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Project Warfighter - Operation: Mirror Force(IC)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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The United Remnants of America
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Founded: Mar 09, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Project Warfighter - Operation: Mirror Force(IC)

Postby The United Remnants of America » Thu Jun 16, 2016 11:25 pm



Undisclosed Location
Six Months Ago...


The mansion really was extravagant. Four floors, fourteen bedrooms, and nine bathrooms. It was a bright star of architecture in this desert of a third-world country where nothing was as beautiful or as well-developed. The fact that this mansion also had a full swimming pool and a helipad in the massive backyard meant nothing to an outside observer. They would even be able to get close enough to see it. The entire property was walled in and the one driveway that went up to the house was gated and protected by a guard post that had an armed contractor at all times standing watch. The fact that cameras were everywhere went without saying; everything was recorded here, even the guest bathrooms. For security purposes.

A full complement of thirty armed security watched this mansion in eight-hour rotations. A small barracks in the back corner of the property gave these men and two women access to everything they needed to live a comfortable, and well-paid, life for the year they would be here. They were all private contractors. Some working alone and some in small groups, but none of them were from a large company to avoid suspicion. They had little idea who they worked for other than that he was well protected here because even on top of them, the man had four personal bodyguards who never let him out of his sight. That was one reason why none of the contractors had ever gotten a look at him, but none of them paid it much mind. Half a million dollars each was the price to work a fairly easy patrol for a year, and then they could ask to be contracted again. Some of these small-time mercenaries had a five-year plan to work for this rich benefactor and get enough to retire on.

None of them knew they were working for one of the world's most wanted criminals.

The man had made sure his name had never appeared on any legal document, and any that had existed when he was a child he'd made sure had been scrubbed. Nothing linked this man to any event anywhere, but his dealings were obvious. He was a man of immense wealth, immense power, and immense influence. He had changed his appearance multiple times as necessary to get in with local populaces and meet with various representatives and workers, but that didn't matter. One nickname had stuck. The nickname he'd gotten working as a radical religious leader in some backwoods Arab Muslim country where he'd been using low-tech terrorists to strong arm his way into oil deals. The Prophet.

Even now, his bodyguards jokingly referred to him among themselves as this, but he made no outward reaction towards it when he heard it, and he didn't ask them to stop. But deep down, the word infuriated him. It was the mark of his first failure, his first mistake. It was the name that Task Force Atlas had gotten information on and had used to track him relentlessly. Now, it seemed, they were at every turn he made, making his life and his dealings difficult. But that was about to change.

The Prophet sat in a leather reclining office chair. His black hair was short, but stylish, and he kept a neatly trimmed beard. His complexion was light enough that he could pass as a local who had just returned from a sunny vacation in most Caucasian countries, but it was dark enough he could be a Latin or an Arab or a passing Greek. His grey Armani suit was flawless, and the maroon silk tie he wore brought it all together. Across from his great solid oak desk sitting in front of him was only one of his advisers, his "doers."

"It can be done, sir. I assure you of that," began the assistant, "It will just take time and resources to find those who are qualified, as well as to equip them and train them for the task you want them to accomplish."

The Prophet nodded. He knew all of this, but he felt no need to reminding his assistant of that. "All that matters is that it can be done. I have patience, and I have the funding. I only ask that you and your people find the best."

"We will, sir, there is no doubt of that. We just may want to avoid recruiting in nations where our presence could be felt."

"You mean where they are?" The Prophet did not refer to Task Force Atlas by name, especially around his underlings, who had their silent fears about being woken up in the middle of the night to a gun barrel pointing them down.

"Yes, sir. We don't want your plan to be revealed early on. Surprise is key."

"Of course it is. At first, I had been hesitant to do anything. They were merely a nuisance that I could circumvent. But I was wrong. They must be dealt with, and in order to do that, we must go no the offensive."

"Yes, sir."

"So gather up whatever you need. I'm giving you a blank check to accomplish this task that I've given you. They must be destroyed."

"Yes, sir."




Outpost Training Camp #3, Chitzeland
Five Days Ago...


Working for Task Force Atlas wasn't always a glorious job. The various governments, organizations, alliances, and corporations with their hands in the pot focused on one thing for Task Force Atlas: The special operators. The special mission teams with all their fancy gear and their interpersonal drama.

But nobody cared about the staff. The bass staff, the troops tasked with flying the task force aircraft and driving the task force vehicles. While the majority of the base personnel were from whatever country the base was in, the personnel of the assets were more diverse, and the majority of them were from the Garrison Air Corps and the Rapid Reaction Force.

Corporal Arin Brookes was one of these, and he had quite some time ago concluded he worked in Hell.

It was said the best station of a TFA trooper was Fort Bragg, the HQ of the task force. Most of the special operators spent a majority of their time there, and it had the best amenities for regular staff as well. Diego Garcia was also apparently nice, though it was warmer there, but apparently DG had come to become primarily a naval outlet for the Task Force Mobile Fleet, which was a fleet of nine ships that supported TFA. DG was home to a lot of the Task Force's assets due to that.

The Firebases, while smaller, were apparently not bad, though Brookes had heard various gripes. Firebase Echo in the URA's colonies was hot as fuck, and it was staffed by mercenaries that apparently didn't like the TFA pilots and drivers. Firebase Amethyst was quiet, and the TFA staff there said the Vanconians kind of creeped them out. Firebase Valkyrie was apparently like living in an old nationalist military adver tisement. Firebase Alamo had no Internet connections outside of the command post, and since it was in a temperate climate, the Emmerians had decided it was cheaper to not install heating or air conditioning in the barracks.

Brookes had decided that they all had it easy, since he was staffed at the most out-of-the-way and desolate of the locations available. He'd been appointed to work at Outpost Training Camp #3, in Chitzeland. Now, despite the descriptive name, not much training actually happened, here, since most of the operators kept away from OTC3. The Hurtis and the Namenians had briefly done training stints here, but that was all Brookes could remember. Now, when the specops weren't around, that usually meant a vacation for the staffers: No training missions for them, so they didn't have to fly or drive the stuck-up pricks anywhere, and they didn't have to set their training routes or killhouses up. Perfect.

Too bad at OTC3, it sucked no matter what. Chitzeland, and specifically this part, was desolate wasteland. He'd heard comparisons to Monfrox. The air here wasn't really safe to breathe, and it was slightly radioactive, meaning if you were on outside duty, you had a mask, and when you came in, you had to scrub down. To add to that, the water tasted like shit because it had to go through such an intense purification process. Mix that with the lack of proper air-conditioning, no Wi-Fi, and the fact that electricity was spotty sometimes since the water purifiers took power priority, and it made for a shit existence.

The base staff was only around twenty, at least. OTC3 was more like a forward operating base than anything else, and it showed it. There weren't even any runways, only a few flatter areas for helicopters. Brookes didn't fly though, he was a driver. On base, there were four MH-60s, 2 A-164 Wipeouts, and 2 Apaches, and on the ground, there were 2 MRAPs, 4 Hummers, and 6 four-wheelers. Most of that was GAC and RRF property, but the ATVs were courtesy of the URA, and those got used the most for perimeter patrols, which is what Brookes did. He did them a lot, since there wasn't much else to do in this hellhole...

The vibrations in the handlebars of his ATV made his hands go numb as he circled around OTC3 about a kilometer out. It was nearing dawn, which didn't matter since they rarely saw the sun from the dust and clouds in the air. Brookes could taste the putrid dust through his mask and even though he wore goggles, it still got in his fucking eyes. Brookes volunteered to take as many patrol shifts as he could, since it beat sitting on his bunk playing with himself. He'd need to basically scrub his skin until he bled to get the irradiated dust off, since he was now out on his third shift in a row, but he pushed that thought from his head and gunned the ATV, doing a small jump across a dune.

Maybe when he got back, he could try and get Todd and Sperry to spit up more of their money in another game of-

Bbbbbrrrrrt!

The flash of mushrooming light and smoke caught his eye, and the vibrations hit himself and his four-wheeler almost immediately afterwords. An explosion at the the camp. What the fuck happened? Did someone set off the armory? A second explosion in a different part of the base made him stop his ATV hard. That explosion was the command building. Brookes watched as the communications array fell over off the building as the realization struck him. They were being attacked. Brookes gunned his ATV and turned towards OTC3 to see what he needed to be done.




"Abaddon, Azrael, copy. Charges are green."

"Azrael, Abaddon. Light them up on mark. Three. Two. One. Mark."

Another explosion rocked the ground as yet another building went up. From his location, Archangel watched as his teams went to work. It had been months since Archangel was first contacted by the man others knew as The Prophet. And since then, it had taken Archangel some time to assemble these men and women that worked for him, but he'd done it nonetheless, and he'd done it faster than the time frame the Prophet had given him, which surprised Archangel's benefactor. They'd also trained and were now accomplishing their first mission much faster than expected. Task Force Atlas had grown complacent, and destroying this, their smallest base, had been too easy.

Archangel had assembled thirteen teams of four. Azrael, Abaddon, Zephon, Camael, Gabriel, Israfil, Michael, Maalik, Samael, Ariel, Wormwood, Uriel, and Zaphkiel, and finally, his own team: Lucifer, which included himself and three others. In total, that made fifty-two operators that had been assembled and organized in record time to do this did.

"Sir, incoming spotted on four-wheeler." Archangel turned to see one of his teammates looking through a sniper scope.

"Fire when you can."

"Yes, sir." Archangel watched the marksman breathe in, his body rising slowly, before a quiet puff sounded from the barrel of the silenced sniper rifle. In the distance, Archangel saw the headlight of the four-wheeler suddenly begin to slow and veer to one side. "Target down." Archangel simply nodded in silence.

After fifteen minutes of listening to the reports of the teams at the Task Force Atlas encampment, Archangel smiled and called upon the twelve team leaders, "Archangel to Team Leads, reports." Twelve reports soon came back, all positive, all successful. Outpost Training Camp #3, a Task Force Atlas base, had fallen quickly. "All teams, egress to exfiltration point. Make sure none survive on the way out." Twelve squelches reported affirmatives. Archangel looked to either side as he rose from the dirt of the small rise of dirt, "Come on, let's go." Three other shadows in the night rose with him.

The Prophet had paid Archangel and his "Task Force Logos," as Archangel had jokingly called it, to destroy Task Force Atlas. The Prophet promised a large amount of money for this, and Archangel had painstakingly recruited only the most skilled, most determined personnel he could find to fill the ranks. They came from all over, and had all skill sets, but they were all the best of the best that could be found and bought. Archangel was proud, really, though he'd never say it, for he'd created the perfect enemy of Task Force Atlas: Their own kind. The problem with the Prophet was that he underestimated these Task Force Atlas types. They couldn't be dealt with using angry villagers with thirty-year-old assault rifles. Nor could a backwater military force of conscripts defeat them. No, they had to be put down using their own methods, destroyed by soldiers as skilled as they were. Task Force Atlas needed to be destroyed by Tier-One operatives. And Archangel knew that only too well.

Archangel now knew his team's abilities. Time to hit a bigger target.

Task Force Atlas would fall, come Hell or high water.




Fort Bragg, Oranized States
Earlier Today...


Fort Bragg was a large base, one of the main operating bases of the military in the Organized States. However, a section on the base was cordoned off. Behind the fences, the walls, and the guard posts was a section of Fort Bragg that was dedicated to specific personnel: The men and women of Task Force Atlas. Fort Bragg was the headquarters of TFA, and due to this, the majority of TFA's assets were stationed at Fort Bragg, as well as most of the Task Force's command and control structure and information-gathering ability. The only base near the size of the TFA component at Bragg was Diego Garcia, across the planet. Diego Garcia was the main station of the Task Force's joint task fleet as well as the rest of the of Task Force's ground and air assets, with small smatterings of personnel and assets spread among the Firebases and OTC #3.

Currently, the large majority of the Task Force's special operations personnel, seen by the base personnel as equal parts snobbish prick, drama queen, and demigod, were in the large briefing room on the first floor of the Task Force Atlas Operation Control center. The room was large enough, but even now, the fifty of so folding chairs were filled and there were people standing around the room against the wall. Everyone had made an appearance for the emergency briefing that was being given. Uniforms of all patterns and colors were present.

In the corner of the room, near the double-set of doors to the room stood Chell Jackson and Vlad Lenin, the Hurti and Namenian half of the TFA field command staff. Both had looks of concern on their faces, though with Vlad, it was generally hard to tell this apart from his resting facial expression. In the opposite corner at the front silently stood the Director of Task Force Atlas, a rare sight seeing as the Director rarely left the safety of the Control Center or the R&D department. His salt-and-pepper hair was a mess, as it usually was. Some of the researchers assumed he must stay up for days at a time doing whatever it was he did; No one was really sure exactly what he did. Standing at the front of the room, standing behind a lectern and in front of a projector screen stood Lennox and Jolly, the Emmerian and Remnant commanders, marking as quite the comparison. Lennox was tall, dark-haired, and in what could only be his prime. Jolly, in contrast, was shorter, his hair thoroughly greyed, and looked every bit the old, grizzled, special forces warrior he was meant to be. Lennox had a sheaf of papers in his hand from which he was reading while Jolly stood beside him with his own copy of the briefing.

"Roughly five days ago, at 0600 local time," Lennox began, "Communications with Outpost Training Camp Number Three ended unexpectedly. Less than one minute after communications were lost, the emergency beacon was sounded from OTC Three. Ten minutes after that, the beacon was shut down."

Jolly cleared his throat, "Four days ago, satellite feeds showed that the location of OTC Three appears to have been attacked. Three days ago, a S and R team was sent in; no survivors were found. All personnel are considered KIA."

A couple sighs and expletives were heard in the crowd.

Lennox continued, "Our intelligence analysts have been poring over this information and how it happened. There is little information on the subject. The only information they've dredged up are several references encoded to what we think is Diego Garcia. We think this may be an indication of an attack."

Jolly picked up. "Due to this, and due to the unknown nature of the attackers of OTC Three, we will be mobilizing all teams," Jolly swallowed and nodded. "The majority of our teams will be heading to Diego Garcia in fear of the threat while other teams will be sent to the Firebases in Emmeria, the URA, the DEN, and Vancon. You all have ninety minutes to pack your bags for an indeterminable scramble period, so pack light and pack efficient, especially the Diego Garcia-bound teams. That's a 13-hour flight. I'll be staying on base to manage from here..." Jolly glanced at the Remnant team in the group, noting that Koopa was still absent. Jolly nodded as he ever so slightly looked down and his shoulders slumped imperceptibly.

"Dismissed."
Last edited by The United Remnants of America on Tue Jul 12, 2016 4:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
By any means necessary. Call me URA
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The Unified Isles
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Founded: Mar 13, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Unified Isles » Fri Jun 17, 2016 7:31 am

Fort Bragg, Situation Room



"Dismissed."

Captain Duncan needed a second to asses the situation. He sat in the center of the room, arms crossed before his body, staring at the ceiling. How could that have happend ? Weren´t we the ones who were supposed to go on the offensive ? The Royal Commandos had only recently joint the righteous effort that Task Force Atlas was, and now their entire existence seemed to be threatend.

"Captain ?"

Duncan lowered his eyes and encountered the face of a man, maybe in his late twenties.

"Aye, Sergeant ?"

Before him stood Sergeant Major Leonard Powell, his Troop´s Senior Non-Commissioned Officer and Executive. A trained Sniper, Powell had raced through the enlisted ranks in fewer than ten years. He reminded Duncan of himself, and in many ways he perceived the Sergeant as not only his disciple but a sort of son. Duncan himself had made a similarly fast career, having being commissioned from the rank and file after joining the Commandos.

"Thy orders, mine lord ?"

"Oh... I completly forgot...", He thought for a moment or two. The Commandos have been assigned to Diego Garcia, and Jolly had advised them to bring light equipment. "Orders as given from above: All soldiers art to backeth their kit-bag, light preferably. We shalt leaveth the Mortar and the HMG here for anon. "

"Aye, Mine Lord"


Fort Bragg, Royal Commando Quarters - Aproximatly eighty minutes later



Someone was humming the Regimental March of the Royal Commandos throughout the quarters. It was Corporal Jordan, the team medic, and also a sort of team spirit. He didn´t officially belong to the unit, but was rather an attachement from the Medical Corps, and always seemed quite unconcerned with things going on around him. Coequally, most of the team wasn´t concerned about him.

The team had been packing together their equipment, laying aside the Hussar jackets that belonged to their usual duty uniform, and exchanging it for body armour. Most of the Commandos had their weapons already fully assembled, with bayonets fixed.

"Troop, stand !"

Immediatly all members of the outfit packed up their last bits and stood in a firm row, the weapons shoulderd. Captain Duncan shortly inspected the line and than gave another, "At ease".

"Thee all knoweth yond I´m not one for plaited speeches. But alloweth me bid thee one thing: This is our first mission for Atlas, and I wanteth e´eryone to giveth his most best to showeth those folk what the isle´ish can doth."

Sergeant Powell quickly left the row and picked up a small pennant that was lying around in the quarters. It was a Troop Guidon, completly in red with a gilded eagle in the center, a honored symbol of war and the field insignia of 2 Troop.

"Bolt, Thundercrash and Lighting, Horrid Hell and Bloody Woe,
Our triumphs go before us so that all the world may now",

sung Sergeant Powell. The whole Troop, even Duncan, started to laugh on recension of this classical Isle´ish song.

"Hopefully so, Sergeant, Hopefully so"

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New Gazi
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Founded: Apr 12, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby New Gazi » Fri Jun 17, 2016 11:33 am

The group stood outside of the black helicopter. For the pilos that sat in the cockpit, it felt all real. They were about to take Vangaziland's first stealth Blackhawk on its first mission. The reality of the moment had also set in for the soldiers who stood outside of the bird in a semi-circle around one man.

The rotors were not spinning. It would take too long to get to Diego Garcia by helicopter. The transport flights had not been sorted yet. But a few teams were being briefed on the aircraft and the mission. Just like the standard Blackhawk, the Stealthawk was transportable by C-17. A Vannish Air Force C-17 landed about 20 minutes ago. The helicopter would soon taxi to the cargo plane's hangar and get prepared for loading.

The engine was idling, prepared to taxi away. The rotors were noticeably more quiet than a typical helicopter. It was more of a whirr without the chops. The chopping noise was the interaction of air from the front and back rotors. There were ways a stealth helicopter lessened those effects, with things like the blade type and angle of the rear propeller.

Don Frazor was giving the safety brief. He mentioned basic things like how to enter and leave the helicopter. Frazor was the agent from Vannish Intelligence who had taken charge of the Vannish team. He knew as much about the systems of this secret aircraft as the pilots, except for knowing how to fly it.

Captain Jake Okeke was the officer in charge of the African team from New Gazi.

The two Vannish soldiers stood outside to the right of the Gazilians in the semi circle. The Cobra unit had been moved around. They were now part of the Aerial Response Force. They both had stations on board the Stealthhawk.

The soldiers had waited in formation for a kit inspection before Frazor's brief. They had their weapons and gear with them. Now it would be a waiting game until their flight was ready. They still didn't know the method of delivery. They assumed they would land and disembark. But for all they knew, they would get prepared for a jump.

It was still at an early stage, information was still coming out. This was a quick class meant to introduce the Gazilians to the Stealthhawk. They might utilize it in Diego Garcia, either as part of the Aerial Reaction Force, or utilizing it for air support. The Stealthhawk had a retractable firing station where a minigun folds up and out from its station.

The three Vangazi were trained to be eyes in the sky. Over the past few months, the Cobras have worked on the art of directing airstrikes as well as artillery missions from the Stealthhawk. This was a complicated process because they had to de-conflict their airspace. This meant they had to keep out of the firing arcs and flight paths of the other assets.

The helicopter would be used if one team had to move quickly from one area to the next. The Comanche would not be sent to Diego Garcia, but might be sent to one of the smaller FOBs.

It made sense for the Vangazi and Gazilians to work together, since they had diplomatic ties. Frazor quickly selected Guguwa-8 for the team they wanted to work with.

SFC Sefu had cautioned his team before the briefing. "I don't care what these Vangazi say", the sergeant first class said. "Get prepared to walk. Anything can happen. They probably won't take that helicopter out of the C-130."

The differences between the Vangazi and the Gazilians were in the uniform and the weapons. The Vangazi wore their darker version of multicam. The Gazilians wore their version of a jungle/woodland camo mix. The Cobras, HK416s and HK417. The Gazilians carried either version of the SCAR. They also had two M249 gunners.

They also carried one more weapon. As the brief ended and the crowd fell out and started to disperse, one of the Gazilians shouted "Bang, bang, sir!" That was SSG Paavo Jang. In addition to his SCAR-L, he toted along a XM25 CDTE. It was a grenade launcher with a built in laser rangefinder. The rangefinder helped the weapon adjust it's trajectory. The 25mm grenade then detonated as an airburst round, exploding above the target.

Airburst rounds are meant to hit soldiers hiding behind cover or down in trenches.

SSG Jang was maybe the loudest, most aggressive soldier out of all the Vangazi and Gazilians.

The operators emotions varied from individual to individual. Some felt excited, others were nervous. They all knew that they had an important role in the defense of the Task Force Atlas facility. Some hoped for peace, others prayed for war.
Last edited by New Gazi on Sat Jun 18, 2016 5:56 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Altito Asmoro
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Ex-Nation

Postby Altito Asmoro » Sat Jun 18, 2016 12:28 am

Fort Bragg, Situation Room

"Dismissed."

Captain Santoso sat at the situation room, thinking of the situation. It is quite clear that they are attacked right now, and the attackers are more than just normal military or terrorist attacks, considering how brave they are to attacked TFA's bases. The team had just been regrouped after the operation in Paramount. No details been made from the operation and the rest won't forced out the details, though there may be more than just the surface.

Captain Budi walked out from the room and met with the rest of the team on their locker room. Elisa and Hana were chatting with each other, Nikolas was cleaning his rifle, while Alexander was outside, smoking cigarette. Not doing that most of the time, only when he stressed. To be expected, as the men had yet to be involved in the operation for TFA except for Nikolas.

Waiting for action, after all, is probably what they need.

"Team," he spoke, as Nikolas motioned for Alex to went in for a meeting. "There has been some compromised situation for TFA. Some of the bases under TFA's command gone dark. KIA, all of them. Well, most of them, I assumed. TFA ordered for all of the team to be ready for ninety minutes. Mine already been prepared as always, but take this time to prepare for the worst. Take everything necessary, alright. I'll meet up again...a hour from now, need some sleep first. Nikolas, took the command for a while, okay?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Alright, thanks. Dismissed." as he went out from the room, and the rest of the team decided to assembled and prepared.
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Astronea
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Founded: Apr 27, 2012
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Astronea » Sat Jun 18, 2016 1:42 am

The six Astronean AWD operators sat around the room exchanged glances as the Director wrapped up his briefing. They were mostly fully dressed in combat fatigues, although Rybak had yet to put on a sweater. Theowulf was the first to stand up, scratching the back of his neck as he turned from the room. He adjusted the SLS holster on his leg and the AP-84 pistol fitted inside it. The unit's 2IC, Valk, looked to his close friend as he pulled himself out of his seat.

"What do you think?" He asked as they began to leave the room, the rest of the team following behind, exchanging few words between them.

"I think we've gotten too soft sitting around here all day. We need the leg work." Theowulf responded, his expression partially obscured by his ballistic glasses and baseball cap.

"Doesn't sound like a standard op, not like there ever is one...you sure we're going at this with the right mindset?" Valk quizzed further as they made their way down the corridor and out of the Operation Control center, towards the armoury.

"Explain." The TL said, keying in with the quartermaster to access the unit's gear. Valk let out a sigh, trying to find the right words.

"I mean, this isn't just some exercise. We need to be ready for anything. You heard the brief, nobody knows what to expect, we're going in blind. This isn't a request for aid, this is a personal attack on TF Atlas." The younger man voiced his concerns as the team began to assemble their rucks. Eoghan saw fit to chime in with his own observation.

"Valk's right. This is serious, or, more serious than usual," the engineer paused as he considered his words, "Taking out an entire TFA facility is no small feat. Whoever organized that, whoever pulled it off, they mean business."

Theowulf seemed to listen to his team as he gave a slight nod in between inserting ballistics plates into his vest. He brought up the wrist display of the SQLCI system, prompting the others to do the same. All conversation ceased as they synced up the squad level command interface. Rybak ran a brief diagnostics check on his tablet before giving his team leader a thumbs up. All units were being monitered, their comms were keyed in and all vital signs showed normal.

"You're right, this is serious," Theowulf exhaled, "I've not received a briefing as desperate as that since the border war. Still, an op is an op, we don't let nerves affect the mission. Or maybe you really are all going soft on me, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, deep brown eyes scanning his team for any sign of hesitation. He didn't find any. Packing the lighter mini combat sustainment pack, rather than the usual ruck, his lips parted into a slight smile.

"Good. Remember to pack light."
Last edited by Astronea on Sat Jun 18, 2016 1:44 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Congreveopia
Minister
 
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Founded: Dec 09, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Congreveopia » Sat Jun 18, 2016 9:57 am

Congreveopolis, Secure Government Communications Archive, Video Call Between Commander [REDACTED] and Nexus, Plaintext:

Nexus: Good afternoon, Commander. This call would pertain to the attack on Task Force Atlas’s OTC3 base, correct?

[REDACTED]: Yes, I wanted to check that everything was in hand with regard to that situation, and action was not necessary on my part.

Nexus: Twenty people are presumed dead. The situation is already out of hand, but I have taken measures to ensure it will not get worse.

[REDACTED]: I am sorry to hear that the rumors are accurate.

Nexus: Yes. Well, unless information pertaining to the attack falls into your lap, I don’t think I need you to take action on it.

[REDACTED]: What should I be looking out for?

Nexus: Anything that looks like the Prophet, of course. And anything suspicious around Diego Garcia.

[REDACTED]: Is Diego Garcia in danger?

Nexus: No. It is not. I am going to deploy silicon. The base may be attacked, but it will not be threatened.

[REDACTED]: Diplomacy command might not be happy with that action.

Nexus: I have precinct to support this action. Either way, I am not concerned about the Commands objecting in this instance. Intelligence command, Data command, Diplomacy command, Defense command, even Media command, have all been bothering me for favors since managing our involvement in TFA was foisted on me. They can complain if they want, but Diego Garcia is getting silicon.

[REDACTED]: To what degree? You make it look like silicon is everywhere, but it can’t possibly actually be that plentiful. People would notice.

Nexus: The current scale of silicon is one of the few things I am unwilling to reveal to you, [REDACTED]. That said, I am confident that I will not need to compromise the security of other assets in order to muster enough silicon to defend Diego Garcia.

[REDACTED]: So how much are you sending?

Nexus: One. I’ll pretend to want to send a unit at the outset, and negotiate the commands down from there, letting them assemble the rest of the team that eventually goes to Diego Garcia. The unit that I “pulled” for that gets sent to Fort Bragg (that being the most important location to defend anyways, from a silicon perspective), and a choice silicon of mine goes to Diego Garcia.

[REDACTED]: One is enough? I’ve never seen silicon in action. Is it actually that capable?

Nexus: It’ll have to be. I don’t actually have enough available to send more.
Last edited by Congreveopia on Sun Jun 19, 2016 7:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Close air support covereth a multitude of sins." - Maxim 4

Congreveopia is an advanced MT nation, managed by the artificial superintelligence known as "Nexus". It is very active in global affairs, and loves manipulating nations to steer the future of the world.
Links:
Equator Confederation wrote:Congreveopia has spoken. Do it now.
Vancon wrote:Enter Cong, the smartest of our bunch.
The United Remnants of America wrote:Except for Cong, whom I'm now decently sure is a superhuman being we should probably be worshipping.

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Sonitusia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6719
Founded: Mar 12, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sonitusia » Sat Jun 18, 2016 5:22 pm

Fort Bragg

Diego Garcia. An oddly shaped island in the Indian Ocean.

Standing up briskly after being dismissed, Theodore, along with Sulthon, made way towards their unit's quarters, not a hint of a word between them for quite some time as they digested the information given. This being their third mission with Atlas in total, after completely disappearing during Operation Citadel months ago, they believed that trust from their units would not be something highly available, and that should they be recalled once more, it may lead to the exclusion of 3S from Atlas' roster, cutting off potential international allies when Sonitusia itself was in crisis. That of course would be unacceptable from the president, and his aide was given the task of completing the next objective with success, with the maximum cost being their very lives.

"As it always is," Theodore muttered, pushing the unit door open. As always, only Roland was inside during this time of day, tweaking some adjustments to his faithful drone, an Osciller verto. IX, courtesy of the Sonitusian Air Force. It was medium sized, meant to give reconnaissance over a large area. Looking up from his work, he gave a friendly salute before wiping some lubricant from his hands.

"Where to?" Roland asked, unrolling a map of the world. Humming for a few seconds, looking through the area, the former navyman tapped on the Indian Ocean, and replied, "90 minutes, light pack, Diego Garcia." Returning the map to its place once more, Roland saluted again and said, "Aye aye, skipper," before preparing his equipment. Sulthon entered the room to prepare his own equipment as Theodore left on his own to pick up the two female operators of the team obviously at the shooting range, challenging one another for the sake of marksman of the day.

This'll be like Lant, won't it? Or perhaps Susurros, considering we're on the defense.
Last edited by Sonitusia on Sun Jun 19, 2016 7:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
DEITY OF BAD-TIMING
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Member of Task Force Atlas
Holy Messenger of Imperialjapanism and Twin Sibling of Shyluz
Shyluz wrote:The second 'tanks' was said, it was all over.

Gensokyu wrote:So that happened.

They say that in the great wars of NS Summer, there was one who did not fight with blood, but with iron. They named this one the Master of Tanks, and the thunderous sound of cannon and the rattling of machine guns could be heard far and wide, the crossroads before the capital of CotM being defended by this valiant one until it stood alone. Shitposters layed in droves, and entire army having been slain by the might of Sonitusia, Master of Tanks, Commandant of Iron, and Slinger of Shells.

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Vacif
Senator
 
Posts: 4519
Founded: Mar 22, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Vacif » Sat Jun 18, 2016 7:11 pm

| Task Force Atlas |

29th Spec Ops Brigade

1st Battalion, 3rd Company, 1st Detachment

Image

EXITUS ACTA PROBAT



June 18th , 2016
Fort Bragg, Organized States

The revelation was sobering to say the least. They'd been attacked numerous times before, but to fully lose an entire installation was new. Or at least for Captain Stacer in his time with Atlas. He knew they'd taken casualties before, and entire Operations in the past have ended with less than stellar outcomes, but this was a blatant targeted attack on Atlas. Someone had in essence declared war on the international force, and backed up their statement. The training facility contained no survivors, and the S&R team couldn't shed any light on the matter. It was risky to say the least to deploy so many teams to a single place, especially since they were the target, but the teams themselves weren't the only ones in danger. They had bases, assets, people, who were affiliated with TFA, and they were in danger. They needed protection. It had become quite clear that who ever had done this was more than a match for the regulars.

They had 90 minutes to prepare for a 13 hour flight, and an operation of indeterminable time. They made sure to not repeat the mistakes of their first op with Atlas. While they were probably going to be on base defense, the Vacifians left out the heavy weapons like heavy machine guns, or the 81mil. They wanted to remain light, and hidden. Whoever their opponent was, they knew who they were, and how they operate. They knew they were coming. They needed to retain as much information as they could while acquiring as much intelligence as they could. Having one cloaked team could be a lifesaver. They didn't pack very much outside of weapons, DG would probably provide them with everything else they needed.

With all of their equipment packed, and ready to go, they marched out onto the Tarmac to wait for the other teams, as well as their ride. “So, anyone wanna guess who took out OTC-3?” Inquired Riley.

“It would be illogical for a nation to attack OTC-3. What would a country get from attacking an international task force’s training outpost deep inside of a sovereign nation? It had to be personal. Whoever it was had to be well connected, and with a bone to pick with the entire force.” Replied Luca.

“Perhaps it was a warlord, seeking to get revenge on us for disrupting their operations?” Suggested Dmitri.

“Well if it was a warlord, they'd have to have some serious power, and some serious money. Whoever did this had to of been some kind of special ops, they left no trace, gave no warning. Thorough, they must of been expensive. Now if this warlord is serious about taking all of us on, he's gonna need a lot more men than whoever was responsible for this, and a lot more firepower.” Rodrick theorized.

“So we wouldn't be fighting some two-bit dictator with a glorified militia armed with BB guns. We’d be fighting others like us, trained like us, with whatever equipment they can afford.” Captain Stacer summed up Holt’s thought.

“Question still remains though. Considering this theory holds up. Who hired them? How do we find them?” Reminded Riley.

“If they're seriously after us, there will be blood, and a lot more damage. What happens next is just the beginning. This will be a war.” Vera said seriously.

“Or we could kill all of their men in the first fire fight, grab Intel off of their corpses, find whoever fired them, and capture him, and be done with it.” Riley replied quickly. Done purposely to suck out they seriousness of his superior’s statement, much to her ire.

“They didn't leave any clues there first time, they wouldn't leave any clues for us in the future either.”

“Jeez lieutenant, way to suck the life out of conversation.” Riley boredly said

“This is a serious matter sergeant.” Dmitri chided.

The Vacifians would continue their idle chatter.
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Member of Task Force Atlas
Credit to Beiarusia for the flag.
Nation name pronounced Vuh-sea-f, sometimes shortened to Vac, or 'Cif.

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Saradena
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 473
Founded: Oct 17, 2015
New York Times Democracy

Postby Saradena » Sat Jun 18, 2016 7:20 pm

Fort Bragg, Organized States



Captain Gerard Hessler sighed as he and his team walked back to their quarters. The thought that the Task Force would be on the defensive side worried him, thinking that they would face an adversary more dangerous than them. He looked around at his men as they chatted along, with mixed emotions. He was worried on what kind of opposition they are facing, and whether they would make it back alive, as he seemed to have grown attached to his unit as if they were his second children. "An enemy that is daring enough to face a mighty force is something not to be fucked around.."

He was soon interrupted by Captain Jonas Dniepert, the leader for Dragon team, who saw Hessler's face and asked him "You're worried, aren't you?" to which he replies with a nod. Jonas then patted him on the back and continued. "You don't need to worry there, Gerard. You've seen them grow since their entry into the unit months ago, right? I'm sure they could handle themselves." This made Hessler calm down a bit as they continued walking, as he needed to believe that his team could do it. After all, they finally made it this far.

When the two finally arrive at their quarters, the team were all resting up, but when the captains arrived back, all of them stood up. "Line up, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Gerard orders all of the team members. The two teams immediately straighten up and line up. Once everyone was set, the captains then brief their subordinates as brief as possible.

"So, who'll be sent to Diego Garcia, sir?" asked Zwolf. "Zvezda will, Dragon team will be assigned to another base." The Zvezda team's Sergeant replied. The two teams remained silent as they had mixed emotions about this, some of them were excited for this mission, others worried. Some of Dragon's were also mixed, Pasternak was disappointed that she would not be participating in the operation, while others were relieved that they weren't. Either way, they prepared and packed up quickly as they had only 90 minutes to prepare for a long flight.

As instructed, they packed light, which means that Shiina and Bartlett would not use their K11's for this mission, instead were given M416's with M203 grenade launchers. "The classics, eh?" Mayumi sneers as she inspects the new toy, a weapon that had the feel of the M4A1, something that everyone in the unit had grown accustomed to during their time in the regulars, the optics were different, instead of the old Trijicon or EOTech sights, the weapon was fitted with a Digital Sighting Unit instead, a bit similar to the optics that the K11 had.

As soon as the team had finished packing up, Captain Hessler then rallies up the team, forming a semi-circle around him. "Is everyone here? Good. Remember, this is our first operation here at Task Force Atlas, which means that I want you all to do your best. Keep in mind that the enemy as of now is unknown, which means all of you have to assume that those guys are hardcore assholes. But I believe in all of you that we could all get through this alive. Just remember what you all had learned from before, exercise caution, and we could all get back in one piece. Any questions?"

The entire team remained silent, to which he continued. "Good. Now get going! We're leaving soon." a loud "SIR, YES SIR!" was heard from them as they marched towards the RV point. Gerard, looking back at the unit, once again let out a sigh as he followed them towards the exit. Meanwhile. Elizabeth says a soft prayer to Agartha, praying for the safety of their team and Zvezda Team and the success of the operation.
Japanese/Mongolian weeb cesspit nation with a lotta US military hardware
Formerly known as Esgonia (RIP Best Maid)

Call me Es, Essie, Ainsley Harriot, whatever.
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Empire of Donner land wrote:We get it. You're the grand master edge supreme. :P
Victoriala wrote:Thank god we aren't neighbors

Tune of the now: Nyet! Mosin is Fine!

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Relikai
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9355
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Sun Jun 19, 2016 8:52 pm

John Gravosia 'Graves', Konayama Miyuki 'Milky'
Namba, Relikai


The dust settled as the dark figure lay still on the ground. Dressed in all black, it slowly stirred, eyes appearing where there previously was nothing but black. Peering up from his cover, John Gravosia kept his profile low as he scanned the front, ensuring that none of the Namba Red Flag terrorist group survived the explosion from him detonating their armoury. A timed charge in their hideout, next to nearly a tonne of explosives, almost succeeded in taking out the two operatives sent in to clear out the last cell in the local mountain ranges.

The cave was cleared, this section being the last of signs of resistance. Nodding his approval, John turned to the figure lying on the floor, her eyes looking at him as she struggled to get up after the concussive force rolled over them, nearly sucking all the air from their lungs while the two ORPHANs made their escape. John took the chance as he pulled himself over his partner when the wave rolled over them, planting a kiss on her lips in a dramatic attempt to 'keep the air inside us', as he always joked. The man was nearly a foot taller than his partner, a muscled warfighter compared to his lithe partner whose slender form possessed little in fats except where a woman could take pride in, and possessed more sculpted muscle in her body than most people first believed.

"Work's done." John said as he pulled Konayama Miyuki up, the prodigy of the 48th Generation. Trained as a weapon of espionage and war, Miyuki has done many things, unspeakable even among the Tier One community due to them going against the moral fabric of society, with what little morals remain. While John was the archetypal special forces warrior, Miyuki was that and more, often being found behind enemy lines, the hand of a man around her waist as she served as the mistress of several high profile targets. Indeed, this mission was possible only with Miyuki spending many nights with the separatist leader and his cronies, slowly working her way up one man at a time before she hit gold. Her last target now lay dead in his bed in a hotel miles away, Miyuki finally ending his life by snapping his spine after a session of lovemaking, with John confirming the location of the Red Flag base. Not one to delay, Miyuki simply threw some clothes on, met up with her instructor and engaged the enemy on the information earned through her own body.

"Taking point." Miyuki replied, her goggles in infravision as she led their exit of the tunnel network, John providing rear security as they finally returned to the open, where an extraction team of three ORPHANs awaited.

"You have a new assignment." The driver told them as John and Miyuki sat in the humvee, weapons pointed outwards as they kept an eye out for any suspicious objects. "ORPHAN Command is sending you two to Diego Garcia, to join up with Task Force Atlas. That multinational unit you know?"

"Damn if I might say, I was just starting to enjoy Nambian ramen." John mumbled. "Seems like we're going to last on seafood for a while aren't we?" He said, with an elbow nudging Miyuki.

"I'll just go anywhere... A change of scene would be nice..." The girl replied, eyes never leaving the sights as she used her peripheral vision to scout the blurring treeline.

"Ahh Miyuki... we'll miss you for sure." The vehicle commander replied with a light tone. "I wonder if Atlas has males who could finally satisfy you, take that scowl off you- Ouch!"

"That, is none of your concern." Miyuki said, a hand pressing down against the v-comm's neck.

"Oi, Tan..." The driver quipped. "How dare you say that to our best, and with her instructor here too! I'm sure you'll take care of our little missus while on the island won't you, sir?"

There was silence, as the humvee finally broke through the trees on it's final approach towards the ORPHAN firebase. Looking over at John, Miyuki's eyes narrowed as they returned to normal alert, almost as if the Namba ORPHAN was daring him to quip something funny. John seemed indifferent to the banter, but wore a smile as he looked at the two men through the mirror, and then to his charge before gazing back out of the window.

"Miyuki huh..." John said, like a man about to impart some wise words of wisdom. "Only I can satisfy her."






Diego Garcia

The two operatives walked out of the Federation C-130, John walking slightly bow legged as his loins continued to throb with pain after Miyuki's counterattack on him for teasing her. Apparently once the laughter died down and the two went to pack their things, Miyuki delivered a knee right into John's groin before grabbing his man parts and closing her hand into a fist when them inside. Despite them being instructor and student, and John often participating in wrestling fights with Miyuki to keep their combat readiness at a high standard, the relationship between the two was more cordial and informal than the rest. ORPHAN was an organization which cares only for their human weapons, and their operational efficiency. To keep Miyuki well prepared and always on the ball, the two occasionally engaged in copulation, a mutual agreement now that Miyuki has passed the age of twenty instead of her past instructors forcing themselves onto her. It was also a way for Miyuki to try out new moves for consideration against her future victims, and never forgetting her emotional scarring, although she was alright with John. He had treated her with respect the first time they met, treating her like a little sister and giving Miyuki that sense of family.

Dressed in their pixelated uniforms, the two ORPHANs, or members of Task Force 48 as they would be known, entered the administrative building their their equipment. John and his gear with a modified HK-416, Miyuki with her trusty M4A4 carbine which fits her frame better. Moving light was the way of the ORPHANs, although John promoted the belief that moving fast was the key. If he could move quickly with a full battle order, he could be even faster in a lightened setup.

"Well, we're here." John muttered as they dropped their equipment, seemingly waiting for someone to pick them up.
Last edited by Relikai on Sun Jun 19, 2016 11:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Vangaziland
Minister
 
Posts: 3496
Founded: May 20, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Vangaziland » Sun Jun 19, 2016 10:33 pm

The inside of the C-17 looked a lot more 'barebones' than a typical airliner. It would look like the panels were missing with metal and wires exposed. The engines were quieter than a C-130's, but it was still a guttural experience. The other difference between a typical airliner was that people were now really packed like cattle.

There was room for up to 134 people on a C-17. There is a row of seats facing each other on each side of the aircraft. There are also five rows of seats in the middle of the aircraft attached to a pallet system. This aircraft had a good deal of the middle seats removed. In their place were pallets. The soldiers had some of their bags and equipment palletized for transport.

Now the aircraft rolled down the various taxiways. It was making it's way towards the runway. This aircraft came from the Vannish Air Force. It had arrived about 45 minutes after the first Vannish C-17 landed. That aircraft came solely for the Stealthawk helicopter, it's crew and mechanics.

The Vannish Air Force had rushed these two transport planes as soon as word of the attack went out. The Empire wanted to stand behind Task Force Atlas with logistical support.

The second C-17 made it's final turn onto the smooth tarmac of the runway. People experienced with flying would get that moment of anticipation when one knows the plane is about to start moving for real. The engines went from a quiet drone to a roaring whirr as the plane's rudder straightened it out.

People sitting facing inwards would be pushed to the side as the plane forced its way down the runway. The plane hit the optimal speed and started generating lift. And just like that, they were airborne.

Who were they? They were made up of various teams. Whichever teams were ready could grab a spot with the Vannish and Gazilians.

Soon enough, the aircraft leveled off at it's cruising altitude.

The Gazilian soldiers would entertain themselves with cards or mp3 players. It was amazing, the things soldiers found room to bring. They knew they might be at Diego Garcia for some time. They had to have some entertainment.

The flight had just started, but two Gazilians were arguing over a sports podcast. SSG Jang was saying that New Gazi had a chance to win the World Cup football tournament. His team basically called him crazy. He was listening to the same mp3 player as one of his teammates, by sharing headphones.

The Vangazi were a bit more by the book. They didn't carry anything that wasn't on their packing list. They entertained themselves with rude jokes instead. They had learned that humor didn't weigh a pound. As long as they could find something interesting to talk about, they could manage. Frazor had taken three sleeping pills. He wanted to just wake up and be in Diego Garcia. He would try to sleep through this flight and get the rest when he could.

The loadmaster came over a PA system and told everyone they could stand up and stretch if they had to, or to use the latrine, but that they should keep buckled up, just in case.

The Vannish Air Force didn't bring an empty aircraft. They brought two pallet of Vannish MREs. They are known for being fairly tasty, as far as the world of MREs goes. They would be distributed evenly to the other units once they arrived in theater.

The C-17 Globemaster sped through the sky, on it's course towards it's first waypoint. The first operators were in the air. Now it was only a matter of time.

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Sonitusia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6719
Founded: Mar 12, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sonitusia » Sun Jun 19, 2016 10:40 pm

Pre-Takeoff
Fort Bragg, Organized States


Theodore watched as the small assault gun rolled up quickly into the Vannish aircraft, its silent engines assuring him that the vehicle was still in good shape, despite having been made decades ago. Light, maneuverable, and with armor only enough to stop infantry arms, it was like a glorified tankette from the dawn of armored vehicles. But its weapon was more than sufficient for something of its size, though he reminded himself that the 57mm semi-automatic cannon would not puncture the front, sides, or rear of a modern main battle tank, and he didn't have any plans to have the Havoc go up against one either.

After securing it in place, its driver, Sarah, popped out of the driver's hatch, patting her hands together before giving the assault gun a loving rub. "As good as the day they made her, skipper!" she reported loudly over the airfield's noise before moving towards the back and making sure her external gear was settled in nicely; her SMAR-1, backpack, grenades. She wore the same 'Lant verto. 2001' island camouflage battledress that her unit was currently dressed in, forgoing their usual night-black uniforms to fit in with the terrain during daylight hours. She packed lightly, not bringing the full amount of rations that she would normally bring, in fact the trio would be bringing less foodstuff than the only two who would not be boarding the Havoc; Maria and Sulthon.

With only a crew of three in the Havoc, there was still plenty of space on board for other equipment, or possibly people. But for now, it would be occupied by the trio of rucksacks, the large parachute for deployment, and extra rounds for the 57mm gun to spew out. Once everything was settled, they took their seats next to their two other partners as everything was checked out and the C-17 was ready to fly once more. Sulthon and Maria had already settled in, beginning yet another art trade on their respective medias, that being either in a sketchbook or on a digital tablet. Meanwhile the Havoc crew were busy playing a game of Risk on a magnetized board, holding onto it as the plane took off once more.

"Remember, we're the support this time around," Theodore said before putting his pieces down, "So once we load the Havoc onto the heli in DG, be ready to deploy at a moment's notice."
Last edited by Sonitusia on Sun Jun 19, 2016 11:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
DEITY OF BAD-TIMING
Check out my Deviantart for shit drawings!
Member of Task Force Atlas
Holy Messenger of Imperialjapanism and Twin Sibling of Shyluz
Shyluz wrote:The second 'tanks' was said, it was all over.

Gensokyu wrote:So that happened.

They say that in the great wars of NS Summer, there was one who did not fight with blood, but with iron. They named this one the Master of Tanks, and the thunderous sound of cannon and the rattling of machine guns could be heard far and wide, the crossroads before the capital of CotM being defended by this valiant one until it stood alone. Shitposters layed in droves, and entire army having been slain by the might of Sonitusia, Master of Tanks, Commandant of Iron, and Slinger of Shells.

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Congreveopia
Minister
 
Posts: 3434
Founded: Dec 09, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Congreveopia » Mon Jun 20, 2016 3:57 am

Congreveopian Falcon 900EX, Approaching Diego Garcia:

The dull grey trijet touched down lightly on the tarmac of the base’s main runway and rolled smoothly to a brisk taxiing pace. It turned off the runway and began working its way over to an area where it could offload its three passengers safely.

The three in question had the small jet running around for the past several hours to grab all of them, the junior two from a nuclear weapons storage location in northern Congreveopia, and their current very-temporary team leader from a small airstrip on the route that Fortress had been patrolling earlier that day.

“Think Silicon makes coins for their troops?” asked one of the former two, Private Raul Prichard, as he checked his uplink to Nexus on his PCU.

“You are not considering coin-checking a member of them,” said the second Private Roberto Rubin.

“I’ve never seen a branch that doesn’t make coins,” said the third person in the cabin, Corporal Carolyn Avery. “Then again, I’ve never seen a member of Silicon either.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve been all over!” said Prichard. “Got any cool coins?”

“Aluminum coin’s design is terrible,” said Avery. “For all the honor of serving on Fortress, the coin is not one of the perks. Helium is pretty cool. The coin’s calibrated to float in cold rooms; really fragile, though. We all know what the platinum coin looks like, of course. How about you guys? What’s it like to have one of the plutonium coins?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Rubin. “I bought a lead box for mine and packed it in storage as soon as I got it.”

“It’s not too bad,” said Prichard. “I took a geiger counter to mine once. The bead of 242 in the center did make enough radiation to notice, but unless you eat your coin, the dose is smaller than you’d get if you just live somewhere with a higher-than-average level of background radiation.”

“Like, say, a nuclear weapons base,” said Rubin.

“Just don’t break your coin and you’re fine basically,” said Prichard. “If you do break your coin, then, well, my commander on base used to say that ‘if you can’t keep one metal disk safe, maybe you’re not the type that should be trusted to guard the most destructive weapons in the history of mankind.’”

“So, your own challenge coins are a type of natural selection pressure against the clumsier members of your unit,” said Avery.

“I guess so,” said Prichard. “Never thought of th–”

“–oh hey, we’re here,” said Rubin as the airplane rolled to a stop and the copilot walked off the flight deck to open the passenger door. The three grabbed their bags and walked off the airplane to where a figure in full combat gear was standing nearby.

“Corporal Avery,” said the figure.

“Lieutenant Halcombe?” replied Avery.

“That is correct,” said Lieutenant Scott Halcombe, distinguished operative of the Silicon Guard.

“I have orders to place my team and myself under your command.”

“Received. Thank you, Corporal.”

“So, what now, sir?”

“You all kit up, then we take a walk around the base’s defensive perimeter, and you all tell me how you’d go about breaking in with any size unit,” Halcombe started walking off to the barracks and the rest of the team followed. “You see a spot where a lone operative can slip the fence, that’s a good find. You find a spot where a battalion of tanks could smash through the defenses, that’s worth mentioning too. At some point, the rest of the units show up, and I presume we all get briefed. Then we can get back to work.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” said Avery.

“Go ahead.”

“How long have you been here ahead of us?”

“Six hours. Nexus chartered a jet that was near my prior posting to get me here faster. He seems to be of the impression that I am more important to the defense of this base than you three combined. You’ll just have to prove him wrong, now won’t you?”

“We’ll do our best, sir.”
"Close air support covereth a multitude of sins." - Maxim 4

Congreveopia is an advanced MT nation, managed by the artificial superintelligence known as "Nexus". It is very active in global affairs, and loves manipulating nations to steer the future of the world.
Links:
Equator Confederation wrote:Congreveopia has spoken. Do it now.
Vancon wrote:Enter Cong, the smartest of our bunch.
The United Remnants of America wrote:Except for Cong, whom I'm now decently sure is a superhuman being we should probably be worshipping.

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The Unified Isles
Diplomat
 
Posts: 927
Founded: Mar 13, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Unified Isles » Mon Jun 20, 2016 8:11 am



Without saying a word the Commandos had entered the Vannish Globemaster, with only Corporal Webb and Sergeant Parker giving a small friendly nod their recently found Gazilian and Vannish friends. Captain Duncan had ordered light kit-pack for this mission, so the Troop Mortar and the Troop HMG were left behind. The only thing notable about the about them was the little pennant attached to the radio on Sergeant Parker´s back. Every platoon, be they so special or small, liked to carry them. It was a derivation of the Commando´s Regimental Colour, a deep red triangle with golden trimmings. In the center was, on a white field, a black eagle bearing a sword. The text below it read:

Oculus Animi index


the Units motto, an ancient heirloom from the time when the Royal Commandos were still called “3rd Royal Reconnaissance Regiment”.

The whole unit was seated down rather quickly, and the C-17 was lifting of, fully packed with operators from all nations that one could think of. It was nearly silent (With the notable exception of the notorious engine noises) on the plane, there was a little bit of whispering among teams going on, but no team to team interaction, when Corporal Jordan produced a harmonica from one of the pockets on his vest and turned towards Sergeant Powell: “Mine Lord”, “AyeCorporal ?”, “Requesting thy permissioneth to playeth a singalong march.”

Powell smiled at the medics enthusiasm, “Permissioneth granted. Although I doubteth yond anyone is going to hark thee yond hurtling in the background.”, “If it be true we all singeth 'long...”, “Good luck, Corporal”.

The Corporal started to play his tune. Powell was the first to join in:

“Old Edward was no king of smarts
His Men revolt his kingdoms hearts
Old Edward was no man of gut
He was hit right in his butt”

“By a bullet iron, shot by Leighton the Lion
And another bullet of lead, had hit his son in the head.”

“Sir Horace was a man of smarts,
His campaign continued to Essex´s ports,
Sir Horace of was the king of horse,
His en´mys were cut to parts.

“By a sabre of silver, wielded by Major John Filler
And another sabre had hit, Lord Wessex right in the hip.”

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Rynagria
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 18507
Founded: Apr 02, 2013
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Rynagria » Mon Jun 20, 2016 8:56 am

Fort Bragg, Organized States


"Dismissed."

Briefing over, the two Rynagrian enlisted officers walked towards the barracks, serious expression on both of their faces. While all of the members of WIG were experienced in missions, they were still among the newest in the Task Force. It made them wonder if this was going to be beneficial in the long-run for them, Rooker more so than the Captain. "Rooker, doubting things won't help us much."

"I know that, sir..... I guess my nerves are starting to surface, after all, we have no idea on the hostile forces. But one thing is for certain, whoever they are, they're good enough not to take any significant casualties. No traceable evidence too. It's safe to say that any direct engagement will be determined on who messes up first, no matter how little is it." Responded Rooker as he crossed his arms in front of him, furrowing his eyebrows for a bit.

Muholland only gave a silent agreement, before coming up to the barracks and opened the door.

"Alright, here's what to remember. Hostiles are probably highly trained, which means similar skills, training, etc. We are packing light for this op, so I only want you to bring the minimum amount of rations, water, and ammunition. Also, everyone needs to bring their shells. In addition to that, we are going to ditch the heated blankets, zip ties, a single Willy Pete, and the Sat Phone for everyone except Rooker and I. Lastly, the place we'll be deployed in is Diego Garcia." Ordered Muholland as he walked into the barracks, eyes of the six operators formerly resting there tracking him, Rooker would not be far behind. Seconds after getting out his rucksack from where it was hidden in the barracks, next turning around to his second-in-command.

Taking the cue, Jonathan cleared his throat. "We're going to split into two fireteams as usual. Screens, Gold, and Doc you're with me. Sergeant Lin, Ren, and Master Sergeant Smith, you're going with AckAck. Callsigns for fireteams are Ink and Nan respectively. Now, we have ninety minutes before gametime, let's get to it."

Instructions given, all of them got to their preparing their stuff. In a matter of fifteen minutes, WIG finished and was on their way towards the tarmac of the base.
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Saradena
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 473
Founded: Oct 17, 2015
New York Times Democracy

Postby Saradena » Mon Jun 20, 2016 9:58 am

"A C-17 eh? Haven't seen these whales in a long time.."

The team makes it's way to the Vannish C-17s where it'd take the Task Force to Diego Garcia. Inside, they could see several operators from different nations already inside the aircraft. Without saying anything, they board the transport aircraft and sat onto their seats, four operators on either side of the aircraft to even them out. It was different from their C-130s, nevertheless, they managed to get comfy for the ride. Since they packed light, they could still move around a bit from their seats, enabling them to see what was going on outside.

"Damn, the guys we're facing must be some tough bastards if we're packing this kind of firepower." Mayumi remarks as she takes her seat, looking at the armored vehicle the Sonitusians were packing inside of the other C-17. "Speaking of which, why didn't we bring Dodo around? Gunship support would be useful for us." Gerard, meanwhile, was looking around, orienting himself with the faces of the other operators and identifying their nationalities based on their uniforms when he was interrupted with Mayumi's question. "We can't do that because it'd be time consuming to pack the helo into another plane, and then setting it up once we've landed at DG.", "I see. Sucks that they're not getting some action, then.." Zwolf remarks as Mayumi inspects her weapon.

The others, meanwhile, were relaxing in their seats a bit as it would probably be a while before they could relax again. Yonatan catches up on some sleep while Hriska looks at the explosives pouch he has, seeing if he didn't leave anything behind. Silvat, with nothing to do, takes a look on what Hriska was doing and sees the contents of his pouch as smirks.

"You made them yourself, didn't you?" he asks as he takes one of Hriska's homemade explosives, "Yep. It's crude, easy to make, if you have the right stuff, and packs a mean punch." Hriska replies to him with a smirk on his face. "You know those explosives are similar to IEDs right? and if you guys are using things that only terrorist scum use, then you're no different from them." Arkley snarks them angrily, feeling appalled at his creations.

"Hey, if our adversary is this tough, then you have to resort to..extreme measures. Besides, it acts more like a claymore mine anyways."

"Whatever, Hriska. One day you'd end up suffering from your own creations." Arkley says to himself.

With everyone ready as the aircraft begins to taxi towards the runway, Gerard whistles an old Esgonian Military Song popular during the Second World War as the aircraft took off.
Last edited by Saradena on Mon Jun 20, 2016 10:15 am, edited 1 time in total.
Japanese/Mongolian weeb cesspit nation with a lotta US military hardware
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Cascadia Nation
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 64
Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Ex-Nation

CTRG Operation: Mirror Force - Guardian Angels.

Postby Cascadia Nation » Tue Jun 21, 2016 10:45 am

Tasks Group: Aegis
Just outside Seattle, Cascadia
Cascade Falls, Fort Teller.
Roughly 5 days after OTC#3's destruction.
Cmdr. Rhys-Johnathan Robertson Call-sign "Pilgrim"

The Corsair's and their support teams were being transferred. One of the single best teams in Cascadia was being transferred to a foreign command. They were my men, and I had to be transferred to a foreign country to continue serving in the unit. This team was one of the many available CTRG teams in existence, the Corsairs were probably one of the best active units in Cascadia's charge and she was tossing them out to hang out with a bunch of stuck up prissy princesses in Task Force: Atlas a united special forces group from dozens of other countries. I was of course up set, we had some of the newest tech in the CTRG arsenal coming with them and they had to obey another unit commander that may not have their countries best interests in mind. Sighing he looked up from his MRT. He was sitting in the commanders seat of his V-33X "Blackfish" VTOL Airframe. The V-33X was to replace the aging C-130 and AC-130 fleets. They were replaced with the V-33X and the V-33XA, these VTOL's had the same abilities as the C-130 style aircraft but with half the cargo hold and area coverage for the bonus of taking off vertically.

I was waiting for the ground crews and the Corsairs to load up the 3 V-33X's that they were bringing with them, The single V-33XA that was being brought was all ready to go it was just the small things left to load on. A full command complement was being added as well as their secret weapon, the Aegis combat intelligence (ACI). Aegis as every one called the female artificial voice would control their added complement of UAV's UGV's and help guide the team through their tasks with TF: Atlas. TF: Atlas had sent a form to them after they were accepted a full manifest of equipment and arms they were bringing with them, Rhys decidedly refrained to mention that Aegis was coming along. He was in no mood to passing off prised secrets of the Cascadian Military and he was in no mood to be shown up by a bunch of snob nosed school girls.

I huffed and looked at my MRT. Aegis was being helpful with out me being aware of it going through my MRT. It was tapped into his MRT slowly checking off what had been loaded. So far all the 40mm, 155mm and 23mm ammunition for the V-33XA had been loaded on the V-33VA Call Sign "Spooky". Both Prowler LSV's had been loaded along with the armory in which their weapons and equipment, and personal attire would be stored for the trip, this was loaded on the 3rd V-33X Call sign Guardian Angel Three. The Ground crew was loading living expense within Guardian Angel Two, This included tents, water pumps, fuel storage and water storage bladders, cots sleeping bags field stoves and sandbags, razor wire and H-Barriers. Everything that would be required for a small compound would need for set up. so if for whatever reason that one of the ops in the future required them to set up camp away from the home base and it required to be more permanent it was loaded there. This included two RHIB's and up armored panels for them, they would be used for the boat team; Whisky Two Charlie. They would use these for their roles until they could get the L.A.N.P.'s (Light Assault Naval Patrol-craft) that they were used to using. Corsair and Whisky Two Charlie were busy preparing Guardian Angel One with the command console that held Aegis. this craft would carry the boat team of 16 members and the Corsair team of only 9 members and their "carry ons" which were personal laptops, MRT's and other assortments of amusement for the 14 hour flight to Fort Bragg.

-------Roughly 30 Minutes later-------

Capitan Allen "Corsair 1" Mc Donald

Allen had loaded one the last of the equipment and humbly thanked the ground crew. They in return wished them luck and for them to hurry their stint with TF: Atlas and return home to help procure liquor from the local bar and talk about their travels. Once they finished saying their goodbyes to the ground crew and some of their families that were able to come out and see them depart. Allen got both teams boarded which they did immediately. Allen then walked onto Guardian Angel One and climbed up a short flight of stairs into the cockpit. the cockpit had 4 seats two for the pilot and co-pilot and two for two more occupants in this case for him and the Air squadrons and Task Group : Aegis's commander; Commander Robertson. Robertson was roughly 29 years old and he had gotten into the CTRG when he was 24. Joined the army when he was 18 he impressed enough people of his potential combat leadership and technical prowess that he was Draft picked for selection in the CTRG.

Allen was 31 and he was taking orders from a kid, in his eyes.

"Commander, sir, all teams and equipment accounted for." Allen said as he prepared to sit down next to him.

"Thanks McDonald, How's everyone?" Rhys asked

"Good..." Allen said however, it trailed a bit longer than he wanted and Rhys caught it.

"Really?" Rhys questioned looking at Allen, he really hated this. Rhys just had that way of telling that something was up.

"Yup?" Allen said looking up from his bag. Allen was not yet in his seat and he was looking for in MP3 player in his ruck.

"Their not upset about all this?" Rhys asked prying for an actual answer not a one word response.

"No Sir, were ready to go sir." Allen said defensively.

"Allen so help me-" Rhys began before he got cut off.

"Flight Golf-Alpha-6-2-3-7, this is Fort Teller Tower, Ground confirms cargo loaded you are clear for engine start, over." The radios crackled, it was loud enough for Rhys to hear it and shut up in time to listen for the message. Allen took advantage and got himself seated, which in turn earned him a steely glare from Rhys. He wasn't out of the woods yet and he wasn't going to get dragged down by the kid. Rhys was an outstanding commander but he wasn't the inspiring father figure to him as he was for the other members of the team. The engines rotated upward from their forward facing position and began to spin up. Rhys pulled a headset on and leaned back in his chair Allen mimicked and did the same.

"This isn't over, you best let me know if their is a problem with Corsair about the transfer, I do not want more attention that we may or may not get from these guys you understand?" Rhys said staring down Allen from his seat.

Allen simply nodded, Rhys was right... again. They couldn't be seen as weak among these guys they would be eaten for lunch if they even smelt it.



------Few hours later-------

Code: Select all

Aegis: Rhys? shouldn't we let them know we are coming?

Rhys: I was going to wait until we were closer...

Aegis: would you like me to pass along a message?

Rhys: No Aegis I got it.



Rhys looked up from his MRT, the sun had been setting behind him In front in diamond formation were the other 3 V-33 class aircraft. No problems so far.

"Major Stevenson, Link me to the out bound comm please." Rhys asked. Major Stevenson the pilot nodded and she reached over to a touch screen and linked him into the Long Range Radio.

"Your linked in Commander." The Major smiled back at him from her seat.

"Thanks!" Rhys replied and hitting a switch on his headset, "Aegis be so kind an link me into TF: Atlas's Comm network, make sure you observe the proper procedure with this."

"Yes sir, Comm Relay 134 linked in, sent handshake... handshake accepted, Linking to Fort Bragg com station." Aegis spoke calmly as a scary resemblance to a female voice droned on, "Connection established to Fort Bragg, the floor is yours, Commander."

"This is Flight Golf-Alpha-6-2-3-7, Task Group: Aegis, Commander Robertson Reporting, 4 VTOL Airframes inbound to Fort Bragg, Requesting Secure Comm Link with TF: Atlas HQ, Over.
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Vacif
Senator
 
Posts: 4519
Founded: Mar 22, 2015
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Vacif » Tue Jun 21, 2016 6:20 pm

June 18th, 2016
C-17, International Airspace


Boarding the Vangazi C-17, the Vacifians quickly sat themselves down in their own part of the plane. Some men sang songs, some played cards, others catted idly, or simply slept. Captain Stacer, and Sergeant Croce decided to catch some shut eye, while Lieutenants Hesse, and Emerson decided to look over their suit's cloak ability. They did not want them to fail when they needed them most. 1st Sergeant Holt himself procured his own set of cards, and started construction of a card house.

"Holt...are you actually serious?" Asked a bemused sniper.

"Serious about what?" asked a focused breacher.

"You're building a card castle...on a plane..." Riley questioned.

"...Yes." He simply confirmed.

Riley rolled his eyes, "On a plane...that shakes...because of turbulence....How are you even building that?"

"How are the other guys playing cards?"

"...." Riley was silent for a moment. "It's just going to fall."

"It'll fall regardless of turbulence, or outside forces, but that's not the point. The point is to create something...nice, and to occupy yourself." Holt answered. "You going to help or not?"

"....You know this is going to be the most impractical shit ever right?" With nothing to do, and not wanting to deal with Vera's constant coldness, he joined First's resident ball of joy.

"This is one of those 'It's about the journey, not the destination' things, if that makes sense." reasoned Holt. Shortly after, Fear joined the card house effort, happily contributing her cards to the mix.

Meanwhile, Dmitri's explosive senses were tingling. The Demolition man of First Detachment unbuckled his harness, and made his way to a quartet of soldiers. Esgonian by the looks of it. "So what did you make?" He asked Hriska.
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The United Remnants of America
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Founded: Mar 09, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The United Remnants of America » Wed Jun 22, 2016 1:47 am

Fort Bragg, Organized States

Four Remnants stood in line quietly, awaiting the VTOL that was getting ready to lift off. It was a simple two-engine tilt-rotor that would be taking the Sentinels and a couple other teams up north to the URA, from which they'd board a faster plane to go overseas to Firebase Echo, which was in the URA's colonies.

Captain Jacqueline Kowalski stood with her team, Master Chief Petty Officer Harry Wilde, Chief Petty Officer Jung Park, and Petty Officer 1st Class Zachary Jones. But nobody referred to them by these names outside of official debriefings and meetings with the Remnant Military, and nobody called them that at Task Force Atlas, not even the command staff. Especially not the command staff.

Jackie, Tarzan, Ninja, and Oreo watched the VTOL's rotors begin to slowly wind up, creating a downdraft and a whining noise that drowned out any talking. At least, if they had been talking. The team had been mostly silent since coming back from Monfrox, and anyone who knew the Sentinels might be able to get the reason in three guesses. The five-man team was currently four.

Koopa was still in the hospital under intense care and scrutiny, and while they hadn't had the ability to check on him today, they had yesterday. The response was the same as it had been for a while. He's stable. You can't see him. You'll see him when he's released. Nothing else. It was bullshit, but it was what it was.

The loading ramp descended slowly on the VTOL, and the four Remnants with a mix of other teams from TFA boarded the VTOL that would hop them to a longer flight. But even as they began to taxi for takeoff, all four Remnants knew their minds would stay here, stay with their friend and comrade whom had almost lost his life to an IED in Monfrox. But none of their thoughts could compare with someone else's...




Jolly was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Remnant Special Operations Command, but that didn't matter much here. What did matter was that he was a field commander in TFA, one of four. And what mattered most that he was currently strapped into a Vannish cargo plane that was nicer than Remnant Air Force cargo planes. It was quieter, the seats were comfier, and the pilots didn't seem to have a death wish for themselves and all passengers. On the whole, it was a vacation.

It was a vacation, had it not been for the reason they were flying, or for the things on his mind. Jolly was an old hand, one of the oldest operational Sentinels by far, his seniority only trumped by only two people in the entire Remnant Operational Command: The Sentinel Commander, the Sentinel XO. And he was the oldest field soldier in the Sentinels by years. At 49 years old and over three decades of service in the military, Jolly'd seen it all and done most of it.

But currently, he was in charge of several squads, and as he looked around the teams assembled around the transport, all the young Vannish, Astronean, Sonitusian, and Vacifican faces, and faces of operators he only peripherally knew, and faces of new members of the Task Force where he'd only read their introductory briefings a couple weeks ago.

All of them were counting on him to hand out responsibility in a way that would reduce the amount of casualties; Jolly had long ago given up the idea of a "no-loss" scenario. Casualties were a certainty in this line of work, the only job was to push the balance in the favor of his side so that the survivors may prevail against all odds.

Jolly glanced at the shoulder of an operator beside him and saw the TFA patch; A symbol of a muscular bearded man holding up a globe on his shoulders, like the legend of Atlas. Under it was an Esgonian flag and the operator's respective unit patches.

This kid may or may not know the risks. But Jolly had been doing this job long enough to know a lot of them didn't; The grunts were usually too stupid to be afraid, and the SF operators were generally too proud. But once in a while he saw the glint in the eyes of a squad leader or a veteran here at Fort Bragg, that glint that said they understood, that glint that told him they'd held kids no older than eighteen as they bled out on a battlefield somewhere because they'd thought signing up to serve their military was going to be cool. Kids that had parents. Kids that had people who loved them back home.

Jolly had no one. The SF life had long ago banned him from having a family, but he respected those who could carry a relationship through this life, like Tarzan did. Jolly was married to the military, and the special forces was his mistress, he just wished she wasn't so abusive.

The cargo aircraft shook with turbulence, pulling Jolly from his mind and into the present. He silently prayed to a god he didn't believe in anymore to keep his people safe; Jackie's team, the kids on this transport, all the staff and pilots that made TFA run smoothly, and of course Koopa, who was still in that fucking hospital with god knows what tubes and wires plugged into him as they kept him alive. Koopa'd been his friend and partner for over ten years, now.

Jolly had the glint in his eye. Oh yes, he had the glint.

Various Locations

If SALI could have a facial expression, it would be one of concern. Someone had been through the files she had responsibility over. In essence, someone had been in her room. SALI liked her privacy.

Someone had been through her things and had approved a request for a transfer from Congreveopia. Odd. This wasn't the first time something involving Congreveopia had come up on her systems, but this was definitely the oddest. There were transfers from other locations as well. Had she let her guard down? Had TFA been hacked?

SALI reached out, following the thread of the Congreveopian presence in her files. In the URA, at Fort Bragg, and Diego Garcia, several server rooms all over started to warm up with her increased effort as she began to track down this perceived threat. As the Artificial Intelligence of both the URA and of Task Force Atlas, acting as the systems manager and glorified digital secretary for both, with several of her subprograms acting as satellite and aircraft guidance systems, someone messing with Task Force Atlas transfer files to Diego Garcia fell under her responsibility.

qr admn srvr lgn?

qr admn srvr lgn: uknwn

Hmm. That was definitely odd. The admin servers had no access to whoever this was and why they were in her systems. It had happened before, when someone had gone through personnel records. SALI had to admit that Task Force Atlas' files were not the most secure things on the planet, and no matter how swiftly she attempted to guard them, some more advanced hackers always seemed to get through.

But this one kept coming back every so often. She looked at the fingerprints that had been left behind, and she recognized them as prints that were basically everywhere in the servers. A nosy hacker for sure.

SALI::rcrd srvr: chck rcrd 001-4457 SALI had been filing these fingerprints away every time she encountered them. She decided to bring them up.

rcrd srvr::SALI: rcrd fnd prcssng SALI waited for the Task Force's records server to load up the files as she did the equivalent of staring at them. They seemed to originate from Congreveopia, but several came from various other locations, as well as even from orbit.... That was indeed interesting.

A quick search online of what from orbit could have done this pulled of little, and a search through filed on Congreveopia proved fruitless.... Wait. There are Congreveopian soldiers. SALI began to check their communications records files. She found some had been deleted... Now that was odd. A closer look revealed the same fingerprints. Aha. You don't want to be found.

The messages had been erased, but fragments remained, and SALI began to push them together, attempting to recover the deleted comms files. After an extended period of time working on this, the best she could come up with was a reference to someone named "Nexus, but any other information was useless" Why am I not supposed to know this. Did you delete references to yourself or did someone else?

SALI began the simple task of moving a subsystem to began poking at the Congreveopian military's computer systems, looking for weak spots. There had to be something there, if the Platinum Soldiers were communicating with this Nexus individual. To Sali, Congreveopia's system defenses appeared as a wall around a sea of information, all she had to do was look for a hole or crack where info was coming out or where she could push herself in or maybe there was somewhere she could sneak in. In reality, these cracks were backdoors, oversights in programming, and she was essentially acting as a virus trying to get in any way she could.

But upon a quick glance at these defenses, more of the mystery was revealed. Those fingerprints were all over. Was this Nexus character a government hacker? Or was he trying to get into Congreveopia as well? SALI's curiosity was piqued and she began to poke harder, looking for a place she could chip into the Congreveopian systems, but careful to stay away from those fingerprints to avoid alerting this obviously talented person.

The thought never occurred to SALI that Nexus could have been another AI.

The thought also never occurred to SALI to hunt down a much smaller set of fingerprints that were left on other transfer records of personnel on the CPD transport Ship URS Bride an old hospital ship that had been stripped down to carry supplies between international ports and Diego Garcia. The fingerprints were left on the crew list, which had been a crew of forty, but was now changed to thirty-six, and all the names were changed. If SALI had noticed this, she may have been able to track down that forty sailors had been killed and found a week before the Bride left port on its way to Diego Garcia and that the Bride had been marked as riding lower in the water than usual, signaling a heavier load.

But SALI was concerned with the routine hacker from Congreveopia. This oversight could prove costly.

Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean

Attention Passengers, please buckle in. We're beginning landing procedures for a touch down at Diego Garcia Task Force Atlas Naval Base."

There was really a small convoy of aircraft that had begun flying to Diego Garcia. The two Vannish C-17s had made it there first, with several support aircraft that would be arriving at later intervals.

From the, Diego Garcia looked nearly uninhabited except for the few buildings on the western side; and the fleet in the island's central bay. There was an airstrip that poked into the bay to take aircraft like the C-17, next to a pier that allowed smaller boats to travel between the land and the ships in the bay. Around the airstrip and pier was the air control tower, the marina, a supply depot, communications building, fuel farm, a maintenance shop a small operations and command center and a power plant. About 20,000 feet south of this small setup was a second power plant and the public works buildings. Roughly the same distance to the north, in a flattened area in the corner of the area was the "base," otherwise known as the barracks and office buildings that housed the personnel on the island as well as extra housing for ship crew. On the eastern side of the island was nothing but wilderness, except for a small observation tower and post near the inlet to the island's bay. The southern part of the island was just as thickly wooded, but in those woods was a transmitter building that acted as the island's main comms relay and emergency communications beacon. All in all, the island was sparsely populated, defended, and not valuable other than for the large bay, which is where the value currently sat.

Nine ships made up the Task Force Atlas Joint Task Fleet. The Yuktobanians had offered a dry cargo ship that was the fleet's main supplier, but ti was currently empty, as the cargo ship only operated when the Joint Task Fleet was mobile. While at the island, some decommissioned hospital ship sent in supplies once a month to the island for both the crews and the base personnel, so the dry cargo ship only held on to the fleet's extra munitions Two submarines also floated, one Yuktobanian, the other Namenian. The Yuktobanian sub was a fast attack submarine, while the Namenian one was a much larger modified ballistic sub that acted as an underwater infil and exfil site for TFA operators. A single missile cruiser sat with the fleet, from the Anowans. The Hurtis had donated a destroyer to the fleet, and the Shadownians had offered up the SS Roztwór destroyer. The Yuktobanians had given the Reznov Strait and the Endeleit Valley, two ships that brought the destroyer count up to four. Finally, to top the fleet off was RAC-10, the URS Hyperion Titan-class super aircraft carrier, the Remnant contribution to Task Force Atlas in all it's glory.

Due to the fact it was an island, Diego Garcia lacked little in the way of ground assets beyond the obvious few Hummvees and several four-wheelers to get around the island between installations. There was a single BTR-80 on the island that had ended up here on a typo and nobody seemed to mind sending it back. It had become the plaything of the island. There was also the newly-arrived tank destroyer that had been tasked to a team, assumed only for this deployment.

As far as air power, beyond the pair of Vannish C-17s and the Vannish Stealthhawk, Diego Garcia had the most air power of any other Task Force base, due to it's location and the presence of the Hyperion. One of the C-130s was based at Diego Garcia, as well as the single AC-130U. The single M-2 dropship, the single Sukhoi PAK-FA, and the one F-117 Nighthawk were all based off the carrier, as well as all 22 of the various smaller VTOLs. Two of the four quadrotor VTOLs were based here as well. The 8 F-22 Alvaraptors came from the carrier as well. Four of the ten A-164 Wipeouts were based at DG as well. On top of all of this, there was a smattering of rotary-winged aircraft based both on Hyperion and from Diego Garcia. Needless to say, the air power of the island was high due to the fact that a significant portion of the Task Force's air power was here.

As the first of the Vannish C-17s made their final descent onto the island's runway, the pilot took note of two other aircraft already on the tarmac. The Vannish pilot probably wasn't aware of what they were, but if he knew, he'd know them to be a private and a military aircraft from Congreveopia that had landed earlier in the day to drop off the Congreveopian representation for the shoring up of defenses at Diego Garcia.

All the activity happening on the base was really rousing the personnel Diego Garcia was seen as a vacation spot to the personnel who staffed the island's facilities, and they didn't mind catering to the tired-looking sailors of the Joint Task Fleet whenever they were in harbor. But this new activity stirred the personnel. The operators rarely came to DG except as a quick stop on to another location for a mission, so why were so many coming now? Was something happening? The personnel always seemed to be the last to know, and intelligence was so compartmentalized that only the senior command staff at DG and the command staff of the Joint Task Fleet knew of the destruction of OTC3 a earlier in the week. They also knew that the Hurtis had retaken OTC3 and were now undertaking efforts to reconstruct the base for operation again - this time without TFA use, as the assumption was that OTC3 was attacked for being a TFA camp, not for being a Hurti historical relic.

These new operators were going to bring empty stomachs and thirsty mouths for the base personnel to satisfy. Good thing the Bride was coming next week to resupply the island...
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Relikai
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9355
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Wed Jun 22, 2016 6:42 am

John Gravosia 'Graves', Konayama Miyuki 'Milky'
Task Force 48 // Task Force Atlas Liaisons
Diego Garcia


"We're still waiting." John muttered as he gave his pack a little nudge with his foot. It seemed odd. They were neither being ignored, nor attended. The administration building was a nice little place with good air conditioning, suitable for a resting point in this little corner of paradise. However, the base personnel seemed oddly alerted, and perhaps, just perhaps, they were understaffed.

"You remember those little games when you were a child..." John began, as he motioned for Miyuki to get her equipment, the little operator easily lugging her own weight. "I think they were there when you were a kid. You know, Nudgemon, on the little Game-"

"I didn't play those games." Miyuki replied dryly. "I was ORPHAN."

"Ah... yes... But well, you know, those immobile dudes were always staring at the dude who walks into the store. And perhaps it's a good thing, because anyone who approaches you is always looking for a favor, or worse, looking for a fight... I do remember playing this little fire lizard, and from the very beginning, this asshole of a kid just tried to squirt his way from the little ball in his pants. Man those were the days, for an old dude like me..."

Checking in at the counter was easy enough, since John decided not to pull off his trick and announce that Miyuki's passport was a fake, nor that he was working for some bearded prophet who can't spend his time locked up in a little cave, pulling beard hairs. Instead, he had to be such a threat, such a figure that he's actually a specific person who Relikan Intelligence briefed Miyuki and him on. As believed however, the prophet was simply a placeholder for something more dangerous, and that something seemed to be on a roll, taking out a couple of Atlas outposts. It was something which was a threat to global security, not just member contributors to Atlas, and not just the local nations, and it was not just something which the United Federations could ignore. Anyway, none of the waiting could salt John enough to get him and Miyuki expelled from this little island an hour after touchdown.

Keeping their weapons and checking their equipment once more, John snuck behind Miyuki before pulling a blindfold over her eyes, making the ORPHAN sit on the log they found by the runway.

"Time to guess the planes that arrive. I'm sure they got more than Herkys, more dedicated transports. There, a hint already, and here comes one!"

The Congreveopian plane roared onto the runway, John placing his hands near Miyuki's ears to disrupt the flow of the sound, but the female slapped them away as if she knew they were there.

"Congreveopian Falcon. Modified engines for military standards."

"Not bad. Hey, another... couple. See if you can get this right."

The Vannish C-17s, two of them, landed next, Miyuki barely moving as she called out the planes, them being a common transport aircraft in the Relikan Republics. Used for many operations, C-17s were highly endorsed throughout the global militaries. No one could miss out on those four powerful engines powering one of the biggest airlifters in the world, especially when the ORPHANs used modified C-17s for most of their operations, including high altitude HALO jumps, disguised infiltration, or even aerial extraction after securing a hostage in a hostile aircraft.

"Say, they say it might hit Diego Garcia." John said as he removed Miyuki's blindfold, stuffing the garment into his pocket as he chewed on a Mentos dragee. "Perhaps even with all these security, global terrorism has become determined enough to strike at the neck. After all, that's one of the most vulnerable spots of the body, and while the head's the most obvious spot to remove, the neck's the easiest place to hit." Being an instructor has it's perks, including the freedom to speak and spew all his literal knowledge onto his charge, who by discipline and respect was entitled to listen throughout. That person being Miyuki, who now stared ahead at the ocean as soldiers began to unload their equipment and regroup with their own charges, of which the new pair of troops has no contact with.

"So back to the main point earlier, when we arrived and the only thing they knew about us was where we were coming from. Imagine this little terror organization manages to get ahead of us, take a plane disguised as our Herky and land in Diego Garcia. I doubt those planes could land, with the cratering of the runway using a few cluster sub-munitions. Even the reinforced runways back in the Republic were vulnerable to such attacks, with concrete and steel creating that armoured surface for the Ilyushins to land. So two soldiers, landing on this little island, transmitting coordinates and taking note of key points..." Another mentos went into the mouth, with a mixture of Ocaris Sweat hydrating the older man.

"So boom boom, some facilities go down, an undersea vehicle arrives from underneath the island and drills it's way up, or they come via transportation rockets launched beyond the horizon, counting that they survive the G-forces and the landing impact. Remind me not to try that again because it's a bloody pain in the a-"

"Can you shut up?" Miyuki asked, her eyes still facing the sea.

"Whoa." John laughed as he leaned over to look at his comrade's face. "Whoa whoa whoa whoa. What's with that serious tone? Don't think that you can get away with that just because you can throw a cute face at anyone. But besides that, what would you do if I just continue with my banter which takes time and effort to create?"

"I'll break your hand." Miyuki replied, tapping on John's hand to her left. "Break it, chop it, send it to somewhere... should teach you to shut up."

"Man, that's mighty evil of you Miyuki... what did I do, push a boy off a building? What's with my right hand... you make it sound like, what's that dude? In that show they play back at base... the game... Hunger Games? No... Game Runner? Nah that doesn't even exist but... Game... Game Throw- Oh, Game of Thrones. You- Oh my goodness."

Scratching his hair in exasperation as John shook his head, Miyuki finally let a silver of a smile appear by her face. Seeing that, John's expression simply dropped, raising his hands in defeat.

"The heck's with that smile now? You think I'm some kind of Jamie Lannister sister-screwer who needs to lose his hand? Since when am I even like him? I mean, you are the last person I want as a sister, he talks more crap than me, and no, we don't even look alike! See the portraits of us together and definitely the guy who's more handsome is the guy talking to you right now! It's a wonder if you haven't gotten yourself aroused with my words stirring your- ...Hey!"

Sand flew into John's face as Miyuki, sick of John's innuendos and weak attempt at comedy, lugged her pack and her weapons along with her, moving back towards the administration building where a number of people had congregated. She was always the quiet one, the soldier lacking the social skills, the human who was less a social being than a biological weapon. However, since no one was going to approach them although they were new people at the administration building, no one with time to orientate two members of a potential allied nation interested in supplying support to Atlas should the threat be perceived as great enough, it would be up to them to try. After all, sometimes guests automatically made themselves at home, and without a host to guide them, there wasn't much reason to actually refrain from going all out was there?

Not that the two would be intending to be assholes as the guest in the above analogy would, but if no one was bothering to talk to them, it would be up to the new cells to merge with the bigger body, and woe betide if they were ever rejected.

"Yaho." Miyuki said to one of the base personnel in a light tone, a personnel who seemed to miss out on them during their landing and waiting earlier, but was now welcoming the group of new arrivals. "Task Force Forty-Eight Operators, attached to Task Force Atlas. Hailing from the United Federation of Relikan Republics." She ended, turning to the side just as John caught up with her.

"Er... yeah. What she said. Captain John Graves, Task Force Forty Eight of the Relikan Republics, Lance Corporal Konayama Miyuki here, same outfit and nation. Is there anyone that two newbies should report to? We were searching for nearly the past hour."
Last edited by Relikai on Wed Jun 22, 2016 7:04 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Contactable via Skype - Julius_Kanzaki , if y'all desire other Roleplaying Opportunities. TG before adding.

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Sonitusia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6719
Founded: Mar 12, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sonitusia » Wed Jun 22, 2016 9:48 am

Image




Diego Garcia

After what seemed like the umpteenth time that Madagascar had defeated the entire world, the plane was ready to touch down. The board was cleaned up, Maria and Sulthon traded each others work. They strapped in for the last push as the plane landed with a soft skid before the entire cabin rumbled, lights shut off, and for a moment the five were hoping that they'd be greeted with the same darkness the moment the bay doors opened. But alas, more sunshine poured in, and Roland announced, "Bienvenue en Diego Garcia."

After a minute of detaching the harnesses, the Havoc rolled out of the C-17, much to the disappointment of some of the base personnel who expected something larger. The five operatives were all on board as they made their way off the tarmac, taking in the jungle scenery that could already be seen just a hundred meters away from the airfield itself. Other than that, there was little to call this patch of land in the middle of the Indian Ocean a part of civilization, save for the small juts of military installations that stood taller than the lower treetops. Sarah continued to taxi the crew until the main building before Sulthon and Maria hopped out, waving their last farewell before the operation started. It wasn't abnormal for them to split off onto two fronts, but to be fighting alongside an international task force in the same matter felt different.

The two walked around for a few until finding two individuals talking to one of the base personnel, and deciding that he was giving directions to the pair, Sulthon decided he was their best bet. "Bonjour," he greeted, "We just arrived, supposedly tasked with the main defensive effort. Any idea where we should go?"

Meanwhile the Havoc crew had just procured a map of the terrain to go along with their GPS equipment, laying it out on the hull floor as Theodore and Roland studied it. Sarah waited by topping up the petrol and also gathering a few jerry cans, looking for the V-11 that would drop them later on "We only get one drop..." Theodore muttered looking the map over, "So we have to choose which point we'll begin our harassment from carefully."

Roland nodded, tapping one of the mid-western sections. "This tight area would force the enemy to pack together, and could make a great spot to start an ambush," he commented, "But surviving in the end is another question entirely. Because then we'd only be able to reverse."

He then poked the mid-east. "Here we can effectively fight them and lurk back into the shadows. Returning to this airfield would take lots of time though, but it's pretty much out best bet." Theodore grunted in agreement, but was slightly annoyed by the island itself. "We can't circumnavigate around it, because of the northern parts being cut off from one another," he grumbled, "So unless we can acquire some flotation equipment, we'll have to go through the south." They continued to digest whatever information they could on the island, its assets, their enemy, all from the cover of a coconut tree.
DEITY OF BAD-TIMING
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Member of Task Force Atlas
Holy Messenger of Imperialjapanism and Twin Sibling of Shyluz
Shyluz wrote:The second 'tanks' was said, it was all over.

Gensokyu wrote:So that happened.

They say that in the great wars of NS Summer, there was one who did not fight with blood, but with iron. They named this one the Master of Tanks, and the thunderous sound of cannon and the rattling of machine guns could be heard far and wide, the crossroads before the capital of CotM being defended by this valiant one until it stood alone. Shitposters layed in droves, and entire army having been slain by the might of Sonitusia, Master of Tanks, Commandant of Iron, and Slinger of Shells.

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Saradena
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 473
Founded: Oct 17, 2015
New York Times Democracy

Postby Saradena » Wed Jun 22, 2016 10:00 am

"Hmm?" Hriska turned to the man who had just approached him as he placed his 'toys' in his satchel. The man was a Vacifican, from his uniform, and looking like he was a person who'd like to blow shit up.

"Oh, something that I made myself that would make Human Rights activists shit themselves." he snickered as he takes it again and shows it to him. The device he showed was a crude looking cylindrical device with what seems to be a large rod-like object protruding from it's top, along with a safety pin, a Proximity Sensor on top of the rod, and wires connecting from the sensor to the inside of the cylinder and taped to prevent it from dangling. Four holes can also be seen on the cylinder.

"You probably think this is just junk. Well, you're partially right. I mostly made this. Wait no, these from shit I could find in local junkyards, electronic shops, hardware stores, you name it. Except the explosive compounds, of course. It's basically my own form of a bounding mine. This here's basically a passive IR sensor, you probably know about it if you have it in your house. Once this is activated, when this sensor detects movement from three feet away, it would trigger the fuse that would trigger a small propellant charge inside the cylinder that would launch it in the air, which it would then trigger the main charge and spray shrapnel all over the blast zone. You see those holes right here? Those are for er.... these...." he then grabs a wooden thick stick, with both ends of the stick sealed with tape, and shakes it, "You hear that? those, are rusty iron bits. For extra shrapnel." he gives a smug as Arkley rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile, Shane sat on his seat, thinking on what'd happen during the operation. This was his first mission in the unit and the fact that the enemy was a force this daring. Daring enough to face the Atlas forces, worried him. He thought to himself. "Remember what you've learned 'till now, Azenyanistan, Donner Land, Mecca. All this time. Remember that worrying gets you killed. Just Stay calm, follow orders, and complete the objective. And we'll all be home before we know it.

Suddenly, he sees one of the operators looking at him from the corner of his eye. He was a Remnant, and judging from his looks, he looked like he had seen more shit than most of the guys in his unit. He probably had a fucked up life from the looks of it. He soon shrugs it off as he tries to relax all the way to Diego Garcia as the others were also finding ways to entertain themselves.
Last edited by Saradena on Wed Jun 22, 2016 10:11 am, edited 1 time in total.
Japanese/Mongolian weeb cesspit nation with a lotta US military hardware
Formerly known as Esgonia (RIP Best Maid)

Call me Es, Essie, Ainsley Harriot, whatever.
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Empire of Donner land wrote:We get it. You're the grand master edge supreme. :P
Victoriala wrote:Thank god we aren't neighbors

Tune of the now: Nyet! Mosin is Fine!

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Altito Asmoro
Post Czar
 
Posts: 33371
Founded: May 18, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Altito Asmoro » Wed Jun 22, 2016 10:47 pm

Diego Garcia
Captain Budi Santoso // Corporal Elisa Gunawan
Garuda Corps, Omega Tactical Corps


"....and as you see there, it's our PAK-FA right there...eh bit hidden, but there," said Budi to the team, mostly sleepy-looking, with Alex asleep on the journey to Diego Garcia. Budi sighed to himself, "Then why I speaking?" as he sat down and waiting to arrive at the base. The team is full, five-people team, prepared and stuffs like that. Technically speaking this will be their second ops, following Paramount.

Once they rolled out from C-17, they able to see the entirety of the base clearer. Small military installations, facilities, fuel farm, observatory tower. All in all, the base looks like well-defended and well-equipped, if for a small force. Tier 1 operators won't use many of those assets but only using the ones who are needed.

Captain Budi approached one of the personnel, "Greetings, sir. We've come from the Garuda Corps and assigned here as part of the main defensive efforts. I assume there is some sort of locker room for my team?" which then answered with yes, and then Budi directed his team to the room, while he prepared for the meeting with the high command for the next briefing.

Elisa dropped the bags in the locker room alongside Nikolas and Hana, while Alex went to a toilet, apparently needed some quick things to do.
Stormwrath wrote:
Altito Asmoro wrote:You people can call me...AA. Or Alt.
Or Tito.

I'm calling you "non-aligned comrade."

A proud Nationalist
Winner for Best War RP of 2016

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Relikai
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9355
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Thu Jun 23, 2016 2:03 am

John Gravosia 'Graves', Konayama Miyuki 'Milky'
Task Force 48 // Task Force Atlas Liaisons
Diego Garcia


"Oh, more people." John commented as two new operators joined them. "Greetings. Seems like you guys are from the Sonitusian Contingent?"

Motioning to the base guide, John gave a slight shrug. "Am waiting for something too, though I suppose... we can always go to the mess or something for some hot drinks and warm food. What do you two say?" The Relikan asked, giving the two operators a friendly smile. Miyuki simply stood by his side, not saying much.
Contactable via Skype - Julius_Kanzaki , if y'all desire other Roleplaying Opportunities. TG before adding.

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Sonitusia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6719
Founded: Mar 12, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sonitusia » Thu Jun 23, 2016 2:26 am

Image



Diego Garcia

"Contingent is an overstatement my friend," Sulthon replied with a rather rare smile of his own. Several years as the president's aide had paid off, and he managed to give off a genuinely happy smile to calm his own nerves as well as the people near him. Maria herself didn't need to calm down, but seeing the tropical skinned operator giving off a charming face was rather amusing.

"I suppose some food and drinks would be good right now," he continued, "Echo 4, technician. This is our sniper, Echo 3. " Maria gave a brief two-fingered salute, before she asked Sulthon in Sonitusian, "Shouldn't we get those three some food as well? They'll be starving." The man shook his head in disagreement.

"Major wants to get used to rations again, so they'll be fine," he replied in English, "So, shall we? I wouldn't want to turn down this double date we seem to be having here." Maria playfully punched the others arm jokingly, though she didn't know if it would be humorous for the two before them. Are there anymore Relikans here? I suppose two of them would be enough, but still... Just how good are they?
Last edited by Sonitusia on Thu Jun 23, 2016 3:12 am, edited 2 times in total.
DEITY OF BAD-TIMING
Check out my Deviantart for shit drawings!
Member of Task Force Atlas
Holy Messenger of Imperialjapanism and Twin Sibling of Shyluz
Shyluz wrote:The second 'tanks' was said, it was all over.

Gensokyu wrote:So that happened.

They say that in the great wars of NS Summer, there was one who did not fight with blood, but with iron. They named this one the Master of Tanks, and the thunderous sound of cannon and the rattling of machine guns could be heard far and wide, the crossroads before the capital of CotM being defended by this valiant one until it stood alone. Shitposters layed in droves, and entire army having been slain by the might of Sonitusia, Master of Tanks, Commandant of Iron, and Slinger of Shells.

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