Behind the Desert Curtain (O/A)

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Behind the Desert Curtain

"Get ready. We'll be there soon." The grizzly voice rang out into the headset of each and every man onboard. The origin of the voice, the silhouette of a tall, bearded man with an athletic build, stood up and moved to the cockpit. From the seat of the Chinook closest to the cockpit, the man could faintly be heard speaking with the pilot.
"What's our ETA?"
"We're about ten mics out. The only threat from here on are the ZSU emplacements. Other than that, we're under the radar."
"Just keep her steady and easy. I wanna get there in one piece."
The bearded man walked back and sat down on the nearest right side seat. Another voice rang out, deeper than the bearded man's, but not as experienced sounding. "What's the plan on touchdown?" A moment passed before a response emerged. "Secure the area and move South to Dama--" The voice was cut off by the sudden shake of the massive flying beast and the sounds of scraping and tearing metal.

Before the shake or sounds had subsided the master warning started blaring and the helicopter lit up in a blinking red dim. "We're hit, rear engine's dead. This is gonna get messy. Jump if you got 'em!" A sudden hurry came about as thirty figures rose to a line up position in preparation of the rear ramp opening. "Ramp isn't opening, brace for impact!" Some of the men towards the middle of the helicopter detached their hooks and jumped down the hole in the middle, using their reserve chutes. The drop wasn't nearly high enough for a safe landing, but still some managed to deploy their chutes with enough time not to get killed, the rest, however, weren't so lucky. No matter the skill of the pilot, getting this helicopter on the ground without killing everyone on board would take a miracle. In a desperate move, the pilot jerked the stick back, launching the massive machine into an auto-rotate maneuver-- something very dangerous in this particular helicopter. The beast slammed into the ground, throwing massive amounts of snow and sand into the surrounding air. It would seem that God was feeling generous, but only in a small amount. A handful of the men managed to walk off with only minor injuries, some with broken bones or major cuts. The rest were more likely than not killed directly on impact, including the pilot.

The bearded man managed to free himself from amidst a few stray pieces of metal. His left arm was bleeding heavily, but it didn't feel to be a problem for him at the moment. "Get to the Northern side of Damavand, we'll rendezvous there. I've got to deal with the chopper." A short time later, after everyone, including the bearded man, had vacated the crash site, the area lit up in one massive fireball, blowing the entire beast into unrecognizable pieces scattered all over the mountain top. After a hefty hike up the Northern side of the massive mountain, the grizzly man reached the rendezvous. He gazed south as the rest of the group rallied around him. This was their home for the next few years, or however long they could last. This was Tehran, Iran-- The next AO. They had finally penetrated the Desert Curtain.

>>OOC<<
>>Profile Page<<

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||=[STORYLINE & OBJECTIVES]=||

STORYLINE:

"Behind the Desert Curtain" is an RP based in the not-so distant future of 2016, where Iran's nuclear program has been fully developed and has yielded two major Nuclear Reactors for the nation. The issue came, however, came in 2014 when Iran set up what it called the "Desert Curtain," a series of defenses including anti-aircraft emplacements as well as armed checkpoints and a large border fence that is constantly patrolled. The technology was bought from China to block signals from satellites and keep anyone from peering in, thus leading to major suspicions.

In 2015, the silent fear of the masses that Iran may have had weapons-grade uranium and, even worse, a weapon for it, was proven correct when a large surge of radioactivity that suppressed even their own satellite jamming equipment was released, the kind that could only have come from a nuke. To further put the cap on the mystery, a large mushroom cloud was spotted via satellite for a short moment while the jamming equipment was down.

Almost a year has passed, and the US has kept the existence of Iran's nuclear project quiet until now. America has deemed that the Iranian threat can no longer be avoided, especially since the quantity of black-market uranium has vanished, and has decided to take action. Through the tactical deployment of SFOD-D, otherwise known as "Delta Force," the US hopes to raise a small militia to clear out an are directly next to Tehran, then move North to the border and clear a path from the border to Tehran, where they can stage a full scale invasion against the increasingly threatening Middle-Eastern power.


OBJECTIVES:

[X] -Assemble what can be found of the Delta team
[X] -Establish an operational base in some of the caves on Damavand
[X] -Contact local village leaders and recruit them for an uprising
[X] -Find intelligence on the status of the Iranian Nuclear Program (required entering Tehran)
[X] -With the assistance of the guerrilla faction, progress North and clear a path to the border
[X] -Assist in the construction of a more operational base
[X] -Assault the city of Tehran

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||=[RULES]=||

01: I am God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, Caesar, Zeus, Odin, and Jupiter incarnate when it comes to this RP. What I say goes. I don't make ridiculous requests, so please just follow this.
02: This is a literate RP. I expect 1-2 FULL paragraphs. NO one liners. A full paragraph is considered five sentences, not including speech. Also I think it goes without saying that there is no 'txt tlk,' and improper grammar done repeatedly (such as blending the period with the first word of the next sentence [John stood up.Looking around...]) will be corrected
03: This is a PG-17 RP. Yes, it is the Military in the RP, so cussing is acceptable, but don't overdo it. Cybering is not allowed on this RP. I can't stop you, but if you do it, take it away from my RP and timeskip. FOLLOW THE GAIAN AND MY RP'S RULES
04: God moding is strictly forbidden. Violence is encouraged, but come on, no one jumps from a second story window with a forty kilogram pack, rifle, and full combat gear without getting hurt just a bit.
05: This is a military RP, so everyone here is in the Army.
06: Put a scream scream in your PM and title it "I'll Win" so I know you read the rules.
07: Character limit is two at the MAX.
08: Please, please, PLEASE keep the combat and gear loadouts realistic. Everyone misses a few shots every now and then, and aiming for the head of an enemy at three hundred meters out? Not so easy. No snipers for this one, there's no need. Any requests with sniper rifles will be denied. If you want a marksman rifle, that's fine, but if I deem it a sniper rifle, it's a no-go.
09: Ignore rule six, title your pm DD Go Home so I know you read the rules; also, no emoticon.
10: Keep all OOC to the OOC forum, please. The only exception is a quick thing to say for someone to check the OOC forum.
11: Please don't post once and split. It gets annoying. Try to keep a good consistency. I know that between the Navy paperwork I do and the Army stuff I do, I'm pretty busy for the most part, but I still post whenever possible. If you don't post for more than three days I'll probably PM you to see why.
12: If you plan on killing your character off, please let me know. Also if you plan on killing another person's character off, have their consent and mine.
13: You are role playing one of the most fearsome soldiers in the world: The US Army Special Forces. That being said, these guys aren't trained to work alone, so don't be that whole "Lone Wolf" persona. You're part of a team and- moreover- part of a team whose goal is to raise a resistance, that means being nice to the local people, but ever vigilant. Friendly forces, however, are just that: friendly. Keep it that way.
14: Although this is Military, I don't expect everyone to know what that means. That being said, do try to act as you would in the Military. Respect rank and stuff like that. However boneheaded Captains get stripped fast. Keep it clean, keep it fun, and enjoy the RP.

This isn't so much a rule, but additional information regarding common practices in the Military that you'll need to know, as well as gear REQUIREMENTS (i.e. short-range radios) will be posted HERE. Please avail yourself of this resource!! It should be relatively short and easy to comprehend.

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||=["WHAT IS A DELTA?" & PROFILE SKELETONS]=||

WHAT IS A DELTA?:

An Operator from SFOD-D, otherwise known as a 'Delta,' is often misconceived to be a lone-wolf type figure whose entire existence is defined by their ability to kill. Despite this common persona, Deltas are actually nothing like that. The entire purpose of SFOD-D is to act as Counter-Terrorist Operatives. That means that they are there to figure out just what makes a terrorist group tick, and in this RP, they use this knowledge to create a guerrilla group that operates much in the fashion of a terrorist cell. That being said, Deltas are extremely fine-tuned instruments of war, capable of taking more punishment than almost any man on the planet, and they are equally as good at dishing it out.

Each Delta team operates much as regular Green Beret teams do, they are units of twelve: 1 CO, 1 XO, 2 SNCOs, 2 Weapons Specialists, 2 Communications Specialists, 2 Medical Specialists, and 2 Engineering/Demolitions Specialists. This particular detachment is known as Task Force Broadsword, and was actually 2 teams plus a Command Element to head the top, so roughly 30 members total. The more advanced version (As well as current roster) is below:

As a note: Everything marked MIA is open to be taken, these people are Missing In Action since the Chinook crash and can become available. The 18XX is the MOS, use this for the skeleton. Also, the BROADSWORD stuff is the callsign. For additional information on Callsigns and how they're used, please refer to the Additional Information link below the Rules.

COMMAND ELEMENT (BROADSWORD ACTUAL):

18A: Detachment Commander (CPT) [6-Actual]
-MIA

180A: Assistant Detachment Commander (WO1/CWO2) [6-2]
-MIA

18Z: Operations Sergeant (MSG) [6-3]
-MSG Oat, Jack

18F: Assistant Operations and Intelligence Sergeant (SFC) [6-4]
-MIA

18E [6-6]
-MIA


TEAM ONE (BROADSWORD ONE)

18A: Detachment Commander (1LT) [1-Actual]
-MIA

180A: Assistant Detachment Commander (WO1/CWO2) [1-2-Actual]
-MIA

18Z: Operations Sergeant (MSG) [1-2-2]
-MIA

18F: Assistant Operations and Intelligence Sergeant (SFC) [1-1-2]
-MIA

18B: Weapons Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [1-1-3]
-MIA [1-2-3]

18C: Engineering Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [1-1-4]
-MIA [1-2-4]

18D: Medical Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [1-1-5]
-MIA [1-2-5]

18E: Communications Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [1-1-6]
-MIA [1-2-6]


TEAM ONE (BROADSWORD TWO)

18A: Detachment Commander (1LT) [2-Actual]
-MIA

180A: Assistant Detachment Commander (WO1/CWO2) [2-2-Actual]
-MIA

18Z: Operations Sergeant (MSG) [2-2-2]
-MIA

18F: Assistant Operations and Intelligence Sergeant (SFC) [2-1-2]
-MIA

18B: Weapons Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [2-1-3]
-MIA [2-2-3]

18C: Engineering Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [2-1-4]
-MIA [2-2-4]

18D: Medical Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [2-1-5]
-MIA [2-2-5]

18E: Communications Sergeant (SGT/SSG)
-MIA [2-1-6]
-MIA [2-2-6]

PROFILE SKELETON:

[b]APPEARANCE:[/b] (Anime, Real, or anything else. Remember, the higher your quality of photo and accuracy to realism, the higher my respect for you and higher the chance I'll give you the slot you want)[imgleft][/imgleft]
[b]USERNAME:[/b] (Username here)
[b]NAME:[/b] (Character name here)
[b]SEX:[/b] (Gender here)
[b]MOS:[/b] (Desired MOS here, just the numbers and letter, not the description)
[b]RANK:[/b] (Ranks for each job are in parenthesis next to the MOS description. List one.)
[b]TEAM:[/b] (Command Element, Team One, or Team Two)
[b]AGE:[/b] (Age, more than 25)
[b]PRIMARY:[/b] (Assault Rifle/Battle Rifle. Try to keep it realistic. Include attachments. Must be 5.56x45 NATO or 7.62x51 NATO so that resupplies are realistic. Machine guns and LMGs are allowed for the 18B's only. AT, such as the M136, are for 18C's only.)
[b]SECONDARY:[/b] (Handgun. Pistol calibers can be whatever you wish except .50AE and .500)
[b]MELEE:[/b] (No swords, please. Just put knife, baton, etc.)
[b]OPTIONAL GEAR:[/b] (Listed in the Additional Information section under the rules. As many as you want, bear in mind that they do have weight)
[b]HISTORY:[/b] (A one paragraph bio on your character, no missing bios or 'amnesia')
[b]RP SAMPLE:[/b] (What I need from here: A short example that you aren't full-on stupid. This means a few lines of direct combat. Include some lines of radio chatter and interaction with other ranked people from YOUR CHARACTER'S point of view. It's advised to read the Additional Information sheet listed just under the rules.)

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||=[Time/Date/Weather/Positions]=||

MONTH:
January - February - March - April - May - June - July - August - September - October - November - December

DATE:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 - 31

TIME OF DAY:
Dawn - Mid Day - Dusk - Night

WEATHER CONDITIONS:
Partly Cloudy - Sunny - Overcast - Drizzling - Pouring Rain - Thunderstorm - Snowing - Night


CHARACTER POSITIONS (Up to date as of XXXX EST):

Army Personnel:
MSG Oat, Jack - Near the peak of Damavand.

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Reserved

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Reserved

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Reserved

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Reserved

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OPEN

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MSG Jack Oat
18Z Operations Sergeant
Command Element

Controlled confusion. Of all the things that Jack had been taught in SFQC, the one he'd used and/or been thrust into the most was controlled confusion. It was the state of being able to maintain and function through otherwise random and chance-based situations. To weigh the odds quickly and efficiently, and act on your decision without looking back, and that had been what he had done. From the instant the twenty-three millimeter rounds shredded through the rear of the chopper and ripped the rear gunner apart, he had been basically commanding the evacuation. A good many of the men on board had managed to jump, but some, including himself, didn't get the chance to before the massive twin-engine beast slammed into the ground. The pilot had evidentally done a fairly decent job, as the Master Sergeant managed to free himself from the rubble intact- beaten and bloody, but intact. What he did notice, however, is that there was a large chunk of metal embedded into his left arm. Defying everything he'd been taught, he jerked it out and threw it to the side, immediately applying a compress, bandage, and gauze to the wound to stabilize it. Pain had shot through his arm as he rose from the snow covered ground. Slowly, he evaluated who was left, and how much damage each one had taken. Almost miraculously, the only people lost were the Chinook's crew, leaving most of the Deltas there.. In a somewhat low voice compared the treacherous wind and flames coming off of the chopper, he turned to the shadowy silhouettes of his comrades, "Get to the peak of the mountain, we'll rendevous there. I'm gonna move away from the peak and search for the ones that jumped. Some of 'em had to have made it."

Jack didn't even have to worry about whether or not they'd heard him. They were Deltas, of course they heard him. Not only that, but they knew to take the bodies of the crew- or what they could find- with them. As they moved away, he pulled his rucksack off of his back and unzipped the titanium zipper. Inside, he pulled out a couple of blocks of C4, some with small pieces of shrapnel from the bird dug inside them, and some timed blasting caps. Carefully, he placed the plastic-explosive blocks in key areas of the CH-47 wreck that might signify that this was an American bird. After this was completed, Oat took what blocks he had left and positioned them across the fuselage in an attempt to disfigure it to the point where it couldn't even be recognized. With the last block, the relatively old timer stuck the blasting cap in and set it for five minutes. That would give him enough time to move further off and out of the blast radius. Quickly, he packed up his rucksack and began moving away from the summit through the dense snow. It wouldn't be long before roaming patrols would come across the crash site, so the faster he moved, the less likely he was to get captured.

The trek was long and agonizingly painful, with a wind so piercing that it rivaled that of the Hindu Kush on a winter day, but it didn't even phase the old Master Sergeant. About three minutes in, the chopper erupted in a massive fireball. Jack couldn't help but laugh at the old montra of 'Five seconds fuses last three seconds' before continuing to move down the steep incline of the mountain.

[Shawn Cambridge]

Markus Allen Danials
Sergeant - Weapons Sergeant

"We're hit, rear engine's dead! This is gonna get messy. Jump if you got 'em!"

Markus thought that sounded as good of an idea as ever. He figured if he rode the chopper down, his a** would be grass. He had a reserve chute, and he figured that if he pulled it as soon as he was clear of the chopper, the landing would be survivable, even if unpleasant. But surviving would be much preferable to dying in a helicopter crash. Since he was near the middle of the helicopter, next to a wide enough hole for him to fall out of, he stepped out of it, and fell into the open air.

As soon as he was clear of the falling chopper, he immediately ripped his cord and felt the slight jerk of the parachute yank him a bit further up in the air. But he was still too close to the ground, going too fast, to safely land on the ground. The landing was going to get really rough, and Markus mentally prepared himself for an impact. He flew through the trees and canopy, getting bombarded by branches and leaves and twigs to the face and the rest of the body, scratching him up and stinging his entire body. The pain was relatively minimal, but it still wasn't what people would call pleasant. As the ground approached, he still realized that he was, still, going far too fast, and that the risk of injury was still there. He tried to make his muscles as loose as possible, but there wasn't much else that he could do aside from mentally forcing himself to relax. The only problem was that there was too much adrenaline coursing through his veins to really be able to relax, so if Markus was anything, he was up s**t's creek and his paddle was at the bottom of the river.

As soon as his toes were skimming the ground, he ducked into a roll to try to minimize the impact, but the landing was still enough to jar his senses, knock the wind from his lungs. The forward momentum kept him rolling forward, and it wasn't too long before he slammed hard into the bottom part of a tree trunk, impacting against the flat of his back. This only made him feel worse, but nothing broke as far as he could feel. Thankfully, the tree stopped all of his forward momentum, and instead just laid there for a moment. Getting onto his hands and knees, he stared straight into the ground, gasping for air to refill his lungs so that he could breath and get up, continue on with the mission. As soon as he caught his breath, he felt around on his body, to check for anything broken. Nothing felt bad to the point where he thought that something was seriously wrong, besides the fact that he would be sitting straight for the next few weeks thanks to one specific tree that he wanted to demolish. He slowly got to his feet, collecting his gear and checking it's condition. His rifle, a M249 Squad Assault Weapon, seemed to be in perfect order. He pulled out a box magazine from one of the larger pouches near the top of his thigh, shoving it home into the chamber and sliding back the slide. The gun was outfitted to accept STANAG magazines, so he could cross supply with standard M16s and M14s, albeit with an increased chance for jams. But with three fully stocked box magazines, he figured he could last 'till the next resupply.

Next, he pulled out the PRC-117F Long Ranged transmitter he had been given and changed the channel to channel two. "This is Broadsword One-Three. Anyone copy this?" he spoke into his comm, looking over the rest of his gear while waiting for a reply. His pistol, a Ruger P345, was good. Strobes looked fine. Short ranged com units seemed to be in working order. His other gear was still on him. M67 Frag grenades, M18 colored smoke grenades, food and medical supplies. Everything was in place. Now all he needed was a few friendly faces and things would be okay.

[Tsugetsa]

MSG Jack Oat
18Z Operations Sergeant
Command Element

Not four hundred meters downhill, the second Short-Range Radio Jack carried burst to life. Although this wasn't his primary radio, what it allowed him to do was monitor the squad communication channel as a 'just in case' measure.
"This is Broadsword One-Three. Anyone copy this?"
It took the relatively old Master Sergeant a minute to figure out just who this guy was before he remembered. One-Three was the guy who took over Oat's old position as 1-1's Weapons Sergeant.
"One-Three, this is Six-Three. I gotcha Lima Charlie. What's your current position, over?"
Without waiting for a reply, he continued moving down the open hill. The terrain he was in was God-awful. There was no cover for 50 meters to either side, and the only cover there was a few rocks and fallen trees. Up ahead, however, Jack remembered seeing a small enclave of rocks and fallen trees that would provide some decent cover. There he could assess his own personal injuries, as well as take account of what gear he'd lost and where he was on the map.

It was only a few hundred meters away, around a turn in the mountainside, but it seemed to take ages to get through the wind, cold, and snow. Eventually he got there, however, and it was every bit of what he'd hoped it would be, aside from the middle being filled with snow. The old Army Master Sergeant wasted no time in emptying the hole of snow, using his dump pouch as a makeshift shovel to grab more snow. It was cold, wet work, and eventually his hands started numbing. However, this failed to slow Oat down, and he only worked faster to get through it sooner. A few minutes later the hole was cleared down to the raw ground in most spots, and there was a good defensive barrier of rock and snow all around him.

Taking off his pack, he noted how considerably light it was in comparison to how it felt before they left. Although he originally just attributed this to his feeling stronger due to the labor he'd just done, Jack was sorely disappointed when he dumped the contents out and found that half of his gear was missing. Of all the equipment he'd left with, he now had only five magazines for his M4, two for his pistol, no smoke grenades, no NODs, no claymore, one trip-flare, and no GPS. He did, however, still have his hand grenades, the SOFLAM, zipcuffs, earplugs, his pistol itself, his knife, and a map & compass.

No transmission had come through yet, but that would make sense since he was in, basically, a makeshift fort of rock and snow, which would block the signal. Jack stuck the 148UHF on the top of the snow embankment so that it could receive any transmission on that channel. It would be best for him if he waited until a transmission came in before moving out of his hiding hole, just for safety purposes.

[Shawn Cambridge]

Markus Allen Danials
Sergeant - Weapons Sergeant

Markus was actually surprised to get a response. He figured that the mission was a wipe once the ZSUs got a lock on their bird, but as long as they had a few people, they could make this work. He grabbed his comm unit and keyed it, rubbing the back of his neck and thinking about who was on the other end of the radio. Six-Three? Wasn't he the former One-Three? Knowing that, he cleared his throat and began to respond. "One-Three. I dropped out before the crash. Figure I'm somewhere between four hundred and six hundred meters to the east of the crash site. Heading to the designated Ar-Ve." he spoke into the comm unit before putting it back into it's designated pocket and picking back up his M249 Para, slinging it over his back for added comfort and begining the hike towards the designated reaundevous point, Damavand. It would be a hell of a long hike, but that's what he signed up for. "Come on, Markus. Ye' didn' sign up t'ah complain abo't doin' work." he muttered under his breath to himself, his thick country accent he generally repressed for clarity slipping out. With that, Markus put one foot in front of the other, heading west.

((Out Of C4 ; ; short post is short -.- ))

[N0b136]

James Carter

Carter tightened the strap on his M4, making sure it was close to his chest. The check list in his head was all accounted for; Weapon, Radios, Gps, fourteen extra mags, 6 203 grenades, four hand grenades, binoculars, earplugs, all in his vest. His hands went to the ruck at his feet, sleeping bag, emergency shelter, rations. Check. Carter through about the briefing, as he scanned the faces across the isle. He wondered if he would be able to catch a few minutes of sleep before they landed. The A-A barrage answered his question. His body moved mechanically and calmly as he stood and clipped on his ruck. He unclipped his line and bounded two steps to the middle exit, third one out. He yanked the cord almost before he was out of the bird, but just in time. The wind caught in the emergency chute, yanking him up in the air slightly.

Wind blasted in his ears, and cut at his face, the hulk spun away info the darkness, fire blading from the tail, and metal flying with each rotation of the blades. Carter looked down, at where his ruck had been hanging between his legs, now only a frayed pice of webbing. "Brilliant" he muttered, looking at the fast approaching trees. The first branches scratched and poked, but the thicker branches below really hurt, especially the one that bashed him in the shin. He bent his knees as the ground approached, but was surprised when there was a tug instead. The chute had caught in them branches, leaving him swinging ten feet above the ground. Somewhere in the distance he heard the chopper crash. The fall was not too bad, after a roll and a landing in snow. Carter looked up at the dangling harness. Then scanned the area. A boom in the direction of the crash confirmed his direction of travel.

He reached for his radio, and squeezed the button, nothing. He inspected it in the darkness, and found a large piece of shrapnel embedded in it, that probably would have killed him. So, clipping on his night attachment, to the ACOG, he started off, limping a little from the bashed shin, in the direction of the crash. Carter pulled out his thermal binoculars, and scanned the woods around him. He stopped, among the dark lines a patch of white moved, by the looks another delta. He quickened his pace, but not at the expense of a lot of noise. He traveled low until he was within fifty meters of the figure, "Delta, freindly." He said quietly, just loud enough for the figure to hear him.