North Bound on Intercity-5B
Doiré Periphery, Farouzalat Special Administrative Region, West Gondwanan Railway Zone.
Uachtarachranatóir Gearóid S. Cinnéide
B Troop, Rapid Response Team B3, Precinct 51, West Gondwanan Express Gendarmerie
2325 Local Time, DEC 20, 2022
The slow, ominous hum of the hybrid electric engine filled the interior of the Gendarme Calvary Vehicle, affectionately named Jaglion, as a pair of them navigated the winding streets, each turn bringing them closer to their destination – an obscure, nameless glorified truck stop of a town tucked just barely within the precinct’s jurisdiction, a distant hour’s ride north of Farouzalat along the Intercity-5B. From his shotgun seat, Gearóid watched the streets quickly passing by, the faded storefronts and dimly lit alleyways on each side a mood in of themselves at midnight. Despite the thorough briefing beforehand, Gearóid couldn’t shake that inexplicable feeling at the back of his head, overshadowing the mundanity of their supposed routine snatch-and-grab operation. Snapping out of his train of thoughts so that he may focus his attention on the task at hand, Gearóid inhaled then quickly exhaled in a long sigh. He’s learned to know what anxiety and apprehension smell like, and he knew that he was breathing them in and out.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Gearóid envisioned the mission unfolding flawlessly. He drew that well-placed but newly-founded confidence from the countless practice maneuvers that had prepared him for nights like this, reassuring himself that they would return in time for breakfast. Or whatever counts as breakfast at midnight.
“Rise and shine, everyone, we’re almost there,” a cheery voice broke through Gearóid 's thoughts, Sirriam Aela on the wheel beside him flooring the Jaglion down the empty road with the occasional trucks and cars zooming by. Despite her demeanor, he felt safe with her on the wheels, after all, was she not the subaltern whose daring driving with the Morlethian Dragoons in the “Balloon Express” helped save the AAC at New Arsfly’s Antiga Square in 2014? Or so she had claimed.
“CENTCOM, this is Tanarín 8, approaching the AO, ETA…” Gearóid reported over the radio before pausing for a moment to turn to Aela, awaiting from her an answer.
“In a teeny bit, don’t worry about it-” She answered, unbothered, her eyes still on the road through a finger on the steering wheel raised to point at the map display on the side.
“…3 minutes till deployment-” Gearóid said, giving them a rough estimate from whatever numbers he could scramble and pin together in his head.
“Acknowledged, Tanarín-’ The voice over the comms spoke, “Be advised, the newest report from Neamh A indicates that the immediate vicinity of the house should be all-clear. Audio-visual analysis indicates no more than four individuals inside the building. How copy, over?”
"Good copy, CENTCOM. Neamh A has our thanks.” Gearóid said, his throat tightening up as he realized the ridiculousness of what he had just said. In slight embarrassment, his eyes drifted away from the screen for a moment as he waited for a response.
“We’ll pass that along. Out.” CENTCOM spoke again, the two-second delay before their response seeming to him like mockery. After all, it was not like he did not give thanks to a drone, a Neamh Blackjack model no less. The ‘Out’ felt like salt rubbing on an open wound as the fleeting image of them breaking into table-banging laughter when the comms fell silent came and went.
“Boss, ask them if we still get hazard pay if that place like, blows up or something. I really could go for a vacation right now-” The tired voice of their shield-bearer Zayan from the backseat called out to him, giving respite in knowing that the others either did not mind or did not care.
“Unless protocols happened to change last time I was taking a nap, its still around-” Gearóid lets out an audible chuckle, “You can try shooting yourself in the leg. I’m sure nobody else will report you.”
“I want a vacation, but I’m not that desperate-” He responded, his eyes shifting back and forth between his PDW, and Gearóid “Why are we storming a random house anyway? I heard Liam’s Troop C is on duty watching over that music festival downtown. Why don’t we get the fun assignments?” Zayan asked.
“Liam likes to brown his nose, and dirty his tongue, hence, the ‘fun’ assignments are his-” Gearóid said with a wry grin, the mentioning of Liam downing his mood. He’s always hated competition, even before he came to join the force, and so, the fellow subaltern has always found a way to get on his nerves much to his chagrin.
“In case this truck’s wiretapped, I don’t want a write-up for shit-talking another CO, so let’s just focus on the mission?” Gearóid added, his tone growing serious as he glanced briefly at Zayan.
“Fuck it, then.” Zayan shrugged, leaning back on his seat and closing his eyes to steel himself for the task ahead.
“So….uhhh, I looked over the feeds from Neamh. One of the rooms looks like a disco inside-” Sirriam Ciarán exclaimed as he did everyone a favour by breaking the awkward silence, “Achranatóir, you think I can plug some stuff off their computers when we’re doing SSE?”
“Missing stuff on those nerds’ gaming PCs means a deduction from your pay."
“I just bought a new RAM stick anyway.”
“DANCING TIME FELLERS!” Aela lets out a laughter as the JLTVs suddenly screeched to a halt barely a few houses from the target, no sirens were sounding their arrival.
“Out, out!” Gearóid’s command spurred his team into action, the adrenaline-fueled urgency propelling them out of the vehicle and into the awaiting unknown.
There was nothing but silence besides the slow, repetitive mechanical squeals of Zayan’s exoskeleton and his ballistic shield as they rushed to rendezvous with the other team by a corner near the house. As Gearóid and his crew passed the corner, the other one, led by foláiratóir Lorcan, arrived, rushing forward to meet them.
“Heya, I thought you guys got lost on the way here-” Lorcan smiled, pulling out a rugged tablet from her belt and placing it in front of her and Gearóid as they prepared for a pre-mission briefing, “Stopped seeing ya when we passed the corner back in town.”
“I drove through shit you could never imagine, arleidh.” Aela responded, her slightly annoyed tone contrasting her cheery self back on the GCV.
“Alright, can it!” Gearóid, said, his words stark and stern before gesturing towards the tablet Lorcan just set down.
“Foláiratóir, my team in the front, yours via the back. Once Aela cuts the power, you’ll secure the ground floor, and the basement while we proceed upwards. ROE is still in effect: shoot ‘em and you’re canned but shoot ‘em if they try to can you. That means nobody’s dying today. Everyone clear?”
“Understood-” Everyone replied in unison, the words “Let’s dance then, arleidhon” hung in the air as they prepared to move out.
There was nothing conspicuous about the house, being only one in a row of somewhere between 12 to 15 houses in the cul-de-sac, though it was the only one with a fenced up front garden the iron bars of which dressed dried up, poorly watered greeneries of all types as decorations.
It took no time at all for Gearóid’s team to be in position by the front door, their eyes shifting back and forth between the door and Lorcan’s team who proceeded into the garden via the creaking fence door.
By the time the breaching teams, and Aela were in place, they were all close enough to the house to hear voices mufflingly emanating from inside. Something about dinner they heard through the thinly bricked-up drywall.
“Lights out” Gearóid whispered to his radio, giving the signal for Aela to shut down the circuit breaker as he snapped into place his quad-tubed ENVG.
“On my mark-” He said, his hand squeezing tightly the pistol grip of his PDW. A moment of terrible silence ensued, seconds seeming like minutes before the “Charge” order was given.
With a door blaster in hand, Ciarán stepped forward and placed the device on the door, letting the pneumatic mechanism clamp it in place on the doorframe. With a press of a button, the frame shattered with a loud thump, and in went a flash bang to incapacitate whoever was inside long enough for them to be apprehended.
The beginning of the end started with a simple screech that, in the span of seconds, grew exponentially to that of the sound that would be made if someone had dragged a rusty knife across the belly of an angry pantheon of thunders and, perhaps, all other wailing things. A violent howl and bellow soon were accompanied by a flood of light that filled everyone inside and outside of the house. There was barely any time to say aloud a syllable.
He was in the middle of it all when it happened, and the subsequent fiery shockwave sent him flying backward, beyond the iron gate through which he had passed and onto the cold asphalt of the road behind, his armour thumping on the ground, almost shattering every bone in his feeble body. All the while the air was punched straight from his lung outwards from his trachea. He could not breathe, and any attempt to gather air devolved into gurgling noises as he choked on his own tongue.
And so, he slowly fell into the abyss of unconsciousness, the very last words that passed through his ears before darkness were the words on the line of “WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK-” spoken by indiscernible, yet familiar voices filtered through the white noises and crackling of his VHF.
And so life cometh to an end.