FourtyTwo

The Conflict

Arran looked over, nodding. His G3 had little life left, so scavenging something else in the meantime would work out well. Or getting another weapon, via some sort of purchase. He knew what he was doing- he had real currency, shit that had value. Silver nickels would as he say, be enough for some smaller stuff.
"There is always a way to get those. By either simple or complicated means. Down here, I guess it's always the hot barrel of a gun that will do that for you." He added, a sharp bump almost cutting him off, as the Hilux crossed over a bridge, the two making progress. He looked over at the dashboard, a small cassette radio nestled on the window. He bunged a random cassette in that already was half-placed inside. Somehow, Arran could only appreciate this. At least they had a good idea of music here, and it cut the adrenaline rush that was leaving town to a vague conclusion in his head.

The better part of the day had passed on the road- and they slowly trundled into the town, quieter than Bekalo. It was a fairly quaint place- not so much packed slums, but more separated, distanced buildings. It was stricken by poverty, but it was better than anything before. Driving in, he kept a fairly able eye open around, as he looked back over. The evening swept in slowly, and had brought a more crimson sky over the African country, the distant red ball of fire coming down over the horizon. Gunfire couldn't really be heard- very, very sporadically, in the distance, but it was almost drowned out by crickets and other beasts of the jungle. A checkpoint came up, as Arran looked to Laz, already smiling.
"That's our opportunity. Those lads are PUF, not UFE. I bet you any money, it was UFE that was shooting us, if the vague pieces of intel I saw are correct." He said, looking over at the logo on a small wooden hut that the checkpoint sat by, perhaps spinning a plan together of sorts. There was no such UFE logo on the car- it was quite literally, a requestioned civilian pickup, and it had barely any fuel, as well as bullets in it. That didn't seem good, but right now, Arran was willing to bet that this was a chance that they could seize. Guns were raised, as Arran slowed down, approaching the checkpoint, two young looking soldiers going forward.
"Identification, Mercenary!" One yelled, as Arran smirked, hands off the wheel and aware he had to play this correctly. He'd let Laz handle the next part- he'd be able to perhaps smooth things over better, his accent didn't work well with superiors to say the least.
"Get your guard chief over. We'd like to work for you." He said, rather bluntly in his Scots, nodding to the bullet holes.
"No, he cannot come here, you understand!"
"He can, tell him it involves our understanding of Bekalo right now, and that we can lend a gun, for a small price." He simply said, as the man relented, one keeping his AK raised as the other headed back, Arran aware that two men wouldn't staff a place like this. It took three minutes on Arran's Citizen watch for the man to come back, an older black gentleman in an older ERDL uniform of sorts. Inside, Arran looked to Laz, turning the engine off.
"You talk to this bloke here. Seems you've had enough testimony at the hands of UFE to give a through explanation of our shit right now." He said, looking at the vague bruises and tiredness of Laz in the aftermath of the taking that he'd experienced.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Markus followed, moving through into the garage, as he swept the rear, looking at the McLaren P1, smirking as he put his own visor up.
"Outrun, maybe. I'll take pleasure if we don't. Remember our exfil. Up in the mountains, we'll need to lose the chopper one way or another. Besides, this piece of British engineering may not be that Germanic beauty, but it's fast." He said, looking over as he opened the door of the P1, bunging himself in as he saw the chopper rumble past, coming into perhaps insert the QRF force. The garage door opened as Markus hit a switch on the dash, opening the garage doors up as he turned the ignition on, getting a feel for the clutch and accelerator, as he bunged it into first, the launch control throwing the P1 forwards, the blue colored Mclaren hitting 40 within a second and a half, on the gravel driveway. Bullets flew past, as Markus kept the lead, rushing through the plywood gate, brushing the bonnet but a needed scenario, as he heard a voice crackle over his ear.
"This is Raven, how copy Jupiter Team? We got your intel, over." He heard the radio buzz in his ear, as the P1 roared down the tarmac road, the stormy Caspian on the right as they headed north, along the private tarmac road, past a coniferous forest. It was almost like Northern California, albeit a little scaled back in the redwoods and cliffline.
"This is Jupiter, I understand. We're moving to Alternative Extraction plan, we've got a problem. This guy has a QRF, and it's fucking on us- we'll be able to outrun it." He replied, shifting up as the car bunged forwards to almost 140mph, the car sticking like glue as he took it around a sharp left hander, the helicopter flying past on the right as he roared it back onto a public road, turning hard at a junction and swerving past a truck of sorts.
"How can you outrun a helicopter? I'll leave that to you, Jupiter. Over and out." He heard, as he shook his head, smirking as he got it back to speed, the small coastal tunnel doing no favors to conceal the fact that the Panther was flying on their flank.
"This...is how you outrun a helicopter." Markus said, smirking as suddenly bullets flew, smashing into the tunnel's side, the partly-exposed tunnel structure taking 7.62 rounds from a mounted FN MAG on the helicopter, which did almost sent rounds into the car, as he swerved left, into the opposite lane, braking hard as the tunnel ended to take a sharp left uphill. The windy route was a tricky one to negotiate, but a joy in the car, jumping from speed to speed, as the helicopter took a new approach, Markus turning hard left around a hairpin as dust was kicked up from the side of the road, Markus just hoping that the helicopter would back off after they got on the straight and narrow, or into a deeper tunnel.

The Conflict

Magnus looked to Edward, nodding.
"They could take you. They won't take me. I know locals, too well- they're purging, join or die my friend. It'd be a fucking stupid idea if they decided to hang me dry with a machete. I didn't sell weapons to adjacent sides of the conflict. I have my ways of contacting people. Similar to what you mention Edward, but not entirely that." He said, hearing the gunfire come close, looking back to Arran and Laz, as they began to head out. He didn't know if Edward would follow- maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. But he wasn't going to die here, the same he knew couldn't perfectly be said of the rest of the people he'd made contact with.

Arran had packed his kit under the floorboards, but kept a few small things he didn't care about on the surface, to keep things aloft. Moving out the hotel, the noise of gunfire was ferocious, as he followed behind, bolting through the window, G3 raised. His bergen was on his back, and his sunglasses over his eyes, with the Boonie hat too. That always. He kept his P226 tucked into his holster, and while he knew the weapon he held was a rusted and antique piece of shit, they had to move. He watched Laz simply slice the militant, and grab his weapon.
"Fuck, let's hustle mate, not much time left!" He said, looking to the anarchy that was going on, no soldiers directly near them but the craziness enveloping.
"Down here!" He said, pointing to another track, moving through a part of the slum in the town, a quick route to perhaps get through. Moving quickly, with a jog, Arran raised his weapon, pointing at any locals in the way to get down, as he moved past, tackling one or two as he pushed past. Transport was priority. And he was a wheelman when needed- they needed to get the fuck out of here, and he knew how to at least put his nerve to the test when there were insane conditions.

Moving through the shanty town, the sight of a couple of contacts by a small pickup truck, UFE soldiers, was a sight to see. Stopping, he raised the weapon, pulling the trigger as he knew that they had to take them down. Arran grabbed the man on the right, firing two bullets as the gun jammed, hoping Laz had the other man. And he did, as he was pretty much ripped to shreds by the 7.62 big brother of Arran's weapon, as he nodded, moving forward, scanning the area across the street, moving across the muddy track as he looked to the body. Even worse weapons than what they had, but he grabbed a small set of keys from one of the bodies, and Arran was moving fast again.
"Cheers for that. Now I'll return the favour and get us out. Evasive training is a little rusty in my mind, but I'll try not to get us murdered. We're more likely to die by bullets than a car crash, right?" He said, cynically and comedically, as he looked to Laz, a little grateful for the save, which allowed them to pick off the two men by the Hilux quickly, before anyone else found out about them. Bullets then began to pour down the street, inaccurately but decisively enough to make Arran haul his ass.

Opening the driver's door, he dumped himself into the pickup, looking to Lazarus,
"Get in the back, shoot from there! We're going to have fucking company!" He simply noted, before he opened the passenger door, the Hilux barely kicking into life as Arran put pedal to floor, the diesel engine spluttering as it chugged forward, out of it's rut, and for the village exit. Arran steered hard through an alley, a few men ahead shooting as Arran simply sped up, hitting one and throwing him onto the bonnet, before a sharp turn rolled his unconscious and hit-and-run rendered body onto the floor. The sight of militants firing AKs and various weapons in the distance could be heard echoing, traces being from them. He didn't even recognize the logos anymore. UPL or PUF? Probably both, he asked himself, as a bullet shattered the front windscreen, leaving a crack in the right corner, as he turned left, into a dip, headed for a shallow stream flanked by a small bridge. This was going to be fordable, or it had to be, he said to himself..
"It's going to get a little wet!" He yelled, as he hit the water, the first drop deeper than expected, as the central silt of the river was shallower, and gave the wheels traction, as they rapidly span. Throwing it into first gear, the Hilux pulled out, scarpering up an adjacent slope as he rejoined the road, taking his P226 to hand from his holster. He winded down the window, already peeking out as he looked ahead, at the small two man patrol on the road. This was total anarchy- the events had only happened within a minute of time, and yet, it felt like an hour. He was good at thinking, and calculating. Arran could guess that Laz was roughly the same.

The two men realized this wasn't a friendly pickup quickly, as Arran was half out the window, P226 in hand. Silenced still, but no less comfortable. The shots rang out, as he shot one of the men cleanly in the chest twice, and the other in the abdomen once, hailing off a fully automatic burst as he came down to the ground in pain, aware that Laz could finish him if he wanted. He put his foot down, the bumpy and dusty trail through the jungle a brutal one, as he exhaled, getting his breath back. He drove on, as fast as he could, quite literally driving as if he had stolen the Hilux. He didn't know how exactly Edward, or Magnus, or even any white mercenary would survive that. Magnus was wise, had his ways, but he didn't know specifically how Edward would work he way out of this pickle. It was civil war, kill or be killed, and the former had it in spades to be doing. All that Arran wanted, was to be somewhere in which he could begin to unravel the strings, and get involved in one of the factions. As much as the white men were hated, they were needed.

A small waterfall by the roadside, in a small siding was where Arran and Laz ended up, Arran sitting on the bonnet, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked over the bullet marks in the bonnet, and the smashed mirror, shaking his head, as he got off.
"That was an interesting way to enter a country, I expected customs. But hey, at least you are armed, and we are alive. Bekalo is broken now. This other town better have a fucking armory. We need to fix this." He said, spitting on the river, as he took his water canister from his bergen, quickly dunking it under the stream's fall, before bunging a chlorine dioxide tablet in- a very powerful water disinfectant, that would probably remove the diseases virluent in even a fresh stream like this. It needed time however, and it would take as long as it needed- an hour before a drink, he said to himself.
"You handle a weapon well. SF too, I assume. No need to ask which one you're from. All you need know is that I'm Royal Navy Special Forces, guess the branch." He said, chuckling in his Scottish manner, looking up.
"And no, it doesn't involve James Bond." He said, referring to what he knew specifically he had said, about Naval Intelligence. That wasn't his department, after all, unlike a certain spy's previous ascent. He took out his GPS, quickly scanning it through, as he found his location.
"In terms of rivers, there's a lot of ways about this country. I've got a boat stashed in the wilderness somewhere. If things go to shit, which I hope they don't, we have that. But it's a chance to keep in mind too. No doubt that roads are locked down, but riverways, I feel not so much." He added, wiping his face as he took his sunglasses off, checking through a reference point for the next town- Mokuba.
"We've got a couple of hours to the next town. We can take a smaller road to get there to avoid the major checkpoints, that they could have. Then, we begin this properly." He added, nodding in the direction of the car, as he clambered in, waiting for Laz before he turned on the engine. Doing a U-Turn, he skidded up the embankment, and headed back onto the dirt path, the jungle route a major thoroughfare, though major rains hadn't hit it recently, and it seemed almost fairly well kept, being hole ridden yet not in massive gullies and at least somewhat wider, to cater for lorries. It would be a journey, but they needed to get to this place, before they were the targets of a manhunt.
"Makes you think. We're fucking expendable according to our governments, perhaps they don't want us to live. The people that sent us can think that. It's a win win for them. Get rid of a scum of society like me or kill the primary dealer of small arms in this part of Africa to bring back some stability for their damn companies. Even if the latter doesn't come to light, no doubt there is someone in an office right now that tracks Scorpion's moves, but never acts you know. A man doesn't live that long without forming enemies. Or very good friends in powerful positions. Something puts me off. If this guy is like a ghost, then no doubt, he's got people that will give him serious fucking military grade equipment, not just from the old Soviet states, but from the West. The UK, US, you name it. We haven't ever been told of this scale. I mean, where the fuck is the UN or even the former colonial forces when you need them? It doesn't add up. I feel it, mate. We're getting fucked over here, and that whatever this lifestyle that mercenaries chose is, it must have a reason." He said, as they hit a huge bump, somehow adjusting the Hilux's path as he looked out the back window.
"Fuck, that hurt. But it's Diamonds, bullion, fucking tribal shit that makes you the almighty round these parts. You walk in penniless and walk away with suitcases packed with diamonds if you're good. But the Heart of Darkness, aye, it is a cruel mistress. Perhaps why it's so fucked up here. The greed of human beings manifests itself in such a cruel way. And frankly, I fucking enjoy it." He said, chuckling, shaking his head, as he looked to his P226 in his hip, and the G3 on the dashboard.
"After four years in a cell, I come out to this. Whatever you came here for, sure, you get paid well and claps a-plenty. I get to leave my cell, get my money back and fucking deal the product that flies off the shelves again, and in kilogram quantities. The white crystals. Beautiful shit, but I don't touch it. See, all this shite was going to hell when we got here. It's a natural product. People here have only discovered how efficient you can murder villages when you've got a AK and they don't. For all I know, I might as well be marked up to take it all and win rather than fucking rot my life away and walk a broken man another day in a cage. Maybe Laz, you got a higher moral than me. But so long as I'm here at least, I'll make the best of it. Make my fucking money, and if that isn't worth toilet paper, diamonds, my boy. Shite that looks like it's able to cut steel on a blade, and that crap. There is no other way you can walk in and just expect these people to be accommodating, they can barely fucking contain themselves in a neutral town. So I say we go to work and get our asses employed. And then, me and you part ways, and I get to leave with more than I came with. Scars, broken bones. Balls, it's all worthwhile, when you have the big picture to mind." Arran said, occasionally looking to Laz, as they continued down the road, ranting as he wanted to get his own views out, and to kinda secure himself almost in it, what he was here for and what he wanted to believe was the way to do things here. And it was, after all. Maybe not to some. But to him, but was what he was going to complete, and perhaps, a disagreement could be there. But it was do-able.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

(Sheet, forgot to post.)
(Also, going to mention- is it okay if Eric finds a pair of Hypercars in the garage? Just as a sort of...well, you'll see. Particularly, one McLaren P1, you can choose the other.)

Markus moved up, shooting the man that shot Eric, moving up through the hole in the wall he created, as he fired on another plasterboard wall, connecting the lounge to the office. The wall blew in, as a few kevlar-armored men moved out, quickly sent down by another 40mm, followed by a volley of fire from the F2000, which meant that they couldn't last long at all. Moving in, Markus looked around, then back at Eric.
"Hooking up the sat connector now. We need to upload the data from this machine. I think this is him." He said, pointing to the floor, the anti-climactic fact that the HVT was dead not being too much of a problem, as Markus shrugged his shoulder, getting around as he plugged in the box of tricks. It was a well-lit office, to say the least, the PC was just some generic model, like most of this house was- a modernist and nice place, but nothing special.
"Upload's going, give me time. Once that's done, we're extracting somehow. Shit, head to the garage- we might be able to drive out of here, under fire but fast." He said, as he could only guess that something fast was down there. Markus worked through the intel, as he got it going, bullets streaming through the plasterboard, as he took hits.
"Schiesse!" He yelled, his Bavarian accent just making it ever more classical as he fired back through the holes in the plasterboard, the noise of men going down on the other side rather than him being a little better. He felt knocked up however, it had hit hard, and he knew the armor was built to take some fire, not a lot. He moved around the corner and used his Glock, the cable making sure he couldn't accidentally holster it incorrectly as he switched back to the F2000. Moving up, he covered the area behind him, the floor rattling with bullets being fired, as he went back inside.
"50 percent!" He yelled, as the noise of a helicopter in the distance could be heard.
"Fuck that sound! Does not sound good!" He added, just praying that wasn't some sort of QRF. Perhaps they wanted to pull this man out, or were simply a more advanced security team. He headed to the window, and saw it. It was a AS565 Panther, a French Naval helicopter. But sold to the Chinese, and also sold to a lot of other countries, as a highly-advanced uttility and even attack helicopter. He couldn't make out if it was armed, but no doubt there was a well trained team of respondents coming, and as much as Markus knew he had ammo, they'd never last through that. Extraction from the villa would need to be speedy.

Year 2058 (Near-Future Military Scifi RP, maybe with mechs)

Wondering if the Recon's still about. Whoever was flying gunships/transport, make yourself useful. Otherwise, there's going to be an Apocalypse Now of a fucking tungsten strike south of that village.

Year 2058 (Near-Future Military Scifi RP, maybe with mechs)

"Aegis Command, how copy? My squad needs an extraction from our specified grid ref, things are getting heated here!" Jan exclaimed over the comms, as he moved back outside, the daylight fully cracking through as the noise of artillery munitions and hell raining down could be heard. He boosted up to a rooftop, barely standing, and engaged his laser designator, as his fireteam held the southern end of the village, looking over.
"Alec, Amy, grab what you can of the Russian supplies and help the defense! Aegis, we need a tungsten strike south of our position, marked with IR laser, hit it danger close! We've got more fucking militants than we can handle!" He added, as Malinka led the others, around a rudimental barricade into the town, around the bus they had used earlier. They weren't armed with Exoskeletons, but they were plenty in number, and one man was already injured in the squad. There was a lot more of them, and they needed an orbital strike, as well as CAS from the transport squadrons, to get them out of there.

Just as the designator completed it's lase, the building Jan was on just collapsed, the reason why it subsided totally unknown to Jan, as he fell with the rubble. A tank round had hit- it was the last thought that Jan had before he crashed down onto the remnants of the first floor, coughing as he looked around. Throwing a piece of rubble of himself, he swore in Polish, before jumping off the building, before it entirely collapsed and subsided.
"I am one lucky motherfucker..." Jan said, as the radio burst open.
"Jan, we've got Mechs moving on our northern perimeter, seem like outdated Russian kit, militant operated. They'll cut us to pieces if they get any closer!" Malinka yelled, as Jan shook his head, aware that they had nothing to deal with it. The AT launchers were dead, and it was better that than them being salvaged again. But now, it wasn't going to do them any good.
"Shit, get Duda to find some man-portable Anti-Mech equipment, guided preferably, and send Amy with him to help. They're going to flood us otherwise." Jan added, moving up to her position, where the rest of the fireteam was. Shooting a pair of movers from the forest they had just been in, he was forced back into cover, as 40mm grenades saturated the air, airburst rounds coming in but not on target, as Jan looked over, firing rounds blindly. They'd last another five minutes, at best, unless they were pulled out or had so much munitions dropped on them it would turn the surrounding area a charred black.

Running with the Wolves (kingkonrad and Enalais)

They continued clearing, and it seemed like they were one door away, when Scott waited, hands and arms ready. They were dumb- one man to a room, out of the four. The police were coming, but that didn't matter. There were more than this initial grouping- and it meant that they'd recover Scott Harris one way or another. Yet through the door where Scott stood, that wasn't going to happen. The man burst in, AK pointed high as he yelled, before Scott then burst forwards. He had learned Krav Maga as a part of his training- close quarters combat in a situation like this. He kicked the man with a low hit in the tendon, grabbing the AKM as he brought him down with an effective collapse and a significant punch to the temple. That had put the man on the floor and the barrel away from the both of them, but the trigger in Scott's hand, as he tried to resist, but it was not in time. He cocked the rifle, pointing it, as he tried to stand. He had no option. He fired, the AK putting a round in his head as the others realized something was off. He dropped to the floor, leaning the AK on his knee, moving close to the dead man. The other searcher walked in, seeing bodies.

One was Scott ,and he was alive, more than capable of doing serious damage, now he was armed. The AK had maybe half a mag left, but from his position, wrapped around the trigger, it was an easy shot. Three rounds punctured the man's torso, as Scott got up, hearing the men from the lobby move.
"Alexis...you need to follow me- stay behind something. I don't know what's going on, all I know is that they want me, I don't know how or why but they'll kill anyone in this hospital to get to you." He said, giving her a hand as he covered the door, then moving up once she was on her two feet. The leader of the men fired on the corridor, yelling, as Scott smirked, aware that wasn't going to do a lot. Bullets rang over him, as he then peeked out, and fired back, shooting the man in the arm and abdomen, putting him to the floor and incapacitating, but not disabling him entirely. He threw the AK down, picking up another one from the man he'd killed from his position on the floor, and found a Makarov PM in the man's back pocket.
"Take this. That trigger fires a round, you have eight to shoot with and one that is in the chamber already. Make them count- if you see someone with a gun, that isn't me, shoot them." He said coldly and rather authoritatively, moving towards the other side of the corridor, watching and looking as he knew that they had to get out.

The Conflict

Beautiful- I really don't want this RP to die, somehow, I can feel that things are about to get tense soon...

The Conflict

Beautiful- I really don't want this RP to die, somehow, I can feel that things are about to get tense soon...

The Conflict

People still in on this?