(I enjoyed describing Tempest, I won't do this all the time but since for the next few ops we'll be based out of here, I might as well describe it.)
(Refer to the Stratis map for locations.)

1200 Hours, 2nd July, 2035
Stratis
-Camp "Tempest"

The few buildings that made up Tempest were few, with only a ten man posting here in Tempest. Husky was the bulk of them, the rest a few leftover US troops,that only slept here and reported to Stratis Air Base, driving out practically most mornings in their HEMTT container truck with any equipment or kit that they had packed away from the night before. A brown metal HQ sat as the main building, being the operational nerve center of CTRG Husky, as well as a singular metal guard tower near the front, with a large camoflage net covering a tan Hunter (or a Oshkosh M-ATV) with a mounted MK30 HMG, and a neat set of ammunition boxes and weapons set out nicely on a few tables, set in a way that made it look orderly by it's side. A couple of camoflaged quad bikes sat by a parked HEMTT lorry, with a large white container on the rear and filled the last gap in the small compound, with the former earmarked for CTRG use.

Two small metal "boxes" of buildings were the last significant structures in Tempest, with one being slowly depopulated of stored MX and SCAR rifles, and the other being Huscarl's billet. The rest of the CTRG team were camped out in two-man tents to the side, between the exterior H-Barrier that surrounded the base and his billet, with the US troops in a larger tent. This H-Barrier wall was formidable in size, being around 7ft tall and about 20ft long in each section, but was torn apart in places and replaced with barbed wire, or nothing at all. The place was snug, cosy, a comfortable place really. Nothing really happened here, not to most of the NATO soldiers on Stratis. Not even the AAF visited, the supplementary forces that were slowly displacing the NATO troops here and mainly posted on Stratis Air Base and at a significant fort on the firing range south-east of Agia Marina known as Fort "Fulton" by NATO forces. or by them as "Akiontheri". A large pier was just outside the main entrance of Tempest, with a Swedish CB90 fast assault ship, armed with a Mk30 HMG at the rear and a 20mm Autocannon at the front being the largest of the three naval boats here. Two small matt-black RHIBs sat, both armed with old-school M134 Miniguns firing 7.62mm ammunition joined it, for lower key work. From above, you could tell that in comparison to Camps Rogain or Maxwell, this was a very small place, and that it was pretty quiet.

Captain Arran Birgirson walked out of his billet, Huscarl aware that in some regards, things could be a lot worse. Sure, diplomatic tensions against CSAT were at an all-time high. But on the plus, it was summer here, there were no mosquitoes at all on Stratis, and the work that he was called to was sometimes something with Colonel Andrew McKinnon, at Stratis AFB, for a quick chat about things. Two years ago, things had been a little more aggressive, with more operations in Southern Turkey against a key nuclear facility of CSAT's and the recovery of a prototype CSAT IFV, the MSE-3 Marid, one that was now in mainstream production. That had been insanity, and his team remembered it well, but since then, apart from the odd incursion onto the Turkish coast to recon and evaluate the capability of CSAT naval power, not much had been done. They had stuck here mostly, and though he knew they got their hands in the dirtiest of shit, things had been fine for the moment. Huscarl knew most his team was up, doing something at least. They had a rudimental mess hall in the HQ, just a couple of tables on the roof of the metal HQ, along with a basic cooker. He had laughed when they set it up here, but the weather was so good, there was no reason not to. It simply hadn't rained in weeks, and as worrying as that was, Huscarl didn't mind the heat. He wore a navy blue T-shirt, and his UBACS trouser fatigues, a G-Shock watch on his wrist and his ACP.45 in a holster at his hip. He wore a green baseball cap, with a British logo ingrained into it, with his eye on the rest of the team. They'd already done everything that was needed this morning- a good long run with full combat kit, down to Camp Maxwell and then to Kamino Firing Range, then back to here over the hills had kept the team in good shape, as well as a light swim off the coast, just to add to that as a brutal exercise regime of the week added to all the regular activities that Huscarl knew his team and himself were to maintain if they'd be combat fit. It sounded daunting, but any CTRG operator that had said they were not feeling awake was lying through his teeth, and they were set for duty today, tomorrow and every single day if they made plain sure they were ready.

Walking up the stairs off the side of the HQ, he saw a couple of the US soldiers- one being SSgt William Patterson, and another one of his men, Private Baker, cooking something up for lunch. Fish and chips with some weird salad, the latter probably of the poorer military quality, though Huscarl knew the fish was surprisingly local, from the fishermen in Agia Marina. No matter, since his stomach had almost fully adapted to that fact throughout his 14 years in service. that this would do.
"Looks good. Nice day right?" Huscarl said, taking a seat in this al-fresco mess hall, the fish being cooked up neatly by Pvt Baker. Looking out on the view of the Med, this would be considered a holiday by most. But something lay in Huscarl's mind, something that stuck right in. They'd be going out on something soon, it was just too quiet. His radio was tagged on his trouser fatigues, near his pistol, and at any given notice, Huscarl was almost immediately aware of what would happen if that buzzed, that following detailing, he'd go out with Khukuri, get the details, and get the team either briefed and fully combat-ready within 20 minutes, or simply just deflate the fact that they were sitting around. As usual.

"Yeah, damn right it is. Fuckers sold this to me too expensive, it don't look that great as they usually are.." Patterson said, Huscarl chuckling, aware that the Americans here weren't always gone- but Huscarl made a point that they were sharing a base with a clandestine team, and that they simply were defense and dealt with other matters. They weren't to be involved in any operations together, and sure as fuck would not be detailing any reason for leaving or going anywhere unless it was on a need-to-know basis. Patterson and Huscarl worked on that basis- if Patterson didn't ask questions, Huscarl didn't mind their presence among his team. He waited at the table, aware that the fish would be very soon be ready, and his team would know that too. It was far too quiet, and Huscarl knew that at some point, something would happen. Something had to.

---

Meanwhile...
Somewhere on the Faronaki Peninsula, SW of Pygros
Altis

The bald man walked into the small stone house, approaching the laptop on a small desk- his white vest and three-quarter length trousers not making him seem like much of an intelligence operative. He quickly engaged the small powerful machine, up to 2035's standards. Sitting down, the small room little but a small intelligence hive, was what Antos Konstantavolos needed. He took his headset from the small desk, quickly fixing it on his ear, before configuring it back to the internet.
"Neptune, this is Seagull. I can confirm, it's the diesel Lada-Class submarine we're looking for, CSAT-marked. The Peterburg, looks like it's skeleton crewed and it moored on the western pier of Makrynasi island, 2km from me. I ID'd two Titan AA tripods on the south of the island, and one WY-55 Hellcat, armed with guns and rockets by it with at least 5 to 10 men there with a pair of AAF pilots. I can't fully see the area by the pier on the other side, but I believe it's 10 to 15 CSAT and AAF recon units, I saw urban uniforms through the binoculars on the boat, and CSAT navy guys- it's a skeleton crew like I said, round about 20 to 25. Last time a sub rolled in here was three months ago, and they had even less. so I'm assuming this our hit."
"Roger that. Russian piece of shit, but it undermines us. Anything else?" The voice replied, British and distant. The line was encrypted, and on his end, Antos could see a satellite image, already tracking the men on the island from a distant as well as the outline of the sub. His intel from his fishing boat had allowed for a confirmation of what the satellite saw- of troops and AA.
"I couldn't do much before the AAF naval guard asked why I was fishing that close to the island, but they've got a Speedboat with a 20mil and a minigun there. I can't see any escalation at the outpost on the Sagonisi Peninsula, or the AAC Airfield. What is my course of action?" Antos added, as Neptune on the other end chuckled, looking at the images himself.
"Nice work. We've tracked a key CSAT officer to this from Tehran who has a set of documents on orders in the Aegean Sea, that perhaps this stop-off is a rendezvous with AAF intelligence in order to avoid our net of online intel in the area- you know how it is with the Altisian government on this shit. We work with them right now, but they want us the fuck off their rocks, and unofficially, this shit with CSAT working alongside the AAF in a hushed up manner is driving us at Langley in our fucking heads. We've told the Chief of Staff that if we leave Stratis, CSAT will finish us in the region and bring the Altis government over to their side, but he seems convinced that a drawdown is the only way if we're going to want to avoid going back into recession, and that some Mediterranean government means nothing to European and US interest. We both know that as much as the AAF have to deal with us right now on Stratis, they'd happily shoot us in the backs."
"Indeed. The people in my cell is doing whatever we can, we've seen increased AAF COIN operations near Selakano and Molos, and they pulled at least six men out of a camp in the North-West and executed three. It's a fucking mess that we can't even organize an effective resistance, but at least we can keep you provided with intel." Antos said, looking out on the images, quickly zooming on one as he checked a specific area near the sub. The dock wasn't large- it was a tiny island, the sub had barely managed to dock in the shallow waters. But the island was quiet, just a large pine forest and one or two tiny clearings for helicopters. A possible insertion point could be pulled off on the west or the north of the island- though he'd have to report in if Neptune needed more to co-ordinate an operation with.
"There's nothing we can do Seagull, but we appreciate your input on this one, seems like you're the only sane person alive lately. Now, it seems important whatever this officer has, and though they come through here all the time, all you need to know is that we're going to have to intervene on this, and I'm sending the best in. Make no mistake, we're going to have to raze the place for this intel, we've waited months to find him and track him. Your guys do what you do best, but this one my friend, needs special attention."
"We're talking at least up to a platoon-sized force here, and up to 30 mariners with a submarine here Sir, on a speck of an island...."
"Exactly. Leave it to us Seagull. You did your job, and we can sort the rest out. Tell your FIA men to up the ante, make some noise tonight if they're going to make any this week. There's a fine line between all-out war and what we have now, but I'm working on getting something that hopefully keeps us in the latter and doesn't plunge us into the former. Godspeed, Seagull. " Neptune said, Antos looking out of his window and then at the loaded TRG-20, or MTAR by his laptop, as he gave a simple reply.
"Understood Neptune. Seagull out."

Andrew Marshal, aka Khukuri, sat at the edge of the mess area slightly isolated from the others with music playing loudly into his ears via a pair of ancient, battered looking earphones. Up till now he had been completely absorbed into what he was doing, performing maintenance on his FN Five-Seven pistol and reminiscing on past missions, but now he dropped what he was doing in the hope of receiving some good news from Huscarl.

The recent quiet had been tormenting Andrew. Truly what was worse the the fighting for him was the long periods of waiting between it. In fact Khukuri had often found that there was a certain thrill that could be found nowhere but at those times he was closest to death on the battlefield, not that he wasn't careful. He stood from from the bench he had been sat on, removing the skull candy headphones, holstering his now complete pistol and slinging the olive green gas mask he had worn for this mornings run under his arm before approaching Huscarl for a morning brief.

"Yo Huscarl." Andrew said cheerfully with a grin on his face. "'Any word from the brass as to why we're still sat here with our thumbs up our asses?" He asked as he sat beside his boss and friend. Obviously here with this many yanks present he didn't expect anything more than a yes or a no answer but something was better than nothing. He pulled the forward brim of his boonie hat up so he could see better now he had entered a shaded patch on the roof.

Olivia's head was buried in her arms as she sat at her table in the mess hall. She was surrounded by some other group of soldiers on the base, but they knew she was trying to take a nap. They had been conversing and gossiping about whoever and whatever they did. Occasionally, the gossip did intrigue Olivia, but that wasn't very common. She gave up on trying to fall asleep, due to the massive amount of noise that was emitting within the mess hall. She looked up and groaned, one of the local soldiersgiving her a weird look. "Welcome back, sleepy head."

Olivia responded with a simple groan, rubbing her eyes as she did so. As she looked around, she could see the local Brit, Andrew Marshal all isolated and in his own zone. Which was a nice thing, since he was actually able to be in his own zone. She eyed him briefly, before she saw what she dubbed the "Big Bad Brit", Huscarl. She leaned low and eyed the two, wondering if something was going on. Huscarl was going to be the leader of their fireteam, and would be taken on some super duper top secret missions. The thought of that made her think she was some sort of special agent for the FBI, only she wasn't. She was just an ex-SEAL on a special task force.

The Chinese-born girl eyed the two, wondering what they were conversing about. If Huscarl was only conversing with Marshal, then it probably didn't concern her at all. Or it concerned her exponentially more than the gossip the people were yakking on about.

Arran looked over, watching Andrew come up to his bench, taking a seat as he asked the question.
"It's a fucking ballache. Nothing yet, we're still sitting here. I've got a meeting with the Colonel in about an hour, I'm taking a quad down there. He doesn't like the fact that his guys are sharing with a bunch of spooks, and if I'm honest, he isn't really in a position to say anything about it. My word lies with the man up in an office somewhere over in that direction." Arran said to Andrew, pointing out in the vague direction westwards, generally towards Langley, Virginia- where the CTRG reported mostly back to, to a joint US/UK intelligence division within the CIA's extensive compound.
"Still, what can you do. Nobody likes this shit stain, they want to be back home not sitting on an island and packing shit away. This camp goes full in about three weeks when they're done packing Rogain away, then the only operational centre left on this island's going to be Stratis AFB and Fort Fulton. They'll leave a dozen men, and probably four platoons of fucking greenbacks (AAF soldiers)." Arran added, looking over at the female marksman in the team- Olivia, or Athena. She knew that when it came to designated marksmen, making the right choice was always key. Just like with a second in command, who Arran had known well enough from Northern Nigeria to decide on. But it was nothing but a professional friendship, this shit existed not because Arran wanted to call them up as a perk, but because he knew that they'd be the most suited.

"Hey Athena. If you're about to suggest you're bored as hell, feel free to join us." Arran said, looking over- the HQ was just a storey high, and was a metal structure, the kind that could probably be rapidly disassembled and put back together if needed. A few bits of rust were in one or two places, but it wasn't completely gone to shit with the hydrated Iron Oxide, not yet at least. His geology just remembered that for some weird vague reason, it was what the brown shit that metal turned into when water and heat acted together on something like this for a prolonged period.
"You spooks really ain't what they say you are." Patterson said, Arran chuckling as he brought a plate of fish and chips over, the shitty salad distinctive. No matter, Arran said. He had eaten worse.
"Yeah, I suppose so. Patterson, how's shit going at Rogain anyway? They finished packing that place yet?" Arran asked, looking over, as Patterson brought two more plates for Athena and Khukuri, Arran eating as Patterson turned around.
"Almost, full truckloads today. We got off early, I swear we're fucking manual labor now, not soldiers. They could get contractors for this stuff, I get paid to shoot people, not lug shit around for a living." Patterson said, Arran laughing as he knew that this was a soldier from the 101st Airborne, and he had probably a right to be pissed.
"I understand what you mean. What can you do though." Arran said, eating on, as he ate on, still inert on how things were going.
"Athena, Khukuri, either of you want to go see McKinnon later with me? It might cut out from the boredom to see the flyboys if you guys are up for it."

---

"Seagull's given us good intel, you've got the transcript." Neptune said, looking over to the other man in the dark office, wearing a full suit and clearly the most formal man in this place. He seemed more than just military ,he looked like a real spook to every letter.
"We're going to need that sub dead for sure. Huscarl knows how to get that done. Bring me a closer sat image of Makyronsi." The other man said, as Neptune panned the satelite's camera, coming in closer to make out the image clearer.
"Fuck, that's it. Fucking Major Arshad Marood, it's the guy, it's the sub we want, we need this done, ASAP. We working on getting Huscarl in touch?" The man added quickly, as Neptune nodded, replying.
"My team is on it already Sir, we'll have him on comms with you when the specs are set."
"Good. Operation Deviant is a go. I don't see any other option. They sail out of the gulf, we have no chance of catching Arshad and whatever documents he's sharing with the AAF right now. I give us at best another twelve hours- the satellite picked this up this dawn, lucky we did or else we would have no chance. We take the sub down while we're at it and clear the waters, and find out what those CSAT recon troops are doing on Altis before we suffer for it when they bomb our troops in the Med. As much as we are walking a thin wire, the fact that this guy brought a fucking submarine and this shit from Tehran that was so under the radar means that whatever it is, we need. Huscarl can figure out how to do this without getting his team killed and putting us into WW3, so we'll send him the images and get him up to speed with this." The man said, looking as Neptune simply nodded.
"Twenty minutes, and I expect that you'll have the details finalized to send to Husky. Get to it." The man said coldly, before leaving, Neptune looking at the three others in the room also by computers, wearing headsets and tapping away, getting the details refined with the sat images, and set to relay everything to Huscarl for the operation. The brief and task was already defined- though the planning element was up to Huscarl to deal with, in order to effectually make this work.

Andrew grimaced as his fears were confirmed, no jobs to do, and listened as Huscarl elaborated on the situation. The more Huscarl said the more Andrew was reminded operations here were being wound down in scale and the less likely it seemed a job would pop up. This situation, whilst great for the moral wellbeing of the world, left Andrew in a mildly frustrated state. What good was a soldier without a battle to fight? He reasoned. The offer to visit McKinnon was one Andrew accepted gratefully by saying "Yeah. That sounds good to me." Before adding a polite nod and thank you to Patterson for the food.

Sergeant Linn saw the small gathering of his team on the other side of the mess hall and decided to join them. He picked up his tray of food in one hand, and the rather thick book on medical procedures he had been reading in the other and walked over to his commanding officers. He took a seat across from the lieutenant.
"Can you guys believe this shit?" He pointed too his open book. "ER Docs back home get paid $300,000 a year doing the same shit I do, except I get paid one tenth that and get shot at by assholes with AK's and Katibas." He turned to his food, and took a bite of the fish, ignoring the untouched salad on his plate. Linn was never really a healthy eater, he figured whether or not he ate his veggies didn't matter if there was going to be a 7.62 caliber hole in his guts.

"So captain, anything that concerns us happen lately?" He asked after a moment. He didn't mind sitting around base doing nothing, but when he signed onto this new CTRG unit, he expected a little more action than this.

Zdislav walked with a spring in his step as he approached the mess hall for some breakfast. He looked, and felt pretty energetic for someone who had literally just gotten off a direct flight from the Czech Republic in the heart of Europe to the Aegean island of Stratis. The aircraft which had brought him there was quite literally still on the tarmac, awaiting clearance to takeoff. Thankfully for Zdislav, his equipment had been sent to Stratis ahead of him, so he did not have to waste any time getting them stowed away. He had been supposed to go with them, but an administrative error which saw him being posted to a 601st unit in Prague even though he had already informed his superiors of his application of leave and their approval of him to join the CTRG. By the time they had rectified the error and given the poor clerk responsible a stern warning, three days had passed.

Still, Zdislav could not complain. He was on Stratis, and that was the important bit. He had not heard of any significant operations on the island, so he guessed that he had not missed any action. He looked forward to working with his new team; he had never worked with many international teams. The most international thing he did was a joint exercise between Czech, Croatian and German special forces to practice and rehearse combat drills before their deployment to Nigeria. Zdislav's smile faded slightly as he wondered if his less-than-perfect command of English would get in the way, but he quickly banished that thought. Croatian and German were far more complicated languages and he had handled them just fine.

He walked up the stairs to the mess hall and immediately realized just out-of-place he must have looked. Everyone was wearing at least something in the UBACs camouflage pattern while Zdislav was still wearing his very green and very Czech vz. 95 uniform. The Czech army had issued him with an alternate pattern of his kit in the camouflage used by the CTRG, but Zdislav honestly did not understand it. The vz. 95 looked as if it would function very well in the plentiful forests and grasslands of Stratis.

Zdislav adjusted his sleeves and jockey cap as he looked around for an empty table. By chance, he spotted a familiar face. It had been years, but Zdislav still vaguely remembered how Huscarl looked. He approached the table and saw several other people sitting around it and quickly guessed that they were to be his team mate for the foreseeable future. "Sir," Zdisalv said loudly to catch Huscarl's attention as he gave a quick salute. Huscarl had outranked Zdislav in Nigeria, and the Czech guessed that he still did. "Staff Sergeant Zdislav Cermak, sir. We met briefly in Nigeria. I think I was laying detonation cord to blow out a wall of a militia building." He said. "I apologize for coming late. The Czech army believed that I had been posted to another unit."

Olivia's blank and rather emotionless face turned into a smile in this fashion (sort of) before returning to her emotionless face as she got up and moved herself from the group of soldiers she was sitting with. "It's like you can read my mind, Huscarl." She sat down next to Sergeant Linn as she got settled, rubbing her face and putting on her baseball cap backwards, her reasoning for the action being that she felt like it. The marksman looked up at the roof as the people around her discussed, the rust on the poles around them bothering her. The fact that they had advanced through technology so much in the past few years- yet haven't been able to do something about rust decay absolutely baffled Olivia. The small things always bothered her for some reason, but that was a good thing in her field of business. One of the advantages of doing what she did was that she had her trusty rifle to take care of said small things. Even if those small things weren't exactly so small.

She looked up at Patterson as he brought over a plate of food for her and Khuhkri. She took a look at it, and the judging from the look of salad she wasn't going to be touching it with a thirty foot fork. It just looked rather unappealing. Still though, at least the fish and chips were good- hopefully. She held the fork in her left hand, and started picking apart the fish with her fork, eating the small pieces she had created with her handiwork. She looked up at Huscarl as he made a suggestion, then back at Sergeant Linn as he spoke. She took some time to swallow, before she shrugged, "Sure, I guess. I've got nothing to do later, so I'm up to go to McKinnon."

(This is called a long post. A long, long, long post. And it's straight into it really- tactical maps should hopefully work, and I really wanted to give the feeling that it's planned surgically to every detail by Huscarl.)

"Shit, it's been too long Mischief. Take a seat, come join us. And that's fine by me Olivia, for later that is. I'll keep the rest of you here under Praetorian over there while we're gone- McKinnon really has a spoon up his ass lately. Like the Greenbacks haven't. either though, they really want us the fuck out of here." Huscarl said, as he looked over at the other operators, Arran eating down his food quite quickly since he felt like just getting something in his system.
"You tell me about it, Huscarl. You fucking spooks know more of this political shit than I do, I'm here to pack away all this rusty shit anyway. It costs more to actually ship it off back home and put it into storage there than it does to just have us do the monkey work, I swear logistics are fucked up." Patterson said, Huscarl chuckling a little, knowing that the gravity of the situation to him was very different to Patterson's situation. They had actively fought CSAT forces in clandestine operations, direct under intelligence command, whilst Patterson was just packing away with his squad after the end of NATO's peacekeeping in the Republic of Altis and Stratis.
"Yeah, but what can you do I guess. Anyway though, it's good to see you Zdislav, and you know the drill here after all"

Huscarl knew his team were well specialized, and he looked over at them, before then looking out on the seaview that most tourists perhaps had once come here for. Just as he made another bite, he felt his radio vibrate, as he almost instantaneously made a look to the device, quickly sprawling him up. The radio was linked back to his billet's laptop, and he had a call to pickup. One that the team had been briefed on enough, that Huscarl was the link in the chain and connected the dots in some regard. And he had no time to waste, as he almost belted down, running down the side steps of the metal HQ as he moved across the courtyard, quickly going into the metal structure of his house. He should have really kept his headset on him, but at times like these, there wasn't really that much of a point. Shutting the door of his billet, he quickly picked up his headset, already connected to the laptop that sat on his desk. This was an encrypted satellite link- long range comms were available, but Huscarl and his superior back in Langley, who was also in charge of Neptune, resoundingly agreed that long range comms from Stratis's multiple antennae at the center of the island were too easy to hack into and decrypt the relatively simple encryption.

"This is Huscarl speaking, ID two, zero, eight, seven, nine, six. Neptune, ping it back." Arran said, hearing the voice on the other end. Something felt urgent about this, as he walked around, sitting on his bed in the cramped metal box, the singular LED light on the wall making it almost blue inside with bright tinted light.
"We've got you, loud and set...well, this shit is taking it's sweet old time...nope, you're through. Okay, we're sending you the details, should take about a minute for the whole thing over this link. Should see the beginnings of this." Neptune said, as Arran moved to his laptop, quickly tapping away as he found the satellite imagery. Makrynisi, Altis. Altis was a place that Arran knew the NATO forces had long left behind, and though he knew that CSAT funded enterprises and equipment had allowed the AAF to have a disproportionately powerful army for it's tiny size, it was still significant
"Okay Huscarl, we've gotten back to you about our friend, Major Arshad Marood, callsign Sickle, that we need Husky for. Turns out there's a sub, we've ID'd in your picture, on the west coast of the island, and we've got confirmed ground intel from Seagull, as well as on sat imagery that the Peterburg's by that pier, with what we need."
"Go on. I'm only going to assume what you said are the basics here."
"Rightly expected."

---

About twenty minutes later
1225 Hours

Huscarl put down the headset, already checking the intel he had, as he shut the laptop's lid, carrying it out, as he moved quickly, already aware that the team had been waiting patiently, probably talking to each other. He looked up at the HQ's first storey, aware that his team were waiting, after at least getting to know Mischief a bit better, and wonder if it was a duff run or not on Huscarl's end.
"With me now Husky, we've got work! Patterson, Baker, get on perimeter- you'll need to go to McKinnon later on my behalf, is that understood Sergeant!?" Arran said, already aware that he wanted the mess hall cleaned out, and his own unit with him right away. He didn't want them listening in- and though the metal walls were well soundproofed, he didn't want any chances.
"Roger that!" Patterson said, in almost a pissed off tone that seemed to just acknowledge it. He didn't want to poke his beak where it didn't belong, and Huscarl had told him that very clearly before. Himself and Baker switched off the cooker, leaving everything as it was as they headed towards the Hunter, to get their weapons and join the other two of Vanguard One in patrolling the base.
Opening the door to the HQ, he walked in, hoping his team would follow, as Arran quickly engaged the projector and gave a notion to the last man in to shut the metal door. The HQ's interior was mostly bare- a few tables with weapons, but mostly the team's individual gear and a few wetsuits and rebreathers filled one section, with a few chairs and a whiteboard in another, along with a projector that lit up the screen. Arran set down the laptop, connecting it to the projector as he fired up the satellite imagery he had received, walking to the board as the team sat down. There was a lot more other HQ-y stuff that currently didn't really click in Huscarl's mind- this was the only real section that he knew he had to be in to get things explained.
"Right, to business. Sorry about the pace, but this is how we work. I've received word that a CSAT-operating submarine, the Peterburg, has sailed into Altisian waters, and is currently docked on Altis itself. We all know about CSAT and the AAF being bum buddies for a while behind our backs, but this is different. The sub's moored off Makrynisi- a small island in Pyrgos Gulf, and it is there we suspect that a certain Major Arshad Masood, callsign Sickle, is carrying a set of documents that we've been tailing for weeks, along with of course, undermining our naval superiority in the area. I can't stress how much this matters- and remember, it is in our operational remit to make sure that not one word comes out to any of the lads on Tempest, as I have mentioned before- this is confidential, and this isn't anything that will be mentioned in your service logs, or be given medals for if you end up having your leg blown off. I don't need to remind you this is wet work against well-trained Iranian motherfuckers day, not counter-insergency day. It is imperative that we strike hard and fast, and we get what we need back to NATO MEDCOM. Without this piece of information, we may truly be paralysed, and I for one, am bored as hell and want to really remind the brass that we're the finest at what we do. Taking the submarine out to secure our naval traffic in the area, killing or capturing Sickle and at the very least, retrieving his documents and getting the fuck away from Altis is the way we'll do this if we really want to stay one step ahead of CSAT in this Cold War. Believe me, I don't like the idea that when Greenbacks stop telling us to get off our island and start firing on us with CSAT troops behind them is going to come sooner rather than later, and we have the unique opportunity to know exactly what CSAT intelligence has so squandered here. Now, let me bring up the map and sat imagery, if you're not familiar with Altis already." Arran spoke, clicking the mouse to display an overhead picture of Altis- the whole picture, to be precise, as he then clicked in on a new slide, which had been annotated by Huscarl himself already, for further referencing.
"This is our AO, and I've taken the liberty of making what we're facing a little simpler on this. From our contact, "Seagull", in the FIA, we know that there's a patrolling speedboat with a 20 mike and a rear gun going around the place, along with a squad-sized 5 to 10 man force of AAF Recon Troops on the south of the island, with an armed WY-55 Hellcat (updated AW159 Wildcat in RL) and two fixed Titan MPRL AA launchers in a small clearing. The sub is here," Arran said, using the clicker to lase the west coast, where he had made a rudimentary marking of the sub.

"And about 250m NE of that, is a CSAT Recon camp. We're talking grey hex uniforms here, not the regular brown hex their regulars go around with. They mean business. More reason why we believe that Arshad is truly here. There's about 15 to 20 of them, and they're bound to be trained well, so do not underestimate them. The sub's got a skeleton crew- about 20 to 30 again, so we can't exactly be underestimating them either in terms of potency, with whoever is armed. As you can tell, the AAF have A-143 Buzzards (L-153 Alca in RL) on standby at the AAC Airstrip with a QRF of two Hellcat gunships, and Camp Sagonisi has a large platoon-sized force, but they'll be slow to react- and our man, Seagull, is on the Faronaki peninsula down here, if shit hits the fan." Arran said, trying to put across the wider facts that the team would need to know.
"It's a potent force, and it's what we're trained to do best. We insert from the south, and we'll use one of the RHIBs, using the evening to our advantage. We're going to need our set of rebreathers along with a GM6 Lynx Anti-Materiel rifle spare in the boat, in addition to the regular gear- silenced weapons in our usual roles, and combat will be likely within 150m, so I advise RDSes and closer optics if you'd prefer that over the secondary sight of the RCOs. We insert at the Primary landing site with the boat directly, on the south of the island, and we move quickly to dispatch the AAF Recon team here- we kill the operators on the AA launchers and sabotage the helicopter, figuring out what there are in terms of forces through the forests. If there's too much heat on the south, we've got an secondary site of insertion, right here." Arran said, pointing to the SW of the island, where a group of what seemed like rocks were on the map- still consistently pointing out to whatever needed to be pointed to on the map whenever he made mention of it.

"If that is the case, I can only assume we'll have to take a very radical approach. It's why we may need to re-evaluate and execute this operation very differently, so hence we're going to need the Rebreathers and a GM6 Lynx, in order to strike a punch quietly and from a distance to throw us into a position where we can dive ashore safely. This is a closer look, if you need one. That Alternate Infil is our secondary approach from what I just mentioned- and hopefully, we shouldn't have to use it. The forest as I've marked, is likely to have patrols of maybe one to two men, with about two or three of these there, and since it's unlikely that the AAF are going to be radioed that easily if we take their radioman in the south, quiet shots shouldn't be detected. That said, CSAT forces are much more likely to be better anticipating and able to shout out if one goes down, so stray away from them for as long as you can if you have a soft contact- engage if you know that they won't react in time. You know how it is." Arran said, as he looked over the team, just hoping that somehow they'd go well with this plan. It was a combination of their elite SF training with a rapid assault and picking off units one by one. Going right to the sub would be stupid, as well as assaulting from the north. Cutting the AAF on the island off would give them time to really sneak up on the CSAT, and get their man.

"From there, there's a MQ4A Greyhawk UAV on station after the AA is cleared out- Callsign Spartan will be at 40,000ft for us to do a fire mission with, as well as make some quick recon of the situation on the ground.. We'll split into two from this moment on- Khukuri, Athena, Hotwheels and Praetorian will co-ordinate fire with the Laser Designator and the UAV terminal to ID Sickle's location, and then fire on CSAT Recon Camp Zephyr, then proceeding to clean the camp of any hostile personnel after repeated AP AGM strikes- giving myself and Mischief will the chance to get charges set on the submarine, at the propeller and engine respectively to disable and cripple the thing. The camp's around an abandoned house, it's very lightly defended with physical defenses but as aforementioned earlier, it's a camp for troops none the less."

"We will identify Sickle, either KIA or in whatever shape we find him either there or on the Concrete Pier where the sub is currently docked, and RTB with his documents and if we have the chance, him too. He is not a priority- if he dies, we don't fundamentally lose a lot of what we know, so do not prioritize him over destroying Zephyr. Once we're done, we'll retreat south and using the Titan emplacements, destroy any AAF airmobile QRFs that may have responded, before extracting with the RHIB from the appropriate landing site. This plan demands tactical acknowledgement and total focus- we are relying on being able to strike hard and fast, and we get what we want, before getting the fuck out." Arran said, looking over his team, itching his beard as he looked around.
"This is what we do best. Kit is as usual, and configure your weaponry as you deem fit. Athena, Mischief, you two get the rebreathers, flippers and the GM6 Lynx in the boat- Athena, you should know how to use that thing, it's Anti-Materiel so that thing will probably tear the patrol boat to shreds but make a hell of a noise. It's got a Thermal Imaging Sight on it, and though I wouldn't use it when we eventually need land, if shit hits the fan it's the most powerful weapon we'll have apart from the M134 on the RHIB. Likewise with the rebreathers and flippers- we use those only if we need to revert to the Secondary landing site, and re-evaluate how we take this. We leave at 1600 Hours, so till then, nobody leaves Tempest and we make damn sure that we're comfortable with the operation at hand and our gear. You're all dismissed." Arran added, looking over at the others, as he himself already headed over to where his kit was, looking through as he knew that soon, they would be back on the sea, back to work. Arran already had his SCAR-H, or the Mk17 tooled up with an old-school EOTech 553 optic, and a 2x Magnifier on the weapon that he could easily flick over, the EGLM module, along with the AN/PEQ-15 IR Pointer and R2 Silencer looking good on the weapon. It's adaptive/naval blue paint fitted the weapon well, the half-Icelandic, half Scots operator at least relieved to be moving. He knew his team would have this under lock- and his men knew what they were doing. Zdilslav, or Mischief, was a very competent AT operator, whilst Khukuri had proved himself in Northern Nigeria from reports Huscarl had obtained to be a skilled officer, and had to be his second in command as a result of the combat experience and the way he brought himself about as an extending aurora that resonated in the team beyond Huscarl. Athena and Praetorian came up very similarly for those respective reasons- skilled operators with a precise knowledge of both Designated Marksman and Medical roles, and fitted perfectly into the team. Himself, he had seen more than enough combat in the Royal Marines Commando, SFSG and the SBS to say that he'd seen a lot of walks of life, and that working in the CTRG was the culmination of all those years of hard work and pain that had given him a role like this- a clandestine unit of operators that would be instrumental in making a very specific change in pace. Huscarl knew his operators well, and had worked with them for a while- knowing their relative specialties and nature, to get the job done.

“Welcome to Tempest.” Sgt. Linn greeted Zdislav “The beaches are nice, the sun is bright, and Patterson cooks a mean breakfast. Only downside is all the women are packin’ assault rifles.” He gave Athena a joking smile before turning back to the Czech operative. “Sergeant Dallas Linn.” He introduced himself. After a moment, he returned to reading his book. It was far from an interesting read, but it killed time, and they had more time to kill than bad guys at Camp Tempest.

He looked up when he heard the captain shout, noted the urgency in his command, and immediately jumped to his feet to follow. He left his book and half finished food on the table and headed to the HQ after Huscarl. He could come back for the book later, if not, so be it, there were more books in the world. Selecting one of the seats in the HQ, he leaned back and made himself comfy. Linn sat silent and attentive during the briefing, taking in the details of the operation, taking mental images of the maps and objectives, and occasionally glancing over at his teammates to make sure they were doing the same. He noted a few questions he would need to ask the captain afterwards, the most important of these being if they would have access to ECAS in the event of someone being severely wounded. The longer Linn looked at the AO, the more he thought how easily the operation could turn into a bloodbath.

The first equipment Linn checked was his Medical Aid Bag. He carefully scanned the contents of the bag, making sure every single item was neatly organized and nothing was missing. It contained the standard bandages and tourniquets each of his fellow operator’s first aid kits contained in addition to supplies that they did not have the training to use effectively or safely. Saline IV, morphine, combitube..., he slowly went over the list in his head. After going over it twice, everything seemed to be satisfactory, and he turned to his squadmates.
“Friendly reminder. If anyone takes a hit, I want to hear about it. I don’t care if you think you can tough it out; the last thing we need is someone passing out mid-op because they thought they stopped the bleeding.” Linn didn't expect anyone to make a mistake as simple as not calling “Medic!” when they got shot, but it had happened before and was not something he wanted to repeat. After making sure his team had heard him, he turned to his rifle. It was laid out in front of him with its standard loadout: a 4x zoom RCO, R2 suppressor, and AN/PEQ-15 targeting laser. He swapped the RCO for a Close Combat Optic (CCO) before a grin spread on his face. It was about time they had something to do, and he could already start to feel the pre-mission jitters.

Annabel just woke up around 5:40am, the usual time for her daily food and run around the base. She first ran around the base and did a mile for forty minutes until she needed a water break. She got her food, fish and chips, then she got started, walking around the mess hall. It was jammed with people of all shapes and sizes, Annabel walked over the room to look for her group and found them, she sat down next to a female. She didn't know her team and didn't really care to have 'friends', they are barriers for the mission she once said to her mom. She just ate her food and didn't look at anyone and just listened to Huscarl. After the important stuff came out of Huscarl's mouth, she got up with her food and left the table and threw it away. She went to her bed and lay there, she layed on her bed for twenty minutes but she fell asleep.

---

She was sleeping until she woke up and looked around the room and got out of the tent, it would of made her look weak. A man, in his twenties and looked like her boyfriend, walked to her and said, "Hey, miss. Did you not sit with a group of a female and a few males?". Annabel turned to him and said, "I did sit with them and I'm in their group, why may you ask?" the male looked at her and said, "Well, they went to some building. I think you might want to know that.". She responded by, "Shit, I have to be there, thanks." as she left him and ran to HQ as fast as she could. She opened the door and walked quietly to the debrief and sat down on the chair, that was at the back, so they thought that she was there. She listened Huscarl's mouth going on about the detail of the operation and look at the images and waited until it was over and done.

Zdislav smiled and nodded to each of the team mates. He was just about to excuse himself to get some food, but then Huscarl called for everyone to attend a briefing. For a fraction of a second, Zdislav felt disappointed. The last thing he had eaten was a half-finished combat ration during his flight, and that was hardly filling. However, Zdislav merely shrugged mentally and followed the rest of the squad. He could always eat something during the journey to the area of operations, and he had been hoping to get into action as soon as possible.

The HQ was not what Zdislav would have called impressive, but it certainly fulfilled its role well enough. Zdislav listened intently, and paid even more attention when a couple of CSAT camps were reported to be in the area, as well as enemy jets. He could not do anything against the aircraft; he had only brought along his anti-armour and structure launchers. Thus, he put all thoughts of the enemy aircraft out of his mind. If they showed up, the squad would either need to run and hide or improvise. What Zdislav could fight against, however, were whatever armoured vehicles the enemy threw at them. Judging by the clandestine nature of the operation, however, Zdislav guessed that if the enemy sent armour and reinforcements their way, then they were in too much trouble to for them to shoot their way out on their own.

With that in mind, Zdislav decided to bring along his RPG-7V along with one anti-armour missile and two anti-structural missiles. That way, he'd have some AT capability to buy the squad time if things went south, and if they could not rig up the helicopter, he could always just shoot it with an RPG. The new fin-stabilized rockets were a lot more accurate, though the fin-stabilizing part had to be carried separate from the rocket.

"Will do, sir." Zdislav said and nodded when Huscarl issued his orders. He immediately got up and headed for the weapons, grabbing the Lynx and turning it over in his hands while letting out a low whistle. "Very nice," He said with a nod and turned to the woman Huscarl had addressed as Athena. With a grin on his face, he said, "Athena, ano? I found the rifle. Very impressive. Like the spear of your namesake." He place the rifle on the table. As he went to the rebreathers and grabbed enough for the squad, he looked over to Athena again and asked, this time in a more serious tone, "Do you want to load everything onto the boat first? I doubt either of us can do it on our own. We can always return later to prepare our own gear."

Brian 'Irish' McAuley had been in the air all day, since his morning flight to the Chzeck republic to the direct flight here. He had no problem with being in the air he just hated sitting in the air for so long. He had been dropped off with a Czech man who's name he didn't ask, he followed the man to the mess hall and hung back a bit as he introduced himself he watched as one man who looked like the patriarch walk off urgently then not long later he called a meeting. Brian made an effort to get there quickly but was deterred by a need to relieve himself, he made It there about 10 minutes after the briefing had begun. He walked inside closing the door behind him, he saw a man there that matched the description he had been given of Huskarl. Brian stood at attention and saluted.

"Corporal Brian 'Irish' McAuley," he introduced himself "Recently assigned to Husky, sir!"

Huscarl looked over at the group, nodding to Irish.
"Good to see you mate, welcome to the team- papers, and so on, get your shit together. You probably know me, so I won't go into any more detail- so chop chop." Arran said, indicating a look on his face that said plenty to him that he was good to go and setup with the rest, as he walked out of the armory, and back to his billet with his laptop cradled in his armpit, to sort something out. His radio buzzed again, as Arran ran, going in as he put it down and set the cables.
"Shit, line's got about 5 minutes worth of security Neptune, what is it?" He asked, looking out as he shut the door and switched the light back on.
"We've got another op, just recent. Turns out that we've got a hold of some more intel, regarding this submarine's deployment from Tripoli, Lebanon- and we need a little dry work to be done to find a manifest from the place, to back up what you're going to find. Like I said, we don't expect this one to be guns blazing, but we're going to need one of your guys to co-ordinate the agents we got on the ground. I'd trust them with sitting on their asses and listening in on a bunch of Arabs for a few days, but this needs a finer touch."
"Roger- I'll send Khukuri, he looks bored, and I suppose he needs to get the fuck off this island. You handling the logistics of my man?" Arran replied, as Neptune chuckled.
"Yeah, we will Huscarl. Just tell him to get moving to Stratis Air Base, with his weaponry and we'll go from there- we'l reattach him to your team in about a week."
"Understood. Cutting the line now, if that's it."
"Go get some fuckers, Huscarl. Over and out." Arran laughed, as he disconnected the cable, running a deletion program to begin a cleanup on his laptop, and wipe any trace of any encrypted material that was on his laptop- a process of multiple deletion, which would take a few hours with the high level of encryption that he had just used. He got up, and walked out of the metal billet, shutting the door as he looked out on Athena and the others, before going back to the mess hall to see what was left, and tell Khukuri.

( Transition OST (ie. what I was listening to at the end of this post and the beginning of the next.)

---

"Operation Deviant"

1900 Hours, 2nd July, 2035
On a RHIB somewhere south of Makyrnisi, Pyrgos Bay
Altis

Huscarl sat right at the front of the RIB, adjusting himself as he looked back on the boat, the evening setting in as the sun had now come closer and closer to the horizon in the west. He looked back- Mischief was on the M134 situated in the middle of the boat on a 360 degree swivel and a slightly raised platform, while Hotwheels, the driver, sat a little off-centre. The rest of the team were either sat on the side or up at the front of the RHIB with him, as they swelled over the waves, the sea rough but not stormy or throwing them around. Just a few breakers, and nothing substantial. Huscarl's gear was on him at the moment- his plate carrier, light ECH helmet with a flashlight on the right and a camera on the top, with a pair of swag Tactical Shades over his eyes, already giving him a small ammunition count in his bottom right of his vision, and also clocking up a basic friendly identification system, which of course, was only practical in identifying the team, not enemies. His UBACS fatigues were the team's standards, as well as his tan British Army standard boots, along with the Oakley gloves in his hands. The SCAR-H sat comfortably, the magnifier disengaged but the magazine loaded and ready to spew when he pulled the trigger.
"Everyone, eyes open. For now, AAF forces don't watch for RHIBs since they think we're with the CSAT, but the moment they come close or we fire the fucking gun, we are fucked. Hotwheels, keep going, half pace. Everyone, check your gear, we are at the Start Point, 1km out roughly. I've got no sighting of the AAF Speedboat, and no airborne units currently." Arran said, looking through his Rangefinder, magnifying slightly as he looked over at the distant island.

"Primary Insertion looks good, we'll stick right to the plan as I set out. Remember, quick and clean. Since Khukuri isn't on hand, Athena will take command of the second team after we approach Zephyr and the submarine, and she'll use the Laser Designator. As far as I'm concerned with that helicopter, let's try and keep it quiet- we'll destroy the rear rotor and move on, not fucking blow it to smithereens. And no, we're not stealing it. Last time I checked, none of us have any idea how to fly a freaking helicopter, and coming back to Stratis to convince the AAF that we're just "borrowing" it." Arran said, a wave kicking up as he sat up a little, looking out, aware that they knew each other well, and that they'd be getting this done cleanly and efficiently. Huscarl's Icelandic father, and to some regard, what made him feel more Nordic than Scots, was what he considered gave him that courage and that belief. He always remembered that his father had no fear to go out in the harshest storm, that he said it protected him and he felt at ease with God's wrath. In some ways, Huscarl felt that it was the same today- that if you looked on the tactical map to see how seriously outgunned they were, it was like they weren't going to have a hell of a chance, any normal infantryman or even a SFSG man would look at it and just say "No". But he knew he had the capability, he had the tactical plan, and that they would decimate the island's units with speed, precision and get what they wanted, without even making a audible mark. The only real stab in the side would be the fact that CSAT would lose millions of dollars of submarine, and a lot of troops dead at the hands of a NATO drone and an unspecified team. For some reason, Huscarl had to suppress in his head that what they were doing was not helping the tensions, but this was the only, and therefore, least worst way of getting the intel that they so desperately needed.

They slowed down, the boat quiet as they approached the south-western tip of Makyrinisi, closing much slower now as they entered on the breaking waves, Huscarl's beard and tactical glasses showing an element of an operator who was just sternly deep in thought. He had sometimes gotten stick in the SFSG and even the SBS for it, just being sometimes a little disconnected to which Huscarl always reiterated he was in thought. On how things would happen, and other matters. The chance to perhaps go home after this, with the rest of the troops on Stratis. The chance to see his girlfriend, of whom he had a strained relationship. He wanted to see her, badly, but work came first. Perhaps it was this disconnection with reality that made Huscarl good at what he did. He looked back at the operators, spitting first into the sea as he outlined his last functional order for now.
"A heads up- you find any intel after we raid Zephyr, you report to me and do not even consider going back to NATO troops on Stratis following a debrief. Remember how this works lads- NATO regulations do not apply to our operations, so you are free to engage AAF and CSAT forces now unless I give the word not to. All understood? Good- Hotwheels, aim for the small beach right there, quarter speed as we go. Athena, Irish, Hotwheels, you three take the right flank of our insert, your callsign is Bravo 2. Me, Mischief and Praetorian here will flip the north-west, as Bravo 1. We'll stick to the maps, and quietly act on the Titan emplacements first- my Bravo 1 will flank around and hit Titan No.2, while Athena's Bravo 2 knocks out Titan No.1 quietly. We'll go from there and eliminate every AAF man we see in a pincer, kill wounded and do not spare any surrenders, just to remind Mischief and Irish of that from training a few months back. Silencers set, on my mark." Huscarl said, kneeling at the front with the SCAR-H, as they prepared to hit the very small beach on the south-west, and quietly, and smoothly, move into position and eliminate the Titan emplacements- likely to just be three men at each, and a Titan MPRL AA launcher on a tripod, something that they could possibly use later if things hit the fan.

Olivia carried her duties with the team as it went on, and once the team got the armory, she looked up at Zdislav as he got her the rifle she was looking for, and thanked him graciously. "Yeah, it's quite a thing... I know. I want to use it on this operation, but if I do use this that means shit has hit the fan... so I hope I don't." She said simply as she prepared her gear. For this operation, she would be using her Mk18, like she always did, and carry along her trusty pistol with her. The rest of the gear pretty much remained the same, only she would have to wear a layer of waterproof clothing just in case she had to go into the water or something. But otherwise, the briefing and equipping went pretty much like usual, prepping and checking everything she would be bringing along.

---

Olivia was situated somewhere on the boat, next to Zdislav as she listened to the briefing that Huscarl was giving. Her goggles were over her eyes, just for the sake of keeping the spray out of her eyes, and giving her the information she needed to know, like ammunition count, or teammate indicators. She took as much as she could out of the briefing, knowing that she would be leading a fireteam herself. The Warrant Officer prepared herself once they arrived at the location they were supposed to be at, and once they arrived, it was pretty much go time. Olivia didn't do much until the boat got to the beach, and once it did, Olivia raised her Mk18, checking the silencer to make sure it was secure. Now, was go time.

Zdislav kept his eyes looking down the barrel - or more accurately, barrels - of the M134 as the boat slowly made it's way towards the island. He had used whatever time he had on base to get acquainted with his UBACS kit, learning how to use it to it's maximum potential. While he could not say that he was a fan of the pattern, it appeared to be the team standard and he would just have to make do. His silenced CZ-805 hung from it's one-point sling beside him. Using whatever little time he had on base, he had further customized the weapon by sparsely painting it with a can of olive drab spray paint. The rifle was a huge chunk of black, making it easy to spot. Zdislav hoped that the paint-spatter pattern on his weapon would at least break up its outline and make him harder to spot.

As always, he had a kheffiyeh wrapped around his neck and pulled up to cover his nose and mouth. The smell of the open seas never did sit well with him, regardless of how many amphibious operation training missions he had undergone. He listened intently to Huscarl's briefing while keeping uncharacteristically quiet. Night operations, especially out at sea where the environment was featureless at best, played havoc on his nerves. He looked left and right, straining his eyes to look for anything out of the ordinary. He paid only enough attention to know what he would need to do. Taking out the Titan emplacements seemed straightforward enough. If possible, he would try a covert sabotage and mess with the electronic or mechanical systems. If not, then he would either rig it with C4 or shoot it from afar with his RPG.

Zdislav wasted no time in getting off the boat and onto dry land when they hit the beach. He moved forward a few steps and dropped to a knee with his assault rifle up and at the ready. "Area is clear. It appears we slipped in just fine." He said quietly over the radio.

Irish readied his SCAR-H and readjusted the silencer on it then checked it sights briefly. He looked at his squad mates from the back of the boat, he listened to Huscarl's orders and prepared himself. He watched as Mischief jumped off the boat and did the same, he took a knee next to Mischief on the beach and raised his rifle scanning Bravo 2s surroundings to ensure their arrival had gone unnoticed and that it would stay that way.

The moment the boat hit the beach Linn leapt off. He dropped to a crouch and scanned the teams left flank. "360 security," He said just loud enough for the team to hear. In the short time he spent waiting for his Huscarl to give the order to move out, he thought on what the captain had said previously: "'kill wounded and do not spare any surrenders.'" Linn frowned, but his expression was hidden by the shemagh over his face. Not only was it a war crime to follow that order, although the spooks in the states probably didn't give a shit about the Geneva Convention, but Linn doubted he would be able to execute incapacitated or surrendering hostiles. The order violated his moral code in just about every way possible. It was this kind of spy shit that made him almost wish he was back in the Army.

Huscarl looked over, as he stepped out the boat, quickly remarking to the team to push the boat in as he got on one knee, aiming down the sight of his weapon, his hand securely around the EGLM launcher, feeling very alive. Every hair on his skin was up, just the teething concentration that slowly and surely was beginning to kick.
"Clear. Bravo 1, on me- let's loop around, Bravo 2, get into positions and ready to fire. Silent shots for now, but remember my ROE." Huscarl said, looking at Athena, as he looked at Mischief and Praetorian, indicating with his hand for them to follow as he raised his SCAR-H, the digital blue weapon neat in his hands as he pushed forwards, going off the beach and heading into the sunset-illuminated forest.

He heard Greek from a mile out- the Altisian people still spoke it, along with English due to the fact that it was simply so prevalent a language in these parts and the UK's colonial history on the island in the immediate aftermath of the First World War having a direct impact on some. It was the AAF AA team, and Huscarl and Bravo 1 were keeping their heads low, moving slowly and surely, tree to tree past the dense pines that littered this island. The LZ for the bird was right on the beach, and Titan Site number 2 was in a tiny clearing, which Huscarl could pick three soldiers to be sitting within.
"1, halt. Check safeties, contacts 50m ahead, three AAF Recon soldiers. Look at them...shit, how the fuck they haven't detonated themselves is beyond me." Huscarl said, leaning on a tree as he aimed down his sight, picking the main operator of the Titan, the other two AAF soldiers sitting on the floor and smoking fags. Fuck, in this day and age, Huscarl didn't know of many institutions that actually allowed operators to have a light, and these bastards were lighting up right by a AA warhead, and a couple that could be loaded into the device that were next to it. Idiots. The AAF Recon troops weren't anything special, they had exactly the same kit and maybe a different insignia, and maybe a bit more training. But they were nothing special, nothing significant. The CSAT recon troops, in their grey hex uniforms, did scare the shit out of Huscarl, and reminded him something serious was going down. This group however, wouldn't last long.
"I got the operator of the Titan, Praetorian, clip the guy on the left, Mischief, the right. Bravo 2, this is Bravo 1 Actual, we've found our first Titan, we're proceeding to engage quietly. Clip your AA position, then move to a concealed position where you have a confirmed visual on the grounded Hellcat- but remember, stay fucking quiet, do not compromise this. Huscarl out." Arran said, looking to his other two operators, as he adjusted his weapon's stance, aiming down the holographic sight, the unmagnified reticule still accurate in this environment. The targets were close, but idiots. They had practically flanked completely around, and Huscarl knew that after this trio was dumped, they'd close the net on the helicopter crew, and deny any chance of getting the AAF troops to RTB and report hostiles. Since the helicopter was the only real long range radio on the island for the AAF, it meant that from there, the AAF troops, the soldiers wearing digital woodland camouflage and geared up to the standard of almost a modern army, would get ventilated when Husky rolled up towards the north of the island.
"Okay Bravo 1, cleared to shoot on my mark." Huscarl said, referring to his fireteam, as he held his breath, going for an accurate shot just below the shoulder of the man's arm- where it wouldn't hit his plate carrier, and the two single 7.62mm shots he would pair up would hollow the man's internals. That was exactly what he ended up getting, except having to add a third- the subsonic 7.62mm rounds tearing through the operator of the AA tripod and sending him to the floor. The round had slammed through his bicep muscle, mostly skimming, and had punched through where his side where his body armor hadn't covered- after all, a few shots to the back or front would have done the job easily, but this was a guaranteed kill in a perfect scenario, and hit the vital organs without a single qualm.
"Tango down, that's that fucker. Bravo 1, stick close- keep a wedge, we have no time to hide the bodies so let's move up and set up a shot on the guys by the helicopter. If we're in time, Bravo 2 should have already cleaned their AA, and should be observing. I give about another five plus men holding the helicopter, so we're going to need to make sure the AAF don't have a hope in hell of leaving, or a way of yelling Wolf." Huscarl said, looking back at his pair as he moved slowly and surely up, scanning every angle as he kept a combat pace, his jog with the weapon stable in his hands something aptly suitable for this moment. The occasional twig snapped under his tan boots, the CTRG Captain heightened and aware that this was indeed, what they did best.

Huscarl led his fireteam onwards, moving up towards a couple of bushes where he could see the cabin of the armed WY-55 Hellcat- a Altisian development of the UK-used Wildcat helicopter, except with a pair of 7.62mm M134s and two DAP rocket pods attached the vehicle. It was a capable transport and attack helicopter, and was something that had to be dealt with.
"Get down, on the fucking floor." Huscarl said, moving to a pine tree as he came down on the floor himself, moving his back against it, looking over at the rest of his team as he got on his hands and knees, crawling towards a small gap in the thorn bush. He kept away for obvious reasons, but he had no question that if he had to crawl through about half a meter's worth of stinging shit, it would be something that he would do. For now, he positioned his SCAR-H towards a combatant, watching, waiting. The thorn bush was about hip high, and served as a good concealment, marking the edge of the pine forest and the beach clearing, where the Hellcat had landed on a dune close to the shore.
"Eyes on, six contacts, 50m again. Various Mk20 (F2000) rifles, couple of short-range optics, standard gear. Insignia on the helmet, I can just about spy it. One officer, the guy leaning by the helicopter talking to the two heli pilots. Looks like...Lieutenant of some sort, probably XO of this detachment. Bravo 2, pick a couple of targets, engage on my go. Mischief, Praetorian, we'll take the trio again, and then continue to engage whatever else we see, we'll pop up for a better shot over the top of this bush. We got them in a complete pincer, so watch your shots, and if it has a green digital pattern, it's clear to engage. Bravo 2, on your mark, shoot and we'll pop and engage." Huscarl said, checking the weapon, as he knew that they'd have to do something soon. It sounded like they were talking about the CSAT on the island, just how generically creepy they were, but he couldn't decipher anything that would be valuable as a local asset in the midst of it all. Nothing on an officer, nothing on anything. He readied his hands to push him straight up, and to bring the weapon to arms, so that he could shoot fully-automatic in the direction of the AAF Lieutenant, whose aged appearance suggested he had no reflex and was just some poor old miserable bastard on the wrong shift.

"Aye," Irish said as he stood up from the sand and moved into the tree line, he was careful not to make noise and moved until he saw an elevated hill. He figured it would be a good place to set up, a view of the shoreline and most likely a good view of any enemies coming in Bravo 2's direction, he pointed it out to his fellow
members of Bravo 2.

"Good position up there, plenty of view we can cover Bravo 1's escape and monitor patrolling squads. Of course it's up to you leader."