19:01,
October 20th,
U.S.S. Washington,
Unknown Location in the Pacific.

The helo touched down on deck and Sgt. Adam Delgado hopped out. He heard the whine of the engine behind him as the rotor slowed, and gave a quick wave to the pilot as he walked across the deck. A crewman walked up to meet him.

"Sergeant? Follow me to the briefing room. The others, as well as the reps from Command, are en route"

They walked in silence all the way up to the designated room.

"Take a seat. Shouldn't take long"

19:05,
October 20th,
U.S.S. Washington,
Unknown Location in the Pacific.

Gwen was already on the ship. She had confused a time in the information she received about being accepted and arrived around 2 hours ago. Nonetheless, she walked into the designated room, shown to her earlier by a crew member on deck, and sat down. Gwen looked rather formal for this event, wearing a dress and a jacket to match... although her grenade launcher was slung over her back. She noticed another man in the room, and tried making conversation with him.

"... I'm guessing you were accepted too?"

Gwen didn't want to sound rude, but the sound of silence was a bit unsettling to her.

The MH-60 touched down on the deck of the USS George Washington, a Nimitz class aircraft carrier. There were several people who flew in on the Sikorsky built helicopter, but none of them spoke to one another. The mood aboard the helicopter may have been deemed solemn, but as most warriors know, it is too loud to hear anyone on an H-60 model helicopter anyway.

Former Sergeant First Class Tyus Morse, stepped off the Knighthawk helicopter and followed the others into the small hatchway creating a door in the Island superstructure on the starboard side of the ship. He followed the others as he headed down to what appeared to be a briefing room. He then took a seat at the rear of the room and sat silently waiting to see what happened next.

As Operator Morse walked along his route, on his heels was a Polish Airborne soldier known as Sierżant Romek Czerepusko. The younger Pole was several inches shorter than the American Delta Operator. He had never been aboard a US Aircraft Carrier, let alone any naval warship of any nation and was amazed at the enormity of what could best be described as a floating city.

When they arrived in the briefing room, Ron, as his friends called him, took a seat on the opposite side of the room as the African American took and three rows up from the back. He also remained silent in his seat waiting to see what happened next. There were only four people in the room now, with others following him from the newly arrived Helicopter.

Chief Warrant Officer Merlin Bastion looked operator-esque, not formal, not even like he was trying to make an effort, his long, black curly hair poking a little out from the back of his beanie, his blackbeard at full drive, to Hell's Angels extent with a simple ponytail knotted in at the chin, wearing a blue thermal shirt and a pair of MTP-fatigued trousers. And being on the carrier already, sent ahead of the Captain, he had acclimatised to the excess that was an American aircraft carrier, the USS Washington no less. Everyone kept ranting an raving, and he'd been on one before, it was too fucking much. He would rather prefer a smaller ship, a smaller place, more basic. That way, you could actually smuggle a box with a couple of bottles of cider in, the decent tipple. This place was too locked up, in it's own ass, he thought to himself.

He headed down into the bowels of the ship, past the armouries he'd been sitting in for the last three hours, adjusting his weaponry, past the enormous aircraft storage and barrack areas, and past at least a few dozen people already, all shaven, all formal. Then there was him. He knew he didn't fit the usual remit of a soldier, but nobody would dare question him when details were presented, not when the record and track details of who Chief Warrant Officer Merlin "Wizard" Bastion was shown. He headed through another corridor, close to the briefing room, the noise of footsteps behind.

Walking past, Ed bumped into the large Warrant Officer, Merlin looking down from his stout frame, through the narrow corridor. Ed was not as tall as Merlin, and wearing a Auscam shirt and trousers, a boonie hat slung around in his hand, he seemed rather different. Slim, and young, he was newer to this, clearly.
"Shit, you're Merlin Bastion, right?" Ed asked, as Merlin chuckled in a brushing-off tone, Ed sounding confident and keen, already aware of who Merlin precisely was.
"Nah, we get confused a lot. Sorry mate." Merlin said, as he was about to walk away, not really rating the Kiwi he had just spoken to, as Ed ran ahead.
"No, it's definitely you! I've been told you're 2IC of the team, we're meeting in five minutes! Couldn't mistake you, could I?" Ed was keen, too much so, filled with the energy that came with being put into Echo, with the big leagues. The stories he had heard about Merlin were enough to really keep him interested, though Merlin seemed to not care.
"Mate, I've heard the stories, you're a fucking legend in the SOF circles, and-"
"Close to ventilating your eye socket. Calm your shit." Merlin sighed to the Kiwi's keenness, as he turned back to the New Zealander.

"We are meeting in five. You seem like you're gonna be fresh meat, so don't get fucking fried on the fire too fast. What's your name, lad?" Merlin asked, as Ed stopped, taking in the stature of Merlin. They weren't joking, the man stood at least six inches taller, but it was the sheer frame on him, he looked like he could pick up a Minimi and handle it like a rifle, probably terrifying it enough first.
"Cpl Edward Thatcher....they call me Wraith in my old team." He keenly said, still a little enthusiastic at it all.
"Well, you appear to be anything but fucking one, because it's difficult to bump into someone like me." Merlin chuckled slightly and yet sounded terrifying in his tone of voice, his normal sound carrying through the corridor with ease. The Devonian was barely even caring at this point, knowing he was scaring the everloving shit from the younger soldier, sighing, his West Country drawl coming through clean as day. If this was a different era, he'd be a pirate, no question or doubt about that, he already sounded half like one.

Turning back, Merlin kept walking, Ed following behind, as they headed towards the briefing room. Ed seemed to calm himself, as Merlin looked back, feeling a little bad for what he did. Poor lad, he didn't really deserve that. Merlin was like that, he could be a little wrathful at times, well, he could just blur out and not really care at times, he didn't really have a respect for what Ed seemed like he could be at times. He had to at least keep the conversation going.
"I'd suppose you ended up here for good reason then. Haven't really seen Kiwis deployed much."
"Couple tours in Afghan, nothing like you though. I heard that story about that IS executioner, did you seriously decapitate him or-"
"I don't know really, I mean, I think that was the second one that week. I mean, I can't really tell you the truth, or I'd end up in some fucking court somewhere. Let's keep it at rumors, yeah?" Merlin said, knowing that well, a few good people he trusted knew exactly what the last trip to Syria had looked like. Bloody, bloody mess. Though that said, there was a hardened terrorist cell that didn't want the bearded Brit to come and back and hang them in bits on wooden crosses again. Things like that, Merlin didn't enjoy telling people.

Entering the briefing room, they took a seat near the front, Merlin nodding to the Sergeant, as he leaned back in his chair. He turned and saw a woman in a dress of all things, an African-American, and a Pole. He gently locked eyes with each person, his dulled brown eyes firm, and they seemed to take in the mind of every pair of eyes that they saw, weighing them up, evaluating them, processing them analytically, in how they outwardly projected, and seemed to already be. Merlin liked doing that, just knowing what he had on side.

Hadn't he already been deployed in various parts around the Euqator before being transferred to Task Force Zero, Erik would have thought he'd end up like a dry raisin under that Pacific sun that burned hotter than the cheese and sauce of a pizza just taken out of the oven. But he wasn't melting, thank God. Or thank the top brass who had sent him all over the place to...do stuff.

Erik had been sitting on top of the flight deck, staring out onto the vaste ocean through his aviator-sunglasses when the lovely hum of the aircraft carrier's engine was cut off by helicopters landing just behind him. "...I guess the briefing starts soon then...Oh well, it wasn't like I was doing anything important."

Walking across the flight deck, he quietly followed the newcomers down into the dephts of the Beast itself. "It's a four 5-bladed propellor, driven by two nuclear reactors. You owe me a beer." He said casually to a guy passing him, who turned after Erik with a look of surprise on his face. -"How the fuck did you guess that?"

"Didn't guess. I listened. I prefer dark beer, remember that."

The briefing room was starting to get crowded when Erik entered, only a few who Erik had met. "Hey, my name's Erik. I'm an alcoholic."

Sebastian "Wolfman" Dabrowski was already in the briefing room with all the others. He decide to be up close and personal. He never chose to not be not within hearing. If he didn't understand he'd pipe up, much to the chagrin of his seniors. He didn't care it was all for the sake of staying alive anyways.

There he watched a few other soldiers having beaten the labyrinth.

Turning his attention back in front of him he smirked silently thinking "I too, am an alcoholic."

Taylor walked into the briefing room, and her eyes did a quick scan around the room. She had no idea who any of these people were. She saw Adam's Sargent badge however, so she gave him a salute. The Taylor proceeded to sit down and place her duffel bag on the floor next to her. Having quickly taking note that the room (along with some of the others in the briefing room) smelled strongly of alcohol, she shook her head slightly. The private also saw that there were some who had relatively high ranks.

As Taylor sat, she thought to herself. "Certainly looks like there are plenty of folk here who I could be a bodyguard too. Plenty of mid-tier officers who could use somebody who can look out behind for them. I really hope this goes well... It's so cool being next to all these veterans. Look at that guy with the beard! I bet he knows what he's doing."

Then Taylor awaited the words of the highest ranking Sargent, to hear what she was supposed to do.

It'd been touch and go for the Canadian CJIRU/CSOR operative. The CSOR group he'd been with was shipping out to a mission somewhere in the West Asian areas. The plane they took was loath to land on the Western Canadian coast to dump off just one man. But it's been worked out. He'd said goodbye and goodluck to his friends. Then unboarded. A small frigate had taken him within 100 kilometers of the secret position of the ship he was supposed to board. It took the Frigate awhile to finally convince the ship that they had someone on board and it was safe to allow the helicopter they had onboard to approach. At one point the captain of the frigate almost just said screw it and turned around to head back to the mainland. But soon enough permission was given, and Tyler Crowstep boarded a relatively new CH-148 Cyclone. Took them abit to get a correct vector, but soon they were setting down behind a old MH-60 Seahawk that was just taking off.

Out of the back of the Cyclone hopped the Canadian operative. Calling a playful, "Thanks driver!" To the pilot who gave him a thumbs up with one hand and a playful bird finger a second later. Tyler chuckled as he grabbed his duffle and his kit crate. Sling the bag over his shoulder and dragging the other over into the lee of some of the super structure of the ship. A seaman coming over to help him, "Let's quickly put these in a closet somewhere near the meeting room as I can retrieve them later eh? Thanks man." Together they made it down to the meeting level, storing the duffle and kit crate away in an out of the way section of the hall.

Immediately after Tyler politely knocked on the door into the room, waited a second then entered. Looking around the room, seeing all the people already here. He stepped in an snapped off a salute to the officer in the room, then found a place to stand. Clad in CADPAT jacket, over a somewhat casual black t-shirt and his CADPAT pants. Plus strangely non-regulation SWAT Canada tactical boots. Likely something he picked up for himself personally while at home. Likely picked it up at a Walmart somewhere. Just as good when you think about it. He didn't say a word immediately. He wanted to see what the situation is. He swept the room though, checking out the make up of the group. Every person looks top tier. So this ought to be interesting.

The commanding officer of Task Force Zero walked in and sized up his recruits.

"No salutes please, we gotta get down to it. Kinda runnin late. So, welcome everyone, I'm Captain Upton, though you can call me J.B. if you want. You're all here because you each possess exceptional skills, handpicked for this mission. The main objective of our squad is to quell the terrorist organization known as the Valkyrie Network. Seemingly popping up out of nowhere in recent months, they are nationless, faceless, and ruthless. They were responsible for the sudden bombing in Rome 2 months back. We have no intel on where they came from, or what they want. What we do know is that they appear to have an unlimited supply of resources, and their operatives tend to explode if you attempt to take them alive. Even dead, they're completely un-identifiable. The popular theory right now for as why they're untraceable is because they hide in plain site, operating out of allied nations. Hence, us. We will be completely deniable assets. As far as the Joint Chiefs, NATO, hell, even your mothers are concerned, we do not exist as of this moment. On the ground, we'll be communicating strictly off of codenames, which I believe many of you have already provided for yourselves, or have had one assigned to you. Wish there was more time to go into things, get to know each other a bit, but we've got to move, right now. We're heading into Indonesia, there's a compound in the jungle that may be a staging area for these bastards. Head on down to the armory and load up. Wheels up in 25, let's move!"

Merlin watched, sizing up Captain Upton, or JB, as he was better known. A formidable operator, the same age, and of US Special Forces calibre. That he already knew, he was a US Marine, MARSOC maybe, or something more niche. UGAs, or unnamed governmental agency, perhaps, he was shady, but known to Merlin, at least. The bearded Special Boat Service CWO itched his beard, listening to the rushing brief. Covert agency, check, dangerous and radically, well armed threat, check. This was at least different to bearded sheep-shagging fucks in Syria that were killed by a bearded....actually, that was the domain of the Welsh, Merlin just killed them! Or at least, he hoped one of his old squad mates hadn't kept something from him while on a recce op, he mentally hoped. Still, Valkyrie sounded fierce, and unrelenting. A covert and silent sword in the dark would keep them from expanding, and getting started on intel and information would keep them in check. It was a lot to know, and deniability wasn't a big deal to Merlin. He'd done a few of these already, and going out for glory wasn't the approach that best served Queen and Country, it was duty, and loyalty to your men that did the trick. If it meant black bars, so be it, and aftermaths could always be dealt with, some way, or another. The Captain was certain, confident, and knew what was going on with the game, and if time was of the essence, then they would get it done, one way or another. A baptism of fire. That, and the fact that like Erik, like Seb, Merlin too, was an alcoholic. But he enjoyed cider far too much to tell.

Standing up, Merlin looked up to JB, as the other recruits began to leave the briefing room. He stood from his chair, at his height, a distinct smirk on his face, as he approached the Captain.
"Captain. Chief Warrant Officer Merlin Bastion, at your disposal. I'm told I'm your 2IC. They call me Wizard. For the obvious reason." Merlin simply said to Captain Upton, or JB, a part of Merlin's mind wanting to already chuckle at what that meant. Jack Bauer? James Bond? Jason Bourne? Justin Bieber? If he was Canadian, the motherfucker, even if he was his Commanding Officer, was going to get the literal shit ripped from him by Merlin, he thought to himself, that was literally not going to fucking end, ever. But he wasn't, he calmly reminded his mind. He was an American. Still.....JB. Maybe not as bad as his name, perhaps. Though he did look a lot like that guy from the Bourne Identity...maybe his mind was playing tricks. Reputation, and the operation at hand first.

"I've heard about your work, no doubt you've heard of mine. We're both men of the sea. Both weathered." Merlin said, as the last man left the room, that being Cpl Edward Thatcher, the New Zealander following behind the last that headed swiftly out from the brief, to the armoury on the enormous ship. Looking back at JB, Merlin leaned against the steel bulkhead, adjusting his beanie, sighing. He'd seen enough bullshit in this briefing room. A girl who didn't look like she could cut it, another who was clearly only a little better, two Poles who were poles apart in his mind, and another American, an unknown, but someone who looked like they'd seen enough SOF work to know best. There was the Canadian Sergeant, who was another unknown, and the other Canadian, a CBRN specialist who even Merlin had heard of, "Blacktail" a distant memory from a tour in Afghanistan. Then there was the Norwegian, a fellow Kraken, someone again, from Afghan. And last, there was Edward. Jesus, he hoped that fucking lad understood the gravity of this. It felt like there was no room for error, and Merlin didn't hide that on his face, as he looked icily at JB, his face stern, his voice, if you had to really get imaginary about it, like the sound that you would expect a German Shepard to make, if it could speak Human. Almost growling, hard, cold, and loud, unrestrained when he knew it had to make some impact on the CO, even if it wasn't much at all.

"Some of those lads are fucking fresh meat though. With all due respect, I'd keep a fucking eye on them, and I think you already know who. Just as a word to the wise, JB." Merlin simply made the comment, as honest as he could be, no venom spared on his tongue, as he looked back at the operational map on the wall, and the insertion, the approaches, the compound.

"I'll be gearing up. We've got lots of approaches on this run, Captain, I can already see the jungle's ripe for us. If we want to capture one of these men, making sure they don't blow up is a start, so stealth can be considered. Or we go full fucking Tropic Thunder, I grab the Minimi and we hose down any fucker we encounter, and we don't stop till we find ourselves some intel on paper or on a hard disk, not in someone. After all, a Wizard can arrive in a puff of smoke and mirrors, or a fireball." Merlin smirked, knowing that perhaps he was unorthodox, but however JB rose to this, was going to be the mark of whoever he was going to be serving in this unit. He just hoped that he'd take it well, the bearded, beanie wearing CWO awaiting a response.

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

Edward followed behind the group, and to his side, he saw the Norwegian on the team, Erik, he believed he was called, wanting to make an acquaintance on the team, as he spoke in his usual Kiwi accent.
"I heard you're the Viking? Crazy to think, we're in this team. And we should be allowed into our armoury about now, after I checked earlier on. I mean, last time I entered an armoury on a base, the quartermaster bollocked me...can you believe that? Told him I was new to the base, still wasn't happy. It's only the room with guns, anyway!" Edward chuckled, laughing, as they made their way inside, the quartermaster nodding them in, as Edward found his patch, ready to go with the kit he'd requested, and had a brief glance at a few hours earlier.

Wraith, or Ed, began gearing up, going through his equipment from the base to the top. AOR1, a digital camouflage in forested/tropical was the choice, a lovely pattern that went well, as he donned his BDU, the Plate Carrier, the boonie that covered his head, as well as facepaint. The Mk14 sat nicely, all it's usual attachments already mounted, sprayed in the usual pattern of choice that he preferred for it. He went through magazines, grenades, the secondary MP7A2 with this loadout, and his trusty P226. Sliding a clip in, before peeling it out, just for his mental sake, he smirked. He had more to go through, and more to still inspect over.

Taylor rushed out of the room. She was excited. This was her first chance to go to the jungle and shoot some bloody terrorists! As she went through her weaponry, Taylor picked up a large assault rifle. It was heavy, but Taylor could still easily wield it. She put a pistol in both of her holsters, both of which were equipped with mufflers for the sake of the silent treatment. In each boot holster she placed a serrated military knife. Those suckers were like big razors with teeth. Finally, she donned a Kevlar vest with steel plating under her shirt, along with a camouflaged helmet that had bulletproof glass over the eyes. Taylor then marched to J.B. And waited to take off to Indonesia. Suited over her back was a backpack with rations and extra ammunition. Seeing some older fellow talking in private with the CO made her a little uneasy. However, that wasn't particularly important at the moment.

'Sure tell this is joint ops. I'm the only fucking black guy on the team.' Sergeant First Class Morse thought to himself as he stood up. 'In an American team, a third of the group would have been black and there would have been Mexicans, Asians and in today's world, maybe even a token Hadji. I guess this is to be expected on a joint operation. Nevertheless, this is a rare opportunity and I wouldn't pass it up for a second.'

Tyus walked with the rest of team exiting the room with his duffel bag in tow. 'The old man was quite lean on information in that operations brief. No operations order, no terrain analysis, no enemy intel, no information on supporting assets, no scheme of maneuver, no operational information, no organization. Sergeant Morse assumed they would break down into three teams of three or four people with 2-man buddy teams in each sub-unit. 'I guess, we'll all just go John Wayne on someone's ass.' Tyus smiled as he laughed internally.

Once at the armory, he drew his equipment and began preparing his gear. He drew spare batteries for his night vision sights and radios. He had communications for both ground assets and air. His VHF radio was used for Close Air Support (CAS) if any Attack Aircraft were available. While in the Special Operations community, he had training and expeerience as both a Forward Air Controller (FAC) and Air Naval Gunfire Coordinator (ANGLICO). He had the Communications Equipment Operating Instructions (CEOI) which gave him the frequencies and call signs in the event Air or Naval Gunfire were ever an option. Tyus thought to myself, 'looks like I'm serving as the team's Communications NCO.'

He pulled out his equipment and began kitting up. Once His assault vest and Kevlar tactical helmet were on, he jumped up and down to insure there was nothing rattling. He had a roll of black electric tape to tie it down just in case. He holstered his P229 .40 caliber handgun in the tactical holster hung low on his right thigh with a magazine in the well, but no round in the chamber. Once they were in the Area of Operations (AO) then a signal would be given to lock and load. Aboard ship, no one including the Marine guards walk around with rounds chambered. Tyus strapped the MP5/.40 caliber Submachine gun on his left thigh should he need it. His butt pack was filled with ammunition, cleaning supplied and three days of rations broken down. Last, he took his SCAR 17 and slung it like a guitar over his right side and then slid it to the back so it was behind him, pointed at the deck. The rifle and Submachine gun both had magazines in the wells, but unchambered. He then slipped on his work gloves, finger tips cut off to make it easier to get things done. His sunglasses remained stuck in a pocket. He would bring those out when they were in sunlight. He did a few more jumps to check for noise discipline before returning to the briefing room.

---

Romek was curious to meet the other fellow countryman on the team. On the way out the door, he extended his hand and in Polish he spoke, "Hello, I am Romek. Romek Czerepusko from Białystok. Very nice to meet you, Sierżant." Sergeant Czerepusko smiled at the man. "They call me Scooter. Yes, that is my nickname and call sign." Romek thought the name was silly, but kept it regardless. He didn't think it was that big of a deal.

The team members made it to the armory, where they gathered their equipment and prepared for the operation into Indonesia. As they gathered their equipment Romek asked his team mates aloud, "Hello All! I am Sergeant Romek Czerepusko, but you can all call me Scooter. I want to know. Are there any sniper qualified soldiers here? If so, would you like to serve as my spotter? I will be providing long ranged overwatch fire to cover your backs when needed."

Romek put on his assault vest and his forage cap. He did not have a ballistic helmet or body armor like some of the others wore. He put his 9mm handgun in its holster and strapped the Bor Sniper Rifle on his back along with the Ghillie Suit, and scope which was kept in its travel case. He slung the Mini-Beryl Carbine over his left shoulder so it slung under his right arm. He swiveled it under his arm so it hung off his back until he needed it.

In his Puma back pack he carried additional ammunition, claymore mines and various pyro technics the team might need during the operation. This included colored star clusters, parachute flares, flash bang grenades and fragmentation grenades

@Grey Rain

Okay, so the plan was to get information from international terrorists, who just so happened to be hiding in the middle of fucking nowhere in the dephts of Indonesia? While that didn't sound abnormal to Erik - he'd partaken in several missions involving infiltrating enemy strongholds and stealing intel -, the fact that this was all they were told made him raise a brow. Well, he would have, but sadly his skills in brow-raising was still that of a novice, and instead he just looked concerned if anyone happened to look at him.

That look of concern quickly blew away once he was spoken to, and it just so happened to be someone in the team who actually posessed the capacity to smile. It also happened to be the one with a thick Australian accent.

"I guess I am, though it's not of my own choice. I mean, of everything they could pick as my call-sign they had to go with the usual GNC; Generic Norwegian Crap. They could have called my Polar Bear, Nansen, Great Axe, Kraken or anything else, but nooooo, I'm apparently just a viking. But let me tell you something; vikings don't come out of the sea and shoot you, now do they?"

Erik's voice and face was as serious as it would have been had Edward been Taliban, Al-Qaida, ISIS or some random Russian drunk, and he managed to keep himself serious for a second before bursting out into laughter, smiling at the Aussie - he thought he was a kangaroo, but it was probably best to not question it himself.

"Nah I'm just screwing with you, buddy. But yeah, it's a bit insane, but then again we're the best our countries' got, right? And don't let me stop you from entering, it's not my armoury after all. Just don't shoot me, that is, I've had enough bullets for breakfast for now, thank you."

It didn't take long for Erik to find his gear, he'd already gone through it the past days after he got on the carrier. He got into the ghillie suit with the approriete camoflage, enough to keep him hidden and not make him sweat off his balls in the tropical paradise that really was a true hell-hole - he'd watched enough movies about the war in the Pacific to know that. Top-notch military boots followed, as well as the sun-hat that followed. And soon his face was painted green and black too.

"Am I pretty now, girls? I have to be fabouless for the show!"

HK416N, standard primary weapon for the Norwegian Armed Forces, and the same applied to Erik. Or Viking, as he was surely going to hear a whole lot more than his real name. Who knew, perhaps he would grow used to hearing it? Attached onto that, a Aimpoint CompM4 sight, foregrip and surpressor. No bayonet was needed, that Erik kept attached onto himself for quick use. With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Erik picked up the SIG P228 that lay at his spot, cocking it and checking that everything was as when he'd left it. It was, thankfully, just that. A surpressor also followed that weapon, like with the HK able to be taken off it needed.

The rest was pretty much standard; food, tools and a sewing-kit, maps, flashlight and NV-googles, compass, everything that could possibly come in use in said mission. Alas, no device for remotely de-activating the face-bombs of the terrorists was available.

"Hi Scooter, I'm Viking. I qualified, but I doubt I'm assigned to be your spotter. I mean, we're all chosen for this organization for a reason, so I think anyone here is qualified for anything! Except subnautic infiltration, that's reserved for me."

Edward looked back at the Norwegian, just hoping he wasn't being mistaken for an Australian by Viking, he seemed to respond that way, but not acknowledge it yet. Most people did. Christ, their flag was a lot alike, and they sounded similar, but even so.
"No, I suppose Vikings don't. But they're kinda scary anyway if you ask me. Old warriors, right?" Edward replied, as he finished up with his gear, hearing the call out from Romek. A little blase, but still, it was something he knew he was well equipped to serve.

"Scooter, I'll take you up on that, mate. I'll get my ghillie and spotting device set." The Kiwi added, as he took the rest of his equipment with him. Taking a lush green ghillie suit, one of many that appeared to be now being set up within the armoury. It was going to need a lot of work done to it, that much he knew, it would need a lot more natural foliage, but it would slip well over the uniform, covering his back and a little of his front, though not as much so as to not make him fucking boil to death, or become a stationary wookie. With spiders making nests on the bipod, no less. Christ, that was a scary thing to see when waiting, but getting local foliage would help, as he finished up equipping his full set of gear.

Gwen heard the order and jumped right to it. No time to waste when terrorism is afoot! The lass rushed to her gear and removed her current attire. She wasn't a big fan of formal-attire, but she thought being professional was good for a first impression. She overheard one of the other soldiers - Viking - ask a joking question if he looked pretty, and Gwen calmly responded with "Cazzo sì!" She quickly put on her tactical outfit and grabbed a set of extra ammo for an uzi she picked up, and for a shotgun she didn't possess, believing it may come in handy later. A smile appeared over her face as she answered Scooter's question "No Scooter, but if you need someone to bust down a couple of walls, I gotcha covered in that department!" Gwen was determined to be this team's way of breaching into near anything that can and will be exploded. "I'm Breach by the way, if we're asking for each-others callsigns!" As Gwen said that, she left the armory and returned to J.B's side, awaiting Indonesia.

Taylor was still watching J.B, taking little notice with the conversation around her. One thing she did notice was a: for once there was someone on her side who was smaller then she was, and significantly less buff-looking. Also b: Everyone had codenames. Quickly she began to think of what would be a cool (but not edgy) codename for herself. Taylor thought about how her usual position was of a bodyguard at the back end, making sure nobody was going to flank them from behind and shooting them down if anyone tried. However, that wasn't her only role by any means. In fact, Taylor felt comfortable in many different roles and attack styles. Like a Swiss army knife. Her codename could be Swiss... No, that was unpatriotic. How about Knife? Too edgy. Then she came to a final decision that had nothing to do with her combat roles: Chip. Taylor, Tay, Lay, Lay's, Lay's chips, Chip. It all made sense. Or at least, it made sense if you were hungry.

The briefing was quick, dirty even. Little information, little direction. He felt like he was with those damned JTF2 cowboys that one time in Afghanistan. Bringing a metal and glass canister onto base they found during a raid, and just randomly tossing it around, letting it drop, roll and hit things. God he still hated those guys. Not all JTF2 mind you, just that group. He knew some CSOR and CJIRU who could be cowboys too really. He hrmed, sometimes it's just that kind of approach that you need to get a job done though. He looked around just wanting to make sure there wasn't someone in the room that was likely to pick up a canister of VX or a gas bomb of some sort. He couldn't really tell by sight but sometimes you get lucky.

As the meeting broke up, he exited the room grabbed his kit crate and duffel bag. He dropped his bag quickly off in a room that had his name written on it for now. Then carted his crate down with him to the armory. Laying it on an open bench, opening it up and bringing out the AR-10T, the C7A3 and the MP7A1 within. He hangs the AR and the MP though. And grabs the Canadian Forces bread and butter. The Colt Canada C7A3. Under barrel grip, C79 sight atop it, laser sight, weapon light, all those nice bells and whistles. He popped the reciever open to look inside, checking that the barrel is clear, he'd made sure to clean it and maintain it before coming out here. It's golden and would stand to the test. The weapon is set aside and several magazines appropriated. The next thing, stuffed into a side pocket inside the crate comes out matte brown Browning Hi Power. He'd read somewhere that the Hi Power was the crowning jewel of the M1911 line. That it did away with alot of the defects of the old M1911 and kept almost all of it's strengths. Tyler readily agreed as he checked the pistol. Setting it aside with clips and mags for it. Lastly his most important bits of kit. Milly a chemical detector, LED display that could detect everything from Blistering agents to Toxic Industrial Chemicals (TICs). The other thing being Delia, his geiger counter. He never went out on missions now without them, just in case. Partially because of his specialty, but partially because he didn't feel safe without them.

Tyler finished gearing up, putting on the rest of his clothing. His treated fatigues, gloves, made sure his boots are clamped closed, his gas mask hanging in front of him. Rifle, pistol and detectors in place. Kit and other items all placed in easy reach. He looked around, ready to go. Raring to go. Wanting to see how things would all mesh in this group. Usually a group like this would spend time in training. Getting to know each other, their strengths and weaknesses. A CSOR squad would spend a few weeks drumming in a new fish before shipping out with them. But this could work too. Throwing the baby in the pool and hoping it learns how to swim kinda deal. It just might work really. Right before he stood up and was about to walk off to the side so he could wait for the others to get ready he quickly grabbed some tape. And wrote his callsign on it. Two lengths. One he put on the front of his helmet. The other, he tapped just below the top of his backpack. "Blacktail" it read. And under it in smaller characters, both in his native Maskwacis Cree and in Cree Syllabics "ᑲᐢᑭᑌᐊᐧᔨᐁᐧᐤ kaskitewayiwew". Just to make sure everyone knew. As he walked over to wait by the wall. He stopped a moment, knelt touched the floor then drew a circle. Respect the circle. Never know when you might need help.

@kingkonrad@ONL@Gunther@Proxi@BigPapaBelial@Banana@Grey Rain@Trooper

JB nodded at the quite unusual looking Englishman was was to serve as his 2IC.
"Great to finally meet you Bastion, I reviewed your dossier just last night. Impressive resume you've got there, at least going off what's there to read. But so we're on the same level, I agree with you 100%, I have no idea where half these kids came from. JSOC saw something in them I suppose. So that leads me to the first favour I have to ask of you. Mind running things up front on this one? I'll keep close watch on the youngsters, make sure we don't have to carry any of em out in pieces on our first op"
The first few recruits were making their way back from the armory, he'd figured he'd have a few minutes of privacy with Merlin, but alas.

"I'll give em the full lowdown once we're in the air, just wanted to test their reaction time to a fast mobilization with little intel" he chuckled. "Once that's all done we can continue this conversation. Go into specifics and all that. We better get loaded up"

He nodded with a smile at the young recruits who had gotten back quickly "Alright, we may be shipping out a little early, if everyone else is ready as quick as you guys! Hang here for a minute while I grab my kit, be right back"

JB eventually decided on a tried and true M9 as his sidearm, and an M4A1 with M68 Close Combat Optics. Overly standard loadout, but given his decided role in this operation, he thought it best to roll light. After securing the rest of his gear and applying his own layer of facepaint, he headed back up to the muster point and called up to the tower, see when their ride would arrive.

20 MINUTES LATER

All loaded up and aboard the helo. JB distributed a box of earpieces.
"Here we go, non-standard issue, they're encrypted to a secure frequency just for us, multiple channels to use, also makes things hell of a lot easier trying to talk on one of these things. Now don't get too comfortable, we're gonna be at our first destination in about an hour, we'll unload onto another boat, a smaller cruiser, then grabbing a couple Zodiacs to head ashore. We got some shots from UAV recon of the area. Place looks pretty benign, hell, doesn't even seem like a spot worth defending, but we'll see that for ourselves once we get up close. The place is usually occupied by a militia group that goes by Valverde, or something to that effect, they're relatively small according to reports from local authority, numbering around 30. Those same authorities reported a dozen or so men that fit the description of the Valkyries. Command wants us to recon the site first, and if the intel was solid, move in to engage. If we can take one alive, we will, otherwise we'll scrub the site for additional intel once it's cleared. Wizard and I are gonna examine the layout and discuss the strategy, and decide the best way to tackle this. We'll continue this once we get boots in the sand."
He sat back down and handed off the photos to Merlin to begin discussing tactics.

----

Once the Captain had taken his seat again, Adam noticed for the first time he was sitting next to a fellow Canadian. He had decided on a C7 for himself as well, though he also had a SPAS shotgun slung over his back, he like to keep it handy for the close encounters. He outstretched a hand to Blacktail.
"Adam Delgado" he said "Though I suppose once we land I'll be going by Joker. Whereabouts are you from?"

"Yes sir!" Taylor said with a quick nod, now aboard the transport helicopter. She held her weapon close to herself, and looked out the bulletproof window. A recon mission? Sounded simple enough. She put on the earpiece, and stood at the corner waiting to arrive. 30 men plus maybe a dozen more didn't sound like that much, and so Taylor had little worries about this mission. Her senses were keen and her body was able and her skills with combat were fine-tuned and practiced well. She smiled a bit. It seemed the chances were very good that this mission would be successful. Then Taylor thought about following J. B, as she stood waiting in the helicopter.

Merlin nodded, looking down. He was being given frontline command of this. It was how he liked to lead, from the front, not behind. He was a rather objective Captain, CWO Bastion saw that he had the nerve, he would resolve this, hopefully. And he'd deal with the FNGs, which was another good thing....probably. He had his own mind on who to take, and his mind was formulating who could do what with him.
"Understood, Cap'n." With that, he headed into the armoury, and begun kitting up. FN Minimi, in 7.62mm round. It was normally confined to the M240, or the Mk48, but it had been put into a Minimi's capacity, albeit a little more specialised. Merlin liked it, the Para being lightweight, yet carrying a 7.62mm cartridge and an aluminium buttstock, making it feel compact, close-in.

And in his hands, it felt like an implement, you could pull the trigger and shit out bullets till that barrel glowed, and anyone who was standing in front of you, even if you didn't hit them, was on the floor dead, or crapping themselves. Psychology said that you trained to hit your targets, and the capacity of a man to shoot back, while being shot at, was what defined their training. Merlin simplified that in his head. You suppress, you lay out, and if your bullets don't connect, someone else's will, repeat, adjust, and move when needed. It was moving with dynamism, not standing around that made an automatic rifleman in the capacity of a special forces team capable with a gun like this, the CWO reminded himself, it was the ability to lay out more fire, over a longer period of time, than a rifle could match, that a team like this always needed. Not that Merlin exactly didn't do imprecision either. He took his AOR1 fatigues, as well as the rest of his gear, slinging his quad-NVGs over the top of his rucksack, as well as his trusty door-opening 870 MCS, and P226, sliding a magazine in, the .357 making him feel like a fucking cowboy, but with a friggin' Sig, the round having a nice punch that he personally preferred to .45 or .40. He looked over the rest of his equipment, and then back towards Edward, before looking over the men, looming around, eyeballing still. He'd only have his P226 as a silent weapon, but that was fine, given that chances were, reconnaissance didn't mean popping fuckers left right and centre, until you really wanted to make a dent with all firepower needed, CWO Bastion thought to himself..

----------

Stepping onto the helicopter, Merlin sat in the side, the doors wide open, the FN Minimi sitting neatly, pointing downwards, as he looked across to JB, as he took the pictures to hand. Satellite, and UAV recon. The latter didn't sit well in Merlin's head, it was too easy to see a drone sometimes, especially against an advanced foe. This wasn't the Taliban, but it would take a simple radar device that from a force that blew it's own operatives faces off with a chip, would seem at least relatively simple. Would they know who was coming though? Some Americans, but loud, or quiet? Merlin seemed to favour the latter, even though he did feel tempted to do the former. He adjusted his specialised headset, mounted underneath his beanie's pattern, covering his ears in the chopper, as to talk to JB, looking at it all.
"I'd suggest we post up ourselves into three. Scooter and Wraith can act as our ranged element as a sniper fireteam, and can post themselves up on the southern flank, picking an OP and shooting point to conduct observation and long-range supporting fire from, cleaning out any orbital patrols they find en route to thin them out, quietly. Topography says we've got elevation, the rest is flat, but dense."

"I suggest you take Wolfman, Dash, Breach and Chip, Captain, as a primary Fireteam, and designate fireteam names as you will. And me? I'll take Blacktail, Viking, and Joker, as a secondary, used to apply pressure to a different point when, AND where, we make the assault. Way I see it, the base is well defended, and is reinforcing, it's well designed to sustain an assault with minimal numbers of troops defending. Towers deeper inside....shit. Some rats hold their jaws locked when they bite into razor wire, so they pull it all apart when they chew. Same applies here, but if we're wire, if you understand me....but good recon can offset that. For example, here." With it, Wizard pointed out the defence on the eastern side, the opposite side of what appeared to be an entrance.
"Elevation, density of forest, problem for them, solution to us, and with enough firepower, a staging point for my fire-team...we'll act as close-in reconnaissance. You can take the south-western approach, and sledgehammer into the place when ready, you blow shit apart and act as a blocking force, while we scalpel the wankers. It cuts any vehicular transport, and anyone who wants to run into the jungle is ours." Merlin added, smirking.

"Valkyrie think they can make people fear them, because of their mystery. It's the moment we mindfuck them, we get the upper hand. We scout, observe, wait, and strike when it suits us, and when it's going to cripple their structure of command and ability to deploy." Merlin added, as he looked across the helicopter, sitting on the edge, the noise now escalating as they headed out.
"We can't afford to rush, only if the situation demands it. We make sure this is a strike of our choosing, we see the people we want, and we bury it. Have we got any artillery or air support on station, if we need to put more dakker onto those bastards?" Merlin's voice was crystal, knowing by dakker, it would be pretty clear he meant blowing shit up.