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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 3942069" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Welcome to the Show: Part 1b – Kurt and Jim’s Story</strong></p><p></p><p>Agent Jim Baxter waited patiently inside a land rover outside of the Cullen residence. </p><p></p><p>“I dunno, mate,” said his companion, Agent Hugh. “This seems like a bunch o’ baby sittin’ tah me.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s exactly what it is,” said Baxter. “What of it?”</p><p></p><p>“What’s so special ‘bout this Wade Cullen, anyway?” Hugh held one earphone to his ear. “He’s a wheelchair-bound invalid. He’s not exactly going to run away.”</p><p></p><p>“It’s orders from The Gods,” smirked Baxter. That was the term they used for MI-5 men with lofty positions in British Intelligence. “And the orders are to catch whatever comes after our important friend here.”</p><p></p><p>“And just wot’s gonna come after ‘im?”</p><p></p><p>“Irish Nationalist Republic.” Baxter caught Hugh’s expression. He shrugged. “Ours is not to question why and all that.”</p><p></p><p>Hugh snorted in disgust. Before he could begin another sarcastic comment, he put up one finger to silence Baxter, even though Baxter wasn’t talking. “The mics are picking up something. They’re whispering in there.”</p><p></p><p>“People whisper sometimes, ya know.”</p><p></p><p>“I know that,” muttered Hugh. “But three good-looking Americans walk into this guy’s house? Something’s up.”</p><p></p><p>Baxter tapped the mic on his headset. “This is Agent Baxter. Rat is in trap. Repeat, rat is in trap.” He listened for a second. </p><p></p><p>Two men and a woman exited the Cullen residence.</p><p></p><p>“Well?” Hugh asked impatiently.</p><p></p><p>“HQ says follow them.”</p><p></p><p>The three people got into their car. </p><p></p><p>“Follow ‘em?” Hugh was angry enough to toss his cigarette out the window. “Are you pissing me?”</p><p></p><p>“Nope. The trap’s not finished bein' laid yet I guess.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine.” He started the car up as the other vehicle passed. </p><p></p><p>They tailed it for a while. Hugh wasn’t good at many things, but he was great at tailing. The foliage in the Cornwall countryside was so thick that it bent in an arc over the dirt roads. Far from any city, lights were few and far between. Even the sky was invisible under the heavy overgrowth. </p><p></p><p>Baxter hated Cornwall.</p><p></p><p>“They’re turning off there,” said Baxter. It was the Hunting Fox pub. </p><p></p><p>By the time they arrived, the three terrorists were already inside the pub. </p><p></p><p>“Yah, I see it, I see it.” He cut the lights and parked the car. </p><p></p><p>The Hunting Fox was the only pub for miles around, so it was crowded. </p><p></p><p>“Professionals,” said Baxter. “They know what they’re doing.”</p><p></p><p>Hugh cocked his pistol. “So we’re going in then, ya? Not waiting for backup or anything like that?”</p><p></p><p>Baxter grinned. “Hell ya we’re going in!” He gestured with his own pistol towards the front door. “You go take the front, I’ll go round back in case they try to run for it.”</p><p></p><p>“Aye.” Hugh winked at Baxter. “Watch yourself mate. These INR chaps can be slippery.” He holstered his pistol and swaggered towards the front door.</p><p></p><p>Baxter, pistol low, snuck around the side. Inside, a good time was being had by all. The place was loud enough that he doubted even gunfire would attract much attention. </p><p></p><p>As he turned the corner, Baxter caught the metallic glint of a pistol aimed at his forehead. He whirled and slapped the weapon aside.</p><p></p><p>No shot went off, which meant Baxter was facing off against someone who didn’t want to kill him. Right away, anyway.</p><p></p><p>He rolled to the ground and came up to his feet before the man could react. Baxter stretched one leg out, sweeping his opponent off his feet.</p><p></p><p>Baxter drew his SIG-Sauer P245. He pulled out his ID card from a chain around his neck. “MI-5, ya terrorist bastard…” his voice trailed off as he realized the African-American man he had kicked to the ground was pointing another pistol, a Glock, at Baxter’s stomach.</p><p></p><p>“Stand down!” shouted the man prone on the ground. He spoke with all the authority of a man standing on his own two feet. “I’m CIA!” His own ID badge was visible, hanging from around his neck just like Baxter. </p><p></p><p>Baxter squinted. “You’re pissin’ me.”</p><p></p><p>A pistol clicked at Baxter’s forehead. “He’s not kidding,” said Yolanda. “Put the weapon down. Now.”</p><p></p><p>Baxter put his gun down. Grange picked it up as he got to his feet.</p><p></p><p>There was the sound of gunfire in the pub. Hugh always was a trigger-happy bastard.</p><p></p><p>Young came puffing out. “I think we caught our…”</p><p></p><p>“Tail?” asked Yolanda.</p><p></p><p>“I was going to say cat, but yeah,” said Young.</p><p></p><p>“Where is your vehicle?”</p><p></p><p>Baxter shook his head in disbelief. “You INR boys are awfully cheeky, impersonating the Yanks. They don’t take kindly to that.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t have time for this.” Grange walked over to the parking lot. “Throw him in the car, he’s coming with us. We need to straighten this out before we have an international incident.”</p><p></p><p>"BEFORE we have an incident?" </p><p></p><p>Grange shot Young a withering glare. He ran off to get the car. </p><p></p><p>“What are you doing?” asked Yolanda. She still had her pistol pressed against Baxter’s head.</p><p></p><p>Young pulled the car up. </p><p></p><p>“I’m going to shoot out the tires so there’s no pursuit.”</p><p></p><p>Yolanda shoved Baxter inside. “There’s got to be a dozen cars here!” </p><p></p><p>Grange popped the trunk and pulled out a sub-machinegun. “I know,” he said matter-of-factly.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 3942069, member: 3285"] [b]Welcome to the Show: Part 1b – Kurt and Jim’s Story[/b] Agent Jim Baxter waited patiently inside a land rover outside of the Cullen residence. “I dunno, mate,” said his companion, Agent Hugh. “This seems like a bunch o’ baby sittin’ tah me.” “That’s exactly what it is,” said Baxter. “What of it?” “What’s so special ‘bout this Wade Cullen, anyway?” Hugh held one earphone to his ear. “He’s a wheelchair-bound invalid. He’s not exactly going to run away.” “It’s orders from The Gods,” smirked Baxter. That was the term they used for MI-5 men with lofty positions in British Intelligence. “And the orders are to catch whatever comes after our important friend here.” “And just wot’s gonna come after ‘im?” “Irish Nationalist Republic.” Baxter caught Hugh’s expression. He shrugged. “Ours is not to question why and all that.” Hugh snorted in disgust. Before he could begin another sarcastic comment, he put up one finger to silence Baxter, even though Baxter wasn’t talking. “The mics are picking up something. They’re whispering in there.” “People whisper sometimes, ya know.” “I know that,” muttered Hugh. “But three good-looking Americans walk into this guy’s house? Something’s up.” Baxter tapped the mic on his headset. “This is Agent Baxter. Rat is in trap. Repeat, rat is in trap.” He listened for a second. Two men and a woman exited the Cullen residence. “Well?” Hugh asked impatiently. “HQ says follow them.” The three people got into their car. “Follow ‘em?” Hugh was angry enough to toss his cigarette out the window. “Are you pissing me?” “Nope. The trap’s not finished bein' laid yet I guess.” “Fine.” He started the car up as the other vehicle passed. They tailed it for a while. Hugh wasn’t good at many things, but he was great at tailing. The foliage in the Cornwall countryside was so thick that it bent in an arc over the dirt roads. Far from any city, lights were few and far between. Even the sky was invisible under the heavy overgrowth. Baxter hated Cornwall. “They’re turning off there,” said Baxter. It was the Hunting Fox pub. By the time they arrived, the three terrorists were already inside the pub. “Yah, I see it, I see it.” He cut the lights and parked the car. The Hunting Fox was the only pub for miles around, so it was crowded. “Professionals,” said Baxter. “They know what they’re doing.” Hugh cocked his pistol. “So we’re going in then, ya? Not waiting for backup or anything like that?” Baxter grinned. “Hell ya we’re going in!” He gestured with his own pistol towards the front door. “You go take the front, I’ll go round back in case they try to run for it.” “Aye.” Hugh winked at Baxter. “Watch yourself mate. These INR chaps can be slippery.” He holstered his pistol and swaggered towards the front door. Baxter, pistol low, snuck around the side. Inside, a good time was being had by all. The place was loud enough that he doubted even gunfire would attract much attention. As he turned the corner, Baxter caught the metallic glint of a pistol aimed at his forehead. He whirled and slapped the weapon aside. No shot went off, which meant Baxter was facing off against someone who didn’t want to kill him. Right away, anyway. He rolled to the ground and came up to his feet before the man could react. Baxter stretched one leg out, sweeping his opponent off his feet. Baxter drew his SIG-Sauer P245. He pulled out his ID card from a chain around his neck. “MI-5, ya terrorist bastard…” his voice trailed off as he realized the African-American man he had kicked to the ground was pointing another pistol, a Glock, at Baxter’s stomach. “Stand down!” shouted the man prone on the ground. He spoke with all the authority of a man standing on his own two feet. “I’m CIA!” His own ID badge was visible, hanging from around his neck just like Baxter. Baxter squinted. “You’re pissin’ me.” A pistol clicked at Baxter’s forehead. “He’s not kidding,” said Yolanda. “Put the weapon down. Now.” Baxter put his gun down. Grange picked it up as he got to his feet. There was the sound of gunfire in the pub. Hugh always was a trigger-happy bastard. Young came puffing out. “I think we caught our…” “Tail?” asked Yolanda. “I was going to say cat, but yeah,” said Young. “Where is your vehicle?” Baxter shook his head in disbelief. “You INR boys are awfully cheeky, impersonating the Yanks. They don’t take kindly to that.” “I don’t have time for this.” Grange walked over to the parking lot. “Throw him in the car, he’s coming with us. We need to straighten this out before we have an international incident.” "BEFORE we have an incident?" Grange shot Young a withering glare. He ran off to get the car. “What are you doing?” asked Yolanda. She still had her pistol pressed against Baxter’s head. Young pulled the car up. “I’m going to shoot out the tires so there’s no pursuit.” Yolanda shoved Baxter inside. “There’s got to be a dozen cars here!” Grange popped the trunk and pulled out a sub-machinegun. “I know,” he said matter-of-factly. [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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