Forest Bandit

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Sergei nodded at Isaiah, “finally, someone with a solution and not more questions.” He paused, long enough to give Azriel a curious glance. “I think we’ve enough diversity here to strike these bastards from every angle; leaving no room for error.” The monitor’s image returned to the Odessa’s schematics. Sergei marched around the table, and approached it, picking up a stylus attached to the wall beside the screen. “Prophet hits the Aft Deck from the sea, using underwater propulsion vehicles or manned torpedoes – either will get the job done. Cipher dittos this, taking the Fore Deck. Both teams converge on the Bridge, and clear the upper deck entirely of hostiles and hostages. Incase our insider is a trap, we’ll have those containers, the med-bay, messhall and kitchen searched too. Kingpin arrives in a Zodiac. Fuck the Boss, I want those pirates in the dinghys taken down permanently. Use live ammunition, stab them, I don’t care, but do it quietly. Once they’re gone, prepare to breach the Odessa’s Fore Storage from the outside. Use breach charges, but do not go until given the say so by Cobra. Cobra comes in with Prophet, but takes the stairs to the Bottom Deck rather than converges on the Bridge. They clear the aft storage rooms one by one, quietly. Then head through the engine room, no doubt the pirates will be banging around down there trying to work out what’s happened to the power. Take them down, with non-lethal means if possible. Cobra will then prepare to breach the Fore Storage from the door. On Cobra’s command, both they and Kingpin breach the room. If a hostage is killed by flying metal or debris, then we’ll bite the bullet and take it. It’s that, or the pirates get a chance to open fire on them. Whilst all that is going on, Prophet clears the sleeping quarters, whilst Cipher keeps things nice and quiet topside. Last thing we need is a pirate infested trawler to turn up mid-operation and fuck with the extraction.” Sergei stood back, having decorated the schematics with various coloured lines. He nodded at it with a grunt, and gleaned a toothy smile. “Just like old times,” he chuckled to no one in particular, before turning to the Team Leaders. “That’s the plan, I’m putting my stamp on this one. We’ll be here til morrow otherwise, working out whether a torpedo can take down an MI-18 in a dogfight. Hop to it ladies and gentlemen, you’ve got four hours to prepare.” Turning to Deng, Sergei waved a hand. “Virus is going elsewhere; a nice sunny beach, in fact. Meet me in the armoury, with Osprey Team.”

Mission Plan

Red = Prophet Yellow = Cipher Blue = Cobra Pink = Kingpin

***

Sergei’s demeanour as he entered the armoury was a lot less confident than he was up in the Operations Room. Baby sitting hardened killers as they plied their trade was one thing; carrying out a request from The Boss was something else. Virus Team filed in behind him, and along with Osprey Team, the expansive armoury suddenly seemed rather small. Sergei waited a few seconds to speak, and did so with a sigh. “Sarenkov called me an hour ago. There’s someone he wants dead, despite his um… Christian beliefs. If you can call them that,” Sergei said, pulling out his tablet and holding the screen up. On its display was the image of a dishevelled African man of middle years; his yellow, rotting teeth gleaming white in contrast to his charcoal coloured skin. A big bushy greying beard surrounded the man’s cracked lips, and a pair of dark eyes peeked out from cavernous sockets. “Yalero Khanya,” Sergei said with conviction. “That’s right. I know you’ve all seen that video of The Boss’ daughter. This is the guy that did most the fucking, and most the hacking. We got a tip off three days ago that this prick was still alive and well; retired from the pirate trade of course, and lying low as a third-rate sex trafficker. Figures right?” A few taps on the tablet later, and the image changed to a satellite rendering of a remote complex in the Somali desert. “Two clicks inland,” Sergei said, “got himself a nice pad, plenty of guards, and plenty of women. There’s a brothel nearby, where he keeps local girls as young as six. Sarenkov doesn’t like the idea of his man being alive for many reasons, understandably. He also wants, rather insistently, for that brothel not to be there anymore.” Holding up a hand, Sergei shook his head. “I recommended a drone strike… but The Boss reckons we need to have boots on the ground; that is to say, to make the bad guys know we’re not above going in there ourselves and murdering them in their sleep. If you ask me, he’s making this far too personal, but I can’t say shit. He’s offering each of you an extra 100k for this mission, not because of the risks, but because of the silence required. He can’t have his… minders, knowing he’s sending men off to scratch his itches.” Sergei turned to leave, “you leave in four hours. I don’t care how you get there, I don’t care how you do it. Kill that bastard, and all his bastard men. Let those women know they’re free – I don’t care what happens to them after. Just do what The Boss wants, and get back here when it’s done. This is a black mission, you’re off the grid but you’ve got anything and everything you ask for.”

Operation: Long Arm

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Righty'o, I think the plan has formed into something I can work with. Antov will be chucking you all out of the operations room in about an hour or so, so make sure you've all had your say, because after that we're fast forwarding to the mission. Konrad, your guys are getting a um, separate mission. R.E.S.C.U.E's chief exec has some unfinished business in Somalia, and I think your team looks like the perfect one for it.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

On the issue of Kurai Assassin's post lengths... Skill requirements, post lengths and all that other jibba-jabba are a waste of time in my opinion. You can make an RP, tell the players that their posts have to be X long and of X quality, and then laugh as half of your player base falls well below what you have specifically requested. So then what do you do? Well, telling the one line warriors, or the no grammar gurus to go fuck themselves is one way. Another of course is to kindly ask them to leave, or up their game. Sometimes it gets ugly, sometimes they leave, but I always end up feeling bad, and you know why? Usually it's the lesser skilled players who are actually more able roleplayers than the heavy duty, professional writer types. Sure, their posts tend to be small, and their grammar usually sucks, but they always have purpose. Their character does something, or says something, which is more often than not a notable event. The big hitters, the guys who write me 5,000 words in a single post, are the ones who upset me more than not. I trawl through 5,000 words, finding that only three paragraphs really add anything. The rest of it is their descriptive wet dream. It's boring. It bores the other players. Before long, too many of those big hitters, and that's all you're left with. 3 guys who love to write you massive long posts about not much. The RP stalls, and it dies. Not to mention, that with weaker writers, it's never a question of laziness or lack of enthusiasm, but of diminished capability. I'd much rather roleplay with someone who's serious, but writes like a cat flying a kite, than someone who can't be arsed and is just firing words at me for the sake of firing words. Kurai Assassin, you're doing fine. I understand why some peeps may have a few issues, but so far, you haven't done anything to jeopardise the RP. Carry on. I could go on, but I think this has been resolved. If anyone has any more concerns with another player's posting style/ability, I'd prefer it if you PM'd me so I can look into matters myself. This way, no one's name gets run into the mud, no one gets embarrassed and I don't have to make public speeches. Instead it gets resolved constructively.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Sergei slammed his giant fist onto the table, startling the Team Leaders with the echoing bang it made. "I hear talk of helicopters, I hear talk of boats, I hear talk of suppressors and snipers, and I hear talk of breaching charges," he sneered, his voice dwindling to a low rumble. "Let me remind you, that the Odessa will be powerless after the EMP - along with any electrical light source that pirates may have in their possession. That goes for the lights mounted on their zodiacs, and any torches they may have. What do you think will happen, if during this sudden outage of power beyond their comprehension, they hear a helicopter approaching?" He sighed, stepped back from the table and folded his arms again. "17 dead hostages, that's what happens," he said. "The pirates are dumb, they're illiterate and their trade is solely invested in the intimidation of the defenceless. But any dumb goat herd knows when they're fucked, and a helicopter engine will be just the give-away they need to start shooting." The monitor at the rear of the room switched from the schematics view, to a local meteorology display. Swirls of vibrant green circled a red dot, titled 'The Odessa'. "It's going to be cloudy tonight. Approaching from the sea has my backing, but to you whirly-bird lovers, I can see a helicopter featuring in this. Therefore I propose that the Odessa's top deck is secured by a single team seaborne insertion, to minimise the chance of the pirates seeing us approach. Once the deck is secure, we can move on the bridge and grab the captain - then we'll bring in the helo. Those dogs down on the bottom deck wont know what's happened to their friends. The helo can unload the rest of the teams, and you'll be able to divide and conquer the lower deck... and of course, extract the hostages. I'd also advise you think about exploring non-lethal weaponry; things have come a long way since the Battle of the Somme, in that respect." Sergei had no real jurisdiction over the Team Leaders; he didn't know their men, or their teams' capabilities. He was there purely as an advisor, but reserved the authority to force through decisions when stalemates occurred. However, he avoided doing this as much as possible, to minimise the chance of creating internal divisions. No one liked some jacked up dick playing King of the Castle, after all. "What do you think?" He asked, regretting that he had to ask the question.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Liking how things are shaping up. Glad someone pointed out the noise a heli makes. Good job so far guys. I'll have Sergei weigh in, in a little bit, which should relieve any impasse between ideas.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Finished up my CSes, just waiting to be approved then I'll get my post up.

@Skythikon

Skythikon, two things. Maximum members of a squad is five, so drop an operator if you wouldn't mind :) also, and this is my fault for not expanding on it, the Team Callsign is what your team is referred to, and that's why it comes under the Team Leader. Individual members of the squad do not have their own callsigns. Fix that, and you're good to go.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Sergei looked at Sean for several seconds, questioningly. "At present, thirty miles, give or take a mile. The EMP will knock the Odessa's systems into a flatline, when she's approximately ten miles from Bosaso, a known pirate stronghold," he said coldly, "less worry about where the ship is, and more worry about how to get those hostages off that floating fridge."

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Same here tbh.

@GingerBoi123

Patience is key, my good people. The briefing has been posted, those who have completed their sheets may begin discussing the plan of action. Those who haven't, time is limited. The RP will close to entries until the Odessa mission has been completed.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Operation: Blackjack

Sergei Antov strolled into the Elisaveta's Operations Room with his usual air of "business as usual". Dressed in a well tailored and expensive suit, the large Afro-Russian looked every part a first rate lawyer. A Cuban cigar was nestled between two meaty fingers of his right hand, and a wisp of smoke followed its swaying movements. The aroma of tobacco quickly overwhelmed the ship's meagre ventilation system. With a smug smirk, he nodded to each of the gathered Team Leaders in turn, who sat around a simple rectangular table made of hardened plastic. Sterile white walls gleaned with the dim light emitted by a singular LED bulb suspended from the ceiling. At the far end of the room, an empty black screen of an eighty inch LCD monitor looked on ominously. Save for the low hum of the Elisaveta's engines, all was perfectly quiet. The Team Leaders knew not to fuck with Sergei. Beneath his luxury and smugness was a trained and sophisticated killer, the same as they. In the Spetsnaz, he was called, rather unimaginatively, 'The Black Russian', and his ruthless reputation as a leader ran before him. "The Boss just called," he grunted, rather than spoke, in heavily accented english. "Its a job close to the old man's heart. Somali Pirates have struck the shipping routes again, and as usual, have captured a ship from under the noses of those useless NATO bastards." As if activated by thought alone, the monitor at the rear of the room flickered to life. A grainy image of a small brightly coloured cargo ship filled the screen. "NATO got this close, before abandoning their assistance. As you know, their policy is to let these mongrels have their way, once they're on-board a ship. For the crew, that means an average of three years in some shit hole prison, and a 50/50 rate of survival," Sergei grumbled with contempt. "Pussies, the lot of them. Afraid to dirty their hands, too afraid to take a risk... but luckily, there's always us fools, right?" The image on the monitor switched to an even grainier depiction of two black shapes at the ship's waterline. "Glorified rubber dinghys," Sergei continued, with a sigh. "Twelve men apiece. That puts our estimates at 24 hostiles. 20 will be on the ship, with 4 manning the boats, if experience is anything to go by. We've not picked up any radio communications, so we can assume they're stone age warriors. Kalashnikovs, an rpg maybe, and lots of violent threats no doubt." The image on the monitor changed again, displaying a sterile set of the ship's schematics. "She's a small one. A reefer - a refrigerated vessel, used for ferrying valuable perishables quickly. The Odessa, is her name, and she's a simple thing. Two levels, one big ass engine and control room, and a small but crowded deck. We're planning on hitting her with an EMP, at night. Dead in the water with no lights, the bastards wont know what the fuck is happening. That's when we go in, neutralise the hostiles, and secure the crew... oh, and The Boss has expressed that lethal force is a last resort. He wants this clean and bloodless. We haven't got long to do this thing, by tomorrow morning she'll be in Somalia and beyond our reach. You leave in four hours, as soon as the UAV deploys its EMP." Sergei dabbed the last of his cigar against the inside his hand; an old habit, established long ago. Discarding the dead butt to the grated floor, he rubbed at the side of his iron-grey hair and released a long sigh. He dug for the inside pocket of his business jacket, and pulled out a tablet. "We were able to make contact with a crew member, who has been able to keep his satellite phone on him. He wasn't much help in detailing the pirates' order of battle, but he did say he was with 15 members of the crew, and that the captain was being held captive on the bridge. Assuming our insider still has the phone, and that he's still with the other hostages, then we'll find most of them in the fore storage - a meat freezer, effectively." Sergei fell silent, boring his cold eyes into the Team Leaders as if he was trying to telepathically communicate with them. "Same shit, different day," he chuckled at last. "Aside from force restriction, the canvas is yours to paint. The ship's company is offering top dollar for this, and so I'm making all of our assets available to you. If it can get to us in four hours, then its yours to use... so what are you guys thinking? Lets hear it." He stood with his arms folded, waiting for their response.

Mission Intel

Location: Coast of Somalia, Gulf of Aden Time of Day: 20:30, Local Time Weather: Calm, mild wind.

Schematics

Key: - Red lines indicate doors. - Stacked red lines indicate stairwell. - SQ = Sleeping Quaters - CQ = Captain's Quaters - Cont. = Container. Odessa's Length: 150 Meters Odessa's Width: 50 Meters Additional Information: Container lift has been jarred by the pirates, who have moved a container into the raised lift's base. Many of the storage rooms are freezers, although these are likely to have been powered down. Hostile Strength: Suspected 24 hostiles, likely armed with kalashnikovs and other third-rate weapons. Four of them will probably be found piloting their improvised zodiacs with the remainder stationed on the Odessa. Hostages: 16 are being held under armed guard in the Odessa's fore storage, which is a large freezer. The captain is on the bridge, piloting the ship and also under armed guard.

R.E.S.C.U.E, Global Ops

Just wanted to say I like the concept. Reminds me of Jormungand. A great anime/manga. Also like how there aren't too many rules and restrictions. The GM doesn't seem to take themselves seriously -- too seriously -- which is a good thing. Makes me want to participate in this RP even more.

@La Inquisidora

Many thanks for your kind words. Glad to have you aboard. I'll be getting on here in around 16 hours time, then i'll launch the RP. So that's your time frame to complete your entry, though there may be some leeway. To all: I'll be keeping a close eye on the briefing and planning phase. If I feel its stalling, I may "force" the outcome, pre-assigning routes using ideas floated up until the stall point. If this happens, don't take offense, its just my way of ensuring this thing doesn't die at birth.