‘I can’t do anything, it’s your sovereign territory.’ The Commander was trying to explain his situation but the Euran was losing patience fast. ‘Commander, your men just busted in a wall to get six of your people out. We can come out the same way if you just try and form a proper cordon!’
‘I have barely a few dozen men and two vehicles, what the hell can I do? I’m not getting reinforcements for a while.’
‘Listen up, you jumped up Valladar prick! This is a serious situation here, and you had better realise that I’m not going to put up with any more delays on a potential evacuation. ’ It had become apparent to the Commander that this Euran was not intimidated by him whatsoever; clearly the brief about the possibility of the Euran’s having a special forces team in the embassy might have been quite accurate. ‘I’ve done everything I can. Just hold out for a while.’
‘Oh, fuck
you. Let me tell you something mate, if your civilians get within the building, I will have to assume they have hostile intentions. And then I won’t be held responsible for what I have to do.’
The line went dead, and at the other end the balaclava-clad Euran special forces group of two dozen in the embassy were less than pleased. The protestors outside had started small fires on the periphery of the building with Molotov cocktails and a handful were now clambering over the walls. They set up accordingly; a six man team split into pairs to man firing points in upper floor windows overlooking two key points – the main gate and the supply gate at the back – and a pair on the roof as spotters with radio kit. Another six men waited on the inside of the main entrance to the building, loaded with light machine guns and other assorted weapons and facing the door from barricades, while also being armed with riot gear and CS gas. Another six would be a reserve rapid reaction group aiming to tackle any breaches and delay invasion. The final six were already at work with building security destroying anything that contained valuable data; hard drives, portable CD’s and confidential papers. Only a handful of items were to be saved and handed over to the ambassador in the safe room.
It was becoming more and more apparent that an evacuation was not likely to happen right away. On the third floor, most of the embassy staff were gathered in one office room. They could smell smoke, and a few sprinklers had came on. Building security were with them and trying to reassure them, but they clearly were not calm. Some of them had grabbed kitchen knives from the galley to defend themselves. A few staff had been given fire axes and fire extinguishers and been organised into a fire picket, running around the building tackling small fires from the firebombs. But one fire, on the fifth floor (the penultimate before the roof) was beginning to get out of control. They were running out of time and everyone knew it.
In one of the manned windows overlooking the main gate, two special forces personnel were looking out at the crowd which was now massed right up against the barriers. Apparently they were nowhere near getting through at the back, but the front of the building would surely be assaulted soon. The two men hadn’t been at too much risk so far; a few stones had been hurled at them and little else, and one brick. Finally about four protestors made it over, young men and perhaps one teenager with their faces cloaked scrambling over. The Valladar troops who were outside the compound, that still hadn’t done anything other than make a small hole to get those six people out, fired a few warning shots and yelled at the men to stop. A fire engine had turned up now at least to deal with the growing second floor fire, but the mob couldn’t be persuaded to move.
The four men charged up to the front door only to find it barricaded by several desks. They were soon gathered by more people, pushing and shoving against the door and increasing the opening gap. The two men in the window decided enough was enough, and got on their secure radio channel right away. ‘Sir?’
‘What is it Jones?’
‘They’re going to break through any moment now sir, go for CS.’ A sigh came back over the radio amongst an otherwise silent break in conversation.
‘Alright then. You two get your masks on as you’re above the door.’ Moments later small metal canisters shot out of two windows right above the main entrance and flooded the compound with CS gas. Many of the protestors tried to run, scrambling over each other to escape while coughing and spluttering to the floor. The Valladar troops put on their own gas masks and realised the situation was now out of control. The Commander realised he might have to take the advice he had received literally; save the building, let the Euran’s save themselves. He and his men and the two vehicles moved around the crowd to the gathering fire engines to create a gap in the mob for them to at least put out the fire. Meanwhile the Commander stayed on his speakerphone, making token efforts to make the crowd disperse.
It was at this point that a crackle of gunfire broke a bizarre silence following the eventual dispersion of the gas cloud. Puffs of dust and debris appeared on the side of the building; someone had fired an automatic weapon in the direction of the two men in the window overlooking the main gate. Neither were hit, but this was the last straw. The snipers on the roof started searching for the gunman. ‘Hold on, there he is!’ cried the spotter as he spotted a hooded figure trying to hide an assault rifle he had blatantly just fired behind the person in front of him. The nervous looks of those around him were a dead giveaway. ‘Sir, we see the shooter who just fired. What do we do?’ A moment later, the order came.
‘Drop the cunt.’
The sniper aimed down the scope at the man with the rifle, and pulled the trigger. Moments later the bullet hit, but not where he had intended. It struck the shoulder of a woman a few feet in front of him holding a sign, sending her sprawling to the floor and sending the middle of the crowd into a frenzied panic. The sniper shook it off and took aim again, firing two shots this time. Both hit their target, the right one, tearing apart the torso of the shooter and sending him to the floor.
However, the damage had been done. The crowd were boiling with rage as the injured woman was carried away. Someone had got access to the primary controls of the main gate inside the compound and it had now slid open as people poured in. More gas had been deployed but it would only slow people down. An order came through on the radio that no-one wanted to hear. ‘All SF reserve boys, to the main entrance now. Window and roof guys, watch for climbers and people entering ground floor windows. Building security, do the same on the middle levels. Main door boys? Go for non-lethal first, hit the legs.’ Down in the lobby, people had broken in but were cautiously strolling in to the lobby and remaining ducked, or hiding themselves behind obstacles, rather than storming the place. A Euran special forces man clad in intimidating black gear and holding a rather scary looking rifle barked down a loudspeaker at them in Spanish.
‘Civilians! Leave the building now, or you will be repelled by force!’
Most seemed to hesitate and freeze, maybe back off a bit. A few didn’t, they ran out, one of them holding a baseball bat and another a knife. A burst of gunfire cut them down at their knees, non lethal wounds but nevertheless they had been shot. One more came though, and he wasn’t shot at. A tall and impressive figure broke from the crowd with a machete in one hand, and a Valladar flag draped around his neck. The man with the loudspeaker reiterated his threat, but this machete wielding rioter kept walking forward confidently. ‘I’ll say it one last time, get the fuck out of here!’
‘I’m not going anywhere! Bring it, you fucking Endemian slime!’ The special forces chief dropped his loudspeaker and marched down the steps, past the well protected barricades a handful of his men were behind with various weapons. Most were on the upper balcony overlooking the whole lobby, but someone had to be at the bottom to be sure no-one could slip by. The chief walked right up to the man and stared at him from only a few feet away as everyone else stood still and held their breath, like time had stood still.
‘I’m not kidding. Get to fuck pal.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. We came to protest and you shot one of us.’
‘Protest? That’s why you’ve got guns and machetes, then? I didn’t even know gun ownership was legal here, assuming it is and you got that legally.’ The Valladar scoffed and spat on the boots of the chief. Big mistake. ‘We want to talk to the ambassador.’
‘You can talk to the hand, dickhead.’ The chief raised his loudspeaker and screamed at the Valladar. ‘Get the fuck out, or I will take Mike’s general purpose machine gun over there and aim it at you, and use it, with some general fucking purpose!’ The Valladar still didn’t move. ‘Like I said…this is our land. Not yours. And we’ve got the families of the real victims out there. I want to talk to the ambassador.’
‘That isn’t an option.’
‘What options have you got? What are you going to do, shoot me?’ The chief didn’t respond for a moment, before breaking out laughing. ‘Now that you mention it…’ Before the Valladar could respond the chief whipped out a handgun and double tapped the rioter twice in the chest, before turning away and walking up the stairs. The Valladar dropped to his knees and slumped over, blood gathering around him. As the chief got to the top of the stairs, he realised that this might be about to get bloody. He decided to give one final order before chucking himself into cover behind a desk. ‘If anyone goes beyond the body of that man, they will be shot. We have enough ammunition for all of you.’
‘I suggest you calm down and piss off so we don’t have to use any.’
---------------
'
Danger, incoming tone. Danger.'
‘Turling fucking give it up, were going to die!’
‘I can’t…arrrgh!’ Turling screamed from the back seat as he struggled to wrap a wire around the throat of his pilot. The mountains were so close you could touch them, yet remarkably they’d been flying for nearly twenty minutes without crashing. Now though they had been getting messages for several minutes that Greenway couldn’t respond to because her weapons officer had decided she was a traitor. But they were both out of breath, the erratic flying style was making them very ill and they were both acutely aware they were being locked on to. So Turling let go. He sat back in his seat. ‘What is it?’
‘Somebody is on us, they keep getting bad tone.’ Greenway bled speed as soon as Turling gave up his control element while she got her breath back and gained some altitude. She immediately realised the problem; they had flown over the target area at low altitude and high speed and now Valladar fighters and SAM’s were targeting them after they hadn’t responded to the warnings.
‘Turls, you mad idiot, they’re going to shoot us down!’
‘Well…I…I don’t…’
‘You think I’m a traitor when you’re the one getting us taken out? Arsehole! You are a massive arsehole!’
‘Can you stop berating me and look outside?’ Greenway looked over her shoulder to see two massive problems on either side of her rear. Two Valladar interceptors at close range were following, and locking on. ‘I’ll send them an IFF tone and slow down, Turls try to give them visual contact.’
‘But they’re the ene-‘
‘We are not at war, don’t you realise that you idiot? NOW SIGNAL!’ Turling didn’t know what to think any more after his twenty minutes of madness, so he turned around and tried to gesticulate towards the Valladar pilots. But they were too far away for hand signal contact, and it seemed like they had already made up their mines when a missile streaked away from the wing of one of them.
‘Shit shit, is it red capped?’
‘Red capped? Fuck, er, yes!’
‘Heat guided, dumping flares!’ Greenway banked hard to the right and swooped away as the Blackjack’s wings extended out into a normal low flight, manuverable configuration as the flares brushed off the heat seeking missile, which flew off harmlessly. However both pilots knew that they had to get out of here fast to avoid a shoot down, and the Blackjack’s powerful engines would be glaring targets for further heat seekers. Valladar interceptors had been using heatseekers rather than IR guided missiles for a while ever since the Blackjack came into service. Its big weaknesses were simple; big heat profile, and questionable manoeuvrability. However, Greenway didn’t plan to let the Valladar’s expose those weaknesses. She would instead exploit the strength of this aircraft. Simple, terrifying, and yet quite magnificent power. The jet bomber broke into a rapid climb, swung its wings back, and let purple afterburner burn as it streaked upwards.
The Valladar jets and SAM’s stations on the ground followed, the jets trying to keep up and the SAM’s trying to get locked on. Greenway wouldn’t let them; the aircraft smashed Mach 1 with terrifying ease, and then Mach 2 quickly afterwards. Turling was being pushed back against his seat by the G-forces involved but he could just about see a few white streaks in the sky as missiles tracked them upwards. For several minutes, they didn’t slow down, continuously flying around practically in a circle as they tried to lose the missiles at high altitude. They were playing chicken with the Valladar military. But the fun couldn’t last. ‘Colonel, fuel.’
‘Fuel?’
‘Yeah, were past the point of no return.’ This news was somewhat surprisingly the least of Greenway’s worries. She’d flown one of these things on fumes before, she could do it again. But they had to fly east
now and that meant making a break for it without taking evasive action if they were fired upon again. The interceptors had fled after running out of missiles but the SAM’s might return at any moment.
Just as Greenway banked to her left and her compass needle pointed east, there was another lock warning. She screamed in frustration and rolled the aircraft before diving momentarily and dropping her last flares, which was enough once again. If there was a record for how many surface to air missiles a Blackjack had outrun in one flight, it had probably been broken. Rumours at Blackhall had suggested the Valladar’s had thought the Blackjack was now outdated a few years ago; a fearsome but ageing relic of the Euran-Sameban War that only remained for the usual Euran dickwaving. Greenway liked to think they had proven that analysis wrong. Before that satisfaction could register, her heart dropped as she began to come out of the dive. She could see a missile with her own two eyes heading right for them, and they were going too fast towards it to get away.
She hadn’t even thought about deactivating the missiles yet. ‘Turls, watch the canopy.’
‘W-‘ He never finished his sentence. The missile tore through the left wing as it distributed a spray of shrapnel from its main body, shredding the control surfaces and disabloing the left engine. The aircraft continued downwards with minimal interruption, but it wouldn’t be coming out of this descent. Both crew had survived the impact and they ejected straight away, plummeting towards the ground before opening their green chutes as they were about to hit the ground. Greenway couldn’t slow down completely, but it would be enough to cushion her. As she hit the snow she landed on her feet like a paratrooper storming into battle, drawing a pistol and cutting her parachute away. But as she stood in the snow in the middle of the Ituyan, she realised she was completely alone. Turling was nowhere to be seen. The Valladar’s must be nearby, but they were not here yet.
The only sign that anything had happened was the plume of smoke coming from the mountain opposite. The jet had been completely destroyed. And yet Greenway felt satisfied; why? Because in the worst case scenario, the nukes would’ve gone off and she’d have started a war, dead or alive.