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RevolutionGM Post - Thank @QJT
Prime Minister H.S. grits his teeth. His office had a window view; he obviously couldn’t operate from there. Still, he should have heeded his bodyguards when they advised that the floor of the National Assembly was too spacious of an enclosure to defend adequately. His security detail could barely cover one door with two people. Granted, the janitorial closet couldn’t exactly house all the communications equipment, staff, and supply materials needed to conduct a hastily coordinated military operation.
Every few minutes an aide would report more foul tidings to him. The defections en masse around the Convention Center and the airport were shockingly bad, but then came the flip of the RCAF, the landing of troops, the arrival of US special forces, then even an explosion outside that very building. Likely a vehicle of some sort, but it was impossible to tell. Everyone nearby fell under heavy gunfire.
The paramilitaries were on the predetermined radio frequency. He couldn’t speak Russian or Spanish. They couldn’t speak Khmer. They compromised with broken English. It was difficult to understand the accents, but the message was clear.
“We need ammo! Where is your ammo?” shouted a livid man in a thick Novgorodian dialect.
“We just send it right down Street 274 and Street 268,” the minister assured. “It will be there soon!”
“Street 274?” The faint rustling of paper was heard in the background. “You send it right through traitor lines! Moron! Сука!”
That the defectors had reached that close to the National Assembly building was news to Prime Minister H.S. Already he tried to conjure a new convoy. “Hold your ground, we will send a new-“
“We cannot fight with no bullets!” The voice crescendoed into a scream before resigning to the standard military tone. “We pull back to the surburbs, to our supply lines, regroup from there.”
“No, stay where you are. We will-“
No sooner had the radio violently cut transmission than his chief of security approached him. “We cannot remain here, Prime Minister. They advance on the building, and there is no secret passage or safe room here. Our window of opportunity to evacuate closes fast. We must leave, now. Before they realize that our paramilitaries are gone and exploit that advantage.”
“No, our men - our loyal men, at least - are still fighting, and we’ll lose all of that if we abandon our communication equipment here.” He pointed emphatically at the circuitry. “Our only link to this military network is through this room. This entire operation fails if this falls.”
Speaking of loyal men, his phone vibrated with the call sign of his son. At least one man still fought true. He answered it without a second thought.
A flash of light, and suddenly the presence of many Arms Masters. He dropped his phone from shock, not that he’d ever pick it up again willingly knowing that that could happen. Was that a nun with a power fist? He blinked in disbelief.
He eyed the doors at his periphery as his protection stood off against his adversaries. The communications lost would be a setback, but his death or capture would be far more so. And how often did a dozen men with firearms fare well against these superpowered titans? No, it wouldn’t end like this. He suddenly made a mad dash for the exit door while his protection laid suppressing fire in his direction, careful not to shoot their own boss.
The sight outdoors was surreal. A scout car was completely overturned and inoperable, and none of the surrounding bodies were alive. The counter-snipers on the nearby rooftop were completely gone, replaced with someone, something, else. Except for a loose assortment of ragtag squads, he was completely isolated. The prime minister staggered forward to survey the wreckage, adrenaline compelling him to run towards… Were those mirrors in front of him?
@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@4wheathRmany@Danyel@LimeTime966
Prime Minister H.S. grits his teeth. His office had a window view; he obviously couldn’t operate from there. Still, he should have heeded his bodyguards when they advised that the floor of the National Assembly was too spacious of an enclosure to defend adequately. His security detail could barely cover one door with two people. Granted, the janitorial closet couldn’t exactly house all the communications equipment, staff, and supply materials needed to conduct a hastily coordinated military operation.
Every few minutes an aide would report more foul tidings to him. The defections en masse around the Convention Center and the airport were shockingly bad, but then came the flip of the RCAF, the landing of troops, the arrival of US special forces, then even an explosion outside that very building. Likely a vehicle of some sort, but it was impossible to tell. Everyone nearby fell under heavy gunfire.
The paramilitaries were on the predetermined radio frequency. He couldn’t speak Russian or Spanish. They couldn’t speak Khmer. They compromised with broken English. It was difficult to understand the accents, but the message was clear.
“We need ammo! Where is your ammo?” shouted a livid man in a thick Novgorodian dialect.
“We just send it right down Street 274 and Street 268,” the minister assured. “It will be there soon!”
“Street 274?” The faint rustling of paper was heard in the background. “You send it right through traitor lines! Moron! Сука!”
That the defectors had reached that close to the National Assembly building was news to Prime Minister H.S. Already he tried to conjure a new convoy. “Hold your ground, we will send a new-“
“We cannot fight with no bullets!” The voice crescendoed into a scream before resigning to the standard military tone. “We pull back to the surburbs, to our supply lines, regroup from there.”
“No, stay where you are. We will-“
No sooner had the radio violently cut transmission than his chief of security approached him. “We cannot remain here, Prime Minister. They advance on the building, and there is no secret passage or safe room here. Our window of opportunity to evacuate closes fast. We must leave, now. Before they realize that our paramilitaries are gone and exploit that advantage.”
“No, our men - our loyal men, at least - are still fighting, and we’ll lose all of that if we abandon our communication equipment here.” He pointed emphatically at the circuitry. “Our only link to this military network is through this room. This entire operation fails if this falls.”
Speaking of loyal men, his phone vibrated with the call sign of his son. At least one man still fought true. He answered it without a second thought.
A flash of light, and suddenly the presence of many Arms Masters. He dropped his phone from shock, not that he’d ever pick it up again willingly knowing that that could happen. Was that a nun with a power fist? He blinked in disbelief.
He eyed the doors at his periphery as his protection stood off against his adversaries. The communications lost would be a setback, but his death or capture would be far more so. And how often did a dozen men with firearms fare well against these superpowered titans? No, it wouldn’t end like this. He suddenly made a mad dash for the exit door while his protection laid suppressing fire in his direction, careful not to shoot their own boss.
The sight outdoors was surreal. A scout car was completely overturned and inoperable, and none of the surrounding bodies were alive. The counter-snipers on the nearby rooftop were completely gone, replaced with someone, something, else. Except for a loose assortment of ragtag squads, he was completely isolated. The prime minister staggered forward to survey the wreckage, adrenaline compelling him to run towards… Were those mirrors in front of him?
@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@4wheathRmany@Danyel@LimeTime966
