[IC] The Conflict

[BigPapaBelial]

Lazarus took a long deep breath snarling a little, "I got put in the clink over a misunderstanding. Everyone seems to think if you're white, and don't seem to have a accent that you're American. And American's seem to be held in pretty low esteem." He rolled his shoulder slowly to work out the kinks. He looked over at Arran, "I owe you a few here man, for getting me out of that clink. Not fun being holed up because someone is stupid enough to think you're something else entirely." He rolled his shoulders. Working those kinks out.

He sighed, "That's all we ultimately know about the Scorpion, his name, and what he's done in this country. We don't know who anyone is in the militias who might know him, we don't know anyone that has dealings with him directly or had previous dealings with him. As far as I know anyway."

---

It started more or less quietly. Two members of the opposing factions, alone just one on one met each other in an alley on the far north side of the city. It started with a more or less calm discussion over which faction had the better ideas and overall strength to truly lead the country. It was okay for awhile. Both sides of the argument agreeing to disagree at first. Two other members of the factions passed by, adding their voices to the little argument. It became quite friendly for a time actually. A canteen of the local whiskey started trading hands. Everyone was quite mature about it. When a third member of the UPL passed and made a very unbecoming remark. The PUF snarled, pointing at the man, telling the other two to get him back. So they could ask what the heck he meant by that. The two UPL shook their heads, they didn't want to start anything.

The PUF took that as them defending their idiot compatriot. A knife is drawn, one of the UPL drops as he's stabbed, guns are drawn. The shots making other members of the factions come running. No one knows the real reason behind. Knifes were replaced with pistols, pistols with rifles and shotguns. Molotovs began flying, grenades thrown. The fighting spread. Small groups of PUF and UPL engaging each other. The original meaning of the argument completely forgotten. This was the chance many of these men had signed up for. A chance to make their money, and to fight the people they thought were the reason the country is in a shambles. The fighting spread quickly. Groups of civilians hid in the church, in the basements of restuarants. A priest held off a mob of 30 UPL soldiers from storming the church, using the word of his god and a crucifix. But the fighting still continued.

---

A man came running into the hotel, and another in the bar. They both shouted almost the exact same thing, "The UPL and the PUF are up in arms. Groups of both factions are headed for Merc. Alley. They either intend to press gang any merc here who isn't a member of a faction, or kill anyone who doesn't want to join."

Lazarus blinked, "Shit...this isn't good. I'm a wanted man, Arran broke me out, they won't try and press gang us, they'll kill us. We got to bolt." He checked his revolver, "What do you say, we all make for the outskirts of town, find a car or truck, hell steal a technical, then get the hell out of here. Make for Mokuba, and once there, figure out where to go. This place is going to go up like a powder keg fast. If here are more like us, hopefully we can link up later."

As he finished talking the shooting grew closer. The sound of automatic rifle fire. The blurt of an LMG somewhere. The click-bang of a shotgun. The fighting getting closer by the second.

Lazarus winces, "Got to move now, before the fighting swamps us." He heads over to the door, peeking out it and down the street. The fighting hadn't yet made it way down the street, but trying to go out the front door wouldn't be a good idea. He looked back into the building, "We need a back way out guys. A door, a window, hell I'll settle for climbing out a balcony and climbing down the side. But whatever it is we have to go now! The fighting is at the far end of the street, if we go now we can perhaps outrun it." A bullet, wildly fired whickered down the street, one of the gun vendors outside letting out a pained shriek. And scampered down the road away from the fighting clutching a MP5.

Laz hrmed then closed and jimmed the door shut to give them somemore time, "Let's find us a way out. Gonna follow us close Mr. Magnus? Or trot your own way out?"

---

All across the city, a similar scene was playing out, informants and other mercs running into places where Mercenaries hung out and calling out the warnings about the fighting approaching, and anyone that didn't want to get caught up in it to get the hell out.

The fighting spread like wild fire, almost everyone who wasn't easily identified as a civilian or a member of one of the militias was quickly shot down or press ganged into one side or the other.

War had come to the country. And it'd only spread from here.

[DELETED324324]

Edward was lost in thought when the news came, when the merc went through the hallways spreading the news he checked how many rounds he had left in his clip and how many clips he had left. Slamming the clip home he turned to his new companions. "Why don't you guys go to where you need to. I'll stay here and play the PMC's maybe get into an outfit. You guys play one side or both and then we meet in the middle feed intel and possible Scorpion locations to each other through dead drops or stolen sat phones." He said slipping his USP into his belt and covering it with his shirt.

"This might me the only way we can get good intel so we can't blow it act natural, like you belong here and no one will bother you. I'm sure our mutual friend Magnus will be more than happy to relay for us or act as middle man so we got one local asset, but make more friends so we can eventually give this guy the two tap goodbye." He continued looking out the window at the fighting getting ready to go out the front door so he could join the fighting.

[BigPapaBelial]

(Alright I apologize, I didn't want to do this, but people haven't posted in the longest time. And despite me wanting to give everyone a fair chance. I want to keep this RP moving. Instead of killing people off, I will detain them. If those people who play them still want to continue and all they will have that chance. If they do not, those characters will be offed at a later date.)

The fighting turned out to be quite equal, UPL and PUF forces taking equal damage. Men dying back and forth. Whole blocks of the city turning into warzones. It had gone far beyond pistols and knives in some areas of the city as pintel mounted machines were set up, turning streets and alleyways into killzones of gunfire hail. SMall platoons of UPL and PUF soldiers spread through out Bekalo. It is no secret that Bekalo tends to be one of the first stops of mercenaries and gunmen coming into the country, looking for word, before they find a lead through one of the factions, join one of the few remaining military companies or even one of the really big PMCs that were starting to operate in the country. Those that didn't get out because they found a lead would hang about, paying for drink and food with what little they brought with them, trade after trade as days went by until they had to choose a side or leave before they are totally broke.

The factions know this quite well, and know that now is the best time to press gang or kill any of the mercs that don't side with them. So it was that a PUF mob made it's way to one of the bars on the far side of the town from Merc Alley, and there, raided it, taking several people as press ganged soldiers, and several other Mercs as prisoners when they did not say they wanted to fight for them. None of the faction soldiers cared much about names. But a few were taken who kept on calling their names. One said her name was Sarah. An older lady. Some of the men threatened to rape her if she didn't shut up and leave her to the scavengers who came after the fighting is over. The other a man named Micheal. Who nearly got pistol whipped for his troubles of trying to defuse the situation. Both people were tied up, gagged and carried out, dumped into a truck with other prisoners. All of them taken to a prison the PUF were setting up south of Bekalo.

---

In Merc Alley, Lazarus headed behind the hotel reception desk. Kicking open a locked door and finding an open window leading out into a back street, one that hasn't yet been engulfed in fighting. He looks over at Arran, "We have an out. We bolt out, then head for the outskirts, I'll bet we can find a jeep or technical along the way to get us out of here, I might even be able to find a weapon too. We get out of here and head out to Mokuba, find something out there. Ought to be quieter too." He looked over at Edward, "Stay safe okay? Hope to see you in the future."

At that very moment something hits the door of the hotel, someone outside trying to get in. Shooting began outside the front door as the fighting finally arrived.

Laz growled and hopped out the window. Falling a short 4 feet, landing in a crouch, sweeping his revolver about, checking to make sure no one is nearby. Then looking for a way out of the tiny little service alley. Just barely big enough for 2 people to pass side by side. There wasn't a soul to be seen thankfully. He moved out of the way, waited a few moments for Arran, then decided to scout ahead, As he snuck down the alley, he could hear the gun fire out front. The yelling and screams. As he made it to the end of the hotel wall, he peeked around, just as a man backed towards him down the slim little corridor between the hotel and the building next door. Lazarus inched back and waited for the man to get further down the small alley. The man opened fire with something rapid fire. As he squeezed out of the small Alley, Lazarus grabbed him, swung him hard into the wall, drew his trench knife and cut the man's throat with little to no preamble. The man gurgled and coughed in surprise and pain. He stared at Lazarus in shock as his life blood bubbled away. Laz just kept the man pinned to the wall until he twitched his last.

It was only then that Lazarus checked what the man had on. A second hand harness, with a drum-magazine on it, and two frag grenades. Lazarus quickly relieved the corpse of that harness. He then checked the gun. He blinked. He'd seen them in pictures, but never in the real. An HK21, a Cold War era GPMG. This thing coughed 7.62 rounds out of 100 round drum mags in some cases, there were more conservative 80, 50 and 40 round magazines out there. But after looking at the drums he knew that these are the 100 round ones. Checking the drum on the gun he found it to be at about 80 rounds left. Plenty. And the drum on the harness he now wears is full. Giving him 180 rounds to use until he needed to find more.

He turned to make sure Arran is still following him, and silently wished luck to Magnus and Edward. In the mean time he wanted to get out of here.

[FourtyTwo]

Magnus looked to Edward, nodding.
"They could take you. They won't take me. I know locals, too well- they're purging, join or die my friend. It'd be a fucking stupid idea if they decided to hang me dry with a machete. I didn't sell weapons to adjacent sides of the conflict. I have my ways of contacting people. Similar to what you mention Edward, but not entirely that." He said, hearing the gunfire come close, looking back to Arran and Laz, as they began to head out. He didn't know if Edward would follow- maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. But he wasn't going to die here, the same he knew couldn't perfectly be said of the rest of the people he'd made contact with.

Arran had packed his kit under the floorboards, but kept a few small things he didn't care about on the surface, to keep things aloft. Moving out the hotel, the noise of gunfire was ferocious, as he followed behind, bolting through the window, G3 raised. His bergen was on his back, and his sunglasses over his eyes, with the Boonie hat too. That always. He kept his P226 tucked into his holster, and while he knew the weapon he held was a rusted and antique piece of shit, they had to move. He watched Laz simply slice the militant, and grab his weapon.
"Fuck, let's hustle mate, not much time left!" He said, looking to the anarchy that was going on, no soldiers directly near them but the craziness enveloping.
"Down here!" He said, pointing to another track, moving through a part of the slum in the town, a quick route to perhaps get through. Moving quickly, with a jog, Arran raised his weapon, pointing at any locals in the way to get down, as he moved past, tackling one or two as he pushed past. Transport was priority. And he was a wheelman when needed- they needed to get the fuck out of here, and he knew how to at least put his nerve to the test when there were insane conditions.

Moving through the shanty town, the sight of a couple of contacts by a small pickup truck, UFE soldiers, was a sight to see. Stopping, he raised the weapon, pulling the trigger as he knew that they had to take them down. Arran grabbed the man on the right, firing two bullets as the gun jammed, hoping Laz had the other man. And he did, as he was pretty much ripped to shreds by the 7.62 big brother of Arran's weapon, as he nodded, moving forward, scanning the area across the street, moving across the muddy track as he looked to the body. Even worse weapons than what they had, but he grabbed a small set of keys from one of the bodies, and Arran was moving fast again.
"Cheers for that. Now I'll return the favour and get us out. Evasive training is a little rusty in my mind, but I'll try not to get us murdered. We're more likely to die by bullets than a car crash, right?" He said, cynically and comedically, as he looked to Laz, a little grateful for the save, which allowed them to pick off the two men by the Hilux quickly, before anyone else found out about them. Bullets then began to pour down the street, inaccurately but decisively enough to make Arran haul his ass.

Opening the driver's door, he dumped himself into the pickup, looking to Lazarus,
"Get in the back, shoot from there! We're going to have fucking company!" He simply noted, before he opened the passenger door, the Hilux barely kicking into life as Arran put pedal to floor, the diesel engine spluttering as it chugged forward, out of it's rut, and for the village exit. Arran steered hard through an alley, a few men ahead shooting as Arran simply sped up, hitting one and throwing him onto the bonnet, before a sharp turn rolled his unconscious and hit-and-run rendered body onto the floor. The sight of militants firing AKs and various weapons in the distance could be heard echoing, traces being from them. He didn't even recognize the logos anymore. UPL or PUF? Probably both, he asked himself, as a bullet shattered the front windscreen, leaving a crack in the right corner, as he turned left, into a dip, headed for a shallow stream flanked by a small bridge. This was going to be fordable, or it had to be, he said to himself..
"It's going to get a little wet!" He yelled, as he hit the water, the first drop deeper than expected, as the central silt of the river was shallower, and gave the wheels traction, as they rapidly span. Throwing it into first gear, the Hilux pulled out, scarpering up an adjacent slope as he rejoined the road, taking his P226 to hand from his holster. He winded down the window, already peeking out as he looked ahead, at the small two man patrol on the road. This was total anarchy- the events had only happened within a minute of time, and yet, it felt like an hour. He was good at thinking, and calculating. Arran could guess that Laz was roughly the same.

The two men realized this wasn't a friendly pickup quickly, as Arran was half out the window, P226 in hand. Silenced still, but no less comfortable. The shots rang out, as he shot one of the men cleanly in the chest twice, and the other in the abdomen once, hailing off a fully automatic burst as he came down to the ground in pain, aware that Laz could finish him if he wanted. He put his foot down, the bumpy and dusty trail through the jungle a brutal one, as he exhaled, getting his breath back. He drove on, as fast as he could, quite literally driving as if he had stolen the Hilux. He didn't know how exactly Edward, or Magnus, or even any white mercenary would survive that. Magnus was wise, had his ways, but he didn't know specifically how Edward would work he way out of this pickle. It was civil war, kill or be killed, and the former had it in spades to be doing. All that Arran wanted, was to be somewhere in which he could begin to unravel the strings, and get involved in one of the factions. As much as the white men were hated, they were needed.

A small waterfall by the roadside, in a small siding was where Arran and Laz ended up, Arran sitting on the bonnet, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked over the bullet marks in the bonnet, and the smashed mirror, shaking his head, as he got off.
"That was an interesting way to enter a country, I expected customs. But hey, at least you are armed, and we are alive. Bekalo is broken now. This other town better have a fucking armory. We need to fix this." He said, spitting on the river, as he took his water canister from his bergen, quickly dunking it under the stream's fall, before bunging a chlorine dioxide tablet in- a very powerful water disinfectant, that would probably remove the diseases virluent in even a fresh stream like this. It needed time however, and it would take as long as it needed- an hour before a drink, he said to himself.
"You handle a weapon well. SF too, I assume. No need to ask which one you're from. All you need know is that I'm Royal Navy Special Forces, guess the branch." He said, chuckling in his Scottish manner, looking up.
"And no, it doesn't involve James Bond." He said, referring to what he knew specifically he had said, about Naval Intelligence. That wasn't his department, after all, unlike a certain spy's previous ascent. He took out his GPS, quickly scanning it through, as he found his location.
"In terms of rivers, there's a lot of ways about this country. I've got a boat stashed in the wilderness somewhere. If things go to shit, which I hope they don't, we have that. But it's a chance to keep in mind too. No doubt that roads are locked down, but riverways, I feel not so much." He added, wiping his face as he took his sunglasses off, checking through a reference point for the next town- Mokuba.
"We've got a couple of hours to the next town. We can take a smaller road to get there to avoid the major checkpoints, that they could have. Then, we begin this properly." He added, nodding in the direction of the car, as he clambered in, waiting for Laz before he turned on the engine. Doing a U-Turn, he skidded up the embankment, and headed back onto the dirt path, the jungle route a major thoroughfare, though major rains hadn't hit it recently, and it seemed almost fairly well kept, being hole ridden yet not in massive gullies and at least somewhat wider, to cater for lorries. It would be a journey, but they needed to get to this place, before they were the targets of a manhunt.
"Makes you think. We're fucking expendable according to our governments, perhaps they don't want us to live. The people that sent us can think that. It's a win win for them. Get rid of a scum of society like me or kill the primary dealer of small arms in this part of Africa to bring back some stability for their damn companies. Even if the latter doesn't come to light, no doubt there is someone in an office right now that tracks Scorpion's moves, but never acts you know. A man doesn't live that long without forming enemies. Or very good friends in powerful positions. Something puts me off. If this guy is like a ghost, then no doubt, he's got people that will give him serious fucking military grade equipment, not just from the old Soviet states, but from the West. The UK, US, you name it. We haven't ever been told of this scale. I mean, where the fuck is the UN or even the former colonial forces when you need them? It doesn't add up. I feel it, mate. We're getting fucked over here, and that whatever this lifestyle that mercenaries chose is, it must have a reason." He said, as they hit a huge bump, somehow adjusting the Hilux's path as he looked out the back window.
"Fuck, that hurt. But it's Diamonds, bullion, fucking tribal shit that makes you the almighty round these parts. You walk in penniless and walk away with suitcases packed with diamonds if you're good. But the Heart of Darkness, aye, it is a cruel mistress. Perhaps why it's so fucked up here. The greed of human beings manifests itself in such a cruel way. And frankly, I fucking enjoy it." He said, chuckling, shaking his head, as he looked to his P226 in his hip, and the G3 on the dashboard.
"After four years in a cell, I come out to this. Whatever you came here for, sure, you get paid well and claps a-plenty. I get to leave my cell, get my money back and fucking deal the product that flies off the shelves again, and in kilogram quantities. The white crystals. Beautiful shit, but I don't touch it. See, all this shite was going to hell when we got here. It's a natural product. People here have only discovered how efficient you can murder villages when you've got a AK and they don't. For all I know, I might as well be marked up to take it all and win rather than fucking rot my life away and walk a broken man another day in a cage. Maybe Laz, you got a higher moral than me. But so long as I'm here at least, I'll make the best of it. Make my fucking money, and if that isn't worth toilet paper, diamonds, my boy. Shite that looks like it's able to cut steel on a blade, and that crap. There is no other way you can walk in and just expect these people to be accommodating, they can barely fucking contain themselves in a neutral town. So I say we go to work and get our asses employed. And then, me and you part ways, and I get to leave with more than I came with. Scars, broken bones. Balls, it's all worthwhile, when you have the big picture to mind." Arran said, occasionally looking to Laz, as they continued down the road, ranting as he wanted to get his own views out, and to kinda secure himself almost in it, what he was here for and what he wanted to believe was the way to do things here. And it was, after all. Maybe not to some. But to him, but was what he was going to complete, and perhaps, a disagreement could be there. But it was do-able.

[DELETED324324]

Edward stepped out into the streets pistol in hand, the mercs were giving a valiant effort to defend the hotel and for the most part were succeeding, but Edwards extra gun helped turn the tide. Both factions seemed to come in endless waves, "Gotta hand it to the skinnies they sure know how to breed." He muttered, but eventually the sounds of gunfire halted and the mercs let out a loud cheer. Merc alley was safe but the whole town was in chaos. Edward had to think fast to blend in so he dragged a mercs corpse into the shadows and put on his patch and gear. The Mercs, balaclava and tac helmet also went on so Edward could blend in.

He followed this squad around the village, "Wheres your rifle Barnes?" The squad lead asked. "Couldn't grab it before the fighting started."
"You alright Barnes you don't sound so good."
"Just a little sick, must of been something i ate."
"Alright." The squad lead said and it was over just like that, Edward let out a small sigh of relief and continued with the squad on their mission.

[BigPapaBelial]

Laz kept the HK21 tucked up against his shoulder as they made their way through the streets. Dodging mobs of UPL and PUF soliders as they went. He didn't want to be caught unaware and without the ability to respond.

So when they spotted the pickup with the men around it he instantly knew what was going to happen. He boldly stepped forward, letting himself be seen by the second of the two men, knowing that Arran had the other. Arran's G3 would make short work of the other man. Lazarus' big HK21 would do the same. But he hoped to try and scare them off with Arran's shots. He heard to snaps, then a click. The second man did too, thinking he had them both. The second man was quick, he reached for the MAC10 he had slung from his hip. He started to bring it up. working the safety quickly, He had it in both hands, ready to draw down on Arran and his jammed G3. Laz beat him too it. He braced himself, and depressed the trigger on the HK21. The big beast of a MG roared. 7.62 rounds kicked out. Laz had been his JTF2 squad's autogunner way back when. He'd worked with bigger guns. Having pulled a Pecheneg off it's pintel once when his own FN Minimi had been blown away by a lucky shot from a sniper. Without anything but a back up SMG he had ran back to an emplacement they had burned out earlier. Salvaged the PKP Pecheneg off it's dented pintel, and had used that in place of his Minimi until the end of the mission.

The HK21 older then both weapons, but the durable, stable thing still had it's pros. The rounds he fires stitch right up the mans unprotected chest. Each big round ripping into him. And by the time he flies back a foot from the power of the attack he's nearly bisected by the bullets hitting him. After the quick and deadly little fire fight, Lazarus fell back on old training. He did a quick 180, and got down to a knee, sweeping their 6 o'clock, and checking for any enemy reinforcements having heard the gunplay. He scanned about for abit before getting up and quickly checking the man he had gunned down. Finding nothing of any real use.

As he hopped into the back as advised he smiled, "It's only the first that I think I owe you." He got comfy, then bullets began to fly their way from down the street. He looked over, seeing a mob of about 30 coming their way. He swore softly, crawling over and bracing the HK21 on the edge of the back of the Hilux truck. He then began to make a nuisanace of himself. He had a few rounds to burn. A little bit of supressive fire would helpt heir get away. So the HK21 started to bark again. The mob scrambled for cover as the rounds roared their way.

Then they were free, the truck kicking out of whatever rut it had been stuck in. He turned from the back seat. Tucking the HK to the side as they drove for abit. He then swore when they saw the men on the side of the road. Arran began to shoot. Laz reached up, pushed a hatch open on top of the hilux, and climbed up, mounting the HK on the top of the truck as they passed. He gave them men a growling blurt from the GPMG as they passed. If the shots from Arran didn't down them, the rounds from his HK21 helped. They drove on, he stood up there for awhile, braced against one of the carry rails atop the truck.

A little while later found him sitting atop the hilux. His weapon on safety, half empty drum mag lying beside him. The HK21 opened up so he could check the mechanisms within. The thing would do, but it's old, ill cared for, in need of a complete and utter cleanging from top to bottom and then some. He sighed, "You expected customs, I didn't expect even that. I got HALOed into the country, felt like a better idea then trying to cross on foot." He started to put the weapon back together. Then smiling, "So you're not Double O 69 or something? Damn. Yeah I was SF. You may not want to know, but I'll tell you none the less, for trust purposes. Joint Task Force Two, Canada's anti-terrorism, anti-insurgent specfial operations force. Until a few years ago nearly the whole world had no clue we existed." He chuckles a little.

He slid into the truck as they started to move again, "I heard Gold, silver, copper, diamonds. What with what happened in Bekalo, I'll bet any paper money either of us has, will be no better then toilet paper within a few days." As they drove he quietly wondered if he should share his little secret. He finally reached down and took off one of his booted. Upending it and tapping out a trio of silver coins, stamped with the Canadian Maple leaf on one side, and a beaver on the other, it looked like a trio of oversized nickels, "Silver, might get us some food and water when we get to Mokuba. I don't think it'll be worth weapons. For that, we're going to need gold, jewelry, maybe diamonds." He palmed the coins, and slid them into one of the pouches on the harness he had taken, "Just in case."

He clammed up as Arran spilled his ideas and plans out. He could relate. Ever since he left the Force, he'd been looking for money over all. He knew how the man felt. The money was a little more tempting then Queen and Country in his opinion too, "I feel you man. We've got a golden oppurtunity here. To come out with alot more then what I was offered anyway. But I want to find that bastard too. This Scorpion clown. See what's up with his ass. Then when all things are said and done. Get the hell out of here, make like a bandit, and blow this place faster then a black fly in Ontario." He groaned and stretched. "I'm not going to stop you from doing what you wanna do. I got my shit, you got yours. If we can still work it clean we work it as best we can."

He leaned back in the back seat, placing the HK21 at his side. Awhile yet to Mokuba. Atleast he wouldn't be going it alone.

---

Back in Bekalo, there were still flash fires of fighting going on. Major fighting had been limited to a few places in the city. Dozens of localized firefights.

One of the ring leaders in Bekalo had started to make his attendance in the city known. He began to give out orders. Suppress the fighting, keep it contained. He found a squad, a certain squad with a disguised former US soldier in it. He calls out to them, getting their commanders attention, "You, bring your squad. All of them. There's pay in it for you, if you can help me get to the other factions HQ alive. There needs to be a stop to this anarchy. I don't know who started it, but this will stop. Before this fighting engulfs the entire country. Once the fighting leaves Bekalo, it will reach Mokuba, and Paloe. And from there south to Port Selaomo, and there to Kijima, and then after that, Somalia might get into this or another nation that it so much better prepared. We need to stop this fighting now. Come with me. If you need more incentive, there is a handful of gold coins for each of you if this succeeds." HE started walking, not bothering to wait, trusting that the lure of money would be enough for the men to do their job.

[FourtyTwo]

Arran looked over, nodding. His G3 had little life left, so scavenging something else in the meantime would work out well. Or getting another weapon, via some sort of purchase. He knew what he was doing- he had real currency, shit that had value. Silver nickels would as he say, be enough for some smaller stuff.
"There is always a way to get those. By either simple or complicated means. Down here, I guess it's always the hot barrel of a gun that will do that for you." He added, a sharp bump almost cutting him off, as the Hilux crossed over a bridge, the two making progress. He looked over at the dashboard, a small cassette radio nestled on the window. He bunged a random cassette in that already was half-placed inside. Somehow, Arran could only appreciate this. At least they had a good idea of music here, and it cut the adrenaline rush that was leaving town to a vague conclusion in his head.

The better part of the day had passed on the road- and they slowly trundled into the town, quieter than Bekalo. It was a fairly quaint place- not so much packed slums, but more separated, distanced buildings. It was stricken by poverty, but it was better than anything before. Driving in, he kept a fairly able eye open around, as he looked back over. The evening swept in slowly, and had brought a more crimson sky over the African country, the distant red ball of fire coming down over the horizon. Gunfire couldn't really be heard- very, very sporadically, in the distance, but it was almost drowned out by crickets and other beasts of the jungle. A checkpoint came up, as Arran looked to Laz, already smiling.
"That's our opportunity. Those lads are PUF, not UFE. I bet you any money, it was UFE that was shooting us, if the vague pieces of intel I saw are correct." He said, looking over at the logo on a small wooden hut that the checkpoint sat by, perhaps spinning a plan together of sorts. There was no such UFE logo on the car- it was quite literally, a requestioned civilian pickup, and it had barely any fuel, as well as bullets in it. That didn't seem good, but right now, Arran was willing to bet that this was a chance that they could seize. Guns were raised, as Arran slowed down, approaching the checkpoint, two young looking soldiers going forward.
"Identification, Mercenary!" One yelled, as Arran smirked, hands off the wheel and aware he had to play this correctly. He'd let Laz handle the next part- he'd be able to perhaps smooth things over better, his accent didn't work well with superiors to say the least.
"Get your guard chief over. We'd like to work for you." He said, rather bluntly in his Scots, nodding to the bullet holes.
"No, he cannot come here, you understand!"
"He can, tell him it involves our understanding of Bekalo right now, and that we can lend a gun, for a small price." He simply said, as the man relented, one keeping his AK raised as the other headed back, Arran aware that two men wouldn't staff a place like this. It took three minutes on Arran's Citizen watch for the man to come back, an older black gentleman in an older ERDL uniform of sorts. Inside, Arran looked to Laz, turning the engine off.
"You talk to this bloke here. Seems you've had enough testimony at the hands of UFE to give a through explanation of our shit right now." He said, looking at the vague bruises and tiredness of Laz in the aftermath of the taking that he'd experienced.