SIV Endgame: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

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{{a|opcobooneadventure|}}
{{a|opcobooneadventure|}}“When it came, the end-game came down fast and hard. It was in a skirmish with a rogue [[structured investment vehicle]] in the Caymans.  
When it came, the end-game came down fast and hard. It was in a skirmish with a rogue [[structured investment vehicle]] in the Caymans.  


The [[MCA]] transporter was antique. It rattled and droned and swept low across the water. It was a Spartan crate. Group Captain Bundie set his jaw. He scanned the assembled ragged company. “Okay, lads, this is it. Anyone who wants can stay aboard —”
The [[MCA]] transporter was an antique Spartan crate. It rattled and droned and swept low across the water.  
 
Group Captain Bundie set his jaw. He scanned the ragged company, lined up on a pew and hooked into the static margin line. “Okay, lads, this is it. Anyone who wants can stay aboard —”


The men, barked, “Sir! No, Sir!” in staccato unison. They numbered off by instinct. Of the original company of 60, nine remained.  
The men, barked, “Sir! No, Sir!” in staccato unison. They numbered off by instinct. Of the original company of 60, nine remained.  
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“SIXTY!”  
“SIXTY!”  


The men wouldn’t have it any other way: it was written in their eyes: it flowed wordlessly between them, when he met their collective gaze. They functioned like a single organism.  
They wouldn’t have it any other way: it was written in their eyes: it flowed wordlessly between them, when he met their collective gaze. They functioned like a single organism.  


Bundie looked down, and smiled, and closed his eyes. “All right, my lovelies, all right.”  
Bundie looked down, shut his eyes and smiled. “All right, my lovelies, all right.”  


Confirm horn squawked and the nine extant irregulars dropped out of the MCA. The dropped into a [[delta-one]] configuration.  
The confirm horn squawked. The netting flad flashed green. The nine extant irregulars dropped out of the MCA. The went in [[delta-one]] configuration.  


Frenchie was sixty. He came down last. He pulled a [[three-point hero drop]] in the high-tide flotsam. The boys yukked it up and moved out.
Frenchie was oldest in the company. He came down last. He snapped his chute and pulled a [[three-point hero drop]] in the high-tide flotsam. The boys yukked it up and moved out.


They were armed for stocks: they had some standard-issue shoulder-mounted [[Master Securities Lending Agreement|Mizzlers]]. In case of [[Agent lender|ALD]] interference they carried a brace of bump—stock [[Pledge GMSLA|pledge model]]<nowiki/>s that fired from the hip. For synthetics, they backed it up with five late-model ISDAs retrofitted with equity MCAs.  
They came armed for stocks: the local partisans were battle-hardened right down the capital structure. Bundie mandated shoulder-mounted [[Master Securities Lending Agreement|Mizzlers]] for all. In case of [[Agent lender|ALD]] cointel interference they carried a brace of bump—stock [[Pledge GMSLA|pledge model]]s that fired from the hip. To guard against [[synthetic equity swap|synthetic]] devices, they backed it up with five late-model ISDAs retrofitted with dynamic margin [[CSA]]s.  


Frenchie, of course, had his usual assortment of exotic concoctions: some antique FBF side-arms, an old CMOF and his trusty [[OSLA Anatomy|Osler]] if they really got in a jam.  
Frenchie, of course, had his usual assortment of exotic concoctions: some antique FBF side-arms, an old CMOF and his trusty [[OSLA Anatomy|Osler]] if they really got in a jam.  


He looked around the boys.  
Bundie looked around the boys.  


“This could get — ah — a little ''tasty''. These hostile units tend to be well armoured: [[limited recourse]] shielding fore and aft.”
“This could get — ah — a little ''tasty''. These hostile units tend to be well armoured: [[limited recourse]] shielding fore and aft.”


Tucker chomped on his cheroot. He split a toothy grin and patted the barrel of his weapon. He called it the ''Liquidator''. “Ain’t no pissant [[Repackaging vehicle|LRV]] going get in the way of ''this'' honey.”  
Tucker chomped on his cheroot. He split a toothy grin and patted the barrel of his weapon. “Ain’t no pissant [[Repackaging vehicle|LRV]] going get in the way of ''this'' honey.”  


Chippy looked on — Tucker’s piece was one ungainly bastard. It had some universal dock on the magazine.  
Tucker’s piece was one ungainly bastard. He called it the ''Liquidator''. It had some universal dock on the magazine.  


“What the hell is ''that'', Tucks?” Frenchie chuckled. “That home made?”
“What the hell is ''that'', Tucks?” Frenchie chuckled. “That home made?”


Tucker shrugged. “It’s a [[Prime brokerage agreement|P.B.A.]] It’s got herbs my dudes. Universal netter.”
Tucker shrugged. “It’s a [[Prime brokerage agreement|P.B.A.]] It’s got ''herbs'' my dudes. Universal [[master netting agreement|netter]].”


“BP? A Blue Peter job?” Chippy roared.  
“BP? A Blue Peter job?” Chippy roared.  


“Prime Breaker, baby. I had it built to custom spec in the [[Linklaters|Links]] chop shop. It’s got stocks, recalls, telescopic margin lending, [[Initial margin|I.M. recalibration]] real time.  Have a go at this baby —”  
“‘P. B.,’ As in ''Prime Breaker'', baby. I had it built to custom spec in the [[Linklaters|Links]] chop shop. It’s got stocks, recalls, [[dynamic margin|telescopic margin]] lending, [[Initial margin|I.M. recalibration]] real time.  Have a go at this baby —”  


He handed it to Chippy. Chippy waved it about.  
He handed it to Chippy. Chippy waved it about.  


“Just point that bad boy the fuck away from me.”  
Tucker ducked and swayed. “Whoa, man, Just point that bad boy the fuck away from ''me''.”  


Chippy shrugged. He swung 45 degrees and squeezed off a round.  
Chippy shrugged. He swung 45 degrees and squeezed off a round.  


The air boiled. The boys hit the deck. There was an unholy blam, a wolf of blue flame and Chippy flew ten feet back and landed in a heap. Tucker kept his feet, flapped smoke away and spluttered.  
The air boiled. The boys hit the deck. There was an unholy blam and a wolf of blue flame. Chippy flew ten feet back and landed in a heap. Tucker flapped smoke away and spluttered.  


Eighty feet hence, the charred stump of a beach palm. Forty feet beyond that, what was left of it crackled and smoked on the sand.  
“''Jesus''.”


Frenchie chuckled.  
Eighty feet hence, the charred stump of a beach palm smouldered. Forty feet beyond that, what was left of the rest of it crackled and smoked on the sand. A cloud mushroomed above the clearing.  


Biff whistled.  
Frenchie chuckled. Biff whistled. Chippy was out cold.  


A cloud mushroomed above the clearing. The fallen palm spat and flamed.  
Tucker grinned, slapped Chippy’s chops and brought his buddy back topside. “You like? Huh?”


Chippy was out cold. Tucker slapped his chops and brought him back topside.  
The black mushroom wooded and dissipated. Bundie scrambled to his feet, glaring. “Jesus, Tucker! You’ll kill the lot of us! They’ll see that blast signal for miles around! +++[[Top urgent]], boys. Attack now imminent.”


Tucker grinned. “You like? Huh?”
The boys shucked their MSLAs and formed a circle round Chippy. He came round slow. Tucker face-dashed him from a canteen. Chippy moaned.  


Bundie scrambled to his feet. He glared.  
Bundie held up a paw. “Shhh.”


“Jesus, Tucker! You’ll kill the lot of us! They’ll see that blast signal for miles around!”
Beyond the dunes: a low mechanical clanking.


Chippy came round slow.  
“What ze hell is zat?” said Frenchie.  


Tucker face-dashed him from a canteen.  
It sounded heavy. It sounded relentless. It sounded ''huge''. It sounded like a max-vol slice of hell.  


Chippy moaned.  
Something in the aural vectors said it was headed their way.


Bundie held up a paw. “Shhh.”  
“Oh, fucking ''great''. They’re on to us.” Bundie re-glared at Tucker.


Beyond the dunes: a low mechanical clanking. It sounded heavy. It sounded relentless. It sounded like a maxi-sized slice of trouble.
“we got an ID yet, kiddo?”
 
“They’re on to us.” Something in the aural vectors said it was headed their way.
 
“Oh, fucking great,” growled Bundie.
 
The clanking got louder.
 
“What ze hell is zat?” said Frenchie.


“An MTN. Programmable, most likely. They don’t mess around.”
The young radio operator was barely eighteen. He ran a redline. “A reloadable [[MTN]] configuration of some sort, sir. Programmable, most likely.”


Bundie swept up the map. “C’mon —  we need to move out, lads, and fast.”
Frenchie let out a low whistle. Bundie swept up the map. “Thank-you, Lance-Corporal. C’mon fellows —  we need to move off the beach, lads, and fast.”


They got no further. The armoured turret of a huge MOU smashed through the pines.  
They got no further. The armoured turret of a huge MOU smashed through the pines.  


“Jesus. SIVs!”
“Jesus. [[SIV]]s!”


Tucker whoooed. She shucked his CSA and reloaded.
Swart whoooed. She shucked her [[CSA]] and reloaded.


Biffer yeehaared.  
Biffer yeehaared.  


Frenchie flip-cocked his piece and said, “feeding time at ze zoo, mon cher.”  
Tucker blammed out out some shells from the Liquidator. It disoriented the advancing machines and threw a curtain of indeterminacy around the theatre. The [[SIV]]s kept coming.
 
Frenchie flip-cocked his piece and hollered, “feeding time at ze zoo, mon cher.”  


Bundie sniffed the air. “Something’s — not — right. They’re  —  it’s just  —  ”
Bundie sniffed the air. “Something’s — not — right. They’re  —  it’s just  —  ”
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Biffer went right.  
Biffer went right.  
Swart kicked off her vol damper and went charging in on foot with a sawn-off repo.


Bundie stood motionless in the clearing. Adrenalin flooded his core. “Something’s not right, lads,” he said.  
Bundie stood motionless in the clearing. Adrenalin flooded his core. “Something’s not right, lads,” he said.  
But the unit kept advancing. Only the lance-corporal even heard him. The boy stayed close. “Stay frosty, son — this is going to get sticky. But be prepared to move fast. You may have to make some calls. I’ve your back, lad.”
“But who’s got yours, sir?”
Bundie pressed a weapon into the boy’s hand. It was a late model ISDA. The boy gaped.
“''You'' do, son. We stand, or fall, together.”
The boy nodded.
At that moment the [[SIV]] started rolling.
“Stand by: Incoming.”


“Oh, come on, cherie — we ’ave a little fun, n’est-ce pas? —”
“Oh, come on, cherie — we ’ave a little fun, n’est-ce pas? —”
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