Rhona W

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

I'll be making a cs late next week then.

@Doughboy

Excellent, I'll be glad to have another new player!
I would suggest you join us over on Letter Bee's Discord, as we're all very active on discussion over there and it's a good way to get to meet everyone, and discuss any ideas you might have for your character. The link is in the first OOC post.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Is this still accepting new people?

@Doughboy

We are still accepting new players, yes!

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

March 13th 2014
Late Evening
Malta International Airport
Luqa
Malta

Hours had passed since the recon flight had returned successful from their part of the mission, a short while after the rest of the squadron had landed. Heartbreak hadn't called a debriefing immediately; he'd been rushed to the local hospital following his crash landing, and Kat along with him.

Gunther 'Wolf' Wolfman stood at one end of the aircraft apron, away from the area where the built-up, sandbagged revetments for the squadron's active aircraft were. He hadn't ordered the maintenance crew into action yet, so the sleek machines stood silent, gleaming in the reflections of the few lights that were on, what with the blackouts in effect to protect from possible air attack.
Wolf hadn't ordered the crews to work, because there was a suspicion that had been gnawing at him, and it was something he didn't want to acknowledge, despite the evidence.
He knew how hard he did his job, how well he trained and instructed his people. He made sure - as sure as sure could ever be - to look after the planes under his care, for the sake of the pilots in them. Enabling them to carry out their missions and get back alive was the whole reason he had dedicated himself for the whole of his career to maintenance, and trained generations of maintainers.
Having as many planes fail as they did on a single occasion, that was something that he couldn't allow to sit as a mark against his career, or his personal reputation and standards.
He'd checked through the electronic 'paperwork' that had been filed, and he'd found something that had pointed to a situation that had raised a suspicion with him, and it was one that worried him.

Out of the eight planes the squadron had had before the start of the mission, four had been worked on by the team of technicians and maintenance personnel he'd overseen personally - Brightspark's F-16, Peacenik's F/A-18, Chevy's Rafale, and Valkyrie's Gripen.
The other four, they had been overseen and maintenance checked out and signed off by his second in command. Appointed only a few months earlier, he'd had an average, though not spectacular, career before that. And the second team was comprised mostly of newer personnel taken on only a short time earlier.
They had been responsible for the rest of the planes; Clown's Typhoon, Stingray's F-117N, Heartbreak and Kitten's ASF-14.
And Rook's Yak-141.
That last set of signed maintenance documents, affirming that the Yak-141 had been free of all errors, was fit to fly and fight, and was in perfect shape...

Gunther bit down on the stub of the cigar he habitually carried, his teeth biting clear through it and the bitter, acrid taste of the soaked tobacco leaves on his tongue. He spat it out, angrily.
There was no way this was negligence, or carelessness. The same work had been done by the same people prior to the transatlantic flight, and that had been uneventful, with no problems for any of the pilots or their aircraft.
This was sabotage, and he had a list of suspects, but pursuing them alone, that would be too dangerous - and the pilots needed to know about the danger they might be facing.
He was interrupted from his thoughts and contemplation of the sad wreckage of the three planes, as the thundering roar of jet engines intruded, and the runway landing lights came on long enough to guide the planes in, their navigation lights glowing and blinking in the twilight.
The leading aircraft were a quarter of modern aircraft. The first was a Sukhoi Su-33 in a striking red-white-black camouflage scheme. The next was a swing-winged, stealth jet that was the replacement for the ASF-14, the F-22N Sea Raptor and this one in blue-blue-white Ukrainian camouflage. The third he recognised right away; he had a personal connection to it's pilot, and his anger of the moment was curbed somewhat by her arrival. The delta-winged EF-2000 Typhoon was very similar to Clown's aircraft behind him, but this one carried a lightning-themed paint scheme that he knew personally.
As the three fighters moved to taxi off of the runway, the final arrival came in behind them; the lumbering shape of a gigantic Antonov AN-124 transport that held inside its' cavernous hold replacement aircraft for Heartbreak and Kitten, as well as additional supplies. It would also fly out the remains of the other planes that had been damaged.
The enormous four-engined cargo plane touched down with a light squeak of wheels, and then the engines kicked into reverse to slow it down with a rushing roar of air, slowing it enough to turn off at the runway end and taxi toward the apron, where it would be unloaded.
He'd deal with it later; there were things he had to do.

* * *

A few hours later, and in the dark of the middle of the night, Scott had returned from the hospital in Msida. His injuries weren't too severe; some heavy bruising, minor cuts, and slipped ribs on his left side. Kat had had the worst of it; her spine had suffered some bruising, and her neck heavily jarred and shocked, leaving her with a mild concussion after her head had collided with the instrument panel, along with a dislocated wrist. Her prognosis was good, but the doctors wanted to keep her in for twenty four hours for observation. The fair-haired pilot was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to shower, and to sleep. He was still wearing the same flight suit he'd had on when they'd taken off that morning, and when the plane had come to rest on the runway. It smelt of burnt insulation, smoke, and fire retardant foam, as well as all the buckets of sweat he'd expelled during the dogfight, and then the crash-landing.
Gunther was waiting for him when he reached the barracks, and the expression on the mechanic's craggy face told him that he wouldn't be sleeping for hours yet.

* * *

Scott was waiting along with Wolf a half-hour later as he called the squadron's pilots to the office he'd commandeered in the Malta armed forces HQ building. He'd sent the summons as an urgent requirement; something not to be ignored - and it had included the new arrivals.
What had made it seem even more serious was that he'd requested them all to come after drawing their sidearms and longarms from the armoury.

He was sitting on his desk as they entered, having changed out of his flight suit at last and into a simple white T-Shirt and olive BDU pants. His MP5 lay alongside him on the desk as well, and his thigh holster was strapped on. He bid the last one of them in to close the door.
"Everyone, please welcome our new arrivals - I had hoped to introduce Calico, Sparrow, Ironhand and Jefe in better circumstances with a proper briefing, and a debriefing from our previous mission. But Wolf has important information, and I need to share it with all of you as a priority".
He looked them all in the eye with a serious expression as he continued.
"I know we haven't had time to decompress or go over what happened yet. But you're all aware of the problems we had before and during the mission. That many issues with maintenance is incredibly uncommon".
Wolf spoke up, his deep voice hard and his craggy expression matching it as he spoke, arms folded across his barrel chest, the baseball cap he almost always wore bunched and screwed up in one bear-like hand.
"Maintaining those planes, and keeping all of you flying and safe is a matter of pride for me. And so is having the best people doing the best job on my maintenance crews. Which is why this is so... personal to me, and why I looked into all of it. I would never let so much go wrong".
Scott tapped the table laying on the desk in the office he'd commandeered for his own.
"Wolf has shown me the information, and verified it. The maintenance records for Clown, Stingray and my own aircraft were falsified". His lips formed a hard line, as he continued.
"And so was Rook's. Which means him getting shot down, probably wasn't just a bad deal of the cards. There's a small, tightly-knit group in the maintenance team that actively sabotaged our aircraft".
He pointed to the four whose planes hadn't been affected.
"You four had your aircraft maintenance personally overseen by Wolf and none of the same personnel worked on them as did on mine and the other three. So that's why you suffered no issues, and why we know who within the maintenance pool can be trusted".
He gestured to the quartet of new arrivals.
"-And the same with you; your planes were maintained before you left the Forge, by different personnel, so they won't be affected. So as of right now; if anything comes up, the eight of you are the ones we can get in the air to do anything about it.
"My new jet is here, as is Kitten's. But neither of us are in a shape to fly right now, and the planes need to be checked out after being stowed for transporting here. But we can't do that, and give the rest of our planes the maintenance they need with only the people we can trust. We don't have the time or manpower to expend drawing them out - so, we're going to confront them. Our security personnel have locked down the perimeter of the airport, as well as securing the ordnance and fuel dumps, the vehicle pool, the flightline and the armoury. That's stretched them and the locals pretty thin, so we're the only people we can spare.
"We're going to go confront the issue now. I'm expecting things might turn ugly - so be prepared. Let's go"

Scott slid off the desk, picking up his MP5, and lead the way out of the door, and out of the headquarters building, in the direction of the maintenance workshops and stores, the night around them suddenly having taken on a very quiet, and almost eerie air.
Scott moved with purpose and familiarity, moving into an easy, tactical lope through the airports' shadows, sticking to a route that kept them as much out of sight as possible.
As they approached the building, he used hand signals to bring everyone to a stop in cover, kneeling in the cover of the service vehicle garage. He spoke in a quiet, hushed tone; one that didn't carry too far.
"All right, listen up. I know some of you won't have fought a gun battle before. Or maybe not for a long time, if you have. There's not time for a refresher, but all I can say is, remember your training, keep your heads down and stick to cover, and watch each others' backs"
He nodded to Fuka, noting the way she moved with experience and skill with her marksman rifle expertly glued to her shoulder.
"Peacenik; take half the squadron and move around the rear of the Maintenance building. Tag anyone who tries to run, and get an entry point through the fire exit"
He nodded to Jefe, the sinomexican having lugged her light machine-gun. "Jefe, I want you around the front of the building; suppressive fire with your LMG if they fire on us, so we can breach. I'm gonna assume they're not looking for a peaceful resolution to this, and that they're going to be armed. Stick to cover, keep low while moving. Shoot back first if they're shooting, and then go for surrender and capture".

He looked to Fuka as the rest of them moved out and shook his head briefly, a tight, tiny smile on his face.
"You know; this ain't what I expected this mission to go like. I swear, it isn't normally like this".
He nodded to her before he shouldered the MP5 again, moving around the cover and sticking to it as he headed to the front of the maintenance building.

As he approached, he pulled the SMG tighter into his shoulder, his posture moved into a perfect tactical flow of motion. He stayed below the level of the ground-floor windows as he moved in a crouch.
As he approached the door, he directed them to stack up on him, and Ximena to cover the front of the building - and then gunfire opened up on them from inside, rattling out from the rooftop and the windows along its' front. Scott wheeled around the door, hugging the wall, and rattling short bursts from the SMG as he moved in.

@Kensai, @Letter Bee, @Smike, @Damo021, @Finetales, @Theyra

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

In the skies above Lampedusa

The ferry had no chance to avoid the SLAM-ER. Anchored and at rest, and with none of the defences a military vessel might have, it had no means to escape the hit. Missile pierced the side of the ship just above the waterline, the kinetic energy of the heavy missile punching it through the unarmoured hull, before the 500-pound blast fragmentation warhead detonated inside the ship, tearing through decks, walls and bulkheads, and igniting anything flammable within reach. The blast heaved the ship sideways and rocked it off axis, and rolling back put the gaping tear in the hull under the waterline, instantly starting to flood the ship. The explosion shattered glass in windows around the harbor, sending people running for cover. All too late, air defences started to search frantically for the source of the missile, as personnel threw themselves to cover at the worry of any follow-on attacks.

Over the airport, the Mirage F1's rose, climbing rapidly to meet the intruding Shattered Steel planes. As they grew closer, it became easier to pick them out to the pair. They didn't wear the same camouflage as the other planes sighted, nor the same Libyan national insignia either. Instead, they were coloured in two-tone grey splinter camouflage on their upper surfaces and dark grey-black on their undersides, their logos hard to see in low-viz grey.
Chevy's shot was a good one, pulling the trigger as the first of the pair rose put them already on the defensive, and when they had little room and power to manoeuvre at that. Desperately, the pilot triggered countermeasures, a spread of cloud-white trails arcing out as flares burst across the skies. He hauled over on the stick, trying desperately to avoid and risking rolling the jet into a spin as the missile closed in. The Mica's proximity fuse detonated, and it tore up the starboard side of the jet, leaving ragged tears in the aluminium skin and structure below. As the pilot hauled into the turn, the strain on the damaged areas grew, and the wing buckled in half, at the same instant as the engine inhaled chunks of debris from the damaged intake. The pilot punched out as the doomed jet turned on it's back and began to tumble and spiral through the air, trailing flame and smoke.

The wingman rose, cautious of the hunting planes now that his leader had gone down. He was more canny, and instead of climbing straight up, they extended; going shallower and flatter and hugging ground cover to attempt to scatter radar signals, before pulling into steep, sharp banks to lose the visual against the surface of the sea and the island below, before ascending as the dark shape of Fuka's Superhornet flashed by. The F/A-18 had more power with its' twin engines, but it was heavier and the Mirage F1's pilot used that to their advantage, turning inside the bigger, heavier carrier jets' circle as they sought for a lock-on, and were rewarded as the recticle in their HUD turned red and the buzzing growl of a positive tone sounded, and a Mica leapt off the wingtip rail to scythe through the air toward the gleaming black F/A-18

@Smike, @Kensai

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP) (COMPLETED)

>Port Ibex, Île de la Tempête, Reunion

>Fireteam Shadow

>Dawn Chorus

>0620 Hours

Eloise crouched on the roof of a storeroom not too far from the comms tower. She'd knocked out more of the EM devices en route; they were becoming more numerous and it was becoming a considerable aggravation, slowing her down as she had to move around them, eliminate them, or otherwise deal with them being there.
However, she was in place at the tower. The hacking device rode in a pouch attached with MOLLE to the outside of her quiver, and she remembered the instructions; open the necessary electrical junction box (or whatever it was), and attach the cables. The rest would take care of itself, more or less.
A trio of sentries guarded the base of the tower from where it stretched up into the lightning skies, red anti-collision lights aglow.
Smoothly, the svelte woman drew back the bowstring and let fly with a standard, composite arrow, a second on the way before the first even hit, thudding into the throats of the sentries with ghostly silence. The third didn't even hear them die, and he barely had time to get a gasp out as she appeared before him, the blank, gleaming mask of her helmet and the billowing folds of her cloak and hood combined with the tactical gear and holsters strapped over her almost like some kind of mil-spec ghost. Her fist rammed out like a piston as he reeled back in surprise, bending double as the air rushed out of his lungs. As he folded down, the knife held in the same hand came up, through the soft bottom of his jaw and up into his head, and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. She turned with the weight and motion, letting it pull the blade free of his skull, wiping it on his uniform before she slid it back into the sheath and moved into the fenced compound around the tower.
A few moments work had the device installed and she moved on, heading for the rendezvous with Purna, keeping to the shadows and avoiding any contact as she moved, only pausing to eliminate any more EM devices as she moved.
She listened to him explain the command centre as she moved, absorbing the information and replying with a soft, 'confirmed; keep it quiet, keep it fast, and break things". Despite the non-formal wording, her voice was still the same whispery quiet almost monotone... which almost somehow made her casual wording all more amusing.

She joined him wordlessly at the entrance to the building, falling easily into tactical movement with him through muscle memory and plenty of training. She likewise moved cloaked; she always compared it to the phrase 'oil across water', the sliding of surroundings across the smart material of the cloak and gear. Purna explosively vaulted through the window and she took the door - more boring and conventional, but nonetheless effective... especially as she leapt into a forward roll, bowling one down and shooting him as she came back up with an almost casual afterthought without looking from the Beretta Cougar, a pair of throwing knives into another that Purna had wounded and not killed. They parted ways, and she flowed up the stairs, picking up speed and springing off the steps, to launch herself off of the wall and over the banister railing, her foot whipping out and smashing a woman across the face. She crumpled, and Eloise rolled forward, another pair of knives into the man ahead of her; one at his knee to bring him down, another into his hand to stop him firing his handgun, and a rapid punch to his face to put him down. The woman behind her struggled up, only in time to be taken out by a shot from her suppressed machine pistol, another putting down the man ahead. The other guards on the floor moved toward her, sub-guns drawn and voices raised; She moved fast and hit hard. Stealth wasn't necessary now they'd seen her, but she could move and fight quick enough for them to do much about. She sprang forward, launching off of the walls and into her assailants. A flurry of throwing knives, suppressed shots, and bone-crunching, acrobatic hand-to-hand combat or close-in knifework.
The racked servers and related equipment for running the security systems lay ahead, and she debated the best way to deal with them, before opting for the most simple; picking up a pair of the dead security's guns and just going full auto on the racked equipment - the building was soundproof, and the equipment would be out of action for long enough for the rest of the team to do their job. Smashing the butts of the guns into the equipment and ripping out handfuls of cables or components and smashing them under her heel.

As alarms sounded and the rush of booted, running feet along with it, she took aback in alarm; where had this sudden surge of reinforcements come from? Had they been discovered, what had changed? Nonetheless; Eloise's instinct and training kicked in and she fell back on her normal mantra; escape, evade, survive, strike back.
She slid into cover in the shadows of the room, ducking behind equipment to exit through the door the would-be search party entered through, swung over the stair rail and then down its' side, and out through the window Purna had entered through.

*-------------*----------------*

Eloise crouched on a rooftop, like a shimmering, almost invisible gargoyle. The directional mics on her suit, along with her ever-present comm link to Purna transmitted the words, and the zoom on her optics followed the scene as this new man spoke.
Already, she hated him; he postured and posed. Confident in his own skill and status; but arrogant with it, revelling in his link with Raven and Purna to indulge his own sense of superiority and his ego.
However, none of that stopped him from both being dangerous, and also having Purna at his mercy. Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line under her featureless mask and her hands balled into tight fists, clenched around her bow until her knuckles ached as she watched the moment unfold and her mind raced as she looked for an opening to act.

As the Heavy walked into the scene, she felt that sense of dread mounting, but even then; she refused to admit defeat. That wouldn't come until there was literally, physically, mentally, nothing she could do. And at that point, it would be because she was dead - and it wouldn't matter at that point.

Her heart leapt as the confrontation built, and then the transfer of control to her. She grimaced, biting down the rising acid in her throat. Fifty to one... she knew her worth and her skills, how lethal she was and that wasn't her arrogance. She could take on two, maybe three on one with odds in her favour and stealth on her side. Maybe more, if they were arrogant, barely-trained cartel 'soldiers' or criminal organisation thugs. But fifty to one, knowing she was there and actively looking... never; even with all the best luck in the world, they'd run her down through exhaustion, attrition, and she'd run out of weaponry.
But, she still had tricks. Still had those skills; and plenty of weapons. It wasn't over yet.
Purna's words hit true, and she was already in motion as Bakker started to count out loud.

Eloise's archery was olympic standard in quality for her accuracy and her range. She had learned from a range of forms and styles, blending their tenets and practices into something of her own hybridised, fluid, practical and lethal style. She might even have been better than some of the professionals - as Purna's thoughts had said, William Tell could fuck off. And Robin Hood right behind him.
But how fast she could shoot, how tricksy her shots were; that was another thing.
Hawkeye and Green Arrow were two of her favourite comic book characters, and she had, in her own downtime, attempted some of the things she'd seen them do... and there really was no good way of firing more than one arrow at once. Especially if you actually wanted to hit something.
And especially when you were moving too...
As such, it was, unquestionably, some kind of world record as three arrows, within heartbeats of one another, hit the necks of the regulars standing guard around Purna's prone form and were messily decapitated as the frag heads exploded. Barely moments after, a pair of throwing knives whacked into Bakker's gun arm; an EMP and an explosive in twain, before she launched herself at him, feet first as they detonated, using her weight to throw off his arm and get the guns' muzzle as far enough away from Purna as possible. She didn't wait to tangle with the opposing Light; instead the Heavy ahead of her, the mountain of armour plates and that enormous Kord machine gun and thermite launcher that were already moving to bear on her, were her concern.
She kept moving, flowing forward in a sprint.
Towards the bigger, more heavily armoured, man.
Every last explosive throwing knife and the last of her EMP ones were flung toward him, before she dropped and rolled as they detonated, the machine gun thundering and chattering, the whines and screams of ricochets around her. Then her bow was back in her hands.
Acid arrows and armour-piercing next as she fought to slow the heavy, shooting from prone, flowing around their movement and shooting from all angles, then explosives, as quick as she could to get them off-balance, open up and exploit whatever damage she'd caused.
The machine gun thundered and hammered, and thermite lashed and rained out, eating away at her cloak and leaving it ragged with a close hit. She sprang aside as she over-calculated, grew too daring, and that massive machine-gun roared too close, close enough that the huge 12.7 mil rounds whipped past her, close enough to tear past her side and send her staggering and spinning to the ground with a close hit.
She gasped in a ragged breath, rolling aside with a titanic effort as one of those armoured fists smashed the tarmac where her face had been a moment earlier. She rolled to her feet and made to spring back, but one of those massive, powered hands grabbed the smouldering remnants of her cloak and hauled her back. She weaved, dodging another swipe that parted the air with an audible whoosh; but the follow up caught the edge of her mask, shattering the visor and sending it spinning.
She used the motion, launching into a spin and landing, shooting a grapple arrow that tangled in the workings of the heavy armour, exposed by her attacks. She ducked and weaved, pulling the cable with her and tangling it around the heavy.
Her last arrow to him, she didn't even shoot at him, instead snagging it through the looped cable and then moving, dashing away and dragging Purna with her, gasping ragged breaths, her eyes wide and pupils tiny with fear and adrenaline, hand clutching her side where the kord's heavy round had winged her.
"Move, fast. That last arrow, well. It was a beacon. He literally has a target on his back right now"
As they ran, she sent the signal to trigger the explosives she'd planted, and threw a pair of smoke and flashbang grenades in their wake.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

In terms of the post; feel free to have your characters describe and elaborate on the surroundings and the specifics around them as we move in; I'm happy for that to be fairly free-form. I deliberately left out any details about hostiles; that'll be coming soon too.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

Megan was impressed with how smoothly and professionally everyone moved out and took position. But then, she'd expect nothing less from such a cream of the crop of operators. The low voices to her and one another didn't carry far, soft murmurs in the quiet of the night. As she replied with her orders, they were clipped and precise, in the same low tone.
"Santi, get the drone up and give us some eyes overhead. If there's any patrols out there or any guards on that gate I want to know about them before we get close. Moving overwatch to the edge of the village, and stick to cover once we're there. Let's go".

Megan lead the way as they moved in bounding overwatch, the team covering one another as they leapfrogged forward to the edge of the village. She waited in place for Santi to deploy the drone, and for Arsala to scope out - literally - their surroundings.
As they moved in close, there were some sounds of life; dogs barking, the muffled sounds of low voices from some of the houses, the occasional muffled cry of a baby or child, or of a tinny radio. Megan crouched behind a weatherbeaten, hard-used mercedes saloon tucked in next to one of the buildings, and scanned the area with her NVG's.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

/snip

@Smike

I'd already read most of it when you sent me it before to preview, so to no surprise, approved!

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Over the Mediterranean Sea; approximately 20 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014

The last L-59 pilot was brave, and skillful; they weaved the spritely little jet expertly onto the Tomcat's tail, jockeying into position to unleash a burst of gunfire and kill the stricken, much larger bird.
Mykhailo rocketing up into position with his 20mm blazing drove the light jet off, rounds punching through it's starboard wing and a trail of debris streaming in its' wake as it broke off, darting away from the hunting F-16.

"Cobalt 1-1, you doing all right?!" Mykhailo asked Captain Scott and Kat through the radio. "I'm going to lower my altitude in case the enemy has any more surprises - Someone has to protect the convoy! Any news from Recon Team and Flight 2, by the way?"

Scott's reply was strained as he wrestled the ASF-14, trying to keep the jet in the air as it slowly died, piece by piece.
"Hnn- yeah, Brightspark. Just fine over here; KK and I have got this just peachy. Twin engine fighter on one engine; it's no biggie. Half of it being on fire is just an extra bit of excitement, that's all".

As Myk declared his intention to give the convoy a close escort, the AWACS operator chimed in

Freyja 'Valkyrie' Svensdotter

“This is cobalt 7 to cobalt 1-1, All enemy vessels accounted for and eliminated, continuing to escort the convoy, over.” Despite the crews looking like they are celebrating, Valk contained any enthusiasm, it probably sounded like it on the radio too. For her there was not much to celebrate in terms of losses. Sure she was happy they protected the convoy, it is probably cold and calculating, but Valk felt the loss was unacceptable, and more likely the team will end up with replacements to fill their ranks. She then heard the radio chatter. “You guys good up there?” Need any assistance, over?”.

@Damo021

"Negative, Valkyrie; stay on the convoy! They need cover in case anyone else comes sniffing around. Brightspark, stay on me; I need someone to talk me in and keep an eye on me as I get this bird down - if I can, anyway"
Inside the cockpit, Kat in the rear seat fought to control and compensate for the damage; slapping fire suppression switches to try and extinguish the engine fire. Scott wrestled the jet in the front seat, jockeying the remaining throttle and coaxing as much control as he could from the ailing plane.
"KK, what have we got to work with, talk to me baby".
"Port engine is dead; it's completely out. Starboard is still alive, but it's screaming. Hydraulics are losing pressure; electrical systems are... borderline. We're pissing fuel, oil and hydraulic fluid but I'm doing the best I can"
"Right, I'm gonna try and get some altitude, and control; try and get us as close to home as possible"
He grimaced as he hauled the stick back, the plane shuddering, straining, and reluctantly taking a nose-high altitude, clawing those extra feet in height for miles in range toward the growing shape of Malta in the sea ahead, before he switched channels.
"Skywatch; this is Cobalt Lead, declaring an in-flight emergency. We have an aircraft fault and are heavily damaged. Going to try and make the runway at Luqa. But you might want to scramble the rescue chopper, and have emergency teams on standby, because this ain't gonna be a pretty landing, over!"
There was a heartbeat's pause, before the voice of the AWACS operator came back, strained as she tried to maintain her composure and calmly relay information.
"Roger, Cobalt lead; emergency services are being scrambled at Luqa international. Showing Cobalt 6 over the convoy, and Cobalt 5 on your position. No word from second flight yet, but they are on course. Cobalt Lead; showing you on good heading and closing from ten miles out. Keep your course and heading steady, over"
"Roger that, Skywatch. Thanks for the assist, going to do my best to bring this bird in, and only get out as a last option, over"
Scott checked the instruments; they flickered and fuzzed, glitches running through the touch-screen displays. He cursed fluently and extravagantly. His arms and legs were starting to ache from fighting the plane. It wanted to pull to the left, the asymmetric thrust from the right engine and drag from the damage to the left side of the plane direly affecting how it flew.
He flicked his mis-matched eyes between the instruments inside the cockpit and view outside. Malta loomed close, the plane eating up the miles despite hanging on by strings, and the black ribbon of the runway was painfully clear to his eyes, looking almost close enough to touch.
"We're losing hydraulics, Heartbreak!" Kat cried out from the rear cockpit. Scott grunted a reply and his hands danced across the controls.
"Going to use the last of what we have to try and get the gear and hook down and sweep the wings if we've got anything left. We'll have to rely on the crash prep to stop us".
"Roger that, do it!"
Scott hit the gear first and the plane rumbled and whined as the gear dropped into the slipstream. Immediately, the jet lurched and bucked, becoming more draggy. The gear lights refused to lock in the green position, and he grimaced, the controls growing ever-more mushy as the plane dropped lower.
"Fuck. Going to have to chance this. Hold on..."

From outside the plane, at Mykhailo's view, the ailing jet looked like a wounded bird. The wings had stuck half-forward, and the gear dropped three quarters of the way down. It lurched lower, dropping heavily and violently swaying, pulling to the side in the beginning of a slewing left turn, before wrenching part way around just enough to slam heavily onto one of the airport's runways, covered in crash foam. It bounced as it hit on the semi-extended gear, which collapsed as it hit the ground a second time. Skidding on its' belly, the tomcat slewed and span slowly to the left, before Scott shut off all thrust. Debris and sparks flew up in the wake of the jet as it skidded for a hundred meters, before coming to a stop. Immediately, Scott popped the canopy, it flying free as crash trucks doused the rest of the jet with foam, and crews bravely ran to the jet and hauled the pair free, them half-dragged, half-stumbling to safety.

Over the Convoy; Closing in, under 15 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014.

"Cobalt 6, this is Skywatch. Cobalt Lead is down, Heartbreak and KK are safe. Reading no hostiles in your area. All bandits are down or no factor, no hostile surface targets within the perimeter. Continue your escort to within five miles of the coast and then RTB, good job out there, over"

The E-2 Hawkeye's radar operator told the truth of it; there were no signs of any other hostiles near the convoy, and the ships had escaped unharmed from the incident - even if the same couldn't be said for their escort.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

As the questions came from the team, Jamison fielded them as best she could, answering in between bites of her own meal. Meg followed along, taking in the information and listening attentively to both her team's concerns and the answers as they came.

“OK, question time to get some answers on what I asked before. Fire and communications is what I’m interested about, personally. First of the two…what’s local fire rescue look like? We at lines with buckets, a fire station, or does that local patrol do the lifting there? How do they do things as far as fire when it’s at curfew time? Is the compound fitted out with a fire detector system, carbon monoxide detectors, or what? Are any of those things connected to a box or is able to be accessed from the outside? Do they actually give a shit when those go off and, if they do, what do the guards do? Any of that known?”

Taking a breath, as well as a hearty bite from the bread, Moss continued on. “What’s communications infrastructure look like, both local and for the Order specifically? Fixed, short-range handhelds, satellite phones, what? We got any frequencies for em?”

@Thayr

The former CIA woman consulted the tablet that held her notes and information, checking what she had and her sharp eyes swifting scanning over the information to sum it up before she replies.
"The Order - for all their numerous and extensive faults - have done some improvement to infrastructure. Most buildings that aren't involved with their operations or local infrastructure that supports them aren't really fitted out with any kind of fire suppression or detection systems. The building inside the compound is more, mm... 'solid' and modern; it was built with modern materials and that includes smoke detectors. I haven't been able to access full building plans and documentation - unfortunately, that level of detail just... doesn't exist for the area, or is obscured or destroyed by successive government upheavals. But as far as fire-fighting goes; the local patrols and civilian volunteers are mostly responsible for their own firefighting efforts. A village this small doesn't have a dedicated fire service. Only much bigger towns or cities have anything of that kind. Fires in event of curfew rely on raising alarms locally and getting attention through more, mm, 'analog' means - waking up people, and then spreading the word through whatever local telephones there are and radio communications. Which leads neatly into your next question. Most local homes don't have hardline telephones, but businesses or municipal buildings do. There's extremely limited cellular phone service in small villages, and it's spotty at best with no real capacity for sending say, large amounts of data or information. If people own cell phones, they're much more primitive than smartphones.
"The order's patrols use handheld, short-range radios to communicate with base-stations - such as this compound, or a vehicle - that have longer-range radios. I have limited information on their frequencies. I'll pass it over to you".

“Before we move, I want to take a look at their security system.”

“You mentioned a camera covering the side gate. Are there any other cameras indoors? Also are the cameras wired or wireless? If it's networked, I can loop or kill the feed remotely. If it’s standalone, I’ll need to be close to disable it.” She took another bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "Once we're inside, I'll need a minute to access whatever they have on-site. If there's a server or terminal, I can pull intel—comms, patrol routes, supply caches, maybe even Resistance contacts they're tracking."

Her dark eyes flicked to Megan, then to Jamison, gauging their responses. “Also, any idea what Adebayo’s condition is? If they’ve started interrogation, he might not be in shape to move quickly. If we need to carry him, that changes our extraction plan.” She pondered for a brief moment before continuing.

“One more thing—power supply. Any chance they’re tapped into local infrastructure, or are they running on generators? If we can cut the power at the right time, we might be able to disrupt their coordination and limit visibility.” She let her words settle among the rest of the team as she returned to her hearty stew, her mind already working through possible tech-based solutions to make their entry as seamless as possible. Every bit of intel meant one less variable, one less risk.

@Komo

Jamison took a sip of her water before she replied to Sohee, speaking with clear, clipped words.

"There's a camera covering the garage, and one covering the front door internally. No other internal cameras; the building isn't intended to be open and accessible to the public, so security against external break-ins is more the assumed issue than internal security - it's more of an intruder alert system. The cameras are hardwired on an internal system. I don't have the full location of the system, but the security office on the lower floor seems like your best bet"
She unrolled a paper plan of the building across the table after clearing a little space, and tapped the relevant room. The building was spartan and simple in design, as the explanation had made out. The security office was a relatively small corner room off of the main L-shaped corridor that lead from the front door to the garage, and had the stars to the upper floor leading off. The other ground floor rooms included a store room, an interview room, three small holding rooms off of their own small corridor, a locker room/ready room and of course the garage itself with an attached small storeroom. The upper floor comprised of a small lounge with an attached kitchenette, bathrooms, and an office.
Jamisons slim finger tapped an outbuilding shown on the ground floor plan. "This outbuilding inside the wall houses the power supply. The compound has its own generator. Only a small unit, just enough to provide power for the compound. The rest of the village has its own domestic supply, though street lighting while it exists is sparse".

She pursed her lips into a tight line as Adebayo's condition was mentioned, shaking her head.
"I can't confirm his exact condition. We know he's alive, and he was injured while being apprehended; several abrasions and a minor, if messy, head-wound. While I can't give any more firm intel than that on his condition, I'd plan for him to have suffered more".

"How're we handling surrenders?" she asked, adding to the barrage of questions. "Are we turning anyone who gives up over to the resistance, or are they being shipped Stateside?"

@Smike

"We don't have the resources or infrastructure in place - yet - to detain and ship out every hostile that might surrender. Cuff them and leave them if they do surrender to you. If the resistance are operating with you, let them handle it. We do have HVT's that we'll be looking for - but none of them are going to be in this little compound in a village."

Megan chimed in to add her words.
"I appreciate the concern for surrenders - but this is a military outfit and operation; not law enforcement. We go in with the expectation to shoot to kill, not detain or incapacitate. Anyone so much as sends a threatening word in our direction, we put them down. Extraction of Adeboyo is the objective".

There were no further questions, so Megan nodded to Jamison who returned the gesture, letting the kiwi take over the leading role.
"I think that covers everything, unless anyone wants to ask Jamison what the tangoes' shoe-sizes, what handed they are, or what their favourite colours are. I can see you're all getting your kit squared away already, good. We mount up in ten"

Megan finished her portion of the meal and returned the bowl to the woman who'd served out that food, who thanked her with a luminous smile and a nod, keeping herself uninvolved from the teams' activities as they went about them in an almost surreal picture of domesticity. Megan turned to her own equipment. She unlatched her crate, and quickly set about kitting up. Vest, pads, gloves, holsters, helmet. She checked and loaded her sidearm, the Mk.23 looking almost comically oversized in her hands, before she slipped it into its' holster. She checked over her MP5, the weapon remarkably familiar in her hands as she checked the action, the batteries in the red-dot and flashlight, and then loaded a dual-clamped magazine and put the SMG on safe. Her normal load of grenades were tucked into their respective pouches on her gear, secured and in ready reach, along with spare magazines as needed. A battery check on her other gadgets - radio, NVGs, strobe, phone - and a top-up of her water and she was as ready as could be, moving to stand by the door and wait for her team.

Jamison joined her with one of the locals, a very dark-skinned man dressed in old British DPM camouflage trousers, a T-shirt in the Taniland flag colours and an olive hunting or outdoor jacket with hacked-off sleeves. His eyes and features were hard, but there was still a spark in his gaze as she met his took to her.
"Winters, this is Christopher Djembe. He's a local commander of the Resistance. He and a pair of his men will transport you to the drop off point just outside of the village to allow you to make your approach to the compound"
Meg put her hand out, and Christopher took it, shaking in a firm grasp. He gave a tight smile and she returned it with one of her own.
"Thank you for coming to our aid, Miss Winters. I am glad to have such expertise to help us in our fight"
"You're welcome, Mister Djembe. And call me Meg; My mum calls me Miss Winters. You have a ride for us?"
"It is nothing extravagant or flashy, but it will get us there without too much suspicion". He nodded to the rest of the team as the three of them stood close to the doorway.
"I am sure you and your people think we are amateurs or lacking in experience, especially compared to you with your training and equipment. But we have been fighting the Order since their earliest days here, doing what we can to resist. If we can get Adebayo back, his voice and influence will help greatly in bringing the common people to realise we fight for them and in uniting and co-ordinating the resistance once more".
"We'll do everything we can, I promise" she said with a nod, before looking back to the team and raising her voice a little.
"All right, ladies and gents. Let's get this show moving, the night isn't getting any younger, and neither am I".

---8-8-8---

A short while later, the group were bundled in the back of an old Mercedes van. As Christopher had promised; it definitely wasn't extravagant or flashy, what with the flaking and faded dusty yellow-brown paint on the outside and patches of creeping rust. The inside at least was clean, if dusty, and there had been the forethought to attach rope handholds to the interior ribs bracing the cargo compartment of the back, so they didn't spill everywhere as the van drove along and they sat in the back.
A double-thump on the partition separating the driving compartment from the rear, along with the change in gears and the engine sound told them they were close, and a moment later the van jolted and bounced as it left the compacted surface of the road and thumped and bucked across the rutted, pitted surface of the ground alongside before coming to a halt. The side door slid open, and starlight spilled in, along with the night-time sounds of life, Christopher's silhouette moving aside as Megan climbed out.
"All right," he said in a low voice. "This is where we drop you off. Good luck, and I hope to see you again soon".
"Thanks, see you soon," she replied, before flipping down her NVG's and powering them on with the characteristic whine as the word resolved into green-tinged clarity. She moved off a short distance crouched in the cover of shrubs, waiting for the others to join her, and surveyed the buildings of the village in the very near distance.

@Thayr, @FourtyTwo, @Smike, @Komo, @Theyra, @Alfhedil