Fletch Posted March 3, 2018 Report Share Posted March 3, 2018 (edited) Quote Task Force 611 Campaign: Quote F.A.Q: What will be in here? A: Story, Debrief, Pre-Op Brief Why Prelude to Disaster? A: Can't say yet. But Fletch, why is it so many words?A: You can call me a wordsmith, but I like writing and telling stories. Plus addition info, Easter eggs, jokes and stuff is put into my documents. Feel free to ask any questions or suggestions in the comments below! Prologue: Quote Story Prologue: PRELUDE TO DISASTER Unknown Location Inside a deep, subterranean, darkened room kept alit by the monitors that flicker about with only a single door in the concrete cage, two men stand there watching satellite footage - one in a crisp black suit and the other in military fatigues. The hum of the air conditioning breaks the silence as it cranks on, filling the room with cool, crisp air. The man in the suit, a deep baritone with a Cajun dialect speaks aloud to the room. “So. Is this it?” he questions. The other man simply nods, his hands tucked firmly behind his back as he looks toward the screens showing footage of an isolated region somewhere within the Pamir mountains, overlooking a large area with multiple military instillations. Occasional bursts of tracer fire and explosions scatter about on the displays. The man in the suit speaks up again. “Anything we can do?” he ponders aloud. “Nothing we haven’t already tried, Senator Frankford” the soldier responds. “Well then, Reginald. Are you sure they have the highest chance of survival?” Frankford asks incredulously. “We believe they have-" “We believe?! General, need I remind you that if we lose this airfield, we are well on our way to losing this war. And the goddamn Chinese and Russians do not start a war simply because they think they might win. They know they will! So tell me, right now, why these men aren't being told to fall back to our lines” Frankford snaps at Reginald. General Reginald, clearing his throat and holding a calm demeanor juxtaposed to Frankford’s anxiety, calls out, “as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me: we believe that if our commanders do not foolishly think about martyring themselves for glory and honor - if we trained them to think, act, and fight together - they can overcome this. Now don’t get me wrong; if they make one mistake they will be dead within the day. However, that chance, that glimmer of hope... even if they hold out for more than a day, we will have a foothold in the most critical part of the region.” “Have you forgotten that this is a global war? We are fighting on the beaches of Alaska, California, and Washington while Canada, Great Britain, Poland, and Japan are being attacked! Our enemy isn’t playing chess with an equal, but with a child. The United Nations is fractured and is practically a puppet of NATO at this point.” Frankford exasperatedly sighs, slumping against a chair resting on the wall behind him. “And now NATO is crumbling against this new enemy. We have no use from our nuclear emplacements due to that damn vote to disarm all NATO and former Warsaw pact members, enforced by the UN” he laments to no one in particular. Reginald clears his throat, placing a hand on Frankford’s shoulder. “If I may sir, the odds are low and the cards we have been dealt are not the best, but we can rise to the occasion. We can set our heads high and stand strong against our common foe, given loyalty to our country coupled with the hope for a better tomorrow. Even as they assault our shores, we will not surrender. We will fight to our last breath. Wherever that may be - here or there.” He gestures out to the monitors in front of them, showcasing the horrendous fighting. Men wrestle one another to the ground, blades drawn as depleted firearms are cast aside. “Well, Reginald, I must leave to tend to my duties in Congress. But I will warn you, this war and our first move rests on your shoulders alone. And, old friend, you must now do something that has taken down entities much larger than yourself. Frankford stands up slowly, resigning himself with a sigh before walking out the door, lock clicking quietly behind him. Reginald sits frozen as Frankford leaves, and lets his eyes rest for a brief second, then returns his attention back to the monitors. (SOMEWHERE IN THE PAMIR MOUNTAINS) Prelude to Disaster Playlist: (For those who want it) Chapter 1: Quote The blue hum of the monitors flickers off. Reginald, left in complete darkness, as a small smirk slides across his face, a simple laugh leaving his lips has he shakes his head. As he walks out of the darkened room, bright fluorescent lights temporarily blind him as the silence is replaced with loud cacophonous noise of phones, footsteps, and voices. The room, filled with men and women dressed in uniform dart around carrying loose leaf paper. Cubicles fill the center of this L shaped room. The door behind him locking with a metallic click, the sound fading into the background of this chaos. Walking through the sea of chaos, he opens a door plainly labelled Communications. General Reginald knocks on the door before opening the door. Inside a plain clad room with its own air conditioner, a simple desk, a flat screen television on the wall, and multiple monitors scattered about. A man in a pristine dark suit, nods to the man handing him a docket before leaving the room, brushing shoulders against General Reginald. Andrew Saadhak, the secretary to the Staff Operations Office, sits behind the desk sorting through files on the nacred wooden desk. Himself a decorated agent of the C.I.A, now relegated to more diplomatic and bureaucratic duties. Glancing up, a soft smile crosses his lips as he sees his old friend enter. Resting the papers on the desk, he leans back in his chair relaxing for a second letting out a tired sigh. He brushes a few strands of gray hair out of his tired face before looking up at the imposing figure of Reginald in uniform. Leaning back forward he glances over the files organizing them and putting them away before nodding to Reginald who returns to a more animated state as he walks forward. “How can I help you sir?” The man in question ponders, standing up and buttoning his suit. “Well, is that any way to greet an old friend Andrew?” Reginald asks with an amused reaction before letting it devolve into a warm smile as he walks forward with his stretched outward. “No. I suppose not. Reggie.” He smiles softly, his figure relaxing as he meets Reginald’s outstretched hand with a firm grasp. “Congratulations on your gambit, General. I wish there was solely good news.” He’d sigh, sitting back down as he rubs a hand against his forward dejectedly. “What’s wrong? The men had the needed support. Our frontlines can re-link with them. You gave me all the intelligence. Didn’t you?” He’d worriedly ask. “Not all. I’m afraid. We’ve been working after a man whose been making a name for himself on the world stage. “Goes by the codename of “Ignis,” and the British were supposed to deal with him.” He calmly state. “Andrew. Tell me what you know.” Reginald’s voice grows dark, a thick underlying tone of worry breaking through his steady composure. “I can’t say much on the man. Not yet. But he isn’t dead. We just got word from the British that our man. “Ignis,” sent a double to make a deal with the Russians. We caught wind of a potential location, and there was build up in the Pamir mountains and so, we sent it over to the British for them to deal with it. He wasn’t our problem. But…Well. He used VX gas across our front lines… We don’t have a foothold in all of Afghanistan. We don’t have a foothold in the Middle East. All of them. The 35th, 400th, 81st, 200th, 28th. All combat ineffective. Not even enough soldiers to form a new division…” Andrew dejectedly looks at his monitor before turning it to face Reginald. The picture shows thousands upon thousands of coalition soldiers lying dead on the ground in the valleys between the insurmountable mountains around them. Reginald, letting out a shuddering breath, quietly calling out, “Have we re-established connection with 3rd Platoon? Are they even alive? Are they next?” Shaking his head dejectedly, “Yes. We have satellite communications with them. However, we don’t know how long it will last…” Andrew responds with a cadence. “Get me a line with the leader of 3rd Platoon if you can. And, do you have any intel for me?” Reginald calls out, falling back into a more militaristic tone. “Done. And I will inform you when the link is established. By the way, we have a man from my side of things inside your Platoon. I would like him back alive. Some other things of note? Hmm, let me see…” Andrew curtly responds. “I guess I should’ve expected a CIA operative for you to be remotely interested in soldiers.” Reginald scoffs in response, himself standing up as he prepares to leave. “You should know by now we always have an angle. But that’s not important right now. We have intel that the Chinese has some brand-new tech that isn’t a copycat of Western tech. We believe this “Ignis” is the source. That’s why we have pulled you to run the Joint Combined Task Force 611. Also known as JCTF Foxtrot-Kilo. You’re first objective is to get your men out of there.” He calls out, with a slight smile. “Don’t disappoint us General. We have faith in you.” General Reginald nod, floored by this statement. “If you don’t mind. Patch me through to all Section and asset leads. I need to figure out my next course of action.” Walking to the door he looks over to Andrew, nodding curtly. Andrew begins to search through the files as he picks up the phone and begins speaking on it as he walks out. Reginald, stepping outside, begins to walk back towards his darkly lit office, mulling over the information that he has acquired. As well as the fights that had, minutes ago been playing out before him. With a simple swing of the door, he slips into the dark room to sit down in his chair, his hand coming up to his clean-shaven chin and rests his eyes for a second. Thinking back on the past twenty-four hours and what occurred as he couldn’t assist them anymore. He pulls up the files sent to him. Twenty files sit in front of him, showcasing footage from the squads and what occurred in and around their area. He rests there, watching, monitoring the files as he awaits his call. The call comes not an hour later, Reginald, fixing his uniform answers the call. A singular man, sitting inside the tent with dried blood around his face as he pants, slowly trying to recover his breath, speaks formally as he tilts his head up high. Screams of pain and anger, fear and fury make their muffled way from outside the tent towards the screen. Gunshots continue to echo out. The man, not thirty years old stands there in a black spray-painted helmet with the letter ‘D’ Scratched into it. “General Reginald. Do you have any orders for us?” He tries to ask, however his words coming across as a silent plea begging for direction. Reginald shakes his head, “Sadly I’m here to get some intelligence out of you, not the other way around. Now, Lieutenant- “He stops as he is cut off. “Fuck off! I’m being briefed by Highway! Well I don’t care what they do. They have their orders! … So?! If they die, it isn’t my fucking fault!” The man barks to someone calling to him from outside the tent, the other side of the conversation not being picked up by the microphone. “Lieutenant O’Connor! You will not speak to your men that way! They are your duty to protect no matter the circumstances or the leadership! Am I clear?” Reginald seethes, practically jumping out of his chair. O’Connor nods, “You are more than welcome to come down into the shit with us, sir.” He falls into a rigid disciplinary like stance, a tense and annoyed look falling onto his face. Reginald sighs resigning himself back to his seat, “I will have to decline. Now, Mike. I’ve monitored you. You have an impressive Rapport, and always coming so close but falling so short.” “Sir!” O’Connor calls out interjectively. Reginald holds up a hand, “I wasn’t finished. I know you tried out for Delta Force with a few of your buddies. I know your rapport of leading small units. I have a roll for you. It’s bigger shoes if you will, but I believe you can handle it. Because you inspire those around you. Because they look up to you. I believe no one is better suited to this task I have than you.” O’Connor nods, taking a half step forward towards the monitor with a newfound energy. “Sir. I can complete any task you give me.” Reginald Sighs, “I have no doubt. But this isn’t a task about you. It’s about the men around you. Effective immediately you are promoted to Captain and given Field command of Joint Combined Task Force Six-Eleven. Also known as Task Force Six-Eleven. This Task Force is to take on specialized attacks to deal major blows and uncover the reason why Russia and their allies have started this war. But first you must fight your way out. And this is where I need you. Not Mike O’Connor. But Sabre. The ruthless, cunning individual that can accomplish anything.” O’Connor, taken aback by this meekly nods, “Sir. I won’t let you down. But my men. They won’t listen to me. They hold their intel over my head, they say their orders come from you or higher. I can’t control them!” He laments. Reginald nods: “Then go forth, Sabre after this. Rally your men. Find your reprieve, and plan accordingly. You only have one shot. Oh, and I can authorize you to restrain any team leaders that are belligerent. I will personally contact the other team leaders to inform them of these ideas. Also, you might have noticed that you have no tactical support on Communications. This is due to the war; our communication officers are tasked elsewhere. Unless you are tasked with something particularly vital, you are the highest acting official. Your word is law. What I have my team send you is considered intel and tactical suggestions, not orders. Those are left to you and your team.” Screaming is heard in the background before growing louder as a few medics’ rush into the tent. Carrying bloodied, barely conscious patients. O’Connor curses under his breath before attempting to form an apology to Reginald who gives a curt nod and a knowing smirk. “Go. Your men need you.” Reginald affirmatively states. O’Connor nods, turning to walk out before Reginald speaks up again, “Oh, and send in your XO next. I need to speak to all of your leaders.” Reginald chuckles at almost letting himself forget. O’Connor nods as he puts his earplugs back in and slips outside the tent as medics make use of the tent. Reginald quickly terminates the connection as he reopens the files and begins to sift through all the data from helmet cams of the newly christened Task Force. O’Connor, stepping out of the tent glances about, seeing riflemen line the walls, jets and helicopters power overhead as he looks about for his second in command. Upon seeing the carnage and the battle, he’d notice a single man standing out in the open barking orders into his radio with an annoyed expression. “Hey! Forked!” O’Connor yells out. “What!?!” Forked turns around, practically seething as he looks over at O’Connor before his expression disappears into a more neutral expression as he turns back to talk on the radio. “Command needs you.” O’Connor calls out with an informative tone. “I’m kind of fucking busy! Can you tell him to fuck off for me?” Forked, frustratedly calls out back to O’Connor. O’Connor shakes his head, “You better come do it now. It’s important.” He states before walking over to him and taking the radio off his hands as O’Connor begins to coordinate the squads. Forked, tiredly teeters over to the tent on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. As he opens the flap of the tent, noting the medics tirelessly working on the injured men, swearing themselves when one of the men falls limp against the cot. As he slips inside the patter of rain falling against the tarp is the only thing breaking the silence as the medics work tiredly on the remaining soldiers barely clinging to life and Forked sighs walking forwards to the one small blue screen in the room with the connected camera flashing with a small red light allowing anyone to know it is on and recording. Forked, obliviously walks to the computer and attempts to put in his log in info before noticing that O’Connor is still logged in. Annoyedly he calls out, “Hey! Sabre, you forgot to log out!” Moving to log out he’d hear a voice from the other side as the monitor flickers to a well dressed general sitting in the chair. “That won’t be necessary, Forked, is it?” Reginald calls out through the speakers. Forked, startled looks around before looking back at the computer and seeing Reginald now on the monitor. Sighing, Forked nods falling into a more formal position while drenched in his uniform of mud and blood. Most of it having been washed away over the course of standing outside in the rain. Breaking the silence and speaking up over the rain he calls out, “That is correct and if I may ask a question. What the fuck is going on! Can you give me some answers as to why the hell the Russians decided to attack? Why they are sending a whole division against us. And why we aren’t getting reinforcements!?! We are trying to coordinate our men, but it is chaos and the men choose not to listen to us!” Reginald nods, “We aren’t here to talk about that, but on a personal note. Stay strong, keep up the work. Now I have some info that might be important to your team. I didn’t want to tell your C.O. this but as of now. You are all being written off as K.I.A. Your families will get their letters, and your flag. But you are now ghosts, and you’re now more than just a regular platoon. Deal with your men as you see fit. But they are all you have. In the meantime, send me your causality report. Our intel indicates you have two hours before the next helicopter comes over the base to see your fighting capabilities. Use it wisely. Out.” The connection terminates before Forked gets a chance to respond. More annoyed now than before, he walks back out of the tent into the rain, seeing those who are using this time as a break huddled together under whatever cover they can find from this growing storm. One of the soldiers calls out as he walks past, “Hey, Forked! Got any new info for Delta?” The soldier who is drenched through their fatigues calls out hopefully looking up to him. He simply shakes his head and walks on to the triage tent. Opening the flap and stepping inside he would see a few medics working left and right on all the wounded soldiers groaning out in pain below them as one of the medics throws his hands up frustratedly, “Fuck!?” Before collapsing next to the solider, a tired sigh escapes his lips as he pulls outs a cloth to cover the now deceased person before moving on to treat the next soldier. The medic, not allowed a second of respite to mourn as he tirelessly works through the pain and suffering about him. The tent flap opens, revealing a new individual walking in as she takes her earplugs out. Herself having dried blood caked on her face yet without a scratch as her hair, on some parts an auburn red becoming crimson the closer it comes to her ears. Blood splattered about her vest and weapon as a small amount of smoke lazily drifts off the barrel even while slung. Moving some of her helmet hair out of the way she waves and calls out, “Hey, I just got Andy up and he’ll live but I’ll need your help shortly.” She calls out. “Yea, yea. Put him on the waiting list, I’m kind of busy right now.” The man annoyedly remarks, “Go into the military they said, it’ll pay off your debts they said. I guess they were right because of the life insurance.” He mocks out to no one in particular. “And Vixen. Be careful, I don’t want to be patching you up on this floor. And don’t you dare fucking die otherwise I’ll come to where you are in the afterlife and kill you again! You understand?” He pseudo-angrily calls out with a faint, weary smile on his face. Vixen nods, a small reprieve against the hell they are going through, “Tell that to Platoon then. I wasn’t the one with the idea to charge us against an enemy fortified position. A third of my squad is on your floor right now. Stable, but a fifty caliber round really does damage against the shin. So, if you could set their shins, I kind of owe them one.” Vixen calls out with a sigh. “I gotcha Vixen. I won’t put them at the bottom of the list.” He calls out. “Thanks, oh might Thor.” She sarcastically bows. “Hey, that is a great series okay? And besides, I like the idea that as a Doctor I am above these mortal problems.” He laments. “Whatever, I’ll see you around.” She calls out as she turns around and walks back outside into the drenching rain. Forked sighs, sitting down in a free chair as he pulls out his tablet uploading the files of Killed in Action, Wounded, and Missing. He sends it to command before receiving a message shortly afterwards from an encrypted target. From: X-CofBka-9 To: Forked Message: Evacuate, you’re next. znk xayyogty gxk tuz grutk – 4 15 0 25 15 21 0 11 14 15 23 0 23 8 25 0 19 9 24 0 23 1 19 0 1 6 18 1 9 4 0 15 6 0 19 5 22 5 14 0 2 5 3 1 21 19 5 0 19 5 22 5 14 0 1 20 5 0 14 9 14 5- 3 1 5 19 1 18 znk xayyogty joj tuz yzgxz znoy znk tgzouty joj tuz yzgxz znoy g sgt yzgxzkj znoy znk sgt’y tgsk, “omtoy.” otluxsgzout zngz somnz nkrv eua: 0260b8f905863a07ee718fd6b80d5a2b 126165 200013 188028 168037 144042 103058 157172 nzzvy://sj5ngynotm.tkz/ngyn/muyz/ d5155cf67b06ddeb237b07a92d2bea833da8817d19f068ec3bb28ee8c3e35afc 144042 188028 2fa68050b46988046eab2fce42e6a436 190193 Terminating connection. “What the hell?” Forked inquisitively mutters aloud, standing up and walking back outside to find O’Connor. Walking inside a small jail like building, he bumps into a soldier talking with the logistical officer. They appear to be arguing over a string of numbers and their meaning. After a second of them not responding, Forked clears his throat. Both men stop talking for a second and look over to him, giving a half salute to Forked before they return to their conversation, muttering things like. “Fuckin’ Whiskey-Tango-Alpha... Can’t the idiot guerrillas pick a simpler way to communicate!?” The logistic officer, also known as Bucko for his erratic behaviors relents as he sits down in the corner, shuffling through some dampened papers as he sits down. “Well wait a second Bucko. Whiskey-Tango-Alpha. Couldn’t that be an alpha numeric code?” A man sitting next to Bucko calls out. “No Patterson. You’re overthinking this. That’s for something completely different, for now we just have to keep sifting through these files to look for clues.” The last guy calls out. “Okay Bucko. Oh, hey Forked, you here to join us?” Patterson calls out, his dull tone picking up slightly at this. He shakes his head before calling out, “No. I’m just walking to deliver some intel I just got to Sabre. Keep doing…whatever it is your doing.” He calls out, slightly perplexed to what they are all talking about. At that moment, the shrill sound of artillery would grow quickly louder until the thunderous boom of the shell making impact into the ground nearby. Kicking up dirt and shrapnel everyone hits the deck as those who were resting begin to rush about in search for injured. Meanwhile, in the forests nearby… “Fucking hell! How close was that artillery!?” The squad lead calls out as he holds one of his men by the arm inside the dense forest where his squad has stopped for the moment. “I don’t know, Mav. But I sure as hell don’t want to find out.” A soldier, commonly referred to as Point calls out. Mav, nodding in agreement turns the two of them around and signals his squad. “Listen up! We’re moving around towards Camp Kinno more carefully than Mike One! I don’t want to walk up to an enemy held base this time, okay?!” He tiredly calls out. Nods and murmurs of acknowledgement ring out from the remaining eight members of alpha. “Mav. Ross is running through a tablet that I haven’t seen before. He’s seemed to be talking about codes and some strange…stuff.” Point calls out as he limps against Mav. Nodding, he calls out, “Hey Ross!” Mav bellows out. “Yea?” Ross distantly returns. “What in hell is so important in an overrun scenario!?” Mav inquisitively calls out. “Not at liberty to say. But it has to do with all the soldiers we’ve been in contact with. It doesn’t add up!” Ross returns. “What do you mean, doesn’t add up?” Mav, now confused calls out. “This area. It’s not that important. Or shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t be in this much contact. And I mean that we shouldn’t have this type of assault against us right now! We need to get back to Camp Kinno or friendly forces as fast as possible! I need to get this info up to higher command!” Ross calls out a bit quieter as he makes his way over to his squad lead. “Under whose authority?” Mav now annoyed and slightly angry at not having all the intel asks Ross. “If I must say, since I might catch a bullet. It comes from Director Wilson.” Ross quietly ushers. “The CIA Director. You got to be fucking me.” Mav exasperatedly utters. “No. Not unless you want it.” Ross chuckles. After a second, Mav recovers shaking his head. “So, what the hell are you talking about? I’m curious now.” Mav raises an eyebrow, his curiosity intrigued. “I can’t say much. But our callsign, the one assigned to your group due to the risks my intelligence operation poses. It’s Spartan. Due to the high chance of death for a symbolic or intelligence victory.” Ross whispers. A smile tugs on Mav’s lips, “I’m like one of those video game heroes.” He fondly calls out, before his frown dissipating quickly, “Wait, you said…High chance of death. I don’t like that.” His eyebrows furrow at this, himself looking out through the trees. “Well only one way out of hell. And that is through, but first we half to find the exit.” Edited March 22, 2018 by Fletch Made The Cipher Harder & More complex Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fletch Posted March 4, 2018 Author Report Share Posted March 4, 2018 Welcome to Task Force 611 Ladies and Gents. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pastor Of Muppets Posted March 4, 2018 Report Share Posted March 4, 2018 I want in on the next installment. ? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fletch Posted March 19, 2018 Author Report Share Posted March 19, 2018 (edited) New Mission? Perhaps... Edited March 21, 2018 by Fletch Moved video to main part of Campaign Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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