South Gavosia Island
High Value Target's Private Residence
An eerie silence hung over the woodland clearing as the moon, at the wax of its monthly cycle, cast its radiant gaze onto the forest below. The rustling of the undergrowth and the crackling of footsteps heard by day were non-existent, instead replaced by total, undisturbed quiet. A lone house stood in the middle of the narrow, naturally devoid clearing, its windows emitting a warm yellow glow from the artificial lights inside. The shifting shadows inside, coupled with the billowing smoke from the chimney, told any observer that a fire was lit within the old structure. The white, florescent aurora cast by the moon faded, concealed by a low, long bank of cloud. Perfect. As soon as the last threads of silvery luminescence vanished, the shadowy figures stood up. Surrounding the small home were five mysterious surveillance operatives, two of which had been spying on the building and its inhabitants for several days. The trees besieging nature's former area of residence had provided excellent cover for the camouflaged operatives during their occupation of the reconnaissance site. Slowly, cautiously and one after the other, the tall, lean men filed forwards, out of the whispering shadows of the pines and into the open clearing. For a few brief, tense seconds, they were exposed, striving to cover the potentially exposing ground as swiftly as possible with minimum noise emittance. As the silhouetted figures reached the side entrance of the structure, they began to stack against the old, faded paintwork of the wall. Just as the last man reached his position in the welcoming shadow of the house, the moon revealed itself again, almost as if on cue. Here, however, the silence would come to a crashing conclusion. As slowly as possible, the man who appeared to be the team's leader drew out a small bag of explosive material, and placed it on the wall using adhesive tape. Taking a few paces back, the men braced themselves. Bang.
The explosion ripped through the still night air, scattering panicking birds and wild animals for miles. If there was anyone asleep in the house, they certainly weren't asleep any more. As the dust began to clear and startled voices rang out from various points inside the house, the operatives knew it was time to complete their task. Still maintaining total silence, the group filed in, drawing their suppressed rifles. Two men took a left turn on the first opportunity, which proved to be a narrow hallway on the first floor. After surveying the house and gaining blueprints from local uniformed services, the pair knew that there was a bathroom and a kitchen this way. Another two went right at the same fork, heading for the living room and study. The final man, the team leader, proceeded directly up a brief flight of stairs, heading for the bedrooms. His ammunition was loaded into his utility belt kit, Alexiandran standard issue. That, and the make of his rifle, were the only things that could give away his nationality to a learned observer, of which there were none. Placing himself to the right side of the first door in his sight, he positioned his body so that he could easily swivel, kick in the door, then pivot back again into cover. Thinking back to the blueprints, he double-checked that this was the first room on the second floor, then braced for action. Implementing his mentally-stored plan, he turned right, delivered a forceful kick to the old, rusted door, and turned back into cover again as it crumbled. Not willing to take any chances, he threw in a stun grenade from his belt kit for good measure. A brilliant burst of light and stinging noise flooded the top floor, but it was largely wasted on the operator, who was intentionally facing away from the blast. Slowly edging around the door again, the man clicked his twin helmet flash lights, sweeping the pitch-black room with the powerful beams. It was empty, save for the overturned covers, old clothes, and a window. Cursing softly, the operator reversed onto the landing again.
Continuing on his room-clearing quest, the team leader strode down the hall, keeping his finger on the trigger of his Micro Tavor 21. The weapon had been adopted by the Alexiandran special forces units in the past three years, after trialling during the Harvian insurgency raids. This particular weapon sported a sound suppressor, as well as an integrated ACOG-series scope. Finding himself at the entrance to the second room, and ignoring the shouts of lesser value targets who would undoubtedly be silenced by his comrades, he braced again. He studied the location and mechanism of the door hinge – it didn't seem to have a visible lock. It was on the opposite side of the door to him, but a wall obstructed his ability to stack on the hinged side. Thus, he would simply have to shoot his way in. Raising the MTAR, he fired a controlled, quiet burst at the metal hinge. It splintered apart in a shower of sparks. Using the butt of the compact weapon, he smashed the weakened door down. As it splintered inwards, his double head lights granted him an unmatched view of the interior, and blinded anyone inside. He tiptoed his way inside, hugging the wall once within the room to avoid an ambush from behind. At first glance, there was nothing inside, but he knew better than to assume from his first look. The bedroom was spacious, with the door opening onto a long wall to the right. The same wall that had obstructed his entry was to his left, tiny in comparison to the one on his right. The bed was at the far end of the room from his position, and it in itself was resting a couple of meters from the open window. At first, the operator thought that the target may have preferred to take his chances with gravity rather than face a full squad of armed Alexiandran commandos, and that all of the team's efforts had been wasted. But then something moved behind the bed. It was only for a split second, but he saw it – and he brought his lights around to bear. The powerful devices illuminated the whole bed, but there was no longer any movement. Giving the rest of the room a final precautionary sweep, he moved deeper inside. Just as he was approaching the sleeping area, something rustled, and he thought he saw movement again. Shouting random phrases to disorientate this new target, he moved around the bed, giving him a clear line of sight to who or whatever was behind it. There was a middle-aged, middle-weight man curled up behind it, sweat running in beads down his forehead. The operator's first instinct was to check for a weapon, and he did – but he saw nothing. However, that was not an excuse to lower his guard.
Squinting down the barrel of the Micro Tavor, the operator, known to his colleagues as “Echo” prepared to give a warning. The man didn't look like he would listen – he was in too much of a panic – but Echo would try it anyway. “I want you to listen very closely.” murmured Echo in English. “Do you understand?” he asked, wondering whether the HVT spoke English. The man nodded tentatively, his eyes searching for an escape route. He had no chance if he tried anything. He had a MTAR pointing at his centre mass, and the Tavor was one weapon no sane person would want firing at them. The Micro Tavor 21st Century fired a 5.56×45mm bullpup round at high velocity, causing tissue trauma amidst scores of other, even less desirable effects. Even more deadly, the rifle could launch these lethal projectiles automatically, at a rate of 750-900 rounds per minute, and had a semi-automatic burst mode for added accuracy. The target was going nowhere any time soon. “Now, I want you to raise both of your hands very slowly, and very clearly, so I can see them.” commanded Echo. The man did as he was told, and he was holding no weapon. His surrender was going perfectly. Then he just had to go and mess it up. Attempting to leap across the remainder of the space to the window's edge was not a good idea. He probably didn't realise how much weight he'd put on since his younger years. Three single shots rang through the chaotic house, and the bullets struck the HVT in the lower torso. One of them struck just left of his stomach, while the second and third impacted into his left kidney. He collapsed against the wall, screaming in agony. He'd live. Striding over and hauling the man up by the scruff of his shirt, Echo slammed him into the wall and punched him in the face. He was knocked unconscious by the blow. Hoisting him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, Echo descended the stairs, where his compatriots had already effortlessly defeated the rest of the house's inhabitants, proving their attempts at a fight futile. There were three other men, bound in thick rope and gagged with highly adhesive black masking tape. They were squirming, but they soon stopped at the sight of their friend out cold and bleeding. “Shut up!” one of the team, Delta, barked rather unceremoniously. “Right. Let's get the hell out of here. Get command on the horn and tell 'em to send the evac flight. Give them the co-ordinates. We can hold out here until the chopper arrives, provided none of these fools managed to phone the police.” Echo said as he strode out of the front door, the Minister of Economics for South Gavosia slung across his back. He was looking forward to meeting the President.
