Special Operations [IC - RP - MT]

[Arcerion]

City of Madaan

September 12th, 2012

Blacksmith leaned against the steel barrel, staring at the trail of blood left from the door of his burning technical. He looked around him, and saw their HVT burning in the passenger seat, body and car torn apart by the IED, flesh mixed with smoke, dirt, and infection as the device threw the car into the air and slammed it down. Looking down at his chest, he pulled away the charred remains of his kevlar vest, which had stopped most of the shrapnel, but would do little for him now. The world was silence, all he was able to hear was a high-pitched whining. Looking out at the road, he saw other members of his team crawling and limping from the vehicle, Icepick carrying Tears in a fireman's hold to where Blacksmith was propped up. The Foreign Security Officer pulled the MP443 pistol from the thigh holster, now coated in his own blood, and flicked off the safety, chambering a round. He knew the odds. Soon the Free Madaan Brigade would close down on them, and cut them down, dragging their bodies through the streets. Blacksmith keyed his radio, sending out a short message that would define his comrades and him for ages. "This is Hammer Actual, Ambassador McCafferty is KIA. Situation is we're fucked. Contact Maelstrom Team, advise immediate evacuation. Hammer Actual out."

Six blocks away, Rook took the call on his radio and almost punched a hole in the wall of their safehouse. Hammer team had been just minutes from getting the ambassador out of the city successfully. Now he was dead, and four more Arcers were ging to be killed in this backwater hellhole. Rook called the team to the garage, not tolerating any more orders from command. "Maelstrom Actual, proceed to alternate extraction site Bravo Two. Repeat, extract to Bravo Two. Copy?" Rook left the radio static to be his reply, holstering his own sidearm, and chambering a round in his AEK-971. The rest of his team were adding bits of local garb to disguise them as best as they could, but with such heavy armament, the chances of them going unnoticed were small. Rook punched the open garage button, and his driver, Jeeves, began pulling the car out of their safehouse. None of them felt any pain save for Rover, as the rocket propelled grenade slammed into the engine block and destroyed the vehicle. Rover was thrown back into the house, coughing and crying as he looked at a bone sticking out of the fatigues he wore, now coated in dust and wet blood. Small arms fire was heard, and he took the sling of his now ruined rifle and placed it next to him, raising his pistol and firing blindly into the smoke. Rounds returned at him, punching through his Kevlar and causing massive internal hemorrhaging, the FSO slowly fading, pistol slowly falling to the ground as his eyes clouded over and he slumped onto the floor, just another statistic in Madaan.

Blacksmith was more fortunate, he was able to continue firing, Icepick and Royal, the other remaining members of his team still alive. Tears was dead, severe head trauma a definite cause of death from the spinal fluid and blood dripping from his ears, eyes gazing out onto the dusty road that he would only ever know as Route 82. "Changing, cover!" Icepick yelled as he ejected the magazine from his overworked rifle, the AEK smoking from the recent discharges at FMB regulars charging his position. "Covering!" Royal yelled as he snapped up from a crouch and began firing short, controlled bursts back at the enemy. The only signifying mark that he was an Arcer was the backwards facing football cap of his favourite club, now spattered with dirt and flecks of blood from a messy shoulder wound he was fighting through. He sent a pair of rounds downrange, connecting with a windshield that shattered and sprayed the driver with glass and lead, causing the passenger too slump over, dirty rifle falling from his hands. Royal continued laying down fire, tagging another fighter who was moving to cover, punching three neat holes in his chest, blood spraying against the sie of a burned-out city bus destroyed months ago. Blacksmith was attempting to cover with his handgun, but only managed at harassing the enemies with the smaller rounds. Icepick whooped and laughed, thrilled at the adrenaline rush of a fight. 'Changing! Contact left!" Royal yelled as he dove for cover, Icepick swinging up and engaging, shell casings falling to the ground like a dead tree's leaves in the wind. Royal stood up to join, loading a GP-30 grenade, and sending it directly at the bed of a technical, fireballing the crude vehicle and sending the nearby regulars running for cover. Blacksmith saw that only a few remained, the remainder scattering. Looking to the sky, he saw the welcoming blades of a UH-1Y helicopter coming down like an avenging angel, only to be smacked down by a missile, burning mass of steel and saviour now turned into hope and despair. Blacksmith saw Royal rushing towards the aircraft, getting close to check on the pilots before being torn apart by machinegun fire, the FSO screaming as the ground around him dusted with enemy. Finding Icepick bleeding next to him, a large brown stain spreading from his chest down to his legs disturbed Blacksmith, and he knew that Madaan had swallowed them.

[Dimoniquid]

Romeo and Juliet, on the way to the safehouse.
"I'm on the high-way-to-hell..." Juliet chimed, tapping along to the beat of the classic AC/DC tune. Romeo looked at, raising an eyebrow. "Hunter Actual, Romeo and Juliet are on their way to the party." She radioed, pressing a small button on the steering wheel of the pick-up truck.

"Seen, Romeo and Juliet." Captain McCoy replied, looking at the map. He pointed to the outskirts of the city - the safehouse was recently brought by an unknown buyer, and with various accounts, it wasn't really traceable back to the Foreign Intelligence Agency unless you looked very hard. The end of road was nearing - Romeo could tell by the dirt trail taking over the tarmac. He had memorized everything about the address - a local landmark, nearby houses, and the quickest route into the city.

"Romeo and Juliet have arrived at the party, staying in radio silence until further notice." Juliet notified McCoy, having a two second static intercept from the man himself as a sign that he had complied. "So, do you want to crash the party, or shall I?"

"I will. Stay in the truck. If any militia run through, just show them your papers, and hopefully they'll open the three boxes near the door and not the three at the back." Romeo replied, opening the glove compartment and revealing a P228 Sig-Sauer, accompanied by a mobile phone and digital earplug. He checked the pistol, then the mobile, and stuck the earplug into his ear, checking that everything was linked up with Juliet's radio. She nodded, and Romeo left the truck.


Hansel and Gretel, in the city.
Hansel snapped a picture of a tall shack, the camera taking a picture of the height, width, and which window that he wanted. "You'll do nicely." He whispered, squinting and looking around for another building that may be suitable. "Honey, have you found anything special yet?" He asked, turning to Gretel.

"One, sweety. Just over there." She pointed, tapping Hansel on the shoulder. "Do you like it?"

"That... looks perfect." Hansel said, taking a few more photos of the slum. They had been there for a good few days, and with the help of a local guide, they had gotten a good image of the slum for a 'documentary' they were filming. "Where else do we have to go?" He asked. The two agents had come up with the perfect cover - a filmmaker and his girlfriend in Madaan to film a documentary on life in the slums.

"Just up the road - to district six." Gretel replied, taking Hansel's hand. Even though the two hadn't known each other for long, they seemed to be getting along like a house on fire.

Romeo, inside of the safehouse.
Romeo had cleared the house, taken the crates inside of the house, and had Juliet ditch the vehicle. The FIA had issued them with some decent operation equipment - a lot of MOLLE gear, radio equipment, explosives, and some weapons. He cracked open a crate - inside, among the foam peanuts, were some heavily revised Kalashnikov's taken from various parts of the country. They were stripped, checked, and improved in terms of material, weight, and accessories.

The four agents had been given extensive training in Kalashnikov rifles - aiming correctly with different sights, reloading properly, and a general maintenance. He decided that his revised Kalashnikov would have a GP-30 grenade launcher, an UAS-AK folding stock, and Trijicon Reflex sight. "Honey, I'm home!" Juliet called, closing the door.

"We're inside. There's no need to act." Romeo called back, unpacking all of the kit. "Did you pick up some food on the way?"

"Sure. Fruit, mostly, some meat. We have rations anyway, right?" Juliet asked, putting the crate of fruit down on the kitchen table, and then climbing up the stairs.

"Yeah - but it's nice to have a variation once in a while." Romeo replied, lifting a crate and placing it on the floor. This was the MOLLE gear - a chest rig, a MOLLE belt rig, pouches, medical packs, and other items to carry ammunition and their equipment. "Fuck, we've got the works..." He said to himself, taking a look at the chest rig. "I think we could get fairly comfy here."

[Arcerion]

Archangel, en route to compound

"Archangel reporting in, ETA to target landing zone is 10 minutes. Repeat, One-Zero minutes. Mark zone for landing, pattern five. Archangel out." Jester placed his headset's microphone back up above his head, allowing him to gain a slightly more dynamic view of the city below him. 3rd District of Madaan city stretched below him, and he could make out individual people scurrying here and there, fearing for their lives even though the militias had grown fairly complacent. King nodded to his left, and Jester looked down, tilting the helicopter slightly until he saw what he was looking for. Several red t-shirts had been placed in an H pattern on top of the roof of what had once been a school. The brick and concrete building had a large dirt area, what had once been a soccer field but now would serve as their new landing strip. Archangel nodded to King, who began contacting the the two teams in the rear of the impending landing. Jester began flipping arming switches, letting the UH-1Y's modified PK machineguns go hot, preparing for what would be one of many eventful landings.

Party Team, rear of Archangel

Pirate finished re-packing his gear into the small field pack he was assigned. Several clips were tucked into the sides, one of which he selected and loaded fresh into his AEK-971. The weapon was spray painted earthy colours, and wrapped around the barrel with dirty cloth and rags, similar to the stock and magazines, to match the rags and dirty uniforms worn by the Foreign Security Officers themselves. Pirate felt a tap on his helmet and looked over to find Jive pretending to blow his brains out with his loaded MP443 and laughing hysterically. Brawler and Crow also chuckled, Jive lightening the mood in the otherwise dark circumstance. After reports of the fates of their comrades days before, none were thrilled at being inserted into the city, but they were just soldiers, orders were orders. Jive holstered his weapon, and secured it snugly before racking back the cocking mechanism on his rifle and sighting down below, immediately going into a state where he knew time was a gift, not a right here. On the other side, Snake Team was similarly ready and preparing, and both teams knew that they would likely be gutted by week's end.

The helicopter flared, and touched down in the parking lot, FSS agents pouring out, kneeling and scanning the walled compound for signs of enemy activity. Seeing none, the helicopter left just as quickly as it had come, skids barely touching the ground before leaving again; therefore minimizing the danger of being shot down. Under the cover of an overhang, 4 of their natively 'acquired' vehicles waited for them, and standing next to them were the four intelligence operatives that would be helping them set up their safe house. Pirate approached the nearest, and the agent simply nodded at the trucks, and gave a subtle order for the FSS agents to unload the trucks into the house. The helicopters made several more trips, lastly emptying the support personnel onto the field, all of them lightly armed who ran towards the building and began the first Arcer occupation force in nearly a six years.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Riverdale compound, 1700 hrs
Paul Rolinski and Brian Lewinski (aka Ryan and Mark Fizari), engineers for The Free Madaan Brigade, approach their house on the outskirts of town. Brian reaches for the door knob but stops when he feels a piece of tape on it. As he enters he sees two figures in suits standing near the coffee table. He says ‘New Orleans is sinking man”. The leader responds “And I don’t want to swim, Matthew Osinski, the PIA has a mission for you”. The other continues “we have a GROM team inbound to take care of one General Amein Al-Fazat” as he hands them a mission folder. Paul chimes in “so we are finally taking care of that scumbag, what’s the plan”. “We will be providing Intel for them, they arrive in 6 hrs”.

Joint Special Operations Command, Warsaw
Michael Ilenski, code name epsilon, was in the briefing room bored out of his mind. The meeting was supposed to start 15 minutes ago. He had just starting to daydream about what the mission might be when the lights went out and his team leader, codename war wolf, walked in passing around a picture.
“This is your target, General Amein Al-Fazat” he said. “He is the leader of the Free Madaan Brigade, a group that has taken control of the city of Madaan”.
“Why do we care about this third world scumbag” asked a member of the team.
War wolf replied “because of this” motioning to a picture of a burning building. “This was our embassy. At 9:00 hour’s local time the FMB attacked and burned the embassy, they killed everyone inside. Our objective is to drag him back here, kicking and screaming if necessary, to stand trial for the attack”
He went on to explain the mission. “we will have a black hawk drop us of 2 klicks from the safe house. This is a deniable plausibility mission, no dog tags or unit patches gentlemen. We get in the bird in 2 hours, dismissed”

[Bodobol]

(OOC: Sorry I took so long to reply. Just now noticed that this thread is up.)
IC:
Wednesday, 6:00 a.m. Bodoboli Multiprise Tower, King's Chambers
King Kohnar sat at his desk, filling out papers concerning the tension between his country and two others. It was maybe six in the morning, and the King had been going without sleep last night. He got distracted from his paperwork, looking outside. Frost was collecting on his window, a symbol of the winter that was about halfway done. He turned back to his papers, and nearly dozed off several times. He took a drink from his mug of coffee, and nearly spilled it over his robes when his Head of Defense and International Military, Joseph R. Ferran, walked in unannounced.
"Commander Ferran!" Kohnar exclaimed. "You know to knock before entering the King's Chambers!"
"I am sorry, Your Majesty," the Commander replied. "But I have some urgent news. There is a city called Madaan, involved in civil war. Their leader, Al-Fazat, is committing genocide, and I was going to ask permission to send an ISFR unit after him."
"Give me the details," Kohnar said grumpily.
That's what Ferran did. The next half hour was filled with the Commander telling the King about the conflict.
When he was done, Kohnar gave him permission to deploy an ISFR. Ferran thanked him, and left the King's Chambers.

Wednesday, 7:00 a.m. Bodoboli Multiprise Tower, Military Chamber
The Commander say at his computer, checking the schedules for the ISFR. The first two units were already deployed, somewhere off in the ocean, but the third was available. He checked their history. They hadn't been deployed on a mission in three years. I hope they're still fit, Ferran thought to himself. He checked a computerized weather prediction system, the most accurate in all of Bodobol. The system predicted that there would be heavy snow and ice throughout today and tomorrow, but that precipitation would be lower by 1:00 p.m.,Friday. He then opened up his scheduling program, and entered on the entry for Saturday, 6:00 a.m.- Third ISFR Deployment. He then took the long trip down from the Multiprise Tower, and gathered up the third ISFR, giving them the news.

Saturday, 5:30 a.m. National Bodoboli Military Airfield, ISFR Division
ISFR Sgt. and Pilot Gordon Savado stood ready for his mission to Madaan. Three MH-6 Little Birds lined the airfield, ready to take off. Sgt. Savado stood near the plane that he would be flying. Each helicopter would hold 5 troops, excluding the one Savado was flying- there would only be four troops on that Bird. Savado smoked a cigar while he waited for the engineers to finish checking the helicopters' conditions. Lieutenant Freeman Emerson led the 3rd ISFR, and would be co-piloting the same plane as the Sgt.
An engineer with a black goatee walked out from under Savado's Bird. "It's all clear, sir," the man said. Finally, Savado thought in return.
Soon, Savado was all nice and cozy in his seat, and all the ISFR troops assigned to this heli, as Savado called them, were also seated. The Sgt. checked his watch. It was 5:55 a.m. 5 more minutes, and he would be leaving his homeland, as well as his wife and three children, for who-knows-how-long. I hope I make it back, Savado thought.
He checked the plane's controls. Everything was in order. He was checking the speedometer when the clock struck 6:00 a.m. Lieutenant Emerson turned to him, and said a single word- "Launch."
Savado did just that. As he took off, the other Birds followed. He was leaving his homeland. It was time for war.

[Dimoniquid]

Captain McCoy and Hunter Section, Base Perseus, Dimoniquid.
McCoy gazed among the section, everyone clad in desert MARPAT, whether it was with a jacket, or just a shirt. McCoy was also wearing MARPAT - but with his sleeves rolled up, and his distinctive captain's insignia set upon his chest. "Okay, everyone's attention." He ordered, the last of the section pouring into the tent. "I know today's a hot day, but this is important.

"This morning, four agents from the FIA landed in Madaan." McCoy said, switching on the projector and pointing to Madaan. "They've been ordered to gather intelligence on a General Amein Al-Fazat. FIA says that he's the one on the border attacks that have taken eleven soldier's lives while they were on patrol. He is a high valued asset - unfortunatly, his compound is unknown, so FIA Black Operations can't drag his ass back here to stand trial for war-crimes. He's also being pinned on several other attacks across the world.

"Your job is to grab his ass once FIA has enough intelligence on his compound, and then prepare for a hot extract. Since we're kidnapping a General, here, if you get captured, we have to say that we have nothing to do with it. This is your last chance to back out and we can get someone to do it." McCoy noted, looking around the tent. The soldiers looked at each other. McCoy smiled - Dimonicists liked a challenge. "Okay then - let's get started on the Free Madaan Brigade." McCoy ordered, changing the picture of the projector to show a graph of the increase in regulars for the FMB.

Hansel and Gretel, in District Six.
The atmosphere had picked up. Hansel took another picture, this time of a boy playing in the street. It would be suspicious to just keep taking pictures of houses - they'd have to take other pictures as well. "Honey, is there anything else we'd need to look at?"

"Yep." She replied, crossing her arms and looking down the road. A convoy was coming. The two moved to the side, examining the convoy. "Now, someone must be important if they have a convoy..." She began, taking her own camera and trying to get a picture of who it might be.

Captain McCoy and Hunter Section, Base Perseus, Dimoniquid.
"And that's the FMB."

"What do we have on their weapons?" Lance Corporal French asked, raising his hand and taking notes.

"Standard Russian stuff, from the reports we've got. We haven't had word from the agents in a few hours, though, so we don't know for sure. You're going to be taken modified Kalashnikov's and some other stuff that you've been working with for the past few days."

"And what vehicles will we be taking?" French asked again.

"Two Humvees, and a Seahawk S-Model will pick you up for extraction with an escort of two MH-6 Little Birds. Unfortunately, you won't be having any air support, unless you'd want to take out the AA emplacements near the slums. If the agents are still free by the time you land on the ground, then we'll get them to blow as many up as they possibly can."

"What have we got on equipment?" Sergeant Lewis asked, raising his pen the in the air.

"You'll get to choose - just remember, this is a one day snatch-and-grab. You won't be taking rations for a week, but you'll be taking equipment that you'll be needing for close combat, anti-vehicle, and stuff for dealing with explosives." McCoy replied, using a gesture of hand movements. "Any other questions?" He asked, seeing none. "Then go get geared up, and get ready to make me proud, boys."

[AITHON Security]

AITHON Headquarters.

"Good morning, employees! Rise and shine; today is going to be a productive day!" An overly cheery voice announces over the speakers, announcing the beginning of the workday.

AITHON Boardroom.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." A professional, well-groomed individual states to the Board of Directors of AITHON. He is the CFO, COO, and one of the few people who could actually speak to AITHON's CEO. "Welcome to this morning's meeting. We're going to be discussing profit projections, contracts, and perhaps some more. Let's begin."

He begins a presentation, showing graphs, statistics, and projections. Profits seem to be rapidly rising, the man explains, and will -continue- to at an alarming rate.

"Now, onto contracts. As you know, the terrorist and dictator of the third world city Madaan Al-Fazat is still at large in the world. He's currently wanted in many countries for war crimes, terrorism, and so much more. AITHON has been contracted by a conglomerate of nations to hunt this man down and kill him by any means necessary. All I need is your approval."

He sets the contract paper in the center of the table the Board is sitting at. Silently, they all pass it around and sign it.

"Excellent. I'll pass this along to the CEO! He'll sign it as well, and AITHON will be capturing him soon enough. Keeping the streets safe, even in other nations! Now, onto other matters of business..."

In the skies of Madaan

Several days after that incident, during the night, several men and women are in two AITHON helicopters, entering Masaad. The two keep rather close together; one sniper looks out of each helicopter with thermal scopes, on the lookout for any potential militia with RPG's - or worse. The ride is completely silent, for the most part; no music plays from the helicopter. Only cold, stoic silence broken by the occasional communication.

"Approximately two miles from District Eight, Commander." Jacob says to Caitlyn, who is sitting in the helicopter behind him. The female nods in response.

"Do we have any information about the compound we're heading to, sir?" Jonathan turns to Caitlyn, asking her a question.

"It will suffice. The compound is basic, but has all of the things we need to thrive in this environment, including what appears to be storage, sleeping facilities, food preparation areas, and a well defendable location. If this mission proves to be successful, AITHON may upgrade the compound and establish an office here." She answers simply.

"And information on our target?"

"We have some. He appears to be staying at a hotel." She responds again, sounding extremely confident, as if the mission were already done.

He nods.

A suppressed sniper shot is heard from the other helicopter. No one needed to ask; whoever that shot was fired at was dead now.

The helicopters arrive at the compound only seconds later, placing the vehicles they're carrying on the ground first, followed by the rest of the supplies they're carrying. They then land. The individuals riding the helicopters disembark, beginning to secure and fortify the base as well as move supplies to proper locations.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After this is done and the squad has rested a bit, the main active group begins heading towards the hotel where the military tyrant was allegedly staying, staying surprisingly stealthy in their armor which is black like the night around them. They then look for any buildings near the hotel to spy on the hotel from; doubtlessly, there was some reasonably tall building they could use.

There appears to be a cement factory. The Strike Team begins heading towards it...

[New Hayesalia]

OUTSKIRT OF MADAAN

It had been a quiet task, to prevent terrorist attacks, in the insertion of the New Hayesalians to Madaan. Operation Shoplift had involved the New Hayesalian Army and Navy, in order to insert troops to this wartorn hellhole. The New Hayesalians had little to do here. The Paddy O Fernaturians had become involved, however, and as an ally the New Hayesalian Government had contributed an adequate force.

Furthermore, the force was there to rescue people. In fact, the RCTRG (Rescue and Counter-Terrorism Response Group) is designed to respond to instances of kidnapping and capture of allied forces. The force of nearly 50 men and women were experts in this field, and brought alongide them everything they'd need. That included three scout helicopters, armed to the teeth.

The NHS Fleet Admiral Imam Ovanin, named for the same man, an explorer and cartographer who charted the presence of multiple islands in the Imonese chain of New Hayesalia's archepeligo, is a Triton Class nuclear submarine. Of course, it was no normal attack sub. In fact, this 215 metre long ghost was designed to provide an amphibious asault strike force. This specific force was the soldiers and their complement of aircraft, a few tonnes of equipment, and their vehicles.

Within a few minutes, this small complex in the outskirts of this city was more secure- less chance of a major assault. 10 foot high walls, two feet thick of cinderblock filled with cement around a space large enough to hold four or five medium-sized helicopters at the maximum, more realistically three for safety reasons. A low motel attached to it serves as the residence for soldiers and the small villa incorporated inside the walled of compound is sizeable yet old. Part of the equipment pack was metres of MAS- modular armour systems. Basically detatchable bulletproof walls, they'd give extra support to the old cement walls.

The New Hayesalians had managed to commit this action in the dead of night. Despite, gunshots were still heard throgh the night, even through the whirs of the helicopter blades.

With the Navy's help, the RCTRG were done. They sank beneath the sea, headed home. The Army were on their own, and begenning to bug in. Armouring, digging foxholes, seeting their armoury and ensuring a power supply via solar for their multiple needs. The first of four guard shifts began, with the men of this company armed heavily with small arms and a couple of heavy machine gun emplacements. They were pumped, in position. As daytime rose, local citzens could now see the new complex. In the smallest section of town, these poeple were the least priveledged, the ones who weren't even able to lives in Madaan's slums.

But the New Hayesalians had nothing to do with hunting down Amein Al-Fazat. The Paddy O Fernaturians did- the New Hayesalians were here to support their goal, and rescue civilians and perhaps their allies as they'd be needed. The New Hayesalians knew that with their helicopters and protected mobility vehicles they could respond to any call within an hour on the other side of town, and within a few minutes on their side.

As the future would tell, their skills would be lifesaving.

Their arms were advanced, their armour some of the most effective. They wore the brand new DIRT camouflage pattern, designed for dusty and dirty cities like this. Their helicopters were painted in the desert pattern, and indeed they were heavily armed. Ready to go in less than ten minutes, the helicopters were armed with two passengers armed to the teeth and their own missiles and guided rocket pods, as well as anti-air missiles- just in case the rebels could summon a force of their own.

Altogether this crew was formidable, and with the multiple aid crews in the city they would most likely be set for the time of their lives... or the ends thereof.

[Paddy O Fernature]

SOG Briefing - Classified Location

The group of assembled operators sat casually around the briefing room quietly talking among themselves about the upcoming operation. Rumors had been quietly making their way around the various camps about a possible snatch and grab into a foreign country upon which The Armed Republic had no prior open relations with in the past. Now it appeared that they were going to find out what was fact, and what was just wild speculation.

From the back of the room, an aged gentlemen wearing a traditional officers dress uniform walked into the room and made his way to the front of the room to stand directly in front of a podium. General Stern cleared his throat before speaking.

"Morning 1st Group. As you may already be aware of, A situation has come to the Ministries attention that demands our full attention. It has been decided by President McBeth that what is needed here, is a swift surgical strike in the hopes of nipping this festering cancer in the butt before it becomes and even bigger international catastrophe. That is where you come in." he said in his usual no nonsense voice.

"Mission is as follows....." he said as the lights were dimmed and an image was projected onto a white screen from an overhead projector.

"This is your target General Amein Al-Fazat" he said as a mans image was put on screen who vaguely looked like Morgan Freeman. "Target is a 48 year old radical who has taken up the hobby of international drug smuggling, kidnapping, funding terrorism, and most recently genocide. He is also suspected on several counts of international arms dealings, however we can't link him to any incidents currently." the picture on the screen changed showing various militia units.

"General Amein Al-Fazat is in control of what is called the Free Madaan Brigade. The Brigade is composed of trained militia who hold an almost fanatical viewing of the General and firmly believe in his cause. They are armed with the traditional hodge podge of Soviet weaponry, and unlike other militias we have encountered in the past they have actually been trained on these weapon systems and know how to use them." The screen changed again to show satellite imagery of a typical third world city.

"This is the city of Madaan. It is where the general and his FMB army currently reside in force. This lads, is the wild west so to speak. With a constant bloody civil war that has raged for years now, and the fact that gun control doesn't really exist, anyone and everyone could be a potential hostile target and I can pretty much guarantee that you will be shot at by someone during your brief visit. That being said however, do remember that this is someones home and that non combative civilians will also be sharing the AO with you. Even though we officially won't be in country, It would still be best to avoid an international incident none the less."

"Your mission, is to either capture or kill General Amein Al-Fazat codename HVT ONE in the city of Madaan. We would prefer him alive though lads if the situation presents itself so that he can stand trial for international war crimes."

With the groundwork laid out, the next hour was spent covering in detail the commanders intent, mission specific details such as weather and terrain, planned execution of the mission to include scheme of menuvers, and allied involvement in the AO. After this was completed with no further questions, the group was dismissed to their respective leadership for individual breakdown and equipment planning. Ghost element would be first deployed to confirm the latest intelligence, giving the rest of the team time for rehearsals to sharpen their skills for specific AO considerations.

Regardless though, they would be ready to move at a moments notice when called upon.

OUTSKIRT OF MADAAN

The two men of Ghost element quietly made their way through complete darkness, trying their best to ignore the horrendous stench that completely engulfed them as they splashed through puddles of stagnant fluid. They had been traveling for some time now in the darkness, only stopping every now and then to spray an aerosol chemical onto the surrounding wall that would glow a faint green when bombarded with a certain spectrum of light to mark their path.

Reports had been coming in from various unconfirmed sources that HVT One had been spotted recently in a hotel inside the city. Ghost had been tasked with either confirming or denying these rumors and reporting back to higher on the situation at hand. Now, they found themselves infiltrating through the war torn city via it's neglected and non functional tunnel system of both sewer and water.

Cautiously turning another corner in the system, G1B glanced at the gps on his left wrist to confirm their current location. It was very easy to get lost and or turned around in the maze of unmapped tunnels that ran the length of the city above, and already they had to backtrack a few times for one reason or another to avoid going severely off course. The faint glow of the digits shown clearly in the NV display of his helmet and he lightly tapped the shoulder of G1A which silently let him know that they were near the objective.

It didn't take long for the men to find a rusting ladder leading to a manhole granting them street level access. G1A uncoiled his fiber wire camera and carefully climbed up the ladder stopping near the top. He fed the optic end through the tool hole on the manhole cover and quickly scanned the surrounding area. He was pleased to find that night had fallen which would give them added concealment for movement, and that the manhole was inside what looked to be a loading dock of some kind for what appeared to be a warehouse.

Pleased with the current situation, he returned the camera to it's place before gently moving the manhole cover to one side. While he wished that it would have been completely silent, it did make a slight metallic groan before the rust gave way allowing it to move freely. The noise would most likely be overshadowed by the casual background noise of a major city.

Both men quickly and skillfully exited the hell hole and after replacing the cover tactfully made their way into the warehouse. The building was abandoned, with rusting piles of machinery and rubble scattered about. The building didn't offer any tactical advantages, let alone a clear LOS onto the hotel so the decision was quickly made to move on. After a quick visual recon of the area, a few building were picked out that offered the two men what they were looking for. A cement factory, a fire station, and several bullet ridden apartment buildings were within adequate range.

The two men quickly and quietly made their way to one of the apartment buildings that appeared to be abandoned. Great care was taken to avoid open areas as much as possible as stealth was priority for their mission, and the enemy was already known to occupy an elevated and superior position currently. They entered the ruined lobby area and made their way toward a door marked with the universal sign for a stairwell, a stick figure on a zig-zag line.

Back to back, the two men tactfully cleared the stairwell as they made their way up the many flights of steps toward an adequate level from which to construct their hide in. The roof was absolutely out of the question, as it would provide no overhead cover and possibly skyline their silhouette for all to see. A camouflaged motion sensor was placed overlooking the first turn on the stairs to give early warning if anyone else should enter the building.

20 Min Later...

Feeling the exhaustion from their climb, both men were very happy to finally reach their target floor. The room was relatively untouched from the civil war, and contained various old furnishings scattered about. Though the view was the only thing the men cared about, which was as good as anything they were going to find around these parts. They had a full view of the main entrance of the Hotel to include the car park, and could see almost the entire A and B side of the hotel which while not ideal should work just fine.

The hide was constructed with shooting positions against the far back wall. This was done so that the room would help reduce any rifle reports and flash as well as cloak the men in darkness even is broad daylight from the outside. Various items in the room were also re-arranged to help break up the shooters profile and offer cover in case they were compromised. And finally, a thin thermal masking mesh was pinned covering the back half of the room to help break up/reduce both thermal signatures but camouflage them as well.

The finishing touch to complete the hide, was for G1B to booby trap the door leading into the room from the hallway with a directional trip mine. The little black bundle was secured to the door jam facing inwards and had a thin wire with a ring attached to it looped around the turn knob with no play in it. Once armed, anyone attempting to open the door in any way would pull the ripcord thus detonating the device sending steel pellets flying into the fatal funnel maiming or killing anyone caught in the blast.

After remotely arming the device, the two men settled into their respective positions and started glassing the hotel with their high powered optics. With a little luck, they would be able to id the target without too much delay and proceed with the mission. However, both men were prepared to sped upwards of 72 hours if need be on the objective.

Now they waited.

[AITHON Security]

(((Cut.)))

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Outside the city 2330 hours:
Epsilon was finishing the last of his cigarette as the chopper landed next to a dirty pickup and an old Volkswagen van. Him, war wolf, the support team leader code name cardinal, and one of the machine gunners named Vulcan went into the pickup truck while the rest of the squad piled into the van. “So where is the bastard” epsilon asks.
“He is in an apartment complex, you want to get him now” the driver answers.
“No, the outlook isn’t good” epsilon chimes in.
“Explain.”
“That building has 18 floors, good knows how many rooms, and we how many are near the building.”
“But the report says 30 men tops.”
“And the photo shows at least 10 technical’s in the area and the helo won’t be ready for another hour, so if you want to drive us and mister Al-Fazat around town for an hour with a shit load of militiamen with MGs chasing you, be my guest”.
“Point taken, well here we are, make yourselves at home” the spook said as he pulled into the safe house.
“Alright men” war wolf radioed “get inside double time, no light at all.”
“Copy that, night boss.”
“Get some sleep boys, wakeup is a 0600hrs.”
War wolf then walked up to the roof of the building, followed by his 2 snipers.
“You 2 take turns scanning the street.” He said “if anyone gets to nose warn us and we will take them out.”
“Roger boss.” Sniper one, codenamed falcon said.
“We will have someone relieve you at 0600hrs”

0130 hours:
“Boss, we have some tangos down the street about 800 meters away.”
“Are they looking at us?”
“No, they seem to be just walking the street.”
“Might just be a nightly patrol, report to me if more show up.”
“Maybe, will do boss.”

[New Hayesalia]

CAMP 'FRIENDLY-TOWN'

Lieutenant Raoul McLean had come along way in six years. The tall, young man with brown hair and cutting green eyes, as well as what could be considered a big nose, was one of a special bunch. He'd decided at age 17 he would join the New Hayesalian Army, an impulse decision of a boy who believed he'd been possessed of no great skill, mental or physical. In fact, this average kid had excelled at the aptitude test- and his pre-flight training screening was one of the finest. Within two months, he was on an officer's training course. A year later, he was a 2nd Lieutenant in one of the world's most powerful armies- the Hayesalian Union Defence Force's. In 2009, he was promoted to Lieutenant and recomissioned- as well as everyone else- as a member of the New Hayesalian Army, a new and unified fighting force.

From here, he'd gone on the first flight training program for Army helicopter pilots. With an 80% dropout rate, only the best made it through. Of that 20%, a select handful are invited to do specific training for specific units. Somehow, this 'average boy' had been offered a position with the newly reformed RCTRG, flying the new OH-38 Vanguard. This helicopter was used by artillery divisions for the purpose of forward observation, and by specific special units. They included the Special Reconnaissance Service, the Commandos, and the Spetzgruppa Nachal'nik. The New Hayesalian National Police also used them, for trivial knowledge.

Raoul McLean was one of the pilots who had been selected to fly here. He'd signed up straight away, to make it his first overseas deployment. Already, he could see it was going to be an annoying time here. The dirt covered everything, and swirled around in the air. In was thicker than normal, and it felt dirty. It felt like it stuck on everything, and that it coated your eyes and your lungs. It felt like an ever-present, and frustrating force of nature. His helicopter, callsign Deity 2, was the helicopter now on active alert.

"Active alert" was a condition of readiness. A helicopter on it was expected to be able to take off, and be able to support any mission, in less than three minutes. It usually meant running most of the equipment on board, short of using precious fuel. It was also 'dead boring' in the words of Captain Nick Hugh, the man who Raoul served copilot to. Hugh was an older man. In his early 40s, with greying short-cropped hair and a hardened face- as well as biceps that looked to be able to strangle a man- Hugh had been flying for nearly 20 years. A veteran of combat, Hugh knew his machine inside and out. He was also a sour man- the requests of service had lead to his wife considering other options, offending Hugh's 'christian senses.'

The pilots sat, playing on Army-issues iPads to pass the time. Hugh watched a movie, while Raoul played Angry Birds. As Raoul smashed through a stonehenge-like structure, exploding a comical green pig, the call came over the radio.

"Deity 2, this is Hotel Quebec, over."
"Hotel Quebec, this is Deity 2, over."

Both pilots stored their iPads away, as they awaited the instruction of HQ.

"Deity 2, we have reports of a van moving at rapid rate away from the city, believed we have five Bambi's and 3 hostiles on board."

'Bambi's' referred to hostages- five of them meant five hostages.

"Deity 2, requesting vector."

As the helicopters crew burst into action, their minds psyching for a potential fight, it did not escape them as they watched Bravo section load up into their Pseudonaja protected mobility vehicles, and work their way out of the reinforced gate. Inside was a crew of men and one woman armed to the teeth and ready to respond. A remote weapons station, a Model 50 heavy machine gun, could be seen atop the hatch of the four wheel drive. More radio calls began to reveal that the Bambi's were aid workers from a variety of nations. Moreso, they were Christian missionaries providing dental treatment and 'the word of the Lord.' It was funny that the word of the Lord would have to be brought here, where the word of warlords was that which was followed.

Two men rushed out to the helicopter now. Seth Tardy and Leo Robbina were gunners- the two marksmen who, equipped with a heavy choice of weapons, were able to provide that little extra support to the boots on the ground. Regardless, the helciopter had it's own weaponry. Laser-guided 40mm rocket pods, light machine gun pods, Needler air to air missiles, and a pack of Hellfire missiles meant this aircraft was not to be messed with. The crew on board had a choice of snipers, and the Roundshot air burst weapon.

And now they lifted towards the heavens, a deity indeed. Pushing forwards the nose, the small helicopter was up and gone in less than two minutes. The dust being kicked up by the first Pseudonaja could be seen in the distance. Travelling at easily over 100 kilometres an hour, the small vehicle was getting ready to interceot the van which was supposedly about 60 kilometres away and travelling quickly. The helicopter moved at close to 140 knots. Not super-fast, but quick enough to intercept the van within 30 minutes.

27 MINUTES LATER

There it was. Infrared camera imaging had acquired the target. The van, brown in colour but originally white, was speeding along at about 80 kilometres. It occasionally would hit potholes, sending it veering slightly. It was a huge cause for concern- if they flipped, the hostages would most probably be killed. Seatbelts and Madaan didn't mix. The helicopter was flying at about 3,000 feet, but now it had found the van it began it's descent. Behind the seats of the pilots, the two soldiers were locking and loading. One held a TAC-88 DMR, the other a CGPMG-01 light machine gun.

"Hotel Quebec, Bravo Actual, this is Deity 2. Target vehicle has been spotted, heading 2-8-0 degrees at my coordinates, over."
"Bravo Actual, roger, vectoring on you now, out."
"Deity 2, this is Hotel Quebec. Do you request permission to stop the vehicle, over."
"Deity 2 does request permission. It's weaving all over the place, over."
"Deity 2 this is Hotel Quebec, conduct stopping operation in line with protocol, out."

That was good news for the two in the back. The helicopter now dived to two hundred feet, to the van's five o'clock position. The bearded, redheaded Sergeant Seth Tardy brought his TAC-88 to his cheek, in case anyone decided to fire upon the helicopter. The imagery was being relayed to base from the helicopter's camera, and a phrase in the local language was announced to the van.

"You are ordered to stop immediately. Repeat, stop immediately, or you will be fired upon."

No result, but a what looked like a local man wearing a camouflaged boonie hat and sunglasses stuck his head out the window. It was the first time they'd seen the New Hayesalian Army helicopter. Unintentionally, the helicopter had been in the blind spot of the rear view mirror- incidentally the only one left on the beaten up van.

They stopped, but the result was unintended. From the back of the van, the five hostages were lined up. Three were women, one in a headscarf. Two were men. All wore dirtied white shirts and once-tucked in pants. Their pristine christian garb was not dirtied, and bloodied. The three hostage takers were obviously trained. They held their weapons closely, and well pressed. Their uniforms, or really lack thereof, simply made them look like militia. Two were armed with AK-74s, including one who appeared to be their leader. One held an RPK, and held it to the head of one of the missionaries. The helicopter was prepared for this- they knew the missionaries were being taken for ransom, and protocol existed for this exact situation. They didn't want to kill the christians- at least, not if they wanted money- but they were prepared to do so. Seth Tardy still looked down his scope while the pilot made a radio call.

"If you have a VHF radio, communicate on Channel 14."

The VHF radio went back to base, where a translator sourced from the Intelligence Corps was assisting. The calls were very much angry. They'd demanded $500,000 for the women and $550,000 for the men- each- or they would be killed, then and there.

From the helicopter, they watched the three hostage takers get more agitated. At base, under the monitor showing the feed from the helicopter, was a bank of unlit red and green L.E.D lights. These lights were the reasons that sniper rifles had to be checked out and the one in use called over radio. Three green lights were lit- one was a CM-109 sniper brought out field by the Bravo section, the other two were TAC-88 DMR. The lights were connected via radio to a small button on the rifle's trigger. Pressing it made the light green.

Green meant you could take the shot or order.

On the radio command fire, three bullets flew from three different places. The Pseudonaja had pulled up on the side of the road, a kilometre away and obscured by a small rise in the earth- just enough to use a sniper rifle. The third bullet came from the helicopter gunner. In an instant, three heads were shot on the ground. All the hostage takers. Two had taken the shots of the DMRs. Parts of their craniums were missing from the exit wounds. The third had been hit with a round from an anti-material rifle, kept on hand just in case. The result was later compared to scrambled eggs.

The debrief after the missionaries had been rescued was one of success. No casualties, although a traumatic experience for good people. Aid workers were being targeted, but the RCTRG had proved they were a force to be reckoned with.

[AITHON Security]

It only takes a couple of minutes of observation to note that the cement factory is a bit too heavily guarded. Not only that, but the group is a bit tired; it's late.

"Return to base. We may return tomorrow night, but I need to come up with a plan first; move." Caitlyn states rather simply. The order is immediately understood; the team returns to the compound and has a decent meal, along with a good night's rest.

The next morning

The core members of the Strike Team wake up, get dressed, and head to the 'mess hall', actually a smaller building in the compound with a kitchen, for breakfast. It appears as if some fresh rations that were brought in with them are being used; fruit, along with some ham and eggs. A surprisingly friendly breakfast for such a brutal company.

"So, then, first day of our mission, everyone." Caitlyn announces. "I had someone go out and grab a paper for us this morning to see if we could find anything useful from it. If this fails, we're going to get in armor with camo and see what we can find in the city. Is this clear to everyone?" She reads the paper as she speaks, putting it down upon finding nothing but propaganda.

The team nods at her, understanding.

"We need a lead to get on the trail here." She continues. "After that, we can really get to work. We'll probably have to get our hands dirty out here, no doubt, but I think we can do it. How is setting up the base going? Brooks? Melissa? Etc?"

Graves nods. "We got it set up last night, sir. Everything appears to be working fine."

"Very well. We're going to be moving out in a minute; pilots, I want you both on standby, we may need you. With that said, you all have ten minutes to finish your food and get ready. I'll be out in the courtyard." Caitlyn exits the building.

Several minutes later, the rest of the core Strike Team joins her. Much like last night, they appear to be wearing their heavy armor. However, there's a difference here; they appear to be wearing some kind of urban camo over it now, mostly disguising it and make them appear slightly more normal. Their helmets are also changed to be a bit less obvious, but at the cost of protection - at least partially. The armament is still rather heavy - assault rifles and shotguns, mostly. Caitlyn quickly inspects the team and then leads them out of the compound into the city. They begin looking around for any militia in the streets.

"... Something isn't right here." Caitlyn whispers as they travel through an alley.

Shots ring out; Alan, one of the team's medics, drops to the ground dead before he even has a chance to react. The rest of the team immediately springs to action, ducking into cover; it appears as though they walked straight into an ambush. The shots appear to have been fired through a window above; there's a door on the side of the alley.

"Breach and clear that building. Bastards are paying for that." Caitlyn orders. Robert places breaching charges on both doors.

Several seconds later, the door blows open. Two flashbangs are thrown into the room before the team enters, assault rifles at the ready.

There appear to be several militia with their guns out waiting for them, but they are thrown out of balance by the door being blown off the hinges followed so quickly by the flashbangs. They try to duck behind a wall and clear their eyes, with one of them spraying at them with an SMG. The gun jams, but not before hitting Dwight in the shoulder. He winces, but keeps going. Heavy fire is quickly put on the hiding militia. The wall isn't exactly made up to stand up to assault rifle fire, and the bullets penetrate through, wounding both. The rest of the bottom floor is cleared without incident; it seems as though the three militia were the only ones hiding on this floor. "Take point." Caitlyn nods at Jonathan, signaling that he would be the one doing the (Admittedly unpleasant) job.

A militia appears at the top and attempts to fire, but a bullet strikes him squarely in the face before he can do so. A brief sigh of relief is heard from one of the team members before Jonathan continues to the top of the stairs, gesturing for the rest to follow when he finds it is clear. The upstairs consists of various collapsed rooms, along with a few noncollapsed ones. A bedroom appears to be where the shots were fired from; Jonathan readies a mounted grenade launcher, firing it into the room. The corpse of a former militia member flies through the doorway along with a decent amount of guts. The rest of the top floor is cleared.

"Damn it... This is my fault." Caitlyn mutters. "Return to base; we're downgrading to lighter armor. AITHON gave us that for a reason; I should've known to use heavy only for direct assault... Ugh." She sounds disgusted at herself.

The team takes Alan's equipment and lays low for a bit before returning to the compound. It doesn't take any words to communicate that Alan is dead; Dwight receives medical treatment. Graves, Melissa, and Jayce are sent out, dressed as tourists. They take concealed weapons and some equipment with them; for all purposes, they look like a bunch of less-than-smart sightseers, looking around. One of them occasionally takes pictures of notable sights; another occasionally buys things at streetside shops. All the while, they look for some poor militia member...

AITHON's two recon/sniper members also do something in the meantime. They disguise themselves as tourists and pack their gear into some suitcases; they then pile the luggage into the back of an older car found in the compound. The two of them easily pass as foreign individuals, probably tourists, driving around town in a cheap rented car.

It takes only a little bit of scouting around the city to find a suitable building near the hotel; a smaller house, abandoned and in questionable repair. The door appears to be unlocked. In terms of height, it is on a slightly elevated location, making it slightly taller then the buildings around, but not enough to be quite noticed. They park their car in an alley next to the building and carry their 'luggage' inside, closing the door behind them and locking it. They get to the tallest floor they can, roughly three stories high, and set up camp. First, they set up various claymores throughout the building and arm them, taking careful note of their locations so they do not trip them themselves. Second, they set up mines and tripwires on various doors leading up to them. They generally boobytrap the house, making any entry a literal living hell. Third, they unequip their civilian clothing and instead put on more advanced camouflage, completed with several stealthy modifications; with any luck, the experimental material would help them avoid thermal detection, for example. They seem to have a fairly decent view of the B and C sides of the hotel from this view; they begin scanning what they can see with their optics and prepare to report any findings back to the main compound.

[Paddy O Fernature]

Ghost Element
Time: 0200
Location: Sniper Hide

Ghost Actual looked down through his high powered scope at the lobby area of the hotel as he gave it yet another once over. For some time now, the two men had taking rotating shifts glassing the objective trying to gather as much intelligence as possible while trying to get a positive ID on HVT One.

Things were going rather smoothly when his gaze fell upon a militia member storm out of the front lobby through it's double doors and start shouting something which he couldn't make out while waving his arms around in wide gestures. Soon, a swarm of militia had formed around him and soon started walking down the street in front of the hotel clearing it of any civilians who were still out at this late hour.

Reaching over, he nudged his counterpart awake whom had drifted off into a light sleep.

"Possible trouble." he whispered as the other man yawned, pulling his glass up and assessing the situation.

It was then that they noticed the column of headlights rapidly moving down the road towards the hotel. Shifting his gaze over to them, he spotted several up armored pickup trucks with a variety of weapon systems mounted in the rear beds.

Fuck Me mouthed Ghost Actual soundlessly as the convoy came to a screeching halt in front of the hotel. The man who was shouting orders earlier quickly disappeared into the hotel lobby for a few moments before returning with another man close in tow. With his non firing hand, he reached over and hit the PTT button on his throat mic.

"Command, Ghost Wun Actual, possible eyes on Hotel Victor Tango Wun. Standby for confirmation, over."

Without waiting for a response, he adjusted the magnification of his optic and zoomed in on the two men as they stopped midway to the vehicles to have what looked like some kind of argument.

"Common guy, smile for the birdy." he said in barely a whisper. A moment later, the man turned his face toward the vehicle as he pointed at it giving him the angle he needed.

"Gotcha." he said as he snapped a few high res digital photos in rapid succession. The photos were then unlinked to command via a wireless transmitter for identification. A few tense moments passed before target confirmation was confirmed.

"Ghost Wun Actual, Command. Change of mission, break............ Orders are to launch UAV for standoff recce of Hotel Victor Tango Wun and fall back to Romeo Victor Point. Command Out."

Both men looked at each other for a moment before Ghost One Bravo sprang to his feet and hurried over to his pack. Throwing open the top of his pack, he pulled out a small drone that was in three pieces for easy transportation. As he ran across the room and through the now disarmed door, he assembled the drone and checked to make sure that it still had a full charge. He made his way across the hallway and through a door less frame on the far side of the building to an open window. They were far enough up that the little drone could glide for a short distance before starting it's engine thus giving them some stand off room.

Rearing back, he threw the drone out the window with everything he had and watched as it drifted away and quickly fell out of sight. Another tense moment passed before he faintly heard the little engine kick into life and propel the remote controlled drone up into the dark night sky. It was being piloted by a controller remotely back at the compound, and would quietly follow the HVT from a relative safe distance away and report back in real time with a live video feed.

Upon rearming the door and returning to his prior position, he found his counterpart staring intensely at something far off into the distance.

"Two O'clock low, on the rooftop of the odd shaped building. What do you make of that?" he asked in a low whisper. Picking up his thermal scope, the scanned the area that was being referred to and quickly noticed what he was looking at. Plainly visible on the roof of the building, two men armed with long rifles were plainly visible through his optic.

"Hard to tell from this distance, but it would appear to be an armed unit of some sort. Quite possibly a militia unit on counter sniper over-watch of the hotel entry way." he said as he continued to watch the two men as they casually looked to their surrounding, occasionally focusing on the hotel entrance.

Ghost Actual scratched his chin as he thought about the situation. If the two men were on counter sniper duty, it was very reasonable to assume that they could potentially expose the two men when they attempted to fall back from their current location. On the other hand, they were far enough away that it wouldn't be a huge risk to attempt to sneak passed them as they made their way back to the relative safety of the sewers. After a few moments thought, he decided that it was a risk that he couldn't take this early in the game. Hopefully, with the civil war raging around them in the city, the militia would chalk it up as normal infighting losses.

"Right, lets do this. By the numbers, I'll take the tall lad on the left while you vent the one on the right."

Both men settled into a good firing stance behind their respective weapon systems.

"Range.... 810 meters, wind.... North East 1 knot... Adjust up seven mils, left two."

"Wilco." came the quiet reply as both men adjusted their rifles based off their Barret Ballistic Computers calculations.

Both men took several deep calming breaths as they squared off on their rifles and took initial aim center mass on their targets.

"On my mark...... Three....Two...Wun...Mark."

Both men calmly squeezed off a single round from their suppressed rifles sending a match grade 190 gr 300WinMag SLAP bullet flying downrange at nearly 2,910 feet per second. The depth of the room, plus the suppressors would greatly reduce the crack of the rifles along with the muzzle flash. If all went according to plan, the two men would fall where they stood and hopefully wouldn't be noticed for some time giving Ghost Element ample time to escape undetected.

They waited with baited breath to see the results of their work....

The above was based on the following:

War wolf then walked up to the roof of the building, followed by his 2 snipers.
“You 2 take turns scanning the street.” He said “if anyone gets to nose warn us and we will take them out.”
“Roger boss.” Sniper one, codenamed falcon said.
“We will have someone relieve you at 0600hrs”

The two men are in the AO.. on a rooftop.... in plain sight. My men have no knowledge of any other nations being in the AO, so they assume that you are part of the militia. Since your men are armed with sniper rifles, they assume that you are a militia counter sniper team on over-watch of the surrounding area. Thus, an immediate threat. Just thought I would clarify why I am taking the actions that I am.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

The aftermath of the attack was discovered at 0600hrs. One round had hit off the wall that surrounded the roof, ripping the tungsten core from the outer casing. The core tumbled at a 60 degree angle before hitting falcon. The bullet hit towards the top of his helmet tearing 4 of the 6 Kevlar layers in his helmet and giving him a severe category 2 concussion and a case of whiplash before burying itself in the staircase housing. His spotter raptor was not as lucky. The bullet hit him in the mouth entering just above his lower jaw. It the bullet then impacted his Medulla oblongata killing him instantly. The core then impacted the staircase with enough force to go clean through it. Falcon awoke at 0350 and upon seeing his dead spotter made his way carefully to alert the rest of the team.
“Do you think it was a raid” Epsilon asked.
“Do you think we would be alive if it was” War Wolf replied. “Besides we would have heard the shots. The natives are not known for using silencers.”
“Good point, I’m going to check the roof for evidence.”
Epsilon made his way up the staircase aiming a light at the walls searching for bullet holes in them. He found two in the wall that formed a straight line through it. But the other hole on the one wall had a very irregular shape to it. Searching the other wall he spotted a glint of metal. Feeling it with his hand, he managed to loosen it enough to pull it out.
“What do you make of this cap” he said showing him the piece of metal.
“It isn’t steel, it isn’t deformed enough to be that. This isn’t a native bullet.”
“Their hiring mercenaries’ sir.”
“Why don’t we ask an officer?”
“Sure, there is one a block down the street.”
“Let’s visit him then.”

0500 hours
The plan was simple. War wolf walked down the street towards the 4 soldiers, acting like a drunk. Epsilon and the rest of the assault team were 50 meters down the street silenced weapons aimed at the group.
“Which way to the hotel sir” he asked in a slurred speech.
The one commanding the group approached to give out directions when war wolf brought out a pistol, hitting the man at the base of the skull and knocking him out. Before any of the soldiers could react two 5.56mm subsonic hollow point rounds ended each of their lives.
“Ok people” war wolf said over the radio “let’s move the bodies inside.”
The men pick up the bodies and take a long and complicated route back to the safe house.

(ooc) the men I am mentioning are mentioned in my above post.

[Arcerion]

Near Hotel Madaan

The two men stepped out of the pickup truck, an old dusty vehicle they had procured recently, its previous owner residing in a ditch off of a nearby country road. The first stepped around to the truck bed, opening a dusty toolbox and slipping his XP-2 sidearm from underneath a wrench behind his belt, placing the back of his shirt casually over it. The other one read a newspaper, with an intelligence article stapled to the inside. "Seems like those sniper shots were a little out of place. FMB chatter reports no activity that could be linked to firefights since the incident with the aid workers." he folded the paper under his arm and walked to the end of the vehicle, removing a dusty pair of light tactical vests, originally worn by a pair of FMB regulars that now were cuddling with the truck's driver. The first man nodded, and placed sunglasses on his face, as did his counterpart as they both lifted the ends of a small briefcase towards the abandoned cafe in front of them.

Once on the third floor, they found an open window and sat several feet back, the second man leaning on a wall with his XR-4, and his counterpart setting up the laser designator on the coffee table. "Set up the radio gear, then assemble the rifle." Te first man, clearly the junior, nodded and began setting up a small array of wires and radios, tuning the frequencies and consulting a codebook as to the proper adjustments. "Dust Alpha, come in Sky Five."
"Sky Five here, give me a sit rep Dust Alpha."
"Roger, setting up the Lima Delta now, should be Golf Tango Golf before sundown. Any heads up on an Foxtrot Alpha Charlie? Or advisement?"
"Negative, stay the course. Sky Five out." The man placed the phone down, and began assembling an XR-10 anti-materiel rifle. Both of the sat and waited, hoping that while the General was away, the snipers would play.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Four blocks up and two streets over from the safe house, epsilon and the rest of the team are preparing to cross the road. Everything goes well until anvil 2 and 3 try to cross. As anvil 2 reaches the alley across the road four pairs of headlights light up anvil 3.
“What the fu…” he begins to say as the machineguns on the trucks almost cut him in half. They quickly shift their fire to the alley, trapping the rest of Dragon team. War wolf and epsilon quickly create a plan. War wolf and epsilon reach into their leg bags and pull out a pair of flash bangs and throw them into the street. After the explosions two other team members throw two fragmentation grenades, one to each side of the street. Just as the militiamen recover from the flash bangs, the two grenades go off, killing five and seriously wounding two. As the two turn away they hear a metallic dink. The men begin to run but only get about five feet away when the grenade explodes. Rocky, the closest to the blast, had shrapnel slice both his femoral arteries as well as having one sever his aorta, killing him in only two minutes. Ajax had shrapnel cut both of his Achilles tendons as well as his left ACL and has many shrapnel holes in his legs. War wolf drags Ajax clear as epsilon places a 1lb block of c4 with a dead man switch underneath rocky. The rest of the squad reports that the next street is clear. Epsilon throws another flash bang to help their escape. He carefully steps over his squad mate’s body as he runs down the alley. The team runs five and a half blocks down road to the compound and escape inside. Meanwhile at the alley a squad of three militiamen finds Rocky’s body. One turns him over, releasing the dead man switch, setting off the C4, which kills all three.

[Dimoniquid]

At the safehouse.
"I've got reports of gun shots. Definitely not potshots - those were directed at someone." Hansel said, swinging around on his chair.

"Then we've got company. This isn't just a kill-or-capture mission anymore, it's a deniable operation on a whole new level. We have to be careful." Romeo replied, pointing to the map of the city. He circled an area of district six. "Gretel, you said there was a routine deployment for the lieutenant's convoy, right?" Romeo asked. Gretel nodded, arms folded. "Then we set up an ambush. With these back alleys, we can set up a blockade with a vehicle, rig it with plastic explosive, and strike from the sides, snatching the guy from under their noses. Smokes, flash bangs, they won't even see us. Casualties? Yes. For them."

"I don't know exact troop deployments - there could be a whole platoon we're going up against." Gretel interjected. "We can't take that many. I heard that they wiped out a whole squad of wet-workers."

"We're not wet-workers, though. We're much better and much cleverer than that."


Hansel.
"Bollocks!" Hansel shouted, stepping out of the car and opening the hood. Smoke erupted, Hansel waving his hand to move the smoke. He edged his gaze to an alley way - Romeo nodded, moving inside of the alleyway. Inside of the engine compartment was a smoke grenade - hooked up to deploy as soon as the hood was opened on the old, dusty car he had taken from the outside of the of the city. He waited for the signal from Gretel.


Gretel.
Gretel slide the magazine into her P228 Sig Sauer, slamming the end in with force, and pulling the handle back. She looked at the smoke bellowing from the car - perfect. "Convoy's rolling up. Hawk is going in for the bait." She whispered into her microphone, while standing against the cement wall. "Come on..." She said, tapping the grip of her pistol. Her vest was much more fitting than anyone else's - she may have been small, but she could do a lot of damage. She checked her belt again - her P14, four magazines for each pistols, and grenades. Everything she would need.


Juliet.
Juliet whistled into her microphone - her special way of telling the team of the acknowledgement. She watched as the drama started to unravel down the street - their plan was to create a blockade, grab the lieutenant, and head through the back alleys, all the way back to the van. Unfortunately, she was stuck with driving the van. Her Kalashnikov was on the passenger seat, along with four magazines taped together - not to mention the other magazines in her vest and belt. The group had been taught the basics of shooting one handed - and they had been taught how to fire while driving. Their operation had a lot of money and training go into it - way to many to count.

She bit off the last of the apple, dropping the core outside of the window. Hansel looked her way, raising his hand to his head to signal the convoy. Four vehicles - heavy machine guns on all, and a conformation from Romeo on the lieutenant. "Okay, I can see him - third vehicle. Hansel, bring out that RPK from the car, and detonate it before taking on the front vehicle. Gretel, take the back vehicle, shoot the driver and the gunner. I'll take that troop transport with my GP-30 and make sure it tips over. Juliet, stay clear, and get ready to drive." Romeo called, Juliet taking her rifle and checking the chamber. "Come on, guys. Let's make this good."


Hansel, again.
Hansel had been fiddling with the engine, taking out the belt, spark plugs, and just generally ruining the whole motor. He moved along behind the car, seeing the driver of the first vehicle yell at him. He raised his hands in innocence, opening the car door and pulling out a bandolier of M67 grenades and taking one off. He pulled the pin, chucking it over and seeing the grenade bounce. He quickly slung it over his chest, pulling out his RPK. "Alright, let's go, motherfuckers!" He shouted, placing the stock into his shoulder and aiming down his Comp M4 sight.

[Bodobol]

OOC: Sorry I've been gone so long, I'll try to get better about it. Also, I changed my mind about the Humvees. I have exactly 0 land vehicles now.

IC:
7:00 a.m., Outside Madaan
3 Bodoboli MH-6 Little Birds flew into the outside area surrounding the city of Madaan. Inside the far left helicopter was Lieutenant Freeman Emerson, leader of the 3rd ISFR, Sgt. Gordon Savado, pilot, Lydia Beckingham, a renowned recon agent, and Jory Weathers, a member of the Assault Team, as well as being an expert on explosives.
Weathers looked out the window. A small desert area was below them. Everyone on board was clad in DCU's, and Weathers held a Scar-H in his hands. He could see Madaan from the helicopter window, and a bit of fear crept through him, but then he pushed it back.
A voice came in over the radio- Sergeant Savado, come in. This is Sergeant Verrus. Darion Verrus was also a member of the 3rd ISFR, and was also a pilot.
Weather heard Savado reply to Verrus, and more words came on the radio. Commence landing. They were simple words, but words that would launch the men into combat. Weathers had no family of his own (excluding his mother and father), as he was only 23. He had signed on at the age of 19, having proved to be an exceptional athlete with some smarts to boast.
The helicopter blades whirred overhead as the choppers descended. The city of Madaan was waiting for them.
"How many missions have you been on, Weathers?" Beckingham asked from the seat across from him.
He had been on two before; one as humanitarian aid in the country of Myrten, and another as a soldier for an invasion into the country of Bodobol Minor.
"Two," he said simply.
"This is my first."
Lydia was even younger than Weathers, only 19, the same age the man had been when he signed on.
As Weathers scratched at an itch in his stubble, an urgent voice started to blare over the radio. "Savado, Verrus! This is pilot Eric Starr! My chopper is going down! SHIT!"
Weathers looked outside of his window, eyes wide. Sure enough, the far right helicopter was descending head first. He watched as four people jumped from the chopper, and four parachutes opened. There were five people on that helicopter; someone was still in there.
The chopper crashed into the ground, and it blew up. Bits and pieces flew everywhere, and the ground was briefly bathed in flames.
The two helicopters had to literally swerve to land safely. The two choppers landed on either side of the crashed vehicle, and it seemed all the parachuters had made it to the ground safely. They ran from the fire that was losing power, towards an area just far enough from the crash to be safe.
The blades of the helicopter eventually stopped spinning, and Savado declared it safe to exit. First he and Lieutenant Freeman got out. Beckingham followed, her face devoid of color. Lastly was Weathers himself, shaken by the crash. It was so random, so unexpected.
It was still cool outside, as it was morning. Weathers went to examine the wreck, as well as see who died. Whoever was left in the chopper could not have survived.
He ran towards the survivors. "Who was left in the helicopter?" He asked frantically.
Another member of the assault team, Garfield Hart, stepped forward. "Starr couldn't get out in time. Seems like he had a pretty quick, if somewhat painful death."
Something inside the helicopter suddenly exploded, and a piece flew from the wreckage and slammed into Weathers' stomach. It was a small piece though, but still sent the man flying. He crashed into the ground a few feet back, with a loud [i]THUD. He took short, shallow breaths, unable to do much else. Janice Fillowski, a Medic, raced towards Weathers. "Are you all right?" She asked.
In between breaths, he replied "Yes... yes... fine. Just a... second." Eventually, his breathing resumed its normal pace. He slowly got up, his stomach severely aching. Whatever the part was, it was hot, and Weathers' stomach felt as if it were on fire.
When he reached his full height, he saw the piece that had hit him. It looked as if it were a blunt part of one of the helicopter blades. Unlike Weathers' stomach, which only felt on fire, the thing actually was on fire. Fillowski still stood near him, uncertain if he really was as fine as he said.
Everyone else was relatively unharmed. "Everyone, behind me!" Emerson bellowed, his voice deep and commanding. The soldiers did as told, in 3 rows, the first two containing 6 people, the last containing five.
As he walked forward, he continued talking in a disciplinary tone, as he usually did, no matter what the circumstances. "Now, the Madaanians, or whatever they call themselves, will know were here, thanks to the crash of Starr's chopper. We've got to be stealthy if we want this to work! Understood?"
A unanimous "Understood" echoed from the soldiers. Morale was at an all-time low, but still they carried on... into the city of Madaan. The soldiers started to find alleyways to hide in, and found several other hiding places. They split into three groups, each containing the crew of a helicopter (as well as each containing a medic, although Weathers' group had two). Weathers ran into an alleyway containing a few Free Madaan Brigade soldiers.
"Open fire!" Emerson shouted.
Weathers tossed a grenade, and shot at the soldiers as well. Gunshots filled the air, a nasty, clicking sound. As the grenade exploded, Weathers dispatched the last remaining soldier. As he did, though, a bullet entered his stomach, in exactly the same spot the blade had hit him. The pain was numbed by shock, and Weathers looked down to see dark red blood streaming from his stomach. It reached down to his waist, a thin yet continuous stream.
He called out to Sebastian Cyan, one of the two medics. HELP ME! I'M SHOT! I'M SHOT!
As the flames and smoke from the grenade started to disperse, Weathers saw the brown-haired medic, and he rushed to his aid. His wound was wrapped up in a bandage to slow down the bleeding.
When Weathers was able to stand up again, he heard Lieutenant Emerson call out "Hide! Hide!"
The Lieutenant kicked down the side door to a house, and threw in a flashbang as a precaution. No one was inside the home, which was a relief. Stairs led down to a basement, and the men filed downwards. They reached the basement, then closed and locked the door behind them. They turned on a light, and spread out, sitting on old furniture stuffed in the basement.
"So, why are we down here?" Weathers asked.
"We need to devise some sort of strategy to take Madaan... and I think we all deserve a bit of rest," Emerson said. That was odd; ISFR was not known for taking breaks in war, but then again, the ISFR was not known for crashing MH-6 Little Birds either.
Weathers saw a pack of cigarettes sitting on the concrete floor near him. He picked them up, and they were Marlboro brand. "Cigarette, anyone?" He asked.
Emerson and Cyan each took one, as well as Weathers himself. Smoke floated up towards the ceiling.
"Ah, and now we will have to think, I presume?" Weathers asked.
"Yes."
And so the first group of the 3rd ISFR sat in an old, dusty basement, and talked for over an hour over strategy, as well as smoking a few more cigarettes. Then, it was time to search out this General Amein Al-Fazat, and end his genocide.

OOC: I hope the alleyway scene wasn't godmodding. If it was, then I'll gladly rewrite that bit.

[Paddy O Fernature]

Ghost Element
Short Time Later
Location: Sniper Hide

The two men watched with smiles on their faces as they quickly surveyed the damage they had caused. Through the thermal lens, one of the targets looked like a broken chem light as white hot goodness was spread across the rooftop, the other target was out of sight currently after slumping over after impact. Reaching across himself, Ghost Actual presses the Push To Talk (PTT) button on his mic.

"Command Ghost Wun Actual, Prepare to copy BDA, Over." he whispered to nobody in particular as the pads embedded in his helmet picked up the vibrations through his skull and transmitted his message across the encrypted channel.

"Ghost Wun Actual, Go ahead, Over." came the reply a moment later.

"Command Ghost Wun, Wun confirmed Kilo Igloo Alpha Break...... Wun unconfirmed Kilo Igloo Alpha, Over."

"Ghost Wun Actual, Good Copy. You are green light to Romeo Tango Mike at this time. Command Out."

Ghost One Actual was stunned for a brief moment at this new development. Command had just ordered them to stay on target and continue to monitor the situation before them.

Must know something we don't. he thought to himself before informing his friend of the new situation. With nothing else they could do for the moment, both men settled in again and waited for their scheduled departure time.

It wasn't but a few short hours later that both men spotted something that absolutely dumbfounded them. Looking through their rifle scopes, they could see clear as day the shape of a man as he crept his way up the stairs and used an unfiltered white lens flashlight to search for something on the rooftop. Both men shared a look at each other as smiles crept across their dirty faces.

Ghost One Bravo liked up his cross hairs on the man as he paused near the stairwell and presented the trained marksmen with a suburb opportunity and angle of fire. Reaching up, he pressed a button and activated his ballistic shot computer. After a split second calculation as the laser range finder was activated, it spit out a firing solution for the user to adjust his scope on to hit the target.

He adjusted accordingly.

"Ready to fire." he whispered to the other Operator. "Permission to engage unknown contact."

Ghost One Actual studied the situation for a moment. He couldn't see anyone else who had eyes on the rooftop at the moment, this shot was almost too good to be true.

"Permission...."

"Ghost Wun Actual, Command." came the sudden crackle over his headset.

"Standby" he whispered as he reached for the PTT.

"Command, Ghost Wun Actual.. Send it."

"Ghost Wun Actual, At this time you need to break contact and move to LZ bravo for immediate extraction. We have a developing situation here. How Copy, over."

"Wilco Command. Ghost Wun Actual out." He turned his head to his friend.

"Looks like it's that guys lucky day." he said before both men quietly started to pack up their gear and break down the hide. It wouldn't be long before they were back in the tunnel system from which they used to infiltrate hours earlier. A trip both men were not pleased to be making yet again.

The hot showers back at base will never have felt better.

[Arcerion]

[Task Force Oxhide] 6 miles off the coast of Madaan

Admiral Johann de Beers stared through his binoculars at the other assault carriers in the task force slowly positioned themselves to the wind, soldiers loading into the bellies of their V88 Archangel tilt-rotors. de Beers began pacing looking at his watch. Alarms sounded periodically, as the men of the 18th Parachute Assault regiment loaded onto the workhorses of Arcerion's airforce, the massive vehicles slowly taking off and gathering speed. Already, flak could be seen in the distance as the first elements began their gunship and fire-support roles, hovering and hammering the FMB positions. A young lieutenant sauntered up, timidly looking at the fearsome commander, and murmured "Sir, the Cormorants are in a holding pattern, requesting permission to begin airstrikes." The words came choppy and garbled, the young man terrified of the Admiral's famous temper. He waved his hand, mumbling something about 'bloody pilots' and the lieutenant passed the orders to the planes circling above Madaan.

[634th Tactical Squadron] Holding pattern above Madaan

Twelve of Arcerion's famed V-10B Tactical fighters circled high above the ground in formation, preparing for the inevitable ground attack orders that were soon to come. Radios crackled to life, and garbled attack messages came through, but the gist was the same, initiate attack patterns around the city, by flight. The first four planes peeled off, already attacking a predetermined system of flak cannons emplaced throughout the city.

Captain Alfred de Seer soared just twenty metres off the ground, rooftops and civilians looking up at the short, gull-winged, weapons-laden planes streak overhead. Alfred armed his hardpoints, selecting first his four Blaze HE missiles, then two Hunter Guided Missiles, only leaving a pair of Flame Air-to-Surface missiles as his defense. He jigged the stick to avoid small arms fire, but still felt round impact his right wing. The tail-end charlie, Lieutenant Derik Greer switched to his 40mm Gatling Gun, and sent truck parts flying as an NSV machinegun mounted on a truck was sent flying into the air, killing the crew and several nearby civilians, but Derik would not loose any sleep over that, his brother had died in a car bombing caused by the FMB years ago. Alfred continued making minor adjustments, then smiled as he saw a small soccer stadium open up before him, dozens of men scurried for cover as he triggered as many of his armed weapons as he could, sending them streaking towards the flak cannons. behind him, more missiles impacted as he pulled up and away, but he heard a larger explosion, and turned to see Greer's plane explode, scattering parts and burning debris wildly around. de Seer swore, and tears welled up. Engaged to Derik's sister, he had requested the young pilot's transfer so he could watch over him. The fuselage impacted a residential area, plowing through and finally stopping its path in front of an old convenience store.

[36nd Combat Engineers] Coast of Madaan

Engineers spilled out onto the beach, already engaging in small arms fire with FMB on the beach, who were firing back in rigid fire patterns, taking many lives as 7.62 rounds sliced through flesh and bone to end lives. Spc. John Alexander kept his head down, and his XR-4 close to his body. Dragging what was formerly his best friend up the beach as killing him inside, his legs burning as the blood trail thickened behind him. Finally, he slumped Arthur against an F11 Cyclops, the mighty 20mm cannon of the engineer vehicle tearing apart brick and mortar as it stopped and hammered away at FMB positions. Alexander thumped a gloved fist on the rear hatch, and keyed his radio to the armour frequency. "This is Builder Sierra-4! I need entry into vehicle EM-5! I have a Winchester India Alpha! Repeat! I need assistance!" he turned off the radio, and handed his friend his sidearm, the bloodied engineer barely gripping the XP-2. Alex switched off the safety of his riflem and began firing shots at a red-bricked beach home, now occupied by a timid RPG team. He managed to at least clip a loader, the man gripping his arm as blood coated the old fatigues, collapsing out of view. While changing a magazine, he heard a hatch open, and saw Arthur being dragged inside, which prompted John to run back and dive inside the vehicle. An astonished crew saw the dirtied soldier and thought nothing of it, closing the hatch and returning to their duties. Inside, several other engineers waited, fresh to the fight, not even blooded yet. Several were attending to Arthur, while one told John not to move, and began wrestling his kevlar off. Looking down, a dark stain was spreading across his chest, and as the world turned spotted and black, he thought he heard "Incoming!" yelled.

[Task Force Oxhide] Later that night

The Admiral was reviewing battle reports from the day and was extremely proud. He even allowed himself three fingers of whiskey and a cigar, sharing it with Lt. Colonel Johansson, commander of the 36nd. The man was a grizzled veteran, and had earned his 6th Wounded in Action medal, a red square, this day. While commanding his men from the beach, a mortar round landed inside the command company. The fuse fizzled, and an aide leapt on top of the round, the explosion killing him instantly. A piece of shrapnel was sent through Johansson's cartaroid artery, the blood spraying onto maps and charts as he continued to yell orders and demand order reports. Now, he sat with a stack of bandages on the injury, lying in the Admiral's bed smoking and blowing smoke ring sinto the air. "To Sergeant-Major Tomas" he said, toasting the hero of the afternoon, a man who would be posthumously awarded the Arcerion Medal of Valour, for his actions in saving the command company. They read reports together, trash talk between their rival rugby teams flowing as they chuckled and furrowed their brows, jotting down notes in margins and sending out radio messages for night movements and attacks. The day had had a heavy price, although a third of the city was under their control, they had taken %15 casualties attacking, and several of their ground attack aircraft were lost, and the Paratroopers hadn't recovered all of the pilots yet. Admiral de Beers smiled, seeing a satisfactory report of bomb runs on mechanical repair shops, he jotted down for one of the flight leaders to receive a battlefield promotion, as the squadron leader was wounded and in hospital. The two men worked into the night, reading reports and hearing gunfire as the fleet had been moved closer to shore.