Pat looked back towards Torv's last position with a sinking feeling in his stomach and waited for a report hopefully.

There was a clicking on the tram's frequency. Unnoticed at first. Then, three short breaks on the mic, then three long breaks, then three shorts breaks again. Moments passed.

Break, Break, Break; Long Break, Long Break, Long Break; Break, Break, Break.

Universal Morse code for SOS. Hearts sank, but spirits lightened; Torv was at least still alive.

"I'll get Torv. You guys keep the sniper from shooting me?"

Andrew gave a nod as he changed out the barrel on the HK for the longer one. He stetted in then to watch as his team mate then made the perilous journey towards their own sniper.

Watching for movement and anything else that would give the enemy position away Andrew readied himself to fire on the lone enemy should he spot something.


Andrew Johnson rolled 17 using 1d100.  RECON.



-

Pat moved slightly hoping for a better view of the sniper, he only had the SMG with him so wasn't going to be able to do much at this range.  Hopefully he could spot the Pole and point him out before he got shot again.

A sound began building in the background of the storm. High pitched and rhythmic, it was the approach of helicopters. Two, by the sound, and with the high blade pitch of Sea Cobras. The snakes were coming through their ingress lane, low and fast, and were maybe a minute out.

Castle was moving through towards their initial landing zone and Torv's covering position when an outgoing shot cracked through the darkness from somewhere about where Torv should be. He had managed a return package for the Polish sniper.

A second later there was a faint scream. Package delivered.

Patric and Andrew searched the bombed-out and smoke cluttered woods for signs of the sniper when a shot rang out from Torv's position. A scream a moment later sent several Poles into frantic motion near the seawall about a hundred yards away. They could make three men as the scrambled for cover in a thicket of mulberry and honeysuckle. Pale orange-yellow and bright red, might as well been a Christmas light with the stroking lightening.

Castle kept his head low and moved as quickly as possible toward Torv's nest. Getting off a shot didn't mean he wasn't hurt.

12:22, Today: Roger A Castle rolled 63 using 1d100.  Recon . Success.

With a flick of his wrist Andrew began to lay down fire on the cover the men where trying to egress through. Several bursts went into the group as Andrew yelled that someone needed to give the Cobras a target using his tracers as a marker.

Andrew leads in his fire looking to take down the lead runner and then work his way back.

Behind Sea Wall
Sergeant Johnson
Scout team
HK21E (42/100 belt box)
Firing on Poles moving to cover.


Andrew Johnson rolled 41 using 1d100.  Burst 3.
Andrew Johnson rolled 44 using 1d100.  Burst 3.
Andrew Johnson rolled 12 using 1d100.  Burst 2.
Andrew Johnson rolled 98 using 1d100.  Burst 1.
Three hits ?

This message was last edited by the player at 01:08, Sun 01 Dec 2019.

Andrew's fire sent men scrambling to ground looking for cover. He was confident that he nailed one of the Poles in the abdomen with a burst. One other seemed a pretty sure possibility. But, the smoke, the dark stormy morning, and his aching forearm all seemed to confine his chances for a broader success.

Roger moved along, searching out Torv's position just as he heard the first notes of an approaching helicopter. But, it wasn't a snake. It had to deep thump of a Huey tri-rotor. That meant slick.

A medivac! Torv must have called it in.

As he approached the sniper, Roger could see that he was still breathing despite being draped over his rifle in a pool of blood. Kneeling and hoping for the best, Roger was relieved when he rolled Torv over with a groan.

The bullet had passed through his neck behind the collection of nerves and blood vessels just behind the carotid artery and before it could clip the the side of a cervical vertebra. But, it was still a nasty wound.

Next to Torv lay an activated emergency retrieval beacon. One of those type often carried by pilots and air crew members. Combine an active beacon and an incoming chopper and you had a recipe for para-rescue jumpers. They would waste no time in stabilizing Torv.

Feeling confident that help was on the way Castle never the less did what he could for Torv while he waited.

He spoke to the others via radio.

"TOrv took one though the neck. He's holding on and help is on the way. Apparently he had a PJ beacon on him."

The UH-1H slewed off course as it exited the rain. The rain that was chasing it and would soon overtake all of Florida in one of those 'hell or high water' storms.

Mark Tran and James Wolfesbane sat, feet amid duffel bags of explosives, detonators, det-cord, wire, claymores, and off-route mines. They were destined for a road intersection some ten miles inland. A natural defensive lane.

Right.

This part of Florida was too flat and too open to defend against a tank assault without real weapons like ATGMs, tanks, and artillery. But, hey, there was those thirty-six grunts with two recoilless rifles. One of the pararescue jumpers leaned in and shouted over the rotors and storm.

"Listen, we gotta make a stop. An emergency beacon has been fired off by one of the Recondo teams." The man explained. "That mean's it's going to be bad. You two are off loading and we will take the wounded man with us to point Delta to drop off with a medical unit there. You're gear that you leave here will go to the crossroads for drop off with the grunts."

The man sat back to leave the perplexed pair, an engineer and his newly assigned Ranger teammate, staring at the six hundred plus pounds of gear in the floor. It all sounded good at first. A Ranger to spot out the likely places to situate the ordnance and real blaster to set it up.

Now, what, they were being dropped off into a hot LZ along the ingress corridor to be abandoned with a team that has already taken casualties. So long frying pan.

"Stay with him until the choppers get there Keep, we'll keep an eye out here.  See if you can get his long arm and any ammo.  My SMG ain't going to cut it.  Oh and if his helmet is ok I could do with a new one."  Pat replied over the radio.  He knew it was cold but Torv wouldn't need the gear where he was going and he would make sure to return the gear once they had got back to HQ.

Andrew continued to scan the surrounding area while Patrick got the update over the teams coms net. When he was done Andrew added, "We should find shelter once everyone is back together. The house is probably the only viable structure, but I would like to check out the vehicles the Poles were using and make sure none of the little buggers are still around. I can't understand while after a heavy artillery barrage they still want to play defender. Makes you wonder if they are the conscripts we were lead to believe they would be."


-

There morning drew on with agonizing slowness as the recondos waited for the chopper. None would have admitted it was nearer to five minutes than the hour it felt like. But, once it came in everything seemed to change.

The Poles were too many and very experienced. They felt as though the enemy had changed its order of battle in last hours.

The typhoon was pushing the original timetable too far forward. Control, and eventually the initiative, was slipping away. Early casualties like this were a sign of unexpected changes, normally within the capabilities of the troops and the planning, but this was pure happenstance. What Torv hadn't obtain that beacon?

And, with several helicopters passing through the area at a mere hundred feet of altitude in increasingly deadlier conditions, a slick was chancing a pick up and an unplanned drop off at the very location of enemy anti-air assets.

Smoke would be the normal signal, but in this wind and darkness Roger used a handful of IR Chem lights instead. The Huey landed about ten yards away, but PJs were on the ground as soon as the skids were close enough for them to jump.

The crew chief leaned in to the two soldiers and said, "This is your stop gentlemen. Good luck, good hunting."

"They sure as hell didn't act like conscripts, I'm not sure what the hell is going on but I get the feeling someone fucked up.  We should check the Poles for Intel if we can find enough of one.  I seem to remember another building was due south from here, it may be in better condition."

As the helicopter settled close to the ground Mark jumped out, ducked low to avoid the blades spinning overhead even though he knew they were clear of his head. Reaching back inside he started shifting gear out of the chopper to make space for the evac.

"Get it moving Wolfebane, grab and hustle. We don't want to stay exposed here!"

Castle stayed with Torv until he was safely in the helicopter.

The rifle, helmet, and sniper gear he kept.

Once the life threatening situation was dealt with he saw to cleaning and dressing his own wound. Up to this point he really had no idea how bad it was.

"Welcome to the Mud.", was his laconic greeting to the reinforcements (other than sharing the radio frequency they were using).

Grabbing his gear, James looked down to make sure that the ground was safe for him to jump down before getting out. "You should see what happens when a Hind tries to land in a field with claymores pointing skyward." he said as he stepped out. "They can armor the underbelly but they really can't armor the blades."

Making his way to cover, he noticed the injuried guy. "Looks like you had a bad day already. At this rate, the only ones without a Purple Heart are the FNG's. Mine's down in my duffel bag somewhere." James said, observing the wound and accessing the first aid skill of the grunt.

The PJs used the bedside manner they were known for to get to Torv; they shoved past Roger and descended on the wounded man like an Eagle on a rabbit.

"Make room." One of the paramedics said. They were both armed with CAR-15s, however one of them carried a paramedic's kit on his back while his partner lugged the folding stretcher.

Torv lay there, passive and waiting, as the two men quickly looked him over.

"No artery damage. Minimal tissue damage and blood loss. No cervical contact or swelling from the bullet's passage." He looked at Torv's face. "You are one lucky son of a bitch."

The other PJ just nodded as he released and unfolded the stretcher.

"I'm giving you a shot for the pain and a simple bandage." The man over Torv said as he reached into his pockets. "You'll have to hold steady. I'm would put you in a neck brace as a precaution but I'm more worried about internal bleeding and blood pressure problems."

Torv just nodded. He would've shrugged, but that would hurt like hell.

There was a sudden streak of light that looked like a bottle rocket whirling off balance into the morning. Roger sighed. He knew the others would be as well.

"What was that?" One of the Air Force men asked.

If he could have heard the response clearly the PJ would have heard five men say in unison, "An SA-7."

The missile had been fired at a target only visible using the launcher's IR optic. But it was far to low at only a hundred feet off the ground for the missile's seeker to lock on. Ground distortion, they all knew, had saved the day.

"Jesus, you guys really are in a shit storm." The other PJ said as he laid the stretcher out. "Hey, pilot made a call."

Moments later a snake came in, the ripping fire from its tri-barreled cannon drew their attention instantly. A second snake was on the firsts tail and followed up with a short salvo of four 2.75 inch rockets from each of its two pods. The explosions melded with the thunder.

"Rains coming on our heels." A PJ said as the two men lifted the stretcher between. Without another word or so much as a nodded they were moving back to the slick with Torv.

Andrew wiped some of the moisture from the rain off he face as he continued to watch for more signs the enemy were active. The MANPAD launch did not come as a surprise, he knew they had failed to stop the movement of the missiles and the safety of the operators during their initial operation.

His stomach did back flips as he waited for a secondary explosion indicating a hit on one of the transports they had been tasked with protecting and was relived when that did not happen, even more so when the two cobras flew over head and opened up. Hopefully they eliminated the treat for good... turning to the Lieutenant he asked "They might have just done the job for us, fingers crossed. Probably something we should ad to the list to check on."


-

"Something else to add to the list... Peachy" he gave his fellow Brit a wry smile and paused to let things sink in.  "What the hell are we doing fighting Poles in Florida." he muttered slowly shaking his head before wincing again as hiw head wound reminded hi it was there.  "We need to get out of this rain and find somewhere we can hole up for the storm."

In reply to Patrick Walsh (msg # 122):

"Yes agreed, let clear the truck, the partially hidden van and then the house. That should at least give us some breathing space. If we come across and bodies lets check for intel etc... Oh we should pony up any of the ammunition for the heavy MG if any was left."

"Right let get this over with and into cover."

Andrew will lead them out as they begin the sweep.



-

"Aye, let's get moving." Pat responded, then jumping on to the radio "Keep we are moving to clear the vehicles and the building.  Move to our  last position and I'll update you when you get there on current location.

They discovered the truck, what remained of it in several feet of water not far from the seawall. The DShK was intact, and Patric stumbled across six cans of belted 12.7mm ammunition under the tattered bodies of two Polish infantry. Amid the craters near where the fighting took place Andrew found the remains of the old panel van. It hadn't moved in years and had been converted into a makeshift bunkhouse for half a dozen men. Now all that remained was a shrapnel riddles metal box.

They discovered remains for between fourteen and sixteen men. It was difficult to tell since several of the heavy high explosive rounds fell nearly directly on the area where many of the Poles had fallen or were trying to retrieve those that had. The burst launcher for an SA-7 was found and several smaller craters peppered with fine shrapnel showed where a collection of missiles had detonated.

Near the road, some thirty yards behind the where the truck had been parked, an older BRT-60 APC was burning from a very close proximity hit by an HE shell that had ruptured the side of the vehicle and ignited the fuel stored there. More bodies littered the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Men hiding in the two foot deep depression seeking cover from the high explosive shells found themselves shit out of luck when the miss that almost struck directly struck the BTR-60 went off only yards in front of them.

The helicopters had attacked the same group Andrew had fired upon. Andrew and Patric slipped along the few remaining trees, trying to ignore the worst of the morning weather and smoke, when they found the man Andrew had shot. Then they found another, only this man was shot through the eye from the direction of Torv's position. Next to his corpse lay a Dragonov sniper rifle, it's scope clipped by Torv's bullet about an inch up from the rubber eye piece of the PSO4 scope.

Andrew smiled. The old saying about payback being a bitch crossed Patric's thoughts.

But, that was all. For all their firepower, it seemed the snakes simply didn't hit anyone at all. Running the numbers through their heads quickly; fourteen to sixteen at the truck, at least six in the ditch, at a minimum there were three in the BRT-60, two men here.

That made it twenty five to twenty seven dead. That was a platoon!

Back at the landing site the slick was just gaining pitch and easing out over the water. Roger had been ignored as he gathered Torv's unused helmet and his rifle kit. As he watched, two other soldiers struggled under the weather and rotor wash to make their way into some semblance of concealment.

They seemed flustered, no doubt dropped off haphazardly to make room for the wounded sniper. And worse yet, they probably didn't have a real clue as to the situation.

'Well, shit.' Thought Roger.

The ripping shriek of cannon fire being pushed by screaming jet engines blasted the morning startled everyone. Most had heard the sound before, but to have it happen basic right over you was worse. Then it happened again seconds later.

The two A-10 Warthogs from tiny Morgan Field in Cuba zoomed past, angling out of their gun runs even as the heavy brass from the hundred round bursts of their 30mm cannon rained down. In the distance there was a cacophony of bell like impacts as the sub-caliber depleted uranium rounds struck an armored target. Moments later there was the horrific sounding rush of flames as an armored vehicle cooked-off.

Castle strapped his gear back up accounting for the things that were shot away when he was hit.

He couldn't help but look to the sky when the A-10 went to work.

He grumbled under his breath, "I should've been a fuckin' pilot."


He crossed to where the two men had been left.

"Welcome to the Mud. Y'all stayin' or just waitin' for a ride out?", was his laconic greeting to the reinforcements (other than sharing the radio frequency they were using).

ooc: mostly repeated from message #118