0400 hrs
[REDACTED], Jormungand Asia CP

“Chief” . That was the nickname given to him by the staff who worked under him. He ran a tight ship and expected nothing but clockwork precision from his subordinates. In exchange for their professional conduct, he treated them as his children and family. There was little he wouldn’t do to help them in or out of the command post. That said, they all knew he was unhappy when he read the situation report.

“The locals sold our operatives out to the PLM?” He asked his intelligence officer, who was the one who delivered the report.

“As far as we can tell, that seems to be the case, Chief.” Johnson replied as he straightened his glasses and stiffened a little as he consolidated whatever rushed reports he had gathered in the short time he had since Hunter’s distress call came in. “According to Hunter, his team is KIA from a PLM ambush on the local military base. There was only a token force on guard duty, which seems suspicious. If I were to guess, the local commander is in their pocket or a sympathizer. The top military brass asked for our help, and the government agreed, but sentiment on the ground might be different, or we have different factions in their military.”
Chief Harkins sighed. “Do we have any other forces in the area?”

“Alpha Squad was supposed to be there to run sabotage and counter-intelligence operations as assistance to government forces, so no. We have a few other assets on loan to their military but not an actual force.”

The chief nodded and headed out his office. The rest of the command post was a wall of holoscreens and agents coordinating different operations across the region. He walked up to the Myanmar section. “Contact all field operatives in Myanmar near Hunter’s position. See if any of them are able to extra-“

“Emperor, come in! This is Hunter, situation critical.” A feed came in from Hunter’s ARES drone. There was a few curses and hands placed over mouths.

The chief cleared his throat. “As I was saying, contact all field operatives in Myanmar and re-task them. I want air shuttles and support personnel ready to deploy.”

---

Ephraim glanced at the field pack that had belonged to his second-in-command, Chris. The man had been like a brother to him, and one of the best damn medics he had seen. Professional to a fault. Friendly with civilians. Nothing quite won hearts over as effectively helping to tend to their sick and injured. That was what got that idiot killed in the first place. Tending to a wounded local in the middle of a mortar barrage, Ephraim had told that bastard not to bother about the sodding assholes who sold them out to the PLM, but the man “took an oath”.

He sighed and shook the thought from his mind. He couldn’t quite complain. Healing and treating the sick children and civilians caught in the crossfire won the villagers over to his team in short time. If only the damned fool hadn’t given the last of his medicine to a kid who took a shrapnel piece to the leg. A medic killed by a septic wound. The Big Guy Upstairs sure had a sense of humour. Ephraim just couldn’t quite appreciate the irony at the moment.

“Fuck.” He cursed, as the image on his control tablet showed no sign of changing. The PLM fuckers had rounded up the children and were yelling at the parents, holding guns to the heads of boys and girls too young to even know how to read. No doubt they were looking for him. They had to know Ephraim was nearby. They had sent patrols out to the village when they heard a Jormungand agent survived the ambush. It was why Ephraim declined taking refuge in a widow’s home in the first place. Forget the fact that her family would have been executed alongside him, it was pure stupidity to hole up there.

Still, the locals pointed out a nearby bunker building during World War 2. Someone would smuggle food and water up to him every now and then, with reports on PLM movement in the area, usually one of the shepherd boys. Grazing their flock in the nearby field was the perfect cover story. Unfortunately, the PLM weren’t stupid. Their commanders were usually former-militia members. They knew enough to know where to look. Once their patrols and search parties started disappearing, they more or less knew where he was and who was helping him. So now they were out for revenge. Attacking a fortified position without proper equipment was costly, so they decided to force his hand – he could willingly walk out of his hideout and let them shoot him, or watch them butcher the village children. After that, the locals wouldn’t help him and it would be a matter of time.

They started yelling on their megaphones. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he got the gist of it. If he didn’t show by noon, the children would die. Ephraim took a deep breath as he conveyed the information back to Emperor – the Asian CP’s callsign, and awaited their response. His own mind was examining the options.

He knew the terrain well enough to sneak into the village, but only if he did it soon. The PLM started broadcasting because their men were already in position. Their defenses would only be more entrenched the longer he waited. On the other hand, he would have more support, hopefully, the longer he waited.

PRIORITY MESSAGE FROM EMPEROR

The status report from his control tablet drew his attention, and he managed a wry smile at the information.

REINFORCEMENTS INBOUND. CLEAR TO ENGAGE HOSTILES. CIVILIAN EVACUATION MOBILISED.

REROUTING AND SYNCHRONISING OPERATIVE COMMUNICATIONS…

There was a telltale buzz of static as Emperor tuned his frequency remotely to that of the other field operatives being sent his way.
“This is Hunter from Intelligence Squad Alpha. I guess you’re my cavalry, but we can save the introductions for later. We have PLM holding a village hostage if I don’t show by noon. That means we have less than eight hours to clear these guys out before they wipe the village off the map. I’m survey the area but I need you guys here ASAP.”

Emily scanned the horizon again through the scope of her rifle. The landscape in front of her doubtless would have been a delightful scene in different circumstances - all green trees and dense foliage, stretching out as far as the eye could see. That would be the case, if some arsehole down there wasn't trying to kill her.

She was situated on a hillside, wedged between a few rocks and absolutely covered in a pile of leaves, moss, ferns, and other detritus she'd quickly thrown over her to disguise her position. She was getting pretty sick of this jungle fighting bullshit, it had to be said, but at least the terrain made camouflage easier than it would be in a city.

'Solo recon and disruption of enemy forces'. That was her stated mission here, basically a nice, official-sounding term for 'Go fuck around in the jungle for a while, tell us what you see, and if you meet any bad guys, kill them.' It'd been going real great, too, until the PLM had assigned some counter-sniper to 'go hunt the British bitch'.

In hind sight, perhaps spraypainting a Union Jack on the wall behind her last target had been a little much. God save the Queen.

A great crack split the silence, causing a whole host of jungle birds to fly up into the air. Reflexively, Emily swung the rifle around, targeted the source, and fired.

A moment later, a PLM fighter clutching a sniper rifle slumped out of his hiding spot with a hole in his forehead, and Emily burst out of her camouflage in triumph. "Fucking dumbass!" she shouted down the hill at the dead body. "You took a shot at a fucking pillow propped up in a tent! S'the oldest trick in the fucking manual!" She lowered her voice and glanced down at her makeshift firing position. "Well, that was fun."

She sat down again in the pile of leaves, reaching for her canteen and taking a long swig of water. She tapped her foot slightly and glanced around, making a slight 'put-put-put' sound with her mouth. Bored again.

Just then, her earpiece buzzed and an unfamiliar voice broke through - that wasn't a surprise, though. The CP was like a game of musical chairs, it seemed - she had a new handler every damn day. "Long Nine? Do you come in, Long Nine?"

She screwed the cap back onto her canteen and brushed some dirt off her leg. "Yeah, I hear you, Emperor. Killed the guy who was trying to shoot me, in case you were curious."

"Glad to hear it, Long Nine, but there's no time for celebration." As if there ever was. "We've got a new priority mission for you. PLM forces massacred one of our teams in a village near you, the sole survivor is holed up in a WW2 era bunker. You and the other operatives we're sending in have eight hours to evacuate him and eliminate the hostiles before civilians start being executed. Do you copy?"

Emily rolled out the crack in her neck and rose to her knees, quickly folding all her gear into her backpack. "Solid copy, Emperor. I'll head over. Can I get the co-ordinates and the briefing and crap sent to my tablet?"

"You certainly may. We can have air transport pick you up -"

"Too much noise. I'll make my own way." Her gear secured on her back, Emily set off down the hill in the direction of the abandoned house she'd been using as a camp, before the whole business with the counter-sniper had started and she'd had to flee into the forest and cover herself in mud and leaves. The family who'd lived in the house before being uprooted (or more likely killed, really) by the chaos in the region obviously hadn't had much, but they did have a fairly serviceable truck parked in the mud. Emily imagined it had more than enough miles left in it to get her where she was going.

"Have it your way, Long Nine. Happy hunting."

"Always." A few minutes of walking brought Emily to the truck. She tossed her gear into the passenger seat, sat down behind the wheel, adjusted her mirrors and off she went, driving on a dirt road through a hellhole on her way to go kill a bunch of people. At least it was warmer than the places the S.A.S had sent her.

As she drove, she switched her frequency to the channel the field-operatives would be using to co-operate, managing to catch another briefing on the situation from Hunter, the recon operative currently trapped in a WW2-era coffin. "Hello Hunter, this is Long Nine, I'm inbound on your position. I'll be providing overwatch for this little operation - if you know of any tall buildings or watchposts or really anything with a commanding view of the village, I'd love to hear about it, so I can, you know. Climb on top of it and start shooting people."

The road was bumpy and rough, Nikodem sat quietly in the front seat of the truck he was in, trying to recall how he got himself into this situation.

He had been going about his usual business of what little he could do at the current moment making him go a bit stir crazy. The other guys he was with were goofing off, not taking anything really seriously. But then again, he understood as there was not much to take seriously right now. It’s not like they were in the middle of something major or anything, just a bunch of jobs to keep them busy for the time being until an opportunity arrived to be useful.

Grabbing a radio, he left them going off to do his own thing. Which was going to find a quiet place to read, though it was not nearly as exciting as talking about..whatever they were talking about, it kept Nikodem content. Gaze drifting lazily, he made his way deeper into the brush.

They were sent to a small camp to keep an eye on everything. There was a few small villages that had some riots happening all around, so they were sent in to keep everything under control. Although he didn’t quite understand why he was sent with them, his skill set could surely be used elsewhere. But of course, asking questions with no real answers was going to get him nowhere very fast. Keeping his mouth shut and just going along with whatever was happening at the time was the best way to keep from getting in trouble.

Nikodem had finally found a spot. It was a small clearing next to a glimmering stream. The trees let in sunlight from above to illuminate the words that lay on the page, just itching to come to life as his eyes set upon them. It was tranquil, the silence surrounded him and he sat down under a large tree. He was content, if not only for a moment.

Though he knew he should have not expected it to last too long, as it never usually does. He sighed softly, ‘a boy can dream’, he thought. From where he just left, he heard some loud bangs and noises. Springing to his feet on instinct, Nikodem made a mad dash back to the small camps they were just at. What greeted him was something he was not expecting at all.

Two pre-teen rascals armed with knives and a gun plus spray paint were sitting in the middle of the camp, tied up with rope. Nikodem couldn’t help but to laugh at their pouting, dirty faces.

“Did you boys try to play army?” He spoke to them in a somewhat condescending voice still dumbstruck at their predicament.

The smaller boy, who had jet black hair and eyes to match, spat at Nikodem. “We don’t need you guys here to be our babysitters! We can handle this on our own! Leave us alone!”

Nikodem was unsure of what to make of this. They had a point, but they simply could not leave until the big guys told them to pack up. “Ah..Well.. We can’t really do that.” He was blunt. This caused the taller boy to wiggle in his confines.

“You have to leave!” He shouted and sent Nikodem a glare. The other men gathered at the spectacle, most people understand that Nikodem is as stubborn and dense as a rock when it comes to rules; so seeing someone argue with him was really a sight to behold.

Nikodem was taken aback at the boy’s statement. “Well I mean..Child..” His words died away as he saw people to watch, murmuring amongst themselves with smirks on their faces. He was becoming uncomfortable with their stares. “Anywho, we must get you back home now..” Approaching the pair, the short one spat at Nikodem hitting him straight in the face with his saliva.

The crowd got louder, but Nikodem remained calm simply wiping off his cheek and walked away from the boys, whispering to an officer as he passed, “Do not let them go. We shall return them home.”

Just as fast as the action came, it subsided. But once more, as if those children set off a domino effect, his radio goes off. An unfamiliar voice spoke on the line. “Hello, is this Rzeka?” The man knew his callsign, so he must be some sort of person of importance.

“Depends on who is asking..” He picked his words carefully. You never know with these types of people.

“That is of no importance right now. What is important that you get to the man held up in the WWII bunker that is near your camp. Only you are to go. Is that understood?” The unknown man’s voice was stern and saying no was obviously not an option.

“Sure…” Nikodem’s voice was steady with his response. Taking orders ran through his veins, it was programmed into him from day one of his start in the navy. He didn’t necessarily think about any consequences that may ensue from his impulsive reaction but for the moment they were nowhere to be found in his mind. It was only one thing, to do as he was told.

“Good. You will contact callsign Hunter. There is a truck that will drop you near the place he is located and you will do as instructed. Is that clear?” His words had that same tightness to them that made Nikodem’s mouth fly open before he could even think.

“Yes sir.” With that the transmission ended leaving Nikodem to his thoughts. There were not many, and he simply began grabbing his personal supplies to put into his bag. It was nothing fancy or worth note, just common things that most should carry. He put his weapons in their holsters and left to find the truck.

That is how Nikodem was sitting in the passenger's seat of military grade vehicle getting minor motion dizziness. Even if he was good at sea, the bumpy roads of the land made him sick. Nikodem had always found this ironic, some sort of sick satire of sorts as it usually is the other way around. His natural beck and call to authorities often lead him to some pretty wacky or uncomfortable situations, so something like this was nothing new. Even though he worked mostly on a submarine, he did have an amazing aptitude for search and rescue plus tracking making him useful in situations such as this.

Soon, he tuned in and got the message from the man known as Hunter. He tried to pick his words cautiously to address him.

“Ah, This is Rzeka. I am joining this mission. My skills are mostly navigation and tracking. But for something like this, I suppose negotiation would come in handy also which I have experience in. I will soon reach the bunker and be of assistance in anyway you see me fit.”

Though, Nikodem couldn’t help but to wonder about the two boys who came to their camp. Were they from this village Hunter spoke of? If that is the case, his britalian may have caused this whole ordeal and that was why they were so desperate to get them away. He couldn’t be too sure as it all was just speculation. Even so, Nikodem just worried about how dire the situation may be. Another thought that crossed his mind was how they may have escaped if that was the case.. Though these are questions he could not linger on, as he had to look forward to the mission ahead.

Blurry was her vision as she peered around. Smoke and the orange glow of a blazing flame lit up the dark night only a few yards away met Sylvie's gaze. She lay prone, face to the dirt as she looked over her shoulder towards the flaming cargo truck. Its top was shredded which must have been how she was expelled after it was blasted with two rocket-propelled grenades. One minute, the convoy was right as rain, the next their right flank was covered in PLM guerrillas. Sylvie could hear those distant and echoing sounds of a firefight through her ringing ears. She was a logistician's assistant who carried nothing more than an old COS pistol she had found while doing a weapons inventory for a barracks aboard the Valhalla, but there was no chance she wasn't going to try and help.

Sylvie started to push up with her hands in attempts to drag herself to her feet. It wasn't until then she realized she was pinned. From her leg to her shoulder, some bumper piece to a Jormungand transport had Sylvie stuck in the dirt. Calmly, her eyes flicked back and forth searching and hoping for anything to assist her, but her eyes were met with nothing but grim taunts of her enemies. Her eyes widened as she watched nearby comrades executed at point blank. In a panicked bout, Sylvie kicked her legs starting to squirm of of the back of her pinned spot. There was the depression of a tire tread in the mud that just allowed her to escape her position.

Due to her position just off of the road, Sylvie hadn't been spotted yet. That didn't stop her from firing off rounds at the few nearby enemies roaming the busted up convoy for downed Jormungand operatives. The panging of her silenced gunshots against the truck she once sat in sent the PLM operatives into cover. She, herself tried to run towards the truck in order to close the distance only to meet the dirt once more. She took only one step before her right leg crippled below her. A few bullets whizzed by above her head as Sylvie cursed under her breath. There was a large gash from the side of her shin all the way up to her knee. She needed to get out of there.

Ripping her hands forward through the dirt, Sylvie managed to forced herself into a limping run towards the nearby treeline away from the road. The crackling shots of gunfire sounded off behind her, but Sylvie did not look back. Staying and fighting would have been suicide, though that wouldn’t stop her from returning later. She needed at least something to work with in wherever the hell she was.

---

Sylvie sat herself atop a rock, struggling to open her RCIR, her right leg propped up against another large rock. After finally shredding the plastic wrap and breaking open her meal, she lit up the fuel tablet, picking up a rather battered looking radio headset in her hand. Definitely an older model than the ones the soldiers got, but it would work… That is if it wasn’t completely shot during the crash. It likely belonged to one of the convoy’s commanders. Sylvie gave a sigh, looking to the sky. She was MIA, and it was a long shot to even think that she would ever make it out of this jungle. Either way, she was going to try. Sylvie gave a short shrug as she held in the headset’s button to power it on.

“Three days since Sierra Brigade fell… Solo unit Fleur still lost in this goddamned jungle. If anyone is out there, I have hiked a few miles south of the site of the attack.” Her voice, despite all her time spent on international waters still has a very soft French accent, but there was a heavy sound in her voice. Sylvie allowed herself to listen to the static, giving herself false hope that someone would respond, before sighing, and uncovering one of her ears so she could hear the sounds of the surrounding jungle.

Minutes passed as Sylvie occupied herself by looking over what little bits of equipment she managed to grab when she circled back to the captured convoy’s remains. She told the infantry that she still had it. Her training wasn’t for nothing, but of course, that didn’t stop all of the burly infantry from dubbing her la Fleur. It wasn’t likely any of that mattered any more unless she could escape this damned jungle, though. Sylvie managed to nab one of the fireteam infantry’s entire pack that hadn’t been rummaged through yet along with a gun she knew well from her constant inventory counts: The SC-A13 Less-Lethal Riot Scattergun. As she was going over the gun, figuring out all its workings, something else caught her attention.

“Unidentified Sierra Soldier. This is the Emperor and we can’t hear you, but we need all available units in the surrounding area. South of the Sierra Brigade’s last known location. It’s no more than a few hours hike. Alpha Squad’s last remaining operative is holed up in a bunker and it’s not likely that he has much more time. We can send Evac there once you secure the Alpha Squad member, Hunter.”

Sylvie’s eyes lit up, and it wasn’t more than a mere few seconds before she started packing all her equipment once more. With scattergun in hand, she readjusted her headset. She knew there was no reason to respond. They couldn’t pick up her radio signal, but they got her the message and that is all that mattered. A few minutes passed and those two rocks were left without a trace.

The hike through the jungle was short by military terms, but with a crippled and recently bloodied leg, it was nothing short of a journey over a mountain of broken glass that happened to be on fire. Her weapon got in the way, her leg made getting over hills a half hour’s work, and her gear pack was basically in tatters from the confrontation. Hours that felt like days dragged on until she finally reached the edge of the brush and scrub. Hunter’s village couldn’t have been far now, but she was in open enemy territory and any nearby encampments and villages would no doubt have PLM forces somewhere nearby, and with the jungle thinning, it was very likely that some sort of encampment around.

And as if cursed by some otherworldly force, there was of course a fortified village in between her and Hunter’s location. She could either head back into the jungle or sneak by the camp, and considering she wanted to make it to the bunker this year, Sylvie directed herself towards the outskirts of the village. COS, Don’t fail me now. As Sylvie moved up to the outskirts of the village, she found her Spec Ops recon training kicking in. Every chance she got, Sylvie would peer throughout the city, though the sights she was met with were rather grim. Villagers were rounded up into the center of the village and armed guards were posted to watch them. What could the PLM have possibly wanted with this village?

She had to resist the urge to launch one of those gas grenades into the group of soldiers. Sylvie had no qualms with causing the enemy pain, but civilians deserved no such fate. Quickening her movements she headed off towards the opposite side of the city, darting from building to building with her scattergun at the ready. All was rather quiet until she reached the opposite end of the city. Guards on either side of the road with no reasonable way by stood in the way of the opposite side of the road.

“Allons-y…” Sylvie muttered to herself, before bringing her finger over the underbarrel grenade launcher of her weapon. Firing dead center in between the two guards, the tear gas grenade that she had loaded would serve as a distraction and a deterrent for any other soldiers that came upon the little battle. She then moved her finger back to the regular scattergun trigger, coming out from her cover as she did so. One shot at such a close range was all it took to knock the closer soldier on his back, and with that, Sylvie wasted no time in gunning it as fast as a cripple could away from the town, laying suppressing fire in her wake.

Much to her luck, the village’s defenders seemed to stop giving chase once she was out of sight from the village, and it wasn’t long after that when her radio headset seemed to pick up another signal. The operative she was searching for, Hunter, along with two other field operatives that seemed to have the same task as her piped up. This brought a smile to her face as this was the first chance she had at two way contact since the fall of Sierra Brigade. There is a certain excitement in her voice as she pipes up.

“Bonjour mes amies! This is an MIA operative from nearby, Fleur, here to assist. I am nearing our colleague Hunter’s location and shall arrive shortly. I shall be providing up-close support. Call on me as you see fit. Good luck to you all.”

Alastar rested stark still on the hillside, observing the movement of several armed individuals in the valley below. Carefully, he shifts his Mk103 into position, adjusting the 8 power scope a bit to clear up a bit of blur. He blinks a bit, clearing his own vision. He had been staring for so long that his own vision had begun to blur a bit. The uplink between his helmet and his scope made ranged fighting a great deal easier than trying to peer through the scope of his rifle. He toggles the infrared range finder on his rifle three times, getting a solid range on his targets. About three hundred and fifty meters. Not the worst....

Shifting ever so slightly, he zeroes his optic to the range, the range markings customized to his rifle and the massive round it fired. With deliberate motion, he hooks his gauntleted finger around to the trigger. Three targets, one on patrol. Intel suggested two full squads worth inside. No problem. What worried him was the reports of an armed transport moving to and from the area. He shrugs a bit and calmly pulls back on the trigger. The relative calm of the jungle is split by the thunderous roar of fifty caliber short rounds. Three booms bark out, and three men fell, with sizable amounts of mass removed from their torsos.

In a moment, he was sliding down the hillside feet first, kicking up a plume of dust behind him. As he approached, he could hear the sound of loud and angry Burmese echoing from the entrance of the building he was in the process of assaulting. Intel said that there was a series of underground tunnels underneath. Being a tunnel rat wasn't one of Alastars most favorite things, but there were worse things. As he lands in the valley floor, he begins his approach of the building. Within ten meters, he's met with a burst of gunfire. He feels a slight thud as a round catches him in the side. He shakes his head and raises his rifle, gladly returning fire. Two rounds blast fist sized chunks of masonry out of the wall aside the door, and a body falls limp to the ground, missing its left arm and part of its side. He turns his attention to the right side window. Its occupant was hastily retreating into the tunnels inside. With a sigh, he slings his rifle and pulls his sidearm from its holster.

After ducking into the doorway and taking a quick look around, he locates the tunnel entrance. Thankfully, it was larger than usual, due to needing to be able to transport cargo in and out. Carefully, he descends into the tunnels, poorly lit with shoplights strung up on the walls every few feet. Deeper in the tunnels, he could hear more yelling, and the clattering of guns being readied. He was feeling pretty confident, all things considered. That quickly changed when the heavy thudding sound of a DShK machine gun firing filled the tunnel as he rounded a corner. One of the heavy rounds blasted away part of the tunnel wall next to his head, filling his vision with stone shrapnel. He ducks back around the corner and curses to himself. He glances down the way he came, taking a mental measurement of the distance. It was close, but it was about the same length. He didn't see much when he rounded the corner, but he got a pretty good idea of how far down the machine gun was.

He measures out the distance as he walks, humming a tune to himself as he goes. He could hear nervous talking echoing down the tunnel as he went. The walls between the passageways were not very thick. Most of them were thin enough to be supported by wood panels and supports. He picks a spot that looked far down enough and sets to work. With a certain amount of casualness, he set up a breaching charge, securing it to the wall and stepping back a few feet. He checked his mission timer and nods to himself before triggering the charge. The blast, contained by a layer of water, pushes the wall inwards explosively, punching a good sized hole in the wall. Without hesitation, he steps through that hole, a few paces behind the machine gun nest. The concussive force had disorientated the fighters, several of them bleeding from their eardrums. He lifts his sidearm, a hefty revolver, and plugs a round into the machine gunner, who was trying to get to his feet and wheel the machine gun around. He falls back over the ramshackle barricade with a thud. Alastar grunts a bit and delivers a swift kick to the ribs of another man trying to get up, putting him out for good.

A few minutes later, he located the cache he was sent to destroy, and left it with three pounds of demo charges as a parting gift. As he was on his way out, he triggered the detonator, touching off the charges and blasting the tunnel with it. The ground behind him collapses inwards, taking the house with it, sending a massive column of dust and smoke spiraling into the sky. Not a minute afterwords, his radio crackles a bit, a males voice cutting into the music playing in his helmet. He sighs and answers the call. Some other agent needs his ass saved. Lovely.

The sound of a diesel engine rumbled in the distance. He had caught a break, since this bunker he was being directed to was a good several miles away. He lowers himself into a ditch and waited. Before long, the transport was moving down the road near his position. He coils his legs under him and pushes off, bounding out of the ditch and leaping into the air, latching onto the side of the cab of the truck. He shoves his revolver into the open window, forcing it against the temple of the driver. The breaks of the truck squeal as it slows suddenly. He hastily moves the driver from the seat and wheels the truck around, making his way down in the direction of the bunker. He had a bit of a drive, and cab was a tight fit with his armor on. He had to fix that soon...

He keys his radio after stripping himself of his armor, broadcasting on the encrypted global channel "To all units responding, this is call-sign Papa Thunder reporting. En route to rendezvous with call-sign Hunter. ETA is... However long it takes, I suppose. Approaching from the south. Papa Thunder, out."

Ephraim sighed as he briefly glanced over the reports of all the operatives being sent to reinforce him. Some he knew by reputation, others he'd never heard of except in broad reports of other branches' missions. None of them were intelligence personnel, and it seemed a few of them would be lacking equipment.

Checking in on the drone feed, he furrowed his brow and mused over his options. The machine gun nests were getting their sandbags placed down. A few riflemen were moving into the huts for cover. The insurgents knew enough to establish overlapping fields of fire and a clear line of sight to all approaches to the village. It certainly didn't help that most of the area around the village was farmland. Flat expanse of crops where it would be easy to spot any attacking force if the defenders paid attention.

"I'm synchronizing my drone's surveillance feed to your visors." Ephraim began, sending the relevant information to the squad. "Long Nine, you'll want to set up on the hill to the west, plenty of foliage and high ground there. I'll meet be approaching from that direction as well."

"Rzeka, Fleur, you'll be arriving from the north. There's plenty of cover from the crops and buildings. Your priority is to secure the hostages in the red barn. Do not be spotted and stay silent. We'll engage once the hostages are secure. Papa Thunder, if your armor is still serviceable, you're going to be drawing their attention once we go loud."

---

The plan was solid. At least, he hoped so. They only had so much time before more PLM reinforcements arrived to tighten the noose. Jormungand was a relatively new organization, and its opponents were eager to see it fail. It drew a much larger target on the backs of the operatives than usual.

He was crouched behind a tree, waiting for the rest of the team to get in position. On the edge of the forest, there wasn't much further Ephraim could move down the hill before he was spotted by the PLM forces in the village. ARES was flying overhead, continually monitoring enemy positions and chatter, and he wished he had swapped out its rifle armament for a grenade launcher instead. A few rounds into the machine gun nests and their job would be a lot easier.

Someone else would have to pick up the slack. Ephraim checked his watch. 8 AM. There wasn't much time left. He had decided against a dawn attack since the PLM would expect it, and attacking from the west would put the sun in face and light him up that much clearer for the insurgents. Now that the light was brighter and the sun a little higher, the advantage was nulled. The PLM had selected a noon deadline exactly because they knew where he'd be coming from and didn't want to risk a dusk time attack when the reverse would be true for them.

"Confirm your positions and be ready to move. We've only got 4 hours left before the deadline." He whispered into his comms. "We'll engage once the first shot is fired. Fleur and Rzeka, that means you can feel free to go loud if you need to. Long Nine, it's up to you otherwise."

As more voices entered the chatter over the comm lines, Emily leaned out the window to the west, just making out the tall silhouette in the darkness. "Confirmed, Hunter, I see the hill. I'll let you know when I'm in position; I highly recommend nobody do anything stupid until I get up there." There was no road leading up the hill, so Emily left the truck and began trekking through the jungle on foot, her aptly named 'Oh-Shit' pistol drawn.

The sniper managed to reach the hilltop without incident, finding a delightful clearing at the top with a simply decadent view of the town below. As she pulled the tripod from her gear and began to set up the Mr. 187 to fire, she brought a finger up to her earpiece. "Alright, Long Nine is in position. Hunter, you know how to treat a lady - I've got some pretty good angles, should be able to keep a good portion of the bad guys pinned. Unless, y'know, they like running around under sniper fire like a bunch of bloody idiots, which is even better."

With the rifle ready to fire, Emily leaned back and took a sip from her canteen, idly looking into the scope and moving it around to get a view of the village. It was still a bit dark, but she was easily able to make out the shapes of PLM fighters standing guard, chatting, or just moseying around, looking as bored as she felt. Her sights fixed on one, a huge guy with a bandana over his face, rigidly standing a post and watching the dark woods in front of him.

"Bang," she said, finger miming pulling the trigger, and sighed.

Some time passed - seemed Hunter wanted to wait until the sun was high in the sky. Whatever - Emily wouldn't have become one of the best snipers in the SAS if she hadn't grown accustomed to all-consuming tedium and endless waiting. One snooze-fest later, Emily was roused from her stupor by Hunter's voice crackling in her ear, laying out the engagement plan. Silently, Emily raised her hand in an open-close 'talk talk talk' gesture, her eyes rolling back in her head. When he was done, she rolled the kinks out of her shoulder and bent down to sight a target.

Her gaze settled on a tall PLM fighter who was barking orders at some others near the machine gun nests - regrettably, she couldn't see the guys manning the big guns from her position, but she could spook them. "Roger that. I have a mark, get ready to go loud. Standby for kickoff."

Her finger squeezed the trigger and a great crack split the air, sending all the birds scattering up to the air. The man dropped to the ground as blood spattered the wall behind him.

The reaction was instantaneous. PLM fighters were leaping behind cover, shouting, grabbing weapons. One dumbass with an AK-47 had chosen to react to this turn of events by wildly spraying fire into the sky in Emily's general direction. Another crack convinced him to knock it off, just as it convinced half of his brains out of his body.

Emily swept the scope over the scene below, a whole squad of big, tough men cowering behind walls or crates or anything they could find. "Come on, come on..." she breathed, "Somebody stand up."