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July
Year 3 |
Only when all of the vans' doors burst open and masked gun men stormed out did the vans start drawing much attention. The gunshots the men fired secured got attention from folks on the street. Taking everyone inside the hotel hostage guaranteed attention from around the country. Taking hostage of the Genoshan delegation visiting for the latest talks with the President fetches attention worldwide.
The D.C. police force is the butt of many jokes among citizens. And the horror stories of abuse and corruption are there, but most folks have come to accept it from big city police forces. What most folks have to give the DCPD credit for, though, is their efficiency in handling hostage situations.
Well, given that they get immediate help from the FBI and Secret Service if need be, they better be efficient.
But, a simple husband holding his wife hostage is one thing. Terrorists holding an entire building hostage as well as foreign dignitaries is another.
In a matter of minutes after the terrorists took the hotel the building was surrounded by enough authorities to populate a small country. That's an exaggeration, but not by much.
Television crew are there in full force as well, executives and producers hoping, praying that something bad happens, and that their crews will be the first to catch it. They scramble for phone numbers to the hotel rooms, calling, hoping someone will answer so they get a voice inside.
No one answers their phone calls.
The terrorists make no demands. They don't show their faces. No one knows who they are, who they work for, what they want, how much they'll go through to get it.
The authorities hang their heads, realizing it's going to be a long night.
Three more cleaning crew vans go unnoticed across town at the shortly after the police settle in at the Plaza. The vans pull to the front of the Molton Hotel, a bigger hotel than the Plaza, though not as expensive.
The same situation unfolds, masked gunmen spill from the vans, shots are fired, in a matter of minutes, the hotel is taken hostage, though this hotel is without any foreign dignitaries and famous persons. It simply has more people.
Chaos unfolds at almost every law enforcement agency in the region. Military policy is that American forces should be able to fight two full scale wars on two separate fronts at the same time. Obviously not so for the DCPD.
Decisions have to be made. Which incident demands more attention? Loss of life is guaranteed at either site. But, which hostages are more valuable, the rich and famous, including Genoshan dignitaries, or the not as rich and famous.
Who will receive the good graces of the authorities? Who will get every possible resource? Who will get the scraps?
A decision is made with a simple prayer for the unfortunate.
The authorities hang their heads again, realizing it's going to be a really long night.
The officer relayed my message to the mayor on the other end of the cell phone. The look on the man's face told me something was not right.
"He says not until you have a detailed . . ." started the officer back to me.
I snatched the phone from his hand, ready to blow.
"Listen, if you want a plan of where those bastards are, I need a SWAT team!"
"Daniels," replied the mayor to me in about the same tone I was giving him, "you do your job and we'll get you what you need, but until you . . ."
"DAMN IT!" I shouted, pulling the phone away from my ear and holding it to my mouth so I could only scream into it. "I NEED ONE, JUST ONE, SINGLE, DAMN SWAT TEAM OR WE'RE GONNA HAVE A WHOLE LOT OF DEAD PEOPLE ON OUR HANDS!!!"
Phones don't react well when thrown against asphalt.
I massaged my temples, trying to figure out what to do. What I wanted to do was get home to my wife. Sara was probably worried sick about me, and that's not good for the baby.
"Pembry," I said in a hoarse voice, then clearing my throat. "I want you to find another phone and call up Baltimore. See if THEY can spare us a damn SWAT team."
He ran off and I turned toward the hotel. That damn hotel. A group of masked gunmen ran inside the place about 4 hours ago and took it over, along with every man, woman, and child inside. About 250. Good thing it wasn't the weekend, that number'd be doubled.
About 100 more folks caught in there than in the Plaza across town. Still, though, this place isn't holding politicians. Damn politicians.
"Here ya go, sir," I hear and turn to see a wonderful sight, a nice steamin cup of coffee. A sip tells me it's nuked steaming and was probably brewed this morning.
I turned to the hotel again and marveled at the ironic beauty of the backdrop the dusk sky provided the place.
It's gonna be a long night.
Then a loud beep pierced the air, like a megaphone beep.
"Attention American authorities!" screamed a megaphone from the building.
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks. Even the camera flashbulbs stopped. The terrorists were the center of attention. Officers scrambled to behind their vehicles, guns ready as eyes scanned the building, looking for any sight of the source, any sight of a clear shot.
"Your government's continued coddling to the Genoshan government and their methods has forced our hand," shouted the megaphone, the voice sounding with an accent I assumed was Genoshan. "You're continue to fight against the dominant race without realizing you have already lost. Homo sapien-superior will not continue to bow down to the will of simple humans! Every half hour on the half hour we will execute one hostage until the Genoshan government surrenders control to our movement. Human oppression and delusion of grandeur have gone on long enough and it is time that all of humanity realized the real superior race. Nothing will stop us other than complete and total cooperation with our demands. We have 237 hostages, so you have 118 hours to comply. Just to make the math and our message clear . . ."
A gunshot, amplified by the now squealing megaphone. The crowd gasped, screamed, sobbed, all of them felt the pain of that shot.
"118 hours."
Then, silence.
At both sites, men were on the phone immedeately with officials about the demands. They realized that the two groups were associated, something that had already been assumed but was now confirmed. The president was kept informed of everything. His people kept the Genoshan government informed of everything.
The demands were told to the Genoshan president, and he laughed. There was no way he was going to relinquish his government to mutants. Not without a fight. Not that anyone expected him to.
But, a smile continued to play across his lips, not because of the humor he saw in the demands, but because everything was going according to plan.
The American government was in a bind. It would be interesting to see how they reacted to this situation. He watched the news coverage with intense interest.
He would study these events like he studied the government's handling of the Branch Davidians, the World Trade Center bombing, the Oklahoma City bombing, the embassy bombings in the Middle East and Africa. This terrorist attack was a gift to him. It gave him one more element to study and perhaps implement into his plan.
He stood up and looked out his window, admiring the sunset over the Appalachian Mountains, ignoring the bulldozer that rumbled by, pushing dirt along, clearing a nice, big patch of land.
"Okay," I said as I again massaged my temples, "here's what we've got."
I jabbed my finger onto the map sitting on the car hood. DC had been kind enough to get us a blueprint of the Molton from records, as well as the sewage system layout underneath.
"The 3 basement levels are parking, laundry, and janitorial, the bottom two being just parking, top one a mix. If we can get a team up underneath the place and secure that, we'd have a starting point. From the looks of the place," I said as I turned the big pages of the blueprints, "the biggest single area to be holding all the hostages is either the lobby or the convention hall, both on the first floor. If they aren't keeping them together, well, then we've got more work cut out for us."
I looked around at the faces of the officers around me. All good folks, all veterans, all knowing the score.
"I want a team of seven to be the ones to secure the basement. They'll secure . . ."
"Excuse me, officers," said a voice behind me. I looked up and saw the gaping faces of the others before I turned around. I didn't gape at what I saw. "Can I be of assistance?"
Hell, a costumed freak. Last damn thing I need. These guys come charging in here, bash the bad guy, smile for the camera, and leave. Last thing I need is someone doing my job for me. This is my job. Mine.
But, without SWAT . . .
"Sure," I said with a sigh, "we'll use all the help we can get."
"What's the game plan so far," he said, moving up next to me and looking at the blueprints.
And we laid out a plan to take out the terrorists without SWAT, with only DCPD and Captain America.
Inexperience led to itchy trigger fingers.
Arrogance led to fanaticism.
Any number of other things could have been much worse.
All led to more death.
The team of seven DCPD and Captain America radioed back to Daniels, who gave the go ahead for phase two.
The team found the heating vents from the basements thanks to the blueprints.
Searching the Molton, with 40 some odd floors with up to 20 rooms a piece, was going to take time, even for 8 men, and not all of them were going in the vents.
Only Captain America was going in for now. Who made that decision, Cap or the police, is unknown for sure, but that's the way it was, and Captain America was up to the task. There were lives at risk.
He was boosted into the vents and started his crawl. He had mixed feelings about leaving his shield back outside, glad so it wouldn't hinder him while he tried to fit through the vents, a little insecure for if he needed it to get out of a tough spot.
"Cap, can you hear me?" sounded a voice in Captain America's ear. He didn't respond. "Hope so. Okay, this Avenger tracer thing you gave me says you're about a 3 yards from a shaft that runs up and down. There should be a ladder inside."
There it was.
"About 20 feet up you'll reach another open shaft. Move forward through there. About 15 yards down is the elevator shaft that'll get you everywhere you need to go. Now, remember, don't try and pry open any of the elevator doors. They're wired through the building's central security and if they're paying any attention, they'll find you."
They watched the police team enter the bottom basement level through the sewer access. They watched them secure the area, the whole time placing their all too precious few men at key entrance locations, the elevator, stairwell, even the vents.
They dropped their jaws and panicked at first as the black and white image of the Sentinel of Liberty entered the screen. But, then they reminded themselves, he's only human.
Besides, his being here gave their mission a greater purpose, a greater meaning.
They watched as the police unit secured the basement levels with no resistance. They watched the unit breathe a collective sigh of relief. They watched the unit's arrogance of thinking they have surprise on their side.
They watched Captain America enter the vents.
But they weren't sure what he would do next.
The tap again. He looked to the man who had tapped him and frowned. The other officer simply pointed over his shoulder, the first's eyes following the point.
"Oh, hell," he said as he put the two-way radio to his mouth.
"Damn it," I said, trying to figure out what to do next. "Any movement? Any sign of anything?" I asked into the two-way radio.
"Not yet," came the response, "all folks are present and accounted for and report no movement."
"Maybe they haven't been spotted?" said a voice behind me, which I chose to ignore.
"Okay, guys," I said back to the boys inside, "be on the look out."
Damn it. Exactly what I didn't need. They know we're there, they have to. But why haven't they moved?
I looked to my watch. They made their announcement 25 minutes ago. In five minutes, we're gonna have one less hostage.
Damn it.
I wish I was at home.
There was only a few inches of space between the elevator and the ladder Cap held onto. Another ladder was six feet away from his left, but that would eventually lead to another elevator.
Captain America weighed his options.
A gunshot caught his attention. Not loud, muffled by the walls and floors between the gun and Cap's ears. But, a gunshot just the same. It had been 30 minutes since the warning.
Then there was another noise. Doors sliding, feet in the elevator above. Cap quickly ran through his options and chose one.
He slid completely to the left of the ladder he was on, extending his left arm and foot as far as possible, stretching to the other ladder. he "stood" spread eagle against the elevator shaft, his right hand grasping the ladder, his right foot slowly slipping, his left hand and foot just inches from the other ladder.
His right hand let go and shot over towards the left as he fell sideways toward the other ladder, the elevator above him rattling as it's doors shut and it started to head to it's destination. Cap's hands grasped a rung of the ladder as his right foot fell free and he swung across, his left leg catching the side of the ladder, twisting him a bit. He grimaced as the elevator started to move...
...up.
He stepped both of his feet onto a rung of the ladder and stood there for a moment, hanging his head.
He wished he was home right now.
The view was spectacular, but none of these three armed men were here to admire it.
They moved quickly to the front edge of the building and hunkered down by the ledge. One man set his gun down beside himself and lifted up to peer over the side of the building. There they were, the police, the media, everyone.
He sat back down and pulled an object from a pouch on his belt. A pin slid nicely from this object and it flew over the edge of the building with ease as the man flipped it over his shoulder, all three of the men snickering at their "joke".
The gernade exploded eight floors above the crowd, tearing windows open in the building, sending the crowd ducking for cover.
Hostages screamed and clutched their heads as they lay on the floor.
"SHUT UP!" shouted another gunman to the crowd of about 30. A few muffled sobs rose from the floor, but the screams had subsided.
The first gunman was talking into his two-way, trying to find out what was going on. A third gunman entered the room, about to ask what happened, but he was quickly cut off by the first holding up his hand.
A curse from the first gunman was immedeately followed by him throwing the radio into the wall across the room, a couple gasps coming from the hostages.
"What?" asked the man who entered from the wall.
"A couple of bastards are on the roof playing games," said the first as he pointed to the third gunman. "You stay put, no one moves or they die. You," he pointed to the guy from the hall, "come on."
"What is it?" asked the man who had the two-way at first. He looked at the board and frowned.
The elevator . . .
"Move," said the first man, shoving the woman forward with the tip of his gun.
They stepped up to the elevator, the man who had been in the hallway in the first place pushing the up button.
"I swear, I'm going to kill those . . ." started the first man, stopping when he saw a reflection in the elevator doors.
The woman yelped slightly as the men who were flanking her suddenly had their heads pushed briskly into the elevator doors. A red gloved hand covered her mouth before she could scream.
"Shhh...." hushed a voice in her ear.
The hand pulled away from her mouth and she turned around, smiling broadly and wrapping her arms around her savior as the elevator arrived and opened.
"Hold the door," said Captain America as he crouched down and started to tie the two gunmen together. After securing them, he stepped down the hall a bit to the set of second elevator doors and noticed the numbers above the door counting down, coming closer to eight. He pressed the down button and stepped to the side, waving the lady back a bit.
11...
10...
9...
8...
8...
An explicative later he was running after the two men he had sent towards the stairwell.
"They already know we're here," Cap said to the lady, trying to calm her, though calm was not going to come inside this building.
"What's that?" came a shout down the hall from the room the hostages were in.
"What's going on?" he shouted out into the hall, trying to get his comrades to answer.
He poked his head around the corner and gaped at the sight of Captain America. He swung his gun around, ready to fire into the hall as Cap pulled the lady into the open elevator to cover her. The gunman squeezed off a couple shots before he was tackled by three hostages, who started pummeling him.
The Plaza was cast in floodlights as the sun had hidden behind the city and the horizon. Helicopters swarmed above the roof, a mix of news and law enforcement battling to get closer. Luckily, or not, depending on how you look back on this event, the law enforcement helicopter won that battle.
SWAT teams and military special forces flooded the roof from the helicopters as other teams swarmed the building at ground level. The law entered the building with a small army, ready for war.
No one could ever have imagined the war they would get.
"What the?!?" started a man in the security room as the emergency lights came on.
"They just cut the power," said another man. "The generators should kick in any . . . oh, damn it."
"What?" asked the first.
"The generators are in the basement."
And the police knew that already.
The 23 gunmen fought bravely as they bought time.
No one had expected the Americans to be so reckless.
But perhaps this would work best towards the plan.
None of the three were thinking of the plan though when the dresser tumbled down the stairs toward them.
If the situation wasn't so dire, Captain America might have found it funny throwing furniture at terrorists to keep them at bay.
But, the commander sat calm and cool on the dais in the convention hall, one hand holding his gun, the other holding the ear piece from a radio in place as he listened. He knew of the event upstairs, but gave it no heed, concentrating on the larger task ahead.
The more police officers who came in from the sewers . . .
Their movement to the stairwells and up them . . .
He got to the dresser which sat on top of all three gunmen, one who still moaned with consciousness.
"Where are the hostages?" asked Cap, squatting close to the man's face.The man rolled his head a bit, his eyelids fluttered.
"Hos...hostages?' said the man, smiling. "You'll never get to them in time. Our job is successful."
"Where are they?"
Cap jumped back a bit as the man's spit smacked him in the face.
"Those damn muties are as good as dead," said the man as his eyes rolled back and he went unconscious.
Cap was on his feet and running down the stairs again, not giving any thought to what the man said.
The terrorists at the Plaza knew the true philosophy, their true goal.
The charges going off on the bottom floor went that much further to reach that goal. The building buckled under the loss of its foundation.
There would be few survivors as the building collapsed.
"GO!" he shouted.
The doors of the convention hall were kicked in and the cops opened fire before anyone inside had any idea what was going on.
He picked up the man's gun, not wanting to use it, but if that's what it took to save these hostages . . .
He kicked in the door to the room to see the gunman with his back against the wall, his gun up against the head of a child he held into the air.
"Put the child down!" shouted Cap as he held the rifle to his shoulder, aiming.
"NO!" shouted the man, his hand shaking. "DROP IT OR THE KID DIES!"
Cap held steady, still aiming.
"DON'T MAKE ME DO IT!" the man shouted, crying. "DON'T MAKE ME . . ."
Cap squeezed off a round, striking the man in his right shoulder, making him drop the his gun and the child.
The hostages jumped on him before Cap could say a word.
The Molton ended up better off, even with fewer police. 5 hostages died, 3 in the raid. We lost one damn good cop in the fire fight, but we got all those bastards. Every terrorist in the conference hall was killed. Cap brought up 8 live ones, a couple close to death from being pummeled by the hostages, not that I could really blame them. Found those three explosion guys on the roof completely oblivious to everything that had just happened. A short fire fight left two of them dead, one pretty bad off, and none of my cops hurt.
We were lucky. Damn lucky.
I want to go home.
He ignored the man who hung out his car window and cursed at him as he ran across his car. He ignored the cameras flashing to take his picture, the crowds, the cars, he ignored everything. He just had to get there.
He leapt off a car and onto the sidewalk as he turned the corner.
He had to get there.
Flashing lights reflecting off the buildings in the distance. The sky lit brightly as fire reached into the air.
Then he saw it.
He stopped dead in his tracks and stared for a moment at the ruins that used to be the Plaza.
A burning pile of rubble flanked by buildings both missing chunks of their sides, the scene surrounded by more rubble, injured, tons of vehicles with flashing lights, squad cars, ambulances, fire trucks. Those who could walk limped around, trying to help others.
A battle had taken place in the middle of Washington DC and America had lost.
America was sending in 1500 troops to help in the search.
Everything was going according to plan.
Dave, Matt, Mark, Jason.
This reminds me of a game they used to play on Sesame Street when I was younger, "One of these things just isn't together, one of these things just isn't the same . . ." and on and on with the song. Something in this list doesn't look right to me.
You have Dave who created the MV1 Captain America and got him off to a great start. There's Matt, who's style and stories are rivaled by few. And who could forget Mark, a MV1 living legend, who's work on Fantastic Four is one of the single most referenced pieces of fanfiction around, and who's work on Captain America just made his successors job that much more challenging.
And then there's Jason, me. A rookie. I came into MV1 as a lurker in December of 1998 and didn't start writing until February of '99. Here it is July, and I'm on one of the biggest books in any Marvel Universe. It's a dream come true, and a nightmare.
Wow, I get to give my spin on Cap, my boyhood hero. I mean, how many folks actually get to live this dream? Even in fanficion? I've wanted to be Captain America for so long, and, now, here I am.
Here I am.
Here I am.
Now what?
Well, hopefully I can live up to the fine exaples set before me. There's a big task ahead of me, but it's a big adventure as well. Hey, sure, I'm no Dave or Matt or Mark, but I don't have to be. All I have to be is me, and all I have to do is churn out fun stories.
Yep, that's what I'm gonna do.
And I'll tell you now, the future of Cap is gonna be a whole lotta fun. Just you wait and see.
Thanks to Lonni, Baloo and Ralph for editing and reviewing this earlier for me. I really appreciate it.
Enjoy, have fun, read more MV1.
Jason "J1" Kenney jason_kenney@juno.com