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11-22-2014, 11:52 AM | #121 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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Airtight wriggled in his web seat, trying to get more comfortable. Two packaged fast attack boats sat on rails in middle of the plane, limiting movement around the fuselage. The C130 hit a patch of turbulence, dropping suddenly like a roller coaster. Airtight leaned over the young SEAL beside him, mimed retching, and tossed plastic vomit in the SEAL’s lap. The SEAL recoiled, paled, started to respond in anger, and the plane dropped again. The SEAL swallowed, sat back in this seat and shook his head, his colleagues smirking at his discomfort. Airtight wiped his mouth and patted the SEAL on the back.
“Don’t worry Redshirt.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a bag of pork rinds and offered one to Top Side and Stretcher, to his left. Stretcher shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Top Side took a couple, started chewing, and Airtight offered one to the SEAL to his right. The SEAL blanched again and Airtight smiled, popping one in his mouth and letting it dissolve on his tongue. “Hey,” he said, nudging Topside. “You know lots about pigs. Would a sow’s ear sandwich be any good?” Topside shrugged. “Depends how you prepare them. Baste ‘em in flour and fry ‘em, and maybe try a thin white bread. But I prefer ‘em on their own.” They turned at the sound of retching to Airtight’s right. *** Torpedo, fanning a butterfly knife, sat behind Wild Bill in the cockpit of the C130. Beside him, Crazy Legs sat with his eyes closed, fingers and feet moving across imaginary organ keys and pedals. Wild Bill checked an instrument and glanced over his shoulder. “Ten minutes.” The two nodded and twisted their way into the rear of the plane. Torpedo tapped his head against that of the burly blond det leader from Team 2 and squeezed past the SEALs. Airtight reached out and tapped his leg as Torpedo passed. “You stepped in something,” he shouted, pointing at the deck. Torpedo looked at the squashed dog turd and reflexively checked his foot. The large Hawaiian scowled and leaned forward. “That better be plastic.” Airtight shrugged. “Does it matter? You’re about to wash it off anyway.” Torpedo shook his head and continued down the fuselage body. “Great pep talk boss,” Airtight called after him. Crazy Legs shouted out the warning and everyone started contorting for final checks and inspections for the static line jump. Torpedo joined Wet Suit, Tracker and Deep Six at the rear, prepping for their free fall. Minutes dragged on before the rear ramp opened. The light went green and Crazy Legs pulled a lever. The two boats shot down the rails and disappeared into the night sky, followed by four Joes who dove out the back of the plane. Glow sticks on their backs and helmets faded as the jumpers rushed towards the sea. Wild Bill banked the aircraft in a wide circle. It took a long fifteen minutes before the radio squawked. “We’re in the boats. Send wave 2.” Crazy Legs barked commands and the SEALs and remaining Joes stood up, linking static lines, the lead jumpers shivering in the doorway. The light went green and they rushed out, clearing the plane in seconds. Crazy Legs leaned out the door, confirmed it was a clean exit, and stared into the darkness. “Good luck,” he whispered, closing the door. *** The Sea King approached the ship from the rear, the belly barely clearing the small waves. The two fast attack boats skipped across the waves, one on either side of the wash kicked up by the rotors. The helicopter flared over the stern and matched ship speed. The crew chief slid the door and confirmed the fast rope attachment. He waved, and the five men leaned out, slid, and landed in seconds. The Sea King banked away as the boats pulled up along each side of the ship, firing grappling hooks and securing rope ladders. Roughrider shouldered his MP5 with one hand, grabbed the rail of a staircase and ran up to the bridge, jerking the lever on the door and thrusting it open. Screech barreled past him, MP5 raised and shouting at the startled bridge crew. Spud secured the entrance and Roughrider passed through the bridge to secure the other entrance while Arrowhead and Iceberg started forcing the three bridge crew to their knees and zip-tying their hands. “Bridge secure,” Iceberg spoke into a radio. “What the hell kind of piracy is this?!” demanded the watch officer, just before Iceberg slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth. |
11-23-2014, 10:53 AM | #122 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The SEALs and Joes started hauling themselves up the twisting rope ladders. Airtight watched the gap between him and the SEAL above him widen and he chuckled inwardly. Their time in the weight room was clearly for a more practical purpose than looking good on the beach. He slammed against the steel hull and fought to keep his footing.
“Keep moving,” yelled Topside below him. He shook freezing water off his face, reached for the next rung, and pulled himself up a few more feet. * Wet Suit and Tracker shuffled across the icy, rolling deck, carbines in their shoulders with a hand free for balance. Four SEALs moved slickly past them when a door opened, a figure being silhouetted in the doorway. The SEALS pivoted and moved forward and the figure gave a shout of surprise before charging. The ship rolled, two bursts of SMG fire went wide and the figure tackled a SEAL, was leaped on by another, and the three skidded into Tracker, knocking him off his feet. More SEALs flowed through the door, disappearing into the bowels of the ship while the tangled knot of grapplers resolved itself into panting commandos standing over a zip-tied, cursing man. Wet Suit slammed a door open and tossed a CS grenade into the room. Figures struggled upright in their bunks before gagging for air. Wet Suit grabbed the first man, noting the powerful muscles, punched him in the gut and thrust him into the gangway where Tracker zip-tied him. Another man rushed the door and Wet Suit dropped by a vicious chop across the throat. Down the gangway Torpedo repeated the process, subduing several disoriented men in the confined space with the help of a short rattan stick. * Tracker made his way through the vacant sleeping cabins, picking hair samples off bedding and depositing them in plastic bottles, and collecting fingerprints off metal surfaces. Wet Suit was photographing all personal documents, and Torpedo repeated the process with the ship’s logs and manifests. In the galley, which had been converted into a detention area, Stretcher examined each man, treating them for CS exposure, and concurrently collecting additional DNA samples. Airtight stepped into the bridge, followed by a SEAL. “No CBRN traces.” “No signs of any weapons other than a pair of old .303s,” said the SEAL. Torpedo rubbed his chin. “There are some underwater research devices, but this just doesn’t feel right. Everyone is just too fit to be international students at the Trucial Abysmia University.” Wet Suit escorted a bound man to the bridge. “Here’s Joao Mergulhador, ship’s captain.” The captain was quivering with rage, but kept his accented voice low. “This is piracy. This is an outrage, and will be reported through the ship owners and the university.” Arrowhead cut him off. “This ship is both an environmental and safety hazard. If it’s not clear of Canadian waters –“ “American waters,” interjected Torpedo. “Canadian waters immediately . . .” continued Arrowhead, shooting Torpedo a glance, “my government will impound this ship.” “A Canadian frigate and a US Coast Guard ship will escort you to international waters. Don’t come back,” said Torpedo, cutting the Captain’s bonds. As the commandos moved to their exfil points, Torpedo pointed at a locker and turned to Airtight. “Did you check that?” “Yeah.” “Check it again.” Puzzled, Airtight opened the locker and examined the contents. He stood up and turned. “No, the locker is . . . Hey!” The Sea King was taking off. “Wait, come back,” shouted Airtight. He skidded to a halt and looked towards the bow where the last of the SEALs was mounting a rope ladder to climb down to the fast boats. “Oh crap,” muttered Airtight. He flashed the finger at the departing helicopter and shuffled down the deck, calling to the SEALs to wait for him. |
11-24-2014, 08:33 PM | #123 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Torpedo, Wet Suit and Tracker sat at one end of the conference table, reviewing the after action report.
“You see any SEALs with potential?” asked Torpedo. “They’re mostly ok. Armando Ortiz was impressive,” replied Wet Suit. “Agreed,” said Tracker. “Any idea why he’s not with 6?” “He said that the regular teams get more ops than 6. He’s actually trying to transfer to a team with some upcoming desert time.” “Well we get more ops that the teams, so let’s invite him to the next selection.” Hawk walked in and sat down. At the other end of the room, Jinx and Law passed out a dossier and starting clicking through slides. “While the ship contained no weapons and appeared to conform, loosely, with a research mission, further investigation indicates that the crew and students have highly suspicious backgrounds.” “They aren’t students?” asked Hawk. “Oh they’re all registered students. But a combination of DNA and fingerprint analysis reveals that most have criminal backgrounds in a variety of nations, and several are on Interpol’s wanted list. We’re still conducting financial forensics on them, but have already identified several offshore accounts that are, frankly, suspicious. Top Side’s “bait” bug was quickly found. The other remains in place in their fax. They’ve been sending and receiving some heavily encrypted traffic that we haven’t yet cracked.” Hawk rubbed his chin. “Anything to connect them to Cobra?” Law shook his head. “Nothing conclusive.” “But,” interjected Jinx, “we’ve started examining Trucial Abysmia University. Again, there aren’t conclusive links, but it looks like their departments have been doing a certain amount of R&D on items we’ve linked with Cobra in the past.” Hawk nodded and stood up. “We’ll keep working on this,” said Law. “Do that,” replied Hawk. He walked quickly to his office, closed the door, and picked up the phone, dialling a number from memory. “Get me the Admiral.” He stared at a fading photo of a group of young soldiers in jungle fatigues while he waited. "Admiral - it's Clay Abernathy. I have a target to prosecute. Do you have any subs up around Alaska?" * “Target positively identified,” said the Los Angeles-class submarine captain, studying the green and black image of a tramp steamer in the periscope. “We have a target solution,” the seaman said. The boomer’s captain looked over the figures and nodded. “Fire three torpedoes.” The sonar operator tracked the rush of noise from the torpedoes, followed by the successive impacts. Groaning metal and rushing water echoed through his earphones. After several minutes he looked up. “It’s over, Sir.” A technician beside him stared intently at his screens. “And they didn’t get any messages out.” The captain nodded and turned to the watch officer. “I’ll be in the signal room. Resume normal patrolling.” __ Inspired by: Last edited by LowTech; 11-25-2014 at 02:20 PM.. Reason: increased clarity of conclusion, prompted by comment #124. |
11-24-2014, 10:43 PM | #124 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
|
Pretty Sweet. I like the nod to Night-Fox. Was that last sub a Cobra Sub? Who is the Admiral?
__________________
Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome. |
11-25-2014, 02:22 PM | #125 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Thanks. The conclusion has been edited slightly for clarity to answer your question about the sub. The admiral is just that - a flag officer in a headquarters with lethal weapons at his fingertips.
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12-13-2014, 03:17 PM | #126 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Big Ben wiped his head with a towel, and started unbuckling gear. He emptied magazines, tested their springs, disassembled his MP5 and started wiping it down. He nodded to Torpedo.
“Good shooting.” Torpedo squinted at his own weapon and nodded. Behind them, Beachhead grunted, finished filling out a form on a clipboard, and left the team room. Big Ben watched him leave, pulled out a pouch and quickly rolled a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and turned to Barbecue. “He always like that?” Barbecue grinned and nodded. “He’s not really the social type.” “Is that ‘cause he stinks like eau de pongo brutale?” “He has bad breath too,” said Barbecue with a laugh. Big Ben considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Pint?” “Actually, the whole team is having a beer call since this is your first day on the ground.” “Great! I’ll get showered and changed.” |
12-14-2014, 02:55 PM | #127 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The sounds of laughter, glasses hitting tables, and pool balls filled the small room. Big Ben drained his glass and looked around.
“Where’d Torp get off to?” “He always leaves early and never says goodbye. He’s probably gone to work out at one of the dojos he hangs around. Or maybe he’s growing more carrots. Hard to tell with him,” said Clutch. Big Ben nodded thoughtfully and glanced over at a table where Beachhead and Leatherneck were arm-wrestling. “Those two seem like a pair of right tossers.” Clutch and Barbecue laughed. “Yup. We have all kinds here.” “Hmm.” Big Ben stared into his glass then nodded his head towards the bar. “You lads don’t have any Drambuie back there, do you?” Before anyone could reply, Duke’s voice rang out. “Alright. I’m glad everyone has had a chance to welcome Big Ben, and I’m sure that Outback is getting a similar greeting with our reciprocal SAS Squadron. But I want to remind you all that it’s an early start to the training day tomorrow. We don’t know when we’re getting the green light for this op, so every day of prep has to count. Be smart.” Big Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Is he for real?” Wet Suit nodded. “Yup. There goes the last boy scout.” Big Ben shook his head. “Next you’re going to tell me I’m going to have to open my own duty free drambuie.” “’Fraid so.” Big Ben quickly reappeared with a bottle and started filling shot glasses. He ran a lighter over each of them, bathing the table in a blue glow. “Bottom’s up, lads,” he said. “I’ll try one of those,” came a voice from his elbow. Big Ben stepped to one side as Tripwire reached for a glass, tilted it halfway back, and set fire to his eyebrows and nostrils. He coughed, spraying flames across the group, who ducked and started laughing. Tripwire fell to his knees, holding his face, and Lifeline ran over with a wet bar towel. “What the hell is wrong with you guys?!” he said, helping Tripwire to his feet and escorting him out of the room. Wet Suit shrugged, reached for a glass, threw his head back and drained it. He watched Big Ben do the same and pushed his glass forward. “I’ll have another.” |
12-15-2014, 07:45 PM | #128 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Duke burst into the locker room, took two steps and stopped dead, screwing up his face in disgust.
“It stinks of booze in here. I told you clowns to play it smart. Now Tripwire is off duty for a couple of days and you are all too hung over to maximise benefit from today’s training.” “Nah,” said Big Ben, lacing up a pair of heavy boots. “We’re good.” He held Duke’s stare until Duke turned on his heel and left. “Smarten up,” Duke shouted over his shoulder. Clutch passed Crank Case a bottle of Gatorade and two painkillers. “Let’s prove him wrong,” he said. Crank Case groaned, downed the pills and water, and put on sunglasses. “Ok,” he croaked. *** Big Ben leaned back on the hard truck bench. Dust filled the back, caking everyone’s faces. He sipped water from his canteen and glanced over at Repeater. “Pint?” Repeater spat a stream of tobacco juice and grinned. “Hell yeah. But we’re gonna have to head into town.” Barbecue leaned forward. “Bazooka recommended a place. He raves about their chicken wings.” Barbecue glanced at Torpedo, who was moving his hands through katas. “They have onion rings and mushroom caps too.” The broad Hawaiian looked over and shook his head. “I’m out. Diving.” Barbecue shrugged. “Anyway, I called ahead. They’ll have Drambuie.” Big Ben grinned. |
12-16-2014, 12:09 AM | #129 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
|
Making me thirsty. I don't think I ever had drambuie straight. Only in a Rusty Nail. I feel like you are setting this up for something big.
__________________
Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome. |
12-16-2014, 10:12 AM | #130 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
So far just exploring a different side of the Joes and continuing to tinker with some of the clashing operating cultures of the different parent forces. But there is a plan in there, and I think you'll enjoy it . . .
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