Team Gold, Chimera RP

[NuraTalon]

The Russians were trying a different tactic, or at least that would have been something Lorus would have considered if she wasn't in the condition she currently was. The last set of beatings and intergations had left her broken in sprit. Nothing she had been trianed for in the Australian or US armed forces prepared her for this. The only thing which prevented her giving them what they wanted, was their own rough treatment of her. Her fractured mind couldn't pull the information quick enough, and so they beat her for it, preventing her answer.

Now, they were dragging her down a corridor, her hands cuffed behind her back, rough arms wrapped around hers. Her eyes were closed, something about her training told her to keep alert and watch for a way out but she ignored it. Brewer weren't coming. No one was.

A door opened, and she heard more breathing all of a sudden. There was some sharp, angry speech in Russian, and then followed in broken English, but she caught none of it before they literally threw her into the heated cell and slammed the door tightly shut. And then it became apparent just how of 'in a bad way' Lorus was. Blood matted her fur in various places, outlayed by cuts and slices, her breathing came in ragged gasps, and last of all, her eyes were dull and lifeless.

[Zeromark]

Malcolm stood with Elizabeth in the Communications room, discussing what had been going on.

“The good news is, the Russians want in. They’ll be providing tank support when we make our move, and safe airspace,” Malcolm explained, as he sipped on his coffee.

Elizabeth was about to reply, when an alarm began beeping on one of the consoles. Malcolm took a drawl on his coffee, unconcerned, and said to the operating tech, “What is it?”

The man’s face drained of color, as he said, “Sir, we’re getting a KIA signal from one of the missing operatives.”

Elizabeth and Malcolm shared a look of horror, before the panther morph half ran down the stairs and nearly shoved the tech out of his seat to get a look at the screen. She studied the read out, and pinched the bridge of her nose, and said, “It’s Barton, Malcolm. His tracking implant pinged him as KIA, approximately a few miles away from the base we’re we think he was being held.”

Malcolm let out a heartfelt expletive, and then said, “Get me Oregon on the line. I want to talk to the CEO, right now.”

----

Fredrick was engrossed in the world of his microwelding torch as he touched up damage to Anthony Berger’s armor suit. The kangaroo was behind him, and as usual, was toying with one of the hacking handheld computers.

His concentration was broken when the P.A. began broadcasting. Lifting up his safety goggles, he listened, “Attention. Attention. All Team Commanders, report to the Communications Room. All Team Commanders report to the Communications Room; that is all.”

Fred stood, noting the grease, grime and sweat covering his shirt. It wasn’t exercising work, working with the torches, but the heat and dirt still affected him. He put the torch and goggles in Anthony’s hands, and said, “You’ll need to finish it, yourself. The bear needs me.”

----
Adrian looked up with the others at the P.A. announcement. Odd timing – the planned attack wasn’t for another week, or so they were told. Whatever was going on, this wasn’t good.

----
Fredrick stood with the other Team Commanders on the upper deck of the Communications room. Malcolm stood before them, visibly upset about something. He sighed and said, “Bad news and Good news to report.”

“First, Bill Barton is KIA. We received his signal not ten minutes ago, when presumably, the Russians dumped his body. All the more reason to fight hard when the time comes. Second, I’ve spoken with the Oregon brass. We can’t wait any longer, and the higher ups are moving up our timeframe to tomorrow. I know you all don’t like it, and I don’t either, but if one of our missing people just turned up dead, we’re running out of time for the others. We have to act now.

The good news is, that we are going to have clear airspace and armor support from the Russian Army. Go gather your teams – we’ll be presenting on battle plans in ten minutes in the main lobby.”

[Starscream]

Barnaby exited the cabin with the rest of the techies after their debating finally reached a conclusion. Many immediately headed for warmer abodes, while a few broke out the cigarettes for a well deserved break. Barnaby said his goodbyes and wandered away hands in his pockets for warmth. He was feeling irritable after this marathon run of brainstorming, and needed some alone time to vent. Unfortunately he found his mind wandering to Iwan, and began an attempt to not think of what condition Iwan could be in. His nose then picked up on a strong, disgusting scent. Barnaby glanced around several times before locating the source; oily cigar smoke.

Barnaby squinted as the bright sunlight bounced off the freshly fallen blanket of white snow. "Hello?" he finally called shielding his eyes from the glare. A figure moved slightly and flicked the ash from his cigar onto the snow.
Barnaby grinned slightly and approached the seated mountain goat. "René? Geez mate, talk about natural cameoflauge. White as the snow you are, and I mean that in a good way." He sat next to the splice, being careful to sit downwind from teh smoke. "And a white suit too. Where did you even get a white suit?"

René said nothing and took another long drawl on his cigar, his white enssamble blended seamlessly into the snowbank he sat on as he stare out over the ski grounds.

"So where'd you end up after Oregan? Any worse for the wear?" René paused, and then tilted his hand towards the thylacine splice showing the small wrapping around his wrist. "Not too shabby, if I do say so myself." Barnaby commented.

"Are you aware that Brewer is planning an expedition into the headquarters of the Russians?" René asked quietly.

"What? Of course I am. The whole camp is talking about it, what do you think I am? Stupid?"

"Then why are you wasting your time talking to me when you could be using your skills to determine the safest way inside their compound?"

"What?" Barnaby's irritability snapped. "I just came out of a four hour meeting with the most brilliant and, frankly most ADD, of our men addressing that exact problem! We not only predicted what technological system they'll be running, but based on our architecture, communications, and administrative experts we've estimated where the exact locations of security outposts and overridable consoles would be. When we get in we'll have those damned systems turned against them so fast they won't know what hit them!"

René was quiet. "Predicted?"

Barnaby groaned and fell backwards hands massaging his eyes. "Look, we have very little to go on, even with the Russian government's help. If you have any information, I'd be very inclined to know what it is. Otherwise, I don't see you doing anything productive."

The sudden laugh from the goat caught Barnaby offguard. "What kind of fool do you take me for? Where do you think I've been? How do you think I got my clothes, my cigars, when he entire camp has been cut off from all contract outside of our zoo? Please." He extinguished the butt of his cigar in the snow and stared at Barnaby. "I'm old, Mr. Balfour, but my long life has yielded me many, many reliable contacts. From the finest clothes to the most exquisite of habits, I have been in touch with my informants ever since landing here. This is, after all, my former territory."

Barnaby thought for a minute. "They know who you are? What if you lead them here?"

"As if I would be foolish enough to leave such an obvious trail. No. And as for my business, well..." René stood and brushed the snow off his suit. "My business is in information, and as such I've had plenty of my questions answered." He straightened his tie and looked down at Barnaby. "Now here's another: when are you going to meet up with your team? They should be sounding the alert soon."

"What do you mean?" Barnaby asked as René walked away with a short wave. "Why are you so frustrat-" His pager went off and Barnaby snapped it open with a huff and a glare. He read the message quickly, then a second time.

All teams report to their designated areas for a mandatory meeting.

He groaned and snapped the pager shut. A meeting at this time only meant something bad had happened, and that was sure to not help Barnaby's mood. He glanced around, but René was already lost to sight in the white snow. "Just as well," he said to himself. "It's not like he's on my team or anything."

[Mophtran]

Iwan couldn't help but wince when Lorus was slammed on the ground in front of them. She looked very bad. If she was to survive, she needed medical attention sooner rather than later.

Iwan caught a "Tell them that she dies if they don't tell us everything they know!" in Russian from one. The other spoke in broken English.
"Talk, or she dies!" He said menacingly. They slammed the door shut behind them. After the residual echo from the door, all that was left was the ragged breathing of Lorus. Iwan and Greg stared for a moment, taking in her broken state.

"Iwan. We've got to get out of here." Greg spoke solemnly after a moment.

"I know." Iwan responded, his tone somber as well.

"I've already seen one of ours die to torture today, Iwan!" Greg's voice broke slightly at the end.

"I know, Greg." Iwan had seen this sort of thing before. It didn't really phase him when the other splice died. Iwan had already been privy to many tortures, and even conducted a few of his own.

But they had been targets, people meant to be taken out and all the information sucked dry from. Lorus was a team member, something Iwan was new to. Even still, he couldn't help but have a sense of unity; a bond that shouldn't be broken.

"We will get out of here. The rest of us will live." Iwan stated. The only problem was figuring out how to do that.

Lorus moved, her hands cuffed behind her back, staring at Iwan. Her ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.

-------------------------------------------------
((This part mostly written by Zero, though I made some minor edits))
Fredrick Busch nodded as all of his teammates gathered in the small cabin that served to house most of them.

He started by saying, “We have some new developments. First, Bill Barton of Team Onyx is KIA. His GPS tracker send off the signal about forty-five minutes ago. As a result, the brass are moving up our attack on the Syndicate to tomorrow night.”

Fred let that sink in. Barn and Adrain’s eyes were wide with surprise; their guests at the back maintained their composure. Perhaps they already knew?

Fred continued, “To that extent, our current standing orders are as follows. We will be deployed with the other splice teams, and several of our human comrades from Oregon, and para-drop into the enemy region.”

Barnaby almost looked disappointed. Fred thought for a moment, and tried to anticipate what the thyacline was thinking, “The drop pods are going to the top human teams, Barn. We get the silk elevator instead.

“Gold Team’s mission is to pair with three other teams and act as the wedge to force the base’s door open. From there, we’ll move inside and try to locate our people. To that extent, may I introduce our partner team for this op, Team Emerald.”

----------

Fio watched as the horse morph briefed his team. There was a definite youth to all of them, still much a novice flavor, even with their unintended experience. Fio whispered to Derrick, “Were we ever so young?"
Derrick smiled. "Actually, yes."

Truth be told, Fio didn’t mind this paring of teams, although it was no secret that both Derrick and he preferred to work alone. But Fio had doubts about the brass’ ability to command such a large force all at once.

“May I introduce our partner team for this op, Team Emerald.”

Introductions? Really? Everybody knew everybody, at least by name within the splicing community. Fio didn’t really hang out with this crew, but he at least knew who they were. After Derrick had introduced himself with a simple nod and his name, Fio followed, “Fio Enyer, a pleasure.”

-------

Fred waited for the two and continued, “According to the orders we’ve received from high up, Emerald will watch our backs as we attempt to cut through the door. Adrian, I understand you and the other demo techs came up with a solution for this?”

Adrian nodded, and said, “We are coordinating with Oregon, and manufacturing thermite charges. It’ll burn though the locking mechanism, and we’ll have to manually force the door open. If everything goes to plan.”

“As for when we deploy, it’s tomorrow around noon. The armor suits are back to full, and we’ll pack heavy. Make sure you’re packing a side-arm and an a semi-auto rifle at the minimum, along with some grenade firepower. Barn? I want you to pack a med kit. When we find Iwan, he’s probably going to be drugged.”

Fredrick looked down for a moment, and said, “I know we already went through the invasion, but I want to say this for emphasis. There will be confusion on the battlefield, and our enemy will be using lethal force. When confusion happens, and it will, shoot first and ask questions later.

((This be mine))
Fred let that bit sink in before he was going to continue to discuss more tactics and accept input from Emerald, but the door to the cabin burst open.

"I'm coming with you!" Tristan exclaimed, out of breath.

"No, Tristan. You're not." Fredrick said simply. "We can't have an unarmed civilian to babysit while we're fighting for our, and their, lives." Tristan seemed taken aback, but continued.

"I need to go. I can't not get back at those bastards for what they're doing." Tristan' words were desperate. Frederick knew the real reason Tristan wanted to go, and also knew that it was the worst reason for him to go.

Derrick stood suddenly. He has been quiet the whole time. It was like he was measuring Fred as a fellow team leader. "Look, Tristan," He began softly. "I know how it can be to have someone you care for trapped in captivity. I'm sure you also know very well how the Russians treat their prisoners. But you are no warrior."

"I fought my way out of the compound!" Tristan retorted "I know the layout of the place."

"It's highly unlikely that they are using the same station as you were held in. The Syndicate isn't that stupid. Either way, you are not fit for battle. You had the chance to join the ranks of Brewer, maybe even be battle ready by this time with supervision, but you are just a civilian." Derrick spoke calmly and forcefully. Fredrick was astonished by his ability to talk someone else down. Tristan had lost his heat.

"I know... I just don't want to lose him." Tristan spoke softly.

"Neither do we," Fredrick said. "That's why we're going in to get him back. Tristan, you would only be a hindrance." That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Tristan regained his fire.

"You may think I am, but I've escaped from captivity. I was unlikely to survive the splicing process, and only survived my captivity through sheer luck. I can't stand idly while Iwan is in there, being subject to that. I'm going, whether you take me or not!" At that, Tristan turned heel and walked out of the door into the darkening, snowy grounds, slamming it behind him.

[Zeromark]

The next day,
----
Adrian Kerr moved with a purpose as he stood with his teammates at an improvised armory. They were pulling on their armor suits, and it was a long, but practiced process.
He started with the battery sack and butt armor, it came around and buckled around his waist. Ironically it was one of the thickest pieces of the titanium-reinforced Kevlar; Adrian could always lose an arm or leg, but not the little fireman.

Fred helped put his back plate into place – the connections had to be just right to lock into place and seal the system. If there was the slightest leak and their foes used gas attacks, there could be disastrous effects.
Next came the chest pieces, the legs, boots, arms and gloves. Helmet was always last. Adrian flexed inside the suit, stretching. The battery sack was tied into kinetic enhancements which bore the some of the weight of the armor, but it was still a little stiff and restrictive.

The others were finishing up their armor; Fred was one of the tallest, and had to kneel down to have someone connect his back plate. Collectively, the three members of Gold walked over to the arms table, as Fred said, “Everybody load 5.56 cal guns and ammo, in case we need to share clips.”

All manner of weapons were spread out and diligently organized. Adrian started, by grabbing a pack of the thermite charges that he and the others had prepared. They had done test-fires of the charges yesterday; rather than carry primed materials that burned nearly 5000 degrees Fahrenheit into battle, Adrian and the other demo techs would insert a detonator when needed. Included in the same satchel were two kilos of C4; once the locking mechanism was burned through, they would still need a little brute force to get the doors open.

Adrian picked up a side arm, and slapped a clip home. He pulled back the spring-based loading mechanism, pulling the first bullet into the chamber with a satisfying clack! The side arm went into his thigh compartment, along with four clips for it. The coyote morph moved towards a German-made G36, with a .203 grenade launcher attached. He slid a clip home, slid the bolt to pull one round into the chamber, and armed the safety. Six clips of thirty five rounds each went into his shoulder compartments, and he loaded four .203 impact-grenades onto his belt.

Twirling a carbon-steel combat knife over his left hand, he slid it into his boot’s knife compartment. Full loadout – all he needed was his helmet.
----
Fredrick moved with the armaments table with a slow precision. He armed and holstered a sidearm, and began feeding shells into a shotgun. Filling the twelve shell magazine, he slipped a bandolier of another thirty six shells around his shoulder, running diagonally across his chest. The shotgun moved to a magnetic clamp on his back, and the horse morph broke open one of the “egg carton” containers of M67 fragmentation grenades. Those were clipped to his belt, four each. Last on his list was an M16 rifle; he packed four additional magazines for that in his shoulder compartments. Fred shifted in all the gear – it was heavy, to be sure. But he would rather have the firepower to fight for every inch, if he had to.

Derrick Huxley and Fio Enyer approached, the lion asking him, “You ready?”

Fredrick looked at the other two, armed to the teeth, carrying their helmets underneath their arms. Fred closed his eyes, and thought of Laura, still bed-bound in the hospital wing, and what had been done to her, and what was likely being done to Iwan. He gritted his teeth, and turned back towards the other team leader, “As we’ll ever be. Let’s go kick some Russian arse.”