FourtyTwo

Steam Powered Europe (working title)

Riight...this is the guy that fucking spent a year's worth of studying on the topics of Russia/Germany between 1871 and 1914 and did an exam today on it :D. So this is somewhere I'd be very happy to advise.

I mean, this is what the general status quo is in the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War. France was quashed, but came back somehow after paying back repirations to Germany and the loss of Alsace Lorraine. By 1875 however, suddenly, the War in Sight crisis arises. The Germans start flaunting around that the French are being directed by the POPE HIMSELF to declare war on Germany, and is why Germany initiated the prior to it the Kulturkampf- a Anti-Catholic sort of set of laws that basically sent a rift through Germany's Catholics. In return, the French say that people like Bismarck (German Chancellor badass of the fucking 19th Century) is just war-mad, and wants another unprovoked war against Germany. What happened? The Russians go back on a triple agreement they had with Austria and Germany and say to Germany "Cut your shit out, another war will fuck everything", and the Germans casually step away from threats. For the next 39 years, we didn't see European war, we just saw threats, tensions and a few Alliance systems form which carved power blocs in Europe.

But imagine an alternate world, where the Franco-Prussian War had driven more? The Prussian Empire, then the German Empire, has gone into the world's predominant production of airships and in particular, mechanical contraptions that wonders the world from 1860 onwards, where it used the revolutionary armed airships to simply bombard the French at Sedan and almost completely and utterly level them . The British Empire even stands behind the German production in terms of size, their regular Royal Navy on sea now outmatched by German Airborne Corps' flying goliaths- with British airship forces advanced but few in number, with German industrial production exponential and making the French, who have only recently developed a few ships, very vulnerable. Germany's claims to France are even steeper, with the inclusion of the city of Lille and the Alsace-Lorraine region, and Bismarck's dream to create a union of German-speaking peoples (something that he never wanted actually, just an alliance) escalating the threat when the "War in Sight" crisis arises. The revanchanist politicians of France have little to no idea that when Germany and perhaps Austria-Hungary form an alliance, way, way before the Dual Alliance system of 1879 that they created. And then, a unification beyond the mere creation of Germany. The creation of an enhanced Germanic Alliance in Europe, with a huge force and number of men frightens the entire world, let alone Europe. The creation of a strong Navy to reinforce future Colonial desires by the German Empire (something we saw under Tirpitz) is sidestepped by Germany, as it makes it's Airborne Naval Fleet the most prestigious in Europe, headed up by Alfred Von Tirpitz himself, a prodigy in Airborne affairs- and the realization that Germany does not want a Colonial empire, but a European one under the German flag, becomes a possible reality. When France starts yelling back to a Germany who threatens France's inclination to attack, problems arise. Even the Russians under Tsar Alexander III, who remain backwards, see the only option being to support Germany in a non-aggression pact, lacking it's own airships- and this, created a sticky situation, as the British do not want to become embroiled in a war that would potentially cost them their entire Empire in Africa, which has helped fund the Royal Navy's supremacy over the waters. In turn of airships becoming common-place, the elite Royal Aerial Navy, as well as the Royal Airborne Marines become a small but highly-trained British response to the events in Europe, with Britain watching like a Hawk over the next conflict, aware that the conflict will be ultimately the largest-scale war in the history of humankind with the technology, and scale involved.

This is perhaps where our characters begin- the very, very fine line between all-out war of airborne airships, mechanical devices and the drive of steam-based technology that drives the world to innovate exponentially. Bismarck simply wants a fast, short and clean war with the combined unified might of the Germanic-speaking peoples of a Greater Germany (encompassing all of Austria-Hungary) to completely disarm the French of any chance of opposing them in the skies, and Britain and Russia can only watch on, in fear of what happens next. The princes and men across Europe, despite however much they stand to gain from war or however much they stand to lose, can only do whatever must be done to prevent the world from becoming alight.

---

Yeah, if you want some help with planning this period out, let me know.

Rare's Interest Checks of 1x1.

Likewise- the Battlefield one sounds cool, perhaps from the BF3 Spetsnaz perspective? Also, why u leave Hephaestus? Shit just got real, and you can always jump back into your character- if you just didn't like it, that's fine.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

(A temporary end for the Super-Heavies after this- we switch to the snipers, then bring in the Jugs, then the Heavies again.)

Natalie put on a smile, looking over as she set her rucksack up on her back, and took the M134 in both hands. She rearmed with her explosives and other kit, feeling a little pressure build as she looked over to Victor.
"Hang on." Natalie said, as her gas suddenly erupted into flames, as she then cut out, and exhaled hard. She kept her visor down, lumbering the heavy weapon in her two arms, as she then looked back at Victor, a sort of smile on her face.
"That one was evil as hell, that felt good." Natalie said, as she then finished up with gearing up, and looked over towards other icy peaks.
"We could steal those plates, but they are too irregular, and don't exactly look like they would you know...suit us well. We wouldn't have enough time to improvise it, and it would be loose anyway. Though I tell you, next time we find one of those suits and it hasn't got an occupant, I am so stealing one. Don't even care Victor, I will fucking show them how Heavies do this." Natalie said, looking at Victor, as she scanned her perimeter, the blue UV setting on now as she looked for enemies.
"Chinook should be here in 20- we're going across the mountains to this Camp "Vulture" or whatever it is. Might need the chutes again, though I really fucking hope not- mine isn't exactly perfect." Natalie said, as she sat on the crate, the polycarbonate bending as she looked around, aware that they were waiting now.
"Victor...thanks. We almost died then, you know- imagine if that was accurate..we might be having our body bits cleaned up and that smug bitch would be dancing over my body."

15 minutes later, the Chinook flew in, barely passing over the mountain ridge, as it circled round, and a team of eight Navy Seals jumped from the rear. They were in shock, as the two super-heavies then suddenly stood up, Natalie and Victor walking like they had really burnt the ground to pieces. They looked over, as Natalie turned her head.
"We did the dirty work- you secure this shit, and clean up if anyone else comes. Oh, and you can stop looking at us- we understand you value us as your Gods, but don't be kiss-asses and stare. Thanks." Natalie scared, the leader of the DEVGRU squad even scared when she heard the female, Russian-accented voice through his comms, as Natalie walked onto the back of the Chinook, the man turning his head away, as he led the others, sweeping the area and setting up a perimeter for more forces to come in. Meanwhile, Natalie found a place in the back of the Chinook, already taking up two seats, as she widened her legs, feeling the fans and the cooling system really kick now, as she exhaled hard.
"Woo! Let's fucking rock, gents- you're to get fuel apparently from over in China, then take us to Vulture, so I would hop to it." Natalie said, as she looked to Victor, aware that they were moving out now- the Chinook rising as they were headed out- and though they'd be a little while, till their drop at 0400 hours at the camp, they had spent about 45 minutes on the site, and it had been cleaned out.

---

0300 Hours
Somewhere in the region close to Mount Haras

The noise of quadbikes was actually quite quiet, but the mountain paths of area were hard to negociate and steep, tricky and altitude-sickness inducing. The first one, winter-camoflaged, flew over the salient of a small emankment, Andrew's face smirking as he led the way up the snowy track, up the mountain. He revved the engine, already going over a salient on a rutted path, that had seen a landslide. He checked the GPS, and the XM500 Anti-Materiel sniper rifle mounted on the front bullbar of the Quad, with his Mk14 EBR on his back with a 4x ACOG and a canted optic along with a silencer and laser pointer, whilst a Mk23 pistol sat in his holster on his right, a sharp Gerber knife- the two white ghillies pacing through the mountains.
"Haha! We are closing on OP "Switchblade", we've got a AAA site to take out from there. We'll need to hide the quads- fuck, this is sweet though." Andrew said, keeping ahead on the narrow, less-well traveled trail as he churned up snow, already turning uphill onto an even smaller one, barely able to get past. They were very high up- and the morning was as cold as hell. Combined with wind chill, even the ghillie and the Arctic gear he wore was still cold. The quads paced upwards, as Andrew heard the distant noise of a lorry. He hit the brakes, the thin ridge of the mountain track overlooking a more well-traveled path. It was 500m out, but the truck on the other side of the mountain ridge, was easy to spot. The daylight was just about to break- with this altitude giving even some limited extent of the rising sun's visibility on their horizon.
"Lorry, target of interest. We're to engage anything up here, break out the rifle..." Andrew said, stopping his quad as he looked at it, bringing his XM500 to bear on it's bipod at the front of the Quad as he checked the TWS optic, magnifying as he checked the rangefinder.
"Target is 552m, closing in at a rate of about half a meter a a second as he goes down that road heading west...wind speed, 10m/s north, so the bullet will carry a little on the wind. Possible crosswind to the east, slight though. Zero to 520, fire when ready- remember, eliminate the truck. Looks like ammo." Andrew said, as he readied his own shot, watching the lorry drive down the road. He adjusted his own sights, and waited on Nolan to fire, aware that it was slow moving, yet an easy target to take on. They were about six km out from Camp Vulture- which was merely a hidehole for their equipment, as well as a sort of place to co-ordinate where to go. The truck was moving closer to Andrew's mark, as he readied his winter gloves on the trigger, waiting for the moment to strike and unleash hell. It would be loud, but it would do the trick- and then they could move to the OP to wipe out the SAM site.

Heavy Nazis, Heavy Guns- Restarted (ONL and kingkonrad)

"A man like me has it, Jakob. It's natural- Officer training at my level practically sets it up for you, as well as the fling I had when I was younger and raring to fight as an officer. Sadly, her father thought otherwise- he was a Socialist. I won't go into what happened, but I think it never would have worked." Felix said, as he looked back at Jakub, a certain look on his face.
"Ah, he will find someone, Hans will somehow." Felix said, chuckling a little as he knew he was ripping into Hans a little.
"With respect, fuck you Felix. Everyone has their time, and like Jakob said, you are married to your uniform. You know which one." Hans simply said in response to that, as Hans drunk up a little more.
"Perhaps. I hear we are to be deployed soon. Scotland was hell, Felix- we were fighting even on the Shetlands, can you believe? They are so desperate now, they will hold onto the last finger of their country! Well, at least they are gone, and perhaps they'll either freeze or just cede Iceland to us."
"It will never be as easy as that, my friend. We have matters to deal with there- and I hear Ludwig has done quite the work with our equipment." Felix said, looking to the three.
"Back on the topic of women, I think that you know, Rudolph, you have a good chance. I heard rumors between you and Victoria...apparently, you two are quite the pair, or so I've heard?" Felix added, looking over to his fellow German, as he drunk a little more beer down. He was usually a little more reserved, the thin and tall Major perhaps not the man you would have thought was Tyrant, Hell incarnate for some people.

Task Force Hephaestus

(We've lost a few people, I know- but I do want to get a few more in via a recruitment drive I'll start on Saturday, to fill in the gaps. Sadly, Queen isn't around for this RP, so bringing some more people in will be good.)

The boat thundered onwards, the RIB going over the waves as the sun finally set, the dark clouds above amplifying what was going on. Arran put his NVGs down, as they left Pyrgos Bay, and were heading south. A helicopter could be heard in the far distance- they were reinforcements for what was going to happen. He knew that there wasn't a chance they would be within radio range before it happened- and Huscarl knew that while it wasn't the favoured option, they had to get to work.

Meanwhile on Altis, Antos looked over at the laptop, as it finished up. He was speechless, and knew that Mihail and himself were still taking it in.
"Fucking rats. They're going to get rid of us. Huscarl wants us to somehow rally several squads of FIA and go by boat there...because that's going to be going by Aramis easily. Come on, let's get the fuck out if here." Antos simply said, pulling a lighter out and lighting one of the curtains close to the desk, aware that the computer was now in the process of frying itself, and would be completed just about...now. Antos smirked, as he watched the flame catch, and soon, this shit would be completely gone. Even if AAF or even CSAT found it, the intel was gone, and completely dusted- now he knew that they were going to have to get moving. Walking back to the pickup, Antos clambered back into the driver's seat, letting Mihail jump in, as he started the engine.
"Fuck...what now, I guess. Hide the Rahim as best as you can, we'll go to the Surf Club, I'll get Damien and Andreas there, and we get out of here. Got to make a call to Aramis too." Antos said, as he accelerated down the tarmac road, headed for Pyrgos.

Driving through the capital city, he kept his speed down, looking at the AAF Striders and vehicles that felt to him like they were on every fucking corner of the road. He felt eyes on him, and it felt bad. Turning the corner, he hit another major road, signposted for Dorida and Chalkeia. He opened it up, taking his phone out- aware that as much as an offense it was, there wasn't any traffic today. He had the number up, and was dialling for Aramis.
"Aramis, you there? It's Antos, shit's going down, you can't assault Feres Airbase- trust me, it would be a very bad idea." Antos simply said, as he looked down the road, Aramis laughing.
"What, and let us get crushed? Tell me how!?" Aramis replied angrily, as Antos sat up.
"Look brother, CSAT are here, they mean business- I met with an intelligence contact, they say the AAF is deploying more forces on Stratis to displace NATO troops, kill them Aramis. We need some squads to help the NATO troops, or they will all be killed? Just abandon your plan, Feres Airstrip will be covered in AAF platoons waiting to get flown out to that island, it would be insanity to go there!" Antos said, the voice of reason brushed completely off.
"That means there is more to kill! The men are briefed, we have mortars and at least 25 men up for the assault, even a few Technicals with fifty cals! We can destroy the place, stop those men from deploying to Stratis! I am not sending you with a bunch of our men to help the forces that were killing us five years ago, you remember that?" Aramis said, almost furious.
"Aramis, don't be a fucking fool, that place is going to be reinforced to the hilt! You and your men will all be dead, I am begging you now, just keep your heads down and take on smaller fish- and believe me, our man says that they desperately need help." Antos said, as Aramis replied instantly in anger.
"Well, I thought you were a member of the FIA, a man of fucking valor and honor, I guess you have no balls at all. I do not care if some American soldiers die, but we seize from these traitors an airbase, then we shall hammer the point home!"
"And what, if you succeed, CSAT will come and kick the door down. Don't you listen?"
"You are doubting our strength, we are armed well now you brought us supplies, we must fight or be crushed! Antos, get yourself to Aktinarki, we are massing there- I expect to see you in three hours."
"With all respect, Aramis, you're fucking crazy. Just think what the AAF and CSAT forces will retaliate with- NATO is giving us a chance to help them, and kill AAF forces, and you're just going to waltz into an airbase? No, Aramis, you can say what you like, but we are done- I'm grabbing my shit and heading up North-West, at least they have fucking sense." Antos said, as he cut the call, Aramis about to yell as he looked to Mihail, the road winding as it headed southwards now. Antos skidded the pickup and turned off the road, lights on, as he drove into Dorida, flooring it through the town.
"Bastard! You fucking heard Huscarl, if they want to bring more AAF forces, there's a big fucking helicopter and CAS aircraft airfield that's full of AAF platoons just waiting to go, and they think one or two mortars, a couple of technicals with guns on the back and some fucking men with TRG-21s are going to raid that place? They're going to die. Shit." Antos just said, looking over as they hit a dirt road, the salt marsh of Limini visible as they were closing in on the Surf Club.
"I didn't direct that at you, sorry. Look, we'll get Damien and Andreas, fuck off from this part of Altis, and get to Fotia, on the west coast of Altis. Andreas won't be happy, but he knows that we go in there, Aramis is going to be cleaning up his left nut after what they'll be hit by. Maybe we can talk fucking sense with Stavros, get him to at least agree that we need a boatful of men to go to Stratis- he should be far more willing and sane." Antos simply said, checking his phone again as he dialled for Damien. The phone rang, as the bumps were sharp, Antos slowing his speed down significantly.
"Antos, what's up man? You heard about..." Damien said, as Antos just simply cut him off.
"I know, Aramis is fucking mad, he wants to assault Feres Airbase, and somehow defeat several platoons of AAF and somehow take over the place, etc.- in short, he's going to kill everyone. Look, can you meet us at the Surf Club, close to Cap Kategedis? My shit's there, we're leaving for the North-West, I will explain when you get there. Bring Andreas- he's going to be pissed off, but when you hear what I heard from my contact, it'll be worth it." Antos said, as he carried on, the salt marsh by the left of the car as they continued down the dirt path.
"Yes, I can- wait half an hour, I'll get my bike on the road. I'll bring him along- whatever it is, I really hope it's worth it."
"It is- let's say the fucking AAF are going to eliminate NATO forces on Stratis, and we got CSAT doing COIN operations with the AAF within the week. I don't like it either, if Aramis is going to do what he's going to do. Stay safe, brother- meet you there." Antos said, putting the phone down, as he stuck towards the Cape, aware that the Surf Club was long abandoned.

Pulling up, he looked out on the dark sea, turning the engine off as he looked at the beach, once a surfer's paradise, now empty. He parked the pickup by a small shack, that had been rotting for the longest while, with a few dunes with Marram grass also around that stopped the shack being right by the sea.
"Fuck, would have been nice to go surfing here in the good days. Try that now, you'll get a fucking ticket from the Altis Police." Antos simply said, chuckling as they waited, and waited. Just coinidentally, the next track on the MP3 stereo of the pickup was this, the irony killing Antos a little. He was into his music, to say the least- it gave him some relief, as he knew it wouldn't exactly kill them outright.
"Now we wait."

---

(Maps are here, just to remind you.)
Altis
Stratis

"Husky's Fishhook"

2200 Hours
Somewhere off the Western Coast of Stratis

OST (This is actually made by a mate of mine, goes quite well.)

The RIB tore through the waves, the southbound CTRG team now moving back to Stratis, the moonlight the only illumination apart from the very distant lighting on the island, and the occasional flare that seemed to perhaps brighten a hill or two- mortar fire or explosions of some sort. Their radio channels were set to hear out on NATO comms, and though it was only short range, Arran could just about pick it up now, vaguely.
"This is Lieutenant Andrews of Hoplite Platoon, we have lost all contact with Stratis Air Base and Fort Fulton, repeat, we have lost all audio contact with Stratis AFB and Fulton! Any units this net, Green on Blue, green on blue! All long-range comms are gone, Colonel McKinnon and Major Strickland are MIA, we are in retreat to Camp Tempest and are currently waging Scortched Earth warfare on our retreat, we are currently under heavy AAF fire from..." Arran heard, the voices coming in and cutting in and out, Arran swearing as he lost the end, static interfering as he looked at the rest. He had lost the signal- they couldn't talk back, at least, not till they closed the distance or re-established radio contact with someone else. Andrews was 2 Platoon- and they had left Camp Rogain, it seemed. Perhaps SSgt Patterson was with them, or he was defending Tempest.
"Fucker. Okay, we're approaching the Apex Marshal now. It's a destroyed fishing vessel of some sorts- we've got explosives and weapons stashed there in a crate of sorts. Since we need to rearm in terms of weaponry and get some more explosives, it's our only bet- and I sure as hell don't want that base in their hands. Praetorian and myself will go down and find the crate and retrieve it so we can resupply- we'll need to use the glowsticks to illuminate the way down, as the wreck is at 30m below sea level." Arran said, looking at the GPS on the mount close to the steering wheel. They were almost on top of it, as he stopped the boat, moving away from the wheel as he took his helmet and his vest off, also dumping his pack as he got one of the rebreathers on- aware that whilst they didn't have wetsuits, this would do for now with just his uniform. It was a very compact design- it was worn like a vest, with a compact tank on the back and a webbing on the front. There was a light spray of rain, Huscalr now getting his flippers also on, to give a better speed while moving through the water.
"Okay, sit rep is as follows- Athena, you carry on leading Fireteam Bravo 2, you take Irish and Hotwheels down south to Girna, to secure the village and get set for FIA to arrive. Me, Mischief and Praetorian will continue to Camp Tempest after we bring this shit up- and find out what state it's in. We'll then have to get to work on moving from Tempest to Mike-26, up the road, and with NATO forces, reinforce our positions before AAF forces consolidate their assault. We've lost the northern half of the island- so it's going to be a fucking warzone when we get back." Arran said to the team, as he sat on the side of the boat, now dead in the water despite waves. He had no NVGs now, so the water looked as black as anything, but from the GPS on his arm, they were right on top of it now. Taking out a yellow glowstick, he lobbed it into the water, followed by another not too close by. He bunged the rebreather tube into his mouth, aware that with it, he could breathe for a very prolonged period of time- and that it would work out quite well for him if he was responsible with it's handling. Looking to Linn, he put his diving goggles down, and gave a thumbs up, looking as Hotwheels took place at the helm of the RIB, and respectively, Huscarl and Praetorian headed to the deep.

Huscarl dived backwards, pulling out a red flare as he checked his buoyancy, and then the radio.
"Comms check, comms check. Follow me, Praetorian- down we go." He simply said, the cold of the water biting hard as he exhaled hard, then diving down as he lit the red flare, the phosphorus even burning underwater as he swam hard downwards, the air being replaced by oxygen every time he inhaled through the rebreather- a crazy feeling. Continuing downwards, he looked back towards Praetorian, dumping the flare as it sank down, to reveal the wreck of the fishing trawler.
"Into there. The crate should be buoyant enough, if we untether and it to bring it to the surface." Arran said, breathing out hard as he knew he wasn't crystal clear through the diving transistor, but he would be audible. Coming alongside the wreck, the two yellow glowsticks also helping the flare illuminate the dark, dark bottom of the water, Arran kicked hard as he aimed for where he could just about see a sealed composite crate stashed inside one of the levels of the split and sunken fishing vessel, ironically finding itself home to a school of fish. Swimming in, Arran sunk himself a little, as he looked at the crate, a smirk underneath his diving mask as he looked to Praetorian.
"Now to bring this shit up." He simply said, getting round one side, as he unsecuring a rope that held the crate down, cutting it with his dive knife as he felt the side rise a little, needing just a little more buoyancy to really be taken up. As soon as Praetorian had his side, Arran took a hold of his side of the crate, preparing to move, before the noise of something could be heard. A very slight reving noise. Like a vessel was in the water, literally, in it, not on the surface. It was vague, but securing the cut rope as best as he could, he kept himself pinned to the side of the rusted out boat.
"Fuck...the crate won't go anywhere, that's fucking enemy..." Arran said, looking as the SDV stopped, the small submarine with three AAF divers stopping just in front of the Apex Marshall's wreck, as Arran looked to Praetorian. The divers opened the hatch and swam out, all armed with SDAR underwater rifles- the 5.56 UW round potent if aimed correctly. He could just about see them through a tiny gap- but the way that they had entered the split wreck was through a relatively small hole in the side of it.
"They know about this...oh shit. Okay, we'll have to disarm them when they come in close, I really hope you know your basic underwater combat. They have to go through that hole we went through, and we can easily pounce there....Mischief, if you're receiving, we have an underwater team investigating our six, recommend you do not send anyone down- we can probably handle this." Arran said, swimming over as stealthily as he could, as he kept his knife to hand, aware that this wasn't going to be exactly his idea of fun.

The dive team moved up, all using flashlights, aware that there was someone else here. Whether they had simply seen the flares or known this was a secret CTRG cache, Arran didn't want to know, but one, perhaps the dive team leader, was ahead of the others, Momentum was different underwater- throwing the knife wouldn't work, so simply snatching the man would have to be the best approach. He hid himself above the hole, as the man entered, Arran looking at Praetorian as he knew the second was about to follow in, sweeping the left, From his hiding position literally above the dive team, Arran kicked hard and the AAF diver had no time to react, the weapon pushed out of his hands as Arran swiped, the man blocking it and pulling Arran down as he then lashed out with a kick. The golden rule of underwater combat was to never, ever lose your mouthpiece. And always go for the enemy's. And Huscarl knew this too well, as he blocked the AAF diver's calculated punch, already kneeing the man in the stomach and taking his mask off, before slicing him in the throat with the knife, the blood mixing with the salt water and quickly killing him. Arran reached down for the SDAR as rounds flew past him, perhaps Praetorian having a better luck with his opponent, as Huscarl dived down and out of harms way from the enemy diver, retrieving the weapon. Checking it was live, he rose up a little, firing a burst towards the diver outside, as he quickly found the rounds hit him hard, and did their job. Looking to Praetorian, he looked over, giving a thumbs up signal.
"Fuck...they almost had us. Mischief, be advised, we just eliminated the dive team, all three are dead and their SDV is still operational. Take the RIB's helm and continue on to Tempest- me and Praetorian will hijack the SDV they had and meet you there- we'll bring the crate too. Clean it out if you get there first- I can't imagine it looking like it was earlier." Arran said, as he looked back at the American, himself looting a few magazines off the dead dive team leader, or at least who he was. Taking a healthy set on his webbing, he swam back to the crate, now grabbing his side as he knew that this time, they wouldn't be interfered with. Taking it up, he led the way, swimming towards the hole and where the dead AAF diver bodies sort of floated where they had been, before then going towards the green-painted SDV, to put the large box away into the back.

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

An OST?

Imran looked over at the wheel, already checking the pedals as he then heard over the radio that Antoine and Howard were in.
"Affirmative. Antoine, recommend you keep your profile still low, and see if you can maybe sabotage whatever else you see- any armored vehicles or if you see any armored troops that you think might be an issue, deal with. Howard, get ready to eliminate the towers on my mark. You'll start the fire, we'll keep it burning, understood?" Imran said, as Svetlana moved over in her seat, looking to Imran, as she looked at her GMG, then behind her to see Bjorn readying up his M134. They were going to be heavy hitters tonight- and really force a dent into the enemy, Svetlana thought to herself.
"Well then. We're good to go. Jumpmaster, got us an LZ?" Imran said, looking over as one of the technicians in the C17 walked over to Imran's C17, an flight helmet over his face and overalls making him just some indescript airman of sorts.
"Yeah, we got a clearing, you've got two minutes. Roads are bad to the site, the way you've got..." He said, as Imran laughed.
"Well, there's a good fucking reason we have these then, matey boy." Imran said, tapping the bonnet of the car, a smirk on his face as the jumpmaster knew what was going on. Before he walked away, Svetlana's eyes locked on his.
"Hey. Pack our chutes wrong this time, I swear to God, you'll see what dying by breasts really feels like. Let's just get that out of the way before this happens." Svetlana said, her accent and voicing enough to scare the man shitless, as he didn't want to think what was going to go on next if he replied. He moved on, and opening the back door again, Imran fired up the engine, the V8 roaring. The jumpmaster and his assistant undid the clamps tethering the DPV to the floor of the C17, but Imran knew that there was really only one way to do this. Revving the engine hard, the V8 thundering inside the enclosed space, he looked to the chute that was rigged up on the roof of the DPV above his head, and smirked. Accelerating hard, he hit the handbrake and did a 180 within the cargo bay, looking over to see Yumiko do the same as hers was untethered. The whole fucking thing shook as suddenly, at about 40mph, the buggy went flying out of the rear, the whole weight on the suspension lifted as they practically sailed out of the back of the C17.

Yumiko's must have followed, Imran guessed, as for ten sweet seconds, the wheels were spinning and they were airborne. But falling. Rapidly. The chute above the DPV roared open, as they were violently jerked backwards, the engine revving hard as Imran calmed down the revs. The chute bubbled open, as Svetlana chuckled, already cocking the GMG.
"Haha! Nice!" She simply said, as she looked over the edge of her seat, the DPV now under a parachute. They weren't that high, but none the less, the view through Imran's night vision goggles was lit up with the compound and the moonlight that illuminated partly the two falling DPVs. The noise of groundfire interupted that, as Imran heard it from below. They were closing in now, and Imran didn't want to think of what exactly it was. He reached for his M32, but Svetlana physically stopped his arm, a smug look on her face like she said "I know what I'm doing", as she raised her GMG. Almost standing up, the balance of the DPV shaking as her weight was so large, she fired round after round below, as the enemies fell, the small patrol then quashed under a set of 40mm. A lone man with an AN-94 ran out, and was directly under the DPV, firing rounds into it's reinforced underside, as he then didn't realize what was coming. The man may have worn fairly advanced body armor, from a helmet to a vest, pads to a good pair of gloves, but he didn't stand a chance at what came down on him. Quite literally, the winds favoured Svetlana and Imran, as they drifted right to him, Imran already cutting the chute as he revved the engine and the wheels span madly in mid air. The rest was simple, as the DPV fell hard the last 20ft, and splatted the man, the DPV kicking up mud as Imran smirked, spinning around as he checked the GPS on the front bullbar.

"Raven and Black Eagle are on the floor, we're moving out to assault it- Howard, open up!" Imran said, as Svetlana looked over, the patrol completely wiped out as the other DPV came in, the jungle path poor and muddy as hell. But for the DPV, it was go time, and it weighed little to nothing with a huge amount of power and mean tyres that kicked up mud and dirt behind, Imran flooring it over a metal bridge as he shifted up, the headlights and NVGs combining to light the route up ahead brightly.
"Right over there, looks like a checkpoint!" Imran said, as Svetlana simply fired a whole set of 40mm grenades, the men firing off rounds at the DPV that ricocheted all over, but did little. Imran just kept on the gas and floored it through the checkpoint's barrier, the tower coming down as Svetlana kept up the 40mm fire, cackling as they closed on the facility. A large stream came up and Imran wasn't even letting his foot off the gas, as he kicked up a massive splash as he floored the DPV through it, aware that Yumiko and Bjorn were close behind and dealing with any other threats. The facility was far closer, and Imran kept up the pace, as the DPV rocked out of the stream, and he realized that there was really only one way in from the perspective they were taking. A dirt embankment went over a concrete wall, and apart from assaulting front on, Imran just hoped he had enough speed, as he looked at Yumiko and Bjorn in the other one, a thought on his mind.
"Just follow us, and hang the fuck on!" He yelled over the comms, as the DPV surged forward in the thin track, Imran not letting up. He was going about 70mph when he hit the steep embankment, and shit really hit the fan.

The DPV flew over the concrete outer perimeter of the base, and slammed into the floor hard as it flew in almost on it's back, the suspention rocking the entire thing forward as Imran let Svetlana keep up heavy suppressing fire, as he stopped behind a lorry of some sorts, skidding to a halt and coughing a little.
"Holy shit...that was something." Svetlana said, aware she hadn't spoken in a while, as she took her boonie hat off, and slid her helmet on her head, putting the NVGs down as the HUD activated. The heavy was out of the vehicle as bullets slammed into the container, and she saw the other DPV sail in, under fire but now going to get some serious cover. She walked from around the truck, and feeling bullets hit, opened up with the 40mm, Imran moving from cover to cover as he supressed some enemies with his Mk48. But Svetlana, for the moment, was doing a lot more significant damage than the Sikh, and taking far more of it, the troops in the compound outside the facility confused as to why this 7"6 giant wasn't going down when fired upon- the 40mm rounds giving cover, as she knew she'd be flanked soon.
"Antoine, see if you can cut off any forces from going in deeper into the complex- we've got anyone that's up here. If you see someone running with any nerve toxins, do not shoot them- or else we'll all be dead, Svetlana and Bjorn included, if that shit is toxic enough. Understood?" Imran simply said, as he looked over, giving cover fire with his Mk48, casually then jumping over cover and sprinting with his enhanced strength to another container, where he flung himself into cover, already firing by the side of it.

Steam Powered Europe (working title)

Yep- there isn't too much on that one, I'll set up the next bit where the main teams go in on Scimitar after we've cleared the posts, so don't go thinking Bjorn jumps out. Thinking about my character then, maybe a Russian now? Don't want too many Germans after all, but you know, could still work as a guard to your character.

Steam Powered Europe (working title)

Eh, fair enough. Something like that can work.

Steam Powered Europe (working title)

Hmmm...two Prussians don't work, I know, I'll make a motherfucking Bavarian, how's that for diversity? :D

Steam Powered Europe (working title)

In and in. I'd be happy to have a Prussian sort of mercenary for hire. Cue the moustache. You could set it in the 1870s, though I dunno- that is when the Industrial Revolution really has span up a lot of momentum.