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

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

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

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

Pulling up, he looked out on the dark sea, turning the engine off as he looked at the beach, once a surfer's paradise, now empty. He parked the pickup by a small shack, that had been rotting for the longest while, with a few dunes with Marram grass also around that stopped the shack being right by the sea.
"Fuck, would have been nice to go surfing here in the good days. Try that now, you'll get a fucking ticket from the Altis Police." Antos simply said, chuckling as they waited, and waited. Just coinidentally, the next track on the MP3 stereo of the pickup was [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ji6YlKFJ8k]this[/url], the irony killing Antos a little. He was into his music, to say the least- it gave him some relief, as he knew it wouldn't exactly kill them outright.
"Now we wait."

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

(Maps are here, just to remind you.)
[url=http://i.imgur.com/cNoRTSW.png]Altis[/url]
[url=http://www.armaholic.com/datas/users/stratis_map_v1_small_version_4.jpg]Stratis[/url]

[center]"Husky's Fishhook"[/center]

2200 Hours
Somewhere off the Western Coast of Stratis

[url=https://soundcloud.com/rgbeatsuk/sets/arma-3-operation-kingfish]OST[/url] (This is actually made by a mate of mine, goes quite well.)

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

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

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