(no subject)
Luanda, Angola, Africa
0235 Local
HUNK gazed westward from where he was seated atop a steel shipping crate, looking at the moonlight reflecting brilliantly on the South Atlantic. The expanse of dark water gave off a menacing enough aura, not to mention that of the choking jungle to his east. A jungle that had taken HUNK and his team nearly two days to get through since being dropped off here.
The mission was simple enough. Insertion by a pair of Blackhawks disguised as U.N. choppers, make contact with their guide, and then travel undetected through the jungle while setting up beacons that would spoof the S.T.A.R.S. surveillance satellite, broadcasting just enough false information that NBC activity was on the rise. Basically, Wesker has wanted to make sure that S.T.A.R.S., and Chris Redfield in particular, kept their eyes on Africa.
HUNK removed his canteen from his belt, taking a long drink from it before returning it to his belt. The jungle had been a nightmare in itself, a landscape so alien to civilized man that it may as well have been the surface of the moon. But HUNK had survived. He always survived.
"Sir," said a voice from behind HUNK, and he casually turned his head to look. The voice belonged to Sergeant Maldonado, the only man in this outfit that HUNK thought would live more than a month. And HUNK had trained all of them personally.
"What's the time table look like, Sergeant? I have a deadline I intend to make. That is, unless you want to stay here."
Sergeant Maldonado gestured with a finger to the two large crates behind him being dragged along by his squad of troops.
"We're right on schedule, sir. The MA-121's are ready to be released on your word. Though I still don't trust those damned things. Why not just let us do the job?"
HUNK raised an eyebrow, rising to his feet as he spoke to the young sergeant.
"First of all, you are a soldier. We all are, including myself. Our job is not to question those orders, but to carry them out without failure. And secondly, when Redfield and his S.T.A.R.S. show up, then what? Every one of them to the man are seasoned combatants, veterans of everything Umbrella has thrown at them, and they're still alive. They are survivors. And regardless of my feelings about them personally, I respect that."
HUNK eased off from the sergeant as he pulled a small remote control from a belt pouch.
"Their medic alone gave me a fight. An eighteen year old girl, Maldonado. What would you do if Chris Redfield himself were to show up? Hmm?"
Sergeant Maldonado was at a loss for words. He'd seen HUNK fight on two occassions, and both of those times were at once the most beautiful and brutal displays of combat expertise he had ever seen. Normally he might laugh and think he was being ribbed, but HUNK didn't joke. Ever.
"Release the Hunters, Sergeant. And for God's sake, get your men out of the way," HUNK said as he pressed a combination of buttons on the remote. He was feeding information directly into the brains of the Hunters, instructing them to attack only their programmed targets. S.T.A.R.S. "Send up a flare and stand by for extraction. Good work, Sergeant."
The troopers manning the crates popped the seals to open them, then darted back to safety as long, green talons gripped the crate edges. In a flash, a pair of gorilla-like figures dashed out into the jungle and were gone from sight. The Hunters were on the hunt.
Sergeant Maldonado popped a flare from his belt and launched it into the air, waiting for the sweet sound of helicopter rotors that meant he would be on his way back home.
0235 Local
HUNK gazed westward from where he was seated atop a steel shipping crate, looking at the moonlight reflecting brilliantly on the South Atlantic. The expanse of dark water gave off a menacing enough aura, not to mention that of the choking jungle to his east. A jungle that had taken HUNK and his team nearly two days to get through since being dropped off here.
The mission was simple enough. Insertion by a pair of Blackhawks disguised as U.N. choppers, make contact with their guide, and then travel undetected through the jungle while setting up beacons that would spoof the S.T.A.R.S. surveillance satellite, broadcasting just enough false information that NBC activity was on the rise. Basically, Wesker has wanted to make sure that S.T.A.R.S., and Chris Redfield in particular, kept their eyes on Africa.
HUNK removed his canteen from his belt, taking a long drink from it before returning it to his belt. The jungle had been a nightmare in itself, a landscape so alien to civilized man that it may as well have been the surface of the moon. But HUNK had survived. He always survived.
"Sir," said a voice from behind HUNK, and he casually turned his head to look. The voice belonged to Sergeant Maldonado, the only man in this outfit that HUNK thought would live more than a month. And HUNK had trained all of them personally.
"What's the time table look like, Sergeant? I have a deadline I intend to make. That is, unless you want to stay here."
Sergeant Maldonado gestured with a finger to the two large crates behind him being dragged along by his squad of troops.
"We're right on schedule, sir. The MA-121's are ready to be released on your word. Though I still don't trust those damned things. Why not just let us do the job?"
HUNK raised an eyebrow, rising to his feet as he spoke to the young sergeant.
"First of all, you are a soldier. We all are, including myself. Our job is not to question those orders, but to carry them out without failure. And secondly, when Redfield and his S.T.A.R.S. show up, then what? Every one of them to the man are seasoned combatants, veterans of everything Umbrella has thrown at them, and they're still alive. They are survivors. And regardless of my feelings about them personally, I respect that."
HUNK eased off from the sergeant as he pulled a small remote control from a belt pouch.
"Their medic alone gave me a fight. An eighteen year old girl, Maldonado. What would you do if Chris Redfield himself were to show up? Hmm?"
Sergeant Maldonado was at a loss for words. He'd seen HUNK fight on two occassions, and both of those times were at once the most beautiful and brutal displays of combat expertise he had ever seen. Normally he might laugh and think he was being ribbed, but HUNK didn't joke. Ever.
"Release the Hunters, Sergeant. And for God's sake, get your men out of the way," HUNK said as he pressed a combination of buttons on the remote. He was feeding information directly into the brains of the Hunters, instructing them to attack only their programmed targets. S.T.A.R.S. "Send up a flare and stand by for extraction. Good work, Sergeant."
The troopers manning the crates popped the seals to open them, then darted back to safety as long, green talons gripped the crate edges. In a flash, a pair of gorilla-like figures dashed out into the jungle and were gone from sight. The Hunters were on the hunt.
Sergeant Maldonado popped a flare from his belt and launched it into the air, waiting for the sweet sound of helicopter rotors that meant he would be on his way back home.