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Author Topic: Space Cowboys for Hire [Month 7] (New Blood Welcome)  (Read 28390 times)

Kashyyk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #375 on: December 27, 2020, 06:42:51 pm »

So, have a plan. I've given the Palantir job a couple pieces of hardware just to see if they'll find a good use for it. I am still a little worried about the Arms Dealer job, and could see the appeal in some extra muscle there. In that case, I'd be inclined to pull Nikita off of the Palantir job and push our luck with Anna playing a buxom teen.

Quote from: Look Ma, I made a plan!
CoFor OIC for a day
Personnel
Simon Templar

Hardware
1x Val SP-6 Carbine
All standard issue gear available (although we probably won't need either of the Entry kits)

Plan
We don't have much detail on this one, and it's lieut gig to be mostly reactionary based on Intel acquired in situ, so Mr Templar is given to leave for full creativity. Suggested PIRs to inform decision making is a follows:
1) When/Where/How of the replacement COs arrival
2) Identity, numbers and positions of any Red Team forces in the area
3) Viable locations to fortify and hold out
4) Viable routes for tactical withdrawal
5) Infantry unit's current mission and status

Do us proud Simon.

Potter Properties
Personnel
Erik Heller (IC)
James Hoxworth

Hardware
1x Land Rover SUV
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
All standard issue gear available (Although if we end up using plate carriers and firearms something has gone horribly wrong)

Plan
Team should acquire cheap lodgings somewhere relatively nearby, and stake out the property to identify a pattern of life, making sure to use a mixture of vantage points, rather than only ever in the Land Rover. If Mr Heller feels confident, an infiltration to place cameras and microphones for additional intel is acceptable. PIRs are as follows:
1) What is the daily schedule of the occupants?
2) What/when is the longest window for infiltration?
3) How frequently is the report checked on in the safe?
4) Have any new access routes opened up due to the WhiteFalcon kit?

Using these, the team should be able to identify the ideal times for a back to back infiltration. Worst case, the team may need to produce a "stand-in" copy of the report that will survive cursory inspection in the case of the occupants checking on the safe whilst the client is making alterations. Hopefully, this will not need to be any more complicated than a ream of blank paper to replace the report in its envelope/case.

During infiltration, Mr Hoxworth will be positioned nearby as a lookout/driver.

Palantir's High School of Drama
Personnel
Anna Chapman (IC)
Nikita Taylor

Hardware
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
All standard issue gear (although, as Neil notes, combat gear is likely not needed)

Plan
Ms Taylor should be deployed as a student at on-campus residency, whilst Ms Chapman is deployed in a Faculty role based on her skills (PhysEd seems a safe bet, but we shall rely on her judgement. She may be hiding an advanced degree for all we know. Alternatively, a Custodian role will allow for believable access to large sections of campus if Ms Chapman believes the reduced access to students will not overtly limit her abilities). Both operators are to network heavily to find the source of the funding, exchanging notes and with Ms Chapman providing coaching and advice on HUMINT tasks as necessary. PIRs are as follows:
1) Who is financing the Anghabar terrorists?
2) How are they transferring the funds?
3) Who are their contacts within the terrorist organisation?
4) How were they originally approached before beginning to provide funds?
5) Are the families of the funders complicit?

IRA Gun 'Walkers'
Personnel
Ethan Hunt (IC)
Victor Vega

Hardware
1x 'Beast' Technical
1x Tachanka LMG
2x Val SP-6 Carbine
All standard issue gear (Plate Carriers are actually recommended for this one)

Plan
Mr Hunt will pose as the Arms Dealer, with Mr Vega as his bodyguard. Mr Hunt will drive the Beast to the meeting site accompanied by the AMR CI/FP smuggler transport (presumably a truck), with Mr Vega in the gunner position.

Before the journey, the rendezvous and route will be analysed for potential risk to the convoy, and the contents of the arms shipment examined. The client will be asked to provide acceptable price ranges to work with during negotiations.

Whilst at the RV, Mr Vega will stay on overwatch whilst Mr Hunt preforms the deal, co-opting the AMR operators as necessary for handling/demonstration of the shipment. During the negotiation, the following PIRs should be answered, under the guise of fishing for details relevant to further arms deals:
1) How many combatants can the IRA field?
2) What weaponry do they already possess?
3) What weaponry do they lack?
4) How capable is their supply/logistics?
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Stirk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #376 on: December 27, 2020, 06:53:21 pm »

Quote
Potter Properties
Personnel
Erik Heller (IC)
James Hoxworth

Hardware
1x Land Rover SUV
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
All standard issue gear available (Although if we end up using plate carriers and firearms something has gone horribly wrong)

Plan
Team should acquire cheap lodgings somewhere relatively nearby, and stake out the property to identify a pattern of life, making sure to use a mixture of vantage points, rather than only ever in the Land Rover. If Mr Heller feels confident, an infiltration to place cameras and microphones for additional intel is acceptable. PIRs are as follows:
1) What is the daily schedule of the occupants?
2) What/when is the longest window for infiltration?
3) How frequently is the report checked on in the safe?
4) Have any new access routes opened up due to the WhiteFalcon kit?

Using these, the team should be able to identify the ideal times for a back to back infiltration. Worst case, the team may need to produce a "stand-in" copy of the report that will survive cursory inspection in the case of the occupants checking on the safe whilst the client is making alterations. Hopefully, this will not need to be any more complicated than a ream of blank paper to replace the report in its envelope/case.

During infiltration, Mr Hoxworth will be positioned nearby as a lookout/driver.

That intel was the entire point of the last operation. There isn't any reason to spend more time gathering more information, it will just increase our chances of getting caught.

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Kashyyk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #377 on: December 28, 2020, 02:16:12 am »

This is mainly to ensure that nothing has changed that will catch us out. It might just be paranoia, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
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King Zultan

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #378 on: December 28, 2020, 06:11:54 am »

I doubt they've changed their living pasterns that much since we were last there.
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The Lawyer opens a briefcase. It's full of lemons, the justice fruit only lawyers may touch.
Make sure not to step on any errant blood stains before we find our LIFE EXTINGUSHER.
but anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need to commit sebbaku.
Quote from: Leodanny
Can I have the sword when you’re done?

Kashyyk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #379 on: December 28, 2020, 06:20:36 am »

Thats true, but the later we can delay swapping out the report, the less the risk of them deciding to reread it, finding the alteration and fixing it.
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Shadowclaw777

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #380 on: December 29, 2020, 12:46:05 am »

Well then it seems fine enough though I question the Potter Properties strategy and the usage of our equipment

CoFor OIC Day
There not much to do but pray on Simon’s tactical knowledge to win the day, maybe he can wear a stylistic beret, I guess we can’t give him much equipment or transportation, so I guess an ATV will just be unused for this mission.

Potter’s Properties
Equipment-wise just give them 2 AS VALs, since while yes if Eric is spotted at any time that means we pretty much failed the mission while infiltrating the house, maybe the terms of engagement could just to only go for nonlethal takedowns?, also make sure to use a balaclava when on both members when infiltrating. As well, we have plenty of spare ATVs, so we could have Eric and James be in different areas, the ATV would be positioned farther away from the building to be better for reconnaissance purposes while the SUV would have to be pretty close by to the building.

As well I am confused by the timing, it’s only been a single month so how significantly can their daily schedule change? Order of operation should be like Day 1: Find Residence (Such as the previous motel?), infiltrate the house and steal documents on the night, Day 2: Send documents to forger and figure out how long it takes, Day X: Infiltrate House again and return forged documents.

High School of Drama:
Since we are essentially forced to use Anna as a Health/PE Substitute teacher/member of the faculty, my main question comes from where they will be housed and store equipment, and since there is a residence hall we shouldn’t attempt to be like hiding a gun in the closet, but guess were going to bring backpacks and suitcases to hide our covert entry kits, cameras, binoculars, etc inside the rooms of the campus that will be provided to us by Palantir. Since we have so many spare ATVs, even though there is both limited parking for staff members and a military-style ATV may be out of place, but Anna could just say she’s a hiker in her spare time, since it might be weird trying to hide all our equipment on-person while taking a Uber or using the rail system.

And yes, I can’t really find uses of the ATVs, another idea is give Anna the SUV and give Eric and James separate ones for the mission.
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Kashyyk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #381 on: December 30, 2020, 12:45:26 pm »

-snip-

I'm pretty happy with these body morphs, although I would like to suggest a few alterations. I realise I'm basically splitting hairs at this point, but I do have reasons.
- Anna should have long hair, which is light brown (I'm sure extensions and advanced dyes are a thing, but long lighter hair gives her more options for alteration)
- Erik Heller should have semi-obvious tattoos of his choice (If this system is like modern day culture, then someone with tattoos is a member of organised crime, and should open some doors there for us. It might close  some doors if they're too obvious though)
- I would suggest C/D bust size for Nikita and Evelyn (just cos a respectable amount of boobage also opens doors. Not like its particularly important though)
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m1895

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #382 on: December 30, 2020, 06:36:36 pm »

Some things that were supposed to be posted in thread at some point but weren't:
-Give Anna a badonk (not a full badonkadonk, as that would hurt her capabilities in Stealth ops)
-give all the female ops reasonably wide hips, since they're associated with several positive traits, from intelligence to good health.
-other things I don't remember.
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ConscriptFive

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #383 on: December 31, 2020, 04:20:09 pm »

Event Resolution

With Simon about to run off on an urgent mission, you too rush to show him his morphology selection.  Go bag in hand and breathless from throwing his kit on, he scans over the 3D model you built for him hurriedly.  With a quick nod of satisfaction, he comments, “That'll do Ma'am.  Thanks for prioritizing me.”

With him out the door nearly as quickly as he rushed in, you take a moment to admire your handiwork.  Simon has come to remind you of your late husband in a lot of ways.  Perhaps that's why you your first draft ending up resembling Danny a little too much.  Afraid everyone would notice, you changed a few key details around.

Simon Templar's new morphology resembles something of a James Bond for the New Worlds: a gruff and tough Brit with all the cultural baggage that entails.  His face is appropriate weathered to resemble a 'seasoned' career operator in his forties.  Still, he's ruggedly handsome by most standards.  At 6'0 even, he's tall for a Caucasian man, but not ostentatiously so.  Combined with a medium athletic build, he can either be authoritative or lay low as a 'gray man' as the mission dictates.

Before calling in your other operators, you decide to sign off on keeping the current morphology of your two presently deceased men.

Angus MacGyver had his skull stomped in at the Red River Riot before anymore at Ocean's Ten really got to know him.  A tanned Caucasian man in his late thirties, he was your second oldest operator.  He was a decent-looking guy of average height and build.  You never quite figured out what to think of his dirty-blond mullet.

Redrick “Redbrick” Batiste made quite the impression in the few months before being gunned down and ejected from a speeding vehicle in the woods outside Flossmore.  A muscular black man of African-American heritage, he stood out in a lot of ways.  At a glance, he appears to be in his twenties to thirties, but his clean shaven head might just be hiding male pattern balding.

Going back to the personnel roster, you call the first name in alphabetical order.  Anna Chapman gives you a playful wink as she makes herself at home in your office, “Have you been looking forward to this as much as I have?”

Reviewing the 3D model, she's critical of your work and has something to say about seemingly every detail.  You defend your core design though, logically explaining that you'd like to keep using her as a covert agent in the upcoming Han Chinese Chung-Hwa Planetary System.  She irritated that you're right, and begrudgingly concedes the argument.

Even after Anna puts her own take on it, most your your design stands.  The new Anna will be a remarkably attractive Asian woman with generous curves.  Her straight black shoulder-length hair provides an arresting contrast to her pale skin.  At 5'6, she's roughly average in height for a healthy young woman, but taller than most of Asian heritage.  Still, her relatively diminutive size should still seem non-threatening and petite to most men in the 'verse.  But Anna's ego won't let her fully concede to a morphology many readily fetishize as submissive.  She insists on a slightly older age for 'versatility' and you compromise on a more adult early twenties versus late teens.  Anna also raises the entirely valid point that she'd like to try and keep athletic parity with her male peers.  It'll be a tough order knowing what models you have in mind for the male operators, but you agree on smuggling an acrobat's toned musculature underneath her otherwise plush flesh.  Looking at the final nude model, her rippling abs and well-toned limbs are slightly incongruous with a heaving chest on such a small frame, but it's not like any guy who gets her to that state is about to complain about it.

After taking a well-deserved coffee break from that ordeal, you call in the next operator, Erik Heller.  Taking one look at the 3D model, he jokes in an Australian accent, “Well I'll be a wallaby's uncle!  That's a ridgy-didge Chianman right there!  Gud-on-ya!”  Your initial confusion is allayed as he drops his 'Dingo' act and confesses he'd always wanted to try an Asian character.  “Can't be accused of yellow-face now!”

Erik Heller's model presents itself as a Han Chinese man in his late twenties to early thirties.  Similar to Anna, he's tall for an Asian at 5'8, but is close enough to the bell curve to not stand out excessively.  Combined with his lean build, short dark hair, and clean shaven face, he should blend in well in a traditional Chinese environment.

Erik suggests something further though, “You know, I used to be in tight with a Triad 'Red Pole' and his crew.  They were all inked up with dragons and whatnot.  Maybe I should get a chest or back tat for some street cred?”

You're conflicted about this.  It could work, but it could also backfire terribly.  A criminal gang's worst enemies are often not law enforcement, but instead other gangs.  Being tagged with the enemy's sign could get ugly fast.  Furthermore, a failed forgery could draw heat from the imitated Triad as well.  But you'll learn more about the political situation once Sam can make some calls in Chung-Hwa.  You explain this to Erik and decide to wait and see.

If he wasn't on his way out,  James “Hoxton” Hoxworth would be next on the roster.  He was your second youngest operator and last your heard, he was just down at the Red Light District again, getting more ink added to his growing sleeve tattoos.  His country accent vaguely reminded you of Danny when you first met long ago.  Anyhow, you had expected great things from the scrappy white kid, and aren't exactly sure what went wrong there.  You wish 'Raptor' well wherever he ends up.

Ethan Hunt breaks into laughter when he first sees your proposed model, “Wow, so I'm Asian and a bear now?”  Per his requests, you dial his 6'2 half-Asian bruiser down a notch.  At a muscular 5'11, he's still more of a physical specimen than most men, but isn't the circus strongman of your original model.  Ethan does appreciate the mixed ethnicity as a clever way to work an Asian face onto a hulking body.  He suggests a dark 'Fu Manchu' style mustache and goatee, and it certainly gives him a edgy look.  At the end of it all, he offers an apology, “Sorry to disappoint you Ma'am, but we can't all be Vic Vega.”

On the other end of the spectrum, Nikita Taylor just stares at her model wordlessly.  After giving her more than enough to time to verbalize an opinion, you try to cue her with a slight cough.  “Oh... sorry.”  Nikita looks are you carefully and explains her situation tentatively.  An orphan from a glitterworld slum, she never knew her parents.  She was excited when the TI Clinic arranged a full sequencing of her genetics.  Despite some plainly East Asian facial features, she was mixed race, though and through. It wasn't much, but it gave her something of an ancestry to cling to.  The little waif looks at you with pleading brown eyes, “Is there a way I can keep some of that?”

You do your best to explain to her about genotypes versus phenotypes.  The vast majority of human DNA doesn't even do anything, although you refrain from using the term 'junk DNA' given the circumstances.  You're no scientist, but you remember being on the other side of this conversation back in the day.  “No matter what, you're still you, Nikita.  All the important stuff is kept in the TI Mod, right?”

Nikita tries not to act upset, but you can tell she's fighting back tears.  You shut down the offending model and just talk with her  for a moment.  She recovers eventually and you ask her what body she would be happy with...

Nikita leave your office with a smile and you review the new model the two of you made together.  It's still very much the present Nikita.  A minute 5'1 Asian girl, her skin isn't a pale white like some fashion model, but the light beige tint of someone who actually works for a living.  Your youngest operator, her face and figure are undeniably youthful and girlish, still looking like a pubescent teen.  Deceptively, her tiny frame is isn't as wan as you'd suspect, and is all wiry strength.  Her cloned body will feature the usual epigenetic fixes resulting in overall superior health and fitness, and Nikita accepts that along with the the necessary to shuffle some biometric markers to throw off forensic investigations.  Some facial plastic surgery makes her look like a sister she never knew she had.

Victor “Mr. Blonde” Vega licks his lips when he sees his model and gives you a fist bump,  “You frakkin' nailed it, Boss.”

Already a tank of a human being, his new body turns it up to 11.  At a towering 6'4, his stature and physique have become that of a professional heavyweight prizefighter.  He'll be a giant amongst men, and he'll likely draw the eye of everyone he ever meets.

With the model already sporting blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a lantern jaw, Vic asks if he can look “just like that badass dude from that one boxing movie.”  After further detective work, you determine he's talking about Dolph Lundgren's 'Ivan Drago' from Rocky IV.  Although entirely doable, you advise him against a direct celebrity copy.  You relay a story Danny once told you about and operator who Reju-Renew'd as a Brad Pitt copy.  Not only did everyone in the field immediately know he a 'custom skinjob,' but it also made witness statements far too easy.  Rather than witnesses having to wrack their memories and vocab to describe a suspect in intelligible terms beyond a “clean-shaven middle-aged white guy,'  authorities quickly had a warrant out for a guy “who looks EXACTLY like Brad Pitt.”  Or at least that's the story Danny told.

Anyhow, Pipehitter 2.0 now vaguely resembles Dolph Lundgren at his physical prime.  A statuesque Nordic giant, you decide to muddy the water abit by giving him a hard New Yorker accent.  You doubt Vic was going to learn any old European languages anyways.  (Later research suggests Vic may not have been epic enough to fully represent Dolph Lundgren anyways.  After earning a Master's in Chemical Engineering, he had a Fulbright Scholarship to get his Doctorate at MIT.  However, that summer he seduced the leading supermodel in the world, then proceeded to network through her into a successful Hollywood career.)

Wrapping up work at the office, you still have one operator left to meet with.  You meet Evelyn Salt at the one of the private consultation rooms at the TI Clinic.  Both her legs are amputated, and she repeatedly crashes her new wheelchair against furniture and doorways as she struggles to maneuver it through tight spaces.  She seethes through clenched teeth at her newfound clumsiness, “Jesus Christ Ma'am, give me something to look forward to.”

Whether it's her various traumas these last few months, or some other deep-seated drive, Salt finds your model for her deeply inspiring.  Already a feisty Latina with the steely quads and pronounced glutes of a power athlete, her proposed model is even more Amazonian.  At a striking 6'1, she'd become your second tallest operator behind only Pipehitter.  (She'd look amazing in heels, but you don't think she's that kind of gal.)  Salt also pushes you to increase her muscle mass even more so.  Her resulting physique now resembles that of a professional bodybuilder.  Facially, she further alters the cheekbones and jawline to be more angular and fierce.  You wonder if you've gone too far here, as her hulking appearance probably pushes the norms of femininity too much for general operations.   Long comfortable with her Latina brown skin, she's game to try out skin from a new continent and will skew towards Middle-Eastern skin tones.  She had already been keeping her long dark hair in a military regulation sock bun, and will probably continue to do so as it works well with paramilitary headgear.

Already at the TI Clinic, you finalize the morphology selection and hand it over in person.  Walking home, you dream of your new body: something professional, empowered, but just the right amount of sexy.  After all, this would be your first Reju-Renu as both a CEO and a single woman.  (Speaking of, you probably should get back into the dating scene at some point.)

The new you will be that of an elegant and sophisticated Englishwoman.  At a runway supermodel's height of a full 6'0, you'll be sure to turn heads with your legs-for-days.  Blue eyes, blond hair, and a bombshell figure round out a package most would find irresistable.  Yet this supermodel still needs to run a respectable business.  Trying not to think of your true age, you arrange yourself as a very well-kept 30-year-old:  still young enough to seize the benefits of youth, but mid-life enough to command a business meeting without a second glance.  You throw in a posh Chelsea accent, hoping it'll give you an additional air of sophistication and exoticism.

Turning in for the night, you crawl into your half-empty bed.  With the promise of Transhuman Immortality, you had planned to live forever, and forever was a long time to be a mourning widow.  How soon is too soon to move on?  Given Danny's line of work, this very situation should've been something you had discussed, but who could bring themselves to raise such a dire topic?  Danny loved you as much as you loved him, and he'd want you to be happy.  You'll know when the time is right.  Besides, how the hell does dating on a gorram space ship work anyways?

Stirk

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #384 on: January 01, 2021, 09:44:03 pm »

School Infiltration:

Send Vic and Nikita for this mission. Nikita will act as a transfer student, integrating herself withing the student body to allow us to utilize HUMINT effectively. Whenever possible she should utilize social media. This should minimize her "Old Lady" profile while maximizing her social impact, allowing her to make recorded contact with a large number of students and listen in on group conversations without drawing suspicion. School girls are not known for their operational security, we should at least find usable chatter if the culprit isn't some young terrorist mastermind.

Vic will be acting as a custodian, giving him 24/7 access to the entire facility without drawing too much attention. Vic was chosen as the second entirely because having bad acting skills would be even worse in the arms-dealer mission, and he has shown to be good with kids. While performing his rounds he will act as a patrolman, noting any suspicious individuals arriving from off-campus. He will also focus on the more physical side of investigation if anything is brought up, if necessary investigating student's lockers or dorm rooms using his job-provided key ring. He will be given a set of the fancy new button cameras that he can set up in locations that are likely to bear fruit, but should only do so if he has actionable intelligence to keep suspicion low.

Coalition Expeditionary Forces:
Mission is to not die for two days. Simplest thing ever, you've avoided dying every day of your life so far! Not really sure what we're actually supposed to do here beyond that. Just try to keep communication open between you, your men, and your superiors so maybe you know what to do. Excrete an aura of confidence only possible by a high-trained immortal space mercenary. It will raise moral.

Potter Properties:
Enter the house through the door with fancy not-key. Enter the safe through pre-established entry method. Take what we need, leave (through pre-established exit method aka door). Our actionable intelligence was "They sleep at night" last time so all we really need to do is establish no lights are on and the situation hasn't changed. Delta out if an old lady comes at you with a sharp object.

Consider doing "low-tech night vision". Cover one eye with a cloth (or just keep it closed) so its already adjusted to the dark, just so we can minimize the "stumbling around in the dark" phase this time. Pirated tested, FAA approved!

We'll send Anna just so nobody suspects anything if she ends up getting caught. At least long enough for her to get out. Special lock kit thing and one of the cars.

AMR CI/FP:
Ethan, Hoxton, and Erik here with Ethan as team leader to get into character. Which should be easy since his character is "him if we asked him to sell guns".

I'm against sending the beast here. First it is an odd contraption that gets attention and has been deployed before, after our last mission it wouldn't be surprising if The Beast is beer talk for both factions by now. Its a modified vehicle that may as well have "OCEAN'S 12" spray painted on the side, not really suited for clandestine operations. Second it doesn't work as a show-of-force in character. It would be like your car dealer driving up to his lot in a pinto. Old rusty ruskie (chinesey?) might pack a punch, but it doesn't scream "I have access to a variety of high quality firearms which I sell for a living!". Finally our character isn't looking for trouble. Nobody trusts a guy pointing a machine gun at them. Two bodyguards in full "Don't mess with this" kit with shouldered rifles should be enough to avoid any violence unless our cover gets totally blown, without drawing suspicion or ire.

Instead we'll take the land rover. If our newly-crowned gun otaku learned enough about explosives to be confident with it he can set up some semtex in the back which can be detonated as our "plan B". This should act as enough of a distraction to deter any assault long enough for everyone to hop in the truck and drive away. Did his training cover explosives? Eh he'll figure it out.

Ethan will be in the land rover with one bodyguard while the other rides in the truck just to look official. If the bomb is set up, park them far enough apart that it doesn't disable your only way of getting out of there.

For shipboard prep, if we have the time after Ethan read everything about his character we should run through several "sell me this pen" scenarios with our veteran arms procurement specialist just to give him some experience and stories to tell. His bodyguards should be present to get in their much-less-talkative role.

Otherwise he just needs to sell guns and get as much information as he can without making it obvious he's a spy.
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This is my signature. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

This is my waifu, this is my gun. This one's for fighting, this ones for fun.

Shadowclaw777

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #385 on: January 06, 2021, 08:09:31 pm »

Quote from: Look ma!, I edited a plan
CoFor OIC for a day
Personnel
Simon Templar

Hardware
1x Val SP-6 Carbine
All standard issue gear available (although we probably won't need either of the Entry kits)

Plan
We don't have much detail on this one, and it's lieut gig to be mostly reactionary based on Intel acquired in situ, so Mr Templar is given to leave for full creativity, however, defensive tactics should be prioritized since you only have to save the company for two days. Suggested PIRs to inform decision making is a follows
1) When/Where/How of the replacement COs arrival
2) Identity, numbers, and positions of any Red Team forces in the area
3) Viable locations to fortify and hold out
4) Viable routes for a tactical withdrawal
5) Infantry unit's current mission and status

Do us proud Simon.

Potter Properties
Personnel
Erik Heller (IC)
James Hoxworth

Hardware
1x Land Rover SUV
1x Gator ATV
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
2x VAL SP-6 Carbine
All standard issue gear available (Although if we end up using plate carriers and firearms something has gone horribly wrong)

Plan
The team should acquire cheap lodgings somewhere relatively nearby such as the previous, and stake out the property to identify if a different pattern of life has changed since last time, using both vehicles making sure to use a mixture of vantage points to cover more ground, rather than only ever in the Land Rover. If Mr. Heller feels confident, and infiltration to place cameras and microphones for additional intel is acceptable. PIRs are as follows.
1) Has the daily schedule of the occupants changed since last month?
2) What/when is the longest or closest window for infiltration?
3) How frequently is the report checked in the safe?
4) Have any new access routes opened up due to the WhiteFalcon kit?
5) How long will the forging take before the document can be returned, if it will take a significant amount of time will a stand-in copy be needed?

Using these, the team should be able to identify the ideal times for a back to back infiltration. Worst case, the team may need to produce a "stand-in" copy of the report that will survive cursory inspection in the case of the occupants checking on the safe whilst the client is making alterations. Hopefully, this will not need to be any more complicated than a ream of blank paper to replace the report in its envelope/case.

During infiltration, Mr. Hoxworth will be positioned nearby, such as across the block as a lookout/driver in an ATV with Flir Binos in hand and AS Val under the passenger’s seat, and Erik will park close-by for infiltration, also wear balaclava masks during infiltration. If caught at all, terms of engagement are for no lethality but only non-lethal takedowns as well as wearing plate carriers unless it affects combat agility for Erik.

Palantir's High School of Drama
Personnel
Anna Chapman (IC)
Nikita Taylor

Hardware
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
1x Gator ATV
All standard issue gear (although, as Neil notes, combat gear is likely not needed)

Plan
Ms. Taylor should be deployed as a student at the on-campus residency, whilst Ms. Chapman is deployed in a Faculty role based on her skills (PhysEd or a Health Class seems a safe bet as well as a Substitute, but we shall rely on her judgment. She may be hiding an advanced degree for all we know. Alternatively, a Custodian role will allow for believable access to large sections of campus if Ms. Chapman believes the reduced access to students will not overtly limit her abilities). Both operators are to network heavily to find the source of the funding, exchanging notes and phone calls, and with Ms. Chapman providing coaching and advice on HUMINT tasks as necessary.
While cliché, Ms. Chapman can fulfill the cool teacher/staff member trope to the students to garner their attention and respect by first gaining a co-aligning interest such as drugs and alcohol, feminist-support political groups, fashion, etc. OSINT research should be done by Ms. Taylor and the information sent to Nikita, to figure out what is considered trendy in the Palantir and Cranbrook Academy of the student body such as through social media to be used to help them in infiltrating their social groups and parties and to gain enough trust to have private discussions with them both in-person and online about those sensitive topics.

Anna can have her own private transport in Cranbook Academy as she will be mimicking a staff member, to hide tools and the like and being helpful not having to only take public transportation, although if there is not enough parking then the vehicle can just be sent back to the shop/leviathan. The vehicle may look out of place compared to the more futuristic aesthetic, so the story is that Anna is a hiker/outlander and prefers the more outdoorsy-nature of a military-style ATV.
PIRs are as follows:
1) Who is financing the Anghabar terrorists?
2) How are they transferring the funds?
3) Who are their contacts within the terrorist organization?
4) How were they originally approached before beginning to provide funds?
5) Are the families of the funders complicit?
IRA Gun 'Walkers'
Personnel
Ethan Hunt (IC)
Victor Vega

Hardware
1x 'Beast' Technical
1x Tachanka LMG
3x Val SP-6 Carbine
4x Semtex Explosive Brick
All standard issue gear (Plate Carriers are actually recommended for this one)

Plan
Mr. Hunt will pose as the Arms Dealer and read the briefing packet, with Mr. Vega as his bodyguard. Mr. Hunt will drive the Beast to the meeting site accompanied by the AMR CI/FP smuggler transport (presumably a truck), with Mr. Vega in the gunner position. Mr. Vega will wear a balaclava mask to better imitate the bodyguard role, and to hide his poor acting skills and facial expressions during contact with the IRA, unless requested to take it off

Before the journey, the rendezvous and route will be analyzed for potential risk to the convoy, and the contents of the arms shipment examined. The client will be asked to provide acceptable price ranges to work with during negotiations. Ethan should focus more on getting the Arms Dealer acting right, while Vic maps out the RV and route as well as purchasing a package of beer as an introductory gift to the IRA before they begin proper negotiations, even basic OSINT can be done by Vic to research whatever the most favorite local alcohol is.

Whilst at the RV, Mr. Vega will stay on overwatch whilst Mr. Hunt performs the deal, co-opting the AMR operators as necessary for handling/demonstration of the shipment such as the Semtek Bricks from safety. During the negotiation, the following PIRs should be answered, under the guise of fishing for details relevant to further arms deals. If a firefight happens for any reason at all, the terms of engagement is a full retreat.
1) How many combatants can the IRA field?
2) What weaponry do they already possess?
3) What weaponry do they lack?
4) How capable is their supply/logistics?
« Last Edit: January 18, 2021, 03:03:36 am by Shadowclaw777 »
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ConscriptFive

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #386 on: January 18, 2021, 02:16:43 am »

Mission Report Part (1/?)

CoFor OIC for a Day (Part One)

Quote from: Reconciled Plan
CoFor OIC for a day
Personnel
Simon Templar

Hardware
1x Val SP-6 Carbine
All standard issue gear available (although we probably won't need either of the Entry kits)

Plan
We don't have much detail on this one, and it's lieut gig to be mostly reactionary based on Intel acquired in situ, so Mr Templar is given to leave for full creativity.  Just try to keep communication open between you, your men, and your superiors so maybe you know what to do.  'Excrete' an aura of confidence only possible by a high-trained immortal space mercenary, (maybe he can wear a stylistic beret?).  It will raise moral.

Do us proud Simon.

Suggested PIRs to inform decision making is a follows:
1) When/Where/How of the replacement COs arrival
2) Identity, numbers and positions of any Red Team forces in the area
3) Viable locations to fortify and hold out
4) Viable routes for tactical withdrawal
5) Infantry unit's current mission and status

"So what are we going to tell this guy?"
"Nothing.  He works for higher, not us."
"We can't lie our way out of this."
"Hey, it's a war zone.  Shit happens...  You know what I mean?"


Standing in front of the military VTOL with its rotors idling, a young crew chief in a visored aviation helmet fights against the roaring engine noise, "Templar?!?  Are you Captain Simon Templar?!?"

Bracing himself against he rotor wash on the tarmac, Simon points to the CPT insignia 'railroad tracks' Ops Chief Neil pinned on his collar.  Simon nods affirmatively and the crew chief briskly waves him aboard.

The inside of the VTOL is smaller and tighter than Simon expected, with only a handful of seats.  The crew chief directs your operator to the seat next to the only other passenger on the this flight, a dark-skinned CoFor soldier with an AR-15 and plate carrier.  This fellow passengers helps Simon buckle into his four-point restraint as the crew chief scrambles to get the VTOL on its way.  Handing him a set of intercom headphones, he makes his introduction over the crescendo racket of takeoff, "Specialist Rana Chatterjee, sir.  Linguist."

"Captain Simon Templar.  Acting OIC of Bravo 2-2 Rifle Company."

Hoping to get his PIR's answered before he even touches down, Rana isn't as much help as Simon had hoped.  Rana has seemingly been briefed even less than your operator, and normally works at Regimental HQ.  He has no additional information on the TIC, and is something of an outsider to the line companies.  But why would Regimental HQ need a full-time Indo-Aryan linguist?

While Mr. Thiel only formally chartered the 2nd Infantry Regiment a few years ago, the 2nd Battalion of the 2nd Regiment is even newer than that.  Bolstered by an influx of Bengali recruits after the Red River Riot, the 2nd Battalion wasn't fully raised until two months ago.  Most of the enlisted personnel are South Asian and very few speak English fluently.

"So my mother tongue is Bengali, but I'm rated as fluent in Hindu, Urdu, Punjabi, and obviously English.  Unrated in a few others as well."

Simon jokes, "Pretty impressive.  Myself?  I only speak two languages: English and Bad English."

Rana fakes a polite laugh and doesn't get the reference.

***

Weaving through the mountainous hills of rural Anghabar, the VTOL pilot calls over the intercom system, "Alright fellas, this is your Captain speaking.  Just spoke with ground and the LZ is secure.  But this is still a tactical LZ, so we're touch and go.  You better haul ass before you get my bird shot down."

Kicking up a duststorm, the VTOL touches down and the two men hurry out the back ramp.  The rotor wash knocks him down and he faceplants hard.  As Rana goes to help him up, they don't notice the two stuffed bodybags the crew chief flings out behind them as the VTOL takes off.  After the dust clears, a squad of uniformed CoFor soldiers descend upon them.   A Caucasian soldier wearing 2LT rank addresses Simon directly, "You the new Captain?"

Hoping they didn't see his fall, Simon begins trying to 'excrete' an aura of confidence, "Captain Simon Templar, hired on spec from The Division.  You're in experienced hands now, son.  SITREP?"

2LT George Rogers explains that Battalion S2 passed them hot intel about an insurgent meeting taking place in the rural village of Mullaghmore.  With no time to lose, CPT Jonathan Allen, set out with two platoons on a hasty daytime cordon and search mission.  About a kilometer outside of village, the lead vehicle in the convoy spotted a suspected minefield on the route.  CPT Allen dismounted to inspect it himself, and took just long enough to get his head blown open wide by a sniper.  With LION-6 KIA, 1SG Thomas Martin tried to secure his CO's body, only to get gunned down in the process.  Not expecting to lose both the company OIC and NCOIC, the two platoons turned to their respective Platoon Leaders.  2LT George Rogers and 2LT Paul Miller, got the convoy to suppress the sniper long enough to recover their casualties and get out of the kill zone.

The story sounding all too familiar, your operator tries to reassure the young Lieutenant, "You did what you could.  A lot of you men are still alive right now because of what you did."

2LT Rogers shakes his head warily, "Thanks, but..."

Despite their decapitation, the Rifle Company still had to continue their mission.  2LT Rogers had wanted to set up blocking positions outside Mullaghmore, and wait for their sister company to reinforce them in 24-48 hours.  But 2LT Miller strongly disagreed, and insisted they move on Mullaghmore immediately.  Long story, short: 2LT Miller has seniority, and he's presently leading his platoon on a cordon and search of the village.

"Shit."

"Exactly, sir.  My platoon is holding the cordon while his is assaulting."

"Any additional contact so far?"

"None reported, sir."

Before Simon can turn to leave, the Lieutenant interrupts, "One more thing, Sir.  We've lost comms with them.  I can't tell you what the means, other than maybe Miller just isn't answering.  Hopefully he's just channeling his inner Erwin Rommel."

***

Simon and SPC Rana Chatterjee dismount the slain commander's truck at the edge of Mullaghmore after dark skinned CoFor Sergeant waves down the vehicle.  He speaks briskly with your linguist in an unfamiliar language before climbing in back of your truck to retrieve one of the bodybags thrown from the VTOL.

Your linguist seems satisfied with himself until he catches Simon staring him down, "Oh, that's just a Sergeant picking up the supplies from the VTOL.  He was calling it a 'speedball,' for some reason."

"Ask him where Lieutenant Miller is."

The Sergeant is obviously irritated at this interruption and the exchange appears heated.  Before the Sergeant can lose his cool, he catches a glance of Simon's CPT insignia and sobers up.

"Sir, he says the Lieutenant is over at the village center.  Says you can't miss it."

Simon jumps back into the commander/shotgun seat of the truck, "Tell our driver that's where we're headed."

***

By Simon's estimates, Mullaghmore is a small village, maybe 100-200 population total.  His musings of wheter the term 'hamlet' would be more appropriate is broken almost immediately as they come within view of the door-to-door search.  Women, children, and the elderly are dragged outside and thrown to the ground by CoFor soldiers.  Over the roar of the truck engines, Simon can hear the shattering of glass and irregular crashing thuds someone trying to batter in a locked door.  Curtained windows flicker from the inside, lit by rapidly searching rail-mounted taclights.

Simon's truck screeches to a halt at the village center.  Merely a crossroad with a general store and a public house, the 'village center' would be almost unremarkable if it wasn't for all the gathered military vehicles.  A tall white soldier yelling at a captive, 2LT Miller isn't too hard to identify.

Failing to hide his irritation, 2LT Miller blurts out, "Guess the calvary is here... You the new Cap, sir?"

That's not the military customs and courtesies Simon was expecting, but given the field situation, he lets it slide, "Indeed, Lieutenant.  SITREP?"

An obvious hothead, Miller's briefing is far from factually objective.  The basic facts the other Platoon Leader laid out are the same, but everything is colored in the most loaded and derisive language possible short of outright profanity.  After getting "bushwhacked" by some "ten cent killer," the "real men" of Bravo Company "nutted up" and "got to work."  While the "dead-enders" had "squirted" before the cordon could be set, the village was packed with "Black Mask sympathizers."  They had yet to locate "their weapons cache" but his "field interrogations" would "get results."

Not sure how much to trust anything he says, Simon has the leadership savvy not to completely alienate him off the bat, "Good work, Lieutenant.  But this is a lot of work for one platoon.  What's your security looking like?"

He smugly answers, "Rogers has the security situation nailed down, sir."  As Simon suspected, Miller's platoon is spread across the village, with each of the three squads running their own operations.  They may be dominating the villagers, but they're decentralized and would be over-extended if they took contact again.

"New orders.  On the drive in, I too many men tied down with prisoner handling.  So, we're going to collect all the villager here in the center.  That way, we won't need as many soldiers to watch them."

Miller nods approvingly, "Good idea, sir.  Easier to interrogate too."

"Indeed.  I'm going to circulate to the squads.  Keep up the good work."

***

It doesn't take long for your operator to see this whole cordon and search is a complete fiasco.  Despite three squads ransacking the village, no weapons are found.  But Miller isn't completely wrong; conspicuously, none of the detained villagers are military aged males.  Most are women and children, with only a few elderly men who can barely walk.  Two of the women are obviously pregnant, though they claim their husbands are living and working in another settlement.  One of the more observant soldiers identified some men's laundry, though the villagers all claim those garments belong to the elderly.

The villagers are obviously lying, there's not enough evidence that Simon and Miller can point at.  Still, the death of their Captain and 1SG are still on the minds of the men of Bravo Company.  Their deaths were the only evidence they needed to damn this village, and they're increasingly frustrated their search of the village turned up nothing.

Still, Rana thinks there might be something.  "Sir, these Black Masks are Irishmen and love their poetry.  They use some of it for codes.  S2 has been working to try and crack them.  How about we seize some of these books?"

Simon is skeptical, but it's not the worst of ideas.  He thinks to himself, "Not a bad theory and petty larceny is probably the least of war crimes happening on Anghabar at this point."  Simon and Rana go door-to-door and tuck away a few choice selections in their assault packs.  With nothing else to see, he makes his way back outside to the village center.

Stepping into the waning daylight, your operator is startled at what he sees.  Miller has arranged a firing squad and has a blindfolded elderly man against a wall.

Simon storms up to Miller, yelling "Stand down!  Stand down!"

"Sir, it's not what it looks like.  I'm just trying to rattle their cages abit.  We're going to shoot *near* him, not *at* him."

"Absolutely not, Lieutenant."

"Sir, I'm talking real shock and awe, here.  Captain Allen and First Sergeant Martin deserve this kind of effort."

"'Effort' is not what I'm seeing here."

"Sir, you got to give me a chance here.  We tried talking, but strength is the only thing these kind of people respect."

"'Strength' isn't what I'm seeing here either."

"Sir, you haven't been out here seeing what we've seen."

"I've 'seen' enough, Lieutenant.  I'm only here temporarily, but I'm not trying to break Clint Lorance's record.  Stand down."

"Sir, with all due respect, if-"

*CRACK-BANG*

***

"Shite," Cormac Connlongas says under his breath as he checks his kill.

His target turned his head at the last minute, and his .300 Win Mag blew through the face rather than the skull.  It wasn't a clean kill, but it's not like these bastards deserved any better.

Still, the face isn't a vital organ.  In theory, the rat bastard could live.  He would probably live out the rest of his life as some disfigured charity case, but that would be something at least.  Hell, maybe some glitterworld celeb could wrack up some followers and corporate sponsors getting his face back.  Our 'hero' would be back to ravaging remote villages at the whim of Capital in only a few months.  A real feel good story.

But first, he's gotta get out of here before he bleeds out.  And the rat bastard ain't going be doing that on his own.  It won't be long before some 'hero' realizes this.

Cormac chambers another round, "Law of Gravity: bodies attract bodies."

***

Simon screams, "ANYBODY GET A VECTOR?!?"

Realizing his troops still don't understand English regardless how loud he shouts, he looks over to Rana.  He's frozen in the adrenline riddled shock of someone in there first real action.

Simon calls out to him, "Specialist Chatterjee!"

The young South Asian soldier sits frozen with a glassy thousand yard stare.

Simon tries again, "SPECIALIST RANA CHATTERJEE!"

Rana shakes it off as he comes to, "Sir!?!"

"Ask if anybody got a vector on the sniper!"

"A hectare?"

"A VEC-TOR!  Distance and direction!"

Ducking inside a doorway, Rana seems to understand this time and calls out in Bengali.  Sergeants throughout the company echo the same phrase.  No one saw the shooter.

In the meantime, Miller writhes in pain on the ground before sitting up and trying to stand.  He tries to get his bearings, but his vision is gone; the shockwave from the .300 Win Mag having rupturing his eyes.  He tries to cry for help, but his dangling tongue merely flaps in the breeze; his lips and teeth having been scattered as bloody shrapnel all around him.  He holds his hands against where his lower face should be, feeling out the bloody gushing crater that remains.

Simon sees Miller is still alive and calls out to him, "Lieutenant Miller, hang in there!  We'll come for you!"

Looking around for capable hands, he sees a Platoon Sergeant's rank, "You, Sergeant!  English?"

The older South Asian man nods, "Some, sir."

Simon gets a better look at his nametape "Follow me Sergeant Sen.  Okay?"

"Okay, sir."

Your operator commands Rana, "Okay, I'm going to go grab the Lieutenant.  I need the entire Platoon to provide covering fire."

Rana seems confused, "But fire at what?"

Forgetting the linguist isn't an infantryman, Simon obliging clarifies, "Known and suspected enemy positions.  They'll know what that means.  Put that order out."

"Yes, sir," reponds Rana before yelling out orders in Bengali.

Simon looks back to Platoon Sergeant Sen.  He points him and then himself before pointing at the downed Lieutenant Miller.  "Ready, Sergeant Sen?"

***

Scanning his sector of fire, Cormac waits patiently for his next target.  His live bait was wriggling like a worm on a hook, and sooner or later, somebody would bite.

Then all hell broke loose.  Swarms of angry red tracers flew out of the village of Mullaghmore.  None of them were aimed at him, and he doubted their AR-15 carbines could even hit him at this range.  Still, he might've not seen a designated marksman somewhere.  Barring that, heavier firepower was always on the way.

Having both made his point and put enough notches on his belt for one day, Cormac Connlongas decides to call it a day and folds up his bipod.

"Shite, there it is!"

***

"I got the feet!  Go, go, go!" Simon barks out as he picks up the bloodied mess of Lieutenant Miller.

The Platoon Sergeant sen grabs Miller by the torso.  They have roughly twenty feet to dash, but with each of the three men having over a hundred pounds of ammo and armor strapped to them, Simon and the Sergeant might as well be hauling a refrigerator.

"Up!  Follow, follow, follow!" Simon tries to lead the Sergeant, but carrying such a large and irregular load isn't very intuitive either.

Simon stumbles.

*CRACK-BANG*

***

Before he can confirm his kill, red tracers track towards Cormac's position.

***

The near miss is enough for a third soldier to sprint from cover and finish the recovery of Lieutenant Miller.

Safely inside a building, your operator calls out to Rana between panting breaths, "Rana... ok... fire... at will."

Rana seems confused, but the Platoon Sergeant Sen calls out the order in Bengali before Rana does.  The cacophony of dozens of automatic weapons dies down.

Having caught his breath, Simon looks around the room expectantly as no one seems to be managing the casualty,  "Medic?  Doctor?"

Rana copies in Bengali and Sergeant Sen answers briskly, "Medic with Lieutenant Rogers, sir."

With frustrated disgust, Simon rips open his PFASK MOLLE pouch and gets to work on the casualty.  But seeing a handheld radio clipped to Miller's chest rig, he realizes he had never addressed the commo issue between platoons.  Cursing under his breath, he unclips the radio and hands it to Sen, "Get Lieutenant Rogers."  (Of all the people in arms reach, Simon figures the Platoon Sergeant would know how to get a military radio back online.)

Getting back to casualty care, Simon can't help but wince as he analyzes the blood mess before him.  A contorted fleshy tongue convulses in a jagged abyss of blood that used to be a man's face.  His eyes look like a Halloween demon costume, with blood pooling and clotting underneath both corneas and staining the sclera dark red.

But as viscerally horrific as it looks, the airway seems intact.  Yet with that much traumatic hermorraging, that won't last.  It was for exactly this situation nasopharyngeal airway (NPA) "nose hose" tubes were packed in trauma kits.

Simon unwraps the over-sized rubber straw and positions it as Miller's nostril.  Unsure of wheter he's reassuring the patient or himself at this point, Simon states as authoritatively as he possibly can, "Miller, I need to put a tube down your airway.  Everything is going to be okay."

Simon jams the NPA tube down Miller's left nostril in what looks (and is) an excruciating process.  Almost immediately, Miller writhes and tries to fight Simon away.  Despited being blinded and grievously wounded, it's still enough to derail care.  Luckily, a nearby private intervenes and restrains Miller as Simon jams the rubber tube up his nose and down his throat.

Just as he gets the airway managed, Sergeant Sen hands off the radio to Rana.  After a brief exchange, Rana reports to your operator, "Sir, I got the Lieutenant on the radio."

Simon breaths a sigh of relief and speaks to Rana as he bandages Miller's face, "Tell him Miller was hit by a sniper and we need the medic at the village center.... belay that order... tell him we need everyone."

"Everyone, sir?"

"EVERYONE!"

***

Powder Miner

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #387 on: January 18, 2021, 02:47:18 am »

Quote from: Plan Votebox
Stirk's Plan: (1) Stirk
Shadowclaw's Plan: (2) Shadowclaw777, Powder Miner
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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #388 on: January 31, 2021, 11:23:27 am »

Mission Report Part (2/?)

CoFor OIC for a Day (Part Two)

Under the protective darkness of night, Platoon Sergeant Jogendra "Jon" Sen makes the rounds on his troops throughout the village of Mullahgmore.  Setting up camp in the middle of a killzone wouldn't have been the order he'd given, but the CO had decided to garrison the village overnight.  It wasn't the first time an officer made him carry out a questionable order, but presumably these officers know something he doesn't?  Or at least, that's what Jon tried to believe.  Not to speak too ill of the dead, but Jon found Lieutenant Miller a difficult master to serve.  The Lieutenant was a fierce and lusty young man, who could've benefited from some more restraint and maturity.  Yet as the old Bengali saying goes: "A one-yed uncle is better than no uncle."  English is the lingua fraca of most of the New Worlds, and non-native English-speakers are readily looked down-upon.  Jon's English was functional, but wasn't at the level where he could fully brief his CO or decipher a lengthy operations order.  As a senior NCO, Jon did what he could to keep his fellow Bengali's both gainfully employed and away from undue harm, but ultimately his platoon needed a white face with an English tongue to do business.  (Jon's few attempts at "tactically questioning" prisoners were frustrating to him, and likely darkly comedic to his onlookers.)

Climbing up the stairs of a farmhouse, Jon hushedly whistles a recognition sign to his troops.  (At least the CO had directed defensible fighting positions with great sectors of fire.)  From their elevated position on the second floor of the building, half of a fire-team pulls watch, their helmet-mounted night optics turning the surrounding hilltops into green monochrome landscapes.  The other half of the team rests scattered haphazardly throughout the master bedroom.  They were in for a long night, and allotted for shut-eye seemed the prudent course of action.  All seems well until he noticed the loaded RPG-7 propped next to the window.  He addresses his soldier in Bengali, "Corporal, you ready to use that weapon?"

The 19-year-old Corporal confidently answers, "Yes, Sergeant!"

"Right out that window?"

The Corporal doesn't like where this is going, "Yes... Sergeant?"

Sergeant Sen tries to hide his disappointment as he explains that they're in an enclosed space.

"Oh."

"Good initiative Corporal, but you see the problem, correct?"

The admonished Corporal replies, "Yes, Sergeant.  Thank you."

It was an honest mistake, but possibly a fatal one.  Still, the Corporal was just a kid trying his best to stay alive in a warzone.  Sergeant Sen couldn't come down too hard on him for that.  Despite everything, this Corporal was one of the better kids in his platoon.  ("A fish rots from the head," and too many of his soldiers were beginning to emulate their Platoon Leader's ways.)  He retorts with a timeless army joke, "Corporal, don't thank me.  Thank your recruiter."

The Corporal laughs at the apt joke.

Before he leaves, he decides to give the whole room one last bit of advice,  "As the saying goes, 'Tiger on the bank, crocodile in the water.'  Stay alert, stay alive, soldiers.  Do that, and we'll all get through this mission together."

***

Lieutenant George Rogers cracks open a badly needed can of Green Owl energy drink.  In a span of a few short hours, he not only lost his CO and First Sergeant, but his peer Platoon Leader would be MEDEVAC'd shortly.

When Rogers was first assigned to Bravo Company, Lieutenant Paul Miller was just about to get married.  Not being able to afford a decent venue on Rivendell, the Colonel authorized them to use the garrison dining hall and parade field for the wedding ceremony and reception.  With the Colonel's full support, some discretionary funds were tapped and the whole Second Regiment was invited.  Nearly everyone at least made an appearance at the massive social affair.  Everyone got to socialize in their dress uniforms, and for Bravo Company it served as a bit of a welcome dinner for Lieutenant Rogers as well.

Of course, Rogers was too busy trying to 'orientate' himself to initially pick up on some of the underlying drama going-on.  Paul's bride was a pretty gal, her slinky white sleeveless wedding dress tastefully showing tanned skin and some serious muscle-tone.  By the end of the night, he'd find out she wasn't some cardio-bunny CrossFit enthusiast, but a soldier as well.  Or at least she used to be.  Despite explicit fraternization regulations, Lieutenant Paul Miller had knocked up an enlisted female.  As a combat medic, she wasn't in his direct chain of command, but it still wasn't entirely kosher.  This kind of thing could've been swept under the rug, but she insisted on keeping the baby.  A medical discharge and a shotgun wedding was hastily arranged arranged before her pregnancy became too obvious.

Of course, that was over a year ago now.  There was only one battalion back then, "before the Indians came and made everything all 'ethnic.'"  Rogers thinks to himself, "I'm not a racist, but I doubt a pretty white girl like her would 'feel safe' in the present situation."  Her discharge from service was probably for the best.

Rogers never really saw her again after the wedding, but after such a spectacular celebration, you'd assume they'd live happily-ever-after.  Paul never talked about his marriage, but Roger had seen him still flirting with other female personnel.  Maybe they had an open marriage, or maybe they didn't?  Or was it a simply a matter of "what happens in the field, stays in the field?"  Ultimately, it wasn't his business, and Lieutenant George Rogers stayed out of his colleague's personal life.

Rogers may have butted heads with Lieutenant Paul Miller more than once on this deployment, but no one deserved what those Black Masks did to him.  Paul was a hard-charger for sure, and on paper, he checked all the right boxes for a Rifle Platoon Leader.  But once on deployment, it was increasingly obvious that he really didn't get the whole "hearts and minds" thing.  CPT Allen must've picked up on this, as he kept Miller's platoon assigned to the CO's maneuvers.  Paul remained convinced this "honor" was due to being CPT Allen's favorite.  But in actuality, this kept LT Miller on a short leash.  While LT Rogers was routinely OIC on his own platoon level maneuvers, LT Miller was in effect never allowed outside-the-wire without direct adult supervision.

His Green Owl-fueled ruminations are interrupted by stomping in the doorway.  The company medic peels off his bloodied latex gloves with disgust, "Sir, call off the MEDEVAC.  I just lost LT Miller."

***

When Simon gets the news about Lieutenant Miller, he tries not to lose his military bear.  "I should've known better.  I should've gorram known better!" he mutters to himself.

In rendering aid to the casualty, Simon had made a very common mistake.  Miller's horrific near-decapitation was unmistakable, and despite the complexity of the injury, Simon applied the right tools with the right techniques to manage that trauma.  But hyper-focused on what remained of the poor bastard's face, Simon had neglected to examine the rest of the casualty.  Miller's uniform was already stained with clotting blood, but more was still dripping from inside the body armor encasing his torso.

When Simon handed off the casualty to the combat medic Rogers brought with him, the medic eyed over the nosehose and facial bandaging with approval.  While Simon ran off to position fire-teams in defensible positions throughout the village, the medic stripped off the casualty's body armor, revealing a cavernous abdominal gunshot wound now with severed entrails dangling through an open exit wound in his back.  This sniper did hit something on his second shot after all.

The combat medic did what he could, but it was a grievous injury that should've been treated much sooner.  Despite intravenous fluids and a defibrillator, Lieutenant Paul Miller was dead within fifteen minutes.  Simon returns to see the man he "saved," only to find a filled bodybag in his place.

***

Despite everything, the night passes without further violence.  Other than staying awake on guard duty, the greatest challenge the infantrymen faced overnight was escorting the detained villagers to and from their outhouses.  Your operator probably could've gotten some sleep as well, if only the loss of Lieutenant Miller wasn't weighing on his conscience.

Charlie company arrives via convoy by midday, and their CO takes over the situation with the expertise and of a veteran leader.  Eager to unpin his Captain's bars, your operator hands over command briskly.

"Well it looks like you got handed a real shit sandwich Mr. Templar.  Still, we're all glad higher got you out here to handle it.  Looks like Ocean PMC really lived up to their reputation today.  I'll let the contracting officer at Regiment know you did well."

The VTOL back to the spaceport arrives not long afterward.  Still a tactical LZ, "Project Manager" Simon Templar, Specialist Rana Chatterjee, and the three bagged corpses are unceremoniously herded aboard the bird.  The pilot dusts off the exact moment the two men get buckled into their restraints.

On the ride back, SPC Chatterjee isn't very talkative, and eventually drifts off into a well-earned nap.  Still unable to sleep, Simon is left alone with his thoughts and the three bodybags at his feet.

CPT Allen and 1SG Martin were not his responsibility; they were dead before Sam even spoke with the customer.  But Lieutenant Miller was his responsibility, and Simon failed in keeping him alive.  He met the man only briefly (and under entirely unflattering circumstances,) but Simon wishes he knew him better.  With Chatterjee safely asleep, your operator unbuckles his harness to lean in and inspect the tag on Miller's bodybag.

NEXT OF KIN: DOROTHY RAE MILLER - GOODHAVEN, HARAD

"Shit."

***

The VTOL touches down on the tarmac in New Dublin and the pilot speaks on the intercom, "Hang tight back there.  A detail is coming for the angels first."

As the rotors spin down, the VTOL Crew Chief assists a handful of enlisted personnel with stretchers in trying to move the three sacks of bloodied meat as respectfully as possible.  Their path clear, the VTOL Crew Chief waves Simon and Rana out of the vehicle.  Not sure where to go from here, Simon tries to follow Rana off the tarmac but is button-holed by two older men in military uniform.

The one wearing a Colonel's rank takes the lead and gruffly shakes Simon's hand, "Mr. Templar?  Heard you took good care of my boys out there."

Releasing the handshake, Simon glances down at a large commemorative coin the Colonel had palmed him, "Oh, thank you, sir."

"Now I imagine you must be starving after all that.  The chow hall is supposed to be closed right now, but the Sergeant Major can take you to my table there and get you taken care of.  It's the hospitable thing to do."

Still lugging field gear, and wearing full battle rattle caked in blood and field grime, Simon would rather get cleaned up instead.  Still, he decides its best not to risk offending the CO of the Second Regiment and his right-hand-man, "Why thank you sir.  That's very generous of you."

***

Reading over the typed After Action Report a Major passed him, Simon comes to the realization that there really is no such thing as a free lunch.  The official report vaguely resembled what just happened, and certainly wasn't how he would've written up the events of the last 24 hours.

Following the death of CPT Allen and his 1SG, Bravo Company "pursued the enemy combatants" into the "known terrorist safehaven" of Mullaghmore.  Due to "well-established rapport" between Coalition Expeditionary Forces soldiers and the people of Anghabar, the "local Black Mask cadre" was quickly identified from "tactical questioning" during the "cordon and knock."  Lieutenant Miller was killed instantaneously during the "field interrogation" of said cadre, as local Black Mask fighters were "eager to thwart HUMINT exploitation of their leadership."  Over the course of both engagements, four enemy combatants were confirmed killed by small arms fire, however "their remains could not be exploited due to the terrain and other tactical considerations."

This Major, along with other assembled regimental staff officers strong-arm your operator, "Of course, you're under NDA for this.  However, it's important we get the official reporting right for our own internal use.  We consider this internal report as within your scope of work for this contract, and we've already cleared this with your Legal Counsel, Mr. Goldman."

"Of course Sam would just go with it," Simon thinks to himself.

"So if you could just sign the document here, and then the contracting officer can wire the money.  Nothing further from you will be required.

Simon weighs the ballpoint pen in his hand.  He never understood the appeal of pen and paper hardcopies, but the exoticism of pre-digital legal ritual adds a certain gravity to the situation.  A voice inside of him asks, "Do you even have a choice here?"

Simon makes the first pen-stroke and then abruptly stops and places the pen down.  The Major's jaw drops in response.  Your operator takes a deep breath as a stunned silence lingers,  "Gentlemen, so here's how this is going to work..."

***

A small cardboard box carefully perched in his lap, Simon waits in the spaceport terminal for his shuttle's arrival.  A Slavic-accented voice asks, "This seat taken?"

A middle-aged Slavic man in a Wagner Group polo shirt doesn't wait for an answer, and takes a seat next to your operator.  Simon immediately recognizes the Wagner logo and becomes acutely aware of how his firearms are stowed for travel.

"My name is Arkady Tretyakov, Special Military Advisor to the Second Regiment."

Simon tries to size up the man during this introduction.  Arkady is dressed business casual, wearing a polo shirt that's more golfwear than operator.  Still, the thin polyester short-sleeved polo shows off powerful biceps.  A 9mm MP-433 "Grach" pistol stowed in a shoulder holster identifies him as a paramilitary officer of some sort, although probably still not a field operator.

Simon responds, "Oh, is that so?  I-"

Arkady politely, yet firmly, interrupts, "And you are Project Manager Simon Templar of Ocean PMC.  Might as well put all our cards on the table, no?"

Arkady doesn't look like an assassin, but surely not even Wagner Group would be crazy enough to brazenly whack somebody in the middle of a spaceport terminal.  Where is this going?  Simon chooses his words carefully, "Indeed."

Arkady gets to the point, "It's in both our interests to 'clear the air' here.  We know one of your female operators was caught poking around Flossmore not long ago-"

Simon cuts him off, "Hey, I know nothing about that."

The Wagner merc persists, "And later some freelance pimp named Roman Polanski tried to honeypot the CERT, and then was never seen again."

Simon tries not to sweat, "Not exactly my industry, but seems like a sound business decision to me.  Can't sell a girl to a bunch of dead men."

Arkady grins incredulously with an arched eyebrow, "Oh, you want to play it like that, Mr. Templar?  Does the name Calvin Oglivy mean anything to you?"

"Wasn't he that rich asshole who ripped off Flossmore big time?"

Arkady cackles, "Ah, the old Ocean's Ten slipperiness.  I see Danny Ocean is still with you in spirit-"

*FWOOSH*

Both men turn to look out the terminal window.  Arkady says smugly, "Outgoing fire.  MRLS.  God of War."

*FWOOSH*

"Looks like they're following my professional advice and getting the vengeance they're due."

*FWOOSH* *FWOOSH*

Arkady hands Simon a familiar business card, "Well I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude now.  Your report was the third party assessment they needed."

*FWOOSH* *FWOOSH*

"Stay frosty out there Project Manager Simon Templar."

***

In his 'stylistic' dress beret and a fresh change of clothes, Simon Templar disembarks at Goodhaven.  (Presenting a stainless steel urn of the late Lieutenant's ashes, he decided it would be best not to be covered in the dearly departed's blood when meeting his widow.)  Per Simon's insistence, the regimental staff wrote up a quick contract for him to bring Miller's remains back to his widow.  Back at the head office, Sam was irked that the contract would barely break even once the flight hours were calculated.  Still, it was too late for Sam to intervene from abroad.  After the fact, Simon did convince him that this was a good move for "business development" given Ocean PMC's history with the town of Goodhaven and potential future with CoFor.

Sheriff's Deputy Janet "Holla" Hollaran is waiting at the spaceport in a Sheriff's Department Jeep Wrangler.  The blue-haired girl with a well-tailored neck gaiter greets your operator somberly, "It's an honor to meet you, sir.  We've all heard the news by now.  We definitely appreciate that you guys found this important enough to send a Project Manager down.  Sheriff Wilder would've been here to greet a VIP such as yourself, but he's taking some personal time for mourning."

Simon's never been to Goodhaven before, and arrived without pretentious expectations, "I understand, Deputy.  I've heard nothing but good things from my colleagues about the fine people of Goodhaven.  Both Ocean PMC and Coalition Expeditionary Forces thought one of Goodhaven's own sons deserved nothing less.  I only wish my first visit to your town could've been under brighter circumstances."

"Too true, sir.  Ironically, I think Dorothy's late husband could say the same..."

She goes on to explain that Dorothy left Goodhaven a few years ago to enlist in the nascent Second Regiment.  It got her out of her small town, and she received some valuable vocational education on Mr. Thiel's dime.  She met Paul in garrison on Rivendell, and one thing led to another.  After the wedding, she had wanted to stay with Paul on Rivendell.  But with her pregnant and then nursing, they couldn't afford off-post family housing as a single-income household.  (On-post family housing was very much a work-in-progress with a long waitlist.)  As difficult as the interplanetary move must've been, it was far cheaper for her to move back to Goodhaven that bear the exorbitant cost of living on Rivendell.  Of course, Lieutenant Miller still had his duties.  They had talked about him taking leave to Goodhaven, but as the situation on Anghabar heated up, he was needed to raise the Second Battalion in anticipation of imminent deployment.

"Sounds like it was rough going for her."

Deputy Hollaran sighs as she plays the role of chatty taxi driver, "And then..."

Now as a frontier town, Goodhaven wasn't exactly a shining beacon of public health.  Sewers and water lines haven't been built yet, and the town is lucky to have one "doctor" (who's technically just a Physician's Assistant by glitterworld standards, but that's a whole 'nother story,) and two rival older women who part-time as midwives.  It wasn't much, but it was enough for a town of under 700 people.

Then the refugees came and tripled the census in a few short months.  Things got ugly fast, but nobody expected the outbreak these last two months.  AMR had long educated the planet of Anghabar on the benefits of herd immunity.  Of course, management was vaccinated to comply with the health standards of the cities and Rivendell itself, but a planetwide rural vaccination campaign to every mineshaft, oil well, quarry, and prospecting dig was prohibitively costly and unfeasible.  To be fair, this system was relatively effective, as these far flung communities had no reason to mingle and migrate.  Even self-sufficient rural communities on Harad and Lossarnach signed on to the "Anghabar Model of Vaccine Efficiency," saving themselves the cost of arranging their own vaccination regimens.  Why should a farmstead in the middle-of-nowhere pay to protect themselves from exotic interplanetary diseases they will never encounter?

When the Goodhaven herd suddenly merged with several other foreign herds, this question was answered the hard way.  Until recently, what was misdiagnosed as a tick-borne Rickettsial infection, turned out to be a highly contagious strain of measles.  The Millers' infant son was one of the first deaths from this disease last month.

"Jesus..."

"Yeah...  Her husband had just got his deployment orders, and command didn't want him bringing back any infectious diseases to his unit.  Makes complete sense, but he had to attend his child's funeral via video teleconference.  That being said, I really admire you, sir, for still coming in person.  Anna and Redbrick were both fearless types too.  But I imagine you guys have great healthcare up on the Mothership, don't you?"

Simon suddenly understands why a Sheriff's Deputy would wear a neck gaiter to pick up someone from the spaceport, "Absolutely... best in the 'verse..."

***

Deputy Hollaran pulls up the Jeep to the front of a farmhouse, "Here we are, sir.  I'll wait outside for you.  This is a family matter.  Plus, you know, social distancing and what not."

"Good thinking, Deputy.  I'll try not to keep you waiting too long."

"Mighty kind of you, sir.  But take as long as you need.  Now normally, I'd say anybody from Ocean PMC is welcome to crash at my place-"

Simon quickly cuts her off, "Oh, that's so generous.  But I really should be going after this."

The masked Deputy Hollaran taps on her temple playfully, "No need to make excuses, sir.  I understand."

Delicately cradling the stainless steel urn, your operator is led into the front parlor by Dorothy Rae Miller.  The would-be soldier, mother, and housewife; now turned childless widow, seems to be keeping things together the best she can.  The house is messy, and her appearance is unkempt, but she's obviously got more than vanity on her mind.

"Something to drink?  Tea, perhaps?"

"No, not necessary, Ma'am."

Dorothy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, "So, shall we get on with this then?"

Simon obliges, "You are Dorothy Rae Miller, nee Dorothy Rae Wilder?  Lawful wife to Second Lieutenant Paul Miller, correct?"

"Yes..."

"Coalition Expeditionary Forces regrets to inform you that your husband, Second Lieutenant Paul Miller, was killed in action two days ago in Anghabar."

Someone at Second Regiment had already notified her of what Simon just said, but hearing it face-to-face from a uniformed official reopens the wound.  Choking back tears, she gestures to the urn in his hands, "Is that him?"

Simon hands over the urn, "Yes, Ma'am.  With great condolences, I-"

"How did he die?"

"Ma'am, as I said, your husband was killed in action in Anghabar.  I'm not at liberty-"

"Oh, please.  You know I was enlisted, right?  Don't feed me that regulation bullshit.  You must know something."

Well, she sure had him there.

Simon had anticipated this, and had spent the day and a half awaiting the cremation asking around the Second Regiment for anybody who knew Paul Miller well.  Besides finding personal closure with the man who died on his watch, Simon had hoped he could deliver a short eulogy for the benefit of his grieving family.  Unfortunately, the reviews on Lieutenant Miller were best described as "mixed."  Most soldiers were cagey talking to an outsider, but it was telling that seemingly no one had anything better to say about him than citing his rifle qualification and physical fitness scores.  Based on what he just learned from Deputy Hollaran, it doesn't sounds like he was much of a family man either.

So was Simon supposed to tell her how he died?  Simon witnessed the whole gruesome ordeal first-hand, and that's mostly why he was here in the first place.  "In the process of committing a brazen and ill-advised war crime, your husband had his face ripped off by a high velocity large caliber round.  Despite surviving this horrific injury, you husband died slowly in a pool of his own blood from medical mismanagement.  Also, I know all of this, because the person who failed in treating this casualty is standing right before you."

But surely his death was a noble sacrifice?  Your husband, Lieutenant Paul Miller, swore an oath of service.  Surely he lived & died for something greater.  "Due to the general ineptitude of local policy-makers and their security forces, your husband's unit was deployed to Anghabar.  Pursuing unproven military intelligence, his unit was ambushed before they could reach their objective.  Either successfully delayed or on a full-on wild goose chase, the objective proved a 'dry hole' and nothing of military significance was captured.  Despite possibly disrupting insurgent activity in a remote village for a day, and possibly killing a skilled insurgent sniper, the mission your husband died on accomplished little else tactically.  Perhaps the men of Bravo Company and their leadership recognized some hard 'lessons learned' at least?  If it's any consolation, your husband's death did seem to have an ongoing strategic impact on the war effort, justifying retaliatory heavy artillery bombardment that will certainly kill countless women and children."

Project Manager Simon Templar straightens his posture, and loos Dorothy Rae Miller in the eye, excreting an aura of maximum confidence.

"Your late husband, Second Lieutenant Paul Miller, was truly one of the best among Coalition Expeditionary Forces.  A model officer and soldier, his professional insights were valued by his colleagues and superiors.  A consummate professional and an inspirational leader of men, he was respected and loved by all he served with."

"Your husband's promising military career was cut short on his final mission to capture a dangerous Black Mask terrorist.  Following the death of his Commanding Officer, your husband courageously took command of the Rifle Company and rallied the troops to continue this mission.  Never afraid to lead from the front, your husband personally captured the targeted Black Mask terrorist.  In his final act of valor, he gave his life thwarting the escape of this terrorist, in the face of a concerted Black Mask attempt to thwart their leader from facing justice."

"I can't imagine the personal loss you must be experiencing Ma'am.  But know that your husband's death was not for nothing.  Because of your husband's heroism, a deadly terrorist operative was taken off the battlefield.  Thanks to your husband, the crisis on Anghabar is one step closer to resolution.  His beloved band of brothers are one step closer to going home as well.  Due to your husband's ultimate self-less sacrifice, Anghabar, and thus the whole Thiel Planetary System, will again be safe for the Free Market."

***

Finally back aboard the Mothership Leviathan, Simon finishes up in the shower stall rubbing himself down with disinfectant for the second time.  Exiting the latrines, he bumps into Chief Neil MacCauley.

"Geez, Templar.  You trying to run up our water bill?  Didn't think you'd be the one to turn into the team princess."

Simon laughs and shakes his head, "Sorry, Chief.  You'll understand when you read my report."

"I'll look forward to that.  Hey, I heard they money from CoFor already cleared, so good job out there, Templar."

Returning to his bunk, Simon settles int his post-mission routine of unpacking, servicing, and resetting his personal gear.  At the bottom of his assault pack, he finds a couple of books he took from Mullaghmore with SPC Rana Chatterjee.  He'd forgotten completely about that little tangent, and by now it wasn't worth tohe hassle of shipping these books back to CoFor.

Turning in for bed later that night, Simon cracks open one of the seized books for some bedtime reading.  "Station Island," a poetry collection by Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney, piques his interest.  It's a relatively quick read, and Simon is disappointed to find the first third of the collection completely underwhelming.  To his surprise, he's forced to put the book down halfway through as a passage resonates:

'The red-hot pokers blazed a lovely red
in Jerpoint the Sunday I was murdered,'
he said quietly. 'Now do you remember?
You were there with poets when you got the word
and stayed there with them, while your own flesh and blood
was carted to Bellaghy from the Fews.
They showed more agitation at the news
than you did.'

   'But they were getting crisis
first-hand, Colum, they had happened in on
live sectarian assassination.
I was dumb, encountering what was destined.'
And so I pleaded with my second cousin.
'I kept seeing a grey stretch of Lough Beg
and the strand empty at daybreak.
I felt like the bottom of a dried-up lake.'

'You saw that, and you wrote that - not the fact.
You confused evasion and artistic tact.
The Protestant who shot me through the head
I accuse directly, but indirectly, you
who now atone perhaps upon this bed
for the way you whitewashed ugliness and drew
the lovely blinds of the Purgatorio
and saccharined my death with morning dew.'


Spoiler: Mission Summary (click to show/hide)
« Last Edit: January 31, 2021, 02:35:24 pm by ConscriptFive »
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ConscriptFive

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Re: Space Cowboys for Hire [Turn 6]
« Reply #389 on: February 15, 2021, 01:30:48 am »

Mission Report Part (3/?)

Palantir's High School of Drama (Part One)

Quote from: Reconciled Plan
Palantir's High School of Drama
Personnel
Anna Chapman (IC)
Nikita Taylor

Hardware
1x FLIR Thermal Binoculars
1x WhiteFalcon! Covert Entry Kit
1x Gator ATV
All standard issue gear (although, as Neil notes, combat gear is likely not needed)

Plan
Ms. Taylor should be deployed as a student at the on-campus residency, whilst Ms. Chapman is deployed in a Faculty role based on her skills (PhysEd or a Health Class seems a safe bet as well as a Substitute, but we shall rely on her judgment. She may be hiding an advanced degree for all we know. Alternatively, a Custodian role will allow for believable access to large sections of campus if Ms. Chapman believes the reduced access to students will not overtly limit her abilities). Both operators are to network heavily to find the source of the funding, exchanging notes and phone calls, and with Ms. Chapman providing coaching and advice on HUMINT tasks as necessary.
While cliché, Ms. Chapman can fulfill the cool teacher/staff member trope to the students to garner their attention and respect by first gaining a co-aligning interest such as drugs and alcohol, feminist-support political groups, fashion, etc. OSINT research should be done by Ms. Taylor and the information sent to Nikita, to figure out what is considered trendy in the Palantir and Cranbrook Academy of the student body such as through social media to be used to help them in infiltrating their social groups and parties and to gain enough trust to have private discussions with them both in-person and online about those sensitive topics.

Anna can have her own private transport in Cranbrook Academy as she will be mimicking a staff member, to hide tools and the like and being helpful not having to only take public transportation, although if there is not enough parking then the vehicle can just be sent back to the shop/leviathan. The vehicle may look out of place compared to the more futuristic aesthetic, so the story is that Anna is a hiker/outlander and prefers the more outdoorsy-nature of a military-style ATV.
PIRs are as follows:
1) Who is financing the Anghabar terrorists?
2) How are they transferring the funds?
3) Who are their contacts within the terrorist organization?
4) How were they originally approached before beginning to provide funds?
5) Are the families of the funders complicit?

Sitting alone on a bench outside her dorm, Nikita opens up the Wave commo app on her phone.

"So how was your first day of school, kiddo?" Anna teases playfully.

"Well... it's been awkward, so far?"

"Oh, come on.  It couldn't have been as bad as the complete bullshit I had to nod and grin through..."

***

"So Assistant Coach Charleston, one of the great pleasures of working as Dean of Student Activities is that I'm afforded a bird's eyes view of today's teenage culture.  While teenagers are always the same in some fundamental ways, I have identified the arrival of a new generation.  The leading edge of this new generation now fills all four of our classes hear at Cranbrook Academy for Girls.  These students are as different from us, as were were from our Old World parents' generation.  These 'New Kids on the Block' will provoke a reevaluation of our purpose and mission, and they will challenge all of us adults to lead them in ways we are not expecting.  But lead them we shall.  I must ask you, are you ready for this task?"

Finally given a chance to speak, your operator pipes up, "Absolutely, Dean Johnson.  I may only be here for a short time, but-"

Dean Marilee Johnson drones on, "This newest generation, the first all born in the New Worlds, may have already eclipsed all other living generations in population.  With the ever increasing success of the New Worlds under the Invisible Hand of the Free Market, the NKOTB will have tremendous opportunities that were denied us Pioneers."

Anna quietly endures, and thinks to herself, "Just had to use that initialism, didn't she?"

"Fully divorced from the Old World, we as adults, must educate these children of their lost heritage.  We must lead and inspire them in revering our cultural touchstones, for through nostalgia, we remember who we are as a people."

Anna has heard some version of this speech throughout her life, and tries not to roll her eyes.

"But we must always remember that the heritage of the Old World was collectively one of failure.  Statist governments happily invented socialist entitlements, and assorted other ill-conceived restrictions against our greatest intellectual dynamos.  The basic principle, and the ultimate results of all statist doctrines are the same: dictatorship and destruction.  The Founders had no choice but to save humanity with the Exodus Initiative.  The ultimate demise of the Old World was only a matter of time."

Anna mentally checks off "dynamo" and "statist" on her buzzword bingo card.

"We here at Cranbrook have earned the pleasure of educating the finest youth of the New Worlds.  These mere children will become the role-models and leaders for all the rest of NKOTB, and someday, the New Worlds.  These children are hungry to learn.  And we at Cranbrook shall feed that hunger.  But we must be sure they eat the proper diet.  As someone in physical education, am I correct that you understand this Coach Charleston?"

Prompted to speak, your operator answers, "I agree 110 percent, Dean Johnson.  I have always believed in a holistic approach to fitness-"

The Dean continues, "Children are impressionable, and they are easily seduced by the temptations that destroyed the Old World.  NKOTB have been raised in relative affluence, being spared the hardships of both pre-Exodus and the Pioneering of the New Worlds.  They are accustomed to instant gratification and have never faced consequences of their actions.  Yet all is not lost.  Unlike our parents, who had been betrayed by their own statist governments into serfdom and war without end, and us, who were raised on our parents' unfiltered war-stories, NKOTB has no reason to distrust our leadership.  Now, don't laugh, but they may even like us adults!"

Anna genuinely does choke back a laugh.

"Our students are ready for us to lead them, and further, even WANT us to lead them.  In the dizzying mass of information some confuse for knowledge, it is our hard earned pleasure to cultivate each student's individual garden.  Planting and watering seeds of bounty and beauty.  Of course, sometimes overgrowth must be pruned, while weeds and pests must be eradicated.  While this last part may seem cruel to simpler minds, but nothing truly great was ever created by the brutish influence of mere parasites."

Anna isn't sure how many more tortured metaphors she can withstand.

"Shall we speak plainly, Coach Charleston?"

Anna perks up with a sense of relief, "Of course, Dean Johnson.  As I was saying-"

Anna screams internally as the Dean keeps going, "Our students need us to teach them the rules.  Not only of this school, but the Free Market itself.  Anything less would be a disservice to their families, who worked hard to earn them a top tier education here at Cranbrook.  Furthermore, our students need to be reminded of who they are.  Our students already know they're special.  But their families didn't work hard to raise them on the glitterworlds, just for our students to waste their beautiful minds obssessing about labor in the neodymium mines or other misguided trivialities.  We must give clarion call to our students to aspire to greatness like the Founders did.  They should aspire to create wealth, for a rising tide shall raise all boats."

"Wow," Anna thinks, "that 'rising tide' metaphor probably worked better before Climate Change drowned whole cities."

"Finally, while we should empower these children to their destinies, we are still their elders.  (And perhaps some of us might join the Founders and forever stay elders to NKOTB?)  Without our adult intervention and engagement, youth will create dangerous 'rules' we might never imagine.  We must maintain our role as the wizened elders of humanity, and ensure our students graduate with the appropriate respect for the Founders and the wealth they created."

Glad the Dean seems to be done with her speech, Anna pretends to be in appropriate awe of the Dean's lecture, "That's very inspirational, Dean Johnson, and exactly what I was hoping to bring-"

"Now Coach Charleston, you may only be here a short time, but you have an important role to play here at Cranbrook.  Some people say organized sports are a low-class vestige of the Old World.  They say organized sports shouldn't even be an official student activity at our fine institution.  But both you and I know differently.  Our lacrosse program cultivates all our aforementioned objectives.  Our girls learn the value of hard work, strategy, aggressive competition within a well defined legal framework, and obedience to elder mentorship.  As you see, here at Cranbrook, education doesn't end outside the classroom."

Anna wishes her "education" would end at this point.

"As temporary faculty, you will be expected enforce the Code of Conduct delineated in the student handbook.  Typically, most Code of Conduct violations are uniform related, but don't be afraid to enforce the rest of the Code.  Leniency is a disservice to their education.  Now, some of our student body may prove more recalcitrant than others.  But stand firm through all of their excuses and whining.  Eventually they'll comply, because NKOTB generally want to obey the rules."

Dean Marilee Johnson glances around warily and speaks in more hushed tones, "Of course there are exceptions to this...  Now I don't mean to alarm you, but there certain subversive elements you should be aware of..."

Anna leans in and listens closely as she smells a HUMINT source about to cough up intel.  Dean Johnson names a lot of names, but despite the intriguing lede, describes nothing resembling the provision of material support to an armed revolutionary insurgency on a neighboring planet.  The Dean mostly speaks of staff and students who may have "lesbionic" tendancies, and male staff who may be "behaving inappropriate."  (The Dean insists that she's "not a bigot," but that the student body are still just children.  Their families expect "a certain Old World standard of decorum" to be promoted on campus, and the Code of Conduct covers much of this.)

There's not a lot Anna can use there, but at least the Dean is done lecturing high-minded concepts and is finally conversing with her.  "Hmm, thank you for the heads up Dean Johnson."

"Of course I don't mean to denigrate our student body as a whole.  Our student body is easily the finest in the New Worlds.  And the Free Market wouldn't demand our premier tuition-rate if we weren't the premier educational institute for them."

***

Kelsey Bennington non-chalantly snorts a powdered line of Ritalin off the desk of her dorm room.  Her eyes a flutter as the methylphenidate-rush hits, she speaks to her new roommate, "So I have to read through this paper my tutor just wrote for History of Reason.  You ever heard of Friedrich Hayek?  The man who DESTROYED Keynes with FACTS and REASON?  Wrote “The Road to Serfdom?”  Yeah, me neither...  But I still gotta know this shit for the exam, right?  Why don't you get all unpacked, and I'll show you around when I'm done."

Your operator, Nikita Taylor, doesn't have to work hard to wear an awkward smile, "Oh, that would be so nice."

"Oh, aren't you just precious?  Everyone is going to love you."

Raised an orphan of presumably low class roots, Nikita never thought she'd end up anywhere near these kind of hallowed halls.  The students are the best and brightest in the 'verse, and the staff are the best money can buy.  (Supposedly you even have to know somebody to be a janitor here.  Then like a prestigious corporate gig, there'd still be a matter of the thorough background investigation and polygraph examination.  Nikita guesses Palantir must've taken care of that part for Anna's cover role.)

In five to ten years, her roommate will assuredly be on a leadership track at a major corporation, or have co-founded a hot startup.  Or maybe she'd be slightly less ambitious, and settle for a career as a lawyer or doctor.  The sweatshirt and Birkenstock clad teen could literally do anything she wanted.  ...Assuming she graduates of course.

It was her first time truly meeting someone like this, and Nikita can't help but be alittle envious.  (Even in public spaces, the New Monaco types on the Mothership Leviathian knew their own well, and readily segregated themselves from working-class folk such your operators.)  Kelsey Bennington had opportunities Nikita could only dream of.  Had Danny Ocean not directly recruited her, Nikita would probably still be a petty thief, who's highest career aspirations might be to find an honest gig behind a cash register somewhere.

But was Kelsey really that much better than her?  Nikita, for one, never needed drugs to get through her day.  Having grown up around street addicts, drugs were never something that appealed to her.  Sure, it was all legal: "consenting adults" accepting their own "personal responsibility."  Walk into any city grocer with a few bucks in your pocket, and you could walk out with a single-serving drug of your choice, (maybe two if you opt for store brand generic.)  But soon you'd need more than a single-serving pack, and you know what was even more expensive?  Rehab.  Sure, there were charitable orgs out there, but they usually had a waitlist.  Even if you could check in to a rehab program, your employer would surely fire you "at will" for your absence.  Most legal counsels would even advocate doing so, to mitigate the increased liability of a documented drug abuser on the job.  Of course, people like Kelsey would never have to worry about that.  In-house paid healthcare would take care of her quietly, and she'd be put on paid vacation.  No one fires daddy's little girl.  Besides, you know what would happen to company stock price with a scandal in leadership like that?

***

Anna quips, "Frakin' preppies, amirite?"

"I mean, I thought these kids were supposed to be smart?  CEO's, bankers, and whatnot?"

"Well, not yet at least.  Supposedly they grow up, right?  I've never been to college, but I've seen Animal House.  Supposedly Dartmouth was considered a good school in the Old World."

"Sorry, never saw that one..." Nikita glances around on the bench outside, confirming her solitude, "So are we sure these are the right people?"

Just in case, Anna tries to not sound too incriminating, "That's what 'they' said.  You remember what we talked about the other day.  'They' wouldn't give us specifics, beyond that."

Nikita pauses in thought.  Network analysis by Palantir had flagged several IP addresses and MAC's.  Kelsey Bennington's laptop was the only device positively identified, though Palantir wouldn't say exactly what the evidence of “terrorist financing” was.  Palantir did state that further evidence suggested other students were involved, but Kelsey was the “strongest hit.”

"I mean, I did meet her.  But, like, this is some pretty heavy stuff, right?  How can we be sure-"

Anna cuts her off, "Kiddo, whatever happens, I got your back here.  But like I said the other day, suitability is a bitch, right?  I'd have been more than happy to personally clean sweep here, but we all need you to carry this one.  You can do that, right?"

Nikita doesn't let her doubt show, "Yes, Ma'am."

***
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