The XO heard out Amelia's concerns. "Military intelligence did get some intel from the laptop recon secured. MI's suggestion is to use the patrol route in hopes of uncovering the supply route or whoever's trying to supply the HIJ."
"She's right, sir." Another infantryman of Caucasian origin agreed with Amelia's assessment. "We could be walking into a trap for all we know."
"The colonel's speaking to the French for this one. He's using their assistance in the compound raid as a favor to help us scope the area as marked on the map with surveillance. If anything, the HIJ could use IE Ds. We got chatter a day ago that they got spooked easily with the raid despite threats of retaliation."
Mark looked at the map the XO showed. The route taken, aside from being near the Djiboutian border, didn't bode well for the special forces officer.
"Regardless I want everyone to be careful in the operation later."
The XO turned to Brittaney. "The Defense Minister has granted permission for the BBC crew to tag along. They're being debriefed at headquarters right now. So they'll join the patrol in a while."
Jacques listened carefully. It's true...traps were a concern, and not just hidden IE Ds. Ambushes and such were also a possibility. He raised his hand.
"Anything interesting to note about the terrain and topography of the area? IE Ds aren't the only traps they might have in store for us. An ambush armed with RP Gs could very well put a damper in our patrol."
If only he had a map of the patrol route, he'd have been able to probably identify spots they were likely to be hiding at.
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"Oh, lovely," muttered Amelia. The LAVs suddenly seemed far too lightly armored for her taste. "Sir, permiss' to grab mine detectors an' try to see if we've got any sappers? Otherwise there ain't much we can do with land mines."
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
The XO heard Amelia's request on orders to get EOD experts with the team.
"All right. Some of the infantrymen, I believe, have some EOD experience."
"Yes, sir." Some of the infantrymen nodded. He counted around 3-4 so far.
"The patrol should have a military intelligence officer accompanying you guys." The XO turned around. "We're still waiting on the guy, though."
"Is that him, sir?"
Mark pointed out the Harrawian officer running down to the motor pool/hangar building. He was easy to tell apart since he wore Singapore No. 4 digital desert camo.
"That's right." The XO replied to his question.
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Having changed Brittaney went over to study the map, looking over the information provided.
"These black market weapons dealers you mentioned," she said, thinking that she could ask the BBC herself with her questions about them should they approach her, "can you tell us what you know about them? What activities they are involved in? Which groups they deal with?" They were in Africa, and while the British had cleared out long ago apartheid and the Child Soldiers, blood diamond trade were still operating. Maybe it was hearing the word black, though Brittaney wondered if that was race carding, and even if not there was still Al Qaeda, ISIS, whoever was responsible for airline bombings and shootings which she figured was a terrorist bid to try and start a war like the late, ungreat Charles Manson attempted. Anything along these lines would be good to know, as well as serve as a form of motivation to try and stop.
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"May I introduce 2nd Lieutenent Uryiabon of military intelligence." The XO said after he showed up.
2nd Lt. Uryiabon saluted to everyone present.
"He'll be riding with you today. Any questions regarding the operation should be directed to him."
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"Good to see you Lieutenant." Brittaney looked and noticed there were a pair of rifles behind him that she thought would be well worth trying to snap up for the mission. "Brittaney Andersen, formally of the United States Marine Corp." On that line of thinking she posed her earlier question. "Your Islamic Jihad had to have gotten their weapons from somewhere." Observing the map she tried to think of where any hidden supplies might be, or possibly a camp of who was supplying them. "Can you tell us anything about possible black market smugglers you know about?"
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Lt. Uryiabon took the Marine's question into consideration when he looked at the map laid out.
"Nothing much from what MI has figured out. The HIJ and other insurgents uses a route in the said Harrawian-Djiboutian border."
He traced the area with his right index finger.
"Just about here should do it."
Mark looked at the map and noted that the said possible smuggling route was near the area where the raid on the colonial mansion was.
"Recon has suggested an old village not too far from the colonial mansion." Uryiabon explained further. "These arms smugglers are most likely nomadic. They get something HIJ or some bad guy needs by word of mouth, they bring it in. For these guys, they don't use anything electronic for fears of being traced."
"They seem to be savvy in that department."
"Indeed they are. We got someone on the inside. A mole, if you'd call it at that, whose willing to provide more information about any arms dealings between the HIJ and the dealers if we'd extract him from the area."
The BBC news crew was already running towards the hangar/motor pool building. They were already clad in "PRESS"-labeled ballistic helmets and vests.
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Amelia grinned sharkishly at that last. "That, now? That's makin' this a whole lot more encouragin'." She paused to detail the sergeants to assign their passengers spots in the jeeps; on reflection, she also sent a runner to—unofficially—speak with the air section in case medevac was needed. Suddenly this mission seemed like it'd be a lot more than a simple patrol. "Leftenant, anythin' you can say about what our boy looks like?"
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
Brittaney took in Amelia's question and remembered, although she herself had not taken part, Marine training conducted by the famous FBI Hostage Rescue Team, in turn taught by the LAPD SWAT. They taught and preached life saving rather than life taking, in fact the Lieutenant had it on good authority that when servicemen and women taught them the police were skitchy about talk of killing, even if as soldiers that was the basic idea.
"If one of the smugglers is not amongst them who's willing to bet a member of this...what's their cause again? Overthrow of the Harrawi kingdom? One of them would know who's supplying them." The point she was making was it would be good to get a live body for intel. "Getting someone who knows something, alive, that's gonna be hard work." Even for those trained in that area it was a chore. Then there was whether or not they would talk. "If we could get some less lethal ordnance that'd be great." Brittaney said less lethal because of course there were no guarantees. "Good video too." She jerked a thumb towards the BBC news crew.
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Some of the volunteers serving in the armory brought in EOD suits to the motor pool/hangar facility.
The MI officer heard Amelia's question. "My superiors only mentioned that he has a bushy mustache. The challenge question is Where did the first solar eclipse take place?. The answer would be Longyearbyen, Norway. He's been briefed already, so there's no need to worry."
He heard out Brittaney's concerns. "This man is not with the HIJ. He's just a smuggler trying to make some money for his family. He's having concerns about being in the business since he heard word that one of them was killed when he requested to leave the business for good."
The officer mused. "I'm not sure if the Defense Ministry has equipped our armory with less than lethal weaponry. Last time I checked when I got here, there was a delay in that area."
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"So don't shoot anyone with a nostril broom." Easier said than done, Brittaney knew, and on that happy note began to add, "Anyone else..." before stopping herself. To the former Marine if they were not to be captured and were shooting then SOP would be to fire back, fair game, and she made no apologies for it. Still as mentioned surely someone had information they could use. "Rules of engagement Lieutenant?" Even the legendary SEAL Team Six on the Abbottabad raid had to follow them, take prisoners if the Taliban did raise the white flag. None of them did and if anything Jihadist terror had grown even darker since then, even if they could take a HIJ member alive would they talk.
Well there are ways and means.
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"Shoot to kill on armed hostiles who try to open fire on either you or on our BBC guests."
The XO looked at those assembled. "If there's no further questions..." He looked at Amelia and Mark and said. "I want you two to be in charge of the safety of the journalists. No doubt that this'll be their first excursion outside base."
"Yes, sir."
"Move out!"
At once, the volunteers began to move towards the Type 73 jeeps in order to get them up and running.
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"A'right let's rock." Brittaney moved towards the rifles she saw earlier, and on closer inspection they were as she thought M14s. Tried and true in Vietnam, they were considered an absolute godsend in the conflict over the newer, more advanced M16 and still used by special forces snipers today.
What a find. First the apple juice imported from Tasmania the former Marine had chilled in her fridge, now these treasures. If Brittaney duel wielded them she'd look like one of those actions heroes she remembered seeing an image of, some horror genre. Instead Brittaney slung both over one shoulder, figuring a spare would be handy, good for one of the others perhaps, before picking up several magazines in one hand and a box of ammunition in the other, which she took to one of the Type 73s. Taking a seat in the back she began loading, her thoughts on how best to engage for capture rather than killing should they encounter any hostiles.
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If she had her way Amelia would've stuffed both journalists into the armored car, but that evidently wasn't in the cards; she had to settle for assigning them to the jeep that would move in the middle of the column. They rode with hatches open, both herself and Sgt. Akide scanning out the vehicle's sides. Against the dust of the passage she had tied a black handkerchief around her face, and adjusted her sunglasses; one hand rested on the pintle-mounted machine gun (no shield and only simple iron sights, alas).
"All set?" She glanced around at all the vehicles, inhaled the diesel smoke and the hot scent of sand through the cloth, and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.
"All set, Lieutenant wa-loo-ska?" A bedlam of Australian-accented voices around her, and incomprehensible rapid-fire Pashto: in her memory she was a fresh one-pipper on her first tour in the Sandbox, hardly better than an infant, and she heard her own anxious and unnaturally high-pitched affirmative to the weather-beaten face of Captain Bennet-Bruce.
Those had been the big boxy Bushmaster MRAPs that they were riding, and while only the captain's vehicle had the new remote-controlled robotic turret, the rest all mounted Brownings with boxy, clumsy-looking sights, acquired unofficially and attached who knew how. The contrast with their accompanying patrol of Afghan Commandos in their Toyota Hiluxes could not have been greater.
The Major of the Commandos, a hard, burly man in ill-fitting BDUs, conferred briefly with Bennet-Bruce. Even after four weeks of arms-length cooperation with the Commandos Amelia still found herself nervous about them: it was as if they came from a harder-edged world, one swaggering with reflexive masculinity, full of imagined dark looks toward her as a stranger, and a woman at that.
"Oi, Princess!" Normally she did not mind the nickname, but today it reminded her uncomfortably of her outsider status, and when Amelia whirled around in the turret well to answer Robbie Singh's hail he recoiled slightly before recollecting himself. "Sorry, Amelia. That's the Major, innit? Why's Major Khan ridin' with us? I 'aven't seen 'im on anythin' smaller than company scale."
"He's got family in the village," she'd answered. It was unlikely for Major Khan to hear her over the background noise of dozens of soldiers clambering aboard their carriers, but even so Amelia pitched her voice lower so that Singh had to lean in a little to hear. "I hear he 'ad to pull some strings. The Whale says he ain't popular with their brass."
"Prob'ly ripped off the provincial guv'nor's balls, or summat," agreed Singh. Far away Khan had finished his powwow with the Captain, dismissed the weedy translator with a curt nod, and now he was roaring terse orders to the Commandos. "Crikes. An' now you got to 'elp baby-sit 'im while he visits 'is fam'ly. Better you than me, Princess."
"Up yours, Rob," said Amelia, as cheerfully as she could. It might not have been her first patrol, but it certainly felt like it. From along the vehicle column the captain had finished speaking with the drivers and was heading back to his Bushmaster; already the lead Toyotas were pulling away. In her memory she'd closed her eyes for a second to compose herself and to calm her beating heart.
When she opened her eyes again Amelia was back in the present; the motorized column was tiny in comparison, with much less fuss attending to their departure. With a brief effort she recalled herself to the route they would take, the measures for counter-mine or -IED drills if they proved necessary, the radio frequencies, and all the minutiae that now came naturally to her.
With little fuss she toggled the intercom to tell Abdelkarim to set off, the LAV rumbling away smoothly onto the road.
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
Michael and Clark approached Mark and asked him where they should ride along with.
"It's best you guys stay with the LAVs." Mark advised the BBC crew. "You can get protection from there in case the bullets start flying. Plus there should be air conditioning."
The infantrymen began to rush at the LAVs, being informed that there was some space inside for them to sit in. Plus there was the incentive of working air conditioning to counter the desert heat.
The MI officer was directed under orders to be with Amelia's LAV.
MPs posted at the base entrance have radioed back to HQ that the entrance is secured and ready.
The XO looked at the vehicle column (Four jeeps, three LAVs at last check) and nodded.
"Good luck to everyone!"
Everyone on the jeeps saluted the XO. Mark was in the leading jeep at the front passenger seat when he signalled the driver to move out.
edited 3rd Dec '15 6:17:07 AM by Ominae
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Leaning her body out of the passenger window, Brittaney was having thoughts of her own, about an earlier op she was part of in Afghanistan.
I swear I will kill them all. They were not her words, rather ones she heard a video game character say and Brittaney thought it was the corniest line the writers could come up with. Who the hell talks like that? It did sound like something from a bad character, but at the moment she was playing no game, instead sweating over a rifle scope.
"Don't have a clear shot." She watched the guards running into the compound.
"Arthur, report. What's going on in there?" Krysa ordered over the radio. Brittaney heard her reply.
"There's lots of movement in here, looks like they're trying to get the target out."
"Had you been spotted?" Brittaney thought to ask.
''"Don't believe so." She wondered if maybe the Taliban were able to listen in to their comms. Unlikely, the radios were meant to be secure. Still Arthur was in there, as well as the informant and whoever the terrorist group sent to meet with them. Jumping to her feet Brittaney broke into a run to find a better angle.
"Lieutenant, wait." Brittaney didn't figure the Major was one to abandon a soldier, even a mercenary like Arthur, and paid no attention to the command. The next thing she heard was Krysa firing, one of those drum grenade launchers ahead of her, before a hiss and a cloud of smoke. It was meant to provide cover but she figured it would only draw attention. Sure enough as Brittaney did her best to disappear into the desert night she heard gunfire, and saw some of the guards firing. The distraction made it easier for her to draw a bead, at some four hundred meters it was difficult to compensate and line up a shot properly while standing. She fired anyway, the split second she saw before pulling the scope away to run for another location indicating the round had gone low and right, into the Taliban's throat rather than a clean head shot Brittaney wanted.
Maybe focus on the body, she thought, it being the largest target, best place to aim at. She didn't need to kill them all, just enough to get to Arthur and any she could least they are able to go back to flying planes into buildings or whatever terrorist acts they had planned. The distinctive sound of an M16 indicated Krysa was laying down cover fire, the smoke making it hard for the guards to fight back. Then Brittaney heard the roar of an engine, and swung the Dragunov in it's direction only to be nearly blinded by the high beams, but saw enough to know that the driver was leaning out, firing.
Well this is not nearly as dramatic. Brittaney had a little trouble with being able to look out and have the M14 at the ready, but she was comfortable enough. Thing was, there was really nothing to see. Sparse patches of bushland, hardly the place the HIJ could hide out. Would that change? On that question maybe they had been able to dig out bunkers and the desert sands had swept over, covered them up. If there was something she could throw, a beer can maybe, maybe it would be worth seeing what reaction there would be if any were the former Marine to launch it at a likely spot. Even so the pain in her back told her that was enough, so she climbed back through and resumed watch from inside.
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While the convoy was now moving towards its destination, Clark was told to prepare the video camera with Amelia taking command of the 1st LAV in the convoy.
"Are you sure it's wise to talk to her while she's running the vehicle?" Clark asked Michael after the former told the latter that the camera was ready to record.
"I'm sure she will." Michael reassured him. "After all, we're suppose to do this project with help from the Harrawian Defense Ministry. I did sign an agreement that the documentary won't be aired under certain conditions."
"Conditions... right."
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Brittaney took her focus from the open desert for a moment to check on the other vehicles in the patrol, and her eagle eyes spotted it, the BBC news crew setting up for footage in one of the LA Vs. Well, it was part of the job, both for them and for her should they approach the former Marine. She had experience with the media before, and what she saw on the news made her uncomfortable over how they seemed to glorify tragedy.
Maybe these people will be different. Brittaney hoped at least, shifting in her seat to make it harder for them to film, when she thought she saw something in the distance, maybe a trick of the light, or the heat which was considerable.
"Could you pass over the binoculars please?" Brittaney asked.
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The driver of one of the Type 73 jeeps handed her the needed binoculars.
If she could look, she could see the other jeeps remain in formation. They were now moving towards the border with Djibouti.
It has been two hours since they departed from the base.
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"Thank you, let's have a squiz," Brittaney said, using the binoculars to have a closer look and saw several huts, they looked to be well maintained but there was no sign of anyone to do so. "You know what I find interesting?" she asked. "How killers try and justify what they do." It did occur to her that would include herself even if she thought no justification was needed. "Anyway what's that over there?" Brittaney pointed to where she looked. "There. I'm just a tourist here, do we know about that little haven there? Has it been checked out?"
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From her carrier Amelia swiveled turned to face the village. This was probably close to their target area, and she rechecked her phone's GPS to make sure of their position, as well as the position of the hovel relative to the target village. It wouldn't do to stumble across the border and cause a possible diplomatic incident.
GM, comments?
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
The convoy was now traveling towards their destination. Their current location was about 10 kilometers from the abandoned village. Everyone on the patrol was being careful to spot anything out of the ordinary.
In the LAV-300 Amelia was in, Michael paused to politely ask the female volunteer.
"Pardon me," Michael spoke to her. "But do you have a minute? I want to get this on the record to see how's regular life here in Harrawi ever since you joined the brigade. You don't have to face the camera if it's going to be in your way."
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Amelia smiled and removed the handkerchief that she had worn as a facemask, but she kept her sunglasses and her helmet on. "We-ell, what c'n I say?" she asked rhetorically, only occasionally glancing at the camera lense. "Thus far we got the VIP treatment at base, Very Import'nt Peeps indeed briefin' us on company-sized ops, an' don't quote me on this but we're gettin' very fancy support indeed for routine missions. I ain't objectin' to it, mind, but I keep wonderin' when the other shoe's goin' to drop." She considered for a minute and shrugged. "'Course, mayhaps I'm not supposed to say that for the cameras lest command take away our fancy toys and give it to the Praetorians."
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
Brittaney was able to strip off and replace the shirt on the way back to the motorpool. Her trousers however presented a problem, and she figured the best way to get around that was to slip in and change unnoticed. The briefing sounded like it was underway at this point and having looked around for anyone who might see her she pulled off her pants for the Hawarri military ones she was issued.
"Keep talking, I'm listening" Brittaney called out after hearing the BBC would be accompanying them and giving that little detail some thought. With them along now might be a good time to propose the idea she had earlier. "If the news crew are coming with us might it be an idea to see if they can listen in to Islamic Jihad comms?" Being a international news service Brittaney figured there might be something that could be used, maybe even better than what the Hawarris had. On the other hand if there was some low tech piece of hardware the terrorists had, a old TV or radio would do the job, then that could be a early warning system for them so, much like anything the former Marine mused as she changed, there was that whole risk/reward issue.
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