“And we are bringing you back to stand trial for the crimes you committed against your own people.”
No sooner had Hunter made his pronouncement when the two other men began chewing furiously. Before any of the Rangers could stop them, each man had broken the seal on the tiny black pill they had routinely kept in their mouths. The pills contained a deadly poison and immediately both men began choking on their own blood. One gurgled something in German and pitched forward, hitting the table with a loud whap! The other simply slumped in his chair, his eyes grotesquely rolling up into his head. Both were dead in a matter of seconds.
In a flash, Hunter leaped across the table and jammed the butt of his M-16 into the traitor’s mouth. A moment later, Humdingo was beside him, forcing the traitor’s jaws open and preventing him from chomping down on a suicide pill of his own.
A strange, almost comical 15-second struggle ensued until Hunter was able to literally rip the poison capsule from the man’s mouth.
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Hunter yelled at the man. “In fact, I’ll personally guarantee that you still have a long life ahead of you.”
Their prisoner was now absolutely terrified, so much so he started babbling: “Where … who … what are you doing in those robes?”
“We’re taking you back to a place you used to know,” Hunter snarled at him. “Back to America.”
Hunter gave a signal and two of the Rangers rushed up to bind and gag the traitor with strong duct tape. Then, just as the group started to make their way down the silent corridor back to the grisly lobby area, one of the Rangers left to guard the lobby called out to Hunter.
“We’ve got company, Hawk …” the man said, motioning him to the foyer’s huge window.
Hunter ran up to the window and took a quick look down.
Coming up the road he counted four BMPs, two T-72 tanks and at least a dozen troop trucks.
“There’s always someone who wants to crash the party,” he said.
Then, running awkwardly but swiftly in the long white robes, he and the rest of the strike force headed for the stairs.
By the time JT had brought the Osprey into a hover over the skyscraper, the skies had cleared and the entire strike force was out on the building’s roof, looking absolutely bizarre in their long white body sheets.
Already, the Rangers were firing down the 20 stories at the enemy troops below. Suddenly there was a large whump! and smoke and flames immediately began pouring out of the first three stories of the building. Toomey would learn later that the Rangers had placed several delayed-reaction bombs onto the skyscraper’s elevators and then sent the lifts down to the bottom three floors.
Still many New Order troops were rushing into the building, while others were stomping up the open stairway on the building’s east side. Another explosion went off—this time on the fourth floor—blowing out just about all the windows on the bottom half dozen floors.
Meanwhile the two enemy tanks had taken up positions in the parking lot and their gunners were trying to raise their muzzles high enough to shoot at the Rangers on the roof. Another enemy squad fired a rocket-propelled grenade from the parking lot up toward the roof, but the round fell short by about 15 feet, smashing into the side of the structure with a great burst of fiery smoke and plaster.
All the while Toomey felt that he was watching some kind of odd war movie. The plan called for him not to provide covering fire for the strike force, as one stray bullet was enough to screw up the Osprey’s delicate wing hinges, and therefore wreck the Americans’ only means of escape. So, too high for the New Order soldiers to hit him, he hovered out of harm’s way and waited.
But not for long …
Just as another RPG round was fired off the side of the building, the Osprey’s radio suddenly came to life: “JT! JT! Can you hear me, pal?”
“Loud and clear Hawk,” Toomey
No sooner had Hunter made his pronouncement when the two other men began chewing furiously. Before any of the Rangers could stop them, each man had broken the seal on the tiny black pill they had routinely kept in their mouths. The pills contained a deadly poison and immediately both men began choking on their own blood. One gurgled something in German and pitched forward, hitting the table with a loud whap! The other simply slumped in his chair, his eyes grotesquely rolling up into his head. Both were dead in a matter of seconds.
In a flash, Hunter leaped across the table and jammed the butt of his M-16 into the traitor’s mouth. A moment later, Humdingo was beside him, forcing the traitor’s jaws open and preventing him from chomping down on a suicide pill of his own.
A strange, almost comical 15-second struggle ensued until Hunter was able to literally rip the poison capsule from the man’s mouth.
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Hunter yelled at the man. “In fact, I’ll personally guarantee that you still have a long life ahead of you.”
Their prisoner was now absolutely terrified, so much so he started babbling: “Where … who … what are you doing in those robes?”
“We’re taking you back to a place you used to know,” Hunter snarled at him. “Back to America.”
Hunter gave a signal and two of the Rangers rushed up to bind and gag the traitor with strong duct tape. Then, just as the group started to make their way down the silent corridor back to the grisly lobby area, one of the Rangers left to guard the lobby called out to Hunter.
“We’ve got company, Hawk …” the man said, motioning him to the foyer’s huge window.
Hunter ran up to the window and took a quick look down.
Coming up the road he counted four BMPs, two T-72 tanks and at least a dozen troop trucks.
“There’s always someone who wants to crash the party,” he said.
Then, running awkwardly but swiftly in the long white robes, he and the rest of the strike force headed for the stairs.
By the time JT had brought the Osprey into a hover over the skyscraper, the skies had cleared and the entire strike force was out on the building’s roof, looking absolutely bizarre in their long white body sheets.
Already, the Rangers were firing down the 20 stories at the enemy troops below. Suddenly there was a large whump! and smoke and flames immediately began pouring out of the first three stories of the building. Toomey would learn later that the Rangers had placed several delayed-reaction bombs onto the skyscraper’s elevators and then sent the lifts down to the bottom three floors.
Still many New Order troops were rushing into the building, while others were stomping up the open stairway on the building’s east side. Another explosion went off—this time on the fourth floor—blowing out just about all the windows on the bottom half dozen floors.
Meanwhile the two enemy tanks had taken up positions in the parking lot and their gunners were trying to raise their muzzles high enough to shoot at the Rangers on the roof. Another enemy squad fired a rocket-propelled grenade from the parking lot up toward the roof, but the round fell short by about 15 feet, smashing into the side of the structure with a great burst of fiery smoke and plaster.
All the while Toomey felt that he was watching some kind of odd war movie. The plan called for him not to provide covering fire for the strike force, as one stray bullet was enough to screw up the Osprey’s delicate wing hinges, and therefore wreck the Americans’ only means of escape. So, too high for the New Order soldiers to hit him, he hovered out of harm’s way and waited.
But not for long …
Just as another RPG round was fired off the side of the building, the Osprey’s radio suddenly came to life: “JT! JT! Can you hear me, pal?”
“Loud and clear Hawk,” Toomey
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