FF Witches Powder Chapter 20.
Title: Witches Powder
Author: Dark Wyldchilde (wyldchilde37@yahoo.com)
Rating: As always better NC-17 then sorry.
Pairing: Faith/Tara, Ziva/Abby
Setting: The Lock, an AU of my own creation that started it's own path in season 6 of Buffy, mixed in the end of Angel, and the current run of NCIS as well as healthy elements of the Mack Bolan/Stony Man Farm novels.
Summary: The Lock doesn't tend to societies ills, but the hot new party drug on the scene is looking like it will take their special expertise.
Spoilers: Anything Buffy/Angel/NCIS/Executioner may be used or referred to, read at your own risk.
Disclaimers: This is a non-profit work of fanfiction and is in no way a challenge to any existing copyrights.
Wyld's Notes: This is now the sixth fic in the Lock series. Starting with "Life on the Farm" and progressing through "Downtime". If you haven't read them I would suggest you do because while there are many familiar faces figuring out how they got where they are at could get confusing.
Chapter 20.
"All right Tim, tell me what you see."
McGee looked at Gibbs nervously, in harsh comparison to the older man's quiet, calm tone. The two men were laid flat on the roof of a closed factory in one of LA's harder hit industrial sections looking at the one lit up building in the area through binoculars. Trusting the distance and the Lock issued black suits, and combat cosmetic to keep them concealed.
This was a step well beyond live fire training exercises as their opponents were real ones, and would really try to kill them if they were seen, but long before Tim had ever heard of the Lock he knew that training could only do so much.
The rest was a matter of earned experience, and Tim know that the Boss picked him to help scout the processing plant to get "Elf Lord" that much needed experience.
He took a breath, and then another, mellowing his voice like Gibbs as he started to reply. "Well after Ducky and Abby's report on where Witches Powder comes from I would guess they picked a meat packing plant to cover the smell of blood. Though that also has me a little queasy about what we'll find when we'll enter."
Gibbs nodded. "And?"
"I count seven sentries. Three forward on foot patrol. Two look bored while the third has night blinded himself, and flagged his position by lighting a cigarette. Four stationary sentries posted at the four entry points from the blueprints Oracle got us. One at the loading bay doors, one on each of the doors to the main processing area, and one at the office entry."
"There's nine sentries Tim." Gibbs actually reached over to pull Tim's binoculars, and McGee saw two men huddled down past the loading dock passing a bottle-shaped paper bag between them.
"Sorry Boss. I missed them entirely"
Gibbs met the young man's eyes as the young man stopped mid-apology. "It's okay Tim. It's my job to teach you how to spot them all. When spotting sentries you need to remember they are still people and will not just do the professional thing to do. Those two might be blitzed, but if we left them at out backs they could catch one of us in the open. "
McGee frowned. "It's more amateurs Boss. Junkies."
"Yeah, but the guns in their hands are professional enough to kill us. So we treat them like we would any other gunner. How do we approach?"
Tim frowned, while he knew Gibbs would correct any holes in his strategy he had played enough tactical sims that he knew he could get this right. His friends couldn't re-spawn, but neither could he, but still, he could do this.
"Spy Queen, Striker and you will take out the three roaming sentries. Striker can take the smoker, you and Spy Queen will take the other two, which will leave you positioned to team up to take the two drinking. Striker will then move to take the one at the office door. While you guys are taking those three I'll move to take the front entry to the work floor, Bluto can take the back while Black Magick Woman takes the one on the loading bay doors."
Gibbs smiled. "You gave yourself one of the more difficult entry points on purpose didn't you?" While the combat cosmetic blackening Tim's face made it impossible to see the resulting blush Gibbs nodded his approval. "Good. I'll join you there, and once we take the work floor we will move to the office and you will take their computer system."
The information was quickly absorbed and McGee continued planning. "Spy Queen can then link up with Black Magick Woman. I was thinking they could blow the loading bay doors with timed charges to pull everyone's eyes that way, and when they are looking that way five seconds later additional charges could blow the trucks fuel tanks to keep their attention pulled that way while the ladies have already moved to take the back door to the work floor."
A nod from his superior. "Good, but the charges should be placed on the engine blocks. If those trucks have been loaded with Witches Powder burning them could expose us to that crap. The engine blocks still creates sound and fury, while making sure they can't get that stuff out of here."
Several nods from McGee. "Okay, Striker and Bluto cam in through the offices. We neutralize any opposition, meet on the main floor. You and I will take the office and it's computer while the others rig the places to blow... will we want it to burn as well?"
Another single nod. "Yeah, I want this stuff gone, and fire's always best for that sort of thing. This place is isolated enough that any fumes from the Witches Powder should disperse enough that there won't be any problems." Their eyes met, and Gibbs got a wider smile. "Good job... Elf Lord. Let's tell the others your plan."
The others found no flaw, and moved quickly to carry out their individual parts. Gibbs, Bolan, and David went first, the roaming sentries being left the more experienced troops.
Striker actually had to be careful so that the same glowing ember that drew him to his target didn't wreck his night vision like it had for the nicotine deficient guard. It proved to be the least of the man's problems as a large hand was clamped over his mouth while a razor sharp blade drew across his throat, releasing that last smoke into the air through the clean line left in the steel's wake.
As confident as she was in her abilities Gibbs could often leave Ziva feeling like a rank private. It wasn't done intentionally on the man's part, but rather it was just a natural effect of Gibbs being as good as he was at what he did.
Putting literal legends like the Executioner in just made it worse, leaving Ziva still confident in her abilities, but in awe of the elder warriors. It didn't make her feel TRULY inadequate however, she felt honored.
Because while Gibbs might have never set out to make her feel inferior he had made it clear early on that Jenny's recommendation, her position in the Mossad, and everything else didn't mean a whole lot to the man.
It had been up to Ziva to earn her spurs as they say... or at least she thought that was how they said it, but earn her spurs she had, and the fact that both Gibbs, Bolan, as well as the rest of her team didn't blink when she was picked to be the third of their team to be tasked with taking out the advance guard left her with a deep pride in the abilities she had spent her whole adult life honing.
The fact that the skills were put to use slinking up behind a man and slapping his windpipe with the knife edge of her left hand so he couldn't make a sound as she drove a literal knife in her right into his heart seemed almost secondary in comparison.
She had a job to do, a vital one, and the young man who's lifeblood she was now wiping off her knife and onto his shirt had decided to be an obstacle to her doing it.
"Stay cool, stay alive." It was one of Gibbs earliest rules, but it was not one he always lived by. As a young boy in Stillwater Leroy Jethro Gibbs had quite the temper, and he might as well have packed it in his ruck sack when he shipped off to Paris Island.
He was not however the first angry young man to join the Corps by a long shot, and while he may have arrived with a temper he damn sure didn't leave with one.
That wasn't entirely true. It wasn't as if Gibbs had left his temper with the sweat, and more then one occasion blood he left behind him on those hallowed stones, but rather the discipline the Corps built up in him kept that temper on it's leash.
Those who knew him well enough learned to recognize the signs, but even when Gibbs got angry his temper NEVER ruled his actions.
"Stay cool, stay alive."
Those four words saved Gibbs life on countless occasions.
More times then the Marine would ever be willing to count other jar heads who didn't take that mantra to heart would get angry, or simply over eager and they would ride home in flag covered coffins.
Each time reinforcing the importance of those words to Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Then and now the solider kept his focus. He didn't allow his anger of what this band had put Tara and Faith through, and he didn't allow pity for what was obviously another wretched soul enslaved by addiction.
His renown cool demeanor kept those emotions at bay, and while it didn't apply to him at this point he also knew how to fend off boredom.
It was one of the deadliest enemies a solider on guard duty faced, and it had already done a good part of Gibbs job as he cat foot his way up behind the young man cradling a old AK-47 in his arms.
Gibbs right arm slung around the butt of the rifle with the back of the pistol grip in his elbow. His left elbow took up a similar spot right in front of the assault rifle's magazine as both muscular arms snapped taut and brought the rifle up to the guard's windpipe with incredible force.
The young man was still kicking, and trying to draw a breath to call for help, but Gibbs tensed him arms tighter and the wet crushing sound of the windpipe giving way under the weapons metal frame reached his ears.
The kicks increased, but the gasping died to basically nothing, the young addict already as good as dead, but his brain not caught up at that point. Gibbs however was never one for needless suffering and with a deliberate tensing of his shoulders he torqued the rifle tighter and the kicking stopping as he broke the guy's neck.
He set the body down without worrying about concealing it. At this point by the time anyone could emerge to see the crumpled frame it would all be decided one way or another, and if the authorities became an issue they would either find the meat packing plant a smoldering ruin, or they would find the bodies of Gibbs and his team.
Author: Dark Wyldchilde (wyldchilde37@yahoo.com)
Rating: As always better NC-17 then sorry.
Pairing: Faith/Tara, Ziva/Abby
Setting: The Lock, an AU of my own creation that started it's own path in season 6 of Buffy, mixed in the end of Angel, and the current run of NCIS as well as healthy elements of the Mack Bolan/Stony Man Farm novels.
Summary: The Lock doesn't tend to societies ills, but the hot new party drug on the scene is looking like it will take their special expertise.
Spoilers: Anything Buffy/Angel/NCIS/Executioner may be used or referred to, read at your own risk.
Disclaimers: This is a non-profit work of fanfiction and is in no way a challenge to any existing copyrights.
Wyld's Notes: This is now the sixth fic in the Lock series. Starting with "Life on the Farm" and progressing through "Downtime". If you haven't read them I would suggest you do because while there are many familiar faces figuring out how they got where they are at could get confusing.
Chapter 20.
"All right Tim, tell me what you see."
McGee looked at Gibbs nervously, in harsh comparison to the older man's quiet, calm tone. The two men were laid flat on the roof of a closed factory in one of LA's harder hit industrial sections looking at the one lit up building in the area through binoculars. Trusting the distance and the Lock issued black suits, and combat cosmetic to keep them concealed.
This was a step well beyond live fire training exercises as their opponents were real ones, and would really try to kill them if they were seen, but long before Tim had ever heard of the Lock he knew that training could only do so much.
The rest was a matter of earned experience, and Tim know that the Boss picked him to help scout the processing plant to get "Elf Lord" that much needed experience.
He took a breath, and then another, mellowing his voice like Gibbs as he started to reply. "Well after Ducky and Abby's report on where Witches Powder comes from I would guess they picked a meat packing plant to cover the smell of blood. Though that also has me a little queasy about what we'll find when we'll enter."
Gibbs nodded. "And?"
"I count seven sentries. Three forward on foot patrol. Two look bored while the third has night blinded himself, and flagged his position by lighting a cigarette. Four stationary sentries posted at the four entry points from the blueprints Oracle got us. One at the loading bay doors, one on each of the doors to the main processing area, and one at the office entry."
"There's nine sentries Tim." Gibbs actually reached over to pull Tim's binoculars, and McGee saw two men huddled down past the loading dock passing a bottle-shaped paper bag between them.
"Sorry Boss. I missed them entirely"
Gibbs met the young man's eyes as the young man stopped mid-apology. "It's okay Tim. It's my job to teach you how to spot them all. When spotting sentries you need to remember they are still people and will not just do the professional thing to do. Those two might be blitzed, but if we left them at out backs they could catch one of us in the open. "
McGee frowned. "It's more amateurs Boss. Junkies."
"Yeah, but the guns in their hands are professional enough to kill us. So we treat them like we would any other gunner. How do we approach?"
Tim frowned, while he knew Gibbs would correct any holes in his strategy he had played enough tactical sims that he knew he could get this right. His friends couldn't re-spawn, but neither could he, but still, he could do this.
"Spy Queen, Striker and you will take out the three roaming sentries. Striker can take the smoker, you and Spy Queen will take the other two, which will leave you positioned to team up to take the two drinking. Striker will then move to take the one at the office door. While you guys are taking those three I'll move to take the front entry to the work floor, Bluto can take the back while Black Magick Woman takes the one on the loading bay doors."
Gibbs smiled. "You gave yourself one of the more difficult entry points on purpose didn't you?" While the combat cosmetic blackening Tim's face made it impossible to see the resulting blush Gibbs nodded his approval. "Good. I'll join you there, and once we take the work floor we will move to the office and you will take their computer system."
The information was quickly absorbed and McGee continued planning. "Spy Queen can then link up with Black Magick Woman. I was thinking they could blow the loading bay doors with timed charges to pull everyone's eyes that way, and when they are looking that way five seconds later additional charges could blow the trucks fuel tanks to keep their attention pulled that way while the ladies have already moved to take the back door to the work floor."
A nod from his superior. "Good, but the charges should be placed on the engine blocks. If those trucks have been loaded with Witches Powder burning them could expose us to that crap. The engine blocks still creates sound and fury, while making sure they can't get that stuff out of here."
Several nods from McGee. "Okay, Striker and Bluto cam in through the offices. We neutralize any opposition, meet on the main floor. You and I will take the office and it's computer while the others rig the places to blow... will we want it to burn as well?"
Another single nod. "Yeah, I want this stuff gone, and fire's always best for that sort of thing. This place is isolated enough that any fumes from the Witches Powder should disperse enough that there won't be any problems." Their eyes met, and Gibbs got a wider smile. "Good job... Elf Lord. Let's tell the others your plan."
The others found no flaw, and moved quickly to carry out their individual parts. Gibbs, Bolan, and David went first, the roaming sentries being left the more experienced troops.
Striker actually had to be careful so that the same glowing ember that drew him to his target didn't wreck his night vision like it had for the nicotine deficient guard. It proved to be the least of the man's problems as a large hand was clamped over his mouth while a razor sharp blade drew across his throat, releasing that last smoke into the air through the clean line left in the steel's wake.
As confident as she was in her abilities Gibbs could often leave Ziva feeling like a rank private. It wasn't done intentionally on the man's part, but rather it was just a natural effect of Gibbs being as good as he was at what he did.
Putting literal legends like the Executioner in just made it worse, leaving Ziva still confident in her abilities, but in awe of the elder warriors. It didn't make her feel TRULY inadequate however, she felt honored.
Because while Gibbs might have never set out to make her feel inferior he had made it clear early on that Jenny's recommendation, her position in the Mossad, and everything else didn't mean a whole lot to the man.
It had been up to Ziva to earn her spurs as they say... or at least she thought that was how they said it, but earn her spurs she had, and the fact that both Gibbs, Bolan, as well as the rest of her team didn't blink when she was picked to be the third of their team to be tasked with taking out the advance guard left her with a deep pride in the abilities she had spent her whole adult life honing.
The fact that the skills were put to use slinking up behind a man and slapping his windpipe with the knife edge of her left hand so he couldn't make a sound as she drove a literal knife in her right into his heart seemed almost secondary in comparison.
She had a job to do, a vital one, and the young man who's lifeblood she was now wiping off her knife and onto his shirt had decided to be an obstacle to her doing it.
"Stay cool, stay alive." It was one of Gibbs earliest rules, but it was not one he always lived by. As a young boy in Stillwater Leroy Jethro Gibbs had quite the temper, and he might as well have packed it in his ruck sack when he shipped off to Paris Island.
He was not however the first angry young man to join the Corps by a long shot, and while he may have arrived with a temper he damn sure didn't leave with one.
That wasn't entirely true. It wasn't as if Gibbs had left his temper with the sweat, and more then one occasion blood he left behind him on those hallowed stones, but rather the discipline the Corps built up in him kept that temper on it's leash.
Those who knew him well enough learned to recognize the signs, but even when Gibbs got angry his temper NEVER ruled his actions.
"Stay cool, stay alive."
Those four words saved Gibbs life on countless occasions.
More times then the Marine would ever be willing to count other jar heads who didn't take that mantra to heart would get angry, or simply over eager and they would ride home in flag covered coffins.
Each time reinforcing the importance of those words to Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Then and now the solider kept his focus. He didn't allow his anger of what this band had put Tara and Faith through, and he didn't allow pity for what was obviously another wretched soul enslaved by addiction.
His renown cool demeanor kept those emotions at bay, and while it didn't apply to him at this point he also knew how to fend off boredom.
It was one of the deadliest enemies a solider on guard duty faced, and it had already done a good part of Gibbs job as he cat foot his way up behind the young man cradling a old AK-47 in his arms.
Gibbs right arm slung around the butt of the rifle with the back of the pistol grip in his elbow. His left elbow took up a similar spot right in front of the assault rifle's magazine as both muscular arms snapped taut and brought the rifle up to the guard's windpipe with incredible force.
The young man was still kicking, and trying to draw a breath to call for help, but Gibbs tensed him arms tighter and the wet crushing sound of the windpipe giving way under the weapons metal frame reached his ears.
The kicks increased, but the gasping died to basically nothing, the young addict already as good as dead, but his brain not caught up at that point. Gibbs however was never one for needless suffering and with a deliberate tensing of his shoulders he torqued the rifle tighter and the kicking stopping as he broke the guy's neck.
He set the body down without worrying about concealing it. At this point by the time anyone could emerge to see the crumpled frame it would all be decided one way or another, and if the authorities became an issue they would either find the meat packing plant a smoldering ruin, or they would find the bodies of Gibbs and his team.