NationStates Jolt Archive

(Sign-Up Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=528891))

The briefing room was dark and hazy. It reeked of body odor and cigarette smoke; the A/C had, naturally, broken down, and the heat from the equatorial sea was oppressive. Seems like an appropriate start to this kind of op, mused Director Margrave as he observed the room from behind his desk. He looked around at the occupants: fifty or so experienced soldiers from all walks of life. It was hard to see them in the relative dark; all the light in the room was focused on Margrave himself. He mostly saw silhouettes; a few wore glasses, reflecting the light. Those would, of course, not be worn in the field.

Margrave sighed and stood, now that the entire group was assembled. "Welcome, soldiers and recruits. You are now members of BOA's First Paramilitary Detachment. Congratulations, the fact that we would hire you speaks highly of your talents. Most of you haven't been told of your whereabouts. You're on a destroyer, the CD/A Arkan, in the Bay of Mephistopheles. About 30 miles to our east is the start of one of the largest rainforests in the world: the Caerdun Rainforest. In less than an hour, you all will be over the Caerdun. A while after that, you'll be inside it." Margrave cleared his throat and had a swallow of water from the glass on his desk. As he replaced the glass, he cleared his throat a little.

Margrave continued. "I'm going to cover a few points in this briefing; the first is the nature of this unit." He usually ran briefings like this; keeping the entire thing relevant and concise, but keeping the most important, can't-miss stuff at the end. It made sure the agents paid attention throughout. "Most of you are mercenaries whose services have been hired. Many of you were former threats to the Commonwealth; you've been released from incarceration in return for the completion of this mission, and various other... considerations. Others were hired based on past work with the Commonwealth Special Operations. All of you are considered adequate for this task. The rest of you are former members of BOA-1SD, 3rd Recon Unit. This includes Captain Ian K. Black, who will be your leader in the field. You will follow his orders, or will face loss of pay or resumed incarceration." The Director gave a small smirk, playing the part of the cynical Fed. "However, he is superbly capable, and will get you through this alive."

Margrave propped his feet up on his desk. "Next point: the background of the op. We have a string of science laboratories in the Caerdun Rainforest; most of them focus on the field of biology. This, of course, includes R&D in the field of biological and chemical weapons, and, moreso, cures for said weapons. After all, it's easy to make an epidemic; it ain't easy to stop one." A few people in the audience laughed a little. Most of them had probably intented to infect GTR citizens with something. Margrave was tempted to shoot them. "Anyway, seventy-nine hours ago, we lost contact with the entire lab complex. We sent in a number of field operatives; one managed to make contact with us before expiring. The radio message was short."

Margrave clicked a button on the remote control he was palming, and the message played. There was the sound of shouting in the background; the screaming was almost inhuman. Almost. All of a sudden, a voice came in; it was strained and desperate: "Code Black-21. Code Black-21, sir. Absolute hellhole, the infected... they turned into these monsters. Oh, God, please!" There was a short cry and the sound of bone and flesh banging against metal. After a few seconds of more nearly inhuman shrieking, and gunfire, the message cut off with a burst of static.

"Code Black-21 is defined in the medical books of the GTR Commonwealth as 'a state in which all of the following have occured: a catastrophic leakage of infectious disease agents, of one or more types; one or more of the leaked agents can cause death or cause major illness in at least 70% of those exposed to said agents; one or more persons have been exposed to the leaked agents; one or more of the exposed persons have escaped quarantine and are capable of spreading the disease.' In other words, soldiers, it is the ultimate clusterfuck when it comes to communicable diseases."

"Now for the good news: the disease that got out, it ain't airborne. Direct contact with fluids only. The bad news is that this disease not only struck the bases in the area, it's probably made it to a nearby urban area and a couple villages, too. Hopefully, it won't have progressed that far yet, but the window for this op is closing fast. Be prepared, soldiers; this stuff turns ordinary guys like you and me, and turns 'em into killers, like you and me. These muchachoes are fast, single-minded, murder machines, and they're out for fresh blood. If the operation takes too long, the 'forest will be saturated with 'em."

Margrave paused to let his last statement sink in. "Final point of this briefing: the details of the op. Our goal for this mission is the recover of one Dr. Ignatius Kain. He used to be a loyal citizen of the Commonwealth, but he's the one who let this virus loose. He's surrounded himself with a cadre of mercenaries like yourselves, the only difference being that they don't work for the good guys. His plan is to escape to the coast and sell samples of his virus to the highest bidder. You all are worldly-wise, you know that there are countries out there that would use this crap. So, the purpose of the mission is, essentially, to save the world and cover our collective asses in one fell stroke. You're going to be lifted in via Blackhawk helicopters, engage or evade the enemy, and capture Dr. Kain to be airlifted to back to the ship, for a long interrogation and a short execution." Margrave stood back up. "The Blackhawks are being prepped as we speak. Any questions can be addressed to me or Captain Black. In the meantime, prep your gear, get a drink, and be ready to move out in a half hour. Dismissed."

Out on the landing pads of the Arkan (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3d/USSSpruanceDD-963.jpg), and its sister ship, the Aurelius, six MH-60S Knight Hawks of Flight Delta were being prepped for take-off. The midday sun beat down on the crews as the scrambled to-and-fro, checking and rechecking the systems, fueling them, commencing pre-flight warm-ups.

Meanwhile, a pair of dinghys transported about half of the BOA-1PD mercenaries to the Aurelius, while the first half remained and began their final equipment checks.

Cand sat in the his chair for a while, absentmindedly rubbing at the burn scars on his jaw. They still bugged him a little. Around the room sat an assortment of trained killers, cruel mercenaries and violent convicts. He knew each and every one of them would probably have picked on him as a child, but that was why he was in his current position, his talent for overcoming those stronger than him.

One he'd heard the brieifing, he stood and stretched, his location on a floating vehicle making him nervous, before pulling out a black piece of fabric and pulling it over his head. The balaclava, any stealther's friend. He left his goggles around his neck, always hating how they felt on his head, but knowing their necessity once it became night, couldn't afford to leave them behind.

He had been assigned to helicopter Delta 5. He wasn't really sure if this changed anything in the overall plan, but didn't really care. He needed the work, he still had just a bit to go before he'd fully paid off his college loans. He'd always excelled in english, his accent often giving people the other idea though. When he'd pursued a BA in the field, he hadn't known how absolutely useless it would have been. Maybe he could give teaching a shot.

He checked the chamber on his 5/7, finding it clean as he had left it. Nothing like a jammed weapon in a fire fight to ruin someone's day. Spun the pistol idley on his finger, the added weight from the laser and silencer throwing off the spin, and holstered it at his hip. His combat knife, brand new, "acquired" in one of his more recent jobs, sat in it's sheath on his chest, it's razor edge anticipating it's first neck. He couldn't wait, he'd been rather fond of the weapon, and had wanted to give it a blooding for several months now.

His heavily modified FN SCAR-L sat in it's holster on his back, the rifle heavily cut down to reduce weight and bulk. He'd been a fan of the SCAR series since he'd first hefted it, and new the weapon inside and out.

Once he had all his gear in it's place, he pulled out a stick of gum and slipped it under his balaclava. Specially designed to eliminate any scent in his breath. He knew that in all the smells of the jungle, it probably didn't matter, but he liked doing it anyways. Sound, scent, sight. These were the things he negated when on the job. Never had anyone taste him, and those that felt him only felt his knife.

"Heh, be funny, that. Taste."

He chuckled to himself in his odd speech pattern and started on his way to Delta 5. He didn't really have any questions for his commanding officers, and would get to know those on his helicopter. He'd always had a suspicion of boats, and preferred being in the air or on the ground.

"Howdy killer," said a cheerful-but-sarcastic voice from behind Cand. David Fisher smiled a slightly deranged, devil-may-care grin and slapped his fellow soldier on the back.

"Looks as though we're assigned to the same chopper," drawled Fisher, his dark blue eyes guaging the sniper in front of him carefully, "Might as well get to know each other before we get sent into the armpit of Hell. Name's Fisher, you are?"

The mercenary shifted his shotgun so that it hung from his left shoulder and extended a hand to Nossetam as they walked side by side towards the chopper.

Cand whinced at the slap on his back, but gauged it as a friendly greeting between comrades. He turned, pulling the balaclava up into a skull cap and shook the hand of the mercenary name Fisher. "Candle Nossetam. Call me Cand. Lit my head on fire in college, long story."

His eyes went to the weapons Fisher carried and he quickly worked out what Fishers role in the matter would be. Front line, noisey, distraction. A good counterpart for the throat slitter.

"Guess we'll be working together on this lil' shindig. Guess all I can really say is don't shoot me. Heh." Cand smiled, his last comment not meant to be sarcastic, just a playful suggestion.

(OOC: Stealth guy, not sniper.)

Nicholai had only been half paying attention during the entire briefing, but his ears perked at the chilling audio message, and even more so at the words "virus" and "infectous."
God damit, I left MAVERICK to escape this kind of shit, he thought half-heartedly. He patted the side of his bag, feeling the bulk of his gas mask.

As soon as the briefing was over, he left for the helicopters with his 'team mates'.
Team mates of soldiers and convicts, he thought bitterly. Both being as bad as the other. He quickly checked his gun, but it was purely subconscious movement. The AK-107 was brand new, 'borrowed' from MAVERICK. The Makarov PMs had also been 'borrowed'. Infact, possibly the only things in his inventory that hadn't been stolen were the clips, the survival kit and the binoculars. And he had got those so cheap they may aswell had been stolen.

As he neared the helicopter he kenw he should get to know his comrades. An alliance now could save his life. But Nicholai didn't work like that. Going solo was his forte, and the added responsibility of protecting his team mates was just that, a responsibility. He stopped and removed his gas mask from his bag, before pulling it over his bleached-blond hair. He knew it would be dam hot in the rainforest, but he found people were less likely to speak to you when wearing this.

Vetranio drew on his cigarette, blew out a stream of blue smoke and inwardly grimaced. The mission sounded like a bad science fiction story. He wasn’t doing this out of any sense of duty or good will to fellow men, but purely for a pay check. The ex-soldier didn’t particularly wish to go on such a risky mission, but he’d baby-sat rich arseholes for the past couple of years, and was thoroughly bored of it. However, this mission did pay well, and Vetranio was definitely in need of some cash flow.

He stood up and looked around, fiddling with the sitting of the scabbard on his belt. Vetranio had been asked on numerous occasions why he’d kept the sword after he’d broken out of that military prison, but he himself didn’t really know. It wasn’t as if such a weapon was truly useful on a modern battlefield, whether a jungle or not. It was probably force of habit, after spending sixteen years in the slightly anachronistic Tagmatine armed forces. He continued puffing at his cigarette as he checked the rest of his gear, making sure the various pieces of kit were in working order. They would be, of course. Vetranio had spent long enough as a soldier to know to make sure every bit of equipment was in top-notch condition before going on a mission. After all, something breaking or malfunctioning, especially one of his two firearms, would likely result in his death.

The weather was uncomfortably warm for a man brought up in a colder, more northern nation, and the ex-soldier would have loved to get rid of some of his BDU, or his gasmask, which would be like wearing a personal sauna when put on. But the fact that the Director had mentioned an infectious disease meant that Vetranio was going to take as many precautions as possible. He didn’t intend to turn into some gribbly monster before this mission was through.

Vetranio swung his G36 assault rifle, a weapon he’d actually purchased with his own money, for once, onto his shoulder and followed the rest of the unit out to the waiting helicopters, his one being Delta 5. He didn’t really care for the rest of the unit, and he’d made it abundantly clear on several occasions. He knew that being sarcastic and cynical to people who he would undoubtedly later rely on in combat wasn’t the best of ideas, but spending ten years an army which doesn’t trust you and constantly ignores you for promotion will do that to you.

He flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the floor, not bothering to grind it beneath his boot. He watched idly as it was taken by the prop wash of the helicopters and randomly whipped out to sea. Vetranio didn’t like helicopters. They’d always struck him as rather unsafe vehicles, as they were suspended in air just by their rotor blades. He also knew that he wasn’t much of a flier. He was tempted to light up another cigarette to take his mind off the impending flight, but he knew he’d have to ration his cigarettes, as there was little likelihood of finding a tobacconist in the middle of a jungle.

Cheng groaned at the first mention of 'biological'. The Hamilayan military, and hence his trainers, were quite clear on the fact that biological weapons in particular caused much unpleasantness, although that was possibly part of the general Hamilayan attitude of the superiority of glass-and-steel over the green. His apprehension increased as the briefing continued. Zombie-mutant-creatures. Brilliant. He'd heard about this before, somewhere... a viral outbreak in Leafanistan? Was it Leafanistan? and he certainly didn't relish the prospect of getting any closer to it than on a television screen. Regardless, he had a job to do. He decided he'd send a record of the briefing to State Intelligence when on the helo, but then changed his mind. Saving the world. If news of a threat to the survival of the nation, of civilization itself, got out, some nut in Defence might drop nukes on the whole rainforest, killing everything in it, including himself. His superior had specifically ordered him against sending reports which might... influence... the higher-ups to take rash action, so he wouldn't, for the time being. Perhaps he'd send something about biological weapons experiments angering the locals, and being dispatched to contain the disturbance. That was true enough, Cheng thought with a quiet chuckle.

As he entered the chopper, he cast an eye over his companions and nodded approvingly, all looking like competent people. Allan was tempted to dismiss the mercenaries at first, with some disdain of those who simply fought for money, but reconsidered. They probably had more field experience than he did. After a quick check over his weaponry, following suit with the rest of the team, he was satisfied and holstered his small arms, laying his SCAR across his lap, and sitting down in the seat of the Knight Hawk pondering what he'd recently learned. Zombies.

Cheng vaguely realised the Director hadn't said anything about how the outbreak would actually be contained, had he?

"You stay outta my way, it's a deal," replied Fisher with a smile as he and Cand boarded Delta Five. His dark eyes scanned the chopper curiously, noting each face and the name along with it. Sitting, the mercenary began loading his shotgun with slow, deliberate care; his thoughts flickered back to Texas for a moment, then to New York, where he'd first seen Diana. She'd been working as an activist for some human rights group...concerned with the first world's abuse of the third world- especially in the tropics. Her memory was the reason he signed up for this job, the reason he'd started this soldier shit again.

Fisher awoke from his reverie as Cand sat down next to him; New York and Diana lingered in the back of his mind. Masking his sad thoughts with an easy smile, David turned to his fellow mercenary.

"I think it'd be a good idea if you and I stuck together," he said easily, nodding at Cand's silencer and knife, "You're quiet, I'm loud..."

Damned helicopters. Too bloody loud.

Vetranio pulled his helmet tighter onto his head, trying to block out the thump of the rotor blades. He mulled over the details of the mission whilst fiddling with the straps of his kit and slid a magazine into his assault rifle, followed by putting a clip into his sidearm. The idea of a rogue government agent surrounded by an army of mercenaries reminded Vetranio of a film, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him which film, something in a jungle.

He sighed and fished out a battered pack of cigarettes from a pocket and absent-mindedly put one in his mouth and began patting down his various pouches and pockets to track down his lighter. Out of habit rather than any nod towards comradeship with the rest of the soldiers, he waved the pack in their direction.

Nicholai climbed into the helicopter carefully, eyeing his 'comrades' with wariness. Mercenaries and ex-soldiers weren't exactly trustworthy. He sat in the corner, spacing himself from the other passengers as much as possible. He quickly checked his equipment, making sure his weapons were all in order. As he rummaged through his bag his hands fell on a small, black PDA.
I suppose I better start typing, he thought glumly. At MAVERICK, you were trained to keep reports on every operation. This had been purely for combat data; what needed improved and what strategy worked best. Nicholai had found this a nuisance, but he had to admit that the keeping logs was incredibly helpful if you needed to recall information later on. Plus, there was a nostalgia about it, reliving the past. Nicholai had planned on doing this later, but now, after the revelations of a biohazard, he knew that this information could be crucial if he ever needed help from MAVERICK. It could even secure a promotion. Nicholai smiled under the black latex mask, and turned on the PDA.

"Baranov's Report. Operation: Silent Fury. Debriefing: Biological outbreak..."

Lieutenant James Hamilton quickly, but cautiously, climbed into the helicopter. Unbelievable, he thought. I go to Sandhurst, work my ass off, and they shaft me to this job. It wasn't so much the type of mission, it was just the biological weapons bit. He had always had an overwhelming fear of disease, despite his best attempts to control it, and the existence of biological weapons only seemed to confirm such a fear. But he was confident that he could control it. Regardless, Hamilton made special note to remember every aspect of the mission well; it'd probably help him get promoted eventually.

Vladik stood far back from the crowd, he preferred to stay as far connected from these people as possible. To him if they died it would only be one less burden for himself. His lightweight MP7 sat nestled between his crossed arms, the safty switch was turned on as he had already loaded his gun. As the the breifing ended he slipped out of the door and onto the platforms where the helicopters stood. He simply choose a helicopter and jumped in, he unbuttoned his olive green military jacket and began checking his supplies. His backpack was loaded with essencial items, food supplies and water, while his jacket held ammunition and two HE grenades which he had forgot to metion on his equipment check. He held his MP7 up and checked the sights then placed the scope ontop the gun and checked the flashlight to assure it was working properly.

As he sat there the rest of the group began pileing into the birds and in his own helicopter sat a man passing out ciggerettes. Without mentioning his own packs of ciggerettes he motioned for one, pulled out his zippo and lit it. Taking a large drag from the ciggerette he bacame relaxed and settled then awaited takeoff.

"Well, this will be interesting." He said outloud without realising it.