The following short stories were written for a couple of reasons. One was to help me develop HUNK as a character so I could play him in our fan film, another was to introduce each of his squad members in a unique fashion to give them some depth. Each story focuses on HUNK and his experiences as he trains and carries out assignments for his first two years in the U.S.F.

Comments are welcome. Enjoy!

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

CHAPTER ONE

"Day One"
Written by Mike Young


06 February, 1996

The nagging sound of an alarm woke him from a deep sleep. He reached over and deactivated the small alarm clock on the nightstand by his bed, and rotated to get his feet on the floor. With a yawn and a stretch of his back, James Cooper was mostly awake. He took a moment to look around at his current room; it was the first time he’d slept here. He had been promised something better if he met the qualifications to be an Officer. The place was cramped, even for a soldier. His bed took up most of his “living room” and the only other pieces of furniture were his metal locker and nightstand. He headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. At least they’d honored his request for a one-person room.

As James showered, he reflected on the past six months of his life. He had been in the LAPD since he was eighteen. Having excelled in the Academy, he was quickly picked up by the understaffed Police Force. He was now twenty-three, and had already seen his fair share of action and trauma. Although he quickly rose through the ranks in the Force, he found himself discharged after an act of “brutality” during the now famous LA Riots. He found it almost funny that they had overlooked how many lives he’d saved by eliminating the would-be armed robbers that day.

Soon after his career had ended, he had received a letter from the international pharmaceutical corporation Umbrella. It was a simple, impersonal letter expressing the company’s desire to develop a new Private Security Service, and they were looking for experienced individuals to help develop it. Seeing as the pay was generous, and he was low on options, James quickly took the job.

The following few weeks of his life had been...different. He met with Umbrella representatives from around the world in Miami. Umbrella paid for his flight, his food, and a nice hotel room for the time he spent out there. A dozen others were given the same treatment, each from various law enforcement or military backgrounds. There were two former U.S. Marines from Force Recon, a Navy SEAL, a former Officer from British S.A.S., one from Spetsnaz, and others. They met with the same Umbrella executives every weekday at the same conference hall, answering the executives’ strange questions about tactics, training, combat situations, equipment. To James, it seemed they were interested in riot control – one of his specialties – as well as covert operations and recon. Of course, secrecy waivers had to be signed by everyone involved, but the executives seemed to gather quite a knowledge base from the motley lot of soldiers.

And now here he was, on a remote island near Brazil, preparing to try out for this “Security Service”. The executives had selected James and a few others from those meetings to field test as potential training Officers. The others, he doubted he’d see again.


He stepped out of the shower, quickly drying himself with a towel. As he brushed his teeth, he looked at himself and realized how much he had changed physically in the last few months. He no longer shaved consistently, and had stubble down his jaw and across his chin after having not shaved for three days. His hair was a bit more unkempt then they would have allowed it in the Force. His blue eyes looked colder then they used to. He was even more physically fit then before, having been able to devote more time to P.T. since he had become unemployed. He wanted to shave before his training today, but checking the clock, he realized he didn’t have enough time.

Dressing in his issued black BDU uniform and duty boots, James grabbed his brand new ID card and headed out the door.

His boots made hollow echoes on the concrete floor of the hallway. He was instructed to head to the indoor firing range first. On his way, he passed employees dressed in button up shirts, slacks, lab coats. Researchers? He wondered what they were doing here, but let it pass. He continued down the hall.


James opened the door to the indoor range, and found it oddly quiet. He spotted only two individuals in the large room – an athletic looking Brazilian with a mustache and a pale Englishman with a decorated red military dress coat. He almost raised an eyebrow at the man with the red coat, but approached the pair and extended a hand.

“James Cooper.”

The Englishman only nodded. “Alfred Ashford.”

“Head of the facility?” James asked.

“Correct, Mister Cooper.”

The Brazilian quickly took James’ outstretched hand, noticing that the ex-cop had taken a quick disliking to Ashford – not that that was uncommon.

“Flavio Raval. Nice to meet you, Cooper.”

“Pleasure. So, where is everybody?” James asked, looking around again at the empty room.

“It’ll be just you for now, Mister Cooper. I want to examine all of the trainees individually today. As you probably guessed, you’ll be working with live ammunition.” Ashford explained.

"Will that be all?” James asked.

“We’ll see.”

“Come right this way, Cooper.” Raval said, leading James to a firing station.

There were two weapons laid out as well as ammunition for each; a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 and a Beretta M9. Both of them were weapons he was familiar with. James looked down the range, spotting a single “human torso” paper target thirty yards away.

“Pistol first.” Raval told him.

James nodded, picking up the handgun. He loaded one magazine into it.

“Go ahead and unload the whole mag.”

James opened fire in a rhythmic fashion. Within just a few seconds, fifteen rounds had gone down range. James laid the handgun back on the counter as Raval hit a switch that reeled in the target. All fifteen rounds had hit the target in a small cluster.

“Impressive.” Ashford commented.

“Thanks.” James said gruffly, not looking at the man. His gaze was fixed downrange as Raval set up one more target.

“Go ahead with the MP5.” Raval said once the target was in place. “This time aim for the head.”

James hesitated, ignoring his urge to ask why, and picked up the submachine gun. He slapped a mag into place and took sight. He fired off all thirty rounds on semi-auto, taking more time with this gun. When the target came back, there was virtually nothing left of the head.

“Nice work, Cooper.” Raval said as he handed the targets to Ashford.

Ashford looked over them briefly and nodded. Raval opened up a metal case against the wall, and withdrew a black gun bag, utility belt, and load-bearing vest.

“This is yours from now on.” Raval said. “The weapons are, too. Go ahead and put on the gear, and we’ll head to the Killhouse.”

“We’ll head to the what?”


Two large steel doors roared shut behind him. James now stood alone in the “Killhouse” wearing his newly issued tactical gear and wielding his MP5. His Beretta sat comfortably in his holster. He looked around. The Killhouse looked like the inside of an Office Building, with several rooms in an inconsistent pattern connecting to eachother. There were several gray doors without handles. Suddenly, Ashford’s voice boomed over a P.A. system.

“Cooper, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, loud and clear.” James said as he noticed a security camera watching him.

“Proceed to floor two of the Killhouse. You’ll find a computer terminal there. Turn the computer on, and then return to your point of entry for extraction.”

James almost huffed. This seemed pointless to him. Nevertheless, he nodded, raised his MP5 and turned off the safety. He swiftly yet cautiously worked his way through the rooms, sweeping each one as best he could without a team to back him up. The place was decorated to feel very real, minus the presence of windows. He even almost chuckled when he saw a bloody smear on a wall. Soon, he came to a staircase. He cautiously worked his way up the staircase; again spotting a security camera watch him.

Working his way through more rooms, he soon found a computer on a desk. It looked normal enough. He approached it and found the power button on the computer tower. He pushed it. That’s when the lights went out. For a second, he was very disoriented. It was now pitch black. He quickly turned on the flashlight attached to his MP5 and looked around.

“Uhh...was that supposed to happen?” He asked out loud, hoping for a response from Ashford. But there was nothing. A power outage? He briefly struggled in his head to come up with a course of action; wait here for further instructions, or go back to the entrance? Technically, the computer was still off –

His thoughts were broken when he heard the rusty sound of a door open. Not a regular hinged door – but a sliding one. And definitely not the door leading out of the Killhouse. With his flashlight, he spotted the staircase. He looked around the room he was in, seeing nothing. Then he heard another door open – and another...and another. Muffled sounds began to fill the air. Sounds of slow breathing. Moans. Shuffling feet. He slightly lowered himself and crept towards the staircase, deactivating his light and listening intently. He naturally wanted to call out “Hello?” and find out what was going on, but his training had taught him otherwise. There was something going on. But was it really part of this stupid test?


(continued in next post)

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

As he patiently waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he crept closer to the stairs. The sounds of shuffling feet and low moans continued. He felt the hairs on his arm stand up as he caught a stench coming up the staircase.

He checked his rear, and slowly made his way downstairs. As he rounded the bend in the staircase, he peered into the lower floor, trying to spot something. He slowly entered the first room, checking his left-hand corner first. And then he heard a single, raspy breath. He quietly turned to his right, barely making out a figure in the darkness. The man was just standing nearly against a wall. James could see where the man had come from. The bottom of the gray, handless door was just visible from the ceiling. A metal closet was what had been behind the door. Airtight, from the look of it. How long had he been inside that?

James aimed his MP5 in the man’s direction and risked communication.

“Hey, buddy.” He whispered. “This part of the test?”

The man slowly turned to James’ call. He groaned in a low, guttural voice and took a single step towards James. James wondered if the man could see him.

“Hold it there.” James ordered. “Just answer the question.”

The figure took another step.

“I said stay there!”

James gave the man a blinding warning flash with his light. He caught a brief glimpse of the man. The man took another step. James could tell something about the man wasn’t right. He risked a longer look with his flashlight, illuminating the room in front of him, and he froze.

The mans eyes were either white, or rolled back into his head. James couldn’t tell. His skin was light gray, his veins and nerves visible through somewhat transparent skin. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit. It said “Rockfort” on the left breast pocket.

“That’s close enough!” James snapped.

The mans mouth opened in a loud moan. His teeth were cracked, rotted, and broken. Blood stained the inside of his mouth, and his chin. That did it.

James fired a double-tap from his MP5. The first caught the man in the solar plexus, the other caught him right in the forehead. The man sank to the ground without another sound. Then the ambient noise increased. Feet shuffled in his direction. Moans grew louder, reacting to the gunfire. He could hear more coming towards his position. He didn’t know if we was supposed to shoot the man or not, and he didn’t much care. He had given plenty of warning. The door to the room burst open, and two more equally sickly looking men in orange jumpsuits burst in, shambling towards James.

He gave no warning. He fired at each of them, hitting one in the head, and hitting the other in the chest. The one who was shot in the head went down. The other didn’t even react to the bullet hitting him, and continued towards James.

James had seen some weird things when he was on the Force; like men on PCP taking a bullet, or a fall from a third story balcony, and popping right up and sprinting away at insane speed, but nothing at all like this. He knew the shot had punctured a lung, at the very least. He fired again, puncturing the other one. The man pressed on. James couldn’t believe it, but fired one more time and put the man down with a headshot. He cautiously stepped over the two bodies in the doorway and pressed through the next room, heading for his exit.


In the observation room, Raval and Ashford sat in front of an arrangement of monitors that displayed the various rooms of the Killhouse. They watched as James efficiently mowed down everything in his path, quickly reloaded his MP5 and mowed down everything that kept coming. There was even a moment where one of the Undead grappled him in the middle of reloading. James expertly drew his pistol, placed it against his assailants temple, and blew his brains out. He reequipped his MP5 and went back to work until he reached the exit and banged on the door. He took up a defensive position there.

“What do you think, Mister Ashford?”

“I think he’s going to do just fine.” Ashford replied, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Just fine.”

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

CHAPTER TWO

"Unethical Business Practices"
Written by Mike Young


19 March, 1996

James looked down at the streets of London as they fell out of view. He checked his watch and frowned. 16:38.

“We’re going to be late!” He shouted into his headset as he closed the door of the Huey helicopter.

“Relax.” The pilot replied sharply. “I’m never late.”

James took his seat again with the other two U.S.F. agents in the back of the chopper; Anthony Thurman, a middle-aged ex Navy SEAL, and Elizabeth Grant, a specialist in espionage and fanatic of martial arts.

Their assignment was a covert one. They were each armed with suppressed MP5K-PDW’s and Beretta M9’s. According to their briefing, a rival company had hacked into the Umbrella network and downloaded crucial company research files. Of course, Umbrella had already handled getting their network re-encrypted, but the U.S.F. was being sent in to interrogate one of this companies’ higher ups, and delete any stolen files from their records.

They were to infiltrate the office building of this “Corporation S” at exactly 1700 hours – just as the majority of the faculty left for the day. James checked his watch again. 16:46. He quietly tapped his foot on the metal floor of the Huey.

“I am not looking forward to this.” Thurman said gruffly.

“What’s the matter?” Grant asked the older soldier.

Thurman just shook his head. “I don’t like heights.”

Grant laughed. She quickly brought a hand to her mouth to stop herself. “You’re an ex SEAL and you don’t like heights?”

“I didn’t say I can’t deal with them. I just don’t like ‘em.”

“You and me both, then.” She said. “How about you, Cooper? You anxious about the drop-off?”

“Yeah, I’m shaking in my little combat boots. Get ready; we’re almost there.” James ordered.

“Target building, dead ahead!” The pilot shouted over the radio.

James got up from his seat and threw the door open again. Thurman came up behind him, preparing the rappelling rope. The older soldier took a look at the ground.

“And here we go...”

James looked up ahead at the target building. It was smaller than he’d expected, but still high enough to allow for a helicopter drop-off. He slung his MP5 and prepared to be the first one down the rope.

“You’ve got one hour!” The pilot shouted.

James gave him a thumb up as the chopper slowed to a hover over the building. James leapt from the floor of the Huey and shot down the rope.


His boots made contact with the gravel-covered rooftop. He quickly moved aside as Thurman and then Grant hit the ground exactly where he had landed. James activated the push-to-talk button for his radio headset.

“Nighthawk; this is Alpha One. We’ve landed, over.”

There was a brief hiss of static before Nighthawk’s response.

“Copy that. See you soon, Alpha One. Nighthawk out.”

The Huey retracted the rope they had come down on and soared off. They had to get inside quick, before someone noticed them from another building. Grant led them to a doorway into the stairwell.

“Stack up!” James ordered.

Grant took position to the left of the door. Thurman pressed himself against the wall behind her, and James got behind him.

“Do it.”

Grant turned and kicked in the heavy door. She immediately swept in with Thurman behind her. James followed. The three soldiers quietly descended the stairs, checking the floor levels. They only had to go down three levels before they hit the one they needed. Grant checked it.

“I can’t breach this.” She told them.

“Why not?” Thurman asked.

“It’s reinforced. We’d need a battering ram.”

“Head further down; we’ll come up underneath them.” James ordered.

Grant nodded, and led them downstairs. Sure enough, they came down far enough to reach a regular door. Grant glanced to James for his approval, and then kicked the door in.


The hallway was empty. Looking up, Grant caught sight of a security camera. She quietly pointed up to it. It was a surprisingly old model. Thurman reached up and disconnected the wiring in the back. The camera deactivated. The three soldiers moved forward and began checking rooms connected to the hallway. They were empty – just as planned.

As they came to the end of the hallway near the elevators, they heard footsteps. Grant came out into the junction. It was a T, with the hallway expanding to the left and right of the elevator. She spotted a security camera. She quickly raised her MP5 and fired a muffled shot right through the lens. Sparks flew, and the camera was destroyed. Thurman wheeled to the right at the exact same time and spotted a security guard walking in their direction. The guard paused. Thurman spotted a Glock on the man’s belt. He fired a double-tap. The security guard collapsed before he could even react.

“Grab his shoes.” James ordered as he punched the call buttons for the two elevators.

Thurman hesitated, but obeyed. He confirmed that the guard was dead, and removed the man’s shoes. Once the elevator doors opened, James used the shoes to prevent them from shutting.

“That should hold off any others for awhile. Let’s clear this floor and move up.”

The three set out to clear the floor. As they moved down another hallway, Grant took the point position again. Suddenly, one of the doors swung open and a man in a dress shirt and slacks stepped out.

“Jesus Christ!” He dropped his briefcase when he spotted the three black-clad soldiers. As the man shot his hands up in surrender, Grant pivoted on her heel and kicked him in the solar plexus. His body hit the wall hard, and she followed through with a roundhouse to his face. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“Nice work.” Thurman commented.

“It’s a talent.” She responded quirkily.


Several floors below, Richard Murphy sat with his associate Simon West in the Monitor Station of the building. Before them were rows of screens showing live feed of the surveillance system throughout the entire building. Murphy nudged West, who was filing paperwork, and motioned to the Monitors.

“Check it out. Looks like we’ve got two cameras down on floor seventeen.”

West nodded, and reached for the walkie-talkie on his belt. He hit the push-to-talk button.

“This is control to any security personnel on floor seventeen; does anyone copy? Over.” West droned in a bored fashion.

There was momentary silence, and West repeated the message. The two security guards waited another moment, but got no response.

“Better check it out.” West said.

“It’s your turn.”

“But I’ve got paperwork...” West started.

“It’s your turn.” Murphy repeated sharply.

“Yeah, yeah.”

West sighed, standing from his chair, and headed out the door.


(continued in next post)

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

Back on the seventeenth floor, James, Thurman and Grant hustled back to the elevators. The rest of the floor was cleared out. Grant opened one of the elevator doors and stepped over the shoe holding them ajar. With a slight boost from Thurman as James covered the door, she pushed up against the maintenance hatch of the elevator. She peered up into the dark elevator shaft.

“Here we go...” She muttered.

Thurman pushed up against Grant’s feet and she climbed on top of the elevator. She turned around to help him climb up. James quickly followed, and then closed the maintenance hatch. They looked up at the cables leading into the darkness.

“How many floors?” Thurman asked.

“Five.” James replied.

Thurman shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“You were born too old for this shit.” Grant taunted. “Let’s move.”

Grant slung her weapon, grabbed hold of the cables with her gloved hands, and began to climb using the wall to find her footings.


West pushed the “call” button for the elevator again, and listened for it; putting his ear up against the elevator door. Nothing. He had already been waiting for three minutes – and most of the faculty were gone already. Something was wrong. He grabbed his walkie-talkie.

“This is control to all security personnel; we’ve lost surveillance visual of floor seventeen and the elevators are non-responsive. We are at security level Charlie, repeat: security level Charlie. All guards not on the executive level converge on floor seventeen. Control out.”

West drew his Glock from the holster on his hip and made a beeline for the staircase.


Grant’s arms and legs burned. She was loving it. She glanced at the two men below her, climbing silently up the cable. She reached another set of elevator doors. She quickly activated her flashlight, looking at the yellow numbering painted on the wall: “22”. She rocked herself to the side, taking a standing position on a steel beam along the wall, and gave the others a thumb-up.

Thurman took a position against the elevator doors. James took one across from Grant. He pulled a flashbang from a pouch on his belt, and nodded to Thurman. Thurman stuck his knife between the doors of the elevator, and pried them open. There was a subtle sound of reaction on the other side as James tossed the flashbang through the door. A second later, it went off, and he heard the disoriented cries from the other side.

Thurman threw the door open and Grant slipped out, with James right behind her. They quickly sized up their opponents. There were two blue uniformed security guards, though these had flak jackets and AUG assault rifles. Shit; they hadn’t expected that. The two men were still blinded and disoriented from the flashbang. James and Grant each picked one off as Thurman swept inside the room. As one fell, his hand clenched on his rifle, and it went off against the floor.

“Shit.” James muttered.

They could already hear the others coming; responding to the sound of gunfire. They took up defensive positions along the walls as they heard approaching footsteps and radio chatter. They knew time was short.
“Weapons free.” James ordered. “Eliminate all hostiles.”

Grant kept low, but moved fast down the hallway, with James not far behind her against the opposite wall. Thurman covered the rear. He dropped to his knee as two more guards with assault rifles came into view behind them.

“Contact, six!” Thurman shouted.

He took a knee and fired two bursts. One of the men went down with a scream. The other was saved by his flak jacket, but fell behind a wall for cover. Thurman crept backwards, staying with his team.

“Stay low!”

As the guard popped out again to fire, the three ducked. Thurman returned fire, catching him right in the forehead. The guard sank to the floor.

“Contact, twelve!” Grant shouted.

James and Grant fired bursts as three guards approached from the front. Grant went prone and fired, catching on of the men in the leg. As he fell to his knee, James shot him in the neck. He collapsed, choking. Another popped out and fired at Grant. A bullet whizzed passed her and grazed Thurman’s thigh.

“Shit! I’m hit!”

James returned fire on the guard, lighting him up. The guard collapsed. The third fired at James, and was hit by Thurman with a burst.

“Thurman, you okay?” James asked, never taking his eyes off of the hallway ahead.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Let’s move it.” James ordered.

The three took turns reloading as they moved on, confirming that all of the guards had been eliminated. They approached a set of wooden double-doors. Thurman kicked one in and they swept inside.

There was only one man in the office. A handsome Italian with a mahogany suit. He was quickly reaching for his phone. Grant fired a double-tap and the phone exploded. The Italian stood, startled, but defiant as the three soldiers entered.

“Chairman Giovanni Russo?” James asked sharply.

“Wrong office.” Russo answered with a smirk.

James slung his MP5 and swiftly kicked Russo in the groin. Russo cried out and sank to his knees. James decked him across the face with a closed fist, knocking him unconscious.

“Find it.” James ordered.

Grant began searching Russo’s pockets. Thurman tore open the locked drawers of the expensive wooden desk. He came up with an expensive VAIO laptop. He searched the other drawers, found nothing critical, and turned on the computer.

“I’ve got it.” Grant stood, holding a keychain with various keys, including one to a ’96 Jaguar XJ220. Among the keys was a small external hard drive.

“Just the hard drive.” James ordered.

“Not the Jag?” Grant joked.

“Maybe next time.”

“I’ve found the files here.” Thurman spoke up, his eyes fixed on the monitor of the laptop. “Looks like they haven’t been sent out yet. Score one for intelligence.”

“Good. Turn it off and pack it. We’re out of here.”

James hit the transmit button on his earpiece to call Nighthawk as the three bolted for the staircase.


Giovanni sat at his ruined desk as his security officers checked the entire building for the long-gone intruders. The sun was now going down on the horizon. He had his cell phone against his ear, and was wrapping up a long conversation with the CEO of Corporation S; Franklin Gordon.
“What was the body count?” Gordon’s cold voice asked.

“Eight. We’re still looking to see if this is all.”

“And the files are lost?”

“All of them, Mr. Gordon...I apologize...”

“There will be another time, Russo. Another time. Might I suggest you tighten security until then?”

“Yes sir, starting with tonight’s shift.”

There was a click without a goodbye as Gordon hung up. God, Russo hated talking to him. Other than respect, he had nothing but fear of Gordon. Russo had been a Chairman of Corporation S for five years, and he had seen a lot of the politics behind the business. He crossed his arms as he looked out at the beautiful sunset over London.

The Corporation had the money to wipe the floor with Umbrella, provided they gained the knowledge to replace Umbrella’s “products”. Russo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, where the intruder had left quite a mark.

“Another time...” Gordon’s words echoed in his head. “Another time.”

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

CHAPTER THREE

"The Test"
Written by Mike Young


21 May, 1996

James sipped from a mug of black coffee as he checked his watch. He had been sitting in the briefing room for ten minutes, waiting for the presentation to begin. After nearly four months of life on Rockfort Island, he had lost much of his sense of reality. Ever since day one, the Umbrella Special Forces had presented him with challenges and operations that he would have never imagined could be real.

He was told only what he needed to know about the business that Umbrella conducted, as well as the assignments he and his fellow soldiers carried out. He had been educated in part about the T-Virus – a bio-weapon developed by Umbrella with the intent of breeding the ultimate “living” weapons. Executives and researches proudly called it “combat of the future”, and declared it would save countless human lives someday.

Though he couldn’t accept the “save human lives” bullshit, they did give him one hell of a paycheck to do his job and keep his knowledge to himself. He had tried to think of it like any other job of this sort. Everything you know, you need to know. Everything you need to know, you best not ask about.

“Listen up, men.” Flavio Raval said from the front of the room. He motioned to a pampered scientist who looked like he belonged in a business suit and hadn’t actually worked a day in his life. “This is Doctor Wes Higgins, chief of combat research here at Rockfort. He will be conducting your assignment today, so pay attention.”

Raval gave the doctor a nod. Higgins returned the gesture and stepped forward to speak to the seated soldiers. There were only four of them in the room including James. Higgins spoke with a cocky American accent. James disliked him already. But then, it was morning. He found it hard to like anything right after waking up.

“Gentlemen, we have hand selected you with the approval of your superiors to conduct today’s examination. You will be pitted against some of our facility’s newest B.O.W.’s in the combat arena. In this controlled environment, you will be observed, as will your enemies. We will use today’s research to calculate combat data for both our newest B.O.W.’s, as well as yourselves. You are to prepare for standard assault. Be at the R & D Building in gear at twelve-hundred.”

“Any questions?” Raval checked. James and the other three stayed silent. “Alright, then move out!”


James loaded the magazines for his MP5 into his vest. With him in the armory were the three soldiers from the briefing room – Animal, Bone and Stitch. Last week all of the soldiers had been issued call-signs for future assignments. James wasn’t fond of the one he had received. Jessica, now call-signed “Sin” – and one of the other Officers – had given James the name “HUNK”, along with a wink. He ignored the chuckles he heard from the other guys.

At least it’s not cliché, James assured himself as he buckled his vest and utility belt.

“So, Bone.” Stitch started. “When was the last time they put you up against a B.O.W.?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Two, three weeks. I’ve been doing more transport lately.” Bone told him as he prepared his own MP5.

Stitch loaded up a Mossberg 500 with buckshot. “They had me and uh...shit, what’s his name, the guy from S.A.S...You know, English guy?”

“Oh yeah, Thomas?” Animal offered.

“Yeah him. Us and a couple others went up against some new kind of, uhh, salamander looking things. It was weird, I tell ya. They were like, big...pink, lizards or something.” Stitch told them.

“Salamanders, huh?” Animal asked, cracking a grin. “Right, man.”

Animal loaded his MP5 and secured his vest. James checked his watch. They had ten minutes. He almost couldn’t believe the disorganization he had witnessed amongst the USF in the past months. It seemed that for each assignment they just drew names from a bingo roller and assembled random soldiers to get the job done. It actually worried him a bit. Were things so unorganized, or were the other soldiers just dropping like flies and he wasn’t being informed?

“Hey HUNK.”

James looked up at Stitch.

“Yeah?”

“How ‘bout you, huh? When was the last time they had you do combat with a B.O.W.?” Stitch asked.

“I haven’t yet.”

Stitch seemed taken by surprise. The only assignments James had carried out had involved B.O.W. transport, executive escort, or small-scale assault and recon.

“Better cut the chatter and get moving, boys, or we’re gonna be late.” James ordered.

The other three went back to gearing up. James checked his watch one last time, and closed his locker.


The four soldiers descended into darkness. Above ground, in the R & D Building, Doctor Higgins had briefed them on the layout of the “Arena”. They would be the first humans to enter the Arena during a live test. Before, the Arena had only been used to test B.O.W.’s against each other. James was vaguely reminded of the Killhouse as he took in his surroundings.

The overall layout of the Arena was like a maze, with hallways and tunnels of various sizes, air ventilation shafts and doors. It appeared to abstractly replicate the kind of environment B.O.W.’s would operate in. The lighting varied from room to room. As the four soldiers quietly stepped off of the elevator and into the Arena, a voice came over the loudspeakers.

“Attention, soldiers. The test begins now. Progress through the facility, clearing each room until you receive further instructions.” Higgins’ voice boomed over the P.A.

The P.A. cut to silence; and the soldiers’ ears were filled with nothing but the hollow ambience of the Arena.

HUNK nodded the team forward, not knowing what to expect, but knowing what needed to be done. Stitch hastily took point – his shotgun prepared to give any B.O.W.’s a nasty first impression. He led his fellow soldiers to a T intersection. He swung right at the intersection as HUNK swung to the left, covering his back. Animal came up in the middle, with Bone right behind him.

“Clear right.” Stitch said.

“Clear left. Move on.” HUNK ordered.

“Moving.”

Stitch moved forward and the rest of the team fell in behind him. As they approached a bend, one of the pipes along the wall exploded, spraying steam into their path.

“Shit!” Stitch said, halting.

“Fall back.” HUNK ordered. “We’ll go the other way.”

The team reversed direction, and Stitch moved up to lead them down the other path. There was a door at the end of this one. It was like a door on a ship with a large crank in the middle of frame. Animal gripped the crank and twisted it to the right, unlocking the door. HUNK lifted his leg and kicked the door open.

Stitch swept in first, followed immediately by Bone. The room they entered was pitch black, and suddenly filled with noise.

Bone and Stitch each cried out as something pulled them farther into the darkness. HUNK and Animal rushed in, turning on their flashlights. The other two had been grabbed by the outstretched arms of V-ACT’s – Undead with crimson red skin, fangs and claws. The creatures were behind bars in a narrow hallway, and had grabbed Stitch and Bone from their cages. Stitch put his shotgun against the bars and pushed himself away, out of reach. Animal and HUNK grabbed Bone and pulled him back into the middle. The wails of the V-ACT’s filled their ears as the soldiers hustled down the hallway to another door. They burst through into a room lit with red lights from the ceiling.

“Controlled experiment...my ass...” Bone panted as Animal patted him roughly on the back.


In a dark room several stories’ above the Arena, two figures watched monitors that displayed the rooms that the soldiers pushed through. Hidden cameras throughout the Arena didn’t miss a thing.

“You said this was to test both the soldiers and the new Tyrant models.” Alfred Ashford scolded Doctor Higgins, who eagerly watched the monitors.

“Relax, Mister Ashford. The traps are merely to help get them into the mindset they would be in during this type of mission.”

Ashford scoffed, folding his arms as he watched the monitors. “This had better not be a waste of time.”

“I assure you it is not. Please watch.”


(continued in next post)

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

“Help! Help me!” A females voice called.

“Did you hear that?!” Bone spoke up from the back of the soldiers. The room they were in now was a full fledged maze of pipes and hallways, and very dark. The red room had several doors in it. The one they had chosen had led them here.

“Help!”

The voice was faint, but unmistakable as it echoed through the maze.

“Somebody’s’ stuck in here!” Animal said.

“Don’t be so sure.” HUNK told them. “It could be a trap. Listen for signs of it being recorded, and proceed with caution.”

“Yes, sir.” Stitch said with a nod. He silently led them further through the maze.

“Help!”

They moved through each hall and around each bend with caution, sweeping every area with their weapons to look for signs of danger.

“Is there anybody in here? Please! Help!”

The woman’s voice was getting louder. Closer. She was distraught. Stitch led them to a corner. He was sure she was here. He could hear her breathing. The room around the corner was more spacious, but completely black. Was she hiding in the dark?

“Hello? Hello?!” She called.

“See, it is real!” Stitch whispered to HUNK. Without a response from HUNK, Stitch came around the corner, approaching the sound of breathing.

“Miss? It’s alright, we’re here to help.” He offered.

As he turned on his light, he was struck in the chest. He grunted as he was thrown back towards the others. He collided with Bone, who fell to the ground under his weight. The flashlight, still clutched in his hand, revealed the source of the sound.

The creature looked more or less human. Easily eight feet tall, the man had ash gray skin. Thick red veins covered his body, and he stared at the soldiers with dead white eyes. His arms were black, and somewhat rotted. His hands were more like massive lumps of flesh, and he had long claws rather than fingers. A Tyrant. Around his waist was a belt with a small speaker and sound recorder hooked up. The woman’s cries for help were coming from the device. The creature roared at the soldiers over the continuing recorded cries for help.

Bone tried to help pull stitch to his feet, and then he saw the blood. Stitch’s chest had been ripped open when the Tyrant had struck him. He was dead.

“Shit!” Bone cried as he tried to push the deadweight off of him.

HUNK grabbed the back of Bone’s vest and dragged him out from under Stitch’s corpse.

“Move it! Move!” HUNK ordered.

The soldiers fell back, firing at the oncoming Tyrant as the creature pursued them through the maze. The beast filled the hallway. There was no way past him. The Tyrant roared again.

“Which way!?” Animal shouted, taking the lead.

“Any way! Get us out of here!” HUNK shouted from the rear as he opened fire with his MP5. Bone occupied the middle of the line of soldiers as they led the Tyrant through the maze. Animal came to a door. He yelled as he threw his shoulder against it, and then cried out in fear as he plummeted out of sight.

Bone came to the door. He stopped and looked down. Thirty feet below, Animal lay dead on the concrete. There was an eight foot jump to the other side.

“HUNK, there’s a hole!” bone cried as HUNK caught up with the Tyrant in hot pursuit.

“A what?!”

“A fucking hole, Goddamnit!”

HUNK approached and looked down.

“Shit.”

HUNK turned and fired a burst at the Tyrant. One of the bullets hit the creature in the neck. It staggered, briefly leaning against the wall.

“Jump!” HUNK ordered.

Bone took a few steps back and charged into the next room. He cleared the eight foot jump, and crashed to the floor on the other side.

“Come on!” He called.

HUNK followed his action as the Tyrant recovered. He leapt the eight foot jump. He slipped. He grunted as his fingers caught the edge of the floor. He dangled over the pit. He gritted his teeth, trying to pull himself up. He heard the Tyrant reach the doorway behind him. Bone grabbed HUNK’s wrists and pulled him up as the Tyrant jumped. The Tyrant practically landed on HUNK.

Bone opened fire. The Tyrant raised his massive arms in front of his face in defense. HUNK raised his legs from the floor and kicked the creature square in the gut. It buckled over, teetering on the edge. HUNK rose to his feet and used his momentum to shoulder-check the large monster in the chest. The Tyrant roared as it toppled over the edge and into the pit. It landed with a “thud” on the floor below.

Bone breathed heavily. HUNK turned to address him, but there was something wrong. Bone wasn’t breathing heavily. He looked into the darkness of the hallway past Bone. Bone turned to look over his shoulder as another large figure emerged from the shadows. It breathed in a thick, wet rasp. The creature stood seven feet tall and had nothing but a stump for its left arm. The right arm was overgrown, stretching all the way to the floor and bound with muscles that made the arm as big as one of the soldiers’ torso. This creature – the Bandersnatch – was covered with skin the color of pus. Its face was like a skull. It peered at the soldiers with an unearthly grin.

Before HUNK or Bone could react, the Bandersnatch stretched its arm forward with amazing speed and grasped Bone by the head with fingers as big as a human arm. The creature dragged the screaming soldier towards it in one swift jerk and sank massive teeth into his face. The Bandersnatch twisted its neck as it bit down, ripping the flesh from Bone’s face. It flexed its fingers, crushing his neck. Bone’s body went limp, and he was tossed to HUNK’s feet. The Bandersnatch wailed at HUNK and charged.

HUNK couldn’t have panicked if he had wanted to. His training kicked in instantly. He fell back as he fired at the oncoming beast with his MP5. The monster almost overtook him before they both fell into the pit. Twisting in midair, HUNK managed to get the monster underneath him. As the creature crashed to the cold concrete, HUNK rolled to the side and regained his footing. He raised his MP5 to his shoulder, targeted the monsters head, and reached for the trigger.

He felt the wind rush out of his lungs as he was struck on his right side. Something sharp tore a hole in his flight suit and left a gash on his shoulder. The sling of his MP5 was severed and it soared beyond his reach. As he crashed to the ground, dazed, he looked at the Bandersnatch. It was just now getting up, but it hadn’t struck him. As he looked to the new monsters side, he saw the Tyrant back on his feet.

The Tyrant wiped the blood from his claws as he approached HUNK. He raised a claw above his head like an axe, intent on finishing HUNK off. Before he could bring it down, the Tyrant was struck by the Bandersnatch from behind. He turned to face this new rival. For a second, the Tyrant and the Bandersnatch seemed to size each other up. Then, the Bandersnatch swung his arm in an arc. The Tyrant caught its attack and countered with an uppercut, wounding the chest of the Bandersnatch.

The Bandersnatch snarled as it staggered backwards. The Tyrant charged to finish it off as HUNK backed out of the way and got back to his feet. The Bandersnatch shot its massive arm out, catching the Tyrant in a powerful stranglehold. But the Tyrant countered again, using his superior strength to deliver a crushing blow to the ribcage of his foe. With one mighty swing, the Tyrant decapitated the Bandersnatch. The body of the ugly monster collapsed to the floor.

HUNK saw his chance. Before the Tyrant could turn to face him, he charged. He pulled his knife from his belt and leapt onto the back of the Tyrant. He used the fingers his left hand to dig into the eye of the Tyrant. As the Tyrant roared in anger, HUNK pulled himself up by the creatures eye socket, and viciously plunged his knife into the monsters neck again and again. Blood spewed from multiple wounds in the Tyrants neck. As the Tyrant staggered towards the wall, HUNK positioned his knife to the side.

WHACK!

HUNK’s hand was crushed between the Tyrant’s skull and the concrete wall. He felt two fingers break. But the way his knife was positioned forced the blade through the Tyrants temple and into the brain. The Tyrant groaned one last time, and collapsed to the floor dead.


In the observation room, Higgins was wide eyed. Ashford nodded his approval.

“Amazing...” Higgins said quietly.

“I told you he was resourceful.” Ashford said.

Higgins nodded an agreement and grabbed a radio. He pushed the PTT button.
“This is Doctor Higgins. Extract Agent HUNK at once. He has completed his assignment for today.”

There was a response from someone on the other end, but Higgins had already set the radio back down.

“He’s not the best out there, but he survived assault from both B.O.W.’s.” Higgins said thoughtfully.

“I told you.” Ashford said again.

“We will work further with these two models. They should never interfere with each other the way they did today.”

“Can they be made stronger?” Ashford inquired.

“Yes...” Higgins said, rubbing his chin as he stared at the monitors. “Yes they can.”

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

CHAPTER FOUR

"Hunted"
Written by Mike Young

12 August, 1996

HUNK charged out of the armory with three other soldiers behind him. They ran through the lobby of the Military Training Facility and burst through the front doors and into setting sunlight. Outside, the wail of the emergency alarm was loud. Around the facility, other U.S.F. soldiers hustled to their stations to take up defensive positions on the roofs and walls. HUNK addressed Striker, Blacktail and Boots – the soldiers he would be commanding for this assignment.

“We’re going in hot. Weapons free to eliminate any and all hostiles.” HUNK ordered.

The soldiers responded by switching off the safeties of their weapons. Blacktail and Boots wielded MP5’s like HUNK did, but Striker carried a M4A1 Carbine equipped with a magnification scope. He was an ace marksman, and a fresh transfer from the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. His skill with his rifle had earned him jealousy amongst the ranks of the U.S.F.


Elsewhere in the facility, Flavio Raval – now codenamed “Fenix” – took a seat in the Security Control Room. He equipped a headset as he sat in the center of the room so that he could see all of the security monitors. Plugging the headset into the command radio, he tested it.

“This is Fenix to assault unit. Does anyone copy? Over.”

“Loud and clear.” HUNK’s no-bullshit voice replied.

“Good.” Fenix said, straightening up. “The entire facility is officially on lockdown. You’re free to enter the combat zone immediately. I’ll lock the gate behind you. Over.”

“Roger that. Assault team moving. Over.” HUNK replied.

On the monitors, HUNK and the others exited the safety of the facility training grounds through large metal doors that led to a road down to the shooting ranges and Killhouse. Beyond those structures there was nothing else on the island other than jungle.


Earlier that afternoon, a transport vehicle had been returning to base after a routine B.O.W. field test. The cargo in the truck was a pack of the B.O.W. identified as MA-39. They were codenamed “Cerberus”. They were fierce dogs infected with the T-Virus. In most cases, Umbrella used Doberman’s as subjects because of their unique ability to retain more of their instincts after infection.

The truck transporting the B.O.W.’s had apparently run into some kind of trouble. Just before noon, and less than a mile out from the facility, there came a disturbing distress call from the truck driver. Nothing he said was clear, but there had been plenty of screaming, barking, snarling, and finally, silence.

Cerberus stood out amongst other B.O.W.’s because they exhibited pack behavior, whereas any other un-programmable B.O.W. acted on self instinct and didn’t acknowledge others of its kind unless they got in each others way. Cerberus worked as a group to bring down prey. They were also the only B.O.W. reported to feel pain. This was something Umbrellas virologists hoped to correct, though they couldn’t explain why this was unique to the Cerberus.


Fenix watched on one of the monitors as HUNK, Striker, Blacktail and Boots passed by the shooting ranges and Killhouse. They disappeared from his view, following the road into the jungle.
“Good luck, gentlemen.” He said softly to himself.


HUNK led his soldiers down the road in a loose formation. They marched quietly, with their weapons at the ready for any nasty surprises. They were in a loose formation so that each soldier could see the others in his peripheral vision. Every few yards, they would pause, listen, and continue moving if they heard nothing suspicious.

HUNK didn’t like the situation. He had little training for wilderness operations. However, he was currently U.S.F.s most experienced Officer. That meant he had little say in who ran this operation. He was happy at least that the objective was clear. All too often over the past months, his orders had been vague if even existent. But eliminate any and all escaped B.O.W.’s was plain and simple.

His thoughts were broken as he caught something through the trees in his flashlight. A reflective surface. The truck.

“Downed vehicle in sight.” He reported over his radio.

He motioned for the other soldiers to rally on him. The four soldiers cautiously walked down the slope towards the truck. It was on its side. They immediately checked the back, where the Cerberus would have been held. It was empty. Approaching the cab of the truck, they found broken glass and blood. Boots spotted a flat tire.

“Check this out.” He pointed to the flat.

It looked like it had been burst on an object on the road. Possibly a sharp rock or even a poorly discarded knife.

“Looks like it careened off the road there...rolled on its side, wound up here. The B.O.W.’s must have been released because of that.”

“Assault unit to base, we have reached the vehicle. It is beyond repair and there are no signs of eliminated B.O.W.’s or the driver. Over.” HUNK said through his radio.

There was a brief pause before Fenix replied, “Copy that, assault unit.

Continue your search for the six B.O.W.’s and keep us posted. Over.”

“Wilco. Out.” HUNK replied. Then he addressed the soldiers. “I want a perimeter search. The dogs are probably not wandering, but looking for a place to settle down. Look for tracks, and stay in pairs. Boots, you’re with me.”

Boots followed HUNK deeper into the jungle. They each searched with flashlights through the thick trees. Blacktail and Striker went in the opposite direction, back towards the road, looking for tracks as well.

“So, I hear you’re a good shot.” Blacktail said casually as he and Striker pushed through the bushes.

“Some say that.” The small soldier replied.

“I guess we’ll find out when the time comes.”

“Don’t worry. You get bit, and I’ll do the honors, buddy.” Striker offered with a chuckle.

“Thanks.” Blacktail muttered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Striker laughed again as he pushed some flora aside with his M4A1. He paused when he spotted the footprint of a dog in the mud. As Blacktail continued his search, Striker slowly followed the track to another, and another. The prints were deep and sharp. The Cerberus must have been dragging something. He could make out drag marks on the ground from the body of the driver being dragged. There were bits of torn clothing and blood.

“I’ve got something over here.” Striker called to Blacktail as he looked up.

Blacktail looked in his direction. Behind him, Striker spotted a human figure approaching Blacktail.

“HUNK?” Striker called. “You find anything?”

It was just then that he realized that HUNK was still across the road. As the approaching figure stepped out of the shadows of the trees, he could see it was the driver of the truck – dead and reanimated by the T-Virus.

The driver reached out with a hiss and grabbed Blacktail by the soldiers. Blacktail was caught off guard and stumbled forward, instinctively reaching behind him to pry off the arms of his assailant. The driver leaned in towards Blacktails’ neck, jaws wide, ready to bite.

“Shit!” Blacktail cried out.

Striker whipped his carbine up to his shoulder and fired one single shot. It whizzed right passed Blacktail’s ear and penetrated the drivers’ skull. The infected man sank to the ground lifelessly as brain matter leaked through the entry and exit wounds. Blacktail regained his posture and looked to Striker.

“I guess I owe you one.”

“Don’t bother. That won’t be the last time I save your ass.” Striker grinned as HUNK and Boots approached from across the road.

“What happened?” Boots asked.

“It’s the driver.” Blacktail motioned to the corpse. “Infected.”

HUNK bent to examine the body. The right arm was nearly chewed off. He could tell that the Cerberus were in mid-feast when the driver reanimated. The stench was almost unbearable.

“They’re close.” HUNK said grimly as he stood up.

Almost as though it was in response, barking was heard not far away. And it was getting louder.

“Sounds like they heard the gunshot.” Striker said.

“Let’s move. Remember, six of them.” HUNK ordered. “Stay alert.”

The soldiers moved forward, following both the tracks of the dogs and the sound of their barking. The snarls and growls echoed eerily in the night air and amongst the jungle breeze. The soldiers looked every which way for an oncoming attack. HUNK suddenly held up his fist, commanding a “freeze”. They stopped and listened. The barking was gone. It was now terribly quiet. No crickets, no nocturnal birds. Just the wind in the trees. This kind of silence was the bad kind. It meant predators were nearby. HUNK signaled his soldiers to fan out into a clearing and search the area.

Blacktail and Striker moved off to the right side of the edge of the clearing. They swept amongst the trees, carefully watching for movement. HUNK and Boots moved off to the left.

There was a sudden guttural growl, and something darted amongst the bushes in front of Striker. He followed it with his weapon, but only caught sight of leaves moving after the creature had brushed past them. He listened for more movement, but heard nothing. Cautiously, he crept forward while Blacktail moved around a cluster of bushes to come around and meet Striker on the other side. There was another blur of movement and a snarl. Both soldiers froze and then tried to follow it, but saw nothing. Blacktail swore under his breath.

Suddenly Striker was hit hard from the side. The Cerberus had charged him from the cover of the trees. He sank below the bushes, out of Blacktails sight.


(continued in next post)

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

“Contact!” Blacktail shouted as he rushed to Strikers aid.

Striker struggled with the large Doberman as it gnashed teeth in his face. He held a forearm against its throat and gripped the back of its neck, keeping the head away from him as he tried to roll off of his back.

Blacktail swiftly approached, raising his MP5, when he was hit from behind by the Cerberus they had originally tried to track. With a beastly roar it leapt from the bushes and tackled him down, viciously tearing at the back of his nylon vest.

A few dozen yards away, HUNK and Boots turned to face the sound of the attack.

“We’ve got to do something!” Boots shouted as he began to run.

“Wait!” HUNK shouted.

He pulled Boots down and pointed out into the clearing. Three more Cerberus were charging towards Blacktail and Striker as they fought with their two assailants.

“A trap.”

HUNK raised his MP5 and Boots followed his example. There were only a few seconds until the three charging dogs would reach the other soldiers.
Blacktail rolled over and punched the Cerberus that attacked him in the side of the head. It snarled and leaped at his face as he tried to recover. He swung his MP5 in an arc and felt the steel of the weapon connect with the creatures skull. The Cerberus yelped and fell to the ground. Blacktail leveled his MP5 at the downed monster and pulled the trigger. The top of the Cerberus’ head exploded into a bloody mess and it laid still in the dirt. Blacktail turned to face Striker, and fired a burst of rounds into the Cerberus on top of him. As the dog fell, Blacktail stood, targeted its head, and fired another burst.

The three charging Cerberus closed in on him. He hadn’t noticed them. He turned to face them, but it was too late - they were too close. As he braced for impact, the dogs were hit from the side by several rounds of ammunition. They yelped in pain as they tripped over each other. HUNK and Boots stepped out from their cover, firing until all three dogs were dead.

“You okay?” Blacktail asked as he pulled Striker to his feet.

“Yeah...I guess this makes us even.”

“Bullshit. I killed two. Now you owe me one.”

Striker shook his head with a grin.

As HUNK reloaded his weapon, Boots scanned the clearing. Behind him, the bushes parted as the sixth Cerberus leaped out and tackled him to the ground. Blacktail and Striker were caught off guard as HUNK moved to avoid the oncoming dog as it rolled on the ground with Boots.

It all happened too fast. HUNK slammed the fresh magazine into his MP5 and racked a round into the chamber. He tried to get an angle, but even though the Cerberus was right in front of him, so was Boots. Boots thrashed in resistance, screaming in fear for only a second before the vicious dog sank its teeth into his throat and ripped a massive hole in his windpipe. The dog looked up, blood dripping from its jaws, and poised to pounce at HUNK. HUNK fired one, two, three rounds at the Cerberus and it sank lifelessly to the ground with two of the rounds in its skull.

Striker and Blacktail ran over, shocked at what they’d seen in less than five seconds. HUNK kneeled to examine Boots. He choked as blood pooled in the grass that he lay in. His eyes went wide and he exhaled the last of his air through his wounded neck. He went limp.

“Jesus...” Striker said quietly.

Blacktail counted the bodies of the dogs to make sure there were no more surprises. HUNK silently drew the Desert Eagle from the holster on his thigh – knowing what would happen if he left Boots as he was.

A single shot rang out from the big .50 caliber handgun, blowing the top of Boots’ skull apart. Strikers’ body tensed at the sight. HUNK turned away from Boots’ corpse and spoke into his radio.

“Base, this is assault team. Do you read me, over?”

“Copy, assault team. What’s your status? Over?”

“Man down. Agent Boots is KIA. All escaped B.O.W.’s have been eliminated. Awaiting further instruction. Over.”

“Hold position, assault team. We’ll send a truck out to pick you up. Over and out.”

HUNK nodded to his surviving soldiers. They turned the safeties of their weapons back on.

“Gather the bodies for disposal.” HUNK ordered as he went to stand by the road and prepare to flag down the truck.


“You think he really would have turned?” Striker asked Blacktail as they dropped the last of the six dogs into a pile a few yards from Boots’ corpse.
“You saw what happened to their driver.” Blacktail answered.

“And what about him?” Striker nodded to HUNK, who was standing in the middle of the road, facing the direction of the facility, smoking a small cigar. “Think he’s shaken up or something?”

“I don’t think so. But it must be hard on anybodies conscience when they have to put down one of their own.”

“I guess so. Don’t worry though Blacktail. Like I said, I’ll do the honors if you turn.”

“Thanks a lot, shitbag.” Blacktail said as he punched Striker in the shoulder. “I swear you’d be better off dead.”

Striker laughed as he rubbed his arm. He nodded towards HUNK. The two soldiers picked up their weapons, and headed back to the road to meet with their commander.

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler

CHAPTER FIVE

"Pressure"
Written by Mike Young


31 July, 1996

It should have been easy. Get inside the facility, snap some photos, and get out undetected. The hard part turned out to be the “undetected” part. Agent Elizabeth Grant, nowadays known as Butterfly by her fellow soldiers in the U.S.F., had been put in charge of this particular operation. She was only a Sergeant, but she was confident that she could direct this assignment and see it through to success. She had hand selected her team and studied the facility schematics, planned the operation down to the escape route.

And it had all gone horribly wrong. At least it had once they tried to get out of the facility.

There had been four of them, including Butterfly. They went light on gear so that they could be silent. Butterfly couldn’t even carry the weapons she was so accustomed to. Her MP5K-PDW was too big, and her Colt .45 was too loud. She was stuck using the standard issue Beretta M9 with a suppressor. As the unit leader for the assignment, she carried what looked like a small briefcase, but contained a camera for recording images to be taken back to the base on Rockfort Island – nearly halfway across the globe.

She wasn’t sure what had happened. It had all been so fast. She was able to get the imagery she needed to complete the mission. But something had alerted the guards in the facility. The firefight that ensued was brief, but intense. One by one, in a matter of minutes, her team was gunned down by the superior firepower of the security force of Corporation S.

Now she was alone. She had almost panicked in the facility, but somehow that near-panic had given her strength. Through sheer determination, she managed to put down her assailants heads by returning fire with one of their own G36 assault rifles. She ran the magazine dry, and made a dash for the exit.

Inside, the facility was used to develop bio-weapons such as lethal gases and undetectable poisons. Umbrella needed to know if Corporation S had begun work on B.O.W.’s after having temporarily possessed some of Umbrella’s research data – hence this surveillance mission. On the outside, the facility looked like a lumber-processing factory, surrounded by the forest.

Branches whipped at her face and arms as she charged through the trees in the direction of her extraction. She could hear her enemies several yards behind her. There were maybe five or six of them. But they were nothing more than well-armed rent-a-cops. Butterfly was a young, athletic soldier in her prime. Well trained before and at Rockfort Island. She was sure she could give them the slip, but the pressure was still there. She clutched the camera-case – it was vital to this mission that it did not become damaged, and even more vital that she did not fall into the hands of the enemy with it.

Butterfly could tell that the guards had lost some of their distance on her. She risked tucking up next to a tree to check her ammo. She was down to one magazine for her Beretta – and she knew that it had little more than half of it left.

“Shit...” She muttered as she stuck the mag back in the pistol and moved forward.

Behind her, she could hear the guards fanning out – hunting her. She caught sight of one of the men quietly moving through the trees, looking for her. They spoke to each other in hushed Italian. She didn’t understand it, but she knew that they were coordinating their advance.

Butterfly had moved a bit farther when she took cover again, and spoke into her radio.

“This is agent Butterfly. Does anybody read me?”


Just under a mile away, HUNK and Striker stood near a clearing, waiting for Butterfly to escort her to extraction.

“This is HUNK. What’s your status, Butterfly?”


Butterfly was relieved to hear his voice. It helped to remind her that she was part of unit, and not by herself in the woods.

“The objective is complete...team is down...need extraction, now!” She said frantically.

“Move to the evac point as planned.” HUNKs orders came through her earpiece.

“Guards are in pursuit...I don’t know if I can make it...”

“Butterfly. Keep moving. Use your cover. Lead them to us.”

Butterfly nodded to herself and continued jogging through the woods. She ducked suddenly when she heard gunfire behind her. One of the guards had seen her through the trees. She ducked for cover behind a large pine tree, and returned fire with her pistol. The guard caught a round right in the chest. He cried out and fell back into the bushes. Butterfly turned and ran as she heard more of the guards coming her way.


“So what do we do?” Striker asked.

“There’s not much we can do but wait for her to bring them to us.” HUNK said. “If we move, we’re compromising our extraction.”

Striker nodded. “You think she’ll make it?”

“That’s up to her.”


Butterfly ran low, tumbling down a slight hill as the guards caught up to her, raising their rifles to fire. She turned and fired off the last of her Beretta ammo, downing one more of them. That left three, if she had counted right. The remaining guards didn’t seem to back off as she returned fire – they were set on taking her down. She holstered her pistol as she righted herself at the bottom of the hill and sprinted through the woods as fast as she could.


Back at the clearing, HUNK and Striker could hear the gunfire coming closer.

“That sounds bad.” Striker noted.

“That means she’s still alive.” HUNK said before speaking into his earpiece. “Come on Butterfly. Keep moving.”


Butterfly huffed as she charged through the woods. She tripped and fell on a branch, catching a brief glimpse of a single guard catching up to her. She tucked behind a tree and grabbed a heavy branch from the ground. As the guard was about to pass her, she swung it with all of her strength. The guard cried out in pain as the branch caught him in the teeth, and knocked him to his back. Butterfly struck him twice more in the head before grabbing his G36 and raising it to fire through the bushes at her enemies. They took cover as she emptied the magazine. With a few more seconds of bought time, she grabbed the camera-case and took off running.

The three guards took pursuit once they realized she was gone. One of them stopped by his fallen comrade to check on him. He waved the other two to keep going. Butterflys legs burned as she charged through the woods. She was almost there...She had to be.


“They’re getting close.” HUNK said as he heard the Italian voices of the security guards. “Get back to the chopper and tell Nighthawk to be ready for a fast extraction.”

Striker nodded and turned to run back towards the helicopter, which was in another clearing not a hundred yards away. HUNK racked a round into the suppressed MP5K that he had brought along for this mission and ran to meet Butterfly.


Butterfly ran. Her heart thumped in her chest as the guards closed in on her. Two rounds sank into the bark of a tree just as she passed it. She flinched, but kept going. She should have been at the extraction point by now...where was it? Was she lost?

The guards were getting closer. She felt herself suddenly pulled by the shoulder behind some bushes. She would have screamed in surprise were it not for her training. She turned to face her enemy, but instead saw HUNK. He held up one of the magazines for his Beretta. She quickly slapped it into her gun and got behind him. HUNK led her forward as the guards passed them. She stuck behind him, with her pistol aimed over his shoulder. He brought his MP5 up to his shoulder and fired. The first guard caught the rounds right in the spine. He screamed as he collapsed. Butterfly swiveled to aim at the second one. She fires two shots from her pistol and took him down.

“Any others?” HUNK asked as he scanned the trees.

“Maybe. We need to move.” Butterfly said.

HUNK nodded and headed back the way he came. “This way.”

Butterfly suddenly collapsed against a tree and slumped to the ground.

“What are you doing? Let’s go!” HUNK ordered.

As short as the mission had been, HUNK had never seen her look so exhausted. He approached her, still keeping an eye on the trees for any other Corporation S guards.

“Butterfly, get up. You’re almost done.”

“They’re all dead...” She said softly.

“What?”

“My team...they’re all dead...they were under my command...and I failed them.”

“You failed no one.” HUNK said as he picked up the camera-case. “Survival was their responsibility. Sometimes things just go bad.”

Butterfly looked up at her Captain. He watched her intently, showing no frustration, but no worry either. She could never tell what he was thinking unless he wanted her to. She could never tell what he was feeling, either. Was that what it took to be a good leader? Complete emotional detachment? She found that difficult to grasp. Even though she hadn’t been close to the soldiers she had chosen on this mission, she felt a sense of responsibility for their deaths. It could have been her planning, or something she did –

(continued in next post)

__________________
"There's a time to pray to the winds, and there's a time to go kick some ass."
--Gerard Butler