NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC thread here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=565626)

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.Day Two.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

One hundred and twenty five souls huddled in small groups in the depths of hot, stale aired, utterly dark cells no larger than small walk-in closets.

The unsuspected survivors of infamy.

Once they had numbered one hundred and ninety. However, those that had been deemed too dangerous – for a variety of reasons - had been executed while they were still recovering – barely conscious and disoriented from the colorless, odorless gas that had filled the target. Some six had died of reaction to the poorly worked, substandard arcane teleport that had been used to remove their comatose bodies from the target – nearly one percent of humans had fatal ‘allergic’ reactions if subjected to certain arcane energies unprepared.

They had not been fed since their capture, and water had been supplied only intermittently. Every one of them had been severely beaten - to break bones and worse - to render them as little a danger to their captors as possible. And most had been subject to the predations of their captors in other ways as well.

None of them had been interrogated; they had not been captured with that in mind. There were other uses for them.


.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.Day One.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Charli Firewalker ( http://jkayjax1.googlepages.com/charli2z.jpg/charli2z-custom;size:151,350;brt:53.jpg ) sat reading over the folder waiting for the other of the Small Mission Team to arrive. She didn’t know much about most of them, but she’d guessed they all have to be competent or they wouldn’t be a part of it. The Archon wouldn’t have allowed amateurs – though she had to snort at that- she was not military, much less a military specialist, but she was something none of the others were – familiar with the terrain.

Once she’d speed read the event files Charli closed her emerald eyes for a moment as she laid them aside then looked around the briefing room. She was the first one to arrive, and the sergeant in the entry foyer had simply nodded and said “Third door on the right”

But then again she had no idea exactly where she was – the futuristic Dragon Fang (http://www.atddm.com/dragonfang.jpg) that had picked her up had come with a black out helmet, much to her disgust. She liked flying and had been unamused to not be able to really enjoy the ride. But she owed Rob and she was being very well paid so she didn’t have to like it, she just had to endure it. There were other considerations as well. Some labeled her a terrorist, but she didn't consider herself one - but those that had destroyed a civilian airliner in mid flight, them she did. And she fully intended to help put them out of action. Payback suited her

The spacious quarters she and her small kit had been escorted to upon her arrival at the secret base resembled nothing so much as an upscale hotel suite. And her escort, a handsome young captain, had advised her, as he’d handed her the temporary ID badge, that the dining hall’s food was first rate. But then again she’d been in Tanaara long enough to know that the Tanaaran military did things right and she knew that this base – where ever it was – would be superbly equipped to allow her and the others of the scratch team to train as thoroughly as possible.

Charli just hoped that who ever ended up running the team would allow for her abilities and skills….but then again she still hadn’t decided how much she would let any of the others know about her more... uncommon... abilities. Her past had not been of the sort to encourage her to trust strangers with much – if any- real information about herself. She would play it as usual, by ear, as there wasn't yet even a full team roster, though she had been given to understand that a Travis Tenkiller, was being sent from TMZ as their primary medic. She'd be his back up, among other things.


It's strange how heaven and hell can occupy the same continuium...

Captain Victoria Escher didn’t like the black helmet she had to wear. She wanted to check over her gear, but it was fairly impossible. Even so, she fiddlied around for several seconds in a green canvas box on her pistol bet. After a bit, she blindly selected a lollipop. Popping it in her mouth only a half second after unwrapping, Lollipop spat out the stick from the bubblegum sucker she had been working on for the last half hour. A grin crossed her face, Chocolate Fudge.

She reclined back in her seat, glad to get back to military operations. Hunting and destroying vampires wasn’t exactly the mission goal she had in mind when she had joined the military. The shattering of a simple pelvis brought everything down. She could still see the poor man’s face after she slammed him to earth, her boots coming straight down on him.

Lollipop had found herself under civilian command, supporting VIB operations by commanding the supplementary National Guard troops. She had personally gone into quite a few nests, racking at least twenty personal kills. Even with all the action (the last nest she hit, she and her command was involved in combat for nearly two hours and by the end thirty vampires lay dead), she wanted to get back into full military operations.

Lollipop was happy now, even though she didn’t know what the mission was or know where she was going. The promise of a cleared record was enough for her. Though she was furious she wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to Ashley in Pembrooke before she left. It had been three months since she had seen her girlfriend. After this maybe, she’d get some R&R.

“We’re setting down, get ready to disembark.” The pilot said over the intercom. Lollipop waited for several minutes before she felt the aircraft shudder. The pilot came on again. “Alright, you can remove your helmet.”

Lollipop removed the helmet and plopped it on the seat beside her. She scratched her head, her short purple colored hair a sharp contrast to military regulations. She slid over her crimson beret; a golden shield was on the front emblazoned with a red Fire Dragon. In the middle was a single silver diamond.

Lollipop straightened her forest digital camouflage uniform. The Fire Dragon emblem of the 17th Airborne was black against the right sleeve and the flag of the Golden Simatar on the left. A single black diamond was sewn onto each shoulder. Around her waist was her pistol belt, a green canvas box held more lollipops and the black canvas holster holding her Brakner P45.

Scooping up her Brakner A23 rifle, she slung the weapon over her shoulder as she collected the rest of her gear. Looking around, she ticked off in her head that she didn’t forget anything; helmet, LSA Class-61 body armor, as well as two large cases, one containing some spare clothing and other military gear and the other carrying ammunition and magazines for her weapons.

Satisfied, Lollipop disembarked the aircraft and was immediately greeted by a smart looking guard. Fumbling with her full hands, she took the ID that was handed to her and followed him to her quarters. Dumping her gear on the bed, she left the room and followed the man to the briefing room.

Lollipop adjusted her beret slightly; making sure it was straight, before she entered. Her eyes immediately fell upon the only other person in the room. She smiled, rolling the lollipop still in her mouth from the left side to the right.

Walking up to the seated woman, Lollipop slid into a chair next to her. She smiled, offering her hand.

“Captain Victoria Escher, 504th Regiment, 17th Airborne Division Republic of the Golden Simatar. But most folks call me Lollipop."

"Dragon Fang. How boring." muttered the raven haired woman as she disembarked the ship, turning slightly to observe her latest "buddy" to accompany her. She shifted her posture slightly, a minuscule movement, though she had no real need to. It was just a habit to appear more human than she really was.

"What would you have named it then if it were your choice?" replied the smooth talking elven man dressed in earth toned battle clothing. His emerald eyes studied her in amusement.

"Dragon Shit would be more like it." she retorted, a slight gleam coming from between her lips before she closed them once more. She turned as he did to direct her attention to the entrance where a few moments later, a representative appeared and ushered them along with him. They followed without question, and soon found themselves having deposited their things in private room for each and escorted to the briefing room. Rikan was the first to enter, her eyes immediately taking in detail the two others in the room already.

Armal muttered something to himself as he studied the Tanaaran woman. Rikan looked over at him, then looked back to the woman in question. A small crease between her brows formed as she couldn't figure out what was so interesting about this woman that Armal had spoken a quiet commentary to himself in his native language.

Both seated themselves a short distance away, and a seat apart from each other, as if they repelled each other naturally. Rikan's eyes smoldered beneath the canopy of her raven hair, the silver-grey irises shockingly contrasting. She knew of the other female, the one sucking the lollipop. News traveled swiftly in the underworld when hunters became known for their kills. Not that she really cared. The woman was still nowhere near her own kill record.

Two more of the team arrived before Charli could reply to the Simataran's greetings

“Captain Victoria Escher, 504th Regiment, 17th Airborne Division Republic of the Golden Simatar. But most folks call me Lollipop."

“Charli, wilderness specialist, representing Tanaara.” She took the offered hand in a light but firm grip of her own then released it “Pleased to meet you Lollipop.”

Except that Charlie Firewalker wasn't a native Tanaaran - she was an expat American, recently become a Tanaaran citizen. And if you were tied in enough with the Fatal Terrain Meta-Hhuman community you knew, not her - she wasn't a highly social person -but of her.

Two years ago she had walked in to the Eagles Nest wildfire and saved nearly two hundred and seventy five trapped campers and countless wildlife. The massive wildfire, covering over 750,000 acres was forming into an unstoppable, full fledged fire storm, and then it was gone, snuffed as if it had never been. She had specified no media coverage and the Tanaaran government had easily acquiesced. No one had seen her, much less recorded it - but the stories circulated among those in certain select groups. The Meta humans knew their own and she was known among them for far more than just that incident.

The tall lithe redhead was in ‘worn so long they fit like a second skin’ faded indigo jeans, a button down chambray shirt, with the sleeves tidily rolled up to just above the elbow, and a well broken in photographers vest. The custom made hiking boots were equally well used and well cared for as was the Nighthawk Predator II in it’s Lou Alessi Bodyguard shoulder holster.

Her emerald hued eyes took in the two newcomers with carefully observant interest, but no eagerness.

Liam didn't complain when he was informed of the black helmet requirement and simply sat still as the aircraft took him to wherever his destination was. After almost a decade in the military he was quite familiar with need-to-know situations and could appreciate wanting to keep some details secret. Eventually he felt the aircraft land and was informed he could remove the helmet.

Stepping onto solid ground again, Liam gave a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light before taking in his surroundings. Slinging a large duffel bag over his shoulder, Liam didn't take much notice as to whether his fatigues remained presentable. He could have arrived decked out in full dress uniform but he tried to avoid formality whenever he could, despite being an officer in the military.

A captain slightly younger than himself made a brief introduction and handed Liam an I.D badge before indicating they would be heading to his quarters. Not in the mood to start a conversation, Liam simply followed in silence, memorising his way around from what he had seen so far. The quarters were certainly far more extravagant than Liam was used to but he didn't say anything as he deposited his gear in the room, reasonably confident that it would be safe.

There hadn't been any option about this mission on Liam's part. He went were the orders said and was simply happy to be doing something a little different. He'd been part of the president's Praetorian Guard for almost a year now and whilst he did his job well it wasn't the same as being out in the field.

Arriving at the briefing room, Liam nodded in thanks to the captain before entering. Seated before him were four individuals. One of them obviously a Simatarian based on her uniform, the other an elf and thus likely Tarlachian and the other two he couldn't say for sure. With all eyes on him, Liam simply decided to take a seat and introduce himself.

"Liam Anderson, Assingtonian military."

Whilst his uniform indicated his rank as captain, Liam wasn't about to reveal the specifics of his military activities. No doubt some of it would be in personnel files but the nature of his job involved secrecy and protocol dictated he should not hand out any information that wasn't necessary.

"Wilderness specialist? Didn't know we were going on a nature hike. Well, at least you'll be able to point out the poison ivy." Lollipop said with a grin.

Twisting the lollipop in her mouth, she twisted in her chair and looked at the pair behind her. Elf and a since the other didn't have pointy ears, human woman. Lollipop's pale-auburn eyes met the woman's silver-grey...there was something about her that was off putting and somewhat familiar. As the Simatarian looked the pair over, she noted that neither wore anything that showed military or nationality.

Before she could ask them who they were, the Assingtonian entered. Saluting and other recognition of rank was fairly lax within the Simatarian Airborne/Special Force community. However, as a sign of respect for a fellow military officer, Lollipop removed the sweet from her mouth, rose from her chair and saluted Liam.

"Captain Victoria Escher, Simatarian Airborne. But I go by Lollipop"

Sliding back in her seat, Lollipop put her sucker back in her mouth. She took off her beret, revealing her purple hair, scratched her head and placed her beret back on. The Simatarian turned in her seat and looked over at the Elf and the woman.

"Going around the classroom, who are the silent types?"

Armal was the first to speak after giving a glance over to Rikan. He nodded respectfully to the others and introduced himself, "Armal Evershone is my name, of the elven Aria territory in Tarlachia." A hand swept toward Rikan, "My companion here is Rikan Tansho, also Tarlachian. A mercenary." The way he spoke was soft, yet clear.

Rikan merely raised an arm and gave a single wave of her hand, still saying nothing. She had nothing to say, but her attention was now on the opposite wall of the room.

"Well that was interesting" Travis commented to himself as he left the blind environs of the Dragon Fang and looked around the subterranean base - or what little could be seen of it. My guide was quickly at my side, they'd sent a captain for a lowly lieutenant - though I really wasn't - it was a courtesy rank as technically I was a civilian specialist contractor who floated where I was needed - also it helped when I taught officers how to do what I did best so the ones that were grade conscious asswipes wouldn't get offended. But those really were few and far between in the Timzee military.

Who knows how it would work here. I was here because I was the best at keeping the boys in injun territory alive when the shit came down. And this was going to be a really low Intel happening I’d been advised. High speed, with the drag unknown.

And that’s why I was glad to see the person hopping off the other Tanaaran CAS monster. Captain Kade Whitebear and expat American like myself, though an ex Seal to my Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children background. We’ve been rough and tumble a few times since we’d both joined the Timzee and every outing had been a good one. He knew his shit, and it was no secret that when the Imitorans and the rest got the Rainbow Team together he’d be TMZ’s first choice. Hell I might just go full time to get a spot on that team; us redskins have to stick together.
******************************

Kade looked over at Travis he was handed out his kits and grinned “Some ride!” he called. He was a tall- nearly six foot five - broad shouldered and incredibly fit – part Cheyenne and Sioux with a touch of French Canadian a couple of generations back in the woodpile.

He too took a moment to take in what could be seen of his surroundings then made his way briskly over to where Travis and their liaison stood. Kade had one of those faces that even in repost looked severe, even thunderous, but when he smiled that changed everything and his features lit up now…

He recognized the Tanaaran officer sent to meet them. “Hey Trav, this is Ryu Okinoshi, we’ve done some training evolutions together. How are things floating?”

“Doing good and I thought the cavalry was supposed to ride in and save people from the big bad injuns” the diminutive Tanaran – he was of pure Japanese extraction and both Travis and Kade towered over him.

“Naw they always get it wrong, we’re the ones that saves their butts…So, where’s the cavalry that we redskins are supposed to ride in and save?” Kade joked as their escort headed them towards their rooms to drop off their gear.

“Most of them are just now arriving. The Catawabans and the Argonians both pairs coming and the Imitorans are sending in some one to rampage through the countryside as a distraction for your team.” Ryu explained as he handed them their I.D.s. “The briefing room is back on the first floor, instead of turning right just turn left, third door on the right. Refectory is on the ground floor too.”

The Timzeers nodded and watched the Tanaaran officer head off to meet the last to arrive.

“So what does Grandfather Coyote say about this little rumble in the jungle.” Travis asked as the pair moved toward the indicated meeting place.

Kade half chuffed “It’s in a mountain, not a jungle, and he’s been quiet.”

“Maybe that’s for the best” Travis grinned as they entered the room, in time to hear

“Armal Evershone is my name, of the elven Aria territory in Tarlachia. My companion here is Rikan Tansho, also Tarlachian. A mercenary."

“Captain Kade Whitebear, and Lieutenant Travis Tenkiller, TMZ. “Kade spoke up as Travis nodded to the group and took a seat, with Kade taking the empty one next to him.

The lone soldier picked up yet another body, quite easily carrying it the short distance to the large grave, and deposited the corpse into the ground. He handled the self imposed grave duty well, having to only discard of four bodies, and even took a small amount of pleasure from it. Enough pleasure at least to hum a familiar tune, a fun little piece from the sixties. As he hefted up the fourth body, he came to the conclusion of the song’s chorus, and began to sing its next verse, ignoring the fact that it could give away his position, or how horrible he did sing.

“Look for the bear necessities, the simple bear necessities, forgot about your worry and your strife.”

Walking over to his day pack, he pulled out a bottle of pool cleaning muriatic acid, and concluded that one day he would need to learn how to properly sing Disney tunes. He twisted the cap off the bottle, skipping a few more lines, and finished his way over to the pit.

“That's why a bear can rest at ease, with just the bear necessities of life.”

He poured the contents of the bottle over the bodies, eliciting a sizzling and hissing noise from the pit as it slowly ate through the flesh of the naked bodies, seeping in quickly due to the bullet holes that riddled each corpse. The bullets had been poured forth from a 7.62mm M240, mounted in the bed of the Toyota Hilux pickup truck not but twenty yards away. Despite the fact the truck was brand new, it had already been driven hard enough to look as fresh as a fifteen year old work truck.

As he finished emptying the bottle of acid onto the bodies, he went about the quick job of pushing some dirt back into the pit. He didn’t want to hide the bodies all that well, the psychological impact would be much better if some young scout stumbled across five of his brothers in arms splayed out nude, skin melted away, riddled with bullet holes. However, he had also noticed an equal decrease in moral when the bodies were never found. When your squad mate simply disappeared, it tended to have emotional consequences. So he had split up the duties of hiding bodies, sometimes mutilating the corpse and leaving it in the open, sometimes leaving them where they fell dead, and sometimes making sure they were never found.

In the number of field interrogations he had carried out in the single week he had been there, he had learned that the local warlords, superstitious as all warlords usually were, now had fears of three ghosts taking their revenge. He wondered to himself what the warlords, specifically the one who brought down a red cross flight and a chartered air craft of students, would think if they found out the slow disruption in supply lines, and slow thinning of their numbers had been one single Imitoran Marine.

Dismissing the thought, he went to the lone survivor of his ambush. They had walked right into is, has he had expected. Their tactics were sloppy, but not because of a lack of training. No, it was a lack of a real counter force. It was easy to just walk around the forest or grasslands in the foothills of the mountain when you were gunning down the local populace. He had used his own truck as bait, leaving it in a low ditch, and as the small patrol neared, a remote claymore detonated, tearing into them from behind. They turned, expecting the assault to come from behind, but instead, the Marine had pulled himself over the edge of his truck’s bed, climbed up to the mounted belt fed, and opened fire.

The lone survivor of the patrol, the one the Imitoran had determined to be the highest rank of the bunch, quivered now.

“Not so tough when you actual have someone shooting back? Well, I hate to say it bro, but today may just be your lucky day. It all depends on how good your buddies are. You see, I’ve always agreed with the Genghis Kahn method. I’ll kill your squad, and leave you alive to relate the story how one person was able to take you all out, and then tell you I’m not the only one here. But I’m not just going to let you run off. They have to find you.”

Skipping not a beat, the Marine removed his knife, a menacing Greyman Darfur Defender with a serrated back edge, and slipped it behind the foot soldier, and in one smooth motion, sliced both of his ankles at the Achilles tendon. He then hefted up the mess that was once a strong, solid man, and tugged him along, tossing him down into the pit on top of the dirt that half covered the bodies.

He slipped the knife back into its sheath on his left thigh, and climbed into the driver’s seat of the quad cab pickup. He cranked over the powerful diesel motor, and wheeled the truck around back to the foot hills, using his GPS to bring him back to his laying up position.
__

Eleven Days Earlier

Robert Fortier had come to love his computer. A long time dissenter on the use of anything that was officially outdated before it even came to the market, he now typed away gladly, managing to carry on three separate conversations, reading four news reports from some of the most respected news agencies on the internet, and was trying to decide what color of shirt he wanted to order. It wasn’t to say he had become a supreme technophile, however. In his garage, his cars and motorcycle will still powered by good old fashion internal combustion engines, he still managed all his business in a standard filing cabinet in the office off his bed room, and his weapon of choice was a simple 1911 based on John Moses Browning’s original design, or the classic and world loved Sig Sauer P22x series.

In one chat window, he was speaking with Davos Santari, his business partner and co owner of the Northampton’s newest and hottest night club, Sanguine360. In a second window, he was discussing the current security status of a shipping company out of Tarlachia, just one of many more clients he was attempting to add to First Line Security Consulting. Talks were going well, and his advisor on site was sending back information to discuss possible updates to the security status. In a third window, he was discussing the flight information with his girlfriend, who had happened to be on a photo shoot, and was flying back home in a week.

As he read an evening report from one of the Tanaaran papers about the international conference, the blinking notice of the email account tab caught his eye. He opened the file, noticed it was a secure send from one of just many contacts, and opened it in an encrypted and secure system window. Attached was an initial briefing, several videos, satellite photography, and the like. He quickly went through the entire list, and rather abruptly ended each conversation. It took him less than a minute to digest the information, and rather quickly, he snatched up his BlackBerry, a custom piece he had ordered with a few more levels of encryption, and a signal bouncer to make it harder to triangulate the position of the cell.

Spinning through the auto dial list, he first called the number of Tanaaran he had worked with in setting up a ground security team for the conference that he knew would be there. His words were quick and simple, a brief keep me updated on any and all decisions made. Hanging up, he dialed the next number, to the private terminal at Northampton, where a company owned private jet sat, ready to take any of his employees, or himself, to a meeting or emergency consultation, as he called them, at a moment’s notice. He ordered the jet ready to fly him out to a location that would be disclosed as soon as he arrived. The final phone call was made to a tired sounding Frenchman.

“Louis, I need you in your shop. I’ll be there in about two hours. Oh, and I’m paying cash this time.”

It took only a few moments for Robert to change out of his more relaxing clothes, a pair of loose fitting black pajama pants and a logo tee shirt from BMW’s Imitora, and into a well tailored suit. It was his personal color choice, a dark red shirt with black buttons, black suit pants and jacket, black tie, and high polished black shoes. Moving back into his main office, he grabbed one of several prepacked briefcases, and tugged on his custom fit shoulder holster. He punched a key code into the glass case finger pad, and pulled out one of the two aforementioned 1911 pistols. For this trip, Robert grabbed his “Sunday BBQ Gun,” a well dressed model built in the newly popular Imitoran Commander Size. Unlike the standard commander with a four inch barrel, this was equipped with a four and three quarters inch barrel, shortening it only slight compared to the full sized frame. It was a dressier set up than his “work gun”, but both had been handmade and tuned to exact standards by Imitora’s most highly regarded 1911 pistol smith, Walter Sobchak.

Satisfied, he made his way downstairs to his daily driven S8, and on his way to Northampton International Airport’s Private Aviation Terminal. In less than two hours from the time he received the initial email, he was in the air. Before the third hour passed, he was on the ground on International Isle, but not heading towards the conference center. As the politicians and diplomats tried to figure out what exactly to do, Robert rented a similar Audi, an A8 with the W12 motor. It wasn’t a fast or tight as the S8, but it would do for the night. He made his way down to one of the many shopping districts, and parked along the street. Robert knew the area well, and had often thought about setting up one of First Line’s first field offices up in the area. The shopping center was set below the street, along a man formed canal lined with the shops. On either side of the water, shops ranging from boutiques in the newest fashions to cafés and travel agencies offered their goods and services.

Standing at the bottom of the stair case to the canal level was a lone man, dressed similarly to Robert in a conservative, yet well tailored suit. He smoked a clove cigarette, and watched Robert walk down the stairs, ignoring those enjoying a late evening dinner, taking a light walk along the water, or window shopping. He looked to be in his late fifties, with an odd smile that said he and Robert were cut of the same cloth. On his hip, he wore a well tuned, and well used, Browning Hi Power nine millimeter automatic, one that had been with him since he was sixteen. As if expected by any onlookers, he spoke with a thick French accent.

“Monsieur Fortier, I assume that your visit is not of the usual relaxation?”

“I’m afraid not this time Louis, walk with me, I’ll fill you in.”

David Louis Lafayette, or Louis to his closest friends, was Robert’s main source of non Imitoran weaponry. Whenever Robert needed weapons or equipment that was difficult to get in Imitora, or possibly not perfectly legal, he leaned on his tab with Louis, and soon he was a bit lighter in the wallet, but heavier in the firepower. Louis was also the main supplier of all equipment to First Line, and Robert had a healthy discount in bulk purchases. None of the sales were legal, they never were, but the prices were better, the service exemplary, and much like Robert had friends with whom he would do nothing but drink and talk cars, Louis was a friend that would do nothing but drink and talk war.

Robert had met Lafayette at one of the ubiquitous Special Forces conferences. Robert had despised the affairs, consisting mostly of weekend warriors or people with fake resumes who were just searching for a thrill ride, but in starting First Line, he learned he needed to advertise somehow. Sitting in a bar in the airport of Sambizie, he first met Louis, who spoke eloquently about his service in the Legion, joining up when he was sixteen. Robert did the mental math, and the man who looked, at the time, to be no older than 50, could in no way have been sixteen when thrust into the French Algerian conflict. And yet he waxed poetic on the fighting in Algeria, and the same in Africa, and his combat actions across the world.

It was then Robert realized that, in his unique gift, he was not quite alone. There were others out there like him, and he finally had someone he could talk to about his gift or curse, depending on how you looked at it.

Lafayette’s stories had been completely true. At sixteen, in the year 1950, he lied about his age and enlisted with the French Foreign Legion, and was assigned to the 2e Régiment Étranger de Parachutistes, the 2er REP. He was just three weeks shy of his seventeenth birthday when a rifle was forced into his hands, and he was sent off to kill Algerians. For the next thirty five years, he served across the globe with the 2er REP, and then ten more with the Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale, the Gendarmerie’s elite counter terror unit. It was around this time he noticed that, for some strange reason, he just would not physically age. At first, he feared his unique situation, but soon came to appreciate it. However, for reasons of his own accord, he left the military, and entered into a short career as a mercenary. He found life more profitable selling black market weapons, and started his own sales ring, providing a slightly more upscale level of sales in weapons that the general public were often denied.

The French government, of course, had an issue with this, and soon his onetime commerades in the GIGN were on his case. However, his new friend, an on again, off again Imitoran Marine Corps Major, Robert Fortier, dropped a few names and pushed a few buttons, and he was offered a peaceful exile. He found himself in the Fatal Terrain region on International Isle, where he opened a small French patisserie as a front to sell his guns. He enjoyed cooking, it calmed him down, and save for the occasional health inspector, he never had any fear of anyone going into the back of his store.

Now, he walked with his friend, listening to the situation intently. As they crossed a raised bridge over the canal, the pair paused, leaning against the stone railing, watching the people in the outdoor restaurants and cafés, observing the rest of the world.

“Do you still carry the 1911? A bit of an anachronism, no?”

“So says the Legionnaire turned mercenary turned black market gun runner. If that isn’t an anachronism, I don’t know what is.”

Lafayette mused for a moment. “If I were to be asked, I’d say all our kind is an anachronism. These people around us, dressed in the newest most fashionable clothes, yet they dine in restaurants decorated to look like an old French farm house, or an Italian villa. This shopping center is made to look like the shops along the canal, yet they are flanked over by modern office buildings. My line of work, your pistol. We are all anachronisms Robert. All of us are our own relics in our own world, trying to live a past we never understood, just knew existed.”

“You know, Louis, if I wasn’t about to go buy a copious amount of explosives from you, I’d think you a philosopher.”

The Frenchman chuckled. “Can I not be both?”

The two finished the slow stroll, an odd pace considering Robert’s initial urgency, and entered the closed storefront of Lafayette’s bakery. They walked to the back room, and through the large walk in refrigerator, into a third room. The walls were lined with the newest and best weapons available, as well as images of other goods and equipment that David could get his hands on. Robert removed a folded piece of paper, his list of toys, and handed it to David. The Frenchman looked it over, and nodded quietly.

“You are planning your own private war.” It was a statement, not a question. “All of this I can get you quite easily. The ammunition, guns, truck, gear, the like is pas probleme. However, the explosives, they will take time. The CIA, FBI, MI5 and 6, TMI, and your ICIA, among others, are all cracking down. It has become harder to pick up even the simple stuff like grenades, C4 and plastiques have become very difficult. I can get them, but the price has come up, and it will take some time.

“Pas probleme,” Robert replied, looking over a Heckler and Koch MP7A1. “Besides, I need to take some time to speak with a few people on my end, make sure its bien to go in.”

“Understandable. I assume you will have your people contact me with the location?”

“Oui. You know I always do.”

Louise led Robert out of the bakery, and handed him a small bag. “Madalines, and a croissant for the flight back. I know you took your own plane, but airplane food is airplane food. I can’t have my good friend eating such slop. I look forward to your call.”

The next four days were nothing more than a whirlwind of phone calls, planning, more calls, more planning, and the occasional nap. Robert went through the proper channels, out lining his plan to ICIA desk agents looking over the former Central Worlds area, any military assets watching the border, and getting what intell he could on force size. He needed to make sure his GPS was operating properly, and it took him almost an entire day just to get his hands on an IMC onetime emergency evacuation radio. He spent time pouring over satellite images, marking coordinates of resupply bases, depots, routes used for transport, and patrol frequency. He spent an amount of time going over a short, recent history of the area, but even more time going over the maps. He matched the satellite image overlays with the topographical maps on hand, giving him an idea of how already located structures were laid out.

It took only three days to get most of his preparation done. He had permission from the ICIA local assets to move on the area, and he got the ok from a quickly growing forward Special Operations base being set up on the border of Central Worlds and TGS. It helped that the Full Bird Colonel running the show had worked with Robert in the past, was a Marine himself, and understood the operation. Deep penetration one and two man operations had been common operations of the Imitoran Colonial Marine Corps’ Force Recon TRACT units, Robert having been on a number of the two man operations, and a single one man operation to rescue a fellow Marine. It had been these operations that had made Force Recon TRACT the favored child of the ICIA and INSA, the ability of a single operative to penetrate enemy territory and not only work with the locals, but carry out dangerous operations on their own, with no need of a special extraction under fire. They understood the dangers, and took the missions on willingly.
__

It took four days from the time the first email hit Fortier’s inbox to the time he stepped off a IMC MC-130I transport aircraft, a flight loaded with weapons and ammunition for the quickly forming Camp Casablanca, the code name for any Joint Special Operations Forward Assault Base. Much like the first Camp Casablanca that sat on the wrong side of the Tarlachian and Simatarian border, this one was registered as a Joint Special Operations Forward Assault Base in The Golden Simatar, any accurate GPS would show it a legitimate twenty miles on the other side of that line.

And just like the previous Camp Casablanca, this one was headed by Colonel Richard “Rick” Blaine. The Colonel had spent most of his career leading a Force Recon platoon, and had seen combat in, to date, every war he had been alive for that Imitoran participated in. If there existed a combat decoration for an action, he had it. Further, he was one of a very small handful of true handful of Four Bar Marksman, ranking him not only one of the best long range marksmen in Imitora, but one of a few that was certified to teach the Imitoran Reconnaissance Mantrack and Sniper Program to non Imitoran military. At long range, he would put even Robert to shame, and had won his units, as well as the IMC, and even Imitora in full region contests, a number of long range shooting awards. He had also been Robert’s commanding officer during his tenure with the ICMC Force Recon, and had written one of his recommendations for the Force Recon TRACT.

The first thing Robert noticed stepping of the turbo prop cargo plane was the mountains looming off in the horizon: dark grey crags that led straight up to the occasional snowless peak. Getting up there was going to be a challenge on foot, and he would assume that the few patrols that had actually moved up into the mountains would be done by chopper. Jumping in would be overly and unnecessarily dangerous. Hiking it up the face would take too long, and put shooters out in the open for an extended period of time. That meant any teams going into those mountains would have to be direct, quick action units. No one liked camping out on the side of a giant rock. And if anyone operating whatever took those planes out had any idea how to do things right, they were up there. That was also where he wouldn’t be going. He’d leave the cave hunting to a full sized team, his job would be on the lower foot hills and flatlands on the other side of the ridge.

Stepping down the ramp, he picked up the well worn green duffle bag that he had carried since his enlistment, and tossed it over his shoulder. Through the dust on the runway, he could make out the shape of the colonel, and began to walk towards his old CO, saluting as he once did. He had been reinstated to the IMC, and was now back at his last rank of major, and would follow protocol as he always had. The colonel waved it off, instead approaching with an outstretched hand.

“Major? They finally gave you a real rank son? C’mon, lets grab a ‘Rover back to the compound, I’ll give you the tour.”

Despite his age, the 54 year old Marine still had a full head of reddish blonde hair, hanging down untrimmed. He let all soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen at his operation keep relaxed grooming standards. In order to reinforce it, he did so himself.

The drive from the airfield, which consisted of nothing more than two runways and a massive concrete pad to support helicopters and VTOL aircraft was short, and the IMC Land Rover sucked up every bump and jolt, the barrel of the forward mounted machine gun sweeping the terrain. Blaine explained the operation to Fortier, how the success of the first Camp Casablanca had been such a success in clearing out known terror groups in the Simatarian border lands, they had quickly started construction of another after the fall of the Central Worlds government. They had just completed the main barracks structure, all based out of a long deserted earth fort, when the first attacks started. Mostly sporadic, they were easily repelled by the stronger, better armed, and extremely well trained Imitoran force. Within weeks, RIA Special Forces were conducting long term patrols and security missions in local villages, while 1st SOD and Navy SWORD teams conducted hunter killer operations in the mountains. Several platoons from the 22nd SAAS conducted operations as a full company, engaging larger targets. However, all operations had occurred on the North Side of the Mountain.

“We haven’t had the go ahead to cross the mountains and start full action operations yet. Still testing the ability to get out there and engage forces. I’m assuming that’s why they approved you mission.”

Robert nodded. “I figured as much. You know of anything else going on?”

“Sources point out that some of the other nations are organizing a joint deep cover operation, looking for the big gun that just blew a heavy out of the sky. They are getting some quick training right now learning how to work together. But I assume you won’t be with them?”

“C’mon, after all the adventures you’ve had doing the lone wolf stuff? You gotta be kidding me.”

Blaine chuckled. “Once we get to my office, we’ll go over the plan.”

As they entered the main control office, the colonel offered Fortier a seat, and then dropped a thick file in front of him. “All the information on the operation. We worked it out with your French Connection; your new truck is waiting for you, as well as all the goodies. More than we would take. Planning on conducting your own private war?”

“I figured while the other guys are hiking around looking for some huge fricken gun, I’d hit some big targets of opportunity. Do what we used to do on the one and two man ops. Disrupt supply lines, make a general nuisance of myself. The more I screw with them on the ground, the less likely they are to notice an assault team about to kick in their back door.”

Blaine nodded. “We got the operational ok from our ICIA guy on hand, he looked over your plan and liked it. I had to get him to drop his one request, though. He wanted you going in with live comms to transmit back intell. I told him he need to piss off on it. Even if jammed to all hell, out here they are easier to pick up. We’ve been able to track a few of their heavies out here on radio communication alone, and we put a JDAM into one of the higher rankers about a week ago. Gotta love those variable yield plasma warheads, didn’t blow him apart, just vaporized his ass.”

Robert nodded. “So when can I leave?”

“We are prepping one of our emm cees right now. They aren’t changing your plan at all. Low level hard drop just on the other side of the range. Put you down right on your preferred drop spot, just about ten clicks from their main resupply base, and it runs parallel to the MSR. Night time drop so you have about four hours to get your gear all secured and locked down and some shut eye. You going in like that?”

Robert was dressed as he would be until he ran out of supplies and had to call back in, the big bad warlord was killed, or he died. He had a selection of black fleece pull overs and knit high neck shirts, as well as a high altitude cold warfare jacket and a handful of black and OD tee shirts. All his fatigue pants were the new Crye multicam pattern, which know had him standing out like a sore thumb on a base mixed with the classic tri color desert or woodland, or a pattern similar to the US Marine’s MARPAT. He was now wearing one of the fleece pull overs, a pair of the Crye pants, and his part of his load bearing kit, a Blackhawk! set of suspenders, and a MOLLE belt holding magazine pouches for his AKS and the Serpa holster with his war fighting Sig Sauer.

“Yeah. This is what I’m gonna be wearing for a long time, might as well get used to it.”

Blaine nodded. “Good call. I’ll have one of the Rovers take you back to the airfield, they should have your truck loaded up by now. The ICIA guy wants to talk to you, but I think your good to go?”

“Yup. I want to be on the other side of that range most rikki tik.”

“Agreed, I’ll walk you out.”

As they headed back towards the motor pool of Land Rovers, Robert noticed a number of soldiers, all 22nd tabbed, running out to a large truck. A forward observation team from the RIA’s Special Forces had come under attack from a sizeable force, and was returning fire so effectively, they had the enemy patrol pinned. They had called in the SAAS to fly in and take a few prisoners. Robert laughed, making a note how some things never changed.
__

Fortier quickly took one last look over the stuffed, compact Toyota pickup. The bed and crew cab, built to hold five but holding only one and more gear than most would ever need in a full service term, was loaded to its extremes.

There were the obvious weapons, Robert had requested Louis get him a compact AKS-74U, and he had mounted a Kobra red dot sight to help him guide the thousands of rounds in the bed of the truck. A mounted belt fed M240 machine gun occupied the roof on a three hundred and sixty degree mount, and several belts of 7.62mm hollow point ammunition was ready to be loaded. Robert had also brought with him his long gun, a IMI custom built bolt action based on the Remington 700, with all the usual custom field goods. It was chambered in the .300 Winchester Magnum round, and Robert had ordered plenty of ammunition for it as well.

Finally, he carried his war fighting gun, an IMI Special Projects Division piece that had started life as a Sig Sauer P226 Elite chambered in Robert’s equally favored .357SIG. The standard grip panels had been replaced with a molded set of rubber grips, and an IMI match grade barrel had replaced Sig’s standard unit, extending just beyond the slide, and threaded for the Surefire suppressor packed away in his kit. The trigger had been toned down in pull, but the wonderful design meant it was just a small bit to Robert’s preference. Novak night sites replaced the standard Sig sites, and the dust frame rail had become permanent home to a Surefire X200 weapon light. Robert and the IMI SPD had spent days perfecting the aim of the sites and the bore line of the X200, and in a pinch he could accurately fire from the hip, the bright X200 putting a two inch diameter beam on the target exactly where the rounds would strike. The internals had been polished for slightly smoother operation, and Robert had requested several thousand of his preferred custom hand load IMI .357SIG hollow points.

Inside the cab of the truck, every possible open space had been packed with the usual supplies. Several boxes of MREs, mattress rolls, heavy blankets, light blankets, more MREs, several pairs of Crye multicam fatigue pants and black fleece pullovers, black high neck knit shirts, heavy combat jackets, a small selection of hats, boxes of ammunition, extra magazines for the AKS and Sig, two flashlights, a few more MREs, flares, chem lights, two pairs of NVGs, a complete and extensive first aid kit, a shovel, a Greyman Grax, his onetime use evacuation radio, a GPS receiver, a large amount of paracord, several rolls of one hundred mile per hour tape, flex cuffs, cans of krylon in black green and brown, camouflage netting, and rappelling gear. There was also a copious amount of batteries, for the NVGs, flashlights, the GPS, and an extra car battery. And though Robert had already picked out a hide spot for the truck using the topographical maps along with satellite overlays, he also packed a small folding panel solar generator to charge the batteries.

In the bed of the truck, Robert kept some of the more dangerous goods. In three Kevlar lined tool boxes that ran along the rear wall and side walls of the bed, Robert had packed several gallons of diesel, enough for two complete fill ups for the extended range fuel tank and fuel cell. He also had an assortment of chemicals for creating his own chemical weapons in the field, including chlorine, ammonia, muriatic acid, and acetone. He had ordered and received fifteen cases of C4, each holding 20 pounds of the plastic explosive and radio detonation equipment. In Imitora, Robert had made a quick trip to the Imitora Military Industries Advanced Combat Weapons proving grounds and picked up a handful of some new explosive prototypes, including new forms of explosives, new style of detonators, and a few radio receivers that would detonate based on the proximity of a cell phone or any other radio device in use, allowing Robert to set it and forget it. Of course, there was a liberal amount of claymore landmines with both trip wire detonators and manual detonators. There were some new generation LAW anti tank weapons, and enough grenades to almost overpower the C4’s explosive power. The mix included white phosphorous grenades, fragmentation grenades, high explosive concussion grenades, flash bangs, and colored smoke grenades. For good measure, he had also packed in more ammunition in the bed of the truck.

Going over his final check, he noted the presence of two medium sized coolers, hastily kryloned in black, green, and brown. The first cooler had been packed full of croissants, Madeline cookies, three short loafs of French bread, éclairs, and a few plastic bags packed full with fresh cut deli meat. In the second cooler were three bottles of Italian sparkling water, two bottles of Louis’ own private reserve Premier Cru Château Margaux and a single bottle of Château Pétrus, and four individually packaged hand wrapped cigars.

A note was tapped to the top of the second cooler, hand written by Louis.

Robert…never forget that even in war, one mustn’t loose grasp of life’s finer things. It is old French custom to make sure you always have a good bottle of wine and some bread with you. Another wonderful anachronism, no? Enjoy your new private war, and come back with good stories. Louis.

Robert smiled as he went over the contents of the coolers, and shook his head. “Louis,” he spoke, as if the French arms dealer were standing next to him, “to call you a god among men would be selling you short.”

He went over his equipment selection one last time, pulled down a folding seat, and collapsed into it. He looked around the empty bay of the Imitoran produced MC-130, and waved over one of the ground crew. “Just make sure that you wake me up before takeoff.”

The crew member nodded, and Robert closed his eyes, focusing on what goals he wanted to accomplish.

He woke before the airman could, and took a look out the back of the aircraft. The sun had fully set, and large spot lots cast light across the large concrete base that served as the ready area, the runways still both dark. He was about to ask the pilot how much longer till takeoff when a voice barked out from the cockpit.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, lets kick this pig!” Robert called back. As the large bay door slowly closed, he reached into the truck, and grabbed the AKS, slinging it. He knew he would have time to handle it in flight, but there was never a law against getting ready early. He was hitting the ground on his own, and wasn’t going to do it unarmed. Sure, he still had teh Sig on his hip, but if he came into heavy contact, he wasn’t going to do it with just an 12+1 handgun. As he mentally went over a check list one last time, and checked the GPS to make sure all the destination points were preprogrammed properly, he noticed a figure descending from the cockpit.

The man was overweight, but not by much, and proudly wore a large, long frame Para 1911 on his hip. He wore a suit that reeked of “best I could afford on a government salary”, and his smile was off center.

“Major Fortier, I’m Jack Kenton. ICIA. I’m the field agent representing The Agency on this little dig, and I just wanted to talk to you a few.”

Robert nodded, leaning back in the fold down chair. Jack kneeled down next to him. “Listen, I understand why Colonel Blaine didn’t want you going in with a radio. I really do. No problem there, honestly. I just need you to do us a favor.”

“You always do.”

Jack chuckled. “Glad to know you understand the game. Listen, if you can, I need you to take this camera, and just take pictures of whatever you want. Anything, really. Villages, civis, bad guys, anything you think would help us make a case to get the charitable wing involved.”

Robert sighed. In his time of working with the ICIA, the charitable wing had always been a sort of pain to him. Its goal was to take people who weren’t soldiers, mostly local villagers and the such, and make them soldiers through training with, most often, privately hired ex military. It was known as the charitable wing, as most of the funding came from fund raisers and banquets held by real life charities that often let slip a good portion of the funds raised to the ICIA to hire the PMCs. Because it wasn’t government money, and mercenaries were often used, it kept the ICIA’s hands clean of any direct connection.

“Listen, Robert, I know you had some bad java from working with us.” Jack slipped off his jacket, revealing another over the shoulder holster, holding a Beretta clone. He unbuttoned and rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the ICMC Force Recon insignia. “Consider it a personal favor.”

Robert nodded, and pocketed the camera.

“Excellent. I approved your plan one hundred percent. The second we are clear, it’s going to be a hard dive down to the deck, and we are dropping you right as you marked on the map. Not sure why you picked it as an LUP, but I’m sure you see something we don’t. Once you’re out of supplies, or you’re in a shit storm, just use the one timer, we’ll get you pulled out. Hell, I might squeeze into some cammies to come get you myself. Your call sign is Kilo Xray.”

Robert nodded, and braced himself as the plane took a sudden jump, nosing up in extreme angle. He expected his, as they were going to fly as close to the ground as possible. The climb was to clear the mountains. Out of the lone window in the cargo bay, he could see the bright flash of flares and chaff being pumped out. He heard the copilot give the all clear as the plane leveled out. It would be thirty minutes before they descended.

Jack nodded, pushing himself back to his feet and pulling on his cheap jacket. “You know the drill on the ground. You get nabbed, or think you will, destroy the radio, and you aren’t one of us. Not officially, at least. Good luck Major, and have a good one.”

Robert sat in silence for the rest of the flight, almost zoning entirely on the pulsing wail of the turboprops, clearing out any thought that crossed his mind. The warning came out again from the co-pilot and the MC nosed over as the pilot laid on power, pumping out chaff and flairs to throw off any anti aircraft systems. Slowly, the pilot pulled off power, and began bringing the nose back up, leveling out low above the ground. The loadmaster moved back from the cockpit, and checked the latches on the truck one last time.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Fortier responded, standing. “Lets get this show rolling.”

The loadmaster nodded, and flipped the loading switch. The sound of the turboprop resonating in the cargo hold was quickly overpowered as the sound of air rushing over the plane and into the hold took over. The loadmaster went to the noted hand signals, and first pointed at the truck. Fortier returned a thumbs up, and the loadmaster released the single cable latch from the pallet. Next came the latches holding it in place. Finally, he signaled for Robert to stand back, and from the front of the truck, released the rear mounted parachute. The nylon shoot expanded and unfolded quickly, sending it out behind the MC-130. It filled with air, and quickly snatched the pallet loaded Toyota out the rear of the plane. As soon as it hit the air, a secondary stabilizing shoot opened.

Robert wasn’t far behind. He walked quickly to the rear of the load ramp, made one last check to see his gear secure, and released his own parachute. The MC-130 was only two hundred feet up when he allowed himself to be sucked out of the cargo bay. The sound faded as the MC-130 pilot reapplied full power, pulling away from the drop site as quickly as possible. Fortier watched for a brief second as the outline of the aircraft faded into the night, and he was left alone. The ground came up with a hard thud, and Robert knowing almost exactly where he had landed, quickly detached his parachute and quickly moved left, landing right in the ditch he knew to be there.

He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and stabilize, before dropping a hand down to a thigh mounted pouch, pulling out one of his NVG pairs. Pulling them on, Robert sat, but remained fully on the ground, and took a slow, long look around as he loosed his AKS, unfolded the skeleton stock, and pulled it to his shoulder. His scan revealed he was still alone, and one last look showed no odd shadows or lines belonging to any stalkers. He was in. Robert quickly made his way to his feet, and took off towards the truck in the classic special forces trot. The truck had put down a scant thirty feet from where he had wanted it, and reaching inside, he pushed the gear selector into the neutral position. The extra distance to the hideaway wouldn’t kill him, and once he got the truck rolling, it was easy to push it into the large depression in the side of the foot hill, created by early bombing runs to pacify enemy forces as the Imitorans prepared Camp Casablanca. Once in the depression, the cammo netting was quickly thrown over the truck and hole, and Robert began a quick check to make sure everything had survived the jump.

Satisfied, he grabbed the case for the long gun, and stuffed as many MREs as he could into a full sized ruck. His own position, what he deemed a spider hole, was fifteen yards further up the rock face. It was a small three foot radius hole that, according to geological satellites, should open up into a larger cave like area thanks to deep penetration explosives. As planned, it did, and crawling through the tiny hole put him in a closed cavern ten feet deep and about seven feet high. It wasn’t large, but enough for him to pull ammo, food, and his mattress rolls in, creating a temporary home. He spent the rest of the night transporting what supplies he needed up to his hide spot, and then slept.
__

Back to the Present

Robert backed the Hilux into its hide spot, tossing over the cammo netting, and climbed back to his own hide spot. Inside, he sat at a makeshift table and marked down how many he had killed, and then on a topographical map with satellite overlay, marked down the location of the ambush, the direction they had been heading, time of day, and other information he found pertinent. Previous explorations had found the MSR to be very active, averaging three to four transport convoys a day, and patrols to be heavy.

In the notebook, he detailed the average patrol size, armaments, times of patrol, and other information. He had started compiling the information into a volume of HUMINT to pass on to any other units that would come to this side of the mountain, and further it helped him plot out his assaults. Finishing up his notes, he tore into an MRE packet, and cursed his luck at grabbing yet another that had the odd flavored fruit spread, and having yet to find the jalapeno cheese spread. Sighing, he began to cook the main entrée, and looked again over his map. The patrols had proved easy kills, most blindly walking into ambushes. However, the average number in a patrol was growing, and the equipment was still the same.

Checking through his stacks of maps, he found the satellite images that detailed the MSR. Working with the GPS, he quickly began to mark out locations of bridges and tunnels, and places to set up further ambushes. In his week on the ground, he hadn’t even touched the C4 or Claymores, and now would be a good time to get them into use. As he reloaded his magazines, he looked over further images that showed detail of what appeared to be a Main Supply Base. Actively used runways and a larger number of thermal images that represented personnel showed up on scans, and it was in the same direction that over ninety two percent of the patrols had approached from.

He made his mind to hit the MSR a few times, solidly crippling the effectiveness of transports along its route, and would then move to the supply base. He continued to look over the maps as he ate, figuring out the best way to hit the supply hub.

"There simply isn't a Taung'a word for it, ner vod. It's what's expected of everyone to do as a matter of duty."

"Not even in an ironic sense?"

Gold lifted her chin from her chest and turned her head towards where her brother was. She couldn't see him but she knew where he was, could feel him as well as hear him prattle on. "Nearest thing I can think of is utreekov, fool."

She turned her head towards the hatch out of the belly of the Dragon Fang they'd been hustled into, a hatch she couldn't see because the blacked out helmet she wore. It wasn't an annoyance. She'd been restrained and suffered sensory depravation in a good deal worse ways in her short and 'pitiful', if she allowed herself to think the way everyone else did about her and her vornskrari siblings, life.

Mostly she was surprised and a bit touched by the helmet. The Tanaarans some how fashioned up and sent a pair of helmets that fit hers and Mird's narrow, canine muzzles and skulls. It had to have been a bit of work. She knew these weren't jury-rigged Mutt Buckets as the vornskrari's home manufactured helmets. Also most canine anthromorphs she'd ever heard of were generally wolve-based with broader skulls and muzzles. Half of her genetic make up was a canine with a skull much more like a greyhound than a wolf.

"We need to hammer one out then, Ve'vut'ika. I mean, we can't go on using English for hero. It takes the sting out of 'oh, fill your name in here, you're my hero' when you want to raz someone...I mean keep them modest after they pull your shebs out of the fire." Mird said.

Gold gave a bemused snort, not so much that her brother was half the comedian he thought he was but because he was trying to use the Taung'a word for her name. Ve'vut meant gold. It was sweet of him to try, and Mird was into Taung'a and the whole wrapped up deal of enculturating into Taung culture. She didn't have the heart to tell him she didn't think of herself, probably would never think of herself as 'Ve'vut.' She was Gold. She didn't care if that was a nickname given to her by a Togovian who thought she was his. Maybe she liked it more because it was hers inspite of that bastard.

The fear in his eyes...oh that fear. After Errant and a small handpicked force went with the newly defected Gold and a few other vornskrari and liberated their brethern, Errant had seen the anger in her eyes, in her siblings' eyes. He'd set loose the Togovians, just the ones that had been willfully cooperating in the genetic warfare project, but it was enough. That night in the jungle, the pack had hunted down their tormentors. The Taung used color to symbolize emotions and ideals. The color gold meant vengeance. That was one part of the Taung culture she'd been willing to believe in.

"How are we to address General Quigley by his official Taung name? I mean Big Damn Hero doesn't have a great ring to it when you can only say Ori Haar'chak before reverting to..."

The cold, predatory smile forming behind the confines of her oxygen mask stopped Mird's banter. He could feel that smile, in his mind, like it was his own. "Oi, vod'ika, me and the others need to get you a hobby." Her brother deadpanned.

"You hope of getting into the Graceland comedy circuit, I hope to get the rest of the blarrekare that fiddled with us like toys." Okay, she did like Taung'a for cursing, it had such a smorgasbord to choose from. "The Togovian Remnant's still out there, Mird, and that's who I want. Central Worlds, the warlords, they're nothing, stepping stones."

Mird sighed, and Gold could hear him shift in his seat. "Yeah, yeah, the Togos're hiding behind the next berm, around behind the tree over there. We'll have to kill'em one day...Haar'chak, Ve'vut. That's one day. It ain't now." He crossed his arms. Gold didn't have to see or hear it to know he'd done it. She knew he would. He was her brother, her backup, had been since they were thrown into scary world of black ops assassinations at age seven. "Weaving, I hear it's relaxing, look into it, will ya?"

Gold couldn't reach out a hand to touch, not strapped in. She settled for her tail. She unwrapped the more than meter long appendage from her waist, a good place to keep it up and out of the way. She swung her whispish tail over and laid it across Mird's knee. "I know you will, but you don't have to worry about me."

"You worry about everyone else. Someone's got to worry about you." Mird's tail slid over hers.

"No one better than you, ner vod , but I'll nix your weaving idea. It wouldn't be correct."

"Aw, so no lovingly made, genu-wine vornskrari blanket for my bunk?"

Gold smiled, a warmer smile. "Not unless you make it yourself. Weaving's a male role in Taung culture, remember?" Her smile was warranted. It wasn't often she bested or even tried to best Mird, the pack's expert on Taung culture.

Mird was silent for a few moments. "Oh..well...I was just trying to blur the lines of gender separation...umm...ya, know girl power and all that..."

Thankfully, her brother was bailed out by the pilot breaking in. "Good morning, passengers. I hope your tray tables and seat are in the full and upright and locked positions because we've been cleared to land."

The landing just like the flight was incredibly smooth. The pilot was good, and this new CAS craft was impressive. Of course, the one she and Mird were riding in was modified for more passengers, but if this ugly duckling was any indication the real deal was very nice and would have deep internal magazines, very stealthy. Very quickly the Dragon Fang came to a stop, and they heard the pilot again. "Thank you for flying with the Tanaaran Air Force. We hoped you enjoyed voyage, and we'd like to welcome you to An Undisclosed Base where the temperature is always controlled seventy-six degree. The captain, that'd be me, has turned off the seat belt and blinders light. You're free to deplane at your convience. Again thank you for flying with us. Buh-bye."

Gold could feel the mirth flowing off her brother. She just knew she was storing that little number away for the next flight. They both took off her helmet and unbuckled their crash harness. After standing up and stretching for what seemed like the minutes necessary to get the kinks out of their bodies, they gathered their gear and exited out the hatch the ground crew had opened for them.

Mird finished setting his MOLLE ruck on his shoulders and swinging his Modular Offensive Rifle up on this shoulder as he took look around the underground hangar. "Ah, An Undisclosed Subterranean Base below the lovely city of Undisclosed in the picturesque province of Undisclosed in the majestic land of Undisclosed...I've always wanted to come here. It's sorta like the ol'homestead."

Gold, with her MOLLE already on her back and her MOR shouldered, rolled her eyes. It was like the underground base they'd been created in, which of course had simply, the best memories. "Yes, just lovely, Mird." She deadpanned.

She spotted a Tanaaran officer heading towards them. She gave a quiet yip to get Mird's attention down from the stone ceiling. She came to attention and saluted, Mird a second behind her. They held it as the short man stopped in front of them.

He looked them over for a moment. It didn't really require a uniform check to figure who they were. There weren't a lot of their kind running around, but the officer, who's looks were very Eastern, didn't seem like he was scrutinizing them with digust. The officer, a Captain Ryu Okinoshi or so his name tape said, just seemed interested like you would with any stranger.

Sure the all black uniforms, color chosen because it looked scary and the Taung used black to symbolize justice, were impressive. The high-necked tunic that like all other Catawaban uniforms was a throw back to the beginning of the last century. The trousers, or the lack there of, were a throw back to time immemorial, at least to anyone but the Taung and then they had legends to explain it. The Miraade might wear a kama with slight apprehension about his looks, Gold and Mird loved the Taung kilt-like garment. And she knew that the Okinoshi's eyes stopped for a moment on their belts which held the military issue Bard Arms .357 semiautomatic on their right hip and on the left a kad, the traditional Taung short sword.

The Tanaaran returned their salute, and the vornskrari dropped theirs. Gold spoke up for the both of them, "Sergeant Gold Mira'ad and Corporal Mird Mira'ad of the Miraaderic Guard reporting, sir."

Captain Okinoshi nodded. "At ease. Good you both could make it." The Tanaaran said jokingly as he pulled out a PDA and checked them against their files and then confirmed their arrival. He reached into one of his many uniform pockets and pulled out two ID badges. He held them out. "

Mird smiled as he took his and affixed the badge to his tunic. "Apologies, sir, but you'll have to take that up with our pilot. All those misleading turns and legs to confuse us. It ate up a lot of time."

Gold looked up from clipping her badge to her and gave the captain a tired look. "With all due respect, sir, you do not want to get him started. It was a while on that bird, and I've just about had my fill, sir."

The captain grinned and glanced at Mird. "That's probably good advice, Sergeant." He figured they could go all day. It was always nice to get new material. Foriegn jokes were a valued import. Alas, there was duty. "Most of the team has already arrived and is in the briefing room." The Tanaaran then gave them directions to the briefing room but also their own quarters and bid them farewell. He had others to greet before the day was through.

Gold and Mird lifted last bit of baggage, their olive drab duffle bags, up nto the shoulder that wasn't supporting their rifle and were on their way. They quickly found their quarters which was a two bed suite as they'd asked for. It wasn't often vornskrari bunked alone. It was a pack thing, what made them most comfortable, hearing the familiar breathing and heart beat of their mates as a metronome to sleep by.

They set their gear down by the beds they had a quick staring contest to decide who got what. Gold, more dominant, of course won and took her pick. Divesting themselves of duffle, MOLLE ruck, and MOR, they left their room, stopping for a moment to pay heed to an earned paranoia about ensuring their privacy. Mird plucked out four hairs and plastered them with a lick to the crease between the door frame and the door.

Paranoia sated, the two went on to the briefing room, the curved claws of their bare feetpaws clicking on the cement as they walked. They entered the room and glanced around the room. The crimson heart, ebon skull, and white field patch of Catawaba was prominent on their right shoulder. They had no other patches, just their name tapes. Miraaderic Guards were identified by their uniforms.

Gold stepped the side of the doorway as she took everyone in. She filed away their looks, sounds, scents, and feelings away for later use and identification.

Mird stepped around her. "Su'cuy!*" He nodded to the group in greeting, his jaw open and lips peeled back exposing a few sharp teeth, a signature canine smile. His glance around the room stopped at the dangerous redhead on the other side of the room.

He slapped Gold's tail with his. "Oi, Ve'vut'ika, it's Tracyn'kemira*."

"I did notice, Mird."

Mird crossed across the room and took the other open chair beside the only familiar face in the room. It wasn't as if they had any sort of a personal relationship or really ever met face to face. It was more of a professional relationship. Charli Firewalker had accompanied the Mercedez Hexx to Catawaba when the Queen Mother had still been a plain Queen. Miss Firewalker's purpose to the visit was never that clear, but she'd shadowed the pair during that very brief visit and stayed on in the country for a while after.

Charli had impressed more than a few Air Force helicoptor pilots when they followed her self-titled 'ground bound fast burner' around the countries speed limitless highways, and sure she could have been vacationing on their lovely tropical island. However, she'd shadowed the Miraade during that 'vacation' more than one playing paparazzi. In return, the Guard had begun shadowing her as a precaution and a sign of professional respect. The vornskrari, who were still classified and hidden from public view, had taken the nightshifts when they could best escape notice. It'd been a challenge shadowing her, and she was good at putting them in spots where they'd have to lose her temporarily rather than show themselves. Even for all their caution, their brother Solus swore that she probably caught sight of him once before he broke contact. Perhaps she just saw a building growing a caninoid shaped cancer, but they figured she'd been good enough to get a clear look.

Mird's lips pulled back further for a large smile and exposed his sharper triangular back teeth. "Oi, my brother Solus is going to slot himself because he wasn't here to meet ya." He held out his big handpaw out to her. "Corporal Mird Mira'ad."

~~~~~~~~~~

Taung'a words for the day:

Su'cuy- Hi

Tracyn'kemira- fire walker

Lollipop grinned and gave a brief nod of her head as the elf introduced himself and the mercenary sitting next to him. Lollipop had worked with Tarlachians (though non had been elves) before and compared to other nations in the region, the Golden Simatar closest ally was Tarlachia. Before she could say anything, two more walked in. Both military, that was good. When she had arrived, Lollipop wondered if she'd be the only one in uniform for this.

She gave the pair brief salutes. "Captain Victoria Escher, TGS Airborne. You can call me Lollipop."

Lollipop turned back to the front of the room, she was wondering what this strange collection of soldiers, mercenaries, and wilderness specialists were doing in an underground bunker. Certainly not a Simatarian operation, after Rebecca they keep things strictly in country.

"Su'cuy!" The odd language ripped her from her thoughts.

Lollipop turned to the door, her reaction was somewhat expected from a Simatarian. Her voice came out in a half-hiss. "Jesus..."

The woman jumped from her chair, backpedaled, her hand already at her holster, the P45 half-drawn by the third step. Lollipop's eyes focused on the pair of werewolf looking animals at the door, however unlike werewolves she had seen, these were dressed and apparently spoke. The clothes they wore were uniforms, however this didn't sink that far in with her as she moved back a few feet as the pair sat down near to where she once was.

The Simatarian attitude towards non-human species put it at odds quite a few times with more friendly nations, though this extended almost exclusively to vampires and werewolves. Seeing a pair of...Lollipop couldn't even think to call them werewolves...so close gave her a serious jolt.

However after her heart calmed, the woman slid her pistol back into the holster. Even so, she gave the pair a bit of a curious, guarded glance.

"Who...or...what...are you?"

For some inexplicable reason known only those who can muddle out conflicting timelines, Mird had continued obliviously razzing, I mean introducing himself to the auburn haired arsonist. Perhaps he, a well-trained, alert, and normally highly observant individual, thought that this purple haired woman on the other side of the person he was looking at had simply forgotten to say her prayers last night, but whatever the reason, he remained unknowningly dense and ignorant of the woman's threatening move by half drawing her pistol.

On the other hand, his older, by a few minutes, and highly protective sister had not left the doorway, had not sat down, had not ceased watching the room, and had not been amused to see the GeeEsser attempting to draw on her brother. Her handpaw still rested on the backstrap of her pistol.

"Who...or...what...are you?"

Mird looked up finally, after ignoring her emotional spike and her movement. He still had no clue that the woman had even touched her sidearm. He was befuddled, but a look back at his sister and her angry crimson eyes told him something was up.

Gold opened her lips to reveal teeth, but her snarl was no where as friendly as Mird's smile but much more recognizeable for its intent. A subtle growl twinged all her words. "I am Sergeant Gold Mira'ad, and he is my brother Corporal Mird Mira'ad. We are vornskrari and members of Catawaba's Miraaderic Guard."

Her pointed ears had flattened themselves on the top of her skull, and her tail was low and straight. "You will keep that infamous Simatarian xenophobia in check, Captain. I am not required by any order to suffer that sort of osik from anyone, not even my Miraade."

The U shaped table had places for eleven - four along each of the risers of the U and three along the bottom.

Charli chosen the second to the end one on the west riser. The Simataran, Lollipop, had take then far end one, giving herself the often prized 'back in a corner' position. That left two open at the base end of the west side, which one of the Catawaban Vornskrari headed toward as they entered. The other had remained slightly behind still near the doorway.

Liam from Assington had taken the easten most of the three seats of the botoms of the U.

The pair from Timzee, Whitebear and Tenkiller, a pair of Native American expats if their appearance had anything to weigh in on the matter had taken the remaining two seats at the bottom of the U. Their uniforms were the normal 'relaxed officer wear' that all favored when not in the field - neatly pressed deep indigo jeans mated with a custom polo of matching hue which had a TMZ flag on the upper left sleeve and small rank insignia embroidered on the points of the collar - with dark blue and black cross trainers that bore no distracting logos.

On the eastern side of the U Rikan had taken the northern most chair, across from Lollipop. Armal had left a space between them, taking the third of the four chairs along that eastern riser. That left two chairs empty on the eastern riser of the U. Ostensibly those would be occupied by the Argonians when they arrived.

Charli had been half out of her own chair, as the Catawabans entered -thinking it'd be neighborly for her to hand out the thick pile of folders that had been stacked at the place she chose to sit. With the folders in hand, she saw the tall vornskrari heading her way with a smile and welcome as he took the empty spot.

"Oi, my brother Solus is going to slot himself because he wasn't here to meet ya. Corporal Mird Mira'ad.""

Charli's eyes twinkled as she did her best Tweety Bird imitation. "I thought I saw, I thought..." She broke off as she heard the rustle of half panicked movement behind her. Moving with flowing speed, placeing her body between Mird and Lollipop while taking Mird's hand in hers.

While she moved - and as fast as thought - something shimmered invisible about them - between them and the Simataran Captain. But the very sensitive might note just the faintest wavering of heat, a distortion - a shield as thin as air but which would instantly melt anything solid trying to penetrate it... Bullets, people, thrown knives...

"Who...or...what...are you?"

"You will keep that infamous Simatarian xenophobia in check, Captain. I am not required by any order to suffer that sort of osik from anyone, not even my Miraade."

"Sit down Lollipop." Charli's voice was calm but frosty. "They're a part of our team in this little operation but if you can't handle it you'd better ask for a ride home."

Her attention then turned to Gold, and her voice was warmer, seeking to ease the situation "Calm down yourself -not every one is comfortable with non humans especially when in a strange setting, Give her a chance."

http://www.atddm.com/table2.jpg

V - Lollipop
C -Charli
M -Mird
G -Gold
K - Kade
T - Travis
L - Liam
A - Armal
R - Rikan
W - Whiptail ( not present yet )
D - Dekker (not present yet )
R- Rikan

Lollipop's eyes darted to the thing that was still standing at the doorway as it spoke. She felt her hand instinctively go back to the butt of her .45 automatic as the thing called Gold bared her teeth. Lollipop rolled the sweet from side to side in her mouth as she stared at the vornskrari.

Gold's comment about the 'infamous Simatarian xenophobia', was fairly accurate. The Golden Simatar had a laundry list of laws and regulations concerning non-humans in the country. While they primarily pertained to hostile non-humans (to include elimination of hostile vampires or werewolves on sight), there were numerous rules besides a simple registration for potentially dangerous non-humans to include having to have a homing device at all times, checking in with the local VIB office and such. Because of these, the Simatarians had butted heads numerous times with other nations concerning treatment of non-human persons. To date, no there was no registered vampire, werewolf or even elf in the country. And there was a trend of those living legally in Fatal Terrain to avoid journeying through TGS to reach a destination.

Lollipop's attention turned to Charli as she spoke to her. Obviously the woman had experience with these vornskrari, that counted for something. The fact they seemed to be military disciplined gave Lollipop a bit more to think about than then as just super-intelligent werewolves.

Moving her hand noticeably from her holster, she moved to to the canvas box just in front of the magazine pouches. Lollipop removed another sucker, mocha flavored, crunched the last bits of the one she was working on, spat it the stick towards a trash can. The new sucker was in her mouth before the stick landed inside the trash can.

Lollipop retook her seat, her eyes never leaving Gold's. Lollipop gave a polite smile to her. "Sorry about that. Force of habit, didn't really expect...something like yourself."

Armal had watched the exchange between the Simitaran and the Catawabans, an interested glance thrown toward Charli as she took defense for a fleeting moment. He sensed the fire element she possessed, and a subtle scan of her shield revealed to him it was strongly made. She was no amateur.

A side glance at Rikan showed her to not have moved at all, as if nothing had happened. He inhaled silently, nodding toward the Catawabans. "Armal Evershone." His hand swept toward Rikan a moment later as he saw she was not about to break her silence yet. "Rikan Tansho."

Rikan had kept herself calm, even when the Simitaran reached for her gun. Clearly, she was skittish, especially when confronted with sentient animal-like beings. She noted the new lollipop, and a grin slyly slid across her face for a fleeting moment. She wondered now if the meeting would ever start. She would have much rather preferred to brief on her own and already be on the ground running, so to speak. Not this utterly unnecessary social act. Her hand slid across the tabletop and flipped open the folder given to her by Charli earlier upon arrival. She focused her attention on the maps in particular, allowing her photographic memory to detail everything she saw.

She glanced back up through the top of her eyes at Lollipop once more as she apologized now for her judgmental behavior. That earned the skittish girl a roll of the eyes.

Gold took her hand off the backstrap of her pistol and allowed to her lips to slide back down slightly. Her vicious canines disappeared, but her peg-like incisors were still in view in her milder snarl. Her crimson eyes remained locked upon the Simatarian’s as she circled around the table to the open chair beside her brother.

She stood behind the chair with the claws of her handpaw digging into the chairback. “I will accept your apology even as weak as its excuse is, but, Captain, you will have to remember that you are not in your country.” She slid around the side of the chair and sat down, still her eyes did not leave the Simatarian's. "And I will leave it at that. You have the one chance Miss Firewalker has requested for you."

Mird glanced between the locked gazes of the Simatarian and his sister, casting side glances at their eyes but not making direct contact. Oh yes, this could be a while.

He looked down at his hand in Charli's. Now, this was an interesting developement. Now he didn't know a thing about how the shimmering shield of heatlines that surrounded him and the Tanaaran worked, perhaps she needed tactile contact to shield him. That didn't make much sense to him because he only needed potential shielding from that purple-haired pyscho. His sister would not take a shot with him in the foreground. She'd expose herself to fire and sidestep to get a clear shot. So the only logical answer, at least to him, lead to the thought, Oh spit, Solus ain't going to slot himself. He's going to slot me out of pure envy. A smile, a sentence, and an introduction? I'm one smooth devil.

With the tension bleeding off, Mird nodded greetings to elf and his companion. The elf smelled of the woods, the earth, and the wild. It was pleasant scent. His companion, Mird cocked his head to the side for a moment, smelled...well, off. He couldn't place it, something under the scents of gun oil, gunpowder, and urban life. She felt utterly calm, distant, a true professional at whatever it was she did. He nodded respectfully to her.

As the tensions ebbed and the likelihood of gun play eased, Charli let go of Mird's hand and the invisible shield was no longer there. However she did not make any presumption that it meant things had truly calmed down. She was more used to vampire - werewolf interaction and a spot of utter calm before the Cat 7 Z Max storm was the norm there. She wasn't sure if the vornskrari would shoot through her compatriot. Werewolves all too often took that option in her experience - and she wasn't sure if the vornskrari were similar in that regard.

As Gold agreed to give Lollipop a second chance and moved to take a chair, Charli gave her a nod and a smile "Thanks Gold" but said nothing to the Simataran. For despite her words to Gold, her internal jury on Lollipop was still out. Even Americans weren't as bad as Simatarans it seemed. And she would flat out refuse to work with a true bigot of that nature.

However she laid a file before Lollipop then moved along to hand ones to the rest of the group.

"And the reason you need a wilderness specialist is that A, I know that wilderness. Just over a year ago I spent nearly three months honchoing the effort to put out a blaze in the near by of that mountain range. And B, I think I know where the door to the complex is. The only places Central Worlds used anything like roads is in their city cores and residential areas. Every where else it was point to point transporter, or anti grav vehicles. So it's not like there's a road leading to it." Charli answered Lollipops question finally.

"And Miss Firewalker is also an expert mountain climber. If what she noted is not the entrance, she is very well qualified to climb the mountain to try and find it.” A new voice broke in as a very physically fit man of middling height and immensely wide shoulders entered the room. He had a touch of gray in his thick brown hair, cool gray eyes and a non nonsense air about him. He wore the uniform of a Tanaaran Command Sergeant Major “I’m Sergeant Major Mehendenhal and the reason you all are here as to make sure you don’t kill one another in the upcoming mission. It’s not an insult to any ones competency, but all of you have different training, different procedures.”

He nodded to Rikan as Charli took her seat. “Miss Rikan, please describe for us how you and your teammates would ‘clear’ a room, from start to finish, please”

Liam remained silent as the Catawabans entered, not particularly disturbed that he would be working with what appeared to be half human half dog creatures. Having worked on a number of missions outside of Assington borders, Liam had made a point to be somewhat familiar with the peoples of all nations in Fatal Terrain, whether they be human or otherwise and so he wasn't surprised and certainly had no problems working with the dog-like people.

Whilst the Simatarian woman was his equivalent rank, Liam had doubts about whether she was appropriate for the job. Besides bright bloody purple hair that would stand out as much as painted target, she didn't seem to possess the discipline that Liam would expect. No doubt everyone was aware that this team was being formed to deal with a threat to the region and a little training together was necessary so one could logically assume that whoever was present was part of said team. Liam simply gave the newcomers a brief nod and decided he would reserve judgment until he saw what his team mates were capable of.

Opening the folder that Charli had placed before him, Liam quickly scanned over the facts of the situation before turning to the maps. He hadn't done much wilderness navigation for a while but it was part of his training. As a question was posed to the Tarlachian woman, Liam turned in his chair slightly to face the woman, awaiting her response.

You've got to be kidding me. Rikan thought in disbelief as she returned the man's gaze with an impenetrable cold look. Then, she allowed a snort to be heard as she cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes enough to make her following words to drip with poison although they were unusually calm. Too calm, as if she had done this enough times before. "Shouldn't it be enough that I'll get whatever fucking target killed that needs killing?"

She glanced around the room, meeting each of their eyes, "Although, I was under the impression y'all hired on professionals to do the wet work you so hesitate to do yourself." She deliberately pointed at Lollipop. "I'd rethink her role in this mission though because if they don't kill her, I will." Her eyes bore into the purple headed girl's own with such coldness that it would be no wonder that if one were to breathe, they'd see their own breath floating in front of them for brief moments. Her words now were spoken to Lollipop. "You annoy the fucking hell out of me already, gnat."

Rikan shook her head as she returned her attention to the general, "Besides, we don't have enough time to dance like little nancies having a fucking tea party and wanting to know what color panties we're each wearing. So, let's just cut to the fucking chase and tell us what the fuck you want done."

Armal just sighed, closing his eyes in exasperation. He knew enough about Rikan to know that arguing with her would be pointless. Her ways had served her well through many situations, including those that most would've considered "beyond FUBAR". Rikan was a hunter, a survivalist, and had killed the parts of her that she felt made her weak. He knew she also held a kill record that was unconfirmed, but said to be in the twenty six thousand range.

"Then you can just go get your things and leave Ms. Tansho. Because we did not hire professionals because we hesitated to do it ourselves. We have our own professionals that could do this with no trouble. I wanted to bring in various nations and their best to show that the region can work together." The voice that spoke was as cold and cutting as Rikan’s had been. The tall man with an air of quiet competence and command that entered the room carried himself with the easy erectness of someone who had spent many years in the military. Cold storm blue eyes surveyed the Tarlachian with no liking or respect. His minute handsign signaled Command Sergeant Major Mehendenhal to sit back and let him deal with the attitude problem being presented.

Archon Robert Ryan Fortier ~ Hexx had been Tanaran Cadre before becoming Archon. The Hell War in the Shadow Realm had given him nearly fifty years of continuous combat experience, though he looked to be only in his early thirties. And while the Tanaarans might not have had Tanaran technology, the Tanaarans definitely had highly trained troops that could have moved on the Maser situation.

His voice continued to match hers for coldness. "I, but more importantly, the survivors don't have time for your prima donna notions. You will either work willingly with the team or you will be taken back to Tarlachia. No ifs ands or butts. If you can't then; from you I want nothing save you hauling your oh so superior ass out of here."

"This is not a tea party or a pany raid. It is sending professionals in to a very much low intel operation. Unfortuantely we have no floor planes, no intell on number of the opposition. You are going into the interior of a mountain and I refuse to let any of you go in half cocked, no matter how big and bad you think you are. Because no matter how 'bad' you are, a round to the head is generally disabling."

He then turned to Captain Escher, his tone unchanging "Captain, I don't know TGS grooming codes, and while ours are definitely more relaxed than the norm - for this operation, your current hair color is a liability. If it does not wash out we will provide you with a dye to take it to a normal color."

He paused a beat "Also if you can not bring yourself to fully accept the Catawabans as teammates then perhaps you need to recuse yourself from the mission as well"

Rikan just returned the Archon's glare with a smile. Clearly, she had gotten under more than one person's skin. She didn't care. She did however raise her hand to the Archon, flipping it over and uncurling her middle finger. "You can go fuck yourself for all I care." She glanced back to the others, "I'll work with you all. After all, I've got a paycheck to pick up." The added afterthought was never expressed. Loosely.

Her fist thumped twice against her chest, with her first two fingers extended, "Go A-team!"

Her attention returned to the Archon. Her smile was surprisingly genuine, although there was an edge to it. "Fireteam tactics...standard tactics, I suppose. Assign quadrants, work from there. I am, most adaptive..." She left it at that, although she knew herself to be oftentimes employing unorthodox means of 'clearing rooms'. She had ways of getting into rooms undetected, ways that were just far too complicated at the moment to discuss. They were here to start, execute, and complete a mission.

Both vornskrari had straightened themselves when the Tanaaran CSM entered the room. Unlike the collection of brass polishers that might thought of themselves of on God's short list, the two enlisted Catawabans knew that if the CSM wasn't a power but maybe to God, he was definitely second in line. He was a man who'd seen more, done more than any officer. And sure be to hell that he didn't spend all his time marching up and down the square.

If the vornskrari had straightened their posture for the CSM, they'd come to a sitting attention when the Archon entered. He was a man they'd be expected to show every last bit of consideration towards. His words towards the Tarlachian woman were spot on to the two Miraaderic Guards. They'd have to keep an eye and ear turned towards her. There was something about her that was unsettling.

The Archon's words towards the Simatarian made Gold smirk until he got to the warning about fully accepting them. She bristled and averted her eyes down towards the file on the table in front of her. She knew the Archon was trying to do what he thought was right. She knew that Tanaara's standing unease with the Simatarians and their atittude towards nonhumans was at the root of that. However, she felt offended at the indignantity that others might think the vornskrari, she needed to be protected like she was a wet puppy all over again.

Mird felt the quiet seething from his sister and knew that under her auburn mane and Guard's uniform her fur was bristled and on end. He threw a glance towards her and then the Simatarian captain. His name meant "clever" in Taung'a, and he didn't earn it solely for his witty sense of humor. He had step in between this perhaps for the team and the mission.

He turned his attention to the Archon and cleared his throat. "If you'll pardon me, sir, I think the Captain and we've come to an understanding. I don't think we'll have any more problems." He threw a meaningful glance out of the corner of his crimson eyes towards the Simatarian.

"Fireteam tactics...standard tactics, I suppose. Assign quadrants, work from there. I am, most adaptive..."

Rob ignored the finger flip, and the smile he favored her with had an equal edge - he might not have had fangs, but he in the end was just as much of a killer as she was.. He didn't care what Rikan thought, but Rob didn't want any of them getting dead due to avoidable intrateam incidents. And he knew well how all too often they happened even on the most closely integrated and well trained teams.

He wondered what any of them would think when they next checked their bank accounts. Even those who had been 'volunteered' would be pleasantly surprised at what they found.

He turned his attention to Mird, as the vornskrari sought to pour oil on the interspecies waters

"If you'll pardon me, sir, I think the Captain and we've come to an understanding. I don't think we'll have any more problems."

He gave the three, the vornskrari and the Simataran, a long and searching look, then he nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"However our intel is not as low as it was just a few hours ago." Rob turned to the reason he was really there "An...old friend" he wondered if that really was the way to refer to his source "dumped some information on me this morning at 'o hell it's dark thirty'. And before you ask, yes, from this source it's not just gold, it's pure platinum set with ten carat diamonds."

The Archon handed a small thumb drive over to CSM Mehendenhal who inserted it onto a slot in the link system built into the briefing podium.

"As of this morning there were one hundred and twenty five survivors of the charter liners destruction. Plus there are another fifty five survivors. They are what’s left of the Masers operating and technical staff, the base's security team and some scientists that were working on other projects."

His voice was dry "Originally the base had a standard staff of two hundred. Nearly a hundred died in the take over and the other have been...used, murdered, as part of the terrorist's entertainment program."

An image of a man so middle of the road he'd never rate a second look "This is Le Clerq, as he looked the last time he approached the TMZ Operating Council's agents, offering them control of the Maser." then the scene changed ...

The next one was one that anchored itself in the inner eye, dark with an eerie sense of foreboding about it but some how clearly visible... it wasn't readily apparent what one was seeing at first though. Something vague… seemingly just a bulk of odd shapes, maybe bones...bare, jointed...humaniod? A ragged mop of limp osyter hued hair and an all but fleshless face leached of all warmth with odd tattoos…a pair of oversized gold hoop earrings…leering over a jumble, a disjointed, shockingly blood red and fresh bone white mass…

Until the mind sorted the fractured parts of the image out and into something only vaguely human (http://www.atddm.com/Ryuk.jpg) hovered in mid air, staring down dispassionately at a brutally dismembered once human body. The remains barely discernable as humans, save that the face was untouched, and despite the expression of frozen horror contorting it, it was recognizably the one known as Le Clerq.

“Apparently Le Clerq’s boss felt he wasn’t needed any longer and fed him to his pet shiginami.”

"That caught my source's attention and while unable to interfere, still was able to get this and a bit more information to me."

Charli looked sharply at the Archon but did not say anything at the moment, merely nodding slowly to herself. She knew now whom the information had come from.

The actions and attitudes of the Tarlachian mercenary had been given little reaction to by the twosome from Timzee, save for a quick exchange of glances and shakes of the head. They didn't much care if she was Tarlachias best, to them she wasn't much better than the worst that could have been sent - but it wasn't their place to say anything, and so they wouldn't. That wouldn't keep either of them form keeping weather eyes on the woman – though they had fractionally relaxed when she acknowledged her intent to stay.

They hadn't been troubled by the arrival of the vornskrari - second only to Tanaara, the Timzee military - which was the vast majority of the Timzee population - had the largest number of non humans in it of any regional military. Both had worked with the Looie, Timzees best known non human -= and their cultural heritage had given them many a childhood tale of when the four footed had lived and hunted along side man. And once again they siad nothing as they watched it being sorted out by the parties involved in the poor reaction...

But they, like the vornskrari had straightened as the CSM arrived. This was some one they Knew Not To Offend. Senior noncoms, such as he, embodied the living tradition, the multi millennia long legacy of human warfare in all its guises and facets and one disrespected him at one direst peril….

They listened intently to the start of the Archons briefing – making mental note that he thought it necessary to bring the information himself…an interesting fact.

Then -

".. pet shiginami."

That brought Travis’s hand up when the Archon paused “Excuse me sir,” He pointed to the holographic image “Do you mean like out of the mangas, a Japanese death god?” Travis knew his anime and his voice held a world of disbelief as he looked back at the image once again

So, six posts since the question was asked, and not one of them had the correct answer. We all know the proper way to clear a room is with a frag grenade.

[OOC: Depends if you like anything in the room, pard. If ya don't, frag the hell out of them. If ya do, flashbang and then enter and clear.]

The vornskrari exchanged a look at the mention of 'death god.' Godhood was a sketchy thing. They were thought to be demigods by some Taung back home all because they'd been based off the image of legendary divine messengers and tester spirits in the Taung religion. But whether that thing was divine or profane, it was still ugly and bad. Gold looked to the Archon. "Sir, is that thing a creature of the divine? Or is it engineered to appear that way for scare tactics?"

Mird was focused on the image before them. "Whatever the hell that ugly pile of osik is, sir...please tell me it has near fatal allergy to copper-jacketed lead."

"Whatever the hell that ugly pile of osik is, sir...please tell me it has near fatal allergy to copper-jacketed lead."

The image on the projector caused Liam's brow to draw down slightly. He was happy to accept a range of non-human creatures such as the norm, especially considering many lived in nearby nations but the thing before him was still somewhat worrying. Nothing came to to mind when he considered what could possibly do that to a man.

Liam's first thoughts after getting over his initial distaste were echoed in Mird's question and he nodded in agreement, as if to put his own voice behind the question. There may be all sorts of nasty critters out there in the world but in Liam's experience there was always some way to kill and maim them and he could only hope he'd packed the right gun.

Rob shook his head, his unhappoiness at the little information he had to pass along clearly evident. He didn't like not having the answers they needed

"We don't have much on them, save that NO they aren't deities. Apparently they are an alien species that started visiting Earth during the late eighteen hundreds, almost exclusively in the western pacific rim - Japan, China, and the pacific seaboard of Russia. However they pretend to be deities to cover thier abilities. One of which is apparently the ability to kill from afar, by will alone. In obviously gruesom ways" He looked at the horrifically dismembered body the alein creature was hovering over.

"The folktales say they are spirits and thus can't be killed, but we hasve some information that suggest that they can, but nothing concrete enought as to suggest how. We're going to send in a couple of experimental weapons with whichever of you all are willing to volunteer. Cats keep has loaned us a couple of psi weapons that Lady Shalamar, and my cource, believe will work."

Mird and Gold exchanged another look that spoke volumes. Aliens were a new explanation to them that they were still getting used to. Before Catawaba had joined Fatal Terrain, the very idea of aliens would have been laugh worthy, well, just as the divine or magic might have been laugh worthy. But these days just about anything was possible, and the vornskrari were on the fore edge of the rest of Catawaba about getting used to it.

Gold was especially cooler about the origin of the beast, Mird noticed, but then she’d been in on that operation against that rampant vampiress back when they were still Togovian property. It was that experience that caused her to raise her hand and gesture with jerk of the head for Mird to raise his hand. Gold turned to the Archon again. “Sir, we’d like to volunteer to wield those weapons from Cats Keep.”

Gold knew that in the words of the improbable Catawaban General Matthew Quigley, “When ya gotta go up against the weird, ugly, slathering, big, bad beastie, you’re going to kick yourself, if you’re lucky, or kick the bucket, if you aren’t, if you turn down Chekhov’s Gun.” She’d tried taking on a manical, starved vampiress who shrugged off the effects of automatic firearms and the strength, claws, and fighting skill of three vornskrari hunting pairs. She’d ended up having to rely on a mentally-unstable explosives scientist. While that had worked out in the end, very nicely Gold reflected as she thought of the unexpected bravery of that crazed pyromaniac, she knew she wouldn’t have, wouldn’t want to have to fall that far as to rely that brand of insanity. She liked that brand of insanity, she dated that brand of insanity, but she didn’t let that brand of insanity out of his lab or her bed whenever possible. He was a good man but a danger to everyone except her.

No, she wasn’t going to turn down a chance to never be that helpless as to be that desperate again. She wouldn’t turn down Chekhov’s Gun (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ChekhovsGun).

"Allow me to ask two very silly, possibly stupid sounding questions."

Lollipop had been staring at the gruesome picture of the thing called 'shiginami', it was a completely fuck-ugly creature. It was certainly the strangest thing she had ever seen in her life and would no doubt be the strangeness and the most dangerous thing she'd ever face. Seeing it made her want to recommend blasting the whole mountain and the surrounding area back to Mesozoic times.

But, she knew that wouldn't be the case. They'd have to go in there and possibly face this fuck-ugly creature.

"First question. Are these uh things capable of sentient thought? If so, how can one be kept as a pet? Second...well I guess third question now is probably the most important. These experimental weapons from Cats Keep. They believe they will work. What if they don't?"

"You're right." Rikan spoke quietly, "They are stupid questions." She set a chilling look upon the Simitaran. "I know the people of Cat's Keep fairly well. I've ventured into their lands and gotten to know the folks that enjoy the privacy of darkness that the underworld culture offers. Why would they send weapons if they didn't think it'd have a fair enough chance on doing the job intended?"

She crossed her arms, tilted her head slowly until her neck cracked a few times and leaned back a bit in her seat, straightening her head as she did so. "And, if they don't work, it's our job to find something that does. Sometimes, the answer lies not in advanced technology, but in methods and technology long established and proven throughout the years. Continuity and all that. The longer a weapon exists and remains functional, the more versatile it is."

She reached to her leg and retrieved her knife there, flipping it about in her hand twice and then burying its tip into the table in front of her. The resulting echo in the room was brief, but clear.

"Of course, the trick is knowing how to get close to them without them knowing you're near."

At this, she gave Lollipop a dark grin. Stealth work was her specialty.

Gold looked between the Simatarian and the Tarlachian for a moment. She didn't like the Simatarian particularly, but Captain hadn't gathered her things and left when the Archon offered it, encouraged it. Gold glanced at her brother out of the corner of her eye. He'd stood up for her, perhaps she might have some redeeming qualities. But more than that, she didn't like Tansho because she didn't show the respect she should. She'd backtalked and insulted the Archon and shown disdain for every person in uniform here.

The vornskrari sergeant leaned forward into the conversation, glaring at the Tarlachian. "Tansho, get yourself down off the pole stuck up your ass. You're qualifed, so are we. You kill things, so do we. Quietly kill things, so do we. You may have more expierence; I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. You want to go around having a pissing contest with Captain Escher and everything else that breaths like some juvenile pup, do it on your own time. We do have a job to do."

Gold held her glare for an extra beat before turning to the Archon. "Sorry to interrupt, sir."

Mird looked over at Escher for a moment, wanting to hear the answer to her questions. They were valid, and while he didn't mind being volunteered to have the newest and shiniest kit, he did want to know his contingency. Before the Archon had brought up the CK BFGs, just looking at the shingami made him start considering hauling around an AT4 anti-tank rocket.

The look that Rikan received from Lollipop was probably not the one she expected. The Simatarian looked at the Taralchian with a look of complete boredom, Lollipop casually rolled the sweet in her mouth from her left side to the right as she stared blandly at Rikan. The knife trick Rikan preformed also failed to elicit more than a sarcastic, single clap from the paratrooper.

Lollipop sighed, she wasn't interested in hearing some mercenary blowing her own trumpet. She wasn't interesting in arguing, she was interested in getting answers from the Archon concerning these alien-things. New weaponry always meant possible problems with it in actual combat. Lollipop had faith in her A23, she had been issued it (along with the rest of the Airborne and special forces) shortly before she went to the VIB. Though it was new, she experienced little to no problems with it. The fact it was also homemade gave her a bit of a bias as well. Against, something totally alien...literally...she didn't know how well it would fair.

"You can twirl a knife thats great. But that won't..." Lollipop shut her mouth as Gold tore into Rikan. Leaning back in her chair, Lollipop looked over at Gold, a small smile on her lips. She was amused and partially entertained by it. She also agreed with every word that Gold said. Lollipop's eyes met Mird's eyes briefly. "I think she and I might just get along."

Turning back to the Archon, Lollipop waited calmly.

"First question. Are these uh things capable of sentient thought? If so, how can one be kept as a pet? Second...well I guess third question now is probably the most important. These experimental weapons from Cats Keep. They believe they will work. What if they don't?"

Rob gave the Simataran a flat eyed look for a moment. He'd meant 'pet' in the metaphorical sense, not literally. He had to remind himself that most here didn’t know him, his way of briefing. Rob sighed to himself. But no they weren’t stupid questions..

And unfortunately he didn’t have enough information to do more than guess at how the one named Gerd Maass kept it under control, though he could well imagine.

"Of course, the trick is knowing how to get close to them without them knowing you're near."

That brought a mental snort from the Archon. Rikan Tansho had just too much arrogance, and too big a mouth for her own good. Rob wondered how long she’d live – and found what worried him was that thought didn’t worry him in the least. If she was the only one that didn’t come out he wouldn’t mourn and just be glad she hadn’t taken any of the rest of the team with her.

But he’d let those of the team make their feelings clear. They were the ones that had to work with her. Hopefully they’d have the guts to speak up if they truly felt she’d be more of a liability than partner.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir."

Rob waved the apology off, none was needed.

"Yes they are capable of sentient thought. They are as intelligent as humans, maybe more so" His voice went very dry "and I meant 'pet' in that he has control of it, or at least thinks he does. Though that may be purely a deliberate illusion as the Shiginami follows some plan of it's own.”

“And if Lady Shalamar says she believes it will work, then that can be taken to the bank. The honored Lady of Cats keep hedges her bets only because she didn’t have one to test it on. I’m sure it’s been tested on things guessed to be equally durable.”

However he reached into the inner pocket of the supple leather jacket he wore and pulled out a credit card sized shape of glossy black, and tossed it to Charli. It flew solidly, as if it had weight, not paper or even plastic.

She caught it easily; but before it disappeared in the palm of her hand a shape could be seen embedded in the obsidian, a fluid rune shape of faintly lambent icy blue.

Then an automated voice came over the rooms speakers "Ten minutes. The ten minute countdown has been initiated. All flights out must depart in six minutes before the base is sealed and rotation is engaged."

Rob frowned at that, he hadn't gotten as far into the additioonal information as he wished. But what was left was on the chip and the CSM could complete the briefing.

"Thats my signal for departure. All the rest is on the chip." He looked at Sergeant Mehendenhal, then swept his gaze across the others "I won't say have fun training these next five days. I'm not that much of a sadist. Good luck in the training and I'll see you in what shall be for me some few hours"

He nodded to the group and with a stride that was as brisk as the one he'd entered with, he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

Gold whispered but made no move towards her brother. She didn't need to, his canine hearing would make up for it. "...rotation is engaged?"

Mird, on the other hand, made no thought to be discrete. He leaned in towards her conspiratorially, all for show. "...more interested in the 'for me some few hours' part."

Gold looked eyes with her brother. "Prudii'yam?" She wondered.

Mird's eyes sparkled. "Kandosii..." he whispered gleefully.

Lollipop nodded to the Archon as he spoke. It was as much as she needed to know, the shiginami were at the very least human intelligent. It gave the soldier a cold chill, she'd rather face some unknown, alien foe that at least didn't have human intellect. She scratched down on a page in her folder to get her hands on any documents pertaining to shiginamis before she left. The VIB would certainly find it useful.

Lollipop didn't so much as bat an eye when the Archon announced he was leaving. Big wigs usually came to give a rough sketch and it was up to the lower ranks to give the full details. However the mention of "five days" being only "a few hours to him" did cause her to arch an eyebrow. But, it didn't seem that important...at the moment.

She looked at Mehendenhal. "Alright Sergeant, what is the game plan?"

OOC: And Imi seems to have found my second favorite knife. Good fucking choice my brother, good fucking choice. And you're both right, and wrong. A frag is the BEST way to clear a small, uncluttered room. Sadly, people live in rooms and people like to have things to sit on, sleep in, and otherwise make their lives easier, so they tend to reduce the effectiveness of a frag. You'd still have to go in the room anyway to make sure they were all dead anyway. Further still, some of these people are more useful alive than punched full of small-caliber holes or torn into the human equivalent of pulled BBQ pork (Ironic? I think so). In this case, you'd use that flashbang just in case he's in that room and blind his ass with your lightsaber-esque ultra-bright beam-of-God-himself weapon light, which will also help you ID him easier and not give him that trendy new body piercing in the middle of his forehead (It's the hot new thing in 'Jihadist Monthly', too bad no one survives the process. They're working on that... )

This is all after you hit your point of domination (where you're supposed to stand and clear your arc from) and send his buddies to their seventy-two virgins (by they way, I heard they're all male virgins. Turns out it was in the fine print somewhere. That must really suck :p) in a bright flash of controlled automatic fire (yay!) and leaving them in a leaky heap in the corner. Subdue your HVT in whatever means you wish (no shooting or stabbing, but a muzzle punch to the throat works quite well) and rush him back out the way you came. Congrajulations, you're one badass motherfucker!

At least that's what I was taught. Who knows, they chance the SOP every year it seems.

IC:


They'd both done this more than they cared to admit. It got old after a while, either you got too good at what you did for it to be fun anymore or you simply tired of scraping another man's blood out from under your fingernails with the same knife you'd driven through his eye socket a few hours prior. The knife was messy if you did things wrong, and you often did. People don't exactly stand still when you drive a thumb through their eyeball and begin to drive the worn point of a K-BAR through their soft neck tissue, but then again Dekker imagined it was an uncomfortable process.

There was supposed to be an Imitoran operative with a similar mission somewhere to the south doing something similar, but both Dekker and Whiptail had a feeling it wasn't going to be anywhere as discreet as they were trying to be. The echo of automatic gunfire from what sounded like a medium machine-gun confirmed that suspicion. They'd been waiting for the explosions, but had heard none.

It had, however, been a great distraction for their own little ambush. As the small patrol they'd been following all looked in that direction. When they turned back towards their route, their numbers had somehow decreased by two. Dekker had one pinned to the damp earth in a shadowy thicket with a gaping knife wound in his neckline and a wide-eyed look of terror on his face. A large hand had been clamped over his mouth to stifle the gurgling but Dekker had ended up driving his K-BAR through his left eye. He just wouldn't sit still and bleed out like a good little minion.

Whiptail, being a little more classically trained, for lack of a better term, had appeared like a SPECTRE of death behind his unfortunate victim, a man of barely twenty-two, and driven the clip point of a Benchmade Nimravus into his right kidney before twisting and ripping it free and reversing his grip to drive it down through the skin above his sternum and into the aorta. He'd done it perfectly, clawed hand clamping down on the larynx to control the screaming while dragging his target backwards to his shadowy doom. The man had bled to death, mostly internally, in under a minute.

Dekker had to admire the man's skill. Both had come lightly armed, Dekker with his trusty K-BAR and tactially pimped M1911A1, the same Kimber and cutlery he'd carried at the Fatal Terrain Regional Conference. A recon-wrap had gone over his head in lieu of a bandanna and his preferred ballistic facemask. Old woodland-pattern BDU's and jungle boots matched a worn-out mottled green t-shirt and he was wearing enough greasepaint to clog any modern plumbing apparatus. Now, however, he had what looked like a Yugoslavian AK-47 and a bandolier full of magazines, four in total. The big mercenary lifted his fingerless-gloved hand from the dead man's mouth and wiped the blade of his weapon across the dirty hand-me-down fatigue jacket. The guy wouldn't be needing it anymore anyway.

Whiptail had brought along his long-time favorite handgun, a Steyer MA-1 in forty-caliber Smith and Wesson, carried in a drop-leg with three spare magazines. He'd replaced his Shadowscale blades with something a little more modern, a pair of clip-point fixed blades from Benchmade, but he still carried them at the small of his back. Muscle memory was, after all, muscle memory. His victim had the smaller AKS-74U and five magazines of 5.45mm 'poison bullets'. There was also a Llama .45 auto stuffed in his waistband.

The assassin was clad mostly in olive-drab he'd spattered with varying hues of brown and green sparypaint, much like Dekker's shirt, with a black t-shirt tightly fitting his scaly frame. The charcoal of his scales had been accented with some olive and loam greasepaint. Satisfied with their work and staying low behind whatever concealment they could make use of, their eyes met across the path and exchanged quick nods before Whiptail launched a small pebble into the tree branches ahead of the patrol while Dekker, legs coiled like braided steel cables, tensed to strike.

The distraction worked, and for a man of his dimensions Dekker came out of his thicket with amazing agility, driving the K-BAR down through the throat of the nearest patrolman before kicking his legs out from under him and letting the dead weight pull the blade free. The second suffered a similar fate as he turned to address the noise with a raised weapon, but caught a knife in the eye for his trouble. The man to his left died much more painfully, with a heavy blow to the throat and a punishing thrust kick to the groin to keep him from raising his weapon. By now the remaining three where onto him but help was already there in the form of a dark-scaled blur.

If Dekker had been paying more attention he'd seen the Dark Argonian assassin come in from his left, catching the closest man with a slash across the carotid followed with another across the femoral as Whiptail turned to drive the first blade downward into the skull of the second man and spin yet again and kill the last with a deep stab under the sternum and a final cut across the neck from the second blade, now dislodged from the second man's cranium. Dekker finished the last victim, the guy he'd simply crushed the larnyx of, with a rather non-chalant reverse-guillotine neck-snap...

"There's no fucking way that's going to work again Godzilla..."

"You'd be surprised, bro-han..."

Whiptail had somehow dropped into a ghetto-esque dialect...

"I gotz da skillz nigga! With a 'z'..."

"Wuz you raised on da streetz?"

"Ya god-damn right! Datz how I roll! Slap me some skin ya cracka-ass muthafucka!"

The two exchanged an overly elaborate secret hand-shake before dropping the hoodlum slang...

"We're getting to old for this shit..."

"True dat..."

"Stop it."

Whiptail continued to chuckle lightly as the pair began to pick over the bodies for loot, intel, basically anything they could use. On such short notice, they'd almost come was they had been to the diplomatic shin-dig...

"So what do you think?"

"I don't and that usually gets me in trouble..."

"Nah you scaly bastard I meant between me and Shalamar..."

"If you piss her off I wouldn't have to cremate you if that's what you're asking..."

"So a woman like her and a guy like me..."

"I'm not going there, Dek..."

"C'mon..."

"Alright, alright, but after we clean up this mess..."

The ambush had gone well, almost as planned. It probably wouldn't go that well ever again, but this time they were better armed and better prepared...

The CSM turned back to the group and after a few seconds of quick review of the new data brought up a montage of head shots (http://www.atddm.com/themm2.jpg).

The first was an angular planed face with nearly albino coloring and an angry look to his pale blue eyes.

"From our source, we know a little more than just names. The first one is the top gun, Gerd Maass, hails from Belgium, or may be Rhodesia, from back before it became Zimbabwe. Though his background can be called murky at best. Controls the alien, the Shiginami, though the relationship between the two may be different that the minimal observation that was possible."

He read "Gerd is a thantophile, seeking to match himself against forces most sane people would not contemplate. He is an extreme risk taker and can not be counted on to do anything in a normal, logical or conventional manner. Very intelligent, list as Highly Dangerous."

"Secondly - Jorge Macadaros" He looked over to Charli who had her hand raised.

"Yes? He raised an eyebrow as she thanked him, but didn't get in her face when she called him 'sir'.

"I've met him. He claims to be of Mayan descent, and is crazy both like a fox and just plain bug nuts. I'm willing to guess that he is their magic user, as he claimed when we met that his tattoos gave him undefined but powerful abilities" She shuddered a little at the memory of the meeting. It hadn't been a friendly one. "He dropped off of every one's radar about three years ago."

"Well, now we know under what rock he's been nesting. And the little here agrees with Ms. Firewalkers comments. You don't happen to recognize any of the others do you?"

Charli shook her head and the CSM continued.

"Three and five are the groups lieutenants and command currently some thirty troops. There is evidence of more but they were not in the mountain when the intel was gathered. Tizinn Chan is an highly trained martial artist as well as being adept with a number of pistols and other firearms. He is also an absolute sociopath and enjoys indulging in the mental anguish of others." He let that float about in their minds for a moment before continuing.

"Mister Bald and Buff is Beautiful is one Rocky Masters an ex U.S. Navy Seal who apparently feels that money matters more. He is stronger than he looks, and is very agile, the muscle mass makes him highly deceptive. There seems to be a fair amount of rivalry and friction between the two lieutenants. And this seems to be causing some discord beyond just the two of them"

"Last but not least is number four, the Money Man, name never mentioned. Computer and financial specialist. Though apparently has some prior military training. Accent is cultured and educated Russian."

He shifted back in his seat, waiting for any questions that might arise.

Liam had calmly remained silent as he had watched the others in the room, filing away relevant information on each of his team mates. So far he'd decided that whilst the Simatarian may appear to be a little unorthodox, she wasn't here to stroke her own ego like the Tarlachian woman. The others all appeared to present some form of professionalism that seemed appropriate considering the circumstances.

Examining the faces displayed before him closely, Liam delved through the names and images locked away in his memory. Some of those names were familiar vaguely but he'd never had anything specifically to do with the men before him. Once the presentation was over and silence reigned once again, Liam finally opted to speak.

"Assuming we encounter these men on the mission, what are our objectives regarding them? Take prisoners or eliminate them?"

Liam didn't particularly care either way as they were obviously bad men that posed a threat to the region but they might also have valuable information.

Mird leaned over to his sister but only lowered his voice so he could still be heard and deadpanned, "Oh gods, Ve'vut'ika, SubRosa was right. Yul Brynner didn't die. He's only taken a new, osik'la identity as Rocky Masters and returned to get me for makin' fun of the King and I."

Gold shoved her brother away. "Ne'johaa, mird'shebs. Ni ru'baati be'Matthew Santos (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matt_Santos)ori'dush vod." * She would wait until after the Assingtonian got his answer to ask her questions and do her best to muzzle her brother.



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

*Your Taung'a phrase for the post:

"Shut up, smartass. I'm worried about Matthew Santos's evil brother."

Dekker and Whiptail didn't bother to hide the bodies, they simply took what weapons and ammunition they needed and continued on their way towards the suspected location of the 'Maser' device. They'd create a diversion a little closer to the installation itself and draw more of the defending forces out into the wilderness to be disposed of...

Kade and Travis cocked their eyebrows at one another over the Archon's parting remarks - both were curious and alert, Kade especially as he'd had access to some upper level rumors in his last assignement - but it was the continuing information that caught their attention even more.

They both had known Rocky Masters, both before and after his and their stints in the U.S. Military and the rough work world of international mercinaries...

"Oh crap" Travis muttered and spoke up. "He's damned smart and cannier than your average mercinary. Supposedly he had access to some sort of super steroids." And the man had been known to explode into 'Roid Rages more than a few times. He'd been tazerd, and cattle prodded with utterly no effect He went on to describe one incident he witnesses where the merc had trashed a Greenie Beanie hang out and had come close to killing four of them, and then picked up and flipped a squad jeep when the MP's arrived. "And took five tazer touches without dropping before he ran off." he finished

Kade was able to contribute similar information, but he'd never teamed with the man.

Mird's crimson eyes opened wider. "Holy osik...Yul Brynner's a monster..."

Gold spit her brother with a glare to hush him. She wanted to hear the answer to the Assingtonian's question about the rules of engagement.

Assuming we encounter these men on the mission, what are our objectives regarding them? Take prisoners or eliminate them?"

CSM Mehendenhal nodded slowly. It was an excellent question. "The brass can always find uses for any intelligence. However you can take this as from the Archon himself - and me. Do not risk yourselves to capture them, or keep them alive once captured. However should they fall into your hands, it would be nice to talk to them."

The hooting of the alarm came again and the annunciator let it be known that "The base is sealed and rotation is being engaged." A five count began and faint weirdling sensation rippled through the room, then disappeared as if it had never been. A final announcement stating that the Stepp was complete and that the base was now in mode.

"Are there any more immediate questions?" He asked. There was more in the folders that had been handed out, but it was best picked up by reading

Lollipop looked at the men on the slides with an upturned nose. Certainly not a handsome bunch, particularly the albino looking one. It was a bunch straight outta central casting for the latest spy thriller. Even so, Lollipop scribbled their names down, making note of their faces. She'd send off everything she got back to Kriegspiel prior to their departure.

A smile crossed her lips as they were given permission to terminate the men. She was very glad that they didn't have to capture them or try to keep them prisoner, would prove too much of a liability.

Lollipop tried to ignore the brief, butterflies in the stomach sensation after the base went into rotation. She'd ask about that after the meeting was done. She flipped through the folder she received before looking up at Mehendenhal.

"Branching off from what Charli said about the walking tattoo parlor being some magician...any word on if any of these other guys are non-human or talented in the supernatural?"

"Branching off from what Charli said about the walking tattoo parlor being some magician...any word on if any of these other guys are non-human or talented in the supernatural?"

"Apparently nothing was noted in the brief time our source had for observation.” CSM Mehendenhal double checked quickly, then went on to answer her previous question. “And as the current plan, we're going to send you all to your rooms for a bit. Some of you are out of your normal time zones and need to get reset. Others of you came straight off your current duty station and haven't eaten in longer than we like personnel to go.” His grin was cold.

“But don’t let that make you think we’re going to be soft on you. In twelve hours you are going to enter a training evolution that will make an Imitoran SWORD Hell week look like play school. You all are professionals, mostly military professionals, but you have never worked together, do no know one another’s strengths and weaknesses, do not know how each other reacts, what has been trained into them to the point of instinct. And if you don’t think that that knowledge isn’t important, you are dead wrong” And his stern gaze never left Rikan. She knew just how important it was when working in a team, even if she hadn’t done such in a long time, or wanted to acknowledge it. And he refused to pander to her ego. “So you all will practice as a team, again, again, again and yet again. You don’t have to like it you just have to do it.”

“Each of you will find sleep aids tailored for what we know of your specific physiology. Take them rather than toss and turn. Get at least six solid hours asleep .The dining hall is expecting you. Get a good meal, you’re welcome to poke around the base a bit, …oh and don’t stare too long at the sun, just like the other one it can damage your eyes.” He stood “Consider this oh six hundred and your first evolution will begin at eighteen hundred at the Armory. The map of the base is in the PDA’s that are waiting for you in your rooms, along with other information you will need such as your schedules and the base regulations. That’s all for the moment, I’ll see you at the Armory.”

The words "other sun" ricohted around in the vornskrari shared another telling look. Mird smirked. Gold looked back at CSM Mendenhall. "Sargeant Major, am I correct in assuming we've passed over into the Shadow Realm?"

...a training evolution that will make an Imitoran SWORD Hell week look like play school...

If that is the case, then I can tell you right now that the TMZians, the Simatarian, and Charli aren't going to make it. The Catwabians might make it on mental strength, but physical is up for grabs. The only ones I can say for sure would be Rikan and Liam.

That being said, post coming tomorrow. Promise.

[OOC: She gave you a pat on the head, skippy. Don't let it go straight to your ego.

It's a pointless fictional pissing contest, but I'll put up that SWORD Hell week ain't as bad as Togovian FIST-led training in Project Vornskrari. At least IMSPECWARCOM cares about someone surviving the process, the Togovians would rather that some survived for cost efficiency, but if not, at least they attained good data for when they start the next batch.

I ain't sayin' they're tougher or better by extremes. I'm saying they're different, and the comparative qualities between us is really an immeasurable but by what we're saying right now. I know ya gotta reputation for SpecFor, but don't go lording it over us.]

OOC: Continuing on from my last short post...

IC:

... While their weapons weren't high-speed highly expensive custom-built engines of death and destruction, they did spit lead at reasonable rates of fire and they did kill people. Dekker had started off growing up in the backwoods of Kentucky, hunting deer and small varmints to hone his aim. His rifle was just that, a rifle. He really hadn't put much more thought into it. When he joined the USMC he'd learned more and more about guns, and all the cool devices you could bolt to them and the performance tweaks and all the other cool-guy bullshit. That had continued through his time with the SEALs and most of his private sector career until he'd gotten old and realized a gun was just that, a gun. It didn't matter who made it or what caliber it was, what sort of electronic sighting system it had or anything like that. It was a gun. He used it to kill people. It didn't have to be complicated. 'Wabi-Sabi' as it were.

The pair had shouldered their weapons at the sound of oncoming footsteps, but it had turned out to be a deer and nothing more. Dekker lowered his weapon, checking the date and time on his watch. The main assault team would be arriving in something like six days, but they were already close to their objective and would begin their task of probing the external defenses...

Cat, the guys who go through SWORD selection would go through that same shit that your Trogs would, or that shadow realm were one week equals a month or whatever, and everything else. And they are human. Not dog people. Not mystics or psionics. Not half elf half angels or super humans or mutants. Not genetic clones of people. 100% normal, no genetic enhancement humans. They don’t care if you make, and they don’t care if you survive. Hell, if you die its cause for celebration because it’s Darwinism in action: you were weak, you failed, only the most fit survive.

Get it straight: SWORD selection is not tough. It’s not hard. It’s no more physically demanding than the Force Recon TRACT selection. No. It’s brutal. Pure, raw, unadulterated brutality. It is weeks of pure torture, topped off with a week or so of even MORE torture. There is nothing in selection that is even humane, or remotely related to combat skills, because if you get that far in the Imitoran military, then honestly you have to know what you are doing. No, SWORD selection looks for the psychos, the nut jobs, the crazies, the wackos, who are also smart enough to be able to hide it from the rest of the world. Ever read John Ringo’s Paladin of the Shadows series? Yeah. You got a team full of guys like Ghost, the darkest, deepest parts of man’s id. The guys who will cut your throat just to watch you bleed because they think it looks fun. They don’t not rape you because it’s wrong, they don’t rape you because it gives them even more feeling of power because damnit, they know they can. They leave the bodies out, impaled on pikes. They drain their kills of blood and leave ‘em to be found. They wear the necklaces made of ears and fingers and toes. Why? Because they think it’s cool. They always get used as body guards because damnit, when you shoot at their mark, they will empty a damn machine gun into you, and cut your head off just to make sure.

These guys have no humanity, and they enjoy causing pain, chaos, and distress. Therefore, the selection process looks for likeminded individuals, and the best way to find likeminded individuals is to put them through what you damned near want them to be able to do.

It was not meant as offense, it was a statement of fact. Robert, my guy already on the ground whilst you bicker over who’s a better knife fighter or the proper way to clear a room or what guy uses magic or not or who gets to hold the fancy laser cannon, would not make it through SWORD selection. He wouldn’t last three days. The Archon wouldn’t make it through SWORD selection and he’s been to hell. My character of Hoot who I’ve RPd as long as Robert, is more of a closet sociopath, and has ALSO been to hell, wouldn’t make it. Liam and Rikan would, because Rikan is just the right amount of fucked up and Liam looks to be able to turn off his emotions, his mental concept of right and wrong and team work and all that, and just do what he is told. As far as WA, I think Dekker could do it, but not Whiptail, he seems more stable. Kerrich would rock it.

IMC Force Recon Selection gets you to drop out because they spray you with a fire hose then expect you to run 10 miles in under an hour in one hundred and twenty pounds of full gear with a rifle, then they dump a can of OC in your face and expect you to clear a kill house perfectly in under thirty seconds. 1st SOD Selection gets you to drop out because they expect you to be able to recite Dante’s Inferno while doing 500 one armed push ups blind folded while being sprayed with water and have sand thrown at you. SWORD Selection gets you to drop out because you aren’t enough of a sociopath to live with all the other sociopaths. I believe the phrase is the inmates are running the asylum.

What’s that? You’re hungry? Ok. Well, after we beat you for an hour for showing weakness, we’ll point you in the direction of a stray dog we found wandering around. Go kill it and eat it. And trying to cook it will give away your position, so we hope you like cold raw dog meat.

But hey, if it’s a pointless pissing contest, they why take offense or even say anything? Besides, I’d give the real crown of ass kicking and name taking special ops to WA (in both RP skill and IC ability...I love reading his posts). I’m just a bit more prevalent in posting with more technology, and I’m more into the training aspect, but if you look at it, the Argonians are psychologically far better at it. I bet if you looked deep down into their psyche, they are the kinds that do well with spec ops because for them it is more than training, its instinct. They’ve just (for the most part…I keed, I keed) have replaced the bow and arrow with Bushmaster. It was never meant to be insult. I was just saying this team has no place trying to get through SWORD selection. A better comparison would have been the RIA Special Forces with a hint of 1st SOD. That being said…

Robert sighed as he pushed himself up against the tree, the large bolt action cradled in his arms. His position was the best he could possibly put himself in, just a hair over two hundred meters from the road, concealed well in the tree line by a low, large bush. It was big enough to allow the Marine to sit, but not tangled or too large to prevent a quick escape.

The ambush had taken only a few hours to set the way he wanted, interrupted by the occasional patrol. He had forgone the AK, and carried only his Sig and the bolt gun, so now was not the best time to engage a full sized force. A drainage ditch that ran under the road had not only offered him a place to hide, but was the best place to start the ambush. His last task had involved stuffing it with the plastic explosives. Another pound and a half was spread out a distance back, one he measured to be near five or six lengths. It would be about sixty feet between the primary and secondary explosions, and claymores had been placed randomly along the road side in the vegetation. He held the radio detonators with him, so he could control the explosions. This was the hardest part, waiting.

But the sound of the large truck moving up the road was unmistakably a good sized diesel. The type that most militaries used in transport vehicles. Robert closed his eyes, forcing all his perception to come from sound. It was a large displacement, and by the tone not too far off. Based on how loud it was getting, and the slower rate, he would have to guess around sixty miles an hour. It helped being a car guy. Robert pushed himself further back against the tree, forming a closer bond. His feet were planted firmly, as if bone directly to ground, and elbows firmly to knees as if bone directly to bone. He was careful, but not slow, in lifting the rifle up, watching through the scope. His view confirmed what he had heard, for the most part. The lead was a jeep or Hummer of some sort, followed by three transports, and two more of the light vehicles.

Hmm. Maybe a bit faster than sixty.

Fortier settled his rifle, on his knee, his right hand clicking off safe, his left going for the three pack of detonators, setting them on his lap. As the first truck passed him, he started the count. Just over a ten seconds clicked by, and he hit the first detonator. The explosion started five yards in front of the truck, but the shear amount of explosives took out the road for a good twenty feet in all directions, engulfing the front of the lighter truck as it nosed over into the crater now left from the explosion. It flipped over, landing on its nose in the ditch. The first transport slammed into it going at least seventy, careening into the ditch and spilling supplies out over the road. The fire quickly jumped to the transport, and the tell tale popping of ammunition erupted from the covered bed.

The remaining trucks, now bunched up far more than what was comfortable, quickly began to reverse. As the tail end truck slipped over the rest of the explosives, Robert hit the second detonator, catching the jeep securely in the blast. The second to last truck plowed into it, its reverse gear not strong enough to push the burning hulk out of its way. Robert exhaled, quieted his breathing, and squeezed the trigger of the rifle in a smooth, glass break pull. The round slammed into the driver, the .300 WinMag game round expanding on impact, punching a hole in the head the target near the size of a half dollar. With the drive incapacitated, the truck came to a quiet stop. Quickly working the bolt, Robert settled the cross hairs over the gunner, frantically scanning for something to shoot his machine gun at. The nearby popping of ammo cooking off, the roar of the fire, and secondary explosions meant he never heard the large rifle just a hundred meters away. The center of mass shot dropped him down over the gun, killing him instantly, and making it impossible to pull down from the mount.

By this time, bodies began pouring out of the second transport. The first had been guns and ammo, the second must have been troops. Robert cursed himself for not bringing enough reloads for the bolt gun to take down each one. But then, he remembered something.

The third detonator.

They scattered as they had been taught, dispersing towards the edge of the road to be able to lay down good cover fire. Right in front of the claymores. Robert almost wished he could have been standing nearby to hear the sound of thousands of ball bearings slinging through the air, tearing through canvas, steel, glass, and flesh. Almost.

The screams were short lived, a few still calling out for help. It would have been easier if he had brought the truck to gun down survivors, but life wasn’t perfect. Another soldier scrambled from the second to last truck, and stumbled towards the edge of the road. A light application of pressure snuffed out his life as another round slammed into its new home, directly center of mass. There was no movement now, now more screams or haphazardly fired shots from the convoy. As if by luck, a cooked off round and killed the driver of the third convoy truck. The final still had the driver and a navigator who refused to leave. Robert replaced the three rounds he had expended with the bolt gun, and pushed up from his sitting hide in the bushes. He slung the rifle forward around his chest, allowing him quick access should he need it, and reached for the monster knife, the Darfur Defender offering a slight, satisfying schnick as he pulled it from the sheath.

He closed the distance quickly, tightening the grip on his knife as he approached the passenger door of the first truck. He held it in the standard grip, the way he estimated the navigator would exit would make it better than the ice pick hold. The door opened, and the soldier leapt out from his seat, a cheap revolver coming up. Robert moved faster, stepping forward and pushing himself into the navigator. His left hand came around, grabbing the target along the side of the head, thumb jabbing into his eye socket, and pushing hard. The knife came around fast, angled, and slid into his body from the side, between the third and fourth rib. Then came another, just above it. Then a third and fourth till the body stopped fighting to win. The navigator’s system began fighting now just to live. Robert noticed the lack of a weapon or chest rig, and the next jab came right into the gut, cutting down and across up to the hilt, spilling his insides on the ground. He took the man’s final breath with a long, deep cut along the neck.

Quickly, he looked up through the open door, and noticed and empty driver’s seat. Reflexively, he dropped the knife, and pulled the bolt action back up. Moving to the front of the vehicle, he saw the driver in a hard sprint, running to get as far away as he could from the one man assault team. By now, he was easily fifty meters away. Robert wouldn’t even need to use the scope, but he did. Fortier hefted up the rifle, setting its wide varmint base on the hood of the truck. He moved into the scope, and used his left hand to tuck the butt harder into his shoulder. Shooting from a standing position wasn’t as solid with a long gun, and even at this range, he wanted to be sure.

The runner came into the scope, the cross hairs settling center of the back. By now he was near one hundred meters, and trying to zig zag.

“Man,” Robert swore under his breath. “TV does this shit. TV. No one serpentines anymore, just get your ass to cover.” He sighed then inhaled, letting out just enough breath to settle his breathing, but not too much that his lungs would suddenly call for more, throwing off the shot.

He closed his eyes briefly, then slowly allowed them to open. Robert contemplated the shot for just a second more. The rifle had been designed to hit targets well out eleven hundred meters. The built in range finder was now telling him his target was only one hundred and twenty five meters away. Still, it was better than the pistol.

He took up the almost nonexistent slack, and then pulled through the glass rod break. The rifle barked one last time for the engagement, and the Angel of Death, dressed as a one hundred and ninety grain boat tail hollow point three oh eight caliber round reached out. The Angel had a fast moving touch, and gently tapped the runner just left of center in his back. The round expanded, piercing through flesh and muscle, and tearing into the runner’s heart. He stumbled for a step then dropped. Robert waited two more heart beats to see if the runner stood up. He didn’t.

Quickly, the Imitoran reslung the rifle over his back, and moved fast to the tree line. He had been out in the open longer than he had liked, and even though no one had passed by, he didn’t like the risk. Within moments, he was back into the trees, moving towards his hide site.

No one had been passing by that the Imitoran had been aware of, but some times those passing by were loitering at over ten thousand feet and scanning the countryside with advanced sensors. The countryside that had suddenly become so deadly to the troops of the ex commander of the majority of Central Worlds forces -one General Vandares. Oh he was no more than a warlord these days but he had the loyalty of a large number of troops, even if in the tech restricted retirement colony that meant not much better technology and weapons than the 'natives' could muster.

But not that much better did mean something and he'd authorized the use of one of his limited supply of loitering surveillance drones. Though the dense forestation made most of the encounter more movement and shadows than actually clear pictures

And the slaughter of his troops by forces unrecognized - a seeming small but highly trained force – had him furious, but cautious as yet. “No none of the cyborgs yet.” He didn’t have many of them, and at this point they were basically irreplaceable. Send in a sniffer team; make sure their wearing their armor. My standing orders are not being followed and those idiots got what they deserved. Track those troops, find them and when they are at bay Then I’ll send in the cyborgs to finish them.”

The generals aid hurried out to see that the order was carried out.

“I don’t care if that Dragon Skin stuff is hot, and heavy and cumbersome. Wear it or he’ll have you made into a cyborg.” It was an empty threat; however the junior lieutenant didn’t know that. He chivvied the complaining techs in to it and nodded at the sergeant that would lead the accompanying squads. The troopers ( http://img523.imageshack.us/my.php?image=troopsce2.jpg) had slightly better armor and weaponry. The tech team that would operate the sniffer tracking device numbered four, with two squads totaling twenty two to protect them. They would head toward the site of the ambush aboard a lifter ( http://img185.imageshack.us/my.php?image=lifterke9.jpg) to get the sniffer team there as quickly as possible, though they and the squads with them would be on foot delivery to the ambush site.. The two platoons that would trail behind them in case of contact, numbered nearly two hundred, and they would be going in the more numerous, if far lower tech – noisy, smelly and needing such primitive things as ‘roads’- armored personnel carriers.

The sniffer team was at the ambush site in less than twenty minutes and hot on the trail of the forces that had destroyed the convoy. Those in the APC’s would be there in another hour.

Lollipop first returned to her room and looked at the map of the base that was provided. Once she had located the mess hall, she went over for chow. She'd eaten worse, she'd eaten better, but she had learned to take military food all in stride. Once she had her meal, she returned to her room, eager to do a check on her gear.

Locking the door behind her, Lollipop laid a blanket on the floor of the room. She dismantled her A23 and preformed a thorough clean of the weapon. Once she had cleaned it, she reassembled it she took out her P45 and cleaned it. Lollipop cracked open one of the cases she had brought with her. She removed the smaller top section which contained several changes of clothes, a box of lollipops, small first aid, as well some small tools. Down in the bottom section was her combat vest, ammunition bandoliers, batteries and chargers.

Removing one of the batteries, Lollipop hooked it directly to her helmet. She then hooked the helmet to the A23. Putting the helmet on, she carried the battery in one hand and the rifle in the other as she walked to the door. Lollipop flicked down the eye-piece over her right eye and turned off the lights.

A few seconds passed before the she could see the room glowing green. Holding the A23 out, Lollipop panned the barrel around the room. Using her middle finger on her left hand, she gently worked a dial on the front of the weapon; she flipped through standard (resulting in just black), night vision, thermal imaging as well as checking the zoom options.

Satisfied, she removed shut down the forward optics on the weapon and turned on the lights. Besides the optical assists, the weapon also had an internal LED light and laser assist. Lollipop detached the battery, helmet and rifle from each other and placed the battery back in its crate. The other crate contained ammunition boxes, magazines, as well as some accessories for the rifle.

Lollipop laid the A23 onto the ammunition case and undressed. The gray undershirt she wore bore the 17's Dragon emblem with "The Dragons In Baggy Pants" scrawled underneath. She folded her clothes and put them near the bed, she'd wear them again tomorrow...they were clean enough.

Lollipop set the alarm on her watch then looked at the sleep aids in a plastic cup next to her bed. She wasn't the pills sort of person so she simply climbed into the bed. She found herself tossing and turning for the next half hour, trying to find a comfortable position...but then she slipped into a peaceful slumber.

Sleep...that was something Rikan had long ago found no longer necessary, a side effect of the particular strain of vampire she had been infected with, or gifted if you chose to look at it that way. She left the pills offered for her where they had been put, and instead just sat up in the bed, leaning back against the wall. She remained there, slowly driving a throwing knife against a whetstone. The soft sssccchhhhh was the only sound heard in the room.

Glancing upward at the opposite corner of the room where the AC vent was, she noted the small blinking red light belonging to a camera that was watching the room. She had already searched the room very carefully for any bugs and cameras and that sole camera was all she had found. She returned her attention to the knife in her hand, pulling it up to her gaze to inspect it for irregular marks on its edges. Suddenly, her arm shot outward.

The sound of electricity crackling and sparking for a few moments, and she looked up to see the hilt of the blade sticking out of the vent a few inches, her throw having aligned it perfectly between the AC vent cover strips.

She let out a slight 'hmmph' as she picked up the next blade and began the sharpening process again. After the knives, she'd clean her guns that sat in protective cases on the nearby desk. The nearby clock told her she still had quite a few hours to kill before they were put through "training".

"Sergeant Major, am I correct in assuming we've passed over into the Shadow Realm?"

"You are correct Sergeant. And while the base has suppressors dampening the intrinsic morphability of the Shadow Realm, if you go outside their influence, any terrors lurking in your mind might well manifest.”

Charli gave a faint nod at his warning and had no intention of leaving the base. The denizens of her mind would stay right were they were thank you very much. But she was starved, so she decided to stop by the dining hall her guide had taken her past, then explore the base while her meal settled – then get a sound sleep. She’d use the pills if she couldn’t fall asleep on her own.

Those observing - and by far less obvious methods than low tech cameras noted The Simatarans total lack of interest in the fact that what had a been base in a cavern - indeed a good sized cavern covering nearly three hundred acres, and with an average ceiling height of over two hundred feet - was now in an open air, ringed with woods – trees not native to Earth and some of fantastic appearance -and in the distance mountains. The sun was also a hue never found on Earth. It had a distinct red hue to it, and the sky was far more greenish than Earth's was.

Lack of curiosity, of interest, was a greater weakness than too much. It implied a lack of caution and in many cases a lack of intelligence. It was noted just as Rikan’s unrelenting aggravation and ego driven hostility was.

With the initial briefing over, Liam decided it was time to get himself a feed. He took all this talk of 'other suns and the shadow realm' in stride, despite it being quite unfamiliar. He was trained to deal with harsh situations and scenarios where he didn't quite understand the forces at play and so he'd deal with it. The mission before him certainly possessed a few strange elements but Liam was happy to be out in the field once again and doing something more active than standing around government officials and occasionally making sure no one killed them.

Exiting the briefing room, Liam recalled the brief layout he'd seen on his way in and made his way towards the mess hall with little difficulty. The significantly different surroundings caused Liam to raise an eyebrow as he glanced briefly at the sun and took note of the mountains in the distance that certainly hadn't been there when he arrived. Many questions ran through Liam's head but he continued on his path to the mess hall. The PDA back in his room was probably his best bet for gaining any information about this place and he'd check that out later but for now a meal would do him well. Whilst curious, Liam's main priority here was to train for an upcoming mission and anything else was secondary.

Accepting a tray of beef with assorted vegetables, Liam took a seat at a table on his own and began devouring the hot food before him. It was certainly better than he expected and was promptly transported into his stomach without complaint. Now with some food inside him, Liam rose and began the trek back towards his designated room.

Before any more of the team could leave, Travis closed in on his quarry.

"Hi! I'm Travis, the team medic, and I've never treated a Vorn..? Sorry I only heard your species name in passing. Are ya'll shifters?" Travis Tenkiller querried Gold, since she was the ranking noncom of the pair, as he walked over to the Catawabans. He stuck his hand out for a shake. TMZ didn't have many non humans but he kept abreast of anything concerning them.

Kade followed him over. He was interested in the others of the team, and figured it in no way hurt to get to know the others sooner rather than later. And he'd seen the dossier on Charli Firewalker from TMZ's AE Expo, and knew that she was there as far more than any sort of guide. He privately wondered at the quick exits of the Simataran, and the Assingtonian. It did not bode well for any sort of team function that they had no interest in their team mates. Rikan, well he'd known her sort.

Gold and Mird were collecting their things and getting ready to exit the briefing room when the TimZeers stopped them. Gold took Travis's hand in her paw and gave him a firm handshake. "You can call me Gold. The runt beside me is my brother Mird."

Mird leaned around his taller sister and shook the medic's hand as well. "Runt's a small price to pay what they didn't gift me in height they gave me in brains. Conservation of mass and all. I get it in brain complexity and she gets her mass in height and mass in her as..."

Gold cut her smirking brother off with a glance. She turned her attention back to Travis as if her brother had never spoken. It was quite often the best reaction to take with Mird. "We are called vornskrari, and we do not shift. We are single-state genetically engineered caninoids." She was perfectly calm, pronouncing that painful and ugly origin.

The wiry-furred vornskrari leaned back around his sister, using her height and shielding for, at least his own, comical effect, popping out like a jack in the box. "For those of you not raised in a genetic weapons lab, she means we were grown from human DNA spliced in key places with vornskr DNA." He paused for a moment, and his tone and inflection took on the manner of a narrator for a nature documentary. "The vorsnskr is a pack hunting canine native to the jungles of Catawaba. Renown for its ferocity, hunting acumen, and stinger tail, the vornskr is..."

Gold rolled her eyes, and her tail came up and around to swat her brother on the top of his head. "I suppose you want to know how to treat us, sir?" She didn't forget that Travis was a simulated captain.

The fact that the vornskrari had been created brought a hardening to the faces of the two Timzeers. It was a disgusting practise neither agreed with, but it triggered a memory for Kade and he spoke up. "Oh you're the people the the Togovian's developed to be assassins? I hear you drove them out and then they got well and truly glassed, yes? Spirit I hope so!"

Travis would wait till later to get the complete story from Kade, for right now he'd limit his curiosity to getting the medical readouts on them. Though a lively sympathy showed in his eyes.

"I suppose you want to know how to treat us, sir?"

"Yes, please, and no 'sirs', I really do work for a living." Travis replied with a grin.

Mird stepped from behind his sister. "Yeah, the Togos decided we'd be great assassin stock to compliment the warrior stock they were growin' up in the Herringdom. Both bit'em in the ass. We just got to slot our creators and held in a few places during our Revolution. Now, the Herringdom though, they glassed Togovia, lucky roos." A widget of memory finally slid into place and held his hand out to Kade. "Hey, I recognize you from the conference you were on Colonel Hardcastle's staff."

Gold smiled. "Alright then, Travis." Gold perched herself down on the edge of the table, adjusting her kad's sheath out of the way. "By most respects, we have human physiology. The scientists wanted to simplify their work load." She looked past him as she thought for a moment. "We don't take any human minor analgesics. Asprin, Ibuprofen, and Acetaminophen have ill effects on us. Major analgesics like morphine are safe and effective." She turned her crimson eyes back to Travis. "Our doctor, Captain Dolittle, anticipated that the squad medic, you, might have questions...well to use his words, 'frightfully bewildered,' so he had our files and some of his notes sent to the Aye-Aye before we left. I can get them for you."

OOC: I'm flattered Imi. Your latest work seems to have influences from the Summer 2008 'Combat Tactics' magazine and 'Generation Kill'. Most excellent. And yes, Whiptail does have something of an emo streak to him, but he's really my 'see-what-I-can-get-away-with' character, where Dekker and Kerrich have become my no-nonsense guys. He kills out of survival where Dekker does it for profit and Kerrich because he feels that's his little niche in the grand scheme of things. It's nice to finally see someone appreciates my sociopathic creation. :)

And by the way, I just purchased a gently used Nighthawk T3 in hard chrome off of Gunbroker.com. :)

IC:

More explosions and gunfire in the distance, the sporadic sort that was either guys low on ammo or some idiot had lit the munitions truck on fire. In either case it was noisy, and seemed to have done the job of getting someone's attention. The troops exiting the compound were much better armored and equipped, an advance force streaking off in some sort of advanced vehicle. If Dekker's eyes weren't failing him he could swear the stuff was they were wearing was DragonSkin, and that meant headshots and soft spots if the knife came out. While the AK-47 had an edge in terminal ballistics at standard engagement ranges, something smaller in caliber and higher in accuracy would have been handy right now, especially outfitted with a can of some sort and a high-quality optic.

From now on, they'd both be bringing full kit bags to whatever diplomatic function they attended. This 'field aquisition' shit was for the fucking birds. He had a small arsenal of classy hardware back in his government-supplied house in Grayrock, next to a nice Eagle-brand plate-carrier and his ballistic facemask that took the deadness out of getting shot in the face and replaced it with a sharp sting and a bitching case of whiplash followed by a mild concussion.

He exchanged a knowing glance with Whiptail before shouldering his AK again and letting the first group advance down the path in the direction of the likely Imitoran-initiated ambush. Overkill was Underkill to those guys, they really liked to blow shit up. Both Dekker and Whiptail knew to shoot someone until he thought he was dead, but the 'Torans took that to a whole new level. They'd let these guys wander a little farther away from the base before trying to thin their numbers a bit.

They followed the second of the new groups for about an hour before they located a nice spot for an ambush. The AK came up again, a loose amalgamation of plywood and sheet metal that had taken more lives than HIV, AIDS, cigarettes, cancer, and motor vehicle accidents combined. It had become an extension of his body now, as much a part of him as the arms that held it on target and the hands that held it steady.

Dekker held a small uphill grade, his massive form obscured by brush and bushes. Whiptail had ninja'd (it's a verb) his way around in front of them, but a bit to the left to stay out of Dekker's line of fire and really mess with their heads. Fifteen hostiles in total, in loose wedge formations. Standard patrol stuff. The armor, however, made it a little more difficult to kill them. The neck, armpit, and lower torso were all that made viable targets and most of them didn't warrant a quick kill. The ex-merc planted the front sight of the Russian bullet-hose just under the neck protector of the front-most man. The kevlar wouldn't stop a 7.62x39mm, instead it would cause it to mushroom a bit before entering the soft neck tissue and slow it down, reducing the chance of a shoot-through. Ballistics were such fun after all.

A slight application of rearward pressure sent a tight cluster of .30 caliber rounds thudding into the upper neck and torso of the lead man, who staggered forward under the impacts and landed face-down in the dirt minus a chunk of his head beneath the destroyed helmet. Resin-empregnated kevlar wasn't much of a match for Russia's workhorse round either. Whiptail sprayed the front of the formation as he scooted past back to Dekker, who chucked a borrowed frag grenade into their midst. As soon as the bomb left his grip the AK came back up again and he sprayed the flank of the second wedge, trying to maim a squad leader or someone important. Most of his rounds didn't find flesh, just knocked his victims off their feet. The grenade, however, was a nasty bastard. Plastic knee-pads and leather/cordura boots didn't do much against high velocity shrapnel. Those hit went down hard with shredded limbs and ringing ears.

The ambushers soon came under heavy surpressive fire from the advancing APC's and beat a hasty retreat as the forest around them disintegrated under a hail of large-caliber lead...

"Jesus tits that was a dumb fucking idea!"

Dekker was shouting over the gunfire in between ducking low-handing branches as the two ran at a full sprint trying to escape the kill-zone intact. One hit from a fifty cal, or even a near miss for that matter, would be fatal. They had no air support, and no medical supplies. It was a foolish choice to hit an armored convoy with assault rifles and grenades. If only he'd had an RPG or some sort of grenade launcher. Again, his tweaked M79 was back at the house...

"It worked didn't it?"

"Define 'worked'. Nearly being cut in half by a fucking machine-gun doesn't quite describe the shit-storm we unleashed back there..."

"They're going to be bogged down for a bit tending wounded and clearing the area... I left that Llama forty-five back there too, holding down the safety spoon on an old M2 pineapple. Woe be to the dumb fucker that decides he wants a war trophy..."

They stopped running about a quarter-mile deeper into the forest before cutting back towards the base...

"so he had our files and some of his notes sent to the Aye-Aye before we left. I can get them for you"

"Not unless you brought them here with you." Charli had been listening to the the others as she gathered up her files. "Nor is there the usual internet connection. The Shadow Realm really is elsewhere, and elsewhen as where." She wsan't going to explain that she'd been in the Shadow Realm before, back after she'd nearly killed herself in the Eagles Nest incident.

"However Travis, ask the base medical supply if they have PTMS, a psi-tech medi scanner. It will take a metabolic read out and tell you what any of us can and can't handle. If they don't have any spares, I can toss mine into the master kit. I'm going to be your back up so no reason you shouldn't use what I've got."

She nodded in friendly hashion to Whitebear. They knew each other in a way, though they'd never been formally introducted - but her massive GNX had put paid to his classic, but slower, Goat to the tune of 5K at the TMZ Automotive Excellence Exposition not that long ago.

Gold craned her long neck around to look at Charli. "Miss Firewalker, even though I was not aware we would be transiting over into the Shadow Realm, I have lived and served in one classified facility or another my entire life. The files are in our duffles."

"Hey, I recognize you from the conference you were on Colonel Hardcastle's staff."

Kade shook the offered hand and smiled wryly "A broken, then broke again leg had me recouping in a staff position for longer than I wanted and I requaled just a month ago. But with no currently open slots, I ended up back with Abagail for the conference. Broadening experience" He far prefered field work to staff any day, but Colonel Hardcastle hadn't been hard to work with.

"Havn't heard of the Herringdom though" He commented then included every one in his next comment "Hey are you all hungry? Why don't we go grab some grub at the dining hall."

"I'll ask the about one of those PTMS, and want the files. Every advantage never hurts." Travis said to Charli and Gold, giving both of them quick nods. "Yeah food sounds good. I'm starved. Mister Aide de Camp here might have been dining on gourmet dishes at the conference. I got hauled out of my bungaloo before dawn and given oil pan sludge masquerading as coffee."

Mird glanced back at Gold. They nodded together, and Mird turned back to Kade. "We'd love to get something to eat. We're starved." As an after thought and mostly to amuse himself, he pulled his lips back from his teeth to illustrate that a starved vornskrari was something to prevent.

OOC: Please check TG's before responding to this post
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Roughly 12 hours later they all managed to make their way to the Armory. Once they were in their full battle rattle and their preferred weapons load out replaced with exact duplicates - save that the ammo and blades wouldn't kill you - but they could not only hurt in ways one didn't forget, they could and did break bones and knock the target unconscious. The medical tech took care of the concussions and broken bones with-in hours...but no, Travis did not get to take it along with him. It was too bulky yet for full field work - and they were going in with only what they could hump themselves.

And for the next one hundred and twenty hours, minus breaks for breaks - the one up side of such was that they got to catch naps and scarf down the best tasting MRE's available, if they bothered to slow down long enough to taste -they trained until they not only hated the unrelenting, staff but each other. The memory of the comfortable beds in their suites was just that, a memory.

But they learned each others strengths and weaknesses, and how to be a team - despite themselves. They learned who's shooting got shaky when they were completely sleep deprived, who had nightmares when they were allowed to rest, and who woke up mean, meaner, meanest...and who should only be woken by remote devices...

They trained in a not wholly holographic wilderness that looked as close as possible done from both old and new imagery of the mountain and forests about the base, but in the best guess of the experts what the interior of the base might be.

Some of their short stops had info sessions where in they got tossed sheets of graphics "This is their high voltage icon; this here is the symbol of flotauric acid, it'll eat yours lungs in five seconds and your flesh in ten, don't spill it...

Charli knew that most of this was for her benefit, as to the best of her understanding hers was the least military background there - namely only the equivallent of Tanaaran basic training. And so she quietly intended to make the most of this.

In the wilderness she was good, and she knew it, but she readily admitted to the others that while she'd worked more than a few fires where there were mantraps about as -"some people don't like company even if company has come to save their ass" - She knew very little about what sort of military versions of such they might expect. And she was willing to listen and learn.

She also found - like most of the others that she did have limits on her stanima, despite the great physical shape she was in - and that when she had been pushed past exhaustion her shooting and reasoning went wonky. But the trainers had expected that, had planned for it and made sure that it got 'pointed out' one might say. Though she tried very hard not to grumble, and would have passed out before whining.

Sprawled out on the ground in an otherwise empty courtyard, Rikan stared up at the sky, watching the clouds going by. She was tough, quite versatile and effective in her combat skills, but even she had to admit the training they had been forced through was grueling and unforgiving. She had, to the rest of the team's apparent surprise, actually cooperated with all of them and worked fluidly as expected. Naturally, her mind did think of alternative means of carrying out the mission as if she were going solo, but she refrained from making such a reality. If they wanted teamwork, she'd give it to them.

She'd never let them conquer her though. Her mind was too strong for that. She'd prefer to die before they won her mind. Still, they tried, and she had taken a few hits from bullets, most caught by her body armor worn. But, then again, that was because she was with a team, and teams are together a larger collection of targets to fire upon. Alone, she was sure she would've sustained less injuries other than the minimal bruising on her flesh and the two slugs that had struck her left shoulder and passed through completely, and her left thigh. That slug, she had dug out with her fingers and tossed it aside, but not without the grimace of pain, as much as she tried to hide it. Being with dhampiric blood, her body soon healed, but the memory of the pain was not forgotten.

In hindsight, she realized that the intense coursework had caused to to falter near the end of the training, and her judgment to lapse, hence the injuries absorbed during the last day of training. She had, however, moved swiftly as necessary, but did not dominate the action. There was no need for that since she was supported by a team. However, she knew that in the field, things were never like training. Things would go wrong, and she might find herself alone.

If that came to happen, she knew she'd fight with all the violence she was capable of to ensure survival of herself, and even her new team, all of whom she had begun to have a small measure of respect for, for all had survived the training as well.

As a large cloud covered the dark skies, she inhaled quietly and rose to her feet. Yes...I'd help them. Don't think I could ever be as chummy with them like I was with my clan though. They're too different...

The training session was certainly a lot tougher than Liam expected but that didn't bother him in the slightest. As far as he was concerned if you weren't buggered to the point of barely being able to stand then it wasn't done right and wouldn't be effective. A lot of the drills were the same or similar to what Liam had faced in the past and he quickly picked up anything that wasn't familiar to him whilst also noting the actions of his peers, filing away information on the habits of his team mates.

Despite the extreme standards and punishing conditions, Liam did what he did best, especially in scenarios out in the wilderness. His primary training had been for reconnaissance and assassination so he was very adept at moving quickly, silently and remaining undetected whilst also being more than proficient with his rifle and pistol. It was in these situations that Liam's enhancements became evident. His senses allowed him to gain awareness of enemies with enough time to prepare himself and his physical prowess allowed him to sustain only a minimal amount of injuries.

That being said, he hadn't been perfect and on a few occasions he'd taken slug to his armoured chest as he sat in a tree when he thought no one would notice him. Of course there hadn't been time to worry over a bruise and any search for his body always resulted in nothing. Whilst Liam wouldn't be described as cocky, he knew he was good and had a tangible advantage over most ordinary humans but that didn't mean he wasn't vulnerable to exhaustion and sleep deprivation like the others. As the training progressed he began to miss small details, a sensor there or signs of another guard somewhere and these inevitably led to mistakes that gifted him with more bruises, grazes and even a few wounds.

The nanites ensured any wound that was potentially serious was at least temporarily patched up to prevent infection and such, allowing Liam to continue where others may have been disabled but they couldn't heal everything and the more injuries he sustained the slower the repairing process was. By the end of the training sessions Liam was covered in fresh and fading bruises whilst his more serious injuries had been tended to by a combination of the team medic and the nanites in his body. Exhausted was an understatement for how he felt but he could still walk, if somewhat unsteadily, and he felt the experience had been well worthwhile, even if he was about to drop into a coma.

Lollipop had no drive to prove herself. She didn't feel the need to push herself further whenever the group was looking to show that she was worthwhile. Lollipop did what her training told her, she adapted quickly and worked.

Lollipop fought like a paratrooper, using the element of surprise but most importantly: fire and maneuver, fire and maneuver. When an enemy position would appear, the Simatarian would flank and move behind the opponent's position to engage. Every chance there was to flank, the Simatarian took it. The cameras on the front of her rifle allowed her to also engage the accurately target while not exposing herself. Defense she also worked well in, but only when she didn't have to stay in one spot for more than a few minutes. Straight on attacks went against her training and hand to hand combat had never been her strongest point.

As the hours drew deeper into the double digits, it started slowly. Lollipop began yawning more and she struggled to keep her mind focused and head up. Her accuracy with her rifle dropped somewhat and she moved with less coordination. Though she would be able to surge up enough strength to return herself to almost complete operational strength, it was a losing battle. When breaks would be announced, Lollipop usually hit the ground within seconds, being out before she was fully on the ground. She could work through hunger, however sleep was something she needed.

It was during these times that she started getting injured. The first round that struck her landed in her back, the gel-synthetic she wore protected her torso from anything more than a tough bruise. The injuries then started to come in on her legs and arms, her left wrist had been broken when a round struck her directly. Lollipop did scream and did cry when the bone shattered and tore through her flesh, it was natural human emotion.

It was by far her most serious injury, she also got a sprained ankle, and numerous bruises and some bruises along her extremities. She popped some medicine for the searing headache that was tearing through her skull, as good as her helmet was, hit there enough times and anyone's head would hurt. As the course began to draw to a close, Lollipop looked and moved like a zombie, but she would still bring herself to fight.

She tried not to think of a bed that might be waiting on the other side of training, it made her body and mind hurt more.

The rounds that struck Rikan, Charli, Lillipop and the others never penetrated flesh - though the pain they induced via the highly miniaturized neuro- cortico stimulation technology built in to the 'bullet' most certainly felt like it had and worse...

Unforgiving, but not unkind eyes observed everything from multiple angles, and the opfor tango- highly qualified instructors all - added in their own observations and commentary. Suggestions as to offer those without the option of basic Tanaaran nano packs - different from those carried by Liam, and without certain vulnerablilties - these were for uping the removal of fatigue poisons from the body, raising healing and repair rates - not all that Liam had, some of those took time they didn't have to adapt to.


The information that Charli had nothing more than the barest knife fighting skills, though her general hand to hand was good, and she wsa well versed in handgun and long gun marksman ship. That she, like the others had show a remarkable degree of strength of will and determination. Evan Rikan was surprizing the training crew and raising their hopes for the other half of the training.

And that Chaarli wasn't the first to get a injury that really needed down time...

Nope that unhappy pirvilege was reserved for Kade. But it got the team a full ten hour down time while the medical department confered - and washed him completely out of the team.The recently healed leg broke again, bad enough that the base's senior doctor - some one who had seen and managed to heal damn near everything ... "Son, that bone is no more than talcum power. And while we can grow you a whole new leg and need to, it's going to take a month what with pushing hard rehab after we put in the new leg and according to the 'vine, you all don't have that."

CSM Mehendenhal who had been in the treatment bay observing nodded. The time line simply wasn't flexible enough.

Kade closed his eyes for a moment and thrust aside feelings of guilt and fury. He nodded to CSM Mehendenhal and shrugged helplessly. "Let them get a good sleep in before you break the news...And dump the top spot on..."

I'll post that later

The vornskrari had an advantage that no other member on the team could claim. They fundamentally knew they had someone who’d they’d trained and operated with for fifteen of their twenty-two years. They knew every tic and tell in not only each other but every one of their other twenty-four siblings. Of the two, Gold was clearly the leader and more dominant. Armed with her Modular Offensive Rifle – Grenadier, chambered for 6.5mm Grendel, with its underslung semi-automatic 25mm grenade launcher, she frequently took point. Stout Mird with his Modular Offensive Rifle – Dual, also in 6.5mm Grendel, with its underslung .357 SIG submachine gun attachment covered her and gave supporting fire. They were battle buddies.

When they entered a room, they knew where each other would scan, where they would move from the door. They could communicate by signals, looks, and the odd, meaningless bark. If they were out of ammo, which happened to frighteningly frequent in some of the heavier exercises the Tanaarans thought up, they could toss spare clips to each other like a trained juggling act. They easily came to two agreements.

First, they hated holograms. They weren’t alive, and they had no smell. Second, Gold dragged a grudging agreement out of her brother that they relied too much on their hunting sense. You see, half of a vornskrari’s genetic code was from the vornskr, a jungle canine who, according to biologists, allegedly could sense prey by life forces. With the vornskrari there was no alleged sense, but a definite ability to track living things by life forces and emotions. Against the devious but living Tanaaran OpFor instructors, Mird and Gold excelled. They could sense the smugness that preceded an ambush, the methodical vigilance of a patrol, and the surprise of discovery. It amused them to no end when Gold noticed that the instructors were beginning to meditate and use other methods to control their emotions. It did not help that as much as they thought. The vornskrari could sense them by other means through their hunting sense and the instructors still breathed and moved and were heard and they still smelt like sweaty, anxious soldiers.

But holograms…

They didn’t breath. They didn’t sweat. They didn’t pass gas. Mostly they didn’t stink. Mainly, they weren’t alive. Gold got more than a few slugs to the chest for going in to a room too quickly because she couldn’t feel anything on the other side of the door. Even through her Beskar’gam tactical vest, it stung like the real thing. And Mird just about lost all sense of humor when he leapfrogged past Gold and straight into a holosoldier coming out a door. He’d gotten a rifle butt to the face in the ensuing struggle.

Some deep painful chest bruises and a swollen eye helped convince the pair of siblings that they had to concentrate a lot harder on basic awareness. Who know what they might or might not be able to detect on the mission. That was the attitude they gave the exercises. They’d seen some of the trainees holding back, not giving it everything. Gold and Mird shared a look over that.

How else do you prepare? You had to treat every sim, every exercise like it was the real thing, push yourself, sweat, cry, and bleed. Everything you left on the floor in a training room, you wouldn’t leave on a floor during the real thing. Also, the vornskrari had something to prove.

The Imitoran had been right. They were second string, but only for lack of experience. They hadn’t had a real operation in more than two years. The recent actions against the Liberalists could barely be called skirmishes. The Liberalists hadn’t bled alongside the rural rebels, staying in their cities, and they hadn’t been a large proportion of the Miraadery’s military. It would have been called easy if people hadn’t died, if bullets hadn’t been exchanged.

Really, the Catawabans were excited underneath their exteriors. These were the Tanaarans, the best of the Tanaarans, and it was a chance to pit their skill against that. The vornskrari trained against other Guards. They’d acted as OpFors for the Marines and even Air Force and Navy Asset Protection teams. However, they all basically trained and fought the same. This was going up against another philosophy and skill set. With that, the vornskrari needed to prove themselves.

Out of national pride, they pushed themselves. On the forced marches, they tried to stay out in front or find more gear. When they ran grueling distances to ranges and took shots, the vornskrari sprinted the last few meters. They were exhausted, but they knew where their limits were. The Togovians made sure they knew where their limits were. They knew exactly how long they could hold their breath underwater. They knew how long they could stay in a chokehold. They knew they could run on a broken nonweight bearing bone.

But at the end of each exhausting run or each grinding session in the holochamber, Mird and Gold would slump down where they could and lean back to back, MORs on their thighs and sleep. Both were slight sleepers, a canine trait. Another canine trait owed some homage to ‘letting sleeping dogs lie.’ Now, Mird would grumble. If anyone deserved the warning to wake with a remote object, that would be Gold. She woke up snarling when roused. As it was, Mird was the safest bet to escape any serious consequences when waking her.

They pressed and pressed themselves in training until Captain Whitebear got injured. They’d been there in behind Kade on that catwalk. They’d come to a catwalk about six meters about the ground. It’d looked clear, but they’d felt someone in the room, a sneaky bastard from his emotions. The captain took a look with them. He’d come to the same conclusion they had. He’d trusted their senses. They’d been spot on thus far. He set them in the doorway to cover the ground, figuring the OpFor guy had a good hiding spot down there. Then Kade had moved out.

Mird felt stupid later. All that time with General Quigley, and he’d forgotten the primary rule of weird situations when you feel someone’s around.

Look up.

The OpFor guy came down out of the ceiling or somewhere in the pipes up there, intent on some face to face kamikaze dive. Well, the catwalk was unsecured. When the OpFor guy bashed into Captain Whitebear, the entire walk swayed. Kade got free, backed away to draw his side arm, and when back over the railing as the catwalk swept out from under him. The instructor missed grabbing Kade by a wisp of air. Kade fell, and on the way down he scrambled for one of the pieces of machinery below, trying to stop himself. He missed a firm hold and landed hard. Unfortunately, he did get some hold on the thing, enough to upset part of it which broke loose. The thing slammed down on his leg.

The captain’s howl had had the vornskrari’s fur on end. The Tanaaran ended the exercise there as they rushed from concealed entrances to tend to Captain Whitebear. Their instructors had told them to stand down and stack their gear. They stood down for ten hours. There wasn’t cause for joy or excitement, or much will to rest even though exhaustion overcame most of them. They were worried for their comrade.

Reluctantly, Gold and Mird emptied their rifles, turned them and their extra gear into armory, shucked their armor, and carried it all back to their joint quarters. There was nothing more they could do tonight. The Tanaaran doctors were confirming and Command was notably quiet. They exchanged a look. No news was generally a hesitation to spread bad news. The vornskrari turned in after taking their showers and getting a bite to eat.

They didn’t know anything for certain about Captain Whitebear yet, perhaps they would in the morning…or whatever passed for it in the Shadow Realm.

Travis humped it like every one else, and collected the same amount of bruises...and wondered to himself just why he'd agreed to this sadism...and chuckled sourly to himself that he knew exctly why...cause every bit you bled in training meant you hurt less when the short end cropped up. And he refused to be anything other than there for those depending on him...

Rikan who was turning out to be better than he'd allowed himself to hope - and was nearly as dangerous as her ego beleived. Mird and Gold who pushed themselves far harder than they had to, and who's senses were far more trustworthy than his limited ones. Charli who was so obviously lost at times but never complained and listened to everything with absolute intentness. Little Miss Pop who was smart and strong enough to not try to play macho when she took a hard one. And Liam was pulling his weight with quiet professionalism and nary a complaint

Kade was being his usual kick ass self until he got his ass kicked by his leg...again. Travis wasn't sure if a curing chant, one of the ones that removed curses, wasn't necessary along with the upscale medical technology. He'd been part of the group that got him out of the kill house, and had gotten a good look at the remants of WhiteBears leg.

But he had more important things to do than to follow Kade and the other medics to the base hospital. He had to make sure the Catawaban's under stood that it was not in anyway their fault.

Their horribly-planned assault on a much larger force had gone surprisingly well. They were both alive and in one piece. That didn't make it a good idea by any means, but at least they'd survived.

Dekker had a small communications device he'd been using to report back to higher command on their progress, and this time he made it a point to request their usual equipment loadouts, to include body armor and Dekker's mask. His tweaked G36C and Whiptail's rechambered MP5A4 would be rather thoughful additions to their kit as well...

A tiny Cessna, flying at barely above tree top level tossed the requested equipment out of its door, then waggled it's winds and departed with all haste. There was not only the rogue maser to worry about but the multitude of varieties of shoulder fired missile type thingies to worry about.

The equipment also included a hastily written message concerning the events of the destruction and disappearance of Imitora and other nations of Fatal Terrain.

The small plane would be the last of their allies they would see for some time. And they were advised of the final make up of the insertion team, so that they, the out and about stomping team, wouldn't mistake them for legitimate targets...

And speaking of legitimate targets, the warlord they had been tormenting now knew he had two groups playing wackamole with him and he was determined to turn the torment about. The tracking squad was hard on the tail of the soloist, and he'd ordered a second tracking team to find - or suffer the consequences - the new comers...and deal with them.

Dekker cast the AK aside, along with the mags, after he'd cracked open the Pelican case carrying his preferred loadout...

A slightly customized G36C, with a Trijicon Reflex style optic and slide-slinging magnifier with enough mags and ammo to fill his preferred body armor, the comforting weight of his old Eagle-brand plate carrier streaked with spraypaint. The 1911 and the KA-BAR were adjusted to accomodate the armor before Dekker donned his ballistic facemask, painted just a bit like the exposed Terminator on the left side, where the scar crossed his otherwise handsome features from his hairline down through his lip. The M203 attatchment for the G36C was also present, and Dekker took a few minutes to affix it properly before loading the weapon system and checking the operation.

Oddly, he'd also requested a Heckler and Koch MK23 handgun with a right-handed thigh holster, a SERPA model from Blackhawk!, a trusted maker of what had to be his favorite tactical holster. The last thing of note to be withdrawn from the case was a can for his MK23, which came from Knight's Armament, which he screwed into place before press-checking the weapon and finding it emply, chambered a round. A few other items like 40mm grenades and a few spare pistol magazines were removed before the case and 'chute were buried.

Whiptail's kit-box was a lot lighter, holding a much simpler Mercworx plate carrier studded with MP5 magazine pouches. His carrier was black, like most of his other gear, to include the custom-built .40 S&W MP5A4 sub-machinegun with a fore-grip and EOTech holo-sight mounted in place, and a threaded barrel for a surpressor. The kit held two, one for his sub-gun and another for his sidearm. The pistol's can was also a Gemtech, where the MP5 had one of SureFire's new quick-attach models. The former assassin slug his weapon and drew the pistol, taking the time to attach the surpressor before re-holstering.

He, too, buried the box and 'chute before the pair disappeared off into the darkening woodline, much more lethal than before. They had pictures of the incoming assault group and now that they were better supplied, they could take part in the attack proper if needed. The team had already lost one due to injury, and two more guns couldn't hurt...

The vornskrari certainly weren't commiting ritual suicide in their rooms. There would be no falling on their kad, but they weren't jumping for joy either. They sat on their beds staring at the floor. They felt low. They'd been Kade's back up. Gold wished she'd plugged that instructor one before he'd ended the exercise. Mird shook his head and repeated to himself once again, "I should have looked up. Oldest, damn trick in the book, according to Quigley."

There was a rap on the Catawaban's door, though there was a second person not just Travis.

Charli stood there too.

For every one...

Given the troubles in Fatal Terrain, the insertion part of the mission will be delayed for a day or two, which is just over 2 days in the Shadow Realm per Fatal Terrain day.

They were allowed to sleep themselves out before returning to finish the training that Kades accident temporarily put a hold on.

As was to be expected the extended rest did them all well...and for some to reveal abilities they had not used before...


Charlie pulled no punches when she took a Hexx Personal Arms custom made steel and titanium alloy 1911 varient off of a instructor and metled the high tech semi auto into a puddle of molten silvery metal - without affecting the thirteen rounds in the magazine at all. That took very precise control.

"I'm not just good with heat, I can do things with it most can't imagine." Her look was very dark. "I don't like killing, I don't enjoy killing, and if I have to I do it as quickly and painlessly as possible. I can and have killed with my ability. Just damn well don't expect me to do it in wholesale lots. I may not be human but I am damn well not a monster."

*********************

Whiptail and Dekker also knew that the entire region was still being whipsawed by aftershocks from the destruction of Imitora. One rippled through the area, leaving the forests and the mountains that speared sky ward above them swaying, and causing two good sized avalanches.

However that did not prevent the 'sniffer team' from finding their trail, and managing to stay latched on to it, gaining slowly but certainly on the pair

It was several long seconds that stretched into a minute before the door to the Catawabans' room opened. Gold opened the door with one hand, the other hiddened behind her thigh. She leaned against the partially open door. She wore a simple set of grey shorts and sports bra. Her dark auburn mane was loose and tussled from the tight bun she usually kept it pinned up in. Mird would not be seen from the doorway. "News about Kade?"

She flashed a glanced from Travis to Charli. Odd that the two of them had elected to visit. Couldn't be social call then, the Alpha Female mused. This was either bad news...or well bad news.

The two mayhem-inducers had barely survived the turbulent side-effects of the event that claimed the nation of Imitora. The 'sniffer' team was almost within visual range of them, and the vehicles they had provided them with a huge advantage in terms of firepower and mobility. While both the mercenary and the assassin were in excellent physical condition they were only mortal and did have to rest at some point.

The forests were in shambles, and they wondered if the maser device was still even intact after all the unexpected atmospheric violence they'd both scarcely made it through. Both were thoroughly spent after days on end of constant movement and little if any sleep. They didn't dare split up and they didn't dare to give themselves up either. Grimly, they decided to lead their pursuers deeper into the forest and attempt to lose them or make their final stand as best they could. Dekker's grenade launcher would probably be worth its weight in gold by the time it was all over...

"Gold, Mird" Travis raised his vocie but he didn't try to look in "I just wanted to let you know that we are down for a minimum of ten hours...and Kades out for good. That bone broke again and in too many peices to put back together."

Gold whinced. Someone, Mird, hissed in sympathy. Gold looked up and stuck her head out, looking from side to side. She pulled back in and glanced to Mird. She then stepped back and opened the door. "You two want to come in?" She was making an attempt to be polite, as she stepped back, her arm dropped from behind leg. Her POP gun in hand rested agianst her thigh.

Travis looked at the gun and cocked an eyebrow. "What no trust after all we've been through?

Charli had been leaning, drooping really, against the hall wall but righted herself with a jerk, but waited to her Gold's reply before taking a step forward.

Gold looked down at the pistol in her hand. Her finger was safely and correctly off the trigger and along the slide. She looked back up after a moment. "Old habit."

Mird laughed, it was weak and forced as he was trying to make a joke. "Yeah, we don't take failure well."

"Don't, not your fault. Kade shoudda looked up. He taught the DFA maneuver, it's his trademark move he perfected while back in the Seals. He got tired and blew it....all of us are tired and blowing it. We've gone sixty hours on a pair of hour naps, thats less than you get in Seal Hell Week." Travis entered as he shook his head at their depression. He understood it though and valued it highly. It made them the best of the team in his eyes.

Charli followed him in, her face betraying no emotions.

The vornskrari had taken both of the single beds in the room and pushed them together on one side of the room away from the door. Their gear, packs, and real MORs were against the wall opposite the door. That left a wide open space near the door. Mird, sitting on the nearest of the beds, finished holstering his POP and rolled over onto the other bed to grab Gold's weapons belt before rolling back.

He wound the rest of the belt around the sheathed kad and tossed it to his sister. She caught one handed and unwounded it enough to holster her pistol. She walked around the bed to put her belt back on her nightstand. Mird looked away from his sister and to their visitors. "Yeah, but we're goin' up against magicians, alien death gods, and Yul Brenner. We should have been awake and aware to somebody dropping from the ceiling."

Gold laid her belt down and looked down her shoulder at Travis. "We've done it enough to humans back home. We just got too used to humans normally thinking two dimensionally."

Travis nodded, he knew well that the vast majority of human kind really had forgotten that death could come from above with flshing speed. None of those on the team were part of that majority however - but Kade especially should have been aware of it. Then he shrugged "It's training, and better that it happen here that there. Don't loose sleep over it."

He looked over at Charli - though they had both ended up here, they had not arrived together.

Charli's look remained enigmatic and for a long second silence hung heavy, they she too gave a minimal shrug and let out a soft breath. "I'm a pyro, and I need to have someone...ones I can trust know. I need you three to promise me something." She swallowed but forged on "If you see blue flames starting to build around my body, shoot me, in the head, no hesitating." Her shuttered eyes and cold face did not encourage the asking of any questions.

Mird's jaw dropped open, and he sat up. He looked at his sister at a loss for something to say. It was a rare and momentous occasion.

Gold narrowed her eyes and walked back around the bed, silent. She perched on the edge of the sink counter and picked up a heart shaped frame and looked at the picture inside. Inside the overly sentimental frame was the picture of a spindly blonde young man sounded by a flaming explosion in the shape of a heart. His singed, formerly white labcoat billowed in the blastwave, and his creepy uplit face was completed by the maddened cackle of his expression and the triumphant and maniacal hands in the air gesture most often refered to as "milking the giant cow."

Gold looked down at this picture for a moment and then let it down on her lap. "Let me guess. If your flames go blue, you're about to lose control and go critical mass. Are we talking exploding fuel truck or Tunguska Blast?" Gold knew a thing or two about explosions.

"My mother once made the sun blink. I'm stronger than she is."

Mird's eyes had flattened against his skull. Maybe he'd leave this one to Solus...Maria was a nice girl...and she hadn't rivaled a big ball of fusion before. Gold looked down at the picture of her beloved and made a note to keep them separated. She'd never had a fear of lasting infidelity from Julius Kladius Explodem, it'd just been a matter of the newest explosive to catch his eye, and those were always short relationships. A lot of flash, a bang, and then JK came back guilty for his wandering heart. But a living being of fire? Oh yeah...Gold slid the picture around behind her on the counter and looked up at Charli, looking her levely in the eye.

"Any where special? Brainstem? Want it clean, or you want a double tap to be sure." It was cold and scientific. It wasn't fueled by potential jealousy or anger at her boyfriend's potential infidelity. It was entirely sterile of emotion. This was a reluctantly surfaced but necessary part of Gold's psyche. It had enabled her to survive the Togovians and helped her keep her pack and siblings alive. She really didn't want to blow the pyrogenetic's head apart. She was beginning to like Charli, but she knew there were things that had to be done.

That coolness brought an inward, invisible slump of pure relief to Charli. She didn't feel like explaining why she was concerned about not being able to control herself. Her mother had taught her control from the moment she was born, but what she had had to do at Eagles Roost had left the part of her where fire lived still healing, even nearly two years later.

"What ever works for you. It might never happen. I've never lost control, I can only go by wha's in what few records there are and best educated guesses of what knowledgeable folk there are." She rubbed exhaustion reddened eyes.

"You three keep part of your attention on the team, the rest of us, without loosing your focus on whats going on about us." She offered by way of explanation as to why she chose them.

"I don't know about you all, but I'm asleep on my feet and we're not even eighty hours in to it all. Night...and thanks" She half waved as she shambled out the door.

Travis looked after her, and frowned. "I suspected she had something. I've seen her pause and go to 'second choice' a few too many times." He shook his head again and looked back at Mird and Gold. "Can you two handle that? If you can't I'll be her handler. I've done it before for other 'gifted' sorts"

Mird was still silent he looked from Travis to his sister. Gold looked down at him from her perch. He didn't know if he could do it. He couldn't think of doing it. Gold wasn't surprised.

Mird was the 'little brother' in the pack. He was a joker, a kind heart, and he'd been sheltered from a great many things. That sheltering had been done by their sister Dal'ika, their eldest brother Jaro, Gold herself, and other siblings. It wasn't a strike against him or his twin Pepper who was just as sheltered. The rest of them, the shelterers, needed that spark of innocence and good humor. They'd lost theirs long before.

Gold faced Travis. This was a heavy job to ask. He was an operator. She'd gotten that feel from him, but he was a medic as well. Deep down, no matter how tough and grizzled a combat medic got, they were at odds with themselves.

First, do no harm.

It went against what he must do at times. He had to do harm and then he had to undo the harm he did. Gold didn't envy combat medics, but she sure respected them. Asking a healer to put someone down was not the right thing to do, especially when he couldn't guarantee it would be painless and quick. "I'll handle it, if it comes to that."

She didn't glance at her brother but felt the ounce relief a mirror to what she'd felt from Charli. She didn't doubt, if it meant their lives and the potentially the hostages that he'd put a round in Charli's head, but it'd be a last resort. He couldn't make the same sort of cold promise to terminate a friend off hand. "It's a hard thing to come to say that to someone, but I damn well respect that she did."

Thump-dub, thump-dub, thump-dub... The sentry on the edges of the Shadow Realm's facility was facing outward, scanning the forests and shadows with a careful eye. Nearly a mile away, the lone figure whose body was pressed against a tree, her clothing binding various bits of the flora and fauna hanging from her, breaking apart her natural body lines that contrasted against the wildness of nature, making her blend perfectly. She did not move, instead listening carefully to the man's heartbeat that was faint, but heard nonetheless. His breathing was slow and steady, and she could hear the crunch of his boots on the hard packed earth.

A shift of attention was made to the tower nearby where several others sentries and guards were located. In the tower, she knew they were surveying scanning equipment for thermal inconsistencies and invisible triplines scattered across the landscape, as well as several other scanners. The faint crackle of a radio was heard, and the voice that came through spoke almost inperceptibly. "Tower, Redline here. Nothing found here other than some small indentations but they animal marks. I've searched everywhere."

The reply was instantaneous. "Keep searching. She's out there somewhere. Her heat signature's too low for us to pick out easily, so we're breaking apart the search grid for more detailed search. First, meet up with Tracker platoon. They're coming in from your southeast."

The woman melded to the tree turned her attention in the indicated direction, noting the platoon swiftly covering ground while scanning their headsets and weapons in a tight concentrated pattern.

A rustle of faint air, and she was gone, moving with deadly silence and grace while traveling at high speeds, as much as 54 miles per hour as clocked by the team overseers whom had been quite thorough in studying the team they had built. As she neared, she slowed down, moving in shadows and low to the earth on all fours. Her movements were controlled and slow, drawing as little attention toward her as possible. Anyone that looked her way would only see what appeared to be low-lying scrubbery. Halting some fifty feet away from the group that had now met up with the patrol known as Redline, she slowly drew a hand back and withdrew from leather sheaths, several camouflaged knives made of a reinforced heavy plastic, and weighted to match that of knives she was used to. They were meant to be non-leathal, splitting apart upon impact to explode a concealed paint pack upon whatever it struck. The team's muted whispers could be heard, but her attention was not only on their planning, but on the surroundings. She froze after a moment. Instincts told her something, or someone was nearby, and so ever so slowly, she turned her head this way and that, listening, watching, and waiting.

It was then she realized the team had fallen silent, dispersing into the forest. Suddenly, a shift of movement off to the side and she reacted instantly with a swift flick of her wrist. There was an 'oomph' heard as the knife struck the torso of Redline, and he groaned as his fingers moved to scrape off some of the exploded paint.

A moment later, a shot fired and landed a millimeter away from Rikan's left hand, and she snarled in silence as she rose upward to her feet and spun about simultaneously as a knee was planted on the earth as a pivot. Knives flashed outward, each striking their targets save for one. This one had anticipated this, and had dove for prone position, his rifle raised and firing a second later. Paint exploded on Rikan's right shoulder, and she turned her attention downward to frown at it. A smile crossed her face as she raised her eyes to the prone shooter. The second shot struck her dead center in the torso, splattering yellow paint across her makeshift ghillies.

She was done, eliminated. Raising her hands in the air to indicate the end of the session, she nodded and looked on as the team approached, their weapons relaxed. "Not bad, not bad at all." she complimented them all. It's almost as someone was feeding you information that I was not privy to intercepting."

The sentry known as Redline gave her a white-toothed grin, "You could say that. Of course, you did everything right regarding your stealth preparations, but even you can't hide the magnetic waves of your brain's activity. Another of the team members smiled then, tapping his forehead. "Magnetic field sensitivities."

Rikan nodded understandingly. "Good man to have on your side then." Then, together, they walked back to the compound. The whole exercise had been authorized to allow her to occupy her time with something more productive. By the time they had found her, a day and a half had passed in the Shadow Realm. They had given her some time to "flee and hide", sending out teams out after her not too much longer afterwards. Several other teams, each of them consisting of differing abilities were sent out, but each had been successfully eliminated by the dhampir mercenary assassin.

Rikan was also sure that throughout the entire ordeal, the overseers had been watching and learning. They had to see now her value as a lone agent, for she was efficient, freakishly so. Yet, they knew now that she could also be a team player. Thus, they had accepted her request to train in solo-agent mode.

Whiptail and Dekker halted about a two miles into the forest, again taking cover behind whatever they could find. The terrain they'd crossed had taken care of the APC's, who were doubtlessly sitting in wait at the bottom of the rocky slope they'd scrambled up in order to even the odds a little bit...

"Here goes nothing..."

Dekker's voice was rather grim as he raised the G36C, right hand grasping the underbarrel grenade launcher's trigger. He'd rammed a thermite projectile into the tube on his way up the slope, and now it was time to make use of it. The trees at the bottom of the slope were thick enough to conceal them, but they'd still taken heavy surpressive fire during the climb and the infantry was still coming, albiet slower than they were.

Dekker was a cardiovascular monster, and Whiptail had had a very long time to develop his stamina. Even in their depleted state they were still managing to outpace their pursuers, and Dekker was about to make sure it stayed that way. He squeezed the trigger on the M203, sending the 40mm incindiary downrange with a vengeance to explode against one of the trees at the bottom of the rocky slope.

Liquid thermite spashed in every direction, melting metal on APC's, burning straight through flesh and bone, and setting trees alight in every direction. In a few minutes the bottom of the slope was a malestrom of flame and the horrible screams of the unfortunate few that didn't escape the building inferno. Dekker fired his last thermal grenade into a nearby thicket a few hundred feet away, attempting to blanket a larger area in deadly flame and start a real forest fire.

As the flames built he and Whiptail peppered the climbing infantry with precise fire, using the high ground to their advantage. While DragonSkin would stop most small arms fire, the helmets weren't anywhere near as durable. Dekker's 5.56mm rounds tore through the resin-impregnated kevlar like plywood. Whiptail, however, triggered accurate bursts at their exposed faces. Those that were lucky enough to only recieve rounds to their armored parts went tumbling back down the rocky slope.

Once the pursuing infantry had been mostly slain and slowed, the pair dug deep and picked up the pace to the top of the slope where they'd decide what to do from there...

They were now rested, and readly to roll.

The team would be Stepped to the edge of the null zone closest to where every indication led them to belive the entrance to the maser base lay. They had also been updated on the two sets of distractors, the Imitoran and the two from Argonia...

Gold and Mird would be Stepped through first, then Lollipop along side Liam, then Charli with Travis and last of all Rikan.

Gold had been given the nod by the CSM, "Listen to your team, but you're running the show"

Liam sat upon the bed in his room, leaning against the blank wall behind him as he contemplated the last several days of intense training. He was rested now with all injuries healed up, little to no sign that they ever existed. Whilst Liam thought the little nanite devices running around in his body were pretty nifty, the Tanaarans had proven to be in possession of even more advanced technology that had certainly impressed him.

Whilst brief, Liam understood just how vital the few days of training had been. Normally training with the purpose of perfecting a team's harmony would take weeks at the least but time was an issue and so what they had picked up so far would have to do. Everyone had their own skill sets and habits that appeared to generally compliment everyone else to compile a well rounded unit. Even Rikan had displayed an impressive amount of skill, even if she thought she was Rambo.

According to those in charge the team would be moving out today and everyone had been given a few hours to prepare. Liam had spent the morning reading up on the latest information regarding the mission whilst also ensuring his weapons were in order. Whilst it was always good to be proficient with a range of weapons Liam had taken a liking to his military issued 'rail gun' rifle and pistol. The technology was only available for the military in Assington and it fired a slug much faster than any form of conventional gun. It didn't really matter how quick your target was, chances are the bullet would be quicker and thus all the operator had to do was shoot straight.

Placing all his gear back into their cases and bags, Liam looked up as the PDA on the bed next to him beeped its excitement at him. Scooping it up he soon discovered it was time for everyone to meet up and prepare to head out into the field. Ensuring that he had everything he needed, Liam promptly changed into his military fatigues especially designed for the sort of environment he would be moving through and exited his room.

As he made his way through the winding blank corridors Liam couldn't help but feel an excitement at being back in the field once again.

Half-running and half-sliding down the rocky embankment on the opposite side of the steep hill they'd climbed, Dekker's watch began to silently buzz. The assault team was going to be there soon, they were supposed to be leaving soon. The two of them would need to hightail it back to the 'maser base and prepare for the assault proper.

It wasn't too far, thankfully. Additional units were moving out towards the rapidly-building forest fire in an attempt to find the fire-bugs that had started the inferno. The assassin and the mercenary found a quiet spot near the outskirts of the base, down in a low ditch, and sat back to catch a few winks in the form of a light doze. Whiptail's little trance manuver had never been duplicated by Dekker, try as he might. The assassin had just been doing it too long and it was damn near impossible to sneak up on him when he was 'resting'. Dekker usually relied on the twig-snap method and the sizeable bounty on his head to keep someone from knifing him in his sleep. It had worked so far, or he'd just been lucky. Maybe both...

The ten hour stand down was very, very welcome. After the vornskrari had convinced Travis that they hadn’t been discussing the correct number and direction of strokes to commit honorable seppuku with their kads, they were allowed to go back to sleep, and sleep they did for nearly nine hours. They got up to ready themselves for the next bout of training.

They knew that this next bit of training would be different and hard. They would have to learn to do the entire operation one man short. It was annoying to be down to eight rather than nine. Nine would have allowed them to flexibly work in three groups of three. Now they’d have to work in two groups of four. While that was the same as the number of people in a Catawaban fireteam, Catawaban squads were made up of three fireteams. Gold and Mird felt they would be limited in their options and tactics. They didn’t think splitting down into four two-member sections was a good idea. Two people could cover each other’s back, but they didn’t have the same weight as three people. They knew they’d half to make it work somehow.

The vornskrari were happy to see that the armourers had finished adapting the psionic weapons from Cats Keep to be mounted and fired from their MORs. The armourers showed them how to mount the psionic attachment to their MORs Interface Rails. As the weapon was explained to them, it would fire a burst of energy that with one burst would effectively disable the target by causing a cascading series of grand mal seizures. The second burst would most likely kill the target. Since the weapon had a more than passing resemblance of effect to a weapon from favorite science fiction series, Mird punned that fictional weapon’s name called the psionic weapon a Cat gun and eagerly asked the Cats Keep representative if the third blast would disintegrate the target.

The CK scientist ignored Mird and went on to explain the weapon further. The gun had been tuned for maximum effect to the shingami’s biology, they were cautioned, so that it might have worse or no effect upon humans or other creatures. They had also modified their main MOR attachments so that trigger was split. The forward trigger was far ahead of the rear trigger. The rear trigger fired the main MOR attachment. The foremost trigger fired the Cat gun. The Cat gun featured a side mounted power pack that allowed enough juice for ten shots before the pack need to be replaced.

For training they were given a version that was enough to stun humans and deactivate the holograms. The scenarios they ran up against the best projection of the shingami that the Tanaarans could formulate were promising. The Cat guns gave the team another facet to go against the alien death god poseur other than Armal’s magic, Rikan’s obvious strength, and Charli’s pyrokinesis. The Tanaarans had projected that the shingami would be invulnerable to massed fire from their assault rifles.

As annoying as that was, Mird shrugged his shoulders and recited a bit of advice his idol, General Matthew Quigley, had given him one day over drinks. “Any time you face something that’s not entirely human, especially alien, without a doubt the most common and easy ways to dispose of it are entirely ineffective. Or in a short, ‘Oh God, our weapons are USELESS against it.’ When it doubt go for the coolest, most difficult way to kill the Dragon, or resort to that Chekov’s Gun you’ve been hauling around for the entire picture…I mean mission.” Mird thought he’d still like a back up to the Cat gun and the others. After losing himself in the drool-worthy Tanaaran armory, he came out with pair of Tanaaran Light Anti-tank Weapons. He strapped one to his pack and convinced his sister to carry the other. She took it but flatly refused utter any of the preplanned and corny quips he’d thought up, despite Mird’s assertion that without a proper quip the LAWs would be ineffective against the shingami or Yul Brenner. Gold made a note to regulate his contact to General Quigley after they got home.

Training went smoothly after Kade’s injury. It seemed to focus many of the team. Liam was notably calm, and the vornskrari liked him nearby because it calmed them to feel him through their empathy. Rikan seemed to be redoubling her efforts, showing an impressive display of fieldcraft and sentry removal. The rest did well enough not to be noticed, but in many cases not being noticed was just as good as a compliment when the critics were watching every move you made. Armal was however surprisingly absent from a good bit of the training. The vornskari supposed he was meditating or doing otherwise strange and mystical things that elves were taken to do…or so they’d heard.

Soon, almost too soon, training was over, and the Command Master Sergeant called them together for a final briefing. He gave the latest intelligence on their target, the actions of the diversionary teams, and the effects on the mission by the Fall of Imitora. While the destruction of Imitora and resulting aftershocks around the region were tragic, they would work to the team’s favor. The enemy would no doubt be conscious of what happened to one degree or another, and with the widespread news coverage of disaster, they would know that every major power in the region was occupied with disaster relief and rescue. Whatever paranoia they had about a mission against them had to be lessened.

However, it would also sap the few resources that might have been available to the team as well.

After the briefing, they were dismissed to gather their gear and ready themselves for departure. Gold and Mird sorted their gear out, made sure they had as much ammunition and rations as was feasible considering their trek, and then checked and rechecked each other’s gear. They donned their Beskar’gam vest and adjusted the MOLLE pouches on their vest’s PALS webbing and helped each other get their rucks up on their shoulders. They made sure their kads were secure in their back scabbard, and that their POP guns were lashed down in their drop leg holsters.

They checked themselves once more before going. As they left the room, Gold hung behind for a moment and picked up the heart shaped frame containing the scrawny madman in the center of the fiery heart. She looked at it fondly for a moment, whispered something to it, and then licked the glass before setting it back down on the sink counter. She closed the door behind her. She knew the Tanaarans would take care of their things while they were gone and even make sure they got to the right people if they didn’t return.

The CSM stopped them in the teleportation chamber. He said a few last encouraging words to them all and wished them luck as the portal opened. Gold moved to step through with her brother when the CSM stopped her. He took a hold of her vest’s webbing and turned her towards him for a moment. He stared into her eyes. She felt a cowing sense the older man’s hard, dominate gaze. He raised his voice so that the others could hear.

"Listen to your team, but you're running the show"

He held her gaze for an extra moment to ensure she understood the responsibility she’d been given. She made no movement, but the CSM must have seen something that agreed with him. He nodded and released his hold on her vest. “Bring’em back, Sergeant.” He said vaguely but meaningfully. Whether he meant the team or the hostages was up to interpretation, but Gold chose ‘all of the above.’

An encouraging smirk and nod from her brother was her congratulations before she stepped through the portal. She was, as tradition dictated, to be the first one on the ground and the last one home. A flash of light and rush of movement and she went from the Tanaaran base in the Shadow Realm to a remote location in the Central Worlds. Mird came out behind her, and they both squatted for a brief movement to scan their surroundings. Not detecting anything in wait, they moved out to positions on either side of the clearing they’d Stepped into, so as to cover their team as they arrived.

Well technically they weren't being Stepped, as they had to do last minute substitution of methond of travel. All of those of Cats Keep were too exhausted, given their efforts in the just day ago distruction of Imitora - so they were forced to use a purely psionic based Teleportation chamber which could be activated by reservists. Far more draining than a shift through ordinary Reality but still doable, especially with the use of a Matrix as a boster.

Charli waited along side Travis for her turn to come. Her backpack rode lightly on her, though it was filled with all the goodies she could stash in its capacitious interior. Including some off sorld tech goodies that had made her drool as much as the Tanaaran armory had made Mird drool.

The extended training had left her feeling much more confident, but not overly so, or so she hoped. She watched the CSM give the leadership to Gold and nodded to herself. While she knew that Liam and Lillopop were both officers, neither had seemed interested in being the team leader.

Neither Catawaban would be embarrassed to admit they know absolutely squat about the difference between teleporting and Stepping. Magical, mystical, technological, or psionic, either way gets them to the same place in nigh the same way, so they're liable to compress it all into the singular term 'teleport.'

Armal had indeed been keeping to himself, minding his own business although he participated with the best of his abilities with the team's synchronization efforts. In coincidental correlation with the assumed tasks he was thought to be doing, he had been keeping in touch with the energy patterns in the world, though they were difficult to sense in the shadow realm, for the realm was partially...elsewhere. Nevertheless, he had become aware of numerous arcane users working in tandem, and frantically to save their region.

Still, he tried to reach the site of their mission, but despite his efforts within Cat's Keep, he just couldn't push through the damper effects of the natural formations of the earth. He cursed in elvish from time to time, though he was not heard by others.

Soon, it was time to gather the team and in an almost dizzying flash of light, they had all been ported to the edge of their mission's territory. Instantly, he moved forward ahead of the team, Rikan at his side. She was scanning her eyes carefully and listening for the faintest of abnormal sounds, but even she could not match up to the eyes and ears of her elven companion.

"Well?" she questioned him under her breath. "Anything off, hound?" She gave a small smirk as his face grimaced for a brief moment before he decided against a retort. Turning to the others, Armal nodded and gave a series of pre-arranged hand gestures, keeping with a general enforced silence. In this case, it was a simply two fingers pointed to his eyes then sweeping in front of him palm downward. Nothing seen. Then, the same hand tapped his ear, repeating the palm sweep. Nothing heard.

The way was clear.

Rikan turned to watch this, keeping her eye on Gold and awaiting further instructions. All the while, she kept turning her head this way and that, listening, smelling, passively hunting.

Liam arrived at the armoury wearing his fatigues and what his military called 'Stone Skin' combat webbing. It wasn't made with the intention of being primary armour, simply additional support for relieving the force of small to medium arms fire. Besides his clothing, Liam clearly wore his R-36 pistol on his right thigh and held his R-52 automatic rifle in both hands. Whilst the armourers had certainly offered him choice of a range of weapons, Liam only accepted a handful of fragmentation grenades and the psi-weapons augmentations from Cats Keep. Everything else he needed was either on his person or in his pack.

With all his gear double checked and in order, Liam waited for the others to gather. The training had been brief, even if it hadn't felt like it at the time and whilst everyone appeared to be reasonably confident in their own right the true test of their cohesiveness would be out in the field where anything and everything could happen.

When Gold was appointed team leader, Liam give her a brief smile and nod. Whilst he didn't know Gold's leadership experience, she seemed like a good choice and Liam was certainly glad he wasn't the one that would have to try and deal with ordering Rikan around. With everyone ready, Liam made his way into the teleportation chamber or whatever it was and braced for the transition. Due to his nanites Liam was rarely teleported anywhere but the technicians had assured him it was perfectly safe for him and so it was.

A blinding light encompassed Liam's vision and his entire body went numb as he was shifted from wherever the hell he was back into the world he knew, specifically into the territory formerly known as Central Worlds. Blinking momentarily to help his eyes adjust, Liam fanned off to the left and began scanning the area for any sign of movement or hostile forces whilst those that were behind him appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Lollipop was fully ladened for the mission with her gear. Over her uniform she wore her LSA-61 armor, the soft gel-synthetic covered the whole of her torso, giving her complete protection. Above that she wore a webbed vest carrying various pouches for magazines, grenades, compass and other necessities. A small kevlar pack was positioned on her lower back, carrying the batteries and chargers for her weapon's system. When she walked past the CSM, she made sure to remove her helmet and make a dramatic move of her now dyed black (though upon close scrutiny, one could see the roots were deep purple) hair.

She cradled her A23 in her arms as she neared the teleportation hub. She gave Liam a brief smile before she stepped through. Lollipop gave a short exhale as she felt a wave of pressure along the whole of her body, then she felt a rush.

When she arrived, she stumbled slightly, regaining her footing after the bizarre experience. Though once she regained herself, she moved behind a fallen tree to the right of Liam. Flipping the eyepiece down, she went through the various heat modes on her weapon sight. Nothing.

Even so, Lollipop readied herself in case any enemies appeared.

Travis nodded as the CSM gave Gold the leadership position, and growled when Rikan, aided by the mostly absent throughout training Armal, acted as if she had been put in charge of the team.

Well she hadn't and if she were going to try any hot shot, she might just get one. He wouldn't put up with her shit endangering the team. And from the hard look on Charli's face she wouldn't either.

He had found the translation a little disconcerting, but he just blinked hard. Then looked toward Gold awaiting her orders, shifting his heavy pack into a slightly more comfortable balance point.

An elf might have keen ears, but he'd quickly noticed that a Vornskrari's were equal if not better, and they had empathic and 'bio' senses that did not need magic to be active - and they had a sense of smell keener than even an elf’s, almost a given their genetic background.

Charli did not need an exceptionally acute sense of smell to note that not that far away was a growing forest fire. Her head swiveled towards it without her consciously realizing it. " Fire" and she gave the distance and direction very precisely in a soft voice that did not carry beyond Gold.

She made a careful observation of their location from the crouch she had dropped into once she had exited the Teleportal, matching it with the map in her mind. She wasn’t going to pull out the nifty little map projector just yet, not with what she could observe – they had been put exactly where it had been set for them to be..

A very hard days travel if they were willing to move fast and directly towards the most likely site of the masers entry zone to reach it before dark fell. But even though it was just after dawn locally - if they detoured, got intercepted, or slowed more than minimally that would not happen.

Whiptail suddenly snapped awake, casting his gaze about to determine exactly what had woken him. He wasn't really sure, but then his subconcious had a spiteful side and liked to tease him, or at least that's what he took from awakening in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.

This time was different though. He'd slain shaman and witch alike in his past, and he'd felt rather in tune with the whole magical effect Aeris had going. That must have been what woke him, a new tremor in the magical world that he neither accepted nor really cared much for. Cold steel and hot lead were tools he knew well, used well, and thought well of. No sense in screwing up a good thing.

After looking about for some robed asshole standing nearby with a fireball in-hand and not finding one, he gently nudged Dekker in his now-armored ribs...

"Something's up bro. Think the assault team's here?"

The large merc checked his watch, and noted an hour had passed since they'd taken their snooze...

"Most likely. The map says we're here, and they should come in here, five klicks that way..."

A gloved hand minus leather fingers pointed off into the distance through the trees, and away from Dekker's forest fire. It wasn't the most considerate thing for the woodland critters, but he'd be damned if he was going to take multiple bullets for a few squirrels and chipmunks. They were also quite tasty if cooked correctly, but thermite wasn't known for its culinary applications...

"You want to meet them or what? The forest ought to be clear in that direction, unless they wander towards your towering inferno..."

"Yeah, helluva point Godzilla. Those persistant fuckers that've been chasing us are in that area..."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yeah, that's a yes. Let's go..."

Dekker unfolded himself from his rather compact napping position with a groan before getting to his feet and working the ache out of his knees. He wasn't getting any younger, and years of parachute landings, bar brawls, and a whole lot of running were beginning to take their toll on his joints, unless he popped a few anti-inflammatorys each morning. He was beginning to wonder how Whiptail's body held up to the abuse it had withstood for around six centuries.

The man wasn't kind to himself, in most respects. For one, he smoked a whole fucking lot of weed, and that couldn't be good for his lungs. Then there was the alcohol, and the two kept pace fairly well, which was saying something since Dekker came from a long and proud line of angry Irish alcoholics. Lastly there was the constant demands of whatever mission the government had him doing. All that free-running bullshit couldn't be good for his knees, but the guy kept on going. Dekker had done a little of it when he was younger, running along walls for short distances, backflips, that sort of agility-testing crap. Now he was just as content to look for a more convenient way to scale a wall than running up it to grab a ledge...

"You ready to go?"

"You know it..."

"You want me to summon that tactical walker from the great beyond big guy?"

"Only if you want me to show you where you can put it once it's here..."

There was a brief exchange of laughter as the pair once again walked off into the woodline to find the assault team and make sure they got to their objective safe and sound...

Gold lowered her MORG, resting it on her knees as she stayed in her ever comfortable canine crouch. She couldn’t sense anything waiting for them close or otherwise, and she could feel that every one of the team had come through safe and sound and alert. She twisted around to look back at the team, her team. She nodded at Armal’s hand signs and continued her scan. She’d placed herself at what ended up being the right of the line they’d created when they exited. Rikan and Armal had moved up to the center in the direction of their objective. Liam and Lollipop had moved left and taken up positions to the right of Mird who anchored that flank that was towards the direction where enemy patrols had been indicated as most likely and after Gold heard and turned to Charli, where the diversionary team had lit the forest fire.

She was impressed on how well the team had formed itself after coming out of the portal, the Stepping thing…whatever the hell brought them here. They’d reacted on instinct and training. The shooters formed a semicircular line towards the directions of most danger, and the two, Gold knew they could shoot but that wasn’t their main purpose here, support members hung back off the line and behind the cover of the shooters. She looked towards her brother, who like everyone else was glancing between scans of their area of responsibility towards her. He shook his head no. He couldn’t sense anything either.

Gold took a deep breath. The best time and way to travel would have been at night only where they had the most advantage. The entire team had taken night vision goggles, if they didn’t already have some natural or unnatural ability to see in the dark. They could move easily at night and be unseen, but they didn’t have the luxury of the wasting days. Even with the Shadow Realms extended time to allow them to train for many days in the space of only a few in the real word, the hostages had been long, painful days in custody of the mysterious cabal that held the MASER.

Gold brought out her compass for a quick check of their heading. She knew which direction they needed to go, but there was no chance in hell she was going to screw this up because she didn’t want to bring herself to check something as simple as a compass. She looked around the group and spoke lowly. There was no real need absolute silence now that they were sure of their surroundings. “Mird, Armal, take point. Lollipop with me. Travis, Charli, behind me. Rikan, Liam, you’ve got the rear guard.” That disposition would put two of the best scouts in front, and two with good senses and power watching their backdoor. The center had a maneuver pair they could respond to problems at either end and cover and receive support from Charli and Travis. She was beginning to have an inkling of understanding for Errant’s uncomfortable idea of not being expendable anymore. She was too used to being up on point rather than at the protected center.

“We’re going move fast over rough terrain. Hour on, five minutes rest. Ideally we’ll be there with enough daylight to scope the entrance and prep for our entrance. Charli, keep me apprised if you notice anything from time up here.” They all knew the route, studied it again and again, repeated it back to the CSM just as many times. “Move out.” The fire was covering them a bit, and hopefully if the arsonists weren’t too busy, they’ll find the team.

'This areas been hit with some quakes, but not enought to make it unrecogniseable to me" Charli nodded as she fell into place. "And the current wind and terrain is not going to bring the fire towards us unless weather changes happen." She advised Gold as the team moved out in the direction they needed to go.

She was well rested and would be able to keep up with the pace set, but she wouldn't have wanted to try it at night even with nvg, the terrain had been broken up by the quakes and there was plenty of loose rock waitng to turn if not break ankles. And that would definitely slow them down.

Though they awere able to get four hours of travel in before any problems cropped up

There was a river where there hadn't been one before - wide, deep looking, and running very fast, nearly white water as far as they could see up and down stream.

Gold frowned as they made their way over the rough terrain. ‘Damn Imitora’ was mantra in her head along with’ thank God for the tactical booties.’ The Fall of Imitora, a really lofty title for something that should be called ‘the Greatest Imitoran SNAFU,’ had hit this area with the Ugly Stick. Uplift, subsidence, and egregious evidence of the Earth’s power and Imitora’s recklessness was all along their path of travel. The rocky trail would have even gotten to through to the vornskrari’s tough footpads if it wasn’t for the specially designed booties that reinforced and protected their paws over rough terrain and dangerous hazards. She and Mird definitely needed them.

There was nowhere to go to avoid the damage, no clear path. It was everywhere, and it slowed them down some for certain. They had to be careful not to twist ankles or catch themselves on the jutting rocks. However the raging river was the main source of frustration and delay. Gold pulled her paper chart out of a vest pouch and checked it. There was a body of water marked further upstream but no water course here. She looked down at the banks and saw the jagged and fresh edges of the bank rather than flood rounded banks. The earthquakes must have opened up this jagged crack all the way from that lake upstream. It would take hours or days for the water to drain and slow.

Gold folded the map back up and slipped it back into its pouch. “Mird, head upstream. Lollipop, go down. Scout about and see if you can’t find a natural crossing point. Go about half a klick and report back.” Mird nodded and adjusted the bill of his cap back down over his eyes. He hefted his MORD and moved back from the bank back into the brush and heading up stream.

Gold looked back over the bank before her. She glanced down to gauge the distance from one side to the other and then looked up to see if there were any overhanging branches. “Ideas, people? If anyone can fly, float, or jump this thing I’d like to hear it.” She looked behind her and then across the river to see if any trees could anchor a one rope bridge.

Charli grinned sharply at Golds request, and her eyes followed Golds.

"That tree there and there - those are tall enough to give the necessary drop" She pointed out two massive Tanaaran Redwoods - though they were common all over the continent, they were especially prevallent in Tanaara "I've got the makings of a slide traverse. I can either fly someone over and come back or ...

"Hey Armal, how badly are you impaired?" She looked to the elf, unsure how much the dead zone was affecting him. If it wasn't much then maybe he could open some sort of gate or something. But she had the feeling that the dead zone was just as dead as the experts had told them it was.

She looked back at the new river, and came to much the same conclusion about it's origins as Gold had. There were another option or two she could think of, given her abilities, but she wasn't sure if exerting herself that much less than half way through their trek would be a good idea.

The terrain was rough, even for Armal's elven litheness, and like the others he too was annoyed by the pace not being quick enough. He said nothing however, keeping to the task of his job as a 'spotter', or simply seeing and sensing things farther away than most of the others. The Catawabans were better in some regards, but he had been assigned his role and he took it without complaint.

At Charli's question, he moved closer on silent footsteps to the river and knelt down to stick a hand into the waters. Several moments passed and it seemed he were simply taking a long damn time to figure out if he wanted to swim or not, as if on a carefree trip to the river for such an activity.

Standing at last, he turned to the others and spoke. "The current is strong, but I think I will be able to form a..." he paused a moment searching for the right word, "An oval bubble, if that make sense. Force the waters to go around it, but lose little of their natural power. As we cross, the bubble will move with us. Much like a partially submerged boulder in a river. We'll be able to walk on the soil beneath the waters, but the mud might become an issue. The water has gone where it was not normally set to flow its course. I'm afraid that's all I can offer at the moment. The dead zone is rather constricting and a portal is out of the question. It would likely corrupt and drop us into the river. I've a feeling the further we travel in on our mission, the more constricting the zone will be."

Rikan nodded at his suggestion. If he seemed sure about his ability enough to do this, she'd go with him. Of course, if it failed, she'd make sure he knew she was displeased. Assuming any of them got out alive. Looking over at Gold, she spoke now. "Elf-boy's got a good suggestion if you ask me. It'll be the fastest route as an alternative course either up or down river may end up being more time consuming than we'd like."

A quiet snort came from Armal, earning him a half-curled smile from Rikan. He said nothing, but his eyes on her was enough to show he didn't like the nickname she'd given him. Instead he looked at Gold once more.

"The decision is yours."

Gold eyed the river. She estimated her height and mentally laid imaginary Golds out across the river. She figured about six of her, so it was roughly thirty-six feet wide. She looked at the basics of the two plans. "Armal, I'm not worried about mud. The river ought to be rough, rock and debris strewn and jagged from where it was ripped open. Will it cost you anything to just open a bubble in the river?"

Gold looked back at Charli. "I want to wait on Mird and Lolli before we set up some wild traipeze over a rushing river."

Armal sighed slightly. "Yes there will be a lot of debris, and that's exactly the danger with all the loose soil and mud. Once I clear a bubble, the riverbed will settle down somewhat, but the danger is still there. We just won't be fighting a strong current at the same time. We'll be able to see sky, breathe air, but the waters will be moving around us. As if we are in an aquarium, those strange prisons you humans have to keep fish within. A travesty I must say." Armal paused a moment as he corrected his line of thought. "Nevertheless, if we move carefully, I think we'll be all right."

Rikan looked over at him, "I think Gold was suggesting a bubble to float in or something." She looked a little confused at this, for even she saw the fallibility of such a plan.

"No. Absolutely not an option either. I'll not have us floating endlessly to whatever sea or lake awaits us downriver. We do have a mission to complete after all." Armal replied as he looked back at Gold, "You understand my plan though, yes?"

Gold ignored Armal refering to her as a human. It was pointless. The elf was just used to idioms. "I wasn't suggesting a bubble to float in." She looked at the river. "I asked if you could open up your bubble right now in the water, so I could see how deep the river really is and what the bottom looks like."

Armal gave a small smile, "Well if you had been a little more clear earlier, our little confusion would not have occurred. Of course I can do that."

That being said, he turned to the river, wading only as far as he needed, which was to cover his feet with the waters. Then, he spoke almost as if in song a long series of words, and they watched as the waters slowly reacted as if a force were about to erupt from beneath the surface, then fell off to the sides and unveiled to their sight the power of the water's flow around the stationary sphere. The riverbed was indeed strewn with debris, but thankfully the largest bulk of it was swept further downstream. This area was mostly rocks and soil. About as nice and even as they could ever hope for.

Ceasing his mutterings, he turned back as the sphere held fine. "I estimate a fifteen foot depth at worst case scenario. As the lake upstream empties more, it'll get deeper, but not much more than what it is now."

Liam took up the rear guard as instructed, performing his job in calm silence. Liam wasn't normally a quiet guy but when it came to his work he spoke only when he needed to and so far the situation did not call for it. Whatever had caused the quakes and other various disasters had certainly made a noticeable impact on the land, slowing their progress somewhat. Whilst this was obviously frustrating there was nothing to be done about, especially when Armal's magic was limited in the area.

“Ideas, people? If anyone can fly, float, or jump this thing I’d like to hear it.”

Shaking his head at the question, Liam looked around the riverbank and the various trees lining the body of water. The first idea that came to his head was knocking down a tree to cross the river over but considering the size of those nearby doing so would be easier said than done. Besides his nanite augmentations, Liam possessed some limited telekinetic ability but it wasn't enough to be of use. He could move small objects and maybe push someone over but that was about the extent of it.

As Gold and Armal discussed their options, Liam took up position against a tree and began scanning the opposite bank for any sign of possible enemies. It certainly wouldn't do well to have a patrol stumble across them whilst they were discussing the finer points of crossing a river.

Lollipop nodded as she got her orders and proceeded down the river, keeping just inside the tree line for cover. She moved far slower than she liked, rocks and gnarled roots shot up everywhere, waiting for her to trip and impale herself on them. She stopped and brought her weapon up. She flipped down her eyepiece and zoomed down the river, hoping to see some kind of bend or maybe an animal crossing the water. No luck.

Sighing, the paratrooper lowered her rifle, flipped up the eyepiece and continued.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Lollipop returned. Her boots and legs were damped, her face was slightly reddish. She shook her head.

"I went down about a mile or so..." The Simatarian said as she sat down on a boulder, her rifle on her lap. She continued to speak as she removed a new pair of socks from her sack and her boots one at a time, changing into dry socks. "...thought I found a good spot at a bend. It looked shallow enough, I plunged in a branch ahead of me, seemed good, got up to my knees...water moved quick but nothing that couldn't be handled. I got about two steps before the branch was ripped from me and I was dragged forward, sinking down.

"Water must be...waist, chest high or so. But the water is moves too damn fast near the center, it'd carry ya off in no time."

Finished changing, Lollipop took the wet socks and tied them to her rear of her pack to dry.

"Any ideas?"

Gold looked down at Lollipop's feet before looking back up at the woman. "Hell of a chance to take entering the river without a safety line, Captain. Take better care of yourself. You are an asset to the team."

Gold turned around feeling a familiar presence before she heard the rustle of foilage. Mird came back into clearing. "Nothing half a klick to upstream, Sarge. Just as ragged as here." He held his MORD at rest and glanced at Lollipop. "Ya slid in?"

Gold turned back to river and looked across at the redwood Charli had indicated. Then she looked back at the one on this side of the river. "Charli, we'll go with your plan. Mird'll set up the slide traverse on this side of the river. You'll float over and set up the other side. We'll provide cover."

While Mird moved to get his end of the rope from Charli, who'd brought an extra long line, befitting her mountaineering experience, Gold glanced over at Armal. "We'll keep your plan in back up, but I'd rather not go into that river, especially if your powers are beginning to weaken. You'll need all the concentration and focus later on."

Charli scampered up the tree with agility that might put a squirrel to shame - she needed to show Mird the knots that would allow them to dismantle the traverse from the far side once every one had crossed. The mid level branches of the massively boled redwood provided an excellent perch and starting point.

The slide, an u shaped mechanism with (http://dream-weavers.co.za/wp-content/uploads/2007/06/cropped_033.jpg) wheel and handle bar was collapsible and made of titanium for lightness. The rubber coating on the handle bars would ensure a good grip.

"And Mird, make sure each of us uses a safety loop" That was a measure that would prevent them from falling into the river if they lost hold of the slide. He was probably experienced enough to know that but this had been done only once during the various obstacle courses they'd scrambled over, under, and through. And Charli was too safety conscious to not mention it.

Finished there, she caught Gold’s attention and signaled her intent to head across. She used her height advantage to take a good look around, seeking to see if there were any in sight save themselves. "Okay Mird I don't see any one. That forest fire is dieing down on it's own, they had some storms though here lately and the woods are really wet." She said softly.

Then she was pushing off hard, skimming low over the river, buoyant on a column of heat to the other tree she'd decided on. The rope she carried over was special mountaineering rope, very strong but very light weight.

It took her only minutes to make the tie off, and signal that they could begin the slide over - lower, with a good angle to promote a quick slide but one that wasn't dangerously fast. This wasn't an escape slide after all.

The odd pair had continued their little stroll through the forest, alert and attentive to whatever might meander their way, but they'd found nothing. It was at this point that they began to hear the sound of rushing water in the distance. The assassin commented that he'd thought he smelt humans nearby, but that could simply be Dekker's manly odor from the past week of woodland combat.

The two crept slowly forwards, weapons up and ready just in case. Dekker peered through his eye-holes in his ballistic mask, wishing he'd brought a pair of binos with him. Whiptail mentioned he thought he smelled vonrnskr, or whatever that odd Catawaban dog-people specie was called. Anyway, he smelled it, and likely two of them by the thickness of the scent. The Argonian nose was quite keen, and with practice he could pick out unfamiliar smells from the surrounding air.

After a few minutes of creeping towards the riverbank, they spotted the assault team, and casually rose to their feet and began to walk forwards, stopping at the edge of the water and shouting at the others...

"You guys look stuck!"

"Yeah, fancy an elite squad of badasses getting stopped by a river. Hmmm!"

Whiptail's barbs were, as always, only in good natured fun...

"Not stuck." Rikan replied as she eyed the two Argonian soldiers, a keen interest given to the scaled one. She smiled slightly revealing her dhampir fangs. "Merely delayed. Bloody Imitorans can be a real pain in the ass."

That being said, she took her turn and using the wheel and moving across the river. She turned and watched as the others took a secondary rope line and pulled the wheel back across for the next person to cross. She took up a position nearby to watch for enemy action, though she suspected that if they Argonians were freely walking about now, they had taken care of potential threats. She knew them to be thorough, and Whiptail very much so.

She could smell the dried blood on them mingled with the sweat and earthen smells that covered them. It was ideal for they blended better into the environment. Out here, clean was like a beacon. She smiled at Whiptail, pinching her nose a moment. "You boys smell pretty awful like."

Charli watched from across the river as the pair came out of the undergrowth. She recognised Whiptail, from pictures and Dekker from their briefings. Unfortuantely the white noise of the white water drowned out their converstation with those still on the far side.

Rikan, Travis and Liam had alreasdy come across.

That left Lollipop, Mird, Gold and Armal still to cross as well as the two who'd had just arrived.

Travis had taken a place where he could have the best view possible once he'd gotten to the far side - the zip line had been fun, even if the prospect of landing in an ice cold raging river had not - twenty feet in that ripstop current would see any one dead though not from drowning, but from multiple instances of major blunt force trauma. The fallee would have had their bones smashed and their internal organs jelliefied by multiple hard collisions with boulders, tree trunks and possibly with a few man made objects that had the misfortune of having been swept down the unexpected river...

He was especially alert as this would be mister murphys time to hit them if he could - the team was unavoidably split and by an obstical one could not just bull their way across. And crossing it left one hanging in mid air, just a perfect shooting gallery duck.

He was glad to see the arrival of those who had been providing distraction. They'd be the best possible additions to the team. He had been very concerned, privately, how the loss of Kade would affect the balance of the team. And while he did not know the twosome, they wouldn't be here if they weren't very skilled and very professional.

Gold and Mird lowered their MORs when they recognized the pair calmly walking towards them. They'd felt two presences coming towards them and reacted. Gold stood up from the crouch she'd instinctively dropped into. "Good to see you two. I'm next across. You two jump in the queue, and we'll be talk when you're over."

Gold turned back to her brother who'd let his MOR hang down by its assualt sling again as he cupped his again to give Gold a leg up to the handle bar. Gold clipped her harness into the safety line and allowed Mird to give her a quick push to get her started. The shorter vornskrari watched his sister for a moment before he turned to the Argonians, recognizing them from the conference. He eyed them both and took whiffs of them. They'd been in the boonies for a few days and looked and smelled like they'd enjoyed themselves.

"Hey, I know Rikan was just trying to save face, but I know you gents are perceptive fellas. You could see through our cleverly disguised ruse of a working slide traverse and correctly see that we are in fact stuck. But thank God, they sent the Argonian Diplomatic Corps." He could no longer hold his straight face and a grin was writ large across his muzzle. "Y'all gonna walk on water? Part the river with a twig? Or would you like to use our humble ruse?"

Gold swung her legs legs up to get a little more speed and tuck in for landing. She smiled broadly and let her tongue loll out the side of her muzzle as she whizzed along the zip line. As much as she might deny it, there were plenty of canine instincts and joys hardwired into her. Enjoying the wind through her fur, air flapped her flews, and scents ramming straight through her nose. It was heaven and over all to soon as she prepared for her landing and dropped, landing in a roll like a paratrooper which she was after a fashion.

She came up with her MOR and scanned the opposite and opened her senses to scanning for threats after her brief respite from the mission.

Dekker and Whiptail stood non-chalantly on the opposite bank of the impromptu river, weapons held in an almost casual fashion. They'd made sure the forests were clear of as many hostiles as possible and although they looked weary, they still had plenty of fight left in them...

"Ha! And in return they've sent a combination of Charli's Angels and Scooby Fucking Doo..."

The assassin approached Gold with an outstretched hand, somewhat caked with dried blood and black dirt...

"I take it you're the assault team leader. Name's Whiptail, the goofy fucker in the welding mask is Dekker..."

Granted, the ballistic face shield looked a lot like what Whiptail had referenced, but it was a little more stylish. They'd come from a little ways back and eyed the contraption before exchanging a glance between them. Thusly equipped, the torrential river wouldn't pose too much of a problem. Dekker glared at his partner from the eye-holes in the mask before flipping it upwards...

"Ah he's just jealous 'cause they don't make 'em for his scaly ass. The warlord's base isn't far, and we've got most of his avaliable forces chasing their tails through the woods a few miles away, near that raging fire. It's going to be up to you guys to find a way in to the maser compound, though. We assume there's a main entrance but it would have to be heavily guarded and we don't have the firepower to crack that sort of emplaced position. If we don't get inside quietly without making a fuckin' rukus I'd say we stand a decent chance. If they detect us beforehand, however, they're going to call their boys up from behind us and lock that bitch up tighter than a dyke nun's asshole, and putting us in a pretty bad position..."

All colorful comparisons aside, Dekker had a point. Stealth was key, and the diversion they'd created was only going to keep the bad guys behind them busy for only so long...

"Dekker and I have cleared the woodlands to the rear on the way over, there wasn't much resistance anyway. They're too busy chasing what they think is our trail back over a rocky ridge on the other side of that inferno. We ought to be able to make pretty good time unless the compound proper has sent out some sort of advance interdiction force. "

Whiptail waited patiently as the other's began to cross the roaring torrent, while Dekker kept an eye to the rear. They'd make use of the zip-line after the others did their thing...

[OOC: I'm just going to have it that Gold had listened to everything Dekker and Whiptail had said before she went over. I'll edit my previous post to make it flow later when I have more time and focus.]

Mird glanced over at the two rabbler-rousers as he pulled the handle bar back across the rope, hauling on the line connected to bar in long hand over hand fashion. "Hey, I'm fine with the Scooby Doo comparision, really I am. Ha, ha, talking, walking dogs, I get it....as long as you ain't got me in the line for Scrappy. I will fekkin' lay you out, if you are."

He looked away as he stopped hauling and secured the handle bar (hand bike?) for the next person. "Yeah, yeah, I'm short, hehe, like Scrappy. If anyone, I want Shaggy. He always got to go off with Velma the little minx." He growled suggestively.

Putting aside his cartoon lechery for a moment, he returned to business. "Next up! Have your tickets ready and in hand!" He called out for the next over the river.

~~~~~

Gold stood up from her crouch and walked to the edge of their perimeter on the other side of the river to get a better sense for what was around them. She lowered her MORG from her shoulder but held it ready.

OOC: It snowed here today!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charli gave Whiptail a look -she really didn't appreciate being treated like some lightweight drama queen from a movie! But she turned her attention to Amal who was crossing next. Right now her job was to play backstop for those crossing, not to trade barbs with an overgrown, mouthy gekko of a lizzardman.

Though she actually thought he looked more like a tailed version of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Though she took a second to call down from her perch "That raging fire isn't raging so much anymore. The forest is too wet from the unsettled weather to burn good, thankfully."

The last thing they needed was to try and find the masers entrance while avoiding the ever hungry, ever ill tempered dragon that was a wildfire.

"The dog likes librarian types." Rikan muttered under her breath to herself with a smile. And librarians aren't always what they appear to be... She kept her focus forward of their position, like Gold did, tasting the smoke that hovered thinly around here, though the winds were blowing elsewhere.

Her mind was on the information received from the Argonians regarding the base. It would be heavily guarded, and outright gung-ho charging forth would be suicidal. They'd need to find another way to get in, and at the same time, ensure their escape later. She glanced to Gold, waiting till she was looking her way as Gold sensed Rikan looking at her. Only then did she speak.

"Just thinking about the base. The gecko fella, Whiptail...he's known throughout the underworld for his assassin skills. You know what I'm capable of as well. Between him and I, we should be able to clear a path for the rest of us."

She glanced now to the Argonian in question, "Though whether or not he can save you 15% or more on insurance...you'll have to ask him." The following grin showed her amusement at this.

Lollipop slung her A23 over her head and shoulder and slung it across her chest. Getting herself ready on the zipline, the woman took a deep breath. Moving to the edge, she gave a slight jump and brought up her legs as she slid across the river. She held her breath and once she was safely over the other side, she let go.

Lollipop made a perfect landing and she went into a roll, it may have seemed that she tripped, but rolling when landing was something she had been trained in boot camp. She stood up, the cherry flavored lollipop still jammed in her mouth.

Lollipop unslung her rifle and moved several meters ahead and hid behind a fallen tree, scanning the forest.

The long-time duo took their turn on the zip-line, landing without incident...

"I meant no offense, obviously..."

"Firewalker's either a real prude or just has a thin skin. Either way best to lay off the rest of them..."

"Noted. Game face and all that..."

"Exactly..."

Their little side conversation finished, the two began a slow walk forward...

Gold straightened up from her alert position and walked back towards the river as the two Argonians came over. She overheard the tail end of their conversation. "Don't take it hard, gentlemen. We just had five of the nastiest days the Tanaarans could dream up, had a teammate washout painfully, and still got the ugliest part ahead."

She walked past and turned her head for a moment. "I liked Jaclyn Smith." She looked back across as her brother set up for Liam, and then she watched the Assingtonian cross. With him now all alone, Gold knelt and brought up her MORG. She scanned the other bank as he reeled the handlebar in and set it up for him. Mird glanced around the far bank to ensure they weren't leaving anything behind.

When he was sure, he climbed up, grabbed the handlebar, and swung himself forward. He brought his feet up. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, clearing enjoying himself as his tail fluttered behind him like kite's streamer. Sadly, it came to an end too soon. Mird tucked himself in and landed in couple of hops.

He moved about untying the rope at this end and then giving the other end the preset tugs to loosen the knots at the other end and haul it back in. Gold watched the other bank for a minute or two longer, stretching her senses out down their back trail.

The backtrail was clear, along with the foreground as far as their senses could stretch.

And it wasn't that Charli was any sort of prude, she just believed that tv and movie celebrerties were a pretty useless set of people. Those she'd been exposed to on a personal level had very much been. And she'd pulled her share of them off of mountains they had had no place being and had the arrogance to think that the professional who rescued them should have been grateful for the chance.

At the mention of five days of Hell, Dekker and Whiptail exchanged a knowing glance between themselves. No need to go into detail, but their current state of fatigue and overall un-washed villager look told enough of the story. Both had enough dried blood caked under their nails to fuel another two seasons of CSI and enough assorted forest crap all over them to pass for residents in their own right. They stood in stark contrast to the mostly-clean assault team.

And Whiptail had a little something to add...

"And no, I can save you fifty percent on your car insurance by switching right now. Your premiums will never increase, either. If you get in an accident, I simply appear and kill you before your rates increase, fifty percent faster than our competitors..."

"It's a limited time offer ladies and gents. Shadowscale Auto Insurance: We Hold Your Life In Our Hands. Literally."

Dekker's little wisecrack was an attempt at humor. The week had been a rough one, with little sleep and a lot of killing. The jokes were really all that were keeping them going at this point...

Mird looked over at them as he pulled the rope across the river, winding around his shoulder and elbow. "That deal sucks." He shook his head and looked back at the rope as he pulled it in. "I mean, I'd want you to kill the other guy, make the accident look like his fault, and make his dependents suck up the premium rise....hell, make them pay my premiums." The smaller vornskrari straightened up as if a thought hit him suddenly. He looked over towards his sister.

Gold lowered her MORG and stood up and without looking said, "No, Mird'shebs, you can't front a insurance protection racket with the allit's waadas. Okay, group, if everyone's set up, let's get going again. We've had our rest." More than scheduled, they could walk extra before the next rest. They'd need to. She turned around. Even though her voice was even and her expression solid, her eyes glittered a bit with mirth. She might act stone cold but she enjoyed a good joke or five.

She did allow her brother live, didn't she?

The pair smelled like Windingos and Charli just hoped that no one with sensitive nostrils was down wind or the smell alone would alert of incoming trouble. And she was pretty sure Gold and Mird recognized that fact.

As they started to move out the ground did a small jiggle. Trees and undergrown swayed and the river ramped up another notch but the local avians settled back quickly. It had been doing the aftershock rock and roll ever since the Fall a couple of days ago. Charli stretched her particular senses out and checked. Nothing had altered, the local area was not faulted heavily, and no local rising of geothermal heat registered to her.

She looked over at Gold with a negative shake to her head. "Just settling back on their bones again"

They were able to cover the next fifteen miles with no incidents, and at a fairly good clip, but the mountainous, wilderness terrain - nothing much even in the way of animals trails, heavy undergrowth and treacherous footing - was unforgiving and they were all exhausted, or even more exhausted – even with reasonable rest stops - when it grew too dark to continue moving safely.

countyside in question (http://www.atddm.com/cmw1.jpg)
view of the target (http://www.atddm.com/target.jpg)

By now, the rough and broken terrain was becoming quickly the norm for them, and whether they realized it or not, they were in fact moving faster than when they had first set out. Their muscles ached, but still they kept going, driven by their mission's parameters, driven by the cohesiveness of their group, driven by a desire to see the end of this mission swiftly and preferably without further bloodshed.

Of course, that terrorist known as Murphy always had a way of disrupting things.

Bastard.

As night fell and darkness took the earth in its silent embrace, Rikan was irritated they were stopping more often for that reason. Sure, they were tired, but they all were no stranger to nighttime activities. Still, she kept her patience, preferring to sit on the outskirts of their group, keeping watch. She did take a canteen out and opened one of the two pour spouts. One held water and the other was blood, but an enhanced form meant to give her greater strength and endurance with a smaller quantity. The crimson liquid flowed into her mouth for a few moments before she closed up the canteen and put it back in its place. She felt the rush radiating from her stomach, awakening her senses that had become dulled from the tiring trek thus far. It was as if she were being electrocuted at a low setting. Every part of her body felt the effects of the blood and became rejuvenated.

A rustle in the distance caused her to snap her head in the direction. She listened carefully and inhaled the scents coming from the wilderness around them. A lone animal just scurrying through the darkness, nothing else.

Armal chose to remain with the group, though his ears were attentive at all times. Like earlier, he was constantly probing the environment, seeking pockets of uninhibited energy to feed off from. Those rare few he did find were used to gain much more detailed information about the terrain to come, information that even satellites could not give. You just couldn't beat first hand knowledge, especially in an unstable environment as this. He kept his eyes on Rikan from time to time, though she seemed to sense each and every time he was doing that. Predator instincts. he thought to himself as he saw the sheen in her eyes as she returned his gaze. His eyes shifted to each of the others, starting with the Argonians and ending with Lollipop. They were worn, tired, and no longer clean like they had been back when they ran into the Argonians along their trail. In his mind, he mapped out the area, the path they had trodden, and the destination in question, slowly approaching their steady movement.

Glancing to Charli, he waited till she looked over at him, likely feeling his eyes on her. A nod of the head indicated she move closer for a more private conversation. When she did so, he spoke quietly, more to not disrupt the others than anything else.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I've been sensing arcane pockets leaking from recently shifted terrain. However, beneath those locations are geothermal pockets still sealed. If you find any pockets expelling geothermal energy, let me know. It'll be a significant break in the standard dampening effect I'm getting nearly all the time. It seems to me that these dampening effects are limited to upper geographic layers, like a thick skin with occasional wounds releasing the blood of the earth."

"It seems to me that these dampening effects are limited to upper geographic layers, like a thick skin with occasional wounds releasing the blood of the earth."

Charli nodded agreeably to Armal. Unless it dealt with heat or fire - or the absense there- of - she could no more sense arcana than your average person. But thermal energies that she could do in her sleep so to speak.

"Ah, you don't have a ...spell I guess you'd call it... that could transfer what I can put on a mentally visualized map to your mind?

What few knew was that she was so sensitive that she spent considerable energy on blocking it out, heat sources that is. Piicking up every mouse, chipmonk, and vole - much less larger heat sources - at a double dozen miles distance and better was simply overwhelming, so long ago she'd figured out how to shield. It hadn't been easy but it was invaluable to her sanity.

"No wait, I'm sorry I wasn't thinking, your spells aren't working here" She ducked her head apologetically. Charli had forgotten for a moment that Armals mojo didn't work here. She grabbed up a map and closed her eyes, it wasn't going to be easy, but she'd learned to guage distance in the past...

Gold stopped their trek once night fully fell. She instructed them all to bed down where they could and no fires. She didn't tell them to enforce absolute quiet. That would be tomorrow when they were on the installation's doorstep, but she trusted them enough to keep it down.

She decided that Armal, Charli, and the two Argonians needed a full night's rest. She didn't think the Argonians had anythign like that the days they'd been incountry, and the two 'casters' for the lack of a better term would need full rest to be fully capable. The other six in the group, the ordinary shooters, would stand watch. The vornskrari sergeant saw that Rikan had already placed herself to take first watch. She detailed Liam to stand watch with her. She'd take second watch with Travis, and Mird and Lollipop would have third watch.

She pulled out a Scran ration bar. Okay, it wasn't the traditional Taung dried fish meal that they used for travel rations. The bar was tailored to the vornskrari's dietary needs, but every since her brother Jurii had proclaimed with his first bar that they tasted as bad as scran the name stuck. She munched on the bar, like stuck together dry dog kibble...the fekkin' R&D wonks thought they were damned hilarious...as she took out her map and visualized the approaches and the likely spots the TMI had guessed at as starting points.

Charli had finished with the map and had passed it along to Armal. There hadn't been many hot spots for her to note, and most of them had been very deep as well as samll. The geology just wasn't right. Many, many miles to the south it was differnt, but there was only one local that would be of interest. Charli smiled to herself.

It wasn't natural. It was man made and right were the maser base was...and it's entrance. It had taken going very 'deep' and had been hard to triangulate at first. But electronics - such as created the shielding and concealing holograms- generated heat. Very minimal changes in temperature but for her, ones she could discern and quantify.

However the effort had left her starving. Using her abilities had reprecussions, and burning through calories wilke wildfire was one of them. She pulled out a handfull of Tanka bars and inhaled three in nearly as many minutes. The edge off, she slowed down to take in the small, dark camp. The moon no light - the cloud cover was thick and the still airborn ash and debris from so many volcanoes erupting made it worse. It also lowered the temperature considerably. Charli shivered and stood up. A fire was a bad idea but warmth was a necessity. In a few minutes she'd go around and warm everyones sleeping bags up.

She noted Gold looking at what she was eating with disgust. "Hey Gold. Try one of these instead. " She spoke softly as she tossed the tall Vornskrari one of the Tanka Bars.

The bars were the brain child of a group of enterprizing native americans. Made of lean, naturally low fat buffalo and cranberries, a recepie derived from Lakota wasna and pemmican, it was incredibly high in protien and very tasty. Charli had discovered them a couple of years ago and now swore by them.

Charli point to the spot on the map "There"

The unlikely duo was grateful for the offered rest, and proceeded to make use of it as quickly as possible. Neither had brought sleeping bags, but body armor had a certain heat-retention capability to it and that had more or less warded off the chilly nights for the past week.

Sleeping back-to-back, they were both ready to ward off anything that might seek to surprise them or the others they had joined with. That would probably change, however, after both of them hit REM status...

"Hey Gold. Try one of these instead. "

Gold caught the Tanka and looked at it for a moment. She handed it back to the pyrogenetic. "Keep your rations, Charli. You might need all of them. Scran isn't the best tasting, but it has everything we need. Human rations miss a couple of necessary nutrients."

Charli point to the spot on the map "There"

Gold looked at the spot on the map. Is that where you're getting a hit on your infared senses?"

Mird finished a circuit of the camp for his own piece of mind and settled down near Gold. He took out his sleeping bag and then his sister's and unzipped them and then zipped them together. Even with fur, uniform, body armor, and gear, they were a tropical breed. He wasn't going to try and be macho and tough it knowning he had to be peak the day after tomorrow.

Charli took back the bar with a shrug. "Let me know what those nutrients are and I'll see if we can get them made with them incorporating them. Those look just nasty."

She nodded at where Gold pointed. "Yeah it feels artificial, and yes I'm good enough to tell the difference. The base's heat pluse is much stonger, more reguloar it's got a big time continuous draw. I don't know why but just off to the side is this other, much fainter, cycling pulse. I don't know anything about their technology but I can't see any rason for it other than a seperate power source."

She looked up as a snowflake fall - she caught in the palm of her hand watching as it melted -and cursed under her breath. "I was going to heat up y'alls sleeping bags but snow?" As Gold watched her eyes fell closed and then heat swirled about them, expanding to cover the whole area the group occupied. "There now. It's little enough so that it won't drain me too bad and will keep us from freezing."

"Or we could share body heat. More than enough room in our sleeping bags for you, Charli." He winked and grinned but was prevented from finishing his bow-chicka-wow-wow riff when Gold closed his muzzle with her off hand.

"Ignore him." She looked at the point on the map and thought about it. Another power source? Back up to the main powerstation in the base? Or back up to some sensitive component? It would probably pay to take a look when they did their recon, hopefully tomorrow evening.

Charli just grinned at Mird's come on. She'd spent far too many night doing a sheep huddle when out on the fire lines for her to be affected by his leer. "Yes it might keep you warm, but there are others that don't have your fur." She looked over at here Whiptail and Dekker slept. "They look run ragged."

She looked back at Gold's map and a thought struck her. "Hmm, you know Central Worlds used a lot of Cyborgs" That made her shudder a bit, as she thought of the ones she had seen during the time of her wildfire fighting contract. As she had been given to understand most had once been criminals, condemed by the state and mind wiped. She passed that along to the two Vornskrari in a low voiced explanation. "I found the overwhelming sentiments of 'save lives at all cost' combined with 'turn them into machines' " She remarked with another shudder "Just the worst sort of irony"

Returning to her original thought "But this might also be a cyborged sentry"

It wasn't a profession, or even a career. It was a lifestyle. Like any such thing, there was a certain degree of choice involved. For these two, there hadn't been either could have done to change the pathways of their lives.

Dekker's choice had come early, around seventeen. He'd grown up in Hazard, Kentucky. The place was a hotbed of drug activity, but he'd more or less kept his nose clean. It was other parts of him that had gotten him in trouble. Nine months later he was a father with little in the way of job skills or income. The Marine Corps had been an attractive alternative to factory work, and things had basically gone from there. Force Recon, a short stint as a Scout/Sniper, and eventually a transfer to the SEALs through a little cross-branch paper shuffling and a retirement threat. The pay wasn't great, but that was government work for you.

He'd finally retired, gotten out for a bit. Private sector work had come around the time of the Somalia debacle, and he'd been hired as a glorified hit man to run a few operations against a few of the local warlords as the US organized its hasty retreat. Dekker's brother, Jackson, had been one of the Delta members stuck in the city, but all had ended well considering the circumstances. Jackson left the Army soon after, pursuing his own mercenary contracts.

The years had moved quickly, with contracts across the globe with a few different firms, and he'd met Whiptail somewhere along the way, South America maybe? He wasn't sure. It had been a long time. Sure, he'd made enough money to retire comfortably for the rest of his days, and he'd tried that for a while. The boredom sucked, however, and he'd gotten back into the game. Another choice on his part, and one that had kept him doing what he did best. There was also a secret part of him that enjoyed his work, not so much the killing as the adrenaline buzz that came with bullets whizzing past your head.

Whiptail's path had pretty much been chosen for him. Astrological signs were really important to pre-Modernist Argonians, as were omens and the like. He'd been born under the sign of the 'Shadow', and his scales were dark to boot. To the ancient Argonians, this had simply been to much of a coincidence for Whiptail to pursue any other career path. As a Dark Argonian, he really didn't have much choice in the matter either. You were either a warrior or you died a very early death. The Shadowscale Assassins' Guild snatched him up the night of his birth, and from then on his destiny was set in immutable stone. He was to become a silent and swift dealer of final justice, and his own personal drive allowed him to become one of the best. That, however, had been his first choice.

Choice two came at his retirement from the Guild, a seasoned veteran of his dark profession he'd already made several contacts and work was never in short supply. Money wasn't either, come to think of it. He tired of killing, however, and walked the path of the wanderer for quite some time, plying his trade where needed to keep himself fed. He'd met Dekker somewhere along the way, a chance encounter between a hotshot young merc and a silent stalker of the shadows where both were Hell-bent on the same objective. Working together, they'd succeeded and an occasional partnership had formed that had only grown stronger over the years. While Whiptail had retired from several organizations over his lengthy exsistance, he'd never really left his profession for something else. He'd always been hunting. Maybe that was in his primal nature, repressed but still able to influence his choices, since all of them had been made in favor of continued violence.

Choices though they were, sometimes you could really only pick one. The alternative just wasn't an option in your own eyes. They'd both had the option to train with the assault team and come in much better rested and familiar with their team-mates. That hadn't been viable however, once they'd learned about a lone Imitoran who'd planned to roam the woods sowing seeds of bedlam and outright mayhem. Part of both men's personal warrior codes stated that you never left a fellow warrior to fight alone if you could help it. That was how they'd ended up prowling the forests for the past week.

In both cases, scenes of the recent violence were replaying themselves in a twisted and somewhat fantastical light within the minds of both, unpleasant dreams to remind them of what vile deeds they'd committed over the past several days, free of the justification that came with being awake and concious...

Gold and Mird shared a boiling look between them. They'd been created under the same 'sentiments.' 'Sentiments' like the Central Worlds had killed over a hundred and twenty-five of their sibling vornskrari before they'd ever reached the age of fourteen. She looked back at the map. "If it still seems to be standing watch, it's probably not friendly. We're going to have put a wide berth around it, if possible. Keep me appraised if that secondary heat source moves. Also when we get closer, Charli, I want you to keep your...FLIR peeled for minor heat sources, especially subsurface heat sources. There might be security cams, pressure plates, area denial weapons...a whole host of things."

That cyborg might be trouble. She had to assume that it was interconnected into the Tangoes' networks. If it went offline...say because a 6.5mm boat tail rearranged its brain stem, it would be the same as if a camera went offline. The black hats would send a patrol to check and might go on alert. If it spotted them, the target would bolt up tight and then hell would rain down.

Gold reached up and scratched behind one ear. There was no easy solution. There were a couple, but she'd leave it open until she had better intel or was sure she'd get no more had to act.

Mird sat, quietly mumbling nonsense because his sister was still holding his muzzle shut.

Charli nodded "Sure. I'll pass on the offer to sleep. I'll be waking up a couple of times during the night - needing to eat a bit - and I don't want to disturb any one any more than necessary."

She finished the Tanka bar she had been downing and made sure that the area was warm enough, then curled up in her sleeping bag. She was instantly asleep.

Gold and Mird talked lowly in Taung'a for a little and then slid into their sleeping bag. Gold had second watch and Mird the third. The shorter Mird curled up on one side and the taller Gold curled up around him. She protectively laid her arm and tail around her brother and slept.

The MRE that Lollipop pulled from her sack was labeled 'spaghetti and meat sauce', it took only a few quick minutes after adding the water, breaking the heating pill and dropping it into bag with the food for it to be prepared. Contrary to popular culture, the military had come a long way since K rations. As Lollipop ate, she still tasted an occasional, slightly undercooked piece of pasta, but it wasn't terrible.

She didn't settle down for rest immediately after her meal. Instead, she disassembled and cleaned her weapons , checked all of her equipment was functioning and checked the battery charge. All was well. Curling up in her sleeper sack, rifle held snugly to her body, Lollipop fell asleep.

Rikan, being one to not really sleep, simply had no problem keeping watch. At worst, her mind would drift to various thoughts that chose to entertain her, but never did she sleep. Not since she had become immortal. She simply rested. Inhaling quietly, she scanned her attention on their surrounding, listening and peering carefully for anything that might be off. She entertained thoughts about the training they had gone through together, but never entertained them to the point of not paying attention to their surroundings.

A glance toward those sleeping was given as she came to realize she had a measure of respect for each of them. They had indeed been through a lot already in training, and now, out here in the big and bad world, she didn't mind being around them. It however did not diminish her preference to work solo.

Armal shuffled quietly in his sleep, having easily taken sleep as if it were simply a matter of closing his eyes and bam! he was gone. He fell silent again. Glancing now to the Mirds, she couldn't help but smile slightly at their sleeping behavior. They clearly cared a lot for each other.

Silence was in the night...

The silence of the night was unbroken save for the normal nocturnal noises, snow laden wind in the nearby willows, the hooting of a huge eyed owl as it winged past the group on the hunt, the cry of a nightjar. Mostly muffled though as the snow continued to fall. lightly though, dry powdery snow unburdened by sleet.

Morning came with the soft rustle as a chill morning breeze blustered through the nearly leafless branches above in the faint dim grey light of pre dawn and the soft sounds of the nocturnal avians were traded out for the noisier activities of the dinural set. Something that sounded much like a broody hen was out and about, noisily seeking a breakfast in defiance of any local predators.

Charli woke, and stretched slowly, grimmacing at her stiff muscles. Then she shivered but climbed resolutely out of the sleeping bag, upping the temp a notch as she did so.

Every one, despite their excellent physical shape would find themselves somewhat stiff, though not as bad as it could have been. Snow was piled outside the area that Charli had kept warm. A good six inches had fallen during the night.

Gold was awaken by a snowball to the head. Half asleep and cursing, she struggled from her sleeping bag, hauling out her sidearm with her. She calmed though once her senses assured her everything was still sleeply calm and no ill intent was about. She however did her muffled sniggering, a sniggering she knew too well, and felt glee and mischief.

She turned slowly to glare at her brother. Mird was sitting where he'd been the whole last watch. He resolutely held his muzzle closed against his laughter, but he still held another snowball at the ready. That stopped her for a moment. Snow?

It had been very, very little during her watch. She looked around and saw that ground was covered. Damn. The climate was continuing to change as a result of the ISNAFTH with all its volcanic eruptions.

This would complicate things, first off all, unless the snow fall continued their tracks would be obvious. The cold would sap strength, and the snow would slow their progress. But it might also be a blessing. It might pull in some their guards and patrols. She doubted they were very prepared, if prepared at all, for this local climate change. They might also doubt less and less that anyone would be mounting a ground infiltration and assault in this mess.

Gold returned her glare to her brother, meaningful one as she shifted it to his snowball as if to melt it with her eyes. He took the hint and dropped his improvised weapons and got up, dusting his pants off. He would be better off in this weather. The thicker, fluffier fur of the terrier that was crossed into his DNA was somewhat better suited to the cold than her pure vornskr genetic cross. The vornskr had a thin double-layered coat mostly because it was somewhat of a water creature do some of its hunting in along the shores and shallows of the many mountain rivers and streams of Catawaba. Gold knew she would still be warmer than any of the humans here, but her uniform, armor, and gear would help.

She glanced at Charlie for a thoughtful moment. Her and Mird's Beskar'gam tactical vests contained the poor conducting but very dense and strong Taung iron or beskar. It didn't easily warm or cool but over long periods. The beskar would be warm because of their shared body heat and the sleeping bag last night. However by tonight, it would be much colder and the beskar might actually cool during the day. She might consider asking Charlie to put the vests in her bag tonight. A cold beskar vest was great in Catawaba, perhaps deadly right now, and if she draped them over herself, it would be good protection if they got surprised. That was not a very serious concern in Gold's mind but still a possibility and the way she thought.

She holstered her POP and walked over to her brother. She took him by the shoulders and lowered her head to his and bumped the top of her head down against his. She murmured a few words to him in Taung'a before pulling him to his feet and pushing him towards their sleeping bags with a playful kick to the rear to get him started.

She moved back along side him, but as he was unzipping and then rolling up their sleeping bags, she picked up her MORG and checked the actions to make sure it was fouled by snow or frozen. Satisfied her weapon was in good condition, she set about checking her gear. She hauled out a GPS transciever. Reception wasn't perfect down where they were, but she had a basic idea of their location. Their transmissions were nihl, set to manual transmission. Every four hours, she would send a burst transmission to one of the Tanaaran satellites, so that the brass and sashes would know where they were.

Both Whiptail and Dekker weren't happy when they awoke. Although well rested, nothing was a free lunch it seemed. Snow. Fucking snow. Neither had come prepared for extreme cold weather. The merc heaved his large body to a standing position, ejecting the magazine from his rifle and slapping it against his hand to loosen the cold spring up a bit. He repeated the process with both his 1911 and his Mark 23, making sure that the release button on his SERPA wasn't clogged with debris. He should have brought the Safariland holster, but should haves were the currency of losers and wanna-bes. He was neither. He was a well-trained, battle-hardened, highly motivated, and really fucking angry mercenary. God help those who willingly stood in his way.

The sensation of cold was nothing new to any BUD/S graduate. You were cold throughout the entire training process. At least the wind wasn't blowing that hard. That was the real nut-kicker. His Eagle rig was tight-fitting enough he'd retain most of his body heat. There was little he could do but be thankful that Charli was able to keep enough heat around them to keep the snow off. Later on tonight though, he'd probably be burrowing into the snow to stay warm.

Whiptail, being an odd breed of self-heating reptile, wasn't happy with the weather conditions, but he couldn't change them. He'd simply ignore it like he did most uncomfortable things, and it usually worked unless there was a bone-chilling wind that simply wouldn't leave you be. The assassin underwent a series of stretches to keep his tendons loose while his mercenary companion did his weapons check. The day was going to be a long one, a cold one, and an all around bitch if his current mood was any indication. The dreams weren't going away, and judging by Dekker's movements he had similar issues. No wonder he'd kept the ballistic mask down all night...

Ten woke with a stifled groan. He was warmish, but it was not near as warm as he liked being. He was from the great southwest, near desert in many places... and the later years in TMZ had been tropically warm. No, he didn't care for snow especially since none of them had come prepared for winter ops. He scrambled out of his bag digging for the wamrest stuff he'd brought. At least he could layer...some.

Then he hustled over to Gold. "We need a hot meal in us. Coffee or hot chocolate to boot. We're going to be burning calories in this cold just keeping warm, and with the snow hiding the ground all sorts of pratfalls are waiting us."

He was sincerely worried about numerous small injuries building up to wear them down for the end run.

Gold looked around the group again. "Good call, Bones." She looked to her brother who was bundling up their packs. "Ner vod, the Lobo plea-ehz." Mird looked up and pulled a folded entrenching tool from her pack. He tossed to her and she caught it and began unfolding the shovel blade. It really was a blade. After she got it set she ran her fingerpad along the edge of the blade and it grated against her toughened pad like a razor.

She looked up at Ten. "Some Marine quartermaster was way into some zombie book and wanted a weapon mentioned in the book...coincidently made by the USMC. A valid entrenching tool but also wickedly sharp axe...works as a minor hatchet, shovel, and pick." She pointed to the sharp pick attachment still folded against the handle. "In a pinch, it's a manageable...if odd melee weapon. The government picked up as an all in one tool for infantry...rather than a close quarters weapon."

She rolled her eyes and moved to start digging a fire pit. They were in a small depress that hid them some. But she didn't want to take a chance with the light being seen at all. She looked over her shoulder. "If you can gather some fuel, Ten, it'd be appreciated." She dug thankful that the ground hadn't had time to harden with the sudden change in climate.

"If you can gather some fuel, Ten, it'd be appreciated."

"Sure" Ten moved away with a nod, seekinhg first tender then some larger pieces from the area that Charli had protected. The drier the fuel the less smoke the fire would generate. He was able to find some suitable without much trouble and soom a small, smokeless fire was blazing away.

Ten chivvied every one into getting hot food and drink down them.

Liam awoke as the others began to stir, their movements disturbing his light slumber. Despite his training and previous experience, it had been a while since Liam had spent a night out in the field and his muscles protested the change in sleeping arrangements. Ignoring the discomfort, Liam was quickly on his feet and moving around, stretching his legs and generally working the kinks out of his body in preparation for whatever the day would bring.

Looking around the camp, Liam immediately noted there was snow outside the perimeter, as if something had shielded the team from the frozen rain. At first this puzzled him as he examined the ground around him but eventually his brain shifted into gear and he remembered Charli's specific talents. Fire and heat was her forte and thus it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibilities that she had something to do with the snow not bothering the team as they slept.

With Gold digging the fire pit and Ten gathering the wood, there was little for Liam to do and so he sat upon a decaying log and retrieved his rifle, promptly ejecting the power source and slowly dismantling the weapon. It didn't require the cleaning that conventional weapon required as there was no gunpowder or detonation involved at all but it was still necessary to ensure the electronics and various pieces were in working order. The power source was still fully charged and would likely be good for another year or so, depending upon how much use it saw. Looking down the barrel, Liam's eyes scanned the surface for any nicks or imperfections that could influence the trajectory and velocity of the projectile but thankfully found nothing. Whilst this weapon didn't need cleaning, if a problem was found with it, chances were it could not be repaired in the field and would therefore be useless. Keeping that in mind, Liam gave his weapon another thorough scan before reassembling it, replacing the power source and clip and laying it on the log beside him.

Once they'd all eaten a little breakfast they could get moving. Today was likely to be a little more eventful than the previous.

It was mid afternoon, just about time for a rest stop – the day had not been easy going, the terrain rising steadily, getting ever rougher it with countless rocks , deadfall and small crevasses hidden under the illusionary white blanket. The bulk of the mountain east of them did little to deter the damp chilly winds swirling about them which lowered the chill factor further. And while the snowfall had ended shortly after full dawn, the temperature had not risen and the high humidity made it even more miserable.

The system was an old one, a relic thought disabled, recorded as such in fact and thus forgotten. However it had fallen though the cracks and still functioned - only intermittently and at incalculable intervals, but suddenly the surviving sensors - variously attached to trees and stakes designed for it's components, though long enough ago that the majority of the system had been grown over with in bark overgrowth or the sensor spike uprooted and buried in leaf mold -registered targets, as defined in it's on board tiny chipset. And the three remaining gauss guns had enough ammo and battery power for a response. Not much of one, but the system didn’t know that – all it knew was that the battery packs were fully charged for the first time in many cycles and that the targets matched the onboard profiles.

With out warning the three guns acquired targets and fired at the approaching team. Only one of the slugs thrown by the gauss guns found a target, though the other two whistled uncomfortably clost to two others. The one that impacted though did not have the momentum behind it to penetrate the body armor worn but did have enough to take the feet out from under and deposit the surprized team member on their ass.

The system glitched and it was a full second before any more rounds were sent whizzing down range...

I hate the snow, I hate the snow, I hate the snow... was the mantra that kept pounding through Lollipop's skull. When she was a child sure she loved snow, what child didn't? But once she hit twelve, the love died very quickly and in the years since she viewed it as nothing more than a nuisance. In school she was the only one not celebrating the announcement of a snow day.

She hadn't packed sun protection for her eyes of any kind, it just hadn't occurred to her that snow could appear in spring, grant it it was spring back home. Lollipop cursed as she felt the ground give way under her feet briefly. The snow that had shifted in the brief flurry of activity showed a dead log that had finally broken.

Lollipop felt the freight train before she heard the shot. The human let out a cry of surprise, her uniform and armor seemed to jump on her stomach as slug made impact. The woman was tossed to the ground, disappearing from view as she slammed into the snow.

Liam noted Lollipop's expression with some amusement. She was mostly hiding her distaste for the snow but he could tell she wasn't enjoying it, Liam's younger brother was the same way. It wasn't really a big deal for him, from a practical point of view it was a hindrance as snow slowed progress and left tracks but otherwise Liam had very little to say on the topic.

Liam wasn't sure whether the sight of Lollipop going down or the sound of her being hit by a slug registered in his brain first but that seemed irrelevant as he dived behind what appeared to be a very large and old tree. Hoping that the brief silence between attacks was enough for everyone else to get to safety, Liam watched Lollipop as she lay there. He couldn't tell how bad her injuries were but there didn't appear to be any blood so her body armour must have done the job. Shifting his position, Liam peeked around his cover in an attempt to discover the source of the bullets.

A quick glance revealed at least two positions, big guns with no obvious sight of being manned but it was too early to rule anything out. The guns weren't exactly easy to spot but the movement of the barrels gave two of them away quite readily. The movement appeared to be automated, smooth and precise as opposed to the jerky movements of something being controlled by a human. Turning around to gaze upon the team, Liam noted everyone was behind cover except for Lollipop now, although her position in the snow kept her relatively safe assuming the guns were looking for moving targets.

"I count three guns, possibly automated. No sign of anyone else at this point but I'd imagine this noise won't go unnoticed for long. Orders?"

Despite the situation, Liam knew his role and was trained well. It was the team leader's call as to whether weapons were free and a basic attempt was made to out-gun whatever was shooting at them or whether something a little more complicated was necessary.

Rikan had heard the sound of wheels turning as the automated guns shifted and began firing at the approaching team. She moved fast to the side, behind another tree, with her preferred weapons out and ready. A glance to the others showed them having also taken cover. She sought for Armal and he too had been quick enough.

Then her eyes rested on the impression in the deep snow where Lollipop lay momentarily. She called out to her, "Lollipop! Don't move! Stay down!" For once, the hampering snow proved useful as it blocked the fallen soldier from the guns. "Heat seekers?" she wondered aloud, stealing a glance toward one of the sentinel guns.

Now she looked over at Armal, whom was watching her after having heard her quiet theory. She shrugged a little, but made it clear she didn't hear any heartbeats or smelled anything off in the wind.

Looking now toward Gold, she spoke, "I don't think the guns have 360 degree range, so we might be able to get behind them and disable them."

A thought ran through her mind and she glanced skyward, then toward the sentinel weapons once more. Had the guns triggered satellite coverage of the area, and if so, was anyone actually watching?

She was glad they were wearing camouflage suits that blended with the landscape, one side for darker environments, and the other for lighter environments. "Move slow." she suggested to the others, a finger pointing upward, "Someone might be watching..."

Just an FYI: With the weapons being gauss guns there is no muzzel flash, as there are no propellent gasses that need to escape, no gun powder detonating. Nor was the system on wheels, but pivoting gimballs ( Though I specifically didn't mention that, my apologies. )Having been so long emplaced they were thoroughly "room temperature' so to speak and donot show up on any thermal imaging erther -However the sudden movement of the guns barrels as they tracked and aquired their targets could definitely have caught the team's eyes - and a question what sort of sound do we think a rail/gauss gun make - there's be the crack of the round breaking hte sound barrier, but there's no propellant going 'bang'.

Something hummed past Dekker's head before whacking a tree behind him. His mind didn't quite register what it was until he watched the Simitarian drop backwards...

'Sniper...'

Was his first thought, but that was quickly changed to automated defense system as something moved up ahead, too large to be a man. The assassin next to him was already on the ground a second before Dekker deposited himself as deep in the snow as he could wedge hide his big self before rolling sideways behind a boulder that shouldn't have hidden his bulk but somehow he fit behind it. Gunfire had that effect on people...

"No muzzle crack or flash and that damn sure wasn't a bullet... Sounded way different..."

Whiptail nodded, responding in a similar hushed tone...

"Gauss guns? Gotta be..."

Ten hit the ground in much the same instant that every one else did, and was immediately checking his wrist comp for every ones biometrics. Only Lollipop's showed any alterations beyond what would be expected.

"Lollipop, you hit?" He called to the Scimitaran. He wanted to hear a verbal reply - it would tell him she was still conscious and help him locate her while still being safely ground hugging.

"Dekker, Whiptail what about you?" They didn't have sensors on to let him have even basic readings on their conditions, he'd have to rely on them letting him know.

He hated snow, it was cold and wet, and made things and people hard to find. And to say nothing of being hard to move through.

After he heard Lollipop's reply - and the negatives from Whiptail and Dekker -he began worming his way though the snow, glad that it hadn't packed down too heavily or iced over. By the time he got to Lollopop's side he was soaked through though. He worked his hands free of his gloves and set to work checking on her.

He was highly relieved to find that the projectile had not penetrated. He found it flattened against one of the hard plates of her armor, and worked it loose, handing it to her. "You were lucky, that would have made a bad hole in you. You're going to be bruised bad, but it didn't break any ribs." He slipped out a hypospray and shot a pack of rapid heal nanos in to boost those that were already in her system. They would also block the pain just enough to remind her if she stresserd herself too much.

Mird had been one of the first to react after one of the slugs whizzed betixt his ears. He ducked slow and threw himself at a tree. He bounced off its bark and crouched low looking for their bushwackers.

Gold didn't see anything and didn't hear anything beyond a faint champagne cork popping in the distance. She reacted to Lollipop's sudden unconsciousness and the rest of her squad keying as they saw or felt or heard the ambush. Gold dove down behind a rock. She placed her back to the rock and leaned around to see if she could find anything just around her cover. She saw Ten speed out to help the Simataran.

The Argonians seemed to have nailed the type of weapon their attackers were using, and Gold about beat herself. She should have remembered what they'd taught her about railguns and Gauss guns. The barest sound or indication of firing they made was that cork pop. She was still used to firearms and gunpowder, but that was not acceptible.


Liam and Rikan had apparently spotted their bushwhackers, a couple or a few sentry guns and were asking to take action. "Rikan, we can't were about birds we can't shoot. We'll have to leave any sats to the brasshats with ABMs and HK sats." Gold bet her third stripe that the Tannarans either had control of the Central World satellites or had taken them down when they took their orbital assets.

She peaked around her rock but sat back down behind it. "I don't have eyes on the guns. If you two think you can get'em, we'll provide a distraction for you to flank them."

Mird glanced towards the guns' direction. "I'd be willin' to provide the distraction." His eyes cut towards his sister. "Hey, there ain't anyone faster or more expendable."

Dekker thumbed open his M203, cracking it ajar to inspect the round within. He'd used his last thermite round on that patrol they'd fought earlier, but they would've damn handy right now. Currently he'd loaded a standard HEDP, and that would at least make a dent in whatever armor the guns had on them.

He had three more of those, plus a pair of nasty WP rounds he was wanting to save from closer quarters. There was also an adapter in his butt-pack to allow him to chamber a standard 12 gage shell in the 203 barrel. He didn't have any shells, though. Wasn't an issue or really relevant right now, either...

"I've got something that might ruin its day if you can get me a location..."

The merc closed the tube again with a muffled click before shifting himself into a position to where he could jump up and fire when needed...

Gold glanced over at the human. "Hold on that. If Rikan and Liam can take it out quieter than grenades, we need all the stealth we can, but be ready to support them if they get in over their heads."

"I don't have eyes on the guns. If you two think you can get'em, we'll provide a distraction for you to flank them."

Liam took another look at the terrain leading up to the gun closest to his position. It wouldn't be easy but there appeared to be enough cover to make, providing the distraction worked.

"We should be able to handle it. I'd assume a system like that isn't too smart so a distraction should keep it occupied."

Assuming he could get close enough, Liam could simply turn off the system or otherwise disable it without having to fire a single shot. Otherwise it would be a noisy process to take out the three weapons and the group had no idea how close the enemy might be or whether there were ears out here in the wilderness.

"Ready to move on your mark."

Liam gave Rikan a quick nod, indicating he was ready to move when she was .

Rikan merely nodded. Inwardly, she was smiling. At least they were going to let her do her thing. She could work with Liam though, and besides, he had proven himself in their training together. Now, they'd see their training put into action. The survival of the team depended on it.

Mentally mapping out the terrain she had seen when glancing about for the last few moments, she indicated to Liam to take his route immediately to the far left of his position. He'd sweep out of range due to unintended obstruction of the gunfire, and thusly his route would be more secure. Rikan herself would snake her way with all the skills possible of her race until she too found a path safe from the gunfire.

The rest of the team would periodically keep the guns trained on themselves, though the risk there was obvious. She wasn't sure how they'd go about it, but that wasn't for her to worry about. Her hand drew to a knife that sat across her chest and withdrew it.

Looking toward Liam, she nodded at last, and in a blink, she was gone from sight, moving through the snow like a mole, using the snow's cold cover to her advantage. Gunfire was heard overhead, but soon she was beneath the nearest gun. Rising slowly, more to make sure that the other guns wouldn't be attracted to her, she cast her gaze upward at the sentry gun and jabbed the knife upward with precision, the blade sinking into the exposed wiring.

The second Rikan gave her nod Liam's attention was focused on the task at hand, ignoring everything else and relying on the assumption that his comrades would play their role. Nanites, blood and adrenaline surged through his body as he rose into a standing position and began his approach, moving far out to his left in order to avoid detection by the weapons whilst the others provided the distraction.

Despite more shots being fired Liam continued his advance, the distance between himself and the target disappearing quickly as his enhanced limbs carried him faster than any ordinary soldier. Soon after Rikan had reached her target, Liam arrived to the left of his. The turret was indeed automated and thus disabling it would be easy. Edging around behind the weapon, Liam took a handful of wires hanging below the barrel and yanked hard, easily dislodging them. Now that the gun was disconnected from the system controlling it he delivered a few solid kicks to the pistons and cranks that allowed the turret to swivel. The damage wasn't huge but it was enough to bend or break components vital to the turret movement.

Satisfied with his efforts for now, Liam activated his comm to broadcast back to everyone.

"Target disabled. Any sign of another?"

The third gun had frozen up when it tried to track a jinking move by Ten, as part of the groups attempts to keep they systems trained on them rather than the ones going to disarm them.

However there were the growing sounds that would indicate that some one was in the area - besides themselves that is. The grumble of a poorly maintained deisel engine could be heard getting closer.

But the noise also seemed to indicate what ever the vehicle was it was traveling slowly through the rough terrain. There were no roads in the area, and under the soft looking blanket of snow the terrrain was almost unpassably rough by most vehicles, even those designed for off road use.

The rail guns firing had been hard for the team to hear, it was highly doubtfull that any one as far aways as the approaching vehicle would have heard it. They must have been summoned by other means, or it was pure coincidence.

The arcid smell of burning diesel fuel had already reached Whiptail's nostrils, but he'd written it off as a by-product of burned wiring until now...

"We've got company, guys... Sounds like a truck. A shitty truck but still a truck..."

Trucks meant people, and people meant guns. They'd need to keep low and out of sight. Rikan and Whiptail would certainly earn their stripes in a stealth encounter of this nature, but Dekker already had his ACOG crosshairs pointed in the general direction his Argonian friend had indicated. He didn't see much beyond the trees yet, but something was definitely moving...

"I've got movement. You guys mind checking the wiring on those things for a silent alarm? Any dumbass would put a beacon of some sort in there that would go off when those things went down, at least for repair purposes..."

They would be looking for a red cable of moderate thickness connected to a GPS transmitter 'hockey puck' on the outside of the weapon itself. Whiptail had been watching the third weapon during his odd little distraction dance, and smiled as it shuddered to a stop. Quickly, he was up on it and had the access panel open to allow him to look for what Dekker had mentioned, as well as the cables that controlled the thing. A quick tug on the cables connected to the thermal imaging system blinded it, while a pair of surpressed rounds from his MP5 permanently shut down the hydraulics that made it move.

The fumes were growing stronger now, and he lowered himself into a crouch right beside the disabled turret, disappering into its shadow like he'd done for centuries...

The battered, positively ancient stake bed lorry, once optimized for wintertime off road hauling (http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b394/scootermcrad/NV-SLC-WY/DSC03150.jpg?t=1236538313), jounced it's whooping, cat calling occupants about like so many rocks in a paint shaker. But that didn't dismay the roughly twenty men jammed in the back, as long as the monsterous dual 50 cals atop (http://farm1.static.flickr.com/69/173193430_bba18d5c74.jpg) the cab stayed pointed front. Then if the operator crouched behind them and the improvised but impressive armored glasis accidently let rip a few of the nearly hands length rounds none of them would get hurt.

The boss hadn't explained anything to his troops, just sent out the most hard core of his troops once he'd gotten the phone call that gave him his orders. Privately he wsa sure they'd just find a dead deer, but anything to get those trouble makers out of camp for a bit. And they could use the vennison, their hunting had been abysmal of late.

But he wasn't going to argue with oders from the warlord who'd laid claim to the area. Not when the man was in such a foul mood from the harrassment his camp had come under and the loss of so many troops.

The ride was so rought because the driver could barely see out of the improvised armor that protected the cab of the truck, much as the metal plates piled around the 50 cals protected them.

Gold and Mird exchanged looks. "LAW?" the male asked.

His sister glanced over at the snowlorry. She lifted her MORG and took a look through her assault scope. She growled as she saw the hillbilly armor on the truck's cab and in front of the twin Ma Deuces. "Find an enfilading position and ready one. Love Roger, Mird."

Her brother nodded. "Last Resort heard, Lead."

Gold looked around the team. "They'll come straight at this spot more than likely to check on these things Split up and find cover. We're going to need to flank and take both the dismounts and the two fifty gunners. Armal, Mird, Liam, and Rikan go around to the north and spread out. Travis with Lollipop, Charli, and I will go south and parallel you." She saw Dekker sighting the lorry, and she was at a lost to see Shadowscale for a moment until she saw the cancerous growth that had appeared on one of the defunct railguns. "Boys, you've done pretty good and gotten a reputation no doubt with the yokels. Hold their nose with their expectation, we can kick them in the ass."

She let that filter in for a second. "Remember, Stealth. No grenades or explosives if at all possible, but I leave it to your discretion." She reached to her side and opened a pouch and took out a suppressor. She slipped it over the barrel of her MORG and threaded it in before locking it down. Then she looked up to Charli. "On me, Firewalker."

She got up from her knee and moved out at a low crouch to the south of the clearing with the rail guns. Mird got up from his spot and moved north.

Charli moved after Gold, keeping as low and moving as quietly as possible. She could feel more than hear Lollipop and Travis on her own heels as they moved to parallel the other group.

"Gold I can take care of that armor without setting off the fuel tank." Charli offered "Though I'm not sure if I can keep from setting off the ammow due to heat bloom" She admitted. That it would also take care of the gunner was an added bonus. He wouldn't be trying anything with the sort of burns he'd be taking.

Dekker nodded, but didn't take his eyes from the optic. The G36C would make a bit of noise, however, and that was why he'd asked for the bulky Mark 23. With a bit of reluctance, the merc let the assault rifle hang freely on its sling, tight against his massive chest. Whiptail had done much the same, instead drawing one of his knives.

The merc somehow hid his bulk behind another turret, surpressed forty-five at the ready to perforate a brain-box or two. The dog-woman was right. The locals knew there were two of them out here causing a rukus, and it was best to let them keep on thinking that, at least until they got cut down by the duo's pals advancing from the rear.

There was a knowing glance exchanged between the two old friends. No further communication was needed, each man trusted the other to do what he did best, and trusted him not to fail under any circumstances...

Armal nodded to Gold's order as his bow slid into his hand fluidly and silently. He knew it was an outdated weapon, but he also knew that it was one of the most silent ones any of them possessed. Additionally, he was deadly accurate with it. Ahead of his group, Rikan slipped silently through the bushes. She paused as she heard the almost sub-vocal suggestion given by Charli to Gold. At this, she held a fist up to her own group that had moved into position by now.

A glance back toward the sentry guns saw the peering gaze of the Argonian and his comrade nearby, both so well hidden it had taken her a few moments to find them.

Come forth, come hither, thy death throes await... Rikan thought to herself as she turned her attention back to the oncoming vehicles. She was completely still, and even her eyes remained immobile save for the occasional slow blink.

Mira...I really quoted George S. Patton. Gold thought as she tramped through the snow and brush. It'd been the heat of the moment. Sure, it'd said everything she'd needed to say and meant. Patton had the tactics right on...but still didn't help her not sound like an idiot.

Though I'm not sure if I can keep from setting off the ammow due to heat bloom" She admitted. That it would also take care of the gunner was an added bonus. He wouldn't be trying anything with the sort of burns he'd be taking.

Gold planted her feet and came to a stop on the right side of a broad tree. She spun and waved Charli next to her. When the Tanaaran settled dow next to her, Gold spoke up. "Cartridge ammo's made to take heat, has to with action of the gun. I don't need persisting heat or napalm. I want you to hit both gunners in the face with a hissing-hot griddle. Quick and searing."

She glanced around the tree and reached to her belt. She pulled out a magazine for her grenade launcher. She held it with her thumb and forefinger and reached foreward and grasped the one presently insereted in her underslung launcher. She grasped the old one with her palm and remaining fingers. She pulled it out and then quickly inserted the new magazine. She worked the charging handle on the semi-automatic launcher. The chambered grenade flew out and landed in the snow.

As Gold turned back to Charli, she slipped the old grenade magazine into a pouch, and her tail swooped in and wrapped around the ejected grenade. "Sear their faces with one quick, brief heat, and we won't have to worry about the Fifties." She swung her tail around and caught the free grenade and stuffed it into another pouch.

Mird slid down behind a mound of earth uplifted by the seismic destruction of Imitora. He hit the releases on his pack and spun it down off his back. He leaned it against the thinly iced dirt and pulled the LAW out from under the lashings that afixed it to the top of his pack. He pulled out the safety pin and pulled back the cocking lever.

He loved the Tanaarans. Even on this advanced missile system, there were still mechanical 'blankies' as he called them. Secure, mechanical methods that joe could pat and be sure it wasn't going to blow his buddy's head apart when his pack jostled. He breathed hot steam onto the battery unit to be sure it didn't freeze and turned it on. He flipped up the holographic sights. He tested it to make sure. It worked and then leaned it down against the dirt.

Love Roger, his sister had said. He lifted his MORD, making sure the mags for his .357 SMG attachment and 6.5mm main barrel were in securely. He hoped it didn't come to Love Roger.

Lollipop's chest ached from the bullets that had struck her earlier, but her armor had stopped them cold. The new LSA C61 armor was designed to be flexible and texturally it felt like a hard gel, that while tough, still wouldn't stop a round. However the synthetic material used, once sudden impact was made, the synthetic would harden near instantly, effectively giving the soldier the benefit of hard armor with the maneuverability and weight of regular medium armor.

The Simatarian followed Gold and Charli closely, itching to get a chance to fire her gun. After Gold stopped, Lollipop continued a few meters to the left and took position in a depression just behind the a boulder cracking through ground. The paratrooper stripped off her back and placed it behind her. In the kneeling position, she was effectively covered.

Deciding against using the camera on her rifle for now, Lollipop brought her weapon up and aimed down the sights, waiting for the order.

Dekker watched silently from his place half-buried in the snow as the dog-woman loaded her own grenade launcher. His device was more archaic, but that was how he liked it. The M203 affixed under his G36C was loaded with a standard US Military issue 40mm High Explosive Dual Purpose (HEDP) round, with none of the safety widgets the more modern arms the rest of the team carried. It was a simple device, arming itself after a set number of rotations before the impact fuse came alive. At these ranges, it would probably just blow through the armor like a really big bullet and not detonate, but that too had its uses.

It was a sure-fire kill against the driver, since the human body wasn't likely to sustain a beer-can diameter projectile passing through it at the speed of sound. The bullets in his Mark 23 weren't sub-sonic either, standard 230 grain military hardball, the full metal jacket stuff that put holes in people but wasn't affected as much by barrier material as the more high-tech hollow-point stuff was. They'd definitely kill someone, but the report of his pistol would be more of a muffled cough than the typical hiss of the lower-power stuff. Ditto for Whiptail's ammo, too. He'd opted for a nine-millimeter version of his preferred Steyer MA-1, as well as the same caliber MP5. Nines were common the world over, where forty-caliber stuff was pretty much the domain of American law enforcement, and Steyer didn't make a .45 version of its high-tech pistol.

Come to think of it, he and Godzilla were the lowest-tech bastards in attendance. Both were wearing the modern (to them, at least) combination kevlar soft armor reinforced with ceramic trama plates to stop conventional projectiles up to the 7.62x54R chambered by the Russian PKM and SVD weapon systems. Even then, they'd be facing broken ribs. Neither man had opted for side-plates either, since neither of their preferred body armor rigs had space for them or the retro-fit upgrade. To be brief, it would behoove them not to get shot at all. Broken ribs weren't just painful, they had the potential to dislodge and impale something vital, like the heart or lungs. That wasn't a warrior's death, either.

Whiptail pressed himself closer to the turret, the cold metal tingling through his light outer clothes. The familiar weight of a knife in his hand set him at ease, if only he could get close enough to use it. He didn't exactly know what Gold's plan was, but he hoped she'd let the soldiers dismount and investigate the disabled turrets before trying to slaughter them while they were encased in a hodgepodge armored vehicle. That wasn't his call, though. Dekker would be more than willing to drop a 40 double-mike into the fray at the drop of a hammer, so he didn't worry about being out-gunned. The fifty-cal turret was also heavy as Hell, and wouldn't turn especially fast or track lower than the engine block of the truck it was mounted on. Even then, however, a fifty didn't need a direct hit to kill you, the shockwave alone was enough to rip your face off, making a near-miss just as deadly.

The former assassin exhaled slowly in a light cloud of mist and hoped it wouldn't come to that. Fully-loaded, the truck couldn't contain more than twenty troops, and twenty was much better than fifty. They could deal with twenty easily and quietly, provided they all gave them the opportunity to fan out and dismount from the vehicle. Gold had to be a competent warrior in order to be on this mission in the first place, so Whiptail had the utmost confidence in her decision-making skills...

The cab and gunners were armored to a farethewell. They'd take a 'something a might bigger than could be carried in your pockets' as Gold and Mird's cousin Matt Quigley would say. The dismounts in the stakebed weren't so lucky or well-protected. The wooden slats (http://www.carlwattsartist.com/stakebedtruckmass.html)weren't rated to take anything better a kid's pop gun. The jacketed military rounds the team was armed with would have no problem doing the job of a team of crazed carpenters. They might stop or slow .357 Sig from Mird's MORD or a few of the flachettes from the beehive rounds Gold had loaded into her grenade launcher. However, that low-slat count lattice wasn't going to stop a lot, and they intended to pour it on a might quicker and wider than those slats were going to have an easy time turning away.

With one last jounce and one last whoop the elderly vehicle bucked to a halt, and with no further ado some of the troops hopped over the sagging sides of the stake bed. One or two must have been feeling particularly ramboish as they paused in dramatic crouches upon landing, eyes that had never been steely and now were simply red rimmed from many a night in a smoke filled tent darting about nervously.

Those at the rear simply dropped down, there being no tail gate, though one stumbled and nearly went flat on his face to the dersive hoots of his commrades.

"Shut up and get to seeing what triggered the idiot box" boomed a half bored, half angered voice from within the vehicles cab.

The troops began to spread out while one reached back up into the bed of the stakebed and pulled down a large red painted metal tool case and began slogging toward the nearest of the three guns.

Only the two gunners remained in the back of the vehicle.

Charlies fingers ticked closed, and...

Heat bloomed around the top of the gunners heads, a invisible but white hot cap of heat which that instantly ruptured their eyeballs, melted their hair, and searing their skin down to the skull then it was gone as if it had never been

There was three heartbeats of total silence on their parts, then the most hideous screams one can imagine tore from their throats as their hands and bodies flailed about from the system shock that would shortly kill them.

The horriffic cries spun all of their companions about, mouths dropping open in utter dumfoundment, eyes locked on to the jerking figured in the back of the truck.

That was all the distraction Whiptail needed, the designated repair-man being close enough to the turret he'd hidden himself behind to drag back into the shadows. His movements were quick, precise, and practiced to an almost obsessive degree...

A clawed hand wearing a fingerless glove wrapped itself over the man's nose and mouth while the other drove the drop-point of the knife it held into the right kidney, twisted to release muscle tissue from the blade, then removed to return to the neck of his victim, entering from the left side and only slightly exiting on the right. Again, another twist to make sure all vocal cords and major blood vessels were severed before being withdrawn again and driven in a reverse-grip under the sternum and used as a handle to help haul the now-dying repair lackey back to his shadowy doom. Whiptail eased the corpse down slowly, glad that the toolbox hadn't made much noise as it had landed in the snow with little more than a soft clank from the loose tools within. By that time the man who'd been holding it was already bleeding out behind a curtain of shadow cast by the turret he'd been looking to repair.

Dekker wasn't quite as aggressive this time, instead aligning the front sight of his big .45 on the back of another man's head, waiting for Gold to initiate the attack or let the more stealth-inclined members of their merry little band do some more body-snatching. He had an arc of fire on three of them from his position on his back, half-buried in fresh powder...

With the mass of troops out in the open and none really straying out to the woods to take a leak or some such, it would be suicidal to abandon cover to try and fail to get one black hat on the fringes. No, they had surprise and cover. (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/Layout.png) Gold didn't need to look around the tree she was hiding behind. She could feel them move about. She could feel their pain of the gunners as well as hear their hackle-raising shrieks and then feel the dismounts' surprise.

She keyed her throat mic. " Take care of what’s in front of you. Near to far target priority. We go in five, four, three, two, one.” On one Gold stood up from her crouch and leaned around the tree. She lowered her check to her stock and her eye to her MORG’s assault scope. She centered her aim in the middle of the gaggle of dismounts at the rear of the vehicle. Still gaping at their writhing comrades, they didn’t have any idea what was coming for them. She shifted her aim to the right a little and pulled the forward trigger for her grenade launcher. It didn’t have bass thuoomp of a regular grenade. The beehive around loaded into her grenade launcher was more like a blunderbuss of old. The hail of flat stamped-steel arrow heads buzzed out giving the beehive round its name. Before she even saw the impact of her first round, the vornskrari twitched her aim to the left and fired a beehive round at the left side of the dismounts. She shifted her aim back right and looked for who would still be standing after her volley.

Mird popped his head above the mound of earth he’d taken cover behind. He engaged the adventurous Rambos that had jumped over the side of the stakebed facing him. He squeezed both triggers of this MORD, letting a dual stream of 6.5mm and .357 SIG ripple out as he tracked it across the whole line.

"We're going to need to flank and take both the dismounts and the two fifty gunners. Armal, Mird, Liam, and Rikan go around to the north and spread out."

Liam didn't say a word after receiving his instructions as he considered the time for making any noise over, even if the truck engine was still running for the moment. The team had trained together enough to naturally spread out and take up positions that complimented each other yet allowed everyone to comfortably do their own thing within the parameters of working as a team.

After a few moments of moving as quietly as possible through the snow, Liam crouched down upon a fallen tree that had been hollowed out over the years. The log was covered in snow but upon further examination Liam discovered a whole that ate right through from one side to the other, effectively allowing him to lay behind the log and gaze down at the truck, aiming his weapon with comfortable ease.

As everyone else was getting into position and waiting for the signal, Liam activated his rifle with a quick thumb tap the hand grip and began calibrating the weapon, the soft buzz of it powering up unheard under the noise of the men jumping out of their truck. At half power, Liam's rifle would punch a whole through the truck easily and even keep going for some distance until it hit enough objects to lose momentum. Liam's ammunition wasn't anything special, just a piece of metal that would begin to break up as it encountered significant resistance, thus leaving plenty of pieces within the target, even if the projectile didn't come to a final rest in said target.

Liam cringed slightly as he observed the fate of the two gunners, their faces literally scorched off their skulls. It was messy and no doubt extremely painful yet that wasn't his problem, thankfully.

" Take care of what’s in front of you. Near to far target priority. We go in five, four, three, two, one.”

His weapon already lined up one a single unwary target, Liam gazed through the scope on his rifle and slowly pulled the trigger, a faint buzz filling his ears as the electromagnets powered up and launched the projectile at speeds that had long ago forgotten what the sound barrier was. The 'bullet' passed through the back of the unsuspecting trooper's head and emerged just above his left eye before continuing through one of the wooden panels of the truck and into the base of a tree on the other side.

Cursing slightly, Liam turned down the power on his weapon. He didn't want his shots to pass right through the target group and begin to get anywhere close to the other members of his team. Satisfied the power was now low enough, Liam began searching for his second target.

Gold dropped back behind the tree as a heavy round shook the tree she and Charli were taking cover behind. She popped out further from tree and swung her MORG towards the .50cals to make sure no one had gotten on them yet. With them still swinging free, Gold slipped back behind cover and sighted in on one the dismounts still standing and stroked her trigger twice, sending two 6.5mm boat tails towards the guy's chest.

Dekker popped off a pair of rounds at two of the heads in his arc of fire, dropping both men like lead weights as Whiptail wiped his knife clean before stowing it and bringing his MP5 to bear...

Armal's attacks were silent, but just as deadly as the far faster bullets racing from the muzzles of the weapons of his comrades. The arrows buried dead center to each victim's heart, leaving them neutralized on the ground where they had taken their last stand.

Rikan, several trees away, simply aimed her rifle and aggressively suggested that the bodies struck with her bullets simply not move ever again. Blood was spilled, and its rich coppery scent she could smell, but her thirst was low. Self restraint in that category for her was well honed even if her hunger was ravaging her. A bullet struck the tree mere inches from her, but she did not flinch for in the next millisecond, the assailant was dead in swift measure.

One of the fighters jumped out of the truck, as his feet hit the ground, his body jumped and chest exploded. The man fell to the ground in a heap.


Lollipop swung the rifle from the man and opened fire again at the enemy, the barrel of her rifle moved backwards with every two round burst. The heavy .53caliber slugs slammed through the wood of the panels and through human flesh, one in every two exploded shortly after impact.

The Simatarian fired cooly into the fighters, it was pretty much a lopsided battle for the multi-national team.

Indeed it was, many rounds were triggered off by the startled, out gunned and out numbered - yes they may have had relative quantity, but in this case it was Not a quality by any stretch of the imagination.

None of the rounds they set towards their attackers came anything more than 'close' and this was neither hand grenades nor thermonuclear warfare.

The two inside the armored cab had not protection against what they probably couldn't even conceive of. They died without a whimper much less a scream as internally they cooked, dead before they could realize what had happened.

Charli would get good and drunk later.

Relative silence fell over the landscape as the last of the wildlings fell. Not all were dead, but none were able to continue to fight.

Gold scanned the horizon quickly. It seemed clear. She pulled her half spent magazine from her main barrel and stuffed it into a pocket before pulling out a new one. She inserted it into the well and slammed it home. She stepped out from behind the tree and towards the mass at the back of the truck to check for survivors. She keyed her mic as she went. "Break cover and get in with them. I want them disarmed, and weapons gathered. Survivors split up. We need this policed." She turned to a shakey-looking Charli. "Firewalker, you good? You didn't disable the vehicle, did you?"


On the other side of the vehicle, Mird was swapping out the magazines for both of his barrels and then occupied with disarming and stowing his LAW.

Dekker rose like a snow-covered monster from the snow, shaking the soft powder off like a dog. He hated the snow. Whiptail had broken cover a little too late, the fight had ended about as quickly as it had begun. Now was the task of the mop-up, fishing for intel and making sure they got what they could from the survivors before they finished them off.

The assassin was already at work on the issue, rifling through pockets in search of passcodes, maps, orders, any sort of hard intel he could get his scaly hands on. The search of the tool man came up with a few repair requests, one for each turret and another for the main facility door. Apparently some bearings had needed replacement. Unfortunately, he didn't find anything showing them where the door actually was.

Dekker's luck wasn't much better. Both men he'd shot came up dry as far as intel was concerned, other than a few spare magazines, a grenade, and an old issue of 'Penthouse', he had nothing that would help them. He started towards the cab of the vehicle, but thought better of it. Charli had cooked both of them and any paper maps or passcode cheat-sheets were probably little more than ashes now. The big SOCOM pistol underwent a mag change before it was stowed away again in its SERPA. The G36C was once again in his hands.

There weren't too many survivors. Between the gunfire, arrows, knives, and pyrotechnic talents, most of the men were dead. Granted, an arrow to the heart wasn't an instant kill, but it was close. Blood loss rendered the victim useless within a minute at best. Dekker's big .45's to the back of the head broke brain-stems and put people down with complete loss of control over heart and lung functions. He was guessing Whiptail's knife had done some kidney surgery again, and that usually induced instant shock along with traumatic blood-loss...

"Anybody got any live ones? The ones I've seen insofar aren't going anywhere..."

"Where they goin'?"

Whiptail again with another movie one-liner. Dekker looked over his shoulder at the dark-scaled lizard man, a grin on his face...

"No-where..."

The assassin leaned over one of the bodies, speaking to it directly...

"Where you goin'? No-where..."

An odd post-gunfight ritual, but it helped to deal with the psychological side of taking life as well as keep morale between the two of them high. That was a must considering they'd been out here for nearly a week already...

Mird grinned at the two Argonians. "Ahhh...Nowhere Special...I've always wanted to go there," supplying his own move one-liner. He moved in amongst the courageous fools that had showboated over the fight side of the vehicle. He pulled one of the bodies off his friends. The body he pulled was just that, a body, but the one underneath raised his hands. "Oh God damn!" The the much-less courageous wildling exclaimed at the sight of the dual barrels of Mird's MORD in his face. "I give up! Surrender! Surrendero! Parlsey..no dammit...Parnsip...agghhh...Par...Par...PARLAY! THAT'S IT PARLAY!"

Mird's muzzle was pressed together tightly as he held back his amusement and kicked the man's gun away. He motioned for the man to get up with a quick twitch of his MORD and sidestepped so he wouldn't be square in front of the guy. The prisoner nodded and reached up for truck. Mird's mirth disappeared into a growl, and he pointedly shifted his aim to the man's head. The prisoner froze and helplessly looked down at his led. He'd been shot into the lower leg, probably by Mird himself.

"Okay, pilgrim, you keep those hands where I can see'em. Got it? Or your head's a canoe." Mird growled out...his bite was worse that his bark really. Being crossbred from a yorkie and a vornskrari before being blended into a humanoid form, he was only really fiercesome when armed and kitted out.

The prisoner had no inkling that Mird could ever be a sweet, gentle, and joking soul. This was a wiry-haired werehellhound. "Damn, you can talk?"

"Only when there's a conversation worth havin'." Mird growled again. "Hand on top yer head and knit those fingers, then get on yer knees." The prisoner had a pained look even before the pain of actually kneeling surfaced. He did so anyways, not wanting to argue with the werehellyorkie before him, hissing through his teeth as he knelt.

[OOC: What sort of weapons are these bozos carrying? They got M2s, but are they entirely NATO armed or is there some third world, banana republic arming here...in other words anything they can afford and get?]

Whiptail seemed to take great offense to the 'parlay' agreement. He stormed up to the captive, knife in hand...

"What the fuck? Do we look like pirates to you asshole? Eh?"

The assassin brought the knife up, a scant inch from the man's face as his left hand grabbed a fistful of dirty collar...

"What makes you think I won't cut you, dawg? Ninjas beat pirates any fuckin' day!"

Dekker was already behind him, grabbing Whiptail by what ammounted to the Argonian 'scruff' and hauled him backwards, the assassin letting go of the captive as he did so...

"Enough games, godzilla. Your Andy Milinakis references aren't going to get info out of him..."

Whiptail was smiling, ear-fin to ear-fin, at his human comrade...

"At least somebody got it..."

He shrugged and put the knife away, turning back to his intel-sifting as if nothing had happened...

Lollipop advanced cautiously, folks like these wouldn't hesitate to hide under corpses and try to shoot out at them. She didn't bother with those she shot, with their chests wide open and backs bursting outwards, they were quite dead. Slipping down her eyepiece, she turned on the camera on her rifle as she placed herself against the armored vehicle's back. Slinging the gun under the car, she made a pan.

"Underside is clear."

Shutting off the camera, she flipped the eyepiece back up. She moved around the back of the cab as she heard the commotion, finding Whiptail with his knife at the prisoner's face. Luckily Dekker halted the proceedings, the Simatarian wasn't interested in getting into an argument at the moment.

Turning her attention to the cab, she lowered her rifle and exchanged it for her pistol. Lollipop gagged instantly as she opened the door and a putrid odor rolled onto her. The woman took a few steps back, hacking as she went, trying to find a breath of fresh air. Taking a few gulps, she waited a few seconds before going back to the cab.

Jumping onto the track, she peered inside at the corpses. "Jesus fuck, what happened to these suckers?"

"I did" Charli's voice was calm but taunt. She had always been able to kill if she had to, but she never liked it much less enjoyed it. "It was over in less than a blink of an eye. If you spike the brain stem they don't even feel it"

She shoved past Lollipop and began pulling the corpses from the cab as she raised her voice just enought to carry to the others of the group.

"Bring them all to that rocky spot, and I'll dispose of the bodies" She nodded over to an area that wouldn't catch fire from the heat of the incineration.

With all the targets clearly down, Liam applied the safety on his rifle as he returned to his feet. Standing upon the log that had acted as his cover, Liam surveyed the scene before him. The team had operated with lethal efficiency to the point that had been almost too easy. Of course, several conditions had been in their favour and Liam was never one to take any outcome for granted. He'd been in plenty of operations where a single piece of bad luck could turn an entire situation south.

Weaving through the trees, Liam's right hand found his pistol, a weapon similar in operation to his rifle but less powerful. The weapon buzzed into activity, ready to discharge rounds into anyone that wasn't quite dead enough. Whilst Dekker and Whiptail searched the bodies Liam circled the truck, keeping an eye out for anything that could be of use. After a few moments of finding nothing but casings and pieces that belonged inside a body, Liam returned to the main congregation to find Whiptail holding a blade towards a very nervous looking lone survivor. The man obviously wasn't comforted by the sight of Mird and Whiptail, regardless of the knife. Choosing simply to watch, Liam noted the Whiptail's sly movements and grinned slightly. Whilst he only really knew the assassin by reputation, they had worked together in the past and Liam knew he wasn't one for random outbursts of emotion, at least not in the field.

"Bring them all to that rocky spot, and I'll dispose of the bodies"

Confident that there was no immediate threat in the area, Liam holstered his weapon and raided the nearest corpse, stripping him of any grenades or ammunition. Knowing full well what Charlie intended to do, Liam wanted to be sure there wouldn't be any extra combustibles involved. Satisfied with his search, Liam slung the corpse over his shoulder and made the short journey to where Charlie directed, dumping the body unceremoniously.

Dekker and Whiptail followed suit, tossing ammo and demo into a small pile before Dekker hauled the bodies, two at a time, to the point of disposal. It was a dirty, nasty job, but one he'd been doing a lot of over the past few days. Dropping both corpses on the rock, the merc reverently closed one man's half-open eyes. The bodies weren't arranged into any sort of orderly fashion, just heaped atop one another. People they may have been, but they were dead now. They weren't going to care how they were arrayed before their remains were reduced to so many ashes...

"Lookie here!"

Whiptail seemed to have found something on the next pair he was searching for Dekker...

"Looks like a map of the area. There's a zone in red here marked 'KEEP OUT'..."

The assassin studied the map a little closer as his merc buddy hefted another body onto each shoulder...

"Could be where this 'maser' gadget is, since I'd think this asshole who's running the show wouldn't want these yay-hoos fucking around in his back yard..."

The zone indicated was rather large, but nowhere near as large as the area they'd be searching if they hadn't found the map...

"Hey Gold... Useful?"

The Dark had approached their team leader with the document held outwards for her inspection. It was creased, filthy, and faded, but it still might contain useful information...

Ten had finished checking for survivors, only one one now recieving attention from Mird, Whiptail and Dekker. Ten grabbed a look at the through and through in the mans thigh and nodded. He wsn't going to die of blood loss or shock anytime soon.

That checked on he turned to helping move bodies, and collect weapons. Most were the low end of the low AK's, better taken care of than the shabby reeking clothes the bodies wore, but not by much. Though here and there a nice pistol - all three of them various 45's- would be found.

And in the cab of the truck the prize possession of the occupant of the passengerside - a hardcase holding a 'must be brand new' Remington 700 XHR (http://www.outdoorlife.com/files/imagecache/photo-single-upscale/photo/8/700+XHR_Remington.jpg) chambered for 300 RUM with 26 inch barrel. There was one magazine in the rifle and five more in a cammo bag on the floor board, plus one box of spare rounds.

Armal chose to let the others search the bodies, and instead moved to another location on the fringes of their current field of victory. He was turned outward, eyes peering, ears listening. He was wary. Although this truck's assault had been easily won, he didn't want to see all of them letting their guard down so easily. As he stood there, he mentally ran through his post-battle scenario, re-inspecting all the details of the battle he could remember, searching for anything that might give them future trouble. A radio call, a flare, anything at all.

"Relax beautiful. We got 'em quick and easy. They had no chance to call for help." Rikan said to him as she came and stood next to him, also scanning the surroundings. "Here...figured you could use 'em again since the dead men won't be needing 'em anymore." She handed him a handful of arrows. "Two of them are too damaged to be of any use anymore."

Armal looked down at the arrows, took them in silence and nodded as he put them in his quiver. He turned back to the others whom were now turning their attention to the lone survivor. "How soon do you think before someone notices they're gone?"

Rikan glanced at her watch then shrugged slightly. "Probably two hours at best."

The elf nodded then called to Gold, "We should keep moving. Speed and stealth is our strength right now."

Charli waited until all the bodies had been pile together. Then with little nore outward sign than a clenched fist the bodies seemed to shimmer and turn, in but an instant, into gritty whiteish grey ash. No smoke, no smell, just immense heat that fused the nearby ground around them into well baked hard pan.

The map was indeed a ragged mess, with misspelling too numerous to count on the hand inked labeling, and if one oriented the n/s- e/w on the map to the terrain, the area in red was far from the mountain they were heading for.

But as the group studied it very carefuly it would become apparent that it indeed might hold some answers. It had been a decent quality topographic terrain map once, beneath the crease wear, the stains and smudges. And there was an area, small and unlabled that hasd been blacked out heavily then errased over as if trying to make it unobvious. And it was right were an most interesting part of the mountain was.

While everyone else was policing the bodies, Gold made sure that the truck suffered no ill effects from the fight. Closing up, she heard Armal's suggestion. "We'll be going in a bit."

Gold wandered over towards the Argonians, her brother, and their prisoner. The Sergeant took the map from Dekker and brought our her own chart. She lined them up side by side and compared landmarks in their area. The big red zone labeled "Kep Oot, Stupd!" on the map matched up with a warning on her map, which was spelled correctly incidently. "That northern red zone's behind us currently, but according to the lastest the TMI was able to gather it's still the domain of a rival warlord, unconnected the MASER crew or the renegades out and about here."

Gold shook her head. "Doesn't mean that he's our friend though...but no immediate worry. Hell, might even be a help. The enemy might figure its a patrol from the Red Zone that zapped these people before they get around to..."

"The Rainbow Rangers." Mird supplied. Gold looked up from the map with a head cocked to the side. Mird shrugged. "We're gonna need a name just auditioning a few."

Gold rolled her eyes and went back the map. She frowned at the black smudge over the MASER mountain. She stuffed her chart back in a pocket and crossed to the prisoner. She held the map in front of his face. "What was marked here?"

The large human exchanged a look with his dark-scaled companion before both responded in unison...

"Fuck no!"

Whiptail took it upon himself to elaborate a little further...

"That's quite possibly the gayest name I've heard for an organization..."

He was smiling, but serious...

"The Nefarious Nine perhaps? There are nine of us, right?"

The assassin looked around again; two on his team, two from Catawaba, two from Tarlachia, as well as Lolli, Charli, and the other guy that never seemed to say much...

Mird's long, thin tail wagged behind him madly at the uninanimous reaction from the Argonians. He'd thrown the Rainbow Rangers for his own amusement. "Naw, Nefarious Nine's a name for a rogue gallery. We need somethin' tough, hard, but with a zing to it. I mean, books, comics, movies...I want to be played by Johnny Depp in a vornskrari suit, y'all."

Ten had checked with Lollipop on how her ribs, where the gauss gun's underpowered round had struck, were doing, and was pleased to hear that they were just sore, not causing any breathing or movement problems. He'd offered her some 'light fighter candy'. Chewable pain meds that were much like old fashioned asprin but didn't cause stomach or liver problems and were far better better tasting.

"The Nefarious Nine perhaps?

Listenting to the others chaffer about what the teams name should be. Ten chuckled at that "It's way too literary. The only people who wouldn't laugh are Agatha Christi fans." He snorted though at Mirds declaration that he wanted Depp to play him. "Man, it will never go live action unless they can find a Vornskrari actress. No human in a fur suite could look as good as your sister" That had him giving Gold a broad wink and a smile.

Ten moved next to the prisoner as Gold began questioning him. Sullenly the prisoner just rolled his eyes at her and spat in her general direction. Going down on one knee next to the man the medic took the tourniquet that he'd wrapped just above the wound and tightened it with a savage jerk. That brought a scream of pain from the gaunt man, and left him gasping.

"Don't keep the lady waiting for an answer." Ten growled low, "You may be making the severe mistake of thinking they're the animals, but I assure you they are much more civilized than I am." Though he sincerely doubted that the man had every heard of American Indians much less understood the distinctions between any of the tribes.

Rikan let out a none-too-quiet snort on the 'Rainbow Rangers' suggestion as she shook her head and turned her attention to the prisoner. "If you want, I can drain him of enough blood to make him delirious. Loosen his resolve...and his tongue enough to give us the information we need."

Armal on the other hand was deep in thought, his brow pressed together slightly as he continued to keep vigilance on the surroundings. A chuckle followed a moment later as he turned back to the others, "Well...'The Fellowship' or 'Nine Riders' are already copyrighted, so that's certainly not an option..." His mind entertained itself on the story favored by humans, flashing through the highlights of the text. While certainly a complex story written by an equally complex author, he knew it was just that. A story.

"Perhaps 'The Arbiters' would be an option?"

Lollipop collected her bag and brought it up to the road. Taking the lull to it's fullest, she took a box of spare shells and loaded them into the magazine that she had used. She chewed the pills she was given and washed them down with a bit of water.

She was only half listening to the conversation about what their little group should be called. It wasn't an important thing, but for some reason the guys were obviously interested in selling the film rights to their story the second they got back.

"That's quite possibly the gayest name I've heard for an organization..."

Lollipop looked over at Whiptail and nodded. "I agree with him, my girlfriend and I are part of the GSA back home...we're a little more creative than that when naming our local groups."

She bit into the lollipop she had been working on, there wasn't much left and within seconds she had flipped the old stick into the back of the truck and put a fresh pop into her mouth. The Simatarian shrugged. "Then again 'Nefarious Nine' ain't much better. If you're interested in selling the film rights, why don't you do what the Americans do and rip off the title of every classic film. Call us; 'The Magnificent Nine'...movie deal right there. Even so, with a prisoner right here it's not a smart thing to talk about ourselves."

Lollipop walked over to the prisoner and stood behind Gold, intent on listening in on the conversation. She didn't approve of abusing prisoners, it was inhumane. Rikan's offer seemed just as bad. However when the elf spoke, it gave her an idea.

"Armal, don't you elves have uhh tele, tele...mind reading ability?"

Once the bodies had been promptly incinerated by Charlie, Liam took a moment to rummage through the collected weapons to see if there was anything of use. Most of it was old and worn and really didn't compare to the weaponry that Liam or the rest of the team was packing. Nevertheless, Liam picked up a few extra grenades and a flash bang. He did have a few of his own but experience in the field had told Liam that the moment you truly did need a grenade was the moment you discovered you had run out.

Heading back towards the rest of the group, Liam managed to pick up the conversation regarding a name for their team and couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head. The thought had never really crossed his mind about naming their group but he wasn't sure the others were entirely serious anyway. It was common to see soldiers joke over such things, it helped to keep their mind of the fact they had just murdered a number of other men. Whilst paying attention to the conversation and prisoner, Liam also scanned the area around him, not wanting to be surprised by a scout or any other potential threat.

"Something original would be better. No offence to the Americans but their movie titles are about as original and well thought through as a group of five year olds flinging insults at each other."

Whilst Liam didn't really care whether the team had a name or not he would rather it be something clever and or amusing rather than a generic reused cliché.

Whiptail was sure that 'Rogues' Gallery' pretty much described them to a certifiable 'T', but he wasn't going to push the issue. He wasn't exactly serious, anyway...

"Momma Gold Dust and the Crazy Eight? Or maybe the Dirty 3/4 Dozen?"

He was trying to hide a smile, but wasn't doing it anything close to well...

"I can always shave a little meat off of a kneecap or something. Inhumane, sure, but I've never claimed to be human..."

He was pulling off the wicked smile a little better than his previous attempt at hiding a whimsical one...

The gaunt and scruffy man had been giving himself a case of whiplash looking frantically from face to face among those threatening him. None of those about him seemed to have any care of him, and he was beginning to be certain that he was not going to leave this forsaken spot alive.

Now Iriem was no worse than the rest of his fellow wildlings. He'd raped and looted, tortured and murdered with no more thought than how soon he could get drunk or fed afterwards. Anyone that wasn't him was not worth thinking about, though he had a fear based respect for some of the other scum who were actually worse than he.

But he'd yell 'human rights violations' so fast it was garbled the first few tries if it'd do him any good. Eventually he got the words out coherently.

Ten blinked...and said aloud in a tone of amazed disbelief "Brother Loves Traveling Salvation Show...Did he just say what I thought he did?!?"

The Dark Argonian nodded slowly...

"Ya know, I can just cut his tongue out and he'll have a hard time saying anything else. Then again I might as well just cut his throat at that point..."

The knife in his hand was going through a series of intricate spins, flips, and reversals; something to keep his hands busy as he strode up to within arms' reach of their captive. Whiptail's dull golden eyes locked with the panic-stricken prisoner's gaze, holding it as he spoke...

"My people didn't attend the Geneva Convention, so that bullshit isn't going to work with me. I don't plan on letting you walk out of here, either. That leaves you with two options: One, you cooperate and tell us what we want to know and I make your death quick. Two is the opposite of one, where I kill you as slow as possible and don't let you die until we know everything we want to. Either way we get what we want. It's up to you to decide how painful it's going to be for you..."

The former assassin left him with that little tidbit of information as he turned and walked away to pick over the little arms cache for anything useful. He sifted about for a moment until he came across an old Chris Reeve Pacific model, similar to the knife given to American Green Berets after their training was done, but with a clip point. Tossing it end over end a few times, he tested the heft and balance. Like all Chris Reeve knives, it was nearly perfect. The thick spine meant he could have Charli heat it up to a considerable temperate before he went to work on their captive, should the man decide to make things harder for himself...

Gold just glared at the wildling. While everyone else talked, threatening the prisoner, jawing with her brother, she glared. Her crimson eyes bored in on sack of scum jiggling in front of her as his spittled beaded on the fur of her muzzle and rolled down the side. "Don't lie to me." She growled.

She could feel him. She could feel fear, she could feel thoughts that made her hackles rise roll under the surface of his mind. "Don't try to say that you're the paragon of UN values. Frankly I couldn't give a damn, and I know you don't either."

She twisted her tail around from behind her and bared the bodkin bone of her stinger. "I've been eating rations for days. Dry, tasteless rations." She lifted it to the man's face. "You lie to me again, first I'll paralyze you, and then I'll prop you up so you can watch me eat you alive." She held the map back up and gave him a breath's time to think. "Tell me everything you know about the spot I asked about right this second, and I won't eat you."

Mird chose that moment to lick his chops noisely and let a string of drool fall into the snow as he stared ravenously. He looked quite intent on the marauder's meaty remainders.

Lollipop had been watching the threats of the prisoner quietly, anger slowly boiling inside of her. God dammit, this was barbaric, she wasn't about to be party to an execution...or seeing someone being eaten alive. She knew her opinion probably wouldn't mean much to them, they'd kill him...even so. She had carefully been recording the proceedings on her rifle's camera, saving the information for when they got back...if things went south for the man. He was the enemy sure, but he was still a man.

Having enough, Lollipop marched forward, her weapon slung at her side. They'd probably brush her aside, call for a vote, pull rank or some smartass shit like that on her....but at least Lollipop would be able to return home saying stood up for the man. She glared angrily from Whiptail to Gold and Mird. "You might not give a Jesus fuck damn about the Geneva Convention or articles of war but I sure as hell do. This man is a prisoner and he will remain a prisoner, alive. No one is going to kill him...and no one is going to eat him."

The assassin wasn't paying much attention to the Simitarian most of the trek up here, she'd kept her mouth shut for the most part. He'd liked that part of her personality. This little moral streak she'd developed was starting to grate on his nerves, however...

"That's not your decision. Had you been put in command of this little nature-hike I might give you opinion a little more thought. Unfortunately for our friend here, they chose to put the dog-woman in command. I have, however, been hunting these depraved assholes for the past week and know full well what they're capable of..."

Dekker and Whiptail had raided camps, patrols, convoys, anything they could shoot at and get away with for the past week. During that time they'd come across some disturbing shit. Sex-slaves, torture-huts, cannibalisum, the list went on for a bit detailing just about any sick action a person could do to another person. Wildlings was a fitting title for them, for they acted like little more than animals. Granting someone like that quarter, other than being drawn and quartered, wasn't going to sit right with him. The merc he'd befriended years ago understood the laws of war better than most in attendance, and decided to add his two cents...

"Besides, he's a liability. We're not hauling him with us where he can give our position away, and we're not leaving him here to escape and warn his buddies, or freeze to death. The elements will kill him a lot more slowly and painfully than anything Whiptail or Gold have offered him. He isn't getting far with a bullet in the leg either..."

Dekker's comments were more sensible ones. He didn't know if the man had been hit in the Femoral Artery or not, but judging by the position of the entry wound it wasn't out of the question. Turnicate or not, he'd be dead in an hour if his Femoral was leaking...

"We either kill him when we're done or you stay here with him. I appreciate your compassion in the matter, but there's a time and place for such things, and this moment doesn't meet any of the criteria..."

"You might not give a Jesus fuck damn about the Geneva Convention or articles of war but I sure as hell do. This man is a prisoner and he will remain a prisoner, alive. No one is going to kill him...and no one is going to eat him."

"We either kill him when we're done or you stay here with him. I appreciate your compassion in the matter, but there's a time and place for such things, and this moment doesn't meet any of the criteria..."

Charli had been staying in the background, mostly concentrating on getting a couple of power bars down her to fill the empty spot that thermo nuking the assembled corpses had made. She knew exactly what the group was doing, but it was becoming more and more clear that Lillopop did not. She sighed as the woman pushed her way into the knot about the captive and had her say.

She waited until Whiptail and Deker made their replies then stalked over to stand over the prisoner - between him and Lollipop after a glance to Ten had him moving aside. She placed one hand on the armor, and yanked the wilding's eyes up to her with a low snarl. "Don't think she's gonna save ya." And promptly melted a perfectly hand shaped hole in the armor. She'd placed her hand carefully - nothing important had been behind that particular layer, but the sight of it melting was impressive.

Spinning smartly away, she put a firm hand on Lollipop's shoulder and met the Scimitaran's eyes with a firm gaze.

"Lets you and I go talk about this." A nearly invisible shiled shimmered aabout the pair. If the Scimitaran tried somthing stupid no one would get hurt.

Hopefully she'd be smart enough to move off without protest, so that the one non military person in the whole team could pass on a tidbit or two about psychological warfare. About scareing the information of of him, on the order that 'what lived in ones mind'...

But the womans actions was just reinforcing Charli's dislike of that nation as a whole. They had the gall to practice what amounted to genocide and one of them was sprouting on about the Geneva Convention, which to the best of her knowledge, none of the nations here had signed. And if this man was a soldier, then she ws a queen. He, to her, was simply a criminal, and she was pretty sure enough evidence to warrent an execution could be found with little trouble.

Lollipop looked over at Whiptail, she wasn't going to stand down. If she had known chances of this stuff happening she wouldn't have agreed to come along. She would have simply asked to be shipped back home and duke out court martial. The Simatarian turned as Charli brushed past her towards the prisoner, the woman kept her on the other woman.

Lollipop thought that Charli was going in for her own roughing up of the prisoner, but that idea changed when she saw the imprint from where the woman's hand was. The Simatarian's eyes fell on the sight like a brick, her jaw dropped, the lollipop in her mouth sliding out and falling on the ground and her feet froze. "Good God..."

She just registered Charli in front of her when the woman grabbed her shoulder. Regaining the composure lost, Lollipop met Charli's gaze. "Let's talk then."

Rikan let out a snort of amusement as Lollipop slipped into her ill-fitting Geneva dress and pranced about a few moments. She, like most of the others here, knew what was going on, knew that everything was under control. Psychological warfare oftentimes didn't even need anyone to lift a finger for terror to truly compel one's opponent to submission.

Watching as Charli took Lollipop away, she muttered quietly to herself, "Told you she'd be trouble." She rolled her eyes, "But no one trusts the chick with fangs and a developed sense of character judgment." Of course, on the last matter, she was exaggerating slightly, but the point remained. She had known Lollipop wouldn't quite totally fit. She hoped the woman wouldn't be any more troublesome once Charli straightened her out.

Approaching to the prisoner and kneeling down in front of him, she made sure he saw the fangs she possessed, her eyes then shifting to his neck as if she were hungry. She smiled mischievously once more before speaking, "You've got two options really. One, tell us quickly everything we want to know and perhaps we'll kill you quickly...or two...you're the prime meat on for tonight's barbeque, marinated in pain and fear." She held up an imaginary wine glass, "And I'll be having quite a fill of your blood to toast our easy efforts to slaughter you and your friends."

The last words were spoken with barbed ice, and she finished mimicking the drinking of the blood.

"So, start talking."

"Let's talk then."

Charli led Lollipop well away from the others, but stayed within eyesight. Her eyes were cold and level as she looked at the Scimitaran. Her tone was hard and unforgiving but she kept her voice low, so as to not carry much beyond the pair. "First off untwist your knickers. If you've never seen the information scared out of some one you just got good idea of how it's done. You consider that torture, that’s fine but I find it damned repulsive coming from a GeeSer." She bit her words off sharp and glared at Lollipop for a moment. Shaking her head she added.

Behind them the man stared at the perfect hand shaped hole in the armor, then looked up into Rikans fangs. Violent tremors racked him as great globs of greasy sweat poured down his forehead. His teeth chattered for a moment, he could barely speak. But after a couple of tried he managed to whimper that the nearly erased smudge was a mountain, just another mountain, like all the other in the range. That a tiny lake, little more than a seasonal pond lay along one edge of the exposed bones of the earth, but many of the upthrusts had such short lived water features. That was the bulk of his knowledge; he'd never even seen that particular map in more than passing. He gave them a lot of other even more useless information as the sharp stink of loosened bowels filled the air.

Gold reared back as the scent of his soiled undergarments exploded in conjunction with his frightened babbling. All of which amounted to nothing she really wanted to experience. His information was nothing she didn't already know. The one who'd probably known had been cooked in the cab of the truck. Gold stood looking down on him. She could feel his fear, and it was unfettered. This man was holding nothing back. He had nothing of use.

Her eyes flicked over at her brother. "Kalikire kaysh ti ni, ner vod." Mird nodded and stepped over beside her. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear. "Jii." Gold said calmly to her brother, and both vornskrari struck out with their tails. Their stingers jabbed into man's neck almost simultaneously. The bodkin bones jutted from his skin for a few moments as the fleshy bulbs below the stingers pulsed, pumping a doubly fatal dose of their venom into his system.

A vornskrari's venom, patterned directly off the venom of the native Catawaban jungle canine the vornskr, is a muscle relaxant that works on the respiratory system. A single jab from a vornskrari can take a while to work, multiple jabs flood the system with venom, saturating the victim's body. Gold and Mird watched the man, making sure he didn't try anything as he died a death quite a bit better than he deserved.

Lethal injection...vornskrari are such softies.

Whiptail snorted in disgust, flipping the knife end over end forwards and backwards before tossing it sharply, the clip point burying the blade nearly to the hilt in the dead man's skull...

"You fuckers are NO fun at all..."

He was smiling, but it was one of those playful ones. His kind were a bit less compassionate than most killers, the old-school Shadowscales were conditioned to be immune to the concept of mercy, and despite Whiptail's jovial nature in most cases, he still didn't mind cutting someone into little pieces of meat while they were still breathing if it made his life a little easier in the long run. Bloodstains eventually washed out, and it wasn't like he was losing seconds of his life either.

Dekker, on the otherhand, wasn't a total closet sociopath like his comrade in arms. He'd just as soon put a bullet in the man's head as inject him with whatever chemical the dog-critters had used. He'd never understood the reasoning behind the whole lethal injection thing. A big bullet to the brainstem killed 'em faster, cheaper, and quicker. The only downside was the clean-up afterwards and brain matter was Hell to get out of any sort of fabric once it set in. He'd lost more than a few shirts that way, come to think of it...

"Bro, that wasn't cool..."

The assassin threw his partner a sidelong look...

"What? He was dead, wasn't he?"

The merc narrowed his eyes, indicating that he was indeed serious and wasn't playing this time...

"Still. Besides, I've been looking for one of those for a good price for a while now and you and to go and lodge it in some asshole's head. Those things are like $200 bucks each..."

"Go get it man, consider it 'used' at this point..."

The assassin was grinning again, and it was starting to grate on Dekker's nerves. He could take the good-natured verbal sparring, but he felt Whiptail had crossed a line. And that was a really nice knife...

"Fuck you man I don't want the fucking thing now..."

"Jesus, chill out Dek. It's not a big deal..."

"To you it's not..."

"It's a fucking knife!"

"It's not about the fucking knife!"

The merc raised the ballistic mask from his face, turning away from his long-time comrade. He wasn't happy, but this wasn't the time or place for this...

"You really need to cool it with that psycho bullshit, Godzilla..."

"I take it by 'psycho bullshit' you mean stop throwing knives into dead guy's heads?"

"Yeah, among other things. Save that shit for the enemy, not the dead. It's a respect issue..."

"Point taken..."

The heated dispute seemed over, but Dekker somehow didn't think Whiptail was just going to change his ways in a mere instant...

While Mird continued to watch the prisoner, Gold stepped away and turned back to the team. She simply rolled her eyes to Whiptail and Dekker. "Work and then play, boys. We kill the blarekkare in the mountain, save the civvies, and then you can hold tea parties and quilting bees to your tiny hearts' content. And the bastards can even have all the inexplicable surgical and knife transportation accidents you want."

Then she turned to the GeeEsser off to the side with Charli. "Escher, Catawaba and, in fact, most of the Fatal Terrain Region are not signatories to the Third Geneva Convention nor any of the other Geneva Conventions. However, counter to my appearance, I am not an animal. I would not eat a man unless he had done particularly heinous things to me or my family."

"This man had to die because we cannot risk that he will survive to inform others of our identity. We are not a regular force. We do not have the ability to keep prisoners and perform our assigned mission. The lives of hundreds of innocents and the lives of this team are far more important than one militant. If you have a problem with that, Escher, you may protest after our mission is complete."

"The lives of hundreds of innocents and the lives of this team are far more important than one militant. If you have a problem with that, Escher, you may protest after our mission is complete."

The look in Charli's eyes said she agreed completely - and that any respect she had for the Gee'Esser was gone. Turning away from Lillipop she moved back towards the truck.

"I know how to drive this beast.She commented as she hauled herself into the cab of the odd mix and match truck. The semi tracked vehicle would lurch over the snow bound terrain - not comfortably but still faster than they could walk. The snow and the distrubed ground hidden by it had been slowing them considerably. The last thing they needed were injuries gained before arrival.

"We'll cover more ground and arrive far less tired." She looked areound the cab and gave a half smile "No radios either." And there had been nothing resembling communications gear on the bodies either.

Dekker paused to jimmy the Chris Reeve free of the former prisoner's skull. He wiped it a few times across the dead man's shirt, leaving a few broad streaks of dark gray-red in the process before carefully slipping it behind an ammo shingle. Whiptail smiled and nodded in approval, but Dekker kept a straight face. He still wasn't happy with his partner.

Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly happy with a few of his team members. Where the fuck did that **** from GS get her ideas? Leaving a live man restrained out in the wilderness was far worse than what the two Catawabans had done to the guy. Forget taking the asshole with them, too. That had 'bad idea' written all over it, there were just too many things that could go wrong. Letting him go wasn't an option either. If it'd been Dekker who'd been captured and released, he would have made a point to pick them off one by one on the way to the objective. Hence, letting the fucker go was also a really shitty idea. He knew what he was getting into when the bastard had picked up a gun and started using it to bully people into doing what he wanted them to do.

Risk was a part of that lifestyle, and he'd lost that gamble this time, paying a horrible price. The merc wasn't a bloodthirsty animal, but he did have a cold and practical side to him that he'd developed over long years of fighting more wars than he had recollection of. Hell, he'd spent more time in Africa than anywhere and they had wars ending and popping off almost once a week. That situation was a lot like this one. The rebels he'd fought against took prisoners, but just executed them later on. You didn't let your enemy get the chance to return the favor.

As he'd aged, he'd decided to stop visting the cradle of civilization. Those were wars for the young guns, the guys looking to make names for themselves no matter the cost. The money was good, but there was no end to the fighting. Leaders rose and fell, forces came together and divided again like ameobas, and the guys you were fighting one week were the guys you were trying to kill the next. It was total anarchy, and those rebels or 'freedom fighters' as they so liked to call themselves were no different than the unfortunate assholes he and his team had wasted in the clearing not ten minutes ago. They weren't soldiers, just thugs trying to justify their actions through noble-sounding faction names and acting more like animals than men. Those who called themselves soldiers when they acted like criminals deserved to die more than the guys who called themselves what they were and did the same things, at least in Dekker's eyes. Do what you would, you didn't sully the generations-old title of 'soldier', the defender of one's nation, family, and freedom...

"I'm going to agree with Gold, Lolli. If you don't like how she runs things, bring it up in the AAR (After Action Review). While we're in the field, she's our commanding officer and we follow her without questions or protest. As far as I'm concerned we're a family, we work together and protect each other..."

As a paratrooper, Dekker would have thought she'd have a little more intestinal fortitude for the interrogation and disposal of detainees. Paratroops were the lowest tier of elite forces, and were expected to go above and beyond not only in combat effectiveness and physical fitness, but in discipline as well. Then again, he reminded himself, she was a lesbian, and therefore probably a little more left-wing and bleeding-heart than the rest of the team. He should have expected this...

He said nothing more on the subject, other than a grunt as he hauled himself into the truck bed next to his slightly psychotic partner...

Lollipop didn't give a sense of receiving the comments made her other team members. She heard them sure, but she let them pass through. However there was a great deal of resentment and fury that rushed through her system as Charli and the Catawabians went on their little 'looking down on you' talk. Lollipop could take criticism, it was hard to avoid, but something she could never take even from an early age was being talked down to. She'd hold her fists back at the moment.

Acting all high and fucking mighty, ain't worth the shit you step in. She thought to herself as she collected her pack. Team yes, family fuck no. Once this is all over, I'll be damned if I lay my eyes on another Tanaraan for as long as I live. Checking to make sure everything was tightly stowed, she donned the heavy gear. Lollipop climbed onto the truck and looked through the pouch on her belt for a new sweet.

After several moments of debate and weighing options, she settled on chocolate-cheesecake lollipop. Popping it in her mouth, she relaxed as the flavor went through her. Using the pack as a makeshift backrest, Lollipop leaned back and waited for the truck to move.

Liam didn't have an issue with the interrogation tactics being used nor with the prospect of killing the prisoner. He didn't consider himself a 'psycho' but he had been conditioned to consider the well being of the mission as paramount and if that required disposing of a few captured enemies then so be it. It was somewhat laughable that Lollipop could not understand this, considering she was a soldier. Perhaps they did things differently in TGS but the Assingtonian military did not restrict itself with notions of not killing the enemy because they might not like it. There was no sympathy for the enemy, just a surrender or death, and sometimes both if the situation called for it.

Not having any direct part in the interrogation or the debate over what was appropriate treatment of a prisoner, Liam continued to scan the area for any signs of movement. Whilst it was quite clear that they had taken care of all those in the truck, if there were scouts nearby then they would have noticed the commotion as a fire fight isn't exactly quiet. Liam watched with a blank stare as the captive was promptly injected with whatever nasty poison the Catawabans delivered into the unfortunate bugger. He made a note to be wary of the tail if he ever met one in combat but otherwise there was no issue. The points made in favour of dealing with the captive were exactly why he didn't say anything. It was a necessary move and whilst not the most pleasant, at least not for the victim, it had to be done.

With everything taken care of, Liam climbed into the truck, maintaining his silence. He'd always been brought up to keep quiet unless he had something worth saying and it had stuck with him thus far. Sure there was a time and place for senseless banter but he did not consider this to be one of them.

Gold and Mird exchanged a look after Lollipop got up into the snomotruck. "Jillaire kayush, Mird'ika." Gold suggested and went around forward to ride shotgun. Mird climbed up into the bed and rooted around in the pile of salvaged arms and equipment to see if anything struck his fancy. Gold stopped at the Remmington 700 that they'd salvaged from the cab. She picked up the case and slid it through the splintered wood slats. "Whoever wants it can have it. I'm not the sniper of the family."

She climbed up into the cab and slammed the door shut behind her. The cab wasn't the best smelling place...for a human. It sorta smelt like a weenie roast, making Gold lick her chops, but she couldn't help that. She was meat-eater predominately, and any meat really. She pushed away the thoughts at hand and focused on mission. She brought out her GPS and checked their position. "Okay, Firewalker." She looked up and pointed in a direction. "Thataway."

Whiptail pulled the case out again, popping the locking tabs and taking a peek inside. It was a slick set-up, too slick in fact for the scruffy assholes who'd brought it to them to have put together on their own. The chambering was just under what he called the bare minimum for a one-mile shot, but that was fine by him.

Encased in custom-fitted closed-cell foam padding, the weapon featured a MacMillian A5 stock adjustable for length-of-pull and comb height, painted with a snazzy arctic white and gray tiger-stripe theme. The scope was one of the sexy Nightforce variable-power models, and there was a Harris bi-pod attached to the front-most sling swivel for added stability. He also noted three rows of expertly-loaded handloads set into the foam of the case itself. With such detail and attention paid to the exterior of the gun, he began to fantasize about the internal work.

The thing probably had aluminum bedding for the action and the barrel was most likely a true free-float adaptation. The trigger would have to be glass-rod snappy, too. Sure, it wasn't a Winchester Model 70, the greatest bolt-action of all time (minus the Mauser action it was derived from of course), but it would most certainly do the job intended for it...

"Any takers? If not, I'm packing this ballistic beauty home with me when this clusterfuck is over and done with..."

The assassin wasn't a sniper by specialization, but one of occupational nessecity. Killing your target from range with a well-placed bullet to the face was more than just good tradecraft, it was an investment in one's own well-being, as getting affordable health insurance in his line of work was next to impossible...

"Any takers? If not, I'm packing this ballistic beauty home with me when this clusterfuck is over and done with..."

“No thanks Whiptail, I’ve got all the guns I need…I guess” Charli called back over the irregular growl of the engine

Ten looked it over appreciatively “It’s a pretty piece, roll dice for it after?” He offered.

Charli was getting the best speed possible out of the odd, old and poorly maintained snowtruk, and was keeping the jouncing to as minimal as possible. But it was not a pleasant ride by any means even for the pair up in the cab. After about an hour, and maybe ten miles she remarked in a concerned tone to Gold. “You know back when I was here fighting that fire, and got to exploring… this is about where I was when I got intercepted.”

She motioned to an outcropping of rock jutting off of the bare, rocky upthrust of mountain to their left, it’s bulk already blocking most of the sunlight. “This is about where I got intercepted. That odd shaped outcropping is my visual cue.” She about blushed “As used as I am to looking at aerial shots, I couldn’t, back at base, find it in the satellite photos. But here on the ground it’s still the same as it was back when I went exploring. This looks like just a fun mountain to climb.”

The mountains here had thick bases, well treed and almost ‘rolling’ in contour, with their bones sticking up sharply only at the heights. This made the lower altitudes very comfortable for hiking, with no need for any strenuous climbing unless one wanted to summit.

“But I’ve been thinking and the more I look at the mountain as it sits, I know where I’d put a buried in the mountain base, if it were me.”

"Intercepted as in the local security forces for this base showed for a quick Q&A session and then a shove-off?" She brought up her map and folded it over to the mountain's section. "And where would you bury a mountain base? We'll see if it jives with my own-mountain base senses and then I'll pass it by Mird." Having grown up in a lab buried below one of Catawaba many volcanic mountains, the vornskrari had a good sense for home sweet home like bunkers. Mird and his twin Pepper had even better senses for it. The Togovians had attempted to inject their terrier DNA to accomplish them with the idea of underground places, but also trained them to be the combat engineers of the pack. The Mad Bomber mentality was an unfortunate off-shoot.

Whiptail shook his head...

"I've got a nicer piece back home, take it if you wish..."

The assassin finally got the clasps shut again before stuffing the case back under his seat...

"Intercepted as in the local security forces for this base showed for a quick Q&A session and then a shove-off?"

Charli nodded then added "They never said they were from the maser base, just that it was a military reservation. But what they also never made mention of, and it's quirked at me ever since then, was that I had actually been about five miles deeper in and was backtracking to come in to a interesting spot from a better viewing angle."

"It's not something you are going to see on a map through, not really, the scale is too small." She pulled out the digital camera she had brought with her. 'It's a visual."

"Key forward to 183 and then the next two first and see if you see what I see. The last one has the interesting place marked.

http://www.atddm.com/pom3a_small.JPG (http://www.atddm.com/pom3a.JPG)

http://www.atddm.com/pom4a_small.Gif (http://www.atddm.com/pom4a.Gif)

http://www.atddm.com/pom2a_small.JPG (http://www.atddm.com/pom2a.JPG)

http://www.atddm.com/pom1a_small.JPG (http://www.atddm.com/pom1a.JPG)

Gold looked through the pictures until she came to the last. Her jaw hung open as when back and reviewed the pictures a couple more times. "That's almost too perfect an opening. It sitll looks natural, but with that lintel and base slab..." She zoomed in on the last picture. "Did they know you had a camera with you?"

~~~~~~

Mird looked over his shoulder as he inspected the two Ma Dueces. "Are those Nightforce NFs, I spy?" He shrugged, lifting the heavy machine gun up and testing its travel. "It ain't nothing to me, but my brothers Dum and Solus swear by Nikons. They'd probably hiss'n boo and throw it over the side. So yer more than welcome to it, Bones."

"Did they know you had a camera with you?"

Charli bit her lip and confessed "Gold I knew they were coming about two minutes before they got to me. I had time to hide the memory card. See when I was a kid, just a toddler; I grew up in the back of never never in Thailand, then later in the back of way and beyond of Alaska. Out here, places like this, I know, I can feel the land, especially the mountain. They weren't a part of it, and the mountain let me know they were coming. They took the card I swapped out, darn near broke the camera getting it out.”

"And yeah slabs can spall off mountains like that – but that all but separate upjut, is perfect for housing something that needs line of sight. There is no place better, and those firs below, just to the right? They’re younger than the others about. I bet that knob was cleared as their landing pad originally. Now days, now that they’ve hollowed it out – I bet we find that the arcing out cropping above and to the left has a hidden cargo lift, and that pool of ‘seasonal water’ nooked in at the base isn’t so seasonal and of higher temp that it should be.”

Gold nodded. "Let me have Mird take a look at it." She twisted about and slid open the window at the back of the cab. "Bristles!" She yelled. The pair of canine legs she was staring at stepped back, and then Mird squatted into view. His wiry neck fur was fluffed indignantly.

"Yes, Vevut'ika" He answered with narrowed eyes.

Gold handed over the camera. "Tell me what you think." Mird fiddled with camera and reviewed the last few pictures over and over a few times.

"Well, the quality of the image is good. I can't speak for the lighting and angle. You'd want to speak to Solus about..."

"Bristles, don't make me use the rest of your names."

Mird smiled. "Seems like a good spot. If I was going to put a bunker in, I'd use an existing structure, hide it in a natural occurence. Looks man made but has benefit of the doubt if a scout or satellite analyst is looking at it."

"Charli says the knob to the right could be a landing pad."

Mird cocked his head to the side and looked closely at the picture. "That wouldn't be my first choice. That slightly level area doesn't look that big. You perhaps get something Sea Knight sized there...but I'd put the pad above the planned entrance. You're going to need a crane or wench to move the material anyways. I'd lower instead of raise."

"I've got a nicer piece back home, take it if you wish..."

Ten shrugged, and gave the Argonian a quick grin as he replied “Sure, thanks.”

"You're going to need a crane or wench to move the material anyways. I'd lower instead of raise."

In the cab of the snowtruck Charli nodded at Mird’s comments. “You’re probably right on how they brought the stuff in, but I still would guess they used the lower area for some landings. Notice that there is no sign of the rock that would have had to have broken off to make that declivity. It looks plenty old but there’s not a lot of soil formation at the base of the mountains bones, so what broke off, if it had been natural, should still be discernable. I bet that their hologram is hiding it, or it was deliberately removed.”

"Mird, why don't you pass the camera around and let the others take a look." Charli suggested, she was always willing to let others offer their thoughts. Other eyes might notice something that had been over looked.

There were so many unknowns and they were getting closer to a decission point with every jouncing turn of the tires.



Pic (http://www.atddm.com/pom3a1.jpg) - the small red square in the lower left is current approximate position of snowtruck/ team. Red outline is area shown in the bottom two close ups in earlier post. Small blue rectangle is approximate position of pool - it is in that 'revine'

"I'll take a look." Rikan offered with her hand held out for the camera. She took a few moments of flipping through the photos back and forth before settling on one photo (http://www.atddm.com/pom2a.jpg) in particular. This photo, she surmised gave the best visual from the direction they'd be heading. She studied the natural alcove, then tapped the screen on a spot above it and slightly to the right.

"In Tarlachia, there are some underground cities that have silos as a major passageway. Some had gradual downgrade ramps. Some were ridiculously large and were capable of rising upward to allow the entry of helicopters to move directly downward. These ones were usually retired military bases, with the silos used for missile purposes."

She pointed to the circular area in the view. "This spot here, while well camouflaged as a natural rock shelf, appears to be something similar. It would be an excellent way to get into the base and still maintain a powerful defensive perimeter. Still, to allow the passage of wheels, more likely of the all-terrain variants, this little gradual slope off to the far right here leading up into the rock formation looks like an option for a path. It also appears to lead directly into a narrow crevice, also quite defensible."

She handed the camera back for them to review and weigh her comments.

Dekker and Whiptail made a few musings between themselves, but they could come up with little that was better than what had been proposed...

"Sounds good to us. Who's taking point?"

Whiptail was beginning to think he should have requested that nicer piece of his. It was an old Blaser R93 Tactical briefcase rifle, compact and simple enough to be broken down into its main components and packed away in an attache case, foil lined in Whiptail's instance, for covert transportation. He'd topped it with a Nightforce optic, his personal preference (Nikons were for cameras, at least in his thinking), as well as an Advanced Armament Corporation surpressor for the muzzle to muffle the crack of its .308 caliber round. Sure, it wasn't a one-mile shooter, but he rarely had that sort of distance to work with and such shots were iffy if the conditions weren't perfect. 180 grains of hollow-tipped Hell hitting someone in the left sinus cavity was plenty effective for his uses. Right now the thing might be handy for covering an advance up the rocky crag Gold was eyeing...

Charli looked at Gold as Whiptail asked about who would be point. "Well thats a toss up. I don't think that that cut Rikan is talking about is a viable location of an entry - it's to narrow, and I think given some of the possible sizes of equipment that had to have been brought in...I think that Rikan and Mird are right - that semicirular upper outcrop is probably a camoflauged entry silo, and that the other place - the one I found - is a personel entrance. Which one to try to get in?" Charli shrugged. "I couldn't begin to make that choice. But I will say that that pool might ought to be checked out."

Whiptail's eyes lit up at the mention of 'checking something out'...

"That mean we get to do some recon? I love recon..."

Dekker rolled his eyes behind the facemask. He preferred a straight-up fight any day, but knew that discretion was the better part of valor in most instances. It had kept him alive so far and it hadn't done Whiptail any harm to stick to the shadows for most of his career...

Charli eyed the Argonians gills in the mirror and grinned sharply. "Since no one brought scuba gear, much less a draeger rebreather, you're the logical choice to explore that pool. My guess is that you'll find an outflow pipe. Wether it's big enough to admit someone, or short enough that us pure air breathers could make it in unassisted...thats the sixty four thousand auric question."

"But we still haven't figured out if theres one of CW's borged guards awaiting us or not. And even this much closer the reading is still funky to me. I just can't figure it out." She looked frustrated as she shook her head over the anamalous reading her senses kept picking up.

"Sorry, Gold"

"No need to apologize, Charli." Gold said staring out the slits in the forward armor. "You're already doing the impossible. We can't ask for pinpoit accuracy and a hot cup of joe at the same time."

"Though the caf would be niicccccee." Mird chimed in.

Gold thought about the situation more. After a quiet minute, she turned to Charli and the open rear window so everyone else could hear. "We've got leads, but we're gonna still recon the area before I decide we're entering. Charli, you've seen the area before. Drive to a spot we hide this contraption and make camp."

"Once we're there, I want a couple of patrols to go out and do a recon of the pool and then cut."

Charli nodded and thought a second running through her memories of her brief treck through the area. Then she turned the truck about and retraced about a tenth of a mile then turned east towards the bastion of the mountain itself.

She ws pleased to find that the tumult of the Fall had not too damaged the spot she remembered. In fact it had made it slightly more defensible she noted as she crested a small rise and drove down into a small depression. Three sides of the cup were 'walled' with rockfall, the snow free depression covering an area roughly fifteen by fifteen. She pulled the snowtruck into one side of the hollow and turned it off.

There were plenty of heavy branched evergreens providing a wind break along the west facing opening and the sound of running water advertised a small stream fast moving enough to be ice free near by.

"Stream sounds even stronger than I remember it" She commented "And the rock fall has built up even higher. I can heat this area easily."

Gold climbed down from the cab and looked around the cup. "Good eye, Charli. This spot'll be great." The vornskrari female moved around to the rear of the vehicle. "Okay, Whiptail, Dekker, you two are a natural team, so I'm going to ask you to go to the pool. Dekker, you'll need to watch his back as he enters and exits since he'll be vulnerable then. In the meanwhile, find a good spot and put eyes on that sector and see if you can notice anything. Whiptail, see how far you can get in. If it's clear to some sort of hatch or entryway. Come back and then you and Dekker can bring that intel to the rest of us so we can plan."

Gold paused and looked over to Rikan. "That cut looks narrow enough for one person. If you feel you can, go on in alone. You'll probably have better luck without anyone behind you to block things up. Liam, I want you to find a hide where you can cover that entrance. Preferably, if you can cover the pool as well with a little movement."

"Escher, Travis, you'll stay to guard the vehicle. Mird, Charli, and I will go and see if an anomaly she is detecting are Central World cyborgs. And-"

"Wait, cyborgs?"

Gold turned to her brother. "We briefed on them, talked about-"

"No, no, I was listening...to parts of it, but we got a cyborg too." He looked over at Liam. "Couldn't ya...I don't know jack into their head or somethin'? After we delimbed'em, of course."

Gold cocked her head to the side. "I don't think it..." She stopped and then looked over to Liam. "Actually, I have no idea how your nanothingies work. Could you access any mental databases a cyborg might have?"

"Liam, I want you to find a hide where you can cover that entrance. Preferably, if you can cover the pool as well with a little movement."

Liam nodded and began scanning the surrounding land, keeping an eye out for anything that could make a good vantage point. Considering the trees and the terrain, Liam figured he would want to be up somewhere high, giving him a clear sight on most of the area and if need be he could play at Tarzan a little and swing about the tree tops.

Before Liam could decide on where to set himself up he found himself being dragged into Gold and Mird's conversation. The smiled a little at being called a cyborg. No one his team were really briefed on his nanite enhancements so he didn't blame them for any misunderstandings.

"I'm no cybog, just flesh, blood and muscle with a few microscopic robots running around inside me to make sure everything is working better than usual."

Taking a moment to consider Gold's question, Liam pondered the issue. He'd never done anything like that before but technically it could be possible. Most of the time Liam's nanites knew what they had to do and took care of themselves but if necessary he could send mental signals to those attached to her nervous system and they could remotely relay the instructions to the others around his body.

"It's possible, I guess. If I could insert a few nanites into a cyborg... they could potentially access any data banks and assuming we don't run into any technical complications, I could retrieve the info. Can't say I've ever done it before though."

Mird and Gold looked at each other for a moment. He nodded, and she turned back to Liam. "I'd like to give it a try. We need to assertain whether one's around anyways. If we find it, I'd like to get some real sig-int."

Gold looked around. "Mird, I'm going to need you to do overwatch on Rikan. Liam, you come with me and Charli. We'll go after the cyborg she thinks she's found."

Mird nodded to his change of orders. He glanced over at the Assigintonian. "Sorry about the cyborg thing...we're kinda new to any cyber-tech."

OOC: Sorry guys, got called out for a few weeks. But now I'm back...

IC:

Dekker took up an overwatch position above the pool, or about as high as he could get, while his Argonian counterpart dove headfirst into the water. The MP5 slung on his chest would be fine, it had been chosen with this sort of work in mind.

The waters were murky, warm, and rather chalky Whiptail would later note. The swim wasn't a harsh one, but there was a bit of a current. That said, the Argonian loved a challenge. That was, until he nearly ran headlong into a metal grate too big for him to pass through without the aid of explosives, or in a more extreme case, a blender.

Seeing as the second option was not only fatal, but otherwise impossible, the former assassin turned about in the depths and sped back towards the pool's entrance, emerging from the depths as his ancestors had for centuries: With a triumphant leap and a whoop of excitement, or at least there would have been a whoop had they not been on a Secret Squirrel-type covert operation, so for now there was no whooping and he simply communicated what he'd discovered as his larger merc partner kept watch over the area...

"Alrighty guys. There's a metal grate about a hundred meters in, and it's too small for me to pass through. Option A is that we blow the fucker open, the water should muffle blast. Option B is that we find another way in. Option C is that you guys tell me what other options I should include and then I tell you that I'll take them under advisement. That said, it's probably going to be A or C, since I'm all out of ideas..."

Unit D137*4-A-115878-Xcv4578554 - yy774-uhn44544 had been trapped by the rockfall caused by the exsplosion for days now and he could tell by the fritzing of his system read outs that he ws close to expiration. The rockect that had detonated just above his head had blasted free too much rock for even his augumented muscles and cyborged parts to move. And his voder had been damaged in the incident.

At first, in those woozy hours of coming conscious after the explosion, he could not understand why the new technicians had attacked him. They had had the proper authorization codes and the entrance had been opened from the inside upon their arrival, as per proceedure. The lift had extended and descended to ground level as normal as well, but then, before they had ...he shook his bald head...D137 could not remember the exact sequence of events.

He was hungry and thirsty, his arms - legs and most of his torso as well -imobolized by the massive boulders pinning him. But he could hear, his augumented hearing allowed him to hear the arrival of a poorly maintained vehicle, and closer now - movements, the presence of others. He could tell however that they were not authorized, not relief troops from the Central World authority. Some one had ventured into the pool and back out, some one had climbed part of the way up the rock face, and some one had moved into the small chasm that seperated the southern most up thrust from the bulk of the mountain.

He wondered if they would find him.

Okay every one...

The two places that are being explored - the A) cut/ chasm/ rift and the B)pool

A- that is over 1,000 feet north of the where the posible door is - and is outside of the holofield. The rift has a very narrow opening say maybe 10 ft wide- that goes for about a hundred feet then widens out to about 50 ft wide and goes in about 500 to 600 feet then dead ends. Most of the floor of the rift is sandy but badly rock strewn -it is very rough going, would trash tires and is an ankle breaker of a place - It looks like at one time the floor of the rift was actually the stream bed that fed the pond but not it's dry

B- The pool is west and "down stream" from the mouth of the rift by about a 3000 ft. It's water source is now the pipe that Whiptail found though it is currently diluted by snowmelt.

The camp is about a half mile north from the pool.

"Liam, you come with me and Charli. We'll go after the cyborg she thinks she's found."

Liam nodded in agreement.

"Sure, this should be an interesting little experiment."

Checking his weapons one more time to ensure they were ready to be used in case this cyborg was able to put up a fight, Liam then made his way out of the truck and stood at the ready.

"Sorry about the cyborg thing...we're kinda new to any cyber-tech."

"Don't worry about it, I said something very similar when they proposed it to me back in the day and I've lost count how many times I've been called Terminator."

Whilst the nano-soldiers of his battalion liked to joke around that they were cyborgs, the real half man half machines in the Assingtonian military were the BMS units. Men that had been fully augmented with computers and gadgets that integrated perfectly with their organic bodies. Not many men volunteered for such a life anymore and most new recruits for the BMS came from soldiers that had been badly injured to the point of losing all their limbs or very likely to die. Otherwise most people weren't that comfortable with being turned into a robot and hence the nano-soldier program.

I've lost count how many times I've been called Terminator


Mird's ears perked. "Can I call you 'Arnie'?" Gold glared at him, and he trooped off with Rikan to find a spot where he could cover her. He pantomimed kicking at rocks and being flouncy with his sister, but his tail wagged furiously. He'd enjoy trying to weave "come with me if you want to live" into normal conversation.

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

Gold turned to Charli. "Lead the way." The vornskrari fell in behind the pyrokinetic. Charli made her way up and out of the basin. She crouched at the lip and closed her eyes, concentrating on the minute oddity in her senses. She pointed off southeast and began walking.

Gold glanced over her shoulder to Liam and nodded him to follow them. She stepped down over the lip of the bowl and scanned their surroundings before moving back to Charli's side. They walked for perhaps five minutes before Charli stopped again. "Hold on. Watch my back. I'm going to try to narrow down on him."

Gold nodded and turned away from the mutant. She swept their surroundings. She didn't like that they were coming close to the mountain. She couldn't see or feel a damn thing, and they could stumble into a sensor grid at any moment.

"Alright, I think..." Charli hestitated, "I think I might have it." She opened her eyes and focused on an area and walked straight towards the mountain. Gold grimaced and followed, her MORG in a ready position. Charli threaded then up the steep but still easily ascended foot hills.

As they closed, Gold frowned. She could feel something through her hunting senses. She could sense a life before them, though she couldn't see anyone still. It was weak...and strangely felt smaller than a human though it felt like one. "I've got something too. Right in front of us. Charli, drop back. I've got point."

Gold stepped around the Tanaaran and pushed forward. Her hackles rose on the back of her neck. Something was definitely off. It took them a few more minutes to near the rock wall they'd be seeing, but when they did, they didn't. Perhaps thirty meters from the wall, they passed through a flashing veil, and the rock wall they'd been looking for the past while wasn't the one they were met with. They'd been looking at a pristine rockface. Before them now was a scarred wall, puckered by a large explosion. A large rockfall piled under the crater on the wall.

Gold's eyes followed the urging of her hunting senses to a bald head and neck jutting from the rocks. On instinct, her MORG went to his shoulder. She did however manage to stifle herself from saying "Don't move." He didn't look like he could.

That would have been a command embarrassment.

"Can I call you 'Arnie'?"

Liam chuckled at the thought. He was big and fit but he didn't consider himself resembling the body builder/actor. Nevertheless, it was a somewhat apt nickname for one also called Terminator. Before Mird left earshot, Liam gave him a quick reply.

"Sure."

At Gold's indication, Liam followed the two women, keeping quiet as he listened and looked for anything that could hint towards their target. Despite his augments and telekinetic ability, Liam couldn't really 'sense' anything beyond what his eyes, ears, nose and skin would tell him so he allowed himself to be guided by Charli and Gold whilst he simply kept an eye out for any threats.

When Gold took point Liam dropped back to rear guard, keeping his R-52 rifle at the ready in case anyone felt it was a good idea to sneak up behind the trio. Paying attention to his surrounds, Liam was somewhat shocked when the cliff face appeared to shimmer into something different. Now definitely on edge, Liam's rifle hummed slightly as he increased the power.

Eventually they reached their target, what appeared to be a man trapped under a few heavy looking boulders. After scanning the area to ensure there wasn't anyone else waiting about, Liam turned his full attention to the man/cyborg before him.

"We sure this is the guy?"

Charli nodded as she went down on one knee next to the trapped being "This is the intermittent wierd minimal heat signature I keep getting. And I guess that holo we went through and all these rocks are why he's so barely readable, and the fact that ...goddess...poor man, most of him is machine." Her eyes were filled with compassion and she looked up at Gold and Liam.

"We are getting him out of this." There was absolutely no give in her voice. "He's dehydrated, and probably shocky" She said after a brief professional look over of what she could see of the cyborg. She pulled off her jacket, folded it roughly and slid it under his head.

"We need Ten and his med kit"

OOC: For those of you that are wondering, this is my newbie alter-ego. It's still me, though. :)

Dekker chuckled somewhere over the comms...

"I don't think there would be too many Skynet-esque motherfuckers running around out here, much less trapped under a landslide. This one of those 'living tissue over metal endoskeleton' contraptions or the crude 'flesh and steel' amalgamations you see in bad sci-fi movies?"

He'd somehow wedged his behemoth self into a small rock shelf more or less overlooking the drainage pool Whiptail had been swimming around in like some zoo attraction. As far as concealment went, it didn't do much to hide his massive personage, but he could probably wedge his vitals behind some basalt if it came to that...

"Actually not it's not anything like movie Terminator. Central Worlds -under the guise of being humanitarian - were actually worse than GeeSssers." And no she didn't care if Lollipop heard her "They didn't execute their criminals, they wiped their brains, 'progammed' them and and fitted them with add on robotics" Charli grated into the commo, her voice little better than a growl.

She looked up at Gold then at the pile of boulders, the smallest being little less in area than your average sedan of the rocks and her eyes narrowed.

Gold, Liam, this isn't a normal rockfall, RPG?" She was pretty sure something grenade or rocket like had gone 'boom'. It looked like the aftermath of an RPG, her own training as an...unconventional operative... told her, but she knew it could have been a lot of other things as well.

But for the moment she was considering the pile with her expertise in mountains, rockfalls and the potential for trigggering an secondary cascade should she begin removing the pile.