THE OUTSKIRTS OF ESMARCION
0912 LOCAL TIME

Six months of civil war. Six long months of fighting the government forces. The hard slog through the coffee plantations up north. Street fighting in Concepción, Valverde's third-largest city. The long fight up the V14 roadway. The last-ditch pounding from the bombers and artillery that remained loyal to El Presidente. And yet throughout it all, morale had been high, the men had remained loyal- a hard thing to come by in this country.

It had all been leading up to this moment.

General Leopoldo Cortes was not a man given to displays of emotion, yet even he could not suppress a slight grin as the fields gave way to houses and low-rise buildings. Even inside his staff car, over the low grumble of the hundreds of APCs and trucks that made up the rebel column, he could hear the excited chatter and occasional cheer of his men as they entered the capitol. The disciplinarian in Cortes wanted to open the radio net, order them to stop and focus. But he decided against it. Scouts were reporting no resistance, the war was nearly over. Let the boys have a little fun.

Here and there, civilians cautiously peeked out from windows or balconies. The braver few stood on the side of the streets, pressing cigarettes, fruit, and other gifts into the outstretched hands of soldiers- a sight that reminded Cortes of historical pictures he had seen of occupied countries being liberated towards the end of WWII. The green, yellow, and red flag of Valverde was waved enthusiastically by some of these civilians. But for the most part the streets were empty. Cortes reluctantly admitted the prudence of staying under cover under the circumstances. Hopefully, once Ochoa was standing trial in the courts, there would be a greater celebration on the announcement of the inevitable verdict. Then and only then would the long national nightmare be over.

Ochoa leaned forwards, tapped the shoulder of his intelligence officer, Jiminez, riding up front and closely monitoring the radio net. “Anything from our forward units?” he asked.

Jiminez shook his head, before removing his headset and hanging it around his neck. “No resistance to speak of. The Military Police barracks at Altamirano surrendered without firing a shot. Oh yes, and we cornered some Blue Helmets. From Pakistan, I think.”

“Tell them to disarm and detain the Pakistanis. If they resist, summary execution of the entire unit. The UN has to understand the consequences of supporting corrupt governments like Ochoa's.” The general's eyes were cold and impassive behind his sunglasses. This was a Valverdan matter in his eyes, any outsiders were unwelcome.

Jiminez nodded as he relayed the orders over the radio. “Anything further, sir?”

Cortes hesitated a moment. He was uncertain about the next command, but anything that might hasten the end of this conflict was welcome in his mind. “Yes. Contact our asset in Esmarcion. Tell him to organize his men and place El Presidente under arrest. I'd like to have Ochoa ready and waiting for us.”

Cortes leaned back in his seat. He wasn't sure how much he could trust Marten Loos- a drug smuggler with a checkered military record wasn't his first choice for a guerrilla leader. But if there was no organized resistance, the Dutch mercenary and his men could at least contain Ochoa until their arrival.

It was almost over.

The general's reverie was interrupted by the sharp crack of an explosion, followed by the heart-stopping rattle of a machine gun. The staff car slewed off to the side of the road, as the trucks and APCs around them began to stop and troops disembarked. Cortes crouched down, the nickel-plated M1911A1 sliding out of his holster. Firing began on both sides as his men responded to the ambush.

Most likely, it was only a handful of diehard loyalists. But their positions were good and they would not be intimidated into surrender. Cortes cursed the circumstances that had forced their advance to proceed solely up this one narrow road.

The ambush would be sorted out quickly enough- but valuable time would be lost in the process.

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE
0934 LOCAL TIME

The palace was in an uproar. Staffers rushed to and fro without any clear direction. Some frantically shoveled documents into the old building's many fireplaces. Others yelled into telephones and radios, trying to coordinate with the Army, Military Police, civil authorities, and other entities. More than a few had simply quietly grabbed a few trinkets and slipped out the back- one Estonian peacekeeper had caught a maid trying to sneak out with a $2000 bottle of champagne.

Paradoxically, however, the calmest person there was the one in the most danger. Amongst the chaos, President Augustin Ochoa sat at his desk finishing a cup of coffee.

He was rational. His two sons were studying abroad- Walter in Argentina, Luis in the United States. His wife Claudia had gone to Spain on a “goodwill tour” as soon as the fighting started. Ochoa's family was in no danger, which was a massive load off his mind.

Besides, Ochoa knew he had made the right allies in his time in office. His name was known in Washington and London. Not to mention his connections on the other side of the law. And so Ochoa was calm.

He drained the gold-plated cup, gently wiped his lips with a linen napkin, and then stood up from his desk even as another harried courier laid yet another desperate message on his desk. Ochoa ignored it, and the general bustle. There was nothing to be done, no last-minute defense against the rebel army. He knew this. The least he could do was preserve himself and his hold on this country.

Ochoa reached inside his desk, retrieved the item he had been keeping there for the last five months- a holstered SIG P230 chambered in .380 ACP. In the long and varied history of Valverde, more than one man who had sat at this desk had ended up putting a pistol to their own skull. But Ochoa did not intend to be one of them. Not while he still had benefactors.

He waved to one of his foreign bodyguards, a Russian named Avdeyev. “Please bring the car around. We're leaving the palace,” he instructed calmly as he slipped the tiny handgun into a jacket pocket. The bodyguard nodded, stepped out to carry on his instruction. Ochoa flagged down another scurrying aide. “Garcia, is it? Please tell the civilian staff that they are dismissed. Thank them for their service on my behalf.” Ochoa gave the young man a clap on the shoulder. “Go home and be with your family, Garcia. They will need you.”
Avdeyev returned. “The motorcade is ready, sir,” he reported in accented Spanish. “The security detail is arming up.”

Ochoa straightened his necktie, then walked with as much dignity as he could muster over to one of the Estonian peacekeepers standing guard in the hallway. “I am leaving the palace with my security team,” he said curtly to the foreign soldier. “As I represent the legitimate government of this country, I expect you to accompany me.”

“Where are we going, sir?” Avdeyev inquired, as he checked the safety on the HK MP5K he had somehow acquired in the ninety seconds he had been away.

Ochoa nonchalantly dusted imaginary dust from his lapel. “The American embassy.”

BBC NEWSROOM

“We go now to Simon Wainwright, reporting live from outside the Presidential Palace in Esmarcion. Simon?”

“Thank you, Priya. Moments ago, we filmed several vehicles leaving the Palace- as you can see, a motorcade of eight or nine vehicles including the Presidential limousine and even a white-painted UN truck. This is the first activity of any kind we have seen from the Palace in four days. As yet, the government has not issued an official statement on the fighting in the suburbs, but insider sources speculate that the fighting will soon- are you getting this?”

“What's happening?”

“Priya, a large number of civilian vehicles are gathering at the Palace. They seem to contain armed men, but they are not in any sort of uniform that I can see. They- there! Men are jumping out of cars, they seem to be armed with rifles and handguns. They're running inside the Palace, but they don't seem to be meeting any resistance.”

“Are you in any danger, Simon?”

“No, no, it's all very quiet here. They're looking around, they seem to be asking questions of the staff. I- I think they were after the President. If so, they may have missed him by mere minutes. Now, as you can see, several of these, uh, militiamen are getting back into their vehicles. They're heavily armed, but none of them are wearing uniforms and they're driving normal cars such as you might see on the street. Several of them are leaving, only a handful remain behind. Six men that I can see. They haven't been here more than a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Simon. For continuing coverage of the fighting in Esmarcion, please continue watching. Alternately, log into our live feed at our website, presented by Simon Wainwright.”

EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
1037 LOCAL TIME

“Christ, are you fucking kidding me? God verdoeme het,” Marten Loos cursed in Dutch. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, extracted a plastic flask from which he took a sip of cheap rum. The rumors from the gardeners and maids remaining at the Palace had been one hundred percent correct, as it turned out. Peering through the gate from inside his Jeep, he could see the shiny black Lincoln and the white-painted UN truck parked on the other side of the high walls. More importantly, he could see the American flag flying over the complex of buildings. “This is so fucking irritating,” Loos complained as he took another sip of rum. “The stroeme tyfuslijer just had to make things complicated. Had to go running to his big, bad Uncle Sam.”

Loos considered his options. He had about fifty men under his command, armed with grenades and small arms, the odd disposable rocket launcher. The Embassy looked solidly constructed and he would be up against unknown opposition. Simply storming the place was out, at least not until they had a better idea of what was going on. The rebel army could be here in five minutes or five days. Loos took a moment to weigh his options before picking up his walkie-talkie and giving orders to his men. “Alright, muchachos, here's the plan. We're going to form a perimeter around the complex, make sure every exit and entrance is covered. Kobayashi, take some men and get on those high rooftops- I want lines of sight over those high walls and reports every ten minutes. Scan the windows with binoculars, tell me what you see. No one, I repeat, no one is to fire unless they are first fired upon. Our job right now is to observe and contain.”

As his men moved into position, Loos took one last sip of rum and stepped out of the Jeep. He sized up his personal weapons. Two M67 hand grenades, a .38 Rossi revolver, a Glock field knife. And of course his primary weapon, a Walther MPL submachine gun. The same weapon you could see slung over the shoulder of any Military Police in this country as he directed traffic or guarded a government building. Loos grimaced as he took position near the main gate of the Embassy. The place was built like a fortress. He didn't have enough men to take it by force, not without massive casualties.

Loos looked at the plumes of smoke floating over the city, heard faintly the sound of faraway guns. Cortes and his men were making progress, they would be here sooner or later and Cortes expected to be met by a captive Ochoa. The Dutchman thought for a moment before the beginnings of an idea started in his head.

He lifted his walkie-talkie again. “I may have a plan to smoke the old bastard out.”

The Embassy of the United States, Valverde
1015

The Ambassador looked around, looking across at Lewis, the Marine clearly with a certain look on his face. The MSG was spread out, and on guard, clearly anticipating something. That something was the arrival of Presidente Ochoa, and both Lewis and Elizabeth knew the stakes here. Things would get very nasty, very quickly, if things were not sorted out properly. Hence why right here, Elizabeth had wanted to talk to Lewis, one on one, in her office. The windows were barricaded up, and only a tiny slit existed, barely letting a fraction of light into the beautiful room. Lewis wore his BDU, and had his Mk18 slung over his chest rig, Elizabeth wearing her vest and perhaps less-ambassadorial clothing. Things had gotten to a melting point in here, and that was without the sight of artillery now dropping into here.

Elizabeth sat up a little, breaking the silence.
"Well, Commander, it has come to this. Ochoa is coming over. You are to respect his presence and work with his security team in defending this embassy, that order is clear. But I want you to understand that we still have American citizens still taking shelter."
"I counted at least 15, every one of them civilian, Ambassador. Plus we've got two Canadians, at least three Australians and a German national here. It's a lot of people that we have to take care of. There's about half a dozen embassy staff, whoever chose to stay. They did a good job getting whoever we could out." Lewis simply replied, coughing a little as he cleared his throat.
"Agreed. So, brief me once more, you have prepared a defensive? These windows look tough." Elizabeth said, chuckling, looking out of the slit, before sitting back down in her chair, the Ambassador knowing that the metal reinforced windows were not enough in their own right, something Lewis looked to agree on.

"It won't be much if they bring heavy weaponry or artillery, but it keeps snipers from seeing into our every move. I have 28 men, excluding myself, on defensive. Armed with everything from M16s to M4s, a couple of marksman rifles and two M249s, some very light Anti-Tank weaponry. Ambassador, in a nutshell, we have quality but no number. We can't hold an army, but whatever you're planning, we can hold long enough. I promise that."
"Well, it better be good enough with what Ochoa is bringing. He has his own guard, plus his UN protection. You will be friendly with them. It will give me enough time to pursue the diplomatic channels that we need to break open, and save this country. Ochoa isn't falling from power today, and his men will assist you."
"Ambassador, if I may...they're mercenaries and thugs. The Estonians are great men, but they're only Blue Helmets. The people Ochoa surrounds himself with are liabilities.."
"I understand your concerns, Commander. But times are tough, and as you say, you can't hold an army. Let us be frank, 28 men against several thousand is not the best odd in the world. So if you can, make them the force that CAN hold an Army, Commander. You are the Commander of the Guard here, and they'll follow you, I shall tell Ochoa to make damn certain that they do, no matter who they are." She said, exhaling, looking over at Lewis once more.
"We haven't got much time, you should prepare for Ochoa's arrival. As should I, he's going to be shaken up when he sees me."

"Circumstances mean we have to go on, Ambassador. You look good." Lewis said, as he stood up, escorting Elizabeth towards the door, headed out back down to the lobby. The corridors were dark, the electricity out, and all in heaps of mess- paperwork was lying about, and it felt disorganized, trashed already, though no fighting had broken out. It had been a rush to get the most risky paperwork away from here, and now, they had to do something to protect the rest. Elizabeth turned her head, the blonde haired woman looking across at the grizzled Marine.

"Thank you for the compliment, but I fear it won't do me any good when I have to explain to Ochoa why I'm wearing a vest already, and am somehow still here to help him. Poor fellow, I do feel for him, having the country he loved torn from him. If Margret Thatcher was in my position, she would have done the same, done anything to help a bastion of some sort of Democracy. No U Turns, a Lady of Iron. Looks do not matter to me Commander, action does. Tell me, do you like Thatcher, Commander? Be honest, Lewis." She asked, perhaps her mind diverted from the frame of topic right now, as Lewis at first struggled to answer the question, leading the way down the corridor as they turned right, heading towards the lobby.

"A great woman, truly uncompromising in her ways. But she fell down on that too. I don't know politics, Ambassador. That is your task, not mine I'm afraid. We won't let harm come to you or anyone taking refuge here." Lewis simply replied, just giving a straight answer, and a straighter assertion, one that he somehow hoped he could still do, despite the mercenaries and various UN forces that would add to fuck it all up.

The MSG was spread through this building, all equipped fairly similarly to the First Sergeant, in MARPAT Woodland and armed with a variety of rifles and other weaponry, equipped for fighting a war on a limited scale, a defensive one at the very least. They were Marines, and Lewis knew that Marines did what Marines did. They didn't let go of embassies, and somehow, it was a nice fact to cling to, even if he knew realistically it would take something short of a miracle and or air strikes to repel any enemy advance, which was looking impossible in either case. Elizabeth had held hope, Lewis had seen, but the Ambassador perhaps ultimately knew that gett. In the lobby, a set up had already been made, of metal tables that were on the stairs, offering little to no cover for those entering the building and a suppressing point to fire down into it. It was a kill zone, no less, and Lewis knew that it was features such as these that would hold the line. Moving ahead of the Ambassador, he looked across to two men setting up a barricade at the top of the other arch, nodding as he yelled across.

"Sanderson, Bingham, get the bags up onto the balcony, get a couple of 249 boxes there and make it a nest! Harris, you got the wire up yet?" He yelled across, as Sanderson, a Marine armed with an M249, gave a simple "Aye, Aye" and followed his collegue, as Lewis looked back across at the rest of the lobby.
"We got the rest of the razor wire up at the rear entrances, Commander. It's not perfect, but it's going to take hell to take apart." He replied, the Corporal walking over, as Lewis stepped off the stairs, looking across to the two men, a little out of breath but still raring to go.
"Come with me, bring CPL Collins. We're doing front security, Ochoa's convoy is arriving. Phillips and Adams can pull back from the front gate as soon as our VIPs are in, it's hustle time once they are here, every fucking rebel on this face of the country will want to be here. Let's go." Lewis spoke with an authoritative, platonic voice, knowing this was how you addressed soldiers, even if it was in front of the Ambassador. She seemed hardly fazed, aware that perhaps normal diplomatic protocol broke down here, that you couldn't operate normally as you would. Things were different now, and the lobby even felt like it, despite being the marveling front entrance of an American embassy. The marble floor was covered in dust already as the team moved to the front, Lewis looking back towards Elizabeth, the ambassador clearly having some sort of mad resolve to hold this line. She had faith in Lewis, that much was visible, and Lewis had faith in her. It seemed mutual that in a situation like this, she could tell him honestly what was going to happen, and he could somehow improvise how it would. She seemed out of place, but Lewis knew that somehow, they'd figure this one out. Him and his team would make sure no harm came to this place.

----

1020

Out the front of the embassy, the cars pulled in, the guards that Lewis commanded letting the convoy through, the white UN lorry and the black Lincoln pulling in front of the Embassy's gleaming structure, as Lewis headed out, looking across at the men that were now clambering out. The Lincoln's doors opened, as Lewis stood in front of Elizabeth, looking on as the door opened. Lewis stepped slightly aside, looking across. At least six of his contingent were down here, the Main Gate abandoned but covered by a couple of his Marines on the roof, who swept the way that Ochoa and his contingent had taken in. The rest were still on either patrol or observation, posted up across various sight lines of the building.
"Augustin, it is good to see you, my dear." She said, smiling at him, the whole paradoxical nature of this situation clear to Lewis. Elizabeth had met him several times before, Lewis accompanying, and the man never seemed to lose his touch, though on today, that didn't seem the same. He was most definitely stressed, but somehow unaware of how royally fucked his regime was. Lewis could only guess that Elizabeth and him seemed to have connections that worked mutually, both in a diplomatic and personal sense. The rest of his men emerged, and he could see the Estonian detail clambering out of the truck, Lewis uncomfortable and ill about all of this. The Presidente was a man of great caliber, Lewis could tell that from afar. But his guards seemed scary, and the man that Lewis had heard much about, Avdeyev, stood closely by with his MP5K, almost eyeballing up Lewis. The Marine could tell that he was not a man to be fucked with, and was a bodyguard with a fairly standard lack of fucks to give about others. The man was intimidating, truly so. The stare was broken by a fairly confident response from Ochoa.

"Likewise, Elizabeth! It is a shame under these circumstances, but we must do what we can. Once this is over, we can enjoy some Champagne together, I am sure of it." He said, shaking hands with Liz while his heavily accented English came out clear. Her soft hand against his, it seemed like a meeting that could have occured in any other circumstance, no less the fact that this was a massive crisis for both parties involved. The Marines moving back from the front gate said it all, that this was no ordinary meeting, the front contingent on the roof covering as the gate was set to shut, the huge steel bars sealing the compound up, closing it off to the world outside. Apart from looking in, it would be difficult to go straight in, unless you happened to have something heavier than a lorry to go though, such was the design of most defenses for US Embassies. The concrete walls, tipped in razor wire, and general construction of the place would give a false sense of security, even Elizabeth prepared to admit that. It would be short-lived, once they brought heavier weaponry to the fight.
"Ambassador, Presidente, I hate to interrupt, but we're gonna have to get inside. We've abandoned the gate and the streets are no longer safe, I give us minutes till the outside becomes completely unsafe..."
"Fine, Commander. Augustin, my Commander is a tad paranoid, don't mind him. We should head to my office, I need to talk to you regardless. Commander, you should introduce yourself to the rest of these men, I am sure that Augustin would be willing to borrow their services to you." She simply asserted, as she headed inside with Ochoa, Lewis looking on as he nodded to two of the Marines out front with him, noting for them to cover the lobby and the men again. A good number of Ochoa's entourage followed, but the UN troops and some of his other questionable men were left behind, as Lewis looked over. He could tell that Elizabeth did not want to disappoint the Presidente, not today.
"Of course, he can have what he wants, but Avdeyev stays with me, as well as a few of the others. They are the best men I could find, all combat trained, lethal killers. We will make those bastards pay! Elizabeth, have you..."
The tailing voice of Ochoa could be heard, as Lewis looked back to the rest, as they unpacked their gear, as varied and mixed as it could get, as they slowly followed behind, Lewis rallying them up in the lobby, as he looked back at the rest of the lot he had.

"I'm First Sergeant Lewis Bastion, Commander of the Marine Security Guard in Valverde. You are now on United States territory, so congratulations, pop your fucking fireworks, you made it to the land of the free. We are not safe, however, and if anything, there is going to be even more heat here than before, so remember that you now have nowhere else to turn but us. So you're gonna follow our rules, being our guests. And the rules are simple, gentlemen. And that is that you don't fuck around with the civvies in there, and with the Ambassador. Steal shit, you think about stealing shit, you find yourself in a bad position, a very bad one. You follow my men, not command them. I hope that is clearly and loudly understood, or else there will be consequences." He simply added, as he headed up the stairs, sizing up the size of the contingent he had. He had interspersed bits of his first introduction in Spanish, making the point clear on "Stealing Shit" and "Bad Position", though he had mostly stuck to English throughout. Lewis knew it was a talent that meant he could do this job in the first place, but figuring out where and when to say certain things to those who didn't understand clear bits of English was a talent that came with this job in particular, to make clear fragments.
"Okay. As far as I know, I got told that Sgt Alvar is the man to speak to regarding the blue helmets (UN), Estonian fella. Which one are you, exactly?" Lewis asked, looking into the small crowd, barely a dozen numbered, at what he could use here.

"We have business to do, your Blue Helmets are going to work with the civvies, and on finishing up our perimeter defensive. You know your men best, so if you have marksmen or anything of specialty, send it where we need it, my Marines can help you in that. As for the rest of you, I assume you're Ochoa's detail, I hope you know how to point and shoot. Collins, Harris, grab four of these men each and reinforce the overlooks. Brief them on our situation, and check weaponry. The point goes most clear for you. Listen to my Corporals, and don't fuck around. Clear?" Lewis simply added, looking out, as he gave a simple nod, not even cracking a smile or a frown, his face cold and point blank in how it asserted what he needed to point out.
"Good. We have work to do then. Sergeant, what have we got outside the perimeter, how fucked are we exactly?"

0937

Sergeant Eduard Alvar watched the chaos unfolding inside the presidential palace with a slight scowl on his face. Members of the president’s staff and guard rushed around him frantically as if the entire world were crashing down around them. Although, to them, it probably was. The Estonian squad leader crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. His ten man squad was positioned around the palace grounds, keeping an eye on things. No one here was going to cause any trouble for him and he would have plenty of warning before something that required his attention arrived. Although, if...no, when it did happen, he would not be in any position to do anything about it. His duty was to guard the president, which as he saw it, meant essentially committing suicide.

“Sergeant.” A voice came from his personal radio.

“Yes?”

“Sir, the president is leaving.”

Eduard stood up straight and glanced around the room, as if he might see Ochoa and his entourage strolling right out the front door.

“Explain, now.” He commanded, frustration clear in his tone.

“The president said he and his men were leaving. He requested that we follow.”

“Where?”

“That was all he said, sergeant.”

Eduard closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He knew something like this was bound to happen eventually. Ochoa, or any sane man for that matter, would either blow his own brains out and save everyone a lot of trouble, or flee. There was no point in staying at the palace, it would be seized and everyone in it likely captured or executed. Trying to hold it against and army would be suicide. Perhaps the president had a safe house somewhere, or a way to flee to safety? Either way, it had to be better than waiting here to die. He keyed his radio again and started quickly heading for the nearest door.

“Jakobson, Roman, move your fireteams to the vehicle depot now, we’re moving out.”

----

1020

“What the fuck is happening?” Eduard muttered as the high concrete walls and flying American flag of the embassy came into view through the truck’s windshield. His look of confusion turned to a slight grin when the lead vehicle of the ‘presidential motorcade’ passed through the compound’s gate, closely followed by the rest of the convoy.

“Ochoa’s found himself a fortress…” Corporal Jakobson, his second team leader, muttered from behind the wheel.

Eduard nodded, scanning the embassy grounds as the truck pulled to a stop behind the presidential limousine. He noticed the small group approaching Ochoa’s vehicle, American soldiers flanking a woman. The limousine doors opening was Eduard’s cue to dismount. He pushed the door open and leapt out before slamming the door shut and slinging his rifle over his shoulder again. The others started clambering out of the truck, filing in behind him. He stepped forward, stopping just close enough to hear words being exchanged between the president and the ambassador, but far enough away to remain uninvolved. He simply stood by, waiting to be addressed and following when the others started moving towards the building’s entrance.

Upon entering the building’s lobby, Eduard’s eyes were quickly drawn to the defenses that had been set up by the American marines. It seemed they had planned for this for some time at least. But, why hadn’t he or his own men been informed? Another one of the now defunct Valverdian government's many oversights and fuck-ups? His thoughts were interrupted by the First Sergeant’s rather colorful introduction. Eduard focused to understand him clearly, his less than perfect mastery of English only confused by the intermixed Spanish. He ran it through his head again, trying to pick out a few words when his name suddenly came up. He glanced around reflexively to his two fireteam leaders, standing on either side of him, then took a step forward, meeting the American's gaze with a stern expression.

When the marine had finished addressing him, he turned to his assistant squad leader, Junior Sergeant Roman Vesik.

“Roman, talk to the Americans and have both teams assist where they can. Make sure there is one English speaker in each pair. Jakobson, take Tarvas and Serov and find a place to put the machine gun.”

The peacekeepers had a relatively limited arsenal at their disposal. AK4 rifles, hand grenades, and a single German MG3 machine gun. Additionally, the entire squad, except for Eduard and the junior sergeant, lacked any actual combat experience. Vesik knew what he was doing, but he would be relying heavily on the marines to effectively utilize the peacekeepers in the completely foreign compound.

He turned back to the First Sergeant as the others walked away, approaching the nearest marine busy gathering some of Ochoa’s men.

“My men will help where they can. They train and fight in couples. My squad sergeant can talk to your own.” He gave a slight nod towards the junior sergeant who was talking to one of the marine corporals.

“Good. We have work to do then. Sergeant, what have we got outside the perimeter, how fucked are we exactly?" Bastion replied.

“The city is falling without resistance. We are alone, no one is stupid enough to die to save a dictator...except us.” He glanced around the room briefly. "When possible, I would like to be shown around the compound."

1101

"Finally, finally, finally," Loos exclaimed as the pickup truck pulled up. Now his plan was beginning to come together."Lekker," he said in satisfaction, resting the barrel of his submachine gun over his shoulder as he took another hit from his flask. "This ought to get that teringlijer out of the building."

Several of Loos' men, the same who had been searching the Palace, opened the tailgate of the truck and none too gently pulled out three men and one woman. Each were handcuffed behind the back and had been gagged. Loos nodded in satisfaction when he saw the first of them was Simon Wainwright, the BBC's field reporter in Valverde. The other three were Wainwright's producer, camera operator, and sound technician. Perfect. Four British journalists.

"Get them on their knees," Loos ordered his men after they had frog-marched them into the middle of the street, just a few yards from the front gate of the embassy. Wainwright and his crew, obviously scared but fairly calm, complied quickly, kneeling down side by side. Two of Loos' men stood behind them, FN FAL rifles trained on the four hostages. "I promise you, this, pal, if this works you'll have a lekker story," Loos said with a grin.

With that, Loos slung his MPL and walked slowly up to the front gate, hands in the air. Hopefully that gesture and the general nature of the standoff would keep him from getting shot. He leaned slightly over to work the intercom to the Embassy's security room outside the gate, normally used to communicate with the drivers of incoming vehicles. "This is Marten Loos of the anti-government forces," he identified himself. "If you aren't already, you should look out the front gate."

Loos paused to allow the defenders time to look before continuing. "I have here four hostages. British nationals, all of them, journalists from the BBC. You may recognize Simon Wainwright, the others are, uh," -he glanced down at the press cards that had been torn from the necks of the beleaguered newscrew- "Lee Thomson, Ravinder Mathur, and Alice Cooper. Wait, really? That's really her name?" he said, briefly forgetting himself. Loos recovered from his temporary shock and moved on. "What I propose is simple. Augustin Ochoa walks out, alone and unarmed, and surrenders himself into our custody. In return, we release the British into your protection."

"You have fifteen minutes to decide. If I do not see Ochoa by 1120, then you get to explain to your British counterpart how you are responsible for the deaths of four Britons. Tick-tock, Ambassador, tick-tock." Loos thumbed the microphone, then backed away from the embassy slowly. His men took ready position, thumbing off the safeties on their weapons. It never hurt to be prepared.

"Of course, shit is fluid right now but I'll give you a whistle stop tour. That MG3 is good, we need more MG firepower. Get it on the rear roof, we are going to need it if they decide to rush the rear gate. Tell the men that they do not fire unless fired upon or we have someone inside the perimeter, in which case, you've got clearance to mow down anything that moves. We have enough ammunition for around a couple of hours of sustained firefights, after which we're going to be out. Whatever supplies you have, get it off the truck, get it in- get magazine counts done, make sure your forces are tip top. Oh, and carry on wearing the blue helmets. It's probably keeping you more alive than ours." Lewis added, a little quick in explaining things, as he looked around at him.
"We might be stupid...but we aren't giving in without a fight...at least for the people over there, we're keeping them safe."

------

Ochoa and Elizabeth walked up, headed back to her office, the ambassador frank in how she spoke to Ochoa.
"Your position is frail, you know you put a lot of people at risk coming here. Lucky that they gave us the clear to let you in when things collapsed." She said, the wise woman knowing Ochoa was not going to like what she had to simply say.
"Let me be honest, we only need time to re-organize a defensive of the city, the Palace is being watched, I swear. So from here, we can stop that bastard from advancing any further." He replied, Elizabeth shaking her head, as Ochoa turned to her. Walking into the room, Elizabeth drew a chair for Ochoa, as she moved around, the sight of the looming Russian bodyguard close to them intimidating Elizabeth a little.
"Well, he made it this far. We can't let your democratically elected government collapse, it sends a message that we don't support our allies. I'm still talking to Washington, but they're not going to have anything to support you immediately. It's up to the UN to clean this up right now, it's a political nightmare." She said frankly, as Ochoa cursed.

"Well, you must ask more! Cortes is working with the Cartels, he's pumping cocaine through my beloved country and ideas of Anarchy! Surely they must understand, he will turn the country to ruin, kill all the foreigners!" Ochoa exclaimed, as Elizabeth could only look back, feeling sorry to say it to her good friend.
"I wish I could say it's going to happen, Augustin. But in the short term, we have to hold the embassy. Then, we can think about leaving . You're a guest here, and I protect those people down there as much as I will protect you. They won't storm this place, not without thinking twice about killing a foreign dignitary." She said, as Ochoa nodded, looking back across at the ambassador.
"You believe so?"
"They might be barbarians, but I believe we must stand firm. Not give in, or else you will end up dead." She was honest, but couldn't deny what was going on.

"As far as I've heard from the CIA, you've got mercenary groups all over the place. You're paying people to fight for you. If they turn, you better not any backblast. You might be the leader of Valverde, elected and proud, but I've seen enough mercenaries defect." She added, as Ochoa took a cigar out, Elizabeth sliding a lighter across the poorly lit desk.
"They will stand, the people will rally back once they know I am well and safe." Ochoa added, lighting the cigar, taking a strong puff. He offered it out to Elizabeth, but she put her hand up, rather sheepishly- cigars were not her play.
"No, thanks. I suppose anything that works for you to keep your mind off it, Augustin. We will do whatever we can."

The sound of boots around the corner echoed in the corridor, as Lewis ran in.
"Ambassador, we've got a situation. I hate to interrupt, but we've got four British nationals with guns pointed to their heads, and they want Ochoa out if we do not comply in 15 minutes."
"The fuckers! Okay, I'm with you, Lewis."

---

1103

The situation outside was one that immediately had escalated, and two minutes had passed. Already, the mobilized Marines and men were swarming, as Lewis could only look on at the front gate, not seeing their position.
"We can't shoot them, Commander- Jackson guesses even if we kill Loos from a sniper round, we aren't going to stop their deaths." Sanderson said, the M249 carring Marine looking over at Lewis's concerned figure, as he looked back towards the gate, from this perspective in the lobby.
"Fuck. Well, we haven't got much chance then. Loos won't get Ochoa, no matter what. Okay, what can we do? Fuck." Lewis thought, looking back, as he turned to Elizabeth, who was looking on at the whole scene with interest, just wondering and observing what could be done.
"Last time a set of journalists was killed in Syria, we started to increase our airstrikes. However you feel about them, we're not giving in. They're not Americans, they're journalists for a Brit news room, being sent to a warzone with no understanding of how dangerous the situation is here. Four men for Ochoa, it's not possible. The BBC will feel guilty for sending them to their deaths, and any ultimatum they send to us will be something Washington can cover. They should be able to, at least. The British can hate us, but at the end of the day, they aren't on the ground helping us. Rees left three weeks ago with his whole staff, Special Forces in tow." She said, walking up to Lewis, looking over the balcony, the mention of the British ambassador rekindling a thought for Elizabeth.
"If you can save them without compromising this embassy, you have my authorization, Commander. Do whatever is needed to get them on our side of the fence, but if you put a single person inside this embassy at risk, we need not talk of consequences. You best get to work, Commander, don't fucking spare them if you get the chance." She said, her tongue vicious, her occasional curse having a strong and passionate definition, with no understatement drawn from it.
"Understood, Ambassador. I would advise you head to the safe room till we're clear, we'll do whatever we can to get them back."
"I'm not heading to the safe room, I'm going to watch. Ochoa can if he wants, I'm going to observe the cameras, whatever have left of them."

---

1106

Time had ticked, and Lewis had rallied over a couple of the Estonians, including Eduard, assembling at least six other men including Eduard from various parts of the defensive, happening over barely a few minutes. He had two marines, and two mercenaries, the outfit looking exceptionally varied.
"Situation is clear, we've got four hostages, and at least five men, minimum. I would guess it's a 20 man contingent at worst, armed with various rifles and SMGs, and they aren't fucking around. Grenades, knives. Loos isn't a local, so expect him to be trained. Crazy Dutch bastard." He said, as he loaded a magazine into his rifle, before pointing to the map of the Embassy, the high resolution floor plan and surrounding area map allowing him to get an understanding of minute, fickle positions. It was good that they had this- otherwise, they would be in the dark on what would go on beyond these walls.
"So I suggest we make some smoke and mirrors. We'll need to dragnet Loos into the open, and take his eye off the ball. He seems like the smart one, the others, we don't know. But if we assume that he's the talker and thinker, the rest might be easy to snap up. Me and Ramon will head to the front gate, and negotiate. Sergeant Alvar, you'll take Pvt Hopkins, Cpl Harris, Pedro and your Estonian, head to the rear gate. You'll lob a smoke cover out, and my marksmen will get you out the back, there is a path around the barbed wire that means you won't die, and you'll need to clamber the gate- we've got a rope. You'll need to get around, and give a distraction. Me and Ramon will keep Loos fixed, and you'll outflank him. There is a strong possibility that if shit hits the fan, you're going to be on the other side of the embassy wall if this goes wrong, and or me and Ramon going to get shot at. But anything that takes their attention from those journalists is good. They're innocent fucking people, they don't deserve to be in the crossfire of this mess. Elizabeth may think little, but I am not letting them fucking die for the sake of some political bullshit, and we've got the clear for this. So let me be clear when I say we go and fucking save them." Lewis simply said, a corresponding nod from Hopkins and Harris, both armed with M4s.

Looking across, he knew that two mercenaries, Pedro and Ramon, were probably not too pleased about this whole affair- and while only armed with MP5s, were still more than capable to go and get the job done. 1stSgt Bastion had learned that Alvar was an infantry leader from one of the other Estonians, letting him tell Alvar about himself, as briefly as they could in the twenty minutes that they'd spent here.
"If all goes well, we kill Loos, or at the very least, make sure he backs off. Nobody needs to die, if you do it right. Use your better judgement, Eduard. Get them through the front gate, run back in, and fucking pray that they don't go back. If Loos is reasonable, he'll come to his senses. If not, a 5.56 or 7.62 will help clear his mind." He added, looking across at Alvar, his 2IC in this work.
"So, you got anything to add? Grab whatever you need, our kit is yours, we might have little 7.62s but you can loot a mag or two if you need it." Lewis engaged the Aimpoint on his weapon, pulling the stock out a little, as he looked over to the Estonian.

1108

"This is going to get somebody killed." Eduard responded after a moment, not looking up from the embassy map. Time was quickly slipping through their fingers. They didn’t have much time to prepare, and even less time to act. Eduard scanned the map for several moments, shaking his head slightly. A lot was going through his mind, and the rather tight timetable wasn’t helping any.

This entire idea was a bad one. Once they got over the wall, they’d be in the open, sitting ducks for the enemy. Even if they weren’t engaged and killed, the rebels only had to see them coming, execute the hostages, and then the team would be walking into an ambush. The marine marksmen and newly positioned Estonian MG3 team covering the compound’s rear gate gave him some comfort, but not much. Unfortunately, their options were limited, and unless Ochoa decided to sacrifice himself for these four unlucky Brits, or the Americans decided to kick his ass out, there was nothing to be done but something stupid. Bastion had made himself very clear, they were going through with this. The Estonians, marines, and mercenaries were just pawns on this chessboard of political bullshit, and Eduard obviously wasn’t too thrilled about it. He addressed the four men assigned to him.

“Hopkins, Harris, right? You two are the first team. Private Levandi and...Pedro? You will be second team. We need to move fast, we only have-” He checked his wristwatch quickly, “-eleven minutes. We move along the wall, reach the gate and engage Loos. If we get stopped, I’ll throw smoke grenades if I can, team one covers, two moves. Someone starts shooting and we don’t get to the Brits, they die. We’ll need to be quick, that means no stopping once we get over the wall. We move or they die."

He reached to his radio.

“Roman, send someone down to the rear gate right now with ammunition and grenades, Levandi and myself are going outside. See if the First Sergeant needs anyone to assist at the front gate. You're in command of the squad."

Eduard looked over the map a few seconds longer, then turned to First Sergeant Bastion.

"If this comes to my men or the hostages, I'm choosing my men. This is on you."

1112

Sergeant Alvar's team quickly assembled at the rear gate, performing last minute checks on their weapons, ammunition, and equipment. A few additional AK4 magazines and grenades had been hastily acquired from the Estonian sent by Roman and the marines managed to get their hands on some extra ammunition in the short amount of time as well. When everyone was ready, Eduard keyed his radio and briefly alerted Bastion they were moving out, then gave his team the order to move. A few smoke grenades were lobbed over the wall, and the soldiers began scaling the gate one-by-one, beginning with the marines. Eduard was the third man over, slinging his rifle over his back and hauling himself up and over the concrete wall to join Harris and Hopkins on the other side. He dropped to a crouch behind the cloud of thick smoke, quickly shouldering his weapon and thumbing the safety to ensure it was in semi-automatic. If there was anyone watching, this would be impossible to miss and their mission would be over just as it had begun.

He had to wait for what seemed like an eternity before the other two finally leapt down to join them. The sergeant looked between them, checked his weapon again, glanced at his watch, then gave the order to move. Corporal Harris took point, leading the team as they handrailed the embassy wall towards the front gate, moving quickly in a loose column. Eduard kept his AK4 raised and scanned the surrounding buildings as they left the concealment of the thinning smokescreen, ready to fire the moment he spotted an enemy.

Maybe everything would go as planned, they’d sweep around the wall, waste the Dutch motherfucker and his men and be heroes. Or, more likely, it wouldn't, and at least a few people would end up dead.