The Division

[Siphran]

The Division. It seemed like a nice enough organization, the pay was fantastic, enough for him to petition Spear International for a few year hiatus from active duty, of course they agreed with one condition; if he cut them in on some of the pay. Within a few months of the Division's invitation, he was sitting at a field office talking to a handler, a Jeanne Descoteaux. This morning he had been in Singapore, and now here he was, half a world away, sitting in a particularly nice, grey Honda Civic SI.

The equipment selection provided was phenomenal, they had some neat throat mics and an advanced crosscom system, and Alt had even been able to use his favorite handgun, an FN Five-SeveN, and without saying his kukri was tucked under his arm. The quite side street, Rue Cabanis, hadn't seen any activity since he had arrived, and he had been there for the good part of ten minutes, choosing not to announce his presence on the crosscom system. "You're new here, so just get down to the Marriott and listen in on how the team works, when they're done there, head back and we'll get you introduced." It seemed like a good idea, seeing as he had just got here.

But that was the situation as of five minutes ago.

"Two Nezak down. Dr. Werner is safe for the time being…"
"This is Krylenko, I could really use some help in the kitchens! They are escaping with the targets!"
"Watcher, Rain and I are going to attempt to go after them."
"Two vans, white, unmarked, heading out. I do not know where they are going, I need you to track them."
"Watcher, one van is headed northwest along Rue Froidevaux, one van is headed south on Rue de la Sante. Rain and I are heading south, try to catch the other bastards, if you can..."

Alt felt assuredly useless while listening to the increasingly urgent com chatter, thankfully, that didn't last for long. South on Rue de la Sante, northwest on Rue Froidevaux. Lets do this. He reached down and yanked the car into gear, speeding into the back alley way and stopping just next to an emergency exit. A figure stood on the escape staircase a few stories above. He knew who it was from the com chatter. "Styx is here, we will go after north west bound target." He announced on his throat mic, before leaning out of the window. "Watcher!" He shouted upwards, "Lets go!"

Normally, he would have liked to introduce himself to his new teammates, but the situation called for action without hesitation. They should have already heard of him anyway, just not through a formal introduction. Hopefully these men could take it all in stride, otherwise he would just have to leave them behind and go after the white van on his own. Not something he would relish trying solo.

[Red Beret]

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Westbound on Boulevard Saint-Jacques - Paris, France
20:09 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"Turn right up here."

"Da, comrade."

The sound of police sirens already filled the air, and as the van blazed through the intersection, keeping right onto Boulevard Raspail, several police cars passed them, followed by an ambulance. They did not pay attention to the van fleeing the scene of the crime, and for that the driver and his passengers were glad.

"Keep going this way a bit longer," the Nezak in the passenger's seat said, playing with the GPS application on his phone, "Then, when we are sure that we have truly escaped, we will head for Charles De Gaulle. We have friends waiting for us there."

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Southbound on Rue de la Sante - Paris, France
20:11 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"Be careful, you idiot! We have to get the prisoners out alive!"

"Yes, and in order to do that, we must be alive!"

The sound of police sirens had faded, but in his side mirror, the driver of the van could see a pair of headlights, and it was gaining on them.

"Go left!"

"That's an oncoming lane!"

"It will throw them off."

"You had better be right!"

The van barreled through the intersection, keeping left on Rue de l'Amiral Mouchez, but with a new kicker, that the headlights were now in front of them. The van managed somehow to squeeze through the oncoming traffic, but the oncoming cars turned, hitting cars parked on the side of the street, blocking off the road behind them. There was no way their pursuers would be able to catch them in time...

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Southbound on Rue de la Sante - Paris, France
20:11 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"Shit!"

Rain managed to turn their car just in time to avoid a collision as one of the oncoming cars on Rue l'Amiral Mouchez swerved and hit another parked on the side of the road. Krylenko could see the tail lights of the van, and they were fading.

"Move!"

"I'm trying!"

Luckily, Krylenko could still see the van marked on his phone. Rain pulled out and turned down Avenue Reille, then kept right on Rue Gazan, staying parallel to their objective. Krylenko hated not having a visual on the target, but he trusted Alpha not to steer them wrong. As long as the satellite could maintain its visual, they had nothing to worry about. He wondered if the Nezak they were chasing were even aware that they were being tracked by more than eyesight alone.

"Let us try to get ahead of them and cut them off," Krylenko said, "They are staying on the road parallel to us, and it seems that they are heading for the stadium ahead."

Rain nodded and gunned the engine, speeding up. They reached the Boulevards des Marechaux and hung a sharp left. Where the Boulevard met Avenue Pierre de Coubertin, they picked up their tail, heading east ahead of them. Krylenko was able to match the distance reported by his phone with a quick visual of the headlights. It helped that there wasn't much traffic tonight. At least there were still some things to be thankful for...

[MasterCrew]

Room 234, Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:11 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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Realizing that the position of room 234 was two floors directly above the kitchen’s emergency exit alerted him to presume that the cry of pain result from a wounded Nezak operative. In a quick maneuver, Othmar unlocked the lower window panel, opening it just enough for his body, and stepped out onto a rusty, black, emergency staircase, which was probably made back in 1954 when the hotel was first constructed. Peering over the edge of the railing, von Bohman watched as a white van pulled away out of the alley, into the back parking lot, and disappeared to the left, leaving what looked like a civilian lying dead in the middle of the road.

As soon as the white van throttled it out of the back road, the energized tone of Krylenko buzzed into Othmar’s ear piece, “Watcher, one van is headed northwest along Rue Froidevaux, one van is headed south on Rue de la Sante. Rain and I are heading south, try to catch the others, if you can...”
Before von Bohman was able to scarcely utter a response to Krylenko’s direction, a brilliantly shinning, headlight blazing, grey Honda Civic stormed into the opposite side of the alley. Cautiously, von Bohman crouched down in defense, praying that the Civic’s cab wasn’t fully of armed enemy operatives. Glancing over the exterior of the Civic, Othmar took note of the spoiler protruding from the posterior of the vehicle, the grooved door panels, and the 17-inch alloy wheels, concluding that the vehicle was a Civic Si Sedan. In addition to the Civic barreling down the long alley, a subtly recognizable voice blared through Othmar’s earpiece, “Styx is here, we will go after North West bound target.”

Styx, an operative’s name von Bohman had only heard of in team preparation for this surveillance now hostage rescue mission. Racking his brain to find the man name and face from the small information sheet Taking back his thoughts from the man to the mission at hand, Othmar momentarily felt the urge to jump back through the window he exited from, but decided to hold his ground and purse the outcome of the oncoming matter. The car screamed to a stop directly below the emergency staircase on which Othmar was standing. A round head jutted from the driver side window and commanded, “Watcher! Let’s go!"

In the three seconds that the words were spoken, Watcher instantly identified the rounded head and accented English of Alteid Tarret, also known as "Alt", code name Styx. Not many emerge from his background, being that his ethnicity is Slovak, but his nationality is Sinaporean. Setting his back to the brick wall, Othmar surged forward and jumped over the staircase’s guard rail head first. Plunging down approximately four and a half stories, Othmar jerked his torso forward, twisting into a flip and completed an acrobat roll out of the plummet. With a sigh of contentment, Othmar blinked, straightened out his now dirtied tuxedo vest, slapped off any dirt engrained on his slakes, and jogged over to the passenger’s side door.

Opening the door, Othmar lunged inside of the vehicle and proclaimed, “Onward!”

Hence began the chase through Paris!

[Siphran]

Alt waited impatiently, adjusting his gloves in the meantime, it was cold here compared to Singapore, and his fingers were the first to go numb. Then the man made up his mind, with astonishing grace, diving off the emergency escape and rounding it off cleanly with a front flip and a roll. He got a better look at the man then, Othmar if he remembered correctly. A fit looking man, obviously sporting a good amount of muscle, he seemed pretty close in height to Alt, though sporting blonde hair and blue eyes, as well as a snazzy looking tux.

He clapped as Othmar entered the car, then grabbed the wheel and stick with a determined look. "Buckle yourself, this will be intense." Alt slammed the car into gear, pulling out of the back alley with a precisely executed J turn. The main road wasn't horribly crowded, and he was able to hit a decent speed, passing cars, looking like a common driver in a big rush. They passed a few emergency vehicles heading the other direction. The white van was quite a ways head of them, but still visible. The escaping vehicle was going quite fast, but didn't seem to be desperate, meaning they hadn't seen the civic yet.

They would soon. Alt kicked this pursuit into high gear, the engine roared as he accelerated, leather gloves working across the steering wheel with practice precision gained from a few advanced pursuit driving courses, and the many times he actually utilized that training in combat situations. The gap narrowed, but the van was accelerating now as well, they knew they had been made. They were still heading down Saint Jacques. "Where might they be going?" Alt asked out loud, musing on that, though von Bohman might have an idea. Any input would be welcome.

[MasterCrew]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:15 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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Plunging down from the emergency stair, approximately four and a half stories, Othmar jerked his torso forward, twisting into a flip and completed an acrobat roll out of the plummet. With a sigh of contentment, Othmar blinked, straightened out his now dirtied tuxedo vest, slapped off any dirt engrained on his slakes, and jogged over to the passenger’s side door. Upon opening the door and lunging into the Civic, clapping could be heard from his partner positioned in the driver’s seat.

“Buckle yourself,” Alt voiced determinedly, “this will be intense.”

Othmar slammed the door closed, quickly reached for the seatbelt, clicked it into its holder, and proclaimed, “Onward!”

Clutching the car into gear, Alt tore out of the back alley, completing a precisely executed J turn onto the Rue Ferus. Adjusting the stick into drive, the Civic speedily barreled to the left, turning onto Boulevard Auguste-Blanqui. The white van of the Nezak appeared several hundred yards ahead on the same road. Thankfully, Boulevard Auguste-Blanqui leading into Saint-Jacques wasn't congested enough to cause delay in the pursuit. At the capably skillful hands of Alt, the Civic was able to accelerate to a top speed, passing cars by, and now pushing their frantic, every day businessman in a time pinch look into a speed trial NASCAR racer appearance. The 2.4-liter, 16-valve, DOHC i-VTEC engine roared ferociously as the 201 horsepower and 170 lb-ft of torque gripped the asphalt firmly.

"Where might they be going?" Alt asked out loud in a slightly joking manner.

Reassessing the situation, von Bohman replied, “The easiest escape route would be to head northwest, down along the Rue Froidevaux. From there, the Rue Jean Zay would be the most likely route, but who knows where these Nezak terrorist might go…”

[Red Beret]

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Eastbound on Boulevards des Marechaux - Paris, France
20:19 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"So what do we do when we catch up to them?"

"I... had not thought about it," Krylenko admitted, "We must obviously try to keep hostages from harm. I suppose we continue to follow them, to see where they are going."

"Sounds like a plan... wait. Are they opening the doors?"

"They are going much too fast to open them safely..."

"Shit..."

The rear doors of the van swung open, but it was what was beyond them that Krylenko was worried about. Even in the darkness, with only the intermittent flash of street lights to illuminate it, he recognized the shape of the RPK machine gun--he had seen it too many times before. Two Nezak operatives sat crammed side-by-side, one to feed the ammo as the other fired the gun. This was not going to end well.

Krylenko had no time to do anything other than double up in his seat, trying to make himself as small a target as he could. He heard the distinctive rat-tat-tat of the machinegun, and the sound of breaking glass. Rain cried out in surprise, and then the car spun out of control. It seemed as though time slowed down as Rain jerked the wheel to the right, and the car slammed up onto the curb and crashed into one of the buildings. Krylenko pulled himself up, and saw brick and mortar right in front of him... if the car had hit the building at a different angle, he'd be dead.

The world seemed to rock back and forth as he looked around for Rain. The man was slumped over the steering wheel, and Krylenko's first instinct was to check his pulse. He was still alive, thank goodness, but the Nezak had more than likely escaped. No time to worry about the Nezak. He was faintly aware of a voice in his ear.

"Krylenko!"

"What? What is it?"

"Oh thank God you are all right! Is Rain...?"

"He is alive."

"Hold still, paramedics are on the way."

"I... I will do my best."

Already he could hear sirens... he tried to think of what the end results of this might be. The GRU might have overlooked it, or made excuses... but the Division was run by completely different people. Most likely they would receive some sort of reprimand, a formal warning for taking to the streets of Paris without authorization. Had they managed to rescue the hostages, it would have been a different story... but they had failed. He hoped with all his heart that the other two might make up for it by catching the ones they pursued...

[Siphran]

Alt gritted his teeth, dodging a particularly obstinate lorry, which was blaring its horns. He was getting closer to the white van, probably breaking every single traffic law this country had in the process. Pulling up, the Russian driver was rewarded with a relatively clear stretch of road, as well as input from his passenger. ""The easiest escape route would be to head northwest, down along the Rue Froidevaux. From there, the Rue Jean Zay would be the most likely route, but who knows where these Nezak terrorists might go."

"We will just have to stop them before that then." Alt concluded, picking up speed. The van was barreling down the roadway, but was no match for the sports tuned car. He hadn't heard anything on the comm chatter about how many hostages were in each van, or if his van contained any at all, but he would take it down carefully just in case.

Gritting his teeth, he lined up his right front bumper with the van's rear, then accelerated slightly. "Hold on." Alt warned, then jerked the steering wheel. It was a perfect hit, the van spun out, sliding in a neat circle right in front of his hood. What he wasn't expecting though, was for the van to immediately go into reverse, and execute a pretty neat j-turn, managing to not flip as it sped on its way again. "Chush' sobach'ya!" He cursed, spinning the wheel again.

Alt decided to try one last time, with a twist. The roadway narrowed up ahead, the median would be the perfect place. The engine revved again as he stepped on the accelerator, coming up on the right side this time. Apparently, the Nezak had grown tired of his antics, as the passenger stuck what he recognized as a glock out of the window. "Shit!" Alt glared at the gunman, flooring the pedal and colliding with the van. The mans shots went wide, hitting the side view mirror. He took advantage of the opening and again tried to pit the van, pushing it into the median. It spun erratically, hitting the divider and careening into the roadside park.

Alt pulled a U and stopped outside the park gates, throwing open his door and drawing his weapon. The van had ran over a few bushes, and ultimately had come to a rest on its side. From what he could see, it was smoking, but he couldn't make out the occupants. "Do you see anyone Watcher?" Styx called, approaching slowly from the left.

[MasterCrew]

Westbound on Rue Froidevaux - Paris, France
20:20 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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“The easiest escape route would be to head northwest, down along the Rue Froidevaux. From there, the Rue Jean Zay would be the most likely route, but who knows where these terrorist might go…” von Bowman stated coolly.

"We will just have to stop them before that then." Alt concurred in speech and action as his foot slammed on the gas pedal.

Gaining on the white van, the Civic swerved around an enormous, horning blaring Isuzu C/E-Series Mark II. As the van revealed itself twenty or so yards from in front of the truck, a clear straightaway appeared ahead of the two operatives. The sports car shot down the Saint-Jacques onto the Rue Froidevaux, creeping up on the enemy vehicle. Rapidly approaching the white escape car, Alt accelerated, causing the Civic to drive within ten feet of the Nezak’s rear bumper.

“Hold on!” shouted Alt as he nudged the accelerator, positioning the Civic’s right front bumper with the van's rear.

Skillfully twisting the steering wheel, the sports car jabbed the van. Then, the van spun out, circularly skidding in front of the car’s forward bumper. Abruptly, the van switched into reverse and started to gun down the Rue Deparcieux. The sports Civic growled as it followed the van down the road. As the roadway narrowed up ahead, Alt stepped on the accelerator, coming up on the right side of the van. Scanning out of the windshield, Othmar’s eye caught the glint of a metallic object, a hand gun, emerging from the driver’s side window of the van. Before von Bowman could warn his counterpart, the Civic collided with the van. The operative’s rounds tore through the driver’s side mirror of the sports car, fortunately not injuring either of two.

About as fast as summer lightning, the van sharply oscillated off balance and flipped, crashing into the floral park at the end of the street. The van halted. Its cabin smoked profusely. The Nezak were now trapped. Thrusting his door open, Othmar stepped out of the Civic and drew two throwing knives from his sleeve. Virtually resting on its side, the white van steamed in absolute silence. It was quite, too quite. Intently making every step silent, von Bowman cautiously moved towards the flipped van, scanning around the perimeter for any signs of danger.

"Do you see anyone Watcher?" Styx called, approaching slowly from the left.

“Negative,” Othmar whispered, “I’ll advance around the back of the van, you move over to the side door…”

Both soldiers slowly but surely reached the white van in deafening quietude. Circling around the vehicle, Othmar’s nerves started to tingle as he inched towards the back doors. Grey smoke thickened the air around the soldier with the repugnant smell of gasoline filling his senses. His breathing began to labor; his palms commenced sweating around the high carbon stainless steel, double-edged throwing knives. While shutting his eyes momentarily, Othmar whispered a prayer. Now within reach of the door, Othmar silently placed his hand on the rusted door handle from the left side of the van.

“Opening the back door,” breathed Othmar through his communication device, “in three… two… one ”

As soon as the last word annunciated from his mouth, the sound of a metallic object rolling against the cement could be heard from behind him. Glancing back, the distinct, circular, silhouette of a grenade could be seen resting two yards behind him.

“Grena…” screamed von Bowman as he hurdled himself away from the explosive. A thundering discharge of metal and earth engulfed the street in an ear-piercing bang.

The force of the explosion sent Othmar tumbling across the grassy park.
A ringing pandemonium gripped his ears.
Blackness covered his eyes.
Unconsciousness set in.

[Red Beret]

SEA HAWK

Red Beret - Krylenko, Nikolai (Sickle)
MasterCrew - von Bohman, Othmar (Watcher)
Siphran - Tarret, Alteid (Styx)
Tearstone - Chambers, Phillip (TBD)
vince01 - Ishikawa, Kazuyoshi (Rain)



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Whitehall - Undisclosed Location
01:35 Local Time, Thursday, 19 April 2012
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"Von Bohman is going to make a full recovery. He's one tough sonuvabitch."

"Krylenko, Ishikawa and Tarret, too."

"Did Bolten get home all right?"

"In the same condition that he left us."

"When are they gonna bury him?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know."

"He was a good man."

"They all are. That's why I don't want to put them back out there so soon."

"What we want and what we've got are two different things."

"Well, what've we got?"

"We recovered information about all sort of Syndicate arms shipments going through Shanghai. Turns out Dawes didn't report everything because there was just too much left to wade through."

"He should've told us."

"We would've just told him to get his shit together."

"George-"

"You're acting like it's not true, Ash. The only reason you've got any sympathy for the poor bastard is because of what happened in Shanghai."

"Blind Guardian..."

"We're not worrying about Blind Guardian right now. We've got a major incident on our hands. The Syndicate is out to make money, but don't think they're not looking to fuck us over in the process. They've got a nuclear device heading for some tiny little archapelago in the Pacific, it's our job to shut it down."

"How quickly do we need to deploy?"

"We have a few weeks. I've started running Krylenko's team through a mock-up. Like I said, they're a tough bunch."

"You worried about, well, you know."

"Staying busy will be good for them. It's not like we can ask just anyone to attack a freighter for us..."

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En Route from South Africa - Atlantic Ocean
03:19 Local Time, Saturday, 21 April 2012
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Krylenko stared out at the dark, roiling waves below. The moon was just bright enough to cast a shimmering peak on each one... such a shame that not even the earth would acknowledge what had to be done in the wee hours of the morning. He looked to his teammates, then up toward the Blackhawk that was flying parallel to their own. They were coming in low enough to drop onto the bow of the freighter. He could just barely make out the target in the distance, but it was growing larger, and fast. They only had a few minutes for their final preparations.

Krylenko had chosen to go for speed and maneuverability over anything else. Despite the threat of the 7.62mm rifle rounds, he wore light armor. The rifles wouldn't be as maneuverable in the enclosed space of the cargo hold, so he expected to encounter something lighter once they got inside. He had a rather nasty surprise for the enemy, however... he'd chosen to outfit himself with a Heckler & Koch UMP, chambered for .45 ACP. A nasty weapon with a nasty punch.

What's more, Descoteaux was back with them, in her capacity as their handler. Even though she was still stationed in the Paris branch headquarters, the satellite feed was enough to make it seem like she was right there with them. She had checked in a few minutes ago, to let them all know that she was on standby and that she'd be watching to make sure that they were able to accomplish their mission. They would have aerial support on standby, out of an air base known as Langebaanweg. That, coupled with the SAS team, made Krylenko feel rather secure.

He had a device handy that would jam the radio frequencies that the ship operated on. It meant that the helo pilots might not be able to communicate with the outside, but they were professionals, and he knew that they'd make do while the team was completing their mission. The device wouldn't affect the Division's cross-comm technology, so the team's communications would not be compromised.

"Remember," Krylenko said, looking at his fellow operatives as the ship drew near, "We go for nuclear devices first, then we take care of everything else."

[Tearstone]

The whir of the rotors hammered through the air, cutting a circular swath just above the occupants, speeding over the ocean. The motor itself, combined with the beat of the chopper vibrated the the frame, but most of it was ignorable thanks to the set of headphones covering Phillip's ears. One leg bounced up and down rapidly on the ball of his foot almost in tune to the helo's turning main rotor, but that was far from his mind. No. they were headed for their fastrope point. Landing two choppers on the bow would be nearly impossible with the limited space and rotor wash.

For the moment he sat silently, turning his head just a little to loosen the collar around his neck that was his throat mic. Riding in a thigh combat rig was a suppressed Sig Saur P220 and he had several spare magazines for it. An MP5SD6 was clipped in a single strap quick-release rig that was around his neck and shoulder. Several more magazines rode in a tactical chest rig over his armor. While the flight continued he set up his X-com gear, then made sure his tactical knife was in place, along with a backup. A few flashbangs, a couple frags and a claymore with appropriate rigging, a bundle of zip-ties, and a few other odds and ends completed his kit.

Idly he reached up to thumb his nose with the side of his thumb, using a neuro-linguistic programming technique to shut out his nervousness and put on his game face. His eyes hardened, as did his jawline, and the jitters faded, and instead came a calm, cool, collected state of mind that would allow him to react quickly and easily, but there was a charge, a tension that was one of readiness.. not stress.

They'd drilled for this op in dozens of configurations, with bad guys outfitted in a number of different ways, and all sorts of possible setups. They had prepared as best they could, with as little time as they had. Now it was time to put it into action. Their SAS counterparts would do their job well, as would his own team. They were some of the best operators in the world. The guys they were up against were little more than Guido the Killer Pimp in a row boat.

The crew chief piped up, getting their attention, holding up a finger. "One minute!" he shouted over the noise of the chopper. "One minute," Phillip replied back, holding up a finger in response, acknowledging the message. "Nukes first," Phillip confirmed over the cross-com. "Sickle, what's my callsign?"