The Zakhaevs are dead. Their beloved Ultranationalist Party has collapsed into a virtual civil war; petty warlords struggling to emulate their once glorious leaders. To make matters worse still, Khaled Al-Asad, the commander of the revolutionary forces in the Middle East and an ally of Zakhaevs Ultranationalist party has also been interrogated and executed by British Special Forces.
Two powerful terror organizations, bereft of leadership, until Al-Asads protegé, Vladimir Garunchin, rises to avenge his friends’ dishonourable death at the hands of the Western scum. He has vowed to avenge his Friend and the Zakhaevs. His rise to power is swift and merciless.
Garunchin has ferociously used the world shortage of bio-fuel deposits and embarked on a reign of terror in the predominant production Country of Cow-dun, Chechnikiovia.
The News networks are alive with speculation about ‘not so secret’ former-Soviet Nuclear Missile launches, whispered reports of missing Cargo Ships in the Bering Straits, loaded with WMD’s and god knows what else.
God may not know, but British and U.S Intelligence have a pretty damned good idea….
…HMS Ocean…Routine Patrol Duty….Oman Sea
The stop at the carrier was brief, much briefer than Andy would have liked it to be. After the morning mission, he was really expecting some decent chow and a hot shower, but instead he was greeted with an MRE ration and a new mission brief. If that’s not hospitality, he didn’t know what was.
Next stop, getting packed into a Lynx AH-7, destination unknown, full mission briefing at the LZ, fingers crossed the Intel guys had got their act together now and could feed us some good stuff.”
Just then he noticed ‘Ivan’ absent-mindedly fingering the safety on his MP5. “Easy there, fella!” he half joked. “You’ve got a loaded weapon there!”
“You bet I do,” Ivan said, patting the butt of the MP5 in his lap. “’Except I’m nailing me some Hajjis today instead of ladies!”
Everyone groaned. If they had gotten used to anything by now, it was Ivan’s bad jokes. But we guessed his Marksmanship and specialist skills were good enough for the brass to twist some arms and allow the attachment from the SBS.
“Listen up, team!” Soap barked. The chatter in the room stopped instantly, leaving only the steady drone of the Lynx AH-7 rotors overhead. “Intel has a possible fix on Garunchin’s location. Our Recon Force’s morning raid secured a weapons depot and a bunker installation, they’ve captured significant amounts of hardware and the location of a downed drugs cache, but they missed the man himself. Now it’s up to us.”
“So were clearing up Johnny Jarhead’s mess again?” Smudge spat.
“Smudge, if you’ll stop complaining about the jarheads, your next beer’s on me…” Andy said. Smudge instantly perked up, “Call it a done deal, hope you’re beer chit is strong enough to take the weight.”
“Intel has the Zanc strewn around the site of a Drone which crashed in woodland not far from the drop zone, you can bet your bottom dollar Garunchin and crones are heading there now,” Soap continued, ignoring the banter. “We’ll simply arrive before he does and do the snatch. Clean and simple, just how we like it.”
“Why can’t we just smoke it, sir?” Smudge piped up.
“Garunchin is somehow connected to the goings on in Russia. The Brass didn’t let many details out but it sounds like something big may be coming down around our ears unless we do something about it. Our orders are to secure and retrieve the drugs, simple as that” Soap replied.
“If it’s just a snatch and dash mission, then why the hell are we loaded up for a full scale War?” Ivan, ever the optimist.
Soap looked across the cabin, he certainly had a point. We were loaded out with just about as much equipment as we could carry. He had traded his CQBR for its bigger cousin the M4A1, fully outfitted with under-slung grenade launcher, trusty EOTech holo-sight, and Surefire tactical light. Their go bags were loaded to the brim with extra ammunition, be it M4 magazines or extra rounds for Smudge’s SAW. A few of us even carried AT-4 anti-tank rocket launchers and C4 satchel charges. Not to mention Andy dripping in Claymores, but to be honest, that was pretty normal.
“We are going to liaise with friendly forces already on the ground, we’re not going to have much external support for this mission; basically what we have is all we’ve got.”
“LZ up ahead, boys! Get ready!” the pilot came over the intercom.
“Lock and load” Soap said.
Smegrab – outside the Krinski Forest in Southern Chechnikiovia
Ivan sauntered into the smoke-filled shack, wiping the remnants of intestines off his Kindjal. A present from an old friend, long since departed. He had long since given up on humanity as a way of life, instead preferring the way of the Dollar, peddling arms and drugs regardless of the client. His only motivation here and now was exactly that. Money. The deceased? The drone pilot who’d sneezed and allowed the $30,000,000 shipment of pure Zanc drop into a wood 30 miles away, damaging the tracking chip, so only intermittent signals were being received. Ivan hit across the new synthetic drug whilst in Zambese, with a pure strength ten times the toxicity of Cocaine, and 100 times more addictive, but most importantly non-lethal at any dose, it hit the streets of New York with such a fervor that his income rose to millions a day within a week. Now he just lives life to feed his other passion, sadistic pleasure.
He shook off the snow from his coat entering the dim light. “Done!” he said to General Garunchin.
The Impaler just nodded and went back to the map. He didn’t care about drugs, he was more interested in the other contents of the drone that would secure his hold over the Western world, in fact the whole world. The final components for his bargaining chip that would ensure domination and control of every facet of Russian life.
Victor danced impatiently in the corner of the room harassing a radar operator for the location of the drone. HE alone knew what the outcome would be if it was damaged, and the cure certainly wasn’t drugs or power. It was death, and he’d quite like to go back to his sheep farm in Turkey to his young bride, thank you very much.
“Get the Germ in here… NOW!!!” Screamed the Impaler. The Germ, so called for his brilliance in making the damned things stumbled drunkenly into the room… sending the guard crashing against the floor.
“Wozzup?” he muttered… “I was busy with that young …”
“SHUT IT, mobilise every man in this sorry sonovabitch hole and get them ready to get out to the Krinski Forest, I want that drone FOUND and NOW!”
Orders were screamed, engines rumbled into life, the crisp air filled with diesel fumes and the smell of something not quite right lingered in anticipation.
The orders were simple, the goal.. well, we’ll see
Delta Charlie - going live on 18th July 2008
The 360Scenario Game of Death brought to you by 360FireTeam and SCPV
Two powerful terror organizations, bereft of leadership, until Al-Asads protegé, Vladimir Garunchin, rises to avenge his friends’ dishonourable death at the hands of the Western scum. He has vowed to avenge his Friend and the Zakhaevs. His rise to power is swift and merciless.
Garunchin has ferociously used the world shortage of bio-fuel deposits and embarked on a reign of terror in the predominant production Country of Cow-dun, Chechnikiovia.
The News networks are alive with speculation about ‘not so secret’ former-Soviet Nuclear Missile launches, whispered reports of missing Cargo Ships in the Bering Straits, loaded with WMD’s and god knows what else.
God may not know, but British and U.S Intelligence have a pretty damned good idea….
…HMS Ocean…Routine Patrol Duty….Oman Sea
The stop at the carrier was brief, much briefer than Andy would have liked it to be. After the morning mission, he was really expecting some decent chow and a hot shower, but instead he was greeted with an MRE ration and a new mission brief. If that’s not hospitality, he didn’t know what was.
Next stop, getting packed into a Lynx AH-7, destination unknown, full mission briefing at the LZ, fingers crossed the Intel guys had got their act together now and could feed us some good stuff.”
Just then he noticed ‘Ivan’ absent-mindedly fingering the safety on his MP5. “Easy there, fella!” he half joked. “You’ve got a loaded weapon there!”
“You bet I do,” Ivan said, patting the butt of the MP5 in his lap. “’Except I’m nailing me some Hajjis today instead of ladies!”
Everyone groaned. If they had gotten used to anything by now, it was Ivan’s bad jokes. But we guessed his Marksmanship and specialist skills were good enough for the brass to twist some arms and allow the attachment from the SBS.
“Listen up, team!” Soap barked. The chatter in the room stopped instantly, leaving only the steady drone of the Lynx AH-7 rotors overhead. “Intel has a possible fix on Garunchin’s location. Our Recon Force’s morning raid secured a weapons depot and a bunker installation, they’ve captured significant amounts of hardware and the location of a downed drugs cache, but they missed the man himself. Now it’s up to us.”
“So were clearing up Johnny Jarhead’s mess again?” Smudge spat.
“Smudge, if you’ll stop complaining about the jarheads, your next beer’s on me…” Andy said. Smudge instantly perked up, “Call it a done deal, hope you’re beer chit is strong enough to take the weight.”
“Intel has the Zanc strewn around the site of a Drone which crashed in woodland not far from the drop zone, you can bet your bottom dollar Garunchin and crones are heading there now,” Soap continued, ignoring the banter. “We’ll simply arrive before he does and do the snatch. Clean and simple, just how we like it.”
“Why can’t we just smoke it, sir?” Smudge piped up.
“Garunchin is somehow connected to the goings on in Russia. The Brass didn’t let many details out but it sounds like something big may be coming down around our ears unless we do something about it. Our orders are to secure and retrieve the drugs, simple as that” Soap replied.
“If it’s just a snatch and dash mission, then why the hell are we loaded up for a full scale War?” Ivan, ever the optimist.
Soap looked across the cabin, he certainly had a point. We were loaded out with just about as much equipment as we could carry. He had traded his CQBR for its bigger cousin the M4A1, fully outfitted with under-slung grenade launcher, trusty EOTech holo-sight, and Surefire tactical light. Their go bags were loaded to the brim with extra ammunition, be it M4 magazines or extra rounds for Smudge’s SAW. A few of us even carried AT-4 anti-tank rocket launchers and C4 satchel charges. Not to mention Andy dripping in Claymores, but to be honest, that was pretty normal.
“We are going to liaise with friendly forces already on the ground, we’re not going to have much external support for this mission; basically what we have is all we’ve got.”
“LZ up ahead, boys! Get ready!” the pilot came over the intercom.
“Lock and load” Soap said.
Smegrab – outside the Krinski Forest in Southern Chechnikiovia
Ivan sauntered into the smoke-filled shack, wiping the remnants of intestines off his Kindjal. A present from an old friend, long since departed. He had long since given up on humanity as a way of life, instead preferring the way of the Dollar, peddling arms and drugs regardless of the client. His only motivation here and now was exactly that. Money. The deceased? The drone pilot who’d sneezed and allowed the $30,000,000 shipment of pure Zanc drop into a wood 30 miles away, damaging the tracking chip, so only intermittent signals were being received. Ivan hit across the new synthetic drug whilst in Zambese, with a pure strength ten times the toxicity of Cocaine, and 100 times more addictive, but most importantly non-lethal at any dose, it hit the streets of New York with such a fervor that his income rose to millions a day within a week. Now he just lives life to feed his other passion, sadistic pleasure.
He shook off the snow from his coat entering the dim light. “Done!” he said to General Garunchin.
The Impaler just nodded and went back to the map. He didn’t care about drugs, he was more interested in the other contents of the drone that would secure his hold over the Western world, in fact the whole world. The final components for his bargaining chip that would ensure domination and control of every facet of Russian life.
Victor danced impatiently in the corner of the room harassing a radar operator for the location of the drone. HE alone knew what the outcome would be if it was damaged, and the cure certainly wasn’t drugs or power. It was death, and he’d quite like to go back to his sheep farm in Turkey to his young bride, thank you very much.
“Get the Germ in here… NOW!!!” Screamed the Impaler. The Germ, so called for his brilliance in making the damned things stumbled drunkenly into the room… sending the guard crashing against the floor.
“Wozzup?” he muttered… “I was busy with that young …”
“SHUT IT, mobilise every man in this sorry sonovabitch hole and get them ready to get out to the Krinski Forest, I want that drone FOUND and NOW!”
Orders were screamed, engines rumbled into life, the crisp air filled with diesel fumes and the smell of something not quite right lingered in anticipation.
The orders were simple, the goal.. well, we’ll see
Delta Charlie - going live on 18th July 2008
The 360Scenario Game of Death brought to you by 360FireTeam and SCPV
