Sun, Sea and Oil Sands [PMC RP] [IC]

[Bolslania]

Tarvo Kärkkäinen
Red Team, Anubis
FOB Tempest
June 16th
7:45 AM

---

Tarvo sat quietly in the mess hall, the only sound coming from him being the slight clink of the spoon against the bowl as he ate absentmindedly. He stared blankly at the table as he was absorbed by his thoughts. In all his years of fighting, he'd never experienced anything like what had happened. He hadn't gotten good sleep since the events of 3 days earlier. It wasn't that he couldn't forget the faces of the men he had killed, it was the exact opposite in fact. He could barely remember them, and it took the young Finn aback. How was he so calm about killing upwards of 5 people? Sure, the people he had shot had been trying to cause him and his colleagues harm. Hell, they'd put Heaven in the infirmary for a while, and his arm was still sore from where the ricochet had hit him. He remembered that night as a blur of colors, noises, and smells. Gunfire, screams, blood, the smell of cooking meat all haunted his senses. Even though he had been in combat scenarios in Afghanistan, they hadn't been nearly as up close and personal as that. He'd never shot someone who was only a matter of feet in front of him.


He shook his head to clear his mind. Standing up from his seat. He set his bowl with the other dirty dishes and stepped out on to the covered deck of the mess hall. He hadn't seen any of the other operators today, but it was still early. He decided to take a quick walk around Tempest, but first, he would need his poncho from his kit. Tucking his hands in to his pockets he trotted across the muddy center plaza to the operators barracks, stepping inside to the warm interior. He made his way to his bunk, grabbing the poncho from where it was hanging. He slung it over his shoulders and stepped back out on to the plaza before setting off around the base. The tropical rain helped distract him from his thoughts as he strolled.

[Cylarn]

0745
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín
Arthur "AJ" Irvine


The presence of the storm kept the grounds of FOB Tempest from becoming too crowded. Rain pounded the sand and clay into sticky mud, and began to pool up in certain spots upon the concrete and asphalt. Every now and then, a contractor or two - bundled in rain gear - walked across the inner perimeter and along the fence, moving quickly to get from Point A to Point B. A morning drench was the last thing that a tired contractor needed.

Far from the idyllic, sun-soaked beach shorelines of the Caribbean as depicted in travel brochures and web pages, AJ considered himself right at home in the islands. As far as AJ could discern, no one else was choosing to spend time in the rain; on the other hand, the Jamaican had discovered his own little spot behind the motor pool; a place to duck away and be alone with himself. Tucked behind the main garage, AJ added an overhead tarp, secured to the building and the perimeter fence with paracord, and underneath the rain cover, a propane camping stove sat beside of a reinforced plastic container. Sitting in a green camping chair, AJ held his cell phone up to his ear, observing the bratwurst sizzling on his pan. A joint rested between his trigger finger and middle finger, smoke rising up to meet the rain.

His facial expression read agitation; eyes bristling and his mouth firmly frowning. AJ took a long puff of his joint. The rain pittered and pattered down onto the tarp around him, but he had no trouble in hearing the voice at the other end of the line. Even the black boom box sitting next to him, the one playing one of the greatest songs ever written, could not tone out his call.

"Nuh worry bout wah yuh si pan di news, old boy," AJ spoke, using a thick, native Jamaican Patois - something he only reserved for family. A few seconds of silence passed.

"Oh yeah, ya'ah one tuh chat bout righteousness and all dat."

AJ paused for a few moments, flipping the brat with his free hand. "Grow up, old boy. Babylon nuh matta none tuh mi. Bout time yuh learn dat."

AJ chuckled at something said on the other end of the line. "Yeah yuh right bout dat. Mi wi ketch yuh inna few days, old boy."

With that, AJ pressed the screen of his phone and moved it from his ear and into his pocket before taking a hit of his joint. The Patois was something he reserved for family; his father exclusively spoke in the dialect. On the other hand, AJ and his siblings were all college graduates, educated in the United States. Ninety percent of the time, they spoke in proper English, albeit with a tell-tale Jamaican twang.

AJ reached down to his side and picked up a fork. After turning off the stove, AJ used his fork to break apart the sausage while holding the handle of the pan in his left hand. AJ proceeded to take a bite, savoring the salt and seasoning of the brat. His mind, on the other hand, pondered endlessly as he continued to eat.

Nothing definitive on the phone, but it definitely tells a tale. AJ kept the cell phone previously carried by Aurelio; what he found were pictures - no SMS conversations, however. The pictures were mission-oriented, laying out that the assailants had been scouting the location to some degree. Although the schedule of a chaotic drunk trust funder was not beholden to punctuality, AJ gathered the opinion that the gunmen had a source with enough knowledge and access to Darren to provide for a viable operation.

Who was it? AJ thought of the Venezuelans; they were the most likely culprit. A direct competitor of Taxom, a regional player with allegations of operations in country already - it seemed the most direct source for his accusation.

[Futrellia]

Cody Sutton
Red Team, Anubis
FOB Tempest
June 16th
7:48 AM

Cody stood under the relatively dry area at the edge of an awning that looked over a small courtyard of Tempest, surrounded by buildings, rushes of white water rushing down from the gutters and rooftops, soaking everything in the area. Cody's eyes scanned the area, not looking for anything in particular or watching out for threats of any kind. He was just bored and resorted to taking in the beauty of rain falling. A moment of peace, despite his less active role in the operation three days prior. He'd been ready to go, accompany the helicopter crew and provide additional support for the team deployed at the nightclub. Despite this, he instead chose to remain behind. He lost his nerve, couldn't bring himself to do it. He allowed his mind to play tricks on him and it won the day. Now, he was left with a guilt and felt like a piece of shit. He thought long and hard over this personal defeat. He chalked it up to putting the team first, saving room on the heli to fit more people who needed in. Piss poor excuse for cowardice. "Goddamn..." He whispered to himself as he took one last drag on the Venezuelan brand cigarette before flicking it into the rain, sizzling out as it touched down in a small puddle covered in bright green grass. He looked down at his watch only to find it wasn't there. Fifth time you've done that, jackass he said to himself, noticing the whiter patch of skin where his watch normally was. He never forgot his watch, never. Now when he needed it most? Stuck at home on a scratched, dented and aging nightstand next to his king sized mattress in a near empty apartment somewhere in downtown Longview. He rubbed his wrist as he exhaled the last of the tobacco smoke from his lungs, enjoying the last bit of a nicotine high. Cody turned and plopped down in a lawn chair next to a small circular glass table provided by the company, as most of everything else was. Since the conclusion of the nightclub clusterfuck, Cody remained away from the rest of the members of WhiteTree, preferring to not be confronted by the "where'd you go?" or the "missed you out there" comments, including the oh so precious "coulda used you out there, fuckstick." line. Maybe they wouldn't have said that to him, maybe they would've. Regardless, Cody figured it was best to stay out of their sights until the next mission, a mission he told himself he'd go on. No matter what it was. That rip and tear of guilt and the fear of becoming useless weighed heavily on Cody, a work ethic beat into him in the Army and Sheriff's Office both and it's bite was worse than anything else.

[Herador]

Harry Quinn
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably as the phone line rang, and rang, and rang. He looked down at his work phone, clean with the exception of whatsapp, and the message that had come in just moments ago.

Call me.

The phone kept ringing. It was early in the morning, maybe she was already working? He hoped so. He had jumped out of planes, charged into suppressing fire, been in more firefights than he could count, but this was the thing that really scared him. With fingers crossed he hoped he was going to get a short message directing him to voicemail.

"Harry."

Shit. "Nina. How're you?"

"Harry, what the fuck!? Your face is all over the news!"

He had seen the picture, of course, in the hundreds of photos collected from social media from that night most were of the carnage, the bodies, even some of the fighting, but only one showed a merc without a gas mask and it was of Harry carrying Maria in his arms across the street with an IV bag clutched in his teeth as he ran towards the helicopter. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but when he saw his face on CNN, Harry knew he was in for it.

"Look, Nina, I'm sorry, I should have had my mask-"

"God damn right you should have! Leslie, from the PTA? She called last night asking why my husband the bodyguard for businessmen in Asia was in the middle of a shootout in the Caribbean!"

"I'm sor-"

"My department head? Doctor Osborne? He had some questions too. Oh, and my coworkers? My students, Harry? Do you think they didn't notice? Do you think I don't notice people are staring at me? Stop talking when I walk into a room?"

"Nina," He sighed, leaning against the booth, "I know I promised this job would never get involved with our personal lives, but-"

"But what, Harry? Because it did! Ellen is even getting picked on by the older kids at school!"

"Jesus, Nina." He winced, lighting a cigarette. "I can talk to her, just let me ex-"

"Oh you're going to talk to her Harry! And whatever you tell her better be fucking good, because as far as the people we know are concerned we lied to them for years and you really work for some shady ass corporation gunning down poor people in the streets, and fucking suprise, they're right!"

"Nina!" He hissed into the phone, "I didn't even shoot anyone! I was treating wounded the whole time, I didn't even have my rifle for christ sake!"

"Oh, that magically makes it all ok, does it? People fucking died Harry, CNN has blurred out footage of people who almost burned to death because one of you-"

"Shot someone about to throw a Molotov into a club, yeah, I was there Nina! They engaged us, we did our best. Jesus and all his Saints, can you at least be happy I'm not dead? They had assault rifles!"

"Do you think people here care about that? Do you think NBC or Fox or whatever is going to report on that? All anyone saw was you walking through a street full of bodies carrying some girl-"

"Her name was Maria, Nina!" Harry roared, attracting the attention of Lesley and Tarvo who were nearby in the bases courtyard. "Her name was Maria." He knew he was losing control, and that just made him angrier. "One of those shitheads that laid siege to that club shot her and I promised her she would be ok! I carried her to that helicopter and I did everything I could, but she died in the couple of minutes it took us to get to a trauma center. I bandaged the wound, I was the one who had to treat her when she started to spit out blood, I was the one who fought to keep her alive, I was the one who held her while she cried for God to save her before she finally died! So fuck the PTA, fuck your colleagues, fuck your students, and fuck those kids because I will go to their homes and staple their parent's tongues to their taints so they can watch as I kick their asses!"

"Harry, oh Christ I-"

He slammed the phone down on its receiver and punched the booth over and over again, playing Maria's last moments alive in his head on repeat. He remembered the terror on her face that even the morphine couldn't dull, the blood coming out of her mouth and from under his fingers as he fought to stop the bleeding, her cries to God and her Mother to help her. He remembered that he had called her Ellen. Slumping down to the ground, he was vaguely aware of Lesley and Tarvo watching him, probably not sure what to do or even what was going on. Bear was the only other person in that helicopter who knew what happened, and he remembered the look he had given Harry when he finally had to push him off Maria's corpse and tell him she was dead, he understood what had just happened and he was damn sure not going to tell a soul.

Standing back up, he dialed home again.

"Harry, please just-"

"Put Ellen on the phone." He said in a forced level tone.

"Harry-"

"Put my daughter on the phone Nina." Though he didn't mean it, his voice carried an edge.

"Hold on."

A dull thump told him the cellphone had been put on Nina's desk, in the background he heard his wife calling for their daughter, telling her that Daddy was on the phone. Harry fought back the tears he had just noticed as he heard the sound of little feet running across hardwood and growing louder with each step.

"Daddy!"

"Hey Pumpkin, how are you?"

[Hastur]

Lesley Sarah Rutledge
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín

---

Lesley could sense the tension brewing throughout FOB Tempest as she sat at one of the picnic tables in the mess hall.  The attempted seizure of their HVI had been more than just some angry locals with a bone to pick. The assailants had been coordinated, trained, and, more interestingly, Venezuelan. Their rationale for the assault had still yet to become clear, but Lesley knew it didn’t take a genius to figure out that San Marlín had repeatedly been a point of contention for the nation, but this was a lot bigger than a dispute over fishing rights and territorial waters.

The attack had worked wonders for their PR department, if one believed in no such thing as adverse publicity. The riot had appeared on every major news broadcaster. Debates between regional experts and pundits at the forefront of images of chaos and bloodshed. The outlets collecting their views from the story of the hour within the constantly shifting business of the 24-hour news cycle. Lesley knew within a week that the event would be forgotten about, buried under whatever modern chunk of material that everyone would latch onto.

The damage had already been done already to herself personally. She had gotten phone calls and emails from friends, family, and even former co-workers, all worried about her wellbeing. The images of a causality airlift helping to stir their anxieties. Lesley never found the worried messages from home to be an unpleasant experience, something that often brought down her mood down, made her feel helpless. The panic that often came with news stories was a struggle to deal with. She’d tried to set herself a rule during her Afghanistan deployments, to keep her contact with family to a minimum, but never stuck to it. The feeling of loneliness often overriding it.

Thankfully, she’d learned after getting shot in the head that the best strategy was play it cool and laugh it off was the best way to keep a lid on an emotional tidal wave breaking from back home.

Her attention was captivated by screaming from the medic, Quinn. Caught in the same trap as she had been, the man started bellowing into one of the phone boxes, hollering about one civilian that had been unfortunate enough to get snagged in the crossfire. It had hit him hard as Quinn broke down, a tough scene for Lesley to watch as he argued with his significant other, something she had been far too familiar with. Eventually, he hung up the phone, opening up with a flurry of punches into the phone box. At that point, she had to step in.

“Oi!” Lesley shouted, voice stern with a hint of concern as she stood up from the picnic table. “You’re going to do yourself mischief you keep that up! Take a breather, cool your jets and then come back.” She added, trying her best to help him before he eventually he got back up, re-dialing the phone.

Lesley knew what would probably come next, and she knew that there wasn’t much else she could do other than give him space.

Lesley simply got up and left, heading outside into the pouring rain, spotting AJ in his hiding spot, the telltale smell of greasy cooking leading her in. She quickly sauntered up, moving fast to get herself out of the rain. “This not technically a fire hazard? Or did you just bribe the health and safety advisor too?” She jokingly prodded, having heard of how he somehow managed to solve the problem with the local police commander. The smell of his joint lingered in the air amongst the fatty smell from the pan as she squeezed inside the cover. She wasn’t sure what to think of him yet, but she knew that him being former Jamaican police, he was already a bit of a character. “Anything on that phone you picked up? Those clowns are up to something.”

[Ubaria]

Gideon Van-Lingen
Sunday 16th June, 2018
7:45am local time
FOB Tempest

A cup of piping hot coffee sat on the unfinished countertop, a small dance of steam rose from the surface of the deep brown beverage. Dark, unsweetened and of a local flavour, picked up from a local market, the drink provided something of a much needed lift of the spirits, the bitter fluid somewhat reminiscent of better times, though only half the reason Gideon enjoyed the beverage. During his more dispirited years, Gideon had taken to the bottle as a means of coping with the loss of family, friends and career. It had teetered him on the brink of much more dangerous pursuits of self-destruction, though a revelation no-less short of a miracle he had pulled himself from the abyss and in the following months had worked on body and mind to break the vice like grip, and the comfort that alcohol provided. Coffee had been his go-to as a replacement for a selection of spirits, equal in bitterness and a whole lot less destructive, a morning black coffee had become part of his routine that followed him all the way into his later years.

He raised the cup to his lips and took a long swig of the piping hot brew, exhaling the hot vapours that followed. In his free right hand, he peered at a small plastic rectangle, an old and battered mid-generation Iphone. Gideon wasn't much one for gadgetry, he had purchased this phone with a signing bonus from WhiteTree and it had followed him through several contracts and ranges of climates, though the screen was cracked and the finish somewhat scuffed, it served it's purpose and Gideon didn't need any more than that. On it, was a newsfeed from a local Facebook page for the island, a community based group that features all manner of content from people's opinions - complete with an extensive commentary section - to local events and goings on. Quite obviously the transpirations from a few days prior were still front and center in people's minds, the same few pictures and videos were circulating around with people arguing all manners of viewpoints and of course the topic had spiralled off into the involvement of Taxom in all the carnage. Many people were not happy about the fact that the American corporation was paying foreign nationals to act on the behalf of the police and military.

His scrolling was interrupted by the shadow of someone looming over his shoulder. Quickly he flipped the phone down on the counter and peered around, spotting the light bouncing off Webbers bald head before he noticed his face.

"Yeah? And what do you want?" He joked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"They're not happy." Webber began, drawing up a seat next to the South African, he himself cradling a paper cup of the base's own coffee, commercialized swill if you asked Gideon.

"Who. The big wigs? The Kerels? The civvies? Us?" He glanced down to the cuts on his forearms. The glass had done a number and had required bandages for the last couple of days, the cuts were healing but remained visible. Internally, his spine still ached from the near point-blank .45 cartridge that had been fired directly at his back.

"Head honchos back in the States - they finally pulled their head's out of their backside's long enough take note of what's been going on. There's been talks of pulling us out - "

"But they won't. Will they?" Gideon interrupted with a scoff. "The petrol guys are paying us a kakspull of bucks to keep us here and to the local government to keep their traps up and shut." It was no secret that the contract was pulling weight around the tens, if not hundreds of millions, an incident like this was a mere hiccup in the whole scope of things.

"You're on the money there. But that little shit has put us in the spotlight, we can't afford another stunt like that again."

"What were we meant to do? I mean it was hardly the boykies fault in the long run. Wrong place, wrong time. If we had waited we'd be under fire for not doing our job at all." A 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' dilemma. If they had left Darren to his own devices, not only would he have been captured - or worse- at the hands of foreign gunmen, two of their own guys would have been dead and it would have been their fault. Perhaps their approach could have been handled differently, but with the time limitations and circumstances they had, deliberation was short and action had to be swift.

"Look i agree with you. Anyway, something of a different note. Taxom and the local government aren't very comfortable with the fact that there could be more unaccounted for variables crawling around on the island, it's a massive security threat."

"I thought we were" Gideon smirked from behind his cup. 'Corporate Terrorists' was one of the labels they had been painted with on social media, without context, a lot of the images were very convincing of that narrative. Men clad in camouflage, body armor and gas masks stepping through the crumpled corpses of the men they'd laid out looked like something straight from a film.

"Local police are obviously out of their depth dealing with this shit as we've seen in the past. Taxom and command want us to assist in finding these assholes, as a gesture of goodwill and some better PR."

"What? First they want us the hell off the island and next we're doing their dirty work for them? Low profile my fucking -" He cut himself off, sliding the phone on the countertop back into his trouser pocket.

"Listen, nothing's simple right now and part of our contract is to assist the local mil-force. As i take it our contract still stands." Webber chugged the last of his coffee down and hurled the cup into a nearby bin. Both men remained silent for the next couple minutes, listening to the radio and the rain hammering off the roof.

"How are the kids anyway?"

Webber shook his head, a small ironic smile spreading across his lips. "Terri's gone and moved to Milton Keynes with the new boyfriend of hers, y'know the one who's the footballer? And Danny, he's well ... he's Danny. Want's to join up with the Regiment like his daddy did." Webber's smile slowly faded from his face, a slow listless stare into space followed. "If only he could see his daddy now. Stuck on some godforsaken humid backwater island with a gang of mopey gits like you for company."

"Pot, kettle." Gideon mused, finishing up his own coffee which had by now gone tepid. "So, what's the plan going to be then?"

"Panther's going to be taking up your duties at Foxtrot. We'll be having a meeting at around oh-nine-hundred sharp so tell the others if you see them."

"Are you sure? They want us going back out there?"

"So far, you're the only ones who have dealt with these guys. They need our sharpest troops."

Gideon slowly nodded as Webber exited the mess, the rain becoming louder, then quieter again as the door swung open and shut. His nod turned into a subtle shake of disbelief. Now not only did WhiteTree want them to stay, they wanted them to go and do the police's dirty work for them, something they had just been chastised for doing. Somewhere, a lot of money had just exchanged hands.

[Cylarn]

0746
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín
Arthur "AJ" Irvine

“This not technically a fire hazard? Or did you just bribe the health and safety advisor too?"

The sudden arrival of Leslie caught AJ off-guard. He snapped to look in her direction, shoulders tightening for a moment - before he relaxed up and brought the joint to his lips as he softened his gaze at Les. The girl saved his life back on the streets of Suano, and to his knowledge - saved Heaven just the same, and even rescued a hostage. In AJ's mind, it testified to her competence.

Before he could speak, however, Heaven asked about the phone. AJ rested his fork in the pan and reached into his pocket. "Nothing to immediately back up an accusation with."

AJ tossed the phone to Les and stood up, motioning to the now-vacant crate. He looked up at the ceiling, taking eyes on a large puddle of water. With a single upward push with one hand, he pushed the water over the side. He turned back to Les.

"I think it goes without saying, but these guys had some training. Not just to hold guns, but to reconitor a target and, obviously, to plan and launch the kind of fucked engagement we waltzed into yesterday evening."

AJ took a deep puff of his joint, and exhaled. "The shit was planned, no doubt. My question is, how did they ascertain the target? The location, I mean. Was it word of mouth, that they knew Darren would be there, or is someone passing off his itinerary?"

[Hastur]

Lesley Sarah Rutledge
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín

---

Lesley caught the phone and began examining the contents, the white gleam illuminating her face as she flicked through their messages. She couldn’t fathom anything that was being said between the group, but the pictures spelled out more than enough. It was operational recon; the images documenting locations and schedules of Darren as they no doubt tried to figure out when was the best time to hit him.

“Cheeky bastards.” Lesley muttered, a terse expression of annoyance edging through the exterior as she examined other parts of the phone. The search history of the phone giving a rather bland return of tourist hotspots and local bars, nothing particularly interesting, but one thing stood out. The club that had been hit was on there, specifically the hosted event page. Lesley listened intently as she examined each webpage closely, looking for additional clues as AJ mentioned their training.

“Yeah, they certainly know how to do some proper reconnoitering. It’s not exactly rocket science though, is it?” Lesley answered, turning her attention back to AJ as he continued to smoke, her nostrils fluttering in irritation. The information had only helped solidify what she’d already thought about them. They had organisation and some form of training, but it didn’t exactly prove much else outside of that. A large piece of the puzzle was still missing. What exactly their motives were was still enigmatic. The device only proved to make things more hazy.

The Jamaican pondered the question of how the attacking force figured out his location. Lesley moved in closer, getting out of the rain, now half soaked as she pondered the question.

“I mean, that’s not exactly hard either, is it?” Lesley added. “It could be any one of those things, could be all of them, or they just looked him up on Facebook and started from there.” Lesley paused as she leaned against the wall, tossing the phone back, finished with her immediate examination. “The guy literally gives away his own itinerary every day in real time to anyone with an internet connection and two brain cells to rub together.”

The mention of their plan made her consider everything much more throughly as she went backward to the night of. The tumult being much sharper in 20/20 hindsight.

Their presence had seemed to have flung a wrench into their plan. She had watched the men stumble out of the nightclub, moving through the flow of the crowd as they sought to slow them down just long enough for the inside team to get to the HVI with almost suicidal courage. Even if they had accomplished their goal, they would be dead either way, they’d allowed themselves to get boxed in.

“I don’t even think they expected us.” Lesley stated her point of view, sweeping her red red hair back behind her ears as she peered skyward at the freshly formed puddle on the makeshift sheet roof. “Like, they had the ordnance, they had the numbers, and they knew his location. But when we showed up, they just got desperate.” She added, her expression bland. “I mean, the method was a bit shit. I guess that was them improvising.” It made sense in her mind. Building assaults always proved to be sloppy affairs, principally with the crowds out angry people gathering outside. Why even put yourself in that situation unless you felt like you had no other option?

“Like I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but If I was in their shoes, I’d have hit them on their way out of the building, why even bother storming the place? The security team would have folded like a pack of cards against those AKs, and they would have been long gone before we’d have even responded.” Lesley paused, her head pivoted back to AJ. A short sarcastic grin glowing through. “That is unless their goal was to make us look like a bunch of pricks on international TV, they accomplished that one for sure. Calls from home are driving everybody nuts.”

[Kyraina]

Heaven Andrei

Heaven had spent the past 2 days after the gunfight recovering in the infirmary, and the doc was satisficed today that the side effects of the concussion had faded enough for her to be out on her own, and was somewhat mission capable. Like the others of her team, she had received phone calls and messages asking if she was okay, and she had told them she was, not disclosing the close call she had. She was walking around the facility when she smelled weed being smoked and what smelled like brats cooking. She approached what looked like a trap stretched to make a little private area, and the smell of weed and brats got stronger. She heard Lesley and AJ talking inside. She was drinking a hot Romanian Herbal Tea she had brewed up when She had gone to her room to dress for the day, and was carrying the tea around in a giant thermos.

“Like I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but If I was in their shoes, I’d have hit them on their way out of the building, why even bother storming the place? The security team would have folded like a pack of cards against those AKs, and they would have been long gone before we’d have even responded. That is unless their goal was to make us look like a bunch of pricks on international TV, they accomplished that one for sure. Calls from home are driving everybody nuts.”

Heaven entered into the little private area.

"Because They knew for sure he was at the club. While He post where he is constantly at, its hard to track his routes unless they want to tail him and his security team. Then once they learn his route he constantly takes, they got to coordinate a ambush on a moving target. Pretty smart to hit him at the club, and then try to use the celebrations to get the hell out of Dodge. The Riot and Us showing up with as much, if not more fire power then them through them for a loop. Was Probably expecting a Police Response at worst."

She looked at AJ and Lesley, and smiled.

"Lesley, They just released me this morning. I'm glad to be out of the damn infirmary. AJ you got anymore brats? I haven't gotten a chance to eat a whole lot since we ate lunch at Foxtrot 3 days ago. Also I brought some chai tea my mom told me how to make called ceai tea. Do either of you two want some?"

---

Joseph "Bear who Flys" Bridges

The Big Native American was sitting in the Armory, doing his morning checks on his teams weapons. Made sure that nothing was lose, the weapons were clean, wear parts weren't to worn down, and that non wear parts were still in one piece and no signs of wear. After inspecting each weapon, He had put a fresh coat of Rem Oil on each weapon's moving parts, and barrel, making sure that the Humidity of San Marlin didn't start rusting the weapons. He was one of many armorers for Whitetree. Each Squadron had it's own armorer, as well as Tempest having it's own master armorer, who often butted heads with Bear, but Bear didn't really care. His team's weapons, despite some of them being well used looked and functioned like they was brand new, and Bear took pride in that. He tried not to touch his Squadron's optics to much, as to not mess with their zeros, but he was currently putting a new ACOG on Heaven's M4A1, and bore sighted it. He then checked the zeros on the rest of the squadrons weapons, and took notes on how off set they was compared to the boresight. He noticed that Mike's zero was wildly off the boresight, His own HCAR's was off, same with Gideon's as well, but that wasn't a surprise that some needed to be rezeroed after the events three days ago.

He put all the firearms away and locked up them up. He grabbed the Mexican coke he had been drinking, and left his little section of the armory after locking it. He made his way to the Mess, and saw Gideon by himself, and the look on his face, well it look like he hadn't gotten good news.

Bear walked over and sat across from Gideon.

"Why the long face boss? Those only belong on horses."

[Ubaria]

Gideon Van-Lingen
Sunday 16th June, 2018
7:45am local time
FOB Tempest

Once again the South-African allowed his mind to wander as he mindlessly scrolled through various news articles from back home, half his attention attracted to the blurry television across the roof as a local news anchor reeled off both local and international news, quite obviously WhiteTree still being somewhat front and centre of it all. Gideon flicked his eyes down as his phone vibrated, another incoming message from an ex-colleague, concerned about his well-being. He replied with a short, cut and paste reassurance that he had given all the others.

Quickly he was bought around by another voice calling from across the tabletop. He flicked his eyes from the phone to see the figure of Bear sitting across from him.

"So do cowboys." He retorted, mimicking a lasso with one hand and finishing with a half-mocking finger gun salute. Gideon glanced one more time at his phone before returning it to his trouser pocket.

"Looks like we're going back out there" He eventually relented with a grumble, the notion passing through his head made him scowl a little harder.

"Only, it seems to me the kerels actually want our help this time." Ironic considering their arrival at the club had come with the possible intention of igniting a gunfight with the security outfit, luckily AJ had greased some palms so to speak, the police Sergeant allowing them passage out of the town without more incident.

"Venezuelans." He rapped his fingers on the table in thought. "Why him? Why there? And why now?" He alluded to the fight at the club, if Rojas's intel was solid, it seemed they were after the kid, alive. Possibly as a bargaining chip? Surely the Venezuelan government was as stupid as to openly incriminate themselves by kidnapping the thickheaded, socialite son of a wealthy oil CEO in the middle of a crowded club? And then subsequently demanding something as a ransom? Something was amiss, and it made Gideon's stomach churn with unease.

"In any case. We're going out hunting them with some of the locals by the sound of it. If there are indeed any more."

[Bolslania]

Tarvo Kärkkäinen
Red Team, Anubis
FOB Tempest
June 16th
7:47 AM

---

Tarvo paused as he heard Quinn yelling in to the phone. He turned to face the raging medic as he pounded his fist in to the side of the phone booth. Shooting a quick glare at Lesley, he walked over to Quinn, giving him a reassuring hand on the shoulder before moving on. He heard conversation coming from some area to his right, and what smelled like cooking meat. He decided to avoid that area, too much activity for the Finn's liking.

He had only been 2 minutes into his walk when he realized maybe a mind-clearing stroll in a tropical rainstorm was not the best idea. He changed course to head back to the mess hall, maybe some of the other operators had gathered there in a smaller, and more tolerable, grouping. He stepped inside and saw Gideon and Bear chatting, wasting no time he left his poncho on a hook by the door and went over, sitting down next to Bear.

"Morning guys." He said in the reserved voice his colleagues had become accustomed to him speaking in. He had heard the final part of Gideon's sentence. Something about "going hunting"

"And what are we hunting?" He said. Perhaps Gideon was referencing the combatants from last night?

[Herador]

Harry Quinn
16 June 2018
FOB Tempest, San Marlín

Harry leaned forward and took a deep breath as his daughter put the phone down to get Nina again. "Fuck" was all he could groan as he winced, the emotions he had been burying coming out in a wave of relief and pain. His daughter was tough, tougher than he was at her age but a near-crippling illness will do that to a kid. She hadn't seen the news, most kids in her grade hadn't and the teachers had done their best to stop the teasing before it got out of hand. Harry grimaced, head resting on his forearm as he leaned against the phone booth, not for the first time thankful that he and Nina were sending her to Bush, expensive as it was.

Sounds played on the other end of the phone as someone picked it up, "Harry, please don't hang up."

"I'm not." He sighed as his emotions finally came to a rest and settled somewhere between a crash and a fall.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." He could hear it in her voice, she had been crying.

"Don't be." She began to speak, "Hold on, Nina." He stopped her, but his voice was gentle now, "You two had a lot going on and you'd been dealing with it for a few days. I get it." He lit another cigarette, "We were both in..." he gestured vaguely to no one, looking for a word.

"A bad place?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, that's the word." A silence hung between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable, each was happy that the other wasn't upset anymore. "Look Nina, I gotta get inside and talk to the boss about all this. I'll call you next chance I can, ok?"

"Yeah."

"And I sent you guys a little package for Ellen's birthday, there's something in there for you too."

"Thanks, Harry. Be careful ok? I love you."

"Love you too, Nina. I'll call you girls again soon."

---

Sitting under a tree next to the phones, Harry took a drink from his cup of room-temperature coffee and grimaced, tossing it into the grass. Leaning back, Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the cool breeze and slight smell of the ocean. He was never one for the heat, but the island wasn't so bad.

"Up and at 'em." He grunted, standing slowly with a groan and brushing his hands off on his pants. Walking across the courtyard and doing his best to ignore the few Whitetree employees still looking at him warily, he went into the same building as Tarvo. The inside was dim, at least compared to the morning sun outside, and it took a brief moment for his eyes to adjust. Making his way to the small coffee pot in the corner, he poured himself another cup as well as another and moved beside Tarvo. The conversation had started without him, something about the natives getting restless which wasn't exactly surprising. Tapping Tarvo on their shoulder, he leaned in, "Sorry about..." he gestured vaguely towards the door, "That. Not a good moment." Harry handed Tarvo the other cup and settled in next to him.

Turning his attention back to Gideon, Harry raised a hand. "Pardon boss, but how much can we count on the locals. After the shootout, I imagine some might not be too fond of us." he took a quick drink before adding. "Not that I can blame them too much, but if we're going on patrol with them, I'd at least like to know they won't hang us out to dry if things go south."

[Kyraina]

Joseph "Bear who Flys" Bridges

He smiled as Gideon did the motions of lasso and Six Shooters, and let out a small chuckle. He watched as Tarvo and Harry walked over and nodded to the two men as they came over and sat down at their table, and listened to what they had to say.

"We are hunting Venezuelans. None of the guys with firearms we shot were locals or employed by Locals it seems. I don't know what they wanted with him unless they work for someone that wants to strong arm our employers."

He paused for a second to gather his thoughts, took out a half smoked cigar, put it in his mouth and thought about what they said. He chewed on the cut end of the cigar.

"I think the locals want the Venezuelans gone more then they want us gone. They have had rough relations with Venezula, and while we have had a rough patch recently at least they like the money the oil brings in."

[Ubaria]

Gideon Van-Lingen
Sunday 16th June, 2018
7:45am local time
FOB Tempest

"Pardon boss, but how much can we count on the locals. After the shootout, I imagine some might not be too fond of us ... Not that I can blame them too much, but if we're going on patrol with them, I'd at least like to know they won't hang us out to dry if things go south."

A valid concern, a double cross wasn't entirely in the realm of impossibility, after all the police were more than willing to make a stand outside the club if their chest puffing wasn't just that. Gideon mused the thought for a moment, glancing between Quinn and Bear.

"I guess we don't know until we get shot in the back." He joked darkly, a slight grin appearing across his face. "Then again, I don't think they want any more blood being shed than what's necessary."

"I think the locals want the Venezuelans gone more then they want us gone. They have had rough relations with Venezuela, and while we have had a rough patch recently at least they like the money the oil brings in." Bear interjected, tasting the end of a particularly large cigar. A notion that wasn't shared by all the locals by the sounds of many social media posts and news articles. A tenuous relationship with a foreign oil company wasn't always a preferable alternative to a culturally similar nation even if they did want some form of subjugation. After all, the Sons of Bolivar had a significant following if reports were to be believed.

"Oil money doesn't always find it's way into the hands of the people. These guys distrust the Yanks as much as they distrust them as they do their southern neighbours. Something's going on ... we need to tread carefully ... "

----
[0900 HOURS]

The projector pointed toward a worn, whitewashed wall, the projected image was slightly abraised due to the peeling plasterwork behind but the image of a man getting into a black modern saloon car was just about discernible, the still image having been extracted from some form of CCTV footage, the timestamp in the lower corner of the image described it as being taken a week and a day or so before the club attack.

Webber had been in the briefing room since he had left Gideon, he dragged from a cigarette and waited silently as the rabble of operators drew into the confined area from whatever they had previously been doing. He nodded in greeting as each of the arrived and gestured to the seating arrangement, a hemisphere of beaten fold-out metal chairs surrounding a central table.

"Alright. Settle down you reprobates. He began, stubbing his cigarette out into a nearby empty cola can. "Do we have everyone? Good." His eyes darted up and about to each operator, waiting for the murmuring and clamour to die down.

"As you've probably all already figured. We're all still in a job. Through some form of divine international and no small measure of work on behalf of the boys and girls in the legal department, we're not being shelved just yet. He paused, clearing his throat. "Although we're still pretty much enemy numero uno down in these parts, local law enforcement have been peering into the shitshow as well as our own intel guys and we're sure we have veritable proof of the perpetrators, though it seems at this time we're powerless to prosecute." His lips pursed as he contemplated the tounge twister. A nearby folder on the table was plucked up and out spilled several mugshots. Most of them were unfamiliar, all clean shaven, sharp jawed individuals with olive or tanned complexions and black hair though perhaps to AJ, one stood out in particular. Aurelio. Webber picked up his mugshot and held it up.

"We did manage to arrest one of the attackers who was taken into police custody. Aurelio Vargas. Ex-DGIM. The Venezuelans military intelligence wing. We pulled some strings back in the states as he really didn't want to spill the beans ... turns out the fucker went and topped himself in the slammer lastnight. Found his body swinging from his own trousers in his cell." He let the portrait drop to the table. "He wasn't the talkative type. Leaving us with something of an issue. We don't know if these guys had any more help, where they based themselves, where they got their intel from and how they managed to go undetected in the first damn place."

Webber turned to the image, tapping the black vehicle on the screen with a pen.

"Our mutual friend arrived around a week before the attack on the club. He disembarked a ferry from Trinidad and Tobago alone and got into this vehicle. We scoured some other footage from the ferry terminal in Agua Tranquilas on the southern coast and identified several other of the attackers arriving in the days either side of Aurelio as to not arouse suspicion. The CCTV is choppy but we identified this vehicle in several of the images and we traced the plates back to a rental company in Acarigua. The police have talked with the owner and he said that a man rented a car from him rougly a couple of weeks back using the forged documents and with a cash-in-hand payment."

Webber paused, pacing to the other side of the image, letting the information sink in.

"Greenfor wants you to assist in scouring for any more evidence we can find, as well as locate any more of the fuckers if they haven't already left. We haven't recovered the vehicle in question yet but it was last seen travelling into the town it was rented at. A lot of hotels and bedsits in the area, find the car and we may have a solid lead in where and what these guys got up to."

The image then quickly flicked to a grainy satellite image of what seemed to be a jungle clearing, a couple of dull grey rectangles and shapes indicated buildings that seemed to be agricultural in nature, secluded by the shade of the nearby forest with only a twisting dirt track seemingly connected them to the outside world.

"This morning, locals reported strange activity at an abandoned storage shed at a banana plantation near Zaramonna, in the foothills of the mountain. Police have investigated but found it largely abandoned with little signs of activity in the area, though we're going to do a more thorough search." Webber stepped back and circled around a map of the island laid out on the edge of the table.

"You're not going to like this but after what happened at the club, the police want to keep us in check. An escort of local Gendarmeries have been assigned to keep you all company on this expedition. Red you're going to Acarigua to do some digging, survey the area and see what you can find." He then turned to Gideon. "Blue, you're going up to Zaramonna. Again see what you can find. You'll be meeting with your escorts in Icana in about an hour or so. Pack light. If people see you rolling around with rifles and body armor again they're likely to start another god damn riot. Make yourselves scare ... any questions?"

[Herador]

Harry Quinn
16th June, 2018
FOB Tempest

"Yeah, I got something boss," Quinn called out from the back of the room. "Not a question, really, more of a suggestion for consideration." Standing up, he went on. "Back in the Army when my ODA was deployed doing narco work we used to do ops like this all the time with Delta guys. When people were tight and we couldn't trust the locals a hundred percent, which was often, we used to use a three-tier system. First group was our foot team, they kept a low profile and asked a lot of vague questions that sorta pertained to what we were looking for in the area, pepper them into conversations with the locals. Might have been a bit suspicious but we also could have just been lost tourists or something." He took a sip of his coffee before carrying on. "Second group was the car teams. They'd get local cars and cruise around looking for things we knew were related to our target, cars and family members and the like. The last group was usually some knob-turners from The Activity listening in to local signals and trying to pin down key phrases related to the op." Another nervous sip. "So what I'm saying is we split Red just like that. Maybe put AJ, Bear, and Mike on the ground team with a few of the local guys to go over the area, talk to the locals, pretend to be tourists or something. Annette already has signals experience, we rent her a van and get her some basic gear, have Merge drive and throw another local guy in there with them. Me and Tarvo could be the car team, rent a sedan and cruise around hunting for the car or anything that stands out, put another local guy with us. We all go plainclothes and keep our heads down and we could have a day in the field doing some alright surveillance work if we play it smart." Taking a deep breath, Quinn sat back down. "Just an idea."

[Bolslania]

Tarvo Kärkkäinen
Fireteam Red, Anubis
June 17th, 2018
0900
FOB Tempest

---

Tarvo listened quietly as Webber went over the mission details. Looked like he and the rest of Red team were going to be doing some community interaction, all with the Suano PD breathing down their necks. Wonderful. Tarvo turned his head to look at Harry as he suggested an organization for Red Team. All in all it seemed to be a decent plan, but Tarvo wasn't exactly an expert on going undercover so he couldn't judge the merits of it effectively.

Why the hell am I playing detective. I didn't sign up for this work. Tarvo pondered. He had signed up for guarding an oil companies sites, not scouring around a backwater shithole looking for Venezuelan intelligence agents. Tarvo agreed that putting him in the car was a good placement for him. There he could just use his eyes and instincts, rather than have to delicately manage a conversation to gather intelligence. He turned his attention back to Webber to see how the official liked that plan.