When the Vampire Dominion needs new recruits

Use the Panopticon to identify a Black Ops Special Forces team on a mission in Aleppo and vector a unit of the Syrian Army onto their position.

(Note: Harsh language ahead).

The rest follows.

Half a dozen or more AK-47s fired on full auto, the bullets ripping through the wooden crates in the Aleppo warehouse. Cemal, the team’s Kurdish guide, rocked backward and slumped to the ground; the top half his skull splashed across the crates.

Captain John Tilson and his team of special forces operatives were pinned down in the warehouse. The Syrian Army had shown up ten seconds ago and had opened fire as soon as contact was made. He was already two men down. Carter and Woodstock were being dragged back by the rest of the team. They had come in by truck from the town of Reyhanli, 45 miles away, across the border in Turkey. There had been rock solid intelligence that a chemical weapons cache was stored in this warehouse. The mission was simple, identify and record the weapons, and then destroy them.

That mission had been shot to hell. The new mission was equally simple - survive.

‘Back to the truck,’ John yelled. His men didn’t need any urging. They fought their way back to the other end of the warehouse where the truck waited, engine idling.

Sargent Smith, John's 2IC, pumped a grenade toward the Syrians and followed it with a burst from his H&K 416 rifle. The grenade exploded. Men shrieked and cursed, and the hail of bullets from the Syrians lessened for a moment.

‘Call in a drone strike.’ John said firmly as he loaded a fresh mag, and zig zagged back past another crate, bullets whizzing overhead.

Smith ducked and ran beside him. ‘Damn comms are down.’

‘What the hell?’ John asked.

'We’re being jammed.’ Smith said, his face bleak.

‘It’s a fucking trap.’ John growled, turning up and over the crate next to him, he emptied his clip at the advancing Syrians. Two collapsed and the rest dodged to the sides.

Smith cursed, ‘What a clusterfuck.’

John shook his head with dismay. ‘Someone’s trying to get us killed. The mission’s compromised, we need to exfiltrate now.’

The truck’s wheels smoked as it suddenly lurched backward toward the team. It smashed though crates of dry goods, spilling bags of rice across the concrete floor.

‘Quickly now,’ John shouted, urging his team forward.

Two of his men carried the wounded over their shoulders to the back of the truck. The rest of the team covered their retreat. Smoke bloomed from the hot barrels of their assault rifles and grenades cracked and boomed. The Syrians paused in their advance, taking cover where they could. John and Sargent Smith were the last to reach the back of the truck.

A rocket propelled grenade zoomed over them, striking the cabin of the truck which promptly exploded in a yellow glare killing the driver instantly. Machine gun fire erupted from the side of the warehouse and raked the back of the truck. John watched in horror as his team were cut to pieces. He turned back toward the approaching Syrians and fired again, taking out the nearest with a head shot. A hail of bullets returned, some hitting his body armor but three went through his lower gut.

John fell backward onto the floor. Sargent Smith stepped over him, his H&K blazing as his bullets ripped through the Syrians. Smith suddenly jerked backward and slumped to the side, his H&K clattering to the floor. His hands gripped his throat were a round had slashed through it, blood poured past his fingers.

The firing stopped.

The Syrians advanced, their boots making heavy footfalls over the warehouse floor. A Syrian Army officer crouched next to John, pointed a 9mm pistol at his face and said in passable English, ‘So Yankee, what in Allah’s name are you -’

A shining sword blade appeared through the officer’s skull. The tip dripping blood for half a second before the blade disappeared. John could hardly believe what he had seen. It had happened so fast. The officer’s body started to fall toward him. It stopped in mid-air, a handspan above him, and then was flung like a broken toy across the warehouse. Wild shooting and panicked screaming erupted nearby. The shooting stopped first, then the screaming a couple of seconds later.

A stunningly beautiful brunette appeared over him. A guardian angel with cold blue eyes, dressed in black combat fatigues. She put her sword down and knelt on one knee beside him. She pulled a thick syringe filled with red fluid from her belt and thrust the needle into the side of his heart.

‘What … are … doing?’ John managed to ask.

‘Saving your life,’ She said.

Behind her stood a tall, slim man, armed with a longsword. Figures blurred in movement at the edge of John’s vision. He took another breath. That was when the gut shots faded into the background and the pain really began.