Team Omega (3 page)

“It is imperative,” Grimes added, “that he be taken out before he realises what is happening to him.  How would you carry out the operation?”

Jackson needed time to think, but he had a feeling that time was critical.  Level X superhumans weren't super-strong, nor could they fly; they possessed abilities that meddled with reality itself.  As such, they were incredibly dangerous, even to their fellow superhumans.  He'd never heard of a Level X superhuman choosing to live away from the rest of the superhuman community, but there
were
superhumans who preferred not to enter the world of caped superheroes and masked villains.  Or fight for their country as part of the Superhuman Defence Initiative.

“Level X,” he repeated.  “Just what powers does he possess?”

Grimes looked at him, dispassionately.  “I have given you everything you need,” he said, impassively.  Jackson could sense the disdain behind his words.  “How do you intend to take out the superhuman?”

“Assuming that he leaves his apartment, snipe him down from a distance using explosive rounds,” Jackson said, finally.  Level X superhumans were rarely invulnerable, thankfully.  There was a story about a town that had been warped into a nightmare by a Level X superhuman some years ago.  The townsfolk had never really recovered from the event, even after their town had been liberated.  “If not...quietly evacuate the entire apartment and then destroy it.”

Grimes slapped the table, his expression shifting from disdain to anger in a split-second.  “You stupid son-of-a-bitch,” he bellowed.  “The man you just killed was the lover of your commanding officer’s wife!  Don’t you
think
before you jump into action?”

Jackson fought down the urge to land a punch between the bastard’s eyes.  The hell of it was that Grimes was right, at least to some extent.  He
should
have asked more questions; he’d just assumed that it was a test to see how he would carry out the assassination.  Assassinating a Level X superhuman was a more plausible operation than assassinating any other superhuman, with the added bonus that no one would be able to prove any differently once the superhuman was dead.  Level X superhumans had no enhanced muscles or other detectable traits.  And yet he resented how the test had been carried out.  Perhaps it was also an exercise in self-control.

“I take your point,” he said, finally.  “Look before I leap.”

“And before you carry out an unauthorised operation within the United States,” Grimes added, unpleasantly.  “Don’t you know that the military can only be deployed here for a series of specific contingencies?”

Which did, Jackson knew, include dealing with a rogue superhuman.  But Grimes probably wouldn't be impressed by that point.  The test, if it was a test, was rigged to see how he would react to each question.  Grimes, he suspected, wasn't the real judge.  That would be the operatives of Team Omega.

“So,” Grimes said, “after a moment.  You have a sister?”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said.

There was a long pause as Grimes waited for him to say something else, before looking down at the papers on the desk.  “Quite a pretty girl, your sister,” Grimes observed.  “Just about to enter college on a scholarship from Harvard.  Not too bad for a girl from a lower middle-class family.”

He looked at Jackson.  “What would you do for your sister?”

Jackson looked back at him, evenly.  Gayle had been a pain in the ass when she'd been young, but they’d come to a truce as they both grew older and matured.  He’d once had to convince a prospective boyfriend to look elsewhere, only to discover that Gayle was quite prepared to do the same to his girlfriends.  She wasn't the sort of person to take such an insult lying down.

“Whatever I had to,” he said, evenly. 

Grimes shrugged.  “There’s a Level 5 superhuman who has taken over a building on campus and is holding several students as hostages,” he said.  Jackson remembered some of the students who had demonstrated against the Marines at Camp Pendleton and wondered if that would be a small loss.  “Those hostages include your sister, but your CO doesn't know it.  Would you tell him that you have a personal stake in the operation?”

Jackson fought down his anger, once again.  A Level 5 superhuman was powerful enough to knock down the entire university.  Taking one out required advanced weapons and a great deal of luck.  The crossfire might kill all of the hostages and destroy Harvard before the superhuman either escaped— as most Level 5 superhumans could fly—or was brought down by Team Omega.  It would only become more complicated if other superhumans showed up to help...

“I would have to,” he admitted.  Rescuing hostages was a tricky business, even at the best of times.  “And I’d be withdrawn from the team until the mission was completed.”

Grimes nodded.  “You may return to the Sergeant,” he said.  There was no clue in his face about just how well Jackson had done on the test.  “Thank you for your time.”

His head spinning, Jackson left the office.

“Welcome back,” von Shrakenberg said.  He grinned, evilly.  “You’re just in time for another run around the track.” 

Chapter Three

“All right, ladies, the shit has just hit the fan,” Lane said.  He looked calm and focused, despite the situation.  The nine men of Team One – counting Jackson—stood ready for action.  They’d donned body armour, checked out their weapons and completed their good luck rituals.  “We're going into action in one hour precisely.”

Jackson kept his face expressionless.  It was a drill.  He knew it was a drill.  But they had to treat it as if it was a real deployment.  There could be no slacking, even on drills.

His gaze swept over the group.  Unlike the others, he hadn't expressed any doubts about Jackson, the Fucking New Guy.  But then, they’d all been running him ragged over the last week, pushing him right to the limit.  Team Omega operators were supposed to remember a colossal amount of trivia on superhumans as well as keeping up with their exercises, both physical and mental.  A FNG had no place among them until he had either proven himself or died heroically.

“As you may have heard,” Lane continued, “Dilbert Corporation has been threatened by the Green Warriors, a radical band of ecoterrorists who believe that Dilbert has been taking the lead in paying bribes to factions in the Congo who can secure the mines and allow the corporation to make vast profits over the last five years.  Today, the Warriors finally put their money where their mouth is and assaulted Dilbert HQ in New York.  The assault was surprisingly well-planned and they managed to capture over five
hundred
office drones and cubicle monkeys, along with the chairmen of the board.  They released a handful of hostages who needed urgent medical attention, using them to convey their demands to the Mayor.”

One of the operators stuck up a hand.  “What do they actually
want
?”

“They gave us a list of demands,” Lane said.  “For the release of the hostages, they want new curbs on pollution and an end to corporate interference in Africa, as well as release and a full pardon for any of their members who are currently being someone’s bitch in prison.  And themselves as well, I assume.  They’re not going to get any of that, and they have to know it.  It will make them very dangerous.”

Jackson couldn't disagree.  Unless the terrorists had someone who could teleport on their side, they weren't going to get out without running the gauntlet of police, National Guardsmen and soldiers assembled outside the captured building.  They
had
to know that they were trapped, unless they intended to use the hostages to buy them time to escape. 

There was a pause as the team studied the maps.  “New York’s SWAT team, assisted by the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team, launched an assault two hours ago,” Lane concluded.  “They were comprehensively defeated by a handful of superhumans involved with the Green Warriors, resulting in thirty dead and seventeen wounded.  The terrorists have since informed the Mayor that if he doesn't give in to their demands within five hours, the remaining hostages will be butchered.  You’ll be pleased to know that some of the hostages are quite important, with powerful friends who have urged the Mayor to do whatever it takes to free them...even if it means bending over for the terrorists.  The President has authorised Team Omega to intervene.”

Sergeant von Shrakenberg took over.  “Our mission is to recover the hostages, eliminate the terrorists and recover the building, preferably intact.”  There were some chuckles from the team.  All of the reports Jackson had read suggested that Team Omega’s operations tended to get messy.  “As you can see, the building is isolated from its fellows, leaving us with only a handful of possible assault routes.  Landing on the roof has been dismissed as the terrorists have at least one flyer among their number.”

Jackson listened as the Lane went through what little was known about the terrorists, particularly the superhumans among them.  “Five appear to have enhanced strength and durability, little else,” the Sergeant agreed.  “One appears to be a flyer; probably Level 3 as she didn't join the fighting against the SWAT team.  The other two appear to be mutants with enhanced speed and strength.  I don’t need to remind you that mutants can be very deadly enemies.”

Lane nodded, drawing their attention back to the holographic schematic of the building.  “As far as we can tell, most of the hostages have been placed in the underground vault here,” he said, tapping the schematic.  “Unfortunately, someone has taken out the security cameras so we can’t be sure, but it makes tactical sense.  However, a number of hostages have been taken to the upper floors of the building, where they are being...interrogated by the terrorists.  The main body of the terrorist force appears to be on the first and second floors, allowing them to keep the hostages penned in and respond to a second attack from the NYPD.

“Snipers will deploy here, where they will take out every terrorist within sight as soon as I issue the order to move.  Team Alpha will scale the building here”—he pointed to the rear of the building, which was decorated in a fashion that should leave plenty of handholds for the operators to climb—“while Team Beta launches a covering assault against the main entrance.  Ideally, we should catch the terrorists between two fires; if not, Team Beta will liberate the hostages and pull them out while Team Alpha goes up.  I don’t have to remind you all, I hope, to be damn careful with the hostages.  In a building that big, it would be easy for someone to be slipped into the hostages as a ringer.”

Jackson nodded, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.  Hostage rescue missions were
always
dangerous, all the more so when terrorists could be hiding among the hostages, ready to murder them if they looked to be losing.  The briefing material on the Green Warriors had reminded him, as if he hadn't already known, that they were fanatical defenders of the planet.  Each murdered human only made it easier for Mother Nature to breathe.  They’d just have to cuff the hostages until they could all be positively identified.  It wasn't going to be pleasant.

And if I screw up
, he thought grimly,
I may be sent back home
.

“New Guy, you’re Team Alpha, with me,” the Sergeant said.  Jackson had expected Lane to lead the assault in person, but Team Beta would be going right into the teeth of enemy fire, the most dangerous part of the mission.  Once the terrorists realised that they’d been cut off from the hostages, they’d come boiling downstairs like angry wasps intent on stinging the intruders to death.  “Move out!”

***

Jackson had seen Shooting Houses before, back during his original MOUT training, but the Shooting House belonging to Team Omega was something else.  Combined with holographic projectors buried within the stonework, it presented a near-perfect rendition of a building held by a hostile force.  It was chillingly realistic.

The Sergeant led them towards their jumping-off position, eyes sweeping for any sign of enemy scouts who might alert the main body.  Some superhumans could turn invisible, after all.  The rear of the building loomed up in the distance, with a single superhuman standing guard.  It didn't
look
as though he could fly.

His earpiece buzzed.  “Ten seconds,” Lane’s voice said.  Jackson braced himself, focusing on the matter at hand.  It was his first real exercise with Team One and he was determined not to fuck up.  “And
go
!”

The snipers fired as one, the superhuman standing guard tumbling to the ground with a massive hole in his throat.  Even if he was tough enough to survive that, he wouldn't be in a position to interfere after cracking his head on the concrete.  Jackson followed von Shrakenberg to the rear of the building and started to scramble up, while the snipers picked off any terrorists stupid enough to show their faces.  The entire building shook as Beta Team detonated the breaching charge in the lobby, blowing a handful of terrorists into the next world, just before the Sergeant tossed a grenade through a third-floor window and followed it into the building.  Two terrorists had been caught by the blast and wounded too badly to offer resistance; the third was midway through lifting his rifle when a single shot from von Shrakenberg took him in the head and sent him crashing to the floor. 

Jackson took point as the remaining two operatives followed them in, heading to the stairwells where the terrorists should appear if they weren't distracted by Beta Team.  They got to the third floor and came immediately under fire; two masked men appeared, both spraying bullets at the soldiers.  Jackson gunned them down without hesitation.  The other two operatives threw grenades down the stairwell to panic the remaining terrorists as Jackson’s HUD updated; Beta Force was in the house and clearing its way to the basement.

“Alpha Team, go up,” Lane’s voice ordered.  “Beta Team can handle these bastards.”

Sergeant von Shrakenberg took the lead as Alpha Team ran up the stairs, checking each floor as they moved.  Most of the terrorists in watch positions had been taken out by the snipers, but a handful remained alive, including two who tried to surrender.  The operatives searched them roughly, cuffed them and then left them where they lay.  They’d be able to pick them up after the fighting was over and the building was secure.  Besides, Jackson wouldn't shed any tears for them if their comrades killed them before they could be interrogated.  They’d lost all right to be treated as human beings the moment they took civilians as hostages. 

A burst of gunfire greeted them as they reached the tenth floor, forcing Jackson to crawl on his hands and knees after the Sergeant, who barely slowed down.  Maybe his enhanced form had some advantages, Jackson decided, although he couldn't see just how von Shrakenberg would get up if someone managed to knock him over.  The gunfire grew louder, mingled with sobbing from the hostages, both male and female.  They might have been corporate CEOs, with more money in the bank than Jackson could ever dream of earning as a soldier, but they didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

“Standoff,” von Shrakenberg muttered.  The terrorists had a near-perfect position, apart from the fact that they couldn't get out without being shot down.  Alpha Team would be sure to take hits as they threw themselves into the room and their body armour wouldn't be able to handle everything.  “New Guy—take that corridor and see if you can catch them in a covering fire.”

Jackson nodded in acknowledgement and crawled westwards until he could stand up without being seen.  His father had often grumbled about working as a corporate drone, pointing out that the managers loved to spy on their employees while remaining hidden behind semi-transparent glass.  Now, their offices had become prisons, allowing the terrorists to hold them with minimal effort while they concentrated the main body of their force against the rescue teams.  Jackson found a crack in the wall and peered through it, wincing as he saw five terrorists—including two mutants.  The superhumans who could no longer pass for human were more inclined to violence; why not, when civilised society shunned them?  One of the mutants sniffed loudly and turned to look at Jackson, even though there was no way that he could have seen him.  Jackson threw himself to the ground as bullets tore through the cheap plaster walls separating him from the terrorists.  They offered no protection at all.

“Five terrorists, including two mutants,” he subvocalised, as the bullets drew closer.  He crawled away as fast as he could.  “I don’t know how, but they
saw
me!”

“Nice going, new guy,” someone muttered.

The Sergeant ignored him.  “Go,” he snapped.  Jackson heard the sound of M-22’s firing as the three operatives took advantage of the distraction to charge into the room, taking down the terrorists before they could react.  “Move...”

Jackson felt someone grasp the back of his uniform.  A strong arm picked him up and threw him down the corridor, slamming him into the wall at the far end.  The body armour took most of the blow, but it was still jarring as hell; Jackson managed to turn around, only to see the mutant growl as it charged towards him.  Up close, it was very hard to tell that it had been born human.  It looked rather more like a werewolf might, if caught in transition between human and wolf forms. 

He managed to draw his knife as the werewolf caught him, ready to bite into his helmet with sharp canine teeth.  The helmet should have protected him, but there was no point in taking chances.  Desperately, Jackson knifed the mutant in the heart and was rewarded with a howl so loud it almost deafened him.  Then the mutant staggered backwards, glaring at him with disconcertingly human eyes.  Jackson had just enough space to draw his pistol and shoot the werewolf through the head.  They weren't silver bullets, but they were enough to put the creature to sleep permanently. 

Glancing from side to side, Jackson walked back to where his M-22 had fallen and picked it up, checking that the weapon hadn't been seriously damaged.  Everything looked fine, although he wouldn't know for sure until he tried to use some of the advanced functions.  The M-22 was designed to be robust, but it had taken one hell of a bang when he’d been thrown away as easily as a Marine would throw a grenade.  It was a shocking reminder that superhumans rewrote the laws of combat just by existing.