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Red Dust: Operation Zangaro RP (Active)

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Úlfheðinn:
[ADR Headquarters]
[Bern , Switzerland]
[May 15th, 2012]
[Rem]

Heads turned as a tall man, wearing a pair of combat fatigues entered the room, his greying hair was short cut and complimented by a thick mustache. Though he was far older than most of the mercenaries he was in fair shape and carried himself like a soldier. Despite the prohibition of smoking inside the building he had somehow managed to smuggle a cigar past the guards and was puffing contently as he strode towards a podium standing in the far end of the room.

With a critical eye Rem surveyed the members of 5th company which were assembled in front of him. Numbering no less than fifty men, they were a mixed group. Of various nationalities they represented some of the finest soldiers, policeman, intelligence agents and revolutionaries that money could buy.

Some were old hands, familiar faces he knew to be dependable. Others were recent acquisitions, but he was not overly worried about their future performance, he had as always managed the section of new members himself. Of course some level of risk could never be avoided. Still he reflected proudly, there were few men alive who understood as well as he did the particular natures of those individuals who sought to make a living as mercenaries. They were of the same heart after all.

"My esteemed colleagues of 5th Company, my apologies for any inconveniences in regards to the haste with which we have required you return to our home. It is unfortunate that we could not provide further aid to the rebuilding effort in Iraq, but with our latest contract lapsing we were offered a most interesting proposition."

"Perhaps, some of you are aware of a small West African nation, called Zangaro? Due to recent political events, we have been hired to secure and protect certain economical assets currently operated by foreign investors. It goes without saying that our operations will be of a purely defensive nature, however the payment is more than adequate and I feel certain that we can make a difference in the grand scheme of things as well. Good luck!"

Rem burst into a sudden fit of laughter  at the end of this speech, causing several of the mercenaries to view him with confused looks. „My comrades, forgive me for uttering such false words, but some appearances must be maintained. Now that you have heard the offical yet fictional cover, we can proceed to the real briefing and our actual assignment.“

"With that I would like to welcome one of our long-time employees to the stage so to speak. Mr. Tornquist, if you would please." Rem stated, gesturing to a man that stood quietly near the door. Unlike his superior the figure was dressed in civilian attire, black jeans blending with an equally dark t-shirt. Only the man's pale skin and light colored hair broke this pattern.

[Volkmar]

Volkmar shook the hand that the older man offered him as he approached the podium, the projector in the room whirring to life. Behind him, a map of Zangaro began to slowly take shape as the machine slowly began to warm.

He looked slowly over the assembled group of mercenaries, paying particular attention to where he knew his own squad, the 4th were gathered. One face stood out from the rest and Volkmar could not help but grin as he recognized to whom  it belonged.

Pointing to the map he began to speak, „Zangora, an island located off the coast of Angola, Congo and Gabon. Currently under the leadership of a military junta led by one Joseph Ileka. Roughly 57,000 sq. mi. in surface area, with a tropical climate resulting in heavy rainfall and a large percentage of the country being jungle. A respectable population of 3,515,338 is dispersed evenly in several large cities, towns and in outlying farming villages.Of particular economic interest are the mineral and fossil fuel deposits which are found on the southeast of the island as well as off the northwestern coast. There are two major airports, however only one is usable by medium jet aircraft whilst the other is limited to light usage.“

Volkmar paused briefly, before continuing, "In regards to Opposing Forces(OpFor), we will be facing the RRA( Republican Revolutionary Army), our best estimates put their forces at around 40,000 active soldiers. Their armament is varied, expect both Warsaw Pact and Western weapons/vehicles, but obviously nothing state of the art. Training is sub-standard and unit morale is reportedly a problem.

"We will be operating largely on our own. We will attempt to make contact with local rebel groups, but as always they are unpredictable at best. U.N. Peacekeeping forces are also located in country, however they will most likely not respond well to our arrival."

"Our operational goals are to seize control of any valuable assets, disrupt the enemies economy, inflict any military casualties we can to the RRA and in general perform any actions which would serve to destabilize Ileka's government."

"That is all, dismissed." Volkmar concluded before offering a parting toast, "Vive la mort, vive la guerre, vive le sacré mercenaire" (Long live death, long live war, long live the cursed mercenary)

With his task completed he headed in the direction of his squad, some introductions were in order...

Rallix:
 Raleigh was reminded of good ole' Rem's talent for making farces out of foolish procedure and traditions, when he cut through the formalities.
She didn't like sitting through long, boring sessions of talk, unless it was of particular interest to her.
In any case, it was time for introductions of the other new squadmates. She had been with ADR for a little while now in Volkmar's squad, but these new fellows had all joined just recently. She sat down in the seating she was ordered to, and found she was accompanied by various newcomers to the squad.

 She hadn't gotten their names yet, but they looked competent. She would get to know them well enough with time.
Raleigh turned her attention ahead to Volkmar, who approached. All of the squads began to gather together and converse. She assumed they were going to do the same. Just next to her was a young man, seemingly of Hispanic descent.
"Today you get to meet our good friend and squad-leader Volkmar! Or do you know him already?" Raleigh spoke openly.
"Ah, I forget my manners. My name is Raleigh O'Keanan. You can call me Rally."

QuailLover:
Miguel was taken back at first, at the extreme forthrightness, but gave a big smile. She seemed friendly enough, and why not make a new friend? Miguel cut all ties to his old life, and wanted to start anew.

"I'm Miguel Morales. I haven't meet Volkmar in person yet. As we did the hiring process via the internet."

He extend his hand out for a handshake.

Pimple_of_Pixels:
Jef nervously sat in a fold-up chair as the briefing finished. Around him were quite a few people he had never spoken with before and would be working with pretty closely in situations where he may need their assistance, or where they may need his. But he had dealt with this before; it was pretty normal as far as Jef could tell from his own experience.

He decided to take a passive approach to meeting his comrades and wait for one of them to come for him, all the meanwhile observing the more interesting types in the room to get a general sense of who they are.

He hoped that his decision to come to Africa, primarily with the intention of using his talents for the good of many people, was a good decision. The pay would certainly be nice, but ultimately he wasn't too sure what he would immediately use the money for. But he decided this was a concern for later, and shut those thoughts from his mind. There would be time later to decide what to spend his salary on if he survives the coming assignment.

So Jef continued to sit there, anxiously waiting if someone would come to speak to him, all the while lost in his thoughts...

Lord Tim:
[Place CK, safehouse]
[Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo]
[May 15th, 2012]
[Bart Dewael]

“… and this is Philippe from Radio Okapi. It’s another hot day in the region of Kinshasa, perfect weather for all tourists to visit Banana beach …”

*click*

“No shit.”

Bart wiped the sweat of his forehead with the sleeve of his black shirt, opened a shelf, grabbed his Colt Anaconda and slowly slid it in his belt.

Somebody knocked the door, while outside, motors of trucks and jeeps were roaring.

Bart calmly went to the small bathroom, let some water run and plunged it in his face.
He took his aviator sunglasses from a shelf next to him and prudishly watched himself in the mirror.

There had been multiple knocks by then and someone was getting impatient.
Bart opened the door and slowly paced forward. The burning sun gazed on his face.
An irritated Congolese soldier was just walking away as he turned around to see Bart appear.

“The convoy is ready Mr Dewael.” He muttered and continued.

Bart simply nodded, examined the trucks in front of his safehouse and sat down in the back seat of the first jeep he encountered.

They were in the outskirts of Kinshasa, most of these houses were once villa’s belonging to rich Belgian colonists, school buildings or company projects. Now most of them were deserted or inhabited by poor men that found no place to stay in the slums.

He bent over to the driver and whispered something in his ear.

“I want you to lose the rest of the convoy and take another route. We’ll meet up with them in Banana beach.”

The driver nodded and the convoy of about twenty vehicles started moving.

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