Record Keeping

[Order Knight]

This is where records of Chat and 'Activity' will be kept. Please take it upon yourselves to keep track, as I may not always be around.

[Order Knight]

Notce: I will flip this around when I have time.


# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, about a minute ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Regardless if they thought they were alone or not, the soldiers were far from it. There were a few plants, of course, people mingling and keeping an eye on them at the same time, as well as guards near the doorways, though that was standard for the LMO. And let us not forget the cameras, oh no. Klein was very aware of everything that was going on in that room for the duration of his time away, for he fully intended to make sure he knew what they were all going to be like. Who had noticeable dissension centric ideas, who was taking an active leadership role, if they were organizing themselves at all. It was simply one of many tests he would have for them.

It was not much longer before Klein brought himself back before the group, speaking before he was even at the podium. "I have your first mission lined up now," he declares, "But I have a test for you all first. You may have noticed the apparent lack of a commanding rank. The Staff Sergeant and Gunnery Sergeant I requested for my group have yet to arrive," he says, with a hint of displeasure on his voice. He comes to a halt behind the podium. "As such, I would request all those of Sergeant rank to come with me to my office when I am done here."

He looks around the room, placing his eyes on each of the soldiers for a few moments, making eye contact if they dared. "The Legion has high standards expected of all of you," he begins again, "And I personally expect even more of each of you. I fully intend to make you all into the soldiers necessary to meet these standards. Some of you may think you are already there." He walks out from behind his podium, gesturing to Jackson, who he had noticed was paying little attention to him before. "Your rank, previous assignments, and anything else you think you know about combat is meaningless to me. I will teach you how to be soldiers. I will teach you how to be efficient. You will become My soldiers." He pauses in his speech to look around the room again.

"As for your test, I'm sure some of you have begun mingling already. I want all of you to decide who is the weakest among you, and who is the strongest. Sergeants, being the highest rank, I expect you to all make the first say before you come to my office." He smiles at the group faintly. "You may think this a useless exercise, but you will know the use of it in time." He turns then, walking back to his office to await the Sergeants.

((Sergeant players, go to Klein's Office in the chat after posting here.))

# Earth, Modern times., about 3 hours ago, as written by Random_Bord
Joshua Askar had been listening intently to his fellow squad mates, memorizing everyone's names and numbers. He'd kept quiet the whole time, not out of respect or consideration, out of his need to observe those he thought were below him. Lightning 292, Drake Zero-twelve, Sparky Thirteen, Talisman Seven- What is this Halo? Sparky, that's a dogs name. Lightning is just lame, and Drake was too bland. Talisman, that is a good one. He thought to himself.

This was Joshua, the one with the superiority complex. His superiors were just as measly as his subordinates in his mind, he was king. He was sitting at a table, just listening. Cleaning his blades, making sure they were all at their sharpest. He was humming some catchy pop tune, half-singing the lyrics aloud. He snickered at the conversations being had. It's only a matter of time, this is gonna be mine.... He grinned his stupid grin, now watching the people around him. He'd introduce himself some time or another, but for now he would just listen and learn.

Something he rarely cared to do.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, about 14 hours ago, as written by Riverstyx777
Zane Mitchell Carston, more commonly known as Sergeant Sparks, sat in the corner of the common room after the colonel's little speech. His Sig Sauer P250 was in pieces on the table before him, as he was currently cleaning the barrel. The emblem on the sleeve of his jacket clearly stated his rank, if anybody cared to look his way. In all honesty, he hardly cared to get up and introduce himself to the group at the moment, but he did make note of names and ranks of those he did not know. After all, he would be fighting with these soldiers underneath him, he would easily be able to get to know them all once they headed out for their assignment.

Chuckling at a few of the comments he heard, Sparks set the barrel back onto the rail of the pistol, and proceeded to put the Sig Sauer back together. To verify the alignment of the sights and to check that the action was in order, he aimed the pistol at the table and dry-fired. Content with the results, he started polishing the pistol, looking quite bored, yet devoted to his task of preparing his weapon. Years upon years of experience taught him that a soldier is only as good as the weapon he is using, and that it pays to personally care for his weapon.

# Earth, Modern times., about 17 hours ago, as written by TheAmazingAshes
Bang jumped slightly when the woman started to speak with her, unsure if she should open her mouth and speak or just listen. 'Everyone is so fucking..quiet..that or their blabbing off like her..' She thought to herself. Inside of her head, Bang was rolling her eyes and snorting at the woman, but on the outside her arms were crossed and she was smiling. "Well..I mostly deal with simple stuff, like dynamite, C4, Grenades. I tend to stay away from the complicated shit. I think the simpler the batter." She explained shifting her stance slightly as she averted her gaze to Jackson. Hey, she was right; well, half way. Of course her golden eyes would find themselves on the Medic and smirk, "Don't worry..no one will be getting a limb blown off with any of my explosives." She explained with a slight nod.

She then took the womans hand, shaking it slightly before taking her hand back slowly and resting it under her arm as she crossed them. There wasn't much more for her to say, until someone else spoke anyways.

# Earth, Modern times., about 17 hours ago, as written by TraitorsHand
Fox stood silently, he was thinking on his next move. He was honestly surprised that the men would yell out their rank... and he found it somewhat unprofessional. He didn’t feel like attempting to memorize everyone’s names. There were quite a few people at attendance, and it would be easier to remember the people in his squad, than slowly expand when he needs to. Walking slowly to one of the free chairs; he sat. Despite his rested position, he kept his knees bent ready to spring up in case of need; it was more from reflex than need.

While sitting he reached into his left pocket and pulled out a small book, opening to a page somewhere in the middle, he began to read. It was old and extremely worn book. The spine of the which was barely holding on. Closer examination revealed the book to be a Bible.

# Earth, Modern times., about 19 hours ago, as written by Talisman
Jack hardly listened to the conversations, instead focusing on their names and code-names, committing each to memory. He would hate to be the one to let a comrade die because he didn't know their name. He also managed to catch hints of their personalities as they spoke their names. Some were friendly, which Jackson couldn't understand, and chalked it up to being relatively new to the show. Others were blunt and cold, something Jackson wholeheartedly respected. One didn't survive war by being nice to their enemies.

Then their were the couple that were talking about demolitions, and the way they approached the conversation made Jackson crack a smile from under the dirty old cap. Figuring there was no point in keeping such an aloof manner, he placed the cap on his head the right way, finally revealing his face. The scar along his cheek was immediately apparent, then followed his dull brown eyes and the scar above one of the orbs. He placed his feet flat on the floor and sat the chair back on four feet and seemed to become a bit more approachable.

The first thing he caught was the Medic introducing herself to the ladies discussing explosives. And the comment made about carrying an arm or leg in a bag made Jack audibly chuckle, although it was a low joyless one due to his nature. He could tell right now, he was going to like that medic. Plus, it would be in his best interest to befriend the girl. She did, after all, have the tools to potentially save his life. Something that goes without saying, he respected.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, about 21 hours ago, as written by Noble Actual
Lazarene nodded along with what the stranger said. At the same time, she noticed she had gotten the attention of several eavesdroppers who proceeded to shout out their names and rank. Might as well join them, she thought. "Corporal Lazarene Veltz, Lightning 292. Medic.", She approached the two ladies conversating about explosives.

"I don't care what the detonators are made off, as long as they work and I don't have to carry anybody's arm or leg in an ice bag. I prefer my souvenirs to be less bloody.".

Her voice was serious while she said that but she was smiling. She extended her hand to the two of them, hoping she didn't have to re-introduce herself.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, a day ago, as written by Arcanus
Ethan Cole stood motionless, leaning against a corner of the room. He stared at the floor, thinking about the many ways the assignment could go wrong, despite not even knowing what the assignment was. Perhaps intel could be terribly off. Perhaps everyone could get split up. He soon thought he should introduce himself to the team, and looked up, but then decided it wasn't important right now and looked back down.

"What could the assignment be...?", he thought. There wasn't really much else to think of. So he looked back up and examined his new allies from the corner, hands tucked into his pockets. There was one woman pacing back and forth nervously., and he could understand why. Everyone felt uncomfortable in unfamiliar territory, Ethan included. There was another woman who didn't seem to be very subtle, the screech coming from the table she dragged being a clear indication of that. Then again, he had two personalities. One for the base and one for the battlefield. Hopefully, she was similar.

Ethan paid close attention to his comrades' conversations, attempting to note their codenames, but knowing subconsciously that he'd forget them pretty soon. To be safe, he decided to introduce himself. He was indecisive like that.

He stepped away from the wall slightly and said aloud, "I'm Ethan Cole, codenamed Drake Zero-twelve. Let's hope we all live long enough to get to know each other," he added in a friendly manner. He stared at them all with what he hoped was a kind-looking expression for a short while, and then erased it and leaned against the corner wall again.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, a day ago, as written by Bree Fletcher
"Demolitions..." Cassie Stohl repeated. She cocked her head to the side in thought, brushing a lock of red hair out of her face. "So what kind of detonators and timers do you use? Because I'm sure most of you military types would swear by a radio signal, but there's a lot you can do with a simple pull-cord... I mean, you can hook it up to something else-a door,another device-to make it acivate only with a specific stimulus. Then again, if you get too complicated with it you start getting something that looks a bit Rube Goldberg-ish. Then there's the whole bit where radio can fail if you try to hook up too many charges in series. The odds of a signal being interfered with somewhere is a bit too much, of course...

"I'm sorry, thinking aloud here," Cassie apologized, her face reddening. "just call me Sparky Thirteen."

She kept up her embarrased smile, while panicking silently inside. What am I doing? These people are all hired killers, they aren't going to want to here my ramblings! I think the best I can do is try to stay out of their way, not talk at them for as long as that. Ugh, if I hadn't botched that job back in San Francisco...

# Earth, Modern times., a day ago, as written by TheAmazingAshes
'If only father could see me now..he might even leap with joy..' Bang thought to herself before shifting her posture so she stood straight and tall; Her golden eyes averting from the other beings until they fell upon her leader. Her gaze seemed to be locked on Leos Klein, as she listened to his words intently, noticing the soft chuckle and slight humor in his tone. Surprisingly, she had a wonderful memory-which helped her out in this situation with remembering his words.After he finished his speech, Bang would settle a bit, turning towards the other mercenaries, smiling slightly. "Bang, Corporal, Demolitionist." She spoke up, her words simple and her voice emotionless. That's just how she was, simple, emotionless, with just a tinge of smart ass.

Really, she didn't think any of the others cared, seeing as she was in a lower rank. While she waited for someone to reply, Bang would step closer to the group, her golden eyes trailing over each person once more, wondering who exactly would reply. Her money was on Jackson, but what did she know? The womans black hair flowed down to her shoulders, and was held by a crimson bandana; Her outfit was simple really, just a green long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and simple work boots.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, a day ago, as written by Saarai
Dante walked around the other mercenaries he would be working with. His slow movements along with his silence and the white balaclava he was wearing probably didn't make him look like someone you wanted to know. Dante's hazel eyes found Rachell and Jackson, he caught part of their conversation. Enough to think that maybe Jackson should have something a little more encouraging to a person who could possibly be the reason he lives to see another day. After observing the mercenaries for awhile long, Dante began on his way out of the common room. He felt like going and laying down somewhere, if he fell asleep he could just wake up the next day and get to the mission.

He didn't much like life without the thrill, without a mission. When he wasn't on a mission he just felt like some grunt. Just a grunt. He didn't want to be another mercenary, he needed the chance to set himself above the rest. He needed to let Strung Eight know that he was worth advancing even higher in rank. "Maybe he'll make me squad leader." Dante actually doubted this, he was a sniper. He knew how to use other guns, but he was safe with his sniper rifle. He was secure. When he was looking through his scope he felt like God. He couldn't wait until the mission started. His mind was so wrapped around what the mission would be that he ended up bumping shoulders with mercenary after mercenary as he moved.

Those that pointed out how rude he was or that he needed to watch where he was walking were met with deafening silence. "Sergeant Dante Gates III. I like-... no, I love the sound of that." He mumbled to himself. Ranking up was almost an obsession to Dante. Being in power was something he always wanted. He got it sometimes when sniping. Being above everyone else, ending their lives at will, ending careers with a well-placed shot to the spine or knee. Making it impossible for a man to ever play catch with his son, or push his daughter on a swing ever again.

Dante could almost taste the power. He was so close. So very close.

# Earth, Modern times., a day ago, as written by Talisman
Jackson's eyes were hidden beneath a dirty old cap. He was hardly listening to the Colonel, expecting something of the sort from "Strung Eight". The fact that he left after introductions and left his new brothers and sisters without a commanding officer spoke to the true nature of the Mercenary company. He hummed lowly and began to lift the chair he was sitting on up on two legs, giving him an uncaring air. Of course, he could not see her, but he heard the girl pacing back and forth. Then she asked her question about the leader, a question even Jackson didn't know the answer to. He shrugged to himself as another fellow answer, clearly a higher ranked individual due to his answer. He did bring up a point about throwing their ranks out there, one that Jack did not think would hurt.

"Sergeant Rikard. Or Talisman Seven, apparently. Keep it in your minds, I would hate for you all to die because you didn't know my name to call for help," Jackson said with a grim edge that was all his own. When he said it he didn't even stop leaning in his chair or looked under his cap. Plus, his tone was an even melancholy one, as if he expected some of them to die. Then a woman interrupted the conversation with a screech of a table. Jackson respond by lifting his head up enough to eye the perpetrator with a steady gaze. She seemed to be a Hispanic Female seemingly in her late twenties, early thirties. He returned his head back down with an indignant "Tch".

"Such an action would get you shot several times on the field girl... Let's hope you have a bit more... Self control in the heat of battle. Would be a damn shame if you were to get us all killed." He said, seemingly unaware of the edge he placed in his voice.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, a day ago, as written by Saken
A small smile curled Rachell Roger’s lips upwards, until she resembled some odd cheshire cat, with darker skin, gray eyes, and brown hair instead of fur. All in all, the hispanic female appeared more feline like than human like in that moment, watching her Commander leave with a sort of arrogant shine in her light colored orbs. The female, also dressed in winter fatigues, although wearing them quite a bit more sloppy than the commander had been wearing them, tapped her short fingernails on the helmet that was in her hands. It was a special piece of equipment, and a thing that she had been working on for a few months, now.

Having already had a wonderful helmet with a light attached and a liner on it (that hadn’t quite sat right upon her pretty little head) that she had lost in her last tour of duty, Rachell decided that she needed a new one- and one that would sit right on her head. So she decided to make one, and now that the commander was gone (giving her the news that they would not receive their assignments until the next day), Rachell decided that she was going to get back to work on the wondrous invention.

A quick nod of her head, the end of her pony tail brushing against her shoulders, the female dropped her frame into a chair, placing her feet upon a table that had been so conventionally placed before her. The woman’s long legs were stretched out, the bottoms of her boots resting upon the polished wood, and her lip curled upwards in disgust. The reach was too much for her to bend over and rest her helmet, comfortably, upon her knees. As such, the female hooked her boot-tops beneath the thing and dragged it forward, with a loud screeching noise, and a slight snicker, she knew that people had been speaking, but she did not find it relevant to what -she- wanted to do and, since she doubted they were a higher rank than herself, she did not have to actually listen or be civil to them.

Yet.

# Earth, Modern times., a day ago, as written by TraitorsHand
Fox was still standing in position going over the information once more in his mind. Turning his head he examined his new.. family. Most seemed to at least know which side of the gun was the barrel. Slowly he lowered his guard and relaxed. The colonel. He had been serving in IMO for a year and had never met the man, but after the fiasco of his first mission it was little wonder he didn't. Running over his new situation in his mind, he decided he would most likely be in a squad with a sergeant that was less qualified than himself, but as long as the man kept everyone alive than Fox had no qualms.

Turning his head he spotted a woman pacing back in forth. He watched her with quiet eyes, not turning his body just his head. It was... strange, in a room full of low-life mercs and shes pacing around like a worried hen. She had captured his attention with her strange behavior, and he wondered what had her so worked up. She contiuned to gaze at the colonels door with wistful eyes, and that confused Fox more than anything. If she wanted to talk to the man, why not just go..? When she asked her question, Fox tilted his head and examined her speaking softly but it carried.

"He never showed us a rooster, so unless everyone throws their rank into the air we wont know till tomorrow. With the number of people its doubtful we would all be in one large squad as it would be more like a platoon, but given that this is a merc group not a regulated military we may very well have one large squad, which is strange concept to me but, the "squad" will most likely be broken down into smaller fireteams, so its a waste to worry until we get more information."
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# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, a day ago, as written by Noble Actual
Lazarene watched the famed Colonel until finally he had left and entered his office. A sigh escaped from her. A few minutes of relaxation before the first mission. She should be chilling but instead she was pacing back and forth, nervous. Lazarene had been out of combat for a bit. Not that getting shot at was her favorite pass time, it's just that when a soldier doesn't see combat they get accustomed to it. Then when their out there, their jumping at every little thing. Maybe that was okay for someone else hut not her.

She was, as far as she knew, the only person with extensive field medic training and experience. The squad leader may lead them into battle but she's the one that makes sure they come back in one piece. If she wasn't fast enough or focused someone was going to die. Just calm down., Lazarene told herself in her mind. Your gonna do just fine. She continued pacing back and forth for a bit, her eyes directed at the floor, repeating it until she believed them.

Now her eyes wondered to the Colonel's office. She wondered what it looked like inside. It was probably just a computer and desk like most offices but she wasn't gonna accept that thought utility she saw t for herself. Lazarene wasn't going to walk in and have a look though, now wasn't the time for making herself look like an idiot. Turning to face her comrades, she raised ger voice so that they could hear her and she asked. "Who here is the squad leader?".
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# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, 2 days ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Within the common room of the Legionnaire outpost, Leos Klein stands himself before his arrayed troops. He was wearing his winter fatigues, naturally, and a cap that he usually wore when not on the field. He was standing beside a podium, rather than behind it, and he clears his throat to garner the attention of his people.
"Greetings," he begins innocuously. His voice was deep, rough, and strong. "I am Colonel Leos Klein. Some of you have doubtless heard of me. I have heard of some of you," he remarks, his eyes glancing over a few select faces in the assembly. "I wish to impress upon you that, while this is only a Mercenary outfit, I and the LMO still expect you to perform with the utmost efficiency and practicality."

He begins pacing behind the podium, tapping his chin. "You will think me strict at times I am sure, but you can rest assured that I am not a cruel leader. I simply press you as hard as I can to bring out your true potential, for that will be necessary to your survival. I will not be pitting you against unstoppable odds. We are a mercenary company, not a Home Defense team. We can choose our battles." He glances at the array of soldiers. "So do not risk yourself stupidly, thinking that at any time the fate of the world is in your hands. We are a force of balance, not of desperation. It's just a job." He places special emphasis on these last words as he finally brings himself to a stop behind the podium.

"I have a few questions for you all," he goes on simply. "First and foremost, some of you may have heard of the Frighteners. That is the name I will bestow upon you, if you so wish. But before you are branded as members of my Elite, I will give you the opportunity to suggest a different name for our little family." He can't help but chuckle at his choice of words. "Something hopefully that will be respectful to both yourselves, and me." Looking around again, he gestures to his office. "I will take questions, suggestions, and requests in my office down the hall. You will see my name on it. Second, while I will be assigning your first few missions, ultimately you will be choosing from a roster of possible assignments. Your Squad leader will have ultimate say over where you go, but try to be democratic about it," he says with a smirk. With that, he turns and begins making his way towards his office. "One last thing..." he remembers, turning. "When on the field, or anywhere but a safe Legion outpost, you will refer to yourselves, one another, and me, by codename or number. For your reference, I am Strung Eight." He looks around, ensuring that this crucial bit of information was sunk in, then turns and leaves. "That is all. Your first assignment will be ready soon."

[Order Knight]

Staff Sergeant Scadarro walked down the hallway greeting and being greeted in nothing more than small nods and a look or two. She turned into the room of new recruits and one or two who had been here. Izzy stepped in and stood tall and proud. She looked at them, chatting, acting like new fools. She was surprised that she hadn't been called when everyone was to be assembled, but she had other more important things to do fortunately or unfortunately. She was taken aback at the lack of courtesy, no-one paid attention to who was what rank or anything. But then again, she had to remember she had been new to the game once as well, but Scadarro still was ashamed at the military or had been in this room. Izzy may not have known all their ranks, code names, and numbers, but as far as she knew right now she was the highest rank in this room. She gave a scowl. Her presence was not to go unnoticed for long, specially since she did display her rank proudly on her chest, she had spent the time and years in service to get it and she certainly was not to be ignored be insubordinates. But her military barring wouldn't allow her to just take charge, she would wait just like the rest to see who would lead what squad and where she ended up. Isabel would have to do some studying later on about everyone, but for now she would let it be. But on a mission, everyone of them under her would listen without a word or find out just a smoking from her would be like. Speaking of which she wanted to know who was what and with whom, she would have liked the paperwork to know who she was dealing with. Or if she just happened to be above all, she was going to have alot of learning to do and learn it fast. Staff sergeant Scadarro walked through the babbling fools head held high and shoulders squared. Before coming upon someone who had just left Klein's office, where she knew Strung to be. She gave two knocks upon the door as was her custom.

Strung returns the salute from his seat, and then goes about his business as he had been previously.

Zane Mitchell Carston slowly rises from his seat, saluting the Colonel. "Very well, sir, have a good evening," he said jovially, before turning and walking from the office, the subtle limp and favouring of his left knee just barely noticeable

Strung smiles in return, nodding. "Glad to hear that. I think you've proven that you will be a good candidate, as you have a healthy care and respect for your underlings- and an unhealthy aversion to your superiors, which is crucial in the makings of a good leader," he says with a chuckle. "You are dismissed, Sergeant. I will speak with you again soon."

Zane Mitchell Carston smirks and nods. "I can be your man, if you so choose, sir," he replied crisply.

Strung nods respectfully. "Good," he responds simply. "One last question before I let you go." He leans back in his seat. "I have been issued a fair number of Sergeants. I have a Staff Sergeant on the way, and a Gunnery Sergeant en route, but I need someone who I know will be available at all times to be able to take up command."

Zane Mitchell Carston continues to smile slightly, but remains professional. "Well, sir, I could give you the dog and pony show, but I would prefer not to," he said, his eyes flashing slightly. "Words are meaningless, as we both know. All I can say is that my actions in the coming assignments will prove whether or not I am worthy of my rank."

Strung nods. "I'll take it by your response you don't care much to label anyone as 'weak' or 'strong,' unless calling everyone weak. Past that, I also wanted to ask you how you feel you will perform as a Sergeant."

Zane Mitchell Carston opens up a bit more and flashes a small smile. "Thank you, sir," he replied simply. "Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me?"

Strung chuckles deeply. "I appreciate criticism, Sergeant. I thrive on it. How else will I lead my troops, if not knowing where I stand with them? There's a good reason I have a casualty rate of less than 20% in my groups." He grins slightly at Zane. "Besides, I told you you could speak your mind. I'm not going to remove you for taking that right and running with it."

Zane Mitchell Carston seems slightly taken aback that a superior officer just told him that he, the lower officer, was right in criticizing his superior officer. He recovered relatively quickly, but knew that the Colonel saw his reaction. "Wow, sir, this is the first time I haven't been kicked out of the office for speaking my mind and essentially telling off a higher-ranking officer," he said slowly.

Strung nods as he takes a seat behind his desk, steepling his fingers as he takes in his explanation. "You are right," he says, "It is very flawed." He pauses for a moment, his face expressionless. "Essentially, Sergeant, I expect everyone to acknowledge themselves as weak- your way of thinking is well in that regard. Strength is entirely relative. All it takes is one bullet to the head to put someone down, regardless of how 'strong' they are," he goes on. "This is an exercise in criticism. If I told you that you were the strongest out of all the other soldiers, you would have, generally, two options; use that knowledge to uphold my standards, or take it as a compliment and simply stay your course. If I told you that you were the weakest, again, you would have options. Become depressive and weaken yourself further, or possibly work to improve yourself. Ideally, however, in either case, you simply do not care." He smiles a bit. "Words are meaningless, but they have power over so many. To allow yourself to be swayed by words alone, especially when being graded or grading yourself, is a detriment. Anyone who takes the word of a superior or even a fellow soldier as gospel to work off of will be flawed until they find themselves." He explains this at length, looking Zane in the eye the whole time. "I don't like it when my soldiers die. They will die eventually, however. Most won't be under my command when that time comes, but it will happen. I work hard to make sure that they are prepared for what I send at them though. That they learn not only how to work as a team, but survive as a person."

Zane Mitchell Carston nods and visibly relaxes back into his stiff sitting position. "In all honesty, sir, your request to single out the weak and the strong is flawed, practically speaking," he paused, eying his commanding officer warily, ready to be thrown out of the office at any moment. It wouldn't be the first time he got the boot for speaking his mind, but he always spoke his mind when the lives of his fellow soldiers were possibly at stake. "How I interpreted your plan was that you intended to single out the weak and the strong so as to force the weaker ones to strive in earnest to emulate the 'strong'. I may be wrong in my assumption, so please excuse me if I am. This plan of action may sound ideal, but the regiment will actually become weaker as time goes on, as the soldiers will start to worry more about becoming individually better than their fellows, instead of focusing on supporting each other. Personally, I like to view all of us as weak, so the entire regiment can strive to become better as whole. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I do not like to watch young kids die so needlessly."

Strung places the sword back on the wall and turns to him, a grin on his face. "Permission granted, soldier. Speak your mind." He clasps his hands behind his back, walking towards his desk again, though keeping his eyes on the man. He expected he was about to get 'chewed out' based on his response

Zane Mitchell Carston leans back in his chair and tenses up slightly, looking a tad strained at this request. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" He asked, looking the Colonel directly in the eye. "Very freely?"

Strung nods in response. "Not bad. That's a good part of why I brought you in here," he admits, picking the sword up and standing from his desk. "To that point, tell me first of your opinions on your fellows." He begins walking towards the wall where he had taken the sword down initially.

Zane Mitchell Carston flashes a bit more of a smile, before placing the sword gently on the desk. "You jest well, sir," he quipped, before going back to his professional visage. "I believe you brought me here to ascertain if I am indeed deserving of my rank, and to ask me of my opinion of the weakest and strongest soldiers present."

Strung nods understandably- he knew that fairly well himself. "Because I was tired of holding it," he responds simply, and with a lack of humor on his voice. "Well, tell me; what's your idea on why I brought you? One thing I'm sure you and the rest of the regiment will learn soon, is I am very curious."

Zane Mitchell Carston nods slowly, taking the sword and admiring it a moment. He still did not visibly relax, though. "Sorry, sir, old desert dogs learn new tricks slowly," he replied, with a hint of a smile. "I thought I had an idea of why you requested our presence, but why are you giving me this sword?

Strung can't help but chuckle at him. "I said at ease. Relax, Sergeant." He flips the sword over and, holding the blunt side, offers the hilt to him. "I suppose you're wondering why I called for the Sergeants?"

Zane Mitchell Carston saluted his commanding officer once more, then took the proffered chair. He still sat upright and alert, and did not slouch. None of this was for any brownie points with Colonel Klein. It was just something deeply ingrained into his mind. "Thank you, sir."

Strung nods to Sparks. "At ease, Sergeant," he says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk as he looks at the sword he was holding. "Take a seat please."

Zane Mitchell Carston gave a small salute to the Private that just came out of the office, then strode into the office, a slight limp in his stride. He stood at attention before the Colonel's desk, after giving a quick and formal salute. "Sergeant Sparks, three-seven-seven, reporting as requested, sir," he stated bluntly, yet respectfully, still standing at attention.

Rachell Rogers jerked her head downwards, in a form of a nod, this time with a bit of grudging respect behind it. "Yes, Sir." The woman mumbled, pulling herself up, using the Alexander method, and walking to the door. "I am glad we had this talk, Sir." She nodded some, fingers curled around her helmet, and stepped out of the room, after pushing the door open. Rachell Rogers stepped out, and into the hall, peering at the two men who were in the area, "Your turns."

Strung smiles at Rachell, a genuine smile. "You've shown me what I am looking for, and have set the bar for what I am to expect of you." He chuckles, then his smile wanes and he gestures to the door. "If there is nothing else, then you may leave. Tell the next in line they may enter," he says with a hint of amusement on his voice.

Jackson stood against the wall parallel to the man who he had just called out to be the strongest. He had walked to Klein's officer and found someone in as well, so he waited. As he did, he talked to the man "And that is why I thought you are the strongest. You understand that these things are earned and not handed out like candy. I am willing to bet you have seen your share of kids die too." Jack said morosely, "Therefore you know that it isn't about liking each other. Thinking highly of each other. It's about getting these people home in one piece." He threw a hand towards the main hall. "And I am willing to bet you would make damn sure that they would get home in one piece. Hell, I'd do the same." Jack said, taking a liking to the man as well. His blunt nature and to the point way struck something within Jack.

Jack then tore his gaze off of the man and into the frosted glass of the Colonel's window, "I honestly don't care who gets the lead position, as long as they know what in the hell they are doing and won't get us killed. I rather like having my body not being riddled with bullet holes." He said with his dark humor. He glanced back at the man and returned the stiff salute that he was given earlier and then resumed his gaze into the glass, signifying that he was done talking.

Strung smiles at Rachell, a genuine smile. "You've shown me what I am looking for, and have set the bar for what I am to expect of you." He chuckles, then his smile wanes and he gestures to the door. "If there is nothing else, then you may leave. Tell the next in line they may enter," he says with a hint of amusement on his voice.

Rachell Rogers arched her eyebrows, not shaking her head. She understood what he was saying, and was almost in awe of the way that he thought. "Did I pass the test, Sir?" She did not, honestly, expect a real answer, but asked the question none the less, swinging around in her chair, lips pressed tight together, eyes half closed. "Or did I fail, and am I to be cast to the Russian Scour?"

Strung chuckles. "This is a dog eat dog business, Private. I need to weed out those that aren't able to take it. Those who are deemed the strongest will probably end up getting over confident and getting killed. Those who are weakest, under confident and killed. But if they can take critcism or compliments without letting either go to their heads, they will be what I need."

Rachell Rogers shrugged her shoulders, attempting not to freak out, to turn and face him because he was behind her. "You never answered my first question, sir. Why are you already attempting to cause chaos and fractions, Sir. You should want us to stay together, not try and part."

Strung chuckles. "That's a good answer, Private. And you're right. You are both the strongest and weakest person you will ever know, because you're the only one you know inside and out." He turns to her, being behind her chair at this point. "I would also point out that you're good to not name others before getting to know them, but first impressions are still valuable to me." He walks back to his desk, snagging a long, thin blade from his wall as he goes. "That is all I needed of you. Do you have any questions for me, before I let you go?

Rachell probably should have been a bit shocked by the sudden announcement from their superior, but, instead, the female found herself arching her eyebrows, and tilting her head to the side. It did not amaze her that he was trying to turn them against one another, in a small form. Not only would it show the amount of loyalty they had to each other, but also about how well they would listen to him, respect him, and how logical they could be in determining who was the ‘weakest’ of them, and who was the strongest of them. Of course, this was a military operation, and everything would boil down to politics, in the end. A quick shake of the hispanic’s head, and a slight lift to her upper lip as she sneered at no one, yet. Politics, she hated the game, did not enjoy the way that the ‘boss’ had set up the system, trying to turn them against one another, create a vacuum of hate already. Sickening, it really was, and to see the people that she would have to work with to fall into the trap? It was enough to sicken the private, the female who was, morel likely than not, the lowest rank in the entire room.

She was not entirely amazed at being labeled as the weakest in the room, although her face tightened for a moment, her eyebrows arching along above her gray eyes, her lips parting for a moment, and her teeth to come into view before she managed to school her features into a wide smile, white teeth a contrast to the ‘tanned’ color of her skin. Head tilting forward in a motion that was meant to be showing respect yet, somehow, it showed her utter contempt for the male, as if she was laughing at him secretly. The female shook her head, fingers transferring to her thigh, tapping at the covered skin. She wanted to say something devastating to the entire group but, instead, snickered softly to herself, eying the male that had called her out.

“Who are you?”

She questioned, uncaring if she appeared to be some sort of uncaring jackass at the moment.

“ I understand why you picked me, I mean, I’m the most obvious choice- right. I’m -not- working on my gear,” The female raised her hand, which had her helmet in it, lips slightly pursed, “I am -trying- to learn your names; knowing full well that I am unsure of which of you shall be on my team, and figure filling my head with trivial data where I could possibly harm someone on my own team, is important.. And I am not calling people out, making enemies, without knowing who I am to be paired with,..”

She trailed off, her soft, venomous voice with the slightest hint of a spanish accent growing softer and softer, until the only thing that could be heard from her was the edge of a mocking laugh, half muffled.. “As for my vote, I am the strongest.” The female nodded her head, eyes leveled, like a challenge, on the one who called her out.

“But, at the same time you are correct. I am the weakest.”

Rachell Rogers was not shocked that he continued to pursue the question, and wrinkled her nose up in something that was close to thought, before stating, bluntly, her answer. " I am both. I am the strongest, because I refuse to name another person and make enemies with those who think they are better than the others; yet I am also strongest because I am the only one that, in that room, I would count on if it came to a fight. On the same hand, I am the weakest, because I think so highl of myself, and know that I do not have the possible skills to be a one woman team, yet refuse to name another as weaker than I.."

Rachell stared up at him, head cocked to the side, lips curved into a cheshire grin, dark skin gleaming beneath the light. "But, Commander, Sergeant, Officer. Who is the strongest, who is the weakest?"

Strung does not respond to that immediately, humming with interest and rubbing his chin momentarily. "I want to know where everyone's heads are at. He seems to take your rudeness as a possible weakness. Insubordination. Who is to say what it is? But, I want to know where everyone thinks they are, as well, somewhat. So, I want your opinion. Who among those did you think was strongest, and who the weakest? You can say yourself for either, if you so desire."

Sparks stood at attention and saluted his Colonel as soon as the man entered. He remained at attention until Colonel Klein left. All of this was pure instinct and automatic for him, having served in the Marines for quite some time; he hardly cared what his subordinates or the other Sergeants thought of him as he did this. Once the commanding officer left, Sparks dropped back into the chair and holstered his pistol. The Colonel's command was straight-forward and resolute, but Sparks had a far different opinion than his commander's. While it did make sense to name the weakest links in the group, and to name the strongest so that the weakest would strive to emulate them, it would prove far more practical to name all soldiers, himself included, weak. Therefore, the group would strive to become stronger as a tight-knit unit, not just striving to become what others perceived as "strong".

Sighing, Sparks slowly stood, subtly favouring his left knee. When the other Sergeant present, Rikard, made the passing and impartial judgment on him, Sparks turned to face the man, a serious, yet impassive mask covered his face. "My friend, with all due respect, I could hardly give a damn about what anybody thinks of me," he said clearly, with no trace of malignity. "A soldier only proves himself through his actions on the battlefield, nowhere else. The popular vote for a soldier will not help him in a combat situation."

With that, Sparks gave his fellow Sergeant a formal, if a bit stiff, salute, and turned on his heel to make his way to Colonel Klein's office. He may have seemed a bit harsh, but it was vital to teach the younger soldiers the true values of life and war. Sparks wasn't here to win a popularity contest; he was here to ensure that none of his soldiers and colleagues died in the course of battle. Stopping at the door, he heard a conversation going on inside. Not wanting to interrupt his commander, Sparks stood at ease against the wall next to the door, waiting patiently.

Rachell Rogers felt her eyebrows arch along her forehead. To be truthful, she was unsure of the male's ranking, just knowing he was high above her in the chain of command, and said the first thing that had popped into her mind. As he pushed her helmet back to her, cheeks flushed a bit in pleasure, greedy hands grasping at the equipment so that her fingers could dance over the simple, winter camouflage painted surface, re knowing each and every centimeter of the helmet. At his second question, Rachell gave a slight grunt, her head jerking downwards some what. "I guess it is because of how I acted, although I think it is a political dib upon your part. Why try to tear us apart before we have had the chance to grow together, Sir. Do you wish to cause problems?"

# Klein's Office, 4 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung chuckles a bit, apparently keeping an eye on her reactions. "It doesn't do well to peeve a subordinate," he says, placing her helmet back in front of her. "Even if she does get my rank wrong. Now, the second reason I brought you in here," he begins. He stands up, walking around his desk. "You were reportedly called out by one of the Sergeants as the most likely to be the weakest. Did you gather why that is?"

# Klein's Office, 7 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers winced. There was no way to disguise the way she seemed to twitch, her fingers curling upwards so that she did not reach out for the male's arm, to pull it away from her beloved helmet, where he was poking about at the insides of such a thing. "Yes, sir, it is a shirt, Sir." The female nodded, quickly, her fingers uncurling, to tap a tempo against the table. If only he was not her commanding officer, Rachell would have pulled her knife on him in a moment.

# Earth, Modern times., 9 minutes ago, as written by TraitorsHand
Fox licked his finger tips and turned the page of the small book. He was immersed in the book as always. A comment from a lance corporal caught his attention, looking up from the book in his hand; he examined the man closely.

“I am Fox 11, Corporal, CQC and Assault” returning his gazeback down to the book, he turned to the next page and let his eyes slide across the page. He spoke with a simple honest tone.

“I will admit; I am nervous. What could the Coronal be planning? Will I get stuck in a squad that will get me killed? Will I get kicked out if I’m the weakest here? Will I get a Suicide mission if I am the strongest? All these questions running through my mind, honestly, it’s quite maddening, but being nervous is ok… proves you are human.”

Turning a page in the bible, he continued his soft speech.
“It takes more courage to reveal insecurities than to hide them…”

He gazed at the sniper from over the top of the book; trying to appear friendly he smiled
“But it is nice to know that you have my back”

# Klein's Office, 9 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung chuckles a bit. "I respect that," he says perhaps surprisingly. "Not many can say they have a hand in making their own kit." He looks inside it and frowns a bit. "Is that a shirt?" He pokes around inside, though noticeably tries not to damage the presumably delicate interior that matched her head perfectly.

# Klein's Office, 15 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers 's lips curled into a small, humorless smile as she inclined her head forward, a form of respect that was mocking at the same time. "Yes, I did make it, that is true.." The female cleared her throat somewhat, lithe digits resting upon the male's desk, slowly tapping at the desk, a dark brow arched. "It fully works for what I do, Commander, it is suited for -me-, not for another member of the team. It is -my- gear." She stared at him, with that odd, blank, stare- trying not to insult him, but failing, it seemed.

# Klein's Office, 19 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung nods. "Of course," he replies, sounding a bit offended even. "That is not the reason I brought you in here. But it is a matter of curiosity for me," he continues more evenly, flicking his knife up and catching it, slipping it into the sheath on his chest. He then picks the helmet up and looks it over. "I assume you built this thing in your back yard," he continues.

# Klein's Office, 22 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers didn't nod, even though it was within her nature to do so; as well as make some sort of sarcastic comment, but instead she simply placed her pride and joy on the table, pushing it with her fingertips towards the male. "Did you really bring me in here to talk about my helmet, Sir? I am certain that a man of your stature," She was having a hard time keeping her voice monotone, instead of with a sarcastic and laughing edge. "Has better things to do than look at a battle helmet."

# Klein's Office, 24 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung reclines slightly, juggling the knife over his fingers idly. He seems to recognize her apparent intensity, letting her stew for a few moments. Eventually, he speaks. "I suppose you're wondering why I had you brought in here," he begins. "Two things. First, your helmet. Put it on the desk, please."

# Klein's Office, 29 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers stepped forward, quickly, dropping into one of the chairs. Her back was straight, not even touching the back of the chair, her eyes half closed, lips pressed tight. At the mention of her rank, and code-name, she managed a nod, speaking a sudden and quick. "Yes, that is me."

# Klein's Office, 32 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung nods a bit. "Hm, yes. Come in. Take a seat," he replies, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the desk. He takes some of his papers out and sifts through them. "Private Chan-Zero-Three," he remarks neutrally.

# Klein's Office, 35 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers curled her fingers around the doorknob and, with a quick twist of her wrist and a shove from her shoulder, she walked into the room. Without taking her gray orbs from the male, she shoved the door closed with her foot and stepped forward, hands in front of her form, fingers curled around her left wrist. " One of the people out in the other room," a slight indication of her head, brown bangs swaying near her face, "Told me to come in to see you, Sir."

# Klein's Office, 37 minutes ago, as written by Madena A Talinathre
Strung sits in his chair behind the desk, juggling a knife over his fingers as he waits for his Sergeants to enter the room, or anyone else that had something to do with him at the moment. He was looking at the small screen on his desk, which apparently he was using to keep track of the proceedings in the room. "Come in," he says loudly enough for her to hear.

# Klein's Office, 37 minutes ago, as written by Saken
Rachell Rogers knocked on the door; three quick raps with her knuckles, features schooled into a sort of mask, so that she didn't get in 'trouble' for being disrespectful towards her commanding officer. The female shifted her weight from foot to foot, new black boots creaking beneath her weight and movement.

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, 38 minutes ago, as written by Saarai
Dante just couldn't bring himself to go to sleep until the next day. Until the mission. He was too excited just thinking about it. He got up from his bunk and then grabbed his balaclava, sliding the ski mask over his face before looking to the exit. The mercenary headed into the hallway and then began back towards the common room where the other mercenaries were. Maybe he would be a little social, just this once. At least get to know the names of the people he would be working with and make sure that they knew his name as well. "Lurk Seven." He mumbled, still bumping into other mercenaries as he moved down the hallway.

Soon Dante was entering the common room again, most of the same people before him. He wasn't sure what he should say. What was the best way to greet yourself? He didn't really know, but he was going to find something to say to these people. "Hello, everyone." He said loudly. "I'm Lurk. Lance Corporal. Sniper." Dante said to the other mercenaries, nodding his head as a way to greet any that would acknowledge him. He had heard Leos while he was coming down the hall, but he would keep that to himself and make himself appear to be the strongest if he could.

He thought he was, not just because it was himself, but he had already prepared all of his things. He cleaned his rifle, checked his armor, his gear, he worked out, ate well. But, Lurk usually did this. He felt as if he had a lot to prove, a lot to gain. "Anyone here nervous about the mission?" Dante asked the others, "If you are, don't be. I'll keep you alive. I promise you this. My skills with a long-range rifle are matched by none, and envied by many."

# Legionnaire Outpost, Russia, about 2 hours ago, as written by Noble Actual
The words brought by Colonel Klein did not make Lazarene leap with joy and neither was sgt kiss ass's immediate attempt to gain Klein's favor. She couldn't blame him much though, that was just chain of command and what not. A target might agree with his corperal that sending a squad to save one guy was a waste of time but if he were speaking to mayor he might tell him something else. Her previous squad leader back in the U.S. Army was like that. He was an ass but he was a good leader. Maybe Jack would he too. Maybe not. Only time would tell.

" I hope he doesn't gets shot by a sniper in the middle of fire fight. Such stressful conditions might make me lose focus. I might give him adrenaline instead of a pain killer and then he'll have to watch and feel every agonizing second of me poking around his insides,looking for a bullet. He'll be better off getting sniped then living through that.". Lazarene's voice took a more sarcastic melodramatic tone. She seemed somewhat annoyed by the recent turn of events but she could cope.

It seemed that they could be together for the first mission so the sargent's could gave Klein their opinion on every one at once. Lazarene would rather they focus on the mission. It might make her job of keeping every body alive a lot easier.

# Earth, Modern times., about 3 hours ago, as written by AngelofAvalon
Wraith stood in the corner, she had almost forgotten her real name. She always went by a number now, or a codename. She'd learned to be come a cold heartless killer. Her career? Recon. The Real Job she had? Black Ops. It seemed so odd that of all the people to discharge, of all the trainees and Operators that had busted their neck, their asses and most of all, their humanity, was her. Slowly her mind danced about all the things she had done. That was a tough pill to swallow. The girl, barely of age to drink legally within the United States, had committed crime, far worse than punishable by any legal system. If it wasn't for the fact she would appear a complete lunatic in doing so, she would have punched herself in the stomach, right then and there. Only then had Cassandra, no she wasn't her anymore, only then did Wraith realize she had missed the Colonel's entire speech. The blond girl, silent sat in the corner of the room, looking about to all the people she would be working with. Tall and tiny, big and bad to small and innocent looking.

Finally Wraith decided to speak and from her shady spot, "Lance Corporal Wraith, Recon Specialist," everything sounded firm and solid, no betrayal of emotion or thought. She wondered how many of these people she might be able to kill, which ones would kill her. The Corporal ran a hand quickly through her blond hair, to push it out of her eyes, and produced from a pocket in her BDU pants a padlock. Plain and simple padlock, it weighed more than it should, and in her other hand there seemed to materialize a bobby pin and a screwdriver, flat headed of course. Now was a decent enough time to practice her improvising, when it came to opening doors and within a few seconds, the black metal of the bobby pin was straightened out into a crude pick. The Screwdriver's plastic hilt felt smooth, and worn-out in her hand. She would never take these things into combat, and began to click away at the tiny steel tumblers.

# Earth, Modern times., about 7 hours ago, as written by Talisman
"Yes Sir," Jackson replied to the Colonel. He then peeled his eyes away from the imposing man and began to survey his squad mates in full earnest now. His eyes first laid upon the medic, since she was the last on his mind. She seemed a strong woman, if a bit wet behind the ears. Plus, she was a medic, to fix up a brother or sister in the middle of a firefight voluntarily, spoke to the courage about the woman. He nodded, she wasn't the weakest, not in the slightest.

His eyes then fell upon the following girl near Lightning, one who called herself Bang. He cracked a smile about pun with her callsign and their chosen conversation. She was a tall and strong looking girl. The way she spoke with a confident air placed her above the weakest, but time will tell whether she will indeed be. Next was the woman who had rambled about demolitions. The way she rambled proved she knew her desired occupation inside and out. The man reading what seemed to be a bible came under scrutiny next. Jack immediately shook his head, not him. A religious man can produce more zeal and gall than a man with nothing to believe in.

Then, finally, his eyes came upon the woman who had made a racket with the table. Her. He pointed at her with an accusing finger and plainly stated, "You. Your brashness with the table shows little self-control and little regard for your squad. Such actions may put us all in danger on the field. Hell, it might get me sniped in the face. I wouldn't enjoy a sniper round to the face. I doubt she could patch that up," He threw a hand towards Lightning. "Now, if you prove to me on the field that you can reign yourself in and perhaps survive with the best of us, you will earn my respect and apology, I really want to see you excel in this squad, even if it only means I want have to watch my back in your area. But until then, you are on the bottom of the totem pole," He said this without animosity, but it wasn't a friendly tone either.

Then his gaze shifted again, surveying a room. His eyes met a Sargeant fiddling with his weapons and dry firing a pistol. The way he focused on his task at hand despite the conversations flying around him could indicate dedication to duty. Plus, he apparently knew his stuff. There was only one other who could, perhaps, match this man in strength. "As for strength, I of course, think that is me. But that is just human nature and is an undoubted biased opinion... That's why the Sergeant over there fiddling with his pistol has my vote. He shows promise with his focus," Jack's face then turned to a cold smile, "Whether he would be our savior, or our damnation, is completely up to him." He said. Then he stood and walked towards the Colonel's office as instructed. Almost as if he didn't say a word.

[Renssaerene]

Made a word file, for anyone who wants it. It's .doc, if you need a different extension let me know.

(It only has Day 1 so far, Names, Codenames, and Location names are bold.)

[Order Knight]

Strung growls from his office, "Come in." That is all that he says through the door.

Isabel opened the door and walked in, closing the door behind herself."Colonel Klein." She stood at attention and saluted her superior, as was military custom. Work was work and rest was relaxation. Those out in the other room would soon learn that or die doing so.Her eyes met his, but still she didn't disrespect him, she just had the balls to do it and respect by some for getting to where she was at.

Strung nods to Isabel. "At ease, soldier," he says, gesturing to the chair in front of himself. "Code and rank?" He could of course see her rank, displayed on her chest as it was, but he felt the need to ask as he leans back in his chair somewhat.

Isabel dropped her hand to her side, and then stood at ease. She relaxed more and came over to the desk closer and sat down. You didn't ignore the colonel. "Sir, Code Wolfy, Rank Staff Sergeant." Her voice fell away. Scadarro knew that some things had to be said even if redundant and stupid.

Strung nods a bit. "It's good you've arrived. I don't suppose you have done any mingling with the troops yet," he asks, looking at her over his clasped hands, his voice deep and rhythmical, though raspy from his years of war. "What brings you into my office?"

Staff sergeant Scadarro gave a nasty look to show her displeasure about the troops, but it fell away,"The troops needless to say, will learn how this organization works, and when someone enters you check who it is. I could have been an officer for all they know. Not one looked my way." She stopped and took a breather. Isabel looked over his desk with her eyes before meeting his eyes once more. "Sir, I wanted to know where I was being placed so I could get the profiles of the men and woman I will have to take care of."

Strung nods a bit, a smirk on his face. "I understand you come from a military background. Old dogs and new tricks, as it were Staff Sergeant. One thing you'll need to learn is that this is a Paramilitary. Respect is earned, not expected by rank. I'm sure at least half those bastards in there don't give two shits what I have to say, but that's the nature of the business." He laughs, dark and hearty. "So don't sweat the details." He reaches into his desk and pulls out a number of papers. "These are the files for most of the soldiers out there. You can browse them as you like."

Isabel Scadarro gave a small smile at that. "Well sir, I have been in this organization for two years, as i'm sure you know. The group I was with before this, we were all military background and respect was there because we knew would save each others arses." She reached out and picked up the first folder and opened it, lightly scanning it,"And as far as earning respect... They have a long way to go. Could I take these with me? I can have them back to you before the mission, all my things are packed and ready anyways." She closed the profile and set it down upon the desk, before looking back up to meet his gaze.

Strung nods lightly. "You may. Keep in mind, you've a long way to go too, Staff Sergeant. I may run things a little different than most of the other PMOs, but I've got one of the lowest casualty rates in the business for good reason." He chuckles, standing up from his desk. "I fully expect every one of my soldiers to rise to the occasion. Those that can't will be dealt with." He walks over to his wall, tinkering with a sniper rifle.

Isabel Scadarro was relaxed, but as soon as the Colonel stood, so did she. "Sir, you won't have to worry about me. I completely believe in no man left behind, and taking full responsibility for my own actions, and those, if i am in charge of anyone, who i'm responsible for." She stepped around the chair,"Sir, not to be pushy or anything, but my records show how well I have led squads, and how I strive to bring everyone back alive, they may be hurt but they are still alive." with that she stopped talking and closed her eyes. She could see the ambush, hear the screams, the explosions and gun fire. Izzy heard herself shouting orders. All of it in vein. only her and one other made it out alive. Her dog was a god send at the time.

Strung didn't look towards her as he lifted the rifle off the wall delicately, adjusting its sights. "That is good to hear. You will be second in command to Gunnery Sergeant Ramsay," he says. "When the man finally arrives. Until then, the squad will be under you." He turns towards her, seeing her eyes closed. "Do you need a moment?"

Isabel Scadarro opens her eyes, before responding,"No Sir." She then moved picking up the files and cradling them in her arm. She looked at him, Izzy suddenly looked worn, tired, and just trying to keep going. "Sir, if you need anything else... I really would like to see just what i am dealing with, like I said before unless you need me for something."

Strung gives her a wary look, though nods. "As you wish, Staff Sergeant. Get some rest. I can't have you breaking down in the field." He makes a gesture to dismiss her, setting the rifle back on the wall and walking back to his desk.

Isabel Scadarro spoke,"Yes sir." And with that she moved towards the door and put her hand on the knob, she looked back a him. thinking of asking him to not worry about herself, but that would be a lie. She knew she needed an eye an herself. No-one ever came back right from a situation like that. She looked back to the door and turned the knob before walking out of the room. She shut the door behind her and took a deep breath.

Her hand left the knob. She turned, and that look of weariness never left her face. She walked into the room again, personnel records in hand. She moved through them once more, not a word to be said. Maybe another day she would get to know them. Staff sergeant Scadarro, continued to walk into an open office on the other side of the hallway. She put the folders down and looked back into the room, with a mental shrug, she sat down at the desk. She took the top file and opened it. Corporal Lazarene Veltz. Code name; Lightening. Number; 292. A medic. This was going to be interesting. Isabel read on, finding out the things that could harm everyone and her strengths that could save lives. This was not necessary but Izzy preferred to know everyone so that she coul accurately asses a situation, and bring everyone back alive.

Leos Klein sits at his desk, waiting for the last Sergeant before heading back out into the room. He steeples his fingers, watching the door patiently.

Talisman Seven Knocks on the door before turning the handle and entering that Colonel's office. As the Colonel sits at his desk, Rikard salutes him and stands in front of his desk, waiting for permission to sit.

Leos Klein salutes in return, then gestures to the chair across from him. "At ease, Sergeant." He looks at him closely, making eye contact with the man.


Talisman releases the salute with a simple, "Thank you sir," and takes a seat in the chair adjacent to the Colonel in his aloof manner. He returned the eye contact with the Colonel, patiently awaiting his questions

Leos Klein clears his throat a bit, leaning back in his chair and dropping his hands onto his desk. "I suppose you're wondering why I brought you in here..." He asks idly, never taking his gaze from the man. "Any ideas on why that might be?"

Talisman Seven Nods his head simply and replied, "Yes sir, but I have a bit of a clue." Rikard placed a hand on his knee and tilted his head slightly, "You may want to get to know your Sergeants, see where they stand, see what they have to offer." Rikard began. "You need to know where we are at because we are the upper part of the army. You need to know if we can hold things together." Rikard stopped and gave a small smile, "Sorry if I assume too much sir."

Leos Klein nods. "You are correct, for the most part. I want to know where your heads are. If they are too high above the rest of the squad then you're likely to be an easy target- and if they're too far up your asses, nobody is going to give two shits about the orders you dish out," Klein explains with a colorful euphemism. "So tell me, what do you think of the troops so far?"

Talisman Seven 's cracks with a with wider smile, "True." Rikard agreed. The way Klein said that reminded him of his former teaching career for a moment, and could actually be used there. "The troops sir? I haven't had time to meet each one personally, but perhaps soon. What I see as of right now is a promising pool of young and older talent. Perhaps they will be shaped into your 'Frighteners' with time... Perhaps not. Time will tell, sir." Rikard said, rubbing his beard in thought. "But they are a rough group. Some are brash, overeager, and, or, overconfident. Some are quiet, meek, and nervous. I've got to say, I am looking forward to the experiences with my brothers and sisters."

Leos Klein smiles at Talisman and nods. "Good. You seem very perceptive as to their surface emotions and actions, which will be crucial to their survival- and your own," he adds. Standing up, he walks over to the wall. "There is another reason I've called you in here. Namely, I am lacking in field officers. I currently have a command squad en-route, one Staff Sergeant who will hopefully prove herself in time, and about four Sergeants," he explains, taking a pistol off one of his trophy racks. "I am looking for those Sergeants to go above the call of duty."

Talisman Seven says "So you are looking for a backbone on the field in order to provide stability to the squad? That's where we come in, sir?" Rikard leaned back on the chair as Klein walks over to the wall.

Leos Klein nods as he checks the pistol over- it was a magnum revolver, and happened to be loaded, from what Talisman might be able to tell. "Yes, essentially. It's not so bad of a situation that there are more Sergeants than grunts, but there are still enough that there may be conflictions of command on the field. If they do not know who is in full command of the squad, they may dissolve into bickering amongst themselves the best course of action- thus far, I have not seen any traits in my Sergeants to suggest they are so petty, but better men than reside in this building have fallen prey to pride."

Rikard accepted the gun and flipped out the cylinder, finding that the gun was, in fact loaded. He nodded, not surprised in the slightest at the fact. He then placed it into his off hand and offered his main hand to the Colonel to shake. "No sir, just don't get us killed is all I ask." He added with a humorless smile

Leos Klein chuckles, taking his hand and shaking it strongly. "I can't promise that, in our field of work. I'll do my best though." Gesturing to the gun, he speaks again, "You can hang onto that until you leave for the mission. I'll want it back though. If there's nothing else, I have a briefing to get underway."

Alexander Liener Morgan, master of a lack of self confidence, the only pride he could take in being timely, was late. He was pedaling a bicycle he bought off of one of the locals for fifty dollars. Now, he realized, it wasn't the crappy economy that made the bicycle cheap, it was the bike itself. The tires were over inflated, and he had to spend time getting the air out. The chain was apparently rusted to the wheel, somehow, and the snap he got from getting it going caused him a ten minute delay while he tried to figure out what was broken, not realizing the nature of the break. Then, one of the handles broke off, and he smashed into a tree. Not knowing what to do, he put it back on using duct tape. Alexander had been scammed, but he was almost there. Just another stretch of road and... the wheel fell off. Not being much of a bike rider, he of course, crashed into the ditch at the side of the road. A car drove by and splattered mud all over him. Frustrated beyond no end with the bike... he yelled. "God damn this accursed piece of machinery! You dare call yourself a bicycle?! I've seen better from a drunken monkey on a unicycle made of plastic!!!" Finally, he picked up the broken bicycle, and hurled it at a tree, leaving it a broken pile of metal. Still not finished with his anger, Alexander walked up to the bike, stuck his finger down his throat, and hurled all over it. Only then did he calm himself. "Damn... you..."

Finally, he was at the base, frustrated, muddy, hungry, and late. Alexander took his ID card out, wiped the mud and... a dead beetle... off of it. "A long... warm shower... at last... probably not long... or even warm... but a shower... and I missed the briefing... damn my luck." Seeing nothing else to do, he checked in. Seeing that he was doomed to ridicule no matter what he did, he went to the common room. Covered in mud, rain water, bruises, and dried blood. Alexander's stomach was really starting to hurt. Perhaps showing his distaste for that pathetic excuse for a bicycle was not a good idea. Looking around, he saw the other recruits, and they didn't seem to notice him... yet. Alexander sighed, walked to a corner, and leaned against the wall.

Joshua listened intensely to the goings on in the room, still cleaning his knives. Although it was pointless now, as he'd sterilized them at least ten times. He was doing this for show now. He felt it was about time to make himself known, so he stood up and walked towards the center of the room. He made a wide gesture, waving in a way, as to call attention to himself. He spoke loudly, and tried to mock an authoritative voice. "I'm Joshua Askar. Private, First Class. Close Quarters Combatant. Specialize in knives, and technology, of course." The most he could do with technology was hack for a few sites, and figure out how to fix bugs. But he was no expert.

He paced around the room, mimicking Colonel Klein. He liked being an ass, one could say. "What do you guys think the Colonel is talking about?" He asked, as if they were honestly going to play along in his guessing game. "I'm sure they're talking about you." He said this in the general direction of his peers, although he looked down at them. Nobody, was on the level he was, this is what he thought at least.

"He's probably picking which one of us to send back home an who gets to be in the Prima Donna Squad.". Lighting answered. She wasn't amused by his mimicking but it was a welcomed change from the recent BS. Lazarene looked around te room somewhat bored. "I bet he's watching us or something. This whole building is probably full of cameras.".

Lighting took a seat in an unoccupied chair and started looking for said cameras. Her mind began to wonder where exactly these cameras were. The staff sgt that exited the Office of Klien went by unnoticed by her. In a little while Lazarene would start searching for these cameras, just for the hell of it. " If he kicks me out I just hope for y'alls sake tha he has a damn good replacement.". Lazarene squinted her eyes, still looking for cameras. There were two very obivious ones that would probably be monitored by security staff but her gut told her they have more.

Common rooms.

Why were there always common rooms?

For the life of her, Wisp could not imagine the purpose of such a room. There were necessary interactions, involving the exchange of names and ranks, but surely there was a more practical method of achieving such things? Apparently not. Frowning, the 'Corporal' (though really, the rank meant little to her - just a badge, just an indication of how many presumed idiots she could instruct to do things that weren't idiotic, and which idiots she had to find a way around) stood with her arms folded on the threshold of the room, observing the various conversations taking place.

The woman clicked her tongue. She wondered how trying this experience would be. She had never had much interest in the operations side of this... business, but here she was. Sometimes she wondered why.

It certainly wasn't for the money - no, Wisp had plenty of that. Once you knew the bank details of a billionaire, it was a simple matter of relieving them of a large part of their fortune via nigh on untraceable means. Simple if you were Wisp, that was.

Eventually, Wisp decided to enter. She stepped forwards, with little in the way of hesitation as she passed through the room. There seemed to be little in the way of defined instruction at the moment. Mingling was not something that Wisp was fond of, and so exchanging only a few glances, she settled herself down in a seat to the side of the room. Those that wished to approach her were welcome to, she thought, but they would take that step. She was not one for idle chatter.

Cade walked awkwardly into the common rooms, and had no clue what was going on. He placed his loose belongings (his lucky harmonica, and a comb.) on a little table, and took a seat by them. He loved places like this, as he enjoyed meeting the various people that he would be working with for the rest of his foreseeable career.
Cade sat quietly twiddling his thumbs, which was a small habit of his. He then finally leaned back, and waited for someone to appraoch him. He glanced around the room, looking at faces, and guessing names, code names, silly little things about them. He then leaned back, and scratched his arm lightly were his badge reading "corporal" was placed, as he didn't want to tear it off. He closed his eyes, which he hated doing, as he loved seeing things, maybe thats why everyone called him eagle eye. He then tapped a small beat upon the table, and grinned at any passerbys.

Alexander looked nervously around the room. He expected, with good reason, that he would be ridiculed. The man mocking the Colonel, known as Joshua, seemed like he was to the type to instigate problems. Mud dripped down Alexander's face. He needed to get cleaned up before the mud dried, or he was going to have hell getting it out of his hair. The mud was also probably reeking havoc on the purple hair dye. Alexander probably looked like a perfect excuse for taunting. Covered in mud, bruises, dried blood, and sitting in the middle of a room full of people. He sighed, frustrated, he wiped the mud off his face. It was tinted purple, if he didn't get it fixed soon the hair color would be ruined and he would be left with bleached blonde hair, not that it was a bad thing, just annoying because hair dye cost money. "Damn my brothers... running off with my possessions, leaving me penniless, forcing me to work as a gun for hire. Already I see someone who would get me killed... back in... no. I will not think about it. I will not think about my colleagues... not even bodies to bury... damn it!" Alexander thought to himself silently. He took out the scale he kept. It was tied to some a string, acting as a necklace. Alexander absent mindedly squeezed it, fiddling with it in his hand.

"Affirmative, sir, the coolant dispensers are a bit fried, whatever you flew through over Guddenberg, it burned hot." The young technician dragged himself from beneath the pindle of the Osprey's left wing, which was coated in a thick mulchy black film from where the aircraft had smashed through the debris field of a Ukranian helicopter, after directing the surface-to-air missile that killed it. Colonel Jackson, and Captain Whitesword beside him, both glanced to one another.
"Huh, I was pretty sure we'd be alright to do that ... guess not." Jackson mumbled to himself while scratching at his chin, his middle and index fingers working at a small scab of a cut inflicted from when his chin and forehead collided with the bulkhead of the Osprey, after flying through the bits and pieces of a Ukranian helicopter.

"Was definitely not the brightest idea our strategic control has come up with, sir." Whitesword dropped his arms from his chest and tugged at the parka retaining what little warmth he had to offer after the past forty-eight hours. His AR-23 was dangling on the three-point sling at his hip, and there were still cuts and scratches all over the parka from where it had been cut in the flurry of combat with the Ukranian ultranationalists. He dropped one hand to the trigger assembly of the rifle, passing by Josef as he plodded his way from the terminal of the airfeild. All across the strip technicians were working despite the frigid cold, these aircraft often required constant maintenance, which was only exacerbated by the cold and inclement weather.

"Towarzysz Whitswurd, great to see you after such silly shenanigans in Ukraine! Those Belorussians, ya', crazy mosserfuckers." Josef clapped his hands together as the two passed by, Whitesword giving him only a casual glance and a curt nod.
"Yeah, crazy motherfuckers. Jackson wanted to talk to you, by the way, he's over by Virge." Whitesword launched one look over his shoulder toward the Osprey.
"Yahyah, Coloni Jackson always want to talk -- I think he propose to me this time." He joked with a hearty laugh before the two passed out of speaking range. Whitesword stopped and turned toward the Osprey, which sat snarling and still deadly on the runway. The Osprey itself was far larger than the standard variant produced by Bell-Boeing, a customized variant known as the "V-I-R-G-23", colloqially known as "VIRGIL" due to Stonewall's radio name, was nearly ten meters longer than and five meters larger than the V-22. Armed with a single 20 millimeter cannon, four missile launchers rigged on to hardpoints, and sporting a boosted sensor and communications suite, the V-23 was one of the LMO's most expensive vehicles, but also one that contributed to the LMO's reputation.


Whitesword checked his rifle one last time before placing it within the locker, vertical, along the gun rack. Beside it lay a small cache of ammunition, four 6.8mm magazines for the rifle itself and two 40 millimeter high-explosive grenades for the underbarrel launcher. On a small padded lock box in the bottom of the locker rested the holographic scope, an EOTech reflex sight, that would normally be mounted alongside the top rail of the AR-23. Situated against that were the dual HK1411 forty-five caliber handguns. After removing his parka and tossing it in the trashcan, as it was relatively useless with all the cuts and gnarls inflicted from rolling around in the woods, Whitesword quickly disassembled his armor and helmet, stuffing it neatly against the back of the locker.

"You take so much time making sure everything is tidy, I even wonder how you reload your weapon in a firefight." Basya's voice was a faint, yet entertaining noise from the corner of his ears. He turned to look over at the Israeli, who had the Ackerman rifle draped over his shoulder. It was stained with mud and several sticks were fed through the holes in the rail, which elicited a quick chuckle from Whitesword as the Israeli plodded his way toward his weapons locker, which was conveniently located right next to his.
"It's like you treat those guns like a woman, well, a woman that can send a bullet downrange at muzzle velocities exceeding two thousand feet per second." He stated rather matter-of-factly, the Israeli waving one hand through his hair before stuffing the Ackerman into the locker and removing the magazine.

"You hear about Klein? He's calling everyone into the commons, big doing apparently." His voice was almost disturbing to a degree, soft and caring yet equally dark and engaging. The others would be in the commons by now, awaiting Colonel Klein and Stonewall. The three man personal team of Colonel Stonewall had never much taken to what could be called the 'rest' of the LMO, Whitesword, Chotsky and Basya were all the more reserved of the operatives, often dispatched at the hand of Stonewall himself.

"Heh, more meddling in with the commoners, I guess." Whitesword said as he placed a shemagh on a latch before closing the locker and slapping the padlock in place.
"Those 'commoners' will apparently be under our command soon, at least some of them. Have you overheard Stonewall and Klein? Apparently we need more operatives, more men in command. We have too many mid-level officers, not enough butter bars around here." Basya was horribly accurate, most of the active personnel at the Russian outpost were NCO's, Sergeants, First Sergeants and Staff Sergeants. Master Sergeant Chotsky, a personal attache of Colonel Stonewall, was one of the few that actually joined the LMO at his current rank instead of being promoted to his current rank following positive mission reports.
"Oh well, might as well learn what Klein has planned. I'll put money on it that we'll be seeing the hardest of it." Whitesword grumbled as he threw his coat over his shoulder, Basya following him as he fidgeted with a cigarette out the door and towards the commons room.


He heard a merc babbling about the LMO's 'prima donna' squad a few hours ago, looking at the three soldiers standing to his left and right, he couldn't help but call them that. Captain Whitesword, flanked by Lieutenant Basya and standing right beside Stonewall while Master Sergeant Chotsky was on his left, did give off the distinct appearance of the prima donnas. The four men stood in the far corner, farthest from the greatest concentration of other LMO mercenaries yet still close enough to hear Colonel Klein, should he ever choose to show up.

"So, Colonel, what exactly is Klein going to give us a lecture on today. Hotspot developments? Weapons-trade routes? Maybe the Iraqi's didn't quite get the message all those years ago." Basya inquired, his arms placed behind his back as Whitesword glanced about the room, often locking eyes with anyone who just happened to be staring in his direction.
"Oh, You think Iraqi not get message? We need hit Iran again, or at least smack those silly beeches with those fancy bombs we have, the ones that make that really really big boom." Chotsky grumbled to himself, with his arms crossed over his bulky chest. Whitesword rubbed his nose and smiled curtly at the Poles silly banter.
"You mean a nuke, Josef?" Whitesword remarked, to which Josef the Pole could only respond with a grin.
"Oh, uhm, yes! A nuke!"

"Shut your traps, everyone, Klein will be here in a minute." Colonel Stonewall suddenly shouted dryly, attempting to cease any and all talking that was currently taking place with one, harsh statement.
"Listen up, ya' misfits."

Stonewall seemed to have excellent timing. After roughly two minutes, the door to Klein's office opens, and he walks out. He gives a nod to Stonewall and the rest of the command staff standing near him, before walking to his podium. He was juggling his knife over the fingers of his left hand, and he clears his throat at anyone that had not been silenced by Stonewall. He gives Joshua a bit of a look, then slips the knife into its sheath on his chest once he had as much attention as he was going to get from the mercenaries.

"I would first like to thank all of you for your patience," he begins, knowing full well most of them were anything but. "I would also like to introduce the command staff that will be accompanying you on your missions." He looks meaningfully towards Colonel Stonewall and his troops, and gestures for them to walk over. "By order of rank, they are Colonel Stonewall, Lieutenant Basya and Lieutenant Whitesword, and Master Sergeant Josef." He pauses for a moment, looking around the room for approval or dissidence. "Also in our command staff will be Gunnery Sergeant Clay, who has yet to arrive on site." He then gestures to the office that Isabella had disappeared into. "While not part of the command staff, unless Stonewall and his men are commanding from the front lines your field officer will be Staff Sergeant Wolf, who would do well to make an appearance soon," he adds hintingly. He then places his hand back on the podium, looking around once again for reactions.

"Now then, I am sure you are all very curious about our first assignment. Under normal circumstances, I will be allowing you all to choose missions, but for our first run together, I have chosen something comparatively easy. It will require you to work well as a team, of course." He nods towards the back of the room and the lights dim, a screen coming down from the ceiling behind Klein. He moves his podium out of the way before going to stand next to it. The logo of the Frighteners- a black and red dragon inside crosshairs, shows briefly. "Until further notice, we are operating as Frighteners," he asserts to the group. "Until I have enough calls for a different name."

The picture dissolves to a map of the local area. It showed the small base, a red blip, the vast forests around the area, and the highway that went through the area some miles away. The map zooms out to encompass a larger area, showing some distant mountains and a group of structures in a walled in community. This community was blue, and Klein taps it with a finger. "This is a base belonging to a military research corporation known as Blackjack Enterprises. They are one of the Legionnaire Mercenary Organization's primary clients, as their primary areas of research are in heavy explosive weaponry, as well as to a lesser extent logistical equipment." Several pictures of the outside of the base appear, showing defensive emplacements such as light cannons, MG nests, and SAM batteries.

"Due to their usual clientele, B.E attracts a good deal of hostile attention from hired mercenary groups. The LMO has run both sides of the conflict in the past, but today we are being paid to reclaim the base." A picture of a Chinese APC, Infantryman, and Tank appears on the other side of the screen. "A Chinese military unit has taken control of the base. It is presumed to be a Paramilitary group, as neither the Russian or Chinese governments have issued any claims on the base, or denied us the mission. The B.E defenses suffered minimal casualties, which means that the defensive emplacements are operating under Chinese control." The pictures of the defenses obtain a red glow around them for emphasis. An arrow departs from the LMO base and plants itself in the woods ten miles out from the base.

"Your mission will begin here," Klein continues, tapping the landing zone. "B.E dropped the ball and let themselves get surprised, but it won't be quite so easy for us. Recon reports that the base is covered on all angles by the defenses. There are five tanks reported outside the facility at weak points, presumably with infantry support. It is unknown how many vehicles are inside the walls, but satellite scans would suggest no more than three." The map zooms in over the base, and three red blips show, marking the tanks in various locations. Several other blue blips appear on other vehicles. "These are the APCs, which you may also need to take care of. Infantry numbers are expected to be less than fifty."

The map dims, and as Klein speaks, their objectives appear on the overlay. "Your mission parameters are as follows. First, you will land and make your way to the base. Stealth would be preferred, but it is optional." In the background, the arrow snakes its way through the woods to the base. "You will need to find a way inside the base. The front gates are the only known easy access corridor, but you may be able to find something else on site. Once inside, you have three primary objectives." He taps the screen again. "First, you are to kill or capture all Chinese forces. Kills would be preferred, but feel free to capture some if you get the opportunity. The tanks, if possible, would be better captured than destroyed." The first objective, Destroy all Targets appears, with the sub-objective of Capture Tanks.

"Your second objective is to borrow some weapons schematics from the B.E. The Chinese troops will likely be after the same thing, but another one of our clients is paying top dollar for them, so we're killing two birds with one stone. This is a secondary objective, but a very lucrative one." The second objective shows up in yellow, as opposed to the white of the primary. "Your third objective is to locate any B.E personnel. We don't know if any of them were left alive, or where they are being kept if they are. If they are found, keep them alive. If not, no skin off our noses." The third objective shows up on screen. With that, Klein looks over the troops. "Any questions?"

[Saken]

dgaskh I can not tell if Rachell has been answered, ever since she made the post, in the actual thread not chat, about being the strongest and the weakest. I can not decode this.

I'd like the word document, please, in .txt form ( I think??), for my notepad.

[Renssaerene]

From now on this post (as in this 1 post) will contain an updated file. It's .txt so everyone can use it (Notepad, Wordpad, Open Office etc...)

I do realize it may be hard to read, please bear with me. I had to split it up manually, by location and in the order it was said. It is sometimes confusing, but I will take time this weekend to bold names and what-not.

Thank you,

Lyn.

Edit: Apparently attachments are not allowed, so until further notice PM me if you would like the file.

Thankieeeeeees~♥

[Order Knight]

Fox closed the bible, and placed it in his left pocket. Walking to the front of the line, he raised his hand. When eye contact was made with Klein, Fox spoke

“What is the model of the tanks? Can we expect support either artillery or air? What equipment due the infantry carry and do they have any prior military experience? What time for insertion? Does secondary objectives earn us a bonus?”

Okay, tanks. There are tanks. Cassie tried to calm her beating heart. Unlilke the others, she'd never been even close to such heavy firepower before. Can't be that much worse than any other B&E, can it? Say... they were a pari of particularly nasty security guards? What would I do? Draw them away, of course... and if they really want to, the killers can do their killing then.

She raised her hand tentatively. "Colonel? Yes, I was wondering if you didn'thave an old, beaten-up pickup truck or something around here. I'd really like to work on it if you did. Oh, and how are we expecting to acquire the schematics? They'd most likely be on computer file?"

Cassie's computer was open on her lap; she'd been taking notes, but now was he time to begin other preparations. If they were lucky, they'd get access to the computers through an employee or something. However, it was worth making sure her spoofing and rerouting programs were still working right. And then there was the matter of her distraction. Once upon a time, she'd joined a team and entered a self-driving car contest... Sure, they'd been outperformed ten times over, but the coding still had to be worth something.

The clacking of her keyboard grew in pace as she kept half an ear tuned to the Colonel.

Joshua listened to this presentation quietly, his eyes glued to the screen. He was still wiping his blade without purpose, excep for keeping his hands busy. He stood still for the most part, shifting from one foot to the other. 'A mission....' He thought silently, a grin spreading across his face as he soaked in all of the information he could. His eyes seemed to scan over the pictures endlessly. All he could think about was the blood, he wanted to smell it. That sweet, addicting smell. He closed his eyes, remembering that night. The night she was gone, the night he got his revenge. The night he had his first kill.

He broke his trance when the Colonel finished speaking, he turned and glanced at his fellow Frighteners. He figured it was time to show a little bit more 'Joshyness' to his teammates, and so he did. Bravely, and rather foolishly, Josh walked out in front of the Colonel. Not directly in front of him, but closer than everyone else was. "Sir, just a question. Why would you send us, Frighteners, out to snag a blueprint? That's like, movie shit right there." He stood there, a ridiculously serious look on his face.

Cade sat in the back of the room, and looked up to watch the colonel speak, he had a small flip pad open, and had been jotting down a small summary of the briefing. He enjoyed the briefings, he always had. He looked around, and kept his hand down, he had no questions. He closed his flip book, and cracked his knuckles.

Alexander listened quietly to the briefing. "Tanks... gods... tanks? Well... if a tank is so easily defeated... back in... that place... then I should be able to take them out. My head itches..." his line of thought drifted to the coating of mud, irrelevant. He took some time observing the ones who asked questions. "A pick up? What does that have to do with the mission at hand? Is she mental? Never mind, I shouldn't be one to judge. Why couldn't I have signed up with a safer job? Like a factory worker..." Once more, Alexander's mind drifted. He took out the bright blue scale again, and absent mindedly stroked it. "I wonder which of us are sane? Not many, if we're getting sent against a large base like this. I probably should be concerned though, if they'll hire me with my history, how low would they stoop for a few extra troops? Gargh."

Finally, with no one else seeming to ask the question that needs to be asked... "What's the expected survival rate? You sending us out against a research facility, well has this B&E been so kind as to let us know what exactly they had in their base? I'm pretty sure that common sense will have the Chinese using the experimental technology against us, and I don't want to get killed because some client I don't even know didn't want to say something simple like 'Oh by the way, we've almost finished up with some mini nuke launchers, try not to get blown up, okay?"

Dante didn't need to know the survival rate. He was going to survive, and if no-one did anything stupid his skills with his rifle would be keeping them alive. Dante was confident, arrogant to some extent. But it was these personality traits that made him effective in combat. The man with the ski mask over his face stepped forward, wanting to be closer to Klein if he were to speak further. Maybe being so close would prompt Klein to mention him and his talent with sniper rifles. The LMO mercenaries needed to know who would be above them picking off enemy soldiers before they even knew what hit them.

He just couldn't wait to get to the mission. His heart was beating fast. He could already feel the cold air. He could already see an enemy through his scopes. He could already feel the adrenaline rush that came when he killed said soldier and quickly moved to the next before they could react. One second too late could be disaster. A failure if Dante didn't do his job right. Every minute, every second, they were crucial to survival. To Dante's survival. To his chances at ranking up. To getting the power he wanted within the LMO. He wanted to be a leader of men and he would be one day.

Staff Sergeant Scaddaro, listened for the most part, and when her named was mentioned, she stood up and entered the room, just as the schematics came up. Paying attention to detail, Izzy took in every word Klein said. Unlike everyone else she didn't need all that information. She was already planning out how this would work with whom she had. Her sniper, Lurk, Would need a high point and her electronic expert, Sparky needed coverage. She could already see this playing out in her mind unless of course they weren't the only ones out there. But she wasn't going to be foolish either. Awhile ago she had learned you use everyone to their potential and they will rise to the occasion. Give them something that they will crave, and they will go ballistic to get to it.

Isabella walked over to the podium. The questions they were asking were starting to get way out of hand, and there shouldn't be any questions, you do as your told and get on it. You only ask questions that were essentially not explained, and to her everything had been explained to perfection. No-one could know everything going into a fight. Especially when you could hardly get intel, this would be nothing for this group, and Izzy could feel it. As her eyes scanned over the group, there was many expressions and many views on the mission.

Izzy looked over to Klein wanting to speak herself now, but she didn't know if he was actually going to answer these questions of absurdity. He told them all he knew, or thought they needed to know and that was enough for her. Klein had been nice enough to inform them of the mission, She had been under a command that you weren't told where, when and how. You went in blind, the only thing you knew was the layout, the rest well, you had better hope to some god that you lived.

Rikard listened intently during the briefing, elbows on his knees giving him a focused appearance. He nodded throughout Klein's speech indicating understanding. Tanks and a capture sub-objective on them, fifty personnel, and a chance to earn a bit of scratch with a request for information. Rikard was soaking in the information like a sponge and he was ready to ask his questions. Of course there were a couple who beat him to it. He waited patiently as they asked their questions. After some had asked their, he cleared his throat and raised his hand.

After he raised his hand he stood up straight at attention, "Sir, are we to do this as a single squad? Or smaller squads? If it is stealth that you are looking for in this mission, then smaller squads can be less conspicuous than a large one," Rikard said, surveying the soldier's around him... His new family apparently. "Plus, it would allow us an easier time capturing the tanks in smaller groups than just one large squad," Rikard said. Now he began to chew on his lips, dreading the last part that he needed to say... "Also, Sir... If we were in smaller groups... then we would suffer less causalities if any.. God forbid." Rikard said, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of losing any comrades to the first mission.

"Second question Sir." He said, showing clear respect for the Colonel, hoping he would be patient with him as he asked his questions, "Are we going to have any support? Aerial surveillance, back up, anything of that sort? Either way, I just wish to understand the resources we have before charging head first into armor and bullets." Rikard said, his sharp ears catching no mention of support what so ever. However, a mission with no support would provide a good test for the fledgling group. Perhaps even form bonds between the brothers and sisters.

Then he surveyed the soldier's around him one last time, catching a few eye to eye, and nodded, "It'll be a honor and a joy to work with you all. I am looking forward towards this experience." The word "joy" was said without sarcasm or animosity, yet it was still dead, made even more strange with Rikard's melancholy tone.

"Thank you sir," He said back at Klein and took his seat once more, waiting on the Colonel's replies.

Ethan read the objectives aloud to himself, quietly enough so that only he would hear, then he took out a small notebook from his left trouser pocket and a black pen from the right. He wrote the objectives down and a note to capture any tanks if possible. This didn't sound like an easy mission, but it didn't matter. He had a job and he was going to do it. It sounded like a lot of fun, as well.
He had no questions. He never did. He just did his best at whatever mission came his way, simple as that. Ethan smiled to himself and looked around again. He wondered who he'd be with and hoped that, whoever they were, they'd be good.
Still, tanks... He decided stealth would be the better approach, but he had a feeling that something would go horribly wrong no matter what they did. And lately, he'd learned to trust his feelings...

The questions came quickly, and Klein answered them as they came.

“What is the model of the tanks? Can we expect support either artillery or air? What equipment due the infantry carry and do they have any prior military experience? What time for insertion? Does secondary objectives earn us a bonus?”

Klein's response to this was to gesture to the tanks on screen first- a model number comes up as he speaks. "The tanks are Type 99, the latest in Chinese Armor. The LMO does not have any heavy weapons, or an airfield nearby that is available to us, so you will be on your own." He pauses before answering the next question, gesturing to the infantryman on the screen. "Reconnaissance elements have not been able to get a clear fix on the enemies complete catalog of armaments. They are expected to carry standard kit- rifles of varying range and firing rate. They are operating in standard squads, so expect then to have LMGs and the like. We don't have a background on these troops, but they are operating efficiently." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "The time of insertion will be debated among your squad leaders. Secondary objectives do, of course, earn you a bonus. When the LMO profits, so will you."

Klein walks over to his podium, nodding to the next person to ask a question. "Colonel? Yes, I was wondering if you didn't have an old, beaten-up pickup truck or something around here. I'd really like to work on it if you did. Oh, and how are we expecting to acquire the schematics? They'd most likely be on computer file?"

"I'm afraid there are no old trucks on base. If you would like, I can see about requisitioning something to the effect on your return, as part of your payment for the job. As for the schematics, they are most likely going to be in the B.E database. I do not think it will be easy to come by, so whoever among you is skilled with computers, bring the necessary kit." Klein begins pacing behind the podium, back and forth as he answers the next question.

"Sir, just a question. Why would you send us, Frighteners, out to snag a blueprint? That's like, movie shit right there."

Klein looks down at Joshua scrutinously. "You are being sent to secure the base from a hostile force. The blueprints just happen to be desired by another client, and it is an ideal situation for getting them without B.E's knowledge," he answers shortly, before pointing to the next person to ask a question.

"What's the expected survival rate? You sending us out against a research facility, well has this B&E been so kind as to let us know what exactly they had in their base? I'm pretty sure that common sense will have the Chinese using the experimental technology against us, and I don't want to get killed because some client I don't even know didn't want to say something simple like 'Oh by the way, we've almost finished up with some mini nuke launchers, try not to get blown up, okay?" The questions brought a grim smile to Klein's face.

"The expected survival rate on this mission is 95%, by my diagnosis. Permitted you all prove to be as efficient as I expect you to be. This means that each of you have a ninety-five percent chance of survival, which I would say are good odds. As for the technology in the base, B.E has tried to protect its secret technologies from us, but due to the nature of their research, we have some knowledge of what they were dealing with at this base in particular. Namely, rapid fire explosive launchers. We do not know however if they have any prototypes completed, so just be aware."

As he turns back from his pacing to find Isabel at his podium, he gestures to the crowd. "Please find a seat, Staff Sergeant. I will let you have the floor after the command crew." He looks down as one of his Sergeants clears his throat and stands up at attention. "Sir, are we to do this as a single squad? Or smaller squads? If it is stealth that you are looking for in this mission, then smaller squads can be less conspicuous than a large one. Plus, it would allow us an easier time capturing the tanks in smaller groups than just one large squad. Also, Sir... If we were in smaller groups... then we would suffer less causalities if any.. God forbid." He pauses for a moment then continues. "Second question Sir. Are we going to have any support? Aerial surveillance, back up, anything of that sort? Either way, I just wish to understand the resources we have before charging head first into armor and bullets."

Klein ponders for a brief moment, then answers. "That is one of the aspects I am leaving up to the squad leaders. Logic would dictate that moving in as several smaller squads from different angles would be more efficient for the mission, but alot of it depends on what happens in the field. As mercenaries, I expect you to be able to form yourselves to the situation." Pacing again, he continues. "Again, there will be no support for this mission, aside from emergency evacuation for critically wounded personnel. Keep in mind, the SAM batteries will have to be disabled before any air units can move in to pull you out." He gives the Sergeant a nod as he returns to his seat, then looks around. "If there are no more questions for me, then I would like to give Colonel Stonewall and his crew the floor."

Fox listened to the information and nodded understanding.

A T-99 a overpriced piece of crap, if you are going to pay that much for a tank, at least have the decency to get one that could cause problems. No wonder we have a 95% survival rate, compared to the far more powerful Challenger 2, leopard 2, and god-forbid we face the M1A2 Abrams, the T-99 is a hunk of crap cant even stop a direct attack to the front. Well I shouldn't complain about this gift brought from the enemies stupidity.

Standing firm he awaited the Colonel to speak, he was tired of the dramatics, and looking at the staff sergeant, he could tell he wasnt going to like her. A stuck up, holier than thou officer had a better chance of getting shot in the back than leading the troops to victory, but he would enjoy seeing how it plays out.

Isabel nodded, when she was talked to, but it wasn't that she wanted to talk, it was that she wanted to shut the rest of them up, but seeings as he began to answer them, she would have to rethink of a way to manage this group. She moved away and walked back to the side. She had almost finished the profiles. Staff sergeant Scaddaro need just a bit more time, she would have like one training day to asses each of their skills, but alas there was no such luck. She would have to go by their profiles and hope they lived up to what they say they could do. Izzy leaned her head back against the wall and kept an eye about her. Her mind turned away from the things around her and began to concentrate upon the things that needed to be done and adjusted. If divided, she needed to make sure they got to here they were going, if separated they were her responsibility even when not in her sight. This was where she had the problem. Everyone thought themselves big timing hot shots, this wasn't the military, this wasn't easy go and do it stuff. Her mind whirled with possibilities and worry.

'Oh by the way, we've almost finished up with some mini nuke launchers, try not to get blown up, okay?"


Chotsky, never one to let intution slip, wagged a finger as the statement closed and looked in both directions.
"Now, that legitimate argument. Mini-nukes launchers, those sound bad." He contested, before issuing himself back in to silence at the wave of the Captain. Whitesword nodded toward the mercenary, Alex was what someone called him, and then turned toward Stonewall, almost acting ignorant of Klein speaking just a few feet away.

"I assume there will be some form of imminent danger that our recon doesn't pick up. If we're gonna' find anything in there, Colonel, I'd like to know." Whitesword stuck his nose upward as he gestured toward Klein, Stonewall standing directly beside him with his arms pulled behind his back.
"Rest assured, Captain, you'll get your best eyes from the sky on this one. I'll be piloting Virgil personally." Stonewall flashed one grimace toward the Captain, who exhaled before stepping back in to place and surveying the rest of the LMO.


"Are we going to have any support? Aerial surveillance, back up, anything of that sort? Either way, I just wish to understand the resources we have before charging head first into armor and bullets." Colonel Stonewall pulled himself from his place alongside the wall, his voice suddenly booming at the prospect of any support operations that would be initiated in accordance with the ground-pounders.
"All you bastards that'll be going in with the first team will get lucky this time, I'll be personally onboard Virgil and make sure nothin' too nasty gets close enough. If you wanna' hug those tanks, though, at least paint yourself with smoke, because those 'ill be the first things that we're going for after I drop your sorry asses off."

" Any tips on how to remove a tank crew without destroying the tank itself? Type 99s are pretty fragile in comparison to other tanks.". Lazarene asked, hoping not to get sarcasim in her response. She wasn't exactly an expert in tanks or how to take them out of commission. All she did know is that tanks were big, almost indomitable without proper ordnance, and a trait all tanks shared was the ability to demolish infantry. Speaking about demolishing infantry. " This 'Vergil' wouldn't happen to be our medivac, right? I would hate to lose what little air support we have cause one guy got hurt."

Fox was watching the stands and retorted to Lazarenes comment, he wanted to get this briefing over fast so without breaking eye contact with Klein he answered.

“Type- 99 Chinese design tanks are indeed fragile. If struck from the front with a RPG-29, which on most tanks is the hardest part, there is a good chance that you will puncture it and destroy the tank. if capture is your goal the 99 have a flaw in their design where once they are struck in the front, there is a high chance that the main firing cannon will jam, making the tank for the most part useless. Blowing up the fragile tracks are also an option, type 99 are a slow, weak tank that is China’s laughable attempt to equal the westerns advanced armor. Once the tracks are blown in most scenarios the crew will abandon the tank, because once captured; they are for sure KIA. Once cleared of crew, the tank is only good for cover, once the place is cleared the tanks are ours… after a little repair.”

Fox moved his sight from Klein to the Coronel, he hoped the answer would speed up the process, as he wanted to go to sleep than kill some Chinese men and get paid.

"This 'Vergil' wouldn't happen to be our medivac, right? I would hate to lose what little air support we have cause one guy got hurt."


"Virgil will be your savior and savage protector." Stonewall grumbled as a small diagram of the V-23 winked to life in the center table, displaying the massive tilt-rotor in a full line tracing, schematics and vehicle characteristics began to flood and trickle through several images as the diagram rotated slowly.
"Chin-mounted thirty millimeter chaingun, hardpoints for Hellfire and air-to-ground missiles, rocket pods and electronic jamming suites. It's got cupholders, too."

"It kill all the right shit that need to be killed." Chotsky stated, focusing on several of the mercenaries as they chattered amongst themselves. He wasn't one to speak directly to the others, that was what social people like Whitesword and Stonewall were for.
"Master Sergeant Chotksy couldn't have put it any better ... " Stonewall looked to the side at the bulky Pole before directing his steel gaze towards Klein.
"There are eight missile sites intelligence has found, there's a possibility of more." He approached the table, highlighting the SAM sites one by one as he rotated the map.
" ... They're outdated Russian launchers, service tags put them from Iranian airbases in the east, but they'll definitely bloody Virgil if he gets close enough." A red umbrella descended over the entire map, leaving only the far corners tinted a faint blue representing where the sphere of firing capability ended.
"We'll have to knock these launchers down first, I don't care how you do it, but it needs to get done. Until those launchers are down, I won't be able to bring Virgil anywhere near. That means no tank-killers or evac."

Alexander sighed as the conversation turned to how to capture the tanks. "They act like it's nothing to capture a tank. I'll bet half of them, the moment they have a bullet shot at them, will start screaming their heads off and crying for their moms. And 'virgil'... chances are, they'll run out of fuel, or someone will shoot a missile at them, or even they see a helicopter in the distance, and they'll bug out. Bah. This bunch will probably think they are one man armies and leave me stuck on my own because I followed orders and stuck with whatever squad leader I get assigned to." Alexander thought silently to himself. Being just another newbie in a large group of newbies left him feeling pessimistic.

Nothing to do then, but wait for the mission to begin.

Wisp listened in silence at the briefing, and in the barrage of questions that followed she remained silent. When Klein mentioned the computers and databases, however, the blonde girl slowly and almost lazily raised herself to her feet.

"If you can get me to the computers, I can get those files. Corporal Wisp. Tech expert." she said simply, her first words since arrival. She felt it was prudent to make sure that the others knew what her speciality was. She wasn't going to be taking things out long range with a rifle or blowing up tanks. She was capable enough in fire fights, and particularly skilled in close combat, but it wasn't her focus. Give her a door to open, a security system to disable or a computer to hack, however, and it was plain sailing.

"If there is any sort of internet connection at the base, I can also probably break into it with enough time and disable a good amount of the defences and security systems that are controlled automatically. But it could take at least a day, if not more. It depends on our timeframe."

It would be difficult, no doubt about it. Without physical access to one of the computers, Wisp would have to employ far less sophisticated - and less guaranteed to succeed - methods of acquiring an identity for use on the network.

"Of course, if there's a way to get me to a computer in the base before the rest of you go up against the defences, I can disable the systems quite easily and quickly." she added. "But I don't know the logistics of how feasible that would be. If we had long enough to get a cover, perhaps... but I'm not sure that's what you're looking for."

Wisp shrugged. "Just tell me what you need me to do, I'll tell you what I need in order to be able to do it."

Rikard nodded as Klein answered his questions as well as the others. Most of the answers he had expected, although now he knew a make of tank. He then heard a Corporal answer Lightning's question. Rikard listened as Fox counted off the ways to approach and knock out a tank. Jackson tilted his head at the wealth of information, again soaking it in. Then he returned gaze to the Corporal and spoke. "Know a bit about the Type 99, hmm? Eager are we?" Jack said in his melancholic tone. He didn't see why everyone was in such a damn rush. More time to prepare, means a better survival rate, which means the kids get to come home in one piece. Flying in blind with only raw confidence and a gung-ho attitude is more likely to get one shot over assessing the situation. He knew this fact well. It was almost like what he saw during his teaching career. The kids who studied their assignment tended to pass over the slackers that didn't. Yet, this was a more dangerous game than school. A wrong answer here would result in a gunshot hole in the head.

Jackson shook his head and replied, "Seems as if we are going to go for the treads then. Perhaps baiting the tanks to roll over a mine one of our demos can concoct?" Jackson then shifted in his chair. He had heard Stonewall mention Virgil and the SAM's. However, when Virgil was mentioned, a grin danced across Rikard's face. From what he had heard, the plane seemed to be a beastly thing. "Seems as if we need to take out the SAMs first in order to let Virgil come out and play." Jack added a twisted grin at the end of that comment. "On the plus, we could call support if one of these tanks start to give us trouble... Which I doubt they should. Seems like we have people here who knows how to handle them. Try to capture, if not, blow it the hell up." Jack added with a matter-of-factly nod.

Then he continued on about the SAMs "Are the SAMs installed in the base, or are they scattered about the surrounding area, sir?" He asked Colonel Stonewall, "And do you have any preferences on how we blow the bastards up? Or will good ol' C4 do?" Jackson finished his questions about the SAMs.

"One last questions Sir, What is our time of insertion? I would, and no doubt some of the others would agree, like a bit of time to formulate a plan with my brothers and sisters." Jackson asked his final question to Klein.

Klein turns at the response from the Master Sergeant, and then the Captain as he began to speak to Stonewall. He did not mind, as they were not his men specifically, though he gives the Captain something of a look before turning his attention to Colonel Stonewall. He was most surprised to hear that the Colonel would be pitching in with his personal Osprey. The thought brought a light smile to Klein's lips, washing away any doubts he may have had in bringing Stonewall into the mix.

He remains active to his duty of answering questions, looking down to Lightning as she asks about how to go about dealing with the tanks, and medical evacuation. Fox answered the former question, in a fair bit of detail, and then Stonewall adds his notes about the Virgil and AA defenses around the base. While walking to the tactical overlay, Klein pitches in a response. "The Virgil will be your primary backup," he begins, nodding to Stonewall respectfully, "But we will have helicopters standing by for the exclusive purpose of evacuation. If the situation is dire enough to require immediate extraction, then I leave that up to Stonewall's judgment."

As he turns from the overlay, he answers Wisp's question. "Ideally, you will have a team go into the base and find the B.E computer database. It will be heavily protected, both with internal security and external, but the worst you should have to expect is a few big doors and security alarms." He pauses, looking between Talisman and Fox as the Sergeant lightly reprimands the corporal. He gestures to the missile sites, as the question comes. "They are on top of the armed guard posts in the walls themselves," he says, gesturing to the picture of the bunkers with the cannons and MGs. "Preferably, we should keep damage to the base minimal. The B.E is paying us to take down the invaders by any means, but there is always more pay when they don't have to spend half of it on repairs. That said, the mission is the priority before pay. If you can't find the defensive control console or otherwise disable them, destroy them by any means necessary."

"As for the time of insertion, again, that is largely up to the command crew, and our squad leaders- which we will be divvying up now." He goes again to the strategic overlay. After a moment, it wipes clean of all but the land data, and tilts to show a 3-D look of the terrain. "First things first, the area surrounding the base is mostly flatland, with a few small hills here or there. It is entirely wooded, so your approach should be masked unless the Chinese have set up scouts around their perimeter." He gestures to the area he had designated as the LZ. "The fastest approach to the base is a simple straight shot. Nothing fancy, unless you decide in the field that evasive maneuvers are necessary." He then turns to the squad in general, an overlay of columned names appearing.

"This is my recommendation for squad divisions. You may contest this," he says, looking in particular to the command team, "If you feel that there is a better way to use our resources."



"The contract for this mission expires in two days- but the LMO has never been one to take two days on a job when two hours will do. I leave it up to the squad leaders and command crew when to leave, but remember, the sooner the better."

[Order Knight]

Cassie did a small double-take when Wisp spoke. So there was another techie here, was there? Almost made her feel redundant... Oh well, she'd just have to show the other one up now, didn't she? She laughed softly at the thought. This suddenly made it fun.

Then came squad assignments. Wisp was in Cassie's, as well as the medic... She was in a support unit, good. That meant the other units should be taking most of the fire, right? Her gaze lingered on Whitesword a while, the unit leader. All the instincts she'd bred from years of skirting security told her to run the other way when she saw him. That was... probably a good sign, ironically.

Well it shouldn't be difficult to figure out which part of the assignment her squad would be assigned to. A short break-in-and-hack. Simple right? Right? Never mind that there'd be machine guns and who knows what else instead of pistols waiting for her if she got caught...

Whitesword, Talisman, Wisp, Sparky, Lightning...

Lightning nodded. It seemed the team she was one was to be a support unit. Sneaking in then disable the base's defenses so the others could raise all sorts of hell. It sounded easy but something told her that it wasn't. Machine Gun nests and tanks with infantry positioned around the base. Best case scenario they get spotted by the watch and every knows that their in the base, or Lazarene gets to experience what it's like having a robot arm. Worst case scenario, A Machine gun nest cuts the team down or a tank blows the whole team to bits. Just dandy.

Whitesword said he would be on board 'Virgil' keeping an eye on things from above and so it would just be Talisman and the technicians with her on the field. That fact worried and relieved her at the same. On one hand she had one less superior barking orders at her, on the other hand until the AA guns were neutralized they would be one man short and this man just so happened to have experience, a powerful thing to have on your side. Seemed like her priority would be keeping Sparky and Wisp alive so they could do their jobs and let Virgil enter the fight

Cade listened to the names of his to be squad, "Wolfy, Lurk, and myself." He grinned slightly, they sounded pleasant.

Cade looked around for the names that he had heard in his squad, "small team, i normally work better like that." He had always been a small team guy.

Joshua stood there as Klein answered everyone's questions, including his own. He did not flinch at the response, he was used to that look of scrutiny. Much like the one his father gave him, he didn't care for it. He casually fell back into the general audience, still glancing about the room.

He was quiet, until he saw who's group he was in. "Awesome." Was all he said aloud, continuing to think to himself, a grin on his face. 'Awesome shit that is, none of those pansy ass nicknames on my team. Of course, he thought these sections to be their own little team, although he knew in the back of his mind he wouldn't just be talking to them. 'Pyscho sounds like my type of teammate.

Jackson popped his neck as the list of names popped up on screen. Apparently, if the chart was to be believe, he would serve under Whitesword with Wisp, Sparky, and Lightning. He first looked towards the Captain and nodded towards him, followed by a salute from his sitting position. True, it wasn't official protocol, but he had other things on his mind than being proper. He followed the salute by tearing his gaze away from the Captain and looked at the ladies he was paired with individually. Clearly, Wisp was a tech expert, by her own admission and Sparky, he gathered, was a bit of a computer person as well. Lightning of course was the medic. This made him smile to himself, although it would seem as a creepy smile to Lightning as he was staring at her. He smiled because he had lucked out and snagged the medic.

The smile quickly dissipated as his standard unemotional mood set in. He was willing to bet that this was the team who would be sent into the base in order to deactivate the defenses and the like. It seemed to him that he may have been the only one in the squad who had no prior knowledge of computers, except maybe for a spreadsheet, word, and power points. However, he did see the wisdom by placing him into the squad. He would add the much needed support and backbone if things were to go south. He was well versed in his chosen weapons and the uses of such.

Jackson placed the Revolver in his hand gingerly on the floor next to him, beside his L85A2 that leaned up against his chair and retrieved the USP that rested at his hip. He slowly pulled the breach back and checked to make sure there was not a round in the chamber before releasing it in a click. Then he ejected the magazine to ensure that it was indeed full, which it was. He replaced the magazine in another click and pointed the handgun upwards, out of the range of his fellow "Frighteners". With his free hand, he retrieved the KA-BAR knife from his chest holster and held it by the pommel under the USP, with his wrists resting on eachother. Pleased, he replace the knife to it's home before glancing at the USP for a moment. Klein suggested stealth... "I'm going to need a silencer." he said to himself, although audible at the same time.

He then glanced back up at the comrades he was placed with during this mission, and gave a short and curt wave to each of them. Minus of course the Captain.

Basya, Sparks, Fox, Drake, Chan

So Ethan was with Basya, Sparks, Fox and Chan, if he was reading the chart right. He began to wonder who they were, and what each one's rank was. He was right, give him a little time and anyone he was introduced to earlier would be forgotten. That always happened to Ethan. Either way, he'd be reintroduced to his team at least soon enough, but that wasn't what was on his mind at the time. He was thinking about the tanks. He didn't actually have much experience, most of his successes were his own luck and/or brilliant timing, so he didn't really know much about the different kinds of tank. If everyone who had been talking to themselves earlier were to be believed, an RPG-7 could easily eliminate the threat. Was there anyone on the team who had one? More importantly, did they know how to use it? Again, he'd find out soon enough.

Ethan, or "Drake" as he was to be called on this mission, began to think forward. Pessimistic as always, he wondered if there was a medic on his team. If there wasn't, would his admittedly near-zero medical experience help at all? That feeling that something would go wrong returned.

Alexander looked at the chart. "No idea who any of these are. Blade.... Wraith... Damn it! Curse me for missing the introductions! Oh well... At least we'll get to do a mission soon. Here's to hoping that my squad mates aren't completely inept." Alexander thought silently. He looked around at the assembled soldiers. "I wonder if my brothers will be upset if I actually do get killed this time... and they get my corpse back... probably not. They were mad at me for trying to get my possessions back from them. Who gave them the right to dispute my will, anyways? I thought I gave everything to my sister, damn it all. Bah, I don't intend on getting killed, and I gave a copy of my will to the court, this time." Alexander's line of thought became less relevant by the second. Finally, he sighed, and muttered under his breath. "Screw my brothers."

Owen Ramsey hadn't said more than two words through the meeting. He leaned back in his chair and scribbled indecipherable, spidery writing into a heavily used notebook. You might think he was antisocial.

Owen piped up. "No problems with your squads, Klein, but I need something from all of y'all." He swept his arm out towards the entire group. "Weapons and ammo. Half of you use exotics and unless I get what you need you're going to be using those Fabrique Nationale rifles in the armory. Tell me how much and what. I'm sure y'all are responsible enough to keep track of our own equipment."

Leaning back, he turned a new page in his thick blue notebook and got ready to write down the incoming stream of requests. He had already jotted down logistics concerns for the upcoming mission. When all of it fell into place he could give Klein the itemized report.

Whitesword stepped forward as the meeting ended, his eyes constantly shifting between the four others that would be under his command. He made a mental inventory of those he locked eyes with, 'Talisman particularly catching his eye as the entire group began to diverge in each their own way.
"Alright, listen up. You're under my command now, and that's the worst thing you can possibly ask for. Welcome to hell, mercs." He stated as he tapped a seat before striding over to the group. The Lieutenant was still garbed in his battle armor, wagging one finger as if to banish any hopes of ease.

"That means Klein personally hates you, or Stonewall personally hates you, or I personally hate you, which I'm sure you'll all understand." He said before crossing his arms and surveying the rest of those beneath his command.
"Wisp, I'm familiar with your dossier, you'll be useful even if you're dead." He nodded once before turning his attention then the Sergeant, Sparks.
"We have our technical staff, free of charge." He muttered down to the woman with a laptop across her lap, noting in his head that that didn't look very mercenary like.
"And our squad drug dealer." He shrugged off the introductions, wary of his lack of time.

"To all of you, I'll tell you now we'll be doing the stupidest shit Klein or Stonewall can come up with, and we'll get it done every time."




Lieutenant Basya threw several casting eyes across the men and women set before him, those that would be in his 'squad', like it was just that easy to get people to get along. He glanced first to Sparks, who was pretty damn imposing. While Sparks was a definite necessity of the team, Basya's growing confidence was boosted by the sight of Fox, a man Basya had seen asking plenty of questions, a sign of wisdom.
"Alright then, I guess we can get ready, I'm sure you all know what we do." He pantomined moving along with his hands, before placing himself on one of the seats and crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm sure we'll knock 'em dead, whatever is in that research center."




Master Sergeant Chotsky, the Pole, was slightly caught off guard when he was given command of a squad three other LMO mercenaries. It was funny to him, because they weren't the people he normally worked with. Lieutenant Whitesword and Basya looked nothing like they were before, and the third person was just awkward.
"Sieko!" He gestured with one wag of his elbow, before looking over the two others that would be under his wing for this mission. He didn't understand the politics of this crack mercenary circus, even when hundreds of thousands of dollars were flowing into his bank account, he still hardly remembered what Colonel Klein's favorite color was. Did he even have a favorite color? This was just too much to inquire at the moment.
"You do job just fine, all of you. Even you, over there, Blade." He gestured, waving his forearms up and down as he waddled through a small grouping of chairs, surveying his group as he fixed his eyes on Wraith, Cassandra, whatever her name was.
"Rest assured, we will be doing as much shooting as possible! The noise of guns is good for the brain!"

Looking around the room, Klein was fairly pleased; his chosen leadership was actively putting themselves forward to their troops, which meant they would be well suited to leading them as individuals, he hoped. However, he wouldn't let them get introduced and cozy just yet. He clears his throat loudly, looking over the command crew.

"Before we begin the operation, I would like for all of you of Sergeant rank or higher to meet me in my office, then you may return for final briefing and departure."

It was not a long speech, but it got the point across. Klein begins heading towards his office, leaving the door ajar for the rest of the officers.

((Refer to Officer Meeting [IC]))

Dante always liked smaller fireteams when he was on missions, that made it easier for him to get into position and do what he did best. "Wolfy? Eagle Eye?" Lurk asked around the room, looking for the two in question. "We might want to get together and talk about the mission. Get to know each other." Lurk said, shrugging his shoulders before taking a seat. He was already feeling a little high on adrenaline. They weren't even doing anything yet, but the thought of getting someone in his scopes again was already overwhelming.

[Order Knight]

My apologies for the skip in some of the posting.

Dante didn't waste any time once he and the others were told to move out. He got to his feet and began towards his room. He needed to get ready for the mission. He could meet his team some other time, he figured. It's not like they were missing out on anything. He was sure he was an only child, no long lost brothers and sisters. He wasn't looking for a soulmate, romance wasn't his thing. And, he just didn't like being around people anyways. Everything worked in his favor in getting out of the room. Unless one of his teammates was the really social type. Dante had to act fast, get out of the room. He navigated the room quickly and carefully, he needed to be fast enough to avoid having to be social with anyone.

He saw the door, it wasn't too far now. Yes, he was almost there. The sooner he could get out of the door the sooner he could slip down a hallway and avoid anyone wanting to talk to him. Well, he wouldn't mind talking if they were praising him. He enjoyed it when people recognized that he was the best, not the best of the best. The best. The greatest of all time. Arrogant? You could say that Dante was just that. He considered himself to be a confident person. He had good reason to be.

A plan, a timeline, and organization. On paper, this was a perfect plan where it would take three year olds to screw up. In reality, it'll probably go wrong in the form of a mushroom shaped cloud. Not considering this in the least, Alexander smacked his hand down on a table, then bashed his head into the wall, leaving a small depression and a smear of blood. It took him a few shock-slowed seconds to realize he was in pain, but then he grabbed his forehead, cut off a curse, then started walking to the door. "Not my best idea..." Alexander stopped by Rickey. "Heh, nice job on the introduction. Don't worry, they'll forget you as soon as I get my hands on a bottle of Tabasco. Or a banjo." Grinning a sheepish grin, he slapped Rickey on the back and looked at Celtic, and nodded. "I'm Alexander... or... Psycho... or whatever they want you people to call me. What's your names?"

Jack walked out with Sergeant Sparks and stood slightly to the side and behind him as he spoke to the gathering of soldiers, allowing him to tackle most of the key details. He stood silently, nodding as the Sergeant talked and kept an eye on the reactions of the soldiers. He also tilted his head when needed in order to get a better sight of the projection screen. As Sparks concluded his speech, referencing Talisman as one of the Sergeants to see if there were any questions, He stepped forward slightly and lazily raised a hand.

When Sparks finished his speech, he watched a couple soldiers either leave or begin to talk amongst each other. Talisman shrugged and said in a rather loud and curt voice so the one who had just left down the hall could hear as well as those who were talking. "Remember Soldiers, this may be our first mission, but it's a live mission. This will not be easy! We are dealing with tanks and trained soldiers. they will not roll over and die for you, they will not stand still and let you shoot them, they will shoot back and they will try their damnedest to kill you, this will not be a walk in the park! Though from what I have seen of you, you group might be able make it through alive. Might. Prove me right soldiers." Talisman said.

He took a melancholy breath and continued, "Some notes kids. I don't want to see any heroes, You have a squad and a team. Use them to survive. They are more valuable than your damned rifle and most likely save your ass more than often. So if I were some of you, I would try to stay on each others good side. Would hate to have someone die because their team thought they were a jackass." Talisman nodded and glanced at Sparks, indicating he was done. "That is all I have to say to you soldiers. Get prepared, check your ammo and weapons, and get ready. Tonight, we make our first trip of many into hell. So I expect you to fight like demons." Talisman said with a curt nod and took a step back, returning to his original position.

Cassie heard Talisman's speech and thought to herself, Don't need to tell me that again. I don't want to be running into any more danger than necessary... She entered a few more things onto her laptop, then shut it and began to look for Wisp. It seemed that they would have a lot to discuss; coordination was as important to their kind as it was to the shooters.

She found Wisp, and immediately began talking, well to be honest, more at her than with her. "Hey, I'm Sparky, in case you don't remember," Cassie said with a small wave. "Since it looks like we'll be doing much the same work here, I wanted to make sure we could make sure our programs are all compatible so we aren't doing any redundant work out on the field? I think it should help, because we don't want to be spending any more time there than we need to, do we? And I hope I can trust you with my own coding; I really don't want it getting out to anyone else. That would just make it easier for someone to defend against it, you know? So please keep it to yourself, and I promise I'll do the same for you."

Fox nodded hearing the plan, and supposed it was well enough. Fighting tanks as raw recruits would cause causalities, but it was too bad the bonus would have been nice. He didn’t discount the thought of commandeering the tanks fully as plans never tend to go as smooth as planned. Moving to the side of the stage he gave his order of bullets to Owen. “28 .45 ACP rounds and 120 5.56x45mm rounds. That will be all, thank you in advance”

Moving away, he left the main room, and headed to the barracks. Making his way over to his bunk he knealt next to the trunk placed securely at the base of his bed.

Unlocking the Titanium lock, he gently pushed open the lid, and reaching in took out his M16A4 with foreword grip. To Fox the gun was beautiful; the gun being a part of his life longer than he would ever care to admit. Opening the action, he began to clean the gun with slow, careful movements; making sure to take extra care of the barrel’s rifling and action.

Once finished, he placed the rifle back into its case, and pulled out his M1911 sidearm. Some thought it was outdated, but it suited Fox fine. The handgun was extraordinary durable, and its slim frame did nothing to stop its strong punch. Fox began to clean this gun as well, making sure his weapons were at their peak of performance. Reaching down to his boot, he pulled out his Bowie Knife, and sharpened the already razor blade even further.

With a nod of satisfaction, he looked at his watch, and gauged the time he had. Couple of hours, so setting the alarm next to his bunk, he climbed into his bed with full fatigues on, and sought to gain a few hours of sleep, as you never know when the next time you will be able to do this out in the field.

Fox nodded hearing the plan, and supposed it was well enough. Fighting tanks as raw recruits would cause causalities, but it was too bad the bonus would have been nice. He didn’t discount the thought of commandeering the tanks fully as plans never tend to go as smooth as planned. Moving to the side of the stage he gave his order of bullets to Owen. “28 .45 ACP rounds and 120 5.56x45mm rounds. That will be all, thank you in advance”

Moving away, he left the main room, and headed to the barracks. Making his way over to his bunk he knelt next to the trunk placed securely at the base of his bed. Unlocking the Titanium lock, he gently pushed open the lid, and reaching in took out his M16A4 with foreword grip. To Fox the gun was beautiful; the gun being a part of his life longer than he would ever care to admit. Opening the action, he began to clean the gun with slow, careful movements; making sure to take extra care of the barrel’s rifling and action.

Once finished, he placed the rifle back into its case, and pulled out his M1911 sidearm. Some thought it was outdated, but it suited Fox fine. The handgun was extraordinary durable, and its slim frame did nothing to stop its strong punch. Fox began to clean this gun as well, making sure his weapons were at their peak of performance. Reaching down to his boot, he pulled out his Bowie Knife, and sharpened the already razor blade.

With a nod of satisfaction, he looked at his watch, and gauged the time he had. Couple of hours, so setting the alarm next to his bunk, he climbed into his bed with full fatigues on, and sought to gain a few hours of sleep, as you never know when the next time you will be able to do this out in the field.

Ricky, having heard the briefing (a boring routine that he never particularly understood the purpose of, to be completely frank) turned around wordlessly, hoping against hope that this mission wasn't one of the sour lemons that he'd heard so much flak about--

-- only to be stopped in his tracks by someone talking about his introduction, a bottle of sauce, and a stringed instrument. He went cold as the man gave him what seemed to be a friendly slap on the back.

Oh God. That was a very bad sign.

Forgetting his manners for a bit, he walked brusquely past the man and the other medic, heading towards his room. Thank God he was a medic. At least that meant he had his own private space.

Once there, he flopped onto his bunk and set the clock perched on one of the pillows to ring the alarm an hour before the mission's beginning. He always took a bit more time getting ready than most soldiers, and while he always chalked it up to his gear (after all, FAKs were heavy and awkward to place), he had a deeper reason than just slowness in making himself fit for combat...

He slid out his copy of Public Speaking 102: Military Version from under his least favourite pillow and kissed it good-night. Then he pushed a nearby button, and the lights turned off.

Nighty-night.

Katherine Durham stayed at full attention while one of the commanding officers gave the main points of the team. She grinned slightly and nodded with a slight salute to both of the commanding officers that were in the room. Well, it seemed they were in for an interesting mission. She scanned the list of operatives for her codename and smiled as she found it. "Deep Strike, alright, I can handle that. Hopefully, it won't be too hard of a team to manage," she spoke to herself aloud.

She turned to the other medic for a moment before she noticed a...disconcerting fellow soldier's strange approach. Was his forehead bleeding? They hadn't even started the mission! Hopefully, he would be the other poor medic's charge and not her own. This one didn't seem to be completely right in the head...Something she'd seen before and had enough of.

"Ah, I'm Katherine. Celtic 312, when the mission calls for it," she introduced with her same large smile, watching the other medic go with an arched brow. Alright, not one for conversation. She could appreciate that. "Psycho...Ah, on my squad, then." Dammit.

"Well, first order of business. Stop your forehead from bleeding," she stated with a slight sigh before painting the smile back on. She motioned for him to hold still while she dug through her medical kit. Yep, already decked out. Never know if extra time will come in handy. She pulled out a small bandage and again motioned for him, this time to come closer, so she could get him fixed back up.

Alexander watched Rickey leave. He looked at Katherine with a raised eyebrow, watching somewhat nervously as she pulled out the bandage. "Wait... what?" Alexander looked around, then felt the blood dripping down his face. "Oh... great. Headaches and nightmares. Not even a shower before I get blood on my face." Alexander sighed and waited for Katherine to bandage his head, thinking to himself. "I'm going to regret signing up. Just watch, the Chinese have already gotten what they want, and they're waiting for us to go in there so they can nuke whoever comes to retake the base."

Ethan glanced once more at the projection, to make sure he'd seen it right. Primary combat team? Hell yeah, he loved being in the middle of the action. It was a load of fun. Risky, but fun. He paid little attention to the objectives, he was too busy being excited. He hoped he would have a good leader.

Work together, huh? That could be done, Ethan was a pretty good team player. Sure, he occasionally disobeyed orders, but it never got him into trouble he couldn't get out of. Besides, he only did that if he thought the idea behind the order was really stupid and had a better plan himself. He was getting a little nervous about the mission again, but he was ready as he'd ever be. Still, he needed to prepare for the mission.

Ethan headed to his room, grabbed his AK that was slung on his back, and made sure it was in good condition. Not that it was a priority for him, he was more worried about the mental preparations. If your weapons were in top condition, it wouldn't matter if you weren't mentally prepared. The mission wasn't far off, now. He checked his body armor to make sure it also was in good condition, and it was. There was a little scratch, but nothing much.

He began to feel confused for some reason, and decided it was because he felt out of place in his new "home". Regardless, he was as prepared as he was going to get. He lay down on a nearby bed and waited.

Lazarene didn't stay to chat after the briefing was over. She went to straight to the barracks, to where the beds were and sat down on the one she had claimed when arriving at the base. The barracks bedrooms were more private and provided sufficient comfort for a soldier coming back from a mission but for one going to a mission, it wasn't enough. In the military if she needed anything her squad was right there to talk, to laugh, to cry, and to get yelled by the others for 'disturbing their sleep'. Now she had no one but the bland walls and the ceiling fan. She could hear some chatter coming from outside and of course, security guards trying out their squeaky boots. That might get irritating later on.

Sense she had nothing better to do Annabelle checked her bags which were right next to her on the bed. Inside the bags were her MP5k, armor, spare clothes and most importantly ,a case containing her medical supplies. Lazarene took out this case and opened it, checking every needle, every bottle, every liquid, every single last thing in the case was given a thorough visual check. Once she checked them once, she check them again and then again. It was very important that everything in the case wasn't contaminated or malfunctioning or it would spell death for someone at sometime. Once she was convinced that everything was fine, she laid back on the bed, staring at the cieling.

She thought about the mission. About the people she was going in with, and what would happen to them. Will they get hurt? Will they die? Will it be my fault? Of course it'll be my fault, I'm the medic! Damn my role really sucks... Well at least I'll be away from the tanks... Lighting closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep, forgetting to check her weapons and trusting someone in her squad would wake her up when the time came.

Apparently, there was less time than any of them expected to get ready. A soft female voice comes over the intercomm through the entire base.

"All Frightener elements, be advised: Deployment time in ten minutes. All units are to report to the landing pad immediately for dustoff.

All Frightener elements, be advised: All units must be present within ten minutes. Any and all units that are not present at dustoff time will be cycled out to secondary units as per Officer orders. That is all."

With that announcement loudly declared, it would be expected that everyone would make haste to the helipad; and everyone would soon know who was really ready to be a part of the Mercenary unit.

Staff sergeant wolfy had left the meeting with not another word. Her pride slightly hurt by her knowledge and what she could do slammed down into her own face. But still she walked out of that officers meeting head held high, but if she had ever had a tail it would have been tucked under her like a kid after getting into trouble. Isabel went to her room and prepaired, just checking and double checking that she had everything and everything was upon her. It was a ritual to take a shower, and from there dress, and put everything on. Basic clothing, A plain black t-shirt, Cargo pants and her combat boots. Then Izzy slipped her iotv over chest. Her only means of protection. Her Desert eagle holstered at her hip, the Scar 7.62 was strapped over her back, and her 50. Cal was strapped over her left shoulder, all weapons pointing towards the ground and all at measured angles. She put on her ACH, and began the process of putting things where they could be within reach without falling out of pockets. Now with her ritual over she completely turned her attention to Specialist. He laid upon her bed, his eyes half closed knowing in dew time he would get his attention. The black and white pitbull, had a smile that went on for miles. He was happy to have a belly rub and more excited to have his own collar taken off, just like his owner his personality changed and became more focused. She rubbed his head lettng him know that it was still okay to relax for now. When the anouncement went out, She whistled and Specialist was dancing around the door on all fours ready to go. She opened the door and gave the silent command to stay beside her, and he was of course trained to do so. She walked down the hallway and out to the Helipad. It was a woder to her who would be worth their balls and who wouldn't. In just her short time here, she had seen many people talk the talk but cower when the time came to prove their worth. And personally Izzy had no problem leaving any coward behind to suffer, and if by some miracle chance they made it back alive, they were hers, and a smoking wasn't even the word for what she did to cowards. Specialist took off for a second to do his business before quickly returning and sitting right down next to Scadarro as if he was attached to her side.


"All Frightener elements, be advised: Deployment time in ten minutes. All units are to report to the landing pad immediately for dustoff.

All Frightener elements, be advised: All units must be present within ten minutes. Any and all units that are not present at dustoff time will be cycled out to secondary units as per Officer orders. That is all."

The announcement rudely awoke Lazarene. She did not make haste at first, instead she stared at the wall for a bit. It was as if there was a fog in her mind that stopped her from seeing what she must do. Then it hit her. Immediately, she jumped off the bed and started getting everything ready starting with her armor. It was all just some bullet proof padding with a lighter, weaker, then usual bullet proof vest. If a bullet was going fast enough or if it was modified, it could pierce through but it was better then going out there with nothing on you.

Next she gathered her guns and field medic equipment. Her USP. 45 slid into it's holster. She'd have to carry the SMG around. The case filled with the meds were carefully placed inside a back-pack as well as her smoke grenades. Lazarene then rushed out the door, backpack held in one hand, MP5k held with the other, and made her way to the Helipad. She didn't know the facility as well as she would like and got lost but she found her way to the pad. Someone had already beat her there.

"How many you think will chicken out?", Lightning asked as she made her way up the ramp while simultaneously putting her backpack on her back. Her gun was pointed towards the floor just in case the safety was off. "I say at 3 at least 2 while chicken out but let's hope it's not the other two medics.".

"Craph." Cassie was trying to gut the wires from something-it was impossible to tell what at this point-in her room when the announcement came. She spat some of hem out. "Guess I'm not getting that done before we go. Shame. Might have helped," she mumbled, grabbing the rest of her gear together.

It was funny; Cassie still almost looked like a college student, with her packs and especially the laptop case hanging at her side. Sure she had on military-style fatigues now, but there were enough people on campus that wore those anyway. The only hint that she was expecting anything more dangerous than a pop quiz was the pistol holstered on her left.

She showed up at the landing pad desperately trying to smooth her hair down. Then she stopped, embarrassed. Why, exactly, would it matter where she was going? A nervous motion, she supposed, to take her mind off of what she was about to wade into.

"Sparky 013 is here!" she called, jumping aboard.

"All Frightener elements, be advised: Deployment time in ten minutes. All units are to report to the landing pad immediately for dustoff."

Ethan woke sharply. He had drifted off during his thoughts at some point, it seemed. He needed to get to the landing pad, but where was that? His answer walked past him as he left the building to look for it in the form of a woman with a laptop case. She walked quickly in one direction, and he followed her, hoping to be led there. He tried to take in the area so that he wouldn't get as lost the next time.

"Sparky 013 is here!" the woman spoke, Drake following rather closely behind. He arrived in silence, and checked his stuff one last time. AK, ready. Armor, ready, weak but better than nothing. Mentally, close enough. "Let's roll," he muttered, more to himself than anything else.

Katherine paused as she heard the command over the intercom. Well, wasn't that just perfect. At least they were getting this mission off the ground quick. She moved forward and quickly bandaged Alexander's head, barely taking thirty seconds before she was packing everything away again. "Try not to get yourself killed, alright? It'll be on my conscience if so," she imparted to him with a large laugh before starting off to the landing pad.

She looked over herself and her weaponry as she walked, double-checking everything she had gotten on. Everything seemed to be in order, so there should be no problems. Their mission seemed fairly straight-forward so far. As long as it stayed that way, she could get in, avoid having to patch up anymore of her teammates, and then come back no worse for wear. This Psycho person might be a bit of a stumbling block...Just a few minutes near him had proven that he wasn't completely right in the head.

Well, here she was, the landing pad and with even a bit of time to spare. She smiled widely, trying to keep her energy up and positive, that always seemed to help keep the others around her on the positive end of the spectrum. "Let's get this going, right?"

"All Frightener elements, be advised: Deployment time in ten minutes. All units are to report to the landing pad immediately for dustoff."

Alexander jumped up, ready to go. "Whoopdy fucking doo! Let's do this!" He hadn't had any time to put down his things, so he didn't need to pick anything up. Feeling anticipation, and anxiety, Alexander comforted himself by unnecessarily slamming into the door to the landing pad. He would probably get into trouble for that, but as long as no one went into a murderous rampage over it, which he doubted would happen, he could take it. "Psycho is here, and ready for action!" He yelled.

Talisman lazily dragged an eye to the intercom as it ordered them to the helipad, "Time to head into the Maw." He simply said as he reached in a pocket on his Kevlar Jacket and retrieved a black beanie. He pulled the beanie around his head and ears in order to allow both to retain heat. He then tugged at the scarf wrapped around his neck to allow for room for his nose and mouth. We they touched down he would pull the scarf up to keep both the nose and bottom part of his face warm. Other than that, he knew he was ready. Then he reached into the ragged sleeves of his arms and pulled down a fine black cloth down his arms. Because of the temperature of the Russian motherland, he had taken earlier precautions, wearing a long sleeve underlay to his normal outfit, a shirt and sleeveless Kevlar Jacket. However as he walked outside a bit towards the Helipad, he wrinkled his nose a bit at the fridge temperature.

He felt the familiar weight of his L85A2 harnessed into a two-point strap behind his back. He felt the comfortable pressure of the USP holster wrapped around his thigh. Various rounds of ammo was bouncing around his various pockets as he made his way through the base. He unsheathed the KA-BAR knife at his breast and checked the honed edge of it. Razor sharp, just as it should be and placed it back. On the other side of his chest, dangled a couple of various grenades, bouncing with each step. As he marched to the Helipad, he made a mental inventory of these items and others. His lips twitched at the thought of forgetting to find a silencer for his USP, yet it could not be helped. It wouldn't be seemly for a Sergeant to miss the dust off.

As he arrived, he saw two of his current squad already situated on a bird. Lightning and Sparky. He even heard Sparky announce herself as he walked up. "Sparky 013 is here!" This caused Talisman to crack a smile, she seemed peppy. Then the smile faded into his uniform depressed scowl, he hoped that wouldn't be a liability. He then hefted himself into the bird and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, "That's good to know private. Glad you didn't flake out." He said with a mischievous smile and sat beside the Medic, Lightning.

There, he finally drew his USP, ejected the mag to reassure it was full, replaced it and chambered a round. He slid his L8 around to his lap and gave it similar treatment, though the breach was located far behind the trigger. Satisfied, he straightened up and stared straight ahead. "Ready for this?" He calmly asked the Lightning beside him.

After Sparks finished his speech, he made his way to his section of the barracks. In truth, he was already prepared for combat, but he still could do for a bit more preparation. Pulling a piece of fabric from his pocket, he fashioned it into a crude headband and tied back his hair. Once he was finished with that, he grabbed a tin of dark green face paint. With a few deft movements, Sparks made three diagonal stripes of paint on his face, effectively covering it. He pocketed the tin in case any of his other squad needed it, as he walked out of his barracks. His FAMAS Bullpup assault rifle hung at the ready from his left shoulder, and his Sig Sauer sat in a shoulder holster underneath his right arm. Mags for each weapon were carefully placed at his belt and in a few pockets, along with a silencer for the Sig Sauer and the FAMAS. Despite the cold, Sparks wore only a light jacket over his light body armour, but he wouldn't be cold himself. Combat would keep him plenty warm.

Sparks arrived at the helipad long before any of the others did, and quietly made his way to the back of one of the choppers. Now that he was ready, he leaned his head back and seemed to doze, oblivious to everything around him.

Dante stepped out of his quarters, pulling his balaclava down over his face. No longer was he Dante, but now he was Lurk. And right now, he was ready to get a job done. He was going to make sure he stood out amongst the rest. He remained on his path towards the helipad, arriving there some time after Sparks but still before the others. He stood near one of the choppers, his rifle being held in one hand as the other idly played around with his combat knife. He would soon begin to him, the ominous tune finding it's way all around the area. Maybe it was just Lurk, or maybe it was some sort of omen revealing itself. Lurk didn't care either way. He would survive even if the others didn't. Someone needed to go on to tell the tale of what happened if something went wrong.

It might as well be the strongest of the group.

Wraith rolled her eyes, checking to see if all her gear was on. The woman felt the familiar weight of her belt, complete with the saber,with a little packed punch. She looked down at the dull leather of her lockpicking set, inside there were the keys to literally millions, of doors. She had broken into everything with them, from quiet suburban homes to dessert hangars over their back door. She couldn't help but to stare down at her boots for a minute, the thick leather tight on her feet. There was a time for peace, a time for war, but somehow, she never found the time for peace. She looked down at the walnut table, on it there was one new thing to add to her equipment. A bulky, unassuming looking handgun, but it wasn't anything close to being normal. The N.O.D. Neural Overdrive Device, was in essence, a long ranged tazer. What it did was disrupt brain waves, how it did this, Wraith never bothered to learn, her mind was else where. She looked down and felt sort of bare, almost naked with out the regular burden of kevlar but shrugged it off. Her USP was already safely in it's shoulder holster. Her BDU was different too, as opposed to the navy blue she was accustomed to, she was wearing a sort of white camo. She wasn't a fan of it, but worked. As long as she could breath she wasn't bitching about her gear. The final touch to her gear, was the black beret, with the skull patch on it. She let out a vicious grin, and felt like the emotionless killing machine she was trained to be. With a final check she activated the N.O.D. and watched the emerald lighted glow, before flicking it again and putting it away. She wasn't Cassandra Marisol anymore, now she was Wraith 22, cold-blooded, security cracking infiltrator. After that her mind was blank other than what her mission was, she barely realized she was on the chopper until it was about to take off...

Colonel Stonewall remembered this kind of cold, the biting winters of Chicago during the economic downturn of the eighties and the frigid months that followed had toppled much of what the young higshcool football starter had known in his life. Other than the ballistic plating and patchwork of kevlar weaves and cumbersome, bulky plate carriers, Stonewall was wearing little more to protect him from the cold. His chest stung with every unbearably chilled breath he took, and his lips freezed over anew every time he exhaled. The siren wailing at the far end of the runway caught Stonewall unprepared, and he turned his head down range to view the first of the mercenaries shuffling out of the compound and onto the runway. The helipad was somewhat far off from where he was standing, Stonewall, the rotund and barrel-bodied Mi-8 sat squatting on the helipad awaiting the souls it was carry into the fire. Stonewall suddenly found himself recalling a story of a squad of marine raiders on Guadalcanal in 1942. Baptism by fire.

"You think Poland warmer than Russia? You need stay at little farmhouse outside Suwalki in dead of winter -- very cold, feel like Satan shoving popsicle up ass." Chotsky grumbled as he tossed the last box of extra ammunition, a five-hundred round drum for the single M240 mounted in the door of the Russian Mi-8, and dusted his hands free of the thin sheet of snow that he had accumulated after hauling a list of equipment out of the depot at the end of the helipad. Several other mercenaries had arrived, and were know watching and waiting for the rest of them to embark on the mission. There was still plenty to do, however, and even as Chotsky ended his sentence he was already clambering up into the helicopter and prying open the bolt of the M240, wiping one gloved hand over the brass catcher to clear the barrel, trigger guard, and loading assembly of any excess snow or debris. As the Pole withdrew a fresh belt of ammunition from one of the crates, Whitesword came stomping through a small packed lane of snow carrying several rifle cases slung over his shoulder and back. Dangling across his chest was an AR-23 carbine, outfitted with an underbarrel M203 and complete with a holographic sight.

"Alright, Chotsky, here's your big slingshot." He grumbled as he shrugged off the largest rifle case from his shoulder and set it against the helicopter. The case was exceptionally large and obviously carried a heavy weapon, being nearly as tall of Chostky when he jumped from the side bay of the Mi-8 and wrapped his arms around the case.\par
"My favorite gun in whole wide world!" The Pole shooed away Whitesword as he quickly stripped the case away from the weapon and dropped it onto the asphalt and snow-covered tarmac of the helipad. In the low light of the waking morning the sun threw a bright shimmer to the tri-railed weapon Chotsky hefted into his hands. The weapon appeared to be more akin to a folded tripod of a camera, rather than whatever weapon the Pole cherished.
"High-caliber, high-velocity electromag-neetic lobotomy, straight from homeland America!" He chuckled before shambling his way into the bay of the Mi-8 and wrapping his hands around the trigger assembly of the M240.
"I call heavy machine gun!"



Whitesword shrugged off the rifle cases and quickly patted away snow that had accumulated on the wrinkles and in the creases of his parka. Clapping his gloved hands together he quickly pulled the snow-white hood over his head and reached forward, hauling himself into the Mi-8 behind Chotsky as he entered as well. Whitesword quickly hefted his AR-23 and patted the Pole on the shoulder as he moved through the rear of the helicopter and toward the cockpit.
"Basya! Round 'em up and let's get 'em in the bird." Whitesword shouted, reviewing the flight plan with the pilots, holding the small folded map with sharpie marks drawn across it. He grumbled before handing the pilot back his map, giving a thumbs up to the co-pilot and hopping out through a one-man door on the side of the helicopter. As he did, he saw Basya stand erect from a seat made of ammunition crates; the Lieutenant shifted his hand forward and racked a fresh round into the barrel of the Ackerman, on his back jingled the compact MCR, outfitted with a foregrip and holographic sight.

"Alright, get your asses onto the helo, I'm getting cold as hell out here." Basya shouted, shrugging one shoulder to the rear of the helicopter as he stepped onto the ramp. Chotsky was swinging the barrel of the M240 from left to right, surveying the field of view and checking and double checking the sights of the weapon. Basya hauled himself into one of the seats, releasing his grip on the Ackerman and letting the rifle slide onto his lap, he looked down toward the ramp as the first of the mercenaries began to filter onto the Russian helicopter, giving several of them rather savage grins as they meandered to their seats beside him.
"Pre-Mission jitters, never get over 'em." Basya mocked, just as Whitesword stomped into the bay of the helicopter by the door.
"Strap in, I told the pilots to hug the ground on this one, something tells me the sky will be full of bad shit."



"Ready for launch, Colonel." The Vigril's pilot reported through the shriek of the engines as the entire aircraft began to rattle. Stonewall, nodded as he pulled himself away from the open ramp of the Osprey, the rear gunner sitting with his legs splayed out as he loaded the first round into the M2 Browning, even through the shout of the engines the loud crack and shake of the .50 caliber shell being loaded was enough to cause Stonewall to look back.
"Affirmative, W-O, take us up." Stonewall ordered as he took a seat beside the Technical Sergeant, who was busy operating one of several ruggedized laptops fixed into hardened cabinets and riggings. Two more gunners were at the door-mounted M-134 miniguns sitting directly behind the cockpit, and Stonewall could feel the entire aircraft shudder as it fought to drag its bulky weight into the air and struggle for altitude.
"This is Virgil to all Frighteners, checking coms and establishing network." Stonewall broadcasted in a wide-band transmission, the radio would be tuned to the specific frequency the entire group would be equipped with.
"Name off, buckle yourselves in and we'll get this ball rolling."

Fox had awoken sometime before, gathering his gear, weapons, and ammunition. Stopping in the corridor to the helipad, he reached into his bag and pulled out a HooAH! Bar. A U.S nutrient supplement bar, honestly it wasn’t that bad, but Fox had always enjoyed the standard MRE rations, so a nutrient bar wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

Opening the wrapper, he exited the corridor, and stepped onto the Helipad the snow crunching under his boots, taking a bite from the HooAH! Bar. apple-cinnamon, not bad The cold wind blew his hair around him, but he paid it little mind, his attention on the food in his hand.

Stepping onto the ramp of the helicopter, he took a seat near spark, figuring he should probably stay by his field commander. “Fox primary assault squad” He said around a mouthful of HooAH! Bar.

The hustle and bustle of the preparations around Sparks brought him out of his reverie. He hadn't been sleeping, more than just mentally preparing himself for the coming battle. There were still too many variables involved that would end with these kids getting killed. Well, there was no use worrying about what he couldn't control. He would just have to try his damnedest to keep the ones underneath him alive.

The radio chatter brought Sparks fully back to the present, and he quickly responded over the headset. "Sergeant Sparks, three-seven-seven, reporting loud and clear on the comm," he said curtly, before relaxing once more. His job wasn't to handle the air support on this particular mission, so he saw no reason to get in the way of those actually assigned.

Sparks was barely aware of those around him as the green lights on the chopper turned to the red mission lights. He had entered the final phase of his pre-combat routine. Nearly all seasoned soldiers used the few minutes before drop to find their inner peace, or, at least a reason to get out of the mission alive. Some might just stare intently at something on the helo, some might actually "sleep", others were even more unique. For Sparks, his pre-combat meditation simply consisted of checking a wallet-sized photo of a young girl of maybe seventeen or eighteen, which he kept in a well-protected pocket. After staring at the photo for barely a few moments, Sparks slid it back into his pocket and leaned his head back, breathing in the heady scent of frost mixed with anticipation and fear.

Looked around at the empty barracks as she sighed, hearing the chopper's whipping blades slice through the air so elegantly, pride practically oozing off of it. Lundy sighed, ruffling her bangs and cursing to herself, "Better catch that damned thing" She slumped a puce colored messenger bag onto a small bunk bed; bottom of course. She could almost feel the sting of her metallic shins and spiked feet that would cause her so much discomfort and despair in the future, but anything for a chance like this. The military, that was the big picture, it was almost like ecstasy dipping into her mouth as she said it out loud. Closing her sharp eyes she muttered a little, "And this is what I get, some crap load of running huh?"
The thin and soot stained strap of her supposedly-white shirt fell down onto her olive pigmented skin, barely any flaws marking it if you exclude all of her scars and wounds. Her hair was messy at this moment, disheveled in the most nonchalant way possible. Patting at her thighs, then hearing the soft almost bell like ring that came from her finger tips tapping onto the metal that was positioned just below her knee, recalling what had happened sent a hissing sound into her ear. Hissing and whispering, "You can't even run correctly, how can you even expect to have the military help you? You're a worthless rat that has no expectation in life except the pure bliss of death that waits close ne-" The raspy voice in her head suddenly stopped as Lundy tightened her fists and pushed through the door in a big hustle, a sudden cold blast of air tickled at every part of her exposed arms and knees, these shorts weren't exactly the best idea she'd ever had, but that's what she could scrounge up at the moment. Her skin became something of goose-flesh and bumps scattered on her sun-kissed arms.
The snow was so... Pure. Virgin. Flawless. She then remembered how slippery it was going to be, how difficult this whole military business was; how many challenges she must face. "Take them head on." She whispered to herself in her lazy, husky voice with a hint of cracking inside of it, noting that she was going through a slight voice change seeming to make it higher.
After standing there for a split second, becoming cold she began running toward the choppers, the blades becoming louder with each of her steps as she comically jutted her knees forward and arching her back in a way that an olympic runner would in a short track race, her eyes filled with the shallow gleam of hope. She began screaming at the top of her lungs, "Stop the choppers, I'm here to come aboard, STOP!!!" Her throat was becoming sore from this, as she made her way through she suddenly felt something horrible happen. The snow and ice were just too slippery and she fell, her face now in the snow; stinging her rosy cheeks and knobbly and compact torso. That was embarrassing. Quickly she pushed herself up with her hands, a clicking sound coming from her metal spikes as she ran more toward the choppers.

Foxs eyes shot to the ramp at the sound of someone falling, and eating the last of the bar; he stood and walked carefully on the metal ramp as the wind had blown some snow on the metal floor, making it treacherous. Peering out into the swirling white wonderland outside, he laid his hand on the side panel for support and searched. His eyes fell upon the form of a person running, but he wasn’t able to make out who it was. They were yelling though, which is strange as the helicopter had yet to take off.

With a shrug he stretched out his hand, an offering of support for when she got there. He remembered his first time, and honestly he hated heights. An Ex airborne ranger, but heights scared him still, he simply would jump before he gave his mind time to think about it… but the first few times were more than hard, and it took more than a simple shove from the sergeant to get him out.

As his hand was outstretched waiting for the person to arrive, he briefly wondered if he should sleep, or do his customary read from the book… he was unsure, but reading calmed his mind and readied him.

Lundy was now wheezing, her lungs weren't as strong as they used to be when she was a bit younger than 21, but she had to run. The sound was now running through her ears, the sound of the blades, the small clicking of her feet and the huffing of her husky voice. Her chest was heaving with all of the sharp cold breaths she would take in.
She hated the cold, oh how she hated it. That meant that she would have less food and it was harder to catch it, the air always seemed thinner than in the Spring where everything was bountiful and she could even go into the city for once, but only in the early morning where the air was still a bit heavy on the tongue but it was easy to inhale. Her lungs were almost begging for oxygen now, as she slipped a little once again, putting her hands out to stop her from toppling over into the unforgiving snow.
Finally she was with this man, his hand outstretched toward her. She placed her hand to her almost-flat chest and tried to breathe normally as she glared down at his hand, comtemplating on whether she really needed the help or not, if she really needed to hold this stranger's hand. Could she trust Fox? Her cold eyes pierced into his own, daring him to lay a finger on her for a nanosecond too long, to even speak with her while he was helping her up. She kept this gaze as she finally released her hand from her compact torso and intertwined her hand with his, propping herself up with a small clicking sound as she sighed in a slight undertone, she didn't want to come into contact with someone so quickly but it was for the best, wasn't it?
Quickly, after having one metal spike on board she let go, letting herself slip and try to steady herself, the whipping blades and the pure slipperiness of the floor made everything difficult. Grasping onto a wall and bending her knees in an awkward direction made this more simple for her to stand, her muscles working to a high extent just to keep her from falling and she looked over at Fox once again with that same glare, the same emotion as before. The daring.

Cassie had delved back into her laptop. She'd flipped off the fan and the tough little computer was warming her lap nicely. Now if there was something she could do about the hands... it was so hard to type with gloves on.

It was the sounding off that pulled her back. Not the request for it-she'd missed that-but the sound of those who had heard it rattling off names and numbers. Then she started noticing what was around her. The chopper had filled up. There were the officers, joking about their weapons and handling ammo. The other mercenaries, with scarred and scowling faces. This was all old to them. They knew what was in store, and they didn't like what the results were likely to be one bit.

A gust of wind chilled Cassie's face. She shivered.

"God damn it, get me out of here!" She fumbled with the buckle hollding her in, missing it on the first few tries with her clumsy, gloved, numbed hands. Finally she popped the release and slid uncontrollably to the side, ending up clutching the person seated next to her.

They were already flying.

The winds of the Russian tundra whipped Victoria's hair wildly around her face as she made her way to her quarters. The frigid cold combined with the wind made it feel as if daggers were stabbing into her face, which didn't help at all with the current mood she was in.

"What the hell is this? What happened to letting people know ahead of time before they are required for a damn mission?" Muttering curses underneath her breath, she ran as fast as she could to her quarters to get geared up and ready to leave. Not ten minutes ago Victoria was informed that she was to report to Master Sergeant Chotsky, orders of Colonel Klein, who was in a chopper that was due to depart at any given moment. She really hated shit like this, when people got messages screwed up or didn't get them at all and she was forced to drop everything and run around like a chicken with her head cut off. It was all part of the job, though, and especially at this point in her life and career it really didn't surprise her.

Suited and geared up, checking that everything was in its place, she sprinted for the helicopter pad where she met the merciless winds once again. Victoria felt as if she could very well be blown down with the added winds from the helicopter blades, but kept herself planted. Her cheeks burned as she hoisted herself into the machine, ignoring any faces that questioned her presence. Once she could gain some composure, she found Chotsky and introduced herself, "Staff Sergeant Sheelds, reporting for duty sir," she said with a salute. Victoria was very formal to those who were above her, giving the utmost respect unless told by themselves otherwise.

Glancing around, she quickly took in the rest of the crew, settling down and strapping in so the chopper could take off. Now that she had a brief moment to think, the irritation she felt just moments before crept back. "And can someone tell me where the hell we're going?"

The freezing morning air blanketed the landing strip as the Mi-8 and Virgil each began their takeoff procedures. When the last soldier had gotten onboard, the pilots of the Mi-8 close off the back port and finally lift the helicopter off the ground. The Mi-8 was a standard Russian cargo chopper, painted with winter camouflage. It was brand new by the looks of things, carbon stains at the exhaust ports only from the trip to the base itself. Rising a good fifty meters off the ground, just above the tree line, the Mi-8 carries its load west over the snow covered trees, skimming them now and again. The sun was rising behind them, the light glistening off the fresh snow all around the forest.

The journey to the Landing Zone was fairly uneventful, aside from whatever conversations the soldiers may have, and it took roughly one hour. The two aircraft flew low over the trees to minimize their likelihood of being spotted, changing vectors now and again to keep their heading in the right direction, and covered by the sun as much as possible. By the time they reach the LZ, it was early morning, Eight forty-three in the morning, precisely. The LZ was pretty much just another patch of woods, the Mi-8 hovering over it as the back of the bay opens up and a pair of ropes slip out and down, just long enough for the squad to depart on. "Alright boys and girls," shouts one of the pilots, obviously a native with his Russian accent. "Time to bug off! Don't give me a call back unless you are either lacking a limb or the base is empty!"

The chopper would stay overhead until each of the squad members had offloaded before lumbering its way into a one-eighty and heading back to the base, the deep thrumming dying away until the squad was left with the silence of the Russian wilderness. Depending on how near Virgil was, they may hear the powerful rotors of the VTOL Gunship, but for the most part they would have no sounds save for the wind. Klein's voice sounds over the radio communicators.

"All units, be advised; Recent intelligence suggests that the Chinese may have a locational radio interception field around the base, so communications will be cut until weapons are hot." After a brief pause, he continues. "If the late arrivals manage to get their asses in gear, you can expect reinforcements once the SAMs are taken down."

"Also, be advised, since our numbers are dwindled, squads have been re-assigned. Over and out."
He transmits the following squad assignments.

Bosya - Sparks - Drake - Celtic - Oribi
Whitesword - Talisman - Lightning - Sparky - Wisp
Chostsky - Sheelds - Psycho - Wraith - Medcat
Wolfy - Lurk

The woods were very thick, and in the descent people may have nicked their faces or caught themselves on branches now and again. Visibility would be extremely poor, the underbrush and multitude of trees making for a natural veil. The snow would mask many sounds, but the lack of any other noises in the surrounding area would mean that anything loud enough would carry for miles- such as a gunshot.

((From here on out, I'm going to expect folks to be as active as possible- I will be leaving people behind if I have to, to advance the story. That said, I'll try to wait up. The highest ranking person active in any given engagement calls the shots when orders need to be given. I would also like to state that there will be no God-modding. Any and all characters, named or otherwise- this includes Pilots and support personel- that do not belong to you are to be considered mine, or else someone elses (Such as Azrican's Virgil crew). So no auto-hits, no auto-dodging if you're in an unescapable situation, and no controlling other peoples' characters. I'll be fair with mine, and I expect you to be the same.))

In the wildness that was the dustoff, Sparks found a handhold above his head and hung onto it loosely, allowing his body to move freely and slightly more comfortably than if he had strapped in. The young Private next to him, whom he subconsciously noted wasn't much older than his daughter, wasn't so lucky. Sparky, he believed her name was, screamed something incoherently and clutched at him in the shunting of bodies as the helo lifted off. Without a second thought, Sparks grabbed her belt with his free hand, holding fast until the chopper settled itself in the air.

"You should be more careful, Private," he said loudly enough for her to hear, gently releasing his grip on her belt and flashing her a small smile. Unfortunately, the sound of the engines eliminated the chances of further conversation. Sparks spent the rest of the short hour deviating between staring at the cherished picture and preparing his weapons for the coming combat. The latter of his actions simply consisted of screwing the silencer into the muzzle of his FAMAS, and checking the alignment of the low-tech precision scope for the assault rifle.

When the helo finally reached the LZ, Sparks was about as mentally and physically prepared as he could be. As soon as the bay door opened up, he was already up and moving, clipping his belt to the rope. With little to no hesitation, Sparks allowed his body to drop to the ground, trusting the rope with his life. Once he reached the ground and unclipped his belt, he focused on verifying that there were no immediate threats at the LZ, his assault rifle at the ready. He waited patiently for the rest of the team, and for one of the superior officers to take control of the latest turn of events, not very surprised at the latest intelligence.

Staff Sergeant waited for several others to board before boarding herself. The cold bit at her, but today she was not in the mood to look like a puffin or abominable snowman. She wore what was appropriate for a sniper. Granted she should have worn white and made it warm for nestling down, but she was glad she wore what she did, otherwise she would be sweating her arse off trying to get to where she need to be. Her eyes looked dead calm even her mind rolled into that mind frame of that this wasn't play time and she wasn't just taking a stroll no more. Specialist sat silently at her feet, he merely swayed slightly as the helicopter lifted up and off the ground.
To Wolfy's horror she heard it was only her and Lurk,"What the hell are you trying to do to me?" She yelled in the com, which was unnecessary but, she was pissed,"Who the hell authorized to minimize my team to me and Lurk? 3257 out."
She was torqued. But she feared she say anymore and they just might make her stay behind. She rather liked her old team suddenly, for the bullshit and childish games even in the field, they knew what was what and who needed what to get things done. If it was just her and Lurk, they were screwed, they put such a tight reign on her, that she looked like she was just convenient babysitter for Lurk to make sure he behaved rather than a team leader. Which she had conveniently been demoted to suddenly. Specialist just sat quietly aware of her temper but not even bother to look in her general direction, which should have given others on the helicopter the same idea just to ignore her.

Lundy held tightly onto the wall of the chopper as they flew, screeching from her spikes hissed when they were to make sudden turns or dips. She bit her bottom lip, using all the strength from her waist down just to stand up, if anyone were to ask if she needed help she'd quickly refuse of course, she needs no help even if she were begging for it.
"Stubborn little brat." the voice slithered in and out of her ear, speaking disgusting words into her mind. "You'll never catch up with these men and women, look at yourself! You have goose skin and you can barely even stand! You're pitiful." Lundy began breathing through her teeth, then grabbing onto one of the coms and place it onto her, she needed one of these she supposed. Then hearing a small crackle, making her cringe, she finally found the place where her team was speaking then hearing Wolfy's voice yell out a bit. She furrowed her brows to a small extent and sighed again, speaking in a husky voice, "Bosya, Sparks, Drake, and Celtic? Damn." That was a lot of people, more than she was used to. She almost whined because that two person squad sounded so nice, so easy, so excellent. But no, she had to be on a team with so many people.
"There you go being stubborn aga-" the voice began to speak again in a gruff tone, suddenly Lundy screamed out, "NO!". Suddenly she noticed something, she could hear the echo and it wasn't just her imagination, no, it was something much greater than that. Reality.
She had actually screamed, suddenly letting go of the wall and hitting the ground hard, bruising her tail bone and let out a small choke of pain; trying to hide it. She shut her eyes, angrily rubbing up and down where she had made contact with the unforgiving floor. "Stupid floor." She whispered.
Then suddenly they were on the move, every one was to be outside. She gasped, making sure the packs on her arm and thigh were in place with all of her weapons inside, rushing outside was difficult as Lundy felt the sting of her skin once again. It was so cold outside, she wished that the sun would give her warmth on her olive colored back, but that wish would soon become a flaw.
She pulled out some gloves out of her back pocket and slipped them on, fingerless gloves of course. Lundy then began moving as a quick crouched pace, looking more comical than ever, but a faint ticking sound still came from her. This wouldn't be good if she were to break the whole team's cover by her own legs.

(( Okay, I can't find that little post I made earlier, but I know for a fact that I did post it. It's probably just on one of the earlier pages. If it's not there, then what happened was Drake followed Sparky to the helicopter, since he didn't know where to go. He made it there, of course, so he's here now. I'm sure I posted that... ))

Drake, hearing the announcement, nodded to himself. He always hated last-minute changes, but he'd deal with it. The new squad was Basya, Sparks, Celtic, Oribi and himself. He still wasn't sure who was the squad leader, but he made a guess it was Sparks. Either way, he'd follow the whole team. He wasn't much of a leader.

The helicopter landed and Drake checked his gear one more time. Typical, he'd forgotten to bring medical supplies. How could he have missed that? Now the question if there was a medic on his team was more important than ever, since he couldn't fill the role even partially.

As he exited the helicopter, he noticed just how cold it was, and wondered why he hadn't noticed before. That's Russia for you. He was wearing snow camouflage, so most likely, the enemy would barely see him if at all. Hopefully. He decided he'd like to be stealthy for this mission, but he was feeling kind of hyper lately. Maybe he'd offer to take out one of the tanks for someone, he hadn't blown anything up in a while. Of course, these were joking thoughts. He never did like to use RPGs, the trail of smoke behind the rocket gave away the user's position far too effectively for his liking. Tracers work both ways, indeed. He looked around for Sparks and stood next to him, hoping he'd have an actual role for the entire act.

"Talisman Seven" was simply all that he said before dustoff.

On the way to the drop point, Talisman's tendencies and body language began to change slightly. The depressed scowl softened to a twitchy frown, his limbs became looser instead of the controlled sluggishness. His mood began to change slightly as well, first by his low humming of Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyrie'. Half-smiles could sometimes be seen during the humming, though ones eye would have to quick. Also, his left foot began to tap slightly.

Although, his attention was ruptured by one of his squad mates slipping off the buckle and sliding towards the other resident Sergeant, Sparks. Talisman tried to reach forward and grab her, but by then she was already clutching on to Sparks. "Careful next time, yeah?!" He said over the roar of the engines, wondering if she heard him. His mind flashed to the thought of babysitting those under him, but in his new mood, he quickly brushed it off and added to his earlier comment, "Don't be so rash in the field! There is only so much I can do to help keep you alive!" He said again, over the engines. Se settled back into place afterwards, and was soon again humming the 'Valkyrie' tune.

When reaching the LZ and hovering in place, Talisman jerked up his scarf up around his nose for warmth and stood. As the bay door opened, he was the next one to slid down, only slightly behind Sparks and the others. He clipped on his belt and slid down the rope, albeit roughly. A couple of branches molested Talisman's descent and one even managed to catch him in the face, although he didn't allow it to register just yet. He landed on the ground with a snowy crunch and released his belt taking a couple of steps forward to make room for the next soldier.

The couple steps he took crunched beneath his boots and knee as he knelt in the snow, thowing up his L8 to eye level. He then began his task of scanning his selected area of woods for hostiles. Unsurprisingly, it was clear and as such, called back to the others who had landed, "Clear." Though he kept his eyes gazing through his L8's ACOG sight just in case. He patiently waited for the rest of his squad to arrive on the ground, though he never peeled his eye away from his ACOG ever scanning the forest. He heard the footsteps behind, telling him that he wasn't by himself just yet and that gave him small comfort in the cold and brisk climate. Then he felt his face sting and heat up. The branch was finally affecting him.

Sheelds really hated flying, as she wasn't very fond of heights and the thought of being shot down from the air seemed anything but honorable. She would rather go out in a one-on-one combat, giving it her all and dying with valor. When the crew finally made it to their destination, Sheelds unstrapped herself and slid down the rope when there was an available slot, which happened to come after Talisman. Her graceful manner of descending was contrasted by the stern look on her face, and upon reaching ground she felt something warm trickle down her face, realizing that the branch that whipped her in the face did its damage. Cursing, something that she did very often, she felt the crunch of the snow beneath her boots, then turned to meet up with her squad.

By this time, Sheelds was thoroughly annoyed, considering she had nothing to focus on except to stay alive. Which, considering the circumstances, wasn't a bad goal, but she had no idea where they were and what this mission was. Now was not the time to be filled in though, as they were just dropped into the middle of condensed forests where enemies could be surrounding them. She hoped, though, that they weren't foolish enough to do that.

Sheelds turned 360 degrees to assess the situation, but noticed that Chotsky was still on the helicopter. Deciding it best to wait for the her superior officer, she stood to the side and felt for all her gear to make sure none was left behind. There was a feeling she had, just feeling, maybe from the chip in her head, that something wasn't all right. Glancing around with a keen eye, trying to place her uneasiness, but nothing appeared out of the normal. Shrugging it off, she watched the squad members on the ground, making sure nobody did anything stupid, and more so to watch for any sign of trouble.

Lazarene followed behind Talisman. Trees threw their branches at her as if they were trying to grab her and stop her from reaching the ground. All their attempts resulted in her being slapped but she kept the pain to herself. The snow crunched beneath her feet, silently declaring 'Lightning has landed.'. After detaching the rope from her belt. Her weapon was kept aimed down and she did not bother to examine the endless blanket landscape with the same caution that the others did. The others looked for any sudden movements or enemies but Lightning looked around just for the hell of it. The snowy landscape was beautiful and tickled her sense of curiosity. What could be roaming in this landscape? Her blissful thoughts were interrupted by the reminder that she had to infiltrate a base patrolled by Chinese paramilitary and tanks. Her carefree demeanor changed.

Quickly she placed herself next to Talisman. "Hey Sarge. Got a question.". Her voice was almost a whisper but loud enough for Talisman to hear. "If we're gonna sneak in and all that...Shouldn't our weapons be suppressed?". Lightning took the safety off her MP5 and then proceeded to look down the sights.

Whitesword snapped his feet upward as the whining of the rope ended in the brief, fresh crunch of his boots onto the snowy floor of the Russian forestland. Several of the soldiers had already descended from the Mi-8 before him, and he quickly began a head count of the mercenaries -- not only in his squad, but in the entire group that would be assaulting the complex. He didn't want anyone lagging behind now, when they were so close. Whitesword inhaled sharply, flexing his chest against the SAPI plate carrier, feeling the frigid colds harmful effects on the armor plating; the freezing temperatures not only made the plates brittle and noticeably weaker, it also made them just a hair louder than their usual noisy level. They jingled and clinked against the magazines and grenades that were slung bandoleer across his torso, though the extra padding he was wearing offered a little silence to this symphony of shells as he racked a fresh 7.21 millimeter round into the carbine and slid the first of five 40 millimeter grenades into the underbarrel launcher.

"Alright, listen up -- Frighteners on me, stand by and pair up with your squad leaders. We're gonna' get organized before we jump off onto this." He said, his voice reaching a commanding level as he stomped his feet through the snow and over the fallen logs and timber of the winter, which appeared to have been fairly violent. He trudged his way past the Staff Sergeant and toward a small snow-path that had been carved through the dense forest. The path itself was narrow, barely as wide as Whitesword's shoulders.
"Sniper team, I want scouts operating on all axis. Give me three-sixty degrees, understand?" He ordered before approaching behind Sparky and Talisman, a noticeable smile creasing his face as he exhaled and put one hand onto Talisman's shoulder, stepping beside him to point at the trail, and then to the frozen creekbed that wound straight through packed trees.
"You take that L85 and keep an eye on that trail, anyone who ain't kosher comes down that and you hose 'em." He said, giving the mercenary a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning his attention to Sparky, Lightning and Wisp.
"Get your asses in gear, ladies, Talisman's gonna' take us for a nice walk in the woods." Whitesword said as he edged his weapon into his shoulder, hauling it to his eyes to scan the area alongside Talisman.



Basya nearly cracked his chin on an outstretched branch as the rope gusted to the right with a brief uptake of wind. For any that were paying attention, the Israeli shouted a string of curses as he descended from the helicopter, crunching into the snow and quickly falling to his knees before eating a face full of prestine, unbroken snow that tasted like the greatest refreshing fuck-up he had ever had.
"Damned -- infernal -- gai in drerde!" He grunted before erecting himself and yanking the rifle from the hole he had created in the snow. As he quickly stumbled out of the way for more mercenaries to descend, he spun on his heel, stumbling several more times before coming to a rest near Sparks.
"Good to see you ahead of the ball, Sergeant." Basya mumbled as he slung the Ackerman over his shoulder and hauled himself up onto a boulder that jutted from the blanketed snow and forest floor. The LZ was rather large, easily spanning a fifty meters long and a hundred or so across; Whitesword had already formed his group at the far edge of the broken field that led into a trail.
"Looks like the Lieutenant Whitesword is already turning this into a game." Basya snickered, displaying his pearly whites before smiling to Sparks.
"I think we can do better, no?" He replied, unshouldering his rifle and quickly hopping down from the nest.
"Alright, Sergeant. Whitesword has the easy job, we're the ones that will actually have to work. Let's get everyone rounded up -- Drake, Celtic and Oribi -- those are their names, right?"





"Oh, feel great Belorussian air!" Chotsky grumbled as he stomped himself out of the same gaping hole Basya had left. He was having severe difficulty, however, while carrying the M-32, colloqially known as a 'rail-caster'. The Pole grumbled as he broke free and planted his foot on the broken trunk of a treet, the rail-caster began releasing a distinct, piercing shriek as Chotsky banged it against a branch peeking through the broken snow. He hollered his protest while smacking one gloved hand against the guard rails of the weapon, the device releasing a dying crackle as the noise died away.
"Bastard in a basket! Gswno! Dammit!" He groaned, finally reaching a stable platform where he wouldn't topple into the virgin snow nearby. Chotsky suddenly realized how large the whole damn clearing was, already Whitesword was chomping at the bit to get the mission moving, Basya was still fumbling around with his own squad.

"Hell. Hell! Look at where we are. Reminds me of chopping great sapplings in Suwalka for Boże Narodzenie, oh, there was plenty of trees." He shouted to himself, obviously enjoying the brisk and frigid winterland around him.
"Alrighty then, let's make like tree and get the fuck out of here!" Chotksy said, noticing that already one of his squadmembers, Sheelds, was on the ground awaiting his arrival. The Pole trundled his way through the snow, hauling the rail-caster in both hands as he nodded his head over towards Whitesword and his group, finally opening his mouth to speak as he neared Sheelds.
"Time now for us to make hast and carpe the diem -- that is how you say it, no? Seizing the day yes." He said, waving one hand forward before tracing it back to the LZ.
"We round up our silly team mates, and go play explorer in woods -- perfect day for picnic, no Sheelds?"

Wraith felt the snow on the edges of her boots and couldn't help but to shiver a little bit. She saw as her breathe turned to vapor in the air and flew upwards. All her gear was still intact, thankfully. Sadly, she hadn't anticipated such cold-as-hell weather... Curious little phrase, hell was generally regarded as a lake of fire, strange it should be considered cold. She shook her head and followed her orders, going to the nearest CO and waiting, the sleek metal of the USP in her hands.

Quite frankly, he was surprised.

Ricky had thought that he hadn't been particularly slick in tiptoing out of his room five minutes after his alarm clock had rung, awakening him rather unceremoniously and causing him to roll out of bed and smack his head painfully on the carpeted floor.

He hadn't thought he'd been very smooth in boarding the helicopter three minutes before the appointed time of boarding, and hiding behind one of the seats so as to preclude any attempts at conversation his squad members might have had.

How could he have possibly managed to slink off the helicopter unnoticed by even his entire squad?

After surreptitiously making his way down the rope, Ricky located his squad -- a Pole (guessing from the name) named Chotsky, someone named Sheelds, another called Psycho, and finally the last, a certain 'Wraith' persona. He didn't quite exactly like his own codename (since when was Medcat a half-decent name? Never, that'd be the answer), but he had to admit that sometimes, enough was enough.

Luckily, he'd escaped the branch-battering that seemed to be a serious problem so far in the mission, and roped down without a hitch. He located the man with the thickest accent, and reported for duty immediately, FAK and box of matches in hand. The latter object had been a good idea to bring.

"Medcat reporting for duty, sir!" he stammered, giving the oft-repeated military epithet. "Requesting medical attention to the wounded!" he added, pointing first to the slashed faces, then to his FAK.

Continued to wait in the snow rather impatiently, the Mini-Uzi in one of her hands tapping against the side of her leg as she waited for the rest of her crew. Finally she saw Chotsky descend from the chopper in a rather noisy manner, and as she was about to ask her question the Master Sergeant already began to speak to her.

"Time now for us to make hast and carpe the diem -- that is how you say it, no? Seizing the day yes."

"Uh yea, something like that sir. You have the right idea." She studied the man closely for a moment, for a Master Sergeant he was quite the character, not nearly as serious as many of her other superiors. "If by picnic you mean sitting inside by a fire with a flask of whiskey, then yes, I would say it's a perfect day for a picnic." Sheelds glanced up at the helicopter that continued to hover above them, then back at Chotsky. "The rest of our crew I have assessed is still in the chopper. I don't know if they are aware, but staying in that chopper isn't going to make their asses any warmer."

The Staff Sergeant contemplated yelling up at the rest of their squad, but felt it would be a waste of energy with the chopper's relentless blades. "We are just waiting for Psycho, Wraith, and MedCat, sir, who should all be descending here momentarily if they know what's good for 'em." Sheelds continued to tap the submachine gun against her leg, clearly impatient and becoming more anxious.

Just as she looked up she noticed first Wraith descend, and shortly after MedCat. As they approached she gave a curt nod. "Nice of ya'll to join the rest of us in this icy hell. I guess now all that leaves is Psycho, sir."

Psycho shuddered in the freezing air. "Haven't been this cold since... not going to remember that. Unpleasant enough without being paranoid about things that don't exist here." He thought silently to himself. "I have a prediction. Hypothermia kills at least a third of us before we come across a hostile." Psycho announced to all who would listen. "And while that's happening, some jet is going to see the helicopter leaving and firebomb the forest." He unslung his AK-47 and did a quick check one last time. Tired of the negativity he was giving off, he rushed towards Chotsky.

Staff sergeant Wolfy Picked up her dog in one arm and close to her chest, and then with her other hand clipped onto the roped and descended one handed, not to show off but to protect her precious cargo. Her feet hit the snow with a rather loud crunch. She had gone through the trees without so much as a scratch and she was pleased by this. She let Specialist down and Instead of milling about took up a parameter and was looking through her scope. She could here the constant crunch of snow as people exited the helicopter. Finally it seemed after forever it stopped, Upon hearing footsteps, she stood up and then looked to Whitesword
"Sniper team, I want scouts operating on all axis. Give me three-sixty degrees, understand?"
"Yes sir." She replied in a near whisper. "Lurk get your arse in gear and lets get going."
She was making her way up the path already Specialist romped forward about a hundred yards in front of her and stayed at about that in front of her. Yeah people might give her weird sorry arsed looks, but you know what? that dog had saved her many times because she had no-one at her back watching. The hill looked perfect, maybe a small blind spot or two but it would be perfect for her and Lurk and when all hell broke lose maybe she could find another spot to move to so they wouldn't be caught. Maybe.
Her feet made a light crunch on the hard surface of the snow. She shivered slightly but she was actually alright. A sweatshirt might have been in order, but she had been in worse. She didn't really expect this to last into the night. There was only a rarity that things ever lasted past 12 hours for a mission being a merc. She stood out a little from the landscape but she thought that she could manage it. She pulled out a white skull cap out of her pocket and put it on her head. She would have to set up to pull out the white shells she had with her.
"Lurk where the hell are you?" She said in that same near whisper.

Lurk had been among the first to get off of the chopper, what exactly he did and where exactly he went were known only to himself. He wasn't going to respond to Wolfy at first, he was a professional and thought he would've been treated like he knew how to do his job. He watched Wolfy from the place he sat, one eye through his scope. He thought about how easy it might have been to shoot her if he was an enemy. Well, it was easy for him. Not many others could match his skill, he thought. "I'm here." He said into his radio, "Maintain radio silence unless you really need me. We're here to keep people from getting killed."

Lurked turned his rifle towards the other mercenaries, watching them for a moment or two. There was nothing going through his mind right now except the mission, all of the things that he knew he just had to keep from happening if he wanted them to take notice of his skills and offer him a promotion. He wanted, no, he needed to make a name for himself. That was how you brought in the big bucks. Get your own movie based on your life with Brad Pitt playing you. In all actuality however, Lurk is with the rest of the squad.

"Well Lightning, they should..." Talisman said answering the medic, "But I don't think they even make suppressor's for the L85." He said tilting the gun upwards just enough so that they muzzle flash suppressor was viable. "Besides, I'm the muscle. If things go bad, a suppressor would only hinder me. You on the other hand, it would be favorable if you have one." He stated, hardly taking his eye from the ACOG.

Then he overheard the voice of his Captain ordering the Sniper team, which then was followed by a hand on his soldier. Talisman listened for his orders."You take that L85 and keep an eye on that trail, anyone who ain't kosher comes down that and you hose 'em." Talisman responded with an authoritative click of the safety to the 'off' position. "Yes sir." He said with a amused tone. If one could had seen his lips under his scarf, they would have been in the shape of a half-smile. He then lifted himself off of his knee, yet still kept a low stance behind his L85 and took his first couple of steps toward the trail, eyes wide open glaring down his ACOG sight. Glaring for anything that may look hostile.

Captain Whitesword also said something to the rest of the squad. "Get your asses in gear, ladies, Talisman's gonna' take us for a nice walk in the woods." "In such nice weather too." Talisman humorously responded. He continued down the trail for a bit, in point position. This realization made Talisman mutter ".. Rangers lead the way." Under his breath, alluding to his past regiment. His L85 was fluidly shifting in Talisman's arms, taking full advantage of the maneuverability of the bullpup design. Though, one would wonder why a former Ranger was carrying a British L85A2.

Things were quiet enough, considering the rest of the team was behind them in the clearing and the rythmic crunch of snow under their feet. A sudden screech pierced the air from behind them, to which Talisman instinctively pivoted on his foot 180 degrees to the side and landed on his knee. The screech was the weapon that Chotsky had brought along. Realizing he was pointing towards his comrades, he immediately pointed his L85 safetly upwards.

"Dammit, what the hell is that weapon? It's got quite a chirp. I hope we were the only ones who heard it." Talisman said, slightly shaking his head at the sudden shock. He disregarded it and turned back around returning to point position. Once again, he began down the trail, hoping for no more such shocks.

3257 scowled. She realized he had talent or he wouldn’t be here. Izzy wouldn’t ask suck stupid questions if she could hear his feet crunching the snow and unless he was a bird, she knew she would have to hear his footfall. Staff Sergeant Wolfy turned abruptly on Lurk, and covering her intercom with one hand she went off in a low voice, “You want to lead the damn mission, get promoted, until then, when I ask where the hell are you, you fracking answer right behind you, do you damn well understand?” And then with a fuming Staff Sergeant, she turned back around, Specialist had stopped and waited for them, looking back between the two before moving forward. Isabel hiked up the hill and then unloaded her weapons setting up her weapon towards the compound but sitting so that she was looking between the compound and back behind them. While waiting on Lurk she took out the white shells and put them on over her cloths enabling her to blend into the hilltop. Specialist was wandering already around the hilltop area rather close by until Scaddarro hand signaled to the dog to wander a complete 360 and 150 yards out and to repeat, all without a word. The dog wagged its tail happily and was gone. ‘the dog listens better than Lurk, great,’ She thought.

Fox stepped out from the helicopter ramp, with his M16A4 slung over his right shoulder by the strap. He gazed around the white forest, that looked both beautiful yet hostile. Taking in the environment, he walked over to his squad lead by Lieutenant Whitesword.

It was hard to walk due to the deep snow, his boots crunching and sinking into the pearly earth. Reaching the team, he placed his hand on the strap of his M16 to ensure it didnt slid, and followed after Talisman and his squads, as apparently they were the forward scouts.

When the screech of the bullet tore through the air, Fox glanced around first, but when Talisman dropped to his knee and raised his gun at them, fox also swung his gun and brought it to bare, believing the sergeant to have spotted something... but found that to be wrong as the sergeant lowered the gun. Fox looked at the sergeant once more to ensure he hadn't missed anything before shouldering the weapon once more.

[Order Knight]

Cassie stumbled when she hit the ground.

Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn...

Her head swam, there was nothing but hazy shapes around her. Their voices were muted, distant.

Stop it. Stop it!

Cassie bent down and picked up a handful of snow, rubbing it roughly in her face. That seemed to calm her down a little. Okay. So. She was definitely here, and she was definitely going to be joining these people on the mission. There was no way to change that. So the best thing would be to suck it up and do what she had to, right? She was no soldier, but she could definitely look out for herself.

She made her way over to the one who was supposed to be her squad leader. Whitesword, right? He told her to start walking. Well, fine so far. She knew how to walk...

Katherine Durham arched a brow when she realized her squad had been reassigned. She was no longer with Psycho! Music to her ears. She smiled widely and tried to look around and find her new squad members. She was fairly certain they would be tons of times saner than her previous squad members. She double-checked her shotgun quickly and exited the helicopter as well. Her grace was ever so like that of a bear...

She cracked her neck once and made her way over to the largest gathering of soldiers besides the one Psycho was in. That was her best bet for finding the rest of her squad quickly and easily. She just barely made out someone saying her codename and perked up, moving towards him. Was this Basya? She avoided the tree branches around her fairly easily as she reached him. She stood for a moment, double-checking her medical supplies as she walked, hopefully making it to the correct squad and leader.

The silence of the woods would only be broken by the shouting of officers and the odd accidental weapon malfunction. The land, one would note, was practically flat as Klein had told them. The woods were thick, meaning, save for the rare "clearings" of about twenty yards easier visibility, it would be difficult to spot anything.

Fortunately the squad had not moved up in its entirety yet, so the shouting, banging and use of communications devices likely wasn't a concern yet- but it soon would be. The troops would probably be traveling for roughly two hours if they moved cautiously towards the base, when they finally rallied and moved up.

The wind was currently coming from the west, which would further aid in carrying noises should anyone decide to start getting loud again on the advance. Another factor to note would be the cold- it was well below freezing temperatures, obviously, and as such anyone without proper attire would begin feeling adverse effects at the latest an hour into the trek. Hopefully, most of the squad would have worn winter gear when doing an op in Eastern Russia this close to winter. Fortunately, the rare spaces of clear air would allow the sun to provide minimal heat.

((I would like to make something very clear; I will not be tolerating God-Modding. This includes posts implying that you have done something before everyone else, or posts in which you invalidate someone elses' post for your own means. Your actions must be explained, even if nobody is able to see them- there's always the chance that somebody, such as an unseen enemy perhaps, is perceptive enough to see for one, and for another it helps to have a clear idea of where everyone is, especially for me. That said, I also would like to emphasize once again that your characters are not Rambo. Even if it's in their character to pretend to be Rambo, just know that they're just as susceptible to a bullet as anyone else. So when the bullets start flying, try to be realistic in just how much damage you can avoid or take.))

Lundy looked a bit lost now, she didn't exactly want help... But she did want a pointed finger or something, just a little clue as to where she should go or who she should be with.
The hissing in her eardrum from the com hadn't stopped quite yet and she tapped into it, speaking clearly, "Lundy reporting, where is the rest of my squad? Over." She had heard of people saying things like this, but... Was she Oribi? Or was that nickname for someone else?
She sighed and scratched the top of her head, then talking once again, "I suppose I'm Oribi now, where the hell is my team? Over." She looked around at the people, trying to spot out people who could be part of her team. Then again, she didn't exactly look like an Oribi did she?!
She looked a bit angry, her cheeks and nose becoming a dark pink and she shivered a little, wishing for a coat.

The world seemed to be completely white and covered with trees from Lazarene's point of view. Everywhere she looked there was snow and trees. It was the only thing she could see. Being ambushed here would be fatal. Lightning kept an eye out for anything suspicious but the lack of visibility made it difficult. Good thing it worked both ways.

The sudden weapon discharged made Lazarene jump. She thought that Talisman had spotted something up ahead and so she aimed her gun over his direction. Seeing Talisman aiming back at her she turned around and moved out of way. She couldn't see anything. Why wasn't Talisman or White-Sword telling them to open fire?...Should she start shooting? Lazarene didn't wanna get shot cause of someone else but she didn't want to mess up and put the squad in danger... But... Damn it...

The shot fired was from a friendly, Lazarene eased up. "What is he shooting at?". She turned over to White-Sword hoping he could tell her. How could someone already have a target when they just got dropped in?

Drake walked over to behind Basya, who had called out to the rest of the squad. So this guy's the leader, huh? He held the AK in a ready position, not exactly aimed forward, but ready to be raised if a hostile came out of nowhere. Drake looked around, at the flat, snowy, thick forest that was surrounding him. It was beautiful, visually, but it was freezing. He wished he had brought something more suitable for such cold weather. He wasn't as prepared as he thought he was, it seemed. All he really had was a long-sleeved shirt and coat, and combat trousers. He mentally facepalmed, put away his AK, grabbed his left arm with his right hand and vice versa, and began rubbing his arms to create heat via friction. It wasn't very effective, so he just grabbed his AK again and held it in the same ready position as before.

Drake looked around again. He saw how difficult it was to see around the area, and how easy it would be to get ambushed. But it would be the same for them, they could get the drop on any unsuspecting hostiles easily too. As long as the enemy didn't know they were here, they would obviously have quite an advantage. He didn't think they did, and Drake would have liked to keep it that way for the entirety of the mission, too.

His thoughts reverted to the mission at hand, and he tried to play everything out in his mind, but there were too many variables. He looked to Basya for orders instead, remaining silent. To any other's eyes, he would have seemed restless which, truth be told, he was. Coupled with shivering, he looked positively terrified, but he wasn't that scared. In fact, he was looking forward to getting this mission started. The sooner they began, the sooner they'd be done, but he understood that everyone needed to be prepared. He'd recently learned that lesson the hard way. Not that he'd needed to, he already understood this fact. He waited for everyone to prepare themselves, still looking at Basya, expression blank, no emotions shown.

Lundy sighed, not getting a returning answer to any of her loud questions as to where her team was and who exactly was on the team. She didn't look too pleased and her regular furrowed brow and large frown became even more prominent. She was angry. Angry that no one had responded, frustrated because she didn't know the objective of this mission or where the hell she was. Lundy shivered, trying to grasp everything that was happening at once was extremely over whelming, to a point where she no longer wanted to move or even be here anymore, she wanted to go back to base so then she could look around for frogs or turtles even! She wanted simplicity, not some damn ice land in the middle of no where that could kill her at any minute!! She wanted to cry, oh god how she wanted to; but her stubborness won that over and completely made any feeling or emotion get punished within herself and she trudged along, looking for someone to ask.
She came upon Drake and she looked at him with helpless eyes, but a stern body, "Are you Basya?" she couldn't exactly pronounce that name well, but she gave it her best shot. She heard 'Basya' as one of the people on the team that this 'Oribi' person was, she adopted that name and who ever had it would have to boot away. Oribi was hers, no matter the circumstances, nothing will change her mind from that. She leaned forward, asking herself if she should steal Drake's coat for warmth, seeing as she only had a tank top with skinny straps that were slumping down to her forearms and a pair of black shorts that came down to her mid thigh. He was dressed in actual pants and shirt, she deserved that coat more than him or she might just lose her hands to the cold weather. But, alas, her body finally caught up to her and her breathing became a soft fog as she spoke again, "Do you have any extra clothes?" This was a small red signal to her, she needed actual help and she asked for it?! What a stupid thing!
"Little brat, stop asking others and fend for yourself." the voice again, that voice in her mind that was always putting her down ever since she ate that one large rat, the largest one she had ever tried. Suddenly there was a small tingle in her chest, then her stomach, then her throat.
Lundy dropped to the snowy ground, her hands piling in having a stinging sensation and she began coughing like she was about to throw up. And she did, but she threw up pure blood. The once virgin elegant snow with the color of freshly laid eggs, was now in a bright maroon state. She removed one of her hands from the freezing ground beneath her and she placed a hand to her chest, feeling the bones from her skininess and she hacked up even more. It must have been two to four cups of blood by now, if she kept at it then it could amount to nine cups, if anymore then she will have to have blood pumped into the body and if the blood wasn't pumped she would die, no matter what.
Her breathing became heavy as she wheezed out a bit more, shaking a bit.

Sheelds glanced over at the other squads briefly, her Mini-Uzi still tapping against her leg. As she saw the other squads discussing things and setting off, she noticed a girl, one she quickly learned on the brief trip was 'Lundy'...the one careless enough to almost fall off the chopper. All of a sudden the girl threw herself into the snow, heaving up what appeared to be blood. Sheelds walked over briskly, her feet crunching in the snow beneath her, rather angry with this situation.

"What the hell is this, Corporal?" she asked sharply as the girl was at her feet. She glanced around, look for her squad leader who she remembered was Basya. "How the hell do you expect to make it on this mission, let alone in this weather? You aren't dressed appropriately, and it's apparent you have a serious health issue. We can't afford to be held back by incompetence... who the hell put this Corporal on this mission?"

Sheelds was infuriated, as it was apparent that the fellow mercs haven't been screened properly. It was a sick joke. Normally, she wouldn't be this hard on a subordinate on a mission with her who was suffering, but that was different circumstances. They suffered due to battle, and injury, but the team had barely just got off the chopper and this girl was already heaving blood. Sheelds shook her head in disbelief, seeing how this was a highly dangerous mission that required the best, she couldn't quite grasp why they would put a Corporal with debilitating health issues on this mission. "Basya is your squad commander, yes? He needs to figure this out. You're lucky he's the one in charge of you, otherwise you would be back up in that chopper back to the base."

Staring down at the woman, she offered no sympathies. Not all the blame could be put on Klein, as this Corporal obviously had not spoken up about this problem of hers. Sheelds was a hard young woman, especially while on the job, and had little time for petty men and women who were assigned to the same missions as her.

Lundy glared up at this woman, pure hate seething through her eyes. She was looking daggers and she wasn't ready to put them away, she coughed a little more then stood on her spikes; slipping a bit in the process. She crunched her teeth together, "I joined just before we set off for this mission, I didn't have any damn time to get dressed or make preperations if you have a real problem with it then screw off and go get me a bag of blood or a small cloth. Chop chop, missy!" She had a sting to her voice, a real sharp tongue.
She had no idea who this was, or why she was talking down to her in such a way. She did have a bit of a health issue, but that was simple to solve, just get a little blood for her to inject or a nice wet cloth on the back of her neck and her body will soon stop; simple as that right? Well this stubborn woman in front of Lundy just didn't want to do anything like that. Nobody, not any one living organism could talk down to her without a slice in their throat. But this woman was lucky, Lundy didn't exactly have enough strength to make her way to her pocket. But soon she will recover and there will be hell biting at this girl's feet, god forbid she doesn't just stab her with the metal spikes upon her olive legs.
She bit her bottom lip, the blood flow coming back to normal but she did need a little more blood in her system, she looked a lot paler than usual. A cold sweat then broke out on her skin and she spoke once again, "I'll give you hell when we're back on base, I can promise this on my life and soul."

Sheelds watched the woman with a stoic expression until the girl decided to shut up. Suddenly with a swift motion, Sheelds grabbed the woman by the collar hard with one hand, looking at her with a sharp stare.

"You better watch how you speak to me, Corporal," her words were like venom, the hate she already had for this woman unsurmountable, "because I don't have a problem with putting subordinates back in their place." The Staff Sergent towered over the 4'11'' girl, as Sheelds herself stood at 5'9''. "You should know what a dishonorable discharge is, and if you don't, you better get to know what it means real quick."

Sheelds spat the words out, her teeth clenched as she talked, and when she finished she pushed off the girl not caring if it sent her toppling into the snow. It was one thing to deal with incompetence, and a complete other to have to deal with blatant disrespect to superiors. In Sheelds mind, this girl was lower than incompetent...she already considered her a casualty. Turning on her foot, she walked back over to her squad, clearly annoyed with the fact that Lundy was able to pass boot camp...it was definitely something she was going to have to bring up once they were back at camp.

Lundy jutted out her jaw when Sheelds came to grab her, a look of 'hey yeah, sure you're bigger than me, but I can pummel your face so hard that you're grandmother would feel it' which in actuality looked a little too cocky for anyone's good. She gave Sheelds a big goofy smile, lazily drooping her eye lids half way knowing that she was going to give her something to cry about after this mission. "Do you really think that those words will get to me? Those empty threats? You don't know the first meaning of this do you?!" She gave a small cackle and another grin as she stared into the woman's eyes. Of course, because of her extremely petite height she had to almost put her face fully up just to comprehend that this woman had a face. None the less, Lundy's words poured out in a higher nice tone than usual. This was just asking for more threatening, to provoke Sheelds to hurt her. To lay a finger on her, to bring her any cause of pain.
Suddenly Lundy was pushed back and the woman began walking away, Lundy began laughing a bit maniacally and tilting her head back to make her whole body jolt with the strength of this laughter. After having her little fun she threw her head back up and returned back to normal, her blood spilling was over with now since that snow really cooled her down and she was a little jostled up from the whole Sheelds bit. Lundy played with her hair and gave a little smirk, she knew she had done wrong and she knew she was going to get punished for it.. But who really cared? Who truly gave a damn? No one. No one at all.
With this Lundy looked back at her team with a big childish grin once again, she was ready to fight and make everyone scramble along for a forfeit. Her eyes looked almost completly dead, no longer shining; but truthfully that was fire beginning to burn inside of her, she was ready to take anyone head on.

Talisman's demeanor had relaxed slightly as he marched through the trail and resulting creek bed behest of the orders of the Captain. He stood straighter, yet still carried each step softly and precisely, careful not to create more noise than was necessary while still keeping a decent pace. His L85 stayed pointing forwards always at the ready, though he knew if they weren't attacked right then, then it may be awhile before action was dictated. At least, that was what he believed, and he hoped he believed right for all of their sakes.

Still keeping step, he realized another soldier had traveled along with them. A last minute change perhaps? Whatever the reason, he was welcome for the extra pair of hands. He glanced at the man and immediately recognized him as Fox. He had kept pace with Talisman as he reacted to Chotsky's malfunction. He nodded at the soldier. He then realized the ladies with them, Lightning and Sparky were more of just following Talisman. He wished for them to be a bit more perceptive and thusly spoke up.

"Lightning, just the Master Sergeant's weapons malfunction, "He said, referring to Chotsky, "Don't worry about it just yet. Just hope it doesn't malfunction when they need it. But right now, I need a three-hundred sixty degree perimeter. I can't watch from the front and sides at the same time. Corporal, watch our left flank, I don't want a patrol tackling us from the side. Hooah?" Talisman ordered the medic, though kindly as he could, with a bit of Army slang. All the while he was talking, he did not take his eyes from the point position. He then glanced back once more to catch a glance of Sparky. She seemed out of it too the Sergeant's eyes. As if something was troubling her.

"Private Sparky!" He said curtly hoping to snap her back into it. "I want to watch our right flank. If it speaks or even looks like it speaks something that sounds even remotely Chinese, I want you to plant two in the center mass and one in the skull with that Beretta, Hooah soldier?" He ordered again with the Ranger training exposing itself with every order. "Easy lass, we'll finish this mission in no time and have a nice chunk of change for our efforts." He said, hoping to reassure her.

"Corporal Fox, that leaves you with the Rear guard. I do not want the Chinese to ram us in the ass. I'll be damned if this squad it's loses it's innocence, Hooah?" Talisman said with a bit of dirty humor, hoping to invoke a couple of chuckles. Humor always tends to raise morale. "Lieutenant, if I may sir. just apply yourself wherever you believe your assistance is required sir." He said to his superior officer. Far be it for him to order a superior officer.

"This will be over soon enough soldiers. We will make a name for ourselves here. We are the first ones diving in, we will leave a flawless impression, and we will show the world that we are specially selected soldiers and will meet our enemies. We shall defeat them on the field of battle for we are better trained," Talisman said with a bits of the Ranger Creed pasted in, "Frighteners, Hooah!" He finished, keeping his eyes on the ACOG sight for anything that may speak a different language. He slightly hoped the speech would spur the soldiers on. If not, he hoped at the very least they listened to his orders.

Staff sergeant Scaddarro looked back around herself, where was Lurk? She started looking around her position and found nothing,In a low tone but loud enough she thought to catch everyones attention she said,"Wolfy here, Shut the hell up, we have a deserter, I repeat Lurk is our deserter." She went silent. Shifting so that she had to compinsate to try and do a full 360 view. Her heart began to race, never before had she ever had a deserter, a rogue as they loved to be called. Was he just using them to get here and all their info to give to the Chinese? or was this something else? Her mind raced, things began to fall into place. Her voice dropped, "I'm a man short, get lundy/oribi whoever up to me, I have a blanket of sorts that should keep her heat in, and I can have her helping me. Anyone think different say so, 3257 out." She waited her dog scouring the land unaware of the situation change, she couldn't signal to him or call him back, there was nothing for this situation, and Specialist being out there was better than him not making sure no-one was trying to skull drag her or something. Her heart still thudded in her chest but at least her thinking was clear. She was now nestled and could only adjust her scope for distance and wind, otherwise she would be scared shatless. Izzy wasn't one to turn to such measures of fear, but once her orders were given to her she would be in complete sound of mind once more and her heart would go back to normal, until then, her mind hung onto that silence waiting for orders.

Fox nodded and said a “Hooha” out of pure reflex. He briefly wondered when he would get over that, but 12 years in the army/army rangers was hard to push out of your system. He wondered why he was getting sent to the back as odds were they where miles away and the only thing to their back was their own troops, but arguing with his superior was not worth the effort and would only slow the mission down. Team work and coordination was needed not pointless questions.

Falling back to the rear, he walked with a calm pace. If he crouched and looked through his scope walking backwards for two miles, all he would get would be throbbing thighs and a sore shoulder, which would only hinder the mission. Although looking relaxed he was far from it, having slung his M16 around to rest in his hands, pointed down in a safe but easily moved position. He was tense and ready in case the Chinese decided to light up his woods.

He was looking right to left, and was listening to the noises behind him, occasionally looking back and ensuring there was no movement, or noise… besides the commotion and arguing that the rest of the group was doing which he could barely make out. The trees did well in breaking up any noise. He had a new found respect for the sergeant. He was ex-army, and they way he moved suggested most likely experience in the rangers.

Any ranger earned Foxes respect, but trust would most likely follow depending on the outcome of the mission.


Drake stared at Oribi. To go from asking for his coat to throwing up blood to arguing with a superior was an extremely fast change, but nevertheless he accepted the offer. He walked over to Oribi, took off his coat and handed it to her with the words "Just don't lose it or anything, all right? And no, I'm Drake, but we are in the same squad". He paused, what had just happened to her had piqued his curiosity. He was used to seeing blood, but not someone randomly throwing up several pints of it before a mission even began. He decided to ask, he just had to. "What was that about?" He then shook his head, now didn't feel like a good time for such questions. He simply gave her his coat, returned to Basya's side and said "Awaiting orders". He wondered when this mission would begin, and then his mind wandered again. His squad was Basya, Sparks, Celtic, Oribi and himself, right? He began to wonder where this "Celtic" was. Basya and Sparks were here, and Oribi was over there, but where was Celtic? Drake frowned. This wasn't a very good start, but he'd manage. He always did.

Lundy looked at Drake with a bit of a surprised facial expression, he just gave her something..? Didn't he? She quickly shook her head and covered herself in the large coat and shivered a little, she was still quite cold but she would have to make do with what she had at the moment.
She looked at Drake and thought if she should thank him, that would be a little difficult for her wouldn't it? Probably. But why not try, it wouldn't hurt her... Hopefully.
She clenched her teeth together a small bit, "Tha...Than... Thank you." She had to force this out and it took a lot of her might to do so, this would be such a treat to anyone who really did know about her everything; It's almost sickening how easy that was. She once again furrowed her brows and simply hid her thin arms into the coat sleeves and looked even more angry, she was much too small for this coat! Why did she have to have such a petite exterior?! Lundy scowled a little but simply buttoned up the coat, the part where the waist should be was near her knees and the point where her hands were was very far away from where the holes were at the arms of the jacket.
Wanting to fix this she rolled them up just enough where her fingers were sticking out of the sleeves, at least now she could pull a trigger or get her knife properly. Then remembering her weapon cases she reached up the bottom of the coat, which seemed to be quite tedious and really just a hassle, and untied the pouch from around her compact thigh and she tied around her upper right arm. This pouch held extra bullets, her knife, and the spiral sandpaper weapon. The sandpaper weapon had a silver metal handle and a thick spiraling up course that was then coated in sandpaper, usually used at construction sites to make a wooden cylinder then smooth on the inside, but to this girl it was for drilling out eyes or sticking them into open wounds. In the other pack she held her gun, which she would then tuck off her bare arm then tie it around the coat's sleeve and she looked a bit more pleased now.
She was able to get to her weapons with ease now and she looked over to Drake, "I cough up blood sometimes, I have ever since I was little." She was trying so hard to elaborate but in actuality she was being extremely blunt.
She then looked around for more of the squad and she simply followed Drake, standing on the other side of Basya and she stood in a bit of an awkward stance, it was now becoming more and more difficult to stand on such small spikes as her body grew, she had to make some new ones if she really wanted to do anything. Of course, just with her mind set, she won't change her height for any reason, just a bit thicker spikes. She awaited any orders that would appeal to her, or even a person jumping out to try and get the teams. She smiled and pulled out her spiral sandpaper weapon and held it in her left hand, ready for anyone to try and get her, daring anyone. Almost yearning for the slight tingle of excitement that she would gain from killing someone, she had never killed a person but many rats and other various almost-edible animals.
Lundy bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

The entirety of the squad was, for the most part, slowly making its way through the woods by this point, one would expect. Through the leadership of the officers and Sergeants, things would finally be underway. Silence permeated around the squad, save for the crunching of snow under foot. If the soldier's weren't moving by this point, they would have to make sure to keep up- particularly with Sergeant Talisman and his fireteam, who seemed to be setting the pace for the rest of the squad.

Lurk scowls at Wolfy, having still been nearby when she started calling him a rogue. "I'm not a deserter, Sergeant," he drawls boredly. He was still using his communicator, despite their proximity and possible entry into the dark zone. Despite his claim, he wasn't making himself visible to the rest of the squad, and sighs inwardly. The incompetence of these people was getting to him. "I'm scouting ahead and going dark," he decides, shutting off his communicator and hefting his sniper rifle before flitting off into the woods. He'd complete the mission on his own if he had to.

(I am doing a time skip here. You folks can make your posts to get moving as you will, but things are moving forward.)
After Lurk makes his final communique and disappears into the woods, the silence becomes the most prominent feature of the woods once again- aside from the snow, and the constant crunch of boots going through it. Some time later, the first team would finally be nearing the base. Talisman and his team would be probably twenty minutes out from the perimeter defenses of the base, if they could see them- but they might notice, not far ahead at all, a small patrol's worth of men, six at least, walking in formation with their eyes peeled. Their first contacts of the mission.

[Order Knight]

Whitesword felt his legs tighten, his neck straighten and his eyes widen as the rush of computerized control seized his body. In a split second, his eye had sprang to life with a ten fold magnitude. The six man patrol appeared almost as a bad color in the forest. The cybernetic implant, linked to a powerful ruggedized laptop attached to his armor, was boosted tenfold through a small relay system; this logistical wizardy allowed Whitesword to have a unique interaction with computers utilizing his implant.
"Hold up, team -- Spotting six, armed, two o'clock. By the downed trees." Whitesword shifted into a crouch as he raised the AR-23 to his shoulder and sighted down the holographic. Hopefully, the others would be following suit and remaining in thier positions as well.
"All Frigtheners, armed hostiles spotted, stalling operations."


Basya was trudging along with his group, doing his best to keep them in line, when he heard the radio crackle to life with a brief message. Basya stopped and instantly listened to the broadcast, Whitesword's voice quickly depositing the information, the Lieutenant wrapped his hand through the sling of his rifle and ordered his own troop to stop.
"Whitesword's up ahead and occupying 'em ... We're going to prepare to flank, get vertical, everyone." Basya repeated quietly before pointing to a break in the woods to allow them off the path and pointing toward it.
"If we're gonna' move, we're gonna' move now."


Chotsky and his team, the farthest in the back, where busy moving along the rear, their Polish commander obviously content with bringing up the rear even when everyone else was moving forward. He was directed his way over a downed log when the radio sprang to life, the same voice broadcasting to every communication device the mercenaries were equipped with.
"Six armed hostiles! Six!! Whole fucking Chinese army!" Chotsky repeated helplessly as he scanned the trail, seeing Basya's group farther down the way, and then the bend away into a snow-choked ravine where the patrol must have been spotted.
"We ... shall ... do something." Chotsky continued to himself as he stepped over the downed log and swung the rail-caster, yanking the loading mechanism and putting a high-caliber round into place.
"All in favor of locating and terminating enemy, vote now."

Psycho walked up to Chotsky's side. "I say we shoot them, then loot them. Everything's better when you don't have to pay for it. Also, five bucks says we find Lurk dead."
Grinning readily, Psycho didn't doubt one bit that Lurk was dead, or in the process of becoming dead. Looking at the Chinese, he frowned. Their first hostiles. A group of unruly, self loving, self absorbed mercenaries, against... professional, trained, battle tested Chinese soldiers. Time for fun.

Fox fell into a crouch, and fell back to knell behind a tree, still remaining in the rear, as given his position he was the fall back. He held his M16 in both hands, his second gripping the forward grip tightly, ready to fire at command.

He wondered if they where going to avoid the patrol team, as if they attacked and terminated the team than the Chinese would know of their presence and worst yet have time to prepare. Fox himself was in favor of sneaking past, and continuing with the mission, although it made the patrol a wild card it would not be near as dangerous as giving the Chinese time to prepare and allowing them awareness on their position, but it was not his shot to call but for his superiors, who he hoped had as much reason to live as he, if not more so.

Drake stopped in his tracks suddenly. Six armed hostiles, a few too many for comfort. He gripped his AK tightly, aiming down the iron sights at the rear enemy's head. He crouched down behind another nearby fallen tree and rested the gun on it, wondering if he should just open fire. If the enemy was taken by surprise, they'd stand little chance. But the more they waited, the more likely the enemy was to spot them.

Just then, Basya spoke. "We're going to prepare to flank, get vertical, everyone," he said, pointing to a small break in the woods. Drake walked silently to there, moving from cover to cover in case he was spotted and they opened fire, but they didn't. He was at the place he was told to get to, now what? Drake looked around, waiting for the rest of the squad to get their asses over here, and his eyes strayed back to the enemy soldiers, and he crouched down and aimed down the AK's iron sights at the rear soldier again. This time he felt like spontaneously popping a bullet in the target's ass, but he repressed the urge. Drake loved being a jerk, but now was not the time. He raised the gun to point at the soldier's head again.

Katherine had managed to pass a pack of blood to her fellow squad member, the one that had coughed up blood, before she followed Basya's lead carefully.

As they went onwards, she would readjust the grip on her shotgun every few minutes to give her side a rest. She'd pop a few pain meds at the next best opportunity, but for now...Her "leader", Basya, was giving orders again. Looking ahead, she quickly noted the six Chinese soldiers that seemed to be on guard. She fell into position alongside her squad easily, hefting the shotgun up to wait for orders to fire. It seemed they were finally getting close to the compound after all that walking. Not that she was complaining, it was usally chilly in her hometown and she was used to walking long distances.

She couldn't help but give a large smile as a bit of adrenaline began to pump, ready to get to the brunt of the mission and hopefully complete it quickly and without any injuries. Well...Major injuries. Caused by the enemies. She was going to need to restalk when she got back to base, too. Down a bandage and a blood pack already.

Sheelds followed suite as her squad began to move, perfectly fine with falling back at the rear. It certainly wasn't because she fell safer, oh no, the rear always had the potential to be the most dangerous position to take as an attack from behind was all too common. Just then she heard Chotsky in his thick Polish accent assess that there were six hostiles, Chinese, within sights. Instinctively she squatted down load, whipping her head in the direction she saw Chotsky looking. Sure enough, six Chinese militants stood across the way, and she turned back to face her superior.

"I say we take them out now quickly and as quietly as possible," she whispered sharply, giving her input. "That being said, is there anyone in the squads with silencers on their snipers? If so, we should let them take the first shots, and then proceed with any means necessary." Glancing around at her other squad members for their opinions, as she never excluded subordinates in the matter, Sheelds added, "or I can lead a group of CQC's to see what we can do, provided with cover that is."

"Bullshit.". Lazarene nodded and went to her spot so she could cover the left flank. She didn't like the fact that she had to cover the left flank. Rear guard was more her field but only because if they got hit from any other direction, she'd have several bodies in-front of her to stop the bullets from reaching her. From where she stood she could get shot from the back, left, and front. Perhaps she'd be fine with if she knew could trust these people. She didn't trust them at all. Especially the chick covering the right flank with a bloody M9 Raffica. Side arms don't beat.

Lazarene had no problem keeping up, despite the fact she was freezing cold. Movement produced heat, so she moved along without complaint. Her eyes were for the most part focused on the treeline. Every now and then she would look at Talisman to ensure she wasn't trailing off course. Most of the team she wasn't. The time she was she cought on before she went off too far. The walk was pretty uneventful till White-Sword spotted something.

"Hold up, team -- Spotting six, armed, two o'clock. By the downed trees.". Lightning looked over to where he directed and could just barely see them. The chinese men were in range, they could shoot em up from where they were. She remembered what one of her friends told her. "If their in range, so are you.".

"Sir we can take them out from here, they haven't spotted us...The noise might alert anyone nearby however... Damn I wish we had silencers.".

Izzy was now quite infuriated, she calmed herself down. One slow breath at a time, if she played things like she did with her old squad she would be fine. She never said a word, and always on target. Staff Sergeant Scadarro , did the one thing she hated to do the most on any mission she closed her eyes just as a call was going out about enemies approaching. She breathed in and opened her eyes breathing out. She looked around slowly, they were in an area where she was blinded by trees. So nothing was said. Isabel kept an eye out for Specialist who was to circle out at 150 yards. She had seen him once but hadn’t heard or seen anything else. He was alright for now she assumed.

She nestled down using the snow to reflect heat on herself, and snuggle nicely into her gun. Finslly splayed out she bedded down and waited, what else was she to do? What she could see there was no movement so far. The woods were dense enough to keep her isolated, and cold enough to dissapear in, but luckily enough for her, she book smarts but more street and wood smart just like any military should be. Wolfy looked about and breathed out.

Lundy's eyes widened, suddenly crouching at the mere thought of somebody ambushing her... Was she really ready for this? To shoot this gun? Gun?! She quickly unzipped her pack, trying to be as discrete as possible and she pulled out her gun, looking at the six men. Sweat beads dripped down her skin as soft huffs of breath came from her thin lips and she furrowed her brow.
Worry swept over her as her bare knees made contact with the groun and her metal spikes came straight off of her legs, as she was half sitting on the, half ready to move. She looked over to Basya, hearing his orders to flank and go vertical. She somewhat knew what a flank was... And she kind of knew what going vertical meant, so she looked over to the rest of her group and quickly stood. Her legs served barely any purpouse at this point, she looked like she had hot coals in her shorts from the way she was walking; following Drake she stood next to him with both of her small hands on her gun ready to fire.
Tears fought at her eyes, tears of joy really as she bit her lip and looked at Drake for a moment, a sadistic grin appearing on her face as she then turned back toward the enemy and whispered to Drake, "So, I was thinking that we go on up there with maybe some knives or little weapons that need no ammo and we kick their asses... You want to?" She felt rebellious, like she was going to do something that would both make people proud and make people frown.
Her eyes lit up from an icy blue with unfaithful lids to a firey gaze that could melt the snow she was crouching on. She was ready, oh hot damn, was she ready to do anything...

Talisman glanced at Whitesword as he stiffened from his internal computerized response, causing him to raise an eyebrow, though it would not be visable from under his knit cap. The Lieutenant then announced six hostiles on their two o'clock. Talisman followed the suit of his superior and went into a kneel while at the same time swinging his L85 towards the designated direction. He hoped that the action was only cautionary and the situation wouldn't go loud, for reason's he would bring up in a moment.

He also held up a fisted hand, a sign for those behind him to stop. He glanced behind him and noticed that some of the members, like Fox, had already listened to Whitesword and taken up position, thus rendering the signal moot. He shrugged and gave a thumbs up to Fox, and waited for the next move, which was Lightning bringing up a point Talisman was wondering about. The stealthy approach, or loud approach.

"She's got a point about the noise sir," He said in a hushed whisper. "If we go hot, our cover's blown. That would make things a tad bit difficult for us if we were to infilitrate the base, and even more difficult for those-" He jerked a head in the direction of the other squads, "squads to take out the tanks and SAMs. I'll follow whatever you say sir, but perhaps we should avoid hostilities until the SAMs go offline, then light up everything that moves. Perhaps have a sniper or two keep an eye on them until that time?" He said, taking eyes off the direction of the hostiles for only mere moments to glance at Whitesword.

"Still your call sir, just say the word and I'll spray 'em." Talisman finished without blinking, steadying his aim on the soldiers.

Surprisingly, a few moments after Whitesword makes his call to arms, the soldiers ahead disperse into a combat formation, spreading out and finding cover. They did not seem to have spotted the unit yet, but it was only a matter of time- something had certainly blown their cover. Even more surprisingly, Lurk's voice crackles over the comm. "Sir. Our cover seems to be blown. Permission to engage?" Wherever he was, he apparently had eyes on the Chinese.

Anyone who was able to see a fair distance away, such as Whitesword, would see that the Chinese were armed with four Type 95 Assault Rifles, one Type 95 LMG, and one Type 88 DMR. From what they could tell, they were forming their defenses around an uncharacteristic mound of snow, roughly eight feet high and twenty feet wide. The area west-facing of the mound, the direction they were headed in from, was fairly clear of trees; which would provide at least passable visibility, and cover moving up from the occasional downed tree or stump, for as much worth as they would provide.

They were close enough to the base at this point that an open confrontation, if not resolved quickly, would likely result in a larger part of the Chinese force moving in against them. The tanks, fortunately, would have trouble moving through the thick woods, but there was still a considerable Infantry force inside the base proper. As soon as the fighting started, they would have to operate with the utmost efficiency. Of course, there were always other options.

Drake glanced at Oribi for a moment before returning his gaze to the soldiers, and he thought for a moment. "No," he said. "I agree, it will be better to sneak up and eliminate them silently than to go loud, but look." Here, he pointed with his left hand toward the enemy, they were moving as though they knew the Frightener units were there. "I think we should just go around, that way we can sneak further in, but..." He tilted his head. "I want to know what's so special about what they're guarding. Check it out..." He stared, confused. The soldiers were taking cover around a simple mound of snow, but there may have been more to it than could be seen at this point. He'd have to check it out after all enemies nearby had been eliminated.

Drake wondered what the squads should do. Since some were going to take out the SAM sites, they would need to remain unnoticed. The squads here could make that easier by remaining silent themselves. Then, Drake decided on a compromise. "Oribi," he quietly whispered her name, so quietly that she was the only one who could have heard. "I'm willing to bet that snow mound has more to it than meets the eye. But, we shouldn't light the enemy up yet, we want to keep some degree of secrecy."

"How about this: We sneak around, and once we get spotted or the mission is a success, whichever comes first, we head back and find out what exactly that mound of snow is?" It seemed that Oribi's rebellious nature was rubbing off on him, because he thought they'd go back alone, give the rest of the team, Sparks, Celtic and Basya, a chance to complete the mission or whatever else they had to do at their leisure. They'd catch up. He mentioned this to Oribi as well, wondering how she'd react, and wondering about everyone's reactions when they'd hear the idea, Drake's own expression remaining emotionless.

Drake could already tell he was going to like Oribi, as reckless and obviously unprepared as she was, evidenced by the fact that she'd only taken out her gun now, as well as that she'd had to ask for his coat. She was likely going to annoy him, sure, but she looked like the kind of person you just couldn't hate, no matter how hard you tried. Besides, she seemed like she'd need some help in the field, what with all of those obvious physical disadvantages, and it didn't look like anyone else was volunteering. Drake loved to help people, and would go far out of his way to save someone he knew well, but that wasn't a side of him he'd often shown ever since he'd once failed.

| 0825L
| 09 NOV 2012
| Legionnaire Mercenary Organization Recruiting Office, MacLean, VA

The unassuming building in a non-descript office park had but a simple sign on the door: "Legionnaire Mercantile Organization." The cover was rather lacking, but it was a cover and that was all that mattered to the LMO. They ran an honest-to-God small shipping concern, paid their taxes on time, and generally simply disappeared into the woodwork as far as government oversight was concerned.

The reality was that everyone who knew anything about any and all private military contractors knew what this particular 'Mercantile Organization' really imported and exported worldwide: death and destruction--albeit with a tidy and organized fashion to it. They kept it inside the lines, and so they never had any cause to worry about investigations from any of the governments that presided over the land that their various recruiting offices were built on. It was obvious to the US Security Apparatus, but was allowed to continue with a wink and a smile.

A man parked his rented sedan in the lot about a hundred feet from the entrance to the particular building that the office was in. Relatively normal in appearance--medium height, medium (if in a bit better shape) build, brown hair and eyes--he could have blended in on any street in the United States or Europe. It was the sort of appearance that no one took much of a second glance at, and he accentuated it with a rather conservative cut business suit that wouldn't stand out at all. The only identifying item was a rather small lapel pin, barely three-quarters of an inch long by a quarter of an inch wide. It was blue, with a bisecting stripe of white through the short axis. In his left hand he carried a thin attache case, and wore a black fedora in contrast to the current style.

The man entered the door to the office building, not bothering to refer to the directory as he made his way straight to his objective. He entered, finding himself in a reception center that could just as easily been found in any other professional office anywhere. The man presented himself to the receptionist, removing his hat. "Good morning, ma'am. My name is James Cunningham, I have an appointment with Mr. Smith."

The young woman smiled politely up at the stranger. "Of course, you're right on time. Mr. Smith is on the phone right now, but he'll see you shortly. If you'll have a seat please?" She gently ordered, gesturing in the direction of the seats.

"Thank you," Jim said, taking a seat near the corner, about five feet away from the door. He quickly noticed the two small cameras that had coverage over the entire waiting area as he mindlessly flipped through a magazine chosen at random from the small stack next to the seat. It took approximately five minutes by Cunningham's watch.

"Mr. Cunningham, so good to finally meet you," Mr. Smith said, coming from around the receptionist. Cunningham stood and met the offered handshake. It was firm, but not overpowering.

Jim nodded, "Thank you, sir. I'm glad I'm being given the opportunity to meet with you too." He followed the man who was about as unremarkable as he was, if only a few inches taller.

The entire office was just that--unremarkable. Here and there were posters of some of the cooler aspects of militaria: pictures of soldiers with cool weapons looking towards some unseen enemy; aircraft flying in formation; ships on patrol in calm seas. It probably looked like any other Beltway Bandit's office. That was the point, though, of course. After a very short walk, they ended up in Mr. Smith's rather spartan office.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Cunningham. I'll get right to it. You want to sign on with the Legionnaires, is that correct?" he asked, taking his seat behind the desk.

"That's right, Mr. Smith. I'm just out of the Army, and need a job. I didn't want to hang it up, but they want me in some rear-echelon post. I wasn't having any of it. So, they let me retire." Cunningham said matter-of-factually.

"What sort of qualifications do you have?" Cunningham simply opened up his attache case and handed across his a copy of his DD214 and 201 file. The two of them together listed his entire military career to that point, and were each several pages thick. Mr. Smith's eyes about popped out of his head. It took him a few minutes to skim the list of qualifications. Military Free Fall and Static Line parachuting, combat diver through both Marines and Army, Pathfinder and Air Assault, Ranger School, SERE (level C), and Marine Corps Mountain Warfare School. Not to mention Defense Language Institute certification in Arabic. Mr. Smith choked out, "So, when were you looking at starting?"

"Right now is fine. I've been hearing through the grapevine that there's some openings for officer-level talent in your company, and civilian life is boring the hell out of me, honestly." Cunningham gave a thin smile.

Mr. Smith nodded, "Well, we do have a few slots available. There's a team that's deploying right now, but to catch up with them, you'll have to leave within the next few hours. Is that acceptable?"

Jim Cunningham's smile grew to a grin. "I've got all my kit in the trunk of my car outside, and can be ready to leave as soon as I drop off the rental."

"Welcome to the Legionnaires, Mr. Cunningham. Good luck," Mr. Smith said, standing and shaking Cunningham's hand. "And Good Hunting."

Lundy bit her bottom lip as she looked over at Drake with a small frown, whispering back softly, "Then we can just sneak around and kill them really quick can't we? It'd benefit everything we're doing." She then followed her gaze where he was pointing with sharp eyes and spoke once again while looking straight at the enemy, "You know, we should put away our guns and bring out our special weapons; like knives and stuff like that... Just not anything too damn loud." She said this with a bit of a blood-curdling yearn, it seemed so creepy and her eyes were large with excitement, there was real fire in those eyes now even if they were as cold as the terrain they were squatting on. Suddenly a click, or rather a switch happened in her brain... They have to be hiding something, or have done something for us or the teams to come here. What were they hiding? Was it nuclear weapons? A smile devious smirk came onto her face slowly as her eyes became lazy and her eyelids dropped half way as she began gripping her gun. "Man.. What ever they have there, we have to get it and show everyone else. We just have to." This sent shivers down her spine, shivers of excitement and almost greed.

Suddenly her name was whispered by a familiar voice and she glanced over at Drake once again, whispering back so he knew she was listening, "Drake..." She listened with a big grin and she shook a little, "Snow mound huh? Oh, yeah, I see it... And light them up you mea-" She cut herself off, letting the thought drift as the voice inside of her hissed out, "Don't ask questions you dimwitted wench! Just listen!" She cringed her teeth to hear this voice once again, she dare not utter another word for the pure fear of it screaming at her again until Drake spoke once again. "Sneak huh? I'll try to keep these stupid things quiet" she gestured toward her spikes then continuing all in one breath, "We'll take 'em out with our weapons and then we dig down and find what's it their guarding. That sounds perfect." Suddenly Drake mentioned something about the rest of the team to Lundy, er, well, Oribi now. And she gave a little smirk, "Those people huh? We do the dirty work, we take out those people. They can just chat, and have their little tea party or what ever the hell it is their doing and we'll go on ahead and we'll be... Oh what's it called?" She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, leaning close to Drake so she barely had to utter a sound, "Over achieving?" she sounded malicious, like she really wanted to kill those Chinese men in front of her. She leaned back to where she was supposed to and kept to herself, her emotions were spilling out everywhere with every glance someone would make at her she would have a new expression, either of blood-lust or just pure agony from squatting for too long.

Oribi could really get used to this Drake guy, he was the only one who shared her same interests in doing what they want and doing it quick with a small bit of planning, he seemed to have a lot more experience with the whole military thing, killing people and all that. She needed guidance, god, even she knew that. She felt safe around him, unlike anything she has felt before, she was finally... Oh what's this feeling? Who knows. She had to hold back petty laughter, and she looked more excited than ever, god how she wanted just to run out and kill them all right now! She looked at Drake once again, discovering now what a friend is; or was Drake the enemy? No no... Drake is a friend. Oribi's friend.

Alexander peered at the Chinese. "Silence is a virtue. These knives here aren't for show. We could very well slit their throats. Or, we could also admit that they probably already know exactly where we are, and launch a grenade or two at them. Either way, you get blood all over the snow. Personally, I just want them all dead so I get to loot them. If we're really lucky, at least one of these men decided if he's dead then it doesn't matter what happens to his credit card, and carries it with him." Alexander looked thoughtful, wanting nothing more than to munch down on Kit Kats and A&W root beer all day long. "Make up your minds, I need money for my science projects." Silently, he flipped the safety off of his gun.

Drake simply stared at Oribi for a moment. She seemed so excited, so happy, just for a chance to kill these soldiers. She seemed so sadistic. But, well, every squad needs an oddball. Thinking this to himself, he looked at the Chinese again. "Oribi," he whispered again. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea to me. Wait, was I ever issued a knife? ...I wasn't." He seemed disappointed at this fact, but not for long. Drake knew a small amount of CQC, so he could likely knock some of them out or snap some necks while Oribi got to work on the others. When he got a chance, Drake would exchange this worthless body armor for a combat knife. But there was another problem.

"Right, they're all set up so that we can't sneak up on them too easily. We can sneak past them, sure, but if we get too close, one's bound to notice. So maybe we should leave them." Here, Drake frowned, and glanced at Oribi. "Should we get the others to help in this, or go it alone?" Drake was getting impatient. That was another of his flaws, he could never sit still for too long without repeating a good reason to himself constantly. He had terrible patience. He growled and shifted around on the spot, steadily growing colder by the minute. Drake grew restless and began to look around. He was shivering from the cold again, and looking around in a nervous-looking manner so that he looked fearful, but his voice was calm as usual as he said, "What do you think? It's your call here." Then he shook his head. Everyone had been just sitting there for far too long, and Drake was getting bored. It was time something happened. He looked at Oribi again. He could sense her excitement and bloodlust, but he couldn't let her rush out unprepared, without a solid plan. But he couldn't think of anything, the enemy was too well-placed. Something was definitely going on here, first the enemy somehow knew they were there, then they posted up around a random snow mound that was obviously hiding something. Now, Drake was beginning to realize that their defense was too good. There was no way to sneak up on them reliably. The urge to find out what that mound was hiding grew stronger.

Drake then looked once more at Oribi. "Fuck it," he said. "Here's my idea: You try to sneak up on them, since I don't have a knife. If they spot you, I'll tear them apart," he added, taking aim with the AK. It was risky for all of them, especially Oribi, but it was the only idea he had at the moment, plus he was getting disturbingly impatient. He aimed the AK at one soldier's head, made sure it was loaded and the safety was off, which it was. Drake then looked around. Where the hell was everyone else at this time? They were all ordered by Basya to get over here, what was taking them so long?

Something that the squad would learn very soon, planning is best done quickly, or else in a posh office a million miles from the front lines. While they prepared themselves for the eventual combat, the Chinese decided to make the first move.
Lurk's voice breaks over the comms again. "Sir, enemy sniper." As soon as he says this, a single round flies through the air and shatters the trunk of a small tree near Celtic. The sniper was using tracer rounds, however, so if they were perceptive enough they might spot him before he relocates.

But, that would turn out to be the least of their worries. The front of the mound of snow bursts into flame as someone inside blasts out with a flamethrower, revealing one of the bunkers. This one was armed with a 40mm cannon, and was aimed straight at the Squad. It was flanked by two HMGs, and all three weapons were fully manned, plus the Infantry support, which was now fully aware of the Squad's position thanks to the sniper round.

The squad would have a split second to react before their position was littered with gunfire.
((AKA, only the first few posters are going to get anything done unless everyone is active, so no double posts until my next.))

Fox closed his eyes in frustration the stall had cost them dearly, and now they were caught in an engagement with a bettered armed opponent only good thing they had was they had the Chinese surrounded and held high ground. moving slightly out from behind the tree he aimed down the scope of his M16A4, aiming for chest not head of the Chinese soldiers standing around the mound, appeared they were in as much shock as they, and using this split second initiative Fox pulled the trigger of the M16 releasing multiple three round burst from the M16, an extremely accurate weapon. He did not check for hits, merely moved to the next target pulling the trigger.

After 5 fast pulls, he retreated behind the tree, covering his body behind the thick protective pine tree.

Oribi looked at Drake with a small smile, "No knife huh? I guess you could use mine really quick, I mean, if you want to." She got ready to hand him the knife when she quickly stopped and became stiff, then speaking once again to him, "They are in a difficult formation aren't they? Really damn hard too, you can't go in between them either. They must be pretty trained... Lucky bastards." She looked over at Drake again, a sullen look on her face as if she was saying 'we have to do this sooner or later', "If we get others to help they won't understand our motives, they will say we are foolish when really we are trying to get it all done in time. I say we go alone, leave them behind, let's spill some blood and they'll clean it all up right?" She gave a little chuckle at this analogy and looked over, her legs were getting red from so much use from just squatting, she was going to get so bored so quickly. She needed action, adventure, excitement; she hasn't felt something like that in a long time, too long if you ask her.

She looked at Drake, noticing how scared he looked and she furrowed her brow, "Can't get cold feet, now. We have way too much to do. If you back at now..." She paused and with a hiss she whispered, "I'll think of you as a spineless coward." It was true, if he were to back out of this mission now then he will be useless to her, nothing of importance. He'd be nothing. Something that just takes more air then it needs and is lazy, can't even use it's own hands or legs. This seemed a bit harsh, but she needed to make sure that he knew that she wasn't just joking around, "I'm not fucking with you either." She hissed, just to get the point across.

When he spoke once again, Oribi's shoulders raised and she glanced at him with an almost evil look on her, she was so happy at the moment. "Sounds good, le-" She paused as she heard gun shots and she stared at the enemy, suddenly the mystery of the snow mound was solved it was a disguise for the bad man who had the nice weapon. She bit her bottom lip, scrunched up her nose and hissed again, "Drake, fuck it, open fire and blow some heads off." She leaned really close to him once again and whispered almost seductively into his ear, "I want to see some heads roll." Her bloodlust had grown out of proportion and she turned toward the enemy, unlocking her gun and flipping the switch so it was out of safety and she shot toward the men, aiming right in between their eyes and she had the largest grin on her face. After she shot she rolled on her back, crouching once again with one knee on the ground and the other had the metal spike resting on the ground as she got ready for shots coming toward her and her back was up against a thick tree, she motioned for Drake to come squat near her. Nobody wanted their friend to get hurt.

The sniper round made Talisman instinctively lunge from his kneeling position to that of one behind the nearest tree. "Shit! Enemy fire! Take cover, NOW!" He said with all pretenses of order shattered. They had taken way to much time to plan their move and it had cost them. Talisman himself was merely waiting for his commanding officer to deliver orders before he acted, though Whitesword seemed to have taken his time. Now things were getting hot, and the enemy had made the first move. At least this allowed them all to go in hot, and hose down the enemies. Talisman was never the one for the cloak and dagger affair.

Back to the firefight, he pushed in on the Comm in his ear and barked a general request to all squads, "Someone take out that damn sniper, now!" Talisman then swung his L85 to the side of the tree and spotted what the mound of snow was hiding. Because of their pace earlier, his squad was most likely the closest one to the Bunker, which should have gave him a fine view of it. It was indeed a bunker with a couple of Machine gunners and a flame-thrower. "Well damn." Talisman said curtly before focusing the L85's ACOG sight to the back of the Flamer. More specifically, the tank on his back that Talisman expected to be there, holding the fuel for the flames. During this frenzy of activity, he also noticed a Forty millimeter cannon sticking out of the Bunker.

He yelled into his comm one more time, "They've got a damn forty, I want grenades down that bastards throat! If you got anything with a bang, focus it on the cannon! Else we're be the one's going bang!" Speaking of explosions, as soon as he stopped comms, he emptied half of his thirty round magazine in three round bursts into what he expected to be the Flamer's fuel pack, hoping for an explosion that may take out a couple of infantry as well. He then followed up by emptying the rest of his magazine in five three round bursts at other, varying hostiles, hoping both to injure and suppress

Before changing mags, he swung back around into full protection of the tree, and pulled the grenade off of his chest. He then yanked the pin out with his teeth before getting into position around the other side of his tree. He studied his target for a mere second, allowing for the grenade to cook for a moment, before hurling the grenade towards the opening of the bunker. He didn't see the results as he was back around his tree and finally ejecting his magazine and replacing it.

| 0322L
| 11 NOV 2012
| LMO Outpost, Russia

It was very dark--the cloud cover obscured the stars and the moon from projecting almost any light as the ramp from the C-130 Hercules dropped. Several pallets of equipment and gear were lashed down in position on the center of the aircraft. The airfield wasn't all that involved. He could see only two other aircraft nearby, but their silhouettes were unrecognizable in the haze. Crew darted around and unsecured items to be off-loaded. The few passengers in the aircraft were advised to remain seated while the crew could get everything sorted. It was cold--not that the passenger was particularly surprised; the Russian Steppe wasn't exactly Iraq or Afghanistan.

Cunningham stood up from his seat near the ramp where it was nice and cool, as opposed to up front where the temperatures were terribly warm. He threw his Arc'Teryx Echo rucksack on his back, picked up the drag-handle on the deployment-bag that held all of his body armor and weapons. It took a minute to get off the damn Herky-bird. The whine from the engines on the long flight still echoed in his head, despite the Sordin ear-protection he was wearing. He moved where he was directed to, and moved towards what could only be described as a terminal. Granted, it was surrounded by Hesco Barriers, just going to show how expeditionary this site was.

Entering the warm structure, Jim dropped his kit and headed over to the desk that was obviously there to sort the new arrivals out to where they needed to go in the facility. The woman behind the desk looked oddly familiar, as though the secretary from the MacLean office had somehow beaten him out here. As he reported and handed his personnel jacket across, he even commented on it. "You wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you?"

She gave him a small smile, "Yes, you must have gone to the MacLean office and met my twin."

"Guilty as charged," Jim responded with a grin of his own. "So, where do I need to go from here?"

"Colonel Klein will be expecting you as soon as you drop your gear off in your billet. His office is in the main building, near the temp officer billeting." She gave him his personnel jacket back, already completely annotated and all the appropriate items added and removed. "Good luck, and Good Hunting!"

Drake was surprised at Oribi's random outburst. Did he really look that scared? He wasn't feeling any fear. Well, not much. He was about to say something, but someone said something over the comm. He didn't have time to react.

Drake gasped as a bullet splintered a nearby tree and he took cover quickly. Before doing that, he'd caught a glimpse of what was hidden by the snow mound. Turrets and a flamethrower guy. He'd need to keep his distance from them both. He looked around to see everyone's positions and he saw Oribi, pretty far away, looking at him meaningfully. He shook his head. It was too risky to run out of cover just to be next to a friend in combat. It was better they remained separated. He also motioned for her to stay put, then looked above the fallen tree he was taking cover behind for a fraction of a second, and saw that he had a clear shot on one or two of the enemy. He took aim with his AK at one's head and fired a shot, then moved to another's head and fired again, before ducking back into cover. Right at that moment, bullets started whizzing over his head, startling him.

"Shit, that didn't go well," Drake muttered to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and realized just how loud the place was. So many gunshots! Some sounded powerful, while others sounded pathetic. And one sounded fiery. Drake, and the rest of the team, needed to get the hell out of here, but they were under heavy fire. They'd have to eliminate the enemy, there was no other way. Drake simply waited for another opportunity to pop out and cap another few enemies, but he was afraid someone was waiting for exactly that. Drake's mind began to wander again. Were they going to make it through this or die miserably? If they did make it, would the entire team be decimated, or intact?

The enemy was most likely entirely on red alert now, and there was no way stealth would get them through this, but Drake had a feeling stealth wouldn't have helped regardless of how long it took them to make their move. Then again, Drake was glad at this recent turn of events. Oribi might have rushed out there and gotten sniped, or when they were investigating the snow mound, it might have exploded on them in a very fiery and potentially lethal manner. So he guessed it was better this way. Funny how the world works.

Drake just waited for his next chance for now, glancing at Oribi and he mentally smiled, but he didn't know why.

Celtic instinctively crouched down as the small tree near her was splintered. She hefted her shotgun in the general direction the shot had come from, but was unable to focus on the sniper before she backed up quickly and hide herself behind the nearest large tree. The bunker that had been hidden underneath that mound of snow looked like it would cause quite the trouble.

She quickly aimed her shotgun at the center manned cannon, but waited before actually firing. She quickly glanced to her sides and made a mental count of her squad members, registering where they were and how close. She'd need to react quick if there were any injuries, or else she'd get hit as well. It seemed they hadn't strayed to far from herself, luckily.

The Chinese had fired first, giving them the upper hand for now. They'd have to regain that ground soon enough to get the mission completed quickly and orderly.

The forest was quiet. It was cold. It was everything she saw for as far as her eyes could see, except the Chinese at the snowy hill. All that changed with one bullet. It took only one bullet to bring the thundering sounds of gunfire, the heat of battle, to the forest. Lightning's immediate reaction was to take cover. In an instant she dived forward and began crawling on her belly towards a nearby tree. Her eyes wide open. She reached the tree and knew she was safe as long as she stayed behind that tree. She was going to stay behind that tree. Maybe someone else would take care of them. They had like what? Three? Four teams in this forest. Maybe the snipers could take them out. Maybe the main assault team could do it. As long she didn't have to stitch them up, stand over them and tell them it was going to be fine it's not, that their gonna live when their going to die. As long she didn't have to put them in the body bag and hear that horrid zipper close, forever saying,"You failed...again...".

Talisman's voice came in strong. "They've got a damn forty, I want grenades down that bastards throat! If you got anything with a bang, focus it on the cannon! Else we're be the one's going bang!" Followed by shooting and an explosion. If they had a forty mm people were going to get hurt. That needed to be taken out ASAP. Lightning had to do something...

"Sargent Talisman, Hand me a frag!".

Whitesword felt his feet crunch through the snow as he made his way back towards the remainder of his squad, he had barely traveled more than five or so meters but it was a necessity that he move slowly, quietly and inconspicuously. The gunshot rang out among the broken silence of the forest, causing Whitesword to stumble and send his entire calf into a two foot snow bunker before regaining himself and hauling his leg from the frigid trap. Those several seconds he took to scramble put him directly in the crosshairs of the enemy formation, which now knew not only where Whitesword was, barely fifteen meters away, but now also where Talisman, Lighting and Whips were located from the gunshot.


"Enemy has engaged -- enemy has engaged!" Whitesword screamed as the first of dozens of rounds began to fall across his position. A rifle round cracked past his shoulders, impacting thin sapling half a meter behind him and snapping the tree in half. Whitesword fell once more, this time utilizing his knee as a guard to keep himself upright while his hands quickly worked his rifle. Whitesword returned fire with a four round burst, aiming for the bulk of the snow-covered mound, which he could only guess was the first bunker in the entire complex.
"Sonuvabi -- " Whitesword threw himself onto his stomach as a torrent of bullets flew at him in return, snow was thrown into the Lieutenant's face as he caught sight of a Chinese raising his rifle. He quickly rolled onto his side, sticking his rifle out forward and depressing the trigger as he did. The shots went wild, the scream of the assault rifle scaring dozens of birds from their perches on trees.
"Return fire! Return fire! Whitesword shouted as he quickly rolled himself over the lip of a rock and down into a small gully, spalshing into a puddle of frigid water.


Talisman soon identified the bunker, and the weaponry hidden within it. Whitesword spared one glance around the edge of the rocky outcropping; he practically flanked the bunker now, with little to no chance of returning to his position near his squad, however, it seemed Whitesword would have to take command from here.
"All Frighteners! Contact with enemy combatants on the forest trail, large bunker with heavy weapon emplacements disguised as a snowdrift, seven to ten enemy combatants located -- could be more. Chotsky, take your squad and flank left, you'll find me behind some rocks. Basya, take your squad and flank right, find Talisman and the others and make sure they're alive." Whitesword spoke hurriedly as he checked his weapon, pulling open the barrel of the underbarrel grenade launcher, when he was greeted with the brass ass of a 40 millimeter HEDP grenade, he closed his eyes tightly, whispered one quick prayer, and rolled onto his stomach.

"Ordinance out on two -- one, two!" Whitesword launched the grenade, which made a dull whump, toward the bunker. The 40 millimeter, designed to not only flower upon impact to create shrapnel but detonate with the full power of the 60 grams of Comp-B that was packed within it. Whitesword squinted one eye as he fired, watching the round leap from beneath the AR-23 and smash through the soft layer of snow above the bunker.




Lieutenant Basya and his squad, closest to Talisman, Lightning and Wisp, would be the first reinforcements to arrive to aid Talisman and the rest of Whitesword's squad. Though Whitesword was nowhere to be found, seeing as he said he would be separated from his squad, Basya still pushed his own team into combat quickly.
"Alright Sparks, let's get rolling. Flank the enemy, and support the others." Basya shouted as he broke a small ravine that they had used to move to the far right flank of the bunker. It was then that the first Chinese soldiers began to redirect their fire.
"Keep your heads down, I'll try and keep them surpressed. Knock 'em down!" Basya shouted, quickly unlatching the rubber-instilled scope covers. Shifting the weight of the weapon, Basya quickly leaned out from behind a rock and sighted down the high-powered telescopic sight. Tracing to the left, Basya watched the bunker take the two explosives, before catching the rifleman sprinting from a parked five-ton truck up the road. Basya inhaled briefly, adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger.




Chotsky and his team, about eighty meters back, would hear the gunshots as high-pitched barking noises, snapping cracks and grumbles as grenades were tossed and launched between the two. The Master Sergeant would perk up at the tear of gunfire, being quick to regain the concentration of the squad, and prepare them all for orders to move out.
"Then this is that what it is! Get ready everyone!" Chotsky ordered as he yanked back the charging handle, a whirr from the weapon was all it responded with before being loaded with a 105 millimeter explosive canister. Electromagnetically accelerated across the rails and into a low arc, it was a prime anti-installation weapon that gave any infantry unit a considerable boost of firepower.
"Chotsky, take your squad and flank left, you'll find me behind some rocks -- " The Master Sergeant grumbled as he herded his squad onto their objective.
"Make contact with enemies and shoot the shit out of them!" Chotsky shouted, first ordering the rest of his squad into place before swinging the barrel of the weapon around. Flanking the opposing forces, Chotsky had a very easy view of the bunker, something he planned to use to his full advantage.
"Bunker up ahead, focus fire on structure and nearby infantry, go!" Chotsky shouted as the launched grenade slammed into the ground, creating one mighty whooshing noise and displacing several snowbanks to reveal the terrain beneath. Chotsky's rail-caster would fire next, sending one hyperaccelerated 105 millimeter explosive slug into the bunker complex.

(( I am now under Whitesword. And under Madena's instructions, I 'have' been with this unit the entire time. ))

Staff Sergeant Wolfy felt the fire scare her half to death, her eyes went flying to her dog who was somehow a little behind her. She stopped, having seen a blurr. Her eyes narrowed, and she brought up her scope quickly as she moved away to get to cover. She saw nothing, just dismissing it as either being her imagination, which she hoped was the case or Lurk. She turned back to the chinese and took aim. She steadied herself against a tree, and upon hearing fire, she did. She had a chinese in her scope, and he was turned towards someone else, her scope started circling. Then without another breath, she shot, without knowing whether she hit him or not she took aim on another, she felt bullet graze her skin and another go by her ear. Still she didn't duck out of the way. She shot again about mid chest and ducked back out as the tree bark rained down on her. She sheilded herself.

Sheelds continued onward with her squad, trailing behind the other two a fair distance. When the sounds of gunfire pierced the still air, Sheelds flinched slightly, whipping her head in the general direction of the noise. Whitesword's voice carried and rang in her ears, her attention turned to Chotsky as he began giving orders. Sheelds glanced down at her Mini-Uzi as they stood about eighty meters from everyone, knowing that to get a more effective and accurate shot at the Chinese, she would inevitably have to move closer.

With a sudden burst of energy, Sheelds started off in a full blown sprint, trailing Chotsky as her eyes assessed the area around her. As they got close, Sheelds' attention fell onto the bunker, her hand instinctively reaching for one of the incendiary devises she had strapped onto her belt. But as she saw that there were already plenty of grenades finding their target from Chotsky, she felt it best to keep rushing forward and attempt the flank they were ordered to do. It became painful to breathe, the icy air piercing her lungs with each breath, and as she felt like she could run no longer through the heavy snow, she spotted Whitesword laying flat on his stomach in a gully just a few meters in front of her. Sheelds only had a few seconds of seeing him before she too flung herself belly first to the ground, crawling to a nearby fallen tree trunk as bullets whizzed past her. One managed to skim her arm, the warm blood feeling oddly soothing as she flung herself over the trunk to provide cover. Taking a moment to gather her whits, Sheelds peered over the trunk, exposing no more than her eyes, and pulled her Mini-Uzi up to rest on the trunk. This gun certainly would come in handy if the hostiles would start charging, then she could just spray them with the bullets. After Chotsky's performance, if that didn't at least take down one of the HMG, then they were screwed.

She yelled over all the gunfire, occasionally doing the quick peek over tree trunk to see how Whitesword managed and providing cover, "Whitesword, sir, I don't think right now is the best time for a swim!"

After the split moment given the Legionnaire mercenaries during the moment of surprise, three or four of the Infantry had taken shots, falling behind their cover and not returning. The rest of the Chinese having sufficient cover to avoid being hit significantly, they returned fire immediately, firing in bursts at anywhere they saw fire approaching from.

The enemy sniper had slunk away from his position. Lurk's voice comes over the comm again. "The enemy sniper is changing positions. I'm moving to get a better shot."

Even as Lurk speaks, the Bunker's three gunners light up the area in front of them. A spray of 40mm rounds blankets the treeline, with the HMGs mowing down specific areas where the heaviest fire was coming from. The trees would provide little cover from the 40mm- anyone that wasn't in cover when the whole mess started would be hurting very much indeed, if they were even alive anymore. There was only one spray across the gunner's field of vision so far, but the HMG rounds would be gunning down anything that showed itself.

The grenade strikes would be doing damage to the bunker, fortunately. The first round hitting the top of the structure would blow the mound of snow away completely, and successive strikes would rattle the interior and cause debris to fall on the gunners- but they were still very active, much to the chagrin of the rest of the squad.

The front line of Mercs would possible be decimated, if they hadn't managed to find cover. This would namely be Whitesword and his squad. The second in line, Basya, would be having the most problems after them, as most of the 40mm fire would fall among their ranks. Chostsy and his fireteam would be the least damaged, if at all, due to their position near the back- as long as they were careful and not just walking in the open.

Half of the Chinese forces in the area were downed- the most dangerous of them were still active, but possibly wounded in the confusion of combat so far. Legionnaire casualties were unknown at the time, but less than half the squad reacted in a timely manner to the attack.

The only hint of reinforcements approaching would be a loud cracking not far away, towards the base, and a dull thud as something large impacted the snow.

Talisman replaced the mag with authority. It was clear that he and the rest of the squad had separated from Whitesword and was now closer to Basya than him. Of course, in order to reach Basya, they had to cross a hellfire of bullets and the forty. Talisman was going to have to step up for the time being until he managed to get his team out of their. Then he heard Lightning's request for a frag. The frag Talisman had just thrown.

"Missed your chance! I already shoved it down their throats! Once this is over though, we'll take theirs! Hoorah?!" He said popping out of cover to send a three round burst down the range. By the way he yelled over the gun fire, it was clear he fully expected to make it out alive. Hell, what self-respecting ranger wouldn't?

Talisman felt the heavy machine gun rounds pelt his chosen tree behind him, and he heard the forty sling it's shells over the battlefield with a finality. They couldn't stay there if they wanted to survive, the heavy weapons would tear their cover apart, however thick the trees were. That only left a couple of options. Make their way to Basya and his ravine, or retreat further up the trail to a rather heavy outcropping of rocks, boulders, and a fallen tree. Both paths would be crossing the fire zone and be dangerous, but staying put is a guaranteed death sentence.

He made quick glances to Lightning, Fox, and Wolfy, each were returning fire to the Chinese. However He had lost sight of both Wisp and Sparky. He made a final glance to Basya and his ravine. He was sending his squad to flank the Bunker, and by joining him would only make a bigger target for the forty. Might as well spread the attention all over and not give the hostiles the opportunity to focus their fire.

He pressed a finger into the comm once more, sending a bulletin across the channel, "Alright team, Fox, Lightning, Staff Sergeant Wolfy, We need to make our way back to some cover with substance, an outcrop of rocks back down the trail a couple of meters. The forty shouldn't rip those apart like these damned trees!" As he spoke he felt the rounds assault the tree behind him. They had to hurry. "Alright, Wolfy, We will provide cover. Snipe those bastards, make them understand that we have a sniper! Make them scared to pop their head up. Lightning, make your way to Fox's rear position, Fox, you cover her as she makes her way. Once there, both of you make your way to the rally point," Talisman said, calling the outcrop the rally point. " Then I'll make my way, Wolfy, I'll be in your hands here, I'll be trusting you with my life. As I pass I'll return the favor. Once at the rally point, we will hold and provide cover for those who are flanking. If things get nasty, I'll pop some smoke!" He said with an air and tone of urgency. Then he added in, for all squads and allied personal to hear, "Cover us as best as you can as we make our way!"

"Alright, if this is hell, then we are the demons! Let's go!" Talisman said before laying in the crotch of the tree and began to empty his thirty round mag in three round bursts, laying down as best cover fire as he could handle. He also hoped that Lurk would take care of the sniper. That's the last thing they needed.

Fox listened to the command and nodded, tapping the radio in his ear "Confirmed, providing cover fire. Medic you better run fast, I dont have much in the way of clip size. out" He peaked around the cover of the tree that now had multiple bullet holes in it... being the first responder never made you very popular, the soldiers were gathered around the bunker, looked like 3-4 have fallen. He knew he couldn't stick his head out, or he would lose it; that sniper could still be out there, so he simply extended his arms, pointing the gun at the enemy but keeping his body behind the tree. Fox pulled the trigger unleashing a series of three round burst that would hopefully distract or lord willing cause them to duck.

"Move!", the click told him the gun was empty, and moving with practices precision he ejected a clip, than slammed a new one in, without pause he shoved the gun back out and opened fire again. The rounds were still pelting around him causing snow to fly around him, and he was counting his blessing that the 40 hadn't opened up on him, or he would have to relocate a lot faster than waiting for the medic, although it would help since she could patch him up if he decided to let the Chinese aerate him.

"Alright Sparks, let's get rolling. Flank the enemy, and support the others."

Drake nodded and looked to the ravine. It wasn't too far off, but he was still pinned down. Then, Basya began to fire heavily on the Chinese and he took the chance and ran for it. Bullets flew past him, but somehow he wasn't hit. Then, he made it to the ravine and waited for the others. He looked back, and saw that the enemy may have been reduced a little, but they were still a massive problem. "I thought you said this mission was gonna be easy," he mentally complained, and then just waited. Since he'd completed orders, he let his mind wander again. Where was the enemy sniper? Surely Drake would have been plugged by him while he was running. But he wasn't. He may have relocated, but still. He looked around for him, but was quickly forced back into cover by turret fire. Speaking of fire, what happened to the flamethrower guy? He hadn't heard from him in a bit. The turrets were still making themselves known though, that was for sure. thirdly, how was the rest of the team doing? He looked around, but he couldn't see much from here. And in all the confusion, he couldn't tell whose gun belonged to whom, not that he would have known anyway. Finally, were all the missions gonna be as hard, if not harder than this? If so, he was going to need to get used to everyone.

Everyone was shooting at the enemy, despite the massive amount of shooting coming from the enemy. He wanted to be useful too, but first of all he couldn't chuck a grenade at the turrets because he had none, and second he was normally not one to take risks. This linked to his mind wandering again. Oribi seemed to have changed him. He was normally serious and calm, but when he'd held that conversation with her, he seemed to have become more reckless and impatient. Have her run out while he covered her? Ridiculous! Then he realized he was thinking too much, and was being a little too careful, and began to take any opportunity he could to fire at the enemy. Every time he thought he could, he took a little extra time to aim for a headshot.

After a while, he had to reload. He checked his ammo supply and it was pretty good. A total of three hundred bullets, minus the thirty he'd just fired. He loaded a mag into the AK, and there was another eight in reserve. He was good to go for another while, hopefully for the entire mission, but you can never be sure until it happens. Drake kept shooting, occasionally looking around to see how the rest of the mercenaries were doing.

Oribi looked back to see the dead men, giving a small smirk and she shook a bit out of excitement. She stood up again, peeking around the tall tree and she looked over at Drake once again, noticing the small smile and she gave him the biggest grin back... But it was actually on her, not just inside, and suddenly it went into a scowl as bullets shot by her on her left side.
Biting her bottom lip, making it bleed this time from so much biting, she leaned to the right side of the tree to make sure a majority of them were not looking at her...
But one was. Suddenly Oribi simply stopped, her jaw dropped and her eyes widened with tears spilling into them and down her cheeks... She knew this man. It was the only man in her life that had taken care of her, he owned a little restaurant back where she used to live, and when he had told her that he was going to go off and join some armed force. He didn't give any specifics, since Oribi was quite young back then and still owned legs for the most part. It was Mr. Mao that she cared so much for, he was the one who would sneak her the left over food when she hid in the alley, he was the one who let her sleep in his house when it was just too cold outside, especially during Winter. He was the only adult figure in her life, and now she had to shoot him...? Someone who was like her father?
Inside she was screaming, hitting everything in sight and wanting to just drop dead instead of killing him; but on the outside she simply looked like she was surprised and crying, she wanted to spare Mr. Mao his life so then she could go back to him someday and they'd laugh and cheer just like they did. Just like back when they weren't so far, back when Mr. Mao was quite young to even own a restaurant much less go into the armed forces. Back when there was joy.
The side of Oribi's fist hit the tree, to see his face again and he looked to be a bit over forty-five years old, she wondered if he even recognized her. She let out a creeping wail of deepened depression, as she suddenly regained herself, wiping the tears out of the way and shooting at all the men around Mr. Mao praying she hit at least one, hoping that after a small while of him looking at her that he'd recognize her and at least not shoot her.
"Please, Mr. Mao, please...." She let out to herself, her body was shaking as she looked around in the snow, looking over at Drake with her dampened eyes and shaking lower lip, she collapsed to the snow, her forehead on the tree she let out a silent scream; then both of her hands came up to her racing heart as she gasped in for breath and her tears streamed all over her face and into the snow.

Lightning heard the 40 mm beginning to open fire and knowing that the trees would prove little protection, she decided that pulling back was best. She could see the rocks that Talisman mentioned and they sure as well were a lot sturdier then some Russian oak."I'm pulling back to the rocks, cover me!". Lazarene immediately broke away from the tree. Bullets zipped right passed her but they fortunately did not hit her. Lightning was very fast runner and she was in-front of these in no time. She about to jump over and get down when some bullets hit her back. Most were stopped by her vest but one actually penetrated it...and went in one way and out the other. Like a rag doll, Lightning fell.

She tried to not scream, to not let the pain beat overwhelm her, and to crawl over the rocks. She managed to crawl over them, leaving a nice bloody trail of red on them and some of the snow. She did not do so well with the other two. Never had she screamed like that before, with such desperation and volume and pitch. The pain only made it worse. There was nothing to stop it. Nothing to make it better. All of that was stuff was in her bag...Her bag. Lightning reached for her bag but then stopped. When she turned to reach for her bag, the pain became even more unbearable. She felt as if she was going to pass out.She placed her hands over where she thought the bullet exited her, her hands almost immediately becoming soaked with blood. "I need help over, Dammit! I'm hit!".

Having agreed with talisman's idea, she switched her weapon of choice for the moment to her scar 7.62. Wolfy came out from her hiding spot and began open fire,"Cover being given, move to better cover." The order was given even if she wasn't the highest ranking within the group, she wanted everyone alive by the end of this mission, even Lurk as much as she hated to admit it. She aimed about mid chest, hoping to have the most effect. She scrambled to another tree for a brief moment of cover before going back out into the Field of bullets. 3257 burst out again and opened fire once more, she would need to change clips here in a second,"I repeat, get to better cover, and then please let me know if everyone made it." Her voice sounded almost hurt and like a ghost. Even though the past was getting to her, Staff sergeant Wolfy keep going, bullets beginning to sting where they nicked, but her adrenaline kept her moving and on the go to make sure everyone got to cover.

Drake sighed. Barely beginning their first mission and one ally was already wounded. This wasn't looking too good. He wondered how many medics there were, and if they needed covering fire to reach that ally.

Suddenly the turret, which had been shooting at him for a while now, broke his cover. Thankfully, he'd realized he was in danger right when the turret guy stopped shooting. Either he had to reload or his gun was overheating, but it didn't matter. It worked for Drake, and that was what was important. So he dashed a little closer to Oribi and took cover, he still wasn't next to Oribi, but it was better that way. At least they couldn't both be taken out with a grenade if they were this far apart.

Drake continued to take opportunities at firing at the enemy and, as far as he could see, was racking up a few solid hits. Of course, he could barely see over the muzzle flashes and the fact that he could only pop out for about a second, so he may have been very wrong. His mind became distracted but he forced himself to stay on track and focus.

Drake couldn't believe how lucky he was getting. He hadn't been hit yet. He'd only been grazed once or twice, but he'd never noticed because it grazed his shoulder, which was practically numb due to the adrenaline. But he had to stay focused. If he got too confident, that could be the end of his lucky streak. And, more importantly, his life.

Whitesword cursed as the bullets pounded into the fresh snow and murky ground all around him. He hunched himself inward to present less of a target, even as the splinters of rock sliced and knicked at his parka. He was unable to return fire, being the closest man to the enemy with minimal cover, and even smaller firepower. Now, he would have to reduce the amount of forces that were open to attack; he was uncertain what exactly had gone wrong, Lightning was hit somewhere in the chest by the marksman that was haunting the entire battlefield like a hawk. Basya and his team were taking fire as well, hampered into the exact same free-fire zone as Talisman and the others.
"Sonuvabitch -- Basya, Talisman, take the squad and break contact with the enemy get the hell out of there!" He shouted, quickly turning his head toward the young woman suggesting against his little bubble bath in the creek.

"Stow the sass, dammit, they're putting the whole fucking crosshair on us now!" Whitesword shouted, rolling over onto his back and wrapping one hand around the barrel of the M203 rigged beneath the carbine. Whitesword had already used one of his two explosive HEDP grenades, the other two that remained was a signaling module and a smoke canister. The signaling module, essentially a phosporous flare strapped to a parachute designed to linger in the air, was accelerated out of the barrel at a heightened muzzle velocity from the excessive charge that it held. The flare spurted to life with a bright white fizzle before smacking into the side of the bunker and blasting into rebirth. Burning globs of phosporous were dispered in a 10 foot wide pattern around the bunker as the initial smoke storm cleared. Whitesword had little offensive confidence in this, the phosporous would burn itself out in seconds in the cold weather, meaning they would only have one chance to knock out the bunker.
"Chotsky! Aim for that venting shaft on the side of the bunker, put one right through it!" Whitesword ordered, yanking back the charging handle of the AR-23 and unleashing a torrent of rounds from his current position, watching bullet holes send sparks flying as they impacted scorching concrete and burning metal.
"You better get your head down, merc, that bunker's going to be a tinder box." The Lieutenant retorted before rolling over onto his side and cupping one arm over his head, nodding forward as he watched Chotsky reveal himself from behind a tree.



The rail-caster shrieked as the charge was armed, utilizing the excessive electromagnetic energies to activate the thermobaric charge before it was launched from the rails at a velocity nearly thirty times the speed of sound. The air split with a shrill crack as the 105 millimeter round would impact, the ferromagnetic hyperdense tankshell wore into the bunker's side, targeted specifically at a hatch-work ventilation network that appeared to be sufficiently fleshy in comparison to the rest of the unit. Chotsky did quick to release one more charge, launching the entire two in rapid succession before ducking low and planting himself behind a tree just as a returning string of gunfire tore through the snow. Chotsky was already shrugging off the M-32, letting it nestle against a small rock cropping against a massive oak before yanking his assault rifle from his back, the G36C a convenient, compact alternative to the bulky rail caster.
"That is sure to kill it, thermobaric then explosif', let's see their Kung Fu save them from that!" Chotsky spat as he yanked back the slide of the G36, smiling as the fresh 5.56 millimeter round entered the chamber.



"Staff Sergeant, we are performing a tactical withdrawl, give them covering fire!" Basya shouted as he sank to one knee and drew up the rifle once more. Several crisp, crescendo gunshots sounded as Basya laid four rounds across the few enemies that remained. His sight was blocked by the still burning phosphorous that coated the approach to the bunker. When the two shells from Chotsky impacted, Basya was thrown onto his back at the sudden concussion; rolling back onto his knees, he unslung the MCR, a compact and sleek assault rifle, and unleashed a quick five round burst toward the enemy. As the silence faded away into the steady beat of gunfire, Baysa was sure to sweep any positions that managed to fire on Talisman or the others.
"Get in to cover and lay some fire onto them, that bunker can't handle much more!" Basya shouted, the roar of gunfire nearly droning out his own voice.

The Chinese resistance was finally broken in short order, oddly around the same time the Legionnaires started to retreat- a lucky break it would seem. Three wounded Chinese infantry, one Marksman and two infantrymen, crawl into the bunker through the front opening to escape the hail of bullets meeting them. The presumed Mr. Mao, who Oribi had spotted manning one of the HMGs, either ignored or hadn't heard her cries for mercy.

The HMG gunners and the wounded infantry disappeared into the bunker's interior, fleeing through the corridors as the 40mm covered their retreat. The gunner managed to get another strafing blast of his field of view, focusing on any movement or revealed personnel, before Chostsky's rounds hit the bunker. The resulting damage completely destroyed half the bunker, apparently having had some explosives resting near the impact point.

As quickly as the combat had begun, the fighting was over. The bunker was half buried under its own debris, but there was enough of it left for the mercenaries to possibly continue en route to the base via the tunnel network. Unfortunately, this was not the last of the opposition- the rumbling that had sounded was steadily approaching, more trees falling over as one of the Chinese tanks shows a few dozen yards away, pushing its way through the forest. It likely wouldn't be alone, either.

((Note: Anyone who hasn't posted during the combat will be considered either MIA or dead. I'll try and get a list up soon on who is active and who is not.))

Fox glanced at the carnage, he had heard Lightnings call for aid, but he was unsure of her location. She was supposed to come back and rendezvous with him, than head to the rocks, so using logic he assumed she had skipped the middle step and gunned for the rocks. He had first aid training but did not bring any medical equipment, so standing he ran in a dead sprint towards the rocks. With the Chinese in retreat, he had to ensure the medic didn't die.

Sliding over the rock outcrop, he glanced at the woman shot through the chest he moved near her and checked her pulse it was still strong. It appeared to have struck the right side of the chest. Lucky no major organs were located there, however, gun shots were always tricky he couldnt tell if the bullet bounced around than exited or if it was clean. Knelling next to the medic, he grabbed her fallen med-kit and scrambled through it, tapping his radio he contacted Talismen "Sir, requesting medical chopper. Medic Lightning has been shot, will staunch blood flow until chopper arrives, please give an E.T.A when available." He looked through the bag, speaking to her to keep her conscious.

"Lightning, Is there any position you would like to be in while we wait?" He pulled out multiple bandages, and set them down in his lap, as he rummaged through the bag.

Drake looked up again, but the shooting had stopped and he couldn't see any more enemies. He breathed a sigh of relief. But it wasn't over. He heard rumbling and looked around. Then, suddenly, a tank appeared and he closed his eyes and dropped behind cover in an "Oh, for fuck's sake," kind of way, muttering that under his breath, too. He looked around to see how the team was doing. Everyone seemed to be all right, except for Lightning, but a medic was tending to her anyway. She'd be fine, if the med chopper the medic requested got here soon enough. And wasn't shot down or anything.

That was good, as long as they had a good bunch of fighters they could likely take out this tank. He wondered how difficult this would be, though. Pretty much any time it got to fire a shot, someone was bound to eat it like a sandwich. He just hoped he could stay in the shadows the whole time, and that nobody would be spotted and rush over to him. He wanted to live, dammit.

Drake simply waited. He'd never dealt with a tank before. Not in a real mission. He had a little training with them, but there was no risk of death in those exercises. So he waited for instructions, and with nothing else to do until then, he rubbed his hands together to heat up. It didn't do much, but it was better than nothing. He stuck his hands in his pockets and found he had brought a stick of gum and, for some reason, his phone. There was a new message on it, from a friend. It didn't say anything important, just that he had broken up with his girlfriend. He knew that if he was caught texting his friend, he would likely get a good ass-kicking, so he stuck it back in his pocket and took out the gum. Chewing it, he looked around again.

"Dammit," Talisman cursed as word came over radio about Lightning's injury. "Can we get a medic over there!" He called through the comm before starting to backstep away from his tree with a fast pace. "Fox, ETA on that chopper is unclear. The SAMs are still intact, so I doubt that they may risk it. Just stay with her! I'll be there in a minute. We will call a medichopper when we take out those SAMs, after this." Talisman said, still confident in their eventual victory. As he spoke, bullets whirred all around him, something grazing him, one even managing to rip through the top of his knit cap. "Gah," he yelped, ducking from the impact. He was beginning to get frustrated. Then he saw the bunker light up with a phosphorous light, clearly marking the bunker for some type of attack. Of course, Talisman was still relatively close to the bunker and he twitched at the light.

He turned tail and bolted from the vicinity as the Chinese hosed bullets towards him, most thankfully missing. That all stop with two explosions from the bunker, which threw Talisman face first into the snow. He was back on his feet in mere moments and called to Wolfy, "Alright Staff-Sergeant, let's make it to the rally point!" He said over the intercom, not realizing there was a pause in the fire. He made it to the rocks with relatively little interference after that. He took up a position in front of Lightning and Fox, looking for anything that may threaten them.

He glanced behind him for a moment to judge the first aid being given to the medic. Fox was rifling through he Medbag. "Hey Fox, check if there is any Quikclot or Celox in the bag, It'll help with help with the bleeding." Talisman had seen the jar of Omni-gel, but due to the unpredictability of it, he was hesitant to use it. Of course, he asked Lightning her choice about it, "Hey, how about that Omni-gel. It's your call if you want to use it,"

Talisman than turned to scanning the field again. A tank had emerged from the woods and began to mow down trees. However, they were further away from their initial position and were in a somewhat safer location behind the outcrop. He glanced back around and spoke again, "Hang in the Lightning, Rangers never leave one of their own, right Fox?" He said, remembering that Fox was also in the Rangers at one point.

Then he placed a finger in his ear and began comms, first with Whitesword. "Sir, Lightning's been shot. What are our chances of a Medivac?" While waiting for answer from his commanding officer, he then asked Wolfy a question over the comms, "What are the chances you have something in that fifty cal sniper rifle that can punch through the driver of that tank?" He asked, hopeful that she did indeed. Those tanks looked a lot more menacing in person than on screen.

[Order Knight]

Fox rummaged through the bag “Quikclot is useless for a gunshot, it is only good for open lacerations, Celox should be inside the bandages.” Throwing the bag down, he grabbed the bandages and attempted to apply them “Lightning I am going to have to tear your clothes to get to your wound” It wasn’t a question more of a statement.

“Sir, a .50 cal sniper rifle, anti-material or not will only piss the tank off. Anti-material truly isn’t that special and is used against light to medium at most. Shooting that tank will alert them to our position… and I don’t want to be smeared across the rocks. I suggest we retreat.”

He paused for a second thinking “if we retreat we live, the tanks can only follow so far into the forest before their tracks become hindered and they have to go back. We may be able to smuggle a small unit through the bunker hallways, but for now sir I think we need to retreat.”
He ripped the bandages open, and started to take them out. “Help me get lightning’s wounds clear so I can apply these”

((Heh, got suspended, then a bus ticket I got weeks ago finally was mailed home, been a bit busy.))

Psycho was breathing hard. The moment the HMG had fired up, he had sprinted for the rocks. He had been falling behind, so the rocks had been in front of him, rather than behind.

Psycho looked at the tank, and doubted that his survival was possible for a moment. "Erm, you know, not that common sense is all that common, but instead of calmly debating on what to do, shouldn't we... you know... not screw up like we just did five minutes ago, and do something? I'm pretty sure that tunnel that's supposed to lead from the bunker to the base will hold us, and frankly, I don't know about you, but I'm partial to hiding where tanks aren't capable of shooting. Besides, where would we retreat to? The chopper isn't going to pick us up, and if it isn't able to crash itself through an entire forest and still be in good enough condition to fight, it's not allowed to be a tank. Comon Chotsky, give the order, don't let us sit around arguing pointlessly, I don't even care if it's a crappy choice, it'll be better than being blown to bit sized bits because we were allowed to argue instead of doing something."

Staff sergeant ceased her own fire as soon as the enemy stopped and none were left in sight. She moved and looked behind her. She heard of casualties and cursed herself inwardly. Then Wolfy was moving towards the rally point point when she was asked for a bullet she wasn't authorized to have,"No, I don't sir. Take that up with Our commander when we get back, and if you don't specialize in the gun, shut up." She was a bit testy having someone hurt, not to mention thinking they knew something about the gun she could take apart and throw back together and fire off an entire clip all in the same spot without a malfunction. Bet the woman didn't even know if the gun was taken apart wrong it could kill her. But pushing those thoughts aside she turned in a circle gun at the ready. "What are the orders? Same as before or new plan of action?" 3257's feet were moving her towards the rally point point without even having to think about it, military training was lovely. Her dog was of course now coming out of some mystery hiding spot, without a scratch. Damn dog, always lucky. She had to chuckle. As for herself, nicks, tears in flesh but no bullet hole, that she was aware of.

Wolfy took the lull in fire to fill up her clips, put new ammunition in and check herself over quickly and in an orderly fashion. She kept her eye on the field that lay in front of her and well behind her as well. She wasn't about to trust her enemy or their retreat. One only retreated for something more menacing to come forward. Well at least in her experience, especially if they were hunkered down and guarding something. She held her tongue as she her voices, hey should really stay quiet and should have learned their lesson the first time, but maybe they would another time. She only spoke when she had too and Staff Sergeant Wolfy wasn't to keen on being made look like a fool, but of course she even had her moments

"Easy Staff-Sergeant, don't need to get testy in a situation like this." He replied to Wolfy's curt words. The fact of the matter was that he was just asking to see if she had anything they could use. The fact of retreating seemed extremely distasteful to Talisman, he still wanted to fight. But how was he going to fight if he had nothing to fight with? He sighed, his melancholy tone finally returning. "That's a reason I'm not a sniper, I don't know a thing about your tools. I was only wondering if you had something, because if you don't then a tactical retreat is the only option we have. And dammit, I hate retreats." He said, a flare of frustration in his voice. "So cut the attitude, because we don't have time for that shit." He said curtly before turning around and beginning to help Fox with Lightning.

He took a bandage and began to apply first aid to the best of his abilities, which were limited compared to an actual field medic's. "First order of business, Staff-Sergeant," He said, not looking back to meet her eyes. "Is that we should get Lightning to a safe location, if that is fine with you." He said, with a bit of coldness and truth. She was now the ranking officer amongst them, so he had to follow her orders. "Once she is safe, we can decide what to do next... Dammit, if we could only take out the driver, we commandeer it and try to work the main gun. Someone had to be trained in engineering in this squad." He said with an urgency. The tank wasn't going to stay away for long and they had to move, soon.

He sighed again, voice falling back to it's original tone, "Fox is right, we need to retreat, as much as I hate it." He said, still continuing the apply first aid. "On your order Staff-Sergeant." He stated plainly.

Oribi finally glanced up from her perch, letting the tears flow once again... No more gun shots were being heard; no more could be heard than a slight rumbling. She looked up from the tree and around the trunk to see a tank coming her way, "Shit shit shit shit."
The thought of Mr. Mao was out of her mind, he was now the enemy and if he wasn't with her for all of that time then he wasn't going to be there every; the memories still choked up tears though. She swallowed down the saddened lump inside of her throat and stumbled up, using her hand on the trunk of the tree for support. "Damn tank.." Mr. Mao was dead, more likely than not, since most of his comrades were. She simply began running, running through the snow, toward Drake. She never felt like she could go to anyone except Mr. Mao or anyone else, she would always be alone unless it was Winter, and she'd look forward to it every year... He'd wake Oribi up early, before the sun would rise, and make her come to the window; with a promise of something amazing to show her, he would then open the curtains and blazing white snow would keep to her eyes. That had to be her best memory of them all; all the ones she had ever owned.
Suddenly she collapsed near Drake, becoming tired and now noticing how much her legs hurt, she looked over at him; wet eye lashes and reddened puffy eyes showed she was crying hard.
He was chewing gum, like everything was normal.
Oribi looked over at the injured person, feeling a small bit of remorse for them; she simply rubbed her eyes and looked at Drake with a fake bravery to it, "So people say we need to retreat huh? I say we run around the big tank thing. We can head to the base and kill more people; I don't think I got one."
She gave him a small smile, "Found a rat to eat or is it somethin' else?"

Drake stared at Oribi as she collapsed and froze mid-chew. She looked like she had been crying. In a warzone? What was with this girl? He decided he just had to ask, but she said something before he could open his mouth. She looked brave, but it was obvious it was fake. She had been crying, after all.

"So people say we need to retreat huh? I say we run around the big tank thing. We can head to the base and kill more people; I don't think I got one. ...Found a rat to eat or is it somethin' else?"

He frowned, confused. What was she talking about? She hasn't got one what? And what about rats? Regardless, her idea was reckless, as usual. Drake hoped he'd get used to it, but for now...

"No. I don't think I've been spotted, but it's more than likely the tank crew saw you," he whispered quietly. "And since you're next to me, talking, it's pretty obvious I'm here. I think we should follow the rest of the team, retreat and find another way around. Just hope that tank doesn't blow us away."

Drake looked around and began chewing the gum again. Everyone was talking about it, but nobody had actually begun to retreat yet. This wasn't the time to be slow. Drake glanced at Oribi again, then at the tank, and saw that they had a chance while the tank was looking the other way. He gave a "Follow me" motion, then muttered "Spread out," and rushed back in the direction of the landing point, always moving from cover to cover and praying that he wouldn't get hit. He wished the same luck on Oribi too. He wanted to look back to see what she was doing, if she was following, but he was focused on reaching safety. Drake just ran; faster than he could remember running. He even waved to someone as he ran. Fox, was it? He couldn't remember.

Oribi stared at him while he was in mid-chew, wondering if it truly was a rat; since that really was her diet for most of her life. Rats, birds, and other things you would find dead on the side of a road, yum yums.
She gave him a big genuine smile, showing all of her teeth and closing her eyes at his frown, hoping her smile was contagious even if it seemed a bit talk-show-host-cheesy.
Suddenly Drake spoke about the tank seeing her and that she ran over to him, "So technically I just kinda screwed us over... Right? And I suppose you're right, with the whole retreating thing; even if it sounds like a cowardly thing to do... If they laugh at us we can just say we were getting ready to kill 'em." She laughed a little, and then broke into only a giggily smile that only little kids get when they can't stop laughing over crude bathroom humor or some joke around the playground; she seemed happier now that most memories and thoughts were out of her head.
Suddenly he made a little "Follow me" kind of movement, and Oribi just had to trust him; best thing she could do. She got up in her comical squatted-creeper-run position, so then she could keep up and she ran, trying to catch up to him, like a fish to moving bait. She made a small ticking noise, which may give her away if they were to ever go into an echo ridden cove where they were supposed to keep quiet.
She kept running, feeling the air, admiring the heat of her body... She was ready for anything if she had Drake on her side.

Lightning was on the ground, in pain, and frustrated. The rest of her squad knew very little about her field of specialty but she couldn't blame them. They were soldiers, trained to do specific tasks. This is why squads had to work as teams. They all needed each other.

"Sa-sarge...I can tell you how to patch me up...", she managed to ask through unimaginable pain and gritted teeth.

" All you'll have to do is listen to what I say...exactly what i say...".
Lazarene was stuttering a lot and shaking. More so than if it was because she was cold. She felt light headed and weak and the cold was making the tips of her fingers gone. She looked around at whatever she could, never really looking at her squad-mates...

She wondered. She knew she had her pistol but her smg was missing. Wait...why did she care, she had bigger problems then a misplaced gun. "Get me somewhere safe first and quickly... I don't know just how fatal this is...".

3257, looked about assessing the situation and finally looked down to their hurt comrade. "We need to get her somewhere where she can bunker down, patch Fox up and continue on with the mission, cause if we don't she can't get out of here. Understood Talisman?" She knelt down next to fox,"Can you use a Saw fox? Same as any other gun, except you need to stop every five to ten seconds of automatic use or the gun jams." Her mind for once didn't run in several directions all at once. She looked around spotted a few of their own around. Their next plan of action would be to move on the base, they had to disable the sams otherwise no helicopters could come in and get the wounded. She could feel the sting of her own small flesh wounds, Wolfy was sure that her white covers had to be starting to stain with red, which wasn't good, but she had no fear of bleeding out or even fainting from blood loss. 3257 looked to talisman,"Well come on lets get her moved..." Looking to Fox. "How do you want to do this? You want us to two man carry you, one of us carry you or can you manage to get there with one of us helping, those are your options pick one." She wasn't going to play anymore games. She was in charge for now and she was going to show them she wasn't there because she had done something right in life.

| 0800L
| 11 NOV 2012
| Colonel Klein's Office

The dawn didn't come, though the sky lightened up to a rather hard steel-gray. The clouds probably wouldn't go away anytime soon, unfortunately. Jim Cunningham thought that the Russian Steppe would probably look a lot like the Great Plains back in the States. Lots of 'Big Sky' and distant horizons. With a shake of his head, he quickly went inside the dining facility to grab a cup of joe to wake up before the meeting. With the steaming fluid in same travel cup that Jim had been using for the last five years, he grabbed his file and headed into the main building on this post.

It wasn't that hard to find the right office. There was a big sign on the door with the guy's name on it. Jim Cunningham had heard rumors that had percolated through the Army and Special Forces community in general. With the amount of time that he had spent in training and cross-training with other nation's blackest operators, eventually he was going to hear the name "Klein". It was hard to ignore. The US citizen that had been in the Army, but then moved to Russia. That had then managed to get onto a Spetznaz team, and then proceed about with various other mercenaries. Generally, in Russia--or the Soviet Union before them--had referred to these groups as "Progressive Elements". Cunningham hated that euphemism. It was as if any mercenary had an actual political agenda. They were in it for the money--and that money was accepted from whoever was paying the biggest bucks at the time. Cunningham didn't care. He just wanted to be the best. He had already gone through the best that the US could offer. Now he would compare himself to the best of the world.

But first, he had to report to Colonel Klein.

Cunningham wasn't nervous. He just knocked on the door, and waited. If this guy was an ass, well, he was an ass. If he was a decent guy, then it'd be easier. Cunningham subconsciously checked his Kimber MARSOC pistol holstered at the small of his back. It never hurt to be prepared.

"Come in," comes the response of the gruff voiced man inside.

When Cunningham entered the office, he saw that it was fairly well furnished- an ornate desk, a couple of comfortable chairs resting in front of it, a large rug of some sort of fur or other laying across a good portion of the floor. Along the walls there were a number of guns and trophies, swords, and other curious devices. A few desks, tables and other such surfaces were here and there as well, littered with half dissected machinery or displays.

Klein himself was sitting behind the desk, his fingers steepled, his eyes afire and peering over his hands at the man as he entered. He was dressed in his standard fatigues, medals and the like here and there on his long sleeved jacket. His face bore the scars of many confrontations. He looked as if he was expecting Cunningham.

Cunningham entered when he was ordered to do so. He came through the door, closing it behind him. He didn't bother saluting, didn't sound off like so many Marines had done when they came to see him. It didn't mean he completely forgot how to be civil and respectful, however. "James Cunningham, reporting as ordered, Colonel Klein," he said as he came up to the desk and handed over his personnel jacket. Now that he had his hands mostly free, he took the opportunity to look around, but didn't see anything terribly out of place anywhere. It wouldn't do to hide the obvious interest in the current surroundings, so Jim didn't.

"At ease, Lieutenant." Klein gestures to a seat across from him. "And welcome to Russia. As you know, I am Colonel Leos Klein. I lead the elements of the Frighteners in the Legionnaire Mercenary Company, and they are currently on their first assignment."

He scoots his chair out of the way enough to show a top-down view of the current battlefield- mostly obscured by trees, but the outlines of the soldiers were visible, as well as heat signatures marking bloodied remains here and there. Smoke was rising from the trees over the location of the Bunker, while a tank with about a dozen infantry support was slowly making its way to the bombed out structure. Roughly as many Frighteners were noticeable still on the field, with Colonel Stonewall's Virgil Gunship hovering a few kliks off waiting to support.

"As you can see, it's not going particularly well."

Cunningham looked down at the display, trying to conceal his desire to impress the boss so soon after his arrival. It was obviously not going to plan, and the mercs down there seemed to have only given as good as they got. Not exactly the thing that inspired confidence in the newest member or possible future leader of the team. "Sir, that tank is a baby seal for that gunship. Why isn't it clubbing the hell out of it?" Jim looked at the picture again, seeing something just outside of the scene's range. "Oh, SAM site. What kind of SAMs are we talking about?"

Klein observes the display with a neutral expression on his face for a few moments before turning his attention to Cunningham. "Fairly old Russian SAMs, SA-3s. The targeting systems are run out of a few vehicles and structures in the base, so locking them down will take a bit of time for the soldiers." He shrugs somewhat, then returns his attention to the screen. "I've authorized Stonewall to do as he feels necessary, so he can provide close air support and bug out. Whether he does or not is yet to be seen."

"On to other matters, we have a couple of options for you. We can risk a hot-drop into the combat zone, but you'd be going in alone. As experienced as you are, I still don't fancy your chances against a full Squad of Chinese infantry backed by tanks and heavy weapons. We could also send you down the road, but that would take time. My preferred option would be sending you in with the medevac chopper."

Cunningham looked at the tactical display. "I'll roll in with the medevac bird, then," he said. "This small clearing is a good casualty collection point. Any way I could get a PDA with this downlink? It would make life a lot easier being able to see where these ChiComs are coming from before they know what hit them."

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant. While things may not be going particularly well for the squad, this is still a training op. As such, I'm not giving them access to much equipment- seeing where their skills are at, you know. I'm sure I'll catch more than enough flak over it once they get back. But I have full confidence that anyone deserving of survival will survive."

Klein observes the screen for a few moments more- most of the active squad had taken cover behind a rock outcropping. "By their movements, they will likely either fall back and regroup, or they are preparing themselves for a suicide run on that tank."

Cunningham nodded twice, wishing that there was some way that he could change the old man's mind, but knowing that short of stealing something it probably wouldn't happen. "Sir, with your permission then I'm going to get the hell out there and see if I can't salvage what's left of this team. Which bird is going to be doing the medevac? I thought I saw a Blackhawk or a Lakota out on the flight line."

"We have an Mi-8 designated for the medevac, Lieutenant. You can get out there, but keep in mind the enemy AA is still active. You'll likely be dropped a fair distance from the combat zone, but since the mission has gone loud I'll authorize you a snowmobile from the motorpool."

Klein shrugs. "Although, at this rate, they're likely to be dead by the time you get there. We'll just have to see."

Cunningham nodded. "Well, then I'll police up what's left of them. If you don't mind, I'll be heading out there then." Receiving a grunt as what seemed to pass for approval, he took his leave and returned to his tent. It didn't take long for him to throw his first-line on, and his CIRAS went on over a light windbreaker. Once everything was on and settled, he grabbed his helmet and rifle and jogged out to the flight line, finding the correct Mi-8 to get this mission started. As he was climbing in behind the medic, the crew chief patted him on the shoulder.

"Sir, we've gotta wait for one more guy. Should be along shortly," the man shouted over the roar of the engines and the whine of the rotor blades. Cunningham gave a thumbs up and sat back on the floor in the door.

0810, 11 November 2012
Around the Medivac Chopper

Henry had been late, having just been shipped in from RDA, he was used to being rushed about. The heavy thunk of boots on the muddy ground would be heard as the man approached the helicopter. His uniform would be somewhat different from the others, a tan hued yet olive drab, with small pixelated camouflage patterns along what looked like a fabric combat vest of some kind. His gear was also slightly different, purchased with his own funds after entry into the mercenary organization, he would be seen with a small pack strapped to his back, along with a weapon slung to his side, it was unlike any firearm that had been seen, it's sleek casing was a silver color, trimmed with a high gloss black, it was an energy weapon of some kind, and that was easily identifiable.

Quickly the man ran towards the helicopter, the roar of the chopper almost deafening to the man yet he ignored the swooping sounds of the blades of the Medivac chopper. Running the proverbial gauntlet towards the chopper, the man moved the climb aboard, hefting his weight aboard the chopper and bringing his gaze directly to whom seemed to be his superior officer.

"You'll have to forgive my tardiness, I've been thrown into the soup with little leeway for preparations, however I offer once again my apologies, I am Corporal Henry Cheadle, former RDA... Callsign Big Six, reporting for duty as ordered, sir." He said as he offered a crisp salute over the roar of the helicopter's engines.

"I have not been properly briefed, I'll need a sitrep en-route to the AO." He added before he grasped the canvas loop on the ceiling of the chopper, but first he checked his weapon, checking it over for a moment, pulling back a lever to expose what looked like a glowing core of some kind, sliding the lever forward her then slid a small slider forward, and the weapon made a distinct whine.

"Everything checks out." He added before bracing himself on the floor of the helicopter and peering out the opened door, after which he braced himself down behind a small bulkhead, and casually aimed his weapon out.

"What we up against 'ell-tee'?" He asked.

Sheelds continued to lay as flat as she could, peering over the fallen log and dodging bullets that whizzed past her. But as soon as the fight started, it was over. Strange... she thought to herself, surely they aren't retreat--. Just then, her question was answered, the sound of trees cracking and falling as a tank made its way towards them. Victoria was sure that everyone at this point was considering retreating, but retreat to where exactly? They had a base to get to, and the Chinese already knew their position, and this was certainly the time where being in the rear would probably be the most fatal position. Sheelds stood abruptly, running back to her squad where she found Psycho in conversation with Chotsky.

"I don't know if any of you have noticed, but there's a tank thats a few minutes from blowing our asses into bits and pieces," she commented dryly. "I have some grenades on me, an incendiary device that could destroy the tank if I can get close enough to get a good aim at it. But I agree with Psycho here. There's nowhere to retreat, and at this particular point in time that's not an option. We must keep moving forward. Our objective is to get to base sir, not to have some pow-wow in this damned forest."

She kept at a low crouch, constantly glancing around her for any signs of attack. Her Mini-Uzi pointed to the sky, Sheelds tilted her head to the side slightly, going back and forth between Psycho and Chotsky for a reply.

Whitesword, closer to Chotsky and his team rather than his proper squad, was hard-pressed to rally his troops under his banner and sallyforth into the fight. A tree split in half from a burst of light machinegun, sending a spray of thin wood splinters in a wide arc as Whitesword hauled himself to his feet and stomped his way through the snow. Bullets slammed into the white fluff beside him, often sparking off a rock and zinging through the air before imbedding itself on a tree nearby. Globs of snow sprang from the ground as his feet pounded through the snowy coating, finally coming to rest near a rocky outcropping before hunching himself into cover and coughing violently. Things were getting worse, with no signs of even improving slightly.
"Alright, listen up, everyone. We need to get Lightning out of here as fast as possible ... Basya, take everyone with you and get her to the drop-zone ASAP. There should be a med-evac bird waiting for you there, hold position there until I call you up. We're gonna' try and blow a hole in this fuckin' wall." Whitesword shouted, finishing his command before leaning out of his cover and sending a spray of rounds downrange, it appeared most of the Chinese forces were either retreating or incapacitated. Maybe Whitesword could bring them from the brink. Bring them from the brink and rally them to victory.

"VIRGIL this is Freightener Actual, I need gun-runs and bomb-drops on the site. Marking zone with smoke, roll in hot and drop the hammer!"



Basya, quick to remove himself and those now under his command, dropped his finger from the communique rigged into his ear and unleashed a quick three round burst from his MCR. Stomping away from his cover, which was now sufficiently mulched, he quickly stepped down beside Talisman and the wounded Lightning. Two others were nearby, one simply crying and the other doing his best to not be of any help at all.
"Cut the fucking tears! We're getting out of here immediately. Lightning, I apologize!" Basya screamed over the roar of gunfire. Placing his rifle on his shoulder, the Israeli stooped down low and weaved one arm beneath Lightning's neck. With the other arm he wrapped it around her torso and quickly hauled her upward before placing her stomach-down ontop of his shoulder. The travel would be painful, however with the amount of weapons fire increasing, and that tank rolling its way through the forest, Basya couldn't really consider any other options.
"Staff Sergeant, Talisman, tactical withdrawl, now!" Basya said as he turned away to begin hauling her toward the break of the treeline that fed into the trail they had entered through.
"Fox, you're on me. Make sure I don't get shot in the ass. Let's get the fuck out of here people!"



"Whitesword, if we need to kill that thing, we need to kill it now!" Chotsky shouted, narrowly avoiding being perforated by a string of machinegun rounds from the Chinese tank as it broke through the treeline, ramping up over a rock before simply crushing it beneath its treads and continuing on. The Pole tried his best to launch one round toward the tank, watching the rail-caster shriek before it discharged the 105 millimeter shell, screaming through the air before impacting the left tread housing of the Chinese armor and detonating into a bright splash of flame.
"Sheelds, please don't tell me the obvious! Just fucking shoot!" He screamed huddling back into cover before pointing to Pscyho.
"You, enough of the fucking suggestion box! Shoot!"

| 0830L
| 11 NOV 2012
| LMO Russian Outposts' Flight Line

The Mi-8's engine roar and the rotor whine had really gotten on Cunningham's nerves. He had been sitting on the bird for maybe twenty minutes wondering when they were going to get clearance to depart. He kept checking his gear, weapons and sipped some water every now and again out of his camelbak. A guy walked up to him that just didn't seem like he fit in around... well, to be honest, around anywhere on Earth. The weapon slung over the guy's shoulder was bloody-well reflective (Cunningham's was painted in various levels of tan, green, brown and was chipped from usage). The gear didn't strike Cunningham as being worth a hoot; it looked more like something that might have fitted over a flak jacket, but was nothing like Cunningham's maritime CIRAS at all. Nearing the chopper, the man ran aboard, offering a crisp salute.

"You'll have to forgive my tardiness, I've been thrown into the soup with little leeway for preparations, however I offer once again my apologies, I am Corporal Henry Cheadle, former RDA... Callsign Big Six, reporting for duty as ordered, sir."

Cunningham waved the salute off, thinking that the guy would need to change his call sign--only commanders were "sixes". He rebuked himself at the thought though, this wasn't the Army or Marines. "That's fine, corporal. You get a briefing?"

"I have not been properly briefed, I'll need a sitrep en-route to the AO." Henry said.

Cunningham shook his head. "Great. We're all going in blind. Mission number one is get the wounded out, resort the remaining troops and then we'll worry about whatever they're actually there for." Looking over the man's shoulder to the crew chief, he shouted, "Is this our boy?"

The crew chief shook his head, pointing out another form near the enlisted barracks. "Looks like he's still trying to figure his way around."

Cunningham bellowed as loud as he could. "Come on, Joe! We need to get moving!" He glanced over at the corporal's weapon. "That thing work?"

"Everything checks out. What we up against 'ell-tee'?"

Cunningham thought about the overheads that he had seen in the office and smiled. "Tanks."

Drake shook his head as he snapped out of a trance. He was sure he'd just retreated, but he must have gotten so caught up in the action he fell asleep with his eyes open. He mentally swore in a very creative manner and heard Basya's orders. So they really were to retreat. Well, Drake couldn't think of any better ideas, so he ran over to Basya and took cover behind a tree. He looked back at the tank, and it wasn't aiming at them. As Basya kept going, so did Drake, always one step behind, always taking cover and looking back at the tank whenever he caught up. Suddenly, while taking cover behind a large rock, he said something.

"Hey, Basya, you need any help?" he asked, gesturing to Lightning resting on his shoulder and noting silently to himself that that position didn't look too comfortable.

Oribi kept as close to Drake as possible, hoping to be safe but also have the chance to blow some heads off; the snow became increasingly hard while she ran, she barely had any room to step on as is... It was difficult to even walk on simple dirt much less snow!! This was a true challenge for her, she fell a couple times but got back up as soon as she could.

But one fall was particularly nasty, she fell quite hard into the snow and landed straight onto her gun, good thing she had locked it up to safety before she had even started running; she bruised her sternum, chest, collar bones, and lower neck all in one blow. She hissed out crude sayings and straightened herself up, feeling where she felt her skin and bones bruising. This was almost as bad pain as breaking her hand that one time.... Smashed by a man with big boots.

Her ear piece wasn't quite loud enough for her to hear every word, but she could make out a couple bits of Basya's orders. But she simply stood up, this wasn't the worst pain, sure it hurt like hell but she could make it through the day; she somehow always did.

She lunged toward where Drake and Basya were, catching her breath and grabbing a bit of snow and placing it on her chest, and she looked up at the tank, glaring at it. "Go away, go away, go away, go away..." She kept whispering and hissing at it as she closed her eyes for one moment and placed her cheek on the cold rock, feeling comfort from her rosy cheeks.

Drake's voice calmed her a slight bit, but not much; she finally caught her breath and looked over Basya. Seeing Lightning, and the whole array of people. She wasn't the best at talking with so many, one or two would be fine but this many?!

She let herself become aware of the situation, or at least try to, she spoke up, "Hey, what happened?" She was whispering just in case.

"Come one, Joe! We need to get moving!"

While his name wasn't Joe, the voice caught his attention. Looking over Uritz spotted a helicopter, which seemed to be where he was supposed to be heading. Upon arrival He had not even received a briefing, instead being told he would be filled in later en route to the mission. The helicopter that was about to take off was a good bet for a mission about to start.

'Lets send the new guy on the helicopter about to take off, I only arrived ten minutes ago. Seems a great deal of trouble for a new recruit.' Urtis grouched to himself as he made his way towards the chopper, leaving what gear he did not need behind. It didn't take long to reach as it was not very far away, and upon arriving it was clear that these men had been waiting on him entirely too long. Not wasting any time, Uritz hopped on board before introducing himself.

"Anthony Uritz reporting for duty. I'm supposed to be heading out with you, but I haven't been briefed. What's the plan?" Uritz said loudly over the engines.

| 0834L
| 11 NOV 2012
| LMO Russian Outposts' Flight Line

"Anthony Uritz reporting for duty. I'm supposed to be heading out with you, but I haven't been briefed. What's the plan?"

The man that had just jogged his way to the Mi-8 looked really young. The vest was ill-fitting, but it had lots of pistol magazines on the front. An HK Mk23 was strapped in some manner to his leg. The youth of the man was evident. Cunningham didn't address him at first, instead turning to the crew chief. "Chief! This the guy? Can we bloody-well leave now?"

The crew chief nodded and slapped the pilot on the shoulder. The helicopter lurched upwards unevenly, and sped off towards the hastily chosen casualty collection point. Before he could do what he had intended, Cunningham was interrupted by the latest addition to the team. "Anthony Uritz reporting for duty. I'm supposed to be heading out with you, but I haven't been briefed. What's the plan?"

"Survive," Cunningham said, telling him to hold on. He got up next to the crew chief. "I need a fill for my MBITR so I can talk with aviation. Got anything?" The chief simply handed across a "secure key loader" or SKL and it took Cunningham all of two minutes to get his radio set. Tossing it back to the crew chief, Jim sat in a seat near the port-side door and looked at the young man.

"Our real plan is to get those poor bastards down there that are wounded out. Secure the area, and then get briefed on the original mission. When we get down there, you had best pick up a freaking rifle or carbine. That pistol ain't gonna cut anything where we're going." Cunningham turned to watch the land race by beneath him. He'd soon be back right where he belonged.

"About frakkin' time." The man replied as he pulled back the lever to his disruptor rifle again, turning back to Jim for a moment.

"Tanks"

"Tanks? Alright well we'll have to take care of them accordingly then, though how the frak do they expect us to engage armor without proper equipment?" He asked as he leaned against the bulkhead still, turning to Uritz.

"Welcome aboard, I'm Corporel Cheadle, I'm over in from RDA.." He said as he waited as the helicopter took off, but first the man reached into one of the fabric pouches at his side, that's when the voice registered in his ears, the voice of Jim.

"That thing work?"

The man first replied with "Everything Checks out El-tee." He then held the weapon up and moved it around to allow the other soldier to inspect it for a moment.

"It's a Type 53 Disruptor Rifle, basically it fires streams of destabilized photonic energy, to disrupt molecular bonds, the result is intense heat.. it's an energy weapon, a common sight amongst my people." He said before racking the energy core for a moment, which glowed brightly.

"It's good against enemy body armor, but up against a tank? It's frakkin' useless... we'll need to figure something out." He said as he looked to the ground, watching as the chopper flew along it's course, all while Henry mounted a small scope on the disruptor and began to aim it out.

"I'll take some potshots at the enemy from up here, presuming there is anything down there."

Back at the Legion outpost, the Mi-8 had received the call for medical backup and, with its payload of a fresh Fireteam, takes off and makes its way to the LZ, assuming there was anything left by the time it got there.

The enemy tank comes to an abrupt halt practically on top of the vacated bunker as the left track is blown out completely. Halted and damaged but still very well armed- and now fully aware of the hiding place that the Mercenaries were- the tank brings its cannon to bear against their cover. The infantry, roughly twelve men carrying an assortment of standard armaments, similarly to the previous squad, spread out into flanking positions, making sure not to show themselves long. Despite full knowledge of the enemy position, they hold their fire for the moment. How long that was likely to last would be uncertain.

"One...to help me up and keep me up...Just get me somewhere... so I can get patched up properly....". Lightning extended her bloody hand so that someone could help her get up. Her other arm stayed over the wound, aiding in recoloring the bandages. Her vision was starting to get blurry. She wasn't feel too hot. As a matter of fact she felt cold and she couldn't stop trembling. She needed to get out of here quickly.

"Hey...could someone tell me what happened...to their sniper...Someone shot him between the eyes right?". Lightning looked around again, hoping for someone to confirm the sniper's death.

Whiteswords order superseded her own. She shut her mouth, stunned that he hadn't thought to even ask anyone or think to bring a laser designator as she had, but to late now, they would be looking for smoke instead of them looking for a laser and using the smoke as a screen. And without saying a word, then she moved so that her gun was aimed out towards the Chinese. She had her saw in hand, it was good for tactical withdraw. Her 50.cal was securely against her as she snuggled up against a tree and opened fire. it seemed only seconds flew by and maybe they had before, she had to hide behind her tree, and change out clips, and open fire once more. Her ACH slipped down just a touch so that her eyes were nearly covered, but she kept it up. Whitesword wanted fire she gave it to him without question.
In her mind they could have used the smoke slipped forward. The chese would have had a hard time spotting them, they could have started picking them off, and do something about the tank. Then about that time back up should be there and the tank would be taken care of before they moved forward. But instead she sat there helping in a retreat.

"Yes sir!" he said in response to Basya. "Just get her out of here quick! I think the enemy is in a pause! Or planning something..." He finished as the man carried the medic away on his shoulders. Talisman was backstepping in tune with Basya, although a couple of meters away in case the tank suddenly decided to splatter them, it wouldn't get both. "Got to be quick. Always stay in motion. Make a difficult target. Give them hell." Talisman muttered under the scarf wrapped around his face.

All the way back, Talisman kept a steady stream of bursts firing from his L85, firing with a slight agitation due to the fact of a tactical retreat. Next time would be different the soldier inside him told him. He paused for moment behind a fallen tree and heard firing from the side of him. He saw Wolfy firing at the Chinese, giving them hell. "Hey, Wolfy, catch!" He called to her over the gun fire. He had taken the smoke grenade from his chest and was now tossing it to her. She would know what to do with it better than he would, plus her sniper eyes were better trained than his.

"Put it to good use, yeah?!" He stated. He continued to give supporting fire and then backing up a couple of meters, before laying down a bit more suppressing fire. This tactic used up two of his magazines.

| 0845L
| 11 NOV 2012
| Mi-8 En Route to MedEvac...

Cunningham was making sure that his MBITR radio was working. It wouldn't do to have a bad fill and not be able to communicate rapidly and decisively with all the assets in the field. It randomly occurred to him then that he hadn't noticed in either of the other two men with him in the chopper were packing proper equipment--he cursed at himself. This was supposed to be a premier mercenary unit. They should have at least some commonality on equipment. Whatever. It would have to hold until the after-action review. He quickly used his left hand to activate the push-to-talk and was rewarded with an instant beep indicating it had a line to the net. "Bandaid Flight, Raptor Actual; Radio check, over." he said and released the pressure on the PTT.

The pilot almost immediately responded. "Raptor Actual, Bandaid. I read you loud and clear."

"Roger, good copy, Bandaid. Raptor Actual out." Cunningham went over to the crew chief and asked for the call signs for the over-grown Osprey and for the other officers down on the ground. Hopefully they would have considered bringing radios.

"VIRGIL is the air support. Hammerhead is Captain Whitesword. Ell-tee Basya is Icepick. I think that's about the limit of the officers that are on the deck." Cunningham copied the information down on his wrist-board with a washable sharpie. Once he was done, he activated his comms again.

"Virgil Actual, Virgil Actual, this is Raptor on Bandaid flight. We need an emergency LZ to conduct Medevac, how copy, over?"

Fox was following over 5 meters behind the group keeping a good distance. Moving from tree to tree, unlike the others he had hoped they would not open fire on the Chinese but the sergeant with the saw had other plans. He cringed as shooting at them would most likely push them into a forceful response which under the circumstance would get half of them dead, he stopped occasionally to glance at the Chinese who were simply taking cover but for the most part not showing aggressive action.

Personally he blamed this failure on Whitesword. In fox’s mind a bad decision was better than no decision at all. He had not acted and had gotten people killed, but everyone may have a small price to pay in this failure, but it would not have turned out this way if the unit could have stayed in a resemblance of order.