"Agreed." Lauren nods. "They get an opportunity to surrender if that doesn't put us in danger. If they come at us waving M4's and molotov cocktails We shoot first." It's clear from her tone that this isn't a negotiation. "Maybe once they see a dozen of their buddies go down it will temper their zeal a little. Although from what I'm hearing I doubt it." A stray thought crosses her mind. "We should probably be particularly wary at sundown. They'll have the Sun at their backs if they want to come at us."

Hearing Guillory's suggestion, the Air Force Captain then walks over to the whiteboard so that she can study it more closely. "Yep, we should probably take a closer look at them. We could use the drone but they might see it, realize that something is brewing." After all, Seeger's troops had seen it. At night.

"It looks like we should be able to get eyes on the railroad from this outpost here." a finger points at the post office. "If it's got some height we might be able to set up a firebase to cover the northern half of the DMZ. We can set up the SAW, one of our grenade launchers, maybe a designated marksman to  deal with anyone trying to cross it."

She pauses, looks at the map again. "If we can set up another fireteam at the southern end of the railway yard they can deal with anyone trying to cross the tracks and cut off any attempts by the roadblock and the railway yards to support each other."

Strands of a plan are starting to come together in her head but it's still far from fully formed.  It's also aggressive. Maybe too aggressive for an urban area. "We could deal with the roadblock today. Before it gets dark. Recce it. Then hit it." She nods in Saul's direction. "Give them the punch in the face that Mr Noble mentioned. The JLTV comes down the 165 and we take it out with the fifty cal and forty mike mike. Maybe some of the local PD or auxiliaries can back us up," Perhaps seeing the roadblock chewed up by heavy machine gun fire and forty mm grenades might boost their morale. Lauren can't help but smile as a thought crosses her mind. "I'll back Ma Deuce over Madame Chloe any day of the week."

She looks over at Paddock. "There would be a risk if you have people in this area here though." She uses her finger to draw a circle in the air over the area just south of the roadblock. "I can't guarantee there wouldn't be stray rounds. Is it residential?"

Paddock shifts to the satellite image, uses her index finger to illustrate the ensuing description of the area surrounding the intersection of the 65 and the railroad tacks, "It's mostly shuttered businesses right around the crossing. There are houses here to the northwest, about 150 yards away. There're more houses on the south side, but they're about a quarter-mile back, and these grain elevators at the southeast corner of the intersection should screen the residential neighborhood behind them." She then adds some details about the roadblock itself, "It's usually just four or five gangbangers, hanging out around this garage at the end of Bush street. They like to posture a lot, but they'll let our cruisers through, and all the locals know by now to avoid that area."

"I guess the big question here is do we chip away, or go straight for the jugular? Hitting their outposts will weaken 'em, for sure, but it'll also tip 'em off that things are about to change, get 'em up on their toes. Then again, if they saw y'all roll into town, they're probably already on their toes."

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This message was last edited by the GM at 19:13, Wed 02 Jan 2019.

"We can assume they have informants," Scott remarks.  "Not casting aspersions on your citizens.  These assholes have ways of getting leverage.  So they already know we're here."

He shifts his weight on the desk.  "We also can assume we won't get anything useful out of an interrogation if we take a few of them into custody first.  They're going to be thoroughly brainwashed.  So there's no intelligence value in taking down the roadblock first.  The tactical question is whether it's worth removing ten percent of their Snek strength and their obvious surveillance post.  If we do that, they'll want to respond immediately to maintain face and prove they aren't intimidated by The Man, so we can assume there'll be a counterattack of some sort after dark."

"We could just drive the fuck out.  Come back in a day or two to hit them in broad daylight.  Anyone who'd say we arrived would also say we left.  Times are tough, we've got other places to be, and the State Government doesn't give a shit about this kind of crap.  Move out, leave the status quo in place and play to their expectations that Madam Chole's Voodoo means even the Arkansas State Militia wouldn't dare tangle with them,"  Cole said with a shrug.  "I mean, how do you say 'all warfare is deception' in Haitian Creole?"

Lauren shrugs. "I've got no problems with taking the JLTV down the road right now and lighting up that roadblock. If they come at us afterwards we'll deal with them accordingly."

"'Tout lagè se manti,' more or less," Scott tells Cole.  "You'll also want 'Drop zam ou epi mete men ou sou tèt ou.'"

He turns to Cao.  "Captain.  A word, please?"

When he and the Air Force officer are away from the others, he turns and runs a hand through his hair.  "Captain.  Lauren.  This is not a lecture."  He holds up a hand as he searches for words.  "Call it a lessons-learned, okay?  Look.  I meant what I said about flamethrowers.  New Orleans?  I was getting Steve's older daughter back for him.  She was at Tulane when everything went to hell.  I went down with a couple of state troopers from his detail and a few more retired road cops who volunteered to tag along.  We ran into those fuckers'," he stabs a finger toward the railroad tracks, "close cousins.  The shit they do... look, just believe me when I say I'm on board with whatever level of force you want to apply here, so long as it's excessive.  You want to roll in on that roadblock, I'll pull the trigger and sleep well tonight."

He smooths his hair again.  "So, be aware, my impartiality is somewhat fucking compromised here.  But also be aware that their kind of crazy is a force multiplier.  Underestimating them is a terminal error."

Saul starts collecting his bits and pieces in order to head out to brief the rest of the team.   He stares at his helmet for a couple seconds, hesitating, especially given his earlier call for violence.    Finally, he clears his throat.  "For what it's worth, I have three words I want everyone to keep in mind and those are Black Hawk Down.  I've been around long enough to remember that particular cluster-fuck."  True, he was like thirteen when it went down, way more concerned with Jamie Leegan then he was with Farrah-Aidid, but still...  The whole situation had played heavily into his early years into the Marine Corp and colored operation in Southwest Asia for decades.

"Numbers and khat versus training and firepower.  Hostile territory. I'm not saying we don't engage.  I'm saying we go in with our eyes wide open.  And with enough gear to sustain our teams for a protracted engagement.  Hopefully we don't need it.  I'm not expecting 5,000 bad guys."  Because, frankly, that would be impossible. "But we need to seize the momentum and not let up once we engage.  And bring lots of water, because it is hot as hell out there."   We is a stretch.  Saul has no illusions that he'll be going out there.  He'll be coordinating with the local cops.  It's Carissa that will bear the brunt of the decisions made here.

The Sierra brain-trust settles on an immediate, aggressive approach, a hit-and-run raid targeting a known D.S.B. outpost.

Paddock acquiesces. Her demeanor changes, quickly and markedly. Moments earlier she'd seemed bone tired; now, she fairly vibrates with nervous energy. It's like she's about to have a persistent, painful boil lanced- relieved, excited, and scared, all at the same time. She's strapped in, the roller coaster already pulling away from the gate- there's no turning back now. Momentum won't allow it.

Cao and Guillory brief the rest of the Sierra team in the parking lot. The unarmored and encumbered Ace Hardware will remain behind at the police station*. Razorback with take point, with Bourbon Street rolling slack; an MPD patrol vehicle (Paddock and officer Leonard) will act as tail-end-Charlie. The three vehicles maintain 30m intervals in the line-ahead formation.

Paddock uses a series of pre-arranged code words to put the all MPD assets on full alert and call reinforcements to the two permanent police auxiliary outposts. She doesn't elaborate, on the off chance that the D.S.B.'s captured police radios are still functional.

At just after 1400 hours, the attack force rolls out, moving south at speed along the traffic-free 165. They pass several restaurants, motels, and garages, about half still operating in some capacity, the other half repurposed or boarded up. During the first third of their journey, the Sierras catch glimpses of Lil' Easy, the former-FEMA refugee camp houses most the First Wave, on the east side of the road.

The D.S.B. "roadblock" comes into view about 400m ahead, about 180m past a shuttered Chevrolet-GMC dealership. On the south side of the road (left, from the Sierras' POV), grain elevators/silos look down on the railroad crossing like impatient, oversized spectators.

Cao and Anderson spot the first Snek Boy. Standing in the middle of the road near the railroad crossing waving a pistol above his head, he's hard to miss. Anderson spots a second crouching atop the roof of the building at the northwest corner of the intersection. A third is standing in the shadowed interior of the garage bay (the door is open). These two are clutching long arms; at the moment, neither are pointed at the approaching convoy.

Guillory (presumably in the passenger seat of the Seirra Tahoe) catches a glimpse of movement behind a fuel truck in the dirt lot just north of the garage building, on the west side of 165.

The convoy is currently 100m from the "roadblock", closing fast.

Updated Tac-map:
https://drive.google.com/open?...ZAW3&usp=sharing


Your Move.

*Paddock's acting second in command, a former MPD dispatcher, will remain at the police station to monitor and coordinate on the police net. The lookout on the water tower, an auxiliary, will remain in place. Although you can cram the entire Sierra team into Razorback and Bourbon Street, you may leave any PC and/or NPC that you wish behind to guard the M1078A1/Police Station- just let me know who.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:31, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

"Razor from Bourbon, giving them the ceremonial warning," Scott advises over the team's private (and encrypted) channel.  He glances at Rios in the driver's seat beside him and adds, "just to get it out of the way."

He grabs the other, less-used hand mic, the one connected to the Suburban's PA, and keys the mic as his other hand switches on the strobes.  "Arkansas State Guard.  You are under arrest.  Drop your weapons and raise your hands or kneel before Baron Kriminel.  Your choice, boys."

He hangs up the mic and pulls the charging handle on the suppressed AR sitting between his knees in the SUV's footwell.

The foreshortened doppler effect of the broadcast warning spurs the Snek Boy in the road to action. He runs east, squeezing off a series of un-aimed shots in the general direction of the approaching convoy. The rounds don't go anywhere near the vehicles. The gangbangers at the garage both assume a more traditional firing stance, but neither one appears to open fire. Yet.

The convoy is now 15m closer to the roadblock.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 23:46, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

Oh boy, here we go, Carissa thinks from her seat in Razorback as the first gunshots of the fight ring out.  She's practically vibrating with something between excitement and fear.  It's a familiar sensation in that she's been tested in danger before, but it's new in that this is the first big fight she's been in.  Different even than the sniping at the pig farm.  This isn't premeditated so much as walking across the school yard and punching the bully square in the nose in front of all his friends.  This here, this is designed to provoke.

Watch the roof tops, girl, Saul had told her.  Look for cover.  You're going to be overwhelmed with input.  Let it wash over you.  You know how to do that.  I've seen you do it before.  The only difference between rodeo and a gunfight is that this horse can reach across space to buck you off and it's going to last a lot longer than eight seconds.  Those, of course, are some mighty big differences.  It was obvious that Saul was trying everything he could to hold it together, doling out advice to his youngest as he sent her on her way into danger.  Trying to be supportive and not overbearing.  The final hug and "I love you," made it clear how much he was worried.  That the consequences here were real in a bad way.

"I've got the garage," Carissa says inside the vehicle.  Her nerves steady with a deep breath, ready.  "Say when."  Her rifle is in her against her leg, barrel pointing down at the floorboard.  Without knowing it, she echoes Scott's motion, sliding the charging handle up and back.

Lauren can feel her heartbeat increasing as the road block grows larger ahead of them and Guillory's warning goes unheeded. Her private conversation with the Governor's right hand man is still fresh in her mind. As is what Saul had said to all of them. Black Hawk Down. Not on my fucking watch. There is no way that one of her airmen - or anyone else for that matter - is getting dragged through the streets then set on fire. No fucking way. Guillory was about to get the excessive force that he had asked for.

Targets are called out. The speed that they're going she only has seconds to react. " Skillins! Pull up!" Lauren's tempted to drive straight at the roadblock but she's mindful of the fact that the gangbangers are reported to have molotov cocktails. So better to stand back, minimize the risk to themselves and use their heavy machine gun to good effect. She puts her gloved hand against the dash to brace herself for the anticipated deceleration. "Sergeant Anderson! Target, one o'clock. Clear that roof! Ms Noble, take your shot! Keep firing until they stop moving!  They've had their chance!"

"Skillins, call out if you see anyone coming at us. No one gets within fifty yards of this vehicle!" The Air Force Captain then does the same herself, her head in constant motion from left to right as she tries to scan the area ahead of them, watching for both threats and targets, which are effectively one and the same thing. If she and Skillins spot them Anderson and Ms Noble can kill them.

Lauren
JLTV, front passenger seat
Voice comms / observing
This message was last edited by the player at 23:17, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

Scott switches back to his personal radio's lapel mic with the hand not steadying his rifle.  "202, watch that fuel truck at our four o'clock," he warns Paddock on the local cops' channel.  He braces a boot against the floor as Rios herringbones right, into the defunct oil company's gravel lot.  Behind the Suburban, he catches a glimpse of the locals' smaller marked SUV mirroring the maneuver, veering left into the paved lot of the thoroughly-looted self-storage business.

The maneuver keeps the fuel truck, and whoever or whatever is behind it, on his side of Bourbon Street, so he moves his off-hand to the door and prepares to bail out and move on that position as soon as Rios comes down to a speed that won't snap his ankles.  The steady fire from Anderson's heavy weapon assures him that there won't be much left to the south that's capable of threatening his six.

Scott
Bourbon Street, front passenger seat
Comms, preparing to assault whoever's behind the fuel truck
Wilson Recon SR [30/30] - suppressed, 6x optic
This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"You got it, boss-lady," Skillins drawls, firmly but smoothly stepping on the brakes. At the moment, all of his attention is focused on successfully completing the straightforward but not-as-easy-at-it-sounds maneuver; once Razorback has safely stopped, he'll devote his full attention to scanning for threats.

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This message was last edited by the player at 01:33, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

Chevelle follows Guillory's lead, exiting the rear passenger side door a split second behind the senior lawman. Her M870 MCS is up, swinging towards the fuel truck...

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"Copy. Guns hot," Anderson replies over the vehicle intercom system. He's already tracking the rooftop target with the M2. As the J-LTV slows, his index fingers remove any remaining slack from the butterfly triggers. When Razorback stops rocking, post-stop, he recenters the target in his sights and squeezes, sending a stream of .50 rounds downrange.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 16:36, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Yeah buddy," Carissa says.  "Kabua you got your side?" Her door to Razorback is opening before the vehicle comes to a complete stop.  The "windows" in the back of the armored vehicle don't amount to much, leaving her with one option.  She's out and using the vehicle as cover as the .50 cal booms overhead.  She doesn't flinch.  It's a shooting drill, trained into her muscles over nine years of shooting classes and her father, rifle tucked into her shoulder.  The target, not the human is up in the reflex sight as she moves towards the garage.  She pulls the trigger.

Rawhide
Engaging target at garage from the cover of Razorback
M4A1 with SOPMOD package and reflex sight
30/30 6 mags remaining

"Yeah," Kabua answers. Outside of a kitchen, he's a man of relatively few words. When Razorback pulls to a halt, he opens the rear, driver-side door and hops out, taking a knee and covering the vehicle's currently unengaged side with his M4.

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This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

In the span of about 5 seconds, J-LTV slows, then comes to a complete stop, rocking briefly on its well-tuned suspension. As soon as the weapons platform is stationary, the M2 hammers out a quintet of rounds, effectively disintegrating about a two-foot length of the raised lip of the flat garage roof, and eviscerating the man kneeling behind it. Threat neutralized. (M2HB -5 rounds .50 caliber)

By this time, Carissa is out, reflex sight hovering over the gangster standing in the open garage bay. She squeezes off a trio of rapid shots. Two puffs of concrete dust erupt from the recessed lintel, signaling near misses. A spray of red shoots out of the target's left thigh, and he falls to the floor with only his legs visible from the street. (Carissa -3 rounds 5.56mm)

From the front passenger seat, Cao sees a figure appear at the southeast corner of the garage. She's not sure, at the moment, but her first impression is that it's the same man who'd been standing in the road a few seconds earlier. He raises what looks to be a semi-automatic pistol at the J-LTV and squeezes the trigger, producing a burst of fully automatic fire. Three or four rounds PING off of Razorback's armored hide. Carissa hears a ricochet buzz by her head.

Guillory and Watkins rapidly debouch from Bourbon Street, pivoting to face the potential threat behind the derelict fuel truck in the garage's large dirt lot. They're looking along the truck's interior flank now, the angle revealing two men in loose single-file. The lead man advances towards the nose of the fuel truck, as he does so raising a stubby submachinegun towards the Sierra LEOs. As the man opens fire, Guillory fixes him in his scope, squeezing the trigger as soon as the crosshairs encounter center mass. With the third shot, the oversized image of the wild-eyed gang banger drops from his sight picture. The man following behind the wounded man thinks better of continuing the advance and lunges suddenly to his right (Scott's left), taking cover behind a shed-like structure. (Scott -3 rounds 5.56mm)

Chevelle follows up Guillory's trio of suppressed shots with a loud blast of buckshot, but succeeds only in blasting a bit of paint off of the fuel truck's passenger-side door. (Watkins -1 round OO buck)

The MPD SUV noses hard into a business lot on the east side of the 165. Paddock and Leonard dismount and do their best to cover the convoy's left (east) flank, without exposing themselves to incoming fire from the right (west).

Tactical summary
G2 (rooftop) is KIA
G3 (interior garage bay) is WIA (left leg) and in 3/4 cover with his legs exposed
G1 is at SE corner of garage, shooting (full-auto) in the direction of Razorback
G4 is WIA (left arm) is scrambling for cover behind shed-like structure SW of fuel truck
G5 is in full cover behind same shed-like structure


Your Move.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 02:59, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Target, south east corner of garage, at one o'clock!" Cao calls out to Anderson, directing his fire on to the shooter that is spewing rounds towards them.  "Take it out!" She's aware of more gunfire behind them. They can deal with that after they've finished off whatever's in front of them. If Guillory's people don't take care of them first.

The Air Force Captain swivels round in her seat, aware that the incoming rounds must have been close to where Carissa had dismounted. "Noble, are you OK?" The Ms is dropped in the interests of expediency. Besides, it's fairly obvious which Noble she's addressing.

Lauren
JLTV, front passenger seat
Directing fire towards G1 / checking in on Carissa
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:51, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Yeah, still here, boss," Carissa returns to Cao.  There's a bit of a hitch in her voice.  That ricochet had been a little too close for comfort.  You can do everything right and still get killed.  One bad bounce and a bullet goes right around cover and brains you.

The shots she delivered weren't amazing.  One out of three might be a career in baseball, but it wasn't going to do much here.  She sweeps the area once, looking for more targets.  "If you can shut down the guy shooting at me, I might be able to get around the backside of the guys shooting at Guillory," she yells into vehicle cab at Cao.  For now, though, she draws up a line on the legs she can see and takes a few more shots, trying to make sure they don't get any nasty surprises.

Rawhide
Engaging G3 from the cover of Razorback
M4A1 with SOPMOD package and reflex sight
27/30 6 mags remaining

"Circle right!" Scott yells over his shoulder to Watkins.  He moves up toward the gap between the shed and the fuel truck, keeping a steady rhythm of somewhat-aimed fire heading into the sheetmetal structure.  He doesn't have any expectation that the 5.56mm rounds will find the gangstas through two layers of galvanized aluminum, and the muzzle blast is somewhat attenuated by the suppressor.  On the other hand, he doesn't need to deafen them, and they're unlikely to miss the fact that he's shooting at them.  He just needs to keep their heads down until he or Watkins is in a position to put aimed fire on them again.

Scott
Gresham Petroleum parking lot, between Bourbon Street and the shed
Advancing (forward and left) and keeping suppressive fire on the shed
Wilson Recon SR [27/30] - suppressed, 6x optic

Carswell is out of the vehicle slightly after the others, held up for a second or so by the rear driver's side passenger door not opening properly the first time he tries the handle, causing the paramedic to utter a curse as he does finally manage to step down on to the asphalt.

All of the activity appears to be happening on the other side of the vehicles, leaving the paramedic with no immediate targets in view, so ge goes down to one knee on the road next to Bourbon Street, brings his carbine up to his shoulder and swings the barrel from right to left, his eyes tracking its movements as he covers the left hand side against any potential attackers. It's way past calling out a warning, so if he spots anyone with a weapon he'll open up whether they're pointing that weapon at him or not.

Carswell
Debussing, left hand side of Bourbon Street
Covering area between nine o'clock and twelve o'clock (twelve being the southern end of the roadway)
Firing on any armed suspect with 3 x 3 rnd single shots. Repeating as needed.
No warnings. No firing on unarmed suspects. Yet.
HK416 (30/30)
This message was last edited by the player at 22:50, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Moving right!" Chevelle responds, starting to side shuffle in the indicated direction. Her Remington is still pointed at the gap between the fuel truck and the shed. As soon as the bulk of the vehicle is between her the gangbangers, she lowers the muzzle of her shotgun and breaks into a run, glancing in the direction of the enemy position every couple of seconds. Chevelle's never been this nervous in her entire life. She has about 100 feet to cross before she gets around the rear of the truck.

Cleveland
w/ Guillory (SUV dismount)
M870 (7/8)
Circling right to flank the two DSB behind shed

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This message was last edited by the player at 16:26, Sun 13 Jan 2019.

"On it." Anderson replies calmly, swiveling the M2HB left and down. He sees an arm extending out from the southeast corner of the building, a pistol with an unusually long magazine gripped firmly at its terminus. Target acquired. Engaging.

Anderson
Razorback HMG turret
M2HB (95/100)
Firing 5 round burst at G1

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