| Hostage to Time |
| Summary: | Marines take care of a simulated hostage crisis. |
| Date: | 07 Dec 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| MOUT Room |
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| Its in the setpose. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #284 |
Training time. The volunteers have gathered in the MOUT room for this particular instance. Everyone has been issued a rifle and a few magazines of paint rounds as they enter - as well as the required safety gear. The far end of the room has been set up with moveable walls in the shape of a cross, the lines making up hallways that intersect at a single room. Seeing into any of them at the moment is impossible due to the 'hatches' which have been set up. Currently Vandenberg is standing at a table at this closer end. She's in normal navy greens but has a sidearm on and a paint mask strapped to her head, but perched up over top. When she speaks, her voice is low. There's no way it would carry into the rooms set up at the other end and that's probably intention. "Marines. We've set-up this exercise for the prosecution of a simulated hostage crisis. The situation is as follows: Six Naval personnel and two civilians have taken control of Marine weapons and barricaded themselves in a storage room and the surrounding hatchways. They have taken three hostages and their leader is demanding they be provided a pilot to take them back to Caprica. So far negotiations have proven futile and they claim to have already executed one hostage. We cannot confirm this. As it stands, Command has given the Marines the green light to retake the positions. They want minimal casualties and that has been expressed in the strongest terms possible. If it is determined that too many have been lost during the course of this exercise, it will be halted and considered a failure. If you choose to breach through the hatchways, a timer will start and you will have sixty seconds to reach the hostages before they are killed." Vandenberg reaches into the cargo pockets of her pants and produces two cylinders, setting them on the table. "You get two flashbangs and only two. The use of more will also halt the exercise." She looks between them, folding her hands behind her back. "Please keep your voices low. The simulated terrorists will use anything they overhear to their advantage. They know nothing so far. Questions?"
"Huh," Constin grunts at the summary, making an effort to keep his voice down as he asks in the flat cadence of someone who already expects the answer, "Any further negotiation authorized, sir?" Inspection of the two flashbangs is undertaken quickly and quietly, while turning the situation over in his head.
McManus gives a simple nod of acknowledgement, checking his rifle over to refamiliarise himself with the weapon. "Any information on the personnel in question, sir? Do we have access to their records?"
"You may conduct your own negotiations, but as I said they may have already killed one hostage. Further negotiations may result in more casualties. Choosing to do so is at the risk to the hostages." Vandenberg finishes the information with a stern nod. She then looks to McManus. "One civilian is a former Marine infantry officer with a bad leg and a dishonorable discharge, the other is a psychiatrist. Naval breakdown is as follows: One from Weps, two from Engineering, one ECO, and two members of the Deck. The former officer is their leader." She looks between them. "Again, I stress the importance of minimal casualties."
Constin nods once at the clarification, and again at the repeated stress of minimal casualties. "Breakdowns on the hostages, sir?" he prompts, continuing the covering of all bases before approaching the situation. "Also, the arms locker that the hostiles have accessed- all explosives missing?"
McManus adds his own query, "And what access do we have to decks above and below their station, sir?"
"The weapons were taken from a roving Marine patrol during an ambush. No arms lockers were accessed. However, they may have access to anything taken from a standard patrol." Guns, ammo, grenades, bodyarmor, flashbangs.. "The three hostages are all civilians. As follows: A police officer, a teacher, and a small child - age seven. The child is the son of the police officer." She then looks back to McManus and something ghosting towards a smile catches her. "No access from the deck below. There is an access hatch to a crawlspace above the intersection, but no direct access to the intersection from the crawlspace. You would have to cut your way in."
"Any other access points from the sealed room, either within this deck, or to either upper or lower decks?" Constin prompts, continuing the line of McManus' apt question.
"Including ventilation, tubing, piping, and so forth. Anything that enters the room at all," McManus adds to the query. "In addition, where are the electrics which supply the room running from, and are there any emergency lighting or life support facilities?"
"Not that can be found. They have blocked the vents into the room." Looks like the Engineers knew their work. "The hallways and room are cut off from direct access except through hatches and cutting. We have no current intel on their positions. All cameras inside have been disabled." Vandenberg shifts her stance a touch, still looking professional. "Any and all electrical and lighting to the interior is controlled by outside sections - however Engineering has reported odd power draws from these hallways. They may or may not have found a bypass. We are unsure."
Constin nods again. "Going to want cameras observing the corridors leading up to the intersections set on loop, in case they've tapped into feeds, or are in communication with anybody outside," the sergeant notes simply.
"And evacuate this deck, and the one above and one below," McManus muses. "Have emergency teams standing by, and Engineering ready to cut power to the whole section on command."
"Understood. That will be taken into account, Sergeant." The Lieutenant shifts her stance again as if she's a touch uncomfortable. She then nods to McManus. "Understood Petty Officer." Vandenberg takes a breath. "Okay, if you are doing something, call it to me over the radio and I will announce it to those inside. Cutting power or whatever, I will have direct control of everything inside. If there are no more questions, I will go give a final brief to the men and women inside. One last thing: When the exercise is over, I will say the words 'Rock Star'. The exercise is considered to be still running until you hear those words. If you hear them for any reason, it is over. Hold in place, cease fire, and await direction." If there is nothing else, she nods once more. "Good luck." She turns smartly and moves off for the exercise area, the Lieutenant giving favor to her right leg.
Constin lets out a short, bullish breath through the nose, and eyes the rest of the team in turn, keeping his voice as low as conversation will allow, "That upper hatch sounded like a real solid asset, but don't think we've got the numbers to take full advantage. Can't cover all three corridors and still bring any force to bear on those inside, which sounds to me like we need to contain the action inside that room. Which would mean standard room-clearing assault. Opinions?"
"Intel first, sarge," McManus opines. "Send a quiet man aloft and see what he can hear in there. Sounds like our best bet to gather intel without casualties."
Vandenberg has long disappeared into the wooden hatch leading into the target area. There's no sound from within, though when she opened the door there was obviously interior lighting set up.
Constin draws and lets out a short breath at McManus' suggestion. "Can try that, but I want to keep all combatants at the ready in case they hear shit and try storming out. Which means if anyone's scouting, you are, doc." Regarding the rest of the team, "Every body else, prepare for a standard assault, if the recon goes sour. I'll be the doorman, you two-" the other marines, "take a flashbang apiece. I want a good spread on the interior, so aim for the corners. We gotta expect they've set up obstacles inside, so watch your damn feet."
McManus gives a wry smile. "Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that. Give me five minutes before you move anywhere, then. Might be able to tell you where in there they are. On wireless, Sarge? Channel 4?"
Constin shakes his head. "We gotta presume they've got wireless units, too. Closed circut communications only. You got five minutes, Doc." A bone-dry smile twists the Master-at-Arms' lip as he nods to McManus, in a mute bid of good luck. "We hear any shooting before that, we move in."
McManus nods once, wasting no time in heading for the catwalk, moving carefully to keep any noise to a minimum as he approaches the hatch. After a brief moment to listen there, he carefully opens it up, pouring himself delicately into the gap and stopping there, motionless, to listen below.
Vandenberg's voice can be heard from inside the rooms but she does not exit. "The exercise is officially on. All teams move accordingly." Its loud enough to carry to everyone in the training room. That's the only overt sound to everyone.
<FS3> McManus rolls Alertness: Good Success.
Constin nods once at Vandenberg's announcement, pointing to Lysander and the third marine in turn checking status of man, weapon and flashbang, before slipping into the familiar combat half-crouch and moving toward the intersection outside the embattled hatch. A glance at the chronometer to set McManus' allotted five minutes.
And after perhaps a couple of minutes, McManus eases himself back out of the hatch, stealing back along the catwalk and depositing himself back with the marines. Gesturing Constin over, he pulls a pen and begins to sketch a rough map of the simulation area. "Left approach sounds clear, Sarge," he notes, tapping the left hand branch of the T. "Closest to us here, I've got two unknowns, heard them whispering. Right approach, something got dragged. Something heavy by the sounds of it, could be a barricade of sorts, could be our casualty, could be a squad weapon. In the room at the rear, all I could hear was the Captain, didn't get what she said, but we can probably assume she's not talking to herself. Also something being torn? Sounded like cloth. No idea on that."
Constin nods three times throughout McManus' reconnaissance, peering at the diagram as the medic speaks. Keeping his voice low, the sergeant instructs, "We go in the near hatch, then. Door gets taken out, drop the first flashbang. Take those two down in a hurry- McManus, securing them will be your job, once they're down. Rest of us advance and secure the intersection, Questions?"
This, this is going to be fun; Lysander gets to potentially shoot people. In hindsight, he would much rather not go about shooting people and this internalization leads into his eyeing over the single flashbang in his offhand. It's snapped into position along his body by the time he needs to get into position near to Constin. With a stiff shake of his head and almost a witty smile, there won't be any questions from this sergeant.
"You've got sixty seconds, Sarge," McManus reminds the man. "The moment that flashbang goes off, you've got sixty seconds to get in the room and secure the hostages, never mind the intersection. May I respectfully recommend that your third man approaches from the left hatch, giving him a clear shot through and along the upper corridor? It'll save you time in getting into that room."
"That's why we need to leave these two behind for you to secure, Doc," Constin returns. "And 'securing' the intersection don't mean we'll be there for long." A slowly drawn breath. "Too many variables to split the team. We all go in one door, Lysander- you secure the right side once we get to the crossroads and soon as that is cleared, we go in the back door."
"You've got at least one target to the right, then, don't forget about him," McManus shrugs, giving a nod. "It's your call, Sarge."
Constin nods. "I ain't forgot, Doc. But without knowing whether it's barricaded, booby trapped, or guarded I can;t risk it. Anybody coming through opposite that position will be a sitting duck."
"Sixty seconds is more than enough. I've got the right then." Lysander pats his paint rifle almost dotingly before leaning his head to the side and giving a good look around. His attention then drifts back to the hatchway. "To our deaths we go."
"No death, please," McManus requests, grinning faintly as he checks his own equipment. "It makes me feel inadequate. Ready, Sarge."
Constin sniffs once, dryly at the talk of death and inadequecy. Then, they are at the hatch, with marines flanking the door, and Constin letting his paint loaded rifle hang to grasp the mechanism on the simulated wooden hatch door. A short nod, and the rapid sequence of events begins.
"I'm just sayin'," is offered in turn to McManus by Lysander before he quiets back down. He's following after Constin and positions himself behind the other man. The nod signals for him to lift the business end of his rifle and with the barrel up, adrenaline pumping, and keened focus he's primed and ready to go with the breach.
McManus stays generally to one side of the door, rifle carried at the ready but in full cover. He's not going in first, after all.
The flashbang sails down the hallway, right between the heads of two surprised men in navy greens. It bounces off a crate being used as cover and explodes in mid-air. The flash and concussive blast is enough to pop ears even outside, though its much worse for those inside. The two men, barely a dozen feet away, grab their heads and crumple to the floor and their rifles clatter down. There's shouting from the room at the other end, shadows shifting everywhere all of a sudden. There are random boxes arrayed as probable cover for the enemies. Just ahead are two cardboard 'target' cutouts on the floor with red 'X's drawn over them. Dead enemies. The team is barely through the hatch when another enemy stumbles blindly into the T intersection and begins waving the rifle, firing blindly and high towards the ceiling. A voice, a male's, can be heard yelling from somewhere in the hallways: "GET DOWN!"
Constin had previously given instructions for the securing of the two downed men near their entrance, and so doesn't hesitate before advancing rapidly past them, firing off a short burst of paint at the blind man up ahead. No words, no shouts from the big sergeant as he and his team pile into the corridor; so far, so good.
<FS3> Constin rolls Firearms: Good Success.
Something is muttered under Lysander's breath but with the flashbang going off it's relatively unintelligible and he moves in after Constin. The incoming paint does little to stall his advance and he keeps from firing his weapon just yet, he's simply moving and over a crate in order to get to the right section of the 'T'.
And that's McManus's cue. Barging in after the marines, he does what he does best. Tackling. Allowing the rifle to swing free on its sling, he body checks the first man with a leading shoulder under the poor guy's chin, rolling off him to tackle the second man to the ground, zipties at the ready. Minimal casualties just means deaths, right? Besides, it's not like there's a ref here about to stop him.
Constin's rounds hit the man high on his leg, one striking his hip, and he crumples to the ground and the rifle clatters away. "Wouned," he grunts out to claim his position in the exercise. Immediately two more guns open up just as Lysander is jumping over the crate. There is, indeed, a barricade on the right side of the T and both gunmen are behind it. One has his handgun just stuck over the top and is firing blind while the other has a rifle and is leaning around the side but firing an uncontrolled automatic burst. McManus' men get something they weren't expecting. The first man takes the huge man's gerth unexpectedly and sprawls against the wall before tumbling down to the ground with a grunt. He says something like 'Wounded' but its muffled into a glutteral sound. The second man is hit like a freight train into a subcompact car and just goes down with a heavy -thud-.
<FS3> Vandenberg rolls 4 -30: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Athletic: Failure.
Constin moves up against the righthand side of the long arm of the 'T' corridor, stealing a quick look toward the silent left side of the intersection- just to make sure their backs are clear, before ducking around the corner and sending a second burst of three shots at the standing rifleman behind the barricade, aim ticking from center mass to the right side shoulder.
<FS3> Constin rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Firearms: Good Success.
Lysander places his offhand on the broadside of a crate and vaults over it, easily enough until he near-rushes into the next. It doesn't help that people are shooting at him. The blind fire helps the sergeant in that he remains unharmed. Stopping roughly before the makeshift cover, Lysander lifts his rifle and aims down the iron sights to fire off a quick burst towards what little can be seen of the pistol-user. Now he's taking his time around the cover.
McManus regathers his rifle, once again following the marines up towards the intersection and leaving his poor victims behind him. Rather than turning the corner, however, he holds back, crouched behind Constin, with his weapon pointed at the hatch to the room in front. They can deal with the barricade for now. Time is ticking.
Elf's shot hits, but connects with the man's mask, low on the plastic it would have been a neck shot. He tumbles back with it and falls to the ground. "Dead!" he calls out, coughing a little. Lysander's shots don't hit the intended target but they do take the guy out of action. The paint rounds have enough force to knock the pistol out of his hand with the burst and he waves his hands. "Frak!! Godsdamnit! I surrender!" he continues on cursing and falls onto his side, slithering out from behind the crate with his hands out in front of him - empty. From inside the room, Vandenberg calls out: "Thirty seconds!" Time is a-flyin but nobody inside the room can be seen yet which means they are probably on the right side. For anyone keeping track, that's seven baddies down and one to go.
Constin barks out his first words of the exercise, as Lysander's shot provokes a surrender, "Jenkins, secure these! Lysander, Doc, with me.." as he steps rapidly toward the last remaining doorway. Into the wireless, he mutters lowly, "Kill lights for five seconds on my mark." Setting back to the wall, rifle readied for entry, he whispers, "Three, two, one, mark-" before ducking into the room. The underbarrel flashlight remains off.
<FS3> Constin rolls Alertness: Good Success.
"Heh," is breathed out by the rifleman. Lysander then looks over his shoulder towards Jenkins and by extension off in McManus's direction as well before he's stepping ever forward. Thirty seconds. Briefly does he relax and that's when he's come to the final point in their breaching. He exhales upon mark and sweeps in after Constin and into the apparent darkness, moving opposite the other sergeant now.
<FS3> Lysander rolls Alertness: Good Success.
McManus closes his eyes at the countdown, giving himself a moment to get used to no light before they actually go off. On the mark, he opens them again, darting forward after Constin and Lysander in a low crouch and swinging his rifle round to cover the far left arc of the room.
<FS3> McManus rolls Alertness: Good Success.
The lights go off and the whole place becomes deathly silent while the men pile in. When the lights come back on they're met with something very likely unexpected. On the ground is an 'innocent' target with a red 'X' through it - they killed the hostage as claimed. But what's met is a man standing over Vandenberg - who is kneeling on the ground, hugging a dummy child (which is a CPR trainer, actually) with one hand and the other is hidden behind the kid. Around her neck is a wrapping of duct tape that has a gun inside of it. The gun is further taped to the hand of a man who looks scared as hell by the look of his eyes. Its a dead-fall. Shoot him and he can still pull the trigger when the gun goes off. But the sidearm that's taped to his hand? There's no magazine in it. Nearly breathless, the scared guy swallows hard and looks between the men before stammering out his words. "D-d-drop the gun! Or I'll kill her!!!" There's a glance to Vandenberg, who is just staring calmly up at the trio.
Lysander keeps the walling on his left side and then he pivots when the lights come up and he's peering into the middle of the room with his battle rifle held aloft. He himself gives a glance to Vandenberg and he looks to want to say something but rather than that the grip he has over his weapon, trained on the man of course, tightens and he defaults to Constin's lead over the exercise.
McManus looks the scene over, rifle trained towards the three. But, then, he's no marksman, so rather than take the shot, he simply utters one word. "Her."
The orders were 'minimal death'. Counting the one corpse Constin made out in the hallway, any more would reflect badly on the exercise. But as the details of the scenario are taken in, and the Master-at-Arms' aim shifts with his look, from the CPR dummy, to the gunman, to the gun, and lastly to the hostage Vandenberg. A half instant of consideration is all that is given as- in lieu of ordering hands up, or tipping his hand in the slightest, he squeezes off a single prompt shot aimed at Vandenberg's face mask. "Rather save the kid," he grunts.
At this range its hard to miss. Constin's shot plows into Vandenberg's facemask and she tumbles backwards. The FiveseveN in her hand skitters away across the deck plating and the man attached to her by duct tape falls backwards with her. She sprawls there, a hand moving to her forehead slowly. "Oh frak that's gonne leave a mark," she groans. "Rock star." And the exercise is over with. "Someone please unwrap the gun from my neck?" The mask is wiped off her face. There is, in fact, a nice red mark from where the mask sat on her face. Fingers touch it gently.
Lysander owlishly blinks and then lifts his rifle up so that the barrel's aimed helplessly off towards the ceiling. He goes a low whistle under his breath and glances sidelong in McManus's direction before piping up, "I say we leave it there." A gun strapped to the neck could become quite the fashion statement.
McManus rushes forward immediately the shot fires, rifle allowed to swing aside once more as this time he goes for his medkit on his belt instead, ready to leap into action! And then… aww. She ruins all the fun! Endex it is and he straightens, regathering the rifle to a loose grip across his chest. "Want me to take a look at that, sir?" he offers politely.
Vandenberg slowly rolls herself up to a sitting position and sighs. "Well, you got em all. Two dead? That was the limit for live personnel." She chuckles to McManus and shakes her head as much as she can. "No, I think I'll be okay. I'm just going to need a couple aspirin after that." There's a mock glare towards Lysander before she starts unwrapping it herself. "Damned nicely done. Didn't even need all the flashbangs. I think that was about forty eight seconds. You guys alright? Anyone from your team get hit?"
Lysander gives a stiff nod and a good-natured smile upon that while reaching to the forefront of his black uniform in order to fetch the flashbang there. He tosses it up and then catches it right back down. He pretends to be oblivious to the fake-glare. If anything, he grins all the more. "None injured on this end, sir," reports the sergeant. "If you want, we could always give it another go. Beat our own record." But that's just the ego talking.
"Not sure those two on the way in would be up for another go," McManus notes, almost apologetically, glancing back over his shoulder. "Permission to see to them, sir? I think I might have knocked one of them out."
"Maybe another time. Where you get to be shot." She chuckles and peels the gun and tape off her neck, setting it on the ground. Van then nods to McManus as she rises from the Deck. "Yeah, please do. I think I'm going to go get them aspirin." A dip of her head. "Good work, guys. We'll see about running another variation on this soon enough." The guns are taken up and she moves for the doorway, the previous limp in her step completely gone.
Lysander tosses over his flashbang grenade to someone who would much rather babysit the bit of ordnance, leaving the man to then pass off his rifle as well before moving after everyone else. "I told you guys. Sixty seconds is more than enough." He lifts his hands up in the air as he begins to speak up, detailing some of the close-quarters combat exercises he's experienced while stationed on Sagittaron. That's how things work around here: Marines perform with skill above and beyond the requested; the epitome of perfection, the Mountaineers are.