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Post by thegunny on Aug 18, 2008 21:37:28 GMT -5
OOC: I know that this is going to be pretty stereotypical.
2003. The deadline passed and Coalition forces stampede across the border, the 3rd I.D moving in their column through the Iraqi desert in a spearhead precision point aimed right at Baghdad. They had been training endlessly since deployed to Kuwait, preparing to go in with the intent of toppling the Hussein regime and seizing his weapons of mass destruction. They had been drilling endlessly for the expected use of N/B/C weapons on coalition forces once they passed a red line drawn in the sand where coalition higher command expected Saddam to unleash his stash of chemical and biological weapons when the time came. As soon as they passed this line, every soldier, marine, and airman and person around the world held their breath, waiting.
Major Mustafa Akbar Hafeez smiles gently as he reaches and picks up the red phone on his desk. He was sitting in the command center of Bunker R-E-D, or "red", for research-experiment-develop. He already knew who it was. He was about to speak to Saddam Hussein--- the black knight of the Arabs. His master plan to destroy the west and smite the unholy unbelievers was entrusted to Hafeez, and he had been briefed personally by the great Hussein on everything here and the plans. Fouls. All of the Westerners--- and the easterners! The Zionists! They will pay dearly for this injustice, the invading of Iraq and their meddling in the affairs of the Muslims. Here was the cradle of life, and here life had been created--- recently. Mesopotamia will rise again. Hafeez blinks as he hears a simple order come out and then the dialing tone
Release.
Hafeez sighs and places the phone back down. He felt disappointed. He knew what the order meant and knew that it could very well mean the end of him--- that was why he was disappointed. He wished he could have had the honor to speak to Hussein one more time. Hussein had been Hafeez's idol for most of his life, and that was why he was going to follow the order with such zeal. He stood up and left his deck, moving through the command center to the control room, where he started giving orders for the immediate release of ALL experiments within the facility, and the bunker to immediately be unsealed and opened wide open. All units were to cease, desist, and let them escape, and die without fighting if that is what it came to.
Minutes passed. An Hour later, gunfire erupted. Hazeez watched the screens, rage starting to build up. As hours passed, hours turned to days, and months turned into years, fighting was wide spread throughout the bunker. Despite Hazeez's direct order, the majority of Iraqi units did NOT stand down. They held their ground and fought with zeal to stop what they realized could be the end of both the Muslim world, the west, and the east, as much as they might despise the latter. The bunker remained sealed. Hazeez and his loyalists were expelled from the command center by Iraqi rebels who stormed it and turned on the "loyalists", and immediately set the bunker into quarantine. They could not stop the release of the experiments, Hazeez had seen to that, but... they could keep them quarantined for as long as they could, as long as they lived, and fight to the death rather then let themselves be killed off while these things got out and do unimaginable things to their families, their loved ones, and their country, and then the world.
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6 years later, 2009, January. The world had long moved on and the zero hour of Saddam Hussein releasing his biological and chemical weapons on coalition forces was past. Nothing had happened. The clock continued to tick on, completely relieved in blissful ignorance. Hussein's regime crumpled and was toppled seemingly effortlessly by the coalition juggernaut, but in America and Britain, the public raged and so did parts of the government. No W.M.D's had been found. Casualties were mounting as few as they were. No end was in sight for the war, said the media and liberals. Protesting was wide spread. Public approval of the war was at an all time low. Towards the end of January, though, a tip was released to a C.I.A controller in Baghdad by a mole deep, deep in the insurgent hierarchy. The report trickled in and shot up like a rocket to the tops of the chain of command with a simple designation--- 5/5 on all stats, 100% reliable, 100% accurate. Hussein's W.M.D.'s had been found. By the end of February, a troop surge and coalition forces mustering were ready, and the grand finale was finally being reached in the long and drawn out Iraq war
A loud SNAP was heard, resounding and echoing loudly and powerfully throughout the innards of the briefing room, Brigadier General Rafael having swiftly, powerfully, and without warning stepped down from the stage and walked up to the front row of the seats of the briefing room--- and slammed his baton down on the tiny table in front of Master Gunnery Sergeant Justin Wallace, who had just jumped up shocked, adrenaline pumping, wide awake. He looked around, Sunglasses on. The general peers down at him with penetrating, deep blue eyes and growls with an earth shaking harsh, drill sergeant-brand contemptuous tone
Master Gunnery sergeant, will you please take those Sunglasses off. You aren't fooling anyone--- you were asleep. AGAIN. HOW THE HELL YOU BECAME A MASTER GUNNERY SERGEANT IS BEYOND ME! You are setting a "Very good example" for your subordinates, Wallace. Straighten up. NOW!
Wallace blinks again and reaches up obediently, almost subconsciously, taking off his sunglasses and setting them down on the table in front of him, looking back up to the general. Not knowing what else to say--- being caught asleep, again---- he says in a respectful and standard tone
Sir yes sir. Sorry sir, permission to carry on and finish being briefed, sir?
Rafael growls
Permission granted.
The General almost seeming to stomp, but silently and swiftly walking back up to the stage in the briefing room like a ghost, turns and then growls
May I please continue now? Any more sleepers I need to bust down to latrine scrubber and tear a new a**hole?
Alright, this is the start. We're on the base, in our B.D.U's but not armed, and not combat loaded. I'm not expecting any replies from this, but if you feel like it, go ahead. A simple "Crap, I better straighten up" and everyone paying extra attention and short of pointing and laughing at your units 2nd in command is great. I'm going to wait a while before I double post, if no one posts back. Sorry Paradox, not much for you to work with yet, but I'm sure you can come up with something.
MSN Conversation
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Post by Mikey on Aug 18, 2008 23:15:28 GMT -5
Mikey held his hand over his face in a motion that looked like he was resting his head on his hand. In truth, he was hiding the wide grin on his face. This was a first. Someone fell asleep during a breifing. Hilarious.
Mikey reached into the breast pocket of his BDU and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a zippo. He calmly lit one and put them back in his pocket. He had no idea how this would blow over with the general, but he guessed if the general didnt like it, he'd get the same a*s chewing as Wallace.
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Cool Breeze
Zombie Hunter
"We can never let our sins pass on to the next generation"
Posts: 284
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Post by Cool Breeze on Aug 19, 2008 11:26:37 GMT -5
Vanessa struggled to keep her lips from spreading to a full smile across her face, as she tucked her mouth and nose behind her hand and suppressed a slight laugh. Quickly, she regained herself, her eyes still bright, almost forming tears, from the special show she just witnessed.
She'd been here for a while. She'd seen many many things. Marines with burns, scrapes, bites, shaving accidents where shaving accidents SHOULDN'T occur, and however many more ways Marines managed to inflict pain on themselves or each other. But this was the first time she'd seen this. Not so much the chewing out, that was oddly common, but seeing a Master Gunnery Sergeant ripped a new one for sleeping, was definitely something she'd have to remember for a bar back in the States.
She felt like saying something coy, but decided against it. She'd been chewed out before, several times, usually by the same officers. Though she was generally well respected, getting your head torn off and kicked down range for some Javelin target practice was a common happening around Marine officers, though it happened to her less, probably because she was a Corpsman and was the one to administer shots every time someone upstairs got sweaty.
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Post by thegunny on Aug 19, 2008 16:16:10 GMT -5
The general glances over and catches a glimpse of smoke rising in the air in the briefing room--- and just as before, swiftly, powerfully, and without warning walking up to the "Rabble rouser". He snatches the cigarette out of Mikey's hand and then starts to walk away with it, looking over his shoulder at Mikey giving him the "Your too dumb to live look" as he puts out the cigarette by stabbing the lit end down on his opposite arms sleeve, although not on any patch or insignia just plain uniform, and twisted and rotated it on the sleeve until it was doused. Continuing to glare right as he dealt with the Cigarette doing his best to look intimidating, he growls
I.P.T. You. Tonight. (Intensive physical training. Its physical training, like morning runs, but for disciplinary reasons--- and very, very painful, before lights out and showering)
The General continued to walk back to the stage fixing his glare on someone else--- Wallace, again. General Rafael could walk the walk, he could put up the proper exterior and atmosphere, but he couldn't talk the talk very well. He wasn't much of a drill sergeant a**chewer, so merely saying "I.P.T' consisted of most of his a**chewings unless it was something really, really bad after a mission got screwed up really really bad.
You too Wallace.
Wallace blinks and half throws his hands in the air exasperatedly, knowing full well he wasn't asleep that time and was perfectly innocent. Before Wallace could say "What did Iiiiiiii do?" in a kiddish whining manner, the General had flicked the Cigarette on Wallace's desk and smacked Wallace on the head lightly, not very painfully, but hard enough it ended his comment right as it started. By the way Wallace was acting, it would be hard to imagine the almost out of no where transformation in moods and behavior when in the field and in exercises, or combat zones. The General silently stepped up onto the stage again, not at all saying what he had just subtly done--- suggested that both Wallace and Mikey would be here tonight, alive, to go through I.P.T for their little "trouble makings". And to the general, that subtle suggestion went for the entire group assembled in front of him as well although he knew full and well they all wouldn't make it. The General continued without a moments hesitation
As I was explaining in review, as we're heard so many times over the weeks we've been here training for this mission, after 5 years we finally have found Saddam's weapons of mass destruction. The information we have is verified 100% reliable, a 5/5, and thus why everyone up to the presidents of both Britain and America and other coalition forces are massing and scrambling to get to them. Public support for this war is at an all time low right as we're starting to get the job finished. If we can find the weapons of mass destruction and prove that this was a just war and that we are making progress, then we may very well start getting the budget we need to finish up what we started 5 years ago. The budget cuts from the government on the spending on finishing things up here are a pain in the a** as we all know and is why we're still running around in hill billy armored Humvees in Baghdad.
Wallace and numerous other people--- combat veterans all of them--- groan openly at the "100% 5/5" rating for the intelligence. They all know how "reliable" military and non military intelligence was. The view screen on the wall of which the general stood to the side of, came alive, with a depiction of S.C.U.D launchers on it. (http://www.dia.mil/history/art/images/scud.jpg).
We all know what a S.C.U.D is. We all know what a nuke is. We're estimating some 8 mobile launchers, and some 40 S.C.U.D's stored within this bunker. A minority of them are nukes. A majority of them contain biological and chemical warheads. There are rumors of I.C.B.M's being in there as well, but that is being said by people who think that the 15 years since the gulf war where people though Hussein was months or a year or two away from a working nuclear device is true and work continued year round constant since the gulf war and after Hussein's regime falling. The entire bunker and area is deemed hostile territory.
The viewer screen changed and showed a gallery of pictures of an Iraqi town, not nearly as big, but similar in architecture to Baghdad---- Al Tahkvi imprinted on every picture in the bottom right of the picture.
The bunker is on the north west side of this little town named Al Tahkvi. A town that is currently estimated to be the home to some 5000 to 10,000 citizens, excluding insurgents and terrorists, and greatly infested with Insurgency, organized crime in support of the insurgency, mercenaries, drugs, and terrorists. Not to mention, the biggest concentration in Iraq of former Iraqi army loyalists, loyalists to the deceased Hussein. This is going to be a hell of a fight. The Insurgents are armed with the usual allotment of weapons and equipment that they normally have, but also a step up-- non surrendered republican guard tanks, some jeeps, soviet 160mm mortars, stingers, anti tank guns and anti tank rifles.
The general stood a little grimly, seeming to be sobered up by what he had said. What was going through both his and Wallace's head, and probably every person present, was, "Why didn't we hit this town before?". The general seemed dumb founded in this respect himself. It was quite obvious how heavily armed and dangerous this area was, they obviously very well was the only place in Iraq that could still throw up a stand up fight with American forces and have a "chance". The view screen changed, and now an interactive map showed up. Using his Baton--- which had some electronics set up to the end, the end that the general had not used to smack Wallace and the table with--- he wrote doodles and advanced the map's show of sorts, showing off the coalition forces movements and such as he speaks
There will be a total of 2 divisions being put in play to this town, excluding our unit. The 3rd I.D serving its third tour, the original unit to enter Iraq into 2003, and an ad hoc assortment of British personnel, U.S marines, Georgian troops, South Korean troops, and national guardsmen. Our unit, a 42 man reinforced platoon heavily armed, well trained, and specialized for this mission, hand picked personnel including N.E.S.T scientists, a single additional journalist, will be the through the back door strike team. The two divisions will form our main force and will have a third of the total air support--- a large allotment of aircraft and personnel--- to each of them. We will get the final third. The two divisions will advance straight from the north and north east, directly towards it, to combat all blocking forces that will be deployed there. The Iraqi's will have no choice at this point but to come out of hiding because quite frankly, the warfare going on in Baghdad will not work here because this isn't going to hit the town but the bunker, and then get out. Our team, how ever, will go through the town in a mechanized fast mobile convoy from the south and south east, once we have the green light, thus confirming that the Iraqi's are taking the bait. We will blast our way into the bunker, and then seize the W.M.D's. Ms. Feng, do you have any questions?
The General looks up towards the journalist present, of whom had been swept for electronics and bugs and had all of her cameras confiscated. This briefing was a closed door meeting until the event has long passed and was starting to hit the news. Ms. Feng shakes her head standing in the back of the room near the door, thinking she had things rather well covered and rather well memorized. The General nods and then scans the room quietly a moment, before saying loudly
This is the moment that has been talked about, spoken about, and waited for for more then half a decade almost. This moment, everyone around the world is watching, waiting, expecting. If the W.M.D's are not found, it will be apparent to the world even if not true--- there never were any. How ever, if we do find them, the outlook on the bush administration, the United states, the troops in Iraq, and the entire second gulf war will be greatly and widely altered, changed, and molded. As had people when desert storm was under way, as had people when the Cuban missile crisis came to be, as had people when Nixon demanded Gorbechov to tear down his wall, as had people when the liberation of Mainland Europe was under way, the entire world is holding their breath. This will be our flag raising over Iwo Jima, that the battle is nearly over and the battle has been won. This is our golden hour. You will be telling this story to your kid's kids, who will be telling their kids that they're grandma or grand pa was there when this happened. I feel confident that every man and woman in this room will perform to the best of their abilities, training, and experience, and will show themselves as shining examples of the great American land of the free home of the brave.
plaTOOOON, attenTION
Everyone stands up and gets to their feet immediately at the order.
PlaTOOON, disMISSED!
Wallace and the rest of the unit start for the door to gear up and prepare for deployment
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Post by Mikey on Aug 20, 2008 5:16:22 GMT -5
Mikey held up his hands in mock exasperation when the General took his smoke. He had a look on his face that said "what the fu*k?" He'd seen at least 30 people smoke in here in the past. When he did his cave-speak and sentanced Mikey to IPT, Mikey smirked. When the general turned around, he mouthed the words "bring it" and added a smoochy kiss for good measure. He had to stifle a laugh when he looked over at Wallace. He knew him, and knew exactly what was going to come out of his mouth. When he got smacked, it was more than Mikey could bear. He laughed for a moment, and coughed, as if it would help him regain his composure or disguise the laughter. It helped, and after a few moments he stopped smiling.
No matter how much he disliked Rafael, he was a good commanding officer. A hardcore sumbi*ch if there was such a thing. He didnt only demand respect, but he usually earned it. And that meant cracking down on anything and everything that pi*sed him off.
The rest of the breifing went off without a hitch, and the small speech at the end made him proud. He stood with vigor, saluted with patriotism, and left the room quickly. He looked for Wallace and took up position next to him.
"Aint that about a bi*ch, eh? IPT... Sounds like fun." Mikey said, looking sideways at Wallace on the way to the armory. He hoped they had gotten the item he requested from home.
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Post by thegunny on Aug 21, 2008 14:09:10 GMT -5
Wallace grins and turns his head, looking over at Mikey and chuckless and then says loudly, cupping his hand to his mouth his voice booming in the hallway---- attracting some attention and causing some heads to turn as if on a swivelYeah. Real fun. PT! WE WANT IT! PT, WE NEED IT! GOOD FOR YOU! GOOD FOR ME! MMM GOOD!
Wallace returns his hands to his side--- for the moment. He shakes his head and grins wider, mutteringWonder what the press'll think of that...
Wallace turns and holds out a hand, as if holding a microphone, in front of Mikey and says
Mr.Marine, you just saved the world again from a sociopathic evil madman with a cave full of doom-weapons, death rays, nukes and stink bombs. How do you feel? Good, you say? Now that your off duty, what are you going to do next, get your medals from the president, victory parade, give motivational speeches, run for Congress, get drunk, hit the Bordello...?Wallace pulls the "microphone" back before Mikey can say anything and acts like hes tapping on it , making a static sound as he does so
What was that, I couldn't under stand you, did you just say do 1000 push ups? What, 10000? And then 105 Miles? With an elephant on your back!? What did you do again? You fell asleep!?Wallace had just finished his comments when they were nearing the door to the armory, which was opening as a staff sergeant exited it. They weren't even in the armory when the yelling and barking was already starting from Captain Granger, the armory chiefYOU TWO! IN HERE NOW! I'M REALLY P*SSED OFF AT YOU TWO, YOU RAT BAS**RDS! PUTTING ME THROUGH HELL! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TROUBLE I HAD TO GO THROUGH TO GET YOUR GUNS?
The regulations and banning of use of personal firearms by military personal was something that had been troublesome for Granger to get Mikey's Lancaster for him, and the service for the Sabre defense XR-15A3 6.5 Grendel had been S**T--- he had to search for hours on end into overtime to finally get a 6.5 Grendel, not the sabre defense one, but the Alexander arms one in the Hunter]/b] layout, the 19.5 inch one. The 6.5 Grendel one had been easier to get by way of authorization, not service or shipping--- he merely had to get Wallace's superior officer to sign off on it, and he did. The Lancaster though, he had to write off as a personal relic/personal effect, like a silver cross or a picture of home or of the sort, hoping to count that as a loophole since the Lancaster could be considered a heirloom or something of the sort because of its age. To cover it in case the loophole didn't work, he had also written it up as it being on loan from Mikey to the armory for use from the states and then on loan to Mikey in Iraq from the armory. Brigadier General Rafael luckily signed off on that to "make it so" even more
Granger was bound and determined today to be even more grumpy and outright contemptuous today--- those two weren't the only ones who put him through hell. The offer of using non standardized and specialized weapons for the small strike team temporarily for this assignment was outright torture! Most likely, Granger realized, this was only being allowed by the staff pogues and the political pricks so they could field test these weapons and compare them to the current standard firearms, just as they were allowing non-standard issue tactical vests and gloves, boots, and goggles all being used instead of what gloves and boots they issue so they could figure out why they were better.
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Post by Mikey on Aug 21, 2008 18:32:22 GMT -5
Mikey's booming laughter was heard when Wallace did his little bit as both reporter and reportee. He also cracked a large smile when Granger started in on them. He didnt say anything, because of the rank situation, but he would have liked to tell him to stop whining like a bi*ch.
He grabbed his old Lancaster Pistol, or Howda Pistol as it was sometimes called, and looked it over. His grandfather had tanken it from a safari in Africa. The people who sat in the seats atop an elephent used it to hold off lions and tigers who attacked. It was in as good shape as he had left it. It was engraved and decorated, but that only disguised the true power of it. It's four barrels were chambered for a 10 guage shell, and the shells he had shipped with the gun were enough to fill a full bandoliere. A 56 shot bandoliere at that. And, four more shells in reserve. 60 total.
He set it back down and geared up. When he had everything he needed as far as armor and equipment were concerned, he snatched up the small shotgun. Grabbing the small latch on the back, he watched the barrels fall and expose the empty holes. He slipped the four loose shells into the holes of the barrels and then slipped the gun into the custom, crude holster. He had made it from an old peice of leather and stitched it together with copper wiring. He wore it out on the ranch at home, used it to take out cougers and cyotes and whatever else was wondering around uninvited.
His main weapon was a lot more conventional. He heafted the Mk. 28 Mod 0 with ease. He loaded two large pockets with the 200 round belt boxes, and grabbed another. He attached it to the gun, but didnt load the first round. Slinging the strap over his neck and shoulder, he turned his head and felt, as well as heard, a sickening crack erupt. He looked at Wallace and spoke.
"Yo, hurry your lazy a*s up man. We got sh*t to do." Mikey said, fairly loudly. Several marines in the crowd sounded off with an "Hoorah!"
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Cool Breeze
Zombie Hunter
"We can never let our sins pass on to the next generation"
Posts: 284
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Post by Cool Breeze on Aug 22, 2008 18:47:54 GMT -5
As the General concluded the briefing, Vanessa quickly stood at attention as the General dismissed all troops present. She exited the room where the briefing took place and professionally slipped her cover over her tended and well-kept hair, ensuring it was both properly and securely on her head, before walking off towards the rows upon rows of olive drab tents spanning the entire length of the base. A few Marines were goofing off post-briefing, but she didn't have the time for that. Not only did she have to gear herself up before the convoy left, she also had to resupply her spent or out-dated medicinal gear, the latter of which was a daunting task within its own right.
She walked along a wooden path way towards the MO's, otherwise known as the medical supply tent. She walked inside, and was greeted by Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Nielson. "Master Chielf" Vanessa nodded, walking past the makeshift counter and into the back, where several bags of gear were stowed, including her new carrying bags. After an IED shredded her last packs as she was taking part in FST operations a couple days ago, she never did get around to getting a new pack.
"Goin' out again?" Nielson asked inquisitively in his very stout Southern accent.
"Yeah..." Vanessa sighed coyly. Even if she didn't sound it, she was more used to being under fire than being on base. Corpsman made for very pronouncing and juicy targets for insurgents. Apparently they'd caught on to the whole "the more bags they carry the more important" ideology, and though she'd never been hit, she'd felt the nice sting and punch of a poor quality sniper round striking her protective vest. Without saying another word, she pulled out a freshly returned set of 3-color desert bags covered in plastic, a small stamp with her name, rank, SN and location printed on the front. She lugged the large plastic bag towards the front counter and plopped it down, ripping it open like a child at Christmas.
"Mmm, new kit smell." She smirked, taking each bag out one by one and stashing the plastic in the trash. "Never gets old and smells good once."
"Wanna buy an AK?" Nielson jokingly asked, spinning his cover backwards crossing his eyes.
Vanessa hoisted all of her new bags over her shoulder and walked back out to the front of the counter. "Never fired and only dropped once." She laughed, exiting out the building. An officer approached from her right, she immediately saluted as he passed, lowering her hand once he was away from her gaze. Making her way back to her own tent, she sat down on her bed with a bounce, and sighing deeply she rubbed her face with her hands. Sitting just at the foot of her bunk was a red bag. She pouted her lips, both in concern and curiosity and picked it up, a large yellow bio-hazard symbol on it. "Oh...nice...." She sighed, ripping open the red top and emptying the small bag of several vials of liquid, some pills and somewhat heavy, feeling like lead filled bandages.
"WMD's for the win?" A womans voice echo'd from behind, Vanessa quickly turning to see Vasquez, another female Corpsman. "They were passing those out during the invasion too...supposed to prepare us for the "worst"" she complained, sitting down on her bunk, just adjacent to Vanessa.
"Yeah I know..." Vanessa less-than-eagerly replied, as she meticulously placed the vials and pills in one pouch, along with various other field medicines and various tools. "How's your arm? Still twitchy?"
"Naw...." Vasquez quietly replied, rubbing a small scar on her left arm, just below a somewhat red tattoo. "I think the nerves are finally back to normal, and my muscle is good, so I'm told."
"Well thats good. I'm getting tired of dealing with your f*cking patrols too" Vanessa laughed, zipping several bags closed, and latching them to her gear belt.
Vasquez laughed and leaned back, crossing her feet and taking a deep breath. Vanessa picked up a bulky Kevlar vest and hoisted it over her head until it settled firmly on her back, closing over both Velcro slabs and pulling it at, to ensure security. Then clipping or strapping on whatever gear she was carrying, or was supposed to carry. Then, once she'd double and triple checked everything from her canteen to her emergency surgical gear, right down to each bandage and syringe, she dropped her heavy Kevlar lined helmet onto her head and walked off towards the armory to claim her weapons.
"Don't shoot anything now, ya hear?" She faintly heard Vasquez remark.
"Then stay there" Vanessa yelled back in return.
She approached the armory, she could faintly hear yelling near by, probably the Armory Master giving someone something to think about. She walked up to the Master Sergeant and gave him her regular pout, signaling "I want my weapon, pleaseeeee". He smirked when he saw her, and quickly offered her an M16A4 and several magazines. She stuffed the magazines in her webvest and slung the empty M16 on her shoulder, quietly winking and thanking him, also putting several red, green and white smoke grenades, flares and various other tool of silent communication available or necessary devices, before walking towards a set of waiting Humvee's.
"Christ I feel like a f**king Wal-Mart" Vanessa complained. Usually she was carrying a comfortable 70-90 pounds of gear, including her medical gear considering she never carried explosives or very much ammo, but adding the new extension to her gear load, she was now carrying at least 100 pounds. Whatever the hell that bio-hazard bag had in it, which she didn't quite read up on yet, had enough drugs to successfully put the entire French Army out of commission. As for the Marines well, they'd just ask for seconds after throwing up some blood. She gripped a small red book, with no markings or numbers what so ever on the front, and inside was a listing and proper dosage for each new drug she'd been given. There was also a small pamphlet about dosage of preliminary suppressant drugs. "If you don't want your balls to melt, eat this." Vanessa thought to herself, as she leaned her back against one of the Humvee's and began to read the book. It was only about 40 pages, she'd probably finish it twice before they even loaded up. Most of it just listed various compounds of each drug, with small sections on dosage, and precautions of ODing, administration issues and side effects. Compared to becoming permanently sterile from whatever was stocked in that bunker, most Marines here could live with a rash.
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Post by thegunny on Aug 22, 2008 20:11:15 GMT -5
OOC: Ouch at the sterile forever... I'm so glad we won't have to deal with nukes.  Naomi, you'll be in the lead Humvee with me, Mikey, and 2 other marines and the journalist(one will be in the back, seen in the picture, sitting with the main breaching tools, another Humvee carrying the backup's). Start to form up, convoy going to get rollin rolling soon so everybody would start to be getting to their designated vehicles. Mikey, since your the automatic rifle man, you get to be the gunner. Lucky 
Wallace had just finished stuffing his tactical blast strips into their respective pouches, had just stuffed his backup night ATN Mars4X Gen.4 Night Vision Weapon Scope NVWSMRS440 into its carefully designed cushiony pouch on his belt to keep it from being damaged dirtied or fogged up while transported, put 8 30 round 6.5 Grendel magazines into his BlackHawk Enhanced Soldier Load Bearing Vest, 6 .357 SIG magazines into two FB style Duty Magazine Pouches on his belt, one .357 SIG magazine into the wrist magazine pouch, and a final 9th M4 magazine pouch into a pouch that was due to be attached to the stock of his new rifle. 7 12 round .357 SIG magazines for a total of 84 .357 SIG rounds, and 270 rounds of 6.5 Grendel. Thats enough to last for days in a war-zone. Wallace always liked to be over-prepared rather then under-prepared. With his ammunition selection, he had no choice. No Hajji, probably no military personnel on earth, would be dropping 6.5 Grendel rounds when he killed them, and the .357 SIG was more likely yet still as unlikely with what they were going up against. He had no choice but to come as locked and loaded as he could. Wallace was holding off on the SAS quick access gas mask pouch drop rig though until he was in the vehicles and starting into Hajji country. Once he was done, he looked over his shoulder at the same time slinging the kit for the rifle over his shoulder--- Mikey was already done. Well, he didn't have as much stuff. Wallace picked up the 6.5 Grendel M4 rifle "Hunter" configuration by the barrel and before the stock with both hands and held it in front of him gingerly like he was holding the crown jewel of England saying softly
Shhh, stupid. You'll wake the baby. I'm dealing with a new rifle, I still gotta chronograph it and adjust the sites and all that jazz, I don trust the factory specs, or the factory ammo. I just hand loaded all my ammo the last couple days for an optimal combination of knock down, trajectory, and accuracy
Wallace then walks off alone still holding his rifle like that leaving Mikey there, heading for the firing range, picking the area set up for the designated marksmen(like him) and snipers, the range not being limited to 100 yards. When he got there, he set the rifle down on the table and then dug in the kit. It had already been opened. Rodgers had been so nice enough to have put in a special barrel sock for him to help keep his rifle clean. A**hole. An A**hole is an A**hole, even though Rodgers was still a good guy at times. Wallace started to take apart his weapon, skipping the stripping it down to its bare components and then checking each part individually, checking the barrel particularly, before reassembling it satisfied, and then starting to adjust everything to his needs. Then, he set it up to chronograph the shots and check the accuracy with a test magazine he had brought along, firing off quick 3 round triplet taps like he would in the field. He did it again and again, satisfied with the accuracy, and satisfied with the chronograph readings. He was impressed just by the proof in the pudding, the hand loaded rounds doing exactly as said--- stronger then a 5.56 NATO, 6.8 SPC, and .308 winchester at longer ranges, flatter trajectory, and low recoil---definitely lower recoil then the M14 EBR he had worked with a couple times as his designated marksman rifle, and the longer barrel of the "Hunter" configuration Rodgers had gotten him instead of an M4 14.5 inch variant, that was definitely doing a good deal of help. Wallace finished up by speed cleaning the gun again and then standing up, throwing the kit over his back and putting the barrel sock on his 6.5 Grendel rifle as he left the firing range. Wallace starts to walk towards the convoy which was parked in formation at the gates of the base.
Men, and women, were already loitering around forming up around the convoy and getting in the convoy---formed up of Up-Armored Humvees armed with a single T.O.W launcher, several Mk.19 grenade launchers, M2HB .50 caliber machine guns, and a single Humvee mounted GAU-19( www.army-guide.com/images/gau-19_puoiuoi.jpg ). The tip of the spear for the convoy was that single GAU-19 equipped humvee, with an Mk.19 machine grenade launcher in 2nd, and the T.O.W launcher in third, mostly .50 caliber machine guns after that with a couple remaining Mk.19 grenade launchers, the final of the convoy bringing up the rear with an Mk.19 grenade launcher to keep the people's heads down so they can't fire RPG's into the convoy once their past them. Wallace immediately walks powerfully to the front Humvee, opening the passenger seat and looking inside. Looked "Comfy", and just the perfect and correct place to put his Kit and rifle down, so he did. He put both down gently and then slammed the up-armored door shut, looking up at the big GAU-19 gattling gun, mumbling
Luck S.O.B... Friggin Mikey getting to shoot that... Hate being a marksman. That of course wasn't true, but hell--- He sure as hell at that moment wished he got to be the gunner. Then he says in a slightly childish voice for several others around him to hear
He better let me have a turn with it, or else I'm telling on him... |
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Post by Mikey on Aug 22, 2008 20:36:43 GMT -5
"Hey!" Mikey yelled down into the hummvee, sounding like a parent scolding a child. "You get a turn if I say so! And if you dont stop acting this way, we dont stop for ice cream on the way!"
Truth be told, Mikey was as giddy as Wallace, because he got to actually USE the turrent. Something about three barrels and 2000 rounds a minute just inspired a child-like awe in him. He liked the big toys.
He tested the turrent, turning it and swivling it different ways before setting it back in place, facing foreward. He looked down into the hummer again and spoke, taunting Wallace.
"Man, I gotta tell you...holding onto this thing...it's literally boner inspiring man..." He said, a fake sense of awe in his voice. He looked at the gun, and its position, and then couldnt help but add something. "Besides, I'm sure you have plenty of things this big in your face plenty of the time!" He said, and laughed. He waited to see if he got a response from Wallace, and for the convoy to start moving out.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Aug 22, 2008 20:49:16 GMT -5
Hidden Location Near Ruins
Muhammad Allan stood upon a broken stage with his stance becoming more and more agressive as he proceeded to lean into the open. He stood before a few hundred men bearing automatic weapons and other combat ready arms, each one of them wore dress of a important soldier... although the symbol of " The Great Being" was located on each right arm. Allan would raise in stance before the words began to flow from his mouth, through his rough bear like decaying flesh blistering in the hot sun...
" My brothers... On this day we rise in arms not only for the ' Great Being' but for the future of mankind and our eternal rest. Men from the West wish to take what we have fought so long to achieve, they plan to take our 'Great Blessing' away from us... My Brothers... That can not happen at all. These bastards must learn that by treading onto 'OUR' Holy Land, they will pay the ultimate price for thier mistake. They will be buried among the sands like the rest of our enemies and witness the beautiful creation of what the 'Great Blessing' has given those worrthy of it..."
Allan would correct his posture while leaning further into the microphone and directly shouting in a uplifting rant toward the troops with his fists clentched...
" They will not leave... We shall march into the cities of those that do not understand and unleash 'Our Blessing' upon those that do not seek 'His' sight. We will make them 'His' loyal servants and give them the gift that many of us do not yet deserve... The cleansing light will clean thier souls... Those 'Invaders' will dare not cross 'The Great Being'.... We will cleanse the WORLD and recreat it in 'His' Glorious Image..."
Cheers erupt within seconds of the closing words as Allan walks back into a small cross-way directly down into the lower chambers. The chambers were lined with women that wore garmets over thier faces... almost as if to mask themselves. The women lined the walls that were decorated with ancient relics of the past... highly collectible... Then that room led to yet another.
Allan would make his way into his own chambers... Quite smaller than the previous room and only decorated with a bed, a communication device, and a few canisters of 'The Gift'... He would walk toward the communications device and then reach across the desk to a small mask that would soon cover the right side of his face... Pressing the 'On-Air' button, he would speak in a raspy tone...
" We strike with the Glory of ' The Great Being' ... now!"
Ni Shiam Inner City
Upon the speech made by Allan a couple hundred men had secured the city streets of Ni' Shiam within a few hours... The local military forces had been completely slaughtered and completely outgunned from the start of the armed conflict and even another few hundred civilians were also caught between the exchange of the fire-fight. The 'Unknown Forces' quickly had complete control over the entire city and began to make more and more moves by the second. 'The Unknown Forces' would set up and wait for the command...
" We strike with the Glory of the 'Great Being'.... now!"
The streets were engulfed in a thick smog like substance within a few long drawn-out moments... The 'Unknown Forces' would become engulfed in the smog as well as the surrounding civilians... The smog would enter their lungs and take complete control of thier biological structure... changing them....
(OOC: Somthing to work with for now...)
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Post by thegunny on Aug 22, 2008 20:58:42 GMT -5
OOC: Looks great Paradox, knew you could think something up. But, question, is this in another town, or is this the town we're heading into? The town's name I came up was the fictional Al Tahvki, but we can along with your name if you want. Sounds better, I think.
Wallace scowled and grumbled as he leaned against the Humvee, looking over at the men forming up giving them the Sergeant stare(Or more like, the "Your too stupid to live" glare), continuing to whine
But I've been waiting all tour for a nice cold triple scoop chocolate cookie dough Ice cream cone! Thats not fair!
Wallace smirked and glanced up towards Mikey with his eyes, shaking his head
Dude, stop over compensating, we know your in the closet. Just come out. Everyone tried to not say anything, but everyone thought you were getting WAY too hyped up over the "Nut to butt" distance policy at the Parris Island Chow line.
Wallace then looked back at the rest of the convoy with a sort of scowl, but mostly a neutral frown. They were still waiting--- probably the journalist and Captain, Journalist was slowing down the Captain maybe, or the Journalist was just late.
'Sides, I've got a way bigger gun then that puny play toy.
Wallace, couldn't resist to smirk again.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Aug 23, 2008 18:19:04 GMT -5
Audience Chamber of Unknown Location
Sheik Muhammad Allan would set upon a throne made of random metals dug deep from the sands of the mighty desert. His arms would span in a arched position, each arm grasping the arms of the throne. His taste in decor would leave little to the imagination that he was a truly sadistic man... The corpses of his rivals stand pinned against the wall in a gruesome fashion... Some more decayed than others. Men, Women, and Children... Civilian and Military... All seemed to have suffered the same fate. Muhammad Allan enjoyed public executions and the majestic sorrow that his victims would feel in their last moments as they struggled to keep the last breath in their pathetic bodies... The man was truly mad....
Allan stared out over a small group of "The Great Beings" most respected disciples. The men had been more than prove in their loyalist stand point toward the "The Great Beings Gift" and any activities that would benefit the "Children". These men were nothing more than power hungry men that wish to place the world in a state of total chaos so that their own Religion could be witnessed first-hand by no believers. Allan knew their type all to well. He would call out with a mighty voice, his own personal guards stepping forward from behind him as he stopped the civil pigs from their merry making... Allan spoke in a cruel tone as the men turned toward the throne...
" Why do you upset the 'Great Being?' "
The men would not speak, they would realize that the guards that had stepped forward were not exactly human. They would realize that 'They' had excepted the 'Gift' of the 'Great Being' into their mortal shells willingly. They did not know of the Hymar Virus... but the 'Gift' was exactly that. The men on the floor would take several steps back as the Mutated Guards stumbled from the Gate-way directly below the second story balcony where Allan sat upon the throne. The men would become frantic...
" You have upset the "Great Being" Council... You have failed to live your lives in the 'Glory' that 'Great Being' has given you... You have become entangled in Greed and Deception... Your lies have shrouded your own judgment. Your souls and earthly vessels will become unwilling slaves to the 'Great Beings Gift'... There will be no escape for you."
The Noble Councilmen would turn around to notice that all three exits on the ground floor of the Audience Chamber had been secured by the Mutated Forms of Guard infected with the Hymar virus. The second one of the men would try to break through the defenses of two guards to the immediate left... The Hymar Infects would retaliate with critical force... Tendrils would escape from the skin of the Mutated Beings and pierce through the frail bodies of the Council Men. The remaining four would make their way to the center of the Audience chambers ground floor and look up toward a smiling Allan. The man that spoke was most likely a Elder...
" Allan! It is indeed 'YOU' who is full of GREED! May 'The Great Being' strike you down for such treachery. Your mortal ambitions will...."
The man speaking was cut short by a almost on cue as a faint squishing sound was later followed by a brief ripping sound. Then the final moment revealed one of the Mutated Guards impaling him with one of it's many tendrils, lifting him off the ground, then throwing him into a wall to the side with a fated snapping sound.
The others would suffer a fate similar as Allan watched with great awe as the barbaric mutations ripped the Council apart and forced them to become unwilling slaves to the Hymar Virus. Many minutes would pass before the genetic effects took place and the Council Men would rise from the ground and stumble off in any way possible. They would soon join the others in Bliss.
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Post by Mikey on Aug 24, 2008 14:32:44 GMT -5
"Man, you better shut up before I give you a nice mushroom tattoo to show off. Ya, big bannanna print on your face'll make the ladies go wild. Hell, it would be an improvment..." Mikey said, looking down at Wallace. He himself was starting to wonder where everyone was. Some were here, but quite a few were missing.
"And speaking of closets." He added as an afterthought. "Your so far in one, your finding christmas presents." He said, insighting a few giggles from various people in the crowd. He was betting they were wondering, as he sometimes wondered himself, how he got away with talking to a Gunnery Sergent like this. He didnt know, but he always talked sh*t, and instead of getting chewed out or getting slapped with IPT or whatever, he was simply talked sh*t back too.
"Jeez, come on man. Wheres the fricken reporter! I wanna get this over with so I can come back and do pushups..." He said, his voice fairly enthusiastic.
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Cool Breeze
Zombie Hunter
"We can never let our sins pass on to the next generation"
Posts: 284
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Post by Cool Breeze on Aug 25, 2008 15:03:41 GMT -5
Vanessa scratched her nose as she finished reading the little booklet for the 3rd time. She glanced around the vehicles as several Marines were going about their own pre-mission checklists. Most were making conversation, or jokes, mostly bad or immature ones, and some were double checking their weapons. Vanessa had cleaned her M16A4 before the briefing started, so she was ready to go in that department. And she didn't really need to check her flares, chem-lights or smoke grenades, at least not in her mind. She closed the book and stuffed it in her pocket. She'd probably read it on the way to the village a few times, but for now she'd had enough of memorizing 12 letter drug names, that sound more like noises a wounded whale would make.
She stood up and picked up her M16A4 with her, stepping back a few feet from the convoy and stretching her back and legs subtlety, before walking back to the waiting vehicles and pulling open the right side door, and sitting on the edge of the seat. Taking her helmet off, she waved her hair, as much as she could as it was cut kinda short and in a bun. Running her hand through her hair, she took a few deep breaths, not really thinking about the impending mission that laid before them. Before today, most of her operations and patrols were part of FST patrols, and even they were generally uneventful. She wasn't sure if she was scared about the fight, nervous about what horrible types of weapons laid dormant in the bunker, or whether she was just plain hungry, seeing as she hadn't eaten since this morning.
Vanessa remembered an incident only a few days ago, when she and her FST unit came a little to close for comfort with a nicely hidden set of 2 155mm shells tucked under the road. The bomb was kinda far off to be any real threat, and way to deep, but a massive mushroom of dust and concrete shooting up like a geyser in the middle of the road, then gunfire erupting from all sides, wasn't quite what she'd called a "tasteful adventure". Specially since the incident in 04' with the FST team getting capture, she never took the simplest patrols lightly. Today was no different. "Where the hell is the Captain..." Vanessa quietly mumbled to herself, putting her feet up on the center console in the humvee and leaning back, her vest sliding up and smacking her in the chin, causing her to bite her tongue. "Aw f**k" She shouted, shoving her vest back into place and spitting some blood out of the door.
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