Chapter 10
Infernal Cascade (II)
General Michael Vyorn came from a long lineage of military men–his father served in the military for nearly fifty years before retiring, his grandfather fought in the Second World War as well as in Vietnam, and even his great-grandfather served as a military engineer long before modern military engineering was a thing. And then there was him, one of the youngest US Generals to be promoted in the modern era, achieving that rank at the tender age of 38. It has been some time since then, and he was now a man in his mid-forties, greying and wrinkling, but still a force commanding the presence of the room.
Ever since the strange thing descended into the Atlantic Ocean, he had barely slept; he was carted off left and right to put out fires and had just gotten a sense of stability of the region for the past week when a young soldier came running into his office, saying there had been an incident. He thought it was another common thing–looting, perhaps a robbery, or even a murder, but it somehow turned out to be all of those things, and yet none of them at the same time.
The military-occupied mart was set ablaze, with all four men guarding it dead–that was the first piece of information that shocked him. The second was that there was video footage of it and that it was not an accident, but a purposeful act. As such, he immediately went to the media room, alongside all other high-ranking staff in the base, and watched the video from six feeds spliced together into chronological order.
The first thing of note was that two masked men burst in through the rear entrance and immediately subdued the patrolling guard–it was a textbook entry and a textbook takedown. The guard couldn't warn through coms or even scream or shout to send out an alert about the intruders. He was killed within a few seconds, his carotid arteries severed in a singular, practised, and experienced movement by one of the masked men. What followed after was, perhaps, even more shocking than the 'perfect' entrance.
One of the masked men–the one who killed the guard–picked up the guard's assault rifle while the other stealthed toward one of the sections of the mart. The man with the gun casually took a few steps toward the eastern point, crouching and aiming the rifle before firing off a single gunshot, precisely hitting a headshot. The guard patrolling the section with tupperware fell right after, and the two guards at the front were alarmed. They quickly reported through the coms that there were shots fired and that they were heading in to investigate while requesting backup. Backup that would only take a minute to two minutes at most to arrive.
The masked man without a gun sped toward the textile section like the wind carried him, while the other retreated, picked up the dead guard by the rear doors, and effortlessly carried him forward. Hiding behind some shelves, as though he had direct access to the cameras observing everything, he tossed the guard's corpse forward and drew the attention of both remaining guards–one of them fired a single shot before realising it was a decoy but, by then, it was too late.
The gunman fired off two shots in rapid succession and with precision rivalling the best of the best marksmen Michael had ever known. Both were headshots, effortless in nature, and two guards fell to the ground, dead. Right then, the second intruder abandoned the looting, having grabbed several handfuls of clothes, and started sprinting like mad toward the exit. On the other hand, the gunman crouched yet again and took a deep breath, holding a shot for precisely three seconds before firing off four bullets in bursts of two.
As though he had a guiding program etched into the bullets, they seemed to find their way through the stacked shelves of the mart and precisely hit four different barrels to the front of the mart–and just a few seconds later, the feed got cut. The report indicated that the fire reached the electrical wiring and fried everything at that moment. As for what the gunman and the second intruder did after, it was a matter of blind guessing–but considering that this all took place over thirty minutes ago, they were likely long gone.
The room fell silent, nobody uttering a sound. What they witnessed was effectively a perfectly-executed military operation–stealth infiltration, taking out of the sentries, grabbing sensitive info–or, in this case, clothes–causing a massive distraction, and disappearing. The only way it could have been executed better was if it had been done at night. Which caused Michael to ask that very question to the entire room.
"Why during the day?" as the officer with the highest ranking, he quickly steered the conversation in a specific direction.
"They aren't local. At least not anymore," one of the junior officers replied.
"Likely live outside the city, which would mean leaving by car, especially considering their load," another junior officer added. "Moving cars are less inconspicuous during the day, especially if they don't rush it and blend in with the countless abandoned ones."
"That's not it," Michael's second in command, Lieutenant Sarah McLock, voiced out after a moment's silence.
"What do you see, Sarah?" Micahel asked.
"The second intruder," she said, rewinding the footage. "From the start, all they did was grab and dash. Entirely divorced from the main operation."
"Which means?" He guided her along.
"They are inexperienced," Sarah said. "Possibly very young. The mart would basically be a dark room at night, and someone inexperienced and without proper equipment wouldn't be able to navigate it with required precision."
"That," Michael nodded, rewinding the footage to the start and playing it all over again, commenting on it. "As Sarah said, the secondary intruder played no part in the actual mission. In fact, with the experience the main intruder showed, it is possible he could have executed this operation all on his own and still got away. Which means that we are witnessing a mentor-mentee sort of relationship. James, profile them for me." Michael turned to the only man in the formal suit, James Abbleton, a Special Agent with the FBI specialising largely in counter-terrorism, though with some background in behavioural psychology.
"There's little to go off of," the man spoke in a calm and detached tone. He looked to be in his mid-forties, just like Michael, though with a much younger appearance. What gave him away were the eyes and the rings around them. "They exhibit the textbook mentor-mentee signs–the gunman is likely much older than the secondary intruder and has a commanding presence in the young person's mind. If you take notice, the secondary intruder abandons everything when the fourth shot is fired, immediately running for the exit."
"It was planned precisely," Michael said, having noticed the same thing.
"Exactly. But it is difficult to obey direct orders on the fly as primal instincts and adrenaline get in the way. This either means that the secondary intruder has some military experience, or–"
"--his trust in the other is that much greater than we thought," Michael finished the sentence, turning back to the footage replaying over and over again. "For now, ignore the secondary intruder. Chances are that they are just an ordinary kid who got caught up in the middle of chaos. Focus on the gunman–someone with this level of expertise is not a nobody. He has a military record, likely a long list of successfully completed missions, and possible medals. Contact all the agencies and ask them to send us records of all men aged between forty and fifty-five who have retired within the last ten years and live inside the city or around it. Focus on squad and platoon leaders, people with commanding positions who would have received an adequate level of training.
"Expand the defensive perimeter another mile out, request more soldiers from the headquarters, and double the number of patrol units both during the day and the night. No solo excursions, all groups of at least two–preferably three–people. Slowly start doing satellite mapping in the last hour and try tracking their movement."
"That will be… difficult, Sir," one of the young men said, causing Michael to focus on him.
"Why?" the General asked.
"Virtually all our non-essential satellites have been tasked with either paying attention to the Atlantic and the UFO or keeping track of our enemies' movements."
"... alright, so we do it the old-fashioned way–boots on the ground," Michael said. "James, can you ask for a couple more agents to help with the investigation?"
"I'll see what I can do," the man nodded, taking out a phone from his inner pocket and leaving the room.
"Sarah, you take five of your best recruits and start scrubbing the surrounding buildings for witnesses. Someone must have seen something–ask for basic descriptions, what kind of car they drove, their mannerism, what their dynamic seemed like, classic questions."
"Yes, Sir!" the woman saluted and swiftly left the room.
"The rest of you keep on monitoring our entire base. If they've hit a mart once, they might hit it again. Lock up all rear entrances with whatever you can, and install more cameras outside the buildings rather than just in them. Keep up the good work."
"Yes, Sir!" the remainder of the room saluted him as he left the room, returning to his office.
He couldn't help but worry inwardly even if he didn't show it outside. It was one thing to have civilian unrest and have ordinary people start looting and committing petty crimes in the middle of chaos. Untrained people can be tracked, arrested, reasoned with, and understood. But trained, military personnel going rogue in times of danger and chaos was… not good. The man knew precisely how the guarding soldiers would react to everything. He knew how the military at large would react. Though Michael gave out direct orders that every General would give, he knew they were patently worthless.
By now, both men have changed their clothes, changed their car, and likely even separated, travelling in two different vehicles, probably taking different routes to whatever their rendezvous point was. The only solace was that it was just one experienced person taking the reins. There was only so much a person can do, no matter how skilled they were. The problem was that they managed to form a successful mentor-mentee bond–it was indicative of someone who wasn't a lone wolf and someone who understood the human psyche, at least on a fundamental level. These were the sort of men that started cults, military movements, and rebel militia. While such thinking would label Michael paranoid, his gut feeling was telling him that the man he saw in the footage wasn't just a decorated soldier who saw an opportunity and took it–there was something more to him and more to the action of taking a completely inexperienced mentee to a high-risk operation.
After all, it wasn't just robbing a mart–it was robbing a military-occupied mart. If there was one target that screamed 'leave me alone', that would be it–but they hit it, nonetheless. And like a storm, they came swiftly and left just as, leaving behind chaos, destruction, and death in their wake. Michael knew that this wouldn't be the last of his encounters with the man, and the man's cohorts.
However, not even in his wildest dreams could Michael imagine just how delicate of a relationship he would form with a man that he would without hesitation execute at this moment, and just how many years, tears, blood, and death that relationship would last through.