Star Trek: The Romulan Wars - The Outpost

Synopsis:
Genre: Sci-Fi
Year:
2007
9 Views

- You speak the language?

- Better than most of the people in here.

The locals all said

you were the go-to guy on this.

- You work with a regular team?

- Just the redneck.

Tell me about this area.

Hundred and fifty Ks northwest of here.

Every couple of months it switches

between government and insurgency hands.

My advice, don't go there.

I have to.

When the war is over,

this place will be a free market.

- It's mineral rich.

- Are you some kind of geologist?

An engineer.

I'm on a retainer to a company

that acquired some real estate here.

I go in, survey it. You ensure my safety.

- I'll operate a six-man fire team.

- How much?

- Six thousand US per man, cash.

- Four.

Payable only on my safe return.

- You've worked with mercenaries before.

- Where the guidebooks recommend.

But where you've been

has nothing to do with where you are.

Five.

Equipment will run to another five, up front.

Be here tomorrow night.

I'll have a squad by then.

F*cking ride, eh?

This big fancy company

can't pay for a bird, huh?

And let those RPGs blow us out the sky

like the Red Cross

a couple of months back?

Smart moves.

How am I supposed to work with this shit?

So don't get hit.

So what do you think this place is?

- F*cked if I know. Same if I care.

- Right.

Man pays the money, he picks the tune.

He's kurac, anyway.

There's nothing built out here for sure.

Yeah, whatever.

Take a good look at secrets man up here.

Now, why does a prick like that

hire seven swords in a bar?

For the same reason he doesn't go

with private security, either.

Secrets, man.

So what is real story, huh, Top?

Yeah, this is it.

- What do you think?

- Think we're gonna get wet.

All right, roll it out.

There's a lot of traffic.

Regular Army has positions to the south.

Insurgents to the north.

UN safe area is southwest.

Right, lads, places to be.

Jesus Christ!

Why have we gone dark?

'Cause this thing was built

before they invented f*cking trees.

Well, we're not going anywhere

with it down,

so get it done.

Fifty says that company of his

lost some new flyer out here.

Serious?

- An airplane?

- Sure.

Some high-tech shit on board, too.

Got to test those bad boys

in live conditions, man.

And what, you a CIA operator?

No.

But 100 says he could be.

Well, it's not a plane.

Cotter, give me a base of fire from here

in case we have to double-time it back out.

The rest of you give me a perimeter.

Four, okay.

Five, good.

- One, okay.

- Six, okay.

Two, all good.

He's underground, huh?

You'd be smart

if you weren't so f*cking stupid,

do you know that?

You're with him.

Okay, everyone on me.

Hunt.

- This is it?

- Yeah.

Minerals, huh? Right.

Cotter, Tak, doors.

Jordan and Tak, hold. Everyone else on me.

Down here.

Right. Hunt, on me.

Prior, Voyteche, left.

Cotter, McKay, right.

Clear.

What the f*cking hell does a guy like him

want with a shithole like this?

- What?

- Quarter right. On the tree line.

How many?

In the tree line!

You, stay.

Rounds received?

- Come on. Rounds received.

- None.

What?

Someone confirm me a f*cking target!

Cease fire.

Mac, shut that off.

Man down!

Jordan, get the f*ck over here!

- Cease fire, everyone, cease fire.

- Cease fire. We're f*cking bleeding here!

- Shut the f*ck up! Mac!

- I said cease f*cking firing! Tak!

Hey! Take it easy.

- Where's the shooter?

- Right. 60 meters. I don't know!

See? I got him.

Lucky if you hit that tree out there.

That's one nervous little bitch finger

you got on your trigger there, teardrop.

When I say, "Hold fire," you hold fire.

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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