[center][H2]Operation: Blackjack[/h2][/center] 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. [center][H2]Mission Intel[/h2][/center] [b]Location:[/b] Coast of Somalia, Gulf of Aden [b]Time of Day:[/b] 20:30, Local Time [b]Weather:[/b] Calm, mild wind. [hider=Schematics] [img]http://i.imgur.com/udhXt3R.png[/img] [b]Key:[/b] - Red lines indicate doors. - Stacked red lines indicate stairwell. - SQ = Sleeping Quaters - CQ = Captain's Quaters - Cont. = Container. [b]Odessa's Length:[/b] 150 Meters [b]Odessa's Width:[/b] 50 Meters [b]Additional Information:[/b] 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. [b]Hostile Strength:[/b] 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. [b]Hostages:[/b] 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. [/hider]