"And here we are." Tanya reaches for the winter camouflage uniforms. "Suit up, it's freezing outside."
Uniforms ands weapons, Tanya did not forget a nice high-powered modern sniper rifle for Annabelle. They also have grenades. "[The Commander] is setting up defensive lines as fast as he can; we have special agents in the area coordinating militia, resistance and any volunteers we could gather. Every soldier we kill, every bit of supply and materiel we stop, buys the main defense time."
"The rank-and-file are. We need to watch out for paratroopers." Tanya steps into the jumpsuit, zipping up, and takes the gloves and protective goggles. "We have to watch out for paratroopers in camouflage, and combat choppers making troop insertions, Vladimir wants to use those to flank the defense choke points." Oh fun, the battle is already underway.
"Choppers, eh?" she says with a chuckle. "I bet this little darling here," she pats the sniper rifle, "could take one of those down in one go if I hit the right spot"
Her smile isn't terribly pleasant. "The rotors stop moving, and things get ugly for a chopper pretty damn quick."
"That's why I brought you armor-piercing ammo... soviet attack choppers are armored like... well, almost like a tank." A last check of her weapons. "Ready?"
"Just the best to my best friend." Tanya gives a wry smile, then moves to the door. "We are going north-east, to meet up with a SEAL team and some militia."
And of course, eliminating any soviet insertion troops they find on the way. "There are some patrols and outposts of ours watching the roads."
Annabelle nods in understanding and follows her friend, gun at the ready. "That should make things a bit easier on us, even if we don't follow the road."
There will be no lack of action in the snowy woods: soviet paratroopers in squadrons, advancing southwest on foot. Soon, the area is full of the deadly music of gunfire from repeated skirmishes.
Tanya fights with deadly precision, covering Annabelle and trusting her friend to cover her, mowing down enemies with uncanny precisions. She uses a piston in each hand, but fires only one at a time, using the dual wielding as a way to extend her fire endurance. "Yeah Baby! Ka-ching!" The Reds will learn quickly to not try using grenades, after a couple times being blown up when a well-aimed bullet brings down the grenadier.
Or they would, if there were any survivors of the groups they meet.
Deadly music indeed. Music written in blood spatter, shredded pine and hot lead on the snowy parchment of the ground.
The barking, single note staccato of Annabelle's sniper rifle and the quick quarter notes of Tanya's pistols cut off the tumbling broken chord of the paratroopers' fire.
The grenadiers' deaths are bright, explosive crescendos that end as quickly as they began.
One by one, their parts come to a violent end, leaving only silence.
As the symphony of death comes to a lull, Tanya pauses the advance to quickly reload.
Far in the distance, the sound of automatic fire is dying down as well, after a clear dominance of the smooth drumming of allied guns. "It sounds like we held the first wave."
Then the concert starts anew, further ahead. "And sounds like the second wave is coming; come on, the meeting point is just ahead, on that hill." A half mile ahead, and there is a building on top of it.
"Vladimir is on thin ice: he will not give up easily." Tanya loads the fresh clips in her guns and starts to the hill. "After being beaten back, I am sure Romanov and Yuri will want his head if he loses again."
Tanya is absolutely not smirking as she says that.
Uniforms ands weapons, Tanya did not forget a nice high-powered modern sniper rifle for Annabelle. They also have grenades. "[The Commander] is setting up defensive lines as fast as he can; we have special agents in the area coordinating militia, resistance and any volunteers we could gather. Every soldier we kill, every bit of supply and materiel we stop, buys the main defense time."
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Annabelle suits up quickly, as it is bloody freezing out. The camouflage looks good on her, although the enemy is likely to disagree.
"I can do that," she says with a sharp grin. "They still using the same uniforms as the last time I danced with them?"
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Her smile isn't terribly pleasant. "The rotors stop moving, and things get ugly for a chopper pretty damn quick."
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And of course, eliminating any soviet insertion troops they find on the way. "There are some patrols and outposts of ours watching the roads."
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After all, being ambushed by a paratrooper squad would really ruin someone's day.
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There will be no lack of action in the snowy woods: soviet paratroopers in squadrons, advancing southwest on foot. Soon, the area is full of the deadly music of gunfire from repeated skirmishes.
Tanya fights with deadly precision, covering Annabelle and trusting her friend to cover her, mowing down enemies with uncanny precisions. She uses a piston in each hand, but fires only one at a time, using the dual wielding as a way to extend her fire endurance. "Yeah Baby! Ka-ching!" The Reds will learn quickly to not try using grenades, after a couple times being blown up when a well-aimed bullet brings down the grenadier.
Or they would, if there were any survivors of the groups they meet.
Reply
The barking, single note staccato of Annabelle's sniper rifle and the quick quarter notes of Tanya's pistols cut off the tumbling broken chord of the paratroopers' fire.
The grenadiers' deaths are bright, explosive crescendos that end as quickly as they began.
One by one, their parts come to a violent end, leaving only silence.
Reply
Far in the distance, the sound of automatic fire is dying down as well, after a clear dominance of the smooth drumming of allied guns. "It sounds like we held the first wave."
Then the concert starts anew, further ahead. "And sounds like the second wave is coming; come on, the meeting point is just ahead, on that hill." A half mile ahead, and there is a building on top of it.
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"Some people don't know when to quit while they're ahead," she says with a snort at the sound of new gunfire. "Let's go meet our friends, then."
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Tanya is absolutely not smirking as she says that.
Nope.
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"Tragic," she drawls. "He's going to learn the hard way to be more particular about who he works for."
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