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Enemey in our Ranks. Chapter 1
Posted By: Mr. GotBeans<warbird_cn_mobius1@msn.com>
Date: 9 August 2005, 1:10 am
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Onboard the Salt Lake City Orbital Defense Station
0800 hours
November 29,2552
The footfalls became louder, echoing throughout the halls and bouncing around in Matt Ranonee's head. He kept his deep blue eyes focused on the door to the conference room. Louder. He stared around the room. Watts and Jackson were joking amongst themselves. Johansson was playing on his contraband Brefenda Porta-gamer, Jenkins was the only one not doing something; a worried look seemed to stain his dark face. Louder. Damn this chair hurts my ass Matt thought to himself. The doorknob turned and the heavy oak door opened, flooding the darkened room with a blazing white light. The door closed and the figure that had stepped in switched on the light. In the doorway stood an averaged sized white male in suit pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"Officer on the deck!" Matt shouted, snapping the rest of his squad out of what they were doing as they saluted the man that had just entered the room.
"At ease," Colonel Ackerson replied to the salutes as he walked to his end of the oak table, grabbing Johansson's Porta-gamer, hurling it across the room, nearly hitting Private Murphy. As it smashed into tiny pieces, Johansson gave his famous 'What the hell' look but figured he deserved it as he focused once again on Ackerson. "Ladies and gentlemen, today I introduce to you", Ackerson started, pulling down a map of the area around Salalah, Oman, "Operation: Hot-knife." The Colonel pulled a marker out of his pocket and removed the cap. "As you know, since the n00bs resurfaced a few months ago, they have spread more forces across Africa. The European countries have done a good job off keeping them on that side of the Mediterranean Sea, except for a few that made it across the straight of Gibraltar. America has used all its forces to keep them from reaching the west coast, but the Africans have had trouble containing the rest that has spread.
"Their forces have spread as far north as Mogadishu, south as Maputo, Mozambique, and as far west as Windhoek, Namibia. We know that they have moved a small force Salalah, Oman, and have set up and artillery base in and around the Crown Plaza Resort hotel. They have been launching STFU cannons over the boarder to Yemen, shutting down communications and putting the Middle East in more of a hole. Sergeant Major Ranonee, your job is to go in, shut down their base, plant C-7 on the guns, and get out alive. Enemy resistance will be unskilled, yet numerous, armed with anything from H&K G3A3s, M60E3s, M6D pistols, and C-4. Intel expects approximately eighty to one hundred enemies. Pelican Lima 200, call sign "Psycho" will also drop a Scorpion at your drop zone as soon as you call for it. Obviously, you won't need to worry about stealth, but be cautious, as the enemy is not to be underestimated. You will be dropped at twenty-three hundred hours. This operation should take no more than one hour. Dismissed."
Drop deck of the Salt Lake City
2330 hours
November 29, 2552
Ranonee pulled hard on the strap inside of his HEV, securing his BR55 in place. Leaving the door open, he turned to see his squad finishing up pre-drop check. Gunnery Sergeant Reynisha Watts had just slapped a fresh clip into her MA5C SAW. The C variant was more accurate and powerful, but lacked the rate of fire of the B, but that also made it more controllable. She strapped it in, checked to make sure she had all ten sixty round magazines in her web gear, then walked over to help her friend Staff Sergeant Wynona Jackson with her sniper rifle. Privates First Class Johansson and Murphy were locking each others helmets on, as it often required two sets of hand to get it sealed tightly.
"Okay everyone, two minutes to drop." Ranonee's voice echoed throughout the almost silent bay, save the dull whir of the stations stabilizers. "Is everyone ready?"
Yes sir was the unanimous answer, except for Jenkins, who answered with "I'm ready to own!" Everyone went silent; Ranonee asked, "Did you just say 'own'?"
Jenkins, suddenly on the defensive replied, "Yeah, so I speak some n00banease. I read it in a book." Ranonee instantly put Jenkins outburst into the back of his mind and entered his pod. "Okay people, what do we do?"
"Go feet first into hell!"
"Damn right."
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