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R-Point
Jun 14, 2008 19:50:13 GMT -5
Post by Shogun Liquid© on Jun 14, 2008 19:50:13 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Prologue[/glow] [/color]
Somewhere near the Mekong River, Alpha Base... 504th US Infantry Battalion, September 9, 1972...
The mysterious transmission came at Midnight, 0000 Hours...
From what Corporal Benjamin Everson could remember from that fateful event was that he was just inches away from falling into a deep sleep...his head drooping down constantly as his mind battled to stay awake.
Beside him, sleeping and snoring on his own desk of radio equipment without any shame or regard was his friend and partner, Corporal Anthony Logan. Despite the urge rising within him to slap the head of his friend, he restrained himself instead and concentrated on trying to stay awake. Besides, he thought, Logan was allowed to do that.
Standard Military Procedure called it that when monitoring radio airwaves, one man was supposed to watch the radio while the other slept until five hours. Then he would relieve the watcher and take over while the other slept. It was a Rinse and Repeat procedure created ever since the radio began to be used in armed conflicts.
The Vietnam War was no exception.
Organized into a day and night shift with two unlucky radio operators from each platoon assigned to monitor radio traffic, it soon became known as the "Static Watch", since nobody ever received or intercepted enemy radio signals.
The reason was their location. They were in Alpha Base, a remote outpost of 300 mixed Infantry and Special ops men nestled near the mouth of the Mekhong River banks, South Vietnam. Their responsiblities was to provide Naval patrols along the river to prevent any Vietcong and NVA (North Vietnamese Army) forces from using the river as a supply trail, since the Mekhong River was near the Vietnamese-Cambodian border.
Despite the escalation of the war, the Mekhong River saw little or no action whatsover, being that it was too far away from the front lines and that the river itself had no stragetic importance to the enemy since they yet to penetrate the frontlines east of the base.
Another reason why they had no pick up of enemy transmissions was that their enemies, the Vietcong and the North Vietnamese Army, or "Charlie", as they were most commonly refered to nowadays, learned from painful expierences not to test the US military's ability to track down short wave and the occasional long wave radio signals.
Quite often, once confirmed it was an enemy signal, Charlie found themselves being bombarded, if within range, of artillery shells, or even worse, with Napalm or heavy bombs from above.
Having learned this hard lesson early on in the war, it was within good reason why the enemy had decided not to use their radios too often along with the standard practice of, after using the radio, displacing or moving away from the point of origin lest they get caught in the subsequent US bombardment. As a result, it was an almost useless procedure to be maintained within Alpha Base, considering that there was also very rare Charlie presence.
And finally, because of these very two reasons, Corporal Benjamin Everson, Radioman and 1 month veteran of the Vietnam War, found himself falling asleep, 2 hours short of his shift. The combination of bordeom and exhaustion was too powerful to resist.
[glow=red,2,300]Alpha Base.[/glow]
At first he didn't recognize the clicking sounds. Only when the clicking sound happened the fourth time did some part of his mind awaken and jolted itself, sending messages to his brain to wake up.
He did moments later, and with bleary eyes, he watched with mild confusion as the radio equipment infront of him began to act erratically, the signal indicators blinking and clicking, telling him that his radio was receiving an incoming transmission.
[glow=red,2,300]Alpha Base.[/glow]
A coarse, whisper-like voice eminated from the Speakers, along with static.
Benjamin immediately sat up straight in his metal chair and rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining things? Was he dreaming?
[glow=red,2,300]Alpha Base...[/glow]
The voice came back again from the speakers, and he went very still, suprised and confused, yet knowing full well he wasn't imagining things. He gently moved the shoulder of his partner to wake up.
"....uh.." Corporal Logan groaned as he woke up and sat up straight, looking at Benjamin as he stared intently at the radio infront of him. "Is it time yet?"
"I heard something man!"
Checking his watch, Corporal Logan looked back to him in annoyance.
"Jesus, you still have two hours to go before y-"
"I heard something on the radio!"
"Charlie?"
"No, its-"
[glow=red,2,300]Alpha Base....[/glow]
The voice came back again on the Speakers.
Logan blinked. He suppressed a shudder and snapped to Benjamin. "Is this some f*cking joke Benjamin? Jeez, I didn't expect you'd pull a lam-"
"It's not a f*cking joke!" Benjamin harshly replied back as he adjusted several knobs on the equipment infront of him. "Besides, the signals not coming from base. If it was, we could have traced it to one of the guard houses near us."
Logan rubbed his face and tried to look alert. "Okay, its a long wave signal. Whoever this guy is, raise him on the radio, I'll try to track it down."
Benjamin nodded, flicking on the tape recorder so that the Intel boys could digest it later in the morning. He grabbed the microphone infront of him, transmitting back on the same frequency.
"This is Alpha Base, this is Alpha Base, who is this over?"
There was a moment of static....
Then.....
[glow=red,2,300]Help us......[/glow]
There were ghostly screams in the background, people shouting, screaming along with gunfire rattling in the distance, which sounded distinctly like M-16 rifles. There was a voice in the background, somebody praying in latin....then there was another voice in the background, laughing insanely, hysterically.... someone crying, someone dying....
[glow=red,2,300] Help us........This is Echo 3.....Alpha Base...... Do you copieee?.... Alpha Base.... this is Echo 3... we're dying... we're dying.......[/glow]
Benjamin felt shivers down his spine as he heard this and turned to look at Logan, whom heard it all and froze, silently glad that Benjamin turned on the tape recorder earlier. Their CO would never believe them.
Gathering some courage, Benjamin continued to transmit, despite his voice stammering and shaky, "Thi- this is Alpha Base, Ech-echo 3, we read you loud and clear. Wha-what is your current situation over? I repeat wha-"
[glow=red,2,300]AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH![/glow]
The sudden bloodcurling screem nearly made both men jump.
[glow=red,2,300]We're dying!.... we're dying... we're dying.......We're dying..........We're dying.....we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying... we're dying.. -dying.......dyi-[/glow]
Then...for some strange reason..... the transmission was cut off suddenly. The static returned, and it left the two men in a state of shock and confusion.
"What the f*ck..." Logan whispered to himself after a few moments of frightened silence. "What the f*ck...."
Benjamin, very white and pale, looked at him and nodded. "What the f*ck indeed..."
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R-Point
Jun 14, 2008 22:36:04 GMT -5
Post by Shogun Liquid© on Jun 14, 2008 22:36:04 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Chapter One:[/glow] [/color] "Unknown Origin" [/b][/size][/center]
"The transmission was traced 150 kilometers south of us," Captain John Hoffman said.
He walked around in the Company Assembly area nonchantly, right in the open, red hot Vietnam sun. Olive green Huey Helicopters flew in V formation overhead, flying a bit low as they chopped the air away.
"What do you mean?" The man beside him asked. Both of them were dressed in jungle fatigues uniform, sweating despite the caps on their head and grimcing against the heat bearing down on them.
"I mean it's f*cking impossible for us to recieve a transmission in that area, Lieutenant," the Captain replied as they made their way towards the Briefing room, which was at the center of the base. "Let alone recieve any transmission from a remote island."
The Briefing room was located halfway underground, typical of US Army Outposts which dotted the Jungles of Vietnam. Copying their enemy who had a tendancy to become moles and hide underground, vital parts of the base where hidden below deliberatly, mostly because of the Vietcong's tendancy of creeping out in the night and shelling US Army bases with mortars before retreating back in the Jungle. It hadn't happened yet in Alpha Base, since it had yet to recieve any attack, but one could never be too careful, especially when the Jungles around them were reputed to have dozens of Vietcong crawling around.
As they went inside the damp structure that was half buried underground, a pair of Special Forces guys, Green Berets, made their way past them and they made their way out.
"What island?" the Lieutenant asked after a few moments, following the Captain in the brightly lit, barewall corridor.
"R-Point."
"Romeo Point?"
"Exacto mundo."
"And what did the CO said again?"
"He said Saigon wanted to check it out."
Saigon City... it was the heart and capital of the Republic of South Vietnam. The southern tip of the Vietnam peninsula which they were fighting for, what every American had found himself stationed here for whether they liked it or not because of some ideological belief that neither side believed in but the Peasants, the Politicos and Generals.
Funny enough, you could find the entire US Army High Command relaxing and making arm chair decisions in airconditioned rooms in the Hilton Hotel, right in Saigon City. How typical of them, how old farts like Generals abused their powers so often.
Lieutenant Peter Avery Wilson nodded his head.
"So the reason why you called me is?"
The Captain turned to look at him, and opened the door they were facing.
"I need someone to lead a Recon slash Rescue Mission."
They entered and Peter found himself in a spacey room, which had dozens of maps tacked to the walls, along with situation reports, supply memos, and other valuable papers of information.
There were tables at the sides, each occupied by a staff officer who were either bare chested or wearing their white trunk shirts, sweating visibly despite the small electric fan blowing overhead at a nearby table. They were busy with work and they did not bother to look up or salute the Captain or the Lieutenant as they walked passed them towards the center of the room.
Once there, Avery found himself looking at a huge map of Vietnam, which had the position of Alpha Base located on it, along with several bases miles away which made up the "Alphabet Line" in Vietnam.
"R-Point" was marked with a small red x, a small island 150 kilometers away from their base in a lake that connected the rest of the Mekhong River towards the sea. Avery frowned a bit, then looked up at his Captain.
"Why me again John?" He used the Captains first name.
The Captain smiled, then nervously took a cigarette out from his breast pocket and lit it with his lighter, the smoke moving around them dreamily like.
"You're the only officer in here, aside from me and the CO, who has combat experience."
Avery blinked. That was true. Ever since the escalation of fighting in the front lines, every expierenced officer and NCO was being transfered to other Army Units. The war was losing alot of good men this days, and the US Army were coming up short of supply. Which was why Avery preffered his present situation. Anything to endanger that, especially going out on a Recon slash Rescue Mission was out of the window.
"John, I don't give a f*ck about being the one of the 3 officers here with expierence. Why not let some noob check it out? Why me? Let the noob get some expeirence. Then maybe the poor shumck might get transfered or get a friggin medal."
The Captain shook his head.
"Avery, listen man. How long have we been stationed together? 2 years? 3? We go way back, waaay back when you were just 2nd Lieutenant and I was dinky first.
Now look at us. You, me, and the CO are practically what's left of the original 504th Infantry Battalion, which techincally can't be called a battalion because we're a freaking adhoc frankestian unit with Special Ops and a Navy flotilla to f*ck with.
I'm doing this as a favor Avery. Because you and I know that our number's up. Half of this Unit is slated to see Combat for the next month. You've seen the casualtie reports, you've heard the news. The war's getting nasty, especially now and the month we're supposed to go. I'm doing this as a favor Avery, because if you do this, Saigon will grant you leave, long enough to avoid the transfer."
Avery remained silent.
"What do you mean Saigon will grant me leave? What exactly is happening John?"
"2 days ago, we recieved a Transmission of Unknown Origin, 150 Kilometers south of us. The transmission claims to be callsign Echo 3. But-"
"Echo 3? That's f*cking impossible."
"I know."
Echo 3 was the 9 man Unit that was sent to invesitage a ARVN Huey Helicopter which crashed in R-point, 1 day after recieving radio transmissions from the island, 3 months before.
The leader of Echo 3, 2nd Lieutenant Bill Murphy, was a friend of his, a very good friend. Mysteriously, Echo 3 lost contact with base and it stayed that way for 3 days until one man emerged from the island, swimming all the way back to Alpha Base.
By then, the only survivor was insane, babbling about demons and other nonsense that the man was simply sent to the Saigon Mental Assylum, along with other Mentally deranged US Army Personnel. What was chilling about the whole encoutner was that the man was able to grab all of the 9 men's dogtags, which was bloody with his own blood when he presented it to the CO.
What happened there could not be fully explained and High Command turned its back on the event, citing it as unknown and ignoring all requests of checking what had happened to Echo 3.
Now.... With Echo 3 seemingly alive enough to transmitt...
"John, what are you trying to tell me? That there are some survivors in R-point?"
"I'm telling you we recieved a transsimission from a Unit that was supposed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth 3 months ago."
"Stop being melodramatic John. Do you have the tape?"
"Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Why? Does it have somebody talking dirty about the General's daughter?"
"Avery, its Bill. It's Bill on the radio."
Avery remained silent. The Captain turned behind him, shuffled some boxes at a nearby table, and procured a tape player.
"We sent a copy to Saigon and we just recieved word that it is genuine. People who know Bill said it was him."
"Who? Bill can't know that many people."
"His wife, his friends and his family back home"
Avery paused, a bit scared now. The Captain placed the Tape player infront of him, and Avery fingered the "Play" button and applied pressure after a few moments of akward silence.
The tape was full of static for the first few seconds, then came call. The voice on the tape was coarse, like someone who was dehydrated, someone who knew he was dying. But it was umistakable allright. It was Bill Murphy, the man who saved his ass two times under fire, the man who traded jokes with him, who drank beer with him when Avery found out that his wife left him for some bastard.
But he did not recognize the tone of the voice, the person who was speaking the voice of Bill Murphy. Something was not right, and Avery felt it despite being unaware of that sense.
While Bill's voice called out, the sounds in the background became chaotic, more louder, with ghastly screams and the familiar caltter of M-16 rifles going off into the distance. He thought he heard somebody praying, along with insane laughter but he shook that off as static, listening in silence as the frantic calls of Echo 3 went unanswered.
Finally, three minutes later the tape stopped by itself, leaving Avery silent.
"When do I start?" He asked moments later.
"Today if you like. I chose 9 men for you. Good men from the Company, with a nice mix of rookies, vets and the inbetweens. Get the supplies, weapons and ammo you need in the Armory and get down to the loading dock. There's a boat waiting for you to transfer you to the island."
"And Charlie?"
"The same thing Saigons's been telling us is the same thing I'm telling you. There are no Charlies on the island, no enemy to fight with, nothing whatsoever except your typical wild boar or giant snakes. But either way, we want you packed, so bring whatever you can carry and fight with. Bring g*ddamn LAWs if you have to."
"Whats the time available for us?"
"We want you to search the area for a week. Then come back with the bodies. Radio us and we'll send a boat again for the pick up."
"Why are you doing this Hoffman?" Avery asked suddenly.
Hoffman smiled again, inhaling his cigarette one last time before throwing it down on the wooden floor and crushing it with his boot. "The CO and I are getting transfered to the 12th Infantry Division, the Battalion we're getting into is so badly beaten up, they need to give the Unit a new name. We're going to Hill 203 Avery. The Army's been fighting it over with the Gooks. 3,000 casualties in two f*cking weeks. One month more then it will be our turn. That's why you're going Avery. Because if you won't, then I will and because me and the CO love you." He chuckled then looked urgently at Avery.
"Back when we were the 504th, it was a merry group Avery. It was good times. Now, it must come to an end, whether we like it or not."
Avery nodded this as dismisal, saluted his friend and superior officer one last time, then turned to leave, getting out of the damp gloomy atmoshpere and out into the bright, humid air of Vietnam.
(OOC: Okay guys, all of you will start in the "A" Barracks, some of you will have come from different Companies, Platoons, Units, and are gathered up into an empty Barracks that is wooden, has several busted screen nets, and clean but very smelly beds. Your equipmment is already gathered and all you're waiting for is your CO to show up. You've been told already that you've just volunteered for a special mission and that the reward for completeting it is a 6 month leave in the US or whichever native country you come from)
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R-Point
Jun 15, 2008 9:00:50 GMT -5
Post by thegunny on Jun 15, 2008 9:00:50 GMT -5
Hans Schultz yawns and sits up from the bed, slipping out and to his feet a little drowsily. It was still dark, sun rise would be soon. Schultz looks all around the barracks and sees he was the first one up. He grumbles quietly to himself and decides that although since they were waiting for their C.O and they couldn't leave, that didn't mean Schultz wouldn't have his morning P.T. Schultz steps away from the table and gets on his face and starts to do push ups, 4 count style. Then he did sit ups, hello dollies, did some more stretches and exercises, and then once the wooden structure was lit from a natural source Schultz sat down at the foot of his bed with a wet rag and his polish and began to shine his boots for the rest of the time to keep his mind busy. He wasn't very sweaty but he was hot and very awake now. He had some sweat dripping down his head and his arms but that wasn't anything bad. Schultz grumbles and waits for the rest of the team to wake up and for the C.O to show up. He didn't want to wait very long--- he wanted to get to the mission and then to Berlin, both of which will have something to keep him occupied that much he was sure of. Not to mention Schultz wanted to get issued his weapon and to make sure it was properly maintained and then adjust it to his needs.
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R-Point
Jun 15, 2008 9:46:41 GMT -5
Post by LTI on Jun 15, 2008 9:46:41 GMT -5
Oli scanned the horizon through the busted nets as he took a silent drag of his cigarette. They were on the very edge of civilization. It was a scary place to Oli. Yet he wasn't scared of Vietnam itself. He was scared of spending the rest of his life (however long it may be) there. He 'volunteered' for some sort of rescue mission or something similar, so he got up extra early to bid the sunrise over the base a farewell. It was likely the last time he would ever see it. That was Oli's philosophy for the war: just assume you won't make it so you don't get disappointed when you die. The teen almost chuckled at the thought of it. Not being disappointed when you die very young is kind of a hard thing to do. He shrugged and took another drag, in semi-solitude for just a short while longer.
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R-Point
Jun 15, 2008 9:58:43 GMT -5
Post by thegunny on Jun 15, 2008 9:58:43 GMT -5
Schultz looks up from his boots and looks at Oli, and grumbles loudly in thickly accented but with good grammar
Whys that have your attention? Sun rise, sun set, Same thing day after day, Ja? Nichts Besonderes(Nothing special)
Schultz takes the rag and starts to shine his boots after applying several coats of polish, even though the boots were going to get dirty again, just wanting to have something to do. He didn't like for his mind to wander. Memories, thoughts, emotions he didn't want came to the forefront. Not what he needed. Not what he wanted. Unprofessional, to him. He wasn't conscripted from the age of 18 for the Bundeswehr to be a bleeding heart. He was conscripted to become a cold, ruthless, Prussian style fighting machine and get jobs done.
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R-Point
Jun 15, 2008 13:23:04 GMT -5
Post by Rastafari on Jun 15, 2008 13:23:04 GMT -5
The scuffing of boots and the movement of the other men in the barracks woke Khenan. Yawning before anything else, he stretched and sat up. He sat motionless for a brief moment then shook it off, something he did every morning, he didnt know why, he just did. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Many of the soldiers were also just rising, there were a couple that were already up, he never understood how they could do that. Khenan relied on sleep to keep him alert for a longer amount of time.
He rubbed the stubble of his beard, he missed his old beard and his long dreads, he hadnt had a shaved head since he was five and now he had to keep it that way. A dishonour of sorts to Jah but he didnt have a choice in the matter. Throwing off his blanket he remembered what he had been doing here, the weird recon/ rescue mission he had been dragged away from 2nd Battalion for. He began his morning routine, he put on his uniform, straightening it out, making himself look half presentable, but with the heat he was already sweating, so he took off his shirt, changing his routine a bit. He knealt down to the side of his bed and prayed to Jah, and Haile Selassie to protect him and his family, make sure his best friend is well taken care of i the after life since he had been brutaly killed by the vietcong, once he finished praying he put on his boots and pulled out his shaving kit. He lathered on the shaving cream and then with each stroke took off more and more hair. Until he was done he didnt aknowledge anyone inside his morning routine unless they were an officer or C.O.
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R-Point
Jun 15, 2008 19:14:35 GMT -5
Post by Eric "X" Snyder on Jun 15, 2008 19:14:35 GMT -5
Jimmy Kinsale was sitting at the only "desk" in the barracks and was uninterestedly playing with his radio, trying to get a radio signal out.
"This is Foxtrot 5, Over. Repeat, Foxtrot 5, anyone out there, over."
He sat there for a good two minutes before trying again. Ever since he had first come to this place, he had just played with his radio, trying to make contact with another operator. After multiple tries (and just as many failures) Jimmy came to realize no one was ever going to respond. Even with this acceptance, he still tried.
"Foxtrot 5, anyone of you f**kers out there, over."
After waiting another minute, Jimmy muttered "F**k this" and gave up his useless pursuit in order to have a smoke. He just sat there, half in sleep, while he smoked and fiddled with a broken record player. He probably would've started a conversation with the other soldiers had it been somewhere else, but everyone in this place seemed like they were just getting ready to leave. In the end, Jimmy (who had only arrived a couple weeks earlier) decided that it was better not to make friends with these men, considering that they would all be separated as soon as a spot opened in a platoon. Then, it would be back to battle. Instead, Jimmy preferred to just play with his radio or his record player and sleep. The only difference today, was they, supposedly, had a mission. Probably to go get firewood or some dumb crap like that.
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R-Point
Jun 16, 2008 16:20:59 GMT -5
Post by thegunny on Jun 16, 2008 16:20:59 GMT -5
OOC
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R-Point
Jun 16, 2008 23:55:57 GMT -5
Post by Rastafari on Jun 16, 2008 23:55:57 GMT -5
The first person Khenan noticed as awake or at least, closest to it was a man at the only desk in the Barracks. It was obvious he was the radio operator... hence the radio. Khenan stood up and walked over to him in long strides, and pulled up a chair beside the man, Khenan pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling once then blowing out the smoke.
"Gwagwan mi bredda, what be your name?"
Khenan asked with his thick Jamaican accent lighting up the first conversation for the morning. He took another drag of his smoke, it wasnt what he was used to smoking, he was used to a more spiritual plant than tobacco, but that wasnt authorized by the military so he had to quit it, it was probably the best for him anyways he needed a break from it/
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R-Point
Jun 17, 2008 15:01:30 GMT -5
Post by Eric "X" Snyder on Jun 17, 2008 15:01:30 GMT -5
Jimmy stared at the man who had just set down next to him for a long time. Before he had entered the army, he had rarely (if ever) seen a black man before. He was even foolish enough to think none of them spoke english. Then, once he had joined, it blew his mind to have his perception of the world so violently changed. Even now, after all the years working with multiple ethnic backgrounds, he still hesitated when confronted by someone of a different ethnicity. Finally, he was able to shake off his stupor.
"Sorry man," Jimmy replied embarrassedly and shaking Khenan's hand, "I'm still kinda out of it. My name's James Kinsale. Everyone calls me Jimmy though."
Jimmy leaned back in his chair and took another puff before asking , "So, what do they call you?"
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R-Point
Jun 17, 2008 16:14:30 GMT -5
Post by LTI on Jun 17, 2008 16:14:30 GMT -5
Oli had taken a year of German in high school, enough to know even the last part of what Schultz had said. He turned and smiled. "If you think about it, every day here could be our last. It really helps you appreciate simple things like the sun's rising and setting. Tell you what I don't appreciate, though? Being 'volunteered' for some assignment that I've hardly been briefed about. I dunno what it is, but something about this stinks. Then again, something about all of 'Nam stinks doesn't it?" He punctuated his monologue with a laugh and took another drag of his menthol. He looked over at the horizon again and said, "So where ya from?"
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R-Point
Jun 17, 2008 17:08:06 GMT -5
Post by thegunny on Jun 17, 2008 17:08:06 GMT -5
Schultz keeps polishing his boots, trying to find something to do to keep him occupied and keep his mind from wandering. Mind wandering was the enemy. Thoughts and memories were the enemy. Stay focused. He didn't have his flak jacket on, or his ERDL Boonie hat, although he did have a dew rag on covering the top of his head and his Camouflage scarf wrapped around his neck(Not covering his chin and lower face). His Sun/wind/dust goggles were with his flak jacket, he wouldn't put them on until he had to. Schultz was quietly impressed, getting the idea that Oli had understand his final comment. He says quietly, his voice faint and waning from his usual gruff/harsh tone
I try not to think about it...
He shakes his head and stops applying boot polish, spitting on his boot and starting to rub off the polish. He didn't have any where else to spit. His voice strengthens and returns to its usual tone, grumbling again
Assignment, I like, no briefing.... Ich hasse(I hate). Such shush shush. Solche Unsinn!(Such nonsense)
Schultz mumbles aloud
Smell worse then latrine. Everything rotting or growing.
Schultz stops shining his boots and begins to apply another coat of boot polish, his motions and actions repetitive. He says in a less grumbling and more casual tone, snorting at the use of the word "west"
München, Westdeutschland. Munich. Born day after capitulation. Beautiful countryside....Geliebt zu Ski in den Alpen. Loved to Ski on the alps. Graduate high school, conscripted. I wanted work for MTU Aero engines as test pilot after High school, Verdammt schade(Damn Shame). You?
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R-Point
Jun 17, 2008 18:59:47 GMT -5
Post by Rastafari on Jun 17, 2008 18:59:47 GMT -5
"Aye man, nice tuh meet you, mi name be Khenan but day call mi 'Rasta' seen."
Khenan answered, firmly shaking the mans hand. He could see by the look in the mans eyes he was not used to being around so many different ethnic people, especially Khenan, he was the only Jamaican in the military to his knowledge and not many people didn't look a bit confused when they met him. He took no offense from it, he was used to it. As long as they didn't say anything stupid or racist there was never a problem. He patted the man on the shoulder, and said,
"Jah be lookin a bit edgy man, whats on yo mind bredda?"
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R-Point
Jun 18, 2008 7:33:42 GMT -5
Post by LTI on Jun 18, 2008 7:33:42 GMT -5
Oli exhaled a plume of smoke and raised his eyebrows, slightly in thought. "Ah, where to start?" He began, faking age and wisdom. He laughed. "Eh, I'm from Quincy, a small town in Illinois. Not really much to say, I guess. I went through high school, played on the basketball team, went to a community college and then joined up. So here I am. I didn't really do too much before then but cruise up and down Broadway and go camping and fishing on occasion. My girl is waiting back home, though. We've been going steady for around 6 months, before I left that is."
He scratched the mild stubble on his chin and snubbed out the finished cigarette, then sat down by Schultz. He extended a hand.
"Oli Malcolm, by the way. You are?"
((OOC: EDITED: I'm not the CO, there was a miscommunication. It's ALL LIQUID'S FAULT. Nah, it's my fault.))
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R-Point
Jun 18, 2008 12:45:55 GMT -5
Post by thegunny on Jun 18, 2008 12:45:55 GMT -5
(OOC: This is what I imagine the squad format would be www.military-sf.com/Patrols.htm) Schultz drops the rag and reaches out, shaking Oli's hand strongly before giving a sharp salute Lance corporal Hans von Schultz, by choice, not experience. Pulled from the U.N.T.A.C German contingent as the suggested guide and point man for this mission. I have been doing for numerous years in Cambodia and Vietnam. Schultz sniffs, satisfied by the use of the UNTAC's acronym opposed to the very long English version of the united nations something something in Cambodia. Schultz's accent seems to fade slightly and his grammar slightly better, and spoken faster, as if speaking about his work/career was so much far easier, practiced, casual to speak about then anything else.
Fernspählehrkompanie 200. Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol Company 200. Ja, Ungewöhnliche(unusual). Team, usually briefed, was ist das Wort(What is that word), tee-di-us-lee? Im Durchschnitt(On average), patrol's planned extensively. Know nothing, very strange. Guide, usually told where.
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