Contract Free Arulco: The Bitch Must Die!
folder
+G through L › Jagged Alliance
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
22
Views:
2,065
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Category:
+G through L › Jagged Alliance
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
22
Views:
2,065
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Jagged Alliance, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Contract Free Arulco: The Bitch Must Die!
JA2 1.13: Day 1
The stress level of six of the seven passengers in the UH1 Huey transport helicopter was as high as the temperature outside; only the seventh passenger, the one who was asleep with her arms wrapped tightly around the long flat case that was lying vertically in her lap, the left side of her face leaning against the edge of the enveloped case.
Sara wanted to voice her frustration over the contract that went south before it even started. Three hours earlier, at the Cayenne-Rochambeau Airport in Matoury, French Guiana the seven operators were rudely surprised by a set back from the French Guiana government. All seven were mercenaries under contract to AIM and were hired to liberate the ultra small Caribbean nation of Arulco from its current Fascist regime. A local arms dealer was hired to provide all of the proper equipment the small crew would need for success. Instead, when they arrived to pick up their transport and equipment to Arulco, they were met by the arms dealer and his eight man security detail with no weapons and substandard equipment.
Big Al, the large dark skinned man from Angola, was not happy, but he knew enough to stand down when the security detail pointed their MPKs and Glock 18s at him. The veteran, Scope, was the only one, like now, to keep her cool. She flipped out her satellite phone and dialed in the man who was the only link the seven had; Gus Tarball.
Sara had met the flippant and gregarious Tarball two years ago when he recruited her from Stanford. There was something about the man that irked Sara while enticing her to follow him. It wasn’t so much a sexual thing as her awe of his charisma. Sara really wasn’t sure what she was going to do after college; teaching was a possibility but her mother had imbued in her a much stronger taste for life. Excitement is what she craved. Growing up in La Jolla, California, Sara quenched that thirst with surfing and rollerblading; when she twelve, her mother took her to an NRA meeting. Sara balked at first - the meeting was boring and the two of them were the only unattached females, which meant they received more than their fair share of male, testosterone-driven attention. But the first time Sara fired off a nine millimeter, she was hooked. Target shooting was soon replaced by paintball. Where Sara found she really enjoyed beating the boys and older guys at that game.
Sara wasn’t a lesbian, far from it, but she definitely had a very male pastime: a pastime that could get her killed. She wondered about the other operators. There was Big Al, who was very much big all around; she wasn’t surprised when he said that his specialty was heavy weapons. Next to him in the Huey was Terror. Terror of course wasn’t her real name; everyone at AIM used a call name or nickname. Sara’s was Sierra, after the Sierra Madre Mountains that she loved to climb. Terror was a darker skinned woman from Nome, Alaska of obvious mixed heritage. Sara had to admit, as sneaky as she was at night, Terror was sneakier, or, as Terror liked to say, she was the “Terror in the Night”. Sara wasn’t going to argue.
Next to Terror was Robert ‘Robber’ Antoine from Orleans, France, who made sure to introduce himself to all of the females present and that annoying yet sweet French way. Robber was a big man, too. Not as big as Big Al, but big. He claimed to be able to fire the FAMAS very accurately while on full auto. Sara had fired the FAMAS before, she liked the bull-pup design, though modern designs have surpassed the FAMAS in many areas, just not in its rate of fire. Being able to control the FAMAS at 1100rpm was a feat worth mentioning.
Next to Sara was Kara ‘Kilroy’ Hansdottir from Falun, Sweden. Kara said that she was training for the Olympic Biathlon when she was recruited by AIM. While cross country skiing wasn’t her strong suit, shooting was. Since she could never get her time down, her coaches convinced Kara that possibly the Olympics was not for her. AIM’s offer came at the right time for her to say yes. Kara, through customs, was able to bring her own personalized 10x sniper scope; she just didn’t have a rifle to mount it on to.
On the other side of Kara was Sheila, aka ‘Scope’, sleeping with her guitar sized metal case that Sara, and everyone else knew contained an HK PSG-1 Counter Sniper Rifle and forty rounds of 7.62mm shells. Scope was the last to arrive in French Guiana by yacht. So it was relatively easy for her to smuggle the weapon to the Cayenne-Rochambeau Airport.
Rounding out the crew was ‘Gillie’, a shaggy hair, slight man whose long black oily hair, to Sara, was in dire need of shampoo and maybe some conditioner. Gillie said the least and kind of creeped Sara out with his blatant stares. Maybe it was because he was the shortest of the males and shorter than everyone except for Scope, who was a petite thing, or it could be that his eyes betrayed a slight Oriental heritage and he had that notorious inferiority complex associated with the Orientals. It didn’t matter to Sara who acknowledged how Gillie unnerved her, but knew she needed to trust him on the upcoming battlefield. Gillie wasn’t fidgeting like Terror or Robber, he was trying to immitate Scope by attempting to sleep, but because of lack of seats, he was doing so on the deck of the Huey.
When Scope got through to Tarball, whatever he said soothed her because she soon hung up her phone. Looking at the arms dealer, she asked him how he was going to rectify his situation. The dealer did want to protect his reputation as much as he could in a screwed up situation, so he offered the side arms of his security detail. Two of the smaller MPK5’s and four Glock 18’s with a total of three hundred and sixty rounds of 9mm ammo. Equipment wise, he was able to scrounge up Vietnam era surplus field jackets and pot helmets. Not good, but better than nothing. Because of Big Al’s aggression, they were not going to hand over the weapons until they were all on board the Huey and it was spinning up. Big Al screamed a loud, “JESUS” when one of the guards dropped two 60mm mortar shells on the deck of the Huey. When asked what he were supposed to do with those, the guard gave a sly smile and shrugged his shoulders before moving away. The mission was still on and Sara felt like they were rushing to their death practically naked.
Sara watched Big Al rotate one of the mortar shells in his massive hands over and over again; didn’t anyone ever tell him not to play with explosives, she wondered. Sara was the first to arrive in Matoury just over a week ago. She had never been to the South America and wanted to try out the waves found there. Since she was traveling under her own passport she felt safe that her cover as a tourist was working and didn’t have a feeling that someone was out to get her. Well, except for the local male populace who couldn’t leave her fit body and blonde Californian hair be. She didn’t shoot down all of her would be suitors, just most of them and the two that she did allow to seduce her did their job well. Two days later Terror and Robber showed up on the daily flight from Paris. They met up for a meal and introductions. Terror’s room was next to Sara's and that night Sara heard that Terror was also a terror in the sack. Robber seemed quite pleased the next morning, if a bit sore.
The next day Kilroy and Big Al arrived on the flight from Miami and Gillie from Hong Kong via a connecting flight from Paris. The rooms had been prepaid by AIM which probably caused Gillie’s jitter, who insisted that they play loud rap music when they were going over the plans for Arulco. The plans were sent to them by the one link they found they all shared: Gus Tarball, legend at AIM. In their conversations it was deduced that they had one other thing in common. They all came from broken families and were all, at one time, educated in the US. Kilroy made the comment that it seemed like they were all raised to be mercenaries; which Sara thought was preposterous but coincidences can be deceiving.