The Russian did his best to provide cover for Choi as he sprinted to the Toyota, trying to catch sight of any other potential hostiles that they may have lost track of in, not only the shuffle on the ground but the colossal distraction that was the air-to-air engagement unraveling above their heads.

Once he was sure the Lizard King was situated, he took stock of his own situation before preparing to bolt. He hated going second.  Anyone who might've watched Choi's mad dash would be able to anticipate his move now, just wait for him to make himself a target.  Staying here wasn't really a tactically sound option either though, so, through gritted teeth, he made his low sprint, doing his best to keep his profile down and provide enough of both juking and jiving so as to make hitting him a more dubious proposition. One can hope... he thought to himself.

As Caradoc opens up on the enemy group's last known position, James launches from cover.  It's about 200 meters between the two vehicles he's disabled tonight.  Every step brings the expectation of a bullet but as the FBI agent reaches the Hilux, it appears his luck is holding.  The truck is abandoned and no fire emanates from the pod's vicinity.  Next to it lies a discarded Kalashnikov, apparently dropped when the Toyota's occupants bailed out.  James unslings the Weatherby, cranks its scope down to its lowest magnification to widen the field of view, and prepares to cover his comrades as they move up to his location.

Andrey is next, covering the ground a bit quicker than James did thanks to his lighter weight of armament, and his passage is equally uninterrupted.  The Russian forsakes his own rifle again in favor of his Zeiss binoculars, peering through the gloom and slowly-dissipating dust in search of targets for the big rifle.  Moving figures swirl ghostlike through the concealing cloud but neither man can pick out enough of a target for aimed fire.

On the far side of the engagement, Sébastien can see Caradoc's tracers probing the area of the pod.  Whether out of caution for Grey Cell's eastern element or some marksmanship factor, the Welshman's fire is going well north of the area where the four humans are clustered.  As Sébastien settles his own scope's reticle on the group, one of the quartet struggles to his feet with a smaller figure slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.  He fires twice but to no avail.  The group struggles into motion, heading toward the tractor-trailer rig, with the other three men appearing to rally and raising their weapons for a renewed fight.

Michael dashes into the shelter of the Toyota.  Glancing toward the tractor-trailer, he spies a cluster of human (or humanoid, at any rate) figures headed for the big rig.  It's well outside his weapon's effective range but a hissed warning swings James' gaze in the right direction.  Before the elephant gun can speak again, though, Crad's suppressive fire lifts - and another player enters James' field of view.

Bent over her handlebars, shivering in pain and rage, Hannah opens her throttle.  The gunman who shot her has dropped from sight, but she knows where he went to ground.  She's not at her best, though, and her wild charge passes the motionless figure rather than trampling it into the dirt.

With the wind of their passage whipping tears from his eyes, Cooper opens fire past Hannah's shoulder.  Two of the quartet by the tractor-trailer are turning toward them, taking knees and bringing up their rifles.  The rough terrain is too much for the diver, though, and his first burst goes skyward.

Cued by Michael's keen eye, James launches another massive round from the elephant gun.  It's a rushed shot and he knows it's a miss, but as he brings the scope back down and pushes away the grinding pain in his shoulder, he can see his target flattening in lieu of firing.

The other Aboriginal opens up with his rifle.  Coop feels a tug at his side as a round passes through his soft armor but the sting is barely more than a graze (Cooper - slight wound, abdomen).  Simultaneously, there's a pop as another round zips past Cooper's boot and shreds the ATV's left rear tire.  Hannah wrestles the machine into staying upright and in more-or-less the right direction but she's rapidly losing speed and traction.  As the ride stabilizes, Cooper grits his teeth and gives his assailant another burst.  The man's right leg buckles and he sprawls, still clutching his AKMS.

The third man is also kneeling, but his focus is westward, toward the quartet assembling around the Toyota.  The mounted duo's sudden charge catches him by surprise, though, and he accidentally wastes a shot into the air as he tries to bring his sniper rifle to bear on the more immediate threat.

The small figure in a fireman's carry over the fourth man's shoulders stirs and raises a spindly limb, thrusting something in Hannah and Cooper's direction.  A blinding blue-white flash and a thunderclap rend the night.  Hannah feels a searing wind on her left side.  Cooper's left calf explodes in agony, as if a molten high-voltage cable has been rammed through his triceps surae (Cooper - slight wound and pants are on fire, left leg).  After-images dance in both agents' fields of vision.

To the more distant observers, a horizontal lightning bolt seems to hang in the air between the dwarf and the riders.  A vicious crackboom arrives a split-second later.  To Michael, the visible and audible signs, combined with the spike of static through his earpiece, are manifestations of yet another piece of technology heretofore confined to the realm of theory.  That was a plasma weapon...

Map:

Ammo expenditures:

Crad -20 rounds
Sebastien -2 rounds
Cooper -20 rounds
James -1 round (Weatherby)

Ranges:

Coop and Hannah are in extremely close contact with the dwarf and its four attendants.

Sébastien remains just over 260 meters away,

James, Andrey, Michael, and Caradoc are a bit under 350 meters away.

The artificial lightning startles James but it also makes his next target painfully obvious. He could aim for the carrier, immobilizing the dwarf and setting it up for a relatively simple follow-up kill shot, or he could target the dwarf itself. Considering the position of the stout little alien atop the human transporter's shoulders, the E.T. is essentially a head shot at a duffle bag-sized target- actually an easier shot than a moving man's body seen side-on.

James aims for the portaged dwarf, leading the carrier to account for the range and his movement. Trying hard not to anticipate the mule-kick recoil of the Weatherby, he squeezes the trigger and readjusts the scope to observe the result*.


James 'Lizard King" Choi
Toyota Hilux
Weatherby (3/4)
Single aimed shot at dwarf
*Repeat, if necessary

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:14, Sat 26 Dec 2015.

"That should not be possible."  The words escape Dacovetti's lips before he can contain them.  Clearly the plasma weapon is possible, for it exists and just sent a packet of high energy death arcing out in search of a target.  The weapon isn't even the most remarkable piece of technology Grey Cell has faced on the battlefield today.  That honor goes to the spacecraft that may or may not have been crippled by a very terrestrial air to air missile a few moments ago.  At least the laws of physics seem to hold for everyone involved in the struggle, even if one side has a decidedly more advanced understanding of the limits involved than the other.  "For us, I suppose," he adds lamely.  "Dump the little guy, Lizard."  The last bit of advice is probably superfluous, but it's worth adding.  He really wants to say, and please don't damage the weapon, but that's probably going a little to far.

With a sniper rifle being brought to bear against their position, Michael decides he had better try to eliminate that threat prior to the next bound.  The AK on the ground will serve that purpose just fine.  He scoops the weapon up, takes a quick look into the cab to see if he can spot any more magazines, then braces himself over the engine block to start engaging targets.


Dacovetti
Firing at sniper
Using Nissan as a bipod and cover
AK, unknown rounds remaining

There's little doubt in Durand's mind that one of the humans is now carrying the dwarf. The Frenchman isn't certain what their intent is but he thinks it's likely that they may be trying to make an escape in the big rig. His initial thought is that the dwarf is out of the fight and the Intelligence operative part of his brain is torn between whether or not it might be possible to take it alive for interrogation. How much could it tell them if it was captured? But would it talk? Could it talk? Would they even be able to hold it, talk to it, or would no one be able to approach it? Or was it safer to finish it now?

The decision is helped as he watches the tableau through the rifle's sight and sees the dwarf lob an object in the direction of Double Down and Diver, an object that explodes in a cacophony of noise and a flash of light. So the dwarf is not out of the fight. And it's using some sort of alien weaponry. Which raises the question of what else it may have in its possession.

His mind made up, Durand rises to one knee, takes aim, settles his sight on the dwarf, tracking its movement for a second, trying to get a clean shot. And then gently applying pressure to the trigger, trying to kill the little alien mother fucker. But when he squeezes the trigger nothing happens. Fuck! Out of ammo.  Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out a round, rams in a cartridge, works the action, squeezes the trigger again. He's lost the bead he had, but he's still hoping to get the dwarf

Durand
Reloading individual round / firing at dwarf (quick shot)
Marlin 30.30 (1/1)

Hannah grimaced as the ATV bucked and she felt it losing traction and power.  "Quad's gone." the auburn-haired army warrant officer offered in a muffled grumbled to her passenger, then she half-ordered and half-pleaded with Cooper, "use it for cover..."

As for herself, the thin aviatrix threw herself from the four-wheeled vehicle and rolled to the ground.  Her right hand moved to the small of her back as she did so, pulling the USP that Diver had loaned her from where Double Down had tucked into her waist band.

Lying in the sand and ignoring the burning sensation in her gut that Hannah knew would be irritated by both the sudden movement and the sand she was rolling around in, Double Down tried to draw a bead on that dwarf-carrier and his cargo.  She wanted to unload as much lead into the two of them as possible, as quickly as possible; knowing that her facility with firearms was not nearly as good as the rest of the team.

Then she'd move on to the other two cohorts.  And then that bastard sniper they'd passed that had shot her, if she got the chance.  She chose that order, since the little bastard was closest and still seemed imminently dangerous with whatever that fireball spitting device was.  Obviously, the little guy had no regard for their lives; so, the feeling was mutual.  Hence, her desired to unload her clip.  She also trusted that Cooper was covering her back and would take care of the sniper they'd just passed.

Though honestly, Hannah was looking to just deal with any of the nearby opponents that presented themselves as targets.  Given the chaos of the situation, Double Down knew that she couldn't be that picky and should take advantage of any opportunity, really.

Double Down gritted her teeth and muttered, "Smile, bitch..." as her trigger finger twitched and she began to fire as quickly as possible...

Hannah 'Double Down' Omdahl
Abandoning ATV and falling prone
USP [?/12]
Fire at nearest target(s) of opportunity (Dwarf, dwarf-carrier, two other cohorts, and prone sniper) - not being picky.  Willing to clear clip, if necessary.

Williams grimaced in pain, roaring through clinched teeth when the alien weapon hit.  He glanced down to see the butcher's bill, expecting that most of his calf was gone.  When he saw the material in his pants burning, he immediately set about the task of extinguishing the flames as calmly and skillfully as a Navy damage control party might set about controlling a shipboard fire.  Cooper had been trained not to panic in these situations, although now he was fighting to save his leg and not a ship at sea.  Rolling twice toward the ATV, then using the outback sand to cover any remaining flames, he worked as quickly as he could, intent on limiting the damage.

Cooper Williams
Stopped, Dropped, and Rolling toward cover
Hands full of sand.. will retrieve P90 later
Using the turn ot put out leg fire.  Can you use damage control on yourself?
This message was last edited by the player at 12:41, Mon 28 Dec 2015.

Hannah rolls off of the disabled ATV.  The borrowed H&K is in her hand and firing before she hits the ground but her shots are rushed, rattling against the backstop of the semi-trailer without noticeable effect on her targets.

Cooper's dismount is less graceful but his roll smothers the inferno in his trousers.  He uses his momentum to continue moving into the injured Kalashnikov-wielder, knocking the man to the ground just as he regains his footing.

The dwarf's bearer drops as James's shot bisects his lungs, falling out of Sébastien's line of fire and taking the dwarf with him.

Michael retrieves the abandoned AK and checks the magazine: half-full, or near enough.  Taking a firing position next to James, he lines up the iron sights and squeezes off a prayerful shot at the man with the long rifle as Andrey likewise lines up a shot and Caradoc feathers the Minimi's trigger for the shortest possible burst.  One of the men connects in a brief halo of crimson and the enemy marksman falls.

The sole uninjured opponent rolls away from the body of his comrade and comes up firing.  The burst goes low, tearing at the ATV as Hannah shelters behind it.  She's possessed of a momentary irrational urge to surrender but her anger flares as she recognizes the external suggestion.  Instead, she leans around the mangled quad and fires another volley at her attacker, forcing him toward Cooper's furball just as the diver's opponent relinquishes his Kalashnikov in favor of a long dagger.

Cooper jerks his head to the side and the blade that would have torn out his carotid instead traces a shallow cut across his left collarbone (Cooper - slight wound, chest).  He tries to gain leverage for a disarm but his burned leg betrays him in a blinding, paralyzing pulse of agony.  Before Cooper can recover or Hannah can intercede, he's on his knees with the dagger's point pricking the underside of his jaw.  "Back!  Tell them to fuck off!" the man screams at Hannah, his eyes wide and his beard flecked with spittle.  Behind him, the dwarf pulls itself free of its bearer's corpse and levels its weapon at the aviatrix as it struggles toward Cooper.

Map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/...wQbg&usp=sharing

Ammo Expenditures:

Hannah -6 rounds
James -1 round
Sébastien -1 round
Michael -1 round
Caradoc -5 rounds

Enemy Status:

The sniper is dead, as is the dwarf's bearer.  One Aboriginal (wounded in the right leg) is holding Coop as a meat-shield with a knife.  A second is uninjured and armed with an FNC.  The dwarf itself is still in the fight and appears to be back to its energy weapon, its attempt to compel Hannah having failed.  Ranges are effectively unchanged from last turn.  Discarded weapons in the area of the close combat include an AKMS, Cooper's P90, and some sort of sniper rifle.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:26, Wed 30 Dec 2015.

The relief of watching his, or to be more accurate, their, target go down in a momentary halo of blood and tissue is overwhelmed in the drop off of the jamming that had been squelching their radio network.  Michael hadn't even realized how much mental effort had been spent blocking out the howl of electronic snow until it was gone.  The world suddenly seemed less pushed in.

"Moving," he announces to his companions at the Nissan.  It's going to be another long run.  350 meters, might as well be a quarter mile.  A minute and a half? Two? "Cutting north first."  Then he's gone, slinging the P90 over his shoulder as he leaves.  The AK, he cradles in his hands.

It could be argued that Dacovetti is moving to secure the location.  Or maybe that he is moving to support Diver and Double Down.  Both of those hypotheses are true.  But deep down, he knows what he's really running towards: a bonanza of alien technology.  He wants to see it.  He wants to touch a plasma weapon and look over an anti-gravity pod.

Lungs burning and legs turning over, he moves through the Australian night, hoping that the battle above has been decided in their favor.  Because if it hasn't, he's running towards what is sure to be ground zero of another plasma weapon.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:30, Mon 04 Jan 2016.

"Easy mate," Cooper said through gritted teeth.  The RAN Petty Officer held fast, intent on remaining the compliant hostage for now.  Though he could feel blood soaking his shirt from the blade's first cut, William's mind was focused elsewhere.  He was thinking of his Combat & Survival Bravo course, which covered what US and some other NATO militaries refereed to as Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape training.

Cooper remembered that there as been a series of gestures that could be used to pass information as hostage, he were to end up under direct observation or photographed.  William's subtly flashed several signs to anyone who might be watching...

INJURED
ABLE TO FIGHT
KEEPING THE FAITH
READY FOR RESCUE ATTEMPT

With the last sign, he added an adhoc message - two twitches of his shooting finger.

What he was trying to communicate was:

TAKE THE SHOT
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Mon 04 Jan 2016.

The dwarf was still up.  And now Cooper was a hostage.  Good shooting, Hannah. Double Down berated herself silently with a sarcastic mental flash as the events before her unfolded. Not.  It was just like the shoot house on the first day back in Incirlik.  But here the stakes were much, much higher.

She hesitated, for there was always a moment like that with her it seemed, to assess the situation.  Hannah could see the dwarf still holding his energy-spitting pistol - and likely bring it to bear again.  She knew that he'd show no quarter; and she so much wanted to try and shoot him straight up.

But, her eyes dart over to Diver and his captor, narrowing as she caught a glimpse of the Australian's silent gestures.  If she could free him, then he was close enough to engage either man or dwarf.  Her responsibility was to get him out of immediate danger.

From her prone position, her pistol shifted ever so slightly and took in a deep breath.  Double Down brought the head of the man with the knife into her sights and gently squeezed the trigger as she exhaled.  She matched Diver's twitching trigger finger with her own; Hannah figured that she'd acknowledge Cooper's message readily enough.  With lead.

Hannah 'Double Down' Omdahl
Prone, aiming and assessing
Cooper's USP 40 [6/12]
Fire at Cooper's knife-wielding captor (and hoping for the best)

Durand is mentally berating himself. He's what seems like miles away from his team, unable to control events, unable to influence what is happening. Unable to help his people. The Frenchman feels like a passenger on this particular journey, a sense of...impotence. And the dwarf is still out there, armed with fuck knows what. Not to mention its human accomplices.

Durand scans the unfolding scene through the marlin's optics for a moment. He can see the standoff that is developing although he's too far away to make out any of Williams' signals in the dark. The DGSE operator knows that he could ram another cartridge into the rifle, take a snap shot, but there was a chance of hitting Diver now. The Frenchman mutters an almost imperceptible curse. He should have reloaded a moment ago rather than squeezing off a rushed - and futile shot. His fingers move to his pockets, begin to pull out rounds and ram them into the marlin as quickly as he can, thinking that accurate fire is going to be more effective here than a hurried shot when friendlies are in the danger zone.

Bullfrog
Reloading
Marlin (0/6)

Aside from the extraterrestrial element, this is what the HRT trains for, a scenario particularly well-suited to James' shooter skill set. Even from afar, he's cued into the body language of friend and foe alike. The collective message on display is painfully clear- this situation isn't going to end peacefully.

He's already got the alien dwarf's stumpy torso centered in the crosshairs of the Weatherby's scope. It's the cleanest shot he's got.

He takes it.

James LK Choi
Weatherby (3/5)
Single aimed shot, center mass, at space midget

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:31, Tue 05 Jan 2016.

Andrey watched as things unfolded, doing his best to make sure that no new threats presented themselves. He scanned downrange to where Choi was hopefully about to plant a round into the "dwarf's" chest before turning his optics to observe the rest of the team, wary of anything they may have missed. The last thing they needed now was tunnel vision on the most obvious ground target.

Hannah acknowledges Cooper's hand signals with a droop of her eyelid.  She holds the H&K steady, waiting for her window --

"I said get on your radio and--"

-- and shoots the hostage-taker through the bridge of his nose.

Cooper sees Hannah's finger begin to move and lashes free as he feels the bullet's passage buffet his face.  A painful dive and roll gets him to his late opponent's discarded AKMS.  He comes up in a seated posture, spraying automatic fire at the incendiary dwarf.  Two rounds catch the creature in knee and belly, staggering it as it begins bringing its weapon to bear on Hannah.

James caresses the Weatherby's trigger before he consciously processes the muzzle flash from Hannah's shot.  On this target, the temporary wound cavity from the big game round is larger than the body.  The space midget literally explodes at the waist, torn in two by the heavy bullet's impact.

As Cooper and Hannah pivot toward him, the surviving Aboriginal stands mutely, rifle forgotten in his hands.  He stares at the ruins of the dwarf, face quivering.  Tears begin rolling down his dusty cheeks.  He offers neither resistance nor communication as Cooper roughly disarms him.

Michael arrives a minute later with a blaspheming Caradoc trailing after him.  Sébastien, Andrey, and James follow shortly thereafter.

In roughly bisected repose, the dwarf is as much insectoid as humanoid.  Spindly limbs - those not shattered by gunfire, at any rate - seem emaciated to human eyes.  Its teardrop-shaped head bears huge featureless eyes, now dull and black.  Its nostrils are tiny slits, its mouth a lipless, leathery beak, and its ears nonexistent.  It wears no clothing over its grey-blue parchment skin.  Locked around one forearm, just above the four-digited hand, is a complex bracer-like construct of a bronze-colored metal.  A stubby protrusion with a tiny aperture, still painfully hot to the touch, leaves little doubt that this is the source of the plasma burst that nearly cooked Cooper's leg.

Something inside the alien pod is smoldering or leaking, emitting a faint haze with an unpleasant chemical stench.  Occasional pops and cracks bespeak some sort of ongoing deterioration within it.

The static in the team's headsets resolves into speech: "Dealer, Cambridge, come in, please."  Crit's tone sounds a little ragged.

Ammo Expenditures:

Hannah -1 round
Cooper -10 rounds (5 remaining)
James -1 round

Dacovetti arrives after the fireworks and marksmanship displays are over, panting and grateful for the chance to rest for a second or two.  The corpse of the alien is remarkable: insectoid and yet not.

"It looks like a Grey," he says, the recognition hitting him all at once.  "Like all those terrible abduction movie aliens.  Or maybe X-Files.  Or Alien Autopsy."  His geek cred is showing.  A cough escapes his lips as he realizes it: focusing more on the unknown than the welfare of his team. "Excuse me, I apologize.  Are you guys okay?" 

He could spend hours teasing apart everything here.  Hours he hopes to have but isn't going to count on.  The broken carapace of the pod is spewing something that Michael distinctly hopes is not radioactive or highly toxic.  The threat limitation is partnered with the teams PNG status and the Austriailian military is going to be here post haste, with an unknown reaction to the presence of Grey Cell.  Presumably, the politicians and officers aren't going to be terribly happy to see them.  He can almost here the complaints, something along the lines of "you should have left and told us about the threat and how you were tracking it.  We would have dealt with it."  Maybe, but not fucking likely. This is their work and the TACP isn't going to hand over his work without a fight.  With Crewe arriving to look over Hannah and Cooper, Michael pulls out his iPhone and gets to work snapping pictures and videos of everything he can see, trying to stay upwind of whatever is coming out of that pod.

A plan is coming to fruition in his mind about how to remove the plasma thrower when Crit's radio call comes creeping across the net.  Another wave of stress that has become a subliminal load of weight leaves Michael's shoulders at the voice of his kindred spirit. "Cambridge, Dealer," he answers, "Have you clear but weak.  Ground site is secured, what is your status?"

"We bugged out when the shooting started and we lost comms," Crit reports.  "We're returning now for radio relay and ground search.  The, uh, target has broken off the engagement and we've lost our track on it.  Claw 15 is down and Claw 28 is red on fuel.  More air cover is five mikes out."

"Dealer copies all.  Glad to hear you guys are okay. Be advised, we have two wounded, I'll have an update on their status soon.  What's the ETA for ground forces?"  While he runs coms, he walks back towards the cab of the truck, looking for a fire extinguisher.  Maybe he can halt the destruction that's going on in the pod before it wrecks everything.

Durand's first concern on arriving on the scene is the welfare of his team, particularly Omdahl and Williams. "Good work everybody. Well done." The comment is addressed to the entire team after he's reassured himself that neither the American airwoman nor the Australian diver have been critically injured. Things could have been a lot worse. The Frenchman is grateful to Nemesis for securing them the weapons and equipment that they did have, but they had been acting with one hand tied behind their back for much of this entire fucking mission. Fucking politics. Before he does anything else he puts a reassuring hand on Hannah's shoulder. "You OK Double Down?" He knew her record, knew that she was a seasoned combat veteran who had saved a number of lives with her actions in Kandahar province, but shooting a man between the eyes at close range was enough to unnerve a lot of people.

Only after reassuring himself that everyone was Ok mentally as well as physically will Durand turn his attention to the battlefield. Dealer already has things well in hand when it comes to securing the intel take but Durand's curiosity means that he can't help but glance at the bisected alien corpse for a moment. It's familiar but not familiar, the sort of thing you'd expect to find in a sci fi movie, or maybe a straight to dvd horror film. Only this is no prop, it's the real thing. His eyes linger on its weapon for a minute before he turns his attention back to the others.

"Painter, check Double Down and Diver. Lizard King, can you secure our prisoner please?" With the medic needing to deal with the casualties, the FBI agent seemed to be the best person to deal with the aboriginal. Durand would look forward to chatting with him later. If the Australians didn't take over the show. Feeling something under his boot, Durand looks down, sees the discarded sniper rifle. Slinging the Marlin over his shoulder for the moment, he bends down, picks it up, just in case the battle isn't actually over and more firepower is required. "Roulette, can you secure any other weapons in the vicinity then see if Dealer needs a hand with anything? You and I might also need to go find the downed aircrew. Thanks guys."

The DGSE operator then keys his radio. "Cambridge, this is Bullfrog. If you can establish a location for Claw 15 we can try and assist them. Over." Well aware that he's been out of the loop on the other end of the battlefield, he takes another look round then looks over at Dealer. "Where's the Land Rover if we need to pick those guys up?"

After discounting the existence of continued threats in and around the E.T.'s private little Outback Burning Man gathering, James trots over to assist in securing the site. At Durand's request James cuffs and frisks the prisoner, sitting him down in the open and keeping one eye on him.

"Looks like you picked the wrong team, mate."

He looks around the salt flat, trying to take it all in. They aren't supposed to be here, Grey Cell, yet here they are surrounded by alien artifacts, few of which are small enough to be concealed and smuggled off-sight. And then there was the small matter of the Independence Day-style dogfight that just happened. How this doesn't become front-page news in a couple of days, James can't say. Grey Cell might need to hire a PR/media relations person pretty soon here.

"So what now, guys?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Thu 07 Jan 2016.

After moving to disarm the Aboriginal, Cooper gave the area one final check, AKMS at the ready.  Satisfied that the immediate hostilities were over, he lowered himself via his one good leg and took a seat on the ground.  The adrenaline from the fight was still heavy in veins and he took two deep breaths to help center himself.  After a few seconds, the effects of the fight or flight hormone subsided and the pain in his leg and abdomen returned with a vengeance.  Sailors being sailors the world over, a series of suppressed expletives regarding native inhabitants of Australia and recent extraterrestrial visitors to Commonwealth were mumbled quickly and incoherently.  When that was finished, he looked over Omdahl, who like Cooper, looked quite the bit worse for wear.

”Great shot Hannah.  Thank you,” Williams said with uncharacteristic sincerity.  Cooper knew he owed his life to her.  Given his condition, an appreciative nod had to substitute for a handshake.  At least for now.

"Sorry boss, the Land Rover was the recipient of an unsustainable amount of kinetic energy, delivered in the form of automatic weapons fire.  The vehicle was unable to survive its injuries."  Michael deadpans the delivery.

Durand looks at Dacovetti and replies in the same vein. "I suppose it could have been worse. Could you imagine the insurance forms that we would have to fill in if it had got zapped by the flying saucer."

With a wry grin the Frenchman turns to Choi. "I guess the locals will want to take over the scene when they get here. Why don't you have a little chat with our prisoner, see if he can be persuaded to chat to us about what he knows. Just in case the Australians decide to take him off our hands and whisk him away to a black hole somewhere and we never see him again. Start with trying to find out where that aircraft is headed."

Durand casts a glance at their captive, turns back to Choi, meets the American's eyes. "If he doesn't want to chat to you let me know and I'll have a quiet word with him instead." The Frenchman knows a few cops, knows that they can sometimes be reluctant to cross some lines. The DGSE operator on the other hand has no qualms about violating the prisoner's rights if that's what's required to loosen his tongue.

As he cuts Cooper's pants away from his calf, Caradoc interjects, "I don't think anyone's shot the shit out of the lorry yet."

"Hold still," he adds to the Australian, filling a syringe from his aid bag.

Two hours later...

Sébastien Durand ducks his head against the rotor wash as the trio of Blackhawks settles onto the lake bed.  Door guns twitch as the aircrews scan the area for any sign of movement outside the chemlight perimeter.  Farther overhead, a four-ship flight of Super Hornets prowls on combat air patrol, alert for a return of the wounded alien craft - or any friends it may send in its stead.

As the SASR troop fans out, Caradoc Crewe waves down their medic and begins the handoff procedure for his patients.  Claw 15's pilot is unconscious, strapped to a backboard against the probable spinal injuries from his ejection.  The stricken aviator's backseater hovers nearby, trying to ignore his own fractured arm and collarbone and a scattering of minor shrapnel wounds.  Both are going out on the medevac bird, along with Cooper Williams, whose leg has a pencil-sized third-degree wound channel through its calf muscle.  Hannah Omdahl rises from her seat on the disabled quad and prepares to support the diver's hobble to the aircraft, trying not to press her elbow against the bandaged graze along her floating ribs.

James Choi hoists his prisoner to his feet, preparing for another sort of handoff.  The Aboriginal has remained mute since his capture, his eyes blank.  He's responded to direct commands but two-way communication seems to have deserted him.  His tear-streaked gaze remained fixed on the insectoid creature's remains until James mercifully covered them.  Now his thousand-yard stare takes in everything but his fellow humans.

Atop the alien pod, Michael Dacovetti perches like a very technical raven, picking at the sparkly bangle of extraterrestrial technology - or perhaps plucking an eyeball from the corpse to read its last vision.  The ruptured pressure vessels and severed conduits have leaked all their fumes, and the coils and plates which formerly throbbed with impossible energies are cold and dark.  But the dead hulk has given up at least one secret.  Michael closes his hand tight around a warm thumb-sized spindle of dark jade, slipped from a delicate-looking filigree cradle inset in the diminutive operator's couch.  If he rotates his hand and opens his fingers, it will not fall until he gives it permission to obey gravity again.

Andrey Vasilyev drifts from the cab of the appropriated tractor-trailer and crosses to stand at Sébastien's elbow.  His phone and camera are heavy with missives from his own dead, petals of Tri Budi's network unfolded from the paper and electronics left by the shattered aliens.  There are names he recognizes amid the contact lists, men and women he can't touch - not on his own, at any rate.

The last two figures to disembark from the lead Blackhawk break away from the troops and head for Sébastien and his shadow.  Michael Bellamy leads, an HK417 held low.  His face is set and tired, and his plate carrier and Multicam utilities bear hastily-scrubbed bloodstains that are not his.  Behind him looms Ted Bannon, already lighting a cigarette to illuminate a death's-head grin.

Both men survey the tableau.  Bannon plumes smoke away into the night air and lazily addresses Sébastien.  "You appear to have kicked some ass out here, Padawan.  Sorry I missed the show."

Bellamy humphs.  "I'm sorry you and your team had to go this alone, Durand.  Fucking politics..."  His mouth works around an internal struggle between loyalty and exposition.

Bannon, outside observer, cuts the knot.  "There was one more Attar in Melbourne.  It was wearing the face of some dude in the mining regulatory commission who was 'advising' your buddies in ASIO."  His grin widens.  "Until he walked in front of a thermal camera..."

The prisoner turns to James, then, as two stern-faced SASR operators take him by the arms.  "They promised," he says in a pleading tone.  "Why did you kill them?  They promised.  All we had to do was trust them and they would draw your poison from the earth.  But we'll never have our world back now."  His gaze breaks away from James' eyes, tracking up to the stars.

FADE TO BLACK

MUSIC: The Dead Heart, Midnight Oil

CLOSING CREDITS:

Sébastien Durand	Dave Ross
CWO2 Hannah Omdahl	dcoda
TSgt. Michael Dacovetti	keys138
SA James Choi	Raellus
PO Cooper Williams	Spartan-117
Andrey Vasilyev	Apoapsis
Cpl. Caradoc Crewe	Tegyrius

This message was last edited by the GM at 02:34, Fri 08 Jan 2016.