Buka Town
Buka Island
Bougainville Province
Pacific Ocean
2014


Bryan lowered the binoculars from his face and frowned in deep concern. The view wasn't encouraging.
The deep-water harbour was a little way ahead. The quayside was intact, as was the equipment and the buildings, for the most part, which was what he had counted on when bargaining passage here from Papua New Guinea, and getting away from the chaos raging through the country there as the remains of the government fought a bloody war with internal dissidents and elements of the NWA. He'd picked up the trail that other allied forces might've passed through this region, and there were airstrips here. But he hadn't seen or heard anything, and now the sight of the slate-grey destroyer sitting at rest there, and the Submarine parked further out.
Most worrying about the situation though was the flag stirring gently in the breeze from the mast of the ship - the stylised swastika in a white circle on a blood-red field... the symbol of the NWA.
He cast a glance back over his shoulder at the old man who'd driven him this far on the rusty old fishing boat. He shook his head slightly giving a crooked apologetic smile. His skin was naturally dark, but years spent working in the sun had darkened it further. There was no doubt that he had a lot to fear from the NWA, and he couldn't blame the man for wanting to stay here. Nonetheless, he had to get onto the island to look for a way further on, and going back would be no help either, at this stage.
Looking back toward the man, he dug into an inside pocket on his BDU jacket, withdrawing a wedge of money.

A short while later, he paddled the small boat to the shore, and dragged it up the beach, tugging it out of sight and hiding it under palm fronds.
Changed out of his BDU's and dressed in inconspicuous civvies, he walked carefully and slowly along a path from the beach toward the outskirts of Buka.
The town had been the capital of Bougainville following a civil war before - and during - WW3, but the war had found the island after ships had sheltered there and aircraft had transited through, and had been the site of battles. The evidence showed itself, as he passed an area of burned out jungle with the wreck of a Blackhawk at the centre.

The town beyond was similarly damaged and dishevelled. The majority of the buildings remained standing, but many were ragged with bullet-holes, or had missing parts of roofs, or smashed glass in windows. There were signs of life, but no one was out on the street to see him walk past.
As he approached the quays, he slowed down. There were armed men at the edge of the docks in small numbers, wearing dark uniforms in tropical cuts. Notably, all of them were white.
Opposite them were - he imagined - members of the submarine crew and its' captain. Their uniforms were light in colour, but had no insignia attached. The captain carried a briefcase, while the man opposite him had a pair laid out on the tailgate of a pickup.
Hesitating, Bryan surveyed the scene and then walked closer. One of the black-clad men blocked his path with a hand out.
"Hold it," he said "What're you doing here? Turn around and walk on".
"Sorry," said Bryan with an open smile, as his eyes darted around at the group. "I was just wandering - where am I, could you tell me? I'm a little lost".
The submarine captain glanced over at him, and answered, his hands folded.
"Yer on Bougainville Island. And if you know what's good for you and you wanna stay out of trouble, you might as well turn around and get the hell out of-"
Bryan caught a movement behind him. The Captains' XO had drawn his pistol and raised it. Reacting reflexively, Bryan yanked his P-226 out of the waistband of his pants, and fired, catching the XO in the arm, and shoving the NWA soldier away. The others opened up as the XO shot the captain in the back. Diving past the men around him, he snagged the briefcase from the captains' hand, and pounded across the tarmac, wincing as a bullet creased his sleeve. Behind him, the gunfight erupted between the Sub crew and the NWA forces, as bullets snapped through the air around him.
Bryan yelled and ran into cover, sliding down a muddy bank and slipping around the side of a van, the briefcase still banging against his thighs as he ran.
Panting, he dived into cover in a ditch, and one thought crossed his mind:
Why the hell am I doing this?

Back at the dock, the NWA leader kicked the body of the dead submarine captain and glared at the XO
"Who was that man? And where the hell is he going with those detonators and decoders? Is this some kind of double-cross?"
"I assure you, I have no interest in double-crossing you. I've been feeding the captain information for weeks, and most of the crew is on my side. We guided him here with the aim of getting your money in exchange for the detonators, and it wasn't easy. I have no interest in screwing you over now. We just need to find that man!"
The NWA commander turned around and beckoned a radio man closer. Lifting the handset, he spoke words rapidly and in short commands into the handset, before replacing it with a grimace.
"If he's out there, we'll find him - our men and their allies will scour the island to find him, and anyone else who's with him. We need those detonators. And if we don't get them back..."
His eyes fell upon the XO with a cold gaze, and he shivered under the look. The meaning was clear.

Bryan shouldered his way onward through the jungle. Leaving the roads behind had seemed like a good idea, but the going was hard, even if there was something of a trail. Not to mention, the heat was sapping his strength as much as the wound on his arm, and the weight he was carrying between his heavily packed kit bag and the briefcase.
Pausing, he heard no evidence of pursuit, and took a moment to take a few gulps of water from a bottle he'd secreted in his kit bag. Crouching, he flicked open the case and his eyes widened.
"Holy shit," he muttered as his eyes roved over the boxy shapes of the detonators. Special Weapons (as the euphemism went) weren't exactly part of his training, but between the submarine and the amount of people shooting each other, he could make connections.
He was in over his head.
But letting the NWA, neo-Nazi genocidal cult army that they were, get hold of them, would not end well for anyone. Making a decision, he stuff the detonators into his kit bag, and filled the briefcase with rocks from the jungle floor. Scrambling to his feet, he ran on, heading north-east.

Around the island, the roads and trails came to life with growling engines and shouting men as the NWA forces scoured the area for Bryan, and for the missing detonators. Anyone in their path was a suspect - and anyone else, was a target.

Ghost laid, waiting, deep in the jungle, high up the mountain. His bag was near by in a small hole he dug covered with leaves as he him self was in a make shift snipers nest. It was barley large enough to fit him as it also had his rifle. But it also hid him from view as any one passing by wouldn't give it a second glance. He lifted up a small not pad, on it was trajectory calculations, the range from where he was to the pier 2986m, humidity from local weather over the next few days as well as a distance vs wind speed notch count for quick reference. He liked to keep the information fresh in his mind, he also really wished that hunk of junk AB Computer was working. Leaning his head he looked through the scope of his Cheytech Intervention. The SN-9 optics allowed for a 42x magnification as he peered down down the scope looking at the dock. He watched as the captain of the sub was on the pier.

He had arrived several days prior, that Chinese ship dropped him off and he found passage from a small fishing vessel onto the island. He had worked with the submarine commander before, his unit deploying off of the sub, It was how they got into Russia in the first place. The captain had told him that he though something was up with his crew, and as such asked Ghost to keep a watch full eye. Feeling the NWA was up so something he agreed and took found a position n the mountain. There he had waited for almost two days now, laying there in his small shelter as he leaned his canteen up taking a small sip. It was mostly rain water from the night before but it wasn't going to kill him. There was something going on as that NWA ship pulled in early in the morning. He lowered his head, thirty minutes, he would get thirty minutes of sleep. His eyes closed.

After years of training his eyes opened up almost thirty minutes later as he peered down the scope of his rifle to check on the situation once more. There was some man at the main gate as he looked over at the flag, watching it flutter in the wind some, two knots. He looked at his card as he heard a feint popping sound of distant gun fire. His eye returned to his scope quickly as the scene was unfolding below him. He cursed as he watched as the captain fell down in a pool of his blood, soon that stranger dove forward into the fray nabbing that briefcase as he raised up his scope, four notches down, two to the right. He took in a deep breath and squeezed a loud bang of his rifle firing as he only had the flash suppressor on. Less then a half a second later a man fell back falling to the ground with a hole in his chest as he pulled back the bolt of his rifle cambering another round, the action was automatic and quick after years of training. He shifted his scope, a soldier had a gun trained on the the man that had taken the brief case, another breath another squeeze of the trigger and that man fell back his gun firing uselessly and missing the man as he pulled his bolt back to chamber another round.

He shifted his view, he found the man running off with the briefcase, watching him as there were a few NWA hot on his tail. He waited watching them as one stopped looking around to try to find the man who took the case, only to drop down with a hole in his chest. The other was chasing after the man and gaining some, it wouldn't be long before the two were out of his sight as he had to act fast. He did some quick calculations, as he squeezed, the man took a round to the back falling down to the ground as he lost sight of the man with the case in the jungle.

He shifted back looking over at the submarine but it was to late, the XO and NWA leader were gone and there were no more targets of opportunity. He was done here, he stood up rising out of his earthen hide as he picked up his canteen and his note bad before moving over to his back and pulling it out of the ground. Putting canteen on an outside pocket and his not pad inside he slung it over his back and lifted up his rife. The SEAL sniper wore all black, his face painted with grease as he wore an all black helmet with his GPNVG-18 goggles flipped up, the only mark on his uniform was simply the words "Ghost Reaper" over his left chest. He started to move through the forest. That case held the detonators for the missiles on board of that boat, fully loaded it had enough nukes to destroy the world several times over.

Ghost moved quickly, traveling through the jungle staying away from the main roads. He traveled in the general direction of the man, but the only hope of catching up was if he made camp for the night, and if he was smart there wouldn't actually be a camp which would make finding him more difficult, but it would allow Ghost time to catch up.

"You didn't have to do this. I shouldn't drag an old fisherman this far from home."

Cindy sat next to the old Asian man, as he manned the ship and sailed it through the ocean. He turned to her, and flashed a toothy smile, and tried to speak, as best as his broken English would allow. "You save my wife. I owe you. No problem." Cindy smiled warmly, and casually spoke back. "That one was on the house, for giving me a roof over my head these last couple of days. Man, I can't believe this war has been going on for twenty years. It just won't end..." Making a checklist of all her gear, Cindy prepared to land. That's when the captain spoke up again:

"Uh, lady? We may have trouble." Towards the island they had approached, were some ships moored, big ones. Cindy took out her binoculars and inspected them. She couldn't tell their make, as she wasn't a naval person, but the flags caught her eye. Swastikas. "Whaa... Nazis?" She checked again. Maybe this was a forgotten naval base from WWII? But no, there were armed men everywhere, it was still very much operational. With a sigh, she turned to the captain. "Look, you've helped me so much, but I need another favor. Something seriously fucked up is going on, and I need to get to that island. Can you find somewhere hidden from view to land the ship?"

The captain nodded. "No problem". And with that, he changed his heading, and made his way to a small cove away from the naval base.

---

They arrived, with little incident, and Cindy prepared to disembark. War has made some people drop of the deep end, that's for sure, but Nazis? That didn't make any sense. Never-the-less, she jumped off the side, and started to wade towards shore. She turned back to the fisherman, and waved, shouting "Now, get out of here as fast as you can, and thank you so much. Let your family know I said goodbye too!" Shouting back farewell, the fisherman turned his ship around, and started to get out of the cove as fast as the boat would go. not wanting to run into any of the soldiers.

With the good byes concluded, Cindy finished wading and checked her gear, to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Alright, now let's get to the bottom of this mystery, she wondered aloud, and tied a bandanna over her face and put on some goggles. Once all prepared, she drew her FA88, and proceeded to march into the forest, ready for anything now. Or so she thought.

Alika startled awake in the lifeboat she was sleeping in. She slowly got up, only to bump her head against the ceiling of the cramped lifeboat. For a brief moment, she had forgotten how she had ended up in the boat, but as she shook off the morning drowsiness, it came back to her. She had been hitching a ride on a cargo vessel bound for the United States when it was attack by NWA naval vessels. She was one of the few that was able to get into a lifeboat before the cargo vessel quickly sank. The lifeboat was a standard one found on most merchant vessels, equipped with supplies for a few days and an engine that could slowly but surely propel the vessel. Now with the past events more vivid and the aching of her head, Alika put together in her mind that she was probably knocked unconscious when the lifeboat had hit the water. Sighing, she got up into the small driver's seat and peered out the window. Only a few miles away, she spotted a shoreline. Thinking that her luck had finally come through, she quickly figured out how to start the engine and began to pilot the small vessel towards the island.

---

A few long hours later, the small lifeboat landed on the shores of the island. Alika quickly checked her gear and climbed out of the cramped vessel eagerly. Wading to shore, she entered the dense jungle forest and began to trudge along through the undergrowth, hoping to find civilization or a suitable place to camp. As a precaution, she pulled her small UGV out of her backpack and placed it on the ground, then pulled out her touch pad.

"Alright little guy! Let's get you all started up now.... and done.... VOICE CHECK..... yep that registered.... Alright! You're gonna walk with me and alert me of any contacts! Setting you to hold your fire since your people skills aren't the best... and we're good!" she put away her tablet and began to walk as the small drone kept pace a few feet in front of her. Due to its dark color and relatively small size, the drone was fairly concealed in the underbrush of the jungle.

Kyles camp was deep in the jungle, as far away as he could get from any groups of NWA. He'd been on the Island ever since the NWA had shot down the transport he'd been on, the lone survivor. The first missile hit had been bad enough, knocking out an engine and tearing a hole in the wing. Just before making what Kyle had thought at the time was a pretty damn good crash landing on the beach a second missile finished what the first had started and tore the wing off. The pilots died when the aircraft slammed into the ground and the rest of the passengers were killed when a pallet full of aid supplies broke loose and smashed through the seating section. Kyle escaped with his gear minutes before the NWA soldiers showed up to scavenge from the wreckage. He'd returned days later. Thankfully the bodies had been taken away. Taking some food that had been missed and whatever else he could scavenge, Kyle escaped into the jungle.

His camp was little more than a tarp spread across a deep gulley and covered with brush, invisible from the outiside. He'd made a hammock to keep himself dry and off the ground. He had little doubt that they knew that he was on the island, the disappearances of more than one patrol over the last year had seen to that although he suspected that he wasn't the only thing that the patrols had to watch out for. He swatted away an insect and get out of the hammock when he couldn't get comfortable again. He picked up his RPK and began to get ready to break camp. It was well past time he should look again for a way off the island.

Bryan had changed his course and direction a number of times as he made his way through the jungle. The wound on his arm was beginning to hurt, throbbing and tingling as he went, and the sleeve of the shirt he'd thrown on was stained red around the gunshot wound.
Nonetheless, he struggled on, before finally coming across a small clearing with a couple of ramshackle buildings around the outskirts. It looked like a construction site of sorts, abandoned when the war broke out. Making a quick decision, he darted behind a pile of earth bordering a trench dug for foundations. Dumping his heavy bag behind a nearby half-finished wall, he grabbed a spade and the bag with the detonators in, and dug deeper into the bottom of the trench. Digging a deep but fairly even hole, he glanced around and his eyes fell upon a steel toolbox. cramming the detonators in, he placed the box in the hole, and then buried the package, stamping the earth flat evenly along the bottom of the trench, and dumping the excess with the pile of dug-out earth nearby.
Task done, he dragged himself into the cover of one of the buildings and changed clothes, putting back on his BDU's and his load-bearing gear. The natives were not friendly, and it was time to defend himself and try to make some impact on the enemy - or find help.
He'd heard plenty of shots while running, and there'd been little pursuit. Something had put off the bad guys; maybe he already had help? And there must be some opposition to the NWA in the area. Memorising the location, he took one last look around, and then turned and headed deeper into the jungle, moving quietly and cautiously, MP-5 held loosely in both hands as he moved through the thick tree-trunks and undergrowth.
Pausing, he felt his head swim, and his arms droop with the effort of holding the SMG as his arm throbbed. Leaning against a tree for stability, he winced and fought against the sudden weight of his eyelids, before forcing himself to stand up as he heard movement ahead.
Ducking into cover, he crouched behind a stand of shrubs. A soft electronic whining sounded, and he craned his neck out slightly, and raised an eyebrow as a small robotic drone entered the clearing. Half-raising his MP-5, he tried to take aim cautiously, but instead his vision wavered again, and the Canadian passed out unconscious.

Alika moved through the jungle with her Mk18 resting by her side. It had been an hour or two of walking and still very little sign of anyone. She sighed from boredom when suddenly the drone halted. She pulled out her pad and checked what the drone had seen. There was a potential contact up ahead, but there wasn't any sure way to tell in the humid jungle. The warm air rising off the floor and the different conditions meant that Alika would have to re-calibrate the thermal camera in her drone before it could pick up heat signatures from humans, thus it was relying entirely on visual and audio contact.

"I swear to god K7, if its another fucking bird I'm going to punt you across this island." she grumbled quietly as they now more cautiously approached the contact. Alika took cover behind a tree and motioned her drone to move up. As the drone entered the clearing, Alika gasped at what she saw on her tablet. A soldier, much more western looking than that of the NWA, was just barley aiming an MP-5 at the drone before he slowly passed out and collapsed next to a tree he had been leaning on. The drone quickly scanned the area before Alika quickly rushed up to the man. She began to check him over, then discovered that this was a Canadian soldier.

"Huh... your a long way from home..." she mumbled to herself as she inspected his condition. She found he had a nasty cut along his arm. She deduced that the bloody cut, along with the heavy gear he wore, was probably what led him to passed out. Many questions began to race through her head, but she shook them off and decided treating the man first was top priority. First she removed the load bearing vest, helmet, and BDU jacket to help cool him off. Then she took her Camel Pack off and began to rinse the cut, getting any viable dirt or sweat out of it. Her brief searching in his bags revealed he was carrying a first aid kit. Taking some of the disinfectant powdered out, Alika sprinkled some on the wound before taking a clean bandage and wrapping it. She sighed, taking a seat a few feet in front of him and held her gun pointed at him.

"K7, engage on my command." She said, then motion the drone to hide in the brush to the man's right a few feet away. While she was fairly certain that this man wasn't hostile, she didn't want to take any chances. Alika waited for the man to regain consciousness.

Ghost had to slow down his movements. After two hours of moving through the forest the patrols of the NWA were starting to get more frequent. He must be getting close, staying low he looked up as the sun was setting, this was good as it was getting darker he would gain the advantage.
"Shit man where the fuck is this guy" a voice coming from his right,
"Fuck man I don't know" Another said.
"Man we'll never find him in the dark we should head back to the truck"
"Man I don't want to be cramped in the back of that stupid truck any longer then I have too."
"yea but once we get back to town there were some decent looking wet holes for slant eyes"
There was a laugh coming from them. "Man we haven't been out that long have we"
"He man I got to piss, be right back" a third voice.

As they spoke Ghost moved around them, staying low and behind some trees he had the three in sight. Good they haven't found the man who took those detonators. He watched them for a moment, waiting for them to pass from his hiding spot as the third man came back. "God this is so pointless, we'll never find anyone in this fucking jungle." He heard one say as they started to walk off. Ghost would of laughed, if he was the laughing sort, and not surrounded by hostiles. It seamed that no matter where you were the common soldier's best skill was complaining

Once they were clear he moved again, looking around the jungle. He liked jungles, air support was all but useless, the nights were pitch black. You could hide and move an army in them lord knows Africa has mastered that. It was a simpler kind of war, Where it wasn't the biggest stick that one, but the softest step. As he moved through that jungle he looked to his right, a phantom moving along side of him, Petty officer third class Ricko. He was a good kid, it was his first field assignment. Ghost and his team were to track down an African warlord who had been helping the "Axis" move troops and supplies through the jungles of Africa supplying the enemies to the north. They spent almost two months in that jungle, Playing cat and mouse with Guerrillas until they finally got some one that would talk. It was a grueling mission, everything in that jungle was trying to kill you. Ricko didn't make it.

Damian stopped him self, pulling out a flask he kept he took a sip, the burn of whiskey rolling down his throat. He had lost a lot of friends over the years, and he often wondered what became of Jayson, they had tried to keep in touch but with them both always being deployed. Damian shook his head and closed his eyes taking a moment. This wasn't the time nor the place for this. To many ghost haunt his memories, He took another sip of his whiskey before screwing the lid on and tucking it away. Damian took in a deep breath.

Ghost opened his eyes, those cold as ice blue hues looked forward. He had a mission, stop the NWA from getting those detonators at all cost. That meant finding the man who took them. He moved with a purpose. Quickly and silently through the jungle as he looked around. He had to be getting close.

Near to Cindy's position, a trucks' engine grumbled along a road, and gears ground as it lurched along a pitted and rutted jungle dirt track. There was a loud BANG followed by clattering of mechanical parts and the engine cutting out - heard too, across to where Kyle had set up his camp - and the vehicle ground to a halt.
The tailgate dropped on the cargo vehicle, and the NWA soldiers riding the truck hopped down, while those in the cab did likewise.
"What's the delay?" the officer riding up front asked, as one of the soldiers examined the engine. "Why have we stopped now? We need to get the cargo off this island, especially if there's someone running around here and they've captured those code boxes. Black Jewel can't be bought into operation without the cargo."
"I know, sir," replied the soldier examining the engine. "This'll take a while to repair - and that's if we've got the parts. I'll get to work-"
"Just do it," replied the officer with disgust, before signalling to the others to form a perimeter.
A voice from in back of the truck spoke up. "Where are we? Why have we stopped?"
"Shut up," replied the officer curtly to the female voice. "Sit still and be quiet Doctor DeWinter. And don't make any trouble".
The officer stood in front of the trucks' tailgate, his arms folded, as he spoke into his radio, advising command of his situation. The rest of the patrol began to spread out and cover the truck from all approaches, while the men worked to repair it.

Bryan jumped and stirred. Looking around in a panic for a moment, he slowly adjusted to the situation and saw the drone again, and then the woman a short way behind. Blinking rapidly, his memory came back and he looked down at his arm.
"Who are you?" he said after a moment. "Did... you fix my arm? Is this your robot?" He asked, pressing one hand to his forehead and wincing, before looking at Alika again.

Whirrr... whirrr...

Kyung felt a slight vibration from his pant pocket and removed the outdated Nokia cellphone. Gingerly pressing on the green answer button, he put it up to his ear as he took cover behind a tree and crouched down, making sure to keep his pistol at the ready. "Iseul here." He hastily spoke, not wanting to make much noise. "The infiltration was a success it seems. How's the plane?"

"It managed to leave the airspace without any trouble, thanks to the altitude. Pretty good HALO jump if you ask me. Have you done this before?" An associate of his client, speaking with a south east Asian accent answered him. Kyung smirked at this.

"In a different time and a different place, with a different name. Anyway, how about you give me the details on the objective?"

"His plane went down about a click north of your current position. It's probably crawling with NWA, but I'll need a few numbers from the plane for the time being. Be ready for anything getting over there. It's mostly jungle and the plane crashed in a clearing, but the NWA have probably set up a perimeter around the area. Any questions?" The South Korean commando silently thought it over for a moment before asking a question about the target. "I'll read from the file. Alright, he's a JASDF pilot of little fame, named Aoi Kurotsugi. He deserted shortly after his unit was 'sold' to our private army. We have not an idea about his reasons, but it is essential that we capture him."

"Why?" Kyung asked in regards to the essential nature of capturing the pilot.

"Classified information. Now then, I think you have a mission to get on with. Keep in mind that throughout the mission, you will have no support from us. The phone cannot call us, as the number will change every time. Once you have captured Kurotsugi, proceed to Buka Town for extraction. When you get there a man posing as a NWA soldier will guide you to a boat that will take you to our nearest base in Polynesia. Good luck." Without even waiting for Kyung to respond, the call was ended. He put the phone back in his pocket with a shrug and put his pistol and knife in his hand as he looked around the area. From his ridge position, he could easily see the smoke bellowing from the crash site and an NWA convoy moving along a road towards a coastal town in the distance that Kyung assumed was Buka Town. Taking a look at his watch, he made note of the midday hour before beginning his descent down the ridge. Carefully keeping away from parts that looked like they would easily give away, he reached the bottom of the ridge with little problems and began a walk towards the crash site, keeping an eye out for NWA troops.

Being only a short distance away, the trip took little time and Kyung found no resistance until reaching the clearing. At least ten NWA soldiers walked in the area, patrolling around the plane as they awaited it to be taken away. Kyung took a position in a bush and decided on his course of action for clearing the area. Immediately, he took note of a soldier standing precariously close to a bush from where Kyung could easily grab him. He also took note of a particularly large spider making its web on a tree nearby and a plan hatched in his mind. Holstering his pistol and sheathing his knife, he quietly moved over to the bush. He waited for the soldier to let down his guard in his figure before grabbing him from behind, holding his mouth closed and hitting the safety on his rifle as he pulled him away from the smoky clearing. Along the way, Kyung put the man down on the ground, having fainted from a heavy hit Kyung had placed on his head. Kyung estimated that the man would awake in only a few minutes considering the hit and build of the soldier, so he took little time in picking up the spider and placing it on the man's chest, quickly returning to the opposite edge of the circular clearing right after.

When the spider reached the face of the man, a scream erupted from outside of the clearing and six of the troops went out the clearing, leaving only three watching the opposite edge of the clearing to Kyung. Removing his Pentax Optio W60 digital camera from his fatigues, he moved out of the brush to take pictures of the plane's markings. Remarkably, the plane was in excellent condition despite the crash and the serial numbers and markings were as clear as day. It was an F-15J Kai, a modernized version of the F-15J Eagle used by the Japanese Air Self Defense Force, as evidenced by the modifications around the intakes. Kyung took multiple pictures of the markings on the wings, fuselage, vertical stabilizers before quietly moving to the other side to take photos of the rest of the plane. Returning to the side without any NWA patrolling, he climbed up to the cockpit to look for any clues in his search.

The first thing he noticed was the tell tale signs of blood on the ejection seat and the fact that the ejection seat hadn't been ejected, telling him that the pilot had obviously left after the plane crashed. It was now that Kyung noticed a very faint trail of blood leading away from the plane. Aside from this obvious way of tracking down his target, he also observed the instruments, but being used to the F-15A variant of the plane, he found himself somewhat lost due to the F-15J being a variation on the F-15C, which made for quite a few changes compared to the plane he had once flown over Afghanistan. Shaking his head, he descended from the cockpit, but suddenly, a voice rang out. "You there, freeze!" Kyung jumped off the cockpit and took cover behind the plane as the soldier opened fire. The ruined Eagle took most of the fire, but Kyung still took no time in dashing towards the brush, shots ringing out from behind him. He was heavily out-numbered, so he sprinted into the jungle, not looking where he was going and continued running until he was sure that he had lost the troops. Breathing heavily, his older body was practically screaming at him.

Kyung fell to his hands and knees and spent a good minute catching his breath before raising himself with a groan and detaching his AKS-74U from the strap he had been holding it on. In the distance, he could hear sounds of searching as the NWA troops moved towards him. Breaking into a jog, he began to head further away from the crash site, the short carbine in hand and not looking behind or below him as he escaped the enemies. It was thus how he suddenly found his feet tied thanks to a trap laid on the ground. His face hit the dirt with a thud and his weapon landed out of reach.

"Anatahadaredearu kamo shirenai?" Kyung was surprised to hear a voice speak in Japanese from behind him. However, unknowing of the Japanese language, he remained silent. The unknown person seemed to be reasonably ticked off by him not answering and was kicked in the back as his captor yelled at him, "Darekaga anata ni shitsumon o suru toki imaimashī Nachisu, kotaeru!"

"English.. do you speak English?" Kyung muttered as he recovered from the kick. His captor gasped as he realized that Kyung wasn't one of the NWA as he noticed his uniform and accent.

"God! I thought you were a Nazi! Who are you?" The man quickly began cutting the cords as Kyung responded. He spoke fluent English, to Kyung's appreciation.

"Kyung Sang Iseul. I presume you're Aoi Kurotsugi?" He pushed himself up when he was unleashed from the trap and looked at his captor. A short man, he was wearing a black and green flight suit with orange highlights and the Japanese flag on his left shoulder, and he still had his helmet on; white of color with a single orange star decorating it. Curiously, from what Kyung could see under the helmet, his target had a rather effeminate face. He also had bandages across his forehead and right eye and on his right forearm where he had removed his glove, revealing a dainty looking hand.

"That's me. How do you know my name?" Kyung carefully considered his words as he shook the bare hand of the pilot.

"I'm here to rescue you." A look of unease took to the pilot's face as he removed his helmet, letting some mid-length hair fall down, held back by the bandages.

"Do I really need rescuing?" Aoi said, turning around. "Honestly, I'd rather continue to Australia." Kyung sighed, not especially wanting to argue, but also not wanting to reveal the true purpose of him being there.

"Fine. I know a guy in Buka Town who can take us there. You have a weapon?" Aoi gave a slight expression of distrust before answering his latter question.

"Just my P220. Mind passing me that M1?" Aoi gestured to the rifle slung on Kyung's back. He shrugged as he checked the rifle.

"Can you shoot with your injuries?"

"Of course. I'm a lefty shooter and besides, I shoot better than most guys in the Rikujō Jieitai. I'll lead the way to Buka. I got my bearings pretty well before crashing." The Japanese pilot gave off an air of confidence as he was handed the rifle, which he slung over his back before taking the extra magazines. Kwan nodded and Aoi began walking confidently ahead and he followed in turn, shouldering his AKS-74U which he had recovered from the ground. They walked in silence, so Kwan decided to look over the pilot. His stare quickly fell to how he walked.

There's something peculiar about it, but I just can't place what it is... He thought to himself. Aoi then turned around and looked at him, before sneering and confidently jeering. "Who're you looking at, Mister Iseul?"

"Nothing, let's keep going. We'll stop in a bit to try to find food and drink. You hungry?" The pilot made a bothered look and kept walking as he responded.

"I'm kind of peckish." He said in a quiet tone, almost inaudible as a group of jet-black helicopters passed overhead. They both ducked in near synchronization and they spent a good minute on the ground before rising up again and silently continuing their walk. As they marched, Kwan kept a watchful scan of the jungle, looking for any dangers. Suddenly, he noticed a man and a woman a few dozen meters away, with an advanced looking machine with them. Silently, he moved up behind Aoi and tapped him on the shoulder and gestured towards the soldiers. He then gestured to a covered position nearby and after nodding, Aoi dashed over to this position. At the same time, Kwan quietly began to move towards the trio.

Once he was in audible range, he briskly spoke. "All three of you, don't move an inch! I've got a... erm... sniper, watching this area. Tell me who you all are and no one will get hurt." He menacingly bared his AKS-74U and he saw the equally menacing glare of the scope from the rocks where Aoi had positioned himself. "I'm not with the NWA, if you're wondering." Kwan tried to assure them, hoping to gain an ally or two, but he quickly realized that baring weapons and threatening them wasn't the best way of doing so. I'll put the weapon down once I know who they are... He thought to himself as he looked the strangers over, awaiting their responses.

Kyle had just finished breaking camp as the sound reached him. He dropped to a crouch and raised the RPK-74 to his shoulder, a thirty round magazine already loaded. after a second he decided that it was far enough away for him to be safe for the moment but close enough for whatever it was to pose an eventual threat. He slid one arm out of his packs straps, ready to drop it at a moments notice. Taking a few seconds to get a more exact direction, he set off down the mountain slope, avoiding where he'd gone previously to take care not to create enough of a disturbance to leave a trail.

Getting closer to the road, he dropped to his stomach, nearly invisible in the undergrowth. he crept forward carefully until he had eyes on the vehicle. He shrugged off his bag and moved it slowly behind a tree. Still being careful not to disturb anything, he inched himself in the other direction until he was mostly hidden behind a tree trunk. His search and rescue training made him naturally suited to finding things in the forest and equally adept at not being found. He'd had little chance to apply it to his time in the cities of Europe but he was now in his element.

He held his fire for the time being, peering over the sights at the soldiers almost three hundred meters distant. He was content to watch for the moment, it was safer to hold his fire when he was outnumbered like this. they seemed content to stay near the truck for now. He'd have to fire if they expanded their perimeter towards his position. He could have made his way around the truck but he stayed where he was. The patrol seemed unusually disciplined and he wondered at the way one of the officers stood near the cargo area of the vehicle.

Ghost slowed down his pace as he was walking, still keeping low and out of sight. Soon enough though he heard people talking as he stopped and sank lowered himself. He listened for a bit as he looked on, some one asking if the other bandaged them up, and another announcing he wasn't NWA, only there was a slight accent to his speech that made ghost think one look at him and you could tell he wasn't NWA. He decided to keep a distance for now, backing up slowly he turned and shifted looking around finding where the landscape stared to rise and headed off in that direction. After a few moments he was out of ear shot, no longer able to hear them, and more importantly, nobody could hear him. He looked around, then looked up as he looked a tree...perfect he thought. He removed his back pack, and stashed it in a bush near by so that it couldn't be seen.

He climbed that tree, using branches he ascended nearly fifteen feet into the air where the tree trunk split, climbing up into that nook he lowered down, his body conforming to the tree. He really wished he had a gilly suite right now. But for now he stuck close to the tree, his uniform all black he was high enough that at a glance he would be un-noticed, and from a distance it would be hard to see him. He pulled his rife up and rested it on a branch in front of him for support as he looked down the scope. He pulled in the zoom to 10x magnification as he looked down. He estimated he was mabye 100 meters away, wind was low and not a factor and gravity wouldn't play a big factor, maybe a few centimeters down from the center. There was a small hood over his scope that stopped any lens flare as it covered the glass with a shadow.

Moving his rifle he scanned the small group, the man in fatigues was wounded, he wasn't able to get a good look at him from his view point in the jungle earlier, but something told him this was the man he was looking for, a gut feeling. There was a woman, and an Asian man as well. One thing he new, they weren't NWA. Moving his scope once more he caught the sun reflecting off of a scope further back as he shifted up to see the man in a pilots helmet with what looked like an old M1. Though from the markings, he was looked like a Japanese pilot, so not NWA. Despite this the only knew two things for certain, they weren't NWA, and they had a bunch of detonators for nukes. Watching that Mexican stand off from a distance he moved his scope training it on the Asian man.

He wasn't to worried about the others, the girl and wounded man were to the left and right and if they turned to look at the Asian they would be looking away from him. He could simply tell by the way the Pilot held the rifle that he wasn't a threat, he had the barrel sticking out of the rocks, how his hand held the barrel like a machine gun to keep that rapid fire steady, instead of holding the butt of the rifle it to slightly guide the rifle for smooth motion. He probably wouldn't know how to properly adjust for bullet drop, He guessed that it was the more imposing mans rifle, and also meant it was sighted for him. Though That M1A was a good rifle, it was not a factor as it is useless in the hands of that pilot at any distance past maybe 15 meters. So for now he watched through his scope, if anything they would start shooting each other and he wouldn't have to worry about killing any of them.

Forced marches were never fun, but Cindy thought it necessary. It was unfortunate to think that the small fishing boat had been seen, but it was more than likely it had, for this base was definitely in active duty, and would be sweeping the area for any intruders if they did catch sight of their entrance. She was thinking back to briefing prior to the Burma placement, to try and recall any key mention of extremists operating in the area. This war had certainly broken many a people, and made them take up ideologies that could justify their need to lash out against, something, anything that scared them more than they already were. Cindy herself had given up hope of seeing her home again any time soon, and thought she would snap at some point. But for now, that wasn't an option. Not when you could be captured at any moment.

It was then that a pierce bang reverberated through the jungle, and made her duck reflexively. More likely a car engine giving out, it lacked the distinctive crack of a firearm. No doubt more nazis, Cindy thought wildly. To keep from blowing her cover, she slapped mud on her fatigues, and pulled leaves off a nearby buysh to add to the camo effect. After five minutes, she started to head to a clearing, towards the noise, dropping to the ground and crawling on her stomach. Stealthily, she took up a spot, and observed some men busy at work fixing their truck. Almost unreasonably, she half-expected them to be wearing the familiar, grey fatigues and falcon badges of soldiers from WW2, but wasn't surprised when they resembled a more ragtag, hastily formed militia. Most likely a splinter faction than a fully fledged military power. She observed a little longer, and then made her way back into the bushes, and made a wide circle around them. No point starting a fight you can't win.

CRACK! Without warning, Cindy felt the familiar pain of a forceful blow to the back of her head, like the one she received during a nasty bar fight in some Burmese piss hole. That was the last thing she remembered of the rifle butt to the back of her skull, before coming to tied up by her wrists, on the ground, and surrounded by the truck soldiers from before. Damn. Head wracked with pain like the morning after a heavy night out, she let out a small laugh. "That's no way to treat a lady, you know?"

"Shut up, slut," was the response from the nearest soldier, who accompanied the response with a sharp kick to the stomach, which made her grunt. "Don't say shit, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

"Ooh, tough guy, eh?" She was dragged to her knees, and swung a hay maker into her jaw, causing her head to snap to the side. She spit out an ever-so-slight stream of blood from her mouth, smiling with scarlet stained teeth. "Nice punch. Let me outta these ropes, and I'll show you how you really punch a girl..." She joked, winking. He lined up another punch, when his commanding officer grabbed his wrist. "She wants you to kill her, you idiot. That means she knows something. Take her weapons, and check for identification. Maybe she knows something about our little thief friend..."

He drew his pistol, and inspected her closely, lifting up her head with the barrel. "Excuse my men, they are... Unaccustomed, to seeing a woman out here such as yourself. Normally, I'd throw you to the dogs, and let them have their way with you. It's good for morale, you see?" He waved his hand to them, and a couple of the nearby ones laughed and grimaced. "But we have had some strange occurrences, lately. And your appearance seems to be too large of a coincidence. So, would you know anything about a man with a suitcase? Or who sent you? Now, choose your words wisely: I don't want you to regret any 'poor decisions' you make..." He waved the gun, and waited for her response.

"Shiiiiiiiiiit..."

He let a breath of air hiss past his teeth as he saw some of the soldiers pull a woman into the clearing. Staring down the sights of hie weapon, he checked the range adjustment. They were slightly closer than the 300 meters so he aimed slightly lower than the centre of the officers heart, not wanting to take chances with missing a head shot. He hoped that the woman would have the sense to run towards her rescuers, bringing anyone giving chase straight into his line of fire. It was nice of them to group up for him, he might be able to take down half of them in the first few seconds, the chaos of being ambushed creating enough of a distraction for her to get away.

He watched carefully, waiting for the perfect moment. The officer might have been asking questions or something, punctuating his words with movements of his pistol. At this range it would take a full quarter of a second for his rounds to reach the soldiers, slightly faster than what they would be shooting back. The officer gestured again and he fired a short burst, hitting the officer with a handful rounds and tracking left. These soldiers being further away, he fired longer bursts, stitching up the area around them with dozens of rounds. He aimed more carefully than he would have ordinarily, not having an ally to keep firing as he reloaded. Kyle targeted the ones with more dangerous weapons first, machine guns and anything with optics or under-barrel grenade launchers.

All to soon the magazine was empty but not before the hundred rounds had left the majority of the patrol dead. He dropped the empty drum and loaded a fresh one, standing up into a crouch and beginning to move from tree to tree down the slope. He kept up a steady rate of fire, pausing behind trees to unleash a burst of fire at anyone stopping to take aim. He froze behind a tree for a moment as the crack of supersonic bullets passing echoed around him.

Explosions and gunfire echoed in the distance as Alika waited for the strange man to wake up. She worried that she may need to move soon as the fighting sounded close... dangerously close. Thankfully, Canadian man stirred from his sleep, seemingly confused until he got his barrings.

"Who are you?" he said after a moment. "Did... you fix my arm? Is this your robot?" He asked, pressing one hand to his forehead and wincing, before looking at Alika again.

"I'm Alika, yes I patched up your arm, nasty cut, and yes, this is my friend, K7. Now before continuing I must warn you that my friend here can react faster than you can blink so I wouldn't try anything." she then grabbed a canteen from the man's bag that was next to her and threw it to the man while her other arm still held her rifle pointed at him. "Drink some water if you know what's good for ya, your probably dehydrated right now. Once your done with your little drink, I got some questions of my own." She paused and took a moment to take a sip from her camel pack.

"Ahh.... Alright, first off, where is this place? Second, who are you? And third, why is the NWA here? Based on the gunfire and the general location of where my ride sank, I know that they are probably around somewhere here. Oh and speaking of that distant gunfire, you should probably answer my questions fast cause we may need to get moving before that distant fight becomes ours." she said to him. In her mind, the man was in all likely hood not a threat, but there was still plenty of room for doubt so she took no chances, keeping her weapon raised and K7 on standby.

Bryan accepted the canteen with thanks, and took a long drink of the water, as his apparent rescuer explained who she was, and what she was doing here. Replacing the cap on the canteen, he set it down as he slowly sat up properly.
"To answer your questions - We're on Buka Island, which is part of Bougainville Province of Papua New Guinea. My name is Bryan Winterman, Canadian Armed Forces MP. As for the NWA, well - your guess is as good as mine, but I stumbled across them doing some kind of arms deal on the quayside with a submarine captain. I'm guessing they have some sort of plan... I kind of, well. Stole their shit, and they took offence to that, and now they're trying to find me. Still, I figured it's better out of their hands, ey?"
He hesitated, and judged her reaction. She seemed professional, if a little young. But nonetheless, she was keeping a close eye on him with both her drone, and her personal weapon in a position to be quickly snapped up to her hand.
Bryan was about to say more, when a polite voice interrupted both of them.

"All three of you, don't move an inch! I've got a... erm... sniper, watching this area. Tell me who you all are and no one will get hurt." He menacingly bared his AKS-74U and he saw the equally menacing glare of the scope from the rocks where Aoi had positioned himself. "I'm not with the NWA, if you're wondering."

Bryan looked startled for a moment, and raised his hands in supplication to the newcomer.
"Easy now," he said, slowly climbing to his feet, still a little wobbly, but feeling much better. "Let's not do anything rash, ey? There's enough NWA running around trying to kill all of us, let alone us start shooting each other. I'm Bryan Winterman, Canadian Forces; Military Police. And this is Alika. We've only just met too. I'm glad to hear you're not with the NWA."
He looked over the man, seeing his obvious asian features and his lack of uniform, before he gave a grim smile. "Of course, you don't exactly look like the type, if you don't mind me saying".

***

Elsewhere, and a short distance away, the NWA soldiers attacked Kyle fell, shouting in pain and chaos. Most had fallen dead where he shot, while others were in no condition to fight back. The remaining men scattered and fired back from the cover of the truck, or by the roadside. Their rifles chattered and popped in reply to the hammering bursts of Kyle's heavier weapon.
"Let's just get the hell out of here!" one of the soldiers urged to the others. "The bitch in the back can rot, and we don't need this prisoner anyway!"
"The boss will kill us if we leave without her," his squad mate urged, his eyes wide. "We should-"
He was cut off as his skull was perforated by one of Kyles' rounds. Cursing and muttering, the remaining man scattered into the jungle, leaving the truck unattended, aside from the dead and dying.

"Your reckless you know that?" she said with a small giggle. "But damn... dentanators? Well it looks like we got new priorities.... How ab-"

Suddenly a voice interrupted them. When the newcomers revealed themselves, Bryan was the first to respond to them verbally, but the drone was not as understanding of the situation. Its turret quickly turned and bared its 9mm barrel at them and emitted two high pitch beeping noises as an alert to their sudden appearence. Alika, quickly got up and stopped the drone from taking further action. "Down boy! No! No shooting! Bad!" she oddly said. Alika had programmed the drone to respond to specific voice commands by her, and "down boy" was one of them. The others... well she did treat it like a pet.

"Sorry about that.... but yeah buddy, you don't exactly look the part, but I guess since you didn't shoot us on sight, that's enough proof to me you ain't NWA. K7, disable guardian mode, return to standby status... There, he's put his gun down, now you guys do the same." she said as the gun on the drone retracted into the small turret. She placed her Mk18 on the ground behind her and took a step forward to put some distance between her main weapon and herself to indicate friendly intentions, then motioned them to do the same.

"Listen people, I think its safe to say we all need to get the hell off this island, but I think my new Canadian pal here has some serious information for us as he just told me."

"So, what is your decision?" The officer casually looked her in the eyes. That's when a wad of bloody phlegm smacked him in the cheek, and his face dropped into a scowl, as Cindy just smiled.

"Do your worst, punk, you don't scare me-" Without warning, he had several bullets rip into his side, and he collapsed with a look of shock on his face. Other soldiers returned fire, only to be torn down by some kind of heavy caliber SAW weapon. She kept her head down for a bit, as the bullet lawn mower cut the enemy squad to shreds, before a lull in fire where she stood up with some difficult, as her hands were tied in front of her. Without hesitating, she spotted her pack with weapons still attached, grabbed it and proceeded to run towards the hidden rescuer, albeit right to the side outside of his cone of fire.

Cindy pumped her legs into the ground as fast as she could, as whoever was firing started up again, and she uttered a small prayer.
"Please don't hit me, please don't hit me, please don't hit me..." Eventually she leaped over a small mound, and landed with a thud beside him. She took a quick look at him, and noted the Canadian flag on his shoulder. Never seen a Canadian before, do they even have an army? She wasn't complaining, as he appeared to have decimated the squad, who retreated with haste into the jungle.

She laid beside him, and patted him on the shoulder, a wide grin on her face. "Thanks for the rescue, mate. Bloody Nazis, this war gets crazier by the day, right? Anyways, I'm Private Cynthia Gouldbern, of The Royal Australian Army Medical Corps, but you can call me Cindy. Pleased to meet ya." She held out her tied hands, waiting for him to shake it. "Oh yeah, right. Mind cutting me loose?"

Kyle smiled at his rescuee, not moving for a moment as he watched the last of the patrol run back down the road the way they had come. He pulled his knife from it's sheath on his belt and sliced neatly through the ropes. He slid it back into the sheath and started back up the hill towards the rest of his gear.

"Kyle Blackie, Disaster Assistance Response Team, I'm a little bit further from home than you are. We'd better get moving, I think I heard a helicopter earlier."

Reaching his bag, he hefted it up onto his shoulder and headed back down the hill to replenish his spent ammunition. He dropped the half empty drum and picked up a pair of full drums to replace what he'd fired. He pulled the officers pistol from the lifeless hands of its owner and used it to finish off the handful of survivors, explaining his actions with "It's kinder than leaving them. There's really nothing we can do."

He made his way to the truck. Rather than looking in through the back he lifted the cover on the side with the barrel of the pistol.

Bryan picked up his lead-bearing gear, and started to put himself back into combat condition.
"She's not wrong," continued Bryan, taking over the conversation. "The NWA made a deal with a back-stabbing submarine officer, which gave them access to nukes. A whole submarine-full of 'em. The thought of neo-nazi's with nuclear weaponry and an agenda makes me feel all kinds of horrified. Kind of felt like it was my business to intervene and grab the detonators, and stash them somewhere. Alika's right: we need to get off of this island, before they find us, or the detonators. Even then - I'd like to do something about that sub, but I don't have the weapons or gear to do it. And even if I did, I don't reckon I could do it on my own anyway..."
He left the sentence hanging, and looked around the clearing at the others, as he bent to retrieve his helmet, and MP5.

Meanwhile, at the truck, a woman's voice sounded as Kyle lifted the tarp covering the cargo bed with his pistol.
"Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot! I'm a friendly, a-a scientist! Professor Melissa DeWinter, I'm a geneticist. University of Kyoto!"
A look revealed a wide-eyed, dark haired woman. She had some evidence of Japanese features, but they were blended with caucasian notes to her face and body. Dressed in tropical-clothing, she was curled up in the corner of the trucks' cargo bed, hands up in a defensive posture.