Overture: West Potomac Park Sector
0925 EST


The smell of gunpowder and blood hung in the air as Team Peacemaker surveyed the chamber. They'd come down into the tunnels beneath the Mall looking for a team of medics who'd been hiding out from the Outcasts, the True Sons, and (oddly) the Campus. Apparently, their efforts to stay neutral were becoming insufficient, and Henry Hayes had finally convinced them to come to the Campus. Unfortunately, despite the recent destruction of their base, the Outcasts weren't feeling particularly obliging.

"Almost comforting," Tarvey muttered as he nudged a corpse with the toe of his combat boot.

"What's comforting about this?" demanded one of the medics.

"Whatever Emeline Shaw was thinking trying to get off Roosevelt Island, she clearly had planned ahead. These dumb bastards were a stay behind force. Sort of like us, in a perverse sort of way." Tarvey grimaced, disliking the necessity of keeping the truth of Shaw's demise from civilians. Odessa Sawyer, he knew, had been briefed. Hayes, however, hadn't been told. Ultimately, it came down to a question of discretion. And while Hayes wasn't exactly a blabbermouth, he didn't have the same temperament as Sawyer. Team Peacemaker knew she could keep her mouth shut about damned near anything. "I suppose there's a bloodthirsty little part of me that takes a sense of comfort in the fact they're still fighting hard. If they gave up on me, I think I might be offended."

The medic gave him a faintly disgusted look. "You're a strange man, Agent Tarvey."

"That he is," said Gregory agreeably, grinning at Tarvey. "Unfortunately, he's really very good at his job, and we can't ship him off to Alaska or Guam anymore. One more cruel little twist of the knife in the post-apocalypse."

"Love you, too, Peace."

Ryckmen came over, his MDR aimed at the ground. "All right, guys, we're ready to go here. Doc, we're going to be meeting up with a civilian militia team operating out of Ivy Tunnel. They'll meet us at C Street and take you up 21st Street to the Campus."

"Thank you, Agent Ryckmen."

"Happy to help out. And I know Henry will be very appreciative for you joining him." Ryckmen looked at Tarvey. "Ricky, you're on point. Head'em out."

Nodding, Tarvey started walking down a tunnel branch, heading for a ladder which would lead him to the surface. Other agents, as well as civilian militia, had reported encounters with hostile individuals roaming the service tunnels and sewers of the city. People who didn't seem to be affiliated with the existing factions. Tarvey didn't know who they were, but they weren't going to get very far with him on point.

Reaching the ladder, Tarvey wrapped the shoulder strap of his MP5 around his forearm, then began climbing up slowly. The rest of the team would wait at the bottom for the all clear. While there were sections of tunnel which could be accessed fairly openly, others had steel rebar ladders set beneath manholes. Even somebody like Gregory, who had a completely civilian background, realized how deadly those ladders could be as an ambush spot. The team had established the protocol for such situations early on. The point slot would go first, ensure the area was clear, then cover the top of the ladder while the rest of the team came up to reinforce.

Tarvey poked his head up, scanning the area quickly. This particular manhole had far too much shrubbery close by. He climbed out, bringing the MP5 to battery as he made a second scan. As he turned to his right, he heard a gunshot and felt searing pain rip across his right shoulder as buckshot pellets tore through his shirt and across his skin. A knot of True Sons had come close to the manhole and were starting to advance. The only saving grace was that the shot had gone wide, the edge of the pattern catching him.

"Back door! Back door!" Tarvey bellowed as he fired off the entire magazine downrange, sending the True Sons scattering for cover. Twenty feet below him, the rest of the team and the medics they'd already fought to rescue exchanged looks. The Division agents knew the rule. If the access point was compromised, they were to fall back along their original route and leave through a different access point. If the point man was already on the surface, it was up to them to lead the hostiles away from the team, generating as much distance as possible. Bundmeister gave a final hateful glance to the top of the ladder, then took up the point slot and began to lead the medics back to their enclave before picking up the original route.

Tarvey didn't hesitate to find cover, but a quick glance at his surroundings told him he was in trouble. The wooded strips along either side of the Reflecting Pool would help, but if the True Sons were nosing around here, there was a good chance he'd find himself flanked. He was going to have to lead them on a merry chase. He popped up, fired a few bursts in the general direction of the hostile patrol, then bolted along the path, looking for the next stretch of cover. The only thought he gave to his comrades was their preparedness and their teamwork. With Gregory bringing up the rear, anybody stupid enough to try and chance that ladder going down would be dog food.

The True Sons clearly believed the one target they could see was probably worth more than risking running into prepared Division agents in a tunnel. Tarvey kept them following him, slowly burning down ammo for his MP5, finding himself popping in his last magazine only a couple of minutes after clearing the manhole. As he popped up to keep teasing the True Sons pursuing him, he felt a bullet pass through the top of his backpack, nicking the bottom of his earlobe. Another patrol, also True Sons, was firing at him from the south side of the Reflecting Pool.

Swearing with the skill and vigor only a SEAL could muster, Tarvey burned off the last magazine for his MP5, unlimbered his M1A, and scooted back to a new position, trying to get both groups into one general firing lane. He pulled the trigger on his rifle, hearing a small musical metallic sound, the trigger suddenly flopping uselessly inside the guard. Tarvey swore with renewed passion as he dumped the rifle and drew his sidearm, making his way east along the dried out bed of the Reflecting Pool. Glancing around, he tried to make sure there weren't any other hostiles approaching him when he felt his left calf explode in pain. A third group of True Sons had showed up, and one had clearly been going for a distance shot. Gritting his teeth, Tarvey emptied a pistol magazine at the third group, tried to run, and felt himself graying out from the pain.

Collapsing near the wreck of a Chinook helicopter, Tarvey tried to fire at the True Sons, snarling as the pistol jammed. He'd cleaned it often enough, a jam should have been impossible. He cleared the jam, fired once more, then swore as he heard a faint crack coming from around the firing pin. The Demon Murphy had apparently decided to make Ricky Tarvey his pet project for the day.

As the True Sons surrounded him, bleeding from his wounds, Tarvey gave them all a savage smile. "Fair warning, boys," he said with a feral gleam in his eyes, "I'm a screamer."

The butt of a rifle whacked Tarvey's right temple smartly, knocking him out.

* * *

1st Movement: Constitution Hall Sector
1003 EST


Technically, Lowell Ryckmen was breaking normal communications protocol, not to mention common sense. The fact one could multitask didn't mean one should, particularly when they were in a potentially dangerous situation. The fact any sort of ambush had been tripped meant the original plan to hand the medics off to a militia unit had gone up in smoke. After all, if there'd been one ambush, why not two? But that didn't excuse a deliberate splitting of focus between looking for that second ambush and notifying the higher ups. Ryckmen didn't like doing it, but he couldn't accept the exigencies of the mission prevented him from radioing in.

"Casablanca, this is Peacemaker," he said grimly.

"Peacemaker, Casablanca," replied Ortega. "What's going on, Lowell? You get those medics dug out?"

"Civilian assets have been recovered successfully. But I'm declaring Firebird Down."

A stunned pause seemed to hang over the channel. "What happened?" Ortega asked quietly.

"Ricky was on point, clearing the top of our exit, and he tripped an ambush. He followed SOP, started leading them away while we cleared out. But we haven't heard from him since. It's been about half an hour."

"Where are you guys right now?"

"Heading north on 21st Street, just past the E Street Expressway overpass. If he's anywhere, I imagine he'd be making either for the Mast outpost or the one on 17th Street near the Constitution Gardens Pond. If he's not at either one of those..." Ryckmen trailed off.

"I'll check in with those outposts. Meanwhile, Blue Parrot will start sweeping the Mall, see if we can catch sight of him. Have a little faith, Lobo. Odessa doesn't call him 'Mongoose' for nothing."

"Copy that. Give us a buzz if you find him, no matter what." Ryckmen broke the connection and resumed scanning the street as he and the medics walked north. Tarvey was good, no doubt. One didn't get to be a SEAL by being a wimp. But the "Budweiser" trident badge was not immunity from dumb luck, and poor protection from bullets. As he briefly swept ahead with his scope, Ryckmen was already planning out contingencies, and hating every moment of it.

* * *

2nd Movement: East Mall Sector
1237 EST


Tarvey groaned softly as he came to, his head throbbing, his right shoulder now a dull burning buzz in his muscles. He looked around, surprised to find himself inside what looked like a passenger jet. Fine fabric curtains over the windows had been torn, and rich carpeting had been both water damaged and tamped down, but it didn't take him very long to figure out where he was. He was sitting in the wreck of Air Force One, just outside the Capitol Building. The fact he was still alive was counterbalanced by the fact he was in the hands of possibly the most implacable foes Team Peacemaker had made all summer.

"I think he's awake, General," said a voice off to his left.

A tall solidly built black man approached, wearing an Army Dress Blues jacket with the sleeves ripped off and simple BDU pants. His features were saturnine, his expression contemptuous. "Do you know who I am?" he asked in a rich baritone voice.

"Colonel Antwon Ridgeway," Tarvey said, hissing a little as his head throbbed more heavily from the effort of speaking.

"That's 'General' to you!" Ridgeway snapped.

"Not unless you managed to get the advice and consent of Congress when nobody was looking. Pretty sure they don't do that for convicted criminals, though," scowled Tarvey.

"I advise you to watch your tone with me, cracker. It may only be an administrative fiction for the moment, securing a convenience rather than paying a compliment, but my authority is quite real."

A pained expression came over Tarvey's face. "If you're just going to stand here posturing and telling me how hard done by you've been this whole time, let's just save a lot of sweat and get straight to the thumbscrews and branding irons. You're not going to get any sympathy from me. Or any other Division agent you might run across. Hell, there's guys who've gone full blown rogue who'd probably cut your throat without batting an eye."

"Oh, I'm not going to torture you. I'm not a monster." Tarvey snorted derisively, but Ridgeway continued. "I am, however, going to execute you. But I need to ensure that there's a properly appreciative audience first. Simply shooting you and sending an image of your corpse to the rebel elements controlling the White House is insufficient. They need to understand my resolve."

Tarvey began to chuckle viciously. "Ohhh, you are so screwed, Ridgeway. You think a little snuff film is going to break somebody like Andrew Ellis?"

"Andrew Ellis is an empty suit," sneered Ridgeway. "He won't care whether you live or die. But your friends in the Division, they most certainly care. And I don't think they'll have the fire to keep fighting once they see what I have in store for them. You're going to be a salutary example."

"Ridgeway, if you've got a brain in your head, you better kill me right now," Tarvey said, his tone like ground glass. "Because believe me, I get loose, I will terminate you with unbelievably extreme prejudice. You've put yourself on too many people's 'better off dead' list. I know who has those lists, and the only question is who gets to you first."

Ridgeway folded his arms across his chest. "Oh really? Do tell."

"Fine. I'll go in ascending order of danger. Henry Hayes is probably the least dangerous person who wants you dead. Nice feller, good church going sort of man, and I'm morally certain he'd crucify you in a way that would make Jesus Christ Himself weep in terror. Then you've got Manny Ortega. Hardest working Signals troop in the history of the Army. He might be using action figures on his map table, but the man doesn't strike me as particularly whimsical when it comes to planning to kill somebody. And there's Odessa Sawyer. She's a mean drunk, but she's meaner sober, and I don't imagine she's going to let a fake leg get in the way. Probably beat you to death with it.

"But those guys are the REMFs. It's the field people you really gotta worry about, and they have all got a raging hard-on to kill you. Alani Kelso, sweet gal, but kind of a wild child. Doesn't play well with others, but she's Ranger through and through. You've got me, of course, and I have the advantage of being in arm's reach right at the moment." Tarvey flashed a predatory smile at Ridgeway, enjoying the tiny little flinch the traitor officer couldn't suppress. "You've got Annika Bundmeister, Air Force Pararescue, and the only thing soft about her is her nickname. Don't know as you're the sort of person who enjoys Monty Python, but that scene with the rabbit? That's a pale imitation of what she's capable of, and it ain't even funny, not in the slightest. You've got Paxton Gregory, quite possibly the deadliest computer geek to survive Green Poison. Heard how he lost his cool once, went full berserker with an M249, and just absolutely painted the walls of the Jefferson Trade Center."

Ridgeway shifted back a little as Tarvey locked eyes with him. "But the most dangerous, the guy who I would put money down on for being the one who delivers the lethal injection of lead poisoning you've got coming, that'd be Lowell Ryckmen. The Big Bad Wolf. He has been there, done that, got the T-shirt, and sent home the postcards. Won't even need to blow your house down. He'll huff, and he'll puff, and he'll put a bullet through your punkin' head from any distance you'd care to name. And the worst part? He won't even care. You're nothing but a range value on his dope card. If it were me, or Bunny, or Peace, we'd be feeling something for getting the job done. Pride, joy, sorrow, hard to say. But Lobo? The only thing he's gonna feel is recoil."

Leaning his head back, Tarvey closed his eyes, his smile smaller but no less savage. "Hope you've got your affairs in order, Colonel. Because nobody's going to be looking to take you prisoner a second time."

"Keep an eye on this inbred redneck," growled Ridgeway as he turned to leave the fuselage.

* * *

3rd Movement: The Theater
1554 EST


"This is not open to discussion, Manny," Ryckmen said coldly.

"Dammit, Lobo, the True Sons are going to execute him before you get within a hundred meters of that crash site!"

"We're not giving Ricky up to those traitors," growled Gregory. "I don't care what it takes, but we are going to get him out of there."

"Suppose Ellis doesn't approve the operation?"

Bundmeister rolled her eyes. "We don't need his permission to do anything. Directive 51 is still in effect, Manny. If we wanted to, we could round up every left handed redhead still alive in the city and put them up against the wall, and not even Ellis could say anything to stop us from pulling the trigger. True, we'd look like psychopaths, but we'd be completely covered by Directive 51."

"And suppose Ellis decides to rescind Directive 51. What then?"

"Manny, that's an empty threat and we all know it." Ryckmen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "One, Ellis can't rescind Directive 51 right now as a practical matter. He's not going to hamstring the entire Division just because we're planning a hostage rescue. Two, even if he wanted to, he knows or ought to know that it won't stop us in the slightest. It's not like the watches have suicide charges in them. The worst that happens is we have to do it the old fashioned way, and that doesn't bother me one tiny bit. Three, if he knows all that and still does it anyway, it's not going to sit well with us, much less with Henry or Odessa. And given the rather shaky line of succession right at the moment, Ellis is too smart to do anything which will jeopardize him remaining in the Oval Office. There's no Secret Service to watch over him, and while the Division isn't supposed to be a Praetorian Guard, he doesn't want to risk the chance we'll consider an extreme remedy against him."

"Jesus, Lowell, you wouldn't," said Ortega incredulously.

"You really want to take that chance? Look, Ricky accomplished the mission. He helped get those medics to the Campus by offering himself up as a decoy. That mission is over. This is the next mission. We are not leaving our man behind. Come to peace with this, Manny, and do it fast. Lead, follow, or get the hell out of our way."

"I'd listen to the man, Ortega," said Odessa Sawyer, her voice barely above a growl. "The whole team knows it's right and you're the only one making a fuss about it."

"Odessa, we're so close to knocking out the True Sons. All I'm asking is for them to kill two birds with one stone. Bust Tarvey out when they make the strike on the Capitol. Hit the crash site, then just keep rolling along."

"And if he's not in a position to fight? What then, Ortega? You seriously want to degrade the effectiveness of this team by having them carry around a wounded man? Or worse, have them distracted by worrying if he can get medevacked to the White House in time? It's the wrong call. Either Ricky gets out alive, gets patched up, and goes in with them a couple days later. Or he gets killed before we get to him, in which case we roll on ahead and unleash all nine circles of Hell against Ridgeway. But we make the attempt. Dead or alive, our boy comes home."

"You're going along with them?"

"Lowell asked me to spot for him. Fake leg or not, I can still do that much."

"Kelso, say something."

Shaking her head, Kelso sighed. "What do you want me to say, Manny? You do remember I went through Q Course, right? Rangers do not leave people behind. SEALs do not leave people behind. And by damn, Division agents do not leave people behind. If it was anybody else, Ricky's the guy I'd be leaning on to help plan this thing. So it's probably not going to be as neat and pretty as a SEAL Team could do it. But we're not being paid for pretty. We're paid for results. And the only acceptable result is the successful extraction of Ricky Tarvey. Now, are you going to make sure Blue Parrot gives us eyes on the site when we hit it? Or are you going to pout?"

"You'll have eyes on it," Ortega sighed. "Just make sure you guys all come home safe."

* * *

Finale: East Mall Sector
0052 EST


Ryckmen glassed the area with the scope, the stock of the Mark 20 SSR firmly against his shoulder. He wasn't sure if Sawyer had built the weapon up into a replica of the SOCOM variant or if that was how it had come in the box. Either way, he was familiar enough with it now to use it in the field. He was something of a purist when it came to the use of a sniper rifle, an ardent believer of the durability in a good bolt action over the potential advantages of rapidly servicing targets at long distances. But tonight, speed and stealth were required. It would have taken more time to exchange the muzzle brake he'd installed on his Model 700 for a suppressor and re-zero it than it would to simply zero in this weapon. And time was not a commodity he had in abundance.

"Team S in position," he subvocalized as he swept along the crash site, marking targets.

"Team A in position," echoed Kelso, seeing the targeting pips glowing faintly on her shooting glasses. She was taking point on the assault team by virtue of elimination. Bundmeister had the most experience actually getting potentially injured personnel out. Gregory didn't have that experience, nor did he have the experience in leading close quarter assaults against trained hostiles, which meant he was going to be holding the door open for Bunny and Kelso when they grabbed Tarvey. That left Kelso. Rescuing Eleanor Sawyer hadn't exactly been a typical scenario. But pulling out Tarvey was almost literally going to be the stereotypical hostage rescue situation. Close confines, heavily armed and highly trained hostiles, it was the sort of thing counter-terrorist units trained for regularly. And Alani Kelso was basically going to have to wing it.

"Barricade Team in position." Sawyer had handpicked a dozen of her best militia fighters from the Theater for this operation. She'd instructed them to be ready to capture the crash site and hold it against immediate counterattack from the True Sons.

"Blue Parrot on station. ISAC tactical feed online. Commencing first pass." The drone swept past the wreck at roughly the same level as the windows, moving slowly, camera zoomed in to capture any images of True Sons or the hostage. "ISAC confirms two hostiles in close proximity to package."

"S, do you have a shot?" asked Kelso.

"No shot on first hostile. Clear line on second."

"Copy that. Status on first rally point?"

Ryckmen shifted the rifle. "Three hostiles at first rally point."

"We move on your go signal, S."

"Range?" Ryckmen asked Sawyer quietly.

"One six eight meters. No wind."

"A, stand by." Ryckmen took a deep breath, let it out halfway, then squeezed the trigger, traversing the muzzle only slightly as he squeezed twice more. The three True Sons dropped noiselessly as their heads practically exploded from the high velocity rounds. "First rally point clear. Go."

The three Division agents moved rapidly across the muddy area surrounding the crash site, coming to a stop behind some crates, the smell of brains and blood hanging in the still night air.

"Roving patrol coming from around the tail," reported Blue Parrot. "Two hostiles, bearing 053 degrees from S."

"Range?"

Sawyer quickly lased the two True Sons. "Two four zero meters and closing."

Ryckmen took the one in back first, the bullet going over the top of the soldier's Kevlar gorget and severing his spine as it passed through. The point man paused, turning to see what the noise was, and falling as a round drilled through the back of his skull. Shifting his view back, Ryckmen mentally nodded. "Second rally point clear. Go."

Team A made their way over to the stairway leading to the passenger deck of the fuselage. "S, status on hostiles near package."

"Still no shot on first hostile. He's the one closest to you. Still clear to engage second."

Kelso nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out very slowly before bringing up the suppressed MP5. "S, engage second hostile on my mark. Three, two, one, mark!" Bursting up the stairs, Kelso brought the submachinegun to bear on the closer of the two guards, a pair of three round bursts shredding web gear and pulping his head. At the same moment, a high velocity 7.62mm NATO round smashed through the window and caught the second guard just above his ear. "Clear!"

Bundmeister and Gregory moved up, the latter holding the top of the stairs. Tarvey smiled as Bunny approached him. "Damned glad to see you."

"You OK to walk?"

"Yeah. I'm a little banged up, but it's superficial." He motioned to the two corpses. "Certainly having a better night than these guys."

"S, we have the package. We're on our way out."

"Copy that, A," said Ryckmen, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Barricade Team, move in,"Sawyer ordered sharply. "Nice and quiet. There are still friendlies in the area, so do not engage until you're in position and facing the right direction."

As Team A escorted Tarvey out of the downed aircraft, he chuckled softly. "You guys did really well for making it up as you went along. It was almost like playing hostage during live fire kill house drills."

"You're a very strange man, Ricky," said Gregory repressively.

"Yeah, but you're stuck with me."

"Who else would put up with you?" Bundmeister asked with a gentle snort.

"Love you, too, Bunny. All of you."