Private Air Field
Several Nights ago...
A lone surplus military transport plane sat upon the tarmac, it's large gas turbine engines, hummed as the internal pre-heater maintained the lubricant's ideal temperature for immediate take off. A few powerful lights lit up the loading zone, yet there was not enough lights to illuminate the entire runway and only served to leave the men working, night blind in the areas not covered by the lights. A gentle snow fell yet melted the moment it touched the run way. Like most modern airways, the tarmac was installed with a heater to prevent icing.
Half a dozen men casually loaded the transport, moving crates from the nearby large aircraft hanger. They did not seem to be in much of a hurry, as they intentionally lulled in the hanger or transport to avoid the brisk cold air outside.
Another half dozen men however were forced to brave the cold, bundled up in large thick coats as they kept watch, insuring no uninvited guests dropped by. Each man held a concealed fire arm, most wouldn't notice it, but a trained eye could spot the tell tail signs, the way they shifted their weight, the way they readjusted the holster strap, they way they kept checking the object to ensure it was still there.
Two men sat in the cock pit of the transport, double checking and triple checking the systems, ensuring the transport held enough fuel for the long trip. The plain had been installed with additional fuel tanks, reducing the cargo capacity but increase it's flight range. All together the plain held just enough fuel to cross the Atlantic, and reach it's final destination in the United States with out a single stop.
All together fourteen men worked away on the private air strip, each one a professional, each one with thoughts of their pay day. None of them noticed the small figure, using the patchwork of shadows as a path, making her way closer to the plane. Her movements were swift and deliberate, without a single wasted action, she was as silent as a shadow. Acting with care she slowly counted each man, assessing their movement patterns.
For several minutes she simply watched, and when the perfect moment arrived she slipped on to the transport with out detection. In the blink of an eye she struck the pilot in the back of the skull with pinpoint accuracy, knocking him out but not killing him. Half a second later, before the co-pilot could react, she struck him, likewise leaving him incapacitated. With no time to spare she set to work, shutting down the plane. With in moments she had done so much damage to the plane consoles, it would take a full team of technicians a week to repair her mess.
The plane was grounded.
Their path was closed.
Time to spring the trap.
The costumed woman left the cock pit and ducked behind a crate. Silently she drew her torch cutter and quickly severed the nails bolting the lid shut. She took a quick peak inside. A bomb, a big one. She repeated the process and checked another crate. Small arms, military grade, but without serial numbers. By her estimate the arsenal on board was enough to start a small war, yet it was only to kill one man.
Two of the cargo loaders came running onto the plane, each one with a pallet jack in tow, carrying another crate of supplies. "Man it's cold." The one said as he set the pallet in place, the continued to remove a package of cigarettes and light up.
The shorter man grunted in acknowledgement as he unloaded his own pallet. The two proceeded to lean against the crates, taking a break and absorbing the heat. What they didn't know was the plane had been shut down, and very soon would be just as cold as outside.
That didn't matter, the costumed woman used the crates for cover, edging closer to the two men, then with the speed of a cobra strike, she lashed out and struck the two men simultaneously, dropping them like bags of potatoes.
The lit cigarette rolled from the unconscious fingers of the one man and the woman stepped on it, extinguishing it. "Filthy habit." She said in her native Japanese language.
She reached into the man's jacket and removed the holstered hand gun, she aimed it at the lights of the cargo plane and fired, leave the plane in total darkness. Of course the shot drew the attention of all the men on watch, just as she had hoped.
With their pay day on the line, each man booked it for the plane, drawing their weapon. One man pulled out a radio, "What's going on in the plane, report!" But the radio only replied with empty air.
The remaining ten men created a semi-circle around the exit of the plane, weapons drawn, ready for anything, except for what came next.
A small round marble like object rolled down the ramp. One of the men stepped forward and stopped the ball with his foot, when suddenly it popped like a fire cracker, releasing a thick black smoke. The men began to cough and panic as their vision was filled with nothing but smoke.
Suddenly a man grunted and collapsed, then another. The remaining men began to panic and started opening fire. One man tried to call cease fire, for fear of friendly cross fire, but was drowned out by the thundering crack of the fire arms.
Real fire arms are nothing like what they show on the movies. They are loud, startlingly loud. They can easily cause major hearing damage. Despite no one hearing the cease fire however, the shooting slowly stopped. One after another, the hand held guns stopped firing. Not because they heard the order, but because one by one the men were being taken out till only one remained.
The lone remaining man began to panic, but the smoke was already clearing. With his weapon at the ready he moved towards the nearest large bright light, thinking the light would protect him. He heard a whirling noise and looked up in time to spot an oddly shaped boomerang strike the light, casting darkness down upon him.
The man began to grow more and more terrified, every shadow was a monster. "What the hell is going on?!" He exclaimed loudly, and randomly fired. He hit nothing. He fired again in another direction, this time he saw something. Lit for only a brief moment by the muzzle flash he saw her, dressed all in black, with a mask, and a long flowing cape, there was only one woman in all the world.
Suddenly something grabbed his arm and twisted, forcing him to drop the weapon at the same time it forced him to his knees. With strength no normal woman could muster, the man screamed in agony as his arm was held, at first he thought she broke it, but then he realised she was simply holding it at it's limit. Only the tiniest of pushes would snap his bones.
"Do you know who I am?" A woman's voice came from behind him, her English was perfect and held no trace of an Asian accent, she kept her voice low, barely above a whisper.
"Shadow Wing. You're ***deleted*** Shadow Wing." The man practically screamed, shaking with fear.
"Then you know what I will do to your arm if you lie. And I will know if you lie." Her voice was low, calm, relaxed, which oddly enough put the man on more of an edge. "Who was the target."
"Christopher Deckard" The man replied in an instant.
"You're off to a good start. Keep it up, and you won't spend the new years in the hospital..."
I dream of being the next Shakespear, Dickens, George R.R. Martian, or even J.K. Rowling... but then I look at my work and think... Dang.My Characters