself out of the plane and into the empty sky. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 24 2013, 06:18 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 26 2013, 04:15 PM Post #14 |
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As Hawk fell he thought how anticlimactic high altitude jumps could be. Rather than a rush of air, it felt like he was floating in the sky. The atmosphere was so thin at this altitude that it didn't feel so much like falling as it did standing still. There was no rush of air, just calm and serenity. It was times like this that he felt at peace. Saving the world three times should have earned him at least some rest and relaxation time, but it felt like he'd barely had time to settle down to a new place to live than he was whisked off to another part of the world on some new mission. As he descended he began to feel the rush of air around him. He passed through the cloud cover and continued his free fall. As he drew closer, he began to make out hills, forests and roads below him. Faint flashes from the ground indicated that there was night fighting taking place below. "Just a few more paying gigs and I'm out of this permanently," thought Hawk. "After all that's happened, I'm right back where I was years ago after first moving to London. Living alone, fixing up a new place. Life's a circle, or maybe I'm just living a derivative sequel." Hawk released his chute and was jolted into a guided descent, his black chute blending in with the night sky. As he steered himself, he missed the clearing he was aiming for and fell into the trees. He saw faces from his past around him in a misty fog, speaking to him, their words unclear. A shadowy figure stepped out of the fog, took the shape of a long-dead enemy and began to speak in a familiar, upper-crust London accent. "All I wanted was some peace," he said to the figure. "And a fine job you've done," said Gwendolyn. "The more you keep running from your past, the more it catches up with you." The figure changed shape. This time it was Jonah Stark. "You can't outrun us," he said. "There will always be those like us. It's human nature for the strong to dominate the weak." The figure morphed again. This time it was Elijah Cain. "It's hardwired into our DNA," he said with a mocking grin. "You'll never be rid of us." The figure approached. Now it was Deacon Cord. "There'll never be final victory. Just another calm before another storm." Hawk shook his head. "And you're all still walking clichés. The dead should really shut up unless they have something to say." Hawk awoke hanging from a branch roughly ten feet above the ground. "I've had better landings," he said, making sure no bones were broken. "At least I didn't break my neck, that's a plus." He detached the chute and fell to the ground with a thud. "Okay, that hurt," muttered Hawk as he got to his feet. He activated the remote transponder and spoke into it. "Eagle One in position," he said. "Well, at least you kept my code name in the bird family. Seems fitting. "Actually the scientific name is Aves," said Eva, halfway around the world. "They have feathers, beaks and no teeth." "It was a rhetorical statement," Hawk replied. "And I don't think I was detected coming in." "Good to hear you made it in one piece," said Eva. "There's a rebel encampment approximately six kilometers due north of your location. You should be able to make it on foot before sunrise." "Provided they don't shoot me on sight," Hawk replied. "Half of them are foreign fighters come to take part in the chaos," said Eva. "War is profitable for both mercs and the PMCs. Global hotspots like these are good for business." "When war becomes an economy unto itself it transcends nationalism or ideology, it seems. In the end, its all about stock price and profit." "That's the global reality we live in," said Eva. "You yourself should understand, selling your services as a killer." "Point taken. What's the latest intel on General Chernov?" "He's in the manufacturing plant at the north end of town. The rebels are planning a major offensive tomorrow. That's your best chance to slip in. If our intel is correct, Decker will be where Chernov is." "And once I've located Decker?" "We'll make a decision based on intel at the time. I'll be with you every step of the way." "Comforting," said Hawk. "Making my way north. I'll be in contact on this frequency. Eagle One out….." Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 26 2013, 08:53 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 26 2013, 10:54 PM Post #15 |
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Hours later…. Hawk rode in the back of a cramped Soviet-era troop transport truck, huddled with two dozen other mercenary soldiers selling themselves to the Chechen rebels. He wore grey battle fatigues under a dirty brown cloak and hood that obscured his face. The mercenaries bore the hard faces and withered eyes of men who, resigned from any hope of a normal existence, sold themselves to nameless sides in wars they had no stake in. In the end, battle to them was just business. At the woodland rebel encampment just before dawn, Hawk had presented himself as a foreign fighter willing to take up arms in the cause of the rising rebel insurgency in North Caucasus. Though Second Chechen War officially ended in 2009, with the deaths of over sixty-thousand on both sides and the end of de facto independence for Chechnya, the past year had seen the rise of a new insurgency in the North Caucasus region, attracting foreign fighters from around the globe. There were several Bulgars, some Albanians and a few Saudi nationals on the truck with him, judging by the accents. No one appeared to notice that his German accent was fake and he had joined the rebels with little difficulty. The price would be thirty-five thousand rubles, paid in cash weekly. Food, weapons and ammunition would be provided. Hawk signed up for a three month engagement, and after a quick breakfast he was given an AK-47, ammunition and assigned to a truck with a platoon of mercenaries. They were tasked with participating the in the first wave of the infantry assault on Laishevo. Once a key military production center in the second world war, Laishevo had been spared the brunt of the fighting during the Second Chechen War of the past decade. However, in the present uprising it was a prime target for the rebel assault. Driving government troops out of Laishevo would be the first step in what would become the Third Chechen War. Withdrawal of the bulk of Russian troops from the area four years ago had forced the local government to rely on PMC assistance. To request troop reinforcements from Moscow would be politically problematic as well as make them look weak. Hawk looked around at the convey of men and thought to himself that they were woefully underprepared for what was to come. Troops from the Russian PMC Otselotovaya Khvatka would be handling the bulk of the town's defenses. Hawk knew them by reputation and knew that they were well-financed and could afford the most modern weaponry as well as training techniques for their troops. From Hawk's estimation, it would be a slaughter. An Albanian merc next to him offered him a Russian cigarette, which Hawk declined with a curt shake of his head. "These men have no idea what they're getting into," he thought to himself. "They have numerical superiority, but that's where it ends. The PMC forces will be better-equipped and better-organized." Still, with the rebel's numbers they were likely to break through the town's outer defenses and put up a nasty street-to-street fight before being put down. It was all that Hawk needed to slip into the town without drawing too much attention to himself. Then, he'd find Decker…and answers. |
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 27 2013, 04:54 PM Post #16 |
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The sounds of fighting drew closer as the convoy made its way along the dirt and gravel road toward Laishevo. Shells exploded overhead as a squadron of sleek black helicopters flew overhead. The ground was soggy and wet from the rains, making the ground muddy. A fine mist covered the morning battlefield, giving everything a surreal, dreamlike appearance. "Next generation X1 multi-role combat helicopters," Hawk thought to himself as he watched the squadron fly toward the town. "The PMCs are better equipped than government forces wherever they fight nowadays." "War has changed," Hawk thought. "It's no longer about nations, ideology or ethnicity. More and more, as the world governments reel from economic collapse, sustaining bloated military juggernauts becomes more and more unfeasible. Those same governments turn to PMCs and mercenary forces. These PMCs become armies in their own right, fighting wars as an endless series of proxy battles sustaining the new war economy." "War, and its consumption of life, has become a well-oiled machine. The five major world PMCs have already started leveraging nanotechnology to augment their machines and soldiers. ID tagged soldiers carry ID tagged weapons, use ID tagged gear. Everything is monitored and regulated and controlled. The age of deterrence has become the age of control. All in the name of controlling the world's remaining natural resources, containing super-terrorism and averting catastrophe from weapons of mass destruction." "Privatization and outsourcing of the modern battlefield….war becomes a commodity." The convoy stopped as they reached the outskirts of the town. At another time in history, Laishevo was probably a picturesque Russian town nestled among the hills of the North Caucasus countryside. Now, pillars of smoke rose from the town as shelling from rebel forces had taken a toll, spreading destruction and fires throughout the town center. Grey overcast skies hung over head and a light drizzle fell among the battlefield. "Alright, everyone out! Go, go, go!" came the call as the convoy stopped. Men jumped out of the truck and were immediately met by machine gun fire from the PMC forces who were strategically placed inside buildings around them. The truck stopped in the center of the main thoroughfare which was a market district lined with shops which were now empty of native residents and instead served as sniping points for PMC soldiers. Hawk saw several mercs cut down as they exited the truck. Men screamed and yelled conflicting things as each other as they were torn apart while trying to seek cover from the incoming firestorm. Hawk waited for a lull in the firing and made his way to the wreck of a burned-out automobile. He dived for cover as it was hit by sniper fire. A machine gun nest on the second floor of a nearby building pinned down mercenary soldiers as one of them brought a Russian RPG to bear, firing it at the PMC machine gun nest and vaporizing it in a fiery explosion. A second later, another truck carrying mercenary troops came in to bring reinforcements. It's driver was hit by sniper fire. The truck swerved out of control and smashed into a parked truck, detonating in a fiery explosion. Hawk came up from cover and fired methodical bursts from his AK-47, cutting down two PMC soldiers before diving back into cover. "Can't stay here!" Hawk thought through the frantic gunfire. He watched as more mercenaries were hit by withering PMC fire. An artillery shell hit a building where PMC troops were dug in, causing it to collapse. This provided the breaking in the fighting that the mercenaries needed to regroup and advance. The battle quickly escalated into strew-to-street fighting as mercenaries advanced and cut down PMC soldiers wherever they were dug in, though the mercs took grievous casualties for every inch they claimed. Hawk moved ahead, picking up ammunition from dead mercenaries, firing and taking cover as needed. He took up position in a bakery which had been heavily damaged from gunfire and grenades. A pair of dead PMC troops and a rebel corpse lay in the bakery where death claimed them. Hawk examined the advanced assault rifles carried by the PMC soldiers. As he suspected, their guns were locked via biometric or nano tech sensors. If he tried to pick one up, he'd be in for a nasty shock. The rebel, on the other hand, did not have such advanced security mechanisms on his equipment. In his dead hands was a Soviet-era Dragunov sniper rifle. It took standard Soviet-bloc 7.62mm ammunition and was equipped with an extended barrel and scope. He was very familiar with this weapon and took it, slinging it across his shoulders. HIs transceiver suddenly came to life. "Eagle One, what's your status?" said Eva. "I'm in position," Hawk replied, ducking low behind the counter to avoid being seen by PMC troops. "I've parted ways with the main body of the rebel troops and am making my own way through the town. As you can no doubt hear, the fighting's pretty intense. I don't think the rebels are in for a good day." "We've got you monitored on satellite," said Eva. "We'll help you every step of the way. As far as I can tell, your best bet is to make your way through an alleyway behind the building you're in. It should be a clear shot for you if you make your way now. I suggest avoiding confrontation wherever possible. Remember, this isn't your fight." "Acknowledged, making….." Suddenly, the building was rattled by a tremendous explosion nearby. "…..hell, that was way too close. As I was trying to say, making my way now." "Good. Let's keep the channels of communication open. Good luck." "There's no such thing," said Hawk as he made his way to the back of the shop. Edited by Jason Hawk, Aug 27 2013, 04:56 PM.
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| Jason Hawk | Aug 31 2013, 03:13 PM Post #17 |
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Hawk made his way through the war-torn town, avoiding resistance where he saw it and engaging small pockets of PMC troops where necessary. Eva guided him, giving him the latest satellite reconnaissance information as he made his way through the battle. All around him the sound of gunfire and shouting could be heard. He entered a bombed-out church building and made his way to the altar, which he perched up on and looked through the sniper rifle's scope. He saw the weapons factory nearby, a large grey and drab factory dating from the era of Stalin. "Intel reports a ninety percent likelihood that Chernov and Decker are in that factory," said Eva. "I see the perimeter guarded," said Hawk, zooming in on a soldier and examining his uniform. "Spetsnaz from the looks of it. Carrying AKS-74u rifles." "Mother Russia's finest," said Eva. "Don't engage them directly if possible. Our primary goal at this point is to make positive visual ID on Decker. All other goals are secondary. There's a miniature camera attachment embedded into your transmitter. Once you get a visual on Decker, photograph him and it will automatically transmit to us for our analysts to positively ID. This should go like clockwork, so try not to get detected." "I'll be like a rainbow in the dark," said Hawk snakily. "Excuse me?" "Nothing….it's a Dio song," said Hawk. "Don't tell me you don't like to blast a little heavy metal now and then. It's very relaxing." "Be serious Hawk, I listen to *good* music. Mozart, Handel, Bach, Beethoven. Can we please stick to the mission at hand?" "Yes ma'am," said Hawk with a sly smile. "Moving into position….." *** Hawk watched the Spetsnaz soldiers and memorized their patrol patterns. He identified a weak point and utilized it to slip through and into the factory. The building was old, dating from the 1940s or 1950s. It had once been used as a munitions factory, but had ceased operations in the 1990s. It was officially owned by the military and had been repurposed, but that new purpose was unclear to intel that the current time. Hawk made his way through the ventilation system, through the maintenance area and up stairs that led to a series of catwalks He made his way to the catwalks which extended high above the central factory area. Spetznaz and PMC troops were gathered. He scanned the area with his sniper scope. "I count four Spetsnaz soliders, approximately a dozen workers and three troops wearing uniforms of the Otselotovaya Khvatka PMC. Wait…." Hawk saw men loading crates onto a tram set on tracks that led through the factory. Near the crates were two men, a tall, black haired officer with hard, chiseled features. Hawk recognized his uniform as that of a general in the Russian army. "I have an ID on General Chernov. There's a man with him….." Hawk zoomed in on a man standing beside Chernov. He wore a dark leather trench coat. The man turned around. Hawk's heart stopped for a moment. He saw a face out of his past. The man was older, his salt and pepper hair was now stark white. Decker had grown his hair long and wore sepia-tinted glasses. His face was rough and chiseled with age, but he was alive and apparently well. "Is it Decker?" said Eva expectantly. "It's him," said Hawk. "Sending photograph now…." Hawk zoomed in and snapped photos of Chernov and Decker which were automatically uploaded to Initiative analysts. "There seem to be some crates being loaded onto a tram," said Hawk. "Hang on, let me get a closer look." Hawk focused on the crates. One of them was being loaded with some sort of warhead. He took a moment to examine the markings. "Um, that's really not good," he said. "Eva, I'm sending you some more photos. If I'm not mistaken those are SK41 (Little Bear) tactical nuclear warheads." "Little Bear," said Eva. "The Soviet equivalent to the American Davey Crockett nuclear warheads developed in the early sixties." "A very big and dirty punch in a small package," said Hawk. "Those can be fired by a recoilless rifle on the battlefield by a single soldier." "The last Little Bears were destroyed in the early nineties, along with our Davey Crocketts." "I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Hawk. "Looks like someone kept a few around for posterity." "The munitions factory is not a nuclear weapons storage facility according to our best intel." "Either your intel is wrong or someone's been moving these around and this is just the latest stop." "The plot thickens," said Eva. "General Chernov is apparently engaging in a little subterfuge here. Now, whether his actions are authorized by the Kremlin or not is another matter.” “He could be running some sort of operation on the side to supply terrorist entities or third world governments,” said Hawk. “That would explain the North Korean’s tests in the past few years,” said Eva. “We didn’t think their program was at the testing phase…..perhaps they had a bit of outside help.” “If Decker is helping the Russians hide nuclear weapons banned by treaty, he’s engaging in treason,” Eva continued. “Do you have a clear shot at Decker?” “I do.” “Then take him out under my authorization. Then, get the hell out of there and get to the extraction point.” “No,” said Hawk, resolutely. “Excuse me?” snapped Eva. “I’m giving you a direct order.” “Yes, I’m aware of that. And I’m choosing to ignore it. I simply agreed to do a little wetwork for you. I’m still an independent operative. I’m not on the Initiative payroll and I certainly don’t take orders from you.” “Look,” said Eva. “Whatever Decker’s involved in its not in the interests of the United States. We have a chance to end whatever he’s trying to do right here and now. We might not get another chance.” “You have no idea what he’s involved in,” said Hawk. “I won’t say this again, take the shot!” “I’ll take that under advisement.” “Think about what you’re doing…..” “I always do,” said Hawk. “Now, you’re signal is starting to break up…. “Hawk….” “I’m going to see where they’re taking the Little Bears. I’ll be in contact, Eagle One out….” |
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| Jason Hawk | Sep 1 2013, 07:55 PM Post #18 |
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Hawk followed the tram out of the factory where it led to a helipad behind the main building. A Russian military Mi-26 transport helicopters idled on the pad. Nearby was a smaller, multi-role Kanzan Ansat-U helicopter. The crates were being loaded onto the Mi-26. Hawk hit near a stack of fuel barrels and kept a close watch. “Eva,” Hawk said. “They’re loading the Little Bears onto a chopper. Chernov and Decker are already on board. Looks like PMC and Spetsnaz troops are getting on board too. It looks like they’re abandoning this facility.” “Get all the photographic proof you can and make your way to the extraction point,” said Eva. “I want to see where they’re going,” said Hawk. “There’s another chopper here that I can commandeer. I can track them on radar.” “That’s unwise.” “Whatever they’re doing, they can’t be working alone,” said Hawk. “This has to be part of some larger operation. I’m going after them.” “Hawk, this is crazy! Abort the mission immediately!” “I’ll be in contact,” said Hawk, cutting off communications. Minutes later, the Mi-26 took off and flew toward the north. Hawk made his way to the Kanzan Ansat and powered it on. Thankfully, the chopper was fully-fueled. He revved up the engine and pulled up and into the sky. He activated the radar and quickly got a fix on the Mi-26. He followed it, careful to maintain enough distance to avoid detection. “I’ve got a fix on Decker’s chopper,” said Hawk. “It’s traveling due north. I don’t think they’ve detected me. I….wait….what’s that?” A missile streaked out from the Mi-26. Seconds later, there was a flash and an apocalyptic blast from where the munitions factory was. A bright flash blocked out everything else, followed by a deafening roar and rush of superheated winds. The powerful shock wave hit Hawk’s chopper, spinning it out of control. Warning lights flashed and alert sirens blared. Hawk blacked out for a moment. When he came to, the chopper’s controls weren’t responding and it was tumbling toward the river below. The impact with the water was a powerful jolt, knocking Hawk into unconsciousness. When he awoke, he found himself in the cockpit, totally submerged in water. The chopper was sinking fast. Hawk vaguely heard voices shouting as he came to and struggled to free himself from the cockpit. “Can’t go out like this!” his mind screamed. “Not after everything that’s happened. This would be incredibly anticlimactic, drowning in a river.” The windshield was already cracked and damaged. A few swift kicks was anough to shatter it. Freeing himself from the wreckage, he blew out some air bubbles and saw where they rose, indicating the direction of the surface. Lungs near bursting, he broke the surface and took deep, gasping breaths. “Hawk! Hawk! HAWK!” Eva yelled. She broke from her normally cool demeanor, calling Hawk by his real name and not the code name. “I’m here…..” Hawk sputtered. “I crashed in the river. What the hell happened?” “We’ve detected a low yield atomic blast centering on the munitions factory,” said Eva. Hawk looked toward the town and saw the mushroom cloud. “What the hell? A nuclear blast? They used one of the Little Bears!” “It would appears so,” said Eva. “Hawk, if you’re okay, get to the shore. Wait…..we’ve detected another shot from Decker’s chopper. Impact in ten seconds. Hawk, get under the water NOW!” “You have GOT to be kidding,” muttered Hawk. He took a deep breath and dived beneath the surface. Seconds later, there was a massive roar and another shock wave rolled past, nearly knocking Hawk into unconsciousness again. When he surfaced, he saw that the sky overhead was dark and foreboding. A second fiery mushroom cloud had formed over the town. “Hawk, Hawk, are you still there?” cried Eva. “I’m here,” said Hawk, weakly. “Hawk, I need you to get to shore and I’ll guide you to the extraction point. Hawk, Hawk, stay with me…..” There was a long pause, then Hawk coughed and sputtered. “Acknowledged…..” Hawk’s entire body ached in pain. His eyebrows were singed and the top layer of his skin was burned red. With a massive force of will, he remained conscious. His body cried out in fatigue and pain. It would be so easy to simply surrender, let the welcome embrace of unconsciousness overtake him. Then, it would all be over, he would be dead. He fought past the pain and slowly started to swim for shore. |
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| Jason Hawk | Sep 5 2013, 05:35 PM Post #19 |
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Hawk made it to the shore and collapsed on his back coughing and wheezing. The air had become filled with soot and ash. Hawk immediately pulled his coat to his mouth and used it as a makeshift filter to filter out the contaminants in the air. “Hawk, are you still with me?” said Eva. “A…Affirmative….” Hawk sputtered. He gazed in awe at the twin columns of fire, smoke and ash towering into the sky. “Hawk, listen to me very carefully. You need to get out of the area as quickly as you can. You were out of the main epicenter of the blast, and if you make it to the extraction point you’ll be okay. You avoided the worst of the radiation, but there’s a massive cloud of ash that will be falling all around you very soon. It is radioactive, so you need to get clear of the fallout. Head to the extraction point, five kilometers due north of your location. Try not to breath in any more of that ash and dust than you have to.” Hawk trudged through the dense forest as the day began to take on the appearance of dusk. The hike to the extraction point was like a surreal nightmare. The sky took on a reddish glow as black rain began to fall. When he reached clearing of the extraction point, an unmarked black helicopter was present to pick him up. As they lifted off, Hawk looked down at the scarred landscape dominated by the two mushroom clouds. It was his last sight before his vision blurred and he slipped into unconsciousness. When Hawk awoke, he was lying in a bed in a dimly lit hospital room. He was hooked up to a machine that fed him fluids and medication through an intravenous tube. There was a floral arrangement on a dresser nearby and a small flatscreen television that hung from the wall. A moment later, Eva Hale entered the room. “Ah, the patient is awake,” she said. She pulled up a chair next to Hawk’s bed and studied his chart. “The doctor’s say you show no signs of radiation sickeness. Other than some minor first-degree burns you’re in tip-top shape. You’re lucky, if the wind had been blowing a different direction you would’ve been covered in radioactive fallout.” “Decker?” said Hawk, realizing that he still had ash in his mouth. He grimaced and said, “Can I get a glass of water?” “Sure,” said Eva. She filled a glass from the sink and handed it to him. “Lucky for you the Little Bears are relatively low-yield, one kiloton variable. They were small and portable, but a relic of the Cold War; useless in battlefield conditions. Fired from a recoilless rifle, their range is around three miles.” “Troops who fired them risked getting caught in the fallout,” Hawk replied after swishing water his mouth and spitting it back out into the glass. “It would be a true suicide mission. Now, regarding your initial question, we’re still trying to determine Decker’s whereabouts. After the blast we lost contact with the chopper he was in, but don’t worry, we have top men tracking him now. He won’t elude us forever. Now that we know he’s working with a Russian general stealing nuclear weapons prohibited by treaty, he’s now a top enemy of both our government and the Russians. Your role in this is over.” “Where am I?” “You’re at Landstuhl Army Medical Center, just outside of Landstuhl, Germany. Doctors want to keep you for observation for another twenty-four hours, but after that you’re free to leave. The information you provided us will prove quite helpful. It proves that Decker is alive.” “But not why he’s working with a rogue Russian general,” Hawk said. “We don’t know for sure he’s rogue,” said Eva. “Moscow’s official position is that this the nuclear accident in Chechnya is an internal matter. Foreign aid workers are being turned away at the border.” “Why would a Russian general steal banned nuclear weapons and use them on a Russian town?” said Hawk. “It could be that he’s gone rogue,” said Eva. “It could be an internal false flag operation to drum up support for a new Russian military campaign in Chechnya. We take loose nuclear weapons, even low-yield like the Little Bears, very seriously.” “I want to go after him,” said Hawk. “I want answers.” “You said it yourself, you’re not a Phoenix Initiative operative. You’re a solo act, Hawk. Now that we have the information we need, we’ve shared it with Washington and are preparing the next act. Your services, to put it bluntly, are no longer required.” “So you’re just cutting me off like that?” Hawk said, incredulously. “Yes, just like that. Hawk, remember when I said emotional attachment is the worst sin you can commit on a mission? You’re too close to Decker and it would affect your judgment. I can’t have that.” “Please, I’m professional. You can’t just cut me off like that!” “Really? Think about yourself. Jade Anderson, for instance. Can you really say you would have handled things differently with her if you didn’t have feelings for her?” “That’s low.” “You know it’s true, Hawk. Think about it.” She rose and turned to leave. “Goodbye Hawk, and good mission. You’ve done a man’s job, now let us handle the rest.” Hawk said nothing as Eva left the room. “This isn’t over,” he said to no one. |
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7:27 PM Jul 11