(You okay if I began the start of the next segment I wanted to start working on? I mean, I'll have one more post on this after your next post, but I want to setup the next thing.) (Also, we need possibly an Icelandic super-heavy, could be interesting to see as a character but I don't think realistic in time. The link below explains it all- they have a population of around 250,000, yet have plenty of people who have arms the size of treetrunks.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8A7woRoVwyM "Shit, just." Natalie said, looking into the Mohican's eyes, backing off as she looked for her PKP, aware it had now gone, out of her hands and somewhere down the road. The moment she thought she'd be hit by a shower of LMG rounds didn't happen, as she smirked, standing up and brushing herself off, watching as the Belgians did their work. Now it was their turn to save some ass, Natalie thought to herself, keeping close to Victor, as she winced in pain. The adrenaline had gone, and now, she felt like passing out, as she kept with him, leaning on him from time to time as they walked down the street. "I need to get this shit out of me, it's going through. Fuck, I feel bad. This might have me out for a few days, like I said earlier, I just need some fucking painkillers and a pair of tweezers. Your wound's going to need more, but even so, it's not often you get shot seven times by nine mils and talk about it." Natalie said, chuckling as she knew that Victor had just taken a sniper's bullet that had only stopped in his shoulder, an intensely painful thing but something which she knew he'd be feeling. "And you know it, Victor. I said it earlier myself, whoever's behind this I'll have hanged by their own fucking small intestine. It's going to be fun filleting the fucker." Natalie said, wincing as she kept walking with him down the road, knowing that support had at least come in the right time. Her body felt sick, twisted, and she knew it was never a good thing. But she wouldn't fall, her body wouldn't let that. "Victor, this may not be the time to say it...but you know how you bought me that coat earlier today? I can tell it in your eyes, what you want to do. We may be Gods, but one day, we will just be etches in the stones of history." Natalie said, coming closer, a smile on her face. "But right now, there isn't little else here that matters. You make my pain go, you red-faced brute." Natalie said, a hard smirk on her face as she reached up and kissed him, holding on for support knowing that they were out of the mess, and almost at the safe zone. They were going to a medical inspection, and Natalie couldn't imagine the next few hours being easy. ----------------- Two days later "Merlin, this is Falcon, encrypt is going, I've got a secure line." "Understood Falcon. I assume you've seen the news. We're still compiling the body-count, but this is to the scale of 9/11, if not worse. You know exactly what they used." "Russian firearms. AK-12s, AN-94s, PKPs, fuck, they used the latest shit, and that isn't good. Even fucking forensics points to this..it's no fake." "Yeah. As you may understand then, we're not looking at some non-aligned bunch of Taliban here. This goes deeper. From what intel you recovered in the destroyed ammunition dump in the Chechen mountains a few months back, and from our Chinese manifest, we know that this is a Transnational Facilitator, or in other words, imagine the guys above the Cartels and the shitty little groups that has the loosest connection. They're the kind of people that make Chinese weaponry show up in some Sierra Leone junkyard by some way, and organize for drugs to go from some coca leaf grower in Peru to a celebrity's nose in the US. Criminals really but on a mass, intra-governmental scale. You know what a TNC is? Trans-National Corporation? Well, imagine the criminal version of that, but as a supplier, not as a doer. We're looking at a thinner and thinner selection of groups that could do what happened in Brussels, and we are seriously running out of options here. So we're going to make a stand here that Ahmed Masood, or callsign "Fletcher", is one of the cogs we want out of the picture. We think that if we pick him out, we find out what we need. Of course, we need more speculation on the Russian end, and why the fuck these guns have actually gone over, rather than just him- but leave that to us for the moment. You're making a start." "Right. So the Masood and his Transnational Facilitator is our issue in terms of how these fucking terrorists got their guns?" "Not entirely, Falcon. Now, we've got several documents, above your pay grade, that they had an aircraft and several distribution points in the Southern Tajikistani mountains. The former of which you aren't classified to know, I tried to fucking ask but they will not go any way about it. There is an issue- and that is that this group, whoever they were, are still significant in number. They've got no real demands, they're quiet. That rules out Al-Qaeda, the usual suspects. Nobody, I mean fucking no-body came forward. But we know this much- they used modern gear, they used gear that the Spetsnaz would still call new. Female and Male members, this isn't a regular cell. No country is connected, we found multiple ethnicities, it's a mixture of everything in the pot. Mercenaries, perhaps. Worst of all, we know some got away, but we know they had some union. Suicide bombings, and advanced explosive compositions- C4 and various PETN mixtures that we ain't seen the likes of in a very long while from a group this technically skilled. Langley gives the best bet that this is an Eastern group of some sort, perhaps funded directly by a government and bolstered by mercenary forces, though we see little connection between this group and a governmental organization. All I understand fully is, the world wants answers, before NATO flips the table and decides to go off what little we have. The TF we've identified to stem from Dushanbe, and we've got local agents already on the ground working on it. If I'm honest, you're just a pair of snipers, but considering your talents and your abilities on several missions, both with Knight and autonomously, we want you to fill this one. Our guys will deal with finding Fletcher. Your job is to remind him why it's a bad idea to sell guns to people who hate the West. Orders may change to capture him if needed, but for now, he's a dead man walking. Your kit should also come too with your ticket- you won't be alone, but when shit hits the fan, be careful. He's well guarded- remember, Transnational Facilitators aren't exactly small gangs. We're talking above the Cartels and the Gangs, we're talking the people who have direct political influence- and in Tajikistan, we can bet that Ahmed has a good line on the President and the government, as well as his gang having a widespread influence over the Central Asian ballpark. Now, this is something Interpol and local governments are better to deal with, but when it comes to shit like this, I don't care what agency is meant to deal with scum like this. Bullets are louder, and you need to recover whatever intel he has on him, in conjunction with our agents on the ground that will purge both his legitimate and his illegal offices. We collapse this, whoever was behind this will feel like they've got a ballsack trapped in the door." "Understood Merlin. Creative description." "I only aim to make it clear Falcon. You've got 2 hours to get packing, we'll keep in contact and once it's done, get you out of that place." -------------- Dushanbe, Tajikistan 2200 Hours "Vanguards" Andrew opened the door, walking into the small apartment, looking out behind him as he shut the door, looking over at Nolan. Andrew wore some hand-me-down brown Tajikistani robes along with a sachel on his back, with a bit of a beard that had grown recently- being useful in this area. He wore a Shemagh over his mouth, and a wool cap, nondescript or exactly notable- but that was the point. "Fuck me, that was boring as shit. I got a bead on the way that Ahmed's coming with his convoy to the other side of town, through the abandoned industrial park. Place is ex-Soviet, that cooling tower is going to make a hell of a bird's nest for you. As for his transport, I got a reference on what vehicle it even is- up-armored goddamn SUV of some sort. So that Tac-50 of yours is going to be nice." Andrew asked Nolan, as he checked his own G17, checking the clip and taking a seat, quickly pulling the sachel out as he slid the tablet across the wooden table to Nolan. "We've got eight hours mate. How the fuck we got this intel, I don't know, but we're coming down on this guy hard. Our guys must be deep now in finding this sort of thing out, makes our job easier to snatch his ass. Still no change on if it's a kill or capture order, though I still like the first myself." He said, Andrew putting his G17 back into a hidden holster, as he quickly flicked to a white face, away from that of some elderly Arab-looking businessman slash terrorist who practically kept a large, inter-governmental syndicate practically making the world's criminal, paramilitary and terrorist connections click. Ahmed was Amazon, for terrorists. But this bloke was different- and Andrew wanted to explain. "Oh, and this guy seems to be riding along. Grigori Konstantin, just another representative of an arms dealer that we're already getting tabs on, and thus, just another black hole- it solves fucking nothing on who actually connects which people selling the shit through the whole system, especially guns like that. He's like that guy in China, just like that- but I think we could kick a notch out of him. Torture works good, and those Chinks were holding back most of the time on the worst. Still fucked me up didn't it. Anyway, we might need to recover him, and any documents on the convoy. I suppose that puts me and my Mk18 in good steed, plus the rappelling rope." Andrew said, flickering away, as the light jumped for a second, before it came back. "Fucking lights. Power's shit here." He just remarked, looking out the window, the late night of Dushanbe being dusty and bleak. Andrew got up, walking over to the couch, a ripped and torn thing, and managed to scoop his hand under, pulling his tan-painted, silenced and sighted DD Mk18 out of there- the hiding place for his weapon different than Nolan's, which was located in the second room, within a secured cabinet along with their BDUs and miscellaneous kit, such as harnesses and a couple of M2 SLAM mines for a little fanciful anti-vehicle munitions. "This thing is just an M4 in wolf's clothing, I swear. Does the job though." Andrew said, a smirk on his face as he knew that they'd be going within the hour, and that they had to get kitted up, keeping their robes and local clothing on top for the moment until they got to the site.