Post by Fyrann Truax on Sept 13, 2014 8:50:46 GMT -8
"This is time sensitive. We've got two patrols of hostiles, one eastbound and the other north of here. Any later than 2200 hours and those civvies are being shipped to slave houses in cross seas. We get in, secure the area as silently as possible. Prevent them from calling in backup". Fyrann had given orders just to make it clear that this was no game. It never was when lives were at stake. This would be their fifth deployment, scattering the small forces Brightblood tried to establish in England during his absence.
Armed in the riot gear White Rabbit could afford, all eight men nodded and stuck close to their leader; the gunslinger gave the hand signal and then all spread out for cover slowly advancing forward. Fyrann himself hugged against the brick wall, finding an old but still stable ladder to pull himself up on. His trusted Lapua sniper rifle laid against his back, a silencer placed on its barrel. The prophet checked the nearby rooftops and when deemed safe enough he climbed onto the flat industrial building, crawling as low to the roof as was possible, speaking into the comm system," Roofs clear". All his preparations were set--the rifle on its small stand to prevent as much recoil and to keep it steady, Fyrann laying prone as he scanned the area through his scope. Immediately he discovered the group heading east some 700 yards out. A couple other men joined him on adjacent roofs after having relayed the information as the remaining five soldiers took the lower ground and pressed into the heart of the operation. Their voices could be heard discussing the layout to one another in hushed tones, Fyrann picking up on parts of it as he focused on their enemy. With a heavy intake of air he tracked the frontmost Brightblood patroller and let off a shot straight into their cranium. With one down, the others that had been following immediately panicked but were at arms. Two more shots followed his, downing the remaining two...and that was when it all went spiraling downhill.
Well, more or less all Fyrann could recall. He had returned with a third of his squad and a 5.56mm bullet lodged in his arm to White Rabbit's base. Applying pressure to his wound, he silently grimaced as he pushed past whoever tried to help him. Once close to his room he removed what he could of the riot gear, allowing the injury to gush crimson for a moment as he let the armor plated material aside; the world spun for a moment as he struggled with just sitting there as the door to his room was left open. Dirt and grime was smothered on his face and hands from having little breaks between field work, but he was trying so hard to make it up to Averie that he didn't complain. The human grabbed at the sterilized tweezers knowing his own body anatomy well enough. He could feel the path the bullet took and drew in a deep breath. If someone tried to aid him he wouldn't have allowed it...now it was just him sitting there trying to devise what direction he wanted to enter the wound at.
Armed in the riot gear White Rabbit could afford, all eight men nodded and stuck close to their leader; the gunslinger gave the hand signal and then all spread out for cover slowly advancing forward. Fyrann himself hugged against the brick wall, finding an old but still stable ladder to pull himself up on. His trusted Lapua sniper rifle laid against his back, a silencer placed on its barrel. The prophet checked the nearby rooftops and when deemed safe enough he climbed onto the flat industrial building, crawling as low to the roof as was possible, speaking into the comm system," Roofs clear". All his preparations were set--the rifle on its small stand to prevent as much recoil and to keep it steady, Fyrann laying prone as he scanned the area through his scope. Immediately he discovered the group heading east some 700 yards out. A couple other men joined him on adjacent roofs after having relayed the information as the remaining five soldiers took the lower ground and pressed into the heart of the operation. Their voices could be heard discussing the layout to one another in hushed tones, Fyrann picking up on parts of it as he focused on their enemy. With a heavy intake of air he tracked the frontmost Brightblood patroller and let off a shot straight into their cranium. With one down, the others that had been following immediately panicked but were at arms. Two more shots followed his, downing the remaining two...and that was when it all went spiraling downhill.
Well, more or less all Fyrann could recall. He had returned with a third of his squad and a 5.56mm bullet lodged in his arm to White Rabbit's base. Applying pressure to his wound, he silently grimaced as he pushed past whoever tried to help him. Once close to his room he removed what he could of the riot gear, allowing the injury to gush crimson for a moment as he let the armor plated material aside; the world spun for a moment as he struggled with just sitting there as the door to his room was left open. Dirt and grime was smothered on his face and hands from having little breaks between field work, but he was trying so hard to make it up to Averie that he didn't complain. The human grabbed at the sterilized tweezers knowing his own body anatomy well enough. He could feel the path the bullet took and drew in a deep breath. If someone tried to aid him he wouldn't have allowed it...now it was just him sitting there trying to devise what direction he wanted to enter the wound at.
