World Tree MUSH

    It wasn't certain how Laswell got everyone's personal information so easily, or tracked them down to send messages, but the CIA agent had her ways that bordered on supernatural sometimes. Nikolai's underworld contacts helped with that.

    The briefing was short and to the point, as the walrus-mustached CO of the team, John Price, began after a puff on his cigar. "We got us an Estonian freighter in the Bering strait. Word is, it's carrying suspicious cargo and the personnel aren't registered with any of the big shipping companies, 'cept one; Fregata. There's been no scheduled voyages through there recently, makes me want to know what's so bloody important." The captain said, his voice deep and gravely as he puffed his cigar. "Crew are unknown contacts, if they're armed, they're legitimate targets." He looked to Ghost, the skull-faced masked operator, "You'll be taking point on this one with Soap, and our new friends."

    The flight was long and quiet, with the helicopter carrying the team across the sea as a storm raged outside. The weather was getting bad, they had a ticking clock to worry about.

    Soap MacTavish, a Scottish operator with a mohawk, was screwing a suppressor to his compact carbine, before stubbing out a cigarette and donning a gas mask. The entire team would be issued gas masks, in case the cargo was some manner of infectious weapon. Even Ghost himself had a skull painted onto his. The theme was something of a trademark of his.

    "Gaz and I will stay in the bird and provide overwatch. Don't take too long down there." Price said.

    "No promises, sir. But we'll hurry." Soap said, before hooking up. "Everyone hook up! Go on green!"

    The light in the helicopter cabin flashed green moments later, and Soap and Ghost descended via fast-roping onto the bridge area.

    It was a skeleton crew on the bridge, men with unmarked uniforms toting SMGs and grenades.

    Legitimate targets indeed. "Weapons free." Ghost and Soap took aim and fired, their bullets blasting through the windows as the bridge crew took cover and returned fire, shouting in Russian.

    Illumiel, Avenging Angel, cute little girl.

    Many have underestimated her in the past, and as she sits through the briefing, her eyes locked onto the Dark Knight like she's trying to burn a hole straight through him, they might underestimate her here.

    It matters not.

    The only thing really keeping her back from drawing steel and challenging Duncan to combat, is Itana being nearby. "Unknown transients passing through a waterway where no traffic is due. If they bear arms against the righteous, their lives are forfeit." she repeats back at Price, before the group board the helicoptor. The ride is largely silent on the blonde's part, save the grinding of a whetstone along the gleaming blade of a rather mundane looking arming sword. She doesn't hook up, nor does she don a gas mask. Instead she stands from her seat, and falls backward out of the helicoptor, curling midair and landing in a superhero pose.

    She then charges into the gunmen on the bridge, tackling one with more force than her small frame would indicate. Her blade bursts into gleaming white-gold flames. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I shall fear no darkness. For thou art with me. Thy rod; and thy staff. They comfort me." Her sword flashes, lopping weapons asunder, or disarming the gunmen in a more literal manner.

    Blue eyes gleam coldly in her stern face.

>> SUMMARY[Illumiel] >> Avenging Angels are cold AF, yo.

Itana doesn't have a phone, a computer or a permanent address. A letter landed in Castiel's mailbox with her name on it and she had no idea why. She was even less happy when she realized she had to sit in a briefing with a bunch of people who look like they're from the government.

The phrase 'they're legimate targets' nearly prompted her to walk out. She hasn't said much of anything since, simply settling into the back of the helicopter and looking out one of the portholes. For the sake of the mission, she's had to set aside her usual one-piece and heels in favour of a black jumpsuit that could be justified as "tactical" if you wanted to be generous but mostly just serves to make her less obvious.

Her discomfort with the whole situation doesn't need to be vocalized to be obvious. The tension hovers around her like a storm cloud.

Sure enough, down go Soap and Ghost. Itana makes sure to position herself closer to the rear of things, bow in one hand. Looking down through the helicopter door, she presses her lips together and exhales through her nose. After a moment, she looks back towards some of the others in the helicopter.

She doesn't say anything, settling instead for hopping out the side of the helicopter - and onto the /roof/ of the bridge. Deliberately avoiding the interior, she tumbles past the opening Ghost and Soap had used and takes cover behind a piece of radar equipment, mostly trying to stay out of sight and figure out how to get to the cargo without anyone spotting her.

Too much of this makes her feel like a Red Wing descending on Baron. Finding something to do that doesn't require her to make a moral call to kill someone on this crew might help.

>> SUMMARY[Itana el-Zayl] >> Game mode: Pacifist

    It might not have been as hard to find Duncan as initially thought. Considering the king of Baron, unprovoked, blew up three cities in his world and killed almost all their inhabitants, and is now making angry noises about being 'betrayed' by two of his dark knights? Might bear some investigation...

    Either way, like a reverse Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, there sits Duncan, fully armored in what looks to be enameled black medieval armor, with his sword leaning against... something near him. Maybe a wall, maybe a seat. Depends on how big this vehicle is. Fortunately the bottom of his helm is open, so if a gas mask is needed, he'll be able to don it without ditching his helmet.

    It's worth noting that Illumiel's presence doesn't seem to give him any discomfort. He may simply be unable to sense her holy/light power. That said... don't take too long? "We will do our best, sir," Duncan replies. Oh, there's the signal! Duncan will go with the others, and... actually finds himself under attack as soon as he touches down!

    However, much like Illumiel and Itana, despite being fired on, he seems keen to find a... slightly less violent means of defusing this. He's at range, and thus at a disadvantage, but he also has fire magic. Which he puts to use! Against weapons mostly, but finding oneself suddenly holding a red-host metal firearm, particularly with both hands, is probably going to end up with some injuries here and there...

    There are many operators and solos in Night City. Few of them get off their home turf enough to get noticed, unlike a certain smolo by the name of Rebecca, who has made quite the name for herself by leaving her world enough, and causing enough havoc everywhere she goes, to apparently get the attention of Laswell and the CIA.
    The garishly green and pink tattooed girl aboard the chopper spent most of her time gabbering gaily with anyone that would listen, while loading uh.
    That is a lot of ordinance.
    But once things started...
    OH MAN.
    No sooner than she hears 'legitimate targets' and 'weapons free', Rebecca grabs the rappel line in one big mechanical hand and leaps out the chopper.
    "WAHOO!" She crows all the way down before landing with a small thump on the ship below, holding a garishly pink and green assault rifle in her free hand and...
    That's just a duffel bag of guns on her shoulder.
    "Leave some for me, guys!" She says, eyes wide and wild with glee as she opens fire on the bridge crew that weren't taken down in the initial salvo of fire and starts gunning guys down.

    The men were taken by surprise, returning fire from cover until one of them screamed in pain. His gun lit up like a space heater, warming up by several hundred degrees Celsius until it went off like a hand grenade, leaving him scorched and bloodied from extremely hot metal and gunpowder going off.

    The rest of the men went down by blade and bullet, as Soap whistled in surprise, muffled by his gas mask. "Steamin' Jesus, mate." He commented to Duncan as he and Ghost took to the stairs.

    Soap took point, descending to the lower decks until he heard singing in Russian before it suddenly stopped. The guard had a crudely cut down AK and a bottle of vodka in his hands, and he shouted in heavily slurred Russian. Or perhaps it was Chechen. Soap had trouble telling the difference amid all the noise. He went down with short burst from Soap before the two SAS operators led the way. "Hallway clear, move." Soap said, advancing toward the decks.

    Meanwhile, Itana would find the deck of the ship patrolled by small groups of hostiles among cargo containers. The markings were meaningless to her, but as Soap got closer he spied some familiar markings; Fregata Industries, Kriegler Engineering, Zhakaev Manufacturing, Terminus Outcomes, Tacitus... "Lotta death merchants want their packages shipped, El-Tee." Soap muttered.

    The chaos of the bridge had been muffled by the storm, as the guards appeared rather unprovoked just yet. They carried assault rifles and SMGs, flashlights guiding them in the darkness of the night.

Itana can /hear/ Rebecca jumping into things with gusto. She closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and lowers her head, brushing back the silver ponytail she pulled her hair into. Not for the first time, she struggles down a swell of regret building at the back of her throat, swallowing hard before shaking her head and continuing on.

For lack of a gun, Itana keeps out of the way of things. Her bow's a little more cumbersome, but also quieter - especially if she doesn't put herself in positions where she needs to shoot. With care, she drops down from the bridge to a narrow spot pinched between the superstructure and one of the on-deck containers. She leans to one side, peeking out to check where the nearest guard is.

Only once she's sure things are clear does she tumble out of her gap, keeping low and prowling along the edge of the container. Her first order of business is to try and find a door that doesn't have a guard standing on top of it. For that, at least, Itana really, REALLY hopes the storm and the chaos in the superstructure are drawing some attention.

Turning the corner of the container, she fishes a long, thin bit of metal out of one pocket and starts trying to pick the lock. Whatever's in there, Itana wants a look at it.

>> SUMMARY[Itana el-Zayl] >> Sneaky Itana wants to snoop at ur cargo

    Illumiel's dress, in fact, her entire being, doesn't seem fazed by the few stray shots that landed.... though those keenly aware enough would see the damage inflicted 'repairing' itself with glowing golden light 'stitching' the holes back closed.

    She flicks her blade free of blood, then jabs a groaning man to end his suffering. "Be at peace. Your judgement will be in His court now." she says softly, before following after the others.

    She doesn't make any attempts to hide, striding out in the open like the Coming Storm that she is. "COME YE WRETCHED, YE WORTHLESS, YE LOST! COME FACE THINE FINAL TEST. AND PASS INTO HIS COURT FOR YOUR ETERNAL JUDGEMENT!" she says, lifting her voice with Divine Authority... and drawing as much attention to herself as possible.

    Hopefully this lets the others slip through while Big Loud Blonde Chick draws aggro.

>> SUMMARY[Illumiel] >> OI! Tiny Blonde Girl wants to Battle!

    Rebecca's... enthusiasm does get a pause from Duncan. But he's not going to judge her; it's not his place. Soap's comment gets a bit of a smirk, though. "We all have different interests," he comments.

    ...Oh hey. Darkness below decks? That naturally attracts Duncan. That's where 'monsters' are supposed to prowl, after all. There might just be one down there that he can go and dispatch. Even better that Illumiel is making a big target out of herself -- she does seems strong enough to handle it.

    This is truly how darkness and light cooperate!

    Though that zweihander might be a bit of a liability if the corridors are tight. But he can use it for a shield if worst comes to worst. His fire is likely to create light too. Though that may attract guards, too...

    The markings are pretty meaningless to him too, but if those from this world see some value in them, he'll stick by. If someone's examining these things, he'll take point here, and try to keep an eye out. He doesn't have dark-vision or anything, but he's used to patrolling at night, and his eyes are adjusted to darkness.

    Enthusiasm is... Yes that is a word for it. And after the bridge is cleared, Rebecca actually takes a beat to reload the assault rifle in her hands, dropping the mag, slapping a fresh one home, and racking the gun's receiver.
    Illumiel gets to work.
    "Oh man look at her go. YOU GET 'EM LITTLE RELIGOUS CHOOM!" Becca crows as the littlest Avenger lunges into the fray.
    Nevertheless she follows Ghost and Soap into the ship's lower decks, shifting her gears a bit.
    Soap and Ghost have silenced weapons. She does not. So she takes to the rear behind them to keep eyes out for anyone that might get missed in clearing the hall and keep their backs safeguarded as she shifts her stance to a low and surprisingly professional crouch-walk.

    Ghost and Soap advanced further across the deck. A patrol went down, and Illumiel's attempt at gathering attention worked like a charm. Mercenaries shouted and took position while opening fire upon Illumiel, trying to pin her in with automatic rifle fire. On the other end of the ship, a turret crew got a heavy machine gun loaded and brought it to bear, firing 12.7mm rounds on the angel. Gunfire hammered the deck, managing to nearly clip Duncan in the process.

    Itana picked the lock successfully, and as the container opened, she smelt something strong and rank, like chemical bleach and ammonia. Chlorine gas canisters filled the container, enough to clear three city blocks.

    "Steamin' Jesus." Soap said as he approached Itana. "Now ya see what we're up against. C'mon, there's bound to be worse lower in the hold."

    Before Soap could advance, a merc held him at gunpoint, and the Scot dove to cover with his carbine in hands. "Fookin'-! Get an angle on 'im, lass!"

    Ghost meanwhile motioned for Rebecca's attention. "You got cameras in those eyes of yours, right? Record every logo you see. We'll need this for the debrief."

The doors open just enough for Itana to peer inside and get a whiff. She immediately crinkles her nose and pulls her scarf around the lower half of her face. She wore a black one with very dark blue patterning. It's about as stealthy a piece of drapery as she owns.

With a grimace, she looks back towards Soap. "Do I want to know why they would need this?" she mutters, before the mercenary pops around the corner with gun in hand. From her spot halfway inside the container, Itana can just see shadows moving through the gap between the door hinges and the door itself. "Move," she snaps to Soap quickly, before wheeling back and kicking the inside of the door as hard as she can.

There is a distinct metallic creak as the door of the container suddenly swings all the way open at the speed of Itana kicking it - in an attempt to just slam it into the gunman and hurl him overboard.

    Illumiel continues to walk forward. Bullets striking, and seemingly passing without a trace through her. Each impact giving off a little flare of golden light. She seems implacable, even the heavy gun apparently doing nothing to slow her down.

    But each shot takes a toll, and it's only the sheer fortitude of the Angels that lets her pull off this intimidation. She gets close enough to charge into melee with some of the closer mercenaries, lashing out with her flame-brand of a sword... she then leaps, spreading a pair of golden-white wings and swooping down onto the gun crew, slashing through the MG itself, then going after the crewmen.

    This is why Duncan had been keeping his sword in front of him. Not only because the confines might be too close to swing it properly, but also any enemy gunner gets lucky enough -- or an allied gunner pings a stray shot in the wrong direction -- said shots will hopefully ping off that blade he carries.

    His armor's also pretty strong, being made of thickly enameled metal that's also worked to be quite heavy. If he does get hit, it will hopefully not be a terribly damaging shot.

    Thusly protected, he'll take up position between any more vulnerable comrades and the machine gun turret while Illumiel deals with it. He's a tank too -- this is literally what off-tanks are for.

    "I'm already recording everything." Is Rebecca's reply to Ghost when he says to get eyes on the containers and every logo she sees.
    "PMCs?" She asks idly while-- Itana handles the guy that caught Soap off guard, earning a whistle of approval from the diminutive solo.

    "Terminus is one of the big ones yeah. Think I know where the manpower came from." Ghost said curtly. Itana's expert kick earned an impressed look from Ghost, as Soap peered over the edge of the ship. "Sorry mate, no ticket." The Scot said before moving on. "C'mon, lass."

    Ghost took cover while hostiles up high fired up on Duncan and Lumi. He was about to call for fire support before he saw Illumiel cleaning out the upper decks of men. One of the mercs attempted to rush the angel, before a sniper shot took him out.

    <"Bravo 6-1, on station."> Gaz radioed after chambering another .300 Norma round in the helicopter.

    The firefight died down again, as Ghost motioned for Rebecca to follow. "Get ready to breach, they'll know we're coming by now."

    Up ahead was a door leading to the lower decks, the cargo hold specifically. Ghost and Soap reunited, stacking up and prepping flashbangs. Ghost motioned for Duncan and Rebecca to join them. "You, short stuff. Get the door." He pointed to the smolo with a gloved finger.

Itana presses her lips together behind her scarf and looks from Ghost towards the open water. The wind toys with her ponytail as she digests a few thoughts.

Along they all move. Itana continues to keep her head down. As much as she's pretty convinced that this isn't the same situation as the fall of Damcyan, there's still a little voice of uncertainty chirping at her - a profound discomfort with the cold, methodical precision of all of this, the technology and sophistication, the coordination in ways that defy anything she could imagine in her own small life.

By the time they reach the lower decks, she's consigned herself to hanging way back from the group and checking side doors for anything that might be useful.

Itana doesn't often /look/ lost in a situation. The scarf is helping somewhat, but she isn't really making eye contact otherwise.

    Rebecca pauses only long enough to get snapshots of whatever logos need their photos taken, eyes flickering as she records the data to a chip embedded in her neck... Somewhere.
    But then they get to the door to the lower decks and Ghost says to get the door.
    "On it." The mini solo says stowing her assault rifle.
    The gaudy pink and green shotgun she unstows however is just as hideous and powerful looking as the last gun she used as she racks it and loads in two slugs.
    "Breaching in three... two... one..." She mutters just loud enough for the team to hear.
    One- and then a second miniature EXPLOSION ring out in a rapid BOOM-chak-BOOM succession as Rebecca blows the door hinges clean off regardless of how thick the door is.
    "Heeeeeeehhhhhh...!" She croons as her handiwork before drawing a pistol in one hand to deal with anyone on the other side as she KICKS it open violently.

    With the firefighting dying down now, Duncan relaxes a little. He'll head to where Ghost is motioning for him to join the rest of the group. He'll keep watch as they head to wherever it is they're going; he's letting Ghost lead, since Ghost seems to know the way.

    The explosion of Rebecca's gun rattles his armor -- on the one hand the helmet covers his ears, on the other the sound went through pretty much the whole suit. He winces and shakes his head, but doesn't comment.

    Soap rubbed at his ears as the ringing continued. "Bleedin' Jesus...me fuckin' ears." He moaned, shaking his head as he pressed on. Ghost and him exchanged a look, wondering if it was a good idea to let the miniature war crime that was Rebecca stick with them.

    "Hallway clear." Soap said as they headed further downstairs. "Stairs clear."

    More mercenaries would greet the crew as they advanced further, near the cargo hold. The mercs fired on them as Soap and Ghost dropped smoke grenades, returning fire as bullets bounced off the metal bulkheads dangerously.

The truth is, Itana doesn't know what to do with herself in a situation like this. She doesn't know what those chemicals are. She doesn't know why these people want them. She doesn't know who Ghost is working for. And she doesn't know why they needed her. There are so many questions that she's left hanging on the topdeck, listening to the clatter of smoke grenades and the rattle of gunfire below and biting down hard to her lower lip.

The others are pushing into the hold. Itana doesn't follow. Illumiel might spot her wandering through the container stacks on the deck to where one of the lifeboats has been stowed. Knife in hand, she starts cutting the ties that fasten it into place, fully intent on throwing it into the water and just bailing on the whole situation.

A little voice gnaws at the back of her mind as she saws at one of the cords:

    /Itana el-Zayl, you do not know how to sail a boat./
    /Also you don't know where the shore is./

Itana stops cutting and just stares at the fraying rope for several long, helpless seconds.

    Having pacified the deck. She leaves the hold to those who can fight in teams within confined spaces.

    She has another duty to fulfill.

    The first indication that Itana would have of another being nearby, would be the fluttering flap of angelic wings... the next would be the soft click of sandaled feet on the deck, and the final, would be a tiny hand reaching to clasp one of the nomad's own.

    She says nothing, simply offering tacit support to her adopted human.

    Duncan will again try to use his sword to deflect some of the bullets fired by the mercenaries. But after a moment he draws in a breath, turning his sword to point in the direction of the attackers, and fires a bean of darkness through the smoke of the grenades.

    It's a fairly wide beam of darkness, though unlikely to be immediately lethal, as it doesn't do anything particularly heinous to flesh. It just... impacts like a solid object -- bludgeoning/blunt damage. But the wide beam of darkness suddenly coming out of the smoke might startle the mercs enough to give them the upper hand.

    Miniature War Crime... That's an... Apt description of what Rebecca is as she strides into the opened door, swapping her vision to thermals as Ghost pops smoke, allowing her to gun down guys through the cover of mist with relative ease regardless of visibility.
    It's a handy little aug to have.

    Thermal optics made this way, way easier as the goons were gunned down. Entering the cargo hold, there were a good amount of men with rifles who've already taken positioned, and a sizable soldier with a light machine gun in hand. Gunfire is traded between the mercs, but with Duncan providing cover and fire spells, these men ought to be easily disarmed, and the others could clear out tangos with surgical precision.

    Ghost took out a Geiger counter, holding it out and following the source until he found a container. Soap got it open using bolt-cutters, and inside, was a solid lead case with a black and yellow warning sign.

    "Fuck me, they had a whole case of uranium in here." Soap said, dawning horror on his face beneath the mask as he grabbed the shipping manifest on top of the case.

    Ghost nodded. "We got what we need. We need to-"

    <Bravo 0-7, Bravo 0-6, we just picked up fast movers on approach. Probably MIGs.> Price's voice sounded over everyone's radio.

    "Roger, manifest acquired. We're leaving." Ghost responded, "C'mon, those MIGs are likely here to scuttle the ship, erase evidence." They'd need to hoof it back up to the top deck if they were gonna get a ride off the ship, especially as it violently jerked side to side.

The well of Itana's thoughts cuts deep into places that hurt to revisit. The sight of airships swooping through the desert, the thunder and fire, the bodies of innocents. They replay in the span of a couple of seconds behind her eyes as she holds the rope and the knife.

Until tiny feet click on the deck, and a little hand slides into hers. Itana swallows a lump in her throat and blinks away tears she didn't even realize were standing in her eyes, before turning and sliding both arms around Illumiel's shoulders to pull her in.

"I know Ghost is a good man," she murmurs. "And that those who send him on his missions have reasons for what they do. But I cannot stop thinking about the Red Wings descending on the place my family lived. I... I never want to be that sort of person."

She looks up after a few seconds, towards the crates strewn across the deck. "...I unlocked one of the crates. We should try and take some of what is in there. For evidence."

    "Is that--"
    That's uranium.
    "Fffffffffuuuuuuucckkkkkkk." Rebecca whistles.
    But then bogeys are inbound.
    Becca taps the side of her head.
    "I got everything." She says before motioning back the way they came.
    "Time to jet, right?"

    Illumiel. Avenging Angel. Potent Warrior... cute little girl.

    As Itana hugs the small angel, arms loop loosely around the nomad's waist. She listens... she knew pieces of this story. Castiel likely knows more, or could infer better. She was always the more empathetic one. She lifts her eyes to look at Itana, and gives a nod. She is unaware of the coming danger. She didn't take a radio, so someone's probably going to have to start screaming to get off the boat.

    Duncan hears that whatever it is that was wanted has been obtained. A lot of this is going over his head, admittedly, but he's been making his way through the worlds of the World Tree long enough to basically be fine with this... and also not look too terribly lost despite having little clue of what's going on.

    The fast side-to-side moving of the ship gets a wince, though. He understands that as a good cue that they need to get the hell out of there, and nods to Ghost. With nothing behind them, he'll take point up front going back the way they came, making sure that anything that came down had to meet him first!

    Hopefully when they get back up on deck, Duncan's call of, "We need to leave. Quickly," will get Illumiel and Itana to get moving. If not, seeing the others heading for the nearest exit point might!

    As the storm outside intensified, the ship began to violently rock side to side, knocking the four inside the ship to and fro. But Simon and Johnny had solid feet, they could handle a rough boat ride. "We're leavin'!" Soap announced to Illumiel and Itana. "Grab whatever shite you can carry!" The evidence might be useful. There'd be shipping manifests for this stuff. Weapons, chemicals, explosive devices, even mounts for weapons platforms. Anything would be fine.

    The helicopter hovered over the deck, as Price and Gaz gritted their teeth waiting for the squad to board.

Problem: Itana cannot read.

She makes do, and the itana hug helps. As Duncan and Ghost call to her, the archer nods briskly, already in the process of moving across the deck to the container she'd bashed open earlier. She dips inside and emerges with an armful of items: A sheaf of papers, two cylindrical containers full of gas and a long tube that upon closer inspection is an anti-tank rocket launcher.

The helicopter is waiting. Arms full of gear, she looks back towards Illumiel and urges, "Let's hurry."

The rope is dropped. Itana latches on and lets the copter pull her up, with no small sense of relief.

    Truth be told, Duncan has no idea what of this might be important. He might just end up with a useless piece of junk, or something of great import. Well, no sense standing around. Duncan will grab the first thing that looks relatively like a weapon (he knows what a gun is, just isn't that great at using them), and then make to get aboard the helicopter as quickly as he can.

    Of course, once he's in there he'll crouch by the door, both to assist any comrades in who need it and to fling fire at anything that tries to shoot at them.

    Illumiel follows after Itana, gathering a few things with a tiny bit more scrutiny. She secures the manifest for the container, a smaller sample case of various rocket warheads, and a couple of firearms. These she links up to the rope to be pulled up, waiting until everyone else is aboard before mounting up herself. "After you." she says to Ghost and Soap, expression unreadable.

    A comical amount of evidence was gathered up and dumped onto the heli, as Gaz and Price helped Duncan, Illumiel, Itana, and Becca up onto the transport. Water was already filling the deck as surviving mercs jumped over the edge with emergency boats, it was every man for himself.

    Ghost caught Soap just as the Scot narrowly missed jumping aboard. "Got you, Johnny!" Soap grunted and nodded to the skull faced Lieutenant, joining him on the heli. "We're clear, go!"

    They had moments to spare, as the waves overtook the ship not long after the helicopter got clear. The MIGs wouldn't have much to blow up, after all.