02-04-2014, 11:03 PM
Andrew was shaken out of his nap an hour before drop. Sleep was always a valuable commodity for any soldier, and the back of an airplane was as good as a five star hotel when necessary. High Altitude High Opening meant forty-five minutes sucking on pure oxygen. The alternative was death by decompression sickness, hypoxia, or rapid deceleration when his unconscious body hit the ground. He’d take the oxygen.
If Andrew hadn’t been briefed on the mission, he might have shit himself when he woke up to the sight of seven Custody Vegas geared for war. Luckily for the airmen who would be cleaning the plane out, that wasn’t the case. The faceless black helmets and heavy armor plates that were Custody standard were all part of the plan.
He’d already read the file, and the finalized plan was simple: HAHO onto outskirts of Mecca, sneak up on the King Saud Bin Abdulaziz University and pretend they were going to take Mohamed Al-Hasan into Custody custody. It was a typical SUBGRU op. JSOC created its Subversion Group for one specific task: subvert Custody influence across the globe. That included inciting rebellion wherever possible, supporting and training militants, and asymmetrical war tactics Washington still unironically referred to as terrorism. Command called them PSY-OPs.
He stretched his limbs, trying to acquaint himself with the sluggish servos and motion enhancers that were standard Custody tech. They were still running second generation motion amplifiers for Christ’s sake, outdated shit that belonged in a fucking museum. When NATO dissolved they stole a lot of top level tech, but powered exoskeleton technology was still in its infancy at the time. The divergence was pronounced. Where the United States used slimmed down, stealthy models and MR fluids, he felt like he was in a medieval plate mail in the Custody suit. And it was powerful--even if he couldn't stand up to a full magazine from an AK-47, he felt like he could punch through a wall.
The whole point was to build a Custody public relations nightmare; hard to do while rocking the red white and blue. At least the suit was pressurized. If everything went as planned by the time the orange bastard reached Mecca the hajis might finish Andrew's job for him. He triple-checked his suit’s seal. A single breath of atmospheric air could kill him, and with all the chances he took on a daily basis, the unnecessary ones were best avoided. Ten minutes until jump time, and everyone was ready to go.
Aside from him, the entire team was fluent in Russian. Andrew understood the language but a Massachusetts accent isn't easily broken. He had his orders: stay quiet. Let everyone else do the talking. If absolutely necessary, he could still communicate on encrypted comms but his helmet speakers were to stay off. The ruse was too important to fuck up.
Mole was shouting orders at the top of his lungs. It was no mean feat to be heard over four turboprops, even in an XMC-130. Stealth didn’t mean quiet. “Line up! Gear check! Jump in five minutes!” He’d be damned if the only job requirement for being an NCO wasn’t a good shouting voice. The man was none too tall, but built like a defensive lineman. And of course there was the mole, now concealed by his Custody issued helmet.
They fell in, two lines of four men each. Custody ranks and badges replaced US insignia. Apparently Andrew qualified as a Sergeant. Mole was a Warrant Officer. Andrew was in third place, and checked the lines of his buddy in front of him. They were all linked in with integrated Land Warriors but Jordan had one of only two sat-comm units in the squad. If both guys somehow missed the drop the mission would go FUBAR quick. At least the dead man's switches in the suits wouldn't leave any evidence.
Every man in the squad was outfitted with the Custody's latest and greatest combat exoskeletons. The only non-Custody standard modification was the addition of a Land Warrior suite to the visor. Standard issue Custody rifles were strapped to everyone’s backs--AN-94’s, PP-2000’s, a VSS. Not American hardware, but the team had long since mastered their use.
Everybody's lines were good, and they had three minutes left on the clock.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Feb 15 2014, 05:33 PM.
If Andrew hadn’t been briefed on the mission, he might have shit himself when he woke up to the sight of seven Custody Vegas geared for war. Luckily for the airmen who would be cleaning the plane out, that wasn’t the case. The faceless black helmets and heavy armor plates that were Custody standard were all part of the plan.
He’d already read the file, and the finalized plan was simple: HAHO onto outskirts of Mecca, sneak up on the King Saud Bin Abdulaziz University and pretend they were going to take Mohamed Al-Hasan into Custody custody. It was a typical SUBGRU op. JSOC created its Subversion Group for one specific task: subvert Custody influence across the globe. That included inciting rebellion wherever possible, supporting and training militants, and asymmetrical war tactics Washington still unironically referred to as terrorism. Command called them PSY-OPs.
He stretched his limbs, trying to acquaint himself with the sluggish servos and motion enhancers that were standard Custody tech. They were still running second generation motion amplifiers for Christ’s sake, outdated shit that belonged in a fucking museum. When NATO dissolved they stole a lot of top level tech, but powered exoskeleton technology was still in its infancy at the time. The divergence was pronounced. Where the United States used slimmed down, stealthy models and MR fluids, he felt like he was in a medieval plate mail in the Custody suit. And it was powerful--even if he couldn't stand up to a full magazine from an AK-47, he felt like he could punch through a wall.
The whole point was to build a Custody public relations nightmare; hard to do while rocking the red white and blue. At least the suit was pressurized. If everything went as planned by the time the orange bastard reached Mecca the hajis might finish Andrew's job for him. He triple-checked his suit’s seal. A single breath of atmospheric air could kill him, and with all the chances he took on a daily basis, the unnecessary ones were best avoided. Ten minutes until jump time, and everyone was ready to go.
Aside from him, the entire team was fluent in Russian. Andrew understood the language but a Massachusetts accent isn't easily broken. He had his orders: stay quiet. Let everyone else do the talking. If absolutely necessary, he could still communicate on encrypted comms but his helmet speakers were to stay off. The ruse was too important to fuck up.
Mole was shouting orders at the top of his lungs. It was no mean feat to be heard over four turboprops, even in an XMC-130. Stealth didn’t mean quiet. “Line up! Gear check! Jump in five minutes!” He’d be damned if the only job requirement for being an NCO wasn’t a good shouting voice. The man was none too tall, but built like a defensive lineman. And of course there was the mole, now concealed by his Custody issued helmet.
They fell in, two lines of four men each. Custody ranks and badges replaced US insignia. Apparently Andrew qualified as a Sergeant. Mole was a Warrant Officer. Andrew was in third place, and checked the lines of his buddy in front of him. They were all linked in with integrated Land Warriors but Jordan had one of only two sat-comm units in the squad. If both guys somehow missed the drop the mission would go FUBAR quick. At least the dead man's switches in the suits wouldn't leave any evidence.
Every man in the squad was outfitted with the Custody's latest and greatest combat exoskeletons. The only non-Custody standard modification was the addition of a Land Warrior suite to the visor. Standard issue Custody rifles were strapped to everyone’s backs--AN-94’s, PP-2000’s, a VSS. Not American hardware, but the team had long since mastered their use.
Everybody's lines were good, and they had three minutes left on the clock.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Feb 15 2014, 05:33 PM.