"And they say chivalry is dead," Carissa nods as she passes Kabua.  Truth be told, she'd rather be on point anyway.  She feels better with the SAW behind her to cover any problems she find might herself in.

Saul nods at Sandoval before making his report back to Cao on the lack of reaction.  So far.  He pleased to know there are at least a few options for containing any of the opposition who try to break out, but he less pleased to know that he's standing on one of them.  Still, better to know now than to find out the hard way.

Just to be sure, he starts exchanging the buckshot rounds in his shotgun for slugs.  Hopefully if anyone comes their way, they'll have some distance to deal with it first.

Rios doesn't see any reason to stay put. On the contrary- if there's trouble ahead, she wants to be in position to pick up Guillory and Watkins.

"Yeah, let's go."

"Loba copies, Sexton. Bourbon Street will follow your lead." As Carswell climbs aboard, Rios radios Paddock to apprise her of the updated plan.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:27, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

The convoy rolls forward to the crossing, encountering no further resistance along the way. Guillory and Watkins shadow the vehicles on the right flank, clearing the rear of the garage. They arrive at the two Snek Boyz flushed by the .50 cal. One is shot in the head, the other is attempting to crawl west down Bush street, but struggling mightily on one wounded arm and one wounded leg. A thick trail of blood reveals he's only managed to move a few meters since Guillory knocked him down. He half grunts, half whimpers with each exertion. The hot pavement's got to be burning his exposed flesh.

Carissa walks point, Kabua a few steps behind her and to her left. Razorback's armored bulk covers their right flank. They reach the intersection of the 165 and Bush. Looking right, they see Guillory and Watkins checking on a couple of enemy casualties. Carissa pushes forward 10 meters, crossing the railroad tracks; Kabua's got her back. Behind the low railroad embankment to her right, Kabua's first target lies on his back, breathing his last. There's no sign of the runner.

The police net crackles to life, "Eagle Eye here. Looks like they're burning tires in the voodoo camp. Over."

"This is [Outpost] Mason. We see it too. Over."

"[Outpost] Dixon here. Same. Over."

Sandoval frowns. "That's not a good sign. They did the same thing when we tried to raid their camp. I think it's an alarm signal."


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 16:40, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

These gangbangers are starting to piss Lauren off. Maybe they think that they can use burning tires to intimidate the locals. Maybe they got away with that before. But there's a new gang in town now. The United States Air Force. And they're about to show these people who's in charge here.

"Mr Guillory!" She's got her window rolled down so that she can call over to Scott. "I'm taking Razorback up Bush Street to the railway tracks. We'll stand off at five hundred metres. Anyone shows themselves, we open up with the Ma Deuce. And we'll see what we can do about those tires. I'll leave you to get organized here." The gangbangers are about to be on the receiving end of some psyops. "Kabua, Noble, mount up. Anderson, we are guns hot. If you see movement in those railway carriages you are clear to shoot on sight. That's an order."

Once the dismounts are back aboard the vehicle, she'll roll her window back up, turn to Skillins. "OK, take us forward, but halt at five hundred metres. If it doesn't look safe we'll back up." She doesn't want to get too close, and will halt the advance if they look like they're going to be driving into territory where the gang bangers might be able to swarm out at them from hiding. "And someone prep the M79 with an HE round in case we need it." They'd probably be outside the blooper's optimum range, but there was no harm in being prepared.

Lauren
Front passenger seat, JLTV
Issuing orders / directing Skillins to advance to a point approx 500m south of the gang's base / directing Anderson to shoot anyone moving in the voodoo camp on sight
Ready to signal halt / withdrawal if the area around them looks unsafe (e.g. full of rail cars or buildings that people can hide in
This message was last edited by the player at 19:07, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

Scott nods acknowledgement to Cao, gives her a thumbs-up, and keeps his eyes on the wounded Snek in front of him.  "Roll over on your stomach," he advises dispassionately.  "Watkins, cover, please."  He slings his rifle, kicks the gangster's discarded firearm into the ditch, handcuffs the man, then roughly and intrusively pats him down before hauling him onto the grass.

"Loba, post up at the intersection, watch the far side of the tracks," he radios.  "Hold on medical until they're all stepped on or in cuffs.  Break.  202, bring it on in, keep eyes on the roof.  There's suspect times two up there, we'll need to bring them down eventually."  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Paddock and Leonard start rolling forward.

"Okay.  Once the locals get here to cover our backs, you and I are gonna go check the other side of the tracks," he tells Watkins.  Then, lower, so the Snek can't hear: "Hey.  Good job."

Scott
Bush Street at the tracks
Securing the scene, starting with G1 - handcuffs and searches for everyone still breathing
In God We Trust, all others show me your hands
Wilson Recon SR [31/30] - suppressed, 6x optic


This message was last edited by the player at 00:53, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

Carissa stares down Bush street for a few seconds, feeling a bit exposed, but still running on adrenaline.  A bit of pity leaks through her mind, or rather, something that says she should be feeling pity, but not quite managing when she see the Snek boy that Kabua dropped.  That, rather than the violence they've put forward gives her pause.  She takes a quick second to shake her head and put her focus back on the task at hand.  Namely, dealing with these Sneks that have put the hurt on so many of the refugees.

WWSD?  He'd do his job.  Then deal with the consequences when there's time.

Spinning in place, and wincing a bit at the pain the motion causes her leg, Carissa heads back to Razorback and mounts up.  She doesn't say anything to anyone about the injury, just tears open a dressing and binds the wound after giving it a quick once over.  It doesn't take long for the heat of the QuickClot the dressing is impregnated with to register and tell her that it's working its magic.  After that she pulls a quick magazine exchange slamming in a fresh.  The partially filled mag gets exchanged for one of the loaded extras inside Razorback.  That she'll refill later.

Carissa glances over at Kabua when she's done prepping for the next round of trouble. "The M79's not really my thing," she says, "although I can figure it out if I have to."

C. Noble
Inside Razorback, back passenger side seat
Trauma aid (self) and restocking

Saul glances out of the station to see a column of thick black smoke rising from the tire fire at the Voodoo camp. "Yeah," he mumbles, "Black Hawk Down."  The alarm signal was bound to go up.  In fact, the Sierra Team is basically counting on the opposition to coalesce into an fighting force they can deal with.

The retired cop heads back over to where Sandoval is standing and puts on his reassuring face.  "That's smoke just means the plan is working.  They were bound to react to the gunfire.  Our people are good at what they do."

"Do me a favor," Saul says to quietly to Xandra, "go out there and make sure Ace Hardware and the Game and Fish vehicle are both ready for a quick exit.  And that the fish-cop truck," he smiles at that one, "is actually working.  I don't want to get caught with our pants down on this one.  I'll cover you from the door and yell if we get reports of anything sideways," he tacks on in a stress relieving gesture.

"Yeah, same here. Anderson's the expert." Loud enough for Cao to hear, he says, "I could swap out on the .50 so he can use his grenade launcher."

-
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:03, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

"Thanks. You too," Chevelle answers as she thumbs two shells into the M870's tube magazine. She opts for slugs this time, given the range the next engagement is likely to be taking place at. At any rate, she hopes it won't be quite so up close and personal as the last."Ready," she reports.

-
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:03, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

"Loba copies. Be right there," Tori answers. Over her shoulder, she checks with Carswell, pointing at the garage, "You hear that? Keep an eye on that roof."

-
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 22:30, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

"I just want it loaded and a bandolier ready." Cao replies from the front seat. "We may not get close enough to use it at this point but if we do I'll use it myself. If you're not familiar with how to load it pass it forward, I'll do it myself."

The wounded Snek Boy screams in agony as Guillory tries to cuff him- the young man's right forearm is shattered. A quick pat down yields a disposable lighter and a half-smoke spliff. The only weapon nearby is a hatchet lying next to the dead Snek Boy. The cuffed perp passes out when Guillory pulls him by his unwounded arm to the grass at the side of the road. The Sierra's senior LEO wipes his bloody gloves on the back of the wounded gangbanger's dirty t-shirt and leads Watkins across the tracks towards a large steel building southwest of the garage. Bourbon Street moves up to where the wounded gang member lies passed out in the grass.

The MPD unit moves up to secure the garage. They find one suspect down in the bay, unconscious and bleeding to death, and secure a stolen MPD Mossberg 500 12-guage shotgun, a Glock 18 automatic pistol, and an unused Molotov cocktail.

Razorback rolls up Bush Street, pausing where it meets the tracks. From the HMG turret, Anderson reports, "We got civies on the left." Looking in that direction, the J-LTV's passengers see dozens of people in and around a long row of box cars. A few stand on the roofs, pointing and gawking. When Anderson swings the M2HB's long barrel in their direction, most of civies scatter or hide. A few look on defiantly, one older man waving his hands in an odd, subtly aggressive manner suggesting, perhaps, the delivery of a curse. Cao's first instinct is to charge ahead and end this now, but her growing grasp of ground combat tactics tells her it wouldn't be wise to advance, unsupported by dismounts, into a built-up area, leaving this large group of 'fugees unsecured in the rear. Prudently favoring caution over aggression, Cao orders Skillins to reverse about 325m to the last intersection. He complies- backing up slowly, as he has to rely entirely on mirrors to see where he's going.

In the McGehee Police station, Sandoval's radio blares, "Eagle Eye here. I see movement in the greenway, about 500 yards out. Five or six people moving this way. Over."  She explains, "There's a strip of trees from the trainyard to the gas company just northwest of here." She picks up the radio handset, "Copy that, Eagle Eye. I'm heading up the roof to take a look. When I get there, I want you to take a look in the direction of the FEMA camp. Over." Giving Saul and Murray a somewhat worried look, Sandoval asks, "Either of you care to join me?"


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 22:48, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

These gang bangers are getting under Lauren’s skin. Maybe it’s an anger management issue. The older man in particular had got to her, the one that had waved his arms at them. She’d been sorely tempted to return the gesture with her middle finger. But losing her cool in front of the troops would have been unprofessional. At least she hasn’t repeated the actions that she took against the Allianza in Carthage, pushed on too far. She’d seen the look on Skillins’ face when she’d turned to him, the driver clearly unsure whether she was going to tell him to keep going forward or pull back. He’d looked relieved when she’d ordered him to do the latter.

”All right, people,” The Air Force officer says, her tone attempting to sound calm. Attempting. It would be for each of them to judge whether it was or not. The firefight had likely left all of them with adrenaline pumping and she was no exception. ”We’ll hold here for now. Skillins, Sergeant Anderson, stay with the vehicle. Skillins, stand by to move in a hurry if I gve the word.” She’s heard the radio traffic, is aware that Saul’s team at the police station may need rapid reinforcement. ”Sergeant, I want eyes on our twelve o’clock. Anyone comes down that road, I want to know about it. If you see weapons guns are hot, regardless of whether they’re pointing at us or not. If you don’t see any weapons put a burst above their heads, see if they get the message.”

“Kabua, Noble, dismount and cover our flanks. Watch for anyone coming out of those trees. Same rules of engagement apply. Anyone coming through there with a weapon is hostile. I’m going to dismount as well. Under no circumstances does anyone move away from the vehicle. If we come under sustained attack we pile back in and Skillins gets us out of here. Everyone clear?”

If everyone is happy with their roles Lauren will open her armored door, step down onto the asphalt, her M4 held in her right hand while her left reaches for her personal radio. She’s also got the M79 slung over her left shoulder, a bandolier of eleven M381 HE 40mm grenades across her chest. The twelfth grenade is already in the blooper. ”Sexton from Falcon. Sitrep. We’re holding position approx five hundred metres north west of you –“ to be fair, this was stating the obvious ”- on the corner of Bush and –“ there’s a brief pause while she looks up at the still standing street sign ”- and Green. Be advised there are large numbers of civilians approx three hundred and fifty metres north of our position, on the left as you go into the railway yards. No weapons sighted.” Guillory would not need her to tell him that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. ”Any attempt to advance that way is going to take us within a hundred feet of them for an extended period. That’s danger close for IED’s. Over.”

"Absolutely, ma'am," Saul says to Sandoval's request.  "Just bear with me for a moment while I retrieve a piece of my daughter's hardware."  It's only fair.  Carissa gets his NVGs when she needs them.  He get's to borrow her grandfather's, his father's rifle.  The shotgun, as intimidating a weapon as it can be, would be less effective than throwing rocks at the range they're talking about.  The pending arrival of the enemy doesn't exactly catch him by surprise, but it's not something he's overjoyed with either.

Saul limps over to Ace Hardware and reaches in to remove the Remington M700.  He checks that the round holder on the stock is full then reaches in a grabs another box of shells that he puts into the butt-pouch of his LBV.  When he returns to Maya and Xandra he nods. "Lead on ladies.  I'm not exactly Jeremiah Johnson with this particular longarm, but I'll do in a pinch."  The older man's eyes track the ladder and he suppresses a wince.  "Let's go see what we can see."

Looking out the window at the refugee/potential hostile population causes Carissa's nerves to ratchet up another notch.  The feeling comes in an almost oppressive wave.  She's a country girl, used to space and people not living crammed up on top of each other.  Part of her education, and conversations with her father, had been to try and understand how conditions like this breed hopelessness and malcontents.  How gangs, or terrorist organizations, can form and exploit a hemmed in population with no options into becoming something altogether worse than run of the mill criminals.  It's with a stunning sense of relief that Carissa watches out the window as the rail cars recede a bit.  Less eyes on her maybe.

"Jackson," she says, "there's a bit of cover at our five o'clock, maybe ten yards."  And by covers, she means that in true redneck fashion there's an old mid 2000's Buick on bricks in the front yard of a house that has definitely seen better days.  "I'm gonna set up shop there to cover the right."  Because cars stop bullets, right Car?  Just like in the movies.  Well, it's either the car or the house and that's a conversation she's not really interested in having with the inhabitants.

She's out of the vehicle and walking confidently to the Buick before she can talk herself out of the action.  It's not like anybody dug foxholes for them in preparation of this fight.

C. Noble
covering Razorback's right flank, partial cover behind Buick.
M4A1 with SOPMOD package and reflex sight
30/30 6 mags remaining

"Sexton copies."  Scott glances over his shoulder at Paddock and Leonard; the latter gives him a shaky grin and a thumbs-up.  "We're securing prisoners and weapons for transport, over."

He lets go of the mic and focuses his full attention on the rail right-of-way.  The softball-sized ballast under his feet is treacherous on the slope up to the tracks.  He lets his rifle lead the way as he crests the rise, scanning forward and right, trusting Watkins to watch her sector to the left.

Scott
Crossing the tracks, ready to engage the ones that got away
Wilson Recon SR [31/30] - suppressed, 6x optic

The Silverado's a bit hesitant to start, so Xandra leaves the truck running once it finally coughs to life.  It may be a waste of fuel but it'll get the battery back in operating condition.  Ace Hardware, better-maintained and parked only a couple of hours ago, is much more compliant.

She slides out of the larger truck's cab in time to see Saul not quite hold in his displeasure at the prospect of the climb.  "Or you could let me do that," she tells him with a significant flick of one hand toward his knee.  Sotto vocce, as she slips past him: "I'm fairly sure you're too much of a gentleman to watch my ass while I climb."

”I’m getting out.” Carswell announces to Rios, reaching for the door handle and swinging his legs out, carbine in one hand as boots touch the asphalt and he looks around, sees one of their attackers lying cuffed in the grass, apparently unconscious.

”I’m going to check on that dude, Tori. Call it in.” He says to Loba, slinging his carbine over his shoulder and walking over to where the dude’s lying. Reaching him he stands, looks at him for a moment, a quick glance enough to reassure him that the perp doesn’t appear to be in a position to offer any resistance.

”All right, let’s see what we’ve got.” he mutters to himself, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before squatting down so that he can examine the casualty. That’s how he has to think of him now, as a casualty not a perp. And it’s hardly like he’s the first gang banger he’s treated. In a way it feels kind of crazy. You try your best to kill them and then you try your best to save them. Maybe that’s the difference. He’s got little doubt that if the roles were reversed the best that he could hope for was a quick end. Best to make sure that the roles aren’t reversed in that case.

”So you think you can’t be killed?” He’s still talking to himself as he starts his examination, his unconscious ‘casualty’ clearly in no condition to reply. ”Dude, you are clearly fucking batshit crazy. Everyone knows the only person that can live forever is Connor MacLeod.” Now there’s a movie that should never have had any sequels. Or TV spin offs.

Carswell
Dismounting / carrying out triage on wounded gangbanger that Guillory secured in Msg 84 (not 100% sure which one, map has G1 and G8 together
HK416 (30/30), slung over shoulder

”All copied. We’ll hold here and block anyone attempting to move in from northwest. Falcon Out.” Releasing her PTT switch Lauren takes a quick look round hoisting herself back into the JLTV, wedging herself in the still open doorway and letting her carbine rest in the gap between the vehicle and the fully open door, hoping that her slightly elevated position will give her greater visibility while the JLTV will still offer her some protection from small arms fire.

Once she’s got herself in to position she’ll watch the road ahead of them, her eyes hidden behind the polarized lenses of her ballistic sunglasses as she covers the arc from ten to two, trying to ignore the beads of sweat that she can feel trickling down her spine and forehead, the latter leaving trails in the streaks of camo paint that are on her face.

Lauren
Standing in open door of JLTV, front passenger side, observing forward
M4A1 (30/30) ready, M79 (1/1 HE) slung

"Well Mizz Murray," the way Saul drawls it out makes it clear that it's less a term of respect and one of affection, "I sure do appreciate that offer, but I think I'm gonna have to get myself up there anyway.  Lucky for you, my wife always said I looked amazing in a pair of Wranglers and guess what I'm wearing today."  He winks at Xandra before grasping the first rung of the ladder to start making his way up the the tower.

Razorback stays put at Bush and Green, nose pointing at the 2nd Wave Camp. Carissa Murray covers the right flank, Kabua the left. Cao, Anderson, and Skillins maintain eyes front. They see two children appear near where the road meets the rails. The kids easily spot the large J-LTV and begin gesturing in its direction, presumably to unseen actors.

Carswell examines the wounded Snek Boy (G1). The young man flips in and out of consciousness; in the former state all he can do is whimper and mutter unintelligibly. His right forearm is shattered. If he doesn't die of blood loss and/or shock (he's displaying most of the latter's symptoms), the arm will need to come off, probably above the elbow joint. The wound in his thigh is nearly as ugly. The 5.56mm round that produced the wound didn't strike the bone, but it tumbled through the casualty's hamstring, tearing out a fist sized chunk of muscle. The large would pours blood into the grass in a steady trickle.

Guillory and Watkins approach the large metallic building just south of the tracks. Cautiously, they circle around the west side, finding nothing. The large sliding doors are shut but not locked. How easy it would be for one person to move them is hard to determine by sight alone, but they look pretty heavy, and neither Guillory nor Watkins heard anything like a large metallic door opening and closing again. Looking down, Guillory notices fresh tracks in the pale dirt of the lot. They lead southeast to a house-like office building.

At the McGehee Police station, Murray, Saul, and Officer Sandoval take turns climbing an aluminum ladder to the roof. Sandoval pulls it up after them. They study the greenway to the southwest, but fail to spot any movement, despite Eagle Eye's emphatic pointing. Then, a lone figure breaks from the trees nearly due west of the station. The individual performs a crude dance for the watching audience, waving a machete over his head. Saul estimates the range from the station roof to the dancer to be about 500m.


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 04:16, Thu 24 Jan 2019.

"We may have company inbound soon." Lauren transmits the heads up over the net for everyone to hear as she watches the kids pointing. She's feeling a certain amount of powerlessness. The kids are in full view, may well be part of the gang and there's nothing that she can really do about. After all, regardless of her suspicions, she can hardly open fire on some kids just for pointing and gesticulating. So she's just got to stand there, let them get away with it. Not for the first time since leaving Little Rock she wishes that she was up against an enemy that wears a uniform, Russians, Chinese, even the Allianza.

Her finger lifting off the PTT, her next remarks are addressed only to those around her. "Everybody stay alert and if we do have to fire make sure you hit them hard." She hopes she sounds calm. Panic can be contagious, but so can calmness. She wants the troops to feel like she's got this, is in control of the situation. They're in control of the situation, not the gangbangers.

The beads of sweat running down her forehead are distracting. Her left hand strays from the foregrip of her carbine, a multicam clad sleeve wiping the sweat away before a gloved hand reaches for her binos, raises them to her eyes, her right hand still holding the trigger guard of her weapon as she turns the binos on the kids, looks at them, tries to pick out who they are gesturing to.

Lauren
Standing in open door of JLTV, front passenger side, observing forward with binos - concentrating on the area behind the kids, i.e. to try and see who they might be signalling to
M4A1 (30/30) ready, M79 (1/1 HE) slung

"Dude, you are seriously fucked up." Carswell says as he stands on the asphalt and looks down at the badly wounded gangbanger. The only response is an angry stare and some gurgling that causes more blood to trickle out of his mouth. The medic shrugs, continues to talk, his tone almost casual, conversational. "I guess you know by now that Madame whatsername lied to you, yeah? Course you do. You are dying little mother fucker." More gurgling.

"Don't worry though buddy. She's gonna be following you real soon." The stare gets even more intense. Carswell chuckles. "You trying to stare me out man?" The tip of a boot brushes against shattered forearm. The scream that follows is probably audible to Guillory and Watkins.

"Sorry dude, my bad." The medic draws his sidearm, squats down. "Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Madame Chloe. Don't sweat it man, she'll be keeping you company real soon. Not in the afterlife. You don't really believe that shit do ya? Hell that's fuckin' bull man. But when we dump your bodies in a field I'll make sure Chloe's right next to ya. Birds can peck her eyes out before they to you." More gurgling, a moan.

"Because you picked a fight with the wrong people shit for brains. Me and my buddies are the meanest motherfuckers in this State." The pistol's barrel presses lightly against the guy's forehead. Carswell holds it there for a moment, shakes his head. Memories of the kid with rabies are still raw. Way too raw. He'd made sure that kid wouldn't suffer when the time came. That was different. He lifts the pistol away, slips it back into its holster as he rises to his feet, grins. "Nah man, you don't get off that easy."

The paramedic then takes a step back, reaches for his radio. "Sexton from Doc. Nothing I can do for your perp man. He's too far gone. If you want to question him I'd do it now, but he ain't sayin' much. Over."

Saul watches the dancer taunting the police station and sighs.  500 meters is a helluva shot.  The tough guy is waving a machete over his head and clearly is trying to provoke some kind of response. Take the shot and miss, and he's emboldened, believing more and more into whatever invincibility bullshit Ms. Chloe has been pouring into his brain.  Take the shot and hit and there's one less dirtbag in the world.  Plus maybe his buddies take the hint.  Yeah, that never works.

Moving slowly Saul flips the covers off the M700's scope and places the weapon on the railing in front of him to act as a field-expedient biped.  He makes sure the dancer can see him move and he gets into position to take the shot.  He's not quite there yet.  The psychologist in him wants to see what the dancer will do when he knows he's being drawn down on.  Probably double down.

What the retired Marine wants to avoid more than anything is another falsely brave group deciding to join the building fray his daughter is soon to be engaged in.  And they are trying to bait their adversary into bad decisions.

"Is anybody going to think less of me if I dump this asshole?"  Saul asks while watching the cross-hairs move across the target's chest in time with his breathing.  He's only partly kidding.  It'd be nice to have someone remove the decision for him, but that's probably not going to happen.

Saul
M700 .30-06 w/Steiner T5Xi 5-25x56mm SCR Reticle Scope
6/6 45 rounds remaining
Aiming at machete man, watching for reaction.  Continued aggression will be met with an aimed shot.