Desert Sun - An African Mercenary RP game

"That I can do, that was pretty much all it was either at home or Kosovo, base patrols, guard duty, until...well you know." Brittaney meant 9/11 where her promotion and training was fast tracked. "Some bright spark named Major Krysa plucked me from Coyote Squadron for Task Force Tiger, sort of a prototype for Team Lioness and the FET's, Delta supposedly has the Funny Platoon." Rumor had it the idea was either if the Special Forces Operations/Detachment Delta could so could the Marines, or the Taliban would fear a all female unit though Brittaney figured that reasoning was very much tongue in cheek. "Whenever there wasn't a call for pilots I'd put my hand up for ground duties, why not?" She was happy to be engaged in the discussion, and having already given the short story prepared to go into detail, as much as Mark or the Colonel wanted.

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

Amelia nodded. "Sir, I worked with Yank FETs in Helmand way back when. If she spent a tour footsloggin' in Afghanistan, I'll be 'appy to take her with the troop on extended patrol. If she'll fit in the Cad-Gage, that is."

She scrawled something else on her notepad—already it looked a little like a Jackson Pollack painting and a little like a summoning grid—and continued. "Also, sir, be glad to take the lads out into the bush. A platoon of technicals an' all those heavy weps don't come out of nowhere. Maybe a week or two of long-range recce might uncover their logistics lines or some clues to their base."

Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.

Jacques listened to the others, and raised his hand.

"If it's alright with you, sir, I will gladly accompany them into the bush. I know quite a bit about patrolling out in the bush. Know almost all the tricks of the trade sir."

Because hunting people and hunting animals. They're not the same, but you learn what to look for.

He smirked on the inside, reminiscing the days back home in the veld.

Brittaney smirked as Amelia and Jacques took part in the discussion, happy that they were showing an interest.

"Not sure about any action," she added, her words carrying weight, "but that could be a good thing for this BBC news crew you wanted."

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

"I believe the LAV-300s should manage at least 9-10 soldiers inside, depending on the space." The colonel explained to everyone when he heard Amelia out.

"Good. I'll let the XO liaise with you later on before you head out for the patrol."

The XO turned around and saw the BBC crew filming the departure of the Singaporean ambassador and foreign minister since they were only in the base for a quick visit, now with the hostage with them. The C-130 was now being prepped to be taxied onto the runway.

<"Colonel, I'm sure it'll make good PR if the news crew comes with them."> The XO whispered to the colonel in Harrawi.

<"All right... I'll consider it."> The colonel sighed. He then said to the volunteers assembled. "Everyone, fall out for now. I'm heading back to the control tower to make arrangements."

<"XO, you're in charge."> The colonel told his XO before he left.

<"Yes, sir."> The XO as the colonel walked back to the tower. "Make sure to come back here after an hour."

He clearly was referring to the hangar/motor pool building. "If you guys need to take a leak, eat or whatever it is you need to do, do it now. After 1200 hours, you're all leaving for a joint patrol with Armúrtha taking the lead. Your gear and weapons will be made ready."

The XO looked at Amelia. "Armúrtha leader, you're going to be in charge when the patrol starts, clear?"

Everyone nodded and saluted at the XO before they started to leave. Some decided to get a bite to eat at the cafeteria or at the Cheers! store.

Mark decided to head off to the bank. He needed to do something right now.

edited 18th Oct '15 12:59:51 AM by Ominae

The next hour or so was a frantic rush of activity as the armor platoon scrambled to load up their vehicles. Camouflage netting and duct tape were extensively misused to strap heavy and bulky packs to the outsides of the vehicles, Russian-style, freeing up internal room for ammunition and passengers; a pale-looking private was dispatched to the armory to present Lt. Walewska's compliments and a request for machine guns and transparent gun shields; and Amelia found herself mediating a dispute between a furious Sgt. Akide and a mechanic.

"'ang on, weren't you the one 'oo volunteered to stencil the armor?" interrupted Amelia. "MacBoise, that's it."

"Yes, sir," said MacBoise; he was scruffy almost beyond reckoning, and his appearance was not helped by the shade of green that he had turned—apparently he had been getting the worse of the exchange with Sergeant Akide. "I finished that."

Indeed, neatly stenciled onto the side of the armored car's turret was a subdued silhouette of an old-style cavalry helmet surmounted by a tall lyre-like wing bristling with feathers. It was the emblem that had, three-quarters of a century ago, decorated the Sherman of Captain Adam Walewski as he stood his ground at Mont Ormel, steady against the frenzied desperate assaults of the encircled SS Panzer divisions. For Amelia, the story of how her dziadek and his fellow Poles of the 1st Armored Division had held shut the Falaise Pocket for 48 hours straight was one that had never failed to fill her with familial pride.

Sometimes in quiet moments she wondered what the old man would've made of her own career; fiercely traditional though he was, Grandpa Adam been wholeheartedly supportive—even at the age of eighty—of Amelia's own expressed desire to follow in the footsteps of her fathers; lung cancer had carried him off before he could see it to fruition, and the pallbearers had, at his request, planted the winged emblem by his grave in Krakow.

Naturally, Amelia hadn't shared all this with the cavalry troops, merely asked for the emblem as something to honor a family tradition, and that had been done. However, in contrast to the emblem, there was nothing traditional about the freshly-painted red lightning stripe that now zigzagged rakishly down the flank of her armored car.

"Now repeat to the lieutenant why you did that to my car, MacBoise," growled Akide.

"Well, sir," a nervous but oddly defiant look from MacBoise, "the lieutenant said she wanted a fast vehicle, and everyone knows the red ones go faster."

Akide gave Amelia an eloquently mystified look, which she returned.

"Damned if I know, either," she muttered. "But it's too late to paint it out now. Jus' don't do it to the others, MacBoise, or I'll pers'nally dice you up an' shoot yer bits out the main gun, aye?"

MacBoise muttered assent without meeting her eyes, but before she could do anything else another crisis had brewed up and she was hurrying off again.

edited 17th Oct '15 10:34:11 PM by SabresEdge

Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.

"You want what."

"Four transparent gun shields, yes sergeant." The soldier said.

"When?"

"As soon as possible, sergeant."

Roland grumbled and sat back down in his chair (several personnel had noted that it was not base standard and was in fact a but more cushy than you would expect from a military office. Roland did not deign to comment).

"I'll see what I can do." He said. "I can get the ammo by sixteen hundred, though it'll be a crunch. Tell your NCO they will need to come sign for it."

As the private left, Roland picked up his office phone. "Hans? Yeah it's me. Hey, do you still have those beat-up Humvees?"

"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir

The call that came in from the armory was rerouted to the person in charge of the logistics warehouse.

"Humvees?" The reply came back. "Nah. The regular Army hasn't handed those down yet. I'll try to raise the issue with the XO when he comes back."

---

Mark had arrived at the bank to request for a check in any deposits made to his account. The teller told him that aside from the basic $USD 10,000 dollars salary, he found that they were given an additional $10K bonus for a job well done for the volunteers involved.

He thanked the teller and went to the Cheers! store to get a sandwich to eat and finish it with some cold water.

---

The soldiers from the armory assembled a long table and placed on it OFB 1A1 SL Rs with attached rifles slings and desert tan web gear designed to hold in FAL-type magazines and grenades. A few weeks ago, the Advanced Combat Helmets with the Harimau Gurun helmet cover were supplied to soldiers in the base to replace the old PASGT helmet. The pistol grip-type Remington 870 shotguns were still made available.

There was also a drop leg holster attached onto the web gear.

Maintenance personnel were informed to make ready two LAV-300s and four Mitsubishi Type 73s at once. The XO was coming back for an inspection to check on their progress.

"Nah, I'm not looking for Humvees." He said. "Someone's asking for transparent gun shields. Figured those old, busted-up Humvees I remember you having would be the place to look for them."

edited 18th Oct '15 9:59:31 AM by Wysp

"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir

"All right." The LoG House CO mentioned. "I should have some stuff lying around."

He motioned to a volunteer soldier to check the storage rooms downstairs. "I don't think they're from the Humvees, but I was told there are some lying around. I'll go and have this thing checked."

Brittaney spent the next hour on research, playing with the tablet she had packed to find information on Hawarri bushland. From what she could find it was similar to the type found in Victoria, Australia. Having had little experience in that type of environment the ex Lieutenant would have to defer to Amelia's experience.

Didn't she say she served with FE Ts before? she asked herself. In that case she probably met Carlita. Pushing sixty the copper topped Captain Carlita "The Reaper" was the woman officer's woman officer, a thirty eight year army veteran and former cage fighter who had spent most of her military life training the LAPD SWAT and FBI Hostage Rescue Teams, unlike some Brittaney knew she never had to show off or act tough, or had to strut around in a leotard like some fictional works might suggest. No, Carlita's reputation was earned solely for being very very good at her job. Brittaney made a note to ask if given the chance, before moving to track down that BBC news crew. She had an idea she wanted to run past them, one that might prove beneficial to all involved.

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

Mark came back from taking a break in the toilet when he returned to the motor pool/hangar when he saw the infantry gear being laid out on the table.

"Time to get to work."

He took a glance and saw one of the Type 73s being checked for any engine troubles by the maintenance crew. Others were checking the ring mount at the back of the jeep for the CIS 50 machine gun mount.

The ex-special forces officer didn't say much except that he started to grab his helmet and web gear first. Afterwards, he placed his sidearm down with the safety on in order to grab the Indian-made SLR.

Personnel assignments. Amelia directed Sgt. Romilly to take command of one of the Mitsubishis; this would be a composite patrol, with the jeeps providing the eyes of the troop and the LAVs providing fire if it were needed. She debated assigning ag Mahmoud and some of the other privates to jeeps, and decided against it; one new vehicle at a time.

During a lull in the action she slipped out to grab her personal armor and web gear, so naturally it was right when she was half-in and half-out of the webbing that the private she'd dispatched to the armory came back with the news.

Thus it was that Amelia stalked toward the armory in full battledress, still tightening straps and buckles, and asked to speak to Sgt. Guderian. Don't piss off the Queys, she reminded herself.

"Sergeant, we have a patrol rollin' at 12-hun—blame the Colonel. I'd take it as a great pers'nal favor if you can get machine guns an' ammo installed onto the LAVs before then," she said, as soon as he appeared. "Anything from Minimis up to twen'y-mils, whatevs you got, I'll sign for. No worries on the gunshields if they ain't available yet."

Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.

Roland nodded as he held up a finger to Amelia, asking her to wait. "I've got one of my people here and she's telling me they're stepping at twelve-hundred. Could you get them here by, say, eleven?"

As he talked, he clicked something on his computer and the printer spat out a form with all the appropriate information filled out. Once he was done speaking into the phone, he covered the mike. "Take this to the ammo point and tell them I sent you. Make sure you inventory the ammo to make sure you got the right number of cases. Once you've done that, print sign and date in block thirty-one and you're good to go." He chuckled. "I'm not going to ask you to bring back your brass. I'm not like that."

"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir

Several infantry and recon personnel arrived in the motor pool/hangar, already dressed in the "standard" BDU. They went to work in loading their SL Rs and donning their web gear.

Mark couldn't tell who's who, but he counted a total of ten so far.

Looks like they're mixing us up.

The ex-commando had finished loading up his battle rifle when he conducted a brass check on the weapon before he holstered his personal sidearm.

Without knowledge of what battle dress uniform the Hawarris would supply her the best that Brittaney could find was the MARPAT camouflage she had packed from her days in the Corps. It had more color than the country's bushland and probably didn't quite match, but hopefully it would be good enough. Better than the quasi civilian mercenary look sported in low budget covert ops movies at any rate. Browsing on her old Galaxy for anything on the groups involved in the conflict the former Marine couldn't help but wonder about rules of engagement. Were they to come across a activist or protest group would confronting them make the political situation worse? As a soldier Brittaney maybe shouldn't think such things, or even conduct research on it but couldn't help but wonder, try and work out the best approach. Reaching her destination she saw that the vehicles were in much better condition that she thought. Maybe not up to the standards of what was used in Afghanistan but certainly as good as most anything some ragtag bunch of misfits had.

Hello, what's this? Looking around for where to find her gear for the op Brittaney grabbed a nearby pen and poked at a bullet hole that had been taken off one of the vehicles. It hadn't gone right through, a somewhat comforting thought in that at least they'll be well protected. Then she noticed the mounted machine guns. Brittaney was expecting .50 caliber, the really cool SUV miniguns used by President Obama and currently Kelly would have been too much to ask, but infantry could handle these. Heck it was the same type used by Tiger Team.

"Say, where do you want these?" she asked, offering to help transport them.

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

The XO came inside to inspect things when he noted that Brittaney was not wearing the standard BD Us as prescribed.

"I see that some of you are here." The XO started when some of the personnel inside saluted him. He then spoke to Brittaney. "You're not wearing the BDU as prescribed."

Mark was "luckily" near her. He stared at her and pointed to the sleeve of his Harimau Gurun BDU.

"You should head to the PX Store inside the Cheers! convenience store and get a change."

Brittaney was inspecting the Minamis when she was spoken to, before placing the machine gun down.

"Uh, no sir." She held off saluting, thinking it would be too much. "I had a little trouble with..." then Brittaney heard Mark say where she could procure equipment from. "Never mind, I'll get it sorted. With your permission I'll get it sorted right now."

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

The XO nodded.

"Go right ahead. We won't leave until everyone is here."

Brittaney's mouth twitched to thank the XO, before she thought better of it and simply nodded, setting aside one more of the machine guns before leaving. Outside she broke into a flat run, on the lookout for any personnel or vehicles. Le Parkour was not something she was terribly apt at and now was perhaps not the best time to try. She reached the requisition office in two minutes by her guess, and pausing for a moment Brittaney felt that familiar twinge in her back.

Dammit. It was subtle, but there, a slight pain that threatened to turn into her decreased movement. It hadn't happened for months, then again she hadn't run like that for months either. Figuring everything was fine Brittaney called out.

"Hello." She banged a fist against a nearby wall to get someone's attention. "Hello. They sent me here for a uniform and equipment to serve with the mobile ground forces. Can someone help me with gear please?"

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

"Ah geez man! No one needs to do that!"

Someone from the stock room of the Cheers! store heard the banging, so he immediately left the room.

The volunteer soldier was of Caucasian origin, who spoke English with a slight Texan accent.

"Oh... You're the one the XO told us to expect." The soldier went to check beneath the counter to present her folded Harimau Gurun BD Us.

"Here you are. I'm told that you have boots already." The soldier sighed. "The web gear's already available in the motor pool for the mission."

He then pointed to the call bell on the table. "I just placed that there. Next time, do a guy like me a favor and ring it twice, yeah?"

It was only then that Brittaney noticed, and saw that there was indeed a bell not two feet away. How she failed to notice she had no idea.

"Right." She slowly turned to the bell, making sure to remember for next time, as well as procuring what she needed here in the future. "Sorry." Being blinded by panic was not something Brittaney did and wondered if it was simply a case of trying not to upset anyone that caused her to be...flustered? She guessed the requisitions officer wasn't looking for an explanation and took what she needed. "Thank you," she said, figuring to change as best as she could on the way back and finish at the motorpool. "I'll let you get back to work."

Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than Yours

Grumbling under her breath, Amelia filled out the proferred forms, and a moment later was moving to her platoon.

"Sergeant Akide, get the lads fer cars one an' two. We got permiss' to mount MGs on the turret ring," she said, her mind turning from the question of the machine guns to the command roster. "Looks like Britt's the senior officer for the utes. The jeeps," she clarified. "So-o-o...Romilly, take one o' them, will you? I'm splittin' us into two demi-platoons, one of LAVs, one of jeeps."

Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.

The XO tried to gather everyone who reported in the motor pool/hangar. He brought out a map and placed in on an empty spot on the long table.

"This is the patrol route that you guys are taking today."

He traced the route with his left index finger from the base all the way up north. Instead of going north, the patrol would just drive alongside it.

"Now the patrol will consist of four jeeps and three LAVs." The XO debriefed everyone. "We got that the Harrawian Islamic Jihad may have a hidden supply point somewhere around here."

"Any word on their suppliers, sir?" An infantryman asked.

"No clue. So far, it's only suggestion that it could be just African black marketers."

Assuming that the vehicles have been armed up and Amelia has managed to scramble back to the briefing, since the ability to be in three places at once is something she learned as a junior officer.

Amelia frowned at the map, following the track. To her this looked more like a search-and-destroy force than just an ordinary patrol, but "supply cache somewhere" did not bode well for intelligence. Maybe they'd gotten some usable documents out of that compound they raided.

"Sir," she said, "are we expectin' opposition? Mines or IEDs?"

Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.