Broken Arrow (IC|Special Forces|Open)

[Anowa]

---

>OOC<
>The Pub<
OP:Anowa
Co-OP:TBD

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Lieutenant Hannah "Mack" MacDougall // Siren 1-1
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

The team that had been assembled was three major things:

First: Behind schedule. 18 men and women from across the globe assigned to her unit were supposed to be here three days ago. Instead, on the 16th of January, she only received eight individuals. The rest were currently caught up in bureaucratic bullshit from their home nations and units, so they were understaffed.

Second: On scramble alert. Everyone in her platoon was supposed to be sitting no less than 200 meters away from the barracks in case an alarm started ringing and they need to be in a plane en route to wherever the fuck on a moment's notice. Mid flight briefings weren't uncommon in the SF community, though they were far from optimal, time constraints sometimes meant it was the only option. Which brought her to her final point.

The platoon was doomed to disintegrate. For whatever the fuck reason multinational units always break into chunks of bullshit and prejudice, happened in more than a few units that NATO tried to build in the last year or so, and it would likely happen here. For whatever reason, when encountering someone of a certain ethnicity or nationality, the soldiers that were supposed to be trained professionals and be able to move past such petty bullshit, elected to grow their own self thought -despite what their training would tell them-. This lead to unacceptable circumstances of racism, bigotry, and the breakdown of unit cohesion until there was no unit anymore. This brought her back to the first point, the moment every operator was supposed to be on site, they were all supposed to be crammed into a room and given a 4 hour orientation of how such actions are fork in dick retarded.

Any such bullshit in her platoon would result in an NJP. End of discussion.

Moving on to more lighthearted topics, most of the platoon had assembled themselves in the Mess hall, giving an ample opportunity to discern who had fucked up and who hadn't. The din of voices and good times reached her ears as she entered the room, but only for a moment.

AMidst it all, the younger Nguyen in her unit stood bolt straight, voice echoing across the air conditioned room like a crack of thunder, "ROOM, TEn-Ch HUT!"

Every soldier with an American flag bolted to their shoulder followed suit, those from other nations catching on quickly. 'Charlie' certainly didn't seem like much based on his face alone, but the Ranger, and Airborne tabs pinned and stitched to his shoulder just above the SFOD-D flash told a much different story to those that recognized them. The kid was rather young, but he'd managed to complete a hell of a lot in his stint in the military, likely looking at a career soldier. Hard for a JFO not to spend the next 20 years in the military.

Mack had to raise her voice a bit to let the entire room hear, but she swiftly replied, so not to leave a whole room of hungry soldiers standing like mannequins, "At ease."

Walking over to the table that a majority of her platoon was sitting at she stood at the head, "So, how's everyone doing this fine day?" It was a bit of a rhetorical question, she knew they were all pretty miserable, it was hard for one not to be in such heat in full kit, but regardless, it was the polite thing to ask.

[Fantrum]

Sgt Muller// Siren 1-3
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

'This gig aint so bad', the thought ran through his head at the sight of his lunch, a light affair of a PB&J and a salad. No sooner had the bread touched his mouth than did someone sound attention on deck. Of course. Like any marine would, he snapped to, but was actually surprised to see that it had been called for what he had learned was the platoon lead. Huh, strange. Normally such a gesture was reserved for the unit CO. He chalked it up to the unit being of many different branches from many different nations and left it at that.

Sliding back down into his chair at her command, he greedily dug into his lunch with renewed purpose, determined not to be interrupted again. So far, hed had worse times in country. He'd been taken around by someone, he couldnt remember since it was late and hed just gotten off the plane, and shown the base. The bricks was a quaint little number, it was air conditioned and that was about where Jack stopped caring. Through the quick rundown brief hed been given hed learned who his team was supposed to be and who his LT was.

The team, those who had actually shown up, were pretty cool cats. At least the ones he'd interacted with. He hadnt had much time to associate with any of them over the last three days as he got his paperwork straight and generally settled in. Hed found the base's meager recreational facilities and disparaged to learn no alcoholic beverages were sold anywhere. The humanity!

Honestly he should have expected as much, overseas base he'd ever been to had been wet, this one shouldnt have been the exception. Oh well.

Jack finished wolfing down half his sandwich when the LT started to talk, probably trying to get a feel for the troops, pretty normal procedure. Hed want to know who he was trusting with his life to as well, and thats precisely what he was doing. That and he enjoyed meeting people, something his job necessitated. "Afternoon ma'am," He replied, setting the unfinished sandwich back on his plate, "Just standing by the stand by, as always."

The LT seemed pretty chill, but Jack didnt know his boundaries with her yet. Best to keep formal with an officer until they let you know you could get loose. Absentmindedly he adjusted the strap to his rifle, slung over his back. "Thats probably something we all got in common eh?" He grinned, "For all our training and experience, sitting around waiting is our number one pass time." He knew his attempts at ice breaking were pretty bland and obvious, but someone had to do it, best jump on the grenade now before it blew up and killed them all in combat.

[Arengin Union]

Lieutenant Yuri Markov // Siren 3-1
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

The heat was unbearable, a strong hot wave of air hitting on Yuri's face as he walked along the hard concrete of the base, his sunglasses protecting his eyes from the torturous sun, his green camouflaged fatigues and red white, blue and red flag attached to his shoulders gleamed with the sun's shine. Yuri was accustomed to this type of inhospitable weather despite his nationality, growing in the Caucasus made him invulnerable to the cold, and "working" in places such as Afghanistan, Syria, and several other parts of Africa, to him it was simply a part of the job. Yuri walked closer and closer to the mess hall, where most of the unit would be at, passing by American soldiers who would not even look at him straight in the face, Yuri did not care, he was used to being invisible, it came with the job.

The Russian approached the entrance of the mess hall and entered without hesitation, as he stopped for a minute to take off his shades and clean them from the dust he heard an exclamation, coming from a clearly western voice.

"So, how's everyone doing this fine day?"

Yuri entered the main dining area, he didn't mind himself with the saluting and what not, he simply walked smoothly towards the table where most of Siren 3 members were supposed to be at. The female voice was Lieutenant Hannah MacDougall, the commanding officer of the platoon, Canadian, Yuri had read of her during his flight to the base. Канадский командир. Как мило. Yuri thought to himself as he sat down on the table.

He looked around the room, a diverse bunch this was. Too diverse he would say, he didn't mind on that. This would be hit or miss as far as he cared, but he didn't need to concern himself on that, he had his own things to worry about.

[Futrellia]

Sergeant Amand Lefrançois // Siren 3-4
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1245 Local Time

---

Amand threw his pack down unto the cot that would serve as his bed for an undisclosed period of time. He had yet to see any of his squadmates or interact with anyone, preferring to get himself set up before introducing himself. He began unloading his personal items. He could feel the sweat bead from his forehead, the perspiration inking through his fatigues, but it stopped bothering him long ago, due to the long patrols in the Afghan deserts. He unzipped the smaller pocket of his pack and took out a picture of his mother, father and brother, his family. He remembered how supportive they were when he left, the handheld French flags waving in their hands as they saw him off at the runway. He was excited to be given this chance by his country, for them to see him as the best of the best was something that resonated deeply within Amand's heart, but he wouldn't let it go to his head. He would remain focused and present himself in a quiet, respective manner. He was the only Frenchman here and representing himself and France with dignity was his main objective for today. He grabbed his blouse, pulling it forward and backward to allow fresh air into it, hopefully relieving some of the heat trapped against his skin. Staying here wouldn't help him any, so he left the barracks, walking out of one of the many caterpillar-shaped tents back into the scorching and merciless sun. He would see what the Mess Hall looked like, and if he could get anything to eat before any major announcements were made.

He entered the Mess Hall, another one of the quick constructed khaki-colored tents that dotted the Camp. He saw some Americans, nothing to note as of yet. He walked to the line, grabbed a plate and made his lunch. Nothing looked especially tasty, but it would do the job. After he constructed what was now lunch, he turned to scan the hall, attempting to find where his squad, Siren 3, was located. He memorized it in quite a silly way: the table with the two Asians. He found the table eventually and took a seat next to one of his squadmates, a Russian man whose nametag said "Markov".

"Hello." He said.

[Relikai]

Sergeant Mayu Hirate, Siren 3-5
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

She was back.

The C-130 which delivered the operator came together with a detachment of Japanese contractors and analysts, with Mayu being assigned as an 'escort' with two other members of the JMSDF's Special Boarding Unit. Only she received special orders however, which has her turning south towards the American side of the Djibouti–Ambouli International Airport, while the rest of the passengers headed towards Japan Self-Defense Force Base Djibouti. She has spent nearly four years here with her fellow frogmen in the SBU, training hard while ignoring the presence of foreign military personnel nearby, especially the presence of the Chinese. Taking off on a helicopter four times a week to conduct patrols as well as ensuring that nearby Japanese citizens were under their protection, Djibouti has become like a second home, an introduction to a foreign base overseas, the desert, and her life in the special forces.

The hot air was familiar as she dragged her pack along with her. Weapons and equipment would be requisitioned in the base armoury, as well as all the administrative procedures which would take up the most of a day. She walked perfectly, with a straight pose and a confident stride. The occasional twitch in her left knee was a mere inconvenience, but a stark reminder of her body's limitations. The scar on her back was mostly healed as well, only a small dark mark a blemish on her otherwise perfect olive skin. She wasn't chosen to be in the JSDF because of her looks, but it came as a bonus when Mayu had to play a role in basic infiltration and interrogations. A good looking good cop was more than able to get information out without using force and causing pain, honeyed words followed by a whisk of warm breath nearly enough to break the will of the poor untrained rebel.

That did not matter now as she entered the air conditioned room, her uniform in desert camo with her achievements stitched onto them. Courses and collaborative training by the US Army Rangers, Navy SEALs, the British Gurkhas in Brunei and even 'Delta Force', Mayu has tackled them and passed them with flying colors. Hell, her first course right after she was medically certified fit for the SBU was to attend the six-month course of the 1st SFOD-D, a killer training among killers to be a better killer. She remembered the laughs they shared, a woman among men, and the parts of a well-oiled machine they become after beginning their operations.

The booming voice did little to startle her, Mayu standing up with the rest of everybody even as her short frame was hidden among towers. It was useful though, for she could dive into tunnels and small holes, making little noise during her stealthy entry. Maybe she was the target for laughs and insults, but her lower base of gravity meant that she could move better and quicker than most in a knife fight.

She did not respond, choosing to allow others to do the talking. She did look at the female Lieutenant in the eye with an affirming nod while noting the difference in rank. Passed over several times for promotion within the JMSDF, perhaps it was age, perhaps it was seniority or just the framework of her former unit. Nonetheless, everyone's here for a reason, and she was sure that every nation would send their best to represent them on the international stage.

[Arengin Union]

Lieutenant Yuri Markov // Siren 3-1
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

Not even 5 minutes had passed before the Frenchie sat down right next to him. Yuri had a toothpick om his mouth, usual thing he did before eating, he couldn't help it and he always had a at least one on his shirt's pocket. Yuri wasn't in the mood of talking, he was simply sitting quietly, overlooking each member of the team, wondering and analyzing the details. Then the Frenchie, whose tag read "Lefrançois" with what in Yuri's ear's sounded as the most irritable voice he had heard broke his concentration, provoking Yuri to break the toothpick with his teeth in half.

"Hello." Lefrançois said.

Yuri turned his head to the French, looking him from head to toe before saying anything. He looked young, perhaps mid to late twenties, at least that's what Yuri could make out from the first look. Yuri was not one to be very talkative to people he did not know, but he knew this was his squad, and noting that he was the highest rank among them he knew he was their squad leader so he had to make them know he was still a human being they could trust. Teams depended on that. He was not here to make enemies, that was the last thing he wanted to do so he respectfully replied to the French.

"Здравствуйте, Hello." Yuri said with a serious tone, he looked at the food on the French's plate, typical American food.

"Very nutritious food I see. These Americans surely know about that eh." Yuri added with a light smirk to the Frenchman.

[Romic]

Special Agent/Staff Sergeant Dean Resner, Siren 2-4
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

"Special Agent Resner can you you report to the ASAIC office." buzzed a receptionist on his cubical phone, "Yes, ma'am I can give me one second to file these money laundering case files away and I'll be right there." replied Dean. As he filed away the papers and made his way to the ASAIC office he noticed that the Special Agent in Charge in the room looking either pissed or some other ungodly emotion that wasn't resting asshole. He entered the room and the rest was more or less a blur... "You'll be reporting to a base and was selected to be part of a multinational task force made up of elite tier one operators. blah. blah. blah."

Fast forward a few weeks after a bit more briefing and training for dealing further with other groups especially since aside being Secret Service Uniformed ERT and Special Agent he had limited service in the Military as a Military Police Officer and later an Investigatory Special Agent. The Agency thought his skills in investigation and other specialty subjects may provide insight as analytical and on the ground ready to use intel.

---

He had just set his lunch tray down when the order for attention was given. He stared at the entrance as a female Lieutenant made her entrance, he guessed that she is the Officer in charge of this group here. He received the order to go at ease very well. He picked his tray up and moved it over to the group of people he assumed were part of the platoon, "Hello, mind if I sit here?" he asked in a nonchalant manner. The food on the tray began to shift, the jello being the only thing not to. It appeared to be some kind of play on country fried steak like home but it looked militarily... off, to say the least.

He noticed he was one of the oldest present and likely is either the oldest or near the oldest in the group. His uniform was ACU and instead of Army on the tape it stated Secret Service with his last name on the tape also. He looked at the Lieutenant and nodded and thought to himself, "Diverse and certainly looking at a wide variety of skills. This is going to be fun."

[Insaeldor]

First Sergeant Francesc Rusiñol, Siren 1-3
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

It seemed nice out today. The heat as a kid would have turned me into a mopey cunt but after spending the better part of a day stuck in an APC in the afghan summer you learn to enjoy it. It's like Stockholm syndrome for weather. I grew to enjoy the heat. I was graced with my M09 desert BDU, sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow. I was on my to the Mess Hall for lunch, I wasn't used to the way Americans did their food, and what I wouldn't give for some of pvt. Adrià's special Esqueixada back at homebase.

I entered the mess hall, everyone was at attention and I followed suit with them. I stood stiff until the call for at ease was given by Lt. MacDougall. I made my way over to the line to get started. I lucked out too, one of the lunch entrees was Trout, and with the potato bar, and some veggies to give it a good round about. Not what I was exactly used to but it worked. I got my fish, my plain potato, and my vegetable side and made my way to the table where MacDougall and the squad was seated.

"És com un infern fora!" I said with a smile waving my hand like I'm hot, I spoke English pretty well, not as good as my Arabic but still pretty good I'd say. But I did however enjoy speaking my native tongue around the group, at least it made me feel a little more light hearted. After all being serious alll the time would just lead to strokes and heart attacks. I felt like you needed that contrast. The hours of hell we would endure with the sounds of gun fire. I can think of at least a few times I heard a bullet pass a little to close for comfort. You need to be serious then, you need to be on high alert. But we're just at mess, it's rejuvinating to just have a lunch were you talk like regular people for a bit. Gets you restarted and ready to head back into the shit. I just went OF with a slight chuckle and continued.

"So everyone doing okay?" Asked the squad currently present.

[Dayganistan]

Senior Sergeant Zaya Semyonova, Siren 3-3
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

"Djibouti is like Syria but hotter."

Those were the words Zaya's CO had said when she asked about Djibouti before leaving Russia. He wasn't particularly wrong. Mid January and the temperatures were already approaching summer temperatures in Syria. When the summer rolled around here, the Siberian native was sure she would die of heat exhaustion.

Otherwise, the city of Djibouti was not unlike Latakia in Syria, where Hmeymim Air Base, Zaya's "home" in Syria, was located. Both were tourist cities in the middle of some of the most unstable parts of the world. When she had some time off duty in Syria she liked to go into Latakia, pretend she was just a tourist and explore the city. The illusion of being a tourist was quickly ruined when the locals spotted the Russian flag patch on her sleeve and thanked her for helping to fight Daesh and Al Nusra, but it was still a nice experience to get off base and relax in a nice seaside city. Unfortunately, there would be no chance for such a thing here with the permanent state of readiness. All she could do was wait around in for the order to go, hoping the heat doesn't kill her before enemy fire. She hoped when they finally got sent on a mission it would be somewhere cold.

Then, there was the matter of the assembled team. It was very NATO dominated. Not good for the two Russians present. If something went wrong, Zaya and the other Russian, a long time Spetsnaz veteran and her squad leader, were probably going to face the full brunt of the blame. Especially from the Americans. Otherwise, her specific squad within the platoon seemed functional. Two Russians including herself, two Japanese, two Vietnamese, and a lone Frenchman. Other than the Frenchman, everyone had someone from their country in the squad. But at the same time, she was worried about effectiveness. Would such a diverse team be able to work together? There didn't seem to be any stupid rivalries between insignificant third world countries waiting to boil over that would break down unit cohesion, based on the assembled nationalities. There was the ever present America-Russia rivalry of course, but Zaya was sure no matter how gung-ho and patriotic an American is, they have to have some level of intelligent thought and professionalism to get into special forces and wouldn't let the new cold war between their countries get in the way of cooperation.

As Zaya waited for her food in the mess hall, she heard one of the Americans call the room to attention as the Canadian Lieutenant walked in. Is such a thing really necessary for highly trained professionals, most of who have over a decade of military service? She chalked it down to attempting to promote discipline in a multinational unit and played along, standing at attention until the Canadian ordered the troops at ease. She picked up her food and made her way over to the table with the rest of the platoon. Her Multicam uniform made her blend in with the mass of other operators, the only way to distinguish her as a Russian would be the flags of the Russian Federation and the Republic of Buryatia attached to the velcro panel on her right sleeve. Among her squad, she could see the other Russian, the Frenchman, and the Japanese woman. She took a seat with the rest of the squad.

"How are we doing today?" she asked the assembled members of her squad. They were all probably miserable from the heat and just wanted to get called up for a mission rather than sitting around here so it was a dumb question, but the squad needed to if not be friendly, at least respect each other enough that they can have a conversation.

[Hothnia]

Second Liuetenant Heidi Trautloft // Siren 2-2
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

The transfer from Germany to Djibotui had been a shitstorm. First off, three hours before she was supposed to leave, she was called in to Company Headqaurters with an apparent station change. For whatever reason, the higher ups in the Heer had either forgotten or neglected to tell her former battalion commander that she was being transferred from a German KSK unit in Bavaria to an international unit run by someone, she never asked who. Getting that sorted out took another three days. Then, she was informed that the local airfields would no longer fly to Djibouti, so she would have to drive to Ramstein AFB in the west. That process took another 3 days. After arriving there, she had to fill out some paperwork and go there some more identification checks. Just as she was about to board a plane, the flight sergeant informed her that he wasn't informed she would be on the flight. Another day of waiting. Finally, at 9 am the next morning, Heidi was on a flight to Djibouti, a bunch of US marines seated around her.

...

Heidi had arrived the previous night and immediately fell asleep, exhausted after her ordeal. The next morning Heidi put on her her gray dress uniform and red beret with a patch of the German flag on the side and had explored a bit of the city, before heading back to the mess hall at 12:25 and grabbed, a hard, twisted Apple that looked a bit shrunken. Such were the joys of US military food. She had just sat down when a Liuetenant called for attention. Heidi shot up, clicked her heels loudly and gave a long salute towards the officer, only dropping after the at ease order was given. Heidi sat back down and rolled the apple back and forth between her hands, not glancing at the few others seated around her.

Heidi only lifted her head when someone spoke to the lot of them. Upon observing his uniform, the Lieutenant quickly observed the man was an American, like many in the room, and a Sergeant. " I personally do not mind if you sit here. I don't believe the others would either." Heidi went back to rolling the apple back and forth, ignoring the others in the room.

[Revlona]

Sergeant Robert Strong// Siren 1-7
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

It was hot, really hot, Robert a native canadian was used to the nice breeze of the cool canadian air. He had been in the heat before when he was in afghanistan, and he thought that was the worst it could get, he of course was wrong.

Walking into the messhall Robert quickly got himself a tray and some food and sat down next to a bunch of people he didn´t know, well, really he didn´t know anyone on the base.

Looking around at the people at his table he noticed both a french flag patch and a russian flag patch. Leaning over he said, ¨Hello, how are yall doing?¨

[Wysten]

January 19th 2020 Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti Staff Sergeant Justyn Dutko Siren 2-7


The hot African heat blazed Justyn as he walked off out of the door of the airport. It was welcomed though as Warsaw was starting to pill up with snow. Hailing a cab a small yellow cab pulled on throwing his duffel bag and rifle case in the back he opened the passenger and sat down the AC was barley working making the already hot day even worse. Looking towards the cab driver he said "Camp Lemonnier please." The cab driver nodded the small African man pulled out of the airport and towards the camp.

Pulling up near the front Justyn gestured towards the small man and they stopped fishing a few dollars from his wallet he gave it to the driver going back he grabbed his gear and moved toward the entrance. Walking towards the checkpoint he looked up and saw a black hawk fly overhead touching down near the center of the base kicking up dust in the process.Raising his hand Justyn walked into what looked like a guard station.Opening the door he felt a cool breeze from the air conditioning. Near the entrance stood a MP an American from the look of it. Just ahead of him though was clerk typing on keyboard looking up he waved. "Hello there you part of Quiver?" he asked standing up to shake hands with him. Justyn obliged shaking hands with him and sitting down in a chair in front of the desk. "Name?" The clerk asked ready to type on the keyboard. "Dutko Justyn" he said his English coming out with a heavy polish accent. The clerk typed fast stopping looking up to the Staff Sergeant. "Rank?" he asked. "Staff Sargent." he typed almost as fast as a bullet looking back up.
"Age?" the clerk asked
"30" Justyn said
"Serial Number?" He asked
"33 444 555"
The clerk typed an hit enter waiting for something to print he took a small card and gave to Justyn."Welcome to Camp Lemonnier."


Justyn got up taking his card putting it in his wallet nodding in thanks he grabbed his duffel bag and rifle case walking out of the door. The heat came back like a brick his body went like a hose making his sweat again.Walking towards the barracks he opened the door the AC was on so it gave him some relief. Walking towards one section labeled Siren 2 he walked in and found his bunk and tossed his bag on the bed zipping it open he grabbed his P99 loaded it and slipped it into his holster on his right side. He took his rifle case and leaned it onto the wall next to his bunk. Zipping up his bag he walked away going back out into the blazing sun.

Walking towards the mess hall he took off his cover as he walked in. The AC was working hard he heard the fans blazing in the room he was walking to get his plate when he heard the call to attention from a woman's voice near the front. He stood straight as 2x4 and let out a sigh as she said at east must be our CO he thought as we walked towards the line. Grabbing his plate he walked over towards his squad he saw two of them one a man an American by the looks of it and a woman he thinks is a German. Walking towards them he sat down next to the German reaching out his hand in greeting playing it safe he spoke English and seeing the Second Lieutenant rank he said. "Good Afternoon Lieutenant nice to meet you same as to you American." he said in English his polish accent obvious.

[Kyraina]

MSgt Dirk "Bear" Bridges

Dirk was dressed in a ABU patterned ABS-G Combat Shirt and Cargo Pants, His Scarlet Beret in his right Cargo pocket, was sitting in the room, when for some reason the room was called to attention for the Platoon Lead, and not for the first time since his wife's death a year ago he touched the pocket on his arm that held his old wedding band and her dog tags, though the wedding Band Tattoo was still visible on his left ring finger. He shook his head after he went to attention and then relaxed after Mack said "At Ease." He nodded at the Lt after she asked her question. "Good Lt. Just another Hot day in this hell hole of a base, Atleast I ain't back in the Sandbox or in Afghan."

The others grabbed food but Dirk decided to just grab himself a coffee and then walked over to Zaya. "You Know this is my Second Time stationed Here on Camp Lemmonier, andd not much has changed other then the fact that the US Naval Personnel get the New Barracks they built 3 Years ago and we still get the CLU's, could be worse though, atleast we Ain't In a Tent City like when I was with the Kurds in Syria." Dirk said with His Texas Draw to Zaya as he sipped at his coffee, wishing he could really make it a Irish Coffee.

[Futrellia]

Sergeant Amand Lefrançois // Siren 3-4
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1256 Local Time

---

It seemed like as soon as he spoke, the Russian cringed and broke his toothpick, signalling him that this Russian did not like his voice, probably due to his French accent.

"Здравствуйте, Hello." Lieutenant Markov said back to him in the most friendliest tone he could have while not meaning said feelings. Amand accepted his response and looked back down to his plate of food, chosen specifically by American military chefs. He could barely stand the look of it and hadn't even tasted it yet. He couldn't stand American food. Something about all the grease and messy look just turned off his appetite. He had no choice but to eat it, though. He couldn't remember the last time he ate something.

"Very nutritious food I see. These Americans surely know about that eh." Markov remarked to him regarding his food. Amand gave a slight chuckle and a smile.

"Quelle merde. I wouldn't feed it to a dog, much less an entire Task Force." He said back to Markov.

His attention peaked as a new woman bearing the Russian flag came to the table, bearing a simple greeting, trying to be friendly. She was actually quite pretty for being a stone cold special operator. Amand shot a friendly, charming smile at her, wanting to see her reaction.

"Bonjour!" He said to her.

The table was beginning to get a little crowded as another operator entered the fray, a man bearing the last name of Strong and a Canadian flag. The man gave his greetings as well, and Amand welcomed him to the table.

[Hothnia]

Second Liuetenant Heidi Trautloft // Siren 2-2
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

Heidi looked up once again as another man spoke to her, beads of sweat rolling down her face. Heidi was wearing a gray dress uniform with her decorations, rank, and unit patches on the left lapel and a red beret with the image of a black eagle plastered on the front. Big mistake. The uniform was very hot in the weather and it seemed much more formal than what everyone else was wearing. Good thing she had a change of clothes in a bag by her feet.

After seeing the man extend his hand to her, Heidi stood and adjusted her beret before taking the man's hand and shaking it lightly. " Guten tag Sergeant. I trust zhat you are vell. I'm Heidi Trautloft, KSK operative from Germany. Just got here last night. I must ask, are you Slavic? Zhe accent sounds similar." Heidi smoothed down her shoulder board and frowned as it immediately popped back up.,

[Wysten]

Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti Staff Sergeant Justyn Dutko Siren 2-7

Justyn noted on her accent and responded. "Polish to be exact Frau Heidi." He had a firm grip and let go letting his hand drop down to the side of his trousers. "So what brought you here to this little slice of hell?" He said sarcastically starting to sit down again.

[Tayner]

Gunnery Sergeant Beauregard 'Red' Gauge
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19, 2020

Some people would complain about the heat, but Gauge simply sipped coffee as he sat in the mess. He was one of the first members of the task force to be on station. Being the platoon NCO he was billeted to the base earlier than other operators, and his CO managed to slip him onto a helo that was bound for a ship that was bound for Lemonnier. Heat was nothing new to the Marine, nor was cold, temperature was just a state of mind for him. He looked down in his coffee mug, and noticed it was almost empty. He was about to stand up when the LT approached.

"Room, Attention!" His spine went straighter than an arrow at mach 3, as he stared dead ahead, just over the LT's shoulder. He simply relaxed when she called for 'at ease', electing to remain standing for a second to hear her out before he went to refill his coffee mug.

"So, how's everyone doing this fine day?" MacDougall asked.

"Bout to have a problem ricky tick if I don't get this coffee refilled. If you'll excuse me, sir." He said, before walking off to refill the mug. Some people were 80% water, but Gauge was usually 80% caffeine and salt. While proper hydration was one of his tenants, nothing stopped him from sipping coffee in the mess, he'd worry about drinking water later. He grabbed another mug and filled it before turning back. "Afternoon," he said as he returned to the table. "Would you care for some coffee sir? I could find some sugar or cream if you'd like."

[Relikai]

Sergeant Mayu Hirate, Siren 3-5
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

If anything, she succeeded in being diminutive in the corner as more people filtered in. As small groups began to form, the time has come for her to make an appearance, the diver heading towards the food counter to receive her meal. Simple foods would do well for her, less sauce and lighter flavors. A light serving of iced tea would be her beverage, Mayu finding the small gathering of Siren 3 and making space to place her small self there.

"Hallo." She greeted with a bow to those who turned as she approached, greeting them with a smile as she found a spot at the table. "This is Siren Three, right? Siren Three-Four, Mayu, of the JSDF."

[Anowa]

Lieutenant Hannah "Mack" MacDougall // Siren 1-1
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

Mack nodded at all the replies and status updates, well, not quite status updates, but they might as well have been. Her platoon was to be a well oiled machine, and if a cog was seizing up or about to break, she'd be shit out of luck if she didn't know.

"Nice to see we're all do-"

Her reply was cut off by a Portuguese accented voice cutting over the intercom, Lieutenant Alvarez. The woman basically confirmed what everyone was expecting, but far from wanting.

"Siren platoon, report to Hangar 14B for immediate tasking, this is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill."

MacDougall called out rather loudly so everyone from the three separate tables could hear her. 'Alright everyone, get whatever kit you don't have on you and get to the Globemaster. If you aren't there in three minutes you're getting left behind!"

---

Operation: Muddy Dove
Phase I
Region: Southwest Bolivia

---

It took some finagling, but they managed to get Molot-1's Hip-C in the C-17 before they absolutely needed to be off the tarmac... about 17 hours ago. The F-15Es of Hangman had followed them all the way until Brazil before needing to refuel, while Golya, Molot-1 and Siren Platoon had set down in La Paz International.

The ear peice of every member of the Platoon started beeping for a moment cutting through the rotors of the Hip-C they sat in, letting each and every one know that their C3, Alvarez, was about to beam them in as much info as she could before they had to drop. With the wonderous invention of a little unit called a Cross-Comm, the transmission would be nearly flawless no matter where in the world they were so long as a transmitter was nearby, in this case, it was strapped to Charlie's back within his ruck. The Specialist would need to be within a klick and a half of anyone if they wanted their transmission to be even remotely legible in Djobouti, so the man had to stay alive, and with his ruck undamaged if they wanted a viable comms channel back to base.

That being said, Mack tuned in to Alvarez' transmission. <<Alright, Siren. Today's mission is about as simple as it's going to get. Roughly 18 hours ago, we received authorization to deploy to a small area in southwest Bolivia occupying the Carrasco National Park, near the Chomore River. Initial witnesses reported armed individuals speaking a non-local dialect and a number of armed vehicles, including a SCUD missile truck. You are tasked with moving into the site under cover of a tropical storm, eliminating any hostiles where required, and capturing POWs when the opportunity presents itself. If reports of the SCUD are to be confirmed, you are to prevent the missile from firing at all reasonable costs. If the missile is fired, Hangman Flight may be able to shoot it down before the point of no return, but do not rely on them. Rules of engagement are up to Lieutenant MacDougall to advise. Good luck team. Pardel, Out.>> as Mack sat there, the Cross-Comm uploaded a packet of photos and ssattellite images of the area of operations to her Q-Warrior II. She hummed at the info.

MacDougall digested the info for a moment before addressing the platoon. "Alright, we don't make a sound until we can confirm whether or not the SCUD is on site or not. I hear a gunshot before then a boot will have to be surgically removed from your intestinal tract. Suppressor or not, the sound will echo through the jungle. Anyone has a blade, now's the time to use it."

"Siren-1, we'll be moving in from the North, river to our west and cliffside to our east. Our job is to creep through the camp and eliminate any OPFOR we come across, quietly and undisturbed. No one can know we're here until we find the missile truck. We'll be moving downhill, so we'll have a slight height advantage for surveying. Siren-2, there's a clear cut cliffside to the east of the suspected campsite, use that as an overwatch point and keep a look out for enemy positions, patrols, the SCUD and any officer locations. Keep in mind they may be mingling together, so don't look for chevrons, look for behavior of the Grunts around certain troops. Siren-3 you'll be moving in from the south, it's uphill so use the trees and vines for concealment and cover if someone fucks up. Your job is to find the SCUD and secure it for search. We don't want to blow it up if there's one of the warheads in it. Everyone keep an eye out for patrols and any suspected escape routes the SCUD could take if it comes down to it. If anyone absolutely has to shoot, use the cover of the thunder to make the shot."

A feminine voice came from front door gun, Molot-1's crew chief, her hand flashed three digits, "Drop zone in thirty seconds!"

Mack concluded her end of the brief, "Sadly, there's no time for questions. Let's get in the game people."

The rear doors swung aside as ropes were pushed out, as those inside walked along and swung out into the humid, watery, raining and thundering shithole of tropical Bolivia, they entered the first of three as of yet realized phases to the operation.

As Macks' boots hit the voney muddy floor of the jungle, most of what she could hear was masked by the thndering of water on the canopy above her. "Alright people, we're a klick from the AO. Let's start hoofing it."

---

Ten minutes of high intensity jogging and about five more of waiting for everyone to get into position, and the operation was ready to go. on a hillside nestled between a cliff and a river, an encampment of foreign mercenaries and resident rebels made a stark contrast to the natural fauna around it.somewhere within was a missile truck, and in all likelihood a nuclear warhead.

"Siren 1-1 to all, Operation is a go. Out."

[Relikai]

Sergeant Mayu Hirate, Siren 3-5
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti
January 19th 2020 // 1235 Local Time

When the call came, or when the 'Button was pushed' as some militaries call it, Mayu was kicking away at at the floor to send herself up. The plates would have to take care of themselves as she grabbed a fruit, a banana to be exact for its potassium. It was a large base, but important facilities were grouped nearby for quick deployment. The armory was near the mess hall, so Mayu could reach out towards her combat vest, checking its contents with several precise pats and grabs while the base personnel took out her weapon and its accessories, zeroed in for her own comfort.

"Long rifle zero-nine-three." Mayu said, taking a few seconds to grab a pen provided and sign on the dotted line. Each weapon and their ammunition has to be accounted for, a responsible base would keep them signed and away from being misplaced or mishandled. Too many armies around the world had suicide incidents, be it with a rifle bullet to the head, a guard killing himself in the bathroom, or shooting one's superior out of psychological madness. Too many invariables with handling a firearm and live ammunition while walking around the base, Mayu pulling her equipment and checking six magazines of 7.62 rounds for her rifle. Legs pumping, the weapon was slung around her shoulder in a secure strap while her sidearm was checked and cleared.

No need to risk a negligent discharge. It was a chargeable offense in most professional armies.

Some were at the hangar by the time she arrived, her helmet on hand as she bunched her hair into a ponytail. The snap of the rubber band signaled good news, as her helmet took its place over her head as a quick communications check was done.

[Insaeldor]

First Sergeant Francsec Rusiñol
Siren 1-3
Bolivian Airspace

I never liked being cramped into an aircraft, maybe that's just a hold over from my time in mechanized infantry. I just always felt more at ease with the knowledge earth being just a little bit under me, not a few dozen meters. The trip to Bolivia was a nice departure from the hell of africa. I even got to switch over to my woodland M09 pixelado uniform. It was a rare pleasure given the nature of most of our assignments. I even snagged the matching boonie hat before the three minutes were up. I appkied a hydrophobic spray to the hat, my battledress was already made with a material that caused water to bead up so it did really need this kind of testament, but the hat was cotten and could use the added advantage. I also some paint, black, olive, dark green, and dark khaki and started to paint my face for the operation. I used the mirror to help craft a swirling and natural disruptive pattern. It took me a good twenty minutes but I got it done.

I listened intently to the mission briefing provided by Alvarez. I'd trained pretty extensively with a Pirineos in Jaca, but as far as practical combat for cliffside operations I was a little less experienced. The dusty highlands of Kurdistan and the isolated hills of Afghanistan were one for one comparable to this but I'm sure the same principles would apply. Careful footwork and awareness of the weight balance of your kit would get you a long way.

I held my MG4E in my lap, the strap slung around my body, the stock was folded to the side, and the cloth ammo bag, the machine guns proverbial escrot or nutsack as the Americans called it. The belt was fed through and the ammunition indicator was red signaling it was ready to fire. The bolt was back and the safety on. I had 100 rounds in the gun, and two more nutsack on me for a total of 300 rounds on hand, a total of nearly 9 pounds of ammo. The ammo bearer had a little more for me too.

I got my knife ready as Mack went over how we would handle the operation. It was an older air force survival kit knife, I liked it because I could use it for combat and if needed any survival situation I found myself in. I looped it to a ladder on my vest in an easy to reach spot. the crew chief gave us the 30 second mark and I was ready to get out of this thing and onto solid ground. I got up after putting on my gloves and grabbed a rope. I gripped right and used it sort of like a firemans pole. Falling at a controlled and steady speed. I landed on the soggy earth of the Bolivian jungle, a mass of mud and vegetarian. We had a klick to go before we had any headway on the mission. I started the march through the billy jungle beside Mack and kept pace with her. The rain fell like beads of lead, so much so that even the waster proofing on the uniform wasn't enough. The water poured off my hat and kept my face paint relatively dry, in so much that it wasn't washed away by the weather automatically. We hoofed it for awhile until Mack gave the all clear for the mission. I unfolded the buttstock of my gun and kept it ready, I knew however a lot of this would be use evading possible encounters, I had trust in our sniper squad to keep us safe, that said I followed Mack up the river. I let an eye out for any signs of a SCUD platform and followed. I was at a slight disadvantage give the stated RoE, after all my job was to use my firepower to suppress the enemy and allow for the fire team to maneuver itself. That meant I'd probably be stuck watching Mack and the others do what's needed until things really get rolling. But until then a stayed silent and followed orders.

[Hansdeltania]

1Lt (2Lt pro tempore) Jack "Samurai" Nguyen, 22d Special Tactics Squadron/131st Rescue Squadron, USAF (Siren 2-1)
2020-01-19/1234
Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

Jack sat at the end of Siren 2's table looking over the roster for his flight—squad, he had to remember—that he was expected to lead in combat, wearing his Airman Combat Uniform (basically the Army Combat Uniform in OCP with US Air Force tapes). A foam plate that had the remains of a cheap hamburger not unlike ones that he found in his elementary school, an empty bag of Lay's Classic chips, and a crushed carton of TruMoo chocolate milk lay on a plastic tray in front of him. His right hand held the roster while his left had the last cubic inch of his hamburger. He swallowed the last of his burger and began to examine his roster for the seventeenth time in three days.

Unlike the assault flight—squad, dammit!—Siren 1, the support unit was more diverse. Jack had two Germans and two Poles under his command, in addition to two Americans...and one North Korean. He took out a copy of the roster and a black Papermate Stick pen from his left breast pocket and began making notes on his.

"Let's see...'keep eye on Poles and Germans'," he wrote in neat cursive. "'WW2?'"

Regarding the North Korean, Jack noted, "N. Korean gov't may order nukes as 1st priority/may kill Quivers in order to get nukes to Pyongyang."

He continued looking down the roster. "God damn, the Dirk Bridges? We just might get those nukes after all," he whispered.

"Room, Tench HUT!" he heard. Immediately, Jack bolted out of his chair and into the position of attention. If his eyes shot lasers, they would have bored a hole through the wall. "At ease," soon followed. Immediately, Jack went into at ease. "How's everyone doing this fine day?"

"OUTSTANDING, MA'AM!" Jack sounded off. Three things from his CAP cadet days followed Jack into the Air Force: customs and courtesies, drill, and sounding off. He loved his sound off; when he was First Sergeant at a Nevada Wing one-week training course called Encampment, he made two cadets cry. Granted, they were 13-year-old female cadets and had only earned their first stripes and had joined barely four months earlier while he had been in for almost a year and a half. Jack looked over his shoulder and saw a German woman in a gray service dress uniform, almost like the Air Force's Class A service dress but with a gray jacket, dark gray pants, and bloused combat boots. Bloused combat boots with service dress were a sign of Parachute wings in the US Army and Air Force and therefore a sign of being an elite Soldier—or in Jack's case, Airman. He took a look at her shoulder straps in an effort to discern the German's ranks.

"Lieutenant, I don't know how they do it in das Deutsches Heer, but we don't salute in doors unless you're under arms, and certainly not when you're called to attention," Jack notified her. "And why the hell are you wearing service dress? I'm pretty sure Flecktarn would be the better choice in combat, wouldn't it?"

But before the German Lieutenant could speak, the call came out. Jack made his introduction as fast as possible. "I'm Lieutenant Jack Nguyen, US Air Force. I'm your squad leader for the duration that either of us are with Quiver.

"Grab your cammies, equipment, and a suitcase. You can change while aboard the aircraft." Jack made sure that the Lieutenant understood what he was saying before he left the DFAC with his gear and double-timed to his CHU, ditched his beret, and grabbed his bump helmet.

With another Nguyen manning the radios, Jack could bring more medical gear with him in case somebody went down. He did a quick check on his gear in his barracks before double-timing to the flightline and towards the Hungarian Air Force C-17. There were a few other C-17s, but unlike the USAF ones there, the Hungarian C-17 did not have a giant US flag on it, but rather a green-white-red arrow on its tail, and a blue stripe that read "Pápa" on it. Jack put his foot on the rear ramp and watched for the remaining members of Siren 2 to come. He glanced down at his watch. At that rate, some operators were going to get left behind.

"Hurry up!" he yelled. "We got places to be!"

[Revlona]

Sergeant Robert Strong// Siren 1-7
Bolivia
Robert looked over at the Spanish Autorifleman, First Sergeant Rusinol, sitting himself beside him in the Helo he looked over and was about to say something when he was interrupted by the Briefing.

Listening to the briefing he absorbed it all as he was so good at doing, he had no questions, even though it wouldn't have mattered if he did.

Sliding down the rope like a firepole right after Rusinol he got his feet under him and got out of the way of the next person.

His SGS Olive drab tactical assault pack was weighing him down more than his regular camelbak, though he it didn´t really bother him as he had heavier bags on his back during basic training.

Walking over to Rusinol he took a knee beside him and said, ¨Guess we´re battle buddies now, Lets make a deal, If i die in this shithole, tell my friends I died Rambo style, I will do the same for you.¨ Cracking a smile as he said this.

[Arengin Union]

Lieutenant Yuri Markov // Siren 3-1, Squad Commander
Bolivia.

As if time had flied away, Yuri found himself inside a helicopter of familiar design, flying up above a tropical storm in Bolivian airspace. His team sitting in rows besides him. During the quick mission recap by command Yuri could only think about things that could go wrong, even for such an easy task the stakes were pretty high. MacDougall then spoke right after command cut off, her voice sounding on his earpiece

"Siren-3 you'll be moving in from the south, it's uphill so use the trees and vines for concealment and cover if someone fucks up. Your job is to find the SCUD and secure it for search. We don't want to blow it up if there's one of the warheads in it. Everyone keep an eye out for patrols and any suspected escape routes the SCUD could take if it comes down to it. If anyone absolutely has to shoot, use the cover of the thunder to make the shot."

Yuri heard the orders clearly. As the doors opened, and the ropes swung down Yuri kept thinking about his squad leadership role, he was in charge of these men and women. He had to make sure they all did a good job. Siren 1 went down, then operator by operator each went down the rope. Yuri was the first of the Siren 3 team to go down, his visor being immediately hit by the rain from the storm. He went down smoothly, followed by another operator. His boots hit the muddy terrain of the Latin American jungle and immediately Yuri raised his silenced AK-12 to make sure the perimeter was safe.

Each of his teammates went down soon after. Yuri waited for them and the rest. He activated his night vision as he looked through his holographic sights of the rifle and hold tight to the vertical grip.

"Siren 3, we need to move up with the rest of the team. Over." Yuri spoke over the comms.

[Segral]

Hinata Yamamoto/Siren 3-2

Hinata had been quietly sitting with the fellow members of his platoon, gorging on the disgusting American food. Burger, with salad and chocolate milk. Ugh...pitiful. He would never understand as to why Americans prided themselves on this disgusting, greasy, mess of food. It was a waste.

That's when he got the call to go to the hangars.

He had leaped to his feet with cat-like reflexes, and dashed as fast as he could to the hangars. His days on the track team in high school paid off! In the armory, he picked up his battle rifle and pistol, got his gear on as quick as possible, and strapped his grenade launcher to his back. He then arrived at the hangars, one of the first people there, while he awaited instructions...

The aircraft ride was...uncomfortable, to say the least. It always was, trapped with sweaty men and women in a cramped cabin. But then again, nobody went into the military because it was comfortable. "Drop zone in thirty seconds" resonated over the loudspeakers, Mack finished speaking, and it was go-go time. He waited for Siren 1 and 2 to drop, and waited for Yuri to drop as well. He was second to swing.

Hinata swung outside the rear doors on his rope, his fingers latching onto it for dear life, literally. This is where the training for SASUKE helped, as it worked his grip and upper-body strength. He dropped into the humid Bolivian jungle, and was immediately disoriented, sweating like a tired cow. It was wet and hot, not as bad as dry and hot, but still a stuffy and sweaty affair. Yuri spoke over his earpiece, and he responded with "Siren 3-2, I'm moving up. Will regroup. Over."

He started to move north, alternating between sprints and jogs until Yuri came in sight. The storms were pelting down, limiting visibility, but he found his way over, wearily trudging to a rest, and waited for the rest to come.