Shrapnel Is Making Music (IC MT Merc RP - Closed)

[Neu Engollon]

Heigen took his chance as their car idled behind a warehouse and he saw Koski's vehicle slowly roll up.
"I'm moving. Prepare to cover."

He grabbed his ruck, hopped out, tucked his Type 300 SMG inside his coat and sped towards the other SUV. He was risking getting shot by his own side, but he was certain that it would be over before it came to that. He yanked the door open and pulled out a startled Yellowsian. He thumbed towards the recently vacated car which still had a bewildered Liliha and Graves inside.

"Take a walk, Uncle Fester." The balding local hesitated, but Noel waved him on. Then he took his place next to Koski, throwing his ruck in at his feet.

"Did ya miss me?"

[Yellow Star Republic]

Arnarauga

The Yellowsian resistance people had ditched the truck with the boats in the hidden away warehouse. It was sufficiently dirty, but the tires were an issue. They dried them as best they could and then sprinkled them with warehouse dust. It wouldn't pass forensics, but should fool an overly curious onlooker.

A few of them were staying in town leaving just the drivers and Jakirsson to take the foreign commandos the rest of the way across the country.

They headed out, mindful of spacing, with dusk just starting to darken the clouds. Taking a circuitous route to get back to the freeway to Steinbrudden, they did manage to avoid the militia shift relief in their oncoming utility vehicle.

One wrinkle that none of the resistance or Garden Team were aware of, was that their presence in Arnarauga had not gone unnoticed, as such an odd convoy of SUVs was impossible to miss complete notice from the local population. Authorities began to field calls from concerned citizens, or those looking to earn some sort of merit points with the authorities, and ultimately, the RLO. A series of phone calls and radio and cyber transmissions following up on the authorization of such a group of vehicles would have serious, ominous repercussions for Garden Team.

[Falkasia]

Jan turned and looked, acknowledging Heigen.

"To be honest, I had hoped to finally be rid of you... but I guess the universe has bigger plans."

He scooted over slightly to make room, still cradling the rifle between his legs.

"At least the two of us together have a decent amount of luck leftover, I think." He started. "Uncle Fester you called him? Yeah... my money says he breaks ranks and runs for the nearest forest if we come under fire. Never got the warm feelies from him... the guy had permanent cheese breath too. Never trust a man with cheese breath."

[Neu Engollon]

"To be honest, I had hoped to finally be rid of you... but I guess the universe has bigger plans."

Noel's grin faded, turning into a bit of an exaggerated frown.
"Dick! We're a team! I'm trying to make sure I got your fucking back."

Jan scooted over slightly to make room, still cradling his rifle between his legs.

"Yeah, don't let me cramp your style, you ungrateful asshole."
Noel looked around at the other confused Yellowsian resistance operatives in the SUV, then outside at their progress.

"At least the two of us together have a decent amount of luck leftover, I think..." Jan started in his slow manner. "...Uncle Fester you called him? Yeah... my money says he breaks ranks and runs for the nearest forest if we come under fire. Never got the warm feelies from him... the guy had permanent cheese breath, too. Never trust a man with cheese breath."

"I feel like you're taking another shot at my country, but we make way better delicious cheese than the Yellies and Glissies, so it would be an enjoyable smell in that case. As far as being in their hands..." He really didn't care if the 'Yellies' in the car spoke Common English, "...I don't trust them as far as I can dig a hole to bury 'em. That's why I jumped cars."

The Major's voice interrupted on the team channel. "Garden, get ready to head out."

Heigen had passively listened earlier when Ari-Galan chastised Jakirsson, but this statement had his full attention. Noel tucked his Murakami made SMG in closer, then glanced at Jan's rifle. He was ready. They both knew there could be action at any moment.

He was partly being true, but also worried. He didn't trust the Yellowsians. He wasn't keen on Graves and Walder, for different reasons. Liliha had proven herself during the battles with the Thrandee in Glisandia, but he still was hesitant about her. The Major, Kravchenko, Lockhart, and Strasburg were solid. That left Koski. Koski was solid, but more and more, it felt like he was losing his grip. Noel was worried that Jan could have a PTSD freeze up at a crucial moment during upcoming action and put them all in jeopardy, even though he seemed to be on it, so far. Noel just felt that they were due for that freeze up.

They headed out of town, luckily with nothing eventful marking their attempt to slink out to the Steinbrudden highway.

[Shalum]

Despite the fact that she had spent years lugging gear around combat zones, Amalia couldn’t help but quietly puff as she safetied her rifle and planted it between her boots. Reaching up, she tugged idly at the band keeping her flaxen hair held back. Letting it cascade down her shoulders for a moment, she shook her head and began to tie it back into her more customary, comfortably ponytail.

“Hey, Matti?” She gently nudged him with her elbow, the point of it digging into his side. “Was it just more or are you really sore from that overwatch spot too? I swear my ass and back are going to hurt for the next couple of days.” She flashed him a little smile and let her hands drop back into her lap. “I hope this ride doesn’t get too bumpy, eh?”

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Lockhart’s lips curled into a small smile of amusement. Their resident sniper seemed to have certainly warmed up to the man at her side since they had first met, not that he could really attest to her nature beforehand. She had always seemed friendly, but there was a little extra warmth in her eyes whenever she glanced at him. “You two keep frosty back there,” he had to warn. “We’ve still got a ways to go yet, I’m pretty sure.” Leaving it at that, he glanced back out, watching the passing countryside with the sharp eye of someone who had been in this situation before.

[Falkasia]

"I'd never insult your country. My own wants me dead after all. Doesn't get much better than that, right?" Jan smiled, and slapped Heigen's shoulder.

He was glad Noel was with him, all jesting aside. The two had been through just about everything, and despite the FSIS, he was about the only person short of Daria he trusted. All things considered though, he really didn't trust Daria. She was just smoking hot and made his days on Nesselberg easier. He knew she was probably an FSIS sent to get close and then kill him. At this rate, he really didn't care. The old plane hulk hideout was compromised. Hunting CID agents was more for sport than an absolute need of survival. Things got boring in the jungle after a few days.

Koski read the look on Heigen's face. No matter how well he was able to hide it, Jan knew.

"You've got nothing to worry about Noel. I'm fine. The Hebrew Hammer's ready to roll."

He reached out and pulled his seatbelt back on. "Best we lock in. I have a feeling things are about to get rough."

The truck lurched forward almost as quickly as he secured himself in. They were off.

[Austrakia]

Matti was still working on getting his breath back and feeling his adrenaline bleed off from its peak only minutes ago. He sunk into the SUV seat as they got under way, not fully confident in their safety, but a lot more so than he had been wandering between warehouses and gravestones. He pointed his Steyr down and looked around at his Shalumite companions and Yellowsian guides that filled the rest of the vehicle.

“Hey, Matti?” Strasbourg gently nudged him with her elbow, the point of it digging into his side. It woke Matti up a bit from his stupor, making him focus.
“Was it just me or are you really sore from that overwatch spot too? I swear my ass and back are going to hurt for the next couple of days.” She flashed him a little smile and let her hands drop back into her lap. “I hope this ride doesn’t get too bumpy, eh?”

Walder nodded. "No, I'm a little sore, too. It's not just you. Comes with the territory, of course. We just need to get used to it more. I think if we'd trudged through half of southern Glisandia like the rest of these guys, we'd probably be a little more acclimated"

He looked over at the Shalumite woman and his mind started to lose focus again. He reached out and lightly patted her shoulder. He wanted to grip her hand as the last wave of adrenaline washed over him, but he compromised to this.
"It's going to be okay, Amalia. I think the ride is probably going to be a little bumpy, but...<Wir werden gut sein>"

[USG Security Corporation]

The Highway to Steinbrudden

They were silent for most of the ride after leaving Arnarauga. Sure, there was a little bit of joking courtesy of Heigen, Lockhart and even Koski managed to come out of his dark shell a bit. Most of it was at the expense of their hosts. The Teremarans - Walder, Heigen and Koski, were especially well versed in Yellowsian jokes. The Marxist Nordics weren't always the brunt of the region's wrath, but when they were ...look out. Liliha, Graves, the Shalumites and Kravchenko kept mostly quiet. Out of the Yellowsians, only Jakirsson spoke fluent English, and he chose to keep silent rather than alert his fellow resistance fighters that they were being chided behind their backs.

The rest listened, checked their gear and did whatever it was they did on mission downtime: checked their phones, wrote, watched the scenery, or studied the mission maps a little further. The scenery was equal parts austere, boring and breathtaking. They passed low hills, tundra plains, evergreen forests, mineral rich walls and steep drop offs. At one point, they drove through a burnt down village.

Walder inquired,
"From the coalition bombing?"

Jakirsson responded,
"No. This is Ekjandijn. They rioted when the food rations were cut during the war. The government did this to their own people."

It was sobering.
As they got closer to their destination, Ari-Galan called for one last stop on a side road. They pulled over into the trees. He waited until everyone was back from relieving themselves. He didn't need to say a word, they all just naturally grouped around.
"This is going to be a test coming up. Our host..." He pointed towards Jakirsson, "...has informed me that we will be going close by the ISVC Arctic warfare training site. We may hit more than one checkpoint. We need to be sure we have our papers in order and ISVC badges. Also, if things go south, we need to be prepared for that, as well."

The Israeli ceded the figurative floor. Jakirsson took over.
"We are going to want to redistribute and condense vehicles. Most of the resistance don't have adequate identification and won't make it through. They will be taking one sport vehicle and going around, taking the next turn. Chances are we won’t see them again as they will be going many kilometers the wrong direction. I’m sorry if this seems like an outlandish risk, but our next contact is near Steinbrudden and we would have to also detour otherwise to take a very roundabout way to both Steinbrudden, and further onto Arkjelstad. This facility, being an ISVC center, is even more heavily guarded than PRA (People’s Red Army) bases around the Republic, so the precautions are necessary.”

Noel Heigen nodded matter of factly,
“Of course it is. Why should we stop taking bites out of the shit sandwich now? I mean, why would things ever go our way? That’s fuckin’ boring. Am I right?”

Ari-Galan glared at him for a moment, but said nothing. Then he shrugged.
“Yes. Boring. Since you’re so happy about it, Vanderholt, there’s no sense standing around seeming like you are moaning. Let’s get to it, people. Start shuffling the gear around and packing it into the three remaining vehicles. The larger tan one is the one our hosts are going to take around, so let’s get all the team gear out of there, first off…Shake the cobwebs out and let’s move!”
The Israeli Major was the first one to grab a bag, leading by example.

CO-RP'd with Austrakia, Neu Engollon, and Yellow Star Republic

[USG Security Corporation]

The Highway to Steinbrudden

They heard it before they saw it. Gunfire and small explosions.
Major Ari-Galan cautioned them as he felt some of Garden team tense, both in his car and over the comms network,
“Remember. Training center.”

Sure enough, as the spread out convoy came over a rise and bend, they saw down into a shallow valley with wood towers and hastily constructed buildings that were obviously not habitable, and likely for training only. Barbed wire was strung up or in rolls in several places and all the personnel running about and popping off blanks wore white or grey mottled camouflage to suit the climate.
The USG Major, in the lead vehicle, told his driver to slow down, but not stop as that would draw attention. He put field glasses up to observe.
“Vanderholt. Vadimovich. You would appreciate this. Look at the unit closest to that third tower down there.”

Heigen only saw tiny figures, but a Yellowsian in their vehicle handed him binoculars, not understanding what was was being spoken, but seeing Heigen squint to make out the foreign soldiers. Heigen held up the field glasses and scanned.
“Fuck! Those are goddamn Cardies!” He passed the glasses to Koski aka Vadimovich.

Sure enough, very frosted looking Cardwithian soldiers were in the middle of a mock assault on a couple of the plywood buildings. They held in their mittened hands Falkasian and domestic produced made rifles and SMGs. Not that they could tell from this distance, but were Heigen or Koski able to focus in on their shoulder patches, they might recognize the emblem for the 9th CPA Regiment. Both he and the other USG veteran had fought against the 9th and other Cardwithian regiments during the Hutanjian War. It was a bit disconcerting to see them here out of their normal tropical element.

Besides the Cardwithians, Gylians, Pan-Asians, Diarcesian, Viet and troops from several other tropical and moderate climate nations were scattered over the training center, along with ISVC trainers from not only the YSR, but Victores, Frozen Forest, Aressna and other cold weather nations. It was a large showing of the new strength of the revolutionary militant arm of the International Socialist Congress, and surely its import was not lost on the members of Garden Team.

Certain as their team leader and hosts had been, there was indeed a checkpoint only meters in front of them as they crested another low hill. They hurriedly put away the field glasses, as that would look bad when they had no reason to spy upon what should be their home base.

“Here we go.” Not even from their leader, but from Matti Walder.

[Falkasia]

Koski took the field glasses from Heigen and did a quick scan; left to right, before passing them back. He wore a momentary grim look on his face, breaking his normal facade of stoicism.

"From their training patterns, I'd say they're working on something big." he concluded. "Strange bedfellows to be honest. I never understood why Falkasia kept the regime propped up given the ideological differences. You make your own demons, right?"

Jan readjusted the strap of his dented W-2 and shrugged at Noel and Walder.

"Just a passing thought... but if we end up getting stopped in the camp we should see what we can do to snoop around. Maybe gather up some intel on what they're planning. Might be worth something."

[Shalum]

“<Natürlich werden wir>” Amalia replied as she inclined her head slightly as she looked back at him. Reaching down, the straps of her gloves came undone. Pulling them off, she set the study pair aside and ran her hand through her reddish-brown hair. “I think I’m getting soft. No more calluses,” she held up her hands as if to emphasize the point.

“Too much desk jockeying, Amalia.” The other operator, Bastiaan, chuckled as he glanced back at the pair. “You spent too much time on the range, training the new guys, and not enough out here with us.”

Rolling her eyes, the younger woman kicked the back of his seat. “Someone has to teach them how to shoot.” It wasn’t as if there was a shortage, but few could hit targets at a distance like she could. “Asshole,” she added under her breath. Glancing over at Matti, she smiled. “You know, if it gets too rough, feel free to hold onto...me if need be. I’m sturdier than I look,” she winked.

As the training center grew into view, however, even the easy going Shalumites seemed to tense a fraction. Although neither of them had even met a Cardie, it was clear that they were exactly the most highly respected among the rest of their piers. That in itself was enough to make them wary. They may have been getting paid handsomely to handle whatever trouble came their way, but that didn't mean any of them were exactly keen on engaging in conflict unless they couldn't avoid it. "Any, um, tips for dealing with them if we get stopped?" Bastiaan asked as his eyes focused on the buildings, and figures, in the distance.

[Austrakia]

“<Natürlich werden wir>” Amalia replied as she inclined her head slightly as she looked back at him.

“Ja, of course.” Matti agreed. He glanced around, then back out the windows at the scenery going by, trying not to keep gazing over at Amalia.

When he looked back, she was running her hand through her reddish-brown hair. It didn’t help him in trying to focus on other things, like the mission. “I think I’m getting soft. No more calluses,” She held up her hands as if to emphasize the point.

“Too much desk jockeying, Amalia.” The other operator, Bastiaan, chuckled as he glanced back at the pair. “You spent too much time on the range, training the new guys, and not enough out here with us.”

Rolling her eyes, the younger woman kicked the back of his seat. “Someone has to teach them how to shoot.” It wasn’t as if there was a shortage, but few could hit targets at a distance like she could. “Asshole,” She added under her breath, but Matti, sitting right next to her, heard her distinctly. Glancing over at Matti, she smiled. “You know, if it gets too rough, feel free to hold onto...me if need be. I’m sturdier than I look,” she winked.

Matti raised an eyebrow and smirked. He spoke in German.
“I might just have to do that.”
That was it. He was going bonkers over her. He took her in his arms and locked lips solidly with her. In his mind, anyway. Here in reality, he just continued to smile at her and exchange knowing looks. Then, he played it cool and tried again to focus a bit outside of the vehicle, gathering his thoughts and keeping mission focus.

As they neared the training center and heard the dummy munitions going off, he heeded the Major’s reminder, as he was ready to jump out of the vehicle and engage them with his Steyr AR whoever was shooting at them. No one was shooting at them...yet.

Heigen and Koski reacted to seeing ‘Cardies’, or Cardwithians to use the non-pejorative demonym for the Wishton islanders. Wishtonia being the nearest grouping of islands far to the south of Tavlyria and Teremara, Walder was aware of who they were and some of the import they held.

Especially when it came to Neu Engollians.
Other than the war that they had fought with his own home Republik almost one hundred years ago (in one year’s time), Neu Engollon hadn’t fought a major war since. That was the official line, but many knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. Many veterans finished their terms in the NEDF and then found employ with the USGSC PMC, after serving a contract or two with the private military company, the Confederacy put a lot of pressure on both the soldier and the private company to bring that veteran back into the national fold, with added combat experience bonus thrown in. In this way, Neu Engollon’s defense forces maintained a large corps of veterans distributed throughout their militia regiments, despite being a peaceful, ‘neutral’ nation for almost a century.

Officially, they denied the whole process. Most of their neighbors knew, and especially Austrakia, who had experienced the blunt end of these vets when Neu Engollian special operations forces conducted raids on the border and thwarted Austrakian border forces. Skirmishes flared up every few years, and Austrakian troops lack of combat experience in comparison to these secret USG vets was often putting them on the losing end of these firefights.

Bastiaan broke that train of thought for him "Any, um, tips for dealing with them if we get stopped?"

Matti wanted to know the answer to that, also, as he’d never come up against Cardwithians, or any other of the nationalities represented in the snowy tundra down in that training center. He prepared for danger again.

[Shalum]

Up in the front seat, Bastiaan waited with his rifle tucked between his legs, body rocking with the car as it plodded along the path. A couple terms with the company had, without a doubt, spoiled him. While they had never spent an unnecessary dollar on a thing, much less earn the ire of their shareholders, his employers had always implemented measures to make the lives of their operators easier. Moments like this made him miss the Shalumite built utility vehicles that he had grown accustomed to. The models they were issued may not have been the fanciest - really they were more like bricks with wheels, but damn if they weren’t a smooth ride even in rough conditions.

“You know, I’m going to take the silence as a hard ‘no’ if no one has any helpful tips.” He grunted, expression tightening as he looked towards the training center. The Shalumite wasn’t exactly keen on being left in the dark. They were in a strange land without access to reliable backup, and the last thing he wanted was for them to end up creek without a paddle. That was a job for the intelligence agents. He, on the other hand, was just a specialized grunt.

Slipping from her restraints, Amala wiggled a little closer to her Austrakian teammate. It wasn’t the sort of field that she was used to playing - there was no makeup, or even an appealing outfit at her disposal. All she could offer was herself, clad in fatigues and sporting a rifle that had seen her through thick and thin. “I can’t see anything,” her head practically rested on his shoulder, “can you, Matti?” She breathed a moment later, eyes focused on the window, even as one hand gripped at his arm for support.

[Wandering Argonians]

"Any suggestions for dealing with them if we get stopped?"

Kravchenko chuckled softly at the response forming in his head...

"Don't shoot them in the face just yet..."

Bullshit, bribes, and finally bullets were the solutions for potential discovery, at least as far as he'd been taught. A basic overview without much in the way of training in their execution. One couldn't train a skilled bullshit artist, which was why they were typically recruited by the intelligence agencies. One could give basic guidelines as to how to administer bribes, but not give much in the way of tutorials as to the amount of tact involved. Bullets, on the other hand, were a bit easier to instruct in the art of their administration.

A bullshit artist Kravchenko was not, not did he know much about bribes outside of handing off wads of currency. A gunfighter however, he was. It was his dual specialty in this line of work. He palmed his shiny new ID, keeping it handy for the 'bullshit' phase of his personal contingency plan. Still, he wasn't in charge here, that was Schlomo's shtick. He'd plug the new holes if the lead started flying, as he'd been contracted to do.

The others seemed on edge suddenly, which was understandable as they were driving into a legitimate enemy training center, which meant bookoo bad-guy bodies & he only had bullets for a few of them. They'd just have to share, he mused fatalistically. In reality, all he had were pistol-caliber munitions to kill whole companies of troops. They'd be quickly killed off or captured if discovered, that was the cold reality staring in at them from the windows...

"Anybody got a worthwhile wad of local currency? Even dirty communists like the occasional bribe..."

[USG Security Corporation]

Major Shlomo Ari-Galan listened to the patter in the other SUV over the comms systems. The budding relationship between the Austrakian and the Shalumite woman was apparent, but not much of his concern as Garden Team leader. Sure, it could cause motivations and reactions to change in both, endangering the mission, but that was true of any strong bond between comrades on a mission and in the line of fire. A potential sexual relationship as a layer on top of a friendship didn't really magnify that any more. He trusted them to be professional while on the mission, as he had to trust any of them with his life. There were a couple members of the team he still wasn't sure if he did entrust his life to, but neither Mattias nor Amalia were in that column.

They approached the roadblock checkpoint at a normal pace, as the driver was instructed to do. If they sped up, or the opposite - crept up, it would arouse immediate suspicion. The Yellowsians held passes issued to civilians in the logistics chain of the People's Red Army of the YSR. Garden Team had their ISVC passes ready.

"Anybody got a worthwhile wad of local currency? Even dirty communists like the occasional bribe..." Kravchenko said.

Ari-Galan shook his head slightly.
"That's not a great idea. It will just take one very ideological soldier to report a guard for taking a bribe and we're done, even if not right here and now. More so if we show our ISVC 'legitimate' badges, then try to finesse it further with cash. That would all but put out the red flags that we have false covers and no confidence in their validity to get us through a checkpoint. Keep your wallets in your pockets, please, and be ready with the badges. I will do all the talking."

There was no further time for talk as they pulled up. The checkpoint was a temporary set up, with sandbags, cones and movable crowd control gates to direct and obstruct traffic. Two PRA soldiers manned a machine gun propped up on a barrier of sandbags that the USG Major couldn't identify, being that it was not of the expected East Euro bloc manufacture. Not of total shock, but to bring the point home, two soldiers that were obviously not PRA stood, slightly swaying as they rocked to keep warm. They wore every bit of thermal gear possible, including snow camo mottled battle tunics designed to retain body heat. Despite their coldweather gear, they still seemed rather stiff from the cold. Their normally brown faces were ashen under tight curly dark hair shaved close. On their sleeves were the Wishtonian Panther adorned crests of the 9th Regiment of the Cardwithian People's Army. In their arms were cradled AK-113 assault rifles.

The Major smiled.
"Shalom."
He held up his ISVC badge, lanyard dangling, shoving it near the face of their Yellowsian resistance driver and out to the PRA NCO that had made a motion to roll down the window.

The NCO squinted and frowned, but not because the badges were unexpected. While still looking at it and then at the others presented in the vehicle, he asked,
"What is your business here? Why are you out of uniform?"

Ari-Galan shrugged.
"Our business is not your concern or clearance. We need to be allowed to proceed to conduct it, however..."

"Is your business on base?"

"We are officers and should be addressed as such. Also, I made myself certainly clear the first time, Sergeant. Where is your commander?"

"Uh...he's not here now, sir." The PRA NCO looked over to a corporal, who nodded that he had checked the identification of the occupants of the second vehicle. Also, another trooper had run a mirror on a stick under both vehicles and gave a thumbs up.

"Do you need to call your commander here, Sergeant?" Major Ari-Galan pressed.

"...No. Uh..No, sir. We do not."

The two 'Cardies' had stopped shaking long enough to step up and peer closer in to the vehicles. One of them took a long lingering look over Koski.

"Good. Can we be on our way, please?...Now?" Shlomo raised his eyebrows and kept up the disarming smile, then tapped at his wristwatch. He noticed the scrutiny of the Cardwithian troopers, but didn't want to give them more time to formulate questions or an opinion in their minds.

"Yes, sir."
He waved and the gate was moved by one of the Yellowsian troopers.

The Major put a hand on the driver's arm before he could roll the window back up.
"I will put in the good word about the fine work you and your men are doing here, Sergeant. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir."

With that they drove off. Shlomo waited a moment as the checkpoint shrunk in the rearview mirrors, then spoke.
"And That ladies and gentlemen, is how it is done. Keep them off balance and on the defensive. Threaten them with their superior's wrath and always assume authority, even when you have none. It has worked every time I have ever had to bluff through a checkpoint. Unless those manning it are fanatical, irrational whackjobs, then all bets are off...Luckily, the likely odds stayed with us. That's one checkpoint, so far. Unto the next."

[Yellow Star Republic]

The Approach to Steinbrudden
NW of the City

It was more silence, more tension, and more driving after they left the last checkpoint. Miraculously, they didn’t hit another one before their arrival at the new safe house outside Steinbrudden. The other SUV would meet them there.

They arrived at their destination, at least according to Jakirsson. With their senses very honed, they didn’t let down their guard and trust that it was an immediate safe haven. The trees surrounding and the light wind blowing seemed peaceful, but also ominous.

Major Ari-Galan wanted desperately to rest, to give in to the true age of his body, but the soldier in him would keep on powering on. He continued to assess the situation, giving out short inquiries to the rest of his team, who reported back what was already evident. It didn’t seem to be a trap and all the Yellowsians there toting weapons were most of the same ones that they had seen on the beach since first entering the Republic, plus a handful of different ones who had joined along the way.
The new ones didn’t cause alarm, as it was predictable to how a resistance group should operate and Jakkirsson was always forthcoming when new members joined the group.

He continued to scan the windows of the house in the twilight, as well as possible egress points.
“We will need a first shift."
Then the Israeli born contract officer waved out, “Vadimovich, Tovarsson, and Brynleifersson on first watch. Kaiyo, Jones, and Heinkmann will be on second.” He was careful to still use their covers, even with only three Yellowsians around them, presumably allies.

Once again, Jakirsson said nothing. He knew there was a level of mistrust there, but he couldn’t blame the foreign mercenaries. He was sure they had had their share of native guides and allies turning on them. He had his doubts right now, having not spoken to the owner of this house in person in quite some time.

Then he saw him. Sporting ski jacket over a thick sweater, jeans and thick slipper boots for when one wasn't going out for any extended period, which would require more rugged boots. It was the style for many Yellowsians. Groomed black beard with grey, and piercing green eyes, just as he remembered him. He stood on the front deck, which was ramped down to the yard, with the bottom dusted in snow trying to creep up the planking in its ever slow battle to overtake everything in the Republic.
<“Hello Hallur.”>

<“How long it’s been, Evald?”>

<“Too long, my friend. Too long.”> He switched to English from Yelskja, “I hear you’ve been mixing it up with the counter-revolutionaries and capitalists.”

“And their mercenary lackeys.” Jakirsson pointed back to Garden Team. Ari-Galan looked annoyed, but didn’t object. He understood the humor.

“Eder Farbmann. Team Leader. How do you do?”

“I do just fine, Team Leader Farbmann. I am Evald Larsson.” He looked the Semite up and down, judging him appropriately as a well seasoned warrior and leader. He got similar vibes from most of the others. “You should all come inside to get warm. They’re moving in the wrong direction. Are they joining us?”

Ari-Galan replied without looking back at Strasbourg, Kravchenko and Koski spreading out to cover different patches of woods.
“Maybe later.”

They went inside and Larsson stopped them. “I take extra time to keep my rugs and floors clean, but every little bit helps. If you wouldn’t mind…” He pointed to a boot mat.

Shlomo shook his head and smiled. “We mind. You’ll just have to send us the cleaning bill.”
There was no way they were ditching their coats, boots or gear. He just didn’t have a good feeling.

“Well, that’s not how guests should act, but...what is there to do? At least shake the snow and dirt off best you can.”

Walder answered, “I think that can be done, for sure.” He vigorously stomped and scraped all the snow off his boots, as did most of the others. Jones didn’t seem bothered.

They entered and found themselves in an expansive main floor space with rugs, seats and benches set up. They were expected. A large central table held various sized mugs.

Larsson was more muted in enthusiasm now,
“The mugs are filled with tea and there’s a tray of snacks and some pickled herring. I can get stronger stuff if we need it.”

Again, Garden Actual spoke for the group as he grabbed a mug.
“That’s not necessary, the tea will be fine, thank you. We’re on business.”

“Sure, of course. Alright then. In the message, Hallur mentioned that you might be seeking...treasures?”

“Looted treasures, to be exact. Artifacts, royal jewels, actual pieces of art and sculptures. Anything that could have been passed through from Glisandia.”

“Oh, yes. The famous looted treasures of the Royal Glisandian treasury.”

“Don’t forget the museums, libraries and other antiquities collections. Your countrymen, at least those in charge during the occupation, took everything that wasn’t nailed down. Then they reached for the crowbars.”

“I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t believe you. It’s just difficult to not be sceptical of the scale you claim, Mr. Farbmann. I do keep up with a certain society here in Steinbrudden. I hear claims. I know that some who could afford it, high party and government officials, talked about wanting the pieces, but that not many if any landed here in this central city. This was only a way station. They passed on from here.”

“How many pieces? Passed to where?”

“Do you have weeks to hang around the city? I don’t recall. I’d have to ask a lot of questions as to who saw them; how many they saw; and where they were shipped off to. I have to assume the capital, but I don’t know that for a fact.”

“You can’t recall one name?”

“I...I have to think.”

“Good. Think hard.” Ari-Galan stood up and went to grab some of the snacks. He even put some pickled herring on a plate, one of the few to try it. It was like a similar food in his country.

The rest of Garden Team, while still keeping their gear close, began to spread out and relax, drinking their tea. They were conscious to save 3 cups and some snacks for those on guard duty outside.

Jakirsson approached Larsson, speaking in Yelskja again.
<“Do you really not know who?”>

<“It’s been a couple years, Hallur. Everyone was talking about them during the war. It’s not that big a secret that the RLO walked off with anything of value in Glisandia. It just didn’t stay here. I think…”>

<“You think or you know?”>

<“I think...that I’m thinking. What have you really been up to? We hit some lean times here these few months. They’ve gotten some good people.”> He focused back on Jakirsson.

<“Yes, I know. I heard. I was also fighting the good fight. I have been trying to get support, you know. We couldn’t do this alone. If we could bring down the RLO from within, it would have been done already.”>

<“Oh, I know that, for sure…”> He looked intensely at Jakirsson, <“You didn’t tell them, did you? That I worked in the RLO?”>

<“No! They don’t need to know that. Besides, you were an analyst or clerk or something, right?”>

<“Right. Something like that.”>

<”Something like that?”>

Major Ari-Galan strode up while the rest of his team got snacks or took in little naps.
“Hi. Remember us over here? I’d really appreciate it if you conducted your conversation in English, gentlemen. For all our sakes.”

Larsson nodded.
“My apologies, Major. We’re done. There’s not much else I can tell you, but I will message my contacts through a discreet network and see if they have information for you. That’s the best I can do, other than offer you this safe refuge for a bit.”

Shlomo Ari-Galan shrugged.
“If that’s the best you can offer, then so be it. Refuge is always treasured.”
He walked off, leaving the two Yellowsians exchanging glances.

They idled the time until the Major decided a shift change was in order. Garden were highly functioning Tier One operators. It took them no time to bring in their first sentinels and send out the next group. Then it was more refueling and recuperating from the day.

---

Safe house outside Steinbrudden

A large team from the 61st JaegerFlok, a group of the elite special forces of the People’s Red Army of the YSR, closed in from the West. Meanwhile, from the East, a platoon from the B Co/1 Bn of the 9th Cardwithian People’s Army Regiment did their part to close the loop on the mercenaries in the house. It was the 9th CPA Regiment that Garden Team had seen earlier from the road across the fields. While the 9th were there at the ISVC base to gain some Arctic warfare training, they were by no means poor soldiers by any other regard and were very adept at tight maneuvers, especially when the foe was a dozen or so mercenaries and guerrilla fighters. The Cardwithians had been well blooded in their own independence war, and were not shy about close engagement.

The brown toned Melanesian troopers in white battle parkas and gear kept their pacing, then slowed as they got within sight of the house. The lieutenant in charge waved on scouts to track down the security that would surely be present. Weeks of training in the snow bore them well.

The JaegerFlok were actually the first to make contact with the Garden Team pickets. The commandos were also well blooded combat veterans, having fought during the occupation of Glisandia, and later against that nation’s fanatical Christian rebel elements that often tried to slip over the border.

Damian Jones aka Jeffrey Graves didn’t stand a chance as he attempted to track motion just beyond a ridge, then his peripheral vision caught up to see the shape envelop him. He felt a sinking feeling as he realized he had been tricked. That sinking feeling might also have been the dagger that was shoved into his throat by the Yellowsian PRA commando that got to him first. Graves flailed wildly in the headlock of the JaegerFlok commando, and his grunts went out over the team comms net, as he thrashed, helplessly drowning in his own blood.

Matti Walder hissed into his mic in response to the grunts and gargling.
“Jones! Is that you?”
Liliha was within sight of him, and he motioned to her with his hand. Trouble. Get down
“Jones!”

Kaiyo aka Liliha Sengpranach looked worried, quickly scanning the trees, rifle forward. Matti covered the other direction, doing the same. Then he saw it. A shadow darting between trees.
There was no need to whisper now.
“Garden! We’re under…”

FWOOMP!

“...ATTACK!!”

The round landed closer to Liliha than Matti, but it still lifted him off his feet. In the instant light cast from the explosion, in the seconds he could focus, he saw all he needed to see. Her small body was torn apart by the blast, the look of shock still frozen on her face. Then bark, branches, snow, dirt, blood and bits of body rained down as it quickly went dark again, but for tracers zipping through the pines.

Matti crawled to a tree, his ears were numb, likely deafened by that grenade round that had detonated within meters of him. He patted himself, feeling for entry wounds. There were a few in his limbs and bits in his neck, but most of the shrapnel was embedded in his armor. Then he felt the cascading wetness. In the light of the faint moon and that glow seeping from behind the house’s blackout curtains, he saw darkness washed over his left shoulder. He felt around, but was certain that his shoulder was okay. Then he probed up higher. It was technically a head wound, but focused on his ear. His left lobe was gone, sheared off by the shrapnel. It had also scraped along the bottom of his cranium. He’d live, but he should get it patched up soon-ish.
“Shit. Attack is at least platoon strength...This is Heinkmann." He threw in as an afterthought, "We’re down Kaiyo. No word on Jones or our friendly.”
The Yellowsian fighter sent to team up with Graves might have bought it, or had been in on the attack, pulling the trigger on Graves himself. It wasn’t worth stewing over now.

He had managed to hold onto his Steyr bullpup carbine and it was fortuitous as the Cardwithians closed in. He shot in short bursts, taking out the advance two, and keeping the rest of their heads down. He wanted to retreat to the house, but he might be the last line of defense from their attackers sending a hail of RPGs through every window.

It was like the Major read his mind.
“Hold your position, Heinkmann. We’re coming out to you, circle to the vehicles. Keep up covering fire.”

[Falkasia]

The Approach to Steinbrudden
NW of the City

The hair stood up on the back of Jan's neck. He knew something was wrong before his sense caught up with his subconscious. The subtle crunching of snow from behind him heightened his alert, but the cautiously advancing snow drifts were what did him in. Nature doesn't move against the wind. Fucking amateurs.

A red flag went up in his mind, and he spun around. In the same instant a serrated kukri dropped where his shoulder blade was a second before, to find only chilled air. Koski instinctively lifted his rifle, jamming it into the combatant's open armpit and pulled the trigger. The 7.62 rounds vaporized his rib cage and vital organs in the same instant the snow turned a sickly red. Both he and his opponent hit the hard snow, although Jan to reduce his profile and rolled behind a nearby fallen log.

Frantically he keyed his radio, fumbling for the frequency. At this point, their cover be damned.

"Contact center. Two hundred yards! Several dozen foot mobiles converging on the house."

There was a deafening explosion nearby. He couldn't hear himself think or speak.

"Fighting retreat back to Baseplate!!" He signed off, popping his head above the log only long enough to take a headcount.

It didn't matter. His simple movement was rewarded with a torrent of LMG fire, ripping what remained of the wood into tiny splinters. With the machine gun out there, he had no opportunity to run. With outstretched hands, he began to dig a shallow canal in front of him and alligator crawled his way towards a small rock outcropping. If he could make it there, he'd have enough cover to assess the situation.

There was a telltale "fwomp" in the distance. They had mortars.

[Wandering Argonians]

Kravchenko had been doing a quick inventory of his medical bag before turning in for a few hours of rest, after he'd rotated off the sentry line. More for his own peace of mind than anything else, there was a comfort in knowing the tools of his trade were prepared for use. That was handy, as what sounded like RPG rounds began thumping outside the safehouse. Without a word, he swam an arm through the sling of his Vector 9mm sub-gun & moved to a fighting position near the room where he & the others had been quartered.

LMG fire chattered uncomfortably close to his position, not close enough for the snap of a near-miss, but close enough to be of great concern. This was clearly a large & well-organized offensive designed to wipe his outfit out. Derrick couldn't blame them, but he did tend to take these sorts of things personally. There were already casualties, and judging by the sitreps coming in clipped bursts over his comms, they were well beyond even his abilities...

"Garden, this is Bonesaw. Establishing CCP at safehouse."

There wasn't much point in clogging the net with anything else. There also wasn't much point in trying to tend to the wounded until the gunfight died down. The immutable laws of TCCC stated that outgoing fire was the best medicine. Having his gun in the fight was of greater importance, but he was still close by. The Vector felt tinny & useless in his hands, a pop-gun compared to the angry bursts of machine-gun fire & the haunting whistles of mortar rounds overhead as they bracketed their position with walking indirect fire. His years of experience told him that this was very, very bad. Still, there were worse ways to die.

Kravchenko tucked the unfolded stock of his sub-gun into his shoulder & scanned again for targets...

[Neu Engollon]

Noel Heigen had absolutely, positively, without a doubt, had enough of this bullshit.

Was what he would have time to think to himself when the world stopped crashing down. They all heard Matti Walder's warning at the same time as the blasts hit all around them. As almost a singular entity, Garden Team reacted on honed instinct of warriors with a collective multitude of years in the line of fire. Heigen watched as Koski and Kravchenko exited the safe house back into the wintry maelstrom. It wasn't a completely idiotic idea, as the place would likely become a tinderbox with the amount of firepower raining down upon it.

The windows of the house splintered inward from rapid bursts from a machine gun. Plaster, wood splinters and glass shards were covering every upholstered, carpeted and fine varnished surface. One end of the couch he ambled past was on fire.
As Noel low crawled through the living room, he watched their hosts, the Yellowsian alleged resistance fighters, to see if any of them might have betrayed them. Two of the lower level men had rushed to the windows to help repel the attackers, and now they both lay prone, stitched with high caliber rounds and leaking their blood into Larsson's plush carpet.

The two old friends, Jakirsson and Larsson, both seemed to be having some sort of shouting match in Yelskja, of which he couldn't make anything out, even if his ears weren't being assaulted by constant gunfire racket. He crawled to them. Much as he hated to admit it, without Jakirsson, they would probably be fucked. Garden Team could be stuck right here, dead smack center in the heart of the Yellow Star Republic with no way out. As such, Jakirsson was an asset to be protected. As Noel got closer to the back hallway where they were arguing, he saw them go to ground, wrestling with a knife and gun.
He raised his snub SMG but held fire, not sure which one was the traitor that deserved a bullet and which one needed saving.
"Garden, Heigen here. I have eyes on..." He forgot their host's code word and didn't see the use of using his own cover now. "...Jakirsson and host friend. They're trying to take each other out. Not to dinner."

"Garden, this is Bonesaw. Establishing CCP at safehouse."

[Yellow Star Republic]

Hallur Jakirsson didn't have an earpiece in to hear the Garden Team communications. All he could do was read the room. The read wasn't good. He rushed into the back, catching Larsson tapping away on his phone.
<Is that them? Are you talking to them now?>

<What?! Them who? Fuck off. I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Same as you.>

<You gave us up, Evald. You betrayed us.>

<You're mad! I had nothing to do with this. They're shooting up my house. Why would they do that if I was on their side?>

Jakirsson pulled out his pistol and closed the distance. Loud blasts rocked the manor as RPG and mortar rounds hit home. It was a sturdy log construction, but it wouldn't be able to withstand much more of this, and they were only seconds in. Jakirsson heard the glass blow inward and dishes from the kitchen shatter, but he was focused on one man only. None of the background chaos mattered at this point.

<You're making a mistake, Hallur.>

<You made the mistake. You betrayed the Revolution. How long have you been working for them? Were you ever on our side?>

Larsson sighed heavily, slumping down along the wall, and in the same motion pushing away at Jakirsson's pistol.
<I was. I tried. They found my mother, Hallur. They took her from her nursing home, despite my attempts to cover the tracks. They have her hostage. If I didn't cooperate, they were going to...to do things to her.>

<I'm sorry, but...you gave up so much just for her. You destroyed so many lives. Let them tear us apart.>

<Not really all of us. They really just wanted you. You and the foreign mercenaries. They were going to let the rest of us off light.>

Hallur raised the pistol.
<We're talking about the RLO! You think they'd let you off light? You really are delusional. Clouded by your fear.
Well, your part is done. I hope it was fucking worth it...Throwing away your country.>

Evald produced a knife from his sleeve and slashed in the same motion. Hallur Jakirsson yelled out as the stinging pain tore through his wrist. It didn't hit the artery, but it was plenty enough to make him drop the pistol. Both of them dove for it. Evald still tried to drive the knife into Hallur, while Hallur wrestled with his good hand to hold off the blows and lock down the slashing hand of his former friend. His other hand, spraying blood, scrabbled alongside Evald's hand reaching for the gun.

<It's over! You think they'll let you live now? Your usefulness is done. Stop it!>

<I have plenty more usefulness to them. You could too. You stop this!>
Both men were aware that one of the mercenaries hovered nearby, his submachine gun trained on them.

Hallur drove his knee into Evald's groin, and in the same second, he twisted the knife back in towards his old comrade, slamming it home into his torso. It wasn't an immediate killing blow, but it knocked the wind out of the host.

<Gaaagghhkkk! Asshole! What is your problem? This will accomplish nothing!>

They still wrestled, but Evald was losing steam fast with a knife still sticking out of his chest. Hallur finally held a hand to Evald's neck, while Evald slapped at his face and clawed, trying to forestall the inevitable. Hallur withdrew the blade and slammed it back down, this time near his old friend's heart, puncturing a lung and nicking an artery. The energy rapidly left Evald Larsson and his hands slumped to the floor. He was slowly wheezing out what was probably the last of his breath.

Jakirsson sat up and slouched against the hallway wall. He eyed Heigen, who was still intently zeroed in on him with the SMG.
He saw Evald's phone against the baseboard of the opposite wall and casually reached for it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Neu Engollian's weapon follow him. The barrel was targeted on his chest. Hallur gripped the cell tightly, then pitched it at Heigen who didn't bother to try to scoop it mid-air, but let it fall in front of his knees. A little flick of Jakirsson's blood from his wounded wrist inked the wall in a line in the same motion.
"Here! Larsson betrayed us. It's all in there...if you care to read. His texts to them about when to come get us."

Heigen motioned his head out towards the front of the house.
"Yes, I always have time to read in the middle of a fuckin' firefight."

"This wasn't my fault. I am not a traitor. So you can lower your machine gun."

"Yeah?"

"I told you. It's all on that phone."

Heigen shrugged.
"Put down your gun and we'll sort it out later. We have to live, first."

"I'm fighting my way out of here, too."

"We'll see. Put the gun down."

Larsson slapped a bloody hand on the wall, startling both of them.
He raised his head, but the pain was evident.
"It was...was...all...me. Hallur didn...not...betray yeh...you."
The former house host huffed out in labored breaths. His other hand wrapped around his blade still lodged in his chest.
His head flopped back down as his eyes winced with the pain.

"See?!"

"Oh, yes. The traitor vouched for you. Now I'm a fuckin' believer." Heigen chuckled. He had made sure that the whole conversation was going out over the Garden comms net.

"You just called him the traitor. Which means you must have some idea of what's going on." Jakirsson insisted.

Major Ari-Galan's voice broke in over the comms.
"Heigen. Don't let him walk out of that hallway with the gun. And don't turn your back on him."

Noel responded.
"I wouldn't think of it."

Jakirsson's face got even more angry, thinking that Heigen was talking to him.
"You have to think about it! The situation demands it. I am on your side!"

A mortar impacted on the kitchen outer wall. Another Yellowsian resistance fighter was shredded by the appliance shrapnel tornado that followed. The cacophony of gunfire outside was growing louder. No matter that they had a mole inside, all the occupants were apparently slated for execution as far as the RLO were concerned.

"Look...Just drop the gun. You're leaving without it, or you're not leaving at all. You can lay next to your buddy there."

More .50 caliber rounds punched through the walls in the front rooms, not armored to withstand this type of weather.
It was enough to draw Jakirsson's attention up front. Heigen lunged, slamming the butt of his SMG down on Hallur's gun hand and slapping it to the floor.
When Jakirsson instinctively reached down to retrieve it, Heigen gave him a sharp open handed smack to the face, knocking him back and forcing him to trip over Larsson's prone body.
"No!" The Neu Engollian barked and jabbed a finger at Jakirsson as if he was admonishing a bad dog.

Jakirsson sat up, massaging his jaw.
"We need to get out of here."

"We do. Do you know if there's a back way out? They seem to have the front covered pretty well."

"I don't remember this house. It's been years."

Heigen crouch walked forward and stepped on Larsson's hand, getting the dying man's attention.
"Hey! Blofeld! Is there a back way outta here?"

Larsson was barely conscious now. He whispered so that Heigen had to lean in.
"Veranda door...my bed...room. In...the back."

Heigen nodded. He shoved Jakirsson to the back, then paused, scooping up Larsson's cell to tuck it into his parka pocket.
"Fuckin' right. We're bugging out the back, Garden Actual."

The Israeli acknowledged over the comms.
"Roger, Heigen. Let me know if it's clear. We'll be joining you. Garden, head to outside the back bedrooms of the house. Meet us in the treeline."

Heigen prodded Jakirsson towards the bedroom with the barrel of the SMG.
They entered the spacious sleeping quarters. Noel pointed to the bed,
"Lay down next to that."

Jakirsson did as he was told. He was still bleeding from the knife wound to his arm. He began to pull at sheets from under the coverlets on the bed to wrap the injury.

Heigen continued on, huddled low towards the back glass doors, but stopping short before he was illuminated to whoever waited outside. He paused holding his breath to hold his vision steady for a moment. It was then that he saw the shadows moving in the trees. He doubted they were Garden or their Yellowsian rebel allies. Unbeknownst to him, they were JaegerFlok commandos, the elite special operations forces of the PRA of the YSR.
"Way is not clear. We have bogeys in the treeline. Need a hand to clear them out."

[Falkasia]

"No one knows the way..." Jan mimicked in the best pseudo-Ugandan accent he could muster, all the while combat crawling across the uneven terrain back towards the house.

He rolled behind a tree stump and sat up straighter. His one-time pursuers seemed to have buggered off. Likely onward to easier or juicier prey. This was not to say the cacophony of battle had subsided; rather the opposite. The mortar shells weren't so much raining down directly on him as they were on his team's general position. They were random enough to force his attention, but the lack of accuracy made it abundantly clear the aim was to delay any potential evacuation as compared to blowing them apart.

Koski took stock of the situation. He could see, hear. and generally sense combatants moving in from all sides. Movement in his peripherals alerted him to small fire teams in piecemeal winter camo working their way through the drifts. They didn't know he was there, and he intended to keep things that way. The house stood, mostly intact, about one hundred yards in front of him. His vision wasn't perfect, but he could detect shadows dancing and bouncing around inside. Some fire was being exchanged, although between whom and in whatever direction he wasn't certain. The fastest path, using his freshly earned evasive stealth, would be to break into a sprint for the far wall and dive through what looked to be the kitchen window.

There'd be surprise on his side. That he had no doubt. How long that surprise would last however depending heavily on the troops deployed against them, and their relative training in both hostile environments and against unconventional combatants like himself.

Glancing down, he toggled the safety off his W-2 and quickly racked the hammer to ensure a round was loaded. He hadn't fired a shot yet, so if the need arose, he'd have a full magazine to dispatch the opposition with.

He exhaled abruptly and launched himself forward.

[Shalum]

The Approach to Steinbrudden
NW of the City

“You know, growing up I always dreamed of a white winter solstice, you know?” Bastiaan and his company counterpart had both been put on the second watch, so they at least had a little time to rest and grab some grub. During his time as a stormtrooper, he had learned to take advantage of every chance he got. As he began to scrape off his boots, condensation rolling off his breath with every word, he couldn’t help but smile wryly at the shorter woman at his side. “But after this, the beach and not going to be easily parted.” It was summer back home, and he planned to enjoy it.

The sniper chuckled under her breath, her gear clattering as she knocked her boots against a piece of wood half buried in the snow. “That’s assuming we get done anytime soon. I’ve got the feeling that this could be a longer op than they’re expecting, you know?” Although she was carrying less gear than her partner, she couldn’t ignore that heavy ache deep in her bones. It came with any mission, especially on that involved as much traveling as this. The brunette was looking forward to sitting back, if only for a few hours. Traveling by car as much as Garden did hadn’t exactly made it easy to sleep.

“You’re not supposed to say stuff like that.” He stopped himself short of saying her real name. In truth, the operator wasn’t used to working undercover like this. It wasn’t a difficult shift, but certainly one that he was used to. More often than not, he was called in to run protection duties or go in and do the dirty work that most weren’t willing to do. “It’s just asking for trouble.” He chuckled as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed everyone else in.

Being part of missions such as this usually landed operators in places most of them couldn’t have afforded otherwise. The military had never appealed to the wealthy as far as careers went, unless they started in the officer’s corps. Though they couldn’t have picked each other’s hometowns out on a map of the Empire if they tried, Bastiaan and Amalia both had come from the southern parts of the country where the only jobs were on industrial farms, the companies that supported them, or perhaps the occasional factory. While many chose to go home to work at those, plenty had instead stayed in to serve additional contractors, or go into the private sector as they had.

One could say the Empire and SSI even relied on their demographic.

They were both too young to be wanderstruck, at least. They both thanked their host for his accommodations, and tentatively began to nibble and sip at the drinks that were offered. Though neither expected anything particularly nefarious, they were working off their commanding officer’s energy and cues. He hadn’t told them to stand down, and until he did so, both knew better than to do that. Still...it was hard to not at least eat from the finger food tray. Both had rations on them, hard packed stuff that was high in calories and low in taste, but it would have been rude to eat that in front of their hosts.

It was only once the others began to rest that they did the same. Lockhart was the kind of man who had the superhuman ability to sleep anywhere, no matter the situation. Using his kit as a pillow, the man rested his unloaded rifle next to him and rolled onto his right side. Within a few moments his eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed. He wasn’t the most handsome when he slept, admittedly, but he cared little about that.

Amalia had just begun to walk towards a window when it happened. Despite the fact that she was tired, her mind had drifted to Matti more than once as she counted the passing minutes on her watch. She had turned her radio to a lower volume, but never off - company policy dictated it remain on during missions. Of course, she wouldn’t have disabled it anyways. The last thing she would have wanted, had she been on the picket, for a callout to go unheard. Part of her was even tempted to radio her friend just to see how he was doing, but she knew better than to-

FWOOMP!

“-we’re under attack!”

“Holy shit!” In an instant, the Shalumite had thrown herself to the floor. It was too late, the first shell had already landed, but she reacted all the same. “We’re under attack, everyone!” It was redundant to yell, but she didn’t think twice about it as she dashed for her rifle, which was tucked away with the rest of her kit. “Bastiaan! Get up, now!”

The former marine was already moving. Even half-asleep, his training dictated every movement. There was a practiced motion to his hands as he grabbed a fresh magazine and snapped it into his rifle and chambered a round. “What the fuck is going on? Was that artillery?”

“It was definitely something!” She nodded as she grabbed her own rifle. It was heavier than his own, but the heavier round would put down anything unlucky enough to be on the far side of her scope. “Come on, we need to get out of here before they zero in on this place.” She grunted as she slung her pack over her shoulders. “I think Matti’s under fire, we need to get to him! Or anyone outside for that matter!” She added that last part almost belatedly as the first gunshots began to ring out from inside the building, their own people returning fire.

“I’ve got your six.” The infantrymen was calm as he grabbed his own backpack. “Actually, follow me. I know you’re not used to fighting anyone this close.” He joked dryly as another shell shook the building. “Come on, let’s hurry!”

[Austrakia]

Matti Walder low crawled through the snow, panting heavily. His ears roared, rang and echoed at various times. That was just the internal pain, not to mention the excruciating external pain of the biting cold on his wounds. At the moment, he was so disoriented, but he had enough sense to pay attention to the shadows as they flitted about through the trees, even if he couldn't hear their motions.

He had gotten close enough to some of his pursuers, as he dispatched them to the afterlife, working his way towards the house. Some of them were very much like Jakirsson - likely JaegerFlok, the Yellowsian special operations.
Some were obviously dark skinned, but ashen in this temperature. The Cardwithians that Heigen and Koski had talked about. It didn't matter ultimately, as he wasn't concerned with the politics behind this paycheck. They all fell to the ground the same from the bullets of his Steyr TMP SMG.

He still felt the hot, sticky wetness as the blood from his shot off ear drenched his neck and chest. It was a minor nuisance, really, but it was getting in the way of his doing his job properly. In some outfits, he would be considered walking wounded. As he found cover behind a landscaping wall in Larsson's backyard, it caught up with him. He was wounded, but no longer walking. He should try to find 'Doc' Kravchenko, the Garden Team medic, but the only person he wanted to comfort and aid him didn't have that level of medical expertise. He mumbled over the Garden Team comms,
"Amalia...Amalia. I...I need your help."

He needed to make it to the rendezvous point around the back of the house. What was left of the house, anyway, as it took more mortar hits. That was imperative beyond finding Amalia or Doc 'Bonesaw' Kravchenko. Actually, the imperative was survival. Rounds continued to smack into the stones and ground around him. The Reds were closing in...

[Shalum]

Despite the fact that they had never worked together, the pair of Imperial operators certainly knew their way around the battlefield. Bastiaan was a man who was comfortable in the thick of combat, at least as much as a man could be. He hated the fact that in the dark of night, he couldn’t really identify his targets affiliation, but anyone who was trying to shoot him was an enemy as far as he cared. Thankfully, their radios were alive with callouts, so he sorely doubted anyone who landed in his sights was friendly.

As her countrymen put a neat grouping of three into the chest of a hostile footmobile, Amalia dropped down to one knee, shoulder pressed against a tree trunk. She could feel the cold seeping into her uniform as she sank into the snow, but the blonde cared little about that as her grey-blue eyes fixated on the upper torso of an unfortunate bastard. She didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, her lips curling as he dropped like dead weight, falling face first into the snow.

“Amalia...I need your help.”

She had been about to snap to her next target. As her partner slid into cover beside her, Amalia’s head snapped up, concern flashing in her eyes. “Matti!” She gasped into the mic around her neck, condensation rolling off her lips as Bastiaan fired again and again. “Are you alright? Shit, we’re coming! Where are you,” she hesitated and shook her head. “Nevermind that, we’re coming to you, okay?”

“Sounds like your boyfriend is in trouble, Amalia.” The other operator grunted, tucking his head low as he swapped his empty magazine for a fresh one. They had plenty of ammunition, at least, but the enemy was closing in and they were undoubtedly outnumbers. “We need to get to the rendezvous point. I don’t even know where he is.”

“Shit, I know!” The marksman retorted as she shouldered her rifle. They didn’t have to discuss it. She started moving, swinging out away from the house (and hopefully towards wherever her friend was) and away from the mortars as they rained like hail from an angry god. “Be advised, I’ve got eyes on more hostile foot mobiles! They’re everywhere, watch your shots!” She radioed to Garden as her partner dropped another one. Amalia would have joined him, but her rifle was heavier than his was and it was much easier for him to bring his weapon to bear in an instant.

[USG Security Corporation]

Major Shlomo Ari-Galan once again shocked those immediately around him as he acted with the energy of a man half his age (which would be a young 'whipper-snapper' in their mid to late 20's). He scooted and maneuvered to the back of the house. He leaped over dead resistance fighters and toppled furniture with an agility that might be challenging for a gymnast. All the while, he cursed up a storm in a muffled murmur:

"Zonna!...Chara!...Mizdayen!...Tachat!...Koos!...Tizdayen!...Zina!...Be-tachat-Shel-chya!...Mizdayen!..."

He wanted to see what was left of the team that had been out on watch. He wasn't ready to write them off just yet. He went right through the hole in the kitchen made by the mortar, almost slipping on the guts of the rebel who had been diced up, ready to serve, by the explosion. He tumbled through, bringing up his Galil carbine and bowling over two ISVC attackers with accurate bursts. Cardwithians and Yellowsians fell as he worked the line, moving low and diving to the ground at points to fire from prone.

He saw a top of a head poke up from behind a snow covered wall. He hopped over it and had his Galil ready to hose down the owner of the head. Matti came within a hair of doing the same with his Steyr TMP. They quickly spun out away from each other after the near miss, to take out more targets that were closing in around them.

Shlomo spit out as he continued to fire outward.
"Where are Graves and the Asian girl?"

"Gone. They got hit in the first mortar barrage."

The Israeli born Major winced. Graves had been worthless. A warm, barely skilled body and not much more. Liliha, however, had potential. She would be missed.
"We need to move, Walder. Time to get to the rendezvous."

"I don't think I can. I'm hit pretty bad."

Ari-Galan glanced over, seeing the blood and the mangled ear.
"Zayem! So you got your ear pierced. My daughters did that at the jewelry store and they never made such a fuss. You need to move your Goyim, Aryan, whiney manoosh tachat! Now!"

The Uli Major grabbed him, half dragging him as they ran to the corner of the house.
Walder took out targets behind them as he stumbled to keep up with the Major. Ari-Galan snap shot at targets ahead of them to clear their way back to the team. He skirted to the side of the corner, towards where they were to rendezvous. He poked around from the ground, firing upward at the JaegerFlok commandos leapfrogging through the woods.

That's when he spotted Bonesaw near the back deck. He dropped Walder down at the base of it, none too gently.
"Take a break from the shooting gallery and patch up this whiney, son-of-a-Nazi."

"I am NOT a Nazi!"

"I don't give a thousand fucks! Be a good patient!"
With that, the Major bobbed and weaved once more, moving quicker without the extra weight of the Austrakian. He continued to pop off shots, some to keep heads down, others to nail the Marxist special operators that dared to show their faces.

"Rally round, Garden. Let's get the fuck out of here!"

[Co-RP'd with Austrakia]