(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."
(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."
