Huscarl looked over, already aware that what they had done was a little far-fetched, but something they had to do. Bundling the box into the rear compartment of the SDV, he shut the door, kicking out to move to the front, where he just about saw two screens in the front, and the basic structure come to view. Grabbing a hold, Huscarl slid himself into the driver's seat, securing himself down inside as he looked over at the controls. It had been a long time since he'd piloted an SDV, but he had a vague, vague idea of how this worked. Like a miniature submarine, but easier on the ballast bit on how that worked out.
"Lights on...okay, Mischief, we're following suit, we'll need to keep this thing for later if things hit the fan." Huscarl said, aware that whilst Mischief couldn't hear him very well, it would probably get through. The rear propeller span up ,as he looked to his diving partner, already getting the SDV to pull out and away from the sunken shipwreck, Huscarl guessing the fight wasn't going to be easy.
"Nice one out there by the way. Fucking AAF scum...this was a long time coming, I bloody felt it." Huscarl added, as the SDV's front lights illuminated the sea floor ahead, the SDV moving quickly in the waters off the island, into Kyifi Bay and towards Tempest.

--------

The noise of howitzer fire was heart-stoppingly scary. To SSgt William Patterson, who had been a few hours ago, talking to the CTRG operators, it wasn't a noise that he had heard in a long while, but he knew precisely what it was. They had left Rogain and the road mined, as planned, and despite being completely off-guard, they had stopped the first wave .Through what miracle, he didn't know, but the Platoon Commander, Lieutenant Andrews, of 2nd "Hoplite" Platoon was dead, and it left William in charge of what was now 18 men, down from 32 of Hoplite's original. To say the least, they had suffered heavy losses, and had barely enough equipment and survivability left in them. He looked back to his troops, three females and the rest men, all mixed in their roles and ability. They had one AA guy who had actually taken down one of the AAF's Buzzards, and the feat of downing a CAS jet was something that brought morale. Followed by this shelling. They were still moving with pace, barely catching breath now as they were hidden in the tree-lined valley leading to Tempest, aware that it was their only route out.

"Specialist Fitzroy, sitrep ahead?" Patterson said, as the pointman ran back, huffing and panting.
"Nothing...shit, nothing at all. We've got a scorched pair of trucks Sir, ION contractors. All dead." He said, as Patterson cursed. The very PMC that had been working in tandem with NATO forces hadn't even made it out. Only keeping formidable now would save their minds- they were in total rout, and they had little they could throw against the patrols of AAF Striders that now were going to Air Station Mike-26 and possibly beyond.
"Alright...look, my contact, Huscarl, said that we get to Tempest, we get a chance of holding our ground there and recouping whatever we can. Camp Maxwell and LZ Connor were almost completely packed, but 3rd and 4th hold the line there. And if Thunder's still in the game, maybe we got a chance of launching a counterattack later tonight. But we ain't got any officers, and communications is fucking short range, no externals. Dammit. Okay, platoon, form up a staggered column, 20m pacing, if it's a fucking Greenback, cap it." Patterson said, checking his MX 3GL in his hands, adjusting the optic slightly as he got his breath back, looking over at the rest of his men. Their uniforms looked tattered from dirt, and they were well battle-worn. The moon was fully out as the clouds slowly cleared and the rainy mist stopped, but it was still shit conditions, Patterson made no mistake.
"Motherfuckers." Fitzroy said, as he cocked his MXC, the JTAC holding behind Patterson, the Platoon moving out, as they swept through the valley, the crackling of twigs underfoot a silent noise, between the noise of loud explosions both close and in the distance.

"Contacts front, four men! Engage at will!" Patterson yelled, as he moved behind a tree, the staggered column already laying a suppressing volume of fire from the back, as Corporal Davis, the radiowoman turned Autorifleman, provided the majority of that from her MX SW, as well as PFC Wilson, who also sent a 40mil downrange to decimate a part of the patrol. The bullets flew past, but the AAF force had been caught more offguard in sweeping the forest out, and hadn't expected it. They were cleaned out, the four men downed as the remainder of the beaten back Platoon headed down, the four men little competition against 18 hardened 101st Airborne soldiers who had literally waded through hell.
Within three minutes, the team had swept through the valley, and moved forwards, seeing what was left of Tempest, as they covered each other's movements with a certain tactical observation of sorts. Patterson kept point, and was already into the tight combat, looking around. The main HQ had been blasted by a mortar round, and the two metal containers, Huscarl's billet totally destroyed whilst the other had been indirectly smashed, with the boats also sunken and destroyed. Surprisingly enough, the tents and the Hunter HMG under the camoflage netting were intact, with the main outer perimeter still defendable, including the the metal patrol tower which still stood with the mounted gun. It had been empty bar two men that had been responsible for defending, but they weren't anywhere to be seen. Patterson swung his MX over his shoulder, looking around as he adjusted his helmet.
"Well, this is it. Men, set up a defensive position on the northern side around the remainder of the fortifications- Fitzroy, you're up on that mounted gun in the tower, Wilson and Carter, you guys get the caches out of that partly demolished container, and then see what we have left in the shipping containers. If I last remember, we have a Hunter in pieces, so see if you can get the majority of the scrap parts out. Davis, get a table up with weapons and ammo for us to resupply from, we're going to need everything we got, then work back on our radios to see if there's anything else left since we routed. We hold here till either we run out of bullets, or we hear Blackfoots fly overhead. Get to it, gents!" Patterson said, as he looked around, looking over to the sea for a moment, before looking to the now completely demolished HQ building.
"Understood Sir!" She said, Corporal Anna Davis already moving out, the fact that her shortened hair and bruised face was one that could contend with the rest of the gents here suggesting that she held her own here, and in a situation like this, there wasn't anyone questioning her position. Nobody really questioned anything- they knew Patterson was what they had left, and they had to get to it.
"Where the fuck are they.." He muttered to himself, as he moved out to a position himself by one of the H-Barriers, to get a northern-facing position up. 

------

Corporal Ian Stanley was what you'd expect from a Welshman, plus a little more. The L85A4, as well as the rest of his tank crew, were keeping eyes on, as LZ Connor teemed with activity. They didn't understand for some reason, why they hadn't been bombed- the luck of Hoplite downing a AAF A-143 Buzzard was unknown to them, and was why a firemission that was planned to wipe out the two remainder camps in the south from the map hadn't happened. For now though, everyone was buzzing, and nobody had a single clue what to do. It had been almost half an hour, and a single AAF patrol had been beaten back from LZ Connor, some SF unit or some shit like that, but they had taken the wrong approach and been on the wrong end of a combination of 4th Platooon, Bronco Squad, and Stanley's unit. But things still say in disarray, and as Stanley looked out of the watchtower, no NVGs on, his eyes fixated on what saw of the plumes of smoke. The base had taken some losses, but they were intact, mostly.
"So they're all dead then?" Lewis said, the gunner on the Marshall, the other guard on the tower. Chief Warrant Officer Liam Hartley was in charge of what was left of 4th "Vanguard" Platoon, and despite being all 16th Air Assault Brigade in their composition, Bronco Squad had ended up attached at LZ Connor, following a patrol gone bad. For what Ian knew, Camp Maxwell's 3rd "Crossbow" Platoon had made it through, despite heavy mortars, though the defensive force at Mike-26 had completely capitulated.
"1st and 2nd, not a chance. Dead." Ian coldly replied, looking over.
"Can't say that though, I mean, you know..."
"They bombed the shit out of Rogain, and there's no comms. No long range, short range works only to fucking...Tempest or so, if we restore it from here. NATO doesn't even know we're getting bombed and shelled, and back there, there's the Aegean Sea. Greenbacks had us this time, and we're sitting here, waiting till the next set of mortars gets it right from the Forward Observers. We need to sit the fuck up and do something. Get that Marshall out and kick some serious arse, get the fucking lads in. Then again, we're waiting to see if we can salvage something from comms again on the long range...and unsurprisingly, we haven't got it working. I heard they executed a bunch of fucking NATO soldiers from what one of our Scouts said at the Air Base, I just don't get why either. We'll probably join them." Ian said, a little cynical as he looked over.
"Shit man, you only see the bad side of things. Could be a one-off."
"Well, if you haven't realized yet, the AAF does outnumber us, at least three to one, And as corrupt and badly organized as they can be, this isn't their character. Why are they in Mike-26 straightaway? Why'd they slack on bringing troops to the south? It's as if they've had their hand forced, and it sure as shit ain't those pricks up top doing this." Ian said, as Lewis shrugged his shoulders.
"All I know is, we're in the shit now, mate. And you know that if we get murdered, I ain't leaving without firing that 40mil in some Greenback's fat fucking face." Lewis said, even bringing a smirk to Ian's face, as he checked the perimeter, making his way down and back towards the tank, as another pair of soldiers from 4th Platoon moved up into the tower, without barely a word spoken as they changed around, the Chief Warrant Officer still working with a few other members of his 4th Platoon to restore communications. Runners had been the predominant form of comms for now between 3rd and 4th Platoons, though only intermittent radio contact had been made. But coming back towards the main camoflage netting, where a temporary Platoon HQ had been made over an old laptop and a map, as well as the Marshall, it seemed some progress was being made.
"Corporal! Get the engine fired up on the Marshall, we're making some sort of comms with 3rd- they need help, and you're to take Bronco Squad to the south of Camp Maxwell to stop 3rd Platoon getting outflanked there. Most of 4th's going to stay here- we can't afford to lose any more ground, and we're losing time, fast. Lieutenant Barnes, Thunder-2's at your disposal if you need more fire- but stay the fuck away from Mike-26, as we saw very heavy resistance there earlier." Ian heard, as Lewis, as well as LCpl Mitchell, who were also running over, the tankers getting their helmets as they scrambled to get the Marshall moving. 

----

The SDV came in closer and closer to the sea floor, as Huscarl guessed that Mischief and the rest would have made it quicker- the SDV not changing massively in it's depth, but the sea floor coming up, as they approached land.
"We're surfacing Praetorian, get ready to get your rebreather out of your mouth. Now we find out the extent of the damage." Huscarl added, as the open-doored SDV came up, about 50m from the shore, as Huscarl had the SDAR ready by his knees, ready to pull it up and fire when needed. The SDV slowly rubbed on the sandy shore, as he eased off the gas, taking the mask off as he exhaled hard, emerging from the SDV as he swept the area, his uniform soaked and in the dark, his eyes adapting to the relative darkness. The fire kept some sort of light around, as well as the moon, so to some extent, NVGs were limited in their scope. Moving up, he saw Mischief and the rest of the CTRG team come in and break land, as Huscarl looked over to the M134-armed RHIB, to double up the fact that CTRG was back on Stratis. Huscarl turned to them, but the sighting was broken by one thing.
"Shit, we got people, west side? No AAF marks! Foxhound!" One of the tower guards yelled out, before he considered opening fire, the call to signify the friendly callout to identify friend or foe.
"Pheasant! We're friendly forces, I'm Captain Arran Birgirson, UKSF, hold your guns! Staff Sergeant Patterson among you lot?" Arran said, his hands in the air, as he knew that the boat team had been rather unexpected. These guys really weren't used to frequent combat, Arran thought to himself, as a yell could be heard.
"I'm here! Get these people in, they're assholes for keeping us waiting, but better late than never, right Captain?" Arran heard, as Patterson moved to the entrance, seeing the CTRG unit make land, as Arran looked over at the group of US Airborne, who looked tattered, tired and most of all, like they had really gone through hell and back holding back the defenses. Arran took his vest and his other equipment from the boat, as the team dismounted, the Staff Sergeant looking around, as he looked at them.
"With respect, the fuck happened to you? You leave us here and we get fucking bombed. Nothing to do with you, right?"
"That's out of your questioning Staff Sergeant, and no, don't tell us that we created this. Matter of fact, the AAF are going to "evict" you from this island, and we're here to make sure you don't get driven into the sea, because a fucking global war could spark over this bloody rock. You want to live, you're going to want to keep your trap shut, and your ears open." Arran said, as he moved into the compound, Patterson instantly protesting.
"Woah woah woah, what the fuck...you telling us we ain't doing our fucking jobs correctly? We've waded through the seven circles of hell for you to tell us we're going to bow under you?"
"You're doing it again. Saying you'll be respectful then being disrespectful is an irony, and we haven't got the time. Look, any CO's left at all? We lost comms with you guys when we were arriving, just fill us in." Arran said, as the team moved into the base, Huscarl still carrying his vest as he moved over towards the Hunter, putting his rebreather on the bonnet as Patterson looked over.
"Lieutenant Andrews is dead, and last we heard, Air Station Mike-26 is a no-go zone. Camp Rogain got bombed, and we've mined the roads between the Old Barracks and Camp Rogain, before running for here. LZ Connor and Camp Maxwell is still intact, I think, they're still fighting back. We've got Lieutenant Barnes and Chief Warrant Officer Hartley left as probably the last command units, no other officers. Shit, we've gone through at least a couple of squads of AAF, these guys fucking aren't local to the deployment of Greenbacks they had here earlier." Patterson said now, a little less angered, and calmed as Huscarl looked over, getting his vest on, as he checked his SCAR-H once again.
"Then that leaves me as the only one capable of running our defense then right now, both in this camp and on the island. I outrank them both those two at those places respectively, and there's only one way that we can even think about getting back at these bastards without getting annihilated."
"What, you taking over this? You ain't a figure of authority, you're just a Special Forces.."
"Again interruptions, Staff Sergeant, you're not making it any fucking easier, do you understand me? Stand the fuck down- what else do you think, you can do a better job than me or my lads? You haven't even half heard me out, you bloody know that. You did your part- now you fall in and do as you're fucking told." Arran said, authoritatively, as he looked him almost direct in the eye.
"Now, we need to get communications up and running, rearming, and defending. There's a mortar in that thing over there...shit...they actually bombed my Billet. Well anyway, the one next to it, there's a disassembled Mk6 Mortar. Get it online, put 82 mils into Stratis AFB on random spread, and we'll work from there on what next, to at least confuse them. We need to regroup with friendly forces, and get co-ordinated. Staff Sergeant, you've done your job from here- but the only way it's going to work is if we divide up teams and keep things locked down. Mischief, Praetorian, over here- rest of you, keep a watch." Arran said, as he looked over to the destroyed HQ.
"We'll have Mischief here as Alpha Team lead- get your best men from the remainder of your Platoon, Staff Sergeant, into his unit, and get the rest of yours into Bravo Team, under Praetorian here. You'll both be two squads of infantry, and a potent force to throw back in the Greenbacks, so long as you don't take casualties. Charlie will be comprised of your walking wounded and remainders, with yourself taking lead as a support and defense unit at Tempest, and Delta, a Direct Action and will be headed up by Athena here to work on getting any NATO forces back onto Stratis. I'll stay from base and maintain a command- I'll work with Alpha or Delta when required, to make sure we keep the running even." Huscarl said, as the other two came over, Huscarl looking over.
"We'll work on a structure but for now, there's a bigger priority. Perimeter defense, reconnaissance of our immediate area of Greenbacks, and getting friendly contact established with NATO forces as a part of TF Hephaestus on Stratis, then wider NATO MEDCOM. Otherwise, you can forget about any offensives, Patterson. We'll get another sit rep in half an hour- Delta, you move to Girna as I mentioned earlier, Alpha's going to be performing first recon to the north in Nisi Bay, Bravo gets a western reconnaissance down our valley to Mike-26, and Charlie, you continue to reestablish what we can of this scrap metal. If I need to take over this entire bloody island's friendly forces since there isn't anyone of higher rank, so be it- there's bound to be at least half a Company's worth of men we have at hand, so we can capitalize on that. Let's get hustling gents." Arran added, guessing it'd be a long night.

-------

Things moved slowly but surely within the base, as Huscarl got his shit back together, and squads within the next ten minutes had been drawn up. All that had been totally screwed had changed eventually, as a basic HQ setup was made in the wreck of the HQ structure, with the crate that Huscarl and Praetorian had retrieved now among another set of crates full of SCARs, MXs and other weapons under a improvised camo net in the partly wrecked structure, on tables and in large pallet boxes- with the CTRG MSBS A2 rifles being particularly around. Explosives, grenades, ammunition was set, and most of the elements inside Tempest had gotten back on their feet. Perhaps it was that the AAF knew so little about Tempest due to the CTRG's presence there, that had bought them the most security- and due to it's insignificance, had been bypassed. Huscarl was back to his regular kit, changing his SCAR-H for a specialized SCAR-CL 6.5 EGLM variant, a previous contender for the Future Rifle competition which it had lost to the MX, due to cost. But this weapon was a future-generation SCAR, chambered in the newer 6.5mm round, and packed a classic punch, that CTRG and some US forces had taken in specialized roles. Transferring the EGLM, as well as getting a Silencer and a ARCO optic attached with a IR Laser Pointer, things weren't too bad. Getting a smaller tan-colored Assault Pack due to the fact that he carried less equipment overall, as well as a few more mags for the ACP.45.
"Comms are back up, Sir!" Davis said, as Huscarl moved over, Davis herself a part of Charlie due to the fact that she was Hoplite Platoon's former radiowoman, though the MX SW that she had taken from a deceased Autorifleman in the team didn't look out of place by her bag close to the radio, as well as the standard kit she wore.
"Great. That's medium-range working again- most of it on that area of comms flows through Mike-26 and a few towers in the north, thank fuck we've managed to get the network online." Huscarl said, as he moved over towards a partly broken chair, sitting down as he adjusted the microphone in his helmet.
"All NATO forces receiving on this net, this is Captain Arran Birgirson, UK Special Forces- callsign is Huscarl. Anyone receiving?"
"Shit...understood Captain, Chief Warrant Officer Hartley receiving at LZ Connor..we've got significant contacts north of Camp Maxwell, a massing of AAF forces, Crossbow and Vanguard Platoons are still fully-operational, we've lost all contact of Hoplite and 1st Platoon at Stratis AFB....you don't sound very familiar.."
"There's little time to explain, Warrant Officer- no detailed specifics either, since this net is potentially compromised, we're running it on a thread over this length that AAF forces can tap. Recommend you mobilize a small fireteam to secure Girna and rendevous with Delta, a squad we'll send your way to keep an eye out, until we get a more secure line to establish contact, and get ourselves co-ordinated. They don't see anything by 0000 hours, they leave, understood Hartley?" Arran said, as he looked over, the flames in the distance from other burning outposts and wrecks littering the place.
"Copy that Huscarl. We've lost all other officers on the island, you're the highest ranking officer left if you are what you say."
"Understood, Warrant Officer. I guess I'll have to take the gauntlet. Get to work on securing the network- we need a stable line, before any more chat. Huscarl out."

(This is where it gets interesting. I've given two positions of command to Zdislav and Linn, as leaders of Alpha and Bravo elements within the reinforced "Hoplite" Platoon, which are basically going to be yours in free-rein to RP with. They'll be forces of around 6-8 men in each squad, and they'll be performing initially reconaissance and engaging extensively with AAF forces, though eventually, they'll be fully-fledged assault forces. Don't worry, they'll still indirectly be under the command of Huscarl.)
(Also, RPC, you can post now. Jump into the fray- don't worry, I have multiple character disorder in RPs, and I detail a lot as GM- so you can make far shorter posts than I do, though keep some detail. Bronco's with Thunder-2 moving north from LZ Connor- I've updated the map.)