Rhona W

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

>Port Ibex, Île de la Tempête, Reunion

>Fireteam Shadow

>Dawn Chorus

>0620 Hours

Eloise crouched on the roof of a storeroom not too far from the comms tower. She'd knocked out more of the EM devices en route; they were becoming more numerous and it was becoming a considerable aggravation, slowing her down as she had to move around them, eliminate them, or otherwise deal with them being there.
However, she was in place at the tower. The hacking device rode in a pouch attached with MOLLE to the outside of her quiver, and she remembered the instructions; open the necessary electrical junction box (or whatever it was), and attach the cables. The rest would take care of itself, more or less.
A trio of sentries guarded the base of the tower from where it stretched up into the lightning skies, red anti-collision lights aglow.
Smoothly, the svelte woman drew back the bowstring and let fly with a standard, composite arrow, a second on the way before the first even hit, thudding into the throats of the sentries with ghostly silence. The third didn't even hear them die, and he barely had time to get a gasp out as she appeared before him, the blank, gleaming mask of her helmet and the billowing folds of her cloak and hood combined with the tactical gear and holsters strapped over her almost like some kind of mil-spec ghost. Her fist rammed out like a piston as he reeled back in surprise, bending double as the air rushed out of his lungs. As he folded down, the knife held in the same hand came up, through the soft bottom of his jaw and up into his head, and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. She turned with the weight and motion, letting it pull the blade free of his skull, wiping it on his uniform before she slid it back into the sheath and moved into the fenced compound around the tower.
A few moments work had the device installed and she moved on, heading for the rendezvous with Purna, keeping to the shadows and avoiding any contact as she moved, only pausing to eliminate any more EM devices as she moved.
She listened to him explain the command centre as she moved, absorbing the information and replying with a soft, 'confirmed; keep it quiet, keep it fast, and break things". Despite the non-formal wording, her voice was still the same whispery quiet almost monotone... which almost somehow made her casual wording all more amusing.

She joined him wordlessly at the entrance to the building, falling easily into tactical movement with him through muscle memory and plenty of training. She likewise moved cloaked; she always compared it to the phrase 'oil across water', the sliding of surroundings across the smart material of the cloak and gear. Purna explosively vaulted through the window and she took the door - more boring and conventional, but nonetheless effective... especially as she leapt into a forward roll, bowling one down and shooting him as she came back up with an almost casual afterthought without looking from the Beretta Cougar, a pair of throwing knives into another that Purna had wounded and not killed. They parted ways, and she flowed up the stairs, picking up speed and springing off the steps, to launch herself off of the wall and over the banister railing, her foot whipping out and smashing a woman across the face. She crumpled, and Eloise rolled forward, another pair of knives into the man ahead of her; one at his knee to bring him down, another into his hand to stop him firing his handgun, and a rapid punch to his face to put him down. The woman behind her struggled up, only in time to be taken out by a shot from her suppressed machine pistol, another putting down the man ahead. The other guards on the floor moved toward her, sub-guns drawn and voices raised; She moved fast and hit hard. Stealth wasn't necessary now they'd seen her, but she could move and fight quick enough for them to do much about. She sprang forward, launching off of the walls and into her assailants. A flurry of throwing knives, suppressed shots, and bone-crunching, acrobatic hand-to-hand combat or close-in knifework.
The racked servers and related equipment for running the security systems lay ahead, and she debated the best way to deal with them, before opting for the most simple; picking up a pair of the dead security's guns and just going full auto on the racked equipment - the building was soundproof, and the equipment would be out of action for long enough for the rest of the team to do their job. Smashing the butts of the guns into the equipment and ripping out handfuls of cables or components and smashing them under her heel.

As alarms sounded and the rush of booted, running feet along with it, she took aback in alarm; where had this sudden surge of reinforcements come from? Had they been discovered, what had changed? Nonetheless; Eloise's instinct and training kicked in and she fell back on her normal mantra; escape, evade, survive, strike back.
She slid into cover in the shadows of the room, ducking behind equipment to exit through the door the would-be search party entered through, swung over the stair rail and then down its' side, and out through the window Purna had entered through.

*-------------*----------------*

Eloise crouched on a rooftop, like a shimmering, almost invisible gargoyle. The directional mics on her suit, along with her ever-present comm link to Purna transmitted the words, and the zoom on her optics followed the scene as this new man spoke.
Already, she hated him; he postured and posed. Confident in his own skill and status; but arrogant with it, revelling in his link with Raven and Purna to indulge his own sense of superiority and his ego.
However, none of that stopped him from both being dangerous, and also having Purna at his mercy. Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line under her featureless mask and her hands balled into tight fists, clenched around her bow until her knuckles ached as she watched the moment unfold and her mind raced as she looked for an opening to act.

As the Heavy walked into the scene, she felt that sense of dread mounting, but even then; she refused to admit defeat. That wouldn't come until there was literally, physically, mentally, nothing she could do. And at that point, it would be because she was dead - and it wouldn't matter at that point.

Her heart leapt as the confrontation built, and then the transfer of control to her. She grimaced, biting down the rising acid in her throat. Fifty to one... she knew her worth and her skills, how lethal she was and that wasn't her arrogance. She could take on two, maybe three on one with odds in her favour and stealth on her side. Maybe more, if they were arrogant, barely-trained cartel 'soldiers' or criminal organisation thugs. But fifty to one, knowing she was there and actively looking... never; even with all the best luck in the world, they'd run her down through exhaustion, attrition, and she'd run out of weaponry.
But, she still had tricks. Still had those skills; and plenty of weapons. It wasn't over yet.
Purna's words hit true, and she was already in motion as Bakker started to count out loud.

Eloise's archery was olympic standard in quality for her accuracy and her range. She had learned from a range of forms and styles, blending their tenets and practices into something of her own hybridised, fluid, practical and lethal style. She might even have been better than some of the professionals - as Purna's thoughts had said, William Tell could fuck off. And Robin Hood right behind him.
But how fast she could shoot, how tricksy her shots were; that was another thing.
Hawkeye and Green Arrow were two of her favourite comic book characters, and she had, in her own downtime, attempted some of the things she'd seen them do... and there really was no good way of firing more than one arrow at once. Especially if you actually wanted to hit something.
And especially when you were moving too...
As such, it was, unquestionably, some kind of world record as three arrows, within heartbeats of one another, hit the necks of the regulars standing guard around Purna's prone form and were messily decapitated as the frag heads exploded. Barely moments after, a pair of throwing knives whacked into Bakker's gun arm; an EMP and an explosive in twain, before she launched herself at him, feet first as they detonated, using her weight to throw off his arm and get the guns' muzzle as far enough away from Purna as possible. She didn't wait to tangle with the opposing Light; instead the Heavy ahead of her, the mountain of armour plates and that enormous Kord machine gun and thermite launcher that were already moving to bear on her, were her concern.
She kept moving, flowing forward in a sprint.
Towards the bigger, more heavily armoured, man.
Every last explosive throwing knife and the last of her EMP ones were flung toward him, before she dropped and rolled as they detonated, the machine gun thundering and chattering, the whines and screams of ricochets around her. Then her bow was back in her hands.
Acid arrows and armour-piercing next as she fought to slow the heavy, shooting from prone, flowing around their movement and shooting from all angles, then explosives, as quick as she could to get them off-balance, open up and exploit whatever damage she'd caused.
The machine gun thundered and hammered, and thermite lashed and rained out, eating away at her cloak and leaving it ragged with a close hit. She sprang aside as she over-calculated, grew too daring, and that massive machine-gun roared too close, close enough that the huge 12.7 mil rounds whipped past her, close enough to tear past her side and send her staggering and spinning to the ground with a close hit.
She gasped in a ragged breath, rolling aside with a titanic effort as one of those armoured fists smashed the tarmac where her face had been a moment earlier. She rolled to her feet and made to spring back, but one of those massive, powered hands grabbed the smouldering remnants of her cloak and hauled her back. She weaved, dodging another swipe that parted the air with an audible whoosh; but the follow up caught the edge of her mask, shattering the visor and sending it spinning.
She used the motion, launching into a spin and landing, shooting a grapple arrow that tangled in the workings of the heavy armour, exposed by her attacks. She ducked and weaved, pulling the cable with her and tangling it around the heavy.
Her last arrow to him, she didn't even shoot at him, instead snagging it through the looped cable and then moving, dashing away and dragging Purna with her, gasping ragged breaths, her eyes wide and pupils tiny with fear and adrenaline, hand clutching her side where the kord's heavy round had winged her.
"Move, fast. That last arrow, well. It was a beacon. He literally has a target on his back right now"
As they ran, she sent the signal to trigger the explosives she'd planted, and threw a pair of smoke and flashbang grenades in their wake.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

In terms of the post; feel free to have your characters describe and elaborate on the surroundings and the specifics around them as we move in; I'm happy for that to be fairly free-form. I deliberately left out any details about hostiles; that'll be coming soon too.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

Megan was impressed with how smoothly and professionally everyone moved out and took position. But then, she'd expect nothing less from such a cream of the crop of operators. The low voices to her and one another didn't carry far, soft murmurs in the quiet of the night. As she replied with her orders, they were clipped and precise, in the same low tone.
"Santi, get the drone up and give us some eyes overhead. If there's any patrols out there or any guards on that gate I want to know about them before we get close. Moving overwatch to the edge of the village, and stick to cover once we're there. Let's go".

Megan lead the way as they moved in bounding overwatch, the team covering one another as they leapfrogged forward to the edge of the village. She waited in place for Santi to deploy the drone, and for Arsala to scope out - literally - their surroundings.
As they moved in close, there were some sounds of life; dogs barking, the muffled sounds of low voices from some of the houses, the occasional muffled cry of a baby or child, or of a tinny radio. Megan crouched behind a weatherbeaten, hard-used mercedes saloon tucked in next to one of the buildings, and scanned the area with her NVG's.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

/snip

@Smike

I'd already read most of it when you sent me it before to preview, so to no surprise, approved!

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Over the Mediterranean Sea; approximately 20 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014

The last L-59 pilot was brave, and skillful; they weaved the spritely little jet expertly onto the Tomcat's tail, jockeying into position to unleash a burst of gunfire and kill the stricken, much larger bird.
Mykhailo rocketing up into position with his 20mm blazing drove the light jet off, rounds punching through it's starboard wing and a trail of debris streaming in its' wake as it broke off, darting away from the hunting F-16.

"Cobalt 1-1, you doing all right?!" Mykhailo asked Captain Scott and Kat through the radio. "I'm going to lower my altitude in case the enemy has any more surprises - Someone has to protect the convoy! Any news from Recon Team and Flight 2, by the way?"

Scott's reply was strained as he wrestled the ASF-14, trying to keep the jet in the air as it slowly died, piece by piece.
"Hnn- yeah, Brightspark. Just fine over here; KK and I have got this just peachy. Twin engine fighter on one engine; it's no biggie. Half of it being on fire is just an extra bit of excitement, that's all".

As Myk declared his intention to give the convoy a close escort, the AWACS operator chimed in

Freyja 'Valkyrie' Svensdotter

“This is cobalt 7 to cobalt 1-1, All enemy vessels accounted for and eliminated, continuing to escort the convoy, over.” Despite the crews looking like they are celebrating, Valk contained any enthusiasm, it probably sounded like it on the radio too. For her there was not much to celebrate in terms of losses. Sure she was happy they protected the convoy, it is probably cold and calculating, but Valk felt the loss was unacceptable, and more likely the team will end up with replacements to fill their ranks. She then heard the radio chatter. “You guys good up there?” Need any assistance, over?”.

@Damo021

"Negative, Valkyrie; stay on the convoy! They need cover in case anyone else comes sniffing around. Brightspark, stay on me; I need someone to talk me in and keep an eye on me as I get this bird down - if I can, anyway"
Inside the cockpit, Kat in the rear seat fought to control and compensate for the damage; slapping fire suppression switches to try and extinguish the engine fire. Scott wrestled the jet in the front seat, jockeying the remaining throttle and coaxing as much control as he could from the ailing plane.
"KK, what have we got to work with, talk to me baby".
"Port engine is dead; it's completely out. Starboard is still alive, but it's screaming. Hydraulics are losing pressure; electrical systems are... borderline. We're pissing fuel, oil and hydraulic fluid but I'm doing the best I can"
"Right, I'm gonna try and get some altitude, and control; try and get us as close to home as possible"
He grimaced as he hauled the stick back, the plane shuddering, straining, and reluctantly taking a nose-high altitude, clawing those extra feet in height for miles in range toward the growing shape of Malta in the sea ahead, before he switched channels.
"Skywatch; this is Cobalt Lead, declaring an in-flight emergency. We have an aircraft fault and are heavily damaged. Going to try and make the runway at Luqa. But you might want to scramble the rescue chopper, and have emergency teams on standby, because this ain't gonna be a pretty landing, over!"
There was a heartbeat's pause, before the voice of the AWACS operator came back, strained as she tried to maintain her composure and calmly relay information.
"Roger, Cobalt lead; emergency services are being scrambled at Luqa international. Showing Cobalt 6 over the convoy, and Cobalt 5 on your position. No word from second flight yet, but they are on course. Cobalt Lead; showing you on good heading and closing from ten miles out. Keep your course and heading steady, over"
"Roger that, Skywatch. Thanks for the assist, going to do my best to bring this bird in, and only get out as a last option, over"
Scott checked the instruments; they flickered and fuzzed, glitches running through the touch-screen displays. He cursed fluently and extravagantly. His arms and legs were starting to ache from fighting the plane. It wanted to pull to the left, the asymmetric thrust from the right engine and drag from the damage to the left side of the plane direly affecting how it flew.
He flicked his mis-matched eyes between the instruments inside the cockpit and view outside. Malta loomed close, the plane eating up the miles despite hanging on by strings, and the black ribbon of the runway was painfully clear to his eyes, looking almost close enough to touch.
"We're losing hydraulics, Heartbreak!" Kat cried out from the rear cockpit. Scott grunted a reply and his hands danced across the controls.
"Going to use the last of what we have to try and get the gear and hook down and sweep the wings if we've got anything left. We'll have to rely on the crash prep to stop us".
"Roger that, do it!"
Scott hit the gear first and the plane rumbled and whined as the gear dropped into the slipstream. Immediately, the jet lurched and bucked, becoming more draggy. The gear lights refused to lock in the green position, and he grimaced, the controls growing ever-more mushy as the plane dropped lower.
"Fuck. Going to have to chance this. Hold on..."

From outside the plane, at Mykhailo's view, the ailing jet looked like a wounded bird. The wings had stuck half-forward, and the gear dropped three quarters of the way down. It lurched lower, dropping heavily and violently swaying, pulling to the side in the beginning of a slewing left turn, before wrenching part way around just enough to slam heavily onto one of the airport's runways, covered in crash foam. It bounced as it hit on the semi-extended gear, which collapsed as it hit the ground a second time. Skidding on its' belly, the tomcat slewed and span slowly to the left, before Scott shut off all thrust. Debris and sparks flew up in the wake of the jet as it skidded for a hundred meters, before coming to a stop. Immediately, Scott popped the canopy, it flying free as crash trucks doused the rest of the jet with foam, and crews bravely ran to the jet and hauled the pair free, them half-dragged, half-stumbling to safety.

Over the Convoy; Closing in, under 15 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014.

"Cobalt 6, this is Skywatch. Cobalt Lead is down, Heartbreak and KK are safe. Reading no hostiles in your area. All bandits are down or no factor, no hostile surface targets within the perimeter. Continue your escort to within five miles of the coast and then RTB, good job out there, over"

The E-2 Hawkeye's radar operator told the truth of it; there were no signs of any other hostiles near the convoy, and the ships had escaped unharmed from the incident - even if the same couldn't be said for their escort.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

As the questions came from the team, Jamison fielded them as best she could, answering in between bites of her own meal. Meg followed along, taking in the information and listening attentively to both her team's concerns and the answers as they came.

“OK, question time to get some answers on what I asked before. Fire and communications is what I’m interested about, personally. First of the two…what’s local fire rescue look like? We at lines with buckets, a fire station, or does that local patrol do the lifting there? How do they do things as far as fire when it’s at curfew time? Is the compound fitted out with a fire detector system, carbon monoxide detectors, or what? Are any of those things connected to a box or is able to be accessed from the outside? Do they actually give a shit when those go off and, if they do, what do the guards do? Any of that known?”

Taking a breath, as well as a hearty bite from the bread, Moss continued on. “What’s communications infrastructure look like, both local and for the Order specifically? Fixed, short-range handhelds, satellite phones, what? We got any frequencies for em?”

@Thayr

The former CIA woman consulted the tablet that held her notes and information, checking what she had and her sharp eyes swifting scanning over the information to sum it up before she replies.
"The Order - for all their numerous and extensive faults - have done some improvement to infrastructure. Most buildings that aren't involved with their operations or local infrastructure that supports them aren't really fitted out with any kind of fire suppression or detection systems. The building inside the compound is more, mm... 'solid' and modern; it was built with modern materials and that includes smoke detectors. I haven't been able to access full building plans and documentation - unfortunately, that level of detail just... doesn't exist for the area, or is obscured or destroyed by successive government upheavals. But as far as fire-fighting goes; the local patrols and civilian volunteers are mostly responsible for their own firefighting efforts. A village this small doesn't have a dedicated fire service. Only much bigger towns or cities have anything of that kind. Fires in event of curfew rely on raising alarms locally and getting attention through more, mm, 'analog' means - waking up people, and then spreading the word through whatever local telephones there are and radio communications. Which leads neatly into your next question. Most local homes don't have hardline telephones, but businesses or municipal buildings do. There's extremely limited cellular phone service in small villages, and it's spotty at best with no real capacity for sending say, large amounts of data or information. If people own cell phones, they're much more primitive than smartphones.
"The order's patrols use handheld, short-range radios to communicate with base-stations - such as this compound, or a vehicle - that have longer-range radios. I have limited information on their frequencies. I'll pass it over to you".

“Before we move, I want to take a look at their security system.”

“You mentioned a camera covering the side gate. Are there any other cameras indoors? Also are the cameras wired or wireless? If it's networked, I can loop or kill the feed remotely. If it’s standalone, I’ll need to be close to disable it.” She took another bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "Once we're inside, I'll need a minute to access whatever they have on-site. If there's a server or terminal, I can pull intel—comms, patrol routes, supply caches, maybe even Resistance contacts they're tracking."

Her dark eyes flicked to Megan, then to Jamison, gauging their responses. “Also, any idea what Adebayo’s condition is? If they’ve started interrogation, he might not be in shape to move quickly. If we need to carry him, that changes our extraction plan.” She pondered for a brief moment before continuing.

“One more thing—power supply. Any chance they’re tapped into local infrastructure, or are they running on generators? If we can cut the power at the right time, we might be able to disrupt their coordination and limit visibility.” She let her words settle among the rest of the team as she returned to her hearty stew, her mind already working through possible tech-based solutions to make their entry as seamless as possible. Every bit of intel meant one less variable, one less risk.

@Komo

Jamison took a sip of her water before she replied to Sohee, speaking with clear, clipped words.

"There's a camera covering the garage, and one covering the front door internally. No other internal cameras; the building isn't intended to be open and accessible to the public, so security against external break-ins is more the assumed issue than internal security - it's more of an intruder alert system. The cameras are hardwired on an internal system. I don't have the full location of the system, but the security office on the lower floor seems like your best bet"
She unrolled a paper plan of the building across the table after clearing a little space, and tapped the relevant room. The building was spartan and simple in design, as the explanation had made out. The security office was a relatively small corner room off of the main L-shaped corridor that lead from the front door to the garage, and had the stars to the upper floor leading off. The other ground floor rooms included a store room, an interview room, three small holding rooms off of their own small corridor, a locker room/ready room and of course the garage itself with an attached small storeroom. The upper floor comprised of a small lounge with an attached kitchenette, bathrooms, and an office.
Jamisons slim finger tapped an outbuilding shown on the ground floor plan. "This outbuilding inside the wall houses the power supply. The compound has its own generator. Only a small unit, just enough to provide power for the compound. The rest of the village has its own domestic supply, though street lighting while it exists is sparse".

She pursed her lips into a tight line as Adebayo's condition was mentioned, shaking her head.
"I can't confirm his exact condition. We know he's alive, and he was injured while being apprehended; several abrasions and a minor, if messy, head-wound. While I can't give any more firm intel than that on his condition, I'd plan for him to have suffered more".

"How're we handling surrenders?" she asked, adding to the barrage of questions. "Are we turning anyone who gives up over to the resistance, or are they being shipped Stateside?"

@Smike

"We don't have the resources or infrastructure in place - yet - to detain and ship out every hostile that might surrender. Cuff them and leave them if they do surrender to you. If the resistance are operating with you, let them handle it. We do have HVT's that we'll be looking for - but none of them are going to be in this little compound in a village."

Megan chimed in to add her words.
"I appreciate the concern for surrenders - but this is a military outfit and operation; not law enforcement. We go in with the expectation to shoot to kill, not detain or incapacitate. Anyone so much as sends a threatening word in our direction, we put them down. Extraction of Adeboyo is the objective".

There were no further questions, so Megan nodded to Jamison who returned the gesture, letting the kiwi take over the leading role.
"I think that covers everything, unless anyone wants to ask Jamison what the tangoes' shoe-sizes, what handed they are, or what their favourite colours are. I can see you're all getting your kit squared away already, good. We mount up in ten"

Megan finished her portion of the meal and returned the bowl to the woman who'd served out that food, who thanked her with a luminous smile and a nod, keeping herself uninvolved from the teams' activities as they went about them in an almost surreal picture of domesticity. Megan turned to her own equipment. She unlatched her crate, and quickly set about kitting up. Vest, pads, gloves, holsters, helmet. She checked and loaded her sidearm, the Mk.23 looking almost comically oversized in her hands, before she slipped it into its' holster. She checked over her MP5, the weapon remarkably familiar in her hands as she checked the action, the batteries in the red-dot and flashlight, and then loaded a dual-clamped magazine and put the SMG on safe. Her normal load of grenades were tucked into their respective pouches on her gear, secured and in ready reach, along with spare magazines as needed. A battery check on her other gadgets - radio, NVGs, strobe, phone - and a top-up of her water and she was as ready as could be, moving to stand by the door and wait for her team.

Jamison joined her with one of the locals, a very dark-skinned man dressed in old British DPM camouflage trousers, a T-shirt in the Taniland flag colours and an olive hunting or outdoor jacket with hacked-off sleeves. His eyes and features were hard, but there was still a spark in his gaze as she met his took to her.
"Winters, this is Christopher Djembe. He's a local commander of the Resistance. He and a pair of his men will transport you to the drop off point just outside of the village to allow you to make your approach to the compound"
Meg put her hand out, and Christopher took it, shaking in a firm grasp. He gave a tight smile and she returned it with one of her own.
"Thank you for coming to our aid, Miss Winters. I am glad to have such expertise to help us in our fight"
"You're welcome, Mister Djembe. And call me Meg; My mum calls me Miss Winters. You have a ride for us?"
"It is nothing extravagant or flashy, but it will get us there without too much suspicion". He nodded to the rest of the team as the three of them stood close to the doorway.
"I am sure you and your people think we are amateurs or lacking in experience, especially compared to you with your training and equipment. But we have been fighting the Order since their earliest days here, doing what we can to resist. If we can get Adebayo back, his voice and influence will help greatly in bringing the common people to realise we fight for them and in uniting and co-ordinating the resistance once more".
"We'll do everything we can, I promise" she said with a nod, before looking back to the team and raising her voice a little.
"All right, ladies and gents. Let's get this show moving, the night isn't getting any younger, and neither am I".

---8-8-8---

A short while later, the group were bundled in the back of an old Mercedes van. As Christopher had promised; it definitely wasn't extravagant or flashy, what with the flaking and faded dusty yellow-brown paint on the outside and patches of creeping rust. The inside at least was clean, if dusty, and there had been the forethought to attach rope handholds to the interior ribs bracing the cargo compartment of the back, so they didn't spill everywhere as the van drove along and they sat in the back.
A double-thump on the partition separating the driving compartment from the rear, along with the change in gears and the engine sound told them they were close, and a moment later the van jolted and bounced as it left the compacted surface of the road and thumped and bucked across the rutted, pitted surface of the ground alongside before coming to a halt. The side door slid open, and starlight spilled in, along with the night-time sounds of life, Christopher's silhouette moving aside as Megan climbed out.
"All right," he said in a low voice. "This is where we drop you off. Good luck, and I hope to see you again soon".
"Thanks, see you soon," she replied, before flipping down her NVG's and powering them on with the characteristic whine as the word resolved into green-tinged clarity. She moved off a short distance crouched in the cover of shrubs, waiting for the others to join her, and surveyed the buildings of the village in the very near distance.

@Thayr, @FourtyTwo, @Smike, @Komo, @Theyra, @Alfhedil

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Mykhailo's charge into the Jastrebs sent them scattering like a flock of frightened birds before the falcon that was his F-16's namesake. His attacks hit true; the plane chased by the AIM-9 heading a plume of thick, white smoke that corkscrewed across the blue sky valiantly pulled into a steep banking turn, straining to out-turn the heat-seeking missile, the little jet shuddered as it's engine howled; but the dart-like shape of the AAM smashed into the plane where the starboard wing met the fuselage, the dirty cloud of flame from the explosion severing the wing and sending the rest of its' carcass into a tumbling somersault, shedding debris as it fell from the sky.
The second one persecuted by the young pilot frantically wove to and fro, throwing itself into violent manoeuvres as the F-16's 20mm Vulcan cannon spewed hotdog-sized shells at the plane. A string of rounds slashed across the planes' fuselage, and it belched and billowed smoke, immediately losing speed and starting to shudder. The pilot turned away from their original course immediately, reversing and trying to withdraw from the battle, and losing altitude with each passing moment; until the canopy blew away, and both ejection seats fired.
The final one of the three small planes was going hell-for-leather at low altitude, having used the chaos of his wingmen trying to avoid the hunting F-16's the last one of the jets closed in on the convoy, frantically moving into a desperate attack position.

Meanwhile, Valkyrie's flight were fully engaged with the patrol boats. The six vessels had split up from their V formation as soon as Valk and Rook pressed their attack. Freyja's strategy was sound; the boats were already at a disadvantage, and with the planes diving in on them from both sides, they couldn't counter as effectively.
The gripen's RBS-15 Anti-ship missile turned the targeted boat into a ball of greasy fire as it impacted, the warhead much more than enough to blast the comparatively small craft to splinters, a shockwave blasting out across the water as it detonated.
On the opposite side, Ilya's Yak-141 let fly with a brace of Kh-25 missiles. The boats swerved and tried to avoid the inbound short-range missiles, but it was a forgone conclusion as the missiles impacted; one caught the superstructure of the first boat and left the hull a flaming wreck that continued on, guideless and under its' own momentum.
The second missile plowed into the hull of the second boat at the waterline amidships. The explosion almost seemed to rudely shove the vessel sideways in place with a lurch. As it crashed and bounced across the waves, water gushed in as smoke gushed out, and it started to list, slowing down and tipping to one side with increasing speed. Not long after, people starting jumping over the side, the fire from the stricken vessel immediately dropping off.
In moments, their numbers had been halved - but they weren't out of action yet.
As Rook's Yak-141 pulled up in an elegant, smooth climbing bank to break off, a warning sounded in his cockpit. Hydraulic pressure in the airframe dropped away sharply; and Ilya found himself fighting his controls, struggling to keep the jet in the air and get any response from the controls.
"This is Cobalt 8, I've lost al-"
The transmission cut off with a burst of static as a shoulder-fired Igla missile from one of the boats slammed into the belly of the Yak-141, and it exploded into a shower of debris and flame.

Scott's Super Tomcat was thoroughly engaged in a knife-fight with the L-59's. The big, swing-wing interceptor dwarfed the the lighter planes; it was like a condor hunting sparrows. It was a strangely uneven battle; the ASF-14 had power with its' two, huge engines and its' advanced avionics, but the L-59's small size and lighter weight made them nimble and mobile.
Nonetheless, Scott and Kat had experience and skill on their side as well as the advanced tech of their plane.
Scott hauled the big jet into as tight a turn as he could manage; popping flares as the howling tones of a hostile lock-on sounded.
The big swing-wing jet went inverted as Scott pulled them over and round, and a successful lock-on to one of the smaller planes sounded, as he framed the jet in his helmet-mounted sight. The growling, warbling tone filled his ears and he squeezed the trigger.
"Cobalt one, Fox Two!"
The missile flew true, and despite an impress show of flying, the L-59 went down in a cloud of smoke and flame. He changed course immediately after the launch, the jets' wings sweeping forward and out for more lift and agility as he turned sharply, hauling the nose around. The L-59 on his tail overshot, going wide past them as he hauled the nose around to follow the third of the trio, bringing the jet sharply around at close range.
"Too close for missiles; going to guns"
"Roger, I'll keep an eye on our tail," Kat called back in a voice strained by the G's that pressed her into her seat.
The gunsight pipper danced across Scott's vision, and the sandy-haired pilot jockeyed the pedals and stick to get the sight into the right place for a shot, rewarded as it turned green. A squeeze of the trigger and the plane hummed with as the multi-barrelled Vulcan spat out a string of 20mm armour-piercing incendiaries that stitched a line along the side of the Albatros. Smoke billowed, and the plane seemed to continue on straight for a moment, before it almost lazily rolled over on one side, before the canopy burst away, and the crew launched away on plumes of fire.
The fluttering, straining through the airframe that had been felt earlier had got worse and worse through each movement of the dogfight, the vibration getting so bad in their last turn that they'd both got double vision. As Scott rolled the plane out once more, there was a sharp BANG and warnings sounded through the cockpit, 'bitching betty' calmly relaying a litany of problems.
"What the hell was-"
"-Engine is on fire, we're losing pressure!"
Scott and Kat tried to speak at the same time hurriedly as they struggled to bring their wounded plane back under control. In the same instant, the warning for a hostile lock-on sounded as the remaining hostile plane closed in behind them.

@Letter Bee, @Damo021

Ace Combat-Esque RP; checking for interest.

Re-bumping again too -

Ace combat-esque RP, with an alternate history setting, oriented around fighter pilots.
Looking for additional players to replace some that have dropped out due to RL concerns/issues/etc.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Okay; I hate having to quote rules. But I've been pretty lenient with my own ones so far, and I'm starting to get a little annoyed, if I'm honest.

• Absences - I understand if you have things come up - it happens to us all, and we can't always predict it. If you come back later and are still interested in joining in, I'll find a way to write you back in. However, if you are intending on leaving, I would ask that you be respectful to myself and the other players and let me know so I can write you out. If you have to be away for holidays, or whatever else, likewise please let me know if at all you can.
• Post Frequency - I know I have other hobbies and responsibilities, and I'm sure the same applies to the rest of you. I'll usually allow a week-ish for a full round of replies, and then move on. If people drop behind or consistently don't reply, then I'll follow up once and try and remind - but it's not my job to chase people, and it doesn't make my hobby fun if I'm having to chase people to join in - if you're here, then I'm assuming you want to be, and I shouldn't have to remind you about it.

@Rhona W

I've been giving two weeks between posts lately, as I know people have been busy, and yet I'm still not getting even acknowledgements of people being busy, let alone actual posts.
Another two days, and it will have been a fortnight since my last IC post, and I won't have heard from @Kensai at all, and @shadow daedalus hasn't posted either, though has at least spoken since.

Please let me know if you're actually still interested in playing, as if I don't hear from you at all, I will assume you're not interested and start removing people, as this is getting frustrating and annoying, and chasing people shouldn't be something I should have to do.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Î𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚃𝚎𝚖𝚙ê𝚝𝚎, 𝚁𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗
𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢
𝟶𝟼𝟶𝟶 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠

---

As Purna gestured to the two-man patrol and melted into the shadows, Eloise did the same and moments later the man on the left barely had time to react to his partner disappearing as her gloved hand clamped over his mouth, and her knife slid between his ribs silently, the slender woman rising from the shadows like an inky spectre and easing him to the ground as he went limp. She dragged his body aside into the cover of the mangroves, no trace of him remaining.

As they moved forward, she flowed along; moving from cover to cover as reflexively as breathing. She shifted in and out of shadow and darkness, her cloak in its' matte, almost light-absorbing colours making her almost an absence in her surroundings as much as blending into them and her passage as silent as it was invisible. Purna's gear cloaked him and made him invisible through technology and skill working hand in hand; Eloise's stealth was more a combination of exploiting behaviour, senses, and opportunity; knowing the limits and habits of human eyes and senses and utilising what she had and knew to slip past, around, and between the guards. She moved with lithe grace and fluid swiftness; to the point it seemed almost eerily inhuman to anyone who knew she was there, especially given how inhumanly quiet she was along with it, freezing in place when need be, motionless as a statue.
She listened as he lay out the strategy, taking in the scene as he spoke and absorbing the details of the compounds' layout and the task presented to them and it's challenges to her skills and equipment, and the rest of their team to complete their side of the mission.

"Affirm," she said in that soft, whispery tone. "I'll take the corvette and the comms installation, and then regroup at the security building with you so we can move on the control centre".

As Purna moved off to ply his trade, Eloise did the same. She moved across to the corvettes position, tied up on the quayside. She took to higher ground as she moved, utilising the tops of containers and rooftops of the small outbuildings. As she reached the quay by the small - relatively speaking - ship, her bow came into play. The sentry at the gangplank to the deck didn't have time to utter a sound as her arrow took him in the throat and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. She slid him over the edge into the water, the splash masked by the rolling tide. A patrolling pair on deck went down with an arrow apiece, and she moved into the ship, slipping past a crewman about his business by ducking into a cabin, and then sliding down a ladder after he passed.
An armour-piercing arrow in the back took care of a patrolling guard on the lower deck, and she dragged him aside before making her way into the engine space of the ship.
No armed personnel were on duty in the space, but the crewmen at work were quickly and wordlessly dispatched with a combination of her throwing knives and regular blades, and she dragged their corpses out of obvious sight, before dogging and locking one of the two hatches into the space from the inside and jamming it shut with a pry bar through the handles on the inside, and then set about setting her charges in places hard to reach or see.
Eloise exited through the other hatch, spinning the handle to lock it firmly. One down, more to go.
She worked her way forward, sticking to the lower deck. She moved efficiently; dispatching enemies where she had to, avoiding them where possible - the less bodies she left in her wake, the less chance there was they'd discover her and the alarm would be raised.
Throwing knives dispatched another pair of sailors outside the missile magazine, and she dragged their bodies inside.
Working quickly, she set more charges that would detonate the warheads and the propellant, blasting the ship apart from the inside out along with the engines going up in smoke. She set the timers on these to go off a short delay after the previous ones, when the chaos would be at its height with one problem already occupying the crew.

She slipped out, making her way back above decks through a forward access, and then across to the quayside using one of the lines that tied the ship up to the wharf. Ghosting into the shadows of the shipping containers, she heard Purna's message about the EM devices and clicked her radio to confirm she'd received the message. Barely a moment after he'd mentioned them, she saw one on a mast at the corner of one of the buildings and felt the creeping tingle of static creep along her skin as her suit started to react with the electromagnetic field, the cloak's material starting to glitch. Moving quickly, she stowed her bow and quickly drew her SMG, putting a pair of suppressed rounds into the device and knocking it out, doing the same to a second as she caught sight of it.
"Confirmed; thanks for the heads up. Knocked two out already, I'll watch for more. Moving to the comm tower now," she said in a quiet, tight voice over the radio as she moved. Another pair of arrows, loosed within heartbeats of one another sent another pair of marines down as she closed in toward the comms tower, brightly lit as it was. This would prove to be even more of a challenge, with how plainly visible it was, but she could handle it - she'd done more with less. But dawn was rapidly approaching, and with it, the rest of the team making their assault.