Special Ops E-Book

Leo Nix

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

While on holiday in beautiful Western Australia, U.S. Ranger and Staff Sergeant Ben 'Obi-Wan' Kennedy leads his group of special ops through a series of dangerous adventures on their return to home base, Pine Gap Secret Intelligence Facility.

The dedicated and self-sacrificing team joins a team of Western Australian Police who have arrested two Revelationist spies, but the terrorists want them back - dead or alive.

Their escape takes them on a journey to assist a small country township infiltrated by terrorists - but in rescuing the community, they suffer heavy casualties.

The fifth novel in Leo Nix's Sundown Apocalypse series, Special Ops is a story of betrayal, subterfuge, friendship and love, set against a backdrop of survival in the rugged Australian desert.

Leseprobe

Special Ops

Sundown Apocalypse Book 5

Leo Nix

Copyright (C) 2018 Leo Nix

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Stephen Kingston

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

A special 'thank you' to Marja for her generous support and the difficult task of proof reading; to my friends Chris and Nicole for answering my many technical questions; to Peter for his ongoing support and technical assistance in all things military. I am especially indebted to Danny for his editing and US military insights without which this book would be far less readable and enjoyable.

I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge and show respect, to the first Australians, our land's traditional custodians, the Australian aboriginal people.

Dedication: To our selfless police and military service men and women who keep us safe in our beds, and to those who support them in their times of need.

Special Operations soldiersare a unique breed. Determined, highly intelligent and specially trained problem solvers who train constantly to risk their lives protecting citizens who will never know who they are. These brave men… do not expect parades for their service, in fact, they know that, should the worst happen, not even their loved ones will be given details of their final mission. This selfless sense of duty is only a small part of what makes these operators 'special'.

http://serioussurvivor.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/Special-Operations-Manual.pdf

Other Books in This Series

Sundown Apocalypse

Sundown Apocalypse 2: Urban Guerrilla

Sundown Apocalypse 3: Homeland Defense

Sundown Apocalypse 4: Desert Strike

Chapter 1 – Apocalypse Day

“As George Orwell pointed out, people sleep peacefully in their beds at night, only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

Richard Grenier, The Washington Times, 1993.

“How much longer before we move out, Sarg?” asked Lieutenant Norton picking at the scab on his face. His platoon of the Perth Revelationist Church's Hades Battalion, the 'Flaming Damnation', was waiting inside the house and garage for the command to engage their enemy. The platoon had been waiting all afternoon and it was now almost midnight. They were given the honour of taking out the joint US and Australian spy base at Kollarena, which was only a few blocks away.

“Soon, Lieutenant. We've got…” Sergeant Bobbi Francis looked at her wristwatch, it was almost midnight, the time appointed to unleash the Apocalypse of the Book of Revelations.

The spy base was no doubt already under siege by their comrades. These were the 'sleepers', saboteurs planted within the intelligence community by the Revelationist Church years ago. It was now just a matter of walking through the opened doors and exterminating the survivors - if there were any left. Lieutenant Norton's counterpart was waiting in another house a little closer to the base.

Bobbi didn't have time to say more. There was an alarmed shout from their communications specialist monitoring the video display of Australian Federal Police Sergeant Darren McIntosh's house next door. The specialist calmed himself, then called softly to his lieutenant.

“Lieutenant Norton, there's police pulling up outside McIntosh's house. It's their Tactical Response Force… and AFP. We've got big problems!” he said finishing with what sounded like a chicken's 'squawk' as his voice rose in pitch.

Everyone in the garage crammed to stare at the video monitor. They watched as four police vehicles and a Tactical Response Group armoured command vehicle, a Bearcat, discharged eighteen armed Western Australian and Australian Federal Police. They could clearly see their enemy's weapons were drawn.

The terrorists watched open-mouthed as the police Tactical Response team raced to the front and back doors of their informer's home.

“Shit!” grunted the now panicked lieutenant, “Sergeant Francis, get everyone moving, we have to squash this immediately. If we can't rescue our three men we will need to kill them.” He paused to squeeze both hands against his greying, sweaty temples, “and that means killing Colonel McIntosh and Captain Landan. They're not to be left for the police to interrogate no matter what.”

Turning to his comms specialist, Lieutenant Norton spoke softly, just above the noise of the soldiers preparing their weapons.

“Get on to Captain Lim, tell him what's happening. Tell him that we're going in and that I suggest he go straight to the base without us - immediately. We'll follow when we've dealt with the police.”

Corporal Maitland downed the dregs at the bottom of his beer can, gathered his squad and raced to the fence separating the two houses. He kicked down the frail, wooden palings allowing his squad through. Sergeant Francis was already racing towards the front of the house firing at the small crowd of AFP and WAPOL waiting in the driveway and front yard.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I want them back home with me. I can't stand being alone like this,” pleaded AFP Sergeant Darren McIntosh. He was the head intelligence analyst at the joint US and Australian spy the base, Australian Defense Satellite Communications Station, Kollarena. It was located twenty kilometres north of the city of Geraldton, on the Western Australian coast.

Thirty-three-year-old Sergeant McIntosh was a spy, conveying top-secret military information to the Revelationist Church. His older brother, Colonel Harry McIntosh, military commander of the Perth Revelationist Hades Battalion, was sitting opposite at the kitchen table. Harry's battalion slogan was 'Flaming Damnation', and tonight, at midnight, they were going to unleash just that, flames and damnation, on all who stood in their way. Apocalypse Day was only minutes away.

“Darren, the girls are safe, so is Debbie. You know our mother wouldn't let any harm come to them?” smiled Colonel McIntosh but it was a little too smooth and this wasn't lost on his younger brother.

“Our mother is fucking crazy, you know that Harry, she's mad. I can't stand the thought of her even being near my kids. Don't you remember what she did to us? A mother is supposed to care for her children, she couldn't even do that. She hired out her own sons for drugs, for her pleasure. How the hell can anyone trust her to look after anyone's children?” Darren was distraught and exhausted after a whole evening of debriefing with his brother and the battalion's intelligence officer, Captain Landan.

Harry's face creased as though in pain. “I know how you feel, Darren. Don't think I can't remember what she did to us. But she's changed, the church changed her. You know that. She's a true believer now, she wouldn't let that sort of thing happen to her own grandchildren, ever.”

“The church changed her?” Darren's voice rose in volume to a yell, “that's bullshit! She changed the damn church to suit herself. No-one's game to stand against her, she gets whatever she wants. She's a church Priest, they're Gestapo, and I don't trust her with my family.” The fine-boned, dark-haired man sobbed softly as he lowered his face into his hands.

Nearing his fortieth year, Colonel McIntosh looked completely different to his younger half-brother. Where Darren was slim and youthful, Harry was thick-set and ruddy, his face held none of his brother's fine features.

“Darren, after tonight we'll need you,” Captain Landan paused and corrected himself, “the church needs you, to continue monitoring Pine Gap communications. We'll still need to monitor the various spy satellites around the world. Do you really think your mother would allow that to be compromised? She loves your girls and she loves the church. With the coming of the blessed Apocalypse you'll have your family back, we promise it.” Again both Revelationists glanced across the broken man to stare at each other. Neither smiled. Captain Landan looked at his watch, it was almost time to collect their platoons and initiate the Apocalypse of the Book of Revelations.

The silence was broken by the sound of splintered glass and timber. Into the kitchen crashed five armed and uniformed Tactical Response Group members. Before the terrorists could reach for a weapon they were flexi-cuffed and shoved towards the open door.

“That Sergeant Dyson's a bit of a jerk, isn't he, eh?” muttered Constable Ray Bidder, Australian Federal Police. His voice always went up at the end of a sentence to make it sound like a question. “And that senior constable who drives their command vehicle, that Bearcat, she's a honey isn't she, eh?”

Ray drew deeply on his cigarette as he continued to stare at the Bearcat driver, Senior Constable Nancy Haurenier. She didn't stare back, she was busy on the mic talking to her team inside the house.

The ten AFP, Australian Federal Police, and WAPOL, Western Australian Police, were armed and in body armour, as expected in an arrest of this nature. They stood outside the house waiting for the tactical team to complete the arrest.

“Ray,” called the weather-beaten AFP Senior Sergeant, Frenchy, pulling his cigarette packet from his top pocket. In his heavily accented English, Frenchy snapped, “Ray, get your eyes off Nancy's bits and pieces and stay focused. The Revelationists are out in numbers this weekend. Headquarters said there are at least five thousand in Geraldton for their crusader rally. WAPOL have already confiscated weapons from some of the congregation. I've got a bad feeling about this weekend.”

Frenchy lit his cigarette and held the packet out to his AFP off-sider, 'Oddie', Sergeant Ogden Danse. The tall, solidly built ex-commando absently took one, leaning forward to light it from Frenchy's now glowing cigarette. He looked around the front yard and down the street suspiciously. All seemed quiet and normal for that time of night.

The Australian Federal Police were deployed at the intelligence base just around the corner. They had been planning this arrest for months. All police and tactical staff knew to keep their mouth's shut if the media turned up. Any news associated with federal intelligence facilities can easily turn into a fireball in moments. All it takes is for one nosy neighbour to call the Perth TV channels and they'd be buzzed by a dozen helicopters before they'd had time to cuff their prisoners.

From inside the house came sounds of a scuffle, yelled orders, then silence. Senior Sergeant WAPOL, Brad Hopkins, nervously fingered the grip of his Glock 18.

“I don't like this,” he said to no-one in particular, “it's too easy. Five thousand Revelationists and one undefended spy, all by his lonesome. Nah, somethings not right.”

It had been a busy day for the WAPOL team. Earlier that morning Senior Constable Bill Franklin and Constable Danielle Ahmet, attended the violent triple homicide of a mother and her twin, ten-year old daughters, outside Geraldton. The two then had to double up for tonight's warrant and arrest. Brad understood that they were both no doubt exhausted and possibly still distraught from what they had witnessed that morning.

At that moment he caught sight of his favourite tactical police officer, Senior Constable Kerrie Black. She stood in the doorway, waving to him. He walked over, still fingering the grip of his pistol.

“What?” he asked softly, too edgy to say more, something was wrong, he knew it.

“Get your teams to tighten up the perimeter, we've got extras. It looks like we have the heads of the Perth Hades Battalion here too, Colonel McIntosh and Captain Landan. We've got them – shaft, sack and balls. We've scooped the pool, Brad.” Kerrie was relaxed and smiling, her face briefly glowed with a youth she had left behind to focus on her career with the police. She liked Brad, he was a professional, like her and the tactical team she now worked with.

Brad nodded but he shivered inside. That was just bloody perfect, more terrorists to handle - he turned to his team.

“Everyone, on me!” his call was soft but firm. “We've got three suspects, two Revelationist accessories not on our warrant. They're the head of the Hades Battalion, Flaming Damnation. Well, we're flamin' damned if we'll let this opportunity slip out of our hands.” He let his breath out slowly. “We'll give tactical a few minutes to complete the arrests while we set up the crime scene tapes and then start collecting evidence. Just be on your toes while you do it, anything could go wrong.”

Each member of the AFP and WAPOL quickly set about their usual procedure of preparing a crime scene and securing it.

It was about then that the firing started and the police warrant and arrest went pear-shaped - just as Frenchy and Brad feared.

Senior Sergeant Wayne Dyson was an ex-infantry captain in the regular army. He had left the military to join the WA Tactical Response Group so that he could spend more time with his family. He was thinking of them as bullets cracked and whined through the pine-board cottage.

Everyone dived to the floor as soon as the firing started. A bullet hit the Revelationist captain and blood spurted through a hole in his neck. He gave a series of gurgled, wet coughs as he choked on his own blood.

Constable 'Twitch' Frampton twisted sideways as he was hit by a burst of automatic gunfire. Some of the impact was absorbed by his body protection but several bullets found their way below his armour, cutting the artery in his groin. He spun and fell to the floor screaming. Two more officers went down with serious leg and abdominal wounds.

Dyson knew they were now in big trouble. This wasn't simply 'bad guys' firing handguns this was a full-on military-style assault. Then he heard the incoming fire directed at his AFP and WAPOL team waiting outside, the volume of fire was incredible.

'What the hell did we just walk into?' he thought as he lay on the floor hoping the incoming fuselage of bullets stayed high.

Colonel McIntosh saw his friend drop to the floor with the first bursts of incoming fire. He watched as Captain Landan squirmed trying to reach up to his neck wound,but his hands were flexi-cuffed behind him. The Revelationist intelligence officer was now still, the spurting wound pumped a few more times then stopped.

McIntosh rolled onto his side and watched to see what his captors would do. They were competent men and women, he had probably trained some of them during his time in the military. But men and women break under stress, he just might escape arrest - if he doesn't get killed first.

Colonel McIntosh recognised that he was an eye-witness to a truly devastating assault and he was proud of it. But he wasn't pleased to be on the receiving end.

Harry's younger brother, Sergeant Darren McIntosh, was his pride and joy. His personal covert operative had kept the battalion and his Australian counterparts informed of valuable top-secret intelligence for the past three years. Darren huddled on the floor beside his brother, afraid and angry. Both Revelationists were just as vulnerable to the incoming fire as their captors beside them.

The Flaming Damnation platoon had split into three squads each doing their best to exterminate the police.

Sergeant Francis led her squad through the side gate and almost to the driveway. She opened fire as soon as she saw the police.

Corporal Maitland and his squad continued to fire through the timber walls of the house while Corporal Zee arrived at the front of the house to attack the police from the street. For the police inside and out, it was hell in a teacup.

The tactical team had already lost Constable 'Twitch' Frampton while Constable Russell Efferent and Sergeant Guy Luvini were wounded and losing blood fast. Senior Sergeant Dyson now had to extract his team and their prisoners under heavy fire.

Of all extractions this was the worst scenario of them all. Not only were they unprepared for the ambush they were being hit by heavy automatic rifle fire; they had wounded and dead; and they had prisoners, one appeared dead already. But not only were they severely compromised inside the house their escape route was exposed and under heavy fire as well.

“Hooky! Grab Sergeant McIntosh. Lana, grab the colonel.” Turning to Senior Constable Kerrie Black he called, “Kerrie, grab Constable Efferent and I'll take Sergeant Luvini.” He looked at his good friend, Twitch, “Twitch is dead, we'll collect him later… we extract on three… One! Two! Three!” The Tactical Response Group police officers jumped up and began their extraction. Immediately Lana screamed as a bullet slashed the back of her hand.

“Just do it, Lana!” yelled ex-SAS corporal, Paul 'Hooky' Pan. “Just grab him and run! Come on!” Hooky grabbed his cuffed prisoner by the arm. Pushing Lana and her prisoner, Colonel McIntosh, in front of him, they ran for the door.

As the tactical team burst through the front door they were met by an eruption of noise that disoriented them for a few seconds. They heard Senior Constable Nancy Haurenier in their earpiece, “Get into the Bearcat! Now!”

Nancy had manoeuvred the armoured Bearcat up as close to the front door as it would go. Bullets whined and smacked against its armoured sides and windows but none penetrated. She sensibly put the Bearcat between the terrorists and the police standing outside. All-the-same there were four bodies lying in awkward positions on the front lawn. One of them was her lover, Constable Chad Chopah, a giant of a man with a gigantic heart.

Despite the tears that streaked down her cheeks her mind was cold, frozen. No one was prepared for an arrest warrant to go down like it had. She knew this was evidence of a well-established spy ring with military connections.

In their haste to engage the police the terrorists forgot to cover the other side of the house. It was here that the police had gathered, protected behind the Bearcat. The incoming fire was ferocious and counter-fire almost impossible.

Senior Sergeant, WAPOL, Brad Hopkins looked at his team, only three were still standing, two had gone down in the first burst of gunfire.

“Into the Bearcat!” he screamed above the din of rounds smacking against the Bearcat's armoured sides. “Danielle, help me with the wounded.” Both Constable Danielle Ahmet and Constable Cindy Briggs bent to help Brad drag their mates into the cramped interior of the armoured Tactical Response Group vehicle.

Inside they negotiated for space with the tactical team and Senior Sergeant Frenchy's federal police. Nancy pushed the revs up and reversed out of the driveway. The Bearcat roared down the road towards their spy base, Australian Defense Satellite Communications Station, Kollarena, only a few blocks away.

As the Bearcat pulled away from the house three grenades exploded beneath it, one after the other. Although designed to protect its occupants from incoming fire and explosives the massive vehicle had taken a terrific beating. Not a dozen metres down the road it began to misfire.

An exasperated Senior Sergeant Wayne Dyson cried out, “I don't fucking believe it!” He was almost in tears at the horrific battering his team had taken. He crawled over sweating and bloodied bodies to sit beside his driver, Nancy, he didn't notice she was crying.

Dyson grabbed at the radio and connected with his superior in the Kollarena base as their brave Bearcat slowly died beneath him. Every few metres it shuddered, misfiring badly. He finally finished speaking and turned to his driver beside him.

“Nan, get us to the wharf, we'll never make it back to base.” Dyson looked down and shook his head, coming back to the moment he called loudly to his team behind him, “Kollarena base is under fire, it seems they've been infiltrated from the inside. All communication with the satellites was cut hours ago. They've just been hit by a massed force of terrorists and they're about to be overrun. Super said we need to get to the wharf and try to escape by boat - he has no back-up for us.”

He saw a few heads drop with the terrible news. “Super said they're preparing to blow the base up. He's in the process of holding off the invaders long enough to arm the self-destruct charges and try to get a message to Pine Gap. If we can, we've got to get ourselves and these prisoners to Pine Gap, Perth or Darwin. He said the Revelationist Church have done what they've threatened to do for years, they've set the world on fire.”

As he spoke the wharf appeared in front of them. He could make out the base motor launch, several civilian fishing boats, and yachts. Hopefully the launch was fuelled up and ready to go.

In the Bearcat's rear monitor he saw they were being pursued by several cars filled with terrorists. The Bearcat moaned as it approached its death rattle. Nancy kept her mind focused so she could bring it as close to the wharf as possible before it died completely.

“Frenchy, can you and Brad set up a defense when we stop? I need to get the wounded and prisoners on the launch - help yourselves to the automatics in the locker here. I'll only need a minute to get the launch manned and started,” said Dyson as he crawled back over the bodies and into the interior. He checked the prisoners and his team. As he checked Lana's bloodied hand she told him in a rushed explosion of words that it wasn't serious.

He turned to the team's head medic, Sergeant 'Oddie' Danse, already flat-out tending to the wounded. “Bandage Lana's hand, Oddie, I need her.” His mind was now focused like a laser beam as he readied to exit the Bearcat.

In his minds-eye, Dyson stepped out of his body to observe his team and the other survivors. They looked staunch, and despite the horror of the firefight he knew he could depend on them. He came back to the present and spoke one more time.

“People, we've got to set a defensive perimeter against these pricks. I'm counting on Frenchy and Brad's teams to give us time to board the base launch and start the engines. I'll call you in when we're ready. I'll need about sixty seconds.”

He called loudly to Nancy, “Nan, set the self-destruction of the Bearcat to three minutes.”

Looking once more at his team Dyson said, “When we stop we've got three minutes so make sure you get to the boat before it goes up.” He paused, “any questions?” There were none, all knew what was required. “OK. Tactical! We're up first.”

The Bearcat gave it's last choking cough and stopped right at the edge of the wharf, it had served them well. The tactical response team leapt from the side door and ran dragging their prisoners and wounded to the motor launch. Neither prisoner tried to hinder them, they were just as afraid of being hit by their own as the police were.

Brad and Frenchy handed out tactical's Heckler and Koch G36 automatics, there were only a couple of grenades. Each able officer had an automatic rifle, Ray armed himself with a Blasser sniper rifle. There were just six active officers left, they had two dead and two seriously wounded. Ray was sectioned-off to have the two wounded ready for extraction while the rest held the terrorists back.

“Fire!” cried Frenchy as the four terrorist cars came within effective range. He felt damn good being able to fight back at last. The automatics stopped the enemy in their tracks and the cars swerved off the road and into the sparse, wind-swept scrub. In the darkness they could see the enemy rifle-flashes - it revealed that there were about twenty terrorists out there in the dark.

Senior Sergeant Brad Hopkins had one of the tactical team earpieces and heard Dyson call them in. Nancy had already tapped his shoulder as she left the safety of the Bearcat.

“We've got two minutes to get to the wharf before the Bearcat explodes,” called Brad to the team beside him.

“Brad, I'll stay back while you get everyone to the boat.” Frenchy didn't bother to wait for an answer. He was ex-French Foreign Legion and he loved the wild Australian desert sands. It was better than the jungles of central Africa, his deployment before he retired. Right now, as one of the most experienced heads of the AFP team at the joint US and Australian spy base, it was his responsibility to look after everyone.

“Good luck, Frenchy, we'll cover you once we get to the boat.” Brad knew his friend wouldn't budge, he never did once he'd made up his mind. They were in a bad situation but blessed with a comrade who stuck by his mates.

Sergeant 'Oddie' Danse and Constable Ray Bidder firmly slapped Frenchy's shoulder and wished him good luck. They then prepared to race towards the motor launch.

“Ray, you and I'll leap-frog back, we provide covering fire for each other, got it?” yelled Oddie. Ray grunted in reply as he made sure his rifle safety was off, now he was ready. The short, barrel-chested AFP officer hadn't noticed the cigarette sticking out of his mouth, let alone that it wasn't lit.

The last of the police officers made a dash to the boat. By now the terrorists had started to encircle the dead Bearcat - there was just one minute before it detonated. The last two policemen now raced back, leap-frogging each other, firing at the muzzle flashes now appearing on both flanks.

Frenchy laughed, he knew he was going to die, he'd been in situations like this a hundred times before. Not once was he worried about his own life, back then he always knew he would survive. But today, right now, he knew this was no longer so. Tonight he sang his death-song and he shared it with the blood of the terrorists trying to kill his team-mates.

“Come on you arse-wipes! I've killed the likes of you swine a million times over,” he yelled, his voice slipping into his native French, “viens et rencontrer ta mort!” - “come and meet your death!”

A bullet creased his arm burning like a hot iron. He didn't care, it just fired his determination. The ex-Legionnaire felt bullet-proof as he continued to fire his G36. He heard Oddie and Ray firing from behind him. He knew they were steady types, not given to running from a fight themselves.

Two terrorists ran to the side of the Bearcat and crept around to see Frenchy's legs as he was firing to the front of the vehicle.

“Come on you bastards! Is that all you've got for me!”

The terrorists could just make out his yells and laughter above the ferocious firing around them and the noise of bullets striking the armoured sides of the Bearcat. The bravest of the two stepped around to the back of the armoured vehicle and fired into Frenchy's back. He emptied the entire magazine into him. A moment later the other terrorist joined him. They kicked the bloodied Frenchman's limp body - just as the Bearcat's explosives detonated shredding the three of them into blood and gristle.

The sky lit up as a ball of flames and smoke rose into the black heavens. It was dwarfed by the spire of the exploding Kollarena spy base which detonated only seconds later.

The soldiers of both sides stopped firing to watch, mesmerised by both the Bearcat and then the spy base's demise. To the police men and women it was a sadness that hit them like a punch in the guts; to the terrorists it was a moment to be cherished to the day they died.

Oddie yelled at Ray to get to the boat then turned and raced as fast as he could along the timbered wharf to join him. By the light of the twin fires they were silhouetted against the darkness of the bay, the terrorists now resumed their assault.

“Damn! Look!” cried the raven-haired Constable Danielle Ahmet. She pointed to a streak of white coming at speed towards them. “I think we've got terrorists approaching by launch from the south!”

Chapter 2 – Madness in the City

It was after sunset and still many hours before midnight - the official time to launch the glorious Apocalypse. The Revelationist Church members in Geraldton, on the Western Australian coast, were busily preparing for their assault on the city.

The senior commander of the Geraldton operation, Colonel Brandon Newport, couldn't wait until midnight to launch the sister battalion to the 'Flaming Damnation' of Perth. His battalion was called the 'Tartarus Battalion', also known as the 'Be Damned' battalion. He wanted to be the first to execute the Apocalypse in Australia, and 'be damned' to his fellow Perth commanders. He now ordered the assault regardless of the consequences.

Colonel Newport stood outside his motel suite with his officers surrounding him. He revelled in the thought of the accolades he would receive for initiating the Glorious Apocalypse of the Book of Revelations here in Australia.

“Weapons ready everyone, orders are to upscale our assault and make this city a blazing beacon to humanity's freedom a little earlier than anticipated.” Lieutenant Serri spoke softly to her platoon of crusaders. They were armed with automatic rifles, pistols, grenades and petrol bombs. Their role was to corral the city residents into the football field and detonate the explosives buried there. These new orders from Colonel Newport meant that they would now execute the city residents as they found them, on the spot.

“Let us all pray.” The platoon went down on one knee, bowing their heads as their officer led them in prayer.

There were sounds around them in the dark as thousands of Revelationist Crusader terrorists moved out. They all had flashlights in their hands or around their heads, all the better to see their victims. Each was armed and determined to show their fellow churchmen and women the strength of their faith. Many were stoned or drunk, the church encouraged members to indulge in what the establishment deemed illegal or improper.

As the crusaders spread through the suburbs and into the centre of the city fires sprang up everywhere. The city fire services and police were called in to assist. None of these civilian services knew that it was the end of the world. Within a half hour the electricity network was cut and communications ceased.

“Lieutenant Serri!” cried Tahni, she had a screaming teenage girl by the hair, dragging her to the roadside, “can you give me a hand here? This bitch is trying to run.”

Rather than walk over to help, Lieutenant Serri simply fired her Beretta 9 mm pistol into the girls back.

“There, see how it's done! Now get back inside that hotel and just kill them, we aren't supposed to take them to the footy field anymore - weren't you listening?” yelled the lieutenant above the sounds of screaming, the blaze of multiple fires and automatic rifle fire. She fired at another teenage reveller trying to escape, he fell, joining his dead friend on the footpath.

One 'Be Damned' platoon was sectioned-off to scour the beaches adjacent the city centre. Most of the buildings they passed were now alight, the drinkers in the hotels and bars either dead, fleeing or in hiding.

One small group had taken up position in the Freemasons Hotel, just around the block from the white sands of Town Beach. This select group of special operatives anticipated that they would soon be in command of their own weapons, courtesy of the terrorists.

“Obi-Wan, it looks like we might have company, buddy,” whispered the tall, dark-haired, Soldier of Fortune. The scar above his right eye stood out, it was proof of the stress they were all feeling.

With the explosive start of the apocalypse most of the drinkers had fled either to their cars parked outside or to their hotel rooms. There remained the six special services operatives and their group of female friends. Emily was a bright-eyed and bubbly, petite blond; Julie, a tall, intelligent and lively brunette, she was a partner in her father's law firm; Tish, a blond who loved to party and already a little drunk, she quickly sobered once the shooting started; and dark-haired Gracie, Julie's office administrator, she had only just joined them that day.

The girls had driven up from Perth to celebrate their friend's wedding and enjoy the sunshine and holiday atmosphere of Geraldton. They'd met the special operatives one night and liked what they saw, that helped them decide to hang around for an extra few days.

The six special operatives now waited for orders from their senior NCO: US Ranger, Staff Sergeant Ben 'Obi-Wan' Kennedy. Although he tried to avoid it he was quite popular with the girls with his blond hair and solid surfer body, kept well toned by his regular work-outs. But it was his calm manner in a crisis that made him a favourite with his friends.

They'd heard the gunfire only a few minutes earlier and knew what it was, a full-on, military-style assault. The special operatives, enjoying a well-earned holiday from Joint Defense Intelligence Facility at Pine Gap in the heart of the Australian continent, had heard those sounds before, many times before. The sound of automatic rifle-fire usually meant death.

Within moments they had rounded up their friends and a few other revellers, moving them deeper into the hotel. Obi-Wan, and his buddy, Corporal Gary Fortune, a member of the U.S. Army's famed Delta Force, remained in contact with the terrorists. They wanted to gain more information and, with luck, weapons. Off-duty servicemen and women do not carry firearms, especially in Australia where the laws prohibit it - they were feeling naked without a weapon to defend themselves and their friends.

Their buddies, Petty Officer Second Class Matt Murphy, with his blond crew-cut hair and solid build; and Petty Officer Third Class Peter Liner, 'Pipeline', whose skin was as black as the oil that flowed through his namesake, took the girls and a few other hotel patrons towards the exit at the back of the building. Both were the U.S. Navy's elite Sea, Air, and Land forces, known as SEALs.

The flaming red-haired and short, thick-bearded Australian, Ollie 'Skip' Stone, looked more like a Viking marauder than a SAS Corporal. Skip and the tall, good-looking Samoan, Corporal Laurence Burger, another U.S. Army Ranger, stayed back to maintain contact and provide support for Obi-Wan and Soldier of Fortune.

The special operatives of both countries knew the drill, they'd done this before and they now performed as they were trained to do. The first thing they needed was intelligence, the second was a weapon. Fortunately for them, five terrorists arrived, smashing their way through chairs and tables to get to the liquor behind the bar.

“Cheer up, Sammy, 'Milk Tits' still loves ya. She'll be as horny as a lioness on heat after this,” laughed one of the terrorists as he threw a bottle of Creme De Menthe to his mate. “Give it a few hours and she'll be begging for more of that man-meat between your legs.”

“You guys make me sick with your sex talk. That's all you do, talk about sex and tits and cocks. We're Revelationist Church members, we're the pillars of our church, we should set an example. Besides, Lieutenant Serri said she didn't like that name, it embarrasses her,” Tiny lectured. She was so petite that even her tailored uniform dwarfed her elfin figure. Her heart-shaped face was framed with a blond pixie cut, adding to the impression she could pass for being a child's doll.

Looking closer, the M1911 pistol she held in each hand destroyed the illusion. She sat in the tall bar-stool and lay the twin pistols on the bar, struggling to raise her elbows high enough to rest them on the bar's top. Eyeing the abandoned bottles left sitting on the bar, she reached over and poured herself a neat whiskey and soda, knocking it back in one gulp.

“Damn it's hot tonight, and my hands are shaking. Look, all that firing, I can hardly hold my pistols anymore. I need another drink,” she said.

“Yeah right, as if the lieutenant cares,” continued the loudmouth private who was pouring himself another bourbon and coke. He thoroughly enjoyed killing as much as he enjoyed sex. “Milk Tits has already humped everyone in the platoon bar you, Tiny. If you had a dick I'm sure she'd hump you too.”

“If I had a dick to match Serri's tits I'd be pretty darn popular with the whole battalion,” laughed Tiny. Her face was red from the whiskey, the exertion of throwing firebombs through shop-front windows and firing her pistols. She poured herself another drink, her third.

“If I had a bigger dick I'd fall over too,” called a very drunk Corporal Mandy, an older, non-commissioned officer. She tried but with pathetic regularity failed to fit in with the younger members of the platoon.