Somewhere in the Swiss Alps
"La Serpentine"
1500 Hours
The "La Serpentine" facility was a rather incognito one- most people would barely make it out in the high and snowy Swiss mountains, nestled in a valley above a large reservoir and among a set of mountain glaciers, peaks and ridges south of Arolla and Lac des Dix on the mountain that bore its namesake. Most tourists that might have seen the small anomaly in that landscape from afar would have guessed the short slope-level inclined runway and small concrete structure next to it belonged to a billionaire's private lair, another random concrete bomb shelter like all the other random ones Switzerland had, or something like that- but to the team of Foxtrot Oscar, it was their home that they had out of harm's way that allowed them to deploy to much of the world. There was a tiny road through the ice and snow that led to a service route on the Lac des Dix, but getting up here was half the challenge- if you weren't stopped by an array of gates, the hairpins might bore you half to death, as might the fact that any visitors could be seen coming from a mile away.
The facility itself was a fairly plush one- a renovated mining complex, previously left to rot before FO's arrival. The main feature was an incredibly short and tight tarmac runway laid out ontop of an existing gravel one on the facility's tiny precipice- barely large enough to let a light aircraft land given it was barely longer than the length of an aircraft carrier's deck, but more specifically, it helped a V-22 Osprey and a handful of fast jets use it as a stopping point and a supporting role for whenever Foxtrot Oscar needed more firepower than the team of six that were normally sent out. Beyond the runway, the concrete structure was only a fascia- the mining control room and supply rooms ripped out and replaced with living quarters, including a living room that looked out of a large open panoramic window of the mountain scene the base faced onto, flanked by a gym, a pool, rooms and a tactical briefing room. A very cosy lounge, with a full bar, sofas and beanbags helped with making this place feel "lived in", rather than purely for function. A very specific decision by Skye- they weren't Spartans, they were gonna be here for a long time, and good decor cost....actually, about £50K, so she spent it to get the work done. When you're the one calling the shots, you get to be an interior decorator, right?
Beyond that however, the appearance of a typical bilionaire's weird holiday retreat changed into a facility built into the mine, built into the granite walls that once housed mineshaft and larger storerooms. Antoher twelve support staff roamed in this area, looking after a small motorpool, an weapons range and armoury built into a particularly long tunnel of the mine, another pair of briefing rooms, a server system, alongside a VR training facility and a whole heap of shoothouses, training rooms and facilities right at the back. Perfect for testing each of the operatives in any kind of environment, virtual or half-real. After all, new tech came in all the time- and honing skills in that place was how they got so damn good. The team specialising in so many different ways meant that sometimes Skye wanted to see how it all sowed together- and right at the furthest, deepest cavern of the mine was where that happened. Oh yeah, and of course, Fight Cavern. The place to see some poor new recruit, or prospect get kicked the shit out of them before being offered entry into The Devil's Cooker. First rule of Fight Cavern is that you don't remember how you got to Fight Cavern....
--
The figure of Skye on base was remarkably casual for the team lead, the red-haired Scottish CO of Foxtrot Oscar wearing an old-school navy-coloured "Slayer" T-shirt with a pair of navy jeans, a pair of rounded sunglasses finishing the look of the fiery and fierce person that kept the team in check. Death metal was her shit, though you wouldn't think it beyond all the highland fiddle and softly-softly stuff she normally listened to. Her FNX at her side as per always, the team lead never seemed out of pace no matter what environment she was in spite of her casual Friday look. Heading up the stairs into the main lounge, she could see the team's resident Dutchman, and a handful of others about, enjoying R&R after their eventful last op. It could have gone much smoother, but all things considered, they'd done a good job. Extracted the Colombian president from being kidnapped by a drug cartel, without it even making the news he'd left his villa. A brow of sweat wiped off everyone's head. But that was just another Wednesday for FO- and for Skye, an annoying recurrence. Looking to the team's parkour and general spiderman, a shitty plan came to mind, as she walked over, noticing him snoring away on the sofa.
"Sam! Get the fuck up!" She yelled as she slammed the table, the Dutchman waking from sleep with a yelping jolt, the bong falling off his knees and smashing on the floor, the Scotswoman trying to hold back the chuckle in just as she crashed down on the sofa, the sight of his face changing from fear, to shock, to annoyance painting everything the Scot wanted to get.
"Why'd you do that?" He asked, Skye shrugging as she inspected his weed over that was on the floor, having a look through.
"That is an utterly pish-shite grade. I dunno, mebbe don't fucking fall asleep stoned or something when your boss is on site? You get nightmares, remember?" Her sultry Scots cut back, making her almost giggle more at the sight of it all.
"Yeah, but ever since we took back that Colombian last week, you know how fucking hard it is to get good weed? Like, I can't even do mail order from Colorado anymore! Shit...sorry." Sam replied, Skye shrugging, sitting down opposite on the next red sofa, feet up, sunglasses off as she giggled, shrugging her shoulders. He wasn't a happy bunny, but he'd calm down soon enough.
"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't smoke weed anyway in a highly secure facility where we have a zero drugs tolerance policy? I mean, if you get drugs tested...you seriously think I'd piss in a cup so you avoid getting booted?" Skye retorted, Sam chuckling in reply, grinning.
"Maybe 'cos you love me enough you would. Where you gonna find a guy who does what I do with my professional standards, eh?" Sam added, giggling in retort as he got his grass back together, scooping it back onto the table and sighing, Skye not sure how to reply.
"The fucking things we do to keep us together....so long as you do what you do best and don't make my job too fucking difficult, I couldn't give a shit what it takes to keep you on side. Fucking give me strength sometimes though, Sam..." She mustered up, standing up and heading to the tabletop in the lounge, grabbing a bottle from the cooler, a dulled Highland Whisky she had very much gotten into of late and had no second thoughts in pouring.
She rarely found herself on base sitting about doing nothing, but given her body had physically given up after her last round of running and swimming, a glass of fine whisky would do her joy for the moment, as she went back to the sofa, legs up, sipping down the liquor as neat as she could. The rest of the team might come by soon, or be out on their activities, wherever they may be.
"The whisky a part of that leadership method, Miss Mason?" Sam asked, putting a neat blunt together, well, out of whatever was left of the weed from the bong, and looking to get that down his system.
"Fuckin' course it is." Skye replied smoothly, sipping the braveheart juice to heart's content.
"La Serpentine"
1500 Hours
The "La Serpentine" facility was a rather incognito one- most people would barely make it out in the high and snowy Swiss mountains, nestled in a valley above a large reservoir and among a set of mountain glaciers, peaks and ridges south of Arolla and Lac des Dix on the mountain that bore its namesake. Most tourists that might have seen the small anomaly in that landscape from afar would have guessed the short slope-level inclined runway and small concrete structure next to it belonged to a billionaire's private lair, another random concrete bomb shelter like all the other random ones Switzerland had, or something like that- but to the team of Foxtrot Oscar, it was their home that they had out of harm's way that allowed them to deploy to much of the world. There was a tiny road through the ice and snow that led to a service route on the Lac des Dix, but getting up here was half the challenge- if you weren't stopped by an array of gates, the hairpins might bore you half to death, as might the fact that any visitors could be seen coming from a mile away.
The facility itself was a fairly plush one- a renovated mining complex, previously left to rot before FO's arrival. The main feature was an incredibly short and tight tarmac runway laid out ontop of an existing gravel one on the facility's tiny precipice- barely large enough to let a light aircraft land given it was barely longer than the length of an aircraft carrier's deck, but more specifically, it helped a V-22 Osprey and a handful of fast jets use it as a stopping point and a supporting role for whenever Foxtrot Oscar needed more firepower than the team of six that were normally sent out. Beyond the runway, the concrete structure was only a fascia- the mining control room and supply rooms ripped out and replaced with living quarters, including a living room that looked out of a large open panoramic window of the mountain scene the base faced onto, flanked by a gym, a pool, rooms and a tactical briefing room. A very cosy lounge, with a full bar, sofas and beanbags helped with making this place feel "lived in", rather than purely for function. A very specific decision by Skye- they weren't Spartans, they were gonna be here for a long time, and good decor cost....actually, about £50K, so she spent it to get the work done. When you're the one calling the shots, you get to be an interior decorator, right?
Beyond that however, the appearance of a typical bilionaire's weird holiday retreat changed into a facility built into the mine, built into the granite walls that once housed mineshaft and larger storerooms. Antoher twelve support staff roamed in this area, looking after a small motorpool, an weapons range and armoury built into a particularly long tunnel of the mine, another pair of briefing rooms, a server system, alongside a VR training facility and a whole heap of shoothouses, training rooms and facilities right at the back. Perfect for testing each of the operatives in any kind of environment, virtual or half-real. After all, new tech came in all the time- and honing skills in that place was how they got so damn good. The team specialising in so many different ways meant that sometimes Skye wanted to see how it all sowed together- and right at the furthest, deepest cavern of the mine was where that happened. Oh yeah, and of course, Fight Cavern. The place to see some poor new recruit, or prospect get kicked the shit out of them before being offered entry into The Devil's Cooker. First rule of Fight Cavern is that you don't remember how you got to Fight Cavern....
--
The figure of Skye on base was remarkably casual for the team lead, the red-haired Scottish CO of Foxtrot Oscar wearing an old-school navy-coloured "Slayer" T-shirt with a pair of navy jeans, a pair of rounded sunglasses finishing the look of the fiery and fierce person that kept the team in check. Death metal was her shit, though you wouldn't think it beyond all the highland fiddle and softly-softly stuff she normally listened to. Her FNX at her side as per always, the team lead never seemed out of pace no matter what environment she was in spite of her casual Friday look. Heading up the stairs into the main lounge, she could see the team's resident Dutchman, and a handful of others about, enjoying R&R after their eventful last op. It could have gone much smoother, but all things considered, they'd done a good job. Extracted the Colombian president from being kidnapped by a drug cartel, without it even making the news he'd left his villa. A brow of sweat wiped off everyone's head. But that was just another Wednesday for FO- and for Skye, an annoying recurrence. Looking to the team's parkour and general spiderman, a shitty plan came to mind, as she walked over, noticing him snoring away on the sofa.
"Sam! Get the fuck up!" She yelled as she slammed the table, the Dutchman waking from sleep with a yelping jolt, the bong falling off his knees and smashing on the floor, the Scotswoman trying to hold back the chuckle in just as she crashed down on the sofa, the sight of his face changing from fear, to shock, to annoyance painting everything the Scot wanted to get.
"Why'd you do that?" He asked, Skye shrugging as she inspected his weed over that was on the floor, having a look through.
"That is an utterly pish-shite grade. I dunno, mebbe don't fucking fall asleep stoned or something when your boss is on site? You get nightmares, remember?" Her sultry Scots cut back, making her almost giggle more at the sight of it all.
"Yeah, but ever since we took back that Colombian last week, you know how fucking hard it is to get good weed? Like, I can't even do mail order from Colorado anymore! Shit...sorry." Sam replied, Skye shrugging, sitting down opposite on the next red sofa, feet up, sunglasses off as she giggled, shrugging her shoulders. He wasn't a happy bunny, but he'd calm down soon enough.
"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't smoke weed anyway in a highly secure facility where we have a zero drugs tolerance policy? I mean, if you get drugs tested...you seriously think I'd piss in a cup so you avoid getting booted?" Skye retorted, Sam chuckling in reply, grinning.
"Maybe 'cos you love me enough you would. Where you gonna find a guy who does what I do with my professional standards, eh?" Sam added, giggling in retort as he got his grass back together, scooping it back onto the table and sighing, Skye not sure how to reply.
"The fucking things we do to keep us together....so long as you do what you do best and don't make my job too fucking difficult, I couldn't give a shit what it takes to keep you on side. Fucking give me strength sometimes though, Sam..." She mustered up, standing up and heading to the tabletop in the lounge, grabbing a bottle from the cooler, a dulled Highland Whisky she had very much gotten into of late and had no second thoughts in pouring.
She rarely found herself on base sitting about doing nothing, but given her body had physically given up after her last round of running and swimming, a glass of fine whisky would do her joy for the moment, as she went back to the sofa, legs up, sipping down the liquor as neat as she could. The rest of the team might come by soon, or be out on their activities, wherever they may be.
"The whisky a part of that leadership method, Miss Mason?" Sam asked, putting a neat blunt together, well, out of whatever was left of the weed from the bong, and looking to get that down his system.
"Fuckin' course it is." Skye replied smoothly, sipping the braveheart juice to heart's content.
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