Hatchibombitar v Wolfish (Private RP) [Archive]

14-12-2003, 06:31

Saturday afternoon 1800 hrs

Off the northeastern tip of Wolfhair Island:

“This is crazy, they’ll be all over us in no time at all” muttered Hernandez. Jackson ignored him, and continued to apply zinc oxide to his nose. The low mutter of the engine was all he wanted to hear right now, not Hernandez’s nervous chatter. They had already been over the plan dozens of times, and it was too late to do anything else other than adapt and improvise should things go wrong. Stretching his arms indolently, Jackson rose to his feet and walked aft. Reaching down, he lifted the first of the two deep-sea fishing rods extended out over the stern of the Bayliner and tested the line with his thumb. Hernandez walked back to join him, and raised the second rod. He spat idly over the transom and exclaimed, “I hate fishing, ya know”. “I know, Martin, I know” Jackson said soothingly, “Just remember what we’re here for, we’re just two tourists trying to get some quality angling time in before the weekend is over”.

As the sun began it’s descent behind the island off the port bow, Jackson goosed the throttle of the Bayliner, picking up speed as they headed north towards the long spit of land that protected the harbors of Bayville and Wolfish. “Ready?” he called out to his companion. A series of grunts, muffled by the deck, was his only response. Moments later, the engine stopped abruptly and the boat drifted to a halt, the backwash of its wake slapping idly at the gunwales. Hernandez’s head popped up from the open engine coaming, his white teeth flashing in the first grin of the day to cross his now grease-covered face. “Let ‘em send all the patrol boats they want out here, this engine won’t start again!” With that, he hurled the main fuel line over the side, where it quickly slipped away the depths below. Jackson let out a sight of relief; Hernandez was back to himself again now that they were committed. “Go get some rest” he suggested, “We’ll start swimming in 2 hours”.

On the Northwestern coast of Wolfhair island:

Had anyone looked, nothing untoward would have been seen, just 4 men walking along the beach in the surf carrying picnic baskets and wearing black rucksacks. Two of them also carried heavy black fishing rod cases. In shorts and tee shirts, the men gave every appearance that they were local boys out for an afternoon of fun and sun. Only their boots offered a clue that there might be more present here than met the eye. Soon, the men turned up the beach and crossed into the forest beyond, slipping rapidly from sight. Moments passed, and one man re-emerged, holding a large palm frond. Quickly, but deliberately, he moved to the surf line where he stopped and began retracing his steps, sweeping the palm frond across all the footprints in the sand. He paused at the tree line, nodded once, and slipped back into forest. No trace of the four men having passed by here remained.

On the riverbank, five kilometers south of the naval base:

They were sleeping now, three of them, while Roberts took the first watch. Roberts always took the first watch, believing that the command duty required him to literally watch over his men. They had a long night ahead of them, and Roberts knew that adrenaline would only carry his men so far. He sighed, and wondered for the thousandth time today what it was that was so important that his life and the life of his men should be risked. ”Wolfish is our friend” he had argued, “a loyal friend who took us in when we were a new and struggling nation”. He had gotten no response other than a brusque reminder that the orders had come from the top, at a pay grade he was never going to see. Well, orders were orders and he would follow them. “One thing though”, he muttered aloud “we’ll do this my way, stealthy and silent. I will not kill the people who trained me if I can help it!” One of the men stirred and Roberts immediately felt guilty for having disturbed him. Adjusting his back against the tree, he went back to silently watching, waiting for the time to check on the other three teams and begin the hike northward.

On the Westfield highway: 2 kilometers from the main base gate.

They had grabbed the truck that morning; on it’s way out of town. It was a white panel van carrying cases of canned goods for the base commissary as well as fresh eggs and butter. The informant had told them that this truck typically arrived late Saturday evening in order to provide fresh food for the Sunday Brunch in the Quarterdeck club. The driver was not expected home until late, they had also been told, it was his habit to stop by the bachelor officers quarters for a bit of liquid camaraderie before making the long drive south.

Now the driver lay against the front bulkhead of the truck; gagged and hooded, his wrists and ankles secured with plastic twist ties. He lay quietly, not knowing whether he would live or die, but knowing any attempt at disruption was likely to answer the question in the negative. They were parked somewhere off the road, he had heard the branches swishing against the sides of the truck. Outside, seven very serious looking men were quietly grouped around the van in a semi circle that faced the highway that lay 200 meters away. No one spoke, each one was trained to wait and prepare for what lay ahead.

A large room in anonymous building, far away:

A tentative knock disturbed the stillness of the room. “Ma’am, they’re in place”.
The figure behind the glass and steel desk looked up, nodded briefly and returned her attention to the screen in front of her. Her eyes moved swiftly down the list of folders, seeking out the one labeled “Dread Pirates”. She shook her head impatiently, still annoyed at the insolence of Roberts’ team for picking that name. “Too late to stop them now” she sighed, and gently switched the screen off with a delicate flick of her plump finger. Soon it would begin….

Wolfish

16-12-2003, 17:24

ooc: I'll post a little later today - I've been a bit sick lately.

Cheers,
W.

17-12-2003, 07:46

ooc: I'm sorry to hear it. Please don't rush on my account, I'm not going anywhere and your health is a lot more important than anything we do here.

Healthy wishes,
Hatch

Wolfish

17-12-2003, 07:48

ooc: Sorry about that.

ic:

*Wolfhair Island Naval Base*

http://www.christopherwhitcomb.com/images/gallery/fullsize/nvg_nightops.jpg

Sgt Jamison hated nights like this - instead of sitting in a heated guard tower, he had patrol duty, and was therefore leading his team of 10 around in circles.

"Gus - can you walk any louder?" he asked one of the new PFCs.

"Sorry Sarge. Got my boot stuck in a critter hole."

Jamison shook his head in disbelief.

Wolfish had one of the formost military forces in the world - and its navy was its crowning glory - yet PFC Gus was thwarted by a gopher.

"Its okay Gus - just try to keep it down."

Jamison had never run into any security breaches during his 2 years at Wolfhair - it was a pretty easy post - the island was isolated, and almost everyone on it was either in the military or worked with the military - so any outsiders would quickly be noticed and likely rounded up.

But lately the commanders had become more strict about security - likely something at the research centre.

Jamison wasn't one to spread rumours, but he did have ears, and wasn't opposed to listening to rumours - and what he'd been hearing was that Wolfish Defense Command had developed a new anti-ship missile - one that could change the face of naval warfare - and that several prototypes were in the Reseach station to be tested at the underwater range off the coast.

But that was neither here nor there - all that mattered was 100 km of fenceline and whether or not PFC Gus was going to make it without killing a small animal.

Wolfish

17-12-2003, 07:52

In your next post try to include an appropriate picture.

17-12-2003, 07:56

Wolfish

17-12-2003, 08:09

slightly ic / slightly ooc: I note that here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2350424&highlight=#2350424) you mention that 500 ships based at Wolfhair Island are at sea. For the purposes of this exercise, am I allowed to know/exploit that fact?

The fleets are rarely at home, except for crew exchanges, refuel, refurb, etc. Regardless - they would never be used for homeland defense (unless we were to face an invasion).

However, here is what is typically in various patrol locations around Wolfish:

Costal Defense Forces
60 Cyclone Class, CPV
14 Aegis-Class GM Destroyer
12 Mako-Class GM Frigates
20 Perry-Class GM Frigates
6 LA CLass Attack Subs

If you can use any of this to your advantage, feel free.

17-12-2003, 08:23

I'm just looking for something berthed, drydocked or at anchor that might serve as a suitable diversion for prying eyes. My swim team will be, hopefully, keeping attention focussed in the wrong direction with some judiciously distributed explosives...

You wouldn't happen to have any fully loaded oilers waiting to weigh anchor, would you? :D

[/ooc]

Wolfish

17-12-2003, 16:46

http://www.schoolscience.co.uk/content/4/chemistry/fossils/images/figure15.jpg

Will this do?

17-12-2003, 16:50

ooc: Very helpful, indeed. My thanks to you. Expect further team deployments this evening.

18-12-2003, 07:34

http://www.rushusa.com/images/pictures/jpg/eot-SF-Phillipines-on-Patrol.jpg

2200 Hours, Saturday
Wolfhair Island Naval Base

Roberts raised his left hand silently, and the team froze in place with perfect synchronicity. Someone else was here. No, two more were here. He had heard a voice, a soft voice, and then a louder one complaining about “a critter hole”. This was not good. This was not at all good.

The team had rested by the riverbank until 1900 hours, then gathered around Roberts for yet another briefing. He knew they were on edge, so he kept it short, direct and positive. “We’ll move for an hour, stop for the other groups to check in, then make the final approach to the fenceline. Remember, our job is to locate and observe the Research Center from the south side. We do not enter unless Bobby and the boys don’t make it. Hernandez and Jackson will keep everyone looking the other way. The beach boys will cover the north and west. When Bobby and his boys arrive, you know what to do. Remember, stealthy and silent! Check your equipment, check your buddy’s equipment and double check your own again and then let’s get moving.”

One hour later they had halted in a small copse of trees. The cool night air under the trees was a comfort after their day on the river. Roberts stood quietly apart from the men holding an ultra-light tactical radio. At precisely 2000 hours, Bobby’s high pitched voice came over the radio: “Brunch bunch ready”. “Confirmed”, Roberts, replied. “Beach Boys ready”, was next; “confirmed” again the response. Finally the comforting growl of Jackson’s basso profundo came through: “Goin’ for a dip” was all he said. Roberts let a touch of concern show as he answered, “Be careful, Bobby”.

Now Roberts was 100 meters inside the fenceline and hearing voices. There was no way 2 sailors would be wandering around out here at this hour; it could only be a patrol. He, more than anyone, knew all about the vaunted Wolfish discipline, in fact he was counting on it to carry out his plan. He extended his left hand behind him in a pushing motion and the three men behind him slowly melted into the shadows. There would be no confrontation here if Roberts could help it.

In the water: Wolfhair Island Naval Base

There was no ripple as they passed unseen in the depths. The pipeline was well lit at the point where it entered the water and it continued at a right angle to the coast for another ½ a kilometer. Jackson and Hernandez surfaced once to take a fresh bearing on it then continued their silent glide into the target. An audible clunk sounded when the front of Jackson’s underwater propulsion vehicle bumped the line. They moved quickly, fixing two charges and a redundant backup to a timer, with yet another redundant backup. Sinking below the pipeline, the two men moved northward, heading for the shoreline tanks. Hernandez prayed silently that they might find a target of opportunity, a supply or ammunition ship, knowing that such a target would draw personnel away in greater numbers. As if by divine predestination, the sound of distant screws turning in the water began to drift towards them.

On the north side of Wolfhair Island

The Beach boys made good time, reaching the fence a full hour before Roberts and his crew to the south. Breaching it proved easy, and the presence of so many wolves in the forest made them confident that there were no motion sensors present. After a whispered conference, they opted to avoid cutting the fence; not knowing what alarms might be triggered. Instead, the men quietly clambered over the top of the fence, one by one, before slipping into the woods to the southwest. They kept to a line parallel to an access road, occasionally slipping into a ditch alongside the road to reconnoiter further. Always, they watched the power lines. “A research center needs plenty of high voltage lines” Roberts had said “so don’t forget to scan the sky for clues, too”.

On the Westfield highway: 2 kilometers from the main base gate.

Bobby’s team waited. With the other groups on foot, the brunch bunch could not afford to enter the base too early. Lingering too long near their first target would only attract suspicion. Roberts had emphasized that the Wolfish forces were disciplined and accustomed to a well-rehearsed routine. The plan depended on that fact. To kill time, Bobby had two of his men escort the driver behind some trees to relive himself. It proved futile; as the spreading stain on his pants indicated that fear had already taken hold of his bodily functions. Escorting him back to the truck, one of the two escorts lifted his hood slightly and offered him a cup of water. The driver drank, first nervously and then ravenously, before his hood was dropped again and he was pushed into his familiar prone position. “One hour” Bobby said quietly to the others, “We go in one hour”….

Wolfish

19-12-2003, 16:45

*Wolfhair Island Command and Control Centre*

Second Lieutenant Maves sat at his security control panel in the C&C - sipping at his lukewarm coffee as the whir and drone of the computers fought the caffine to put him to sleep.

"Dear God," exclaimed the rookie, "Someone stick a pencil in my eye - something to end this boredom."

"Easy Son." retorted Commander Hadley (son of famed Wolfish Admiral Hadley, hero of the Tuttsville conflict). "You'll get used to it - just keep an eye on your monitors."

"Aye Sir," replied a slightly ashamed Maves.

Across the room Johnson laughed at the rookie - although secretly he had the same thought a thousand times a night. As he turned back to his duties, he caught the tail end of a fading blimp on the sonar senors in the harbour.

Quickly rewinding the digital tape to the time his back was turned, he saw clear as anything a spike on the screen.

"Commander!" he called, pulling on the headset to "hear" the spike (the control panel has both visual and audio detection, but most nights you just watch the display, which allows the controller to continue listening to his Strokes CD).

He rewound the file once more as Commander Hadley stepped up behind him.

"What you got Son?"

"Right here Sir. Impact sound in the harbour - I'm trying to triangulate its location - but its man made."

"We have anything in the harbour tonight?"

"The watch log just says Surface traffic - no note on sub-surface activity."

“Okay. I’m running this one up the line – start your track.”

“Aye Sir.”

The Control room bustled as the Commander picked up the secure line. “Captain? This is Hadley. We need to put the base on alert. We have a possible…well we don’t know what we have, but we’ve got something in the harbour.”

The Captain was used to such info coming late in the night – but he didn’t mind – it gave him something to do.
“Thank you Commander. Please keep me informed.”

With that, the Captain picked up his microphone and radioed the patrol and sentry troops around the base.

“All Units. Condition Gamma. Harbour.”

Troops around the base took the news like professionals. Guns were checked, backpack straps tightened, and new batteries put in nightvision goggles.

A rapid reaction force was sent to the harbour shoreline, while a SEAL team suited up in case they needed “eyes on target” in the harbour.

In the field Sgt Jamison called his platoon over. "Okay guys. Its game time. Everyone spread out and keep it quiet" - he looked meaningfully at Gus - "Gamma means we've got to secure this area - take up static positions along this fence line. Time to bunker down."

With the radio call the mood had changed amongst the ground troops. Suddenly they weren't laughing about Gus, but were actively scanning the area for threats.

21-12-2003, 08:23

2300 Hours
Wolfhair Harbour

Jackson jabbed sharply at Hernandez with his thumb, then pointed downwards. Both men flexed their knees, pointed their fins towards the surface and sank deeper on a graceful angle. Reaching the bottom, Jackson illuminated a small penlight just long enough for Hernandez to see and understand his gestures. Miming the process of setting a charge, he pointed to his own propulsion vehicle, pointed to his watch and held up five fingers twice, and then waved as if to say goodbye. Hernandez understood. They would send the vehicle further out into the harbor towards the south under it’s own power, but not before setting charges on a ten minute timer. The remaining vehicle would carry them to shore together. Whatever the identity of the boat overhead, it would surely head straight for the explosion when it came. Meanwhile, both men would be headed northeast.

Minutes later, the two vehicles were whirring silently away from each other as Jackson and Hernandez headed to the shore. As the water grew progressively shallower, they hugged the bottom. Soon, they could feel the pull of the waves at their backs and Jackson tapped Hernandez on the shoulder. Holding up one fist, he indicated that this was the place to ditch their ride and begin swimming. Strong strokes carried the two men well into the surf line, and moments later they were standing on the rocky shore. Ducking behind a rocky outcropping, Jackson and Hernandez hurriedly shucked off their black neoprene suits. From the waterproof bags they had towed behind them, the men retrieved clean, dry clothes and swiftly dressed. Leaving the wetsuits hidden in the rocks, they moved inland, cautiously scanned the area for patrols. The first storage tank, full of bunker fuel, loomed in front of them. Jackson prepared his first charge.

Westfield Highway
The Main Gate

Bobby crouched on the floor on the passenger side of the delivery truck, his gun pointed at the driver’s crotch. “Don’t be stupid,” he cautioned quietly, “you can sleep in your own bed tonight if you simply do what you’re told. You’ve driven here hundreds of times before, tonight is no different”. Moments later the truck pulled up to the main gate of the base. Bobby tensed as he heard the guard’s footsteps approaching, then pause as a phone began to ring. To his astonishment, the truck began to move again and soon the cab grew dark as the truck escaped the glare of the arc lights around the entrance. “What happened?” he whispered. “Guard got a phone call, he waved me through” came the reply. “Can I go home now?” Bobby ignored him, and rapped twice on the bulkhead behind him. Two answering knocks swiftly sounded. Bobby peeked over the dashboard, then climbed up onto the seat. “Take that turn up ahead, the one to the right”. “Good, now pull over and stop the truck”. The driver turned expectantly to Bobby, “Why are we stopping at the Fire Sta..” The leather sap behind his ear cut him off in mid sentence and he slumped to the seat. Bobby rapped twice on the bulkhead and opened the truck door.

Inside Wolfhair Naval Base

The Beach Boys were passing behind small houses now. From the maps they had studied, these seemed to be married officers quarters. There would be street signs here; the spouses would need them to get around. They halted beside a small playground. The man who had swept the beach now earlier in the day now spoke for the first time since entering the base. “Harmon, you come with me, you two cover”. Harmon and his companion moved cautiously to the playground entrance. Each began looking at signs with hooded penlights. “Psst, Truman, you’re not going to believe this” Harmon hissed a moment later, “there’s a sign for research something but it’s spelled wrong, looks like they tried to spell center but put the “e” and the “r” in the wrong place”. Truman turned and looked, then grabbed Harmon by the shoulder. “That’s it; it’s not really spelled wrong, they just used Canadian contractors. Get the others and let’s go.”

Inside the fence line

Something had changed. The patrol in the distance had gone abruptly quiet, and Roberts felt an icy chill up his back. Somehow, despite all the planning and precautions, their mission might fail before they could even truly begin. Which way would they move? Roberts had trained this team and met with the planning team throughout, he could not afford to be taken out of the game this early. He was going to have to gamble. He pointed to Silvio and Hanson, and then pointed to the ground. They understood, and threw him a swift nod. Roberts and the remaining man, Belker, would continue further into the base while Silvio and Hanson tried to draw off the patrol. In the worst case, they would simply have to shoot it out against overwhelming odds. Belker turned away to begin walking, then turned back when he realized that Roberts had not moved. He peered questioningly into the older mans face, and was perplexed to see doubt written there. Roberts wavered, then looked back at Silvio and Hanson, threw them a salute, and walked swiftly away.

Wolfish

27-12-2003, 16:36

ooc: First blood.

C&C Centre

“Sir – Sir I have movement out of the harbour and towards the Refinery storage tanks and thermal cams 1 and 2. Suggest we crash the base.”

“Okay Son. Calm down,” replied the more experienced Hadley. “Rewind the tape and let me have a look.”

The miffed operator chaffed at the delay, but followed his orders and rewound the image log – which clearly showed to people come out of the water and change clothes on the beach before hurrying off towards the refinery.

“Dear God,” exclaimed Hadley as his fist went down on a large red button. “Alarms and claxons began to wail, as an automated voice broadcast its dire warning…”Intruder Alert. All hands to Alert Station Alfa.”

SEAL Team Base

Team 2 has been suiting up for a possible swim – and now heard the alarms ringing across the base.

“Do they have to make them so loud?” asked Otake, the team sniper.

“I think so,” replied his spotter Marshal. “They do it to piss you off.”

The team finished suiting up in record time and took off for the harbour. Three quarters of the way there, Otake and Marshal jumped from the jeep, while the rest of the team carried on.

“Whadda-ya think?” asked Otake. “It should be high enough to see anything move.”

“Yeah. Could do.” Said Marshal, looking up at one of the bases transmission towers.

The two began a long climb towards the top of the 600 foot tower, where they nightvision and thermal scopes would be put to good use in surveying the base.

Wolfhair Harbour

The bases Rapid Reaction force had pulled up to the harbour moments before the alarms began to sound.

Radio traffic was chaotic, but they managed to hear that two people had swum out of the harbour, changed on the friggin beach, and strolled off to the refinery.

“Jones, Clives and Kendal – take the jeep and head for the refinery – and keep someone on that 50,” said Lieutenant Talls. Kendal looked pleased with that pronouncement – cutting things in half with the 50 cal machine gun was one of his favourite pastimes.

“The rest of the team will patrol the beach until the SEALs get here. Okay – you’ve got your orders – now go.”

The team split up with the three in the jeep looking happiest (no one likes to foot patrol a rocky shoreline).

Fence line Group (with Roberts on your side)

The team lay quietly in the tall grass – guns pointed outward.

Gus peered though his night vision goggles, his Carbine pressed tight against his shoulder. He scanned back and forth through his “zone of fire” – and area of about 20 degrees that he alone was responsible for in this situation.

As his green-tinted optics swept across the fence once more – he caught a glimpse of three men standing in plain view – he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen them before.

“Target,” he called on his wireless mircrophone. “Bearing 320.”

Things began to happen rapidly now. As he watched one man saluted the other two, and then walked away.

Gus heard Sgt Jamison on his earpiece. “I got them. They ain’t friendly Gus. Stay with the one walking – Peters – you and Bowman get lines on the two to the north.”

Gus clicked the safety off his rifle, and checked his sights. Turning off his nightvision goggles and turning on his thermal scope on the gun, he temporarily lost his contact, but gained it back quickly enough to see that “Salute” as he would now be known – was part of a larger group.

“Sgt – I got a shot – and there are more of them here. Can I take them?”

“Standby Gus.” Sgt Jamison was worried now – how many enemies were out there – and what were they doing? He had no idea, and was quickly sinking over his head.

“Patrol Delta to base. I have unknowns – armed and moving around – inside the fenceline. Request instructions.”

The reply came particularly quickly from what sounded like a very busy command center. “Administer necessary force to halt the intruders. We are at Alert Station Alfa. Command out.”

“Gus – take the shot. All other units get ready.”

Gus had never shot anyone before – but it was easy through the thermal scope to believe you were only looking at a paper cutout.

He line the crosshairs up on the large centre mass of the target and squeezed the trigger.

At exactly 5 pounds of pressure the Carbine’s hammer fell onto the primer head of a 12 mil, full metal jacket round – which left the barrel of Gus’s rifle with a barely perceivable kick.

Gus watched through the scope as the image stabilized – then he saw his target go down.

“Target down. Seems the enemy is on the deck – I lost the other targets.”

“Well,” said Jamison. “We got their attention.”

Wolfhair Flight Centre

The claxons were ringing like mad before the boys decided that perhaps they should put down their cards and see what all the fuss was about.

It wasn’t that the boys weren’t professional – they were incredibly committed to their country. It was just that on a naval base, the small airforce contingent was someone…forgotten. So in turn, they chose to forget that they were part of the naval base. Especially on poker night.

The call to their CO was less than pleasant – something about intruders and get your asses into those whirly-birds – and don’t think I won’t kick your asses for slacking off…blah, blah, blah.

Moments later six pilots took off in three Huey’s for a patrol over the base.

Wolfish

27-12-2003, 18:04

ooc: Forgot something

ic:

Office of the President, Wolfish

The agent put is hand to his earpiece to ensure he had heard the call sign correctly. As it repeated he knew this was going to be an exciting day - across the room President Todler sat behind his desk talking on the secure link phone to some world leader or other.

"Mr. President," said the agent as the phone line went dead in Todler's hand. "We have a situation - we're going to move you out of the building."

The President stood, as several other agents entered the room.

"What's going on?" asked Todler.

"Not now Sir - please come with us."

The agents took the confused President into the hallway, where a seldom-used elevator sat open, waiting for the leader of the nation.

As the five agents entered behind the President, the doors shut securely and each of the people in the elevator felt the sudden plunge downward.

The elevator car dropped at a rate triple that of a normal elevator - as it sped along, the transport team was preparing for the President's arrival 18 stories underground.

The car stopped abruptly, and the doors slid open onto a scene few in Wolfish had ever seen.

Before the President was an armoured subway - three cars long. On board was everything the President would need to run the nation - at least until he arrived at the Emergency Command Centre.

*background info* Wolfish built a underground emergency network several RL months ago. It links the capital to a centre capable of withstanding a 15 mt nuclear blast. The subway is a high-speed emergency transport vehicle, which can get the President to the centre within 2 hours. On board, he will be linked with his military command structure through secure comm links.

27-12-2003, 19:35

OOC: I want to clarify/confirm our understanding of the fence line positioning. My perception was that Roberts et al are inside the fence line, beyond the patrol, with Jamison and company between them and the fence. That is to say, my four are closer to the harbour than your ten, with two of my four now stationary and two moving away, further into the base, from your patrol. I'll adjust appropriately if I'm mistaken here....
/OOC

Wolfish

27-12-2003, 19:38

27-12-2003, 20:29

ooc: I pictured it the other way around, with your troops closer to the fence - but no matter - use your perception - but I would suggest my patrol has still spotted them, and has fired at Roberts.

Cheers,
W.

OOC: Agreed. I'll use my perception of placement, and I acknowledge the spotting and shot fired. Poor Roberts, I hope he hasn't suffered a mortal wound...

28-12-2003, 06:52

At the Refinery, Wolfish Naval Base

Jackson dropped the timer when the first klaxon screamed through the night. Cursing silently, he picked it up and began feverishly attaching the final wires to their corresponding terminals. Hernandez, meanwhile, lay prone in the shadow of the giant bunker fuel tank, his eye fitted to the scope of his Swedish AK5B. “Gotta figure they know we’re here” he hissed, “are you done with that thing yet?” Jackson slid closer to the tank and placed the newly wired device just upstream from the main valve at the bottom of the tank. “Tying it on now” he replied as he began securing the charge with strips of duct tape.

“All right, done” Jackson whispered, moments later. From somewhere out of site, the sound of an approaching vehicle slowed, and then sounded more urgently. “Time to blow the pipeline” Hernandez suggested, far more casually than he felt. Jackson nodded tersely, and dug the small black transmitter out of his pocket. A gentle press of his right thumb overrode the timers they had set, and he was rewarded moments later by a muffled thump, somewhere offshore to his southeast. A new chorus of alarms joined the din as pressure sensors throughout the refinery complex responded to the explosion. “Let’s give them a real distraction, Martin”. Jackson pulled a second transmitter from his pocket, this one connected to the diver propulsion vehicle now headed across the harbor. Another thumb press later and a dull concussion sounded, followed by a great spout of water as the vehicle rocketed to the surface and into the air. “Let it work, let it work” Hernandez implored. Both men waited for the small phosphorous charges built into the ballast tank of the vehicle to fall back to the harbor surface. Suddenly, the harbor lit up like the noonday sun. The bunker fuel was alight. Jackson pulled Hernandez to his feet. “Let’s get the next tank”.

Behind the Married Officers Quarters, Wolfish Naval Base

Truman dove under a bush when he heard the first Huey. Harmon sprinted for the side of the utility building where the two remaining team members waited and flung himself against the wall. Anxious moments passed as one, and then one more chopper could be clearly heard somewhere to their east. Truman grew increasingly edgy in his vulnerable position under the bush. Seeing no spotlights, he made a mad dash to the building to join his companions. “We gotta move boys, we can’t stay here. The Research Center is down that road, according to the sign and that’s where we’re going. Watson, Hanks, you keep those things ready and if you have to bring down one of those birds, do it” he added; nodding to the overly thick black fishing rod cases they still carried. All four men looked at each other, nodded once, and then broke cover from the side of the small building trotting briskly along the shadows at the side of the road.

On a side road, Wolfhair Naval Base

The pool of lights from the main base fire station spread thinly across the tarmac, stopping about 50 meters short of the parked truck. In the shadows, two men climbed out of the back and walked to the passenger side door. Reaching in, they lifted the driver out with a surprising gentleness and hoisted him up around his chest and legs. Placing him back in the cargo area, his wrists and ankles were re-secured with plastic ties and two strips of duct tape were placed across his mouth. While the two men worked, the other four in the back swiftly donned silver hazmat suits with hoods and faceplates. Bobby watched the fire station with an intense gaze as he heard the klaxons from the harbor ringing distantly. He held his breath as the fire station doors rolled up, chattering loudly in their grooves as the chain hoist sped them out of the way. From his vantage point, he could see men scurrying around the trucks. Climbing down from the cab, he edged his way to the back of the truck and grabbed another hazmat suit from one of the already clad team. “Here we go, boys” he whispered.

Inside the Fence Line, Wolfish Naval Base

The shot came from out of nowhere. Roberts spun to the ground, landing with a heavy thump. Reflexively, he groaned aloud from the pain. He was hurt, and he was mad. Reaching up with his left hand, he gently probed the area on his right shoulder where he was hit. Instantly, his hand was damp with a thick warmness. He raised his head slightly, peering into the dark for some sign of Belker. ”Right here, boss” came a ragged whisper, “behind the tree. Can you crawl to me?”

Roberts held up his left hand with two fingers outstretched and then waved into the interior of the base. Belker understood. The plan had changed and it was now up to Silvio and Hanson to make the rendezvous if possible. Silvio and Hanson spotted the signal as well and moved further into the thick undergrowth away from their comrades. Dropping his hand, Roberts rolled once to his right, onto his injured shoulder. The pain was excruciating but he was still conscious. One more roll brought him to the shadow of the tree trunk from which Belker’s voice had sounded.

“Jimmy, we’ll try and hold them here, understood? We need these guys distracted” Roberts’ voice tailed off into another groan. A strong arm reached around Roberts’ waist and hauled him into a sitting position behind the tree. Belker’s worried eyes peered down into his commander’s face. “Don’t worry boss, I’ll do my job” he replied as he swung his AK5B up to his shoulder. “Let’s see how good these guys are…” A three second burst of fire poured from his weapon into the night.

Wolfish

31-12-2003, 08:37

Command and Control Centre

All hell was now officially breaking loose.

Intruder, Refinery and Oil Spill alarms were sounding in unison – forming a disharmonic chaos that was giving Commander Hadley a headache.

“Gentlemen – I think we can safely assume we are under a full blown attack. Put the base on General Quarters.”

“Aye Sir” – replied one of the signalmen as armed Marines appeared at the doors to the centre with nasty looking Carbines at the ready.

Throughout the base – lights were coming on in homes and offices as soldiers responded to alarms.

Closer to the harbour – Otake and Marshal had probably the best view of the underwater explosion and subsequent fire – they had managed to climb about 300 feet above the ground – and now had a commanding view of the lake of fire to the south.

“Glad we’re not swimming tonight,” said Marshal as Otake flipped the hard-plastic cap off the scope on his M40A1 sniper rifle.

“Yep,” he replied as the big gun made contact with his shoulder and began to sweep across the base.

Marshal was quick to follow suit – but his tool was a Bushnell spotters scope.

“Okay. We got Rapid Responders patrolling the shore – SEAL is coming up on their position…” the scope swept right, “…got a jeep – oh I see its part of Rapid Response – heading to the refinery…” another shift, “Looks like….wait – check out by the bunker fuel tanks. I see someone in the shadow.”

Otake brought the gun around and followed Marshal’s line of sight.

“Those ain’t our guys,” he said as the safety came off.

Otake marked the distance even before Marshal could confirm it with the laser sighter.

“800 yards. Wind 6 knots South-South-West.”

“Check.”

The two were all business now. Otake dialed in the 7.62 mm beast while Marshal double checked the “variables” and locked his sight on the target.

“We’re good when you’re ready.”

Otake never replied…he took a deep breath in, held it, and gently curled his forefinger in. The trigger broke at exactly 2.5 pounds as a tongue of flame shot from the barrel.

Marshal didn’t look up. He kept his eye on the target as the bullet slammed home.

“Hit,” he said in a cold, detached voice. “Wait a sec…caught some movement. There may be another target with our boy. See if you can raise the guys in the jeep on the radio.”

Jeep on route to Refinery

Jones, Clives and Kendal hadn’t heard the shot – but they heard the radio call that SEAL Team 2 had just nailed a target directly in their path.

“Thought they were still suiting up – and now their nailing our targets,” said a frustrated Jones as he stepped on the gas to get there before all the fun was over.

Above and behind him Kendal gripped the 50 calibre tighter as the jeep sped along – he didn’t mind at all if someone else got all “the fun”.

Main Fire station

The first alarm had been the flow-pressure sensors – then the sub-surface sonic – then the infrared – then the thermal. By the time the 8 firefighters were on the trucks – no fewer than fifty alarms were ringing in the station.

“Okay boys,” said the grey-haired Chief, “C&C says there’s some bad guys setting this all off – so be careful. We’ve got some boats coming in to help. But first thing we do is shut down the pumps and close the emergency valves.”

Fence Line – Gus / Roberts groups

Gus scanned the area Roberts went down with his thermal scope – but either they were laying low in the deep grass or they were behind the old oak tree.

Jamison called out in the darkness – Gus – you watch – we’ll circle around.

With that two members of the team went to Gus’s left, and the others began to crawl in the grass to his right.

A quick burst of fire erupted from the oak tree – three poorly aimed bullets went clear over the platoon’s heads.

Gus had no shot – but he aimed at the edge of the tree – “Can’t hit them – but they can taste bark,” he thought as he opened up with his Carbine.

Fence Line – Peters / Silvio groups

Peters and Bowman watched as the second group of infiltrators moved away from the shooting further into the base.

Crouching low – they hurried to follow. The two seemed to be trying to distance themselves from the first group as quickly as possible.

“Bow – we can’t let them keep this up,” said Peters.

Bowman grinned and lifted his Carbine and tapped the grenade tube with his hand. Without waiting to hear Peters thoughts on the matter, Bowman slid a grenade out of his belt and into the tube – pulling the trigger just as quickly.

The shot sounded like a dull thud – followed by a brilliant light and explosion less than 30 yards ahead.

Peters and Bowman hit the ground out of reflex – and lifted their guns to their shoulders.

“What now?” as Bowman.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘What now’. Who told you to blow them the hell up?”

“They might not be dead. Couldda wounded them.”

“With a grenade?”

“Could happen.”

“Geez.”

Airborne

The harbour explosion had lite up the night sky for the Huey pilots – but it was the second, much smaller explosion that caught Baker’s attention.

He leaned on the stick and brought the Huey into a forward pitch.

“Steve – get on the radio see if we got a patrol down there…looks like it might be a fight - and I don't believe in even odds.”

31-12-2003, 08:50

OOC: Somehow, I think I'm going to have to write a lot of letters home to mothers explaining how their sons were heroes who died for a noble cause. The burdens of command weigh heavy....

Wolfish

31-12-2003, 08:55

OOC: Somehow, I think I'm going to have to write a lot of letters home to mothers explaining how their sons were heroes who died for a noble cause. The burdens of command weigh heavy....

ooc: Wait till I carpet bomb your capital for attempting to blow up my research centre. :lol:

:wink:

31-12-2003, 09:02

OOC: :shock:

I have visions of Dresden, only with terrified elephants trumpeting through the streets! Guess I'll have to submit myself to that famous Wolfish mercy and goodwill.

02-01-2004, 05:27

Inside the fence line: Wolfish Naval Base

“Down!” Roberts commanded thickly as a fusillade of bullets thudded into the tree trunk. Belker cradled his leader protectively in his arm as both men tried to make themselves as small as possible behind the profile of the big oak. Grimacing with the effort, Roberts reached into a pouch on his vest with his left hand, removed a compression bandage and tore it open with his teeth “Jimmy, tie this thing off for me”. The moonlight illuminated the concern in Belker’s eyes as he tended to Roberts’ shoulder. “We gotta get you outta here, boss” he warned as his thick fingers deftly and gently wrapped the wound. Roberts shook his head and reached for his radio. “No” was all he said. Thumbing the microphone, he began speaking tersely: “All units, all units, Team Leader is code black. I repeat, Team Leader is code black.” Pausing, Roberts looked up the sky, grunted in pain and then thumbed the microphone a second time. “Do your duty, fear no peril, and may God have mercy on us all. Out.”

Leaning against the tree with his eyes closed, Roberts’ fists tightened with rage and frustration. He’d warned them that this infiltration was a mistake; how many times had he pointed that Wolfish was an ally, that he himself had been trained by Wolfish personnel and considered them to be his mentors, friends even? No one had listened; no one cared. He had demanded to hear the order directly from the Consort’s lips, but he was told she was unavailable. “Small wonder”, he laughed bitterly to himself, she wasn’t too busy to send men to certain death but she was too busy to look them in the eye to do it. He was startled out of his reverie by a muttered curse from Belker. “Shit, they’ve split up! They’re gonna circle us boss”.

“Jimmy, I’m code black. You can still get out, and I want you out of here now”. Belker made a noise that could have been a laugh “You can pull my stripes when we’re done Boss, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere. Screw your order!” With that, as though by some unspoken signal, both men leaned around opposite sides of the tree and began raking the area in front of them with three second bursts of fire.

Outside the Main Fire Station: Wolfhair Naval Base

The inside of the truck was still and deathly quiet, each man staring in horror at the radio. Bobby broke the silence “You heard the man, do your duty! We have a job to do; we will do it.” As he spoke, the wail of a siren from down the street began, and then increased in pitch and intensity as it approached. The group of silver-suited soldiers ducked behind boxes in the back of the truck as the fire engine passed by. Moments later, Bobby cautiously jumped out of the back of the food truck and ran quickly to cab. The engine roared to life and Bobby drove the last few hundred meters to the fire station. Pulling up, he boldly parked right in the firehouse driveway. Two silver clad men carrying AK5’s raced past him, headed for the dispatch center. Two more similarly armed men headed up the stairs to check for remaining firemen. The final two ran for the EMS truck sitting idle in the far bay. The all clear was quickly sounded as the men secured the civilian station. Jimmy reached for his radio “Beach Boys, what’s your 20? Do you have a final for us?”

Approaching the Research Center: Wolfhair Naval Base

The huge white building, surrounded by well-manicured lawns that glowed iridescently in the harsh sodium vapor floodlights, loomed in front of them. Ranks of antennae and exhaust ducts lined the roof. Harmon scanned frantically for a ground level master air intake, well away from the dangers of recirculating toxic contaminants. “Over there” Truman exclaimed as he pointed towards the rear corner of the building. A series of huge white vents sprouted grotesquely from the side of the building at waist height. As the men approached, they could hear the muffled roar of the fans and the drone of the heat pump housed together.

Harmon glanced overhead and saw that one of the Hueys had turned back; back toward the fence line where he presumed Roberts was trapped. “Code black” he muttered “Watson, Hanks, get your asses against the side of the building and see if you can make that bird go code black! They can’t shoot back; they’ll hit their precious center. Truman, let’s do this.” All four men raced to the back of the building and pressed themselves against the ducts. Watson and Hanks popped the tops off their fishing rod cases and slid out a pair of modified handheld Stinger missiles. Meanwhile, Truman pulled a bandolier of smoke canisters out of the picnic basket he still carried and began dropping them one by one into the intake ducts. Harmon followed suit with a series of tear gas grenades, ducking his head after inserting each one to avoid backspray.

Just then, Jimmy’s voice came over the radio, seeking location confirmation. Harmon keyed the microphone and tersely replied “Take a GPS on my mark, we’re smoking ‘em out now” Turning away he exclaimed “Watson, Hanks, take that bird out!” Hanks turned to face the Huey, twisting his body to avoid painting his fellow team members with the fiery exhaust, then moved swiftly to lock the rapidly descending chopper in his sights “Locked….now…firing” With a savage whoosh, the small projectile seemingly leaped from Hank’s shoulder and rapidly closed the distance to its target.

In the tall grass: Wolfhair Naval Base

The blast obliterated their senses for what seemed like an eternity. One minute they were headed into the base, away from the patrol, the next minute Hanson found himself lying on his back staring up the sky with blood filling his ears. Reaching out cautiously to his right, he felt Silvio lying next to him. “Hey hombre, you ok?” he whispered, but there was no reply. Tugging on Silvio’s pant leg, he was horrified to find the cloth came away in his hand and to see that he was holding what remained of his partners severed foot and ankle. Hanson swung his head to the right just in time to avoid aspirating his own vomit.

The Refinery: Wolfhair Naval Base

Jackson was listening intently to Roberts’ last radio message when Hernandez let out a sigh, and then crumpled forward. Jackson heard the whip crack of the bullet after that, and his mind dully registered the flash from atop the tower looking on the skyline. Pulling Hernandez toward him, he ran his hand over his chest, and then wearily pushed his companion away when he saw the bright red blood pumping out of his back. “Jesus” he muttered, “We never had a chance. First the boss, now you! All right, if we’re going to do this, lets end it in style.” The headlights of an approaching vehicle flared, and Jackson steadied the final trigger in his grip. His thumb closed over the firing switch as he began to count “10, 9. 8, 7, 6, 5, 4 ,3…”

Wolfish

02-01-2004, 21:28

Command and Control

Major Tomson was not happy. He had been in bed with his wife having a perfectly enjoyable sleep – then alarms were sounding and MPs were knocking on his door – virtually dragging him to the C&C centre.

“Commander – what is the situation?” he asked in his “youbettertellmewhatIwanttohearorI’llkickyourass” voice.

Hadley snapped to attention, “Sir – we have a stage 1 emergency. Near as we can tell, there are two teams inside the base – one at the fence line pinned down by a standard patrol. The second enemy team caused an underwater explosion of the primary feeder pipeline and are now pinned down, but not contained, in the refinery.

We have SEAL team 2 dispatched to the harbour – along with the rapid reaction force. We have several Huey’s searching for other teams and providing survellience.”

“Very good. Now what did you dispatch to the Research Centre?”

“The Research Centre Sir?”

“Oh dear God,” replied the Major in disbelief. “Get on that radio and get – never mind – I’ll do it.”

The Major picked up the headset and began issuing orders.

Temporary Troop Training Barracks

Most of the soldiers had been wakened by the klaxons – but simply being at the base for regular, rotating training – they had no where to go, and nothing to do.

Then the phone rang.

The company commander picked it up and, as his assembled troops watched, turned pale. “Yes Sir. I understand Sir. No – no that wouldn’t be acceptable Sir. We won’t let you down Sir.”

The phone disconnected. And the Commander turned to his troops.

“Men – mount up. We’ve got a job to do. Ziggler – Chopo – Anderson – you get your butts to the Research Centre. Nathan, Brownie, Tasker take your guys and reinforce the fence line. I’ll take the rest of the boys and head to the refinery.

This is not an exercise – people are dying out there so be careful.”

The troops poured out of the barracks – and into the assembled Bradley M2 and M3 light armoured vehicles.

Moments later, clouds of exhaust poured out of the cold engines as troops “safed” their weapons and climbed inside.

Fence Line: Fire Fight Peters / Silvio groups

Peters was still in shock over Bowman’s brutish use of force.

He kept his weapon at the ready and advanced on where the round had detonated. As he walked forward he looked behind him to ensure Bowman hadn’t pulled a rocket launcher out of his pants.

“Don’t kill them if their dead – okay?” he asked as he moved forward.

Peters couldn’t see Bowman’s grin in the darkness – but knew it was there.

“There I see them.” Bowman said as he dashed ahead. “See – their moving.”

The pair moved quickly – pinning the enemies to the ground. “Don’t move. You are prisoners of Wolfish. If you try anything we will kill you. Do you understand me?”

“Ummm – this ones not going to answer,” said Bowman over the broken body of Silvio.

Fence line: Fire fight / Gus, Roberts groups

The fire erupted from the area of the tree and mowed into the grass around Gus. He pressed himself against the earth – waiting for the hail of bullets to end.

“Jesus Christ,” he called into his radio. “They’re trying to kill me.” The humour of the call was lost on the platoon as they worked their way around either side of the tree.

But then the radio chatter from Gus ended.

“Gus – Gus you okay?” Jamison asked into his mike.

No response.

Jamison regained composure quickly as his years of training kicked in.

“Okay – make sure we don’t catch each other in the cross fire…” he transmitted as he moved the final feet into position. Overhead he could hear a helicopter begin to hover – pouring a 10 million candlepower spot onto the tree.

“Fire when you get a chance,” he said as the other team opened up with their Carbines.
It only took a few seconds to realize if someone had been behind the tree…they likely weren’t feeling too good now.

The last of the empty shell casings were still hot to the touch when the area went into darkness…

“What the…” exclaimed Jamison as the area was lighted up – far beyond what the spotlight was putting out.

The groups were flung to the ground as overhead two men and one helicopter turned into a burning mass of metal. The chopper disintegrated and began raining down on the field.

“Jesus.”

Fire Station:

Doug Crane had been a firefighter for sixteen years. Never saw a night like tonight was shaping up to be.

And he was going to miss it all because of a sprained ankle.

“Oh well,” he thought as he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll at least get to hear the stories when the boys get back.”

He walked through the empty garage and saw someone in a HazMat suit.

“Hey,” he called out. “What ya doing here? Forget something?”

Refinery Sniper Team

“I’ve got no target. Radio the jeep and tell them it looks clear.”

Refinery Jeep Team

“Roger that SEAL 2. We’ll secure the site. You might want to scope out the harbour.”

03-01-2004, 08:05

In the tall grass: Wolfhair Naval Base

Hanson’s chest was wracked by convulsions as he twisted to his side and vomited. At last, gasping for air, he looked up to see two men standing over him, the business ends of their carbines pointed at his face. One man’s lips moved, but he could hear nothing. The blood dripping down his sideburns and the buzzing were sure signs that both eardrums were ruptured. “Don’t shoot,” Hanson wheezed. He paused, gathered his breath and then in an oddly singsong voice recited, “I declare myself to be your prisoner and render myself into your authority in accordance with the Wolfish Convention relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War.” His face furrowed into a quizzical frown, his eyes rolled back in his head, and Hanson fainted dead away.

The Main Fire Station: Wolfhair Naval Base

“Hey, What ya doing here? Forget something?” Bobby turned to see a middle-aged man limping towards him while buttoning his pants. Raising his hand in a friendly greeting, he turned towards the firefighter and walked rapidly towards him. As he did so, the two team members who had gone up the stairs began loudly descending. “We’re good, Bobby” one called. As the fireman turned in astonishment to see these new interlopers, Bobby swiftly withdrew a stun gun from his suit and applied it to the unfortunate civilian's bare neck. The two men from the stairs dragged the hapless fireman back into the restroom and jammed a door against the knob from the outside. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Five team members clambered into the rear of the Emergency Services truck, while Bobby and the final team member entered the cab. Flipping on the siren and light bar, Bobby thundered out of the station towards the GPS mark provided by Harmon.

The Refinery: Wolfhair Naval Base

“…2,1” Jackson let out a small whimper and flipped the switch on the detonator. As he did so, the lights of the approaching vehicle illuminated him in stark cross section, silhouetted against the huge tank. The primary charge he had set was not large; it was only intended to rupture the main outlet pipe upstream from the valve, thus rendering the valve useless while allowing fuel to escape. The second charge was all thermite with a small igniter fuse. Jackson did not live long enough to hear the horrifying sound of rending metal as the pipe ripped open, nor did he feel the bunker fuel explode outwards, instantly engulfing him in volatile chemicals. Had he done so, he would have seen the terribly sight of thermite burning at 3000 degrees Celsius, and of his own body immolated within fractions of a second.

The Research Center: Wolfhair Naval Base

Hanks gave a silent cheer when he saw the helicopter merge with the onrushing Stinger, then was overcome with shame as the Huey ripped apart in the sky. Destroying buildings was one thing, killing fellow soldiers was quite another. He knew of Roberts’ history with the Wolfish forces, and had heard him talk once, late at night, about the man he would only call “Mr. J”. At that moment, he made a silent vow to quit the team if he got home alive and to someday return to Wolfish, in peace. That was for later, though; now, there was still work to be done. Dropping the Stinger tube, he grabbed a second handful of smoke charges and joined Truman and Harmon in feeding the gaping maw of the air vent. Watson, meanwhile, anxiously scanned the skies for the other two helicopters, finally spotting one turning lazily towards the fence line. The stinger began to beep angrily.

Behind the Oak tree: Wolfhair Naval Base

The trunk of the tree exploded with the thud of bullets pouring into it. Huge chunks of wood were turned into deadly projectiles all around the two stranded soldiers. Forgetting his shoulder, Roberts curled into a ball at the base as chunks of wood flew past his ears. Belker spun back towards him, then crumpled as a bullet seared past the tree and struck him in the throat. Suddenly, the entire area was lit up with a blinding flash and an explosion rocked the tree once more. Roberts caught a brief glimpse of bright red arterial blood spurting from Belker’s flayed neck and then everything went dark and silent.

It was time. Roberts weakly threw his gun away from the tree, into the view of the patrol, and struggled to his feet. Pulling a second bandage from his pocket, he tore it open with his teeth and unfurled the length of gauze. Clutching one end in his hand, he slowly waved it to the side of the trunk. A strange look of relief crossed his face and he paused to roughly tear open his battle tunic. It was faded now, but the unmistakable outline of a wolf’s head tattoo sat squarely on his sternum between his breasts. “If only Mr. J could see me now’ he muttered grimly. Holding the improvised white flag in plain view, Roberts stepped out from behind the tree.

Wolfish

03-01-2004, 08:11

ooc: Nice touch with the Wolfish Convention. There typically isn't much cross over between RPers and the hardcore UN. Bonus points for you.

03-01-2004, 08:12

Wolfish

03-01-2004, 08:16

OOC: Sorry about godmodding your fireman, I didn't know how to deal with him without declaring some action on my part and some effect on him. The choice of the stun gun was to be nonlethal and thus a less egregious godmod. You may have noticed that Roberts has some history with a "Mr J" and he's approaching a team, unarmed, led by someone with that very initial. :shock:
Your choice how you want to play it: Roberts has a wolfshead tatoo, does Jamison have the crossed tusks? We can also disregard it if you prefer.

The rules about what is an isn't a godmod - particularly for a case like this is difficult.

However, keep in mind that I put the old man in your way - he could have spotted you and run outside. Also, he's not a critical member of my team, nor is he important to the story.

If I'd been you, I would have shot him in the head. A good Spec-Ops team isn't going to leave a threat locked behind them in a closet. They eliminate the threat before moving on.

03-01-2004, 08:44

If I'd been you, I would have shot him in the head. A good Spec-Ops team isn't going to leave a threat locked behind them in a closet. They eliminate the threat before moving on.

We Hatchibombitarians are not barbarians, we don't shoot non-combatant civilian firemen! Also, wasn't sure if you had plans for him, and as noted, thought the stun gun might limit any godmoding liability on my part. :)

Nice touch with the Wolfish Convention. There typically isn't much cross over between RPers and the hardcore UN. Bonus points for you.

Thanks for the compliment! You oughta read my RPU UN homework, it's built off of the Wolfish Convention. Besides, I have no interest in being just RP, or just UN, or just gameplay or just anything else. I intend to make crossover my M.O.

Wolfish

04-01-2004, 08:26

Tall Grass

Peters and Bowman couched in the darkness beside the wounded man.

“Shhh. Just take it easy buddy,” said Bowman – clearly moved by the force of his own actions. “We’re going to get you some help. It’s going to be okay.”

http://www.veteranshour.com/corpsman.jpg

He glanced up at Peters and saw he was already on the comm. set calling in medivac.

Refinery Explosion

Marshal had been looking at the harbour through his Bushnell scope – but Otake watched in stunned silence as the refinery – the jeep – the man he shot all vapourized into a massive fireball.

“HANG ON” he cried as the blast wave swept over the two men 300 feet up the antenna.

Research Centre

The three Bradley’s roared across the base – their turbo charged Cummins diesels screamed at maximum output – pushing the crew around the inside like rag dolls.

http://military-graphics.net/bradsil.jpg

“Jesus man. Go easy – I gotta get up on the 762.”

The nightvision scope cast a eerie green glow inside the 60,000 pound machine.

“There – there’s the research centre…” conversation suddenly cut off when the green nightvision when a brilliant white as the Stinger began its journey to kill a Huey.

“Okay boys. Games over.”

“Tac 1 – this is Tac 3. We have hostiles with some big guns at the Research Centre. We are engaging. Recommend you and Tac 2 hang back a bit.”

“Copy Tac 3 – we’ll circle around behind just in case you miss.”

“Okay Chavez – they’re all yours.”

Chavez was already through the hatch, hanging onto the big double handled M240C 7.62 Coaxial machine-gun – his nightvision goggles locked onto the figures against the wall of the Research Centre.

The heavy machine gun opened up with a roar – white tracers lanced across the ¼ kilometer to the enemy troops – causing little white dots to swim across Chavez’s vision.

“No way you going anywhere. No way you leaving my base mother f**kers.”

Brass casing flew from the gun – showering the ground – and leaving little trails of smoke clouding around the Bradley.

In seconds it was over. The barrel smoked with the heat of a thousand mini explosions – silence broken only by the hum of the idled engine.

“Jesus man. Think you got them?”

“Yep.”

Fence Line

Jamison wasn’t clear on much right now. And, because of his extensive training and years of experience he knew one thing - He should be clear.

“Everyone hold your fire,” he said into the radio, as he crouched in the grass – staring intently at the dark space behind the oak through the sights on his gun. “Roll call. Who we got.”

Within seconds it was clear that Gus was not with them.

Then over the radio Jamison heard the call from Peters for medivac. He confirmed that, and called for his own medic.

Then there was movement by the tree. Someone stood up.

“Hold your fire,” he called again – but very nearly pulled his own trigger.

“FREEZE. YOU MOVE YOU DIE. CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

Jamison could see the gauze – and could just make out that the man held no gun.

He picked up his radio – everyone stay cool – keep your eyes on him.

“STEP TOWARDS ME SLOWLY – NOW – DOWN ON YOUR KNEES.”

The man dropped clumsily – holding his hands above his head. His tunic was ripped, and his face and arm was covered in dark blood.

Jamison moved slowly towards the injured man – he Carbine steadily pointed at the man’s chest.

“My God…It…It can’t be. Rob…Roberts? Is that you?”

As Jamison stood in disbelief – the lights from two rapidly approaching APCs clouded his vision….

Wolfish

04-01-2004, 08:28

ooc: The danger in encouraging me to post tonight to make up for the DT/Bonstock clusterf--k is that I may have been....emotional and somewhat...harsh in my response to you visiting my base.

Cheers,
W.

05-01-2004, 06:50

:shock:

OOC: I'm tied up until tomorrow (Monday) evening. I hope you don't mind if I leave Harmon et al to bleed all over your nice white Research Centre wall till then? Don't worry, a little paint and it will look as good as new.

14-01-2004, 05:47

Research Center: Wolfish Naval Base

It was over. Bobby knew that the minute the Emergency Services vehicle turned the corner, sirens screaming, and he saw the stream of fire pouring out of the Bradley into his trapped teammates against the side of the research center. Roberts had feared this, and had briefed Bobby carefully on what to if this eventuality came to pass. Numbly, he slowed the roaring vehicle to the curb, and shut the engine off. For a moment, he rested his head in visible grief on the steering wheel before slowly turning to his seatmate. "It ends here" Bobby declared in a dull monotone, "go get everyone out of of the back, hoods off and hands in the air". Bobby opened the truck door and stepped wearily out. Clutching his hood with both hands held high over his head, he slowly approached the Bradley.

Fence Line - Wolfish Naval Base

Roberts tottered unsteadily towards the Wolfish men arrayed before him, blood seeping steadily from his shoulder and from an array of shrapnel wounds across his arms and legs where flying wood from the flayed tree had struck him. Carefully drawing himself up in front of the leader, he used his left hand to force his right arm into the approximation of a salute before a rictus of agony crossed his face and both arms fell clumsily to his sides. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened slowly and a beatific smile crossed his face. "I warned them not to do this" he remarked with an apparent unforced calmness to the man in front of him "but they would not listen. How's Dad and Mom?"
With that, Roberts took in a deep draught of air, looked skyward and collapsed in a heap at the feet of his......

Wolfish

14-01-2004, 06:00

APCs

Chevez wouldn't take his eyes off the Research Centre. The bodies lay in the short grass beside the wall - a battered Anti-Air rocket lay, fully loaded beside a broken body.

He turned slowly as the line of men approached.

Their hands were raised - he didn't even turn the weapon.

"Boss. We got some prisoners."

Fence Line

ooc: All right - I'll play.

ic:

Jamison leapt forward and caught the wounded man.

The night was dark and the bleeding soldier was mumbling.

His hands slipped on the blood soaked uniform - and the two slid silently to the ground.

"Commander? You okay?" asked a voice from the darkness.

But Jamison didn't reply - he knelt staring into the face of his brother.

"GET THE MEDICS!"

Wolfish

16-01-2004, 08:27

Two hour later, In the Main Building

Jamison sat behind the plexiglass as the doctors worked on the wounded men – from both Wolfish and Hatchibombitar.

He had spent the better part of the time since arriving going through an initial debrief – explaining how his half-brother ended up leading an invasion of one of his nations most secure bases.

But now, all he could think of was his brother – his friend – laying there bleeding – a doctor over him, and guards at the foot of the operating table.

Why – why had he come? What was so important that he would risk – well, everything?

Jamison knew that loyalty ran deep in his family – and that to betray him, Roberts must have had a really good reason.

Three Days Later

The guards watched as the doctor left the cell.

“He’ll wake up in a minute. He might be a bit confused –but he’ll have no strength. Make sure he has water – nothing with bubbles – and if he feels like it later he can have some soup. I expect intel will be by to get him later tonight.”

“Aye Sir,” replied the stiff-faced marine on guard duty.

Wolfish Defense Command HQ, 8th Level

The order had come right from the top – “make it like it never happened.”

And that was exactly what Mr. Giles would do.

The SEALS would be no problem. Neither would the Command and Control guys…but the firefighters and GI Joes would be a little tougher.

The prisoners….well…they’d never see home again – but they wouldn’t end up 2,000 feet under cold ocean water either.

They’d get their chance to live a full life – the two of them would be under constant watch.

ooc: If you have anything else to wrap it up - feel free. Otherwise - Wolfish Dead - 4 (Gus and the three in the jeep).

Damage - Sever breech of a feeder pipe under the harbour - Sever fire and explosion damage to the refinery (will require 5 months of repairs, forcing the Wolfish Navy to use alternate fuel depots and costing billions) - did I miss anything?

NationStates Jolt Archive

Hatchibombitar v Wolfish (Private RP)