Reporting in. Escorter, combat ready.
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My callsign is Escorter. From this moment, I am at your disposal in the World War 3 theaters of operation. Some of you may have heard the stories. Others have read the dry reports. Allow me to set the record straight.
My journey didn't start yesterday. The sands of the Sahel, where every mirage could be an ambush, and the sun burned out the will to live – I was there. We tracked fanatics, intercepted arms caravans. Victory there meant patience, the ability to read the terrain, and one precise shot when everyone else had given up. And my FELIN system saved the group more than once, detecting heat signatures where the eye saw nothing but scorching air.
Then came the suffocating jungles of Southeast Asia. Humidity that rusts even the soul, and an enemy dissolving into the green like a ghost. There, I learned to listen to the silence and trust every sensor in my helmet. We rooted out strongholds, liberated hostages. FELIN allowed us to coordinate group actions in zero-visibility conditions, striking as a single mechanism. There was no room for error. And we made none.
There were also the icy peaks, where the thin air cut the lungs, and equipment failed in the frost. But not mine. My system is built for extreme conditions. Reconnaissance behind enemy lines, capturing HVTs, sabotage on critical infrastructure. Every operation – a chess game where the enemy has more pieces, but I have the better view of the board. And I always delivered checkmate.
The urban labyrinths of the Middle East – that's another story entirely. Behind every window, every door – a potential threat. CQB, clearing operations, evacuating civilians under crossfire. We went into places others didn't return from. And we emerged victorious, because information is life, and technology is an advantage.
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I'm not bragging. I'm stating facts. My callsign, "Escorter," isn't just for show. I'm the one who will lead you through hell and deliver you, or what's precious to you, intact. Or I'll ensure no one gets too close.
I haven't come to World War 3 for a stroll. I've brought experience forged in dozens of conflicts, and technology that gives me and my team a decisive edge:
FELIN – my eyes and ears. A helmet-mounted display with tactical information, integrated communications, optics that see through smoke and darkness. The enemy won't even realize they've been spotted before I've relayed their coordinates.
The SCAR in MARPAT camouflage. Accurate, reliable, deadly in my hands.
Brute force is for amateurs. My way is analysis, planning, and flawless execution.
For you, World War 3 operatives, my arrival means one thing: if I'm on your team, your chances of survival and victory increase dramatically. If I'm against you... well, try not to cross my sights.
Enough talk. Work awaits.
See you on the battlefield.
Escorter.
My callsign is Escorter. From this moment, I am at your disposal in the World War 3 theaters of operation. Some of you may have heard the stories. Others have read the dry reports. Allow me to set the record straight.
My journey didn't start yesterday. The sands of the Sahel, where every mirage could be an ambush, and the sun burned out the will to live – I was there. We tracked fanatics, intercepted arms caravans. Victory there meant patience, the ability to read the terrain, and one precise shot when everyone else had given up. And my FELIN system saved the group more than once, detecting heat signatures where the eye saw nothing but scorching air.
Then came the suffocating jungles of Southeast Asia. Humidity that rusts even the soul, and an enemy dissolving into the green like a ghost. There, I learned to listen to the silence and trust every sensor in my helmet. We rooted out strongholds, liberated hostages. FELIN allowed us to coordinate group actions in zero-visibility conditions, striking as a single mechanism. There was no room for error. And we made none.
There were also the icy peaks, where the thin air cut the lungs, and equipment failed in the frost. But not mine. My system is built for extreme conditions. Reconnaissance behind enemy lines, capturing HVTs, sabotage on critical infrastructure. Every operation – a chess game where the enemy has more pieces, but I have the better view of the board. And I always delivered checkmate.
The urban labyrinths of the Middle East – that's another story entirely. Behind every window, every door – a potential threat. CQB, clearing operations, evacuating civilians under crossfire. We went into places others didn't return from. And we emerged victorious, because information is life, and technology is an advantage.
[previewyoutube][/previewyoutube]
I'm not bragging. I'm stating facts. My callsign, "Escorter," isn't just for show. I'm the one who will lead you through hell and deliver you, or what's precious to you, intact. Or I'll ensure no one gets too close.
I haven't come to World War 3 for a stroll. I've brought experience forged in dozens of conflicts, and technology that gives me and my team a decisive edge:
FELIN – my eyes and ears. A helmet-mounted display with tactical information, integrated communications, optics that see through smoke and darkness. The enemy won't even realize they've been spotted before I've relayed their coordinates.
The SCAR in MARPAT camouflage. Accurate, reliable, deadly in my hands.
Brute force is for amateurs. My way is analysis, planning, and flawless execution.
For you, World War 3 operatives, my arrival means one thing: if I'm on your team, your chances of survival and victory increase dramatically. If I'm against you... well, try not to cross my sights.
Enough talk. Work awaits.
See you on the battlefield.
Escorter.
