Mihail returned with Antos to the cabin and sat nearby as the man spoke. Mihail listened rather intently when he mentioned CSAT’s arrival and Aramis’ “big plan”. He didn’t respond or interrupt, just listened and thought. He knew any large operation against the AAF would get him and everyone else killed. It was suicide taking on a far superior force, which the AAF certainly was (although, many of his comrades believed otherwise), with conventional tactics. He nodded in agreement when Antos finished.

The peninsula quickly came into view and when the craft came to a halt, Linn’s questions to why they were here had only partially been answered. He quickly leapt off the boat after Huscarl and followed him as he approached the two men sitting ahead of them.
“Sir, what are we doing?” he asked the captain, but didn't get an answer before one of the men greeted Huscarl. Linn realized he probably wouldn't get an answer after Huscarl greeted this man, Antos. He relaxed slightly after seeing the two knew each other, but kept his rifle ready to fire nonetheless. He noticed the second man, the one with a rifle slung over his shoulder, seemed tense as well. His hand hovered near the handgun holstered on his hip as if he expected a firefight to suddenly erupt, and he wore a slightly confused expression on his face.

Mihail had been wondering who he and Antos had been waiting for exactly, but he was definitely not expecting what appeared to be a team of NATO Spec Ops soldiers to appear on the beach. He was even more surprised when he followed Antos and the team leader inside and saw intelligence they had brought with them. The surprise turned quickly to horror when he heard of the AAF and CSAT's plan.

Linn stood outside the cabin, scanning the surrounding area. This entire situation was suspicious, making a stop unknown to the entire team and giving intel to a pair of armed insurgents. More spy bullshit, and he didn’t like it at all.
“Anyone else know what is going on?” He asked the rest of the team. As if on cue, Huscarl reemerged from the cabin and began explaining the situation on Stratis.
“Fuck…” was Praetorian's response.

Mihail finally took his hand away from his sidearm when the NATO soldiers disappeared into the night. He turned to Antos after several long moments and asked, “What now?”.

Choppy seas and a small inflatable boat made for a rough ride, but Mischief did not complain until they started heading west towards the Faronaki Peninsular. As far as he knew, their job was to just eliminate the submarine as a threat and nothing more. He furrowed his brow but kept his mouth shut. Perhaps Huscarl had received information that was not supposed to be shared even among the squad until the very last minute. Maybe Huscarl was just receiving information and they would be briefed once they arrived at wherever they were going to. Mischief just hoped it was not going to be another locate-and-destroy mission; he was running low on explosives and whatever he had left was soaked from his little dive.

Mischief kept his mouth shut, even as Praetorian questioned their reason for being on the Peninsular. The two men Huscarl approached looked to be on friendly terms with him, and that at least allowed Mischief the luxury of letting his guard down ever so slightly. Still, he kept a hand close to the grip of his rifle and his eyes scanning the area around them. However, when Huscarl passed the information Athena had acquired to the two insurgents, Mischief felt the need to voice his concerns. However, as no one else seemed to be questioning this move, Mischief kept his thought to himself. Perhaps his late arrival had meant that he had missed something. Maybe this was all part of the mission and it had just slipped Huscarl's mind to inform him.

Mischief was so convinced of that that he did not even raise his concerns when Huscarl had the rest of the team wait outside the cabin.

Then, Praetorian spoke up, shattering any illusion of Mischief's that he was simply missing something. "I do not know either. I was under the impression that my late arrival meant that I missed something?" He said. Now he was beginning to get suspicious; as odd as it may have sounded, Mischief disliked cloak-and-dagger matters despite having been int he 601st. He was perfectly fine with just running in with guns blazing to get the job done, but there was something about subterfuge that left a bad taste in his mouth and a bad feeling in his stomach.

Huscarl soon exited the cabin and explained the situation to the squad. Apparently the CSAT and AAF forces had some form of superweapon that needed to be taken care of, and when it came to that, it would be them who would be carrying out the mission. There was something about the way Huscarl had said it that rubbed Mischief the wrong way; he was familiar with the vague-but-specific manner Huscarl had used when explaining the situation. There was something that Huscarl was deliberately keeping from the squad, but Mischief decided not to question him. There would be time for that later. For now, he just wanted to get back to base without any further hiccups.

(We've lost a few people, I know- but I do want to get a few more in via a recruitment drive I'll start on Saturday, to fill in the gaps. Sadly, Queen isn't around for this RP, so bringing some more people in will be good.)

The boat thundered onwards, the RIB going over the waves as the sun finally set, the dark clouds above amplifying what was going on. Arran put his NVGs down, as they left Pyrgos Bay, and were heading south. A helicopter could be heard in the far distance- they were reinforcements for what was going to happen. He knew that there wasn't a chance they would be within radio range before it happened- and Huscarl knew that while it wasn't the favoured option, they had to get to work.

Meanwhile on Altis, Antos looked over at the laptop, as it finished up. He was speechless, and knew that Mihail and himself were still taking it in.
"Fucking rats. They're going to get rid of us. Huscarl wants us to somehow rally several squads of FIA and go by boat there...because that's going to be going by Aramis easily. Come on, let's get the fuck out if here." Antos simply said, pulling a lighter out and lighting one of the curtains close to the desk, aware that the computer was now in the process of frying itself, and would be completed just about...now. Antos smirked, as he watched the flame catch, and soon, this shit would be completely gone. Even if AAF or even CSAT found it, the intel was gone, and completely dusted- now he knew that they were going to have to get moving. Walking back to the pickup, Antos clambered back into the driver's seat, letting Mihail jump in, as he started the engine.
"Fuck...what now, I guess. Hide the Rahim as best as you can, we'll go to the Surf Club, I'll get Damien and Andreas there, and we get out of here. Got to make a call to Aramis too." Antos said, as he accelerated down the tarmac road, headed for Pyrgos.

Driving through the capital city, he kept his speed down, looking at the AAF Striders and vehicles that felt to him like they were on every fucking corner of the road. He felt eyes on him, and it felt bad. Turning the corner, he hit another major road, signposted for Dorida and Chalkeia. He opened it up, taking his phone out- aware that as much as an offense it was, there wasn't any traffic today. He had the number up, and was dialling for Aramis.
"Aramis, you there? It's Antos, shit's going down, you can't assault Feres Airbase- trust me, it would be a very bad idea." Antos simply said, as he looked down the road, Aramis laughing.
"What, and let us get crushed? Tell me how!?" Aramis replied angrily, as Antos sat up.
"Look brother, CSAT are here, they mean business- I met with an intelligence contact, they say the AAF is deploying more forces on Stratis to displace NATO troops, kill them Aramis. We need some squads to help the NATO troops, or they will all be killed? Just abandon your plan, Feres Airstrip will be covered in AAF platoons waiting to get flown out to that island, it would be insanity to go there!" Antos said, the voice of reason brushed completely off.
"That means there is more to kill! The men are briefed, we have mortars and at least 25 men up for the assault, even a few Technicals with fifty cals! We can destroy the place, stop those men from deploying to Stratis! I am not sending you with a bunch of our men to help the forces that were killing us five years ago, you remember that?" Aramis said, almost furious.
"Aramis, don't be a fucking fool, that place is going to be reinforced to the hilt! You and your men will all be dead, I am begging you now, just keep your heads down and take on smaller fish- and believe me, our man says that they desperately need help." Antos said, as Aramis replied instantly in anger.
"Well, I thought you were a member of the FIA, a man of fucking valor and honor, I guess you have no balls at all. I do not care if some American soldiers die, but we seize from these traitors an airbase, then we shall hammer the point home!"
"And what, if you succeed, CSAT will come and kick the door down. Don't you listen?"
"You are doubting our strength, we are armed well now you brought us supplies, we must fight or be crushed! Antos, get yourself to Aktinarki, we are massing there- I expect to see you in three hours."
"With all respect, Aramis, you're fucking crazy. Just think what the AAF and CSAT forces will retaliate with- NATO is giving us a chance to help them, and kill AAF forces, and you're just going to waltz into an airbase? No, Aramis, you can say what you like, but we are done- I'm grabbing my shit and heading up North-West, at least they have fucking sense." Antos said, as he cut the call, Aramis about to yell as he looked to Mihail, the road winding as it headed southwards now. Antos skidded the pickup and turned off the road, lights on, as he drove into Dorida, flooring it through the town.
"Bastard! You fucking heard Huscarl, if they want to bring more AAF forces, there's a big fucking helicopter and CAS aircraft airfield that's full of AAF platoons just waiting to go, and they think one or two mortars, a couple of technicals with guns on the back and some fucking men with TRG-21s are going to raid that place? They're going to die. Shit." Antos just said, looking over as they hit a dirt road, the salt marsh of Limini visible as they were closing in on the Surf Club.
"I didn't direct that at you, sorry. Look, we'll get Damien and Andreas, fuck off from this part of Altis, and get to Fotia, on the west coast of Altis. Andreas won't be happy, but he knows that we go in there, Aramis is going to be cleaning up his left nut after what they'll be hit by. Maybe we can talk fucking sense with Stavros, get him to at least agree that we need a boatful of men to go to Stratis- he should be far more willing and sane." Antos simply said, checking his phone again as he dialled for Damien. The phone rang, as the bumps were sharp, Antos slowing his speed down significantly.
"Antos, what's up man? You heard about..." Damien said, as Antos just simply cut him off.
"I know, Aramis is fucking mad, he wants to assault Feres Airbase, and somehow defeat several platoons of AAF and somehow take over the place, etc.- in short, he's going to kill everyone. Look, can you meet us at the Surf Club, close to Cap Kategedis? My shit's there, we're leaving for the North-West, I will explain when you get there. Bring Andreas- he's going to be pissed off, but when you hear what I heard from my contact, it'll be worth it." Antos said, as he carried on, the salt marsh by the left of the car as they continued down the dirt path.
"Yes, I can- wait half an hour, I'll get my bike on the road. I'll bring him along- whatever it is, I really hope it's worth it."
"It is- let's say the fucking AAF are going to eliminate NATO forces on Stratis, and we got CSAT doing COIN operations with the AAF within the week. I don't like it either, if Aramis is going to do what he's going to do. Stay safe, brother- meet you there." Antos said, putting the phone down, as he stuck towards the Cape, aware that the Surf Club was long abandoned.

Pulling up, he looked out on the dark sea, turning the engine off as he looked at the beach, once a surfer's paradise, now empty. He parked the pickup by a small shack, that had been rotting for the longest while, with a few dunes with Marram grass also around that stopped the shack being right by the sea.
"Fuck, would have been nice to go surfing here in the good days. Try that now, you'll get a fucking ticket from the Altis Police." Antos simply said, chuckling as they waited, and waited. Just coinidentally, the next track on the MP3 stereo of the pickup was this, the irony killing Antos a little. He was into his music, to say the least- it gave him some relief, as he knew it wouldn't exactly kill them outright.
"Now we wait."

---

(Maps are here, just to remind you.)
Altis
Stratis

"Husky's Fishhook"

2200 Hours
Somewhere off the Western Coast of Stratis

OST (This is actually made by a mate of mine, goes quite well.)

The RIB tore through the waves, the southbound CTRG team now moving back to Stratis, the moonlight the only illumination apart from the very distant lighting on the island, and the occasional flare that seemed to perhaps brighten a hill or two- mortar fire or explosions of some sort. Their radio channels were set to hear out on NATO comms, and though it was only short range, Arran could just about pick it up now, vaguely.
"This is Lieutenant Andrews of Hoplite Platoon, we have lost all contact with Stratis Air Base and Fort Fulton, repeat, we have lost all audio contact with Stratis AFB and Fulton! Any units this net, Green on Blue, green on blue! All long-range comms are gone, Colonel McKinnon and Major Strickland are MIA, we are in retreat to Camp Tempest and are currently waging Scortched Earth warfare on our retreat, we are currently under heavy AAF fire from..." Arran heard, the voices coming in and cutting in and out, Arran swearing as he lost the end, static interfering as he looked at the rest. He had lost the signal- they couldn't talk back, at least, not till they closed the distance or re-established radio contact with someone else. Andrews was 2 Platoon- and they had left Camp Rogain, it seemed. Perhaps SSgt Patterson was with them, or he was defending Tempest.
"Fucker. Okay, we're approaching the Apex Marshal now. It's a destroyed fishing vessel of some sorts- we've got explosives and weapons stashed there in a crate of sorts. Since we need to rearm in terms of weaponry and get some more explosives, it's our only bet- and I sure as hell don't want that base in their hands. Praetorian and myself will go down and find the crate and retrieve it so we can resupply- we'll need to use the glowsticks to illuminate the way down, as the wreck is at 30m below sea level." Arran said, looking at the GPS on the mount close to the steering wheel. They were almost on top of it, as he stopped the boat, moving away from the wheel as he took his helmet and his vest off, also dumping his pack as he got one of the rebreathers on- aware that whilst they didn't have wetsuits, this would do for now with just his uniform. It was a very compact design- it was worn like a vest, with a compact tank on the back and a webbing on the front. There was a light spray of rain, Huscalr now getting his flippers also on, to give a better speed while moving through the water.
"Okay, sit rep is as follows- Athena, you carry on leading Fireteam Bravo 2, you take Irish and Hotwheels down south to Girna, to secure the village and get set for FIA to arrive. Me, Mischief and Praetorian will continue to Camp Tempest after we bring this shit up- and find out what state it's in. We'll then have to get to work on moving from Tempest to Mike-26, up the road, and with NATO forces, reinforce our positions before AAF forces consolidate their assault. We've lost the northern half of the island- so it's going to be a fucking warzone when we get back." Arran said to the team, as he sat on the side of the boat, now dead in the water despite waves. He had no NVGs now, so the water looked as black as anything, but from the GPS on his arm, they were right on top of it now. Taking out a yellow glowstick, he lobbed it into the water, followed by another not too close by. He bunged the rebreather tube into his mouth, aware that with it, he could breathe for a very prolonged period of time- and that it would work out quite well for him if he was responsible with it's handling. Looking to Linn, he put his diving goggles down, and gave a thumbs up, looking as Hotwheels took place at the helm of the RIB, and respectively, Huscarl and Praetorian headed to the deep.

Huscarl dived backwards, pulling out a red flare as he checked his buoyancy, and then the radio.
"Comms check, comms check. Follow me, Praetorian- down we go." He simply said, the cold of the water biting hard as he exhaled hard, then diving down as he lit the red flare, the phosphorus even burning underwater as he swam hard downwards, the air being replaced by oxygen every time he inhaled through the rebreather- a crazy feeling. Continuing downwards, he looked back towards Praetorian, dumping the flare as it sank down, to reveal the wreck of the fishing trawler.
"Into there. The crate should be buoyant enough, if we untether and it to bring it to the surface." Arran said, breathing out hard as he knew he wasn't crystal clear through the diving transistor, but he would be audible. Coming alongside the wreck, the two yellow glowsticks also helping the flare illuminate the dark, dark bottom of the water, Arran kicked hard as he aimed for where he could just about see a sealed composite crate stashed inside one of the levels of the split and sunken fishing vessel, ironically finding itself home to a school of fish. Swimming in, Arran sunk himself a little, as he looked at the crate, a smirk underneath his diving mask as he looked to Praetorian.
"Now to bring this shit up." He simply said, getting round one side, as he unsecuring a rope that held the crate down, cutting it with his dive knife as he felt the side rise a little, needing just a little more buoyancy to really be taken up. As soon as Praetorian had his side, Arran took a hold of his side of the crate, preparing to move, before the noise of something could be heard. A very slight reving noise. Like a vessel was in the water, literally, in it, not on the surface. It was vague, but securing the cut rope as best as he could, he kept himself pinned to the side of the rusted out boat.
"Fuck...the crate won't go anywhere, that's fucking enemy..." Arran said, looking as the SDV stopped, the small submarine with three AAF divers stopping just in front of the Apex Marshall's wreck, as Arran looked to Praetorian. The divers opened the hatch and swam out, all armed with SDAR underwater rifles- the 5.56 UW round potent if aimed correctly. He could just about see them through a tiny gap- but the way that they had entered the split wreck was through a relatively small hole in the side of it.
"They know about this...oh shit. Okay, we'll have to disarm them when they come in close, I really hope you know your basic underwater combat. They have to go through that hole we went through, and we can easily pounce there....Mischief, if you're receiving, we have an underwater team investigating our six, recommend you do not send anyone down- we can probably handle this." Arran said, swimming over as stealthily as he could, as he kept his knife to hand, aware that this wasn't going to be exactly his idea of fun.

The dive team moved up, all using flashlights, aware that there was someone else here. Whether they had simply seen the flares or known this was a secret CTRG cache, Arran didn't want to know, but one, perhaps the dive team leader, was ahead of the others, Momentum was different underwater- throwing the knife wouldn't work, so simply snatching the man would have to be the best approach. He hid himself above the hole, as the man entered, Arran looking at Praetorian as he knew the second was about to follow in, sweeping the left, From his hiding position literally above the dive team, Arran kicked hard and the AAF diver had no time to react, the weapon pushed out of his hands as Arran swiped, the man blocking it and pulling Arran down as he then lashed out with a kick. The golden rule of underwater combat was to never, ever lose your mouthpiece. And always go for the enemy's. And Huscarl knew this too well, as he blocked the AAF diver's calculated punch, already kneeing the man in the stomach and taking his mask off, before slicing him in the throat with the knife, the blood mixing with the salt water and quickly killing him. Arran reached down for the SDAR as rounds flew past him, perhaps Praetorian having a better luck with his opponent, as Huscarl dived down and out of harms way from the enemy diver, retrieving the weapon. Checking it was live, he rose up a little, firing a burst towards the diver outside, as he quickly found the rounds hit him hard, and did their job. Looking to Praetorian, he looked over, giving a thumbs up signal.
"Fuck...they almost had us. Mischief, be advised, we just eliminated the dive team, all three are dead and their SDV is still operational. Take the RIB's helm and continue on to Tempest- me and Praetorian will hijack the SDV they had and meet you there- we'll bring the crate too. Clean it out if you get there first- I can't imagine it looking like it was earlier." Arran said, as he looked back at the American, himself looting a few magazines off the dead dive team leader, or at least who he was. Taking a healthy set on his webbing, he swam back to the crate, now grabbing his side as he knew that this time, they wouldn't be interfered with. Taking it up, he led the way, swimming towards the hole and where the dead AAF diver bodies sort of floated where they had been, before then going towards the green-painted SDV, to put the large box away into the back.

Dallas Linn dove into the water after his commanding officer and took a moment to become accustomed with the new environment. He was an airborne ranger, and while it probably seemed crazy to everyone else in the world, he would rather jump out of a perfectly good aircraft than a boat into a combat zone any day of the week. He watched Huscarl's flare begin to move deeper in the dark water and followed the glowing red light down. It wasn’t long before the wreckage of an old boat came into view.

Linn moved to one end of the crate, took hold of it, and paused while Huscarl hefted his own end. He started to lift up before Huscarl suddenly stopped and stood still, as if he was listening for something. He couldn’t hear whatever it was that had spooked Huscarl, but if it had him spooked, it was definitely worth worrying about. He had his answer when the captain spoke, and Linn quickly moved to a position near the wreckage entrance. The ranger instinctively reached for his weapon, realised it wasn’t there, then pressed himself against the vessel’s hull and drew his knife, an M9 bayonet, instead.

Praetorian waited until the second diver came fully into view before lunging forward. He rammed into the man’s side, and grabbed onto him. The diver was unable to bring his weapon to bear on his assailant, and he began trying to twist free. The two struggled for several long moments before Linn was able to drive his knife into the diver’s neck and slash it open. He released the man and pushed away from him as the water began turning red. Looking to see how Huscarl was doing, he sighed when he saw the captain was giving him a thumbs up. He swam back over to the crate and took hold of it.
“Let’s get this over with.”

While Mischief had been thankful for his exclusion from the diving part of the mission - he had had his fill of underwater operations for the month with the last mission - he found himself quickly regretting his enthusiasm for being left on the ship after the first five minutes of doing nothing but looking at the dark, endless water. He kept a hand on the control stick of the boat, but there was almost no need for that. If Huscarl and Praetorian did their jobs right and did them well, Mischief would just be providing a speedy getaway. The most excitement he could think of was if they kicked up something they should not have and they needed to make a quick and hot escape.

He sighed as he scanned the seascape once again, keeping a lookout for any signs of enemy naval activity. Of course, even if he spotted them, there was little he could do. He only had his RPGs, and while they were effective against aircraft and structures, it was pretty much useless against ships unless he happened to hit a vital point, or if the ships were mere inflatable, rigid-hulled boats. The more he looked at the waves, the more he felt his mind wander and his guard relax. He shook his head vigorously from side to side, he had to remain alert, even if his current task was incredibly mind-numbing.

His hopes were raised when he heard Huscarl's report of an enemy underwater dive team, but any hope for action was quickly squashed with Huscarl's next transmission. The enemy team had been neutralized, the two other members of his team had acquired alternative transport and now Mischief was to drive the boat on his own towards Camp Tempest, or whatever was left of it. "Mischief to proceed solo to Camp Tempest, I copy. I will meet you on the beach of Kyfi Bay." He replied, revved up the boats engine and got some speed before steering it towards his destination.

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.)

Huscarl may have been confident of taking control of the situation, but Mischief was not, despite not showing it on his face. He remained silent as Huscarl exerted his authority over this Staff Sergeant Patterson and started to get things sorted out. Despite Patterson's acquiescence, Mischief still felt somewhat uneasy about having to lead a group of people who at the very least did not respect him, or even resented his presence. There was reason for them to believe the Hephaestus had brought this upon NATO forces; they had been the ones kicking up a ruckus among CSAT forces. Still, if Huscarl needed him to lead a squad, Mischief was going to do his best to shape his squad into a well-oiled machine.

That was how, a few minutes later, Mischief found himself standing near the north exit of the camp along with six tough-looking and very displeased soldiers. They were primarily British and Americans from the looks of it. "I would say 'good evening', but it is quite clear that this night is starting out horrendously." Mischief quipped, hoping to ease the tense atmosphere. Much to his pleasure, he got a few snickers and chuckles from the men, though most of them still looked at him as if he were the enemy. With a sigh, Mischief decided to just put everything on the table. "I am Staff Sergeant Zdislav Cermak, formerly of the Czech 601st. I understand that you do not like the idea of serving under someone who only just appeared, and I understand. However, we will need to work together if we want to survive this." He said and paused, looking at each of the men in turn to make sure they were paying attention. "I will listen to any of your suggestions and consider them equally, but my word will be final, can you give me that?"

There was a brief spate of murmurs among the soldiers, but at last, one of them nodded. "We can do that, Staff Sergeant." He said, his voice thick with an Irish accent, and extended a hand. "Sergeant Elias O'Connor. I'll be your second-in-command, I s'pose. No one else here's a sergeant, last I checked." He pointed to each of the soldiers as he introduced them. "With me are Corporal Recker, Lance Corporal Jennings, Lance Corporal Anders, Private Kelly and Private Sanderson."

Mischief shook the man's hand and gave a nod of acknowledgement to each of the soldiers. "Good to have you, Sergeant." He said. "Now, we have a job to do. Huscarl wants us to head north to look for enemy positions along Nisi bay." He looked over the men again, sizing them up and examining their equipment to get a rough gauge as to where their skills laid. Jennings appeared to be a grenadier, as evidenced by the forty millimeter launcher slung under her rifle; Kelly was the support gunner, armed with her heavily modified MX LMG; Anders seemed to be a marksman, though Mischief was quick to notice that he was using what was basically an MX with a longer barrel and a scope. The rest were armed with assault rifles, and were probably good all-rounders.

"O'Connor, you will be with Sanderson. I want the two of you to be our marksman team, callsign Alpha-1. Kelly, you're with Anders. You are our LMG team, callsign Alpha-2. The rest of you will be with me. We will be Alpha-Lead and we will be the assault element of the squad. Everyone okay with this arrangement?" Mischief said, taking care to ensure that he received any concerns his squad had about the arrangement. Thankfully, they all shook their heads. "Good." Mischief said. "We move out now. Once we are a hundred meters away from the exit, keep a five to ten meter spread. Alpha-Lead will be in the center. Alpha-1, you are on our left. Alpha-2, you will guard our right."

His plan was simple, straightforward, but would easily catch unprepared enemies off guard. Alpha-2 would pin down the enemy's left with machine gun fire while Alpha-1 would pick off targets of opportunity on the enemy's right. Mischief's plan was to force the enemy to believe that he was going for the oldest trick in the book, a flanking attack, and convince the enemy to strip their center to reinforce the flanks. Once that happened, Alpha-Lead would punch the enemy right in the weakened center, break through and attack the weaker flank to crush it before regrouping and eliminating the other flank.

Of course, that was if everything went according to plan, and perhaps the first rule of warfare was that nothing would ever go according to plan. Mischief would have to improvise in the field, but that was nothing new to him. The team moved in formation once they were roughly a hundred meters away from the camp's exit. "Maintain formation, move carefully and report if you see or hear anything suspicious." Mischief said quietly over the comms.

"Will do, Staff Sergeant." came O'Connors reply.

"Understood, Staff." Was Kelly's response.

The area was not, in Mischief's opinion, conducive for his mission. There was very little cover; bushes and trees were sparse, the ground was rather flat and uniform, with only the odd depression or hill here and there. "Staff Sarge, I ain't likin' this terrain too much," Recker commented off the comms. "Can't help but feel as if we're just bein' sniper food out here."

"I understand," Mischief replied with a grimace. "But it is the same all the way unless we turn and head far inland." While that - moving inland for better cover and advancing towards the bay from there - may have been a safer idea, it would bring them way out of the area they were supposed to scout. It would be highly likely that they would miss any enemy troops moving in from the north. "We cannot do that, not without making Tempest blind to its north. The best we can do is to move fast and reach the trees to the north of Nial Bay."

"I know, Staff Sarge." Recker replied. "But I'm just voicin' my concerns, is all."

"And they have been noted," Mischief replied with a nod. Over the comms, he said, "Alpha-lead to Alpha-1, I want you to stop and scan for enemies in the distance at your own discretion. Warn us if you even think you see someone moving, over."

"Alpha-1 copies. We're moving up...Ten meters ahead of Alpha-2 to set up overwatch, over." Came O'Connor's reply.

"Alpha-lead copies. Out." Mischief said. "Alpha-lead to Alpha-2, we will keep a low profile but continue to advance until Alpha-1 spots an enemy, over."

"Alpha-2 received and understood." Kelly replied. "What if we run into an enemy en route, sarge? Is this a sneak-and-hide job or are we cleared to go loud? Over."

Mischief scolded himself for not clarifying the rules of engagement before leaving the camp, but was thankful that he had a chance to correct his mistake before they ran into any enemy forces. "Go loud only if you are unable to find a way around. Remember, everyone, we are here to scout the enemy positions and report any buildup in the area, not to clear out the AAF on our own." He replied.

"We could give it try, Staff." Kelly said with a short chuckle.

Mischief grinned to no one in particular. "It would be brave, but futile. Keep to the mission, Alpha-2. Out." Mischief said. He moved at a brisk walk across the open terrain, scanning the area around him as he did so, but taking care to keep the closing treeline ahead of him in mind. Once they were there, they could continue to push up to the area around Stratis Air Base, just to the north of the bay they were supposed to scout. It was tense and nerve-racking, but it appeared as if the AAF were completely absent from the bay. Perhaps they were still at the airbase, consolidating their forces for one massive assault on Tempest.

"Break-Break! Enemy scout patrol spotted approaching from the treeline" O'Connor reported in a frantic whisper over the comms.

"Everybody on the ground!" Mischief ordered and dropped to a prone position, his rifle aimed to his front. "Alpha-1, do you have numbers?"

"Five...No, six men. Five assault rifles, one machine gun. They don't seem to have noticed us, over."

Mischief grimaced. It was not going to be long before the AAF patrol spotted his squad, and they did not seem to be going away anytime soon. In fact, they seemed to be confidently advancing. "Recker, Jennings, on my flanks." Mischief whispered behind him. He soon heard the rustling sound of bodies moving against grass as the two soldiers crawled into position beside him. "Jennings, try not to use the launcher for now. We will use our silenced weapons." Mischief ordered.

"Aye, understood, Sergeant." Jennings replied.

"Alpha-2 to Alpha-lead. Enemy patrol is just a dozen meters away from my position, do I have permission to fire?" Kelly asked.

"Hold, Alpha-2." Mischief replied. "Alpha-1, do you have a bead on their gunner?"

"Already do, Staff Sergeant. Waiting for your go."

"Good," Mischief said. "Alpha-1, you are the trigger. Fire when ready."

There was a brief and tense moment of silence before the muted gunshot rang out in the dead silence of the night. It was quickly followed by the familiar sound of a high-velocity bullet striking a person and the surprised shouts and yells of the AAF soldiers. "Alpha-lead, hit them!" Mischief shouted and got up into a kneeling position. He opened fire with his rifle just as Alpha-2 struck the enemy with devastating enfilading fire. The enemy did not even have time to respond with bullets of their own before they were all cut down by the overwhelming firepower from Mischief's squad. It was a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. "Good work, everyone." Mischief said. "Regroup at the treeline."

He gestured for Recker and Jennings to follow him as he rushed for the trees, taking to a knee once he reached them. Once his squad had regrouped, he spoke. "Okay, that was very nice, but I will have to radio Tempest for further orders. If we move up, we might run into a larger enemy force." Mischief quickly keyed into the frequency used by camp Tempest. "Alpha squad to Tempest, Alpha squad to Tempest. We are at the trees north of Nial bay. Encountered, engaged and eliminated enemy scout patrol, do we continue north towards Stratis Air base? Over."

Bronco team sit inside Thunder-2's IFV. Poppy sits towards the back of the IFV planning on being the first out as he always is. He wants to lead these men into battle and feels it is his place to be the first into the combat zone. Across from him and one seat up sits Archer with his rifle. He seems to be focusing on other things as Gunner and the Rookie talk. The Rookie seems to chat a lot. He knows how to handle his rifle though. To the LT thats all that matters. "Man Nickelback is shit these days! No one even listens to it anymore" The rookie said
"Yeah man it's all about that damned dubstep shit." Gunner chuckles a little "I Bet you like it too
Rook: "Hey i am not saying i like that stuff. I am just stating what kids are all about these days." Poppy then looks at all of them as if telling them to shut the fuck up. They of course comply with the look. The rookie opens his mouth again "Where we going Poppy?" Poppy looked at him and leaned to his right side to speak over the engine.
"Were heading north for what i dont know. I am sure we will get briefed when we get to our destination though." The rookie nods to him and goes back to looking at Gunner who sits across from him. The LT is hoping they can get out of this shit hole. His men have seen enough of this war and are nearing breaking. He knows they are going to get put back into combat though in his heart. The rookie use to be a kid who talked about his hometown and never even uttered a cuss word in his life. Now he looks as if he is 34 and acts like he has been cussing since he was 7. Archer has seemed to withdraw from everyone else seeing a lot of his friends in other units die in this conflict. While gunner maintained his cool. He had seen a lot of action in the past and it didn't seem to phase him much. Poppy on the other hand was strained. He had to keep his cool around the men. Yet right now he wanted to find a corner and just hide. Hopefully though their new assignment will be easier than the last one.

(Going to keep the RP flowing to some degree- Advanced, you can still post, I haven't RPed out how Bravo has acted or jumped too far forwards).

"Negative, Alpha, hold your ground. You'll be walking into a sea of AAF north of the valley, we don't want to prologue anything. Excellent work out there- continue the patrol. I'll be holding a briefing in two hours, so RTB once you've scouted out the region. I know it's hard and we all want some sleep, but if the AAF missed a spot, we'll make them pay for it. Over." Huscarl said over the comms, looking over towards the newly-setup briefing area, and the tools that were all going up.
"Delta, this is Huscarl, what's your status?"
"We are en-route to Girna. No AAF so far, over." Athena replied, Arran inspecting the tactical map as he looked over at the situation so far, from last knowns and assumptions made of AAF forces distributed across the island. A distinct blue/green line enveloped from Nisi Bay to the valley surrounding Tempest, down past Girna and Camp Tempest and then across the southern chunk of the island. The former 1st and 2nd Platoon had been crossed off from what had happened, as Huscarl kept annotating, adding what he last knew of positions from the established network now set up.
"Affirmative. You know the drill out there. Huscarl out." He said, as he looked over towards Corporal Davis, her face asking already a few questions.
"So you're British Special Forces, or what? I mean, you spooks were something we'd heard of, but they never told us. Especially Pat there. So why'd you come back for us?" She asked, as she fiddled around with the radio, Huscarl chuckling as he adjusted his own helmet a little, looking over at her.
"The plain line is, NATO has no idea this is going on. And if any of us, me and your unit included are going to leave this rock, is by Mike-26, by getting communications online and forming some sort of link back to NATO MEDCOM. There's one more failsafe that will help us here, in particular." Huscarl said, as he walked past a partly disassembled Hunter that had been taken out of a container and was now being constructed again by a couple of soldiers from Charlie Squad, Davis following behind. The container was fairly large, but even the members of Charlie Squad looked like they were asking the same questions as they were searching for the rest of the parts for the Hunter, Huscarl aware he'd know they'd find it.
"Sir, respectfully, the fuck is that?" One of them said, as Huscarl laughed a little quietly, open
"Gents, that's a Stomper UGV, and as you can see...that's a 12.7mm Mk30 HMG, and a 40mm Mk32 GMG atop it. Needs some work, the feeds need to be sorted and encrypted, but this is good to go. Because this is the only real leverage we have right now, and if we want to turn the tables...well, "Black Betty" is your best bet."
"You named it?" Davis asked, Huscarl looking over at the six wheeled UGV, turning his head back to Davis.
"And you wouldn't? Anyway, I thought I should probably mention it as you two are a little rusty on Autonomous equipment. Get that Hunter, then this online. Sit rep looks good, if anything's to bear- we're all tired here, but we make it through tonight, we'll be able to get some sort of resistance going." Huscarl said, aware that it was crap that they had to stay up to probably past midnight. A few more camping mats and other equipment had propped up close to the wounded to perhaps get some members of Charlie some rest, and the camp itself felt eerie, just the fact that things were so rudimental wasn't great in Huscarl's eyes, but it was the only way.

---

2230 Hours

The Marshall rumbled down the road, Bronco Squad aboard as they stormed past Agios Ionnanis, headed for Camp Maxwell.
"Lewis, check forward, spot infantry and armored contacts over FLIR. Bronco, we're en route to Maxwell, we're flanking it's right-hand side- seems like our lads spotted a motorized convoy headed south, and we're in a perfect position to provide fire support to stop any infantry raiding Maxwell. Wait on our go lads." Ian said, the Marshall's armored presence probably the last armored friendly vehicle on Stratis right now, and an asset that had to be stressed in it's importance.
"1 minute out." Ian added, as he opened the hatch, popping out as he looked out, the noise of motorized thunder as the wheels of fire rolled towards the objective, he saw the fighting already, distant tracers and gunfire audible. That was a good sign to get back down, as he pulled the hatch shut above him, and looking to Private Lewis, who sat by his left side on the autocannon and manned a similar computer interface as him, this being relating to the turret rather than the commander's camera, was visible. Ian looked ahead, as they passed the junction for Girna, and headed up the road, passing by Maxwell, as the IFV came in closer and close to it's drop point.
"Mitchell, stop the wheels- Bronco, disembark on your go! Maxwell, what's the status of contact?" Ian asked over the comms, as his response was quick.
"Three Strider HMGs and a few dismounted infantry teams are moving from Mike-26, approximately two minutes out. Recommend you hold at your drop point, stick to non-AT firepower. Thanks for the assist, Thunder-2."
"Not a problem. Let's just get this shit done." Ian said, as the rear door was opened by Bronco, letting them disembark, as they got ready for contacts. Bronco could move forward and set up a forward position under the cover of the IFV, or hold back and lay down fire from the LMG and Marksman from afar to really hammer the point home- but either way to Ian, he knew there'd be contacts soon. Through the NVGs that all the soldiers wore, and in particular, the thermal imaging FLIR of Lewis's monitor, the darkness wasn't as dark as expected, due to the distant fires and moonlight, making some sort of normal visiblity able even without NVGs to a limited extent. Adjsting the gun, the first Strider opened up it's HMG at the Marshall as it drove over the ridge in the distance, Lewis not even asking, as all in the IFV knew what was going to happen. The 40mm rounds were downrange quickly, and punched into the Strider's armored skin, the MRAP being torn apart as the engine block went up, and the explosion forced the second Strider off, the road, as it tipped over from the secondary explosions of the fuel tank and ammunition, the third stopping dead as the IFV made short work of that too, the 40mm APDFS rounds penetrating the side as it tore the soldiers inside to pieces.
"Shit, that made some noise! Motorized Convoy is dead, fucking Greenback morons. Think we ain't got shit, they're being stretched and look at this....damn. Bronco, clean up the rest, we'll stay static and move up to you once all enemies are cleared from the field. Don't head over the ridge the Strider came from, or else we'll be looking down the sights of Mike-26, and if it's as bad as they say, we'll have problems." Ian added over the comms, as Lewis adjusted the gun, switching to the HMG, as he looked down range, the co-axial HMG opening up on the infantry that disembarked from the tipped Strider, moving back in futility as the FLIR picked them out among the short undergrowth and exposed terrain, shredding them up as the IFV continued to provide fire support.

Barnes and his men dismounted as soon as they could, diving for cover. Then barnes began to give orders. "Archer! Take up a marksman position and take out any runners or heavily entrenched enemies! Gunner set up your MG for covering fire! Kid your with me." They all nodded to their jobs and did so. Archer soon was up on some rocks, with his rifle aimed down range. Soon rounds were coming from his rifle as he hit several in the head that tried to run. Meanwhile Gunner set up his MG and just began firing to pin the enemy down. Barnes and the kid ran through some of the enemies fir and took cover behind some rocks. They then began to shoot at the enemies from a flanking position on the left side.

Once he heard the last transmission from Ian he ran up towards where the convoy was and had his rifle up to shoot. The kid followed close behind him checking their six as they moved. Archer was still picking off the stragglers with his MK14. As they came around one of the vehicles an enemy soldier was laying on the ground trying to reach his gun. Barnes put three into his chest then kicked the gun away. "Archer whats it look like?" He said over the radio.
"Looks like a cluster fuck, but you're clear" He stated over the radio as he and gunner got up to move to and regroup with Barnes.
"Thunder-2 thunder-2 this is Bronco 1-actual, we have confirmed all hostiles down. you are clear to move up" Barnes then clicked his radio mic off and kneeled down waiting for the rest of his men to regroup with him.

Abdera was a sorry sight, but nothing new to Evan Kontos. Half of it had been reduced to rubble and graveyards, the other half had been hastily converted into basic slums to house a population too big for the meagre AAF's ration shipments. Two years ago it had been in the hands of Evan's brothers, the FIA, until the Americans and their NATO allies stepped in to give the butchers of Altis the weapons they needed to complete their genocidal rampage. He stared bitterly at the two burnt out husks of T-80's, long since dead, and quickly rusting into the cracked earth beneath them. They had been part of the FIA's Freedom Brigade in better times, when his brothers-in-arms were still considered a combat effective force.

Now they were terrorists. Hiding in the shadows, throwing grenades into cafes and blowing up market places. Usually these attacks were targeted at off duty AAF soldiers and officers, other times they were just directed at anyone. Whatever it took to grab the headlines. Evan despised such tactics that involved the killing of civlians, but his hands were rich with their blood all the same. It was far too easy for a bullet to fall stray in a busy road, or a for a child to pick up an IED hidden in some shrub. He would stand trial for all of them, and accept his just deserves; this he had promised himself.

The ground beneath him rumbled and animated as the convoy of Unimog Model 406's thundered down the dilapidated roadway that ran through Abdera. Through his binoculars, Evan could see the townspeople quickly hurrying into their depressing hovels; they had learned in the early days of this strife that the AAF, and indeed the FIA were in the business of shooting innocents who gave them disapproving looks. Though efforts had been made by the Cell Commanders to limit FIA's involvement in war crimes, the discipline was not always there to prevent such things. Evan himself had shot two of his fellows for taking liberties with the very people they were trying to save. It was sick situation - the good wanted to hide and obey, the bad wanted to kill and save. Evan fell under the latter, but not by choice. He shuddered as memories of his bloody baptism resurfaced temporarily, before they were put down by his psychological S.W.A.T team.

Two American made Humvees of no specified model followed the trucks. Evan guessed he was facing a total of sixty AAF soldiers, but judging by their last generation equipment, these were the dregs. As the convoy started to leave the town southbound, and head towards the FIA combat team, he flashed a light across the road. He did not believe in the use of radios - too easy to track - always the operations he led were done with total silence. Success demanded it.

The leading Unimogs were picked up by an almighty explosion, and thrown this way and that. Evan gleamed a smile as he watched one smash into the earth, throwing fiery bodies from it's smouldering ruin. Even as he joyed in the anihiliation of two dozen of his foe, the rest of the AAF were responding with practiced discipline; the explosion had failed to cause panic. Damn.

Twenty, then forty AAF soldiers, in their flak jackets and weilding a variety of weapons poured from the remaining Unimogs. The Humvees at the rear separated from the roadway, and scanned for the FIA with their mounted 20mm machineguns. Evan was outnumbered, four to one, but not out gunned. He shouldered his F2000, sighted the nearest soldier some two hundred yards off - gazed into the youthful eyes of a sixteen year old boy - and then pulled the trigger. His bounty jerked backwards, head first, and collapsed on the floor with a bloody mess spreading from the middle of his chest. Another boy I've had to slaughter. St. Peter will have many questions for me, I'm sure.

The AAF focused on the direction of his shot, and just as Evan rolled from his firing position, a hundred rounds crashed into the spot he had been laying. 20mm rounds exploded the rock formations, raining him with stinging fragments, whilst small arms reduced the earth and shrub to a fine powder. The second signal had been given.

The exposed AAF troops, confident they were facing either one man, or a very small team, had resolved to stand and charge Evan's position. Ten or so Soviet-Era and American surplus machineguns opened up from the shrubs, rises, rocks and crevices that dotted the landscape around the besieged convoy. The soldiers were hamburgered; their body parts easily seen flying above the red mist. The Humvees responded, firing sporadically in all directions until a LAW smashed into both of them, blasting them to ruins. Now it was the FIA's time to go on the offensive.

NATO was in trouble, betrayed by the AAF as they had betrayed the FIA those many years ago. Command had seen fit to aid the Americans, and their friends, in hopes that this time around they'd see the FIA as allies, and not terrorists. Evan didn't care, he just wanted to slaughter the AAF. It was his mission;his goal. Downing their machineguns, the FIA geurillas picked up their AKs and F2000s, and charged down onto the road. A bloody melee ensued, and bodies was blasted from just feet away.

Reaching the wreck of the first Unimog, Evan eyed an AAF soldier attempting to put his entrails back into his ruined midsection. Evan was not a monster, he would not let a man suffer so, and blasted the unfortunate man's head into nothingness. A NATO round cracked off the metal work of the Unimog, just inches from Evan, but he did not flinch. He turned with lightning grace, sighted his attacker - a soldier lying beneath one of the burning Humvees - and tapped the trigger three times. The soldier's face and shoulder were hit, and he slumped immediately.

What was left of the AAF force was retreating back into the town; Evan could not allow this. "Kill them, kill them all!" He roared, shouldering his F2000 and firing wildly at the backs of his beaten enemy.

He was soon joined by the remnant of his Cell, and together they put down the last of the AAF threat. The distant sound of helicopters told Evan it was time to pack up and leave - to melt back into the mountains. Sixty plus dead, at the loss of four FIA geurillas, not bad, not bad at all.

Irish sat under a tree just perfectly set behind a bush, his face paint helped him blend as he waited. He saw the moon in the sky and it was his main source of light for now, he heard the footsteps getting closer and slowly raised himself with his right hand. Lightly holding his rifle in his off hand. As he stood he saw his targets, a group of 2 men crossed the small dirt road Irish had been traveling alongside. He let them get 5 feet down the road away from him then popped up and fired one shot at the back of the left ones head, then another shot into the other ones temple as he turned around. He walked onto the road and let his rifle hand by its strap against his chest then grabbed each body by their vest straps and dragged them off the road and into the bushes nearby. He moved down the road some more making his way closer to Girna, he continued at a steady jog for some time on occasion stopping to eliminate a patrol. Within 40 minutes he had made his way to Girna, he sat in wait and contacted Delta.

"Delta," Irish said through the radio, "This is Irish, currently sitting at about 40 yards away from Girna, camped in between two trees on the north side. Just thought I'd give you all an update on the situation, they seem to have rotating patrols each within five minute gaps of the last. Irish out, stay frosty Delta."

Evan depressed the accelerator of his technical gently, edging the rusted hulk away from the AAF check point. He released a deep sigh of relief, thankful to whatever Angels were left to watch over him. The AAF soldiers seemed not to care that he was a male, bruised and cut, and driving a suspicious looking Toyota with a hasty white paint job. They'd searched it, sure, but their efforts were half hearted. After the attack at Abdera, he had at least expected them to have detained him, ran a background check on his fantasy life, taken most of his innocent luggage and then given him a slight beating. Maybe they were just sick of opening a car bonnet to find a nail bomb waiting for them, or maybe they just did not care. Either way, they'd sent him on his way without incident.

It had been two hours since he destroyed the AAF 7th Reserve Company as it made its way from the airfield north of Abdera, and the enemy's activity was notably non-existent. Normally after such a brazen attack on Government forces, the FIA could expect to be forced into hiding for weeks, whilst special forces and gunships scoured the North West mountain regions of Altis for traces of them. Whatever was going down in the south east must have been big, Evan figured, if the AAF were unwilling to respond with their usual tenacity.

Leaving Galati, and being clear of any AAF patrols or check points, Evan floored it. The technical's ancient engine roared to life, and the bald tyres squealed against the tarmac as they struggled to get traction - but eventually they caught up with the speed of the cylinders, and he was away at a fair 50mph. The air smelt clean, molested only by the faint whiff of Imperial Leather that the freedom fighter had used to cleanse himself of battle half an hour ago before he attempted his trip across the country. It was a crafty move, and brave, to take the roads as he was. Orders were orders however, and his cell had been dispatched to Chalkeia. Why? He hadn't been told, but he figured it was part of a larger FIA mobilisation. Even now, seven other members of his cell were making their way there, using various methods of transport. Public buses, if they were running, cars, motorbikes - whatever was available. They had to travel alone though; a group of grizzled men in a disguised technical would rouse the suspicions of even the most unenthusiastic AAF checkpoint guard. Fake identification would only take one so far, after all.

Slamming a badly mistreated Led Zeppelin CD into the player, Evan cranked up the volume and started singing to his heart's content. It was going to be a bit of a drive, wrought with peril, but he'd made the trip a thousand times before. His tattered civilian suit, a briefcase full of nonsense documents to say he worked as a doctor down in Kalachori and some tactically placed sunglasses were all he needed to get past the worst of it. As long as no one at the check point saw it fit to open up the technical's fuel tank and find the hidden compartment where he kept his gear, things would be fine, just fine.

(Time changes are made clear- Bronco will jump between their fight near Maxwell to what happens in Girna, to them coming to Camp Tempest.)
(Maps are here, just to remind you.)
Altis
Stratis

2230 Hours

Somewhere NW of Camp Maxwell, Stratis

The Marshall stuck in position, as Bronco Team laid down fire down range, Thunder-2 still laying down HMG fire from the co-axial gun.
"Fuckers are running! Good work out there Bronco, we're holding our position. Maxwell, what's the situation up there? We've repelled the AAF attack, seems like they've routed. Further orders?" Ian asked, as he watched through his FLIR camera in his commander's position the madness of the action.
"Understood, Thunder-2. We need you and Bronco moved out ASAP to Girna, we have a situation developing in the village- we need you to regroup with forces from Camp Tempest, and it seems like we're under Captain Birgirson's command now. If he's good to go on, then we're going to need to figure out how to unfuck ourselves here, Corporal- so if we get some sort of contact, we can establish a plan of action. Your contact reference is Delta, roughly a fireteam of soldiers- they won't wait long, so I recommend you move fast. Sound good?" The commander at Maxwell said, as Ian adjusted his thick crew helmet, and his position in his chair.
"Copy that, Maxwell. We're moving to Girna, ETA five minutes. Bronco ,you heard the man- rear door is open, get the fuck in my IFV!" Ian said in his typical Welsh way, as the rear door opened up again, Ian moving his chair as he popped back into the passenger area, already looking over as Bronco moved back, and were headed for the vehicle.
"Lieutenant Barnes, you fuckers have got it. Check ammo and your NVGs, and resupply what you need from this box here- five mikes to Girna, and if it comes up, we'll make some more noise for you. Sound good?" Ian said, as he saw the CO of the team come in, tapping a ammunition crate on one of the seats as he waited for the response, before moving back up into his commander's position, clambering back into the elevated chair, already secure as he knew that while it was claustrophobic, the hatch above him meant he could look out on everything around, if the camera attached didn't do the job. As the squad filled the rear of the Marshall up, Mitchell already had the vehicle into reverse, and they completed a rapid three point turn, as Lewis kept the gun pointed backwards, looking through the IRNV for enemies that were left, or moving back. Flooring it down the road, the eight wheeled IFV now hauling ass, Ian had a chance to get some air, as he put the hatch up, and popped his head out, looking on the night and the more audible noise of gunfire in the distance.
"It's be a fucking great night for stargazing if it wasn't for those clouds." Ian said to himself quietly, the IFV commander aware that whilst the situation was completely buggered, the little things were still there. Nobody wanted to say it, how that they were really all going to die if the AAF carried on at this rate, but nobody wanted to keep optimism. It felt like that in the IFV in general- just staying awake, staying concentrated and

Somewhere North of Girna, Stratis

Athena looked over towards the rest of the team- it was a fireteam really, comprised of herself, Irish and Hotwheels- not much, but a reconaissance and special operations team.
"Copy that Irish. We'll follow you up, hold position." She said, moving slowly and surely with her Mk18 ABR, Hotwheels armed with a MSBS A2, in a bullpup carbine variant, with a PCML on her back as an AT. They were both silenced, for obvious reasons. Moving down, crouched and using the night to their advantage as they went almost silently from bush to bush, cover to cover, they set themselves up, in their own observation point.
"We're about 50m above you, in the treeline. Huscarl, we've got contacts in Girna- roughly a pair of fireteams, permission to engage?"
"Granted, displace them quick, and keep an observation set up. We're to make contact with other NATO forces, as well as maybe snatch ourselves some more support for Tempest. Remember what we're here for, Delta." Huscarl replied quickly, as Athena checked her Mk18, the NVS atop the weapon, already looking from the North-East treeline into the village.Irish was located far close, and from her tactical glasses, she was just able to pick him out in his location, due to the IFF tag, but the enemies were found by the regular method, as she looked for them down her scope.
"Four tangos, moving up to the chapel on the northern side. Irish, snatch the one furthest away. We'll have the rest- we'll continue to clear the village after that, just wait for our shot." She said, as she adjusted the Mk18, aiming down the optic of the NVS sight, the night vision scope working exactly as intended. The trigger pull was simple, and the AAF man went down, followed by Hotwheels opening fire and taking out one and injuring another, with Athena doubling up and taking the wounded man out with a simple 7.62 round.
"Clear. Irish, set up in a building, cover us and we'll move down. If it moves ,shoot it." Athena said, as suddenly, another voice burbled on the radio.
"This is Thunder-2 to Delta, we're carrying Bronco Squad in our AMV-Marshall IFV, we're approximately three minutes to Girna. How copy, over?"
"Affirmative, Thunder-2, Girna is currently swept up with AAF. We're beginning to clear the village from the northern ridge, close to the village Chapel- feel free to join us."
"Copy that, Delta. Okay Bronco, you heard the word. Mitchell, stop us off at the village entrance- we'll go direct, the AAF patrols won't have AT, but I sure as shit don't want to drive into it. Bronco, you guys better be up for some more fighting- watch the north for our Delta guys." Ian said, as the IFV pulled off from the road for Girna, peeling off a road that headed for a different bay.
"Irish, keep up the fire from your point, Hotwheels, flank by the Chapel. I'll find an elevated position and shoot from there."

Athena moved up as Irish got himself into closer cover, the other AAF team aware that there was a fireteam down, but unaware of the direction, or the number. Was it just one sniper with a 7.62mm silenced, or ten? Silencers helped out in that respect, and the lack of muzzle flash, as well as the fact that these AAF forces didn't have NVGs, unlike most, put them distinctly at a disadvantage. She adjusted the Mk18's stock, as she aimed down the RDS atop the NVS optic, looking for the AAF fireteam. They moved back through the town, and sent supressive fire onto the northern hill, though they had no idea entirely exactly where Delta was. Moving into a building herself, Athena moved upstairs and by a window overlooking a balcony, resting the Mk18 on a window, as Hotwheels kept on the ground level, taking cover by the Chapel. Athena saw one of the men, out of six, move up, giving orders. It wasn't a second thought that passed in her mind, as she clipped the squad leader in the head, the 7.62mm round penetrating the man's skull with ease, quickly kicking him back as fire from a Mk200 opened up suddenly, the lack of a muzzle flash just creating more confusion, but the clear noise to the north clear enough. The AAF troops moved quick, but perhaps, weren't open to realizing what was coming on the other end of the village.

At the entrance of Girna, almost right by the sign, the IFV had come to a halt, and the crew, as well as Bronco, were active.
"Move out!" Ian yelled into the passenger area, the Marshall's back door open for Bronco to move out.
"Delta, we're at the village entrance, we're hearing suppression shots to the north, non-silenced. You okay out there?"
"Absolutely fine- we see you, AAF don't. Thanks for the heads up." Athena replied to Ian, as she adjusted her position, already moving from her building to another, to avoid detection, and to at least keep the aspect of her being found out to a minimum. Hotwheels fired a few rounds from her position, already taking down one as predominantly cover for Irish, to move without being clipped. The village was tiny really- and apart from a dirt road that went into it, and a small wooden pier that had a few fishing boats on it, it was empty since Stratis had become a military isle. The buildings had little to no furniture, and apart from the single Zamak Transport truck that the AAF team here had, there was little else. As Thunder-2 stopped and provided cover for Bronco to advance, the AAF squad were only now aware of the IFV's presence, and were beginning to move, quickly. It was right into the jaws of Delta however, and the firefight lasted less than thirty seconds, as a combination of HMG rounds, along with Bronco and Delta teams' fire had made a mess of the AAF contingent. 10 men against three SF operators, a IFV and a team of infantry, wasn't going to stand much of a chance- especially when they were basically blind and deaf to the SF.

The IFV juddered forwards, as Delta, including Athena and Hotwheels, moved down into the village square, by the beach and the pier, walking in as the IFV stopped a few meters away. Ian popped the lid on the Marshall, clambering out as he jumped off the IFV, Mitchell stopping the engine and killing the mechanical beast's noise. Athena smirked, looking at Bronco, who now followed up, and were also joining Thunder-2.
"So you're Delta then? Thunder-2, or Corporal Ian Stanley. Lance Corporal Mitchell and Private Lewis are on the driver's seat and gun respectively, fairly nice fellas."
"Warrant Officer Olivia Cheng, callsign Athena. There's no direct road to Tempest without passing Mike-26, so how the hell you'll get to...actually, never mind. I know exactly what you can do. Okay, Bronco is it? You come with us- we need to head back to Tempest on foot and figure out what next. The Captain needs every man he can get- we're planning something to do with Mike-26, to try and get ourselves off this rock. And since you're entrenched at Maxwell, it seems like the only way."
"Where's that leaving us then?" Mitchell asked, peeping out the driver's hatch, sitting on the front hull, as Athena pointed to the sea simply, before she spoke.
"You've got amphibious capability? The sea ain't that rough today, and we can make sure there ain't any AT threats on the way. Can't be that bad." Athena said, Mitchell laughing a little, as he looked over.
"Always a first time." He replied,
"Bronco, Delta, let's move. Get some air in your lungs, but stay frosty." She said, the American CTRG member keeping the squad together despite the fact she was technically outranked by Lieutenant Barnes not a real factor right now, as she knew that her experience and the fact that she knew the shit that lay ahead of them was something she'd be more accustomed to lead the team through, than Barnes. Still, she didn't care what he did with his team, so long as they didn't fuck up- and he could keep control over them to a degree. Mitchell kept his hatch open as he got back on the driver's seat, Ian back in the commander's open hatch, as the engine roared back into life.
"Alright then. Let's go fucking swimming." Ian simply said, the crew laughing as they accelerated past the fishing boats, and hit the water quickly, the V-shaped hull floating in the water as the rear propellers kicked in, side by side with the wheels that also created momentum in the water. They were only moving at 25kph, but the IFV was moving at a pace, and it avoided the rocky climbs and dips in the forested valleys surrounding Girna, Ian's hatch still open as he watched waves occasionally clear the hull, the driver's hatch thankfully shut, the darkness filling as the time passed.

Somewhere near Kalochori, Altis

The car rumbled through, as Antos looked in the back, at the old Yamaha 125cc motorcycle, as well as Damien and Andreas, who had tactically hidden their rifles in a hidden compartment of the pickup truck. The roads were empty, and deserted, but very, very loud gunfire and bombing could be heard from afar. It was from Feres way, down south.
"Shit....you reckon they'll win? At Feres? I mean, if this Huscarl man is right, then things are a lot worse. CSAT, they're fucking bad news." Damien said, Andreas laughing ,as he looked out the bark, the dark road not currently illuminated.
"Course they will! If Aramis is as brutal as he is with the AAF, not a doubt. CSAT would never work with the AAF, surely?" Andreas said, chuckling as Antos shook his head in disagreement.
"They're going to get fucking slaughtered, lads. There's at least a company worth of AAF there, including helicopter gunships and A-143 Buzzards. You know, fucking CAS jets. CSAT aren't fucking around, they've funded this fucking island for at least five years now, and if those desert bastards are going to walk onto the island and take away my fucking land, then I don't care what it takes to kill them. Anyway, pipe the fuck down, I've got a call to make." Antos said, pulling the car on the road headed for Rodopoli, the well-tarmacked highway going cross-island. Checkpoints a plenty, but Antos had money, or wile on his side. And even if the AAF had a fireteam at a small rudimentary checkpoint, 500 Euros usually did the trick. If it didn't, Antos would talk, until they decided it wasn't worth the bother. The AAF were trained well, but they were corrupt, and sometimes, Antos even knew FIA sympathizers in their ranks- who would let the FIA do their activities. It wasn't universally accepted that the FIA were terrorists- and even some in the AAF, surprisingly, agreed. But from the top to bottom, there was generally a consensus that carrying out a combination of COIN, as well as frequent patrols and restriction of movement, would work to rid the FIA influence. The corrupt and ill-thought out process gave Antos all the reason to understand that wasn't the case.

Checking his phone, he dialed the number, hoping this was the man that Stavrou earlier had given him the contact for. The phone dialed, Antos just waiting and waiting till it connected, with the other end eventually picking up. Despite the fact that the AAF could tap into mobile networks, the mere fact that that many of the mobile phones the FIA used were loaded with some sort of basic encryption meant tracking locations wasn't worthwhile, nor was trying to break this network- it was changed too regularly to get a fix on the network, and whilst the use of a serious security agency could probably crack the system, the Altis government simply didn't invest into intelligence infrastructure, or spying on it's own people. There really wasn't much to see.
"Hello is this Evan? It's Seagull, I phoned your cell leader earlier. Plan's off on Chalkeia- no go zone my friend, we need a new meeting location. There's a small village called Ifeastona, close to Athira- abandoned from the civil war, but we can meet there- wait till you see a white and black technical. My team's in the back, and from what I hear from my contact, things have gone down the plughole on Stratis. Believe me, you don't want to head down to the South-West- Aramis has lost his shit, it's a fucking massacre. You know the route to the camp, at Faros- we're going to need to be fast about this, my friend." Antos said, accelrating hard as the night came into full fruition, the headlights illuminating the road ahead at full beam, past some wrecks on the side as Antos took the big clock to 70, knowing that they had to hustle for the meet with Evan.

2330 Hours

Camp Tempest, Stratis

The situation had developed since Girna, as the IFV arrived first from out of the dark, black Mediterranean water, and was parked outside Tempest, followed by the arrival of Bronco and Delta roughly two minutes later. After talking over the situation with Huscarl, both Ian and Lieutenant Barnes had a better understanding of the situation, and the camp, illuminated by a few Halogen lamps, that lighted up the Hunter that had been recovered and put back together, or at least the main frame of it, as well as the Hunter HMG that sat under the camouflage netting. The partly destroyed HQ structure still had it's camoflage net over it, as well as the armory that was right by it's side. Huscarl sat on the table, looking over as he saw Bronco rearm. The UGV sat by Huscarl's destroyed billet, and Corporal Davis sat by it's side, with a wire clipper in one hand and a voltmeter in the other, as she worked on the internal electrics. Delta, Bronco, Thunder and a few men from Charlie were around, just wanting to generally hear what Huscarl had to say to the men in base.
"So as you see, things aren't great at the moment. But it's what we got- take what you need, rather than everything you can bear. The way I see it at the moment, we're all tired and out of energy, and the AAF too. Due to comms with Maxwell and LZ Connor, we've been able to establish some line of communication, and I've got some sort of defensive running, so we can stall the AAF before they push us into the water. I give us twelve hours to act, or things go south. Patterson, over here!" Arran said, as he saw SSgt Patterson run over, from fixing the Hunter up.
"How's Charlie Squad doing? You up for some work tonight?" Huscarl simply said, looking over at the Staff Sergeant's filthy face.

"Whatever men got some sleep are good to fight, Captain. Puts us at about six men, in my team. Includes Davis there too."
"Good, good- you can take her, Hotwheels can work on the drone. Alright, we need to get you guys on patrol at 0000, with Charlie and Bronco respectively replacing Alpha and Bravo elements in the field as reconnaissance, till 0300 hours. We need to survive the night before we make any rash moves- and dawn is our best chance. We need to launch an assault on Air Station Mike-26, and the only way we can do that, is by creating a situation where we are capable of striking back and completely blunting the AAF wrist at Mike-26. They'll try and push Maxwell's forces out, and as I say, twelve hours is all they'll last at this rate. Add another two platoons, half that. Bronco, you'll move on foot to keep our vehicle footprints off the map for now, and head down the valley to the junction that splits the road going to us and to Nisi Bay, and lock it down- any AAF forces see Tempest is online, we'll be bombed within the hour, so set up a position and cut off isolated patrols headed for the south in the forests. Report enemy positions, track where they're going- you don't always have to engage, but if they pose a threat to our camp's security, you know what to do. Charlie, you'll deal with the north, and go to LZ Baldy- your lads have almost completely packed the place away so the AAF wouldn't bother with it, but we're in need of food and water, if we're going to have more men held here. I can trust you know exactly what you're doing in regards to that, you know exactly what equipment went where."
"That place was 90 percent packed, you're right. A long way, but we're up to it. Essentials weren't out, we can grab that sure- but it won't be enough."
"Then figure something out, Staff Sergeant. Use your imagination. There's always a way to get shit, even if it ain't so obvious. While you're at it, report enemy positions on the way- anything to Mike-26, so that by 0400 hours, we can start a offensive, and claw something back." Huscarl simply said, aware he was picking a bone with how the Staff Sergeant was a little bit questioning, and just didn't click with Arran.
"Got it. Give us five and we'll be moving." He replied simply, grabbing his MX 3GL, as a few of the men from Charlie followed, as well as a few guards from the military tower post, and some scattered around the camp, as Huscarl looked to Thunder-2.
"What about you lads? You all alright? It's been long for all of us to be fair, and that IFV is going to be a Godsend." Huscarl said, chuckling a little, as Ian nodded.
"Could do with some sleep really. Mitchell here is fucked, we all are to be fair mate. If you don't need us, I'm requesting you leave us for it."
"Go ahead. You know how to point and shoot, but even with our situation, you're the only people we have that I vaguely know will be able to operate a beast like that." Huscarl said, as Ian sleepily nodded.
"Thanks, Sir." He simply said, as he walked out of the temporary barracks, him and the two crew finding a trio of sleeping mats that would temporarily do as somewhere to lay their heads for a few hours, till they were needed.

Huscarl looked over to Corporal Davis, who took her MX SW, and her helmet, as well as her other kit, moving up as Charlie walked out the camp, headed up for some recon work, as he watched Hotwheels get to work on the UGV.
"Alpha, Bravo, standby to be replaced- you're cleared to RTB when ready, Charlie and Bronco squads are replacing you respectively, you can get some sleep- we're planning a major offensive at 0300 hours." Arran said over the radio, looking out on the ridge, the noise of a distant 155mm artillery round signalling bad things to come- the AAF were shelling random areas of forest, to rout out NATO forces that could be hiding in ambush, though it was poorly co-ordinated, and was mainly for fear. Huscarl heard the footsteps on the metal floor, as Athena and Irish walked into the HQ itself.
"Things looking bad?" She said, as Huscarl shook his head, quiet at first.
"We won't last eight hours, let alone 12- things are bad. Get some sleep, Warrant Officer. I've got some caffeine in my system, your call if you want some coffee too. Somehow, the kettle is intact, even though a fucking 60mm round hit this thing direct." Huscarl said, laughing a little, a comic relief perhaps.
"I'll be fine." She said, as she looked back at him.
"Going to tell them in time?" She asked, as he checked his own SCAR-6.5, still in thought.
"In time, Athena. I need you to stick here, defend with Irish, resupply. You might come in handy in the night, if I get contact from Antos to meet him too. I know you're basically an escort service, but it's appreciated. We can get back to work as soon as this shit ends."
"Understood."

(I spent around three hours doing this, as it was the most overdue post ever. It is done now, and wraps everything into context- now, my posts can FINALLY get shorter.)
(It might get edited too.)

"Don't worry sis, I know mama's mad that I had to leave, but people need me," said Evan into the mouth piece of his beaten Nokia 361. He paused momentarily to gleam a wide grin at the AAF soldier. "Well, you tell her she's just going to have to put it in the oven; don't worry, I wont be long." He hung up, chucking the mobile phone lazily onto the vacant passenger seat. "Mothers, eh?" He said to the soldier, following it with another overcompensating grin.

"I bet she's real nice," the soldier said. He was an ugly man, short and stocky with a stupid handlebar moustache. His fatigues were jumbled, and the large mass portruding over his belt told Evan that this guy was another reservist. "She'd have to be, to have a good looking son of a bitch like you."

Evan laughed, masking his deep seated pain with a genuine happiness. "Yes," he chuckled, "she sure was a lovely lady."

"Was?"

SHIT.

Two rounds rocked the technical as Evan discharged his sig saur point blank against the inside of the driver door. The soldier took both rounds to the stomach, and stumbled backwards clutching hopelessly at the bucket of blood pouring from him. His face was a thing of horror and shock, and the freedom fighter enjoyed every bit of it. The soldier's partner, a better turned out fellow, emerged from the guard shack. He took one look at his fallen comrade, eyes wide, and then thumbed to relieve his M16A2 from his shoulder. Evan casually pointed the sig saur above the door, took aim, and fired. The guy's head exploded in the top right, and he spun to the ground with a trail of gore chasing after him.

He slammed the gears into reverse, and spun the technical in a tight 180 degrees turn. Dust flew up from the bald tyres as they struggled to grip, and then he was away in the direction he had come. No one followed; there was no one else present at the check point except the two men he'd killed, which was fortunate. Most of them had a great deal of troops, either stationed at them or nearby. However, with the action over in Stratis, it seemed the AAF had done away with caution in a bid to get as many troops in the battle as it could.

Seagul had said Faros. This meant Evan had driven in the wrong direction and braved death several times for nothing; typical command fuck up. With the check point guards dead, it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed and raised the alarm. Coming back the way he came was not an option. A sign read 'Ifestonia', and so Evan banked hard right, taking the smaller country road by storm. Ifestonia was a small market town of no significance, he doubted the check point there would be manned, and if it was, well, he guessed he'd shoot his way through. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that; his nine lives expired months ago.

Speeding down the road, he spotted two Humvees coming the opposite way. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror; saw the specks of blood dotting his face. No doubt the outside door of the technical bore an even greater testament to his actions. As the lead Humvee waved him down, he pulled to the side, clutching his pistol and expecting death to fall upon him shortly.

Clambering from the Humvee were three AAF professionals. Flak jackets, tactical formation with assault rifles held high. This was about right, Evan figured, he had lived things far too dangerously.

"Out of the car!" Screamed one of the soldiers, thrusting his assault rifle at Evan.

"The check point, the Americans are at the check point you fools!" replied Evan, hoping beyond hope that his bluff would work.

The soldier halted, "they are?"

"Fucking you bet they are, a whole god damned platoon of them. I'm getting the fuck out of here, I suggest you guys do the same!"

They didn't seem to hear him, and already were remounting the Humvee. They accelerated, wheel spinning their way towards an absent enemy. Evan didn't think twice about hesitating, and sped off, pressing the technical to its extremes in his haste. Once they figured he had lied, they'd be back down the road with a whole God damned convoy with assault choppers to match. He didn't want to be around for that, he needed a new ride. As Ifestonia came up in the distance, he made the abrupt decision of bailing from his technical. Reaching underneath the rusted chassis, he fumbled for a clip-release on the fuel tank - found it - and snapped it open. His F2000 fell to the floor, along with three mags, a grenade, his binoculars and a satchel of clothes. He wasn't carrying all of it, but the F2000 was priority. As he clambered back to his feet, a beat up Ford Mondeo was heading towards him from the town. He cocked his weapon, fired in the air three times, and directed the occupants - a young couple - to get the fuck out. They had a screaming baby in the back, and he made sure they got it out of there along with its duffel bag of hygiene supplies.

"Sorry, brother and sister, but Altis needs this car more than you," he apologised as he lowered himself into the driver's seat.

"Fuck you, you FIA scum, you've wrecked this country, you fucking cow boy," came the man's angry retort. "Take the car, I hope it ends up being your fucking casket."

"Obliged friend," laughed Evan, turning the car around and speeding off at a grand 100MPH. This was more like it.

Barnes hears the conversation, and looks at his men who just regrouped. "You heard him boys back to the IFV now! tactical retreat!" He began to move with Gunner and Archer, Kid kneeled and covered them. Gunner then stopped allowing the kid to move back. They continued this until they reach the IFV. "Thanks Ian, alright get some ammo and get in." Barnes orders his men. They resupply and enter the IFV.
"How many you get kid?" Gunner asked.
"Two, only two Gunner" The kid said.
"Dont worry" Gunner replied. "You'll get more eventually." Gunner said.
"IAN! WERE GOOD." Barnes yelled up front to Ian, to let him know they are ready to move.

Irish stood behind Athena as she and Huscarl conversed. Irish listened in but not too intently just enough to hear promise of coffee and ammo, that was all he needed. Hell he could have done without the ammo if it meant a cup of piping hot coffee. He set his rifle down but on the metal floor and muzzle leaning against the table the coffee maker was propped on, he grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it with coffee. He looked around for sugar and was dissapointed to find none but remembered something he had in one of his vest pockets, he pulled the Velcro and reached inside grabbing four packs of sugar. He smiled remembering when he had put these here almost a week ago. He tore the tops with his teeth and emptied them into the coffee, he grabbed his rifle and held the cup in the other hand following Athena outside then downing the coffee as he felt the cold night air grip him. He grabbed an extra clip for his FN SCAR-H and put it in one of his back pouches, he and Athena returned to their barracks and he grabbed his flask and stuffed it in the vest pocket previously occupied by the sugar. He closed the Velcro pouch and patted it, it rested just below his right pectoral. He walked outside and made his way to HQ, he stopped in on Huscarl.

"Sir," He said walking over to the coffee maker, "What exactly is the plan from here?"

"Copy, Alpha to continue scouting and return to base." Mischief said into his microphone and nodded to his squad, quickly issuing orders for them to move in their previous formation. They had wasted a few seconds taking a knee at the treeline for him to contact Tempest, and, truth be told, Mischief did not like the idea of crawling through vegetation with the grey-hued camouflage pattern his team wore. He suddenly regretted not bringing along his Vz. 95 kit. It utilized an old pattern - a close relative to the 1948 vintage ERDL - but its colour scheme was perhaps the best for the terrain he was currently skulking through.

"Take care where you step," Came O'Connor's voice over his headset. "Twigs and branches everywhere. Sanderson nearly gave us all away."

"Acknowledged," Mischief replied with a nod and quickly glanced at the ground below and ahead of him. In the darkness, all he could see were just the vague outlines of twigs and branches resting on the irregular outlines of what he supposed were leaves. The thick canopy of the trees blocked whatever light the moon had to offer, and it was simply impossible for them to move with absolute silence. Every rustle, snap and crunch caused Mischief's heart to speed up ever so slightly and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. It was nerve-wracking, but each time he just swallowed and soldiered on, telling himself that there was only a little bit more to scout.

"Sarge," Recker said quietly from behind and placed a hand on Mischief's shoulder. "Look there," He said and pointed to what appeared to be a strip of cleared land cutting through the forest. "I ain't no armour, but I'd reckon that if the AAF wants to attack us wit' their numbers and heavy weapons, they're gonna have to cut through that path."

"He's right," Jennings agreed with a nod. "I don't think anyone can drive a tank through these trees."

Mischief nodded. That path would be the best route for the AAF to take in the event of an attack, but it would also be the most obvious. If the AAF commanders had any brains at all, they would take any route but that. They might even take the long way around and swing from the east to hit Tempest in the flanks, or they could just cut another path through the forest. The possibilities were endless, but for now, Mischief had done his job. The worrying and brainstorming could be left to someone else. "Alpha squad, confirm you all have eyes on clearing roughly twenty-five meters to our front?"

"Alpha-1 has eyes." O'Connor said.

"So does Alpha-2." Kelly said. "You want us to set up an ambush, staff?"

"If only I had the numbers. For now, mark the positions on your maps and we will return to Tempest." Mischief replied and shook his head. At least he knew that his squad was eager to bring some pain to the AAF, perhaps a little too eager.

"Alpha-1 has position marked."

"Good," Mischief said. "Regroup on me and we will retrace our steps. Alpha-Lead will take point. Alpha-2, check our six. Alpha-1, keep an eye on our flanks."

The trek back to Tempest took what felt like hours, but according to Mischief's watch, had only been half-an-hour. The squad did their best to stick to the route they had taken, taking care to avoid leaving any signs that they were ever there aside from the bodies of the AAF scout patrol. Those men were far enough away from the cleared path that it would simply look as if they had the poor luck to be detected and intercepted by a unit from Tempest. Once they were back at base, however, they felt the instant sense of relief from not needing to check over their shoulders every now and then. "Good work, everyone," Mischief said and nodded to his squad. "I will check in with Huscarl. The rest of you, get some food and rest...O'Connor, I will need to borrow your map."

"Ah, right." The Irishman said and pulled out the map from a pocket in his vest. He handed the crumpled and slightly damp folded sheet of paper to Misfit. "Sorry about the condition, staff sergeant. I didn't have the time to wrap it in plastic."

"It is fine," Mischief said and took the map. "Go get some sleep, sergeant. Make sure everyone gets enough rest."

"Will do, staff sergeant." O'Connor said with a grin. "Best order I've heard all night, if I may say so."

Mischief chuckled and shook his head and waved to his squad with his free hand before turning and walking towards the command tent. Despite the casual and relaxed manner he had chatted with his second-in-command, Mischief knew that the current situation in Tempest was anything but. The AAF could attack at any time and the forces currently stationed at Tempest simply did not have the manpower to repel a determined assault. Mischief even doubted if they had any anti-air capability, and if they did not, it would only be a matter of time before they were hit by airstrikes.

He walked into the tent and nodded to Athena and Irish. "Evening," He greeted them and looked at Huscarl. "Alpha squad reporting in." He said and saluted quickly before walking over to the table and unfolded the map. He splayed it out and pointed at the marking O'Connor had left on the map. "We scouted most of the forest to the north, but did not encounter any AAF forces beyond the scout patrol we eliminated. However, we found a cleared path through the forest. It looked fresh, so it was not on any of our maps, but my sergeant managed to mark out its position. It is the likely route the AAF will take if they decide to attack."

Poppy watched the hatch open and jumped out first, as is tradition for their team. Archer followed him then Gunner and the kid was last. "BRONCO TAKE UP POSITIONS FOR FIRE!" Archer and the kid went to the roof of a building and they both laid down. Archer set up his MK14 and listened to the Kid as he gave directions to Archer as his spotter. Gunner meanwhile set himself up in a building and fired his Machine Gun. Poppy took a observation position and began to fire as well. once they saw they were all dead they began to call out.
"4 OKAY!" started with the kid and progressed to Gunner Archer and then Poppy
"3 okay!"
"2 okay!"
"1 Okay, Regroup at the square on me!" He said over the radio and moved from his position just as Ian and Athena finished their little introductions. He listened to Athena and nodded. "Rog' we'll take rear guard for you guys. If you lose sight of us just keep moving and we'll catch up." He said and followed them as they left the village.

While Barnes was listening to the briefing the others were in the armory getting resupplied, having used a lot of what little ammo they had on them. Kid smirked and began to speak. "Okay okay i got it! so if a girl asks you to fuck her then she has low self esteem and daddy problems and is trying to do things to men who look like her dad to get their approval. But the exception is ....what?" He said being confused. Archer than replied to him.
"When the girl has gone on several dates with you. That means she thinks you are hot then and wants to actually fuck you." He said chuckling a little.
"Okay you guys have way too much time to discuss this shit." Gunner said as he finished getting his gear. Just then Poppy entered and they all looked at him.
"WE got recon duty late tonight, which means therms and NODS. Gear up and were leaving ten minutes ago." He says as they allr ush to grab their gear and are soon off heading for their position.

0230

The four men are in some brush overlooking the valley, Archer keeping an eye out with his Rifle for patrols. "Okay okay i got one!" The kid said as he shifted in his position as the team were enjoying some MRE's "You are on one of those bachelor shows okay? and you can listen to the women but you can't see them. You get to ask one woman two questions. What would you ask? And they have to answer at least one truthfuly." He looked at Gunner, then Poppy. But they were not saying anything. They were still thinking. Archer speaks up while he watches the valley with his rifle.
"Are you Fat, and did you just lie about that question?" They all chuckled a little at archers blunt question.
"Okay that's good, Man i hate fucking peanut butter and crackers. this MRE sucks" Gunner said.
"Mine is alright, i got meatloaf." Kid said as he ate the last of his.
"Fuck you kid!" Gunner said as he turned away. "Okay okay i got another one. You got mexican an asian and a black guy. You have to kill all three of them but you will get arrested. what do you do?" Poppy just laughs at the question and Archer fires off several rounds taking out a patrol.
"I am busy ask the kid" Archer said. Gunner looks at him with a 'well?" look.
The kid sighs, knowing he is gonna make this look racist. "Alright, i'd shoot the mexican and then give the gun to the black guy making it look like he did it, then have the asian guy represent the Black guy in trial but he will fail and then kill him self in dishonor. And the black guy will get the chair." They all look at him thinking he came up with that too quick.
"Bro that's racist" Gunner said.
"No it's not! it's a statistical fact that cops ae most likely to pull over or accuse a black guy more than a white guy, which is weird because it is normally the white guy" They just shake their heads and continue to eat, waiting for their next set of orders to come through.

Huscarl looked over, at Zdislav and Irish, shaking his head.
"Seems good Zdislav, nice work- the ridge to our north is bad enough, it don't help us one bit. Fuck, as I just had to tell Athena too in regards to our situation. We won't last any longer than eight hours, no more at Tempest, or fuck, at the very worst, all of Stratis's remaining NATO forces. So we have a very shallow window of opportunity, you two. Charlie's going north to LZ Baldy to scavenge more supplies, and Bronco's taken over Bravo- they should be en route back." Arran said, looking at the map, the vague marked positions of NATO/AAF visible, as well as a rough hatched set of lines indicating the surroundings.
"Good news is, we're going to have a chance here, make no mistake. They tried to attack Maxwell half an hour ago, and they might want to try again, when the light comes, and I hear a buzz from them that they're getting attacked. So we will literally slip into a weakened garrison at Mike-26 as they carry that out, and get what we need done, with maximum firepower and aggression." Huscarl added, looking over at the tactical map again, the entire HQ setup in the destroyed metal structure now having only a camouflage net for cover from overhead.
"Alpha will roll out with Thunder-2, in the back, and once Bronco finishes their recon patrol, they'll take the Hunter HMG and follow them up, to carry out a direct attack on Mike-26. Bravo will roll out as a divided team using the Hunter and going on foot as the screening force to the south as well as helping co-ordinate fire from a mortar that they'll take with them, along the southern ridgeline to provide an angle of fire, and Charlie can bunker in at the Old Outpost on their patrol, and do the same- creating an entrapment. I'll take Delta's command and Zdislav, you'll be also tagged along back to Delta Squad- we'll hitch a ride on "Black Betty" here to a suitable OP, and then move on foot, to get the technical details done. Athena, will need the GM6 Lynx- I can expect things to be hairy once we arrive. All other units, apart from us, will work security on Mike-26- we need the dome dealt with, and the server, and number crunching station inside the building adjacent to it. So explosives aplenty. Remember how I mentioned it earlier- you how this is going to work, and I don't need to repeat the differences. Until the last second." Huscarl said, aware that only Delta, his CTRG team, was at Tempest, and he was out of earshot from any others- the fact that this was being told something crucial, as Alpha was getting to sleep, along with Thunder.
"As for how we leave, we got a set procedure. We've got wetsuits and breathers in the SDV, and we should tow it, or at least keep it handy- there are dead drops on the northern coast of Altis if I remember, two that are simular to what we saw at the Apex Marshall. In terms of the rest, we'll take Patterson, as well as Davis and that Lieutenant Barnes bloke, as well as Thunder-2, along with a few select others in the RIB- people I want when we reach Altis, people we're going to need handy to at least carve some sort of camp out when we arrive there. Remember, we can't fucking evac this entire place- and remember, we're here for one reason. We'll get Alpha, Bravo and Charlie carrying out an assault on Agia Marina and the adjacent Fort Akionteri at 0730, and the forces left from LZ Connor, and Camp Maxwell, carrying out attacks on Camp Rogain, and Kamino Firing Range respectively. CSAT arrives at 0800, so if we're still here, we'll be murdered. NATO won't, and can't, respond- this isn't an escalation, it only goes bigger. Our goal, is to get whatever Operation Hades has, and retrieve the intel required." Huscarl added, as he looked over, shaking his head, as he adjusted his headset a little in his helmet.
"I understand your concerns, you two. But look around you. It's a fucking scattergraph, no fucking correlation, just an overwhelming enemy force and fucking mounting casualties. And nothing will change that fact, so I say we make it damn important that we get this shit done and get the best we can from it." Huscarl added, looking over at Hotwheels, who slid from underneath.
"Sir, it's good to go." She said, as Huscarl chuckled, walking over.
"Brilliant work. Well then, we've got a Hunter to just finish, then we're green lighted."

---

0200 Hours
Ifeastonia, Altis

The pickup truck packed with the FIA guerillas drove in, a Ford Mondeo visible, as it headed into the other end of the village.
"Thank fuck. Nobody would drive at this time of night, unless they're fucking running from something." Antos said, as Andreas chuckled.
"Like our attack down south-east?" He said, chuckling, as Antos almost agreed, but didn't.
"Possibly, but more likely, anything they could be moving from. Make some room." He said, as he stopped on the road, before the village entrance sign, watching the Mondeo pass by, Antos's window open. Some fog was visible, but it wasn't thick, not in a place like this at least- they were high enough to be mostly above it.
"In the car, my friend- Evan, isn't it? That thing looks like a real piece of shit." Antos added, almost wanting to laugh at the old Mondeo, but he held it. As Evan clambered into the back, with the bike on it's side, Andreas and Damien also sitting in the side, Antos looked back.
"Status quo is bad, my friend. Shit went down in the South-East, if you haven't heard. We need people to help us get some forces to Stratis, and you know Stavraou well enough to at least make it look like we're not begging." Antos added, skidding the car back, headed north of the village.
"Best way might not be back the way you went, in Galati and Abdera. Perhaps north of the Kyra Nera Airfield, we can manage something- but after that, I don't know how exactly we'll be able to make it to Faros." Antos said, looking back at Evan, hoping that he'd be able to at least direct and get them through by the time they were past the AAF heliport, probably at that point having to do something a little mischievous, as they continued on.

---

The night flowed on, the hours disappearing, as little to nothing happened through the night. The lights were dead, and a few blue lightsticks were the only sources of light, as well as the torches Hotwheels and Huscarl used, when they tried to get the Hunter back online. Charlie had advanced through a pair of enemy patrols, and they currently sat at LZ Baldy, gathering the last crates of ration meals and water bottles that they could into their packs, before heading back. The hands on Huscarl's watch ticked away, the light becoming darker and darker, with the clock at 0330 showing things looking just as bad as they did the earlier night before. Thunder, Alpha and Bravo along with Delta were in the base, awakened, as they guarded, Huscarl finished with the Hunter, and the situation beginning to at least take some shape. Things weren't brilliant, but Huscarl had napped off for a couple of hours, and at least gotten some shut eye, a good thing even though he was as awakened as he had to be, aware that the noise of bombing or artillery wouldn't disrupt him unless it landed on the base. It was a horrible thought, but it was a harsh reality that had truisms. But enough thinking of that. The time had come, and by 0430, Huscarl had made the decision to take Mike-26, and with Delta, directly destroy it, Alpha and Bravo units doing the initial work and Charlie holding the north. It would be a relentless and hard battle, any way they did it, but after contacting Connor and Maxwell, the last bastions of NATO forces had agreed to at least offer a significant anvil for the AAF to be buffered against. But airstrikes had been rare, surprisingly enough- mainly due to the fog that had crept in, and had made visibility poor, and then disappeared, only to be followed by a barrage of bombs at LZ Connor in particular. Huscarl had contacted Charlie and told them to hold at the Old Outpost's interior, hidden, before then setting up a comfortable position in which to potentially spring south, or at least delay motorized units. NATO was dropping like flies, but as the sun barely rose, the ground coated in the remnants of fog at sea level and down some valleys, Huscarl knew it was go-time. There was none to waste, and his unit knew that too. They'd have to go all in, or nothing.

At precisely 0410 hours, Alpha was moving under Sergeant O'Connor, and Thunder-2, manning the Marshall, had the engine running. The night recon had taken a toll on some, but on others, they were just as fresh. Bronco had the Hunter HMG, and were going to follow the IFV, as more fire that could be added, going down the road that practically led to the gate of Mike-26. The same with Bravo, and they took off, half of the fireteam already ahead on the ridge whilst five men took the unarmed Hunter, the 82mm Mk6 Mortar packed in the back, with a few LMGs for long-range supression, before moving in more directly. Charlie had setup a perimeter at the two roads that headed south to Mike-26, setting up a combination of APERS and M6 SLAM mines that they had salvaged from the Old Outpost's unpacked explosive reserve, and practically created a killzone, though no vehicles had passed through. And Delta? The UGV Stomper RCWS was only a drone, and only meant for one emergency occupant, but Special Forces were ready to adapt, and Huscarl saw potential. It hadn't let them down, not yet at least. The drone's camera feed was visible through anyone that had tactical glasses, and Huscarl maintained control of the system, both the wheels and the gun, though he could just as easily hand it to Zdislav or Irish when required. For that aspect, he'd keep back, and let Zdislav keep the majority of the situation relating to the team contained, but he'd be with them, both indirectly with the drone's cover fire and himself with his SCAR-6.5. Huscarl sat on the front, already looking at the rugged tablet, looking at Praetorian by his side, and Hotwheels, who sat at the back. They were indeed, leaving the camp completely unguarded, but for an assault like this, it was either go all in, or don't bother at all. It required every man, and while Huscarl was counting on the AAF being prolongued in an assault in the south, they were dealing with a fully-functioning Motorized Platoon, plus a few squads on top of that to deal with.
"This is new, but it hasn't let me down yet. Systems good, we all set?" Huscarl asked, looking around to the team as they bundled onto wherever there was basically a surface space on the Stomper, to sit and hold onto something vague. As everyone was on, the drone rumbled, the engine powering a set of electric motors which turned the wheels, already moving the Stomper at a fast pace- bringing them to 30mph, uphill no less. They were headed right out of the base, and whilst offroad, taking a different angle from Alpha, Bravo, Bronco and Thunder units, going almost between them, as an additional angle of attack. They were fairly high on the ridgeline, but not at the top- and the fact that shrubs, rocky outcrops and trees dotted this side of the landscape was going to work well, for reasonable cover, as well as letting the drone do it's thing.
"All units, this is Huscarl, report in!"
"This is Alpha, we are rolling."
"Charlie reporting, set in position." Patterson said, checking his MX 3GL, aware that surprisingly, things had been quiet- and they could easily get loud at any second.
"This is Bravo, advancing to our position of fire."
"Thunder copies, we're rolling to the fight." Ian said, as the noise of hurrah could be heard in the tank, from Lewis and Mitchell, and it almost ran infectiously.
"Understood all, continue with the plan and carry out the assault."