Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: In and Out (04/30/09)
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TITLE: Those that Resist | Previous Challenge Entry
By Janeil Harricharan
05/07/09 -
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It’s what counted in situations like this. Hit the enemy first before they knew what was going on. Spend as little time as possible in the kill zone. Get home on time or earlier…
A friend of mine got captured while visiting an orphanage in Milan. She had taken a passenger liner back to the Caribbean. While going there, Somali pirates hijacked the ship and took several of them captive, including her. I didn’t care if I was 22; my other friends and I weren’t going to leave her behind, nor let them harm another innocent human being. And we weren’t going to sit around negotiating; we’re unorthodox in how or what we used to achieve justice. We weren’t terrorists; people called us the Resistance.
“Bravo 5, Somali pirate convoy nearing land.” Came over the radio. “They’re about …1/4 mile out. They left guards on the liner, in addition to several speedboats around it.”
“Boarding submersible is in mooring bay ready to go. Hydras 1 & 2 are ready as well.”
I put my helmet on and started to spool the engines as the chatter continued. The room was dark around me as the instrument panel illuminated the cockpit of my Su-30 MKK. A Russian-made air superiority fighter, it was refitted by Hindustan Aeronautics, and contained technology from Terran Republic Industries. And it was a prototype…
“Nighthawk, we’re breaking the surface! You’re go!”Came the second voice.
Doors opened above my head as some water poured in the bay from the sub surfacing. I eased the VTOL thrusters as the jet started to slowly take off vertically, then shoved the throttle forward and retracted the landing gear, streaking off from the Aquatine.
“It looks like they have a base near the foot of a mountain a few miles inland. We’ll have to wait until our ground troops are in position…”
I muttered under my breath. They weren’t going to like it seeing a sub half-a-mile long surface a few miles away. I shoved into afterburner and went supersonic, passing several Super Sea Stallions on the way.
Within a minute, I had crossed several miles and decelerated to a more manageable speed, leaving behind a sonic boom. I analyzed the battlefield in a few seconds; mostly transport trucks, sandbags with machine guns behind them, and tons of shipping containers covered in camouflage netting.
The machine gunners opened fire as I hit the deck, rocketing by their base near Mach .8 about 250 feet off the ground. I quickly did a thermal imaging scan of the base, noting dozens of multicolored blotches inside the mountain. Knowing that no hostages were outside, I pulled a backflip and fired off two Magics and several rounds from the twin railguns mounted underside. I pulled away as the steel projectiles peppered trucks and containers, the Magics finding their way to the emplacements and exploding.
Nothing seemed to be alive outside. I glanced out back at sea, watching a few small explosions from the speedboats being blown up by the Hydras. I circled the mountain and slowly came to a hover near the destruction I had caused, bearing all my weapons into the entrance.
I could hear dull gunfire as I quickly saw that guards inside were starting to shoot the hostages. I felt sick to my stomach and fired off half a dozen railgun shots into the back, causing fuel canisters to explode and the base to catch on fire. Several of the guards were thrown away as the hostages started to run into the open, carrying wounded or clutching to their loved ones.
The Sea Stallions had about finally caught up as I sighted who I was looking for. I landed, leaving the jet running. I hopped out of the cockpit and drew my .68 caliber pistol and ran over.
My friend was in her early thirties, her auburn hair in disarray and dirty face covered in sweat. Her shirt was unbuttoned as most of her long swishy skirt was ragged and torn, revealing lacy white underskirts in no better condition. She staggered towards my direction clutching a gunshot wound on her arm with one hand, a 9mm Beretta pistol in the other. I caught her as she started to collapse.
“You okay?”
She nodded, gratitude in her eyes. I helped her into the backseat of my jet, and took off back to the Aquatine. The helicopters had landed and started to gather the remaining hostages.
“Let’s get out of here. This is over.”
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You do make a geographical error in that there's no way Somali pirates would attack a boat travelling through the Mediterranean as they operate in any entirely different sea.
Also I wasn't at all convinced by the gung-ho strategy of the assault - surely quite a number of the hostages would have ended up being killed by their would-be rescuers!
Mind you, your story is completely on topic and possibly quite unique in the meaning you have given to in and out.