NationStates Jolt Archive


Operation Goshawk (CLOSED - ATTN FEGOSIAN UNION)

Alfegos
02-04-2009, 21:31
Fegosian Union Rapid Reaction Force Centre
Outskirts of Neo’vi
Neo’los Colony
1100 hours LT

Sergeant Lea’da stood in his room inside barrack block C, listening to his radio as he ironed his kit. Clad in his barrack dress, a set of FURRF digital camouflage trousers and shirt with a heavy brown belt, he had in front of him his dress uniform, solid khakis issued as part of the local area. Whilst he knew he wouldn’t need it for the tour of duty he was about to embark upon, it allowed him to whittle away the time until they were called for their final friendly-side briefing. On the radio, the news bulletin started as he finished starching a crease into a shirt sleeve, razor sharp.
“This is ANN Neo’los, online and on 86-88FM, bringing you local news on the hour, every hour.
In Pa’vi, a suicide attack from a suspected Kerna tribe member has killed eight people, and injured thirty-four bystanders, many of whom are in a critical state. The bomb, which detonated at a Police checkpoint, is thought to have been aimed at Police there. Whilst the Neo’los governor has yet to make a statement, indications are that border traffic will yet again be restricted.
Related to that story, the Fegosian Union has released a statement stating that a Fegosian Union Rapid Reaction Force Team will be deployed alongside a surge in Alfegan forces.”
The sergeant opened the door to his room, calling out into the joint communal area that his section was using. A pair of vending machines stood in one corner, with chairs clustered around a TV in the corner. Surrounding the room, the doors to the section individual bedrooms lay mostly open, as members of the section went about their final preparations for their deployment. Cracking up the volume on his radio, he yelled out.
“We’re on the news lads! Have a listen in at this!”
The radio continued the news report, unabashed by the cheers from the more immature members of the section.
“The Fegosian Union has given its full, undivided support into the peacekeeping operation, which it states will make great strides in an international attempt to stop the continued suffering caused by the ongoing civil war, bring the region back to a semblance of stability. Operation Goshawk, as it has been termed by the Union, will be using soldiers from at least four FU nations as part of the operation alongside the Alfegan forces deployed there.”
The sergeant looked at one of the section peering out of their room, listening intently. Rifleman Ti’ua Pha’ko was a short man in his youth, recruited straight from the Cold Guard Regiment into the FURRF as part of the military options programme. Whilst his young face revealed little about his true personality, he was seen by others as being one of the keenest in the section in terms of knowledge, rivalling even the Major in charge of the company posted at the FURRF Neo’vi Base. His first reaction on the training standardisation refresher course the Union soldiers went on to learn a single doctrine for training, upon tasting the ration pack instant tea provided by the kind denizens of Zaheran, was to spit it out in disgust to a phenomenal range, earning him the nickname ‘teacup’.

Once the broadcast finished, he nodded to the sergeant, smiling.
“Looks like we’re getting the attention we deserve! I just hope that means that we get decent rations whilst we’re over there.”
“Why would you say that, Ti’ua?”
“Well, the locals might look up and take more notice, and let us buy some decent food. It isn’t as if they listen to much else than the Alfegan News Stations over there, is it?”
“You’d be wrong on that. They do have a rather good radio network, courtesy of the clashing factions there – you need more than a Kalashnikov and a bunch of madmen to conduct a civil war. And as for the rations, if you don’t like it you go hungry.”
“Fair enough sergeant.”

Lea’da turned back to his ironing, folding the shirt neatly onto the same hanger as the rest of his uniform, before placing it into the small wardrobe. Closing it, he lay down on his bed, relishing the music on the radio as he waited for the call to the briefing at 1200 hours.


At midday on the dot, the briefing began. The rest of the platoon were assembled, sixteen more men who had placed themselves in the foremost seats. The briefing area was a small conference hall, tiered seating up to the powerful projector, surround-sound speakers installed by a generous individual to give it a secondary use as a small cinema. For now, the Platoon Commander, a Lieutenant of debated nationality, was using it for its intended purpose, a map up on the screen of the nation they were to travel to.
“Since we don’t know exactly what each of you will be doing over there yet, you will be given your full mission brief once you’re at the main operations base for your sector, Outpost 29. So, this brief will cover the situation on the ground, your general mission, liaisons with the Alfegan troops you will be working with, and the rules of engagement. We’ll end with a note about your transport, and your confirmed departure time.

So, as you know, you’re going to be deployed in the ‘Strip’ as it were – the green zone of farmland and forest surrounding the river Hurgat. The situation is that there is currently a civil war going on. The good guys, the Djini, are currently trying to keep order and move the nation out of the dark ages. However, the more traditionalist tribe leaders, the Lunai, want to oppose the change. The Kerna are against both as a matter of principle, but for now are working alongside the Lunai tribe. Of the people you’ll meet, approximately 2% are militant members of the tribes – the rest just want to get on with their lives, or don’t agree with the violence.
Neither the Kerna nor the Lunai have any morals in terms of their rules of engagement – they’ve been known to use suicide bombers on their own tribe members opposing them, as well as burning down villages and slaughtering people. Thus, the heads of the two tribes are wanted for war crimes and genocide by the international community. Both the enemy tribes are armed with a mix of stolen and black-market weaponry, ranging from kalashnikovs and cheap hardware to AF-87 assault rifles and modern missile launchers left over from the last war there.

Our role is to work alongside the Alfegos forces in securing the city of Tekanav – a major city on the river. The city is in an area known for violent killings and village burnings, therefore is a primary target for our support. Once we’re deployed, we will be performing guard duty of the Forward Operating Base (FOB) there, before moving out on combat patrols into the surrounding area. In terms of kit, you’ll be receiving Union standard kit here, though any vehicles and heavy kit you’ll use will have to be loaned out from Outpost 29. I’ll leave it to section commanders to decide what kit is necessary from the ‘Fegies.
You’ll be working as part of an Alfegan platoon, with each section assigned to an Alfegan platoon. Thus, we will be acting as commanders for the mission there, and be attached to the commanding staff at the forward operating base. So co-operation is needed!

Now, all troops in the non-domestic Alfegan units are required to be able to speak a reasonable level of English for combat scenarios, with most people bilingual. All commanders in the Alfegan units will speak English, so there should be no problem with a language barrier. Alfegan units have been instructed to treat you courteously, so I expect you to treat them the same. All Alfegan officers must be addressed correctly, and any disciplinary charges will be issued by them, once approved by me. I don’t want any bad vibes between you and the Alfegans – if they behave like muppets, so let them, just as long as they don’t put your neck on the line.

The rules of engagement are most important here. You have the one main rule – that is, don’t fire upon an enemy unless you’ve been fired upon first. Think before you pull that trigger. If the bloke’s shooting at you, make sure you give him what’s coming to him.
However, due to the threat of suicide bombers and public informers, you have a waiver – that is, if you honestly think a person is posing you a serious threat, such as calling where the enemy mortar artillery strikes land on you, or if you can see the suicide belt on them, then I fully empathise with you if you slot them good and proper.

Finally, transport. You’re catching a plane from Neo’vi International to Outpost 29 at 2300 hours. You’ll have three hours to kip on the plane, before landing at Outpost 29. From there, you’ll have a three day acclimatisation period and time for your actual briefings, before you get sent by plane to the Tekanav FOB. You’ll have all your details there.
To get to Neo’vi airport, there’ll be a bus waiting to leave at 2215 hours in the main carpark here, so make sure you have your kit packed by then.

If anyone, and think that's everyone who isn't an NCO, has not been to stores yet to pick up their kit, go do it after this briefing. The stores have kindly packed you all the kit you need, and checked it so that nothing's missing. Make sure you repack it to your liking, so you know where everything is - they probably just heaped all your stuff into your main rucksack and a kitbag. Weapons will be issued at 2100 hours, and ammunition at 2130 hours.

Any questions before I repeat the brief key points?”
The State of Monavia
02-04-2009, 23:48
It was not long until the operation was set to begin, and time was a pressing force that never stopped for anything. Time passed all things by, unimpeded by the wills of man or nature, and governed the rate at which all things happened. It was not surprise that time was important to the prudent and te wise, who cared much about making sure that their duties were performed when needed, and that it was not wasted on light and transient causes, let alone senseless ones. This tenant of common sense had been endowed upon many, but not all who understood this were able to apply it correctly. As luck and a quality upbringing would have it, Gregory Pavlov was one individual who understood the importance of proper timing, and never let its meaning leave him. Such was his training, and his experiences. A good commander of a unit, no matter what size, had to coordinate the efforts of the personnel under his command to operate in the desired manner, which meant that all people needed to know when to play their part, and not just how.

Corporal Pavlov was playing his part admirably, having taken the time to organize his quarters and prepare them for his arrival later, after he finished his mission, that is, if he survived the attempts by the enemy to kill him and his comrades in arms, members of the FURRF. His bed had been used as a place to lay out his supplies and equipment, and now that they had been packed or stowed away as needed, he placed them to the side. He smoothed out the covers so that they had not a single crease in them, and had taken the time to clean out the space beneath. His quarters were perhaps the best kept of the rooms occupied by members of the section, though there were some who would contest this assesment, claiming that cleaner spaces existed. Pavlov did not care, as he only wanted to keep himself and his quarters firmly within regulations, and avoid the ire of anyone who might have power to cause him trouble for which he could not retaliate.

It was one thing for him to occasionally annoy a young private who was fresh out of training and did not act up to snuff, being unseasoned by any experience. The fact that Pavlov had seen combat once before, fighting terrorists that had attempted to attack his base, had earned him a modest, if certainly positive reputation. He walked out, entering the common room shared by the soldiers. Pavlov had stopped an hour earlier to listen to the news on the radio, and was slightly frustrated to hear that more lives were lost in a conflict that had already brought grief and carnage to so many. Compounding his desire to seize the glory of stopping thsi violence was the news about the suicide bomber, who had caused a total of forty-two casaulties.

Corporal Pavlov had spent some time preparing himself for his briefing later on. He knew that he would finally be seeing some action beyond Monavian territory, an opportunity which he had relished much. In his position, which was that of the second-in-command of the section, he had soem aqdditional dutiewhich mattered much to him, though he had been sure to execute them as they needed to be. It was postulated that a mental timetable with the level of organization similar to that of thick, bulky pocket calendar was stored within his mind, but that was only speculation. He walked out of the room, saluting Sergeant Lea'da as he passed by.

That night, as the briefing concluded, Pavlov took some time to think the briefing over. He had no question figuring that any relevant queries about the situation could be answered by Sergeant Lea'da, who would be commanding them on the mission. He had already picked up his kit and extra supplies, and was proceeding to meet with his other fellow FURRF soldiers. He walked his way along a path which would take him past the Zaheranians, although he stopped before he could pass them by. The Holy Empire of Zaheran had grown close to the Monavian people, and his government had formed some close ties with them. Alfegos, Lamoni, Damirez...they were fair countries, populated with individuals who Corproal Pavlov believed were trustworthy and noble. He looked at the pair.

"How have you both been?" he asked quietly.

OOC:

My keyboard is acting up (it's cordless), so there may be typos which I haven't caught.
Zaheran
06-04-2009, 20:25
The two Zaheranians in the rooms listened attentively to the lieutenant's words. Though they both kept their facial expressions casually neutral, it was easy to notice the excitement they radiated. The younger of the pair, a twenty-three-year-old man going by the name Max Sterben, had been in battle before, though his experience with the war against the Workers' Liberation Army had been limited to a grenade exploding twenty meters from him, leading to the unfortunate incident after which he had been nick-named 'Nappy', for reasons he prefered to keep to himself. The name had stuck among his cronies, and it had been part of the reason behind his application for transfer to the FURRF the following year. It was quite obvious to all who knew him that the quiet young man longed for a chance to prove himself in combat, although he kept circumstances behind his yearning to himself.

The other man, Friedrich Schiller, was more open with the reasons behind his excitement and lust for battle. He came from a family of soldiers stretching back to the times when Wilhelm Stahlhelm first waded ashore on the sandy beaches of Zaheran, a family with a history filled with bloody battlefields and heroic deeds, brave soldiers and mighty generals. Unfortunately, his own military career had not been as successful. While his brothers advanced through the ranks faster than one could say 'general', he had found himself stuck on a sleepy garrison outside an even sleepier farming village, with alcoholic officers and a total lack of discipline. When his unit finally had been deployed to the raging furnace of the Firs Thivean War, they had arrived to discover that the war had already ended and that the only thing that remained was loading equipment into transport ships for the trip home. Not a promising beginning for a man who dreamed of glory. He had joined the FURFF in 2008 in hopes of finally seeing some action, and now it seemed like his wishes had been fulfilled.

The briefing was coming to an end, and the two Zaheranians exchanged a glance. They had become good friends in the sole year they had known each other, if maybe just because they both needed to speak the language of their motherland once in a while. It was not that they did not get on well with their comrades of other nationalities, but sometimes the cultural differences could be a bit of a problem, as could be expected in a organisation with members from over half a dozen countries, each with their own culture and traditions. They had heard rumours of fights between soldiers of different nationalities on other regiments, but there was no telling if they were true. There was no chance of that happening here, they had both agreed at the time, not with the good relations they had with the other soldiers and the officers.
Mokastana
07-04-2009, 16:45
Sergeant Minor Andrew Walters sat a few seats down from what he believed were the Zaheranians of this unit. Like most men who had seen combat before, he did not share the youthful optimism that those two young men seem to hide, or at least tried to. He smiled to himself remembering the early days of his military career, when putting down terrorist cells was more joy than worry you may never see your family again. He had fought in both Wellovia and Greal, mostly counter-insurgency work, and had earned his mark as a Jaguar. Which was symbolized by the one small paw print on his chest.

Unlike most Mokans sent around the globe, this man was Wellovian, not natural Mokan. As of the last few years Wellovians, and even a few kids from Aqua Anu were applying for active service to go out and fight for honor and whatever else they believed in. However to apply for the FURRF, it was required to be at least a Jaguar Standard, which resulted, unexpectedly, quite a bit of Mokans who had seen combat and killed working side by side with members of other nationalities who were on their first tour of duty. No doubt those fights some worried about involved Mokan servicemen more often then not. Then again it didn't help the large influx the commanders sent when the unit was first created.

He listened closely to the briefing, getting a decent idea of what the situation ahead of him held. Not to mention learn about the local culture if he could. If there was one thing he learned over the years...it was that the simplest culture clashes could set of the fires of hell before you even caught on.
Alfegos
10-04-2009, 19:42
The Lieutenant walked to the front of the small stage, looking around for anyone who might be indicating uncertainty. In front of him, his men were buzzing with excitement as to the upcoming conflict, the atmosphere so intense that he too felt pangs of anticipation. Finally, one of the riflemen in another section put his hand up, before speaking in a deep Thivean accent.
"Just as a little clarification, even if this is only a taster briefing, what are the enemy we are fighting going to be like."

The question brought a few nods from Sergeant Lea'da, who turned to listen intently. The Lieutenant grimaced, as if he had not been wanting to break the bad news, before speaking.
"The enemy are known to use primitive tactics, basing attacks on ambushes and pincer attacks through dead ground to try and attack on multiple flanks. From what I know from a contact I have with an Alfegan unit out there as we speak, they mainly attack people only on foot, but in the cities have been becoming more and more adventurous, to the point that a bloke tried to drive a car filled with explosives into an armoured column. I say try.
What's most likely is that you'll get shot at by hit-and-run units, ambushed, or targeted with road mines and improvised bombs. At bases, they will attack from range with mortars, and use civilian spotters to call in where mortar hits land. They will likely try to fire at you from range by creeping up through any cover, or use suicide charges at periphery checkpoints.
The weapons they use are a mix of black-market weapons from various nations, and weapons stolen from Alfegan forces in the area. As a result, be prepared on foot to receive fire from machineguns. Whilst there were no chemical weapons reported missing in the theatre, cylinders of tear gas and BZ incapacitating gas have been used against hostile villages.
They'll give you the UXO and UCO briefing at your forward base. But if you see anything that looks like a cylinder, stay as far away from it as possible, and keep your biochem warfare kit close to you."

He finished speaking, the enthusiasm seemingly slightly dimmed. With no more questions, he smiled, before speaking a last time.
"Best of luck out there lads. May whoever watches over us be with you all."
He nodded to the staff sergeant, who turned to bellow at those assembled.
"Room! Room... atten...tion!"
There was a perfect clash as all seated stamped their attention, stiffening upright as the staff sergeant saluted the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant marched out of the room, before the staff sergeant turned back.
"You heard what the boss said - keep your wits sharp, and your bayonets sharper. See you at the bus this evening...
Room! Dis...missed!"
The Staff Sergeant disappeared out of the room, as the rest of the room slowly began to depart. Lea'da stood up on his chair, looking down at his squad.

"Anyone here who hasn't got their kit, which I think is everyone here save for Ti'ua, come with me to stores to get it. Once we've been, you lot have half an hour to check everything's there and packed, before I come and do a bit of a check. Remember everything's got to fit in your bergan, patrol pack and webbing, with space for ammunition and any bits of section weaponry we are endowed with. You can save your chatter for when you're in the queue outside stores!" He coughed, before signalling for the section to move over to one of the hall side doors.
The State of Monavia
11-04-2009, 05:25
OOC:

What does a standard FURRF kit contain?
Alfegos
11-04-2009, 09:15
(OOC: Many an interesting thing. If you hang on to when the group goes to stores, the sergeant will unpack all his kit to show the group what they all need. But, since you ask that, I'll put a list up on the FU boards.)
The State of Monavia
11-04-2009, 23:16
OOC:

Thank you. Corporal Pavlov has a habit of buying a few things early, although he doesn't know everything he needs, so he will have to buy more stuff.
Alfegos
11-04-2009, 23:18
OOC: He doesn't need to pay for the stuff... stores as in the storage for stuff... it's just that if he breaks anything, he has to pay for a replacement.
The State of Monavia
12-04-2009, 05:39
OOC:

Understood. Let's leave these OOC posts here for a while until everyone views them before we delete them.

IC:

Corporal Pavlov walked out of the room behind Sergeant Lea'da as he looked about to see if his fellow section members were near him. Once he saw that they were all nearby, he continued on his way to the stores. Once there, he reasoned that his kit would be in a state of disarray which would need to be corrected at once, so he planned on reorganizing it as soon as he could inspect its contents. He looked around as he proceeded along.

We will all be going into a hostile place, a place inhabited by the barbarous and unprincipled foe...the place where mankind is reduced to fighting like animals, where there are fewer rules in war, at least for our enemies, he thought. We will all stand together, as a united force, but some of us may fall in battle. Casaulties are inevitable in a conflict of this scale, yet I pray that none of us will be lost. His face seemed to hold a faint grimness, but he concealed it as best as a military man could. He thought about what topics he could converse about with those in his section, yet nothing special came to mind.

He knew that it would be some time before anything of importance happened. An uneventful day on patrol was always a good sign, as it means that nothing has happened. Then again, the same can be said for the enemy, and as long as the status quo remained unchanged, and the violence continued, Pavlov saw no end to the suffering of the innocent. He was a man of honor, a soldier of an alliance forged for the common good and benefit of all. He knew that the insurgents would stoop low, that they would endanger civilians, and his previous experience fighting terrorism showed that they had little regard for peace or rules of engagement. When such people fight, they acknowledge few rules in war, save those orders which their superiors give, yet Pavlov reasoned that having the moral authority would strengthen the resolve of the FURRF and serve as an advantage.

As he arrived at the stores to pick up his kit, he stood nearby the other members of his section.
Mokastana
13-04-2009, 06:02
Sergeant Walters stood with the rest of his unit as they waited to get the standard kit for this operation. It seemed like only yesterday he was deployed to this random colony on the other side of the earth. How the Mokan government managed to form alliances with these governments he would never understand, for none of them seemed to share a typical Mokan's lack of military disciple, it was nice actually to see a professional military at work for once. The Wellovian army before Mokan intervention was a joke, and the Mokans were proud of their farmer heritage.

He looked at the man next to him, his name said Pavlov on his uniform and he wore corporal markings. He could not tell where he was from, but he decided the best way to figure was to ask:

"Greetings Corporal Pavlov, you don't seem to share the excitement that the other younger men share. Where are you from?"
The State of Monavia
13-04-2009, 06:25
"Hello, Sergeant Walters," he said, quickly noting the rank insignia on his uniform. "I am from the Monavian Empire, a country which bears wiuth itself a long-standing and distinguished military tradition. I was a worker in a munitions factory in my city before volunteering to join the Monavian Army a few years ago. It was suggested to me by some friends that I serve by joining.

"Pardon me for seeming to appear somewhat quiet to you and unfeeling. I had not slept as well as I had wanted to during the last night, as I had been busy reading a long treatise on FURRF doctrines in fighting urban terrorism. My reading kept me up close to the normal curfew for rest, and it took up much time. It is a part of my plans to become an officer one day. What about yourself, sergeant?" Pavlov was indeed mildly fatigued, yet his quiet demeanor and soft, almost sterile expression were acquired as a result of hearing the description of how the terrorists fought and observed few rules about killing. It seemed that they knew no boundries, and had few reservations about how they carried out their attacks.
Zaheran
13-04-2009, 16:38
Privates Schiller and Sterben, who stood behind Walters and Pavlov, listened to the conversation between the two men while they waited for their turn to get their kit. They had been surprised when they discovered that Sergeant Walters was actually a Mokan. With his light skin and blond hair, he did not look like the stereotypical Mokan drugdealers from the detective dramas. Neither was he as anarchistic as they had heard Mokan soldiers usually were.

Corporal Pavlov, who they had correctly guessed to be a Monavian, seemed to be a bit stiff, but then that could be due to the same lack of sleep which they had experienced themselves, albeit for a different reason. In their case it was tension and excitement rather than reading that had kept them from sleeping, but the effects were largely the same. Schiller tried to hide a yawn. Hopefully there would be time to sleep aboard the plane.
Mokastana
13-04-2009, 17:36
"I spent some of last night reading up on what we are going to experience. In my experience paperwork and combat tend not to match up, but any information helps."

Unlike most of the other men he noticed, Walters actually got a decent nights sleep last night. If only because had become used to getting orders to deploy/move/go into hell the night before. This time though he was unsure about going into combat with men he was just meeting, they had not had time to mesh and properly train with one another. So the best he could do was try and get a feel for them before deployment.

"I plan on retiring before I get that far, maybe work as a consultant or security officer for Montana Defense or another Mokan security firm. I hear Islander Patrols is looking for men to start an infantry unit, but they prefer ex marines for those positions."
Alfegos
13-04-2009, 20:13
The building for stores was rather unassuming. The small, squat, prefabricated structure sat next to the main barracks block, the door to it covered in warning symbols. Above the door, a large framed sign hung:
"WARNING! YOU ARE ENTERING A POLITICALLY INCORRECT AREA. OPINIONS AND COMMENTS WITHIN THIS AREA MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME."
Lea'da suppressed a chuckle as he walked past this main entrance, to a small alley further around. Next to the stacks of crushed boxes, a small hatch was set into the wall, through which a dim light came through. Sergeant Lea'da walked over, before rapping on the hatch. The slab of wood came down, juddering to a halt on the chains holding it up. Inside, shelves stretched off into a dimly lit distance, holding countless amounts of kit. Next to the door, a pair of television screens showed both the views from the numerous television cameras and live footage from a football match in Mokastana. Sitting by them, a man in slightly dishevelled uniform twisted around in his chair, before standing up and walking over to the hatch. On his shoulders, his rank was prominently displayed as a Warrant Officer Class 2, in shining gold thread.

"Afternoon Lea'da. As usual, you're the early bird here - I was told not to open for another ten minutes. Still, since your here, I've got your lads kit."
He disappeared as he bent over, returning with an enormous box folder. He opened it up, scrolling through the tattered pages until he found what he was looking for.
"Right then Sergeant, your kit first. I won't ask you to check it here, but make sure you sign for it anyway. If you haven't got your own pen, I'll accept blood for writing."
The Sergeant produced a pen and quickly scribbled his name in the bottom hand corner of a small sheet of paper, covered with the details of kit being sent out. Satisfied, the man behind the hatch hefted up a fully packed rucksack and kit bag, along with a small parcel.
"It came in for you this morning. Know who it's from?"
The Sergeant glanced over the handwriting quickly, before nodding.
"Yep. Just what I ordered."

He turned back around to the rest of the group, swinging his rucksack onto his pack. Having not carried a full combat load for a while, he was initially surprised at the 40kg weight of the sack, before bouncing it up onto his shoulders and adjusting the straps. Picking up the kit bag, he indicated to the Mokan behind him.
"Well go on then. The sooner you all get your kit, the sooner you can get fully packed, and the more time you'll have contemplating the meaning of life before your busy again. And, the more time you'll have to enjoy what I've got in this parcel."
The State of Monavia
13-04-2009, 23:58
OOC:

I will be busy for the rest of the week, so expect posting delays.

IC:

"I spent some of last night reading up on what we are going to experience. In my experience paperwork and combat tend not to match up, but any information helps."

Unlike most of the other men he noticed, Walters actually got a decent nights sleep last night. If only because had become used to getting orders to deploy/move/go into hell the night before. This time though he was unsure about going into combat with men he was just meeting, they had not had time to mesh and properly train with one another. So the best he could do was try and get a feel for them before deployment.

"I plan on retiring before I get that far, maybe work as a consultant or security officer for Montana Defense or another Mokan security firm. I hear Islander Patrols is looking for men to start an infantry unit, but they prefer ex marines for those positions."

"Paperwork only matches up when it is up-to-date and accurate to the situation in question. It is amazing how much trouble can be caused by unreliable or faulty intelligence, and yet intuition and careful thinking under strain has been an effective way to survive the battlefield. I have every hope and desire that we all make it out of this wretched warzone alive and well, so that we can continue on our ways; you to your future work back home in Mokastana, and myself as an officer in the Monavian Army, or the FURRF, depending on which one my superiors choose."

Snip from post #15, first bit.

Pavlov was amused by the notion of people dedicating the time and trouble of making such a silly sign and attaching it to the building. He waited behind Sergeant Lea'da.

Snip, second bit.

Pavlov looked through the hatch, peering into the dim expanse. He heard the conversation between Sergeant Lea'da and the warrant officer, listening for any details which pertain to the use of the kits.

He turned back around to the rest of the group, swinging his rucksack onto his pack. Having not carried a full combat load for a while, he was initially surprised at the 40kg weight of the sack, before bouncing it up onto his shoulders and adjusting the straps. Picking up the kit bag, he indicated to the Mokan behind him.
"Well go on then. The sooner you all get your kit, the sooner you can get fully packed, and the more time you'll have contemplating the meaning of life before your busy again. And, the more time you'll have to enjoy what I've got in this parcel."

Pavlov was surprised by the weight of the kit and rucksack. Monavian kits and packages rarely weighed more than seventy pounds, and an eighty-eight pound kit bag was enough to warrant a few choice thoughts about its weight. Could they make this parcel any heavier? If we had to march for miles carrying these, we would move slower than molasses in winter, he thought. They must think that we are pack mules...then again, there must be additional gear here, considering the importance of the mission. Corporal pavlov knew well that the kit bag contained a large amount of equipment and supplies. This was, after all, a special mission, which meant that extra things needed to be carried along. Luckily, he thought it best not to dwell on the matter. Every pound of gear had its purpose, and those purposes were of great importance, thus he saw no reason for complaint.
Alfegos
15-04-2009, 23:25
Once everyone had collected their kit bags, the Sergeant led the section away from the stores building, leading them through a short-cut of maintenance alleys to reach their part of the barracks. Inside, Rifleman Ti'ua was sitting watching the TV, tuned to ANN 1. The 24-hour news network was, for the moment, on local news, and focusing on the suicide attack in the city. The news reporter was standing by the wreckage of a car, slowly being lifted onto the back of a flat-bed military truck for movement to a scrapyard. A small charred crater in the road was surrounded by workmen, already filling it in. Behind the reporter, police tape flickered in a light breeze as she spoke in fluent Fegosian, a babble that was lost on the ears of many.
"...preliminary reports that the Alfegan Air Fleet in this sector of the border are launching retaliatory strikes against inland targets, hitting what yesterday were thought to be harmless fields, and today are now known to be where the Kerna tribe get the most of their money growing a potent cocktail of drugs. We've already seen a small patrolcraft over the city today, and I think there's a much larger craft in the distance, indicating the offensive to be a serious one."
The reporter held her hands over her ears as two jet fighters shot across the sky, followed by the distant throbbing of an airship's engines. The camera followed the two jets, zooming in, before zooming out and in on the distant shape of the airship, silhouetted against the sun.
"It's been like this all day with the Alfegan airforce launching preliminary strikes, with that up there being quite an indicator of the scale of this operation. But, in any case, this will be exactly what the people living here have been hoping for, after the tragedy this morning. Yu'ka Sla'vo, reporting from Checkpoint 17, Pa'vi."
The image on the screen cut back to the studio, where a man was sitting at the desk.
"That was Yu'ka Sla'vo there, on the reported retaliatory strikes against the Kerna tribe militia after the suicide bombing in Pa'vi this morning. The death toll for the attack has now reached 10, as two of the injured die in hospital."

The sergeant turned off the TV, before gesturing for the section to draw up chairs and sit in a crescent around him.
"Right then everyone. I know that my corporal here has been a bit annoyed at the amount of kit we have to carry. There are two points I would like to make about that. The first one is that that isn't all - there is more to come! We still haven't got any weaponry, ammunition or any 'special kit. However, I would like you to think of our exact unit designation. We are infantry, right? However, in this day and age, we're not going to have to walk everywhere. I have it that we're going to be getting a pair of Geckos as our transport, on which you'll be dumping your main rucksacks."
He took his rucksack to show everyone, before unclipping the lid. Underneath was a small rucksack.
"Whilst the main rucksack is 120 litres, and will be the one which you'll live out of back at camp, the patrol pack is a mere 35 litres. You'll still want your essentials in this, including the detachable side pockets on your main bag which have your mine kit and NBC kit, but won't need all seven ration packs, any clothes, your sleeping stuff or any of your wash kit."
He opened the patrol pack, taking out his webbing.
"Here we go. This is the third part of your PLCE, or Personal Load Carrying Equipment. Webbing is pretty simple. You put it on over your body armour, clip it up, and then in the pockets you'll put all the most essential bits. Magazine, a full 24 hour ration pack, your stove and cooking kit, and any other bits. If you feel surprised at the small size, think again - the space magnifies as you look at it."

He opened his kit bag, taking out his body armour.
"I hope all you lot are following me, and checking your kit in the order I'm doing it. I don't want any of you having to get kit over there - you wouldn't believe the amount of paperwork."
He laid out the component parts of the armour in front of him, in the same manner a professional chef would if preparing an exquisite dish.
"Three main pits that go together in your personal armour - first is the armour liner. This is pretty much the hollow base of your armour, in which everything goes."
He lifted up the desert-camouflage fabric garment, checking for any damage before shaking it open.
"Into this, we put first the kevlar liner."
He indicated a small bag in which desert camouflage bricks lay, before taking them out and slotting them into the armour.
"The kevlar base acts as shock-absorption, so you can still fight if you get shot. It's not fully bullet-proof though - pistols, yes, but rifles no. For that, you need these."
The final part of the body armour he pulled from his kitbag were a series of thin slabs, painted a dull khaki.
"Ceramic plates. This slip in above the kevlar inside the liner, and work a treat in stopping bullets. These are the new plates as well, so you won't have any problems with them crumbling."

With the armour assembled, he hefted it up, putting it on before tightening it to his body shape. The next piece he got out was his helmet.
"Helmet. Does what you'd expect it to - that is, it stops head loss syndrome. However, us being the Fegosian Union, we have the best of the best. The helmet incorporates two mounts for head-set tools, which can accept any standard under-barrel torches and this."
He took a small box, smaller than a spectacle case, from his bag. Unclipping it, he revealed the night-vision unit nestled in the thick foam padding. Next to it in the box, a tiny lens-cleaning kit and a spare battery were hidden.
"Night vision. You should all have used something like this before. It's a single-eye unit, locks onto the helmet mount and flips down over the eye. Due to the conditions we're working in, this stays in its case at all times, and is to be cleaned every time it is used. The other thing that goes with the helmets, and locks inside the ear section, is this."
He took out a small packaged box, tossing away the packaging as he unwrapped it to reveal a thin ear piece, along with a finger-mounted control unit and a microphone unit.
"This is your communications radio. Since we're working at squad level, the transmitter in this only works to 1000 metres in this simple mode. However, with the booster unit, which clips onto the ear, you get a decent range out of these. The batteries are kinetic, which means they charge as you move, meaning if they run out you just need to jump up and down on the spot. The finger unit allows you to navigate through eight channels that you hardset on the unit itself before putting your helmet on, as well as changing it between standard mode, whisper mode and firefight mode. Due to its proximity to your ear, nobody else save you should be able to hear it when working on standard mode, let alone whisper mode."

He placed the assembled helmet unit down, leaving the finger unit clipped onto the earpiece antenna as he took out the next bit of kit.
"Now this gets fun. Your NBC warfare kit."
Giving up with looking for what he wanted, he unzipped one of the side pouches on the rucksack, taking out the already-packed NBC kit.
"Gas mask is pretty easy to use. Put it on, breath in, and you're done. Don't get the filters wet, or they won't work. Works on most known chemical agents, all airborne biological agents, dust and smoke. Also will take a separate oxygen supply through the same adapter as the filter on the unit. Glass is anti-fog, and treated with polarised filtering to stop any sun glare. Along with it comes the NBC warfare kit. You pretty much just wear it on top of your normal clothes, using the ties to seal it at your ankles, around the gasmask, and at your wrists. Comes with heavy duty gloves and overshoes. All the clothes are made from a variant of Aerofilm - insanely light, tear resistant and impervious to any gases trying to get in or out. It just gets hot, so remember your CBRN drills you should already know."
He put the items back, along with a small pamphlet on CBRN agents, before continuing.

"The rest should be obvious to you. I'll give you a brief demonstration of anything you're uncertain about. Just remember that, in addition to all the standard kit on the kitlist, you need to pack your clothes for the tour. The washing facilities outside of Tekanav FOB are primitive at best, so make sure you pack some soap for cleaning as well, and some de-deodorant!"

He quickly went through his kit, efficiently distributing it and packing it as he wanted to, before grabbing his clothes and placing them in. When finally done, he dragged his bag over to the wall, keeping an eye on the rest whilst opening the parcel. He dragged away the outer paper, revealing a large box. He lifted the lid, peeking inside, before closing it. He looked at his watch.
"I make it four hours until we need to be lined up outside the armoury. That gives you two and a half hours of packing time. I want the corporal, once he's done packing, to check that you have everything, and that it is in perfect order. If Mr Pavlov has any problems, I am also sure that our resident Jaguar can lend him a bit of a hand."
The State of Monavia
16-04-2009, 00:03
During the sergeant's demonstrations, Corporal Pavlov listened silently, his interest rising as he viewed some of the equipment that was being displayed and the purposes of each object was explained. When Sergeant Lea'da finished, Pavlov got right to work emptying his kit bag and reorganizing its contents. He meticulously examined each component of his armor, his night vision system, his NBC warfare kit...everything was carefully inspected for damage, missing pieces, and arranging them out in the empty space around him. The ceramic plates had not a single nick or srcatch, the helmet fitted perfectly, and every piece seemed to be in working order.

Taking special care in handling his headset, he checked the speaker component, the clip, and its controls--all good. Next was his gas mask, which fitted almost ideally, and appeared to be fresh from the factory. Pavlov soon completed his examination of his equipment and had his kit packed in about an hour and a half. He waited for any of the others to finish packing, and then inspect the quality of their packing. He would not permit anyone to leave without their things in order.

During this time, he speculated about the nature of the contents of the box which the sergeant had received at the stores. He thought that whatever was placed inside the box was of some importance, though how much he could not tell. He didn't bother to dwell on it too much, however, as he had other duties to attend to.

OOC:

To Mokastana:

Care to continue our characters' conversation?
Zaheran
18-04-2009, 19:29
Private Schiller worked through his equipment in an effective yet careful manner. He asssembed his body armour and inspected the components for damage, checked the size of the helmet and the gas mask, tested the communications gear to see if it was in working condition. Everything seemed to work perfectly. There were even spare batteries for the night vision goggles, a thing many militaries often forgot. The rucksack standing by his side grew heavier and heavier as more and more gear, clothes and personal belongings was loaded into it. He took great pride in packing neatly and efficiently, since he had been taught from a young age the importance of keeping his gear in good order.

After about an hour and a half, he had finished his packing. He rose to his feet and stretched his arms and legs to work the stiffness out of his muscles. He lifted the rucksack to estimate its weight. It was heavy, but not heavier than the loads he had carried during boot camp and the basic FURRF training. Satisfied, he placed it on the floor and looked around the room. Max Sterben had finished his packing and was now fiddling with the straps on the rucksack so it would sit comfortably on his back. The Monavian corporal was wandering around, probably to inspect the quality of everyone's packing. The Zaheranians squatted down next to their rucksacks and waited for their turn.
Alfegos
18-04-2009, 20:46
The sergeant quickly packed his bags, ensuring everything was in order. He took out a ration pack he had left over from a previous exercise, breaking down the contents and putting them into his webbing. Four utility pockets were divided into different uses, which helped him considerably in organisation. Starting from left to right, he had designated them as cooking, water, assorted odds-and-ends and combat kit. The two magazine pockets sat nearest his front, each able to hold six magazines. Even these had been put to use - in the top of one of the pockets, his quick-loader for magazine rifles sat, along with a waterproofing sheet. He stashed the sweets from the ration packs in his pockets, before giving his webbing a shake. He did this to make sure nothing rattled about - if they had to move quietly, a rattling mess tin or gurgling water bottle was the last thing he needed. Using bungees to tightly hold pockets together, he was soon satisfied. The final thing he had to add to his webbing, now packed, was a small first aid kit. He opened it up, checking the contents, before taking out a relatively tiny injector pen.
"You'll all better check you have your morphine pens on you. You should have two in your pack, and both should be sealed. Just hope you don't have to use them. Also, if there's anyone here who has any personal meds they need, such as an epipen or whatnot, make sure you tell me before we get on the bus."

After an hour and a half, he noticed all the men were coming to the last stages of packing. Watching his Corporal checking through the kit, he smiled in satisfaction before hefting his kit over to the side. His large rucksack held the small rucksack under the lid, with his webbing hanging on top. Resting next to it, his body armour lay, completed and with his long-range radio strapped to the front. In addition to the short-range radios, he had a radio to contact any aircraft or command up to 15km away. The unit was much bulkier, requiring a thermal-recharging battery pack the size of his fist to hang on the bottom, and a fold-out aerial that rivalled the length of the patrol-vehicle antennae. It also had a satellite distress beacon built in, with the ability to send a single, powerful signal through even thick forest canopy to any of the military communications satellites or mesolites in the area, which would find itself within two minutes at the relevant forward operation base.

With his kit prepared, he quickly walked over to one of the Alfegan rifleman, sitting with their kit finished.
"Xha'jo, you got a minute?"
"Yes Sergeant. What do you want me to do?"
"Can you go over to the armoury with Re'sa, and get our armaments. Might as well get there before the rush, and make sure the lads are acquainted with the weapons we'll be using."

A few minutes later, the sergeant opened the door, for four people to come into the room. Between the four, eight steel carry cases and a pair of rucksacks were carried into the room, before the other two men departed. Piling them up in the centre of the room, the sergeant quickly scanned over each case. Each one had a large name tag on it, the weapon signed out already in the person's name. Lea'da took his case from the pile, opening it and smiling like a child with a new toy.
"Well lookee here everyone - it looks like the Union really likes us."
He turned the case around to reveal an assault rifle in the case. Dark green plastic sat in the place of wood in the original model, with a folding stock giving away further details as to the weapon's heritage.
"Not only have we been given the AF-07P2 assault rifle, it looks like these are the latest ones. These use an intermediate round, the 6.65mm AFK, which has both good stopping power and a rather light weight. Fires in full automatic, three-round burst and single shot, selected using the fire selector on the left hand side. The weapon uses a separate safety to the fire-selector mechanism - the little button just above the trigger guard. It's exactly the same as the AF-07 you know from your drills, but has a little more kick, a nice folding stock and a larger magazine."
He took out the sights unit, before fitting it.
"We're using a variation on the SUSAT for these - instead of the post, this uses a cross-hair marker, which gets less in the way of the target. There's still a luminous bead in there for low-light fighting, which will automatically glow in the dark. These just slide on the top."

He fitted the sight, before locking it in place. The next thing he took out of the case was a grenade launcher.
"One other lucky person in this squad also has a grenade launcher on their assault rifle. That'd be..."
He looked down the cases, at the tags.
"Mr Andrew Walters, our resident Jaguar. You'll get a ten-grenade bandolier in addition to your standard hand grenade load-out at stores. It fits on the underside rail like a treat, and just needs screwing tight. After that, firing is pretty simple."
He took another object from his case, showing it to everyone.
"Just in case you don't know what this is, it's an ALD-09 laser designator. Takes kinetic batteries, just like the ones in your headset, albeit you need eight of them. I'll be keeping this on the side of my helmet, just in case you need to know where it is. I'll give you a demo of it in the field."

Finally, he took out of his webbing a small flashlight.
"Guess what... kinetic batteries again! The torch has two ends. The front end is a white-light, which can be altered using filters held in the batteries compartment. The other end is an infra-red 'black light', which acts light a flashlight for your night vision - only you can see it, so it's stealthier. This has a small clip that fits it on the torch side rail of your rifle, or on your helmet utility rail. It's not that bright, but be aware not to put it on white light if you're frustrated - you'll remove your night vision."

When he had finished with his assault rifle, he unwound the sling, before hanging it around his neck.
"All you come and collect your weapon - it'll be the same as mine, albeit without the addons, save if you're Mr Walters or Mr Schiller."
He lifted a hand, signalled to the Zaheran rifleman.
"I did a little bit of wrangling on the phone with the armoury, and came up with something. You won't need to distribute ammunition or spare parts for it until we're at the ammunition dump, since I thought we'd travel light. It's small but effective, and will likely be getting replaced with something much bigger once we're out on patrol."
He opened the box, similar in size to the others, and took out the weapon.
"Here's your FN Para Minimi. It's light, powerful, and modified to take the same calibre round as the rifles everyone else has got. You should've had training on this, so there'll be no problem."

Once he was done, he opened one of the two rucksacks.
"Whilst you're at it, come collect a rifle cleaning kit. You can attach these onto the side of a magazine pouch, or tie them to your weapon stock - I don't mind. Just don't loose any, or you're paying."
He peered in the other rucksack, taking out three large ammunition tins.
"Once everyone's oiled their weapon, and got sorted, we're going down to the small arms range to sight the weapons in. I'm sure we can find some old tat for Mr Schiller to shoot with on the LMG once he's finished sighting it in."
The State of Monavia
18-04-2009, 21:58
Within minutes, Corporal Pavlov had arrived where the two Zaheranians sat. He immediately noted the fine work done in packing the exterior compartments and found that the pair had done admirably. "Well done, I must say that you both have taken great care to pack everything correctly. You may carry on."

He then checked his first aid kit, noting that all of the required contents were all present. He shifted around a few things, in order to prevent them from sliding around, and then placed the kit back into his pack.

After receiving his weapons and ammunition, he prepared to move to the shooting range.
Mokastana
19-04-2009, 03:27
OOC: sorry, much work/non-computer work this week

IC:

Sergeant Walters packed up his supplies and rebuilt his pack to better suit his needs for the coming mission. Unfortunately he had not had the chance to work near Corporal Pavlov and therefore could not continue the conversation they were having, but he preferred to work in silence when it came to organizing the large amount of supplies he would need during this operation. Fitting the body armor together was relatively easy and for a second he was amazed at the amount of items he had been assigned. Most of his work history had either been in armies to poor to outfit units with so much stuff or so close to base that only basic needs were taken out on patrol. Inner city operations usually didn't need an overabundance of rations, and most equipment you were assigned during the beginning of your tour, but this was the beginning of another tour. Therefore he needed all that they would be willing to provide.

As he was making the final touches to his bag, seeing as he had a minor perfectionist streak when it came to packing, he noticed the men come in with the large steel cases with what he assumed would be the weapons. Listening to the Sergeant talk and issue weapons Andrew wondered for a minute how the typical Mokan soldier got along with everyone else in the Union, but upon hearing that he would be receiving a grenade launcher he instead tried to remember the last time he used one in the field. It must have been nearly six months since then, but it's like riding a bicycle, only with a larger blast radius.

Once he had secured the grenade launcher safety to the bottom of the rifle and properly doing a quick oil and cleaning check on the gun, he collected his ammo and went to join his comrades.

"Corporal, Privates, I take it everything is ready for the trip out?" he looked over to the two young Zaherians, "Will this be your first tour of duty?"
The State of Monavia
20-04-2009, 03:39
OOC:

Sorry for the delays, I have been busy lately with school.

IC:

The corporal was satisfied with the condition of the packing and the work which his fellow men in arms had done. He looked over the kit bags one last time, conducting a cursory check and found no real problems with the method of how they were laid out and set up. With excepotion to personal choices about arranging some of the smaller and less significant objects, everything seemd to be in place.

"Sergeant, I have served before in Monavia for some time, actually having to fight a minor terrorist attack, so this will not be my first tour. Nonetheless, this is the first time that I have served alongside citizens of Monavian allies and friends, and I thus have some good expectations for what is to come, assuming that we avoid any major trouble."
Zaheran
20-04-2009, 15:39
The two Zaheranians collected their weapons, ammunition and rifle cleaning kits and began to oil their weapons and inspect them for dirt or damage. Like all other gear they had recieved so far, the weapons were in perfect working condition. Schiller took extra great care in oiling his weapon thoroughly. He assembled the bipod and oiled it as well after making sure it fit the machine gun and had no obvious damage. Memories from his training sessions with the weapons popped up his mind, both from his time in the Zaheranian army and the FURFF training. It with be fun to fire it again.

"Corporal, Privates, I take it everything is ready for the trip out? Will this be your first tour of duty?"

Schiller looked up at the Mokan sergeant and nodded.

"Everything's ready, sergeant. No, this isn't my fist tour of duty. I was deployed to Thive a few years back, but when I arrived the fighting was already over. Seems like there's more to do here, though."

Max Sterben had finished oiling his own rifle. After giving it one last critical glance, he rose to his feet and gathered his belongings.

"Neither is it mine, sergeant", he replied to the Mokan as he prepared to move to the shooting range. "I fought against the WLA a few years back, but we didn't see much of them. They spent most of their time hiding in the forest."
Alfegos
20-04-2009, 17:31
The group, once all were ready, moved off through to the firing range. The building itself was located underground, hidden beneath one of the storage yards towards the southern end of the union site, with a small concrete access building hinting at its existence. The sergeant used a key on his small chain to open the steel door, pushing it in before pacing down the stairs just behind it. After a short flight of steps, he reached the bottom, using a small control panel to turn on the lights. The fluorescent bulbs down the range flickered on, disappearing to the distant targets. At the 10m, 20m, 50m and 100m marks, red LED lamps marked the position of the firing points, whilst blue lamps marked the separate lanes. The range, even though recently constructed, had a lingering smell of smokeless propellant and lead dust, with the wooden firing points already marked with burns from machine-guns fired on the range.

The sergeant dumped the ammunition tins down, before opening them. In the rear-most one, fourteen magazines sat empty, along with a long belt of ammunition. He took out the belt, passing it to the Zaheran gunner.
"Here's your ammunition. Everyone else can come and collect two magazines, and bomb them up from the tins back here. You'll all be using the 100 metre targets, and there's enough lanes for you all to fire at once. You'll be firing three rounds of ten shots to start off with, to zero in your sights. Remember that the scopes we are using are pre-set so that you don't need to fine-adjust for any other ranges up to six hundred metres - just use the adjusting wheel at the base of the unit to scroll up to the distance required. Once we've done this, I'll let you have a thirty round free-for-all on the targets, with the highest score winning my special prize for today. Sadly, this excludes the machinegunner, who'll instead be getting a fifty-round belt to destroy this."
He walked back to one of the store rooms, taking out a battered mannequin dressed in a civilian-style bullet proof vest.
"I want this as a demonstration to those of you who might not have had body armour before - you'll see why it doesn't make you superman."

He quickly filled up both magazines with ammunition, before pacing over to the range controls at the rear of the range. A bank of switches sat in front of him, covered with post-it notes as to what worked, what needed a kicking and what wasn't a good idea. He quickly signed the range register, including the amount of ammunition he planned to use through his section, before starting on the switches. He pressed a button, causing seven standard concentric-ring targets to appear at the end of the range. Dimming the lighting to an acceptable standard at his end, making sure the targets were fully illuminated, he spoke into a small loudspeaker unit.
"Section, move to the firing point. With a magazine of thirty rounds, load and make ready. As a final check, everyone needs ear defenders on or earplugs inserted. If anyone has a problem, stoppage or any query during the shooting, raise your hand and I'll make to you quickly. At the end of this first bout, I'll collect the targets and then help you if you need any in adjusting your aim to a satisfactory level. On my command, ten shots on single shot in your own time... commence!"

He moved to a small telescope mount, using it to scan across the targets at the end of the range as the firing began, making notes as he watched holes appear in the targets.
Zaheran
23-04-2009, 21:13
Schiller took the ammunition belt and begun to set up the machine gun while the other Zaheranian collected his two magasines and began to load them with ammunition. It went quickly and efficiently, as training on the AF-07 rifle was part of the standart training of many units in the Imperial Army. Both men inserted earplugs to protect their hearing and waited for the others to finish. At Sergeant Lea'da's orders, they quickly moved forward to the firing point. Private Sterben slid one of the magasines into the assault rifle and lifted it to his shoulder. He adjusted the scope slightly and took aim at the target, a hundred meters away. Flicking a quick glance at his comrade, he saw that Schiller was lying ready behind his weapon, with his attention focused on the battered mannequin. Sterben turned back to his own target and waited for the order to fire.

"Commence!"

The order was given, and his hand tightened on the trigger. A round left the rifle at supersonic speed. It went a bit higher than he expected, and missed the shoulder of the target with a narrow margin. He adjusted his aim and fired again. The next bullet tore up a hole in the target's shoulder. Another gentle pull of the trigger, and another. The bullets began to move inwards as his accuracy improved, and the last went straight through the chest, where the heart had been had it been a human being. He lowered his rifle with a proud smile and waited for the results.
Mokastana
25-04-2009, 23:09
OOC: make a post and then my browser crashes...

IC:

It was comforting to know that the men in his squad had seen combat before. The last thing Walters wanted was a cherry breaking down in combat causing further problems in the midst of battle. Of course his view might be jaded, seeing as most of his experience with the inexperience was poorly trained Wellovian civilians called soldiers fighting guerrilla forces that were believed to be trained, out of country.

But that was ages ago...

When Sergeant Walters heard that there was a prize for the best shot a sly grin came across his face. He may have turned down sniper training, but that didn't mean he didn't earn it. The under barrel grenade launcher was going to add some weight to the rifle, but seeing as these AF-07s had a few other minor modifications compared to what he was used to shooting, it would probably just be another factor in his aim. The extra kick, added weight, new stock, all just enough to take his aim off a few more inches then he would like, but after a few rounds he should be able to compensate.

"Commence..."

Taking a second Walters felt the wind, more out of habit then need at 100m, and the fact that this was a closed range. Taking aim he fired the first shot at the target aiming at the center, but it looked to be a little off and to the left. A few more shots and it looked like he was getting a feel for the gun, of course he would want to fire it without the grenade launcher as well. If only to know what his comrades would be feeling, but he could do that later.

With a few more shots left he glanced over and saw the Zaherian smiling at his success. Walters took the challenge and aimed, finishing off the last three rounds he had into the center of his target. He could easily enjoy using this rifle in combat.
The State of Monavia
26-04-2009, 01:36
The corporal entered the the dimly-lit firing range and observed the arrangement of the targets and their locations. He knew that at 100 meters there would be some drag and change in direction from the distance which the bullet would need to travel through the air, especially if there was wind, however, this was a more controlled environment, in which such factors could be safely neglected. He glanced again at what appeared to be the lane he was to use and then retrieved his ammunition, looking over a few rounds before inserting them into the magazines.

Pavlov watched as the targets were moved into position, including the mannequin. A thin, mischievious smile crossed his face. A machine gun versus some simple civilian armor...no contest. He moved into position.

Once the order to fire was given, Corporal Pavlov aligned his sights with the center of the target and fired a single round. It missed by some distance, about a decimeter or so. Clearly, it had not been aligned properly. He made the necessary adjustments, examining the location of the hole made by the impact of the first round in order to ascertain the direction and magnetude of the adjustments which he needed to make. He then fired again, missing by only a couple of centimeters. After repeating the proicess another five times, he saw a neat cluster of seven holes in the target, growing ever closer to the center. He used the remaining three shots to make a hole in the very center of the bull's eye.

As he could judge the distance that his rounds missed by to within a few millimeters, he assumed that he was on the mark for hitting a live target at that particular range.
Alfegos
26-04-2009, 12:23
The Sergeant waited until all were finished, keeping an eye on the targets through the telescope. From what he could see, all were doing impressively. The Mokan had taken only three shots to adjust the sights to near perfection, whilst the Zaheran soldier had taken five shots to move to a near perfect grouping near the centre rings of the target. But the Monavian...
"Cease fire! Firing point, on my command, you will unload and show to me that the weapon is clear. Unload!"
There came a loud rattle as magazines were removed, and mechanisms were cocked and held back. The Sergeant quickly moved down the line, patting each man on the soldier as he cleared them, before finishing with the machinegun.
"Everyone move from the firing point back to where I was. I'll have a quick look over your targets, and see who's done the best. Rifleman Xha'jo, go grab the mannequin, and we'll see what our friend has done to it."

The range had a feed system to move the cardboard targets from the firing line at a hundred metres back to the front of the range, removing any need for him to stray out into the firing lanes for the longer distance targets. As he watched, a small outlet produced the target images, along with bullet holes. From a desk draw, he produced a notepad, on which he started jotting down scores.
"Lessee... Xha'jo scored a good round 72... Sterban 79... o'er. It looks like we have a tie between Sergeant Minor Walters and Corporal Pavlov, on a good score of 84. Congratulations to all of you - none of you are going to have to retake a shooting test, and I have my confidence in all of you for the shooting. For the two joint winners, I have a 500ml bottle for each of you of high quality Firebolt beer, which is waiting back at the barrack building for you. For any of you who have gripes about it, I will remind you of the FURRF operating code, which states that on a maximum of two occasions a week, with the permission of an officer, you are allowed to consume up two alcoholic units of such beverages. Thus, it takes a mere two hours to get fully out of your system, making it in my books unlikely to affect anything."

He turned around as Xha'jo arrived, complete with battered mannequin.
"I must say that the section machinegunner has rather good skills in terms of accuracy - this poor soul appears to have taken the full brunt of the shooting."
There came a rattle as he shook the vest, flattened rounds coming from inside the mannequin, having passed through one side of the body armour.
"This is a good demonstration of what your body armour, even with all the bells and smells, is likely to hold up to under fire from a 7.62mm machinegun - if the bullet misses one of the ballistic plates in your armour, this is what it will encounter. From this, the lesson is that your body armour DOES NOT make you invincible - if you get contacted, don't run about, but get into cover."
He took off the vest, revealing the body riddled with craters from bullet impacts. Holes were spread across the front, with a quick look at the back showing the larger hollows of exit wounds.
"Right. You can all go back on the range now for a free shoot with your remaining rounds. Give me a yell when you want to change targets, and when you've finished. You all have... ten minutes, then we're going back to the barracks to have a sit down, before we collect our munitions for the tour."
The State of Monavia
27-04-2009, 03:50
After he had emptied his magazine, the corporal removed the empty case and set it down to the side before inserting his second magazine into the rifle. He aimed it at the center of the target, expecting to shoot a larger hole through the center as the slight deviations in the paths of the rounds nipped at the edges of the hole. Eventually they should just fly through the hole without even contacting the target, and he could just look through and aim at what lay beyond. His plans, however, were immediately halted.

The cease fire command interrupted Corporal Pavlov's aiming, moments before another shot would have been accelerating toward the target. He arose from his position and walked over to see the scores. He was pleased when he saw that he had tied the Mokan Jaguar, Sergeant Walters.


Looking over the remains of the mannequin, he noticed that the ceramic plates were all that had the power to stop the machine gun rounds, and that the softer armor was only capible of deflecting lighter fire. He would have to avoid any enemy rebles and insurgents who were this well equipped, unless he had an advantage which could even the odds in his favor.
Zaheran
29-04-2009, 15:14
Private Sterben was quite content with the results, even though he had come only third. But both the Monavian and the Mokan were older than he was, and doubtless had more experience. From that angle, it was no bad result at all. He walked over to Schiller and had a look at the mannequin. It was no pretty sight. The bullets had cut through the the kevlar vest like a hot knife through butter, and even exited on the other side. He made a mental note to not getting in the way of insurgents with machine guns.

He retrieved his second magasine and walked back to the shooting range. This time his accuracy was better, as the sights had been adjusted to near-perfection. Round after round slammed into the chest of the target, and the hole in the centre ring was growing larger and larger. After about eight minutes, he had finished up his ammunition. He set the rifle at safety and waited gfor the others to finish.

***

Schiller had been mildly surprised by the result of his firing. The targets he had used on his previous shooting training had not been wearing armour, and it was only now he had realised how effective his FN Minimi would be against enemy soldiers. If the mannequin had been a real human, it would have died. The kevlar vest had not protected its bearer to any larger extent. The 6.65 mm bullets had actually gone through both the vest and the mannequin itself.

When the sergeant had finished counting up the results, Schiller inserted his ear plugs again and lay down behind his weapon. He aimed carefully and began to fire in short bursts against the unfortunate mannequin. The remaining ammunition, approximately twenty-five rounds, was used up quite quickly.
Alfegos
30-04-2009, 20:47
The first to finish their round of shooting was one of the Alfegan riflemen in the section, raising a hand to summon the Sergeant. He quickly checked the weapon was clear, before getting him to pick up all his empty casings that now littered the firing point. The man then moved up to the observing point where the Sergeant had been before, allowing the man himself to quickly sight in his rifle. Using five shot groupings, he ate through one of the thirty-round magazines quickly, adjusting his scope until satisfied. Deciding for a bit of fun, he flicked the weapon to automatic, firing off three-round bursts into the target to empty the magazine. With the two inch groupings at the range he had been shooting on from the deliberate fire, he was pleased enough, checking his weapon was clear with the rifleman before sweeping up the empty casings.

After a few more minutes, the rest of the range had finished firing. Hefting over an empty sandbag, he quickly filled it with the remaining ammunition casings not deposited within, a smaller side tin filled with the links from the ammunition belt. With all the rounds used up, he collected in the empty magazines, dropping them along with his bag into the box, leaving the poor mannequin down the bottom of the range.
"Right everyone, let's move it back to our quarters. If Rifleman Pha'ko can help our weapons specialist in re-cleaning his weapon once we get there, I will award those who I promised the prizes, and let the rest of you have an hour of personal time. After that, we'll be moving over to get our ammunition, then have a final check of all our equipment."

The section moved quickly back to the quarters. Inside, the Sergeant took out the two bottles from the package he had received, passing them over to those who had one, before removing a large wad of chocolate. He rarely treated himself to chocolate bars, preferring the cocoa brews made back in his homeland, but enjoyed the taste nonetheless. Sitting back, he turned on the television, listening in to the ANN 1 news channel briefly on a report about Police anti-terrorism raids back in Metropolitan Alfegos, before flicking channels to the Alfegos Military Station. The TV channel was definitely a good watch - with a selection of the best programmes from back in his homeland, any news was relevant and military-related, and the advert breaks were filled instead with five minute informative videos. He cut in straight into the middle of one about landmines, displaying a number of Alfegan made and common landmines, along with images of them buried or set up to detonate. The broadcast lasted a couple minutes, finishing with the insignia of the Alfegos Military set on an orange background, before cutting into the television programme again - a sitcom of some sort.

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

Canned laughter, mixed in with some reaction from those watching, rolled across the room as Ti'ua sat on the floor next to the light machinegunner, efficiently cleaning rifle parts. Unlike the rest of the group, the only things that anyone knew about him were from training and exercises. A man in the Alfegan Army, of an unknown regiment, who had joined the Fegosian Union Rapid Reaction Force, and who seemed to have what the Sergeant described as "an uncannily reliable trick of knowing when the shit's going to hit the fan". As a result, he had been designated as the scout, with the Sergeant reasoning that he'd be able to pick up on any combat indicators before the rest of them ever would. Quickly brushing down the accumulated unfired powder off the bolt with a nylon brush from his repair kit, he efficiently applied another coat of oil, before starting to speak.
"So, Freidrich... you know how to use anything else apart from that? I'm supposedly able to use three different marksman rifles, though I doubt I'll get one unless we get posted to a big enough FOB."

He drew a Golok knife he carried on his belt, part of his personal kit. In the Alfegan Army, he had lived on both his wits and his experience, returning kit he didn't use in place of more personalised equipment, both bought and claimed from enemy combatants. The knife looked more evil than the sheathed bayonet he had tied to the underside of his rifle, the blade itself nine inches long. It obviously showed signs of its age, the metal bearing the hammer marks of it being reforged at least once, and the handle worn smooth in places where the grip had not been replaced. Along the obverse side, a series of characters in a pictographic alphabet stood carved alongside an elaborate etching of a beautiful flower. However, the blade was visibly deadly sharp, light reflecting from where it had been sharpened with great care.
"I got this knife eight years ago, believe it or not. When you're in the jungles of my homeland, the bayonet is no use - all you can do with it is use it as a weapon. With this, I can cut down a tree, carve wood, and split a man's head in two. Whilst I like all the fancy kit they give us now, nothing can beat one of these when it's just you and them, face to face."
He flipped the blade over, showing him the obverse.
"It's not Fegosian, just in case you were wondering - it's Ka'rai dialect. It's a dedication to the unit I used to fight in."
He calmly moved the blade down as one of the Alfegan soldiers walked past, obscuring the etchings from view, before putting it back in its sheath.
"You're not the sort to blab something to everyone, are you? I'd tell you what it said, only I think that with all the other Alfegans around, and this being just before leave on tour, letting them find out some... aspects of my character... might not be the best thing for unit morale. There are certain regiments in the Alfegan Army that are not very popular with other units, due to certain things in the history of our great nation. But, anyhow..."
He slotted the bolt back into the machinegun, packing up the cleaning kit.
"I'll speak to you about it if we ever get the chance on tour."
Mokastana
02-05-2009, 18:42
Walters felt impressed that the Monavian had matched his score, even if part of him said he must be getting rusty. With the announcement of the prizes he smiled, unfortunately Walters was not a drinker. There was no one major reason as to why he preferred to avoid alcohol, but the little ones did end up adding up to the point he would rather avoid it completely. Even though he did know a few other Mokan soldiers on the base who would probably kill (figuratively of course) for permission and booze, he decided it would be best to use it for other means. When he had an open moment between the firing rounds he went up to the Sergeant.

"Sergeant, Thank you for the prize. However I would like permission to share the beverage with squad mates instead of drinking it myself."
Zaheran
04-05-2009, 09:00
Schiller spat on a rag and started to clean the lens of the scope.
"I can't handle marksman rifles worth a damn, but I'm trained on light, medium and general purpose machine guns. I've recieved some training on MANPADs, too, but I doubt that we will face any enemy air. I can also handle your AAT series of anti-tank missiles."

He finished cleaning the scope and took a look at the evil-looking knife Ti'ua had drawn. The blade showed clear signs of many years of use, and the decorations were of a kind seldom seen on standard-issue military combat knives. Still, the knife looked more dangerous than any he had seen, and it was obvious that the Alfegan took great care in keeping it sharp.
"I know how to keep a secret", he said in reply to Ti'ua's question, watching in fascination as the light reflected in the deadly steel blade. "And if it can harm unit morale, that's another reason not to blab about it."
Alfegos
04-05-2009, 20:48
The sergeant listened to the Mokan man's concerns, nodding in appreciation of them.
"Well if you're not alright with that, I will respect your wishes. At least you're not like my old lieutenant, who'd pour any he got down the sink."
He turned around to the rest of the section, raising the bottle.
"Thanks to Mr Walters here, it looks like you all will be having a share. Between the other six of you, I make it..."
Xha'jo shook his head, mouth taken up with part of his webbing.
"A hundred millilitres of alcohol for everyone. I'll trust you all to help yourself to your fair share."

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

Rifleman Xha'jo was worlds apart from Ti'ua. From his training, everyone had heard the stories of what he had done when he was younger. At the tender age of eleven, he had lied his way into the 4th Whiteshield Regiment, and from there had started his army career. The Whiteshields were a 'Cadet' force as such, members ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen. Providing schooling and more specific military instruction, the organisation joining conditions were for a ten year service term once turned eighteen, and a small annual fee. Once at the age of seventeen, if not signed up for officer training, the Whiteshield training ramped up, going from basic fieldcraft and section attack manoeuvres to full on live-fire training. All old army stock not sold off would be used for the training, with relics of vehicles posing additional challenges to those practising on them. At the age of eighteen, the Whiteshields were transferred to reservist duty, doing a one year term of service on border posts if in the colonies, or as attachments to other units on the mainland. After that, they moved to their respective units.

Xha'jo had never been promoted to an NCO rank, due to his aggressive nature. From when he had joined, he had been a beacon of strength for any unit, the first into the fray and the last out. The fears by his squad leader, when he was transferred to the North Sun Rifles, were answered on his first tour of duty, a counter-terrorist posting in Milkavich. When a militiamen decided to open fire on the unit, he had been the first one into the fray. He had also been the one not to realise that he was being shot at. He had been lucky enough not to been seriously injured, but the shot was enough to put him out of fighting for a few days. The militiaman had been subdued, his pistol not enough to stop a large man running at full speed with body armour.

After five years, and a severe review of his attitude, he had been transferred to a FURRF selection unit, before moving on to the Union. With enough battle honours and his old superiors happy to see the back of him, he had been much less vociferous than in the past, but still was talkative. Once he had finished with a final piece of adjustment to his kit, he collected his share of the beer, before going back to where he was sitting. Next to him, Rifleman Re'sa was listening to music on his iPod, whilst reading a copy of the day's paper. He looked over the story the man was reading.
"Those terrorists are pussios compared to the lot back home aren't they?"
Re'sa took his headphone out, turning around.
"Say what?"
"I said those terrorists are absolute pussios compared to our friends in Milkavich, eh?"
"You could say that." Re'sa turned back to his paper, looking down the paper.
"I mean, come on... the worst they did was that outpost a couple years ago, where a load of them decided to face off artillery and machineguns."
"And they managed to take down twelve men before being driven off."
"They were whiteshields, weren't they?"
"Not then, no - Outpost 29 was a proper FOB, not one of these border posts. Autocannon positions, GPMGs, missile launchers... the lot. They only managed to shoo off the attack when an airship decided to bring them the good news."
"Yeah, but compared to Milkavich... I can tell you for a fact that the people there wouldn't stop at attacking the place, they'd completely overrun it, burn it to the ground, then kill a hundred blokes trying to retake it."
"I'm sure you can."

Re'sa sometimes wondered whether he should believe the wild stories that Xha'jo came up with. At least when he says about some of these things, he's actually telling the truth about what he did to the enemy.

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

Ti'ua decided he liked the Zaheran gunner. Whilst training had bonded them as a unit, Schiller was the one man in the unit who he actually could see as his best friend. Not that he would accept the idea of a best friend - in his time, he had seen too many dead friends.
"Tell you what, since you've got your head screwed on right, and we've got the time, I'll show you a couple tricks with a combat knife."
He appeared from his room after a couple seconds with the knife, which he had left at the bottom of his wardrobe. Removing it from the sheath, he weighed it in his hand for a couple moments, before balancing the knife on his finger.
"You see, most knife artists use a specially weighted knife so they can actually have some ease of using it. All you really need though is practice, and good judgement. If you know where the centre of gravity is, you can from there, with the co-ordination and practice, stretch the design to its limits."

At that point he threw the knife into the air with force, the blade skimming the ceiling before plunging back down. There was a tiny blur, and the man opened his fist to reveal the knife.
"Judgement is what it's all about. Catch it by the sharp bit, and at best you'll be unable to hold it for a while. At worst you'll do yourself enough of an injury to get posted back home. You need to either capture it by the handle, which is not easy, or get just the right angle."
To underline his point, he threw it into the air a second time, enough force for it to leave a small mark on the roof, before catching it on the blade between thumb and forefinger.
"So it doesn't flick up, you need to catch it right on the centre of gravity."

He then threw the knife, flying through the open door to his room before embedding itself into the side of his wardrobe with a thud. A few heads turned, before looking away.
"Don't waste your knife on someone like that though. It's last resort, unless you're loaded up to the eyeballs with sharp things." He smiled, finishing his cup of drink.
"Fifteen minutes till we go collect our ammunition. Looks like you've got the short straw, eh?"
The State of Monavia
05-05-2009, 04:45
OOC:

My humblest apologies for not posting sooner. I have been busied with school work and the year is ending in about three weeks or so, thus I am stuck with three major projects in addition to my regular homework.

IC:

The corporal soon reloaded his rifle with a second magazine, took aim at the hole in the target, and began to shoot additional rounds through the hole. After putting about half of them through, he chose to have a little more fun with his shooting. He aimed for the head region of the target, took aim between where the eyes would be located, and proceeded to put the remaining rounds through that location. For added practice, he also tried shooting out vital areas of the neck and upper torso, before leaving a large hole in every part which he had aimed at. If he could not hit the heart or brian, he would hit whatever area was exposed enough to bring relatively quick death, however, he was by no means a fully trained sniper.

Once he had finished firing off his ammunition, he picked up the empty shells, now quite cooled, and lined them up on the wooden platform used for supporting the weapon being fired. He then collected them and handed them to the Alfegan soldier with the sandbag.

Inside the quarters, where the section was enjoying some free time before making their final preparations for the mission, Corporal Pavlov walked over to receive his bottle of beer, and then sat across from the Mokan. He had respect for his counterpart, who had matched him at shooting the targets (although it was more accurate to say that Pavlov had matched him, as the Mokan was his senior and was capable of even greater feats of accuracy). He pulled off the bottlecap and placed it aside, taking a moment to gather in the aroma of the beverage before he drank it. Something of this quality was not to be squandered or drunk in a hurry.

"Sergeant, I was hoping to hear more about your career in the Mokan Army--"

He was cut off by the thud made by the knife hitting the wardrobe.
Mokastana
07-05-2009, 03:25
A nice drink before deployment, the words echoed through Walters head from his first CO. Of course back then the man was a 30 something year old drunkard who kept more Scotch on him than water. The Wellovian Calvary, fast and hard, besides the jokes about the old motto the lack of formal discipline had shown Walters that the old military was a joke. Though when his Strykers had met up with Mokan Ironhearts and the CO began talking with a slur....well he knew he would like Mokan culture the moment that Mokan corporal punched his Captain in the face and immediately ordered the second in command to sober up or be arrested.

He smiled to himself as the Monavian took his portion of the beverage. It was a good thing the Fegosians took their drinking responsibly, but Walters still preferred not to mix booze and warfare.

"Sergeant, I was hoping to hear more about your career in the Mokan Army--"

He turned to see what the thud was, any response he had was quieted with a sudden alertness that overcame him when he heard that thud. It quickly passed as he noticed it was just one Fego showing off. He wondered for a second what the commanders thought about infantry throwing knives into furniture.

"Well, What would you like to know? I joined the Mokan Army when Wellovia joined the Republic and was one of the few soldiers in Wellovia who they considered "trainable." Simply because I had taken command of my unit when things got hairy after my Sargeant took a bullet."

Walters continued talking as if it was nothing, pausing only to listen in to the conversation across the room about the knife."
Zaheran
07-05-2009, 15:19
Schiller watched in amusement as the Alfegan juggled with the knife, throwing it into the air and catching it between his thumb and forefinger. Suddenly the man suddenly raised his arm and threw the knife. Schiller was initially caught off guard, but then he saw that it had embedded itself in the side of a wardrobe, not in a body as he had first imagined. The other men in the room looked up from their conversations with alarmed or surprisedd expressions, and Schiller could not help laughing.
"Knives are good and well", he said, taking a sip from the cup. The Alfegan beer was actually quite good, he noted, not watery and weak as he had imagined. "But I still prefer heavier stuff. If I shoot someone with this", he lifted the machine gun to emphasize his point, "I can be sure that they won't cause me more trouble."

He emptied the cup and put it down on the floor. The others soldiers had returned to whatever they had been doing, even if he saw some of them shoot Ti'ua curious glances. He understood them. It was not every day someone started to throw knives in the quarters. Still, he found that he quite liked the section scout. Though the man seemed to have dark secrets, he also seemed to be a good comrade and a man who could be trusted to do his work if the section ever found itself in combat.
Alfegos
07-05-2009, 17:53
The sergeant glanced at Ti'ua, before speaking out.
"Ti'ua - I hope you haven't damaged anything this time. Otherwise you'll be footing the bill for new furniture, and the section bar bill once we're back."
Ti'ua glanced over at the Sergeant, nodding.
"No worries - I'll make sure there's not a scratch on it."

He quickly paced back into his room, yanking the knife out of the wardrobe, and curing when he saw it had left a deep mark on the wood. He quickly heaved a chest of draws over to conceal the mark, before sheathing the combat knife and putting it away. He came back over to Schiller, smiling.
"That runs on the same stuff as our assault rifles, does your LMG. What you'd prefer are some of the heavier weapons, should you get bumped, though I prefer to avoid that."
The sergeant called him over into the corner.
"As your punishment, Ti'ua, you can go over to the ammunition stores with this bit of paper, and bring back the section's ammunition. All of it."

Ten minutes later, Ti'ua pushed a small vehicle up into the room, a trolley holding numerous crates. Breathing a sigh, he closed the door behind him, as others began to gather around. The sergeant began picking boxes off, bending the small metal clips to unclip the wooden crates. Inside each was a thousand rounds, the boxes only just able to be lifted. Within a few minutes, the ammunition had been separated into its different groups, before the Sergeant began speaking.

"Right then everyone. The order of the day is for each of you to carry three hundred rounds of your own rifle ammunition. This is only preliminary and as a precautionary measures, since you'll likely get different amounts and types over there, but whatever.
You'll each have six magazines, which you will fill. The rest will be kept by you in fifteen-round clip form, in your rucksacks. Rounds will be issued as 1/10 tracer - that is thirty rounds of tracer per person overall. Feel free to load tracer order how you like.
For the machinegunner, you'll have three hundred-round belts, in addition to two further fifty-round belts which will be split up amongst two volunteers in the section.
Each man will have two signal smoke grenades, two smokescreen grenades and two fragmentation grenades. If you have a grenade launcher, you'll have instead six fragmentation grenades, but will keep the conventional smoke grenades.
Each man will also carry two distress flares, an illumination flare, and a pack of five mini-flares.

Ammunition will be distributed as you please. Make sure you're fully bombed up and have all ammunition packed as you will have it for transit. we're going to be leaving rather soon I reckon. Oh, and if I so much as see any ammunition going near your weapon, I'll deal with you very seriously."
The State of Monavia
09-05-2009, 05:47
"Where exactly is Wellovia? I unfortunately possess little infoirmation about Mokan geography." Pavlov was somewhat annoyed that he had not yet learned about the history of his neighbors in much more detail than what he was presented in his briefings.

Coporal Pavlov soon had his ammunition laid out and began loading each of the six magazines. Every eighth round was a tracer. He loaded a new cartridge every few moments before placing it into the magazine, making sure that every one faced the same direction and was properly inserted, to avoid jamming within the magazine or damage by improper wear. Even the engraving on the base of the shells, which named the caliber and model, was aligned so that the words were right-side-up and faced the same way. At least this way, Pavlov could tell what ammunition he was using as quickly as possible. Despite the seemingly complicated process of loading the ammunition, which Pavlov had chosen to operatte on, he finished only a few minutes after his section mates had done so. He was almost prepared for his trip out.

Pavlov then volunteered to take the other fifty-round belt, taking care to fold it as tightly as possible. He was able, with little difficulty, due to the great care he took in efficiently and neatly packing his kit bag, to place it inside.
Zaheran
16-05-2009, 10:52
Max Sterben had watched the events unfold sitting with his back against the wall in the far end of the room while he cleaned his weapon. When Ti'ua entered with the ammunition, he raised to his feet and walked forth to the group around the trolley to hear the sergeant's orders. He quickly collected his ammunition and his six magasines, which he began to slot rounds into, distributing tracer rounds at a one-to-six ratio. The loaded magasines went into his combat webbing, placed so he could quickly reach them in a combat situation. When he was finished, he placed the rest of his rounds in his rucksacks, in fifteen-round clips as the sergeant had specified, and began to gather his remaining equipment. The grenades went into the webbing, but after a brief hesitation he stuffed the flares into his backpack. The risk of them getting hit by a stray bullet was lesser there, and he did not want to experience what it would be like to have them exploding while he was carrying them. Finally, he decided to take one of the two fifty-round machine gun belts the sergeant had asked for volunteers for.

With everything packed, he closed his rucksack and looked up. He seemed to be the first to be finished. He could hear Schiller swearing loudly and rather obscenely in German, trying to stuff a machine gun belt into his backpack. Sterben went over to help him, and with combined strength the two Zaheranians managed to get the belt to fit into the cramped rucksack. The machinegunner nodded a thanks and went over to collect his grenades and flares. Soon, he was finished as well, and the two men sat down and waited for the others to finish.
Mokastana
20-05-2009, 16:13
"Mokan Geography is very usual compared to most nations, and no one has really taken the time to explain it."

Walters began loading the ammunition into his clips with one out of every five being a tracer round, that way he still had some clips free of tracers. In his experience tracers were a necessary evil, showing allies where to shoot, but giving you away just as easily. They were excellent for marking windows for heavier weapons, but he still didn't like letting others know where he was.

"Mokastana currently is spread across three continents, Central Mokastana is the most often visited, it is home to Mejico, the Capital, the Islands, Montana Inc World Headquarters, ect. Much of our Hispanic population comes from that area.

South of that you have my home, Wellovia, part of a much larger continent. Overall the landmass of Wellovia is larger then Central Mokastana, but our population is roughly half of the Central Area, we are mostly farmers and simple people, but our souther Mountain ranges are a beauty to behold. The mining sector is perhaps the largest in all of the Federation."

Walters took the bandoleer for the grenades for his grenade launcher and began filling it up with the six fragmentations and two smoke grenades in his preferred order. The flares he mostly stuck in the ruck sack, minus a few mini-flairs he stuck behind his ceramic plate in his armor, you never know when you might need a flare.

"Aqua Anu is quite new to us, their culture is so different to our farming communities that both Central and Wellovia share. The main reason our people came so close was that both of our nations were heavily agricultural based, the farmers of Mejico and Sur easily connected with our lighter skinned brothers in Wellovia. Of course different products for different climates, but Aqua Anu is heavily fishing based. Overall it is a series of islands, with more boats then families it seems. I hear the Navy is employing thousands to enforce the law there, for all its primitive beauty, pirates have become abundant since it joined the Federation. Besides that it is still a nice vacation I hear, I want to say their culture is mostly of a Japanese dialect, but I am not sure. Never been."

He offered to take the remaining 50 round belt and wondered for a second what he would like carrying a big gun, with a belt of ammo and bandoleer of grenades crisscrossing his chest and a helmet saying "Born to Kill."

Maybe add a piece symbol to his vest for irony...
Alfegos
22-05-2009, 09:45
Soon, the time came when they were moving out. The sergeant quickly checked over all the rooms, before coming back to the rest of his section.
"Right everyone - it's time to roll! All kit out on the parade square, lined up in front of you in formation. You'll have a final parade, before boarding the bus with the rest of your platoon. At the airport, you will go straight from the coach, with your kit, to the aeroplane."

He moved out quickly with the rest of the section to the parade square, hefting his bags on his shoulders. The kit was heavy, though he was starting to get used to it. Once out on the square, he lined his section up with the rest of the gathering platoon, ensuring they were in neat box formation, with bags in front of them. He stood in front of his section, listening in as the Colour Sergeant walked out in front of him.
"Parade! Parade...'shun!"
The twenty four men clattered to attention, boots in perfect synchronisation, as the Lieutenant marched out to the parade square. The colour sergeant saluted him, before turning back to face his men.
"Parade, stand at... ease!"

The Lieutenant began his speech, speaking out across the square.
"As I said in the briefing, this is not the best assignment you could have got as a first one. However, I have my confidence in you all. Keep your wits about you, and keep up the name of the FURRF, and you'll all be back before you know it. Whilst you may not see it here, another company has already set off for the Western side of Hurgat, more of your comrades who will be helping to fight for your cause.
You fight alongside Alfegan soldiers, some of the most ferocious soldiers in the world. Show them respect, and give it your all, and they will give you theirs.
I will see you all again a month from now, when we change over for a month's rest. Until then, the best of fortunes. Thankyou."
He nodded to the Colour Sergeant, who yelled out again for the parade to stand at attention. He saluted the Lieutenant, who marched off.
"Parade. Dis...missed!"

A few minutes later, the bus pulled up on the parade square. Lea'da's section were first to the bus, where he ensured they had the best seats at the back of the bus. With kit at their feet or on their laps, it was a squeeze as the rest got on, before the bus roared off. It was dusk, and the streets were lit up with the typical blue lights to reduce light pollution. After a few minutes driving down a dark road, they reached the city edge, an open police checkpoint waving them through. They passed the seas of prefabricated houses, reaching an inner ring-road that took them to the airport. At the gate, the wave of a pass was all that was needed to get them through the airfield gate, to the military sector of the complex. On the runway in front of the bus, a C-6 Galaxy, sat on the runway, lit up by spotlights. The bus pulled up by the massive loading ramp, disgorging its occupants through the side doors. Lea'da signalled for his section to follow him into the jet, ignoring the background sound of the jet engines as he moved up the heavy ramp. Inside, they walked up to the seating, facing towards the ramp, which slotted into the rails. Airline seats removed from an old business-class section, giving the users adequate space for their bags and themselves. On one of the side walls, someone had kindly placed a TV, on which one could receive terrestrial channels.

Lea'da indicated to the rear row of seats, where he slumped down alongside the rest of his section, leaving his bag at his feet. His weapon sat on his lap as he reclined back, the back of the chair hitting the palletted Gecko FAV behind him. He slung off his webbing, before closing his eyes to get a bit of sleep.
A minute later, the rear ramp close, siren sounding as it moved up. It sealed shut and locked in place, one of the air crew ensuring it was clamped in place, before the air conditioning system started up to pressurise the interior. Another minute later, the aircraft lurched as it taxied, before silencing as it reached the runway. There came a jolt, almost throwing Lea'da out of his seat, as the engines racked up to full power, before a feeling of lightness as the aircraft rose into the air. His bag slowly moved down underneath the front seat, before rolling back as the plane levelled. A voice came on over the intercom system.

"Good evening, this is your pilot speaking. Welcome aboard this FURRF-air flight, to Outpost 29. This flight will take approximately three hours. The weather at the moment at Outpost 29 is warm, with a chance of a Category 1 sandstorm later in the evening. May we please remind you that smoking is forbidden on this flight, as is the loading of weapons. We recommend weapons are placed under your seat, along with any explosives, to prevent anyone succumbing to the urge to play about with them. Water will be served later in the flight, if anyone is thirsty. Tonight, the TV remote is hidden amongst the area you are seated. Whoever finds it gets the choice on the TV channel you watch. Otherwise, you can get some shuteye. Thankyou for listening, and have a pleasant flight."

The sergeant smiled, as he peered under his seat, before reclining back to get some sleep. Someone in Section Three had found the handset, and flicked the channel to some late-night detective drama on Sunrise 2 TV channel. As the Arcturian detective tried to solve the baffling case of a man's murder on the TV, he drifted into a light sleep.
Zaheran
25-05-2009, 14:58
The two Zaheranians followed the sergeant up the ramp and into the gigantic airplane. With a sigh, Schiller removed his backpack, putting it at his feet, and sat down in the surprisingly comfortable seat, a few rows behind Le'ada. He heard a hushed curse as his comrade accidently dropped the rather heavy backpack on his feet, and hope that the dim light inside the aircraft hid his smile. While Max Sterben struggled to get his rucksack in place, Schiller adjusted his combat armour and webbing for maximum comfort. He put his assault rifle under his seat and leaned back, closing his eye.

Despite the shrieking siren as the doors closed and the chatter and laughter of the men inside the aircraft, he was almost asleep when the plane suddenly jerked. He was almost thrown out of his seat, but managed to grip the arm rest and stabilise himself just before he fell to the floor, to the amusement of his more attentive comrade. The man's chuckle was cut off and replaced with another curse as his backpack rolled back and a sharp edge was driven into his leg. Schiller just shook his head and tilted his backrest back, listening half-attentively to the pilot's announcement. Somewhere in the plane a TV clicked on, and to the familiar buzzing of a detective drama, he fell asleep.
Alfegos
30-05-2009, 21:56
(bump to other participants)
The State of Monavia
01-06-2009, 02:02
"Mokan Geography is very usual compared to most nations, and no one has really taken the time to explain it."
...
"Mokastana currently is spread across three continents, Central Mokastana is the most often visited, it is home to Mejico, the Capital, the Islands, Montana Inc World Headquarters, ect. Much of our Hispanic population comes from that area.

South of that you have my home, Wellovia, part of a much larger continent. Overall the landmass of Wellovia is larger then Central Mokastana, but our population is roughly half of the Central Area, we are mostly farmers and simple people, but our souther Mountain ranges are a beauty to behold. The mining sector is perhaps the largest in all of the Federation."

Corporal Pavlov listened with interest at the description of the geography of Mokastana. He noted that the land being described seemed agrarian and placid, perhaps an ideal end to a nation that he had once heard of being subjected in some places to the damages of war.

Walters took the bandoleer for the grenades for his grenade launcher and began filling it up with the six fragmentations and two smoke grenades in his preferred order. The flares he mostly stuck in the ruck sack, minus a few mini-flairs he stuck behind his ceramic plate in his armor, you never know when you might need a flare.

Pavlov noticed how Sergeant Wlaters packed the flares. He placed two of the smaller flares in the side of his kit bag, where they could be easily reached, and put the rest of them away where he thought best. The kit bag was now crowded and cramped, but it was full, and Pavlov needed not worry about adding much more. He could always write a letter to the manufacturer about producing larger versions, if only he was privy to the address. Still, he preferred to think more about what he was being told by Walters.

"Aqua Anu is quite new to us, their culture is so different to our farming communities that both Central and Wellovia share. The main reason our people came so close was that both of our nations were heavily agricultural based, the farmers of Mejico and Sur easily connected with our lighter skinned brothers in Wellovia. Of course different products for different climates, but Aqua Anu is heavily fishing based. Overall it is a series of islands, with more boats then families it seems. I hear the Navy is employing thousands to enforce the law there, for all its primitive beauty, pirates have become abundant since it joined the Federation. Besides that it is still a nice vacation I hear, I want to say their culture is mostly of a Japanese dialect, but I am not sure. Never been."

"That is most unfortunate, even regrettable, to hear that such a place could be marred by the ancient curse of piracy."

Soon, the time came when they were moving out. The sergeant quickly checked over all the rooms, before coming back to the rest of his section.
"Right everyone - it's time to roll! All kit out on the parade square, lined up in front of you in formation. You'll have a final parade, before boarding the bus with the rest of your platoon. At the airport, you will go straight from the coach, with your kit, to the aeroplane."

He moved out quickly with the rest of the section to the parade square, hefting his bags on his shoulders. The kit was heavy, though he was starting to get used to it. Once out on the square, he lined his section up with the rest of the gathering platoon, ensuring they were in neat box formation, with bags in front of them. He stood in front of his section, listening in as the Colour Sergeant walked out in front of him.
"Parade! Parade...'shun!"
The twenty four men clattered to attention, boots in perfect synchronisation, as the Lieutenant marched out to the parade square. The colour sergeant saluted him, before turning back to face his men.
"Parade, stand at... ease!"

Pavlov lifted up his fully-loaded kit bag and began to march out to the parade square. He stood at the ready as he waited for the lieutenant to arrive.

The Lieutenant began his speech, speaking out across the square.
"As I said in the briefing, this is not the best assignment you could have got as a first one. However, I have my confidence in you all. Keep your wits about you, and keep up the name of the FURRF, and you'll all be back before you know it. Whilst you may not see it here, another company has already set off for the Western side of Hurgat, more of your comrades who will be helping to fight for your cause.
You fight alongside Alfegan soldiers, some of the most ferocious soldiers in the world. Show them respect, and give it your all, and they will give you theirs.
I will see you all again a month from now, when we change over for a month's rest. Until then, the best of fortunes. Thank you."
He nodded to the Colour Sergeant, who yelled out again for the parade to stand at attention. He saluted the Lieutenant, who marched off.
"Parade. Dis...missed!"

The wise words of the officer were something that the corporal appreciated much, nodding weakly in agreement at the conclusion. He then followed his section leader to the bus.

A few minutes later, the bus pulled up on the parade square. Lea'da's section were first to the bus, where he ensured they had the best seats at the back of the bus. With kit at their feet or on their laps, it was a squeeze as the rest got on, before the bus roared off. It was dusk, and the streets were lit up with the typical blue lights to reduce light pollution. After a few minutes driving down a dark road, they reached the city edge, an open police checkpoint waving them through. They passed the seas of prefabricated houses, reaching an inner ring-road that took them to the airport. At the gate, the wave of a pass was all that was needed to get them through the airfield gate, to the military sector of the complex. On the runway in front of the bus, a C-6 Galaxy, sat on the runway, lit up by spotlights. The bus pulled up by the massive loading ramp, disgorging its occupants through the side doors. Lea'da signalled for his section to follow him into the jet, ignoring the background sound of the jet engines as he moved up the heavy ramp. Inside, they walked up to the seating, facing towards the ramp, which slotted into the rails. Airline seats removed from an old business-class section, giving the users adequate space for their bags and themselves. On one of the side walls, someone had kindly placed a TV, on which one could receive terrestrial channels.

Lea'da indicated to the rear row of seats, where he slumped down alongside the rest of his section, leaving his bag at his feet. His weapon sat on his lap as he reclined back, the back of the chair hitting the palletted Gecko FAV behind him. He slung off his webbing, before closing his eyes to get a bit of sleep.
A minute later, the rear ramp close, siren sounding as it moved up. It sealed shut and locked in place, one of the air crew ensuring it was clamped in place, before the air conditioning system started up to pressurise the interior. Another minute later, the aircraft lurched as it taxied, before silencing as it reached the runway. There came a jolt, almost throwing Lea'da out of his seat, as the engines racked up to full power, before a feeling of lightness as the aircraft rose into the air. His bag slowly moved down underneath the front seat, before rolling back as the plane levelled. A voice came on over the intercom system.

The corporal placed his kit bag aside for the bus trip, which did not last very long, and held it in place between the seat in front of him and his legs. He took a seat that was adjacent to the aisle in the center, and placed his kit bag in front of him, holding it in place so that it would avoid sliding away. He placed his weapon onto his lap as he slid the kit bag into position, then moved them under his seat to ensure that he could move freely. The plane taxied, and then, as it paused to accelerate, he leaned back and planted his feet against the floor, leaving them flush with the surface to maximize friction. The plane shot forward, breaking Pavlov's grip on the floor for a moment, and then, with the plane's acceleration underway, he relaxed his position in his seat. He still held his kit bag loosely, but with enough strength to prevent it from moving too much as the plane ascended.

"Good evening, this is your pilot speaking. Welcome aboard this FURRF-air flight, to Outpost 29. This flight will take approximately three hours. The weather at the moment at Outpost 29 is warm, with a chance of a Category 1 sandstorm later in the evening. May we please remind you that smoking is forbidden on this flight, as is the loading of weapons. We recommend weapons are placed under your seat, along with any explosives, to prevent anyone succumbing to the urge to play about with them. Water will be served later in the flight, if anyone is thirsty. Tonight, the TV remote is hidden amongst the area you are seated. Whoever finds it gets the choice on the TV channel you watch. Otherwise, you can get some shuteye. Thank you for listening, and have a pleasant flight."

Pavlov looked at his section mates and glanced at the rest of the platoon. He saw as one by one they seemed to doze off, despite the noises of the ramp alarm and the pilot's announcements.

The sergeant smiled, as he peered under his seat, before reclining back to get some sleep. Someone in Section Three had found the handset, and flicked the channel to some late-night detective drama on Sunrise 2 TV channel. As the Arcturian detective tried to solve the baffling case of a man's murder on the TV, he drifted into a light sleep.

Watching for about ten minutes or so, Pavlov soon found that most of the passengers had fallen asleep. The drama of the program seemed to progress at a rate that somehow seemed out of place for such a night. Noticing how the man who chose the program had dozed off, he figured that soon the television would go the same way. He leaned back farther and shut his eyes.

Still hearing the TV emit sound, he whispered a couple of brief prayers in Latin as he fell asleep. As Monavia's second official language, enduring from the earliest days of the empire before English-speaking peoples immigrated and displaced the native speakers from the majority, the language still persisted in academies and was common in public schools. In addition, Pavlov was a man of religious upbringing, once mocking a avowed atheist who had offended him while he served in the Monavian Army by saying that there were two places where there were no atheists: exam rooms and foxholes.
Katonazag
10-06-2009, 05:16
Forward Operating Base outside of Tekanav, Hurgat - 1400 HOURS

The desert sun mercilessly beat down upon the Katonazagi soldiers and their partially constructed HAZMAT Forward Containment Shelter. After the team attached four of the sub-structure support poles, the roof section was forming a make-shift lean-to. Taking a brief look up at the whithering solar assault, Major Edvárd Vegyész called out, "Alright gentlemen, take five. Smoke if you got 'em..." His last phrase was dripping with sarcasm, knowing good and well that it was too hot to enjoy it even if they did.

The CBRNE containment team took shelter under the incomplete structure and broke out their canteens. Major Vegyész was a WMD engineer, and was very orderly and by-the-books, even down to the team's work/rest cycles and hydration schedule. He was obviously quite used to working under lab conditions at a garrison, and it was equally obvious that he didn't like this assignment.

Sergeant First Class Viktor Kemény listened over his ear piece to the Huey helicopter ferrying equipment from Outpost 29 to the FOB. He was the special forces attach'e to the team, and responsible for keeping the team alive. Unbeknownst to the team, he was more responsible for making sure the knowledge in Major Vegyész's head stayed out of enemy hands, at all costs. As such, he socially distanced himself from the group, constantly watching the horizon and listening to the environment and his ear piece, not to what his comrades had to say.

The radio hissed to life again, this time on a channel that the whole team could overhear. "Nomad 3, Wagon 1, over."

"This is Nomad 3, go ahead," Sgt. Kemény responded.

The Huey pilot continued, "We have an ETA of seven minutes to your LZ. Wagon 2 is heavier than expected so we're bingo on fuel and need to get it off double time or we're foxtrot. Be waiting at the LZ when we get there, over."

Major Vegyész activated his mic. "Wagon 1, Nomad 1 actual. Roger that, we're 10-5 to the LZ." He stood up, grabbing his M1/MX and slung it across his back. The rest of the team followed suit and ran up to the helipad. The Huey was right on time, it's tan sand and sage green tiger stripes similar to the HCSK uniform camouflage contrasting sharply from that of the Fegosian helio off to the side. Underneath the Huey was a humvee, suspended by cables. The Huey sat the humvee down and the soldiers ran to it and unhooked it. Sgt. Kemény gave the hand signal and said over the radio, "Wagon 1, Nomad 3. Wagon 2 is clear, proceed 15 yards west and set down, over."
Alfegos
10-06-2009, 19:51
Tekanav Forward Operating Base was a typical Alfegos base, perched in the middle of open arid land outside the town of Tekanav. A solitary road, the only paved one in the country, lead from hear northwards, up to the capital city in the mountains. The occasional lorry crawled past sluggishly, watched by the sentries around the camp edge with eagle eyes, whilst donkey carts crawled past alongside. From the top of the five-metre high walls, the occasional guard could be seen in small sandbag shelters, heavy weaponry kept in the shade provided. Behind and beneath them, the camp stretched out - identical, uniform rows of tents, fortunately air conditioned for those within, punctuated by the occasional solid structure. Large open areas within the compound held vehicles, lined up inside concrete shelters. At one of the far corners, past the fixed, permanent structures that had been taken over as an HQ post and hospital, a large area of unused land sat awaiting a use. Stacks of supplies, empty crates and materials sat underneath tarpaulin, with white marks showing the location of "roadways" and sites where structures were planned. The area also acted as a helicopter landing area, safer than the site outside of the FOB.

Earlier the previous day, the Katonozagi special unit had been welcomed to the FOB, where they would be playing a critical role. With recent items found in the conflict that changed the entire nature of operations, the NBC warfare team had been invited to help deal with it. As revised briefs were distributed to arriving forces at Outpost 29, extra help had been invited in to handle the problem.
The specialist NBC Warfare unit already present in the actual Hurgat theatre consisted of a few companies, with one company stationed at the Tekanav FOB as their centre of operations. Already overloaded with work as they were attached to various patrols, extra help had been requested from Union forces to help with the problem. Katonozag had answered the call, and had sent over their team of operatives to run a specialist containment unit.

Whilst forward briefs had been given to the Katonozagis, the NBC warfare unit knew that it was little compared to the actual thing. Thus, a section had been pulled from rapid reaction duty to help educate the Katonozagis as to the exact threat. A pair of Gecko FAV buggies pulled up at the Katonozagi site, along with a large L-SV lorry. The men dismounted from their vehicles, the officer in charge saluting the Katonozagi Major before speaking.
"Good afternoon, sir. I am Lieutenant Hyru, in charge of the Rapid Reaction NBC platoon station here. Whilst I know you are busy, we've come over to give you a bit of a hand, since we're not doing anything useful at the moment, and to give you a specific brief on the main threats you're going to handle."

He nodded to his men, who started unpacking jerry cans of cold water from the back of one of the patrol vehicles. He then led the major over to the back of the lorry, dropping down the tailgate. Inside, there were six boxes marked with a large toxic warning label, as well as a couple UXO warning triangles.
"I brought down some of the safer stuff from our current operations bunker. We've got a section working on safely decommissioning these in a small shelter outside of the FOB, though we mainly store these in the ammunition bunker. I think these should demonstrate to you adequately what threat we're facing. If you think you can leave a man to coordinate my men in setting your stuff up, I'll be happy to start a briefing for you and your men now. There's an awning that can be deployed from the lorry, so you can get a bit of shelter from the sun."

Taking two poles from the back of the truck, he stabbed them into the ground, before drawing a poncho over. Satisfied, once the pegs were in, he moved into the back of the lorry, dragging out a crate. The top was already removed, from which he produced a heavy gas cylinder with a single white band around its entire circumference at the centre. A small series of straps and bands were attached to a framework welded on, forming a loose type of harness. On the top, a welded regulator unit displayed a large keyhole of some sort, along with a crude release mechanism. A reel of cable was rolled around the top of it. Whilst the object looked dangerous, the word "TRAINER" in large white letters hinted at its true purpose.
"I've got a couple of these training ones loaded with a non-harmful gas here. I've signed them out in your name, so you don't need to worry. They're non-vital, so you can practice deactivation on them. I also brought some deactivated devices with me, as a teaching aid. You don't know how much help you people will be to the anti-chemical warfare effort."

_________________________________


The plane continued to cruise towards Outpost 29, engines roaring as the vehicle cut through the dark night skies. The TV eventually was turned off, as all in the back of the plane continued to sleep. It was about half an hour before they were due to arrive that the Sergeant woke up, finding himself surrounded by sleeping men. The air coming into the cabin was now cold, causing him to curl up. There came the occasional light lurch, telling him that the plane was passing through a storm system, darkness only visible through the occasional window pane either side of him. The lights had been dimmed, thankfully, allowing everyone else to get some sleep. Over the intercom, the pilot started to speak, startling a couple of the Alfegan riflemen awake.
"This is your pilot speaking. We are currently twenty minutes away from landing at Outpost 29 military air strip. We will be performing a combat landing, due to the potential dangers at the landing site. Please ensure that your body armour and helmet is on, and that you have all items that will be carried out on your person. On the last five minutes of flight, the cabin lights will be turned off. When we touch down, and the ramp opens, you are to rapidly disembark the plane, and move over as quickly as possible to the camp administrative building.
So, get your kit all ready. I don't want to have any straggelers onboard in case we come under mortar fire. Crew, set all doors to manual."

The Captain leant over, ensuring everyone was fully awake, as he donned his body armour. Strapping his bergan together, he then placed his webbing on, before taking out his rifle. Checking over that it was safe, he swung it onto his chest, before unclipping his helmet from his rucksack. He hadn't worn one for a while, used to soft hats and berets, yet it still fitted snugly. Ensuring the radio in the ear-armour piece was set up and working, he flicked up the aerial before testing it. The long-range radio he had installed was working as well, allowing him to listen in to the local radio station. Putting on his gloves, and the radio control unit on his ring finger, he strapped himself into his seat whilst checking over the rest of his section.
"Everyone got everything?"

A couple minutes later, the lights dimmed, before cutting out. A single light from the ramp light display was the only source of illumination, as the aircraft began moving down to land, engines winding down slowly. Out of the windows, the only lights that could be seen were the occasional roadside lights on the Alfegos side, cutting out at an imaginary line near the border. Ahead of them, a series of bright lights had appeared, pulses of light leading up to the runway itself. The aircraft changed angle, flaring as it approached, the ground rapidly closing in. After seconds of hanging in space, there came a hard jolt as the craft touched down, the brakes applied and engines put into full reverse as it slowed down. In under a minute, the plane came to a halt, the Sergeant unclipping his belt and standing up.
"Everyone, get ready to move!"
Hooking his rifle in his shoulder, he moved out to the aisles, where everyone now was. The ramp light turned green, and the ramp slammed down to reveal the outside. Bitter cold air, tasting heavy, damp and fresh, rushed in, as the lead section sprinted out onto the tarmac.
"Move!"
The sergeant moved up to the ramp, before sprinting out at the head of his section. With all his kit on, it started to tire him out quickly, as he ran along with the other men towards a central building complex. Behind him, he heard a crash as the seat unit was thown out, followed by the palleted crate loads, onto waiting vehicles.

He collapsed down once he reached the building, passing through the doors before dropping down into the corridor inside. Inside, fluorescant light bars sat recessed into a heavy concrete ceiling, whilst the lack of furnishings quickly showed to all that the building was a fortification of sorts. Once everyone had arrived, he checked his section was arrived, before moving to sit on his rucksack. Inside, the Lieutenant was busy talking to a man wearing a bright striped jacket, who gave him a wadge of papers. Both saluted each other, before the Lieutenant walked down the corridor. Taking a register, he quickly checked on everyone before speaking to them all.

"Right everyone. It's currently 1:48am, and I know you all likely need some shuteye. We're sleeping for our short stay here in buildings 33, 34 and 35. From hereon in, you will be working as seperate sections, following your own schedules. Tomorrow morning, the wash block will be open for us from 0630 to 0700. Breakfast for us is from 0715 to 0745. Inspection, by the Warrant Officer, is from 0800 to 0815. Afterwards, you will have starting from 0900 hours 1 1/2 hour training sessions, until 1200 hours when there will be a 30 minute pause for lunch. Lessons recommence at 1230, continuing until 1530 hours. After that, you will have a free session until dinner, at 1930 hours. At 2030 hours, you will have an evening inspection by the Warrant Officer, followed by a one hour sentry session. You are expected to start sleeping at 2200 hours. This will be relevant for tomorrow, and the next two days, until we are inserted into Tekanav properly. Training will be at the main outpost structure, which we are now in. Instructors will meet you there, and then lead you to your classroom or training area. You will be expected to bring your patrol pack and webbing with you to all places. You will leave your main rucksacks in your accomodation. Now go get some shuteye."

The sergeant stood up, motioning for his section to follow. In the dim light outside, he realised that the runway lights had been turned off, the plane hidden in the dark. Following a few dim blue lights set in the pathway, he moved over from the main building to where a series of small hangers had been erected. He couldn't help but notice in the dark the scars of a past battle on the side of the main Outpost building - dull areas of concrete covered with pitch black marks, deep craters and bullet holes scattered across the front surface. The air was remarkably cold, all the heat of the day escaped into the clear sky above, a hint of cloud to the south. There was no moon, the stars shining bright and clear in a number that overwhelmed a city-dweller's senses. Passing away from the almost evil structure into the shelter of the numerous buildings, set out in straight rows, he checked down the numbers of the buildings until he reached their building - number 33. Opening it up, he pressed a small lightswitch just inside, illuminating the interior with bright LED bulb clusters. Eight beds lay before them, neatly made with dark green sheets. In the corner sat a cupboard holding a dustpan, brush, broom and duster, along with other cleaning equipment. The door had printed instructions for an enemy attack, incoming fire, and fire situations. Choosing the bed nearest the door, he put his rifle in the rack back the door before unslinging his bags and tucking them under his bed. Stripping down to his underwear, he was quickly in bed, as the others got into bed.
"Straight to sleep everyone - it's going to be a hectic few days from now on. My copy of the training schedule tomorrow shows a chemical weapon briefing, IED briefing, Gecko FAV driving, and a practice combat exercise. Let's make it a good one!"
With that, he switched off the lights, rolling over to catch some sleep.

(OOC - For time-based purposes, we will assume that the current Katonozag operation is on the same day as when the people set off, albeit earlier in the day. There will be no problems with time warps)
Katonazag
11-06-2009, 04:43
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 1945 HOURS

After an afternoon of didactic and practical instruction over the nuances of Fegosian WMD delivery devices, Major Vegyész was feeling confident that the team could most certainly handle the materials likely to be encountered.

An eight foot deep area the size of the shelter had been excavated by the Fegosians using their earth movers, and a vehicle ramp had also been cut into it. Two foot wide by six inch deep recess was cut into the lip for the horizontal support poles which would connect to the vertical support poles currently being driven in around the wall of sand and rock. A layer of plywood would be placed on top, which would in turn be covered by a layer of material that side-down absorbs airborne and vaporized substances, and side-up is heavy duty tar paper. And finally, it would be recovered with sand. The door to the vehicle ramp would be simply a light weight sliding door, but would have an air quality sensor to ensure that it safe to enter.

Above ground, a simple building made from a cargo shipping crate would hold the monitoring suite and the negative pressure/air purification/fire suppression system. These would connect to the lower chamber via eight 2 inch sealed ducts. The systems would be monitored most of the time remotely from the Major's command tent, but could be viewed in person if necessary. They would alarm him if there was a problem, and the systems could buy much valuable evacuation time if something were to go wrong.

Once fully disarmed, the WMDs would be taken to the designated Fegosian facility for final disposition.
The State of Monavia
12-06-2009, 05:39
The passage of more than two and a half hours had left the corporal somewhat rested in his seat, albeit stiffened by thechilly air outside the aircraft which was slowly leaking in. A sudden jarring of the plane as it was assaulted by a gust of wind from one of the passing storms had broken Pavlov's sleep, making it easier to awaken. The cold helped little to ease his rest.

The sharp burst of the pilot's intercom was more than sufficient to wake the sleeping soldier, whoes eyes ground open as he lifted his arms and stretched out to loosen his joints as the pilot made his announcements. Rubbing his face, he sat up in his seat and dampened his eyes with some water from his canteen.

About twenty-five minutes later Pavlov had readjusted his webbing and prepared to disembark. The slowing of the plane after it had made contact with the runway had acted against the dynamic inertia of the plane and its contents, living or inanimate, yet when the plane came to a completew stop and the forces which seemed to throw all things backward had disappeared, Pavlov watched in silence as he waited for the ramp to fall. Seconds later, he arose with his kit bag and weapon, and began to walk out as the ramp crashed down on the pavement.

Charging through wave of cold air which hit him as he exited, he sprinted after the sergeant with the rest of his section. The building did not seem far off, bu having over ninety pounds of kit made sprinting more difficult than running with only minimal equipment. Following the sergeant to the building complex, he entered the doors to the structure and turned to enter the corridor, leaning forward against the wall and propping hiumself against it for a few seconds to catch his breath. He made note of the lieutenant who was present in the corridor, the officer who would most likely be carrying out an inspection or head count, and if not those things, perhaps something else.

After making a mental note of the officer's instructions, he continued on with his section. Once in the building, he placed his kit bag aside, in an open spot adjacent to his bed, and pulled back the sheets. He left his boots next to his kit bag, set his webbing aside where it was still open, and placed his weapon in the door rack with the others. After partlly undressing, down to his undershirt and underwear, he stowed the kit bag and webbing under the bed, and whatever else needed to be placed there.

Sliding under the sheets and pulling them over himself, he was soon asleep, awaiting the beginning of the next day, when he would be briefed on some of the state of affairs that were taking place beyond the walls of the compound. The sinister world of rebellion and terrorism was now even closer.
Zaheran
16-06-2009, 20:44
The cold air streaming through the airplane awoke Schiller. He shivered and curled up in his seat. The lights inside the plane had been dimmed, and the relative darkness made him feel disoriented for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted. Most of the men in the cabin was sleeping, and apart from the occasional quiet sound from one of the sleeping men, everything was silent. The only thing visible outside the window was darkness, leaving him no idea of where they were. He sat back again and closed his eyes. He began to fall asleep again, only to be abruptly awakened by the pilot speaking over the intercom. A elbow in Max Sterben's stomach set the other man awake. He started to protest, but Schiller silenced him with a irritated gesture. He listened quietly until the pilot has finished his message, then began to look for his gear.

He quickly donned his body armour and combat webbing, taking the time to check that everything was still where it should be. The helmet was of a model he had not worn before, but was comfortable and fit perfectly upon his head. The radio seemed to be working as well when he tested it, and he nodded in satisfaction to himself before giving his younger comrade a kick to get him moving. Finally he retrieved his assault rifle from under the seat and placed it on his lap. With everything finished and with about five minutes left until the landing he put on his gloves and clipped his seat belt. Sterben joined him a minute or so later, still muttering quietly to himself about the rude way he had been awakened.

The moment thereafter, the lights cut. Everyone waited tensely in the darkness for the jolt that would signal that the plane had landed. Landing lights could soon be seen outside the window. Then, with screeching engines, the plane landed. Schiller unclipped his seatbelt and waited for the ramp to fall. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and began to run, following the sergeant and the other men of his section out from the airplane. Cold, damp air met him, reminding him of a day in autumn back home. The run to the building complex was a short one, but carrying the heavy rucksack and rifle, it felt like several kilometers.

By the time he reached the building he was breathing heavily, and sweat had formed on his forehead. He leaned against a wall for few minutes to catch his breath. Sterben sank to the floor beside him, panting and with a somewhat glassy look in his eyes. Schiller followed the sergeant's example and sat down on his rucksack. He listened as attentively as he could to the lieutenants adress, keeping his eyelids open with pure strength of will. When the short briefing was over, the men in the different sections split up and headed for their nightquarters. Schiller followed Le'ada and the rest of the section down a row of buildings until they found their own, a small building with eight beds.

Schiller placed his rifle in the rack and chose a bed in the far end of the room. The rucksack and his other kit went under his bed, but not so far that he could not retrieve it quickly if he had to. Yawning, he stripped down to his underwear and lay down on the bed, pulling the sheets over him. As soon as the lights went out, he fell asleep.
Alfegos
21-06-2009, 19:30
Next morning dawned slowly, the light drifting in over the outpost. Whilst located near to an afforested patch of fertile land, crowds of palm trees and other exotic plantlife clustering around outside the base's exclusion area, the area had a feel of the nearby desert, hidden in the distance. Light diffused into the building the section were sleeping in, the light waking up the sergeant. He had never been good at mornings after heavy movements, but knew the fatigue would only hang around if he stayed in bed any longer. Fighting the desire to stay asleep, he picked himself up out of the bed, getting his bearings before checking the time. It was 0600 hours exactly, giving him a good half hour before their time washing. Knowing the importance of using this unprescribed free time wisely, he quietly stalked the building's interior, checking for dirt and dust. The windowsills had kindly been left to gather a layer of dust, along with the tops of the curtain rails. The door frame as well hid dust, along with the heater. The floor was relatively clean, the only dirt visible tramped in from the previous night.

He quickly made his bed, ensuring not a crease could be seen in the mattress and that his bed sheets were neat and crisply folded. In his time in the services, he had learnt some quick tricks to make a room inspection-worthy. He then took out his uniform - trousers in desert colours, an under-armour t-shirt, and a normal neat shirt. He never wore the army t-shirts, preferring the under-armour shirts for their comfortable nature. For headgear, he took out his bush hat, a wide-brimmed hat in desert camouflage colours with mosquito net folded up inside it. Luckily, the desert area they were fighting in had no malaria threat - the main problem was the presence of a few varieties of sleeping sickness, dengue fever and crimean-congo haemorrhagic fever. All easily avoided with basic common sense and precautions.

Taking out his boots, he opened the door briefly to polish them, rapidly applying a layer over them. Leaving the polish to soak into them, he moved them back by the door, before putting on his set of sandals. Checking the time, he noticed that the majority of people still seemed asleep, with a few starting to wake up. Raising a voice, he began to speak.
"Rise and shine everyone! You've got fifteen minutes before our turn in the showers. And, between now and inspection, we've got to get this place slightly cleaner and get our uniform looking good. Pavlov, get everyone up, and I'll start on a cleaning rota."
He took out his notepad, leaning it on his bedside drawers. Quickly looking around, he drew up a cleaning rota for everyone - whilst four people at a time would sweep, dust and generally clean the place up, the other four would do the section ironing and polishing. He put himself on ironing duty first, now he knew the fire cupboard held both brooms and irons.

At 0630, the Sergeant stepped outside, still tasting the fresh-air feel in the morning light. A brief walk along the duckboards outside the building led him to the ablutions block, a puff of smoke already coming from the boilerhouse nearby. Inside, the warm water of the showers beckoned. And without a sign of the other two sections yet, he made sure he relished his time washing, whilst tidying himself up. A splash of cold water at the end was enough to awaken him, before he sauntered back to his building.

It was 0700 by the time everyone was fully dressed and ready. Whilst he knew that official guidance was to keep the rifles on them at all times, he doubted there would be an attack on them today - they were currently going through a period of quiet at the base. The warning level was only at"Heightened", meaning that he only needed to go around in body armour. Using a small length of wire and padlock to secure the firearms in a row to one of the beds, he quickly finished tidying up the building entrance, whilst checking his men's uniform. He knew it needn't be perfect, but was still fussy on ensuring buttons were done up, sleeves rolled up properly, and brains in gear.

At 0715, the canteen was open. A proper structure of the base, located amongst the series of accommodation units, the clatter of plates and cutlery echoed from within as the Sergeant approached. Inside, the menu was that of a typical Alfegan breakfast - fruit, fruit, and more fruit. However, due to the military requiring protein at breakfast, along with the dose of carbohydrates, omelettes were on the menu alongside the fruit, bacon, sausage and cheese along with a few local vegetables. The sergeant took one from the serving counter, along with a bowl of Alfegan fruit now grown near the outpost, before sitting down at one of the free tables. A mix of men shared the hall with them - New Zevkhay City Guardsmen in urban camouflage; Borealis Regiment Light Infantrymen; and, in a back corner, a group of men wearing sky-blue berets, indicating their affiliation with the Air Fleet. The sergeant was intrigued, wondering why they were there, before noting the patches on their arms - aeromarines. Probably active on special forces in the area. The sergeant took note, before digging into his fruit - Qua'qua berries, Xe'ya fruit, and slices of Giant Alfegos Me'lo. The Xe'ya was the most difficult to eat, bullet-like seeds lurking in dark purple flesh that the unsuspecting eater would find, on breaking them, a flood of rancid taste going through their mouths. Turning to one of his section, who he noted was eyeing the fruit suspiciously, he smiled.
"I didn't tell you about the wonders of Alfegan cuisine - the fruit is rather interesting to the unsuspecting eater. At least they didn't have the Du'ra fruit served here - on the mainland in Alfegos, we all bet on who could hold one in their mouth for the longest without throwing up. Vile taste, but with all your necessary daily minerals and vitamins. Wheras Qua'qua is rather sweet, and a popular one for making moonshine, and Me'lo is a more rounded, but dry taste. With the Xe'ya, try not to eat the pips - they'll ruin your day."
Katonazag
23-06-2009, 04:12
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 0600 HOURS

Sergeant First Class Viktor Kemény was finally relieved of his post. Damn Major Vegyész, he cursed to himself. The Major had so graciously insisted that they be included in the FOB's regular rotation for sentry duty, especially since tempo of operations was low for them, for now. The Fegosian support gunner he had shared the DFP (defensive fighting position) with for the past several hours had been pleasant and polite enough, but had asked some questions that had to be answered with a prefabricated lie. But such is the nature when you're special forces.

Having ended uneventfully and in just enough time to prevent him from catching some sleep before the regular duty day, he decided to have a walk around. The Fegosians were going through their normal morning routines, and the Major was trying to integrate the HCSK Army troops into that routine. He had said that it would "improve unit cohesion" at the base for them to make such an adjustment. But that was Major Vegyész - all text book, and a Military Academy text book at that.

Sgt. Kemény performed a walk-around of the Huey. He wasn't rated to pilot it solo, but he did know enough to spot something wrong. And nothing was. He then decided to do the same to the humvee. Nothing. The NBC processing shelter. Nothing. Having exhausted his equipment charges, his next stop was to inspect the mess tent.

He found the Fegosian fruits tasty but awkward for a breakfast food, but it was definitely better than the MREs if there were not such a facility. When taken into account where it was being cooked and by whom, the bacon was superb, and between that and the fruit he was ready to challenge the day.

On his way out, he passed the other HCSK troops coming in. Major Vegyész said in passing, "Sgt. Kemény, would you please check the equipment since you're done early?"

"Let me get right on that, sir" he replied with a hint of sarcasm and disdain. The Major would take at least an hour to enjoy breakfast, just because he could. That gave Sgt. Kemény at least 30 minutes of Major-free nap time before having to listen to him again for the next eight to ten hours.
Alfegos
23-06-2009, 12:09
FOB Tekanav, Hurgat

Outside the outer walls of the FOB, perhaps a kilometre away in the main town, the sounds of voices mixed with clattering and ringing, as animal herds were moved through the town. Groups of goats, hooves clattering against the few areas of cobblestone, driven to the bazaar that was on every month. The occasional truck, overladen and belching foul exhaust fumes, rolled up the only tarmac road in the area, passing by the FOB with room to spare as they came into the town. All watched both by the sentry teams overlooking the town, and from the much smaller platoon fort atop a nearby hill.

Whilst most people there were intent on the business of moneymaking, or buying their supplies for the month, the occasional shady person moved down back streets, gathering in a few select houses. The tribal militia always thrived at a gathering like this, when they would plan to launch their attacks. Inside a small house near the city centre, crates from a donkey cart had been unloaded, holding weapons and ammunition. Amongst the poorly-maintained assortion of AK-74s, AF-67s and other such firearms, a mortar tube had been unpacked, a whole range of home-made and military shells ready to be launched.

Out in a small enclosed courtyard of the house, the mortar was set up, the few men with any knowledge of how such a contraption worked intent on aiming it right. An arguement sprang out from the observer on the roof as to how far away the FOB was, two men shouting out in guttural tongues at each other, before being silenced who seemed to be the leader. Finally, with it apparently sighted in, the mortar was armed and the first shell primed. With a scuffle of feet, the majority of the crew backed off as the high-explosive shell was dropped in, followed by the blast of it firing off.

__________________________________

In the FOB, the officer in charge of the NBC unit was busy catching a quick breakfast, before he resumed the tricky task of analysing the explosive charge set on a cylinder that had been recovered. He was adamant on finding out all he could, so he could have some way of catching the maker of them. As he finished his breakfast, handing the bowl back to the kitchen staff, a harsh klaxon sounded - the inbound alarm. Without hesitation, he dived down, landing heavily as he rolled under the kitchen counter. A mere couple of seconds later, there came a bang, as an explosive went off. Getting up, he began sprinting from the building, back towards where his unit was stationed. A second explosion came from outside the compound, another mortar shell impacting on the ground. Once finally inside the structures he was using, he grabbed his body armour and combat patrol rucksack, before loading his rifle. Inside, the remaining men had locked away the explosives in the secure vault, whilst taking defensive positions inside the building. Over the radio, orders came buzzing on the priority channel from the operator station.

"NBC warfare group is to liaise with Katonazag elements and prepare for rapid reaction to possible chemical attack."

Outside the building, their Gecko FAVs and L-SV truck roared to life as the men leapt in, before speeding off towards the Katonozag structure. Another mortar shell fell, this time impacting on the outer gabion wall, pieces of shattered pebble raining down as they drove. Finally reaching the Katonazag group, the officer jumped out as his group took defensive positions around the area.
"Major, the current status is that we're under mortar fire from what seems to be a single mortar. They're trying to pinpoint the bastards, and we've got a platoon on patrol now searching for them. With the threat of NBC attack... we're going to have to foot the line as rapid reaction to any such eventuality. You alright with that?"

There came the roar of wall gunners opening fire, as one of the wall guards started yelling.
"Contact on north-west corner - unknown gunmen, 300 metres away, in a structure. Grid co-ordinates..."
A cannon fired from a wall emplacement, followed by the roar of a shell exploding. In the distance, a cloud of smoke begin rising into the sky. The Alfegan officer smiled, as he ducked under his vehicle.
"Welcome to Tekanav, Major. I hope you enjoy the stay."

_____________________________________________________

Outpost 29

In the canteen, the long range radio flared up, cutting through the broadcast of light morning music.
"Oscar Papa Two Niner, this is Oscar Papa Tekanav. We're engaged with unknown enemy artillery and an unconfirmed number of gunmen. Currently unable to get a fix on enemy artillery, or gunmen. Requesting deployment of observation facilities to aid, over."
"Oscar Papa Tekanav, please give overview of situation, over."
"Situation is amber, over."
"Oscar Papa Tekanav, Alpha Watchmen is inbound. ETA of Ten minutes, over."
"Thankyou. Oscar Papa Tekanav out."

The sergeant had listened intently, before turning back to his breakfast. In the canteen, a group of men had run out, leaving their bowls as they rushed through the door.
"Right then everyone - looks like we're going to have fun indeed - the bloke on the blower there was where we're going to be staying for our short tour. Looks like that's what we're going to be expecting."
He turned back to his breakfast, as he heard the sound of a jet engine starting up outside, starting with a rumble and ending with a roar.
Katonazag
24-06-2009, 05:12
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 0638 HOURS


Major Vegyész was glad something good had come of the childish practical joke someone had played on him with the seed of one of the Fegosian fruits. The bitter taste had made him nauseous and he had lost his appetite, so he had returned to his tent much earlier than planned. Fortune smiled on him, and he was near the Shelter and had dove down the vehicle ramp for cover.

"You gentlemen take cover here and gear up, I'll keep watch" he said to Lieutenant Hyru, gesturing down the ramp with his left hand, his right holding his M1/MX carbine to his shoulder with support from the sling. Just then, ten of his own NBC squad showed up and covered the Fegosian squad so they could take cover. Major Vegyész's policy of always having armor and weapon no more than 5 steps away had finally paid off. "Where the hell are Kemény and Adorján?"

First Sergeant spoke up. "Haven't seen 'em, sir." He raised his fingers to his throat mic. "Nomad 3 and Nomad 7, this is Nomad 2, what are your 20's?"

Sgt. Kemény rolled his eyes at the radio. He and Corporal Adorján were outside the FOB concealed by a low dune. When they heard the incoming mortar and incoming warning, Sgt. Kemény had ordered him to come with him instead of proceeding to the Shelter. They had run up to the north east edge of the wall, where they had gone over the top of the wall and then cut north to their present position.

The reason for this rash move: Corporal Adorján was one of the squad's three EOD techs, and had the squad's .416 Barrett sniper rifle. A building 300m from the NW wall had been hit by the FOB's cannon, and a survivor from the cannon shell's blast was running for cover to the next building. The man's reprieve from death was short. The Corporal squeezed the trigger, and the running insurgent's upper thigh exploded, sending him crumpling to the sand.

"Nice shot, kid." Sgt. Kemény then activated his own throat mic. "Nomad 2, this is Nomad 3. Nomad 7 is with me outside the wire. Scratch one Tango, over."

"WHAT!?!" Major Vegyész was infuriated. "Does he have a death wish, or is he just an idiot?!?"

First Sergeant opened his mic again. "Nomad 1 says get your ass out of the grass and back where it belongs, over."

"Negative on the RTB, Nomad 2. We're definitely in business up here - you should 10-19 and get a piece of the action, over."

First Sergeant looked back at Major Vegyész, as they heard another loud bang, presumably from the Barrett. "Nomad 2, Nomad 3. We have an observer team about 1100 yards from the wire on top of a building in town. Nomad 7 just scratched one of 'em but looks like he might survive, over."

A high pitched whine was heard from the helipad. "Attention all Nomads, Wagon 1 is 10-5 to put some eyes in the skies, over." The pilot slammed the throttle and the Huey lept forward into the air. Without any more load than it's crew and a M240G, the 1900 HP engine let it really fly.

"Wagon 1, this is Nomad 1 actual, 10-4, but stay out of effective range of small arms and follow the ROE, over."

After a couple minutes, the channel opened up again. "Nomad 1, Wagon 1. We have located the 20 Nomad 3 reported, blood on the roof, no body, over."
Alfegos
24-06-2009, 09:15
Tekanav FOB

Outside of the compound, four gunmen had moved up to a building away from where the mortar was firing, evicting the residents before letting rip at the Alfegan FOB. Spraying bullets at their target, they were hoping to get at least a couple casualties from men in the open. Of course, when the cannon blew the structure to pieces, the two blokes out in the walled yard area found themselves in a less favourable position. Taking out a mobile phone and calling their leader, the original spotter turned back to his role.
"A hundred metres further, and you'll get it inside."
"It don't go a hundred metres further."
"Then you're just hitting the walls."
His friend collapsed as his lower body was blown out, moving for cover in another building. He swore, before taking out his assault rifle again. Leaning out from the wall, he let off another burst of rounds, until he was cut short by a burst of rounds from the wall HMG.

----------

In town, the mortar team had run out of the military shells, and were now down to home-made ones. A bundle of explosives, nails and masking tape hurtled up into the air, before exploding a couple hundred metres away on a rooftop. The operator swore as he heard the report from his spotter on the roof, before loading another, more reasonable looking one. The mortar was now set at near 45 degrees, planks of wood putting it at a jaunty angle. With the next shot just clearing the roof of the building, he waited to hear an explosion. The explosion he got, but didn't expect, was the body of the observer rolling off the roof, a large hole in his side. Just what he needed. Climbing up to the roof of the building himself, he took a look for where it had landed. Apparently, it hadn't gone off.
"It's no use! Pack up and lets get the hell out of here!"

As he said this, he heard gunfire from one of the doorways.
"They've found us!"
A flashbang arched into the courtyard, followed by a deafening blast. In a daze, most of the men fell to the floor, as the Alfegans burst in. A couple of bursts of fire were directed at those still able to vaguely aim, knocking them down as the area was secured.

--------

However, the onset of violence in the town had brought out the militiamen from the woodwork. A rocket screeched across from a rooftop in the town, hitting the side of another building as the two tribal groups started slugging it out. The bazaar was abandoned, people fleeing out of the main roads of the town as gunshots echoed across the streets.

Back in the FOB, the Alfegan NBC Warfare commander walked over to one of the wall outposts, to get a look out on the town, before coming back to the Katonozagi group.
"It appears that the fighting has started up again. This'll probably last a couple hours, before dying down. Of course, this is the perfect time for them to set up the IEDs and traps, so expect a lot of work tomorrow."
He watched as a company-sized contingent rumbled out of the FOB, mounted in APCs and armoured cars.
"Official orders are to stay here and deal with any NBC attacks or found UXCO as they come. We can either stay here and sit it out, or go out there and have a bit of a nose around. I'd prefer the former to be honest, though it appears some of your boys would go for the latter option."

As the helicopter thundered across the sky, providing eyesight for the Alfegan forces on the ground as they tried to break up the fighting groups, a jet thundered over at high speed, before circling above the town.
"That's our set of eyes in the sky. A Sunbeam Tactical Bomber, there to give everyone a bit of an insight into things. Of course, all the airships are currently over on the other side of the country, trying to clear things up there, so this'll be the majority of our air cover for now."
Zaheran
25-06-2009, 22:02
Schiller had never been an early riser. Being forced to wake up early was one of the few things he actually disliked in the military. The previous day's activities had done nothing to make the awakening easier, and it was only with pure strength of will he managed to move out of his warm, comfortable bed when awakened by the sergeant's voice. Yawning, he made his bed, taking the time to ensure that it was inspection-worthy. Inspectors, he had learned during his years as a professional soldier, were almost without exceptions of a sadistic nature and had a eerie ability to find even the smallest faults. They also managed to turn up when you were least expecting them, so he always made sure that everything was in order at all times.

After finally deciding that there was no more creases in the mattress, he quickly dressed and headed out for the showers. The cold water and a quick shave managed to wake him up somewhat, and for the first time that morning, he almost felt like a human being again. With highened spirits, he strolled back to the section's building to wait for the rest of the men. After a brief inspection by the sergeant, the whole section sauntered off to the canteen. Schiller's eyes narrowed when he breakfast buffett. He came from a society with a long tradition of heavy breakfasts, and a selection of suspicious-looking fruits was not in his opinion the best way to start the day. The soldiers in the hall seemed to eat the berries and fruit without any obvious adverse effetcts, however, so he sighed and placed a few of the least suspicious-looking fruits and placed them on his plate, along with two slices of bacon, some sausages and a hefty heap of omelette. A glass of something that looked like orange juice and a cup of something he was almost sure was coffee also went on his tray before he followed the sergeant to an empty table. It seemed like he and Sterben were the only Zaheranians in the room. The majority of the others were Alfegans, wearing uniforms and unit insignias he could not recognize. He guessed that the group sitting in the corner were special forces of some kind, with their blue berets, but that was as long as his knowledge went. He turned his attention back to the food and, summoning his courage, bit into one of the fruits. To his surprise, it actually tasted quite good, and he took another bite. A rumbling from his nether regions reminded him of how hungry he really was. He quickly devoured the fruit and began to systematically empty his plate.
Katonazag
26-06-2009, 05:05
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 0653 HOURS

"Air support is always a welcome sight... as long as it's friendly," said Major Vegyész with a half-smile. It would have been a full smile were it not for the bad taste in his mouth from the Fegosian fruit seed and the gall of Sgt. Kemény.

"We won't be going in there today then, except the Huey if extraction of Union troops becomes necessary." Turning to the rest of his NBC squad, "You heard the Lieutenant, break down by twos and sweep for UXO and signs of contamination." He opened his throat mic and said, "Wagon 1, Nomad 1 actual. 10-19 with Nomad 3 and then continue your previous directive. Order stands to stay out of effective range of small arms unless you get a 10-78, 31, or 52."

"Nomad 1, Wagon 1. Copy that, we're 10-5."

"Nomad 1, Nomad 3. 10-4." Sgt. Kemény turned to Corporal Adorján, "Go back to the shelter and find out what the old man wants you to do. If he bitches at you, tell him you did everything exactly as I told you to - that will get you off the hook." The Corporal replied his affirmative and went over to the blown out section of wall and inspected it for unexploded ordinance before negotiating the debris and re-entering the FOB.

Moments later, the Huey came in but didn't put all the way down. Sgt. Kemény hopped up onto the skid of the hovering helicopter and stepped up into the the bird. After attaching the clip on his load bearing gear's harness to the safety anchor, he motioned to the pilot that he was situated. The UH-1 wheeled around back to the town and began rapidly ascending to altitude. Sgt. Kemény took out his ear piece, put on one of the helicopter's head sets, and checked his weapon one more time.
Alfegos
26-06-2009, 18:23
Tekanav FOB

Down in the town, the fighting suddenly intensified as the Alfegan mechanised column arrived. In this situation, it was almost impossible to tell friend from foe, save for finding who had the first shot. The hope was for the Alfegans to link up with the leader of the allied tribal militia in the area, and co-ordinate their men into attacking held areas. Easier said than done, of course. The bomber continued its tight orbit of the town, relaying down information occasionally to the relevant authorities.

Back at the Katonazagi unit, the Lieutenant had taken out a laptop from a heavy case, and was busy viewing aerial footage transmitted live from the aircraft above them. A montage of photography was helping him try to locate the inevitable IED teams that would be laying devices, focusing on the key streets used by the Alfegans. It took only minutes until he got his first team, before radioing in to the Katonazagis.
"Wagon 1, this is November 1. I've found an IED team on imagery. Location is Eight-Zero metres south from the central plaza, on the street with the temple, on the western side of the street. Device appears to be large, requiring two men to carry, and is concealed under a vehicle. Requesting you investigate as close as is safe. Over."

He turned back to the feed, as the cannon in the base opened up again, turning another building in the distance into dust. He then started to put out a warning.
"Operator, this is November One. Eyes on IED, on Temple Street, eight zero metres south of market square. Wagon One is inbound to observe. Over."
"November One, advisory is being given to all units. Spearhead is engaging targets, and should give enough diversion for the helicopter to get closer."
_________________________________
Katonazag
27-06-2009, 06:46
Tekanav, Hurgat - 0705 HOURS

"Copy that, November 1. We're 10-5." said the UH-1's pilot. He switched over to the onboard channel. "Nomad 3, do you copy?"

"10-4, Wagon 1. Let's have a look." replied Sgt. Kemény

The helicopter swang it's tail around while nosing down and banking right, heading for the requested location. In a few moments, they were passing from the north over the town square. "Contact, seven unknown 10-59s on the roof tops, four on the right and three on the left." A couple of rounds riocheted off the Huey's underbelly armor. "59s are Tango, let 'em rip." They banked left and then right, wheeling the tail around and bringing the M240G on the right side of the aircraft to bear.

Sgt. Kemény intentionally used the momentum to skid across the inside of the helicopter, confident in his tether. He ended up seated next to the gunner just as they were passing by. And then their guns erupted, flames belching from the barrels and spraying lead into the enemy. Sgt. Kemény's M1/MX was fitted for .416 Heavy, and the recoil from the automatic fire and the bounce of the aircraft reduced the effectiveness of his fire. But the gunner's 240G was on a mount and was unaffected. The two guns strafing run left four enemies hit, six or seven more dents in the side of the Huey, and an insurgent ambush ruined. The enemy AKs were no match for the aircraft's armor at that distance.

The pilot circled around to the left after his first pass, keeping the guns pointed at what was left. They effectively cut off the escape of the insurgents on the western roof, mowing them down as they ran for the stairs. The remaining two on the eastern roof gained cover and were gone.

"November 1, Wagon 1, over. Be advised, ambush encountered on location. We broke it up, but some got away. At least two insurgents still in the area of."

Looking over the aireal photos of the area, Major Vegyész came over with "Nomad 1 actual, Wagon 1. 10-4, have Nomad 3 10-86 and advise when on scene, over."

Sgt. Kemény gave the pilot the thumbs up, acknowledging the order. "Nomad 3 reports 10-4, Nomad 1. Proceeding with 10-86." The helicopter hovered a couple feet over the western roof, Sgt. Kemény unclipped his harness, and dismounted the aircraft. His boots hit the roof with a thud, his weapon raised to his shoulder. He hit the stairwell the dispatched insurgents had been heading for, and proceeded down. The building was vacant, which he discovered as he went.

When he got to the 2nd floor, Sgt. Kemény took a peek out the window at the vehicle Lieutenant Hyru had advised them of. It was smaller than a duce-and-a-half but bigger than a pickup truck. Under it, a large cylander, spray-painted black to hide the markings, and something duct-taped to the top. "Nomad 3, all personnel. Be advised, we have a 10-64 Bravo or Charlie under the truck."

"Nomad 3, Nomad 1 actual, 10-4. Wagon 1, 10-19 with Nomad Base for 10-31."

"Copy that, Nomad 1." replied the helicopter pilot.

Damnit, he's marooning me here for revenge, thought Sgt. Kemény to himself. He ran over to the internal stairwell, and set his only Claymore mine on the other side of the wall so he could blast anyone coming up the stairs. He returned to his position near the window so he could take a quick peek out every now and then, and waited...
Alfegos
27-06-2009, 17:25
Lieutenant Hyru listened in intently as he reviewed the aerial footage. The bomber only had fifteen minutes left, if it were to land at a safe runway. He finally received the message he was dreading.
"... we have a 10-64 Bravo or Charlie..."
He swore out loud, getting a few looks from his nearby men, before getting himself in order. Yelling out, he brought the Alfegans in, before speaking.
"One section, get yourselves kitted and ready to be out of here in five minutes. Two section, same with you. Three section, hang back here, and ensure that due care is given in case we have it go off on us. Get all gate personnel on high alert for potential gas release.

The area out there is very hot, so we're going to have to make this a quickie. Get in, provide a wall of fire whilst we deactivate any explosives on it, then get ourselves out of there with the goods. I'll see what I can get in terms of support, but it's likely going to be hard. Now go get yourselves ready."

The men rushed over to the vehicles, whipping out all necessary items and placing them into their combat webbing. The roof guns on the Geckos were loaded up, as the Lieutenant opened up a radio channel.
"Operator, this is November One. We need support for collection of device. Over."
"November One, Spearhead will be dispatched to clear you a path. Out"
He whipped out his service pistol, loading and cocking it, before placing it back in his holster. His assault rifle, an AF-07, was quickly checked and loaded, as he counted out magazines. Twelve magazines of 30 rounds each made 360 rounds, with another 120 in clips in his patrol pack. A small under barrel LASER designator was the oddity on his rifle, a high-powered device for targeting objects for missiles, bombs, and numerous other things at short range. He quickly checked the battery pack, before running over to the Katonazagis in their structure.
"This'll be your first test - get this place prepped to take a biochemical weapon."

____________________


On a nearby rooftop, a pair of men slunk up to the stairwell at the top of the structure, peering out to check the rooftop. Blood had formed a sticky mess with the dust, as it pooled around bodies. The helicopter that had done so was now out of sight, giving them a chance to run back up. In the street below, they quickly peered to check their handiwork, before taking the weapons off the bodies. All were armed with a poor array of third-class firearms, few working efficiently. The device they had set had been arranged deviously with the parts of an old stake mine in place. Not only was the fragmentation bomb attached to the top of the tank fastened by a hair-thin length of wire across the street, there was also an anti-tamper mechanism that would cause any unfortunate disposal team to set off the device. Where the device had come from was not known by the people who had set it - the lorries bringing in hidden firearms and ammunition for the militia in this town had brought this in as well, to add to their growing stockpile of arms. They had just improvised it as a weapon, knowing from the plethora of symbols on it that it was something dangerous.

One of them suddenly ducked down as they saw movement in a window by the vehicle, before speaking in a hushed tone. They both knew what it meant - they had been told nobody else in the tribe would be in the street. It was either another militia member, or worse...
The man unslung the rifle on his back. He had taken to using a hunting rifle, originally intended for game but perfectly suited to take people out. Using the unusual .338 Lapua Super Magnum round, he had always found it difficult to get ammunition for this stolen weapon, until they managed to wreck a vehicle carrying a sniper team. The 2000 rounds ammunition meant he had plenty to spare from now on. On top, he had crudely mounted a scope from an EVK2 sharpshooting rifle with a welded joint, the optics sighted in almost perfectly. Setting it a few clicks up to account for the slightly shortened range, he crouched down and aimed at the window. In the reticule he had a view of the window, laddered cross-hairs centred just inside. Slowly moving, he soon could see inside the darkened interior. Not a soul in sight. As he was about to give up, he saw a flicker of movement, and a man suddenly appeared from around a corner, peering outside. In one quick motion, he squeezed the trigger, almost falling backwards from the recoil as the rifle fired. A cloud of dust erupted from inside the building, along with a deafening crack that could be heard above the fire of other weapons. Without checking for a kill, he ran back inside the building, before anyone retaliated.

_____________________

The NBC group, a total of four vehicles, soon met up with the Spearhead group. A mechanised platoon, consisting of two LY219 APCs and a "Basalt" IFV, who led the way through the town. The military had finally managed to contact the friendly tribe leader in the area, who was at last starting to co-ordinate his men to drive off the attacks. Starting in the north of the city and progressing downwards, the battle was slowly being won.

"All Nomad units, this is November 1. We are approximately five minutes from device."
The Gecko that the Lieutenant was in was armoured lightly with tinted sheets of polycarbonate bullet-proof glass, and the occasional sheet of metal. Against any missile weapon, they were toast, designed only for rapid movement and against small arms. The perfect vehicle for navigating these streets, during periods of quiet, but not ideal when going straight into a shooting gallery. Whilst units poured from the APC and IFV units either side of them, the patrol made very fast progress up to the market square, before screeching across. There came a massive explosion as the tactical bomber dropped its payload, a pair of 500lb bombs, obliterating militia-held buildings on the edge of the plaza and scattered abandoned market stalls across the area.
"This is November patrol, calling Nomad 3. We're at end of street, about to disembark. What is your status?"
The vehicles pulled into a side alley, out of sight of any rooftop snipers. The men inside began kitting up in full NBC warfare kit, checking gas mask filters and suit seals before calling in the Basalt IFV. The vehicle parked across the top of the street, gunner on lookout as the vehicle NBC system was tested. In the event of there being a spillage, the vehicle would act as an ambulance. Back at base, an ambulance unit was on standby to receive any casualties.

Once kitted up, the Lieutenant got out cautiously, along with the other 15 men in his group. Taking cover along both sides of the streets, the men began patrolling up, one dragging a wheeled plastic crate holding ordinance disposal equipment. Another man had a large antenna backpack on, emitting a jammer signal that would render all radio and phone-controlled devices neutral, whilst leaving the radio communication channels open. A silence suddenly fell, the Lieutenant noticing the absence of gunfire for a few seconds. When it resumed again, he still had a sense of foreboding that he normally felt in such a situation.
"All walk slowly! There might be secondary IEDs in the area."
Katonazag
28-06-2009, 04:50
Tekanav, Hurgat - 0719 HOURS

Sgt. Kemény got up off the floor surrounded by a cloud of dust, checking to see where he'd been hit. He didn't feel injured, and he quickly found out why. The gaping hole in his pack explained why he had been spun around mid-dive after seeing the glint from the scope across the street.

His radio crackled to life in his ear. "This is November patrol, calling Nomad 3. We're at end of street, about to disembark. What is your status?" He rechecked the interior starwell for intruders, and then went to another window to check for anyone approaching the building from the street. He did see the Fegosians leap-frogging their way toward the truck.

"Negative on your advance, November patrol! Just received sniper fire from the west side of the street. over." Realizing that he was unequipped to try and take the sniper on at a distance, he decided on an older but more intense approach to the problem. He was going to force them to engage at point-blank range. Taking his Claymore mine back up, he decended to the ground floor.




Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 0721 HOURS

Major Vegyész watched the incoming Huey creating a massive dust cloud with the heavy downdraft of it's rotars. He and his team were in their NBC overgarmets and boots, baking in the heat. It would get worse if the incident escalated and had to put on their masks and gloves too. They had set up more defensive monitoring equipment, as well as increasing the amount of M8 and M9 paper around their section. Major Vegyész had selected two of them to go with him to the site. One was the Corporal from EOD, and the other the Specialist from Lab who was also doubling as the team's medic. He turned to the First Sergeant and said, "take charge here and keep everything ready to receive a hot package."

"You got it, boss." he replied, and then added, "Good luck, sir."

"Mount up!" Major Vegyész ordered, and they boarded the Huey. As they took off, they watched the Fegosian bomber leave, low on fuel. He asked the pilot over the internal channel, "How are we looking on fuel?"

"Just under three-quarters tank, we got plenty of loiter time, sir." replied the Warrant Officer at the stick.




Tekanav, Hurgat - 0723 HOURS

Sgt. Kemény now had two reasons to be glad that he had notified the Fegosians in time. On his way out the door to go up the street one building before crossing the street, he had taken a glance at the device, and saw an attachment point suitable for rigging a trip wire. "November patrol, Nomad 3. Be advised, the 10-64 has a mine onboard. Beware of mechanical triggers, over."

Now back to business with the sniper. He looked up the dead-end alley between the buildings and saw a wooden door to each directly across the alley from each other. Realizing that it was probably their escape route, he promptly got a nasty idea. He went up to the door, pulled out his knife, and stabbed at a downward angle into the door at head-level. He pulled a grenade from his gear, turned the fuse dial to 1-second delay, and wedged the tip of the safety lever into the knife mark. Finally, he took some 550 cable and looped it through the pin, then tied it to the door handle in a manner that would pull it if the door were operated.

Moving back to the corner of the building at the street, he took out three CS gas grenades, and then donned his gas mask. "Let's see if you can shoot with this in your eyes, you filthy bastard." One by one, he pulled the pins and threw one into a window on each floor, rapidly inundating them with a thick white choking fog that began billowing from the blown out windows and slowly rising over the building.

He started to go to the front door, but he noticed that the door was right across the street from the device. And sure enough, trip wire. Meaning, that if left with no other alternative, the insurgents would probably set it off on themselves intentionally. And that couldn't be allowed to happen. Using the barrel of his rifle, he knocked the rest of the glass out of the window and then climbed into the fog. He slowly and carefully made his way to the door to the inside stairwell, checking for booby traps. Finding none, he waited for them. The familiar rumbling of the Huey's engine began to grow.

Thats when he heard hacking and coughing from one of the upper floors.
Alfegos
28-06-2009, 22:32
The Lieutenant stopped dead in his tracks, indicated all to get into cover. The men sprinted into the shelter of various walls and building facades, looking around for signs of enemy movement. Keeping quiet, he sent his scout forwards, a man equipped with both a small marksman rifle and marker grenades. His backpack held three strips of paper, gas detection papers that would show any signs of chemical release.
"November One, this is November Papa. Nomad 3 has left the building, and crossed the street. It looks like he is going to take on the sniper himself."
The Lieutenant swore. He didn't want a wannabe hero to make a mess of himself, under his watch.
"November One, this is November Papa. Nomad 3 has deployed stun gas grenades into the sniper building. He seems to know what he is doing."
"10-4 November Papa. Get sighted in on that rooftop, and slot any buggers who turn up."

_______________________

In the building, the two men were almost blinded as clouds of gas began pouring in. Fearing for the worst, the two tried to run away, through a blurry mist. One of them found the upwards stairs, and began climbing up, into the relieving air. His eyes stang, and he could hardly breath. He spent a minute coughing and vomiting down the stairs, as the initial symptoms began to die down. His eyes still hurt like hell, forcing him to view the world through the occasional blink, as he moved up towards the light. The only escape was into the streets, or across the rooftops. He chose the latter, before running up onto the roof. Sprinting erratically, he came up to the edge of the rooftop, preparing to jump.
There came a single gunshot, and the man's chest blew out in a cloud of blood and gore. With enough power to knock him forwards and make him collapse, the second gunshot finished him for sure. His hunting rifle clattered to the ground, next to one of the bodies already on the rooftop.


The other man had blundered about choking before tripping down a flight of stairs. Unable to see anything at all, he crashed into an alleyway door, before taking out his assault rifle. With the inability to see anything, he locked it into his shoulder and fumbled the safety off, before opening the door. Pulling the trigger, he let off a burst of rounds, finishing with the weapon jamming on faulty ammunition. He had no time to finish as the grenade detonated. He was close enough for the overpressure to crack all the bones in his body, throwing him into the building wall with the majority of the grenade's shrapnel.

______________

"I got one!" The scout ensured that the semi-automatic EVK-98 rifle was safe, before crawling forwards to check. By now, the central paper on his rucksack had changed colour, a single yellow band appearing across the paper. The indication the CS gas was present. He came to a stop when he noticed a shining piece of fishing wire at his eye level, light glinting off of it.
"He was right to get us to stop - there is a trip line across the entire street."
There came a burst of gunfire off to the side of the street, forcing the men to the ground, before the sound of an explosion. Gas continued to permeate across the street.

The Lieutenant observed, before sending a pair of men up to the opposite side of the street. The two walked slowly, checking for any signs of disturbance, before reaching where the trip wire was secured, to the slats of a closed gate. The two moved into cover, signalling down the line. A webbing pouch was taken out of the crate, and tossed down to them. Inside, they began taking out and assembling tetrahedral reflective markers either side of the tripwire, before putting up a pair of large warning triangles. One showed an image of a person being blown up, whilst the one below showed a person with a gas mask on.
"November One, trip line is marked out. Area clear. Out."

"Nomad 3, this is November Patrol - need confirmation on enemy status. One man dead on the roof. Over."

The two men at the lead quickly moved across the street, to get a better look at the device under the vehicle. Taking out a flashlight, the man illuminated the device, checking over it. Taking out a knife, one of them moved closer to examine the trip mine, before looking at the cylinder body. The valve was still locked, with a few dribbles of paint across the regulator valve. Scratching it slightly, taking great care not to move the device, he removed a glob to reveal a section of printed code.
"Nomad team and November patrol, this is November Five. Long message. Device has intact identity code. Original delivery was to outpost in Milkavich, in 1943. Contents are 3 Red Band. System is under Five Zero bar pressure, of volume Four Zero Five Six Zero cc. System never discharged. Over."
"November One to November Five. Rendez-vous with Nomad 3, and get him the hell out of there. Out."

The Lieutenant was not a happy man. Indicating for the men to back up the street, he waited until Nomad 3 had been escorted from the structure, before taking off his gas mask to speak more clearly.
"If we get bumped during this briefing, I want you all to take cover in buildings either side of the IECD, and repel enemy attack until I give the order to disengage. The IECD must not be triggered.

Right everyone - here's the deal. The shit has really hit the fan for this one. The device is over sixty years old, and filled at high pressure with 3 red band gas. To those uninitiated, and for the benefit of the Katonozagi sergeant here, it's known as hot jungle-mix blister gas. When filled, about 20% Mustard gas, 60% Lewisite, 10% Chloropicrin, 5% Herbicide, 3% D22 Delirium agent and 2% binding/propellant agents. It'll do what Lewisite does to you, and make you puke your guts out at the same time. The idea was that the chloropicrin can actually pass through early gas mask models, and improvised air filtration systems, making the person rip off their mask when they started vomiting. Hopefully, that won't happen today, since you're all wearing the correct kit. The D22 in it will, with all certainty , have decomposed by now, so it will have formed arsenic compounds in solid form. The mustard gas and lewisite are still very likely to easily kill you, as well as the chloropicrin - the inside is lined with a plastic film coating, so nothing for it to react with, we hope.
What makes it worse is that the device is ancient. One move could cause the container to break, and blow up in your face. Add to that the stake mine planted on top of it, and we're talking a difficult job.

The plan is to get ordinance disposal units on it to try and neutralise the stake mine, before removing it. Once that's done, we will transport it to the Katonozagi decommisioning unit, preferably by surface convoy, for them to neutralise the contents of the canister. Once complete, the empty canister will be passed over to our unit, for forensic analysis, along with the stake mine. In the meantime, we will need to evacuate the area, in case of detonation, and occupy points to defend this inner position. Spearhead will be keeping the outer area secure, along with elements of the militia.

The field hospital is on highest alert. If the device goes off, it is our priority to search and evacuate priority casualties to the field hospital, before decontamination of the area with appropriate agents. Area of heavy contamination will be about twenty metres upwind in current conditions, and a hundred metres downind. But it won't go off, will it? Any questions?"
Katonazag
30-06-2009, 05:37
Tekanav, Hurgat - 0730 HOURS

Sgt. Kemény listened intently to the choking throes of the persons upstairs. Definitely two, and trying to escape the CS gas. One set of stumbling footsteps sounded to be going up and away. But then the other literally came stumbling and then tumbling down the steps, ass-over-tea kettle, and dropping his weapons. Sgt. Kemény stood over him at the bottom of the steps, aiming his rifle right at the insurgent.

"Put your hands on your head and face the wall - NOW!!!" he yelled. Two shots rang out from outside, and the insurgent got to his feet in a panicked dash for the door up the hall, picking up one of the rust-bucket AKs he had dropped on his way out. Sgt. Kemény knew exactly where the insurgent was going in such a purposeful manner. Seconds later, his confidence was confirmed when the echoing bang of the grenade rumbled through the building.

He made his way along the route the insurgent had taken, and found the door that he had used to damn the indegenous fighter, his mortal remains a mangled testament.

He heard the radio channel open. "Nomad 3, this is November Patrol - need confirmation on enemy status. One man dead on the roof. Over."

"10-4, November Patrol. Scratch one Tango by grenade, over."

The channel opened again. "Nomad team and November patrol, this is November Five. Long message. Device has intact identity code. Original delivery was to outpost in Milkavich, in 1943. Contents are 3 Red Band. System is under Five Zero bar pressure, of volume Four Zero Five Six Zero cc. System never discharged. Over." Another transmission followed, "November One to November Five. Rendez-vous with Nomad 3, and get him the hell out of there. Out."

Sgt. Kemény put on the final piece of his NBC ensamble, his gloves, and came back to the corner of the building, where he was escorted to Lt. Hyru. He listened intently to the breifing, but constantly checked for evidence of more insurgents.

"...But it won't go off, will it? Any questions?" Lt. Hyru finished rhetorically.

"Hooah, L-T," replied Sgt. Kemény.
Alfegos
03-07-2009, 12:55
The cylinder was soon under the eye of a team of four men, as the other tweleve systematically searched the buildings from the street end downwards, moving civilians out away from the area with shouts and bursts of speech from a translator. In the distance, the gunfire had started up again, although it was becoming more sporadic as the antagonists were hunted down. The presence of the helicopter meant all the enemy militia had disappeared into structures, taking shots from in cover out onto streets as they were slowly divided and taken down.

The Lieutenant rested in the cover of a small yard wall, radioing in status updates as the device was neutralised. At the other end of the street, another APC had blocked off the entry, giving them the degree of protection they needed. He had sent Nomad 3 off to help with the building clearance, allowing those on the patrol to strip off the majority of their NBC kit to prevent overheating. A small tarpaulin had been erected where the 4-man team were busy trying to deactivate the device. It was an E3 stake mine, quite old from its rusted condition, with the dark green paint peeling off. As well as the trip-line input, a tiny spring-powered ring attached to the thin line, there was a small tilting device freed by the removal of a safety pin, that meant any attempt to disturb the mine would result in it firing off the hundred grams of explosive into all around, and the tank regulator. And what made the mine such an annoyance was, unlike many other mines, one could not simply reinsert the pin. But, a plan was unfolding. The tank had been carefully clamped and stabilised, so it was very difficult to move. And, with a small hand drill, one of the team was slowly boring a hole into the top face of the stake mine, so that he could remove the explosive and render the mine harmless.

Thankfully, for once, the deactivation seemed to have gone without hitch. The explosive technician soon was removing the plastic-like explosive charge, dropping it onto a very small digital scale unit, counting how much of the explosive he had removed. Once satisfied most of it was removed, he continued boring a hole, and five minutes later walked out triumphant with the small detonation cap. The shell of the mine was removed from the cylinder, before the device itself was dragged out from under the vehicle.
"Nomad command, this is November One. Device has been made safe. Preparing to deliver it, over."
He continued on to a long range channel, wrapping a piece of wire around the radio antenna to increase its range to within the theatre relay station.
"Lemur Operator, this is November One. Message over."
"Go ahead November One, over."
"Lemur Operator, requesting details for gas serial: 2 1 1 7 Alpha; Romeo 3; 1 0 2 Bravo Foxtrot Juliet. Requesting details for outpost number 2 1 1 7. Send via telemessage to Operator Tekanav. Over"
"November One, what is your clearance code, over?"
"Lemur Operation, Code: Bravo Three X-ray Hotel India Four. Over"
"Roger. Files will be transferred immediately. Out"

From this, he could hope to glean some details as to where the militia had got this device, and hopefully track down their makers. He had, for the time he had been deployed here, followed them around trying to discover the source of these devices. Whilst he hadn't found them yet, he was building up a picture, from the many clues left behind. This was the first time that they'd used an old-style cylinder, which would hopefully betray the person who had gained it.

The tripwire was removed and placed in a crate with the remains of the stake mine, and the explosive putty scraped out of the mine, and loaded up into the back of the IFV that had reversed down the street. Very slowly and carefully, two men lifted up the ugly cylinder, putting it down into an improvised box padded with cardboard and carpets, with chemical detection paper plastered over its roof. The crew of the IFV and its occupants donned their protective gear, getting inside before the vehicle drove down the road to the waiting armour convoy.
"1 section, ride out and escort the convoy back to base. You can come along, Nomad 3. 2 section, I want you to start decontamination of where the CS gas grenades were used, and to search the area for any evidence. Military Police and our friendly militia will be along soon to search the bodies, and to take them to the temple in the city centre for idenfication and cremation. But first, if you would please, Sergeant Kemény."

The lorry that had come along with the patrol had been opened up, revealing numerous drums of chemicals for presumed emergency decontamination, along with a mobile shower. The tent unit for decontamination was self-erecting, springy rods whipping the tent into place as soon as it was taken from its bag. Outside, there sat a large empty 20-gallon drum for collecting contaminated clothing. The Lieutenant indicated for him to go through.
"Just make sure all your kit has gone into the decontamination drum - I don't want everyone touching your kit and ending up blind."

One of the section assigned for decontamination entered the affected building with a spray backpack, squirting most surfaces with an agent to break down the CS gas still remaining on the surfaces of the building inside. The volatile nature of CS gas meant only areas of heaviest contamination needed decontaminating, such as the building where the grenades were let off, and the Katonazagi soldier who happened to have been in the building at the time. Whilst the crew busily sprayed down the building, and rinsed the Katonozagi's kit, the Lieutenant and his men took off their NBC kit, to try and cool down in the oppressive heat. It was quickly starting to warm up. By now, some of the civilians were being escorted back to their homes, moving them around the decontamination unit.

Once the Katonozagi had finished in the decontamination, he was handed a dry set of Alfegan uniform in a similar size to his katonozag uniform, complete with rank slide and an identity arm band, along with his wet, decontaminated kit in a couple of plastic bags.
"Just leave it out, and it should dry out in about an hour. Now let's get going."
The contaminated ammunition had been removed from the man, as it was now sopping wet and likely compromised.
"Right, let's mount up and get ready. Sergeant, you're my gunner."
The gecko patrol vehicle had a roof-mounted weapon, for use as a heavy support weapon. In the section now moving to escort the IECD, they were both equipped with a 12.7mm HMG. The Lieutenant sat in the passenger seat, whilst the rest of the fire team mounted on the rear-facing seats attached to the back of the vehicle. Once all were seated, the patrol began moving out back towards the FOB.
Katonazag
04-07-2009, 06:33
Tekanav, Hurgat - 0753 HOURS

Sergeant Kemény tossed his NBC overgarmet into the barrel. The CS residue on it was rather concentrated because of his close proximity to the release, but nothing a little bit of washing wouldn't fix. The skin on his hands was burning a little, but it passed as soon as he washed them with the solution. He had been gassed with CS and worse before in training situations, so it was nothing new to him. It felt good to get out of the sweat-soaked uniform, which also went into the drum with his gear. The Fegosian uniform he put on was crisp and clean, the cut unfamiliar, but definitely usable.

They were going to keep his weapon and ammo because it was wet from decontamination, but Sgt. Kemény explained to them that it was fine. The M1/MX was designed to be used straigt out of the water if necessary, and so was the ammo. However, it would definitely need deep cleaning when they returned to the FOB in order to prevent the shortening of the weapon's service life. After shaking some water out of a fresh mag, he loaded, chambered a round, and clicked the safety on. His XD-41 pistol was a much tighter system and didn't need anything more than surface decon.

"Right, let's mount up and get ready. Sergeant, you're my gunner." said Lt. Hyru.

"You got it, L-T." replied Sgt. Kemény as he bounded up into the gunner's position. "Ma Duce in a different dress..." he said to himself. After checking the weapon to make sure he would be operating it correctly for the model, he racked the bolt, chambering the first round on the chain.

As they began rolling, the Huey overhead began changing it's patrol pattern to spot for the convoy and provide air support if it became necessary. Major Vegyész was pleased that his presence on the ground hadn't been necessary, and was content to stay in the air out of effective range of the enemy's small arms.
Alfegos
04-07-2009, 23:35
The patrol moved quickly through the town, which was now slowly being secured. Armoured vehicles parked here and there showed where streets where enemy forces had been contacted were being cleared out, or searched for IEDs. Ahead of the two gecko FAVs, the rest of the armoured convoy moved on up, in the ever-increasing heat. It was now noticeably getting warmer, the temperature rising by one degree every twenty minutes. At least the IECD hadn't been a midday job, in sweltering heat. Above, the helicopter moved about, watching as the convoy finally made it to the FOB outer walls.

At the gate, each vehicle slowed to a halt, as sentries quickly and thoroughly searched the exterior of each vehicle, checking for any possible tampering by militia or attachment of IEDs on the undersides. As each vehicle was cleared, the group slowly moved further into the protection afforded by the small gate area structure, turning through a slalom of concrete barriers, tank traps and barbed wire watched over by a couple of machinegun nests. Anything trying to force its way through the gate area would find itself in a world of misery.

Finally, once the convoy had been given a look over and under, they made their way through the compound to where the Katonozagi unit was based, moving at a rapid speed. The Lieutenant quickly disembarked, rushing over to where the cylinder was being unloaded slowly and carefully. The crate was set down softly, before being moved over towards the Katonozag structure.
"Here's your first job of your tour - we need you to make this safe. Normally, we'd just keep them, but with the vintage and tampering done to this, we're going to decommision it. Can you empty and neutralise the gas in the cylinder, before returning it empty and decontaminated to my people? I unfortunatly have other pressing matters, in terms of working out who planted this and where it came from. If you need any assistance whatsoever, give me a shout on the radios."

Once the device had been handed over, he and his section moved back with the explosives to their structure. Inside, once the Lieutenant had sat down and had a quick drink of coke, he set one fireteam to begin examining the explosives and review past data, while the other kept on lookout around the base in case of any gas incidents from the Katonozagi unit. The Lieutenant sat back in his small office area, before reading the report he had received via telemessage from the Secure Operator in the communications headquarters.


SECRET - FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
DATASHEET FOR OUTPOST 2117

NAME - Outpost 117
LOCATION - Hill 38, Ze'koa Sector, Fego'pru Subprovince, Milkavich
OCCUPIED - 22/6/1946
DESTROYED - 7/11/1952
PURPOSE - Artillery Battery
PERSONNEL - 248
CBRN STATUS - Chemical and Biological
NOTES - Destroyed by communist revolting forces in the civil war, with the loss of all lives at the outpost after a nerve gas cylinder was ruptured. In the aftermath, OPERATION SLICK investigated this facility as part of the tracking of original chemical munitions. Of the 38 cylinders and 288 artillery shells recorded in delivery, 3 devices could not be accounted for. It is assumed these were removed by communist forces and deployed actively, though other possibilities involve looting and further sale on the black market.

"Fat lot of good that. Just like any other outpost where the CBRN agents have been stolen." He turned to the next page, and his eyes lit up.


SECRET - FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
GAS CYLINDER REGISTER - ABRIDGED VERSION

CYLINDER ID - 2117A - R3 - 102BFJ
CONTENTS - 3 red band
DATE OF MANUFACTURE - 2/5/1945
REGISTER DATES
3/5/1945 - Left manufactory with Milkavich Guardian convoy.
3/5/1945 - Arrived at the Peri'vi Gas Warfare Dump.
4/5/1945 - Signed into deep storage vault 3.
23/8/1948 - Signed out from deep storage vault 3 to transit vault.
25/8/1948 - Left Peri'vi Gas Warfare Dump with a Milkavich Guardian convoy.
26/8/1948 - Signed into Outpost 2117. Stored in HAZMAT munitions dump.
9/3/1964 - Recorded as UXCO on hill 38 by OPERATION SLICK agents. Left on site for later pickup.
7/11/1974 - Removed from a captured communist supply truck by ISS agents.
9/11/1974 - Signed in at the Milkavich Chemical Weapon Decommissioning centre.
8/12/1974 - Signed out from Milkavich Chemical Weapon Decommissioning by a Milkavich Forest Ranger unit, for transportation to alternative decommisioning site.


He perked up at this point. He knew that the Milkavich Forest Rangers had in the past had had officers court marshalled for dealings with both criminal elements and the communists. If they had sold it onto a criminal organisation, then they would be the ones providing the gas to these militiamen. But how audacious an organisation? That narrowed it down considerably. He started writing a very lengthy report for the theatre commanding council. They wanted informing every time he made a breakthrough on the case of the NBC weapons, and as such this would be one that would help them make headway. But he needed information on the actual people on the ground stockpiling and deploying the weapons. From what he could tell, the system must be centralised somewhere, if they were buying in these devices. Once that cylinder was made safe, he'd need to start taking samples from it, and see where they led him.
Katonazag
06-07-2009, 03:05
Tekanav, Hurgat - 0817 HOURS

As his men moved the cylinder down the remainder of the vehicle ramp and into the shelter, Major Vegyész replied, "We'll get it done and preserve as much evidence as possible."

Once inside, he flipped the lights on and then toggled the switches on the NBC ventilation system. He closed the door and locked it, a small red light on the handle outside denoting that it was unsafe to enter. They got into one-piece chem suits and respirator packs rated for the materials they were working with, and then began the process of decommissioning the cylinder.

Two hours later, the light on the door handle turned green. The chemicals had been neutralized mostly through combining them with other chemicals, the reaction rendering the final products inert. They had even pumped the neutralizing agents back into the tank and back out again until it came back unchanged. The two lab techs had siphoned off a small sample and run it through a gas chromatography analyzer, which sent a copy of the report to the Major's command tent. After finding no signs that the gasses had contaminated them or the shelter, they opened the door and went around to the chemical showers attached to the above ground portion of the structure, and drenched their suits before removing them. Major Vegyész went and checked the filtration unit. Even though it showed only traces of sand and dust, he had the unit seal the used filter, eject it, and then replaced the filter with a new one.

The senior of the two lab techs went to the command tent and examined the report again as he brought it back to Major Vegyész. "Sir, the report shows that Lt. Hyru's approximation of the chemical decay patten was pretty close."

The Major read over the report again, and nodded. He then took the report to the platoon commander. Handing it to him, he said, "All clear, it's ready for forensic examination. My men will safeguard it until inspected."
Alfegos
06-07-2009, 20:18
Once the Lieutenant received the report that the gas decontamination was complete, he drove his Gecko over to where the Katonozagis were based. The vehicle bounced across the uneven ground outside, eventually coming to a rest by the structure. A gunner dismounted, and walked with him over to where the device was being kept.
"Major, if I can, I would like to call a meeting concerning all, later on today. It is to do with a number of breakthroughs made today in tracing down the gas cylinder manufacturer. Let's make it in two hours time, at about midday. My office area is air conditioned, so it'll be a respite out of the sun. I'll have lunch delivered as well, so that we can use the lunch period to get this sorted. I'll hope to see you then. I think we'll be able the amount of workload on both of us, should the meeting go well - you'll probably be able to help us in working this out."

Moving into the part where the cylinder was being stored, he took out a small set of tools and sample bags. Using a scalpel, he peeled off a layer of paint, dropping it into a small plastic pouch. He then took out a camera, and began photographing the cylinder, before rotating it around. He was checking for any other marks of tampering, that would help him. He noticed the regulator assembly had been disassembled to help in decontamination, and quickly checked over it to look for any more signs of what had happened. At that point, he noticed something significant. Giving a chuckle, he took a small section of coarse string from the unit, before putting it into a bag. Finally, he dusted it for fingerprints, collecting a sample of each fingerprint before placing them into the small case. Once complete, he lifted up the cylinder, hefting it to the vehicle.
"I'll drive it over to our HAZMAT storage area - we send all the crap like this out on the HAZMAT convoy every three months. We're due a visit in what... two weeks. By then, we'll be up to our eyeballs in it."

He left, driving across to the structure he used for the NBC operations. It was a small fabric/concrete prefab construction, now made more permanent by addition of empty crates and side awnings for storing equipment and increasing space. Underneath it, they had dug the HAZMAT storage bunker, where the chemical weapons for the facility were also stored. Built from hardened concrete, with a thick layer of soil and rubble above it, it was safe from any attack the militia had so far thrown at them, and had enough capacity for the storage of the hazardous waste.
Dragging the cylinder inside, he walked over to where the other decommissioned chemical ordinance was being stored, next to identical sealed red drums of hazardous waste. Inside here, a heavy steel cage held the chemical ordinance proper, metal crates holding mortar shells and a large rack holding row after row of the gases. A small safe sat on the wall with a keycode, for holding the activation key. He looked at the numerous warning signs, the smash alarms for gas warning alerts, and the racks of chemical warfare equipment held as spares, before leaving the bunker. He slammed the heavy steel door behind him, turning the capstan that drove metal bolts into the wall to seal it tight.

At the above-ground facilities, he moved over to his office area. He had forgone one of the many accomodation tents, using the crate that he had been allowed for an office as his sleeping space as well. Leading out of it, there was the large briefing-cum-working space, folding desks and chairs stacked against the walls. Off to it on one side were the separate working spaces: a forensic laboratory; a sealed gas unit made from the carcass of a Basalt IFV; and a multi-purpose equipment store room that also doubled as a computer station for one of the few PCs on site, extra storage space for supplies and as a secondary fortification. On the roof, there was a small transmitter for broadcasting ECM signals, as well as many awnings covering spare materials for the base.

Once inside, he sat down to read the report. The gas decay just affirmed to him the serial code on the cylinder was true, and that it was what it was. There were no contaminants that could help him, which annoyed him greatly. He then took out the hasty report made by forensics as a preliminary analysis of the paint. Chromatography graphs showed numerous dye lines from constituent ingredients, followed by brief analysis. But to him, it was a gold mine of information. The paint had traces of a cheap organic solvent that had been banned in Alfegos - thus pointing to it being made locally. He quickly accessed the internet from his laptop, via a dodgy mesolite link, pointing the small dish receiver perched on a window slot up to where the nearest mesolite was. He then began searching the reports made by the chemical warfare lot on potential sites that could be targeted by militia attacks, and the risk assessment. A massive list confronted him, from which the search function took a long time in trawling for the relevant files. The results finally came back, a success.

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

At the lunch meeting, he sat with the Katonazagi units that had been able to turn up, as well as the seventeen of his men available on the site, not busy with the cleanup of the site where the gas cylinder had been. The lunch was from the Alfegos ration pack menu - a mix of biscuits with numerous types of meat, cheese and savoury toppings, assorted chocolates and cold drinks. The air conditioning hummed in the unit to cool the people inside, the window shutters closed tight to stop the heat coming in. Outside, it was very hot, the heat reaching forty degrees in the shade. A few lighting tubes lit the interior, as the biscuit packs and toppings were passed around from a set of large boxes.

"Right everyone. As you may be aware, that last cylinder left a goldmine of clues, not least one very important one that has narrowed down our search for the enemy chemical maker considerably. I will go through the evidence, and what it implies.
First and foremost is its origin. From the serial number, I have managed to trace it to last being seen with the Milkavich Forest Rangers. They are, as you may know, known for this sort of crime, selling on UXCO and UXBO to communist forces. From there, it will likely have been bought from them by a militia contact. Now, what this tells us is that the source of these is foreign. Air patrols on the border have been increased now to try and check for any suspicious smuggling of devices, and the ground restrictions have tightened. Thus, it will be very difficult for them to resupply.

Next, is the paint sample I obtained. We managed to trace the paint back to a small factory run in this country in Hurgat City. I got onto their manager, and he sent me back a list of the batch chromographs they take as part of an agreement with a large foreign multinational. The batch the spray paint used on the cylinder came from was made a month ago, and sent to a paint and dye store here in Tekanav. Thus, our chemical bomber must live in the Tekanav area.

I managed to receive a radio report from the squad cleaning up the house you CS gassed, Sergeant. They say you did a very nasty job with the grenade, and that it took ages for them to clean up the mess. But what they also found was the body of one of the bombers. They identified him as one of the few people around here to own a truck. They did some asking around, and he was out of town a couple days before today.

Finally is the twine I found on the cylinder - I reckon it was used as some sort of attachment for a mine, before they put on the sticky tape. It is made from polyester, which is only sold at the clothing shop in a village outside of Tekanav. The stuff is very expensive in this country, and so is not bought that often. If we go question the store owner, we might be able to find who bought this, and thus find who the bomber is."

He smiled, taking a deep breath, before continuing.
"I'm currently in negotiations with command, since it'll be up to them to co-ordinate an attack, but I've been told that operations will start in three-or-so days time. The village in question is Qudhat, twenty-one miles north of Tekanav. We have a small FOB there, FOB Qudhat, located on a small hill on the edge of town. The platoon stationed there will go and start enquiries, and have been told to prepare for potential encounter with chemical weapons.

The plan will always change, but here's what is likely to happen. A helicopter-borne strike force will be sent into the area to raid the sites identified in enquires by our men down there, and either capture or eliminate the mastermind behind these attacks. There is expected to be the possibility of substantial chemical ordinance there. Thus, a section will need to be sent in. Due to the situation here, we will dedicate a section. If the Katonozagi delegation would be so kind as to send units as an attachment to our section, that would be of tremendous help. In terms of what we'll be doing, we're going to fly in aboard a CH-53 Super stallion to provide the heavy lifting capacity necessary for the creation of a field disposal unit - as I can guess you are aware, it would be foolish to carry such a mass of weapons through enemy territory. If you would dedicate your helicopter to helping out, that would be a great help.

We will most definitely be involved in front-line fighting during the search period. As such, I have authorised all Katonozagis to have access to heavier weapons from the armoury at this FOB, should they need them for this operation - by that, I mean CSA-2 autocannons, GMGs, AAT-87 missile launchers, even flamethrowers if you so wish. If you go through me first, I'll sign for the equipment for you. Once the stash is located, we will set up a field decontamination unit near to the FOB in the village. Forces will be reduced in the village, leaving us to decommission an indefinite number of devices, before clearing up shop and moving out. We will also need to liaise with local people whilst there, and help in the education campaign for preventing deaths from UXO, UXCO, landmines, IEDs and IECDs.

This time, I am most sure that you will have questions for me. Fire away."

He finished chewing on a biscuit, before looking around.
Katonazag
07-07-2009, 04:24
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 1210 HOURS
Command Tent, Fegosian NBC Platoon

The Katonazagi platoon and their UH-1 crew listened intently as they snacked on the Fegosian refreshments. "You can count us in," said Major Vegyész. "We'll assist in the raid and decon, and you're right, we'll need some heavier weapons if we're planning on engaging in and possible short-term sustainment of combat."

"A vehicle mounted weapon for the humvee would be good, and some of those missile launchers and extra grenades can't hurt to have along. One of those 12.7mm HMGs would fit the bill and it looks like the mounts are compatable." added Sgt. Kemény. "And I'd like the chopper to have more firepower too."

The Huey pilot scribbled something down and handed it to Major Vegyész. "Warrant Officer Domonkos here says he can turn his utility helio into a gunship if you like. If I order them within the next couple hours, I can have the weapons and ammo delivered in-theater by tomorrow evening to Outpost 29, and he can go pick them up from there." He paused. "If you have interpreted the evidence correctly, and I suspect you have, this has some pretty serious implications on who may be involved. We'll need to know if there are any special rules of engagement should any Fegosian military personnel be found in arms against us. Also, I'd like a map of that area so I can begin studying the geography."
Alfegos
07-07-2009, 16:26
The Lieutenant quickly scribbled down notes on a notepad, as he took a bite from a bar of chocolate.
"Tell you what, I'll get the gremlins in the armoury to bring you out a few sample weapons, for you to have a play with under supervision. Then you can make up your mind. That, of course, being in terms of the vehicles. However, in terms of the helicopter parts, I would recommend that you get on the net once done here. Since I doubt you have a satellite or mesolite connection in your operations centre, go to the Signals unit and ask the officer there to patch you through on a priority mesolite line. It's pretty easy to see which building it is - look for the big antennae."

He stood up, gesturing he would be brief, and quickly walked over to his office. He returned with a file, which he opened and searched through. He finally passed the two sheets over to the Katonozagi Major.
http://i306.photobucket.com/albums/nn279/Tomahawk911/Qudhat.png
(NB - 200px = 1km)
http://i306.photobucket.com/albums/nn279/Tomahawk911/FOBQudhat.png

"The first map gives you the overview of the inner area of influence of FOB Qudhat. There's the large main road that runs near to the structure, the only paved road in the region, which is kept watch over by the FOB, on the nearby hilltop. There are three small villages, and scatterings of houses. The Hurgat National Militia, the friendly ones so to speak, have a presence in the area of about a company in size, based in Qudhat itself. They have a checkpoint on the main road, and a presence in one of the small villages. If you're wondering, FOB Ri'so covers the area west of this segment, FOB P12 covers the vast area to the east, which is mostly uninhabited arid desert, FOB Tekanav covers the southern area, and FOB KFS the north. The unit currently posted there is a platoon from the Borealis regiment. Their mission is to keep an eye on the area predominantly kept in check by the militia, and to keep them in check, as well as providing support for larger engagements. In the event of them getting into something major, FOB Tekanav is the next line of support, followed by Outpost 29.

Furthermore, if you're wondering, the Hurgat Free State that is the country we are fighting in does have an army in training. Alfegos is mainly focused as an observation and training role to the police and military in the north, in Kesoav and Hurgat City itself. That's why we can afford to have so many FOBs scattered around this area - because their national army is taking care of flushing militia from the north, right into us.

As for the other plan, of the outpost, that is a pretty basic diagram I drew up today for the commanding lot.

Anyhow, to the most serious matter. It is very, VERY unlikely that we find Alfegan personnel aiding and abetting the militia at the stash of cylinders. However, if we do, then we have to follow Military Traitor Guidance Order. The priority, in my mind, is to take them alive, for presentation to a special court martial. This is what any sane person would do, so that he can be interrogated and any further schemes found and halted. However, apart from that, he is not protected by any law of Alfegos - he is, so to speak, an outlaw. Thus, you will not be investigated or charged with any war crimes committed against this man, by Alfegos, or for killing him. Whilst this sounds macabre, there is the possibility of being charged by the international community, this being an overseas operation, so don't push it. But, as it is my duty to inform, there you have it."

Silence hang over the room, oppressive, signalling the end of the meeting.
"If you have no questions Major, then feel free to observe the maps in your own time. They are restricted documents, so keep them safe. If you want to have the people to test the weapons systems to go to the western wall of the FOB, we'll get the weapons out for you and drive you over to the explosives disposal area."

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

A good hour later, three trucks drove over to the western wall, where the Katonozagi group were to be waiting. Under the shade of the wall, the armoury technicians disembarked, opening the backs of the trucks to show them the weapons from the Alfegos armoury. A rather tall Warrant Officer let them look at the preassembled weapons systems, before talking them through them.

"First one on my list is the 12.7mm Type Five Ev'kho HMG. Fires 12.7mm ammunition, as you can guess. Quite a heavy beast, but comes with a fire rate of about 800 rounds a minute, quick-changing barrels, a mount for a scope, and a very simple mechanism. Cocking requires quite a bit of muscle, and the bolt can cut your fingers off when it comes forward, if you have an accident during stripping it. Easy to take apart, and easy to put back together, and parts are so simple that they can be made by any mechanic you should come across. Excellent for long term treks into the field. However, in sustained fire, it will start heating up quite a bit. It also has a tendency to run away, should you hold the trigger for sustained bursts, and requires a very strong bloke to cock it. Not that that should be much of a problem. Rounds are readily available at any FOB you should come across, in their ammunition stores."

He indicated the next weapon.

"A slightly bigger bang for your buck here is the CSA-3 Autocannon. Runs on the 23mm 'Firecracker' rounds used by airships. Has a much longer range than your 12.7mm gun, much more powerful, and a true beast at eating through buildings. However, the ammunition is not that easy to find outside the big FOBs. The gun is very heavy - something like 40kg. And the recoil is enough to cause difficulty when driving and firing. Whilst it is, again, simple, the ammunition is quite heavy, and thus not suited to all roles."
He took out one of the rounds, twisting it around, before passing it around.
"That weighs a good 400 grammes. You'd need a truck to carry the ammunition for this beast."

Passing along, he pointed out the third weapon in the back of the first truck.
"And finally, the GMG-2000 Grenade Machine Gun. Runs on the 40mm grenades you should all be used to. Relatively short range compared to our fried the CSA3, and follows grenade trajectory. However, more bang, lighter rounds, a relatively lighter unit, and the ability to mount optical zoom units should you so wish. The recoil can still knock a lighter vehicle over, and the rounds are still not as common as your 12.7mm rounds.

So, that's the choice we have for you heavy armament. I'm sure you didn't want to get a 7.62mm GPMG for your roof mount, since you already have one."

He walked to the next truck, where a few weapons were lined up.
"Some whizz sticks for you now to choose from. Not that much choice really. You've got the AAT-87, AAT-07, WAAT-2 and the Fire Stick.

The AAT-87 is the world famous Alfegan missile launcher. Reusable, fires HESH, HEAT, HEAP and Fragmentation rockets, and has a very good range. The guidance system is LASER, and the launcher itself has a designator on the top of it. The unit can only get you up to 3/4 of a mile - if you want further range, you'll have to ask for a separate multi-band designator that can be tuned for air strike designation as well. Very effective against buildings, and can hit up to 1 1/2 miles.

However, if you feel that you want to carry the extra bulk, you can bring the AAT-07. Uses upgraded missiles with intelligent capabilities - fire and forget. You need to carry around the computer panel unit, which will eat up the batteries used on the missile launcher much faster, and it overall weighs more. Since we're in a theatre with little in the way of armour, I wouldn't recommend this myself.

Now the WAAT is a strange customer. It uses a launch rail instead of a launch tube, to fire off a modified version of the Longbow SSM. This system is only really useful against large quantities of enemy infantry, due to the size of the missile used, and the rounds are exceedingly rare outside of Outpost 29. We have this mainly as a testbed from Alfegos Aeronautics.

Finally, there's the Fire Stick. A one-use anti-structure tube, with no guidance save for the perspex sights. The main round, as you can guess, is a White Phosphorous warhead. Mainly used for smoke screen projection, though as you can guess it can also be used to clear out large groups of enemy. However, the explosive rounds for it are of larger calibre, and carry more of a warhead. And a preloaded unit is very light.

So, there's your choice. We'll drive over to the explosives area - about five minutes away, and let you try them out on our pet targets. If you want to hang about afterwards, there's also going to be an EOD of all the IEDs we've neutralised over the past week. Once you're done playing about with them, tell me which you want, and I'll get them delivered to you as soon as possible."
Katonazag
08-07-2009, 01:45
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 1245 HOURS
HCSK CBRNE Containment Team Command Tent

Major Vegyész poured over the maps he had been given, memorizing the details. Having already placed his requisition order for the weapons for the UH-1 to his division HQ back in the HCSK, it was his next task at hand. "Definitely need that firepower if it's as bad as all that," he said to himself.



Ordinance Disposal Area - 1426 HOURS

After a vigorous session testing the bounty of the Fegosian armory, Sgt. Kemény said, "I think we'll stick with the 12.7mm HMG for the humvee, and pack two AAT-87s and a few extra rounds of frag and 'HESH'. We call the HESHs 'HEP' for 'High Explosive, Plastic' but it's all the same stuff.

Since the decon operation will be outside the wire, we need to be able to defend it independently from the FOB while we're using it. The whole thing is a vulnerability, from having outside the FOB, to what will be inside while we're working in there. Once the defensive positions are prepared, we'll get another two 12.7mm HMGs, a GMG, two more AAT-87's, and a couple of WAATs delivered. Plus what we have on hand and the gunship, we ought to do alright. If they think they're going to overrun this position, they've got another thing coming."

First Sergeant chimed in, "Major ordered a pair each of M134 Miniguns, and the old LAU-68 rocket pods since we don't have uplink to a BMS (OOC: Battle Managment Satellite) from the Huey. And between us, we already had a pair of M240s from the humvee and Huey, a Barrett 'anti-material' rifle, and Sgt. Kemény's M1/MX in .416 Heavy. Everyone else has their M1/MX in .416 Intermediate in rifle or carbine configuration, and three of 'em have conversion kits for .416 Auto SMGs. Of course, our XD-41 pistols and Major's M1911 are all in .416 Auto as well. Plus frag and incindiary grenades, gas, and smoke." Turning to the Warrant Officer, he asked "You think that will be enough, sir?"
Alfegos
08-07-2009, 14:46
"I reckon you will be alright with that. We'll put you on the resupply list for ammunition, since you'll be taking out all this kit. I'll radio back and get all your kit ready for you. But yeah, I think you'll only need that much firepower if the extra re-enforcements coming into the area decide to bugger off in the night - I think a company-sized detachment of mechanised infantry will help you somewhat in swatting off the enemy. Though I guess it depends on how much the crap hits the fan in the area. Anyhow."

The warrant officer helped in hefting the weaponry back into the vehicle, looking downrange at the old vehicles that had taken the brunt of the attack. He hoped that they wouldn't need to use all the kit they were ordering. Signalling, he jumped into the back of one of the trucks, along with the rest of the armoury technicians, before the convoy drove off back to the base.

_____________________

It was approaching late afternoon when the weapons arrived from the armoury at the Katonozagi unit base - a stack of crates, marked officially with explosive and munitions warnings. They had been signed out by the NBC warfare Lieutenant, sending them plentiful ammunition alongside the devices. They sat watched over by the sentries on the wall-tops, now reduced as they watched the occasional burst of violence in the distance. The fighting in the city had now calmed down considerably, the two opposing militia groups doing the most of the fighting in the back street areas not reached by the Alfegos patrols. Base alert had been dropped back down, explaining the lessened number of men present in the defensive positions, enjoying their relaxation time for the brief time.

The Lieutenant had finally allowed himself the luxury of a rest. With all the paperwork sorted, and reports handed to the commanding officers of the base, his only job now was to co-ordinate any rapid response to a CBRN threat. With the decontamination team now returned, depositing the chemicals collected from the CS gas area in the HAZMAT storage bunker, they as well were now having a rest, playing poker in the work tent. Leaving his radio headset on, he sat watching a film in the recreation tent of the FOB, beamed down from a satellite.
Katonazag
09-07-2009, 05:50
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 2119 HOURS

Major Vegyész turned in for the evening, his reports and paperwork completed and filed. His boots were prepared to jump right into if necessary, and his M1/MX and M1911 were right beside the cot with a fresh magazines loaded. All systems were checking normal, and First Sergeant reported that all the men were in good health and spirits.

Sgt. Kemény, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. He had deep-cleaned his M1/MX, XD-41, and his gear, patrolled the vehicles, made two rounds on the base interior perimeter, and still he was restless. Coming to the blown out section of wall that had begun repair, he decided to sit down at the inside base of the wall. Looking up at the starry, cloudless sky, he took out a white pack of cigarettes bearing the symbol of a black horse, opened it, and selected one. With a flick of his Zippo lighter, the familiar heavy but mellow smoke of the Eyaletian tobacco filled his mouth and lungs. Now everything seemed alright, and he began to relax for the first time that day.
Alfegos
09-07-2009, 09:38
The Sergeant had good reason to feel uneasy. Out in the distant town, as the twilight hour started, all was not well. Whilst people had moved back into their homes, or into a small refugee centre set up on the outskirts of the town whilst the militia rebuilt houses, there was still a sense of fear, of what the night would hold.

On a distant rooftop, a man lay prone, looking at the base through a scope. Orders meant that not a single light could be seen from inside the compound, light and noise discipline essential to keep in check the snipers. This man was busy trying to pick up any movement, on the walltops or at any gaps. After hanging over the gateway for a couple of minutes, realising it to be firmly shut, he tracked across the walls to the damaged section made earlier in the day. Changing the focus, he saw a flicker of light in the distance. Enough for him to get a bearing. Wasting no time, he aimed to where he thought the man's head would be, before letting off a shot.

The semi-automatic rifle loaded the next round for him, allowing him to fire off a volley of ten shots into the area where the light had been seen. Reloading the rifle, looked out again, searching for any muzzle flashes.
__________________________

At the wall sentry position, a temporary post at the damaged wall section, a pair of men sat aiming out with a 12.7mm machinegun, searching for any targets. On one man, a set of night vision goggles sat clipped to his helmet, flipped down to allow him to see his surroundings - a monochrome landscape bathed in light from the moon. The nearest movement he could see was a solitary goat, moving occasionally as it slept under the stars.

When the sound of the bullet cracking over their heads came, the machinegunner spent no time in ducking down, moving position to centre the weapon on where he had seen muzzle flash. Moments later, more came, rounds cracking off wall gabions and the concrete inner wall behind them. Then came the roar of the machinegun starting up, locked in a tripod to ensure that its spray was limited. Tracer arched off into the distance, and the position was filled with deafening noise. Casings bounced off the ground, as he twisted the stand as another muzzle flash came from the distance. This time, it made him stop firing, a hot round smashing into his chest armour. Spluttering in shock and pain, he opened a radio channel, whilst looking around for the Katonozagi man.
"This is Position Sierra Breech to Operator. Contact with enemy sniper, one, in the city, over."

He winced in pain, noting at least one rip was cracked, before looking out again. His co-gunner was cowering behind one of the empty gabions, the hole in the wall made to replace all the damaged segments with new ones.
"Grow a spine you and get back up here."
He himself ducked down when he saw another flash in the distance, from the same area as the sniper. This time, he knew it wasn't a rifle. He grabbed the gun and dived behind the intact wall section, as the rocket-propelled grenade smashed near to the hole, throwing pieces of shredded rock and pebble around.
"Operator, make that potential second contact with RPG, over."
"Position Sierra Breech, do not return fire until you have marksman support. We're sending the Katonozagi marksman over to you right now, to try and sort this out. Don't expose yourself, over."

So far, what interested him was the lack of assault rifle fire. He knew the Hurgat National Militia were a rowdy, unreliable bunch, but they had obviously learnt their lessons - don't let off random fire when a sniper is about. He hoped that they could be relied on now to flush out the snipers without the Alfegans having to come out.
Katonazag
10-07-2009, 07:13
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 2120 HOURS

The sniper's slug sailed with a snap through the blown out section of wall. "Well, $#!+", muttered Sgt. Kemény as he tossed the cigarette on the sand and crushed it out with his boot. A burst of rounds that sounded to be from the same source followed, and then the 12.7mm HMG answered with a more menacing volley of it's own.

A loud THUMP was heard as the machinegun stopped, and Sgt. Kemény saw the support gunner almost get knocked clean out of his DFP, but then he yelled at his loader and pulled the weapon off it's mount, and out of the position he fell. The temporary barrier exploded, and Sgt. Kemény rushed forward to check the Fegosian gunner. Grabbing him by his harness, he dragged him further away from the damage. The gunner was still concious, confirmed by aswering Sgt. Kemény's questions of what his name was, date of birth, and location. Although his pulse seemed to be fine, he noticed that the gunner's breathing was becoming more labored. "Gellért, get over here NOW!" he shouted to the lab tech.

Specialist Gellért came running up and took a look at the gunner. "Punctured lung - we got to get him outa here and to an aid station, and quick!" Picking him up, they hurried to get him to there.

After being summoned, Corporal Adorján took pass-on of where the fire had been coming from. Remembering where he had been earlier in the day, he scaled the wall for the second time in 24 hours and dove behind the small hill of sand for concealment. He rolled around back and forth in the sand to semi-bury himself and hide his body heat, and even partially buried the middle of the barrel of his Barrett rifle in the crest to break up it's heat signature. Another RPG came hurtling toward the FOB, showing brightly on his scope. "Bad move, dip$#!+." With a squeeze of the trigger, he dealt the improvised grenadier the death card.

With the understanding that there was a sniper still out there, he crawled about 100 feet away to another raised area of sand, and set up again. With any luck, the enemy sniper would still be looking at the previous position. And lady luck did then smile upon him, as he happened across the heat signature of a man laying on the rapidly cooling roof with a rather hot-barreled weapon. Seeing that the sniper wasn't aiming for him, he took his time, carefully aiming at the insurgent's head. With a mighty blast and belch of flames, the round sped through the night air and found it's mark in the sniper's ear, reducing his head to a thin slime with intermittent chunks scattered about.

Touching his throat mic, he said "November Base, this is Nomad 7. Scratch two Tangos, one with RPG and the other I'm pretty sure was our sniper. No doubt they've got friends about, though. Relocating, out." Picking up his rifle again, he moved like a scorpion through the sand to another concealment.

Back at the aid station, Sgt. Kemény and Spc. Gellért stood by listening to the exchange of gunfire and the medics working on the wounded gunner. With the pressure relieved on his lung, he would make it quite a while longer, but he needed to get to a better equipped facility. When they told Sgt. Kemény, he opened his throat mic. "Wagon 1, Nomad 3. We need CASEVAC, can you support? Over."

"10-4," replied the Warrant Officer. Moments later, the whine of the Huey's twin 1900 HP engines grew and turned into a scream as the rotors kicked up a wall of dust. The Fegosian medics and Spc. Gellért rushed the gunner out to the helicopter on a litter and loaded him up. "Nomad 1, Nomad 10. Requesting permission to accompany a casualty, over."

"Nomad 10, Nomad 1 actual. Permission granted." said Major Vegyész over the channel.

It had been several minutes since they had heard any gunfire, now that the enemy knew they had lost their advantages for the evening. Had the enemy sniper been more disciplined and bided his time, he would have had a clean shot at the gunner, and likely would have finished him. As if to rub it in to the enemy, Sgt. Kemény went back to the DFP, and set the 12.7mm HMG back on it's stand. After reloading it, he told the loader, "You take it for a minute, I'll be right back."

To the loader's horror, he stepped to where he had been before the attack, pulled another cigarette out of the pack, and lit up. After a few moments of gut-twisting tension, no shots sounded. And Sgt. Kemény smiled, knowing the enemy had gotten the message.
Alfegos
10-07-2009, 13:44
All was quiet for the rest of the evening. Deep in the town, a solitary man dragged the body from the rooftop, looking out into the distance. With his keen night eyes, he could just see the glow of a cigarette in the distance. Smug bastards that they were, in his view. He knew there was likely the crosshairs of a scope on him, so didn't bother with trying to let loose a few shots. He had plans for later.

As the helicopter took off, flying towards the field hospital at Outpost 29, the man ran out into the town' market square, with a machinegun on a tripod. Slamming on a belt container, he tilted the gun into the air towards where he could hear it. Aiming into the sky, he held down the trigger, letting the gun just spit out a continuous burst. When the gun stopped firing after six seconds, the 75-round belt exhausted, he ran back into the building as the local militiamen started to wake up. Flashlights started lighting up the area, along with the shouts of men and the barking of dogs, as the nearest patrol of them rushed to the area, kicking through the warm casings as they looked around for where the culprit had gone. Inside the house, hiding in the latrine, the man slowly and quietly loaded the other belt container he had. The 7.62mm NATO rounds glinted in a solitary beam of moonlight through the crack in the wall, as he heard the militia moving about. After quarter of an hour, they had left the area, leaving him to get some sleep on a room floor as everything wound down.

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

The next morning came with the sound of activity. At 6-30am, a battalion of motorised infantry left the FOB, spreading out south of the base and patrolling in platoon-sized contingents. All this was building up to an event coming later in the evening. A band of vaguely open land, fifteen miles long and a mile wide, was being cleared in anticipation.

The rest of the base had been put on a higher alert. As a engineering truck hefted new gabion units into the gap in the wall, along with prefabricated concrete barricades, combat personnel ate a hurried breakfast while keeping alert.

The Lieutenant visited the Major back at the Katonozagi facilities, to give him the daily briefing.
"The commanding council have convened, and they authorised an operation to search and strike the area. Therefore, it's going ahead in two days time. One of the four combat battalions based here will be driving out to FOB Qudhat, and setting up a temporary encampment. Once they've set up their base, we'll be flying in and setting up our camp. We'll be sleeping in the small decommissioning area, so the equipment isn't compromised, and will likely be contacted by the enemy from day one. The helicopters will be based here at FOB Tekanav, and fly out on request for fire support missions etcetera. Due to our unit's small size, we'll be going by helicopter, which will be delivered to us this evening.

Today, 5 Battalion of the Nos'vi riflemen are clearing a drop area for supplies - the two-week resupply mission has been brought forwards. We'll be having a big, big airship coming in, dropping off supplies. They normally have a single airship doing a run of all the bases up the river, so the airship is carrying supplies for every single major FOB up the river - so Outpost 29, FOB Tekanav, FOB Kesoav and the Hurgat City Militarised Zone. There are five thousand tonnes of supplies aboard it, of which a chunk are headed for us in the form of water, food rations, ammunition, weaponry, new vehicles and construction supplies. Your kit from Katonozag, for your helicopter, will be onboard, along with a hefty crate of ammunition for your arms.

The operation will be pretty simple. The airship will approach from the south, down the strip, which will be patrolled by the Nos'vi Riflemen. On reaching the end of the strip area, it will descend from 2000 metres to 10 metres, whilst rapidly decelerating. It won't be hanging about for long - as it comes over, and two metres above the ground, it will drop the supply units, which are palleted, every ten metres. Once all units are dropped, the airship will move up at high speed to 2000 metre cruising altitude, leaving the area by the end of the strip. It will not be turning around to perform a second pass.

We are on standby in case the crap hits the fan - those being two worst case scenarios. The first one is that a chemical or biological attack is started by enemy units in the area. That will be unlikely, since they will likely just try to shoot the airship gasbag. The second one though is if the airship takes critical damage to one of the engines. The airship uses highly flammable fuels, and toxic ceramics in the engine shielding and coolant system. There are four engine units on the rear of the airship, in one heavily armoured unit. If that, or any other severe damage is taken, the airship will take off immediately, deploying countermeasure screening, whilst we launch a mass ground offensive. The airship will then land near to FOB P4, in the middle of the eastern desert. We will rush a unit there to contain any chemical leaks, and to provide assistance to the crew whilst a repair team are scrambled.

We're unlikely to be called out though - they'd need something extremely powerful to cause that level of damage. But, should all go to plan, we'll have all your kit in the FOB by 5-30pm, ready for you to play about with. Our helicopter will be escorting the airship - it's a nice big Super Stallion, with all the space we'll need for our kit and then some. If the space in your UH-1 is reduced by the upgunning, then we'll be able to give you a lift. The helicopter will be bringing in a team of aeromarines, who'll be kipping out next to your shelter - they're the ones who'll be conducting the main raid. If you could give them a standard NBC briefing, and just be welcoming, that'd be nice.

Anyhow, for today, we're to be ready in case they find any more improvised devices. The engineers here are able to deal with the conventional IEDs that get scattered about - it's just the odd nasty ones."

He looked up into the sky, pointing out a tiny glimmer in the distance.
"That's the type of airship that'll be passing by this evening. They have civilian flights here more often than you expect - thing is, they fly over the deserts, where there are hardly any of the organised militia, and at 6000 metres."
He moved his finger ahead of it, pointing out a smaller vehicle painted a murky blue-grey.
"You probably didn't notice the escort - they have a pair of Aeropatrolcraft as escorts. Only six missiles on each one, but they can go very, very high and have the sort of cameras that can read a newspaper from eighty miles away. They're there just to find organised missile units, and take them down. We don't get that sort of support, sadly, since they're mostly deployed on the other river blowing the hell out of some pretty dug in militia units. You could say that we have the units on the ground, and they have the units all in the air.

Anyhow, I'm ranting now. Keep the radio channel open. Hopefully, your chopper will arrive back before midday."
Katonazag
13-07-2009, 04:21
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 2133 HOURS

The UH-1, it's precious cargo, and ad-hoc additional medical crew lept into the night air, bound for Outpost 29's treatment facility. Because of the nature of the Fegosian Soldier's wounds, they had to remain at low altitude even though it was more risky than they would have liked. At least they were flying with all lights off.

They quickly found out that their concerns were warranted when a burst of machinegun fire from the ground sent tracers up in their general direction. The rounds went wide and well behind, but it was enough to warrant some alarm. The aircraft's internal channel crackled to life above the roar of the rotors and scream of the engines. "Wagon 1-1, Wagon 1-3. Incoming indirect ground fire, Seven-O'clock low," reported the gunner.

"Roger that, Wagon 1-3. Wagon 1-2, open the internal channel to the primary November Base channel. Wagon 1-3, report the position."

"Wagon 1-2 copies, opening the channel now." The co-pilot flipped a switch and gave the thumbs-up to the guner.

"November Base, Wagon 1-3." Upon reply, the gunner described the position they had received fire from. By this time, they were well out of range of the poorly-directed sputter of lead and phosphorus which had ceased, but all that meant was the insurgent who had done it was still down there somewhere. Thanks to their present mission, he would regretably live to fight another day, or night as it were.



Outpost 29, Hurgat - 2345 HOURS

The Huey put down on the helipad. The co-pilot, Spc. Gellért, and the Fegosian corpsman who had also flown along quickly unloaded the casualty while the pilot kept the rotors steady. They were met by the Outpost's medics, who took over and carried the litter to the treatment facility.

With a lowering tone, the rotors slowed, and eventually came to a stop. As the Warrant Officer climbed out of his chopper, he was approached by an NCO from base supply, who informed him that his shipment was ready. Since they would be there for the night, the logistics sergeant said he could get airfield ops to go ahead and install it. Which was followed by what the Warrant Officer wasn't sure whether it was a just a statement, or a wise-crack on the older technology rocket tubes. He decided not to pursue the comment, and accepted the offer.

A couple hours later, Spc. Gellért borrowed the radio from the communications guys at the HQ. "November Base, Nomad 10. Looks like your man is going to be just fine. They can fix it here in the AOR, but he'll be here a couple weeks."



Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 0640 HOURS

"You know, I've never seen one of those in person, but I suppose I'll have my chance and then some this evening. I've been in contact with my chopper, and they're en route back, with their gear already installed. So, they should actually be back in about an hour from now. They'll fly close air support for the supply drop. If there's anything hostile in the area, they'll be in for a suprise when a gunship shows up for the fight. They can lay down 6000 rpm with the two miniguns alone, and that's not counting the rockets. Plus it's escorts and ground forces, I think that should deterr them unless they're dead-set on being worm food tonight.

We should be good on getting our men and their gear over there, with exception of the humvee. With the added armament, the humvee will put the UH-1 overweight for takeoff. If it can't be airlifted, then maybe it can ride in a convoy if one is coming this way."
Alfegos
13-07-2009, 18:07
0640 hours

"We'll check you out on getting the humvee airlifted - I think our chopper should be able to give it a lift, alongside all our other kit. If not, we'll send it back to pick it up. I really would advise against you taking the roads around here - as you're aware, they like to use IEDs around here."

There came a loud explosion that cut across the base. In the distance, a vehicle bomb had been detonated by ordinance disposal units, throwing dust up into the air. The radio crackled with a brief confirmation, as he turned back around.

"I know that your humvee is a right old piece of work - I've seen ones from Mokastana during their civil war. I was posted there as a part of the NBC battalion stationed for clearing out the revolutionary forces, so I do know a thing or two about using chemical weapons in aggression. Thing is, I doubt a bundle of four 150mm shells going off under the road you're on will do much good to it. And since it stands out so much from the rest of our vehicles moving about here, especially in a convoy, they'll single it out as a target.

Anyhow, get your stuff ready for our trip out. Tomorrow, we load up and get our final briefing. Then, tomorrow night, we move out to FOB Qudhat. Things are going to speed up once the airship's gone past, so you'll want to be ready for that."

-------

The Lieutenant spent the rest of the day organising his men into boxing up their equipment. The spare supplies they had meant they had all but a couple items for setting up a field laboratory and decommissioning centre. From the stores came tens of barrels of decontamination chemicals, closed circuit systems for gas decontamination, and numerous carbon filters. Finally, to be on the safe side, he packed another two crates of supplies. One contained all the equipment necessary for a field lab for biological warfare, whilst another contained mixed spares and a number of radiological warfare units. Once packed, he set about his personal additional kit. As well as his normal combat gear, he was taking along another rucksack of equipment - a laptop and mesolite receiver, for connection to the internet, numerous EOD devices, and wads of reference material. He wasn't going to be caught out, whatever happened.

He finally saw the sum of his labours in the amount of kit packed up. 18 Alfegan standard pallet sub-crates of equipment, enough for an airshipping crate and a bit, all of which was to be transported by their helicopter. Luckily, it had an underside winch to carry objects such as an airshipping crate. In all, it didn't look too bad. And, if they were to be making multiple trips, it would take three trips at most to convey all the items necessary. If all were crated up as well, they'd be able to bring their accommodation with them, with a few hours with shovels providing their fortifications.

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

1640 hours

The Lieutenant drove over to the Katonozagi unit later, shouting over to the people inside.
"The airship's here! It's the one I expected as well - we've got a nice big Clipper-class inbound dead on time. He'll be entering the drop zone in ten minutes, and be going overhead in twenty. If you want to, go up on the walls and have a look."
He himself dismounted, clambering up a ladder to the nearest tower gun emplacement, before taking out a pair of binoculars to have a look. In the distance, a shadow cut across the ground as a vehicle moved through the sky. Flares and smoke streaked across the distant landing strip - the Nos'vi riflemen were busy engaging militants who had decided to gatecrash the party. A missile arched across the sky, a distant explosion coming from where it hit the side of the airship.
"Don't worry at all - that was an RPG blast. It will have done absolutely nothing to the airship, in terms of damage. The real danger is if they managed to get a hit near the crew gondola, which the countermeasures couldn't stop."

Dropping out of the sky, it was soon visible as it came down near to the ground. In the distance, trucks moved in as shipping containers were thrown from the back, the sounds just audible as they hit the ground, throwing up dust. By now, it was just possible to hear a dull throbbing, the engines idling as it cruised. Apparantly now, the gunfire had intensified, followed by the crack of the base cannon emplacement opening up. Tracer arched from the sky, revealing where the escort helicopters were engaging units on the ground.
"This is Hauler Two to November Base. We're taking heavy fire from ground based units. We need assistance, immediately."
"This is November Base. Re-enforcements are enroute."

Out in the base artillery pit, a battery of mortars had been set up, along with a VAAT missile launcher. A crate of longbow missiles had been opened, revealing ranks of long rockets inside. The first one was hefted onto the rail launcher, as the targeting unit was set up for indirect fire. Co-ordinates were briefly shouted across the radio, before the barrage began. Five 120mm mortars opened up, laying down a heavy sequence of fire as the missile shot off into the sky. In the distance, a blast shook the air as the missile opened up, showering the target area with hundreds of bomblets.
"You chose wisely with the VAAT, didn't you? Now lets hope that does the trick."
The tracer fire in the distance lessened, as the enemy hunkered down, taking cover from the barrage. A second missile was let off, as the Lieutenant looked on, before taking out his PRR unit.
"All November Bravo Charlie units - increase your alert status to amber. Get ready to roll, should we need to."

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

In the cover of an irrigation channel, a group of men sat watching as rounds thundered into their main attack, a few hundred metres away from them. The deafening sound of turbines told them the airship was very near, engines only idling as the airship cruised. They were almost underneath the airship's path, only a few hundred metres away from it. And, in their arsenal, the five people had a pair of AAT-87 launchers. As rounds passed overhead, the shouts of orders from the Fegosians cutting through the air, the men loaded the weapons. With the LASER units broken from the abuse of the launchers, they only worked as dumb launchers. For anti-tank rounds.

A pair of rockets shot across the ground, aimed at the airship's underside gondolas. The first one exploded as it was targeted by a Hailstorm unit, the blast of explosive sending out enough shot to obliterate the missile before it could hit. The other smashed into a piece of armour near the top of the fortified unit, the blast easily cutting through shielding meant for mere RPGs. A jet of hot purple flame shot from the side of the unit, as the airship dumped the rest of the supplies meant for the base. The airship then dumped the onboard crew water reserves, whilst purging the air cells and flooding them with helium. The craft shot up into the air, trailing a hefty cloud of smoke, turning around.

--------

"November Base, this is Hauler 2. We have been hit! Engine 1 is dead, and fuel lines from the injector units for 1 and 2 have been severed. We have a gas fire, which is being contained. Helium reserve tank 4 has been ruptured, and the refuelling assembly fuel lines have been damaged. Over."
"This is November Base. How severe is the fire, over?"
"November Base - fire is being contained. Damage is minimal in all other engines and engine assemblies. We'll be able to get Engine 2 running soon. Requesting further orders, over."
"Hauler 2, increase altitude to three zero zero zero metres. Perform any repairs necessary once the fire has been dealt with, and continue to FOB Kesoav. We'll scramble a repair team to get you repairs at Hurgat City, over."
"November Base, wilco. Status reports as we get them. Out."

The Lieutenant watched as the helicopters followed after the airship.
"That was a close one. But that is curious... I'm surprised they managed to get that much damage."
He jumped down off the wall, as the helicopters came in for a landing.
The State of Monavia
14-07-2009, 23:55
OOC:

This is both a bump and an IC post. Since I haven't read through all of the other posts between you and Katonazag, I will have to address them later. Meanwhile, I will continue with the storyline involving our men at Outpost 29.

IC:

Next morning dawned slowly, the light drifting in over the outpost. Whilst located near to an afforested patch of fertile land, crowds of palm trees and other exotic plantlife clustering around outside the base's exclusion area, the area had a feel of the nearby desert, hidden in the distance. Light diffused into the building the section were sleeping in, the light waking up the sergeant. He had never been good at mornings after heavy movements, but knew the fatigue would only hang around if he stayed in bed any longer. Fighting the desire to stay asleep, he picked himself up out of the bed, getting his bearings before checking the time. It was 0600 hours exactly, giving him a good half hour before their time washing. Knowing the importance of using this unprescribed free time wisely, he quietly stalked the building's interior, checking for dirt and dust. The windowsills had kindly been left to gather a layer of dust, along with the tops of the curtain rails. The door frame as well hid dust, along with the heater. The floor was relatively clean, the only dirt visible tramped in from the previous night.

He quickly made his bed, ensuring not a crease could be seen in the mattress and that his bed sheets were neat and crisply folded. In his time in the services, he had learnt some quick tricks to make a room inspection-worthy. He then took out his uniform - trousers in desert colours, an under-armour t-shirt, and a normal neat shirt. He never wore the army t-shirts, preferring the under-armour shirts for their comfortable nature. For headgear, he took out his bush hat, a wide-brimmed hat in desert camouflage colours with mosquito net folded up inside it. Luckily, the desert area they were fighting in had no malaria threat - the main problem was the presence of a few varieties of sleeping sickness, dengue fever and crimean-congo haemorrhagic fever. All easily avoided with basic common sense and precautions.

Taking out his boots, he opened the door briefly to polish them, rapidly applying a layer over them. Leaving the polish to soak into them, he moved them back by the door, before putting on his set of sandals. Checking the time, he noticed that the majority of people still seemed asleep, with a few starting to wake up. Raising a voice, he began to speak.
"Rise and shine everyone! You've got fifteen minutes before our turn in the showers. And, between now and inspection, we've got to get this place slightly cleaner and get our uniform looking good. Pavlov, get everyone up, and I'll start on a cleaning rota."
He took out his notepad, leaning it on his bedside drawers. Quickly looking around, he drew up a cleaning rota for everyone - whilst four people at a time would sweep, dust and generally clean the place up, the other four would do the section ironing and polishing. He put himself on ironing duty first, now he knew the fire cupboard held both brooms and irons.

At 0630, the Sergeant stepped outside, still tasting the fresh-air feel in the morning light. A brief walk along the duckboards outside the building led him to the ablutions block, a puff of smoke already coming from the boilerhouse nearby. Inside, the warm water of the showers beckoned. And without a sign of the other two sections yet, he made sure he relished his time washing, whilst tidying himself up. A splash of cold water at the end was enough to awaken him, before he sauntered back to his building.

It was 0700 by the time everyone was fully dressed and ready. Whilst he knew that official guidance was to keep the rifles on them at all times, he doubted there would be an attack on them today - they were currently going through a period of quiet at the base. The warning level was only at"Heightened", meaning that he only needed to go around in body armour. Using a small length of wire and padlock to secure the firearms in a row to one of the beds, he quickly finished tidying up the building entrance, whilst checking his men's uniform. He knew it needn't be perfect, but was still fussy on ensuring buttons were done up, sleeves rolled up properly, and brains in gear.

At 0715, the canteen was open. A proper structure of the base, located amongst the series of accommodation units, the clatter of plates and cutlery echoed from within as the Sergeant approached. Inside, the menu was that of a typical Alfegan breakfast - fruit, fruit, and more fruit. However, due to the military requiring protein at breakfast, along with the dose of carbohydrates, omelettes were on the menu alongside the fruit, bacon, sausage and cheese along with a few local vegetables. The sergeant took one from the serving counter, along with a bowl of Alfegan fruit now grown near the outpost, before sitting down at one of the free tables. A mix of men shared the hall with them - New Zevkhay City Guardsmen in urban camouflage; Borealis Regiment Light Infantrymen; and, in a back corner, a group of men wearing sky-blue berets, indicating their affiliation with the Air Fleet. The sergeant was intrigued, wondering why they were there, before noting the patches on their arms - aeromarines. Probably active on special forces in the area. The sergeant took note, before digging into his fruit - Qua'qua berries, Xe'ya fruit, and slices of Giant Alfegos Me'lo. The Xe'ya was the most difficult to eat, bullet-like seeds lurking in dark purple flesh that the unsuspecting eater would find, on breaking them, a flood of rancid taste going through their mouths. Turning to one of his section, who he noted was eyeing the fruit suspiciously, he smiled.
"I didn't tell you about the wonders of Alfegan cuisine - the fruit is rather interesting to the unsuspecting eater. At least they didn't have the Du'ra fruit served here - on the mainland in Alfegos, we all bet on who could hold one in their mouth for the longest without throwing up. Vile taste, but with all your necessary daily minerals and vitamins. Wheras Qua'qua is rather sweet, and a popular one for making moonshine, and Me'lo is a more rounded, but dry taste. With the Xe'ya, try not to eat the pips - they'll ruin your day."

[RESERVED FOR IC DETAILS]
Katonazag
15-07-2009, 06:22
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 1640 HOURS

A Gecko assault buggy kicked up sand as it sped toward the HCSK section of the FOB. When it came to a halt, Lieutenant Hyru shouted from the driver's seat, "The airship's here! It's the one I expected as well - we've got a nice big Clipper-class inbound dead on time. He'll be entering the drop zone in ten minutes, and be going overhead in twenty. If you want to, go up on the walls and have a look."

Major Vegyész started to shout a response, but shook his head as Lt. Hyru began scaling a ladder to a sentry tower. Touching his throat mic, he said, "Wagon 1, Nomad 1 actual. The airship is here. Skip the patrol pattern and get that DZ clear for delivery ASAP. Attention all Nomads, one of you better 10-5 to the LZ and get on that other minigun NOW. Nomad 1, out."

"Nomad 4 copies, I've got the gat." replied the radioactive materials specialist Sergeant.

"Wagon 1 copies, we're 10-5 to the DZ." The rotors sped to life, blowing their own private sand storm all around before suddenly jumping out of it.

The Warrant Officer turned to his co-pilot, "Shit, I thought we were going to get some notice and pre-patrol the DZ." The sergeant turned to him through polarized helmet lenses and shrugged.

***

Meanwhile on the ground, Sgt. Kemény wasn't sitting by idly. Grabbing Cpl. Adorján, he said, "Kid, you're going to be my battle-buddy before this is out. Now get in the back," he ordered as he pointed at the humvee.

"Hooah, sergeant," the corporal replied. He double-timed it to the humvee as he checked his Barrett rifle.

"If he gets this one right, I'm going to write him a recommendation for ISOC school to General Miklós," Sgt. Kemény said to nobody in particular. "You and you!" he shouted as he pointed at two of the other HCSK Soldiers. "You're my driver, and you get in the back with Adorján."

Sgt. Kemény ran over to one of the crates, and kicked it in. He ripped sections of the crate off and extracted the HMG, and ordered the lone Private First Class from the team to attach it to the top hatch of the humvee. He then ripped off the top of the crate containing the ammo and grabbed four canisters, one in each hand, one under each tree trunk-like arm.

***

The firefight on the ground intensified rapidly as the UH-1 dove towards the drop zone.

"This is Hauler Two to November Base. We're taking heavy fire from ground based units. We need assistance, immediately."
"This is November Base. Re-enforcements are en route."

The pilot opened up the helicopter's internal channel. "Looks like you get to earn your pay today, boys. Give 'em some heavy metal alarm clock to wake 'em up." He leveled off, nosed right, and then banked left, cutting a curve around a group of insurgents.

The left door's minigun buzzed to life in the aerial gunner's hands, raining lead onto them, and reducing them to vulture vittles. "Incoming! Bank right, now!" he said excitedly into the channel. The trail of smoke from the incoming missile from the base meant bad news for anything in the area.

The Warrant Officer heeded the warning and did exactly that, and avoided the deadly hail of sub-munitions from the missile. Combined with the follow-up missile, it really seemed to put a damper on the enemy's day as they quit firing and took cover to avoid the fiery frangible reapers.

Lt. Hyru came over the radio. "All November Bravo Charlie units - increase your alert status to amber. Get ready to roll, should we need to."

***

Sgt. Kemény ordered the Specialist at the wheel to cut way wide to the east and then north-west, and stopped about 400 yards behind where the edge of where enemy putting up a fight. From the gunner seat, he called out, "Adorján, you and Gyula dismount. Adorján, direct your fire into the Tangos. Gyula, watch his back and keep the enemy off of him. Radio in if you run into trouble - you got me, and you got air support. We're going to trap them, and either kill or capture. Remember the F-U ROE, the HCSK one will get you a murder trial out here. You got it?"

"Copy that, Sergeant," replied the corporal as he and the specialist jumped out the back door of the humvee.

The humvee then sped away to the gunfire, amidst a hail of gunfire and RPGs. Moving back to the east flank and the approach route of the airship, almost running into an irrigation ditch before skidding out of the way just in the nick of time. Holy shit, the driver mouthed.

***

Cpl. Adorján let his .416 Barrett rounds fly, the direction of the rounds taking the enemy off guard, and letting them know that there would be little hope of escaping back into the urban shadow of Tekanav alive.

A white plume of smoke rose from the FOB, and Spc. Gyula slapped Cpl. Adorján on the shoulder twice and pointed at it. "Oh shit..." he grumbled as they slid down into a small crater from a previous firefight. As the place erupted with the cluster bomb, a piece of shrapnel found it's way across Cpl. Adorján's face, and another into his lower leg. When the explosions cleared, he checked himself out, and found them to be flesh wounds and nothing more. Spc. Gyula lucked out and didn't get injured.

***

To everyone's suprise except the enemy, two RPGs streaked towards the airship from the desolate irrigation ditch, one of them slamming into one of the gondolas. As flames visibly erupted from it, it began a rapid emergency ascent, trailing dark gray smoke as it went.

The UH-1 wheeled around and the HCSK humvee slung dirt as it sped toward the area the RPGs had come from. Having been closer to begin with, Sgt. Kemény's humvee got there first. "Stop 15 yards from the edge, wait 1 second, drive east 20 yards, dismount, ready for some action."

The Specialist did as he was told. Sgt. Kemény jumped off the top of the humvee into the thin sand, as the driver floored the gas pedal of the humvee driving eastward. Clicking the safety off his M1/MX rifle, he jumped into the ditch and charged. The first insurgent he ran into had the RPG which he was clumsily trying to reload. Sgt. Kemény shot him in the head and kicked his body into the man beside him, knocking them both over. A third man tried to run, but a three round burst from the M1/MX in .416 Heavy put an end to him, rounds thumping forcefully into the sand after passing through.

Standing over the one insurgent that was definitely alive while pointing his rifle in his face, he radioed, "November Base, Nomad 3. Tangos captured alive times one, possibly times two if the medics get him, over."

***

After finishing one last strafing run on the fleeing insurgents, the Warrant Officer turned the Huey back towards the limping airship. "November Base and Nomad 1, Wagon 1. Escorting Hauler Two to their 20. Nomad 4 will give SITREP as soon as it's available, over."

"10-4, Wagon 1. Keep us advised of the situation, over."
Alfegos
15-07-2009, 23:31
Outside of the drop zone area, a few hundred metres from the front lines, a pickup truck sat hidden amongst cannabis plants. The vehicle hadn't worked for ages, with plants growing up through the rusted carcass that had been abandoned. It was so badly worn out that even the ever-enterprising locals had not sold it for scrap. However, it offered cover in an area where it was difficult to reach, and preferred jokingly as a place for a last stand. And it was here where the local tribal militia had taken to preparing a small fort, in secret from the Hurgat militia and local military base. Underneath the vehicle, an arms cache for them, filled with everything scavenged from the military - assault rifles, the odd round, explosives scavenged from UXO, even equipment stolen from the militia and careless soldiers.

So now, as the airship passed across, the fort was manned. Parts of the field collapsed as the weapon set up on there opened up - two M60s, side by side, stuck on a crude pole driven through the vehicle. The bipods on them had been bent, forced into its inside to create a fixed mount of sorts, from which volleys of fire could be unleashed. Knowing for sure that their position would be found soon enough, the eight men hidden around the field decided to let it all go. Swivelling around to track the nearest helicopter, tracer flickered across the sky as the machinegun roared. A burst flew up into the sky, followed by sporadic gunfire from the field, aimed at the CH-53E Super Stallion as it hovered low across the battlefield. A missile shot across from an RPG-7v, falling down as the rocket ran out. The barrels on the paired machineguns started to glow as they overheated, the militiamen sluicing water over them to cool them down. Their aim was somewhat eccentric – the heady aromas of the field of marijuana were having their effects somewhat profoundly.

Little did they notice the attack helicopter creeping up behind them. There came a burst from a minigun, shredding weed and ripping up the ground. A short one-second burst, enough to batter the rust out of the pickup truck and leave it covered in holes. The machine-gunner rotated about to face the helicopter as it passed, leaving it hanging limp as the gunner was knocked down. Parts of the field started smouldering as tracer ignited the drier parts. It was as strange sight, as the CH-53E arched across the sky, watching the one surviving man on the pickup truck laughing as he fired off bursts of assault fire into the air, before he was taken down by an aeromarine sniper. The marksman gave a thumbs up to the Huey's crew as it passed over the thickening smoke, before the helicopter arched around.

----------

The super stallion came crashing down in a storm of dust, throwing up most of the surrounding sand as it landed. The aeromarines sprinted out of the rear ramp, firing covering bursts as they formed a defensive perimeter, yelling over the radios.
“This is Osprey One, calling Nomad 3 – load up the casualties now! We'll give you covering fire.”
A blast of 12.7mm gunfire from the ramp shot off into the distance, where the Nos'vi riflemen were chasing down the fleeing militiamen. They were using vehicles now to outflank groups of rogue militiamen, driving them into groups of the Hurgat National Militia, away from the town. The area was truly chaos, with trucks driving about to pick up the massive dropped crates, whilst sporadic gunfire criss-crossed the drop zone.

When the casualties had been loaded up, the helicopter took off in a quick hop, over to the inside of the military base. With the high outer walls keeping them in cover, the helicopter rotors could wind down as the men disembarked. The aeromarines sprinted out with the casualties, their medic keeping an eye on the two, as they rushed over to the medical outpost. Ducking down the steps cut into the ground, they entered the buried medical area next to the supply stores. Inside, a pair of Alfegan soldiers were being treated, one lying still and breathing heavily as one of the four outpost medics tended to his wounds. The other man was being restrained as he thrashed about yelling, the doctor trying to cut open his clothing to get to some skin. The man was in full NBC garments, bloodied by a bullet wound to his thigh, and screaming as he tried to kick off the medic preparing a morphine shot. The two casualties were placed on cots in the corner, one of the medics diverting from holding down the writhing man to look at the two militiamen. Very quickly, a curtain was put up to separate the militiamen from the Alfegans. The doctor finally succeeded in removing the tough overtrousers, blunting the cloth scissors in the process, before proceeding with an analgesic injection. The wound had already been sealed with coagulant powder, clotting the hole temporarily. As the man calmed down, the doctor left two nurses to deal with a secondary survey of the man, before analysing the two incoming patients. Whilst one had only a mere surface wound to his leg, and was ignorant of any pain from an opium high, the other was in a much more sorry state. The uninjured one was trussed up in plasticuffs, waiting for a medic to look at him after the doctor finished with his companion.
“It's a miracle he's made it to here – whoever shot him did so good and proper.”
With numerous wounds in his legs, and abdomen, the doctor gave him a brief look over, before starting on clotting the wounds.
“Get a chopper ready – we'll have to send him out to Outpost 29 to get looked over. Same goes with the others here.”
Outside, the CH-53E started up again as a technician finished refuelling, ready to rush casualties back to Outpost 29. The radio crackled as the two stabilised men were rushed out on stretchers to the helicopter, as the injured militiaman was dealt with. Hooked up to a saline drip, he was moved gently onto a raised table for examination, hastily cleaned by one of the medics. In the corner, a pulse monitor flashed up details to the doctor as he worked with trying to fix the man up. The five bullet wounds were all with exit wounds, clearing up the one complication. However, he had already lost serious amounts of blood, and were it not for the drugs in his system would already have died of shock. A small testing tab was taken out, checking the man's blood group, before a sack of blood was taken from the cooler unit in the rear. Running it through the catheter in the man's forearm, he was kept a check on as he was carried over to the helicopter, the doctor in tow. Leaving the medics at the FOB, the helicopter was soon off into the air, flying its mission out.

----------

Up in the skies, far above the helicopter, the airship had slowed as onboard engineers assessed the damage. The Captain opened on a bypass channel to base for a long message, sending an alert over the other channels for anyone needing to listen in.
“Hauler 2 to November base – Status report. The fire is out in the engine gondola. Prop shaft from engine 1 is damaged beyond repair. The engine pre-injector unit is leaking from the high pressure output – we'll be able to run it temporarily through the reserve fuel system. The fuel lines were severed between the injector head of engines 1 and 2 and the aeration unit – we'll be able to get a fix for that. The armour is buggered up on the port side, as you can guess. And the generator is damaged. We've got enough battery power to cruise for eight hours, if we can't get the generator fixed. We'll continue with the mission, since we should be able to reach FOB Kesoav in two hours, and Hurgat City in nine hours. We've called in air support, so we'll be alright in landing at Kesoav – it's a lot cooler there in terms of fire. Gas loss from the gasbag is about 0.05% per hour, due to numerous holes. We should be able to get patched up in flight by our engineers, or get a full repair in Hurgat city. Thanks for your help Wagon 1 – remind me if I ever see you again that the beer's on me. Out.”

----------

At FOB Tekanav, the Lieutenant was busy inspecting the arrived equipment, stacking it up near the helicopter landing area. Heavy crates were being piled up as they were brought in, broken open by all spare base personnel to distribute the supplies inside. The chemical warfare team crates were marked brightly, placed to one side. Empty crates were either set aside for extra accommodation as it came, or for loading up with non-hazardous rubbish from the base. He was quickly approached by the base commander, smiling.
“Looks like the only use for your boys will be tidying up the field of weed that got burned. The Katonozagi group have done well – the prisoners have been sent to Outpost 29 for processing, and their support has been thanked by all the men here. Give them my personal thanks.”
The Colonel quickly paced off, as a radioman beckoned before disappearing into the signals centre.
One of the empty shipping crates was already taken up by the aeromarines: a mark had been painted on the side, and their kit had been dumped inside.
Katonazag
16-07-2009, 05:36
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 1714 HOURS

"10-4, Hauler 2, our pleasure. Looks like you're way past the ceiling of anything else they've got, so we'll be on our way. Thanks for making the drop, see you in friendlier skies. Wagon 1, out." The pilot dipped the UH-1 left and right in a visual salute, and then banked away back to the drop zone.

Cpl. Adorján finished dressing the shrapnel hole in his leg. "I thought it would have hurt more, but it doesn't hurt much more than if you had a burn on a spot and then the burn got a bee sting."

Spc. Gyula was busy watching for more insurgents. It had been an eventful battle, but he hadn't got more than a few shots off because of the long reach of Cpl. Adorján's Barrett knocked them down almost before they even got in range. If he was counting correctly, this made at least 11 kills for the team's designated marksman on this mission, not counting the possible or probable ones.

Sgt. Kemény's humvee rolled it's way back over to them. "I see you got a souvenir," he said from atop the turret. "You just earned yourself the shotgun seat - both of you, mount up. We need to do some intel work." He heard the powerful engines and rotors of the Huey coming back, knowing it would probably be a good two minutes before they would even be able to see it. "Wagon 1, Nomad 3. Can you get me some decent aerial photos of the battlefield?"

"10-4, Nomad 3," replied the Warrant Officer at the stick. The gunner reached into an equipment bin and pulled out a camera. Although not the best for intelligence pictures from the air, at least it was rated for high-speed, and it was definitely better than nothing.

The team in the humvee drove about the areas of the battlefield they had been involved with for several hours, photographing the bodies and taking their weapons, ammo, contraband, and anything of intelligence value.

Meanwhile, Major Vegyész was about to collect some intelligence as well, in the form of observing the interrogation video of the captured insurgent by the Fegosians.
Alfegos
16-07-2009, 17:54
Evening came, as most of the Nos'vi riflemen returned to the FOB. The battle was now being left to the Hurgat National militiamen, who were busy interrogating the captured tribal militants and moving the bodies over to the town's temple. Whilst a military police section had been sent to over to ensure that all human rights were being respected, and to gather information, it was certain that damage had already been done. The town was silent as dusk settled, people now starting to move back in now the violence was over.

Back at the base, the empty area was now much smaller: crates had been stacked up to form temporary stashes for supplies that couldn't be placed in underground stores, as more space was dug or made. In one of these, right near to the Katonozagi unit, the collected ammunition and weaponry was being stored. Inside, weapons had been piled up in empty crates, by type. And, from a brief observation, it was obvious to see what the predominant firearm was. AF-1s and AF-67s, mixed with AK-47s and other tatty assault rifles, all with mark after mark of identifying features: that of Alfegan weapon works. Stacks of faulty communist ammunition sat awaiting destruction, alongside the explosives removed from found IEDs and missiles. Again, it was obvious to see the predominance of RPGs and ancient AAT-1 "Feu'ghe" missile launchers, mere rocket-powered anti-tank mines. A few items of lost kit from the base had been found from stashes and dead infantrymen, and piled up in seperate containers. And of course, in the corner, the locked crate of processed drugs - opium balls, bricks of cannabis gums, and packets of dried leaves. Overlooking the area, the recently-arrived section of aeromarines, bedding down for the night. Heavy assault rifles, machineguns and the anti-tank rifle had been tied up in their crate as they walked about the base getting their bearings, pistols strapped to their legs. Unusually, temporary lighting strips had been erected as work continued with recovering equipment from the battlefield, illuminating the ever-gathering amounts of contraband items.

In his office, the Lieutenant had been assigned to his task of compiling the eveidence into an intelligence report. Whilst it should have been the base intelligence officer, he was busy with translators listening to a recording of intercepted mobile phone and radio transmissions. Along with that, the intelligence officer was humouring the Katonozagi Major as he watched a live camera link. It was to a cell at Facility 3A, an Alfegan military facility at Lo'vi. Used jointly as a prison and special operations headquarters of the colony, it was out in the desert, with its own runway and most facilities concealed underground. The view through the camera was from behind a two-way mirror, into an interrogation cell. The walls, grey through the glass, were in reality pure white. The floor and ceiling were pure white. A small, pure white strip lit the interior. Inside, a man sat with his head hung, wearing a white jumpsuit. The table he sat at was white, and the chair as well was white. On the other side, backs to the camera, were two men in Alfegan desert camouflage. A white tape recorder sat recording in the middle of the table. It was almost laughable, the fetish with white, but it had its purpose.

"Interview started at 1848 hours, Neo'los time. Subject's stated name is Tem Asai, date of birth is April 1983. Interviewing are Captain Tei'tan, and Warrant Officer Hi'hea, translator. Session observation is by camera link to FOB Tekanav intelligence office, the Neo'vi garrison intelligence office, Joint Intelligence Office in Alfegos, and to Amnesty International as non-biased overseers.

Tem, I will cut straight to the chase. You were captured, along with your friend, engaging in aggressive activity against Alfegan forces. As such, you are now a prisoner of war. You do not have to give us any more information, except to confirm your name and rank. However, if you give us additional information proven to be true, we will send you to an Alfegan PoW camp instead of fufilling our treaty with Hurgat, in terms of handing you over to the militia. First though, do you have any questions?"
"What happened to the other man?"
"He is currently at a field hospital, being treated for his injuries. It is highly unlikely that he'll live through the night."
There came silence as the man took this in. He was in the low after the drug-fuelled high, shown by a general image of him looking unwell.
"I will assume that you have no more questions. So, are you willing to undergo interrogation by our personnel?"
"Yes."
"Why did you take up arms against the Alfegan military, and the Hurgat state?"
"Because my tribe has always been oppressed by others. I wanted to help send out a message to your occupying men, and to the false Hurgat state."
"What message did you want to send out?"
"That we will never be oppressed. We intended to take down that airship today."
"Who is we?"
There came a pause.
"The tribe."
"Who told you to attack the airship?"
"The tribe elder."
"And who is he?"
There came a brief silence.
"If you are unwilling to answer, you may say no comment."
"No comment."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"No comment."
"How did he know that the airship was coming today?"
"He said that he has an informer."
"Who is that informer?"
"No comment."
"Is the informer Alfegan?"
"No comment."
"Is he a militiaman?"
"No comment."
"Did he get you supplies and arms?"
"He knew a man who gave us them."
"Who was this man?"
"He called himself the Salesman. He visited us five months ago. Since then, guns and ammunition have arrived at the town."
"How do these weapons arrive?"
"In various ways."
"Please tell me these ways."
"On horseback, in trucks, on foot... in various ways."
"When do they arrive?"
"Every market day."

The intelligence officer at FOB Tekanav spoke into a microphone.
"Ask him if he has seen any cylinders."
The question was promptly asked.
"The cylinders first came a few months ago. Our high elder told our elder that they were powerful weapons. We have had twelve cylinders."
The intelligence officer counted on his fingers. That meant there were five weapons yet to be recovered from the town.
"Where are these weapons held?"
"No comment."
"I said, where are these weapons held?"
"No comment."
"Tem, answer my question. I know you know. It is of upmost importance we find these cylinders, otherwise thousands of people could be killed. Many of them could be from your tribe."
There came silence.
"No comment."
"Answer the god damned question!"
The officer over there smashed his fists into the table so hard that the area of impact bent.
"Where are the cylinders?"
"No comment."
"Interview suspended at 1854."

There was a brief fizz of static, followed by the image coming back online.
"That'll get rid of the happy clappy brigade. Now where are the cylinders?"
"I said no comment."
"Fine."
The table slid down into the floor, along with the three chairs, leaving not a single mark where they had been. The two men then took the recorder, leaving the room. The door sealed behind them, leaving the man in a perfectly white cell. It was now apparant there was some form of bedding. Of course, pure white. A white screen, blending into the wall, hid a white wash area. And then... the lights went out. The camera feed shut down. The intelligence officer stood up.
"That's all we can get out of him so far. I'll check the radio, and see if we can triangulate the position of the calls. Until then, all we can say are two things - there is outside involvment, and that there is an NBC threat in the area."
Alfegos
16-07-2009, 17:54
---deleted---
Katonazag
18-07-2009, 04:57
Tekanav FOB, Hurgat - 2212 HOURS

Major Vegyész thought for a moment. "If we're to break the cycle of insurgent resupply, then we need to pursue certain things. Either we have to destroy the source, or cut the source off from the destination. Otherwise, we can clear and raid all we want to, and the problem will just grow back every time.

I don't think the forces here are properly equipped for putting up checkpoints on market day, plus that would damage public opinion of the indigenous people. The supply line needs to be broken before it even gets to the island, which would mean naval and air customs enforcement. Even if unsuccessful in completely stopping the influx of war material to the insurgents, it will make their resupply much more costly, and hopefully cost prohibitive.

Or, an aggressive program to destroy this "Salesman" would be effective as well, but it will likely take significantly longer and doesn't address the short term. As a long term solution, it would be more ideal.

Pursuing both would probably be the best course of action, in my opinion. However, it will take more resources up front, but faster resolution will mean fewer Union and indigenous casualties in the long run. And I think we both know that money is cheaper than blood, especially in the court of public opinion back home. Alas, I think we are talking far above our level of influence..."