FourtyTwo

Task Force Hephaestus

Arran looked over, watching Andrew come up to his bench, taking a seat as he asked the question.
"It's a fucking ballache. Nothing yet, we're still sitting here. I've got a meeting with the Colonel in about an hour, I'm taking a quad down there. He doesn't like the fact that his guys are sharing with a bunch of spooks, and if I'm honest, he isn't really in a position to say anything about it. My word lies with the man up in an office somewhere over in that direction." Arran said to Andrew, pointing out in the vague direction westwards, generally towards Langley, Virginia- where the CTRG reported mostly back to, to a joint US/UK intelligence division within the CIA's extensive compound.
"Still, what can you do. Nobody likes this shit stain, they want to be back home not sitting on an island and packing shit away. This camp goes full in about three weeks when they're done packing Rogain away, then the only operational centre left on this island's going to be Stratis AFB and Fort Fulton. They'll leave a dozen men, and probably four platoons of fucking greenbacks (AAF soldiers)." Arran added, looking over at the female marksman in the team- Olivia, or Athena. She knew that when it came to designated marksmen, making the right choice was always key. Just like with a second in command, who Arran had known well enough from Northern Nigeria to decide on. But it was nothing but a professional friendship, this shit existed not because Arran wanted to call them up as a perk, but because he knew that they'd be the most suited.

"Hey Athena. If you're about to suggest you're bored as hell, feel free to join us." Arran said, looking over- the HQ was just a storey high, and was a metal structure, the kind that could probably be rapidly disassembled and put back together if needed. A few bits of rust were in one or two places, but it wasn't completely gone to shit with the hydrated Iron Oxide, not yet at least. His geology just remembered that for some weird vague reason, it was what the brown shit that metal turned into when water and heat acted together on something like this for a prolonged period.
"You spooks really ain't what they say you are." Patterson said, Arran chuckling as he brought a plate of fish and chips over, the shitty salad distinctive. No matter, Arran said. He had eaten worse.
"Yeah, I suppose so. Patterson, how's shit going at Rogain anyway? They finished packing that place yet?" Arran asked, looking over, as Patterson brought two more plates for Athena and Khukuri, Arran eating as Patterson turned around.
"Almost, full truckloads today. We got off early, I swear we're fucking manual labor now, not soldiers. They could get contractors for this stuff, I get paid to shoot people, not lug shit around for a living." Patterson said, Arran laughing as he knew that this was a soldier from the 101st Airborne, and he had probably a right to be pissed.
"I understand what you mean. What can you do though." Arran said, eating on, as he ate on, still inert on how things were going.
"Athena, Khukuri, either of you want to go see McKinnon later with me? It might cut out from the boredom to see the flyboys if you guys are up for it."

---

"Seagull's given us good intel, you've got the transcript." Neptune said, looking over to the other man in the dark office, wearing a full suit and clearly the most formal man in this place. He seemed more than just military ,he looked like a real spook to every letter.
"We're going to need that sub dead for sure. Huscarl knows how to get that done. Bring me a closer sat image of Makyronsi." The other man said, as Neptune panned the satelite's camera, coming in closer to make out the image clearer.
"Fuck, that's it. Fucking Major Arshad Marood, it's the guy, it's the sub we want, we need this done, ASAP. We working on getting Huscarl in touch?" The man added quickly, as Neptune nodded, replying.
"My team is on it already Sir, we'll have him on comms with you when the specs are set."
"Good. Operation Deviant is a go. I don't see any other option. They sail out of the gulf, we have no chance of catching Arshad and whatever documents he's sharing with the AAF right now. I give us at best another twelve hours- the satellite picked this up this dawn, lucky we did or else we would have no chance. We take the sub down while we're at it and clear the waters, and find out what those CSAT recon troops are doing on Altis before we suffer for it when they bomb our troops in the Med. As much as we are walking a thin wire, the fact that this guy brought a fucking submarine and this shit from Tehran that was so under the radar means that whatever it is, we need. Huscarl can figure out how to do this without getting his team killed and putting us into WW3, so we'll send him the images and get him up to speed with this." The man said, looking as Neptune simply nodded.
"Twenty minutes, and I expect that you'll have the details finalized to send to Husky. Get to it." The man said coldly, before leaving, Neptune looking at the three others in the room also by computers, wearing headsets and tapping away, getting the details refined with the sat images, and set to relay everything to Huscarl for the operation. The brief and task was already defined- though the planning element was up to Huscarl to deal with, in order to effectually make this work.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Natalie looked on, watching Victor give her a nice slap on the rear, her giggle one that let him in.
"Yeah, as usual with the press I suppose. I'll find my place in the VIP stand and make sure I'll be the loudest today Victor." Natalie said to him, walking on as she knew that she'd always get her revenge, in one way or another on Victor.

---

45 minutes later, Natalie was in the stand, looking on at Victor and his partial blue and red warpaint. He looked as if he could tear any human being apart by simply making their skin fall down in fear and intimidation. She knew that when she didn't have this bra on, men looked, gazed, almost perplexed in agony. There were many beautiful women, but her face, and her curves, her size and her sheer accent was overpowering, and with a different bra and top on, she would make any regular man pass out in lust. She always wondered where that had come from- it was like her height and her strength, a matter of genetics, just two things that had combined by chance to make the most wonderful features. She knew that if she was a muscle-pumping freak, she would have breasts like deflated balloons, and other disgusting features. A deep voice that made her sound male. Though when she spoke Russian and English her voice was deep, it was still definitively feminine, yet scary. Natalie watched on, a smile on her face. The phone in a pocket on her rear vibrated, as Natalie quickly picked up, sitting down quickly without noticing who had called. It was the man from a few days ago- the Minister, the man who had made the $100,000 payment into her Swiss account.
"The payment is through my dear. I hear it was a mess according to local Cypriot news, they've busted the whole thing and found it out. I said no communication, but I wanted to give my thanks." He said, Natalie chuckling a little as she replied in Russian.
"Well, that is pleasant to hear. I hope those women I found have a better life. But I can't talk now, I'm a little busy."
"Understood. You expect nobody to trace you back?"
"Nobody could, no witnesses, no survivors. You are fine, stop being paranoid." Natalie said, aware that she was saying it out of truth. The man sounded like a nervous wreck, as she cut the call off, putting the phone away. Nothing could go wrong today she told herself, but she always kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The fact that there were so many strongmen and people just felt uneasy with her, and as much as she knew nothing could, or at least wanted to believe it, she knew that security wasn't precisely great. She always considered that if she wanted to do some damage, where would she strike- a technique she had learned to adapt to when she worked in the Alfa Gruppa, in close protection and hostage recovery. And today, she could pick enough holes to really suggest that if she had to be a terrorist aiming to kill as many people, it would be a walk in the park. Natalie knew that was never really the case, nothing like that would happen here- it was too small, too insignificant. But it was something almost hard-wired, and she just suppressed it as best as she could.

Task Force Hephaestus

IC is up! Post at will- you're posted to the small Camp Tempest, and for now, things look quiet, though that'll change quick.

Task Force Hephaestus

(I enjoyed describing Tempest, I won't do this all the time but since for the next few ops we'll be based out of here, I might as well describe it.)
(Refer to the Stratis map for locations.)

1200 Hours, 2nd July, 2035
Stratis
-Camp "Tempest"

The few buildings that made up Tempest were few, with only a ten man posting here in Tempest. Husky was the bulk of them, the rest a few leftover US troops,that only slept here and reported to Stratis Air Base, driving out practically most mornings in their HEMTT container truck with any equipment or kit that they had packed away from the night before. A brown metal HQ sat as the main building, being the operational nerve center of CTRG Husky, as well as a singular metal guard tower near the front, with a large camoflage net covering a tan Hunter (or a Oshkosh M-ATV) with a mounted MK30 HMG, and a neat set of ammunition boxes and weapons set out nicely on a few tables, set in a way that made it look orderly by it's side. A couple of camoflaged quad bikes sat by a parked HEMTT lorry, with a large white container on the rear and filled the last gap in the small compound, with the former earmarked for CTRG use.

Two small metal "boxes" of buildings were the last significant structures in Tempest, with one being slowly depopulated of stored MX and SCAR rifles, and the other being Huscarl's billet. The rest of the CTRG team were camped out in two-man tents to the side, between the exterior H-Barrier that surrounded the base and his billet, with the US troops in a larger tent. This H-Barrier wall was formidable in size, being around 7ft tall and about 20ft long in each section, but was torn apart in places and replaced with barbed wire, or nothing at all. The place was snug, cosy, a comfortable place really. Nothing really happened here, not to most of the NATO soldiers on Stratis. Not even the AAF visited, the supplementary forces that were slowly displacing the NATO troops here and mainly posted on Stratis Air Base and at a significant fort on the firing range south-east of Agia Marina known as Fort "Fulton" by NATO forces. or by them as "Akiontheri". A large pier was just outside the main entrance of Tempest, with a Swedish CB90 fast assault ship, armed with a Mk30 HMG at the rear and a 20mm Autocannon at the front being the largest of the three naval boats here. Two small matt-black RHIBs sat, both armed with old-school M134 Miniguns firing 7.62mm ammunition joined it, for lower key work. From above, you could tell that in comparison to Camps Rogain or Maxwell, this was a very small place, and that it was pretty quiet.

Captain Arran Birgirson walked out of his billet, Huscarl aware that in some regards, things could be a lot worse. Sure, diplomatic tensions against CSAT were at an all-time high. But on the plus, it was summer here, there were no mosquitoes at all on Stratis, and the work that he was called to was sometimes something with Colonel Andrew McKinnon, at Stratis AFB, for a quick chat about things. Two years ago, things had been a little more aggressive, with more operations in Southern Turkey against a key nuclear facility of CSAT's and the recovery of a prototype CSAT IFV, the MSE-3 Marid, one that was now in mainstream production. That had been insanity, and his team remembered it well, but since then, apart from the odd incursion onto the Turkish coast to recon and evaluate the capability of CSAT naval power, not much had been done. They had stuck here mostly, and though he knew they got their hands in the dirtiest of shit, things had been fine for the moment. Huscarl knew most his team was up, doing something at least. They had a rudimental mess hall in the HQ, just a couple of tables on the roof of the metal HQ, along with a basic cooker. He had laughed when they set it up here, but the weather was so good, there was no reason not to. It simply hadn't rained in weeks, and as worrying as that was, Huscarl didn't mind the heat. He wore a navy blue T-shirt, and his UBACS trouser fatigues, a G-Shock watch on his wrist and his ACP.45 in a holster at his hip. He wore a green baseball cap, with a British logo ingrained into it, with his eye on the rest of the team. They'd already done everything that was needed this morning- a good long run with full combat kit, down to Camp Maxwell and then to Kamino Firing Range, then back to here over the hills had kept the team in good shape, as well as a light swim off the coast, just to add to that as a brutal exercise regime of the week added to all the regular activities that Huscarl knew his team and himself were to maintain if they'd be combat fit. It sounded daunting, but any CTRG operator that had said they were not feeling awake was lying through his teeth, and they were set for duty today, tomorrow and every single day if they made plain sure they were ready.

Walking up the stairs off the side of the HQ, he saw a couple of the US soldiers- one being SSgt William Patterson, and another one of his men, Private Baker, cooking something up for lunch. Fish and chips with some weird salad, the latter probably of the poorer military quality, though Huscarl knew the fish was surprisingly local, from the fishermen in Agia Marina. No matter, since his stomach had almost fully adapted to that fact throughout his 14 years in service. that this would do.
"Looks good. Nice day right?" Huscarl said, taking a seat in this al-fresco mess hall, the fish being cooked up neatly by Pvt Baker. Looking out on the view of the Med, this would be considered a holiday by most. But something lay in Huscarl's mind, something that stuck right in. They'd be going out on something soon, it was just too quiet. His radio was tagged on his trouser fatigues, near his pistol, and at any given notice, Huscarl was almost immediately aware of what would happen if that buzzed, that following detailing, he'd go out with Khukuri, get the details, and get the team either briefed and fully combat-ready within 20 minutes, or simply just deflate the fact that they were sitting around. As usual.

"Yeah, damn right it is. Fuckers sold this to me too expensive, it don't look that great as they usually are.." Patterson said, Huscarl chuckling, aware that the Americans here weren't always gone- but Huscarl made a point that they were sharing a base with a clandestine team, and that they simply were defense and dealt with other matters. They weren't to be involved in any operations together, and sure as fuck would not be detailing any reason for leaving or going anywhere unless it was on a need-to-know basis. Patterson and Huscarl worked on that basis- if Patterson didn't ask questions, Huscarl didn't mind their presence among his team. He waited at the table, aware that the fish would be very soon be ready, and his team would know that too. It was far too quiet, and Huscarl knew that at some point, something would happen. Something had to.

---

Meanwhile...
Somewhere on the Faronaki Peninsula, SW of Pygros
Altis

The bald man walked into the small stone house, approaching the laptop on a small desk- his white vest and three-quarter length trousers not making him seem like much of an intelligence operative. He quickly engaged the small powerful machine, up to 2035's standards. Sitting down, the small room little but a small intelligence hive, was what Antos Konstantavolos needed. He took his headset from the small desk, quickly fixing it on his ear, before configuring it back to the internet.
"Neptune, this is Seagull. I can confirm, it's the diesel Lada-Class submarine we're looking for, CSAT-marked. The Peterburg, looks like it's skeleton crewed and it moored on the western pier of Makrynasi island, 2km from me. I ID'd two Titan AA tripods on the south of the island, and one WY-55 Hellcat, armed with guns and rockets by it with at least 5 to 10 men there with a pair of AAF pilots. I can't fully see the area by the pier on the other side, but I believe it's 10 to 15 CSAT and AAF recon units, I saw urban uniforms through the binoculars on the boat, and CSAT navy guys- it's a skeleton crew like I said, round about 20 to 25. Last time a sub rolled in here was three months ago, and they had even less. so I'm assuming this our hit."
"Roger that. Russian piece of shit, but it undermines us. Anything else?" The voice replied, British and distant. The line was encrypted, and on his end, Antos could see a satellite image, already tracking the men on the island from a distant as well as the outline of the sub. His intel from his fishing boat had allowed for a confirmation of what the satellite saw- of troops and AA.
"I couldn't do much before the AAF naval guard asked why I was fishing that close to the island, but they've got a Speedboat with a 20mil and a minigun there. I can't see any escalation at the outpost on the Sagonisi Peninsula, or the AAC Airfield. What is my course of action?" Antos added, as Neptune on the other end chuckled, looking at the images himself.
"Nice work. We've tracked a key CSAT officer to this from Tehran who has a set of documents on orders in the Aegean Sea, that perhaps this stop-off is a rendezvous with AAF intelligence in order to avoid our net of online intel in the area- you know how it is with the Altisian government on this shit. We work with them right now, but they want us the fuck off their rocks, and unofficially, this shit with CSAT working alongside the AAF in a hushed up manner is driving us at Langley in our fucking heads. We've told the Chief of Staff that if we leave Stratis, CSAT will finish us in the region and bring the Altis government over to their side, but he seems convinced that a drawdown is the only way if we're going to want to avoid going back into recession, and that some Mediterranean government means nothing to European and US interest. We both know that as much as the AAF have to deal with us right now on Stratis, they'd happily shoot us in the backs."
"Indeed. The people in my cell is doing whatever we can, we've seen increased AAF COIN operations near Selakano and Molos, and they pulled at least six men out of a camp in the North-West and executed three. It's a fucking mess that we can't even organize an effective resistance, but at least we can keep you provided with intel." Antos said, looking out on the images, quickly zooming on one as he checked a specific area near the sub. The dock wasn't large- it was a tiny island, the sub had barely managed to dock in the shallow waters. But the island was quiet, just a large pine forest and one or two tiny clearings for helicopters. A possible insertion point could be pulled off on the west or the north of the island- though he'd have to report in if Neptune needed more to co-ordinate an operation with.
"There's nothing we can do Seagull, but we appreciate your input on this one, seems like you're the only sane person alive lately. Now, it seems important whatever this officer has, and though they come through here all the time, all you need to know is that we're going to have to intervene on this, and I'm sending the best in. Make no mistake, we're going to have to raze the place for this intel, we've waited months to find him and track him. Your guys do what you do best, but this one my friend, needs special attention."
"We're talking at least up to a platoon-sized force here, and up to 30 mariners with a submarine here Sir, on a speck of an island...."
"Exactly. Leave it to us Seagull. You did your job, and we can sort the rest out. Tell your FIA men to up the ante, make some noise tonight if they're going to make any this week. There's a fine line between all-out war and what we have now, but I'm working on getting something that hopefully keeps us in the latter and doesn't plunge us into the former. Godspeed, Seagull. " Neptune said, Antos looking out of his window and then at the loaded TRG-20, or MTAR by his laptop, as he gave a simple reply.
"Understood Neptune. Seagull out."

Task Force Hephaestus

Likewise man, I'm in England too- just working on the IC.

Task Force Hephaestus

Maybe, but we'll have to see. I've previously developed them in game, then made CSes, which is a little strange. It won't be blue on blue fire, but the forces at some point will be very suspicious of CTRG's actions, and really view them as a bunch of spooks.

Sometimes, but in the way I might develop it, be prepared to perhaps take a team of your own, either as as a regular NATO soldier or as a diverted CTRG one. In particular Hailfire, your character might end up commanding a small team yourself at some point in a subset team, due to plot details I won't go into. We might have a need for boat commanders, IFV commanders and maybe even a couple of pilots that could be fulfilled by us at some point.

Task Force Hephaestus

You'll kinda see along the way- CTRG is involved in all sorts, but think of them as a beyond SF team. They'll be involved in key operations to find key intel on the CSAT, and as you'll see in the plot, things may escalate a lot. They can't share anything with other forces on Stratis, at all, and there's this mysterious sort of thing. So the US and UK forces are all kinda like, "the fuck are they". They're denied as a force existing on Stratis, but at the same time, the forces on the island itself just know it's some low-key group and don't really go there or bother about it.

Things will escalate- and we'll see ourselves playing characters in British and a US team respectively, not to mention a group of Guerllias quite quickly on (third mission maybe), which could be cool. The stuff in Takistan might be quite interesting, since it may be a very specific reason for the team's presence, though it could come later.

Task Force Hephaestus

IC may or may not be up later today. Ideas keep circulating through my head on how to kick it off, but I think there's one precise route I want to go down now- and it shouldn't just be restricted to Altis/Stratis hopefully. There may be one mission in the future in Takistan, a Central-Asian country from Arma 2 under CSAT control- which could be interesting since it may come under CTRG's interest.

Task Force Hephaestus

Awesome- I can PM you about it if you'd like, just to get it perfect. The Titan AT is basically the future version of the Javelin, albeit a little more versatile as it can be loaded again and has some serious modern MBT-defeating munition, whilst the NLAW is a more compact AT launcher, as we'd know it today in the British Army/Swedish Army as a lock-on, fire and forget platform. I'll just mail you in a bit.

Task Force Hephaestus

Awesome to see this kicking back up- I've been a little occupied for the while.

1) Laufey, you can grab the Weapons Technician, who doubles up as the Explosives Expert and a general rifleman. The MX, SCAR and MSBS

2) Queen, you've got Marksman I suppose- I'd advocate the Mk18 ABR (Advanced Battle Rifle), the MXM (Marksman variant of the MX), the MSBSA2 Marksman or maybe a SCAR-H Sniper, for the moment. I can brief you on some marksman optics that you might like, and maybe a Chest Rig as well as a more lightweight load rather than Huscarl's/Khukuri's assaulting gear.

3) Rare, could you add a little in history and skills? I can work with you on weapons/gear if you'd like to fine tailor a loadout (since it's more likely that the CTRG would be using a L22A4 as a PDW rather than the current-gen L22A2)- if it's possble, could your character also carry a Titan AT/NLAW?