PW: Task Force Atlas: Reunion

by **The United Remnants of America** » Wed Jun 21, 2017 4:43 pm

Project Warfighter:Task Force Atlas
Renegades
OOC

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Rogers

Undisclosed Location

2/13/20XX - 01:11

Jack Rogers was bathed in the glow of several large monitors that hung on the wall. The lights were off, mainly because the overhead lights added to the heat of the room. The air conditioning was on full blast, and it was still almost eighty inside. There were two reasons for that. The first was the fact that it was almost a hundred degrees outside with a humidity of something close to one-hundred percent. The second reason was sitting in the back of the room.

Several server towers were in the back, and they produced a surprising amount of heat in the stuffy, cement-walled room. This was the main room and the largest room of four. There was a doorway on the left wall that led to a small bedroom, a small kitchen/pantry, and an equally small bathroom. On the opposite wall was a heavy steel door, which lead to a cement stairway up to a cement landing and another steel door, which led to outside. The only indication this location was even here was the small cement outcropping above ground with the door and a healthy crop of antennae and satellite dishes.

Rogers was just in running shorts, leaning back in a rolling chair. His grey hair was matted and slick with sweat, as was the rest of his body. He'd been sweating before his late night workout routine, but now he was properly soaked. As per his usual routine, each monitor in front of him was tuned to a different news station. He'd watch each one for a minute or two, reading the tickers before moving to the next monitor. Rogers would continue this for the next hour before showering and hitting the bunk for a few hours of sleep before starting the next day. The highlight of his day was the workout if he was honest, since it was the only thing that kept his 54-year-old form in the condition it was in anymore.

The news, as per usual, was sensationally negative, but it had seemed even more so lately. There were several various countries in the news rather than the usual one or two. The news usually revolved around a coup, a dictator, or some other destabilizing action or oppressive leader. Almost every night, now, it seemed that another nation had fallen apart or was having troubles. But that wasn't what had really gotten to him.

Jack still had access to all the old files. They'd been backed up at the server farm here before the shutdown, so even though the files were erased everywhere else, this location was still safe. Because of that, Jack was able to put the pieces together. About two years ago, he had shown his face for the first time in the news, using an alias he'd used before as a chairman of a charity which he funneled money from to fuel his movements. The Prophet was still alive, and over the past two years, he'd built quite the public face. A year ago, he even entered into politics. He had charities, corporations, NGOs, and now governments feeding out of his palm. He was essentially a rock star. His bodyguards, which had been glanced on cameras. Jack recognized Archangel, the leader of Task Force Logos and his lackeys. So every night, Jack watched the news, his soul burning as he watched the Prophet shake hands with world leaders and captains of industry, slowly expanding his influence. Every night, Jack entered more names into a Deck of 52 file he kept on the computers.

Every night, Jack looked at a program titled Begin_Recall_TFA and thought of how this had all come to be...

Five years ago, Task Force Logos attacked Task Force Atlas assets at Outpost Training Camp #3 in Chitzeland. The personnel at the base were slaughtered and the base was left abandoned. The Hurti government, annoyed at this embarrassment, took Outpost Training Camp #3 back. That put Task Force Atlas on high alert, and forced them to redistribute forced. A week after that, Diego Garcia, the second-largest Task Force Atlas base was attacked in a surprise attack in concert with smaller attacks at Firebase Amethyst, Firebase Valkyrie, and Firebase Echo. The smaller firebases, monetarily forgotten in the attack on Diego Garcia, were devastated in the attack, losing several personnel in rapid hit-and-run attacks.

Diego Garcia, however, was by far the most devastating attack. While several personnel had been killed in the attacks, the attack culminated in a nuclear explosion in the harbor, destroying the majority of the international fleet that had been assigned to support TFA. The TFA units that were at Diego Garcia rallied and fought back, eventually repelling the assault, but the losses were staggering. While nobody knew it yet, it marked the beginning of the end for Task Force Atlas.

Governments that had previously supported the unit and their work began to pull support and assets. Relations soured. Some governments went so far as to claim the nuclear blast was TFA's fault. The downward spiral didn't stop there. Task Force Atlas was in several instances deemed a threat to global security. They'd grown too large, governments had said. TFA had acquired too much power and had no oversight. They were a danger. And it was with that, ultimately, TFA was outlawed, its existence deemed illegal by several governments in the world.

The bottom dropped out from everyone. Elite units were called back to their respective nations. Diego Garcia was shut down due to the radiation as well as the damage. Firebase Alamo, Firebase Amethyst, Firebase Echo, and Firebase Valkyrie were all mothballed and shut down, their assets being seized by the nations that officially administered them. The Organized States withdrew their open invitation of TFA at Fort Bragg. Aircraft and vehicles were seized and confiscated. The surviving ships of the fleet that supported TFA were called back and redeployed by their home nations.

Jack was redeployed to teach at a special forces school in Neu Engollon for a couple years. Jack had grown tired of the position however, and applied for an extended leave. Normally, this wasn't allowed in the Remnant Military, but Jack Rogers was somewhat of a legend, and he was able to persuade his superiors into accepting it. That's when he went looking for this server farm, because he knew that's where the information had to have been backed up to. By the time he'd gotten here, there wasn't even the skeleton crew that should be manning it, but the guards who'd left had done just what he'd assumed, they'd let the equipment run, which was a good thing. Jolly moved in with enough supplied to last him as much time as he needed to guard over the information. It still didn't solve his main issue, though: Task Force Atlas...

All the hard work they'd done had been erased. Everything was gone.

Everything except for this site. It didn't have a name, but Jack referred to it now as "home." The site, which had once been a simple backup server farm, was now everything that remained of Task Force Atlas. Once again, Jack's eyes were drawn to the black screen with a single line of text that read Begin_Recall_TFA and wondered what should be done.

"Don't."

Jack looked up. Her voice was rare anymore. She didn't have a reason to talk much. Usually, she worked to keep corruption out of the TFA files as well as fend off the cyber attacks, both by governments trying to access the files they knew still existed, and by evil entities trying to do the same. The attacks were becoming more infrequent as people realized that TFA was no longer relevant. One of the screens that was holding news stories had been replaced by what looked like a video feed, but Jack knew it was just her avatar. She had chosen to keep it, and her appearance hadn't changed in the last six years.

"I.. Don't know what you're talking about." Jack tried to click off the window on the laptop, but he knew he'd been caught.

"You look at the program almost every day, Jack. I know what you're thinking. And I can tell you it's not worth it. TFA's operation is illegal. Starting that program would make you a criminal, as well as anyone who answered the call."

Jack sighed. She was right, as she always was. Self-Aware Learning Intelligence. SALI, both an acronym and a name. Sali was an artificial intelligence. The director of Task Force Atlas had created her using completely confidential means, but after her creation, she'd been the primary technical manager of the task force. She even tried to keep tabs on the scattered surviving operators of TFA, even though several had been killed over the years. Luckily, she'd been transported here to this facility as TFA was being shut down, and as far as Jack knew, nobody really knew she existed. Even most of TFA assumed she was just a pretty application rather than an AI modeled after a celebrity who'd died in a plane crash. From what Jack knew, she was the only one that had been made, whether that was for better or worse.

"What do you expect me to do? Sit here and watch? I know you watch the news, too, Sali."

Sali's avatar frowned. "I do. I see what's happening. But we have to watch. We can't do anything. Not until the time is right."

A touch of anger edged into Jack's voice, "And when will the time be right, huh? Everything was in vain! The Prophet is stronger than ever, and there's a hundred more just like him now!"

Sali pursed her lips together and was about to respond when something caught her attention and she looked into the distance, "We have an issue. Perimeter breach."

Anger was replaced first with surprise, and then his mind settled into a place that he hadn't been in for a some time. "Camera feeds?"

Several monitors that had news channels were replaced with camera feeds of outside the site above ground. They were sub-par cameras, not even night-vision ones, but in the dark, he could make out shapes moving near the front door. Definitely people. Definitely uninvited. He couldn't tell how many, but there were at least more than one, meaning Jack was already outnumbered.

Jack jumped out of his seat and moved towards his room. "Sali, keep me updated, I gotta get ready."

"Of course."

Jack got into his room and opened his closet, he quickly threw on a pair of canvas pants and a tee-shirt. It never hurt to be clothed in the middle of a home invasion. Next, Jack pushed aside the clothes of his closet to reveal a gunsafe set into the back of the closet and dialed in the code to pull it open. Inside, he pulled out web gear and threw it on, loaded up with a couple magazines of ammunition and pulled out an old R11 Pistol and threaded on the silencer. In addition, he grabbed an R18 Assault Rifle and made sure it was loaded and charged. He switched the safeties off both weapons and slipped the R11 into the web gear's integrated holster. In the middle of him checking his weapons, he felt and heard an explosion. Jack looked up, stopping for a moment.

"They blew the outer door," Sali reported. "I can see them moving down the steps now. I count... Two... No, three. Three incoming. They're at the door outside."

Jack didn't respond, all he did was leave his room and stare across the small server room at the door that the enemy was outside. Jack felt at his webgear and found what he wanted; a flashbang grenade. He clipped it off and moved over to a server tower, standing against it. In his hand, he used his thumb to pull the pin from the flashbang and held the spoon. All he could do now was wait.

It only took about fifteen seconds before he heard it, a small explosion marking the intruders blowing the locks on the door. Jack peeked around and saw the door move. He let the spoon pop off the flashbang and counted out two before tossing the grenade and wrapping back around the server tower, closing his eyes, covering them with his arm, and then holding his mouth open. He heard a yelp of surprise and then a deafening pop, made all the louder due to the enclosed area. Jack backed around the server tower, rifle high and trained on the door. The intruders weren't as slowed by the flashbang and as he trained his weapon on the door, there was already someone standing in the doorway, their silhouette showing a weapon in hand. Jack didn't hesitate to let loose a trio of rounds into the figure and the figure went down quickly. On either side of the two, Jack saw two barrels come around and begin firing, forcing Jack to turn around the server tower, which began to take fire. He could hear circuitry snapping and sparking as bullets embedded themselves into the equipment.

Jack put his rifle back around the server and fired blindly into the doorway, hoping to hit something despite that being unlikely. The firing stopped, and Jack brought his rifle back to drop a magazine and put in another from his web gear. Jack peeked around at the doorway and saw nothing. It was a waiting game, now.

"Is that the famous Jack Rogers in there?"

Jack didn't recognize the voice, but found it odd that the guy behind the door decided this was a good time to talk. Jack didn't respond and rather waited.

The voice continued, "Listen, Rogers. We don't want you. We were sent here for the information stored here. You could give up, walk out, and let us have what we want. You live, we live, it all ends swell."

Jack nodded, thinking over the proposition. "Fuck off."

There was a pause, "So be it."

Jack could hear movement on the other side of the door and tried to peek around, his eyes registered movement, but a shot forced him back. Jack knelt and lowered himself to the ground, quietly setting his rifle on the ground and slipping his pistol from its holster. Jack readied himself into a crouch and leapt out from cover, sliding along the cement ground, pistol aiming up. His eyes locked on one figure and he began to fire, snapping off a trio of bullets before he turned his gun to the figure beside it, getting off two more bullets before coming to a stop. Jack rolled back onto his feet and switched to a kneel, his pistol aiming at the two still figures. Neither of them moved, so Jack moved to them. The one on the right he'd got three bullets at had been unlucky. One bullet had caught him in the eye and killed him instantly. Jack moved to the one by the doorway, who had caught several rounds to the chest, and he wasn't wearing a vest like the first one had.

Finally, the one on the left. Who was still breathing, his vest had caught a round, but another had hit him in the neck. He was holding his wound, but he was bleeding out. Jack stared down at him and the man opened his eyes to stare back, not even attempting to go for the pistol Jack saw on his thigh.

The man nodded, giving a grim smile, "This isn't over." His voice was the same one who'd tried to talk Jack into surrendering.

Jack shrugged, his pistol hanging ready at his side. "It is for you."

The man chuckled, but it quickly turned into a cough and blood sputtered from his mouth. The round had hit deeper than Jack had thought. "You should've let us do our job. We don't give a fuck about you anymore, old man. We just want the personnel files."

"They're safe with me."

Another bloody cough and the man's body shuddered. "Not forever."

"For now." Jack raised the pistol and fired a round into the man's forehead. He shook his head and let out a sigh as his adrenaline began to settle. He was getting too old for this operator shit. Jack looked around, holstering his pistol and going to retrieve his rifle, "Sali, anyone else out there?"

"No. But I think we can say the location is compromised."

Jack slung the rifle over his shoulders and pressed his lips together in a smile, "Yeah, maybe. Start burning everything. Every non-essential file and system, kill it. Back up everything else into the go-pack."

Sali waited a second to respond. ".. And me, Jack?"

Jack looked at the moniters at the front of the room, walking towards them. He knew she could see him from cameras in several of the screens, "You're coming, too. I just need to do one thing before I go."

"Jack, I think-"

Jack got to the laptop and looked back at the screen, "I don't care. It's time we did this. You can't talk me out of it. Not after this."

"I was only going to say that I think you need to do it."

Jack smiled and opened up the filed titled Begin_Recall_TFA

Begin Recall Y/N? Jacked took a breath and hit the Y-key.

Processing.... Beginning Recall.

The screen went black before a series of contact files came up, their status going from "deactivated" to "activated" as the program flicked through them.

The program was contacting every Task Force Atlas member and reactivating them. This call wouldn't be quiet. Everyone would hear it and would be given the chance to respond. Word would spread, for good or worse, that Task Force Atlas had been reactivated. Some would hopefully come to rallying cry, but Jack was sure there would be those who would be waiting to go after the organization for breaking international law and coming back online. Jack didn't care anymore. They had to do what was right, and this proved it.

Jack went to the back of the room and pulled a cover off a server tower. Inside was a laptop-sized drive that could hold up to an exabyte of information. Most of that space was reserved for Sali's programming, which was worth the development of a relatively compact system to transport her. Jack looked up, "Ready to go?"

"Yes. Disconnect... Now."

Jack slide the storage device from its port and picked a bag up that sat beside the server. The servers went silent as he dismounted the drive, meaning Sali had made a kill order when she was disconnected. Everything in the safe room would be wiped, though he guessed there'd be fragmented information left if someone felt like digging through it. He slid the drive into the bag and shouldered it. Sali would just have to sit in there until he could put her back in somewhere.

A vibrating caught his attention and he went to the satellite phone on his hip as he stepped over the bodies of the dead invaders and walked up the stairs.

"Jack."

"Jolly? What the fuck did you do?"

Jack recognized the voice. "Lennox?"

"I got the call. What happened."

"I'll tell you later. I'm kind of in a bind right now. Bugging out."

"Do you need a lift?"

Jack reached the top of the steps and left the building, "You can do that?"

"I... I have a few resources I've been building up. I've been expecting the call, Jack."

Jack nodded and stopped moving for a second. "Okay. Where are you?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll send you coordinates to be at. Be there in six hours. I'll have a ride for you."

"Okay..." His phone vibrated and he glanced at the screen, a notification bar with coordinates came up, which would be about a four-hour walk through the jungle from where he was. "How did you know where I-"

"Because you wouldn't go anywhere else."

Jack shook his head and laughed, "Alright. What about everyone else?"

"Anyone who got the call should know how to access our portal online. I'll leave coordinates for pick-up points as well as my current location and heading."

"Heading? You're moving?"

"I've collected some big resources, Jolly. See you soon."

"Yeah." Jack clicked off the satellite phone and patted his backpack, "Alright, Sali. Let's go rebuild Task Force Atlas.

by **The Federation of Colonies** » Thu Jun 22, 2017 4:36 am

Fort McClaren ("The Wolves Den")
Neva Region, Federation of Colonies
SWORD 3OG/6OS "Wolves" HQ
Operations Center
Major Adam "Control" Reger, Wolves CO
20XX

Another day, another shift, another operation in progress. As was the fate of the operators and command staff of SWORD's various Operations Squadrons scattered around the Federation and the globe; to be where they were called, regardless of family, holidays, or...anything. It is a commitment every Special Operations operator on this planet has made; to disregard the needs and want of the self and instead tend to the needs and wants of the operator's country. Many operators join for different reasons, but how could not a love for country be one of them? One has to be patriotic to some degree to do the job...to take the risks...

"Major?"

Major Adam Reger nearly jumped out of his chair, his thoughts interrupted by the soldier that spoke to him. for a second, Adam forgot what he had been doing, then it came back to him: it was 9:30 PM, and he had been writing a report at his desk in the Operations Center inside the SWORD 6OS (the "Wolves Den") HQ, currently situated 3 miles under the snowy ground of the Federation's Neva Region. Right above them was Colonial Federal Army base Fort McClaren. It was the perfect cover for outgoing operations, should anyone be trying to discover where the Den was. Adam had been distracted by the bank of monitors lining the front wall of the Ops Center, lost in thought, until the soldier had interrupted him.

Thoughts back in order, Major Reger turned his attention to the soldier standing next to his desk. Adam recognized him as a specialist that worked in Communications. "Something wrong, Lieutenant Lamar? I specifically--..."

"Major, I'm sorry, but a message just arrived from the Defense Ministry. Within the last 48 hours, an international situation has developed that could be beneficial to the Federation. You've been called to an emergency meeting of the Defense Ministry in Iris City."

Adam blinked, processing what was going on. "What? Is this confirmed?"

"Yes sir. In fact, here is a priority FLASH message for your review. Details of the situation are inside." The soldier handed Adam a sealed envelope marked "FLASH Transmission: Major Adam Reger. Eyes only". Adam carefully opened to envelope, took a glance at the subject heading, then looked up at the Lieutenant. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

as the specialist walked away, Adam pulled the message out and began to read.

An HC-10 Helicopter
On approach over Joint Base Icon, Iris City, Iris Capitol Region
Federation of Colonies
Adam

The HC-10, in transit to Joint Base Icon from Fort McClaren, had finally arrived after 3 hours of travel time and one refueling stop. It carried one passenger, a Major Adam Reger from Fort McClaren. The pilots, both enlisted in the Federation Air Forces, only knew the Major by name only. They didn't know that he was secretly the Commander of SWORD 3OG/6OS, the most dangerous and effective SWORD international ops unit.

That was the way it worked in SWORD, which stood for the Special Weapons, Operations, and Reconnaissance Detachment. Most of those outside the Detachment didn't know the inner workings or leadership, only that SWORD existed. The cover story for Adam, official, was that he was traveling to give a performance review of the Fort McClaren base staff. Unofficially, he was here for the emergency meeting outlined in the FLASH he had received from DED. While on the way,sitting in the passenger bay of the HC, he reviewed the files DED had on Atlas. All the material was marked Omega (high level)-Black (black operations), as expected for a task force of Atlas' reputation. The intel was gathered secondhand; all of the source material was in the hands of other countries. However, Adam was very much impressed with Operation OLYMPIA, Operation DARK SUN, and Operation LEGION; just a few of the operations TFA was supposedly a part of.

TFA as a whole was very impressive, but their failure to contain certain incidents and attacks was their downfall. From there, the files Adam had were sketchy on the details. Anyway, TFA was shutdown, end of story. Now someone wanted to dig up the bones and resurrect Atlas in the face of international law. Whoever did this must either be deranged, desperate...

...or aware of some impending doom. Whatever the case, Adam would learn more at the meeting.

The pilots did their routine checks with Icon Control Tower.

"Control Tower, this is Razor Flight from Fort McClaren requesting clearance to land." radioed the main pilot.

"Roger, Razor. Clearance code requested." replied one of the controllers.

"Alpha-Romeo-Montreal-3-2-9-1-Lima"

"Affirmative, code confirmed. Land at Pad 19, marked by glowing lights."

"Wilco, tower. Razor out"

The HC-10 decreased altitude and banked left to land at Pad 19. With finesse, the pilots landed the HC gently on Pad 19. Adam noticed the rotors decreasing in speed and looked out the viewport to see the lights of Joint Base Icon, the HQ of Federal Armed Forces command and the main military hub. The base was situated on a flat area of land just outside Iris City; connected to the sea by a Colonial Federal Navy Port that had warships docked. Adam was quite puzzled by the name "Icon", bestowed upon the base since it's founding 50 years ago. He supposed that the base planners wanted this place to be a model for other Federation bases throughout the country. Not a bad model, really...the amount of military personnel and equipment was quite staggering...

"Sir," came the voice of the main pilot over the passenger bay intercom, "We have arrived on-site. Disembark at your leisure Major"

Adam grabbed his briefcase, put the files back inside, and stood up. He was dressed in his CFA dress uniform, the medals gleaming in the light coming off the helipad. He grasped the handle of the HC's sidedoor and heaved it open, stepping out onto the helipad. Surprisingly, a smartly dressed aide was already waiting for him. Adam walked over to him.

The aide held out his hand for a handshake. "Sir, I am Captain Samuel Quentin, CFA; one of the aides to General Edward Mason, base commander. Here to direct you to the meeting."

Adam shook the Captain's hand. "Major Adam Reger, Fort McClaren Comm---"

"Actually, you are CO of SWORD 3OG/6OS, or better known as the Wolves; pardoning my interruption."

Adam was stunned, opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then shrugged. "Someone is well informed." he said instead.

"Only what I'm paid to know, Major. Please follow me."

Sam walked away from Adam, heading toward a truck that would no doubt take them to the Joint Command Center, the main base area. Adam followed and boarded the back cargo area with Captain Quentin. Around them, despite it being midnight, the base was a hive of activity. Transport planes took off or landed. CFA soldiers were conducting night exercises. Other trucks drove to different parts of the base, carrying personnel from all three military branches. Adam swore he even saw a game of basketball being played on a well lit court.

Captain Quentin and Adam arrived at the main base buildings, which housed Icon's command staff. The main checkpoint into the area was guarded by two CFN Marines dressed in green digital camo. Adam heard their driver exchange a few words with one of the Marines, then they were off again. When the truck came to a stop, the Captain hopped out the back with Adam close behind. Ahead of them was the Joint Command Center, with steps leading to a door that was also guarded by 4 CFN Marines. Adam and Captain Quentin walked to the door and presented their IDs and were quickly buzzed through. They entered the lobby, and Captain Quentin led the way from there.

This was Adam's fifth time in the Joint Command Center. It hadn't changed much. Other officers rushed around like busy worker bees, carrying documents or running tasks for their respective commands. At one point in his career, Adam had worked here as a member of the 6th Infantry Battalion command staff. He knew that a bunker system lay beneath the JCC, which hosted highly confidential meetings for the Federation Defense Ministry...like the one he was about to participate in. Problem was...Adam had no clue where the entrance was. That information had always been way above his paygrade during his tenure at JCC. He had always assumed that there was some elevator, hidden behind dozens of checkpoints and guards.

Incorrect. Instead, it was just a simple setup. Down one of the hallways, a single Marine stood guard outside a steel door with a keypad and scanner. After having their IDs examined, the Marine pressed a button, keyed in a sequence of numbers, and placed his eye to the scanner. With a click, the door unlocked. The Marine opened the door and gestured them through. When they both walked through the door, the Marine closed it and it automatically locked. On the other side, a detector station was in place. They both surrendered their firearms to the Marine guards and walked through the detectors. After being cleared, they were led to a room that resembled a waiting area. At the end, an elevator was flanked by two CFA Assualters instead of CFN Marines. Captain Quentin stopped.

"There you go Major. Take the elevator down to the meeting area; I believe that everyone else has already arrived." he said to Adam.

"Thank you, Captain. Will you be heading back to your post?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, thanks then." Adam held out his hand, which the Captain shook. "You seem like a promising young officer. Ever considered joining SWORD?"

Quentin laughed. "No, Major; I like my job here. SWORD is a little to high-speed for me. Goodbye sir."

With a salute, the Captain walked off, and Adam entered the elevator. He inserted his ID card into a slot below the floor button. A machine confirmed his ID and he pressed the button. The elevator descended downwards, and when it opened, Adam saw a well-lit conference room with a long table, lined with chairs. a computer sat at each chair. Adam also saw that most of the chairs were occupied by officers whose ranks made him gulp. It was the Command Staff and sitting members of the Federation Defense Ministry.

There was:
General Lucas LaMoore, Chairman of the CFA

Admiral Darius Terris, Chairman of the CFN

Marshal Alex Ryman, Chairman of the FAF

Secretary George Mallen, Head of the FDM

General Waton Legus, Head of SWORD Operational Command

And, at the head of the table was Director Cain Richard, Director of the Department of Espionage and Defense...and the caller of this meeting. Director Richard saw Adam entering the room and smiled broadly. "Major Reger!" he said. "Please take a seat; we are about to begin."

At this point, Adam did not want to sit down at this table. Everyone here outranked Major Reger by several paygrades; and everyone except for Director Richard looked extremely pissed to be here. Unfortunately, he had no choice, so Adam took a seat at the table and took a minute to examine his current predicament.

The military officers all look tired, leading Adam to assume that they had been all dragged out of bed at rather unholy hours of the morning for this meeting that was now beginning to slightly confuse him... and that didn't happen often. Director Richard was tapping away at his computer, not looking tired at all. For a moment, Adam tried to recall all the information he had on the eccentric-yet- legendary Director of DED. All he really knew was that Richard was once a very successful operative for SHADOW, the predecessor to DED that was disbanded and it's members locked up for treason. Cain was one of the few operatives who avoided being locked up in Fort Saga Military Prison and instead became one of the founders of DED. From there, Adam knew nothing about the man's personal life or what Cain was before becoming a career spook.

As Adam kept pondering about Director Richard's past life, the man in question stood up and cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen," Cain began. "Welcome to an emergency meeting of the Federation Defense Ministry. All of you here received a FLASH message from me concerning an international situation regarding the disgraced and disbanded Task Force Atlas. Please refer to your computers for a second."

Adam watched as am image of the TFA insignia appeared on his laptop. Looked like Director Richard was controlling their computers remotely.

"Task Force Atlas was once the most elite and dangerous international special operations unit in history. Their operational record, which I am sure you have all heard of, is a testament to what this unit was once capable of. However, due to a series of attacks on TFA bases and host nations, many lost confidence in the TFA as a unit, funding was withdrawn, and Task Force Atlas was disbanded. The command staff went into hiding, and the units returned to their home countries."

"This was supposed to be the end of Atlas as an entity. The world instead turned to other units, other causes...and Atlas was forgotten. Until 51 hours ago."

"51 hours ago, three of our monitoring stations picked up a sudden uptick in worldwide transmissions. At first, we assumed some major terrorist incident or a war had begun, but our SIGINT guys finally received the message that had been stirring things up: A call for Atlas reactivation."

There was silence. Cain waited for a second, then moved on.

"I would like to remind everyone here that this flies in the face of international law. Many want to see Atlas stayed buried. However, someone out there has no issue digging up old graves. This reactivation order has bypassed many firewalls and seems to be received by...well...everyone. We have no idea who activated Atlas, but whoever did it left their fucking phone number...figuratively, of course. It seems that this is more than recall...well...read for yourselves."

The message was displayed on their computers. Adam did a quick read over, widened his eyes, then read more slowly...disbelief echoing through his mind.

"The hell!" said CFA Chairman-General LaMoore. "This is not a recall...this is a damn recruitment drive! Who the hell...?"

"Again," Cain said, "We have no idea who sent this message out, only contact information to an online portal...where people can join up. Now, we have a decision to make."

CFN Admiral-Chairman Terris frowned. "What decision?"

Suddenly, General Legus burst out laughing. Everyone stared at him as the General laughed for a few minutes. General Legus looked up at everybody and grinned wildly.

"Gentlemen, can't you see what the Director is implying? We have an opportunity here. We can chose to help hunt down these Atlas renegades...or send in our best unit to join them."

The other Generals (and one Admiral) suddenly looked at Major Reger. In a flash, Adam finally realized why he was here.

"Director Richard," he said, "Before we get ahead of ourselves, didn't you just say that Atlas is an international, lawbreaking disgrace?"

(Way to be blunt, Major Adam Reger...)

Cain, instead of answering immediately, stared directly at Adam for a few minutes. Then...

"Do you watch the news, Major?"

Adam was taken aback. "Of course..."

"Then you may have noticed the ongoing terror incidents, the chaos that is enveloping the world so slowly. Every year, our world slowly tears itself apart at the seams, people are dying, and corrupt leaders and their evil ideologies have destroyed freedom and hope at every turn. Atlas was once committed to taking these threats head-on. Many operators died for a cause that was not that of any one nation or man, but of multiple nations and multiple men who took it upon themselves to defend our world from tyranny and evil."

"Evil, gentlemen, is a force that no one believes in anymore. It became so commonplace that people accepted it as the norm. Defending against it, instead of attacking it, was the new party line. Oh sure, it came in many forms: Terrorism. Dictators. Rouge nations and organizations. We shrugged these forms off, told ourselves that this was normal, that this was just a stage the world is going through. Atlas went against that. They fought evil wherever it was. Atlas knew that this wasn't just some "stage"; that every act of terror or violence brought the world one step closer to destruction. The operator of Task Force Atlas were responsible for great acts of heroism."

Everyone nodded slowly, listening to every word that Director Richard uttered.

"So, when Atlas began to bleed, the world used this as an excuse to abandon our only offensive force against tyranny and terrorism. With one fell swoop, Atlas was gone, supposedly never to return. Entire nations turned their backs on Atlas and committed one of the greatest wrongs in the history of our world"

"Now, gentlemen, we have a chance to help right a great wrong...to join Task Force Atlas. I have spoken to the President on this matter. She agrees with me 100%. Now...I make my case before you gentlemen in hopes of convincing you to do the right thing"

There was silence. Everyone looked at each other. Whispers were exchanged. Nods were exchanged. Minds were made up.

There was no going back.

Everyone stood.

"Director Richard," said Secretary Mallen. "You have the approval of both the Federation President and this Ministry. The Federation will help Atlas in anyway it can. I will met with President Clayn at first opportunity to discuss some arrangements. In the meantime...who will be our unit?"

"I will defer to General Legus and Major Reger on that" Cain said, with a smile.

Major Adam Reger, already standing, saluted General Legus. "Sir, permission to loan my unit to Task Force Atlas?"

Legus nodded.

"Permission granted. Go get some work done, Control."

Outside the meeting room

First things first...

As soon as Adam was outside the meeting room/bunker, he rushed through processing. As soon as he was outside and in possession of his briefcase, he retrieved his satellite phone. He quickly dialed a number on it. After a few rings, a voice answered

"April." it said.

"Showers" replayed Adam, completing the code-phrase. A pause.

"Go for Alpha." said the voice of Captain Markus "Alpha" Akron, team leader of the Wolves.

"Alpha, this is Control," said Control. He was no longer just Major Reger; he was now Control, ground control officer and CO of 6OS Wolves. "Prep for immediate mission departure. All leave has been cancelled. We are at code Alpha-December, repeat, Alpha-December."

"Roger, Control," said Alpha. "Briefing time?"

"As soon as I arrive on-site.."

***
Unknown Location

"Is it done?"

"Yes. Our message has been uploaded on the online portal. Task Force Atlas should be expecting our SWORD team when they are needed."

"Is the Sender even alive? Someone could have killed him by now..."

"If the Sender is dead, then I will have some explaining to do to the President and the FDM. If the Sender is alive, then maybe we can get a rally point. Either way, all we have to do is sit and wait..."

by **Cruxa** » Thu Jun 22, 2017 7:34 pm

Govenrment Hall
Capital City
Cruxa
1100 hours, local time

The President was, apparently, the last to know. To make up for it, however, he was by far the most excited.

“Task Force Atlas is BACK?” said Connor Mendel loudly. The President had sent a special ops unit to their membership previously, and the organization had always had his full support, even when the unit was disbanded and its operators honorably discharged. The neews that TFA was back was big news. And Cruxa was not going to miss out on it.

Turning to his secretary, a young woman in her 30s, Mendel said, “Please
call an emergency cabinet meeting. This needs to be discussed.”

Govenment Hall
Capital City
Cruxa
1200 hours local time

"No," said Mark Tennant, Cruxan Secretary of War. "We can't. We absolutely cannon put our best international CTU in the hands of a supposedly corruption free organization, which we don't even know exists and that most certainly is illegal," he fumed.

Matthew Johnson-Smith, Secretary of Foreign Relations, retorted with, "Yeah, well, what are we saving them for? The Rebel Islands have had lots of activity lately, and God knows which of our allies might need assistance. But if we ever have to run an op on an ally, I give you full license to pull the plug."

Mendel interjected. "Have you forgotten? SCARE is trained for stealth. If anything, TFA gives us plausible deniability- we work with Atlas, but we didn't assign those troops there." He shrugged. "I think it's a simple decision. We send our soldiers to the meeting zone. We get them in with TFA. And we use TFA to run an op on the Revel Islabds and those southern cartels."

Tennant paused. The president had a point- an organization with its own chain of command did give playsible deniability. Plus, in his own mind, he began to wonder who else would respond. SCARE could show the world it's full power, and Cruxa could gain international respect.

"Fine," he said. "Let's do it. I'll get them a chopper to lift them there."

Meeting Zone Helipad
Meeting Zone
1600 hours, Cruxan time

Lieutenant Colonel James Adkins was standing to sharp attention in his dress uniform. Behind him stood his team, SCARE Ops Team 4. The men and women stood, in uniform black dress uniforms and white navy officers’ caps. Behind Adkins towered Charles Anhaus, the team’a heavy weapons specialist.

Adkins was, to be honest, quite nervous. His team had been sent to this meeting zone for one purpose, well-known and acutely anticipated by all team members:

Join the newly reformed Task Force Atlas.

The team was Cruxa’s most elite international special operations unit. They'd defused bombs in strategic buildings, rescued a crashed helicopter’s pinned troops, and even cleared a forty-four floor skyscraper. But, having never operated in a JTF, let alone one this large, Adkins and his team were worried.

Advancing as a group, the team walked to the bunker door. Adkins breathed deeply. “Come on, Jim,” said the grizzled veteran next to him. Commander Liam McCraig was the oldest soldier in the group, and one of the only ones from the Navy, hence his naval rank. Adkins nodded, and McCraig, Anhaus, Reynolds, Renee, Kinnear, and Reyes followed him in single file.

by **New Hayesalia** » Fri Jun 23, 2017 12:28 am

EN ROUTE, SOMEWHERE

Nine men, a woman, three 20 foot shipping containers and a pallet filled with rucksacks occupied the rear cabin of a mighty aircraft, a C-17 Globemaster in the ferris pattern of the New Hayesalian Air Force. The plane was operated by the Σ Squadron of the New Hayesalian Air Force, a special operations squadron renown for reliable, quiet operations into special places. This, in and of itself, was a very simple job.

New Hayesalia's contribution to Task Force Atlas was quality and quantity. Some of the world's finest operatives were already here, and now ten more - drawn from the New Hayesalian Navy, Army, Air Force, Marines and the gendarme Royal Montmarian Guard - were to take up a dangerous posting at Atlas, in service to New Hayesalia and global interests. Their identities would be secret, and their tactics would be similarly private.

These were troops of the Battlefield Assault, Strategic, Tactical & Innovative Operations Node. It was a complex name to accomplish a meaningful name, BASTION. It was named for the most sacred site of New Hayesalian history, the castle Hollow Bastion and the battle that ensued around it - causing the death of millions of millions of soldiers some 300 years ago. This was New Hayesalia's Tier One unit, a small battalion that dispatching ten members represented a major capability. BASTION was always active, hunting pirates and slavers, finding intelligence and enabling New Hayesalian operations across the world.

As the plane touched down, the soldiers inside began preparing. The loadmasters aboard would work with the local staff to offload the equipment as the ten special operators would report to command. They wore a variety of uniforms, each decorated with a wide number of tabs and decorations; blue, tan, black and even one in the flowing red and black uniform of the Royal Montmarian Guard, complete with bicorne hat. All others had one uniform piece in common - a black beret, with the silver badge of BASTION attached to it.

The aircraft came to a stop, and the uniformed troopers rose from their seats and checked their uniforms, before walking from the aircraft and assembling outside, placing on their covers. It was a return to Atlas, and it was hardly a ceremonial posting, but these troops knew second first impressions matter. A tall and strong-looking Army Captain led the 10, who formed into two ranks for marching.

"BASTION by the left quick... MARCH!" came the Captain's call, the three golden Hayesalian Suns pinned to his epaulettes giving him the weight of New Hayesalia's Government to make the command. The base was as it had been, the BASTION operators recalled to New Hayesalia during the destruction of Atlas' former facilities, though millions of Quats of equipment was lost to enemy fire. The modern ATLAS would have new and old units - none more qualified than BASTION.

The task force Commander, Jack Rogers, awaited the various ATLAS elements to greet and brief them. In their immaculately kept uniforms, the New Hayesalians would seem like smooth professionals, on par if not above all other units.

The team of ten would be better introduced in the coming days and weeks, but their skills were known, their talents anticipated, as ten shined boots smacked into the ground outside the command building at a halt, the Captain entering to find Jack Rogers and report his units arrival, who stood outside at the command of Chief Petty Officer 'F'.

by **Empire of Donner land** » Sat Jun 24, 2017 1:43 am

EN-ROUTE TO EXTRACT

Outside of the canvas covered truck was a sub-arctic forest half covered in snow, a blank black asphalt road split it apart for hundreds of miles and more as it curved over the earth, for some outside of Donner Land it would be a winter hellhole, near frozen for a half of the year, and being whited out of existence for the other half. Though it was a kind of home for the truck's occupants sitting in the back, despite the many who invaded them in the past who have disagreed. War was commonplace, tragedy was near unavoidable and death was just a happening for whom lived during the Civil War and Age of Terror that came after of which claimed the lives of millions, though out of all that a new warrior was born from the fires.

"Now's about time I briefed you all on what is going on." someone said breaking the silence out of the truck's engine running and suspension squeaking. "The Donnish Imperial Army recently received an alarming signal, Task Force Atlas's reactivation was confirmed." he paused for a moment awaiting an outcry as the truck hit a bump in the road, though there was not a peep as he had once expected. "The Council completely shut down any idea, attempt or even slight nudge towards cooperation with the renewed TFA in a secret emergency session, what with the state the world is currently in. Now with the DCLF making a huge come back and making more ground than they ever have in the past and fingers pointing at outside sources funding them, the Army is making a decision for itself."

The trees and road continued to go past them as they drove forward to the extraction point, Sergzen Zemer spoke on. "We're being flown to a rendezvous point in order to support TFA in its revival from the dead in secret. No one can know we are doing this, the Military has gotten sick of continually being reigned in when something needs done in order to avoid stepping on other's toes, suspiciously whenever this is done a Politician gets a little richer."

"The world has gotten dirty, and without anyone brave enough to clean it up, people like TFA have to step up."

"We have to be the brave ones then... Sir." Summer spoke up out of the 6 who remained quiet the whole ride to the extract. The sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air were heard in the distance, and the team of 6 began to grab their gear that had been stashed under their seats waiting for the time to finally disembark the truck. The squad boarded the Helicopter then rising above the forest to their destination.

by **Saradena** » Sat Jun 24, 2017 4:19 am

"Henta iso wa banagi utabi. At suku, katana'i Izanami."
(Evil has been unleashed again. And so, Izanami responds)

Solaris Tower, Esgonia
9:43 PM

As he packs up to go home, President Erhard Brunshelm is then bothered by a message on his computer, apparently coming from the Operations Center. It states that he is needed there right away as they have received a message that was needed to be attended immediately.

"What for..? Is it Azenyanistan again?" he says to himself as he types out a reply asking from who. The reply, which only took half a minute made him stare at the screen in surprise.

"It's from Atlas"
"Atlas...now that's something I haven't heard in a while.."

Although one of the more recent entries before Atlas's tragic disbandment, the Esgonian Government was a staunch supporter of Task Force Atlas, believing that the multinational spec-ops organization could help fight global terrorism. The incident that happened in Diego Garcia, however, changed most minds, stating that the Government should denounce the organization and pull its assets out as soon as possible. The did the latter,but for the former, since President Brunshelm himself, along with 2/3 of his cabinet, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Director of the EIS, still had some belief in TFA's work and that most governments have just overreacted, they said nothing.

As he finished up packing and headed to the Operations Center, he could not help but ask why they decided to reactivate. Whatever the reason, he knew that something sinister caused it.

Armed Forces Operations Center, Nagase All-Purpose Base, Esgonia
9:54 PM

He soon arrives via his car at the Operations Center, where he is thoroughly searched by security officers, before entering. Already there is the cabinet, with the foreign minister already arguing against the Army General and Special Forces Command directors. He immediately takes a seat and listens in to the argument.

"We simply CAN'T allow this to happen. It's an illegal organization and YOU ALL know it!" The Internal Affairs minister speak. "Why do we want to risk sending in manpower and resources again to an organization that has embarrassed itself in front of everyone years ago?."

The SFC Director responds "And what? Have you seen Atlas's track records? The have achieved more than most of us have. The defeat and reactivation of Atlas has to be for a reason."

The argument continues until Kotori Brunshelm, the daughter of President Brunshelm and Senior Coordinator of the EIS tells them to halt and let her speak her say. She then rises up and says her argument. "Have you ever noticed that ever since the dissolution of Atlas, the terrorism rates have increased dramatically? Let's look at Rinoa and Sandstorm, for instance." She takes her tablet and showed the cabinet the rates of activity between the Rinoan Cartel and the Sandstorm Corps, two of the most notorious criminal organizations of the Esgonian Federation. "Months following the dissolution of Atlas. Both organizations have increased activity and have become more dangerous than ever. We've conducted raids and Anti-Terror operations on wherever they reach, but they seem to come back again and again, each time more cocky than the last. They have proven to be a massive headache for us and the ISAE, and a serious threat to our people."

"And you think Atlas will help us?" asked the Internal Affairs minster.

"It wouldn't help to try." replied the Special Operations Director. "International cooperation between the nations of TFA would mean we would have more reach, as well as more help. Maybe with their help, They could stop the clusterfuck that is Rinoa and Sandstorm. For good." Kotori added.

"Mr. President. What's your decision? We'll support your decision all the way, sir."

The President stood and said to the council, "We'll accept their invitation for now. Both Directors have a point. We could use TFA as help. I mean, minus Diego Garcia, clearly their track record shows that they are a force to be reckoned with. At least with their help, it would not only potentially curb the activities of the two, but also to form ties with the members of Atlas."

With this decision, the rest obliged. Including the IA Minster who was still dismayed and left immediately after the meeting concluded. "So, who should we send over to them?" President Brunshelm asks the SFC Director.

"I was suggesting MARI-9, sir. They've been at Diego Garcia. I'm sure that they'd be more than happy to know that Atlas is back."

"Alright then. I want them set to go within 48 hours."

"As you wish, sir."

The Next Day..

"So, we're going back to the buttfuck that is Atlas? Must be my lucky day." Ilyushin says, as he ties his boots. "I thought Atlas was done for after Garcia. What the fuck made them want to come back?" added Sesseria. The teams were donning their gear and loading up as they were briefed. Checking their weapons, optics, electronics, additional supplies and etc.

"I have no clue. But Higher-ups wants us back in. Says that they might help our little problem with the Cartel and the Corps."

"So, higher-ups is using us for some sort of PR stunt now?"

"Don't ask me."

"Ech, I don't give a shit on why, I just wanna kick some ass. Sucks that my K11 got destroyed back in Garcia. I never got payback on the fuckers." says Ranko Shiina as she loads her P250. They had seen action back in Diego Garcia and all managed to return home safely. For some of them, they were excited to return to the organization to prove their worth, as their admission had only ended before they could even manage to do so.

"So, what's the plan, sir?" Asks Elisabeth Roweman. Although she had agreed to come back. Deep inside her, she didn't want to. After the deaths in Diego Garcia, she was scared of another attack like that happen again. But she is a bit eased by her colleagues who will fight beside her, knowing that she's not alone.

"You'll be leaving within the hour via helicopter towards the meeting point provided. Further orders will either be given by us or them when you arrive. Simple as that. Team names are Tengu and Pando, lead by Sesseria and Kajena respectively."

"That's it? Well alright then. Let's pack up and move ASAP. Time's ticking."

Within an hour, they were all assembled and prepared to move out. They move out towards the heliport, where a helicopter was waiting for them there. Once they boarded. The Team Leaders re-briefed their team members.

"Remember, the whole world is watching us. So let's do what we do best."

The helicopter takes off and moves to the designated point. Only time will tell on what'll happen next..

Agartha. Please guide our way. Elizabeth prays silently..

by **The United Remnants of America** » Mon Jun 26, 2017 9:30 pm

Archangel

Undisclosed Location

2/13/20XX - 06:35

The mansion looked, as it always was, extravagant. The building was four floors, and apparently had fourteen bedrooms and nine bathrooms. Thousands of square feet of living space. And that was only the part that was publicly disclosed. He knew there was a basement that extended down two or three levels, depending on how close to the boss you were. The first basement was a massive storage closet, something a doomsday nut would horde. The next level was an armory and shooting range, and the final third level was a secure briefing and communications room, probably built better than half the world's military situation rooms. The full swimming pool and the helipad added to the luxury, as did the sprawling garden that grew in the back of the property. Though no one could see that from the outside, given the entire property was walled in, protected, and monitored. Even the guest bathrooms were recorded, for security concerns, of course.

A rotating crew of thirty security guards protected the property in shifts, and they had to themselves a barracks in the back corner of the property. They were here for a year-long contract, and in their off time, they were able to take part in the swimming, in trekking outside the compound, or lavishing in their remarkably appointed barracks. They were all private contractors, but none of them came from large companies, so as to avoid suspicion from PMCs, some of which could topple first-world nations. They didn't know who they protected here, they just knew he paid well. And why should they care? A year here paid for college tuition at a prestigious university for children, or it paid for retirement, or it paid for years of partying, drugs, and prostitutes. The money bought silence and loyalty.

Some of them had started to figure it out, though. The trips, the few visitors from government and military representatives, the comings and goings of private security that looked more like special forces than basic contractors like them. Someone had guessed it right one night as a shift sat around with beers in hand, but none of them knew it.

They were protecting the home of the world's most dangerous criminal. The Prophet.

He was no longer a most-wanted terrorist, though. In recent years, his moniker of "Prophet" had been shed, and he'd adopted a fake name to deal in more legitimate concerns. Why bully an oil corporation with terrorists when you could just talk the CEO into cutting prices to help the rebels you were financing? Even now, his closest bodyguards jokingly referred to him among themselves as this, but he made no outward reaction towards it when he heard it. But deep down, the title had 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. But now, with Task Force Atlas gone, the Prophet no longer cared what his bodyguards called him, so long as they took his orders and didn't talk back.

Archangel, however, did not contain his emotions as well as his superior. Archangel's name was a joking reference. The Prophet of course would have an Angel to watch over him, and that was Archangel's job. He was the chief bodyguard, the head of all of the Prophet's activities, and the leader of Task Force Logos, the mirror to Task Force Atlas. Now that they had no rival, Task Force Logos was able to operate with impunity. They hadn't even lost an operator, until now that was.

Normally, Archangel wasn't at the estate. The estate was cocooned in a third-world nation and looked nothing like the region of dilapidated villages and starving, diseased children. Archangel's normal position was wherever he was needed to supervise the Prophet's latest project or operation. He left the Prophet's personal security to his three teammates of Lucifer Team, but he made appearances when he had news to report, usually bad news, though. Good news was easy to deliver via proxy, but bad news was better to give to the Prophet face to face.

Archangel climbed the front steps of the mansion slowly. The security at the front gate of the estate knew him on site and knew not to slow him down, so the gate was always open fast enough that the leader of TFL need not slow down in his armored pickup truck. The two contractors at the front door nodded and saluted to Archangel, though he didn't acknowledge them and opened the door without speaking to them. It wasn't out of any kind of superiority complex, it was just business. Those mercenaries weren't his friends, they were paid to protect the Prophet's home and he was paid to be the Prophet's right hand, simple as that.

The doors opened into a spacious entryway and foyer, but Archangel didn't slow. The luxury had worn off to him by this point, and he'd know where the find the man he sought. Walking around the ground floor to the kitchen, he met the Prophet, sitting in a robe at a great oak table, drinking what was no doubt a cup of coffee that cost more than a year's pay for an average worker in this backwater nation.

Archangel stood and adopted a parade rest stance across the table from the Prophet, waiting for the man to set down his coffee. The Prophet had a tablet computer out and was reading silently from it, his eyes never looking up from the screen, but he'd noticed Archangel's arrival. The wait, however, proved the power balance. The Prophet was the one with the authority here, and Archangel would wait for every second of it.

Thirty seconds passed before the Prophet set the cup of coffee down and looked up from the tablet. He was bald, now, and sported a smudge of grey facial hair. The age was beginning to show on the man, but he wasn't elderly by any means. Archangel attributed it to the stresses of ruling the world from the shadows.

"You didn't call ahead." It was an observation, and now one Archangel was meant to respond to, so he didn't. Instead, he waited to be directly addressed. "What is it you came to report. Bad news, I assume. You never appear when something good happens."

Archangel nodded. He didn't mince words. "Samael-2 and Samael-3 haven't reported in. I assume they've been lost, along with the local armed guide they hired."

The Prophet's black eyes drilled into Archangels' eyes, and the TFL leader felt it in his soul. "What happened?"

Archangel didn't move an inch, "They failed to report in after reporting they'd found the TFA data site. The guide said the location was abandoned, but Samael-2 and Samael-3 have been dark for several hours after their check-in time. I can assume they've been lost, that the site was defended. I'm scrambling Abaddon team to confirm this, which I assume they will."

The Prophet's eyes closed, and he thought through the implications of that. The two Samael operators were survivors from Diego Garcia, where half their four-man team had been killed. That left twenty-four people in Task Force Logos, including Archangel. That was just over half of the original task force. Archangel would need to look into getting permission to expand Logos at some point.

The Prophet looked up, "Well. Is that it? I understand losing the Samael duo is a minor setback, but I don't see why it would prompt you coming here."

Archangel's chest tightened. He was about to upset his boss. "Roughly ten minutes after Samael-2, Samael-3, and their guide reported finding the Task Force Atlas data site, some of your technical wizards contacting me to inform that they noticed an uptick in communications traffic that matched some search queries they keep tabs on."

The Prophet shook his head. "You're beating around the bush, which means you're nervous, Archangel. Tell me what that means."

"Well, sir. I believe, and I your technical and communications experts believe, that the communications traffic is a signal recalling Task Force Atlas."

The Prophet sat frozen for a full minute before speaking, his eyes closed in thought, but deep down he wanted to scream and throw his coffee at Archangel for revealing this news. "Meet me in the third basement in ten minutes. There are people I must be contact."

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Rogers

International Waters

2/13/20XX - 14:28

The M2 VTOL aircraft lowered slowly onto the deck and the airframe shuddered when contact was made. Jack waited for the engine pitch to decrease, but when he realized that the aircraft wasn't shutting down, he pulled the side door open and hopped out, keeping his head low to avoid some of the wash of the engines. Twenty yards away near the ship's tower was Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox, waiting for him.

The hike to the rally point set for him was simple and fast. He'd met no resistance after facing down those that had attacked his adopted home. The aircraft had come at the appropriate time, the pilot introducing herself as Kali Gagne, a pilot for Task Force Atlas sent to pick up a "Jolly." Jack had obliged and boarded the aircraft, and in a few hours, the VTOL was descending towards an amphibious assault ship situated in the middle of nowhere.

Lennox shook Jolly's hand when he approached, the M2 lifting back off into the air and moving away from the aircraft. Jolly looked at the departing aircraft and then turned back to Lennox, eyebrow raised, "Seems a bit busy, eh?"

Lennox smiled, crossing his arms, "Actually, Avesta-2 is going to pick up some newcomers. We're having both VTOLs in stock on constant pick up runs at rally points scattered throughout the surrounding region. We're moving at approximately fifteen knots, steaming to new areas, so our rally points will change each week so we can grab new people. But we're also listing our position and heading, as well as a radio shibboleth so they can fly directly here if they don't want to wait at a rally point... It's nice to have you here, Jack."

Jolly nodded, "Nice to be back. Are you sure it's safe to point us out on a map like that, though?"

Lennox shrugged, "I don't think anyone willing to harm us is going to react fast enough to catch us unawares."

Another nod, his mind rolling back to a more obvious question, "By the way... What the fuck is all this?" Jack let his arm go back, gesturing at the ship.

Lennox deadpanned, "It's a ship, Jack."

Jack stared at his friend and Emmerian comrade, awaiting a useful response.

Lennox eventually relented, "It's the Valkyrie. Currently a rogue amphibious assault ship, formerly Shadownian Navy. It's the flagship of Task Force Atlas, a mobile headquarters now. Same with the aircraft, we have five of them, liberated from various mothballed storage facilities."

"Right... You were telling the truth when you said you've been busy."

"Oh yeah, I'm not dumb, Jolly. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind this whole thing was gonna start again, and I wanted to be ready to help out however I could, and that meant making sure we had resources. And people."

"People."

"Right. Crew, pilots, security. We have a little of everything on the Valk, even if it's a skeleton complement. Most of them are ex-military or ex-PMC that have either dealt with us or like of us. Most working more or less pro bono. Some work for money. Others for fun. Hell, a couple are AWOL active military right now, disobeying orders."

Jolly gave another nod, with no comment. He really had nothing to say.

Lennox continued, "We don't have many plans other than getting our shit together right now. We've already gotten some responses. Esgonians, Donnish, Hayesalians, Remnants, even some newcomers who've been keeping tabs on us. It's looking to be a good future for us."

"Yeah..."

"We might even be able to build up enough status we can get that whole illegal thing revoked."

Jolly sighed. He was feeling reassured with Lennox's confidence and how much Lennox had been building up in anticipation of this, but reality was setting in at what he'd done early this morning. They were all technically international criminals, now, whether that actually mattered to anyone else. "Well, at least we're not alone."

Lennox nodded back. In the distance, he could make out the incoming whine of the other M2, apparently back from its pickup. "Once more into the fray, Jack."

Jack offered a small smile at the apt poetic reference, "into the last good fight I'll ever know, Bill."

Captain Jacqueline Kowalski

International Waters

2/13/20XX - 14:45

The back of the M2 was quiet as Jackie felt the aircraft referring to itself as Avesta-1 start a descent. The back of the aircraft was silent, the aircraft's limited sound insulation not being conducive to conversation. Jackie looked around the cabin. Beside the pilot and copilot of the M2 VTOL, there were six others in the back with her.

Koopa sat across from her, his head was back and his mouth wide open in a remarkably relaxed sleep. He'd always been able to sleep well in aircraft. Jackie wished she could have that skill, but flying scared the hell out of the Sentinel team leader, and she doubted it would ever change. Koopa looked as calm as he could, but she could still make out the scars on the side of his face and neck, telltale signs the man had felt pain. What she couldn't see from here, hidden by his grey uniform, was the intricate prosthetic and cybernetic equipment that kept the man together. Two of the man's limbs were synthetic at this point, and the joke at the Sentinel HQ was that Koopa was trying to become one with the drones he loved to play with. The joking aside, however, the recovery for Koopa was beyond painful, Jackie knew. He'd been out for months in recovery, in and out of surgeries to slowly heal and replace lost body parts and organs. Several more months are allocated to his physical rehabilitation, as well as testing to make sure his advanced prosthetics could keep up with what remained of his organics. From what she heard in the grapevine, the process had been hard on his marriage: His wife hadn't taken his injury well, and had apparently left him, taking their daughter with her. Koopa didn't talk about it much, but the rumor was proven true for her when she noticed his ring no longer rested on his finger. He still kept the picture of his daughter on his bunk's nightstand, though.

To Koopa's left, Tarzan was wearing headphones and playing a game on a handheld system. He seemed pretty engrossed in it. The man had really grown up in the years that Jackie knew him. There was a time where the man would make dangerous decisions, either in battle or off-duty. But now, he acted more his age, despite the video games. Jackie wasn't sure if it was the things they'd seen since being Sentinels, or just his way of coping, but if Jackie was honest with herself, she somewhat missed Tarzan's smile, which was more rare than it used to be. In the last several years, he'd lost several of his old Navy friends. He still tried to go out drinking with them sometimes, but the group was smaller than it had been.

To her right, Ninja was wearing darkened glasses and had earbuds in. Based on his movements, Jackie assumed he was wide awake, but Ninja had a habit of warding off conversation. He was probably listening to music, but Ninja was a bit of an engima. He seemed to close himself off even more than he'd used to, and rarely left except to train, shoot, or go on missions. Jackie honestly didn't know what he did as hobbies, or if he had real friends, but she never tried to pry too hard into Ninja's personal life. What he did on his own time was really his business.

At the end, she could see Oreo had his backpack open and was eating from it, apparently he'd stuffed a bag of chips into the top of his gear before they'd set out. The team medic looked around and caught Jackie's gaze and waved, gesturing his bag towards her, offering her some chips. Jackie shook her head, eliciting a shrug from Oreo, who went back to his snacking. She'd have to give him shit for that later. They were only supposed to pack essentials on the pickup, not snacks. But Oreo would argue that food was essential, and then she'd just have to listen to him bitch and moan for the rest of the day about it.

At the back of the plane, separated from everyone else were Charlie and Walker. They seemed to be in a heated conversation with each other, about what she didn't know. Charlie and Walker had been transferred together from the 2nd Sentinel Battalion soon after they got back from Zhangua, where they helped to secure the southern half of the country for the URA. They were deemed to have done something extraordinary while there, and Remnant Operational Command, the unit in charge of the Sentinels, had decided that Jackie's squad needed new recruits. Rather than transfer someone in a leadership position, they got a Weps and a Sniper from the 2nd Battalion who'd serve in the same squad. At least the two knew each other, and in the last few months, the rest of the squad had gotten to know their new grenadier and rifleman. Charlie and Walker were a good pair of kids, even if they were younger than the rest of the team by a good bit. Sentinels were recruiting even younger nowadays. If they showed good promise, they were put in a battalion rather than having to directly prove themselves in service like the older operators in the Sentinels had to. It wasn't a division that broke the SF community in the URA- yet.

This trip had started six hours ago, and seemed to be ending. Six hours ago, the 3rd Special Operations Squad was called from their standby position to active duty and brought into a briefing. They were chosen out of several ready teams due to their experience with the developing situation. It turned out that a familiar frequency was in use again, and was broadcasting coordinates that were associated with that of Task Force Atlas. Due to this, they'd brought in the 3rd SOS to go check out the situation. The coordinates had turned out to be a rally point for an M2 to pick them up.

Beyond that, their orders from Remnant Operational Command had been "assist in any way possible." So that's what they were going to do, assist in whatever way possible. Not everyone wanted to be here, Jackie included. Task Force Atlas had been the reason there's no longer a 4th SOS to speak of. But Charlie and Walker seemed excited that they were going to be doing the things that made the 3rd SOS famous in the Remnant SF community in the first place.

Jackie didn't have the heart to tell them they were going to see things they'd never be able to forget and things they'd never be able to talk about ever again. She couldn't tell them that even though it had been over six years since her participation of Necropolis and Legion, she still woke up some nights with the same recurring nightmare of watching her teammates, family, and friends being ripped apart by the undead while she looked on helplessly. She still had nightmares of seeing Koopa's shattered body after the IED took half of him away. She remember every person she killed if she watched her bullets hit. Looking into their files, Charlie and Barr had zero confirmed kills, meaning they had yet to have their souls tarnished permanently. Somewhere in her mind, she hoped they'd never have to, but she knew Task Force Atlas well enough to know that was impossible.

In order to be good, you had to fight evil. The only issue was that evil has a way of creeping into you, wrapping itself around you. You can fight evil, but you can't beat evil. You just survive it.

The M2 touched down, Charlie and Walker's conversation stopped so they could pull open the side door. Koopa woke up from his slumber. Tarzan pushed his headphones down. Ninja's head twisted as he cracked it and got ready to deplane. Oreo downed another mouthful of chips and sealed his bag. Jackie closed her eyes. She wansn't particularly religious, but she still said a small prayer to the old Remnant god of light. A prayer for her, for her team, and for everyone that had answered this recall. A prayer that the evil not creep in as fast as it used to.

The Remnant Sentinels of the 3rd Special Operations Squad stepped off the M2 VTOL and came face to face with Jolly Rogers and Wild Bill Lennox.

Jolly looked at the members of his old team: "Welcome back, lady and gentlemen."

by **Legatia** » Mon Jun 26, 2017 10:50 pm

Legatian Imperial Armed Forces
Special Operations Command/Unified, Occidens Tantum
TACUS-V
Republic of Taname

The jungle was quiet. Though the fact is that the jungle was only 5 meters away from the complex of buildings in which TACUS-V and a number of other special forces combatants were landed, it was a testament to events going on in the island republic.

The Taname Republic was a group of developing, western ocean islands that had, historically, been a flashpoint. The Tanamese government had been corrupt; a horribly crooked structure Imperial mediators had painstakingly and carefully been attempting to straighten; but it had kept the island in order. But a swift kick was delivered to it by a General Noulea Alta, a former guerrilla whose limitless ambition rocketed him to the top of the fledgling Republic's political scheme- and it had all collapsed. The military, enthralled to Alta and propped up indiscreetly by the hostile Vaelor Initiative, had delivered a humiliating blow to Legatian peacekeepers stationed on the northern peninsula of the largest island. This had quickly escalated into a sizable regional conflict, but the reluctance of politicians in Augusta to allocate resources for a massive campaign left the short end of the stick of the commanders. Thankfully, those commanders were wielding that stick brutally.

Lucaria Aristos gazed up at the sky as the distinct roar of jet engines began to give itself to an exponentially closer strike fighter- then 2 fighters- topping off at 4 fighters and two strike bombers.

"Lancea." The operator thought aloud, the kerosene lantern on the collection of wooden crates beginning to shake as the flight of four tore over the leafy canopy of the jungle, one of the strike bombers suddenly pulling upwards quite steeply as the fighter escorts broke to the south, doubtless maneuvering against a SAM site that had yet to be cleared on a nearby island. It had taken TACUS-V along with members of the Imperial Marine's Special Reconnaissance Group and the Navy's Strategic Warfare Group all afternoon to clear the small island on which they now inhabited, yet the hundreds of smaller islands were yet to be swept.

The complex that they were using now was one for a logging company that was run off the island by the massive floods that had originally destabilized the island groups, and had never been reclaimed. Many personal possessions of the workers here still remained, including one that Lucaria had held onto. It was done on what looked like a blank page torn out of a soft-back book, judging by the off-white texture of the paper. Drawn in crayon was a boy and his father, the father smiling as he held his son's hand, an axe resting on his shoulder and trees and the warm sun in the background. There were words written above the child and the father, which presumably were labels, and in the upper right hand corner a phrase which she could only assume meant something like "Happy birthday" or "Thank you for your hard work", or even something as simple as "I love you."

The picture gave her.. was it hope? Or was it happiness? Or something else, maybe? More that it reminded her of something, perhaps of Taname. Horribly drawn up and portrayed as it was in the views of the world, the meaning of the image was a simple and pure set of feelings- of compassion and of love, of unity and familiarity, a set of traits the Tanamese people had doubtless held long ago, yet now were cast asunder, split by the clashing of swords.

The ground shook. Miles away she could still feel it. The missiles of the Peregrines had likely taken out the SAM site, she knew, there was little other reason for the tremor. Footsteps passed idly, boots of men carrying boxes of ammunition, gasoline cans for the patrol vehicles, spare parts for the nimble helicopters parked in the clearing a few hundred meters back, carefully watched by men with thermal optics and automatic weaponry. The jungle fell silent once again.

"..You're deep in thought again, Aristos." A flick came to the back of the girl's head, causing her to ungracefully recoil and earning the laugh of her senior. "Snap out of it, you're on vacation." Tiberius Caepio sat down in a chair across from her.

"I'd hardly call sitting in a compound deep in the jungle wearing fatigues a vacation." The former CAG operative rolled her eyes, earning a grin out of her commander. "You know, I think my older sister honeymooned here."

"Must have been a hell of a honeymoon if she got the fireworks we get." Another loud rumble, as if to emphasize, rolled over the jungle. Distant tracer fire lit up the night sky. "You're wondering when you get yours, I'll bet." "Not anytime soon, that's for sure.." She sighed, taking a large bottle of water and drinking from it, setting it back down on the table. "You're probably right." Tiberius said, half-jokingly, which earned a glare from his subordinate. "After all, we Operator types don't really have the time for a marriage, do we?"
"Hmmph.. Lucius shot himself in the knee. He got married back in Coriolanus a while ago on leave, didn't even invite us." "Lucaria, we all know why he didn't invite us. More specifically you, you're like a bull when you get drunk." Another fierce glare shot into him, the Centurion laughing as he reclined in his seat. "You know, you could probably kill some TAF if you used that on an op." He stood back up, looking over to the complex. "Come on. There's dessert, some guys from the SRG were scrounging around and found some."
"Why bother? Knowing Marines, they've probably eaten the whole damn thing and are looking for another right now."

"You seem to forget that there are two Marines in V." Tiberius gave a smirk, forcing her from her seat and forward towards the building. "Go eat. Your jaw's more use eating than it is complaining."

*** 7 hours earlier ***

Legatian Imperial Armed Forces
Logistics and Information Service
Section 82
Castrum Aspis, Marium Province
Imperial Provinces of Legatia

Halfway across the world, LIAFLIS' Section 82 was hard at work. Standing atop the roof, a lone worker in fatigues smoked as a R-41 stealth reconnaissance jet touched down, deploying a drag chute to slow it down, airbrakes on the wings deploying to assist it. The man quietly stepped back inside, into the grey, orderly halls of the office building, passing through a glass breezeway. Aspis was an airbase- the main naval port was near Portus Pilus, so the traffic here was primarily reconnaissance planes and the occasional helicopter, and the sound-buffered walls of the facility made it quiet and easy to do the work of their charge.

His phone buzzed. Taking it out of the pocket of his uniform, a message written in LIAFLIS' take on Orwell's Newspeak in its incredible simplicity and half-encoded words was displayed on the screen. The man, a Custus Aedile, took the hint, knowing the Tribune in command had something that needed doing.

He found himself in the basement soon enough. Two men with loaded rifles blocked the steel door to the sub-section of the building. Displaying his identification, the guards lowered their weapons, one opening the door and shutting it with a thud behind him. In a room off to the side, another hermetically sealed door stood guard. Scanning his identification, he entered the room and faced the consoles.

One word immediately caught the Aedile's eye as he took the seat- that word was Atlas.

***

Lucaria saw the notification immediately upon opening the laptop. The message would be delivered in person, that was all she had to know, and only two people in the unit had clearance to read it. This brought her to the landing pad as the massive Kingfisher VTOL, carrying a number of RHIBs and offroad vehicles as well as supplies that it had dropped from a sling. The powerful helicopter came to a rest, opening the ramp at its rear as the loadmaster disembarked, along with two soldiers and a man in darker grey fatigues. Her contact.

They both knew each other at glance. "This is yours, you know the drill." The man handed her a manila folder, sealed and marked "EYES ONLY." Anyone other than her to open that folder and get caught doing so was signing their own death warrant. She had to summon her commander and discuss it quickly before destroying it, she knew. And so she summoned the man, bringing him into a closed room in a corner of the concrete-walled building and closing the door, locking it.

"..So this is it." The Centurion said upon his arrival, sitting down and ensuring the shades were down before talking again. "Open it."

IMPERIAL ARMED FORCES
EYES ONLY- TOP SECRET INFORMATION

RECIPIENT: TACUS-▇ Command s. 42114/ ▇▇▇▇▇ CAG op. 0991419
SENDER: LIAFLIS S. ▇▇ per. Duces Legionis/Consular
Subject: Recall Protocol

**BEGIN MESSAGE***

Yesterday at a time of ▇▇▇▇▇ ELINT officials at ▇▇▇▇▇ base ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ detected and intercepted transmission originating from ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇. The message was transmitted by or from an unknown source, which may or may not be affiliated to the government of aforementioned nation. Message was relayed to LIAFLIS Section ▇▇ for deciphering who forwarded message to Duces Legionis command in Augusta. Consul Pescennius was alerted and convened with the assembled Duces Legionis staff and representatives of SOC/U.

The message has been determined to be a recall order for disbanded international special operations TASK FORCE ATLAS. Following events at Diego Garcia ((SEE ATTACHED REF: Diego Garcia Incident[1])), ATLAS was disbanded and operational activities deemed illegal. SOC/U command withdrew TACUS- ▇▇ ((SEE ATTACHED REF: TACUS-▇▇[2])) and elements of NTG-▇▇ that survived blast. Senate in closed session voted against condemnation by thin margin.

On recommendation of Duces and Consular approval, TACUS-▇ is to be immediately withdrawn from ▇▇▇▇▇▇ theater and flown to session with J/SOC/U. As transit opportunities remain incredibly thin due to resistance of OPFOR assets on ▇▇▇▇▇▇, air crew based from ▇▇▇▇▇▇ will receive TACUS-▇ in situ and fly to friendly airfield at ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇. Upon arrival, transport ▇▇▇▇ will shuttle TACUS-▇ to Augusta for briefing. TACUS-▇▇ will insert by requirements of Operation ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ((sans. NTN)) to continue operations on ▇▇▇▇▇▇.

This will take place effective immediately. TACUS-▇ command (s. 42114) is to withhold details of redeployment until further information from CAG op. 0991419 (▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) or higher ranking operatives.

By Consular directive 412, this message and all attached documents and affiliated materials is to be destroyed by incineration, failure to do so in a timely manner is grounds for court martial.

Reference [1]: TACUS-▇▇ assets at Diego Garcia suffered minimal damage, but NTG-▇▇ assets suffered massive damage including the loss of LHD-14, CG-22, DDG-107, and heavy damage to DDG-242 and non-affiliated CG-61 and CVN-41. LIAFLIS and DOS undertook massive cover-up operation to prevent full-scale escalation of conflict. Compilation of total lost assets internationally compiled on attached ref.
Reference [2]: TACUS-▇▇ was previously assigned to Task Force ATLAS on liason from SOC/UI (now SOC/U). TACUS-▇▇ had no operational losses through tenure with Task Force ATLAS, but was disbanded in 2016 after majority of members phased out. Current status of members varies, 2 remain on surveillance by MIS. Whereabouts of one member unknown. Full case files of TACUS-▇▇ is sans. NTN for document recipients.

Tiberius flipped through the file as Lucaria watched, placing the file down. "A lot of black ink."

"It's a shared version." Noting that, she shook her head; resting the documents down as she withdrew the even-more classified document on the other TACUS unit. The reference regarding TACUS-II was heavily blotted out. Two members in that file were sufficiently declassified, though both were marked to have been killed- one by sniper fire and another died covering a withdrawal during an operation in Tacina. One was simply reported "MIA", the other two were alive as of the last update of this document.

"Then when's our ride?" Tiberius asked, standing up and procuring a zippo lighter, a plastic bag for the ashes already prepared.

"It's already here. The Kingfisher is refueling and flying us back." She stood, as the documents were set alight crumbling into ashes and soon after being disposed of. "They work fast, don't they?" Tiberius sighed. "..Let's go. It's a long flight to Augusta."

***

Augusta's night sky illuminated the bottom of the helicopter, the heavy blades of the helicopter rumbling as it set down on one of the Citadel's helicopter landing pads.The sole passengers of the Transit Authority's helicopters were members of TACUS-V, wearing BDUs that had been given to them at Augusta's Silanus Airport. Rather unkempt for meeting with the commanders that ran the Imperial Military, the unit was moved into the lower levels of the building, before the two officers were moved themselves into the meeting room. The air in the room was tense, the fluorescent lights above them dousing the room indifferently in a neutrally white glow that contrasted with the dark blue and purple haze of the late Augustan night.

"Sirs, Consuls." Tiberius took the initiative to address the senior most members of the Imperial military, a stiff salute with a pound of the chest and a palm forward. "Take a seat, please." The senior Consul, Pescennius, gestured, Lucaria taking hers before her senior officer did.

"..We've gone over the dossier and we've had intelligence run over everything at least twice. The recall order is unmistakable."

"Sir, I'm staunchly against this." The Praefectus Navae spoke near immediately. "You all can recall the massive cover up ops at Diego Garcia. We lost three warships, we nearly got into a conventional war."
"Hold your tongue, Praefectus. I am speaking." The Consul snapped, silencing the man. "..Centurion Caepio, what do you know about Atlas?"

"A joint task force, Tier One. I read the material from the archives after Two disbanded. From what the document says, there's still a number of condemnations on Task Force Atlas.. and this document is covered in ink."

"Neither of you have the clearance have to read the full dossier." The Legatus Dux answered that concern. "Atlas had uncovered a large amount of potentially compromising information that command and analysts are not obliged yet to share." He glanced knowingly at Lucaria, who gave the man a nod before the consul Pescennius turned to face a map.

"..Praefect, the rally point. "Without looking, he asked, tracing the map with his eyes ever so carefully. "..What's the nearest asset we have to that rallying point?"

"..Our options are limited, sir. The closest as the crow flies is ballistic missile submarine Corvus. There's a destroyer group 400 nautical miles from that submarine."

"Too far." The Praefectus Alae noted, the sailor ignoring his remarks.

"Praefect, dispatch an asset to monitor air traffic from that location. Where it's coming from, where it's going, and have that reported on top security clearance. They are to stay in the dark, is that understood?" "Yes, sir." Without a breath, the Consul moved on.
"Centurion, you're deploying immediately. This will be brought to the Senate Committee appropriate, so consider this a probing op." The Consul turned to his junior, the unaccustomed woman sitting dutifully in the chair. "Caia, I want you to get into contact with the MIS. Pay Baelum Woods a visit."

"Baelum.." The woman pondered, standing up and nodding, departing immediately after; the Legates shifting in their seats. As if to notice the lull, Pescennius turned to face the room, giving a nod to Tiberius. "Dismissed. Make haste, you don't want to keep that flight waiting." The operators stood, firmly saluted, and took their cue to exit.

At their departure, the Consul stared down at the large wooden desk, looking back up to the assembled generals after a moment of respite.

"Alea iacta est."

by **Cruxa** » Tue Jun 27, 2017 7:35 pm

Aboard the Valkyrie
International Waters
14:50 ATLAS STANDARD

The V/STOL transport plane vertically landed on the deck, and immediately, ten crew members began to unload the Cruxan gear and move it to their quarters. Though the army of crew was rushing, SCARE Team Four was in no real rush to find out who their commander was. In full battle dress now, not knowing how trustworthy their sources were, they stood at attention by their plane with their helmets at their feet, smoking.

“Damn, sir,” said Anhaus in his deep, booming voice. “I knew TFA was loaded, but I didn't know they were this loaded.”

In truth, the other team members had noticed it too. The converted Shadownian vessel was quite the sight to behold, refurbished just for TFA use.

“Yeah, Anhaus, don't let it get to you. We wouldn't want you breaking anything expensive, big guy,” said Master Sergeant Jade Reyes, punching the tall black man in the shoulder. She, of course, was referring to Anhaus’ incident involving a CNN (Cruxan National Navy) AI and his fist. The team chuckled, and leaned on their weapons crates. Hopefully someone would come to greet them soon…

"Y'know," said Adkins, drumming his fingers on a crate of ammunition, "I had an old military buddy who served in an Atlas unit. Echelon Squad. Of course, the Feds scrapped it after a few months, citing lack of homeland productivity, but they would have liked this."

Renee, the sniper, simply nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, Reynolds scanned the deck for any kind of commanding officer. He didn't see any high-ranking Shadownians on deck... but then, who orchestrated Atlas after all? What he did note was the Sha Maboutian flag, the Anowan black and yellow mark, the Remnant banner, and the Legatian brand. All militarily prestigious nations. Cruxa wasn't known for its infantry- the nation had always shone at sea.

Now was their time to prove otherwise.

War Room
--undisclosed--, Cruxa
14:50 ATLAS STANDARD

Brigadier General John Hicks stood at the top of the War Room, the infamous bunker where Intelligence Agency of Cruxa agents were based out of, and where the President and his cabinet directed all wars. He stood next to IAC director, Robert Arrimoso, a South Cruxan and a man whose parents had been butchered by cartels.

“General,” Arrimoso pleaded, voice full of emotion, “Intelligence agents aren't making a dent in cartel activities. In fact, since our involvement the human trafficking between the Rebellians and the South Cruxan Cartel have only increased.”

“I know, Robert, but as commander of SCARE there's only so much I can do. Team Three is already down there, and I just orchestrated Team Four’s deployment to Atlas---” started the general, before Arrimoso cut him off with a hopeful look on his face.

“That's it!” he cried, interjecting.

“What's it, Robert?” said Hicks, annoyed at being interrupted. In my Army, I'd have beaten this man for that, he thought to himself.

“We need to get Atlas involved. I'm going to find a way to contact them. I need you on the line with Adkins, ASAP,” said Arrimoso, entering his command mode. He then spun on his heel, stalking down a blue-lit hallway to make the calls.

The general merely shook his head after the man. What a fool. However, Arrimoso did have a higher standing than him. Oh, well. Guess he had to obey.

by **Sha Mobutia** » Tue Jun 27, 2017 11:35 pm

A Curious Signal
A phone call that wasn't supposed to be made . . .

02/14/20xx | 0630 hours, local time

While the Federalist Republic had never been directly involved in the organization or support of Task Force Atlas, they had still been unable to ignore or pay no mind to its formation and operation in preceding years. When so much money and so many ships, personnel, and other resources are moved into the organization and function of a group it was impossible to not try and keep track of who they were and what they were doing. Over the course of their operation there had at one point been a team of as many as fifty FIS agents who's job was monitoring and coordinating field assets to track and monitor the Task Force's movements. ELINT forces tracked known channels of communication, HUMINT did what they could to get in touch with personnel associated with the Task Force, and other assets worked to keep after their movements.

Of course the Federalist Republic had never been opposed to the idea and focus of the Task Force, but they had lacked the resources prior to joining the Union to provide any real help with any measurable input. So the team had compiled information, reports, and other materials as things seemed to go from good, to bad, and eventually clear into catastrophic. A nuclear weapon was detonated and from there things began to unwind as funds, personnel, and equipment were all pulled away piece by piece. And as Task Force Atlas fell into the shadows of history so too did the office in the FIS dedicated to monitoring it. Fifty personnel became thirty became ten became five. Just one small team that had some of those old contacts related to Task Force Atlas forwarded to them as a tertiary responsibility many times simply forgotten about.

Akmal anak Hay led the team, and honestly never expected that he'd ever hear anything current about the Task Force any longer. It was a thing of the past.

The beginning of things was rather anticlimactic compared to how a movie screen would show it. He walked into his office that morning with coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other, set both down in their appropriate places, and with a tired groan came to sit down at his seat before his computer. Government computers weren't always the quickest machines if they didn't have need to be so there was a minute or so waiting for the boot-up procedure and sign-in before he could check his e-mails for the morning. One stood out rather plainly above any others right in that moment delivered over the building's closed-network private servers.

TO: hay.anak.akmal@fedbinternal.com
FROM: aisar.anak.wan@fedbinternal.com
SUBJECT: Songbird Traffic
SECURITY: MAXIMUM ENCRPYTION | CLASSIFIED - EYES ONLY

Hey, Akmal. One of my embassy agents just sent me a transmission.

> Transmission from GILDED CAGE
> Priority traffic to follow
> Anomalous transmissions detected on monitored channels
> Investigated anomalies, source detected on SQUAWKER lines
> ATLAS resources believed to be active at this time

Bet you never thought you'd see this, huh?

Wordlessly and without taking his eyes from the screen, the graying FIS officer reached out and picked up his phone. There were calls to be made.

The calls go out . . .

Officially speaking, the Oorlogvoering Ontwikkeling Groep was not a field unit. So that meant on paper none of the Commandos who had billets in the infamous Warfare Development Group were not officially oriented towards combat deployments. The wives and husbands of those Commandos who still had them were often excited when they received word that their beloved service member has been tapped to join the OOG and images of relaxing evenings walking along the beaches of Snijder Isle to make up for lost time begin to dance through their heads. This then meant that those loved ones who had followed their Commando into the new posting and who had been there for more than a year understood the painful truth and had long since heard the muttered talk of "Ghost Detachments".

Major Antonia Dirksen, known as "Mama" by both those who served under her in the Group and by her two young sons, was at home when the phone call came for her. She had been sitting on the couch cooling down, just back in from a long run, and watching TV. Her husband Coenraad had come to join her while on the floor in front of them playing with their toys and enjoying themselves as six year old kids were want to do. When her husband stepped away to the kitchen to get the both of them something to drink was when the cellphone sitting on the coffee table began to ring. She'd snatched it without even checking the ID and took the call. By the time her husband had returned to the living room she was already in their bedroom getting dressed and sending out the message.

Technical Officer Cempaka bin Juwita, "Chatterbox", was the first person the Major got in touch with. He had been on duty at Fort Cilla-Braam and was handling the paperwork and resources necessary for welcoming a new incoming group of candidates to the RASP. He kept his cool and professional demeanor in front of the candidates when he glanced at his phone to see a text message that simply demanded 'Call me ASAP.'. He'd passed things off to a 2nd Lieutenant who had just recently transferred to the Group to take things over and stepped off to some place quiet where he could make the phone call in undisturbed peace.

After that it was a cascade event of phone calls and text messages. Husbands and wives would step away from the table and come back to find their loved ones digging up duffel bags and gear from the closet, couples on double-dates would have a moment of separation and meet back together only to find they were absent one member. Those who had never put on a wedding ring or who had found it taken away once or twice often found their 'partings' were easier: a few last-minute prearranged phone calls had pets looked after while they were gone, lights were turned off, and doors were locked behind them as they left. Twelve men and women navigated by their own means to an agreed upon meeting point without telling anybody just exactly where they were going, what they were packed for, or even when they might be back. In normal circumstances this would have just been due to OPSEC, but today it was because they simply didn't know. 'Mum' was always the word but apparently this time that was the policy even for dealing with them.

Some time later . . .

Two Sha Mobutian Hatchett-class frigates cut easily through the choppy ocean waters: the FRNV "Amirah anak Khairui" and the FRNV "Hariz anak Taufik" running within site of each other. Both ships had been tasked away from the carrier group they normally accompanied to accomplish a high priority mission the lieks of which only some of the highest-ranking crewmen aboard knew the details of. Of course the situation meant that not everybody could be kept in the dark and conclusions would be drawn, but the exact details weren't known. Even between the two ships' crews there was a different level of understanding of the situation.

The crew of the "Amirah" knew almost nothing. They knew they were to sail as an escort for the "Hariz" to a predetermined area where the sister ship's medium-lift helicopter would then deliver somebody or something to a waiting allied vessel. Meanwhile the crew of the "Hariz" were equally perplexed but only slightly better informed when twelve men and women had arrived by helicopter from the fleet's carrier. Twelve men and women wearing patchless, tagless Navy utility uniforms. Who didn't introduce themselves. Who only spoke to the ship's officers when they first arrived. And who never let anybody near their kit when they were shown their bunks for the few days they were going to be aboard.

When night rolled around was when things changed. When the ships were both ordered to advance to Zulu-level readiness: prepped for potential CBRN environs.

Hatches were dogged down, sea water pumps began misting the decks, and no sailors were to be above decks. No sailors, that was, except for the pilot and co-pilot of the helicopter, a small selection of the ground support team from the hangar, and those twelve unintroduced sailors. They loaded up heavy olive-drab boxes with few markins on them and then immediately followed those with ruck-sacks and bags of what was obviously spare uniforms and other equipment. They all gave the Captain and Lieutenant flying the helicopter very little apart from cursory nods as they loaded on and secured themselves in the troop compartment. Everyone had been briefed on their roll in the coming mission and nobody's mission profile covered polite small-tack.

Approach to the assault carrier - neither pilot or co-pilot had known exactly what they'd be landing on beyond they would "know it when they saw it" - was conducted high but slow with instructions to not turn on running lights until within three hundred meters of the ship. On their approach they were already squawking their identifier and broadcasting over a select few encrypted channels that they were a friendly aircraft of the Sha Mobutian Navy requesting permission to approach.

When they finally did approach the landing pad the doors came open and the first thing pushed out onto the flight deck were those tightly sealed boxes. 'Peace offerings' of several dozen HILAR rifles and Ru'ahk RPG launchers for the ATLAS personnel. A commitment of not only highly trained and skilled operators but also highly valued and well-guarded equipment as a sign of trust. Then the twelve men and women began to pile off and away from the helicopter now awaiting refueling before it'd return. Major Dirksen led the group away clad in a pale green jumpsuit with red hair tied back in a utilitarian ponytail. She found the nearest senior person on deck - a man who seemed to be around a Sergeant. When she approached he was quick to offer a curt salute that the Commando returned in kind.

"I'm Major Antonia Dirksen, Sha Mobutian Army. Where is your commanding officer, Sergeant?"
.

by **Anowa** » Wed Jun 28, 2017 11:07 pm

On Board the RANV Ghost in Mourning
International Waters
2/13/20XX (2/13/2021 Anowan Local Calendar)
SPECTRA OG:A-1

Ingrid

Hargrove

No matter how many times they'd heard of it, seen TV reports of it, or even read it's capabilities on paper, actually seeing Anowa's pinnacle of Naval warfare was something entirely different.

"Now that's something else, man." came the relatively young voice of Lucky. Although now getting into his mid 20s, Shmuckatelli still had the childlike awe in his voice whenever he saw some impressive piece of hardware.

Lime started speaking, and given the young woman's knwoledge of what seemed to be every weapon of war under the sun, the rest of the team listened intently
"The RANV Ghost of Mourning. The first and likely only ship of the Oleander Class Submersible Carriers, Capable of holding 24 F-15G/H aircraft in it's hanger bays, CATOBAR capable, crush depth of 700 meters. Along with aircraft housing and standard bunking areas, it also houses 28 SLBM tubes loaded with nuclear armed missiles. It's also capable of ELF transmissions from 270 meters under the water's surface."

Black whistled, before responding in his usually gravelly monotone, "It's gonna fuck up someone's day."

Pixy was the most philosophical of the squad, so her question -spoken in her usually rather sweet voice- was obviously of that nature. "The name of it's something I'm interested in. It's a bit more poetic than normal, makes you think yeah?"

Kowalski shrugged, stoicism and a lack of general conversation for his whole life had given him an uncharacteristically deep voice, "Ghost of the concept of mourning, because whatever that thing attacks, the area's not gonna have such a concept for at least 25 years."

Anna turned her head, "That's a bit grim Dave." The taller woman speaking with rather husky voice, one gotten naturally rather than over a career of screaming over gunfire. "Then again we do kill people for a living."

David shrugged, a simple, yet resounding reply from the man. In essence it was both an agreement and an end to that line of conversation.

After a few moments of silence, Godfather spoke up, "So, Casey, what're we doing out in the middle of nowhere?"

The Lieutenant Colonel was silent for a moment, before speaking what she could to give an indication as to what they were doing out in the center of the ocean. "Atlas shrugged."

Everyone paused, eyes locked with Casey's head. Then the usually stone quiet G spoke, "Well fuck."

He summed up the situation well. The possibility of either becoming technical war criminals or killing a group of people they once called their allies was not a prospectively good thing. Only Lime and Pixy could say they hadn't served in the Task Force, and even then, only Pixy couldn't help but feel the negative emotions permeating through the Blackhawk. Lime was acting as usual, completely focussed on the task at hand. Kill/Capture order, likely capture leadership kill subordinates... unless otherwise specified.

MH-60L Rex 1-1
International Waters
2/13/20XX (2/13/2021 Anowan Local Calendar)

Even with the duo of F-15Gs keeping watch over them from 100 km out, Pixy couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. They were approaching a Shadownian LHA, Valkyrie, while she knew they weren't going to be shooting at anyone as per the briefing Casey had given them as they waited for the Blackhawk they rode to be re-fuelled. They were to regroup and consolidate forces with TFA assets. Including the crew of this Helo.

Their CO was also wise to point out that technically speaking their home would be forced to declare them rogue assets, and their fellow Anowan soldiers would be required to fire upon them should they appear on home soil. Until such a time in which their operation was concluded they could not return home, and while she was no psychologist, she knew that it was hurting Chakwas. He had his family, and while his kids were now in their teens, he still felt a need to spend time with them. It was a bit jarring to find out that he might die without them ever seeing his body again.

Out in the distance Pixy couldn't help but notice the two F-15Gs, their canards still barely visible if one squinted. But nevertheless they supermaneuverable naval fighters remained a full 1 klicks out. A good distance to evade should TFA find such an arrangement wholly hostile.

The ship came into view, and the next few minutes afterwards was like a blur to the smaller woman. Until the Blackhawk landed on the deck, began to power down, and the 12 operators strode out in full kit, ready to either be welcomed aboard or greeted by gunfire.

Remnants, Cruxans, New Hayesalians, Mobutian, and now Anowan BDUs adorned the deck of the ship, each wearing their nation's respective flags on their forms, and each ready and willing to help change thew world.

The Anowan Lieutenant Colonel started walking forward, and her team followed casually. The people ahead, wearing the red, black, and white of URA's flag, knew the Anowans, and the Anowans knew them, perhaps not in any personal capacity, but they had been brothers and sisters in arms at one point. And in any capacity they may as well been family at this point for that reason alone.

As they got within a reasonable distance, Rivera stopped and stepped into parade rest, the rest of her team doing the same. All awaiting the moment in which Jolly and Lennox were done addressing and reconnecting with their own people, and ready to address them.

by **The Federation of Colonies** » Thu Jun 29, 2017 4:29 pm

Office of the Director of the Department of Espionage and Defense (D-DED)
Iris City, Iris Capitol Region, Federation of Colonies
20XX, 2 hours after SWORD Deployment Order 578 ("Special Action: ATLAS")

The Office of Director Cain Richard was an aesthetic place, pleasing to the eye. It was if the place had been specifically designed to put the visitors at ease as soon as they walked through the door. The ironic thing is, it actually was.

Cain was one of those who made psychology an art and a science. Years of studying such tactics had left him with an idea of what was pleasing and what was not; how the human brain is affected by outside stimuli. It was one of the things that made him so good at PsyOps (among other things) during his younger days at SHADOW.

Younger days...

Cain stepped away from his office window, which had a magnificent view of the Iris City skyline. It was his favorite place to stand and think for a while. Sometimes, however, he let his thoughts wonder too much. Thought about things that needed to stay buried. Dangerous things, dangerous days. He walked back over to his desk and sat down in the leather backed chair. On his desk was an update regarding Task Force Atlas; a rally point had been transmitted and received by DED SIGINT operatives. It would be passed on to the Wolves.

Speaking of which...

Cain opened a locked drawer in his desk. He retrieved 6 files: the personnel files of the SWORD 3OG/6OD "Wolves". An ambitious codename, really, to be basically called superior hunters; to kill efficiently, quickly, and quietly....or sometimes not so quietly; as so noted with operator Reaper. Cain knew many details about the operators from these files, perhaps more than any of them would be comfortable with.

He supposed it didn't really matter. If things went right, the Wolves would more than likely not be stepping on Federation soil for some time...

A knock came from Cain's office door. Calmly, he reached for his laptop and opened it up, clicking on the security feed window. a display of the outside door showed one man, dressed in a suit, with straw-blond hair. Cain Richard recognized him as the Deputy Director Dylan Sebur (DD-DED), and a close friend from the bad old days. He got up, walked over to the door, and opened it.

"Dylan, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please come in and have a seat."

"Thank you, Director. I Understand you wanted to brief me on something?"

"Dylan, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Cain. I get tired of being so formal all the damn time."

They both sat down: Cain in his chair, while Dylan took a seat across from the desk. Cain folded his hands on the desk.

"Anyways, we have much to discuss...."

For half an hour, he told the Deputy Director about the events of the last few hours regarding Task Force Atlas. When he had finished, Sebur sat back in his chair thoughtfully.

"How in the hell did you get the Defense Ministry to agree with you? I thought we stopped researching mind control a few years back..."

"Very funny. No, I appealed to their greater sense of honor. Men of their respective positions are always dying to be heroes; sometimes quite literally."

"So the whole 'evil' rant was just a front for...?"

"It wasn't entirely a front. I believe that there has been a really, really bad trend that has hit the world in recent years. However, my mission to advance the Federation overshadows that."

"Not following..."

"Simple. Task Force Atlas, despite the violation of international law, is devoted to the killing of international terrorists. Sooner or later, the nations of the world will come to their collective senses and reinstate Atlas as an official unit. If the Federation gets behind this thing early on, we will be hailed as one of the few nations who had the sense to back Atlas. We will, in short, be in the spotlight."

"And launch our international debut."

"Correct."

"Okay...what if Atlas fails though? And we lose our SWORD unit?"

Director Cain Richard shrugged.

"Oh well then. This is all black ops anyway; they'll just cease to exist. It's an occupational hazard."

"Ouch, that's cold. Speaking of, where is this unit now?"

"I imagine they are getting prepped to leave..."

Fort McClaren Military Base ("Wolves Den")
Neva Region, The Federation
2 hours after Deployment Order 578
Captain Markus "Alpha" Akron, 3OG/6OS Team leader

"Move it gents! We are not paid to be slugs! Get your equipment!"

The Barracks was buzzing with activity. Amid the chaos of the Wolves grabbing ammo crates, armor, and equipment; a single stoic figure stood out from them all. Totally in command of the insuing chaos, he barked orders at the other five soldiers. The man was tall, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing a BDU-12 "Raven", with the pockets filled with magazines. Swung over his shoulder was an R-12 TacOps rifle, and the side holster was equipped with a P-5 Army Pistol.

His name was Captain Markus "Alpha" Akron, Team Leader of the Wolves, a top-secret, multi-mission unit that was apart of the Federation of Colonies's SWORD organization. Each man in the barracks was a Tier-One SpecOps operator, trained to kill and take orders in the name of the Federation. A bleak sounding directive, but it was something that each of these men lived for.

There was Luke "Beta" Syronis, the team's second in command and resident academic. The man's brain was filled with information, both useful and useless. Next, there was William "Spectre" Carmen, a former spook and operator for the disbanded SHADOW unit. A master of stealth, Spectre was the closest thing the Wolves had to an assassin...if not already counted as one. Ethan "Reaper" Nasmir was the team heavy. His love for heavy weaponry and destruction made him the Wolves's go-to man in a target-rich environment...and one hell of an explosives expert. John "Cleverman" Elliston served as the team's tech expert and possibly the second smartest man next to Beta. Finally, there was the team medic, Sanis "Cardinal" Morgan. A careful man, Cardinal got his codename from his old unit because he let it slip that he was a bird watcher. The name stuck.

It was one hell of a team, and Alpha was glad to be in charge of it. They had their ups and downs as operators, but each man had the other's back; through every mission, good or bad, the team always did the job.

Suddenly, his SIGNALMAN unit began beeping. He flicked a button on the hip-mounted unit and put the earbud/mic in his ear, and hit "Transmit" by pressing a small button on the earbud.

"Alpha here." he said

"Alpha, this is Control." came the voice of Major Adam "Control" Elliston, team ground control officer and CO. "I am on-site. Meet in briefing room to receive orders ASAP."

"Roger Control. Alpha out."

Alpha clicked the SIGNALMAN off and motioned to the rest of his team. "Briefing room! Now!"

*******

Briefing Room
Alpha

"Gentlemen, welcome to Special Action: ATLAS..."

Inside the briefing room, Major Elliston was giving a briefing on SA:A. The term "Special Action:" is a general term for whatever operation isn't technically an operation, but doesn't fit any other category. ATLAS, however, would be entirely Black Ops....

The room had a display screen at the far end, the team members sitting in chairs through the room. Major Elliston stood next to the view screen, with a nearby tech working the screen from a computer. After a brief pause, the Major continued with his briefing.

"...so, gentlemen, here is what we have so far..."

For the next hour, Task Force was described in detail, gathered from intel DED had picked up from other countries. Some stuff was missing, others partial, but most were complete. Alpha and the other members of the Wolves were brought up to speed on the current situation and what the Federation defense Ministry had decided on. Most of this information was taken in silence as the team scribbled notes down or just listened. Occasionally, a team member would raise his hand and ask a question about this or about that.

When the briefing was over, Elliston looked into the eyes of each and every team member.

"Gentlemen, this is your objective. You have been reassigned, unofficially, to Task Force Atlas. Officially, you will be on a long-term training mission to the Enthor Region in the west. There will be no record of this Special Action; if you are killed while serving in Task Force Atlas, the 6OS will simply not exist, as involvement with TFA is a violation of international law."

Elliston paused for a moment, letting the news sink in. "This is dangerous duty," he said. "If any of you have any second thoughts, if any of you want to turn back, you may do so now."

There was silence as each and every man thought through the risks they were asked to take. There had been many missions like this in the past, where the 6OS was asked to risk their lives... to face the uncertainty of ever seeing home again....of simply ceasing to exist...

Alpha himself followed that line of thinking to it's end. He glanced around at the others, a unified decision running through their heads. Not one man stood up or said anything; their hearts and minds filled with resolve. It was moments like these that made Captain Akron proud to be the leader of this team. Elliston, seeing no one stand up or say anything, gave a solemn nod of acceptance.

"'Gentlemen, as of the time when you make contact with Atlas Command, I will no longer be your Commanding Officer. I am proud to have been your CO through the six years I have been here, and wish all of you the best of luck. Your flight out will leave in an hour. Dismissed, and godspeed."

******

An HC-10
3 hours later
Inbound to area designated "Rally point 7"

The HC-10 flew fast over the area, heading to a location identified as "Rally Point 7" by DED SIGINT. It was one of the many rally points mentioned by the transmission received. Inside was the six-member SWORD unit, having each packed in their kits with spare ammunition and the works. They hadn't bothered bringing personal items; it seemed a waste of space. Alpha himself, like the others, talked and joked the whole way over, Cardinal and Beta even making a bet on how many people would be in Task Force Atlas. However, now that they were close to the rally point, every team member had switched to mission mode, every thought focused on both the objective and survival. From here on out, it would be a serious environment.

In no time it all, is seemed, the HC-10 had arrived at the Rally Point. In a series of practiced procedure, the team disembarked and secured the surrounding area, which was a clearing in a small forest somewhere outside the Federation border. As the HC-flew away, Cleverman pulled out a radio beacon and activated it. Any TFA aircraft arriving would pick up the signal.

For now, all they had to do was wait...

by **Vacif** » Fri Jun 30, 2017 12:43 pm

M2 VTOL En Route to the Valkyrie
International Waters
2/13/20XX - 14:50

En route to the Shadownian vessel, the detachment wasn't sure what to expect. Captain Soe wondered what went through the mind of his predecessor on his way to Atlas. Granted these were different circumstances. Different times. Things weren't very clear in their ever evolving world. Just like their status in the military. As of right now, they existed. However in a week or two, they may not even have citizenships, let alone identities. They weren't told very much about how they'd disappear. Just that they would, and that they would not be returning home for some time. If ever. Such were the risks of being a deniable asset. Nothing they weren't used to. Sterile uniforms, a lack of distinct identifiers. Even if the the Ministry was dedicated to the ATLAS effort, they always wanted to maintain some kind of deniability.

They were here because they chose to be proactive than reactive. To end the problem before it got home. Without ATLAS there was no sword against the proverbial evil in this world. Only shields, and these shields were running out of breathing room. In war you had to seize the initiative, initiative which has been given to the enemy after the dissolution of ATLAS. An enemy who has continued to grow in the absence of ATLAS.

While not an official organization any longer, they had the means to do what no other nation could do without great risk to itself. ATLAS could operate anywhere, without restrictions. It wasn't easy for large nations to take actions overseas. There wasn't support, either from home or from the international community. People liked to sit and watch, that wasn't something they stood for.

They were Detachment Oxide. Perhaps not the original, though he supposed no one was really part of the 'original' team. They were all replacements. These team names were formed decades before even the division head was born. Every detachment in the brigade was just a weapon who's parts had to be changed out every few years. Zeya replaced Hesse, Arkar replaced Emerson, Yaza replaced Holt, Fang replaced Kovaleski, Aiendra replaced Fear, Naing replaced Croce, Ei replaced Stone, and he of course replaced Stacer.

Despite the lack of familiar faces, the Ministry of Defense found it appropriate to send in Oxide once again as it was at least a call sign the task force was familiar with. With a slightly more advanced kit from several years ago, the team also brought some supplies for the group as part of a sort of house warming gift. Rations, munitions, currency even. Everything you'd need for a safe house.

Vacif's Ministry of Defense was willing to supply the task force with supplies and equipment, but weren't quite ready to give them dedicated assets like vessels and vehicles. Material assets didn't last long in the task force. They'd wait before lending ATLAS vehicles they'd never get back. It was best to test the waters before going all in.

With a solid sounding 'thunk', the M2 landed and the Vacifians disembarked. Deck crew hurried to unload the cargo that the Vacifians had brought along. Seeing a congregation of uniformed persons on the deck the Vacifians strode briskly to join them.

by **Saradena** » Sat Jul 01, 2017 12:26 am

Approaching the Valkyrie
International Waters
15:10 Hours

As the three UH-1Js reached international waters. The team couldn't help but think as to why they were reactivated of the sort. The briefing they were given moments before didn't help either, other than them once again being a "deniable asset", along with the standard "Obey this, do that" procedure. One thing that was clear on their mind was that something extremely sinister, possibly something that even the largest of armies have a hard time handling, has ascended. And it had forced the hand of Atlas to once again return from the darkness. "Hmm..could it be the guys from Diego Garcia?" Kajena thought to himself. The terrorist group they faced years ago in Diego Garcia was the only one who had dealt that much damage to what was one of the most elite Special Forces organizations the world has ever seen. The thought of it worries him as he looks at his team. Nevertheless, he believed in his team, as he had been with them for a long while now.

Moments later, the helicopters were now approaching the Shadownian vessel. "We're approaching the drop off point. Welcome to your new home, boys and girls." Both teams could see the vessel clearly as they approach, along with the many aircraft moving around her, all rotary-wing.

"Damn, it looks sick as fuck." commented Corporal Silvat as he looks onto the vessel. "Reminds me of my old Navy days. Glad to be at sea again." added Lt. Abalos, who had served in the Navy before joining MARI.

Both pilots contact the vessel, informing of their identity, and that they're carrying the MARI team onboard. "Get ready guys. We're landing." The two Hueys circle around to find a spot to land. Before the begin touching the ground, two MARI operators first begin a pre-landing sweep check, a standard procedure by the Esgonian Military taken as a security measure where two or more operators rappel down and scan the area first before signalling the helicopters to land. They each landed one by one, taking off and returning to base once their cargo has been unloaded. The first dropping off the Tengu team, the second landing Pando, and the third landing in supplies: crateloads of ammunition, additional weapons such as Recoilless Rifles and ATGM Launchers, and other necessities such as additional MREs, all of them marked with the words [DO NOT TOUCH] written in English and in red. When all of them were dropped off. Both Squad Leaders assembled their teams and gave a small speech.

"Alright. As expected, always be on your best behavior, especially as we're once again with an international unit." He takes a brief look at the other international operators on the deck: Vacificans, Cruxans, Anowans, all wearing their nations' uniforms and flag patches proudly. "Remember, stay alert and stay alive. Lets make Esgonia and the world proud, men."

Abalos takes a deep breath as he smells the ocean air. "Ah...that sweet smell. It feels good to be on here again." With the team standing at the ready, Captain Gerard Hessler begins looking around for the nearest commanding officer.

by **Vymar** » Sun Jul 02, 2017 8:49 pm

UNKNOWN LOCATION IN VYMAR
0 HOURS
20XX UNKNOWN TIME SINCE ATLAS SIGNAL
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tear gas filled the compound as Gregory stepped into the large room, full of medical equipment, illegal drugs and weapons, slowly followed by his captain, Irwin. A body laid motionless on the smooth, cement ground 10 feet away from Gregory.

"Yeah, I think we found the stache"

"You don't say..."

Their breathing ventilated by the gas masks they had on were the only things heard in the room, besides the sounds of their foot steps and the occasional comment from Gregory such as; "This guy's dead... so is this one... that guy looks dead..." with the even more occasional, "Maybe not this one" with a gun shot quickly following up after the quick statement. Irwin radioed the team medic, John Kepler. "Kep, we just found a large stash of illegal, black market products down here... How about yo-" He was quickly interrupted as Gregory dropped a vial of a green ooze, allowing it to crash scattering glass throughout the room. Irwin cut the radio call, "Son of a trout, Greg, you're a real idiot, stop touching that shit. We could've used that as evidence towards prosecuting these black market thugs". Greg let out a sigh as he whipped out a field dressing.

"W-what are you doing?"
"I'm collecting evidence"
"What."
"Don't we need it?"
"Greg, put it down"
"Sir, all due respect, we need this evidence. You said it yourself..."

Irwin was about to rip the field dressing out of his hand when John Kepler radioed in again. "Sir, you still there?". Irwin ripped the dressing out of his hands, with a reply of Greg's middle finger. "Yeah, just Greg being Greg".

Kepler, one floor above Greg and Irwin was accompanied by Mike Ike and Shaun Roberts. "Well, we got a stash over here as well..." He turned towards a group of hostages looking at him in terror as bodies littered the floor. "They're of the 'Human' type". Irwin nodded, "How many?". There were 10 women, 5 men, and 3 children, all equally shivering in fear. "We got 18 hostages and three children here... Ike is trying to get one to talk...". Ike spoke in some foreign language then turned towards Kepler. "They're Maxtopian. The guy said they were to be sold over some type of black market for humans... this is sick..."

Shaun was looking through the bodies, checking for IEDs. "Well, we should thank these SOBs for not carrying suicide vests. Not sure if they didn't because of morals or they weren't mentally tough enough to end it". Kepler radioed Irwin again "Maxtopian. Its all clear down here, wanna call in a helicopter?"

Irwin shrugged, "Lets radio in command. Get some police over here, its their problem now, meet us at the entrance, bring the hostages". Irwin turned towards Gregory "Lets go".
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The helicopters roared as they took off from the Vymarian streets. One carried the hostages, another carried Rodent Squad. "Skipper" sat in the co-pilots seat, smoking a cigarette. "You know, that's gonna kill you one day" Kepler bravely stated. Skipper turned to Kepler "Alright Med-Student, when a Cig rips a whole in my chest or in the wing of my aircraft, Ill stop smoking them" he promptly turned his head back to the horizon.

The dark night sky was beginning to turn a light shade of purple, as the sun's rays could barely be seen in the distance, giving a sense of closure to Irwin. The mission was a success, lives were saved, and best of all he could sleep. He rested his head back against his head rest. He slowly nodded off until a cigarette hit his head and bounced out of the helicopter. "We got a radio call, its for you" Skipper stated, handing him a warlike talkie. "This is Captain Irwin of Rodent Squad, who am I speaking to?"

"This is John Williams... your president".

If Irwin wasn't as tired as he was, he might have been excited, "Good morning Mr.President. Called in to give us a 'congratulations' for another job well done?". Williams laughed in his office, "Not exactly... but you did do a good job...". "Oh that's real swell Mr.President. I'm glad to serve this great nation... and all... of... *yawn... the sorts". "Irwin, Task Force Atlas has been reenacted".

The words sprung him up faster then his daily 2 expressos. "Mr.President. Atlas has been disbanded since..." He turned towards Mike. "How long has Atlas been disbanded for?", Mike replied with a shrug. "... A long time... Are you sure this is right?". "Well, we got the call, not sure who sent it, or where it came from... but what matters is that it did. We need your squad at Vymartoff immediately. You're going to be rearmed and set to act on any more transmissions we get from this source."

Irwin sighed, "Turn the chopper around, our president has decided to demand our presence in the nations capital. Atlas is being called into action.". Greg immediately jumped "Even I know that's BS. Atlas has been dismantled for years. I'm pretty sure this is also illegal too.". Shaun snapped at Greg, "If there is something you gotta learn, things change Greg. If the Presidents calling, I say we turn this hunk of junk towards Vymartoff".

Skipper nodded "I'm with Shaun. Turn the chopper 'round". The chopper made a hard right, as it headed towards Vymartoff. Disappearing into the dark, cold Vymarian midnight.

by **Forest State** » Tue Jul 04, 2017 7:46 pm

Airpine, Cemeralia
Section One, Imperial Special Corps

Even during down time, the guard was never down for the men and women of the most elite Cemeralian division. Section One was stationed at the moment in Airpine, and had just been there for counter insurgency purposes in the newly integrated region, but that job was over. Still, there was no calm in Airpine, and there was never true down time for any true Cemeralian living there, soldier or not. That was doubly true for the ones that may be responsible for the region being conquered in the first place.

It was a rare time for them when they weren't in uniform and when they seemingly didn't have any worries. Bluejoy was sleeping on the couch and wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Derek was handling the group's paperwork in the middle of the living room of the house they'd been given to stay in. Lillian was off by herself in the kitchen, cooking to get away from the others while Jeanine pestered her about something while standing in the doorway and while Dan Cerasa talked about his past in the dining room with Everett Russo.

"What was the Kortalian War like, as a rebel? I know the state censored some of the records about just how good the Kortalian rebels were at their jobs, but you're going to tell me the truth, right?" Everett overheard Jeanine asking. For someone who was a former rebel and veteran of a guerilla war herself, she could definitely show her young age at times. It wasn't often that you saw someone in special forces that didn't know the full lowdown on the Kortalian War. "Was it bloodier than the Airpine War?"

"You tell me. You're the one that fought on the wrong side of that one, you should have a decent idea," Lillian said, with the same coldness in her tone that was always there.

"But you fought in both of the big wars. On both sides. You'd know better than me-"

"You don't want to know what it was like, kiddo. There's a reason they don't teach this shit in the schools like all of our historical wars. There's also a reason why they were willing to recruit us surviving rebels to the special forces-"

"How many people did you kill in the Kortalian War?" Jeanine blurted out, and that was when Lillian unsheathed her knife and waved it in the air for dramatic effect.

"Dominic! Dominic! Come get her out of here!" Lillian shouted towards the other room, but the younger woman put her hands up and started to leave on her own. She looked disappointed, hurt even, but at the same time that was the behavior that she knew she should expect from Lillian. They didn't call her 'No Love Lill' for no reason. The sniper slash markswoman was known around Section One for being hot headed when touring and was notoriously cold when off duty, and most knew by now that only a select few would ever know the stories that she had from Kortalia.

"You want to learn about the Kortalian War, eh?" asked Dan, when Jeanine came sulking into the dining room behind the kitchen. "That's something that only someone who didn't fight in it would say. Or rather, someone that didn't even experience it. You were... Thirteen when it started? Fourteen? And sixteen when it finished-"

"I was thirteen when it started."

"And now you're making me feel old," Dan chuckled, knowing that he was the second oldest in the command unit behind Derek. "Anyway, you'll understand Lill some day. Some day when the Airpine Insurgency has been over for longer, and you have another generation of young soldiers asking you all the details about what you did while fighting for the other side... Something that I'm sure you would like to forget, or at least not dredge back up into the present. Not when loyalty is the most important thing right now, with all this insurgency."

"You still don't trust me..."

"Didn't say that. Just that most of us don't like bringing anything up that would split our loyalties, or make someone else think that our loyalties are divided. I know Lill fought with the Kortalian Protection Forces at a time, but after paying her dues in blood multiple times over with the Special Units, it's not something she's proud of. Like I said, you'll see why when you're older and when you've been through hell and back for this country."

"Whatever ya say, Viking," Jeanine said, and she started towards the living room but stopped when Everett said that he had just received a message. Of course, a lot of the important news would come to him, as the comms guy for the unit. This one, though, wasn't the usual news like orders or intel from the Airpine front, or something else like that. No, this was a name they didn't think they would hear again.

"Guys, come look at this!" Everett shouted to the others in the living room. "We have a message, and you're not going to believe who it's from!"

Above this part of international waters, there weren't too many things in the air. One of those things, though, was more than it looked like. It was an unmarked grey civilian helicopter, but it was anything but civilian when you considered the crew. This was one that had been taken by Group One in the Airpine Insurgency and hadn't yet been sold back to the Cemeralian government. The result was a perfectly good helicopter that was completely off of the military records. And that gave Group One an easy way to slip away during their down time and show up here, to head to this ship.

"So this is like, super secret special forces shit," Jeanine said, as a question and not a statement. Of everyone in the group, she was the one who didn't actually know what this was yet. The green one.

"Something along those lines," Dominic remarked, eyeing her through the slit at the front of his skull painted balaclava and then looking back out the window to see how close they were to the Valkyrie. "Do us a favor and watch and learn. Without talking, that is. We're already making everyone uneasy bringing in newcomers who don't have any links with the old group," he added, glancing between Jeanine and Everett.

"Should've left them in Airpine and went by ourselves," Lillian said, and even though it had just been a quick remark, there was true vitriol in the statement.

"Why so angry?" Jeanine asked, drawing glares from both Dominic and Lillian. Nobody answered the question, and then Lillian shrugged and amazingly repeated it again without taking the hint. "What? Why does it piss you two off so much that me and Everett are coming on this trip? You were all like that when we were planning this, too."

"Let's drop this subject," said Derek, sighing as he was forced to step in and get the conversation back on track. "No time to argue, anyway. We're about to land. Let me and Lill head out first and see what's up, and then the rest of you can come on."

"Except I'm coming, too," Dominic stated, and there were another few seconds of silence.

"As you wish."

The helicopter touched down minutes later, and the main side hatch opened, with the ramp unfolding itself. Dan was first, followed by Dominic, and then by Lillian, but the one who was at the back of the group was the first one to speak, and the one who threw formalities to the wind in typical Cemeralian fashion. "We're back, bitches," she said, loud enough for anyone on the deck to hear. It was good to be back...

by **The United Remnants of America** » Mon Jul 10, 2017 11:33 pm

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Rogers

Valkyrie, International Waters

2/13/20XX - 18:00

It had been several hours since Jack had landed aboard the Valkyrie and in that time, there we definitely more people aboard. Everyone aboard was abuzz with activity now, it seemed. Crew was moving back and forth from the flight deck down to storage and empty flight and troop compartments as helicopters with various flag roundels dropped crates of supplies. At least that meant that not every nation in the world had decided Task Force Atlas was an enemy of the common good.

On top of the care packages, an MH-60L and its crew of 4 had reported in saying they were ordered to remain on the ship. The MH-60 crew, known as "Rex," looked more confused to be here than anything, but they were quickly brought up to speed with the crews of the Valkyrie's five other rotary-wing aircraft. The pilot seemed a little aghast when someone mentioned TFA's previous losses of aircraft, but was quickly reassured this was a different operation, a new operation that would be safer for pilots. Hopefully.

The biggest change, however, was the amount of operators. While the crew of the Valk was down to skeletal levels, and their were so few aviation techs aboard that the crews had to double as their own ground crew more often than not, and while there was technically a "marine detachment" with a commanding officer that was in actuality no more than a squad-sized unit, there were now significantly more special operators on the ship, and from a wide range of nations, and even some private entities. Lennox had been keeping a registry for him as units arrived, and Jolly noted that a large portion of the teams were newcomers, from countries that hadn't been a participant of the task force previously. That was both a good and bad thing.

While it was a good thing to have some fresh blood in the joint unit and get those new perspectives, it was equally as bad that they would have to be brought up to speed by veteran task force members, their mettle tested in the heat of battle with little expectation on if they would actually survive. There were rumors that Task Force Atlas took on suicide missions due to some mortality rates. Not all of those rumors were exactly false.

Now, though, Jolly was standing next to Lennox, and they'd called all of the operators up to the flight deck, as well as the flight crews, marine detachment, and non-essential crew members. Jolly had picked the flight deck because he primarily liked the smell of the ocean breeze, but he was also sure that none of the briefing rooms or the mess would be large enough to accommodate such a large grouping of personnel.

It wasn't lost on Jolly that where he and Lennox now stood, there used to be four of them. Chell and Vlad weren't here, which meant the operational command of the task force was literally halved. And without the Director or any of the support staff that had worked at Bragg, Jolly was just now realizing that he and Lennox were basically it. While that massively slimmed down the task force, it also made the burden of command weigh that much more on Jolly's shoulders.

Jolly put his hands at the small of his back, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lennox adopt a similar stance, and to his right Helene Juforurn, the marine CO adopted the stance as well, her hard face piercing daggers into everyone ahead of her. For all intents and purposes, she was essentially Jolly's staff sergeant if Lennox was his XO. Seeing them adopt their stance, Jolly saw the Remnants in the group adopt the same stance in deference to the leader of the task force that shared their nationality. He waited a second and began:

"Gentlemen. Gentlewomen... Aviators." A chuckle ran through the crowd at the jab. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Jack Rogers, the current CO of Task Force Atlas. You can refer to me as Jolly or Atlas-Actual. Welcome to the Valkyrie, your new home for the foreseeable future. All of you have gathered here on this ship for one purpose. Task Force Atlas was shut down a little over five years ago. Some of you remember it, some of you don't. But all of you can see the effects of its absence. The world is sinking further into darkness. Corruption, oppression, and violence are overtaking everything. Entire nations are falling to this growing pantheon of threats, and those that are spared so far are avoiding the looming threat that faces them, as they'd rather stand idly by and watch. Like the mythical Atlas, this task force once held the burden of the world on its shoulders. And once again, this task force will need to pick up that burden. But don't let this burden scare you: the weight of the world gives us the strength to go. You are all here because you heard the call to save the world from itself, and you answered it rather than flee. Thank you for that. But this is only the beginning, this... Reunion. We have a long road ahead of ourselves. I suggest you newcomers get settled in and get acquainted. I'll be calling together the first operational briefing at 0500 tomorrow. We have plenty of actionable intelligence that has been passed on to us discreetly by national governments sympathetic to our mission. I bid you all good luck and a good rest. You'll need it..."

Jolly took a long look at each face in front of him. Each crewman, aviator, and operator. Each one was integral to this task force in their own way. He knew they all wouldn't be here by the end of this journey. Some would die, others would go their separate ways. Loss was hard no matter the reason, but Jolly and the espirit de corps of TFA had endured hardships beyond telling for the goal of achieving the greater good, and the future would prove to be no different than the past, no more forgiving.

Jolly saluted the assembled personnel, "Dismissed!"

by **New Hayesalia** » Tue Jul 11, 2017 5:41 am

The collected members of the BASTION team had been moved to the Valkyrie with their pallets of equipment loaded in their staging area, work that had taken the team of ten some time to complete having changed into their combat fatigues and black berets. Their name tags obscured their identities - single letters distinguished them from each other, their rank slides showing a variety of services and experiences.

The New Hayesalians had formed up on the end of another team in three ranks, three people deep. Their officer stood in front, Captain Q's short beard hiding a youthful face, standing at ease like his soldiers. The cool air of the sea was familiar to New Hayesalians, that island archipelago nation bridging the Nachqarda Ocean, and sea service would come naturally to most of them.

Jolly's words struck a chord with New Hayesalia's detachment. Terrorism, piracy, slavery, civil wars, rogue nations, and CBRN threats had all been the responsibility of these hard men and women, a cacophony of threats and real acts of violence perpetrated against New Hayesalia's people and society. ATLAS, as the name implies, was a heavy lifting team and it's members would have to be tough to meet the standards. The 0500 briefing was to be met with BASTION training requirements. While a lot more reflective of a usual civilian schedule, New Hayesalian special forces did start the day with PT, and this would be no different. Without room to run distances on the flattop, a FARTLEK round would be used - intermittent and painful rounds of jogging and sprinting... mostly to show the air department how the New Hayesalians were fighting fit and competitive to match. They'd be going to the briefing with exercise endorphins running through their brains.

Men, mind, mechanics. The three elements maintained to perfection that New Hayesalian special forces had to have.

by **The Knockout Gun Gals** » Fri Jul 14, 2017 2:46 am

TKGG - SDF
International Waters

They have heard of the TFA. And of the Logos. But they didn't react, nor act. The nation had been severely involved with several domestic terrorism acts aiming to remove the monarchists. Now, they have been countered, but not for long. In the absent of big conflict, the SDF has been assembled a team to be sent to Valkyrie, as part of their delegation. Usually they didn't really care about foreign conflicts, but perhaps they could be more active this time. Captain Kazuki Lee is one of the military officers from the nobility background, but make no mistakes, he's one of the better ones out there on the field. His team consists of two males and two females, a normal thing since his nation was found on the basis that women and men are equal on everything.

Hell, even military special forces.

Once they arrived, a brief briefing was sent out, and after that a period of settlement was began.

by **Vymar** » Fri Jul 14, 2017 8:42 pm

INTERNATIONAL WATERS
100 MILES AWAY FROM THE VALKYRIE
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Greg let out a large hurl as bowed over the edge of the helicopter, releasing his mighty breakfast he had consumed just an hour ago. Kepler recoiled in disgust "God damn Greg... times like these make me wonder how you got past boot camp". Kepler then felt a sharp pain in his right arm, Ike had sent him a well deserved punch that could have knocked him over had Kepler not been strapped into his seat. "Y'know, Id like to make this trip over to the Valkyrie without a bunch of bickering. Greg's an idiot, we all know that, don't have to announce it". Greg stopped his sickening experience and turned towards Ike "Suck a fat one Ike-" he quickly went back to hurling.

Irwin yet again had to intervene. It was like leading a bunch of children... tall... grown up... strong... children. Just earlier that day he had found he was beginning to grey, something he could only attribute to the fact his squad, despite its effectiveness, made him more stressed out than his wife during labor. Well, maybe not that stressed, but he did frequently note he had intense abdominal pain whenever he had to consult Greg to "Stop waving the 50 caliber machine gun in my face". He had heavily considered retiring and moving to the Furbish Islands, but with the current civil war, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Not that he didn't care for his squad, in fact the only thing stopping him from leaving was that Greg would be the next in leadership, as he had the most combat experience out of everyone except Irwin.

He got up from his seat and leaned into the row that kept Ike, Kepler and Greg. "Greg, kindly do shut up and continue, uh..." Greg's noises became louder, causing Skipper to twitch every now and then, causing the helicopter to slowly wane left to right. "And Kepler, Ike, leave him alone". He eased back into his seat, which he had to share with Shaun. As described by one of the staging crew who was at the airfield, and also happened to be foreign; "Sharing is Vymarian culture, yes, it make soul strong. Cheap but effective, yes? Amazing, now get into chopper, we fuel, chopper run. I smile upon you, good luck".

Shaun groaned, having being woken up to Irwin squeezing himself into the seat "I swear, sometimes I downright hate this country, why are we being squeezed into a helicopter not meant to hold more than 6 people?". Irwin shrugged. When he had seen the helicopter, he had immediately objected. But according to the officials he was talking to, all the other helicopters were taken in for repair and maintenance or off fighting in god knows where. "Its fine. I'm sure the Valkyrie will have more than enough room to sit us all in comfortably".

"That stage crew guy better hope it will. Because once we get back I'm gonna strangle him."

"Speaking of the Valkyrie, is that it?" called out the weary voice of Greg as they hurtled towards the large ship.

by **Cerrania** » Sat Aug 05, 2017 10:05 pm

EASTERN FEROXI PROVINCES
0320 LOCAL TIME, 20XX

"Dude, stop fucking breathing on my scope."

"Fuck off, it's cold. What do you want me to do? Stop breathing?"

"Breathe in the other direction asshole."

"Up yours."

The harsh whispers broke the dead silence of the early morning on the hill above the nearby Feroxi village. Fat snowflakes fell lazily from the sky as the first glows of pink sunrise broke on the horizon. A lone hare popped its head up from the deep snow on the ground, only to tuck tail and continue towards wherever it was heading. Icy winds whipped across the frozen lake in the distance, kicking up frost in their wake.

To the Feroxi in the town below, it probably seemed like a normal morning.

To the Nightstalker team waiting on the hilltop, it was anything but that. Sergeant Kyrus Beinus slowly shifted his aim towards the northern end of the village. He could barely make out four irregular lumps near the road leading into town. His spotter nudged him slightly, signifying that he had acquired them too.

"Djinn Actual, we have you spotted," He said, now moving his sight further north and picking up the faint glow of headlights slowly growing brighter, "And here's our package. Right on schedule. Estimated 5 minutes out. Over."

"Copy Djinn-3. Let's start stacking bodies, over." Came the reply. Beinus smiled as he shifted his aim once again. The Feroxi village was much more than meets the eye. A very powerful drug cartel ran one of their larger labs out of the warehouses in the town, and intel had suggested that they were expecting a visit from a member of the cartel's upper echelon in the early hours of this morning. The Nightstalkers had been scoping out the cartel for months now, and had slowly been whittling away at their cash supply. After all, any organization that was running drugs into Cerrania's big cities immediately put a big target on their back.

"One guard, 2'o'clock, 400 meters. He's smoking. By the hotel."

Beinus shifting his aim accordingly. Sure enough, there was a lone guard standing under a dimly lit neon sign taking a smoke break. He shivered in the cold, and looked around before unzipping his pants to take a leak.

Beinus squeezed the trigger of his rifle. The suppressed thwap of the silenced weapon was followed briefly by the guard jolting back from the impact of the round travelling through his brain matter.

"His buddy is coming out of the hotel."

A quick shift, another trigger squeeze, and another body tumbled to the ground. It wouldn't be long before somebody noticed the bodies. Beinus estimated they had less than 10 minutes to be in and out before things really started popping off. Luckily, that was more than enough time. Moving his aim back towards the northern end of the village, Beinus heart skipped a beat as he spotted two armed Feroxis moving towards the road, presumably to greet their guest in the truck.

"Djinn Actual, be advised, you have two bogeys approaching from the village. The package is less than a minute out, over." He said, now sighting the two men and waiting with his finger on the trigger. As the truck arrived and slowed to a stop, the two guards waited.

Then, things got hot.

In unision, four muzzle flares illuminated the early morning from the side of the road. Beinus followed suit by dropping the two guards just as they raised their weapons. Feroxi cartel members that leapt out of the back of the truck were cut down before they had a chance to react. An individual in a heavy winter coat and nice clothing leapt out of the passenger seat and tried to make a run for it, before one of the irregular lumps of snow threw off its cloak and gave chase. With a leap and a tackle, both went down in a tangle of limbs. They rolled briefly before the sharp-dressed man was pinned on the ground, with a handgun pointed directly at his skull.

"Djinn-3, positive ID on the package is confirmed. Get down here, over."

The Djinn were just filing into their exfil, a UH-60 Blackhawk, when Staff Sergeant Forlenza's display lit up. He read it over quickly before sighing and rubbing his eyes. He then looked at his team members and grinned toothily.

"Well boys, we aren't goin' home just yet." He said,

"The fuck? Why?" Came a reply, others nodded in agreement.

"Higher up got wind that our job here is done, so they're giving us a new assignment. We're headed to Task Force Atlas."

INTERNATIONAL WATERS
20XX

Stepping off the Blackhawk, the members of Fireteam Alpha, the Djinn, looked to their team leader for orders. The entire deck of the ship was milling with activity, though it seemed many of the warfighters that were supposed to be around were either hiding somewhere or off doing something more important.

"Go find a place to rest your heads. I'll go find the big brass and let them know we've checked in." Ordered Forlenza, watching his team scatter to the wind briefly before stepping off and looking around.

It didn't take him long to find LtCol Jack Rogers headquarters. He knocked twice before entering, and stood fairly relaxed in front of the man.

"Colonel Rogers?" He asked, looking the officer up and down. Most Nightstalkers had done away with the pomp and circumstance of the Cerranian regular armed forces, and viewed rank as more of a testament to time rather than skill. Something that would probably bite SSgt Forlenza in the ass one day.

"We're the Cerranian detachment for the Task Force. Apologies for our...delay. We were on mission."

by **The United Remnants of America** » Sun Aug 06, 2017 3:09 pm

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Rogers

Valkyrie, International Waters

Rogers looked up from his desk when he heard his name. He'd been fully concentrating on the computer screen in front of him and hadn't even heard the knocking or the door opening. Rogers stood from his chair and reached across his desk to shake the visitor's hand. "Ah, you must be Sergeant Forlenza, right? Someone called down when your bird landed to drop you off. Don't worry about being late, though. It's not like we made this boat entirely easy to get to, for several reasons. I hope your mission was successful?"

Rogers looked the man over in front of him and decided that he must've been in his early or mid thirties, about the normal age it seemed for operators. Realizing that once again reminded Jack of his own age and how he was no longer the young man he used to be, how the Cerranian in front of him could probably outdo Rogers in most situations. He made a mental note to try and push himself during his morning PT workouts to try and stave off obsolescence for a few more years.

PW: Task Force Atlas: Reunion

PW: Task Force Atlas: Reunion

Special Action: ATLAS

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