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.

Dust is still succumbing to gravity when Dacovetti turns the corner.  His immediate impression is that both friendlies are more or less intact despite the short range grenade detonation in a confined space.  It appears that the laws of physics favored the duo with a lack of shrapnel.  The Airman pulls up over the kneeling Kaptain, covering the tunnel and sighting down his carbine.

"Everyone okay?" he asks.

"Everyone except my NVGs," Choi answers him, voice tight, mixed with relief and frustration.

Dacovetti nods.  "Passing through," he advises and leads Crewe through the settling dust, allowing the other Grey Cell members to jump on the back of the stack.  With the targets escaping the confines of the building and tunnel system, he wants to carry the momentum as far as possible and try and close the distance before they can disappear into the urban maze above them again.  The move carries risk: safety traded for speed.  Speed that he hopes he can trade back for safety by avoiding the units closing in on them from all sides.

The pair advances quickly, Michael risking the occasional glance through the thermal scope to ensure that the tunnel is still clear.

"All Empire, Empire Three exiting tunnel," he advises anyone that might be capable of receiving and leads Crewe back into the open air.


Michael Dacovetti
Assaulting from tunnel, moving to cover if no obvious targets present.
AK-104 (folded stock)with all the toys
(30/30) 6 Mags remaining.

"Good here," Karolina responded when Michael asked if they were okay.  She took a moment to shake off the effects of the grenade.  While none of the others were looking, she made the sign of the cross and took in a deep breath.

It wasn't lost on Kowalska how close she and Choi had come to death in the basement of some shitty Libyan apartment warren.  They were lucky that a pair of NVGs was the only KIA at this point.  Lina had never been afraid of death.  Kowalska's faith buttressed her against such fear.  Even the recent revelations about the existence of life from other worlds wouldn't undermine her conviction.  Still, there were better places to die than Tripoli.  The Cape Town was lovely this time of year.

Karolina briefly wondered if things were going any better topside, but instead of speculating or asking, she refocused on the task at hand.  Checking her rifle, she fell in behind Dacovetti and Crewe as four of them moved to follow the Tamboli's and their surviving security detail.

Karolina Kowalska
Moving with the combined ground team
AK-103 [30/30]
Engaging any targets of opportunity as we move

James has to stop the towering wave of relief that accompanies any brush with death from morphing into what he intellectually knows to be false but almost overwhelming feelings of security, as he falls into the less dangerous but still important trail slot of the now-four-person assault team. Complacency is the operator's unforgivable sin. The burning sensation where his tactical vest rubs against the flesh wound in his side reminds him of that with every step.

He doesn't know if its concussion or a symptom of adrenaline dumping or what, but he feels like he's moving through Jell-O. With his off hand, he unclips the damaged NVGs and hurls the hundred-K paperweight, back-hand, into the wall on his left. If anyone in accounting and requisitions asks, they were blown clean off by the grenade blast.

Still advancing, he tugs his goggles into his place before reestablishing a firm two-handed shooting grip. As the stick exits the building, he steps out to clear his lines and tilts the HK just enough to take a quick look through the off-set thermal. Anyone not named Tamboli is a target; anything called Attar is first in the queue.


James 'Lizard King' Choi
Four slot in the assault stick
HK-417 (18/20)
Looking for aliens to shoot (triple taps, center mass)

-
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Sun 22 Mar 2015.

"Roger that, Overlord." Hannah chirps into her mike boom.  She waits for the impact, keeping an eye out for the incoming munitions.  When the bomb goes wide, her lips are pressed thin for a moment before she confirms to HQ the failed status of the strike, "Foundation, Empire Four.  Triple-A still active.  Approximately 700 metres south of our position; closing fast."  That latter is primarily for Bullfrog and Barfight actually, though she knows that they are busy enough.

But, Double Down is also aware that those two 23mm cannons will make swiss cheese of the chopper - especially an unarmed one like the one she is currently manning.  So, while she wants to afford her teammates every opportunity to accomplish mission objectives.  Her job is to keep them alive and the chopper in the air to ensure that the ground-pounding team has the option of immediate evac.  And Hannah will bug out to return later, if necessary.  But only if Sébastien or Barbrak prove unable take out the newcomers.

Yet, the army aviatrix is not without options.  Even maintaining her heading she can still adjust to the orientation of the HiP to a certain degree, to given her and her passengers a better view of both sets of objectives potentially.  It isn't perfect, but her touch with the Mi-17 isn't bad either - she's had enough experience in the air to be able to play a bit of cat and mouse.  Hopefully, she can keep buildings between them and the incoming truck-mounted cannons.  She banks slightly trying to keep the AA tracers in her peripheral vision, while maintaining as stable a platform as possible for Séb and Barbrak to shoot from.  She can feel the perspiration on her palms, but the stick of the HiP remains steady.  She intends to stay put until the last possible moment.

Hannah is also known for being a bit of a gambler.  Or at least, not flinching when it comes to trusting her aviation equipment and her skill with it.  She didn't catch shrapnel just over a year ago for by playing it safe.  Or by leaving anyone behind.  For her part, Chief Warrant Officer Omdahl's callsign isn't 'Double Down' for no reason.

Hannah 'Double Down' Omdahl
Mi-17 Cockpit - Pilot's Seat
AK-104 w/all the trimmings [30/30, not readied], Mi-17 readied.
Keeping an eye on that incoming truck with the twin 23mm cannons
  - evasive maneuvers, if necessary.  Otherwise, holding steady Bullfrog and Barfight
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:25, Tue 24 Mar 2015.

Hannah takes the Hi-17 down low, skimming the rooftops and drawing a yelp over the intercom from Barbrak.  A tangle of clotheslines and satellite dishes flashes past a few meters beneath her feet and the dissipating smoke and dust from the first bomb blast swirl in her rotor vortices.  Her evasion appears successful for the moment - the ZU-23-2 continues hammering the lightening sky to the northeast.

A small explosion flashes on the southern horizon, followed moments later by a stroboscopic ripple of multiple secondaries, some flaming debris pinwheeling above the rooftops.  "Double Down, Overlord," crackles the report a moment later, "that was Nero cleaning up the workspace.  Scratch one SAM site.  They're on their way back to you for another pass on that gun truck unless you have a higher priority target."

In the back, Sébastien is dimly aware of the Afghani crew chief taking up his unattended HK417 and maneuvering into position beside him.  Most of his attention is focused on the Sako's scope.  As Hannah banks to keep the Tambolis in his field of fire, he lines up on the male bodyguard who's turning back as if to deliver suppressive fire on pursuers.  The DGSE agent's shot goes wide but the man flinches anyway, his head jerking up as if only now noticing the helicopter - then he staggers and falls as a dense volley of small arms fire churns up concrete and dust around him.

-----

Michael and Caradoc sprint up the loading ramp toward the faint predawn skyglow, gray with post-bombing dust.  The alley between the tenements is liberally strewn with rubble, making footing treacherous.  Michael flips up his NVGs for better depth perception.  Behind him, there's a faint rattle of kit as Caradoc swaps back to the FAL on the run.

The airman slows to round the corner and glimpses four dust-shrouded figures perhaps 20 meters north of him.  They're sprinting - staggering, really - into the thickest debris and smoke, skirting the lip of the bomb crater.  The rearmost one turns back, bringing up a weapon.  Michael puts his reticle on the man's chest and stiches him with a burst.  The Libyan staggers, his own rifle slumping - then goes down hard as a machine gun opens up from a second-story window at the far end of the open space to the west.  Red tracers chase the Tambolis and their remaining bodyguard north into the settling dust cloud.  Errant rounds send Michael and Caradoc skidding into cover in the rubble of the damaged apartment building.

-----

Karolina and James, slowed by their recovery from the grenade blast, are a few seconds behind their teammates.  Facing west as they exit the alley, they're looking straight at the far end of the cleared space when the third Libya Dawn team - no longer "covert" in any way - enters the fray.  The muzzle blast of a GPMG is painfully evident and at least one smaller-caliber rifle is adding its voice to the chorus.  In unison, the duo drops prone and opens fire.

Karolina steadies her AK-103 and puts two rounds into the center of the muzzle blast.  The weapon falls silent and a silhouetted form reels away, clutching its hand.

James takes a quick glance at his thermal imager before engaging.  The man who pops up to take over the machine gun appears human.  Then he pops back down as James executes a hundred-meter Mozambique drill, punching the heavy 7.62mm rounds right through any armor he may be wearing.

The riflemen check for a moment, then quickly reorient and return fire.  James rolls away as a burst chews the concrete around him.  Across the alley, Karolina's reactions are a heartbeat slower.  Her gun falls as a bullet spikes her left shoulder an inch from the seam of her vest.

Ammo expenditures:

Durand -1 round
Dacovetti -5 rounds
Kowalska -2 rounds
Choi -3 rounds

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

Actions?
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:32, Tue 24 Mar 2015.

This situation is evolving beyond our control, Dacovetti thinks.  He and Crewe haven't taken any direct fire, as of yet, but it's only a matter of time.  It is impossible to believe that the miss on the Tambolis was an accident.  The figure working the machine gun had the whole group dead to rights and he picked up the security.  That simply meant more trouble ahead.  And what he wouldn't give for smoke grenades or grenade launcher right about now.

"All Empire, Targets are being herded north, watch for capture. Break, Nero One-One, Empire Three."

"Empire Three, Nero, Go."

"Due west from original target is a vacant lot, call contact."

"Nero One, Contact."

"Your target is the large building directly west of that vacant lot.  I need a gun pass, now. East to West.  Friendlies 80 meters east of target."

"Nero One-One contact target building.  In from the east."

Everything else has been a risk today and the psychological factor of low flying air craft can't be ignored.

"Cleared hot One!"  Moving exposed with 20mm rounds coming down from the sky seems like a bad plan.  Watching the their quarry get captured by waiting aliens seems like a worse one.  "Cover fire," he tells Crewe, "Moving!"


Michael Dacovetti
Air strike then advancing to next cover
Attempting overwatch of intersection to north, then following targets with Crewe
AK-104 (25/30) 6 Mags remaining
This message was last edited by the player at 21:44, Tue 24 Mar 2015.

"Merde!" Durand scarcely notices that he's cursed out loud as he misses his intended target only to see him go down under a hail of dire from elsewhere. He's scarcely aware of Barfight taking up position beside him as he scans for targets. The Frenchman is beginning to feel helpless. Useless. He should be down there, in the middle of it. He can see enough to realise that someone has opened up with some sort of support weapon, is using it to...shepherd...the Tambolis in the direction that the gunman wants them to go. But Durand can't see where the fire is coming from. Fuck! If he wasn't holding the rifle in both hands he would have punched the helo's fuselage in frustration.

Seeing nothing to engage other than the fleeing Tambolis he pulls away from the sight, turns to Barfight. "If you see any hostiles let them fucking have it. Pour fire on to them man, OK?" Another gun in the fight is more than welcome, but he's unsure how good a marksman the Afghan is, so is telling him to default to volume over fire over accuracy. "But don't shoot unless you have a positive ID." The last is hastily added as he returns his attention to the Sako's sight.

He tries to reacquire an eyeball on the Tambolis. The line of tracers serves to attract his attention.  There, moving to the north. For a moment he considers taking the shot. Taking them out. But therein lies the challenge. How soon is too soon? How late is too late? He stares into the Shmidt and Bender sight, catches a figure in its cross hairs. The female Tamboli. Shot or no shot? His finger is just about to apply the required pressure when he hears Dealer's voice crackle in his ears. Fast air inbound. Not yet. Give the guys on a ground the chance to do their job. They know what they are doing. No shot.

He lifts the cross hairs off Dr Jayashri Tamboli, searches instead for any targets carrying weapons. Preferably Libya Dawn, but he'll settle for the Tambolis' security if any of them are still standing. He pauses to check the thermal sight for anything abnormal. In doing so it occurs to him that the others may have been underground, so may not have heard his earlier transmission, so he activates his throat mike, repeats his message. "All Empire Stations from Empire Five. Be aware, we have incoming hostiles with abnormal thermal signatures. At least two on motorbikes, possibly more in accompanying SUV currently due east of the package. I believe hostiles are Attars, say again hostiles are Attars. They may be trying to snatch the package. Out." That's the marker. If those guys get close to the Tambolis that's when he takes the shot. Not at the Attars. At the Tambolis. He calls out to the Afghan copilot again. "Hey, Barfight, you see some guys rock up on motorcycles, you empty that fucking magazine at them my friend, d'accord?" Fuck, next time we're bringing a fucking AC130.

Bullfrog
Sako TRG 42 (9/10)
Radio comms with the team / giving Barfight instructions
Scanning for targets of opportunity

”Cholenik!” Karolina yelped as she dropped her rifle and clutched at her shoulder.  She rolled to get out of the way of any follow up shots, pressing against the wound as hard as the pain would allow.  It hurt a lot at first, but as her flight or fight response kicked in, the pain lessened.

Kowalska reached down with her right hand and popped her IFAK pouch open.  Lina didn't think the CAT would be useful given the wound’s location, so she went right for the hemostatic gauze.  Her hands were shaking so hard from the adrenaline in her system that she dropped the package before she could get it open.  Still prone though, she grabbed the package with a death grip this time and tore it open with her teeth.  She slid her hand between the placket of her 5.11 button down shirt, bringing the bandage to rest against the wound without having to cut or rip open her blouse from the outside.

Fighting her desire to jump up and run full bore through the Libyan suburb, she inhaled deeply and tried to focus on understanding the radio traffic and tactical situation.  It wasn't great.  Lina knew that she would slow down the ground team, right when they needed to be moving faster.  She could hear that Dacovetti was calling in air support.

With three fingers pressed against the dressing, she fished around with her thumb before keying her PTT.

”All units, this is Dancer.  I've been hit, but I’m Oscar Kilo.  We will be short one long gun.  Continue pursuit.  Dead or alive, I want the Tamboli’s.  Dancer out.”

With a deep breath, Lina repositioned her hand and pushed harder on the wound.  She prepared to stand and continue after the security detail.  She hoped that she could control the bleeding.  Hypovolemic shock would put a crimp in her plans to soldier on.

Karolina Kowalska
Prone, moving to cover, or at least away from where the last set of bullets hit.
Glock 17 [17/17]
Dodging, Self-aid, then comms.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:48, Wed 25 Mar 2015.

Rounding off his evasive roll in a prone position, James puts the maximum volume of fire downrange, squeezing the HK417's trigger repeatedly until Dancer makes it to safety or the rifle's bolt locks open, whichever comes first. At that point, James puts his head down and makes a dash for cover, dropping his empty mag on the move and replacing it with a fresh one as soon as possible. The main ideas here are suppression and moving to a tactically advantageous position- then he'll figure out how to definitively finish the riflemen. For the moment, Dacovetti and Crewe are on their own.


James "Lizard King" Choi
Trail slot, ground pursuit team
HK417 (15/15)
Suppressive fire from prone position- rapid single shots- moving quickly to cover when Dancer is out of harm's way

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This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Thu 26 Mar 2015.