(2015-09-29) Mission Gone Wrong
Mission Gone Wrong
Summary: A drone hunt becomes an ambush gone wrong
Date: 9.29.2015
Related: None

When it comes to small towns this one is the smallest. It is so small it doesn't even have a stop light. Sneeze as you go by and you just might miss it.

It is divided in half by the highway. To the south is a grain and feed place, with a long row of silos, a few large barns and a store front. There are railroad tracks just on the other side of that.

To the north is a small little restaurant as you enter the little town, a post office that doubles as a two pump gas station and convenience store. Beyond that a small residential area sits that only has a couple dozen houses.

The last week has been weird, at least as far as drones buzzing by are concerned. The usual ones go by during the morning sure but the same time everyday, early evening, a lone drone buzzes through Fremont and the small, sneeze and you miss it town of Ames, before disappearing to the west. It's been appearing like clockwork everyday so Sonny sent out a group to shot it down. Clearly it was looking for something, better to deal with it before it found it. Today though it's late. It's been a good 30 minutes past ETA for the drone and no sightings of it yet, not even the sound of distant buzzing.

While Jules hasn't exactly become a regular face among town — preferring to stay to the outside, conduct her own sort of patrols, help anyone found on the road and generally be a silent sort of guardian angel — tonight she's come along on whatever this investigation mission plans to be. She carries her rifle, her nice one that she only brings out for patrols, but there are probably a few smaller weapons hidden on her somewhere. She's in her full suit tonight, tattered hems, missing buttons and all. Still, from a distance in the dim light, she looks professional and sharp. Her black hair is pulled in a braid off of her face. She's ready to work, if they need it.

Quinton looks rather not professional. His gun holster is on over a sweater of all things. he looks a mix match at the end of the world. The poet is also carrying a rifle, the ones they use to shoot down the drones. he's not got the best aim, but his ears ar very sharp, which might be why he's come along. He lets the others lead, just keeping his eyes and ears open.

Standing with Jules is Terry, wearing his usual jeans-shirt-survival-pack getup, non-camo, and carrying a drag bag containing a Barrett M82A1; like the M107, except lighter, and more compact. He also has a handgun and knife strapped to his waist. He sports serious face-fuzz, having gone without shaving for a good while. He flashes a thumbs-up to Jules, and glances around to the rest of the crew.

Elijah meanwhile looks out of place entirely. The doctor rarely left his duties in the First Aid Building, much less camp itself. However, desired to contribute to the group however they needed him…and tonight they needed him here. So here he was. As usual, his leather satchel hangs at his side, containing his emergency medic equipment. Unusual was the gun he held, borrowed from Quinton, which probably either looked comical or disturbing depending on who was looking and how they knew him. Still, the way he carried it suggests he has at least held one before…so that was a good sign. Right?

Minutes tick by slowly from one to the next and still no sight or sound of the drone. What gives? Did it find what it was looking for?

The slender woman gives Terry a slight nod, fairly good at working by his side when she needs, and a tilt of her head to the left side. She was going to do a loop of the group, keep to the outside of everyone, protecting their group as much as they were all looking for the drones. So, as there are many eyes on the skies, Jules beings a slow walk around the group, keeping far to the outside and her own striking blues trained on the area around them. An enemy could be on the ground as much as in the sky.

Quinton wipes his forehead with his forearm before turning and watching the skies. He's been quiet all day. But that's not affecting his eyes, just his ability to tell people what he's seeing. It's a frustrating situation to be in.

Elijah keeps his attention around the area, looking for any movement or outside presence. He did feel out of place, but also had a good eye. At least in the operating room. Hopefully it'd help here. The grip on his gun shifts slightly, but he still holds it firm. Nothing yet…he wasn't sure if that was good or bad?

Until recently, Bob was more likely to go off on his own, into the woods or off to scavenge for supplies. He's been a bit more active in the camp since the rescue went down. Anyone who has paid any attention would also note, he's spent a lot of time in the bar. Alone.

Keeping to that distinctive personality trait, Bob has been quiet on the walk out here. He trailed towards the back of the group, keeping up the rear. He's gone his hunting ruffle over one shoulder, hand cannon on his hip, and a hunting knife on his left thigh.

When they stop, he keeps a little distance, focused on the sky, since that's where drones generally tend to fly. He shifts his gaze towards the others, assessing them in brief stints, one after the other before looking back to the barren, quiet sky.

As the sun continues its descent toward the western horizon and the sky turns to fantastic sworls of oranges and pinks still no drone appears. Another noise though does start to make itself known. It's not one that has been heard for awhile, but is still quite familiar to all. That of an engine. A heavy duty engine by the sounds of it. And there is only one group that has vehicles that work….dun, dun, dun!
"Shit." The commentary comes beneath Jules' voice, probably only audible to one or two of the people closest to her. She sinks back, instinctively, into the closest shadow she can find. Instead of at parade rest, her rifle now comes readied and her fingertip instinctively slides off the safety. She takes no other actions, waiting for orders from the man who is leading this little group, but the ex-cop has fallen into an action ready stance with just the space of two breaths and some quick motions.

Quinton quickly follows Jules lead, making sure Eli takes cover as well.

Terry grabs a stick from nearby, and starts sketching out a rough layout of the area, glancing up every so often to assess the gathered Hopers. He glances up to Bob and waves him over, inviting him to check things over. "Put folks here, here, here, and here.." He points to spots on the map. … Showtime. "Alright. Positions!" His weapon comes up, and he heads off to his 'nest'.

Bob blinks and glances around at the sound of the engine rumble. He slides his rifle from it's strapped position over his shoulder and brings the butt of it against his shoulder, barrel pointed to the ground for now.

Ex-Sheriff Bob moves over to Terry when he starts drawing, eyeing the drawing for a moment. He hmmms quietly and takes a battered old flask from inside his jacket. He unscrews the cap and takes a swig, then dutifully replaces the cap and then the flask. Always time for a refreshing beverage.

"Shit son, you know more 'bout special tactics than I do." A beat pause, and he pulls off his hat, scratching at his hair and then replaces the hat. "Looks solid nuff I suspect. I'd move that one…" he points at one of the people, "There…" he points about two or three inches over, a bit more diagonal than they were before that from the nearest person across from them. Maybe just to reduce the chance of accidental cross fire. Professional shooters wouldn't have had trouble in that position, but not everyone here is a professional shooter.

Elijah hears the noise…not sure what it means. Wait, no. Somebody had told him about vehicles. Who had the vehicles? Oh…right. Hide! He does pay attention to Terry's quick dirt map out of positioning, as well as Bob's comments, before looking around as everybody scatters. Right. Hiding! He takes a few steps to follow Quinton before pausing, stepping back and swiping the bottom of his loafer across the map quickly to scatter the dirt. No good to leave it out there with all their little 'X' positions exposed! He then quickly moves to take cover off beside Quinton, looking in the direction of the noise and waiting…

Jules barely takes ten seconds to look at the map. She's far more concerned with their surroundings, doubly so now that there is some sort of vehicle coming and everyone is worried about that sound. She looks down just long enough to get her orders for a position and then her eyes come back up and she nods curtly, "Got it." Bob is given a blue eye look and a small loft of a brow, but she doesn't bother cutting in between the two tacticians. Military wasn't her place, she really even only worked with SWAT for about a year. So, she does what she knows well — fall in and take orders. Back to the wall, she shifts smoothly back into her indicated position, rifle still raised.

As the group takes cover…whereever and however they are taking cover, the rumble of the truck engines steadily grows closer. It's coming from the west at a steady pace, no police or traffic means no speed limit so it's also a fast pace. Before long it can be seen coming around a curve in the road. Yep its a truck, OD green. Exactly like the truck that certain members of the Camp liberated a month or so ago.

Terry unfurls his shooting mat, checks his rifle one more time, and prones out on the roof of one of the buildings, figuring higher is better. He loads his first round, safety off, and settles in, covering himself with an improvised ghillie suit. When the truck comes in, he zeroes in on the driver/passenger, and then switches to the engine, finger off the trigger for now.

The lofted eyebrow from Jules gets a shrug and then Bob moves off to probably the least secured position. Old farts to the front! It isn't wide open, but it isn't on top of a building other. He's positioned across the street from the building Terry is on, behind an abandoned car off near the sidewalk. There he'll wait until the opportunity to shoot becomes clear. Behind him about ten feet is a small store, his fallback position.

As the truck gets closer to the ambush point it begins to slow down, the engine going quieter as the speed slows to a crawl. It stops briefly, it's still to far to make out people in it, unless you have a scope and even then they are at the edge of range. After a few moments it once more begins to move foward, slower this time. After another mile it turns so it is across the road, there is movement but the truck itself blocks whatever is going on.

Quinton stays hidden, motioning for Eli to stay low as well. He'd rather not tangle with military if he doesn't have to. A brief glance to the sky, the poet wonders if they're the reason the drones not been seen.

Elijah looks over as Quinton motions for him to lower, doing so and trying to make sure he stayed as concealed as possible in their hiding spot. All he could hope was they got out of this alright…and nobody got hurt. At least he had his medical bag. One hand stays on his gun, keeping it close just in case it was needed. The other hand tugs his medical bag closer against his hip protectively. His eyes stay in the direction of the approaching vehicle.

Terry holds his position, trying to get an eyeball on the driver and passenger. Unfortunately, the angle is all wrong, and he'd be a sitting duck trying to get into a better position, so he hunkers down and utters a voiceless prayer for the Hope team to make it out alive.

Her breath has slowed out. The calm, low pattern of a woman who is ready to pull the trigger any moment. Jules' index finger is across the trigger and the rifle is lined up, keeping on the driver of that vehicle with an entirely too long stretch of patience. She just needed an order. Just a motion of hands, a simple indiciation that now was the time. Then she would breathe out and shoot and the entire world would slow down to the creep of a snail. For now, though, she waits.

A slow creeping motion is what Bob uses to slide up against the side of the car. He shifts his rifle into place along the roof and peers through his hunting scope. It's not a military grade scope. It's not even a high grade hunting scope. Odds are he's not going to get much, but he looks anyway.

A flick of his index finger and the safety is turned off. He is more visible in this position, but at this distance, he needs time to line up a shot, and he's not going to get much of that in the middle of a fire fight, so he waits there while working to get a bead on one of the occupants of the truck.

The movement continues for a few more moments, all blocked by the bulk of the truck. After a moment a head peeks up from over the hood and what is possibly some sort of weapon is braced on it. There is a the sound of a very…very large caliber weapon being shot off, a whistling noise and all of a sudden the side of one the buildings near where the group is holed up explodes in a shower of debris. More explosions follow suit.

"INCOMING!" Terry calls out, right before the first explosion. He disappears amidst the smoke and dust, using it as cover to reposition himself closer to the ground, hauling his drag-bag. Before the dust settles, he zeroes in, loads a round, and takes aim at the grenadier's head. *BANG*

A wince comes from Jules as that explosion echoes far too close for comfort, but there is no time to actually run, hide, or even panic. Right now was exactly the time one had to crack down and focus on the mission objective, which was now to just get everyone out of there alive. So she gets lower, trying to take up as little space as possible and protect her body as she waits for a clear shot.

Quinton's eyes widen and he ducks lower, mumbling a low, "Shit!" The poet's ears start ringing. Quin's not trained to deal with explosions, his gun gripped a little tighter.

"Shit!" Bob growls out and ducks behind the car. Unfortunately, against grenades, a car is less than useless, it's shrapnel waiting to happen.

Bob dives and rolls towards the building, no mean feat for someone his age and scrambles for the corner of the building that was behind him, taking cover behind it. He looks out towards the others, trying to assess if anyone has been hit and then falls behind cover once more.

Breathe in, breathe out. He ducks out around the corner once more and attempts to line up a shot.

Elijah jolts in alarm with the explosion, eyes wide and going to the destruction before he ducks low instinctively. His breath quickens, the young doctor trying to calm a sense of panic that start to rise within him. He wasn't use to all of this. The fighting. The war. He wasn't a fighter. Still, the hand on his bag moves to grip his gun again, both hands now gripping it to try and have it at the ready. It looked like they were going to need them after all. With Terry's yell, his eyes go wide, but he stays hunkered down and keeps his voice low as he looks to Quinton. "What's he doing?! They're going to locate and fire on us if he keeps yelling like that…aren't they?" Maybe he didn't understand…maybe it was a distraction tactic? Either way, it isn't like they had anywhere to run right now.

As the grenades blow up around the Hopers the enemy uses the distraction, because that's what it was, to weapon up and rush into where the group is hiding. It seems this group is like all the others that have been encountered. All teens, dressed in camo fatigues but this time wearing funky glasses/goggles over thier eyes. Each one carries a standard issue military machine gun and they mean business with them. The ones in front immediatly start laying out cover fire so the ones following can take cover positions.

The moment there is some view of at least one target, teenager or not, Jules opens fire. They were the enemy. They were firing at them. There was no choice or reason for a soft heart now. Her bullet flies true, an excellent shot even in the chaos. But she is a woman for whom the chaos doesn't seem an issue. She takes orders through it all and will be a quiet, deadly and quite accurate back up for the rest of the fight.

When they started to run out, Bob was ready. He doesn't rush the shot, he takes his time, lines it up. Bob isn't a sniper, not by conventional standards. Given the population crisis, he's probably closer to one, comparatively, than he'd ever been.

They may be teenagers, but they're armed, trained and don't hesitate to shoot. Bob takes a deep breath again. He lets it loose with a heavy sigh and a single shot.

The bullet careens down the street and slams into one the on rushers. If it doesn't kill him outright, it takes him out of the fight.

Quinton winces again, silently cursing the entire situation. After a deep breath, he spins , aims and shoots. The bullet connects, stingily enough, ripping through one of the teens leg. He mutters something else, low and scared.

Elijah was quickly in over his head. Yep. He was a doctor, not a sniper. Sure there was a Star Trek pun here, but there was no time! As suddenly as the explosion had occurred, guns were firing. Quinton was next to him cursing. This was bad. He had to try and help. Eli raises his gun, trying his best to get any kind of shot out. Miss. They were teenagers. Children. He couldn't focus to try and hurt any of them. That didn't stop them from hurting him though.

Sure enough, a bullet soon found it's way into his leg, tearing through muscle and sending the doctor to the ground with a yell of pain. Pain blinds his vision for a moment, the searing heat going through his entire leg at this point, but he tries to focus. Apply pressure. Bandage. Anything. He sits up…trying at least.

Terry zeroes in on one of the hostiles as they enter his field of view, and lets loose with a round. His training kicks in, and he goes numb. Aim, fire, reload… aim, fire, reload. The bullpup-style M82A1 allows for ten rounds per magazine, and he's carrying at least one extra magazine, maybe more. Can't think about that right now, gotta protect his people. Focus on the mission.

Some of the rushing Kamo Kids fall, a few never to get up again. One or two just wounded. More are coming though, it seems there was a truckload. They have had time to take cover behind buildings or cars. More gunfire is exchanged between the the two groups.

Eli's cry pierces Quin's fog and he glances down before taking another shot at an approaching soldier. Hitting another one before he yells over at the doc, "Stop…bleeding.." He knows the doc knows, but still.

Bob ducks behind the cover of the building for a moment. His hunting rifle doesn't have a magazine. Luckily he's been using it for decades. Literally. With methodical precision, he pulls back the bolt, slides in a new cartridge, leans back around the corner.

Breath in…And then a bullet slams into the wall near his head. He flinches and fires. It's a wonder the bullet went anywhere near his taret. It's a miracle it connected. But the bullet went wide. It connects with one of the kids in the arm, but that's about it.

Terry loads another round, aims, and goes to fire, when a round zips by his head (if he didn't already have a crew cut, he'd probably be missing a patch of hair right now) and punches into the wall behind him, causing him to flinch. He shakes his head to clear the ringing in his ears, realigns his aim, and sends some lead down-range. Bingo! Punky Brewster takes a shot to the arm.. but stays upright. Bah.

One more goes down, wounded enough to take him or is it her? Hard to tell at the moment. That person is out of action. There are cries of pain from the others as they are wounded, but still fully capable of pulling a trigger. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Elijah grimaces against the pain in his leg, trying to think through the haze in his head. Deep breaths. In. Out. Focus. Quin? The other man's words bring Eli back to his surroundings the rest of the way for the moment, a look and then a nod being given to Quin. "…R…ight…" He knew he didn't have much time. Even with focused breathing…shock would set in soon. He may understand everything that's happening to his body right now, but that doesn't mean he can stop it natural reaction.

Eli reaches for his bag a moment before seeing the blood on his hand, grimacing and pressing it back against his leg. He couldn't contaminate the other equipment. "Quin…bag…" he nods with his head, sweat starting to form on his brow. "Cloth…and bandages. Pressure first. Clot. Then…wrap…" He tried to explain what needed to be done as his head started to spin slightly. Focus.

Damn it. Damn. Quin ducks as a several bullets slam into whatever it is he and the doc are hiding against. Debris explodes around them, sending shards at them both. Quin does his best to shield the doc from anything else, but ends up with several cuts, one underneath his left eye. "Shit!" he'll start fumbling with the medical bag to help the man.

The bullet that hit the wall caused chunks of rock to scratch across Bob's face. A faint line of blood oozes out and trickles down his face. It's a tertiary concern. Primary is the bullets coming at them. Secondary is the bullets he plans to send down range. Tertiary are the minor injuries he'll sustain.

Bob once more loads a new round into the chamber, slaming the bolt into place behind it. Two quick breaths and Bob is once more around the corner lining up his shot.

Bullets fly in all directions, towards him and others. One of the teenagers is lining up on the Doc, and Bob takes his shot without hesitation.

As good shots go, this was a damn good one. The kid was taking aim one moment, and his head jerked back the next. The shooter is now just a heap on the ground.

And then as Bob tries to duck back into cover he stumbles back. One of the bullets coming his way slams through his left shoulder and causes him to lose his grip on the rifle. He doesn't drop it, but he doesn't take aim just now.

Bob slides back into cover behind the building and leans his rifle against the wall, gripping at his shoulder with a groan.

Absently, he uses his right hand to pull his .357 from his holster and draws back the hammer. His left arm hangs limply by his side for now.

Six rounds left in the current magazine, plus ten more in the spare. Gotta make 'em count. Terry inhales-exhales a few times, zeroes in on his targets, and sends s'more lead down-range on the final exhale. Of course, with all of the dust and noise and what-not, conditions aren't all that great, so.. yeah. Fingers crossed for stopping-power.

Watching one of thier own's head explode seems to be demoralizing for those one or two left standing after the latest barrage of bullets. It's hard to tell with all the smoke from the fires the explosions caused if bullts hit targets of not. A few more grenades are launched from the truck to create cover fire so the remaining Kamo Kids can gather the wounded ones and flee to the truck. The driver of the truck barely waits for them all to get in before he punches the gas and sending the vehicle squealing in the direction it came from.

Elijah winces as more shrapnel and bullets fly around them, trying his best to stay ducked out of the line of anything else. Looking on as Quin works with the bag and helping him, Eli does his best to assist. Mainly trying to keep pressure on the wound. Soon, the sounds of combat fade as the teenagers retreat. It seemed to be with good timing too as the dizziness in Eli's head increases, causing the man to lean back more against whatever he was propped against, hands slipping in their hold on his leg for a moment. His eyes close a moment as he tries to keep his breaths even, but the shock was trying hard to set in.

Quinton's not got much knowledge, but he can do enough to keep Eli from bleeding out before rushing over to do the same for Bob. He'll motion, once it's clear the soldier are leaving he motions for Terry to help him get everyone one they're feet and get people back to camp.

For his part, Bob just leans against the wall, getting blood all over it. He keeps his big ass revolver in hand, just case the didn't actually leave. He may have blown some kids brains out, but that doesn't mean they aren't smart enough to run and come around from the other side of the street.

Bob eyes Quinton as he comes over, eyes half dazed. Blood loss plus adrenaline can results in being hazy. He offers a nod, "Don't stress, it's just a flesh wound."

He slips the pistol back into its holster while Quinton does whatever he's going to do, and then picks up his rifle again, "Best high tail it back to Camp…" a beat pause, "And best take the long way, in case they try to follow us."

As the Kamo Kids flee to the truck, Terry lines up one last shot… a memento for the juvenile delinquents. Unfortunately, all of the day's action has finally come to bear on the weapon and, with additional help from the cloud of dust and debris being thrown up as the truck peels out, Terry's shot misses its mark. Not by much, but still a miss.

Elijah opens his eyes again, swallowing and nodding in thanks to Quinton as he then watches the man go to help Bob as well. Just as quickly as the events had escalated, things were now quiet once more. The only signs of battle now being the destruction left behind and their wounds. With the talk of heading back to camp he'd nod, not talking much at this point as he just focused on gathering himself together and moving. He was not used to getting injured and, as such, was not terribly accustomed to pain. With where his wound was though, he'd definitely need assistance walking back to camp if they hadn't brought any sort of transport.

Well the drone hunt wasn't all it was cracked up to be. After the smoke clears, the bodies searched, the Hope wounded bandaged up the group makes their slow way back to camp, first stop, First Aid, second report to Sonny.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License