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So.. here it is, what I've written so far, at your mercy: (note things like italics and indenting haven't come through)
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The convoy of black limousines finally pulled up. Ostensibly the target was to be escorted and flanked by his personal protection detail, the royal guard, who would fervently protect their cherished leader to the death. They also happened to be his top commanders.
Rain pattered on the rooftop of the black Audi Q7, which blended in seamlessly with the camouflage of an urban night, with the expected amount of amber street lamps and other neon colours. It had undergone certain customisations which included bulletproof windows and a significantly more durable chassis, which suited it for combat operations much more ideally.
The operative looked up in the night sky. The stars could not be seen particularly clearly, with the saturation of street lights, but it ended up as a somewhat odd moment of contemplation. From a distinguished career in the Royal Marines, to the quaintness of a city night. Perhaps an oxymoron, he mused, but he had always found relaxation in such a setting. He knew that soon, this feeling was to be disturbed with the wet-work they were set to engage in.
He gingerly put his finger up to his ear, activating his transmitter.
“Echo-8 to all units. Target and escorts have entered hotel. Over.”
His round green eyes stood emotionless, as if in a state of trance-like preparation. Water dripped from his somewhat dishevelled brown hair, which pointed in various directions with its spiky tufts. His cheekbones seemed indicative of malnourishment and ill-health at an initial glance, but on closer inspection would actually indicate a high level of athleticism and fitness. It was simple. He was ready to kill.
“Echo-1 receives. Preparing to cut power. Move in on our cue, over.”
The extravagant lighting of the hotel suddenly went out, along with the luxurious and upper-class glow that it exuded as it encircled the multiple tiers of windows. That was all gone, as it was returned to a primitive darkness.
The driver of the car, noticing the cue, quietly started up the car and drove towards the side alleys of the multi-storey hotel building. As they approached, the operative routinely checked his equipment on hand. On his lap, a G36C with silencer and foregrip was seated. Holstered on his right thigh was a 9mm Glock 22 – also with silencer. This mission was intended to be quiet as possible, yet a significant amount of firepower may have still been necessary; specifically in the possibility of a firefight with the target’s royal guard. His attire was equally as stealthy – he wore combat boots, cargo pants with a sizable amount of pockets, and a shirt with a well-equipped assault vest – all which were of a black colour. Sitting beside his rucksack in the foot compartment of the vehicle was a black patrol cap, which lay beside a pair of AN/PVS-7 night vision goggles.
The operative looked over to his fellow team member – Echo-7, who glanced back tentatively, before gazing out the window again. The man had a significantly gruffer and more imposing presence than himself – a large muscular build that was barely contained within his clothes, topped off with a buzzcut. The few seconds the operative spent glancing at his face, with its small, quivering brown eyes, gave him a good impression of what was running through his mind – he was pissing himself. Despite his formidable fitness, easily passing selection in the Royal Marines most prestigious commando brigade, which the operative had also spent significant time in, he had spent relatively little time in battle before being recruited to the organisation, though perhaps just for this mission alone, and consequently was rather inexperienced. The operative guessed that he was a good couple of years younger than the man – perhaps 5, at the most?
“Good luck mate.”
Echo-7 quietly nodded back in acknowledgement.
The vehicle then pulled up beside the side entrance that had been designated – a garbage area that lay outside the restaurant – where the hotel’s waste was left, to be collected and disposed of. The team jumped into action, the operative putting on his cap and goggles, making sure the magazines were good, before cocking all of his weapons. As he opened the door in unison with the other 3 members of the team, he slung his rucksack over his shoulder.
(tbc)
Edited by deltaepsilon, 31 July 2009 - 05:55.
