Merlin himself sat quietly as the rest of the team chatted on the range, his gear strewn out. AOR2 with a grey shade was more of a Navy Seal's, or a Marine's camouflage, but he personally quite liked the desert digital camouflage, and it looked the part, but it formed his BDU on his run, alongside a plate carrier, a Predator 30 tactical sack, which contained his tactical binoculars, as well as paracord and his combat first aid equipment onto it's side. The LSAT was chambered in 5.56, and was equipped with a Surefire silencer on the end of the MG's barrel, with a EOTech XPS3 Holographic optic mounted in front of a 3XMag magnifier, slung off to the side from the RIS, the LMG having it's usual Surefire flashlight-foregrip alongside a tan-coloured bipod that sat on the end of the rifle's underbarrel RIS. A shortened UBR stock made the LMG as long as a normal rifle, and it sat neatly against Merlin's shoulder, the weapon feeling like it was just a C8 in his hands, and no heavier, even when fully loaded. Caseless ammunition did have that advantage, that much he knew, and while it was not exactly something you would call standard issue, it had proven itself in service trials in the US Armed Forces a year ago, and other SF operative groups had a AOR, or actionable operational requirement, for an LMG that could provide the firepower in a package that didn't weigh more than eight kilos. That, and it's remarkable stability, in Merlin's hands, this didn't seem to really have a violent recoil pattern, nor did it falter in the close ranges. It was worth trusting. He checked his P226, sliding a magazine inside, and screwing the Surefire silencer onto the thread, counter-clockwise, he took a little satisfaction in then taking it back off, sliding it into a case next to his holster. A .357 cartridge was special purpose, and for Merlin, it was because he found that 9mm just didn't really do the job. It had a hard punch, less to play with, but he didn't waste shots. His marksmanship hadn't faded with time, so he preferred caliber to mag size. His dive knife followed, and he had left his particular favourite until last. A larger shotgun was a nice tool, but Merlin liked to keep his weaponry concentrated, tactile, and close at hand. Hence the cut-down 870, and without a stock and a shortened barrel, it really did not look like a tactical weapon at all, it looked like some bastardized tool of a biker. But four 00 12 gauge buckshot rounds against a door hinge always did a better job of opening a door the fuck open, and then the people inside it than kicking it in, he chuckled to himself. For both purposes. Instead of his usual beanie that he sometimes wore in places like this, he took a carbon-black coloured Ops Core helmet, the carbon fiber paintscheme a little muted, but fitting with the helm's exterior construction, Merlin adjusting the side-mounted camera on the helm, and the GPNVG-18s that were mounted on the fore of the helmet, the night vision quad-goggles offering a wider viewing angle than most, and a nice tool for night operations such as these, though, never a thing to rely upon. He began sorting through the rest of his miscellaneous gear, from grenades to flashbangs, two C4 charges, weighing around 1.5kg each, and a pair of Nanos of his own, the drones slipping into a mag case, being that small. A Petzl headtorch, slung beneath the NVGs, and a pair of Mechanix gloves joined it, as well as his communication system, and TOS, placed in a soft case, to be put in when required. He had served for a long while, that was enough to be said, he'd seen the Iraq War and Afghanistan, when they were still a big deal. And when they weren't, he still had a use. Technology changed, and he adapted well, but he'd do ruddy fucking fine without a contact lens, if he so pleased, if it wasn't for the fact that it told him where his team-mates were, amongst a few other things that he just accepted had some nice uses when using drones and the like. They would be leaving soon, and Merlin felt ready to do what he had to do. He left them to their own devices, knowing that soon enough, he'd have to brief them again on a FOB that they'd use to mount the assault from, potentially in Sardinia or a naval vessel, and they would begin the process, a long hard day of getting ready to deploy and to strike them where it hurt the most. And as always, it was co-ordinated. Merlin knew how to drive scalpels into the very depths of a network like this, not with brute force, but like a surgeon's hand. He had gone over it, again and again. And he felt prepared, as he knew his team was. ----------- [u][b]0147 Hours 9th July, 2020 Somewhere off the coast of Algeria[/b][/u] [i]Echo White[/i] The sea was a cauldron, the wind blowing strong on the seas, and the five-man team was well equipped to the task at hand. The RHIB had no weaponry, and was completely empty, Merlin standing at the helm of the boat, the two engines no longer roaring as they had been, but quietened down, on the approach, with the island barely a couple of klicks out. Merlin adjusted the LSAT on his side, before adjusting the RHIB's course towards the isle, the rocky mount visible from afar, the darkness completely filling apart from the distant light of a farwaway port town on the Algerian coast behind them. The sky was overcast, and it worked wonders for them. No light, was good. Merlin had the throttle turned down, and they were making ground even so, sweeping in on the small village, the SBS Captain prepared to admit that these conditions had it's merit. The waves at least drowned out the noise, and visual on them, which he did indeed, quite like. He knew that his team aboard the boat were ready more than ever, from Jarek to Tyler, to Olivia to Aleksandra. They knew their shit, and like him, they were going over just how they were conducting this. He had divided Jarek and Olivia to follow on his point, while Aleksandra took Tyler as fireteam that could be detached if needs be, once they were inside the village. Merlin's shortened hair poked out a little from the Ops Core helm on his head, and he looked stern, the sea salt on his lips and his beard, as well as his height putting him across as rather menacing indeed. The boat crested a wave, and before they knew it, they were closing in, anyone who was seasick probably wanting to chunder right now. The camp was dimly illuminated from this angle, though some houses had lighting, and the hermitage, as well as main camp, seemed to have a little more. They were striking in the depths of night, so the longer that they could keep this quiet, and eliminate hostiles without making too much effort, the quicker they could get this done. Looking over his operators on the small RHIB, Merlin chuckled, nodding. The bearded Devonian looked like this was another day in the office, and while it may have seemed striking to most of the other operators, he seemed completely unfazed by how much the boat was going up or down, or just how much sea spray he had on his face. He looked completely at ease, yet a little pleased to be at sea. Standing tall with his helm on, and with natural night vision, you could make out his outline and frame to be something you really didn't want to be an enemy's, his general demeanour already engaged into a different frame of mind to what it had been barely 36 hours ago. He looked like nothing like that Merlin, he looked different, as if he was willing to not even question a single ounce of what was about to happen next. It came with experience and time, in his head the want to just do the task at hand and in the process, kick some fucking skulls in, saying all that had to be said. "Hmmnn, we're going to need a bigger boat." He muttered, chuckling a little, looking over at Aleksandra, nodding. He knew his 2IC was going to find tonight interesting, and that she was up to the task, so long as she kept her wits about her, and her head screwed on straight. "Good thing we're not all swimming tonight....the sea's a fucking drum!" He yelled over the sound of the waves and the engine, as he looked over at the shoreline, picking out a position, pointing it out to whoever was standing by his side, the RHIB having no seats or anything of that kind in it, so it made sense if you weren't standing and hanging on to be laying the fuck down or at a corner where you wouldn't get thrown out. "Right there, by that side of the cliff....we can park it in and move up into the side of the village. From UAV overlooks, they aren't covering it at all, and not at this time of night. Too busy sleeping tight or shagging horses, or some shit." Merlin added, chuckling lowly, probably unaware of how culturally insensitive he was sometimes. That was what you got with people like him- and to tell him otherwise was usually a bad idea. He could hold it in sometimes. Right now, he didn't give a fuck, and pestering Merlin about petty matters usually resulted in a loss of teeth. And memory. The only thing in his mind was the plan. They would execute it, and if anything went wrong, they would execute the next best one, and so on, and so on, until they had the objective, and were gone. "So it's perfect place to strike from....remember, we want to thin out this village, maintaining silence for as long as possible. Thinning them out while they sleep tips the balance for us against these goatfuckers when we move in on the hermitage." Merlin's gruff voice added, his accent and his very sound being one that tied ears to it, as prickly as the salty sea, yet clear enough to get the point home. "It isn't ethical. Neither is bombing a fucking Cafe. So if you find some, don't waste rounds if you don't have to." He said to her, nodding as he pointed out the village once more. "Anything to add, Wolf? I suggest once we're in, we stick together, and only detach if we find we can outflank and get the drop on any isolated groupings, without making too much noise." --------- [i]Echo Black[/i] The SDV was dark, everything was dark, apart from the display in front of Nikolaj's eyes, the Dane staring through the diving mask, sucking in air from the rebreather, slowly, and calmly. Too heavy and fast, and the CO2 would build up, and that would disorientate you and potentially, be lethal. Breathing with a rebreather had to be a steady, nice and predicted rhythm. It didn't demand hard breaths, it demanded an operator to take the air that was cycled through and sent back up to be breathed in as effortlessly as it was out. And with the doors sealed, the blackness the same with them opened, it felt quiet, eerie almost. He knew only one other passenger was on board, and that was Dominique, the American Parajumper, probably doing something she wasn't as used to. The noise of the motor had calmed, and they were running in at about 4 knots, along the seabed, the FLIR camera on the SDV's nose picking up the shore, slowly clambering up to the seamount of the cliff face. Nikolaj knew that Oakley knew the air better than she did the sea, but would be competent enough to swim, and at least follow his lead, on whatever the Danish sergeant was going to do here. He began levelling the SDV out, pulling back on the control and bringing it towards surface, looking over, as he adjusted his underwater transeiver, a radio system built for military divers that retained some level of clarity. "Okay, Duchess, prep the periscope. Let's get us a look on the approach." He added, as he levelled the submarine out, the sea a cauldron, the winds remarkably strong for the Med, and blowing a gale through the sea. No rain accompanied it, it had to be a Saharan blast of wind, and the sea was angry, so Nikolaj's inner Kraken felt. The SDV had a camera-equipped periscope that extended about seven feet above it's surface, and could be used to keep the SDV below water, yet with a view above. It wasn't the best view in the world, but would serve well, to judge their infiltration location and other features, such as the makeup of the cliffline, and any potential threats in the boathouse, a tiny shed on the water that sat at the bottom of the long staircase. "Infil location is tricky. We'll stop the SDV short of it, and swim the rest. We'll need to fit charges in the boathouse, then set Claymores there too, as a failsafe if we receive guests. We can't take the stairset going up to the top of the mount, so we'll climb it instead. We have the grapples, and it's mostly a scramble. Nothing too difficult, but if we can't do it, we'll take the stairs. No lift I'm afraid. It's a long, long way up from here." He added, the demolished hermitage, come terrorist encampment at the very top of the stairs he mentioned, the elegant steps being carved into the sandstone on the way up, a web that offered a perplexing verticality, against the harsh cliffs below. Watching on over at Dominique's display, he changed the frequency a little, aware he'd come out a little garbled, but clear enough to Captain Bastion. "Echo Lead, this is Echo Black, we are one mike to stop point, we will keep you updated."