August 3, 2018

Hong Kong, Democratic Republic of China

Paul Calabrese looked through the scope of his old Mauser M93 sniper rifle. It was at least 20 years old, but it was still an excellent weapon, and all it’s modern modifications made it truly a deadly piece of weaponry. It’s only downfall was the fact that it was a box-clip, bolt action rifle. Then again, anything to maintain accuracy was useful, as Paul was an expert sniper. It was his God-given skill, and after years of service in UNATCO without more than a communicator augmentation and a biomonitor, he was itching to try out some of those fancy augmentations that the other agents had. Maybe they’d give him a wrist cannon, or optical mods. Perhaps a cardiovascular suppressor would help him keep a steady hand when sniping. He remembered what his CO, Fitzpatrick, had told him. All he needed was one more mission under his belt and he would enter a new program with cutting-edge technology. It occurred to him that all those augmentations might affect his private life, but even so, the Security of the State is a higher authority than a Labido. He analyzed the situation.

Hong Kong hadn’t changed since the last time he had visited. The streets were choked with people, neon lights, and blatant advertisements. The Triad leaders had picked a good place to meet, knowing that any resistance by the authorities would probably result in civilian deaths. They didn’t, however, anticipate that his enemies would be using glaser rounds full of birdshot. The special rounds couldn’t punch through even a sheet of corrugated tin, but if hit, the target would die instantly, the pellets mushrooming in his body in a red explosion. The biggest problem still existed, however. If the insertion team blew their cover prematurely, the leaders would slip out of the area like shit through a goose.

“Heads up, Calabrese, the team’s moving in now” cracked one of the attack coordinators. “I’ll give you radio relay so that you have a tag on the situation. Johnson’s got a camera hooked to a HUD, so you should be able to see what’s going on. You got your screen up?”

“Not yet.” He slipped on his motorcycle helmet, a popular term for the standard headgear used by UNATCO operatives in these kinds of missions. It was a high-tech ballistic helmet with a heads-up display so that you could presumably see things in infrared, heat sensor, visual, or ultraviolet, supposing any of them worked at the instant you tried them. On top of that, a clean shot was harder to attain while wearing a helmet. He flicked a switch on the right side of the visor and a hallway appeared in front of his left eye. “Got it.”

“We’re going in. Johnson, if you fail in capturing him, then draw him into the open. I don’t want a shootout in there, okay?”

“Affirmative, Colonel” a voice lapped in a cool English accent. “Two contacts, main door. Automatic weapons.”

“Gas grenade, Connolly.”

“Roger That.” A black object on a flat, rolling device was then rolled into the hall. Gaining speed with the help of a motor, the grenade then stopped just between the two guards and detonated, silently spewing gas through the hallway. The guards didn’t even know what hit them. They dropped to the ground, unconscious. All to plan. Black figures then advanced toward the door. All of them were wearing the motorcycle helmets, and they looked like something in a science fiction movie. Their legs and arms were covered not in fatigues, but in a form-fitting, tight suit that farcically made the entire team look like some military ballet. The uniform wasn’t without purpose, however, as the cloth was made of thermoptic camouflage, that, when activated, formed near perfect invisibility. Two teams approached the doors from opposite sides of the hall, stacking up by the door.

“Open door and mirror for threats.” At this point, a female member of the team, noticeable only by her slight figure and the swell of her breasts, pulled out a camera wand, opened the door, and looked into the room.

“No tangos in sight. All clear on visual.”

“Team A, bang and clear. Team B, provide cover.”

The lead camera then advanced through the door. Just as the interior of a luxurious apartment materialized, the radio burst with static and screeches. At the same time, the picture went out, making only black and white fizz available on his HUD. Small vibrations shook the area, and he noticed that around the target building, all the nearby lights had burnt out. Five seconds later, radio messages came screaming in.

“Shots fired! Shots Fired! We’re taking heavy fire!”

“We’ve got four men down, multiple contacts inside target area. Looks like a mild EMP field has materialized.” One of the surveillance officers assessed.

“This is team B, man down, man down!”

“Too many casualties! Pull back to defensive positions!” Yelled the commander’s voice.

Paul knew what had happened. The Triad had anticipated the raid and had rigged the target area with EMP grenades. He winced at the thought that all those robotically augmented agents were now likely dead. By now half the entire Hong Kong underworld was probably rushing out to their cars.

“This is Mobile 1, we have multiple operatives down, unknown fatalities. All snipers, fire upon tagged targets on sight, repeat, fire on any and all tagged or hostile targets in sight!”

Paul scanned the ground of the target area and put his crosshairs right over the most visible fire escape. That’s where it’s going to happen, he thought to himself. Suddenly, a rifle crack sounded and a chunk of concrete was blasted from the nearby window frame. Paul ducked instinctively. There was an enemy sniper in the vicinity.

“Enemy snipers, enemy snipers! Provide assistance!”

A voice with a Russian accent sounded. “This is sniper 2-C. Affirmative. I have contact.”

A rifle cracked dully and distant, marking the shot.

“Got him.”

Paul looked through his scope again and saw the fire escape. A thin Asian man with slicked hair ran out of the main door. Paul fired, seeing a spray of dark red hit the nearby wall. The man behind him took cover by the door. He would be next. Spraying cover fire around the area, it was only a matter of time before a civilian was hit. He pulled back the bolt, ejected the empty shell, and thrust in a new one. He aimed toward the man’s wrist, took a half breath, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked upward, but when it came back down the view of the area returned. A large spray of blood was on the floor nearby, and he could see a man grabbing his right wrist, or what was left of it. The severed hand lay on the ground nearby, and Paul wished to finish the man after what had happened. He loaded another shot into the barrel. That gives me three more shots, he thought to himself.

“This is 3-C. Two casualties, one neutralized, one severely wounded.” He calmly said, with a hint of anger in his voice.

“This is sniper 1-B. Main target spotted. He’s coming out the rear exit, ground level.”

“Take the shot, 1-B.”

“Negative. Too many civilians in vicinity.”

“I see him.” Remarked Paul, seeing a stocky Asian man with glasses, slicked hair, and a small pistol came into view.

“Target acquired.” Paul said, almost croaking through his near empty lungs. He took a breath, then exhaled it halfway.

The man was running toward a car on the street. By now, civilians were running around in chaos, but a clear opening immediately formed where the Triad leader and his thugs were. His suit was a bright yellow, having been tagged by spies earlier in the day. He squeezed the trigger, anticipating the kickback. The bullet didn’t fire!, Pulling back the bolt, he manually yanked out the bullet, tossing the useless thing on the nearby floor. Then, after loading another shot, he scanned the area, anger and stress welling up inside him and turning him into a raging animal behind the scope. Where are you, you fat bastard? He thought to himself as he scanned the area in a blur. Suddenly, he spotted the group, then the man, right by an idling Mercedes. The Mercedes was likely bulletproof, and even if it wasn’t, the weak glaser rounds wouldn’t even penetrate the roof. He had to take the shot now. Suddenly, a shot rang out. It was Sniper 1-B. The shot strayed, which sometimes occurs, but he couldn’t think of a worse time for it to happen. Just as it missed its mark by a mere foot, the target ducked out of view behind an armored door. Paul thought quickly. He couldn’t get a clean shot, and 1-B would take some time to reload, so he looked for something, anything nearby that might help. Then he saw it. One man had his submachine gun out and was absent-mindedly aiming it toward the target. Paul waited for a clean shot and squeezed the trigger, with just the right results. The thug took a shot to the head and immediately convulsed, seizing his muscles and squeezing the trigger of his weapon. Several shots belched out of the gun, creating a column of shots from the floor up into the car. Nobody could have survived standing there, he thought, They’d have been sawed in half by bullets.

“Confirm kill, sniper 1-B. Is the target down?”

“Target neutralized. Definite kill. He’s D.O.A. Repeat, target is D.O.A. Police units, move in.”