Control of Flamia Island

Send in the Scots!

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VS Nomads

High Command of Rodina was in disarray. Veteran Kazak Petyr Tolstoj was no more. While his last missions might not have been rousing successes, the loss of a leader of his caliber would not go unnoticed. But HQ had no time to dwell on this at present; after haveing fought to a stand-off in Antela, reports flooded in that the Nomads was pushing for Agoge. Someone had to reinforce the center, and stop the Space Hippies cold. But who would they send? If not even Petyr could but lose or draw against them, what hope had anyone else?

That’s when I stepped up.

Well, I say stepped up… I might have just busted the door in. What can I say, I like to make a flashy entrance.

Anyway, they were desperate, and “volunteering” myself and a crew of my best and most trusted, what else could they do but agree?

So I brought a newly formed gang of Wulvers, leading them, a fiery little (for a Wuklver anyway) lady with a T2 Rifle, and her brothers, one with an Mk 12 and the other with a Heavy Shotgun.

I also hand-picked a Duo of Scots Guards, one carrying his trusted Missile Launcher on his shoulder, the other with an AP Marksmanrifle, and the ability to tag our enemies for some “Death From Above”. What kind of Death? The kind a couple of Trakotr Mul can deal out; one with an Uragan MRL, the other with a Katyusha MRL.To control these, I brought a trusted Dozer, Rifle in his hand, and gears in his head.

To round my team out, and get some more long-range options, I picked a Cateran, T2 Sniper rifle in hand and enemies in his sights. What a lovely little addition one or a few of those guys are to any little hunt. A Volunteer with an HMG got to tag along aswell, I figured he might at least be useable since he was used to the Jungle we’d be fighting in.

Last of all, I got four of the nastiest, bloodthirstiest and down-right most aggresive 45th Highlanders I could find, all of the toting Chainrifles, and ready to go crazy at a moments notice.

Did I not introduce myself yet? Terrible sorry old chap, name’s Willy. To my friends. To anyone else, I’m William Wallace. Or, sometimes, William Fucking Wallace. Can’t imagine why…

I brought my Combi Rifle/Light flamethrower combo, and off to the fight we went!

They say battleplans are only good for about as long as it takes to fire the first bullet, and whoever they are, damn if they ain’t right most of the time!

The plan, when I noticed the enemy had a team of Mobile Brigada set up in a defensive position, was to let my Cateran and the Missile Scots Guard handle the biggest threats, this being a Brigada with a Missile Launcher. One dead Cateran and an Unconsious Scots Guard later, I realised I had to make new plans.

Death from Above? That could work! But no, the other Scots Guard fell before he could tag our enemies, and I felt a growing hatred for that damn Brigada and his Missiles.

New plan. Let the Mk 12 handle it. Alas, a Bandit popping out of his Camoflagued state put a wrench in that plan, and down goes the Wulver.

Right, so far all we’ve done is tarnish the armor of a couple of the Brigadas, and we’re taking some heavy losses…Send the HMG? . . . Send the HMG!

But surviving the climb and subsequent hail of fire down from the roof he’s at, he still can’t get that damn Brigada before himself getting killed.

Right, so this is looking grim. What do we do now? Well, me and my 45ths can’t just stand here looking all day, we’d better advance into the jungle and making a threat of our side of the field.

It’s at this moment, and the T2 Rifle Wulver starts advancing, that the Bandit makes a grace mistake. He must have figured that some Camoflague and his training in Martial Arts would give him the edge over a Wulver, and I see him advance on the poor. lonely girl.

Yea, as if a Wulver is ever described correctly as “poor, lonely girl” . . . Did the Bandit not know they’re Naturl Born Warriors? I guess he learned when nothing he did really worked, and he ate the full strenght of a Wulver AP Sword. One enemy down, plenty to go!

Frenzied now that she’s tasted blood, the Wulver advanced, shooting the Unconsious Bandit as she want, almost as an afterthought. After a few missed shots, and a Daktari that for the life of her could not dodge out of the way, the Wulver was able to put another kill on her resumé. Good girl!

This is where the battle took a . . . strange turn.

The Brigada team decides to advance, and doing so, exposes three fights of it to the same Traktor. That Traktor? The Uragan. Which three Brigada? The ones already hurt. And one big, glorious BOOM later, three of the five Brigada are out for the count.

The last two decide to try to disable the Traktor, but a combination of missed shots, getting shot at back, and the armor on the Mul, simply makes the machine seem immortal, although the Heavy Shotgun Wulver has to sacrifice his life in the chaos, hiding as he was behind the Traktor.

Right, time to finish this! I advance with my 4ths, letting them lead with the Chainrifles. It takes a while, and two of the have to give their lives, but in the end, all five Brigada are dead or dying on the ground.

At this point, I leave my 45ths and advance on my own, as I know feel confident the little team of Wildcats I have seen sneaking about is the last thing I have to handle, before I can leave with complete success. One of them is able to finally kill of the T2 Wulver, and it’s up to me to finish it!

Flamethrower leading, I step up, eating a flamethrower back as I do! But I shrug of the warmth, something my enemy does not. Setting up defensive position, the second to last Wildcat sneaks around the wall I’m at, also trying to burn me to a crisp. It hurts, I won’t lie, but I will Not let any Wound Incapacitate me!

Once again, my enemy has no such willpower, and it’s fried cat for dinner!

The last Wildcat, trying to sneak up behind me, eats 45th Highlander Chainrifle, and falls Unconsious to the jungle floor.

The quiet is complete. I ask around, but apart from dead or dying enemies, all we see are two Zondbots, disconnected now that the Daktari is no more.

We pack up, we go back to HQ, and we tell them to remember, in the future, not to send Russians to do a Scotsmans job!

Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!Send in the Scots!

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