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Echolocation
Echolocation
Noun
1.
the general method of locating objects by determining the time for an echo to return and the direction from which it returns, as by radar or sonar.
2.
Zoology. the sonarlike system used by dolphins, bats, and other animals to detect and locate objects by emitting usually high-pitched sounds that reflect off the object and return to the animal's ears or other sensory receptors.
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5th July, 2020
0300 Hours
Somewhere outside of Portishead, Bristol, UK
The M5 dragged, the rain pouring on the motorway down to Exeter. Summer rain, Merlin thought to himself. He was alone. Being alone wasn't a usual thing for him. He remembered what had been passed to him hours ago. On the passenger seat of the black BMW 330d that he drove on the cold, wet and empty roads, was a folder of paper that had all he needed to know. He was going to go pick someone up. Kasabian played on the stereo, the midnight radio perhaps not as bad as Merlin remembered it to be. Sometimes, you had the little things, and if Club Foot wasn't enough to echo the rain around, then he didn't know what would.
He knew that he wasn't with the rest of Echo for this reason. That poor Staff Sergeant. Merlin thought to himself, adjusting the beanie covering his mid-length hair, watching the next junction come up. Indicator switch on, like no BMW driver ever did, he pulled off the motorway, his lights dashing across the sign for Portishead. The road was not long, but he could only think to himself. The coming actions. Olivia was someone he'd met before, worked with even briefly. In the circles of operators, it wasn't unknown for that sort of thing to happen. But she didn't need this. The story was not one that he wanted to fully illustrate. But he knew the details. Driving down the road, he thought them through. Olivia Yen was a disgraced SAS operator, caught with her pants down in Columbia. She had been working on purchasing a shipment of Cocaine, almost $5.2 million dollars worth from the FARC, to be delivered to a Triad based out of Guangzhou, China. And it would have been lucrative too, had the Colombians not have caught her and dragged her in front of the British Embassy in Bogota. Oh, and then proceeded to demand that she was taken back to Britain, and made to vanish. MI5 initially did this, the public blastback in both countries could be epic. And so she was, a traitor to the United Kingdom, in a warehouse in Portishead, freshly arrived from Columbia, in total blackout. She had no idea where she would be, what she was doing, how the fuck she was alive. Then, she would be sent to a prison of sorts, or to another Black Site. Like what the CIA did, she would be circulated so much, so confused, that her sense of any living would be broken, bit by bit.
This was not Olivia Yen's story. Merlin knew that much. The whole operation was a sting, and what had simply happened was a big, big mistake. Someone had clearly forgotten to ask someone higher up in the branch about who this woman was. An SAS operator, not disgraced or buying Cocaine for a real drug syndicate. She was there to break it up, as a part of the British contribution to disrupt the trade in Class A drugs that had hit the country hard. It had been an SIS sting operation, and yet amazingly, the channels to get her out hadn't been activated. It was like nobody wanted to know that she could walk free, it seemed too glaringly obvious that Olivia was innocent, Merlin thought to himself. Intelligence was a mess, everyone distrusted everyone. But someone knew that it wasn't the case that she was a traitor, and that was why he was here. He needed a woman like her on his team. Someone he could trust. Maybe she wouldn't trust him. But Merlin knew that there was only one way that would happen.
Pulling in across the street, he took a breath in.
"Go time." Reaching under the passenger seat, he slid the silenced P226 out, inspecting it over, chambering a magazine from the passenger seat. A resounding cock, as he looked back across. He hated wet work. But sometimes, it had to be done. She had maybe an hour or two left at best. They'd be moving her again, and she was fresh in the country, going through an initiation with two new interrogators. Merlin hated the idea of killing these kinds of people, they weren't terrorists, they were people paid to interrogate people, whoever they were. But they would be armed, and Merlin didn't like collateral. Especially given the nature of this. He wore a black T-Shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as a sling pack over his back, no headset, no nothing. He had an operator to collect for his team.
Stepping out into the hard rain, he exhaled, standing tall, as he looked over. "Yellow Storage" was the name of this place, a tiny little warehouse filled with fuck knows what inside. Merlin didn't care. He knew the details. Moving across the street, he moved through, heading to the side of the warehouse, moving slow and steady. He found his way over a fence by the side, moving through past a pair of cargo containers, sneaking around the abandoned, rain-soaked facility. Moving to a window at the back, he could tell. They were sloppy. No blackout windows? What the fuck were they expecting? This was the shittiest operation he had ever seen, they were holding her like this? With so little security. It was so simple, it confirmed the file- this was a temporary hold, a site where they didn't need security because they wouldn't need it. Or so they thought. It begged to be stopped. Taking his rucksack off a little, he took out a strip of Semtex, and fixed it onto the window, placing a strip onto the yellow block, before then peeling it back. The spark caught, as the strip came alight, Merlin getting behind one of the containers close by, watching on. He had time. 5 seconds.
Four. Three. Two. One.
The glass shattered, as the two men inside yelled a distinct "What the fuck!", weapons raised. They moved to the smashed window, one going close to it, as the other swept around, looking at all the others. Merlin was not at the smashed window, nor at the container. He was not there, the men were completely, utterly confused. Merlin was not where he knew they would want him to be. He was behind them. Right where he liked being, and he knew full well that this was not a clean job in the fullest. Did it need to be? Nope.
Merlin placed a single round into the window man's head, the skinny suit wearing man going down fast, as he laid two more rounds into the chest of the other man, close to Olivia. The Glock he held fell and slipped from his hand, sliding across the floor, as Merlin emerged from the shadows, into the singular warehouse light that hung above Olivia and her torturers prior to that. Merlin had done his research. He had entered through another entrance, an emergency fire door that just needed a little pressure to open from the outside, and in the anarchy, he was in before they even knew. It worked wonders.
Dusting his gloves off, he walked over, looking at her in the chair, chuckling. He could see they had hurt her a little, nothing significant, but they had tried to have some fun before they got down to the nitty gritty. She had a sharp look on her face, Merlin thought to himself. Kicking the man's body over, blood pouring on the floor, he walked up to Olivia, leaning in, closer, and closer. He rubbed his face against hers, beard on her chin, his eyes looking straight in. He had no fear in doing this, she could have headbutted him, done anything. But somehow, Merlin knew that wouldn't happen. He had faith, his eyes staring into hers, a deep sort of moment that almost screamed that he didn't fear doing it.
"Guess who."
Merlin smirked, eyeballing her as he leaned out, adjusting his grip on the P226.
"So I guess you're wondering if this is a trick. If it was, I wouldn't have shot two men in cold blood for you. Think that's a trick too? To make you talk? Fuck, let's say it is still." He added with a distinct tone, his cold raspy West Country accent going through as he pulled out his Dive Knife out from his holster on his hip, cutting the cord that was wrapped around her arms that tied her to the chair, before cutting it from her legs. He placed the knife back, and taking his sack to hand, unzipped it. Pulling out a Glock 17, he turned it around, offering it to her.
"It's loaded, so you can pop me right now. I have a feeling you're beginning to connect dots now. I don't know if you know where you are, but it's more depressing than you think, if you can hear that rain. But that is Portishead for you. I give us about fifteen minutes, because they're going to shit themselves when they realize the panic alarm that one of them set off was real. Follow me, and pray you don't use that fucking Glock. We'll talk more when we get out of here...you seem like you can walk." Merlin added, as he looked over at the two, one of them wincing in pain, still alive after the shot, almost screaming as he looked across at Merlin's bearded face. Merlin laid a single shot into the man's temple, before walking towards the front of the warehouse, looking over at the door in the front office, looking back. The tall SBS operator didn't look too concerned with the fact he had done what he had done, he was not someone to be trifled with, after all. He had made his choice, and he knew that right now, they were going to Chievnor, and he would debrief her in what the hell was going on. He had a feeling she almost knew, because it was the reason that Merlin himself was here. The bearded, beanie-wearing, P226 holding and large West Countryman knew that sometimes, while you were playing the game, you had to give it a go if you wanted the people you needed. He didn't want a repeat of this. It would be covered up as something else altogether. Merlin Bastion was never here.
"Well, come on then."
----
Meanwhile...
0600 Hours Local Time
Berbera, Somalia
The ringing echoed through Nikolaj's ears, as he looked out the back door of the Bvs10 "Viking", the Dutch Marine Corps-owned tracked vehicle, covered in it's anti-RPG slatting across it's steel surface, and comandeered by Echo. They had swept the city, and the assault was raging, the sound of explosions, gunfire, everything, everywhere around. The fighting had been going on for a while now, the Dutch raid into the city aiming to look for weapons caches as well as to expel the Al-Shabab presence from the area. The morning sun was still over them, and it felt a little cold at this time of the day, though Nikolaj could tell it would get far hotter very soon, as he pinged the driver on the radio.
"Mikkels, you know the stopping point? This taxi service can't go through buildings, so you know the drill once we arrive!" He yelled, over the noise of the tracks and the diesel engine, something that he could only speak over due to his throat mic.
"Aye aye, Sergeant. We're one mike out!" The Dutch voice replied, Nikolaj chuckling only a little to how deep the accent was. Crazy Dutch bastard...he couldn't say that phrase in his head without thinking of an old film. None the less, they were helping out, almost a company's worth of men depositing themselves in an amphibious raid with British RM helicopters and an assault ship to boot. When it came to getting rid of pirates, this was the way that they rolled. He changed over again, to a different team.
"This is Ørsted, we're thirty secs out, Jansen."
"Copy that, we're in the process moving across to our position. They're mainly running, but they might try and counterattack. Out." The other voice replied, the Dutch machine-gun team moving on the other side of the bloc, on foot, through the blasted ruins that this place was becoming, themselves going to set up a point from which to lay down suppression onto the rear angles of the building that they were assaulting.
Looking across to the contingent in the back of the armored trailer, he took the team in once more, who he had. He had divided the whole unit up, and they sat under his command, provisionally, at least. The First Sergeant knew that Merlin should have really been here, calling the shots, but he had something big on his plate. So in this hell hole of a city, where the fighting had raged on for an hour, they had come to the last place the reconnaissance had placed their target to be. He went through them. MSgt Volkov was his 2IC on this operation in particular, the 2IC to the 2IC, it seemed. Still though, she had Davidsen, Ungern and Johnston under her command, and the Dane was confident she would hold her own. She was a mean woman with that AK of hers, that much he knew. The rest of his team, all of them were just as good with a weapon as he could be, and he didn't want anything less. Merlin would have been harder, but he knew that what he did was a good job.
"This is our last spot. Fuckers are posted up, we've got Wildcats on standby with DAGRs and we've got a couple of requests on mortar fire. Johnston, when I give the command, I'll mark up on the TOS where I'd want fire, you can then proceed to send it when it's set so we let our supports do the heavier work. Apart from that, we clear out these buildings, find the stash, then get the fuck out of dodge, let the Dutch clean this up. Everyone understood?" He added, looking out across as he stood up in the back, F2000 pointed downwards, his M32 MGL on his back, wearing his Ops Core FAST helmet and generally in his overall combat attire. From his M/01 fatigues to his Oakleys over his eyes, he looked like an individual on a mission, the netting sprawled over the helmet rather than over his face. But he had a team, and they were going to give it some.
"Volkov, your Fireteam Blue has our flanks when we get out, my Red team will push ahead into this side of the apartment. Get the overheads, any stragglers that decide to try and come close to flanking us out. Then you follow through, you enter the left. TOS will keep a track of you, but remember, you know where you stop and let us meet with you once your sectors are clear. Like we said, we find the PETN, we make an assessment of just how much of the fucking stuff there is, then we deal with it and leave. We've killed at least two dozen skinnies today, so if we face more resistance, expect this to be it." Nikolaj added, looking across the hold.
"Oakley, Svoboda, you'll push out first, get to hard cover across the road. Crowstep and Goldfarb, you'll follow me and we'll set up a base of fire, then we'll follow them up. ROE is shoot anything that moves, we expect no civies. Not here." He added, mentioning it to his own team members, the multi-national operators within Echo people that 1stSgt Ørsted-Holl had commitment towards. Fireteam Red, his fireteam of people that he directly commanded, and Fireteam Blue, the individuals under MSgt Volkov, were here to do damage.
The vehicle began to stop, as the .50 on the front of the BvS opened up on the building's exterior and picked up a couple of runners, taking them down and cutting them apart. Nikolaj opening the rear door with respect to that. His F2000 was without a grenade launcher this time round, a foregrip mounted on the RIS instead of the F2000's regular grip, and the regular RDS/magnifier setup that he ran with on the Belgian-produced bullpup. Peeking out, he heard the distant sound of a rocket fire mission, helicopters buzzing in and out, Royal Navy Wildcats pummeling the shit out of apartment buildings across the other end of town. Each rocket kicked hard, momentarily dictating heartbeats, but was nothing that felt too insane. Not to Nikolaj.
Moving out across the road, he got into cover by a concrete barrier, peeking over and observing the apartment building ahead, the walls half falling off, the bulildings here already fucked, he saw a couple of men run out, in response to the new arrival of soldiers that were coming in to kick their faces in. They were poorly trained, Al-Shabab was not an organization of great trembling power, after all. They were locals, pirates, general doers that were paid a bad wage to shoot Westerners and hijack ships in the Gulf of Aden. Today, they were going to have their asses handed to them, as Nikolaj placed down fire on the men that were moving, taking out one with a clean shot whilst bringing another down with a burst of rounds to the core, flipping the magnifier off to the side as he adjusted his aim down the regular RDS once more, watching and observing any contacts.
"More hostiles, up top!" A couple more moved on the roof, as he put some fire down, joined by the rest of the team, as they clipped the three that moved in, just skinnies with AK derivatives in hand.
"This is Sgt Jansen, we're moving around the rear of the building, we've got any stragglers pinned down with MMGs! Ørsted, what's the situation out front?" The Dutch Marine asked, of another squad that was moving through the buildings block by block, laying down fire with their heavier supplement of MMGs and LMGs that they were carrying with them. Nikolaj had the team armed up heavier, but with breaching equipment as well- they were kicking in doors, and so far, most of those hadn't yielded. He could tell, this one felt like the place to go.
"Understood, Sergeant. We're beginning our breach, we're going to sweep and clear the building. Watch for friendlies, the walls are half falling apart so not everything that moves in there is going to be hostile from here on out."
"Copy, we're fixed." The Dutchman replied, as Nikolaj peeked once, more, looking over down the road as the fire wailed, the whole team now engaging across the dusty courtyard, between the set of half-demolished buildings and the low two-storey apartment block.
"Technical, nine o'clock! Lay it out!" Nikolaj added, putting some fire down on some men that were moving out the side of the building, across the courtyard, as he sprayed a couple of rounds between them, clipping one and putting him into the dirt. Head down again, he flipped a new magazine into the rifle, flicking the old one back out and into his plate carrier, as he moved over the barrier and headed across the road entirely, aware that his team were providing a strong base of fire.
"Red, I'm moving up to your position near the door, keep the fire up!" Nikolaj added, moving across from the concrete barrier, running over as he moved in, right behind one of Blue's members, leaning in on the wall. The sound of a loud bang could be heard, the .50 scoring a victory against the Technical's engine block, and effectively anything inside, as he looked across at the other men that were laying down a base of fire, Nikolaj moving around to get near the blasted door. The apartment block was fairly large, across the courtyard there being another wing that seemed to exist, that Nikolaj wanted Fireteam Blue to deal with, while his Fireteam Red went through this one on their side, though parts of it were coming apart entirely. Most of the rooms were missing walls, with holes, gaps and just parts where the flats didn't really exist anymore. The block was on the coast, and the remains of a few stalls were in the courtyard, poor cover, and something that Nikolaj knew the team wouldn't touch with a 10 foot barge pole, it was too difficult and dangerous to use.
"Okay, Red, form up! We're going to go in, we sweep this place through the sector I noted, ground floor only. Crowstep, you are on point, Svoboda, you follow him up. Oakley, Goldfarb, watch our flanks and six, I'll part off with you once we're inside. Keep it tight." Nikolaj yelled across to his fireteam, poking his rifle round the door and keeping an eye out, teh sound of Arabic ringing out. Placing rounds through the doorway, yelling followed as the man was caught in the F2000's sight, Nikolaj slinking back as he nodded to the Canadian.
"Blue, you're clear to move across to the left side of the apartment, we're moving in! We just threw fire on the hornet's nest, let's burn this fucker alive! Move!"