Story [Unclassified] Mission File #1

[UNCLASSIFIED]




The underground casino was run by gangsters. Very serious gangsters. These guys definitely wouldn’t take no for an answer. Every SUV, van, or car these guys used carried small armories, and their guys were always packing.

Dean’s guys were all operators. If you think that they didn’t pack regularly, guess again.

The two bouncers at the front gate were easy to deal with. The gate was large enough to fit Wolf and Del just approached with hoods up, hands shoved in pockets. Wolf took the one on the left as Del rushed the one on the right. Wolf stuck a handheld taser to the bouncer’s neck as Del withdrew a loop of chain, balling it around his fist. His right hook hit the second guy in the nose, stunning him enough for Del took loop the chain around his neck and pull it tight, choking him into unconsciousness.

Dean and Gilan moved in when the two signaled clear. Each of them had concealed wrist and throat microphones and wireless ear pieces but they were being used minimally. The earbud was set deep within their ears, almost unnoticeable. It was only active whenever it was turned on. The microphones were wirelessly sewn into their jackets.

Each was also armed with a .45 ACP 1911 with tactical modifications. Extended magazine release, chrome lined barrel, fiber optic sights. Threaded barrels with suppressors in their jackets. If they had to pull triggers at all tonight, it was a sore night indeed.

Wolf grabbed one of the thug’s wrists and pressed a button on his wristband. The lock on the gate clicked nearly silently.

“Weapons check.” Dean breathed into his wrist microphone.

.45 1911 on his right thigh holster, where it wouldn’t shift around too much and sat right next to where his hand fell. In the small of his back, he had a Glock 18C. The single fire meant it could be used as a backup pistol, and the full auto could be used to spray down an area with 9mm, but not for very long. He had his SOG combat knife in a soft sheath on the inside of his left forearm, and his suppressor for his 1911 was in a specialized slot in his jacket. He had two magazines for each pistol, but the magazines for the Glock were extended to 30 rounds.

Wolf had an identical 1911, right thigh, and in his jacket in a specialized holster a Taurus Jury with .410 shotgun slugs. That would be used to blow out basic locks and door frames, and in a pinch a back-up sidearm. Del also had a Jury and a smoke canister, and Gilan had fully automatic CZ-75, with two 30 round extended magazines, along with a small C4 charge for anything the Juries couldn’t handle. Each of them also had a frag grenade.

Dean opened the door and the four filed in one by one.

The illicit casino was lavishly decorated, but Dean didn’t pay too much attention to the money that went into it. He was busy singling out guards and gangsters and gamblers.

He categorized them mentally. The gamblers were noisy, with expensive clothes and drinks. The guards had black suits with earwigs, a pistol on them, standing next to weapons lockers, with no drinks. The gangsters had all. Expensive clothes, drinks, gambling bids, and weapons.

“Avoid the guards. The office is on the far side with the two guards blocking the staircase. We’ll have to get past them.”

“Copy. Two moving towards staircase.”

“Three, distraction.” Dean commed.

Del tapped his wrist mic twice in acknowledgement as Gil moved towards the staircase.

“Four, stairs.” Wolf muttered.

“One, bar.”

Dean probably looked like a security guard, with his soft shell black jacket and thigh holster. But the security detail had suits compared to Dean’s black cargo pants black t-shirt and jacket. He noticed one of the guards watching him intently.

He shifted his nose then sneezed. “Tango has visual on One.” He breathed. Into his wrist after sliding his wrist across his nose.

“Tango visual on Two.”

“Four, hostile visual.”

“Three, distraction primed.”

Dean made a split second decision. “Execute.”

Then he waited.

Soon from the far side of the casino by the lottery section, there was a hissing noise, and the area began to bloom with green smoke.

Immediately there were cries and screams. The two guards that were guarding the staircase ran over to the source of the smoke.

“Go.”

Dean immediately disentangled himself from the confusion that was beginning to engulf the area. He slowly and subtly muscled his way to the stairs. He had slipped his suppressor out of his jacket and was holding it up his left sleeve. His hand hovered nearby his sidearm.

“Two and Four have broken visual contact. Headed towards stairs.”

“Copy. One to stairs.”

Dean turned and visually covered Wolf and Gil as they moved up the stairs two at a time. Del fought his way through the crowd, and took the steps three at a time. Dean followed suit. He jogged through the doors at the top and Gil shut them.

Each of them removed their sidearms and screwed on their suppressors. Wolf stacked on a corner, with Gil behind him. Del was behind Gil and Dean covered rear.

Gil tapped Wolf twice on the shoulder and they advanced. They got around the corner, and Dean immediately heard a 1911 spit a round followed by a body falling.

Del covered them and Dean walked backwards slowly. A 1911 spit two more rounds and another body slid down a wall. Dean tripped over something and saw it was a body spread eagle on the floor, a Jericho 941 on the ground next to the left hand.

A door they passed opened and Dean set his sights. A man in a tuxedo with a suppressed CZ Skorpion with a red dot stepped out, and Dean put three rounds in his chest. He slumped against the wall, his submachine gun clattering to the floor. Dean quickly holstered his sidearm and snatched up the Skorpion and, checking the chamber, magazine, and red dot, brought it to his shoulder and flicked it to semi automatic.

Another spit. Another as wumph as another body fell. Wolf. A 1911 went phut twice and two more bodies fell. Del slid his first magazine out of his 1911 and dropped it into his pocket, replacing it with his spare, and they kept moving along.

Another door opened and a guard stepped out with a micro Uzi. Dean let off five rounds with the Skorpion. Subsonic rounds, moving at a slower speed than supersonic rounds, are able to penetrate even class three body armor. The five rounds with moderate spread put the guard down.

They rounded another corner. Two more shots and then Wolf was replacing his magazine. Gil had been holding his fire so far.

Eventually Wolf muttered, “Door.”

Dean covered the rear as Gil removed a small black box, attaching it to the card reader to the right of the door. Gil then turned to accept the Skorpion from Dean as Dean drew the 1911 again. Del and Wolf wheeler to cover rear as Gilan and Dean stacked on the door.

Gilan clicked the button on the black box, and it whirred for a few seconds as the hacking tool shattered the encryption on the card reader.

It beeped three times, and Gilan kicked open the door.

Dean’s target was sitting at the head of a table with seven other people. There were about twenty guards in the room all moving to draw weapons.

Gil flicked the Skorpion to full auto and sprayed down four guards. Dean grabbed one standing right next to the door as he came through and put a round through his forehead. Spinning the corpse around to use the ballistic vest over his tuxedo as a shield, he systematically shot four more guards through the head, one round apiece. Before he finished the last one, he felt two rounds thump into the chest of his improvised shield without punching completely through.

Gil had transitioned to his own 1911, and took down two more before diving behind a table. Dean let down the slide on his 1911 to holster it, and reached for his back holster to draw the Glock 18C, flicked the selector to full and emptied all eighteen rounds, shredding another three guards.

Gil came up with his CZ Auto in hand and emptied the magazine. All four guards who had come up to fire their Jericho’s caught rounds and fell backwards.

All this while the table of eight had been at the center of the fire fight. Three were on the floor in pools of blood, one was slumped over from a headshot at the opposite end of the table from the target, and another was rolling around on the ground screaming.

Wolf and Del came, quickly sweeping corners. Del put two rounds through the key card reader and slammed the conference door shut. It locked a half second after.

“Mr. Samuel Hart.” Dean said with a sigh, sliding the Glock into his back holster again and picking up a Jericho 941. “Ignore all my calls, all my communications, and then rat me out to the CIA, only for me to end up right here, in your conference room, pistol in hand, a good chunk of your security forces dead, and you helpless?”

“You killed two innocent men and another is bleeding to death on the carpet to get to me you bastard!” Hart screamed.

“Don’t feed me the innocent bull****.” Dean snapped. “You and I both know they’re thieves, dealers, traffickers, and mobsters. They won’t be missed.”

The man rolling on the floor gurgled, and cried out, then was silent.

“Someone had to have heard the gunfire.” Gil said. “And we have a whole room of witnesses here.”

“So then let’s get to dealing.” Dean said, sitting down, after pushing the slumped corpse out of the end seat. “I want your access keys, codes, cards, whatever, to your arms vaults in Kazakhstan. I get it, we leave here unharmed, you live.”

Hart sighed. “No ransom? No revenge?”

Dean didn’t react. “The latter might occur if I don’t get what I want.”

Hart reached for the inside of his jacket, and Dean snapped the sights of the Jericho on his forehead. Hart put a hand up reassuringly and pulled out a wallet, tossing it onto the table in front of him. “That has everything you need. You should find plenty of AKs, 7.62, PKPs, Dishkas, anything you might need to outfit an army.”

Dean picked up the wallet, pistol still trained on Hart. He tossed the wallet to Wolf, who put it inside his jacket.

There were voices outside of the door to the conference room, and then something hit the door. It was reinforced, so the team had nothing to worry about for now.

“Any way you could call your cronies off?” Dean asked sarcastically.

Hart shrugged. “Comms don’t get it or out of this room. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He replied smugly.

Dean shot him. The two remaining at the table recoiled.

Hart fell out of the chair and on the floor. There was a neutral expression frozen on his face.

“Lets go.” Dean said, putting two rounds through one of the windows adorning the outside wall of the room, shattering it. He turned to cover the rear as Wolf, Del, and Gil made for the window, and vaulted over into the shrubbery below.

As Dean jumped out, there was a blast behind him as something blew through the door. He landed hard in the shrub he had selected and rolled out into the darkness of the night. When his eyes finally focused, he saw the team all had their frags in hand.

He took out his and called, “Pin.”

Each of them removed the pins on their grenade without letting go of the catch that would start the fuse. Dean counted to three out loud, and each of them threw their grenades at differing angles, policed their catches, and dashed for the fence, climbing up and over as the conference room windows blew. Then they were dashing for where their van was stashed.

Dean heard the doors to the casino open and suppressed rounds begin to fly. He turned and pulled the trigger four times on the Jericho in the direction of the entrance. If the neighborhood hadn’t woken up, they sure as hell were missing out on sleep now.

They ran by a Ford Focus parked on the side of the road right as a full auto stream of rounds swept it, missing the team entirely. The vehicle’s alarm started to wail.

They rounded a street corner and there was the van. Gil and Del ran to the respective front and passenger seats, and Wolf threw open the back door, holding it open for Dean. He hopped in, Wolf on his heels. On one of the seats were two AK-104s. Dean grabbed his, put the sling up and over his neck, and checked that the suppressor, scope, and angled grip were in place. Wolf also had his AK. Dean flicked his to full auto and set the sights.

A group of about a half dozen of the security guards came around the block, and Wolf and Dean let loose, the suppressed clack clack clack clack of the AKs keeping steady rhythm.

Down the street, the guards fell as the 7.62x39 rounds ripped into them. After a few seconds of firing, both of the rifles clicked empty, Fortunately, all of the guards were down, the subsonic rounds ripping apart their body armor.

Dean and Wolf slammed the rear doors shut, and there was a shriek as Gilan floored the gas, escaping into the night of the suburbs.

 

Interesting

 

I mean, there’s still the other classified file...