Project Warfighter - Operation Caeser
Posted: 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.”
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.”