War In The Sun: Rough Landing
 

2'000 feet over Changi International Airport

The back of the C-130 Hercules is noisy, hot and cramped, but it's better than having to swim to the objective. Around you are your comrades, all in generic urban combat fatigues and strapped into your seats, which are bereft
of such niceties as padding. The pilot talks nonstop, rambling about nothing of real benefit, ostensibly to impress his pretty co-pilot beside him.

"...so, you wanna catch a beer at whatever passes for a rec room in this hellhole we're going into, Charlene?"

"I don't know, Captain Mauser, I-"

A piercing deedledeedledeedle cuts through the shrieking of the engines, and you hear the pilot curse.

"Laser lock, there's a confirmed laser lock on us, sir!"

"Spectrum jammers, now!"

Suddenly the whine of the warning siren dies off as the wide-spectrum EM jammers blanket the sky around you with enough radiation to overload most anti-aircraft missiles. Over the intercom, you hear the pilot's ragged breathing, and a sigh of relief.

"Okay, lost it-"

And then there's an almighty lurch and you feel like you've been lifted up, shaken vigorously, then brutally slammed back down into the ground.

"- goddamn HARM missiles - "

A sinking feeling grows in your stomach as you go into an uncontrolled dive, and you suddenly realise that you're too low for parachutes. A steady rumbling fills the craft, almost rattling the teeth in your head.

"- Hang on, I'll try to guide it in - "

Then your world jolts violently, and everything fades to black...

******

You wake up in a dimly-lit place. The light in the shape of a rectangle is blinding you and in the darkness beside it, you can barely make out the outline of a man in camouflage fatigues looking over you.

"Doc, this one's got consciousness! Doc!"

He stalks off to one side, and as you look around and inspect your body, you realize that you are intact, albeit sore and possessed of a throbbing headache, and that your comrades are all around you...

OOC: The plane you were on has been shot down. Roleplay as needed. Once everyone checks in, things will continue to happen.

John looked all around himself assesing the damage to himself and his team. "Damn, feels like I was hit by a freight train." He stood up taking a look around to make sure everyone was okay. "Guess today just wasn't our day", John said checking himself for injury.

Ray sits up and looks around at his surroundings. "Wow, feels like one of the biggest hangovers I have ever had. Your right, this just isn't our day."

Harold opened his eyes, but couldn't make out what was in front of him. He looked to his right, and saw someone who he also couldn't make out. He tried to lift his head to look forward, but then realized he was very very sore and had to let it sit there for a minute. "Doc! Another one has gained consiousness."

Soon, Harold was helped to his feet. "We've checked you over, all you've got is some bruises here and there. Nothing's broken." The doctor said.

"Well, I feel like crap either way. Any chance I can get a drink, or would that just impare my condition?" Harold asked.

"Lets see..." The doctor looked over his notes, "Sorry, Mr. Watson. With your specialty, you're most certainly going to be the designated driver sooner or later. With the way things have been going around here, we might need you in as little as 15 minutes. If you were anyone else I'd tell you to knock yourself out."

"Right, then. I'll assume painkillers are out of the question, too."

"Of course."

"Doc! This one's up!" Another nurse called out, and the doctor came rushing over.

Jason had woken up relatively early compared to most others. They'd treated him for a possible hyper-extended elbow, and a possible sprain in his left ankle. Shortly after that, he sorted through the remains of the ship to find his bag(s) and his guns.

Following that, he'd quickly strapped on some body armor, rolled his sleeves back, gotten gloves on, then used facepaint to do a splitter pattern on his face and arms. Then, he'd loaded and armed the two guns he brought with him. His trusty SIG-Sauer P228 had been kept in the back of his belt, rear draw. That pea-shooter was quickly dissembled and put into a pouch. In it's place he put a Swiss Sphinx 3000. On his thigh went his brand spankin' new MP-7 PDW.

Others were starting to come to as he finished his loading out. Aside from some frags, and flash-bangs, he was finished loading his Jackhammer shotgun. Then he took a defensive position.

"Everyone get ready to move out. We can't stay, they'll track our position."

Jack woke up with a low groan, wincing slightly as that one rectangular bar of light shot into his eyes, multiplying the low throbbing in his head many times over, and the voice of the nurse, which might normally be considered pleasant, cut through his mind like a jagged razor as she called for the doctor, eliciting another groan, even as she helped him to his feet.

He scanned the room and noticed a few people were already on their feet, similiar to himself, but there were others still unconcious. He clenched his eyes closed for a few moments, focusing his thoughts and dispelling the pain to the back of his mind so that he could concentrate properly. When he opened them a doctor was already checking him over.

"You seem to be fine, how do you feel, does this hurt?" the man asked as he poked various regions of Jack's body.

"I have a headache, and no, none of that hurts," Jack replied cooly as he gently pushed the doctor's hands away. "How are the others? Are there any casualties? Serious injuries?"

The doctor shook his head, as he stood. "No, everyone seems to be mostly fine. The pilot broke an arm, but he seemed to do a good enough job landing this to keep his passengers alive. A few sprains, bruises, and contusions."

Jack nodded. "Good... have any tylenol?"

The doctor nodded again and handed him a small bottle of over the counter pain killers, which Jack quickly opened, popping two of them down without bothering with water.

It was about then that Jason mentioned moving. "Great idea, but which way? We need to figure out where we are before we can worry about them doing the same... anyone know where we landed?" Jack asked as he made his way to the door and looked out.

"Ugggh..." Gordon trailed off into some of his best German curses as he regained his awareness. As the nurse came over, he could here others talking in the distance, and chose to ignore them for the moment. Right now he was concerning himself more with the possibility that he could have a spinal injury, especially after a crash like that. The first aid courses he had undergone with the Agency told him, bluntly, not to move a muscle.

"Doctor, another just regained consciousness over here." She gave Gordon a quick look over, and in another minute or so the doctor came over.

"Does anything hurt?" He asked Gordon with a stern look on his face.

"Not really, and that's what worries me." Gordon replied. The doctor spent the next minute checking Gordon over. He finished by feeling along the back of Gordon's neck for unusual bumps or bruising, and concluded.

"You're fine."

"So far so good, then?"

"Sir, they'e over here."

A dark-skinned sergeant points to you, and a Chinese man looms into the doorway. He's old, looks around forty to fifty, and has a shiny bald pate with greying streaks by the sides. A trio of Singaporean crests grace each of his epaulettes, and you see the black letters KT TAN on his fatigues.

He's sweating and looks harried. He looks like he's been through Hell itself - and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't too happy about it. Or this. You can't tell. One angry scowl looks just like another. He speaks English with a flat, nearly toneless accent that almost grates on your ears sometimes.

"So, you're the ICA mercenaries? Tch..."

He sucks air in through his teeth and folds his arms.

"My name is Colonel Tan Kah Teck, CO 512 SIR. When you've accounted for your men, I'll be waiting in the CP. Your commander just contacted us, said she had something to say to you."

He points to a low tent ringed by barbed wire and men holding SAR-21 assault rifles. Their expressions lie somewhere between bored and anxious, and they have both hands on their weapons. Then he turns to the dark-skinned man, who shifts to attention.

"1SG Vicknesh will be your POC - Point of Contact - until then. "

He stalks back to the tent, and almost immediately, a small group of officers split off from the bustle of activity in the camp and trail him. Vicknesh turns to the peoples till in the tent.

"Did some of your guys wander off? I thought I saw more people in here just now..."

"Hmmmm, must've wandered off before I woke up, because I swear I was the first one to do so." He pulled out a small book and looked through it, he then put it away and sighed. "Glad to know my ratty old journal is intact", he said not noticing the man still standing in front of the tent. He walked outside to notice some strange activity around and about. "I guess our crash caused some commotion."

"The people who are gone stand a good chance of being dead in the next few hours. We can't dwell on them, we have to keep moving."

Jason stood and walked outside, keeping his Jackhammer down, but he never engaged the safety. He then proceeded to wait for the others.

OOC: Am I wrong in assuming that we've landed in the middle of a warzone, and could be attacked at any time?