FourtyTwo

Task Force Hephaestus

Huscarl looked over, at Zdislav and Irish, shaking his head.
"Seems good Zdislav, nice work- the ridge to our north is bad enough, it don't help us one bit. Fuck, as I just had to tell Athena too in regards to our situation. We won't last any longer than eight hours, no more at Tempest, or fuck, at the very worst, all of Stratis's remaining NATO forces. So we have a very shallow window of opportunity, you two. Charlie's going north to LZ Baldy to scavenge more supplies, and Bronco's taken over Bravo- they should be en route back." Arran said, looking at the map, the vague marked positions of NATO/AAF visible, as well as a rough hatched set of lines indicating the surroundings.
"Good news is, we're going to have a chance here, make no mistake. They tried to attack Maxwell half an hour ago, and they might want to try again, when the light comes, and I hear a buzz from them that they're getting attacked. So we will literally slip into a weakened garrison at Mike-26 as they carry that out, and get what we need done, with maximum firepower and aggression." Huscarl added, looking over at the tactical map again, the entire HQ setup in the destroyed metal structure now having only a camouflage net for cover from overhead.
"Alpha will roll out with Thunder-2, in the back, and once Bronco finishes their recon patrol, they'll take the Hunter HMG and follow them up, to carry out a direct attack on Mike-26. Bravo will roll out as a divided team using the Hunter and going on foot as the screening force to the south as well as helping co-ordinate fire from a mortar that they'll take with them, along the southern ridgeline to provide an angle of fire, and Charlie can bunker in at the Old Outpost on their patrol, and do the same- creating an entrapment. I'll take Delta's command and Zdislav, you'll be also tagged along back to Delta Squad- we'll hitch a ride on "Black Betty" here to a suitable OP, and then move on foot, to get the technical details done. Athena, will need the GM6 Lynx- I can expect things to be hairy once we arrive. All other units, apart from us, will work security on Mike-26- we need the dome dealt with, and the server, and number crunching station inside the building adjacent to it. So explosives aplenty. Remember how I mentioned it earlier- you how this is going to work, and I don't need to repeat the differences. Until the last second." Huscarl said, aware that only Delta, his CTRG team, was at Tempest, and he was out of earshot from any others- the fact that this was being told something crucial, as Alpha was getting to sleep, along with Thunder.
"As for how we leave, we got a set procedure. We've got wetsuits and breathers in the SDV, and we should tow it, or at least keep it handy- there are dead drops on the northern coast of Altis if I remember, two that are simular to what we saw at the Apex Marshall. In terms of the rest, we'll take Patterson, as well as Davis and that Lieutenant Barnes bloke, as well as Thunder-2, along with a few select others in the RIB- people I want when we reach Altis, people we're going to need handy to at least carve some sort of camp out when we arrive there. Remember, we can't fucking evac this entire place- and remember, we're here for one reason. We'll get Alpha, Bravo and Charlie carrying out an assault on Agia Marina and the adjacent Fort Akionteri at 0730, and the forces left from LZ Connor, and Camp Maxwell, carrying out attacks on Camp Rogain, and Kamino Firing Range respectively. CSAT arrives at 0800, so if we're still here, we'll be murdered. NATO won't, and can't, respond- this isn't an escalation, it only goes bigger. Our goal, is to get whatever Operation Hades has, and retrieve the intel required." Huscarl added, as he looked over, shaking his head, as he adjusted his headset a little in his helmet.
"I understand your concerns, you two. But look around you. It's a fucking scattergraph, no fucking correlation, just an overwhelming enemy force and fucking mounting casualties. And nothing will change that fact, so I say we make it damn important that we get this shit done and get the best we can from it." Huscarl added, looking over at Hotwheels, who slid from underneath.
"Sir, it's good to go." She said, as Huscarl chuckled, walking over.
"Brilliant work. Well then, we've got a Hunter to just finish, then we're green lighted."

---

0200 Hours
Ifeastonia, Altis

The pickup truck packed with the FIA guerillas drove in, a Ford Mondeo visible, as it headed into the other end of the village.
"Thank fuck. Nobody would drive at this time of night, unless they're fucking running from something." Antos said, as Andreas chuckled.
"Like our attack down south-east?" He said, chuckling, as Antos almost agreed, but didn't.
"Possibly, but more likely, anything they could be moving from. Make some room." He said, as he stopped on the road, before the village entrance sign, watching the Mondeo pass by, Antos's window open. Some fog was visible, but it wasn't thick, not in a place like this at least- they were high enough to be mostly above it.
"In the car, my friend- Evan, isn't it? That thing looks like a real piece of shit." Antos added, almost wanting to laugh at the old Mondeo, but he held it. As Evan clambered into the back, with the bike on it's side, Andreas and Damien also sitting in the side, Antos looked back.
"Status quo is bad, my friend. Shit went down in the South-East, if you haven't heard. We need people to help us get some forces to Stratis, and you know Stavraou well enough to at least make it look like we're not begging." Antos added, skidding the car back, headed north of the village.
"Best way might not be back the way you went, in Galati and Abdera. Perhaps north of the Kyra Nera Airfield, we can manage something- but after that, I don't know how exactly we'll be able to make it to Faros." Antos said, looking back at Evan, hoping that he'd be able to at least direct and get them through by the time they were past the AAF heliport, probably at that point having to do something a little mischievous, as they continued on.

---

The night flowed on, the hours disappearing, as little to nothing happened through the night. The lights were dead, and a few blue lightsticks were the only sources of light, as well as the torches Hotwheels and Huscarl used, when they tried to get the Hunter back online. Charlie had advanced through a pair of enemy patrols, and they currently sat at LZ Baldy, gathering the last crates of ration meals and water bottles that they could into their packs, before heading back. The hands on Huscarl's watch ticked away, the light becoming darker and darker, with the clock at 0330 showing things looking just as bad as they did the earlier night before. Thunder, Alpha and Bravo along with Delta were in the base, awakened, as they guarded, Huscarl finished with the Hunter, and the situation beginning to at least take some shape. Things weren't brilliant, but Huscarl had napped off for a couple of hours, and at least gotten some shut eye, a good thing even though he was as awakened as he had to be, aware that the noise of bombing or artillery wouldn't disrupt him unless it landed on the base. It was a horrible thought, but it was a harsh reality that had truisms. But enough thinking of that. The time had come, and by 0430, Huscarl had made the decision to take Mike-26, and with Delta, directly destroy it, Alpha and Bravo units doing the initial work and Charlie holding the north. It would be a relentless and hard battle, any way they did it, but after contacting Connor and Maxwell, the last bastions of NATO forces had agreed to at least offer a significant anvil for the AAF to be buffered against. But airstrikes had been rare, surprisingly enough- mainly due to the fog that had crept in, and had made visibility poor, and then disappeared, only to be followed by a barrage of bombs at LZ Connor in particular. Huscarl had contacted Charlie and told them to hold at the Old Outpost's interior, hidden, before then setting up a comfortable position in which to potentially spring south, or at least delay motorized units. NATO was dropping like flies, but as the sun barely rose, the ground coated in the remnants of fog at sea level and down some valleys, Huscarl knew it was go-time. There was none to waste, and his unit knew that too. They'd have to go all in, or nothing.

At precisely 0410 hours, Alpha was moving under Sergeant O'Connor, and Thunder-2, manning the Marshall, had the engine running. The night recon had taken a toll on some, but on others, they were just as fresh. Bronco had the Hunter HMG, and were going to follow the IFV, as more fire that could be added, going down the road that practically led to the gate of Mike-26. The same with Bravo, and they took off, half of the fireteam already ahead on the ridge whilst five men took the unarmed Hunter, the 82mm Mk6 Mortar packed in the back, with a few LMGs for long-range supression, before moving in more directly. Charlie had setup a perimeter at the two roads that headed south to Mike-26, setting up a combination of APERS and M6 SLAM mines that they had salvaged from the Old Outpost's unpacked explosive reserve, and practically created a killzone, though no vehicles had passed through. And Delta? The UGV Stomper RCWS was only a drone, and only meant for one emergency occupant, but Special Forces were ready to adapt, and Huscarl saw potential. It hadn't let them down, not yet at least. The drone's camera feed was visible through anyone that had tactical glasses, and Huscarl maintained control of the system, both the wheels and the gun, though he could just as easily hand it to Zdislav or Irish when required. For that aspect, he'd keep back, and let Zdislav keep the majority of the situation relating to the team contained, but he'd be with them, both indirectly with the drone's cover fire and himself with his SCAR-6.5. Huscarl sat on the front, already looking at the rugged tablet, looking at Praetorian by his side, and Hotwheels, who sat at the back. They were indeed, leaving the camp completely unguarded, but for an assault like this, it was either go all in, or don't bother at all. It required every man, and while Huscarl was counting on the AAF being prolongued in an assault in the south, they were dealing with a fully-functioning Motorized Platoon, plus a few squads on top of that to deal with.
"This is new, but it hasn't let me down yet. Systems good, we all set?" Huscarl asked, looking around to the team as they bundled onto wherever there was basically a surface space on the Stomper, to sit and hold onto something vague. As everyone was on, the drone rumbled, the engine powering a set of electric motors which turned the wheels, already moving the Stomper at a fast pace- bringing them to 30mph, uphill no less. They were headed right out of the base, and whilst offroad, taking a different angle from Alpha, Bravo, Bronco and Thunder units, going almost between them, as an additional angle of attack. They were fairly high on the ridgeline, but not at the top- and the fact that shrubs, rocky outcrops and trees dotted this side of the landscape was going to work well, for reasonable cover, as well as letting the drone do it's thing.
"All units, this is Huscarl, report in!"
"This is Alpha, we are rolling."
"Charlie reporting, set in position." Patterson said, checking his MX 3GL, aware that surprisingly, things had been quiet- and they could easily get loud at any second.
"This is Bravo, advancing to our position of fire."
"Thunder copies, we're rolling to the fight." Ian said, as the noise of hurrah could be heard in the tank, from Lewis and Mitchell, and it almost ran infectiously.
"Understood all, continue with the plan and carry out the assault."

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Jan simply braced himself, aware that if he was on the turret, he wouldn't do very well out of the impact, as he bailed back down to where his 416 was in the passenger footwell, back into a seat as he barely was able to brace himself. The HMMWV was well armored, but it was no tank, and it carried more than enough momentum, do do some seriously nasty damage to the Merc, as they rammed into it's side.

Jan wasn't belted up ,and felt himself be thrown forward, his arms in front of his face as he felt his helmet impact Scott's seat, as the Pole barely came back to his senses as the vehicle creaked a little from the harsh force that had been exerted, opening up the door, a little dazed and confused as he poked the HK416 out first, then rounded the corner around the armor-plated door, reinforcing Zhenya as he pulled the man out. He watched the Russian, as he threw him on the floor, and punched the light out of him, the canister on the floor, as Jan looked over at the anarchy, and the madness, before looking over at Zhenya. This place was completely dead and gridlocked- it was a nightmare.
"Nice play, Zhenya- We need to move, ASAP. Get in the vehicle- up on gun, but keep your head down for now till we're out of the city." Jan said, as he looked back, his sunglasses still intact despite the fact that they had basically crashed into a vehicle at a reasonably high speed, with the HMMWV built well enough to pull away. Opening the door, Jan covered, the dusty Polish GROM operator checking the car for any hidden movers, before clambering in after Zhenya was securely in with the device, before bungling into the vehicle himself.
"Scott, get us the fuck out of here. Iraqi Security Forces could be coming, and they don't like the look of Americans making a ruckus." Jan added, just hoping there was enough time. He had a good chance to get a breather in the car, but the crash had winded him to some degree, and he only now felt the real kick in his lungs of the air coming back. Already checking his rifle, flipping the PMAG out, he put it back on his plate carrier, as he flipped a new one in, cocking the rifle as he took a simple guess that if things went bad, then Iraqi Police or any remaining TIAF militants were fair game.

---

The satellite phone rang, Huscarl sitting in the tent, as he finally heard it ping through, to Colonel Sanderson.
"Device is dealt with, Colonel. EOD just rendered it neutral, and it's no longer an issue."
"Understood. Intel is getting a picture of the global situation- the Russians have promised a fierce retaliation for what happened in Grozny, and we've found a key military stronghold of the TIAF forces- they've been pushed to Arat Military Airfield, in the far north-west of Shirak Province, Armenia. In the lower mountains, but it's snowed over. We want to find what we can in relation to the manufacture- and this airbase is our best bet, so you're joining in with the assault."
"And the Armenians haven't got the manpower to force them back, so they're asking the Russians to join in. Kurwa."
"Indeed. A whole fucking brigade of VDV, Captain Bogdanowicz. We've bought ourselves some time, and instructed them to hold back until 0800 hours..."
"Jesus Christ. They aren't fucking around. Alright, where will that leave us, Sir?"
"Right in the middle of it. You need to get your sniper team to eliminate any AAA guns, and clean out any major resistance. Russian CAS and their supporting transports don't want to get their hands too dirty, so you'll co-ordinate gun runs and bombs on the airfield's main command structure after it's down. We've talked with the Russians, and through Zhenya you'll get those- if you're familiar with JTAC duties, it should be fine. Your way in is via helicopter insertion, in the mountains to the west, and you'll make your way down to get an overview. The snipers will be dropped in the early hours before you, to get a sniping position and get a grip on the situation."
"Good. Any friendlies directly on our end?"
"Spetsnaz, possibly. Though they're waiting for you, they won't act without anything stupid. They have other priorities in the areas- so it allows you some time."
"Great...well, time to go fill my lungs with mountain air again, and have to speak Russian again. So we land in, lase some targets for Russian fast air, go in and get whatever information we need, and then wait for the Russians to back us up?"
"We'll brief you when you get closer, but that's the thick and thin of it, Captain. You'll be leaving by tomorrow. Be ready." The phone went dead, as Jan nodded, already putting it back, as the black T-shirted Polish soldier walked out, into the evening sun at Kisik Kipuri, the US camp north of Mosul they had been at earlier. A particular anchor-type emblem sat on his shirt's arm- something that also was on his uniform in roughly the same place, known as the Kotwica. It was a symbol harkening back to the days of WW2, where the Polish Resistance adapted it as their impromptu symbol. It was what the first Polish covert operators kept in mind, and the Kotwica, or the "Anchor", usually sat atop a Polish flag on Jan's uniform, below his rank insignia. Many other Polish SF wore it, and many foreigners didn't understand why. But it was a symbol of fighting spirit, and after all, was a memory for those who fought beyond what Jan would call a regular state of mind. It was courage, signified in a simple image, that while a small touch, was something he remembered his former CO would always say, again and again. Courage wasn't a state of mind, it was a lifestyle.

(For the next op, Zhenya can have an LMG or Scott can- completely up to you lads. But AT though, and probably a heavier-end of the spectrum in firepower.)

---

Somewhere in Shirak Province, Armenia
0600 Hours
11th December, 2013

Neil adjusted his position in the snow, the rocky outcrop cold, but the set of trees around it concealing it well. Thing was, Neil's view down his Spotting Device was perfect, as the angle was good. The DSR-50 sat to the side, as Neil looked over to Wendy.
"This is what you get when terrorists decide that winter was the best time of year to do terrorism. Fuck." He said, chuckling a little, as he looked down the optic.
"Okay, it looks pretty fucking bad to be fair. I see three Su-25 Frogfoots on the side of the runway, poorly maintained at 1,100m, direct ahead, and two BMP-1 IFVs under a camouflage net, ping that to 1200m, to the left of those. Fuel dump is at the same distance pretty much, and that's further reference left, close to that lorry there. That runway won't get any fucking planes taking off it, not with that ice- so those things are practically immobile. Hold up. Two very old Kamaz Lorries and a BTR-60 APC, going across the runway." Neil said, adjusting his device a little, able to make out a small set of thermal signatures.
"This rifle will go through those vehicles like butter, but we don't want to go loud just yet." Neil added, as he shifted up, aware that they had been here for hours now, simply waiting, already observing. The fact was, they had to shoot at something such as that, it wouldn't be too hard, or at least, Neil hoped- the .50 cal bullet would spiral through it due to it's penetrative measure.

Meanwhile, over on the Turkish side of the border, the MH-6 Little Bird containing the rest of Lima thundered, moving with pace and skill that a pilot would need in these mountains.
"Crossing over now, were are now in Armenia gentlemen. We are five mikes to LZ Echo, check your seatbelts are done up tight, it's going to be a tight LZ." The pilot said, in a rather half-joking manner towards the end, as Jan, hanging off the side, knew it was probably the only reason he hadn't fallen off yet. He wore a variation of Puma, in a much lighter tone, the mixed greys not digital, but a fitting color on his uniform, with the ranking and Kotwica on the left shoulder. On this fine morning in the Armenian Highlands, the mountains they passed over about 1,250m in elevation, the snow had some good effects, but it wasn't as bad as they had seen in Ardahan Province, where they had just been. The Turks had kicked seven shades of shit out of the TIAF, and it meant that they had now had to go over into Armenia, to deal with the forces they had. This airfield, according to the last UAV report, had roughly 100 to 150 militants within a 1km radius of it, and from that, Jan guessed 40 of those would be on the airfield itself. Perfect, if the opportunity presented itself, this would be a fairly simple run, so long as they moved quickly down the hills to a suitable position. Jan had his 416 setup with a winterized camoflage, the ACOG a TA648 6X, with an RMR atop the rifle also. The M320 sat under the rifle's barrel, and a AN/PEQ-15L, with both a IR Laser and Light module, sat on the side of the weapon. A Surefire Mini Monster silencer sat on the end, and the stock was back to a Magpul CTR Carbine, pushed about midway. The Magpul PMAG magazines Jan used were still there, with a Puma-camoflage assault back, that contained the rest of his gear. A pair of heavily red-tinted Oakley sunglasses sat on his face, with a Ops Core helmet, painted a grey shade with a flashlight attached to the side. A aptly camoflaged plate carrier came into play too- Jan using the same one as used in Ardahan.
"Good to hear- Scott, check your AT is good, LZ should be clear but if it isn't, we're going into hell anyway." Jan added, speaking into his microphone rather than yelling to his side, as he raised the HK416, scanning the area ahead, as they brushed through a valley, headed to a small gap in a unforested section of hill.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Part One: Pole Position

Background OST
Yas Marina Circuit, United Arab Emirates
6:05 PM

Ryan walked through the door, the rear door through into the garage, the place already dotted with Forge's logos and and in particular, two Audi R8 LMS GT3 racing vehicles, with crew underneath and around, Ryan smiling as he saw Lucas Holt, his race engineer, come over.
"Qualifying's in fifteen, good to see you back, McKay." Lucas said, patting him on the shoulder, as he pointed over to the laptop on a desk, by a hold heave of mechanical tools.
"As you saw in practice, we're doing the "Championship" Layout- after Turn 3, the circuit goes left rather than to the hairpin and towards Turn 4- following the left, it goes into a moderate right, then back onto the back straight after a tricky left hander- the chicane also included compared to F1 to break up the flow, but it's the same as they do for F1 everywhere else. Apparently, they're resurfacing the area after that, so it'll be barricaded off." He added, as they walked over.
"Nice. Practice times seem good, rubber holds nicely on this surface. The gearbox needs to be shorter, not enough acceleration in the technical section on the south of the course." Ryan responded, his Simpson helmet in his right hand, already overalled up himself as he looked over at the analytics.
"Of course, suggests it here. Very, very good actually- we've hit a great setup for both of you, car's going to be as great as it gets. Race begins at 9PM, it's four hour race remember, so you've got one pit- running hard slicks today, you and Regina. We're aiming for second in constructors, and that's an excellent result for this season. Christian Muller has first place in the drivers', but he's had a lucky run, and upsetting him here might put him in his place overall, if you can pull it off Ryan." Lucas said, the fairly short and overalls wearing chief race engineer's Canadian tone clear- he was from Ontario, and he had a good knowledge of prior GT3 experience in the mechanics to boot.

"Of course. Plus Damien Richards is about three points behind, we've had the talk- you want me to get 2nd or better today, and Regina?" Ryan asked, looking over.
"Well....she knows exactly how good to push today. Sky's the limit." Lucas responded, chuckling a little as Ryan took his earpiece out of his right pocket on his race suit, and clipped it around his right ear, shoving it in, a earplug also a part of the set as he wired up the throat mic, a tiny thing but enough to respond if required- being rarely used. Taking his left earplug, he rammed it in, and quickly checked his gloves, inside his helmet, already placing them on the roof of the Audi. His racesuit was a Alpinestars make, and predominantly was white, with some light red and dark blue, sponsors all over, same with the shoes, gloves and the helmet- mainly Forge, but a few others such as Sparco, and Alpinestars, for example. It was a boring thing to mention, because the cars were the star of the show. It had it's standard V8 engine, that had been ramped to GT3 standards, Michelin slicks sat on the tyres, hard rather than the soft variant for the one-stop strategy planned, and compared to F1 tyres, they were very different. The rear spoiler stuck out a little, and the engine, sat in the middle, was as great as Audi engines ever were. The suspension, the wheels, the spaceframe inside and the aerodynamics of the car had been race-perfected, and this vehicle was capable, in the hands of the right driver.
"Alright then. Where's Regina?" Ryan asked, as he got his helmet on, putting the Simpson X Bandit down, the thermal neckscarf pulled down to his racesuit's collar, as he secured it tight, before taking his white colored Alpinestar gloves.
"She's around somewhere. Your car is good to go, mate." Lucas said, as Ryan nodded, ducking his head as he clambered in, on the left-hand drive car, already securing his harness, as he checked his seat, and the pedals. The car inside was practically empty, apart from the rollcage and the racing dash, the speedometer a wholly digital thing. The six-point harness quickly came in, as did his Hans device around his neck, already feeling competent and confident to press the nuclear-button like trigger of the ignition.

The car rumbled into life, some engineers covering their ears, as Ryan let it tick over, the car alive and rumbling like mad. The suspension was stiff, almost rock solid, and the downforce Ryan had opted for a grippy and more glued outlook, something which really did reward itself.
"Alright, comms good?"
"Seem so." Ryan responded, as Lucas got on his radio, wearing his large pair of headphones.
"Okay then Ryan, don't shred the tyres, but build some heat up in this first lap, and really enjoy it. Remember- not much traffic, so get into it, and we'll see where we come from here. I'll get Regina moving- we've got a half hour session of this, but I want you to be first in, then off before the main set."
"Good to me, Lucas." Ryan simply said, as he sat up, revving the engine as the flappy paddle gearbox shifted the car forwards into first, almost skidding out of the garage as he pulled right, clear as he then continued down the pitlane, the heat of the Abu Dhabi sun slowly dying, as the tempratures came lower, and lower. The track was already illuminated, the sunset perhaps a nice time to race. But Ryan turned his attention back to the pitlane, as the lane began to sweep back onto the track ,he knew shit was going to get real. And rather than going 30 in 2nd, he'd be going speeds of up to 160 in sixth. And this Audi, was going to go and do that today, one way or another.

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

Get the motherfucking defibrillators out, we are fucking back!

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

I set it up as such, it is indeed- this scenario provides something like you'd see in a US series, of a mid-season finale, but really, there's a far deeper bit to go. I honestly think that thus far, whilst things have been tense, it's going to crecendo into Copenhagen, and you'll see our characters undergo a mountain of change.

Team Scimitar (an Over-the-Top Military RP)

Imran finished sealing the last crate back through, into the secured position, the airlock damaged but intraversable unless you waded some serious industrial equipment down here- something he'd leave for the Brazilians to go through themselves when needed. Moving up, the exoskeletoned soldier clambering up the stairs rapidly, he arrived at the top and saw the aftermath of what was going on, every last man dead. The noise of a tilt-rotor V22 could be heard in the distance, as Imran moved back up, to ground level from the submerged region. Antoine and Howard had been vicious in purging the last, and Svetlana's M134 and the several barrels it had finally no longer spewed.
"All Scimitar units, back to my location, middle of the compound. Got a smoke LZ up- we are leaving- Howard, leave it to the SF, they'll die in this jungle if they don't get found anyway, and they can remind their paymasters we weren't fucking around today." Imran simply said, as he checked his Mk48, holding the weapon in one hand as he saw Svetlana walk over, the mailed fist of Scimitar along with the axe-wielding Viking that was Viking coming over two, reinforcing the idea that you didn't take them out with regular methods, such as bullets or grenades or whatever. Heavier things would do, but still...even Imran, in what he knew, could acknowledge a few reasons why not to fuck with them. The V22 began it's approach, coming down hard a few meters away from the smoke, as Antoine and Howard were coming back, the femme fatale and the Mohican bushman who was again, literally wearing a bush that Imran reminded himself was a tactical ghillie suit, were proud of their work.
"Nicely done again. SF are a minute out, I say we leave, while we can- the vehicles will make their way back to us, that logistics' problem to deal with." Imran simply said, as he watched the rest of the team move into the V22, to get extracted. Eventually, as everyone piled in, Heavies at the back in particular, the tiltrotor kicked up dust and was out of the AO as soon as it entered, headed back to Rio to get them flown out to Bouvet back on the C17, and again, ready for whatever was needed.

Two Days Later
Bouvet Island
0500 Hours

It was early morning, and yet Imran had already gone for his morning run. The subterreanean site was useful, as there was a lot more to it than you'd expect. And finding Svetlana, doing pull ups off a bar in the gym in her tight....gym equipment was an understatement for what any man would see if they even spent a second in there. But for now, Imran was doing a circuit of the runway, cleared of ice, as he saw the cool glacier's air. He wore a Nike T-Shirt as well as his Turban in combination with his jogging bottoms, this being combined with a pair of earphones, that had some badass rock loudly playing, as he ran past the coastal sea defenses, the tetrapods and sea wall holding the aggressive South Atlantic from eroding the base away. The former Norwegian Airbase had been almost completely unknown to NATO and even Argentine or UK forces, it was completely and totally unknown- and the way Scimitar had it, was simply through them simply not requiring such a presence in this part of the world any longer. The clouds were only parted by the sun in places, but it was cold, and running had brought Imran's body temperature, used to the searing heat of Pakistan, to something reasonable. He had some people to contact when he got back- new blood, blood Scimitar would need to combat replace a few people, and it was something he was used to. Svetlana was a rather permanent feature, as was Howard and Antoine, but others sometimes came and went. And as he began to finish the lap, already feeling pumped as the song ended and he paced past the vehicle depot, he exhaled hard, looking at his wrist. Five seconds off. Not bad, considering this morning was about ten degrees colder at -20 than last time, and he had to be careful not to pull a muscle.

Meanwhile in the gym, and Svetlana, wearing a sports bra and a tight pair of underwear, was doing what any man would simply want to happily die watching, as she kept on pulling herself up and down on the metal pipe on the roof of the gym, the small but concentrated gym having everything, and anything. For Svetlana and Bjorn in particular, a few concrete blocks and various other strongman equipment had been placed in one end, that Imran would only ever imagine lifting with his exoskeleton, and even then, it would be hard. This was in stark contrast to the normality, or at least, for SF operators, what a gym would look like, with appropriate kit. Svetlana would lift it regularly, whilst armored up, a big concrete ball and happily carry it 50m, to place it on a pedestal- this was strongwoman training, and it was something that was harsh on the hands and muscles, leading to occasional injuries that the physios themselves even grossed out in, but managed to fix. Somehow, Svetlana was more competent at just taking the pain, getting a set of bandages on or pushing it back into place, and onward. And that was fine, as she pulled up, her two melons wobbling accordingly, aware that she hung about 10m off the ground, above the rowing equipment. At this hour of the morning, some were just asleep, and others just did activities. One level below the gym, was the training grounds, both VR and a specialized compartment including a salt-water tank and a CQC training ground, where Svetlana would sometimes...well, have some fun.

Task Force Hephaestus

Yep. I don't want to give a lot away, but the situation on Stratis is really bad, and whilst Huscarl has walked in and basically bought time, the CTRG team has ulterior motives to the rest of NATO, as you've seen in previous posts (and not that of course, Patterson, Stanley and any US soldiers such as Barnes would know, nehehehe).

Task Force Hephaestus

GG, not a problem- Evan's going to hitch a lift with the pickup containing Antos, and with Evan's direction, take them safely to Faros, to get Antos to talk it over with Stavrou.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

It's here- Ross/Kimberly are done, so I'll set out something completely else. This is your racing CS- and whilst the genres of racing aren't defined, these characters will become a very different parallel to what you've seen so far in the RP. This is more legitimate, proper-straight up racing, and serves as a compliementary work. The worlds of our existing characters and these will coalesce repeatedly- but as you know it, you'll see our characters be flung into the fray more and more. The way I want to start it is with little reference to racing teams until the RP really lifts off- but you'll be filled in as we begin Part One: Pole Position.

Name:
Age:
Disciplines Faced: (Touring Cars, or more Open-Wheelers? Or Drift, or so on- name three, for this character in particular.)
Appearance (picture/short description)
Nationality:
History:
Theme Song

Name: Ryan McKay
Age: 26
Disciplines Faced: Touring Cars (WTCC/BTCC), Endurance Racing (GT3/24 Hours of Le Mans), Open Wheel (Formula F3)
Appearance:


Ryan stands at about 6"1, and is a fairly skinny bloke, almost suited to racing in some regards and responding to the reflexes of what is needed. As seen in the picture, he keeps a tamed mustache and beard that rarely goes beyond this, usually wearing a hat of his current race team. Out of his race suit, he'll usually wear a fleece and a pair of outdoors-type trousers, as well as a pair of Oakleys for good measure. His racing attire changes with the team- but a common theme of Simpson racing gloves, helmet and shoes, as well as a Simpson racing suit with the determined sponsors- predominantly of the FIA standard, with a Carbon Fibre-based X Bandit Pro Simpson helmet being the most easily spottable, with the thermal bandit around the neck. At Forge, their color scheme is predominantly white and dark blue, so this is matched at the moment on his race suit and gear- though it will be of course, subjected to change.

Nationality: English (Canterbury, Kent)
History:
Born in Canterbury, Kent, Ryan grew up with a facination about mechanics, and from around the age of 7, was an avid karter. He found racing facinating, and his parents helped to fund it, as he grew ever more sucessful in the national leagues. By 15, he had won the British Karting Championship for under 16s, and it almost seemed like F1 bosses would pounce on him, as they did with karters of this type. But rather, he found himself a different career, as soon as he learned to drive- and it was there on out, where he found many teams willing to take him on, and help him in his dream of becoming a racing driver, at first in the World Series of Renault, where he raced Clios, and then Megane racing spec cars in the series for Pulse Motorsport, a rookie team, growing in fame as he found himself often on the podium and setting fast times. He was approached by Forge Motorsport to take part in the BTCC, and found himself at the wheel of a Ford Focus ST, modified heavily to conform to the Touring Car standards. Following a rookie year in which he provided many an interesting result, scoring many podiums as well as a victory or two, he went into the next year and made an even bigger impact, winning a third of the races in the season and coming on the smaller two steps of the podium for the other third, a decisive victory which won him the Championship. From here, he moved into the FIA GT3 European Series, following Forge's establishment of a race team in this area, and has raced the Audi R8 GT3 ever since, with a new driver alongside him for most of the season. Following a fairly successful season, in which Forge placed itself second on the Constructors, and Ryan was 2nd and yet unable to win, his impact has been profound in regards to the series' competition- though his partner in the team has also presented themselves as a rising star like him, and as the racing comes to Yas Marina, Abu Dhabi for the finale of the series, Ryan has many choices to make on what next.

Other:
-Likes the outdoors, and in particular, hiking.
-Favors Monster over Rockstar, any day (contra to the hat, yes).
-Ice-Cold under pressure, both defensive and attacking. He can sit behind an opponent for hours, if needed, and pounce intensely.
-Weak with Drift/Tuner Cars
-V. Strong on traditional/fast flowing circuits (ie. Thruxton, Silverstone, Nurbergring-Sud)
-Moderate on Street Races (Singapore, Dubai)

Theme Song: Biffy Clyro OR UNKLE

Race Team Status: Forge Motorsport, GT3 (Endurance) (Livery Example on First Car)

Parts:

Part One: Pole Position
Part Two: Horsepower
Part Three: ????
Future Parts to be Noted Here.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Jan watched the car with stern eyes, still moving full pelt. Most people would probably give in, but SF operators, such as himself, Scott, Zhenya, Wendy as well as Neil and any that he had served with in this line of specialized work, would understand the reasons not to, and keep moving. The noise of the Humvee from behind was enough to make Jan almost burst past some of traffic.
"Right about now Scott!" Jan said, as he saw the heavy protected vehicle rumble past him, skidding to a stop as Jan moved quickly to the side, throwing himself into the back of the jeep, as he pulled the door shut after they had begun moving, already looking over at Wendy and Neil, who were already inside. Jan looked over at her, as she readied her Mk14, to take the shot when required, as Jan himself heard Zhenya on the other end, about what he'd done. Crafty bastard, he thought to himself- he had taken a wrong turn, but by purely making a traffic jam, it bought time.
"Neatly done Zhenya- we expect him to be coming your way, be ready for anything." Jan said, exhaling hard, as he sat up a little, looking to the occupants of the Humvee now.
"Pull a left here, that's what I last saw of the Merc. I'll jump up on our .50- Wendy, get your door opened up and get ready to shoot precisely." Jan said, as he barely checked his own HK416, already crawling as the car jerked around some cars, Jan picking the M2 Browning's holds at the back, already setting his Oakley gloves around the large caliber HMG, cocking a round into the mechanism as a 12.7mm casing came out, the weapon loaded and ready to fire.
"Okay, Zhenya, he's going right for the junction, they're deadlocked even from here...trying to move still...Scott, try the sidewalk, I see a clusterfuck right ahead!" Jan barked, as he tried to aim the weapon in the direction, not willing to fire until he had a clean shot, then opening up wouldn't be a problem. But till then, civilians could be caught in the crossfire, and it would get nasty- something Jan of all people, wanted to avoid. Yes, civilians would suffer, but it didn't mean racking up noise.

The Mercedes tried to wind past, and itself, traded paint, pacing as best as it could, but the traffic was getting worse. The vehicle wasn't going to move past the trucks, and it seemed Zhenya had done hist best, the lorries almost completely blocking off the route. But Jan had to simply watch, as the Mercedes didn't stop, it in fact, did the opposite, as it barged past a car, the chassis just about coping as the front bumper crumpled, but it shoved it's way through, headed to the front of the convoy.
"Shit! Zhenya, incoming, right side of the junction from you!" Jan yelled, realizing in horror where Zhenya was in relation to the car, as it tried to barge through. But the way Scott had driven had bought more than just time- it had meant that they were literally behind the Mercedes now, and within 10m. That was enough, and Jan only took one assumption, as to how it would stop. He had to open up, now or never.

The M2 Browning barked loudly, as the tarmac behind it was hit, Jan putting a few more rounds a little more accurately a little higher, the car almost deforming in part at the rear as the tyres were penetrated, the sheer force of multiple 12.7mm rounds punching through the steel like it was nothing. It wasn't a tank, it was just robust German 70s construction, and it did little now. The tyres buckled, as the car span to a halt, a few meters in front of Zhenya, as Jan knew they had to capitalize.
"Scott, fucking hit them! Eyes in the passenger footwell, they're going for it!" Jan said angrily, the car almost skidding to a halt on the destroyed rear wheels, colliding side on with the front truck, Jan taking a guess that the men would try and disembark, and run. Perhaps permanently stapling them and pinning the occupants would work- and while it was a thought that wouldn't be first and foremost on any SF operator's mind, the canister was secure enough to take an impact, and Jan only guessed that the men would try and do a last ditch attempt, and detonate it here. That, could not happen, and by any means, a bullet from Zhenya or Wendy or the front bullbar of the HMMWV, would be what was required. There was no point firing the .50 here- it would be ridiculously pointless, and too destructive, as well as inaccurate- it could hit the lorry and ricochet, doing damage that Jan didn't want.