Alex
Kingdom of Greece
- Apr 16, 2019
- 4,954
TRIGGER WARNING: This story will not only involve the mass murder of adults, but also minors. This post also contains various racial slurs. Be warned that the content below is not for the faint of heart — read at your own risk!
On the outskirts of Ottawa sat a lonely home, on a property of an open and empty field, with only a detached garage to keep it company. To any passing bystander, the property seemed innocent enough, unimportant even. It seemed like one of those many properties scattered throughout the country whose inhabitant was an old man who never seemed to receive any visitors, sticking to himself and too stubborn to ever meet his neighbors. If only they really knew, then no one would look at a lonesome house the same again and perhaps what was to come could have been avoided...
From within the garage window emanated the dim light of a singular bulb, fighting off the darkness of an early cloudy December morning. Seven men were inside, loading up the same number of duffle bags, and placing them within a shuttle bus that they had painted to look as much as possible to one of the Park’n Fly buses used at Ottawa’s airport. It wasn’t a perfect match, but the errors in their work were subtle enough that only a trained eye would be able to tell the difference.
The men themselves had cut their hair and shaved their beards this morning, not for any political purposes, but for the purposes of ease. It would be far easier to accomplish what they had planned if they didn’t have hair obscuring their vision or an itch upon their chin. They all wore black and thick clothing that offered both mobility but also protection from the cold that was a Canadian winter and each had a vest wrapped around it all, offering a different type of protection. Underneath this clothing, etched upon their skin with needle and ink, bore their beliefs: Swastikas, Wolfsangels, Odal and Algiz runes, Black Suns, and the Hammer and Sword.
“Eleven minutes.” Stated Alfwin, breaking the long silence, as he tossed his duffel bag into the bus.
Quickly, the other men wrapped up what they were doing, stuffing everything from the garage shelves and tables into the bags. Over a hundred loaded magazines, a dozen pipe bombs, twice as many glass bottles of a putrid mixture of alcohol, gasoline, and styrofoam, and finally, within each bag: a singular grenade.
“Ten minutes.” Alfwin’s words were now spoken as a command. It was time to go.
Another man, Carwyn, took to the driver’s seat and the other six men boarded to the back of the short bus. Its windows were tinted, covered up by the white and green paint and stickers of the Park’n Fly known branding. The perfect disguise, like wolves in sheep’s clothing, no one would know the threat of their presence until the very last moment, when it would be too late.
With a groan of the mechanics, the garage door pulled open and the bus rolled forward, its wheels crunching the snow as they reached the open road. It was raining ice, the sun hidden away by dark clouds, and they were only minutes away from the airport.
It was a cold day.
8:38am
Christmas was less than a week away. Planes had been coming and leaving frequently for the last month, with families coming in from overseas or across the country or families boarding to leave for similar purposes. The airport was currently the busiest it had been all year with thousands having already passed through the port of entry only eight hours into the day.
Their bus slowed to a halt, stopping atop the parking spot reserved specifically for shuttle buses, right in front of the front doors to the airport building. The men did not disembark just yet, there were far too many people running back and forth from their vehicles and out of the terminal, too many cars and taxis coming in and leaving.
Surprise was going to be advantageous to the success of today, they could not jeopardize it. And so, they waited. A few minutes passed as more vehicles left and the entrance and sidewalks began to clear up.
As they waited, the men made their final preparations. Their vests were tightened, their guns checked and cleared one final time, and the duffel bags they carried were placed around their shoulders where they wore them over their chest rather than their backs to offer much easier and quicker access to their ammunition and explosives.
Finally, as the clock struck 8:40am, they chose to wait no longer.
”Ready?” Carwyn asked, half whispering.
All the men nodded.
“For Canada, for the race!”
The men repeated the chant. “For Canada, for the race!”
They disembarked.
8:41am
Quick and fearful glances were shot at them by the passersby outside the terminal building and they were quick on their feet to run away or drive off as quickly as they could, cutting each other off and leaving behind their belongings.
The men paid them no attention, it seemed luck would have these people survive this day. The same could not be said of the hundreds of souls within the confines of the building which was to become their mausoleum.
Many of the men had wished to spare their people. They had wished to only target the unfit like the niggers, chinks, retards, pajeets, and all of the other stinks of the Earth that dirtied the land they walked upon. But this mission was not as holy as a cleansing, its goal was instead to inspire rage and chaos. To assure that the people of Canada were not to feel safe in public places, on the streets, within their very homes.
No one was to be spared.
Today, they were to bring upon the Canadian people's rebirth and it was this massacre, this payment of blood which was to light the match that would ignite the fires of the pyre. Salvation awaited them and soon their names would be etched upon murals, whispered from every mouth, and thought of for all eternity.
A cacophony of machinery, beeping of metal detectors, and countless voices hit them the moment the doors swung open. Six days to Christmas and the place was just as bustling as they had hoped, like fish in a bucket.
Before them spanned a large open area where the gates were located. People arrived to verify tickets and their luggage and the passengers who disembarked did so here before heading downstairs to the baggage claims. The gates numbered just about three dozen, all placed in a straight line, and they all had queues before them that contained at least a dozen people.
It was one of the building’s many janitors that spotted them first, tripping over his mop bucket as he began running away as quickly as he could. “Guns!” He screamed. “They have guns!”
All heads turned towards them and most began to run, tripping over and pushing and trappling others as they vainly attempted to escape impending death. A police officer stepped forward, taking cover behind a pillar and went to draw his pistol. Immediately, the seven men raised their weapons and unloaded into the crowd.
Bullets from assault rifles, submachine guns, and light machine guns pierced through the herd and the shells of shotgun blasts ripped them apart. Screams of fear, wails of pain, and the cries of infants echoed through the thundering ringing of gunfire. Blood covered the once white floor and walls, the crimson seeping deep within every crack of the tiles, staining everything it touched.
“Split up.” Alfwin ordered.
Having run through the plan a hundred times before, the men split into three groups. The first were Alfwin, Carleton, and Abel; the second was Carwyn and Olavi; and the third was Szebasztián and Antonello. As Alfwin and his group continued straight, Carwyn and Olavi went left as Szebasztián and Antonello went to the right.
They moved quickly, reaching into their bags whenever they needed a reload, carnage being created behind their every step. Alfwin and his duo reached the top of the escalators which lead down to the baggage claim, an enormous room the size of a theater. It was pure chaos, hundreds running and fumbling, a perfect spot for their creations.
Reaching into his bag, Alfwin pulled out a pipe bomb. Activated, he tossed it full strength into the amassment of people only twenty feet ahead of him. Two seconds later and the explosion shook the building, severing limbs and sending shrapnel through the bodies of all these unfortunate enough to be in the radius.
The two men that accompanied them tossed weapons of their own, lighting up their molotovs and tossing them into the crowd. They had mixed the alcohol with gasoline and styrofoam for the specific purpose of doing as much damage as possible. The moment the bottle shattered, the styrofoam flung onto the clothing and skin of those nearby and the gasoline made them stick to it all, burning deep and fast. They tossed three in total; one on a obese man who was attempting to crawl away, another on a mother who tried to carry her child away to safety, and the last crashed on a trio of Pakis.
As they descended the escalators and continued their onslaught, an ungodly smell began to fill the place: burning flesh, gasoline, blood… It was more than enough to make anyone vomit, but the men were not sickened by it, they were exhilarated by it, they grinned as they pulled their triggers.
RCMP Responding to the Scene with Armored Vehicles
8:46am
"10-33!" Police radios throughout Ottawa lit up with life as calls for help flooded through. "I repeat, 10-33! I need all available units in the city at YOW now! We have an active 10-72, multiple armed suspects. Dozens are injured or dead, we need ambulances and firetrucks here—now!"
The officers that had been outside of the main building when the gunfire started had aided as many people as they could to vacate the area via a safe passage they had molded using both their vehicles and those of others. However, armed with nothing more than pistols, they stood little chance against the military-grade weaponry and for the most part they remained far from the walls of the building, only taking pot shots when they saw the opportunity as they awaited the arrival of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
One of the Many Fires Spreading Within the Airport
8:48am
Alfwin’s inventory of shells had nearly run dry and on his last magazine, his shotgun chose to jam, the next shell improperly moving into the chamber. The woman he had targeted within his sights ran and he ran after her, letting his shotgun fall down beside him, secured by the strap it was attached to.
Faster and stronger than her, he tackled her to the floor and reached to his hip for his pistol. “Please!” She begged as he placed its barrel against the base of her skull and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood and pieces of bone and meat and other bits flew towards him, splattering his face and drenching his clothing.
He rose from above her, putting his pistol back into his holster, and grabbed the submachine gun that hung against her opposite hip. Though he paused, not continuing with the onslaught just yet as something caught his eye, or rather—someone.
It was Merle, frozen in place, looking down to his feet. “Carleton?” Leone approached him, getting a good view of what the man was looking down to. A lifeless corpse, drenched in blood, face down. From the size of it, the body was that of a dwarf or a toddler. Either way, Carleton was hesitating, a deadly action, one that could ruin this entire mission. “Having second thoughts?”
There was silence for a moment, gunshots still echoing in the distance. “I…” Wrong answer. “No.” He reached into his duffle bag and began loading more shells into his Mossberg.
Meanwhile, Alfwin lifted his submachine gun, and aimed for Carleton’s head. “Sorry, bud.” He really was sorry, but hesitation could not be tolerated. They were trained better than that. Merle turned towards him, bracing to defend him, but he was too slow and two rounds entered his skull, blowing his brains across the room.
When the ringing in his ears slightly calmed down, the sirens could be heard. The RCMP was here—time to wrap up.
Bending down over Merle, he reached into his bag and took out the grenade. Quickly, he pulled the pin, dropped in on the man’s chest and ran as fast as he could, taking cover behind one of the terminal’s many pillars. Three seconds later the grenade exploded and with it the pipe bombs that were in Merle’s bag and then the molotovs threw fire all around the airport, starting many fires that quickly grew.
The explosion tore apart the man’s body and while it wasn’t going to stop the authorities from putting the pieces together and making an ID out of his remains, it was certainly going to slow them down and that’s all they needed: time.
The gunshots were slowing down, most of the survivors having made it out of the airport, into the arms of the police.
Over the corner, Abel came running back, stopping in his tracks and he saw the fire and smoke. “What the fuck happened?!”
“Carleton blew himself up.” Alfwin’s words were cold, without a semblance of humanity. “Idiot dropped one of his pipe bombs.”
“...Fuck!”
“Continue the mission.”
“Y-yeah.” He cleared his throat and beaconed to be followed. “The boys are up ahead. Pigs are gathering up, there’s armored cars and they’ve got some assault rifles. They’re preparing to breach, but we’re ready to start our assault on the fuckers.”
“Lead the way.”
RCMP Emergency Response Team Sniper
8:52am
Closely behind Abel, Alfwin turned the corner to the large food court. It was there that all the men had gathered, the many pillars, half-walls, and restaurants and tables offering more than enough cover against law enforcement pot shots and possible assault.
Drawing in closer to the position of the others, the glass which offered their view to the outside world shattered with a bang and Abel fell over, his legs suddenly buckling under themselves. Jumping behind cover, it took a moment for Alfwin to realize that Abel’s head had exploded.
“Sniper!” He yelled out.
“God fucking damn it!” Olavi’s voice. “How are we doing this?”
Safe behind cover, he unjammed his shotgun and began loading new shells into it. “We give ‘em everything we’ve fucking got!” The others didn’t know but this wasn’t part of the mission, it was simply what he had told them.
There wasn’t going to be any sort of heroic last stand, they weren’t going to shoot their way out of here like an Old Western bank robbery. They had come here to kill, plant the seed, and that had accomplished that. The Front couldn’t risk any of them surviving here today, to be taken in and questioned, to speak truths that would untangle the web that had been knitted for years passing.
They were to die here this morning and that would be that.
“Give me some covering fire, I’m coming closer!”
“Got it!” Olavi and Antonello poked out of cover, Olavi sprayed at the police with his light machine gun and Antonello taking more precise shots with his battle rifle.
Gunfire from the police was immediately returned and windows began to shatter as bullets flew across the food court, pelting through the wood of tables and half-walls and beating against the pillars that surrounded them. Glass, dust, and pieces of wood flew all about them. Alfwin crawled closer and closer, taking his time in the hopes that his job would become easier.
“Reloading!” Antonello called out as he crouched back behind the table, reaching into his bag. “Shit! I’m out!” As he realized this, Olavi’s scream pierced through the noise of gunfire as he fell onto his back, blood seeping out from his neck. “Olavi’s down!”
Still crawling, Alfwin arrived, taking a glance at Olavi. Already, the life from his eyes had left, dead in seconds. “Our brother’s gone.” Alfwin undid the strap of the dead man’s machine gun and passed it to Antonello. “We return fire, until we’ve nothing else to give them! For Canada, for the race!”
“For Canada, for the race!” They all repeated.
As three other men rose from cover and fired down across the street at the various police vehicles, Alfwin reached into his bag and retrieved a pipe bomb. If he had to make a list of ways he wanted to go out of this world, this way wouldn’t be anywhere near the top, but men often never had a say in their fates and destinies.
Lighting the bomb, he stuffed it into Olavi’s bag, sat down, and closed his eyes.
Three… Gunfire. Two… Gunfire. One… Explosion.
At 8:55am the food court of the airport erupted in a massive explosion which shook the surrounding area. When the fires were killed off all the police could find of the men were severed limbs, pools of blood, and blackened bones.
On December 19th 2002, two-hundred and forty-three people perished within the confines of Ottawa’s international airport…
DECEMBER 19TH
OTTAWA MACDONALD-CARTIER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
Leone Alfwin, Michiel Abel, and Gawain Olavi Seen Through Airport CCTV
8:29amOTTAWA MACDONALD-CARTIER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
Leone Alfwin, Michiel Abel, and Gawain Olavi Seen Through Airport CCTV
On the outskirts of Ottawa sat a lonely home, on a property of an open and empty field, with only a detached garage to keep it company. To any passing bystander, the property seemed innocent enough, unimportant even. It seemed like one of those many properties scattered throughout the country whose inhabitant was an old man who never seemed to receive any visitors, sticking to himself and too stubborn to ever meet his neighbors. If only they really knew, then no one would look at a lonesome house the same again and perhaps what was to come could have been avoided...
From within the garage window emanated the dim light of a singular bulb, fighting off the darkness of an early cloudy December morning. Seven men were inside, loading up the same number of duffle bags, and placing them within a shuttle bus that they had painted to look as much as possible to one of the Park’n Fly buses used at Ottawa’s airport. It wasn’t a perfect match, but the errors in their work were subtle enough that only a trained eye would be able to tell the difference.
The men themselves had cut their hair and shaved their beards this morning, not for any political purposes, but for the purposes of ease. It would be far easier to accomplish what they had planned if they didn’t have hair obscuring their vision or an itch upon their chin. They all wore black and thick clothing that offered both mobility but also protection from the cold that was a Canadian winter and each had a vest wrapped around it all, offering a different type of protection. Underneath this clothing, etched upon their skin with needle and ink, bore their beliefs: Swastikas, Wolfsangels, Odal and Algiz runes, Black Suns, and the Hammer and Sword.
“Eleven minutes.” Stated Alfwin, breaking the long silence, as he tossed his duffel bag into the bus.
Quickly, the other men wrapped up what they were doing, stuffing everything from the garage shelves and tables into the bags. Over a hundred loaded magazines, a dozen pipe bombs, twice as many glass bottles of a putrid mixture of alcohol, gasoline, and styrofoam, and finally, within each bag: a singular grenade.
“Ten minutes.” Alfwin’s words were now spoken as a command. It was time to go.
Another man, Carwyn, took to the driver’s seat and the other six men boarded to the back of the short bus. Its windows were tinted, covered up by the white and green paint and stickers of the Park’n Fly known branding. The perfect disguise, like wolves in sheep’s clothing, no one would know the threat of their presence until the very last moment, when it would be too late.
With a groan of the mechanics, the garage door pulled open and the bus rolled forward, its wheels crunching the snow as they reached the open road. It was raining ice, the sun hidden away by dark clouds, and they were only minutes away from the airport.
It was a cold day.
8:38am
Christmas was less than a week away. Planes had been coming and leaving frequently for the last month, with families coming in from overseas or across the country or families boarding to leave for similar purposes. The airport was currently the busiest it had been all year with thousands having already passed through the port of entry only eight hours into the day.
Their bus slowed to a halt, stopping atop the parking spot reserved specifically for shuttle buses, right in front of the front doors to the airport building. The men did not disembark just yet, there were far too many people running back and forth from their vehicles and out of the terminal, too many cars and taxis coming in and leaving.
Surprise was going to be advantageous to the success of today, they could not jeopardize it. And so, they waited. A few minutes passed as more vehicles left and the entrance and sidewalks began to clear up.
As they waited, the men made their final preparations. Their vests were tightened, their guns checked and cleared one final time, and the duffel bags they carried were placed around their shoulders where they wore them over their chest rather than their backs to offer much easier and quicker access to their ammunition and explosives.
Finally, as the clock struck 8:40am, they chose to wait no longer.
”Ready?” Carwyn asked, half whispering.
All the men nodded.
“For Canada, for the race!”
The men repeated the chant. “For Canada, for the race!”
They disembarked.
8:41am
Quick and fearful glances were shot at them by the passersby outside the terminal building and they were quick on their feet to run away or drive off as quickly as they could, cutting each other off and leaving behind their belongings.
The men paid them no attention, it seemed luck would have these people survive this day. The same could not be said of the hundreds of souls within the confines of the building which was to become their mausoleum.
Many of the men had wished to spare their people. They had wished to only target the unfit like the niggers, chinks, retards, pajeets, and all of the other stinks of the Earth that dirtied the land they walked upon. But this mission was not as holy as a cleansing, its goal was instead to inspire rage and chaos. To assure that the people of Canada were not to feel safe in public places, on the streets, within their very homes.
No one was to be spared.
Today, they were to bring upon the Canadian people's rebirth and it was this massacre, this payment of blood which was to light the match that would ignite the fires of the pyre. Salvation awaited them and soon their names would be etched upon murals, whispered from every mouth, and thought of for all eternity.
A cacophony of machinery, beeping of metal detectors, and countless voices hit them the moment the doors swung open. Six days to Christmas and the place was just as bustling as they had hoped, like fish in a bucket.
Before them spanned a large open area where the gates were located. People arrived to verify tickets and their luggage and the passengers who disembarked did so here before heading downstairs to the baggage claims. The gates numbered just about three dozen, all placed in a straight line, and they all had queues before them that contained at least a dozen people.
It was one of the building’s many janitors that spotted them first, tripping over his mop bucket as he began running away as quickly as he could. “Guns!” He screamed. “They have guns!”
All heads turned towards them and most began to run, tripping over and pushing and trappling others as they vainly attempted to escape impending death. A police officer stepped forward, taking cover behind a pillar and went to draw his pistol. Immediately, the seven men raised their weapons and unloaded into the crowd.
Bullets from assault rifles, submachine guns, and light machine guns pierced through the herd and the shells of shotgun blasts ripped them apart. Screams of fear, wails of pain, and the cries of infants echoed through the thundering ringing of gunfire. Blood covered the once white floor and walls, the crimson seeping deep within every crack of the tiles, staining everything it touched.
“Split up.” Alfwin ordered.
Having run through the plan a hundred times before, the men split into three groups. The first were Alfwin, Carleton, and Abel; the second was Carwyn and Olavi; and the third was Szebasztián and Antonello. As Alfwin and his group continued straight, Carwyn and Olavi went left as Szebasztián and Antonello went to the right.
They moved quickly, reaching into their bags whenever they needed a reload, carnage being created behind their every step. Alfwin and his duo reached the top of the escalators which lead down to the baggage claim, an enormous room the size of a theater. It was pure chaos, hundreds running and fumbling, a perfect spot for their creations.
Reaching into his bag, Alfwin pulled out a pipe bomb. Activated, he tossed it full strength into the amassment of people only twenty feet ahead of him. Two seconds later and the explosion shook the building, severing limbs and sending shrapnel through the bodies of all these unfortunate enough to be in the radius.
The two men that accompanied them tossed weapons of their own, lighting up their molotovs and tossing them into the crowd. They had mixed the alcohol with gasoline and styrofoam for the specific purpose of doing as much damage as possible. The moment the bottle shattered, the styrofoam flung onto the clothing and skin of those nearby and the gasoline made them stick to it all, burning deep and fast. They tossed three in total; one on a obese man who was attempting to crawl away, another on a mother who tried to carry her child away to safety, and the last crashed on a trio of Pakis.
As they descended the escalators and continued their onslaught, an ungodly smell began to fill the place: burning flesh, gasoline, blood… It was more than enough to make anyone vomit, but the men were not sickened by it, they were exhilarated by it, they grinned as they pulled their triggers.
RCMP Responding to the Scene with Armored Vehicles
8:46am
"10-33!" Police radios throughout Ottawa lit up with life as calls for help flooded through. "I repeat, 10-33! I need all available units in the city at YOW now! We have an active 10-72, multiple armed suspects. Dozens are injured or dead, we need ambulances and firetrucks here—now!"
The officers that had been outside of the main building when the gunfire started had aided as many people as they could to vacate the area via a safe passage they had molded using both their vehicles and those of others. However, armed with nothing more than pistols, they stood little chance against the military-grade weaponry and for the most part they remained far from the walls of the building, only taking pot shots when they saw the opportunity as they awaited the arrival of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
One of the Many Fires Spreading Within the Airport
8:48am
Alfwin’s inventory of shells had nearly run dry and on his last magazine, his shotgun chose to jam, the next shell improperly moving into the chamber. The woman he had targeted within his sights ran and he ran after her, letting his shotgun fall down beside him, secured by the strap it was attached to.
Faster and stronger than her, he tackled her to the floor and reached to his hip for his pistol. “Please!” She begged as he placed its barrel against the base of her skull and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood and pieces of bone and meat and other bits flew towards him, splattering his face and drenching his clothing.
He rose from above her, putting his pistol back into his holster, and grabbed the submachine gun that hung against her opposite hip. Though he paused, not continuing with the onslaught just yet as something caught his eye, or rather—someone.
It was Merle, frozen in place, looking down to his feet. “Carleton?” Leone approached him, getting a good view of what the man was looking down to. A lifeless corpse, drenched in blood, face down. From the size of it, the body was that of a dwarf or a toddler. Either way, Carleton was hesitating, a deadly action, one that could ruin this entire mission. “Having second thoughts?”
There was silence for a moment, gunshots still echoing in the distance. “I…” Wrong answer. “No.” He reached into his duffle bag and began loading more shells into his Mossberg.
Meanwhile, Alfwin lifted his submachine gun, and aimed for Carleton’s head. “Sorry, bud.” He really was sorry, but hesitation could not be tolerated. They were trained better than that. Merle turned towards him, bracing to defend him, but he was too slow and two rounds entered his skull, blowing his brains across the room.
When the ringing in his ears slightly calmed down, the sirens could be heard. The RCMP was here—time to wrap up.
Bending down over Merle, he reached into his bag and took out the grenade. Quickly, he pulled the pin, dropped in on the man’s chest and ran as fast as he could, taking cover behind one of the terminal’s many pillars. Three seconds later the grenade exploded and with it the pipe bombs that were in Merle’s bag and then the molotovs threw fire all around the airport, starting many fires that quickly grew.
The explosion tore apart the man’s body and while it wasn’t going to stop the authorities from putting the pieces together and making an ID out of his remains, it was certainly going to slow them down and that’s all they needed: time.
The gunshots were slowing down, most of the survivors having made it out of the airport, into the arms of the police.
Over the corner, Abel came running back, stopping in his tracks and he saw the fire and smoke. “What the fuck happened?!”
“Carleton blew himself up.” Alfwin’s words were cold, without a semblance of humanity. “Idiot dropped one of his pipe bombs.”
“...Fuck!”
“Continue the mission.”
“Y-yeah.” He cleared his throat and beaconed to be followed. “The boys are up ahead. Pigs are gathering up, there’s armored cars and they’ve got some assault rifles. They’re preparing to breach, but we’re ready to start our assault on the fuckers.”
“Lead the way.”
RCMP Emergency Response Team Sniper
8:52am
Closely behind Abel, Alfwin turned the corner to the large food court. It was there that all the men had gathered, the many pillars, half-walls, and restaurants and tables offering more than enough cover against law enforcement pot shots and possible assault.
Drawing in closer to the position of the others, the glass which offered their view to the outside world shattered with a bang and Abel fell over, his legs suddenly buckling under themselves. Jumping behind cover, it took a moment for Alfwin to realize that Abel’s head had exploded.
“Sniper!” He yelled out.
“God fucking damn it!” Olavi’s voice. “How are we doing this?”
Safe behind cover, he unjammed his shotgun and began loading new shells into it. “We give ‘em everything we’ve fucking got!” The others didn’t know but this wasn’t part of the mission, it was simply what he had told them.
There wasn’t going to be any sort of heroic last stand, they weren’t going to shoot their way out of here like an Old Western bank robbery. They had come here to kill, plant the seed, and that had accomplished that. The Front couldn’t risk any of them surviving here today, to be taken in and questioned, to speak truths that would untangle the web that had been knitted for years passing.
They were to die here this morning and that would be that.
“Give me some covering fire, I’m coming closer!”
“Got it!” Olavi and Antonello poked out of cover, Olavi sprayed at the police with his light machine gun and Antonello taking more precise shots with his battle rifle.
Gunfire from the police was immediately returned and windows began to shatter as bullets flew across the food court, pelting through the wood of tables and half-walls and beating against the pillars that surrounded them. Glass, dust, and pieces of wood flew all about them. Alfwin crawled closer and closer, taking his time in the hopes that his job would become easier.
“Reloading!” Antonello called out as he crouched back behind the table, reaching into his bag. “Shit! I’m out!” As he realized this, Olavi’s scream pierced through the noise of gunfire as he fell onto his back, blood seeping out from his neck. “Olavi’s down!”
Still crawling, Alfwin arrived, taking a glance at Olavi. Already, the life from his eyes had left, dead in seconds. “Our brother’s gone.” Alfwin undid the strap of the dead man’s machine gun and passed it to Antonello. “We return fire, until we’ve nothing else to give them! For Canada, for the race!”
“For Canada, for the race!” They all repeated.
As three other men rose from cover and fired down across the street at the various police vehicles, Alfwin reached into his bag and retrieved a pipe bomb. If he had to make a list of ways he wanted to go out of this world, this way wouldn’t be anywhere near the top, but men often never had a say in their fates and destinies.
Lighting the bomb, he stuffed it into Olavi’s bag, sat down, and closed his eyes.
Three… Gunfire. Two… Gunfire. One… Explosion.
At 8:55am the food court of the airport erupted in a massive explosion which shook the surrounding area. When the fires were killed off all the police could find of the men were severed limbs, pools of blood, and blackened bones.
On December 19th 2002, two-hundred and forty-three people perished within the confines of Ottawa’s international airport…
