//------------------------------// // The Memo // Story: Rainbow Six // by Eagle //------------------------------// “There are no compacts between lions and men, and wolves and lambs have no concord.” -Homer Paris, France 1998 “Team Two is moving into position at the bank. Team One, you ready at the offices?” “Team One is in position to rescue hostages held on the second floor of the government building, snipers are in over watch.” “Ok, Covington. Chavez, you ready yet?” “Ready for your go, Six,” The city of lights was known for having all manner of attractions; from the Tower to the Arc. Today two more, less extravagant, buildings were added to that list. One was a large, white Paribas bank; the other was a two story office, flat roof and perfectly square, a few miles away. The event that drew all the news cameras to these two today was their seizure, along with all inside, by two groups of armed gunmen. They had no masks and carried nothing larger than pistols, and were split up five per building. The French police had been the first on the scene, followed predictably by the news cameras, which they kept at a distance. Between the chaos and noise of the nearby citizens, the police, and everyday hustle of the city, the terrorists never noticed the two groups of armed soldiers, clad in black body armor, move quietly into a position near both buildings. “Ok, we know both groups are in radio contact with each other. Noonan’s been unable to take them down from Hereford, so we’re taking both down at the same time to prevent any reaction.” “You sure you want to be here, Mr. C?” Team 2 leader Domingo ‘Ding’ Chavez asked. “You’re getting kind of old for this stuff.” John Clark, A.K.A. Rainbow Six, sighed; he knew Ding was joking, but it didn’t make it false. “I’m just here to oversee, Ding. You guys are the ones doing the work.” Chavez must have noticed the depression in his voice. “Hey, don’t worry, Six. You’re still a tough SOB.” “I know. Let’s just focus on the task at hand; Loiselle won’t be happy if we screw this one up.” “Waiting for your go.” “I was hoping that with the Soviets gone, I wouldn’t have to deal with Communist insurgents near as much,” Alistair Stanley, Rainbow Five, commented next to Clark, “but of course, there had to be some young, hot-headed kids who just couldn’t live with it.” Ever since 1994, the French Communist Party had been in a decline. In response, a handful of former, more radical, members decided to take matters into their own hands, grabbing guns and taking hostages at a bank and a few employees at a government office nearby. No real strategy beyond the usual requests of money, transport, etc. As with many of these events, they hadn’t thought about things beyond getting there, taking hostages, and making demands. “Amateurs,” Clark replied. “Bloody amateurs, indeed.” “Rifle Two-Two, this is Weber, I’m seeing some movement around the lobby. I think these guys are getting restless,” the German sniper reported from his position in a building across the street. “They know that they won’t succeed,” psychologist Dr. Paul Bellows stated over the radio from back at the base. “They were ambitious and thought they could get away with anything, now they know they’ll get nothing. I’ve tried playing on their fear, but they’ve stopped talking entirely. They may start resorting to executions.” “Ok, Six to teams, execute.” Ding and Eddie Price were both hiding to the side of the set of stairs that led up to the bank’s entrance. Both tossed in flashbangs to disorient the terrorists, as required; with yet another rookie mistake of leaving the large glass doors open. The only problem was that instead of entering right after, they’d have to jog up the steps to get a shot, wasting a couple precious seconds. In situations like these, seconds, even milliseconds, would decide the outcome of the entire operation. The sound of the two stun grenades going off signaled Team 2 to start their run up. Ding was a little worried, as the hostages were a little ways back, and by the time they got up and got a few shots off, the shock would have worn off enough to allow one of the two terrorists guarding them to use one as a human shield. These worries quickly vanished as the team’s two long-riflemen reported in. “Ready, Weber?” Team 2 sniper, Homer Johnston, asked his counterpart over the radio form another building nearby. “Eyes on the hostages; two guards. One is partially blocked from my view by a pillar, the other is in full sight.” “Ja, I’ve got the other one standing next to the pillar,” Weber replied. “Alright, when the team goes in, you take him; I’ll nail the other guy.” Six’s command of ‘execute’ was all the two needed to hear. Homer Johnston fired off a single shot at the guard watching the group huddled on the floor. The bullet went right into the center of the back of his head and into his brain, making it a clean kill. Weber fired his at the same time, with his also making impact on his target’s forehead. “Fine hit, Dieter.” “Yours, too,” Weber replied. The rest of the team made it to the top of the stairs and moved through the entrance, their suppressed Heckler & Koch MP-10 Sub Machineguns at the ready. Ding immediately saw one in the back of the room, who must have been facing away at the time of the flash, quickly recovering. He aimed and fired a three round burst across the room and into the subjects head; it had been a long shot, but a lucky one in this case. Louis Loiselle, the French member of the team, spotted the second enemy closest to the group. He considered tackling him, as he wasn’t too far away, but he still held his pistol in his hand. Rainbow had a policy for a reason, he knew, and fired his burst into the right of the gunman’s head, blasting it apart like a melon. The final terrorist was a bit troublesome. He was first spotted by Price, but due to the surprise of the flashbang, was flailing and stumbling around wildly, pistol in hand. Price took a couple seconds to try and get a clear shot on his head, but he was simply bobbing around too much. Price wouldn’t have preferred it, but when the subject began to fire off his pistol wildly and blindly, he knew he had to act, firing the three bullets into the man’s side, just above the waist. He stopped and screamed in pain, the shout filling the bank, until Price put another three-round burst into his chest and he collapsed, bleeding heavily from the wounds. “Chavez to Six, bank secured. No casualties, all bad guys dead, all hostages rescued.” A ways away on the other side of town, Team One under Major Peter Covington made their move on the two-story, square office buildings. As at the bank, the first to fire were the marksmen; Fred Franklin and ‘Sam’ Houston. “Rife One-One, eyes on target on the roof on overwatch; taking the shot.” ‘Sam’ Houston’s rifle kicked back, sending the bullet across the street from a café roof to a terrorist’s head. “Rifle One-One, sentry is down.” “Right, good work,” Covington said. “Bear, you ready?” “Moving in.” Lieutenant Colonel Daniel ‘Bear’ Malloy began the process of flying in his MH-60K over the top of the building, carrying four Team One members inside. The Night Hawk’s rotor sliced silently through the air as it performed a rocking chair maneuver and came to a halt over the flat roof. Sergeant Jack Nance slid the doors open and the four black-clad operatives long-roped down onto it, landing quietly in the space of a few seconds. Captains Hugh McGarret and Nicholas Traven, along with Sergeants Joshua ‘J’ Fisher and Geoff Bates, hustled to a doorway at the former of the building, concealing the stairs that lead to the roof. Opening it quietly and moving silently down the stairs, they found the hostages gathered on the second floor guarded by a single hostile. As his back was turned to them, a flashbang wasn’t necessary, and McGarret fired into the back of his head. On the ground, Covington led the other four members of the team. This group had been wise enough to close and lock the front doors, so they would have to breach. “Alright, blast the door down,” he ordered. “No hostages on this level, so grenade and flash before we enter. Ready? Get to it!” The Primacord was laid out and the men took up positions, one holding a ready grenade and another with a flashbang. As the explosives blew open the door, the pins were pulled and weapons tossed in. The stun grenade went of first, with the sound of the fragmentation grenade signaling the squad to enter. There was only one terrorist left standing, dazed and holding his head in the back of the room. Covington aimed his MP-10 and fired a headshot just as the two locked eyes. The three bullets hit the target square in the nose, killing him. The team fanned out and kept their eyes open for any further problems. One subject had been near the door, guarding it, when the blast went off. The other had been stunned by the flashbang and had the grenade land at his feet, peppering him thoroughly. “Clear!” Covington called. “Clear down!” the call went out. “Clear up!” McGarret answered. “Covington to Six, building secure. No casualties. All opposition dead.” John breathed a sigh of relief; that made four successful operations. Since it's founding, Rainbow had took down terrorists in Bern, Vienna, and most recently, in Worldpark, Spain. All of the terrorists had been killed in those for no Rainbow losses. Of the hostages, one in the bank in Bern had been killed before the team was on site; the second, a terminally ill Dutch girl at Worldpark, occurred as Dr. Bellows had been negotiating. The team had been trying to formulate a plan, and they were dealing with professionals that go round. They were upset, but decided that they were lucky to have rescued all the others. All in all, John thought Rainbow was still the most effective force out there. “Nice work,” Clark responded. “Alright, let’s regroup and get back to the airport. Let the French clean up the mess, we have to get back to Hereford.” The men in black quietly exited the scene, leaving the mess for someone else to clean up. Price lit up with his pipe on the way out, his own personal way of celebrating a successful mission. The cameras might get a few glances, but nothing serious that could divulge their identity. For the most part, all they saw was the French. With this mission complete, the world released a relaxing sigh of relief. It would gain a new respect for the French counter-terror forces. Meanwhile, the Rainbow operatives quietly went back to their home at Hereford; they wouldn’t get any official praise for this operation. Still, what mattered was that everyone, at least everyone innocent, was still alive. For them, that was reward enough. “Typical," Clark thought, sitting in his chair on the Boeing 777. “Pull off a near perfect op, and in return, our flight home gets mechanical problems.” The members of Rainbow had arrived at the airport to find that their plane was experiencing technical difficulties, so they had to catch a ride home in an Air France 777. Malloy and his chopper where already back home. He had reported some nasty weather on his trip back, and now they were flying right through it. His thoughts were interrupted as the pilot said something in French. “Louis, what did he say?” Clark asked the Frenchman, sitting in front of him. If he had listened closer, he could’ve probably understood; but he really couldn’t focus right now. “He says we’re experiencing some bad weather, sir,” Loiselle replied. “No shit,” Clark responded as the pilot finished talking. “He says we’re going to try to pull up over it.” “Just hope he hurries it up.” Clark was rather anxious on this trips home for a number of reasons. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the plane, maybe it was the fact that both Rainbow’s field teams were onboard, making them easy targets. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but his line of work, from the SEAL training to serving with the 3rd SOG in Vietnam, tended to have that affect. Now, as director of Rainbow, that was especially true. This new line of work was quite different for the ex-soldier. He was now, rather unhappily, a ‘suit’; someone who sat behind a desk doing paperwork, rather than doing fieldwork. Well, he knew it wasn’t entirely new, as he proved today. And he had to admit; not risking his life as often was relaxing. No more pick-ups on Russian beaches at night, no more runs through the jungles of ‘Nam, no more of sitting with Ding on a roof in Tehran, guiding in a smart-bomb to its target. Now that he thought about it, he actually missed it a bit. For now, he just tried to change his thoughts. He starred out the window from his passenger seat, looking at the single engine; this only made it worse. Clark had always thought that four engines was the best number to have on a plane. If one was lost, only 25% of the aircraft’s power was lost, whereas in the case of this jet, it would mean 50%. Turning his head back forward, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. This was the memo he had written for proposing the organization. For some reason, he kept hold of it; whether it was as a good luck charm or just for memories, he didn’t know. But today’s purpose for it-taking his mind off of a non-existent threat. He began reading, going back in time to the day he pitched the idea. He had preferred to keep it direct and simple, yet formal; avoiding the bureaucratic talk in hopes of selling it as a plain, simple fact. Apparently, it had worked. There is good news and there is bad news. With the demise of the Soviet Union and other nation states with political positions adverse to America and Western Interests, the likelihood of a major international confrontation is at an all-time low. This, clearly, is the best good news. But along with that we must face the fact that there remain many experienced and trained international terrorists still roaming the world, some with lingering contacts with national intelligence agencies-plus the fact that some nations, while not desirous of a direct confrontation with America and other Western Nations, could still make use of the remaining terrorist ‘free agents’ for more narrow political goals. If anything, this problem is very likely to grow, since under the previous world situation, the major nation states placed firm limits on terrorist activity-these limits enforced by controlled access to weapons, funding, training, and safe-havens. It seems likely that the current world situation will invert the previous ‘understanding’ enjoyed by major countries. The price of support, weapons, training, and safe-havens might well become actual terrorist activity, not the ideological purity previously demanded by sponsoring nation states. The most obvious solution to this-probably-increasing problem will be a new multinational counterterrorist team. I propose the codename Rainbow. I further propose that the organization be based in the United Kingdom. The reasons for this are simple: • The U.K. currently owns and operates the Special Air Services, the world’s foremost-that is, most experienced-special-operations agency. • London is the world’s most accessible city in terms of commercial air travel-in addition to which the SAS has a very cordial relationship with British Airways. • The legal environment is particularly advantageous, due to the press restrictions possible under British law but not under American. • The long-standing ‘special relationship’ between American and British governmental agencies. For all these reasons, the proposed special-operations team composed of U.S., U.K., and selected NATO personnel, with the full support from national-intelligence services, coordinated at site… Clark’s silent speech was interrupted by a loud crack and flash. His anxiety returned and he began to return to acting on instinct. Snapping his head back to the window, he saw that his fears were more than just nerves. A bolt of lightning, bright white and searing hot, struck the wing on his side; specifically on the engine. It only lasted a millisecond, but it seemed to Clark like one or two normal ones. The flash from the bolt was enough to hurt his eyes, causing him to look away and hold his hand over them, blinking several times. “Cristo!” Chavez yelled in Spanish. “What the hell was that!?” Clark couldn’t respond at first, still stunned from the blast. “H-hey! The plane’s banking pretty far to the left!” Patterson observed. “What's happening!?” “A bolt of lightning took out the left engine!” Clark said, rather angrily. “Really!? Of all the fucking places to strike!” Most of the lights were already turned off, as the team members were trying to get some rest. The pilots didn’t speak to the passengers as the plane nosed into a rather steep circle downward. Maybe the lightning had knocked out the electronics, too. It didn’t really matter, he observed, as the left engine was now on fire, and the plane was in a spinning dive; the force of the impact had also started that up. John played with the idea of trying to get out, but figured it would be futile; he wouldn’t even get to the door. He was actually appearing rather calm through the chaos; just sitting there with a disapproving look on his face like a father dealing with a disrespectful child. Whether anyone was screaming or not, John couldn’t tell. He was too busy thinking to himself, rather angrily. Rainbow, the world’s best counter-terror team, defeated by a lightning bolt. He could just read the newspaper headlines now. ‘Expensive, multinational, highly-trained soldiers, killed in plane crash’, or something along those lines. It just amazed him that both field teams, along with the commander and second-in-command, were going to be lost all in one incident; he’d be remembered most for that. As the plane came closer to the English Channel it had been flying over, his thoughts shifted to something more worrying. What would happen to his wife, Sandy? What about their grown daughter, Patsy, who was also Domingo’s wife? What about the grandson she was carrying? When the plane finally hit, his thoughts revolved around a single thing. He had done so much in his life. He was a highly trained soldier, who accomplished countless important, dangerous missions, and had been assigned to the best group of warriors on the planet. The thing that would kill him was a plane crash due to a lightning strike. Who would’ve thought? Clark could tell that it was sunny out even though his eyes were shut; the light was bright enough to lighten through the lids mildly. The thought processed in his mind briefly. He could tell there was sunlight; he could feel the rays on his skin. He was conscious, amazingly. The first idea that he thought of was that he survived somehow and was floating on his chair in the middle of the ocean. He moved his arms a bit and realized that wasn’t the case; underneath him was grass, nice and soft. He wiggled and moved his limbs and body slightly, amazed that there wasn’t any pain anywhere. Or, he at least didn’t feel the pain yet because he didn’t see it. But, how did he fall into grass? As he shuffled a bit, he heard a few gasps and whispers a short distance in front of him. He stretched, as if waking from a long nap, and slowly forced his eyes open; squinting them from starring right into the sun. He moved his head on its side to open them fully, and spotted Alistair Stanley, lying on his back and waking up a lot faster. Sitting up, Stanley looked forward and got a shocked expression on his face. Clark looked up to see what caused it, and quickly realized why. There standing a few feet away from the two soldiers, were six horses. What was odd was that they were all rather small and colorful; it struck both as something out of a kid’s show. What was most disturbing was that they all seemed to have human qualities. Indeed, they were looking and reacting as if the two soldiers were aliens from outer space. Clark stood up first, followed by Stanley. Both groups continued to stare at each other. John took the opportunity to survey the surrounding area. Where they were standing, it was mostly open; there was a small village a ways to his right, and a large forest off to the left. “Al, you good?” Clark asked. “Yea, I’m alright, John,” the Brit responded. “You uh,…you know what happened?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” John looked closer at the horses. He noticed that some had horns, while some others had wings. Did that mean they were unicorns and pegasi? He had never been this confused in his whole life. “Got any clue as to what’s up with the horses?” John asked. “They don’t exactly train you for something like this in the SAS.” “Alright then, let’s head to that town first,” John said. “Maybe someone there’ll know what the hell is going on.” The two began to walk forward. Before they had even gotten two steps out, John saw Stanley start to glow purple. He had become surrounded by some kind of aura. He didn’t want to find out why or what it did. Looking around, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Turning his head back towards the horses, he noticed the purple one’s horn was also glowing with the same aura. She was the one doing…whatever it was! Snapping back towards Stanley, he saw him fall flat forward onto the ground. “Stanley!” John always carried his pistol with him in case of emergencies; concealed within his jacket. Rainbow Five had just passed out, dead for all he knew. He considered this an emergency. He didn’t care whose horses they were or why they were doing it, but he would rather be alive and not know than dead and knowing for all of a couple seconds of life. He was about to reach in and grab it when he noticed that he, too, had become encompassed in the strange light. He felt his eyelids grow heavy again and his body became tired and weak. He started to stumble a bit. Eventually, his eyelids fell down; their weight feeling like they were made of several tons of hard metal. But he wouldn’t go out that easy. Ignoring the weariness, he spread his legs out some and stood there, balancing himself. “Just stay standing!” he mumbled to himself. “Close your eyes, break down a bit, but just. Stay. Up!” It had come to the point where he wasn’t really resisting. His body balanced on the bones of his legs. He shifted from one to the other to relieve tension. Eye’s shut, rest of the body limp, in little control; but, he could stay like this for a while. He probably would have if something hadn't rammed him right in the chest and knocked him flat on his back. From then on, John Clark’s world went back into dark. It wasn’t exactly everyday some strange new creature landed in Equestria. It was probably even less with the creatures walking and talking intelligently. All of it had shocked Twilight and her five other friends to the point of total speechlessness. She just hoped the sleeping spell was strong enough to keep them down for a while; or at least until she could figure out what to do with them. It wasn’t exactly her preferred way of dealing with these new things; but, she had no clue as to exactly what they were like or what their intentions were, and they did say they were going towards Ponyville. “What are those things, Twilight?” Rainbow Dash asked. “I’m…not too sure. I’ve never read about anything like these before,” Twilight responded. “They do seem a bit…rough.” It was shocking to her how long the second one had withstood the spell. She applied it full on and it was still standing; albeit shakily. He probably would have been able to outlast her had Rainbow not run into him to knock him down. “Well, what do you think we should do with them?” Dash asked the obvious. “I’m not too sure. I have no idea as to what they are capable of or what they want,” Twilight explained. “Hm…let me think. Aha! Doesn’t the Royal Guard have a guard building with cells and everything?” “Yea.” “So, we’ll bring them to the Guard’s and they can keep watch over them until I figure out just what they want; or, at least until Celestia gets here. Rarity, I’ll get one, can you grab the other?” The two soldiers were lifted up in auras of magic and floated away, still sleeping soundly. Twilight was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any trouble with the guards watching over them. But, unknown to the six friends, they were also being watched. “What do you make of it, Ding?” 'Sam' Houston asked. “I have no idea what the hell those things are, but I can see they took Clark and Stanley captive,” Chavez replied. The sniper and the Team 2 leader were in a prone position in the tree line of the woods, out of sight. They hadn’t gotten there in time to stop the two from being knocked out, but they were able to barely make out the conversation the horses had after. “You think we can take them now?” Houston asked. “I can stick here in the trees and provide support while you go after Five and Six.” “I don’t think we should,” Chavez said. “They just took down those two without much trouble. I don’t think me charging in there by myself, and even with you at my back, would get very far.” “But, we can’t just leave them!” “Who said I was going to do that?” The last thing Chavez would do is let Clark, his boss and father-in-law, get kidnapped by some alien horse girls; how would he explain it to the team? “You got a plan?” Houston asked. “Well, let me round up the others first; we’ll get more done as a unit. You stay here and monitor everything. Once everyone is back together, then we’ll come up with a rescue plan.” Ding watched as the six horses, and his two comrades, disappeared in the direction of a village. Looking closely, the two soldiers could see that the village, too, was populated by these alien horses. Chavez got up and turned around, walking back into the forest to find the rest of Rainbow. “Hey Ding, you know how we’re even alive right now?” Houston asked, turning his head away from his rifle to look at him. “No, but let’s focus on getting our friends rescued,” Chavez responded. “I know, but it’s crazy! We crashed into the sea, and we winded up here and alive with all of our stuff! How do we even get back home?” “First things first,” Chavez replied. “We get Six back from those fruity talking horses. Then we figure out what happened. I’ll be back with the others soon.” “Roger.” 'Sam' settled in for an evening of watching the activity in the village. Being a sniper, he was a patient man. At least this time he had something new and fascinating to watch and analyze.