Jan leaned back, as they were entering Denmark. The daylight was beginning to break, as they were now on the last stretch, out to Copenhagen. They had a few bridges to cross, but they were at least out of Germany, and on the path to something new. The sleet began to thicken to snow, with the small crack of sunlight in the east amongst the clouds just bringing a slither of light into the darkness that still sat over Central Europe, Jan more than aware that it could very well be the last sunrise he would see. It had been a good life, so far at least. They'd arrive in Copenhagen well ahead of anything, but at least they had time to set themselves up, and just think things through. Zhenya and Scott were right about that bar, it sounded kick-ass, though Jan knew that wasn't his path. No, that was a different one.

---

1730 Hours
Somewhere in Copenhagen
24th December, 2013

The Land Rover coming to a halt was a distinct tone. The snow had thinned out, but there was a thin layer dotting the streets, and in this backstreet, Jan simply exhaled a foggy breath. It was cold, below zero, but something that he didn't really feel too much. Taking the 416, below window view, he looked to the team.
"This is it. No going back now." He simply said, as he looked back at the group of men, aware that they'd talked it over a few times. They had come at this time, knowing that when they were at their most ready to strike, that they would be most vulnerable. All the assets in one place, ready to be sent out to be deployed. They had done some simple reconnaissance of the building from down the road, then sent a couple of members down the road, to see what was going on. The building itself was for rental- and wasn't heavily monitored, not of late, anyway, as an office space. It had three storeys, and the second one seemed heavily boarded up, in most areas at least, hiding something. It worked well to Jan's plan.

The timing of this was perfect- right in the middle of the celebrations, the fair, and a peak shopping hour in Copenhagen to the TIAF forces, a goldmine to strike. Of course, a nuclear warhead would be devastating, but the fact of the matter was, it put at least an extra three thousand or so at risk. It would be a horrifying event, and Jan wouldn't let it happen. Some simple reconnaissance later, they'd left any unnecessary kit in a pair of bins on the corner of an industrial estate, knowing full well that the rubbish wasn't going to be collected anytime soon in this season, and then moved to here. Right now, Jan could only think of what they'd do next. It was complicated, yet simple. Decisive action, was what it was.

"Just to go over for the last time, those fuckers occupy a whole floor of this building, an abandoned office space of sorts. We have no idea of what's inside, but it probably looks very hostile, and probably has acted as a staging area for both their men and weaponry. They'll be incredibly dangerous- they're likely to spring into action the moment they smell trouble. Chemical weapons by the City Hall, and the device on the main street. We've got Medved as our support, who will sweep and secure any exit routes out of the building, and move to anything that is already set in motion. The timings, if they're correct, give us the perfect chance to cut them off. If they're not, we die now." Jan added, looking at the group, as he looked out the window, then back across, the beanie-wearing Pole looking like he had seen better days. A lion didn't live forever, he reminded himself.
"There's going to be a lookout at the front entrance, and he'll probably have an eye on us within around five seconds of us walking up to the door. We get him quiet, by moving through the side fire exit, Medved sweeping the area out. To get into our floor, we'll open up and use the lift shaft in the building, and clamber up the lift's cable, all the way to the third storey, and basically go from there. As you can see, there's a lot of windows in the side of the building, and once the third floor is clear, we head to the roof and set up a rappel. I want this to be a backup point if Neil and Wendy have to set up the Barrett- God Forbid we fucking use that thing." Jan added, as he looked to the roof.
"We'll rappel in from there, and place breaching charges on the side of the building, on the second floor. We'll use the area on this side, rather than the main street, as it'll keep us out of the sight of the majority of people in the area. We breach in, sweep anyone in the open and identify our nuclear device. Remote detonation is pretty impossible, as we've got a jammer installed in the vehicle, but they run with it, we're going to have to stop them before they relocate out of it's radius." Jan added, looking over at the building once more.
"Medved will stop any runners, or at least hold the ground floor till our work is done. Any runners do get out, we stop them. I'd assume that whatever chemical weapons they have will likely be fairly fixed at this point, if they're using Soman- or carborne, in which case we will need Medved to hunt that down. As for us, Lima, we need to stop that detonation, by whatever means required. You all understand my ROE on the carrier. Check weapons." Jan added, as he put his thermal bandit up, the black blue and grey checked bandit not really affiliating him with any grouping at all, unless you considered the Hipster brigade one. He knew it might work at first, but later, it wouldn't.

Stepping out, Jan kept his 416 strapped to his plate carrier, fully aware that they were now in the public eye. When Jan had given the word, there was nobody on the street, and he wanted to be off it as soon as possible. Moving ahead, he headed down the pavement, not even second guessing that it could change very quickly. And they had to get inside, Jan knowing that Medved was working on it's own initiative from the moment Lima was out the car.
"Medved, this is Lima Actual. We are go, repeat, we are a go. Lima, we keep communication to a minimum till we're on the roof." The Polish Captain simply said, looking the team, as he moved on the crisp snow, before looking back at the entrance. There would be a lookout, that was for certain, but Jan knew that the downstairs was light for a reason. They weren't going in through the front, but none the less, upon heading down the alleyway, to hit the side. It was much more likely that they could flank the two guards at the front, and take them somewhat by surprise, eliminating them before an alarm could be raised.

OST

Moving to the door, Jan set up by the side, as he motioned to Zhenya, the cold and snowy alleyway out of sight. Jan breathed a cold breath, looking around, just keeping his wits about him.
"Kick it in." He said quietly but authoritatively, as he took out the Mk23 on his hip holster, waiting for Zhenya to smash it in, before he moved around. Following the Russian in, Jan looked around, moving up a set of stairs, to where the main "reception" area was. One of the two men stood, a Glock 17 in his hand, as Jan simply poked two rounds into the man's head, and into his friend's chest roughly three times, knocking him off his office chair in a bloody mess. The Pole moved into the hallway quickly, disengaging the radio that sat on the desk, aware it hadn't been engaged before the man in the chair had seen it. The place was pretty barren, apart from the desk, with some sort of Islamic music playing on it, and the chair man's Glock sitting in his dead bloody hands. It was fairly out of sight from the main road itself, but Jan made no mistake in pushing the two men under the desk, out of visibility, with anything suspicious. The Islamic radio was left on, the Captain guessing the people upstairs probably heard it in the far distance. It was fairly loud also, which had provided a perfect sound dampener for the silenced shots. Jan slid a new magazine into the pistol, before looking back. They knew what next.

The lift shaft was to the left of the reception hall, and two lifts did sit inside, though the power wasn't connected to them at the moment to make them work. It was simply a shell, and Jan knew that it did work out nicely for their insertion method, upwards to the roof of the building and then down the side. It was a little dramatic, for Jan's taste, but a direct breach from the lift shaft would need the required explosive to blow through a pair of lift doors, and somehow not create a backblast that would kill or injure anyone going into breach in that aftermath. The windows were a better option, even through the boarded up state they were in. The case of taking the stairs was tempting, but Jan would much rather completely surprise whoever was on the other side, rather than give a minute's warning. Moving to the door, Jan moved slowly in, looking for any wires, or traps. Nothing yet. Taking his 416, he used the stock to push upwards the lift's emergency exit on the roof, giving it a nice shunt with the polymer stock and giving a nice entrance. From here, was where Jan hoped his plan would work. Moving to the back, he gave a signal for the team to go up, putting his hands out in a boost, to clamber up to the exit. Neil followed behind, his AS VAL raised, as he took the Pole's boost, throwing himself up onto the top of the lift, offering a hand up to the next man up.

Right now, Jan wanted Lima quiet, or at least, as quiet as could be. They'd shot two bullets. Even with Allah Radio playing on full blast, Jan could guess that any sound of English would be interpreted as the sound of a raid coming in when they were in the lift shaft, keeping their secrecy down until the very moment that they breached. Jan felt almost good that he'd timed the bullets at the sound of a preacher yelling, which was somewhat thankful. He understood their culture, but just not entirely what it meant in implications. Things like this, that it wasn't for certain. But Jan didn't care right now about that in it's entirety, as he threw the next man up, Neil already on the top of the lift, grabbing the cable. It was strange to hold onto in his gloved hands, and would be hell to climb, knowing full well that it was an independent lift. Hands up, lock, legs up, lock. Repeating that for at least three and a half storeys normally wouldn't be much of a challenge. With a full combat load on, it would be pretty hellish, and Neil knew that it was this way or no way that they'd get up to the rooftop. Moving up, he lifted himself up, clambering up the rope bit by bit, as Jan waited for someone to lend him a helping hand from his supporting base. It was moving slow, but right now, Jan knew that nothing needed to be too quick. This was going to have to be as co-ordinated as possible, and he wanted Lima in the right place, before all hell broke loose. Perhaps his style of leadership was a little cold at times, but right now, Jan was just overclocked in the thought of getting the job done. Stopping these bastards.

Wendy continued along with the ground team, her weapon pointed where appropriate as she scanned for any tangos. She knew Lima needed all the men they could, which meant that even the sniper was on the ground with the team. Not that Wendy minded being on the ground, a little close combat didn't hurt much. The Canuck could handle all sorts of weapons, with the exception of rocket launchers and holding light machine guns. Those weren't exactly her area. However, weapons like shotguns, sub-machine guns, and most definitely assault rifles were something she was not afraid to get her hands dirty with. She originally started as a rifleman in the Canadian Army, after all. She stuck behind Neil, essentially covering the rear of the squad as they proceeded through the first floor of the building. They were quick, efficient. Just like clockwork. There was a reason why all the members of Task Force Lima were there. All of them had an incredible amount of expertise in their selected area.

Before the squad advanced further into the building, Wendy had the strangest hunch that there were still people lurking around on this floor. It was way too easy. "Jan, I'm going to be doing a little recon by myself..." She warned, before breaking off from her squad and venturing around the corner to do some individual reconnaissance. A little recon never hurt anyone. She tread carefully, watching for any sort of threat closely. Her suspicions would, unfortunately, come out to be true. There were two tangos standing right there within proximity to her. If they were to move from their position, they would spot the dead bodies and raise all hell within the building. Wendy was going to make sure that wasn't going to happen. She took aim with her SCAR, aiming it at a tango's head and popping off two shots. They were clean, indicated by her target dropping like a bag of rocks. She moved onto the next target in the blink of an eye, popping off another two shots and taking them out. They crumpled to the floor, verifying their death almost immediately. As soon as she was done, she relocated back to the squad, finding that they were moving up to the rooftop. It was going to be one hell of a climb most definitely.

One hellish climb later, they were finally on the rooftop. Wendy and her Barrett. It was a much better overwatch weapon than her AWM. Able to pop off .50 shots rapidly. That was the advantage with having a semi-automatic sniper rifle. No delay between shots. Just aim and squeeze. Nothing more nothing less. Wendy took a brief glance to the bottom, and found that this would be a rather crucial point to watch. "Alright guys... I think I'll be setting up shop here... cover the streets and whatnot." Wendy added in as she crouched down, beginning to pull out her sniper rifle and set up a spot behind some adequate cover. Well, it was adequate in context. All it really amounted to was a piece of corrugated steel and a hole in concrete she poked the barrel of her rifle through. It wasn't much, but it was better than being a sitting duck in the middle of nowhere with no cover.

As Jan and Zhenya headed directly for the lifts, Wendy bought up the same thing that niggled at Scott's mind: There could be other Tangoes on this floor, and elsewhere in the building.

"Jan, I'm going to be doing a little recon by myself..."

His eyes snapped to her, and then to Jan. "I'll back you up," he said in a clipped tone, and with a nod. As she moved off silently, or as damn near as, the englishman followed suit. She took out two tangoes and he nodded in affirmation, moving past her into an adjoining room. Two more of the hostiles lurked there, eyes on the street through the big plate glass windows of what seemed to be some kind of break-room. Both had their backs to him. Immediately, he pulled the P-90 to his shoulder, the suppressor already attached. One of the men began to turn as he pulled the trigger. The first 5.7mm round hit the man on the right high in the head, spraying a cloud of gore into the air and across his compatriots' face, before the second round, hitting as he was beginning to fall, caught him through the ear and exited in a messy hole through the front of his face. The second man opened his mouth to shout and began to raise his weapon, eyes wide in alarm; but Scott had already anticipated the action, and fired a second pair of rounds. They caught high in the hostiles' torso, slamming into his chest and sending him to the ground in a clutter of tangled limbs. Moving swiftly, he stepped over to the downed man. His eyes were already clouding over as blood bubbled from his lips. Grimacing, Scott drew his knife and slit the mans' throat; even a shit like this didn't deserve to suffer for long.
He quietly called in two more down as he made his way to the lift. He waited for Wendy to climb up, her having got there ahead, before he hauled himself up through the hatch, and then began his own climb.
It was arduous and straining; even with the workouts he took to keep in shape and the relentless practice they all endured, it was an unpleasant environment and the lift cable itself was greasy, coarse and abrasive. Nonetheless, with much swearing under his breath and a red face, he made it to the top a few moments behind the others, swiftly climbing out of the shaft and taking a kneeling position as he regained his breath and took a quick sip of water from his camelback. As he sat still and waited, his eyes were hard and alert, ears pricked and listening for any unusual sound. He kept his expression hard, despite the whirl of adrenaline and emotions inside himself. He nodded to the others as they too stood ready. Wendy moved to set up her huge rifle, and once she'd called in she was set up, Scott looked to Jan.
"I think we're ready, sir," he said quietly. "Everyone's present and accounted for. Better tie off".
He moved to the edge of the roof, keeping low to avoid silhouetting himself and began looking to a good point to tie his rapelling rope, waiting for the order from Jan. Timing would be crucial as they dropped in. If there was too much of a delay, then one of the others might not have cover at the right moment. Letting the P-90 dangle for a moment, he unreeled his nylon rope and began to tie off, threading the other end through the harness around his waist and chest.

It felt strange to Zhenya, that as he stepped out of the rover in his battle kit and rifle in hand, he did not feel even a twinge of hesitation or discomfort. Needless to say, this was perhaps one of the strangest things he had ever done - wearing full combat kit with a full-sized rifle in a densely-populated city? Not even the SVR or GRU would be willing to do that, and that was proven by Medved's hushed words through his earpiece. "I have to say, Lima, you all are not very subtle." Medved-One said, with no small amount of amusement in his voice. "We have parked somewhere quiet and secluded. Going silent. We will inform you when we are ready."

Zhenya followed behind his team as they entered the building, breaching the door as he was ordered. Rather than going with the usual 'foot-to-the-lock' method, he decided that, just this once, he would give whoever that was on the other side a shock. He took a few steps back from the door, then ran straight into it, smashing it clean off it's hinges by his weight alone. The captain finished off the few people that were in the room with the efficiency that Zhenya had grown used to. "Leave us some next time," The Russian said, feigning boredom. Nonetheless, he took the brief moment of peace to take a look around the room.

There was not much to see, save for the radio blasting out Islamic music that sounded a lot more like prayers to him. Zhenya followed the team into the lift and clambered through the emergency exit after Scott. The Russian had guessed the plan the moment the Captain pushed the panel open, and he did not like what he was going to do one bit. It was very likely that Zhenya had the heaviest kit out of everyone on the team, and scaling up three floors using only the lift cables which were no doubt going to be oily. With a sigh, gave a prayer to a God he had long since stopped worshipping, and began the slow climb.

It was no surprise to Zhenya that he was the last to get onto the roof, a good couple of seconds after the person in front of me, and though Zhenya did not want to admit it, he felt pretty winded by the climb. That was the last time he would use body armour for such a mission; next time, he would get his hands on a nice, good plate carrier. Of course, that was assuming there would be a next time. "All up, Captain." He reported and moved to the edge of the roof, beside Scott. He prepared his rope for the rappel ahead of them, and looked to the Captain. "Medved will report when they are in position. They should not be long now."

Jan clambered, the climb long and ardous. Leg up, lock, arms up, lock. It was easy for a couple of meters, then it became hellish. Three and a bit storeys of this was horrifying, and with full combat gear, he knew that he'd be out of breath when he hit the top. It was a tricky way in, but as they clambered, Jan could hear the very faint noise of talking on the other side of the second floor lift door, sounding like it was Arabic of some kind. They were definitely here, if the set downstairs didn't confirm that. Carrying on, his Oakley gloves snatching the steel cable again, he pulled up, aware that his arms were going to be fairly dead. That didn't matter. Pain wasn't a quantity, and time was. So that latter factor was why Jan wasn't exactly slowing down at this moment in time.

Reaching the top, he swung off into the side, by the mechanism's inspection, dropping off and moving through the open door, to see where Neil, Wendy, Zhenya and Scott had set up. Jan took the 416 off his plate carrier, and did a last mental check over the weapon, as he put his thermal bandit up a little higher, and adjusting his beanie, looked out on Copenhagen. He held the German-made rifle in one hand, and his harness in the other, checking the buckles and straps.
"Okay. Scott, Zhenya, continue getting the ropes down. Neil, get some security for Wendy set up, then join us. Wendy, I need you to keep your position there. We get any runners, you eliminate them, and put a bullet through them- it's a good enough vantage point to see down most of the main roads, but if they hit an alley, you tell us." He simply said, as the Pole had a quick look around, the scene that they were in one that seemed preposterous.
"Going to rig a Claymore on the roof access door." Neil said over the comms to Wendy, as he got to work, Jan himself moving to the side of the building, the wind howling and the slightly slushy snow that sat on the roof a reminder that it was Christmas here. Darkness had decided to drop in fast, and the sun had almost completely set now, with the noise of the small fair going on a faint blur. Moving to the side of the roof, he joined Scott and Zhenya, Neil following behind, as he got his own rope ready. The nylon went through his gloves, as he found a attaching point, in the form of a metal bar that sat on the side of a generator, feeling it hold his weight as he tied in. Moving over, he looked down at the street, knowing there were civies there. They still had to go.
"Okay, on my go. Follow me down. We're going to breach the second floor, the third is empty, as far as I know. We'll be better off concentrating our fire on the second, and then sweeping upstairs if needs be. Either way, we're going to have charges ready. Two points of entry, gents, and we drop anyone that comes in our path." Jan said, as he threaded the rope through his harness, taking the rope in both hands as he stood on the edge, with his back to the void, before letting the rope have some slack.

He kicked off the concrete, moving slow and steady, waiting on Zhenya and Scott to keep up, as he let some more slack into the system, moving down, bit by bit. Putting some pressure on, he came in close, keeping the rope down, as he took the plastic explosive in his left hand. It was sticky, as a Breaching Charge could be expected to be. The plywood was a good attempt to cover up the glass, and what was going on inside, but Jan knew that a charge like this would blast it all to pieces. It would be inward, being a fierce and hard detonation of a small quantity of PE4, that would blow it inside into any unsuspecting hostile. Wedging the line shut, he folded it out, looking to his right, to Scott, who was at his side of the plywood cover. Jan stuck the last of the adhesive charge on, pushing off a little to the left as he got a nice standing position on the side of the building, being able to get his 416 ready.
"Charge is set. I pull this, we got five seconds." Jan said, as he looked over to Zhenya and Neil- the latter of whom was following the Russian, sticking close as he had his AS VAL ready, hanging in position as he let the Russian work the charge onto the plywood.
"Not bad, really." He said over the comms to Scott, as he chuckled, a magazine loaded in the 416, the EOTech 552 engaged and the VFG that sat on the weapon comfortable in his gloved hands. Waiting on Zhenya's word that his charge was ready on his breaching position, he exhaled, the heat difference saying it all really. It was below zero, and here, windy. Jan moved a little to the side, pulling the key out slow, as he gave the word.
"Medved, Lima is about to knock on their door. Be ready for runners. Okay, Zhenya, prepare to set the charge. On my go, you set it. Pull the key..now, charge is armed, in five." Jan said, moving back, aware that Zhenya's was now going too, Jan nodding to Scott, as he was ready in position, offset from the charge, aware that they were going to have to do something that only Special Forces could call their forte. This was better on an Embassy, but this would do just fucking fine.
"Four, three, two," Jan said, as the charge began to burn, the cable heading to the charge burning intensely, as Jan simply breathed. He was offset to the left of their breaching point, giving Scott a better route in on the right, something a little more direct. He'd let him go first, as Jan pushed back with a hard leap, aware that there was a little slack he had left in the system. He protruded out, losing a little height, but enough to give him the momentum to get him where he wanted.
"One." Jan retorted, as it began.

Jan followed Scott, as he came back in, the loud crack of the explosive shaking the whole front of plywood cover, and smashing the window it covered, imploding inside as time began to dilate a little. Jan saw the panel in front become simply removed, as he swung back in, letting the slack to fully go, as he swung straight inside. Three men were blown down by the charge, and Jan was fast enough to already begin firing, the 5.56 rounds entering them in various places, as he held two hands on his rifle, still strapped in as time felt slower and slower. A few men were in disarray, as Jan saw the other two man team breach, Neil following Zhenya's lead, as he unloaded on a man by the lift shaft, this being one of the few rooms on this floor that they were based out of. Jan took out another man to the left, as he took one more out by what looked like a stash of weapons on a table, the place as messy and horrid as the Pole expected. Looking around, Jan kept an eye out, his rifle still raised, half a magazine left. There were at least eight dead men in this room, minimum. Possibly even twelve, though in this moment, this adrenaline fuelled anarchic moment where they had breached the side of an office building, Jan was more focussed on getting through this quick.
"Move, move, move!" He simply added, unclipping the karabiner-attached mechanism with one hand as soon as he had finished covering Scott. A couple of men, armed with R870s moved through the door, and found themselves getting picked apart by Jan's aim, one getting a shot in the head whilst the other took one to the leg, forcing him behind a plasterboard wall in cover, howling in pain. Jan finished the man, with a few shots through the plasterboard, as he moved forward, through the room.

"Inspect the area, look for the device. Get new mags in now, they're going to mobilize. Medved, we're inside now, we've got a fuckton of them moving back in!" Jan added, as he moved quickly, kicking over a table as the sight of a couple more moving through the door found themselves on the recieving end of the team's fire. Moving behind, he looked around the area, just seeing guns, and nothing but. AK74s, AKMs, even a handful of G3s and MG3s. Fuck, they were bringing a war to this place, and Jan could safely say that if this was their armory, that they'd still be able to orchestrate a horrifying terrorist attack regardless of whatever they had.

"It's not here, we must keep pushing! Neil, Zhenya, push up on the door to the left, use the spare breaching charge and blow through into the corridor! Scott, you're on point, we're going to continue into the conference room linked to this room and continue our sweep! Eyes open, watch for anything and everything! Wendy, you got any runners?" Jan simply retorted over the comms, giving Scott and opportunity to reload as he stepped over a body, sliding across table and moving quickly, to a piece of solid cover, near a concrete pillar. Nodding to Scott, he followed on his back, moving through into the next room. There was a fucking lot of them, and somehow, Jan knew that they were going to be either running now, or bogging down to fight off the raiding team. Jan didn't care. They were getting it.

"One."

The shaped charge practically vaporized the plywood the insurgents had used to barricade the window. Even though the blast had been directed inwards, and Zhenya kept himself well to the right of the window, he could still feel the heat seeping through his clothes and slightly warming his skin. Regardless, he jumped in through the window almost immediately after the blast, wanting to exploit the moment of shock and confusion among his enemies for all it's worth. His first target - a particularly well-equipped insurgent in that he had a plate carrier on - went down without much trouble, thanks to the almost ridiculously high rate of fire from his AN-94. One split-second squeeze of the trigger and already he was down six rounds.

Zhenya released himself from the rope and moved deeper into the room, giving space for Neil to follow in behind him. Another insurgent popped up from behind a table, no doubt feeling rather clever for 'ambushing' the squad. However, before he even had a chance to curl his finger around the trigger, Zhenya opened fire on him, letting off a quick burst which punched clean through the wooden table and into the hostile behind it. More men came in through the door, armed with shotguns, but it was evident that they had no idea what they were up against. They came through as a group, squeezing through the doorway, rather than attempting any sort of proper room-clearing drill. The squad's firepower turned them into corpses in no time at all.

Taking a brief moment to reload his rifle, Zhenya took a look around the room. They had to have entered through the armory, and that was, in a way, a blessing despite not having found what they came for. The Russian walked over to one of the stacks of weapons and took out a grenade from one of his pouches. He attached a piece of string to the pin, then tied the other end to one of the rifles. Carefully, he placed the grenade inside the pile of weapons so that it would be hidden from view. "A surprise for anyone thinking of arming themselves," Zhenya said with a grin that was perhaps more malicious than intended. He walked away from the pile, stopping by a crate of grenades. Casually, he pocketed one of the grenades to replace the one he had used for his little trap.

Zhenya moved to the door indicated by the captain, waiting for Neil to take up position opposite him. "Do not go in before me," The Russian said sternly and placed the charge on the door. Before pulling the cord, he knocked three times on the door and was rewarded by the sounds of people talking on the other side. "Blasting," Zhenya reported, pulled the cord and looked away to shield his eyes from any flying debris. Five seconds later, the charge detonated, destroying the door, and judging by the yells and screams, a few hostile targets along with it. Not satisfied, Zhenya took out a grenade, primed it and threw it through the door way.

"Go!" Zhenya shouted just as the grenade detonated, rushing through the doorway and firing off several rounds down the left side of the corridor, leaving the right for Neil to cover. Once the dust settled, a gruesome sight greeted them. The hostiles that had been killed by the breaching charge were practically blown to pieces, and the grenade had taken care of the rest. Those that were not shredded by the ball-bearings had died from the concussive blast wave magnified by the confined space of the corridor.

Worst still, there were several doors on both sides of the corridor. "Captain, we have at least ten rooms down this corridor. It will take some time for us to check all of them individually." He reported.

Almost at the same time, Medved came back into contact with the squad. "Medved here. Just got into position, encountered unexpected resistance, but took care of them. Take caution, a squad of at least ten hostiles were making their way up the stairs towards your position just as we arrived on scene. Setting up defensive positions now."

Scott kept up with Zhenya and Jan as they rappelled down the side of the building, kicking off every so many feet to bounce down the side of the metal and concrete face until they were at the entry point, boarded up with plywood. Leaning back, he let the rope take the strain as he waited for the charge to be attached. A cold wind blew, turned to a whistle by the vents in his helmet and the gap between his headset and ear, and he gritted his teeth against the winter cold.

"Not bad, really."

"Yeh, at least we have a nice view" he quipped back, rocking from foot to foot slightly as he waited in the brief few moments they had, checking his P-90. Jan nodded to him, and he took up the slack on his line again, ready to swing - literally - back into action.

"One."

Scott pushed off of the wall at the same instant the charge blew, swinging toward the cracked and smouldering plywood. His boots smashed through the flimsy, thin covering with his weight behind them, the crash of falling glass and the splintering crack of wood an accompaniment to the yelled of rough, accented voices shouting as he came through the window in a storm of motion. As soon as he hit the floor the P-90 was up and at his shoulder, firing at its' insanely high RoF. He caught one man with his back to him, half-crouched over a table, another coming out of a glass-walled office, his hands bringing up an AK. He pushed on as Jan barked out the word to move, dashing forward with the PDW glued to his shoulder. He saw a movement of shadow ahead, and sprayed the flimsy partition wall with rounds, rewarded with a man toppling out of cover, gurgling as he collapsed. Zhneya and Jan finished up the rest, and he quickly ejected the spent, cassette-like mag from the P-90, slapping another of the long magazines into place on the top of the receiver.

Jan's next orders came through, and Scott nodded firmly. "Right," he replied in a clipped voice, tense with the numbers against them and the smell of blood and gunfire in the air. Moving on, he vaulted a low desk as Jan slid across another and they stacked up on the next door. He nodded briefly to his commander and friend, before booting the door open and sliding in, flowing around the frame like water.
Already there were plenty more hostiles, and already they were angry. He didn't hesitate or think further; they were targets so down they went. The P-90 chattered as he worked the crowd, snap-shooting one of the tangoes in the upper chest, before ducking into cover and rolling around the edge to take another in the face. Another got a burst up his leg as it protruded from cover, and he went to his feet again, rounds from an uzi-wielder zipping just above his helmet. He cursed in a growl as he returned fire, driving the bad guy back into cover as he moved forward, taking cover behind a photocopier.

Wendy vocalized her acknowledgment of Jan's order, making herself comfortable as she peered through the scope of her Barrett. Just another moment as an overwatch sniper. This was an essential task though. She needed to catch everyone who staggered away from the impending result. They could go get reinforcements, and before they knew it they were outnumbered and outgunned. Wendy had to be on high alert, making sure her reaction would have little to no delay. It was imperative, as soon as she had movement she would aim, point, and shoot. The time between targets needed to be next-to-nil, something Wendy was very well capable of achieving. The Canuck had a lot of tricks up her sleeve, and she wasn't afraid to use them. She lied on the ground, making a slow and calculated scan of the ground below, finger on the trigger and ready to move at a movement's notice.

An explosion could be heard and gunfire was exchanged for quite the bit, which prompted Wendy to get into a better position so she could move and fire. Gunfire continued for a long while, Wendy tensing her grip on the rifle as she readied herself. Readying herself to pull that trigger and eliminate any target. Once it dwindled, she would be expecting runners at any second. Runner she needed to dispose of immediately. Movement registered in her brain and she snapped to it. It was a tango sprinting for dear life for an alley, but Wendy wouldn't let anyone get past. One pull of the trigger, and they went down like a bag of bricks. Snapping to another target, she pulled the trigger again. Another quick scan before she closed in on another target, aiming towards his head and firing a round through his head. Clean kill, it was quick and efficient.

"I got runners, but they're down." She said, sighing as she went back to patrol mode, seeing if there was anyone else who dared to run after seeing their comrades fall. If they were any smarter than them they'd go back into the building or just surrender altogether. "All good on my end."

Jan kept on Scott's rear, the conference room turning to total anarchy, a little more furnished than any of the other rooms. An LCD screen on the far side was plastered in bullets, and there was a lot of enemies, just crowding into the place, Jan covering Scott's movement to the photocopier as a nifty piece of cover. He slid behind one of the desks and kicked it over, bullets planting in as he shot one of the men suppressing Scott, before ducking down, aware he was taking heat, Uzi man dead.
"Do it Zhenya, clear each and every room, go fast. Be ready for shotguns or close quarter weaponry on the other side. Lay shots into the top quarter, then kick the door in. Bullets go through plywood like paper. Cut down on explosives from here. We're close, and if we dent that canister, we're going to fuck ourselves even worse. This is bad- they're going to be in the next room. Once you're ready, set up another breaching point on the door leading through to the one we're in position by. We'll have two points of entry, and since the stairwell is at the other end, we should be able to neutralize these goons." Jan noted, as he looked over to Scott, nodding as he moved up, the room littered with bodies from Scott's pointmanship.
Moving over the table, Jan kept the 416 heightened, his blood pumping, body thundering with adrenaline and fear. Sweat poured down his face, and whilst his mouth and nose were covered by the bandit, he still looked more than definitely on edge. Moving around to the next door, Jan shot with a single round another runner, with louder yelling on the other side.

Meanwhile, Neil followed up Zhenya through the corridor, the sight grizzly.
"Roger that, Boss." Neil simply said, as he moved to the first door, laying rounds from the AS VAL, the voice of a man on the other side horrible, as Neil kicked the door down. Moving in, he put another set of subsonic 9x39mm rounds into the man, knocking him back down. The room was small, like they were more breakout roooms. From here, there were a couple more of these, and the toilets. The next two breakout rooms were empty, and Neil had let Zhenya take point on the other two in dealing whatever was inside, giving them the chance to systematically clean them out, one by one. They were all empty from there on out, and had little valuable supplies in them, as far as the eye could see.

After clearing the complex of doors, Neil and Zhenya were up against another door, another entry into the far side of the second floor, where there were what Jan only guessed the rest would go. If they hadn't headed down, they would be going up. Looking to Scott, Jan nodded once more, looking to the plywood door.
"Zhenya, Neil, set up a position on your door so that you can bung a flashbang in, hold tight on the explosives and look for the device. As far as I know, we're going to have company." Jan simply said, as he got ready to kick the door in, aware that they would breach almost at the same time. This was it, last room. Waiting on Zhenya's response, he knew that this last office complex of a room would be probably their best shot at finding what they needed. Turning the 416's Surefire M952V on, Jan prepared himself to move forward, the thin but powerful beam of light something that would be perfect for amplifying the effect from a flashbang. Throughout these offices, the lightbulbs had provided ample light, but from here, Jan wanted a little more illumination, as it was beginning to slowly falter.

"Now." Jan simply commanded immediately after Zhenya's response, as he kicked the door in, giving Scott the chance to move around after the 'bang, as at the same time, Neil lobbed the flashbang through the crack that Zhenya had made, the steel tube recoiling off a wall. The noise of gunfire rang out, as the men shot at the breachers' positions, but weren't accurate enough, or fast on their reflexes to respond to the white smashing blindness that was the flashbang that had been thrown in. The moment became an extended haze, as Jan moved around, following Scott, as did Neil with Zhenya. Laying down two men that were standing right in front of the door, Jan wiped them out with simple shots, as he moved to the side, taking cover by a steel table with a set of radios on top of it. Peeking fire, he took out another two men that were supressing the other breaching team, as Neil moved in himself, moving on the far side of the room where a few cracks in the plywood-covered windows existed, letting in a little streetlight, complimenting the failing office-styled bulbs that were in the ceiling.

It felt like hours passed, as Jan moved from the steel table, moving around the side to wipe out another contact that was moving towards the stairs, as Jan swept the area, peeking between the office tables, with the sight of one wielding an AK on the floor forcing Jan to act. A single bullet entered his abdomen, and he fired up into the roof, yelling loudly, as Jan moved the tilt of the rifle up, the CTR buttstock a tiny bit higher on his shoulder as he pulled the trigger. The man collapsed down, as he heard gunfire roar on down below, and screams develop.
"Look fucking around. We are not messing about here, fucking find that device!" Jan barked an order, looking between the rows of desks, empty of anything but just steel and plywood compartments here and there. There were small stores of kit, and other peripherals, this being almost a barrack of sorts. Sleeping bags and mats lay about occasionally, this really was a home for these people, and they'd kicked the door down on it. Neil moved to the crack in the windows, getting an eye out on the men outside, the two dead men that had run into the alley.
"Okay, so far, I got nothing here." Jan added, as Neil moved back towards the Captain, nodding as he moved down another bank. The room had been filled with at least a dozen men, and there were all dead now, thanks to the team's breach. It was getting puzzling, however, as they swept through, and nothing was there. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

The crack of what sounded like an RPG, and a huge boom echoed through the room, as the fascia of the building on the second floor, in the room that the team were inside, practically disintegrated, huge blocks and chunks of concrete falling apart, as Jan swore. He dived beneath one of the steel desks, just keeping his head together, as the round blew away the whole wall, the Pole coughing as he looked out. Car alarms blared, and gunshots were being fired from outside. Jan didn't know how or what, but something told him that they were going to have to run. Either the militants had their own escape strategy that had gotten them out of the building with the device from the moment that the breach had occured, or Medved had let a corner slip. Jan didn't know, and he frankly didn't want to care which one it was. Either way, the concequences were identical. They were going to have to run.
"Contacts, moving upstairs, coming from above! Wendy, we're going to have at least half a dozen runners going down the alley and towards the shopping street, clap them fast, and keep us posted on where the guy with the device is! Hold your fire on him- we do not want to risk a leak, just watch him!" Jan added, as he moved forward, taking out a couple of the contacts on the street, civilians running scared, as they ran away, some shot by the men on the ground in a crazed crossfire. Magnifier on, Jan shot two of the men that were down below,
"We need to waste those assholes! Medved, secure the building, Lima is going to conduct pursuit of the targets. Don't argue, just fucking make sure that nobody else leaves. There is no trace whatsoever of anything that suggests nuclear here, so I'm going to assume that whatever group is on the move out there, is going to have it."Jan added, as he moved aside from the around 8 by 5 meter hole in the side of the building, the HE round being definitely a hard hitting munition. Jan was somewhat thankful the team wasn't too close to the windows at the time, though he knew that he not have dived down, this could be a lot worse than it already just was.

"They're trying to delay us with this bulllshit...okay, this is going to seem insane, but we've got at least another fifteen feet below us to go down. We need to go down to street level by any other method, and get a chase on. The stairs are going to be crammed and too slow, and they'll fuck us over if we try it. Rappelling is too slow..shit, Scott, run and get whatever you have left of your cord set up on the frame of that window, throw it out, and fast rope it down. Just throw yourself down the line and try not to break your legs when you hit the ground. Find some cover, and we'll follow suit. Zhenya, then me, then Neil after our exit is good. We're going to have to follow them to the street, and that means making this a whole lot dirtier than I wanted." Jan simply yelled over to the tema, as he took out another two men on the road, clearing the hostiles there out, but Jan could only guess that there were more that were already on the streets. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, as Jan set up cover by a concrete pillar, firing through the wrecked windows that had been blasted apart by the RPG. Rubble was still falling occasionally from the side of the building, as Neil set up a cordon on the stairs, covering the team's rear, as he clapped another set that came from the third floor.
"Scott, you're clear!"

Clearing the rooms proved to be a long and frustrating task. With the emphasis on speed and the lack of time at the forefront of Zhenya's mind, every empty room simply fueled his simmering anger. A few of the rooms had enemy combatants; those were easily dispatched by Neil and him, but they had not been carrying the thing they were after or even anything remotely related to it. Other rooms contained messily-arranged piles papers or old radio kits. The former, Zhenya pocketed a few - they could very well be the only thing proving that Lima was indeed saving Copenhagen rather than losing it and going on a rampage - the latter, he smashed them up good and proper. No point leaving anything for the enemy to use.

It felt like a good half-hour had passed, but eventually Zhenya and Neil reached the last door. With his heart pounding and mouth dry, Zhenya took a moment to take a breath. "On three," Zhenya said and nodded to Neil, waiting for the spotter to prepare the flashbang before placing his hand on the door knob. "One, two," Zhenya said, then paused for a split second to open the door by just a crack. The flashbang went flying in and Zhenya shut the door again. A loud, ear-splitting crack signaled him to begin the assault proper, and he simply kicked the door down and went it guns blazing.

His shots obviously did not hit anything, but they did the job of giving the enemy something to occupy their minds. Blinded by the flash and deafened by the bang, it was not as if they could have done anything anyway. Their shots went all over the place, and orders given by their commander went unheard by the underlings. Moving to the left with his back against the wall, Zhenya easily dispatched his fair share of the enemy combatants. That was the easy part. Now they had to search for the device. Zhenya tossed the room, flipping tables, pulling drawers out and spilling the contents of entire cabinets, but nothing could be found.

"I have noth-" Zhenya began, but was interrupted by a loud explosion that rocked the room and demolished an entire wall. Luckily for Zhenya, he was on the far side of the room, and there were several pieces of furniture between him and the blast - courtesy of his less-than-gentle search of the room - which shielded him from the debris. Still, it took him a few moments to recover and regain his bearings. Immediately, Zhenya rushed over to the new hole in the wall, standing beside the Captain. The Pole did not really need to give any orders; Zhenya could already tell what was going to happen. It was going to be Mosul all over again, only this time they did not have any laws on their side.

He took a knee and took aim at the street below, taking shots at any enemy targets that presented themselves. It was easier said than done, there were plenty of civilians who made taking accurate shots difficult, and Zhenya swore that some were even standing around with their handphones out. Police vehicles were already closing in on the building, and the team had to move fast. Regular cops were of course no match for Lima, and even the special units would have a hard time, but Zhenya did not want to kill them if he could help it.

"Medved to Lima, police are entering the building. Making ourselves scarce. Moving to the basement." Medved-One's voice said over the radio.

There was a brief pause, and Zhenya could hear some shouting over the open frequency.

"Lady luck smiles on us, Lima. We found one of the insurgents. Looks like he got left behind when you spooked them. We will try to make him talk, give us a moment." Medved-One said, and that was immediately followed by very angry shouting in Russian, the frantic voice of a young-sounding man shouting back in a strange language, then the sound of rifles being cocked and fists being cracked. That seemed to do the job, as the man began talking rapidly again, tripping over his words as he did so. "I did not understand a single word he said, but I do recognize the word 'east'. They might be heading in that direction."

Scott's pulse pounded and his breath was quick and shallow with the continuous movement and exertion of rushing through the building at such a frantic pace. Only moments had passed, and already they'd slotted almost two dozen of the opposition, and he'd burned through two P-90 magazines. Swapping out one of the long, flat cassette-like mags, he could feel his frustration rising, much like Zhenya's; they'd been working hard, and still no sign of the prize as yet. He looked up as Jan expertly despatched another hostile, and moved out of cover to follow the squad leader into the next evolution of the mission.

As the flashbang went off at the door, the burly SAS trooper rolled around the doorframe, the PDW up and already at his shoulder firmly. Someone right in front of him loomed out from behind a filing cabinet, and he slammed his boot firmly into their stomach, sending them clattering back against the furniture, before drilling two rounds into their torso. Another pair got precise shots through the neck and chest, before he hissed a curse and ducked, AK rounds sendind plasterboard and plywood chips across his arms and face. He fired a short burst with the '-90, driving the attacker back into cover behind a desk, which he riddled with rounds, the gunman sprawling out.
At the command to look around, Scott began to search the space, checking for something, anything that might give them a clue, or any unforseen door or hole in the wall hidden behind a suitable piece of furniture. Nothing emerged, and he turned back to the others as the wall imploded. Yelling in alarm, Scott crouched, folding his arms over his face and head, but still getting a faceful of brick-dust and peppered with splinters of glass.
Brushing himself off and picking out some of the larger shards - and thanking himself nothing vital had been severed - he looked up wide-eyed and angry, coughing out what seemed like a builders' yard worth of bricks.
Jan immediately took charge of the situation as Scott wiped dust from his face and eyes, rinsing his mouth with water and spitting it to the ground as he moved over to the gaping hole in the wall, tying his cord off and hesitating a moment.
"Hang on, idea," he called back, before jamming his knife into one of the plastic cable conduits running around the room. Lifting up the cover with a splintering crack, he pulled on the cables inside, quickly unreeling as much of the brightly-coloured material as he could, and tying it off with the cord. "Won't be much good, but it'll help for long enough," he explained, before testing the tied-together cord and cable with a sharp tug.
At Jan's word, he nodded and clambered over the jagged edge of the hole, lowering himself down quickly and carefully, gritting his teeth as he expected the ghetto climbing rope to go at any moment. Miraculously making it to the street, he quickly scuttled for cover behind the nearest heavy object; a kerbside recycling dumpster. Bullets were already flying their way, and he gamely returned fire, keeping heads down for the benefit of the others, more than anything else. "I'm down," he called back up. "I'll keep the cover fire up!"

(Posts from me are going to be a little erratic over the next three weeks or so- exam season is really kicking in, so thanks to half a bottle of cider, I feel motivated to write this post.)
(Also, Queen is going through the same as me, US version I would think. I'll let her post on her own behest.)

Jan heard the radio call from Scott, as he laid down some more suppressing fire, taking out a pair of hostiles behind a pair of cars on the other side of the road. The rope was a pretty good idea- and would probably hold, so long as the Pole didn't throw too much weight onto it immediately.
"Zhenya, Neil, keep up some cover!" Jan yelled, as he expended the last of the magazine, slotting in another. Fourth from last. There wasn't going to be a lot of shooting, if all went to plan, Captain Bogdanowicz reminded himself. The pain from a few cuts and bruises he had from the blast was lingering, but he was glad he was where he was when it did happen. Any bits of rubble and shrapnel that had blown the facia off had been mostly taken up by the desk, though he still knew that if it wasn't for the fact he was shooting people, and being shot at in response, that it would be nigh on impossible. The last hostile on the road was dead, as the wail of sirens got closer and closer.

Jan HK-slapped the 416, and moved onto the rope, moving over the crevasse, and bumping off the first floor window as he went down. Dropping the last few feet, he rolled, the parachute landing fall one that he still remembered well and served excellently to make sure he didn't damage his ankles in a fall like this. Moving to Scott's side, he surveyed the street, and heard the sirens come even closer. Neil made a move for the rope, as Jan notioned to Scott, before moving around cover himself, covering the far end of the road. Jan could see cops. They had stopped at least 200m away, and it looked like there were at least three vans. This was a SWAT team of sorts- either Police-based, or SF of sorts. Jan didn't want to linger any longer than was needed. The militants on the other side of the road were dead, or running. And they were headed into an alley, down which Jan knew that Zhenya's friends had tracked their gist. They'd be heading to the shopping street, if they were going east. And Jan knew that as Neil came down, and Zhenya was the last to go; getting a move on would be an essential.

"Scott, I want you to keep point- we're headed down this alley, it should take us out to the Strøget. No doubt there will be civies, and possibly cops too...watch fire when you can, and watch any runners. Wendy, we've got multiple movers going east, you're going to gain sight intermittently. Take careful shots, take out the carrier's entourage, and track the carrier. We know it's going to take at least a minute or so to prime the weapon, if he goes for a manual detonation. Zhenya...fuck, this is going to really screw us over. I need you to figure out a way to make sure that those police don't immediately follow us. Use your imagination- we let them get ahead of us, and it's game over if we want to catch these fuckers." Jan simply said, as he looked over at his men, before adjusting the Holographic Sight on his weapon. The street was filled with cars, and bodies. The Pole didn't know what Zhenya was going to do, in reality, but whatever it was, there had to be a way to cut the police team from chasing them into the alley.

Wendy listened to Jan barking orders in her earpiece, responding with a sign of compliance rather promptly. She peered through her scope and watched for the slightest sign of movement. As soon as the sniper would detect the slightest hint of movement, she would snap to it. Patiently, she waited, like a hawk waiting for some prey. The patience did pay off very nicely, as she snapped to the a group of mobile tangos. This was her time to shine. Just her and her Barrett about to fire away. She took careful aim, accounting for the amount of bend the bullet's trajectory would take. She fired at the one in front of the pack, watching him crumple and fold. She snapped to the next target. Fired on him. It wasn't a clean shot to the head, but she didn't want to risk penetration and accidentally hit someone she wasn't supposed to. A chest shot was good enough and it killed them just fine.

Wendy fired off a few more shots, dropping each and every one of her targets cleanly. She went on the radio, "Tangos are down. Target seems to be heading down the street. No change in path just yet!" She reported, "I'll relocate shortly to continue keeping track of him." She said, taking her sniper rifle and hauling ass to the adjacent ledge, giving her a better view of the street below. "Target is still headed straight down the street. Recommend you get there soon, he looks like he's going to duck into an alley at any second. I will lose visual very soon." She warned, knowing that she could only see so far before he ran too far down for her to see clearly or ducked into an alley.

"Scott, I want you to keep point- we're headed down this alley, it should take us out to the Strøget. No doubt there will be civies, and possibly cops too...watch fire when you can, and watch any runners"

"Sir," Scott replied with a nod, swinging up and around the cover as he moved off, keeping the P90 at port arms. He moved hastily, jogging down the asphalt of the street, breath misting in the cold morning air. The thunder of Wendys' cover fire bounced off of the surrounding buildings, and men ahead of him crumpled and collapsed spectacularly as the heavy, powerful .50cal bullets impacted. "Great shots, over," he murmured on the tactical channel as he paused to take stock of the scene, before moving on again. Ahead, he could see the moving figures, motioning and yelling to each other as they moved in a group, weapons brandished. At least the streets were relatively clear; that was a small mercy. Nonetheless, the SAS trooper wasn't in the habit of taking wild pot-shots. He dug his toes in as he ran, trying to eat up a much ground between them as he could. The sooner he caught up to them and stopped them, the better. And that would need a close, personal touch. His breath huffed and heaved as he ran, and he pulled the P-90 up to his shoulder once more, thumbing the fire-selector dial to semi, and taking a shot. It ripped through the knee of one of the group, and he collapsed to the ground, thinning the carriers' entourage further. Now, he'd bought the distance between them down. Would they stop and turn to engage? He hoped to high heaven the carrier didn't choose to just detonate the bomb if he caught up; but he had to try, whatever else. Setting a determined look on his face, he grunted and hammered himself into running harder to try and catch them.

Jan moved forwards in the alley, weapon raised high, as he checked his corners, before breaking into a combat jog, weapon still raised but moving at a faster pace, fully aware that his team were on point with this situation.
"Zhenya, keep up the rear, Scott, stay with me. We are tackling this fucker unless I give the command. Remember." Jan simply said, as they turned the corner, Jan opening up on two men that moved from around a park bench, the sniper round taking one down as Jan took the other, then knowing full well that they were coming close to the Strøget. It felt chaotic, anarchic, and Jan's heart ran faster than ever. Police sirens, the distant yelling of people, it was happening. It felt like he was doing just as much damage as these terrorists were, even if his intentions were to stop them. Perhaps history would remember him like that. Or it wouldn't, as many would probably make it out to be. Jan slid a new magazine into his rifle, dropping one of the PMAGs onto the concrete, sliding the new one in as he moved over the slushy pavement, smashed windows and dead bodies visible. At least half a dozen civies were dead, as Jan saw the carrier and his half a dozen entourage move down the corner, right onto the Strøget.

The shopping street was turned to anarchy, as screams could be heard, gunfire being spread down the road as Jan dived for cover behind a steel bench, bullets flying past as a few civilians were shot, Jan hearing the screams of children and women, families and lovers running for cover into shops and as far from them as they could. The beautiful shop windows and Christmas decorations had bullets in them, and the wet slushy floor beneath his boots felt covered in blood.Sirens were closing in, as Jan shot twice down the street, taking out one of the men, but receiving more back, as the sound of a van behind him could be heard, turning hard behind them in the alley. He saw the omminent sight of Danish Special Forces- creep in, themselves fully aware that this was a terror attack of a high caliber. There were three of them moving up, and Jan knew that in this moment, there was only one thing he could do. They were in the crossfire here. The target was going the other way, but the Danish had him and Scott in his sights. Exhaling, he did the unthinkable.

The bullets hit the men in the chest, knocking them down as their kevlar took the 5.56es, Jan them moving his aim vaguely for their legs, putting a whole magazine between the three men as he breathed hard, then lowering his gun. He wanted to swear. He wanted to say many things, but gunfire from the other side of the street rang out again, as the Strøget rang out in fire, Jan taking a pot shot at another of the men, who had a MG3 set up on a park bench. With a kinched set of rounds, he threw him back, a couple square in his shoulder, before putting half a dozen into his side, clipping him down, then moving up. He reloaded his weapon again as quickly as he could, barking to his team.
"Wendy, get off that roof! Get the vehicle, just drive to our north-west, and keep that jammer in proximity! They're going directly north up the street, we've got Copenhagen PD and Jaegres coming now, they're on kill on sight orders for anyone with a gun." Jan barked, barely caring that he was yelling, absolutely caught in the moment as he moved forwards, using another bench for cover as he saw the men move off the street, around the corner and into another alley. Jan broke into a run, fully aware of the fact that he had his weapon lowered, and began a pursuit, knowing that his two team mates had his back.

Moving off the Strøget, and leaving the carnage that had been left, Jan guessed that the runner had panicked, and wasn't detonating the weapon were it was meant to be placed- and that now, he was looking to break off from Jan and his team. If that happened, Jan knew it would take 30 seconds for him to activate a manual detonation sequence, there was no simple dead man's hand with a weapon like that. It would take time, and Jan fully was aware of this, as they ran onto the road, Jan taking cover by a couple of cars as he sprayed above, the men running across as Jan then looked to Zhenya and Scott.
"We have to catch them, fucking move!" Jan simply commanded, moving around the side and past one of the parked cars, taking a shot at one of the other men by the carrier, A clean headshot sent him tumbling to the ground,as he moved across the slush, police cars on the left and distant lights on the right, Jan fully aware that he could very well be dead if he didn't keep moving right now. The slush beneath the Pole's ground, and his raised HK416, the stock and grip locked around his right shoulder and left hand, the noise and horror of it all, and the deep intense warmth generated from the adrenaline was more than enough to keep Jan from blacking out of this situation and stay on task, knowing completely full well that there was no way that they could let them go. They were moving towards some sort of hotel lobby, and Jan could tell that there were barely a handful left, most of the detail now killed by Jan and his team, and being buffered inside. The local reaction wasn't strong enough- this was hellish, and right about now, Jan could guess that they were probably the only ones locally that knew of the real scale of this attack. As the runner and his two men ran into the hotel lobby, Jan moved across the road, and took cover by a bench, as rounds poured overhead.

"Scott, get a smoke ready. We're going to do something very stupid indeed." Jan simply said, as he lowered his 416, taking his Glock 17, the torn security cable still around it, as he looked to the Englishman, and then at Zhenya.
"Tell Medved to get out of here. Whatever happens next, you pray they don't get blown." Jan said, exhaling, as the rounds stopped.
"Throw it at the door. Now." Jan simply said, as he adjusted his beanie, breathing hard, as he knew that there was no other way to stop this from happening. They were laying down occasional fire, and right now, Jan was prepared to do something stupid indeed, fully aware that this was suicidal. There was no time left. The hotel had a few windows to it's side, and the main glass doors were shattered into pieces, as the runner and his group inside shot dead most of the people in the lobby, as the carrier laid the device onto the desk. Jan hoped the jammer would buy some time- and that the smoke grenade would make perfect what Jan had in mind. A flank through the windows would either work one way or another, and Jan had little time to make a more reasoned choice.

(We are at the point of the prologue.)

Scott pounded the pavement hard on Jan's heels, eyes darting between the sights on the street all around him; the downed and wounded civilians with their confused partners, families, or children crying or screaming in confusion at all that was happening around them. And to his gut-wrenching anguish, he could do nothing to stop and help any of them against his every impulse to do so.
But as bad as it was, and as horrible as the toll had been so far, the reaper would be claiming a lot more if they didn't press on and get to the bomb-carrier before he completed his apocalyptic mission. So, he powered onward and closed himself down to the emotions churning inside him.
As the trio moved on, around the corner and onto a main street, more gunmen opened up on them, the hammering of their weapons fire an alien sound in the environs of the cosy, christmassy scene of the Danish street. Scott hurled himself to cover behind a christmas market stall. Rounds splintered and cracked through the wood and steel of the structure, and he risked a look as Jan fired back. He saw more of the tangoes taking aim from further down the shopping street, or firing from the hip at random to confuse and slow the team and cause further chaos. More innocents went down in the hail of fire, and the brit felt his anger rising at the scene. These people had done nothing; were guilty of nothing more than enjoying the holiday with their families and loved one. And it had turned to a nightmare, thanks to the directives of some so-called visionary somewhere.
A young woman with a child in her arms skidded and slipped on the slush close to Scott, and the SAS trooper saw one of the terrs raise his rifle again. Gritting his teeth, Scott sprinted forward and man-handled the woman aside rougly, swinging her and the kid by the arm into cover behind the stall, leaving her wide-eyed and incoherently spluttering in Dutch at him before he moved on, raising his P90 and firing in short, aimed bursts toward the hostiles. But the situation took another turn as the Danish SF turned up, the authorities catching up to the situation at last.
Almost encircled, he watched with a kind of inevitability as Jan opened up - precisely, aiming to wound and not kill - on the Dutch soldiers. Following his lead, Scott reluctantly did likewise, firing over heads, or at cover they were hiding behind to keep them back as the trio moved.
He listened and answered with a curt 'right' as Jan goaded them on to move, reloading as he moved out of cover, the long, boxy cassette-like mag of the P90 clattering to the pavement as he prepped another. All of a sudden, his hand and arm around the gun were wrenched aside from a sudden impact. Taking momentary pause, he saw what had happened to cause the ache in his arm; the gun had been hit, the polymer frame of the PDW splintered and cracked around the grip from some large-caliber round. The trigger wouldn't fully pull, and the charging handle was askew from its' position alongside the frame. In short, the little Belgian PDW was fucked.
Cursing, he unclipped it from his one-point sling and chucked it into an ornamental planter, drawing his Mk.23 and taking it in a two-handed stance, muzzle-down as he ran, boots thumping through the slushy snow.
He slammed to a stop, skidding down beside Jan with wild eyes, nodding urgently as he pulled a smoke from his vest and listened intently. As Jan commanded the throw, he yanked the pin and flipped the spoon off of the grenade, waiting for it to start spewing smoke, before rearing up and overhanding the cylindrical grenade at the hotel door. It hit the top of the frame, and then clattered to the ground atop the lobby steps, billowing a thick cloud of white smoke.
"Whatever you're going to do, I'll be right behind you, sir" he said as he crouched back down, handgun at the ready.

As soon as Wendy heard the orders to haul ass and get to a vehicle, she immediately dropped everything she was doing. The Barrett she was previously using was picked up and slung over her shoulder as she searched frantically for a rappelling point down the building. She had the hook ready to go, but having a place to put the hook was an entirely different question. The sniper was soon able to find a place to put her gear on, allowing her a safe and hasty descent down the building. Now... where was vehicle was Jan talking about specifically? The sniper hustled to find it, eventually pinpointing it and practically leaping inside it. The vehicle roared to life, and once again much hustle was needed to prevent many more lives to die in front of Lima's eyes.

Wendy floored it, driving in the direction Jan had told them to drive in. It was scary, considering there were Danish SF everywhere as well as civilians. Neither she wanted to have a run in with. As she drove along, she was dodging stands and people, her feet careful with the throttle and avoiding any sort of unnecessary contact. All she could do now was to drive and hope she was within range for long enough to prevent any sort of disaster from occurring.

There was something in the Captain's tone that told Zhenya that his orders were not to be questioned, or even commented on. Giving the Pole a quick, sharp nod, Zhenya made his brief - even by his standards - message to Medved. "Lima to Medved, thank you for the assistance, but get out now. Danish special forces are all over the place. Take caution." The appearance of the Jaegrekommandet had soured Zhenya's mood somewhat, not because he had been hoping that they would not appear, but that they were now fighting each other rather than the real enemy. It was a perfectly good waste of effort and bullets, as far as Zhenya was concerned.

He let out a long breath in frustration. As the third man of the group, he covered the backs of both Scott and the Captain, and at that moment, Zhenya felt about as useful as an unloaded rifle. Already, he could hear the shouts from the Danish teams scouring the building echoing down the hallway. "Captain, whatever it is you want to do, do it fast." Zhenya said in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the hallway he was covering. He tightened his grip around the pistol grip of his rifle and steadied his aim. The echoes were getting louder, and Zhenya was pretty sure he could hear doors being kicked open and windows shattering.

Jan simply looked back at the team, as the smoke headed in, Neil laying down suppressing fire upon the front lobby, before flicking a new mag into his AS VAL, the Pole now fully acutely aware of what was going to happen. This was it. No more half measures, this was going to be a risky way to get things done but it was the only way they could hit the lobby before the Danish arrived. Jan had his own plans for afterwards- but that didn't matter right now. What did, was to stop what happened next.
"I got your back, Captain." Neil added, as he peeked over, laying down the occasional stutter of fire upon the front of the building, not aiming to kill or wound but merely to suppress with the silenced assault rifle.

As the smoke broke out, the Pole wasn't one to be stopped. A simple nod to Scott and Zhenya, and he was over the bench, running at full pelt, moving towards the hotel window that had been partially smashed in already, the grey cloud now spurting out a translucent field of vision in front of Jan. But he knew what he was doing. And he knew precisely how it would happen. Neil laid down a few more rounds, as Jan kept his momentum as high as possible, wanting to outflank the man before he tried anything stupid. He gave a deep breath, and lept through the lobby window, smashing through the glass as he rolled on the other side, groaning a bit as he looked around with his Glock, weapon raised high as he moved into the clouded lobby, the attention of the handful of gunmen shifting to him but not being able to identify precisely which window he had entered. He could hear civilians of various type, young and old, men and women screaming in horror, as the smoke slowly crept up, Jan sweeping angles inside the lobby as he searched, high and low, wanting to pinpoint precisely the triggerman and his buddies. He couldn't tell if Scott or Zhenya were following him, but they had to be close, such was Jan's twitch in moving through the lobby, sweeping the vicinity for the target.

One yelled, and AK fire blared throughout the lobby, the screams intensifying, as Jan put two shots into the direction of the muzzle flash, moving forward and realizing he was out of position compared to his team. It had been towards the window, where Scott and Zhenya had entered...Jan realized suddenly that he had barely kept track of his two comrades in the team as he had breached through, and that he was now out of position. Moving behind the man, he didn't even bother to think twice. He sent a single 9mm round into his temple, as one of his friends turned and sprayed fire across the lobby, Jan suddenly feeling a sudden kick to his left shoulder as he was thrown back, firing off four rounds in his direction. Cursing, he looked down, seeing an emerging wound, and what felt like a numbing and driving pain that would have normally been incapacitating. It had driven just past his collarbone, and probably blown a tendon apart, or some muscle tissue. It felt like every single tiny adjustment in his left hand was agony, let alone his arm. But it was not something that Jan could let stop him. The gunfire shifted away, as Jan held his Glock high, looking and looking twice to see what was going on. The smoke was calming down now, and the lobby felt a little more identifiable- but this was still a better idea than a direct assault without it, Jan reminded himself. It at least bought them time from a police or Jaegrekommandet assault.

Jan coughed hard, disoriented, but walked forwards after slowly crawling back up onto his feet, pistol held high, still going. He had so much liquid adrenaline in him right now, that this was not going to stop him. He didn't care, so his mind painted it.
"Move, move!" He yelled, fully aware that his team would pick up the order, to begin sweeping out the smoked out lobby, looking around. He didn't know the status of Scott or Zhenya right now, but he knew that they were involved in dealing with the other gunmen, which was the moment that Jan caught sight of the target.

He heard the runner break off with a distinctive click of his boots against the marble floor, out of the field of the smoke, as Jan himself broke into a run once more. He was trying to get higher, out of the lobby, leaving what Jan was going to guess were two gunmen to deal with Scott and Zhenya.
"I got eyes on the target, I'm chasing him! Scott, Zhenya, eliminate the rest, hold the lobby!" He knew he had his squadmates to take care of, but Jan reminded himself that they were more than competent at that job. He'd ended up out of their field of fire, out of the main area of the lobby where a firefight raged, out of the now-clearing smokescreen. Now it didn't matter. He saw the man emerge from around the corner, and Jan broke into a sprint, his empty Glock in a pouch on his chest and almost wailing in pain, as he saw the man turn. A burst of fire from an Uzi the man sprayed back forced Jan to barely throw himself onto the floor, and feel the pain in his left shoulder get grizzlier in how it felt, as he got back up once more, not willing to stop. The man had lost some time, and was clearly trying to reload his weapon, as Jan looked over at him, a cold hard stare into the eyes of the man that felt so little regard for human life. He went for his knife, but Jan was not stoppable. He didn't feel like it, at least. It was going to take more than a round to stop him, and he collided into the carrier, throwing him down onto the corridor carpet. The man was still resilient, and brought the weakened Jan onto the floor with him, flooring a strong headbutt into the Pole.

Jan took it hard in the head, and was dazed a little, immediately going for a counter as he threw a lower punch, grabbing the man's wrist with his right hand and going for a straight knee to the balls, fully alert that he could be concussed or worse at this point in time. The man tried to roll away, as Jan barely clambered up to kick him hard in the side, right in between his upper ribs, and drag him to the wall of the corridor, Jan punching the man hard in the head against the plasterboard, which cracked a little under the force. The man coughed blood, as Jan kicked him hard again in the stomach, blood pouring from his mouth, and Jan feeling like he was truly barely alive. He slid his BK3 out from his plate carrier, and put it to the man's neck, pushing only ever so slightly, just taking a moment. It shouldn't have. But it did, the man was not terrified of death, but yet Jan felt like it was the only thing that the man deserved right now. Jan looked closely into the Turkish-born national's eyes, as the knife in his right hand drew more and more blood, before Jan finished the job.

He pushed the serrated edge deep through the artery, and slit his throat, blood spitting as Jan collapsed back onto the floor, in agony.
"Priority, priority. I've taken down the carrier, repeat, carrier is neutralized. Team, this is my final order. You're going to get inside the lobby and throw down your weapons and any kit that you have. Just do it. It's the only way you're getting out of this. Put your hands on your head, and wait. When they ask you any questions, you were following my orders and mine alone. If any of you are wounded, just sterilize and clean the wound, you won't have time to recover any shrapnel before they raid you." Jan simply said, as he rolled the man over, Jan himself throwing down his 416 that was on his back and his vest, looking at his raw wound at his shoulder, before looking at the carrier, lifeless and utterly devoid of any feeling now blood poured around his throat.

The device was packed into a rucksack of sorts, and was not armed, though Jan could tell- this was a device that could kill tens of thousands if used correctly. The implications would be deadly serious, and Jan reminded himself why he was here. There were many reasons Jan wanted to just leave it alone, or just give it to Zhenya to deal with it. But Jan realized what needed to be done. It had been a long time ago. At the Rasthof, he had realized where he stood. He had been used all along, it was all games that people played. And that he was the fall guy for everything, when he really thought about it hard. Turkey, and even now, in Copenhagen. Victoria knew what his commitment was, and that no doubt, Jan guessed that she would have him surrender and give up the weapon. But Jan wasn't that silly. It was a Russian-made device. It was Russian fissile material, Russian design. Not Pakistani or even from some ex-Soviet republic. It was Russian. And that was the perfect excuse for someone like Victoria and her higher ups to find more reason to fuck things over. Jan would be a dead man, quietly disposed of. Saving Copenhagen was what Jan would never be remembered for, and he didn't want to change that fact. But he did want to stop one thing alone, one that he had seen from day one. One that cost him good men, and not with any good reason. It deserved to end here, and perhaps, if this Russian weapon never surfaced, nothing would come of it. Perhaps, it needed to go somewhere else. And even if he knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew it was the only way to stop an escalation. That he was now playing them, not the other way round. He knew full well that if the CIA was trying to capitalize on this "Russian" weapon, that they would be very much mistaken when they realized that there was no Russian weapon that existed. Jan could only say that it would be one that at least was the only grain of truth he had left now. This was a live suitcase nuclear weapon, and Jan could only guess the look on Victoria's face when she was told that there was a loose nuke, and a Special Forces Captain that was also MIA.

Jan looked over one more time at the carrier, wiping the blood from his face as he took his gloves off, and put his thermal bandit down, giving one last radio command.
"Lima..I'm going to sort this mess out. Don't follow me, don't even think about tracing my steps. It's been a fun ride. Don't die on me now, any of you. Just stay away from me. This is not for Victoria or anyone else. It's for the good of all the people we saved." Jan simply added, as he looked down the corridor, before grabbing only his essentials from his tactical pack. A first aid kit, and a spare set of clothes, and a prescription set of glasses, as well as an old-fashioned razor. The Glock joined them, Jan keeping a single spare magazine for it that he had snatched from the guard. He had his own plan now, a plan that he knew he was now going to make up as he went along from here. He had time before there was any assault on the hotel- they hadn't fully surrounded it, and most likely, were on the Stroget, still cleaning up the mess there and at the office site. He took the carrier's rucksack, and threw them in, before picking it up, slinging it over his right shoulder as he winced a little in pain. He walked out, towards the back door, barging the emergency exit open.

The Pole walked out, heading out into the slush and snow, leaving behind Lima, leaving behind the four individuals that he had called his team. He hadn't even given them a face to face goodbye, and he wished he had. But there was no more time anymore. They were likely searching the front now, and had lasers pointing at the team's heads, waiting for an order to shoot or clarify what the fuck was going on. They would be released by the time that Jan had made it out of there. And now, the Captain of the former joint special forces task force knew that this was indeed, the last that there would be of any sanity he had in his life. The last of any clarity. It had been a long journey, but in under a month, the world had changed more for him than he had imagined. So much loss, so much pain, misery. Death at their doorstep, yet the people that had followed him had been committed. They did not deserve to follow in his footsteps, Jan thought to himself. They had lives to live, and they could escape this mess, become something more. He didn't. He was going to be 29 in a few days time, and while he was young, he had seen the world's crises for himself, and knew that he would never escape the responsibilities he held accountable to by something higher than him, be it a CO or God himself. The deaths of several operators, maiming of another. Two dead men at the petrol station, and the countless number of militants who wished to kill more. The latter, he could justify, but even despite the security guards being in his way, he still felt guilty. Nothing would stop that. He wished he could have hugged Scott, Wendy and Neil, even Zhenya. They were his brothers and sisters in arms. And maybe they would have followed him out of the back, like the route that Jan was taking now, heading down dark alleys and away from the scene of so much bloodshed and anger in Copenhagen's grounded central area. For once, Jan knew that this was his own sacrifice to make. And that he wanted to be a thousand miles from here now, off the grid, off anyone's radar. Nobody knew where he was going to go, and nobody knew what he was going to do, not even his team.

Perhaps Medved were here to secure the weapon for Russian authorities, and Zhenya would have demanded that Jan stand down. They would be here to cover things up too, Jan had come to the conclusion of. It seemed deniable...though Jan could only guess that Medved's mere existence, that of a Spetsnaz GRU unit, and potential capture would play even more into Victoria's hands. That would have been the case if Jan hadn't pulled them out earlier, to at least restrict the damage of their existence here. Perhaps that was the setup, and Jan would be taken from not just treason and murder and grand theft auto, to high treason and conspiracy against Denmark, not to mention the United States. Conspiracy to kill tens of thousands, and no matter what Jan would say, he would go to a Black Site and never come back in a case like that. It was an assured execution. On the flipside, if Medved had succeeded, the device would never be found, and this would all hush away. Jan liked that idea for a while, actually contemplating it on the drive to Copenhagen. It would be easy enough, but the team would outright disagree. That and the fact that Jan was moderate to exceptionally confident in the fact that he would disappear very quickly if he did go to Russia. All these thoughts in Jan's head were what he had to assume now, not perhaps an accurate depiction of the reality of events, but the most realistic view he could take on it. Which led to Option C. Take the portable nuclear device, and walk away. Certain death, because two big blocs of countries wanted you dead. But almost certainly better than dying anyway, and becoming a pointless political facet.

This was not anyone's order now, to do what he did. This was his choice, and it was one that he didn't know if the team would act against. It was a gamble, but one that maybe one day, they would understand. When they fully and acutely understood what the alternative was, maybe they would live out the rest of their lives in a relative peace compared to this, this total madness that had swept through Lima and Jan's life. Turning another corner, the sound of sirens became distant, as Jan passed by a couple of homeless people standing by a barrel filled with reclaimed furniture set alight, heading towards the hippy commune of Christiania; a good place to stay out of the limelight. He would need a vehicle, and an awful lot of time. He felt bitter inside, everything felt wrong, like it was automatic once to just stop and obey those above. But that would not do. Not today.

---

In the lobby, Neil heard the command, and almost immediately barked back.
"Don't you fuck off now! Jan!"
There was no response, only static. Neil cursed a very Australian curse word, as the sound of sirens got even closer, wailing louder and louder, as he looked to the rest.
"He's broken off comms. He bloody took the device. The fuck is he thinking?" The Aussie asked with his tone turning exceptionally angry in the frequency of his swearing, as he knew that wherever Wendy was, he hoped she was okay. She had to get home, one way or another. If she had surrendered somewhere else, she would be fine, he reminded himself, as he slid the AS VAL and his sidearm across the floor, throwing down his vest and getting on his knees, hands behind his head and knowing full well what would happen from here on out. Turning to Scott, the Aussie could only look at his squadmate with a distinct look of confusion towards everything that was going on, just unsure of what the hell was going on.

The civilians were looking on, totally shocked, not even approaching them or coming close. They stayed hidden, far, far away, scared they were still terrorists or something else. There was going to be a flashbang, and it would hurt. Neil was utterly confused about Jan- this was fucked. He couldn't be running off now...it was purely wrong. It felt like they were now totally hopeless, and Neil couldn't have imagined it ending like this, even despite the risk he had signed up for. Neil couldn't make sense of what he was going to do with it, but he just knew the Captain wasn't going to kill even more people for the sake of proving a point. He wasn't that type of person, he had a certain honor about him. The involvement of the CIA and other organizations in this made him feel sick, and Neil didn't even know if to believe if this was some order from them for Jan to deal with the problem, or something even more sinister. It was all such a web of lies, that he didn't even know anymore. He was just waiting for the Danish to arrive and arrest them, and for most likely, days and days of questioning and imprisonment. At least it would be nicer than a Russian gulag, it would at the very least, have heating.

The sight of the first flashbang going in was enough to set off Neil's eyes to shut, and dive forward on the floor, as his eyes and ears burst out in agony, as the sound of men flooding the lobby, shields and MP5s raised up, scanning through, yelling as the civilians looked on, the sight of this assault a shock and a relief at the same time. Neil felt his face get smashed into the carpeted floor, as a pair of plastic handcuffs went around his wrists, the sight of a gas-mask wearing Jaegre bringing him up, searching for bombs and anything on his person across his BDU, as they did it to the rest that were left here. It was a barrage of yelling, as Neil felt himself get pushed, taken by two operators, the other man wearing a riot helmet with a polycarbonate visor, also armed with an equally as intimidating MP5. They both wore assault armor, a little heavier mixture of kevlar and ballistic plating, such was the mess that had been made coming in. They were expecting resistance, it seemed, but they had only come across a scattered set of surrendering men and a woman of varying nationalities. And it made no sense, perhaps. The assault had barely lasted thirty seconds, and they were in the back of a police van within ninety, thrown into the seating and guarded by three men. It was a harrowing feeling. Neil could barely talk, the feeling of confusion and utter disorientation in his head. They weren't asking anything. They knew that they were suspicious, but in some method, Neil could guess they would be going free sooner or later. That was the agreement. Even if Jan had run off, they were cleared. The Australian worried about the Captain, and felt anger and confusion, even now, not sure how to feel. A flashbang hadn't changed his mind, and that had made his head ring out in pain, after all.

Scott took off at a run behind Jan as soon as the Pole gave them the nod to move and the smoke grenades began to billow their cloud into the crisp morning air. Like his team-leader, he too shouldered through the already-cracked glass, entering the lobby in a storm of shock and violence. The screaming civilians shook him a little, but at least they had the common sense to stay low for the most part, and stick to the walls. Nonetheless, the scene was a chaotic one. Gunfire thundered through the enclosed space as AK's went full rock-and-roll, and the black-clad SAS trooper dived for cover, rolling on one shoulder into the shelter behind an ornamental planter. He squeezed off a volley of well-aimed shots from the .45 at a pair of gunmen, hitting each twice and collapsing them into sagging heaps, dead or wounded beyond effectiveness.
Jan's fire took more down, and he could hear and see the others moving up quickly. As he turned back, he realized he'd lost sight of Jan in the chaos of sound and movement. He heard more gunfire and picked himself back up, driving forward with the Mk.23 held at firing position. Another double-tap, another man down; he was burning through rounds quickly. He'd never even used his sidearm this much, and while he was glad of the .45's stopping power, the single-stack mags didn't leave much room for error. He only had two rounds in the mag left, and at this rate the four spares on his vest wouldn't last long either.
He heard a shout from Jan to move, and stepped out, moving forward in a low, loping run towards a ground-floor doorway. Pressing himself against the frame, he slid around it with the big handgun raised, the LAM unit under the barrel beaming its' red death-dot ahead. His nerves tensed as the muzzle slid across a human shape; but the blond, pale-skinned man in civilian dress quickly held his hands up, babbling and crying. Scott motioned him to the ground and pressed a finger to his own lips, urging for quiet as he moved through the room, doing the same to a pair of women who huddled on the ground. As he swept around another corner, his head snapped to movement; a door built virtually into the wall cracked open and as he whirled to face it, the muzzle of an FN-FAL poked out, blasting thundrous fire into the room in a full-magazine burst. Office fittings, christmas decorations and fake plants were shredded, and as Scott attempted to duck for cover, the line of rounds intersected his vest in the middle of his back. The 7.62 NATO rounds hitting him felt like sledgehammers in the middle of his back, and he sprawled to the ground, choking on his breath as he struggled to draw it in, spots dancing in front of his eyes. The vests' trauma plate had done it's job and kept him alive, but still; catching two hammerblows to the spine wasn't a cozy feeling on the best of days.
He drew in gulping, wracking breaths as he struggled to make his limbs work. He heard the hostile drop the empty mag out of the rifle and fumble to load another he dragged himself around. The Mk.23 had fallen from his hand during his sprawl and he had no time to pick it up. Instead, Scott launched himself forward, pulling his knife from its' sheath on his belt and reversing it in his hand. He grabbed the muzzle of the FAL, forcing it away and down as he stabbed the knife up, aiming for the tangoes' chest. He reared back and the wound was only minor, catching on the terr's shirt and jacket and only nicking the skin. Still in pain, Scott staggered as he was pushed back, before slamming a fist into the enemies' mid-section and this time ramming the knife into his opponents' neck. He pulled it free as the man ranted and hissed at him incoherently, pain in his eyes and disbelief as red, hot blood bubbled from his ragged neck-wound. Scott stabbed again, almost unnecesarily, and the weakened, bloody hands clutched at his vest as he slid to the floor, the FAL clattering to the carpet.
Shaking and grimacing, Scott wiped the knife on his pants leg and staggered to his pistol, picking it back up as he lurched into the next room. Jan's message to eliminate the hostiles came through, and he headed back for the lobby, breaking into a faster sprint as he heard the clatter of gunfire intensify. He caught more hostiles rushing from adjacent rooms to join in repelling Lima's assault, their eyes wide with fear and anxiety. Instantly they fired on him as he bought the big H&K pistol up to fire. He caught one between the eyes with the fire shot and his head snapped back with his finger on the trigger. The rounds from the Browning HP in his hand flew high, and one tore through Scott's bicep, and another whacked off of his helmet, jerking his head to one side. The man behind the one who'd taken the .45 to the braincase stumbled back as his comrade fell into him and struggled to force him aside, both he and Scott indisposed for a moment. Scott regained the momentum first and bought the Mk.23 back into aim, one-handed as his other arm went limp from the ragged wound across his arm. The tango panicked and tried to raise his stubby SMG for a shot, firing wildly as Scott fired with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes amidst the storm of 9mm rounds, one nicking his calf.
Stumbling and staggering, he dropped the mag from the Mk.23 as he hauled himself back into the lobby, forcing his aching arm to work and pull another slab-sided mag out of his vest and slip it home into the butt of the pistol. The crashing cacophony of the lobby assaulted his ears and the strobing muzzle-flashes. Gunfire surrounded them on all sides, and Scott threw himself into the fight with clinical precision after taking stock of things. There; a machine-gunner on the first-floor mezzanine, pouring fire down into the lobby. His suppressive fire was allowing the other hostiles, despite their small numbers, to reload and take shots. Grimacing, Scott took a breath and stood up, taking a two-hand grip on his pistol and rattling off four shots at the RPK and its' operator. The first two smacked into the cement lip of the balcony, the third hit the gun itself and threw the aim off. The fourth hit true, catching him in the neck and sending him sprawling to the floor. Scott took the opportunity to slide forward into cover and allow the other team-members to regain the initiative, before he forced himself back to his feet, opening fire again at another gunman and sending him sprawling, then his neighbour. Then the mag was empty again, and the radio crackled to life with Jan's message.
"Priority, priority. I've taken down the carrier, repeat, carrier is neutralized. Team, this is my final order. You're going to get inside the lobby and throw down your weapons and any kit that you have. Just do it. It's the only way you're getting out of this. Put your hands on your head, and wait. When they ask you any questions, you were following my orders and mine alone. If any of you are wounded, just sterilize and clean the wound, you won't have time to recover any shrapnel before they raid you."
Scott paused, sitting in the lee of the staircase a moment as he analysed the message. The enemy gunfire had died off moments before; he had no idea if, now, they were all dead, or had retreated. In fact, he was finding it quite hard to keep track of anything, and as he looked down at his sleeve, he quietly realized it was quite soaked in blood, and that his trouser leg on the same side beginning to also take on a wet, dark sheen that was creeping lower.
"Bugger," he muttered quietly, heaving himself up. "Doesn't look like I'll have time to deal with mine," he groused to himself as he limped into the centre of the room, looking at the others, and his expression darkening further as Jan's further messages came through, his reaction much like Neil's. The australian looked to him, and the big SAS trooper shook his head solemnly, swaying slightly on his feet, before he pulled off his helmet and threw it to the floor as Neil did the same with his gear.
"Just... just do it," he said in a half-mumbled slur. "He's getting the device away. Must have some kinda plan," he said, yanking on the quick-release for his vest and letting it fall off of him, before tossing his pistol to join it with a sad look; the gun had served him well through the last handful of missions. Letting it go felt like another betrayal. His knife joined it, and he assumed a defeated position. Shame, anger, humiliation and resentment burned through him as he sat there, expecting the flashbang. He looked at the faces of his comrades around him. Among them, only really Zhenya and Jan had been the ones he'd come to know well; though he had nothing against any of the others, and would trust any of them with his back. That he still considered Zhenya to be that trustworthy after them ending up in this mess kind of surprised him, but it was too little too late of a revelation. Even if he'd wanted to disobey Jan's orders, he was in no shape to do so.
He wobbled on his knees as he heard shouts outside the door in a foreign language, and the shuffle and hustle of booted feet along with sirens. He realized he was feeling quite feint What a shitty ending, he thought to himself absently as his mind wandered in a way he realized, with detachment, was probably the beginning of shock from blood loss. How many pints are in the human body again?
Shadows fell across the shattered windows and doorway, the acrid smell of spent gunpowder and the smoke grenades tickling his nose.
Pints, he thought absently, his mind wandering as an arm appeared around the doorway and threw in a tumbling cylinder that he followed through the air with his eyes, vision swimming.
I could really use a pint.
The flashbang exploded, and Scott's vision blurred into whiteness and his ears rang.
Shouting voices. Stamping, running feet. Shoving, shouting, pushing. Then a crash of pain, and blissful, black unconsciousness.