The Division

[MasterCrew]

Undisclosed Location
01:42 Local Time, Thursday, 19 April 2012
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Darkness shrouded von Bowman as he walked down a damp alley way. The sky was pitch black, the dismembered road he walked upon embraced the puddles of muck and water that infested its surface, and the slight echo of water dripping plucked somewhere off in the distance. Othmar peered ahead into what looked like a never ending alley, saturated in Cimmerian shade. How long had he been strolling down this street? Why was walking in this mire laden alley? Pivoting around, the same, never ending, gloomy path traveled as far as his eye could see behind him. A strange icarian feeling washed over von Bowman. With an eerie sense of panic crawling up his spine, he resumed his walk but at a high clip of pace. Othmar looked up out of the alley, trying to spot where the brick layers ceased their work and ended the building. So lofty was the roof top that even the keen eyes of the Norwegian-American barely picked out its formed silhouette.

“Othmar…” a soft, low voice spoke next his ear.

Jolting forward, von Bowman’s heart reeled at the cold resonance of the voice as he craned his head around to see the outlined shape of a body, standing ten yards abaft.

“Othmar…” the shape again retorted in its deep, masculine voice.

“Who are you?” replied von Bowman, breathing heavily from the sudden scare.

The shape stood motionless. Time seemed to stop. The sounds of the alley ceased. Every so gently, an incessant beeping toned called out.

The figure gradually glided forward towards him, revealing a man, thirty years of age. His face was smooth and spotless, his long blonde hair flowed behind him, and his green eyes looked as if he was peering into your very soul.

“It is time to go… Goodbye.” Whispered the man.

Suddenly, the road beneath Othmar feet caved in, sending the soldier flailing down, down, down, and further down into an amaranthine hole. The beep raised its voice to an intolerable decibel as he plunged deeper and deeper. With a sound of metal hitting metal, von Bowman crashed onto a steely surface. Dizziness blurred his thinking; his senses became entrapped and claustrophobic. The beeping stopped with a shrill shriek. The only noise that was to hear was his own breathing in the dark, oppressive silence. Othmar tried to reach up but his hand hit a barrier that spread out all above and around him.

No matter where he ran his hands he couldn’t find an opening, and then he realized where he was as he heard something hit the outside of his person. Bolts being hammered into place, the small space, the aphotic hole… He was being buried. Panic set in as he thrashed against the coffin, trying to fight himself free. As the inevitable set in, he knew of nothing else to do as the air ran out around him. With all his might he surged forward in an attempt to sit up…

Othmar woke from the nightmare in a cold sweat. The constant beeping of his bedside cardiac monitor reassured him that this was back in reality. Othmar’s eyes were wide with fright, his hand tremored on the thin, white hospital bed linen. He tried to shake the horrific dream from his mind but it was stubborn, making him almost ignore that today was a special day. It was his favorite kind day; it was the day he would receive his new assignment. Reaching for a resting glass of water on the bedside table, he swallowed a sip of water and sighed.

A doctor walked into the room and checked his vitals. Smiling, the doctor stepped over to his patient, “Your vitals look good Mr. von Bowman. If all goes well, you’ll be out of here in a matter of hours.”

“Thank you sir,” replied Othmar, “I appreciate it. Quick question, how long have I been here? I know it has been a couple days…”

“Actually, you have been here for week.” Interrupted the doctor, “You were unconscious for forty eight hours; some of us thought you wouldn’t make it. Alright, I’ll give you some peace and quiet, have a good day!”

[vince01]

En Route from South Africa - Atlantic Ocean
03:21 Local Time, Saturday, 21 April 2012


A lifetime ago, it would have been me on that chopper. Kazuyoshi reflected.

In a seemingly ironic twist of fate, the Division is cooperating with the SAS on this mission, and Ishikawa couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. How many times had he been on a Blackhawk as an SAS operator; bringing either quiet death or precise destruction to unfavorable elements in the world? Absent-mindedly stroking his FN P90, he mused on his choice to be a deniable operator for MI6, made so long ago, that resulted in him leaving behind SAS, and entering a world where shadows loomed and whispers of conspiracies abound.

And yet, here I am. A different employer perhaps, but much of the same job. Ishikawa ‘Rain’ Kazuyoshi didn’t mind; it was what he’s good at, and yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that his past would not leave him be; a continuous specter haunting his psyche. At least we’ll be going in with the best.

And the best is what they would need, after the Paris debacle. Kazuyoshi still cringes at his failure to rescue the scientist. A better reaction time, a quarter-less turn of the wheel, and they might have stayed on the chase. As it is, the operator codenamed Rain knew damn well that he’s cleaning up his own mess.

The two Blackhawk cuts through the night sky like a surgical blade upon a cadaver, and before long the cargo ship wades into view, like some metallic leviathan groaning in the ocean. Confirming Sickle’s reminder with a quick nod, Rain focuses his jet-black eyes – through a clear wraparound glasses he chose to wear for this mission to keep out any errant liquid from his eyes – on the target ship, where at this point he could make out the jerky movements of frantic crew members running around the ship.

The Division’s Blackhawk whizzes past the bridge of the ship, and the door gunner let out a salvo of bullets onto the deck, cutting down several hostiles with rifles in the progress. The alarm’s thundering is deafening, and frantic movements can be seen streaming out of the various openings, the burst fire from their rifles – AK 108s, if the briefing is accurate – lit up the night like deadly fireworks.

With some deft maneuvering, the pilot positioned the chopper above the bow of the ship, and Rain immediately took point and abseiled down onto the metallic deck, even as the door gunner continues to provide covering fire. Boots thumping on the ground, Rain immediately dashed to nearby crate to provide additional covering fire, his P90 up and firing at any movement. With his cross-com, he could already see the other members of the Division approaching the entrance to the hold - where hopefully the nuclear device is stored – even as the second Blackhawk provides further reinforcements as the SAS roped down with precise movements.

Two hostiles were cut down by Rain’s firing before he could hear the breaching of the door, the flashbang going off, and the voice from one of his teammates yelling “Go, go, go!” A pat on Rain’s shoulder told him it’s time to bring up the rear, and satisfied that the SAS squad would take care of the rest of the hostiles on the deck, Rain dashed back and brought up the rear as the others descended into the hold of the cargo ship.

[MasterCrew]

En Route from South Africa - Atlantic Ocean
03:20 Local Time, Saturday, 21 April 2012
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The moon lightened the atramentous sky above, creating an eerie shimmering on the waters below. Whirling above the unseen waters flew two Black Hawk helicopters, parallel to each other. Inside the cabin of the left helicopter, Othmar peered ahead into what looked like a never ending ocean, praying this mission would be more successful than the first. Gently stroking his MP5N for reassurance, the Marine concentrated on the mission at hand, finishing up his final preparation. Strapped to his thighs, two silenced MK23 rested in their holster, ready to engage enemy combatants. As usual, four KX9 Throwing Knives latched themselves onto von Bowman’s forearms.

Looking up from his preparation, von Bowman locked eyes with Styx. With a smile and an affirmative nod, Othmar put on his tactical combat gloves, inlaid on the backhand with dragon skin, lilting at the knuckles; giving the maximum pack for every punch. Close quarters combat with the enemy, his military forte, was a definite encounter the Division would face upon entering the freighter. The Pre-Raid Reconnaissance reports informed the operatives of the daunting menace of 7.62mm rifle rounds. Even with that in mind, von Bowman decided to wear clear tactical glasses and a light armor for mobility and flexibility.

"Remember," Krylenko calmly stated from Othmar’s right, "We go for nuclear devices first, then we take care of everything else."

“Nukes first.” confirmed Phillip Chambers, the newest addition to the Division.

Only being introduced to him a four days earlier, Othmar looked skeptically upon the new arrival. Not knowing much of his history, von Bowman kept his apprehension to himself, hoping that the young man would pull through this mission without difficulty.

Replying to Krylenko, Othmar retorted, “Nuclear devices first… Let’s do this gents.”

Slowly, the freighter appeared in the distance. The choppers lowered down and prepared to engage hostiles on deck. Now within two hundred of the vessel, the left door gunner zeroed in on his sights, ready to let fly a volley of bullets. As the Blackhawk containing the Division zipped past the freighter, close to the bridge, the gunner spewed a long barrage of rounds onto the deck, nailing multiple alarmed hostiles firing at the unknown helicopter. A reverberating tocsin clanged at a deafening decibel, immediately accumulating berserkish movements from numerous doorways. Blazing bullets from several AK 108s whipped past the Black Hawk as it banked back to the “cargo drop off”.

Maneuvering the helicopter above the bow of the ship, the pilot glided above as a rope was thrown from the cabin. Rain jumped out first. With a swift and clean movement, Othmar rappelled down second, thumping down onto the metal deck. While sprinting for the crate next to Rain, von Bowman unclipped his MP5N and clicked it off of safety. In a crouched position, Othmar peeked over his crate, only to see fifteen yards away a glaring hostile sprinting towards him. Touching the trigger, rounds pelted into the hostile, sending the deceased man sliding across the wet deck.

To his left, Rain popped up and took out two more hostiles heading for Sickle, Styx, and Chambers, who were attempting to breach the cargo hold door. Over his cross-communication device, Othmar could hear the clanging of the door and then a loud and clear, “Go, go, go!” from Krylenko. Tapping Rain on the shoulder, von Bowman turned and sprinted across the deck, reaching the doorway to the cargo hold without trouble and descended the staircase, ready to engage enemy combatants.

[Red Beret]

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Syndicate Freighter - Atlantic Ocean

"Sickle, what's my callsign?"

Krylenko grinned at Chambers, "I looked over your file. We call you 'Sailor' for now, da? You can choose new one later."

The Cross-Comm system that the Division employed was extremely convenient for situations like this, where there was too much noise to be heard. The microphone canceled out background noise and allowed him to hear his comrades' voices clean and clear, almost as if they were sitting together in a quiet room instead of an airborne helicopter.

Suddenly, the gatling gun situated on Krylenko's side of the Blackhawk whirred to life as they made their first pass over the freighter. The helicopter maneuvered around, letting the gunner have his fun, then came alongside. The five operatives dropped onto the deck, and their SAS counterparts mirrored them to port. Rain and von Bohman worked together splendidly, allowing Krylenko to set the charges on the door leading down into the hold. Von Bohman tapped Rain on the shoulder, but Krylenko ushered him through behind Chambers, then slipped in after Tarret. He could feel Rain on his heels as he headed down.

"Check your fire," Krylenko said as they got into position, "I would prefer not to have a Viking funeral anytime soon."

"I would prefer not to have to get to know a new team, either," Descoteaux chimed in, "It looks like you boys got lucky today. The hold only has one level, but it's divided into three large sections, with corridors leading from bow to stern on either side. You'll find the engine room at the stern of the ship, but I don't have much more than that."

"Got it," Krylenko replied, "We're entering the first section of the hold now, from the starboard door. Watcher, take Styx and Sailor and head along the forward wall to port side. Rain and I will move around the flank. Move slowly, move silently, do not fire unless you have a target in sight. We do not want to damage this ordinace."

With that, Krylenko slinked into the room. It wasn't very well-lit, but it was full of containers, which no doubt held various contraband. How much of it was weapons, Krylenko couldn't be sure, but he did know one thing--none of it would reach its intended target.

[vince01]

Syndicate Freighter Hold - Atlantic Ocean

The cargo hold was a dim environment at best, with ill-maintained lights flickering off and on at certain spots. Rusted containers are arranged neatly throughout this area, creating almost a maze-like grid, with openings and gaps branching off from the main corridor on which Watcher and Rain were traversing. Odd protrusions in the form of crates and assorted cardboard boxes serves to make the atmosphere even edgier; for Rain knows that if hostile forces were to set up an ambush, this would be a perfect place. On the first of these openings branching off to the left, the half-Japanese operator elected to pursue that path – checking the corners as he did so – and found that it opened to another path that runs parallel to the main corridor; a path that runs alongside the edge of the hold.

“This is Rain, beginning the sweep on this side.” Rain breathed, as he slung his un-silenced p90 to his back and drew his silenced H&K mk23 from his hip holster. Silence seems to be the order of the day, and in a close-range environment, the mk23 is the ideal weapon. Unsheathing his black combat knife and holding it blade-down with his left hand completed his CQC readiness. As the team spread throughout the hold in order to sweep for hostiles, Rain could make out the little blue dots on his cross-com that represents his allies; each of them more or less spread out in a single line, sweeping the room quickly and carefully.

Footsteps, coming in around the corner on the right. Rain pressed himself to the corner, hiding himself in the shadows between flickering lights. The footsteps were hurried, and urgent whispers could soon be heard. “More than one Tangoes on the starboard side.” Rain breathed in to the cross-com, readying himself.

Even before the muscled crew member brandishing an AK 108 had put in half a step around the corner, Kazuyoshi pressed the barrel his silencer onto the crew member’s head, and pulled the trigger. Pfft. A pink mist erupted from the other side of the victim’s head, and by then Rain had stepped past the stumbling corpse, saw the second hostile, and squeezed off three more rounds onto his torso, before adjusting and shot a final bullet straight to the head. Both targets dropped within seconds of each other, but it was only then that Rain saw the third crew member hidden behind a crate, slack-jawed, covered with blood of his comrade, and in the process of aiming his rifle –

Pff-Pfft. Two almost imperceptible sounds caused the third hostile to jerk up momentarily, and then slump down lifelessly. Behind the new corpse, Krylenko nodded to Rain, his rifle at chin-level, having apparently ambushed the crew members from behind. Rain nodded back his thanks, and without a word, the Watcher coolly stepped back, and continued his sweep on his own path. Rain shook his head, reloaded, and took the cue to move on.

[MasterCrew]

Syndicate Freighter Hold - Atlantic Ocean
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Descending down the sleek, starboard staircase, Othmar swapped magazines, adjusted his spiked gloves, and assessed the dimly lit storage room. The hull was littered with wide crates, suffused wide enough for a single person to stroll through easily. Upon reaching the hull’s floor, von Bowman noticed that the rasping of the wind created a loud creaking in the hull, giving off the false sound of footsteps.

"Check your fire," articulated Krylenko as each operative exited the staircase, "I would prefer not to have a Viking funeral anytime soon. Watcher, take Styx and Sailor and head along the forward wall to port side. Rain and I will move around the flank. Move slowly, move silently, do not fire unless you have a target in sight. We do not want to damage this ordinance.”

Othmar signaled is agreement with a affirmative nodding of his head and continued forward quietly to the nearest crate. Stopping for a moment, he glanced back to see Styx and Sailor, filing in behind the crate.

Over the cross-communication, Rain voiced his approach on the opposite side of the hold, “This is Rain, beginning the sweep on this side.”
With a motioning of his hand, Othmar waved his team to follow as he entered the first line of crates to his right. Slowly, as he crept along the crates in a half crouch, he swapped his MP5N for his two silenced MK23. Edging towards the next opening of crates, Othmar listened carefully for hostiles. The opening led to a perpendicular path, splitting off to both the right and left. As von Bowman reached the opening, he peered around the crate to his left, only to find Rain, twenty so yards away, jumping into a shadowy corner next to a corridor.

“More than one Tangoes on the starboard side…” Rain breathed in to the cross-com.

Othmar halted his team’s movement, checking his own surrounds for enemy activity. Gently leaning out from behind his crate, he locked his eyes on Rain. Without warning, a hostile jumped from his hiding place at Rain, who swiftly decapitated the enemy with a round to the head. Sprinting past the dead combatant, Rain let out another volley rounds towards the stern. The thump of another body echoed through the hold along with two faint spurts of gunfire, belonging to Krylenko’s UMP. A confident smile escaped von Bowman’s lips as he viewed Rain look in his direction, giving him the go to move forward. Immediately after the signal to advance, Othmar calmly led his two men to the right, this path leading to another corridor that would take them to the next segment of the hold. Ahead of them, the corridor entrance way was open, showing no sign of activity.

Leaning back to Sailor, Othmar whispered, “Let me go in first. There’s no point in getting both of us killed upon entering the doorway. If all goes well, I’ll deliver the all clear as I reach the corridor’s exit.”

Proceeding dexterously across the corridor’s threshold, Othmar stalked silently upon the hallway’s metal flooring. The exit of the corridor arched ten yards from his position, door closed. Quickening his pace, Othmar warily walked up to the enclosed exit. With a light twist of the handle, the door flicked open, revealing a dark, musty room, littered with smaller wooden crates. The only light that pervaded the stingy cellar was the sporadic flickering of lights belonging to the previous room. Creeping out, von Bowman pressed himself against the wall to his back and noiselessly slithered to the back of the room.

Othmar, crouching down behind a crate, breathed so very gently in the microphone, “All clear, start your move…”