Post by Trask on Jul 31, 2006 19:01:42 GMT -5
A mile away from the chaos that was NovaTeX, Bolivar Trask sat at ease within the confines of a heavily armoured truck. On the outside it looked like nothing more than an eighteen-wheeler long haul. On the inside it housed the sharpest cutting edge technology money could buy.
Eight massive monitors displayed identical readouts and each video feed was currently filled with thick, grey sky and slashing rain. Trask didn't smile. He watched coldly as the images on four of the feeds dipped to one side, displaying the Baltimore skyline, before swinging level again.
They were on their way.
People were dying down there. Innocent people. American citizens.
They needed to get there faster.
"Alpha four, give me a visual on the NovaTeX complex," he said into the hands-free.
One of the feeds swiveled obligingly and focused on the approaching building. From this height the fleeing people looked like nothing more than a rampaging army of ants and the burning warehouse like a party bonfire. Down in the streets he was all too aware of how it would look and feel.
Trask knew war.
By all accounts fully half of Bravo team had been wiped out in the explosion. Good men. Good soldiers. They had died doing their duty. That didn't make it any easier.
"Adverse weather conditions are slowing our approach sir," the chopper pilot reported through the crackling line.
"Understood pilot, but I'm sure I don't have to remind you that people are dying down there, get to it."
"Affirmative sir."
The men were doing an admirable job of navigating the massive Chinook through the storm as it was, but Trask wanted them there now. In fact he wanted them there ten minutes ago, but Bolivar Trask had little time for retrospection.
Two long minutes later and the line crackled back into life.
"We are over the target now sir."
This was the moment.
Six years of research and development, two years of planning, building, testing and modifications. Two months of tactical planning. It all came down to this.
He thumbed the comms switch.
"Alpha team, you have a go."
Eight massive monitors displayed identical readouts and each video feed was currently filled with thick, grey sky and slashing rain. Trask didn't smile. He watched coldly as the images on four of the feeds dipped to one side, displaying the Baltimore skyline, before swinging level again.
They were on their way.
People were dying down there. Innocent people. American citizens.
They needed to get there faster.
"Alpha four, give me a visual on the NovaTeX complex," he said into the hands-free.
One of the feeds swiveled obligingly and focused on the approaching building. From this height the fleeing people looked like nothing more than a rampaging army of ants and the burning warehouse like a party bonfire. Down in the streets he was all too aware of how it would look and feel.
Trask knew war.
By all accounts fully half of Bravo team had been wiped out in the explosion. Good men. Good soldiers. They had died doing their duty. That didn't make it any easier.
"Adverse weather conditions are slowing our approach sir," the chopper pilot reported through the crackling line.
"Understood pilot, but I'm sure I don't have to remind you that people are dying down there, get to it."
"Affirmative sir."
The men were doing an admirable job of navigating the massive Chinook through the storm as it was, but Trask wanted them there now. In fact he wanted them there ten minutes ago, but Bolivar Trask had little time for retrospection.
Two long minutes later and the line crackled back into life.
"We are over the target now sir."
This was the moment.
Six years of research and development, two years of planning, building, testing and modifications. Two months of tactical planning. It all came down to this.
He thumbed the comms switch.
"Alpha team, you have a go."
