In the mid-1970s, reports of scattered animal mutilations in western and mid-western states concerned many people. The FBI was asked to investigate, but was unable to do so because of a lack of jurisdiction...

- vault.fbi.gov/Animal Mutilation

 
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:19, Sat 06 Dec 2014.

20 miles south of Zuwara, Libya
15 March 2015
0216 hrs local (0116 hrs Zulu)

Two Toyota export products - a Hilux (once white) and a Land Cruiser (formerly black) - prowl across the northwestern Libyan desert, heading east under a waning crescent moon.  The Land Cruiser trails slightly, echeloned to the left to avoid the veil of dust lifted by the Hilux and propelled by a brisk wind coming from the distant Mediterranean.  The vehicles are blacked-out save for the occasional cold gleam of starlight on a lens or side-view mirror.  Headlamps are off; brake lights are taped to blackout slits.  Electric light would only alert the local bands of militants around whom distant allies are guiding the drivers, and are doubly unnecessary in the era of third-generation night vision hardware.

Behind the Hilux's wheel, Hannah Omdahl concentrates on steering her truck through a green two-dimensional world.  It's a mildly fatiguing task, but a familiar one - and, compared to operating a Blackhawk in three dimensions, not all that unpleasant.  Though she does keep wanting to check a nonexistent altimeter.  Beside her, James Choi keeps a night-acclimated eye on the surrounding terrain and tries to push aside occasional recollections of New Mexico.

In the Land Cruiser's cabin, Caradoc Crewe is having a less pleasant time, despite his pleasure at having found a proper right-hand-drive vehicle.  Shoot, climb, clamp an arterial bleed in NVGs?  Not a problem.  Drive in them?  Not his forte.  He's keeping station on the Hilux by force of will and the aid of an IR chemlight taped under its rear bumper at the last driver switchover.  In the front passenger's seat, Karolina Kowalska keeps her natural acerbic tendencies under control, occasionally murmuring into the satellite uplink through which the team's navigational cues are whispered across the ether.

Glancing over his shoulder at a small hoodoo protruding from the sand, James catches a flicker of heat lightning on the southern horizon.  A half-heatbeat later, his radio earpiece crackles with interference.

Karolina frowns as her headset similarly emits the sound of frying bacon.

A moment later, both drivers' NVGs fuzz, narrow down to glowing soda-straw views of the oncoming landscape, and fade out.  Hannah sweeps her gear up with a practiced motion and lifts her foot from the accelerator as her tachometer wobbles under a sputtering engine.  Caradoc, already on edge, stabs the brake, sending Karolina lurching forward before he recovers and gets his own inactive NVGs up.

As Hannah glides the Hilux down to a sedate ten miles per hour, the vehicle's front tires thump off an unseen three-inch drop-off.  It's a minor obstacle at worst, but coming on the heels of her NVGs' failure, it spikes her adrenaline just a notch.  Then she's on the brakes hard as a large, lumpy shape looms out of the darkness directly in her path.  Her front bumper halts about six feet from the obstacle and her engine wheezes into silence.

Caradoc has an instant to see the Hilux's brake lights flash and go out.  He's already on the brake when his wheels drop over the apparent rock lip and brings his vehicle to a stop about fifty feet behind the pickup.  His engine, too, cuts out.

The only sound is the ping of cooling metal.  Through their open windows, Hannah and James can smell the unmistakable tang of fresh blood.

Your move.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:22, Fri 05 Dec 2014.

James pushes his NVGs up onto his forehead, blinks a couple of times, peers through the darkness at the huge hump blocking their path, and tries to will his natural night vision into working faster. He'd heard once from a buddy who'd been with the Rangers in 'Stan that it was easier to see something in the dark if you didn't look directly at it- something to do with the alignment of rods and cones in the human eye. He tries that too.

"Shit, Doll [Om-dahl], I think I just lost track of which bottle we're on."

The AK-104 is in James' lap, his off hand around the pressure sensor for the mega-lumens visible light spotlight mounted on the side of the carbine's fore-grip. He contemplates tugging his tan, checked Shemagh up over his nose to cut out the noxious smell, but he might need all of his senses, unhindered, very shortly.

"You want me to step outside and light that thing up?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:02, Fri 05 Dec 2014.

"Gah!" Hannah had let out in a single startled cry when her visor cut out.  She had slowed as her training had taught her and she hadn't crashed fortunately.  She shook her head for a moment and muttered a single plaintive Norwegian expletive under her breath.  The dark-haired warrant officer took a deep breath to steady her nerves, seeming to ignore the rather pungent odor in the air.

Then she nodded to James.  "Cha!" Hannah uttered in agreement to him taking point, "Get cooking, Bok Choy."  She wasn't about to let the 'Dahl/Doll' reference pass without a rebuttal.

But besides that single verbal rejoinder, the army aviatrix was all business though; she pulled her secured personal defense weapon from where she had squirreled it off to the side.  Slipping off the safety on the MP5K-PDW, Hannah shifted her position to cover James' position.  Her tone may have been light, but she knew the drill.  And backing up her teammate was a deadly serious matter.  Hannah tried to keep her wits about her, glancing furtively about and keeping her own movements and sounds to minimum while strain her eyes and ears to keep alert for anything out of the ordinary...

”Ja pierdolę!" Lina said as Crewe brought the vehicle to a sudden and unexpected stop.  She looked over to see his NVGs were up.

"There are spare batteries in the center console," she said off-handedly as she checked her headset's connection to the comms gear.  She did her best to restore communication and when that didn't work, she transmitted their last GPS fix in the blind.

"You have got to be shitting me.  Is none of this gear working?" Kowalska asked rhetorically as she figured out that the problem wasn't just with her radio and Crad's NVGs.  She was quickly getting torqued up.  She mentally thought of everything that might cause a problem with gear:

Sunspots?  Yeah they screwed up comms often enough, but NVGs? Probably not.

CME?  Maybe.  That would certainly have more of an impact than sunspots, but surely they would have had some warning from ESA or NASA.

Lightning strike? That would be more convincing if she had heard, seen, or felt anything.

Better leave the door open for something else, she thought to herself.  It would be just like the American's to tuck tail and run from Iraq and leave some kind of experimental directed energy weapon unaccounted for.

In any event, they were blind, deaf, and immobile.  It was a bad position to be in.

"I'm going to see if we've got any illum," Lina said.  Squezzing through the driver and passenger seat, over the center console, she fished around for the MCS and ammo box.  She quickly configure the Remington for breaching with sling but no stock.  The 10 inch barrel was the only one that wouldn't cause a problem with flares thanks to its cylindrical choke.  She loaded the 3 round tube with a single alternating buckshot and slug.  Three more of each slotted into the shell carrier.  Lina grabed a handfull of red flares and shoved them into her pocket.

"Alright, we will link up with Choi and Omdahl and secure the immediate area."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Fri 05 Dec 2014.

"Roger that, mum."  Crad rolls out his door, leaving his own MP5 muzzle-down in the center console.  Fuck a whole lot of CQB, this is open country.  He pops the passenger door on his side and reaches in for the kit he can't fit into the driver's half of the front seats.  Ten seconds later he's ready to go, aid bag slung cross-body and FAL panning across the horizon to the team's rear.  "Right, I'm up."

James and Hannah ease out of the pickup's cab, leading with their muzzles.  The surface under their boots is unyielding and gritty and the smell of blood is stronger, intermingled with a faint hint of ozone.

The soles of Hannah's feet tingle slightly.  She looks down and is briefly mesmerized by a faint phosphorescent ripple across the ground.  No, not a ripple - the ground is sparking with millions of tiny flashes of static electricity, blue-white discharges arcing and rolling in fractal patterns that she's sure she could make sense of if only she had more time to study them before they fade away...

The slaughterhouse smell is so heavy James can taste it in the back of his throat.  As he draws even with the Hilux's front bumper, he realizes his subconscious was right to assign "hump" to the dark shape.  It's a camel - presumably domestic, to judge from the straps and buckles drawing dark lines across its head.  He's only seen them in zoos before but something's not quite right about this one, something beyond its obvious state of inactivity.

Fifty feet back, Karolina and Caradoc begin moving up, heavier weapons at the ready.  Caradoc swears under his breath as a momentary wind shift brings the blood-and-meat reek to him.  They can see Hannah slowly kneel down and touch her fingertips to the ground.  At the Hilux's far corner, James is crouching next to a large obstacle that lies dangerously close to the truck.

Karolina has moved about fifteen feet from the Land Cruiser when a chorus of faint beeps and clicks heralds the simultaneous rebooting of multiple comm systems.  Something buried in the vehicle's cargo gives a faint protesting chatter.

James takes another couple of steps toward the camel, shields his AK's light with a hand, and punches the button.  The muted illumination gives him a nightmare glimpse of bared yellow teeth under lips drawn back and taut, standing like a picket fence around a crimson mass of freshly-abused flesh.  A pair of eyelids fold like a deflated balloon over an empty eye socket.  He reflexively jerks away and, as the light swings across the torso, sees a red slash of incision running straight and true down the length of the camel's underbelly.

Your move.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:28, Sat 06 Dec 2014.

Camelus Dromedarius.

When the other preschoolers had been mastering their Tiny Zoo Friends^TM tiger and elephant flashcards, James' parents had been working him out hard on the Linnaean system- Panthera Tigris and Elephantidae.

Whatever you call it, this one's fucked.

"A thousand miles of desert and we run smack dab into this sorry sack o' meat..."

James tears his eyes from the morbidly fascinating scene of unnatural gore to survey the surrounds. Find the threat, had been one of several HRT mantras tattooed on his brain by hundreds of hours of training excercises. Someone or something had done this to poor Mr. Camel and the smell, the color of the blood- it seemed like a fresh kill. First, Find the threat. He could try to put his two semesters of pre-med credits to good use later.

James flicks the NVG's power button back on with his off and pulls them down over his eyes. Left hand back to the AK's foregrip, he cuts the power to the carbine's white light and briefly contemplates turning on its infrared counterpart. Not yet. They hadn't spotted any lights on the way in so whoever did this might also have access to IR optics. If there were still eyes around, it's doubtful that the team's arrival hadn't been noticed, but James doesn't want to make it easy on any potential watchers. In a tactical crouch, rifle up, James scans the immediate area through his goggles, searching for the bogeyman. He works his way from near to far, scanning as much of the perimeter as he can without crossing any of his teammate's muzzles.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:17, Sun 07 Dec 2014.

To miejsce pachnie jak pieprzony polskim sklepie mięsnym, Karolina thought to herself.  When she saw Choi examining what looked to be a dead camel, she gave the infantry hand signal to stop and pull security.  She took a knee and scanned the area, pulling out her NVGs and checking them once she heard the comms gear comms gear come to life.

The whole thing was starting to reminder her of the Biltine incident.  She silently prayed for something she could shoot at.  Something other than a dead camel derailing their insertion.  She had been down this road before already.

Hannah was crouched, her left hand held just millimeters from the ground.  Her head was cocked to the side as she watched the dim sparking along the desert floor as the concentric circles emanate away from her.  Her brain started a Coulombic calculation almost immediately; trying to infer the electromagnetic flux required.

She hadn't the time to dwell on the mysterious phenomena for more than a moment as her reverie was broken by the dull whine of her night-vision goggles resetting.  When James' flashlight winked out, the lithe aviatrix instinctively pulled the hardware back over her eyes.  She blinked letting them adjust even as the view started to come into focus.

Hannah could feel the thin layer of perspiration on her palms, the MP5K-PDW's solid weight was a welcome, solid certainty in her hands.  She glanced towards the obstacle that she had almost hit and it took her a pregnant moment to realize exactly what it was.  She was almost dumbstruck; it was quite macabre - and definitely unexpected.  "Is that what I think it is?" Hannah prompted softly, even as started to scan the area for the perpetrator of this rather cruel display.

She'd never heard of any group terrorist or otherwise that participated in animal vivisection.  "Is it a warning?  Or a totem?" she mused quietly over her shoulder, though loud enough for her co-pilot to hear, as she placed her back to the vehicle, still scanning the dark and suddenly oppressive surroundings.  Hannah wrinkled her nose slightly and took shallow breaths to minimize the stench in her nostrils.

James and Hannah scan the team's forward arc.  The desert is silent and still, save for the fluctuating sparkles that are more visible in the NVGs than to the naked eye.  Over a matter of seconds, the effect radiates out from the lead vehicle, silhouetting four more carcasses spaced evenly over an arc covering several hundred meters.  The Hilux is stopped at the southernmost of the unfortunate animals.

As the faint illumination expands outward, it terminates in some sort of invisible line too regular to be natural.  Karolina, closest to the effect, lifts her NVGs for a closer look without monochrome intermediation.  The cause of the jolt she felt immediately before the mass equipment failure is now clear.  The vehicles, the team, and the camels are in a wide, shallow depression in which the sand is packed to the apparent density of stone.  The affected area, flat and level as a billiard table, sits several inches to several feet below the area of the surrounding ground, with a clearly-defined lip - about six inches where the vehicles drove over it.  It's as if the team is standing in a precisely-placed giant's footprint.

As the four agents watch, the phosphorescence winks out.  The area's lip crumbles slightly as the sand reverts to its natural consistency.

With no visible threat, Lina took a moment to examine the depression created in the sand.  She was already parsing the words in her head that she would use to try to describe the effect to someone.  She interrupted herself, knowing that every minute spent here increased their likely hood of detection.

”Radio check,” Kowalska said into her headset on the team's tac net.  Once everyone checked in, she spoke.

”Painter, Double Down, we need left side and right side security,” Lina said, pointing to the area forward of the Hilux as she did so.  She would take up watching the rear.

Striding back to the Land Cruiser, she continued, ”Bok Choy, there’s an evidence kit and camera system on your truck.  Get whatever photos and samples of this animal that three minutes allows.   We need to be on the move in five.”

Reaching into the Land Cruiser, she keyed up the satcom, pulling the handset out so she could stand on the running board and keep an eye on the team’s six.  ”Foundation, this is Empire Six, radio check,” she said.

What idiot comes up with these call signs? she asked herself as she waited for a reply.  Before the mission, one of the keyboard drivers  had a hearty laugh when she asked what it meant.  Karolina hadn’t bothered to remember the explanation it was so esoteric and stupid.  She wondered if Bannon or Mewes was signing off on this kind of thing or just leaving it up to their staff's wild imagination.  When the reply came back over the sattellite network, Lina refocued on the task at at hand.

”Foundation, what is the status of your surveillance asset, over?”  The team needed to know if they could still depend on help getting through the militia patrols.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Mon 08 Dec 2014.

"Roger.  I have the right."  Caradoc deploys his FAL's bipod and flops down at the edge of the depression, using it for cover like a street curb.

"Empire Six, Foundation, reading you five by five.  Raven reports no contacts on your planned route."  There's a brief pause.  "Six, telemetry shows your vehicles have stopped.  Say your status, over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:50, Tue 09 Dec 2014.

"Roger that, boss lady."

Satisfied that no earthly threats lurk in the immediate vicinity, James moves back to the Hilux to collect the camera and sample kit. His AK hangs close at hand from its three-point tactical sling as he snaps some pics of the scene- a close-up of the odd rim encircling the depression, a wide angle shot of the depression itself, the wounds inflicted upon Mr. Camel, and his similarly deceased friends. Setting down the camera on the hood of the Toyota, James opens the sample kit, pulls on a pair of surgical gloves and a surgical mask, and starts collecting blood and tissue from around the incisions, quickly but carefully placing bits and pieces in Ziploc baggies stamped with the universal biohazard symbol. If my folks could only see me now. The stench rising from the precise, cleanly cut gashes is powerful, permeating right around the snug surgical mask. "Woo. And I thought these things smelled bad on the outside..." The odor isn't quite rot- the corpse is too fresh for that. Burned flesh, definitely, but there's something else. Ozone maybe?

Internal clock reading two minutes, fifty-five seconds, James boxes the sample baggies and stowes the kit and camera back where he found them. Pulling off his gloves and mask, he cracks wise, "I hope that thing doesn't have space herpes."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:06, Tue 09 Dec 2014.

"Double Down.  Here." she responded to Lina's roll call.

"Roger that, Dancer.  I'm on left." Hannah spoke easily into her commlink as she assumed a crouched ready position and continued to scan the left-side quadrant for anything moving or suspicious.

"In position." the army aviatrix continued her vigil.  She could feel the edge of the adrenaline rush subsiding.  The loss of vision (even just monochromatic, technologically-enhanced vision) had spooked her slightly.  Hannah could feel the small beads of perspiration on her palms and forehead.  She had to force herself to focus, on the task at hand.

She dutifully checked-in with the others, giving the clear sign.  Then breathed a soft sigh of relief when James signaled with his quip that he was done.  She waited until the G-man was packed up and ready to get back into the cab of the pick-up truck before bugging out herself.  As she popped back into the driver's seat, Hannah noted rather deadpan to her riding companion, "Space Herpes?  Ick."  She blanched slightly.

Lina motioned for Caradoc to mount up as she ducked back into the cab of the Land Cruiser and keyed the satcom again.

”Foundation, Empire Six.   Suggest you review the Raven’s logs for any irregularities.  All of our electronics, including comms, night vision, and vehicle electrical systems were hit with an electrical disturbance at this location.  Perhaps related, we’ve come across five dead, mutilated camels and some unusual geological activity here.  Our systems are back online and we are resuming route.  Interrogative; has the Libyan government pursued any directed energy weapon or EMP research, over?”

As Karolina waited for the reply, she thought about pulling both vehicles over to confab with her team, but she wanted to be at least a few kilometers away before they pulled off.

”Have you ever seen anything like that before Corporal?” she asked Crewe.  Kowalska was still trying to process what had just happened.  She had her own theory at this point and it had little to do with directed energy weapons.  She wasn’t quite ready to verbalize her speculation though.

Juggling two comm nets plus a conversation with her driver with the skill of a seasoned officer, Lina transmitted on the tacnet.  ”Double, can you look at your map and find us some place 2-3 kicks off our planned route where we can stop for a bit?  Over,”
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Wed 10 Dec 2014.

James flips the mental switch from tactical to investigation mode and sets to work for the fastest, weirdest crime scene workup he's ever done.  He's no veterinarian but it's clear this camel is unsalvageable.  Both eyes are missing, as are the optic nerves as far back as he can see.  The tongue is gone, too, excised without disturbance of the surrounding tissue.  The connecting blood vessels and muscle tissue are clean and smooth.

Working his way back, James determines that Mr. Camel is now a steer.  The reproductive organs are gone, removed with the same precision.  There's a millimetric hint of char at the hair along the border of the wound.  Mixed with the faint scent of burnt hair is a definite ozone aroma.

At the base of the neck is a six-inch cylindrical wound running straight down to the spine, its sides as regular as if punched out of the skin and flesh with a biscuit cutter.  The top halves of two vertebrae are missing, cut smooth and flat, and the spinal cord appears to have been stripped out of the vertebral column.  On close examination, the remaining sections of the damaged vertebrae show a pattern of crystalline fractures along the surfaces of the cuts.

Despite repeated attempts at multiple blood vessels and in all three major wounds, James can't draw more than a half-cc of blood into his sample tubes.

As Lina's patience clock runs down, the team pulls out.  The convoy's course takes it within a few dozen feet of another camel cadaver, this one collapsed in on itself as if missing most of its internal organs.

"Roger, Empire," the controller replies, not quite keeping a dubious note out of his voice.  "Negative on observed issues with the Raven.  We're reviewing the logs now.  Stand by, we'll send that query up the chain and get back to you.  Foundation out."

In the Land Cruiser, Crewe shakes his head at Karolina's question.  "Never, Captain."  He turns his head for a parting glimpse of the camels, then keys his own team radio.  "Hey, Overachiever, I'd really like a look at those snaps when we halt."

Hannah easily locates a rock outcropping about two miles off the planned route and diverts toward it.  The next few minutes pass in silence as the team rolls southeast.  The vehicles halt in the lee of a rounded sandstone protrusion the size of a small town and the agents dismount, scanning the surrounding dunes with perhaps a bit more than their usual reflexive paranoia.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:20, Wed 10 Dec 2014.

"Yes, Ma'am." Hannah noted dutifully over the team channel to Lina's request for a waypoint.  There was pause of about 10 seconds, "I'm seeing an outcropping about three klicks out.  Correcting course now."

A few minutes later, she had pulled the Hilux to a stop.  Shutting the engine down, Hannah sat there for a moment, looking up at the huge sandstone jutting upwards before her before piling out the pickup.  She had seemed slightly unnerved by the second animal cadaver that they had seen.  It just seemed unnatural; she had pointed it out to James - who had likely seen it before she had, but they hadn't the time to stop for it or get a better look.

"So..." the brown-haired aviatrix ventured as she walked up to confer with the others, "that was creepy."  For Hannah, she had never seen anything quite like it before.  "That didn't seem like the work of terrorists or militants." Hannah prompted.  "One of those camel corpses looked..." she searched for a reasonable word, but was at a loss and had to settle for, "...empty."  She had her PDW with her, as she glanced furtively about for a moment.

After a quick security sweep of the impromptu lager site, James returns to the Hilux and retrieves the digital SLR camera. Turning it on, he switches from shooting to viewing mode and hands it off to Crewe.

Addressing Omdahl's observations, James muses, "I think we can probably rule out camel knife fight."

James fights the near constant urge to look over his shoulder. It's irrational, he knows, but since the weirdness at the electro-seismic camel corral, he can't help but feel that he's being watched, and not by Grey Cell's spy sats- that's a given.

"Elephant in the room here, people: that was some serious X-Files shit. I'm no expert in rural Libyan cuisine but I doubt that was the local butcher's work. You've all seen stuff on unexplained livestock mutilation right? It's been out there for ages. I read about it in a Time Life Tales of the Unexplained book at my school library when I was like 10 or something- Greys taking a joy ride over Old McDonald's farm, maybe indulging in a little recreational probing, then slicing and dicing a few cows for Martian science. And that mini EMP or whatever... We don't even have shit like that. I'm just sayin'."

Suddenly aware of that he's rambling, James cuts himself off and hopes someone jumps in to fill the ensuing uncomfortable silence.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:15, Sat 13 Dec 2014.

Hannah had to raise an eyebrow when James starts wildly postulating.  "Whoa, there Choi," she ventured, one hand held up partly in mock surrender and partly in to try and get the man to calm down a touch, "no one said anything about aliens; it looks to me that the protégé of friggin' Joseph Mengele is on the loose in Qaddafi's ol' stomping grounds."  Which might make their insertion, and mission in general, all that more difficult.  She paused for a moment - perhaps in thought or perhaps for effect, "Seriously, that seems more likely than any theory concerning 'little green rednecks'..."

"I mean," she continued, "who knows what that whacked-out nutjob had been trying to do while in power; rumors abound had it that he tortured, gassed and killed his own people at various points."  Obviously, the army aviator had bought into the theory that Qaddafi had gone off the deep end by the time he was ousted.  Yet there remained pockets of loyalists and, she had little doubt, possibly some of his military caches and laboratories, as well.

Hannah shrugged slightly, glancing between Karolina and Caradoc for a little support potentially, before her gaze returned to James, "Besides, I'm more worried about some rogue weapons developers that we need to find."  Another pause, before she postulated, "And probably the quicker the better.  Especially, if those strange EM-pulses are their doing."  Now, that phenomenon was truly disconcerting to Hannah; she like the whole team, relied heavily on their technological gadgets to remain truly effective ...

Caradoc silently accepts the camera and scrolls through James' images, occasionally glancing uneasily at the horizon and brushing his fingertips along the receiver of his slung rifle.  At length, he clears his throat.

"I've heard stories," he begins warily, looking sidelong at James.  "My family has land in Wales, the tenants have been raising sheep there for about four centuries, give or take.  There's a," he quirks his mouth at Hannah's skepticism, "an oral history of this sort of thing.  A few sheep go missing, maybe a dog or a horse, and turn up later in strange places, missing pieces.  They, ah, they say it's a price the fair folk ask for us to use the land without interference."

As the vehicles pulled near the sandstone outcropping, Lina felt a sense of relief that they had at least made it off the X in one piece.  Her inner pessimist remaindered her that it might just be out of the frying pan, and the fire was waiting, but she suppressed that thought for now.

As the team gathered to discuss and review the events, Karolina listened, but didn’t offer any opinion.  She often tried to let everyone speak before rendering a decision or adding input.  It could be difficult for someone as opinionated as she was, but it was always worth it.  When she did speak, she skirted speculation.

”One of my instructors at Stare Kiejkuty use to say that if you don’t have enough piece to put the puzzle together, then you haven’t done enough collection.”  It was clear from the context, Lina was talking about the task of intelligence collection, even if the reference to Poland’s Camp Peary or Fort Monckton equivalent wasn’t clear.

”Hannah, see if you can take control of the Raven using the secondary terminal in the truck.  I’d like to get a fly over of the site if possible.  For all we know, the electrical phenomenon is related or tangentially to the fusion research the Tamboli’s are undertaking.  And if it’s not, then I think it’s certainly something that needs to be put on someone’s radar.  An effect like that directed at a 747 or a hospital could inflict considerable casualties.”

"Empire Six, Foundation.  We have four ground targets north of your position, twelve miles out.  One cargo truck, three technicals.  They're heading south-southeast in column, speed approximately twenty miles per hour.  Closest point of approach looks like... one and a half miles, over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:24, Fri 12 Dec 2014.

Although the incoming convoy was looking to miss the Grey Cell vehicles by a fairly wide margin, James knew that discretion was of the utmost importance. Plenty of concealment lies just a little ways off. "Shall we circle around to the far side of this big... hummock and wait them out?"

-

Hannah was already unpacking the secondary terminal when the broadcast about the four trucks nearby crackled in her ear.  Her thin fingers paused in their movements for a moment and she glanced in Lina's direction.

Though it was probably not likely they could be seen or heard at this range, Hannah ratcheted her voice down a notch.  "Are we moving first, Ma'am?" she prompted, as the answer did affect if she needed to finish unpacking or re-stow the gear for the moment.

"Foundation, Empire Six copies.  We are going to mask our position with terrain and wait for them to pass,"  Lina was still miffed about the skeptical attitude she had gotten from the radio operator earlier so she ended the interaction with a curt, "out."

Nodding at James' suggestion, she motioned for Crewe to get the vehicle running.  When Hannah asked her about moving, she replied, "Yes.  No need to tempt fate.  We'll relocate and then try for a flyover of the camel site."

The team quickly displaces a few hundred meters west, putting the vast bulk of the outcropping between themselves and the nearby convoy.  At Lina's direction, James and Caradoc head around the rock's north side, hoping to find a usable vantage point.  The captain covers Hannah's back while the pilot launches the team's RQ-11.  The little UAV catches a favorable air current and buzzes west toward the dromedary abattoir.

After a brisk and ankle-menacing hike, James and Caradoc find a suitable hide in the shadow of a recent rockslide.  James sets up the team's DSLR on its compact tripod and fits the highest-magnification lens in the collection.  Caradoc settles for dialing up his FAL's scope.

From a thousand feet up, the camel carcasses are clearly visible on infrared.  Hannah's seen a lot of bodies in aerial IR views and, while most of her observation has been of human subjects, her guess is that these had been cooling in the desert night for less than an hour when the team stumbled upon them.

The site itself is equally... interesting.  From above, the depression of hard-packed sand forms a clear pattern.  The Raven's digital rangefinder happily informs Hannah that it's 852 meters across.  Each camel carcass occupies the approximate center of one of the five smaller circles that span the overall pattern's center.



The convoy comes into view about five kilometers out.  The point vehicle is a UAZ-469 with a pintle-mounted heavy machine gun.  It's followed by a canvas-topped Mercedes cargo truck.  Behind that comes a Toyota Hilux, much older than the team's example, bearing what looks like a welded-on rocket pod salvaged from a downed helicopter.  Rounding out the convoy is a UAZ-452 van whose cargo bay has been torched down to accommodate a twin-barreled 23mm anti-aircraft cannon.  It's an impressive, if irregular, collection of firepower.

"Fuck me!" Caradoc whispers suddenly.  "Jim, dial in on the truck.  Front-seat passenger.  Is it that prick Attar?"

"Roger that." Hannah responded dutifully and restowed the drone gear.

A few minutes later, and a few hundred yards distant, the brown-haired, army aviator was once again unpacking the drone's controls.  It launched without incident and Hannah maneuvered the unmanned craft high up over the area from which they came.

"No way..." escaped her lips as what could only be described as a crop circle came into view.  "What the hell is that?" Hannah asked semi-rhetorically, as she glanced to make sure that the video feed was being recorded, "It's almost one klick wide..."  She'd never seen a crop circle in person; of course, there had been stories and news articles around where she grew up: usually a bored farmer or a practical joke.  But, this was something else - especially with the camel carcasses.  That was just plain freaky - and not in a good way.

She motioned to Lina.  "Captain." her voice barely above a whisper, "What do you make of this?"  Strangeness apparently needed to be shared...

James tracks the truck through the SLR's range-finder, dials up maximum zoom, and hits the image stabilization button. The shape occupying the front passenger seat transforms from a fuzzy, grayish blob into a slightly less fuzzy, still greyish human head and shoulders- definitely male, very Middle Eastern. The individual in question could be Attar, but at this range and angle, James isn't comfortable giving an unqualified confirmation.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If it is him, it's quite a coincidence."

-

Lina looked over and studied the image on the screen for a moment.  She was by no means an expert on whatever was happening, but that didn't stop her from having plenty of ideas and questions about what they were seeing.

"Is Foundation seeing this?"  That was perhaps the most important query right now.  Lina followed up with some specific sensor requests.  She didn't know the capability of the RQ-11, but she knew that Hannah would know.

"Can you identify the orientation of the dead camel axis?  We don't know if the specific bearing might be important.  Also, can the Raven fly upside down or adjust the sensors to  get a shot of the night sky from it's position?"  Lina knew that the movement of the stars and sky would have changed in the past hour, but it wouldn't have changed that much.  Much like Stonehenge or Zorats Karer had their stones aligned to celestial phenomena at certain times of the year, this pattern might correlate to some stellar event or timing.  Lina reminded herself that mankind had been building monuments and sacrificing animals throughout the ages.  But she couldn't help but wonder how they could stumble across this so recently after it's creation and not find the authors.  Never mind that nothing yet explained the electrical phenomena.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:47, Tue 16 Dec 2014.

Secure in their position, James and Caradoc continue to observe the convoy as it rolls toward the outcropping's eastern end.  Incirlik's estimate is pretty accurate: the closest point of approach is about two kilometers.  At that range, it's still hard to make out details, but the truck's passenger does seem like he could be Mas'ud Attar.  The Raven could provide a closer visual if it could get the right angle, but its limited speed and short legs would require the team to race ahead of the convoy and launch it for a head-to-head intercept - or to trail the other vehicles until they stop.

Despite their heavy armament, the vehicle crews aren't keeping a particularly close watch on their surroundings.  The convoy rounds the far end of the sandstone mass and passes out of sight.  Caradoc gives James an eloquent shrug, packs up, and begins the trudge back to the vehicles.

Meanwhile, Hannah bites her lip and coaxes the Raven into aerobatics far outside its intended flight envelope.  The view from the belly-mounted camera would be nauseating on a larger screen but she manages to capture a full panoramic record of not only the starscape but the horizon, providing enough imagery for a complete reconstruction of the scene later.  The drone's battery level is below half and dropping when she returns to level flight, paralleling the axis of camel distribution.

Lina unfolds a map and lines it up with the Raven's flight path.  By Hannah's dead reckoning, the convoy will intersect the invisible line about eight kilometers south of the team's current position, in a wide, shallow, twisty wadi that runs vaguely east-west out of the mountains.

"Empire Six, this is Foundation Six Actual."  The callsign is unnecesssary - Group Captain Mewes' clipped tones clearly identify him.  "We acknowledge your visual and are handing it off for analysis.  We also have a potential change in mission parameters.  Put Empire Two on, please."

James arrives back at the vehicles, takes a look at Lina's expression, and accepts the outthrust SATCOM terminal headset.  "Uh, Empire Two here.  Go ahead?"

"Empire Two, stand by for retrans from Parameter."  Mewes' voice is sharp with irritation.  James has to think for a moment - Parameter is a contingency call sign for a stateside asset.

There's a series of tones, then: "Empire Two?  Ah, fuck it.  If this line isn't secure we're screwed as soon as I transmit this.  Choi, this is Vest.  I'm going to squirt you a video that, um, Empire Three just shot.  Watch it, take a few deep breaths, then show it to your team and brief them on your Los Alamos case.  That compartment just got kicked wide open."

The laptop attached to the terminal burbles happily as it sucks down a compressed video file from the satellite.  With some trepidation, James angles the screen away from his teammates and double-clicks.  A shakycam shot opens: what looks like a garage, a battered foreign-made sedan up on jacks, two bodies on the floor, one of them gouting gray-green smoke.  The smoke swirls away from a dissolving head...

It's deja vu all over again.

A number of emotions swirl around in James' psyche as the video plays- curiosity, disgust, fear, relief. He sets the laptop down on the Toyota's hood so that the others can see the screen. Clicking on the play icon, he steps back and studies their faces as they watch the screening.

"Well, whattaya think? Pretty fucked up, isn't it? That's not the first time I've seen something like that. About a year ago, on an HRT op in Los Alamos, one of my teammates shot a dude three times in the chest at point blank range- 10mm hollow points. He was declared dead on the scene. I was there. The EMTs tagged and bagged him and took the body to the county meat locker. I drew paperwork detail so I headed down there to get some signatures about an hour or so later. Right before I got there, the subject 'woke up' on the slab, killed the coroner's assistant, broke a deputy's neck, and was beating another deputy half to death with his own arm. I walked in, drew my weapon, and shouted at him to stop. When he looked up at me, his eyes weren't right. They were reptilian- vertical oblong pupils, no irises, the whites were completely yellow. He started to come at me with that arm so I put two .45 rounds between those freaky-ass eyes and he went down. For good. Didn't melt like that, but he sure wasn't human. I heard later through the grapevine that one of my teammate's 10mm rounds went through the freak's heart and another one was lodged in his spine. I have a feeling that incident is why I'm here now."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:21, Wed 17 Dec 2014.

Caradoc looks sharply at James.  "The one you killed.  What happened to the body?"

Lina suppressed a strong urge to make a snide comment about the competence of the medic who declared Choi’s lizard man dead at the scene, but thought better of it.

” Kurwa Amerykańska Illuminati bzdury,” she muttered under her breath.  Poland had more than its fair share of conspiracy theory kooks.  Even many of the educated middle class believed that US moon landing had been faked, that aliens lived among us, and that 9/11 was an inside job.  For most of her life, she had labeled a significant number of her countrymen as crazy or at least a bit off, whenever they confided such beliefs to her.  Now Lina was finding out that they were correct, at least in some regard.

Her subconscious had been preparing for something like this Biltine though.  She never had an adequate explanation for what had happened that night, but reporting what she had seen had certainly drawn someone’s ire.  'The truth shall set you free,' she thought to herself, then snorted. '...from gainful employment,' was the part they didn't' tell you.  Kowalska wasn't so much shocked as livid.

”Is there anything else we need to know Special Agent Choi?” she asked in a calm, even tone that somehow conveyed more anger than if she had been yelling.

James fought back the urge to shrug. "A bunch of guys in hazmat suits showed up, claiming they were with the CDC, sealed off the area, kicked everyone else out. They weren't CDC, though- looked like they spent more time in the gym than they did in the lab. Hell, they could have been working for the same guys we are now. I never saw lizard man again; never heard what happened to the body either."



James could read the anger, but he didn't understand where it was coming from. Didn't Kowalska just lecture them all about jumping to conclusions? "Well, when we got back to Quantico from Los Alamos, my whole unit was called in before the top-floor people, one at a time, and told never to talk about the incident with anyone, under any circumstances, ever. Until just now, that is. Would you have believed me if I'd told you before you'd watched the video? And it's not exactly water cooler talk, now is it?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:32, Thu 18 Dec 2014.

Hannah had kept mostly quiet during the video and James narration.  If anything, she might have squirmed a touch uneasily on her feet, shifting her position to cast a sidelong glance at the g-man more than once.

She swallowed hard, having a bit of a tough time processing everything.  It had all gone a bit pear-shaped all too quickly.  This wasn't what she had signed on for really.  Thought, what exactly she had signed on for wasn't immediately obvious to her either.  But Hannah knew very specifically that little green (or grey) men, aliens, lizard men, reanimated corpses, mutilated camels and crop circles were never mentioned.  Her memory wasn't that bad.

"I..." the dark-haired aviator stammered slightly, "I thought you were joking about the Tales of the Unexplained stuff ..."  Though, obviously, he was not.  She gestured to the video screen, and then to the remote monitor and shook her head, "That... that is just messed up."  And her tone didn't make it sound like she meant it in a good way.

She had almost forgotten about the drone; Hannah eased the unmanned craft into its required 45 degree stall as she brought it in for its soft landing nearby; with no landing gear to speak of ultralight drone pretty much required a controlled crash in coming back down to earth.  She trotted over to the RQ-11 and patted the sensor array gently as she picked the thing up to bring it back to the others.  She moved supply vehicle to replace the batteries and charge to the spent set.

The army aviatrix took a deep breath as she closed up the case for the drone and restowed it.  "Okay," she noted quietly and solemnly as she worked, "What is the play?  Where do we go from here?  Are we to try and intercept Attar in the spooky ravine, the one pointed to by the crop circle?  In the dead of the night?"  She seemed to have pointedly chosen that last phrase.

She didn't feel completely equipped for this mission, but there wasn't anyone else around.  Hannah glanced James' way, "Are you certain that only a head shot through the eyes will kill our enemies?"  Her performance on the range had improved.  But not so much that she would be called a crack shot by any stretch of the imagination ...

"We may be professional badasses, but we don't have the numbers or the firepower to take down that convoy, even if we could get the drop on them. Unless someone packed a guided missile launcher while I wasn't looking..."



James was relieved to no longer be the lone voice in the wilderness- those sorts usually got pegged as the crazy conspiracy theorist and, 99% of the time, the naysayers were right. At the same time, he now felt, more keenly than ever, the burden of his experience. He was by no means an expert. He'd simply had one particularly bizarre run-in and survived to tell the tale- that was it.

"I'm not sure about anything. What I heard about the 10mm rounds in the heart and spine was never confirmed by anyone in the know. As intel, it's not much better than pure rumor. And we don't know how D&D took down their guy. All I can say is that if we get into a shootout, I'm aiming for the head."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 22:38, Thu 18 Dec 2014.

”It is not,” Lina said.  She took a deep breath and tried to come to terms with the fact that apparently humanity was not alone in the universe, and that various governments were actively seeking to suppress that information.  By no means was Lina an ‘information needs to be free’ person, but getting informed about this ‘development’ during an op was problematic at best.

When Hannah and James started discussing how best to deal with Attar, Lina nodded in agreement with Choi's assessment of their firepower.

”We will not directly engage the convoy,” Lina said.  The ZSU-23-2 on the back of the UAZ could cut through the team’s two vehicles with ease.  ”Let’s see if Foundation wants to commit air support to take out Attar, or if they have other ideas.”

”Foundation Six, this is Empire Six.  We’ve reviewed the video.  Lima, Golf, Mike; got it.” Lina said.  She thought about adding, and I don’t mean lawyers, guns, and money, but held her tongue since Mewes was on the line.  ”Reconnaissance of the convoy has identified Mas'ud Attar as the front seat passenger in the second vehicle.  We are going to need those Sigonella assets if you want him Tango Uniform, over.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Thu 18 Dec 2014.

"Ah, roger that.  Wait one."  There's a hiss of open mic and a rustle as Mewes pulls the boom away from his mouth.  "Is that his actual phrasing?  And he gave a secure code, not a duress code?  Well, they've been stationary long enough and there's no sign of pursuit.  Patch them in."

Mewes clears his throat.  "Ahh... Empire Six, be advised, we've lost the feed from our aerial asset.  Parameter is trying to reacquire.  More critically, are you positive on that ID?  Empire Three stated that the video we just sent you was Attar's remains."  The audio feed pops and there's an electronic chirrup.  "Right.  Empire Three and Five are on the link.  We need to recalibrate this mission.  Gentlemen, we've all seen the video and we need a report on your recent hostile contact."

Confirmation that I'm not off the deep end then, Dacovetti thinks.  There is a substantial sense of relief that is followed and then rapidly overpowered by the uncertainty of just what it was saw in that garage.  It certainly wasn't human, but it was wearing a human face prior to dumping enough heat to melt itself.  There was a rabbit hole of uncertainty sprialing through his thoughts that it simply didn't pay enough dividends to head down right now.  He decided to just call it alien and be done with it.  It may not have been alien in the sense of "another planet," but it was alien enough from his world.

"Be advised, Empire Five hasn't seen the video yet.  We've been rather task saturated until the present moment. Stand by one."

Michael pauses and pulls the sat phone away from his ear and queues up the video on his iPhone.  "All right, take a look at this.  I filmed this right after we exfil'd from the garage.  I was hoping to expose this to you at the safe house, but it looks like events have overtaken that plan and moved us into the unknown."  He hands Seb the Apple product and gets back on the sat phone.

"Empire Five is watching and processing now.  We have a positive ID that the body is Attar from our end and outside confirmation by our package.  He did go down hard.  Multiple rounds to the limb and torso didn't do much until Empire Five hit him with an entire magazine center mass.  Kill shot was two in the head.  The gas started about thirty seconds later."  It bent the mind to think that they might have another sighting of Attar out in the desert.  The simplest explanation was mistaken ID.  With this level of professionals, that wasn't terribly likely.  For some reason, the idea that Attar was a twin and nobody knew about it crossed into the ridiculous.  Which left the unknown.  Clone? Alien?  Who knew.

Caradoc shoots Karolina an inquiring glance and picks up the handset.  "Three, this is One.  Ah, a magazine from what?  Two says his was rather resistant to pistol-caliber fire.  I'm wondering if rifles or shotgun slugs will have better terminal effects."

He releases the transmit key and mutters, "what gun for Silurians?"

With only 9mm compatible firearms, Hannah was a bit up the creek, if larger bore rounds were required on this mission now.  But, everyone in the group knew that; so, it probably behooved her to just keep her mouth shut on that front.  They'd cross that bridge when it came to it.  Presumably, Amber Cell could do something about that in a pinch.

Hannah shook her head for a moment, as if to try and dispel some cobwebs which were hampering her thoughts.  "So," she ventured slowly, "the play is to continue on to Tripoli?  Presumably, 'alien' Attar is also interested in the Tambolis and we aren't going to let him get to them?"

The lithe army aviatrix grimaced slightly, "What if the Tambolis are aliens, too..."  It might be just a bit too paranoid to think that way.  But then again, maybe not.  "I mean," she continued brainstorming, "why would extraterrestrials be interested in Terran technology and scientists?"  Hannah glanced at the others, obviously more than a touch confused, then she blurted out, "They must have vastly superior technology!  They just navigated and traveled over an interstellar distance..."

She lapsed into silence again.  If the Tambolis were targets, alien or not, there was always the question of if they could convince them to come willing with Grey Cell and not go with the enemy.

Durand takes the offered phone from Dealer, thumbs the button to play it whilst the American continues the conversation with the rest of the team, watches it once all the way through. What the fuck? He watches it again, studying it intently. It looks like Attar’s corpse is….melting? And is the source of the…what the fuck was it? The Frenchman had been under the impression he’d taken a faceful of CS gas, although he didn’t know where it had come from, had assumed that perhaps Boulos had had some hidden away and had decided to use it, perhaps to try and cover an escape attempt, which Durand thinks would have been fair enough given that at the time the Libyan had no idea who was having a gunfight in his garage.

But this…this does not make sense. If they were back at Incirlik he would wonder if Dealer was…what do the Americans say, yanking his chain, playing a joke on him, for after all, pretty much anything can be faked now, but he knows that Dacovetti wouldn’t fuck about on ops. So he has filmed what he has seen. Durand tries to rationalise it, tries to think of explanations for what he is looking at as he plays the video for a third time. The only possible conclusion that he can come to is that Attar had some sort of…suicide pill? Something he would take to avoid capture? But something that dissolves his corpse? Is that even possible? And those remains had clearly been….to call them not right was an understatement of some order of magnitude…Durand shakes his head, hands the phone back to Dacovetti. This isn’t going to make any more sense after a fourth viewing. Or a hundred and fourth viewing.

OK, clearly we’re playing catch up to a degree here. Whilst he’s been listening to Dealer, he’s also been focused on the video, so he’s not entirely sure what’s going on or why it requires a conference in the middle of the operation. Attar is dead, something a bit weird has happened, but there’s going to be some sort of explanation. One that is rational. The thought crosses his mind that it would have been good to try and go back to the garage and see if anything is left, but there’s no telling who has  turned  up there by now, so he discounts that option.

Leaning towards the speaker, he answers Painter’s question. ”One, this is Five. The magazine was from a nine mike mike Glock. I estimate the target took twelve to fifteen rounds. Final two were into the head at extremely close range. He can’t recall specifically how many rounds he and Dealer had put into Attar between them during the firefight, only that it had been a lot. ”Note we did not have a chance to examine the corpse so it’s possible that he may have been wearing body armour. However I am 100% certain that Attar is terminated." The use of an expression that is reminiscent of an enduring sci fi move franchise is entirely coincidental. ”It's a definite ID. I was about three feet away from him. The bastard was trying to kill me.” In his mind’s eye he can see the fight, see Attar lunge at him with the knife…fuck, the Iranian had been fast…he can remember Attar going down, the face that had stared at him, malevolent, contorted with…what…hate? As he pictures it he suddenly realises that there was something about it that hadn’t been quite right…in the picture that he had seen in  the folder during the briefing in Turkey the scarring had been on the right side of the target’s face. But the man who had stared at Durand during the last seconds of his life had been scarred on the left side of his face. But photos could be wrong…an analyst flipping it inadvertently…still…

”There was one thing…the scarring on his face was on the opposite side to the photo we saw. Maybe the photo got flipped by mistake.”  He pauses, considers something Painter had said. ”What do you mean by ’Two’s was resistant to pistol fire’? Two’s what?” The question wasn’t aimed so much to Crewe specifically as to anyone who wanted to pick it up.

OOC the way I’m reading the conversation Seb and Mike don't know about Jim’s previous close encounter yet; if I’ve mis read that I’ll edit my post to end with the dialogue about the photo getting flipped by mistake
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 12:11, Fri 19 Dec 2014.

James leans in and responds directly, "This is Two. Yeah, I head a pretty similar experience about a year and a half ago. I'll fill you in when we meet up again."

That appeared to be the way things were headed. There was little chance of taking down Attar-not-Attar's convoy with only two-thirds of a team. It was time to get the band back together and write a new tune.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:18, Fri 19 Dec 2014.

"Let's pack it in and get moving.  We'll link up with Dealer and Bullfrog and go over what information we have and figure out where we need to go from here,"  Lina suggested.

"Foundation, this is Empire Six.  Can you backtrack our route every hour to make sure we aren't followed, over."  Lina wanted some warning if they convoy had picked up the team's tracks.

Hannah nodded curtly to Karolina, "Yes, Ma'am."  She moved to quickly to get underway, stowing the gear she had pulled and making sure that James had saddled up as well.  She took another deep breath as she sat in the driver's seat, before slipping on her NVGs and getting ready to run the gauntlet for the next three hours.  She was used to the required focus; at least, as used to it as one could ever be.  That is why she spend so many interminable hours in the simulator and on the training runs - in the air, the consequences of lost concentration were much more dire.  Well, as long as they didn't go flying off of a ledge or a cliff in a brick of a pickup...

"Dancer," the dark-haired army aviator intoned over the comm channel, "If Foundation can also warn us if there are any more crop circles in front of us as well, it would likely save some potential transmission rebuilds..."  If the eyes in the sky were already in motion, why not use them for some basic recon as well.

She started up the engine of the Hilux, "Tripoli by daybreak."  The engine of the pickup whined for a moment, "Away we go."

As the call disconnects, Dacovetti collects his iPhone and scopes out the form of Bolous still sitting in the front seat of their vehicle.  It seems like wild conjecture to think that the engineer knows much about Attar's possible xenomorphic origins, but it has already been a wild and crazy hour.  Had he been pressed to explain what he thought his day would have been like this morning, he undoubtedly would have skipped over statements like: terminate an alien life form.  His brain was still reeling from the reality check.  But it was time for business.

"I'm recommending we hold off on really interrogating Boulos about the Attar stuff," he tells Bullfrog, "except maybe to ask if he knows of any other possible terrorists that would fit the description or of any ongoing threats from the dissolving subject."

And besides, its time to go.  Standing around a used car lot in Tripoli at night eventually has to bring some attention.

”I agree. Let’s get him back to the safe house and we can keep our heads down until the others get here.”” Durand nods. ”That will give Dancer a chance to speak to him as well, then we can take it from there.” The Frenchman winces as he speaks. He’ll get Painter to have a look at his knife wound once the rest of the team are on site as well, just to be on the safe side. He’s still trying to process what has just gone down, although he’s quite certain that there must be some sort of rational explanation for it all; Attar must have been wearing body armor, that would explain how he had been able to take multiple hits without seemingly being affected. As for what happened afterwards…well, there must be some sort of explanation that makes sense.  Durand just can’t quite think of what it might be at the moment.

Grey Cell Safe House
Tripoli, Libya
15 March 2015
1038 hrs local (0938 hrs Zulu)

Location is as important in selecting a safe house as in any other real estate transaction.  The two-story dwelling is on a little-traveled alley while still being close to two main roads.  The property's outer wall is so battered and blackened that casual passers-by are likely to assume the house within is a write-off too, particularly with the main gate decorated (but not actually blocked) by the charred skeleton of a Volvo station wagon.

In the kitchen, Sabah Boulos is washing the dishes, having correctly parsed a few awkward pauses as a signal that the NATO personnel needed a private meeting.  Since repeating his information on the Tambolis for the full team, the dapper engineer has been hovering, as if he wants to help but isn't sure what to do or how the acerbic Polish woman will receive such an offer.

For the best satellite reception - and probably by unspoken agreement on other factors, too - the team has assembled on the roof, where a mismatched collection of cheap plastic lawn chairs huddles under a ragged and sun-faded canvas awning.  Despite all approaches being covered by wireless cameras that Michael and Hannah have scattered around the area, everyone's more comfortable scanning outward with their own eyes.

Caradoc finishes checking Sebastien's status and offers a reassuring nod.  The DGSE agent is still snuffling and hawking up wads of phlegm and his eyes remain red and puffy, but copious amounts of water and a couple of tablets from the medic's kit have brought his discomfort down to a level permitting normal function.  The cut along his side is cleaned and stitched and the local anesthetic is just beginning to wear off.

Everyone else is much better - physically, at least - for a few hours' sleep.  The remains of breakfast - shakshuka with dried mutton, fried bread topped with date molasses, and sauteed chard and fried egg - are scattered across a wobbly folding card table, along with one empty and one half-empty teapot.  The satcom terminal is set up but offline for the moment.

An awkward silence hangs in the air as James brings the story of the Los Alamos Lizard Man to a close.  It's the first time he's told it in full since the post-incident debriefing.  On Michael's laptop, the clearest available frame of Mas'ud Attar's dissolution is frozen and magnified, reinforcing the reality (and surreality) of the night's events.

On the positive side of the equation, Dacovetti knows that if he's crazy, it's a group and quite possibly organizational hallucination which leads him down the thought lines that it is highly unlikely that hs is crazy.  On the negative side, the word xenomorph has just gone from a theoretical academic concept to flesh melting, ultra sharp knife wielding, bullet resistent reality.

And that's just weird.

He can't take his eyes off the computer screen for more than a few seconds without returning to convince himself that it's real.  Each look seems to confirm the impossible, each look away seems to be spent trying to come up with an alternative hypothesis.  Based on the agent's story, there isn't one.  All of the time he has spent poring over theories of space travel, communication, and possible contact.  The hours spent dreaming of alien races as a child.  The world he thought he was helping to build, and his first contact is shooting the shit out of a hostile target that wants to do something, probably not friendly, with fusion technology.  It's not how he had visualized interacting with a member of an alien race.  Maybe he should have.

"Do we have a name for them?" Michael asks, half rhetorically.  "I suppose we could use alien or lizard man or something similiar, but we're going to require a way to talk about them in the open."  He leaves unsaid that it will probably be easier to compartmentalize their new reality if it has a nice approachable nomenclature as well.

"Attars," Caradoc suggests with a shrug.  "While we're at it, do we have a way to identify them without shooting them in the face?"

He hesitates with the expression of a man who's about to say something he knows will be unpopular.  "I don't suppose there's any support for a return trip to the professor's garage," he offers.

"Personally, I'd call them targets." Durand mutters, aware that it's not necessarily the most helpful contribution he can make, but much of this isn't making sense to the Frenchman. He doesn't believe in little green men from outer space. Or little grey men. Or reptile men. So whilst part of what has gone down in Tripoli - a large part - isn't making any sense to him, he is attempting to rationalise what does make sense. A man positively identified as a terrorist tried to kill him and ended up dead himself instead, whilst Boulos is secure and has given them information on the package that they have been tasked with retrieving.

It should be that simple. But the image that is currently frozen on Dacovetti's laptop changes that,  defies any sort of rational explanation.

He turns towards Crewe, nods his head after the Welshman has finished speaking. "If you want to go to the garage I'm happy to go with you. If the corpse is still there it would be useful to have a look at it. And it might put an end to this speculation about aliens. "I'd prefer to carry something heavier than a 9 mil pistol though. Just in case." He spits out a wad of phlegm, joining several others on the rooftop. "And we did bring respirators, didn't we?" he asks with a rueful grin; he doesn't want another faceful of that gas if he can help it.

Hannah hadn't eaten much of her breakfast until she really forced herself to; she hadn't had much of an appetite since encountering the video, the crop circle, and - of course - the camels.  But she knew that she had to eat to keep her strength up.

There was a rueful smile at Seb's bravado.  She wanted to disbelieve as much as Bullfrog, but Hannah was much less certain about the present circumstances.  Something just didn't feel right.  But, Hannah wasn't being paid to 'feel right' (or wrong for that matter).  She took in a deep breath and hoped that her voiced didn't quaver; she purposefully didn't look anywhere near the direction of the frozen video screen of Michael's laptop: the one with the disintegrating corpse.

"We should hit the garage earlier rather than later." the army aviatrix noted, it was already light and after breakfast, "Unless we wait for Amber Cell to get online."  There was not telling what they would find there at this point anyways.  The place might be crawling with police for all they knew.  "Should we be listening on local chatter?" she mused aloud, "If they know about the place already, there is no sense in heading over there."

She looked in the direction of Karolina, the leader of the group.  "Split up the band?" Hannah prompted, "Or all of our eggs in one basket?"  It might be mixing metaphors (and probably poorly at that), but it got her point across she felt.  Plus, the fact that she still felt out of sorts...

Lina sipped her tea and listened to the discussion, but remained quiet for most of it.  Like the rest of her team, she was still trying to process the events of the last 24 hours.  She couldn’t help but think of the existential threat that they now faced.  She wished she had her rosary – counting always helped her think.  But Lina never carried it on missions, especially in this part of the world.  Her mind kept coming back to a quote she had read and memorized.

You and I have a rendezvous with destiny.  We will preserve for our children this, the last best hope of man on earth, or we will sentence them to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness.  If we fail, at least let our children and our children's children say of us we justified our brief moment here.  We did all that could be done.

Rendezvous with destiny and all that could be done kept echoing in her head.  When Hannah looked over at her, Lina refocused and spoke.

”Seb’s right, whatever these things are, they are still the enemy.  We will engage them as such, preferably just beyond CQB,” Lina said, noticing that Bullfrog still had some swelling around his eyes.

”As for identifying them, know your enemy, is still good, if overly clichéd advice.  We will return to the warehouse in force and recover what we can.”  Returning was risky and it didn’t get them closer to finding the Tamboli’s, but it could prove useful when they next moved on Tajura.

”I want Bullfrog and…  o Boże!  What was the last one?” Lina look flustered and slipped into Polish trying to remember Choi’s team name.  A half dozen options had been passed around and none of them seemed to fit just yet. ”Let’s go with Lizard King… as sniper overwatch.  We’ll use what we can of the urban terrain to our advantage.”  For a fleeting second, Lina questioned her own judgment in assigning an Asian-American FBI HRT member to sniper duty, but she couldn’t place the memory triggering her concern.  She trusted Choi; he was certainly not the source of her self-doubt.  She continued without thinking further about the issue.

”First however,” Lina looked toward Caradoc, ”Boulos is going to get his physical early this year.  There are known knowns and human pulse, respiration, temperature, and anatomy is one of them.” For whatever reason, the Polish Kapitan appeared to be fond of quoting and paraphrasing American conservatives, both old and older.

”Once that’s done, we’ll drag him along.  He stays in our sight until we can turn him over to Amber,” Lina added.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Tue 06 Jan 2015.

"Hannah's correct. If we're going back, there's no point in hanging around and giving the other team a chance to get in to the garage." Durand agreed with Double Down when the American woman said that they should revisit the garage sooner rather than later. He's trying very hard to put this whole ET thing to one side and look at this as he would any other operation, and in that regard the Frenchman was angry at himself that he and Dacovetti hadn't lingered longer at the garage in the early hours, for while one part of his brain was telling him that getting clear of the scene had been the right decision for a host of reasons, not least of which the odious gas cloud that had appeared from...somewhere...there was another part of him that was beating himself up over it, for the delay may have given any other players involved an opportunity to sanitise the scene and remove any useful intel.

Still, what was done was done. "You got it."  he says to Dancer when she starts issuing orders, nodding to Choi as she teams him with the FBI Agent.

James was convinced that the garage would be swarming with people by now. What kind of people remained to be seen. Best case, it would be a few nosy neighbors. Worst case, a couple dozen of Attar's pissed off "militia" buddies, spoiling for retribution. Still, given the unit's limited options, he'd rather head to the garage than try to tackle a convoy of heavily armed technicals in a box canyon.

"This puppy wasn't built for long range precision work, but I'll do my best." he says, patting the tricked out AK-105 carbine he'd brought along on the trip.

OOC: I can't remember if anyone brought along more suited to the task of overwatch but, if so, perhaps James could borrow it for a bit?

-

Caradoc heaves an exaggerated sigh and tilts his head toward the FN FAL propped against the roof's battered parapet.  "That's a wee bit more what you'll be needing, I reckon."  He rises to his feet and stretches.  "I'll go get my little black bag and assure myself that we're all mammals here."

OOC: Crad's primary is a standard-length FAL with a fixed stock and a 4-12x scope.  He also brought an MP5-PDW.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:39, Wed 07 Jan 2015.

"Much obliged. I'll take good care of it for you," James replies. It was good to have options. The FAL was better suited to overwatch and countersniping while the compact, ferocious AK-105 would serve as backup should things get up close and personal.

-

Michael decides to take the sanity maintaining action of closing the laptop that everybody seems to be alternatively fixated on or studiously ignoring.  At this point, the image is burned into the backside of his retinas and deep into his mind's eye anyway.

"Despite the lack of volunteering from Foundation, perhaps we could request a data dump from higher HQ.  Apparently they have some experience with these...entities, targets, Attars, whatever.  If Agent Choi has had prior contact, and they acquired a body, there might be a little more intel floating around that we can utilize."

Dacovetti looks around the skyline for a moment or two.  "I concur with observing the garage before we move in.  If it hasn't already been pilfered, I'm real curious to observe who comes calling on the site."

Durand takes a sip from a bottle of water, turns in his chair to address Omdahl again. "DD, is it possible that you can overfly the garage with the UAV whilst Painter is making sure that Doctor Boulos isn't a little green man, give us an idea of what's going down there right now?"

An impromptu physical (under the guise of checking for hidden injuries from the previous night) reveals that Boulos is both human and fairly healthy for a lab-dweller.  While Caradoc handles that side of the investigation, with James in the next room in case Boulos turns out to be non-terrestrial, Hannah lofts the Raven from the safe house's roof and sends it west over the city.  An hour of loitering - about the limit of the unit's battery - reveals no activity in the vicinity of the garage.  The building's roll-up door is still open and the car driven by Attar's team remains in the alley, though the body of the Libya Dawn soldier Michael bagged is gone, along with his weapon.  Save for a few birds and one stray dog, the neighborhood is deserted.

The team rolls in slowly and cautiously.  It's a little after 1300 by the time James and Sebastien creep onto a rooftop at the far end of the alley and set up their overwatch position.  By laser rangefinder, they're 89 meters from Boulos' workshop.  The rest of the team loiters in the vehicles, periodically shifting location to check for counter-surveillance or to launch or recover the Raven.

Afternoon shadows are swallowing the alleys and the sky is turning the purple of an old bruise before anything happens.  Hannah, in the Land Cruiser with Crad and Boulos, is bringing the Raven back for a battery change when her last pass over the shop shows two vehicles entering the neighborhood from the northeast.  One, a black Mercedes luxury sedan, pulls to a stop at the front entrance to Boulos' workshop (the side opposite the alley and its roll-up door).  The other, a UAZ-469 with a pintle-mounted machine gun, splits off and turns into the alley.

Through the FAL's scope and Seb's spotting scope, the team on the rooftop can see three armed men dismount from the utility vehicle and walk toward the abandoned Nissan.  The driver stays behind the wheel and the gunner stays in the bed, though both appear relaxed and unprepared for trouble. 

Situation map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:26, Thu 08 Jan 2015.

"Captain." Hannah beckoned to Karolina as she continued to guide the remote drone in its overflight.  The unmanned aircraft dipped for a moment to bring the camera in-line, "Two bogies approaching the site."  The line was steady and she seemed to be making quick work of the maneuver.  Her eyes darted to the edge of the display which indicated the fuel status in the overlay.

She pursed her lips, as the pintle-mounted weapon on the pickup bed came into sharper focus.  "Huh..." the dark-haired, army aviatrix grunted, "Someone came really ready to dance."  Hannah glanced at the group leader, the cross-hairs for the drone sighting mechanism wavered slightly, "I am not sure that I can get much closer without engaging, Dancer."  Which for an unarmed drone, mostly meant getting shot at, presumably.

"Friends of yours, Mr. Boulos?" the chief warrant officer prompted their civilian charge over her shoulder.  She suspected not, which made the implication obvious.  If he were still in his garage, it might not have turned out so well.  But then what the hell was Alien-Attar doing there in the first place...

From his rooftop vantage point Durand watches as the UAZ pulls up to the end of the alley, observing the occupants as three of them dismount whilst the driver and gunner remain in place. He waits until the three have approached he abandoned Nissan before he activates his throat microphone to pass on the intel, his voice a low hiss. ”Dancer from Bullfrog.  An UAZ has just pulled up at north end of the alley. Three men approaching the Nissan, all armed. Driver and gunner have remained with vehicle. Gunner is armed witha pintle mounted machine gun, type unknown. They do not look as though they are expecting trouble.  We are continuing to observe. Out.” 

That done, Durand continues to observe the targets, whispering to Choi as he does so. ”Jim, in my opinion the machine gunner is the greatest threat. Do you want to cover him and I’ll target the group of three if Dancer wants them taken down?” Durand’s train of thought is that it’s best to take down the armed opponents first, and the machine gun could make things quite unpleasant for them, so they should take out the gunner first and out of the two of them the American probably has the better weapon  for sniping. ”Once the gunner is down you go for the driver, then we finish the others.  How does that sound?”

If Choi is good with all of that that Durand will take another moment studying the group of three, trying to establish if any of them appear to be the leader, before carefully laying down the spotter scope and reaching for his AK103. Settling the weapon’s stock against his right shoulder, he’ll take aim based on what he’s observed. If none of the three appear to be in charge he’ll simply select the one that he can get the best line on and take careful aim, trying to get a bead for a head shot – at this stage he’s more concerned that the target might be wearing body armour than any possibility that it’s an alien – and track the target, holding his fire whilst he listens to see what Dancer wants to do.

Bullfrog
AK103 (30/30)
Radio comms with Dancer, followed by voice comms with Lizard King
Then selecting target and taking aim
Holding fire unless instructed otherwise or fired upon
This message was last edited by the player at 14:13, Thu 08 Jan 2015.

Sitting in the driver's seat of Dancer's vehicle, Dacovetti takes a mental inventory of the situation.  On the blue side, four operatives with the advantage of surprise and a sniper overwatch.  On the red side, several thugs with military hardware.  And a machine gun.  The different models process through his mind, and Michael draws a conclusion that he finds to be in the neighborhood of reality: we can take the field, but we will probably sustain casualties.  Of course, he does allow for the possibility that he's wrong and that the field could tip either way.  There is a substantial margin of error for calculations based on intel he can't personally see at the moment.  He shrugs his shoulders to feel the relative light weight of his concealed body armor and lets his right hand drift down to the silenced pistol sitting between his seat and the center console in easy reach.  The carbine for if the situation truly needs kinetic intervention is pushed against the door.  It will require a little more effort to put into play, but just a little.

A radio handset is sitting next to the armrest connected to the PRC-119 sitting in the backseat.  With sat-com online, he ponders their options.

"Captain, I may just be thinking out loud," he starts, "but if Foundation has satellite overwatch available, we might be better off just letting these hostile enter and exit and then track them home from above."  He taps the edge of the console with the handset. "If we do choose to engage, I suggest we hit them as they emerge from the building and are preparing to leave."  Maybe their guard won't be quite so high then, their edge dulled just a bit.  If the equation can be adjusted to favor their outcome just the slightest bit more, it's worth the patience.

"Sounds like you read my mind." Jim replies. The muzzle of the borrowed FAL had already settled on the UAZ's gunner. One he was neutralized, the driver would be next- nothing he hadn't done on the range probably hundreds of times.

Choi settles in and waits for the go order, primary target in the crosshairs, finger poised on the trigger.

-

Boulos leans between the front seats to peer at Hannah's terminal.  "Ah!  Yes, 'friends' indeed," he replies, matching the aviatrix's tone.  "I recognize the one in the green and white shirt.  He's another Libya Dawn soldier.  Rather, thug," he self-corrects, considering the relative quality of his new associates and the armed men on the screen.

Lina stepped over to where Hannah was commanding the drone.  She peered down at the display, studying the screen.  She looked up when her radio crackled with Sebastian message.

”Copy Bullfrog.  Double Down has the Raven returning for a recharge.  You are our eyes for now.  Dancer, out,” Lina said.  She looked over at Dacovetti and Boulos.

”Was that Nissan there when you left last night?” Kowalska asked, though what she really meant was this morning.

Once she had any relevant information about the abandon vehicle, she nodded at the Technical Sergeant’s request.  What she wouldn't give for a Gorgon Stare Increment II image of Tripoli right now.  Tracking insurgents in hellholes was one thing, but tracking possible extraterrestrials was more worthy of the Big Safari gear in her option.

”Contact Foundation and see what they have to offer,” Lina said.  She wasn't about to try to hog the comms from the comms guy.

Boulos nods at Karolina's question.  "Yes."  He shoots Michael a glance, then continues when the airman seems disinclined to interrupt.  "That was the car your... Attar arrived in, along with his men."

Mewes answers Michael's satellite phone call immediately.  His voice is harsh with fatigue and something else - frustration, perhaps?  "Empire Three, Foundation Six Actual.  We have an overhead asset on station.  Direct contact is preset Golf, callsign Nazca One-Four.  A strike package is on the line at Sigonella and will launch on your call.  Nemesis and Tablet --" Bannon and the Amber Cell team -- "are on schedule and have a full briefing package.  Do you need any other immediate support?"

While Michael switches his PRC-119 to the indicated channel and calls up a drone controller in Tuscon via the orbiting Global Hawk, James and Sebastien keep their eyes on the Libya Dawn troops.  The vehicle crew perks up a bit as their dismounted friends approach Boulos' shop but their attention is casual, not the demeanor of men who expect to be in a firefight soon.

The three men in the alley peer into the shop.  There's a stir of consternation as one points to something on the ground, then a brief animated discussion.  They withdraw across the alley and huddle to confer, casting agitated glances into the shop.  After a moment, one - presumably the junior man on the team - moves back toward the shop, his AMD-65 at a sloppy rendition of low ready.  He casts his gaze around the alley, picks up a discarded length of exhaust pipe, and takes a knee at the shop's threshold.  Reaching out with the pipe, he pokes something out of view of the sniper/spotter team.  From Sebastien's recollection, the focus of attention is where he and Michael left Attar's body.

Durand continues to watch the group of three through the sights of his AK103 as one of them pokes around the garage in the area where the Frenchman had taken down Attar, their actions suggesting that there is still something there, perhaps the body, although the way the Libyan is wielding the length of pipe makes him wonder if perhaps they don't want to get too close to it. Let me guess, they think he's alien too.

He pushes thoughts of extra terrestrials to the back of his mind, continues to aim at his chosen target. If the body is still there he wants a good look at it, for that might put an end to some of the wilder speculation about the origins of the fucker that tried to kill him. He activates this throat mic again. "Dancer, Bullfrog. The dismounts" - he found that term distasteful when referring to the terrorists, for it made them sound like legitimate soldiers, which they clearly were not, but for sake of clarity and conciseness  it would suffice - "are poking around at something in the garage. I can't see what but it looks as though they are interested in the spot where I left Attar's body. No change in their level of alertness. Do you want us to engage, over?" He waits for the Pole's response. If she gives the word Durand will happily send the fuckers to meet their maker.

”Right,” Lina says in response to the mechanical engineer’s answer.  She was just about to key her mic to order the team into position for ambush when Seb’s call came in.

”Solid copy Bullfrog.  Lizard King and Bullfrog, you are clear to engage targets as they emerge from the building and prepare to leave,”  Lina said, repeating Michael’s plan almost exactly; a strong endorsement of it.  ”Painter, Dealer, Double Down and I will assault through on foot from the west after you engage.  How copy, over?”

As Lina waited for the acknowledgment, she checked the condition of her sidearm, back up gun, and MP5K.  She'd leave the shotgun for anyone else who wanted it, it would be too unwieldy with callsign Dishwasher in tow.

”Sabah, you will be with me,” Lina said.  GROM trained for close protection and Lina didn't want to tie up any of the others with that duty.  Lina issued her next set of orders on comms, mostly to give Seb and Choi a better understanding of how the team would be entering from the west.

”Dealer and Double Down, I want you to move north and push through to the east once you hear Bullfrog and Lizard King engage.  Your objective is to secure the Nissan.  Painter, Dishwasher, and I will push through from here and look to secure the garage, over.”

Stepping out of the vehicle, she scanned the immediate area, then opened the door for Boulos.  ”We will be moving quickly and with purpose, but probably not running.  Just keep one hand on my back or shoulders at all times.  If things get out of control, I will move you to cover and give you a slap on the shoulder.  Just hunker down where I put you, while I deal with the problem from that point on.  I’ll never be more than 10 meters away if that happens.  Do you understand?” Lina asked.

Karolina Kowalska
Leaving the vehicle
MP5K [30/30]
Organizing the assault, prepping gear, close protection for Boulos (if we brought a spare tac vest and helmet, he gets that.  Maybe Seb's journo set?)
This message was last edited by the player at 17:31, Sat 10 Jan 2015.

Hannah nodded curtly to Karolina's orders to move out.  She quickly and quietly verified the ready status of her armoured vest and then her weapons:  the MPK5-PDW and then her back-up pistol.  Reholstering the pistol, the thin army aviatrix glanced over towards Michael to check if he was done on the comms.  "Bounding overwatch." she presumed, then asked about the starting order, "Age or beauty first?"

She then waited for Michael to respond and be ready to disembark.

Taking a deep breath to help focus and center herself, Hannah swept her personal defense weapon in her right hand, while opening the door to the vehicle with her left.  She dropped on the ground in the ready position and waited for the signal to proceed from her partner.

[OOC:  Hannah Omdahl, leaving vehicle.  Proceeding towards building - North, then East.
           MP5K-PDW [30/30]]

Familiarity with complex ops has developed an instinct for multi-tasking in Michael.  As the comms come online with Nazca, he drops the light jacket and concealed body armor, exchanging both for his heavier armor that might actually stand up to the weapons they would be engaging soon.  That done, he slings his tav-vest and pack on over so that his PRC-119 is resting against his back.  The weight is comfortable, familiar.  Finally, he removes his carbine from the vehicle and does a final check that the AK-104 is ready to engage.  His brain is already starting to break into the two modes necessary to monitor a comm net and engage in actual war fighting.

"Nazca One-Four, Empire Three," he calls into the handset clipped on his shoulder. His voice is flat, without emotion.  Almost bored.

"Nazca One-Four." A smooth baritone returns with the general military accent that almost everyone who serves for more than five years develops.

"Empire Three is marked by signal panel on the roof of my vehicle.  Other friendlies disembarking from vehicles at my position, over."

There is a slight delay as the operator presumably locks in Dacovetti's exact position.  "Contact, Empire Three."

"One other friendly position overwatch, 200 meters south east on rooftop."

"Contact."

"All others with weapons in the area presumed hostile."

"Good copy."

"Okay Nazca, we are moving to engage.  Please update with any threats in area, over."

"Received Empire Three.  Good hunting.  Nazca Out."

Satisfied that asset hiding in the sky above them is covering their movement, Michael nods to Hannah.  "In this case Chief, I'm going to say beauty," he smiles at the comment.  "I've got a little more range with the carbine until we close the range."


TSgt Michael Dacovetti
AK-104 Carbine with Holographic Sight
30/30 (8 Magazines)
Bounding Overwatch with Omdahl
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:37, Sun 11 Jan 2015.

Crad preps his MP5-PDW and glances sideways at Hannah as he elbows his door open.  "Remember your mask, ma'am," he advises.  "We don't have a spare for Dishwasher."

"All copied Dancer. Will engage targets as they get ready to clear the scene. Out." Durand watches the three men as they continue to poke around, studying them through the lens of the POSP 4X24 sight fixed to the top of his rifle. He'd prefer it if they didn't enter the building at all as that way he can continue to aim on his chosen target, but if they do he'll keep watching the garage door until they re-emerge.  His intention is still to take the headshot as he thinks that's the best way to get the quick kill.

Either way, once they begin to make their way back to the UAZ that's when he'll take the shot. His attention is fixed on the group of three, leaving the machine gunner and driver to Choi. "I'll take the shot when they start back towards the UAZ" he hisses so that the American knows what he's thinking.

Bullfrog
AK103 (30/30)
Radio comms then continuing to aim on selected target
Will open fire when targets begin to make their way back to UAZ
Two shots (one aimed, one quick) at selected target (aimed shot called as head shot)
Followed by pairs of quick shots as required until all three are down

"Copy that, Bullfrog."

The crosshairs haven't budged from the machinegunner's sternum since they were placed there, but Choi's already worked out the transition, visualizing the shot he'll take on the driver once the primary's down. At this range, neither one should be any problem. His only worry is the weapon he's working with. He's only ever once fired a FAL and that was in a controlled range shoot with Crewe. The most pressing memory from that brief experience was the substantial felt recoil. At least he knew it was coming.

The gunner would get one round- the important thing was to get him off the PKM- and the driver would get as many as it took to keep him from driving off. After that, if anyone one needed finishing, Choi would deliver the coup-de-gras. Neither target was a likely intel asset. It was cold, but threat assessment and neutralization was the first order of business. When things kicked off, it was crucial not to take any chances. After both of his targets are down, he'll back off the scope momentarily to suss out the wider sight picture and locate further targets.


Lizard King
Roof across the way from the shop
FN FAL (20/20)
Singe aimed shot at MG'er (followed by quick shots, if missed, until registering a single hit), then quick shots at driver until he's down and out

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Sun 11 Jan 2015.

After a few more pokes with the pipe, the Libyan at the garage door yells something over his shoulder.  With encouragement from his buddies, he drops his makeshift probe, rises to a crouch, and enters the building, disappearing from view.  After a minute, one of the two men remaining in the alley jogs back to the truck, retrieves a small athletic bag from the bed, and enters the garage as well.  The third follows at a more leisurely pace, but his Kalashnikov is in his hands now.  The truck's driver and gunner are intent on proceedings in the garage, though they don't leave their positions.

With the sniper team and the Global Hawk operators maintaining surveillance on Boulos' shop, the ground teams move out.  The parking site was chosen with an eye toward this eventuality, so Karolina and Caradoc, with Boulos in tow, have a clear, albeit narrow, line of movement toward the alley.  Caradoc, on point for this bound, halts behind a pile of scrap lumber about six meters from the mouth of the passageway.

With more ground to cover, Hannah and Michael have to dash half a block north before a connecting gap between buildings presents itself.  It's tight and a thick layer of debris makes for unsteady footing.  With three-story buildings on either side, the late afternoon shadows don't help matters.  Following Karolina's orders, the two Americans move up until the Nissan's rear bumper is in sight, about 20 meters away, and hunker down in the late afternoon shadows.

About five minutes pass without visible activity beyond the gun truck crew's nervous shifting.  Then the apparent leader emerges into the alley, holding his Kalashnikov muzzle-down by the pistol grip.  His left hand and attention are occupied with a small black object - through his own rifle's scope, Sebastien picks it out as a smartphone.  He pauses, turns, and calls something back into the shop without looking up from the phone.  A moment later, the other two Libya Dawn gunmen reappear, toting a body bag whose weight distribution doesn't appear to match the norm of an adult human.

"Empire, Nazca, we have three armed subjects exiting target structure with a --"

The man with the phone is the immediate threat - he's the only one of the trio with a weapon in his hands and his communication capability is even more of a danger.  Sebastien fires twice.  James' shot is so close on the heels of the DGSE operator's double-tap that the reports sound like a single three-round burst (Seb -2 rounds; James -1 round).

The gunman in the alley jerks and drops, spraying blood and grey matter across the ground.  In the gun truck, the gunner drops straight down into the bed.

"-- body bag," the transmission continues.

Sebastien shifts targets to the man with the body bag who's closest to the shop's shelter.  His second pair of shots goes low but one shatters his target's shin (Seb -2 rounds [total -4]).  The Libyan staggers and falls, still trying to process what's happening.

The gun truck's driver is quick-witted enough to process the cracks and the meaty thump behind him.  He lunges across the bench seat as James shifts targets.  Four rapid rounds shatter the windshield, pulverize the driver's side-view mirror, and punch through the hood, but the driver somehow escapes injury (James -4 rounds [total -6]).  Through his scope, James catches flashes of movement as the man hunkers down behind the dashboard and fumbles with his own cell phone.

The last Libyan releases his end of the body bag and drops to his knees in the alley, covering his head with both arms, his slung AMD-65 apparently forgotten.

"Two armed subjects exiting the sedan and entering the target structure from the east side," Nazca 14 calmly advises Michael.  "Correction, four - there's anomalous thermal on those --

-----

Map updated: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:19, Sun 11 Jan 2015.

Karolina moved through the alleyway, keeping her head on a swivel while also listening to the chatter on the radio.  As knelt behind Caradoc at the lumber scrap, she waited Durand and Choi.  When their shots started, Lina followed Crad forward, adjusting the team’s mission as they entered the alley in force.

”Double.. Dealer.. FRAGO..  Your new objective is the body bag.  Make sure it’s not an IED, then double back through my alley with it.  Once you pass our position, Dishwasher can carry the bag.  Painter and I will cover your exfil over.”   While searching the garage and Nissan could be useful, the four armed ‘subjects’ closing on them from the van necessitated moving quickly.  Hopefully the militia hadn’t come here just to take a bag of tools away.

In the alley, she found the best spot she could for cover, and directed her protectee to it, while keeping her gun on the Libyan.

"الاستلقاء في السجدة مع يديك على رأسك" she commanded the lone militaman in the alley. 

She glanced back to Sabah and spoke, knowing he didn’t have access to the comms traffic she was hearing and must certainly be wondering what was going on.

”Sabah, we are hearing that more armed men may be coming.  We are going to take Attar’s body and get out of here.  Please help with the bag when it gets here.  We’ll get you back to the vehicle and be on our way.”

Kowalsak’s tone shifted from comforting and confident when she spoke to Sabah to something decidedly colder when she addressed the nearby Corporal.

”Mozambique drill if any of those hostiles enter the alley,” she said to Painter.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving with Crad as we enter the alleyway.  Finding cover for Sabah then self.
MP5K [30/30]
Radio and voice comms.  3-round bursts on any immediate threats.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:45, Mon 12 Jan 2015.

There's a satisfied smile on Sébastien Durand's face as his first shots finds their mark. One dead, one wounded. Not bad. His attention turns to the third man, the one cowering on the ground, his weapon ignored. At the moment he's clearly not a threat. The Frenchman smiles grimly to himself. He'd been in Guyana on Wednesday the 07th of January,  having flown back from Paris the previous day following his meeting with Maatsen at La Piscine. He'd watched from Kourou, helpless, impotent,  as the events of the next few days had unfolded and seventeen people had died. None of them had been a threat either.  He can see Dancer approach the scene, but he's too far away to hear what she's saying to the cringing terrorist who's now caught in the cross hairs of his sight. He can see him clearly through the scope.  He looks like a kid. Too bad...the Frenchman  aims, carefully, squeezes the trigger twice, firing a double tap. It's the only way to be sure...

Once he's taken that target down he's tempted, sorely tempted, to switch to the second man, the one he's already hit in the leg, and finish him off too. If Lizard King doesn't get to him first of course.  The only thing that prevents him taking the shot is the thought that maybe Kowalska wants one of them alive to interrogate. So once the third terr is down he'll see if Choi needs any back up with his two. He hasn't shifted his attention from his own targets yet, so doesn't know what success the FBI agent may have already had, but if either the gunner or the driver are still alive he'll engage them.

As he's firing he processes the radio traffic, listening to the disembodied voices that are chattering in his right ear. It's news to him that there's another vehicle in the vicinity, and if he wasn't so focused on the task in hand he'd probably make some sort of comment about the reported thermal anomaly. Instead he concentrates on mopping up the Libyans in the alley. Once they're all down, he'll shift his attention to the entrance to the garage in case any of these new presumed hostiles should emerge from there whilst the rest of the team is still in the alley, taking a moment to reload if he's used more than half of his magazine by then.

Bullfrog
AK103 (26/30)
Rooftop OP
Continuing to engage Libyans until they're all down...
Two shots (one aimed, one quick) at target cowering down
Followed by pairs of quick shots at UAZ driver if required
Leaving the WIA in case Dancer wants a prisoner to interrogate
When they're all no longer a threat intent is to cover the garage door
This message was last edited by the player at 20:01, Mon 12 Jan 2015.

"Copy that."  Caradoc snugs his subgun's stock against the edge of his armor's rifle plate and leans out slightly to clear his view of the alley mouth.

Hannah pushed into the convenient spot in the alley that she and Dealer found themselves traversing.  Her back safely up against a corner, she tapped to the earbud to activate her mike.  "Copy that.  We're on it, Dancer." Hannah quipped quickly into her comm boom.  She glanced at in the Michael's direction for the trigger when he was ready for her to advance.

She sprinted past her partner and into another cubby and checking the quadrants in order before signalling Michael to proceed.  Time appeared to be of the essence now (even more so than before).  From the chatter, she and Dacovetti needed to be on top of their game.  The garage might be really, really hot.

The thin army aviatrix saw, the signal to proceed and she nodded then set out at a sprint to the next waypoint.  She scanned the corners and shadows with her scoped and unaided vision, wiping a bead of sweat from her left temple with her gloved hand.  Her fingers bumped up against the mask pulled over her nose and mouth and Hannah made a mental note to thank Painter for reminding her about the respirator.  Who knew what they would find in there or be exposed to, especially once the bullets started flying.

Double Down waited at the entryway door for Dealer to arrive there as well and then proceed.  Then with a nod to show her readiness, steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation that was brewing.  Hannah held up the fingers of her left hand for brief period, whispering quietly, "One... Two... Three..."

Hannah Omdahl
Taking lead into alley way to retrieve body bag.
MP5K-PDW [30/30]
This message was last edited by the player at 02:38, Tue 13 Jan 2015.

Four thermal irregularities?  The arrival of additional Attars seemed to be almost a forgone conclusion.  Dacovetti would prefer to be at a time/space coordinate rather farther away than the body is currently located when the new additions fully join the encounter, but it isn't likely.

"Nazca, Empire copies four hostiles entering garage."

Michael watches as his partner moves down the alley and prepares to enter the street.  As soon as Omdahl is settled, he bounds forward and takes position next to her.  A few seconds pass as the Airman prepares himself to make a dash for their objective.

"Bullfrog, Dealer.  We are making entry into the alley in three," he informs their security, then nods to Hannah.  Go.


Michael Dacovetti
Overwatch from cover then moving to retrieve body bag
AK-104 carbine with holographic reflex site
30/30 (8 mags)

"Driver's still up." James reports, matter of fact. "Engaging."

Michael Jordan forgets.

James slides to his left, trying to clear a better angle on the driver wedging himself beneath the shattered dashboard. Stopping the UAZ won't be a problem- a few rounds through the hood and it won't be going far. But if the driver has a phone- and James clearly remembers seeing one in his hand- chances are good the alley will be swarming with bad guys before Grey Cell's out of Dodge.

Wayne Gretzky forgets.

Now out of real estate at the corner of the roof, James sees arm and leg- not enough for a kill shot, but if he puts enough lead into the body parts on display, the driver won't be able to much more than scream into the receiver.

Leo Messi forgets.

Arm first, then leg- if the target offers something more substantial, it'll get a bullet too- then multiple rounds through the hood and into the Russian wannabe jeep's engine block.

There'll be time to analyze his missed shots later.

Lizard King
Roof across the street from garage
FN FAL (16/20)
Moving to acquire a better line of sight, then firing to incapacitate or kill the driver (as many single, aimed shots as necessary); firing five rounds into the hood of the UAZ to prevent escape/pursuit

-

Sébastien fires two security shots (Durand -2 rounds).  The kneeling gunman slumps sideways, feebly pawing at the geyser of blood spraying from the new holes in his thorax.

The injured Libyan is crawling for the shelter of Boulos' garage.  He twists to unsling his AK - whether to return fire or to use it as a crutch is unclear and irrelevant.  A rifle in the man's hand is enough reason for Sébastien to remove the threat.  He brackets the man's vitals with one round to each arm (Durand -2 rounds [-4 total]).  As the target screams and releases his weapon, Caradoc flails the street around him with three-round bursts before putting one into his pelvis (Crewe -9 rounds).

James duck-walks behind his partner, repositioning for a better angle on the gun truck's driver without skylining himself too badly.  As he settles the borrowed FAL's bipod on the roof's parapet, the driver reaches up and throws the truck into reverse, peeking into his door mirror.  A single 175-grain round snaps through the bridge of the man's nose (Choi -1 round).  The truck rolls sedately backward into the street.

"Alley clear," Sébastien reports tersely.  There may be a slight smirk in his voice, though that could just be the radio...

Hannah breaks from her passageway and darts to the rear of the sedan, taking up position and pointing her MP5-PDW downrange.  A thump on her shoulder signals Michael's arrival with his heavier weapon.  Hannah moves in on the scattered Libyans and their discarded cargo, staying about a meter off the alley's east wall, while Michael covers her advance.

"Contact, two in the garage!  No shot!" Caradoc announces.  He growls under his breath and edges forward, edging farther toward the corner of his position.

Another AK pokes around the fender of the Peugeot, still sitting in Boulos' garage amid a ring of brake parts, and sprays the Nissan with fire.  None of the rounds are well-aimed enough to threaten either of the agents in the alley but they may increase the shooter's confidence...

"Two contacts on roof of target structure," the radio warns.  Swinging in that direction, both Sébastien and James can see a pair of figures in dark suits taking cover behind the steel enclosure of an air handling unit.

Map update: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:35, Tue 13 Jan 2015.

Durand’s initial feelings of satisfaction when the last of the Libyans in the alley go down is tempered by the knowledge that there are more on their way and a nagging voice inside his head is telling him that the probability is that the first five were pawns, expendable foot soldiers who have served their purpose, and that this second wave are likely to be more proficient. Not to mention they are now aware of Grey Cell’s presence. Oh well, if he’d wanted the easy life he’d be still be sitting behind a desk in Kourou or pulling private protection for some Saudi princeling.

His immediate concern is for the rest of the Team in the alley. If the two men on the roof of the garage get a chance to use their elevated position to their advantage that could spell serious trouble for the others. He’s also going to assume for the moment that these newcomers will have had the opportunity to alert others as to what’s going on, so as far as the Frenchman is concerned the clock is ticking.

He activates his throat mike. His voice is calm as he speaks, no outward sign of any pressures or stress, simply giving a matter of fact report. ”Two targets on the roof of the garage. We’ll try and keep them away from you but suggest you expedite your exfil.” In other words, you best move your asses. Admittedly that was clearly stating the obvious, but they needed to know about the risk of coming under fire from the roof. He then turns to Choi. ”Those terrs on the roof may not know there’s two of us up here.” - assuming they’re not watching us from their spaceship of course - ”If I move a few metres away then  try to attract their attention by sending a few rounds in their direction, that might give you a shot at them? What do you think?”

He’s effectively offering himself as a decoy of sorts; if he can attract the targets’ attention and get them to expose themselves by shooting at him, it may give the FBI agent a chance to get a shot at them. If Choi agrees Durand plans to roll a few metres away from the American and give him a moment to shift his aim, after which the Frenchman will fire off five quick rounds at the targets. He doesn’t plan on taking any crazy risks doing this, he’ll stay low, as low as he can behind the parapet, he just wants to get their attention and try and lure them out of cover so that Choi will have a chance of a shot. Otherwise, the Frenchman will be happy to go along with the Lizard King if he has any other ideas…

Bullfrog
AK103 (22/30)
Rooftop OP
Radio / voice comms
If Choi agrees with his proposal he’ll move two to three yards in one direction, let Choi set up, then fire five quick shots at the Attars
Otherwise, if Choi has any other ideas he’s all ears

The situation isn't bleak, not yet.  There is, however, a problem in the making that could cost them the initiative.  Random bullets are certainly a concern, but an emboldened shooter is more hazardous.  And the potential of being shot at from above is not appealing in the least.  Michael breaks cover deciding that speed is his best preemptive defense.  While he runs, he slings the AK before pulling out his 9mm.  What he will soon require is a free hand and shooting the 104 one handed violates several principles of common sense.

"Dancer, we're going to need suppressive fire into that garage as soon as possible." He'd do it himself, but he doesn't want to attract any more attention to the tenuous position he and Omdahl are about to find themselves in.  The rate of his breathing has increased with the combination of adrenaline and exertion, but his eyes are focused on his partner and their objective.  While the temptation is present to focus on their problems, it is not going to help the situation.

When he arrives at Omdahl's side, he makes sure to stay off the walls.  "Grab a corner," he tells her indicating one opposite the "shoulder" that he intends to grip with his left hand leaving the Grach available in his right.   "We're going to drag strait back to the alley and not look back."

He can taste the sweat leaking into his mouth.


Michael Dacovetti
Dragging body bag
Pistol available to defend as necessary
MP-443 Grach (18/18) 4 magazines

Lina keyed her mic twice, then slapped Boulos on the shoulder.  She pushed out a meter, gripping her MP5K by the fore-grip and grip tightly.  Satisfied that Sabah wasn't following, she kept her SMG trained on the door, looking for an angle on either of the two contacts inside.  She fired off a three round bursts, just to keep the targets inside honest.  Moving up meter-by-meter at a very low crouch, she kept her eyes on the door, looking for any shot as her angles slowly changed.  When Michael and Hannah began to move with the bodybag, Kowalska opened up with three more three round bursts to provide cover fire for their movement.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving slowly up the alley to get an angle on the garage.
MP5K [18/30 rounds]
Firing 4 three round bursts, either as covering fire, or as quick shots if any targets are visible.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 01:50, Wed 14 Jan 2015.

"Right." says Hannah curtly and directly.  She starts off with a grunt pulling the opposite corner of the black body bag almost before the words leave Dealer's lips; she's not trying to be a hero really or anything else but a survivor.

Hannah wants little more than for her and Mike to get out of this alive.  With the cargo, if possible.  And unharmed, if at all possible.  Honestly, she didn't spend ten months in physical therapy and rehab getting back up to flight status just to get shot again.

But then the lithe army aviatrix was also aware that things didn't always work out the way she'd hoped.  Still, with the team around, Hannah knew that she had the best chance of getting out alive and with the least harm and the most objectives accomplished.  They were by far the most overall competent crew she'd served with.

Hannah Omdahl
Pulling a body bag
MP5K-PDW [30/30 rounds]

Fighting back the natural elation of a successful shot, whilst simultaneously trying not to acknowledge the difficult fact that he just ended two [presumably] human lives, James focusses his on breathing. His endocrine system is dumping mega-cc's of adrenaline into his bloodstream right now and he does everything he can do physiologically and psychologically to stay level. The shakes aren't conducive to good marksmanship. Controlled breathing is huge.



"Let's wait and see if they know we're here." Jim replied. If the black-clad men- if men indeed they were- aren't aware of the Grey Cell overwatch team, James wants to keep it that way. He wants the Arab ninjas fixated on something else, oblivious to the doom that he and Durand are planning for them. "In the meantime, you want to scoot away from me, that's cool; widen our angles. Bottom line, if you get a clear shot take it. I'll do the same. If they don't show themselves soon, we'll give your plan a try."


James "Lizard King" Choi
Rooftop overwatch
FN FAL (15/20)
Aimed single shots [opportunity fire]

-
This message was last edited by the player at 03:03, Wed 14 Jan 2015.

”Works for me.” Trying to keep below the parapet, Durand shimmies several metres away from Choi then resumes a position where he can observe the air con unit, focusing on the area slightly to the left of it as he looks at it, anticipating that if the hostiles want to advance to the edge of the roof that’s the way they’ll have to come. Happy with the spot that he’s found he pulls the butt of the AK103 into his cheek, and concentrates on the scene in front of him, trying to filter out the sound of gunfire in the alley below and focus solely on the task in hand.

Bullfrog
AK103 (22/30)
Rooftop OP
Shifting position and trying to anticipate where the hostiles need to show themselves if they want to threaten the team in the alley.
Will engage with double taps should targets present themselves

As Sébastien displaces a few meters to the side, the two black-clad figures on the garage roof demonstrate that they are aware of the sniper team's location.  Leaning around the side of his cover, one opens up with an assault rifle.  Multiple bursts chase Sébastien to his new position.

Undeterred by the shoddy marksmanship, the DGSE operator settles his POSP's reticle on target... and gets a dead trigger instead of a bang.  Rolling his AK-103 to the side as he pulls back into cover, he instantly sees the problem: at least a triple-feed, rounds jammed in the chamber, ejection port, and receiver like a bag of brass cats.  Without further ado, he dumps the offending magazine and yanks the rifle's charging handle repeatedly until the last of the mangled cartridges tinkles to the ground (Durand -6 rounds, reloaded on a fresh magazine).

The other man uses his partner's suppressive fire to make a break for the alley edge of the roof.  He skids to a stop, raises his weapon over the edge of the roof, and hoses a long burst at Caradoc and Karolina.  Rounds sprinkle the scenery without effect.

The Pole, already staging for suppressive fire into the garage, walks her rounds up the side of the building and onto target (Kowalska -12 rounds).  Three bullets send shredded fabric and shards of Belgian polymer flying.  The target reels backward, disappearing from Karolina's view.

As renewed firing sounds from overhead, Michael and Hannah break toward the abandoned body bag, which is resting at the exact farthest possible point from cover.  It's the longest six meters they've ever sprinted.  They snag the handles at opposite corners, stooping without slowing, and change course toward the passageway where Karolina, Caradoc, and Boulos wait.

The snatch team's sudden appearance seems to take the Libyans in the garage by surprise.  One, caught in mid-throw, lobs a grenade down the alley toward the sedan that Michael and Hannah were using for cover a few moments ago.  The frag caroms off the vehicle's roof, rolls down the rear window and off the trunk, and detonates in the street.  It's only harmless in the relative sense but the shrapnel doesn't catch anyone.

Drawn by the motion, Michael pivots and fires on the run.  It's a shot he never could have made in training but luck or Saint Wyatt guides his hand today.  Three bullets track up the Libyan's throat, jaw, and forehead (Dacovetti -3 rounds).

The other man leans out from the Peugeot's shelter in time to intercept Caradoc's fusilade of covering fire.  He shudders under the impact of multiple hits and drops face-first as the medic's PDW clatters empty (Crewe -21 rounds).

The black-clad figure's sudden sprint across the roof was too fast for James to track through his scope.  He swipes at the optic's cattail, cranking down the magnification to its minimum 4x, and reacquires the target just as the man(?) steadies himself from a backward stagger.  The first shot catches his left kneecap, turning what looks like the beginning of a backflip into a graceless stumble.  The next strikes just beside his shirt's fourth button, smashing him flat (Choi -2 rounds).

As Michael and Hannah pelt toward the passage back to the vehicles, Boulos gives a startled cry and lunges forward.  "That's my phone!" he cries, pointing toward the silvery-gray lozenge lying in the dust next to a dead gunman.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:24, Thu 15 Jan 2015.

Having dealt with one rooftop threat, Lina was none to pleased that she might have to worry about the second threat on top of the building trying a similar strafing run.  She could hear what she assumed was Choi and/or Durand firing, but she wasn’t sure how effective they were.

”Nazca, update,” Lina said.  She was talking in short, clipped phrases now, her attention still on the garage as Michael and Hannah passed to her rear, on their way to the alley.

”Bolous Stay!” she commanded, not quite in the tone one takes with a disobedient dog, but close.  ”Corporal, the phone,” Lina added.  She moved to cover the medic as he secured the phone.  Lina kept her weapon ready, hopeful that in just a few more seconds, the team would be loading into vehicles and moving to exfil Choi and Durand.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving as needed to cover Caradoc
MP5K [18/30]
Engaging any targets that expose themselves.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:54, Thu 15 Jan 2015.

Fucking cheap piece of fucking Russian shit. Durand curses to himself as he slams a fresh magazine into the AK. Satisfied that the jam is cleared and the new mag is seated properly, he rests the barrel of the weapon on the parapet and peers through the scope, looking for any targets he can engage.  His key priority is to try and get a clear shot on either of the two gunmen on the roof if they are still active –  the time taken to change his magazine and the necessity of keeping his head down whilst he did so has cost him some of his situational awareness as to how the firefight is progressing, so he doesn’t know if Choi has already taken either or both of them down, although the sound of gunfire in the alley seems to have gotten even more frenetic.

He also wants to try and get a clear image of the gunmen on the roof through the magnifying lens of the POSP sight. He’s not going to jeopardise any possible shot, so  if he can get a bead on either  of them he’ll pull the trigger without any hesitation, but for the sake of his own curiosity he wants to get a look at their faces if he can. Just so he can be sure in his own mind that neither of them looks like Attar. Fuck he thinks to himself as he peers through the scope Don’t tell me I’m starting to believe  all of this little green men shit. But then again, if it’s true, it does mean he gets to kill Attar more than once in a manner of speaking. A quelque chose malheur est bon...as the English would say, every cloud has a silver lining...

Bullfrog
AK103 (30/30)
Rooftop OP
Searching for targets on garage rooftop; will engage any targets spotted with double tap quick shots
Also trying to get visual ID on gunmen’s faces to see if they look like Attar if he can do so without compromising any potential shot

When the three bullets that leave Dacovetti's weapon intersect with the Libyan in a spectacularly gory, if undeniably effective way, he feels an understandable urge to congratulate himself on the spectacular marksmanship.  Truth be told, though, even in his state of exertion, he knows that the shot had more to do with luck than skill.  The next time the situation presented itself, he would be expecting his bullets to regress to the mean and find more plaster than flesh.

His lungs are burning from being in an anaerobic state for too long as he and Omdahl drag the corpse through the alley towards friendly lines.  There is a passing sensation or relief as they exit the kill zone, but it quickly overwhelmed by the task still before them.  At least there is no longer a pressing need to sprint.  Michael slows the pace to a quick walk.

"I need to breathe a bit," he tells his partner.  Carrying the extra weight of the radio has cost him more in energy than he would like and he's not afraid to admit that he doesn't want to continue at run.  Should the tables turn on them again, it might be necessary to have some energy stores in reserve. His left hand is still gripping the body bag is a death grip.

Somewhere behind him it sounds like Caradoc is about to get busy chasing a phone.

"On it," Crad responds.  He snaps a fresh magazine into his PDW and sends the bolt home with the HK Slap.  Pausing for a second until Hannah and Mike  clear his line of fire, he sights in and puts a tight three-round burst into the phone.

Painter
MP5-PDW [30/30]
Alley
Destroying the intel to prevent capture
This message was last edited by the player at 03:01, Fri 16 Jan 2015.

"I got an Attar on the roof, right side of the AC unit. Engaging now!" James announces as he the crosshairs settle on the familiar head of everyone's favorite Libyan-Reptilioid hybrid. There's no time to really think about the myriad unsettling ramifications of what he's seeing. Releasing half a breath, he coolly squeezes the trigger...


James "Lizard King" Choi
Rooftop over-watch
Scoped (4x) FN FAL (13/20)
Single aimed shots at clone's head until target is neutralized

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Fri 16 Jan 2015.

Hannah curtly nodded to Michael's 'request', slowing her own pace to match his.  She was about to let on that her own lungs were feeling the burn at this point.  And the edge on the adrenaline rush was starting to crack.  She took in a deep breath and continue to pull the heavier than normal bag back towards their own vehicles.

Her hand was on the pistol grip of her firearm, but it trembled enough that she was aware it was more of a comfort item than a weapon at this very moment.

She ignored the chatter about yet another 'Attar', her brain still wasn't ready to try and wrap itself around that idea quite yet.  What was potentially in the body bag was more than enough to make her stomach turn.  Which is why Hannah wasn't thinking about that either.  One foot in front of the other, soldier... the lithe army aviatrix kept repeating to herself.

Hannah Omdahl
Schlepping along with the body bag, at whatever pace she and Dacovetti can manage
MP5K-PDW [30/30]

A spray of circuitry erupts as Caradoc hoses Boulos' phone (Crewe -3 rounds).

Boulos lets a relieved hiss escape between his teeth, then shoulders Hannah aside and takes her corner of the body bag.  Within a couple dozen paces, he's puffing with the effort and turning an interesting shade of purple, but he's handling his share of the weight.

"One tango active on the roof, one down," comes the response to Karolina's query.  "No visual on the two who entered the structure.  No additional contacts."

On the garage's roof, the lone remaining shooter ducks out of sight.  Sébastien's double-tap splits the air where his head was a fraction of a second before (Durand -2 rounds).  Both agents tense as a small ovoid arcs out from behind the AC unit, but its trajectory takes it onto the body of James' previous victim.  Two breaths later, a globe of green fire erupts from the rooftop.  Even at a range of nearly a hundred meters, Sébastien and James feel the wash of heat.  Through 4x rifle scopes, the flash is painfully, searingly bright, leaving orange afterimages dancing across their reticles.

At ground level, Karolina, covering her team's withdrawal, ducks as the blast sends fragments of roof and enemy in all directions.  A smoking chunk of red-hot metal bounces off her boot.  Glancing down, she recognizes it as a rifle barrel, now deformed from blast and heat.

Before the flame fully dissipates, the team's adversary pops out from the opposite side of his cover and opens fire again.  His aim is rushed, though, and his bursts go wide.

Sebastien swaps shoulders and eyes with a snarl and sends a double-tap back toward the black-clad gunman (Durand -2 rounds [-4 total]).  One round pings harmlessly off the steel but the other punches through the meat of the target's right thigh.

James swings on the movement but his vision is still blurred from the explosion's flash.  His shot goes high (Choi -1 round) as the target pulls back behind cover.

"Tango on the roof is running," advises the distant drone operator.  "Be advised, our thermal imager is down."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:06, Tue 20 Jan 2015.

"Fuck, they're fast." Durand mutters as he blinks several times to try and chase away the vestiges of...of what? What the fuck had that been? No thermite or white phosphorous weapon the Frenchman was familiar with had properties like that. Oh well, one more thing to discuss afterwards. Right now they have a job to do, and a target is a target. Whether it's human or not. And he's finding that it's becoming increasingly difficult to disregard the mounting evidence that it's not...

His lips curl into the hint of a satisfied smile as he sees one round strike home, hitting the target in the leg although it doesn't appear to be enough to bring him down.  The rifle now held against his left shoulder, Durand listens to the drone operator's disembodied voice in his ear, shifts position slightly, moving further away from Choi, trying to get a better angle, hoping to get another shot at the target as he makes his move. This time hopefully it will be the kill shot. Come on you little fucker, show yourself...

Bullfrog
AK103 (26/30)
Rooftop OP
Multiple quick shots if the target shows himself

"I've lost the target!" James nearly shouts, choking down his frustration. He can't see much beyond the incandescent yellow-green blobs that nearly crowd out his vision. He ducks down below the parapet and tries to blink the afterimages away. His mind is racing- things are getting weirder and markedly more dangerous by the second. He struggles to stay focused, giving himself something to do, fumbling for the FN's unfamiliar magazine release setup with his fingers. "Reloading!" He pops the half-empty magazine loose, pockets the partial, and slams home a fresh one. In the seconds it takes to reload, his vision, although still impaired, recovers significantly.

"What you got, Durand?" James asks, popping up to look over the parapet and hoping for a cue that will help him reacquire the target. The glowing spots superimposed over his visual field are steadily fading and shrinking, but they're still a distraction. His mind starts to wander as he peers across the rooftops, drawn to the fresh questions raised by the hot green blast...

"You could be in a great deal of trouble. Half a city block explodes in a ball of green flame. Green flame! All hell is breaking loose here."

Lizard King
Rooftop OP
FN FAL (20/20)
Searching for target, ready to engage

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:50, Tue 20 Jan 2015.

Hannah let Boulos take her corner of the black bag, but knowing how heavy the weight is the army warrant officer remained ready to take up a part of the load.  The objective was to get the body bag to the car, not an exercise in machismo; so, after a few steps she moved to grab a third corner and shouldered some of the weight; Double Down knew that she wasn't the strongest member of the team or the armed forces in general, but she was in relatively good physical shape:  one doesn't keep up one's flight certs or go through Green Platoon without maintaining a fairly serious physical regimen.  So, although she is puffing as well, three pallbearers had to be easier than just two.

She kept her mask around her neck and her head down as there were a great many shots being fired and her free hand on her submachinegun.  Hannah glanced up to make sure the way was clear and to see how much further it was to the waiting vehicle and that there weren't any of those strange, disconcerting green flashes up ahead waiting for them.  Then she glanced in the direction of both the artistes, Painter and Dancer, to make sure the paths and backs were still covered.

Hannah Omdahl
Schlepping along with the body bag, at whatever pace she, Dacovetti, and Boulos can manage.
Hands still on the her MP5K-PDW [30/30]

"One target remaining, by the AC unit, at your twelve o'clock." Durand calls out quickly, trying to give Choi a reference point to assist him. "Nazca says he's making a run for it so watch out for any movement. I got him in the leg a second ago." The unspoken inference is that the Frenchman's on target shot doesn't appear to have incapacitated their opponent.

The presence of Boulos grabbing the the body bag and Omdahl continued effort buy Dacovetti the precious molecules of oxygen he needs to recover.  Their pace is slower, but still direct back to their vehicles.  There is a placeholder lodged in his brain that wants him to explore just why a flash of green light behind him was bright enough to move shadows the wrong direction, but he isn't there yet.

More than anything, Dacovetti is oddly satisfied that there was some very different weaponry brought into play.  The first Attar going down was a scenario he could believe.  Seb and Michael had attacked from ambush and had not been expected at the scene.  Even still, Attar Prime had absorbed more than his(?) fair share of high velocity metal before he had been dispatched.  And he still had almost managed to kill Seb.

The weapon that had presumably been deployed behind them made a certain kind of sense.  A hypothetical species wouldn't spend all the time, resources, and energy to get themselves to Earth without some radically new tools to be brought to bear.  Perhaps they were still playing it close to their chest.  To loudly announce their presence with weapons that violated humanity's known laws of physics would only pull attention their way.

One way or other, Michael figured that there were weapons like that where the first one came from.  The Cell would have to be ready.

First, though, he just wanted to dump the damn body.


Michael Dacovetti
Dragging and covering with pistol
Thinking deep thoughts

Lina motioned for Crewe to withdraw, as she was starting to do.  The green flicker in the alley only served to reinforce the need to leave.  The team was here for intelligence collection – they weren’t the extermination crew.  Whatever these things were, her six person team was ill-equipped for open battle against them.

”Lizard King and Bullfrog, we are mounting up and moving to your position for extraction, over.” Lina said on comms.  She kept moving back, checking the doorway of the garage and occasionally the roof.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving back toward the vehicle.
MP5K [18/30]
Covering the team.  Will burst fire on any targets of opportunity. 

Acting on Durand's tip, James zeroes in on a space just off the edge of the AC unit opposite the side where he'd last seen the target. If he, it- whatever- broke from cover, it would likely be in that direction, away from its last position. James waits patiently, intent on making good. There are too many Attas in the world and James intends to rectify that situation posthaste. His earpiece delivers Kowalska's SITREP but he doesn't risk losing the shot to reply. He's dialed in.

"Can you get that, Durand?"

Choi
Rooftop over-watch
FN FAL (20/20)
Aimed opportunity fire (if he guessed right)

-

”Dancer from Bullfrog, copy that. Let us know when you are mobile." Durand activates his throat mic, replies quickly to Kowalska’s message, his eyes still fixed on the AC unit, watching for any sign of movement. ”I’d prefer to take that fucker out before we bug out.” he says to his American colleague. Their target has taken at least one round, whilst they actually haven’t taken any effective fire from him in return – Durand’s brain wont permit him to think of the...enemy...on the roof opposite as an ‘it’, not yet – and they have him outnumbered and apparently attempting to disengage from the gunfight. So tactically the Frenchman feels that their position is secure at the moment, they have the upper hand, and that their mission is best served by finishing the hostile off while they have the opportunity, removing the risk of him being a threat later. At least that’s the normal theory…but how many Attars are there out there? Hopefully one less in a moment...

Bullfrog
AK103 (26/30)
Rooftop OP
Radio / voice comms followed by multiple quick shots  if the target shows himself

The ground-level team falls back to the vehicles.  By unspoken agreement, Hannah, Michael, and Boulos pitch the body bag into the Hilux's bed.  No one seems to want to share a passenger compartment with its contents.  The team mounts up with Karolina and Michael in the Hilux again and the rest piling into the Land Cruiser.

"Empire, you have an apparent QRF inbound from the south," Nazca 14 breaks in.  "Four technicals with heavy weapons.  ETA three minutes."

As the transmission ends, the sniper team's target makes a break for the far side of his roof.  Both agents fire near-simultaneous double-taps (Durand -2 rounds; Choi -2 rounds).  As two bullets effectively sever the figure's right arm at the elbow, a third catches it in the base of the skull.  A hand and forearm plop onto the roof of Boulos' shop while the rest of the body continues its trajectory over the parapet and into the alley where the black Mercedes waits.  Through their scopes, both men can see a faint greenish mist dissipating from the space where the headshot struck home.

"Copy Nazca, thanks for the heads up.  Foundation, can you update us on Amber's status over?"  Lina asked as she took shotgun in the Hilux.  She was still too amped up from the gun battle to recall the specifics of Amber's ETA and readiness.  Lina listened for the response as she spoke to Dacovetti.

"We will rendezvous with Durand and Choi.  I don't want to find out their vehicle won't start when we are six blocks away," Lina said to Michael.  Kowalska loaded a fresh mag, leaving the partial one laying on the seat.  She turned sideways to maintain observation of the cargo.  The Polish Captain was thorough, paranoid, or a micromanager; hell, maybe all three.

"Bullfrog, we are en route to your position now.  Land Cruiser is lead.  Fall in behind the Hilux, over."

Karolina Kowalska
Hilux Passenger Seat
MP5K [30/30]
Comms, changing mag, and watching the Hilux bed and cargo.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Sun 25 Jan 2015.

Hannah hardly needed to be told even once, to retreat.  After the rather unceremoniously tossing the black body bag into the back of the pickup, the brown-haired warrant officer made a beeline to the driver's seat of the Land Cruiser; knowing her role on the team.

Before she was even fully buckled up and having ensured that both Crewe and Boulos were (at least mostly) in the vehicle, though not necessarily already secured, the Land Cruiser's engine was already going and she was pulling out into the street ahead of the Hilux.  The tires where spinning and spitting up dust as Hannah's harness clicked into place.

She took in Karolina's instructions and Hannah chirped into her radio, "Roger that, Dancer.  Land Cruiser leading, we'll be at the rendezvous in ..." the GPS was up and Hannah glanced at it only once or twice to confirm their positions relative to the third vehicle, "... twenty seconds."  She'd had enough navigational training to have study the layout before hand and had a mental idea of what to expect in the immediate area - at least, with respect to the geographical layout and landmarks.

Of course, that said nothing about glowing green explosions or sickly out-gassing corpses.  While memorable, those weren't standard landmarks.

Hannah Omdahl
Land Cruiser Driver
Primary Weapon:  Land Cruiser [1/1], Secondary Weapon:  MP5K-PDW [30/30]
Leading convoy at speed, heading to rendezvous with Land Rover/Sniper Team

"Nice shooting, Durand!" James calls, unsure of whose bullets had finished the target. He's fairly certain he'd made a hefty contribution, but the job was done and that's all that really mattered. James doesn't see any other targets and he doesn't want to stay for the inter-species block party. "You heard the lady, it's time to skedaddle." James backs away from the parapet and duck walks to the opposite side. He lets Durand lower himself down first before safing the long FAL and handing it down to the Frenchmen, then climbs down after him.

"You want driver or shotgun?" James asks, content to take either spot but deferring to the Frenchman.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 21:13, Sun 25 Jan 2015.

After tossing the body in the back of the Hilux, Dacovetti takes a moment to make sure that his pack is secure in the cargo area.  With comms being what they are, he's not taking any unnecessary chances.  As the Captain slides into the passenger seat, he follows into the driver's, placing his carbine back against the door for quick access.

"Understood," he tells the Pole.  Clarity saves lives and with the passenger occupying the cargo space of the Hilux, the center position in the convoy is the place to be.

When the Land Cruiser starts to move, Dacovetti utilizes the available moment to enjoy a pull of lukewarm water from his Camelback, grateful for the chance to remove the taste of adrenaline and grime from his mouth.  And then he's focused on the vehicle in front of him.

"We should consider utilizing Nazca to navigate us out of here.  That QRF is going to be here soon and I assume they are rather more informed of this AO than we are," he prods gently to Kowalska.

"You too." Durand says to Choi as the second rooftop target is taken down. "That was good work." The Frenchman is quietly satisfied with the outcome of this afternoon's activities; he and the American had taken down seven hostiles between them and the rest of the team had secured something that the other side had been interested in. What, precisely, remained to be seen. And as far as he could tell none of the team had suffered any casualties.

So far so good.

But they weren't out of danger yet, not with more hostiles inbound.  He takes a quick look round the roof top that had served them well, making sure that they haven't left anything that could identify them or be used against them at a later time, then moves towards the ladder, keeping his head down, making the AK safe and slinging it before descending it rapidly. Once his feet are back on the ground he reaches up, takes the rifle from the American, returns it to him once both of them are on the street.

"I'll drive" he says, moving to the left hand door of the Land Rover. Settling himself in the driver's seat, he secures the AK and activates his mike. "Dancer from Bullfrog. In position, awaiting your arrival. Out." Turning the ignition, he checks his mirrors, trying to make sure the street is clear.

"The Cave" - Amber Cell Forward Operations Center
Tripoli, Libya
15 March 2015
2126 hrs local (2026 hrs Zulu)

Blank-faced men carrying HK416s pull the huge sliding doors closed behind the convoy.  They're dressed in the anonymous non-uniform of "contractors" but one of them tilts Sébastien a nod of recognition.  The DSGE agent sees a few familiar faces - they're from Commando Parachutiste de L'air No. 10.

Built for commercial jets, the hangar is more than enough to accommodate Grey Cell's vehicles alongside the two Volvo ten-wheelers and three SUVs already present.  At the far end of the structure, blackout curtains drape a boxy framework of carbon-fiber poles.  Power and data cables snake out at several points.  An arm-thick bundle spirals up one longer pole toward a roof vent.

One of the guards leads the team toward the curtained-off area and pulls back a flap to allow entry.  Inside is a maze of plasma screens, wires, and Pelican cases, populated by a half-dozen Amber Cell personnel in mixed civilian garb.  One of them intercepts Boulos, murmuring to him in Arabic, and leads him toward a separate corner of the hangar cluttered with folding cots and a half-unpacked field kitchen.

Chief Bannon rolls his chair back from a notebook PC, surreptitiously drops his reading glasses into a pocket, and stands.  "Ma'am."  He nods to Karolina in lieu of a sniper check, then offers his hand to the rest of the team.  "Miss Omdahl.  Boys.  Welcome."  His face is taut, jaw muscles twitching.

Bannon leads the group to a corner of the Cave containing a scattering of camp chairs and five large wheeled cases with medical markings.  Dropping into one of the chairs, he pulls open a mini-fridge stenciled PLASMA / WHOLE BLOOD and begins extracting and distributing bottles of beer.  "Mike, your video brewed up a shitstorm.  The boss is on his way to Belgium to talk to SACEUR.  It's taking a while to kick open all the compartments this shit touches."  He takes a pull off his beer.  "Anybody want springbok jerky?"

He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling.  "This unit's intel take goes directly to SHAPE but the analysis gets distributed to a fuckload of separate shops all over NATO.  A few of them," he flicks his gaze toward James, "were monitoring your comms.  They do the same thing with White Cell.  But within two minutes of that video coming up, we got orders to lock down the feeds.  Then the rest of you turned up that X-Files crap in the desert and the guys upstairs really went apeshit."

"Point is, that was way too quick a reaction for this to have been a surprise.  And no one in our shop was briefed in.  So what the fuck?"  He shrugs and grimaces.  "But someone primed us for it.  I had some no-shit-come-to-Jesus conversations with the staff on the way here.  About half the people I talked to admitted they'd had some kind of Close Encounters experience.  You deploy enough, you'll see some fuckin' weird shit, but that is what I'd call statistically fuckin' improbable."

He points the neck of his bottle toward the FBI agent.  "Jim, no one's admitting to having your lizard-man corpse.  The Navy and USAMRIID and about a dozen other parties apparently know something because they want one tagged and bagged.  But someone sent the boss a partial file on those reptilian motherfuckers."  He rummages in a cargo pocket and tosses a flash drive to Karolina.  "For our purposes, think 'dude on PCP with soft armor.'  Strong, fast, tough.  They've got some innate resistance to low-velocity stuff but rifle rounds will open them up.  And Seb, as you found out for us, don't go hand-to-hand without better protective gear.  There's some speculation that the acid comes from a gland inside the lower part of the skull, so head shots are not the way to get a specimen.  'Specimen.'  What the fuck am I saying..." he trails off, finishing his beer.

Durand sits back in his chair, takes a drink from a bottle of Stella and attempts to process the events of what have unquestionably been the most bizarre twenty four hours of his life.  There doesn’t seem to be any point in trying to deny the fact that somehow or other there is some sort of extra terrestrial angle to all of this.

”Nice of them to warn us about that acid gland in advance.” The Frenchman says. His voice, whilst low, is loud enough for all of his colleagues to hear. There’s no attempt to conceal the hint of anger in his words. If Durand discovers that there are people who have been withholding information from him and the rest of the team he’ll be royally pissed off. Need to know only goes so far – as far as he is concerned if he is the one putting his ass on the line and there was a possibility he might encounter these….things….that meant that he had a need to know and if he found out that some chair warmer had known of their presence and thought otherwise then damn sure there would be consequences. Did you know Ted? Or what about you Dancer? He doubts if the Pole knew any more than the rest of them – with all due respect he thinks it's probably above her paygrade, so to speak – but he’s less sure about Bannon, the American’s denials notwithstanding.

Lina greeted Bannon curtly but professionally; which was par for the course for her.  Still, she seemed a bit more on edge than normal.  Perhaps it was the adrenaline from combat.  Perhaps it was something else.  She stood as the Chief and some of the other sat down to discuss what they had encountered in the field.  Despite Bannon's indication that these 'Lizard men' had some level of resistance to small arms, Kowalska kept her MP5K close.  She listened to the Alaskan attentively, though she did look behind her on several occasions, as if distracted.



"Chief, I hate to interrupt the whole przygnębiające ogródek piwny thing you have going on here," Lina said, switching into Polish for a bit as she looked around the hanger, “but a specimen might be what we have in the bed of the Hilux.”
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 16:31, Wed 28 Jan 2015.

A long drink from a cold beer is the first item of a rather substantial list of goods that Michael would like introduced into his life at the present moment.  A small portion of his brain is rather indignant that they hadn't been warned in advance that their mission parameters could foreseeably include contact with extraterrestrials.  The larger, more rational areas of his thought process are split between understanding the need for OPSEC and trying to speculate on just how ridiculous the briefing would have seemed had Bannon mentioned the cast of SyFy original showing up.

And there is just a hint of glee that his budding career as a documentary film maker has cascaded into a hurricane of military intelligence activity.

Durand is clearly angry, and Dacovetti doesn't begrudge him that.  Given that the man had almost been filleted by a weapon of unknown design, it seems a rational reaction.  But a statement of Bannon's is gnawing at him.  When it clicks, he places his beer on the table in front of him, in the corner, exactly three inches from either side.

"Chief, you said it was 'statistically improbable' that we had been drawn together, given the number of observations of, let's call it 'unexplainable phenomena.'  Other than Mr. Choi, I would be curious what our team has been exposed to.  While I haven't seen any direct evidence of extraterrestrials, I have studied how a civilization would hypothetically expand across space and communicate, so I can hypothesize why I'm here.  Mr. Choi is obvious."

Dacovetti leans forward to recover his beer.  "It might prove beneficial to know what everyone else here has dealt with or has 'hobbies" in."

Caradoc makes awkward noises and avoids eye contact, picking at the label on his beer bottle.  "Ah.  Mike, after we found the... camels... I told the rest of the team that my family's land in Wales has a history of incidents.  Like the camels.  The tenants have lost sheep, sometimes horses or dogs too.  Like that.  Pieces taken.  I've not seen it happen but I've an uncle who's death on speaking of it.  He always said it was the price we paid the fair folk for the use of the land, and drawing their attention would bode ill for the family.  And when I was a kid, I did see crop circles a few mornings after nights when there'd been lights in the sky."

James almost longed for the bad old days, the days when Lizard Men were his burden to bear alone. Back when he thought he might be losing his mind. The days when he didn't talk about it, mostly because no one was asking. Not that he thought people would believe him if he did. His superiors at the Bureau had at least been polite in their dismissiveness. James had felt like Ripley at the beginning of Aliens, or Roddy Piper in They Live. Now things were different. The burden of solitude was lifted, but reality had come down hard in its place. He wasn't crazy, he hadn't imagined or hallucinated Los Alamos, and there were more of those Lizard People out there- quite a few more, if the last couple of days were any indication. The things were tough and fast and apparently had no qualms about killing human beings. In some respects, they weren't all that different than your run-of-the-mill homo sapiens terrorists. But then there was the small matter of acid glands, silverback strength, cheetah-like speed, and resistance to supersonic metal projectiles. Yeah, he kinda did still feel like Ripley...

"So it looks like the secret's out, more or less. We're clearly not the only ones who know about these... things. I think it's about time we knew what the powers that be know. Trial and error has it's place and all, but I'd kinda prefer as much of a heads up as possible before I run another one of these E.T. catcher missions."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Thu 29 Jan 2015.

Bannon shakes his head at Michael's question.  "Me, personally, nothing that I can't explain as weird-ass meteorology.  Now, on the team here --" he chops off as he belatedly processes Karolina's statement.  "Wait, Captain.  You have a what the fuck?"  He sets his beer aside and gestures to the medical equipment cases.  "Fuck me, guys, start getting this shit set up.  And somebody call that bearded motherfucker from Star Trek.  We're gonna have an alien fuckin' autopsy right here.  I need to see this shit for myself."

"It's that or Libya Dawn was running low on handtools and mechanic coveralls," Lina said.  She turned toward the Hilux, eyeing it suspiciously.  She'd feel like a beer after she knew what was in the bag.  If it truly was a Reptilian or whatever they were dealing with, she wanted to know that it wasn't hibernating and regenerating and just waiting for it's chance to pop out of the bag and slice them all to pieces.

This message was deleted by the player at 02:00, Thu 29 Jan 2015.

"You think I'm not fuckin' furious too?"  Bannon snorts.  "Some dickhead set up this whole task force to go sniffin' around fuckin' ET without telling us that was the mission, then seeded the unit with people who knew just enough to get in over their heads."  He casts a baleful eye at Choi.  "This is what you and Vest talked about after he sent me out of the room, isn't it?  The one of these things you popped before?"

Hannah had been keeping her distance from the Hilux ever since getting out the vehicles.  She'd kept her arms crossed and her mouth shut as people started to wildly speculate.

When Bannon spoke of his experiences, the lithe army aviatrix nodded.  "Yeah, that." she agreed; talking about UFOs got you grounded in any commercial or military capacity.  She'd not seen anything turly unexplainable in her book.  Well, at least anything before the crop circles, mutilated camels, and whatever was in the black body bag that happened tonight.

"I'm not sure what all this talk about extra-terrestrial or alien stuff is about." the warrant officer posited, "That guy could have been hyped up on PCP or some other designer, military cocktail.  Maybe the drug requires camel parts..."  Perhaps she was in denial, but there had to be some other explanation for a super-strong, super-fast individual with strange weaponry.

And toxic breath...

She lapsed into silence, having no explanation for that.  Cyanide pills didn't do that; not that they were all that practical in her book.  The others were likely right - there were just too many coincidences converging.  Something out of the ordinary was going on.  But that still didn't add up to aliens in her book.  They were still ostensibly looking for scientists doing fusion and energy research.  Lord knew what else that secret facility had squirreled away in it.

Durand shakes his head briefly in response to Dacovetti’s query. ”I’ve never come across any shit like this before. Ever.” He is quite unequivocally in the half of the team who have not had a close encounter of any kind.  ”Sure, my last assignment before I joined this team was with CNES, the National Centre for Space Studies you would say in English – I guess it’s a bit like your NASA – but I’m not an astronaut.” - that brings a wry grin - ”I was responsible for security.” And I was only there because I was on the shit list after what happened in Somalia, but there’s no need to get into that right now. ”I was told that I was recruited into this team at least partly on the strength of my academic qualifications. I have a Masters in Psychology” The last was added almost as an afterthought – Durand isn’t the sort to go bragging about what he’s done, so can’t recall ever having mentioned his degree in front of his new colleagues before. ”I believe someone in CNES put my name forward.”

The Frenchman looks in Omdahl’s direction. Initially he’d thought along the same lines as the American woman until he’d seen the video that Dacovetti had shot of Attar’s corpse. For everything else there was a rational – though admittedly unlikely – explanation, but that was the part that he was having difficulty squaring away.  Nonetheless, he decides to chip in to the conversation, if for no other reason than so that she doesn’t feel like she’s a lone voice.  ”I agree with Double Down. There could be other explanations for some of this. When I first shot Attar I presumed he was wearing some sort of Kevlar. And we know that there are drugs that can enhance reactions. Hell, who knows what there is we don’t know about. And what side effects they may have.”

So there could be other explanations. Yeah, right, keep talking Seb, you might even convince yourself. He looks over to the Hilux. It seemed like part of the answer lay in there, inside the body bag. If so, they were going to find out soon enough.  There’s a grim smile on his face as he puts his bottle of beer down. Rising to his feet, he picks up his AK, looks over at Bannon. ”Bearing in mind what Jim has told us about these things and their ability to come back to life” - Shit, did I just say that out loud? - ”maybe you might want to ask a couple of the lads from CPA 10 to join us before we open the body bag, Chief. Just in case.” That's not intended to suggest his colleagues wouldn't be able to handle it, but if they do open that bag and Godzilla emerges then the more shooters in the room the better as far as he's concerned.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:28, Thu 29 Jan 2015.

With the occasional curse at recalcitrant folding equipment, Caradoc, James, and a couple of Amber Cell support personnel set up the Cave's medical section.  The rest of the team, along with Bannon and a quartet of twitchy CPA 10 shooters, drops the Hilux's tailgate and drags out the body bag.  When the people carrying it aren't under the influence of adrenaline and imminent gunfire, its contents are heavier than its volume suggests.

Nothing within the bag seems to move of its own accord.

With the bag resting on an examining table, James and Caradoc glove up and don face shields.  A wave of subtle motion and rustling nylon travels around the workspace as most of the observers check their holsters or slings and clear each other's lines of fire.

James grasps the bag, grits his teeth, and rips the zipper open like a Band-Aid stuck in leg hair.

Sébastien and Michael's eyes burn with the memory of their earlier exposure, but the acid scent is now only seasoning for the invisible foulness that wafts from the bag.  Burnt meat features prominently, but it's bitter, not the sickly pork aroma of human flesh.  There's also a harsh chemical undertone, like burning tires and cleaning fluid.

"Man, that's some stale dead ass," Bannon grits out.

Caradoc turns to one of the equipment cases and rummages until he finds a small jar of Tiger Balm.  He smears some under his nose, winces, and passes it to James.  "Ah.  Gah.  Mike, are you filming?"  He tilts the surgical light for better illumination, then throws back the body bag's flaps.

The cadaver within is missing a good portion of its head and neck, with chemical burns extending throughout the upper chest.  The unburnt portions of the torso bear several exit wounds, evidence of Sébastien's final salvo into Attar's back.  Tatters of a pale green subcutaneous membrane show through the bullet holes.  Wherever it was damaged, the skin is peeling away from the membrane, leaving a sticky whitish residue.

At the edges of the dissolution, the exposed muscle tissue is dense and red-orange.  The bone are ash gray, and where the acid has had its way, hairlike black fibrous extrusions poke forth.

Most of the lower jaw is intact, having fallen free of the skull as the acid consumed it.  With the flesh eaten away, its additional points of articulation are clearly visible, as are the inch-long conical fangs in the place of normal lower canine teeth.

At thigh level, an oily reflection betrays the presence of metal hidden in a fold of the bag.  James tugs the flap away, revealing a knife.  Its double-edged blade is about ten inches long and its tip bears a slight coating of dried blood.  James grasps the hilt and boggles at the unexpected weight - it's probably four or five pounds.

Bannon turns to Karolina.  "Captain, I'd say you bagged a fuckin' specimen, all right.  You want to start cutting or ice it down and save it for..."  He pauses.  "Shit, where can we send this?"

Michael Dacovetti, Renaissance Man: Connoisseur of Electronic Theory, Futurist, Graduate of one of the Finer School of Geekdom, TACP Tech Sergeant in the US Air Force, Husband...aspiring filmmaker.

"Roger that, Caradoc."  It is possible that a hint of humor leaks out of Dacovetti's voice, but it's directed more at the situation than anything else.  The Airman is carefully cradling his GoPro camera, moving around the men actually conducting the autopsy and trying to get in as much detail as possible.  Not one to take chances with data, the feed is being recorded on both the camera's internal drive and the nearby laptop through encrypted wifi.

The surreal situation of the day is slowly building in his brain.  Especially now that the Cell is in the process of reenacting a bad television experiment from the 90's.

After years consuming theories of aliens, a very real extraterrestrial, or at least non-human (because fuck it, the are places you could still hide on Earth, in theory), is lying dead on a folding metal table that has been reconditioned into a morgue slab.  And after years of consuming theories, the first extraterrestrial that Michael has seen, has bullet holes in it that he put there.  It kind of robs the scene of any remaining magic that could have been squeezed out.

"If we are taking votes, Ma'am, I push that we conduct our own autopsy and then send out the body.  We've dealt with several more Attars in the alley, and I'm guessing we're going to see more when Boulos gives us the location of our package.  I would like to increase out knowledge base now, rather than have to wait on someone further up the food chain to decide where this goes and what we need to know."  Michael leaves that last phrase hanging for a second. "Especially in light of the current decision to keep us in the dark."

He hopes that the Captain continues to be open to his input.  The byproduct of spending your formative adult years in the TACP is a disregard for the normal flow of information in the military structure.  Where most junior enlisted personnel keep their mouth shut, Michael has come from a proud tradition of Airmen who are expected to advocate their positions and ideas to superior officers.  Unfortunately, it doesn't go away.

Lina looked visibly relieved that the creature was dead and that she hadn't asked her team to risk their lives over a bag of knockoff Craftsman wrenches.

She nodded at Michael's suggestion.

"Keep cutting.  We'll send Foundation the video, what's left at the end, and notify them of our findings.  I'm concerned that if we ship this creature off, we won't receive the same courtesy," Lina said.  She turned on her heels and left the others to the job.  She had seen enough and didn't need to micromanage things.  At least not this process.  She walked over to the men on guard.

"I want all staff to draw sidearms and additional guards on the perimeter until this autopsy is complete.  If we have the personnel, I want undercover surveillance detection teams deployed on the two most likely routes of approach," Lina said.  She could only imagine what might be lurking in the alien and that was the problem.  There could be anything - nanotech transmitters, biotech engineered pheromones, or something she couldn't imagine.  Once the autopsy was done they would know more, but for now, it was better to be safe than sorry.

With that done, Lina went over and found a quiet corner by way of the PLASMA freezer.  She'd want to draw new SMGs and handguns for the team, but that would wait.  For the first time, she unslung her MP5K and sat it down.  She pulled out a laptop and reviewed the flash drive Bannon had provided.  Once that was done, she began drafting and drinking.  Someone would want an official report.  But that would wait until she finished her most pressing set of documents.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:15, Fri 30 Jan 2015.

Durand watches as the autopsy begins, far enough away to not get into the way of Crewe and Choi, but close enough that he can see that what lies on the table doesn’t resemble anything human. So, as much as he’s tried to convince himself otherwise, he now has to accept the reality of the situation for what it is. Attar was an alien. And given some of the other events that have transpired in the last 24 hours, the likelihood is that there were more like him. Well, at least we know they’re not totally impervious to bullets.

As the autopsy continues the Frenchman keeps out of the way, takes a few moments to try and quietly observe  his colleagues to see how each of them are reacting. How do you react to something like this? Durand has never given a great deal of thought to the existence of alien life before now. Sure, he’s watched a few movies, usually where giant flying saucers have appeared out of nowhere above New York City and someone eventually saves the World. It’s usually an American and there’s usually a pretty girl in tow. But this…this wasn’t a movie. This was real.  He shakes his head softly.

With most of the team occupied, he’s not really contributing anything standing watching though, and no doubt he’ll find out what they’ve discovered in due course, so he walks over to Dancer. ”Capitaine, do you have anything that you want some help with? Or do you want me to have another chat with Boulos, see if I can get anything else out of him? Otherwise I’ll go see if the“ – he’s about to say paras, reconsiders – “security guys want an extra pair of hands whilst the others finish cutting up Attar.”

The NCO in charge of the guard detachment nods to Karolina.  "I've only fourteen men, Capitaine," he says apologetically.  "Two marksmen on the roof and two pairs outside the wall.  Now that you're here, we have enough reserve for me to double up," he suppresses a glance over his shoulder, "until they finish cutting.  I'd like to rotate everyone past the table for a few moments.  So they can see for themselves."

He emits a faint but genuine smile as Sébastien walks up.  "Monsieur Durand.  If you're at loose ends, could you brief my groupe on the threat?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:34, Fri 30 Jan 2015.

"I’m not sure how heavy Amber travels, but if there’s any way to upgrade our firepower, please take a look at the options.  If these threats can shrug off nine millimeter, then we need something better.  Nothing beats penetration; wouldn’t you agree?” Seb couldn't be sure if the Karolina's remark was flirting, or if she was just so tired that it is an unintentional double entendre.



"Yes, and please remind your men that this is still compartmented, need-to-know information."



Lina nodded her consent as she took another sip from her beer.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:34, Fri 30 Jan 2015.

”Sure, Capitaine, I’ll see what options there are to get weapons with more stopping power. If Amber don’t have anything then we might be able to source something locally through the CIA's man in place.”  Durand’s expression doesn’t change when he replies to the Polish officer.  Did you just come on to me Capitaine Kowalska? A random thought flashes through his mind, namely that she’d probably be a handful in bed. Not that he'd mind the chance to find out. But then she was his boss...he parks the thought in the appropriate place for the moment as Dancer mutely gives her approval to the French NCO’s request, turns to the man standing next to him, nods in the general direction of the autopsy table. ”Sergent Chef Vidry. On y va?”

”Bon à tu voir, Christophe. Tu es bien?” Durand’s tone becomes more relaxed as the two Frenchmen walk across the floor, slipping easily into the more informal 'tu' as the DGSE operator tells Sergent Vidry what he knows about the ‘Attars’. Which, at the moment, is not a great deal. Once he’s briefed the Sergent as best as he can and they’ve made plans to bring the rest of his squad up to speed Durand will begin looking at what other weapons options are available for the team.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Sergeant Chef Vidry, shall we go? Good to see you Christophe. You are well?

---

James stands with his back against one of the clear plastic partitions that separated the ad-hoc mortuary from the rest of the warehouse.

"Yeah, he's not getting up.", he muses out loud, trying to lighten the mood. Despite his affected nonchalance, AK and Glock, are close at hand.

It's hard not to stare. He's seen the effect of a rifle caliber head shot on a human being before and it isn't pretty. If this body had been human, he would have turned away immediately. This is different. His training as a scientist almost demands that he study the blasted creature's anatomy closely; his current job does too. At present, there is only one proven way to stop these things. Finding additional weaknesses needs to be a high priority. James pries his eyes from the headless it and turns to the team Scott.

"Thanks for the loner, Crewe. Worked like a charm, even on those things." he indicates the supine cadaver with the point of his chin. "You got this? I want to run something by the captain. I'll be back."

James brushes through the translucent sheeting and finds the dark corner where Kowalska is typing up her report. The white glow of the monitor reveals dark circles beneath her eyes.

"You got a minute, Captain?" When Kowalska nods in the affirmative, James continues, "I don't want to be the team Chicken Little, but I was thinking- if these things can mimic a real-live human, like that scumbag Attar, what's to say they couldn't mimic one of us?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:30, Sat 31 Jan 2015.

"Nazca indicated that the two targets that turned out to be Echo Tangos had unusual thermal signatures.  I'd suggest we look into using daytime thermal imaging as a possible way to detect these threats.  It seems easier than drawing a blood sample."

Lina looked up for a second thinking, then continued.

"Check in with Foundation and see if we can get a copy of Nazca's video.  That may help us understand what we need to look for.  Also, Seb's trying to get us more firepower; either borrowing from Amber, or using the CIA's contact.  Coordinate with him and see if you can obtain optics and sensors that might assist in IDing targets."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:44, Sat 31 Jan 2015.

Like nearly all the great ideas, Kowalska's suggestion regarding thermal imagers seems painfully obvious upon reflection. James mentally kicks himself for not having thought of it first.

"Good idea, Captain, I'll get right on that," he replies, trying not to sound too admiring.

First stop is Durand. "Hey Durand, got a second?" The Frenchman nods his assent. "We need to be able to ID these things before they get close enough to spray us with head acid. Cap'n Kowalska suggested thermal imagery. Nazca reported the two ET targets at the garage had unusual thermal sigs. Check with the Amber boys and see if they have anything that fits the bill. The only thermal imagers I've seen were pretty bulky. I'm going to contact Foundation and see if maybe they can get their hands on some scaled-down DARPA stuff, something we can mount on our small arms."

Next stop is the morgue. James sticks his head through a seem in the plastic curtain. He notices Crewe jump slightly, although the Welshman does a good job playing it off. "How's it going?", James asks. Crewe smirks and replies, "Our patient is still resting comfortably."

"Good, I'll be a couple more minutes. The Captain wants me to call Foundation and ask for a copy of the Nazca feed."

"Fine. Just don't leave me alone much longer. Our extremely sleepy friend here is a shite conversationalist."

James chuckles, lets the curtains close behind him, and strolls over to the table piled high with top-of-the-line coms equipment. Pulling out a metal folding chair, he takes a seat and studies the system for a few seconds. Like all of Grey Cell, he'd been cursorily trained on the unit, but it looks like the coms guys had added a few dozen extra buttons, switches, and sliders since the last time he'd played with it.

"Empire Two to Foundation, do you copy? Over."

There's a few seconds' pause as the encryption systems kick in and do their thing. James is about to try again when the speaker warbles to life.

"Foundation copies. Go ahead. Over."

"Empire Six requests a copy of the Nazca feed from this morning's op. Over."

"Transmitting now. Over."

"We also need small thermal imagers that can be mounted on small arms- for IFF and special target identification. Over." James wasn't sure whether or not he should reference the ETs over the airwaves or, if so, how. He hopes the person on the other end of the line picked up on his emphasis on 'special'. There was another pause, this one unlikely encryption-related.

"We're already working on it. Will that be all, Empire Two?"

"Yes. Thanks Foundation. Empire Two out."

There isn't much left to do now but wait. His mind slightly more at ease, James makes his way back to the morgue to spell Crewe.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Sat 31 Jan 2015.

Hannah watched the autopsy proceed rather warily.  Her medical expertise ended at basic triage and the basic medical course.  She felt a little queasy watching them take whatever it was apart piece by piece; so, she figured that she'd probably serve the group best by not watching.

Though she kept one eye on the video monitor and glanced furtively in the direction of the cordoned off, makeshift, clean area, the US army warrant officer decided to keep her (otherwise) trembling hands busy with re-inventorying the contents of the groups vehicles.  Hannah knew that the drone needed recharging, which meant that the batteries and their spares should likely be switched out.

Conspicuously, Double Down kept her MP5K-PDW and Glock holstered and handy as she worked.  Everyone else seemed just as edgy about the corpse reanimating, whether the fear was founded or not.

Hannah found herself humming softly to herself, a trait that she realized only used to happen when she was much younger; she'd not done that for years.  Before she had become a flight officer, actually.  She cast about, trying to appear nonchalant, to see if any of her teammate had heard her.  It was a hold over from when she was nervous about something.  Or felt that things were spiraling out of her control.

Karolina finally finds a quiet corner of the hangar in which to review "the" file on the Attars.  It crosses her mind that her people may be about to rewrite, or at least significantly augment, a good portion of it.

The thumb drive contains two videos and a PDF.  The first video is a sixteen-minute composite of surveillance camera imagery from a prison break in Saudi Arabia in 2007 which freed several men who now hold key positions in Da'ish.  The team conducting the raid is adequately professional: not up to GROM's standards, but a cut above the average militant Islamist.  There are two six-man teams, but the team leaders are distinctly different.  Tall, gaunt, with disproportionately long arms: from the raised vantage points of the cameras, their quicksilver flowing motions remind Karolina of spiders or geckos.  The clearly human members of the team are deferential in posture, perhaps a touch afraid.

As the Saudi guard force begins to respond, Karolina pauses, rewinds, frame-advances: yes.  One of the team leaders is an Attar.  He sends his team toward the objective, turns to face a guard squad.  Fires his Krinkov dry, drops it, pulls a knife, and steps in while pistol bullets ineffectually shred his shirt.  Karolina has to drop the film to half-speed to clearly process the bladework.  There's one clean decapitation which she would know, absolutely know, for a Hollywood effects construct if she hadn't already witnessed enough questionable phenomena in the past few hours.

The other team leader isn't as fortunate.  He catches the periphery of a grenade blast and drops, flailing, two stories down a stairwell.  A camera on the ground floor catches his landing - and the shreds of human disguise clinging to the pale green fang-mouthed face.  He lies still for perhaps thirty seconds, limbs twitching, mouth working silently.  Karolina gains an impression of... rebooting.  At length, he spasms, kips up, wraps his shemagh around his head and face, and continues the mission, limping slightly, two fingers sticking out at angles indicating obvious breakage.

The second video is shorter, less than a year old, from a helmet-mounted GoPro.  It's probably one of the last Bundeswehr combat actions in Afghanistan.  The viewpoint is that of the third man in an assault stack.  The breacher steps up, kicks the door, clears the way.  The first man through kills one defender before a now-familiar form drops from the ceiling, landing in a scattering of angular limbs.  The Attar's mouth opens in a hiss, keeps opening, stretches inhumanly wide as the function of the articulation in the specimen's jaw becomes apparent.  There's a hissing retch and the point man is staggering back, screaming, strangling, with a grapefruit-sized acidic bolus dripping from his face.  The viewpoint assaulter puts a three-round burst into the Attar's head as the creature brings up its own rifle.  The Attar's skull comes apart in green mist and organic dissolution.  The assaulter grabs his buddy's drag strap and backs out, still firing with his free hand, yelling for frags, and the rest of the squad obliges.

The PDF expands on the team's findings and Bannon's comments without providing any new information beyond the observations of the videos.  From the inconsistent writing styles, it's a composite of several different reports, some of which were probably translated before assimilation.

---

Christophe Vidry raises an eyebrow at Sébastien once he's sure Karolina is out of earshot.  "Perhaps I should apply for a transfer," he comments lightly, then sobers.  "Most of my men have the 416s."  He pats the assault rifle slung across his chest for emphasis.  "So do all the support troops.  We have two Sakos in .338 on the roof and a third in reserve.  And four of the heavier H&Ks in 7.62 - the 417 - for action around vehicles.  Or for threats with armor, it seems."  He frowns toward the hanging sheets surrounding the autopsy ward.  "This is not what we expected."

With Sébastien as his wingman, Vidry relieves one pair of guards at a time, sending them into the makeshift operating theatre to get a good look at the subject of the rumors that have been circulating since the Amber Cell contingent received its last updates while in transit.  The reactions range from somber to shaken, and if a couple of the paras return to their posts pale and surreptitiously wiping vomit from their mouths, their comrades refrain from commenting.

At length, Sébastien finds himself on the hangar roof behind one of the aforementioned TRG-42s.  The airport is blacked out save for a few trash fires across the tarmac, near the air cargo terminals.  Beyond the tattered fenceline, the city glows with more scattered electric lights and the flicker of so-called low-intensity warfare.  The occasional orange flash and dull thump of an explosion punctuates sporadic exchanges of small arms fire.  Most of it appears to be concentrated near the waterfront, well away from the team's current location.

---

With Michael recording, Caradoc continues cutting.  "Hey, Mike.  Look at this."  He points to the forearm that he's flayed open, exposing a single slim, fluted bone where a radius and ulna should be.  "I think this black stuff is some kind of implanted structural reinforcement."  Leaning closer, Michael can make out scale-like patterns on the bone's surface.  "I'll bet the bones aren't remotely the same composition as ours, either.  Shit!  We need a better lab."

As Michael brings his GoPro in for a tighter shot, its screen fuzzes with interference.  Briefly concerned that a piece of his delicately-cared-for tech has sustained some damage in the recent fracas, he pulls it back for examination.  The interference clears immediately.  He moves in again and it returns.  Something on the slab is transmitting - or at least emitting.

A cold hand trails fingertips down Michael's spine.  Pushing Caradoc out of the way, he begins making passes over the cadaver, looking like a techno-shaman paying obeisance to his alien space-god.  He immediately zeroes in on the source of the interference.  Along the left side of the jawbone is a small divot - about the size a 9mm bullet would make if it caught the jaw a glancing blow on its way out of the skull cavity.  The missing chip of bone exposes a gleam of blue-black-green iridescence.

Having delivered the download to Karolina, James returns to find Caradoc and Michael worrying at the bone with a combination of surgical implements and hand tools.  Caradoc, having just dulled another scalpel blade on one of the black fibers, taps out and lets James take over.  About ten minutes of improper medical procedures reveal that the fibers will soften under the heat of a propane torch, allowing the agents to chip away the bone with a ball-peen hammer.  The prize is a teardrop about the size of the last joint of James' thumb, reminiscent of a beetle's carapace in hue.  A hair-thin wire, bright turquoise, runs through the jaw, terminating in a fused ball where the bone was once attached to the skull.

As best Michael can tell with his own kit and Amber Cell's signals analysis gear, the teardrop isn't transmitting on any wavelength he can access.  Its interference is strictly a short-range effect, suggesting some sort of leakage.  Under the surgical lamps, there is a barely-discernible crack along one edge, from which a single drop of amber liquid has leaked and clotted.

---

Hannah finds herself alone as she works through the team's vehicles and gear.  A couple of the French commandos pace through the hangar, conversing in hushed tones, but hurriedly avert their gazes when she turns toward them.

Turning back to the Pelican case she was about to close, Hannah feels the hairs on the back of her neck go up.  She freezes, trying to identify the source of the warning, then feels her stomach slowly revolve as her hands pull a piece of equipment out of the case.  The Geiger counter was a last-minute addition, a week ago when Grey Cell thought its mission was counter-proliferation, but the amber warning LED may be critical now.  Hannah presses her lips tight and scrolls through the radiation sensor's recordings.

The device shows two recent spikes in radiation.  Hannah's internal clock is scrambled; it takes her a minute to walk back through the last few days.  When she does, she realizes the time stamp matches up with the team's encounter with the sand circles and mutilated camels.  That's an increase in alpha and beta particles, lasting about as long as the team stayed at that scene.  The second spike is more recent - and instantaneous.  Sometime in the firefight at Attar's garage, the counter registered a pulse of gamma and X-ray radiation.  Neither exposure - Hannah's incipient nausea starts to subside - is a significant health risk, but they are significant data points.

The outside door creaks open to admit Bannon, who flicks a cigarette away into the night before ushering in two of the Frenchmen and an older, gnarled, dark-complected fellow Hannah hasn't seen before.  Bannon slings his lever-action rifle and leads the stranger across the hangar toward the aviatrix.

"Chief.  Got someone I want you to meet."  Bannon waves forward the shorter man, who's clad in grease-stained coveralls.  "This is Barbrak Taraki.  Barfight, this is Miss Omdahl.  She'll be your driver if you can get that Soviet piece of shit in the air again."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:52, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

Her brow was furrowed deep in thought when the two men approached and hailed her.  Hannah looked up from the small screen to watch Chief Bannon and Mechanic Taraki for a moment.

"Watch your language around a lady, Chief." Hannah quipped lightly as she put the geiger counter down for a moment, "You never know when you'll find her saving your sorry bacon."  Of course, whether she meant herself, the soviet hardware, or both (which is the most likely), the army aviatrix left the question open.

When introduced, she extended a hand toward Barbrak with a smile on her face, "Please, call me 'Hannah'.  It's good to meet you, Mr. Taraki."  She seemed completely unperturbed by any grease on the man's hands.  And she didn't bother with her callsign, knowing that will come out soon enough she suspected.  "If you need a hand," the brown-haired warrant officer offered to the shorter mechanic, "I can give you hand; I'm pretty handy with a wrench."  She knew her way around most mechanical (especially aviation) systems as she had started as ground crew before studying to be an aviator, but it wasn't her real forte.  Flying was her forte.  And likely Barfight would find that out soon enough as well.

"However," Hannah noted as she scooped up the radiation meter once more, "We'll need to download and analyze the data on this first.  The captain will want to know about what is on here, I suspect."  She motioned for the two men to escort her as she started to walk towards where Karolina had set up her 'office'.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:43, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

Durand grins in response to Vidry’s opening remark. ”You’d like to serve under Capitaine Kowalska, mon ami?” The NCO responds to the comment in kind. ”Fuck that Seb, I’d rather be on top.” The two Frenchmen share a chuckle before the conversation moves on to more serious matters. ”I don’t think it’s what anyone expected Christophe, certainly not any of my team anyway.” Durand replies as the two walk away from plastic sheeted area, leaving those within to do their job, whilst he raises the subject of upgrading their weaponry. Mentally he runs through what weapons everyone is carrying at the moment. Getting other options  for Double Down and Dancer is his primary concern, with both of them carrying the MP5’s that now appear to be underpowered for the mission in hand. ”The boss and our  pilot are only carrying MP5’s and we have found out the hard way that 9 mil doesn’t have the stopping power we need. If it’s OK with you I’d like to borrow your spare Sako for sure. Any chance you can loan us two of the 7.62 HK’s as well?”

If Vidry is prepared to part with two of the HK417’s temporarily, then by Durand’s count that would give everyone the option of a longarm firing either 7.62N or its Russian equivalent – the two 417’s, three AK’s – his and Choi’s 103’s and Dacovetti’s 104 – plus Painter’s FAL, with the Sako sniper rifle as a spare, although how they distribute them within the team remains to be seen. If the paratroop sergent will only let one of the 417’s go the DGSE operator will need to see if someone wants to trade the Sako for their own weapon or stick with one of the MP5's. We should have brought an anti materiel rifle he thinks to himself idly. A fuck off fifty cal Barrett that would have punched holes in these fuckers. For sidearms, it looks as though they’ll have to make do with what they’ve brought unless he wants to take his chances with either the CIA’s operative or their tame militia commander, but that is going to take time and has an element of risk attached. Oh well, lesson learned for the next time – another thing to add to what was already sure to be an interesting debrief at Incirlik.

After the discussion about weaponry is over Durand backfills with Vidry while the rest of the paras take the chance to see their new enemy. Taking a chance to catch up with the para sergent as his troops return, their faces showing varying emotions, Durand is grateful to his colleague when the other man doesn’t bring up the subject of Somalia. Vidry hadn’t been there, but Durand knows that news travels. As they talk they can both see and hear the familiar sights and sounds of conflict that punctuate the Tripoli night. ”Looks like a lot of shit going down at the waterfront.” Durand remarks to Vidry as he watches the scene through the TRG42’s Schmidt and Bender sight. This, at least he could understand, for the scene of urban insurrection unfolding before him was all too familiar,  in a way almost comforting, a reassurance that the World that he knew still existed despite everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours. But where did the Attars fit into it all? What possible interest could aliens from outer space have in the shitty little wars and revolutions fought in the name of religion?  Or the Tambolis? Durand shakes his head as he continues to observe the fighting from the rooftop, every now and then glancing about to check for any threats that may be in the immediate vicinity.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

The teardrop sitts on the table across from Michael and he eyes it with an interesting mix of caution, reverence, and curiosity.  This is confirmed alien technology.  It almost doesn't even matter what it does, in some regards.  The very existence of such technologies lays to rest so many fundamental questions about man's place in the universe.  All those nights staring into the sky and believing that it is impossible that we could be alone.  Such hubris to think that we could be alone.  And here, right here, under his own eyes, three men pulled legitimate alien technology out of an extraterrestrial bone.  To dwell on the fact that they had killed this specimen themselves seemed an almost blasphemous act.  There is too much significance to this moment.  This is history.

Dacovetti shakes his head to push the visions of grandeur away. Unique moment in the history of humanity or not, they are for all intents and purposes, at war with these beings.  These Attars.

"Theories," he says to the room.  Even with Caradoc and James in the room, he seems to be speaking more in the realm of giving voice to interior thoughts.  "The obvious explanation is that this is an implanted communications device, a simple two way means of communication.  But that is a very human-centric explanation, so let's step away from conclusions for a moment." The GoPro is still recording, only now in much the same capacity that a band would record a jam session: in an attempt to contain rapid fire thought and make it available again.

Dacovetti steps up to the table and leans down closely again.  "The device is not transmitting, not that we can detect, but again, we are thinking human-centric."  It must be the "royal we," he isn't asking questions.  "We have a hardened carapace concealed deep within a reinforced bone structure.  To call this a simple radio is inadequate.  It makes no logistical sense to harden a simple device so securely.  Accounting for the effort involved, assuming it would be difficult, this is more important than simple communications.  The entity itself appears hardened for battle with the skeletal reinforcement and acid presence."

He takes a deep breath. "It is possible that the device is bio-mechanical, it appears to have leaked a fluid, but we can't know that for sure, yet."  There is a pause. "So again, theories?  A list: simple communications, bio computer, uplink/down link." He stops.  "A receiver for drone control?" At that he shudders.

Dacovetti seems to focus on the room again.  "Here's what I'd like to do.  I would like to take a small piece of that turquoise wire, maybe half a centimeter and build a chip with it, if possible.  I want to see what kind of bandwidth it could carry.  Second, and this is a goddamn pipe dream, we should see if Bolous knows where we can find an operating electron microscope in this city.  That failing, we will need to request an in depth analysis and allow the teardrop to be sent off for further study with better resources."  It is clear by his tone of voice that Dacovetti is loath to part with the opportunity for study.

"Am I missing anything?"  This time he addresses the two men in the room with him directly.

The beer Karolina was drinking was in no way powerful enough to overcome the somber intelligence she was watching on the screen.  Ejecting the thumb drive, Lina stood and walked over toward the Cave's support staff area.

"Please cue this up on the main screen and inform the security detail that I'll be going over the information we have on these Echo Tangos and tactical considerations for engaging the threats.  I will brief this three times and I want one third of them present at each briefing."  Kowalska figured her own time would stop in at some point when they had a chance.

Once a 1/3 of the French Commandos had gathered around, Lina played the video once through, without commentary.  After it was done, she started again, this time, stopping at key points to offer perspective, guidance, and tactical advice.

"This is the face of the enemy.  Memorize it.  There may be others, but this is the same sorry visage that that creature had before it was killed," Lina said, stopping on an image of Attar before pointing off toward the dissecting table.  The briefing continued.

"Your rifle should be the primary means by which you engage this threat.  If you are forced to use a sidearm, aim for the head; it may be your only chance to survive an encounter.  As you can see, shooting center mass with pistol cartridges will not stop these creatures.  Be aware that headshots in close proximity will likely result in the release of some kind of acid, in the form of gas." The image on the screen showed the Attar being peppered with handgun rounds.

"I want each of you to prepare yourself mentally, to open fire on one of these creatures while it is actively engaging a member of your unit in hand-to-hand combat.  Come to grips that that possibility now before it happens.  If another member of your unit finds themselves in close combat with one of these creatures, you are ordered to engage the threat with your rifle.  There is a chance to survive being shot by stray rounds.  There is no chance to survive this," Lina says, looping the decapitation scene again before moving on.

"Notice how this Echo Tango was laid out by a grenade, then through whatever process, manages to get up and continue its mission.  Do not assume an Echo Tango is down because he's on the ground.  Put a burst into it and confirm the kill."

The video kept playing.

"It's clear that these things have some sort of acid gland and the ability to project or spit this acid.  Range unknown, velocity unknown.  If you have a riot visor for your helmets, that might offer some protection, but that's just a guess," Lina said.  She wasn't going to end the briefing on this point however.  She remembered that Napoleon had once said, "A leader is a dealer in hope."

"There's a lot we don't know about what we are dealing with.  But here is what we do know.  There's a dead one on that table and two more out in the city.  These things can be killed.  They can be stopped.  Stay alert and remember your training.  The strength of our solidarity is greater than this threat," Lina said confidently.  For the Poles, Solidarity was a core value, not just the name of a trade union.  The assembled French troops might know that value by another name: fraternité.

---

Between the first briefing and the second, Lina reviewed the data that Hannah had found.  She was impressed that Omdahl had thought to check the counters.

"Let's transmit this to Foundation now.  I think we will need expert analysis to determine the implications of these spikes.  Plus it's time to feed the beast, and I don't want to send them the autopsy video until it's a fait accompli.  They can't tell us to stop and ship the body back prematurely if we are done with it already."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:03, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

James had been a party to enough surveillance ops to be able to recognize all manner of scaled-down, discrete transmitters/receivers, audio and video both. The shiny buckeye-looking 'teardrop' between Dacovetti's forceps certainly could be some such device, albeit of unknown and presumably extraterrestrial origin. But Dacovetti made a good point during his think-aloud: it might help to consider the object from a decidedly non-human point of view, as much as that was possible for the humans present to do.

"My first thoughts were transmitter-slash-tracking device. If I'm right, and the device is still active, we made a big mistake bringing it here."

James considers pausing to let that sink in, but, if the point is valid, he doesn't have any time to waste.

"My second thought has to do with sperm whales. Now hold on a sec, let me explain. Sperm whales are named after the viscous fluid found in their massive skulls- spermaceti, if I remember correctly. I can't remember all of the mechanics, but the fluid somehow helps them with echolocation and communication at extreme depths. The Sperm whale's like the deepest diving mammal or something- it goes way down hunting for giant squid. It's an air-breathing mammal surviving in an environment without air and its evolved to do so quite well. So, based on where you found it, maybe this thing serves similar purposes for these creatures. If it's a transmitter-slash-sensor array, maybe the skull and the acid help conduct the signal. There's acid in batteries, right? Maybe the acid's not specifically a self-defense adaptation, maybe it's a power source. It could be all of the above. What I think we might be looking at is a piece of a self-powered sonar and long-range communications device."

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This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Wed 04 Feb 2015.

Barbrak bobs his head deferentially to Hannah.  "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hannah."  His accent is so out of context that it takes the flyer a moment to place it as Afghani.  His seamed face splits in a frog-grin as he turns to Bannon.  "You say everything Russian is shit, beg pardon, Miss.  Chief, I say a Russian Kalash put you on your ass twice and Russian birds fly when American birds are waiting for replacement PlayStation parts.  Russians can eat my--" he diverges into Pashto for a few words --"but they make things so simple even an illiterate peasant can fix them."  He grins hugely again and slaps his chest for emphasis.

Bannon snorts mildly.  "You'd be a lot less trouble if you were an illiterate peasant."  He knife-hands toward the door through which he and Barbrak entered.  "Intel said someone left a perfectly good Mi-17 sitting in the next hangar, so we came here to check it out.  Half the avionics have been stolen but my little buddy here thinks they're the nonessential half.  The skipper said you're checked out on the platform.  If you two can convince it that it's airworthy, maybe we can get some use out of it."  He shrugs.  "If not, hey, it's not like we paid anything for it.  I'm gonna go check in on the mad scientists."

With Barbrak trailing silently behind her, Hannah links up with Karolina to report her findings, then heads to the makeshift comms bay to transmit the radiation telemetry.  The technician manning the satcom swivels toward her.  "Um, hey, Chief.  We just finished unpacking the overheads that Mister Choi asked for."  He clicks his mouse and his terminal flickers with airborne thermal imagery of the fight at Boulos' garage.  "It looks like the, uh, Attars," he grimaces, "run about twenty degrees cooler than normal body temps.  They still show up but they don't look right.  It's kinda subtle in black and white but if you use a false color overlay it's really obvious.  Captain," he calls over his shoulder, "You may want to add this to the brief, ma'am."

As Karolina disseminates her analysis of the Attars, the French para contingent settles down a little.  They're still adjusting to a fairly brutal paradigm shift - unlike Grey Cell, they weren't selected for technical or scientific expertise in addition to military prowess - but knowing that whatever they're facing can be killed seems be focusing them on tactics.  Sometime during the second brief, the support staff who aren't already present start filtering in, leaning on equipment cages or pulling up unoccupied Pelican cases for seats.  A few are looking varying shades of queasy but they're all armed and seem at least to know which end of the gun is dangerous.

Vidry clamps down on speculation until all his men have had a chance to sit through Karolina's briefing, then opens up the security team's radio net for a free-flowing discussion.  Through his earpiece, Sébastien listens to the chatter while he inspects the loaned heavy rifles.  There's some conversation about alternate close-quarters defenses, how much protection gas masks may offer against the acid, the viability of tasers, and whether magnum handgun rounds - about half the team is carrying off-the-books MR73s in defiance of standards of issue - will penetrate an Attar.  One of the paras muses if the Grey Cell agents conducting the dissection will perform ballistics tests on the cadaver - or at least try stabbing it a few times.

When the conversation pauses, one of the younger troops hesitantly asks, "Ah... Monsieur Durand?  I heard you were at Kourou.  Did you ever hear about anything like this?  Perhaps from GEIPAN?"

Bannon slips into the makeshift laboratory, claims a camp chair, and folds himself into it, laying a big-bore lever-action rifle across his lap.  He silently watches the dissection as the three agents extract the - device? - from the creature's jawbone.  He's also plugged into the security frequency but he's so far refrained from comment.

As Michael soliloquizes over the teardrop, Caradoc looks up from where he's been pushing some bone fragments around a tray.  "I think the threads are there to maintain rigidity," he says.  "It looks like they're supposed to be under tension.  This isn't really bone the way we have it.  It's more like cartilage."  He picks up a long shard from the arm bone and flexes it into a bow.  "This may be in here to help them stay rigid enough to pass for human."  He turns to James.  "If it's a sensor, I'd expect there to be another on the other side of the jaw.  You'd want symmetrical coverage, right?  Unless that's a human-centric concept too.  Balls.  This is making my head hurt."  He picks up the remaining jaw components and considers them with malicious intent.

Bannon grunts.  "Jim, if it is a tracker, we're already burned.  Smashing it or tossing it into the harbor won't do any good.  But I think if it's leaking that amber goo, it's not working as designed anyway."  He rubs his stubble in thought.  "Mike, good points too.  It looks like these things keep their brains in their heads, so putting that device near there says it has some tie to the nervous system.  If it needed to be hardened and hidden deeper, you'd put it in the torso or pelvis, right?  I'm with Jim in thinking sensor.  Maybe something to allow them to function on our world."  He stands up and stretches, vertebrae audibly popping.  "I'll go talk to your pet mechanic about where we can find a lab, but don't get too far down in the weeds.  Remember, these things want two human nuclear scientists for whatever reason, and we still need to recover them."

Durand listens to the chatter going back and forth across the paras' radio net, various theories being put forward as he checks over each of the rifles that Vidry has agreed to loan him. The DGSE Operator has also conducted negotiations with the men wielding the non issue Mr73 revolvers, with two expressing a willingness to part with their weapons on a permanent basis in return for the handguns carried by Painter and Dealer. Durand has advised those wishing to trade that he'll take the matter up with the Welsh SAS soldier and the American Air Force sergent, and is about to take his leave of Vidry and descend from the roof when he hears his name mentioned over the net, activates his mic to respond. "That's a negative. Pretty much all that ever happened at Kourou was unmanned rockets putting satellites into orbit. GEIPAN..." he shrugs, though his questioner obviously cannot see the gesture " They are in Toulouse . They sent some people out to Kourou a few times, but I hardly ever had any dealings with them when they came out. Their area of....interest...did not cross over with mine." In truth, Durand had never paid much attention when staffers from the Groupe d'Études et d'Informations sur les Phénomènes Aérospatiaux Non-identifiés had visited the Guyana Space Centre, dismissing their investigations into possible UFO sightings as nonsense. Not so nonsensical now, eh, Seb?

Leaving the troops to their discussions, he gives Vidry a quick handshake and slips away from the roof, loaded down with the two HK417's and one TRG42 that the paras have agreed to part with and promising to convey to his colleagues the deal offered by the two men prepared to trade their sidearms. Walking back into the area that Grey Cell have made their own, he sees that his three male colleagues are still occupied with their autopsy. Deciding to speak to Dancer first, he puts one of the HK's and the TRG 42 down next to his own AK. Retaining the other Heckler and Koch rifle, he walks over to where the Polish captain is sitting down, her fingers...dancing is the word that springs to mind...dancing over her laptop's keyboard. She appears to be deep in thought. The Frenchman watches for a moment before announcing his presence. "Capitaine Kowalska." He's never actually called her 'Ma'am', ever, always refers to her either by her rank or, dependent on the circumstances, Dancer. He waits until she looks up.

When he has her attention he indicates the HK417 that he's carrying in his left hand. "The paras have loaned us two of these and a sniper rifle. These fire 7.62N and the sniper rifle is chambered for .338, which is the heaviest rounds they have." He takes a seat opposite her, crosses one leg over the other the rifle propped against his knee. "That gives everyone in the team a weapon firing 7.62N. If you and Chief Omdahl want to take those I'd suggest you take some time to put some rounds through them to see how they feel. If -"he emphasies the word "-either of you are uncomfortable with the weapons -"what he was trying to politely say was if either you or the Chief might find you were struggling with the weight or recoil of the rifles, which were obviously much heavier and more powerful then the MP5's you were currently carrying "- I can see if Dealer will swap his AK carbine with one of you. Or you can try my AK and I'll take the Heckler and Koch. I know you are busy Capitaine, but you and Double Down need to  put some rounds through the rifles, see how you find them. You do not want the first time that you are using it to be against an Attar. There's an area at the rear of the hangar you can use. I will leave this rifle with you just now. f you come see me when you're ready, either myself or Sergent Chef Vidry will gladly assist you if you wish." It's couched as a suggestion, but it's not really. You have to be comfortable with the weapon, and one or other of the Frenchmen will be there to watch when you do.

"The sniper rifle is effectively a spare. With all due respect to yourself, DD, and Dealer, I would think that either Painter, Lizard King or myself would be the most logical choice to take it. I am not a trained sniper, so I am inclined to ask Choi if he will take it either instead of or in addition to his AK. If he doesn't wish to I'll take it myself."  He doesn't explain his reasoning as to why him rather than Painter, but if she pushes the point he'll explain that if Painter's medical skills are required he won't be any use stuck on a rooftop performing overwatch. "I may have scrounged two larger calibre sidearms as well - several of the paras have revolvers in .357 calibre but they want to make a trade, so I need to confirm that with them. I'll get back to you about that." If the Pole is happy with his reasoning and doesn't have any queries the Frenchman will rise to his feet.

He's about to walk away when he pauses, as a thought occurs to him. "One more thing about the Attars. I think I mentioned this before, but I cannot remember for sure and it may or may not be important. On the photos that they showed as at Incirlik, the ones of Attar where there was scarring on his face - the scarring was on the right side. The man I shot -" there is no irony in the use of the word 'man', for when he had shot Attar that was what he had thought he had shot - a man. So that is how it is recorded in his memory "- the scarring was on the left. I do not know if this is significant or not, but perhaps you may want to look at the images that you have to see if you can discern which side the scarring is on." The Frenchman pauses a moment, as though considering what he is about to say. Like his countrymen on the roof he is clearly having to come to terms with a reality that is entirely different from what he has known. "I just wondered if perhaps it was possible that these multiple Attars are somehow some sort of mirror image of the original. If most are scarred on the left but only one is scarred on the right then perhaps the one with the scarring on the right is important. If that makes sense?"

And with that thought he does walk away, across the floor, towards the autopsy area, stepping through the sheeted area to join his colleagues, nodding to them as he does so. "Bonsoir lads" he says as curiosity draws him towards the table, where they all seem to be studying something. "Sorry, I don't want to interrupt, but I need to bounce a few things off you all."

"Jim, the paras have loaned us a .338 Sako sniper rifle. You seem to me to be the most logical person to carry it, either instead of your AK or, and I think preferably, as well as. What do you think?" He's giving the American first refusal, but he'll carry the weapon himself if Choi doesn't want to.  There's also the small matter of the handguns. "Mike, Caradoc, they've also offered us two revolvers in .357 Magnum - French MR73's. But these are private pieces, so they want something in return, a trade. They'd like your sidearms in exchange, the Grach and the Browning. It's your call. Mike, they've also given us two HK417's to replace the MP5's that the ladies are carrying. Clearly 9mm isn't cutting it so we need the added stopping power. Just in case. I want to get Dancer and DD to put some rounds through the rifles, but if they're struggling with them would you swap your AK104 for a HK?"

Thinking that covers all of his armourer tasks with the three men, Durand's intention is to go find Double Down, arrange with her to try out one of the rifles. Before he steps away though he takes a look at the corpse, sees the knife that Choi had retrieved earlier lying on a table to one side, the tip still blood coated. So that's what you tried to kill me with you little fucker. The Frenchman picks it up, momentarily surprised by its weight. "What do you plan to do with this?" he asks as he holds it in his hand, the question clearly aimed at all three of them. "If you've nothing in mind perhaps I could borrow it, test it. There must be some spare body armour around somewhere, so maybe worthwhile seeing what it can penetrate."

Crad shrugs.  "It's not mine anyway."  He stops and frowns.  "Come to think of it, I'm not sure whose it is.  I... think that was kind of the point of a whole arms locker full of deniable guns.  And I brought two GP35s, just in case.  So, yeah, if they're willing to swap personal guns to help us out, I'm good for it."

When Sébastien brings up the knife, he blinks.  "Balls!  I forgot all about that thing.  You might want to get DD in on whatever you do.  She's the engineer.  Uh, the other kind of engineer, Mike, no offense."

"No offense taken, Crewe." Dacovetti waves it off with a simple turn of the hand.  "There is more than one specialty of engineering that I'm not familiar with."  It's precise, if not pedantic.  The Airman's brain is winding down.  Bannon had been correct, he had gotten too far into the weeds.  The Attars were undeniably fascinating and he would like nothing more than to delve deeper into everything that made them tick from the technological and physiological directions.  But they still had a pair of scientists to acquire.  If the opportunity did arise though...

"I can part with the Grach," he says after aligning his eyes with Seb. "Although to be fair, the pistol has far outperformed what I thought it would be capable of."  Dacovetti doesn't believe much in luck, random chance is more of his thing, which is why he finds it oddly amusing that he is still a little uneasy to part with piece. "As far as a 104 goes, I've got the stripped down one we sourced locally in the back of the Land Cruiser.  I'd rather keep the one with the bells and whistles in the event that the situation goes kinetic.  Or, more precisely, when it goes kinetic.  My long arm precision isn't my strongest attribute."

"Absolutely." The 416 was James' bread-and-butter; it's big brother shouldn't be too hard to get used to, especially given his recent experience running 7.62mm NATO through Crewe's FAL.

He picks up the SAKO and turns it over slowly in his hands. It's heavy, sturdily built, and the finish is top notch. He'd fired a Barrett .50 once on a dare and didn't particularly enjoy the experience. .338 Lapua is supposed to be a more manageable round but it's still outside of James' comfort zone. If he'd been a proper sniper, this bad-boy would be near the top of his wish list. James will be the first to admit, though, that he's not a sniper.

"Honestly, this is a little too much gun for me, but as long as we have wheels, it wouldn't hurt to lug it around in the back. I wouldn't mind switching my AK out for an HK, though. In fact, it looks like I'm no longer needed here, so how 'bout I take this beast and my AK to the range with the ladies, see if I can talk one of them into swapping for the Kalashnikov."



"That's cool with me. It'd be good to know what the bad guys are capable of."

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This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Sat 07 Feb 2015.

"OK, that works for me."  Durand nods as the four men discuss allocation of weapons. He turns to Choi. "That works for me Jim. if you're taking one of the HK's and Painter is already using a FAL, I'll take the other HK. That way if we do split into the designated  groups of three everyone in each group is using the same calibre, so easier if we need to swap ammo around. Why don't you take my rifle and your carbine, then Dancer and DD can try out both and see which option they feel most comfortable with?" He pauses, thinks for a moment. "It probably wouldn't hurt if Painter and I get some range time on the Sako as well, get a feel for it. That OK with you Caradoc?"

The subject of long arms more or less resolved, he turns to Dealer. "Mike, if you want to keep the Grach, I'll see if I can persuade its owner to take something else instead. Maybe Painter's other Browning if that's OK with him -" he looks over to the Welshman "- or failing that maybe we can work something out to give him something from the armoury at Incirlik. Leave that with me, I'll get back to you."

He then turns his attention back to the knife, turns it over slowly, looking at it, feeling its weight. Subconsciously the fingers of his other hand stray to his side, where the same blade had penetrated his skin. "I'll go find Double Down just now, see what she makes of this." He looks at the corpse, a thought crosses his mind, a recollection from the Algerian Maghreb over ten years ago, when he'd seen an Algerian Special Forces operator slit an insurgent's throat. What made it relevant was that the soldier had used the jihadist's own knife to perform the act. "We should test it on the cadaver as well, see if it will go through the bone." With that he takes the knife, walks off in search of Double Down so that she can have a look at the weapon.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:33, Sat 07 Feb 2015.

With the briefing's finished and her reports filed, Lina got up to find Sebastien to see about firing the HK417.  She had included her write up the information he had provided about the scar on Attar's face.  Hopefully Foundation could make more of it that than she could.

Lina found Seb and Jim discussing various longarm options and loads out in the back.  She was fine taking the 417, or one of the 103s.  She didn't have a strong preference either way.  She was certainly very comfortable with the AK series of weapons though.  With the adhoc range setup and targets ready, Lina spoke.

"For two centuries the Winged Hussars were the premier heavy cavalry in Europe.  For one hundred and twenty five of those years they never lost a single battle.  Of course they were well trained and wore the finest armor, but what made a difference was the lance.  Lances of that time were heavy pieces of solid wood, limited in length by the weight of what the rider could hold parallel to the ground during a charge.  The Hussar's lances were hollowed out.  They weighed the same but could be made much longer than the pikes of that time."

The entire speech seemed to be a non sequitur until she picked up one of the HK417s and fired a well-controlled burst at the target downrange.  Afterward, she did the same with an AK-103.

"Now if we are all satisfied that I can carry my lance, please put aside one of the rifles and I will return to zero it.  First, I need to check in with Mr. Bannon," Lina said.  She wanted to see if they had gotten any more useful intelligence from Bolous.  She also wanted to know if Tajura was under observation yet.  Without new information, it seemed like a recon of that facility would likely be their next move.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:10, Sat 07 Feb 2015.

Hannah could only smile bemusedly at Barbrak's self-deprecating nature; she didn't know much about the man (yet), but she knew Bannon and the rest of the team.  They weren't getting randomly assigned to this duty; the army aviatrix was pretty sure that Taraki was top-notch.  She held her tongue at what she thought about Russian technology; Barfight's assessment was accurate enough.

She had waited while Karolina made her way through the first briefing, unwilling to break the Captain's flow.  But, also interested in what the team leader had found (or been told) about the opposition, now that they had almost gotten killed by them.  Hannah then nodded to Karolina's orders, moving to the transmission station once the second briefing had begun.  She conferred with the satcom tech, filling in the details for him and then listened as he briefed her on what James had asked them about.  "Make sure that we run with this overlay on at least one tactical screen for all engagements." she reiterated, they were not going to be kept in the dark on this one, "Are we certain that all of our NVG's have the proper software and firmware to support this visual filter?"

Then she and Barbrak headed towards the old Russian rig.  The Mi-17 was as advertised ... not much to look at in her present state.  Hannah gave a slightly beleaguered whistle at the sight and shake of the head.  "I am going to have to trust you on this one, Mr. Taraki." the lithe aviatrix breathed, not taking her eyes off of the helicopter, "I guess we start in the cockpit.  Why don't we take a look and see what is really missing..."  Hannah still wasn't sure about things, as the vehicle didn't look better the closer that they got.  As she pulled the door open to the pilot's seat to set to work, the brown-haired warrant officer chatted idly, "Where in Afghanistan are you from Barbrak?"

Durand found Hannah poking around inside the guts of the front instrument cluster (or at least what was left of it), when he stopped by to detail the weapons reallocation.  She made sure to introduce Sébastien to Barbrak before joining DGSE operative and Karolina at the firing range a couple of minutes later.  Double Down stood wiping some grease from her fingers as she looked at the options.  She didn't have anything nearly as interesting to say about Polish Hussar or any equivalent American Cavalry tradition.  Hell, the US military had had more than its share of black eyes.  And the country itself was barely two hundred years old - let alone any given military tradition.

Hannah picked up the HK417 after Lina had fired it and tested the gun's weight in her hands.  It was a solid piece of hardware and she tucked the longarm into shoulder to snap off a couple of rounds.  Her group wasn't as tight as the Captain's, but it was acceptable.  Still, the recoil was more than she cared for.  The army warrant officer then tried the Lizard King's AK-104.

She admired the Kalashnikov, finding the carbine more to her liking.  Seeing that Karolina had chosen the 103, Hannah placed the shorter-barreled 104 next to it.  "Won't have to worry about ammo compatibility." she noted, then looked at the Frenchman to confirm that James is okay with the loan, "Choi is copacetic with me using handling this baby?"  She made a mental note to touch base with the g-man in person, and to thank him.

Then Hannah turned to Karolina before the Captain left to talk with Boulos and briefed her on the state of the Mi-17, incomplete as her investigation was.

She was about to return to the Russian bird when she remembered that Bullfrog had asked her about the Attar knife, having said something about what it was made of.  Hannah picked up the blade and inspected the edge for a moment both visually and with the tip of her finger.  "Well..." the young army warrant officer noted tentatively, as she switched from her figurative pilot's hat to her engineering hat, "I'm not sure what the Amber Cell has for spectrographic analysis, though it wouldn't surprise me if they were fully decked out.  Let's take a look."  She nodded at the suggestion that some more practical experiments might be in order, "A field test would be good also."  The Mi-17 could wait for a bit.  It wasn't going anywhere for the time being.  Literally.

Dacovetti hands over the Grach willingly enough.  Regression to the mean is coming whether he wants to admit it or not, and it's not the weapon that has been on a hot streak, it's the operator.  The kinetic advantage of stopping power is more important that a lucky shot that bounces of armor anyway.

The Airman joins the others at the "range" for a bit of practice with the 104 Carbine that will be seeing action soon enough and the exercise serves to clear his head for a few minutes.  The relief is short lived, however.  Almost as soon as the replaces his ammunition and stowes the weapon, the chatter in his brain starts back up in an endless thought loop.  The background hum is always there, and is something that he has grown used to over his life, but in times of novel information, it grows and grows until he can do something productive to chew on it.

He tears through the Captain's intel, studies the autopsy video that he shot, and looks again and again at the sensor/comm device they removed.  More data, he brain demands, more data, more subjects.

Without a lab or some serious computer time, neither data or subjects are going to be coming up soon.  Still, he wouldn't bet the farm on the chances of seeing the Attars at their target building.

Durand watches in silence as the Pole and Double Down both put rounds through the HK's and Kalashnikovs, getting the feel for the larger and more powerful weapons."Quite satisfied, Capitaine" he replies when the Pole is done, no hint of irony in his tone as he places the rifle that he had been using himself up until that point to one side on a metal table. He then turns to the American pilot, nods when she indicates a preference for the carbine. "I get the feeling Choi is more familiar with the HK, so I think he'll be quite happy to agree to the swap."

With that resolved, he discusses Attar's knife with the American Warrant Officer, nodding when she suggests giving it a full analysis under the microscope. "That sounds good Chief. Why don't you see if they have what you need to study it, I'll go find some surplus body armour we can use for some practical tests." His intention remains to see how their own armour will stand up to the knife and also to see if it will penetrate the alien's own bones. Whilst he would rather not go hand to hand with one of the fuckers, if he has to and that knife can kill them he fully intends to have it with him. "I'll be back soon."

Leaving the knife with DD, the Frenchman sets walks away, several tasks still to be resolved. In addition to scrounging some body armour he needs to swap the Browning and the Grach for the two revolvers. He'd also check if Foundation had made any progress regarding Choi's request to source thermal imagers. Once that's taken care of he'll check back with Omdahl to see how she's progressing with the knife.

Sébastien, appointing himself Grey Cell's armorer, shuffles the team's weapons loadout to ensure everyone has a long gun in some form of .30 caliber.  Two French revolvers come into the team's possession through means best not inspected too closely by auditors.

With the way the Tripoli nightlife is shaping up, an impromptu firing range at the mostly-abandoned airport doesn't attract any undue attention.  A berm on the far side of a taxiway provides a backstop about 80 meters from the hangar's back door.  The team burns a couple of hundred rounds to confirm zeroes and ensure everyone's dialed in with their respective weapons.

Having exhausted the alien autopsy assets available in Amber Cell's traveling medical clinic, James and Caradoc, with the aid of a couple of apprehensive French paras, manhandle the cadaver outside and prop it up in a wobbly chair.  James and Sébastien, arguably the team's two best pistoleers, flip a half-dinar for the honors.  The DSGE operator wins the toss.  With Michael's camera rolling again,  Seb takes careful aim from ten meters out and, with an ill-concealed vindictive smile, puts a hole a few inches above where a human's navel would be.

When Caradoc probes the wound, it's clear that up-gunning is, if not the answer, then at least an answer.  The solid copper hollowpoint punched straight through the chest's subcutaneous membrane, tore a wound channel through an unidentified organ, glanced off a floating rib (lacking a discernible sternum, the creature seems to have nothing but floating ribs), and flattened against the opposing membrane on the far side of the chest cavity.  The membrane clearly serves as light armor but a hot .357 Magnum round at close range appears to exceed its design specifications.

With playtime over, the team disperses.  Hannah turns her attention to the knife.  Its weight alone makes it apparent that it's not designed for human hands.  Caradoc, who fancies himself something of a knife-fighter, remarks in passing that it's far too heavy - and thus too slow - for any technique with which he's familiar (OOC: anyone with Strength below 8 would take significant penalties to Armed Martial Arts checks).

Using the limited tools and reagents available to her, Hannah performs what testing she can.  The metal is so corrosion-resistant as to be impervious to battery acid.  It's nonmagnetic, electrically conductive, and unfazed by a blowtorch.  Her best guess is that it's some iridium alloy.

Despite its mass, the blade is quite sharp - somewhere between razor and filleting knife.  Whatever else it's alloyed with, or perhaps some construction technique, has rendered it highly durable.  A good two-handed swing from the aviatrix cuts a length of half-inch rebar without leaving a discernible mark on the blade's edge.

Bannon returns from the Boulos debrief, having extracted all usable information from the engineer and passed it up the chain.  Pulling Karolina aside, he points out the time and suggests that, while Grey Cell was recruited in part for the scientific curiosity the team is now displaying, they also need to be rested for the portion of their jobs that involves shooting smelly bearded men in the face.

---

The team grabs about six hours of folding sleep on fitful cots - or perhaps it's the other way around - before an apologetic Vidry awakens them in midmorning and points them to the ops bay.

Bannon, disheveled and unshaven, appears to have ignored his own advice.  He grunts in greeting and points wordlessly to the table of coffee apparatus and food.  Someone - perhaps a couple of the CPA 10 troops - has made a grocery run, so the fare is fresh and somewhat warm.

As Grey Cell starts fueling up, the comms table chirrups with an incoming call.  At a gesture from Bannon, one of the techs brings the uplink live.  The main screen flickers to life with Group Captain Mewes' weary visage.  Behind him, the task force's command center in Incirlik is abustle.  The red LED on the videoconference camera blinks on.

"Captain Kowalska, Chief Bannon, Chief Omdahl, gentlemen.  Good morning."  Mewes is a bit more formal than has been his wont for the past few weeks.  "First, my compliments on a job well done with incomplete threat awareness."  There's a flicker of heat in his eyes at that.  "Despite the operational impacts and larger implications of what you've encountered, the mission's basic parameters remain unchanged.  If anything, if the... newcomers have such an interest in the Tambolis, it's even more imperative that you recover them.  Even if we don't learn why they want a couple of Pakistani physicists, simply denying them access is worthwhile, given their apparent affiliations."

"Using the intel extracted from Doctor Boulos, we believe we've located the facility where the Tambolis are staying.  Sergeant Kohl, run the highlights film, please."  Mewes' face is replaced by overhead imagery centered on a large residential compound.  Events play out in fast-forward as he narrates.  "This is in the northeastern part of Tripoli, in the area still controlled by forces loyal to General Haftar.  At 0815, a four-vehicle convoy left the premises for the old nuclear research complex in Tajura.  Two armed personnel per vehicle, nine apparent unarmed civilians.  Two are tentatively identified as the Tambolis.  We have a Global Hawk on station now."  The screen flips to a live feed.  "The complex itself is under heavy guard, as you can see - effectively, a reinforced mech infantry platoon.  The presumed Tambolis and other civilian workers appear to be loading files and lab equipment at a leisurely pace."

The live feed remains up but an inset image of Mewes opens in one corner.  "General Haftar remains nominally friendly to NATO.  The general staff is divided as to whether the alliance should open negotiations with him for the Tambolis, but at this time, a hard extrication is off the table.  However, you are to prepare for such an operation, should the situation change."

His face twitches before settling into a forced frown.  "In addition, should the, ah, other parties make a direct appearance, you are authorized to move immediately, taking whatever actions you deem necessary to prevent them from securing the Tambolis.  A Global Hawk will remain on station indefinitely to supply as much warning and overwatch as possible.

"I know you have a lot of questions.  I haven't yet pried loose the answers to all of them but I'll give you what I can."

Lina never slept well in the field.  There was always one more thing she thought she should be doing.  Images of the unnatural movements of these aliens kept playing over and over as well.  As a trained gymnast and martial artist, her subconscious kept trying to adjust to a new archetype of motion, flexibility, and agility that these humanoid’s possessed.  Vidry's wakeup call was equally welcome and unwelcome.

Despite preferring tea to coffee, Kowlaska poured herself a cup of kawa.  It was hot, it was ready, and it was there, which beat even the short wait to make a cup of herbata.  For breakfast she prepared a bowl of fava beans and harissa, with tomato, onion and lemon.  It was her own bastardized version of ful medames, made much spicier than the traditional Egyptian version thanks to the harissa.

”Thank you Group Captain,” Lina said between spoonful’s of the oily mixture of spices and beans.  Either Grant Mewes was a good actor, or he too had been kept out of the loop on the possibly of Extra Terrestrial involvement in this mission.  It was hard not to think this was some American conspiracy bullshit and that every ‘NATO Ally’ at the table had been shutout until recently.  If the Brit OF-5 didn’t even rate a heads up from the Yanks, what with their ‘Special Relationship,’ then who did?

”I take it we are to confirm the identification of the Tambolis?” Lina asked.  Verifying that Haftar had them seemed prudent before entering into negotiations.  ISIS had already established reputation for bad faith negotiations in the region and hopefully it wasn’t spreading.

”Once confirmed, should we approach Haftar, or will that be handled through other channels?”  Kowalska wasn’t keen on making their presence officially known to anyone, but if that’s what it took to complete the mission, she’d do it.  She looked around to see if any of the other team members had questions for Mewes, motioning for them to ask as she refilled her coffee.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:19, Thu 12 Feb 2015.

Durand looks reasonably fresh, having slept in far worse places than a folding cot in an intact aircraft hanger before, and on top of that there's coffee and fresh falafel and pita breads for breakfast.  He sips the coffee, chews on the bread and fried chickpeas and fava beans, something he had acquired a taste for in Algeria, as he listens to the Englishman brief them via the uplink.

So, we think we have tracked down the Tambolis. And they are with a player who is supposed to be friendly to NATO. The Frenchman knows well that in this part of the World loyalty is a relative term, and could well mean that Haftar was simply screwing NATO for everything and anything he could get out of them and would happily shift his friendship to another if he felt he stood to gain more. What could the ET's offer? What price Haftar's 'friendship' then? But then, perhaps it was the same for both sides. Would Boulos get the deal that Durand had offered him? That was no longer the Frenchman's concern. He had done what was necessary, they had got the information that they needed.

He listens as Mewes continues, takes mental note of the strength of the guard force, assessing how Grey Cell might fare against them. Even given the team's experience and skills the odds did not seem to favour them. Vidry and his paras would help to shift those odds, but the Frenchman thinks it is unlikely that Bannon will agree to Amber Cell being left with no security. And so the former Special Forces operator in Durand considers different options as he looks at the image of the compound on the screen,  trying to establish ways of making a hard extraction even as the Englishman says that is off the table. For now.

A number of questions spring to mind, and when Dancer pauses to refill her coffee he takes the opportunity that presents. "Group Captain, a few questions about the facility where the scientists are staying if I may. First of all, do we have any access to floor plans or any imagery of the inside of the compound? And do we know if the Tambolis are in a specific part of it?" He pauses, runs through a mental checklist of sorts."Do we have any assets inside that may be able to assist us?" The last was probably a long shot, but it didn't hurt to ask.

Mewes nods at Karolina's first question.  "If you can get visual confirmation without alerting their security detail, yes.  Use Doctor Boulos to aid that process at your discretion.  Other intelligence assets - CIA - will handle the approach to the general if Brussels chooses to move in that direction."

At Sébastien's inquiry, he smiles thinly.  "Unfortunately, we have no assets in place to assist with an extraction.  Overhead imagery of the compound has given us a rough layout of the interior based on thermal gradients and angled views through the windows, but it's incomplete.  There's a single main building, a garage, and a storage outbuilding, with some other activity in the compound immediately to the east.  It's likely the Tambolis are staying in a master bedroom on the second floor but that's not confirmed.  As for their current location, we've identified the target building as the one housing their old offices."

OOC: Map update - https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

"Sergeant Kohl, can you show us the route the convoy took at 08:15 on a map?" Lina asked.  "Also, cross reference the make and model of the convoy vehicles and find out if a commercial armor package is made for any of them," she added.  If anyone competent was providing the security for the Tambolis, the convoy would vary their route to work and their departure time every day.  But it was very easy to become complacent and fall into a rut.  If the team had more time, she'd watch the movement of the convoy over the next few days, but time was clearly not on their side.

"Would any of our overhead assets have monitored this route over the past few days and if so, could we scrub the video for  match against these vehicles?"

OOC: I'm not expecting a dotted line on the map.  Just something along the lines of 'Looks like the took the coast road.  They took back streets.'

A few seconds after Karolina's request, an orange line appears on the map, tracing a direct route from the residential compound along the coastal road.  "Our people are working back through overheads now, Captain," Kohl murmurs in an abstracted tone.  "The lead and chase vehicles are marked as Tripoli police cars - Chevrolet Caprices.  The Tambolis were traveling in a Mercedes G-Wagen.  The fourth vehicle was," a note of disapproval enters her voice, "a Hummer H3.  You can expect the G-Wagen to be up-armored, possibly the other SUV as well.  The police cars aren't likely to be protected."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:07, Fri 13 Feb 2015.

Watching the visuals unfold always gives Dacovetti a slight feeling of omniscience.  It's a feeling that he has to keep in check and not let overrule his basic tactical thinking.  Too much information could lead to faulty decision making or an inaccurate level of risk assessment.  The tendency to think you knew more than you did was almost impossible to hold at bay without conscious action and continuous evaluation.  Six hours of even restless sleep had reprimed his pumps and his brain was buzzing on decent food and caffeine.

"I think we should anticipate that the other players in this scenario have access to this information as well.  If nothing else, simply for planning purposes.  This allows us several options: In the first, we simply stand by and hope that our erstwhile ally Haftar decides to play ball and work with us.  This could be wishful thinking at best." Michael pauses, grateful for the caffeine rushing through his bloodstream.  Three cups of coffee really gets the juices flowing.

"If a smash and grab is the elected option, we should probably consider attacking the convoy, but I'm not telling anyone anything they don't already know.  A third option would be to consider a hands off approach and see if the Attars come out to the field.  If we have an armed drone presence we can always elect to attempt to neutralize our quarry if it looks like they are going to fall into the wrong hands.  We do have to consider the possibility of them neutralizing our electronic assets in light of the interference our overland team received in the desert.  This would require us to have a ground presence nearby to engage, but we are going to have to do that anyway."

Realizing the he probably babbling more than he means to, Dacovetti moves to wrap it up.  "Whatever our options, I would like to request a few things.  One, can we get an electronic intercept package on the Global Hawk that can sweep the EM spectrum?  If the Attars do show up, I'm curious if we can figure out how they are communicating.  Two, it might be worth parking a KC-135 over the Med and moving our fast movers closer to the action.  If we move to engage, I'd like them on station sooner rather than later.  Especially if we are going to target a vehicle convoy."  It was a lot to ask for, especially in a geo-political framework, but Michael figured if they were really were combatting an alien presence, it was at a minimum worth asking the question.

Mewes nods toward the camera, acknowledging Michael's recommendations.  "Your colleagues are ferrying a Rivet Joint bird into the area.  It should be on station this afternoon.  Brussels is convincing the Italians to put their Typhoons in the air with KC-767 support until your op is resolved.  We're also shifting one of our Voyagers to Sigonella in case that falls through."  He pauses, looking like he's about to chew something unpleasant.  "There is a debate on how best to arrange escorts and CAP without actually saying the 'U' word..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:10, Sat 14 Feb 2015.

The array of heavy-hitting, fast-moving hardware soon to be flying in support of Grey Cell is impressive, to say the least. Instead of inspiring confidence, however, James finds that it's producing a growing sense of dread.

"Perhaps we should stick with unmanned stuff. None of you have forgotten that weird EMP pulse thing that shut our electrical gear off in the desert. I'd hate to be in the there when that thing goes off. It didn't seem like a weapon, but still..."

-

Hannah seemed a touch groggy as she entered the briefing area; she had obviously not slept very well.  She nursed a black mug of coffee, sipping it slowly, almost ritualistically - though not necessarily for the flavor.  The army aviatrix listened quietly as Mewes said his piece, though she looked a touch skeptical that he had been kept completely in the dark.  No matter really, Hannah wouldn't have believe the man if he had come right out and said anything about clones and aliens, strange metals and weapons, or toxic organs.

She frowned uneasily, as if lost in thought more than once.  Then when prompted for additional questions, Hannah piped up, "Sir, we are seriously under powered here.  Their weapons and physical strength seem to be ... well, inhuman.  More than a match for any individual."  She meant no offense to Bullfrog or any of the other boys, but she also remembered how easily the blade of Attar's knife sliced through rebar with her rather unassuming build; Lord only knew how much damage the larger, stronger physique of the enemy could do.

It was an uncomfortable - and unfamiliar - territory that she found herself.  The US military prided itself on its general technological superiority.  And in this situation, that was obviously not the case.  It may have been a sign of weakness, and obviously the Captain had reiterated that solidarity, the Will, trumped the tech.  But, the army warrant officer just couldn't shake that feeling of dread.

Hannah shrugged at James' suggestion about using drones, "An unmanned vehicle will only get us so far, Mr. Choi."  She was well acquainted with their limitations; more than most likely, "If EMP takes out those avionics, that is a sure way to lose that drone."  More than a touch of confidence bordering on arrogance entered her voice, "And while the Sikorsky won't be fun to land blind, I am pretty sure that I could do it if necessary."  It wasn't necessarily boasting, but Hannah wasn't going to shy away from her forte.

She turned more fully brief the team on the status of the Mi-17, "She can fly though - the engines are actually in great shape.  Most of the supplementary avionics have been cannibalized.  It'll be VFR only."  Hannah ticked off the list on her fingers, "The radio, transponder and radar are all missing."  Meaning that they would have to pack their own, if they wanted those 'amenities'.  "I also don't know Russian at all, but much of the controls make some sense - or have been relabeled courtesy of our mechanic, Mr. Taraki."

"Real eyes in the sky sound like a must for this mission..." she chimed in.  As she spoke Hannah did seem to wake up and be a bit more animated.  Either that or the third cup of coffee was kicking in.

Lina took a sip from her newly refilled cup, then spoke.  ”With the Group Captain’s permission,”  she said with a nod to the DVC before turning to the others, ”Grey Cell will conduct reconnaissance of the reactor site and the residential compound.  Bull Frog and I will handle the reactor site and Bolus will be our driver.  I want him kitted up on team comms.  His callsign for this op will be De Niro.  Painter, Dealer, and Lizard King will recon the residential area.  The objective is to identify an el-zed that could support an extraction.  Also, if there’s a guard force nearby, I want to know their as much about them as possible, including their rotation schedule, method of communication, weapons and equipment, etc.  The priority after that will be finding a site with good overwatch of the compound in case we can't obtain an ID at the reactor or on the coast road.”

Kowalska glanced toward the hanger, ”Double Down and Barfight will prep the Hip to support either a hard extract from the residence, or against the convoy en route.  Before we depart, I want everyone to rehearse boarding and exiting the helicopter, identify seating, and setup for aerial platform shooting.”  The later would mostly be achieved by rigging up 550 and bungie cords to help support weapons at the rear ramp, windows, and side doors.  Lina’s recollection from riding on Polish Hips was that the window on both sides were hinged and could be rigged to allow any of them to be used as a firing port.  ”We will also prep the chopper for fast rope insertion and assuming we’ve got the weight, we will stock spare ammunition and medical supplies on board as well.”

The Polish Kaptain turned to Bannon, ”Chief, can Amber assist with a secondary beach extraction north of the Tamboli residence?” She asked.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:57, Mon 16 Feb 2015.

Durand sips at his coffee as the conversation goes back and forth, covering different topics. After Double Down's comments about the Attar's strength and weapons he places the cup down, steeples his chin on his fingers for a moment. "Guys, look, we know that the situation that we find ourselves in is a little, how do you say -" he pauses for a moment, trying to translate his thoughts from French to English, eventually settling on something that wasn't quite what he intended - "bizarre, surreal.  And clearly we don't know as much as we would like to know about them. However, let's remember, it's one of them that's lying on our autopsy table. One that Dealer and I took down." He nods towards his American colleague. "And we took down two more of them at the garage. Yes, we need to respect them, respect their strengths and what they can do." The Frenchman pauses, looks around each of the team, his gaze resting on each person in turn. "But they are not invincible. They can be killed. We've killed three of them already. So let's focus on that. Fuck, Mike and I finished one off with 9mm automatics. And now we have heavier weapons and know more about them."

The Frenchman sits back, picks up his cup, as the briefing continues. When Dancer starts issuing orders and assignments he simply nods when she pairs him with her for the recce of the reactor site. "Oui, Boss. Do you want me to help DD prep the chopper for an aerial asault?"

Hannah inclined her head to the DSGE operative, he was right there was no need to freak out.  The enemy was killable and there was no use in becoming a basket case over it.  She took a deep breath and another draught from her coffee cup.

She nodded once more to his offer to help arm the Mi-17.  "I'd like to put the bird through her paces." the army aviatrix added onto the request, "This morning, if possible."  It wasn't crucial potentially and would take a couple of hours.  Still, Hannah wanted to get better acquainted with this particular Mil chopper, she found it always helped to be prepared and knowing the nuances of the Mi-17 was her purvey.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:32, Tue 17 Feb 2015.

With a subdued and shaken Boulos as their driver, Karolina and Sébastien probe the fringes of the defunct nuclear research facility.  The security force is not particularly adept, but it is well-armed.  The team probably could covertly penetrate the facility - the fenceline is more of a polite suggestion than a barrier and the electronic security systems are obviously defunct - but being blown would bring down a world of firepower.

Upon closer inspection, the guard numbers about eighty infantrymen, armed and organized according to what passes for Libyan standards these days.  A trio of technicals regularly patrols the outer perimeter and the site's access roads.  A defunct BTR-60 is dug in at the main entrance for use as a pillbox, while its still-operational twin covers the back side of the compound.  A ragged but functional BMP-1 is parked adjacent to the lab and administration building that seems to be the focus of the Tambolis' attention.  Several of the buildings' roofs sport machine gun nests and a Global Hawk pass catches an image of a MANPAD tube in one of them.  The MG nests are on field telephones; the vehicles all have working radios.

From the look of the site, two operations are going on.  First, the office/admin building is being systematically stripped of records - most of what's carted out into waiting trucks is file cabinets and boxes of lab notebooks, with the occasional piece of lab equipment.  Through a borrowed pair of binoculars, Boulos identifies a few items.  His best guess is that the facility is being stripped of everything that still works and hasn't been looted by prior interlopers.  There are no signs of radiation exposure protocols beyond film badges.

The other op appears to be a refitting of a small building on the east side of the complex.  According to Boulos, it was one of the maintenance facilities and machine shops.  The day's surveillance isn't enough to determine what's going on there.

After timing the guard patrols for most of the morning - they're irregular but not completely random - the team manages to creep close enough for Boulos to get a good look at the loading operations.  Through a stabilized spotting scope, he positively identifies both Tambolis. 

---

James, Michael, and Caradoc similarly creep as close as they dare to the residential compound.  The security here is considerably more alert, and only Michael's link to the Global Hawk operators allows them to avoid detection a couple of times.  By 1900, the time the Tambolis return to the compound, they've identified two security observation posts: one across the street and one in the adjacent compound to the east.

The on-site security team numbers nine, plus the eight men of the Tambolis' protection detail.  They're quartered in the adjacent compound to the east, though three to five maintain a presence in the scientists' compound even when the Tambolis are absent.  They're equipped with body armor, modern small arms, night vision gear, and unencrypted headset radios.  Their network isn't a particular challenge for Michael.  From an afternoon's worth of intercepts, it's easy to confirm their ID as part of General Haftar's elite forces, mostly Libyan nationals with a leavening of Algerians and one German expatriate.  There are also three unarmed menials on site: a cook and two general laborers.

With input from Hannah and the Global Hawk operators, the team also IDs four potential LZs that are within hostage-dragging distance of the compound.

The Tambolis' convoy returns to the compound along the same route it took in the morning: the coastal road.  Once again, the police cars break trail with lights and sirens while they're in traffic, giving it the look of an official motorcade.

The neighborhood is well-populated, unlike most of the environs to which the team has been keeping lately.  The war doesn't seem to have touched this part of Tripoli as much.  Fighters loyal to Haftar occasionally patrol the main roads.

---

After an intensive preflight inspection, Hannah takes the Mi-17 up for a test flight.  She's flown Grey Cell's example back in Incirlik but this is a lot less refined - really, more of a loose collection of helicopter parts flying in formation around a couple of engines.  Barbrak is as good as his word, though, and the bird performs to spec.  After landing, the diminutive Afghani enlists one of the French commandos as a photographer and begs Hannah to pose with him next to the bird.  "My daughters need good role models," he explains with a grin.

After rigging the aircraft according to Lina's punch list, Hannah takes it up for a longer flight, this time with a couple of the French air commandos along as observers.  There's a fair amount of ground traffic in the western parts of the city controlled by Libya Dawn and their allies - something definitely has them stirred up.  Several fires are burning along the downtown core's western side, lingering evidence of last night's fighting.  The helo attracts a few bursts of scattered and wildly inaccurate ground fire.

Bannon and a couple of his minions disappear for most of the day, driving off in one of Amber Cell's Mitsubishi 4x4s before Hannah's first flight.  They return in late afternoon, smelling of fish and cheap liquor.  "That was a fuckin' expensive boat," is Bannon's only explanation.

---

"The Cave" - Amber Cell Forward Operations Center
Tripoli, Libya
17 March 2015
0346 hrs local (0246 hrs Zulu)

This time, it's Bannon himself who shakes Karolina awake.  "We got a problem, Captain," he murmurs, beckoning her to find her boots and follow him.

The Cave's ops section is fully spun up.  The big screen is running a live feed of Global Hawk thermal imagery.  Comms are running between the UAV operators and the elint and strike fighter crews on station over the Mediterranean.

"Lou just picked up on some movement going into the good part of town," Bannon murmurs, putting a hand on the chair of one of his intel staff.  "We ran the tape back and confirmed they all jumped off from the same place a few hours ago."  He flicks a laser pointer at the screen.  "It looks like three covert action teams - here, here, and here.  One car each, four shooters per, and they're trying pretty hard to blend.  There's an additional heavier force holding down here that rolled out at the same time.  Four gun trucks with about twenty dudes.  And a general alert just went out across the Libya Dawn net to stand to for action an hour before dawn."  He checks his watch.  "Civil twilight's at 0551 today, sunrise's at 0616.  So we've got about an hour before whatever happens, happens.  Probably about the same amount of time before civilian traffic starts to pick up."

Map update: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:22, Fri 20 Feb 2015.

"It looks like the window for successfully negotiating the Tamboli’s release is closing quickly,” Lina said, considering the situation.  ”It seems someone has a good idea of where they are.  Also, they have a hard extrication option on the table as well.”

The former MI Officer mulled over the possibilities.

”The jump off point, was it in Libya Dawn territory, or some other part of the city?” she asked.  She strongly suspected Libya Dawn would be the answer, but she was open to other possibilities.  ”If it’s anything other than a known LD controlled building, I want everything we can get on it, property records, the last ten owners, everything.” If the CIA’s channel to Haftar has been compromised, they might have another player in the game.  Or the Agency already has Haftar's answer and is making their own play, she thought to herself.

”Let’s wake the others.  They need to see this,” Lina said.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Fri 20 Feb 2015.

"Oh, definitely Libya Dawn turf," Bannon replies without taking his eyes from the screen.  "They rolled out of one of the bigger militia... hives.  I hate to call 'em bases.  That would imply some degree of fuckin' organization that's mostly unknown to these assjackets."

He downs the last of his coffee and grimaces.  "Question is, are they gonna hit the compound or the convoy?"

Dacovetti waves off the hand that brings him back into consciousness.  His sleep had been intermittent at best containing dreams that were composed of snapshots of Attars, alien corpses, and foreign language radio chatter.  Over all the visions loomed a general feeling of not quite being able to format and equation to solve the problem.  It was as if most of the variables in a proof are present, but Michael could not construct them into a coherent form.  Being awakened put a stop to that particular problem set, and for that he is at least moderately grateful.

He swings his legs off his cot and watches for a moment as the other figures around are being roused.  Then he begins to move.  His feet slide into their boots after a cursory check for undesirable biological invaders.  The new side arm and it's holster are collected and then a drink of water from the insulated bottle he left near by before turning in not that many hours ago.  Instead of conversing or waiting for his teammates, he makes his way to the Ops Center.  Bannon gives him a nod when he enters, which Dacovetti returns perfunctorily, and then the Airman makes a bee-line for the coffee pot.  Whatever it is they are dealing with can be held at bay for a few more minutes.  At least, that is the model he is operating under given the fact that no one seems to be moving with much more than the regular level of purpose and speed.

Finally, he moves over to stand next to the Captain.  The video feed is still showing movement around several locations and the target house of the Tambolis.  The static pictures on the computer screens in front of him cause a grimace.

"I surmise that our operation window is about to narrow."  He takes a big drink of coffee and works on getting caught up.

"Is it too late to hit the convoy ourselves? Both compounds are locked down tight and we don't have the manpower to take down targets that size or that well guarded."

James looks down at the stills of the convoy from earlier in the day.

"I'd bet the Attars are rollin' in the H3. If I'd travelled 15 light years to this planet, I sure as hell wouldn't settle for a beat-up Fiat or pickup bed. We get a Predator to hit the Hummer with a Hellfire, that makes these Police beaters a lot more manageable. We immobilize the front and back vehicles, trap the rest in between, and systematically take 'em down. It's risky, but I think it's the least risky of our three direct assault options."

Granted, the HRT spent a lot more time practicing storming buildings than they did assaulting vehicles, although the latter was indeed a part of their training evolutions. A convoy takedown was slightly out of James' comfort zone, but it seemed on the edge of manageability, whereas either the reactor and the villa would require an assault team at least two or three times as large as Grey Cell to clear.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:06, Sat 21 Feb 2015.

Durand stands in the Cave, a cup of coffee in his right hand, the caffeine chasing away the last vestiges of sleep as he plays catch up, processes the information. "The way I see it we have two separate issues. Firstly, how to handle these snatch squads which I take it we are all agreed are Libya Dawn and are most likely after the Tambolis. Secondly is how we get the Tambolis ourselves."

The Frenchman takes another sip of coffee as his mind runs through different options and scenarios. Turning to Bannon he asks "Could we call in air support against the snatch squads? Hit their covert teams with Hellfire armed Predators and let the fast air deal with the guntrucks? Alternatively, Haftar is supposed to be on our side, yes? Do we have a back channel we can use to tip him off, without showing our hand, perhaps via the CIA? Let them fight each other?" His lips curl into the hint of a smile, suggesting that idea appeals to him. "Granted, that carries risks, but perhaps we can then take advantage of that confusion to cover our own move against the Tambolis?"

He places the coffee cup down on a workstation. Dealer is standing next to Dancer, so he moves to the other side of the Polish woman, studies the screen. "Otherwise if we are going to try and snatch them first we are going to have to move fast." He turns in the direction of the Lizard King. "I am inclined to agree with Jim. The convoy seems to be our best option for a hard extraction. The security at the residential compound outnumber us three to one and are relatively well equipped. As for the reactor site -" he shakes his head "- We could try to sneak in, but if we were spotted we'd be fucked. There's too many of them." That's said with a certain degree of finality.

He looks towards Dancer. "We need to be careful that we do not lose the initiative here. If those snatch squads are ready to make a move we may not be able to wait until this morning's convoy leaves the residence. Oh, and one other thing. When you guys came in overland and had your - moment - with the camels you said that you saw an Attar riding in a convoy with some technicals. I don't suppose you can tell if these -" he points at the screen in the direction of the four gun trucks "- are the same ones? If so it would tie them 100% to Attar."

Lina nodded as Sebastien’s suggestion.  ”Yes, I think tipping off Haftar is our best option,” she said.  ”The Russians taught us this game when I was young.  I believe in English you call it, ‘Let’s you and him fight.’”

Pausing and considering the situation, she started to talk through the implications.

"If you were in change of the Tamboli's safety and your perimeter came under attack, would you try to shelter in place or would you try to get the VIPs back to the reactor site?  Or perhaps more to the point, what if you weren't under attack yet, but you knew it was coming?"

"Evacuating your VIPs is difficult once the bullets start flying, but if you have a heads up, it is often your best course of action," Lina said with a nod.

”If we can't get Haftar on the line, Dealer has the freqs for their security detail and we alert them directly.  We disrupt the attack planning cycle, forcing the Libya Dawn to commit before they are completely ready.   Instead of four Libyan Dawn elements converging simultaneously on the compound, they will be forced to commit to an attack piecemeal.  Our alert should trigger an evacuation of the Tamboli's to the nuclear facility, in addition to increasing the security posture of the compound. ”

"Then we hit the convoy from the air, while Libya Dawn and Haftar's troops battle it out."

"Hannah, is there any chance to get the Mi-17 airborne before civil twilight?"  Lina asked.  She didn't know if flying by NVG's would be enough since a lot of the instrumentation on the Russian export helicopter had been removed.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Sat 21 Feb 2015.

Her burgundy lips curled up at the thought of trying to play one side off of the other.  It would be nice... Hannah thought to herself.

But then, Hannah looked thoughtful for a moment, her expression slightly pensive as she topped off her cup with dark black coffee.  The brown-haired army aviatrix glanced in the direction of Barbrak before she answered, "We can do it."  She knew that Karolina was well aware of lack of instrumentation on the stripped down Mi-17.  "It will be tricky," which she knew (and the rest of the team likely suspected) was a fairly obvious understatement, "But it can be done.  Barfight," Hannah added quickly, "I'm going to need your set of eyes to help."  She trusted the man to help her look out.

She took a sip from her mug of coffee and then glanced at Michael, Bannon and Karolina, "If I can get a couple of minutes to review the latest feeds on the route and terrain that we are proposing, it would likely be helpful as well."  The army warrant officer knew that time was of the essence, but that rushing the flight without sparing a moment to prepare was likely to make it even more dangerous than it already was.  Unnecessarily so.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:35, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

Lina nodded.  They would need time to get Mewes on the line and have him hack off on the proposal anyway.  Besides, they wanted to give Haftar or his men enough time to begin the evacuation, but not so much that he felt he could substantially reinforce the compound.

"Foundation Six, this is Empire Six.  Are you tracking the four teams we've identified?"  Once HQ confirmed they had identified the three covert team and the heavy force, Lina got down to brass tacks.

"Assuming that we've not been able to secure the release of the Tamboli's via negotiation, we recommend alerting General Haftar to Libya Dawn's presence.  We are hoping to disrupt what looks to be an immediate assault against the Tamboli's compound.  We suspect Haftar's men will elect to move the Tamboli's to the reactor site.  We are requesting clearance to intercept their convoy to forcibly extricate Satish and Jayashri Tamboli."

"Empire, Foundation.  Six is on the way.  We're on the uplink and confirm your tally of hostiles."  It's Sergeant Kohl again.  She pauses and the mic transmits a sip of coffee with perfect fidelity.  "Stand by for Foundation Six."

During the brief pause, Barbrak grins at Hannah.  "Damn.  No door gun?  Sure, Miss Hannah, I'll nagivate for you."  He rummages in one of the intel file cabinets and emerges with a heavily-creased aeronautical chart of the greater Tripoli area.  "I don't read the Arabic but it's not that old.  I don't think they've built up much since the revolution..."

"Empire, Six Actual.  Go ahead."  Mewes listens to Karolina's report, then clears his throat.  "Negotiations with General Haftar are still in the preliminaries.  CIA is on point for that and they're having trouble comprehending the meaning of 'urgent.'  We will try to alert the general's forces but if you have a more direct channel, we suggest you use that as well.  Barring a sudden breakthrough, you are cleared to retrieve the targets as you propose.  Do try to leave minimal evidence implicating NATO."  He leaves the mic open for a long few seconds while considering his next words.  "Prior orders remain in effect.  If the newcomers become involved in this episode, prevent them from securing the Tambolis by whatever means necessary."

One of Bannon's staff rises from a chair and slips through the clutter to Michael.  "Comms and ordnance for the air assets, Sergeant."  He offers a clipboard.  "The Tornados are on the tanker now.  Fifteen minutes 'til they're full."

Dacovetti accepts with clipboard with a crisp nod.  "Thank you," he tells the staffer.  While the others work out the details, the Airman tackles the CAS preparation.  He chuckles a little bit when he reads over the manifest.  The CAS package is utilizing the call sign Nero.  Someone has a sense of humor.  Both PRC-119s are prepped with all the necessary frequencies.  He takes out the necessary crypto tables and works out the verification and abort codes that he'll want by hand.  It's not labor intensive, and with the advent of encrypted signals, it seems redundant, but it helps him focus.  From his bag, he produces a slim booklet bound by six or seven metal rings.  Each page is coated in plastic and Dacovetti preplans as much of the projected CAS mission as he can, marking up the book with a grease pencil.  Various Initial Points are selected with run ins calculated for the house and the power plant.  When that is settled, he steps out of the hanger and dials up the UHF spectrum.

"Overlord," he calls out into the electronic ether, "Empire 3, radio check, over."

There is a slight pause.  Nothing terribly noticeable, but one Michael picks out just the same.  It is the pause of initial radio communications being made.  Then a smooth and patient female voice comes back into his ear.  "Empire 3, this is Overlord.  We have you loud and clear, over."

"Overlord, Empire has you same-same."  The ritual is the same every time.  It feels familiar in the way that pushes Dacovetti into the proper routine and mindset for hunting the enemy via airborne firepower.  "Be advised, we will update with projected mission time when it becomes available." He was sure it was redundant.  Foundation clearly had channels with the Rivet Joint plane as well, but it never hurt to talk to the coordinators yourself.

"Understood, Overlord will be standing by.  Out."  The radio operator's voice on the orbiting plane piqued Michael's curiosity, but then they always did.  He wondered briefly what they looked like, who they were.  He had certainly been that voice for more than a few forward deployed operating teams and he always wondered what they thought of him.  If they did.  Who was the voice in the ether that controlled so much of their fate for the next several hours.  The operator had been steady, experienced.  He didn't think it was going to be an issue.

Dacovetti returned to the ops center and gave the captain a thumbs up after checking his watch.  "CAS is on line, Kaptain.  I'm going to go suit up."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:25, Tue 24 Feb 2015.

"Before you go," Lina says to Michael, while she turns toward Sebastian and beckons him with a come-hither look and a crooked finger.

Kowalska explains to both men that once they're ready for the assault, their next priority is establishing radio comms with the Tambolis' security detail.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:59, Wed 25 Feb 2015.

Durand is sorting through the required gear when he sees Dancer beckon him over with that crooked finger. Wandering over, he listens as the Pole explains  what needs to be done, nods. "Sure, boss, no problem. If Dealer can get me on to their net I can warn them."

Karolina noded, knowing that the former French Marine and DGSE spoke fluent Arabic.

"Sebastian, you'll be on the Sako," Kowalska said, referring to the dual purpose anti-personnel, anti-material rifle.  "The rest of us will light up the non-armored vehicles with seven-six-two, and we will use the Lapua to stop the armored vehicles.  Gear up, it's time to hunt big game."

OOC: Lina will get ready as well.  Outfit will be 5.11 Tactical, with the rolled up burqa and niquab in the Camelback. Weapons will be an AK-103, the MCS configured with the longest barrel and loaded with slugs (to be kept on the Mi-17.. not carried), and her Glock 17.  Other major gear: undercover vest, smartphone, balaclava, NVGs, radio, flexcuffs, duct tape for mouths, IFAK, 210 rds for the 103, two mags for the glock, and sunglasses.  Definitely sunglasses.

"OK." Durand nods in response to Dancer while he waits for Dealer to do his thing. When he does get through he'll throw in some of the choice colloquialism and profanities that he learned from the Algerians, hoping that will be enough to convince the security detail that their unexpected tip off is coming from a fellow Arab, perhaps even someone within Libya Dawn. After all, loyalties were fluid in this part of the World.

Once he's done that he'll finish assembling the gear that he needs, collect the heavy calibre rifle, take the HK aboard the chopper as well. As he makes the final preparations his mind runs through what they have learned, the different scenarios. Durand intends to treat this in the same way that he would any other hot exfil.  As he had said earlier, the Attars are targets. That's all. The same as any other hostile. And as he holds the heavy calibre Sako in his hands he allows himself a grim smile. Let's see you get up after you get hit with this, fucker.

Seb's wearing standard PMC type gear, will take the Sako, and the HK417. He will give the ground team first refusal on the MR73's but if there is one spare he'll take it, but only if none of the ground team want it.  Besides that he'll have undercover vest, radio, NVG's, copious amounts of ammo, gear he'll need for a fast rope descent and sunglasses that are waaaaayyyyy cooler than Dancer's.

Like everything else that Dacovetti does, dressing for combat, when in a controlled environment, takes on an almost ritualistic process.  Each piece of gear is inspected before being strapped on. Each electronic device powered up.  Each weapon readied and safed.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as the other prepare and wonders briefly about their choice in light body armor.  Call it paranoia, but when assaulting a vehicle column, Michael elects the heavier assault armor they have been dragging around for just such an occasion.  It's bulky and hot, but it might be able to keep him alive a little longer if he has to put his body in the firing line to call in a CAS mission.  To compensate, he begins sipping water almost immediately.

When the pregame ritual is complete, he takes his assault pack containing his radio and sets it on a table near the door along side his AK-104.  The gear is in easy reach and will be ready when the team is set to depart.

After that, he takes his now considerably larger bulk back to the comm system and sets about breaking into the Libya Dawn network.  It's time to cause a little chaos.


OOC: Assault package gear: AK-104 with the bells and whistles (new thermal sight, yay!), revolver side arm, PRC-119, GoPro strapped to helmet.  Sunglasses with that shine with the fire of a thousand suns and blind onlookers due to sheer awesome.

Well, you got your wish dumbass...

Taking down an armed convoy on the mean, maze-like streets of one the most dangerous cities in the world with five-person assault team is shaping up to be the riskiest thing James has ever done professionally, and it was his suggestion.

It's time to get tactical. Picking up items a-la-carte, James is essentially able to replicate his standard HRT panoply. Ironically, the weight of his heavy body armor instantly makes him feel more at ease- nervous, yes, but in a familiar, almost comforting way.

OOC: Tactical Assault Choi ^TM comes with Nomex speed suit, heavy body armor, crash helmet, goggles, flex-cuffs, flash-bangs, breaching charge, tactical radio with earpiece and throat mic, Custom Colt .45 (HRT standard-issue), HK417 w/ lots-o'-ammo. His Oakley shades would have looked totally sweet c.1995.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 15:50, Sat 07 Mar 2015.

Hannah listened quietly to the briefing, then nodded to her part of the Plan™.  The brown-haired aviatrix took in a deep breath, downed the last of the coffee from her third cup, and then nodded to Barbrak, motioning for the mechanic to accompany her in prepping the Mi-17.  She wanted the lady fully ready before the got herself ready.

The army aviation officer was very meticulous and incredibly serious during the prep time.  Hannah had had checklist drummed into her, but there was something more.  She had had enough education as well to actually understand the reasoning behind almost every item and its sequence.  And the aviatrix knew when they could break that sequence and what the ramifications would be.  She worked with Barfight to ensure that everything was as ready as it could be for the team.  Preparation appeared to be her crutch in trying combat the chaos that she knew was only moments away.

Tapping her wristwatch after closing the access hatch to the twin turbines and climbing down, Hannah reminded herself and Barbrak of the time, "Suit up.  We need to be back here in less than 15 minutes..."

She might have liked to have had more time on the range with the Lizard King's tricked out AK-104, but Hannah knew that her most potent piece of equipment was going to be the one that she had spent the most time with - the Mi-17.  And so, she never regretted a minute of that time.

When she climbed back into the cockpit of the chopper, Hannah was loaded up with everything she thought she would need.  She'd cobbled together what she could for a workable flight suit and tactical webbing.  She carried her Glock on her belt's hip holster along with her folding knife and multi-tool.  Choi's AK-104 with its new side mounted IR optic was placed in access of the seat.  Her helmet, headset and NVGs were on and she'd wrapped her keffiyeh around her neck as a scarf, having tucked her rolled up burqa and niqab in a pack sequestered under her pilot's seat.  She'd put on an armoured tactical vest - just in case.  And tucked into her pocket were her pair of Oakley sunglasses - with the wraparound bronze lens which added in twilight conditions with color and motion contrast.

[OOC:  Pilot Hannah™ will be equipped with her Glock 17 sidearm (though she had brought the AK-104 as well), as well as an armoured vest, flight helmet, comm headset, NVGs, ammo and utility tool and knife.  She is wearing gloves and heavy boots.  Her glasses are a quite new set of custom rootbeer-colored Oakley Radars with the polarized Path VR28 Black Iridium lenses - but, she's not wearing them in the dawn hours while flying ... :D]

Tripoli, Libya
17 March 2015
0456 hrs local (0356 hrs Zulu)
0:55 to civil twilight - 0:19 to Libya Dawn assault time

Backstage, before the final act...

Under the harsh glare of portable fluorescents, Grey Cell gears up.  Armor.  Ammo.  Commo.  Weapons.  It's a familiar ritual, even for a team that draws no two members from the same service.

Across the hangar, the French paras perform the same rites, save for those already on watch - and the two who slipped out half an hour ago with one of Bannon's intelligence support troops.  They're at the shore by now, going down to the boats.  Sharks in fishermen's clothes.

From the entryway to the blackout-curtained ops center, Bannon raises a hand in benediction.  Then he's turning away, settling a boom mic over his head, preparing for his own part in the scene to come.

A waning crescent moon drags a horn along the horizon.  The air is cool and clear.  The background noise of city activity and random gunfire is muted.  In the shadow of the neighboring hangar, the Mi-17's insectile form crouches quiescent.

Hannah slips into the right seat as Barbrak releases the last of the rotor tie-downs.  A moment later, he's beside her, settling his own HK416 in place and strapping on the bird.  He makes eye contact, flashes her a quick frog-grin, then pulls a clipboard from between the seats.  "Master switch on," he intones.

The rest of Grey Cell files into the cargo compartment, settling into the minimalist troop seats.  The aircraft smells of sweat, blood, aviation fuel, and hard use.  Sébastien, last in, pulls the door closed and latches it.  Taking his seat, he accepts a radio handset from Michael.  He closes his eyes for a moment, recalling the script he's built in his mind, then begins to speak in low Arabic tones.

Outside, the two CPA 10 commandos back away, taking a knee and facing out.  The paired Klimov turboshafts grumble to wakefulness.  Hannah comes a low hover, watching the gauges for a long moment, then brings up the power and lowers her nose, heading northeast.

"Empire, Nemesis," intones Bannon over a gentle surf-rush of static.  "Nazca is showing activity at the residential compound.  I'd call this a practiced evacuation drill.  Estimate five minutes to departure.  Overlord reports one sat-phone call made from the residence immediately after Empire Five signed off their net.  No activity from Libya Dawn.  Further from Overlord: no other air traffic in the AO, Nero is orbiting three minutes off the coast."

Up front, Hannah is on rails, her flight path dictated by terrain and errant radio towers.  Her NVG-veiled eyes are glued to the horizon while Barbrak keeps up a constant scan between the gauges and the iPad strapped to his kneeboard.  "Oil pressure flutter in Engine Two," he advises quietly.  "It's the same one we saw yesterday.  No major spikes."

Bannon breaks in again.  "Empire, be advised, convoy is rolling.  Nazca shows the primary targets in the G-Wagen.  That's vehicle number two, repeat, two of four.  Stand by..."  Static hisses for a long few seconds while Hannah drives toward the coast.  "Overlord reports the Libya Dawn net just alerted on that.  Sierra One through Three are scrambling.  No movement on Sierra Four."

"Thirty seconds to objective," Barbrak advises over the intercom.

Map update: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

Your move.

As the Mi-17 beat it’s way into the pre-dawn sky, Lina keyed her radio to finalize assignments based on the Bannon’s confirmation of the convoy composition.

”Alright, as we pass the convoy, Dealer will engage vehicle number, four the trailing police car.  Painter will engage vehicle number three, the hummer.  Vehicle three's crew is likely the designated counter assault team, so the passenger compartment is a secondary target for both Dealer and Painter," Lina said with deadly seriousness.

"Bull Frog will engage vehicle number two, the G-Wagon.  Since the Sako is bolt action, I'll be backup for vehicle two with the AK in case the AMR doesn't stop the vehicle."  Lina knew that just because you hit where you aimed, doesn't mean the target is going to stop.  Especially if it's an armored vehicle.

"Lizard King will engage vehicle number one, the lead police car,” Lina said over comms while looking out the window and willing the sun go come up a bit faster.

”Once all vehicles are down, both ground teams will fast rope in and move to secure the Tambolis.  Team one will be Dealer and Painter.  Lizard King and I will be team two.  Bull Frog will stay aboard the Mi-17 to engage the security detail from the air and prevent them from consolidating.  Engaging the Libyan Dawn covert action team vehicles if they approach is also a priority as well,” Lina said with a nod.

"Once we secure the Tamboli's we will move to a suitable LZ.  Since we don't know where exactly where their vehicle will stop, we need to play this fast and lose.  If an LZ can't be identified quickly or if anything happens to the helo, we will consolidate, commandeer local transport and E&E with Nazca's assistance."

As Bannon broke in to alert them to the covert action team's movement, Lina's grimaced, but only slightly.  With Libya Dawn having someone on the inside, the whole timeline would be more compressed than she had hoped.  Still, it was no reason to abort the mission, only more incentive to act quickly and decisively.

"Copy Nemesis," Lina said in response.  She rapidly pondered the pros and cons of alerting Haftar to the stranger in his house, but decided that in 10 minutes, it hopefully wouldn't matter.

"We will be on the clock for this one.  Any questions?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:33, Sun 01 Mar 2015.

Instead of trying to communicate over the roar of the Hip's engine, Dacovetti simply nods and gives a thumbs up before returning to his position by the exit ramp.  The fast rope coil is just to Michael's side, ready to be kicked overboard for insertion.  With action imminent, he connects a safety line to the airframe then sits down on the edge of ramp trying to ensure that he is not blocking anyone else's line of fire.  With his left hand holding his weapon, he first clicks the camera on his helmet into record, then adjusts his balaclava to ensure that his face is covered.

He doesn't figure his odds are high of disabling his target vehicle with an AK carbine, but if nothing else, the occupants will be given something to think about while their companions come under more effective attack.  The chamber of the AK-104 is inspected to ensure the weapons is locked and loaded for the third or fourth time, then the selector switch is moved to the burst position.

Outnumbered by hostiles, potential enemies closing in on multiple fronts.  And a probably alien intervention force.  This should prove to be interesting.

Dacovetti spares one last moment to think briefly of his wife, then pushes sentiment aside for practicality.  The streets and buildings of Tripoli zipped by between his legs.

Here we go.


OOC:
Michael Dacovetti
Sitting on ramp
AK-104 Carbine with 4x ACOG (30/30, 8  mags remaining)
Burst fire on target vehicle until range is ineffective then prep fast rope.
Rapid fire of bursts to target vehicle, shifting to engage others when range extends beyond effective.

Choi isn't sure everyone lining up on the same side of the chopper for a rolling broadside on the moving convoy is such a great idea but there's really no time to argue and he's been given a job to do, so...

He chambers a round in the HK417 and flicks the selector switch into the three-round burst position. His experience firing from a moving helicopter is minimal; at a moving target, it's non-existent. His plan is simple. Pull lead on the lead vehicle, fire bursts through the hood and/or roof of the crew cab until the thing stops. It's a realistic, achievable goal, and after visualizing outstanding success a couple of times, he clears his mind and focuses on the dusty landscape racing past below.


James Choi
Starboard side heli door
HK417, w/ reflex sight and 4x scope (3x burst mode)
Taking aim at lead vehicle, firing aimed burst at engine block, and then repeated quick bursts at forward half of vehicle until it stops rolling

-

Once he and Dealer had done their thing with the security detail Durand had sat in silence as the chopper beat its way through the sky over Tripoli, partly because the noise of the blades would have made any communication difficult, but primarily because he wants to get into the zone. His eyes are closed for much of the flight, though he's wide awake. In his mind's eye he is visualising the shot, trying to paint a mental picture of his target immobilised. Fire. Reload. Fire. Repeat. Until the targets are secure. It sounded straightforward enough. Didn't it?

As they near the convoy he checks his weapon, the Sako TRG 42, loaded with a ten round magazine of .338 Lapua Magnum.  Additional magazines were in the pouches of his assault vest. If required. His HK417 was behind im, secured to the strappy webbing that ran along the inside of the fuselage. Also there if required. He'd checked the Sako before of course, before he'd boarded the chopper, had taken the opportunity to fire some rounds through it at the makeshift range at the hangar, to get a feel for it, for its kick, how it handled, for it had been a long time since he'd fired anything this powerful, so he didn't want any unpleasant surprises, and so he'd put enough rounds through it to feel...comfortable was perhaps  not the right word, but he did not feel uncomfortable. Clearly if the threat they had encountered from the Attars was to become  recurring theme of Grey Cell's operations a TRG 42 - or something similar - would have to become a regular part of their armoury, but that was a thought for another day.

For now, for today, there is a job to be done. And they are almost on target. And people are relying on him to do his job. Releasing his seat belt, he picks up the rifle, makes his way to the window that will be his firing position. His fingers find the two position safety lever located in front of the trigger inside the trigger guard, pushes  it to its furthest forward position, setting it to off. The Frenchman's breathing is regular, even, as he flicks up the covers that protect the lenses of the weapon's Shmidt and Bender sights from damage, brings the weapon up to his shoulder, pulls the stock in tight, as he takes up position, searches out his target. Let's do this thing.

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (10/10)
Starboard side window
Taking aim at G Wagon. Aimed single shot at engine block.
Repeat as required until target vehicle is immobilised, followed by opportunity fire on any perceived threats

Hannah kept her eyes scanning the forward quadrant and kept the comm chatter to a minimum in order to focus her concentration.  She didn't particularly like flying with the NVGs strapped on, though she had enough experience with it.  The army aviatrix found herself glancing towards an empty section of the instrument cluster more than once out of habit.  But those ocular forays were kept to a minimum once the enemy was engaged.  By then, the young woman and the Mi-17 had an understanding, of sorts.

She pursed her lips and nodded to Barfight, Hannah had felt the fluctuation in oil pressure via almost imperceptible lag the second engine's response.  And it was comforting on some level that she was tuning into the feel of this particular chopper - even if that connection was reinforced by a potential problem.  Hannah knew that Barbrak would keep an eye on the situation, his bacon was riding on it just as much as everyone else's.

When Barbrak gave the general ETA, Hannah let the rest of the team know when the convoy was nearly in sight and what the range was.  Double Down and Barfight had the best view on approach from the cockpit, of course.  But, then she went silent and let her companions do what they did best.  They didn't tell her how to fly and she wasn't about to try and tell them who or what to shoot.  She simply reminded them to verify heat signatures.  She didn't expect anything out of the ordinary yet - surely the Tambolis were human.  But then one could have said that about both meetings with the Attars at the garage.  And the night time drive through the desert - and right into a crop circle with mutilated camels and another Attar.

No, they didn't need to be bitten again.

She eased the stick around and brought the Hip in low and tight to minimize their profile and maximize their angle of attack, while trying to ensure that as much of the enemy as possible couldn't effectively target the Mi-17.  She twisted the chopper to the left slightly, exposing the starboard side of the Hip, knowing that Bullfrog and the Lizard King had set up there.

Hannah pulled up to slow the helicopter as the Mi-17 threatened to overtake the convoy and readied herself to hover, if necessary.  She continued to scan the street, both for places to land or obstacles that might impede their own egress.

As the convoy turns onto the six-lane coast road, it leaves the concealment of the built-up areas.  The police cars on point and drag are using their lights to clear traffic and the red-and-blue strobes are an easy navigation reference for Hannah.  She puts the helicopter in a 40-degree bank over the highway, hooking in above and behind the convoy and continuing her turn over the beach to match vectors.  She focuses on providing the best possible shooting platform, trusting Barbrak to watch the terrain.

It's impossible to hear over the din of the five-bladed rotor beating the sea air into submission, but the police cars are probably using their sirens, too.  Inability to hear the aircraft the only explanation for no one in the convoy looking up as Grey Cell passes overhead.  But all of the guards' eyes seem focused on ground-level threats - and, to be fair, no one in Tripoli this night expects an air assault.  Surprise is total.

Hannah puts her teammates fifty meters off the convoy's left side and ten up, just barely out of ground effect.  A localized sandstorm erupts from the beach.  The convoy is coming up on a sweeping right turn that will aim it southwest, back into a built-up area.  The Mi-17 eases forward just a few miles per hour faster than the drivers' 50mph ground speed.

Michael, kneeling on the open rear ramp, is the first to fire as his target comes into view.  His first burst tracks across the speeding police car's hood, zipping mere inches in front of the windshield.  The second shreds the roof-mounted lightbar, sending plastic and chrome shards into the air but doing no more than cosmetic damage (Dacovetti -10 rounds).

Caradoc likewise pulls his first burst too high.  The big FAL is an effective counter-sniper rifle but in the narrow confines of a helicopter's fuselage, it's not the ideal port firing weapon.  The big 7.62mm rounds go high, smacking into a parked car on the far side of the highway (Crewe -5 rounds).

Whatever the source of Caradoc's difficulty, Sébastien doesn't seem to share it.  His hand is steady on the Finnish sniper rifle as he settles the crosshairs on the space ahead of the G-Wagen's radiator grille.  He tracks, fires, runs the bolt, and fires again.  The results indicate he should have led just a few inches more but it's ultimately irrelevant.  The first 250-grain armor-piercing incendiary slams through the heavy polycarbonate of the driver's side door and into the instrument panel.  The second dismissively tears through the armoring around the fuel tank.  A fireball of atomized fuel erupts under the Mercedes' rear axle, subsiding into a trail of flame snaking down the highway in the vehicle's trail as the driver flails for control (Durand -2 rounds).

Battered by the Sako's concussive muzzle blast, James claws for his own composure.  The zone is nowhere to be found - his fire goes well forward of the target police car (Choi -10 rounds).

Despite complete surprise, a face full of armor-glass and dashboard fragments, a gasoline fire two meters behind his seat, and doubtless a load of screaming passengers, the G-Wagen driver holds his boxy vehicle upright.  Hannah, in the Mi-17s's right seat, can't help but mentally salute her unknown counterpart's artistry as he caroms off a convenient cargo truck, using it for momentary concealment, and uses the momentum of the glancing collision to force a hard right turn off the highway and back onto residential streets.  The brilliant arc of burning fuel marks his trail for her nonetheless.  The H3 and trail police car follow the Mercedes through its maneuver, while the lead police car misses the unannounced turn and continues down the highway another hundred yards before slamming on its brakes.

Staying on the G-Wagen, the pilot comes in low over the highway, closing the distance 30 yards.  Michael. focused on the trailing car, has no forward visibility.  The unexpected turn throws his second volley, kicking up sand well clear of the trail vehicle (Dacovetti -5 rounds [total -15]).

Caradoc gets his FAL under control, flipping the selector to SEMI and walking his fire down the side of the H3.  Clearly, the Tambolis' security detail was expecting heavy trouble, because something detonates in a white flash, sending intermingled fragments of General Motors product and Libyan crew in all directions (Crewe -3 rounds [total -8]).

With his assigned target out of his arc, James swings onto the next vehicle in the convoy, the careening G-Wagen.  He fires simultaneously with Sébastien's third shot of the engagement.  Both left-side tires disintegrate, and the heavier .338 round shatters the run-flat insert on the left rear (Choi -5 rounds [total -15]; Durand -1 round [total -3]).

Karolina brings her Kalashnikov online with the H3 when it disintegrates.  Fighting through the afterimages, she puts her point of aim where she thinks the trailing police car's hood should be and drags a long burst through it.  Luck is with her as a trail of bullet holes bisects the hood (Kowalska -10 rounds).

Trailing sparks and smoke, the police car comes to rest against a low concrete wall on the side street's eastern side.  Two men bail out and take cover, raising long guns.  The G-Wagen driver, luck or skill exhausted, brings his flaming ride to a rough, bouncing halt in the front yard of a three-story apartment building.  A small group erupts from its driver's-side doors - those away from the incoming fire - and staggers toward the building's front door.

"Empire Six, Nemesis," crackles Bannon's voice.  "Tangos inbound, sixty seconds.  The heavy force is moving too.  Break.  Leopard Frog is closing for beach extraction, three minutes out.  Break.  Empire Three, be advised, Overlord reports generalized EM interference in your area.  Not quite jamming but there's something weird out there."

Actions?

Map update: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

The rather ineffective spray produced by Dacovetti's carbine mostly confirms what he expected the outcome to be.  That certainly doesn't mean that he is happy with the outcome.  With his half of his magazine spent, he pauses to take a deep breath and watches as the two policemen exit their disabled vehicle.

"Nemesis, Empire Three copies all," he tells Bannon.  There will be a decision to make.  Bringing JDAMs to bear will be an uncertain proposition at best if EM interference is cutting through the electronic environment.  It was possible that  the AGMs could be totally ineffective, but at least the bombs could be delivered dumb.

With a little innovation they could still arrange some surprises from the air.

"Nemesis, Empire Three.  Have Leopard Frog provide coordinates to Overlord about 75 meters inland from where they plan extraction.  Nero could still set up either a run for direct bombs with terminal control or fling them in from a distance.  At least they still had options.

With Crewe coming up, he moved to prep the fast rope.


Michael Dacovetti
Radio Comms then prepping fast rope
AK-104 (15/30) 8 Mags remaining
This message was last edited by the player at 02:52, Tue 03 Mar 2015.

Durand's lips curl into a satisfied smile as the heavy recoil of the rifle and the smell of gunpowder drifting about his nostrils is followed by the sight of his target vehicle coming to a halt, a trail of fire following in its wake. If anything the Frenchman is pleasantly surprised, having hoped for the best but feared the worst. Even when he closed his eyes and visualised the shot he had not expected it to go this well.

There's still a lot to do though, particularly when he hears through his headset that the Libya Dawn crew are on the move, are expected on site within the next minute. The first thing is to make sure that the assaulters get down safely, so the Frenchman scans the area, looking for anything that may threaten the others as they descend on ropes. He'll worry about Libya Dawn when they arrive on scene. But for now he thinks that the immediate danger comes from the Tambolis' security. Painter seems to have neutralised whoever was riding in the Hummer, so it's the men bailing out of the police car that attract the Frenchman's attention, particularly the fact that they are carrying long arms.

And that makes them a threat. Durand swings the Sako in their direction, peers through its sight,  trying to get a bead on them, his intention to take them out, or at the very least make them keep their heads down whilst his team mates maker their descent.

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (7/10)
Starboard side window
Aiming at two men who have bailed out of the police car
Firing on both with single shots until they go down

Lina looked out to survey the scene and consider the tactical options.  She pulled her AK back inside and keyed comms.

"Double; the starboard side three-story building is our target.  Position us for fast rope insertion.  I'll confirm we are on the deck.  Once we are down, I need one orbit around the building.  Barfight, call out all entrances or exits to the complex as you circle," Lina was speaking in quickly, clipped English, trying to get everything out as quickly as possible.  Time was of the essence.  She turned to the ground team.

"Once on the roof, Painter will take the southeast corner and Dealer take the northwest corner, Lizard and I will take northeast.  Engage enemy targets at range while the Mi-17 orbits.  Once we stop their push, we will consolidate and breach the building," Kowalska said, indicating that both teams would be inserting on the roof.  It was likely that one or more of the covert teams would come in from the coast road, where the trailing police car was burning.  That would be the fastest route.  But if they tried to come in from a side road, the would fall under Dealer or Painter's sights.  Engaging the incoming vehicles, however briefly, would keep them from rolling right up to the door.  Once they slowed or stopped, they would be easier targets for Seb in the Mi-17.

Lina slung her AK and pulled the heavy gloves from her cargo pocket.  Reaching for the PTT in the awkward gloves, she made one more radio request.  "Nemesis, I need a microscope on this building and an alert if the Tamboli's try to leave, over."

Lina hoped the sound of a gunfight outside of the building would encourage most Tripoli residents to hunker down.  But if the security detail tried to move the Tamboli's, Grey Cell needed to know as soon as possible.

Karolina Kowalska
Onboard Mi-17
AK-103 [20/30]
Issuing commands and donning gloves for fast rope.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:08, Tue 03 Mar 2015.

Choi presses the eject button, releasing the mostly-empty, transparent 20-round box mag.

Nice fucking shooting, Choi.

At the rate he's going, he'll burn through all of his ammo before he actually hit anything worthwhile. Finished chiding himself, he pockets the partial, grabs a fresh magazine, and slams it home. He knows that the best thing he can do right now is to forget what just happened. The job isn't over; in fact, it's really just beginning, and he needs his head on straight.

Letting the rifle hang across his chest on its tactical three-point sling, he plucks his thick leather abseiling gloves from his vest and slides them on. He holds his gloved hands up to remind his teammates to do likewise. He'd seen what happened to a buddy's hands who'd forgotten to glove up prior to a fast rope. It wasn't pretty (but he'd earned himself a new nickname- Pastrami Palms).

Looking out the open starboard side cargo door, he tries to orient himself, locating the northeast corner of the target building. That would be his objective as soon as his boots hit the roof.


James 'Lizard King' Choi
Assault team
HK417 (20/20)
Preparing to fast-rope on to the roof of the target building

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:19, Wed 04 Mar 2015.

"Roger that, Dancer." and Hannah simply responded to Karolina's orders with push of the stick and the Mi-17 began a graceful, if tight, arc into the required position.  She figured that the others in the back were already getting into position, which a quick glance over her shoulder verified.

The helicopter eased into position and Hannah continued to monitor the area through the cockpit windows.  She took in a deep breath and started to count silently to herself as the steadied the HiP to give her team the cleanest and quickest insertion time possible.

Still, given the surrounding buildings and the landscape, Hannah could feel the rotor wash pushing off of the rooftop even at the hover height she had established; so, the army aviatrix didn't want to make the move any more difficult for the team than required and maintained a steady hand and didn't try to lower the Mi-17 any further.

Hannah Omdahl
Mi-17 Cockpit - Pilot's Seat
AK-104 (w/trimmings) [not drawn]
Holding Mi-17 steady at about 13 meters above the building

Hannah brings the Mi-17 in close over the building, blasting loose a cloud of gravel and cigarette butts.  With the bird's nose pointed northwest, her field of view covers the oncoming Libya Dawn force's most likely approach path.

The two security men taking cover behind their disabled police car aren't out of the fight yet.  From his firing position at the starboard windows, Sébastien lines up on the driver (Durand -1 round).  The cover from his door turns to inconsequential concealment as he heavy API round blasts through his sternum and heart.  He's dead before he hits the ground.

Michael double-checks the rope's attachment to the bird and kicks it off the ramp.  It unspools and the last few meters thump to the rooftop.  He's down the rope in seconds, taking up his assigned position at the northwest corner.  The air is thick with dust and burning Mercedes SUV.

Caradoc slings his FAL and follows Michael out the ramp, a "Wahoo!" of exultation trailing after him.  The medic lands and heads for his corner, swapping in a fresh magazine as he goes.

The survivor from the trail car chooses this moment for a last-ditch effort to stop the assault.  Poking his head and weapon up from behind the vehicle's trunk, he rips off a succession of bursts at the hovering Mi-17.  Hannah sees the flicker of muzzle flashes but no sounds of impact reach her ears and her gauges remain steady.

Sébastien is aligning his crosshairs on the passenger's last position as the man pops up and fires.  Perhaps surprised by the Libyan's commitment to duty, he throws his shot high.  Michael, caught in mid-step by the first return fire of the fight, likewise engages but misses (Durand -1 round [total -2]; Dacovetti -3 rounds).

With one hand on the rope, his rifle already secured for descent, James hears a burst cleave the air within arm's reach.  Gloved, exposed, and with his long gun strapped across his chest, he has no good tactical options - so he goes for the least bad.  With his teeth, he strips the leather glove from his right hand.  The Kydex chest holster rasps as he wraps his hand around his .45 and thumbs the retention lever.  Against all odds, the car's remaining glass shatters and the man pitches backward (Choi -5 rounds).  With an I totally planned that lift of his eyebrows to his team leader, James reholsters, re-gloves, and slides to the roof without further incident, followed by the Pole.

"Empire Six, Nemesis.  Building is padlocked.  Be advised, the lead escort car is circling around to approach from the south."

With her last passenger off the rope, Hannah lowers the Hip's nose and adds airspeed and altitude, pulling around in a tight left turn.  In the left seat, Barbrak peers out the window.  "West side, no doors.  South side, one door," he advises over the team channel.

"Empire Three, Nemesis.  Copy your last.  Break.  All Empire elements, security at the reactor is alerted and scrambling a QRF.  Estimate fifteen minutes.  Be advised, they are likely to have MANPADs.  Break.  Inbound to the north, five seconds."

On cue, the first Libya Dawn team, no longer "covert" in any way, screeches through the turn-off.  The driver checks at the trail of flame and carnage Grey Cell's convoy ambush generated, then turns hard to the right, skidding his vehicle to a halt on the sidewalk.  Thick black smoke from the burning Hummer screens the four men as they bail out of the vehicle and rush southwest, disappearing behind the cover of the apartment block to the north.

OOC - Map is updated.  I've deleted the Tambolis and omitted the Grey Cell ground element because at max zoom the map is too small for a usable level of detail.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

You're up.

Spent cartridge cases roll about the floor of the Hip at Durand's feet as Double pulls around to the left, causing his targets to disappear from sight. Once the helo has levelled off the Frenchman begins to shift from starboard to portside, his left hand holding the barrel of the Sako rifle, his right hand grabbing at the various straps and webbing that hang from the arched fuselage as he reaches the port windows. He listens to the radio traffic in his ear as he does so, it serving to remind him that this area is about to be flooded with forces loyal to both General Haftar and Libya Dawn, as he resumes a firing position, seating the butt of the rifle tight against his shoulder, the HK still by the starboard window, so now at the other side of the chopper from him. He knows that he took down one of the two men sheltering by the police car and he's fairly sure that he saw the other go down, although he doesn't know who got in the kill shot, only that it wasn't him. But that doesn't matter. All that matters if that they are down.

He scans the area through the Sako's sights, trying to spot any possible targets, looking out in particular for the incoming Libya Dawn teams, trying to maximise the advantage his height gives him to support the ground team. Right now though he wishes he was down there with them, kicking in the doors, leading the snatch squad. Notwithstanding the lethal effect his firepower is bringing to bear on the engagement, Durand still feels somewhat...impotent...up here in the helo, unable to directly influence what is going on below him.

Nemesis' voice guides him in that regard, drawing his attention to the approaching car that has come to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk. As its occupants scatter the Frenchman tries to engage them with single shots as they sprint for cover, activating his throat mike as he does so, sending a terse warning to the rest of the team as he tries to get a bead. "Four hostiles due north of your location, am engaging. Break." There is a pause before he continues, the second part of his transmission directed at Omdahl, his voice calm. "Double Down, can you try and keep the target building to portside if possible?"

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (5/10)
Shifting from starboard to port
Radio comms with team then attempting to engage Libya Dawn Covert Team 1 with quick shots as they move from the vehicle to cover
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:23, Fri 06 Mar 2015.

After roping down to the deck, Lina stowed her gloves and readied her AK-103.  As she trotted over the the northeast edge of the building to see what was happening, she spoke into her comms.

”Dealer, it’s time to bring in air support and engage these threats.  Focus on the groups, leave singletons for Bull Frog.  Save what you need for the QRF and Heavy Team, but it’s time for the CAT teams to either see the light, or feel the heat,” Lina said.  Kowalska hoped that a few 500 lbs JDAMs delivered with a CEP <3 m would not only cull the herd, but force a few of their opponents to reevaluate the life choices that had led them into firefight involving such firepower.

At the edge of the building, Lina glanced south, then west, taking in the tactical situation.

”Painter, provide security for Dealer and engage targets of opportunity.  Lizard King, prep for breach and meet me at the door.  We will stack and clear the building while Dealer and Painter deal with inbound groups.  Good work gets you more work, so you are on point,” Lina said.  The good work reference was for Choi’s pistol shot from the helicopter.  She also knew that breaching and clearing a building would play to the FBI HRT member’s skill set.

Running back from the edge, Lina swapped out to a fresh mag, before taking up position behind Choi.  She gave him a squeeze on the shoulder to let him know she was in position and ready.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving on the roof to improve situational awareness, then stacking up behind Choi
AK-103 [30/30]
Comms, mag change, preparing to breach and clear the building.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:27, Sat 07 Mar 2015.

James' boots alighted the rooftop- no sting- and he jogs to the northeast side of the building. His confidence has been restored by the rather spectacular aerial pistol shot and the flawless fast-rope landing but he needs to forget about that now and focus on the rather formidable task still at hand. He arrives at the edge of the roof and removes his gloves, scanning the surrounds below and taking a mental picture of the neighborhood. The view from the ground is always different than the top-down aerial recon photos- the half-story block on the roof on which he's standing, for example, wasn't obviously apparent during the hasty mission brief. The two-person overwatch team has a lot of territory to cover.

Prep for breach.

This is it. He rushes to the door and studies the padlock. Kowalska's complement regarding the circus pistol shot isn't lost on him and he smiles briefly in spite of himself. It took five rounds, though, so he unholsters and reloads it before taking out the small shaped breaching charge and pressing it on to the latch. It was designed for a sturdier deadbolt so it should have no trouble cutting through an old, slightly rusty padlock. He shouts "Fire in the hole!", pulls the fuse igniter, and steps back, making sure Kowalska moves with him. His hands find one of the flash-bang grenades attached to his assault vest. When the lock blows, he'll open the door and toss the flash-bang down the stairs, then follow close behind, initiating the dynamic entry.

Two people clearing a building this size? This ought to be fun...


James "Lizard King" Choi
Point, Building Clearing Team
HK417 (20/20); Springfield Professional Custon M1911A1 (7/7)
Breaching charge, flash-bang, dynamic entry

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:56, Mon 09 Mar 2015.

Once the four that repelled down, Hannah acknowledged Sébastien's request by dipping the nose of the Mi-17 and reorienting the chopper.  "Target Building, portside." the army aviatrix reported dutifully to the French DGSE operative as the building comes into view on the left side viewports.  The helo leveled out and the view stabilized as they began to circle the building once more.  With anti-aircraft artillery in the mix, it didn't make sense to her to just hover and present an easy target.

Hannah kept her NVG optics averted from rooftop and where the Lizard King was set to light up.  She didn't want to be blinded.

She did keep an eye open for the Libyan Dawn team to the north, but mostly Hannah was concerned with maintaining the HiP's course and keeping a stable platform for Bullfrog.  "Keep that color thermal optic handy..." she reminded Barfight softly.  With the enemy team now in play, the chances of another Attar in the mix increased dramatically.  She didn't want to be surprised by green death rays or surface-to-air missiles; Hannah could feel a thin sheen of perspiration on the palms of her hands.  She felt naked in the stripped down Mi-17; what she wouldn't have given for an M230 chaingun or a couple of AGM-114's linked to her fire controls, right about now.

But there was nothing to be done about it at this point in the mission.  For now, her job was to fly and try to keep everyone alive and in once piece to get back home.  So, Hannah kept her eyes and ears open...

Hannah Omdahl
Mi-17 Cockpit - Pilot's Seat
AK-104 w/all the trimmings [30/30, not readied], Mi-17 readied.
Reorienting chopper and keeping her eyes and ears open...

Instead of cluttering the radio net with useless chatter, Dacovetti kneels and turns giving the Kaptain a thumbs-up.  Breaking a direct line of sight to the hostiles surrounding him gives a certain sense of safety, but it is, of course, an illusionary one.  Bullets piece walls and it takes his weapon out of the fight for an undetermined period of time.  With a practiced tap to the control pad on his left wrist, the radio on his back switches frequencies.

"Nero One-One, Empire Three," Dacovetti calls out into the electronic ether.

An accented voice comes back in his ear.  "Empire Three, Nero One-One, go ahead, over."

"Nero One-One, move to IP Alpha and state load over."  It never hurt to be redundant.  Michael has been present on more than one mission where the planned combat load was vastly different than what actually showed up on the aircraft.

"Empire Three, Nero Flight moving to IP Alpha.  We are a two ship, each with four GBU-49s and two AGM-88s.  ETA to IP Alpha, two minutes, Over."  The aircraft wouldn't be quite overhead yet, but at IP Alpha they would be at the beach.

"Empire Three copies all." Dacovetti checks his watch, then pulls out his signal panel, dropping it on the roof, orange side up and takes advantage of some debris to hold the two foot by three foot piece of cloth down.  Marking their position for the pilots' eyes is just one more safety precaution with explosive ordnance being released overhead. He then pulls the checklist out of his cargo pocket that had been prepared earlier.  Working furiously with a grease pen, he makes sense of the combat environment evolving around him.

When he's done, he takes advantage of the brief lull to switch out magazines in his carbine.

"Empire Three, Nero One-One is at IP Alpha."

"Nero One-One, Empire Three copies.  I'm going to bring you into an orbit over my location.  Nine Line will be an intersection near our position, not target vehicles, our situation is evolving, over."  It was a breach of the formal CAS etiquette, but he wanted the pilots eyes on them.

"Nero One-One copy all.  Nine Line will be intersection, not target."

Dacovetti spends the next minute walking the Nero aircraft through his location and the limits of travel for safe laser ops in the even that they need them, pausing only once when the breaching charge blows.  With his maps, GPS, laser, and radio, he's ready to go to work.  Dacovetti reenters the fight.

"Nero One-One, all missions will be danger close.  My initials are Mike Delta." All the carnage about to erupt will be on Dacovetti, not the pilot.


Michael Dacovetti
Kneeling behind parapet wall for cover.
Controlling CAS for vehicles, then dismounts in large groups.  Laser guidance for moving targets.
Engaging troops with AK-104 as needed. (30/30) 7 Magazines remaining

Repositioning across the Mi-17's cargo bay, Sébastien only manages to get off one shot before the four men sprint out of his line of sight.  Through the roiling smoke, he thinks he sees his target stagger, but it's impossible to be certain.

Taking a last look at the southeast corner before reorienting to back up Michael, Caradoc pauses and peers through his scope.  "Double Down, Painter.  The point car has circled back and halted in a cross street about a hundred and fifty meters south of here.  They've dismounted and have you under observation.  Stand by."  He steadies the FAL and pumps off three quick rounds.  "Right, they've pulled back for the moment."

James' hands are steady on the breaching charge as he forces down the uncertainty that always accompanies using demo someone else rigged...

CRACK

Bannon promised a six-second fuse and, as far as the FBI agent's internal stopwatch can tell, it's atomic clock accurate.  The door bounces open as the locking mechanism disintegrates.  Caradoc grunts as an errant fragment whacks his helmet but, as James turns with flash-bang in hand, he catches a flicker of an outstretched thumbs-up from the Welshman.

The euphemistically-named distraction device bounces through the third-floor landing and detonates somewhere between the third and second floors.  James is through the door before the echo from the lower levels reverberates back to the roof.  The flash hider of his HK417 leads the way.  Karolina follows close behind, letting the agent with more clearance experience take point.

"Empire Three, Nemesis," Bannon murmurs,  "Tango Two is dismounting one street to your west."

From the north edge of the roof, Michael can see the intersection from which they'll emerge if they stay on the street.  He reflexively lases it: 81 meters.  As his eyes flick up from the display, a curtain sways aside in a second-story window across the street.  The skeletal silhouette of a Para-SAW makes it immediate clear that this isn't a civilian checking out the commotion in the street.  Before Michael can swap electronics for ballistics, the gunner opens up on the circling Mi-17.

Hannah's orbit takes the helicopter out over the coast road.  She's in the right-side command pilot's seat.  Without warning, she feels the controls jerk as Barbrak shoves the cyclic forward and yanks up on the collective.  "Machine gun, three--"

A bar of red tracers, searing in the predawn sky, flicks out toward the Hip.  The gunner's holding his weapon steady, letting the helicopter fly through his fire.  A single bullet sparks off the frame of Barbrak's window as a hailstorm of impacts rattles down the fuselage.

In the back, Sébastien is scanning for targets through his thermal imager.  Guided by Bannon's last transmission, his focus is on the far end of the street fronting the target building.  Without any noticeable transition, he's sprawled on the floor of the cargo bay.  He can feel his fingers contracting and his legs twitching but he has no control over their motions.  The bungee-webbed roof of the bay is an oscillating blur and the salt-iron taste of blood is strong in his mouth.


"-- o'clock!" Barbrak concludes as the Hip rises out of the SAW's fire.  A grunt over the intercom and a muffled thump from the cargo bay punctuates his statement.  Glancing over her shoulder, Hannah sees Sébastien prone on the floor, his hands clenching spasmodically.  Blood is bubbling on his lips.

The gunner is near-completely exposed as he leans into the window frame to track the Hip.  His pumpkin-sized muzzle flash illuminates his triumphant snarl.  Michael puts his sights on the leering face and pulls the trigger, sending a stream of fire into the wall a good three meters above and to the right of his target.  Too late, he realizes his eyes have reflexively been drawn to the thermal imager - which isn't a zeroed gunsight.

In the unlit stairwell, James and Karolina continue their descent.  The muffled sound of automatic weapons fire from outside indicates the fight is no longer one-sided.

The entry team pauses on the second-story landing.  From somewhere below, a faint sound of voices raised in excitement or argument drifts up, though neither agent can make out the words.  There's a decisive exclamation, then a series of smashing noises.  To James' experienced ear, someone's trying to force a security door with inadequate tools.  There's no other sound in the building, and the debris drifted through the halls bespeaks abandonment.

Ammo expenditures:

Durand -1 round
Crewe -3 rounds
Choi -1 breaching charge, -1 flash-bang
Dacovetti -5 rounds

Map update: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

Let's see what you've got...
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:13, Tue 10 Mar 2015.

Down.

James would love to stop and clear the second floor before continuing the descent but it appears that street level is where the party's at. He's doing a job with a third of the personnel any sane DQB doctrine calls for and right now time is an inverse force multiplier. Every second favors the defense. The only things on his side- besides his indefatigable GROM companion- are speed, surprise, and violence of action.

Bloody Rodney.

A month after the Manilla stand-down, the HRT had hosted an operator from the SAS, ostensibly part of an inter-allied multi-agency exchange program, but everyone on the team knew he was there to evaluate and critique them. He'd cut past the resentment with that typical dry English wit and easy charm, constantly amusing all but the staunchest Anglophobes with his extensive collection of pithy British witticisms. "In for a penny, in for a pound," was one of his favorites. James'd had the gist of it then, but it'd never meant as much as it does right now.

He took his support hand off the HK's foregrip just long enough to point down the stairs before continuing downward, trying to keep his footfall light. He's moving with a purpose.Speed. Roll up on the tangos while they're preoccupied with the door. Surprise. Pop 'em all before they even know what hit 'em. Violence of action.


James "Lizard King" Choi
BCT Point slot
HK-417 (20/20)
Going for broke

-

"Damnit!" escaped from Hannah's lips as the Mi-17 pitched under fire, following up with a more colorfully equivalent expletive in Norwegian.  She nodded grimly to Barbrak's warning, which she hadn't been fast enough to react to.  Her backwards glance confirmed her worst nightmare; Seb was down - and he didn't look good.  Hannah felt rather useless, knowing that she couldn't do anything for the man for the moment.  Well, other than try to keep the helo from falling from the sky.

"Nemesis, Painter we are taking fire..." and she designated the two story building across the street in the hopes that Crewe could do something about it.  "Dancer.  Bullfrog is down." Hannah intoned into her headset, knowing that Karolina would understand the implication of the loss of the Sako for protection of the chopper and the team, "I repeat Bullfrog is down."

Double Down jerked the stick for some tighter evasive maneuvers - trying to keep the HiP away from another clear shot and that window - and then glanced at Barfight.  "Next pass," the army aviatrix prompted her co-pilot, "How close do we need to be to have a shot?"  She wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, but she'd do her damnedest to try and make sure that one of her team got clear.

Still, she had to keep her eyes open and in front of her.  Hannah continued to scan the front quadrant even as she worked the controls.  Just because they knew where one machine gun was, didn't mean that there weren't more just sitting around waiting...

Hannah Omdahl
Mi-17 Cockpit - Pilot's Seat
AK-104 w/all the trimmings [30/30, not readied], Mi-17 readied.
Evasive maneuvers - for all the good that did us...

With his own shooting less than satisfactory, Michael calls the target location to Crewe.

"Empire One, multiple targets, building to the north."

To slow his pulse he takes a steady breath then places his eye back to the correct optic, lines up the shot, and pulls the trigger at the machine gunner one more time.  Cognizant of the risks of betraying his own location, he drops back behind cover after the shot.

Having taken the SERE course during his time in the TACP training pipeline, Dacovetti had developed a few rules of thumb regarding combat operations.  The one he calls up for this particular instance is: don't die in the desert with a canteen full of water.  With a danger close radius of 250m, Michael figures that even if the guys to the west decide to stay a bit more tactical, he's got a decent statistical opportunity to inflict some damage.  Regardless of the outcome, a high explosive detonating on the battlefield should buy some time and maybe allow them to retake the initiative.

"Double-Down, Dealer.  Clear our airspace, CAS mission inbound."  Between the high risk of the hitting the helicopter and the fact that Bullfrog was down, there was only so much room available in the risk profile.

The laser rangefinder interfaces with the GPS displaying the grid coordinates of the intersection he painted just a few moments before.  "Empire Nero One-One, Empire Three, say when ready for target coordinates, 1 JDAM only."

There is a moment as the pilot presumably prepares for the information. "Go ahead Empire Three."

"Delta Romeo Four Four Six Three Two, break, Nine Nine Nine Eight Six, over."  He reads the projected coordinates off the GPS then pushes his carbine up over the wall and fires a burst blind at the target building and scoots for cover again.

"Nero Copies Delta Romeo Four Four Six Three Two, break, Nine Nine Nine Eight Six, over."

"Good copy."

Michael has a moment to consider that this may not actually be the wisest thing he has ever done.  Dropping bombs into a crowded urban environment in close proximity to himself and allies leaves something to be desired. It's certainly not a story he's ever going to tell his wife.

"Nero One-One is in from the East."

His eyes flick up once and spot the tiny dot of the aircraft banking in his direction.

"Cleared Hot, One."  It is the line he has been trained to deliver.

"Weapon Released."

"All Empire, Heads down! Heads down!"  Dacovetti curls up, places his hands over his ears and opens his mouth to wait for the concussion.



Michael Dacovetti
One aimed burst at machine gunner
CAS mission
One blind burst at target building
kneeling behind cover.
AK-104 Carbine (25/30) 7 mags remaining.

Barbrak gives the gauges a final scan and nods to himself.  "No mechanical damage," he reports, lifting his hands from the controls and starting to unstrap.  "Accurate?  Forty, fifty meter.  Suppressive?  Hund--"  He breaks off at Michael's transmission.  "Yii!  Clear us out.  I'll check Mister Seb."  He twists out of his seat and squeezes into the cargo compartment, holding onto the overhead grab rails as he makes his way aft.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:30, Tue 10 Mar 2015.

Hannah has already jerked the stick around is peeling away from the area post-haste by the time that Michael has finished his sentence and Barbrak has time to yell.  "Dealer, Double Down.  Roger that.  Vacating air space."  She hurriedly tried to recall what minimum safe distance would be.  Well, and balance that with the needs to safety and keeping out of any enemy sight-lines...

The chopper peels off to a much higher orbit, both to get out of range of any SAW fire as well as the incoming firestorm.

She nodded grimly to Barfight, whispering a silent prayer for her injured teammate.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:02, Wed 11 Mar 2015.

Lina keyed her mic twice in acknowledgement.  She was doing what she could to juggle all the information coming in over comms, while also backing up Choi and focusing on angles, corners, and possible targets.  If Durand was KIA, Kowalska didn’t want his death to be in vain.  As Michael called for the Mi-17 to clear the area for inbound CAS, Karolina mentally prepared herself for what would be one or more very large explosions.  They would certainly be a distraction to those who didn’t have forewarning of their impending arrival.  She gave Choi another tap on the shoulder to indicate she was ready.

Karolina Kowalska
Behind Choi, assaulting through to the next floor.
AK-103 [30/30]
Bringing the 103 to the high ready position, then descending behind Choi.  Selecting and engaging targets in my sector as appropriate.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:31, Fri 18 Nov 2016.

Durand is on his back on the floor of the helo and his body isn’t doing what he’s telling it to. Fuck. This is not good.He can taste blood in his mouth. Slowly he blinks, once, twice, three  times, trying to bring his blurred vision back into focus, his gaze fixed on the spider’s web of webbing above his head. There’s a ringing in his ears. He’s vaguely aware of a shadow looming over him. He blinks again, trying to force his eyes to make out the shape. His head hurts. Ok, that’s a good thing. You have to be alive to feel pain. Slowly he tries to clench and unclench his hands into fists, trying to see if his body will do what his brain is telling it to. He’s rewarded by the feel of his fingers pressing into his palms. That’s good.

He blinks again. He can hear a voice over the sound of the rotors, someone saying his name. Mr Seb. Another blink. The shadow starts to come into focus. Barfight. The Frenchman tries to speak but his mouth is full of blood. Slowly, very slowly he tries to push himself up, onto his elbows. He’s lost all concept of time. It feels like he’s been down for minutes. Long minutes during which the rest of his team have been without their top cover. Merdemerdemerde. His head is spinning as he sits up, leans to the side, tries to spit out the blood that is in his mouth, sees a long trail of crimson phlegm strike the floor. He doesn’t know where the blood is coming from. His left hand peeling his nomex glove from his right, he begins to tentatively touch his face, looking at Barfight as he does so. ”Am I hit?” The words are slurred, a consequence of a mouth full of blood. He spits another wad out, onto the deck as the co pilot leans in close, shakes his head. ”I can’t see any blood.”

Durand nods, immediately regrets it as the helo begins to spin again. He looks at his own hand, but he can’t see any sign of blood. Tentatively he tries to bend his leg, sees the  limb respond to the message carried from his brain. ”I need to get up, get back on the Sako.” He says to Barfight, reaching an arm out. ”Give me a hand.” Another mouthful of blood strikes the flooring.The bleeding seems to be easing off, although he can still taste its coppery tang as he tries to force himself up, onto his feet, his other hand fumbling for the Sako, the sole thought in his mind that he needs to get back in position to cover the others.

Bullfrog
Assessing damage
Trying not to make too much of a mess on the helo floor...

Stretching for altitude and distance, the Mi-17 curves out over the Mediterranean.  Between radio transmissions, Hannah is alone with the night for a brief moment, looking down at foaming breakers and oceanic phosphorescence.  As she starts a gradual turn, she spots a flicker of motion out of her right-side window: Nero One-One rolling in for his first CAS pass.

In the cargo bay, Barbrak assists Sébastien to his feet, patting down the DGSE agent for injuries.  "Still no blood."  He scoops up the Sako and, after a wary look, puts it in Sébastien's hands.  "Can you see to shoot?  I need to be up front when we go back in."

James is still accelerating as he hits the bend in the stairs between the second and first floors.  A flurry of gunshots - only one weapon, something in a heavy rifle caliber - and cries of surprise echoes up from below, masking his footfalls.  He can see the building's front door swinging open and a blood trail leading toward the stairwell and continuing down.  He processes this without pausing, leverages his momentum off the wall into a 180º turn through the foyer, and plunges into the unlit lower level.

Karolina tries her best to keep up with her point man but James is running on rails.  The lack of peripheral vision from her NODs forces her to slow down.  As she hits the foyer, she skids on the blood, regaining her balance with a painful elbow smash against the edge of the door.  Cursing, she turns toward the doorway to the lower level as gunfire erupts above and below.

Michael reorients his eye and rips another burst at the SAW gunner.  His fire walks up the wall to the window, spraying chips of cement.  The last round deflects off the windowsill and into the man's thigh.  With a cry of surprise, he tumbles out of sight, pulling his weapon with him.  Michael ducks away as the Libyan's squadmates open up on him.

As Michael toggles back to TACP mode, Caradoc dashes across the roof to join Michael.  Hunching below the parapet, he waits for the airman's signal, then pops up and rakes a burst across the enemy positions in unison with Michael's blind fire.  Both men drop back into cover before they can assess their effect on target.

James continues his headlong plunge into the basement's Stygian depths.  Small metal fragments scrape the tile floor under his boots.  The smells of blood and gunsmoke are strong in the cool, still air.  A few meters ahead is a heavy security door showing signs of recent battering, but the bullet holes in the sheet steel demonstrate the force to which the fragmented padlock finally yielded.  Beyond the door, an errant flashlight beam briefly silhouettes a figure raising a weapon.  Still charging forward, James double-taps the figure at hip and chest.  As the man falls, he squeezes off a burst of his own.  One round tears through the cummerbund of the federal agent's armor and sears along his floating ribs.  Checking his momentum, James tumbles into the concealment of a discarded desk to assess. 

Karolina arrives on scene as the last round's noise still echoes in the air.  Choi's target is sprawled across the doorway, an SG-552 still clenched in his fist.  Past him, she can make out a corridor stretching farther than the building's footprint suggests is plausible.  Her NVGs pick up the flickering backwash of flashlights moving out of her direct line of sight.

The Italian Tornado flashes overhead with a scream of cloven air, already pulling up and banking toward the sea.  Knowing what comes next makes Michael and Caradoc curl themselves tighter on the roof --

WHAM

The gunfire from across the street checks as the pressure wave crashes down the street, scouring every exposed surface with shrapnel.  A low surf-roar follows as damaged facades of the two closest buildings slump toward the pavement.  From the dust cloud rising over the intersection, Michael assesses the hit as near-perfect.

In the basement, dust springs from every crevice and the building groans alarmingly overhead.  A grumble of structural failure reverberates from the direction in which the dancing lights disappeared.

"Empire Three, Nemesis.  Nazca sh_skzzrtit.  Be advised, two vehicles match the descr_brrkkzzt during entry.  _sqzzzzzkurned off into cleared area, three are closing your position at speed."

Ammo expenditures:

Dacovetti -10 rounds
Caradoc -5 rounds
Choi -2 rounds

Map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

Your move.

”Do kurwy nędzy,” Lina said, after hitting the door.  The trained gymnast might console herself later by remember that floor routines were’t done in the dark while wearing night vision.  For now though, she pushed on, just hoping to keep up with Choi.

Arriving late to the basement firefight, Lina took stock of the situation.  She contemplated pushing on to try to quickly end the fight, but that would mean leaving Choi and they were already trying to do too much with too few already.  Lina covered the passage with her rifle, while activating her mic.

”All units, Empire Six.  Lizard King has been hit.  I am stopping to assist.  Extract targets have entered an underground corridor from the basement.  The tunnel runs west from the building, then turns south.  Will advise if we need Painter, out.”

Lina spoke as she moved over to Choi, ”Are you OK?”

Karolina Kowalska
Moving to cover the passage, then to Choi
AK-103 [30/30]
Comms, then quickly assisting Choi.  Will immediately return to pursuit and take point if he seems like he's still combat effective.

[NPC Mode]

James winces and withdraws a red-glistening hand from beneath his armor.  "I'm good.  Just grazed me."  He pushes to his feet and wipes his hand on his thigh.  "I'll be right on your six.  Let's get down there fast and flashbang that corner in case they doubled back." He taps his vest meaningfully.

James Choi
HK-417 [18/20]
Resuming pursuit

”Dancer and Lizard on the move, out,” Lina said by way of abbreviated radio procedure.  Kowalska pushed forward, stopping before the corner to let the G-man either pass her a flashbang, or chuck one, if he felt up to it.  Lina would move to clear the corridor once the flash-bang had gone off.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving west, stopping for tactical distraction, then clearing the south corridor.
AK-103 [30/30]
Tossing a flash-bang if Choi can't (or won't ?).  Once around the corner, quick single shots at any enemy personnel visible.

This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:29, Sat 14 Mar 2015.

"Thanks man." Durand feels the Sako in his hands, its bulk serving to offer further reassurance that he is OK. Or at least seems to be OK. "I'm good, you do what you need to do." The co pilot's head bobs up and down before he heads back towards the cockpit. The Frenchman spits out another wad of phlegm and blood, wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, takes a sip of water from his camelback, trying to get rid of the lingering taste of blood, before reaching into the pouches of his assault vest, pulling out a fresh magazine for the Sako. Swapping out the partially used one, he slots the fresh one in, making sure it is properly seated, before making his way back to the portside window, the rifle held in left hand, his right above his head, using the spider's web of strapping to help him stay on his feet as he resumes his former position just in time to witness the aftermath of the Tornado's intervention.

Activating his mike, he gives the others a short update on his status so that they will know that he is in position to provide top cover again. "All Empire elements from Bullfrog, am back on station. Out." He's about to raise the rifle to shoulder when he hears the incoming message from  Nemesis, followed in short order by Dancer's transmission advising that Lizard King has been hit. Things were starting to get a bit lively. And there was no sign of any Attars yet. In the heat of the moment he had almost forgotten about them. Almost, but not quite. He pulls the butt of the rifle in tight against his shoulder once again, begins to look for targets, checking the thermal imager for any anomalies. As he does so he hears that Choi is on the move again.

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (10/10)
Reloading, retaking station, radio comms, then looking for prospective targets

"Good bombs, One. Advise on any targets of opportunity." Dacovetti advises Nero One-One.  It would hopefully buy them all a little time.  If Grey Cell didn't maintain the kinetic initiative, they were going to odds were going to move against them in a hurry. "Nemesis, Empire Three, be advised, last transmission was broken.  We may be experiencing localized jamming.  Pass any possible targets directly to Nero via GPS coordinates." Or it was possible that whatever the Attars did in the desert was about to start affecting Grey Cell.  The hypothesis did deserve some attention, but only a little.  There was still the potential for high speed bits of metal to interrupt any higher level thought processes.  Or any thought processes at all.

Michael decides to take advantage of the lull in incoming fire from the building to the north, and signals Crewe to attack with him.  His rises up, burns off the rest of his magazine into the windows and then drops back down to reload.

"Dancer, Dealer.  Do you want us to hold this position or move to support you?  We're going to be outgunned if this building gets flanked."


Michael Dacovetti
Three bursts then dropping to cover and reloading (15/30) 7 Mags remaining.
Communications
This message was last edited by the player at 19:53, Sat 14 Mar 2015.

As Lina positioned for the corridor clearance, she heard Dacovetti call in.  She touched her PTT button and endorsed the Airman's tactical suggestion.

"Dealer, Dancer, affirmative, move to our location.  Double Down, reposition to the south west of the target building if possible.  All stations, ground teams will lose comms shortly.  Bull Frog, you have a green light to engage priority targets if you can't reach us.  Dancer out."

OOC as before

"Dancer, Bullfrog. Understood. Out." Durand's transmission takes less than five seconds. Less than five seconds to confirm that he has fully understood Kowalska's instruction. Engage priority targets. The Tambolis. If Grey Cell can't secure them the other side can't have them either. Mentally he recalls the pictures that he had first seen in a briefing room at Incirlik, visualises the two scientists' heads between the cross hairs of his sight, prepares himself for the possibility that he may have to take the killshot. The Frenchman won't hesitate to take the shot if required.  He knows that, Dancer knows it. Would his American colleagues hesitate or not? He pushes that thought from his mind, for it is irrelevant. Durand is the man aboard the helo. The responsibility is his. He has no issue with that. If the Tambolis have to die to keep them out of the other side's hands then so be it.

"Dealer copies, moving, out."

Instead of reexposing himself to ground fire, Dacovetti scoots backwards quickly from the the parapet wall and slides to the top of the stairs where he waits and provides cover for Crewe to join him.  The thought of moving into tunnels wasn't exactly comforting, but team consolidation was worth the risk.

"Nemesis, Empire Three, you have indirect control of Nero flight."  Controlling air through the interface of the drone would have its own complications, but it would be more efficient than trying to control from underground.

"Roger that, Dancer." Hannah noted even as the Mi-17 wheeled about to assume its assigned position after the explosions had lit up the target area.  As the copter banked, the army aviatrix glanced out of the cockpit windshield and down towards the target and the surrounding buildings below.  Her eyes narrowed for a moment, even as something in the back of her mind clicked.

"Be advised, Dancer, Lizard King." Hannah chirped into her comm boom quickly, as she knew the teams were going down, which meant they would hit the basement eventually and were already losing comms, "I suspect that this whole block has a common warren."  Which, of course, would mean that all of the basements were likely interconnected (or at least were, at one point).  But, not necessarily immediately apparent was the following, "Also be advised that there is likely one or more cargo accessways: a ramp or freight elevator for easy egress..." she added, "Quite possible, our target group is making for one of those."

Naturally, if she knew it, though.  Their opponents in Libya Dawn were also aware of such things.  Hannah kept her eyes peeled and prompted Barbrak, "Barfight.  I need more eyes.  Looking for any access ramp that our rabbits might use..."

"In overwatch position now." the brown-haired army aviatrix intoned dutifully.  Having overheard the exchange between Barbrak and Sébastien, she simply shifts the HiP's port side that he had been on into as advantageous a position as she can manage.  The man has proven to be a resilient crack shot and she means to give him every opportunity to display those prodigious talents.

Karolina moves up to the southward bend in the corridor and pauses for a half-second.  James slaps a flash-bang into her hand.  She yanks the pin and rolls the canister around the corner, hunching away in anticipation of the blast.

She's around the corner before the echoes stop reverberating.  It's more of the same: concrete corridor, flaking pale green paint, shimmer of glass falling from the fluorescent fixture that was directly over the distraction device.  No targets present themselves.  No gunfire greets her.

The corridor runs south for perhaps eight meters before opening into a wider east-west space that appears to bear out Hannah's architectural theory.  Karolina and James take opposite sides of the corridor and move up, covering its mouth at complementary angles.

Karolina stills her breath for a moment, removes the earplug from the ear that doesn't contain her radio earpiece, and cocks her head under her helmet.  Faint sounds of breathless conversation and running feet echo from down the basement's spine.  She frowns in concentration, points: west?  James listens, nods: yes.

The pair flows around the corner, making a hard right turn into the wide maintenance corridor.  James kneels in cover behind a wheeled tool chest and signals his team leader to move up.  Karolina eases forward a few meters and ducks into an alcove webbed with thick iron pipes, avoiding a stagnant puddle of rust-tinged water.

From somewhere ahead comes a heavy metallic banging.

-----

On the roof, a hiss of garbled dialogue answers Michael's hail.  The TACP and medic rise up and rake the face of the opposite building with fire.  A desultory burst chases them back into cover but it seems at least one Libya Dawn team has lost momentum.

"Empire Three, Overlord.  There is heavy interference across the spectrum from southwest of the city.  The gun truck convoy is splitting up and continuing toward your position.  We're assuming control of Nero Flight until you or Nemesis are back on the net."

Reloading, Michael gains the safety of the stairs, closely followed by Caradoc, who slings his FAL across his back and unfolds his MP5-PDW for the entry.  The pair moves downward at a hasty pace, closing the gap with the team's lead elements.  As Michael passes the downed Libyan bodyguard, a final transmission sounds over his headset:

"Nero One-Two is visual on triple-A..."

-----

Hannah puts the Mi-17 in a tight bank as the Tornado exits Tripoli airspace.  Looking down past Barbrak, she can see the wake of Leopard Frog's boat heading toward the beach.  Leveling out and pointing her nose south, she's "feet dry" in moments.  As she approaches the slowly-drifting cloud left by Michael's air strike, she slows and drops altitude to give her crew the best possible vantage point.

Sébastien's tongue and right temple are throbbing in unison but the level of pain bespeaks annoyance rather than actual impairment.  As the DGSE agent's gaze flicks out over the surrounding area, a flash of movement catches his eye.  The light civilian traffic in the area slowed with the team's initial assault, then halted or hurriedly reversed course to flee when Michael's first bomb made its mark on the neighborhood.  Out on the coast road, a G-Wagen - identical to the one formerly inhabited by the Tambolis - and two motorcycles are racing toward the fight at an irresponsibly high speed.  Something makes Sébastien drop his eye to the non-magnified thermal imager rather than the variable-power rifle scope.  The Mercedes' glass obscures any thermal detail of the vehicle's occupants but both motorcyclists are inhumanly cool, within a few degrees of the predawn coast's ambient temperature.  They're about 250 meters out - easy enough from a fixed platform, but the helo's motion and vibration make an immediate shot a waste of ammo.

"Shit!" Barbrak reports.  "Those assholes -- uh, Tango Three just bailed out of their car and breached the building north of the nice green yard.  No shot."

"Double Down, this is Overlord," breaks in an unfamiliar voice.  "Maintain your heading.  Nero is in from the north on a triple-A gun."

Past Barbrak's shoulder, Hannah sees a lean, fast-moving shape stoop from the indigo sky over the Mediterranean.  From a cleared area to the southeast, a line of tracer fire reaches up for it...

-----

Karolina and James push forward in the darkened basement, keenly aware that their quarry is fleeing with all haste.  As Karolina leapfrogs forward, her foot brushes a stack of paint cans that lurk just below the horizon of her NODs' field of view.  She curses the rattle --

"Grenade!" shouts James from behind her.

Karolina's foot lashes out blindly at the source of the sound as she throws herself backward.  She feels her boot connect, then she's rolling into the cover of another side passage.  The frag detonates with a whipcrack sound.  From behind her, James cries out in surprise, then: "Argh.  I'm good.  NVGs are out.  Going to gun thermal."

Michael checks as his radio picks up James' warning and the sound of the grenade blast, then picks up the pace again.  "Dancer, this is Dealer coming up on your six," he warns just before he rounds the corner.

-----

Aboard the Mi-17, the aircrew watches as the Tornado breaks hard to the west, afterburner flames lighting up the night sky.  It's a display guaranteed to attract the eye and sear it with after-images - which means no one sees the Italian's wingman racing in at lower altitude.  It's a perfect diversion but his 500lb bomb goes long, detonating near the intersection to the south.  The gun truck keeps up its fire as both strike fighters race away.

From Hannah's current position, she doesn't have direct line of sight to the gun truck, but the source of its fire puts it about 700 meters away.  Prior experience classifies it as a twin-barreled 23mm, more than enough to turn the Mi-17 into a flaming lawn ornament.

-----

Miraculously, Choi's NVGs are the only apparent damage from the fragmentation grenade.  As the quartet cautiously resumes its westward advance, a metallic slam and a wash of light from ahead announces that the Tambolis and their bodyguards have found the way out.  A thick cloud of dust follows close behind.

-----

Through the thinning dust cloud from the first bomb, Sébastien sees a service hatch slam open in the alley between the apartment blocks.  Moments later, two men and two women emerge from it and move cautiously to the alley's west end.

Ammo expenditures:

Dacovetti -15 rounds
Crewe -lots of rounds

Map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...SBoJ32E.kere8L_KAy70

Next?

From his aerial vantage point Durand continues to watch the urban battlefield beneath him , trying to ignore the twin throbbing of head and tongue as he calls in what he's seen through the thermal sight, giving the rest of the team - and the wider comms net - the heads up. "All stations from Empire Five. One SUV and two motorcycles approaching at speed. Abnormal thermal readings from both motorcyclists.  Way too low to be -" the Frenchman pauses for a split second before continuing "- human. I say again, abnormal thermal readings, too low to be human. Out." The second time he says it it doesn't sound quite so surreal.

So, here come the Attars. His heart is beating faster. He's fast becoming accustomed to the Attars. He's faced one down, stood close enough to look into the...thing's...eyes, killed...it...not him....'it'...his mind wants to rebel against the pronoun... dealing with the concept of extra terrestrial life is a steep learning curve. Then there had been the return trip to the garage. But both times had been different. Even the second time he had still thought that there must have been a rational explanation to what was going on. But this time was different. For the first time he knows the nature of the approaching enemy.

His finger gently caresses the trigger guard of the Sako. Enemy That is what they are. That is all that they are. No different from the petty warlords that he had faced in the Balkans or the jihadists that he had spent most of the 21st Century combating.  An enemy. A threat to be neutralised. Killed. Yes, they were no different. A bullet killed them the same way as it killed a human. But a bullet fired at them from the helo at this range would be a bullet wasted, and might draw fresh fire on the Hip. And so he continues to scan the battlefield, sees the movement in the alley, turns the Sako in that direction, his eye going back to the rifle's sight.

What do we have here? He studies the figures through sight first, then thermal imager. The Tambolis. And two others. All human. No sign of the Tambolis carrying any weapons but their escorts are. He activates his throat mike again. "All stations, Empire Five. Have eyeball on the package. Two others present, both armed. Thermal signatures normal. They are headed west on foot. Out." He doesn't consider taking out the Tambolis, not yet. If he has to he will, without hesitation, but that's a last resort.

But the hired help is another matter altogether. He looks through the sights, focuses the crosshairs on the male that is with the Tambolis, his finger curling on the trigger. He'll try and take both of them down. First the man, then the woman.

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (10/10)
Radio comms, then aiming at male target that is not Dr Tamboli
Firing on male then female (NOT the Tambolis)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:04, Sat 21 Mar 2015.