If there are RPs/PM's I need to reply to- I am working on it, I'm a little overladen in life atm. I haven't forgotten about you :)
9 yrs ago
Aaand back.
9 yrs ago
ALERT- I'm going AFK for a week, anyone that sees this on here, I won't be about to respond, this is to both 1x1s/RPs.
Bio
I've RP'd for the best part of over 14 years now here on the Guild, and particularly like military settings, both contemporary, past and near future. I have even dabbled in a little more experimental RPs, as well as created a plethora of 1x1s over my time in the guild. I like creating RPs with a distinct flavour- and often shift between narrative-led RPs to semi-randomised plots.
I'm pretty flexible and try and get back to people on ideas and responses, but sometimes, I may become very busy and it will take some time till I am un-busy- though I always come back!
Looks good! I like this lots! All works for me- I think I'll keep Max with a more defaulted GEAR, though he might have some extra tricks up his sleeves!
Only comment- it's Anna, not Alicia :P
EDIT: Just finished her CS. I enjoyed writing her up- I feel she's a female Sam Fisher meets a more gritty, urban character, in the last RP she probably doesn't show her entire colours I feel as a stealthy operator- here she just might.
EDIT EDIT: Boomshakalaka, post is up. I'm gonna try and stick to my three paragraph rule here, just so I can keep my replies tight!
Anna stands a few inches shorter than Max, though the feminine feline is no less a presence when she enters a room. Anna is slim, yet muscular, possessing phenominal cardiovascular ability that gives her the ability to keep going, and going like a beast possessed- parkour, climbing and running are in her repertoire, and make her a terrifying opponent in a one-on-one, even in spite of her shorter stature. Her hair is as black as her skin rather than grey, kept exceptionally short and making her ears more prominent than her practically kept hairline. The spots on her skin are even a muted tone, with scratches along her arms and legs from vaulting and running. She often wears a balaclava while at work, or a black beanie hat, a different choice to the typical baseball cap used by recon teams. A significant scar runs along her abdomen, where she was stabbed by an insergent.
Her voice is a silky, yet deep tone that mostly remains quiet, harsh upon being raised and hardly something pleasing to hear when she calls out, an accent and tone akin to afro-brazillian Portuguese, and lot more street-ready. Whilst possessing a roar, it's considerably different to Max.
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Personality: Positive Personality Traits: Honest. Fearless. Good at listening. Straight talking. Patient. Very Calculated. Nigh-unbreakable. Negative Personality Traits: Aloof. Blunt. Cold-Blooded. Ruthless. Sarcastic.
Likes: Danger. Quiet people. Stealth ops. Dislikes: Interference. Needless social contact. Working with others.
Anna is incredibly cold, ruthless and capable, almost driven by some sort of energy that eminates from her shy personality. She seems to have not drawn any boundaries for her pain nor her lack of ability to do something - pretty much anything is doable to her, but as such, it makes her usually alone in that activity, and happier for it. Anna is a good listener, wise and very street-smart, able to sit and blend in, or go all out when the time comes. Perhaps not a lovely person, a bit awful to most.
That said, she can make incredibly warm friends- though you know the sarcasm goes up to 11 if you're really close to her. Max and Cat are two in particular, people she would give out her close life details to, such is her respect, and once you learn that bit of her, she's easy company to keep.
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History:
Born on a poor housing block in the capital of Solernia, Anna Marina Caldeira was born to the very opposite of silver spoon that Max was born into, brought up by her policewoman mother in the absence of her father as an only child- her father being someone Anna hasn't seen since her fifth birthday. She was always a shy girl, the jaguar brought up in a violent, often turbulent background and constantly living in fear. Anna did not do well in school as a result even in spite of her cutting mind and fighter's attitude due to having poor and confrontational behaviour, a defense mechanism of sorts- it burned her at every opportunity and the only reason she perhaps made it as far as she did was the intervention of after-school athletics and boxing programmes and her mother's gritty attitude. Anna was shy, but a fighter and completely fearless- and told from day one to always do whatever it takes to survive, and more than that, do better.
Upon turning 19, Anna joined the RSDF as an infantry soldier, and her phsyical talent from her school athlete days carried her easily through basic, as did her talent with a rifle. Anna was incredibly capable, but incredible difficult to work with. Her unrelenting discipline got her scolded by squadmates, and she was almost unworkable as a strict, cold character in the group. Yet her talent in a fireteam on peacekeeping missions meant that she was selected to go forward for Special Forces training, and here again, she got in with flying colours. Particular credit was given to her ferocity in the assault courses, aerial insertion work and her resistance to torture as well as her talents in stealth, where Anna left many men behind for dust. The girl was unbreakable- almost as if something was driving her, her drive and willingess to do anything it took almost too alluring to resist.
Yet Anna through this time appeared to be repeating the same mistakes, when assigned to different SOF teams. Except this time, the brass made one little difference. The street girl from the estates was an exceptional talent at being the "grey" operator Special Forces Command craved, and had every talent nailed that they wanted. Not the kind that worked in an ordinary team. Inserted in domestic anti-terrorist teams or with the Intelligence Services, Anna was used as a lone wolf, a deniable operator who could kill, hurt and cause pain as a one person unit. Sent into foreign nations with the Solernian Intelligence Services, "Spectre" had no qualms doing things other oprerators would balk at or, be terrified of. Those who knew her knew she was awkward, difficult to work with, and almost impossible to manage. But when she worked, she did things most infiltrators wouldn't dare- absolutely and completely ruthless about her job. She didn't care who she killed. Duty, control and getting the mission done meant saving lives. Even if it meant doing something truly awful.
Max handpicked her upon hearing that the SIS no longer required her services, and while the two did not intially get on, through a mixture of sarcasm, wit and humour, the two learned to handle each other as two weird and quirky people- tempering each others' flames, Max the playful and resourceful lion, Anna the ruthless and cold, sarky jaguar of the team. They worked together for two years, through hell and high water, and whilst not getting the promotion she deserved, has stayed with Max out of loyalty.
In her last deployment in the civil war, Anna was stabbed by an hidden insergent whilst clearing out a complex in the hunt for the mysterious Silent Line figure, rescued by Catriona yet able to direct Viper to assist and get her out after being dragged unconcious by the insergents, Actual, Hopper and Kestrel getting them out of dodge. Bleeding out alongside Catriona has increased her respect for the Highland Cow, knowing she isn't all talk but caring and something Anna knows she needs to reciprocate- almost melting her in an odd way. Ever since, she has recovered fully and like the fighter she is, continued in what she does. Spectre doesn't die that easy, after all.
2x K8 SOF Combat Knife 2x M8A Select-Fire PDS with Silencer/LAM
RI M23 w/ 40mm Grenade Launcher -Holographic Sight and Magnifier, Vertical Foregrip, Silencer, Laser/Light Module, Golden-Grey Camo
Reconaissance Fatigues and Armour (Gold/Grey) OR Stealth Fatigues (Black) Pebble Ommni-Tool Personal First Aid Kit Personal Survival Kit Climbing Rope and Harness + Magnetised Grappling Hook PID (Laser Designator/Thermal Imaging Device) Grenades, Smoke Grenades and Flashbangs Quad-Vision NVGs 2kg of RDX Explosives
Max has the long, wild mane that comes with being a lion- yet his almost gives him the look of a surfer or a biker rather than a special forces reconnaissance operator. Even for a lion, he's clearly let it go as his own taste. His golden-brown mane wraps thickly around his head and chin to past his neck, Max occasionally braiding his hair into Faerie Lock-styles when he feels like really pissing off his CO. His face is stoic, with staring golden-green eyes that are almost cold to the work he does, a strong chin and a deep scar running along the left side of his face by the side of his mane that extends to his ear. He has no spots of note, but his scar and particular mane make him stick out from afar. If you ask him about his messy look, he's unlikely to give you a response that is constructive.
Max also stands slightly taller than many other lions of his size, and than any in his family. Whilst skinnier, he is well built, with multiple cuts and bruises across his body from fighting. With a golden-pale furry skin from paw to paw, he also has a short tail with a golden-black brush, the one thing he despises as a marksman for his aim. His training in the special forces, and his wanderlust have made him into an excellent athlete, with particular specialism in brute explosive force, in sprinting or lifting. When Max goes from a standing position into movement, there are few that can even keep up- but his cardio isn't as phenominal as other long-distance athletes. While his skill may be in distant shooting, his close-quarters capability is potent and fierce, being more than willing to get himself in the way of a fight. It explains a lot of the recent bruises/cuts he's received- he doesn't exactly shy away when the time comes.
His voice is oddly silky and deep given his posh upbringing, yet can become gruff when on the frontline- capable only second to Fionn in timbre and volume, perhaps coming quire close when he roars. It holds a predominantly as as something between an Africaans and a southern English accent- a very weird blend even for Solernia. Unlike Fionn, his wroth is used far more often and has a bark to it- a lion's roar is not easily ignored.
Max appears to fall into many a trait of a lion- an almost recklessly brave, intelligent individual, who seems to not understand his flaws are from his strengths. Max's Special Forces history has clearly made him able to do anything, anywhere, anyhow and just be himself- a freeflowing agent of chaos who is quite literally lionhearted, almost to a fault. As a typical lion, he has a very strong personality yet has a want to be social and get on with people- though only if this doesn't come at the cost of his personal aims and ambitions, unlike much of Arvaran culture.
This makes him aloof at times and prone to avoid people, sometimes a little confused of the typical order of things and combined with his wisdom and intelligence, makes him either distrusting or very loyal to those around him he calls friends. He will get things done no matter what, and while patient in his work as an operator, he won't hesitate to go above and beyond to get the job done by any means required- a trait further enhanced by his risk-taking attitude. War has clearly changed him- his stare is cold, and he seems very direct, moreso than he used to be when he was younger as a result of being involved in conflict- one could almost suggest it was like some form of PTSD. His constantly driven, direct, brave and no-bullshit approach has made him perhaps more self-interested than he ought to be, albeit with an overall motive and ability to do what is right for the people close to him. While he can laugh, it is sometimes hard for some people to get close to Max- his wroth certainly doesn't help when his patience snaps.
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History:
Born to an aristocratic father and a Doctor for a mother in the sunny south of Solernia, Max had it well to do when he was growing up- as the third son of five children he given a stable and happy upbringing. He had an otherwise quiet childhood,and left with school above average grades. Yet of his siblings, he wasn't the most intelligent- his brothers and sisters in the Bastion family (Helen (35), Talisa (33), Felix (27) and Sam (23)) became architects, lawyers, accountants and a Doctoral researcher respectively in the end. Max was a black sheep, so to speak- even despite his good upbringing, he just wasn't going to live up to his siblings success.
In youth, he found himself far adventurous than others- wanting to rebel against his parents and society in general. The sandy beaches of southern Solernia and the beating sun gave him summers spent surfing, joining moped gangs and anything that would give him more adventure. He wanted purpose, meaning, reason- a third child had to find one, and he found it in places most didn't seek to look. As capable as he was, he had no discipline, and just nothing but shenanigans on his mind. This in itself distanced him from his siblings, who he felt he had little in common with- they were all garnered to become successful members of Solernian society, and back then, it was a society he wanted no part in.
He got into trouble with the police every so often but unknowingly to him, was bailed out by his parents more times than he really should have been and was straightened into line- put into the Royal Solernian Defence Force as a reservist to give him something to do that wasn't causing mischief. He studied Solernian History at university (something he resents doing, given he was half forced by his parents to go in), graduating with good grades- yet was targeted from the outset by the Forces, who took him on as a reservist. He had no life plans, so when a career in the Defense Forces beckoned and appealed to his inner adventurer, he couldn't wait to take it on- becoming a full-time infantryman in the RSDF. And from there, he found purpose.
With experience in more and more peacekeeping deployments, Max was eventually trained in the RSDF Special Operations Forces two years in, relishing the opportunity to learn and develop with something that took his playful and resourceful manner to hand. He learned how to pilot a GEAR, learning in particular how to use it in a versatile way rather than any specialist manner that would pay off for him in him in his role as a recon operative- always outgunned and needing to be ready for anything.
It seemed that the young, free spirited university graduate had given way to something far colder and darker. A lion doesn't often make a good infiltrator, or recon operator- yet Max, in his own way, made it his own. He was seen as an excellent reconnaissance specialist, able to cope alone and in putting himself in harm's way when needed with an aggressive strategy rather than a passive and quiet method. Most would have crumbled- but Max appeared to be very, very good at his job and taking lives in cold blood from afar or up close and completing objectives that allowed SDF forces the upper hand in engagements.
Max was daring- and he held high standards of his men, receiving the same respect back, eventually leading 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon in the RSDF 501st SF Reconnaissance Company. Reconnaissance in a large mechanized vehicle is still difficult for the best operator, moreso when you're miles behind enemy lines- but the actions of Max's unit ripped up the playbook, hitting silently, hard, or both against often overwhelming numbers and gaining valuable information without ever being even seen. The "Bastion", as he was otherwise known as wasn't afraid to get his paws dirty, being fully aware of not becoming dependent on his GEAR in combat despite using it to great effect in hit-and-run raids. The enemy couldn't report where he was if he had taken one of their eyes out, after all. As a result, command looked past his quirky traits- he did things his way, and he got results. In or out of a GEAR, Max was good at what he did, and most would have said that he seemed to have his life together. Almost too good.
A punch up due to a disagreement with Major saw him thrown into a brig for three months, and released back to a new normal- that of being on thin ice and under scrutiny. It felt like no matter who he led into battle, what he accomplished, there was a chip on his shoulder and he wasn't appreciated for doing what was needed. While some counter-terrorist and anti-piracy operations followed, he couldn't help but feel that he was being pushed away- into quitting, and that in itself even for someone as brave as Max just didn't sound like something he wanted to experience. While he'd love to spend more time surfing, travelling and living as fiercely independent as he does, he can't deny that the SOF gives him purpose and reason to be better than he was- and most of all, someone who can actually keep up with his siblings.
So the callup into the 33rd couldn't have come sooner. It was another SOF gig, and most of all, a fresh chance to carry on doing what he'd found gave him purpose, duty and drive in life.
Hobbies & Interests: -Reading Natural/Aravan History -Adventurous Pursuits -Surfing -Rock/Punk Music -Motorcycles -Gaming -The Great Outdoors
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K8 SOF Combat Knife M8A Select-Fire PDS with Silencer/LAM
RI M23 ISS -Thermal Imaging/Digital Sniper Optic, Bipod, Angled Foregrip, Side-Mounted Holographic Optic, Silencer, Laser/Light Module, Golden-Grey Camo
-Alternatives used as appropriate, with an Anti-Material loadout such as:
Personalised GEAR Suit and Helmet, golden-brown-grey camouflage (helmet replacement during marksman work for a pair of smart goggles and a backward baseball cap) Pebble Ommni-Tool Personal First Aid Kit Personal Survival Kit Climbing Rope and Harness PID (Laser Designator/Thermal Imaging Device) Grenades/Smoke Grenades Quadrotor UAV Reconaissance System (Link to Helmet Visor/Goggles)
Yeah sure! In fact, if you don't mind, Anna (Spectre) would be perfect in that role, a sort of do-it-all stealthy commando as a silver bullet. Yeah the squads were a little unwieldy haha! I'm definitely down for that- shall we continue here or elsewhere? I don't mind- I am open however you want to do it, as that sounds pretty wicked already to me :)
Hey man! Glad to have you back- whenever you're ready is good by me.
Hmm, we could do a soft re-boot- perhaps start with our two already settled in at the resistance's base, cleaning up after the last firefight? Change the motives a little too? We can start afresh though if you prefer!
Mark sighed, the plight of paperwork still with him even in spite of his role. In a non-descript office, even in spite of the Scotsman's distinct features he would go amiss and out of place. The paperwork was boring, but a necessity to write up the events of what had happened in Mexico, or rather, what hadn't. Most of the report immediately got black lines through it, a good 70% of it, in fact. Most would ask what the fuck happened, but hey, the black lines were indicative. You didn't ask questions of Mark Torridon's methods, they just worked with the last stamp at the end. Sitting up, Mark saw his phone buzz, as he swiped it to accept. The voice on the other end spoke slow but assured, the Scot listening and replying in turn. "Yeah, we got her on board. She's good, trust me. Oh yeah, we're meeting soon. We have plenty to catch up on."
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Somewhere in Geneva, Switzerland
Zoe giggled as she flipped her phone to her own perspective, starting a livestream to her account, aware it was time to put on a little bit of a show, the show that her growing following would tune into and want to see an insight into. "So, we're here at my pad, and well...." Zoe began, turning her perspective, revealing a large pile of equipment behind her in duffel sacks and bags, giggling as she fell back onto her bed, the heavily French-accented Swiss girl almost glowing, looking like she'd explode from positivity, on camera at the least. "We have this big pile of goodies to go load up! And you think it was easy being an extreme athlete, with all this gear to lug, honestly?" Zoe added, clearing her throat as the white-wooly sweater wearing blonde took a moment to prepare the rest of what was dawdling on her mind, turning the camera back to herself. "So, me and this other crazy, like, totally crazy girl called Val Calderon are going out into the Aigulles du Mont Blanc, onto some seriously steep lines...She's the only other girl I trust to bring on board, and me and her are gonna collab, like, it's gonna just be the Zoe and Val show up there...aaaaand the Snowglobe Festival is on too in Courchavel, so you bet we're gonna make a....how would you call it, a "drop in" apperance there too!? We're gonna have to load all that stuff in the van when Val comes, and, it, is, gonna be super! Don't go anywhere, stay tuned, allez!" Zoe let go of her button, the live stream ending as she sighed, looking across.
"One fucking day, I'm gonna get a social media manager. Putain..."
--
Somewhere outside Funchal, Madeira, Portgal 0600
Hugo's body was in agony, screaming, yelling, hurling on the bicycle, the Portuguese racer in full lycra and donning a grey-coloured cycle helmet, hardly the epitome of looking good while wokring out. The pissing rain in the early morning sweltered past his cheeks, the winding and twisty tarmac road brutal and unforgiving to cycle up. The carbon fibred, dark grey Boardman racing bike and the pedals his shoe-covered feet wrapped into were light, but the agony of pushing hard on a mountain road without a more mechanical means of propulsion was killing him. Cardio training for F1 and motorsport in general was not something many people saw, and it was solitary on the road, with no support vehicle today to come after him, given Hugo was behind due to delays in the flights out to here. Madeira felt it was Portugal and so sort of like home, but the mountain he was on here felt remote, distant to him. Cursing loudly, Hugo knew this training would pay off to make sure his body would survive all the way through his rookie season. This was how you became better, stronger, more enduring, just like how his team-mate was training too to surive the pressures involved. And the Instagram post at the end when he got to the top of the pass was half a motiviation, perhaps.
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Los Angeles, California 1900
The grey container opened with a firm pull, Max whistling as he saw the beauty herself back on display, the snow-white coloured Nissan Skyline GTR (R33) sitting there in all her glory, the Brit unlocking the car with a gentle tap as he stepped inside the narrow, tight cotnainer. Pulling some of the straps off that had ratcheted the vehicle down, he barely managed to get through the 1-foot space that was left around the car's sides, the car moving about a little even within that in its tied-down environment. With all straps pulled loose and left inside the cotainer, he barely managed to get the door open wide enough to get his hand on the gear and the handbrake, pulling them loose and slowly, and exceptionally carefully, pushing the car forwards. With enough momentum, the car finally rolled a little further out, enough for him to pull the door shut and then push the car all the way out.
Half-sticking out, Max barely slipped by, and clambered inside, breathing a long sigh of relief. Key in the ignition, he pulled it taught and turned the metal-encased plastic, the loud and uncivil roar of a six-cylinder turbocharged masterpiece echoing inside the container where the back end stuck out, as he chuckled in how shitty and reckless he was. This thing ran alright, and she was mighty fine. Phone in its hands-free magnetic mount, he keyed the directions to Magnus's, to Nordic California, out in the east side of the city. This was gonna be one hell of an evening of real, proper, mythological street racing. Nothing like back home. This was what he had come all this way, imported his car for, and turned up to with no friends. Real shit. Putting it into first, he put his foot down and with a four-wheel drift, was already leaving the Port of Los Angeles, very, very rapidly. The car's audio was hooked up to his phone via a makeshift AUX-bluetooth FM transmitter, and his phone already had his songs loaded, an important taste to him. And with the windows rolled down, he turned it up...
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Burning Rubber Three
Part One: The Heat
Going already 90 on the Freeway was a hell of a blast, windows down, the sunset behind in his rear view as Max took the turn off on the intersection, coming down the ramp and slowing up, the sound of Mura Masa a pitch-perfect soundtrack to this adventure. The R33's four-wheel drift was a symphony, as he straightened up, blasting again and keeping it lively, dodging the late afternoon traffic and keeping fast.
The R33 was a mean machine, despite being older, it handled like an absolute dream and the grip and pace was in equal measures wonderful, the fact he had it here probably a rarity for the US given their draconian rules on import vehicles. While it wouldn't have the raw power of the muscle cars, nor the absolute handling destruction a modern supercar would offer, it was a real driver's car, and felt absolutely joyous to drive, the Brit behind the wheel in total confidence to speed even in spite of being here for only his second time in his life. The community had told him shit was lax here in this part of town- and damn, so far, it seemed just like it so far.
Pulling up to the Nordic Tuning California warehouse, it was filled with plenty of stret racers, everything from tuned Civics to supercars such as Lamborginis and McLarens, and of course, plenty of Porsches. The parking lot outside the warehouse was enormous, and despite usually being a quarter full with business anyway, Nordic was the place to be for street racers to meet on an evening like this, a start point for shit that came straight from the movies themselves. The R33 in first, Max put it into an empty parking bay and cut the power, exhaling for a good moment, taking it in and just giving himself a moment to consider just where the fuck he was now. In sweltering evening heat, and this, this was all real. He took a pair of SunGod sunglasses and placed them on his forehead, as he clambered out of the R33, in search of the Magnus he'd met prior and the racers he'd been in contact with, who had an offer he just couldn't turn down.
Natalie giggled, chuckling as she took a heavy drop down into a seat next to Victor, sighing out heavily as she sat back in the heavy armour, clutching the GAU-19 onto the seat by her side. "Oh yeah. I mean....this could be some world ending shit. But hey. We're the last emergency service. Someone else is gonna have to do this shit one day, I swear...otherwise we are never going to retirement. Hey, can't show fear when you're the Bear and the Brute, right?" Natalie chuckled, knowing the severity of how serious this was, and yet knowing deep down, showing fear was what was gonna undo them.
Besides, sleeping paranoid was never going to be good...until she let rip a sudden roar, chuckling as her blonde hair blew about for a second, the sudden updraft making her giggle further. "If I keep this up, who needs a heating system..."
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Andrew nodded, shaking his head in confusion. "Fuck knows, Nolan, fuck knows." The New Zealander responded in kind, knowing he couldn't give a great answer, not now he was running with the Canadian bionic man of a sniper. It seemed surreal, none of it really made sense to him. What the fuck was in Greenland? This couldn't be right, it had to be whoever the hell was in the group they were fighting these past few months, some serious, crazy black ops shit and even though Andrew wished he could say it wasn't for him, he didn't seem to really have a choice. Clearances like that meant you didn't dawdle asking questions, because whoever had issued it had already asked whatever was neccassary.
----
2100 Hours Iqaluit Airport, Nunavut
The far-northern airport was usually emptied and devoid of people in the bitter cold of the winter night, yet it felt even more so, any trace of activity or hubub inside the airport emptied in place of a small, tight military presence. Even Natalie and Victor, who had flown all the way to Canada in the C17s had switched out to a V22 for this stint to Iqualit, as had the rest of the team that had switched over from Afghanistan. The snowy ground all around made for a winter wonderland, all apart from the thin strip of tarmac kept cleared for any CF-18s and F35s redeploying to here as backup aircraft.
The terminal had been emptied, and the public cordoned off, the inside of one of the gates turned into an impromptu briefing room, loaded upw with munitions, arms for the soldiers, equipment and briefing boards. This place wasn't going to get any airtraffic anytime soon, not until this shit was over. And while the locals would have been tempted to ask, the relative SIGINT control here over internet would stop anything too major leaking, anything that went beyond a Canadian military exercise. It looked like one, bar the F35s and the V22s- but beyond that, nothing seemed majorly out of the ordinary.
Apart from the CIA agent on site, and the four-star General with him to attend the briefing.
Looking across the small team before him, the agent had to admit- this was quite the sight to behold. A sight beyond. He had already briefed up Ross, Andrew, Nolan, Carl and Jenny, but the rest were hearing it for the first time. Blue Sword's Recon Team were here, a ten man team, and a 10 man Navy SEAL detatchment, with 10 more from Blue Sword in heavier combat gear, but other than that and our fearsome bunch, it was incredibly small for the operation that was to come. Merlin knew the reality of the odds- but sometimes, you couldn't take a hammer to a heart operation, you needed a scalpel and a surgeon with very, very steady hands.
"Gentlemen, ladies, you're wondering why you're here, and why you were selected. As you probably notice, there's not more than 40 of you here, excluding our aerial assets. I'll try and keep it brief. But you'll need to know what shadow you are facing first." He said, stating the obvious, but wanting that to be clear as the teams looked among each other, Eric here too with the two large brutes from Blue Sword, Natalie and Victor like monoliths among everyone else.
"This operation is minimal in information, need to know basis, and anyone outside this terminal will not hear what I'm about to tell you. 15 hours ago, a highly armed, well equipped unknown force took over Thule AFB and rounded up the local population in a local school. Their numbers are around 200, and they overran the base within minutes. Poor defense, yes, but satelite imagery shows total destruction of the site, and the parking of their jets on it like they own the place. Not just that. The site is home to a numbers station, and a long range nuclear defense network they're trying to hack. A move they'd make, maybe to extort the US.
"But more importantly, underneath the airbase itself, in the permafrost is a blacksite, home to a biological weapons station. The US Government for the last fifty years has locked up the worst shit we could find in there, and know that because of the relative cold and stability of the station, it wouldn't go touched. What they are hunting, if they realise it, is a DNA-based virus, one that can be tailored relatively easily by a good geneticist to target a specific individual, race or group. We're talking 95% fatality rates within 48 hours, and no amount of stopping borders will stop that virus when it hits, there is no cure, nor will there ever be because it's a weapon. It has one of the highest transmission rates of any virus known to mankind, and is more dangerous than we ever could allow to be left in the open. It's the Devil's Scythe itself. Now, the site has a 36 hour deadlock before anything can be retrieved and taken upon request- that is, if they haven't already figured out the exact location in the vault themselves. Can you see why we are worried?"
We believe this to be the last play of an as of yet unidentified terrorist organisation our forces engaged in the Wakhan Corridor over the last few weeks, known to us as "The Network". A trans-national criminal syndicate, with its hands in everything from drugs to guns, human trafficking to corruption. Using Islamic terrorist networks as a front, they have created disruption and instability anywhere they can get their mitts on. But the scale is so, so much more than that."
"Unlike a normal criminal gang, its leaders, who are unknown, appear to be politically linked to very high ranking figures in China, Russia, India, Indonesia and even EU nations. This is a shadow organisation that wants control and chaos for its own profits, and perhaps even something more...to see the demise of our freedom, values and culture and replace it with their own world order. While poltiicans may argue over power plays, what they want is a shadowy control over it all. What we don't know exactly how they look, but if it's anything to go by how the militants in Wakhan were treated, as if they want total control. They want to see us fail, and then fall under the weight of their efforts. And in Wakhan, they took heavy losses, both in their specialist teams and their equipment. This is their Broken Arrow. They do this, everything they lost will be nothing compared to us. For them, chaos is the last card they have last to play.
"So, if we send in a large military force, they'll flee faster than we can attack them, as they have heavy AA and AT defenses already posted up and can hold out to escape into the wilds. That's why we haven't carpet bombed the place, and besides, if there are any inside the underground bunker, they'll survive. Which is where Option C comes in. We perform a surgical, pinpoint strike that applies maximum pressure to the smallest point we go for. We're going to deploy you in a variety of stages, taking advantage of a snowstorm that is forecast to close into the base in two hours."
"Sniper Team Cordite, you'll be deployed via an SDV off the western coast, and set up in the mountains to the north when the snowstorm clears. You'll need to use thermal optics to silently remove the AA threat, alongside an infiltrator, callsign "Osprey" we already have making their way in via the east. Only then, once we know all their radar-guided elements are down, we'll deploy all other teams in the V-22s, going low-level along the fjords and dropping everyone straight into the main encampment itself. The SEAL team, callsign "Blackfish", will clear the school and local settlement of any hostiles, while both Blue Sword detatchments attack the airbase itself. Team Knight, as well as Bear and Brute here, will deal with the underground section of the base while the rest provide security. While that door is on a timer, it only takes enough munitions or C4 to blow the runway apart to get inside that concrete reinforced bunker, and for them to get out of there with it. That cannot happen. Whatever the cost, you do not let that happen. You get in, you destroy the whole sample lot and cave it in."
"Then, when that is done, we get the hell out. We do not know if they have reinforcements, and we will not provide more fight than what we are here to solve. We are not here to fight a war. We're here to stop the end of the world as we currently know it. Other forces can clean up and deal with the backblast after that, by which point, The Network's main leadership stem and forces will be eliminated. Deployment for the snipers is at 0300, rest of you, on dawn at 0600. All clear?"
Merlin looked to the group, Natalie shruggling her large shoulders as she stood up from the pathetically tiny terminal bench, the actual bench itself bent from where she had sat in her heavy, looking to Victor first before looking at Merlin. "I'd ask why you didn't call Russia in. But then again, I know they flew out of Murmansk on a bad flight registration. The Russian Federation, if it did this would invoke WW3. Same too if ith elped. So I understand why you want no dramas. My friends do tell me though, that almost all of their HVTs are there. If you see them, try and keep one alive so we can hurt them a bit more. Remind them they cannot take away our world." Natalie said, looking with an icy stare at each squad leader.
"This will not be one to tell the grandchildren, yes? But hey...I suppose that just made everyone in this room a little more mysterious. Let's fucking end them."
I've RP'd for the best part of over 14 years now here on the Guild, and particularly like military settings, both contemporary, past and near future. I have even dabbled in a little more experimental RPs, as well as created a plethora of 1x1s over my time in the guild. I like creating RPs with a distinct flavour- and often shift between narrative-led RPs to semi-randomised plots.
I'm pretty flexible and try and get back to people on ideas and responses, but sometimes, I may become very busy and it will take some time till I am un-busy- though I always come back!
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I've RP'd for the best part of over 14 years now here on the Guild, and particularly like military settings, both contemporary, past and near future. I have even dabbled in a little more experimental RPs, as well as created a plethora of 1x1s over my time in the guild. I like creating RPs with a distinct flavour- and often shift between narrative-led RPs to semi-randomised plots.<br><br>I'm pretty flexible and try and get back to people on ideas and responses, but sometimes, I may become very busy and it will take some time till I am un-busy- though I always come back!</div>
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