Unit 50 "Task Force Atlas" (Alitheia Only|Barracks IC)

[Anowa]

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_{Brigadier General Isaak Eisenhauer
Commander Ingrid Grimsdottir
Unit Officers
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
Anowa}

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_{03/12/2019 - 6:12 AM AST}

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The duo walking down the hall drew a few looks, more than an equal amount of salutes, promptly returned in kind. One of them stood nearly six and a half feet tall, greying hair, just as many scars as wrinkles on his face, and a demeanour that called for a measure of respect. The other was a half foot taller, red haired, equally as scarred, built like someone turned an IFV into flesh, and with a motherly air about her.

The shorter of the two spoke, "Commander, are you sure about-"

"Yes, General. I am." came the response.

What came next was simply a sigh, Eisenhauer shook his head. It was one thing to shove a bunch of multinationals together... but when one of them just so happened to have shot an officer less than a decade ago it was, well concerning. "Listen, Ingrid, heart to heart. I don't feel like getting fucking shot. I know you'd probably just backhand him into a wall before he got a shot off-"

"I can't dodge bullets Isaak."

"-But the rest of us are mortal. I feel like you kinda jumped the shark here. Not just with him but with Hefetz as well."

Ingrid looked down at the man, "Hefetz passed SPECTRS training with one eye, no legs, and fucked up hands. He's not a bad choice."

The general paused, his hand forming into a blade for a moment before he relaxed, "Ingrid, the man walks around on two chunks of curved metal and carbon fiber. You know that shit doesn't break, it shatters and they cost a stupid fucking amount."

"And we have funding. Would you rather him get shot in the leg and bleed out or get a replacement in a week?" with that Ingrid continued walking. Eisenhauer simply huffed in response, catching up soon enough.

After a few dozen more meters the duo entered a rather cramped room. One window was open, exposing a hole filled screen keeping exactly zero bugs out, and enough of the sunrise to leave a blind man squinting. The operators of the unit had already assembled for their first, well, 'briefing'. And the duo could tell.

Everyone had gotten here about 12 hours ago... or so. They'd already been given the chance to settle in, shove their stuff into a footlocker, get their bearings of where it was the shitters were, and so on. Kubati was quite literally a hot mess, if the heat didn't kill you, the wildlife would, and if the wildlife didn't the malaria would. It just chained all the way down, until you left the province. It was an ungodly 34 degrees Celsius, and had a humidity of 86 percent. If you walked outside you would be smacked in the face with a wave of heat so hard you might actually get knocked the fuck out. Despite the heat, Kubati was a nice plot of land... if you ignored the UXOs.

So the heat in the room with all those people assembled meant that not only was it stupidly fucking warm, but it also smelled. Eisenhauer's eyebrows raised as he walked over to the window. "Sorry folks, projector only works in the dark." he sealed the window before closing the shutters. At the back of the room, Ingrid clicked the light off.

Eisenhauer started, "Right so. Introductions. I'm Brigadier General Isaak Eisenhauer. Unit commander and Liaison to the UN, which is quite graciously aiding us in this endeavour." he clicked the projector on, letting it hum to life as he continued, "You've likely seen the beast at the back there by now, that's Commander Grimsdottir, I suppose you could call her the unit's XO, but we aren't too formal with rank. We're all professionals, we all have viable experiences and I swear to god if one more boot fucking officer bitches at me about a breach of protocol someone's gonna die. I know a few of you can relate." he pointed to another man sitting in the back row who promptly stood, "That's the units Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Elijah Borfitz. Anything from a stubbed toe to a pregnancy scare you go to him. You'll get to know him later as you will have to go through a physical before we get into the thick of things."

The man picked up a clicker from the projector. "Right so, I'm sure you've all heard the tale by now, short story shorter, bad dudes are doing bad dude things. They call themselves Dolus, somewhat narcissistically that's the pagan god of trickery. They've got some WMDs from old mothballed black sites we Anowans foolishly forgot to actually dismantle... Whoops." A click revealed the image of a rather rudimentary warhead. "Normally these are variably yield up to 500 kilotons but we aren't sure if they've been amped up any further. So obviously the worry makes sense."

Another click, showing a myriad of photos ranging from maps to buildings, "That is our primary objective, get those nukes back and do what we can to dismantle these sociopaths and their quest for terror. That being said, intel does take time to rack up or otherwise become actionable, so the various governments of the world will sometimes just give us small time jobs to do. It'll help drum up support and build international ties, so it's not exactly a bad idea."

Another click revealed a deck of cards, though an aged one, and with names more akin to an Argaritan soap opera than anything. "We also have a liost of potential HVTs, the few of you with interrogative experiences will be given a crack at them when they come in, some of them willing, others less so. Enhanced interrogation methods will be given if the situation needs it. Don't go breaking Bobby the Snitch's nose because he doesn't know what color Sagittarius A is."

Another click and the screen turned blank. The light would flick back on and the General would continue, clapping his hands together, "So, questions?"

[Saradena]

Without a moment to lose, Ilyushin raises his hand seconds after the Anowans began asking for any inquiries.

"I have two, sir." He says after raising his hand. "First off is if they have any gun-toting mooks on their payroll. And if so, what's their strength and quality? Are they Azen militia-tier or are they those guys that can fight and field strip a G36 in less than 90 seconds flat? Do they have vehicles with them and of what build?"

Second is to the nature and status the WMD if we have to bring in our CBRN suits when we retrieve the thing since I assume no one would risk getting cancer during handling."

Within the next second following his question, 'Blanca' also raises her hand. "As for the HVTs in question. Do we have names and profiles of each of them? At least so we know how much....'pressure'.." She makes a quotation gesture as she says it "..is applicable for them to at least give out even a single syllable out of them."

[Anowa]

"I have two, sir. First off is if they have any gun-toting mooks on their payroll. And if so, what's their strength and quality? Are they Azen militia-tier or are they those guys that can fight and field strip a G36 in less than 90 seconds flat? Do they have vehicles with them and of what build?"

"Second is to the nature and status the WMD if we have to bring in our CBRN suits when we retrieve the thing since I assume no one would risk getting cancer during handling."

The general nodded, "Yes and Yes. If the first yes is leaving you confused, Dolus has both, either under direct association or simply by cicumstance. Most notably is a former Anowan Black Ops unit known as the Hounds of Tindalos. They went AWOL back in '04, the whole fucking company. They're not so much the 'field strip a G36 in 90 seconds' type and more 'kill you from two klicks out' type of people. It's likely the remnants of the innies we spent 30 years beating the snot out of have also consolidated with them in some form. We can't give exact numbers at the moment, simply because we don't know. " a pause. "Also, Ingrid how fast can you field strip a '68?"

A whistle, the woman in the back answering after a second. "Best I did was in '96. Managed about two minutes."

Eisenhauer continued, "And that's why using field stripping records as a benchmark for combat skill is a bad idea. As for the second yes... Well it's a fucking class of warhead they may have tampered with, it's a borderline stupid question."

Within the next second following his question, 'Blanca' also raises her hand. "As for the HVTs in question. Do we have names and profiles of each of them? At least so we know how much....'pressure'.." She makes a quotation gesture as she says it "..is applicable for them to at least give out even a single syllable out of them."

The general shrugged, "We'll let you know beforehand, or if they prove uncooperative. Keep in mind some of the people we bring in won't be military or may simply be guilty by association. We don't want to break a 90 year old's spine just because her grandson was peddling guns. UN wants answers, not court settlements."

"Anyone else?"

[Empire of Donner land]

Bull Team, Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati

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03/12/2019 - 6:12 AM AST

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As the briefing went on, Bull Team practically melted in their seat as the General explained their mission. They were wearing fewer layers than they probably ever were when living in Donner Land, with the exception of Caduce, who was used to humid and dry warm climates from his service in Sishai and Ophir. All of them were wearing tank tops or short-sleeved shirts of some kind, all of them wearing jeans or cargo pants of their own choice. Caduce in his wisdom from actually having experience fighting outside somewhere that was warmer than fifteen degrees celsius wore shorts.

"That's the units Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Elijah Borfitz. Anything from a stubbed toe to a pregnancy scare you go to him. You'll get to know him later as you will have to go through a physical before we get into the thick of things," the General spoke, introducing the CMO, Si'ke's eyes lit up in confusion.

"Did he just say pregnancy scare?" Si'ke whispered, leaning towards Caduce and Artur.

"It's a joke Si'ke, even if it isn't... well, just deal with it, they're foreigners" Artur replied blankly with his arms crossed, waving Si'ke off across from Caduce. Caduce simply stifled a laugh between the two.

"So, questions?" the General asked. An Esgonian man in front of them raised theirs and asked a question about what kind of resistance they would expect and field stripping G36s, then about the WMDs themselves, this caused Caduce's brain to jog a bit.

"So... if we're messin' with a Nuke threat here... why in the hell didn't the MC and CC¹ send a NEST Team instead o' us?" Caduce whispered in Donnish a question to Artur.

"Probably already have enough Nuclear Technicians and Specialists here to form a Battalion, besides we were prolly' the only ones ready to be deployed somewhere," Artur whispered in Common, replying to Caduce.

"You were in the Mafia, Artur, ever see a Warhead in person?" Lans asked jokingly, leaning back in his seat.

"Only explosives I've ever seen then were firecrackers in comparison to five hundred kilotons of TNT, Yakuza and my 'Family' didn't deal in WMDs anyway," Artur responded, with implied vocal quotes around the word "Family".

A woman in the front raised her hand, another Esgonian. "As for the HVTs in question. Do we have names and profiles of each of them? At least so we know how much....'pressure'.." she made quotes with her hands "..is applicable for them to at least give out even a single syllable out of them."

"Heyyy, she doesn't look too bad," Lans whispered in Donnish.

"She's talking about torturing people, Lans," Si'ke whispered, exasperated at Lans.

"Yeah, and?-"

"And she's out of your league" Si'ke interrupted.

"Should call you Doctor Strangelove," Caduce joked. Si'ke could only manage to look dumbfounded at Caduce. Just as Caduce had said this, the General had asked for more questions, Artur shushed the Team so he could speak.

"Sir, what's the status on the legality of some of our operations? Not everyone is going to just let us operate in their sovereign territory and drop a few bodies. Secondly, what's the stance on un-armed Combatant or Civilian casualties, or damage to Civilian or State property?"

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1: Civilian Council and Military Council

[Vacif]

3rd Element
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
03/12/2019 - 6:12 AM AST

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Tasei sat in their seats quite comfortable in the heat, preferring it much more to the bitter cold that they'd seen so much action in in the past few months. It felt good being able to sweat without fear of freezing again. The team felt somewhat bad for their northern allies as they were clearly inacclimated to the heat and humidity, however they were professionals that could bear the heat. Of course Tasei 1 hoped they could take the heat of their missions better than the actual weather.

War came in a lot of different forms, and thus could be fought in a lot of different ways. Direct action and interrogations were just one way of fighting such a war. Economical, political, social. If an entire company of Anowan SOF had gone rogue, they probably brought a lot more than just them. They probably brought friends from the army with them. You don't just disappear without help, without cash. He knew he probably wasn't going to get access to those files, but knowing who they were fighting and where they'd operated would give them insight on where to look. "Sir, could we potentially get access to basic profiles of these 'Hounds of Tindalos'? Knowing just how capable our opponents are and where they've been would greatly help us understand how our opponents would operate or where they'd flea. They couldn't have just disappeared without leaving some kind of train without help." requested Tasei lead.

"An entire company of Black Ops... so not just the door kickers, but the support staff, medical, command, and communications too?" inquired the Tasei medic.

[Anowa]

"Sir, what's the status on the legality of some of our operations? Not everyone is going to just let us operate in their sovereign territory and drop a few bodies. Secondly, what's the stance on un-armed Combatant or Civilian casualties, or damage to Civilian or State property?"

A shrug, "Public safety trumps all else. If we need to start a firefight in Antarctica, we're gonna be doing just that. If we have to go somewhere someone doesn't want us, we'll just be discreet about it."

"Sir, could we potentially get access to basic profiles of these 'Hounds of Tindalos'? Knowing just how capable our opponents are and where they've been would greatly help us understand how our opponents would operate or where they'd flea. They couldn't have just disappeared without leaving some kind of train without help." requested Tasei lead.

"An entire company of Black Ops... so not just the door kickers, but the support staff, medical, command, and communications too?" inquired the Tasei medic.

Eisenhauer continued, "Their official designation was 'Clandestine Operations Task Force 45.' They were the progenitors to the modern MIAHS and their SAD-SOG Headhunters. Which I'm sure you know have a reputation of their own... You folks from the GRCS most likely. They're just as if not more varied in knopwledge and skill than the individuals in this room are. But we don't know if there's been atrophy over the years or if age has caught up with them."

"One day a whole company disappeared with families, logistics, materiel and staff records. At the time, due to the unit's nature, everyone thought this was the regular routine and that they'd check in some moneht slater with an update. Except they didn't, months turned to years, and it only clicked that they'd fucked off when they put a bomb in our King's car in 2015."

Ingrid chuckled a bit, "One thing you should know about the Hounds of Tindalos is where their name comes from. A creature in Nordic mythology known as the Hounds of Tindalos. Beasts that reside in Hel and come to hunt the souls of those who attract their attention. Those who attract said attention are killed, drained of all life and there is no trace. It is said that during Ragnarok not even the All Father, sitting on the unrelenting Sliepnir will be able to escape them."

Eisenhauer spoke again, "And that's what we know in it's entirety. No known amount of active combat personnel, no known training regime, just eye witness accounts and educated guesses."

[Nornsmark]

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Nornsmarker SRS Contingent - WmG. Ragnar Krossenov, WmA. Sigrun Wald

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Kubati was exactly the kind of hell Sigrun Wald envisioned it to be. Hot, humid, and chock full with seemingly unending hordes of bloodsucking monstrosities called “mosquitoes” that inhabited the southern world.

Sigrun scanned the room. Occasionally, her hand would lazily arc across the air, futilely attempting to fend off the multitude of airborne abominations.

“Remind me again who we pissed off, Old Man?” She muttered in her harsh Neunnornspaeken to her comrade and commander, Ragnar Krossenov. They made an odd pair, the older man with a salt-and-pepper goatee and a face of scars, and the short, stout woman with a faded brown hair in a sloppily-done short braid.

“That would’ve been Brigatier Arnes, Sigrun,” He stated bluntly, as he hastily scrawled notes on the briefing. “These Hounds of Tindalos fellows sound a mite nasty. Do you think it’s too late to request a Hautëklir-III from Brigat HQ?”

“Probably, that bus was wheels up the second we got off the ramp,”

“Scheiβe,” Ragnar cursed, lifting his beret and wiping some of the sweat off his brow and scalp. While he didn’t mind the temperature as much as his companion, he’d still need time to adjust from the frosty climate of the Highlands to… this hellscape.

“I think we’ll be fine. I mean, we’re facing what, a company of former black-ops guys with a name some thirteen year though up because it sounded cool and a bunch of ragtag freedom fighters?”

“Ja, don’t make it sound too easy now,” With that, Krossenov raised his hand for a beat before asking his own question, in heavily accented Trade, “What kind of support assets can we be expecting, if any?”

[Anowa]

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_{Brigadier General Isaak Eisenhauer
Commander Ingrid Grimsdottir
Unit Officers
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
Anowa}

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_{03/12/2019 - 6:17 AM AST}

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“I think we’ll be fine. I mean, we’re facing what, a company of former black-ops guys with a name some thirteen year though up because it sounded cool and a bunch of ragtag freedom fighters?”

“Ja, don’t make it sound too easy now,” With that, Krossenov raised his hand for a beat before asking his own question, in heavily accented Trade, “What kind of support assets can we be expecting, if any?”

A man leaned in from behind, until his head was position between the two, eye patch over his left eye, and a myriad of scars dotting his face and neck, "A reminder that those freedom fighters are Anowans between the ages of 18 and 34. A reminder that every Anowan above the age of 16 knows how to field strip a rifle that fires a bullet half the size of your finger. And regardless, all it takes is a lucky shot to blow out your legs, leave you missing three feet of guts, or lose an eye."

The general, somewhat oblivious to the words of the Jewish man, answered the question, "Whatever the locals can scrounge up or whatever a nation offers in support. Granted we probably won't take anything other than aircraft or the odd AFV. But in some cases naval deployments will be a thing."

A look around the room for a few moments, silence, "Alright if there are no more questions, I think we're good to go. Mess hall is kosher, as such it's halal as well, so the Ophirics don't need to worry about finding a cow in the wild to avoid heresy. We do serve some measure of what you guys would call alcohol, but it's below 10% so we don't call it that. Think right now they're serving lamb souvlaki and, I dunno what else to be honest I think salad. They've got AC down there too." With that he leaned against the table holding the projector, "Well I think that's about.... What?"

He had spotted Ingrid giving a wry smile at the back, "Forgetting something?"

It took the man a moment, before he sighed, "Aw fuck..." a pause as he rubbed his head, "I'm gonna get my ass chewed out for not so." he clicked the copntroller he held and the slide changed, as Ingrid once again turned the light off. The slide read in bold black letters:

'CULTURAL SENSITIVITY SEMINAR'

"Right, so I know you're all adults, but this has to be done apparently. There's a lot of different ethnicities and cultures in the room, so lets' get started..."

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_{Brigadier General Isaak Eisenhauer
Commander Ingrid Grimsdottir
Unit Officers
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
Anowa}

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_{03/12/2019 - 11:21 AM AST}

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"And so, we finish that crock of fucking insanity." The lights turned on, "You're dismissed, now get out of here before Grim finds another excuse to torture us."

As the individuals moved, Grimsdottir gave a rather softhearted laugh.

[The United Remnants of America]

Marshal Abbas Merzhad

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Tsavo AFB, Kubati

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3/12/2019 - 12:15

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Task Force 14 was known as Stag Team, for some reason. Abbas never really understood the rhyme or reason to the randomly-generated operation names. Abbas was of the mind that the best operational security was just not applying names to things. A name meant you could associate information. If there's no name, then it didn't exist, at least as far as organizational associations went. But Task Force 14 existed, and so did Unit 50.

Abbas wasn't sure why he was here. Unit 50, according to everything he could see, was an international military task force organized by Anowa with the assistance of the Remnant and Vacifan governments. On top of them, the Esgonians, Donnish, Ophiri, Arkanans, and Nornsmarkers all seemed to be here. Abbas decided they were probably just the primary units and that there'd be additions as word of Unit 50 got around, or as attrition rates increased and half the people he'd seen at that briefing an hour ago were slaughtered due to the mismanagement of the armchair generals. Whichever came first.

Task Force 14 was a wonderful idea hatched by the Remnant Operational Command of the Remnant Military. Since the URA was the central power of the GRCS, their military took precedence over the other nations. Remnant Operational Command was the URA's special forces joint command. They'd had the idea to make a hybrid unit, rather than just drafting a team of Sentinels of Vanguard. Most of Task Force 14 was Remnant, but the URA had been able to request temporary transfers from other GRCS nations to fill out TF14 for their attachment to Unit 50.

The team leader of TF14 was some fucking monster of a lab rat. She went by Deidre. She was very nice and upbeat, almost suspiciously so for whatever she was supposed to be, some kind of super soldier? All Abbas knew was she freaked him out. And he was angry that somehow he wasn't previously aware of the existence of whatever program created these freaks. She bothered him. And that was before he'd met the Anowan version of Deidre: Grimsdottir. Did everyone have some sort of massive fucking superhuman being in their military? The rest of TF14 seemed unphased, taking her presence at face-value as a military asset. Well, everyone didn't seem bothered except for Kaminski.

Everett Kaminski was a smug cop. He was credited with basically rebuilding the law enforcement of the entire GRCS single-handedly. That didn't make him any less of an asshole. The worst part was Abbas decided he liked the guy's outlook on life and his perspective, but Kaminski was such an insufferable prick, Abbas would probably just punch him out for some unnecessary comment. It didn't help that this was already the second operation he'd been paired up with Kaminski on. The first was that shit show nobody liked to talk about: Operation Eclipse. Abbas personally blamed the Vanquarians for that one.

The remaining three members of the team were all special forces. One of them was a Sentinel who'd apparently been a part of some covered-up war crimes. Meanwhile the Modenian was present in the Siege of Erong. That made them both dangerous. The Nongean was some vanilla place-holder as far as Abbas was concerned.

As for the other teams: The Anowans were fucking crazy, as was usual. The Vacifans were probably just as reliable and dependable as the soldiers in his own unit. The Esgonians, Donnish, and Arkanans were probably some variant of moderately competent crayon-chewers. The Nornsmarkers and Ophiri were entirely expendable resources.

Abbas still for the life of him couldn't figure out why he was here. He was a burned-out spy. His deep cover mission had been initiated when Newron Voy went on his power kick, and it had ended when he bit the dust. Since then, he was still a Marshal, but since he couldn't really go back into deep cover in Donner Land, he was basically passed around like the village whore to whatever operation he could be thrown at. Abbas wondered if they were actually trying to get him killed, a possibility, seeing as the Marshals' whole perspective was built to who was and was not a replaceable resource, and since Merzhad's status as a Donnish deep cover agent were over, he was definitely replaceable.

Abbas walked down the hallway alone, his face placid, a blank slate. His eyes scanned the hallway, drinking in the smallest details as his mind whirled with judgements, assumptions, and estimations of his current mission and his current compatriots.

His current conclusion: These fucking idiots were going to get him killed.

[Vanquaria]

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Schein Manstein
Tsavo Air Base, Kubati
3 December 2019

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Where there were whole squads of foreigners gathered within the briefing room, there was only 2 representing the Alpha Force. Manstein was one of them, his subordinate, Sergeant Fowler, the other.

The pair of them were seated in an isolated position of the room, not attracting any attention to themselves as they did their jobs of listening to what the Anowans had to say. Manstein kept eyes forward the whole time though he occasionally glanced to his side, glimpsing the near incomprehensible scribbles Fowler was making on his notepad.

He had taken in the information and processed it. It was basically a situation of 'I fucked up, you're going help me clean it up.' The Vanquarian officer couldn't really complain about that, to be honest. His military fucked up so often he could have a working conversation with janitors about cleaning up after people.

Manstein closed his eyes and began to lull himself to sleep when it was time for the seminar about being gay. The Vanquarian commander didn't have any subjective thoughts about his would-be teammates in the task force. He was a professional, he'd do his job and they'd do, or at least try to, their jobs. But, he could not help himself to one comment inside his head.

Esgonian Babies.

[Ophiri Coalition]

UNIS Project Anubis Team 3 "Cerberus Squad'
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati

"So, questions?"

Fahrid 'Clown' al-Hemar had many, and, like usual, they were irrelevant to the operation. There were alot of sketchy, iffy...plain weird characters involved in this unit, notably the 7 foot tall 'woman' in the front. That was the shit the irked him. Despite not being religious there was something he found morally straining with this type of thing. As much of a dumbass as he was he was courteous enough not to speak about this, and if he did he would be meant with an always stern gaze from the CO, and quite possibly some words in the confines of privacy. Speaking of the commander, Omar Ansewhali was puzzled, and a touch bit angered, by the brevity of the briefing. Ansewhali was all for following orders however when there was a matter concerning w-fucking-mds he wished there was more to it. Ansewhali was the interrogator of the team and would likely be given a shot against the aforementioned high value targets.

"Do we know anything about their armory? Armored vehicles, non-nuclear explosives...etc?" Hamisi inquired, however by the way the Anowans had answered before, he knew he wouldnt get a direct answer. Hamisi was curious and wanted to know whatever he could before he was dispatched on an operation. Saira Hocquard, code-named Owl, shared that mindset. Even though 95% of the missions Cerberus was sent on ended differently than the plans had suggested, there was far from any harm in creating a good plan. Preemptive knowledge was sometimes the difference between life or death in an operation, but what wasn't?

[Empire of Donner land]

Bull Team, Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati

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Aureleahs "Artur" Horsahgher

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03/12/2019 - 12:30 AST

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Pops and bangs echoed down the indoor firing range, brass rained, creating barely audible tinkling sounds as they impacted the concrete ground, arriving from their trip starting in the barrel of the gun, flying out, ricocheting off the firing post divider and eventually to the ground, the reverb of the gunfire from the firing range was subtle. The three seven-six-two rifles dominated over the one five-seven cartridge they had in the team but it was no less lethal or present.

Artur squeezed the trigger, one at a time, counting the shots from the MVAR-19, from one to finally thirty-one. Artur set the gun to safety, pointed it up, removed the rearward magazine and placed it on the table in front of him, then the gun. He looked down, then kicked the brass into a neat pile. The MVAR-19 was a DMR conversion of the Donnish "Vertaultes Assault Rifle", a bullpup rifle which, with the variant he had anyway, featured an extended and heavier barrel. The VAR-19 system was only around a year or two old by now and had been exported to the Valaran Military along with a large shipment of UH-1 Helicopters they've had stowed for some time for completely no charge. Compared to the VAR-19, a number of improvements were featured, including predominantly better performance in hotter environments.

Bull Team had taken their leave from the orientation to the firing range when they could. Due to Donner Land being one of the leading nations for Unit-50, they had arrived first and managed to sign in the time for it before anyone else as well as pack their lockers, a just bonus for them considering the weather of the local area. Artur's first impressions of the facility were fine, even if the "cultural sensitivity seminar" lasted a lot longer than he had predicted. Five slides of "don't say this, don't do this, etcetera" would have been sufficient, but he had to give them props for being thorough at the very least on the intricacies of everyone's culture.

This wasn't the disorganized mess he was expecting, he thought whilst checking the rest of his team, who themselves were clearing their guns and cleaning up. Caduce had taken out his earplugs to speak, "When do you guys think we'll be off? We haven't been deployed in about... hell I don't know, a year? I think," he spoke, with some subtle impatience coming from his voice.

Si'ke replied with a light elbow to Caduce's rib. "You'd think someone would be less excited about trying to find nuclear weapons, not us I suppose, I don't believe I've ever observed a survival instinct in any of you." he retorted smugly.

"Well, what the hell are we gonna do here? Sit on our asses and let the Anowans or those G.R.C.S Goons take all the glory, Eh?" Lans rebutted, crossing his arms, looking at Artur for support, Artur only shrugged.

"Do our job, we aren't going on the front page of a newspaper anytime soon, the C.I.B would rather we not. There is no glory, as far as I care," Artur replied his stance coldly, Lans frowned a bit and rolled his eyes. "But..." Artur continued, "Don't mean we can't make the other teams look bad," he finished, punching Lans in the shoulder playfully. "Just don't go messin' around with that Blanca Chick, or for that matter, any Chick, Lans."

With that, Bull Team had collected their gear and left. Artur had some time to think about who they were working with. The Vacificans were alright, for Commies anyway. He couldn't say he had any experience with the Nornsmark Military, but they seemed professional enough. The same went for most teams they were working with, he couldn't complain, except about the Vanquarians and the GRCS Team. Out of those two, he was more concerned about the GRCS Team. Primarily, he was concerned that he couldn't predict them, what little experience he had with their intelligence agents and special forces was from briefings or rumors. Specifically the Zhanguan Flashpoint among other events and unsubstantiated rumors and conspiracy theories that GRCS Agents has assisted in recovering Vanzen Keenes, who then became President after the 2nd Helsan War.

Caduce had something to say about that last part, but he left that to himself for the most part.

[Vacif]

Vice Warrant Officer Sayar Tun Hla Htet
Stalker Special Observations Group - 3rd Element
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
03/12/2019 - 11:25 AM AST

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Tun was quick to leave the briefing room after everything was said and done. He was accustomed to the heat and all, but he didn't know anyone who enjoyed being in small, stuffy rooms with over three dozen people. The air circulation in that room was shit. He breathed a large sigh of relief as his skin felt the crisp respite of the air conditioned hallway. He yawned loudly as he stretched his arms and back. He appreciated other cultures and respected their boundaries but several hours of just that in the conditions they were in made his head spin, probably from the heat. He was pretty sure at least one of the other soldiers from the north had passed out from the heat.

He needed something to clear his head, a movie, maybe. Or a game. But he also needed something to drink. He'd get a drink first, some water would do. So, in search of a drink to quench his thirst, he began going up and down halls in search of a bending machine. It was a good few minutes of vigorous searching, and he almost thought they didn't exist on base had it not been for the fact that he'd sworn he'd seen one the other night, he found one. The black metal box had several racks of chilled beverages on display, from fruit juices, to energy drinks, instant coffee and of course, water. The Vice Warrant officer grinned as he fished into his pockets for his meal card. He hastily inserted the piece of plastic into the reader as he punched in A4 to grab the 1L bottle of chilled water, allegedly from some mountain in the north. It looked Donnish, but he wasn't too sure. For all the strange symbols they used at home, he still had trouble deciphering the symbols and runes used in Helsan script.

After taking his card back, he made for the rec room. With his basic need for water fulfilled, he needed some entertainment. He was after all still a person. He undid the plastic twist top and took a large swig from the bottle. He felt better immediately as he closed the bottle. There in the recreation room were a number of well... recreational activities. A flat screen with some kind of console hooked up, a Foosball table, billiards table, darts, chess board, and some other... stuff he wasn't too acquainted with. Though there was a friendly face in the room. Abbas Merzhad, from TF-14. He wasn't too acquainted with the man, they'd met less than a 18 hours ago but he felt like they could at least hold a conversation and relax a bit. All through the briefing he had this... air about him like something was wrong, or he was dreading something. Even to this point in time, he still maintained it, even as he leaned back on a couch.

So Tun plopped himself beside the man on the couch. The TV was on in front of them, but he was pretty sure it was just background noise. Abbas didn't appear to be paying attention to it, either lost in his own thoughts, or completely disconnected from the rest of the room in the neutral part of the mind where you go when you're just killing time. That was his assessment at least. Regardless it didn't matter now since he was here. Sitting down beside him seemed to have stirred him from his musing. "Pya¹ for your thoughts?"

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1 - A pya is roughly the Vacifan equivalent of a penny, or a cent.

[Anowa]

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_{Commander Ingrid "Astarte" Grimsdottir
Staff Sergeant Eshkol "Sampson" Hefetz
Sergeant Major Bodaway "Wihio"
Unit XO
SAW Gunner/Marksman
Grenadier
Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati
Anowa}

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_{03/12/2019 - 12:31 AST}

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Tsavo Air Force Base had humble beginnings as a simple airstrip created in the 20s so the various explorers in the jungle could have supplies flown in from Port Heliostadt. Though during the Second World War, it was essentially hijacked from the civilian government and never actually returned. Though at this point, it didn't matter, as it now had a town crop up around it from the families of the soldiers stationed there or from people moving here for the security.

The base was Anowa's command center for what amounted to the whole of their southern hemisphere, as such it was far from small in nearly every degree. Three ranges, two of them indoor, one of them outdoor and stretching for nearly 2 kilometers. Air Force Base was more of a formal title than an actual one, seeing as the only branch absent was the Navy. But it was founded as an Air Force Base, and had airstrips, so the name stuck.

Among those stationed here, there was nearly a whole platoon of SPECTRS, but none besides those assigned to Unit-50 were commandos. One man once said 'Those who volunteer for ungentlemanly warfare are sadistic to a frightening degree'. That man was far from incorrect, no matter where you were the men and women who joined the ranks of the elite had one thing in common: an ungodly drive to prove that 'the suck' wasn't that bad. Whether they meant to or not. While all SPECTRS operatives shared this drive, only the Commandos could really pull of such a stereotype gracefully.

To many of the regulars on the base, what they witnessed in the past hour was something most would never even think of attempting, let alone get to actually do it. Two individuals, the low-vis SPECTRS patches on their shoulders still shining in the morning light upon their shoulders. Doing PT in full gear, bergens on their backs filled to what looked like bursting, the crinkling of underlying MOPP gear betraying them, and the notable sucking sound of breathing through a gas mask filter flipping the bird to anyone who thought they were tough shit, and reinforcing the stereotype that special forces lived for and only for 'the suck'. The ego of a few were further driven into the dirt, as one of the two wasn't walking on boot, but what looked like two curved bands of composite.

The duo entered through the door, the sound of crinkling and heavy breathing through now soaked through filters being drowned out by gunfire. But the duo did find a pair of open lanes, and occupied them with as much finesse as a pair of bulls. Magazines were inserted, bolts were racked, and the two started up on the targets at the ass end of the range.

There was a degree of difference in the two and their targets. Hefetz, wielding the ungodly rate of fire the MG-7, did surprisingly well, the half dozen rounds zipped up the target, the next half dozen down, before settling on center mass in a pattern that would generally be regarded as shit. But all the rounds hit his target, and so it couldn't be called a 'failure'.

Bodaway had a different degree of 'success'. He had fired a full 35 round magazine in three round bursts. After the third burst, the rounds started being more focussed and less of just a hope and pray type of pattern. But again, all rounds hit his target.

Setting both of their weapons down, the duo took their helmets off, sweat soaking their hair through and leaving them red and panting. To their credit, neither of them collapsed, remaining standing as they swallowed their heaping of burnt gunpowder. As they both stared at their respective targets, a taller woman approached, silently observing their handiwork.

Bodaway muttered something, before Grimsdottir replied with a wry smile, "Told you, you couldn't beat my record."

Hefetz gave a somewhat anguished cry as he brought his hands to his face, "La'azazél!"

Bodaway, simply sat down, leaning against the bench. Closing his eyes and running his hand through his mohawk.

Bull Team

The officer looked at the two with what seemed to be a sense of mirth, before spotting the Donnish quartet and approaching. "So, how are things so far? No NDs into anyone I hope?"

[The United Remnants of America]

Marshal Abbas Merzhad

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Tsavo AFB, Kubati

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3/12/2019 - 12:15

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The rec room was empty and quiet, a perfect place to end up rather than his bunk where he'd been paired with some of the other members of his team. Nobody else had apparently found the room, or they were all busy doing anything else but wasting time. It didn't matter to Merzhad. In a normal day, he'd read the news and drink his coffee, but he was still adjusting to being dropped off into Kubati. The TV in front of him was turned to the news, and while Merzhad knew Anowan, it took a little more concentration than he was willing to expend in order to understand. The language sounded bad and it was organized bad, just like Remnant Creole. At least Donnish made sense as a language, despite the harsh consonant sounds. The heat of this place didn't agree with his Donnish blood, but he'd at least been introduced to these kinds of climates in the southern GRCS, where the Sinican nations enjoyed warmer and more tropical weather than the northern Roskian nations.

Abbas looked at the door when he heard movement and saw one of the Vacifans walk in. The Marshal agent grit his teeth, so much for being alone. At least it was a Vacifan, they were practically GRCS citizens with a little more autonomy. Despite Merzhad's cynicism, he knew they were the closest thing a random Remnant soldier could find to a steadfast ally.

Merzhad didn't greet the man, he just leaned further back in his corner of the couch, trying to become a smaller target for the Vacifan's attention. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid the man, he just didn't want to communicate or acknowledge that the other man was even there, as if they existed in separate realities. The Vacifan walked over to him and dropped onto the other end of the couch. Merzhad seriously doubted the Vacifan knew Anowan, and he felt the man's eyes glanced towards him. Abbas steeled himself for conversation.

"Pya for your thoughts?"

Kurwa.

Abbas turned and gave a polite smile to the Vacifan, letting the Anowan news channel fade into background noise, "Just, concerned, is all. I don't particularly like being a part of international operations. It makes the bureaucrats more powerful and those of us in the field become secondary focuses. I don't trust the government apparatus to keep us safe. I don't even trust the organizational structure of this operation, honestly. I like my operations small, simple, and with decisions made by those in the field. This is the opposite of all of that." Abbas tilted his head, offering a dull crack as he stretched his neck. He sighed, "I just don't feel like dying on some half-planned mission due to the incompetence of some Anowan or Remnant chair force bureaucrat."

[Vanquaria]

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Schein Manstein
Tsavo Air Base, Kubati
12 March 2019

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Manstein strode into the barrack's gym for his midday workout. Iron was his god and this was his place of worship. There were not many things in the world better than a pump. Sex, alcohol, a successful op...not many at all. Today he was entertaining his arms. Free weights only initially then he'd transition to machines then back.

He picked up 2 15kg dumbbells for warmup, keeping the set short. Once his muscles were well stretched and warm, he ignited the engines and began to pursue the pump. He went for short reps and heavy weights because he was working on his anaerobic ability. Soon enough, his arms swelled with blood, feeling tight as fuck.

The Vanquarian collapsed against one of the benches. Picking up his water bottle he took in massive gulps before downing the contents on his hair. It looked like he may not have enough energy for the machines. He shrugged to himself, he didn't like machines anyways.

[Empire of Donner land]

Bull Team, Tsavo Air Force Base, Kubati

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Aureleahs "Artur" Horsahgher

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03/12/2019 - 12:30 AST

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Before long after the team's chat, came in two shooters rushing in, surprising them as they had sworn that the range was only reserved for them for the hour, and, as the team realized what they were doing in milliseconds, rushed for ear protection as gunfire filled the room. Artur, Lans, and Si'ke were lucky, as there were earplugs nearby, however, Caduce was not as fortunate. Soon his ears were ringing before he could do anything to protect them, eventually, however, he did find earplugs of his own, fighting through the ringing.

The sight to the rest of the team was comical, though Caduce after eventually recovering from the ringing was not amused. After the firing was over, Ingrid had come in, apparently having organized this. Artur's plan to chew them out on what they had done was very clearly not going to happen. "So, how are things so far? No NDs into anyone I hope?" she said.

"Well besides Caduce having some hearing loss I expect, we're all fine. You surprised us though, I thought we had the place to ourselves for at least another 10 minutes before someone else came in." Artur said, before then waving at the rest of his team to pack up quickly.

"What?!" Caduce yelled. Si'ke had simply grabbed him by the arm and pushed him the right way towards the door. Looking and sounding very confused as he removed his earplugs. He began murmuring expletives under his breath as he was walked to the door.

"I'll get his ears checked. Don't worry about him," Si'ke reassured.

Caduce yelled to Si'ke, "Queh doehd per'me tolkeh?!" as he was walked through the door and away. His yelling fading away as Si'ke told him to quiet down.

"Anyway, is there anything you need before we head out, Commander?" Artur asked with Lans behind him grabbing his rifle and placing it within a case, securing it. Then do the same with the rest of the team's weaponry.