The cultists came, some walking, some dancing to the beat of drums and flutes. Some of them wore ordinary clothes while others wore orange robes that resembled those of Indian ascetics. Some had shaven heads. Some of them carried placards with anti-EOGC slogans, others, pictures of Hindu gods and religious figures as well as divinities and saints of different religions. A few of them carried huge portraits of their recently-deceased guru.
Although this was a cult with strong Indian motifs, the guru himself was a Filipino. He was a fat, middle-aged man with a shaved head and dark skin. The portraits the cultists carried had his image somewhat embellished with halos around his head and garlands of flowers around his neck.
The cultists chanted mantras, praises to their guru and slogans hostile to the EOGC. They waved their swords, bloodied by their confrontation only a few minutes ago. Others carried knives. Within the group of cultists was a circle of women dancing roundabout a chunky man whose head had been shaved and stripped to the waist. He wore a garland of flowers around his neck and an orange sheet of cloth around his waist; he held aloft a large framed tarp bearing the image of the guru. Another cultist, similarly dressed, carried a megaphone and a .45-caliber pistol. He was shouting out anti-EOGC slogans, mantras and orders. He was even mocking the cardinal. This cultist, the man zeroed his attention on.
But he had to sound professional. He turned around to address the security forces. "No shooting unless necessary!" he shouted. "Exercise maximum tolerance! Strike to suppress! Emphasize restraint!"
"Those orders are useless," commented Maximilian as the man turned back to him. He glanced at Maximilian then looked at the fanatics. Almost immediately, something flew from the ranks of the cultists and burst into flames at the line of security personnel, burning some of the men. It was a molotov cocktail.
"Brace yourself, captain," continued Maximilian, unfazed by the explosion. "It's about to get worse."
A few seconds later, what looked like a paper package was thrown from the cultists and exploded with the force of a grenade. It was an improvised explosive devise, an IED. If the fanatics had IEDs, that now made them terrorists. This was no longer a riot operation; it was now an anti-terror operation.
"IED detected! IED detected!" came the warning on the EGOC security radios.
Maximilian drew his sword. "No more Mr. Nice Guy," he said to the man.
"Call for backup!" the man roared at his subordinate.
The fanatics began shooting.
The man readied his sub-machinegun. "Advance and return fire!" he cried.
The cultists chanted mantras, praises to their guru and slogans hostile to the EOGC. They waved their swords, bloodied by their confrontation only a few minutes ago. Others carried knives. Within the group of cultists was a circle of women dancing roundabout a chunky man whose head had been shaved and stripped to the waist. He wore a garland of flowers around his neck and an orange sheet of cloth around his waist; he held aloft a large framed tarp bearing the image of the guru. Another cultist, similarly dressed, carried a megaphone and a .45-caliber pistol. He was shouting out anti-EOGC slogans, mantras and orders. He was even mocking the cardinal. This cultist, the man zeroed his attention on.
But he had to sound professional. He turned around to address the security forces. "No shooting unless necessary!" he shouted. "Exercise maximum tolerance! Strike to suppress! Emphasize restraint!"
"Those orders are useless," commented Maximilian as the man turned back to him. He glanced at Maximilian then looked at the fanatics. Almost immediately, something flew from the ranks of the cultists and burst into flames at the line of security personnel, burning some of the men. It was a molotov cocktail.
"Brace yourself, captain," continued Maximilian, unfazed by the explosion. "It's about to get worse."
A few seconds later, what looked like a paper package was thrown from the cultists and exploded with the force of a grenade. It was an improvised explosive devise, an IED. If the fanatics had IEDs, that now made them terrorists. This was no longer a riot operation; it was now an anti-terror operation.
"IED detected! IED detected!" came the warning on the EGOC security radios.
Maximilian drew his sword. "No more Mr. Nice Guy," he said to the man.
"Call for backup!" the man roared at his subordinate.
The fanatics began shooting.
The man readied his sub-machinegun. "Advance and return fire!" he cried.
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