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Chapter 14 - Zero Eclipse
🕑 Added 2024-09-22 13:34:26 +0000 UTCHouses whizzed by like blurred afterimages in the distance under the rapidly darkening evening sky. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, marking the transition from early evening to twilight.
“Less than a minute out.” Dag rumbled into the handheld radio, more for the benefit of the cops on the other side than for his or Mr. Moon’s.
Mr. Moon glanced at his watch. One minute. According to what little they’d heard over the radio of the situation, the Russians were holed up in an unused house. When a squad car had passed by, the ambush was triggered.
“Dag.” Mr. Moon said the man’s name, getting his attention before nodding his head toward a briefcase nestled on the floor in the back seat. Dag quickly got his meaning and grabbed the briefcase. He tossed it in Mr. Moon’s lap, where it landed with a solid ‘thump’. Wordlessly, Mr. Moon momentarily slowed the car to pop open the driver’s side door and tossed out the briefcase. He slid out onto the ground, with Dag swiftly hopping up over to the now empty driver's seat, his foot pressing the gas pedal all the way down to the floor to continue speeding toward the ambush. The entire transition hadn’t even taken more than five seconds.
Mr. Moon picked up the briefcase. It had a pleasing weight in his hand. A type of weight only solid, reliable gunmetal could bring. He paused to adjust his tie, and then he was off. Being under a minute out from the fight meant it was only a block or two out. In fact… Mr. Moon cocked his head to the side to raise one of his ears higher in the air. Yes. He could hear gunshots in the distance. Coming from the North, if he had to guess.
Without waiting a second longer Mr. Moon glanced around the neighborhood. Most of the houses in the area were single-story homes. Likely a basement below, but most of them lacked the sole feature he was looking for. House by house was mentally cataloged and discarded until finally he turned and started running toward a house near the end of the block. His shiny black oxford shoes click-clacked against the asphalt, but his face was completely unperturbed, as if this was an ordinary day-to-day occurrence for the man.
The house at the end of the block was the very picture of ordinary suburban life. Bright lights shined merrily around the windows. A family could be seen through the windows enjoying dinner, and a car, its body shining and well-loved by its driver, was resting in the open garage.
Mr. Moon knocked on the door. The sound shattered that sense of peace, just like the gunshots in the distance. After a few seconds the door opened. A man looked at Mr. Moon with a quizzical smile, though quickly that smile morphed into confusion once the man recognized the gunshots echoing through the air.
“How can I help you?”
Mr. Moon skipped the pleasantries in favor of pulling his badge out of the breast pocket situated in the underside of his suit jacket.
“FBI. I need access to your attic. Hide your family in a basement or safe room.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Dag power-slid Mr. Moon’s car into position right next to the police car sitting on the edge of the road, right in front of the ditch. Crouched behind the car was a blue-uniformed officer with a service revolver clutched in his hand, while another officer huddled at the bottom of the ditch frantically putting pressure on his bleeding stomach. Dag immediately dived out of the car to land with a roll next to the officer behind the squad car.
“Sitrep.” Dag grunted. While the officer, who he vaguely remembered as Paul, explained the situation, his eyes ceaselessly roamed around the area drinking in every detail he could see.
“Damn bastards sniped Joseph. Sniper is on the second floor. At least one other guy near the door keeps shooting at us too.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mr. Moon climbed the ladder into the attic, grabbing at the railing with one hand while the other one held secure the briefcase tucked under his arm. Quickly the rest of the attic revealed itself. It was a shadowy room, a sort of darkness influenced by the twilight of the world around the house, but there was just enough light to see what he needed to see.
Mr. Moon crouched next to one of the three circular windows in the attic and popped open the lock on the suitcase. Inside the suitcase were several parts of a gun, all nestled comfortably between layers of padding and cloth. He glanced up once, listening to the distant gunshots, and then began to assemble the sniper rifle piece by piece, with quick motions honed by years of experience.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Dag lowered his body to the ground to see under the car. From where he was lying, he could just barely see the house in question. One of the front windows was shattered, and if he squinted, he could make out the barrel of a gun poking out. His eyes flicked up, but the body of the car blocked him from seeing any part of the second floor.
Two known Russians in the house. Out of the original squad that hit the black site, one had been captured there and another died in the police station shootout. That meant two more were unaccounted for, assuming they hadn’t added to their numbers since the station. If he was a Russian, Dag would have one man waiting by the back door to combat any sort of attempted flanking action. The final man would need to be stationed next to the front door in case the police tried to breach.
In short, assuming they followed Dag’s line of thought (which was likely, as the Russians were professionals), there were two men at the front door, one at the back, and a sniper on the second floor.
After mentally cataloging possibilities, Dag held out his hand to the unwounded officer, motioning for him to stay down. Then, he crawled back over to Mr. Moon's car, popping open the backseat door and grabbing the other case that was resting in the footwell. Like the sniper rifle Mr. Moon liked to keep around, this suitcase was Dag's own preparation, requisitioned from the armory back in Washington D.C. for this very purpose.
He snapped open the lock of the suitcase. Paul’s breath hitched, the man instantly recognizing the contents for what it was – an M79 grenade launcher. A single-shot weapon that broke open near the stock to load, the stubby weapon was a relic of the Vietnam War used for the simple purpose of erasing any room-size enemy position currently being an eyesore. It was similar in looks to a sawed-off shotgun, but the tubular barrel, meant of course for firing grenades, was a much larger one than any shotgun would ever have.
Dag pushed away the latch that locked the barrel with one finger, causing the barrel to pop open while his other hand casually grabbed one of the stubby 40mm grenades nestled in the lining of the suitcase. He carefully slid the grenade inside the weapon.
However, he didn’t fire it immediately. Dag closed his eyes, listening to the occasional pop of gunfire from the house. There was little use moving now. The signal would be obvious. Counter-sniping always was.
Beside him, Paul took advantage of the short break to push open the cylinder of his revolver and reload his weapon. Each click the revolver's cylinder made when it moved was like sweet music in the air. It was a nice distraction from the chaos of the house.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mr. Moon stood behind the circular window, both feet placed solidly on the floor. The surface creaked, the wood protesting against the man’s weight. From the attic he could see his car in the distance, parked right next to a police cruiser. Dag’s massive figure crouched behind it, along with one of the town’s officers. The Russians were most likely in the house on the other side of the road. The question remained, what would his target be? Mr. Moon’s perch wasn’t fully facing the house. Instead, he was situated at an angle that obscured the entire front side of the Russian’s house from his view. There were windows on the sides, of course, but those had curtains. The curtains were neither thin nor particularly thick, but their mere presence was enough to make it extremely difficult to see the people behind them.
However, extremely difficult was a different word than impossible. Mr. Moon breathed in. He held the air tightly in his stomach and then released it. Over and over again until his body was utterly calm and still, the adrenaline in his veins almost feeling submerged under the current of an icy river that swept through his body to numb it.
He breathed in one last time, but this breath was one he held. His heart rate slowed. His body stilled.
And in that moment, a faint shadow moved on the other side of the curtains.
Mr. Moon’s finger tugged at the trigger.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A splintering ‘crack’ tore through the air. Dag’s head jerked up and he burst out from behind the car, aiming and firing in one smooth, practice motion to send the explosive ordinance thudding through the broken window, the same one he’d seen a gun barrel poking through a moment before. As soon as the grenade cleared the barrel, Dag flung himself back to the ground as a hail of bullets answered, hugging the asphalt until a bone-shaking explosion rocked the surroundings and set off the car alarms of every vehicle on the block.
“Now! Breach!” Dag roared. The grenade launcher would take too long to reload. By the time he could slam another round in, the Russians would be able to recover from whatever disorienting effect the explosion would have on them. So, he threw it away and drew his Sig Sauer. The handgun looked tiny in his massive hands, but that had no effect on the weapon’s lethality.
Paul added a roar of his own, his fury over the ambush and the wounding of his comrade adding a raw, almost primal rage to his voice. Dag grasped the side of the car so hard the metal creaked, and launched himself over the top while Paul slid over the hood.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mr. Moon let out the breath from his aching lungs. Immediately he moved away from the window and toward the second of the three glass portals in the attic. The sniper was likely dead, but still, Mr. Moon's body continued to move according to his training and habits. After the first shot was taken, a sniper that stayed at rest was a dead man.
His right hand abandoned the trigger to slide back the bolt of the rifle, ejecting the empty metal cartridge to knock against the wooden floor while his left hand took a fresh bullet from his pocket to replace the used one. In less than two seconds the cartridge was in, and Mr. Moon slammed the bolt home. He set his eye back to the scope, this time eyeing the back door instead of the second floor. He breathed in. He breathed out.
And then his lungs were filled once more, holding the breath and stilling his body to the utmost.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Dag didn’t bother going through the window. He braced his shoulder like a football linebacker hunting for the blood of a quarterback and the wooden door, already weakened by the grenade, folded before his might. A man was lying in a pool of blood on the floor, his scarlet hands scrabbling around the carpet for his gun. Shrapnel littered the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the man on the ground.
Dag swiveled mid-run and shot the Russian three times in the chest. The man fell still.
Paul hopped through the broken window right next to him, his revolver held at the ready. Another 'crack' of a sniper rifle split the air, and in an instant, the Russian on the floor surged upward to tackle Dag, the gun on the floor lying forgotten.
Dag mentally cursed. Body armor. The bullets had only stunned the man, instead of being the kill shots Dag intended them to be. Any more thoughts matter were swept to the side once the Russian collided with him. Dag stumbled back, but there was one key factor.
Namely, the man was big, but Dag was bigger. Bigger and less shellshocked than someone who’d recently experienced a grenade detonate in the same room as them. The Russian yanked a knife out of a sheath at his side and plunged it into Dag’s waist. Dag grunted in pain and grabbed the man’s head in one hand. He lifted the Russian bodily into the air, tensed his arms, and then slammed the man’s skull into the nearest wall to stun him.
Then over and over again, even as the Russian flailed away frantically with his knife, Dag smashed his boulder-like fist into the man’s throat until something broke. One moment the bone that formed the Russian’s windpipe resisted his strikes. The next moment, the Russian’s throat was deformed like a punctured hose. The man gasped and choked for air. Any amount of concern for his fight with Dag was abandoned in favor of clawing at his own neck. Tiny splashes of blood jetted out of his mouth, with every strangled gasp.
Until the Russian fell limp. This time for good.
Dag tossed the Russian’s body away like a piece of trash, ignoring Paul’s wide eyes in favor of turning to face the rest of the room. It was empty. Shattered, cracked, and broken, but empty. No scrap of furniture had escaped fully unscathed, and as he glanced again at the dead man on the floor, he could even see several large splinters of wood sticking out of his back. The lights throughout the house were dark. No movements could be heard.
Dag nodded to Paul and the two men began to sweep the house room by room.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mr. Moon slid the bolt back to pop the used round out of his rifle. A large man, almost as large as Dag was, had run out the back door after Mr. Moon's partner breached through the front. Mr. Moon naturally took a shot at him, but in all fairness, moving targets were much more difficult to hit. The bullet hadn’t done much more than graze his target. Then, when he was reloading, a woman had dashed out the back to follow the man.
After that there was nothing.
Mr. Moon moved to the third and final window, patiently peering down the scope toward the back door for five minutes before dropping to a knee and beginning the process the disassemble his sniper rifle. Each piece was silently placed back into the suitcase one by one. Then, by habit instead of necessity, he picked up the two empty rifle cartridges on the ground. It wasn’t a necessity in this case, as it hardly mattered if anyone knew he had been in the attic, but habit was habit. He slipped the used cartridges into his pocket, picked up the suitcase in one hand, and climbed down the ladder to the main floor.
In less than ten minutes, the gunfight was over.
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Phew things keep heating up! Another skirmish with the Russians, Moon countersnipes the sniper, Dag throat punches a man to death, and grenade launchers are fun! Now the question remains - what are Mark and Cass up to while this is happening? How will the Chief's death be explained? When will the gas station murders be discovered? This is the same night as when Jack fought the shadow demons, so it's just a matter of time!
In other news I've been getting back into Baldur's Gate 3 lately. Took a nice break from it and I'm back to do a challenge run I've been stalling on - Solo Honor Mode! It's tough as nails and often feels like I am slamming my balls in the car door. Never before have I wiped this many times in Act 1, both due to my own terrible choices, seriously bad RNG, and really fucking stupid game mechanics (I mean seriously, you take a spell like Darkness. It says if you don't have the ability to see through magical darkness, you can't make ranged attacks into or out of the cloud of Darkness. So why, Larian, can motherfucking enemies throw motherfucking weapons at my dude who is in the middle of the motherfucking magical darkness cloud? Why?). Anyways it's pretty fun and if I don't go insane trying to complete this challenge, it'll be a nice addition to my collection of challenge runs.
Btw expect late chapter next weekend since I'll be a bit busy. Probably looking at a Monday release. Maaayyyybeee Tuesday release at the latest.
As always huge shoutout to all patreons and readers. Lova ya.
The Leaf Club: https://discord.gg/jfRn8j5GaE
Peace
