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Date Posted: 21:41:29 04/19/09 Sun
Author: Randy
Author Host/IP: S010600179a334297.gv.shawcable.net / 24.69.74.23
Subject: Well, this is what I have so far
In reply to: Grumpy 's message, "Re: Im at a loggerheads" on 23:22:06 04/17/09 Fri

Mind you, I've seen a problem with generating any initial sympathy with Kepler. He's not the main character, but is actually a henchman of the main bad guy, Eliphas Enslann. Those two featured heavily in my first manuscript, 'Godeater', which is what I'm completely tearing down and rewriting.

I have another section to append onto this one, which I've yet to write, in which Kepler is dreaming of his dead wife (murdered some time before) and then awakes in the helicopter. I'm hoping that generates a reader attachment to him.

But here is what I have so far:

Day 01: 0435
Costa Rica


Paul Kepler tightened his grip on the door-gunner's M-60 and leaned forward as far as his restraining belt would allow. He poked his head out into the slipstream of night air, and scanned the lightening skyline for signs of their target area. The jungle, just fifty feet below, was a mad rush of blacks and greens, mountains and valleys. Kepler concentrated on the mission prep photographs that he had memorized, summoning every detail that he could bring to mind, but finally admitted to himself that he wasn't certain how far he and his team were from the LZ.

The pilots, having the benefit of the GPS system in the cockpit, had a better perspective. As if in answer to Kepler's musings, the hardwired intercom in Paul's helmet crackled and the co-pilot's voice sounded off: "Five minutes to the target area. Better get the checks goin'."

Kepler turned and looked at the men seated on the benches that lined the interior of the chopper. They were alternately glancing at him for their cues and closing their eyes in feigned indifference to the risks of what they would be doing in a few minutes' time. There were twelve of them on this Huey- twelve more on the chopper that was following only seconds behind. They were dressed in black fatigues, wrapped in web belts, and festooned with grenades and ammunition.

He held up five fingers, and the men under his command responded. After a flurry of locking magazines and loading rounds into rifle chambers, they began the last-minute adjustments of gear. Night vision goggles were activated. A man with a back-frame mounted radio began his checks, gas masks were given a final adjustment and returned to their pouches; and the squad medic gave a final once-over to his bags and boxes.

The voice sounded in Kepler's ears, again: "Landing zone in one minute."

The nose of the Huey tilted steeply upward. What started as a level flight just above the jungle turned into a sudden climb up the face of a mountain. When they reached the top, Kepler knew, they would level out again. When that happened, a moment of negative gravity would grab his insides, and with it would come the sensation of his stomach being pulled out through his nostrils. He gripped the machine gun even tighter, knuckles white on the trigger guard...

Psyching...

Psyching...

Then, they were at the crest, and the floor fell out from under Kepler as the Huey levelled out over the brightly-lit target compound. He swallowed his bile, shook his head twice, and pulled the trigger of the M-60.

The barrel spat fire, and the report shook the frame of the chopper. Kepler's first few bursts were wild, but it didn't matter, since there were no friendlies in the compound below. Quickly, Paul orientated himself and swung the gun to center on a two-story building at the western edge of the 200-meter compound. He'd spent hours studying the satellite photographs, and recognized the guard quarters as soon as he saw them.

Again, Kepler squeezed off several bursts, and noted with satisfaction that his aim was dead on target. He could see the impacts peppering the building, and he continued firing as the chopper made its designated full rotation of the plateau.

The Huey began its approach from the eastern side of the compound, and circled clockwise around the perimeter. Throughout the manoeuvre, Kepler's gun kicked out burst after burst. He managed to keep the guard house targeted for most of that time, but when they passed through the western edge of the area he shifted his fire to a helicopter that was parked at the southern edge. Before it shifted out of his field of fire, he sprayed the parked chopper thoroughly, then resettled his aim back onto the guard house.

Then, as flashes of return fire became visible from the courtyard, it was time. They were hovering a few feet above the well-manicured lawn, and the co-pilot was screaming over Kepler's headset: "Go, go, go!"

Two by two, boots piled out of the Huey, and hit the ground running. Their landing zone was chosen because it was the only area, free of power-lines or buildings, where a chopper could hover low enough to insert a squad. It was also just a short sprint from the guards’ quarters, one of the primary targets to be secured. The downside to this, as the sudden, sharp snaps of incoming rounds testified, was that the LZ was also wide open and offered no cover.

Kepler leapt to the ground, began to sprint to the driveway that bisected the compound, and released the safety on his BXP. Someone on the far side of the grounds was firing in his direction, filling the air around him with snaps and whines, walking tracers closer to him…closer…

Paul dived to his right, into one of the long beds of flamingo flowers that ran parallel to the road to the manse…the plants didn’t offer cover from gunfire, but they gave concealment. From his prone position he could see muzzle flashes near the vehicle garage. He raised his weapon, sighted in, and squeezed the trigger. The BXP pounded his shoulder like a miniature jackhammer, and the firing from the garage stopped.

Behind Kepler, his team members were spreading out to take their assigned targets. Four were assigned to the guard quarters, to deal with whoever survived the initial strafing; three more to the servants’ quarters; two more were fighting their way to the helipad at the south east corner of the compound, and would move north to the garage and utility sheds. Kepler and three of his people were to move to the main house. They would be backed up by a dozen more, due shortly after their own insertion, from the second chopper.

Quickly, the crescendo of gunfire built. Men were shouting from the main house, firing from the garage area, and a revving engine sounded from the gated road to the south. Some of the defenders fired at the retreating Huey that had brought Kepler’s squad into the fray, but it turned and disappeared down the side of the mountain. Moments passed, and more rotors became audible. The second Huey, door gun firing, popped over the lip of the mesa near the first LZ, and proceeded to hover.

Kepler crawled forward. He dragged his body across the asphalt with as low a profile as he could manage, hoping to remain unseen beneath the rows of flowers that lined the eastern side of the road. He was certain that his chances of reaching the house under the flanking fire from the eastern area would not succeed, and so decided to assist with clearing the utility areas, first. He heard the second Huey’s arrival, and as he reached the concealment of thick foliage prepared for a sprinting charge at the garage area. It was then, just as he rose to sprint, that he heard it: a heavy, thunderous, pounding sound. The reports came from one of the concrete utility sheds, or what appeared on the aerial photos to be a utility shed…each shot punctuated by a fountain of flash and flame that jumped two feet outward from the barrel.

Kepler’s stomach knotted up, and he froze-- that ‘utility shed’ was a reinforced shelter for a heavy machine gun. His own Huey had come without sufficient warning for the crew to man the position. But the second Huey, which was only now beginning to hover for the insertion, was a free and easy target for this weapon.
Even before Paul could shoulder his BXP , the gunner sighted in the weapon, and began to spray the open crew door of the helicopter. A wall of lead tore into the men who were tightly packed in the fuselage. Flesh, bone, metal, and fire mingled--the interior of the chopper became a slaughterhouse-- and even as Kepler squeezed his trigger and tried to walk his fire into the gun crew, the engine of the Huey exploded in a gout of flame and smoke. One rotor broke free, and flashed across the compound toward the main house. The blade toppled a power pole, and lines fell. Crackling showers of white and blue sparks exploded along the hundred meter path of its travel, and the floodlights along the western edge of the compound died. The blade tore into the lower level of the mansion with explosive force, sending forth an eruption of stone and wood..

The stricken chopper spun wildly for another brief moment, tossing several men onto the grass as it spat burning fuel over them. Then it rolled over onto one side, and began to disintegrate as its remaining rotors slammed into the earth, broke, and rebounded into the body of the aircraft.

There were howls. There was fire.. A figure ran toward Paul, swathed in an orange vortex of burning aviation fuel. After a few paces, it slowed, stopped, then pitched forward to the ground.

Kepler grimaced, turned away from the hell behind him, and fired another futile burst at the pillbox. Then he sprinted forward, motioning for the three men with him to follow. His boots pounded through the flowerbed, heels kicking up sod and leaves. There were fifty meters between his team and the gunner, who had seen them, and was swivelling the barrel of his weapon in their direction.

Kepler pointed to his right. “Half-envelopment!”. He ran harder, His lungs sucked air and the tendons of his legs threatened to snap. His men obeyed, and the ragged cluster formed into a thin line that drifted to the right of the emplacement, a ragged pincer that covered half the distance to the gun even as the crew sighted in and sent a hail of fire at them.

Geysers of dirt erupted just in front of Paul. A short pause, and the gun sounded again-- the rounds landed to the right of and behind him-- even farther off target.

Kepler felt a shiver of jubilation, a flash of understanding, and he snatched a grenade from his web harness. “His barrel’s warped! Light em up!”.

He dove to a prone position and, from twenty meters to the slit in the pillbox, emptied the rest of his magazine in a barrage of suppression fire. When the gun went dry, he reloaded while the gunner in the pillbox tried frantically to adjust for the effects of overheating on his weapon. More rounds kicked up dirt and grass, far to Kepler’s left, just as the first of his team slid behind the emplacement.

The gunner stopped firing, and Kepler grinned. “That’s right, fucker,” he muttered. “Change that barrel…”

The second of Kepler’s team reached the emplacement.

Kepler’s grin turned to a full-on smile.

The first of the men to reach the emplacement crawled around to the front, and deftly slid a grenade through the slit of the pillbox. Kepler heard curses, shouted in Spanish, followed by a flash, a dull ‘thud’, and a cloud of smoke.

One of the men at the pillbox bellowed; a victory cry, but premature. Headlights appeared on the pavement as a vehicle powered toward the gate from the south. Kepler realised that the men guarding the private road that lead up the mountain were arriving. He couldn’t make out what kind of vehicle they were in, but could see the flashes from a mounted gun rattling off rounds in their direction over of where the cab would be.

Paul sprinted the last yards to the defunct pillbox and joined the rest of his team, where they took cover on the north side of the concrete structure. The vehicle was perhaps fifty yards from the gate, and his men were already laying down a withering field of fire down the road.One headlight shattered, then the other. He heard the engine rev harder, and saw the flash from its mounted weapon change orientation as it fired a long burst into the darkened sky. Then another, short burst as the vehicle apparently turned hard to the right and plowed into the thick foliage at the side of the road.

Then, Kepler charged north, toward the house. He could see that his men now held the yards of the estate: smoke billowed from the servants’ quarters, and there was now only sporadic firing from within the guards’ quarters…not long bursts of automatic fire, but single shots delivered in quick pairs. They were double taps…kill checks. Paul knew that his men had secured guard housing.

When he reached the main house of the estate, he deployed his team along the outer wall, on either side of the gaping hole that the errant Huey blade created. The jagged, dark hole was taller than a man and twice as wide. Beyond, was darkness and a thick pall of dust and smoke. Now, he decided, was the time to rally.

He keyed a button on his harness. “Tango 2, report.”

There was a long moment of silence, before two more kill checks sounded from guards’ housing. Then came the reply.

“Tango 2, tango 1. We’ve secured the building. Got 1 delta.”

“Tango 3, report.”

“Secure, tango 1 . We have 1 delta, 1 whiskey 3. It‘s the doc. ”

“Tango 4, report.”

“Tango 4, tango 1.…uh…had a problem in the vehicle pool. Secure. 2 delta, 1 whiskey. Can’t walk, was gonna ask for the doc…but…”

“Roger. tango 4 sit tight, and we’ll send someone to you. Out.”

Between the three teams that went in to take the buildings, there were four dead and two wounded.; one badly wounded. Their medic was down. 18 dead including the two pilots in the destroyed helicopter, soon to be 19, most likely. But, at least, they now held the front grounds.

Kepler donned his night vision set and scanned the area. A burning pyre at the southwest corner of the compound, where the Huey burned, glowed a throbbing white. Otherwise, there was no sign of live defenders. A few bodies, most shot down in the first minute of the assault, were scattered near the house and the western buildings. He saw a couple more inert lumps that used to be human beings near the small vehicle pool on the eastern edge. Otherwise, the only signs of life were in the treetops just visible over the edge of the plateau: monkeys, initially terrified by the short firefight, were braving a peek to see what the commotion was about, and began to chatter among themselves, again.

Paul risked a quick turkey-peek into the hole in the wall…there was a lot of rubble in there, and dust hanging in the air obscured his vision, even with the night vision goggles. He was certain that anyone who was unlucky enough to be in the vicinity of the flying helicopter blade would be no threat. But he knew that the house wasn’t empty. He knew that their primary target was inside when the operation was launched, and he only saw a couple of henchmen come out of the house to meet them. Someone was in there. How many, or in what condition, he couldn’t know. But that they were inside was beyond doubt.

He keyed his mic again. “Tango 2, link up with 3 and take charge. Secure the back, then stand by to move inside on my signal. Have a man grab what they can off the doc and send him to the motor pool. We have one wounded there, see if he can be patched up.”

There was a long pause.

“Uh…Tango 1, the doc’s still breathing.”

“Do it.”

Another pause, then something that sounded like a sigh came across the net.

“Roger.”

For the next few minutes, Kepler’s team held its position at the front of the manse, while the other teams carried out his orders. All was quiet.

Kepler watched the progress of team 2 Small-weapons fire erupted. It came from the back, at team 2’s objective, and was punctuated by an explosion. Possibly a grenade. Even at the front of the mansion, the wall that Team 1 huddled against shook once, carrying the concussion through the stone.

Kepler motioned for his men to follow, and charged through the hole in the wall, BXP at the ready, scanning the darkness with his night vision set.

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