[Story] Exigent Circumstances

High tech intrigue and Cold War
User avatar
Shroom Man 777
Global Mod
Posts: 4637
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:09 pm
Contact:

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

What the hell? Gossley's nuts! She just shot him, right in the face chest, while his gun-armed goons are right there pointing guns around! Unless she's impervious to gunfire or can dodge bullets, what the hell is she thinkings? Mang! Goddamn Chandra Gossley!

I like how she wouldn't take no for an answer and, uh, killed the fuck out of Qadiri. Poor guy. :P

Filipino submariners!

For such a high-ranking officer, can't Ridley delegate all the Splinter Celling to someone else? Why does the Director of SOE have to run around on wet rooftops getting soaked by the rain all the time? :D
Image

"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
User avatar
Booted Vulture
Posts: 965
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 9:33 pm

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Booted Vulture »

Shroom Man 777 wrote: For such a high-ranking officer, can't Ridley delegate all the Splinter Celling to someone else? Why does the Director of SOE have to run around on wet rooftops getting soaked by the rain all the time? :D
Character shields have drawbacks as well as advantages.
Ah Brother! It's been too long!
User avatar
Acatalepsy
Posts: 137
Joined: Thu Oct 08, 2009 2:33 am
Location: America, Fuck Yeah! Or something.

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Acatalepsy »

Excrement, meet oscillator. Oscillator, excrement.
Anything that can be done to a rat can be done to a human being. And we can do most anything to rats. This is a hard thing to think about, but it's the truth. It won't go away because we cover our eyes.

- Bruce Sterling
User avatar
Artemis
Global Mod
Posts: 392
Joined: Thu May 22, 2008 3:31 am
Location: Savannah, Georgia
Contact:

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Artemis »

Whoo boy. Gosely is more of a back-biting bitch than even I anticipated!

This is getting really, really good Siege. I can't wait to see where you're taking this.
"The universe's most essential beauty is its endlessness. There is room and resources enough for all of us. Whether there is room for all of our passions is the question, and the problem that we work tirelessly to find a solution to."

-Qhameio Allir Nlafahn, Commonwealth ambassador, during the signing of the Kriolon Treaty.
User avatar
Siege
Site Admin
Posts: 2563
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Siege »

SEVEN: Docklands (Assiduity)

“Bravo Lead to Bravo Team. Execute, execute, execute.” Captain Sanderson's voice was completely calm as he ordered the SAS into the fray. Since the unexpected arrival of the WRAITH hit-team his men had retreated only a few dozen meters from the dockside so it would take them a matter of seconds to make contact with the nearest hostiles, but in a firefight seconds could be lifetimes.

In the span of moments the situation on the dockside had devolved into utter chaos. Gosely might have gotten the first shot off, but Al-Qadari's men were hardened Iraqi revolutionaries, men who had managed to survive their decade-long insurgency despite the overwhelming technological superiority of the Kingdom's armed forces and their western backers. Sheer Darwinian selection, and in some cases training by Che Guevara himself, had forged them into utterly lethal adversaries. They might be a long way from home and in unfamiliar surroundings, but that had not impeded the speed of their reactions in the slightest. No second after Gosely pulled her gun they were already shooting, unloading AK-101 rifles with lethal precision into the professional hit team Gosely had brought with her. The number two leader of the WRAITH syndicate herself ruthlessly used one of her own bodyguards as a human shield, dragging the man backward by the collar of his Kevlar vest. He was hit multiple times, the 5.56mm rounds the terrorists fired punching through his armour, but clearly his twitching corpse and her own armour was sufficient for the former DCIA to make it to the cover afforded by a set of packing crates.

Chandra Gosely laughed wildly, her voice bubbling with adrenalin as she pushed the corpse of her former bodyguard off her and brought up her Colt to shoot back at Al-Qadari's men. “Come get me, you sons of bitches!” she shouted and put two high-caliber rounds into the nearest terrorist. “Come get a piece of me!”

“Why, don't mind if I do,” said a voice loaded with sarcasm. At the same time Chandra Gosely felt the cold iron kiss of a silencer against her neck. “Fancy seeing you here, Chandra dearest.”

Gosely froze in stunned recognition. Her expression turned rigid. “Jack? How...”

Ridley smiled a little. It was just his kind of luck that in the middle of a chaotic gunfight the second most wanted person on the planet would seek refuge behind the same pile of crates he himself was hiding behind. “Oh, I think I've always been far more resourceful than you've ever given me credit for, dear.” He poked her neck with the Walther. “Drop the gun. Slowly.”

Gosely's eyes flashed around the dockside. Seconds had passed since the start of the gunbattle and already there were a dozen or more dead bodies strewn around the quay. Al-Qadari's men were falling back to the trucks, leaving their fallen behind and blasting a withering fusillade of fire in the direction of the warehouse. Despite the staccato hammering of automatic weapons several of the WRAITH operators in juggernaut armour were advancing slowly across the wide open concrete. Covered head to toes in multiple layers of Kevlar and trauma plates over a low-active muscle weave they were all but impervious to small arms fire, and the fully automatic drum-fed light machine guns they carried spat out an astonishing amount of lead, scything down anyone foolish enough to stand in the open and forcing the Iraqis to keep their heads down as the WRAITH team advanced methodically in the direction of the trucks. Gosely smiled a little, confidence building in her features. “Have a care, Jack. There's no way you're getting out on top by yourself against my people. You might as well side with the people who don't want to blow up your city. Let's face it, we're going to win this fight.”

Even as she said it the head of one of the Juggernauts exploded in a gory mist of blood, bone and brain matter. “I wouldn't be too sure about that.” Ridley smiled. “I mean, you did account for the sniper in the crane tower, right?”

Gosely glowered, but otherwise remained perfectly still. “Like one sniper is going to stop me. You're still just a bunch of crazy Iraqis and one lone British agent.”

Ridley frowned. Her mannerisms were different from what he remembered. She was... More direct, more eager to do violence than she had been. Ridley guessed it came naturally with spending long years in the presence of an insane maniac like WRAITH leader Malcolm Stavro Kroner. Even so he couldn't help but worry about the traces of insanity that laced her voice. He was no psychologist, but he didn't have to be to tell that Chandra Gosely had gone off the deep end some time ago. The sound of more gunfire swept through the rain and wind, this time from another direction. Ridley smiled. “Ah. That would be my SAS team, coming to take you all apart.” He shook his head. “I stopped being one lone British agent a long time ago, Chandra.”

“I guess we both stopped being who we were a long time ago,” she replied bitterly.

He smiled a little too vindictively. “Who are you now, then?”

A black Chevrolet Suburban roared out of the WRAITH-controlled warehouse and water-planed onto the quay. Gosely shrugged, a resigned look on her face. “Someone else.” The area where the sunroof in the suburban should have been folded away, revealing a hydraulic gun mount topped by an XM214 Mini Gun.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ridley huffed incredulously when he recognized the whine of the weapon spooling up. Everyone with a functioning instinct for self-preservation dove for cover as the weapon stuttered once, twice, and then spat out a near-solid line of fire, the manifestation of the 4,000 5.56mm rounds per minute. The weapon scourged the dockside like a lash from hell, mercilessly massacring anything it touched. The DSOE yanked Gosely back mere moments before the line of death tore through the marginal cover afforded them by the packing crates. Wood simply disintegrated under the hail of fire. Ridley hit the wet concrete and was showered in smouldering splinters, uttering profanities all the way. For a brief moment the withering torrent of bullets shrieked directly overhead, louder and more imminently lethal than anything he could remember, then the mini-gunner abruptly turned his attention elsewhere. Ridley blinked and found himself half atop Chandra Gosely and pressing the barrel of his Walther to her breast.

The barrel of her Colt meanwhile, he idly noticed, was suddenly pointing at his forehead.

He sighed. “Deja-vu much? For the record, I did just save your life, you know. It would be kind of ungrateful of you to shoot me in the face now.”

“Ridley,” Gosely pleaded. “I know what's happened, all the things I've done. I know we can't go back. But trust me. I'm not the enemy here.”

He scowled a little. “You're not? You killed two of my people!”

“I didn't know they were your people at the time,” Gosely defended. Ridley could feel her shiver on the cold concrete beneath him. It was an... interesting sensation. “I thought they were Drake's.”

Ridley rolled his eyes. “Even I believe that, and I'm not saying I do, I know you tried to rob her of her nuclear launch codes. And from what I heard just now you were more than ready to hand Al-Qadari the codes to his nukes.”

“No, I wasn't.” She was talking fast now. “You didn't think I'd show up here in force just to hand that asshole the codes to unleash armageddon, did you? I was always going to shoot him and take his warheads. And if I'd known you were here I would've gone about it differently.” She blinked, and Ridley could see something change about her expression. “Story of my life, huh?”

Ridley briefly considered what she'd said. Shouts and gunfire were everywhere now. Some of the submariners had dragged a grenade machine gun onto the deck. With a chattering the belt-fed weapon began peppering the minigun-toting SUV with 20mm grenades, crumpling its armour under a hail of explosions and forcing the gunner to duck for cover. Then the Suburban was struck by a shoulder-fired missile and exploded in a ball of flame and smoke. Ridley risked a glance and saw Royal Marine fire teams advancing onto the quay behind armoured vehicles, driving back both the WRAITH hit-teams and the Iraqi terrorists with focused bursts of fire from the heavy machineguns and grenade launchers mounted atop their bulky Jackal EmWimmicks. The armoured vehicles had been designed with operations in jungles and deserts in mind, but they were performing superbly in this situation too. A chaotic three-way gun battle was unfolding. Someone took out the Iraqi sniper on the crane with a well-aimed shot, causing his corpse to fall onto the quay where it landed with a sickening smack. One of the remaining Juggernauts raked the nearest Iraqi truck with machine gun fire, causing something in its engine to explode into petrol-fuelled flame, moments before the WRAITH terrorist was blown apart by a hand grenade. Men were dying all over the dockside, riddled with bullets or dismembered in explosions that rang dully out over the rain-swept bay.

The DSOE turned back to Gosely. “You're running out of time honey. Talk fast: If you're not here to nuke this city what do you need a nuclear warhead for?”

Gosely's eyes glittered with a crazed, barely suppressed frenzy. “I need to kill him, Jack. I have to fucking kill Kroner. I have to. And I know I can do it. I'm the only one that can.”

He blinked. Again. “And you need a nuke to do the job?” Then he caught himself. As outrageous as it might seem to use a nuclear device to kill one man Malcolm Stavro Kroner, the world's most wanted man, had survived at least two nuclear strikes already. The man was insanely hard to kill, that was for sure.

As if she could read his thoughts, a little smile cracked Gosely's half-mad expression. It was startling, he considered, how that made her appear so much younger. “It's the only way,” she growled in a way that raised a dozen memories, “to be sure.”

“Well, it's not going to happen,” he shook his head. “Those nukes are property of Her Majesty's government.” He looked her in the eye. “Tell you what though. You tell me where Kroner is hiding and I'll take care of him for you.”

She glanced sideways. The marines were clearly winning the fight, their overwhelming numbers and brutal firepower no match for the two terrorist teams. The remaining WRAITH terrorists were falling back to the warehouse, hoping to find safety there. The Iraqis appeared determined to make a stand near the trucks, although some of them were trying to get aboard the submarine. The submariners however were having none of that, shooting at the late Al-Qadari's men and desperately trying to cast off even as the Anaconda was raked with fire from one of the EmWimmicks. Gosely craned her head back to look at Ridley. “You can't do it, Jack. You've tried before. He has people everywhere – everywhere! But I know him better than anyone else, I know how he thinks. I can do this. I have to finish this! You have to let me go!” She looked at him, eyes wide. “Please Jack, will you let me go?”

He let out a fit of barking laughter. “Of course not!”

She flinched as if physically hit, then grimaced. “If you take me in I'm dead for sure. You know that as well as I do. It'll all have been for nothing. So why shouldn't I take my chances and shoot you in the head, right now?”

Ridley shrugged. “You can shoot me; maybe I'll shoot you back, maybe not, but my sniper sure as hell has orders to blow your brains out the second you do.” He slowly pulled the Walther away and pointed it elsewhere. “But shooting each other isn't going to be very productive, is it?”

She looked at him and hesitated, clearly at a loss. “I suppose it isn't.”

He nodded and looked at her, took in drenched red hair, skin pale from spending too much time underground, the curves of her body, the set of body armour under a leather coat. He sighed. “Look. You want Kroner dead? I want Kroner dead. That's a common goal if ever I saw one. Can we work toward that, at least?”

Gosely smiled bitterly. “And afterwards you hand me over to the Americans?”

Jack Ridley hesitated for a moment. He knew how the Americans thought about Gosely, hell how the Soviets thought about her; he knew what her role in the Red Square Bombings had been. He'd read the files about the things she was suspected of doing. But he also remembered a night in West Berlin, 1989. He recalled cold rain slapping against the windows of the safe house, a storm not unlike the one of tonight. He remembered how pure, unadulterated fear had slowly waned as he realized they had finally thrown off the Stasi stalker teams. He could almost see himself, a green rookie in way over his head. And he remembered Chandra, twenty years younger and a lot more innocent, her hands shaking as the adrenalin rush wore off. He remembered holding those hands, and how the tendons had stood out under her pale skin. He knew exactly what would happen if she were ever to be renditioned back to the USA. He looked into her green eyes. “Chandra, I don't know everything you did, or even why, but right now I don't care. And I don't know how this will play out, but I know that I want your help. I want you to do this thing with me, to take Kroner down, and I will promise you I'll do my damnedest to keep the Americans away from you. There's any number of things we can do to make sure that happens, you know that. But right now the most important thing is... You want to do something good? Well, this is your chance. You're going to have to trust me, right now – or we'll never stop hunting you. You want out? Then I'm your last, best bet.”

Tense, silent seconds passed. The warmth of her body pressed against his thighs. The Colt trembled in her hand. Then she shivered and slowly lowered the gun. “He's in the Philippines,” she whispered. “His health has been getting worse since Chernobyl. I think he caught a radiation overdose. There's a hidden laboratory near Davao City. I don't know what he's doing exactly, he hasn't told anybody, but whatever it is he thinks it can save him. I can't get near it, but with a nuke I wouldn't have to. He needs to go, Jack. He needs to die.” She paused for a second. “So, what are you – we – going to do now?”

“I don't know yet.” Jack rolled off her, cold concrete replacing her warmth. The sound of gunfire had mostly died away, with only the occasional rattle of gunfire still going off somewhere behind the row of warehouses. He offered her his hand. “But let's find out.”
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
User avatar
Shroom Man 777
Global Mod
Posts: 4637
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:09 pm
Contact:

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

Ridley is a total chump!

Man, I love this sudden twist. At first, it looked like Chandra was completely bullshitting him. But woah, turns out she's actually serious! Woah! And, hot damn, this does look like it IS playing into SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK's ending, conforming with it in a kinda sorta way. All these tweests while juggernaut bitches get blown to pieces by rocket launchers, and while SUVs come in with miniguns, and while deadly Iraqis (trained by Che Guevara) start shooting at people and the SAS comes in fast-attack vehicles! Exigent Circumstances!

Davao City. The Philippines. A tactical nuclear weapon, Iraqi terrorists, and the international black syndicate WRAITH. Time's running out.


Malcolm Stavro Kroner must die.

EXIGENT CIRCUMSTANCES!
Image

"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
User avatar
Booted Vulture
Posts: 965
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 9:33 pm

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Booted Vulture »

Oh Jack, you idiot. That's not going to come back and bite you in the bum, at all
Ah Brother! It's been too long!
User avatar
Siege
Site Admin
Posts: 2563
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Siege »

EIGHT: When The Dust Settles

The rest of the battle – such as it was – was a blur. With nothing more to shoot there was nothing Ridley and Gosely could do than wait in uncomfortable silence behind cover for the marines or SAS to find them. It had stopped raining, and when finally the familiar outline of Captain Sanderson appeared from the darkness the SAS team leader found the MI-6 agent casually leaning against a bullet-riddled packing crate, coffee beans spilling out between planks of shattered wood. The normally so unflappable commando raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the red-headed woman sitting next to him on the ruined crate. He reflexively began to raise his rifle, but Ridley held up his hand to stall his reaction. “There's no need for that.” The DSOE glanced at Gosely. “She's... with me.”

The SAS commando looked from her to him, then back to him again. Finally he shrugged, but Ridley could see he was keeping his finger very near the trigger of his L98A3 rifle. “You need some tie-wraps?”

Ridley shook his head with more confidence than he felt. “I don't think that's necessary at this time, Captain.” He changed the subject. “SITREP?”

As it turned out the Royal Marines had had little difficulty mopping up the warring terrorists. Their backs to the bay, Al-Qadari's men had grimly fought to the death, something which, this being the age of the machine gun, they had accomplished far quicker than one might think. Wary for wounded fanatics turned impromptu suicide bombers the British soldiers, almost to a man veterans of the Third Gulf War, had not taken any chances and executed the few badly injured terrorists they came across.

By contrast the marines received little opposition from the Asian submariners. Unlike the Iraqi fanatics they surrendered eagerly — not that they had much choice; they had been forced to abandon their submersible, whose pressure hull had been torn to metal confetti by the WRAITH minigun. They babbled away in a rapid-fire Asian language Ridley didn't recognize. It was funny, he thought, how nobody ever spoke English the minute they found themselves interrogated. Not that it mattered. He was sure a few days in solitary confinement and the prospect of being brought up on charges of terrorism or piracy would loosen their lips.

In sharp contrast with the smugglers and the Iraqi terrorists the WRAITH mercenaries had tried to make a run for it. And run they had – straight into the heavy weapons and armoured vehicles of Charlie Team which had secured the perimeter around the dockyards. The mercenaries had been unceremoniously torn to ribbons. According to the lieutenant in charge no more than one or two could have escaped alive.

Sunday Summers gave Ridley a lazy salute when she joined him on the ruined quay, half a dozen SAS operators following in her wake. She'd lost her helmet somewhere, and her blond hair slicked wetly against her skin. The bulky sniperrifle was slung nonchalantly over her shoulder. “Hullo boss,” she said. “Ruddy glad to see you're still in one piece. I hate job-hunting.” She glanced at the red-head beside him. “And you brought a friend!”

“Sunday, meet the infamous Chandra Gosely,” he flatly introduced her. “Chandra, this is Sunday Summers. She works under me.”

Under you, huh?” the former DCIA said, her tone suggestive.

“Shut up.” Suddenly Jack Ridley felt very tired. He gesticulated at two of the SAS operators and pointed to Gosely. “Watch her. Closely. In fact, let her out of your sight even for a minute and you'll be scrubbing toilets on the Falklands 'till 2020.”

He walked away and looked out at the bay and the slowly sinking mini-sub. The water seemed unnaturally calm; Hong Kong was in the eye of the storm. Now that the adrenalin was wearing off he felt exhausted, worn down to the bone. Jack Ridley felt haunted by the past as well as the present, caught between the hammer of 'then' and the anvil of 'now'. He'd suffered too much violence for a day. He wanted to crawl under a rock and sleep for a year, to forget about all the deadly intrigues and secret wars that plagued the world every day. In that bone-tired moment, more than anything else, he wanted to be an ordinary citizen, to let someone else deal with the chaos and the destruction and the dying.

Sunday Summers materialized at his shoulder, close enough for him to smell her sweat. She glanced at him. “So boss. We killed a stack of villains and caught a big fish. What's next?”

Wasn't she ever the pragmatic. Jack let out a ragged breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He looked around the ruined quay and slowly massaged his neck as he arranged his thoughts and mustered what little energy he had left. “Now we clean up the mess.”

And what a glorious mess it was. Dozens of bodies were scattered all over, some of them missing limbs or shredded beyond identification. Runnels of blood ran across the concrete, turning pools of rainwater crimson. The rains had their best to extinguish the fires burning in the wrecks of several ruined vehicles, but somehow they were still on fire. British soldiers ghosted through wind-swept ruins, moving systematically between bodies and wreckage. The marines had established a perimeter and were keeping the civil authorities away with a combination of imposing weapons and claims to 'national security' and 'need to know'. Ridley doubted many of the soldiers themselves knew what they were dealing with. He assigned the SAS troopers to the trucks containing the nuclear warheads, because knowledge that Her Majesty's Government had lost a stack of nukes was not something MI-6 wanted spreading through the grapevine that was the marines' barracks.

In the third truck, surrounded by the corpses of the last Iraqi terrorists, the commandos found a data-stick containing a video message from Al-Qadari. The terror leader looked haggard and tired on the small screen of Summers' PDA. In Raheem al-Qadari's eyes burned only the last embers of what Ridley knew had to have been a fire of revolutionary fervour years before.

“For years we have tried to live together,” Al-Qadari spoke with a voice from beyond the grave. “Until a war was waged on us, on all of us. A war waged by our own leaders. And who supplied the American cluster bombs, the British tanks, the German artillery shells, that kill our sons and daughters?” The Iraqi blinked rapidly, and Ridley recalled how Al-Qadari's family had been killed by an Allied airstrike in 2000. When he continued his voice had hardened. “It was the countries of the West who drew the boundaries of our countries. Sometimes in ink, sometimes in blood. And now you dispatch your peace-keepers to write our destiny again. We can never accept this peace that leaves us with nothing but pain. Pain the peacemakers must be made to feel. Their wives, their children, their houses and their churches and children. So now you know. Now you must understand. Leave us to write our own destiny!”

“Well, so much for that plan,” Ridley concluded dryly.

Summers frowned a little. “That's... Not quite what I had expected. I'd imagined him to be more, I dunno, maniacally evil?”

“This may surprise you, but most bad guys don't actually believe they're bad guys.” He glanced at Gosely, who was kept at a distance by the commandos. “Unless they're Malcolm Kroner, in which case they fit the definition of clinical insanity...” One of the marines had drifted over, and beckoned for Ridley's attention. “Yes?”

“Incoming call for you, sir, at the mobile command. It's London.”

Ridley's face twisted a little. “Well. This should be interesting.”

The Royal Marines had set up a mobile command post in the shadow of the warehouse. Several tents had been hastily put up, shielding a radio and a set of flatscreen monitors from the worst of the elements. Thick bitumen-clad cables ran from the command to a nearby Jackal MWMIK, the armoured vehicle's gas turbine providing all the power required for long-range communications.

From one of the monitors a pair of cold grey eyes surveyed the mobile command, coming to rest on Ridley the moment he stepped into view. “Jack, you look positively ghastly,” said the disapproving voice that went with those eyes. Lady Judy Merryweather, 6th Baroness Ashford, had a face like a hawk, crowned by conservatively cut snow-white hair. For sixteen years now she had been known in the international intelligence community as 'M', the director of the Secret Intelligence Service. Her past was shrouded in secrecy and files marked 'classified – most secret'; the only thing Ridley knew for certain about Judy Merryweather was that she had, long before he'd first set foot in the marble halls of Thames House, set fire to half the Middle East in a series of secret assassination wars the details of which would remain classified for at least another century. Ridley knew better than to underestimate her. Merryweather was an Iron Lady in every sense of the word.

“Ma'am,” he replied by way of greeting. “Nice of you to join us.”

“I could hardly not when I heard you made your trademark mess of things, Jack. Do please explain how I'm expected to sell a miniature war in the middle of our crown colony to the Security Committee?”

Ridley shrugged. Intense scrutiny of all operatives was part and parcel of intelligence work, and that went doubly so for the newly reformed Special Operations Executive and its newfangled Director. The SOE was an attempt to drastically cut response time in case of dire crises: formed as part of a classified section of the Civil Contingencies Act it was almost completely autonomous from the rest of the UK intelligence apparatus and had carte blanche to do whatever it deemed necessary to protect the safety of Her Majesty's subjects. But as the Americans were so fond of saying, 'with great power comes great responsibility' and Judy Merryweather was determined to keep the Executive firmly on the straight and narrow – Jack knew that he'd be out of a job the moment she thought he was off the reservation. In other words, the Executive had its overriding authority only as long as Ridley could justify it. “I wouldn't go as far as to call it a mess, ma'am. We've retrieved three of our missing nukes. I say we've come out ahead all right.”

“Ahead,” Merryweather appeared to taste the word. “Three agents and a few dozen terrorists dead, and no answers whatsoever... You would call that 'coming out ahead?”

“We saved bloody Hong Kong, ma'am. Yes, I daresay I would.”

“Hmm,” Lady Merryweather didn't seem impressed. Her eyes bored into Ridley. “Saving cities is all very well and good, Jack. But it's answers we require first and foremost if we're to stop this sort of thing from happening again in the future. You didn't apprehend the miscreant who sold our weapons to the these Iraqi upstarts?”

“Well... No.”

“I see,” Merryweather said flatly. “And I hear Chandra Gosely was involved in all this?”

Ridley raised an eyebrow. “How have you heard that?”

M rolled her eyes a little. “A little bird whispered it into my ear.”

“You mean Oaksley told you,” Ridley grumbled. “Well, yes, I can confirm her presence.”

“I see,” M said, a little more icily. “And may I enquire what was our favourite reprobate colonial was up to this time?”

For a moment, his features twisted in a knowing smirk. “Why don't you ask her yourself?” He motioned, and Gosely grudgingly stepped into view of the camera, an annoyed look on her face.

To her credit, Merryweather managed not to look surprised. Instead she simply fell very silent for a second or two. Then she murmured: “Well, well, well. You could've told me about this, Jack.”

He smiled. “Now what would've been the fun in that?”

“I see.” She turned her attention to Gosely. “Well then. The prodigal daughter at long last.”

“Judith,” Gosely said sourly. “It's been a while. I see you've done well for yourself.”

“I have indeed. I wish I could say the same about you.” M's piercing gaze shifted back to Ridley. “This is a fortuitous turn of events. I suppose I should place a call to Langley.”

Jack exchanged a glance with Gosely, who was looking at him with an imploring look at her face. “I would prefer if you didn't, ma'am.”

“Indeed?” a hint of a smile danced around Merryweather's thin lips. “I couldn't help notice you haven't cuffed Miss Gosely. Is there something I should know?”

“We have come to an...” he briefly struggled to find the right word. “Understanding. We don't hand her over to the Americans, and she will help us find and take out Malcolm Kroner.”

M looked at him squarely. “I'm sure you haven't forgotten this, Jack, but Malcolm Kroner is supposed to be dead. Our friends in Russia are quite insistent he was vaporized in the Chernobyl exclusion zone.”

“That's convenient, isn't it?” This time it was Gosely spoke up. The former DCIA forcefully threw her hair back, and Jack could see a shadow of the woman he knew emerge once more. “Sechalin may be dead, and their civil war may officially be over, but we all know Kiralova's administration is hanging on by the skin of its teeth. She can't afford any loose ends for the remaining Ultramilitants to stake their fate on – she needs this dossier closed quick. So of course they would say he's dead. I know I'm not the most dependable source, but would you believe the goddamn KGB over me?”

“A few hours ago,” Ridley added, “Drake told me she talked to Kroner two weeks after Chernobyl. And we never did see a body. I strongly believe he's alive.”

“He is in the Philippines,” Gosely insisted. “Kroner lives, but only barely. The Soviets have dealt a massive blow to WRAITH, he's desperately trying to marshal his remaining forces but his organization is still weak-”

“I think you mean your organization,” Merryweather acidly interrupted. “Don't think I've forgotten, Miss Gosely.” For a moment the head of the SIS tapped her fingers on her expansive mahogany desk. Then she looked pensively at the red-headed former terrorist. “What do you want?”

“A chance to see Kroner dead.” Gosely's voice was rough with hatred. “And afterwards, if it's at all possible, I'd like to not be extradited to the United States. I'm not a big fan of needles. Or firing squads for that matter. But most of all I want to see that rat bastard dead.”

“I could do the Treasury a big favour by turning you in, Miss Gosely. I'm sure they would find a way to spend those twenty-five million dollars wisely.”

Chandra shrugged melancholically. “I know you don't have a lot to gain by keeping me out of Langley, Judith – and a lot to lose. But in case you feel like having me whacked, just remember I didn't shoot your boy Jack here when I could have. I'm not asking for a blank cheque... But I would appreciate any effort. For old time's sake?”

“Those old times were a long time ago.” Merryweather made a non-committal gesture. “I'll take it under consideration.” She dismissed Goely with a wave from her hand, and Ridley had two of the commandos take her out of earshot. M looked at him. “What's this about shooting 'my boy Jack'?”

He scowled. “Well. Technically I did put my gun down first.”

“And what on Earth possessed you to do that?”

“Summers had a bead on her, ma'am. It was a calculated risk.”

“Yes, I'm sure your history had nothing at all to do with it.” Merryweather rolled her eyes once more. “I suppose you don't want me to send her across the pond either.”

Ridley sighed, and admitted: “I certainly would prefer it, though not for any rational reason.”

“I will be frank with you Jack - I would prefer her out of our hands. Heaven knows the gods in the marble halls are not a big fan of Miss Gosely, and my life is massively easier with her outside the Kingdom. That being said,” the baroness idly scratched her chin. “As it happens I do have cause to be hesitant to deliver her to our wayward colonial brothers. There are certain indications that not all is well with the American establishment. Bluntly speaking I cannot at this time be certain that extraditing Chandra Gosely would be beneficial to the stability of the United States.”

Ridley frowned. “I see.”

“I very much doubt that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do not mistake my practical concerns for sympathy. As far as I'm concerned that woman has done more than enough to earn a bullet in the back and a shallow unmarked grave, and if she doesn't deliver I'm very much inclined to give them to her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And if she does?”

Merryweather glared at him. “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime you are our agent in place; I will defer to your judgement. But you had better make all the right calls here, Jack, or you can rest assured I will have your hide.”

“Fair enough.” Ridley nodded.

“And Jack, I don't want you to be running around getting physical again. You're a section director now. You have people to do that sort of thing for you.”

Ridley scowled. “I won't send any people into harm's way if I can just as well do the job myself.”

“You bloody well will if you know what's good for you,” M spat back. “You're not a solo operative anymore, Jack. If I wanted you to do that sort of thing I would've kept you as a double-oh. You're the DSOE, and you're far too valuable to risk getting killed pulling some stupid stunt. Do I make myself clear?”

Ridley gritted his teeth. “Crystal.”

“Then I think you need to be off,” M crossed her arms. “I suppose you have some idea of how to get to the Philippines without tipping off WRAITH?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “As a matter of fact, I think I have an idea.”
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
User avatar
Shroom Man 777
Global Mod
Posts: 4637
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:09 pm
Contact:

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

REPROBATE COLONIALS! And dame Judy Den- I mean, Merryweather! Baroness!

Poor Quadiri, though. His TERROR TAPE wasn't as TERRORY and, yeah, maniacally evil as you'd expect and comes off more... well :(

Man, Jack. You're a total tool. Everyone from Sunday to goddamn M is on your ass for being so weak around girls. :D

And it occurs to me that after this, there's no clue as to what's going to happen next! The terrorists have been thwarted, Chandra's on the loose, there's a change of venue, who knows what's happened with Drake, and next stop, the Philippines!

It's gonna be glourious! :lol: :lol:
Image

"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
User avatar
Booted Vulture
Posts: 965
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 9:33 pm

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Booted Vulture »

Ah, Sunday Summers has got a soft spot for the boss really. Either that or she doesn't want to be stuck in close proximity to him after ratting him out.
Ah Brother! It's been too long!
User avatar
Shroom Man 777
Global Mod
Posts: 4637
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:09 pm
Contact:

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

It'd actually be nice to see the women who he has soft spots for end up showing him some of their, uh, soft spots too. I mean, like, you know, returning the favor and being nice to Jack Ridley. It'd be so sweet and kawaiis! ^___________^
Image

"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
User avatar
Shady
Posts: 117
Joined: Thu Aug 13, 2009 11:30 pm
Location: Sarajevo

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Shady »

For some reason I thought I had read this and that the story was already completed...turns out I was wrong. Heh, what a dumb ass. :P Anyway, I just read it all in one sitting, awesome stuff Siege, really awesome. The story keeps making nice turns and surprises - and I'm loving Jack, the man is...interesting, to say the least.

And man, can't wait to see what happens in the Philippines. Keep up the awesome mang. :D
It Is Better To Reign In Hell Than To Serve In Heaven!
User avatar
Ford Prefect
Posts: 957
Joined: Tue May 20, 2008 11:12 am

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Ford Prefect »

I couldn't help but notice some somewhat sloppy prose here and there; there were some occassionally awkward sounding turns of phrase. However, it is otherwise a superbly well paced action piece, which I enjoyed powering through over the last two days. Lots of fun in seeing Jack Ridley back in action, and I get the feeling that we're not done with the twists yet. I mean, why did Drake lie about the third nuke? That's a little suspicious, I think.
FEEL THESE GUNS ARCHWIND THESE ARE THE GUNS OF THE FLESHY MESSIAH THE TOOLS OF CREATION AND DESTRUCTION THAT WILL ENACT THE LAW OF MAN ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
User avatar
Siege
Site Admin
Posts: 2563
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Siege »

Reading back I actually agree with you on the sloppy prose bit--there's some definite evidence of rushing here. I might go over it sometime to rewrite bits and pieces in order to make it flow better... But really, knowing myself, I probably won't.
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
User avatar
Ford Prefect
Posts: 957
Joined: Tue May 20, 2008 11:12 am

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Ford Prefect »

Besides, we want the next chapter. :D
FEEL THESE GUNS ARCHWIND THESE ARE THE GUNS OF THE FLESHY MESSIAH THE TOOLS OF CREATION AND DESTRUCTION THAT WILL ENACT THE LAW OF MAN ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
User avatar
Siege
Site Admin
Posts: 2563
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: [Story] Exigent Circumstances

Post by Siege »

You'll have to wait for a bit :P. I'm rewriting parts of the story. The reworked version of Chapter 1 is up, although the changes there are only cosmetic.
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle

For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
Post Reply