FourtyTwo — Roleplayer Guild

The Apache kept on for at least half an hour, keeping at this pace. The helicopter suddenly lurched, the deep fog below usual of the valleys here. It came in for a landing, in a small dirt field, the pilot a skilled and co-ordinated expert at this, or so it seemed. Ross unclipped himself and dropped the last meter rather lucidly, the armor not helping when he hit the dirt, and he got back to his feet, as the pilot held it in position. "Our asset's left behind a specialized vehicle for you, Knight, directly to our north, bang on from this landing zone. This is your stop." The Apache pilot simply said, as Ross looked over to Carl, nodding as he looked around, checking the area with his Mk48. "We're clear, Whiskey Six. Thanks for the heads up." Ross replied over the comms, as he flung out his arm-mounted GPS, already looking over. "That way." Ross simply said, pointing north to Carl as they moved up, the fog thick as anything here, and probably impossible to fly in, if it wasn't for the size of the pilot's balls. Walking on over, Ross saw the small shack come into view, and the small outhouse connected. This place was abandoned, no doubt. Taking a chem light from the top of his chest rig, Ross snapped the thing and bunged it forward, the light shining through the fog as he walked into the small shell of the shack, smirking as he went inside. There was half a roof to this place but no fourth wall, so it seemed like a perfect hidey-hole. "How the fuck they got this here...it's a fucking Advanced Light Support Vehicle, a buggy no less. Titanium frame, looks lightened out, there's hardly anything to it. Wait, hold on. What the fuck have they done to this thing?" Ross said, going to the roof, finding a pair of karabiners, and a rucksack of sorts attached. A Mk19 sat mounted on the back seat, with the seat at the front taken out and instead replaced by a steel floor- further lightening the load. "This is the Flying Devil alright. Holy, Fuck!" Ross said, cackling, tapping it on the bullbar, walking around. "Bagsy driving! It's got a fucking parasail, we can get airborne real quick if we get some flat ground. Try and raid the place...if the fog's bad, use your thermals to pick a route through it and fucking storm right in. Drive out of the town with all three SEALS aboard, get back here, and call whatever extraction we can. Shitting hell, I am so fucking glad I maintained that paraglider training. This thing weighs at least 700kg, and that parasail will have to be large, but no doubt the engine is tweaked out. Just have to get the prop out...damn. Help me push this thing, Carl." He said, looking over as he walked to the back, already beginning to push. "This is so fucking James Bond, no fucking way this is happening. That's got a 2.0 litre four cylinder engine, supercharged no less, I guess it'd have to throw out 300bhp...plus. It can throw out a hell of a lot of horsepower, it might be a little tricky transfering from air to ground. Got to switch the power output and all...shit, there we are." Ross said, as the ALSV was pushed out of the abandoned house, Ross smirking under his armor, albeit sweating like hell from the exertion. He grabbed the rucksack and pulled out the parasail, pulling it completely out in it's entirety. It was a lot of sail, but they needed this to stay airborne- it was 500kg of weight, plus at least 300kg of armored British and Canadian soldiers, the Mk19 and the propeller added to that. Putting the handbrake on, he pulled a polymer prop out of the back of the ALSV and attached it to the rear, fixing it onto a hard point above the engine- this was surreal, and how it would work, he didn't know. No doubt the parachute controls were different to the car's, and he'd need to get Carl to possibly "Okay, bugger. Getting this sail up is going to be hard, we'll need to drive out of this town no doubt. Alright Carl, I'll get the engine started, I need you to pull out the parasail as far as you can and hold it up to a degree. I'll need to get it up, then you need to run in." "Once we're airborne, I'll check the GPS and see what route we can do in, but if I'm correct, the Mosque is a pretty open place. We might be able to fucking baller into there, completely surprise them. Why drive through the front gate when you can drop on them like an Eagle? The fog and the night is pretty bad, so while it'll be like flying with no visibility. Your thermals will be key, mate- tell me vaguely how close we are to mauling ourselves and I'll keep it to mind." Ross said, as he got inside, looking back. "Ready?" He asked, firing up the engine, aware that the propeller would kick soon. Grabbing the toggles from the rucksack, he pulled them down and revved the engine, aware that Carl was going to run and jump aboard, once this thing got moving- in order to make sure that they had the sufficient lift to get airborne.

Andrew looked to the whole grouping that began to assemble in front of him, looking over their various heights, ages, and even sex. The Medic was a sight to see, particularly on a ship like this. There were a handful of birds as radio operators, not as soldiers, Andrew thought to himself; this was very different indeed. LCpl Page was going to be a treat, he guessed- so long as she fought, he wouldn't bring it up, but underneath, he knew that she wasn't man enough when fists came to raise. Then there was Sergeants Reid, and Ward. Reid was an experienced man, someone who Andrew had heard vaguely of, whilst the name Ward brought something to mind. Gold Beach, perhaps. Maybe he met a Lincolnshire man by the same name, and it wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest, that he happened to also be armed with the Lee-Enfield he had taken of old. He was a good sniper, if that still was the case in point. Then there was Jeremy, a pale youngster like Daniel, and Lewis. Lewis's slightly tanned face wasn't something that Andrew particularly cared for, but he knew he was of Indian decent, that was for sure. He seemed English enough, but nonetheless, it was an oddity. The section wasn't as bad as when he had first seen it, but Andrew couldn't feel that this wasn't the cream of the cream. This was the shit of the pile. He had to have the diversity, not a whole group of experienced soldiers who had seen bullets, yet were younger than Andrew was. It would be tricky, but Andrew knew that they were still Marines with reason. And he'd keep that up, God help him. They had to somehow be that, right? Daniel fell into line, as Andrew looked over the lot, looking around at each individual like he was mindfucking them in turn, with a different flair, looking almost into their souls as if he had that power. "Attention!" He barked, saluting as he knew they'd already all done, looking at all of them again, from uniforms, to their general appearance. Tidy, neat, clean- the older lads had worn kit, but the younger generations were a tiny bit more scruffy. If Andrew had the chance, he'd ridicule them on it, but there wasn't time. He had a breiefing to cut through, and that was the most important thing. "Right. You're Bravo Section, 2 Company, and you are coming along with me, or so I've been told...and let me make this clear, first things above all. I run this unit, and you are to fall the fuck in line, when I say, how I say. You decide to take initiative that I never let you take, I fillet you. Decide to run? I, or the Platoon Sergeant WILL fillet you into fucking pieces, if I can get myself over to join in then I'll make it as dragged out as possible. You are Royal Marines, somehow, and we are brothers. Never forget that. Your job, and my job, is to get rid of all that stands to kill your friends by your side. Queen and Country are what we say we fight for. But the man by your side, or in Lance Corporal Page's case, the woman by your side, is who you look out for, because they look out for you. You might know each other already, you might not. Always remember that the savages will not care for that. They'll cut your heads off with fucking Scimitars if they get the chance, so you neutralize those sandy bastards. You don't, fucking, falter, don't think or consider that man's life. You tear their internal organs out if the fucking chance comes, because they WILL do the same to you. I guess if you're National Service, then perhaps you don't know that yet. But take it from me. I'll not be responsible if you chose to be a coward and in the moment, that prick that you thought had an existence like yours turns your brain into mush." He said, looking at all of them again, still examining. "Lastly, do not fuck around with me, not just the person next to you. The moment you fucking disobey or decide to become smart with me, and trust me, I will personally make sure that rather than some RMP man, I end up fucking maiming you in your cell. Don't think I don't have the time. I can fucking make it if needs be, to personally make your life hell for as long as it takes you to realize." Andrew said, barking towards the end, in a way that didn't seem desperate. It seemed very justified, scarily enough, an eerie silence following. "Fine then. I've got you all penciled in for your roles in the squad, and your kit is here that Armory brought over; no fucking around with what you have and haven't got, take it and head to the assembly point by the cargo lift, don't moan if you're not Ally ([This](http://www.arrse.co.uk/wiki/Allyness) ) of the week. A helicopter is waiting for us on the deck of the Eagle to lift us into the fight in Port Said. We'll be among the first of the Royal Marines to hit ground, but it won't be a simple affair. We're to clear the Al Gabbal area of town, named after a local Mosque and Cemetery in the area. Resistance is over a battalion's worth of Egyptian Regulars, with at least the same in Reserves and militia. Poorly armed, but SU-100 and T-34 tanks are in town, so you watch your backs and let our AT deal with it. It's going to be intensive, and while we've got fellow Commandos coming in on boat, and the Centurions as fire support, we'll be up against the wall without armored support for at least half an hour to half the day. We've half bombed the place, but when we get there, stay on your guard. They don't take fucking prisoners. And since we can't wheel them out of the town if they surrender, we can't take them as POWs. You shoot dead anyone with a gun who looks like a threat, anyone that surrenders, them too. They've had enough warning of us; so anyone that even does surrender, we won't have the time and logistics to deal with. It isn't going to be dealt with by some Reservists and neither have we got the supply or time. Keep that in your heads." Andrew ordered, pausing for a breather as he knew it was a lot of information. "Okay. Right...you've got three minutes to kit up, so hurry the fuck up, before you go to the lift. Understood?" He asked, waiting for the simple response that they'd make. "Sir, yes Sir!" Daniel yelled, as Andrew looked them all over, analyzing them, inspecting them. "Good. Dismissed. Apart from you, Page." Andrew replied, as he approached her, walking close up to her, adjusting his Beret as he came within her personal area, almost bursting her bubble entirely as he put his face close. "I don't fucking like you. You should be doing my fucking dishes and taking care of my kids right now if you were my wife. If you have a husband, he's probably fucked off that you aren't. So unless you've been able to do open heart fucking surgery and reattach limbs to people who are half dead, then you ain't a fucking Royal Marines Commando Medic in my eyes. However you got in, I'm pretty buggering sure that it involves oral in some part of your story. Do not get in the way of the big lads, or you'll be fucked up. You stay behind and let the men do the work, you keep your fucking nails clean." He said, brutally and coldly, almost not caring that he was scaring the shit out of her. "Dismissed. Fuck off, lass." He said, coldly almost spitting in his venomous voice, adjusting his sleeves as he took the ammunition for his Sterling, and kitted up, Daniel visibly shaken, as he walked over towards Jeremy, already aware that he was the other young man. "You ready for this then? I mean, this is crazy. Never been in a helicopter before, I heard it's really exiting." He asked, looking over to the other young man, who looked like the squad's AT man. Daniel inspected his GPMG, aware that it felt very high-tech, compared to the older Brens in the section. "I guess I got lucky. Belgian made, I heard they've only got a handful of these about." Daniel said, chuckling as he put the walnut against his shoulder, loading in a box as he pulled the belt out for a moment, before putting it back away, aware he didn't want to load a GPMG aboard an aircraft carrier. He may have been a little regretful that he was here, but he wasn't going to unload into his compatriots by accident, or else Daniel would have been sure of the fact that Andrew would summarily shoot him in the bollocks. He lowered the weapon slightly, the strap around his lower neck holding the weapon loosely apart from his hold over the lugging handle. ---- Within two minutes, Andrew stood by the cargo lift, aware that this was the way up to the flight deck, to get them to their helicopter off the deck and into the fight, wearing his usual Commandos Beret, in it's distinctive and sharp green, alongside the regular uniform he maintained. His face, and beard displayed a certain war-weariness, almost as if he was pissed off from it all. It was his life, but perhaps it was that Glaswegian trait. If you told him he wasn't needed, he'd be pissed. If you told him he was fighting with a Sten again, he'd be pissed, but somehow not too bothered. He didn't have a 1000 yard stare, he had a different aggravation towards life, as if the only thing that really brought his mood up was the fact that they were doing good at killing people, were on track to their objective and nobody was dead or telling him shit that effectively made his job more problematic. When things were good, Andrew just wanted things to run efficiently and with minimal bullshit, or he'd snap. Daniel made his way over, a few boxes in his Bergen, and one mounted on his webbing, wiping some dust off his face as he stood in front of Andrew, aware that the rest were now to come over. "Good? In we get." Andrew said to them all, then looking to the Mariner who stood inside the lift, waiting on Captain Mackenzie's word, aware that the steel cage would get them up to the flight deck; this usually being used for ammunition or weapons loading, rather than squads. But in this case, there were a lot of people going up at a time, and the stairs were full of Seamen, something that Andrew wanted to laugh at. It was a Royal Marines thing- they were surrounded by Seamen, and as much as he knew that the joke would catch light if they came back on deck within his Section, he couldn't laugh himself- he had been in the Royal Navy once, after all. Years ago, at least a couple of years after the outbreak of war, aboard a frigate. It had been tough times, but at least now, this was his life. Forty was his life, and it wasn't going to be taken away from him easily. Andrew couldn't say he didn't somehow question how he acted to people. It was the way things just were. Daniel looked around, clutching his L7A1 tightly, the weapon something he knew he felt tense about, but something that he'd already been introduced to before back at home. It was going to be interesting using it, that was for sure, but he had questions on his mind. "Captain, permission to ask about taking prisoners?" Daniel simply said, looking to Andrew, as the lift headed up. "Go ahead, Private." "Do we have to shoot them?" He asked, trembling, as Andrew shook his head. "No, we've got to book them into a fucking hotel. Stupid twat. If you ever went to war, you'll understand. At least those Nazis had the nerve to be respectable POWs, the shit I saw in Oman...fucking civilians denying that they're anything to do with the minefields they put out, and yet they have a crate full of WW1 era mines in their houses. Even in surrendering, they resist, that's your problem, boy. In war, there are only two sides. The Royal Marines Commando, and those twats that will drive a .303 through your skull. And it isn't just me. Colonel Harris personally told me he has no concern that we do what we have to do. So I suggest you think on that." Andrew said, looking to the others, and in particular, turned to his men, his L2A3 neatly in his worn hands. "Okay, Sergeant Ward, Parsons, you are with me as Fireteam "Blue". Sergeant Reid, you take Page, Spencer and Mills, as Fireteam "Red". When needs be, if I can't command, Reid takes command of the unit. You Ulstermen ain't too bad, at least you unfucked your homeland, I'll give you that. Mills, that M20A1 is something we mustered pretty specifically, so you use it to effect when we see heavy armor. Any Jeeps or Light Vehicles, Spencer and Parsons unload on it. I've seen many an AT round be put to no good use on a fucking lorry." Andrew simply said, the lift taking the team up slowly and surely, Andrew's loud voice louder than the mechanism, audible to the team. "As far as I remember, Ward, you were a talent back in the 'War. I heard stuff about you, I'm surprised to still see you fight with that Rifle of yours, after what I heard happened. It's the same thing; Jerry, North Koreans, Egyptians. Parsons, you spot for him if he needs it, and do precisely what he fucking says; you've got younger eyes than our marksman here, and counter-snipers will be rife in town, no doubt." He added, looking to the overall group, as the lift reached the top, the Marine opening the cage as the flight deck beckoned. The open door revealed the sight of a Hawker Sea Hawk thundering past on the deck, as the backblast and the noise of the loud jet engine boomed, as it flew off the deck, taking flight as Daniel looked on in awe. This was incredible, just the experience of being aboard Her Majesty's Ship, Eagle; a jewel in the Royal Navy's crown, that was a fairly cutting edge ship for a cutting edge deployment. Andrew led the way out, as they followed the Mariner that was in the lift, Andrew now able to hear what the man was saying, the clear deck allowing for them to cross. "Your helicopter is over there, Captain Mackenzie, under Flight Lieutenant Nevis. A fellow Scotsman." The Royal Navy seaman said, pointing over as the blue and white helicopter's blades span up, the blades of of the Westland Whirlwind kicking, an unconventional thing. It was wholly un-natural to Andrew, who knew that this wasn't exactly a beast that sustained itself with the laws of gravity. It pummeled the air, rather than cut through it. "Fucking marvelous!" Andrew yelled back at the seaman, looking at the sight of two of the Sea Hawks buzzing past, headed southbound, as well as the sight of various other Royal Navy ships, destroyers and frigates, corvettes and amphibious landing ships making their way to shore. This was an Invasion, alright. "All in!" Andrew yelled, walking towards the side of the helicopter, the open door revealing the seating inside, rudimentary but do-able for this run. It was going to be one hell of a deployment, Andrew thought to himself. And damn, if it wasn't going to be a point proven that Royal Marines made their work plenty. Andrew grabbed a seat close to the front, whilst Daniel was last in, right by the open door.

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