Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 14, 2007 4:25:00 GMT -5
Name: Paul Steiner (Played By) Actor: Julian Sands Appearance: Age: 32 Where-abouts on plane: Tail Section* Occupation: European Commission Policy Analyst Nationality: "European" (multiple citizenships: UK, France, Austria) Paul was born to an Austrian father, a French mother, was raised in Britain and has worked for the European Union since his University graduation. He was in Sydney as part of an EU trade delegation meeting with Japanese and Indian officials to organize a free trade agreement that would make the three economies much more competitive against American and Chinese markets. However, a "family emergency" required his return home before the negotiations ended. Residence: Condo Suite in Brussels (former), The Island (current) Skills: Negotiation, Politics, speaks several languages, Tae Kwon-Do, marksmanship, leadership, basic survival and first aid Weaknesses/ Bad habits: Hates the outdoors, condescending to other survivors, secretive and untrusting Frequent Moods/ Expressions: Often seems removed, aloof and disinterested with the activities of other survivors. He avoids eye contact suspiciously during conversation. He often blends German and French words into his sentences and becomes frustrated when others don't understand him. Reason for Flight: To return home for a "family emergency". * *Asterisk indicates that character could potentially be one of The Others, studying the reactions of The Survivors to his actions.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 14, 2007 4:30:00 GMT -5
((OOC: Line indicates break in flashback. So it's like... two flashbacks for the price of one.))
Flashback #1: 3 years Before Plane Crash
“However, one can clearly see that trade and social policy continues to progress on levels that are in accordance with functionalist theory. While the national social welfare model upon which many Member States have built their identity may seem to be a strong expression of sovereignty, the multi-tier governance methods of those social policies are only executable with the approval of the European Court of Justice and, by extension, the European Union.” Paul concluded his lecture, offering a curt nod to the audience of post-secondary students and media representatives to signal that he was finished. Many looked to be dozing off. He could understand why. The interaction of the European Union and its Member States on the topic of social policy was a dry subject.
Paul turned and stepped down from the podium, beginning to walk across the lecture theatre towards the doors that would lead him to the elevators and, by extension, his office.
“I take it you’re not a big fan of Harold Lanski then.” A voice commented from just to his left. “Or would I be mistaken in that assumption?”
Paul turned and smiled, curious to see who had asked such a curiously interesting question of him. Someone with a good understanding of political philosophy always made for a satisfying conversation. And Paul had a few minutes to spare before the next meeting on his itinerary.
“No, not really. He was entirely off. The world’s most successful countries are federations with institutions that are only marginally more unitary than the European Union’s. Just look at Canada!” Paul replied. “And, besides, who during Lanski’s time could have thought any of this would be possible?” He gestured at the European Union flags that flanked the podium where Paul had been standing moments before, and then directed his hands to sweep across the room in a grandiose gesture.
“I see your point. 1939 wasn’t a good year.” The other man answered, referring to the year in which Harold Lanski had written his harsh criticisms of federalism and federal states.
“Indeed, it was not.” Paul mused to himself, crossing his arms and lowering his head in resignation. Europe was capable of wonderful things- but it was also capable of some of the worst evils known to humanity. A reflection of some of its citizens. Perhaps even Paul’s own life. But he was forgetting his guest in his brooding. He offered his hand to the other man. “Paul Steiner. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, I assure you- the pleasure is all mine.” The shorter man replied, smiling thinly as he shook Paul’s hand.
“Your accent- you’re not from Europe.” Paul observed, trying to discern who exactly this strange fellow was.
“No, I’m American.” Came the simple and short response. “Ah. I thought so. One can never really tell with accents nowadays. So what bring you all the way out here to Brussels, Mister…?” Paul placed a hand gently on the shoulder of the other man and began to walk slowly towards the doors at the end of the lecture theatre. There was something about this man that made Paul feel uneasy. He felt that a hand on this unknown’s shoulder would be a gesture of friendliness and comfort, but would also allow him to take physical action if this turned out to be someone with ill intentions. Europe had far less enemies in the world than America, but its institutions were still on the hit list of many terrorist organizations. One could never be too careful…
“Linus. Mr. Benjamin Linus.” The American answered, fixing him with a piercing stare that was not overly aggressive but somehow made Paul feel as though he was being studied. “And I’ve come here to offer you a job, Mr. Steiner.”
__________________________________________________
“I am sorry but I am going to have to tell you this before you make any more entreaties. Mr. Linus: I am practically married to the EU. It has given me all that I have. I can’t turn my back on that. So it does not matter to me what pay or benefits you can offer. This is a… marriage.” Paul replied, chuckling in surprise at the sudden offer.
“You say, Mr. Steiner, that this is a marriage.” Mr. Linus pulled gently away from Paul’s arm and turned to point at the pair of flags at the podium that Paul had gestured to only moments before. “But is it a happy one?”
Paul raised his eyebrows in shock at the question. “Of course! I couldn’t be more happy here!”
“I think you could.” The American returned his gaze to Paul, his piercing gaze making Paul uneasy again. “I think the reason you always volunteer to do these lectures and press conferences, instead of staying up in your office like the rest of your colleagues lies in the fact that you miss the field. You hate being cooped up in four walls.”
Paul’s brow furrowed with concern. He did not like it when people read into him. He liked it even less when others knew more about him than he knew of them.
“What was your Major in University? Your first Major before you changed it?” The man named ‘Benjamin Linus’ continued.
“Sociology. But I get the feeling you already knew that.” Paul replied. Perhaps it was time to call security?
“I did. But I felt asking would help emphasize my point.” Benjamin nodded.
“And that is…?”
Mr. Linus cocked his head to the side quizzically, as if pondering the question, before answering. “My point is that you are here because you feel you need to be. You feel you were forced here. You wanted to be a sociologist. You still want to be. That’s why you enjoy observing people in the crowds at these things.” Ben said, gesturing with his chin at the rows of empty seats as he explained. “That’s also why you will sometimes just sit at a street bench and watch people, determining the habits and relationships from your observations, while you pretend to read the newspaper. It’s what you were born to do. But your parents…they had different things in mind for you, didn’t they?”
Paul didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to.
“I’m here to give you a choice. You can choose to continue to please your parents. Or you can choose your own path.” The American handed him a business card. Paul accepted it with a whispered thanks. “Options… aren’t a bad thing, Mr. Steiner.”
“No, they are not.” Paul mumbled, looking over the business card. The caption read ‘Dharma Institute’. The symbol in the corner looked like it was taken from the ‘I Ching’. A curiosity, to say the least.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Steiner. I hope to be working with you soon.”
And then the strange man was gone, leaving Paul alone with a multitude of questions and only a business card to help him begin to answer them- the pair of European Union flags by the podium being the only witnesses to what had transpired.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 14, 2007 19:34:50 GMT -5
(Future Flashback Character) Name: Craig Martin Age: 37 Occupation: Staff Sergeant, Her Majesty's Royal Army Appearance: Nationality: British Residence: Hereford, England, UK (Served in Vjovodina with Paul Steiner 10 years ago) Skills: marksmanship, survival, tactics, leadership, parachuting Weaknesses/bad habits: He hardly ever forgives and rarely ever forgets. He'll speak his mind- even to a Commissioned Officer. Frequent moods/expressions: Gruff-spoken, focused, strong sense of morality, simple. Brooding and quiet. He'll joke with his troops, but it finds it hard to trust an Officer. A leader.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 15, 2007 15:47:01 GMT -5
Flashback #2: 10 years Before Plane Crash
“And as one great officer once said to his men: ‘Ich bin Stölz dass habe ich mit euch verdienen.’ I am proud…to have served with you.” Retiring Second Lieutenant Paul Steiner said into the podium microphone, smiling softly but sadly.
There was a period of brief silence that quickly came crashing down as the assembled soldiers and officers began to applaud their comrade. It pained him to be leaving the Army, now that he saw all of his friends and comrades gathered here to bid him farewell. So many memories. So many sacrifices. But now it was time to move on. To where, Paul did not know. All he knew was that the Army had been a portion of his life for three years after University, and now it was time to find his own way in the world.
“Blood good speech, sir!” Lance Corporal Hookenson exclaimed, raising his pint to Paul in a salute.
Paul grinned, walking over to the table where his Section mates were gathered. Hookenson was recovering well from the round he had taken to his leg. He still needed crutches to get around, which were propped up against the table beside him. But he was coping well and would likely be returning to active duty soon.
“How are you keeping there, Hookenson?” Paul asked, reaching the table and waving dismissively as his friends began to rise from the chairs to salute.
Hookenson began to reply in his own frank but under-stating way. Unfortunately, Paul wasn’t entirely listening. Instead, he had become aware that someone was standing a few tables down in the mess hall, watching him intently. He couldn’t quite recognize the person from his peripheral vision at first. But he stopped trying to figure out who this person was as they began to walk in his direction. He’d find out who they were soon enough.
“But, yeah, I’m good to go, sir. Pity we won’t have you with us the next time we head out into the field. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, right?” Hookenson continued.
Paul nodded in understanding and was about to say he needed to order a drink from the bar, but the fellow that had been watching him from across the mess hall brushed past him. He turned to regard the other fellow and saw an intensely disappointed look on the grey-blue eyes that stared into him. It took him a few moments to recognize the set of eyes. Staff Sergeant Craig Martin. Paul hadn’t recognized him at first as the Staff Sergeant had always worn a pair of eye-glasses while they served together. Rumour had it that the older man had signed up for this new ‘laser eye surgery’ not long after they had returned from deployment. Apparently the surgery had worked as he was no longer wearing glasses and those eyes were definitely working well.
“Excuse me one moment gentlemen.” Paul said, holding up his index finger before hurrying after the Staff Sergeant.
He caught up with Martin just at the doors out of the mess hall. “Staff Sergeant! Staff Sergeant!” Paul called out, as he approached within a few feet behind the older fellow.
Martin could clearly hear Paul. But for whatever reason the other man wouldn’t break a step in his stride as he continued out the doors of the mess hall and onto the drill hall floor of the Armoury.
“Staff Sergeant Martin.” Paul said, allowing his frustration into his tone. It was an imperative voice he was using now. Not one used between friends but one that was used when a Commissioned Officer spoke to a Senior NCO under his command and responsibility.
The Staff Sergeant stopped, lingering for a moment. But he did not immediately turn and come to attention in respect to the officer who had said his name. Then Martin turned and fixed Paul with a stare that he would never forget. There was betrayal and disappointment in those eyes. A face that had looked to him with respect and admiration for a year of military service now looked upon him like a criminal worthy of only pity. “I’ll never forget what you did to that kid. Sir.” The Staff Sergeant replied.
“Martin…” Paul began, looking down to avoid the stare. He couldn’t bear to be looked at in that way. He had sacrificed just as much as, if not more so than, the Staff Sergeant.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut about it, sir. You don’t need to worry about that.” The Staff Sergeant muttered, never taking his gaze away from Paul. “I’m needed back in Hereford. You… have a good evening, sir.”
Paul just stood and watched as Staff Sergeant Martin strode to the doors at the end of the drill hall and left the Armoury. Even as the Staff Sergeant walked away, Paul could feel the sting of the other soldier’s eyes looking into him. Judging him for something that had been necessary to the mission.
It had been necessary. Hadn’t it?
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 16, 2007 12:36:17 GMT -5
Flashback #3: 10 years Before Plane Crash
“Your Queen and your country thanks you for your service, Second Lieutenant Steiner.” The military lawyer stated, holding a file folder neatly in front of himself as he cross-examined Paul- a witness in the trial of Staff Sergeant Martin.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and offered only a nod in response to the lawyer’s comments. If Martin had told this JAG-wannabe about the events that led up to the incident in Vjovidina, Paul’s attempts to make a new life for himself outside of the Army would be for naught. He’d be made to stand trial for charges much more grievous than Staff Sergeant Martin’s, which were insubordination and threatening a superior officer. The worst thing that could happen to Martin? Dishonourable discharge from Her Majesty’s Service. The worst thing that could happen to Paul if all of the truth came out? Being paraded before The Hague like some war prize and being sentenced to 20 years in prison. He’d be 42. What kind of work could a 42 year old get with a Political Science degree, military experience, a criminal record, and a reputation tarnished by the ravenous British media?
“Now… could you tell us in your own words what happened on 12 April of this year?” That was it. The point of no return. If he lied, he damned Staff Sergeant Martin and lost the other man’s respect forever. Not to mention his own self-respect. But if he told the truth, he would be in prison for a long time- and the reputation of Britain and the European Union would be hurt forever. Already people in the international community were questioning the legitimacy of NATO’s interference in Yugoslavia for the cause of ‘human rights’ and ‘peace and security’. The indictment of a British officer in the murder of a child would only give them more ammunition to use in getting Europe’s forces to withdraw from the Balkans, allowing the various peoples there to go back to tearing out each other’s throats.
If he lied, he couldn’t do it for himself. He had to do it for those people- the ones that had been buried in mass graves by Serbian militias. If he did it for himself, he wouldn’t deserve to live any more.
He took a deep breath and took the plunge. “We were tracking Colonel Dmitri Albahari, the commanding officer of a Bosnian Serb militia that had moved into the Vjovidina region to exert the sovereignty of Slobodan Milosevic’s regime. We believed we had him cornered at a safe house. He wasn’t. It was an ambush. Lance Corporal Hookenson took a round to the leg and we were unsure he’d make it.”
Paul shifted his gaze to Staff Sergeant Martin. The older soldier was just staring down at his desk. Perhaps he knew that Paul wouldn’t tell the truth. Perhaps that was how low his opinion of him was. “Staff Sergeant Martin had been under a great deal of stress prior to taking the building. The apparent failure of our mission and the risk to Hookenson’s life pushed Martin over the edge. I realize now, in hind sight, that my Senior NCO was likely suffering from Combat Stress Reaction and that I should have pulled him from duty while he got some help. The fault for the incident lies with me.”
The lawyer nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “This incident you mentioned- what was it?” Because this was a court martial, and not a summary trial, there was a civilian jury present to determine Staff Sergeant Martin’s guilt. “For the benefit of the jury, we’d just like to hear you describe it.”
Paul gritted his teeth and then looked back over at Martin. “Staff Sergeant Martin… trained his weapon on me. His intentions were unknown, but he blamed me for the failure of our mission and Hookenson’s wound. As I said, I should have brought Martin’s CSR to the attention of Company Command before bringing him into the field with me.”
“Thank you, Second Lieutenant. You’ve been very helpful. No further questions, Your Honour.” The lawyer replied, with a polite smile before sitting back down.
Paul exhaled heavily before standing up from the examination box. He had lied by omission. And, in so doing, he had damned Staff Sergeant Martin’s career. But he did it for the mission, god dammit. He did it for the mission.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 16, 2007 12:38:10 GMT -5
Flashback #4: 10 years Before Plane Crash
And now this was the second hurdle he would have to pass to ensure his survival and the integrity of the mission in the former Yugoslavia. Except, this time, he had no power over what happened. This time, Staff Sergeant Martin was being questioned.
The prosecution was beginning the examination. “Now, isn’t it true that you pointed your weapon at your Commanding Officer?”
“Yes sir.” Martin answered, his face unreadable. Martin was always able to beat everyone else in the Section at poker.
“Why would you do that, Staff Sergeant? Why would you point your weapon at Second Lieutenant Steiner?” The prosecution was butchering the stone-faced Martin, though. Apparently lawyers didn’t like a lack of emotional response from those they questioned during trials.
“As Steiner previously stat-“ Martin began.
“Keep in mind, Staff Sergeant, that CSR is not a valid excuse for threatening to shoot one of your comrades-in-arms. That was what you intended to do, wasn’t it Staff Sergeant? You wanted to kill your own comrade- the man who was responsible for your well-being.” The prosecution yelled, pointing his finger at Martin accusingly.
The tirade of the prosecution softened Martin somewhat. His expression said that he was beginning to question himself and his motivations that day in the abandoned house. “I… made a mistake, sir. I was screwed up pretty bad. That’s no excuse. I was insubordinate and betrayed my comrade- my friend.” Martin looked over at Paul with a pleading expression. Paul, at first, thought it was a plea for Paul to step up and tell the truth. But Paul had already given his testimony, there was no way for him to make good on it now. His words were written in rock. If contradictory evidence arose, Paul’s testimony would count as perjury. But he could not unilaterally stand up during a trial and yell out the truth, confess and beg for forgiveness. What was done was done.
But Martin wasn’t asking for help. “I apologize to Second Lieutenant Steiner for what I did. I take full responsibility for my actions.”
Paul slumped back in his chair. He could hardly believe it. There was an argument raging around him as the defence lawyer protested the admissibility of what Martin had said, and the prosecution countered them, the jury discussing amongst themselves, the gavel of the judge hammering out over the dozens of voices. But to Paul, there existed a moment of perfect silence between himself and Craig Martin. They locked eyes, both begging for each other’s forgiveness with their thoughts. But it made little difference. The process was already set into motion.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 20, 2007 13:26:29 GMT -5
Flashback #5: 10 years Before Plane Crash
After Martin had been unceremoniously sentenced by the judge, the former Staff Sergeant- he had been stripped of his rank and dishonourably discharged- was taken to a holding cell while his paperwork was written up. Paul had managed to successfully request a few minutes to confer with Martin in the cell after the trial. It had taken some arguing to be granted his request, but he had managed to persevere and prevail.
“Why did you do it?” Paul asked, finally. They had been sitting opposite one another at the table for what must have been five minutes without saying anything.
“I told you I’d take the round for you, sir. I made my intentions very clear- twice.” Martin replied, resting his hand-cuffed hands on the tabletop in front of himself.
“Twice?” Paul asked, confused. He couldn’t understand why Martin hadn’t said anything about the true reasons he had pointed his weapon at Paul in Vjovidina. Now the old soldier was going on about something even more obscure.
“I told you that I wouldn’t tell anyone about what went down in General Albahari’s home when you stopped me outside the mess hall. That was a promise.” Martin explained, impatiently. “When you saved all of us from that trap at the weapons cache, I told you that I’d take a round for you. That was a promise. I’ve kept all my promises. I didn’t tell anyone about the kid and I took a round for you, sir. What more do you want from me?”
Paul gnashed his teeth. “I want to know what you want, Martin. I want to know why you think you’re a damn hero for lying. I want to know why you act like you think you deserve a damn medal. I did it for the mission, you son of a bitch!”
He could hear the sound of one of the Military Police moving toward the cell to find out what the cause of the disturbance was. He needed to calm down. But the look- the way Martin’s eyes just looked at him so condescendingly and disappointedly- filled Paul with rage. How dare this man think he was better than Paul! How dare he!
“Sir, whether you believe in God or not, you need to know something. Someone is always watching. When you do something wrong to someone else, it will eventually catch up to you. I didn’t lie for you. I lied to keep my promises and protect the mission. You’re safe. But only for today.” Martin explained. Then he rose up from his chair. “Guard! We’re done here.”
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 21, 2007 9:29:08 GMT -5
**JOURNAL ENTRY**
Third page of notebook. Writing is messy and hurried on this page.
"Katana S0791? Land of Knives Gold blood falls from above but supports from below Listening at the wall but not finding the flaw Might be acquired. V4=3?"
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 29, 2007 11:40:00 GMT -5
**JOURNAL ENTRY**
Fourth page of notebook. Writing is still sloppy, but slightly more calm and less hurried than that on the third page.
"Echo S0691? The Kingdom of the Downtrodden The past reverberates through the present Sound bouncing off the walls But maintains a stoic exterior. Tore out its own tongue in sorrow Or a silent sentinel? Might have once been gold and proud. Now, with gold blood on its hands, Stands only as a mute silver. To be left behind unless corrections are made To its behaviour."
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Apr 29, 2007 12:03:34 GMT -5
**JOURNAL ENTRY**
Fifth page of notebook.
"Brook S0691? Land of Corruption Lost something dear to him Now worships an idol Of the memory. Gold blood runs through its veins But the gold is tarnished To silver. The brook cuts across the chessboard And so sees it as a competition and not cooperation. Flawed. Afraid. Leave it behind."
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on May 7, 2007 17:26:54 GMT -5
Flashback #6: 10 years Before Plane Crash
This was it. The home of General Albahari- a Bosnian Serb who had ordered the murders of thousands of innocent men, women and children throughout the Balkans region. And outside the front door stood Paul and his Section. Justice was, both literally and metaphorically, on the butcher’s front doorstep.
Their orders were simple: find and detain General Albahari at all costs. Arresting this senior officer would help complete a chain of command for the prosecutors at the Hague that would end with Slobodan Milosevic. Albahari had committed worse crimes in the past than perjury, but the Colonel of Paul’s regiment believed that the civilian counterparts at the International Court of Justice would be able to come up with a plea bargain that would have Albahari testify against Milosevic but would also suffer a grievous punishment himself as deserved by his crimes against humanity.
All that was needed to make all of this possible was to knock down the General’s front door and catch him unawares. Informants sympathetic to the cause of the European Union and NATO forces had all pointed to this rather simple-looking home on Zenit Street, 23rd Avenue as the “fall back” residence of the General.
Paul stood to the left of the front door, Hookenson on the right, Martin directly in front. “Open, flash and clear on Zulu.” He muttered, his words barely audible.
Hookenson nodded curtly, reaching into his webbing and pulling out a flashbang grenade. He held it directly in front of his chest, like a baseball player waiting to make a pitch. Martin tensed up, assuming a front stance and making sure his SA80 assault rifle hung so it wouldn’t bash against his knees when he kicked out his rear leg.
“Zulu.”
The relative silence and peacefulness outside the home was instantly broken in a coordinated and well-rehearsed flurry of motion. Martin’s boot lashed out and struck the door just beneath the door knob and its lock. The age of the wood and the moisture of the Balkan air made the door’s material much more fragile and Martin was able to kick open the door on his first attempt- a rare accomplishment.
As soon as the door buckled under the force of his kick, Martin dove to the side of the doorway. Hookenson pulled the pin on his flashbang, primed it, and then tossed the grenade into the entranceway of the house through the now open doorway. Had anyone been waiting on the other side of the doorway with a weapon, they would have not seen any targets to shoot. Everything was coordinated perfectly and everyone in the Section was mindful of revealing themselves. The only thing a gunman would have seen would have been Hookenson’s arm coming around the corner to toss a grenade in. The enemy would have had no time to react.
Paul was braced himself, as did the rest of his Section. Thwump! Flashbangs were notoriously loud. There was a small fraction of the human population that found the things so nauseous that they could actually die due to the overload of sensory stimulus- the bright flash of white as the grenade detonated, the disorientating loud explosion, and the thick smoke it left behind. Paul was, luckily, not one of these people. But he still found the sound of the things painfully loud, even while standing on the other side of a brick wall and several layers of insulation from the detonation point.
He still could not hear a damned thing when he brought his rifle into the “high ready” position and yelled, “Go go go!”
They poured into the building in a mad rush. Wherever their eyes went, the muzzles of their rifles followed. Everyone was on edge, adrenaline pumping. Room clearing was one of the most deadly parts of warfare. There was a reason Stalingrad was one of the most bloody battles in all of military history and wasn’t just due to the poor equipment and training of the Soviet Union. The Germans suffered staggering casualties in the battle as well. No, room clearing was something that looked exciting in the movies but was nerve-wracking to do in a war zone. Every turn of the corner could be a soldier’s last. That was what flashed through the back of every sane soldier’s mind- the image of turning a corner into a room that seemed empty, only to find oneself staring down the barrel of a loaded and readied AK-47.
“Clear!” Came a shout from upstairs as Paul turned the corner into the kitchen.
There was no AK-47 armed madman in this particular kitchen. There wasn’t a genocidal General either. But there was something just close enough to the latter to please Paul immensely. Lying on the floor was a woman in a dress, cradling a child in a school boy’s uniform, sobbing and trying to hide behind the table.
“Mrs. Albahari, I presume.” Paul said in his best Serbian, stepping forward and offering the squirming son his hand. “We have a few questions for you.”
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on May 18, 2007 0:04:37 GMT -5
Flashback #7: 8 Years Before Plane Crash
"I'm sure you'll find that European Union membership and the ability to have a say in determining the course of the European Common Foreign and Security Policy will grant you a much more reliable degree of national security than membership within the Shanghai Cooperation Organization." Paul said, folding his hands in front of him to make himself appear more earnest. The hunching forward of the shoulders through such a gesture also made it almost seem like he was sharing a little known secret with the people sitting opposite him at the table. "Europe can give you collective security. Russian can give you what? Out-dated radar technology? So you can know how screwed you are when the Americans come knocking for your oil? My fr-"
An aide walked into the room through the double-set of doors to Paul's left carrying a phone with a grave expression on his face.
"Sir, it is for you." The aide muttered in a low voice in French. The other delegation would not understand the language, so it was the one used by Paul's EU delegation when they needed to speak in private about something without having to find someplace private to talk.
"Can it wait?" Paul asked, slightly irritated.
"It is your mother, sir. She says there is a problem with your father." The aide answered in a soft consoling tone, offering the phone.
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Paul
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Paul Steiner, Mikhail Bakunin, Sayid%%
Posts: 262
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Post by Paul on Jun 21, 2007 10:11:50 GMT -5
**JOURNAL ENTRY**
Sixth page of notebook.
"Red S0891? Backwards World Entranced by a myth of red, Thinks that red is a key Which, when applied to lips, Opens doors. But this door is barred shut. Red is Iron or Bronze. Shackled by the material. Leave it behind."
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