Victor Linden's Story

Among a heap of paperwork that every new employee for Raven Defense received, a specific form was attached dependent on the unit and dispatch location. In the case of West-Central Taskforce, 3rd Platoon, the form was marked with crossed-out lines and scribbles in red pen.

Dear (Name),
This form marks a four-year contract with Raven Defense, Private Security Division. In particular, you have expressed interest in the Africa program, and as such, you have been assigned to the 3rd Platoon of the West / Central Taskforce, lead by Captain Puppet Victor Linden. Such a role involves problem-solving skills and teamwork, in addition to individual skill. We expect only the highest dedication to quality of work, and the rules of engagement are to be adhered to strictly. modified when the situation calls for it.

Each two to five month (Read: Year) contractual deployment will precede a one-month leave. During such a deployment, small arms and equipment will be provided at the company's expense, as well as vehicular transportation. We still have to pay for most of this shit.

Raven Defense enjoys an exclusive contract with Medi-Tech, a recent supplier of the US military. As an employee of the company, you will be presented with the opportunity to trial promising new products while on deployment. More on that later...

You are expected to arrive at the Raven Defense operational center in Maine (directions attached below) by no later than 1200 Hours, 15 January 2015. No personal firearms are to be brought on-site; any attempts will result in disciplinary measures. They're not kidding. Uniforms and small arms will be issued in-theater.

Terms
Contract: 1/15/2015 -
Salary (Day): $1200 800 after bribes
Deployment: West Africa
Benefits: Health Insurance, Housing, Tax-Deductibles, Vacation Not included: Life insurance.

We look forward to your work in the company.
Sincerely, Albert Cunningham, CEO

I'll be short and to the point. Be on time, don't cause trouble with the top brass. Keep your ears open and your mouth shut when we fly over to the deployment area. Don't buy shit off the streets. The company can kick you out for "dealing." Relationships end with messy breakups - which are fucking annoying on a battlefield. And a few rules for survival:

1. Keep your fucking head down.
2. Even an emaciated midget of an African can fire a Kalashnikov.
3. Stopping power doesn't exist. Shoot them until they die.
4. Drive or shoot. Drive.
5. Grenades always go off too early, or too late.
6. There's a difference between cover and concealment.
7. If you're going to miss, at least be fast about it.
8. Downplay your abilities. Attack like a wild animal when necessary.
9. Reloading is like taking a piss. Do it when you can, not when you have to.
10. If you can't bribe, steal, extort or torture to get something, a big smile and a gun to the face generally works.
11. A backup plan only works if you remember it.
12. A dead rich contractor is as good as a dead peasant African.
13. TIA

Welcome to Africa

Victor was still sitting in an infirmary when he sent the forms out. Clean, white, boring as hell. A few lacerations in his face were stitched shut, and both of his legs were in casts. Sure, the letters felt a little corny and forced, but he couldn't be arsed to do better with half the bones in his body being broken.

Shot by a BMP cannon. They said he even killed the thing before he passed out. He stared at the un-tanned length of his forearm, where the boost unit had been attached. He wasn't quite a believer in those things now, but they couldn't be useless. The same technology they used for the gauntlet was supposedly going to get him out of the hospital in the week or so before the group convened for deployment. If not, Farin would have to give the orientation.

Victor sat back with a grin. Scary girl, she could be.

Areli waited a while after the briefing before heading to see the commander. He was not looking forward to what was going to happen. He headed towards the offices while looking for Victor. He eventually ran into a secretary. Fortunately, she was able to tell where to know. The door was closed so approached and knocked on the door. "Commander, if you have a few moments, I would like to speak with you."

There was no response. When he opened the door, he found Victor kicked back in his chair, dozing. There was a messy pile of papers on the desk, a rifle learning against the wall, and a cigarette still smoldering in an ashtray. All that, and a half-full foam cup of coffee gave the distinct impression he'd been working his ass off.

Areli blinked and cleared his throat rather loudly in an attempt to wake up the sleeping commander. I guess he was even more tired that he appeared, Areli thought silently. He just hoped the commander would not need him to walk over him and shake him awake. Most people develop a reflex to being woken up and Areli was not sure how the commander would react.

Areli turned back towards the door seeing his initial attempts to wake the man had fail. He knocked louder than he did previously. He hoped this would work.

It did, kinda. Victor sat up and glanced dully at the doorway, before slumping back again. A couple seconds later, he looked again, and started to shake himself awake. "...eh?"

"Sorry for waking you, Commander but I need to speak with you about something." Areli spoke then did a quick salute out of habit. "Permission to sit, sir?"

"Uh, okay. Go for it." The merc said groggily. He looked at the half-empty cup of coffee and promptly finished the contents with one long draught.

Areli took a seat and looked at the commander. "I think we might have a bit of a..." Areli paused because he was not sure on how to address what she was. "I guess you can call it a problem. On the day you gave out the assignments to the hospital, helping put together the vehicle or reinforce our defenses, I was out of my afternoon jog and the guards were talking to a young woman at the gate. It was clear she was not a contractor and she was dressed as a civilian. She had demanded entrance in order to speak with you, sir."

He looked at him and sighed. "She says she is from a charity organization that is helping one of the local villages. I think she is a reporter covering a local charity organization. She also claims she wanted to talk with you in order to secure evac or protection if the enemy decides to lash out against the village she was at." Areli stopped there to gather the reaction from the commander.

Even half-asleep, Victor was certain of what to say. "Tell her to fuck off. We're not obligated to deal with reporters. There's plenty of other outfits that will. Bringing refugees into a military facility that is commonly under attack is a terrible idea - she should realize that."

Areli raised an eyebrow. "The thing is, Commander, she does not strike me as one to give up so easily. I told her I would talk to her at the hospital since I knew so basic first aid and thought I could help. Either she never showed or she was avoiding me. Also I don't think she wanted them to be evac'd to here." Areli shrugged casually then an idea struck him. "Commander, now that I think about it. She could be useful intel-wise."

"She could be a source of information, yes." He sighted, massaging his temples. "But if she's that stubborn, it might hardly be worth the trouble."

Areli chuckled. "Yes but her being stubborn might be good for us. We could tell her that we will provide protection to her village and possibly evac them to a safer place if needed as long she works with us and gives us good intel."

"Stubborn asses are easy to put to their word. You have a point." Victor said quietly. He waited until the merc was done chuckling and stared him in the eye. "I'll consider it. But not a word to the woman or anyone else, understood?"

Areli nodded. "Understood, sir." Areli stood up. He needed to prep for the mission and wanted to get more time in with the RPK. It was not what he was used to handling and it would take a bit more practice to get used to it. "Am I dismissed?"

"Yeah. Sure." Victor glanced at his watch, probably considering how much time he had left to sleep.

"Eh, boss, I figure this is probably inconvenient to tell you at this time, but I'm not so hot at aiming and firing a mortar accurately. I did a little bit back in Maine, but I'm still not entirely confident, sir." Johanneke confessed, lugging her mortar as she followed along.

"Christ, you say this now?" Victor chided, his voice just low enough to avoid eavesdropping. "Last thing we need is fragging our own guys with short shells."

"I can't help that they didn't teach me to fire mortars back in the service! Cops don't use mortars, sir! Look, I just need a little bit of guidance and some crash instruction, and I'll figure out the rest from there. If nothing else, I pick up on things really fast." Johanneke blurted with a nervous grin. "Please, I don't want to let you down."

The merc sighed, massaging his temples as he considered the situation. He keyed the radio mounted to his vest. "Farin. Get your arse back to staging area stat. Out."

"I guess Farin is taking my place?" Johanneke asked, setting down her mortar dejectedly.

"We don't have enough people to put Farin on rear duty, fortunately for you." He said, somewhat amused. "She'll get you up and running, but her help will be brief at most."


~~~~~

"Ok, lessee... dig the baseplate into the ground, get the bubble level centered..." Johanneke muttered as she set up the simplistic mortar she was assigned. With little experience firing the contraption, she lacked the confidence to know if it was even aimed correctly. After setting it up rather haphazardly, she stepped back and gingerly let it go, whereupon the mortar (thankfully unloaded) simply flopped into the dirt.

"Crap."

"Nice." Farin emerged from atop the berm and hopped down, skidding to a stop beside Johanneke. "I suppose Special Task Force types don't learn how to use tube arty, eh?" She was slightly surprised that Victor had given her this menial task, but then again, any mistake could be lethal in combat. Farin was actually somewhat curious about her fellow merc, coming from a similar region with a hell of a service record.

"They teach us how to jump out of perfectly good airplanes, yes, but mortars? That would be handy right about now. Could I please have some help?" Johanneke asked, walking over to right the mortar again.

"First thing - unpack the bombs." She handed the other South African one of the cardboard tubes, taking one and removing the cap. "If you had an assistant gunner, they would remove the rounds before you fired them. Solo, unpack the rounds and pile them in a safe, dry place." She handed the sixty-milimeter shell to Johanneke and gestured at the mortar.

"We call this the 'Commando' mortar. It's a surplus sixty-mil with all the goodies removed, leaving it lightweight and handy. Hard as fuck to hit with, though. It has no bipod..." She planted the end into the ground, the same way Johanneke had, but unusually grasped the cloth wrap with her left hand. "The bubble gives you a range estimate. From here to the enemy, it's about eight hundred meters. Drop the rounds with your other hand and try to avoid the muzzle flash. You might want to stage on the berm to get line of sight on the enemy, since these tubes lack fine adustment and sights. That's about it."

"It's really that simple?" Johanneke said in wonderment. "Well, I suppose that shows how thick I am... Uh, Illumination round on signal, right?" she asked, glancing at the shell Farin had given her. "Is there anything else I need to know about the shells themselves?"

"The first thing is to never forget the fucking ear plugs. Your ears will bleed." Farin allowed herself a small smile as Johanneke cringed. "Long white shells are 'chute flares, the rounded ones with the green case are explosive. They'll fuck anything in a ten meter circle."

"Okay, good thing I still have these for some reason..." said Johanneke, reaching into her BDU pocket for a set of corded earplugs. "So I'm guessing this is the right shell to throw out first." she added, noting the shell in her hand was long and white, somewhat noticeable even in the considerable darkness. "Would there be any danger of mistaking these things once all the muzzle flash and explosions wash out any night vision I've got?"

"Illum is straight walled." Farin said somewhat tersely; though she didn't mean to be hostile, she still had work to do.

"Right, got it." Johanneke blurted, sensing that she should stop asking questions. Plugging her ears and suddenly finding everything else muffled, she took hold of the mortar tube by its cloth wrapping and propped it into place temporarily with a nearby rock and positioned the illumination shell on the ground next to the mortar, stabilization fins brushing lightly against her knee, but she held steady and waited for permission, glancing toward Victor.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Saladin found a vantage point on a nearby hill lined with shrubs and bushes where he could view much of the village in front at a distance. After breaking up his outline by draping camouflage netting over his position, he set down his pack in front of him and laid his Mosin-Nagant on top of it, pulling out his binoculars to scan the area. Covers with slits had been placed over the lenses, so as not to give away one's position with light glare from the glass. He scanned the battlefield from right to left and then back. As he panned his view, he could make out a few positions of note inside the village ahead, his attention drawn to the gas station Victor had pointed out in the briefing. Some vaguely bright spark in the militia they were up against had given the forethought to put someone with a DsHK on the roof of the pumping area the two story building about a block down from the gas station also had machine gun nests in the windows, but they were smaller-caliber PKMs compared to the monster positioned atop the gas station. Figuring he should point them out, Saladin got on his radio.

"This is Saladin; be advised, I have spotted a Heavy Machine Gun position on the roof of the fuel station. Some meters down from it, there is a two-story building with two windows on separate levels, facing our direction; those have a PKM in each of those windows, over."

The sentry took a quick drag from his cheap, locally made cigarettes. His dark skin nearly blended into the mud and brick wall behind him, where his rifle leaned by his feet. He had sandals rather than boots, a worn out pair of jeans held up by a piece of rope rather than a belt, and a Chinese chest rig made of sodden cotton only offered four spare magazines. Yet for a member of one of the many militias in the area, this man was remarkably well-outed. When the boys went raiding, most slept or drunk to pass the time - the unlucky ones were posted as guards. Oh well. With a conspiratorial grin, he fished a small glass bottle from his pocket and unscrewed the top.

He grunted in surprise was an arm snapped around his neck. Unfortunately for the sentry, he was going to be the first casualty of the raid.

Farin clasped a rag over his mouth and drove a knife repeatedly into his heart. He shook with every stab as if contorted by the pulses of an electric shock, losing strength by the second. When the spurts of blood ceased and the man fell limp, Farin eased the body into the ground and wiped off her knife. She unslung her rifle and crept along the base of the wall, stopping a the first gap. The merc's bright eyes took in the situation piece to piece, mentally mapping the compound and the numbers of contacts within. In a minute, she had the information she needed and disengaged, disappearing back into the darkness surrounding the camp.

~~~~

"Vic. DshK on top of the station. Gunner is inebriated, a few inside the building with heavy weapons. PKMs around the perimeter, most have only a belt or two of ammo. Ammo stockpile in a burned-out deuce and a half. Most of them are sleeping or drunk. Should be an easy run if we move fast. Put the first shells on the station, then the truck. Should be five degrees to the west. I'll be on hand."

Victor turned the frequency dial on the handheld radio, bringing himself onto the same net as the rest of the unit. "On mark, drop a full complement onto the central structure, high explosive. Search to the west for vehicles and ammo dump - beware secondaries. When ammo is depleted, forward elements move in. Break radio discipline once raid starts. Out." He waited a moment for affirmatives, then turned to Johanneke. "You know what to do."

"You know what to do."

Johanneke nodded and picked up the illumination round, dropping it tail-first down the muzzle of her mortar tube, held by her other hand. In less than a second, the illumination round leapt out again with a great loud "DHOO!" as it flew into the night sky. Johanneke wondered where it went until the round suddenly performed its purpose and began burning brightly, lighting up the area. From there, she began alternating between the few illumination rounds she had left and the high explosive rounds as she tipped the muzzle forward ever so slightly with each shot as she began performing searching fire for the first time ever in her life. Once the illumination rounds were exhausted, she kept pouring down HE shells, settling into a rhythm of outbound shells roughly every 2 seconds. Her improvised tactics seemed to work for the time being as she swatched the HE shells one after the other impact in a strafing pattern until suddenly, a few had hit the gas station's underground tanks, sending it up in a fireball that lit up the village. With this action having exhausted her mortar rounds, Johanneke took her mortar and strapped it to her pack as she took up her RPK, checking to make sure there was a round in battery.

"Follow me, we're moving in." Victor announced to the novice support gunner. With that, the two set off to go involve themselves further in the ever-growing fray.

As he expected, most of the heavy fighting had more or less died down after the first few minutes, with the enemy heavy weapons blown to pieces by mortar fire and any hard points saturated with automatic weapons. The next few hours crawled by in a protracted search and destroy mission of any survivors, with their light vehicle and helicopter setting a surveillance net.

The heavy load of ammunition Victor hauled in was less of a necessity and more of a burden as he ducked around the camp. The few rounds the merc fired mostly found their marks finishing off wounded contacts or the odd shell-shocked militiaman, and the entire thing was feeling more and more like a string of mercy killings. Not that this mission had really been merciful on the inhabitants of the camp. Even with their heavy weapons, their coordination and individual skill were more than enough to offset the tide. The real test would be fighting any vehicles the enemy brought in.

Jesse had eyes on a small convoy of five or so trucks with heavy machine guns. He gave the general order to dig in and prep for the assault. Small arms, scavenged heavy weapons and their RKG grenades could toast most technicals and vehicles modified with "haji armor" but it wasn't impossible for them to run into Soviet armor.

"... fuckin BMPs."

~~~~~

The first truck arrived when the sky was barely turning a lighter shade of blue, sleep-deprived militia dangling out of its overloaded bed. One leaned carelessly on the DshK heavy machine gun, which the warheads of RPGs could be visible poking over the shoulders of a few passengers. But when they arrived, it was unusually quiet and... clean. There weren't weapons and garbage lying around the camp like normal. More astute soldiers would have retreated in alarm at the sight, but the militia would make a very deadly mistake as they waved the rest of their convoy into the town.

While tagging along with Victor, Johanneke occasionally engaged fleeing militia, dropping to prone and laying down bursts to a silent, rhythmic mantra of "Die, motherfucker, die." However, most engagements were one-sided, usually finishing off wounded militia and the like. Since Victor had been doing most of the shooting, Johanneke still had a substational amount of ammunition left, but she still made sure to top off her ammunition when the Hilux pulled in with spare ammo and anti-tank grenades. Grabbing a few of the grenades for herself, she noted that the gunner position in the Hilux was woefully unoccupied. Since Victor had gone off to set up the ambush, Johanneke climbed into the Hilux and took her place behind the PKM machine gun, charging it to make sure it was loaded.

"Johanneke?" Luce asked, looking up at the Afrikaner as she leaned out from the driver's side window.

"Yo, Luce."

"What are you doing here?"

"Didn't I tell you that I'd have your back as a gunner? I saw you roll in here by your lonesome, you didn't even have someone watching your back, and frankly, that kind of hacks me off that they left you to fend for yourself. I don't care that you were put in as safe a position as possible; unless you're a sniper, buddy systems work best. Besides, you might be needed for some hit-and-run on the returning convoy, and I'm sure the boss would rather have you driving than shooting. Leave the really violent bits to me, okay?"

Luce nodded, her expression still somewhat nervous, and Johanneke could see this.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we're not alone when we throw this ambush. I bet Saladin's found a good place to set up where he can see everything."

As it so happened, Saladin had since moved from his position on the hillside to the militia camp itself, where he entered one of the buildings and set up in the topmost floor, some ways back behind a window where he could see most of the small village, including a clear line of sight down to the main road that led in and out of the village.

It was an intense hour of fighting before the small outpost was again quiet. The hulks of burnt-out technicals laid in the street alongside dozens of corpses. LMG fire and accurately hurled grenades had disabled the vehicles before most had a chance to return fire, and a large number of the militia had burned to death in their trucks. Of course, whichever deity controlled the battlefield couldn't have the day end that easily. It was a matter of minutes before the rumble of a diesel engine announced the entrance of something much more challenging.

It had a low, boat-like hull that sat on a pair of treads that clanked as it rolled forward. A turret sat on top that seemed too small for the massive gun attached to its front. Even in the dim light of the burning trucks, the sheen of factory paint on the thing was visible.

The thing's turret turned slowly to engage muzzle flashes in a window. The 100mm cannon belched, and the shell careened into the building a fraction of a second later. The blinding explosion took down half the building, and the gunfire coming from within abated. Two bow-mounted machine guns started up with a sharp clatter, bullets raking over open ground and cutting into the flimsy walls of the shanties.

A grenade careened into the side of the armored vehicle, the sound of it's detonation quiet compared to the symphony of outgoing fire. But the crew definitely felt the explosive, and the turret turned to engage the new target.

Victor ducked into cover, his rifle still smoking from the launch of the rifle grenade. He keyed his mic. "Whoever didn't get fucked by that thing - it's a BMP-3. Small arms will do fuckall to it. It only has front-mounted LMGs and that turret. Get close and use those antitank grenades, or find an RPG somewhere. Out!"

It was a maelstrom of gunfire that engulfed the pickup as it dove into the smoke. Farin would have yelled a warning if she was heard, but she settled on hugging the floor of the thin-walled building as the explosives thundered. She waited for the ammunition to cook off, for shells to rip down the building around her.

And waited.

It never came. Farin cautiously rose to her feet and braced against a windowframe, the black muzzle of her rifle pointing at the smoking vehicle. A hatch in the rear of the vehicle plopped open, and a coughing crewman climbed out. He looked at Farin in confusion for a moment before the girl calmly shouldered her rifle and shot him in the face.

-----

Victor watched the smoke-obscured battlefield with anxiety. Even their light vehicle had joined the fray, and the belch of the fifty had gone quiet only minutes later. Eventually, his radio crackled to life. "Vic. I think we've got ourselves some Russian salvage. Everything is intact."

He sighed in relief. "Good to know." In seconds a chorus of status reports came in. The message was clear - they were dead, none of ours were down. Mission successful. The soldier keyed the radio and addressed all channels. "Pack what you can into the BMP and the truck. Meet at the staging area and begin to head back to the base. Beers on me. Good work, people."

"Stressed out?" Victor asked as he entered the tent. The sole occupant was Farin, who was busy running patches through the bore of her dissembled rifle.

After finding the cotton patches came out clean, the merc finally set down her weapon to reply. "No. Just thinking about the new blood." She dipped a toothbrush in solvent and started to clean the gas tube and bolt of the rifle, wiping most of the carbon fouling from it. "The big thing is if that little slaughter was really a test. When that armor attacked most of us froze up like bugs. Those grenades were useless."

Victor winched. "Ja. I know. I think I have a stopgap solution though."

"We should have RPGs Vic," Farin sighed. "Or are we really operating without a budget?" The man's silence confirmed her question. "I guess we've been through worse shit before." Farin examined her AK as she spoke.

"Still keeping that old rifle, eh?"

"Ja. Better rifle than most of those AKMs, and I have a history with it. You know that." The furniture on the AK had been refinished several times, and there were gouges visible in the light despite restaining and repair. The recent mission had marred the flat black finish it had - it would need some more paint later. It was a big, heavy rifle that only barely fit Farin. It had been through several hands and killed a lot of people. In a sense, the weapon had gone through as much abuse and hardship as the girl who carried it. "Wouldn't mind some real antitank stuff, that said."

"I understand," Victor said distantly. If Farin was annoyed there was generally a damned good reason. "You know, one of my buddies brought up the idea of making our own antitank. We could make some Panzerfausts in house for one. Another idea is to cut down those Russkie recoiless rifles we find so often. Or make our own by converting mortar shells."

Farin stared at Victor. "Ideas won't do us much good if we don't put them to use." She replaced the gas tube and bolt into the AK, then hooked the spring guide in behind it. After slapping the bolt cover into place, she racked the rifle sharply. "I know this gun works right now, and that's what matters, mate."

"Was trying to tell you Farin - we have a few prototypes I'd like you to test out, if you have a sec."

"Hm." Farin set down her rifle and stood up. "Worth trying once."

Victor sighed in relief. "Thanks."

~~~~~~

Luce wiped the sweat from her face as she dropped the wrecked piece of armor onto the floor. Ever since they had brought back the BMP, it had been her job to get it into some working order, lest someone else take over the job and give it to another platoon. She didn't mind working on it, as she had little else to do. But it was still pretty weird compared to any car she had ever worked on. Everything was packed into it with little space for anything, like the engine bay of a German sports car, but with more grease and cheaper parts.

The shaped charge they had used to blow it open had wrecked most of the turret assembly and the feed system - Farin had said they were lucky the thing didn't just explode entirely. They would need a new turret, a new roof and definitely some interior work. Though while they were at it, Luce thought working on the engine might be a learning experience...