[IC] Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

[FourtyTwo]

"I think so." He said simply, looking over, coughing a little as he headed over towards his car, mask in hand as he opened the SLS's passenger door.
"Just drive man, to you know where. We've got our ride out of here, best leave before Iranian choppers decide to do some crash investigation of their own." He said, smirking like a madman as he looked at the flaming P1, blown to bits, the helicopter crashed down below in a ravine of sorts. The road winded but was in an enclosed valley of sorts. Hard to follow, and a minor route, though it was still paved by concrete. They'd be extracting via a PMC helicopter that would come in.

---

Six Months Earlier
Somewhere in the Dried Aral Sea, Turkmenistan

The dried wreck of the Abrats, a large fishing frigate sat rotting, the whole structure looking like it had sat here for centuries, while in reality, the Aral Sea had only drained in the last forty years. The Soviets dammed the Amu and Syr Darya rivers that supplied this inland lake, and now, it was drying, rapidly. The former eighth largest sea in the world was a shadow of itself, and left behind a toxic wasteland of dust and contaminants of fertilizer within it, from the upriver cotton plantations. It rotted away, and former fisheries were hundreds of miles from the inland sea. Here, the Abrats was another victim. Inside it's hull, the interior was stripped however. An old Soviet-era lorry, with a large container on the back, sat opened up, with a particular two out here in the middle of nowhere, with a pair of exoskeletons propped up against a metal rack, both different in arnament and weaponry. Both were mean, fuelled by hydrogen cells, and were complexly built, their schematics unknown to the two pilots that sat inside the ship's rusted hull, alongside a simple tent and a small gas heater. This was temporary, a hider from UAVs, spy planes, anything that would even think. People knew of this wreck. But they never wondered what was inside that dark crack.

In this time of night, there was no doubt, that in these wastelands, Nadia Hamid and Ricardo Pereira were alone. Nadia was a fine looking Libyan woman, no matter what you took her for. A certain Arabic beauty, and one of Qaddafi's finest. She had the right tanned complexion, skill in the Libyan Special Forces, and a personal guard of Qaddafi. Who had then killed the man after he tried to flee to Polynesia, his double's death in Sirte something that she already knew of already. Nadia had done it from personal hatred, almost a decade of anger and torture. But not to turn to democracy. To do something more. Become not some whore to be lambasted by society. To become a warrior-woman. And to make money, one way or another. Her talents were recognized by The Group, known as the Wolf's Claw. She learned Monster, the large Chinese armored suit well. A DARPA-equivelent in China, now in her hands, and went by the name Phoenix. After Qaddafi, it would take that rising, the new world, that she'd be bringing a mailed fist into. And she shared that with her new partner, Ricardo. He was a new boyfriend, but really, in a way, her first. He was charming, and she didn't know men. But Ricardo Peirera was a technician, a former Engineer in the Brazilian Army, Amazonas Brigade. Not usual Wolf's Claw material. But a person who was utterly remorseless, who knew vague technicals and could be depended on as a source that didn't ask about country, but about how many were to be put to the weapon. He was actually shorter than Nadia, at 5"11, compared to her 6"5. And it was lusting over Nadia's curves and beauty, perhaps she didn't know that entirely, he was just wanting to really have fun with her for once. After all, he had gone through many sexual partners, and she had not, so he was in a great position to take advantage of this pearl of the Med. His suit was Russian-sourced, and the hydrogen cell was identical to the one that powered Monster. He knew it well, it's ins and outs. It was less heavily equipped, but no less scary. They both knew their job. Millions of dollars, for protection. No living witnesses remain, they do not exist as people. And that was why they were inside an abandoned fishing frigate, in the desolate waterless sea that was the Aral. They never let anybody outside of Wolf's Claw know of their existence. Mainly because they were all dead, and any attempt to find their bodies would uncover mutilated pieces of fingers and flesh. And getting paid millions for it was good. They accepted Wolf Claw's creed. A simple one. One that could be uttered in three lines. One that perhaps highlighted for the two, a new world, a world more than the current state. A total redrawing of the world's borders and shifts of power, to people who would create a world that would emerge from the thrones of war, shameless capital and bring the world together under a banner that would never broken. An organization that even the two had scratched the surface of. They knew of those simple creeds, which always reminded Nadia that there would be a world where she'd be top woman, and where Ricardo would know he would have his place too. Not like before.

She cuddled up, the tent being fairly warm, as she looked to him, both of them without any cover.
"Hmm....you know, if they pay us to fuck all day, then I think you're a lucky man, Ricardo." She said happily, her firm Libyan accent always getting Ricardo to pay attention, and pay it well.
"They need us places, you know. More than this. But we work in the shadows." He said, looking at his watch, as he grabbed a piece of paper at the end of his feet, quickly unraveling it to get his sandals out. He wore a pair of boxer shorts, while Nadia at least put some lingerie on, followed by a white shirt. It was cold in the desert's darkness. They stepped out the tent, as he looked outside, patting her suit as he turned her head to her.
"We could always just run, you know. Deactivate the trackers and go." He said jokingly, as Nadia shook her head, looking right into his eyes. She could be a mean bitch when she had to. Ricardo was truly cold-blooded, but Nadia could be colder, and far, far more effective at making her points.
"They also have recorders too, because they're fucking paranoid. Do I have to spell it out to you? And after that, what next? Walk into a village and say "Can I have some water, I've been fucking dying but I do have a half a ton piece of armored suit?" Yeah, of course." She said, as she then tsked, walking past it as she checked over the ammunition chain, loading the GAU-19 and playing about with the belt a little as she waited for a response.
"Okay, you got me there. I like my job, it's just...curiosity."
"Well, curiosity is fucking stupid, Ricardo. You learn that fast. I might let you do all the right things. But that doesn't mean I have lost my sense of self-preservation, enshallah." She said, walking up to him, as he turned. He had a tattoo of a scorpion on his neck, something that clearly looked very detailed and time-consuming to produce.
"Look, after this, please yourself. Run amok, make a fifedom where you are some noble warrior when this is over. Remember the creed we're involved in. I know you want that too. Together, with me. So let's just make our change in this world while we do." She said, smiling, as she looked out, at the stars and the moon in the distance, picking up some sand as she saw Ricardo sigh, looking over.
"It was only a suggestion, a sarcastic one. I'm sorry- you're right about it though. I like that sound. Better than anything." He said, grabbing a bottle of water from the catering area, swigging it down as he wiped his brow, the cold sweat that Nadia could induce scary. He was scary himself, and could really put a point across. But Nadia was good, tormenting in that sense. She had a point. Sometimes, he'd put across that he wore the trousers, and it was a funny relationship. Love-hate. It swung a lot.
"They'll be working on Brussels in a few months. Some actual giant, and as many civilians as we can. It's going to be big." He said, smiling, as he saw Nadia look over.
"You think?" She said, eyebrows raised, her tanned complexion taking this on far better than the pale Brazilian, whose body wasn't even adapted to his home's tropical climate.
"Oh yeah. It's only the start. I mean, I don't even know the rest, but that's the word. Preparations, all the effort to perhaps scrape the surface of the world at first. Then, in comes the shock. We defend our people and any affiliates at the moment. But after that...we're going to be standing at the heads of thousands. Millions even. The world will have trembled in the aftermath. We'll let them fight, I bet. But in the end, it'll all go to shit for this world right now, to lay the ashes for a new one. I tell you, Nadia, it's going to be beautiful. Fucking...walking out and killing those who believed in some god-like system that we brought ourselves to. Soon, this world will change. For the better." He said, smiling, as Nadia knocked him off his high horse, as she quickly picked up a phone, that vibrated.
"You willing to begin that process? Yours." She said, throwing it to him, as he shook his head, smiling as he picked up. It was an elaborately designed device, with a large casing, to prevent signal locking. From here, it'd be hard to do- if they even knew of this within a slither. Ricardo switched to his Russian, already listening in.

"Ares, we're initiating a safehouse relocation, pending now. You have fifteen minutes. Phoenix comes too. Abandon the place, in the way we told you to do."
"Understood." Ricardo said, disconnecting as he broke the phone, snapping it before breaking the exposed SIM, then looking over.
"Well, that's our stoppage. You know exactly where we're going. Kamchatka, north of Pavlopetrovosk. That base. They really have to cycle us through, they're paranoid enough...but with these things, I'm not surprised." He said, as Nadia nodded, grabbing a hold of Phoenix, her callsign when she was in the suit and in itself, the suit's name that she gave it. Opening the hatch, she knew she was adequately clothed- it was more than warm inside, and she'd have her clothing at the next safehouse. They were leaving quickly, and there was no time to waste. Ricardo got into his, the slightly smaller suit less mechanical, but no less effective. He had a larger visor, but perhaps not the full-on plating that Phoenix had, just the nanotech-enabled kevlar and ballistic inserts that were phenomenally effective at keeping even the biggest 12.7mm bullets. 20mm rounds had even not penetrated, and it had worked well for the Ares system. They both disconnected from the mounts the suits were placed in, and Phoenix already had this under control. She engaged the gas on the heater with the huge claw of the suit, ripping the whole thing open, as she smiled, then looking to Ares. He was already out, as she followed, the big mechanical footsteps that the suit made heavy, every movement as if it could crush a car in the 8"1 mechanized assault suit. Turning around, she raised the GAU-19, smirking inside as she looked to Ares through the thermal cameras. The rounds pinged off the far wall and created a huge boom, as the gas was sparked off and ignited, trapped and blowing out of the ship itself, almost engulfing the two mechanized suit operators, as it burned anything inside massively. Kerosene burned well, and it was sprinkled effectively to finish the job, totally incinerating everything and anything inside. For it wasn't just one small cooking stove. It was a lot more that had been kept with the lorry- and it itself burst into flames, intensifying the fire storm inside as it shredded the whole thing.
"Hmm...I bet nobody feels like we do." She said, smiling evilly, as she watched it burn, feeling like she was going to take a lot more to stop than anything humanity could deploy. She couldn't think that her life was going to end in this suit in some way, in the same way that the ball of fire had erupted inside.

---

"Night Work"

2300 Hours
Somwhere in Wakhan Province, Afghanistan

The noise of rotor blades thumped, as the helicopter flanked through the low valleys, the AH159 Wildcat a helicopter that could act as a worthy successor to the world's fastest helicopter. The Westland Lynx before it had set the record- and still held it, years on. This was a Royal Navy variant, painted a grey, tasked out to the British redeployment rapidly from the HMS Cardiff Bay in the Persian Gulf, packed up at Basra and sent to Fayzabad FARP. Now, it was a helicopter on station to bring the two man team, "Knight", to the fight. Things had gone south in a mountain valley, and a non-responding Navy SEAL team had become a problem. Carl and Ross were first responders, and aboard this flight, regarded as suicidal. The doors were open, the pilot probably as openly suicidal as he flew about 10m off the ground, following the deep contours of the river as the crew chief in the rear looked to the two Juggernauts. Ross had modified his NVG set, a quad-vision optic that sat within his visor, and that could be easily deactivated via a voice command- something the base's engineers had been proud of doing, and while the Crew Chief saw little, Ross saw it all in the green haze.
"You're fucking crazy. You might be armored, but there's a lot of fuckers who want your head." He said, holding on his MMG, a L37 Mounted Weapon, otherwise known as the FN MAG- a vehicular variant in this instance. No music played within the chopper, and there were no lights whatsoever, apart from the pilot's instruments. They were in the dark, and travelling fast.

Dropping into the lower valleys at this time of night was going to be insane, and despite the fact that the area around FOB Tempest, created within the cleared fort was mostly pacified, there were SF teams that were going off the grid. Some came back, others didn't. This was a job to deal with, and the crew chief couldn't understand why sending less men than the SF team would achieve anything.
"Not a problem. Just get us in, we'll call you when we've got a ping. Don't do anything stupid to pull us out. We're responsible for that end." Ross said, chuckling, looking to Carl, as he readied his own Mk48, putting the belt into the weapon as the helicopter began coming in on approach. The grey RN helicopter did an agressive stop, and almost shuddered onto the ground, as the crew chief gave the hand. Ross moved from his seat quickly out the door, aware that Carl would have probably gone easier, as they then lept out the last meter that the helicopter now barely held over, and onto the cold mountain grass. It wasn't snowy at this altitude, but it was chilly, to say the least. The Wildcat flew onwards, taking a different route out than it came in, safe from SAMs and AAA sites. Visor down, Ross looked over, nodding to Carl. The Juggernauts were back in town. And they had a bone to pick. Objective one. Find the Navy Seal team, callsign "Viking". Objective two. Clear the fuckers that they were meant to be clearing. It was working for someone else. It was suicidal. But they had an ace to play, and this was precisely it.
"Well, Carl. Looks like we're in the thick of it now." He said, chuckling as he raised his Mk48, a IR laser attached and an M145 optic on the Mk48, similar to the C79 optical sight, but for an LMG of sorts. Ross's black colored Juggernaut suit was as steadfast as always, and while it weighed like a bitch, it was worthwhile for the firepower. No secondary, to save some weight, and the regular ammunition holder for the Mk48, a compacted rucksack held the ammo supply that Ross had, while his Mk23 MOD 0 sat in a holster on his side, over the more potent Deagle. being something a little more tactile given the situation.

Moving away from the landing zone. the small landing among the cedars in the mountain valleys, the pair were moving with a pace, in the darkness, the clouds covering the sky and blanketing the area truly. A slight fog was at this altitude, and while not thick, it did make the whole area eerie, the forest that hung in the valley particularly affected.
"It's fucking good to be back to work. We're bound to make noise at some point, that's why I opted for no silencers. We'll rely on the fact that there's going to not be that many of them out at this time, and they'll be confused as hell by the fire." He said, aware that perhaps stealth wasn't really an option in suits like this- and that shock and awe from the sheer belief that a larger force was attacking would be what would perhaps give them time to find the SEAL team. Ross kept the LMG up, as he then saw flashlights ahead. Diving down onto the floor, he scarpered behind a fallen log, aware that these were just AQ, already raised as he thought what next. Ross and Carl had moved about 500m from the LZ, and the set of dummy landings from another empty Wildcat had done the job to give an illusion that they were inserting at multiple places at once.
"I got an idea. Let's not go full auto. I ping four men. Get your Browning." He said, pulling his own Mk23 out, a mag loaded.
"They'll hear the shots perhaps, but it's not as loud as rifle cartridges. If we move quick enough, then we warm it up and light em' up. The first village we think they're in could do with some of it's garrison weakened, too." He added, in his West Country accent, looking to Carl as he nodded.
"We might even have some fun with this as well..." He added, drawing his BK3 from his holster, holding the knife in his right and the pistol in his left, moving up as he knew that this was going to be good. If Carl knew exactly what Ross was doing, then he'd perhaps follow suit. Because this would be bloody.

The patrol moved quietly, sweeping rifles, but they didn't catch Ross in their torchlight. It was a heavy suit of armor, and it made a noise on gravel, but it wasn't distintive enough, and the men were cold and tired. Perhaps this was not what the Navy Seal would have chosen, a silent approach being far better. But one that would perhaps scare the people of the first village they were sweeping. Dragnet some of them out, think who would be so foolish to create noise, and that by bringing AKs up into the valley, the rescue force would have nowhere to go. Or if it was just a whisper in the wind, leave it at that. That there was a distant shot that they'd just have a look at, and then find this mess. It was something they'd then pay for, alongside this group. Ross knew to himself that he liked simple, yes. But getting sophisticated did worse things to your enemy, and that was when it all began.

The man at the rear heard a simple click, seeing a bloody hole in his friend's turban. A bullet wound...a shooter! It was from behind, and he yelled and turned, too late. Ross lunged forwards, moving like a sprinter the last 5m and the target, who tried to raise his AKM. The man was too slow, it wouldn't be something he could stop. Ross knew exactly how to go head on into someone, like a ram. And the knife slashed his throat well, as the others turned in the lack of time. The man was limp, and then dropped, as they had turned to see Ross dumping their colleague's body, pistol raised as they prepared to fire. The Juggernaut stood at his 6"7, and was imposing enough, his whole silluette behind their friend's body revealing the armor and bloody knife in his left hand, the Mk23 in his right. The men were yelling themselves in Arabic, and were milliseconds from firing. Not a problem. Carl already had this, and Ross knew that they had seen the Juggernauts go head on.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl sat on the opposite side of the chopper from his partner. First Responders, they hadn't been put on rescue detail in awhile. It's nice to be something other then first in, first out kinda deal. He peered out the chopper, watching the trees and rocks whip past them. He grinned a little as the crew chief called them insane. He chuckled a little, looking to Ross as the other heavily armored man set him straight. The Canadian couldn't help chiming in, "We're meant to be doing the stupid shit that others wouldn't think of doing anyway. Where a team of six or more would be hard pressed to try and take an objective on their lonesome, we're sent in because we can. Two men, who can do the impossible like it's just another day at the office."

Carl nodded to Ross as Ross gave him a look. He brought up his shotgun, slapping some rounds into it then holstered it on his back, and quickly locked and loaded his M249 as well. He cinched his gear in tight, then gave his head a fierce nod, clicking down his own newly modified NVG gear. What was once a left side monocle, is now a tri-cloptic headset with a adaptable optics. Giving him NV, FLIR and Backscatter xray imaging. Unfortunately the xray imaging only had an eight meter gain, so it's not like he could see into entire houses with it yet. As the chopper came down, Carl unbelted himself and swung his legs out of the chopper. He landed lightly. And moved a few steps away from the heli to clear the LZ. He scanned the area, his shotgun in his hands. He scanned about, then as the chopper lifted out again he took some steps back and joined his partners side. Then the pair set off. He holstered his shotgun and brought out his LMG. He carefully scanned his lines as they went.

He saw the lights coming too almost as soon as Ross did. Ross dove in behind a log. Carl ghosted over and knelt down behind a bank of snow and deadfall. He peered just over top of it. His triclops headset peering out, "Yeah I see four too." He reached down and cinched his LMG tight. He unclipped his Browning holster from it's chest position and transfered it to his hip. He then lowered the safety clip to keep it on there and opened the quick draw holder. He also drew his own combat knife.

It was over so quickly. Ross moved in and dropped the first man. Carl came snaking out of his own cover, and took two out quickly. Pistol whipping one man so hard that he did 3 twists before he hit the ground, his neck making a very painful cracking sound before he hit the ground. The other man ended with a brutal throat slash. The last man spun around and looked between the two heavily armored soldiers he's now stuck between. He swung his rifle back and forth between them. Carl pulled the knife out from the second man. At the same time sliding his pistol back into it's holster. He smiled, "Let's make this fair. Lower the gun, I'll give you a chance." The man panted and did as he's told, not sure where this is going.

Carl stood tall and pushed his visor up, "You know, one shot here." He tapped his forehead, "Will end me. But the way I see it, one shot anywhere will end you. So let's make this fair. One shot each. You land the killing blow and you have a chance, and I land it, we walk." The man saw where this is going now, a duel, just him and the man, he could make a name for himself if he could take down one of these Juggernauts as he recognized them now. There being a bounty out for them, half a million on their heads, a cold million for the person who brought in both of their heads. He saw he might have a chance of atleast bringing in one of them if he could take the smaller one down and get away with some show of his triumph.

Carl and the man faced each other. Carl motioned for Ross to stay out of this. He looked at the AQ soldier, straight in the eye, seeing the man's fear and elation. The AQ soldier looked right back at Carl and saw only steely determination in the big man. Neither moved, just waiting for that right moment. Carl's hand rested lightly just in front of the butt of his Browning. The AQ soldier held his rifle by his side. A gust of wind kicked up some snow, for a brief moment obscuring the pair of duelists from each other. Neither took that chance, they didn't want to win that way. The snow cleared. Carl smiled at the AQ soldier who swallowed back in fear. Carl tensed, the AW soldier tensed.

A pair of shots rang out in the night.

Carl sighed. His Browning pistol butt pressed against his left palm, his right hand gripping the grip, the muzzle pointed towards the dead AW soldier, a coil of smoke drifting from the muzzle, and a perfect shot right in the heart on the AQ soldiers dead body. Blood staining the snow red. A rifle round lodged in Carl's chest armor, "Drew too slow, and fired too early. Poor Bastard." Carl pushed his Browning away and rolled his shoulders. Smiling at Ross with a shit eatting grin on his face, "Shall we go?"

[FourtyTwo]

"You were always one for theatrics. Let's move, Carl." He said, looking at the dead man, disapproving yet somehow knowing full well, as he moved up, lugging his Mk48 back, stepping over the bodies as he followed the track, aware that the gunshots had been heard. Good. Then they'd be scared, maybe thin themselves out. It was CSAR action- Combat Search And Rescue. Normally, a group of USAF Parajumpers would have been sent in, to unfuck the work that even a Special Forces group had gotten into, which said a lot. In these parts of the mountains, nothing less than a platoon would do. It was why Knight was here- and why Ross knew that if they had any chance of finding these men, without the loss of any more assets, it would be them. Keeping a cool head, thinking straight, and hitting like a bolt of lightening with the roar of thunder in the background would buy them time- this being figurative of course, for the mess they'd make on the way down.
"Shit, stay right, keep your head down. Wait for the moment, till they're open entirely." He said, almost grabbing Carl as he ducked behind a rock, letting the patrol pass as they moved with considerable pace, one yelling as they had flashlights on, paranoia setting in.
"Ready?" He asked, raising his Mk48, poking his head out of the cover, before standing, and getting a good hold. The LMG barked as he pulled the trigger, aware that this was only a six man team. Now they were making more noise, but not any more than needed. They wouldn't kill any hostages. They were still in doubt of what the fuck was going on. Distant shots could have been anything, and it was dragnetting any patrols in the valley, which worked exceptionally well. And it was why Ross was fairly confident when he accurately scattered shots into the front of the patrol, one man at the back popping off a shot at Ross's arm as he went down too, with Carl's help. Six men down, in a hail of fire. They hadn't even fought back, but it was stirring the pot. They needed to move. There was this village, and one below it, with the forest starting to form again.

Moving about 500m downhill, Ross saw the village's vague lighting through the fog, looking to Carl as he moved up by some rocks.
"I got an idea. Walking in guns blazing is an option, they won't be on full alert. They've lost a six man patrol. I don't think there's a lot more. And if there is, well, good thing we're suited up." Ross said, looking to Carl as he moved back up, chuckling under his visor as he moved through the cedar forest, to a small overlook point, quickly checking the LMG in his hands as he exhaled, aware he couldn't move any faster than a moderate jog in this. Movement meant moving fairly briskly from point A to point B, but it was worthwhile.
"I guess that whatever left has headed up now. So I think it's about due course we make an entrance." He said, nodding to him, as he clambered over the log, moving slowly as he saw a few hostiles point flashlights vaguely in the direction they came from.

Opening up, he moved down the slightly snowed slope, into the village main, taking out two contacts, aware that now, they were going loud. Firing on a cluster in the middle of a small square, he felt a few rounds richochet, as he moved down, aware that he had to maintain this pace, a relatively fast walk, and begin to clear out each structure in the village. They had to find the team, and Ross could only guess that if they found bodies or captives, either way, it wouldn't be good. Firing a hail of rounds into a man on a roof, he quickly moved up, and into a small tentment, looking around. Empty beds. Fuck.
"Search ahead, I got your back!" Ross called out over the comms, as he moved outside, into a little fire, a man on a rooftop of a shack firing with an AKM as he got tapped out by a stream of 7.62 back from Ross, the Mk48 being accurate in his hands despite it's bulk and size.

(This wasn't my greatest post, but I did what I could.)

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl hopped his cover seconds after Ross. Shotgun back on his shoulder, and his M249 Minimi tucked against his shoulder. He let Ross take lead, as the Line Infantry he represented. Carl took the rear of their little group, more mobile, lighter, able to displace, flank and move with more ease in his lighter suit. He provided base of fire, to keep the heads down off some of the soldiers he saw popping their heads up, making it easier on their approach. No one wanted to step out into the line of fire of a 5.56 gun. Not after being behind hard cover for so long. As they got closer, Carl did what any good light infantry man would do. Not wanting enemy behind them he popped the pins on some frags. And hooped them up into doors or windows. Those same windows and doors where enemy had peeked out moments before. Whumps and thumps went off in confined spaces, several times he heard screams of pain and death as targets were ripped to pieces by shrapnel or devastated by the shock of the explosion. He kept moving, pressing his way into the building behind Ross, spitting a roll of rounds back out the door and dropping a soldier who was trying to follow them.

Carl was about to step back out when Ross told him to move up and scout ahead. He nodded, cinching his LMG tight, and drawing his shotgun again. He took a breath, then started forward, "Keep you head straight brother." He moved to another door across the way, looking out through a crack in it to see it lead into a back alley. He leaned back abit and booted the door outwards, taking it off it's hinges. He stepped out, scanning both ways, looked back at Ross, then proceeded on. He swept his way forward carefully. Making sure he had a view on as many approaches as he could. It helped as a group of soldiers came running around a corner, heads lowered, guns down, wanting to back up the men who were shouting for help. Carl unleashed three rounds from his gun metal grey shotgun. The flechette rounds cutting through men like so many hot knives through butter. As he kept moving he encountered only one more group like that first.

What he did find was the scraps of a US SEALS uniform. He knelt down, and clicked his triclops head piece over to backscatter mode. He slowly looked about, the xray vision mode allowing him to see into the buildings around him. He scanned about, not seeing anything in the immediate area, he switched back to low light mode then keyed off Ross, "Cap, I found a ragged uniform over here. SEALs pattern. It's evidence, but I can't tell if they are close." He picked his way forward, stopping at the corner of a large courtyard. He peeked around, switching between the three modes of his headset, NV to FLIR, looking for heat signatures, then to Backscatter then back to NV, he stepped out then stopped, looking up into the skylight of the courtyard, "Fucking bitches..." One of the SEALS hung from a back shift gibbet high above the ground. He winced, then keyed to Ross, "One body found. One of our SEALs was strung up and left to rot. I'm going to search this complex. I'd say I'm about a block and half to your east, make your way here if you can. You'll see our lost little SEAL when you get here."

He stepped across the courtyard, and slipped into the complex of buildings and apartments, he had a new reason to kill as many of these shitheads as he could now.

[FourtyTwo]

The sight of AOR2 camoflage was somehow sickening to Ross, even now, as he followed up behind, moving into the compound that he was in, Mk48 high as Ross just felt sick. Through the visor, the sight of a fellow operator like this was enough of a reason to find out what the fuck was going on. Somehow, he didn't like this. It felt fucked up, and the small village had been mostly cleared out now, the alleys and corners of this small village now swept dry. It was done and dusted, and yet Ross knew that there had to be more. There was only one, the gibbet of the SEAL's partly disembodied body being perhaps something as a momento, as sick as it was to these bastards. The rest of the team had to be somewhere, and somehow, Ross knew he had to call it out.
"Shite. Fuck....okay, Carl, keep on sweeping. Merlin, this is Knight Actual, we've got one SEAL, KIA, they fucking strung him up, over. What's the current sit rep in the area?" He asked, looking around with the Mk48, the barrel warm as he saw his fellow Juggernaut move up, heading to the smaller complexes of huts that were in this village.
"Affermative, Knight. We've got new intel on the team we're hunting, we're going to send a helicopter to your location ASAP, we need you rapidly redeployed. The Wildcat is off station, so we're sending our best alternative. Stand by." Merlin responded, as Ross moved up, following behind Carl as he then headed through to the roof of a hut, seeing a squad disembark from a small truck.
"Bollocks." He simply said, then standing on the roof as he aimed, and then fired, hearing a response from Merlin as he opened up, quickly sending 7.62 through the canvas into the men getting out, and any others getting torn apart, bullets whizzing by back at him as whoever was left behind cover sent shots back at the armored target.
"We're sending an AH-64 to your location, it'll be two minutes out- light your position up with white smoke, over." Merlin said, as Ross laid down fire, feeling his suit take hits as he quickly finished the last man off, the reinforcement team now completely quelled and giving Carl time to continue onwards with clearance as he then stopped firing.
"Say again, over?" He asked, as Merlin repeated it.
"You have an Apache coming to your village, they're requesting you pop white smoke, over. ETA is two mikes." Merlin added, as Ross checked that his headset wasn't playing about. He heard that right, that was for sure, as he moved down, off the roof, barely being able to clamber down the steps on the side, breathing hard as he checked his corners.
"Copy that, we've got a courtyard coming up, we'll ping it." Ross said in response, moving up through an alley, sweeping his sectors as he spoke through to Carl.
"I swear to God, if we're improvising transport, this is going to be fun again." He simply said, chuckling as he heard a slight creak come up, and even in his suit, the heavy helmet and lumbering gear that he carried, could be one that any operator would have been able to respond to.

The door suddenly opened up , as Ross was just able to keep his weapon high, the man that burst out almost falling over with his AK, as Ross then sent a sharp kick into the man's abdomen, as he fired rapidly. Shots pinged off his suit's armor, a sharp kick across Ross's chest and helmet as he felt the bullets richochet and make a dent, at this point blank range. 7.62 tracers, and they did fucking make a feel in Ross, though the man was on the floor and unable to get back up. Ross was fast enough to know what to do, and he already shot twice with the LMG, though he didn't know entirely why he'd done what he did in the way he did. The shots landed in the man's legs, particularly in the thighs, and Ross had only understood that he was still truly feeling the shock even in this adrenaline. He didn't want to kill this guy outright. He wanted to make him suffer. The man yelled, his AK on the floor as he looked down at him, like Damocles sword being thrust across his neck.
"You fucking savages." He said, shaking his helmeted head, grabbing a smoke grenade from his chest rig. Pulling the pin and lobbing it far forward, into the clearing, he looked back down at the man, who was wailing in pain.
"Fuck you." He simply said, kicking him once more, just feeling anger and unchannelled rage come back out. You had to control it, direct it towards your enemy. That was what he was good at. But sometimes, no matter what psychological training you had, it had to come out one way or another. This was his way of directing it, and he knew the man would bleed from here. The bullets had gone through the bone, and they were embedded. He'd bleed out in fifteen minutes, and since medical attention out here would be shitty, it was no doubt that if blood poisoning didn't get him, he'd most likely bleed out anyway. Moving past, with the fastest pace he could muster without tiring himself out, he saw Carl come into view, as he looked back, blood on his uparmored Kevlar shinpads.
"We might get some noise soon, no doubt. Get a perimeter set up, once that Apache's in, I suggest we hook up on it's wingtips. Fuck me, I've heard stories of people doing this, but if the intel is good, we'll be rapidly redeployed, and with air support. Fucking hell." He said, just hoping that this would somehow work, checking his own Mk48 as he heard the distant noise of the AH-64D Longbow echo over the mountain valleys, and begin it's approach in, like an Angel of Death. But if it was death from above, then Ross knew that himself and Carl were death on the ground, and no doubt, would be able to put more than just fear into the enemy's hearts. Moving up, Ross found a position behind a small wall, and could already pick out hostiles in the distance noticing the smoke, and sending vague rounds in their direction. They had no idea how many times they outnumbered the two Juggernauts- their squad alone did two and a half times over, but that wasn't the point, and Ross knew that this was why they kicked so much ass out here, when they operated like this. Unlike an airstrike or a gunrun, it was something that perhaps was manifested more appropriately, and provide a force multiplier. The enemy knew to hide when there were airstrikes. They thought that they held the advantage when they had numbers. Right now, armed with a 7.62 caliber Mk48 MOD 0 LMG and a suit of armor, it would take more than being outnumbered to really put the strain down, as Ross opened up, quickly sending three of the men down, and any responding fire temporarily to a halt, as he viewed the world through his quad-NVG optical set.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl made his way through the building sweeping the rooms as best he can, twice he found civilians hiding in rooms, he had left them, watching them the whole way while making his way out. Several times he found AQ fighters hiding out, these he got rid of as quickly and cleanly as he could. Usually a shot gun blast to the chest would do it. His flechette loaded shotgun making hamburger of their bodies. Hew cleared the upper levels of the apartment building as quickly and carefully as he could.

He then made a beeline for what he was going for the whole time. He climbed up onto a railing, “No man should be left here.” He cut the body down, catching the wire that was used to hang him, and letting him down to the balcony carefully. He settled the body down, and used a blanket he had found to cover it, “Rest in peace brother. You earned your rest, don’t worry, you won’t be alone.” Carl took the man’s dogtags from under ripped up fatigues. And pocketed them, he’d be remembered, Carl would make sure of that. As he finished up, offering a silent prayer to any being who was listening to protect the soldiers soul. He got up, just as the door to the room he is in bursts open and a AQ soldier rushes in. Just one man. He’s suddenly faced with a pissed off heavily armored Canadian.

The AQ soldier meets Carl’s size 10 boot right to the stomach. The man almost doubles over. Carl then stepped back and with an amazing amount of flexibility for being in that armor he round housed kicked the man right to the side of the head. Somehow he didn’t die from the sheer force behind that boot. He spins a full 4 times before the AW soldier hits the ground. Carl then went right over, and planted his other boot against the man’s throat, “You string up a good soldier for what? A show? You just know that you brought this on yourself.” Carl let up the pressure on the man’s throat, raised his leg up, getting his knee nice and high, then brought his boot down hard.

Carl made it up to the rooftop with Ross shortly after. Carl looking about, “We’re getting picked up by an Apache? Really?” He turned too look out over the town, then brought out a white smoke canister. As they made their way down to the wall he laid about with his LMG one handed almost the whole way. He popped his own canister and tossed it a short distance away as Ross did the same. He then took up a position to return fire on the AQ soldiers sending rounds on their position. He grunted, “How are we attaching to this thing? I have a safety harness with me, but are there any hardpoints on that thing we can attach too? Fuck man, I can’t wait to see how we do this.” Carl ducked a little as a DsHK started to bark on his head of the street. He whipped his Carl Gustav off his back, rocked a shell in and fired all in one smooth movement. The DsHK vanishing in a ball of fire, “This is all going to get really interesting and will be a hell of a story to tell back at Mess.”

[FourtyTwo]

"Likely to be, right on the wingtip. I heard a bunch of Royal Marines pulled it off, so we can. Hook your karabiner into whatever hardpoint there is, and make sure it's above, or else you'll get fired at some fucking terrorist. " Ross spoke with a slight chrotle, as he saw the Apache take a little fire, then respond in kind with M320 and CRV7 rocket fire. Wait. That was a Canadian warhead, and in particular, that was only mounted onto British Apaches, or the AH1. This was going to be an interesting flight, no doubt.
"This is Whiskey Six, Knight, we're getting your arses out of here. Coming in hot- get yourselves mounted on the sides on the double and we'll get you to where we need to be." The pilot said, as Ross noticed in particular, it was a Northern Irish accent. Another slice of Britannia out here. Taking a few shots as Ross moved across, firing his Mk48 at a rooftop that was quickly torn apart by his and then 30mm fire, he lobbed another smoke forward, to cover the helicopter's decent.

Moving through the courtyard, the Apache came in low, as the pilot held it steady, letting Ross and Carl mount up. This was a bit crazy, and he knew that the rocket and gun run had made everyone duck, that is, apart from the two heavily armored troops that had basically cleared most of the village. Using what energy he could muster, he threw himself onto the left wing tip, grabbing the back of his hip and clipping the karabiner into what seemed like a steel pylon, though not a weapon system as it was above and not below the wingtip.
"Ross is clear, when Carl's good, take us out of here." He said as calmly as he could over the comms, aware that this was going to be quite different. Raising his Mk48, as the pilot waited for Carl to give the go, he saw a couple of AQ soldiers move out from the direction they had come in, to be then lighted up by Ross's LMG, the pilot now aware that they were going.
"We're going." He said simply, as the Apache quickly gained lift, the brick of an attack helicopter swooping out of the area as elegantly as possible, the gun firing away as they flew fast and low out of the area, leaving the village behind fast and going back into the darkness of the valleys again, Ross aware of the insanity of the situation. His legs hung over the side of a fucking helicopter gunship, and he was sitting in a position that really shouldn't have been where he should have sat.
"This is mental..." Ross said to himself, as he put his visor up, taking in some of the air as he checked his comms, the thundering noise of rotor blades above him not even muted by his helmet.
"Merlin, this is Knight. What's our lead?" He said, as Merlin was quick to reply, as they flew lower down, out of the mountains, down towards the river valley.
"Situation reads that we've got three SEALS alive, confirmed by our drones. They're holding them hostage at a town called Jamal Abad, in Gilgit–Baltistan Province, Northern Kashmir. It's disputed territory by the Indian and Pakistani governments, and is one of the most unstable and hostile areas in the world. Our influence should never be here...but we need to extract those SEALS one way or another, and a drone strike would be off limits, and the fact that they're being held in a Mosque facility...somewhere which if we hit, will result in enormous political fallout in addition to what we already have, so you get why you're getting sent in. We're going to drop you in a remote location within the province, and you'll meet one of our CIA assets, who will brief you on the situation. You're going to conduct a raid and get our guys out, and bring them back to Afghanistan one way or another. Whiskey Six will drop you then return to Afghani airspace- we'll send another air unit to properly get you out of there. I understand we've had to get a lot of choppers out for you- but we're stretched thin, and are basically handing you whatever we can muster in this area. You have priority on this op- so keep that in mind, over." Merlin said, as Ross looked out to the pilot, aware of his mission parameters.
"How stealthed out is this thing then?" He asked over local comms, the pilot chuckling.
"It isn't, but trust me, I'm as good as they get, if you just saw back there. You might not shit yourselves often, but I can try and make it happen- we're going to fly below radar for most of this run to avoid Pakistani jets flying out and intercepting us." He said, Ross just not wanting to think of what that meant. As he checked his GPS, he realized quickly why. They were two miles out, and the helicopter dropped like a stone, the empty and cold environment of the highlands below them truly wonderful with NVGs, but not to the naked eye. There was almost no moonlight now, and as they flew at almost 20m off the deck, Ross had to praise the pilot on this run. They were going to do some serious business against these bastards, and even if they thought they had the SEALs safe and were immune to getting bombed, they were getting a different kind of munition. One that was the emergency services for Navy Seals, no less.

The pilot was still flying like a total boss across the border, miles and miles in, deep within the valleys and on the wider areas, using anything as masking cover, staying so low that Ross could make out individual house doors, though it was mainly a blur in the speed of the chopper, as they headed into the more unpopulated area of Kashmir, flying for almost half an hour without breaking radar or going above any elevation that a normal pilot would never dare to fall below.
"Never knew that we'd be doing this sort of work, over the border. It's going to be lightly snowed over, but the town's fairly large, so be ready for some urban combat when we get there. But if we're being dropped into the middle of nowhere, I haven't a clue on how this is going down." He said, putting his visor down to keep the cold out, putting his NVG set down too, the quad-NVG securely over the visor, made of kevlar and heavily resistant materials to keep bullets from disintergrating the NVG set, that was effectively as armored as his visor. Even the lenses were made of reinforced polymer that could withstand a 7.62 bullet, and merely have a skin-deep crack within it, being seriously uparmored. None the less, Ross knew that they weren't like those giants, able to lay down heavy fire and take it back, no matter what- they had to be careful, and needed to not go head on into the worst of the mess, being able to instead deal with the lighter side of things and take a good angle. They could take a beating, but they had upped the ante, and while on breaches, charging in was an option, sometimes going right into a compound was not the way to go.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl hung on to the wing of the Apache, getting used to the ride, right up until the thing lurched. He looked down to see they were coming down. He grabbed his karabiner and as that last meter or so was reached he dropped and landed with a thump. His LMG is instantly up in hand, and he scanning the area, not seeing anyone he straightened up. As they started moving off he gave a wave to the pilot of the Apache as it pulled up and away, "Man that pilot has huge balls." He caught up to Ross and moved along beside him. As they came out in the small clearing he spotted the vehicle. He blinked, "Wow...look at this thing it's incredible." He slipped into the small building abit and rattled the thing, "Geezus how'd they do this? It's beautiful." He looked it over carefully, tugging at the sides, and looking the whole construct over. Carl nodded as they began to push the thing out, "Holy shit...they really made the flying devil into one hell of a flying bastard. Look at it." Carl tossed his LMG into the back seat then grabbed the parasail, unbolting it from where it's held in place, then slowly and carefully unwinding it out behind them. He smoothed it out then ran forward to make sure the lines weren't tangled. He then went over, pulled the lines tight briefly then held the chute up above his head as best he can. "Ready over here Cap. This is going to be so fucking cool!" The engine kicked then roared, the chute billowing, catching the draft off the fan. Carl held on for abit, stepping forward as the new Devil began to push forward. He briefly got lift with the chute as it caught and began to rise. He let go, hit the ground then ran as fast as he could, grabbing one of the side bars of the Devil. And hauling himself in. He climbed over Ross, and up into the rear seat. He strapped in as the Devil gained more speed. He grinned broadly and held on, "Whooooooo yeah! Here we go, into the wild blue yonder once again." Carl pulled the Mk19 over and into place, grabbing one of the ammo hoppers off the floor, pulling it up one handed and into the holding rig. He threw the thing open, and loaded the weapon, giving the loading handle a few quick pulls to full load it. Getting a round in the chamber and prepared to fire. He reached forward and patted Ross on the top of the helmet hard enough for him to feel it, and calling through the radio, "We're good up here. This thing came fully equipped. Remind me to thank Merlin personally for this. He gives us some of the best toys, but some of the shittiest vacation spots."

[FourtyTwo]

Ross took it carefully, and was going about 15mph, as the rear wing inflated, seeing Carl run behind. Just as he jumped in, he hit the gas, and the engine responded, with a certain rush, almost rushing forward, as Ross looked down at in front of the seat. "They fitted NOS....the fuck is this, Too Fast Too Furious?" Ross asked, chuckling as he breathed hard, out of breath and his visor fogging up slightly. The dirt plateau surrounding the abandoned house was short, but it'd be enough. Or else they'd be barreling over the edge of a cliff at 70mph, and most certainly die. He let go of the wheel, aware that there wasn't any more point. The black canopy was fully inflated, and the propeller was spinning fully, as he switched over to it, looking over. "Here we go!" Ross pulled the toggles above the ALSV, grabbing hard as the steering wheel became pointless, the whole craft shaking and almost feeling like it'd come to crash, if it wasn't for the massive canopy above. And it somehow took flight, the whole weight eased off, as Ross pulled them hard, flaring back as the canopy caught wind and the propeller kicked in full sale, bringing them up as Ross built up the Flying Devil, Mark 3's speed. This thing was awesome- there was literally nothing like it, no matter how much paraglider training he got. The Flying Devil was airborne. Turning, the buggy shook a little as the canopy came to the left, as Ross lay his Mk48 on the dash, nestling the weapon on his groinplate- suprisingly comfortable, considering he had at least a couple of inches of kevlar between him and the buttstock of his GPMG. "Checking the GPS now. We're ten kilometers out, this thing won't get picked up on radar. It's too insignificant- I wouldn't say stealthed out, but that canopy looks like it's made out of some seriously stealthy looking material." Ross said, chuckling, as he keyed in the position, getting an approach vector in, as he looked up at Carl, and then out the side, the airborne feeling still rampant, even though he knew he was wearing a Juggernaut suit- at least 50kg of kit, if not more. This was mental- this never let up, this job. They were flying right into a hostage situation with a buggy come paraglider, and would save the SEALs. It seemed that they were in the big leagues with the Devil now. First, Hostages at the mine. Now, Navy Seals over the mine. Ross couldn't help but think that this was what their job could become- and if it meant getting the British Prime Minister out of a sticky situation, then so be it, if this escalation contuined. He doubted it. Setting up the GPS with his gloved hand, he adjusted his arm's armor, and engaged his quad NVG set, smirking as he looked over at the valley below, now coming shrowded in fog. "Like a bump in the night for these poor bastards. Taking Seals. It isn't on. We're taking them back, and damn, I'm going to have fun dive bombing them." Ross said, looking out as he continued their course, south towards the town, high above the valley floor that they sat over, somewhat concealed by the fog.

[BigPapaBelial]

[Short post is short sorry] Carl adjusted his position on the Devil. Getting a little comfortable. A throw of his head brought his triclops headset down. Clicking through the view modes until he got the Night Vision Low Light mode up. He scanned ahead. Seeing the light dome from the town they are approaching. Carl nodded, "This is going to be interesting. Gotta ask, should we be strafing the place with out HVTs down there?" Carl peered over the side of the Devil, "Last thing I want is for random fire to nail the guys we're trying so hard to get out. Or for those turban headed cock suckers to put shots into them while we're buzzing around up high." He pulled the Mk19 up and into firing position as they got closer in. As they neared the town he started to be able to pick out more and more things in his NV and FLIR vision modes. Bright flares of heat signatures. Fire drums, look out posts, buildings that could be used as outposts, chokepoints etc. He growled, "That's looking pretty sketchy down there already. Lots of real estate down there that is going to make our time trouble down there. Can't see the mosque yet can you?" He flipped through his view modes, trying to get a better idea of the town. He also checked, making sure they still had those laser guided missiles. That'd make it so much more fun in the long run if he could put some extra long range fire on the town before they got there. He shook his head. "I just want to lodge a formal complaint. This is buthkiss. But this is also our job. So who do I kill first?"

[FourtyTwo]

(It is a bit of a downgrade, but no missiles- just the Mk19, due to the weight of the ALSV.) (Short post, but ah well.) (An OST- was thinking of this in the background, especially the intro) Ross looked over, as he took them in a little higher looking over the fires and posts. "Shit. I vaguely pick it out. They aren't ready for this though. They're expecting a ground assault of any QRF. But I mean....we're coming from the air, and we're making almost no noise. I'll kill the engine, and we'll drift in. I won't lie, it will be a bad landing...but I doubt that they keep their hostages in the open. They do it to scare our drones...it's a clever game they play. They second guess that we might assault, so they barricade the town. They hide the hostages from any FLIR or IR camera from any drone because they don't want to risk bombing; they want confirmation of them actually being there before they blow someone up. My alternative, we fucking charge in, and kick the doors down, get them out, and drive out. It sounds crazy. But that's precisely why it will work." Ross said, chuckling almost, as he steered in, with an almost hearty chuckle in his tone, looking down. "And we have this armor...so I do guess we have good chances. Somewhat." He added, as he steered down, and they began to slowly dive, as Ross readied himself. The soldiers on the wall of the Mosque were sitting calmly by a flashlight, the small courtyard inside the Mosque, flanked by small concrete walls, making it a small secure compound. They weren't expecting help to come for the two SEALs they had, not a hope in hell. But they were going to get suprised. as Ross pulled up, aware that they were going to brush in, as the engine was dead propeller-wise, and it went to the wheels now. "Right ahead, contact on the wall!" He yelled out, as they came into view, and horrified, they saw the last thing that they saw. Two armored soldiers, and a flying buggy. Now that was novel, Ross thought, as they were going to be decimated in a matter of split seconds. Almost perfectly, they dropped into the compound, and Ross cut the parachute away, as they hit the floor, the suspension sucking it up as the impact was hard, almost tipping the buggy as they took fire, bullets ringing out in front as Ross slowed down, aware that this was insanity. But this was a good version of it, as he opened up with the Mk48, firing over the open dash, as bullets rang out, pinging throughout the ALSV and his suit. He took three men down by the front gate, as the ALSV stopped, and Ross was bungling out, covering Carl's disembark, after they cleared out the inner compound. They now had to go inside- and friendly rescue was something tricky, especially considering time was running out, fast. They had to stop them from being executed, and no doubt, taking them hostage and upright, with any bombs or anything. They had little time, and Ross led the way, laying down fire on two enemies that emerged, the Juggernaut standing tall as he moved forward, up to the smashed open door of the mosque, moving behind cover as he blindfired inside at a man that was moving with an AK. Peeking around, he opened up again, giving Carl the chance to move around, and push the corner inside the religious building.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl primed some C4 charges off his kit belt as they glided in. As they came in he tossed them over the side, six charges, three borrowed from Ross. They rolled in quiet and smooth. He gripped the side of the buggy as they came in. Then felt his guts do a flip or three as the parachute was cut. And with a crash, they were into the mosque. "Wonderful landing." He said with a cough as he got unbelted. The surprised fighters quickly got over that surprise and began to fire. Ross got out first, lying down covering fire. Carl grabbed his FN Minimi, the M249, and hopped out of the buggy. He added his fire to Ross'. Quick 4 to 5 round bursts, ripping into those that Ross hadn't picked off. After a time he fell in beside Ross, but waved off and into a side door as Ross found cover inside the building and blind fired at fighters within. Carl ghosted off, shouldering open a side door, there had been a few things piled behind it a moment or two ago, to keep it shut. But it was no use to stop the man in the big armor. The fighters had their attention on Ross. Carl thumped forward, raising his LMG and rocked into the one man with the AK and the other two that were hiding around the corner. He pressed his shoulder against the wall beside where they were and waved Ross up. As a team them moved forward. Carl covering their flanks, Ross their front. Carl gunned down a few more fighters as they came to see what was going on. Carl growled into his mic, "Where they hell are they going to be? I don't want to walk in on them to find the Tali's have strapped bomb vests onto them. These guys already lost one of their number. I don't want to see more dead SEALs." He checked around a corner. Ducking back then a second later, pulled an AQ soldier around. Carl's big hand clamped over his mouth. The man tried to swing his fists up to box Carl around the ears, but only succeeded in bust his knuckles on the Canadian's armored head. Carl didn't feel a damned thing. Carl waited before head butting the man hard on the bridge of the nose. The soldier wailed muffledly from behind Carl's fingers. Carl waited then growled out, "Listen closely you fuck. I know you understand me. We're speaking English right now. Where are the SEALs? You tell me and I'll make sure to kill you last. You fuck me over and your death is going to be so brutal there won't be enough of you to claim those seventy two virgin men that are supposed to be waiting for you. So talk. Where are the SEALs you guys took?"

[FourtyTwo]

Ross moved through, seeing Carl moving up through a side entrance, as Ross nodded back. "Try upstairs, I'll check the far end of the Mosque." Ross added, pushing through past the prayer room, the large space covered in carpets, now being covered in bodies and blood, that of the people that were in their way. It was a place of worship, but at the same time, snipers used church towers, and so they did with minarets and Hindu temples. Jewish Insergency Groups in Israel had used their temples to plan against the Palestinians before in their Civil War in Israel, so right now, Ross didn't really feel too much for the religious debate right now. What mattered, was the greater good. He kicked the door down to the kitchen, moving out of the wide open area. "You Viking One?" Ross asked, as he scanned around, the two SEALs tied up nodding quietly, only wearing the very base of their BDUs, being their combat uniform. He withdrew his Becker Knife, and sliced it through the man's handties, then his legs, as he looked around, sweeping the area. In a moment, a man came around the staircase and fired rounds at Ross, and he barely flinched, seeing them go blind, but thankfully not towards the SEALs. He fired back a nice volley of Mk48 fire, adapted to the pressure and heat of this war, dropping the man. "Fuck, you're Knight Team! I've heard shit about you..you guys are insane." One of the SEALs said, getting up, running to the man and grabbing his AKM, as well as any mags. "You heard well then. Do you know where they kept your equipment? And what's your name?" Ross asked, as he scanned the area, the kitchen empty, and devoid of any equipment- though it did seem some local dishes were still being made here, for the AQ population. "Chief Petty Officer Ramsey, this is Petty Officer Burns. We lost a man I mean...Our kit is downstairs, right by the entrance of the compound, I think. They were playing with it, but it shouldn't have gone far." Ramsay asked, the member of Viking Fireteam looking as if he was more curious than relieved. "We found him, mate." Ross said, sighing, as he looked over, not wanting to talk about it right now. The SEALs had an expression that they wanted to know more, but now was not the time for mourning. "We lost another. They executed him in the yard as we arrived. They said they'd do it to me next, if they didn't stop the invasion. Like shit that was going to happen. We owe you guys." Ramsay said, looking to the armored SAS soldier. "I heard you're Cpt Henderson, that Canuck with you?" He added, checking the AK, as he looked over. "Just Listen." Ross said, as the faint noise of an M249 could be heard upstairs, followed by yelling. "Carl, I got our SEALs alive. Come down to the kitchen. If you want, you can drag a survivor in." Ross said over the radio, chuckling over the comms, as he checked the feed of his GPMG, before lobbing another AK to Burns, who was just untied. "Plan of action then. We've got an ALSV outside, and we've killed off the immediate guard of the people holding you. You're faster than us, but made of just flesh. So keep your heads down, and move fast when you do. We'll take the attention. I need you to wait in the prayer room and wait till we give the clear. Then, you run to the chceckpoint at the gate, and grab your shit. Your weapons, and anything that looks valuable intel wise. You take it, and we get back in. We want to make it look like we stole all our shit back and got out of here, because otherwise, they're going to be super-pissed." Ross said, as they both nodded, cocking their newly-aquired AKMs. "Glad we have agreement." He added, as he looked to Carl, nodding simply. They headed back outside, past the ALSV, firing on the checkpoint, where there were skinnies moving into the compound, the two SEALs firing occasionally from their cover, but keeping their heads down. No, the real show was the Juggernauts, as they moved back outside, and laid it down on those trying to get into the compound now, buying the SEALs time to grab their shit when this contact was cleared. Ross took a few hits, but took out three men, and looked back at the entrance, giving the hand. The two SEALs bounded forward, moving to the checkpoint, right in front of the gate for the Mosque's compound. They immediately grabbed their kit, from their vests to their weapons- Ramsay using a 416, whilst Burns used a HCAR, a weapon that Ross was suprised to see. A Heavy Counter-Assault Rifle. A weapon that was effectively a BAR, with modernized parts to it, and it still fired .30-06 Springfield rounds. It was like an M1911, with new furnishing really- and it looked the part, as a rifle that dropped tangoes across all ranges proficiently and with a significant kick to act as a support battle rifle. It took them barely a minute, as Ross laid down fire, bottling a V40 Frag beyond the gate, followed by a M18 Smoke, laying fire into the abyss. "Half mags, Carl!" Ross said, aware that they needed to haul ass soon, and soon came quickly, when the SEALs ran back to the ALSV.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl nodded, trailing Ross, then breaking off and making his way up the stairs. As he went up a concussion grenade came clacking down. Carl pressed his front against the stairway wall and weathered the sound and flash. A few of the men upstairs began firing down into the stairwell. Carl growled, turning, his ears rung from the grenade, but he wasn't even remotely concerned. He headed up the stairs, M249 chattering punching up through the wood and mortar barrier at the top of the stairwell. He jackhammered rounds through the wall and wood, and heard cries of pain, death and horror. By the time he made it to the top he saw men running, trying to find new defensive positions. His LMG roared as it cut through the wooden and brick cover. He hammered into them cutting them down, no mercy here. You don't kill off good soldiers, and leave one hanging rotting and festering. Carl knew only rage at the moment. He just wasn't going to let these shitheads get off with it. He swept through 90% of the upper floor when Ross called him up, "Carl, I got our SEALs alive. Come down to the kitchen. If you want, you can drag a survivor in." Carl let out a sigh of relief, "Fuckin' Eh, Cap. I'll be down in a moment." He tossed a pair of frags into the last room he was about to clear. listening to the frantic yelling, and even teep kicking one man back into the room. He walked away as the frags went off. Ripping apart the last of them. On the way back he encountered man who somehow managed to get away from it all just barely alive. He grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the room, "Hey, found this guy outside. Managed to get away with just a round to the ribs. Anyone wanna take care of him?" He tossed the man to the floor in front of the SEALs, "Someone can take care of this guy if they want." He then gave the SEALs a fist bump each, "Follow us now. I almost feel sorry for them now." Carl and Ross lead the way. Taking the attention off the unarmored SEALs. Carl took a number of rounds to the chest, but gunned down atleast three more in tune with Ross' three. Carl also winged a few others, but not killing them. He snarled, "Half mags? I think I'm pissing mine away. Might be less then a quarter left." Just as he said that he heard a click, "Well fuck. Reloading!" He dumped the empty mag off his LMG, leaving the unmarked ammo bag lying. He quickly reloaded the another 150 round ammo bag onto his M249. Flipping the belt over into the receiver and pulling the loading handle. Right back to business, it all took him about 2 and a half seconds to pull off. "Anytime we wanna leave?" He pulled a pair of C13 frags out, "Explosive Ordanance used up! I got nothing but C4 left over." He spun around as he felt rounds dig into his back armor. Seeing a technical racing towards them. He shouted out, "Clear my back blast!" He let his LMG dangle, and pulled the Carl G off his shoulder, quickly loading a Dual Purpose Rocket off his back into the tube. Then let if fly, hitting the engine of the technical and sending it tumbling to land against the front side of a closed up store. Carl slotted his Recoiless Rifle back over his shoulder and grabbed up his LMG again, "Let's get while the gettings good Cap! We got our boys. I say we beat feet as fast as we fucking well can before they manage to let everyone else know we're here."

[FourtyTwo]

Ross ran back to the ALSV, diving into the driver's seat, as the two SEALs crammed into the right passenger seat, grabbing a rail and hanging on. They knew what was going to happen next. "Hang the fuck on! Merlin, this is Knight Actual, we've found two of them, one more is KIA! We're extracting now, headed north!" Ross yelled over comms, as the V8 purred into life, the engine roaring as the SEALs grinned, but were a little more than petrified. They were being rescued by the rescuers, namely, Ross and Carl, who had kicked in more than just a door to get them out of here. Releasing the handbrake as Carl got in, the ALSV span up, kicking up dust as they sped out, past the burning wreck of the blown up technical, Ross skidding the vehicle right to avoid a roadblock, as bullets hemmed in. The SEALS kept their head down, as Ross put himself to driving, flooring it down the road, aware that this was more than a "hot" extraction. It was volcanic, as Ross hit the switch attached to the wheel, hitting the NOS as the engine bursted in speed, allowing the ALSV to bolt forwards and hit 100mph. If they had the parafoil now, Ross would have been happy to use it, but there were bullets still flying, and the SEALs more than knew this, in the passenger footwell. "Merlin copies, we've got a CH-147 headed for your insertion point. Drive in, and get your asses back across the border. Whiskey Six is on tasking for eliminating any followers." Ross heard, as he skidded around a corner, the sight of a couple of technicals enough for Ross to know that Carl was already swinging that big 40mm weapon on it, as he headed off-centre for them. "Understood." Ross simply said, as the explosions and speed were all one, as Ross sped past the wreckage, the V8 sticking out a little in the back but roaring loudly, and covered in a light bulletproof casing. It was just awesome to do, this thing felt like it could outspeed most supercars, the acceleration was crazy- though it weighed almost 800kg now, it chucked out 400bhp, and with the Passive NOS, a little more even. It was just a machine that Ross was in awe of- and it was getting them out, alright. Driving over a wreckage of cars, they caught air, as Ross felt the vehicle thud, chuckling through his visor, as he turned left, full beams on, the audible noise of the roaring engine and weapons from the SEALs pointing back, with Carl's 40mm too, just enough to make this an experience and a half. "Whiskey Six, this is Knight, we've got the remnants of Viking, we're headed up to our insertion point. We need immediate Hellfire rounds, we've got several Technicals joining the road at various points, we need a strike on them. We're marked with IR strobes and we've moving fast as hell, over." Ross said, as the Northern Irelander on the other end chuckled, the Apache sticking right behind a ridge, almost 10km away. The AH1 moved up a little, and Whiskey Six's gunner was already working on having the Hellfires ready to fire, seeing the distant fight. He saw at least five targets, and all were painted up, with the SALH lasers kicking in and picking them up, the gunner letting loose the guided round. TOT- at least a minute. And it was a long minute, as the technicals behind fired up on the ALSV, forcing the SEALs to duck, as Ross half-guessed they were just pickups with people in the back firing AKs. They were pissed, alright- they'd left the town, and driven through several roadblocks, like a gale of wind. Now they wanted blood. Oh, they'd have some, Ross thought to himself. Their own would be burned to a crisp soon enough, as Ross saw what was ahead, the blocked off grouping of technicals on the road forcing Ross to turn right, downward into a smaller dirt ditch, a minor road, as second ticked by. Then, it happened. The minute came to an end, as what seemed like living hell ruptured everywhere. The two technicals behind the ALSV were blown off the side of the mountain road, as the checkpoint ahead of the ALSV was decimated, with a technical thrown high up into the air, blown off it's base as the fuel tank went up, the vehicle actually flying above the ALSV, Ross almost going into slo-mo as he looked up at it, barely a couple of meters above as he swiped back onto the main tarmac road, the trail of fury and wrecks behind just sheerly awesome. Turning left, onto a dirt road, the sound of brrap behind could be unmistakable- it was 30mm rounds, and it was hitting anything that was left infantry wise. "That should do it, Knight. We've done our recce of the LZ, we'll back off now. Take care out there- the RCAF sent a CH-147, callsign Hotel Six, to evac you out of there. Good hunting." Whiskey Six's pilot said, as Ross chuckled. "You take care, flying low. Out." Ross said, as they headed down the road, back up to their extract. It was a long and winding road, and would take at least twenty minutes, over this undulating terrain, with hairpin bends and tough, bumpy tracks to go over. The SEALs remained quiet, for now at least. Ramsay and Burns could talk later, when they were in the Chinook. In time, they arrived to the LZ, and the sight of a CH-147, or a Canadian-specification Chinook, was a sight for sore eyes. The helicopter had expected Knight's arrival at this time, and came in, rear door open, a handful of CSOR operators in the back, armed with C8s and their standard loadout. They were covering this chopper, and as it landed, they hopped out, seeing the ALSV, with four grizzled operators, two armored like Rhinos. They gave a wave, and Ross surged the vehicle forward, braking hard before hitting the ramp and pulling in. They followed in, as the vehicle was effectively rammed inside, driven right up into the middle, and put on the handbrake, The helicopter was in the air quickly, and they were pulling out of the airspace fast. Mission complete, Ross thought to himself. Though it was never done till your wheels touched the landing pad at the FOB, the hardest part was over. ---- An hour later, and they were barely leaving Pakistan, the Chinook flying a little higher than the Apache had done- this was the return leg, not going in. Ross sat by the door M134, looking across to the four CSOR operators- who were here to provide Aviation cover for Hotel Six, and the two SEALs, who looked knocked up, but breathing. They seemed relieved, and had slept, despite the intensely loud noise of the Chinook. "Okay, we're leaving Pakistani airpsace right about now, we're back in Wakhan. We're due back at base in 30 mikes, over these mountains..." The pilot he said, just then suddenly cut off. There was a certain panic, as Ross turned to the cabin, the sound of flares deploying, a bright orange from the rear illustrating what this was. Worst, case, scenario. "We've got MANPADS, we're taking rounds! Everyone, brace, brace, brace!" Ross heard, as the helicopter shook, breaking away, the sight of flares out the back door a fearsome sight, as a missile flew past. The next, wasn't going to miss. The militants had gotten very lucky, using advanced Igla-N systems, almost brand-new Russian Anti-Air missiles, and this Chinook wasn't going to survive it. The second missile clipped the rear of the helicopter, and sliced almost the whole compartment off, as the helicopter began to spin, the rear rotor disabled as Ross held on, the SEALs awake and holding onto something, as the whole chopper began to go into a spin. It became a dizzying and petrifying sight, as Ross saw one of the CSOR operators fall out the back, almost yelling in shock, as he put his visor down with his only other spare hand, hanging onto a metal strongpoint, the sight of the ground coming sideways out the side window just a horrifying vision. They were dead, no doubt, and with three quarters of a helicopter left, Ross knew that even the armor they wore would probably not even do it. --- Ten Minutes Later Ross regained consciousness, somehow a bit bleary, but able to think, just consider the situation. His helmet had a collosal crack, and his visor was splintered, with many spiderweb cracks- it was effectively redundant, as he could guess it was the main reason he didn't have any pieces of shrapnel or impact pains in his shull. He took the strap and bunged it off, throwing it down, the neckbrace and rest of the armor system still intact, as he coughed, barely able to sit up, the CH-147 on it's side, as Ramsay ran back in. The ALSV had been pushed out, and was a total wreck, basically on two wheels and whilst the main frame survived, it wouldn't be going anywhere. Ross sat up, standing on a smashed port window, groaning as he felt general pain. He could get through this, he was sure, but he definitely had a cracked rib, from the impact. "Fuck...Carl, he's up!" Ramsay yelled to Carl, who was at the door, of which was on it's left side, the other three CSOR operators dead, something Ross gathered from the bodies strewn by the ALSV. "Poor bastards. Pilots alive?" Ross asked, as Ramsay came over, giving Ross a hand, the Juggernaut taking the Navy Seal's hand, as he stood up, looking around, dusting himself off. "They're gone. Just me and Burns are alive, plus Lieutenant Cardinal." Ramsay said, as he moved up, his 416 functional, and with a magazine loaded, as he adjusted his Ops Core helmet. "We binoculared out a whole mass movement of Taliban, AQ and some fucking tooled up guys going to our position. They got modern body armor, AK-12s, they mean business. There's at least fifteen technicals, loaded with people- so about 60 individuals rallying to us. I give them about five minutes to our position." Ramsay said, as he checked his mag, looking to the front, the whole Chinook almost completely destroyed, and in pieces. It was lucky it hadn't caught ablaze- the fuel line had at severed, and not sparked off from somewhere, with fuel pissing on the floor. "It's that group. They fucking tracked us. Watched us, radioed in. They want us dead. Back in Wakhan, you know that urban myth? This giant Mohican and big Russian woman?" Ross said, looking over, shaking his head, almost half uncertain when he spoke. "Yeah, what about it?" Ramsay said, as Ross shook his head, just worried now. "They're real, and they're scared of them. They said they saw shit that shouldn't be in their hands. I dunno. This is a fuck up. You call Whiskey Six?" Ross asked, as Ramsay nodded. "They're ten mikes out, got limited Hellfires, but they can provide cover. We're going to have to hold a lot longer for another extraction- MANPADS just scared the crap out of any aerial unit, so Whiskey's the best we have. We'll have an F15D Strike Eagle in about twenty, with about eight tons of Mk84 bombs. We've got what I heard was a British extraction helicopter coming too, at some point, they didn't give an ETA. This is FUBAR, man." Ramsay said, as Ross looked to his smashed helmet, and then at his Mk48, before then turning back. "It is. But that's why we went into rescue you. Okay, here's what we do. I want you to grab that M134 on the left side, it's tilted up, I know, but we can smash the pintle and push it to it's maximum extent down, and use it to fire on the valley below. Get Burns to jump on the Mk19 on our ALSV- it's still got ammo, and it makes noise. I'll cover our rear, uphill, while Carl helps out down below. Got it?" Ross said, as he checked his weapon, still working and functional, as he looked around. "Got it. Carl, over here. I think here's something I think they CSOR guys had that you might like." Ramsay said, moving to the bodies, looking at them. "Poor bastards. They got blown apart when it hit. Fuckers." He added, more than a little bitter, aware that they'd gone through hell enough already. "This is it. They kept a C15 Timberwolf in the chopper, as well as another C6 MMG. Could come in handy, just use it as you need, I guess." Ramsay added, as Burns moved outside, the sight of enemy closing a real shocker, as he lept on the Mk19. "Fuck, we got incoming! Contacts close!" Ross heard, as bullets whistled through the helicopter's fuselage, Ross running out, aware that he had no helmet, and was going to be subceptible. No NODS either- they were smashed up, but no less, he could see good enough now, since the moon was completely out, and there were little to no clouds. Around the topside of the helicopter, Ross found a position by a rock, firing back uphill at contacts as the bullets whizzed by. This was an old feeling alright- the feeling that any of these rounds could take his life, and that his armor wasn't going to do squat if it hit his face. He took out a handful of militants, as Ramsay moved out, using his M320 on the first technical, which seemed to have a first responder wave. Three heavily armored soldiers jumped out, looking like they had lighter kevlar suits of armor, armed with RPKs and RPGs, moving up the hill, but found themselves cut apart by the Mk19 and then the M134, as their lack of helmets and faceplates, as well as the sheer volume of fire, cut them apart. Still, they were hard to kill, and there was a good group of them, as more moved through the field below, a rocky and boulder-strewn area that seemed like a goat-grazing area. It was grassy, but patches of snow existed, with gorse and braken intersperced around, as Ross simply fired uphill, on flankers and movers. "Incoming!" Ross yelled, as an RPG round flew in, blowing up a whole section of the hill to their right, subsiding it partly as Ross took the shooter down, taking a breath of air as he kept his head low, and tended to expose the rest of his armored suit, rather than his head, when firing now.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl leapt up into the back seat of the ASLV. And got the 40 up to snuff. As they pealed out he was just swinging the thing into position, and had to crank it back around as they roared passed those technicals. The big 40mm launcher began to cough, ripping into some of the technicals. He jerked and rolled with the ASLV as they bumped out of the town and onto the road. He twisted the gun around and began to fire back the way they came. The Forty growled as it unleashed rounds, crashing into the technicals. Carl called to Ross, "Our tailgaters don't like our gifts. I'm gonna keep giving them until they accept it." He cackled, still firing without remorse.

As they barreled down the road he kept firing. When the Apache passed by and hammered the last of them he grinned broadly, "Good effect on target there Whiskey Six. Fly low, fly well. Thanks for the help." He tucked the Forty off to the side as they continued on.

Carl grinned broadly as they approached the LZ, "RCAF to the rescue, only a matter of time until the Canadian Master Plan comes into being and all of the world will bow before us."As the Chinnok came buzzing in the pilot chuckled over the radio, "That's supposed to be private information. You guys must be Knight. And that SEALs team that went missing. Or what's left of it." Carl raised a fist in greeting to the CSOR operators as they passed. Carl hopped out and placed a few safety straps on the floor and onto the ASLV he then nodded to the CSORs, "Audeamus gents. Good to see that I'm not the only Canadian out here." He shook hands.

As they took off he came back to join Ross and the SEALs, "Like a little glimpse of home you know?"

-----

Carl had decided to take a quick nap, they were more or less out of danger they could afford the little luxuries. He jolted awake though when the Chinnok jerked. He himself jerked awake and grabbed a suppport spar for security. He looked about, then heard it, "MANPADS! We're taking rounds." He gripped the spar tightly, "Fuck me!" He grit his teeth and held on for life. His armor wasn't going to keep him alive from this he thought just as everything went black.

-----

Awhile later he heard something bang against his armor. He coughed, and heard Burns, "Lt. Cardinal? LT? Can you hear me? Come on big guy." Carl coughed again and reached up to push his visor up, "Holy shit...I'm alive...Burns? Who's left?" He got up with the SEALs help and took stock. The CSORs dead, as he got up to his feet he felt something click in his knee. Carl limped forward grunting painfully, "Think i sprained something...fuck me sideways...where's the Captain? Ross? Buddy!" He limped over and looked into the chopper spotting Ross. Carl grunted, "Keep an eye on him...Burns help me with the ASLV...I think we might want it's firepower..."

-----

Sometime later he heard Ramsey, "Carl! Ross is up!" Carl came limping back as quick as he could looking in to see Ross getting up, "Fucking hell Cap. Thought we might have lost you." He grunted, the pain killer her had taken a little while ago still hadn't worked it's way into his system. So his knee which could very well be sprained and twisted hadn't stopped hurting yet. Carl limped inside to help his partner up. Then followed him out, "Well I guess all of this is going to be something we can tell our kids in the future." He grinned broadly.

As they went about their planning Carl kept looking down the way the enemy would be coming. "This is going to be one hell of a fight." He got up to follow Ross into the chopper. Spotting the weapons as they came to them, "Well well...gifts from on high." He reached down to where he had the three CSOR dogtags tucked into a leg pouch, "Thanks boys." He patted the pouch then gathered the weaponry, "With this Timby I ought to be able to give those guys something to think about." He grabbed the Timberwolf and the C6, along with their clips and magazines. He carried them outside, setting them down where he can get at them. He set up quickly, unstowing the Timberwolf, popping out it's bipod and readying it. He turned to assist in taking out the quick responders. But as soon he could he was back on the Timberwolf. He cycled the bolt, and fired, the roar of the .338 Lapua round shattering the air. A man screamed in pain as he fell to the ground, missing his arm from the shoulder down. Carl wasn't trying for instant kill shots. This wasn't the time for lined up firing. He could do it. He'd been in the Arctic Rangers before this, he'd landed shots with that Enfield. But this wasn't the time. He just wanted to land shot. Take enemy out of the game. Lessen the tide that would hit them. He fired again and again, he had a limited amount of those five round box magazines. But he intended to use them all to their fullest.

He made that trip up to them one hell of a rigourous trip. Anytime someone came out onto open ground there was a round hissing down towards them. He kept it up until he heard a crunch. He looked out from the scope to find a round jammed into the bolt, "Shit! Timberwolf is down!" He grabbed got up and ran for the C6.

[FourtyTwo]

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.

[BigPapaBelial]

Carl snarled snatching up the C6 from where he had set it. He set the gun against his hip and began let rip. The GMPG growling as he fired into the mass of men approaching them. The big rounds cutting into them. Carl growled, "This is going to be tense. I like our chances of surviving, but I'm still a little nervous." He mowed down a line of AQ soldiers with a roar of the GMPG. Carl kept firing keeping head down and heads exploding too. He wasn't about to let them die out here atleast not without a fight. He kept firing even as the AQ fighters crept further and further up the hill. He unhooked a grenade pulled the pin and under handed it down the incline, watching it bounce, skip and thump to a stop at the feet of a man with an RPG. He went flying moments later. Carl chuckled deeply as he watched the man flip through the air. Carl kept firing, he didn't want to stop until they were clear.

He turned as the SEALs broke for cover. He purposefully put himself between them and the fire coming at them. He stumbled with a growl of pain as a rifle round clipped his sprained knee. He snarled, pushing himself back up, "Ross, where's our CAS?" He fired until the C6 clicked empty, he didn't have time to reload it so he grabbed his 249 up and began to fire with that. "On my mark run like fuck, Ditch everything but your M249." Carl turned and in a limping run began to trail behind Ross. Turned at the hip to fire back behind them.

Then the bombs hit. And the shockwave caught him, lifted him and carried him forward. He hit the ground and rolled a short distance before coming to a stop. He coughed as the ringing in his ears grew louder. He groaned and watched Ross pass him, "Sure...just gimme a little...I'll...be good..." He got to his feet. Gritting his teeth. That sprained leg of his really pulling. He proceeded up the hill following after Ross, "This...has been an amazing operation."

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Victor sat on a bench in the Mess hall. He knew Natalie would be in the Arsenal at the moment, getting ready for that op of hers. He intended to follow her, but he didn't want to be there when she left. He wanted to show he trusted her, that he knew she could take care of herself. That didn't mean he wouldn't be suiting up minutes after she left and jumping aboard a C130 to follow her.

For now he sat in the mess, a bottle of Pepsi at hand. Listening to the other grunts of the PMC shooting the shit and bragging here and there. There were stories about the shit they had gotten into while in this or that army. One man telling a story about a massive fire fight his platoon had gotten into, one hundred Taliban fighters had taken up the defense of an ammo cache in a small town somewhere in Helmand, and his platoon of sixteen was out on patrol. They had moved into the town which had earlier that week been pinned as safe. His platoon had walked in, expecting no worries at all. But had found hell waiting for them. Their leap frog retreat barely got them out with only one man wounded. They had called in CAS to help clear the town.
Victor smiled a little listening to that story. Sounded like something that happened to the grunts a lot.

The conversation moved on, another story being retold. After that one was done, one of the grunts looked over and spotted Victor. He smiled, “Hey Victor, big guy, didn’t you used to be Tier One?” Victor toyed with the cap of his drink, “Sure. Long time ago.” The grunts seemed to see where this was going. Another man asking, “So you got some stories don’t you from that time huh?” Victor nodded, “Sure, none that are all that interesting. Tier One isn’t all that different from other special forces.” The grunts began to get insistent, “Come on man there has to be something. You almost never talk about your past come on. Give us something.”

Victor hrmed, “Alright fine.” He thought for a time. Going silent again, the grunts watching him wondering what he was going to do or say. After abit Victor began, “You guys remember Bin Laden right?” The grunts nodded and one of them even said, “Naw no way you did that Boss. It was all confirmed by FBI and CIA bro.” Victor grinned, “No I didn’t do it. I did something else.” He began his story…
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“Third floor…ladies underwear…” Victor looked on as Seal Team Six began to drop their intelligence off in the tent. Everything from hard drives, to binders and folders filled with information taken from the Pakistani complex where they had killed none other than Osama Bin Laden himself. They weren’t Cowboys, but damn did they act it sometimes. They’d just come from a life or death situation, and come out with the code word of Geronimo.

As Victor watched a suited CIA agent stepped up beside him. The black haired man watched the Seals celebrating. And another CIA agent verifying the body. The man beside Victor said softly, “They got the main target. That’s what we’re going to tell the world. But they’re going to need you now Master Sergeant. They didn’t demo the chopper correctly, there’s still debris left. And there is a lot of people that know who are still in Pakistan.” Victor pushed off the pole he’d been leaning on, and nodded, “Insert me then. As usual this will be Blacker then Black right?” The CIA agent nodded.

Victor went to the private little building the army and CIA had set up for him. Inside it was every weapon, and equipment piece he could ask for. Even prototype weapons and items that weren’t available yet to standard forces. Victor suited up in dappled, grey, black and dark red stealth fatigues. A combat harness with an integrated combat vest. A silenced pistol and silenced KRISS SMG were slotted into place. As well as a pair of reinforced tomahawks that had become his iconic weapons a while ago. Lastly were clips and magazines, as well as a variety of explosives and an interesting little thing in glass vials called hyperacid for dealing with the chopper and getting rid of anything that might come up. As the Seals wrapped up, Victor jumped aboard a chopper and headed for Pakistan.

They had put him down in a field outside the city. The Abbottabad area was still on high alert. People were worried, scared, a lot of people are angry. But no one expected a ghost to be picking his way through the city. Even at top speed Victor had to traverse part of the city to get to the warehouse where they were keeping the last of the information from the complex, the bodies of the adults, and the helicopter. His job, to liquidate as much as he could of all that. A the moment he loped low and easy through the streets, the night his friend tonight. The dappled clothing he wore broke up his large frame, making it hard to see him. Lots of people said all black was better to use during night operations. But that just turned you into a big black blob in the night. The dark colors in a random pattern made it harder to see him.

Victor reached the warehouse. And of course, found it heavily guarded. Pakistani Army and what looked like AQ and Talibani soldiers. Victor darted across the spottily lit ground around the warehouse, and hopped the fence. His silenced pistol is soon in his hand. Edging through the grounds carefully. He had to make this quiet and clean. He had care blanche to leave a body count, as long as no one could track it back to the States or anyone else. So it’s no surprise that when he came on patrols he put them down quietly, hiding the bodies and continuing on. The lower cracks of his pistol drowned out by the sound of people talking, and the sound of boxes being moved around or soldiers yelling orders. He cleaned out a third of the soldiers to make it easier on him. All in complete and utter silence. They wouldn’t know anyone is there for a while yet. Victor, for such a big guy, slipped quietly into the main warehouse. Gaurds, engineers, technicians are everywhere. He wasn’t going to have to be careful. Set the charges and explosives carefully so they weren’t spotted immediately.

He ghosted along the side of the building, taking out several soldiers as he went. He didn’t want a dead body found this close. So he instead clamped his large hands over their mouth and nose and locked an arm across their neck, choking them out quickly and silently. A knocked out body is less suspicious. And can be passed off as fatigue. With several of the gaurds and soldiers placed in hard to see areas he finally made it to the evidence. He placed a few thermite grenades among the piles of paper, hard drives, binders and folders. He made his way over to the bodies next. Placing more Thermite grenades among them as well. He felt no remorse burning them. There’d be a cover up over it. Or people would be too centered on Osama more likely.

Lastly was the helicopter. He placed several incendiary devices and a few of those hyperacid capsules on the partially demolished helicopter. He meant to make sure the stealthy technology and any way of IDing it back to the Joint Forces is gone. As he placed the last device he had to duck into a shadow as a guard came patrolling by. The man looked right at Victor in the belly of the damaged chopper. But saw nothing concrete. As the man walked on Victor decided that was enough. He made his way out.
As he neared the outer wall. He reached into a pocket, and with a depression of a button and the pull of a trigger. All of the devices went off simultaneously. Fires roared, small shaped charges denotated, and the acid burned through metal and plastic. He could hear shouts and cries of surprise and pain as soldiers and support personnel scattered.

Victor leapt off the wall and disappeared into the city.

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The Grunts stared at Victor in astonishment. One of them dropping his class of juice on the table. The whole mess was quiet, as they had all tuned in on Victor as he told his story. Victor took a sip of his Pepsi, he didn’t smile he didn’t show anything. He just nodded, “That good enough of a story for you?”

The soldiers in front of him nodded slowly. Victor grunted then got up, “I have somewhere to be. Anyone who is registered for back up ops on Natalie’s operation, get suited up. I’ll be in the Armory getting kitted up.” He left the room to silence.