"This is not a plan," argued Diana, "it is just a goal. The point of a plan is to, surprisingly, actually have steps that reach a goal! Not just wing it or figure it out!"
"What if the plan is to wing it?" asked Nathaniel as he counted his ammo for his Glock 17, "That would technically still be a plan then."
Diana huffed loudly before continuing, "You can't say 'I have a plan' and then say your plan is a single step; rescue Michael."
"I can and I did," jested Nathaniel. He had finished counting his ammunition. In total he had twenty three rounds - not nearly enough for an assault of a military base. [It'll just have to do,] thought the regressed FBI agent, [I'll make it work, I've used less before].
The pair were huddled behind an abandoned van several dozen metres away from the 110th Division's Compound. Nathaniel was unable to get a proper look at the military base until now. He had arrived unconscious, saved by Diana, and had left in a hurry. Only now he realised the base itself was built inside a community park. A mix of temporary and quickly constructed buildings covered the park - half of which was surrounded by a razor wire fence. A fence that had not been there yesterday.
The new fence was not the only change Nathaniel noticed. Dozens of soldiers patrolled the compound's perimeter in pairs - all armed to the teeth. Rifles, submachine-guns, shotguns all in hand and ready for lethal application. [That solves my ammo problem,] mused Nathaniel as he loaded his Glock 17.
"Okay, here's the plan for real Dee," began Nathaniel in a hushed tone.
"Finally," said Diana with a sigh, "there was no way we were storming the base with good energy and 23 bullets."
"Correct," continued Nathaniel before explaining, "basically, we're going to take the Far Die approach. Sneak close, take one or two of them out. Then I'll take one of their weapons and we blitz our way to Michael. We'll hop from cover to cover, not just returning fire but attacking offensively. Speed and aggression will be two of our advantages. My only concern is you."
"You don't need to worry about me Mister," replied Diana with a smirk, "I took down an Angel solo, one that beat you down - remember?"
Nathaniel smiled weakly before elaborating, "Yea I remember. Your tenacity isn't what I'm worried about Dee. You're definitely formidable. What I am worried about is if you have to kill or shoot someone. Yes, these soldiers are bad people. Yes, they are enslaving civilians to build some kind of border wall against the undead. But bad people are still people. And people have families. They have friends. They have hopes and dreams. If things go south, I need to know you got my back Dee."
Diana nodded in understanding before answering, "They choose to stay with the 110th though. They have a choice to leave or to do the right thing. Nobody is inherently evil, people choose to be evil. So if I have to shoot someone who is going to kill us, I'm aiming for the head."
Nathaniel blinked twice. [This is the kind of confidence the last Diana had,] he thought, [she just needed some faith put in her to unlock it].
"You're a certified badass now, Dee," smirked Nathaniel, "true Hollywood action hero stuff. Ready, Ron McLaine?"
"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker" replied Diana with an eager smile.
Nathaniel then put a finger to his lips, motioning Diana to stay silent. She nodded in understanding and followed closely behind him as they advanced towards the compound. Using parked cars for cover, they advanced unseen. Finally, the duo were barely a dozen metres away from the nearest soldiers. Diana and Nathaniel hunkered down beside a truck as the soldiers patrolled past their location. After a few seconds, Nathaniel sprung into action.
Jumping to his feet and vaulting over the truck's bonnet, Nathaniel broke into a sprint towards the nearest pair of soldiers. Simultaneously, he unholstered his pistol and unleashed three rounds at the 110th division soldiers.
Hearing the commotion, the soldiers whipped around. However before one of them could even respond two bullets collided with his skull which exploded into blood and bone fragments before the man collapsed. [Twenty bullets,] noted Nathaniel mentally.
The surviving soldier raised his rifle but before he could pull the trigger Nathaniel muttered "Mark of Judgement". Immediately the soldier found himself unable to fire. He panicked, trying with multiple different fingers as Nathaniel advanced towards him like a reaper from hell. The soldier screamed as the FBI agent fired a single bullet between the frenzied soldier's eyes. [Nineteen,] thought Nathaniel. He kept rushing forwards, scooping up the first soldier's firearm - a heavy black shotgun.
The sound of gunshots alerted other pairs of soldiers nearby. One of which took out a flare gun and fired it into the air. The flare flew high, arcing overhead and fizzling out a hundred or so metres above the ground. Nathaniel ignored everything, jumping into the air and twisting around one hundred and eighty degrees. He fired the shotgun, expending a single buckshot round at a slightly downwards angle that boomed like thunder. The effect was instantaneous. Nathaniel was launched backwards through the air, enhancing his momentum as he collided with two soldiers.
The soldiers were knocked back several metres, landing in disorientated heaps of limbs. Nathaniel however was quick to his feet and used a single shotgun blast to dispatch the duo. He looked over his shoulder, breathing heavy. Diana was not far behind him, her own Glock 17 in hand as she rushed after him. He nodded once in approval before turning his attention back to his attackers.
Only a single pair of soldiers remained within firing range - both of which wielding heavy shotguns the same model as Nathaniel's. [Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen] counted the FBI agent as he unleashed a barrage from his handgun. The first bullet missed, ricocheting off the pavement and into the side of a nearby car. The second pierced one of the soldiers through the side - causing damage but not death. The third collided with the other soldier's knee, destroying it thoroughly. As that soldier collapsed to one knee the fourth bullet drilled itself through the poor man's forehead.
The remaining soldier fired his shotgun mere milliseconds before Nathaniel finished muttering "Mark of Judgement". Time almost seemed to slow for the FBI agent as memories of his past life forced his body into motion. Almost as if on autopilot, Nathaniel half turned - minimising the surface area exposed to the blast. Shrapnel dug deep into his side, causing blood to seep out from several places. Adrenaline and endorphins dulled the pain, making it barely bearable. Nathaniel roared as his muscles tensed in anticipation.
The agent leapt forward with formidable force, smashing the sole surviving soldier with the barrel of his shotgun. Stumbling backwards from the impact, the soldier never got a chance to recover. Nathaniel darted forward and slammed the end of the shotgun's barrel into the man's mouth before pulling the trigger. Exploding, blood and brain tissue rocketed outwards from where the soldier's head used to be. Body without instruction, the last soldier collapsed to his knees and fell forward.
Nathaniel panted heavily, blood dripping down his face.
Diana caught up with him - the pair standing outside an unfenced section of the compound. Dozens of soldiers stood behind cover, weapons ready in hand. Diana rushed behind her own cover as Nathaniel advanced forward. Ducking and weaving through cover, the FBI agent gained ground on the soldiers. He fired his Glock 17, counting his remaining ammunition as he spent it.
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen. Two soldiers down.
Twelve, eleven, ten. Three soldiers down.
Nine, eight, seven. Four soldiers down, three by firearm and one from a well-placed and powerful punch to the temple.
Nathaniel continued to machine his way through the onslaught of soldiers, leaving broken bodies in his wake. He constantly switched weapons, mostly relying on the firearms of those he had already felled. When his commandeered guns clicked empty, he threw it at his enemies before acquiring another. Diana followed several metres behind, hiding behind cover and taking shots at the few soldiers that managed to flank Nathaniel.
After several minutes the duo found themselves outside the command centre for the 110th Division's Compound. They also found themselves without foe, dozens of soldiers dead on their journey that dyed the park's snow a crimson red. Covered in blood, fragments of bone and tiny pieces of flesh; Nathaniel kicked down the door of the command centre.
The room was large and well-lit by oil lamps that hung overhead. A man in a military officer's uniform sat at the end of a long table smoking a cigarette, a large revolver sitting on the table in front of him. Clearly he was the commander. Around him stood seven soldiers bearing rifles, four of which aimed at Nathaniel and Diana. The last three wielded shotguns that all pointed directly at Michael who was gagged. He had been tied to a chair to the left of the commander, hands behind his back. His face was bruised a spectrum of purple shades, his eyes bloodshot and wide.
The commander smiled, cigarette smoke billowing upwards as he bared his grey teeth in a twisted grin. His sky blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and malice. His hands rested on the table, folded and relaxed.
"Oh hello," greeted the commander in an almost musical voice, "I've been waiting for you, Nathaniel."