Die Another Day

October 21st 2007 (22 A.D.)
0100 hours

Counter-Terrorist (CT) Headquarters (C808)

CT Metalaway: Do you have the directives from command?
CT Sprecher: Yes i've just received instructions. The mission is as follows:
Target: Barack Obama, serial number 42
Mission: Extract and deliver target alive to Counter-Terrorist roof and execute Operation White Christmas
CT Metalaway: Affirmative.
(CT Metalaway purchases Milk, Flour and Kaya while in the buy zone)
(CT Sprecher Purchases 2 x Supersoaker Helix short range splash damage rifles)
(CT Mulder searches for third gun meanwhile - aka, no money to buy gun)

CT Sprecher: So does everyone know the plan? We surround the terrorist, bring him to the rooftop, and on his 22nd birthday we turn him white for a change.

CT Mulder: Roger That

CT Sprecher: Get into position and wait for my go
CT Metalaway: I'm in position
(CT Mulder decides to fill a pail to use as his weapon)

And thus the real life version of Counter-Strike was ready to unfold . It was supposed to be a simple extraction sortie. Probably the first operation you learn to execute during FIBUA training. Surround. Kill. That's it.

And everything was going according to plan. They surrounded the terrorist, he changed into shorts and a tshirt, left his valuable behind, and decided to co-operate and walk willingly towards the execution chamber.

With one minor detour. The three CT's closely following him, he stopped to pick up his shoe bag so that he could wear a more comfy pair of slippers. The bag unzipped. And that fateful harmless unzipping sound would probably haunt the CT's for the rest of their hall lives.

Have you seen those old mafia movies, where the mobsters always walk around carrying a violin case, and should anyone try anything funny, all it takes is a couple of buckles to be popped and out comes a tommy gun and all hell is let loose via the hands of our unassuming mafioso?

Well, little did our CT's know, that this little yellow shoebag was housing the very gun they were searching for prior to the encounter, the sniper rifle of all super soakers, that would turn out to be the bane of their existence for the next thirty minutes. Within a flash of a second, before the CT's realised what was happening, Terrorist Obama had flown down the flight of stairs, toting his rifle, taking potshots at the CT's who though having the higher ground, were still having trouble getting their aim on target while trying to regroup. And so the chase began. And it was supposed to be a simple 2-step extraction.

The terrorist had by now run down to level 7, the CT's hot on his heels, as they tore down the level 7 long wing, jumping over tables and other flotsam and jetsam strewn on the floor, down the far stair case, back through the level 6 long wing, and back down the main staircase. By this time, Obama had gained just enough ground to be out of visual contact with his pursuers, and took the opportunity to run out into the deserted level 5 short wing. But it wasn't as deserted as he had hoped. As he climbed over onto the roof of the block C linkway to get into his favorite camping spot, he was sighted by his buayee, who almost gave his position away, but manage to contain her natural urge to squeal once he played the birthday card. The fear was unwarranted however, as the CT's had run all the way down to level 4 and over to the lounge, block B, back to the rooftop, and then finally to the kitchen, all the time moving in formation, covering each other, strafing around each corner, in typical CS fashion, looking high and low for their target who had been so close but now yet so far, cursing and blaming one another for being so noob.

In the meanwhile, our misunderstood 'terrorist' used the time to reload his rifle with some nice ice cold water and after completing a quick scan of level 8, headed for the block B linkway to get a good vantage point of what was conspiring back in his 'home' block. But alas, as he took position between the vending machines and took sight of his enemies who were crawling about level 5, the lift across from him opened at block C level 5 and CT Mulder managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of him, and once again the chase was back on. This time Metalaway led the chase across from block C to B, but by then Obama was already at then end of the corridor at block A contemplating his next move.

At opposite ends of the longest stretch of hallway in Sheares, Metalaway and Obama were both frantically trying to determine the position of the other, while taking cover at their respective corners. They both stuck their heads out at the same time, sighted each other, and ducked back in, each wondering if the other had seen them, or seen them see the other. As exit strategies began to run through his mind, Obama began accepting that the end was near, he would be cornered soon, but he wouldnt go down without a fight. Not this day for sure.

Metalaway went back to get his reinforcements, and told them to storm the corridor while he would run around the long way and block the exit at block A, boxing in the resilient terrorist. As he made his way back, Mulder and Sprecher pressed ahead, regrouping at their end of the long corridor, ready to burst around the corner and chase after the unsuspecting prey. But this time, the prey would be ready. Knowing that his days were numbered, he had walked all the way back to the mouth of the corridor, ready to enter into a staring match with death, and make pretty damn sure death blinked first. The CT stormed the corridor, ready to make their final charge, only to find Mr. Obama standing right there in front of them, letting loose a barrage of water bursts straight into their faces as they walked right into his line of fire. With the CT's in disarray once again, Metalaway heard their cries and aborted his surround mission and ran to their aid, freeing up the exit as Obama began another run.

Now the CT's were pissed. This was getting too much. How many times would this one measly terrorist get the better of them. Where could he hide. Afghanistan is only so big. Or so the Americans thought.

But still pissed they were, and they ran after him with a vengeance. Sprecher grimacing. Metalaway snarling. Mulder panting. He was still lugging the pail around during all these chases. The wretched pesky terrorist just wouldn't stay still form him to cast his ultimate spell.

The chase continued down the former Gaza strip (which might i mention was the location planned by Metalaway for his previous 'box-in' strategy to take place), into the carpark, onto the road and up the slope. Anyone awake at that hour and watching must've thought that this was a scene out of the show U.S. Marshals, the sequel to The Fugitive, where we have one poor black dude running for his life like MoFo all across town with a whole bunch of white guys toting guns chasing after him. Talk about a lynch mob.

But another thing about the darker skinned folks is that they can run like mofos when their lives depend on it, especially when theyre barefoot. I can probably list a dozen historical, economical and socio-political reasons to prove that phenomenon but I shall refrain at the risk of sounding racist. Anyway, lets just say that our terrorist friend was by now up the slope heading towards the block E back gate while the CT's, weighed down by their armor and ammo were still at the barrier in the carpark. Suspecting that their target would try and climb his way back into hall, they drew on whatever strength they had left to bear him down before he crossed the border in his instinctive illegal immigrant style. The runner however took a detour and turned towards a clump of trees opposite the gate, hiding in the shadows, catching his breath, and waiting to watch and plan his next move.

CT Metalaway once again was the first one to reach the gate, and even though he had spotted the fugitive in the trees in the distance, he decided to act blur until reinforcements arrived so that they could flush him out. Once backup came, they put on act to show our camper that they thought he had climbed over, and began to pretend to climb over too, making their conversation nice and loud so that the enemy would defintely hear them. However, they took their acting a bit too far, and realizing that their voices were way over the natural decibel level, Obama began to smell a rat, and his mind began racing once again. It was just then that For one split second, all 3 CTs had their backs turned towards the gate as they faked their climb, and seeing that it was now or never Obama crashed through the foliage and let fly another round of his ammo before heading back around the corner to Sheares, catching his screaming victims off guard once again. The CTs, now raging mad, split up and took two routes to cut him off. One chased him along the road, while the others decided to take the lower ground and cut through the rag area. But being one step ahead, Obama veered off the road, lost his follower by hiding in another tree, and began shooting down the other party from his elevated position as they lumbered their way up.

Feeling might kicked about his exploits, our fugitive began what was to be his final run, as he stepped on a large piece of stone and injured the ball of his foot. Unable to put any more weight on his left leg, he was forced to slow down to a walk, and as Metalaway and Sprecher finally flanked him, he stopped. He raised his rifle one last time, and fired every last drop out of it at the two assailants as they struggled to restrain him and finally bring him down on the road in front of Sheares Hall. This amusing sight prompted a priceless comment from our cameraman: "I wish people were here to see 3 ex-JCRC members fighting on the road in front of Sheares Hall in the middle of the night."

Finally, with the target injured and subdued, Mulder finally was able to make use of the pail he was lugging the entire night and take consolation in merely drenching the enemy.

CCB: So, was Operation White Christmas a success?
Obama: I think i'll die another day. It's not my time to go.