October 30, 2018

The descent to Earth was far less eventful than the initial approach, but it took Paul a moment to see what Kreiger was so excited about. It was good enough that both shots hit their intended targets flawlessly, but the illusion of proximity was broken as he soon found that the shot was taken from nearly a mile away. As the helicopter curved and became parallel with the waterline and Roosevelt Avenue, a steady, buffeting turbulence marked the fact that they were nearing their destination. An electric hum sounded and prompted Paul to spy a pair of wheels pop out from the fuselage, where they had been concealed. He assumed there was another at the rear, just below the tip of the tail.

As they finally descended toward the street, Paul noticed white sheets of cloth posted vertically down the street. He smiled in mild relief, thankful that the Police had acted so well that they could have even put up Kevlar screens to protect civilians. In the other direction, he spotted a troupe of New York\x92s finest wielding riot batons and holding off rubbernecks. It looked as if a wall of orderly light blue and a palette of mixed colors had clashed to form a strange sort of chaotic order. The revolving lights and flashing strobes of emergency vehicles filled the air, and Paul noticed what the crowd was suddenly clamoring and pointing about. About 50 feet away, by a large and heavily armored mobile command center, was a small congregation of FBI SWAT officers in full tactical gear, as well as four hybrids. The group was conversing, speaking about unknown issues and attempting to relax by smoking cigarettes. Paul had given up the habit long ago. It wasn\x92t relaxing, it wasn\x92t good for you, it wasn\x92t satisfying\x85 it was just pointless and expensive.

Turning back to the crowd, he noticed that the front of the line was, for the most part, not civilians, but rather a barricade of hot dog vendors. With a slight smirk, he saw the drama of capitalism and competition among the impromptu food court, foodstuffs and sodas being frantically sold and passed like notes in the stock market. The vendors made it here before the media? He thought, surprised. Only in New York.

Suddenly, the crowd clamored and cheered, but Paul could have sworn he heard some jeering and booing mixed into the sounds. He hadn\x92t expected such a welcome as he got off the helicopter, but after looking around he realized it wasn\x92t for him. At the edge of the cordon, two teams of five SWAT officers with James and Weston at the lead entered the courtyard, closely watched by other officers on numerous video screens. Ducking down, he was led away from the helicopter by a human hand to a crowd of counterterrorists. Bumping into one, he looked up, following a heavyset figure covered in equally bulky body armor. The peak of the black mass was a ballistic helmet, the same kind that Paul likened to Motorcycle helmets, and from behind it looked exactly the same as a normal human\x92s. The plates and pads of protective material looked almost chitinous, and aside from the tail, which was wrapped in KV-3 cloth, the person looked practically human. However, it wasn\x92t, he quickly realized. It was Sergei, dressed for war. The suit looked like it could handily withstand a point blank shotgun blast. He turned, feeling the slight collision, and spoke in an almost surprised manner.

"What the? Oh. I didn\x92t hear you coming with all this commotion. Congratulations on that shot. Gave us just enough time to take out the weapon permanently." He looked around, almost as confused as Paul was. "Is there always this much commotion during an urban engagement?"

Paul smirked, tucking some fur on his neck back into his collar. "Sergei, this is New York. To these people, bank robberies and terrorist incidents are regular entertainment. Besides, tonight\x92s a sci-fi feature with us around."

Breaking off from his normally serious tone, he smiled as he remembered something. "Yes, I guess that\x92s true. This is the first time Americans have seen us?"

"This is the first time anyone outside the program\x92s seen us."

"Wow. They seem amazingly accepting. In Russia, things might have been different. Some people still think wolves are inherently evil. One thing\x92s for sure, I\x92m not going back to that place."

"You\x92re saying you don\x92t like Russia?"

He nodded.

"That\x92s strange, you always struck me as the patriotic type."

"I have a loyalty to my people, for I can sympathize. They continue to endure hardships after 27 years of recovery from communism, environmental disaster, famine, and widespread corruption. The only people that have control there are the mafias and the large corporations, of which I worked for the latter." He paused and reduced his smile at a painful thought before changing the subject. "The building was rigged with the shoddiest explosives I\x92ve seen in a long time. Very amateur stuff. High incendiaries, of course, but not much shrapnelizing material. I used thermite charges to set them off simultaneously and blast out the doors, so now the teams can go in."

"Anybody get hurt?"

"No, but the building\x92s gonna need a paint job and a shitload of screen doors." Both began to laugh. Paul hadn\x92t heard Sergei joke much before. Sergei turned around, showing a bit of anxiety. "Hey Paul, your brother\x92s team is about to make entry. We should take a close look at the screens."

"You sound worried, Sergei. What\x92s wrong?"

"Your brother has a reputation for being too soft on terrorists. Sometimes that has a toll on our operatives."

"Really? Both you and I are new members. How did you get that idea?"

"Well, did you think everyone would tell you that your brother isn\x92t that popular? You can see the implications of that."

Paul grew a bit agitated, but not personally angry with Sergei. "Listen, I know he\x92s conservative when it comes to fighting, but he values human life. James isn\x92t a coward, he\x92s a hero."

Sergei carefully chose his words. "I can understand that, but you must remember that first rule of urban combat. Aim low and fire, and take your man down, \x91cause he\x92ll do the same to you."

Paul pondered his words. He was right, though the answer was not always what he wanted to hear. Terrorists had to be dealt with according to their violations, and this kind of frontal assault on the United Nations would not be taken lightly. "Where\x92s Amand\x85"

"Shh. They\x92ve just shut off the power. The entry teams are going in." Both eyed the screen carefully as if it were truly through their own eyes. Multiple view screens shot from six different soldiers, each looking directly ahead through the tritium sights of Heckler and Koch MP7\x92s, the standard .224 caliber submachine gun used by FBI SWAT officers. Two of the views peered across the muzzles of standard UNATCO AR-22\x92s, chambered with the 5.52 mm bullet in a 40 round drum. Pressed up against the right sides of two canine muzzles. Both were covered in extended gas masks that carefully covered the muzzles of the two without constricting speech. The camera labeled "Cptn. J. Calabrese" sunk down, covering for two officers as they approached in standard two by two cover formations. Paul turned to Sergei, who seemed satisfied at the group\x92s actions.

"Are they on our frequency?"

"Shh. Yes."

The figures, dressed in tight black fatigues and motorcycle helmets approached the door, quickly stacking up off to the sides. One pulled out a flashbang, carefully peering around the corner with intent to throw it.

"Team A, in position."

"Team B, in position."

"Roger that, team B. Hold what you\x92ve got. Provide cover. Team A, enter when ready."

"As an element, mirror for suspects."

Immediately, the man just in front of James pulled an optical wand from his vest, scanning the interior as best as possible. A different voice replied. "One contact, armed."

An uneasy pause ensued as James tipped his head to the officer holding the flashbang. "Go dymanic! Bang and clear!" With a sidelong heave, he tossed the canister into the room, listening to the clank of bouncing metal. A brilliant flash soon sounded, accompanied by a tremendous explosive clap, and as the screen in front of him switched to infrared vision, the returning image revealed a single terrorist, armed with an M-16, holding his forearm over his eyes.

"UNATCO! Get your hands up! Do it! Do it now!"

"Down on your knees, asshole!"

The man, surprised to no end, immediately dropped his weapon and raised his palms, still unable to see clearly. "Aright! Alright! Don\x92t shoot!"

"Red team, cuff him! Blue team, defend this area."

With a tense weapon aimed down a long corridor, Paul carefully aimed down the hall.

A calm voice sounded. "Suspect secure."

"Talk, this is team A. Suspect secure, and ready for transport."

"Roger that, entry team. Trailers incoming."

"As an element, prepare to execute preset plan. Minimize casualties whenever possible."

"Entry team, this is Talk. Team B on standby. Awaiting your signal."

"All units, execute plan\x85 NOW!"

Almost immediately, a second team was heard rushing in from the opposite end. All ten monitoring screens began moving and panning around in an almost incomprehensible tangle. As cameras caught the actions on an individual or a team basis, one could see the first story of the building overrun by force. One pair of officers encountered a suspect, and the surprise of the attack frightened him into firing toward the men. As concrete powder sprayed nearby, the officers\x92 cameras jolted slightly and revived with an MP7 raised to fire.

The Heckler and Koch MP7, or "Machine Pistol 7", was descended from the classic MP5, a nine millimeter Submachine gun used widely by counterterrorists and law enforcement everywhere until 2011. After the MP6 project was scrapped, the MP7 was conceived as a replacement for its weaker predecessor. It carried the powerful .224 pistol round, an English innovation that took a standard .45 caliber pistol casing and honed it down to a .22 caliber bullet. The decreased size and increased power gave an incredible punch, penetrating all types of body armor, save KV-3, and that was only if one had fifteen layers or more of the powerful cloth.

The weapon itself was not too different from the original MP5. It still had an old fashioned configuration with the magazine placed in front of the trigger, and the closed bolt operation, the dampened hammer, an ingenious gyroscopic system, and the balance of the weapon reduced recoil as much as possible. Despite this, however, the notable kickback resulted in a slightly unsteadier firearm than the MP5. This was only a slight drawback, however, and the reputable maker as well as the gun\x92s ruggedness and deadly efficiency quickly made it popular.

This one was loaded with hydroshock rounds that flowered out like propellers. As the officer took aim, a perfect red laser line streamed up the man\x92s body, stopped at his head, and exploded in a grayish-red spatter as a triple shot burst ripped through his skull, killing him instantaneously. The whole incident took less than a second, more time than it took for the man to crumble into a floor sprinkled in blood and ransacked papers.

Through another camera, that of his brother, he saw the canine muzzle of a UNATCO operative paired with the long barrel of the assault rifle. Carefully alternating between a cover position, then movement, then another cover position, they reached the top of a flight of stairs and waited at the door. Looking to one of the SWAT officers who was holding a gas grenade in hand, Paul spoke lucidly into the microphone.

"Hold what you've got!"

Saying this, he aimed his AR-22 around the corner, using the attached tactical camera/scope as mirror around the corner. Seeing two threats, he called out through an external speaker.

"This is UNATCO! Drop your weapons and you won't be fired upon!"

Hearing the loud canvas rip of a Chinese CK-107, he gestured for the man to throw the gas grenade. Another lobbed a flashbang into the hall, and as things became clouded with CS gas and flashbang exhaust, the image automatically became infrared. Through the camera, Paul saw James and his second fire a few long streams of shots down the hall, the automatic reticules of the weapons flawlessly following the exact point that the weapon was aimed. With the tremendous chatter and tear of automatic weapons fire, a terrific muzzle flare erupted from the weapons. When the firing stopped, another terrorist lay down and still another was wounded. The M-16, Paul noticed, fell to the ground in an almost inaudible clatter. The team carefully moved down the hall, inspecting each and every doorway briefly before finally approaching a pair of double doors protected by velvet rope. Moving the ornate barriers out of the way, The SWAT members stacked up by the door, two on one side, two on the other. Paul took the liberty of fastening a C2 breaching charge on the door, a simple sticky tab with a large flashing light. He joined the rest of the crew as Team B approached from an opposite stairway.

"This is Team B. We're in position."

"Team B, provide cover. Team A, all set?"

"Affirmative."

"As an element\x85 GO!"

At that very second, the door seemed to flash in a bright orange and completely give way. It split in four parts like a slab of slate, something he had never seen before in a wooden door, and blasted into the room with minimal splinters. Following the door immediately were three flashbangs, each landing in separate areas of the meeting chamber. As the brilliant flash and horrible "Ka-POW" of the disorientation grenades sounded, operatives neatly hurried through the doorway, fanning out into the room. James ran straight in, the Red leader took the left with an abrupt turn, the Blue leader took the right, and the two rearguards took intermediate positions, each making a five pointed fan into the room. A second later, all the men were in the chamber, seeing a cluster of hostages and two men shielding their eyes from the disorienting blast. Paul began to pray. If the conditions were good, the team would have one more second to act.

That one second was all they needed. Aiming directly at one of the terrorist's heads, James squeezed off a triple round burst, generating a muzzle flash and a spray of blood behind the three holes in the man's head. Another terrorist fired at random to where he thought the sound had come from, but he was off be several meters and was met by three .224 bullets in his neck, chest, and upper arm. The last terrorist didn't even know that the first had already fallen when he got his, and his proximity to the hostages meant that the unlucky people were sprayed in an unusually large amount of blood. The man took some time to fall, the blood pouring out of the three fist-sized holes in his chest, and after the empty brass came clinking down on the hard floors, the man crumbled to his knees and fell at last.

Paul looked around at the amazing efficiency of the operation as almost all the terrorists were then arrested, rather than the sights he had personally witnessed in the meeting chamber. He fully understood the rationale for the carnage, however. Paul knew that with hostages at stake, one couldn\x92t take chances with arresting people, and with such a blitzed attack, quick kills were the only means of dispatching someone if necessary. Almost as fast as the raid had begun, it was over, and without a single casualty on the insertion team. For a few moments, Paul looked at the screens, dazed at the amazing efficiency of the operation.

An ecstatic Sergei burst in, his firm figure almost smashing up against his back. "Calabrese! Did you see that??"

"Every second of it, but I still can\x92t believe it."

"We\x92re already getting reports that none of the hostages have been hurt! They're a bit shaken up and need some new underwear, but they're fine otherwise!"

"What about terrorists?"

"What about them?"

"How many were killed?"

"Out of the remaining thirteen we counted\x85 five, I believe. One in the first floor, one on the ascent, and three in the conference hall."

"And the team?"

"They\x92re coming out with the hostages right now. UNATCO troops have already filled in the gap and are running through the building with a fine toothcomb."

"Amazing. I didn\x92t think my brother was such a brilliant tactitioner."

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind, that of John Verkerke, and it wasn\x92t his earpiece. "He wasn\x92t."

Paul turned around, somewhat shocked that the human had approached him without his knowledge. "Colonel Verkerke\x85 Sir." He snapped an impromptu salute, followed immediately by Sergei.

"You\x92ve done good work, men, both of you. You\x92ll be rewarded soon enough, but for now I\x92d like to speak with you Paul."

Paul stepped forward and raised his ears to strain for John\x92s voice. It wasn\x92t that the man was quiet, but that the clamor was so loud. Verkerke turned to Sergei in an irritated manner. "This is a private conversation, Sergeant, you\x92ll get yours soon enough."

Sergei, slightly embarrassed, saluted, "Yes Sir"red, about faced, and shrunk into the crowd.

"Let\x92s get out of his zoo, shall we? Come on, we\x92ll talk in that car." He quickly pointed out an unmarked Escapade and walked toward it, closely followed by Paul.

Once in the car, Verkerke got in the rear seat and scooted across, followed by Paul. "Close the door, lieutenant." He did so. "Good. Now I\x92m going to be brief about this." He leaned forward, almost making himself look taller, but more showing his less than friendly tone. "You don\x92t like me, Calabrese. You think I\x92m an incompetent twit, a pointy-haired boss, a man more interested in catering for the foolish American Social Elite than preserving the lives of soldiers. I\x92m right, aren\x92t I?"

Paul confidently and carefully answered. "Perhaps."

"Good. Because I think you\x92re a softie, a flower child, a hippie who thinks that everyone should live until they\x92re at least 120 and hold hands and sing show tunes and live in peace and harmony. Well I\x92ll let you in on something, kid. I planned that assault, not James. I was the one to think that a simultaneous surprise assault would result in fewer terrorist casualties, and guess what, I was right. Had we gone in any other way, we\x92d have lost hostages and terrorists at no benefit to us. As for the five dead terrorists, did you happen to notice the ten dead UNATCO troops? They gave their lives to fight against the terrorist menace and I was not going to let them die in vain, you understand?"

Paul caught his point. He wondered how the man could have known, but amazingly he was right. Suddenly, he understood this complex, outwardly simple officer. He had to make everyone happy. He had to satisfy the people out for blood while at the same time preserving life for the people who wanted peace. His entire career, this man had to execute operations and get blamed by everyone for being either too soft or too rough. He was trapped, and the only place he could go was the middle.

"Sir, I\x85"

"I\x92m not through yet, lieutenant. I know you prefer a bloodless assault, but you have to understand that this is the way things really work. I understand that sniping is a noble pursuit in this line of work, but you have to remember what decisions I have to make. I don\x92t just have to satisfy people. I also have to convince terrorists that they can\x92t use human shields to get whatever they want. People die, Paul, and not always for the best reasons, but this line of work it\x92s not a matter of how many people die, but who dies. Now, I\x92ve done enough, let\x92s hear your side of the story."

"Sir, I\x92m sorry. I never understood because I guess I never tried. I\x92m not afraid to kill someone, but I won\x92t do it on a whim. When someone\x92s given the chance to live, I feel it\x92s more noble and true to our purpose: to serve and protect."

Verkerke pulled a smooth silver bottle from his coat. "You know, you\x92re just like your brother, only smarter\x85 and more honest. We could use more people like you. These days, it\x92s always a small comfort to have someone you can trust." He took a swig from the narrow mouth of the bottle, which emitted a powerful alcoholic odor that slightly stung his nose. "Want some?"

"What kind is it?"

"Johnnie Walker."

"Sure, if you don\x92t mind me touching it with my mouth."

"I don\x92t care. I should get used to it. Hell, I\x92m going to be working with you guys for the next four years. Besides, canine mouths are cleaner than humans\x92, right?"

Paul took the bottle from his colonel\x92s hand. "Of course." He smiled, swigging the elixir briefly. A burning trail of fire blazed down his throat and warmed him from inside. He trembled slightly at the sensation and hissed.

John laughed heartily and slipped the bottle from Paul\x92s hand. "Now it\x92s sterile for sure, eh?"

Paul hoarsely replied. "That\x92s strong stuff! What did you cut it with, kerosene?"

"Actually, there\x92s this famous Scandinavian vodka\x85 150 proof."

"Jesus, colonel. If this is your reward for a job well done, I don\x92t want to see you really mad."

"That\x92s your bonus for a job well done. We treat our people well here. Now, I might just be a nice guy and let you off for the rest of the evening?"

"Yes sir! Thank you very much!"

Stepping out of the car, he shut the car door and flipped the plastic chit in his hand, seeing the face of good old Teddy Roosevelt emblazoned on the back. The dollar was weaker in these tough times, but it was still versatile currency with some clout. 1000 dollars. It was definitely a good incentive.

Amanda approached, now in a UNATCO tightsuit with a tactical vest patched with ribbed body armor panels. She was cradling a specially designed ballistic helmet with her right arm and was tossing back her hair. Just as she looked at Paul, she grinned and rapidly approached him, hugging him with unusual strength.

"We did it, Paul! That was amazing!"

Paul, a bit surprised, looked stepped back a bit. "Yes, it went really well I think. I was a bit worried for you. What happened?"

"Well, after you took that shot, Verkerke directed a man with a GEP gun to fire into the office. We wouldn\x92t have been able to take out that gun if you hadn\x92t worked so well."

He paused, thinking about that ungodly thunderous crack. "I\x92m glad to see I\x92m appreciated. What happened next?"

"Well, It was strangely quick and uneventful, except for the fireworks. You don\x92t need to hear about that. All that\x92s important is that the mission is an overwhelming success."

"But what about the Ambrosia shipment? What\x92s going to happen about that?"

"We don\x92t rightly know. I\x92ve checked the surveillance tapes. They disappeared near Castle Clinton, but we haven\x92t found a trace of them after that point. I\x92m sure daybreak will bring something important."

"That might be too late. By then, it may be distributed all over the city. Believe me, I know, I\x92ve lived here. Things always happen quickly."

Hollins seemed a bit disappointed now that he had put it in a different perspective. "So you\x92re saying that this entire operation was just an FAC distraction and that it was useless?"

Paul suddenly realized that he had ruined the mission for her. "No, I\x92m not saying that, it\x92s just that we need to act now." He remembered his promise to Dana, his leave, his opportunity to stay with her. Would he request dealing with the situation or keep his promise? No, that was a foolish question. Dana was all that was important. He would keep his promise to her, call her, and meet her back at Reagan Hall.

He looked into Hollins\x92 eyes and suddenly realized why it was so tough for him to leave his job so often. His fiancée was still in his arms, to a certain extent. The smile in her face, the look in her eyes, her hair\x85 she was almost exactly like Dana in every aspect of her mentality. It was as if her mirror personality had been placed in the same career as him. The stunning truth clawed at his soul: He missed Dana, and Hollins was the only person who could help thwart his desire. He turned away, swiping his hands from hers. How could he be falling for\x85 a kangaroo? He was engaged, for Christ\x92s sake, and how he was falling in love with someone not even of the human species was unknown to him. He looked at his hands and realized the folly of his opinion. He wasn\x92t even human himself.

"I\x92m sorry, Amy, it\x92s just that we\x92ve done enough for a night, but our job isn\x92t really done. I didn\x92t want to make this look like a dead-end mission. Not for you."

She looked at him, knowing what he was feeling. "Paul, you ever have that feeling that you\x92re absolutely certain you know what someone else is thinking, like you have a sixth sense?"

Paul spoke candidly with a smile. "Ever since the shift, yes."

"Maybe that\x92s what makes animals better than humans. They only fight out of necessity because they understand each other." She paused, Paul\x92s head drooping down, and raised her hand to stroke the short, thick fur on his head. He felt her soft touch on his ears as she smoothly ran over them with her fingers. "I think it\x92s perfectly fine to love Dana, Paul. I have to admit, we have a sort of kinship, but as briefly as I\x92ve seen you two together I know you two have chemistry."

Paul looked up with a sidelong grin and drooped his head again, this time contemplatively. "You know a fool in love when you see one, Amy."

"Why not? I majored in Psychology at Oxford."

He thought for a moment before looking up to meet her eyes. "Hollins, do you really think she\x92ll take me in after all the crap I\x92ve given her?"

"I don\x92t know, Paul. Even as a woman and a head shrinker, it\x92s hard to say. She won\x92t be faithful to you forever if you keep on putting this job ahead of your relationship. I\x92m a bit embarrassed to say it now, but I overheard your argument."

"You what??"

"She\x92s right, you know. You have to stand up for yourself. If you drift from her, she\x92ll drift from you. To tell you the truth, it makes me think about things, and I\x92m not even engaged."

Paul thought about the mistakes he had made. It was a miracle that after two months without contact she still had the willpower to stay with him. He looked at his furred, clawed hands and thought, how could Dana even begin to love a monster like me?

Hollins had taught him one thing that night. Dana was truly concerned for him. He had made too many mistakes; losing California, losing a simple civilian job, losing his humanity\x85 one thing was for sure, he was not going to lose her. As Hollins turned away, her broad, solid tail waved back and forth slightly with the movement of her legs.

"Amy."

She turned, resting on her tail. "Yes?"

"Thanks."

With a sincere grin, she began to turn away and craned her neck around to properly dismiss him. "Anytime."