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07-18-2012, 08:38 AM | #11 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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24 0300A Feb
Beach Head starred at the village through binoculars, then reached for his radio. “No movement, no sound, not even animals.” Low Light scanned the village through his thermal scope. “This is my second vantage point and I’m still not getting anything on thermal.” Lt Falcon rubbed his face and took a deep breath. “Spirit, Tunnel Rat and Hit & Run will shift arcs and cover the dirt road entering the village from the south west. Beach Head’s section provides overwatch. My section will sweep the village.” Beach Head winced. The mission was strictly covert, and any compromise in the village could jeopardise future patrols. Then he started to assign new arcs. Lt Falcon stepped forward carefully, flanked by Ripcord, Crazy Legs, Outback and Recondo. They knelt by the first grass hut and Falcon peered through a gap in the window. There was insufficient ambient light for his naked eye or NVG to make out anything. He sniffed. Rotting meat. He tapped Outback on the shoulder. “We’ll crack the door. You scan left, I’ll scan right.” Outback slung his rifle on his back and drew his pistol and cracked an IR glowstick. He pushed open the door, tossed in the glowstick, stepped in turning left and scanning. Falcon stepped in immediately behind and swung right. A cloud of flies awoke and the room filled with buzzing. The stench caused both men to gag. Outback swore and finished checking the room. “Six dead. Looks like they were killed with machetes.” Falcon stepped outside and breathed deeply. “Rip, Legs, check that building.” He pointed left. “Recondo, we’ll get this next one.” Eighteen huts and 130 bodies later, Falcon regrouped the patrol on the far side of the village. Spirit and Outback were examining the area for tracks. “The bodies are at least five days old. It’s rained every day since then, washing away most tracks, and there haven’t been any fresh ones in the interim. All dead were hacked to death, though, so unless we’re extending our search to machete vendors this is a cold trail. Hawk is pushing us 500 metres to the southwest to observe where this track intersects with another. First light is in just over an hour.” Eight hundred metres to their west, Gung Ho stepped over mangrove roots. He held up his hand and sank to a knee. Wet Suit closed up behind him. Gung Ho pointed to his right. Wet Suit pulled secateurs from a pocket and started snipping through vines. Leatherneck passed through the opening, taking over point, with Wet Suit close behind to clear obstructions. Torpedo slid by, followed by Muskrat, who tapped Gung Ho on the shoulder to fall in as rear guard of the four-man patrol. Over the next hour the patrol covered five hundred metres, moving alongside an almost invisible inlet running off the river. Torpedo halted the patrol in the ORV* and motioned to Leatherneck, Muskrat and Wet Suit. “You three provide overwatch. We’ll move into a vantage point.” Torpedo and Gung Ho dropped to their bellies and began to slither through the jungle growth for almost a hundred metres until they were in position. Torpedo raised the thermal binos to his eyes and started to scan. Gung Ho peered through an image intensifying monocular. They both lowered their devices and scanned naked eye. They repeated this process for an hour before Gung Ho touched Torpedo on the arm. “Look, where the creepers enter the river,” he pointed. “The right hand edge is just too uniform. Follow it to that branch,” he adjusted his point. “It’s a camouflage cover.” Torpedo nodded, and started to prepare a sitrep. Aboard the Jane, Scarlett finished plotting positions. Claymore compared the patrols positions with the Jane’s fire support overlay, then picked up a radio. “Short Fuze, Grand Slam, and Downtown, move to waypoint one. Lt Falcon’s patrol will be out of the Jane’s fire support range. Once in location, coordinate with Falcon for final protective fire grids.” Beside Scarlett, Lady Jaye was translating electronic intercepts from French to English. A message flashed up from Alpine. “Doing more background work on Ares. They’ve received a number of shipments from the same freighter, the MS Ramona, flagged in Liberia, insured by a private firm in Romania. The freighter beneficial ownership is concealed in a tangled mess of bearer shares, but looks to somehow be connected to a subsidiary of ARB Transport Co., headquartered in Springfield Vermont. They do truck transport around the northeast US. Again, a private company. In fact the only time a private company hasn’t been involved is the sister ship of the Ramona, the MS Arbco Star, which was insured by Lloyds and sunk a couple of years ago in the Pacific. Back to Liberia, turns out Ares has a small office there too, and the buildings are owned by Chokoloskee. My gut tells me there are too many coincidences for normal book keeping, but I can’t pin down anything actually incriminating.” Scarlett re-read the message and passed it to Lady Jaye. “Thoughts?” Lady Jaye read through it twice, and then shrugged. “I don’t have the finance background to comment. I don’t see anything here immediately relating to arms dealing in the Congo. Still, if it smells fishy to an accountant I say he might as well pursue it.” Scarlett nodded and typed out a quick response. “Keep digging. We’re getting into tactical intel on this end.” She turned back to the FalconView** screen. “Ok. Torpedo has eyes on a camouflaged dock and high-speed boat. That confirms the radar intercept last night. He’ll maintain overwatch until we figure out who owns it.” Stalker quietly stepped out onto the Jane’s deck, and saw the figure he was looking for silhouetted against the stars. “You’re supposed to be sleeping. That’s why Claymore has this shift.” Hawk nodded. Stalker stood beside him. “You had another conversation with those generals, didn’t you?” he asked. Hawk nodded, and turned. “I still can’t figure out their angle on this.” Stalker shrugged. “Listen, we could just as easily be scattered to any of our other missions right now. But we’re here, so let’s keep focussed on doing this fight as best we can.” Hawk smiled. “In that case you and I have to get out on a few patrols just to keep the sense of ground truth.” Stalker chuckled. “Oh we’ll get our chance. On a different note, I heard from the snake. He’s got another six weeks of rehab before he can join us. He’s spending some time with Dan Gable. Said he had to polish his ground work. Frankly, the guy is a little nuts, but he’ll be a great asset.” “Hmm. As for the guys here, what’s your take?” Stalker mulled this one over. “They’re glad to have weapons and to be finally out on a mission. Some of the younger guys have that mix of anxiousness and bravado, but they’re in good hands. The only ones I can’t get a read on are Torpedo and Deep Six. I’m pretty sure they’ll be fine. They’re just kind of emotionally dead.” It was Hawk’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah. They really are a pair of cold fish. Or maybe they just studied at the John Wooden school of emotional management.” Stalker laughed. The two stared at the stars for a while longer. Stalker finally turned to Hawk. “Come on – we both need rack time. I think things will be picking up soon, and you won’t be any good to us if you’ve burned yourself out in the first couple of weeks.” _______ * ORV - Objective Rendezvous - a designated location just short of the target. ** FalconView - a mapping program Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 05:52 PM.. |
07-19-2012, 09:43 AM | #12 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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25 1145A Feb 20XX
Lt Falcon’s patrol had moved an additional kilometre inland overnight after seeing no movement the previous day. The dirt road they observed led to two further villages and would, after a circuitous route, lead to Isangi. Zap, Tunnel Rat, Spirit and Crazy Legs were dozing in the patrol base, while others provided security and observation, the only sounds being those of local wildlife. Falcon shook his head slightly to shake off a fly when, in the distance, the sounds of several loud near simultaneous explosions and a long burst of automatic fire broke the silence. Everyone came alert instantly. There were two more bursts of automatic fire, then a series of a dozen single shots over the next two minutes. Lt Falcon called in the shotrep. Aboard the Jane, Claymore and Stalker conferred. “The sounds were probably from about a kilometre to the east of the patrol. Sound won’t carry much further than that in those trees, even accounting for the trail. The nearest village is a good five clicks from that.” Stalker scrolled the map. “We really need better intel on the factions contesting this area. Think it might be a reprisal for the village massacre?” Claymore shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll know until we get eyes on. At least Falcon can give us an idea of the weapons in use.” “Agreed.” Stalker picked up the radio. “Investigate the incident. Specifically report on weapons effects and suspected weapons.” “Roger out,” the radio crackled. Beach Head already the patrol formed up when Falcon gave the order to move. They remained several meters inside the tree line and had been moving for several minutes when Spirit froze and waved the patrol to the ground. Vehicle engines. Outback and Ripcord pulled cameras from their gear, and started recording the small convoy that passed. In the lead was a six-wheeled armoured vehicle with a one-meter turret. It was painted with streaks of green and tan, with the hint of white showing in places. Two 5-ton trucks followed, driven by helmeted men in blue and grey uniforms, and a jeep mounting four missiles and a machine gun brought up the rear. Falcon’s jaw dropped. A Vamp, painted blue-grey. He pointed to Beach Head. “Take half the patrol, including Spirit and Zap, and follow those trucks. Just follow their tracks. I’ll do the damage assessment.” Beach Head ground his teeth. “Lt Falcon, we barely have the firepower to take on that force with the whole patrol, assuming we got off the first shot. A half-patrol will be cut to pieces. Pick one objective.” Falcon shook his head. “No. This is our first solid lead. We need to know who they killed, but we also need to know who they are. No one else is out here, and we have zero air. I’ll let Short Fuze know so he can include us both in his fire plan.” Beach Head took a deep breath, then turned, pointed to half the section, and headed after the trucks. Outback disconnected the cameras from a hand held computer, connected it to a radio, and sent the still and video imagery back to the Jane. “Recondo, take point.” Recondo glanced over his shoulder to ensure everyone was ready, then resumed movement towards the scene of firing. Aboard the Jane, Scarlett and Lady Jaye pored over the imagery sent by the patrol. “Look at the lead vehicle. The paint job is pretty bad. You can make out a marking underneath.” “AMIS. That’s a mission in Sudan.” “I’d say someone captured a UN vehicle and brought it down here. I’ll check the database on lost vehicles.” “Look in the back of the trucks. More troops in the blue-grey uniforms. Looks like they’re all wearing bandanas. It isn’t that dusty out, though. I think I can make out AKMs, a Minimi and an RPG 7.” “I see the same.” “Now that Vamp is interesting. It gives us a link between Ares and the conflict.” Hawk joined them. “Do these guys bear any resemblance to the security guards on the Ares warehouse in Kinshasa?” Scarlett pulled up the old photos. “No. Different uniforms and different weapons.” Hawk rubbed his chin. “Ok. Have Mainframe start going through all of Ares’ sales. I want to know who they’re selling to out here.” Recondo sniffed the air. The smell of burning metal, fuel and rubber was strong. He turned to Falcon. “I’d say we’re 100m out. We should be wary of any mines or booby traps left behind.” Falcon nodded and waved Tunnel Rat forward. Tunnel Rat looked around. “Seriously? You want me to clear 100m of jungle? Do we have all day? Why don’t we get up on to the edge of the road. I can see if there’s anything along what passes for a shoulder while you guys cover me.” Falcon winced. “We do NOT have all day.” Falcon pulled out his map. “Let’s look at the most likely avenues of approach. They’re the ones likeliest to be mined.” The three huddled over the map. Tunnel Rat pulled a leaf off a tree and stripped it to just the stem. He used it to point on the map. “Here’s where I’d lay traps. Set up the ambush like so, mine the far side, mine the reinforcement route, and then drop something to cover withdrawal.” Falcon nodded. “Now THAT was what I was looking for. Watch the attitude.” Tunnel Rat handed his Mk 48 to Crazy Legs, taking the HK416, and he and Recondo resumed the advance. Reaching the edge of the tree line they took in the sight: A felled tree and three burning BTR80s with Bangladeshi markings. Eight bodies were visible, lying in pools of blood. Lt Falcon took in the scene. “Crazy Legs, cover the western approach. Ripcord and Low Light, cover the eastern approach. Recondo and Tunnel Rat, sweep the near tree line for booby traps and to ID firing positions. I’ll take a look at this scene.” He took a breath and then stepped out onto the road. He walked slowly past the burning vehicles, past the bodies sprawled on the ground, each with a bullet hole in the forehead. He examined the ground. No shell casings. No sign they ever had a chance to fight back. He started to take photographs, noting that all weapons and radios had been taken away. He stepped back into the tree line, meeting Recondo. “We’ve got no booby traps on this side. Rat’s checking out the far side. There are plenty of shell casings here, and a dozen scorch marks. I’d say they opened with a volley of RPG fire – six in all. Two per target. Then the hosed the area with MG fire from there and there,” he pointed. “Then they came out and executed anyone still alive. I’ve got a collection of 7.62mm short and 5.56mm casings and links. I’ve bagged a few so we can record ballistics and the stamps.” Tunnel Rat stepped out from the other side of the road. “Got a couple of PROM-1’s here. I want to BIP* ‘em.” Lt Falcon held up a hand. “Wait. Let me call all this in first.” They stepped back into the tree line, and Lt Falcon called in the sitrep. On the Jane, Hawk and Stalker conferred. “What’s the benefit in hitting a UN patrol?” “What was that patrol doing there? Especially since the government forces were avoiding the area.” Hawk scrolled through the photos on the screen. “With our dubious status out here I can’t even ask the UN what they were up to.” Stalker flipped through some of his notes. “I think Jordan still has some SOF out here. I have a couple of contacts with them. Let me do a quiet check. They’re not in this AO,** but might be able to get us some info.” Hawk sat silently for a minute. He scrolled to the photos of the mines. “Ok. Tell Falcon to blow those mines in place. Leave everything else.” He looked at the map. “Tell him to RV*** with a vehicle convoy here for replen and augmentation,” he pointed on the map. “He’s staying out 72 hours to investigate some of the nearby villages. We need to improve our white situational awareness.” He shifted focus on the map. “We’ll augment Beach Head too and have him stay out longer as well.” Spirit stared at the trail. Although it rained every day, the heat baked the mud to near concrete hardness in less than an hour. Still, heavy vehicles chipped away at ruts, and the discolouration of these tossed stone-hard mud chips indicated direction of travel and, to Spirit’s eye, age. He pointed to the right trail at the fork. The patrol rose and continued. As Spirit approached a bend he froze. The patrol immediately hit the ground again. Spirit waved forward Beach Head and pointed. Around the bend, in the middle of the trail, lay a foil wrapper. Beach Head scanned the tree line and covered Spirit as he moved forward to collect it. Hit & Run stood close behind him. “The Lt is pretty green, isn’t he,” he whispered. Beach Head spun, grabbed Hit & Run by the collar and pulled him close. He brought he head almost touching Hit & Run’s, and glared straight into his eyes. “Noise discipline,” he hissed, and pushed Hit & Run back into position. Outback trotted up to Beach Head and handed him the radio headset. “It’s Stalker” __________ * BIP - blow in place ** AO - Area of Operations ***RV - Rendezvous Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 10:22 AM.. |
07-20-2012, 10:26 AM | #13 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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25 2230A Feb 20XX
Steeler shook Lt Falcon’s hand, and handed him an envelope. “Your new orders. Grids of objectives, RV locations, timings, frequencies. You’ve got a couple of extra troopers to augment you too.” He pointed at Sneak Peak and Recoil. “Plus an extra radio, batteries and rations.” Recondo snorted. “This is the jungle, man. We’re supposed to be living off stale peanuts and cold coffee!” “You’re still stuffing those fat packs in your gear, though!” said Tunnel Rat. Lt Falcon flipped through the contents of the envelope, then turned back to Steeler. “Any word from Beach Head?” “Last I heard they’d almost caught up with that convoy. It veered off the track into the bush. Looks like there’s a decent sized clearing. He thought they might be waiting for aviation.” “Who has aviation out here?” “That’s what we’ll soon learn. I’m moving over to resup him too and augment him with Blowtorch and Footloose.” Beach Head lay motionless, watching the clearing. The enemy patrol had adopted an all-around defensive position, while several of the troopers were preparing the trucks and AVGP for sling loading. A tall man in brown fatigues and with an eye patch was issuing concise direction. Two burly black soldiers in mismatched camouflage and armed with an FN FAL and an R4, flanked him. The remainder of the group, at reinforced platoon size, wore blue-grey uniforms, helmets and black bandanas. They were armed with a mix of AKM, Dragunov, Minimi and RPG-7, and the vehicle crews were carrying PM-63s. Outback filmed the scene. The sound of rotor blades broke over the whine of flies and the occasional scream of a monkey. One of the enemy tossed a blue smoke grenade. “I don’t believe it,” muttered Hit & Run. Two long-legged Mi10s and an S-64 hovered over the clearing, were quickly connected to their loads, and took off. A second S-64, with a box body, landed, and the Vamp was driven in the back, followed by a dozen soldiers. A Hip landed, and the rest of the platoon collapsed onto the helicopter. Overhead, an armed Hip circled, while a distant roar told of a pair of jets flying high cover. Beach Head waited until Outback had transferred the imagery to computer and then sent it back to the Jane, and then took the handset. Aboard the Jane, Hawk and Claymore studied the map. “The limiting factor will be those Mi10s. They’ve got the shortest range, and they burned a bunch of fuel just getting here. Based on their approach and departure bearings we should be looking in a bubble about . . .” he traced an arc on the map. “Yeah, they’re going to have to stop in the vicinity of Opala.” Hawk turned to Topside and Dee-Jay. “Do you have anything on signals intercept?” Topside pushed a headset off one ear. “I think so. It was really brief and I don’t recognise the language. I’ll run it through the computer. The radar signature of the jets indicates MiG 21s.” Scarlett and Mainframe walked into the command room. “We’ll start reviewing those films for any aircraft markings. Ares mentioned having access to Mi10s. Maybe this is one more question for them.” Hawk nodded. “Scarlett, use our reach-back to see if there is any satellite coverage of Opala.” He turned to Claymore. “Keep Falcon and Beach Head on their tasks. We still need to improve our understanding of this area. Recover Torpedo. Talk to Night Flight about his airlift capabilities, and work on a plan for moving to Opala in 36 hours with a mix of mobility and boat pers.” Mainframe stared at a screen, examining the translation of the intercepted transmission. “Huh. Check this out. It’s unencrypted, but they must be using code words. In Esperanto.” They all looked at each other for several moments. “Well,” said Claymore. “That’s a first.” 26 0800A Feb 20XX The video teleconference reception was adequate, though with slight lag and occasional distortion. Claymore was discussing airlift charter with ABCA Air. “We offer airlift with a DC3 and an AN-26. We can do escort with PC-7, Soko J21, and Hawk 60. We can do helo lift with Hip. We’re small – seven pilots, five crew/mechanics, but we’ll get you places.” “We need to get twenty pers, two Vamps and about 3,000 pounds of equipment into the Opala region, and sustain them for up to ten days.” Night Flight turned to someone out of the camera’s field of vision. “Sikorski, Boyajian, give me your thoughts on this.” There was muffled conversation, and then a new face entered the screen. “Call me Lift Ticket. Here’s what I’m thinking. We’ve used a landing strip in your area of interest in the past, for NGOs and survey teams. We’ll pick you up at the airfield we used before. It will take two lifts to move your pers, kit and the two Vamps. Once in location we’ll have a Hip and an escort plane. The An-26 will be primarily used to refuel the others, but could do a paradrop, if you like jumping into trees.” Claymore nodded. “And you have no idea who is flying heavy helos in this area?” Lift Ticket shook his head. “Nope. And I’d like to know who it is. Sounds like they’re trying to muscle in on our business.” “One last thing. We’ll try to coordinate with a Hind and crew to join us. Will there be space on this strip for all of us?” Lift Ticket pulled out a tablet computer and did a couple of checks. “It will be tight, but we’ll manage. Who’s the pilot?” “He goes by Wild Bill.” Lift Ticket grinned. “It will be good to see him again. We’re on!” Scarlet handed a report to Hawk. “There was no satellite coverage at the time of flight. There was, however, an AFRICOM op going on in the CAR,* and they happened to have an AWACS** coordinating air movement. Our little piece of boondocks is at the edge of that AWACs’ radar range, and the helicopters were flying too low to be picked up. The jets, however, were spotted and tracked, and a transport aircraft took off from the Opala region just after midnight, headed towards the great lakes region. It left radar range before landing, so we don’t know where it ended up. There is no airport in that region, so it must have been a rough landing field. On a different note, still no movement on the boat covered by Torpedo’s UGS.***” ___________ * CAR - Central African Republic ** AWAC - airborne warning and control *** UGS - Unattended Ground Sensor Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 10:26 AM.. |
07-21-2012, 08:28 AM | #14 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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26 1130A Feb
Lt Falcon leaned his pack against a tree and scanned the village once more. There were only women and children, and not many at that. Most of them were missing a hand or an arm, a legacy of the brutal terror campaigns that had swept through the region. But not a single male was to be seen. He reached for a radio handset. “Jane, this is Falcon, over.” “Jane send.” “I have eyes on objective Victor 1. Twenty huts, about twelve women and fifteen children. No males of any age., over.” “Jane acknowledged.” “Request permission to reveal and question the villagers, over.” “Jane, wait out.” Lt Falcon clipped the handset to his shoulder strap and raised the parabolic microphone once more. The children were speaking something close enough to Swahili that he was sure he could converse with the villagers. “Falcon, this is Jane, over.” Falcon unclipped the handset. “Falcon send.” “Jane, request denied. Remain covert. Acknowledge, over.” Falcon swore. “Falcon acknowledged, out.” He shook his head. Until he could talk to people all he could do was guess at attitudes based on passive observation. Watching villagers tend to cassava crops and chase scrawny chickens wasn’t going to build an intel picture. “Where are all the men?” he whispered to himself. Aboard the Jane, Clutch, Dusty and Rock n Roll prepped vehicles and equipment for the airlift. Music blared from a battered ghetto blaster bungee corded to a shelf. “Dusty - what are you listening to?!” Rock n Roll asked. “Sain Zahoor.” “Well stop it. It’s even worse than country music.” Dusty pulled out a CD wallet and started flipping through it. “You prefer a little Salif Keita?” “No!” shouted Rock n Roll and Clutch in unison. “And yet you like Ali Toure . . .” Clutch rolled out from underneath a Vamp. “I just want to know who still carries cassettes and CDs in this day and age.” Tollbooth walked into the workspace. “I’ve finished the geo analysis. If you stay north-east of the Lomami River the only fording you’ll have to do can be managed with winches. I’ve got an expedient raft I’ve been tinkering with that you might experiment with, but otherwise your main hazard is swampy ground.” Claymore walked in behind Tollbooth. “How’s everything looking?” Rock n Roll wiped his hands on a rag. “Good. We’ve got extra fuel cans, four spare tires, a small stock of other spares. Both Vamps will mount remote-fired twin 7.62 MGs, and we’ve rigged storage for an 81mm mortar on one and the 84mm and spare rounds on the other. Short Fuze and Bazooka have already tested the layouts.” 27 1215A Feb 20XX Law and Mainframe scrolled through a consolidated intelligence report. The shell casings recovered by Lt Falcon’s patrol were not manufactured in any known factory. Two different thumbprints had been recovered. One was American: Tyler Stevens. Convicted of break and enter and assault in Jacksonville, Florida. The Department of Homeland Security recorded one exit from the US, for a Caribbean cruise the previous year. Interestingly, he was somehow still cashing checks in Jacksonville. The other thumbprint had a partial match with an Egyptian, Siddiqui Nahaz, two years at the University of Cairo studying telecommunications engineering, then arrested for political dissent. Finally, prints off the foil wrapper recovered by Spirit belonged to Roh Tae Jung of South Korea. He’d been expelled from the medical program at the Seoul National University following his arrest during student protests. “It’s scary the kind of information we can pull from here,” noted Mainframe. Law grunted. “Once you’ve been fingerprinted it’s just a matter of trolling the databases to get all your personal history. “I suppose this explains the Esperanto. It puts them all on a common communication level.” “I still don’t see a common connection between these guys and this outfit. Who are they?” |
07-22-2012, 07:53 AM | #15 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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02 0600A Mar 20XX
The feed from the unattended ground sensor was grainy, but two figures were clearly moving towards the boat discovered by Torpedo. Hawk studied the images for a few moments. The two figures hauled some crates from under water and moved them under the camouflage netting. One of the figures stumbled, and the end of one crate fell, cracking open. Rifles fell out. Hawk immediately summoned Lt Falcon, Torpedo and Steeler. He turned back to the screen. The figures had recovered the weapons, loaded them on the boat, and were walking away from the area. A few minutes later the four, accompanied by Stalker and Scarlett, stood around a map, imagery of the site, and the UGS feed. “It looks like these guys are preparing something for later today or tonight. Lt Falcon, you’re commanding an ambush of the site. Torpedo, you’ll command a post-ambush observation post. Steeler, you’re commanding the reserve. This is a snap call, so not much prep time.” Torpedo turned to Falcon. “I suggest you insert by boat in the mangroves about six hundred metres east of the inlet. We can guide you into location and then set up an OP.*” Steeler pointed out a couple of small trails. “I can get the APC and two Vamps through there, along with a mortar team. We won’t be able to drive into your location, but we can provide an emergency fall back. Plus, we’ll work out templated firing line. The APC’s 14.5mm and the two twin machine guns can punch through to a couple of kill zones. Stalker turned to Lt Falcon. “I’ll be joining your ambush. You can put me in charge of something if you like, or just tell me to carry a rifle.” Falcon nodded. “Let me work out a plan and I’ll let you know.” 02 1220A Mar 20XX Lt Falcon wadded through the last of the mangroves, listening to the sound of Top Side’s boat recede into the distance. He took one quick glance around, and then waved for the patrol to continue its advance. They moved silently, following Torpedo’s guidance. Falcon pointed out rally points, then the emergency rally point. After a final reconnaissance, he moved the patrol into position. Stalker and Sneak Peak were the left cut off. Spirit and Zap were right cut off. Beach Head, Hit & Run, Blowtorch and Footloose had rear security, and Falcon, Recondo, Low Light, Tunnel Rat, Ripcord, Crazy Legs and Recoil were the kill team. They lay in wait, scanning arcs, ears straining for man-made sounds over the drone of flies. Torpedo led Leatherneck and Muskrat to a new vantage location, with observation on the boat and within earshot of the ambush site. Steeler pulled his small convoy into herringbone formation on a trail eight hundred metres south of the ambush site. Grand Slam and Down Town quickly set up an 81mm mortar and prepped mortar bombs. Steeler proficiently laid the machine guns on a line to provide fire support to the patrol, manned by himself, Heavy Metal, and Hawk, while Cross Country and Fast Draw moved a few dozen metres into the trees on either side of the trail on listening watch. Leatherneck squinted his eyes to relieve the strain, and let them wander across the upper limbs of the trees for a few moments. He did a double take. About thirty feet above the ground, a nest in a tree had partially come apart, revealing a black curve. He slowly raised binos to his eyes to get a closer look. It was the head of a surveillance camera, oriented in the direction of the ambush team. He reached over to touch Torpedo, and whispered his finding. Torpedo took the binos and looked for himself. “Call it in,” he whispered. Leatherneck picked up his handset. “All call signs, this is Leatherneck, sitrep, over.” Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. He checked all the connections, but they were tight, but then discovered that the battery compartment was soaked. He swore – the seal was faulty. He carefully wiped down the connectors, and was pulling a new battery from his pack when he heard Muskrat click his selector switch to ‘fire.’ He looked up, and made out brief glimpses of figures moving towards the ambush – but not into the kill zone. They were flanking the position. Beach Head heard the rustling of careful footsteps and felt his adrenaline levels spike. He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled fully, took another breath, and felt the control return to his heightened senses. He scanned his whole area once again, and then the world exploded in automatic fire. “COMPROMISE,” he yelled, as he returned fire, and then started shouting at his det. Footloose hit the claymore clackers, and Hit & Run was already changing magazines having dumped thirty rounds into the trees to his front. Blowtorch had dropped his carbine and raised himself slightly off the ground, a tube over his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger, and the det’s frontage disappeared behind a ball of fire. The overpressure of the fuel-air explosive knocked the wind out of everyone, and the enemy fire stopped. Startled and panicked cursing came from the trees, and Beach Head aimed his fire accordingly, as did Footloose, who fired off a 40mm grenade into the trees. “EMERGENCY RALLY POINT,” Falcon yelled, pushing his team in that direction. He did a quick head count and moved off, calling into his radio for covering fires as he moved. Beach Head rolled towards Hit & Run and shoved him. “Fall back,” he shouted. Hit & Run got up, dashed past the rest of the team, then dropped to a knee facing the enemy. Beach Head followed him, slapping Blowtorch as he passed. “Last man,” he shouted. Blowtorch picked up his carbine, fired a burst into the trees, then turned to follow Footloose, slapping his boot as he passed. “Last man!” Footloose fired off another 40mm grenade and two three-round bursts, then ran past the rest of the patrol, dropped to a knee, and pulled out a claymore. He attached a ten second fuse as the rest of the patrol peeled back. Rounds were starting to slap past him as the enemy bypassed sputtering flames. Blowtorch fired an MRO-A towards the enemy, and another, smaller, fireball detonated, then he turned. Footloose felt Blowtorch’s hand on his shoulder and heard “Last man!” He fired half a magazine on automatic into the trees, started the fuse, turned and ran. The claymore detonated in a sharp crack behind him. Falcon moved quickly down the line of troops in the emergency rally point. Everyone was accounted for. “Spirit, Zap, move up with Stalker and Sneak Peak. You’re now the forward security element. Start moving towards the vehicle location.” They ran up the line. Falcon turned to Beach Head. “You’ve got rear security.” Beach Head gave him a thumbs-up. He had already fanned out his det to cover that direction. To their rear they could hear mortar bombs exploding, and to their flank they could hear machine gun rounds tearing through the trees. Falcon caught Stalker’s eye. “Move now,” he signalled. Stalker got up and took point. Hawk held down the 14.5mm’s trigger with one hand, while holding a radio prestle switch with the other. “Scarlett, it sounds like Falcon is moving back to our location. Once they're all mounted we’ll move directly to the primary loading point. Make sure Doc is on standby for casualties. Have you received a sitrep from Torpedo?” “Wait, you’re cutting him off,” Scarlett replied. Moments later they heard Torpedo’s voice. “Enemy is regrouping in vicinity of the dock. They are not pursuing. I say again, they are not pursuing. They do not appear to have detected my OP. Recommend I remain in location.” Hawk’s brain raced. If that three-man OP was compromised they would be overrun in minutes. But if they could provide intel on this enemy force, that would be invaluable. He weighed the risk for what felt like an eternity, and then flipped the prestle switch. “Remain in location.” “Torpedo acknowledged. Out.” From the tree line he heard Cross Country yell “Halt!” There was a moment of noise, and then the ambush patrol started moving to the trail, being counted off by Falcon. They quickly fanned out into a circle around the vehicles until all were accounted for. Falcon and Steeler conferred with Hawk, then Steeler shouted “Mount up!” Within a minute everyone was mounted and the vehicles were on the move. Torpedo watched the proceedings below him. A couple of enemy splashed gas on the cam net and lit it alight. Three others recovered the surveillance camera Leatherneck had spotted, along with two more cameras from other locations. One more soldier climbed out of the boat, gave a thumbs up, and the enemy force of about twenty pulled back into the cover the trees. Torpedo frowned. Then the boat exploded, fragments flying several hundred metres. The enemy platoon then formed up and headed west. Torpedo noted the details. Most wore blue-grey uniforms, except for two in mixed camouflage. They carried mix of AKs and Minimis. No casualties. Torpedo reached for the radio. “Enemy have destroyed the boat and are withdrawing west. Recommend I follow the enemy.” Hawk considered this. There wasn’t much point in watching the burning remnants of a boat. “Follow the enemy,” he said. Muskrat took point. The enemy were moving fast and in a straight line. In the distance, they could hear helicopter rotors. Torpedo halted his team. “There’s a clearing ahead a few hundred metres ahead. Probably an HLZ.** They’ll likely have rear security, and a section may have doubled back to cover their route. Let’s cloverleaf to the right a couple of hundred yards to get a safer vantage point.” Muskrat moved off the line of march to his right, heightened senses trying to feel the enemy first. The sounds of rotors grew louder. Muskrat made out light ahead, and dropped to his belly, crawling the last yards to the clearing. He saw the enemy in a tight all-around defensive posture, with machine guns covering the route they’d taken. One had just popped a red smoke grenade. An armed Hip circled, covering the tree line, while an S64 with box landed, and the enemy platoon quickly piled aboard. They whole procedure took less than a minute. Leatherneck punched the ground and swore. __________ * OP - Observation Post ** HLZ - Helicopter Landing Zone Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 01:18 PM.. |
07-23-2012, 09:33 AM | #16 |
Crimson Guard
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09 1037A Mar 20XX
Gung Ho sniffed at the jungle. Something wasn’t right. After a week patrolling around Opala his senses were more in tune with the jungle than with civilization. He took one cautious step forward, and another, and then the ground collapsed under him. He hugged his weapon along his centre line as he skidded ten, fifteen feet down an embankment. He landed at the feet of a startled blue-grey clad soldier, who was aiming his rifle over Gung Ho’s head and looking up the embankment. Gung Ho released his pistol grip and in a fluid motion pulled his ka-bar from its boot sheath and drove the point up through the soldier’s jaw and mouth and into his brain. The soldier collapsed in a heap. Gun Ho brought his M32 to bear on the centre of visible mass of a partial figure twenty yards in depth, leaned into the weapon and squeezed off a round of buckshot. “CONTACT FRONT” he yelled, stepping forward and putting two HE* rounds into the trees before scanning for more targets. Mutt skidded down the same embankment, Junkyard at his side, taking up a position to Gung Ho’s left, and Wet Suit slid down and took up a position to his right, all putting suppressing fire into the trees to their front. Trip Wire slid down the slop on this backside, scrambled to his feet, and fell into line, followed by Salvo. “BASELINE,” Wet Suit yelled, and the five advanced in line in fire teams. Inaccurate automatic fire spat back from the trees, offering new targets. They saw a couple of flashes of blue as the enemy withdrew into the trees, and then heard a pair of sharp explosions. “Claymores,” shouted Trip Wire. Junkyard suddenly bounded in front on the patrol and sat down, pointing his nose at the ground. “Down!” shouted Wet Suit, and the patrol hit the ground, shuffling into an all-around defensive position. Trip Wire crawled forward under Mutt’s cover, while Wet Suit pulled out his radio. “Contact, enemy patrol of unknown size engaged, two killed, remainder withdrawn east under cover of automatic fire and command detonated mines. Fire mission, ZT 1041, left 200, add 300, harassing fire, over.” The radio crackled and Short Fuze’s voice came over the air. “Fire mission, ZT 1041, left 200, add 300, harassing fire, out.” Just over a minute later, the sound of six mortar bombs exploding somewhere on the line of the enemy withdrawal broke through the trees. Trip Wire lay on his belly and called back. “It’s an M86 mine. All I can do is BIP it. I want pictures first, though.” Wet Suit waved Gung Ho forward, and breathed deeply. Contact had been broken. Time to strip the two bodies of weapons and documents and pull back before the enemy could counterattack. In the distance, birds and animals resumed their chatter. Claymore waved for Lift Ticket and Wild Bill, then turned to Psych Out and started pointing on the map. “I’m taking Dusty, Hardball, Rock n Roll, Back Blast and Short Fuze in the Hip to this clearing. We may cut off that patrol. I’m going to push Wet Suit up to the high ground here. Take the Vamps along this trail, and RV with us here.” Psych Out quickly wrote down the grids, as did the two pilots when they arrived. Lift Ticket held out his hand. “Wait. Leave Back Blast here. The planes need his cover. Take a couple of the boys from the transport.” He glanced over at the shelter. “Skymate and Cloudburst have gone to ground, but Big Ben and Back Stop are available.” Claymore hesitated. “Hey, don’t worry about their skills. They’ve done every kind of LZ** you can imagine. Just go over the SOPs*** with them in the air.” Claymore nodded. “Ok. They’ve seen our rehearsals. Get them.” Lift Ticket trotted over to the tent, where an animated conversation was in progress. “Ok, George Chuvalo versus Henry Cooper.” “Oooo, that’s a tough one mate. Georgey had a rock for a jaw, but 'Enry, well, there was Marmite in his punch.” “Lingo shenanigans,” came a sleepy voice from the back of the shelter. Lift Ticket interrupted the discussion. “Grab your kit and get ready for an ambush op. Details en route.” The team quickly marked their maps, reviewed the mission and mounted up, and the Hip and Hind took off for the clearing. Lifeline had jumped into the Hip with an emergency bag, just in case, and Lady Jaye joined them with a camera to add to the team’s growing collection of aerial imagery. Clutch and Thunder already had the Vamps running, with Bazooka riding shotgun. Psych Out joined them, and they pulled away. ___________ * HE - High Explosive ** LZ - Landing Zone *** SOP - Standard Operating Procedure Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 01:21 PM.. |
07-24-2012, 09:56 AM | #17 |
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09 1156A Mar 20XX
The Hip set down in the clearing and the Claymore and his patrol dismounted quickly, fanning out into an all around defence. The helo lifted away, and the patrol lay silent, listening for any hostile sounds, before pushing into the trees. Dusty took point, followed by Big Ben, Claymore and Rock n Roll. Hardball, Short Fuze and Back Stop brought up the rear. They moved quickly several hundred metres into the jungle and set up a linear ambush along the route Claymore had expected the enemy to take. They waited behind hurriedly emplaced mines. Rock n Roll took advantage of the lull to study the map and the ground and select two alternate firing lines. Short Fuze fingered the mortar bombs he had primed and ready to drop. An hour passed. Then two. No sounds. Claymore pulled out his map. They didn’t have any photos of this area for comparison. He reviewed Wet Suit’s contact location, the route of enemy withdrawal, likely rally points, and his current ambush spot. Big Ben crawled to his side. “I know what’s going through your mind. The enemy heard the helo and diverted course. Stands to reason. So, what route did they take?” He pointed to the map. “I think they’re headed towards this high ground here.” He pointed again, then pointed in the direction of the ridge. Claymore nodded. “If I airlift Wet Suit over to the northwest of the ridge, bring Psych Out up the southwest side, and we move in on the east side, we can box them in.” “Exactly.” Big Ben grinned. Claymore calculated the distance and time. “It’s going to be dark by the time we’re all in place, and we haven’t rehearsed this plan,” he mused. “I dare you,” Big Ben challenged. “Roll the dice and give ‘em a swift, hard kick. They’ll crumble. But if you let them get away they’ll just come back stronger.” Claymore smiled, jotted down a quick set of orders, and reached for the radio. 09 2040A Mar 20XX Wet Suit’s team leapt from the Hip, oriented themselves, and started moving into the trees, Mutt and Junkyard leading. The moved quickly up the incline to an area Wet Suit had determined the most likely to cut-off the enemy. The incline was steep, and he could start to hear his heart pounding – a mix of exertion and adrenaline. Clutch spun the wheel and applied gas. The Vamp skidded through the bend. “We’re getting close,” he shouted to Bazooka, who clung to the roll bar. Then the front end exploded. Claymore pushed his team closer to position. Just a few more hundred metres. They’d spotted the odd sign telling of enemy just ahead. Footprints in the mud, a grenade connected to a tripwire as a booby trap, broken foliage. They’d fanned out from the trail on several occasions in case the withdrawing force had a rear guard that hooked back to lay ambushes on the trail, losing ground each time, but sustaining pressure nonetheless. He checked the map one more time, and waved his arms. The force split into two groups, fanning from single file into line abreast. Then he heard the explosion and a long burst of automatic fire. Junkyard growled and strained on the leash. Mutt raised his Ingram and scanned, while Gung Ho, Tripwire, Wet Suit and Salvo fanned out into line and started bounding in pairs. “CONTACT FRONT,” yelled Tripwire, firing off a burst from his rifle. Gung Ho pumped three quick HE rounds into the front, and automatic fire started to crack past them. Thunder had slammed his Vamp to a halt, leaped out and started to dismount the 81mm mortar. Psych Out leapt from his side, rifle in one hand and the tow hook from the winch in the other. The sound of automatic fire came from around the bend. He ran forward to the lead Vamp, saw that the fire was all outbound from the twin machine guns, connected the winch to the back of the damaged Vamp, and ran back to his own vehicle. He turned on the winch and watched it take up the slack and then start to take the load. The firing stopped, and Clutch ran back around the corner, waving for Psych Out to stop. “Give me some slack,” he shouted. Psych Out reversed the winch a moment. Clutch disappeared around the corner and unhooked the cable. He then routed around a tree in order to keep the damaged vehicle from being dragged off the trail, and gave Psych Out a thumbs up. The first thump of an outgoing mortar bomb broke behind them. Psych Out started the winch and the damaged Vamp was dragged into view. Clutch waved for him to stop, disconnected the tow cable, pulled it back from the tree it had been around, and reconnected it so Psych Out could drag the vehicle on the new angle. “What hit you?” Psych Out shouted. “A mine I think,” shouted Clutch. “We bailed out. I hit the remote fire switch and started hosing down the front sixty degrees. Bazooka started tossing smoke grenades. He’s moved forward to cover the front.” Psych Out nodded. Wet Suit saw a figure in his sights, squeezed the trigger, and saw the figure jerk and disappear from view. He scanned left, and then heard the sound. Rotor blades. Cursing, he moved faster, when the trees started splintering around him. He hit the ground. An armed Hip swooped overhead, having fired a ripple volley of rockets, and hosing the area with machine gun fire. More explosions came from his front as the enemy detonated claymore mines. “Get Down!” Claymore yelled, as the Hip swung towards them. They could see the trees above starting to explode as the volley of rockets impacted around them. The patrol spread out, except for Rock n Roll, who raised his MG42 to this shoulder, caught sight of the Hip, shifted his aiming point ahead of the helicopter, and squeezed the trigger. About forty rounds spat into the air in three bursts, driving Rock n Roll back two steps, but he let out a yell of glee as he saw the Hip shudder and black smoke start to come from the airframe. The Hip gained altitude, and withdrew from the fight. “Up Up Up,” shouted Wet Suit. “Keep at them!” He waved the team forward, changing magazines on the move. Trees around him started to shake, and the sound of more rotors broke through his adrenaline. An S64 landed a couple of hundred metres to his front a door gunner firing a minigun into the tree line, and the enemy platoon piled aboard. Wet Suit screamed as he fired a whole magazine in its direction, Trip Wire and Gung Ho pumping rounds off to his left and right. Salvo pulled an M72 off his back, extended the tube with a sharp snap, raised it to his shoulder and fired. Foliage deflected all the rounds, and the heavy helicopter took off unscathed. “Son of a –“ Mutt started to shout, being drowned out by the roar of a jet engine. They looked up as a MiG 21 popped, looped back, and released a pair of 500lb bombs. “DOWN!” Wet Suit yelled. They hugged the ground as the bombs landed wide. The overpressure from the explosions hammered their chests. And then there was silence. Big Ben slapped Claymore’s back. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we got a couple, and sent the rest of them home with full pants. That’ll drag on morale.” The two checked out the rest of the group. No injuries, but the deep fatigue as adrenaline wore off was visible in a few eyes. “Get your breathing under control,” Claymore said, checking everyone out. “Bloody good shooting mate,” Big Ben said to Rock n Roll. Rock grinned. “Hell, I’m just glad to get my hands back on an MMG,*” he replied. Claymore took a radio and raised Psych Out. “No injuries. One Vamp is a mobility kill. We can tow it out, but some air cover would be nice.” A drawl broke the air. “This is Wild Bill. We’ve Dogfight up in the air in a Soko to fly CAP,** so now we can cover you. I suggest Lift Ticket haul out the dismounts. Then we can come back and sling load you out.” “Sounds good,” Claymore answered, and then transmitted the withdrawal plan. _____________ * MMG - Medium Machine Gun ** CAP - Combat Air Patrol Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 01:24 PM.. |
07-25-2012, 07:54 AM | #18 |
Crimson Guard
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10 0800A Mar 20XX
“So here’s what we know,” began Lady Jaye to the assembled team. Images scrolled on a screen behind her. A disciplined multi-national military force is operating in this area with at least two platoon-sized elements. They are augmented by an unknown group in different uniforms, but who are presumably an advisory cadre. We thought at first they were an African force, but now we’re not so sure. They have a mix of armoured and un-armoured transport, and a good air wing of Mig 21s, transport aircraft, and medium and heavy lift helicopters. That suggests good finances, good logistics, good access to skilled mechanics and pilots. Their weapons are mostly old Soviet types, which are available across the continent, plus a mix of mines, and anti-materiel weapons; Clutch’s Vamp didn’t hit a mine after all. It looks like someone put a 50 cal round or larger through the engine block. Maybe even a 20mm round. But we don’t know who they are, who they work for, or what they are trying to accomplish. That helicopter and the jets flew almost due east towards Ubundu.” “Oi – where’d you get that pic?” came a voice from the rear. Everyone turned. Big Ben, Backstop and two others were standing in the back. The speaker waved, and pointed to an image of a tall man in brown fatigues with an eye patch. “Dan Toner, but call me Skymate. That pic there. I reckon I know him. Sebastian Bludd. He spent a bit of time with the Regiment as a captain. Commanded a line rifle company before being booted for embezzling funds. There were a few irregularities with some things he was doing up in Timor too.” Lady Jaye raised an eyebrow. “So,” she asked, “what’s he doing out here?” “Good question.” Skymate leaned closer to the images. “And I’d say you’re right that those scruffy ones aren’t African. Wrong features. I’d say they’re from the Pacific. Fijians, most probably. Maybe Tongans” Lady Jaye looked at Claymore. “I need to get this info to the Jane soonest,” she said. Claymore nodded. Aboard the Jane, Hawk was talking with Airborne and Alpine via video teleconference. Scarlett and Stalker sat in the background. “I think I’ve hit a wall,” Alpine said. We did a slick op to copy the bank manager’s hard drive, and we’ve got a Trojan in their main system that’s feeding us their daily transactions. The manager’s files show a number of Ares transactions to Swiss, Caribbean, East Asian and Jafza account, and a couple to Bamako that seem a little odd. Chuckles is doing further analysis on those. But to be frank Sir, this is beyond my skills. I did books for books; I was a simple accountant for a publisher. This takes a team of finance, business and forensic accountant specialists to decode. Maybe the FBI and the IRS should be on this. Look at this: I’ve followed a money trail from our bank, going through large individual transactions, and corporate transactions. Most lead nowhere. None are to publicly traded companies, but I’ve been able to determine that some are investment banking, software and mining companies. A lot lead to another bank in town: Banque Internationale Congolaise. BIC has crazy security. The company that installed it all doesn’t exist any more, though they seem to have periodic inspections from a different company’s rep. Some other transactions have me running in circles. In one case I’ve tracked these seven companies that all have interests in each other or common board members. Note how X owns Y, which owns Z, which in turn has a controlling interest in X. They do business with shell companies. This is business management beyond my grasp.” Hawk rubbed his face. “You’re losing me.” Airborne took over. “There are segregated portfolio companies in the Cayman islands, holding companies, closed-end companies, unlimited companies . . . everything is privately controlled with minimal reporting requirements. The reporting that happens is bare bones AGMs and financial statements, all of dubious veracity. Some must be dead ends, like this one - the Bern Institute of Reconstructive Surgery. The ties are so tenuous that we’re really chasing ghosts, and the legal and financial laws change so much from nation to nation that even if there is some shadowy organization out there, there is no way to get at it.” ”Well that was much clearer.” Hawk reviewed the documents. “These two - Naja Hana Video Corp and Naja Trading Corp. Those are similar names, and the Video Corp is in the same building as Ares’ Kinshasa office. We might as well dig into them for lack of any better leads.” Mainframe jotted that down. “Look,” Alpine said. “This is a long shot, but I have a buddy who’s in Switzerland right now. He’s a biathlete, over there for a couple of competitions. I can give him the names of the Swiss companies and he can check them out – confirm addresses, staffs, clustering of businesses – that kind of thing. I’ll keep the request vague.” Hawk considered this. “Ok. Do it. Also, we’re sending you details of one of the mercenary leaders, a former Australian officer. Sebastian Bludd. Mainframe is tracing his service record and passport details. See if you can figure out his banking arrangements and who’s paying him.” Alpine shifted the camera towards Chuckles. “I did a follow up with Ares about airlift and security. I got a brief demo of some capabilities. Nothing matches the troops you’re in contact with. And we haven’t had any success figuring out who they’ve been selling Vamps to.” Hawk rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. Keep at it. Thanks.” He signed off. Stalker leaned forward. “I heard back from my Jordanian SOF contact. Seems that there has been some smuggling issues in this neighbourhood. A few palms were greased which is why the government troops pulled out of the region. The UN found out accidentally, and wasn’t happy. But they also didn’t direct that patrol. I think the local commander did that on his own initiative.” “That puts some of this in a new light,” Scarlett added. “We may be getting mixed up with a smuggling organization.” Hawk looked at a map. “I’m not convinced,” he said. “There may be smuggling interests here, but this outfit seems too established just for that. I’d buy it if we had only run into this Bludd character and his motley crew, but these guys seem bigger than that. The profits would have to be enormous to cover the expenses.” Stalker shrugged. “The narcos in South America and Mexico could pony up those kinds of assets. Smuggling here can be just as lucrative. But getting back to the focus of arms dealing, Claymore’s team recovered three rifles, several magazines, some grenades and a few hundred rounds of ammo. Mainframe is running the serial numbers to figure where they were made and where they were originally sold. Then we have to follow the trail to the Congo. There have to be end user certificates somewhere. In the meantime, that helo seems to have headed into the Ubundu area. My Jordanian contact has told me that some of the local factions in that region have become better armed in the past months. We could probably kill two birds with one stone by patrolling that region.” “Good.” Hawk paused. “Pull Claymore back. We’re spread too thin with no reserve. We’ll moor the Jane in the vicinity of Kisingani, before the rapids, and move east by ground and try to regain contact.” Stalker and Scarlett turned to leave. “Stalker, wait. We’ve been punching blind this whole time. We need a couple of prisoners to interrogate. Give some thought to how we can accomplish that.” Stalker nodded and smiled tightly. |
07-26-2012, 10:55 AM | #19 |
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13 0930A Mar 20XX
Claymore studied the plan once more. “It’s risky. You know you have no fire support.” Stalker nodded. “I’ve run it by the ABCA guys. They can have a plane up for us within an hour.” “Weather dependent,” Claymore noted. “And an hour can be a lifetime in a firefight.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “I don’t think Falcon has the jump experience for this one.” Stalker nodded. “I thought of that, but he’s the only other one who speaks Swahili. It has to be him. He’s got medic training too. As for the rest, well, we’re really short guys with HAHO skills. But I think it’s worth the risk. We’ve got those mercs on the run, but we need to figure out their relationship with the local factions and set the conditions for raids. We need to maintain momentum.” Claymore stared at Stalker for several moments. “You know momentum is used as an excuse for a lot of questionable plans. But as far as I can tell you’ve got your contingencies covered here. Think Hawk will approve it?” Stalker grinned. “I’m betting he will. Getting him to free up Airborne may be the hardest part!” Stalker walked into the intel cabin where Scarlett and Mainframe were reviewing documents. “Sorry for interrupting, but I have some info here on some of the local factions in the Ubundu region. Can you see if we have anything extra on them? Run them by Kinshasa to see if there’s anything to pull from the capital too. Include aerial imagery and potential drop zones.” Scarlett cocked her head. “What’s running through your mind Stalker?” Stalker sat down in front of a map. “It’s going to take a few days to get to Kisangani. It’ll take a few more days to drive into these areas. I think we should HAHO* in two recon teams to get eyes on a couple of camps. That way we know what to expect.” Mainframe leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “And then what? Walk in and ask to see receipts for their weapons?” Stalker chuckled. “Let’s find out what they have first.” 13 1400A Mar 20XX Lt Falcon was looking for Claymore. He found him in the canteen, sitting with Beach Head and Wet Suit. They waved him over. “You look down Vince. What’s troubling you?” Claymore asked. Lt Falcon took a breath, and then started. “I think we have developed a direct action focus here. We’re chasing an unknown entity that has obviously been here longer than us, and we’re not bothering to ask the locals for info or help. Wouldn’t it help to raise some indigenous troops to be eyes and ears? There must be villagers who hate these mercs and would jump to take up arms against them.” Beach Head looked down and shook his head. “This isn’t foreign internal defence. We can’t trust these people, we don’t have the backup to get us out if they turn on us, and we don’t have the resources to train and equip them. And I don’t think they’d take too kindly to a bunch of armed white guys walking into their midst.” A look of annoyance crossed Lt Falcon’s face. “Hey, even Ranger history involves partnering with indigenous forces. Cabanatuan would never have happened without Philippine guerrilla assistance.” Claymore held up a hand. “Look - it isn’t that training locals is beyond our mandate. If it were really going to help us, we’d do it. It’s that we’re here to get specific information and hit specific targets. Training a private army, right now, is a distraction.” Lt Falcon sighed. “We treat everything as a hard target to be taking by force. We need information out here. We can get that from the locals. They cover more ground than we do. They have more eyes. We can gain relative superiority in intelligence through these people.” “That’s assuming you trust anyone here,” said Beach Head. “Sometimes you have trust humanity and common, if temporary, interests,” said Falcon. “You think our own revolution would have worked if no one had any faith in us at Valley Forge?” “And how often have we raised successful indigenous forces?” asked Wet Suit. “Bay of Pigs? ‘Nam? Either sandbox?” Lt Falcon nodded. “You’re right that indigenous forces are weak against conventional forces. But they excel at sabotage and intel. That’s where I think we should use them.” “Thanks Vince. It’s still not going to happen,” Claymore said. “LT - couldn’t help but overhear the discussion,” came a voice from behind them. Falcon turned to see Flint. “As a former SF guy I’m sympathetic. But you may be overestimating the locals. You propose to turn them into commandos – not guerrillas, because you have no local political framework. That’s impossible.” “Aren’t you splitting hairs by distinguishing between guerrillas and commandos?” asked Falcon. “Absolutely not. Whenever you deal with locals there’s a political dimension.” “Sure,” Falcon nodded. “But it all comes down to whether you can find some temporary common ground.” “Right,” said Flint, “but we Americans will always be transient. At some point we go home. The locals are local. Yet we always insist on bending them to American interests. If we’re serious about this, we’ll bend to their interests. It makes them better allies when the fighting is over.” Beach Head shook his head. “Now that kind of decision may be a little above our grades.” “I don’t know.” Said Flint. “I’m a gun for hire and you’re on some ultra covert op. I’d say we’re in the perfect position to be making that kind of strategic decision. Then we’ll tell the judge the LT put us up to it!” They all laughed. “Before you argue further, I’ve got something for you to read. Come with me,” said Flint, motioning to Falcon. “More reading,” Lt Falcon sighed. He got up and followed Flint out of the canteen, down a corridor, and to the small room he was sharing with Wild Bill. Flint pulled some books from a small pelican case: 'The Crime of the Congo'; 'King Leopold’s Soliloquy'; 'Heart of Darkness'; 'Dark of the Sun', and then he handed one to Falcon: Che Guevara’s 'The African Dream: The Diaries of the Revolutionary War in the Congo.' “If it’s any consolation, even Che couldn’t turn the Congolese into guerrillas. Or commandos” Falcon chuckled. “Thanks. Ok, I have to go do some HAHO refresher.” _________ * HAHO - High Altitude High Opening Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 01:26 PM.. |
07-27-2012, 09:00 AM | #20 |
Crimson Guard
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Location: Canada
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17 0100A Mar 20XX
The inside of the An-26 was freezing, and the twelve paratroopers huddled together for warmth, breathing bottled air. Stalker checked his watch, then looked up at Big Ben, who held up a hand. “Chalk One: Five minutes.” Six of the figures started wrestling with kit, checking each other, and ensuring bundles were secure. Lifeline walked along the line, checking each soldier’s pupils and reactions, confirming that hypoxia hadn’t set in. “One minute!” They lined up at the rear of the plane, staring into pitch black out of the open ramp. The light turned green, and the six men leapt out into the void, pulling their chutes moments later. The jerk winded all of them, leaving bruising that would be felt for days. Crazy Legs checked the navigation unit on his chest, and pulled on his risers to adjust course slightly. The remaining five adjusted as well, forming up behind him. The drop would cover thirty-two kilometres of horizontal distance and would take more than half an hour to complete. The same process repeated itself several minutes later, with Ripcord navigating the second chalk. The two drop zones were separated by about twelve kilometres, and were each about two kilomtres from the respective targets: an FDLR* camp and an ADF-NALU** camp. The UN had been given strict orders to avoid those areas, which, coupled with rumours that both camps had received shipments of weapons, made the camps worth investigating. Lt Falcon stared into the black, and then double-checked his navigation instruments. Each man – Ripcord, Low Light, Sneak Peak, Recoil, Tunnel Rat and himself – had attached a glow stick, taped until only a sliver of light shone, to his helmet. So far the chalk held its formation. The two practice jumps had been invaluable. He swallowed and wiggled his jaw to equalize the pressure in his ears as they lost altitude. Eventually, the ground came up to meet them, and the chalk landed in an open area, spread out by only a hundred metres or so. They quickly bundled the parachutes and jump gear and redistributed their loads. Having to maintain such a tight formation required each jumper to weigh the same upon exiting the aircraft. For Tunnel Rat, by far the lightest man, that meant carrying an enormous equipment container to even out the weight. He staggered under the load to the rally point, gasping for air. Recoil chuckled as he broke apart the container and adjusted his load. He then laid a bearing, and waited for the sign to advance. Lt Falcon checked everyone’s gear, and gave the signal. 17 0900A Mar 20XX Stalker adjusted his parabolic mic and listened to the sleep-blurred speech of the FDLR guerrillas. Well armed or not, they had sloppy discipline, paid little attention to local security, and were seemingly mostly hung over. He had made out a mixed collection of small arms, mostly AKs and PKM, with a handful of RPGs. He also made out an SPG 9 recoilless rifle, but nothing to suggest significant external support. Then two men walked out of a hut carrying FN2000s, and walked over to a parked truck. One shouted at a group sitting around chatting. They ran over to the truck and started unloading crates. Stalker glanced to his left. Crazy Legs was recording the events with his camera. Stalker picked up his binos and focussed on the crates. The stencilled letters were faded, but he made out SPIKE. Fire and forget anti-tank missiles. Someone really was pushing the high tech weapons. 17 1500A Mar 20XX Lowlight chewed on a blade of grass and scanned the ADF-NALU camp through his scope. About fifty men, all carrying a variety of rifles or pistols, sat idly passing time. He had already examined the camp from two other vantage points and had identified three Vamp jeeps. Two were armed with four missile tubes. The missiles looked very similar to Strelets. “Where did they get those, and do they know how to use them?” He thought to himself. The third jeep had a skeletal box of four missiles. He wasn’t able to determine the type. He scanned the area, considering his next position. A light stake truck had several boxes in the bed, with stencils indicating they contained AK 101s. Four rudimentary guard huts were around the perimeter, manned by guerrillas paying minimal attention to their surroundings. A mortar pit with what appeared to be an 82mm mortar, and two dug in 12.7mm machine guns completed the defences. Further west the ground opened up, and then fell into a tangle of wetland trees as a stream ran by. Best to avoid that area for now. 18 1100A Mar 20XX Mainframe ran the checks one more time. “Bingo! Hey Scarlett, take a look at this.” Scarlett looked over his shoulder. “I ran the serial numbers of the rifles Claymore’s guys bagged. They were all in the same shipment, coordinated by Sutherland Munition Works, and sold to Corporate Operations, Business and Research Applications for their security detachments. Originally manufactured in Russia, sold to Venezuela, sold in turn to Senegal, and then brokered by Sutherland. The hand grenade lot numbers follow a similar route. They originated in Italy, but were also sold by Sutherland to the same organization.” “That’s a start. Let’s see what else they’ve been selling. I’ll pass this on to Alpine. Maybe he can trace the money. Anything else?” “Yeah. Wet Suit stripped a body of its uniform. There aren’t any manufacturers labels on it – just a stylized cobra patch that shows up in all the imagery, but Law is trying to do some kind of forensic trace. Finally, we got a hit on the third body: Lop Leung from Mong Kok, and with a fairly lengthy criminal past. You should have seen his tattoos." Scarlett read through the file. “So who are Corporate Operations, Business and Research Applications?” “COBRA? Well, its background is going to drive Alpine and Airborne to distraction. It’s a legal entity that’s wrapped in shell companies, subsidiaries, blind trusts and so on. They seem to have connections with software and hardware manufacturers, pharmaceuticals, radar and telecommunications, human resources. I found a trace of trouble – they poached several dozen workers from the Sakhalin oil and gas projects, particularly guys skilled in underwater and below-ice construction, but nothing I can verify, nor where they ended up. I’m trying to find confirmation of what they’re doing here in the Congo.” “And presumably the soldiers wearing cobra symbols do in fact work for COBRA.” Mainframe shrugged. “Do you have a better theory?” Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t. But tell you what. Give the raw data to Lady Jaye. Let’s see what conclusion she comes to. Maybe she’ll see something that we don’t.” “I’m also running checks on the weaponry Stalker and Falcon’s teams have uncovered. Sutherland doesn’t seem to have had any dealings with those particular weapons, so we may have another dealer to worry about. Whoever it is, it’s a dealer with access to some decent systems. Modern rifles; high tech low-level air defence; and Swingfire anti-tank missiles in a Beeswing launcher. Not the newest, but still nasty.” “Or Cobra is the source.” “Maybe.” _________ * FDLR - Forces Democratiques de Liberation du Rwanda ** ADF-NALU - Allied Democratic Force - National Army for the Liberation of Uganda Last edited by LowTech; 10-07-2012 at 01:32 PM.. |
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