NationStates Jolt Archive

The waters off the coast of the Black Marsh were choppy, dark as death save for their white caps. A commercial freighter rolled forward slowly across the waves, oblivious to the shapes speeding towards it through the darkness below. The decks were nearly deserted, the crew having been subdued through violent means, the red stains of slauther not yet dried against the bulkheads within. What few personnel that remained above on the stormy surface wielded assault rifles and sub-machineguns. Most were human, but a few Argonians from the Insurgency had come along on this operation.

The most unique was a slim male, brandishing a Steyer AUG automatic weapon. His scales were almost a blue color, hiding him well against the rainy night sky. His clothing was that of a highly specialized raider, fatigue pants and a sleeveless shirt covered with a tactical vest containing magazines for his weapon, sidearm, and a few grenades. His name was Zek Hreel, one of the Insurgency's most up-and-coming naval operators, and leader of this particular operation. Despite his keen senses, he missed the clank of a grappling hook latching onto the railing as he re-entered the bridge stairwell, preferring to get out of the sheeting rain. He did so at an opportune time, for over the railing came a black-clad Argonian shape, leveling a surpressed UMP 45 at the closest pirate and triggering a controlled pair of hollow-points into the human's head. The man dropped like a rag-doll in a puddle of grayish liquid that was rapidly being washed away by the rain.

Three more operators followed the first, identically armed and outfitted with the large Mercworx Proeliator, a fourteen inch combat knife with a blade nine and one quarter inches in length. The operatives were well-versed in its use, expert close-combat warriors specialized for fighting in the tight confines of vessels at sea. The sub-guns went into a stand-by position on their one-point slings as the blades came out, the team moving slower as they entered the ship. The corridors were barely big enough for a man to walk down, which was perfect. Their first victim exited one of the side bulkheads, oblivious to the danger outside. Edged steel crossed his neck at the carotid artery's most exposed area, just under the jaw as a clawed hand in a tactical glove closed over his mouth, the blade reappearing inside the man's chest under his sternum and impaling his heart. The scaly hand disappeared from his face and he fell without a sound, save a muffled thump on the steel deck.

Their objective would be the bridge, where the commander of the raid was most likely to be, directing the operation. The team readied their handguns, surpressed Glock 21 short-frames, as they ascended the stairs. They met no resistance, the operation going smoother than they had trained for. The bridge was just up ahead, around the corner at up a few more flights of stairs. The team rounded the corner, the leader holstering his sidearm and going for his blade. Zek Hreel had no idea what was about to happen, but turned around out of some instinct he didn't know he posessed.

They looked at him, and he at them with their oversized knives, more like short swords. His AUG went level, and began spraying lead. The leader rolled left, hoping his team would do the same, and two got out of the way but the last took the burst to the chest and head, sending his lifeless corpse back down the stairwell, knife tumbling from his grasp and settling next to its master at the foot of the stairs. Zek backpeddeled as quickly as he could, stepping right to avoid a slash at the neck from the second man, kicking him in the knee and finishing with a burst of automatic fire. Number three man lunged, slashing upwards at Zek's throat again, then back down at a different angle. The first attack Zek was able to lean out of, the second missed his jugular but cut a swath through his scaly chest and tac-vest.

The next swing cut him across his forearm as he tried to deflect it, managing to empty the rest of his magazine into his attacker. They couldn't wear anything heavier than kevlar, or else they wouldn't be able to swim as quickly, which would tire them more for the actual assault on the ship. This was going to have to change. The lead Argonian, trying to get an angle on Zek between his wild firing, saw his chance as the younger warrior went to reload. His massive blade came forward, Zek shoving his AUG in its path. The knife tore the rifle from Zek's grasp, so he went for his sidearm, one of Armalite's new AR-24 9mm's. It barely cleared the holster before the edge of the Proeliator came across Zek's hand, causing him to drop the weapon.

The blade came to rest lodged through a magazine for the AUG and buried in the side of his rib-cage, deep enough to cause some internal damage. Somehow, Zek wriggled out of it, but not before the lead operative shoved him to the deck. His eyes blazed red hatred, the only thing visible behind the black balaclava that hid his face. Something inside of him was begging him to kill his marsh-brother, to stab him until his life essence covered the deck. He indulged this little inner voice, driving the wide point of his knife through Zek's sternum, through his heart, and into the deck itself. Yanking the blade free in a reverse grip, he continued to drive it downward again and again until the twitching Zek Hreel ceased to twitch again. The autopsy report would reveal a total of thirty-seven stab wounds completely through Zek's chest. He would later recall no memory of actually putting the blade through the Insurgent's chest cavity at all.

Trembling slightly with adrenaline, the lead operator rose to his feet, the gargantuan blade of his knife dripping crimson as he wiped it on his pants leg. Slowly, he reached for his throat mic...

"Kilo Six-Five, Zulu One... I need an evac ASAP. Most of my team is down and in unconfirmed status, one is definitely KIA. Insurgent casualties total three, unconfirmed total number of hostiles, recommend sweeper team..."

The transmission ended sharply, his voice somewhat sorrowful...

"Ravik... Over here..."

It was his name, something he'd forgotten for a moment while he was busy murdering the insurgent leader. It was number three, Ulas Ven...

"Hold on Ulas, the chopper's coming..."

Ravik knelt next to his comrade, trying to stop the bleeding as best he could until the evac chopper arrived. His voice was strangely calm...

"Are you alright, chief?"

Naval Special Ops teams were unique in that they remained together from their enlistment through training and their careers, making the units extremely tight. Any losses were nearly impossible to replace. They were all trained to kill violently, trained to ignore any inhibitions on the subject. Ravik was unique, however, in that once that little voice in his head started telling him what to do, it surpassed even his training in controlling his actions, and every time it had saved his ass...

OOC: Get some ideas going, I'll be back to continue this next Monday.

OOC: I'm back. I'll keep posting reguardless of entries, so jump in where you feel comfortable. This is just to establish some backstory on the newly-formed Argonian Navy, and their special unit, the Seaborne Tactical Assault Boarding units, or STAB units for short.

Ravik almost didn't answer. His head was elsewhere, grip thightening around the 'chili-pepper' handle of his old friend the knife. The Argonian Navy was in its infancy, his team one of the first formed from groups of coastal-dwelling Argonians at home in the open sea, trained at the Army's Longhunter school for elite infantry proficency and close-quarters battle, then depoyed to deal with the piracy plaguing what little international shipping the new democracy had.

Their successes and failures would write SOP's for future STAB operators, shaping the organization as a whole. It was a bit of a burden, but most of the time the three teams didn't notice. Somehow, Ravik's team had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and gotten slaughtered. Ulas was fading pretty fast, the high-velocity .223 rounds driving through his soft body armor and exiting the other side in vital areas. That wasn't the only bad news: Someone was coming up the stairs. Ulas did his best to pull his sidearm from its holster, aiming with a wobbly one-handed grip as Ravik slipped to one side of the stairwell...

"Boss? Holy shit... Boss? You okay?"

The interloper was a human male, one of the mercenaries hired to back up the Insurgents with better expeirence. The man was tall, for a human, with reddish hair and a stocky build, his strong chin clenching his jaw tightly in apprehension as he stepped forward with an M4A1 carbine held at the high ready over the second man's corpse towards Ulas, who triggered a flurry of surpressed rounds in his direction. Thirteen rounds later the man lay dead, ten of the rounds roughly grouped in his chest. One of the missing three had landed next to Ravik's head, the other two on the opposite wall. Ulas began the reload procedure, dropping the magazine as a flashbang hit him in the face before detonating. Ravik was caught completely off-guard, startling him but not to the degree that he wasn't able to spin around the corner and decapitate the first man on the entry team with a neck-level driving slash, more of a punch than a cut. Ulas was either unconcious or dead, he wasn't moving and he was still bleeding.

Ravik didn't wait around to find out, he hit the next man across the neck with a downward chop that hit something vital as warm red liquid began spurting from his throat. Number three man caught an upwards stab to the groin, severing the femoral artery and dropping him to his knees before Ravik cracked him in the temple with an elbow strike that put him on the floor. He didn't stop there, however. Ravik proceeded to shank the dying man until he quit screaming and then some, dragging the imbedded blade downwards across the soft tissue of the lower abdomen to spill some innards to deter anyone behind him.

The thumping of chopper blades caught his attention like a punch to the gut. The knife went bye-bye, tucked back into its sheath for the night. It had spilled enough blood for one operation. The UMP came up again, Reflex combat optic hanging a bright red dot in the dark night sky. The chopper held a sweeper team of STAB operators, plus a back-up crew for the vessel to get it into the nearby harbor, some twenty miles away. It would pick up the operators and the crew at the harbor after dropping Ravik off for a debrief. The lone survivor of the ill-fated STAB team climbed onto the chopper, incoming STABs paying him no mind. With its cargo on board, the helicopter rose into the night sky, leaving the new crew to take over...

OOC: I'm still working on something, should have something up for ya tonight. Gravy?

Ravik didn't remember much of the chopper ride back to the second of two naval bases on the coast. The first, Kelton's Point, housed most of the STAB facilities and training areas, but the second, named simply Blackwater Bay, was closer to the actual operating area.

Morning hadn't broken yet, and it would be a long period of time before he was able to get any rest. The radio report on the way over had confirmed Ulas had died, more the result of an explosive detonating in his face than the gunshot wounds that would have claimed him some minutes later. It had not been a good operation, and Ravik braced himself mentally for an ass-chewing during the debrief.

The helicopter landed, the black UH-60 touching down like some saddened bird of prey allowing its single passenger to hop off before it took off again to land at a nearby refueling station. Ravik dropped the magazine from his UMP, hand-ejecting the round in the chamber and snagging it from the air before it hit the ground. What had gone so wrong? Nothing really, just a shitty twist of fate on their part. If that bastard hadn't turned around he would have been dispatched pretty easily. Ravik could have shot him in the head from the stairwell, but that was still nosier than carving a new jawline in his neck.

The TOC was the designated debrief area, a shabby shack-like structure near the helicopter's drop-off area. Ravik entered, still holding the magazine for his weapon, sliding the extra round back into the polymer rectangle before setting it down on the long table used for operations planning next to the weapon itself. Automatic weapons made officers nervous, that was what expeirence told him. There were exceptions in the field-grade classifications, but staff officers detested loaded firearms in non-combat areas. Not that he cared, but something told him now wasn't the time to stick it to the proverbial man...

"Chief Warrant Officer Ravik Kolto?"

The voice came from somewhere behind him, the rough speech of an Argonian speaking English. Ravik himself wasn't from as far deep in the Marsh as some of his comrades, so his accent wasn't as pronounced. He'd been speaking English long before the Modernization...

"Present."

His reply was short, curt, to-the-point. No need to mince words at this juncture...

"I'm Commander Kezley, OIC of Blackwater Bay Naval Base. You want to tell me what happened out there?"

Ravik turned to face the Argonian behind him. Clad in a similar uniform of digital grays, blues, whites, and blacks, it was the standard battle dress uniform of Naval personnel. The left side above the pocket bore no badges of training, showing that this fellow hadn't done much with his military career other than speeding through the ranks...

"A little snafu sir, the lead bad-guy got lucky and turned around on us and sprayed us with lead..."

The Commander's eyes narrowed in disgust, contempt for such excuses. Sadly, it wasn't far from the truth. Luck just wasn't on their side that night...

"You expect me to belive that you were simply unlucky enough to lose three of your own men in one night? Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Do you? DO YOU? I'm about a second from taking your command, Kolto..."

Ravik wasn't about to take this lyng down, not from some untested asshole with more on his collar and less on his chest...

"Negative, sir... I meant that when I went to cut his throat he turned around for some reason. I can't control what the bad-guys do, that's just..."

The commander cut him off in mid-sentence...

"Shut up, just shut up, dammit... The loss of three STAB operators is unacceptable, especially from someone of your expeirence. You're getting sloppy..."

Now it was Ravik's turn to cut him off. The knife somehow came out of the sheath, into his hand, and against the Commander's throat in a reverse grip, edge quivering against the flowing blood just beneath the thin throat scales. That little voice was in his head again, egging him on...

'Kill him, kill him now. Show him what sloppy really looks like, sloppily spill his blood, sling it across the walls. Show him your fury, what you really think about his command...'

Ravik resisted this time, catching himself as the blade began to slowly move across the trembling neck of Blackwater Bay's commanding officer. Swiftly, Ravik pulled the huge knife away before any permanent damage was done to the commander and his own career. Silently, he put the knife away and snatched up his UMP before departing the TOC, the commander sitting down, shaken and still somewhat in denial of what just happened.

Ravik boarded the same chopper he'd come in on, heading back to Kelton's Point and his own quarters. The ride was boring, borderline maddening as he sat in the uncomfortable seat listening to that damned voice within his skull. Until that point, he'd been able to control it, channel the aggression and rage into productive lethality. The little voice, however, kept spurring him on...

'Why didn't you kill him? You're not sloppy, you're the best of the best, better than the Army's SF, better than anything the pirates have, better than anyone in the world, better than even yourself...'

There was a point when the little fucker quit making sense, just started babbling incoherently and not becoming anything more than an annoyance. He had ways, however, of shutting it up temporarily. Those little items where stashed covertly in his room back at home base.

The chopper touched down softly, and Ravik was off and moving at a decent clip towards the housing quarter where his small building was. One wouldn't call it a house, exactly, more of a collection of rooms in a building too small for its intended purpose. Ravik seated himself in his windowless den at the back of the structure, with a bottle of distilled hist sap and a packet of white powder. The sap was more of a liqour in its distilled state, a powerful beverage with euphoric qualities. The powder was medical-quality cocaine, captured from a raid a few months back. The stereo began blaring Tupac Shaqur, something about love for fallen homies. He knew the song by heart but for some reason it seemed to have new meaning for him at this moment...

Ravik took a long pull from the bottle, sprinkling a line of stimulant heaven across the blade of his knife before bringing it to his snout and snorting it inward. In a few seconds, both kicked in, shutting the voice in his head up for a moment. A wave of pleasure hit him, sitting him back in his small couch as he downed another swig of the hist liquor, the bitter taste beginning to numb his senses. Another line of coke followed, then the rest of the bottle.

Few knew, but hist sap can produce hallucinations in Argonians. Humans almost always start seeing things moments after injesting it, but in Ravik's case the cocaine was speeding his heart up to a point that his mind was starting to race. He remained slumped in the couch, bottle clutched in one hand and his knife in the other. Within his mind, however, he was moving through the interior of a ship, knife in hand. Then, suddenly, his team was shredded by an insane amount of gunfire, riddling them all with holes. He lay on the steel floor in a deep puddle of sticky redness, staring upwards as that bastard leader of the insurgent boarding party standing over top of him, dozens of stab wounds in his chest, flanked on either side by the mutilated members of his party, necks slashed open, heads missing, chests full of gunshots, the one man with a growing red stain in his crotch and his belly opened wide, and all were laughing at his dead team, even the headless one. There was nothing he could do as they descended on him with his own knife, cutting off pieces and stabbing his bullet-riddled body...

Ravik snapped awake, disoriented in the darkness. Another swig of the hist bottle and he again slipped into a merciful, dreamless slumber...

OOC: Advisors from any Fatal Terrain nation that has attended the regional conference are more than welcome, too. I believe such assistance was requested, if that's any help.

Kevin Silwick sat quietly in the back of the hanger, his right hand wrapped lovingly around the grip of the full sized Glock 20. Ever since the operation in Tanaara, he had found a connection with the polymer plinker, the 10mm hollowpint, and the Emerson CQC-15 sitting in the left pocket of his fatigue pants. The DPM '95s had been his favorite long before he was Kevin Silwick, back when his official papers read Ryan Fortier. Of course, that had been a month ago, maybe more.

He was the only ground pounder in the hanger, formaly of the 1st Special Operations Group-Special Operations Applications Detachment. Imitora's Delta. In official documents, it didn't exist, nor was it mentioned. Among the special forces shooters of IMSPECWAR, it was called SOAD, Soda, The Ninjas, ICIA Lap Dogs, Door Kickers, and "those guys we don't fuck with in a bar fight". To the Shooters in the unit, it was simply The Detachment.

Snapping the slide back on the Glock, he watched as the 10mm round floated up through the air, before letting it fall into his palm. He looked at the big round, the open tip large enough to mix a martini in. Ejecting the magazine, he reloaded the round, and then with little flair or force, slipped it back into the handgun, and holstered it. Not thirty feet away from him, the two fifteen man teams from the Imitoran Naval Special Warfare Group boarding onto two MH-60I Nighthawks. The helicopters, modified MH-60s specifically done by one of Imitora's major military heavy equipment manufacturers, slowly began to spin their rotors. The salt air snapped at Kevin's nose, and he stood, grabbing his gear bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He adjusted the scabbard on his hip, moving the SOG Seal Pup into an easier draw position. Kevin was fine with just the Emerson, but he needed to blend in with the squids.

He strode across the hanger deck of the Lansing, a Levithan class dreadnaught, and contimplated the situation at hand. He was here, assisting a military operation, but was no longer part of Imitora Military Command. Nor was he involved with the ICIA. In theory, he was still in A Block of the Ft. Altec Maximum Security Military Prison. Contacts had gotten him out, a new identity, and work. And, in five years, when his official sentance was over, Judge Duane Benton would grant him a full pardon, and things would go back to normal. But now, normal wasn't the situation.

The two teams and Kevin weren't the only advisors the Imitorans were sending. There were counter insurgency specialists, naval warfare advisors, chair force pilots who would show Argonian combat pilots how to get the bombs even closer on CAS, and Air Force GCCs to better display the fine art of Combat Control. However, the Naval Special Warfare Group teams, and Silwick, were going in early. The two teams were trained, and expierence, in handling sea to shore and sea to ship operations. Taking back ships, oil rigs, securing coastal landing points, and the like, were second nature. Kevin was just the random guy pulled out of some dark corner to keep the squids from doing something stupid, and because his qualification levels allowed him to do more than just demonstrate, but actually teach.

He was the last to board the second MH-60I, and with an air of grace, the helicopter lifted off the pad, and made its short journey towards Blackwater Bay. After what seemed to be only minutes, following clearence, the two birds put down. Somewhere on the flight over, Kevin had pulled on a matching patern fatigue shirt, full with rank insignia and name. He chuckled at his given rank: Cheif Warrant Officer 5. Appearently, sometime in the past four months, he had managed to complete the OCS, as well as a specialty training college, and was waiting for a commision.

Just as he was the last one on the bird, he was the first one off, and appraoched an Argonian officer who looked like he was in some way in charge. Of course, as did most Imitorans, Kevin had a hard time putting together the words "officer" and "in charge" together. Still, everyone had their own custom, and he walked over to the strange creature. It would take some time getting used to the Argonians, but he was sure he would.

Extending a free hand, he introduced himself, and in a general way, his team.

"CWO5 Kevin Silwick, Naval Special Warfare Group. Heard you guys were looking for some help handling some pirates, needed a few advisors. What can we do for you," he called out over the loud whuping of the two MH-60Is. Back in his mind, he wondered why they didn't just activate the non directional baffles on the engines and drop the decible level considerably.

The officer in question had the insignia of a full-bird colonel on his collar, and a shaken disposition...

"Ah... Ah... You'd want to talk to STAB about that sort of stuff..."

The officer stood, rubbing his throat throughfully with a detatched look on his face. He was still a bit shocked his life had nearly ended some thirty minutes earlier...

"Yeah, they're headquartered down the coast, at Keltin's Point Naval Base. One of their operators just left for there. Warrant Officer Kolto, I think his name was... Yeah, that was it..."

The fact that he was addressing a human in a foreign uniform wasn't helping matters. The ear-fins on the sides of his head elevated with suspicion...

"You're the Imitorian advisor, right? We've been expecting you. Operations must have screwed up again, Blackwater isn't the headquarters for the people you'll be working with, Seaborne Tactical Assault Boarding, down the coast. We do, however, manage the other aspects of the navy's forces..."

He continued to rub his throat as if it was bothering him...

"I'd be careful, though. We lost most of a team tonight and the lone survivor's a bit edgy..."

Edgy wasn't beginning to describe Ravik's feelings at the moment. Back at his house, he'd awoken again and found himself another bottle of the hist liquor, having nearly finished the cocaine he'd rationed out for the night. Drug tests wheren't standard operating procedure yet, the government was more concerned about getting warm bodies into the line of fire, and less about what was in those bodies' bloodstreams...

OOC: Sorry if I seem detatched tonight, I'm planning my wedding with my fiancee over the phone from Fort Gordon while she's back at home drinking, which is becoming a pain in the ass. I can't seem to keep a clear train of thought...

Tanaara had sent the Argonians job lots of medical technology and a big hunk of it was shipped specifically to the military. And along with said equipment came those who would teach the Argonians how to use it effeciently. The main portion of the Field Medical Unit would stay at Blackwater Bay Naval Base, but the overall head of the military detachment would be taking a smaller unit on to Kelton's Point.

Daveed wanted to be closer to the operators. And he might end up with a few chances to join them on missions. He was still a master sniper and kept his qualifications up. And it was a lot harder for people to die if he was right there to keep them from doing that.

The approach to the STAB facilities and training areas reminded him of the first time he'd worked with Argonians. He wondered if Drill Sergeant Keyton Kerrich would have been assigned to STAB. He'd like to see the Argonian again. They'd hunted well together.

The HMMWV was battered, it's paint faded, but the engine hummed along in perfect tune. It's back end was loaded bottom to top, front to back with tightly packed equipment and supplies. In front a young adult cheetah lazed in the passenger seat. The drivers seat was filled by a tall, broad shouldered man of weathered appearance.

He slowed, then stopped the truck at the sentry gate. Brilliant, light blue eyes regarded the sentry for a moment then one scarred hand held out a packet of papers.

The Argonian sentry took them hesitantly. Even seated and mostly hidden by the HMMWV's door, he was massive, and more over ... human. The Cheetah was another eyeblink. However once he'd looked the papers over he turned to his partner and signaled the other to raise the barricade. Handing the papers back, the young Argonian gave directions as to where the convoy was to off load the field hospital that filled the ten semi's that trailed the HMMWV. Daveed smiled, thanked him in flawless - for a human- Argonian, and put the heavily laden vehicle in gear.

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Elsewhere

It called it'self Dutch Harbor, though if any one knew the reason why, they weren't telling. Of course not telling, keeping to oneself was a time honored tradition locally. Not that there had been much trim for tradition to grow. The first people to come to the mosquito and malaria riddled island had arrived some seven years ago, fleeing some tragedy or other happening during the Dark War. But when you're in hell, eight years is long enough to make for a lot of custons and tradition. Especially ones where one kept to oneself and saw only certain things..

and those things certainly weren't the half dozen stretched version of Turkey's Marit fast attack boats (http://www.atddm.com/fab1.jpg) or the eigtht german built Kartals (http://www.atddm.com/fab2.jpg) that took up most of the small, but devilishly well hidden small harbor. The fishing sampans the true locals used to eak out a living had been shoved haphazardly aside to make room for the ships. And the locals had watched with silent venom as they too had been shoved aside, the heavily armed and violence prone invaders having taken over their residences, their wives and their daughters. All who had dared protest had been killed in a chillingly off hand manner.

A single dim light bobed from the rear of one of the narrow fishing sampans as it was wove through the dark of the lagoon, and a deeply masculine voice half sang half spoke as he stood poling the sampan. "Yo, ho, haul together,
hoist the Colors high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die."

The pirates didn't know it but they'd been found. Now all Rob had to do was get the intell out to the proper people. He looked down at himself, the grime embedded under his nails and under his skin, the clothes he wore weren't worth of being called anything other than rangs, and he'd picked up something unpleasant from the local water, but he'd done well on his graduation exercise if he did say so himself.

Striding towards the incoming Humvee came a pair of Argonians moving through the night. The one of the left was shorter, with a tomahawk bouncing along on his right hip and a green beret atop his scaly head. The digital jungle pattern tagged him as a soldier and not a sailor, but the beret marked him as unique. The eyepatch over his left eye made his identity unmistakeable. It had to be Keyton Kerrich, head of the Argonian National Army's Special Forces.

The Argonian beside him was taller, with a lean build wrapped tightly with muscle and sinew. The oversized Proeliator was attatched to the small of his back horizontally, and the insignia of STAB, the aforemetioned knife flanked on either side by a sea snake and a blue beret in the center, adorned his right shoulder. This individual was Ket Keltin, newly-appointed head of the STAB units. A contemporary of Arakesh Quickclaw and Whiptail Longtail, Ket had fallen in with Navy in the early days of the coastal defense, swimming out to use his formidable unarmed skills on attacking pirates. Ket was one of the few Loyalist masters of the Infinite Mystical Claw martial art. Knife fighting had come easy as a result, and now he was one of top-ranked members of the armed forces in that category.

Kerrich was the first to notice the humvee, its familiar dents and faded color, at least until he spotted the big cat in the front seat...

'That has to be Daveed... No-one else is crazy enough to keep something like that as a pet...'

Somewhat excited to see his old friend again, Keyton motioned for Ket to follow him over to greet their newest advisor...

"Daveed! Pull that thing over here!"

Keyton doubted the human could hear him over the hum of the engine...

It had been over thirteen years, and though Daveed looked unchanged, he had changed and he had heard Keyton's call. He pulled the battered humvee over and waved the train of Semi's on past. He left the motor running, as he swung out and half loped, half walked over to the two Argonians. He left Max in the Humvee, Demonbane's great grandson wasn't used to Argonians yet, and he'd rather the Cheeta not be stressed, though Max was even more laid back that his grandsire. Demonbane stayed home, being plagued with the various aflictions that came to a Cheeta in extreme old age.

"Keyton, it's good to see you again " He grinned at his old hunting partner. "You're looking good these days and the rank suits you! Any chance of my joining in the hunt? Or is it tied to the hospital I'm to be?" He was hoping that the local units wouldn't mind an extra sniper and medic when out on ops, though he knew that officially' he was just supposed to be an advisor and teacher.

I'd be careful, though. We lost most of a team tonight and the lone survivor's a bit edgy.

Silwick nodded. "Been there."

He turned, and waved the two teams back onto birds. Again, the units loaded up, tossing gear bags into the choppers, and again, Kevin was the last one on. He sunk back into the MH-60I, and waved to the Air Force pilot up front. With a nimble flick, the bird lifted up from the pad, followed by the other, and the two quickly made thier way down the coast line towards the second base.

Ryan reached over, and flicked the switch on a CD player/Stereo in the cargo hold. Stevie Ray Vaughn's raspy voice quickly broke in, and Voodoo Child, a favorite among IMSPECWAR began to resonate through the hold. Two of the squids began bobing their heads along with the beat. The Air Force pilot, feeling in touch with the music, dropped the colective, and the MH-60I dove down towards the tree tops. Taking a hard bank in, following a GPS dot, he expertly manuvered the helicopter along the tree tops.

"More of a Pink Floyd man meself, but eh," he commented to the co-pilot/navigation officer.

Within minutes, the two were again cleared for landing at Keltin's Point, comming in to touch down gently. With little flair, the helicopters came to a hover, and in each, the sound baffles were activated, dropping the noise level considerably. Again, the team's disembarked, Kevin leading them. And again, Kevin found someone who looked close to incharge.

"Kevin Silwick," he introduced himself to the Argonian. "I'm looking for Warrant Officer Kolto. Heard ya'll were in a bit of a pickle, we're here to offer, uh, advice."

Daveed Roth (http://www.atddm.com/daveed.jpg) looked up as the Imitoran choppers vectored in and touched down. His smile melted into a frown as he watched the Imitoran special forces disembark

"Now you have 'Torans to deal with. Though they are good at killing." His voice was deliberately bland as he flicked his gaze back to Kerrich and the other Argonian. He was glad that his uniform, clean, well worn and worn casually, wasn't specifically a Tanaaran military uniform. A boonie hat shaded his face, and Wiley X 50's in the ever popular 'bastard amber' had come off his face and into a shirt pocket as he'd stepped out of the Humvee revealing his bright azure eyes. One of his matched pair of Desert Eagles rode in a thigh rig, the other was at his waist in a cross draw set up. His height and over all size made the pair look small against him. Kerrich would still recognise them from the first time they'd met, though the holsters were new.

Keyton had bulked up a bit since their last meeting, apparently his new position kept him out of the field more and in the gym, looking for an outlet for his frustration. The beret was a bit more faded, but like its wearer, looks weren't the best way of judging things. Kerrich had downgraded to a single Springfield Operator-model M1911A1 in a shoulder-rig on his left side. He'd long since shed the title of 'Drill Sergeant', even before he and Roth had met, but the title had stuck with him. Then a Sergeant First Class, he was now a Colonel, befitting his new station of head of the new Special Warfare and Longhunter schools. Tabs for both were situated on his left shoulder, above the Special Forces crest, a banner with the words 'For Honor' in front of a pair of crossed knives with a spear running between them vertically.

Keyton extended his hand in warm greeting...

"It's been too long, old friend. I'd also like to introduce Colonel Keltin, commanding officer of the STAB group..."

Colonel Ket Keltin extended his own hand after Keyton's had been shook...

"Ket Keltin, it's a pleasure Mr. Roth... Keyton was wondering who our Tanaran allies would send. Your methods met his impossible standards, so you must be an okay kind of guy..."

The tagging along part might be an issue. He'd need to explain that...

"You might be able to, but since we insert by helicopter directly into the ocean itself, boarding the vessel unseen from the water, you might find that difficult. We do, however, have a few ideas we want to run past you and your foreign subordinates that might allow you to participate. I have no issues with that, another skilled operator is always welcome. Keyton mentioned something about your work as a sniper?"

The incoming choppers wheren't Argonian UH-60's, prompting Keyton to start jogging towards the helipad, clutching his beret between his ear-fins. He adjusted the eyepatch to make sure it was still in place before crossing his arms across his chest as the helicopters touched down. Daveed might not have had a very high opinion of the Imitorians, but they were unproven in Keyton's eyes, at least in the conditions they were putting them in. The water was the domain of the Argonian, having a massively unfair edge against humans in that environment.

Keyton had nothing to do with STAB, other than putting potential operators through the Longhunter course, making them formidable close-quarters fighters with both firearms and knives, before shipping them off to Keltin's Point for seaborne operations training. He was here to observe how foreign forces worked with his own people, a little trial run of larger operations that may or may not be forthcoming.

His arms uncrossed as one of the newcomer's approached him...

'Hmm... At least he didn't salute me...'

Keyton extended his hand...

"Colonel Keyton Kerrich, Argonian National Army Special Forces... It's a pleasure Mr. Silwick, to have your people on board. I don't know who Kolto is, you'll have to ask the STAB unit commander. If you'll follow me..."

Keyton turned to lead the man towards the gathering, striking up a conversation that was unusual for his typically stone-faced demenor...

"As new as this unit is, I ought to know this Kolto guy, I personally train these guys on the CQB they're supposed to be known for, but it looks like Colonel Keltin has been emphasizing the use of the knife a little too much, they lost three operators a few hours ago, all DOA from gunshots. And no god-damned body-armor other than that useless soft stuff. We have a few ideas to run past you for a second opinion when we get everyone introduced..."

Now might also be a good time to ask about that new weapon, KVASS or KVISS, or whatever...

"They've got this new little critter under e-val, some new SMG that has next to no recoil but throws a forty-five a-cee-pee at a high RPM. Uses Glock 21 mags, too, the same shit they issue STABs already. Can't recall the exact name, though..."

They had almost reached where Daveed and Colonel Keltin were standing...

Ravik Kolto awoke to the sound of incoming non-directional prop-chop. Still pretty high off of more coke than he should have injested, and dizzy from too much hist-liquor, he struggled into a sitting positon on the couch, still in his salt-encrusted uniform and kit. He shook the knife off before sliding it back into its sheath at the small of his back. Something told him to go check this disturbance out, it might be those advisors Colonel Keltin had been briefing them on weekly. His eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, Ravik exited his house and began the walk towards the helipad, which seemed a lot longer than he remembered.

Maybe it was the hist...

Daveed shook hands with the STAB commander, Colonel Keltin,

"You might be able to, but since we insert by helicopter directly into the ocean itself, boarding the vessel unseen from the water, you might find that difficult. We do, however, have a few ideas we want to run past you and your foreign subordinates that might allow you to participate. I have no issues with that, another skilled operator is always welcome. Keyton mentioned something about your work as a sniper?"

Daveed smiled. " Just call me Daveed. " He saw no need to make it known of his rank in Tanaara. "I've got more than a few years experience with sniping, and I'm pleased that Keyton has a good opinion of me.. And I've brought a few toys that while they won't make me equal to a Argonina in the water but they will let me be more than a bit better than your usual no finned human..."

Daveed broke off as his eyes swept over the approaching Imitorans. Then his sharp eyes caught sight of another figure, an Argonian, wobbling on his feet and in a filthy uniform. 'Colonel, one of you men, he appears..." Daveed was moving towards the weaving soldier at a brisk, purposeful walk.

Colonel Keyton Kerrich, Argonian National Army Special Forces. It's a pleasure Mr. Silwick, to have your people on board. I don't know who Kolto is, you'll have to ask the STAB unit commander. If you'll follow me. As new as this unit is, I ought to know this Kolto guy, I personally train these guys on the CQB they're supposed to be known for, but it looks like Colonel Keltin has been emphasizing the use of the knife a little too much, they lost three operators a few hours ago, all DOA from gunshots. And no god-damned body-armor other than that useless soft stuff. We have a few ideas to run past you for a second opinion when we get everyone introduced. They've got this new little critter under e-val, some new SMG that has next to no recoil but throws a forty-five a-cee-pee at a high RPM. Uses Glock 21 mags, too, the same shit they issue STABs already. Can't recall the exact name, though.

Kevin returned the firm shake, and nodded. "Pleasure's all mine Colonel. Some full bird back at Blackwater sent me and the boys this way, looked a bit off though. Kinda outa it."

He turned and followed Keyton towards the others, listening as he spoke. Silwick had always been one to listen to everything before speaking, and it had earned him kudos many a time before. However, he was sure that the only kudos he'd be getting here would be more dependant on body count. He made a note about the body armor, and would have to speak with some of the squidies to see how the DragonSkin worked in a wet enviroment. The last time he had been in the water, he had been working with the BMW/Oracle sailing team, and went over in a hard to-port. He had taken a refresher course on sea borne infiltration before heading out, though, like most Detachment Shooters, he prefered air or ground insertions.

"Sounds like the Kriss Super V. Nasty little fucker, be nice to see one in action. But don't worry about outfitting us, we brought our own toys to play, need be."

Kevin noted the man standing with the twin deagles, seeing him as remotely familiar. Too much gucciflauge, though. He turned, and saw a third Argonian moving towards them. It had to have been Kolto, or at least someone close to the WO. Silwick hoped the former of the two, he wanted to know exactly what the Warrant's, NONCOMs, and Pettys had seen.

Keyton began the introductions...

"Daveed, this is Cheif Silwick, Imitorian Spec Ops...."

"Chief, this is Daveed, the rest you'll have to ask him..."

He wasn't sure how much Daveed wanted to make known to the Imitorian, and he wasn't going to press the issue. Colonel Keltin, however, was more distracted by the sight of one of his men staggering towards them...

"Holy shit..."

Ravik took a few more steps, then collapsed in a nasty heap on the asphalt. He'd hit the hist and the coke a little too hard...

"Uh, Daveed... Time for more of that miracle shit you do. Looks like he's in pretty rough shape..."

Keyton's voice was as calm as usual, non-chalant to the point of being cold. The Warrant's life might very well be in danger, yet his tone reflected that of misplacing one's car keys. Keltin, however, was sprinting towards his fallen warrior with the urgency of a father towards a son. This was his pet unit, Kerrich's Special Forces had earned their keep many times over already in their short life-span, and now it was his turn to see if he could do the same...

"God-dammit, Kolto... What the Hell is wrong with you? Somebody get me a fucking medic! Somebody! Don't just stand there, dammit, call the god-damned medic!"

The Colonel's fury turned in the direction of a Petty Officer coming out of the armory, who promptly executed a rear march and got on the phone with the base medical center. CWO Kolto looked a shade from death, his pupils dilated wide...

"Ulas... Hold on... Chopper's coming... Die motherfuckers..."

His right hand shot upwards, catching Keltin around the throat and squeezing in what Keyton had always called the 'Ranger Death Grip' or simply the 'Kung Fu Grip', claws digging into the soft neck scales before the Colonel cranked his wrist sharply, forcing the fingers to release and pulling his own neck out of harm's way. Keyton dropped a knee across Kolto's neck for good measure...

"Calm down, dammit... Don't try to kill your fucking CO, moron..."

His right hand dangled near the Operator, just in case...

Daveed had already been in motion, and reached the fallen Argonian just a second after the sprinting Keltin.

Calm down, dammit... Don't try to kill your fucking CO, moron..."

"Calm down Keltin. I'm here." He dropped to one knee and casually lifted the Argonian Colonel aside as if he weighted nothing. "Putting all that pressure on his neck might kill him."

However at the same time the drug addled Kolto found himself unable to move, held in place by a gentle but firm pressure that did not seem to originate anywhere in particular. Daveed slowly swept an Empire made medical scanner along the Argonian. "He's at near fatal levels of cocaine and ...Hmmm this other isn't in the matrix, but it's labeled as some sort of plant derivitive in an alcohol base. He's hallucinating ."

Daveed stood "He doesn't have time for spareing ones sensibilities. Keyton, you knew me when I was just a shaman. I'm more now."

Some how the Cheetah that had been lazing in the front passenger seat of the Humvee was next to him, leaning against him as Daveed laid his hands on the dieing Argonian. There was a feeling of immense pressure, a waiting for something important but unknown. Then there was an inaudible pop, felt rather than heard, and Daveed swayed as he rose to his feet.

"He'll live."

Keyton was impressed. He wasn't a small fellow...
live
"That actually was the point... Anyway, probably that nasty Hist stuff, bad for our kind, let alone you humans, or whatever you are... Not fatal, at least I think not, but catch me later and we'll find out... Question is, where did he get the coke?"

Colonel Keltin piped in...

"A raid a few weeks back, the rebels had a boat-load of the stuff..."

He wasn't happy about this, but there wasn't much in the way of military justice in the Argonian Military just yet. There really hadn't been time...

"He'll live? How soon can you bring him around? Our Imitorian friends have some questions for him..."

"He'll live? How soon can you bring him around? Our Imitorian friends have some questions for him..."

"I've heard of Hist, but never had to deal with the stuff. That's what's causeing the hallucinations. That and a crap load of survivors guilt." Daveed ran the scanner over the unconscious Argonian again.

"It's all out of his system now, but he'll be unconscious for several hours yet.unless you really want me to stress system out."

He looked at Keltin and Keyton. "And I refuse to do a redaction in this setting. He needs psychological counciling at the very least, but more preferably a few sessions with myself or another Laranzu." He used the old Tanaaran word for a psionic of Adept level.

He looked over at the gaggle of Imitorans and mentally rolled his eyes. Some of them neded to learn to shield their thoughts better Gucciflague indeed. And one of them seemed mighty alive for some one supposedly dead. He was certain of that ones identification, though it had ben a few years. He wondered if Charli knew.

"Why don't you get them settled" He nodded toward the Imitorans "fed and this evening he should be able to be lightly debriefed."

Keyton nodded, rising from his knee to get his new guests situated properly...

"All right, everybody without tails and scales follow me, the rest of you bastards stay put..."

A quick jerk of his thumb over his shoulder in the Imitorian's direction indicated he meant the humans, obviously...

"Follow me..."

The Colonel led them towards the same location Kolto had come from, the upper-ranked quarter...

'Two of you per housing unit, unless you happen to be the commander, in which case you get one to yourself. I'm not going to take your gear from you either, you're gonna need it pretty soon..."

And one more thing...

"This area ain't exactly what you'd call 'secure', Insurgents have developed a nasty habit of trying to get through the wire after a few mortar strikes. Take that for what you will, you aren't under my command, thank Makaal..."

He turned to return to his old friend and his wounded charge. Kolto was harder than that, at least Keyton thought so. Counciling... Ha!

Daveed gave the Argonian medics orders when they arrived to tend to the unconscious Kolto. "I don't think you will need to restrain him and when he comes around, if I'm not there just gently but firmly advise him that he's under medical arrest. He's not to leave until I, or one of the Colonels here, clear him."

Daveed wasn't in the official chain of command, but the heavens help any one who tried to gainsay him when it came to medical matters. "Keyton, Keltin, I don't mean to step on anyone's toes, but if you have coke floating around freely the situation isn't good in my estimation. And given how bad the hallucinations in your warrant officer's head are, he's seriously in danger of being permnantly non copos. And he's too good a being to let that happen to him."

He looked around at the base and pondered for a second "Keyton, Keltin you're forming them into a hell of a unit, but that very excellence and cohesiveness has it's perils. Can I make a suggestion?"

Keyton had gone off with the Imitorians, but Ket Keltin was still standing by the Tanaaran doctor...

"I appreciate your vote of confidence in our efforts, but we cannot control what they bring back with them from their assignments. Shake-downs might do a better job, but complete strip-searches are out of the question. Too time-consuming. I can't assume, but I can only hope that you've brought proper equipment for urinary screenings? That might be a bit more effective..."

This man was the medical expert, Ket Keltin specialized in useless stuff outside of a war zone, knife-fighters didn't have much of a place in modern society outside of the military, an unfortunate truth since sentients began seperating themselves from violence, something the Argonian race as a whole had had a really hard time doing. Case and point might have been the Civil War itself...

"What are you thoughts? That's why we brought you here, wasn't it? To advise? We've been fighting with spears and swords for centuries until about a decade ago. Medicine was herbal remedies and pagan rituals, anything you say is going to be a big help..."

Ket Keltin wasn't trying to be an asshole, but that was the truth. Unless Daveed had questions on knife-fighting, there really wasn't much he had a comparative knowledge base on...

"What are you thoughts? That's why we brought you here, wasn't it? To advise? We've been fighting with spears and swords for centuries until about a decade ago. Medicine was herbal remedies and pagan rituals, anything you say is going to be a big help..."

Daveed looked at the Argonians, his expression deadly serious. "You said part of it right there Keltin. Ritual. You all left your rituals, sacred acts that had deep meanings in your peoples inner psyche and oldest culture. Do you know why US Marines keep on going when just a 'group' would fall apart? Why any military that has been around for a while will stand when a mob will break? Because they have traditions and rituals."

He continued "Oh it sounds like nothing but puffery but you have to realize that in even the most advanced society there are rituals and traditions, despite what 'titles' they may hide them under."

"Kolto is hurting, and currently is an ineffective operator because he feels guilt, part of him believes that those deaths are his fault. If he could have been just a little bit faster, a litttle bit more aware, a little bit better...and yet..." Daveed shook his head "I reviewed his memories from an outsider's perspective. Those deaths were pure chance, the winds of fate blowing and nothing he could have done could have changed that. But he's been left with no way to deal with that. His family has been torn apart, and he needs to heal from that injury"

"The Tanaarans have thier Wall of Honour, the U.S., Great Britian, Israel, all have many places that do the same, and their military has many traditions that are for those that remain, that survive. You need to give your men an equivallent, build the traditions, rituals, and ceremonies that they can come to understand will last long after they are gone, and even though they are gone they are still a part of that tradition, that ritual, that memory."

"Remind them that the family goes on." He sazid softly, earnestly then answered Keltins earlier question "Yes I have the latest technology for drug screening.

Colonel Keltin whipped the large knife from the small of his back, hefting it for balance before spinning it around and handing it to Daveed. The weapon featured the 'chili pepper' handle for maximum control and hand-fill...

"The closest thing we're got to what you're talking about comes around when these are issued, as much a symbol of the unit as they are a weapon. Every operator draws his own blood first, then from each of his comrades so each has drawn the others' blood at least once, but we've got teams that do that after every mission. These guys are usually from the same villages, and we try to keep them together through the Longhunter school and their training here to maximize cohesion within operating teams. Perhaps we need to add some other component..."

But what? They'd completely forgotten the psycological side of the rituals, the stuff that the Argonian people had relied on for so long. He wasn't about to bring back the Ancestor ritual, there would be no sacrifice of live animals on his installation, but perhaps a memorial service would serve the same purpose. They were trying to distance themselves from their savage cousins out in the marshes, after all, and full-blown rituals weren't going to do anything other than give them more recruits and more talent...

"Was that the sort of thing you were talking about, or would there need to be another component or seperate ritual apart from the katas we teach? I'm a warrior, Mr. Roth, not a psycologist. I'm afraid I'm going to need to be explained with simpler terms..."

I'm afraid I'm going to need to be explained with simpler terms..."

"Your people have come so far, so fast that there may well be the assumption that 'the old way' isn't civilized, and thats not necessarily true." Daveed hefted the knife appreciatively and returned it to the Colonel properly.

"A memroial service with the names of your fallen inscribed in a serene place where your men can go and remember them. Some groups use tatoos, or all night vigils where in they contemplate those gone on and as for their protection. Naming things with in military compounds - roads, buildings, your atheletic field, your landing field, what have you , for those fallen is another practise, and then therre are more intimate rituals..."

Daveed rolled up his left sleeve, so the flat cuff he wore on his wrist was visible.

"This is one I've grown accustioned to while living in Tanaara. The cuff is titanium, blacked yet the base hue shines through in a ghostly effect." His words went formal "Black for the ending of life, black to better view the memories, yet silver shining though to remind us that it is but a temporary ending. We will come again." He was silent for a heart beat, and began explaining the jewels set into the cuff, there was a central ruby hued gem, with a constellation of smaller gems in canary and cobalt spiraling outward from the center gem.

"These are 'Life diamonds', make with unimaginable pressure and heat just as natural diamonds are made. They are made from the bodies of the fallen. The yellow is for foes we have slain, so that we remember that even though they were the enemy their lives still had value. The blue are our friends, our family, our team, our brothers and sisters who gave their lives in the fight. We carry them on us, a part of us. For as long as we remermber they are not truly gone."

"It is a burden of joy, of memories, and when grief tries to consume us we can touch their physical presence, a presence that has been transformed to something that will endure though the bodies we knew are gone."

He shrugged "Many non Tanaarans find it morbid, or grotesque, but it is the physical manifestation of the line of those who have shown no greater love, the willingness to sacrifice oneself for others they will never know. It is an honor and a priviledge to carry them onward"

His fingers, those strong supple fingers so greatly skilled at bringing death or holding it at bay, traced over the stone and Daveeds lips moved silently as he recalled the names of all of those with him.

All right, everybody without tails and scales follow me, the rest of you bastards stay put. Follow me. Two of you per housing unit, unless you happen to be the commander, in which case you get one to yourself. I'm not going to take your gear from you either, you're gonna need it pretty soon. This area ain't exactly what you'd call 'secure', Insurgents have developed a nasty habit of trying to get through the wire after a few mortar strikes. Take that for what you will, you aren't under my command, thank Makaal.

Kevin nodded. "If by commander you mean rank, yeah, thats me, but I'll stick with the rest of the guys. Lest you think someone should crash with Kolto at his quarters, I think that would best be left to someone from STAB. Even if they weren't in the same Boat, it usually helps to have someone whose BTDT from the same area to ease situations. Hey Wick," he called out, waving one of the naval special forces swimmers over.

"This is WO4 Tim Wickwire. He's my second, so if ya can't find me and need to, just come to him."

Wickwire introduced himself, and a few more small words were exchanged as the rest of the two teams settled in. Gear was unpacked, weapons checked, and two man bunk orders settled. Kevin and Wickwire had began unpacking their own tools, CAR-68s and fatigues when Wickwire brought up the Argonian.

"What dy'a think it was?"

"Blow and booze. No doubt."

"So what should I tell the others?"

"Leave 'em be. Everyone needs to unwind in their own way."

Wickwire just nodded as Kevin unpacked his own narcotic stash. "Just make sure they know that if I catch them playing with this shit when they need to be heads up, I'll gut them my fucking self. Now get with the base medical staff, I want to know when he gets back to this level of existance and ready to be debriefed. I wanna talk to him most ricky fucking tic. Gravy?"

Wickwire nodded. Not only was he the second in command for the unit, he was also the lead corpsman, and a well trained medic. He would have met with the med staff anyways. "I'll hop on it."

Ket Keltin recieved his knife gracefully, returning it to its resting place as he listened to what Daveed had to say. The 'Life Diamond' concept was interesting, especially since it seemed that they were actually made from the actual bodies of the dead, perhaps out of compressed ash or something like that. Sort of like the jewelry the insurgents sometimes wore, the rings in their fin ears for the number of important enemies they'd slain in personal combat. The practice, now, however, was to cut the rank insignias from the uniforms of the dead and stitch them to their own clothes, similar format to how fighter pilots displayed their personal kills. It was meant to intimidate them, and sometimes worked.

Colonel Keltin had been debating on how best to memorialize the fallen, deciding on a large granite slab, dark as the sea, engraved with the unit patch and the names and ranks of the dead beneath it, organized by teams one through six. The slab would sit outside the command center, overlooking the waters which the displayed names had died trying to protect...

"I believe I have an idea which might work, but we'll discuss that later... Here comes Colonel Kerrich..."

The one-eyed former Drill Sergeant glared at both of them as he strode up to the conversation...

"What? We ain't getting paid to stand around and jack our jaws, fellas... We've gotta get everyone briefed..."

The base siren cut him off, the screaming wail drowning out his voice...

"Makaal-Dammit, what the fuck is that thing for?"

"Means they're scrambling a team for deployment, another ship must have gotten hit..."

Colonel Keltin reguarded Daveed with what might have passed for a grin if his jaw had been capable of such a motion...

"Fancy a bit of target-practice, Mr. Roth?"

Colonel Kerrich didn't need the smallest amount of encouragement, he was already off and running towards the armory to grab one of the new Kriss Super V sub-machine guns for himself and one for his brother in arms. Daveed, he knew, didn't need to be armed with something of that nature. The man was a distance expert, he'd be more at home shooting from the chopper. Kerrich returned a few minutes later, a Super V in each hand and a collection of special-made twenty-five round Glock 21 magazines. He tossed one to Ket Keltin, then a bundle of five stick-magazines...

"Get the chopper warmed up, I'll go grab Silwick, it'll give him an idea of how you fuckers operate, and why its so much better than how I do things, or whatever you were saying earlier before our guests arrived..."

Tucking the mag bundle under one arm, he trotted off to grab the Imitorian advisor. He didn't need to participate directly, in fact it was preferred that he didn't, the better to observe from above and point out exactly what they were doing wrong before being fast-roped to the deck to get a more personal view of what was going on...

The pattern that would eventually be known as the Vietnam Tiger Stripe was far from new. Since its original inception, computers, designers, and military personel had come together to come up with many a new pattern, some with special color combonations, others with specific placements, and some that were known as digital. However, the Imitoran Naval Special Warfare Center, and its numerous teams, had all come to settle on the older Vietnam style.

And as the siren blared out across the base, the NSW teams were donning the fatigues in Vietnam Tiger Stripe pattern, pulling them on over wetsuits for a naval ingress. However, in the quarters belonging to Kevin Silwick, the mood was not as jovial over the fatigues. Like most of the Detachment shooters, Ryan preferred either the appropriate British DPM pattern, or the newer Crye Multicam. However, as Kevin Silwick, he had to learn to love the Vietnam pattern.

He was pulling on a shirt over the wetsuit when he noticed that the Colonel was quickly approaching. Grabbing the Eagle CIRAS assault vest, he pulled it on, leaving it open, and then grabbed his CAR-68. He held up a hand to Wickwire, signaling him to get to the other swimmers and tell them to pause for the moment.

"Colonel," Kevin called out over the general noise of the base. "We're here for you, so how do you want us to handle this? Full team, or just an extra pair of eyes?"

Kerrich shook his head...

"Nah, man, just you this time. Grab your rifle and let's hustle. There's a chopper fueled and spinning up as we speak..."

Kerrich, too, was partial to the old-school tiger-stripe pattern, he and the rest of the Argonian National Army had worn the surplus uniforms for the better part of five years before a more modern pattern had been devised...

"Fancy a bit of target-practice, Mr. Roth?"

Daveed could and did grin as he replied " Just what I fancy Colonel" Then his long legs, he stood nearly six foot ten, took him rapidly over to the HMMV. After letting the cheetah back into the still closed vehicle he threw open the rear hatch and pulled out two Starlight custom rifle cases. He'd learned to appreciate the quality of a Starlight case years before while still in the American military. Nowdays his favorites - actually none of his weapons - rode in anything else. The cases were set aside as he slung a pair of satchels over his shoulders. One was a compact but complete field medical kit, the other was extra ammo and other 'might be necessary' items. Then he gathered up the rifle cases and headed towards the chopper, hard on the heels of Colonel Keltin.

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Elsewhere

Rob swore to himself. What was happening before him bolloxed his entire set of plans, primary and contengency.

The so called pirates had decided to take on a cruise ship of all things. Sure it was a small one, one of the super luxury ships that catered to those who wanted to voyage about in the company of others as wealthy and cosmoploitan as one's inestemable self.

The Royal Tanaaran Yatch Club might have accepted money for the cruise but the maximum of two hundred passengers were treated like royality of old. The Royal Tanaaran Yatch Club Odyssey (http://www.atddm.com/RTYC.doc) was the pride of the company, and was only a year old. He couldn't let the pirates take her unoppossed. He fired up the fishing skiff's runt of a out board and hoped he could get there while the pirates were busy Not keeping watch but having fun terrorizing the passengers. He only had a short window of time to get aboard without being discovered.

That he was armed only with an ancient 1911, and three extra mags didn't deter him. He wasn't going to let his people get any more harmed that he could help. The fact that it was a Tanaaran flagged ship, and thus carried arms - additionally the fact that if the guests were Tanaaran they'd most likely have military experience and be armed themselves. - that helped calm him immensely. However he also had to take in to account that it was traditional when cruising to not go armed, it was considered a bit overly paranoid and so most of the wealthy who took such intimate cuises left their weapons in their cabins. And how many were not form Tanaara, and thus possibly completely helpless in such a situation. He knew his people -they'd risk themselves protecting out of country guests. He swore under his breath. Operational security prevented him from carrying more weapons. Thankfully he'd had a radio with enough range to reach out to additional help, though the reception at this great a distance was spotty and he wasn't sure if he'd gotten all the information out.

He knew that if he could get on board an 'eyes on the site' would be of immense help to whom ever came to the rescue.

rear view (http://www.atddm.com/rty1aa.jpg)

overhead view (http://www.atddm.com/rty1b.jpg)

water level side view (http://www.atddm.com/rty1bb.jpg)

as seen from the helicopter side view (http://www.atddm.com/rty2a.jpg)

aerial partially head one view (http://www.atddm.com/rty1c.jpg)

Deck Plans (http://www.atddm.com/rtyo1a.jpg)

Kevin nodded, trotting back over to Wickwire.

"Ok, I'm heading out alone. Get the guys together, make sure gear is in one fucking hundred percent working order. Anyone have a piece not up to spec, make them start running."

Running was still used as punishment for the Naval Special Warfare Groups. Not because it was hard, but because running in full gear on a sandy beach was.

"After that, take some of your guys, see if you can find us an adaptable kill house. If we can, get it set up nice for ship style CQB. No hallways wider than a few feet, max. Keep it nice and tight. After that, see if we can talk to some of their pilots, see if they need any help with the low and fast stuff. I'll be back ricky tic."

Wickwire nodded. "Disco man. Stay frosty."

Kevin moved back towards his bunk, and grabbed the rifle.

The CAR-68 was an interesting weapon. Many internet forums had entire pages dedicated to the weapon, and often a forum 'newb' would claim they had purchased one. However, that in and of itself was difficult. The CAR-68 was only distributed to three seperate Imitoran forces, two of which didn't officially exist on paper or in congressional meetings. The other was the Naval Special Tactics College, which included the Naval Special Warfare Group.

Each rifle was the same in a two respects: first, it was Armalite based, using the H&K Gas Tappet system, and second, all were chambered in the new love child of the Imitoran military, the 6.8mm Remmington SPC round. Most were packed with hollowpoints, as the Imitoran government oft laughed at such strange laws set forth by Geneva and other groups.

Beyond that, there was no such thing as a single, stereotypical CAR-68. Kevin's own rifle was one of the ultra short barreled rifles, comming with a free floating, 10.5inch barrel crowned with a Noveske flashhider. The Noveske piece could be quickly removed and replaced with a Knights QD silencer when needed.. The RIS mounted a GG&G offset light mount with a SureFire light, and the standard foregrip, with a top mounted compact AN. Cut down iron sights were fixed, allowing co-witness with an AimPoint CompM2. The rear pistol grip was a more comfortable Magpul MIAD grip fitted to his hand, and the stock was an NSCW-Crane with what appeared to be skate tape around the cheek wield. The entire rifle was well scar'd, and looked as if it had been painted, and repainted, numerous times, depending on the operation. It was now in a dull, washed out all over flat black.

Closing the locks on the Eagle CIRAS and checking the rest of his gear, he grabbed a Tigerstripe boonie and offered a mock wave to Wickwire. "Stay comfy love, and remeber, I like my coffee warm and my slippers ready."

"Go fornicate yourself with a spork," Wickwire chuckled back.

Kevin turned to follow the Argonian to the helipad.

Now that the two advisors were onboard, the pair of choppers ascended into the still-dark sky...

"We're gonna circle once to get a bearing on where they are and how fast they're moving, then we'll drop the team in the water and stay close for air support, that way Mr. Roth can show us what he's got as far as sniping goes, if we actually need any air cover, that is. We'll let the team hit the ship as quietly as they like, then circle back after a few minutes..."

Colonel Keltin paused in his operational explanation...

"This isn't standard operational procedure, by the way. The choppers don't usually stick close, they head back to base to pick up a new tank of fuel and a fresh load of STAB operators to replace the assault team. That keeps the combat fatigue to a minimum and should keep casualties down, assuming we don't have a repeat of what happened to Kolto..."

Elsewhere

Rob just managed to get his sampan into the cruise ships wake, then into the turbulence free zone without getting swamped, but it was a near thing. "It's a good thing I've been useing this thing for weeks, otherwise Mercy's little boy would had to swim." He muttered under his breath. He was close enough now to se that the ships signarure Marina - "a fold-down teak platform provides a staging area for guests to enjoy complimentary water sports including waterskiing from the ship’s own speed boat, banana boat rides, paddleboats and kayaks." if he remembered the brochure he'd seen correctly. And unopposed ingress into the ship from water level. I wonder who the inside man is? I call dibs on them! He vowed in the silence of his mind.

Then chance brought him the sight of what lay on the starboard side of the four hundred foot cruise yatch and he blanched. "Who ever is coming is going to get toastied!" He growled. There were a pair of Marit Fast Attack Boats, the new stretch version just coming off the quays. MRTP33SX's worse than those he'd seen at Dutch Harbor - the ones moored there were only MTRP 33's. The SX's were carrying stabilized naval turrets with automatic guns - 30mm or so he thought, squinting to see what they had. "Medium missiles too I think. "

He was glad of the dark of before predawn, it kept him from being seen, but he heated it as well, as he couldn't see clearly whatall precisely the SX's mounted.

Rob decided to get to the Marina before powering up the radio again "If those buggers aren't jamming" he muttered to hiimself

They were he discovered all too soon, after he'd watched the sampan sink. He'd wrecked the bottom of the rather flimsly fishing craft. He didn't want it drifting behind and being seen by whomever the pirates eventually sent to walk the deck looking for just the sort of thing he'd just done. The bay that held the ships smaller sport craft and water toys was dark and he found a well hidden spot to bring out and fire up his small radio. He cursed under his breath at the warble of active jamming, and wonder just how he could get word out to the incoming calvary.

Kevin nodded as Keltin explained the SOP and how this operation would be handled. He pulled the CAR close as he selected a seat in the UH-60, and watched as the ground fell away from them.

"So whats the set up look like?" he asked Keltin, fighting that quesy feeling he got everytime he took off in a helicopter. It wasn't the flying that bothered him, but the general vertical take off and landing that he never got used to. "Any idea on numbers? What about the ship?"

He adjusted himself as the Blackhawk moved out towards sea, the CIRAS had never been comfortable for him. He prefered the Recon style chest rigs, but for the sake of appearences, he made due with what he had.

Keltin hadn't considered that. Then again, that was what advisors were here for, to remind him of shit he'd overlooked...

"We usually never know what we're up against beyond what type of ship. Hostiles almost always outnumber our guys, but stealth and surprise usually even the odds, plus the fact that we send in that second team after they secure the bridge, which gives us control of the ship's destination, and therefore control of the fate of the pirates on board..."

He was beginning to have to shout over the constant thump of the rotors...

"Tonight's raid is on a recreational cruise ship there motherfuckers have taken over. We have no idea how many we're dealing with, and have some of Colonel Kerrich's boys on standby in case we need reinforcements. Between you, Roth, myself, and Kerrich, as well as the team in the other chopper, we've got ten men going in. Roth's apparently a great sniper, so that should even the odds, Kerrich and myself have done the CQB thing enoug times that it's second-nature, and you don't look to be too shabby in that area yourself..."

The rifle the Imitorian carried had too short a barrel to be anything but an entry weapon designed for close-quarters killing. Keltin's own Kriss Super V was a similar tool, but incapable of pulling off any distance shots like the snub-nosed carbine would be. Kerrich had been eyeing the thing with his good eye quite a bit, he might ask for one later once he'd seen it in action. For now, however, the SF Colonel was itching to see what their newest toy would do, besides shred someone at close range...

Down below on the boarded cruise ship, pandemonium was raging. Boarders where killing without discrimination anyone who resisted them, be they men, women, or children. The decks soon lay strewn with the bodies of the slain, a grusome sight as the STAB choppers roared overhead, drawing automatic gunfire from the decks. The first chopper swooped lower than the second, black-clad forms dropping into the dark waters from a respectable height. They carried the standard UMP 45's outfitted with the short surpressors, as well as their surpressed Glock 21 SF's. Kerrich had his tomahawk, Operator 1911, and his evil-looking Gerber MK II in addition to the Super V. Ket Keltin had little besides his knife to bring to the fight. They were most certainly out-gunned, but not yet out-classed.

Their enemies down below had come highly prepared for this mission, a motley collection of Argonians, Dark Argonians, and humans. Most were ex-military, and most wore some sort of body armor, a lot of which was the hard stuff: Ceramic trama plates in kevlar carriers designed to stop rifle-caliber rounds. A few even had helmets outfitted with NODS gear. Weapons ranged from sub-machineguns in calibers 9mm to 5.56x45mm, assault rifles in calibers from .223 up through 7.62x51mm, various tactical shotguns and a slew of pistols of nearly every caliber, from .38 Special up to the powerful .50 Action Express.

In a word, they were ready, expecting this sort of response after their team had been wiped out by STAB on the fateful operation that took Kolto's squad-brothers from him. They would not be caught so unawares this time.

Colonel Keltin's face grew grim as they drew a torrent of automatic weapons' fire. They were most certainly going to take casualties on this one, good thing Roth was along for the ride...

"Go ahead and call in another STAB team, and get Colonel Kerrich's team in the air, too. We're going to need them. They know the drill, clearing rooms in close quarters..."

The Argonian Special Forces, most of which where Longhunters as well, preferred the Springfield SOCOM II M1A, for this op they'd load up with 7.62x51mm frangible ammunition to keep over-penetration down. A lot of them preferred the same Glock as their seaborne brethren, but still others were stuck on the 1911 like their mentor, Keyton Kerrich. He was sure a few of their new USAS-12 automatic shotguns would be brought along, too. Usually issued to the Domestic Defense Force, the SF teams had found them quite handy for clearing small spaces out quickly, too...

"You footing the bill for this one, Ket? My people aren't known for being subtle when it comes to doing the knock-and-rock thing. Expect a bill from Carnival, or who ever-the-fuck owns that oversized rowboat we're about to destory..."

The Colonel made his observation with a hint of mischief in his voice, leading one to believe that he enjoyed this part of his job. He did, actually, and got to do far less often than he believed he should...

The 'pirates' had come more than ready. This had been no raid of oppertunity, but deliberately planned. And the pirates had been waiting for amilitary response, and they could care less how many civilians survived. They weren't being held for ransom after all.

The paassengers were not Tanaaran, or resident of any nation in Fatal Terrain. The Odyessy hadn't officially launched, this cruise was one to 'repay' a old friend of one of the major investors. Every passenger was American. Once the Odyessy was fully operational, children would not have ben aboard for the ultrta luxury cruise liner had been designed for adults, but when the 'old friend' had insisted ion bringing children the exeption had been made since 'officially' the Odyessy hadn't been launched.

When the two Argonian helicopters had first appeared, orders had been given aboard the two Marits to hold fire but when the chopper began unloading their passengers both the Marit's 30mm deck guns opened up.

The first chopper burst into a hellish fireball before the last of the STAB operators could do their cast.

Then the 30 mike mikes turned their lethal fire on the second chopper, the one carrying the colonesl and the advisors.

Daveed had unlimbered his choice for the evening festivities befoe the cruise ship had been more that a smudge on the graying horizon - pre dawn was approaching. Now he hooked his belt to the safety line and went to a seated posture on the floor of the chopper.

As the Marits turned their attention to the second helo...Daveed's concentration was total, he never seemed to be aware of the pilots attempts at evasion, or the rounds that were making the chopper shudder like a living thing. He fired the massive McMillan Tac 50 four times and was rewarded with the bright flash and the gun turret of the nearest Marit erupted, to fire no more.

Bu6t the chopper had taken too much damage and it was evident to all. As Daveed snapped back to himself he took a quick glance around "I think we're about to go for a swim. Damn it I hate to hell to lose my friends here." He cursed as he hastily repacked the Tac 50. "Thank the Divine for souped up lo- jak." He triggered the locator beacons built into each gun case and tossed them over board as the helo autorotated toward the wine dark waters with frightening speed.

"Which do we take on? Those fast attack boats, or the tangos on the cruise liner? Daveed yelled over the noise of the dieing engtine.

The thwhump thwhump of the arriving chopperc could be heard in the Odsessy's marina, and the deck guns of the two Marits was also clearly heard, making Rob swear loudly. What he didn't hear was any tell tale sounds of the Marina being occupied by ahny one but himself, and that puzzled him. Surely the pirates would have left some one behind to stand watch over poetentially escaping passengers, though thewre would have been few of those this far donw in the ship at dark before even predawn, but sitll.

He decided that sitting safe myght make his mother happy, it wouldn't make him such, so with his Colt in hand he slowly did a double check of the area and assured himself that theere would be no one behind him when he entered the cruise liner proper. That done he carefully tested the door leading into the ship, and slid through it as much like a ghost as he possibly could. He also reminded himself to wonder aloud if going incognito and joining the Imitoran military might get him out from under the 'don't risk the heir'mentality that somany of his commanders suffered.

The corridor was empty of any living, but the bodies of the crew lay where they had fallen. Part of him wanted to scream in utter rage, part of him wept for those killed simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Quickly, with a stoney face he checked the corpses for any signs of life, but he knew that it was futile. He was close to a cross corridor when faint muffled sounds reached him, and he froze, listening even harder.

He swore silentloy to himself after a few moments, he could hear them clearly but damned well didn't know the language they were speaking. It wasn't one of the regional languages he was fairly certain.

Both Colonels were preparing to bail out before they hit the water, watching their companion chopper hitting the water like a meteor, a glowing ball of fire that sank slowly, taking the pilots and one STAB member with it. Even with the Argonian ability to breathe underwater, the flames would have already roasted them alive...

"I'm going over the side with the STAB's, Kerrich will take you two and stay low while we try to get something with some firepower in here to cover us. Gunship escorts are a must-have for any future operations. I'll catch you guys later..."

Colonel Ket Keltin of STAB slid out of the chopper, straightening his body like a javelin and entering the water with minimal disturbance. He re-appeared on the other side of the ship with the first STAB team as they were readying the grapple hooks for getting aboard. Colonel Kerrich had a better idea, however, than diving into the murky waters...

"I'm going to have the pilots take us over the ship one last time, low and fast to draw some more fire. We have the option of hovering and bailing out as fast as possible afterwards, or following Colonel Keltin into the water and climbing up. There's a chopper-load of my guys coming in soon, with an Apache gunship running escort. I've got a few frags on me, we can use those to fuck that patrol boat up pretty bad, or we can try to board it and turn the guns on those pirate bastards..."

They needed to decide quickly, the chopper was coming around again and the pilots would be bailing out into the waters below once this final pass was complete...

"The nearest FAB" Daveed yelled over the increasingly dirgelike sounds coming from the engines "If we can gain control of even one of those we can turn it on the other one."

He had more than a few frags in his 'possibly needed bag' he ws in the habit of carrying a wide assortment of small lwthal things just for such possiblilities as this. He had the DE's which looked small in his massive hands - they werern't over sized, but in porportion with the rest of his well built six foot ten frame and plenty of spare mags for them. If he ran out he'd just gun up from the nearest dead body.

He looked over at the Imitoran waiting to see what he'd suggest.

Posting for Imitora at his behest

Kevin just pointed down at the rapidly approaching deck of the cruise liner. He wanted, no needed, to kick some ass, shed some blood and otherwise let the rage bottled up within him out.

"Have 'em hold it just long enough for me to bail" He screamed to be heard as the chopper began it's final pass, and as it flared, the body of the beast shuddering as more rounds raked it, he pile out of the off side. Then the pilot was pulling up depserately on the collective, trying to claw enough air to make it safely over the cruise liners side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Below

It was the inarticulate, feminie cry of pain that brought Rob pivoting around the corner, the 1911 ready. Hard eyes took in the corridor at a glance, then the pistol was jumping lightly in his hand as he fired four rounds total, two for each of the men readying themselves to rape the woman gagged and bound at theri feet. He was moving forward as the bodies fell.

In a handfull of seconds he was on one knee by the woman and pulling the gag off her. "Shhhhh" He wispered "You're safe, but hush" He didn't know why he had said that his gun fire was louder than her screams could be. The two pirates lay where they fell, dead before they hit the decking.

Kevin landed on the deck with an uncerimonious thud, rolling away from the flaring Black Hawk, and comming to his feat, fast. Before he had even hit the deck, he had stroked the safety over from 'SAFE' to 'FULL'. He had been trained to keep the weapon on full auto, and fire short, controled bursts. It allowed him more versatility than the three round burst, and if he needed time to aim, he could flip the selector to 'SINGLE'. He quickly darted behind an overturned table for cover, finding himself taking little in the way of fire. It was most likely the mix between the pirates not being quite sure if someone really just had jumped out of the bird, on his own, onto the deck, and the desire to focus fire on the Black Hawk and bring it down faster.

He snapped up from behind the cover, settled the small red dot on the head of the nearest Dark Argonian, focused more on the helicopter, and gave the trigger a quick squeeze. A quartet of Barnes X bullets, loaded slightly hotter than usual by the armorers at the RFF School of Special Warfare, slammed hard into the head of the humanoid amphibean, splitting it like a piece of fruit. Kevin focused on head and chest shots, spying the entrance that would take him into the cabins of the ship, and hopefull to the bridge. Keltin had told him thats where the STAB teams headed first, and he thought it wasn't that bad of an idea. He also didn't have a full team with him, and he felt his best bet would be to requesition something in the idea of a squad automatic weapon, set up fort, and hold off as many of the bad guys as he could. Further, if he could get something with a barrel longer than the CAR-68, he could provide distinct and effect covering fire from the bridge.

All these thoughts ran through his head as he rolled out from cover in a manuver he had dubbed "The SWAT spin" and taken out another pirate, this one a human, with a two round burst to the chest. He came up into the low hunch used world wide by special forces personel, and took off in a fast run towards another wall for cover. Slamming his back into the wall, he spun, and let go two more bursts, dropping two more tangos on the deck. One of them had gotten off a damn lucky shot, and the round from what appeared to be a rifle in the AK family slammed just a breath away from his head, splinters showering his face. Another round from across the open main deck hit just inside his arm, lacing between his body and singing bellow the rear pistol grip of the rifle. He turned and fired a covering burst, hitting nothing, but keeping the head of the other shooter down.

He made his way towards the door that would take him inside, keeping close to the wall, firing quick bursts from the thirty two round magazine when he could, and when he needed too. Dropping three more pirates, he dropped down behind a chaise lounge, popped out the now empty magazine, and drove home a fresh set of the custom loaded 6.8mm Hollowpoints. Rounds from terrorist weapons, as he was now again the main focus on the deck with the dissapearences of the Black Hawk, crashed around him. The cacaphonic symphony of war exploded on the open deck, and Kevin dashed towards the door in a full run, letting his legs drop out as he kicked down to a slide behind an open bar. Somewhere durring the move, a round, lucky or skilled, caught him in the right shoulder. It was in and out, and Kevin did his best to push the pain away. Spinning back out from the bar, he fired off one last, long burst from the rifle, and dashed into the hall way opened into by the door, slamming the decorative and heavy portal behind him.

The woman looked at Rob with glazed eyes, not fully conscious, but the low commanding tone of his voice had gottten through enough that she put one hand, balled into a fist, to her lip to stiffle her sobs. She nodded jerkily as with her other hand she cluched at him for a moment, then tried to arange her clothing while blushing furiously.

"Thank You!" She exclaimed in a harsh whisper, her accent and her reaction letting him know that she wasn't Tanaaran. Tanaarans, aside from a few religioius sorts, were as comfortable nude as they were clothed. And what remained of her clothes let Rob knew that she was a passenger rahter than a crew member. Though Rob had the feeling that any one who had just been through what she had might feel very out of the norm. No one coped well with impending sexual violation and this woman was no different, for she spun, without further talk and began kicking at one of the bodies, her eyes wild.

Rob was staring at the door the two men had ostensibily been guarding, and his eyes lit up. The secondary bridge! Rob all but whooped with joy and turning grabbed the woman and dragged her inside, letting the door slam shut behind them. Looking about him he stopped short and then burst out laughing.

The woman looked at him as if he had suddenly spouted a second head, and Rob just waved a hand helplessly at the walls of guages, controlls and other rather indechiperable machinery.

After a minute Rob managed to take a breath and explain. "I thought for half a minute...I can handle the family yatch but this is as beyond that as an aerospace shuttle is from a cesna."

That brought a hysterical giggle form the woman then she began sobbing once again. Lettig her find more release Rob studied the controls, and was releived to find some that he recognised the purpose of. " I can at least turn off the engines, and bring her dead in the water. That should help whomever is coming in resoponse to this shit."

Kerrich wasn't really keen on what Silwick had just done, it looked to be more balls than brains at that second, but the guy was doing some damage. Keyton signaled to the pilots to take Roth lower across the water low enough to grab one of the PT boats. He'd follow the sniper in, Keltin and the STAB's would cover Silwick until they all got linked up, and hopefully by then there would be some of his people on board doing the knock-and-rock thing...

"You ready, doc? Here we go..."

Kerrich simply slid out of the chopper as it turned, forgoing his counterpart's excessive style. The only prize on the battlefield was living to fight another battle. He held the small SMG close as he swam slowly towards the attack craft, hearing Roth hit the water behind him and watching the UH-60 gain a little more altitude before the pilots dove out. They had their sidearms, and would be okay once they got on board the cruiser.

Keyton tugged the pin out of one of his grenades and chucked it over the side of the attack-craft before diving down a few feet to shield himself from the blast...

On the other side of things, Colonel Keltin's STAB's had already boarded the ship and were clearing the decks with accurate bursts of automatic fire, driving the hostiles back into the vessel's living areas and making the way clear for more reinforcements to arrive. The Colonel followed Silwick's path, shouting after him as his men secured the main deck and pool area...

"Silwick?! We're clear up here, you alright?"

Odsessy''s secondary beridge and engineering spaces

"So many levers, so many buttons, and not enough time to figure out what most of them do." Rob shrugged and began pushing levers into the neutral position, taking care to do those few he recognised first. "No, that one flushes the bilges if the label is correct, and that wouldn't be useful at all." Rob muttered as he began to slow down and try and figure out the ones he was uncertain of.

He wasn't even positive that his efforts were having any effect at all, the Odsessy' was nearly nine hundred feet long, and her momentum even cruising slowly was immense. But after a couple of frustrating minutes the guages indeed showed that the propellors had ceased turning any more than was necessary to maintain a safe headway.

"Okay, thats good, now we aren't going anywhere but we aren't at the mercy of the tide or durrent either." Rob muttered to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daveed hit the water clean, and didn't lose either of his pistols or his satchels. Coming up he was thankful to see that the Marit was concentrating on the lasat gasp of the chopper as it plunged toward the waters surface. The pilots were out and swimming with normal Argonian agility towards the cruise liner.

He saw Kerrichs arm come up and over, lobbing the grenade accurately into the FAB, but the Marits were armored and he didn't know how much damage it would do. The fore deck gun was automated, the 'gunner' controlling it from the comfortable safety of the command center. But it might clear away any one that had bee posted on aft deck duty. He didn't stay on the surface to watch though, he like the colonel wanted what ever protection the water could provide.

The boom of the blast was muffled by the water's depths. Kerrich resurfaced, clambering aboard and standing on top of the automated automatic cannon, where he figured was the safest place. After all, the thing couldn't shoot 'up', could it? He'd need to get some sort of hatch open before using another grenade. He'd wasted that one, stupidly. These things weren't Insurgency sam-pans, he reminded himself. Then came a perfect opportunity. Some dumbass actually exited the rear hatch to see what the commontion was. Kerrich triggered a blast of forty-five ACP in his direction, the heavy rounds hitting high on his chest and neck, throwing the mortally-wounded pirate into the murky seas...

"Hey doc, you alright?"

Kerrich wanted to make sure his old pal was okay...

Back on board the vessel...

Sektan Keth wasn't having a good evening. His near-perfect execution of a cruise-ship boarding was now under attack by some crazy bastard who had actually jumped out of the final crashing Blackhawk onto the ship. He'd looked human, to boot. Sektan had lost his second in command to a pair of mid-caliber rounds to the head, not that he really cared. He was standing on the upper deck, his rifle in hand and his M79 slung on his back. The rifle was a Lewis Machine and Tool custom job, with one of the carbine-stocked lowers attatched to the really neat Monolithic Rail Platform with the new gas-stroke piston operating system, and chambered in the tasty 6.8mm and outfitted with a Meprolight Reflex combat optic. The M79 was a custom rig as well, a kevlar-fiberglass stocked behemoth with the old-school quadrant sight from Vietnam. The thing could put a 40mm through a window at 400 meters no problem. The rifle went to a stand-by position as the human escaped through a sturdy-looking door, probably seeking cover.

Sektan brought the M79 up to his shoulder, aimed, and fired a single high-explosive dual-purpose round into the door, laughing softly as he did so. He loved his grenade-launcher so. The thing was more accurate than the M203, and didn't make his rifle as bulky either. The weapon came back up again after Sektan slid another 40mm shell into the tube. The STAB's swarming the deck were going to be an issue. His problem solver in this case was his handy-dandy boomstick, and Sektan fired another round into the side of the ship where the STAB's were coming on board, killing the final two as they tried to escape the blast. The rest scattered and took cover, spitting sub-machinegun fire at him as he ducked behind a smokestack and reloaded with another round.

Colonel Keltin was about to enter the doorway he'd seen Silwick charge through when a massive explosion threw him backwards through a mass of deck chairs, tables, and dead passengers and into one of the swimming pools. It wasn't a pretty sight. Someone up high had a grenade launcher, and knew how to use it better than anybody Keltin had ever seen. The artificial lights were getting dimmer by the second as he realized there was a large chunk of metal lodged in his gut and he was bleeding badly. The thump of choppers in the distance was a good sign, if only Kerrich and Roth had subdued the other gun-ships, or if an attack chopper had come along for the ride this time. The wounded colonel floated there, barely concious as his troops tried to kill the deadly grenadier up above them...

Sektan laughed a little louder as he watched the colonel get thrown like a rag-doll backwards as the grenade hit. Maybe tonight wasn't going to be so bad after all...

Silwick?! We're clear up here, you alright?

Kevin had made a bee line to the first room he could find, and lined up with a slight offset. He dropped the rifle, and worked around his back on the two point sling, drawing the Glock. It took three hard kicks to bash the door open, and a quick sweep proved it clear.

"Yeah," he called back out. "Clear my way. How you doing?"

Before he could get a response, the explosion of the forty millimeter grenade sending shards of glass, wood, and metal shrapnel screaming through the hallway. Smoke quickly blured his vision, and he ducked back deeper in the room. There was a new doorway with the comming of the explosion, as well as the chaos as to be expected.

"Keltin? Keltin you ok?"

Another explosion off to the side. Then the sounds of covering gun fire. Someone had a launcher, and had elevation and skill.

Ryan ducked out from the room into the hallway, and saw the other Argonians concentrating their fire on a near by smoke stack. He quickly holstered his pistol and brought the rifle back up, moving forward in a crouch. Keltin was in the pool, bleeding badly, and a few more Argonians on his side were down.

His rifle was damn perfectly accurate for room to room and serious CQB shooting, and decent to some ranges beyond that. He eyed Keltin again, and started barking out orders. "We need covering fire on that smoke stack, and get a damned corpsman on Keltin." If no one jumped forward, he would go himself. However, he would let that play out in his periphrial vision. He pulled his rifle up to his shoulder, the red dot Aimpoint falling on the smoke stack that the others seemed to think the grenadier was behind, and started moving slowly towards cover, waiting to get an open shot.

"Hey doc, you alright?"

"Right as rain" Daveed pulled himself easily over the side and into the mid deck of the Marit, making sure with a fast lounge that the door to the interior didn't get a chance to close. He didn't even look for the body of the pirate.

"I'll do the door knocking and you shoot whomever answers. When you get low on ammo we'll switch out, how about?" Daveed sugggested quickly

The Argonian Colonel came to briefly as Silwick's voice reached his fin-ears, muffled by the water. Slowly, trailing blood, he heaved himself out of the swimming pool and began crawling on his back to what little cover he could find before stopping again. He hadn't brought anything other than the Super V and ammo, but one of the STAB's near him apparently had a small aide pouch and was rapidly yanking things out, spreading his equipment out near his wounded CO for easy access as he began to try to remove the shard of steel from the colonel's abdomen. It came out pretty easily, after which a liberal amount of Quick-Clot was applied to stall the bleeding. There wasn't much else he could do besides try to shield the colonel with his body and lay down fire on the smoke stacks where the grenades had come from...

"Roger that, Sir! We'll try to keep him pinned!"

The four remaining STAB's opened up full-auto on the towers, rippling their fire so that others could reload as they went dry.

Behind the smokestacks...

Sektan's night had become a bad one again. A large volume of large-caliber gunfire was pinging off of his hiding place and his unimpeded view of the combat zone was gone. Even as he tried to poke his head out to get a better view, some asshole with a rifle was trying to take it off, a 6.8mm by the report from the muzzle and the holes it was leaving in the metal of the smokestack...

"Fuck... They've got me pinned..."

There wasn't much of a way forward, so Sektan poked the barrel of his weapon around the corner and fired off another shot before slipping off into the shadows behind his concealed position and deeper into the ship, slapping another 40mm into place and rocking the barrel shut as he went. They hadn't seen the last of him yet...

Kerrich just shrugged. It didn't exactly matter to him. He had a forty-five with about thirty-two rounds of ammo and his tomahawk when the Kriss Super V went dead...

"Fine by me... Wonder if anybody else is home? I hear choppers in the distance, we'd better hurry. I don't want my boys winding up in the drink with the rest of them..."

A quick glance over his shoulder told him that the pilots had reached the cruise ship, and were pulling security with their Para-Ordnance Tac-Five 9x19mm's. The things held a ridiculous nineteen rounds total, so they only had two spare mags, not that they'd need more...

Kerrich yanked the door open and sprayed the interior with gunfire, the Kriss giving little response in terms of recoil as it was used as a bullet-hose. The Colonel was loving it, the recoil was a whole lot lighter than the Thompson or the UMP they'd been trying out for deadly CQB with pistol-caliber ammo.

The two pirates within were riddled, dropping dead into rapidly expanding pools of thick red stuff...

"We're clear here, you want the guns or should I take 'em?"

Kevin watched as the Colonel pulled himself out of the water, impressed to say the least. However, he kept his focus on the grenade shooter. If he had a magnified glass, maybe something like the ACOG, he well could have put the 6.8mm round into the skull of the pirate, but keeping his fire at bay was damned good enough for this scenario.

However, with the last grenade, the pirate disapeared into the bowls of the ship, narrowly missing more of the SPR rounds. Kevin swore to himself, missing the target, and stroked the release, loading in a fresh thirty two round magazine.

Keeping in the same low crouch, he moved forward towards Keltin, nealing over the body. He looked down at the cloting agent on the wound. "Shit man, I ain't no medic, we need the sniper that went with Kerrich, he's got all the medical training."

Silwick had to make a choice. Either move into the ship, or stay out here and wait for the birds. "Alright, I need some of you shooters with me."

The sound of the incoming Black Hawks was peppering the air, and the best way to handle it was to let the calvery handle the barn storming. "Someone stay here with the corpsman. The rest of you are gonna come with me, we'll do this your way. We need to move towards the primary or secondary bridge, and get this thing dead. Also help to kill some bad guys along the way. Gravy?"

"We're clear here, you want the guns or should I take 'em?"

"Those pieces of shit? No way" Daveed answe3red as he moved past the downed pirates. "However I think they know we're here. Lets do a little door knocking!"

He dug in his possibles bag and came up with a coil of semtex and a detonator. "This is the only think thats going to ge6t through that hatch I think" He indicated the thickly armored and obviously dogged shut hatch that led into the command center.

"It's either this or try for engineering and I think they're going to be locked just as tight"

Kerrich shrugged...

"Fuck it, blow it up. Should I drop a frag in behind the charge, or will that mess something up too badly? We gotta hurry, reinforcements are on the way. I know you don't like be rushed Doc, but I want these guns either silent or on the bad-guys..."

A loud whumping outside demonstrated their urgency as the gunboat again opened fire on the incoming choppers. Something else that sounded like a missile launch reached his ears within the small attack boat, which shook violently a second afterward...

"I think they brought an escort this time. That felt like an air-to-ground missile..."

Learning from past mistakes, the Argonian military had deployed an Apache gunship to ride along, as well as equipping the transport choppers with Vulcan guns on either side. Streams of hot lead criss-crossed the aft portion of the ship just ahead of Silwick and the STABs that had chosen to follow him towards the bridge, weapons held at high ready. The choppers came in low over the area they'd just sprayed, throwing down rappel lines which were shortly after occupied by Argonian Special Forces in full battle gear and armed to the teeth. The second chopper circled back around, dropping the final STAB team, led by none other than a wired Ravik Kolto. He'd quietly slipped out of the med-bay after he'd come around, hopping aboard the outbound chopper armed with little more than his knife. Two of the operators came up to pull security around Colonel Keltin, further trying to stabilize him. They couldn't extract until the ship was clear or risk having another chopper shot down with the wounded officer on board.

The Special Forces formed up on Silwick while the STABs made their way towards the aft of the vessel to secure it and leave the heavy fighting to the better armed and armored Special Forces soldiers, who were in full body armor and packing powerful rifle-caliber weapons and shotguns...

"Lead the way, sir. We'll follow you until Colonel Kerrich shows up..."

Kolto, however, threw himself over the side of the vessel, forming himself into a spear as he hit the water, darting beneath the ship to the aft loading dock where he could board and take the fight to the enemy his own way. A pair of helicopter pilots nearly shot him as he surfaced, but he waved past them quickly, ignoring their puzzled looks, and plunged deeper into the ship. The secondary control room looked like a good place to start. The cocaine was still pumping slightly in his veins, making him alert on an extreme degree, knife held ready to end someone's day in a bad way. The STAB operator was silent, creeping on damp feet through the corridors. He was nearly surprised by a wary pirate, inspecting the body of a dead comrade.

The knife was a flash of matte steel, carving a swath up and across the neck, severing both the carotid and jugular in one powerful swipe before being driven through the human male's eye and into his skull. Kolto didn't both to wipe the knife, he just kept right on moving until he'd reached what he throught was the secondary control room. He heard voices within, his drug-enhanced senses making the noises almost painful. Quietly he flattened himself against the bulkhead, knocking loudly with the pommel of his knife...

"Look miss, you can't go with me, you are far safer here." Rob tried one last time to make the woman understand, then froze as there came a pounding on the door to the secondary control room.

He'd dragged the two bodies within, but had had no way to wipe up the massive amounts of blood they bled out as they died, Thewre was no where to hide, the built in chairs offering nothing more than the most minimal of coverm, if one could even call it that.

"Let me get set, then go open the door, hide most of youyrself behind it though" Rob whispered quickly. If she was going to insits on going with him she would have3 to be useful, and what better way to be usefull than as a distraction.

This door was metal, and fairly solid metal at that, like all the others 'below decks' and Robg flattened himself against the bgulkhead and motioned for the woman to go over and 'invite in' whom ever was out there...

~~~~~~~~~~

"Don'r follow up with something as messy as a frag, there are things in there that don't like random pieces of flying metal. And yeah they tried to take this junker out with..." Daveeds hands flew as he talked and in seconds the semtex and the detomator were placed on the door and Daveed grinned evilly

"Ready?" And at the Argonian's jerky nod, they boths dove to the sides as he clicked the detonator.

Those within were too busy or too stunned to react because as Daveed dove back the way he'd come, his massive DE thundering three times, there ws no return fire, but two bodies fell, leaving but one for Kerrich to deal with. Daveed was coming to his feet heading for one of those he'd taken out, the body had slumped over a console, apparently the one for the deck gun as the 30 mm was still firing.

The Colonel simply dumped the rest of his magazine center-mass on the individual, overkill to an un-nessecary degree, but it wasn't like he'd be needing the Kriss anymore. Now they had 30mm automatic cannons to play with...

"Have fun with the big guns, Doc. I'll make sure any more of these assholes don't give you any trouble..."

One of the pirates had a pump-action twelve-gage in his limp hands, which Kerrich swapped for his SMG, pulling pump back slightly to inspect the chamber. The red plastic of a twelve-gage Winchester XX Magnum grinned back at him as he slid the pump forwards again. Not a bad loading, for a pirate...


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kolto saw the door opening, slowly, and slid back down the wall a few inches...

"Chief Warrant Officer Ravik Kolto, Argonian Naval Special Operations! You're ordered to politely toss your weapons outside the room before I chuck in a frag and make funeral planning that much easier for your next of kin..."

Kolto didn't have anything explosive on him, just the large knife still dripping blood and viscous fluid from entering a human eyeball. They were in a sort of stand-off. Kolto couldn't enter without being shot, and whoever was inside couldn't exit without getting dispatched in a horrid, gruesome fashion...

"I'm going to count to three, then you've got three seconds before the grenade goes off... One..."

A wide eyed female face peered around the door at Kolto and upon seeing Kolto sceamed "Oh Gods it's the creature from the Black Lagoon!" and on the heels of that followed a thump as her limp body hit the floor.

"Bloody hell, she fainted!" Rob couldn't help but exclaim as he tried to make sense of her screamed asssertation. Then the lightbulb lit and he called out " If you are Argonian Special Ops, what you got on your hip?." as he dropped to one knee to check on the woman. He thought he had heard something about some special unit with a new ops format, but he wasn't sure.

"And do you know more about running a big ass ship than I do?" He hadn't bothered to close the door, and it had semi jammed against her body. He didn't have anything resembling a medical kit on him, not even in the haft the old survival knife he carried on his frayed rope belt. No poor fisherman would have more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"These boats usually carry a crew of about ten if I remember correct, and if I am that means there are more around, probably down in the engine rooms." Daveed pulled the dead body aside and began trying to make heads and tails of the weapons console. With the body removed the deck gun had stopped.

"Can you get your people on the horn andf let them know not to blow us out of the water. This is one expensive toy and the more intact it's kept the sooner your people will have it to play with." Daveed waved over at what he thought was the communications console as he found the targeting reticule and turned the 30 mike mike on the other marit, to that ships utter astonisment.

OOC: hope you don't mind it join your little RP. I'm going to take over two of remaining tangos in the engine room.

Peterson and Bannister, swore in unison. Though they had long left the Hyst military in favor of the more lucrative warrior of fortune business, they had never found themselves is such a predicament. Together they had left the military, and though manage to avoid the death penalty for desertion, had managed to retain some of the equipment from their past lives. Peterson still cradled his 25MM XM109 rifle and Bannister gripped his Full-Auto 6 mm. HM-6.

Bannister checked his HM-6 ammo level, and though he was almost down a half clip, he noted that he still had 30 of 50 round capacity. Though he noted that he still had 3 clips remaining, Bannister began to wonder if it would be enough were they to make a rush. They had been all but cornered. He watched the far door carefully and as the other remaining men took up defensive positions around engineering, Peterson was moving toward the steerage exit.

Just before Peterson had rounded the corner, Bannister caught up, and together they carefully worked their way up a flight of stairs that led toward the aft port side of the deck. As they creeped up the final steps, they crouched and surveyed the situation. The deck was littered with various men milling about and prepping themselves for an assault down below. Bannister watch as Peterson began to crawl toward the aft tail fins and the rood of the aft observations deck roof.

Peterson seemed to melt into the shadows, his years of training coming into play, and with a quiet click as he cycled the action of the large weapon. Sighting one of the large helicopters circling overhead, Peterson adjusted for range and windage and squeezed the trigger with practiced mastery. With a surprisingly quiet crack for a weapon of it's size, a 25mm FMJ hot-loaded AD/HE round streaked toward the rotor of the nearest chopper.

The large round barely missed the rotor base, instead striking one of the blades, shearing it off. The chopper began to sink slowly towards the water, trying to limp back to base, its payload already deployed and its mission completed. It wouldn't make it, however, and a mile distant the bird went down hard, trailing the pilots and crew chief as they bailed out into the familiar waters and began their long swim back towards the cruiser.

Sektan Keth rounded the corner, nearly plowing into Peterson's rifle. The human, along with his partner Bannister, where two of his more effective operators...

"You two, get the rest of them, we're leaving. Things have become way too heavy up top, we've got Argonian Special Ops from two different branches bearing down on us. Get back to the lower decks and we'll see how we can get off this tub..."

Sektan had no idea how well the two humans could swim, but they could probably wrangle themselves a boat of some sort. Sektan, on the other hand, was more than capable of swimming the several miles back to the concealed pirate hideaway...

Colonel Kerrich was fiddling with the radio as a stream of 7.62x51mm's skipped off of the armored hull, sprayed from a chain-gun on board one of the orbiting UH-60's...

"All birds, this is Eyepatch, cease fire on patrol craft, repeat, cease fire on hostile patrol craft. Myself and Tanaran Advisor have taken one and will dispatch the remaining one ourselves. All non-combat aircraft RTB, repeat, RTB..."

He stepped away from the communications terminal, hefting the shotgun lightly...

"That oughta do it. Guess that means you're free to hammer away on that tub next to us..."

Back down in the belly of the cruise ship, Kolto's hand went to his hip, only to find an empty holster. His pistol had been removed from him at the medical facility, and his SMG was still sitting on the counter back at his house. The knife was his only defense right now...

"Musta misplaced it... I take it you're not a pirate, seeing as you haven't shot me or her yet. That leaves me to ask who you are exactly, sir..."

The man had the air of someone important, and carried a decent piece, but then again so did all the pirates on this ship. The fact that it wasn't an assault rifle did do something in his favor, though. Kolto lowered his knife, stepping into full view...

"And no, I have no idea how to pilot something this big. My training is limited to Zodiac rafts..."

Rob looked up at the Argonian and the blood dripping knife he carried and gave a wry grin. "I sincerely doubt that I am a pirate, though Sergeant Holden would say that if I were a smart enough pirate I'd claim not to be a pirate. What I am, is failing my final exam." He nudged the 1911 over towards Kolto as he got his arms under the still unconscious woman and stood. His quick examination seemed to indicate that she hadn't gotten a concussion.

"Here, I've got my hands full, and I think you'd be happy to use it on any one who intruded." Rob carried the woman over to the nearest corner "I think I got the engines spun down, but this thing is so big I can't tell if she's lost head way. .."

He indicated the bodies of the two pirates he'd killed out in the corridor. "How many troops hit the ship with you? Are you a second wave? I thought I heard choppers inbound when I first made it on to the ship. Those two Marits can carry up to sixty pirates boarders between the two of them if they are willing to forego any semblance of comfort."

However he'd had no idea how long the liner had been in the pirates hands, and one of the rumors that he had passed along had said that the pirates had access to helicopters of their own. He explained all of this in a few terse words to Kolto.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Much better" Daveed exclainmed when the Marit stopped shuddering from the impact of the rouns from the chain gun. "Now if this one doesn't try to sail away under the guidance of the engine room, though I don't think they have a second set of bridge controls. Good Hunting Kerrich." He called as he turned back to targeting the other Marit which had thrown off it's shock and ws now beginning to speed away. Presenting an almost picture perfect up the kilt shot for Daveed and the 30 mike mike.

The Argonian wiped the knife on his pant leg, amongst a large swath of nearly identical marks, before sheathing the blade and picking up the 1911. The single stack felt small in his hands, compared to the Glock he usually carried. It would do, however, for killing pirates of any sort...

"I'm part of the second wave, which includes two UH-60's filled with both Naval SpecWar STAB operators and Army Special Forces. There's a bit of the first wave still intact and fighting as well. They've got the upper decks secured by now, they've slaughtered an awful lot of these assholes..."

Kolto paused for a second, bringing the pistol into a steady two-handed grip...

"And what do you mean 'Final Exam'? You humans make such little sense sometimes..."

He had no idea what the man was talking about but that didn't really concern him right now as much as the fact that there were still armed and dangerous boarders in his area of operation...

Kevin's makeshift team moved quickly into the ship via the same door that had become a port hole ala forty milimeter HE. Whilst the Argonians and the Imitoran had shared little in the way of common training, room clearing and CQB was room clearing and CQB no matter what name you gave it, and he was glad to know that the Army shooters with him had a grasp that was far beyond acceptable in the situation.

They moved with a quick determination, engaging each room with the nonchalant and direct way that special forces types oft did. Kick in or blow up the door, secure the room through speed of action and lots of dead bodies, move on to the next. The same rutine provided just the right amount of entertainment for Kevin, who enjoyed leading from the front, and getting nothing but more combat expierience as the door kicker he loved to be.

The small, yet effective, team, made their way easily through the first floor they had opened up to, and with little conflict took a second floor. However, this floor had an interesting twist, a set of heavy doors that would lead out towards the casino. Kevin was slipping a new magazine into the rifle while he contimplated the action. He was three mags down, but had plenty more, yet casinos always tended to be tricky. Flashing lights and sudden noises from slot machines or other video devices were overly distracting, and made good cover for tangos. But the same could be said for the good guys.

He looked back at the small detachment he had taken with him, all who had proved to be nothing less than excellent killers. "So, whadya'll wanna do? Casino or engine room?"

One of the larger Army shooters, a large and powerful-looking individual whose nametape read 'KREETS', hefted the SOCOM II in his grasp easily, keeping it locked to his shoulder as he adjusted his helmet...

"I say we keep on killing like we've been doing, chief. Leave the engine room for the swimmers, let the real ass-kickers do the knocking and rocking. We'll follow your lead..."

The team had been on such a roll so far there seemed little need to stop them now, lest the adrenal rush faded and slowed them down from their breakneck pace...

"And what do you mean 'Final Exam'? You humans make such little sense sometimes

"My last test before graduation was to infiltratre Dutch Harbor, get all the intel I could and make it to the renedvous by twentythree hundred. Stopping to help rescue a cruise liner has thrown that schedule way the frak off. Not much other reason to choose to look like this." Rob waved a hand indicating the smelly all but rags that he wore. "I have to remember to get some aid for the poor folk stuck living there. It's bad" He commented off handedly as he struggled to figure out more of the high tech systems

Rob Ryan had managed to pull up the touch screen menu for the ships cctv system. "Hey this will be handy." He brought up various places around the ship slowly at first then with more confidence. "Hey it looks like the tangos are heading our way. Your compadres up top must be giving therm hell."

Kolto nodded, watching along with his new human companion...

"Are you part of some military academy or something? You still haven't explained why a final exam would include infiltrating a pirate outpost..."

The STAB operative handed the pistol back to the man, preferring the knife anyhow. The quarters were close enough that he could whip through two or three before they were able to return fire, giving him an opportunity to take cover and prepare for his next move. His servicemember brethren upstairs were apparently doing better than he since more of them had arrived, and they were now slaughtering the pirates with relative ease...

"Look these aren't pirates, where in the hell would pirates get top of the line Marit gunships? Turkey and the other countries that run those don't sell them to just any one. No, this whole thing has been orchestrated by a government, and I've got to get the information back to the proper sectors. And yeah that was my graduation exercise from the Tanaaran Military Academy. Get in get the info and get it back out. My mom used to head TMI and she says that any son of hers that can't get in get the info and get back out isn't worth the worry." Though he knew his mom would have had full grown saberteeth at the thought of him thinking that she felt that way.

His mom didn't know he was here. This exercise was the doing of Baroness Di'Racul, the current head of TMI, and his mother's, and therefore his, dire enemy, though Rob didn't have proof of that ...yet.

"Hey, I think I've got the intraship commo up. And look, there is a group of your people about to hit the casino...Let me see if I can raise them, as I've got control of the cameras in the casino." Rob moved over the controls more surely now. They were intended to be user firendly.

The discretely placed wall mounted intercom began to chime close to one of the Army Special Forces operators, as they gathered with the Imitoran advisor outside the casino's entrance...

Kevin ignored the beeping, brushing it off as the side effect of the shoot out on the wiring of the system. He would leave it be should one of the Argonians with him take a need to investigate.

I say we keep on killing like we've been doing, chief. Leave the engine room for the swimmers, let the real ass-kickers do the knocking and rocking. We'll follow your lead.

"Ohh ah," Silwick replied in his best Pacino impersonation. Scent of a Woman was a favorite of his, and while not dead on, it came close. They set up the breach charge, stacked, and Kevin looked at the door with an odd sort of smirk.

"Knock knock."

The door exploded inward, sending shards of metal, wood, and fragments of a few slot machines on the other side flying into anyone standing on the opposite side of the door. Kevin was the first through, rifle up, and quickly put two rounds into the skull of a human shooter, sudenly aware that a heavily armed team of Argonians, lead by a human was now in the room, shooting.

Silwick moved to quickly secure a corner, when the larger 7.62mm round from a mounted belt fed slammed into a poker table right in front of him, sending the clay chips flying. He let his feet slide out as he came to rest behind another embankment of slots, shooting around the corner when he could. There were more in the room than just the machine gunner, keeping a good amount of fire over the area, and Kevin quickly came to the conclusion that he might have a real firefight on his hands.

One of the SF soldiers simply bashed the intercom with the butt-stock of his rifle, seeing no need to be distracted by the chirping of some wall-unit when lead was flying.

The door opened, and seemingly into the mouth of Hell. Heavy automatic fire felled two of the soldiers, their body armor doing something to preserve their lives, but little for wounds on anything but the torso. One had a round pass through his shoulder above the region where the SAPI plate protected. He rolled with the impact, taking shelter behind one of the slot machines as the rest of the team pressed forward, blasting away at any exposed pirate limbs, be they elbows, knees, heads, whatever. Grenades were exployed to great effect, and destroying most of the casino in the process.

Their forward advance halted by surpressive-level fire, they scattered and took up positions behind anything they could find that might stop gunfire...

However there was nothing Rob could do but watch in horrification. The terrorists had taken the majority of the nearly six hundred crew, and most of the two hundred passengers and confined them in the cassino, the largest single room on the ship. Most of them had been flex cuffed, some had had duct tape put over their mouths, or around their ankles.

The casino was spacious, but the nearly seven hundred and fifty hostages filled it rather completely. Especially when you add in the nearly forty terrorists on the upper levels and cat walks. Grenades and heavy weapons fire killed many of them as the Argonian Special Forces burst in with no reconniassance or planning.

Robert swore viscously " I am going to kill those damned Argonians, and whom ever was leading them myself. They didn't bother to obtain any damned information on who was in there. They let the kill lust run away with them."

He made sure that the CCTV was taping the carnage.