Torv leveraged his drag-bag into the venerable Zodiac with arm trembling care, and set it down as gently as one would brush the thigh of a blushing virgin.

The capped muzzle of his M40 bolt gun protruded from the bag a bit, along with the stubs of the rifles bi-pod and a "whip" antenna. After burning through valuable rounds and precious time to get his dope mission ready, the very last thing be wanted to do was to knock his optic out of alignment before they had even hit the beach.

He was a little heavily built for a sniper, broad shoulders and narrow hips. Torv was young, but not especially handsome, possessing that sort of worn out "scowl" that so many other young men had developed over years of misery far from home. He was blond, but you might never know it his hair was cropped so short, and his eyes a vivid blue that stood out sharply from the carefully applied grease paint on his face.

He was wearing what used to be a pilots olive drab flight suit that was absolutely "slick" in the front, apart from the layers of cut up sea bags he had reenforced the knees and elbows with. He also had what might be called a "half ghillie", which really only covered his upper back, head and arms, but allowed him at least some respite from the muggy southern heat.

He was nervous of course, and it showed in his short, intense sighs and the way he checked his watch every thirty seconds. Some of his grease paint had also been smudged into the corner of his left eye and he worried at it carefully from time to time with the edge of his sleeve.

He was already sweating, even if it was not actually that warm. And it was probably a sure bet that his careful camo pattern would be an unrecognizable oily brown smear by sundown.

With his drag bag protectively between his legs, he offered to take the bag of the next man, and turned in his "seat" to receive it.

Andrew sat at the head of the boat studying the tops of the waves for any obstacles both man-made and natural as they approached the shoreline. He scanned the shore with his nvg's looking for anything out of the ordinary as well, lifting his HK to use its night vision optics should he see anything requiring a better and clearer look. He had changed out the barrel on the 21 for the shorter one, but he also had the standard barrel should it be needed for more long range work.

This was his "bag" after all, beach reconnaissance and clearing under enemy observation and fire, hopefully not the last one this time around. The key was speed once they were off the boat and on the sand they needed to cover the beach to the dunes at a sprint before half the team turned and checked the beach and the rest covered them inland. Once that was done the second half of the mission could begin and they would recon and clear the house, silently if possible.

If they could have been dropped off several hundred meters out from the surf line and swum in that would have been Andrew's choice, but it seemed speed was of the essence in this case. They also did not have the equipment for getting the topology ashore and inland, and hydrographic surveys for underwater obstacles and mines so they would have to rely on experience to gauge whether the beach is safe for the main landing.

Quickly Andrew checked his watch to make sure they were on schedule as he kept his eyes on the beach.....




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Pat sat on the port side of the zodiac one hand gripping the side to steady himself the other moving checking his gear subconsciously.  This wasn't the sort of insertion he had trained for but he had learned that in the military that just meant you hadn't trained for it yet.

The last time he had been in Florida it was with his wife and son, Jim would be nearly 6 now and last he had heard they were safe further north.  Hopefully he may get to see them soon.  He sighed at that thought and scratched at his chin and stare out at the shoreline.

Welcome home he thought.

Roger say quietly in the rear of the boat, opposite the sailor handling the craft, and his eyes were watching the shoreline behind them for anyone clever enough to let them pass before they opened fire.

Across his chest rested an M16A2 with an underslung M203PI and the vest he wore was loaded with the "Big Fat Bullets" that made the 40mm weapon so appreciated by friends and hated by foes. Below the grenade loops were mag pouches for the rifle's 30rd mags of 5.56 ammo. The pouches were abnormally large having been hand converted from canteen covers. On his back above the ruck rode the odd camcorder sized canvas case that he seemed to keep with him just about all the time.

He thought about the All-Star Team of operators that Higher had thrown together and added him to. They all seemed qualified and if anything got in the way of success it would be their lack of experience as a team which they were all equally afflicted with.

He spit over the side and said a quick, silent prayer, to St. Lafitte, the patron of swamp pirates, and then grinned at the joke.

The men of R66, along with the zodiac's steersman, hustled the craft across highway A1A. It would be a six minute intermission in their ingress. The wind had picked up noticeably since they had set out.

Footsteps approached as Sargeant Conn Jacobs of R305 trotted up. He paralleled their progress as he spoke, "latest update, that storm blowing out of the triangle just hit Cuba. It's been upgraded to a typhoon and should make landfall here around thirteen zero five. Commander Baker reports steadily accelerating winds all morning with rains coming in at zero seven twenty."

As if on queue wind driven droplets spattered the roadway for several seconds. They could feel the drop in temperature.

"The new high for today is now fifty-two. Luck with keeping warm and dry." Jacobs continued. "The landing is still a go, but the typhoon is rushing the time frame. We are still on track, but the landing is being rushed. Command is gonna pull our zodiacs to move assets inland. Once you take target point Zulu four dig in and knuckle up. Sailer, after the drop make your egress."

He nodded, breathing too hard to speak, the zodiac's steersman wasn't accustomed to carrying his boat.

"Good hunting." Jacobs said as he turned away from R66.

Torv strained along with the rest of them as the navigated the narrow strip of land. Exposed on the road, the edges of his ghille tugged in the breeze as he put one foot in front of the other in an effort to bring the boat back down slope into the water.

It seemed he was going to appreciate the extra layer the mess of jutte provided today.

"Thanks" he grunted to Jacobs, and although he could not see a thing, he glanced to the sky. "Gonna get wet..." he said to nobody in particular as he eased the zodiac down into the water with the others, and steadied it while the first of them climbed in.

Carrying the watercraft did not seem to discomfit Castle overmuch

"Hngh."

Roger only grunted at the news about the weather and offered a laconic, "Copy that.", when he heard their modified objective.

After a winter in Poland there was no cold weather that could happen in Florida that he would consider difficult.

Andrew lead the way with his MG at his shoulder as he cleared left and right as the others in the team moved their transport over the road. Once the reached the other side of the road he took a knee as he continued to cover them as they relaunched the inflatable.

He was the last one in once he had made sure they had made the crossing unobserved, or at least a probable crossing without eyes on them. "I think we made it across without alerting the locals." Once he had found his position in the boat he looked to see if he could see their destination or at least a geo feature close by.


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Pat groaned at the news of the incoming typhoon.  He shook his head glanced up at the heavens then shrugged and got on with the job at hand. Nothing he could do about the weather so let's kick on he thought to himself.

"At least that's some good news" he replied to Johnson while scanning his sector.

Petty Officer Nigel Riggs guided the zodiac along the shorelines of the Matanzas and into the Pellicer Creek estuary. The craft was often close enough to shore to run under overhanging limbs and foliage. The going was agonizingly slow that suddenly became worse after entering Pellicer Creek.

With the practice of weeks of training, the men of R66 eased paddles into the water and slowly paddled in unison. The little boat moved along at a walking pace, but made very little noise. So little in fact that the local cacophony of insects never ceased their incessant chirping. From the back of the boat, Riggs used an oar as a rudder and kept the boat mere feet from the shoreline.

Behind them, a peel of thunder broke less than a mile offshore and dark rain clouds began drifting across the coastline. Soon the light of the moon would completely lost. Heads turning like searching turrets, the men began to feel the stress.

Roger shipped his paddle and did a quick inventory of his spare batteries before flipping down his NVGs and then continuing to paddle. He handled the stubby paddle with long practiced ease having spent hours if not days in canoes and kayaks long before he joined the army.

Having moved to the centre of the boat early on to cover those paddling, Andrew stayed still and silent as he scanned the terrain flowing past them for threats. The eerie green glow of his NVG's illuminated their surroundings causing various distortions, but being much better then unaided vision.

The weather may play into their hands should the squall of rain and thunder cover their approach and attack. Either way they were probably going to get wet.


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This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 04:11, Sun 03 Nov 2019.

Torv continued to paddle slowly in the darkness. He was not navigating, so he just focused on his timing and what little he could see via the ambient light as his eyes continued to adjust.

After thirty minutes of rowing what would have taken five minutes by boat, R66 arrived at its primary insertion point just as dark clouds blocked out the moon. A peel of thunder from just offshore heralded the rain to come.

"I'm here until you signal all clear." Riggs said. "I'll be oriented seaward. If it goes south just call and I'll come pick you guys up. Good hunting."

The area was dense with low foliage after years unchecked growth. Clusters of magnolia trees covered in Spanish moss gave the preserve a Lovecraftian feel of insidious shadows. A quick map check verified their location, it was two hundred and seventy yards to the target.

This insertion was comprised of several "firsts" for Torv. First time with this team, first combat action in the states, and the first insertion to within rifle shot of the enemy. It was difficult for him to shake off the feeling of how easily they could have been spotted, a bunch of heat signatures out there on the flat cold black of the sea, but he quashed it and tried to focus on the task at hand.

He stepped out into the ankle deep water as quietly as he could manage, his drag bag high on his shoulder. He thought about tick, and snakes, and he moved up into the vegetation and dropped into a crouch. He waited for the little team to unload, then lit up his map with the red filter under the cover of his ghille hood.

"I'll see if I can get eyes on then? Let you know what we've got, and then hopefully give them something to think about before you assault." It was a question. They had made the rough plan before leaving, but he wanted to confirm that everybody was still on the same page before he peeled off.

"Find a place to provide over-watch of the target and then radio in a SITREP with as much information of the target building as possible. We will wait for the all clear from you before continuing forward."

Andrew did a quick check of his gear once he had exited the boat as they waited for the radio call.

OOC: I am not clear on everyone's roles so this is for the scout/sniper. Also not telling people how to do the job just that we need info before we can move.


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OOC:your intent is understood, thanks for being upfront.

Crawling forward carefully, Torv could feel the drop in barometric pressure. The rain was going be here sooner than later. The winds were already gusting up to twenty miles per hour. At least any shot he took would be a short on.

Johnson trailed his fingers over his loadout and took a mental inventory and realized that he had forgotten the cigars he won in that poker game in Cuba. Well, they would be with rest of his gear. Thinking back over the areal photos of the target he recalled that flatbed truck used by these Poles sported a set of whip antena.

A second radio perhaps, or was it their primary?

Castle knelt in the shelter of the undergrowth and opened the laces on his ubiquitous canvas "camcorder case". He quietly withdrew the compact FN-P90 PDW followed by it's short fat suppressor and attached the two object by feel. Something he had done many many times before.

"We're holding our position after we take them out so we do this as quietly as possible and with as little damage to the location as possible."

Pat ran his hand along his MP5-SD and checked the magazine was securly in place.  He knew it was but it had become a combat ritual after an early firefight where he had fumbled a reload and dropped his magazine.  He was nervous about the incoming Typhoon plus the stress of combat operations and started to take deep slow breathes to calm himself.

Torv found a 'hole' in the tree line where he could observe the enemy position past several copse of trees and foliage that offered him great concealment and would help mask any shots. The target location was a house turned local museum and park HQ. There was a large parking area some fifty or meters behind the house and several roads into the lot. A single road ran from the west and headed to the house itself. Trees partially obscured sections of the house, but in truth that would hinder anyone inside more than anyone attacking.

Scanning the structure it was intact, dark, and cold. It was evident that no one was using it as a barracks of sorts. Checking the grounds Torv soon discovered why. The truck that the Poles had commandeered was about twenty meters from the water under the shadow of some tall magnolias. A large trap had been suspended over the vehicle's flatbed. A hint of light escaped on edge.

A single man was walking along the low retaining wall at the water's edge. Torv noted that on the house side the wall came up to the man's shins. But, on the creek side it was a three foot drop to the muddy creek bank. The retaining wall stretched along the entire front of the tourist area. There were even two of those coin operated telescopes.

In the foliage, off to the right from where he was observing from, Torv could make out what appeared to be a box truck or a cargo van under a tarp tucked back into the trees. Double checking the range through the mil dot reticle of his scope, he came up with two hundred and twenty meters. A chip shot. He adjusted his scope according to the dope sheet on the stock.

OOC: You do not have to repeat this verbatim, just give them a decent idea of what you discovered.

Torv crept over and  gently settled into his hide, where he felt fairly good about his positioning. A familiar ritual was enacted, his M40 rifle sliding from his drag bag, the bipod pulled into the open position, the protective caps on his optic flipped up., and his dope book laid out within easy glancing distance.

The set up was about as simple as a real field op could get, but he diligently dialed in his dope and quickly sketched out his target. The trees began little circles, the trucks little boxes with wheels, and he noted the cardinal directions.

When he felt satisfied, he keyed up his radio, resorting to plain speak with the new team, and out of the luxury of there being practically no traffic on the air.

"Johnson, Torv" he waited for the reply. "Structure's dark, have one sentry on patrol, two vehicles. Looks like they're all buttoned up for the weather." he kept his eyes on as he spoke in his whisper, the coil mic cradled close to his mouth in his off hand.

"So then our target is the flatbed."

"We move along the creek bank until we get into cover at the base of the retaining wall. Once there, Andrew, you and Pat hold up and I'll move along the wall until I'm close enough to take the sentry off quietly."

"Torv can signal me when I'm right under him."

"Once he's done you set up the 21 on the wall and Pat and I move to the flatbed and take out the guys there."

"All goes well we do this without firing any 7.62 and letting everyone in the area code know we're here."

"All does not go well then the two of you open up and take off anyone outside our kill box."

"Once that's completed we sweep the area to make sure there aren't any bandits here that we aren't aware of."

"We'll need to keep and eye on the house and the concealed truck in case there are any surprise guests."

"That cargo van is a concern, as is why they are not using the house... or at least appear not to be. I also think we have to few boots on the ground to cover everything so perhaps we need to do this as a group, rush forward clear the sentry, flatbed and then move to the cargo van while the sniper covers us ?"

"Also should we move through the trees and try to get behind the house to use it a cover before the final push forward ?"


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This message was last edited by the player at 01:06, Wed 06 Nov 2019.

"Either the two of us can handle what's in the truck or we're going to need your machinegun. If we need your machinegun it will be better if it's set up in a ready position than firing on the move."

"Because of exactly what you're saying the waterside approach is better."

"We definitely clear as a team, including checking the box truck, with Torv on overwatch after."

The first clouds begin to block out the moonlight as they pas before the moon. The temperature drops as the winds pick up along the creek. The scents of salt and rain are carried on the winds. Overhead a crack of thunder momentarily drowns out the wind.

The distant sentry takes two rapid steps towards the seawall and thrusts out a hand. R66 watched in the eerie green luminescence of their night vision gear as a pale cone of an infrared spotlight shoots out from the sentries extended hand to illuminate a circle of water.

A log, easily mistaken for a swimming man in size and shape, its drifting along the rippling surface of the creek. After several seconds the infrared spotlight shuts off and the sentry takes several strides back along the path he was on. Adjusting his poncho to re-cover the spotlight, the man seems very wary.