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Project Warfighter - Operation Caeser

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Nova Sylva
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Founded: Nov 11, 2013
New York Times Democracy

Project Warfighter - Operation Caeser

Postby Nova Sylva » Wed Dec 24, 2014 12:01 pm

OOC/Signups : viewtopic.php?f=5&t=291922
Continued from : viewtopic.php?f=5&t=322599


Camp McCarren
South Carmi Province, New Sylvan Republic
1200 Hours


The idea had been conceived after the Sidonian War, and made a reality after the October War. A unified task force of the greatest warriors on the planet, deliberately manipular, as to preform a variety of special operations missions. They were from all reaches of life, all branches of armed forces, and some even from foreign nations. Part of an international task force called ATLAS, they were to be Sylva’s ace in the hole. It’s kneebreaker, it’s secret weapon – the prop on which Sylva’s armed forces bore. Fulcrum.

Staff Sergeant Robin Guile took a deep breath as he approached Fulcrum’s base of operations. They had a hanger all to themselves in Camp McCarren, the largest military base in Sylva. As he approached, in full combat dress with a bag slung on his back and two duffel bags under each arm. As he walked towards the open-air hanger, he was confronted with the first of the operatives.

“Oi, kid,” he said, with a thick Australian accent. He wore a olive-drab t-shirt above a pair of standard issue BDU pants. The man was in his early thirties, or late twenties, and had nicely kept Survivalist-style facial hair. “What the hell you think you doin’?”

“This is Fulcrum, right? Hanger 29?”

“Yeah, also a restricted area. Get movin’,”

“No, I got a transfer. Signed by Major General Clarke.”

“No shit?” the man replied. He turned to face the rest of his comrades, who milled about in the hanger. “Oi! Solomon! We got an FNG!”

FNG : Fucking New Guy. Guile knew enough about military acronyms to pick up that one. Another Fulcrum operative jogged over – he was quite a bit older than the Australian fellow, and wore the same getup except instead of a boonie hat he donned a beret with three insignias – immediately Guild recognized one of them as his own – the NSR Ranger bear skull in front of crossed rifles. The next one was Fulcrum’s emblem – A sword, globe, and shield. The final emblem spoke magnitudes about the man’s wartime experience and age – a globe and eagle – the symbol of the Joint Strike Force. A tattoo of three claw marks rested on the right side of his face, the center one covering his eye.

“You’re the new guy, huh?” Solomon said. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Robin, sir. Robin Guile, Staff Sergeant, NSR Rangers.” He handed the commander his file and transcripts. The man flipped through it.

“Robin? Who the hell names their kid Robin? Could your mom not decide if you were a boy or a girl?”

“I think she could tell, Sir.”

“Either way, we don’t use ranks here. We’ll call you Guile until we can come up with something more fitting.”

“Fair enough, sir.”

“Cut that ‘sir’ shit out too,” the Australian said. “We’re all mates here, aye? I’m Outback, team marksman and XO. This is Solomon, commanding officer.”

“Nice to meet both of you,” Guile replied.

“The rest of the crew is inside,” Outback said, motioning for Guile to follow him in the hanger. He did so.

“This is Scarf,” he said, pointing to a man laying on a cot. “He loves sharp things.” Scarf was twirling a knife between his fingers, and nodded his head as a greeting to the FNG. His most noticeable feature was his choice in fashion – a short red and gold scarf tied around his neck, which Guile guessed was the origin of his name.

“Over there is Analog,” Outback said. “Oi! Analog!” Analog was sitting at a desk, preoccupied with a computer and a headset, playing what looked to be the latest installment of Call of Duty. “Analog!” Outback screamed again, to no avail. He gave up. “Well, Analog is our technician and pilot. He can hack anything with a USB and drive anything that moves – whether it be in the sky, on the ground, or in the sea. He's a veteran of the Battle of Jacinto back in the Second Sylvan War, then was a DIS operative that began the NorthCol revolution during the October War. He left DIS after that, and wound up here."

“Fulcrum has some more grunts, scattered here and there, and I encourage you to go make some new friends. There’s only about a dozen or so of us, anyway.”

Suddenly, there was a huge blaring cacophony. It was an air raid alarm. “What the hell?” Outback said. “What the fuck is goin’ on? Sol! Why in god’s name is the bloody alarm ringin’?”

“Aemen fighterbombers just crossed the border,” He said. “Some Sif-21s will be dispatched, and they’ll take care of ‘em.”

“Whatever makes that bloody alarm shut up,” Outback cursed. “Well if your thinking of getting some sleep, that’s gone to hell,” Solomon fired back. “New dispatch from High Com.”

Solomon clasped his hands together and addressed the whole of Fulcrum. “Alright, guys, listen up. We’ve got some new orders from up top – all the way up top. King Reginald is visiting Port Prince near Aemen's southern coast. This is our one shot to get at him before he returns to Erus, which is locked down with a dozen enemy divisions. We're to get in there and grab King Reggie, than get the fuck out. The Navy will be providing support, as well as multiple teams from Task Force ATLAS, which should arrive any minute. When they get here, we'll discuss the finer details.”
Last edited by Nova Sylva on Thu Dec 25, 2014 9:32 am, edited 5 times in total.
Reino de Esylvaña
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Farlandria
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Postby Farlandria » Thu Dec 25, 2014 6:45 pm

0800hrs. Office of Prime Minister Daniel Moore. Parliament Square, Jacobsberg, Farlandria.

Prime Minister Daniel Moore sat back in his high backed leather chair, taking in the memo on his computer screen, processing the information. He knew this day would come. He had known that when he signed the ATLAS treaty, that one day Farlandria would be called upon to donate her military to a foreign cause. Superficially, the situation was one Moore had often spoken against and refused to allow Farlandria to get involved in. However he'd placated his critics by the fact that ATLAS didn't require or even want the full power of participatory nations militaries. No, being a signatory of ATLAS meant you only need supply your nations elite fighting forces. In Farlandria's case that was the Special Operations and Activities Group, consisting of the 1st Commando Regiment, No. 5 Squadron and the 3rd Naval Infantry Brigade. Small units from these three arms, inserted into surgical roles against high value targets. If nothing else, it ensured that Farlandrians wouldn't grow accustomed to seeing hundreds of coffins coming home for years and years.

The memo in question came from the office of President Delacroix of New Sylva, informing Prime Minister Moore of the Aemen incursion in New Sylvan airspace, as well the appeal to ATLAS members for assistance in arresting Aemen monarch King Reginald II from the coastal city of Port Prince. Moore understood the memo, and understood his nations obligations as part of ATLAS. Within a few hours, the motion to deploy SOAG units to the New Sylvan cause would be put before the parliamentary house and barring any significant unforseen opposition would be passed and aforementioned units would be dispatched within 12 hours of the vote

1837hrs. Joint-Base Battenhill-Oxencroft. 350 miles from Jacobsberg.

Captain Craig Hegarty sat alone in break room, feet on the rickety wooden table in front of him, idly flicking through a well worn issue of Motor+ magazine. Craig Hegarty was wearing a dark grey t-shirt, pattern 95 trousers and heavy, beaten up combat boots . The breakroom was completely silent apart from the hum of the electric lighting, several other tables around the room unmanned. Hegarty listened carefully, his attention pricked by a low, distant rumble. He grimaced as the rumble grew louder, knowing was coming. Just a few seconds later, the still, silent calm of Hegarty's breakroom was violently interrupted as the double doors were flung open and 15 men charged, each thundering across the vinyl flooring and most chattering, hollering or bickering among themselves. Boots stomped through the room, large bergens were slung violent into corners and under tables and chairs were hauled into two rough circles of eight. One of these circles formed around Hegarty, the other on the other side of the break room. The separation of these two groups could tell even a casual observer who the men were. Around Hegarty were sat seven other members of the 1st Commando Regiment, the opposing circle being comprised of eight members of the 3rd Naval Infantry Brigade.

"Where's my bloody water bottle?"

"Harris, have you taken my lighter? Give it here now!"

"Give off it's my and you know it"

"Isit boll-"

Hegarty sighed to himself. He wondered if his method of packing and preparing his personal equipment as soon as he heard rumors of deployment were worth while, or if he'd instead be better off leaving it until the last minute and scrapping in with the others as everyone else seemed to prefer. Still, maybe he was setting a good example to the others.

"Evening gents" Hegarty said to the group. A few of them nodded back to him.

"Alright boss" chirped Staff Sergeant Paul Davenport

"Evening Hegsy" replied Captain Edward Archer. Archer and Hegarty were old friends and comrades, and between them were the respective leaders of the two fireteams that were being deployed to Port Prince. Archer was more of a "banging heads" type of leader, hence why he was stuck to his team, hustling them to get ready, while Hegarty was bit happier to let his boys sort themselves out.

The chatter and griping continued with seemingly little progress being made. The double doors were pushed open again and in marched Major-General Collin Wilks. Wilks was the director of SOAG, many years older than the other soldiers in front of him, but no less as tall or physically intimidating. Hegarty, being the only one not fussing over his bergen, was the first to see the Major-General walk in

"Ten-shun!" Hegarty barked, pulling his legs down off the table and snapping to attention. Half a second later, both the commandos and the naval infantrymen likewise sprung to attention.

"At ease." Wilks growled as he strode forward into the room. "Archer, Hegarty, I trust you both read the briefing?"

"Yessir" Both captains replied

"Good." Wilks turned to the captains of the naval group "Cathcart, Wheatley? Both of you? Good. Before I get started, call signs. Hegarty, Tiger 1, Archer, Tiger 2. Cathcart, Sword 1, Wheatley, you're Sword 2. Now listen men, I'm sure you're all aware of the importance of this action and why we're doing it. This isn't our fight, but we're doing it so we have favors we can cash in when we do have our own scraps. And truth be told it's going to be a bit of a bastard, all intelligence is telling us Port Prince in locked down tight as you like. The Sylvan's will get you right up to speed when you reach camp McCarran. From there you'll transport with the Sylvan navy, make an amphibious landing five clicks west of Port Prince, hopefully keeping you out of the fighting until you hoof your way to the city itself. Each of the four teams in this room, plus the other ATLAS units all have their areas of the city to sweep through and locate the target. The city will be crawling with resistance, and they're going to be dug in and well armed. For now that's all I can give you. The rest is in your briefing packs or will be covered at McCarran. Your birds are leaving 1925hrs. Good luck gents."

With that, Wilks turned and swept out the room. The 16 men left went back to arguing and collating their gear, before leaving the room to descend on the quartermaster's office.

2251hrs. Farlandrian Republican Airforce Chinook above South Carmi Provence, New Sylvan Republican Airspace

"Ground control, ground control is this Hawkeye Niner, inbound and requesting permission to land at Camp McCarran. Cargo is friendly personnel, we're bringing them to your party, over..."
Last edited by Farlandria on Wed Dec 31, 2014 10:04 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Aemen
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Founded: Mar 25, 2014
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Postby Aemen » Sat Jan 03, 2015 6:10 am

The blaring of ship horns soared all over the city. A few days earlier, King Reginald II had arrived to mark the opening of Port Prince's fifteenth dock gate, a larger more modernised version than its fourteen siblings and a new magnet for commerce. As well using it to further blunt Port Prince's steadily declining unemployment rate, the King's real objective with the dock gate was one of a political nature, a statement to the entire nation that even in the face of war, Aemen could thrive, and it would continue to do so under the Royal House of Olbridge.

Of course, without the Royal House of Olbridge, Aemen may have had a harder time improving its collection of impressive harbours and maritime facilities in the current climate. Prince Ivan, Port Prince's permanent royal resident, had diverted huge amounts of money into the project through revenue generated by his own businesses. Though there were laws in place to prevent any commoner from doing so, Ivan ran an enormous monopoly through the Port, with anything from retail, to hospitality and catering, to private security. It was all in the back pocket of Prince Ivan and it was all at the beck and call of King Reginald.

Of course, such an arrangement never ran smoothly. Early in Ivan's life, the King had become disappointed in his eldest's lack of interest in becoming the monarch along with his general disregard for the country's wellbeing and his family as a whole. Reginald effectively disowned Ivan after his compulsory military service ended, sending him with a Royal Stipend to the Count's House estate to live out a life devoid of national impact, so that Ivan might never again interfere with the duties he non-chalantly tosses aside.

Ivan, however, beat the odds. Through a keen sense of shrewdness, the Prince gambled, invested and bargained his way to the top of Port Prince's corporate food chain, where he remains today, albeit only by his father's reluctant graces. As long as Ivan throws funds in the direction Reginald points, he is allowed to retain his assets. In Aemen, not even the wealthy can defy the crown.

With the King's arrival in Port Prince, the elite and uncompromising presence of the Crown Guard followed. Swathes of black uniform-clad masked soldiers could be seen patrolling the busiest parts of town, armed with Eagle Owl Tactical Jackets, L85A2 assault rifles and orders to use lethal force against anyone seeking to disrupt the royal visit. The Third Royal Crown Guardsmen Division of fifteen hundred men had descended on the city with the express purpose to defend their leader, who had taken up residence at the Count's House estate alongside Ivan until his departure back to Erus, where Reginald will direct the ongoing war with Sovereign International.

Image
The Count's House, Port Prince
8:00PM
Hours until departure for Erus: Ten


“I hope you enjoyed the swordfish sir. I spent an absolute fortune for the most exquisite specimens, I guarantee it's going to become a part of national cuisine in the next few years, especially with the stories of the strength the creatures are able to display.” said Geraint Salian, sipping from a glass of warm mulled wine. King Reginald stood in front of a double-glazed glass window, looking out over the coast and able to see destroyers from Aemen's Royal Ocean Defence Force on the horizon, their silhouettes emphasised by the red glow of dusk as the sun slipped away behind the calm sea.

“I can speak for my friend, father. The animals display a ferocity that I thought only the warriors of myth possessed. I only wish the women of Port Prince displayed similar talents in bed!” jested Ivan, sat behind a decorative and cluttered wooden desk. The King, Ivan, Salian and Charles Gaide were occupying the House's drawing room on the third floor, with the latter three enjoying glasses of various alcoholic beverages and beginning to display signs of intoxication. The King, of course, seemed entirely unamused by his son's sense of humour, whilst Salian and Gaide chuckled heartily.

“His Royal Highness is a wonderful patron, Your Majesty.” said Gaide, as a mixture of Ivan's remark and the alcohol in his hand made his face bloom a light shade of red. “Production in the last few months has been at an all time high, people all over the country are demanding foreign goods from Murovanka, Wyrnstrum and even the Allied Nations. Even the war hasn't had an impact, we've had to hire on extra workers to cope with the load, it's absolutely remarkable what conflict can do for an economy.”

“Young female workers I hope Charles? It would mean I'd be visiting the factory floor more often.” asked Ivan, putting his feet up on the desk.

“Ivan, you're utterly insatiable! What on earth would your mother say about your indulgent behaviour?” asked Salian, clearly letting the drink win in the internal battle of willpower.

Ivan took another sip from his glass, pondering on the question. “I'm not sure. Father, what would my mother say about me at this age?”

King Reginald turned from the window to look at the two businessmen, whilst Ivan took a final gulp from his glass tumbler. “Mr. Gaide, Mr. Salian, will you excuse me and my son?”

“I-uh, we... yes, yes of course sir.” Gaide sputtered out, tripping over his words.

“Good. Lieutenant.” A Crown Guardsmen in full military gear opened the double doors to the drawing room, his weapon slung across his chest and the black mask that was almost symbolic of the Crown Guard being the first thing Salian and Gaide laid their eyes on, reminding them that, unlike Ivan, they had to be on their best behaviour. “Show my son's associates to their rooms on the second floor for the night.”

“Your Majesty.” The two men stood up with Salian stumbling slightly. Ivan remained silent as they left, the lieutenant shutting the door behind them. Reginald moved in front of the desk, preferring to remain stood as he positioned himself next to one of the chairs. Ivan looked at his father with a mix of repressed frustration and accepted futility. “Well, you have a wonderful way of introductions, father. I'd love to see what you do were I to marry, perhaps give an intimidating speech about the family history before having her poisoned, or shot? One's messy and the other isn't, I'll let you choose which one sends a clearer message.”

The King remained still. He'd never felt proud of Ivan and his dabbling in corporations and business. It wasn't the life, in Reginald's mind, a prince should lead. “The image of our family that you convey to these commoners is an insult, Ivan. We're a bloodline of leaders and soldiers, not socialite wastrels.”

Ivan rolled his eyes, standing up from the desk. “Oh for lord's sake father, you mean the image you want the family to portray? The image that you've worked so hard for? An image that's led the country into a war, which by the way I am helping to pay for? Geraint and Charles are the managing directors of two of my biggest investments, I'll relax amongst them if I damn well wish. It's better than the boring chaff you and Alexander sit through day after day.”

“Are you telling me your accomplishments are through your own doing? You own the Count's House by my order, you made your fortunes because I gave you a head start amongst the rest. Though it pains me to watch you toss aside your duties like a spoilt child there is one thing I will never allow you to discard, your duty to your nation and your family.” Reginald retorted, his stern gaze piercing through Ivan's sarcasm. “You might very well think I am out to ruin your immature escapades Ivan, but I cannot and I will not tolerate a child of mine who is bitterly indifferent towards the privileges he was born with and the responsibilities that accompany them. The only reason I am lenient towards your behaviour is because of your financial contributions, and I can seize those by force at any time I please, but I will not. You are my son, Ivan, and as my son, you have a role to play, a role I will see you fulfil with only the utmost dignity and respect.”

Ivan sighed, opening up a draw on the desk and taking a polished silver case out, lifting the lid and pulling out a cigarette. “You always punch below the waist, father.” He lit up the end, taking a long and slow pull before breathing the smoke into the drawing room's open space and looking down at the floor, letting a small laugh creep out of his mouth. “But you can't deny, the politics of state are a tedious affair.”

The King didn't respond to his son's statement, instead preferring to move on and conclude the evening. “The Crown Guard are posted all through the House, they are on every floor, they are in the gardens and the grounds, and they are monitoring the road leading to the main gate. If you invite anymore partners, do inform the Major first. I'd prefer not to have my subjects' corpses displayed on the grounds of a royal estate.” Reginald turned and moved towards the doors. Two soldiers on the other side opened them and the King walked out, moving down the long hallway towards his bed chamber for the night. The soldiers then closed the doors, leaving Ivan to enjoy his cigarette and ponder on a future under his father.

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The United Remnants of America
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The United Remnants of America » Tue Jan 06, 2015 6:36 pm

Fort Xavier, Mainland, URA

A lot had happened since the last time the 3rd Special Operations Squad, 1st Sentinel Battalion had last been stationed on a home base. Their last station had been the Emmerian supercarrier ESS Revelations, but after Necropolis, the Revelations was undergoing major repairs and looking for almost an entire crew. 4th Squad was decimated aboard that carrier and 3rd Squad had lost their operator. After Necropolis ended in pure death and chaos, with the surviving Atlas members fighting through the Emmerian special forces unit sent in to cleanse the carrier, the Remnant survivors had been flighted back to the URA where the remaining members of 4th were put into 3rd.

Jolly looked back at the tablet displaying his team's orders, the first mission since Necropolis, since his squad was fully tasked to TF Atlas. Sitting around the briefing room was his squad. Koopa, his 2IC and drone operator was closest on his right, a man with short hair and an equally short beard who'd been Jolly's closest friend for years, and he didn't even hold it against Jolly when the 3rd Squad leader decided to pass up promotion and retirement to stay with his team. Next was Tarzan, a man who's nickname describes him perfectly: Large with long brown hair tied back, he was the team's brash and mouthy heavy gunner. Sitting beside the gunner was Ninja, the foil of Tarzan; short, quiet and a sharpshooter. He kept as much of an attitude as Tarzan though, only it was much quieter over the radio.

Jolly still felt a ping of pain as he looked further and didn't see the youngest member of the team, their Operator, who'd been killed on the Revelations. Instead, he met the three new members to 3rd Squad, 4th's survivors. First was Captain Jacqueline Kowalski, 4th's team leader. She'd given up her nickname after Necropolis, and you could still see the rings under her eyes from lack of sleep and the empty look in her expression from losing half her team. Jolly worried about Jackie. She was half his age, but the same rank, and he worried the stress of that horrible combat had thrown her over the edge. The next man was the medic, Oreo. He was also young, as all of 4th Squad was, since they were the "New Breed" SpecOps team that had proven to be better than a normal position in 1st Btn. His dark ebony skin still retained a slight ashen color from watching his friend Guido, 4th's sniper, get ripped apart in front of him. Last in line, a little kid. Only 23, 4th's - Now 3rd's Operator Zane O'Malley was red-haired and ready. Maybe it still hadn't sunken in for him. Unlike the field teams, Sentinel Operators, when not on missions, went to work with either the Strategy and Logistics Corps or the Satellite Operations and Communications Corps. He had been kept busy while Jackie and Oreo had been left to sit and ponder if there was something they could've done...

Jolly ran a hand through his greying, growing hair. "Operation Caesar. One of Atlas' new member units has called upon our help to assist in dethroning an enemy nation's monarch. He's currently vacationing instead of sitting in his stronghold, so our friends..." Jolly took a glance at his tablet, "Fulcrum from Nova Sylva, would like us to come over and help them put a bullet in this guy's head. It sounds straightforward, but we know from past experience straightforward is bullshit. So, anyone got questions?" Jolly looked slowly around the room before a hand came up and drew his attention.

It was Jackie. "What's the resistance level?"

"Dunno, but I could guess high enough, since it's a king. A King... Reginald. He's probably gonna be guarded." He was met with a quiet nod. The nod made Jolly's stomach churn. Jackie used to have a fierce personality.

"So, do we get Tinkerbell?" Jolly knew the voice. Koopa was asking about their usually-assigned NS Rhino Combat Support Drone.

"It's on call if needed, and if we don't take it, will be packed for airdrop if you want to call it in, but that's all Enclave is giving us. No airsupport, no help except the Rhino and the other Atlas teams."

"Oh, so you mean like usual. That's just dandy. No real intelligence, no real support." Koopa leaned back on the briefing table and crossed his arms as he spoke. His sense of humor had been on the sour lately, and Jolly hoped a successful straight mission would cure that. Cure them all.

"Yeah, like usual. But we're Sentinels SpecOps. We're the best the URA has to offer. So what do we do, gents?"

The call to the motto, no matter the team's mood, drew a strong, enthusiastic answer. They knew it by heart. "ENGAGE, UPSTAGE, ENRAGE!" The roar left a grin on Jolly's face. This is what they needed. Something to take their mind of Necropolis. I just hope it's as simple as what the Sylvans think...
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Arala
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Founded: Dec 10, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Arala » Sat Jan 10, 2015 1:14 pm

"Sir, business is booming. Our contract with ATLAS has been confirmed, and we struck a deal with the United Remnants of America. Their shipment of drones for The Overwatch should be coming in as early as a few minutes." The advisor looked to Imperial General Radarya, waiting for his reaction. Hawken Radarya smiled.
"Good! Good! Any missions from ATLAS? I'm sure the boys at the Overwatch are rearing for some action!"
"Nova Sylva, one of the newer member nations like us, want us to assassinate the king of an enemy nation while he's on vacation. The job is known as Project Caesar."
"Sounds perfect for the Overwatch boys! Inform the captain of this, and send the drone shipment to the Bunker when it arrives."
"Yes sir!" The advisor gave a sharp salute, and strode out of the office.

The Bunker
The thick metal door of the bunker slid open, allowing entrance to Radarya's advisor. He looked around the main room of the bunker, seeing Overwatch members lounging around, playing cards and just relaxing.
"Captain Xexar!" (Pronounced Zexar) the advisor called. A young man in military slacks stood up, and smiled.
"Jonathan! Does the ImpGen have a mission for us? Finally?"
"Not the General, but ATLAS does. An assassination, in fact."
The group gave a collective cheer, and then Jonathan continued.
"Assassination of a king. Oh, and by the way, Corporal Eagle and his techie cohorts will be delighted to know that their shipment from the URA just arrived, it will be delivered here in a matter of minutes."
The techie group cheered once more, and Jonathan handed Captain Xexar a folder containing the operation briefing. Jonathan saluted loosely and departed, leaving the cheerful group behind. Once the door slid shut, the group gave a collective sigh of relief.
"He's gone! Now we can play with our new drone toys in peace once they arrive." A techie mentioned. The group chuckled, and returned to their relaxation, awaiting the drone arrival.

A few minutes later
A buzzer sounded throughout the bunker, and the intercom crackled on.
"Delivery for the Overwatch, entrance code 'Falling Stars do not leave trails'."
Captain Xexar opened the service door in the garage of the bunker, saying,
"Entrance granted. Just stick the packages in here, will you?"
A flatbed trailer backed up flush with the garage entrance, and the back flipped down, revealing large metal security cargo boxes. The driver and cargo men dressed in military uniform shoved the boxes down a ramp into the garage, the last one having to be slid off by lifting the whole trailer bed, and closed the truck back up. They saluted Captain Xexar, and piled back into the truck, driving off. Captain Xexar heard cheering behind him. It seemed the techies had made their way into the garage.
"Go on, open them up!" Xexar said, as excited as they were to see the new drones. Corporal Eagle walked over to the box that said "Open Me First", and slid his ID into the key slot of the security box. It clicked open, revealing sheafs of paper and stacks of electronics.
"Hmm... Not that... Ah! Here it is! The order receipt! Okay:
The stuff in this box is documentation and controllers and tools for the drones. The green box contains 2 Sparrows, quadcopter unarmed drones." The techies rushed over to open the box, and cheers ensued when they saw two large quadcopters. Corporal Eagle continued.
"The red box contains 2 Nightowls, night vision armed aerial drones."
They opened up the next box, seeing the dangerous drones.
"The blue one is a Mule, an unarmed supply transport drone."
They unveiled the large transport, some of them sitting on top of it with pride.
"And the huge box contains a Bulldog, a tracked assault drone with a mountable sniper rifle."
Cheers once more echoed the room as one of the techies grabbed a drone controller and activated the bulldog, making it cruise out of the container and into the open garage.
"This king is in serious trouble."
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Nova Sylva
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Founded: Nov 11, 2013
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Postby Nova Sylva » Tue Jan 13, 2015 4:49 pm

Reserved for future posting.

Sorry for the delay. I've been really, really busy with RL stuff. Sorry.
Reino de Esylvaña
Founder of Septentrion

| Sylva (Septentrion) | Sardenya| Acores | Maracaibo| The Best Roleplay Ever | Let's play some Wargame! |
Aleckandor REDUX wrote: When it comes to RPing during the school year, believe me when I say I'm like a paraplegic without a wheel chair in a foot race with everybody being Usain Bolt clones.
Mozria wrote:I don't understand how he (Nova Sylva) does it. It's like he does nothing but play video games, get drunk and bang sorority girls. Where is the actual college education fitting in?

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Astronea
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Postby Astronea » Tue Jan 20, 2015 6:25 pm

"It's a cut and dried plan, alright."

An Mi-8TVK buzzed across the landscape, bound for Camp McCarran. The in-built IFF labelled the aircraft as belonging to the "Astronean Republican Airforce", its visual markings would confirm this. Inside sat a group of ten men wearing DPM combat suits, carrying various weapons, namely suppressed FAL OSWs.

"What is?" Rybak, the team's automatic rifleman, responded to the statement.

"Us, working with Atlas. First Helios, now this. We're in this for the long haul." Solomon explained, toying with the FAL sat in between his legs.

"So we're committed, what's your point?"

"Nothing, I'm just starting to wonder if the MID wants us back at all." Solomon replied, chuckling as the helicopter began its descent towards the tarmac below, coming in for a landing at one of the base's designated helipads.

"As long as they keep giving us ops, it's alright by me. I'd rather be here than back in Altsea fighting another bush war." Rybak responded, echoed by an "amen" from Ulman, Valmont and Reyes who were sat nearby.

"I hear that, I have to shoot one more malnourished child soldier I might just off myself." Ulman chimed in, met with laughs from around the crew compartment. The joke was a reference to what was known as the "Massacre of the East" by those in the Astronean Special Forces community, an even which still scarred many of the team. Some ten years ago, the Asymmetric Warfare Detachment was deployed to quell a rebellion in one of Astronea's territories overseas. Part of a long and bloody campaign known as the "Bush Wars", the AWD had mainly engaged insurgents that had been kidnapping and recruiting children as soldiers. Despite the horror of the situation, teams would often keep a "kiddie count" of how many young rebels they had "released from their torment" and compare them with other units upon returning from ops. It became a long held gambling tradition in the Detachment.

"Well, you'll be glad to know Pavlov, that the men we'll be killing are actually larger than their rifles this time." The laughing quickly subsided as the team leader spoke. Grunyev was a few years older than the rest of the team, and wore the marks of warfare on his face in the form of a burn mark upon his cheek. Most of the team members sported facial hair of some kind, from 5' oclock shadows to full beards, although none extended past the chin in length.

"A reminder to the rest of you, there will be no mention of any "kiddie counts" or "toddler tallies" when we step off. The other Atlas members may be as experienced as we are, but they don't share our...unique sense of humour. Present yourselves respectfully and professionally, this is an international mission and our nation's reputation is depending on us." With that, the rumble of landing gear touching down was felt throughout the compartment. Grunyev took a glance out of the window, then nodded to the rest of the team. The Mi-8's crew chief opened the side door and the team began hopping out onto helipad. A number of crates were being carried with them, containing launchers and other ordnance.

"Kiril, O'Sheefe, Landon, get the rest of the gear unloaded. I want Ulman, Pavlov and Soloman with me. Valmont, Reyes and Rybak, stay with the Hip crew until they depart." Grunyev yelled over the din of the helicopter's rotors. A few shouts of "Tally" were heard in response, and the team set about their immedate duties.

"Now, who the hell is in charge here..."

((Reference pic, cus why the hell not))
Last edited by Astronea on Tue Jan 20, 2015 6:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Die Erworbenen Namen
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6042
Founded: Feb 12, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Die Erworbenen Namen » Wed Jan 21, 2015 1:01 pm

Carrier Group Yorktown
International Waters
1st Fleet
1st Army, 1st SS Division, 6th Battalion


"No, you'll get the information on your position at the briefing. I'm not going to give it to you now and risk it getting out." Vladimir announced, annoyed with this idiot's constant bantering and whining about the orders. The sheer annoyance made him drag his palm across his face, lucky the admiral wasn't there to see. "If you ask again I will have you demoted and on a plane out of there ASAP. I have plenty more people waiting in line for your position. Some, I may say, more capable..."

"Yes, sir. I understand completely, sir." The admiral replied in humility, and nodded his head subconsciously. He was listening to him from the bridge on a private call. "If I may, sir, who will be giving the orders to me? I should know in case he dies, no?"

"No. You should not. One second." Vladimir replied, now more than annoyed. He was enraged beyond belief. This man was clearly operating on the wrong level... And he couldn't let this happen. From his place, he had put in an override into the computer system, which allowed him to access the main PA system of the Yorktown. "Admiral Roberts, please remove Admiral Garth from his position, effective immediately. Roberts, same orders."

"Yes, sir. Admiral, I believe you're sitting in my chair." Roberts commented, and motioned to the chair, crossing his arms and smiling, his officer's hat on his head, trench coat spread open. Garth stared, and growled, unmoving. "If you'd rather, I could have you forcefully removed..."

"You сука..." Garth replied, and stared in a deafening position. "Never."

"You, you, shoot him, dump his body into the sea." Roberts coldly ordered, and the two guards nodded, reaching for their pistols. Garth turned around and took out his pistol, and aimed. A gunshot pierced the suspense, and Garth arched forward, falling to the ground, his eyes rolling back. Roberts cooly held the pistol near his face, and blew on the barrel, before twirling the pistol with his finger and bolstering it. "Alright, just dump his body into the sea. Let the creatures take care of him."

The room watched for a second, then went right back to what they had been doing before, most of them focusing on the tasks at hand. Roberts waited until the guards had picked up the body of the old admiral, before getting back into the seat of the Admiral's Chair. He adjusted his coat and then sat back to watch the place unfold. Off in the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards dump the admiral into the water, where the blood seeped out into the ocean and his body disappeared beneath the aircraft carrier.

Code s----r A voice was heard in the silence next to the chair. Roberts looked around and saw an ear piece which repeated the noise, and he placed the bud in his ear, sitting back once again and listening to the message. Code Seven Romeo, repeat, Code Seven Romeo

As far as he could tell, this was the code that Vladimir had told him about when he was given the order to act as backup for Garth, even though he had been a higher rank. Garth's damned father was a friend of Maximus's in his time, and thusly had influenced the decision. Though, Vladimir realized it was one of little thought and good. Next time, Vladimir would be careful not to play favorites.

"Sir?" A sailor asked, and Roberts looked up to see a lieutenant in front of him. "Sir, you are requested, sir. A man asked me to tell you it's a code 7R. I've never heard that code before, perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Oh, it's just a quick check on some things. It's nothing. I'll be back soon. Captain, take the helm." Roberts ordered, and the captain nodded, sitting in the chair. "Maintain course unless notified."

It's probably a good thing that he reminded me.... Roberts thought as he turned the corner of the bridge, heading down the stairs to the deck, then once again below deck. He briefly caught a sight of the area around him, and noted that it looked oddly calm today, even though the winds had driven waves up to the edges of some ships. I'd probably been there all day if he hadn't.

He'd probably had missed the fact that this meeting was where no one was. In fact, it was right in someone's quarters. Someone being Roberts... Which he only noticed when he saw the people looking around. In fact, he knew one of the people there, but, had calmly moved to engage, instead of just blurting out who the hell they were. He walked towards his room, and smiled, nodding at the men. "Good day, eh, chaps?"

"Yes. It's a good day. Good day to go fishing, that is. I hear it's nice." One of the men responded, and Roberts stopped what he was doing, and unlocked the door, turning around to face them.

"I.. I just... Really? We're in the middle of the tucking ocean and you say it's a good day to go fishing? What is this, some cliche movie? No, no, you should say something along the lines of 'I hear there's plenty of whales out there to watch', or 'Clear sky. Looks like a starry night tonight'. Not 'Good day to go fishing'!. Where the hell will you go fishing? Oh, off the bow of the carrier, then?" Roberts remarked, and the men raised their eyebrows. "No, this will not do. This will not do. Oh dear."

They just stared.

"Don't stare at me. Into the fucking room you go, then." Roberts ordered, and ushered the soldiers into his room, where he turned and locked the door behind him. He turned around, and stared, tipping his hat to Rogers, who stood at the back of the room almost trying to stifle a laugh. He was doing a very good job, though. "Alright, what's the meaning of this?"

"Room's secure?" Rogers asked, and the soldiers began looking around, picking up whatever was there to examine it.

"Of course the damned room's secure! It's my room, and it's in the middle of a bloody Namenian Aircraft Carrier!" Roberts swore, and grabbed the books from the soldiers, putting them back down on the table, and snarling at the man. "It's secure. Now, speak."

"You were given the order to move to a predetermined position, which you obviously found out the exact destination for. Now, you were also told to not question orders, which eventually resulted in the termination of Admiral whatshisfaceorsomeother. Now we believe it is time for you to know." Rogers replied, and Roberts rolled his eyes in annoyance. "ATLAS contacted our team with information on a specific operation, known as Operation Caesar. The goal is the assassination of King Reginald II of Aemen, as well as possibly some others in the area at the time, all royalty. This would hopefully, and effectively, cause mass confusion among the enemy, as well as an elimination of power."

"I see. Continue."

"You were ordered to move here to assist us in this objective. Specifically, you were loaded with about 1 to 2 thousand Spetznaz, and probably would be given some elements from the URA. If all goes to plan, you will invade the city."

"INVADE? Are you out of your mind? With that number?" Roberts almost shouted, and Rogers stared, obviously understanding. "No. That will not happen."

"Relax. It's only a distraction. You will retreat once we finish the job. You have been authorized to use whatever weapons needed, so long as it doesn't damage our target." Rogers replied, and Roberts visibly calmed himself down.

"I do not like you. Not one bit, dammit." Roberts replied, and adjusted his shirt. "At any rate, we'll be there in a few days. What do you need right now?"

"Preferably either transport to a URA carrier or a communication element among us. Possibly a transport to here. We need to get as many warfighters as we can into one area to work this out together." Rogers replied, and Roberts nodded, thinking a little bit.

"I'll give you what you need. Just give me a moment." Roberts replied, and opened the door, stepping outside, and then started to walk. Rogers turned around before he saw Roberts walking backwards to the door, holding his hands out towards the hall. "Out, dammit."

******

To: URA
From: Admiral Roberts, DENS Yorktown
Subject: Warfighter

I cannot give you the details of where I am, or where we are going, but I believe, from our mutual friends, that it is in the same direction and target you are going to. Out mutual friend, by name of Rogers, has told me to suggest a meeting place. Whether you can approach via ship or air, we would be grateful. If allowed, we will send a transport plane to pick up the Warfighters, so we can have a coherent group in one area, planning together. Or, if you would like, you can send a carrier in the same direction, and we can do the same.

It is up to you.
The beatings will continue. Regardless of morale.

Hurtful Thoughts wrote:Also, nominating DEN as ATLAS's Chef Ramses.
The United Remnants of America wrote:I'm collecting friends. Hate to say it, but you qualify.

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Exantos
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1276
Founded: Feb 08, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Exantos » Thu Jan 22, 2015 7:24 am

Phil looked at his orders and sighed. Another mission from Atlas, and reading it over he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the nearest trash can. He decided to stand up and walked over to where the remainders of his men were. Although no one from Raven Squad had died. They couldn’t really describe themselves as men any longer. The horror they had seen and the inhumanity of Operation Necropolis had brought up old memories that they had thought were buried deep. Wounds that were thought as buried deeper than possible were uncovered. However throwing themselves into something else might help them recover more and perhaps bring them back together into a cohesive squad. Phil decided that it would be best to try and help with the operation. He walked over to the trash can and straightened out the paper. Taking it with him he entered the room. He saw Ricky and Jacob seated around the television playing castle crashers. James was on the other side of the room seated at his computer playing his nation simulation game.

Phil looked around and then said, “Listen up we have new order from Atlas. We’ll be assisting an assassination on the king of this random country that nobody gives a fuck about. Supposedly they’re bordering one another and this country is committing terrorist acts against a member of Atlas so we’re going to go in and kill the king. SOP, we don’t wear anything relating us to Exantos and we get in and out as quickly as possible hopefully killing the least people possible. If you’re caught you know what to do. We won’t have Exantonian air support during this Op so be prepared for things to get messy quickly. We’ll be shipping out with URA when the V-Tols come to pick us up. I’ll check with the URA commander on this ship and see what is going to happen. I’ve a feeling that we’ll be going in hot so I want everyone to be ready for combat. I know it’s hard going into combat again so quickly after the devastation that destroyed our last base, but I know you guys can pull through and I believe that we can once more become the team that we were before this insanity. Any questions?”

Phil looked around and as no one responded he said, “Alright I want everyone geared up and ready to go in the next ten to fifteen minutes. I’m going to head down to the bridge and aquire us some transportation.”

Phil left the room as felt heartened as he began jogging down to bridge. As he jogged down he slowed down by the URA Atlas member rooms. He thought, “If we’re going to be going with them I need to know if they know anything.”
As he stepped into the area he knocked on the wall and called, “Anyone here?”
"The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well."-Alfred Adler

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Hale Isles
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 365
Founded: Dec 12, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Hale Isles » Fri Jan 23, 2015 11:38 am

Hale Isles Special Operations Group Home Base, Troop Barracks, nighttime two days before Operation Ceasar:

“Ladies and Gentlemen…” said First Sergeant Glen Rinehart, addressing the entirely male squad sitting in the room. “I present to you your new squad leader, Sergeant First Class David Wright!”

The three men clapped as David walked in, gave a bow, and then gave a curtsy.

“Congratulations on the promotions, you two.” said Staff Sergeant Robert Green, sitting on his bunk.

“Yeah, you both really deserve it.” said Staff Sergeant James Wortham “This is long overdue.”

“I guess we won’t be seeing you around anymore, Glen.” said David, taking a seat. “You’ve gotten too successful for us to hang onto you.”

“Ah let’s not worry on that right now.” said Glen, taking out four bottles of beer. “Tonight we celebrate our fortune, and remember the good times. Tomorrow I’ll be off to some training course, and you’ll be flying out on the government’s new ‘Atlas’ thing. That’s an issue for tomorrow, though.”

“Hear hear.” said James, catching a bottle tossed to him by Glen “Okay, if this is our last time together, then I’ve got to tell you what happened during my patrol back in Operation Ulysses Down…”

9th Airborne Transportation Wing Home Base, tarmac, morning one day before Operation Ceasar:

“Man, do we really need that much gear for one squad?” asked Robert as the three squad members waited on the tarmac as ground personnel loaded boxes of equipment onto a C-295 tactical transport airplane. The morning was warm, but not boiling yet, as the tropical sun had only just started its climb over the dormant volcanoes that had forged the islands.

“Hey!” called out someone, running towards them across the tarmac, wearing the same uniform as them and carrying the same duffel bag. “Are you the guys assigned to Atlas?”

“No, we’re the spec-ops squad that stands and looks at airplanes.” said James “Of course we’re the Atlas team.”

“Okay, thanks.” said the person, stopping near the squad and panting for breath “I thought I was going to miss the plane. I’m your fourth squad member.”

“No you’re not.” said James “Have you even finished elementary school?”

“Be quiet.” said David, stepping forwards. “Name and rank.”

“Sergeant Marcus Coriel, sir!” said the Sergeant, snapping a salute.

“Apparently, James, he is.” said David “How much training do you have, Mark?”

“Just finished Basic Special Operations Primary, sir. said Marcus, still saluting.

“At ease before your arm locks up.” said David “Aren’t there mandatory classes after that?”

“For all other assignments, yes.” said Marcus, dropping the salute. “The changed the regulations for entry into teams going into Atlas because of a shortage of substitute personnel.”

“So you’ve been sped through because they couldn’t spare anyone else.” said David “Lovely. Tell me you did well in the course at least.”

“Top of the class, sir.” said Marcus “I thought it mentioned that in my file.”

“It did.” said David “I wanted to see what you’d answer, though.”

“Cargo’s loaded!” yelled a member of the ground crew “Plane’s departing in five minutes whether you’re on it or not!”

“Let’s get going.” said David, leaving Marcus to puzzle over whether he had given the right answer to the squad leader’s question.
I am Congreveopia's puppet. Apologies for any confusion.


For RP purposes, my nation has a population of 30 million, and I'm an equatorial island group with a land area of about 300,000km2.

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The United Remnants of America
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 17165
Founded: Mar 09, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The United Remnants of America » Fri Jan 23, 2015 12:29 pm

URS Valkyrie
Remnant 1st Naval Task Fleet
Captain's Quarters
International Waters

Fleet Admiral James Harrington leaned back in his office chair and smiled as he took another sip from his glass of brandy. Harrington was nearing retirement age fast, and he had few options left: Stay as a fleet admiral in charge of several fleets in the Navy, or get promoted to the Admiral of the Navy or Commander in Chief positions, which were the highest positions in uniform. Harrington wasn't being promoted, since the older bastards in those positions wouldn't retire, and Harrington didn't much enjoy his current posting. So, the Remnant Military decided to make use of Harrington by giving him a pseudo-political position: Command of the Titan-Class supercarrier Valkyrie and her escorts, which were a small fleet of the retired Hera-class hospital ships, which had been modified to act as ad-hoc troop transports and very light escort defense. Harrington knew the eight hospital ships were worthless. The real prize was the supercarrier. 771 christened ships in the Navy, and he was controlling one of the three supercarriers. Of course, the only reason he had been placed here was that the URA needed a floating base of operations for Task Force Atlas, both their own people and any one else who wished to land on the ship.

The intercom set into the desk took Harrington away from his relaxation, "Admiral Harrington, sir. We just got a message through ship comms. Seems to be Namenian."

Harrington leaned forward and touched the touchscreen on his desk, "Yeah, sure, let it through" Harrington sighed as he took his finger off the screen, "Dammit, let's see what they want." Harrington picked his tablet up off the desk and turned the screen on. The Valkyrie, like her two sister ships, had been armed not only with the best weapons and armor, but also the highest-tier equipment and technology. The text appeared on Harrington's message log as he read it over. The message made him chuckle. Leave it to a Namenian to be cryptic on a superencrypted message that no one of importance would be listening in on even if they could break through. Harrington set his tablet down to reply, text appearing on the screen as he spoke:

To: Admiral Roberts, DENS Yorktown
From: Fleet Admiral Harrington, URS Valkyrie
Subject: Re:Warfighter

You are indeed correct that we have a similar goal in mind. Allies are wont to do that. Enclosed after this will be my fleet's coordinates and our heading. If you want to continue this trend of allies working together, then please, you may happily come join us. Further communications can be carrier out then.

In good waters,
Fleet Admiral James Harrington




URS Valkyrie
1st Remnant Naval Task Force
3rd Sentinel Special Operation Team
International Waters

A female voice replied to the operator from Exantos almost immediately, "Yeah, who's there? I'll be a minute." Jackie was getting dressed. The Sentinel squad had flown in not long ago and it was her first chance to wash some of the sweat off of her. In the Remnant Military, men and women had the ability to wash together or separately on bases by being given two bathrooms and showers. However in combat and in the special forces, it was not uncommon for women and men to wash together on a normal basis. Being the only woman in the group, the other members of the Sentinels gave her space out of courtesy. She was finishing putting the last of her clothes on, which included a green tee shirt and black pants(The military didn't have a fashion sense). She came into view of Phil and held out her hand, "Hi. Captain Jacqueline Kowalski. To what may I owe the pleasure of your presence?" Jackie was putting her arm minicom on and checked the time in the corner. She was supposed to be in a secondary briefing with the rest of the team soon, so hopefully this goof could hurry it up. Even as she had the thought, an IM showed up from Oreo, Where the Hell are you? Jolly and Koopa are gonna be pissed if you're late. Even though she outranked Koopa and had led a team of her own, Jackie was just a grenadier on 3rd Squad, not IC or 2IC like Jolly and Koopa were, so they were her bosses, and she'd rather not have to see Jolly's father-like I'm-disappointed-in-you stare or have to hear any of Koopa's cracks.
By any means necessary. Call me URA
Winner of 2015 Best of P2TM Awards: Best Roleplayer - War
"I would much rather be with you than against you, you're way too imaginative."- Cafla
"URA New Confucius 2015."- Organized States
"Congrats. You just won the second place prize for Not Giving a Fuck. First Place, of course, always goes to Furry."- New Jordslag
"He's an 8 Ball, DEN. You can't deal with an 8 Ball." - Empire of Donner land
"This Rp is flexible with science and so will you." - Tagali Federation
"Unfiltered, concentrated, possibly weaponized stupidity."
Thafoo, Leningrad Union: DEAT'd for your sins.
Discord: Here

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Nova Sylva
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1368
Founded: Nov 11, 2013
New York Times Democracy

Postby Nova Sylva » Fri Jan 23, 2015 5:20 pm

Camp McCarren
South Carmi, New Sylvan Republic
1400 Hours Local


More to come soon!

"Well, quite the party we got rolling here," Outback said, looking at the collected ATLAS operatives. Most were fraternizing with one another, trading weapons, looking over plans, and generally getting acquainted.

"Alright, cut the chatter," Solomon said, and after a few moments all attention was back on Sol.

"We've got a simple grab and go here," he said. "We'll be flying out on three Vertibird helicopters. The first will carry Fulcrum. The second will carry the teams from Exantos and URA, and the third will be loaded with Namen and Hale Isles spec ops teams. We'll fly in low, and fast, to avoid any sort of detection. We don't want to get blown out of the sky. The Sylvan Air Force will be pounding the city with enough ordinance to keep any Aemen CAS and IADS busy until we can get in, and get out. We're on a 24 hour timetable."

WIP.
Reino de Esylvaña
Founder of Septentrion

| Sylva (Septentrion) | Sardenya| Acores | Maracaibo| The Best Roleplay Ever | Let's play some Wargame! |
Aleckandor REDUX wrote: When it comes to RPing during the school year, believe me when I say I'm like a paraplegic without a wheel chair in a foot race with everybody being Usain Bolt clones.
Mozria wrote:I don't understand how he (Nova Sylva) does it. It's like he does nothing but play video games, get drunk and bang sorority girls. Where is the actual college education fitting in?

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New Emmerian Coalition
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1793
Founded: Mar 07, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Emmerian Coalition » Tue Jan 27, 2015 5:40 pm

Special Operations Command Naval Base; Diego Martinez

Helicopter's blades, jet engines, and random bursts of gunfire stemming from the local training squads; the base was quite active today. It had been months since Emmeria withdrew its teams from Task Force Atlas, and in their place, leaving a few units of Rangers until their main operators were combat ready again. In that time, most of the Rangers had been lost, wounded, or returned safely. The Chiefs of Atlas eventually decided that the Remnants would be given their spot in Atlas, for the time being. The Task Force had grown steadily, Operations sprouting in Eurasia, Flakistan, and the Asianic States. With the growth came wider operational availability, and with that, came Atlas' deployment in Active Warzones. Normally the Task Force worked behind enemy lines, but the newer operations seemed to be getting closer and closer to the lines, with Operators engaging foreign military assets. Politically, Atlas was becoming unstable, and with the death of so many Rangers in the Coalition's actions to try and save face, the populace was becoming unsteady with its existence as well. Soon after SOC's introduction to the battlefield, more Special Operations forces became assets on the field. With Emmeria's new found confidence in her Special Operations once more, Emmerian Special Operations Operators soon found their way back into Atlas...

Lennox sat on an uncomfortable bench outside the base's PX. To his right was a half eaten M.R.E. (Spaghetti and Meatballs, and crackers with Jalapeno Cheese Spread), and a duffelbag. Normally on-base, personnel were allowed to eat at any of the PX's fine establishments, but as Lennox was recently briefed of his re-entry into Atlas, he is to be considered "At Operational Status" for the time being. As such, he may not partake in the delectable food within the PX. Not that he cared, the cheese spread was pretty fine in itself. The loud engine of a Special Projects LRV woke him from his trance of 80's rock music. He looked up, and saw the large tri-barrelled 12.7mm gatling gun of the vehicle, with an eager Airman sitting behind it. Oh boy. Newbie. Lennox thought to himself, standing up and tossing the remainder of the meal into the trash. He opened the front most passenger door, and stepped into the SUV, seeing his squadmates once again. He could hear the airman shuffling his feet in the back; probably still getting used to this thing's horrible gunner support.

"Lieutenant." He greeted the driver, before looking back at the airman. "Hitching a ride?" He asked, passively.

"No sir!" He heard a call, as the airman struggled to climb down from the turret. "I'm the new TACOM of your squad, Chief Master Sergeant Calhoun, but you can call me Dee-Jay." DJ held out his hand.

"Welcome aboard... DJ." Lennox looked at Locke, comfused.

"DJ here has been sent to us to complete our Fireteam; the brass doesn't feel comfortable with sending a team not full on numbers into the heartland of wherever the Hell Atlas is being deployed." Locke sighed. "Guess they don't want a repeat of 'Necro?"

Lennox sighed, and sat back. He knew exactly why this was happening. Locke was right.

"So what's your job D?" Lennox asked.

"I'm supposed to maintain a command line with HQ, while also serving as the guy who calls in the thunder; you know, Spooky's, F-126's, A-164s, and Jerichos." DJ responded, motioning an explosion and mutter 'Boooom.'

Locke's eyes lit up. Fukken Jerichos?

"So you're like, another Lennox, huh." Kate said, "Any weapons specialties?"

"Personal Defense Weapons, shat-guns, and Kaleshnikov's wonderful sh*t." He said, looking at her.

"Did he really just say 'shat' guns?" Lennox muttered.

The SUV came to an abrupt halt, two large VTOLs sitting in front of them. They were Coalition ones, from the early 2000's. The squad was instructed to move out, and board the first VTOL in the line. SOC Officers stood by, assisting them in loading their cargo as more SOC Personnel boarded the second VTOL. They were fully kitted out, utilizing a multi-terrain pattern on their uniforms, just like Lennox's team. He was unsure why they were following, and he approached one of the officers in charge. He had to call over the whirring of the helicopter's blades.

"Who are they?! I thought this mission was a single-fireteam!" Lennox called out to the officer.

"They're on standby in case you all f*ck up! Again!!" He called back. "They'll be waiting at the ESC Hale! You won't need them if you do your job right!"

Lennox felt a bit of rage inside him. The Government was being less then subtle about Emmeria's screw-ups in Atlas. But, he didn't mind. The team couldn't fail again. It was their lives on the line, after all.
The helicopter picked up, and shot out into the distance. Lennox' Team would be late to the party, but they were given their briefings for the Operation. Upon activating his iDroid, DJ let out some words of wisdom.

"Et tu, Brutus?" He smiled deviously.
Current Location: Gone Rogue @ DZ02 Steeleport

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Nova Sylva
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1368
Founded: Nov 11, 2013
New York Times Democracy

Postby Nova Sylva » Sat Jan 31, 2015 6:49 am

Sorry for the wait, guys. Been busy with my SATs/ACTs, and my studies in general. Junior year at a college prep school sucks massive dick, I'm telling you. Speaking of dicks, this post has a sex scene. Don't say I didn't warn you! ;)

Camp McCarren
South Carmi Province, New Sylvan Republic
1400 Hours Local


“We’ve got quite the party here,” Outback said to Solomon, as he observed his team’s new assets.

“Indeed,” the commander replied. “I just hope that it’s enough.” Solomon and Outback had been in enough fights to know that a large team size wasn’t always an asset. More often than once, they’d found themselves separated, and had to improvise to make sure no one got left behind. “Go ahead and brief them.”

Imagine Outback talking in a thick Australian accent

“A’ight gents,” Outback said, clapping his hands, commanding the hanger’s attention. “As you know, the target of this op is a King Reginald II – or as we call ‘him here in Carmi, Reggie. Now, HighCom would like to have a chat with Mr. Reggie, and discuss with him the future of this here war. However, should ATLAS and Fulcrum be unable to capture Reggie alive, were to kill him.

“The King is held up here, in this ancient castle. Around it, and the city, are 1300 Crown Guardsmen, the finest troops Aemen has to offer. The palace grounds are heavily defended with a top-tier security system and armored vehicles. So obviously, we’re not going to attack him there.

“Our way in is through the King’s son, Ivan, who’s got a thing for Carmisiain broads, though he’ll fuck anything that moves. DIS – the Department of Sylvan Intelligence – has an agent that’ll be taking care of Ivan. She’ll convince him to lure Reggie out in the open – and we’ll strike from there. If we can, we're also to target the MERPAC strategic command structure, which is holding a summit in the same city.

“Once we have Ivan, we have three exfil locations. The harbor, which will be coming under attack by the entire N-S-R navy, a specialized stealth helicopter, or we can hide, until the First Maneuver Group roll through this prime piece o’ real estate, guns blazing.”

“Sir,” a URA Sentinel asked. “What will are teams be, and who’s in charge?”

“Solomon has overall command of Operation : Caesar from here at McCarren,” Outback said. “I’ll be leading Blue Team, which will be made up of Fulcrum operatives. Red Team will be the URA and Exantos, Green Team will be composed of the NEC, and Gold Team of everyone else. Command of the teams will be up to you, gents, and Solomon wont interfere on a tactical level. He will be monitoring our progress via about a dozen drones the NSR will have diverted for our use. They're armed, and dangerous, and feel free to blow some shit up. Lase the targets, and all hell will rain down on 'em."

“Does each team have a specific objective?”

“Ah, yes! Glad you asked. Blue team will be going after the Prince Ivan and an undercover DIS operative. Red team, the URA & Exes, will have the honors of grabbing Reggie once he is in transit, and Green team will be attacking the MERPAC Theatre Command, trying to cause as much havoc as they can. Intel suggests that atleast three General Staff officers from each Meridian Pact nation are here, at MERPAC HQ. Green team will reduce that number to zero, and in doing so deliver a crushing blow to the alliance's central command structure. Gold team will be providing support for all the other teams, and will be securing a secondary exfil plan.

"Note that this op is not designed around stealth, but speed. We've got a twelve hour window from drop-off before the NSR navy starts shelling the damn city. And trust me, you don't want to be here for when that happens. Go loud if you have to, but get it done on time."

"We'll be HAHO jumping into the city from a specially modified transport. Unfortunately, I can't tell you why the Aemen won't see us, 'cause that's classified, but trust me - they won't shoot us out of the sky. Said plane is wheels up at 1600 hours - the armory is open, take whatever you need, but don't be late."

One of Prince Ivan's many residences
Port Royal, Aemen
11:40 hours until exfil


Originally I was gonna be really vague with this, but then I thought hell, no one's gonna care. But if for some reason you do, stop NOW.

I said stop, you sick, horny bastard(s)! Oh, whatever. Let's get this over with...


"So this is your house?" The girl asked, as she uncrossed her stocking-clad legs in the passenger seat. The car, the newest Porsche model, roared as Ivan gunned the engine through an open gate and onto a cobblestone road.

"Hah! This shack? Nah, but it's the closest thing with a bedroom that I own."

The girl shot him a sly smile, as one of her hands seductively toyed with her dirty blonde curls, which gleamed even in the sports' cars dim interior lighting.

Ivan, for his part, couldn't believe his luck as he took another long gaze at the night's conquest. The woman looked to be in her late twenties, earlier thirties, with curled hair that came down to just above her breasts. The tight blue dress she wore showed off her curves to their greatest extent, complimented her eyes, and left enough cleavage to drop jaws. The dress came down mid thigh, and she wore heels, yet walked in them unhindered and absolutely flawlessly.

Right from the start of the night, the two had hit it off. She introduced herself as Katherine, a native Carmisian who had moved to Aemen during the Sidonian War. He introduced himself as Prince Ivan, second son of Reginald II, and bought her more and more alcohol, which both consumed in more than gracious amounts. By then, it was clear how the night was going to end.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the front steps. He got out and went over to her door, but was too late to open it for her. Instead, she jumped on him, wrapping her legs around her waist and giving a drunk laugh before a long, rough kiss. Ivan carried her, and her bag, up the stairs, opened the door, and attempted to navigate through his house. "I want it now," she said. "Fuck me right fucking now!"

Ivan finally found the bedroom and threw Katherine on to the bed before dropping his pants. Katherine sat there, smiling, as Ivan stared at the beautiful woman waiting on his bed. Naked now, Ivan climbed on top of her, fumbling with the zipper to her dress. She turned him over, straddling him, as there hands fought past eachother for the first take of bodies they didn't know but were so desperate to explore. Ivan finally unzipped her dress, letting her step out of the silky fabric before throwing it on the floor.

Katherine took the belt out of Ivan's pants as he toyed with her breasts. She moaned as she bent over him, kissing Ivan again, then returned to her original position, and sighed, smiling. Then she held up the belt.

"Into some kinky shit, are we?" Ivan laughed, grinning wide. Her actions spoke for her - she tied his hands to the bedpost. "Ow," he said. "A little tight,"

Then her smile faded completely. She got off of Ivan, and opened her bag, retrieving a pistol, a black tank top, and jeans.

"What the fuck?" Ivan said, trying to get out of the belt. But she had it tied strong. He watched her as she threw on the tank top and the pulled up the pants, before sliding into the combat boots. "If you haven't noticed yet, your not getting lucky tonight. I'm Lieutenant Emily Rush, Department of Sylvan Intelligence."

"Oh fuck."

She laughed, a different laugh than Ivan had heard from the rest of the night - her real laugh. "And if you want to keep that millimeter peter of yours -" she pointed to his dick with her gun - "Then you'll do EXACTLY as I say."

He looked down at his penis, genuinely insulted. "Ouch," he said. "Got me in the feels."

She rolled her eyes. "I see your sense of humor is still intact. Torture can fix that."

"You know, there's really no need for that gun - or torture - I hate my father as much as you Sylvans do. He's going to fucking destroy the Kingdom he wants so desperately to protect with this petty war of his."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Rush replied, with a sarcastic smile, still pointing the gun.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" He replied. "I mean, assuming sex is out of the question." Rush rolled her eyes reached into his discarded pants with her free hand and tossed him his cell phone, dialing a number and placing it on speaker.

"It's going to connect to your father's phone. Tell him to come to this location as soon as he can. Do that, and I'll consider not shooting your dick off."


Blue Team
Port Royal, Aemen
11:40 hours until exfil


Blue Team had landed in the city's central park. It was a moonless night, and the city was completely dark, due to the nationwide nightly blackouts. The blackouts were for two reasons - one, to prevent NSR bombers from striking Aemen's cities, and from the rationed electrical power. The NSR strategic bombing campaign had destroyed most of the Kingdom's nonnuclear power plants, and as a result only a select few districts of the country had full power, and only for a few hours at a time. This served to ATLAS' advantage - they could move almost completely undetected in the darkness. The only problem Blue Team had encountered was with Scarf, who had missed the LZ altogether, and Gargoyle - who had broken his leg during the HAHO jump, landing in a tree, then falling out of it.

"We need to get a move on," Outback said, before addressing the team's medic. "Band Aid, whats his' status?"

"The leg is toast," Band-Aid replied. "He can't walk. We're going to need a vehicle."

"Alright mates," he said, now to everyone, "fan out. Find us a ride."

The operatives were wearing captured Crown Guardsmen uniforms, to blend in, like everyone else involved with Operation: Caesar. There were six men in Blue Team - Outback, Guile, Scarf, Gargoyle, Band-Aid and Analog. Save the fact that Scarf had missed the drop zone altogether, and was god knows where in the city. Hopefully, one of the other teams would pick him up before the Crown Guards did. Rumor had it the Aemen did psychological, genetic and biological experiments on enemy prisoners of war, though nobody knew for sure - and no one in Fulcrum wanted to find out.

"Got a technical," Analog said, over the private COM. "Black SUV. Audrey GS38." Over the com channel Outback heard an engine start. "On my way now."

"Ten-four," Outback replied. "Our first objective is to pick up Ivan and whoever DIS used to take him out. From there, we'll link up with Green and Red for exfil."

"ATLAS, check in. Blue Team, Red Team, Green Team, this is Solomon. What's your status, over?"

Outback was the last team leader to check in, on the open COM, after listening to the rest of the ATLAS operatives. The SUV pulled up just as is was his turn to check in.

"This is Blue Team. We lost Scarf on the jump and Gargoyle on the landing, but will proceed to primary objective, over."

"Roger that, ATLAS, Solomon copies all. Godspeed."

So I'm thinking that Scarf gets picked up by one of the other teams. I don't care which, and feel free to kill him should things get really messy. Just make sure that at some point or another he throws a couple knives. And if you guys can, try and coordinate with the timestamps. "11:30 to exfil" means that ATLAS has 11 hours and 30 minutes to complete the mission. I don't mind us going over, but if we do, expect a couple dozen cruise missiles to start raining down on the city as the NSR Navy begins blowing the shit out of it.

Godspeed, ATLAS!
Reino de Esylvaña
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Arala
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 13
Founded: Dec 10, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Arala » Mon Feb 02, 2015 7:47 am

The Overwatch hovered over Port Royal in their VTOL, preparing for jump.
"Corporal, release the aerial drones. We'll drop the ground ones later once the carnage begins."
Corporal Eagle powered up the drones one by one, and opened the hatch.
"Release!"
The techies directed the drones, and the drones flew out the hatch one by one, cameras on and rolling.
"Everyone ready? Once you hit the ground, report in and we'll make our way to the street that the target will be traveling down. Then we'll make our move."
They lined up, parachutes at their backs, next to the hatch. Two of the techies stayed behind to prepare the Mule and the Bulldog.
"Behind me, allow at least 60 seconds between each jump! High opening!"
Captain Xexar jumped fearlessly, shooting through yielding air. Slowly, each man jumped, until only the two techies were left. One shrugged.
"Then there were two."
On the Ground
Captain Xexar landed atop a building in the center of Port Royal. He detached his parachute and waited for the others. One by one they came down, unharmed except for Corporal Eagle, whose parachute got stuck on a telephone pole. Captain Xexar activated an iDroid mounted in his helmet.
"Everyone, check in."
"Corporal Eagle, stuck but here."
"Corporal Andreas Hawkens, here." Andreas stood up next to Xexar, and saluted. He was the main medic in the party, with a small medica pack on his back. The others checked in, and Xexar was satisfied.
"Okay, everyone. Go get Corporal Eagle down, I'll check in with command."
He changed the channel on his iDroid to the radio signal ATLAS was using.
"Overwatch checking in. Everyone is unharmed, we're going to make our way to the street our mark will be going down. What heading should we take?" He activated a secure GPS signal to let Solomon know where they were.
I am a PMT puppet of The GAmeTopians!

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New Emmerian Coalition
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1793
Founded: Mar 07, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Emmerian Coalition » Tue Feb 03, 2015 5:32 pm

"Lennox, I've got Drop-Point Echo coming up fast! Get your chutes ready!" The pilot of the aircraft called; callsign Valkyrie 1-0.

Lennox snapped into action, the rest of his team getting prepared to drop. Jump gear had failed spectacularly last operation, so they were back to good ol' fashioned suits. He tapped his wrist' map twice, and told each of the surrounding operatives to mark it. They pulled their iDroids, and the nice-sounding click of the iDroid's marker button was heard throughout the cabin of the aircraft. The green light came on, illuminating the darkened area.

"Alright, let's move!" Locke called, patting each operative on the back as they jumped from the VTOL.

Lennox kept checking his altitude. They had to get in as quietly as possible, without attracting much attention, for their plan to work. They needed to set up a perimeter around the target area, and with permission from acting commander of this operation, level the area with a Jericho missile. The only problem was lazing the area. Through the many buildings and the geography, the only way they'd get a clear shot would be if they set up shop near the facility itself, then run like Hell once they called in the heavy artillery. Of course, this was only Plan A. Plan B was to seize the area by force with snipers on lookout.

THUD

Kate smacked into a tree, her chute wrapping around it, and disconnecting her. She landed on her two feet just barely. She also had some pleasant words for the tree, of which she muttered under her breath frequently. Lennox landed closed to her, with Locke landing a bit further to the Objective. DJ was caught on some object, but managed to disconnect his chute before he attracted too much attention. Locke unzipped his rifle bag, and retrieved his LaRue OBR. Two more SOC Special Projects members had followed the team, serving as additional snipers and spotters for Locke. They followed him closely to the objective.

"ATLAS, this is Green Team; we've successfully infiltrated the target area." Lennox said into his comms. "Will notify once reach target building."

Em, do I have the greenlight to flatten the theatre? Also, what type of opposition am I going to face before then?
Current Location: Gone Rogue @ DZ02 Steeleport

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The United Remnants of America
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 17165
Founded: Mar 09, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The United Remnants of America » Fri Feb 06, 2015 1:08 pm

Port Royal, Aemen
Remnant Sentinels, Red Team
11:20 Hours Until Exfil

"So, where are the Exanti guys? They shouldn't be too far away, right?" Jackie pulled a stick out of her chest rig. She'd hit a tree on the way down during the air drop.

Koopa replied first. "That's a very good question. Hang on," the team's 2IC switched his comm channel to Red Team's band, "This is Sentinel Unit calling Golden Legion Unit, how copy? Repeat, this is Sentinel-2 calling Golden Legion, how copy, over?"

As Koopa was calling for the Exanti team, the rest of the Sentinels were still finishing their equipment checks. Tarzan and Ninja were checking each other while Oreo and Jackie were just finishing up their own checks. Jolly was looking over the maps on his Xcomm, trying to find the quickest route to intercept Reginald and take him down. They'd already buried their jump gear in order to keep it from being seen. The downside was that it seemed they'd landed in some sort of park, meaning that the dig spots would eventually be found, but hopefully after they'd exfiled the area. Jolly looked over the map, it seemed the Exanti team hadn't activated their comms gear yet, since Jolly couldn't pick them up, but he could pick up several military-grade comms systems that were operated by the enemy in the city.

Jolly spoke though the Sentinel channel, "Hey, O'Malley. Are you seeing what I'm seeing on the map? You see anything else?"

O'Malley, half a world away sitting in a nice plush rolling chair looked over his screen. The ex-4th Squad operator and current 3rd Squad operator replied, "No, sir. I don't see anything, just you and some of the other Atlas teams on the ground, surrounded by a lot of civilian and military presence, sir."

"Don't call me sir. It's Jolly, call me Jolly."

"Yeah, sorry si- Sorry, Jolly."

Tarzan walked up and tapped Jolly's shoulder. Jolly turned to his heavy weapons specialist to hear the status report. "Hey, yeah, so, we got everything, all our gear. Jackie got a little smacked up by that tree, but she's good. Oreo's complaining about a sore ankle, but he says it's not sprained. Ninja's good, Koopa's good, I'm good. And I got the C-4 and PCL in case we need to set up a makeshift quick stop to the VIP's ride. I'm decently sure that if I time it right, I won't kill him as well, but y'know, can't make an omelet, am I right?"

Jolly nodded slowly, thinking the situation over. "Alright, tell everyone to dig in and stay out of sight for now. We wait until Koopa can raise the Exanti team, which is hopefully soon. I wish we could've brought our Rhino with us, but Sylvan Air didn't let us have carry-ons. We can do this, though, it's a simple smash 'n grab. We've got the skills for it." And with that, Jolly backed into the bushes, still watching the faint glow of the screen of his pad.
By any means necessary. Call me URA
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