Mercenary Assignment (IC, CLOSED)

[United Mercenary Firms]

Meet the tiny nation of Morbania, located on the almost unknown island of Mesa. A developing, struggling, nation with a heritage of corruption peopled by a feudal class of peasants suffering under an aristocracy of wanted outlaws, thieves, and known international saboteurs. A military dictatorship is taking shape, slowly but surely pushing the ancient aristocracy to the side. Morbania. A land soaked with trauma and nearly ruined by centuries of misrule, corruption, and greed. A land ripe for revolution. The population are like mindless, innocent, sheep, ready to accept any ideals which will free them from the current instability. The military is permanently crippled, having splintered into warring factions.

Guerilla Outpost, somewhere in the Jungle

"Down!"

The helicopter dove towards them from the morning sky, the distant rumble of which seemed to shatter their eardrums. Scheer and the others dove for cover behind trees and scattered out of the clearing as they were showered with dirt, the guns on the chopper spitting out spasms of gunfire. In the early dawn, the barrage flashed through the darkness like the eyes of demons.

Scheer wasn't afraid. He had taken cover behind a mossy log, and he knew that he and the others had dragged out the bolo missile by now. The rapid firing cannon, guns, and bombs on the gunship would do no good against that. At that moment, the sound-tracking rocket smuggled into the island from discreet sources shot through the moist jungle fog, striking the helicopter. A deafening explosion hurled pieces of flaming debris to the ground, which told Scheer that he and the other rebels had scored a direct hit on the military craft.

Scheer looked at the others. Their smiling faces were plastered with broad, but tired, grins. All carried automatic rifles or sub-machine guns, standard Morbanian issues looted from government supply convoys. The people supported them, and hated the current oppressive regime. The guerillas were long-suffering in their efforts, but, goodness and justice be willing, they would finally overpower the cruel slave drivers that ruled them. The government was getting more and more desperate....since most of their counter-insurgency forces had been wiped out in an anti-guerilla operation at the town of Krav, they huddled behind the walls of their capital, Azul, coming out mainly in helicopters or aircraft, only leaving on foot to torch the nearby villages, venting their anger and frustration. Scheer knew the day of liberation was at hand. With rockets purchased from renegade countries, they were now able to shoot down the government's gunships, as demonstrated by this most recent display of force.

"That ought to step up the pressure a bit," He said to his comrades. They nodded. One, wearing a homemade uniform of Morbanian origin and a field cap taken off a defeated soldier, stepped forward. He was Scheer's right hand man, Ker.

"Sir, the word's out on the street. A week from now we expect to hire mercenaries, ready to join our cause. We have promised any prospective soldiers of such caliber shares of our loot in every raid and an added bonus once we have won."

"Indeed. Some good foreigners know how to help us fight. They will teach us. We will learn how to win."

Roads outside Azul

General Hellman stood watching the dark jungle from the road, wrapped in an army raincoat and a steel helmet emblazoned with four gold stars. Several soldiers stood nearby, clutching rifles, manning machine-gun posts, and at the helm of armored trucks. He had a drooping mustache over an expressionless mouth, and cold, merciless, eyes which made his face resemble the glare of a demon.

"Our losses are staggering," He reported to the Lieutenant General standing at his side. "The guerillas control most of the island countryside, while we sit here waiting for something to happen. We don't even dare leave the city by night. Why is that?"

"Rumors are escalating, sir, that the other commanders are plotting against you. Some of them have already gone rogue and established their own turfs. The government is crumbling. Our army is crushed. The guerillas may even outnumber us."

"Do you have a solution, man?"

"Our situation is particularly desperate. If you could flee the country--"

The lower ranking officer hurriedly went on, seeing the snarl already on Hellman's lips. "Or hire foreign troops--"

"Resorting to mercenaries, of all things?"

An explosion lit up the sky, pieces of charred wreckage falling deep into the jungle. Another helicopter shot down.

Hellman gave a sigh. His empire was crumbling, his army crippled by factions and devastating losses to the guerillas, and his people on the edge of revolt.

"Put out a fat contract. Fat enough to buy the best. One million dollars up front. The rest will be paid upon ultimate victory, to any hired soldier who will help us eradicate this threat to my position once and for all! Money is no object. A lot of good it will do me if those rebels enter Azul and hang my officials upside down by their ankles from the street-posts."

International HQ of HaytenCorp, 900 miles away

A slick lawyer, clutching a briefcase and smoothing a perfectly-tailored suit and tie, entered the thickly carpeted conference room. Ten dull faces stared back at him. All of the men wore three-piece suits, like something the lawyer, Griggens, imagined he might've bought in Italy. These were the minds behind the executive positions of the Hayten Corporation. Only one was currently speaking.

"Good evening, Griggens. Let's get right down to business. I've already briefed you over the phone."

"Yes. You wanted to see me about the Morbanian instabilities, I assume?"

"Exactly. For years this legitimate company has manipulated politics there. This threatens to change. Important offshore bank accounts and key investments on excellent resources are at stake here. You can imagine what this means to us."

"Yes, sir."

"You're our most dependable lawyer. We need some contract work taken care of."

"What kind of contract, sirs?"

"A contract for private military personnel. Or, to put it crudely, mercenaries. We want this lunatic Hellman, who's wresting politics out of grasp over there--destroyed. We also want any other groups or persons--guerillas included--trying to change anything important in the government...neutralized."

"In that case, three hundred thou of those old hidden 'funds' from Morbanian politics should attract some mercenaries up to the job."

The lawyer, sensing he was no longer needed, turned to leave.

"Consider the contract issued."

List of Approved Characters

1. Klest Harge (Voltronica)--Guerillas
2. Henry Naylor (Pignerol Fortress)--Guerillas
3. Taylor Perchenki (New Armarzia)--Government
4. Kim Masters (Eireann Fae)--Guerillas
5. Jack Sins (Sans frontieres)--Government
6. Henry Davidson (African-union)--Guerillas
7. Ryan Gunn (Kalhona)--HaytenCorp
8. Tegino Dekini (Hodori)--Independent, possibly Guerillas

[Voltronica]

"...our ancestors were intelligent beyond measure. They knew how to move through this world and into the next without trouble. We call the masters of this Tbo (travel) the Ginvalis."

The Icanian Magnus De Sayniech Tbo Cathedral, Velanthe Senathis in Vizern

Jakuviar Feleonde the Popundus Maximus of the Velanthe Senathis Cathedral was overlooking the map of a tiny nation, Morbania, located on the almost unknown island of Mesa. The Island of Mesa had been an interest of the VS for quite some time especially of reports of there being an artifact of the Ginvalis. They didn't have any idea what the artifact could be or what it could do but if it would allow them to understand the ancient advanced civilization of the Ginvalis. The Ginvalis were said to be an ancient empire streching across the lands of this realm and into the next universe. If this artifact was one step closer all the more reason to set up an expedition to recover it. But, there were complications...

The Island of Mesa was known as a turbulent society, especially with the recent outbreak of conflict among the peoples. However if there was any chance for the VS to recover it was now. So they began researching the best possible route to the quickest chance of recovery. They decided to go against their ideals on this instance. Instead of favoring the government and reaping the rewards of the resources, they decided to go the perceived quickest route to establish order. They allied with the commoners. The commoners known as the, Guerillas for short, had gained an slight advantage merely based on the population but they lacked something. Money. Money was the only thing missing from the equation and the VS was chock full of it. The VS had so much in its treasury from all the years of mandatory tithing from all the nations it had established itself in. With the mandatory tithing it had built itself a protection force that was ten times the size of Voltronica's military, the nation it called home.

Even though the artifact was a top priority of the Popundus Maximus there was only 100,000 troops available to send at the time to Morbania. It seemed somewhat excessive for the affair but with a total of nearly 600 million troops in all the lands where the VS was present it wasn't.
This force would encompass 30,000 fighting troops, 30,000 support staff, and 40,000 dedicated soldiers and staff to finding the artifact. OF course the excavation teams would not enter Morbania until it had achieved a somewhat peaceful state of being. Thus, only 60,000 would make the original trek to Morbania.

---

OOC: notice next part of post is 3 weeks after the arrival

Morbanian Jungle, week 3
9th Holy Soldier Brigade, Squadron 3-4

Klest Harge had been a top notch graduate of the Magnus de Loyfole Academy hitting high marks in rifling and artillery. Hence, he being assigned the .99 caliber magic rifle that used magic battery cells to distribute a lethal dose of whatever was worth shootin'. The rifle could use the normal .99 caliber shell or be re-purposed as a shrapnel shooter with its adaptation technology. All you had to do was set it from pulse firing to automatic firing. During the automatic firing it would propel the ballistic multiple times in a short amount of time and since shrapnel was basically in many pieces it worked perfectly. This wouldn't even be possible if it weren't for the Sheycon coating inside the barrel that prevented friction damage.

The Ninth Holy Soldier Brigade had become a leased unit for the Guerrillas. This meant they were meshed into the guerrilla forces to fill up the gaps in the ranks. They had benn put under the command of a local Morbanian named Scheer. Apparently this Scheer had made news about shooting down a few of the governments gunships with nothing more than a few couple men an smuggled weaponry. At least for now, they wouldn't have to rely on just that to accomplish feats of that level. In fact, they now had the possibility of using a whole new set of weaponry used by the Holy Soldiers or they wouldn't even bother attempting making use of the completely unorthodox firing mechanisms.

For now Klest was just waiting for any order from this supposedly important man named Scheer to put him and his fellow comrades into action instead of just waiting around watching paint dry. At least the coffee from Morbania was decent but not as good as the kind he had at the academy.

[Sans Frontieres]

The Council of Sans Frontieres in Gran Ciudad
1800 Hours

Officer James: "The Nation Morbania is having a revolution and the Government there is hiring foreign Troops to help them in their cause. You are the individual that the Fiefdom of Sans Frontieres has selected for this operation, Do you understand?"
Jack Sins: "Yes Sir!" .
Officer James: "Good, we will be sending you in by a HELO and from there you have to make your way to the Government's current hideout. No support will be given until you've reach the Government's hideout, do you understand?"
Jack Sins:"Yes Sir!"
Officer James: "The Pride of the Fiefdom of Sans Frontieres rest upon your shoulders, do your country proud Soldier!"
Jack Sins: "YES SIR!"

Approximately 0400 Hours later
Roads outside Azul

"You will be drop off here. Report back to HQ once you reach the Morbania's Government hideout. Avoid enemy contact until you've meet up with the Government.". "Copy that." Jack got off the HELO and then the HELO took off disappearing in the night sky. Jack was a Sniper in the Militaries Sans Frontieres and was used to the hot climate there but being in a place with a temperature of 12 degrees sure does not feel right. As he follow the road up, he noticed how the peaceful night sky doesn't fit well with the war-torn region he was in. He heard a tweak Snap, and turn to look at the cause of it only to catch a glimpse of one of the Guerrillas. They don't look dress for a war but the gun they carried shows otherwise. "Shit, I can't let them see me." he ducks down and waited for them to move. One of the Guerrilla turn and look at direction of Jack and walking closer towards him. "Did he saw me?" he thought to himself as he whipped out a combat knife from his holster. The Guerrilla stopped and turn back. "Whew, safe." Jack muttered as puts back his knife. "Wonder whats that all about." he said as he got up only to see a man's face staring straight at him. "Fuck!" he shouted as he took out his SFPP-2000 and prepared for combat.

[New Armarzia]

New Armarzian Colony of Nemor
Taylor Perchenki walked down the road, dressed in the clothes of the locals. They were mostly islamic and the extremist hated the New Armarzian who were apart of the Armarz Orthodox church. Taylor walked down the dusty road till he saw a seemingly abandoned home. The only thing that distinguished this building from the rest of them was a drawing of an angel on the door. He glanced both ways, looking for anyone who might of followed him. The man took out a cigarette, knocked the door once and sat on a bench a few yards away.

About ten minutes later the door creaked open just a few inches. Taylor got up from the bench and walked over towards the door. He threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his foot. Taylor walked inside to a small room, with only a table in the center of it. A few other caucasians stood around the table, hunched over what seemed to be a map of Nemor. Six locals were talking to each other in their own language. One clung to an AK47 and nodded to Taylor as he entered and said something to one of the Armarzians around the table.

"Taylor! How did it go?" said the oldest looking Armarzian without looking up. He was in charge of the other two Armarzian Ghosts that were in the room. Armarzian Ghosts were Armarzia's best in stealth operations and sabotage. This particular team was Taylor's old team. Taylor eventually was given the honor of becoming an Armarzian Knight. A group of mercenaries that were under the control of the military. They were hired out to other nations to gain money for New Armarzia, but sometimes they were used as special forces like now.

Taylor took out a large yellow envelope and handed it to one of the locals, "The insurgents were waiting for me, but I got to the informant nonetheless."

"Good going Mr.Perchenki." said the youngest Ghost member who could be no more then twenty-five. This rookie was the one that took Taylor's spot on the team, but he was good. broke the record at the SpecialOps training course known as the dragon. He earned the spot.

"Shut-up kid," said the last member of the Ghost team. He was still sore that his friend, Taylor, was replaced by him.

"Alright, calm down." said the leader. He handed the envelope to one of the locals who opened it and immediately began examining the papers inside. "That was good work Taylor, but I got something for you from the knights. Come with me." The leader led Taylor outside. he took out a letter and handed it to taylor. "Your being transferred son. We will have some of the locals get you a ride back to the Armarzian side of the border."

Taylor looked at the letter, he was being sent to Morbania. A small nation walking a fine line between revolution and chaos, but a General Hellman didn't want that. This officer wanted the best to help him take back his nation and had a lot of money to get the best. The Knights knew that this would be a good opportunity.

---

Morbanian Airspace
The UH-60 blackhawk helicopter was approaching the capitol city. An agent from the Armarzian Naval Office of Intelligent and Logistics or NOIL was briefing Taylor. He was just wrapping up when the pilot said over the helicopters intercom, "We will be at the drop-zone in three minutes. Be ready to drop."

"The agent finished by saying to Taylor, "Unfortunately we can't drop you off at the city, too much insurgent activity and I don't want to get shot out of the sky. You'll jump with a parachute into the forest and find your way to the nearest military outpost. Give these papers to any military personal and they will lead you to their leadership. Good luck soldier, there is a lot counting on you." The NOIL agent handed him a parachute and some papers.

The pilot said over the intercom, "Ten seconds." Taylor waited those seconds and jumped. He landed in an open plain and looked out a map that was with the papers. He checked his gun, to make sure it was working right and walked towards a what the map said was an army camp.

[Eireann Fae]

"That ought to step up the pressure a bit," He said to his comrades. They nodded. One, wearing a homemade uniform of Morbanian origin and a field cap taken off a defeated soldier, stepped forward. He was Scheer's right hand man, Ker.

"Sir, the word's out on the street. A week from now we expect to hire mercenaries, ready to join our cause. We have promised any prospective soldiers of such caliber shares of our loot in every raid and an added bonus once we have won."

"Indeed. Some good foreigners know how to help us fight. They will teach us. We will learn how to win."

"Maybe they'll bring a decent spotter." Lt. Masters enters the room, rifle slung to her back. The woman is dressed in all black fatigues, from her dusty combat boots to a ski mask that she holds now in both hands, fingering the wool absent-mindedly as she talks. "I know it's only been a few weeks, but I need to get back into the field. Whoever we get likely won't be able to replace Zeke, but there's got to be someone that can do the job. We need to track their movements, and cut them off if they get too close." Kim gazes evenly at Scheer, her fresh burn wound apparent only above the collar of her shirt, reaching up to her right ear, and on the back of her right hand. The incendiary device that had killed her spotter had also left its mark on her.

The woman is clearly ready to get back in the action, though. At only 24 years of age, she had long ago proven herself an excellent marksman. Her skill in the field had even granted her the use of they very expensive (but very effective) Barrett M82A1 rifle. Technically, she was more than capable of handling her own in the field. Having a spotter, though, was not without its many advantages, and Masters would seriously hesitate to go on a mission solo.

[Hodori]

Morbania. A tiny island, although larger than the one Tegino had long considered home. Morbania would also be the first land outside the Hodori Archipelago a Hodoran soldier would set foot on in nearly fourteen years; a civil war, the shift to a defensive military, and the severing of nearly all ties to the outside world kept most Hodorans within the Archipelago. When Tegino joined the military, she knew she would have to fight and kill, maybe even die, but she didn't know where. Three years and countless attempts at the military's physical tests later, she learned where: an island she had never heard of before called Morbania. Worse, she was to be sent in alone. Tagino wasn't interested in the money; she never felt a need for the lifestyle of the wealthy, and she didn't even know people were paying for others to fight. She only knew of the potential chaos, and the possibility of hundreds, if not thousands, of civilian casualties.

"Dekini, zekaru dentan. Yen ye chokaru le Mobaniya jo samugiran minatu."
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Tegino became aware of the thrumming of the helicopter's rotors. While trying to stretch is the cabin, her squadmate began testing her knowledge of English.
"Tala."
"Moon," Tegino responded. While still training, her squad had developed a little word game to help retain as much of the second language as possible.
"Hikaru."
"Stay." Attempting to join the military while she was only sixteen years old enabled her to get a significant head start in English, making the tests later in enlistment far easier.
"Seyo."
"North." Despite the requirement that all Hodori military personnel learn English, some sounds in English didn't exist in Hodoran, such as 'th'. Thus, even with all the English she knew, "North" came out as "no-a-su."
The word game continued as she prepared herself, evolving from simple words to more complex sentences. Despite Hodori's isolation, she was interested in foreign languages, specificaly English. She wouldn't reach a level of fluency achievable by native English speakers because of many English idioms, but she was good enough.

As the helicopter touched down, Tegino shouldered her rifle. Naturally left-handed, she disliked the older rifles, which were designed for right-handed users, and the conventional layout made them hard to use in Hodori's thick jungles. Exiting the helicopter, she headed towards the trees, searching for cover.

[Kalhona]

I watch as the lawyer pushes the check across the table to me, and shake my head.

The knife bites into the steak, and I cut free a piece. We are sitting in the Tiger Lilly, one of the five star places that take two weeks to get a table and fires the chef if you don't like your meal. Just because I play in the mud doesn't mean I can't live in the clouds, right?

"Look," I start out after swallowing the steak bite, "the dot gov around here doesn't look to kindly on taking pay to go fight other people's fights. I could get a nasty prison stay if I touch that check. So while, yes, I accept your offer to go crack skulls in the name of greater capitalism, we have to do this a bit differently."

I wasn't worried about wires at this point. I had a degree in Political Science and a degree in Finance. Talking money and politics with a lawyer from a major company that just so happened to have an office in Kalhona, and just so happened to have bought out the little firm where I started trading back before The Boredom settled in wouldn't set off any red flags. Besides, I had done this enough times to know how to get around the laws.

I slide a piece of paper back across the table to the lawyer.

"I need you to deposit three hundred thousand shares of preferred stock into that account. It wont cost your company a thing, but it will constitute pay as far as I'm concerned, and the government wont care because it is enough of a risk to not constitute pay. I can be in country in three weeks. Just need to get some stuff set up first. Anything else?"

The lawyer shook his head as he took back the check and the piece of paper with my account number on it. We finished the meal as he explained what he wanted me to do for HaytenCorp, what it was like in Morbania, and what I could expect.
___

Three weeks later

I took a long pull of water from the CamelBack, snapping my hand forward and back, the Smith and Wesson revolver twirling around my finger. "One of these days I'm gonna figure out how to spin this back into the holster."

My compadre, a local with an AK47 slung over his chest, just shrugged. I wasn't quite sure if he spoke English or not, and part of me really didn't care. They, they being the ex military types the corporation had brought in to coach us lowly gunslinger types, had decide to pair all us out of towner white folk with a few locals so that we could get to know the lay of the land. We were guarding some construction site, and I was bored off my ass again. My time thusly had become occupied with practicing twirling my wheel gun, learning how to roll it into the holster on my hip.

In the distance, I saw another helicopter go down.

"Ya know, it would be nice if they actually gave us something to do around these parts."

[United Mercenary Firms]

Scheer was glad to see that his camp was already filling up with mercenaries. He had provided them with a good means to contact the guerillas, and now they felt ready for some serious offensive against the governmental forces. He knew that a pitched battle might be risky, so Scheer decided he would wait, biding his time, for the best possible moment to strike.

He gathered all the most important mercenaries together in his command center. Even now, fearing anti-personnel bombs, their camp had to be carefully camouflaged. The largest building, Scheer's quarters, was made out of logs split by a machete. Crude, but acceptable. Inside, the mercenaries had gathered. "To all you hired soldiers serving our noble cause," He shouted. "Soon we will prepare for the 'Big One': Our operation to seize the capital city of Azul! Aside from a few scattered outposts, that is the only place the military dares to hold on to. We have many friends inside the city. They will betray Hellman and his stooges to us! We will show no mercy, and you, my friends, will be given places of honor and fees from the treasury of the same corrupted government that has ruled us for so long!" Having given vague outline of his plan, the lines of severity on Scheer's face left for a while as he grinned confidently. It faded, however, as he gestured to a map he had pinned onto the nearest wall.

"It pleases me to think of such a victory," The hardened guerilla commented. "But, this, however, does not." He pointed at the southernmost part of the map, marked in red. "That is enemy territory. It is claimed by one military faction or another, especially General Hellman's." He gestured at the large blue blob which covered most of the island. "This is No Man's Land. Hellman's troops don't dare venture out this far into the jungle, so it's safe to say it's ours." Scheer then pointed to an odd purple section in the northernmost section. "Our reports have indicated someone else has occupied this part of the island. Eye-witnesses have described gas-masked men in professional, Special Operations, gear. Hellman isn't even aware of their existence. We doubted them for a while, until they massacred an entire village of 100 innocents on our turf! They are obviously mercenaries, like yourself, but we have no idea why they are here or what they are up to. They have built an outpost not far from here--about 7 miles. This is unacceptable. They are getting too close for comfort, and I want someone to volunteer to take this annoying outpost out."

Scheer paused a moment before he continued.

"To take a big force of men thrashing through the jungle would be folly. They aren't many in number, anyway, only numbering around 200 at the most. Your job: Take the outpost by storm, and kill everyone in it."

"You will be drop off here. Report back to HQ once you reach the Morbania's Government hideout. Avoid enemy contact until you've meet up with the Government.". "Copy that." Jack got off the HELO and then the HELO took off disappearing in the night sky. Jack was a Sniper in the Militaries Sans Frontieres and was used to the hot climate there but being in a place with a temperature of 12 degrees sure does not feel right. As he follow the road up, he noticed how the peaceful night sky doesn't fit well with the war-torn region he was in. He heard a tweak Snap, and turn to look at the cause of it only to catch a glimpse of one of the Guerrillas. They don't look dress for a war but the gun they carried shows otherwise. "Shit, I can't let them see me." he ducks down and waited for them to move. One of the Guerrilla turn and look at direction of Jack and walking closer towards him. "Did he saw me?" he thought to himself as he whipped out a combat knife from his holster. The Guerrilla stopped and turn back. "Whew, safe." Jack muttered as puts back his knife. "Wonder whats that all about." he said as he got up only to see a man's face staring straight at him. "Fuck!" he shouted as he took out his SFPP-2000 and prepared for combat.

Mau had fought many a battle against the government forces, but he didn't know they were getting this bold. A helicopter had dropped someone off in the distance, so Mau, being from the nearest guerilla outpost, took six of his best men and went to investigate. A foreigner was doing a rather bad job of thrashing through the underbrush. A mercenary, perhaps? He wasn't one there to do guerilla work, obviously, as he was in the wrong place to be dropped off if he was.

Mau rubbed his greasy hands on his olive-drab shirt and ripped jeans. He grinned at bare-footed Zach, who was wearing nothing but a pair of old, ragged overalls. The Thompson sub-machine gun in his hands, however, was brand new. Mau noticed the foreigner staring at him through the trees, then turned away, as if he hadn't noticed him. Meanwhile, Zach moved with the cat-like thread he had mastered in the jungle, surprising the foreigner. Zach easily outweighed the man by forty pounds, and in one hand he brandished his gun, while in the other he had drawn a gleaming combat knife.

Mau smiled as he kept on walking a safe distance to sit back and watch the carnage. The foreigner wouldn't last long.

The pilot said over the intercom, "Ten seconds." Taylor waited those seconds and jumped. He landed in an open plain and looked out a map that was with the papers. He checked his gun, to make sure it was working right and walked towards a what the map said was an army camp.

The campsite was still burning, the mangled remains of a jeep smoking on the road. Another jeep had crashed into a crater, the engine still racing. Bullet holes covered it. The buildings had been ransacked, some burned out, while the mutilated bodies of soldiers lay crumpled here and there, many of them still with their weapons lying near their outstretched hands.

[New Armarzia]

The campsite was still burning, the mangled remains of a jeep smoking on the road. Another jeep had crashed into a crater, the engine still racing. Bullet holes covered it. The buildings had been ransacked, some burned out, while the mutilated bodies of soldiers lay crumpled here and there, many of them still with their weapons lying near their outstretched hands.

From where Taylor was, it seemed that the place was hit by artillery, and then troops came to finish the job. Taylor examined the scene with his rifle's scope, the ones who attacked this camp were gone by now. All was clear, so Taylor walked over to the camp. As he walked he though to himself, Damn, no wonder they are paying so much. He went around the back and cut the fence with his Kabar knife, just in case there was anyone who happened to still be watching the camp. He then proceeded to cut through a tent to find supplies or a radio. To his surprise half the tent was gone and any supplies inside were burning. Taylor gave up his search, took out a cigarette, and lit with one of the fires inside what was left of the tent. He walked over to one of the few jeeps that weren't on fire and placed the papers on the hood. He looked at the map and determined what direction he would have to go in order to get to the capitol city. It would probably be the quickest and safest way to find some government officials. It would be too dangerous to attempt to find another camp, that was probably in the same condition as this one. He packed up the papers and searched the dead bodies for rations or water that he could take. He took what little was left and threw his cigarette into a fire.

It would be quite a walk, and obviously he wasn't in Army territory. He would have to cautious until he could make it into the city. Unfortunately, it was only open plains where he was at, so both he and the enemy would be visible. He readied his gun slowly walking towards the city, making sure to be aware of all of the surroundings.

[Eireann Fae]

"I'll go," says Masters, looking from Scheer to the gathered mercenaries. "Provided someone here is a decent spotter. I need someone to help me with reconnaissance, and to provide cover fire for the units that actually get closer than the klick out I plan to stay at." She steps forward and indicates a point just southwest^† of the purple area on the map. "We'll probably post up here. The jungle on this part of the island should be loose enough that we can see their camp from four or five hundred yards out, but still thick enough to give us the cover we need. The primary strike force should probably come in from the south - my volunteer and I can guide the rest of you in when the time is right."

"So," says the lieutenant, looking around at the gathered mercenaries. Distasteful people, those whose loyalties follow the shiniest coin, but they needed all the help they could get. "Anyone here a sniper or spotter? Any of you have experience in the jungle? How to move quietly? How to actually be completely still laying on the branch of a tree for hours at a time? My last spotter was good in his native mountainous terrain, but it's a whole different playing field out there. He didn't realize that, and got himself killed - and almost did the same favour for me." Kim unbuttons the top few buttons of her uniform and pulls her shirt aside, showing a wicked burn from her left ear going down her left shoulder, presumably ending at the scar on her hand. "That was the first and last time my position was so compromised. If I feel one of you are such a threat to me, I'll end you myself. Now," she continues, closing her uniform, "who's with me?"

^† Assuming the characters' current location is southeast of the enemy encampment. She wants to cross it from the south to the other side and post up there; if they know of the Guerrilla camp, she probably knows they're watching that direction. If the Guerrilla camp is southwest of the enemy camp, change the text here to 'southeast'.

[Sans Frontieres]

Obviously a Sniper was never good in close combat, Jack began spraying his SMG onto as he was almost pin down himself. "Just Spray and Pray, Jack, just Spray and Pray." Jack Muttered.
Keeping the finger on the Trigger, Jack quickly made his way away from the guerrillas traveling further up the road. "Avoid all conflict my ass, this ain't as easy as it sounds like during the briefing." Jack muttered.
After the first clip was emptied, Jack quickly jump into the small undergrowth and waits there silently. He watch as the guerrillas ran pass him, shouting foreign words which he could not understand.
"Lets see, My initial SMG clips were 3 excluding the one already loaded into the gun. Each clip has 32 bullets. So right now its 32x3, hmm..." He waited for awhile more before taking out his map and started looking for the nearest government camps. "Looks like there's one Further North." He folded his map, putting it in his breast pocket. He put on his Sunglasses and crept through the undergrowth, as quietly as possible.

[United Mercenary Firms]

I took a long pull of water from the CamelBack, snapping my hand forward and back, the Smith and Wesson revolver twirling around my finger. "One of these days I'm gonna figure out how to spin this back into the holster."

My compadre, a local with an AK47 slung over his chest, just shrugged. I wasn't quite sure if he spoke English or not, and part of me really didn't care. They, they being the ex military types the corporation had brought in to coach us lowly gunslinger types, had decide to pair all us out of towner white folk with a few locals so that we could get to know the lay of the land. We were guarding some construction site, and I was bored off my ass again. My time thusly had become occupied with practicing twirling my wheel gun, learning how to roll it into the holster on my hip.

In the distance, I saw another helicopter go down.

"Ya know, it would be nice if they actually gave us something to do around these parts."

Dange and his gang of deserters had been looking for some kind of trouble for some time now. Ever since they had gone rogue from General Hellman's army they'd been on the move, looking for innocents to slaughter and loot to acquire. In fact, ex-colonel Dange was on the lookout for some place a group of bandits and raiders might profit by attacking. Guerillas and the military had way too much firepower to provoke, and the goddamned mysterious group to the north liquidated anything that got within a mile of their turf.

So, it forced Dange and his men to look for trouble elsewhere, anything that wasn't protected by something stronger. The men wore an odd combination, military-patterned tactical vests and webbing over civilian clothing. They'd ditched their army uniforms for something more discreet to avoid being marked as targets by the guerillas or Hellman. Dange, the leader of the little group of criminals, stood a head taller than most Morbanians. He looked almost like a beachcomer in khaki trousers, a faded plaid shirt, and a worn baseball cap. The pistol-gripped combat shotgun in his hands, however, was ready to put a dozen pellets or so in anyone who said so. Just because they weren't in uniform didn't mean the outlaws didn't pack a punch. All of them carried assault rifles and Thompson submachine guns, while some sported sidearms in their belt holsters.

At this moment, they were eying the Hayten construction site with excitement from the nearby jungle. The materials stolen from such a place would prove very profitable indeed for resale, and by a headcount the bandits easily outnumbered the armed men and mercenaries present to guard it. One of the raiders spat on the tips of his tennis shoes, then knelt down on the jungle floor, setting up a rifle with a sniper attachment. When he had a bead on one of the men, a Morbanian with an AK-47, he squeezed the trigger.

[Voltronica]

Klest Harge, first operation "Take that @#$! blue blob!"

Dressed in full blown Haetica Jungle gear making him look like a tank on legs. Klest readied his MR-99 to the firing position as he crouched down to the ground. Apparently one of the nearby troops had acquired a sniper rifle and was ready to aim and shoot but missed a spotter. Klest Harge was not a spotter but he has to be just as precise when shooting his weapon as the sniper, even though his gun had a blast radius of about ten feet because of the Tryglecerine-Polineoide chemical in the shell. So, he offered some assistance but would in no way become the "official" spotter. His weapon was basically for blowing things up and disabling targets. The woman said she was "Kim Masters" as they went to the perceived prime location on a gathering of rocks halfway up a hill overlooking the area. If they got close he would have the option of shooting them or even closer ramming them in the head with the heavy jungle gear.

[United Mercenary Firms]

Klest Harge, first operation "Take that @#$! blue blob!"

Dressed in full blown Haetica Jungle gear making him look like a tank on legs. Klest readied his MR-99 to the firing position as he crouched down to the ground. Apparently one of the nearby troops had acquired a sniper rifle and was ready to aim and shoot but missed a spotter. Klest Harge was not a spotter but he has to be just as precise when shooting his weapon as the sniper, even though his gun had a blast radius of about ten feet because of the Tryglecerine-Polineoide chemical in the shell. So, he offered some assistance but would in no way become the "official" spotter. His weapon was basically for blowing things up and disabling targets. The woman said she was "Kim Masters" as they went to the perceived prime location on a gathering of rocks halfway up a hill overlooking the area. If they got close he would have the option of shooting them or even closer ramming them in the head with the heavy jungle gear.

The part of the purple blob in the map that extended into guerilla territory was defended by a large group of private military contractors. They moved quietly through the camp about their various tasks, their movements precise. Each soldier wore a ballistic vest, gas mask, and grey uniform. In their heavy gear and such, they indeed this resemble elite military Special Operations troops. Their job was to defend this minor outpost, and they were led by Glare, a grizzled veteran of over a dozen overseas conflicts and the captain of this squad.

The camp had a fortified rampart around it, and was built out of a few tents and one stone structure which had been converted into an armory. The PMC's, members of a private company known as 'Duskeye, Incorporated', were on Mesa Island for their own sinister reasons, having been paid handsomely by foreign intelligence agencies and private individuals for information on the developing conflict there. They had posted lookouts around the camp in disguised perches atop the tallest trees, and it was one that spotted at least two to ten shapes, probably more, moving up a little hill overlooking the site. It was now night in the jungle, and the mercenary's light-intensifier night vision lenses he wore over the gas mask served him well. "Intruders in sight, Duskeye One," He reported.

"Let them come," came the reply. "Then we finish the meddlers."

[New Armarzia]

Taylor Perchenki proceeded through the open fields. He had the idea that the nation would be drenched in blood with combat in every corner of the island, unfortunately he just missed it. He was itching to get into some action, but protocol said he had to make contact with his contractor before any of that. He checked around to make all was clear and sat in the grass. He took small drink from his canteen and then splashed his face with some more water. The weather wasn't a real problem, but Taylor wasn't use to the heat. He preferred the cold of New Armarzia, but he could go back after the mission.

Taylor checked his map, the city was still North of his position, but there was one camp between there and him. He really wanted to get some action and decided to head to the camp before going to the capitol. If he was lucky the camp would still be intact, or if he was more lucky the camp would be under attack which means he'd join in on some action. Taylor gathered up his supplies and got up. He was glad though, he can finally see some trees and foliage ahead. He would finally have the pleasure of being hidden. He jogged to the trees to and began to slowly walk when in the foliage covered area. He headed North towards the camp with his F3000 at the ready.

[Sans Frontieres]

Jack barely manage to escape from the guerrillas unscathed, but not without the cost of a full clip for his SMG. "Nice and easy they say, what a load of bullshit. Should have brought a Trench coat with me, Its freezing." he muttered a cursed and continue to make his way through the undergrowth.

"Halt, Who goes there!" the muzzle of a gun was pointing directly towards Jack's face. "Stand up and identify yourself." Not given a choice, Jack stood up putting his hands in the air and look at the young soldier's face. "Identify Yourself." "Jack Sins, and I'm currently looking for the government of this island, so if you would be dear and tell me where he is?" The Soldier smirked at the last bit. "Jack Sins eh? Well then you must be that Foreign mercenary the higher ups were talking about." the soldier let out a smile. "You did a "fine" job getting here, come follow me."

[Kalhona]

OOC: Ok, forget that first person nonsense. No good at it anyways.

The snap of the bullet brought Gunn's attention up. He dropped down behind a set of crates, catching cover for just a second. Ryan had to act, and fast. Pushing off from cover, he sprinted out to the downed Morbanian, and grabbed the drag handle of his web gear. If nothing else, the company had sprung for decent kit, and the Blackhawk Rhodesian Recon vests they had been supplied offered great purchase when wanting to grab someone. Two more rounds came screaming in, one of them cracking just inches over Gunn's head. He scrambled back, carrying his Morbanian partner to cover.

Gunn gave him a good once over. The round had hit him just below the right side of his collar bone, traversed through his chest cavity, and exited out his back.

"Well, fuck me sideways," Gunn muttered, grabbing a roll of gauze from his small medical kit and stuffing the wound. If he could remember the Combat First Aid, step one was stop the bleeding.

"C'mon buddy," he said, grabbing his guide's hand and putting it over the wound. "Just keep pushing down on it as hard as you can. Keep the pressure on."

Ryan could hear the shuffling in the tree line the firing had come in from. He grabbed his radio, and calmly called for back up, indicating he had a man down, and where he was at the construction site.

A deep breath came next, and dropped his shoulder, letting his weapon of choice roll down off his arm and into his hands. The Springfield M1A SOCOM was loaded with twenty rounds of Black Hills 175gr hollow points. Gunn muttered a small prayer to himself, then stood up over the crates, keeping cover the best he could. One of the raiders had come out from cover, running in a dead sprint towards the site. He let the world go slow around him, and focused on the floating red dot in the Aimpoint. He gave the raider a half step more and then stroked the trigger of the rifle twice. He kept the recoil controlled, and the first round struck the running man dead center, the second hitting slightly high and left, the .308 Winchester match grade hollow point dumping its energy into the raider. He crumpled like an empty sack, sliding a few more feet forward in the dirt.

Gunn ducked back down before the cacophony of automatic fire and tens of rounds slammed into the crates. Ryan grabbed the radio again, and looked down at the Morbanian. Grabbing a water bottle out of a pouch on his vest, he forced it to the man.

"Drink it, and keep pressure on that wound!"

Back to the radio, Gunn calmly spoke, as if nothing was happening at all. "Again, I repeat, this is Gunn, out on the west side of the site, taking fire. I have one man down, and need back up or extract most ricky tic."

He stuck his head back out just an inch, scanning for more raiders.

Well, I wanted action, he thought. Guess I damned found it.

[Hodori]

Moving through the forest as silently as possible, Tegino tried searching for the night sky through the canopy. Having spent nearly the entire day heading towards the nearest known guerilla camp, she would need rest soon. Checking her map with the aid of a small flashlight and comparing it to her pedometer and starting location, she determined she was about twelve kilometers from the camp. Dropping her pack, she gave the immediate area a quick scan. Returning to her pack and extracting several meters of braided fishing line, she began setting up a perimeter around where she would sleep.

Finding three trees relatively close to each other, she tied a flashbang grenade to each tree and tied the other end of the string to the pin of another grenade. This she had perfected after several months of trial and error and Hodoran MILES exercises, and given how close she would be to the grenades, she would not escape the deafening bang, but it would be likely to wake her if someone got too close. Ensuring the makeshift tripwire was taut but not too tight, she twisted the grenade pins 90 degrees, "arming" the trap. If someone were to set off the trap, stepping on the tripwire would pull the pin, where the spring-loaded spoon could engage and detonate the flashbang.

With her traps ready, she removed a sleeping bag and a camouflage cover from her pack. Checking her rifle, she made sure it was safed, yet with a round chambered. Satisfied with her work, she slipped into her sleeping bag and pulled the camouflage cover over herself. Drifting into a light sleep, rifle in arm's reach, she was unaware of how close she was to a Duskeye outpost.

[United Mercenary Firms]

Taylor Perchenki proceeded through the open fields. He had the idea that the nation would be drenched in blood with combat in every corner of the island, unfortunately he just missed it. He was itching to get into some action, but protocol said he had to make contact with his contractor before any of that. He checked around to make all was clear and sat in the grass. He took small drink from his canteen and then splashed his face with some more water. The weather wasn't a real problem, but Taylor wasn't use to the heat. He preferred the cold of New Armarzia, but he could go back after the mission.

Taylor checked his map, the city was still North of his position, but there was one camp between there and him. He really wanted to get some action and decided to head to the camp before going to the capitol. If he was lucky the camp would still be intact, or if he was more lucky the camp would be under attack which means he'd join in on some action. Taylor gathered up his supplies and got up. He was glad though, he can finally see some trees and foliage ahead. He would finally have the pleasure of being hidden. He jogged to the trees to and began to slowly walk when in the foliage covered area. He headed North towards the camp with his F3000 at the ready.

The next outpost was a similar scene of carnage. All of the buildings were smoking, and dead bodies littered the road, which was half-blocked by a barbed wire fence. A military truck, hammered by bullets and it's tires blown out, had crashed into a ditch nearby. The rat-rat-tat of machine gun fire could easily be heard.

Something moved behind the truck. Possibly the only soldier left alive, he was reloading his rifle and taking cover next to the wrecked vehicle. The bullet-riddled corpses of his fellows lay slumped against the back of the truck, or stretched out on the road nearby.

Jack barely manage to escape from the guerrillas unscathed, but not without the cost of a full clip for his SMG. "Nice and easy they say, what a load of bullshit. Should have brought a Trench coat with me, Its freezing." he muttered a cursed and continue to make his way through the undergrowth.

"Halt, Who goes there!" the muzzle of a gun was pointing directly towards Jack's face. "Stand up and identify yourself." Not given a choice, Jack stood up putting his hands in the air and look at the young soldier's face. "Identify Yourself." "Jack Sins, and I'm currently looking for the government of this island, so if you would be dear and tell me where he is?" The Soldier smirked at the last bit. "Jack Sins eh? Well then you must be that Foreign mercenary the higher ups were talking about." the soldier let out a smile. "You did a "fine" job getting here, come follow me."

"All the men here are afraid to even leave our camp," the soldier continued as he walked into the little campsite. Two others were huddled around a small fire in a hut, their rifles by their sides. They looked gloomy and ill, apparently struck with a swamp fever. "Every patrol we send out has never come back, and we see the guerillas wearing their uniforms later."

The ground was damp and muddy here, and the boots of everyone traversing the campsite sunk into it. "We're near the swamps of Morbania, in the southeast," He reported to the mercenary. "Just on the border of guerilla-held territory. Once you get past this outpost, I doubt you'll have much trouble until you reach Azul, just East of here--the rebels are as busy as bees in the jungle over there. You care to stay here a while or go on to the capital? That's probably where you're the most needed, but we're at your service."

Back to the radio, Gunn calmly spoke, as if nothing was happening at all. "Again, I repeat, this is Gunn, out on the west side of the site, taking fire. I have one man down, and need back up or extract most ricky tic."

He stuck his head back out just an inch, scanning for more raiders.

Well, I wanted action, he thought. Guess I damned found it.

"Negative," came the reply from a mercenary on the other side of the HaytenCorp construction site. "We're pinned down here and taking heavy fire. One Morbanian worker says he suspects bandits or deserters. The whole damn island is crawling with them. Anyroad, they've got us surrounded, mate. Looks like we're in for it, over--"

The radio crackled and the voice was cut off by a barrage of gunfire.

Dange stepped over the bleeding corpses of two mercenaries, his shotgun at the ready. Four bandits stood behind him, and at their feet sprawled the bodies of at least a half dozen local construction workers. He grinned as he slipped in two high-fragmentation shells.

At least three more of the mercenary guards were still active, returning fire, but they were hopelessly outclassed and outgunned. The grin grew wider on Dange's face as he aimed the shotgun and fired.

With her traps ready, she removed a sleeping bag and a camouflage cover from her pack. Checking her rifle, she made sure it was safed, yet with a round chambered. Satisfied with her work, she slipped into her sleeping bag and pulled the camouflage cover over herself. Drifting into a light sleep, rifle in arm's reach, she was unaware of how close she was to a Duskeye outpost.

The Duskeye operative watched the woman carefully as she went to sleep in the jungle. She was either mad, or a fool. In the Morbanian jungle, you die in your sleep. If a wild animal doesn't find you, someone else will. She was clever enough, setting a trap, but she had made the fatal mistake of wandering too far north into Duskeye territory.

The operative focused his binoculars on the woman, then spoke into his radio, his voice muffled by a gas mask: "Intruder, fifty by twenty-four Tambio. Do you copy?"

"Roger that," came the reply.

For this woman had wandered too close to Duskeye Outpost 23, led by the ferocious Werewolf. Not nearly as good with a gun as Glare, or as fierce as Demon, but close enough, and the mercenary pitied the person who got in his way.

Within minutes, the perimeter had been surrounded. Next, a canister of tear gas was hurled through the trees and landed next to the snoozing intruder.

OOC Note of Clarification: Due to your general location and direction (Northern Morbania), you are not at the same outpost the guerillas are planning to eliminate, just a few miles north instead.

[New Armarzia]

Taylor Perchenki slowly walked to the all too familiar scene. Taylor walked along the barbed wire fence until he found an opening. He walked carefully inside the base, but to avoid detection he stayed along the back of the buildings and barbed wire fence. Taylor glanced to the side of one building and saw a truck, but then he saw something move. Taylor wasn't sure what side this man was on, so he decided to sneak up on him. He snuck around the truck, so he was now behind the soldier. He grabbed the soldiers mouth and chest and dragged him into a building. While Taylor dragged the young soldier he heard gunfire from outside the camp, but no returning fire. Some guerillas idiot was just wasting bullets trying to act like some badass.

Taylor drew his silenced Makarov handgun and pointed to the man's head. He was in uniform, so he was most likely army. But Taylor could never be too sure. "Where do your allegiance lie?" Taylor asked the young man, who couldn't be no more then twenty years of age.

"I'm a private in the Morbanian Army," the private replied while shaking in fear.

"Great!" Taylor said with a smile and lowered his weapon. "Well kid, your going to have to lead me to this man or someone else who can act with his authority." Taylor handed the young man one of his papers that showed the contract and a picture of General Hellman.

"B-But I have to help defend this camp, there still might be soldiers left." The private said hopefully.

"Snap out of it kid, your the only one left and soon you will be like your buddies if you stay. Your better to me dead then staying here because I don't want those rebels finding out that the government has a mercenary or another mercenary. So I'd advise you to lead the way." The private nodded and lead the way to an intact government location. Taylor wasn't sure it would be another camp or the capitol, but was sure to find out soon enough.

[United Mercenary Firms]

"Snap out of it kid, your the only one left and soon you will be like your buddies if you stay. Your better to me dead then staying here because I don't want those rebels finding out that the government has a mercenary or another mercenary. So I'd advise you to lead the way." The private nodded and lead the way to an intact government location. Taylor wasn't sure it would be another camp or the capitol, but was sure to find out soon enough.

Private Nab wasn't sure about this new guy, but he did as he was told. The nearest outpost was a good miles' walk away and to the west of the capital city. After trudging through the jungle for nearly an hour, he came to familiar territory at last: A dirt road. Pockmarked with craters from artillery, but a road nevertheless. "There," He whispered, pointing into the open. "We go this way. If we stick next to the road, we shall come to outpost. Outpost where it is safe. Lots of soldiers."

It wasn't long before they arrived at a roadblock. Barbed wire was strung across the road, and there were several weather-beaten buildings in a little clearing next to it, including a guard hut and a sign ordering all vehicles to halt, printed in four different languages. Five soldiers emerged from the hut, attired in the steel helmets, olive-drab fatigues, and combat boots which identified them as members of General Hellman's regular fighting forces.

When the two emerged onto the road, one of the soldiers leveled a PPD-40G submachine gun at the duo, demanding first in Morbanian, then English, that they identify themselves.

[Eireann Fae]

(OOC: I guess the other two 'confirmed' guerrillas aren't gonna show?)

Once Masters and her temporary spotter are in position (the Lt. would have preferred a thick primary growth tree, but she needed her partner to be on terrain he was comfortable with - lesson learned), she gets comfortable and zeroes her scope on the unknown outpost. From a pocket, she retrieves a blood-red paper pad and a black pen and begins writing down brief descriptions and possible ranks of the members of this 'Duskeye' company, with a star next to probable VIP targets. On another page, she draws a map of the outpost as she can see it, and marks the locations of standing guards, and the paths of travelling ones, along with notes about the time it takes them to do a patrol. This information she sends to the guerrilla's base camp with a series of radioed clicks recognisable as code to her own outfit.

"Any idea who these guys are?" she asks Harge, her voice barely whisper. Someone standing ten feet away would likely not be able to hear her at all. "I've never seen them, but they don't look friendly to our cause..."

[Kalhona]

Negative. We're pinned down here and taking heavy fire. One Morbanian worker says he suspects bandits or deserters. The whole damn island is crawling with them. Anyroad, they've got us surrounded, mate. Looks like we're in for it, over

Gunn swore under his breath. "Fucking figures."

He fired a few more rounds blindly over the crates, unleashing seven point six two millimeter death on anything that got in the way of the hollow points. He checked back on his guide, the bleeding was bad, and waiting to much longer for exfil would leave him with a dead Morbanian. He really hadn't gotten to know the local at all, and never really liked him, but that didn't mean he was going to just let him die without putting up a fight.

He keyed the radio again. "I read on that. Will try to neutralize raiders on my side then move out to your position. Stay frosty," he finished, hoping that the other radio had been able to pick it up before going dead."

He moved back to the Morbanian with him, and gently but quickly unslung the AK, re-slinging it over his shoulder. "Hope you don't mind brother, but I could use this right now." Gunn pulled a few magazines from the Morbanian's kit, and stuffed them into his pockets. His final move was to pull the worn Beretta from the Morbonian's own holster, and press it into his hands.

"Watch my back man, we are gonna go get you some help!" he lied. He knew as well as anyone else the Morbanian was as good as dead.

Gunn rolled out from the cover of the crates, taking off in a sprint towards a nearby concrete divider. He risked the glance, and counted at least five of the raiders. One of them had a shot gun, and looked like the leader of the group. The rest were armed with a hodgepodge of weapons, looking a bit less able than the leader. The man he assumed to be leader raised the shotgun and fired, and Gunn let his legs come out from underneath him. He could feel the blast from the pellets as he slid into cover behind the heavy concrete divider. Moving quickly, he dropped the M1A and unslung the AK. He leaned out and returned fire, spraying in controlled bursts towards the raiding group.

[United Mercenary Firms]

Once Masters and her temporary spotter are in position (the Lt. would have preferred a thick primary growth tree, but she needed her partner to be on terrain he was comfortable with - lesson learned), she gets comfortable and zeroes her scope on the unknown outpost. From a pocket, she retrieves a blood-red paper pad and a black pen and begins writing down brief descriptions and possible ranks of the members of this 'Duskeye' company, with a star next to probable VIP targets. On another page, she draws a map of the outpost as she can see it, and marks the locations of standing guards, and the paths of travelling ones, along with notes about the time it takes them to do a patrol. This information she sends to the guerrilla's base camp with a series of radioed clicks recognisable as code to her own outfit.

"Any idea who these guys are?" she asks Harge, her voice barely whisper. Someone standing ten feet away would likely not be able to hear her at all. "I've never seen them, but they don't look friendly to our cause..."

Glare was tired. He was frustrated with the slow progress in erecting the camp, and enraged at the hostility of the jungle. The last thing he needed were intruders. As soon as the lookout had radioed in with the report, he had tapped the radio receiver in his ear. "Everyone catch that, over." "Copy that," came the reply, followed by another. And another.

A few of the Duskeye mercenaries continued their regular routine in the camp, while Glare and his own squad slipped into the jungle, making their way cautiously towards the lookout's position. It would be dark in half an hour, and the sky was already slipping in that direction with some unexpected clouds, so each of the mercenaries slipped light intensifier lenses over their gas masks. "Report on intruders' position, over."

Glare was addressing the lookout now. "About 200 yards from your position, over." Damn. They were so close. Glare and his men moved carefully, encircling the area in some sort of offensive perimeter. They moved silently through the jungle, like snakes ready to strike. At Glare's order in his radio, they all hurled fragmentation grenades in the general direction of the uninvited guests.

Gunn rolled out from the cover of the crates, taking off in a sprint towards a nearby concrete divider. He risked the glance, and counted at least five of the raiders. One of them had a shot gun, and looked like the leader of the group. The rest were armed with a hodgepodge of weapons, looking a bit less able than the leader. The man he assumed to be leader raised the shotgun and fired, and Gunn let his legs come out from underneath him. He could feel the blast from the pellets as he slid into cover behind the heavy concrete divider. Moving quickly, he dropped the M1A and unslung the AK. He leaned out and returned fire, spraying in controlled bursts towards the raiding group.

AK-47 fire ripped through the HaytenCorp construction site as the raiders advanced. Lar screamed and went down, a lucky bullet having pierced the small space between the balaclava he wore and the top of his tactical vest. Dange fed shells into his combat shotgun and racked the slide. He then dodged behind a few cratefuls of construction materials.

The other bandits returned fire with their AKM rifles and sub-machine guns. A bullet struck deep into the knee-guard Dange was wearing as he stood up to fire. "Shit," He muttered. This was getting serious. Looking at the one grenade he had strapped to his vest, he plucked it out. The best element of his team was that they were able to slip in, shoot everyone, and then plunder. Long, drawn-out gunfights were not their style. If this wasn't settled soon, they would have to melt back into the jungle from which they'd come.

With this in mind, Dange hurled the grenade towards the general direction of the remaining mercenaries.

[New Armarzia]

Thank the creator they know English...thank the creator I learned english. Taylor thought to himself. "Captain Taylor Perchenki of the Armarzian Knight's Armed Services, I need to talk to General Hellman immediately." Taylor told the guard. He handed over a paper that confirmed his identification and showed that Taylor was to report to the General. The private identified himself and told the story of his camp. Taylor quickly thanked the yound soldiers and was lead to the head officer's tent.

The camp seemed a little primitive, maybe a camp the Armarzian military would build about twenty years ago. But, it blended in with the jungle surroundings which Taylor admired, they were resourceful with their lack of resources. Something New Armarzia lacked, the bases that he used to help construct "stuck out like a sore thumb" in the snow. Though he still didn't like the climate and terrain of the island. He wasn't a fan of stealth operations, but he was good at it. One of the best in New Armarzia.

Taylor was lead by one of the many guards through mucky road. He opened the tent flap and went in, he smiled because the General was here. "Captain Taylor Perchenki of New Armarzia," he said while holding out his hand. They shook hands and Taylor handed over the papers dealing with his history of past operations, the contract, and a paper listing his achievements. Taylor was excited to finally find out what he would get payed and even more excited to find out what he would be doing. His papers told that the man was good in small-team stealth operations and in wild terrain warfare (mountains, jungles, deserts, and subarctic terrain.) His other paper was littered with many different operations including some that most Armarzian civilians would never guessed happened.