Ross ran up, taking out another two hostiles, as he opened up, the Mk48 barking as he took out another few, that were moving around the rear of the helicopter, taking them down as Ramsay adjusted the M134, taking out a pair of technicals. They burned quick, as they were torn apart by a volley of fire, but they were still moving in, as Burns laid down fire from the Mk19 on the ALSV. They were coming in significant number, and there was one hell of a lot of them, with the team knowing that they had to hold and engage the enemy right here, so that any bombs that were coming in could have maximum effect. Ross was thinking that they could follow the stream and head uphill, running from fire, but they needed something to kill their lead with. It was going to be another few minutes, and they didn't seem to stop.

Poking his head out, he took out another three that were moving, as another RPG flew over, this one far closer to the helicopter wreckage.
"They're getting fucking closer!" Ross yelled, as the noise of mortars then picked up, right below the helicopter. This was total fucking carnage, Ross thought to himself. He was lucky enough to be alive. But right now, they had to carry on fighting.
"Whiskey Six, we need immediate CAS, we've got mortars firing on us, I'm guessing to our South-West!" Ross yelled over the radio, as another RPG rolled in, slamming into the side of the helicopter. It was almost blown apart, as things almost turned to slo-mo, as Ramsay ran off the gun, running to the door as the helicopter slid downwards, off the ledge that had been blasted apart and down onto the ravine below. Ramsay dived out, as Ross shot the shooter, Ramsay diving onto the hard ground as he crawled away, the helicopter then suddenly lurching over and dropping at least 40 feet downwards, into the stream's ravine. The noise of 30mm fire could be heard, as Ross looked to the sky, seeing the red tracers light up the sky, burning through, as they slammed into a position in a hillside, before rockets joined the area in front.
"CAS got pushed up for you, Knight. F15 will be inbound in two mikes, recomend you haul ass, ASAP." Ross heard, as he looked to Carl, moving back, as he clambered past the ditched ALSV, aware that they needed to go.
"Burns, Ramsay, head up the hill, follow the stream, keep fucking running! We'll hold the line, bombs are coming any moment!" Ross said, as Ramsay looked to Ross.
"You'll get fucking mutilated! Just go with us!" He yelled back, as Ross shook his head, as bullets flew, another set of techs coming in.
"Trust me. We'll make it." Ross said, as Ramsay nodded, moving up as Burns got off the Mk19, following his fellow SEAL team member, as Ross laid down fire from the Mk48, keeping cover behind a rock as he made sure that the rounds he was taking was to a minumum.
"Knight, this is Bronco One, we're an F15 Strike Eagle inbound, we've got munitions ready. We warn it'll be danger close of your GPS co-ordinates, we've got eight tons of bombs, Knight..." The pilot of the F15 said, barely aware of the situation below, or the scale. Rounds flew, and there was a lot of them. There were many burning technicals, but they were getting smart now. They had a few BTRs in the distance, with GPMGs mounted on their roofs, and were ditching their Hiluxes for a foot approach. They were getting fucked up, and their flank hadn't worked. It was why the SEALs were running now, and Ross knew that soon they'd have to join them.
"Go right the fuck ahead." Ross said, as he laid down fire, dropping a few AQ, as rounds pinged off his leg. He cursed, the noise of gunfire loud as hell.
"Carl, we're going to have to do something stupid. I hope to God you're ready." Ross said, looking to his Canadian colleague and brother in arms, aware that this was going to be a bit mad.
"On my mark, we run like fuck. Ditch everything except your M249." Ross said, as he took a white smoke out of his chest rig, popping the pin, aware that Carl was opening up.
"Now!" Ross yelled, as he lobbed the smoke forwards, followed by a V40 Cluster, before then running himself. The bombs were incoming now. He could hear it in his comms, the pilot simply announced:
"30 seconds."

Now it was a case of running. Ross felt the rounds bounce off his back, some light, some like needles almost. He ran, just running the north, towards the stream, where there was a little bit of a enfilade, past a group of bodies. He could see the SEALs up ahead, holding by a strategic set of rocks, and this was going right up a peak. They had to haul ass, and Ross could tell that whatever was going on, was going to be loud. The noise of bombs was faint, but eight tons was going to fall...and whatever was on their backs was gone. Dirt and dust kicked up, and swarmed in close, as Ross was thrown over by the shockwave, the armored Juggernaut in the dust as he shielded his eyes, the total carnage and boom of the explosives now hitting.
"Fuck!" He simply said, coughing hard, as he barely scrambled up, trying to move, just get going upwards, aware they had to go.
"Carl, we need to haul ass for the mountains, get extracted there...that only bought us a couple of minutes I feel."

-----

Meanwhile...
Somewhere in Perth

The armory was empty, and a little dusty. That was, apart from one feature. Natalie Ivanovich Denisova was 7"2, and when you considered that the Russian was the fiancee of the current WSM holder, that to call her sub-par was an understatement. She stood with only a blue and white striped bra and underwear, looking at the equipment sprawled in front of her. The blue eyed Goddess slowly began to tidy her light blonde hair, aware that her bra was her original VDV-issued one. The military usually didn't do special requests. For a breast size such as Natalie's, she had a friend in a special place to make her such a thing. The blue and white horizontal stripes were the best way of knowing you were dealing with a very scary Russian operator. It was like the GI Khakis, to any Russian soldier. Something you just had to have. A simple blue and white vest went on, followed by a TTSKo Blue-coloured synthetic one piece, a battle dress uniform that fitted Natalie very nicely. It seemed tailored, an advanced design that tracked her body, and minimized rub or shit falling off. It was a perfect smock, good for hot and cold weathers, between -10 and +30. It was a distinctly a Russian camoflage, and was a dark, naval blue, with the trousers being detachable, along with the forearms, with a rubbarized grip. A pair of gloves, and a few zips here and there Her breasts poked at the synthetic one piece, so she tightened the bra, a little pain was tolerable. A pair of Russian-made boots, sized for her enormous feet, with a pair of black marching-compatible socks. She grabbed her chest rig, as well as load-bearing harness, throwing them on, strapping it to her BDU, securing it tightly with a knot and a pair of strap points. A small grey rucksack followed, perhaps around 25L, onto her back, almost like a tiny accessory on her, as she then looked to her weaponry. A PKP Pechneg, no less. A GPMG that she could hold one handed, if need be. It was like an assault rifle to her, but with 250 rounds in the box, and probably less recoil. A 4X day/night sight sat on the top of the weapon, and a large silencer at the end, with the black polymer stock adapted to her enormous shoulder. That was a lot of firepower, it was more than enough for two men to handle. But Natalie needed more. She wasn't armored, but she knew that you always brought the bigger guns to the firefight, or ended up with a hole in your head. An RPG-29 Vampyr, with a re-loadable set of tubes joined it, on her back. That wasn't enough. Natalie barely felt laden, not with this. When you were doing missions alone, or at least autonomously, you prepared appropriately. She took the VKS, the compact 12.7x55mm silent sniper rifle one that had a nice Russian optic attached, and a foldable polymer stock. She placed that on her back, grabbing the appropriate ammunition onto a MOLLE pouch on her rucksack. Lastly, a pair of Slovakian-made Skorpions went on her hip, with 30 round magazines and wire stocks, being the old-school Skorpions that she prefered. The CZ 3A1 was a nice weapon, but this was a Warsaw-Pact era weapon that hurled 9mm rounds downrange like nothing, and were like chopsticks in her hands. She farted a little, exhaling as she then grabbed her head

Why was all this happening? Well, Natalie received a call about three hours ago. From Ilya Vasiliovich, a Colonel in the Spetsnaz Alpha Group. A man that she didn't outrank, yet could have told to fuck off. She had nothing to do with them anymore. But he had something important for her. There was an operation that his operators couldn't do, and she could. Again, Ilya was someone Natalie didn't have to take orders for. What, for nothing, she'd go and get shot at? Well, there was one thing that he had told her. Maxim Grigorevich was found in the Far East of Russia, at a location in the Chukotka Oblast. A place called Pekulsky Bay, with a view on the Beiring Strait. The middle of nowhere, and it was closer to Anchorage than it was to Moscow. Right now, there was no snow there, amazingly, but it was a windy place. She wanted the man dead for many reasons. First, he was a prolific arms and human trafficker, and Catherine had previously told her about an encounter she had in St Petersburg with an escaping prostitute. Second, they'd hunted him before, and Natalie lost four of her team to an IED that one of his men set, while raiding his house. And third. She felt like going back to the Motherland, to Russia, for a change. Their suits were still repaired- and whilst she knew that Victor's was basically almost good, hers was still in delivery. She saw it, and it looked wonderful. A little more curved than Victor's, but just as armored. But she saved it for herself when she saw it in the flesh. Currently, right about now, Natalie knew that she was going alone. 

She had last seen Victor a couple of hours ago, and told him precisely what was going on, very quickly. She had let him mull it over, think if he was coming. She didn't care right now. Maxim had to die, and she was going to blast him into the seventh circle of hell if needs be. For Victor, she just knew that he was tired, and still had things to prepare for, things to go over. The company was fine with her leave of absence, and the Russian Government had compensated her fee, a very expensive one indeed. With Victor, they could probably sort it out, but Natalie wasn't making that choice for him. They might have been partners, but she told him this was personal. She took her white and blue striped thermal bandit, and put it on over her head, wrapping up her neck, as she then took her red beret, attached to a communication headset. Her light blonde hair was in a bun, and the red Spetsnaz beret fitted nicely, as she locked it down, attaching the headset around her ears, as she checked the PKP was all good. Stretching out, she walked around a bit, breathing hard, as she knew she was good to go. 

Twenty minutes or so, and a man would come in, saying the flight to Kamchatka was good to go. Then they'd be going after Maxim. He was located by satellite reconnaissance to be at this bay, with a significant encampment. They'd be assaulting by a pair of Mi-24V Hinds, with Su-34S fighter-bomber support, on task to drop laser guided bombs, missiles and take out any low-lying helicopters. The guy practically had a private army, and it had only been Ilya who had told Natalie, on why this was the case. They thought this man was connected to Wolf's Claw, to the attacks in Wakhan. Perhaps a staging point, and one thing that was within the PMC, from internal, blacker than black reports, was that Nadia and Ricardo had been in this very site before they headed to Wakhan and China. That was stuff that riled her up. And while the PMC had no mandate, Natalie wanted in on this. Plus, Maxim was someone Natalie wanted to personally eliminate. The plan was simple. The Su-27s would destroy air defenses, such as ZSU or radar-guided missile platforms with it's Anti Radar missiles, and then level any docks to prevent an escape. The assault would follow, and Natalie was told to take no prisoners. She liked this. There was one thing she didn't. A ZSU could work without a radar guidance. So that beautifully laid plan, Natalie had to say no to.

So Natalie had told him that she was going solo, and that there was no chance of a helicopter assault with any AA guns. Or Maxim's Hinds, or even IFVs having a shot. It meant she was going to do some damage herself. She was going to go in, and do what Natalie Denisova did best. Sabotage. She was going to be a one woman army, and this was without armor. Otherwise, that would be too simple. Natalie didn't even want her Tactical Suit, with it's kevlar. No, that would be too much, overkill. All she needed to do was destroy the ZSUs, set charges everywhere, shoot a command post or an IFV with her RPG, and mow down a few people, then vanish. Then, a helicopter assault, followed by bombs, rockets and all out Russian-styled hell would rain on the compound. And Natalie would be watching. Natalie sat down, placing her large rear on the wooden table, as it creaked a little under her heavily armed figure. Victor's armor looked gleaming, beautiful. Perhaps if he did come, he could lend a hand when the helicopters came in. And offer him something on the way over.