The Heist of the Century
Silence hung heavy in the dark interrogation room, broken only by the impatient tapping of a stylus belonging to the investigator in a blue uniform of the Confederation Security Service. Across the table sat a soldier in dirty, bloodstained clothing. He looked defeated, his face covered in bruises and scars.
“So, tell me again exactly how you came upon the decision to steal Cryocapsules from the ‘Kairouan’ military base?” asked the investigator, pressing the record button.
The man across from him let out a raspy chuckle.
“It all started at the poker table back at our base and a poorly timed joke about General Hartman… who just so happened to be walking by. We got stuck serving patrol duty as punishment, our Coyote got cooked in this damn heat, slid into a ditch, and flipped. I remember crawling out onto the road, looking back — and yelling at the top of my lungs…”
“…So how the hell do we explain this now?! Miguel, did you not check the cooling sensors before we left? Was it the vodka?”
“Hey, you were drinking with the rest of us! We all got in the car together…”
“Silence!” barked Sergeant Myers.
Even at night, the heat was unbearable. Grunting and panting from the sweltering air, the soldiers climbed onto the road, activated their personal armor cooling systems, and looked around.
“And anyway, Sergeant, we’re here because of your blabbering mouth. No one forced you to run it…” Miguel Santos muttered under his breath.
“Private Santos is making a valid point,” snapped the Japanese sniper wrapped in a ghillie cloak. The patch on his armor read “Yamamoto A.”
The sergeant thoughtfully turned a radio over in his hands. At that moment, a strange noise behind the hill caught his attention. A glow shimmered in the darkness, and the sound grew louder.
“Confederates,” hissed Miguel. The group dashed for the trees, activating the Infantry Scouting boost. They had just enough time to hide when a Cyclone appeared over the hill. The helicopter circled their overturned Coyote, scoured its wreckage with a spotlight — and flew off. The sergeant’s eyes followed it, and he was grinning like a predator.
“I’ve got an idea for how to get out of this mess…”
The man across the table fell silent. The investigator kept writing. Noticing the pause, he looked up.
“Well?”
“What?”
“How did you get the Cyclone to land?”
“Trade secret.”
The sergeant laughed hoarsely. The investigator liked his sense of humor no more than General Hartman had.
“Listen. We don’t have time to waste. Keep your mouth shut, and you’ll get to hang out with my colleagues again. Who knows what might happen while I’m gone…”
There really were guards waiting outside. The sergeant already got to know them a bit more intimately than he liked, just before this interview. He glanced at the watch on the investigator’s wrist. A change of subject was in order.
“Analog? In this day and age? Swiss?”
“I prefer the classics. Automation isn’t always reliable,” the investigator replied irritably.
“Well, the Cyclone’s pilot clearly didn’t agree. Yamamoto’s one of our best snipers. Took out the scanners with a single shot. The pilot thought they got fried from the heat and landed. Then Miguel and I… and voila.”
“Where is the body?”
“The body? Come on, we didn’t kill him. We tied him up and left him under the trees. Even figured out how to turn on the cooling system in his suit. Hope he didn’t get the wrong idea about us sticking our hands in there, hehe. And after that…”
…The Cyclone approached the Confederation base beyond the hill. The spotlights swept the surroundings. The cockpit, clearly not built for three, was barely holding in the air.
“So what now? Sergeant?”
“Shut up, Miguel. I trust Yamamoto at the controls more than I trust you. Over there — those are cooling towers. Next to them, a warehouse. That’s where the Cryocapsules are. We grab them, and when we get back to base, they’ll give us medals instead of punishment.”
“That’s a great plan, Myers, that’s ingenious, if I understand it correctly. Like a Swiss watch,” Yamamoto replied, with the slightest bit of sarcasm shining through the cracks of his stoic demeanor, as he brought the chopper down.
But just before landing, static crackled in the headset.
“Flight 6-16, do you copy? This is Control. We’re seeing unusual data. Confirm status. Over.”
Yamamoto pressed the transmitter.
“Control, this is 6-16. Sensors are glitching. Requesting maintenance on arrival. Over.”
Tense silence followed.
“Acknowledged, 6-16. Landing authorized. Out.”
“Yamamoto, how do you know how to talk to the Confederates?”
“Saw it in a movie. They always talk fancy like that.”
The Cyclone slowly descended onto the landing pad…
“…And then we sneaked into the warehouses while you guys tried to figure out what was wrong with the Cyclone. Funny how there were barely any guards in the way — we sent them off to dreamland. When we got to loading the capsules, you all finally caught on and sounded the alarm…”
“Damn it, damn it! Miguel, secure the last one!”
The sergeant rushed to the gate control panel and slammed his fist on the button. But just as the gates started to open, a squad of Assaults stormed in from the other side of the warehouse. They spread out and opened fire. Yamamoto, behind the wheel of the truck, exchanged a look with the sergeant and floored it. Miguel, standing in the cargo hold, lost his balance and fell beside the capsules.
Myers, cursing, ducked behind a column and returned fire. He couldn’t even stick his head out. Pulling an EMP grenade from his belt, he aptly threw it right at the enemy’s feet. A dull “whoomp” sound boomed, and their weapons went silent — giving the sergeant just enough time to break out of the warehouse… and come face to face with a flamethrower’s muzzle. Myers noticed the soldier’s jump pack was still cooling from landing.
“Looks like your buddies ditched you, terrorist. Surrender.”
The voice was distorted through the helmet. The sergeant hesitated — then dropped his rifle.
…Myers fell silent. The investigator finished writing, sighed, and turned off the recorder.
“Listen… We both know this is crap, right? You three just waltzed into the base? ‘Took out the scanners’? ‘Saw it in a movie’? ‘Sneaked into the warehouses’?”
The sergeant smirked, without looking at the investigator. The latter continued:
“Myers, our bases are full of cameras. Digital locks. Patrols. You really think I believe this? You’ve been feeding me this load for four hours. Your pals ran. Are you really willing to rot in prison for them — and that’s the best-case scenario?”
The sergeant lifted his head. Their eyes met. The investigator thought he saw a flicker of surrender in Myers’ gaze. He switched the recorder back on. The sergeant looked to the side, as if listening for something, then smiled and spoke:
“There’s one more thing. We had help. A man named… named… Sugon…”
The investigator walked over and leaned closer, trying to hear better.
“What?”
“Sugon… Deez…”
“WHO?!”
Myers suddenly looked up and roared with a wide triumphant grin:
“SUGON DEEZ, YOU CONFEDERATE FILTH!”
And then came a loud explosion. The wall behind the investigator collapsed. Alarms howled across the base. The door to the interrogation room burst open and two guards rushed in, but — bang, bang! — two clean shots took them out.
Yamamoto stepped through the breach in the wall, wrapped in his usual sniper’s cloak. Stepping over the unconscious investigator, he effortlessly picked the handcuffs with a lockpick — as if he practiced every day.
“Excellent work, Sergeant. You masterfully bought us the time we needed, as always.”
Sergeant Myers, rubbing his wrists, looked down at the investigator. Then, he snatched the Swiss watch from him and turned it around thoughtfully in his hand.
“I could’ve stalled even longer. These guards are like kindergarteners. In Zurich, after that bank job, they beat me for an hour and a half before the search…”
The fighters laughed as they exited through the breach, where Miguel was already waiting with a grenade launcher. A few more explosions thundered nearby. The Jaguars on the hill clearly weren’t planning to stop now.
“Surrender! You’re surrounded!” a voice blared from a relay. A squad of Assaults appeared in their path. The sergeant looked at Yamamoto. The sniper silently handed him a rifle…