Spies
Chris raised the glass slowly and deliberately to his mouth, the sweat from the glass moistening his lips slightly before the dark liquid spilled into his mouth. Swallowing, he savored the after taste of the hard liquor before looking up to the man sitting across the table from him. "Okay. You've bought me a drink. Now what do you want from me?" He said, his voice quiet but forceful. "You know I'm past my expiration date," The man laughed, Chris's face stern.
"Right. Not a joke. The Central Intelligence Agency knows that you were discharged from the service of the FBI, but we would like to call you to duty again to serve your country again," The man spoke, his voice nervous and uneven.
"Now, why would the CIA want an old geezer like me to work for them instead of some beautiful specimen like yourself?" Chris said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He reached for the glass, eyes resting on t manilla folder on the table in front of him. All too similar to the way he used to get missions.
"Given your service record, we know that this would be well within your abilities," The suited man said, Chris straightening the collar on his flannel shirt.
"And given the age of most other people, you should definitely pick somebody else. I want to know, why me?" Chris replied, opening the folder. Inside, was a wrinkled old picture of a man paper clipped to a page giving all manner of information on him. Robert J. Stevens, owner and proprietor of Lockheed Martin. "I've heard of them, this Lockheed Martin company. What is it you need done?"
"The CIA has significant intelligence on this company, and as of late, their interactions with North Korea. We have reason to believe that the organization has corrupted, and is acting as a front for crime activity in the US. One of their operatives, one Alfred LeBeau, has been feeding us information but has recently gone cold. We need somebody to go find him, but we have very few agents who have not been assigned or compromised. You, were never compromised," Chris realized what a threat this company posed, but he was still uneasy about going back into the field.
"Consider the job done," Chris said finally, closing the file and handing it back. "Just bring me home for a second and let me get my things," It was the first time since the fifties that Chris had served in special operations, or even black operations. It was exciting to be back doing what he did best, but at the same time he was reaching his sixties. He was definitely nowhere near as good as he had been, but he was still as strong as an ox. The two men stood, Chris's informant leading the way into the back of a black government sedan. "You want me to get their agent out?" Chris asked, receiving his briefing as the car made its way to his house. "Ten minutes, be here. Drive around the block a few times," Chris said, trying to think of the different ways he would disappear. His mind was racing as he grabbed his old gear, laced up his boots, and practically ran out the front door for the black car to drive up once again. He hopped in, his duffel bag landing on the seat. For the next hour, he waited in the back of the air-conditioned car as they thundered down the road towards where Chris presumed was the CIA mark. Chris was thinking about Lockheed, and its involvement with the US government. They provided a lot of the state-of-the-art weaponry the military used. Things like the AC-130, Lockheed submarine missiles. If he got caught, he would almost definitely cause brutality against the United States from any of several avenues. Financially, and hopefully not forcefully. The vehicle came to a halt, Chris grabbing his bag and stepping out of the car. A man wearing aviator sunglasses came out to greet him, the two shaking hands while sheltering themselves from the harsh wind of a helicopter whirring nearby.
"Agent Hood! This way!" He shouted over the hurricane-force winds, Chris following him into the helicopter before sitting down on the edge with his feet resting on the landing support rail. Chris looked at hit booted feet, dust and wind blowing into his face. He rummaged through his bag, pulling out the darkest, blackest pair or aviators this side of Texas. "Great men think alike!" The other operative said, smiling at him. "I'm sorry we had to bring you in like this, Agent Hood. But we needed you, they just don't make men like you any more. The name's Ken," He said, voice deep and brisk.
"Please, call me Chris. Say, I like you Ken. Where'd you serve?" Chris asked, placing the sunglasses on his face as the chopped took off with a jolt.
"Vietnam, you?"
"I served everywhere from Korea onward. You name it, I been there," Chris said, mind flashing back to all the places he'd been.
"Well, I'm going to be your handler for this one. Let's get one thing straight, though. No matter what happens, we can't let our inside man get taken down. Above all else, that's what matters. Tomorrow night is when we'll be making our move, we'll brief you tonight and tomorrow you can get the equipment necessary," Ken said. "For right now, we'll be working underneath the Pentagon,"
"I remember that place," Chris said, mind traveling once again back in time to when Kennedy had assigned him countless operations which he could tell nobody about. It was a painful thing, really, afterward. Not being able to tell any of his girlfriends or wives about the places he'd been, the things he'd done, it pained him. At least now he was in a place where there were no emotions, where everything he did had a repercussion on a greater level than himself. It felt good to be under again. Especially with a man who served in Vietnam, presumably at the same time as he had. Tomorrow afternoon came quicker than those other days used to, and Chris found himself staring down the lens of a pair of binoculars. "One guard that I can see on our side, left gate door," Chris said, Ken nodding.
"Right. There's a drainage ditch perpendicular to that side of the fence. We can crawl through that and then we'll be on the other side of the fence from him and we can take him down before somebody notices," Chris nodded this time, checking his old ASP pistol before slowly crawling down their little knoll into the drainage trench with Ken in tow. They clambered out silently, Chris signing for Ken to cover him. Chris reached into his back pocket for a small bouncy ball he kept with him, tossing it out in front of the guard. As soon as his concentration was broken, Chris struck. His hand met with the side of his head, staggering him. Chris grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to the trench before knocking him unconscious with a bit of chloroform. He stood, pistol in hand, gliding like a ghost to the gate next to Ken.
"It's open, go," Ken whispered, Chris sliding it open and whisking through the entrance much like smoke out a window. Ken closed the gate behind them, drawing his own weapon, a late-model 1911 .45. "Camera's blind to us now, get to the tower and turn it off. I'm right behind you," Chris slicked up against the wall, reaching the white metal door set a foot into the wall of the tower. "Shit, here comes one," Ken said, the pair of them crouching behind a large orange shipping crate placed next to the tower. Chris could hear their footsteps, and one of them saying,
"Can't believe he stopped talking. One of these days he's going to get himself fired," He looked at Ken, the two of them standing and rushing the two men with weapons in hand. Chris reached his target first, his initial blow knocking the foot man unconscious. Ken was slightly slower, but he tackled the man to the ground before pounding his head against the cement pad of the compound. They stowed the bodies in the same drainage ditch as the first, waiting behind the tower for the camera to turn back the other way. Chris reached the tower door once again, this time picking the lock and opening the door for Ken to step in before quickly following him inside. There was a sleeping guard in front of a bank of computer monitors, the two of them were completely silent while Chris plugged in the USB flash drive he had with him. The system immediately shut down, looping footage from earlier. The virus was in the system, and now it was working against Lockheed Martin. Chris nodded to Ken, pulling the flash drive from the computer before walking down the stairs and silently closing the door behind him. The two worked their away around to the front of the building, behind all the guards who were focusing on the outside of the compound.
"And this is supposed to be the future of defense companies?" Ken said, shaking his head. Chris almost laughed at how lax the security was as they slipped in the elaborate door into a posh lobby bedecked in mahogany wood with deep red throw rugs covering lush marble floors.
"Now this is my future house," Chris said, this place the fanciest he had ever infiltrated before. They looked down the large entryway to the wooden desk at the far end, a blonde receptionist filing her nails and listening to music. Almost as if this company didn't get many unexpected visitors, or late night patrons. Chris and Ken slicked up against opposing walls on either side leading towards the desk, Chris keeping his ASP trained on the receptionist, her head directly in the middle of the guttersnipe fixed sight. It had been a while since he'd used this weapon, but it had earned a place in his heart next to dear old Uncle Sam by saving his ass on countless occasions. Now he was in a little inlet behind the desk, and he could hear the sound of her emery board gnawing away at her fingers. He opened the door with the faintest of clicks, slipping inside and closing it gently behind him. The room inside was much larger than the one they had just left, an escalator leading down one floor to what looked like a darkened train station. Ken walked up to him, relaxing from his slouched, sneaking stance. Chris knew that stance, it was the way everybody got when they were holding a weapon and knew they'd have to use it. It was a comfortable position for him.
"All right, Ken. Looks like this station down here is deserted, so we can follow the tracks down to Lab B, which is where our informant was supposed to work,"
"Right then, let's get a move on," Ken replied, Chris could tell that he was itching to get out of this place. There _was_just something about it which didn't seem right, maybe it was just the emptiness of the place, who knows. The pair of them stepped onto the escalator, stepping off again down on the bottom of the landing. They crept over to where the tram would be, dropping down into the rail trench. Chris walked along the tracks, Ken keeping his left hand on Chris's shoulder in case they had to fight he could signal. Chris was the first to make it to the end of the tunnel system after a nearly ten minute walk. There was equipment lining the walls on one side, guns, sights, ammunition, you name it. On the other side, there was no passage as pipes and machinery bedecked the wall on that side. Most of them had angry red warning labels on them for fire hazards. Chris knelt in the gravel, peeking over the lip of the cement boarding station, men scurrying all around grabbing ordinance. Chris looked back at Ken, gulping.
"It looks like they're preparing for war!" Chris whispered as quietly as possible.
"Sure as shit! Right. We have to finish the mission then get the hell outta' here," Ken said. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered as Chris and Ken flattened themselves against the wall and crept along the cement into the next pitch-black tunnel.
"Send a message to our operator, tell them about what we saw and don't forget to mention that we haven't been compromised. Wait here, I'm going to go get one of their radios," Chris said, disappearing into the darkness without sound. He stopped back before the tunnel got light, waiting for one of the guards to step closer. Sure enough, one did, and as he turned his back to Chris, he slipped the walkie-talkie out of its holster and sank back into the underground tunnel. He turned the volume down, plugging in an earpiece so he wouldn't accidentally transmit any sound. There was no radio chatter about the two of them inside, so he met back up with Ken. "Right, Ken, check the map and let's see where the detention cells are," Chris said, pulling out his tablet computer. He pressed the map icon with his index finger, the machine automatically pinpointing their location. "Right, two more grottoes down then we have to get off on the left,"
"Right. Let's get a move on, you take point," Ken said, his hand back on Chris's right shoulder. The first loading bay they reached was also empty, barrels of what Chris presumed to be fuel stacked up against the adjacent wall. Chris took a photo with his camera before moving further down the line into the last tunnel. This last landing was also deserted, but there was no door to be found. The two men stood, clambering over the cement pad onto the actual loading bay itself. "Shit, did we take a wrong turn?" Ken asked, Chris re-checking the map.
"No, we're right where we're supposed to be. Look for a way in," Chris said, tapping gently on the wall and listening whilst Ken searched the pedestals for a throw switch. "No dice. Try the vents," Chris said, Ken leaping up and grabbing a hold on one of the ventilation openings. He unscrewed the grate, handing Chris his backpack. Once he had slid himself in, he took his bag from Chris and strapped it to his feet so he could pull it through the A/C. Chris went next, clambering in but he put his bag in front so he could watch their tails. Replacing the grate, the pair started crawling along the ceiling's vent tunnels. At the soonest possible moment, Ken popped another grill out and jumped down to the ground. "Clear!" He whispered, Chris hopping out next. "I think we're going to get caught on camera," Ken said, putting his gas mask on to conceal his identity.
"I never thought to do that, I always put a hood on or something," Chris said, earning more appreciation for his agent buddy as he put his own gas mask on. The two of them made their way down the tight hallway, Chris's heart beginning to race. "Hey, man, I don't like this hallway. We have to pick up the pace,"
"Me neither. Take a right, from what I know he's in cell A-13 and that's that way," Ken said, Chris quietly agreeing. This time, Ken was in the lead, Chris's left hand on his right shoulder. Chris looked at his ASP, heart jumping back into the steaming jungles of Vietnam. He was sent to clear out one of the VC tunnels, and that's the gun he'd used. As soon as he'd jumped into the hole he'd heard them scurrying around in there, the commie bastards. He crept just as slowly as now through the festering, moist tunnel, growing ever closer to the sound of their voices. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on him. Just as he was about to lose his nerve, one of the Viet Cong jumped out around a corner and lunged forward, knife in hand. Chris loosed a bullet, and it was as if time slowed. His finger eased back on the trigger, the hammer creeping forward before striking the firing pin. The slide flew back, a shell ejecting from the side of the weapon, its counterpart blossoming in the chest of the enemy warrior. The 9MM shell pounded through his heart, the sound of the gunshot seeming to absorb into the walls. Chris shook his head, brought back to reality by Ken tapping his side. Chris immediately stood, once again aiming carefully down the hall.
"What?!?" Chris whispered, mouth dry as a bone.
"I saw something, get up to the corner!" He said, voice harsh and strained. Chris walked up on the left quickly, clearing the hall on his left before slamming up against the corner and peering down the tiled hallway. "Clear!" Chris pointed his gun down, in an aggressive stance as the two of them advanced down the hall, kicking in doors all along the way. They reached the dead end of the hall, now trapped.
"Well shit, sonny. Looks like you only seen a ghost!" Chris said, relaxing. As soon as he began to stand, a gunshot rang out and a bullet shattered one of the ceramic tiles above his head. "Get down, we're compromised!" He roared, aiming his gun at the guard down the corridor. His ASP barked, the round chasing the life out of the man before he even knew what had hit him. "Command, we have been exposed!" Chris said, three more guards advancing towards them from the long hall. Ken shot once, Chris twice, all three rounds putting down all three men. "Move on my mark!" Chris said, waiting for the coast to clear for five seconds. "Mark!" He yelled, covering Ken as he sprinted to the next corner. "Cover me!" He yelled next, stopping behind Ken and covering his six o'clock. The pair of them made their way to the end of this hallway, checking the bodies of the downed security contractors for anything useful. Chris saw a five man team moving on the adjacent corridor, and he pulled a grenade from the vest of one of the dead men. He and Ken ran down this hall as they heard the dull thump of the grenade and the shout of a wounded man. Both agents were panicking, lost in this maze of hallways. At least it would confuse their pursuers, Chris thought to himself. Ken noticed a stairwell, opening the door and letting Chris clear it before the two moved upstairs.
"Ground level, Chris!" Ken shouted, pointing to a sign reading lobby. Chris's earpiece squawked,
"Agent Hood, this is central command. We have a marine team on the way. I want you and agent Burns to lead an assault on this building, we just got the go ahead from the president,"
"Affirmative," Chris said, panting. "Ken, you hear that?"
"Hell yeah!" He shouted, the two thundering across the marble entrance towards the outside. Smashing through the double doors, Chris heard the whirring blades of four UH-60 Blackhawk choppers screeching towards them. Guards in the towers started to freak out, firing their .50 caliber machine guns.
"Big mistake," Ken said, pulling Chris inside and slamming the doors. Chris heard the unmistakeable burp of twin miniguns, the helicopters strafing the compound twice before coming in for a landing. Chris burst out the doors, hands raised.
"Secure the perimeter! Watch the inside building!" Chris shouted to the Marine commander. "Captain, I'm agent Hood, I'll be leading this operation! Wait for my go ahead!" Chris shouted over the protesting engines of the choppers. "Tell the birds to circle the place and mop up any stragglers!"
"Yes sir!" The marine said, saluting Chris before handing both Ken and him bandoliers with Car-15 Commando assault rifles. Chris strapped his bandolier on in a heartbeat, placing his ASP in its holster before loading and cocking his weapon. Just in time, too, as men began to spread out from the building like oil from dish soap. Chris fired off a five round burst at a charging Lockheed fighter, the man falling to the ground and squirming in a pool of his own blood. The marines opened up on the building, rounds shredding through the enemy defenders. Once the action died down, Chris and Ken stood to begin the real assault, but a transmission from command stopped them in their tracks.
"Negative, negative! Call it off, our agent has been burned!" The general said, Chris putting a few more rounds into a running hostile.
"Sir?" Chris shouted into the mouth piece.
"The agent is topside, he's in one of the choppers. We're calling in fighters to level the entire area, get your men out of there," Chris replied a quick yes before ordering the men to regroup and pull out to a safe distance. Ken squeezed off twenty rounds at charging enemies, putting them all down before sitting down on the chopper's landing guard. Chris slapped the side of the aircraft, the blades picking up speed and the whole fleet of copters picked off the ground and into the sky, hovering at a thousand feet away from the building. Amazingly, despite the torture from the minigun's brutal salvo, the building looked largely intact. It seemed peaceful before the sky was lit up in a dazzling, brilliant hue of orange. But there was no scream from the jets... Chris's jaw dropped as an oblong object picked up right out of the ground behind the compound, thundering through the sky and above the clouds almost before Ken identified it.
"They just fired a Lockheed missile! I repeat, we have a missile in the air!" Chris gawked at the missile, before springing to action.
"We need to get near that thing before it picks up speed! Get this chopper within mini gun range!" He roared, the helicopter flying through the flames of the bombardment of the facility, in chase of the missile. The blades were whirring, the black chopper gaining altitude alongside the gargantuan missile. "Gunner! Once we get within range start hosing that damn missile! We can't let it hit its target!" Somewhere, a rock concert was raging in the night, the music pounding in Chris's ears. "Shit, if this thing goes down here, we're all done for and so is Florida! Get some jets in the air, now!" He shouted, waving for the gunner to stand down. The chopper stood still in the air, smoke from the missile getting whipped into a tornado by the chopper blades. "It's in the air force's hands now," Chris said, his comms system making loud popping and crackling sounds before nothing but static.
"Ken, you getting this?" Chris said, looking to back of the chopper for his aide.
"Yeah, something's wrong with the-" Ken began to shout before the alarm blared in the cockpit of the machine.
"Shit, incoming!" The pilot said, the helicopter taking a violent dive before getting struck with some manner of explosive. Chris heard the blades snap off, the sound of them spiraling off into the night, the worst sound Chris had ever heard in all his life. "Abandon craft!" The pilot said, Chris grabbing ken and diving from the craft towards the huge pond below. Air ripped at his eyelids, his hat torn from his skull. He kept a tight grip on his assault rifle, the reflection of the flaming chopper bright in the surface of the glassy water. The water quickly came up to greet them, all sound drowned out of their ears, air punched from their lungs. Chris kept his gun in hand, white knuckles choking the life from its grip. He kicked for the surface, head bobbing above twenty feet from Ken. The compound was a mess of lights, flames bursting from some places, gunfire and lights from others. It seemed like, yes, Lockheed was launching their own offensive, and pushing the few remaining fighters out of the compound and further! "Come on, Ken, we gotta' get after them! Our boys are in trouble!" He said, wading ashore and pointing the barrel of his gun downward, a torrent of water rushing out. Ken wasn't far behind, doing the same. They both shed their water-logged packs, rushing off through the grass to the compound. When they got close, it was clear that the huge building was barely damaged, the flames just ignited gas from downed choppers. Chris saw a team of enemies rushing out from a gate, trying to flank the pinned marine squad. Chris aimed and opened up, the first round firing with a bit of water sprayed from the muzzle. Ken fired off several rounds, too, all of them meeting their mark. Chris ejected his magazine, replacing it and clicking the slide closed.
"Chris, there's no more gunfire. We need to get out of here, follow me," Ken said, Chris noticing the lack of gunshots by the gate. He didn't like it, but he liked dying even less. Ken was already jogging off into the trees towards the concert, Chris keeping close behind him. "We're going to get this concert cleared up, then we're going to call in the cavalry," Ken said, Chris seeing something familiar in his eyes. It was the flame of battle, something Chris hadn't felt since Vietnam. But it was there now, and Chris had sorely missed it. Ken was beating his way through the foliage, bursting out into a huge parking lot in front of a stadium. Out of the blue, bullets came snapping through the leaves behind them, bouncing across the soft black top.
"Get moving!" Chris said, turning around and crouching behind a blue car. His eyes scanned the treeline, waiting for one of them to show themselves. He saw the flash of a red beret before one of them broke free from the undergrowth. Chris loosed a four round burst, the flame from his barrel scarring the paint of the car. The man dropped, clutching his stomach as blood splattered in the air on his way down. Another man leaped from the trees, Chris dropping him as well. Ken was sprinting now, the gate getting ever closer in his vision. His short blonde hair was soaked with sweat, wet shirt sticking to his hot body. Boots pounding the pavement, he reached the front gate and was stopped by a guard. Panting, he procured his badge and they opened the gate in an instant. He flashed by, weapon clicking and clacking with each step. He skidded around a corner, the sight of thirty thousand screaming fans hitting him like a steam engine. He plodded down the steps, the rock star's security men running to intercept him. They, also, saw his badge and stood down as he jumped onto the stage and took the microphone from the red haired Hayley Williams. The feedback screeched over the speakers as he opened his mouth, panting still.
"I need you all to leave this arena as quickly and orderly as possible. There had been an-" Ken started, Chris bursting through the doors with his weapon ablaze. "Attack on our soil, get to your houses and bunk down! We will handle this!" He said the microphone landing on the stage with a loud clang over the speakers. "Hayley, get down!" He said, the red-haired singer frozen in the open as the Lockheed men burst through in chase of Chris. Chris's magazine hit the steps when he reloaded, it and a torrent of shells cascading down the stairs. He turned and started sprinting away from them under a hail of fire, his weapon's barrel a bright cherry red. He took aim, hosing the men down with lead death. He and Ken regrouped on the stage, hiding behind some of the speakers and amplifiers as they took massive fire from many angles. Chris heard a faint whirring in his ears, the unmistakeable sound of a chopper.
"Ken, that better be our fucking chopper!" Chris shouted, firing his last round before dropping the commando on the ground, where it hit and hissed on the ground as the barrel melted and warped. Chris drew his ASP, putting a bullet between the eyes of the nearest hostile. By now, the chopper was upon them, a black UH-60. The sound of a .50 Cal assaulted them, hot brass shells raining down on them as the gunners let loose on the invading enemies. The speakers on the craft were playing Judas Priest's "Bloodstone," and the enemy mercenaries were falling in droves. Chris heard one yell out,
"Where are those AT fuckers? We're getting lit up!" Before his body was thrown a good three feet by an enormous bullet. Chris looked up at the chopper as it slowly circled, huge rolls of flame jutting from either side of the craft. The enemy fighters were retreating as the chopper's music cut for a moment.
"Gentlemen, I suggest you get out of here. The Army's going to roll in here and mop things up, and you're not going to want to be here when the riots start. There's an armored corp waiting about five miles West of here, get moving," Once the pilot stopped his order, the music blared again and the helicopter moved out over the parking lot to round up the stragglers while Chris and Ken grabbed Hayley from behind the bank of speakers and pulled her along with them out backstage.
"How do we get out of here?!" Chris yelled over the Judas Priest.
"This way!" She cried, pointing and walking quickly to one of the gray doors. The two agents followed behind her, covering her as she opened the door to a loading bay for trucks.
"Do you have a vehicle?"
"No, just what's in the parking lot!" She said, almost in tears.
"Ken, go find yourself a ride, we'll take the chopper. We'll meet up at the checkpoint!" Chris put his handgun back in it's holster as an enormous explosion rocked the ground and punched the air out of their lungs. Chris looked behind him, into the sky. The chopped was twirling down, just like their previous one. Chris grabbed Hayley's hand, pulling her onto the chopper behind him. He started the engine, opening the throttle and screeching onto the road, the Harley's engine roaring happily. Hayley wrapped her arms around Chris's torso as they accelerated madly, Chris's do-rag ruffled by the wind. Before you can say "car chase" there was a fleet of enemy hummers pulling out behind them and flying down the road after the motorcycle. Chris kept the throttle pinned, the RPMs dangling below the red line as the pavement fled from their wheels. Chris let off the throttle as he took a long power slide around a steep corner, taking up the acceleration as soon as they straightened out. The hummers slid over the ground, gaining on them. Chris took another vicious turn, and another after that, trying to shake their pursuers.
"I need you to shoot at them! Take my gun!" He yelled, feeling one of the singer's hands gingerly prying the weapon from his belt. "When you have to reload, it's all on my bandolier!" Chris kept his attention on the road, all of his evasive driving training finally paying off. This was just like the old days, he could do whatever he wanted and nobody could stop him! As soon as he thought that, one of the Lockheed hummers pulled out of a street perpendicular to his, cutting him off. Chris took a turn onto a kid's skateboard jump, throwing the motorcycle into the air, soaring over the hummer. Chris kept the wheels turning, and when they hit the ground, his balls felt it immediately. Wincing from the exquisite pain, they kept on going until they reached the interstate leading East. "Shit! Wrong way!" Chris shouted, the motorcycle's raging engine drowning him out as they thundered along in the wrong direction. Chris felt something bite his shoulder, blood spraying everywhere. One of the hummers had a sharpshooter leaning from the window, and now Chris had taken the first bullet in several years. "Yep! I remember how that felt!" He said, grinding his teeth together. The motorcycle shook from side to side, threatening to rip out of Chris's control as a bright blue cobra helicopter swooped overhead. _'Must be Lockheed,' _Chris thought to himself, the added wind forcing him to try and squeeze more power from the engine. The throttle was almost maxed out, the tachometer pulling right up next to the red zone. The speedometer jumped, however, sending them jolting ahead of the helicopter and further away from the hummers. They passed under a bridge, Chris jerking them onto the off-ramp. The humvees skidded, slamming their brakes on in an attempt to try and stop and make the turn. The helicopter, however, threw its ass-end downward, stopping and turning to pursue the harley davidson. Chris kept them at speed while they careened around the turn, the helo's miniguns spooling up and spraying bullets at them. They whizzed through the air, burying themselves in the ground all around Chris and Hayley, some penetrating Chris's shirt sleeve. Way too close for comfort. Chris threw them into a flawless J-turn, Tokyo Drifting them underneath a huge cement ramp before dismounting the bike and leading Hayley into the woods while the helicopter searched for them. The two of them stomped through the roadside woods, coming upon a house with lights on. Chris kicked down the door, leaping inside and holding his hands up. "I need your help! I'm with the CIA!" Chris shouted, a man storming in from another room. "We are evading enemies, I need something from you!"
"What?" The man said, the sound of the news flooding in from the living room. It was talking about Chris and Ken, somehow it was already known that they were operating and on the run.
"I need a weapon, do you have anything?"
"My hunting rifle,"
"Any ammo?"
"Yeah," The man said, leading them into another room where he pulled a beautiful wooden rifle and a huge bag full of ammunition.
"Thank you, we need to get running, I'll make sure you get a nice check from the government for your actions," Chris said before pulling Hayley out the door with him. The scene was utter chaos, people being shot, houses were on fire, and enemy mercenaries were storming the entire state it seemed. Chris's heart stopped as he opened the bolt of the rifle, loading in all five bullets, and running from house to house with Hayley in tow.
"Are we going to make it?" She asked, quietly.
"Yes. As long as you're with me, we'll make it," Chris said, peering around the corner before beckoning for Hayley to go. He followed her, slinking along to the opposite corner of the next house and peeking again. There were hit squads on either side of the street, lighting houses on fire and killing civilians. Chris and Hayley were barely ahead of them, maintaining their lead. Chris highly doubted that they'd survive, especially now that the U.S. Military was not working against these guys in this section of town. His mind raced, trying to find out how they'd managed to let this one company grow so big. It was unimportant, he supposed, as now he only had to worry about getting out of there alive. Hayley was breathing hard, and it looked like she was going to pass out at any moment. "You need a break?" He asked, chest heaving as he panted.
"Yes," She answered, leaning against a chimney.
"You can, but first you need to climb over that fence for me," Chris said, beckoning to the huge cement fence that kept the highway noise from affecting the houses. She nodded, pulling herself over slowly before Chris jumped over. He handed her his canteen, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Aren't you a little old to be doing this?"
"That's what I said. But it's all I'm good at," Chris said, hearing gunshots and the screams of people dying. "And now, it looks like I'm stuck doing it," He added, with a laugh.
"So, what wars have you fought in?" She asked, resting her head against the sound barrier.
"Well, every single one since the Korean war. But I'm not special forces any more, I'm CIA,"
"Oh, so you can't tell me everything!" She said with a sigh. "I'm ready now, we need to get out of here," Chris nodded, standing up and cradling the rifle in the crook of his arm. They quickly reached the end of the small suburb, and concealed themselves in the woods. Incendiary grenades went off in the distance all around them, trees splintering and crashing to the ground as they caught fire. It was getting more and more difficult to see them escaping this in anything but a coffin. In his peripheral, Chris saw a black uniform against the white cement barrier. He slowly raised the rifle, eyes adjusting to the sights in an instant before Chris loosed a bullet. The round spun through the air, a perfect straight line to the enemy soldier's heart. The metal projectile punched a gaping hole in his chest, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Chris cycled the bolt in an instant, putting another round into him before the body even made it's first contact to the ground. Cycling the bolt again, Chris ran up to the body and looked around the corner. There were twenty or so men all looking at him, weapons rising quickly. Time seemed to slow down as Chris turned back to look at Hayley, eyes as wide as dinner plates. He heard a distant explosion, feeling hot air throwing a blade of his coarse hair off as a bullet sped past his face. He tensed his leg muscles, springing towards the sanctuary behind the cement wall, a bullet smashing into the cement and spraying him with shards of cement. By the time he actually got moving and turned around, the volume of fire from all ten of the enemies was churning the dirt up all around him. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, biting through to his bone. His body was flung sideways as he dived, something assailing his ears. It was the scream of a dive-bombing airplane coming ever closer, and as he looked up he saw it careening down towards the suburb. It was an older-style plane with a huge napalm cartridge hooked onto the bottom. As the plane leveled off, it dropped the canister, spewing flaming liquid all over the enemy mercenary fighters all around. A fleet of Sea Knight helicopters came buzzing out from under the thick cover of smoke, one in particular throwing its back end down, slowing to a halt before touching down to the ground gently. The pilot was a true master. Chris stood immediately, Hayley rushing to grab his rifle and hand it back to him. The back of the chopped opened up, an aging man in aviator sunglasses stepping out. "Agent Hood! Get into the helicopter, we have a mission for you," Chris grabbed Hayley's wrist in one hand, his rifle held in the other. He practically dragged her onto the aircraft, sitting down and fastening a white bandage to his arm. "Well fought today, soldier. With your record, I'm not surprised. Nor am I happy that you needed to be involved in this, but we need you to perform one mission for us,"
"Anything, sir," Chris said, excited to be a part of black operations once again.
"Right. We need you to wipe a missile facility off the map. And we need it done tonight. You up for it?" The general asked, Chris simply nodding as he unflinchingly pulled the bandage tight.
"I'll get it done," Chris said, the general moving his gaze to Hayley.
"Who's this?" He asked, his voice loud amongst the chopper noise.
"Civilian VIP. I extracted her, you need to get her to safety," The chopper came to a halt unexpectedly, Chris and the general stepping from the craft.
"You go with this fighter pilot! He'll get you to the pentagon within the hour, from there talk to Ken!" He yelled, Chris jumping into the craft and securing his rifle. Hayley looked scared, clutching a piece of white paper in one hand. It was Chris's cellular frequency for her to call in case of emergency. Chris saluted her as the canopy of the jet slid shut, his arm throbbing fiercely. The pilot's communications came online briefly, warning Chris that they were taking off. The black jet exploded down the runway like a bullet from a gun. As they soared into the air, Chris felt the familiar sense of flying. It was a nice feeling, being on top of the world, but the cockpit of the jet was quite a fair bit less comfortable than any other aerial vehicle he'd ever been on. He settled in for a long trip, and a longer night. If they couldn't just bomb the missile facility, then it was going to be one hell of a bad fucking mission for this old grandpa. Nothing he couldn't handle. Back in the fifties! Chris doubted the agency's decision to use him, but that was just it, their decision. As soon as Chris began to lean back and close his eyes, there was a blaring alarm within the cockpit.
"Sir! We've got bogeys at our sic o'clock! Hang on!" He yelled, flipping the plane upside down and dive-bombing through the clouds. Chris's head whirled around on his neck, looking through the canopy for the enemy fighters. Sure enough, through the swirling white clouds they appeared, pulse jet engines roaring as they swooped down on the SR-71 Blackbird like vultures to a dead animal. It made no sense to Chris, why they were flying a spy plane.
"Hey, why are we in this stealth plane?" Chris asked, the pilot not answering as he flung the plane back upwards at an angle and rocketed back up through the clouds, pressure rising.
"Because USAF can't afford any fighters, and this plane can get way above where those other jets can go. I hope..." He ended, the plane shaking as it lost horsepower due to the atmospheric pressure dissipating. A rocket lashed by them, curving downward as it passed them before exploding. Chris looked behind them, the jets beginning to stall as their range was exceeded. The SR-71's own systems began to fail suddenly, the ram jets cutting out altogether. "The fuck?" The pilot yelled, struggling with the stick. "Wait for the altitude to lower then eject. It was an EMP," The pilot resigned, watching the meters as the plane dropped backwards. Chris gulped, seeing their plane come ever closer to the enemy jets. "NOW!" The pilot shouted, both hum and his canopy springing up and out of the plane, a parachute opening. Chris pulled his lever, nothing happening. He panicked, pulling the reserve ejector. Nothing again. So he jumped.