Skinny87
05-03-2006, 13:25
Hallithorn Island, 2,000 Kilometres South of Haven
The weather was fast becoming violent; angry black clouds were gathering in the sky, thick and heavy with expected rain. As the five Blackhawk helicopters flew towards Hallithorn Island they skimmed the choppy sea, waves splashing below them and even hitting the side of the helicopters at times, soaking the occupants inside. As the small group approached the island, which was now covered in a thin mist caused by the inclement weather, the clouds above them began to shower thick droplets of rain onto anything below them.
Inside the first Blackhawk stood Major Timothy Utah, commander of the Special Forces troop that occupied the small group of helicopters. He stared out into the raging weather, face and uniform covered in the spray from the rotors and the waves that crashed around the helicopter, but he didn't move. He found the cool water and air refreshing, especially the cold sting of the water hitting his face. Finally he turned around and crouched next to his radio man, Corporal Frank Zachary. The short, blonde man was clad in the same uniform as Utah, but carried on his back a small portable radio unit. Moving close to Zachary to shout over the sound of the waves and rotors, Utah hoarsely asked if the man had received any further orders from Republican Special Forces Command. Zachary closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on the radio and the headset he wore, then shook his head.
Utah grunted and moved back to the door, once again feeling the spray on his face. There had been no change in his orders, which were cryptic at best, as well as highly unusual. His Special Forces Company had been ordered to land on Hallithorn Island and reconnoiter the entire landmass for 'Colonisation purposes'. It was a highly unusual mission, and what he believed to be a waste of resources for his highly-trained men. He shrugged mentally; he just did what he was told, no more and no less. He turned as the pilot of the Blackhawk shouted over the internal radio, signalling they were about to land on the Island. Suddenly windswept water was replaced by soaking wet sand; with a roar the Blackhawk landed and Utah jumped out, followed by Zachary and the others in the other helicopters. It had begun...
The weather was fast becoming violent; angry black clouds were gathering in the sky, thick and heavy with expected rain. As the five Blackhawk helicopters flew towards Hallithorn Island they skimmed the choppy sea, waves splashing below them and even hitting the side of the helicopters at times, soaking the occupants inside. As the small group approached the island, which was now covered in a thin mist caused by the inclement weather, the clouds above them began to shower thick droplets of rain onto anything below them.
Inside the first Blackhawk stood Major Timothy Utah, commander of the Special Forces troop that occupied the small group of helicopters. He stared out into the raging weather, face and uniform covered in the spray from the rotors and the waves that crashed around the helicopter, but he didn't move. He found the cool water and air refreshing, especially the cold sting of the water hitting his face. Finally he turned around and crouched next to his radio man, Corporal Frank Zachary. The short, blonde man was clad in the same uniform as Utah, but carried on his back a small portable radio unit. Moving close to Zachary to shout over the sound of the waves and rotors, Utah hoarsely asked if the man had received any further orders from Republican Special Forces Command. Zachary closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on the radio and the headset he wore, then shook his head.
Utah grunted and moved back to the door, once again feeling the spray on his face. There had been no change in his orders, which were cryptic at best, as well as highly unusual. His Special Forces Company had been ordered to land on Hallithorn Island and reconnoiter the entire landmass for 'Colonisation purposes'. It was a highly unusual mission, and what he believed to be a waste of resources for his highly-trained men. He shrugged mentally; he just did what he was told, no more and no less. He turned as the pilot of the Blackhawk shouted over the internal radio, signalling they were about to land on the Island. Suddenly windswept water was replaced by soaking wet sand; with a roar the Blackhawk landed and Utah jumped out, followed by Zachary and the others in the other helicopters. It had begun...